Tempest Wind (Vash x F!Reader)

Goodbye

The morning came too soon; the rays of light creeping up the dunes woke Vash too quickly. His head rests in your lap; you've kept watch while he rested, but this will be the last night for a little while, as today, for the first time, he will truly have to say goodbye; he will have to be apart from you for the first time since meeting you. How strange it feels to know after more than one and a half years that tomorrow he won't see you and won't wake up next to you. You have entangled yourself so thoroughly in his life and his soul that he can't imagine not reaching out and touching you. It all started in the strangest of ways, from a simple coincidence, from a nagging feeling. He followed you into the desert out of concern and curiosity, and he had found a soul so unique, so wonderful. It was hard and, at times, even lonely when you got so very sick. But you fought, and you battled against all odds to get better, to keep going.

Finding you in the endless chaos of this planet and this universe was nothing short of a miracle. Two souls intertwined so thoroughly that no force could untangle that bond. Nothing could erase you from his being. In your eyes, he sees the poems Rem used to read; in your embrace, he feels at home; and in your voice, he hears a thousand unsung lullabies. You're a million dawns all at once, painting his world in vivid colors. You have been, every day, even in the darkest, most hopeless of days, nestled in his heart.

Vash knows the biggest challenge is still ahead—the one that would let him finally atone for his sins and the ones of Knives too. He will have to put an end to this, to secure the future of humanity; only then can he have a future with you. Perhaps settle down, build a home together, fill it to the brim with love, and maybe even raise children. He doesn't know what the future will look like, but to get there, he knows the battles he will have to fight; he will have to save his brother. It's a goal you have been willing to help him with—the promise you made to be by his side, to fight his fights with him, to reach his dreams with him. And now the twin suns have come up, painted the sky a light blue, and stirred him from his sleep.

He has refused to move, taking in the warmth radiating from you, your soft and smooth skin under his hand and cheek. He knows the way you sit with your legs crossed, his red jacket around your half naked body like so many times before. He wants to pretend to be asleep for a little while longer, to push the inevitable for another moment or two. But the way your hand moves from only stroking his hair to caressing his cheek and nose tells him you know he is awake. You gently brush against his birthmark and the corner of his eye.

"Morning, sweetheart!" Your voice is tender, just as soft as your touch.

"Good morning, Sweet Pea!" he says with a sad smile. He knows the clock is ticking now, counting down the moments till the two of you depart. It fills him with more anxiety than he knows is reasonable, but still, for him, it means everything.

"How did you sleep?" Your hand traces over his neck to his bare shoulder, touching the metal plate on it.

"Good, thanks to you," a lightness comes back to his voice, and his comment pulls a chuckle from you. "Was the night quiet?"

"Yes, only a few little worms, nothing else. No noises, no lights," your hand takes his as he reaches out towards his shoulder.

"Maybe they aren't coming here at all?"

"Could be," you sigh. "But if you ask me, it's unlikely. It has been quiet on the northern front; if anything, I am worried they might come from a different direction, but I think they will come here; it's easy pray compared to what is left in the north."

"You're probably right," he says, squeezing your fingers lightly.

"Of course I am right." You chuckle and squeeze back.

The rest of the morning is taken as slowly as possible. The clothes you left off last night are put on; you hold his jacket up for him to stick his arms in; you adjust the sleeve and pauldron to his prosthetic; you close the snap of the red strap running over his arm; and your hands linger a bit longer on the mechanical details as his eyes tenderly stay on you. Instead of the quick nutrition bar and some water, Vash makes breakfast from the supplies in his bag, and you watch him and his hands work away, your own arms wrapped around his right biceps, greatly limiting his range of motion, but he doesn't complain; instead, it fills his heart with warmth. He serves the food with some awful coffee, and he seems proud. You are not sure if it's about how long he managed to stall or the breakfast itself. You take a bite of the porridge and grimace, forced to admit that it tastes nearly as horrible as the coffee, but your expression only makes him laugh as he downs the rest and cleans his dishes. You take some time to go through your bag, giving a large portion of your medical supplies to Vash and reminding him that he has to take care of himself. You only leave a few things in your bag in case you need to patch someone else up. Vash stalls for more time watching you divvy up the supplies, making sure he has all he needs and you have your necessities instead of cleaning up the campsite. It gets harder and harder to find excuses, to stay for a little while longer.