Tempest Wind (Vash x F!Reader)

Desert Night

Weeks go by before you find yourself half a day's ride away from Squinny Coffin. As the sun sets, you set up camp on an old and partially rusted spacecraft scrap, surprised that it hasn't been moved to the bigger settlement as building material yet. It is tall, and a few worms sit on top of it, pecking at each other to see who gets to sit higher. You ignore them as you settle the birds into their spot on the sand, tying them with a long rope to some scrap metal. There are tall steps leading up the spacecraft piece, too big to be stairs, and it looks like some internal structure; each step is about the height of your hips. Two steps from the ground is a bigger platform wide enough for your sleeping mats, and Vash is getting your campsite ready.

You sit on the edge of the step, one leg tangling over, as you watch Vash fiddle with the small gas burner to get dinner going. He looks so peaceful like this, like that's his whole life, just living and drifting with no worries or problems. Reality is far from this simple, as trouble seems to follow him no matter where he goes. Every settlement you've been through has had one issue or another, be it bounty hunters, robbers, or both. Vash has managed to defuse every situation without much bloodshed so far as you assist him to the best of your abilities, but mostly you try not to get in his way so he can take full advantage of his masterful aim. A few times you've had to throw either knives or hands, but that's nothing major. Vash handing in bandits to the sheriffs has earned him some money, which he always shares with you despite you saying that he did all the work and you barely need money, but you have been careful to keep up with your supplies, especially medical, and he loves to call you a worrywart for it.

All in all, time has passed very quickly for you. Unless you have a conversation with Vash, your mind just wanders off, too consumed with itself to notice the passing of time. A few times you've found yourself so out of it, Vash has had to shake your shoulder to bring you back. Your head is filled with hazy images, some from your last time roaming around and some from the time before that. You haven't managed to piece anything new together—just a few more glimpses of forest, both green and white, covered in cold snow. But those aren't really memories, just backdrops. The voices have gotten worse too; at times they are deafening, taking over your mind completely, insistent on you hearing their pain. It gives you a headache every time, and your healing ability has no effect on it. When that happens, Vash often catches you becoming unresponsive with an expression of pain on your face. In times like those, he forces you to take a break; he makes you drop whatever you were doing—riding the tomas, setting up camp, or whatever else. He sits you down and pulls you into his side, draping his large coat over both of you. He starts speaking about whatever nonsense comes into his head and strokes your hair and skin, giving you as many distractions as he can. Once he ropes you into the conversation, it gets easier; you can focus on his voice and his words, making you almost forget the screaming in your skull. But all of it is taking a toll on you emotionally.

You lean your cheek on your pulled-up knee as your eyes follow his hands. You always admire their purposefulness and the grace and smoothness with which they move. You watch him use his metal hand to take the hot pot off the fire; you know it has some sensation, but it doesn't get burned or cause pain in situations like these. The light blue glint enchants you, and you don't even notice Vash looking up at you with a soft smile that reflects in his eyes. He has learned to recognize the moments where you are captured by fascination, and they contrast heavily with the times where your mind is miles away because of the voices. He knows he has nothing to worry about currently; you are here with him, body and mind.

Vash still feels guilt over eating alone, no matter how many times you've assured him that you don't need to. He remembers Rem's words, that it doesn't matter if someone eats or not as long as they are dealt a fair share, but you had shot this idea down, saying you don't want to waste any food and that he should eat your share too if it would make him feel better. All in all, he feels conflicted at times, like you always take care of him, put him first, and are so independent that he can barely do anything at all. You help him get rations and plan your supplies, yet you don't consume food or water; you always keep watch at night while he sleeps, and you keep away the loneliness. All that makes him feel like his debt to you is growing; he wants to pay you back even though he knows you don't do all that for him specifically; it's simply your nature. He wishes he could help you more with the voices, serve you your memories on a silver platter, and take away all of your discomfort. But he is nearly as helpless and as much at their mercy as you yourself.