150 Bullets

065. Responsible

It doesn't take long for the cult to fall back. Especially when they're greeted with tens of guns pointed at them. They're more known in these parts than Vash thought; Gerard's Way is no fan of their neighbor. The town takes you and Vash in immediately, directing him to the local doctor and nurse. They've dealt with 'runaways' from the cult before, too.

Vash carries you into the doctor's office, and it's all a blur after that. The doctor takes you, shouts him out of the building so that he's not in the way, and the mayor and sheriff question Vash for the next two hours about what happened. The answers are rote, monotone; his thoughts are a thousand miles away, just in the next building where your life hangs by a string.

Mayfly...my mayfly...he can't stop thinking it. His girl. His best friend. How could anything so cruel happen to you? How could he let it happen?

You don't wake for a whole week.

In all that time, Vash doesn't leave your side. Vash, again, overthinks. This is why. This is why I should never let anyone get close to me. It's all his fault. His cowardice. He's responsible for it all. If it had just been him in that town, he would have gotten away. But you, you're with him. You travel with him. He's supposed to keep you safe. What kind of man is he if he can't keep you safe?

A rotten one, he thinks, staring down at your prone form in bed, I should have never gotten into a relationship. I should have just left you before we got too far. You'd be safe then. You'd be whole. You'd be awake. Vash doesn't let himself cry. He doesn't deserve it. Even when Doctor Ren gives him worried glances when she checks on your vitals, his eyes remain dry.

Your face is bruised and scabbing - the rest of you not much better. Ren reports that you're healing well over the days, but Vash still hears the shallow breaths that escape your lips. His chest feels like a hollow cave. He doesn't deserve to be here with you. He's the reason for all of this. Him and his bad luck.

He does his best to keep you clean and comfortable. Applies balm to your lips to keep them from getting chapped, brushes a cool cloth across your face to get rid of any sweat or grime. You hum when he does this, and it sews a stitch in the hole of his heart. An idea slowly forms on the fourth day, while he helps the nurse lift you to change your sheets. What if he...just left? You're not a drifter like him. You have a degree, an ability to get a job in any major city if you wanted. It's only because of him you're even out here.

(That's a lie, but it's all he can think.)

If you wake up, he thinks, I'll end it. We'll be done. You'll be safe again and won't have to worry about getting hurt because of me anymore. Despite his resolve, his ears nearly ring from the thought. No more banter with you as you travel to the next Plant or town. No kisses under the suns, or waking with you curled into his side. Being alone. All alone. He sighs into the bed sheets and tells himself, again, that he doesn't deserve to cry. And he doesn't deserve you. He'll leave, and that will be that.

That resolve crumbles the moment you open your eyes.

On the seventh day, in the middle of dozing, a hand rests on his head and gently brushes through his hair.

Vash jerks up from the bed, alarmed. Who -? But it's you, with your eyes squinted shut and lips quirked to the side. You try to speak and end up coughing.

Vash's chair screeches with the force he stands from it and rushes to get you a glass of water. The glass pushes to your lips, and you drink slowly. When half the cup is gone, you signal that it's enough for now. He puts it down on a nearby table and takes your hand in his. A kiss is placed to your fingers. "Mayfly," he mutters.

Birdie, you mouth, still getting your voice back. You clear your throat and try again. "Where are we?"

"Next town over. Been here a week." He gently squeezes your hand when you make a sound of surprise.

"Shoot. No wonder I feel so..." you gesture, trying to find a word but failing. An eye opens wider, and you look him over sleepily. "What have you been up to?"

"He's been sitting here, moping, not eating," Doc Ren enters the room, donning her stethoscope and pressing it to your chest without preamble. She nods after a moment. "You sound good. Better than I hoped, really." She looks over to Vash. "I've said it to you, but you're both lucky you escaped those loons. They could've done a lot worse. You look worse than you are."

You won't comment on the doctor's bedside manners. "Thanks, Doctor."

She goes through some simple tests for the next fifteen minutes. Stitches are fine, breathing sounds normal, heart is strong and healing from the stress of it all. When she leaves to the next room again, Vash places his head carefully on your stomach. You look down at him, giving him a sleepy smile. "Missing your cuddles, birdie?" Your hand comes up and brushes through his hair, down his cheeks, over his lips. "My poor pretty bird."

It strikes a chord in him; the simpleness of your affection, the sweet love in your gaze. A shine of tears appears in his eyes, and he smooshes his face into the sheets as the sudden sobs wrack his body. You make a sound of alarm, both hands now smoothing over his head, his shoulder, saying softly how you're okay, everything's okay. And he thinks, how could he ever consider leaving you in any way? He loves you too much.

"I th-thought you weren't – " he hiccups and tries to brush his tears away. He doesn't deserve to cry, not with you in the state you're in. But the tears keep coming. "I thought I was too late. I thought you were – " He can't even say it out loud, like its taboo, like it would speak it into existence again.

And you, gentle, sweet you, shush him and tug on his coat to bring him closer. He obliges, careful of where he places his hands as he comes close and presses his forehead to yours. In the small dimness of the hospital room, his Plant lines flash a moment, echoing across your skin before disappearing. A feeling of warm peace overwhelms him, and the tears stop. You're here. You're alive. And you still love him.

"Vash," you whisper, having felt his turmoil in that moment of connection, "none of this was your fault. Okay? None of it. I don't blame you for any of it." You nudge his forehead with your own and look into those sad, blue eyes. "If you need to hear it, I forgive you. But I never blamed you for any of it."

The tears return, this time of relief. He sighs, the breath fanning across your lips. Lowering his head into the crook of your neck, he promises, "I'm never leaving you alone again. Not for anything."

You reach up and run your nails through his undercut, eyes closing sleepily. "Not even for bathing?" you tease, and laugh and kiss his cheek when it flushes red.