Mild Trigun Oneshots

Mortal Companion (Vash x GN!Reader)

Author's Note: Magic!AU. Got inspired by a prompt on Reddit.

Tags: comedy, no use of "y/n", a touch of angst, cozy, old age, magical world, magic users, immortality, denied feelings, caretaking, some fluff

***

As the rain pours down behind the window, Vash rocks gently in his chair and watches the fire dance in the hearth. Evenings like these make him nostalgic, and his mind drifts to memories of the days you saved his life. You found him in the forest, wounded and alone, and nursed him back to health. First, you had to painstakingly drag him home, of course. He had barely gotten away from the king's witch hunters, who didn't take mercy on mages either. Vash had caught the attention of the king, who intended to employ him instead of dishing out the usual punishment. But Vash knew too well what that meant. Mages like him were gathered up and sent to exterminate all kinds of magical creatures that could pose harm to the kingdom, like dragons and basilisks, or to hunt down rare animals for their medicinal use, like unicorns and fairies. Some of the more twisted mages, or perhaps those most afraid, even turned on their own kind, dragging out other magic users to be put to death. It was a dark and dangerous time for his kind in the kingdom.

That faithful day had been a while ago. 64 years, to be exact. He still remembered it vividly, as if it had happened just yesterday. For his long life, it might as well have been yesterday—nothing more than the blink of an eye in his millennia of existence. He had grown so tired of running, hiding, and living a nomadic life, so he welcomed your invitation to stay with open arms. You had your little farm and were glad for his help once he got back on his feet again. Vash enjoyed this change of pace and a peaceful, domestic life. He felt happy, and a few years down the road, you two got married. There was no love; it was a marriage of convenience, just to keep the tongues from wagging and to not draw attention. And it worked. You two got to live in harmony; nobody came looking for Vash, and he got to thank you for saving him by making your life a touch easier.

To match your aging, he secretly brewed potions to change his appearance too. He kept his herbs and ingredients hidden in a secret stump within the forest behind your house. Over the years, he thought about coming clean to you about his nature a few times, but he realized he had dug his grave already. It was too late to admit to keeping such a secret from you for so long. For humans, decades aren't just fleeting moments. And he didn't want to put his loyal partner in danger either by knowing such a secret. Perhaps you would have chased him away or even given him out to the king. No, that last part isn't true, but he cares enough for you to keep his secret to himself.

Vash's heart grows more weary with each year. The wrinkles on your face have become deeper, your hair has turned pure silver, your movements have become slower, and everything seems to take more effort than before. He has slipped some potions into your tea in hopes of lessening your aches and pains, but he doesn't talk about it. He is much the same. The magic he uses to turn himself into an old man changes everything about him but his mind.

Vash looks over to you, reading a book, your glasses slipping down your nose. He smiles softly as he observes the way you furrow your brow in concentration and how your wrinkly fingers glide over the page. You didn't get married for love, but he can't deny that he has grown to care deeply for you, even if he doesn't say it out loud. You have never shown him any more affection than on the day you saved him from the forest, and he does wonder if you view him more like a piece of furniture at this point. He doesn't mind, though. He has just grown a little attached to you; that's it, really. How could an immortal fall in love with a mortal? It doesn't make sense and will bring nothing but sorrow and regret. Still, the thought of what the years are doing to you breaks his heart. He knows your time must be near, despite your sharp mind and vibrant smile. No potion can change that.

He will stick by you till the end and then move on. The world has become a slightly safer place, and magic users aren't being shunned and put to death any longer. He will go out into the world and pay forth the kindness you showed him. He will go and help people, curing illnesses that obey his magic and using his powers to bring light and hope to those in need. But for now, he will take care of you.

The thought feels bittersweet in his chest as he knows your time to depart is drawing near. You have been a good friend to him, and while he does everything he can to not admit it to himself, in another life you might have been something a lot more. If he could have been selfish, he would have fallen in love. If he were mortal, he would have gladly been head over heels for you. But alas, he will live on, his youth returning to him as soon as he takes the antidote to his potions, and you will rot in the earth.

Darling, when will it be your time?

***

When will this old fart kick the bucket?! You think to yourself as you feel his gaze on you. He still has the same soft gaze he had all those years ago. He became your husband shortly after you found him bleeding in the forest. Everything about his appearance in your life was very convenient to you, except that you had to drag him to your house without the use of magic, as he was fully conscious. He provided a great cover for you as you hid from the witch hunters. The typical profile for a magic user, especially for witches, is that they live nomadic lives, have a close tie to nature, especially forests, and usually don't settle anywhere obvious. In an attempt to not get spotted, you did all you could to not fit the stereotype. You settled in a village with many other people; you have your own home; you try to be social; and you attempted to live a regular life. It was great luck that you found someone willing to share your house and even to become your husband, hopefully throwing any and all attempts by the king to put you to death off course.

Things started to get a whole lot more complicated a few decades after you set up your perfect disguise. At first, it was your annoyance with aging; you had to pretend to be a regular human, and that included getting old. But the creaking knees and sore back were new to someone blessed with eternal youth. And you did not enjoy the experience. Soon after, the old king died and, in his stead, ruled his son, who turned out to be a man of the new age. He forbade the hunting of magical creatures and disbanded the witch hunters; all magic users were welcome to live life out in the open. You thought about abandoning all you have here to go out into the world again, this time without fear of persecution. But you had your husband. You didn't hold love for him in your heart; he was just a convenient cover for you, yet he didn't know your secret. It didn't feel fair to turn his life upside down when he had done nothing wrong. He has always been a very kind man and you couldn't bear to hurt him. A strange friendship had formed over the years, but it was clear that it could never progress beyond that. He is mortal, and you would have to carry the pain of grief over his short life for millennia to come.

So here you are, sitting in front of the fire with a body so unsuitably old, waiting for your husband to die. What a life! For the last few decades, you have slipped herbs into the fire warming your house and spiked his drinks with medicine to make old age as bearable for him as possible. You choose to think of him with a hint of distaste, often asking the straightforward question of when he will die. You don't show it to him; you don't know how he thinks of you, but you try your hardest not to let the affection bloom within you. It wouldn't be fair to anyone, and you've felt enough grief and pain already. You've had enough. If only he were a witch or mage—anything magical graced with a life that can only be cut short by a silver blade. You would have loved to share your life with someone as kind and funny as him without having to hold back your racing heart. But alas, he is just a mortal. And perhaps it's for the best. He has always liked people; he's the life of a party; his compassion knows no bounds. He would never have survived the witch hunters. He would have hated to be pushed into a secluded life like most of your kind.

You lift your eyes from the book you've read a hundred times already; your fingers have been tracing the words you cite from memory. You look over at Vash, and you return his soft smile.

Darling, when will it be your time?