Tempest Wind (Vash x F!Reader)

Blame

You wake up and your body feels so heavy, but it's not the muscles that hurt; it's not the stiffness of the joints; it's not a heavy blanket covering you. It comes from somewhere much deeper; it turns your bones into lead; it restrains your head to the bed with a short chain. It feels like it's not your body at all, like you're just an unwelcome guest in it. You want to go back to sleep, to wait till you can wake up in your own flesh again, but your senses return to you one by one. The very familiar scent reaches you; it reminds you of flowing water—the stream that ran along your house so long ago. It is missing the smell of gunpowder, but still, it is unmistakable. You feel fingers running through your hair, stroking your scalp, and twirling your locks. You understand your body again; you're curled up, and your knees might hit your chest if it weren't for someone next to you. Your arms are holding on to a pair of legs, and your head rests on a thigh. The skin under yours is rough, partially replaced by cloth, and as your eyes start to see again in the dark room, you realize they are white bandages.

The images of December return to you, along with the memories of your time on the ship and what you read from the logs. Your heart starts to ache again, but this time the panic doesn't tie off your throat. It doesn't numb your fingertips; your feet don't start to tingle, but thoughts keep hammering in your head. How could anyone do this? How can a human being disregard the lives of others so easily? Where do they get the audacity? How could anyone justify these horrors?

Your hand feels the skin underneath it, the scar tissue on Vash's leg put there by people who wouldn't go as far as to cut up their own kind and perform experiments. Humanity is cruel. It is cowardly. Your own skin would look much the same if it didn't heal without a trace. Not only the operations, but everything you endured afterwards has torn you to shreds and ripped the flesh from your bones. And yet it still surprises you how some people play god and how they take the lives of others into their hands to toy around with.

"Are you awake?" A barely audible whisper reaches your ears, and you nod. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," you say as a reaction.

"Really?" His slightly louder voice reveals the doubt in it.

"No," you sigh, and you use all the willpower left in your exhausted body to push yourself into a sitting position. You look at Vash, his back resting against the headboard of the bed, his blue eyes so kind and soft.

You notice the bandage on his cheek, and your fingers gently touch the edge of it. Your eyes track down to see his shoulder and chest wrapped up, another healing injury hidden on his leg.

"You're hurt," you say as you look up again.

"I'm okay. Don't worry about me. Thanks for keeping the first aid supplies at the ready; they came in handy," he says, placing his hand on the back of your head to pull you closer and place a kiss on your forehead.

"You took care of me while you were hurt." You feel guilt rising in your chest.

"This is nothing. Seeing you in pain is worse. Of course I will take care of you," his forehead leans against yours. "And don't you dare feel guilty over it. I know you would have done the same for me. And probably more. You're better at taking care of things than I am."

"That's not true." You lightly shake your head. "You did so much. Thank you."

"No need to thank me." His voice sounds slightly amused. One arm wraps around you, the other taking yours as he pulls you into his side. You notice you're only wearing his turtleneck; the sleeves are too long for you.

"Do you think it is over? The human experiments, I mean. The doctor wasn't there; the scientists are all alive... Do you think they will just regroup and start over? Maybe we made it worse? Maybe now, instead of one practice, multiple will crop up like a hydra."