Tempest Wind (Vash x F!Reader)

Mayfly of Love

You have been separated from Vash's side as the people pool into the streets. Vash pushes back, trying to reach you; your outstretched hand is snatched away from him as the grasps of the people pull back on you and grab hold of him. The voices are shouting and wailing so loudly that they drown out yours; all Vash sees are your lips moving before you disappear completely. Vash's hand still uselessly reaches out to where he had seen you, but the bodies carry him further away.

"Iris!" he shouts out.

"Murderer!" A voice stands out from the crowd, and as he looks for it, he sees a familiar little boy pointing at him. "Murderer!"

"It's all your fault!" More voices become clearer. "You did this! Demon! Devil! Murderer!"

The hands are just grabbing at him, pulling, and pushing him. He is at fault for their suffering; if it wasn't for him, they wouldn't be here fighting for their lives. The children wouldn't be starving, and the citizens wouldn't have to drink dirty water from the next town over just to survive another day. They could live in a better place, in paradise.

"You pave your way with the corpses of our people! You monster!"

The hands get more aggressive as they force him to his knees; he feels them clawing at his skin. Vash accepts his punishment; he can't fight back against all these people like this; he can't hurt them; he has caused too much pain already. He hears the voices cry out, some to God, some to their loved ones. The sky above Vash gets hidden behind the heads of people towering over him. He curls up, covering his head, ready for the onslaught. But he feels teardrops on his skin instead, and as he raises his eyes slowly, he sees the crying faces, blame in their eyes.

"You killed our future! You killed our children and our mothers! You monster! You don't deserve happiness! You don't deserve relief! Nobody loves you! You deserve to suffer!" The cacophony of voices in the crowd speaks as one. He realizes that the hands are letting go, no longer tugging and clawing at him. "You don't even deserve the relief of death!"

Slowly, the people in front of him step back; more and more of them start retreating until a path is created through the crowd. His eyes trail upwards along the ground. He doesn't see the people or their faces; they are just walls of bodies.

"You don't deserve happiness. You don't deserve love." The voices quiet down; they sound like whispers as the last people move aside and reveal a red form on the ground. Vash's eyes refuse to see the truth, but his legs already try to find traction and move him forward. He doesn't even get to stand up properly, staggering towards you. He sees you lying in a pool of blood, your limbs bent unnaturally, and your skin covered in wounds. Vash falls down over your mangled body, his hands reaching out to pull you into his arms, but you are so limp and lifeless that it doesn't feel like you; his arms refuse to believe it could be you. His eyes track along your body, looking for signs that you're healing, but the blood still trickles out of the wounds, your skin is still broken, and the light in your eyes has gone out.

"Suffer! You deserve to lose everyone! Everything you love shall turn to ashes!" The voices around him keep chanting, and they fill Vash with rage like he has never felt before. This is injustice; you don't deserve to suffer for what he has done. Is this really what people are like? Taking out their anger on others? Part of him wishes he had enough bullets for everyone surrounding him—for everyone who would do something like this to you. It feels like his mercy died with the flame in your eyes. His face twists in a hateful frown.

"Iris..." his voice breaks as his forehead gently leans against yours, still bruised and with a gash leading into your hairline, "Come back to me."

He won't kill them. It would destroy both Rem and you; it would betray everything he stands for. But this is nothing but a conscious choice, as the rage flows through him like a river. He lifts his head, and his fingers push your eyes closed. He looks around, but he doesn't see the people anymore; they are just faceless beasts to him. Instead, he focuses on some sheets flapping in the wind, and he gets up, his movements rigid and stiff. He pulls down the white fabric to return to you and wrap you in it, covering your mutilated body with it, to hide you from the eyes of the townsfolk.