Tempest Wind (Vash x F!Reader)

Sandstorm

The two nights on the steamer went by at a snail's pace for Vash, but you didn't seem to notice. He tried giving you water and food, and even on the off chance you took them, nothing changed. He tried his other tricks too, like stroking your back and hair while constantly blabbering on random topics, but nothing brought you back. He watched you slip between sleep and awakeness. He considered going on a walk in the ship with you, but then deemed it a bad idea, and you spent nearly all of the time in either the alcove or the hallway it was part of.

For the duration of the trip, he has had his little headset in, listening for news of the sandstorm that doesn't seem to have changed course. Vash also tried to establish communications with Home but didn't have any success, the transmitters of the steamer overwriting any attempt he made. But he doesn't give up, nothing has definitively told him that the sandstorm is not Home, so there's still hope.

On the second morning, the Humpback docks at a small terminal, and Vash guides both you and the birds out. Your bags are connected to the birds' saddles, and the blonde's hands are full with either the toma headgear or your hand. He unboards the ship with the rest of the people and then finds a quiet street corner to help you onto the bird.

"Sweet Pea, do you hear me?" He asks as he looks up, you've been especially distant today. As a response, he gets a slight nod with no eye contact, and he knows you are somewhere far away. "Just hold on tight! We're heading out into the desert again. Hopefully all goes according to plan today! I'm so proud of you! Keep holding on!"

He pats your thigh before mounting his bird. He looks for the positions of the suns and determines the direction most likely to intercept the sandstorm. Vash signals his tomas to head out and makes sure you follow. His heart pounds louder and louder in his chest, it echoes back in his ears, and he forces himself to be calm and not to get swept away by all the emotions.

As the two of you get to the open desert, the wind rises and seems to be blowing through even Vash's coat. He looks over to see if you're alright, but not a single shiver moves through your body. Your eyes seem to be fixated on the gear of your bird; neither the wind nor the flying sand seem to bother you. He pushes up his glasses and pulls up the turtleneck over his mouth and nose. He keeps a very close eye on you, and not once did you show any distress.

Vash tried to establish communications again with Home, and this time he found the wavelengths to transmit to, but before he could, he noticed you swaying on your tomas. He turns his head immediately and catches the moment you slide off your ride. Your bird is startled by it, and if it wasn't for Vash's quick reaction, he would have run into the storm. Instead, the blonde manages to grab the headgear and quickly stop both toma.

"Iris!"

He jumps off his bird and runs with the toma in tow to you. You lay in the sand, not moving, your limbs tangled and limp. The sandstorm has picked up enough dust and debris that, from a distance, he isn't sure if you're breathing or not.

Vash falls onto his knees next to you, the birds' headgear hooked under his arm as he turns you around to lay on your back. He pulls away the fabric from his mouth and pushes up his glasses to see you clearly.

"Iris!" he shouts over the wind and checks that you are breathing, your chest barely moves, and as he presses his ear to your chest, he hears your heart race irregularly. You haven't been like this before. This isn't you just falling asleep, as he had hoped, this is something worse.

He calls out to you again, desperation in his voice from this unknown situation. His hands grab your upper arms, tight enough to leave bruises. As he looks at your face, you seem to be in pain, he can only assume it's the headaches. He doesn't know what to do, it feels like your pain and distress are flowing into him. Strangely, this reminds him of his sisters—to hear them cry out to him for help. The way he could feel their pain like his own. He is at a loss. He presses his forehead against yours, his fingers moving to interlace with yours.