Tempest Wind (Vash x F!Reader)

Wounds

As you sit against the stone, you see the wounds in you. You count ten; two of them have gone straight through. They still hurt, but you feel them healing up, tissue connecting, and nerves rebuilding. The remaining bullets are slowly being forced out. Three bullets have been pushed nearly to the surface, so you can easily pull them out. One that has hit your rib needs a bit more digging, and a hiss escapes your lips once it's finally out. Taking a breather, you look up again to see Vash with his back towards you. He seems to be digging around for the bullet, as his hands are occupied in the area where you noticed his wound.

"You've been poking around a lot in my past, in my feelings and motivations. So, when are you gonna tell me about yourself? I'm not blind nor am I stupid; I've been around for long enough to notice things," he flinches, not sure if it's from pain or your words. "You have the eyes of a person at least twice your age; I know you've seen some shit, but still. You try hiding behind a smile, but half the time it's a lie. I bet you don't smile at all when you think nobody's looking. I see you. You carry a burden of your own with you; the people in this town were ready to maim you and cause horrible pain. Hell, they might have killed you by accident, and you only used your gun once I was in danger of getting shot again. From what you've told me, it's far from the first time too."

You hear him swallow, and the head that, for a moment, seemed to be turning towards you goes back to looking down. He is surprised you have seen through him so easily; the smiles that would have fooled anyone else seem to have no effect on you. How much have you figured out? And what are you thinking? He is too afraid to look at you, scared that you will see right through him when he meets your sharp gaze.

"And what's up with that jacket of yours? Where did you get something with the Project Seeds logos sown onto it?" Your voice is quiet, not at all demanding, but still firm. Vash's mind races; of course you would know what the patches mean; you had been there when humanity was scattered onto this planet.

"Those are the things I would like to ask you. But I have no right to do that. You've given me every opportunity to not answer your questions; I've just half-accidentally plurted out most of my replies without thinking too much. So, in all fairness, I don't expect you to tell me anything. You don't have to. But know that I will listen; maybe I will even understand. I will not judge you, and I won't force you."

"Thank you," he says quietly, his voice sounding somber as he still avoids looking at you.

"On a slightly different tone, and I do expect your answer this time." You pause for a second and look at him carefully. "Are you okay?"

He lets out a sigh, his shoulders relaxing a bit, and he seems to go back to treating his wound.

"I'm okay, almost done," he replies, and when you don't say anything else, he knows that's not what you meant. "I'm used to this. It's not the first time, and I doubt it will be the last. And that's okay."

He looks over his shoulder and smiles a sad smile at you; it's genuine, but not in a cheerful way. You look back, nothing but sadness in your eyes. How can he think this way? You sigh and lift the hand that has been resting over your wounds, holding gentle pressure even though nothing is bleeding anymore. You look at your bloody self, wondering how long it will take for you to be clean again. In the meantime, Vash wraps his wound and looks at you with a worried expression. He acknowledges that you have a rapid healing factor, but seeing all this blood and your injuries still makes him worried for you. He looks at you digging in one of your wounds, trying to pull out the bullet that caused it, but you give up with a sigh after having your jaw clenched from all the pain.

"I have some forceps; they make it easier." He pulls down his shirt, making sure to hide the injuries and scars, before getting up, taking his bag, and coming closer to you. He sets his stuff next to you, the instrument in hand, and takes out a bottle of clear liquid from his bag to clean the forceps with it. "Want me to do it?"