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Walking stealthily through the newly built halls of Hopeland, his home, Wolfwood's slippered feet step strategically over scattered toys and yet to be hung garlands for the upstairs banisters (he takes a mental note of that and adds it to his to-do list). He was making his way to the main room where their Christmas tree stood, the kids having decorated the branches they could reach, meaning, of course, that the lower half of the tree was absolutely stacked with ornaments.
He hefts the box that Ms. Melanie gave him further into his arms, tasking him with decorating the upper portion of the naked tree while she monitors the little ones still decorating the remaining boxes of new ornaments the city had gifted them.
Ms. Melanie constantly became misty-eyed whenever she mentioned how the nearby city came together and donated decorations, food, and toys to be given to the kids.
"They said for a city called December, they felt they had the responsibility to provide those with less with the holiday spirit, especially in the wake of everything. They've really been trying to create a sense of community around here." She fanned at her face, willing the tears to dry. "Oh, bless their hearts, Nicholas. Our funds have run so low in recent months after all the costs for repairs. We needed this."
It's so rare to see the strong face Ms. Melanie upholds crumble, years of hard times maintaining an orphanage that hardly received much help hardening the woman. One of the few times Wolfwood saw her mask break was when the Eye of Michael took him away. It's a memory he hates to dredge up from the cesspool that was his adolescence with that wicked organization, so he's grateful to see more smiles and laughter lighting up her face nowadays.
Wolfwood spots a lone tear fall despite her best efforts to keep them in, and all he could do to comfort her with an overfilled box of globes occupying his arms was to kiss the crown of her head. "It's a kindness and a blessing this place deserves after all that it's been through."
She peers up at him, flitting her eyes around his face, spotting something for soft understanding to settle onto her complexion. She squeezes his arm, nodding before heading back into their crafts room.
He places the box near the tree, hands that were so used to hefting the steel of his Punisher now cradling glass orbs, his eyes and mind quickly wandering over the monotonous task. The lights decorating the tree and the garlands leading up the stairs gave a soft, orange glow to the wood, to the background of his childhood memories; him and Livio running through the hallways, playing tag with the others, stomping up and down the stairs before Ms. Melanie's shouts of "No running on the stairs! Take it outside!" reached them.
Even though he was forced to leave here all those years ago, he found that his heart and soul remained within these walls, desperately calling for his return during the time that he was away.
Once Wolfwood and Vash ventured back to the orphanage, they helped where they could. Wolfwood was more than happy to help rebuild the place he grew up in, putting in as much attention to detail as he could to recreate what was familiar to him and the kids. They all deserved the chance to return to a home.
Vash was the one to offer up new ideas to spruce up the place—colorful drawings here and there, a rainbow trailing up the stairs for the kids to follow; whatever came to his wandering mind, Vash would draw. He often said he was grateful to trade in his gun for a drawing pencil, the pencil either behind his ear or in his fidgeting hands, nimble fingers passing the pencil from pinky back to his grasping palm.
Vash would enter his own world when he began a project, forgetting to feed himself for hours until Wolfwood passed by mid-session with some snacks. The full, beaming grin Vash would send Wolfwood in thanks—a grin now rarely burdened by the troubles of his past, instead lifted with the hope of his present and a future, lifted with the safety and security he feels by being welcomed into Wolfwood's home, into his warm embrace at the end of every day—it's enough to squeeze the breath from Wolfwood.
One of Wolfwood's favorite projects of Vash's was the trail of small handprints leading down the hallways, the product of Vash painting everyone's palms and instructing them to leave behind a trace of themselves somewhere in the building.
In a beige desert land that has suffered, scored and gouged by a trauma so cutting that it's embedded itself deep into the inhabitants of this planet, Vash simply wished to bring more color to everyone's lives, to uplift their spirits.
But for Wolfwood…he realized Vash's presence and companionship alone had long been bringing color into his own tragic life, saturating his muted self-portrait with splatters of geranium red and a blue so bright, it was like Wolfwood had stepped outside and peered up at a cloudless daytime sky, blinded by its radiance.
"Big Brother Nico? I wanna put my ornament way up there! I want my ornament to be the highest on the tree!"
"And I wanna put the angel!"
Wolfwood peers down past his upraised arms, currently occupied with finding a space for his ornament. The two children stare back up at him, all doe-eyes and pouting lips, the equivalent of looking at Vash when he denies him another donut after dinner.
Livio trails in after them, going to scoop them into his own arms. "Sorry 'bout that Nico. They totally skipped over Ms. Melanie's instructions to leave it in the box for you."
"Nah, it's all good, Liv. I can take them from here." At Livio's raised eyebrow, Wolfwood decides to play it dirty and get the man to do another chore of his. But…he's gotta take his time to be a little shit to his own brother. "Age is catching up to ya if the kiddos are escaping you." A kernel of victory pops inside Wolfwood at Livio's unimpressed scowl. "Anyway, mind putting up the other garlands? They're in the hallway."
"You can be damn lazy, Nico. Gotta ask nicely, though. Add a pretty please to the end of it while you're at it. And without hurting what's left of a man's ego-"
"Alright alright, sorry. A bit much, huh?" He clasps his hands in front of his chest, looking as if he's about to beg or pray. Wolfwood hardly ever does either in full sincerity. "Can you pretty please put up the garlands, my dear Crybaby Livio?"
Livio's face falls. "Kids. Give him hell." He grounds his boots into the floor to spin around, heading back down the hallway. Wolfwood cackles inside. It's just too easy sometimes.
He looks to find the highest bough, noting just enough space to place the angel and ornament.
"Well, it looks like you two are in luck! The tree has made juuust enough space for your decorations."
Wolfwood kneels until he's eye level with them, sweeping his arms up and behind them. "I'll let you two put it up yourself if!-" He holds up a finger once the children start to teeter in excitement. "You hold onto me and don't move around too much. Can't risk busting your head open and having to ask Santa for bandages."
"We promise!"
Wolfwood squints one eye, then the other, scrutinizing their nodding heads, then ushers them into his arms. Slowly standing, he brings them closer to the top of the tree, tiny hands gently fixing the decorations to their desired spots.
"Wow, good job, you two. I think the tree just got even more beautiful, don'cha think?" He's crouched back down on the ground with the children, both with their mouths open, admiring their work before swinging their arms around Wolfwood and squeezing.
His chest is quick to bursting with affection; he never thought he'd have the privilege to be back here with the children, sharing moments like these. It's almost too good to be true.
He'll happily take what's given.
He rubs their backs, a sanguine smile creeping up his face.
A smile he finds matching Vash's, the man watching him from the kitchen table with a wistful look, piping bag filled with frosting lingering in his hands. One of the kids at the table presents a cookie she just finished decorating in front of Vash's face, but he doesn't break the stare he has on Wolfwood. The steady attention burns Wolfwood's face, feeling as if he's close to a hot lamp.
Wolfwood clears his throat. "Got a funny look on yer face there, Spikes. Sugar got you dopey?"
Vash pipes a stripe of frosting to his fingertip, sticking it in his mouth. "Could say so. Or just that I'm looking at something sweeter."
A chorus of disgusted Ew!'s rises from the kitchen table, heat flushing from the tips of Wolfwood's ears to his chest. He palms his face, urgently trying to will some composure back into himself, shielding himself both from the teasing of Vash and the children.
If he'd known Vash would look for any and every opportunity that sprang up to douse Wolfwood in compliments or entangle him in witty flirtations, he'd have split off down the opposite fork in the road to help the girls with their newfound broadcasting career.
But in his heart of hearts, he knows this is where he belongs. With the kids, Ms. Melanie, and finally as fortune would have them in its best of wishes, with Vash.
"Oh, the girls called earlier." Mercy him, a subject change. "They should be in town in a couple of days."
"Seems like it's gonna be a full house." Wolfwood hums, hiding the satisfaction at having all his loved ones under one roof. "They've been busy, haven't they? Been putting out a hell of a lot of stories."
The radio in the corner of the kitchen switches programs, music cutting immediately to the news.
"Hello, everyone! It's Milly Thompson with No Man's Land Broadcasting Channel! We're live here in Octovern, covering what seems to be a bakery heist? Donuts, cakes, cookies! Where could these bandits with a sweet tooth have gone? Is this a wannabe Santa? Seems like yet again, we are chasing after a man in a red coat!"
Meryl's voice comes ringing through the radio speakers next. "But before we get into it folks, all of us at NLBC would like to wish everyone a happy holidays! Be safe out there!"
"Meryl and Milly are quite gifted at finding the best scoop when I'm not around to make things crazy." Vash sighs longingly. "Can't say I miss all that attention, but it was nice at times."
"You are talking straight outta your ass if you miss all that shit."
A tiny gasp from the boy closest to him. "Ms. Melanie! Nico swore again!"
Vash and the children cover their mouths.
Ms. Melanie, with the eyes and ears of a toma, shouts back. "Nicholas! Go drop a quarter into the swear jar!"
"What?! You know I don't have spare change!"
"Then you're stuck washing dishes later!"
Damn him.
A shriek pierces the air from the living room, Vash and Wolfwood's spines instinctively straightening. "The movie is starting!"
A flurry of kids pouring from every area of the orphanage wrangle themselves to huddle around the TV, crackling static filling the air as the holiday movie switches on.
"Vash, can you bring the-"
"Already on my way." Vash sidles up to Wolfwood, the plate of cookies in one hand and Wolfwood's waist in the other. A picture of domesticity.
"How do you always know what I'm thinking?" Wolfwood checks to make sure the kids are watching the TV, which, of course they are, before chastely kissing the frosting from the corner of Vash's lips. "Had something there."
Vash huffed, shoving a way too sweet cookie between his teeth, Wolfwood cringing at the scrape of the sugar crystals. "Can't get enough of me, can you?"
"Now that I have you, absolutely not."
Vash bats at Wolfwood's chest, trying and failing to squash the smile creeping onto his face. "Ugh, you're as much a shameless flirt as me, no matter how much you try to say otherwise."
Wolfwood rolls his eyes. "Yeah, and you like it."
-
Christmas Eve. Already. Shit.
It was a challenge getting the kids to go to bed before midnight. Several of the older ones declared in absolute finality that they would stay up until midnight so they could meet Santa; they barely reached 10 p.m.
Vash and Wolfwood were kept busy these past couple of weeks: cooking and baking, decorating and having holiday movie marathons. The kids decided to put on a play for the adults, dressing up as elves and reindeer. Vash and Wolfwood were tasked with sewing together the costumes; by the end of it, Wolfwood used up half a box of bandages on Vash's fingers, the man somehow pricking every single one, several times over.
Wolfwood just felt that there wasn't enough time in the month. There wasn't enough time for him to think up something grand, something memorable for the kids. He could hardly find himself prideful and satisfied in fulfilling his wish to make the kids' holiday season.
He growls into the bristles of the toothbrush. Ugh, it just wasn't enough-
Wolfwood looks to the mirror to calculate his next shave, catching something, or someone, in the reflection.
A reflection of a drowsy, soft Vash sprawled beneath their heavy winter duvet, shrouded in one of his sweaters and topped with a blanket that's barely enough to ward off the chill that comes with a desert night. Vash, ever the early riser, is extremely ready for bed. He's nothing but slow blinks, armed with a smile like the cat that got the cream.
Wolfwood spits a mouthful of paste into the sink. "Good evening, sleeping beauty. Can I help you?"
Wolfwood finds so much satisfaction in how quickly Vash is to hide beneath the duvet, eyes blinking prettily, invitingly, at Wolfwood. "I just…really like this part of the night. I like seeing you get ready to join me in bed." He pats at Wolfwood's pillow, fluffing it up for him. "Beds getting cold without you…"
Wolfwood rinses his mouth, water spurting out one side in his haste. He forgets to do his second brush over of his teeth, but he'll settle for the initial pass tonight. He's got a lovely, sleepy ex-blonde waiting for him.
He dives beneath the covers, rubbing his legs to warm them from the cold that's seeped into his skin, and opens his arms for Vash to settle into, shrinking away from the dig of Vash's cold toes into the legs of his pajama pants.
Vash crowds further into Wolfwood's space, pointedly looking at the mistletoe hanging right above their bed.
It's a nightly December tradition thought up by Vash's highly intellectual mind, a tradition that Wolfwood has zero qualms indulging. He nudges closer to press a small kiss to Vash's lips, stilling when he feels him cradle his jaw, lengthening the kiss for a few more seconds.
"It's a Christmas Eve kiss. Have to make it a little more special, Nicholas." Vash smiles at whatever embarrassing expression Wolfwood surely has on his face. He's still entirely unused to Vash using his first name whenever he so pleases. He never minded Vash just calling him Wolfwood; he loved the way it rolled off Vash's tongue. Whether it was said with admiration or in reprimand, Wolfwood felt that his name never sounded so wonderful whenever it left Vash's mouth.
But Vash knew, just damn well knew, that calling him Nicholas fired up his insides, affection and belonging coursing through him.
It's with that sudden rush of affection that he chooses to brush Vash's cold nose with his own before he resettles against his chest for the night.
Embracing and reciprocating loving gestures was something he always had trouble with growing up. Someone would go to hug him, Ms. Melanie would pinch and kiss his cheeks, and he would freeze. Lock up. Or sometimes even dodge the gesture entirely. And the idea of him imitating them and even doing something that forthright with anyone else to show his love for them... it was too strange. It was an out-of-body experience for him every time, instead playing the part of a ventriloquist, pulling the strings to his limbs to even hug someone back, asking himself the entire time, "Am I doing this right? Is this how everyone does it?"
With Vash, once their feelings were known to each other, Wolfwood built up his confidence with a few small, sporadic gestures—holding his hand while they chatted about their day, kissing his cheek as a morning greeting—when one afternoon, he found himself hooking his chin over Vash's shoulder. Without overthinking it! It was the easiest thing to do now.
"I'll stay up with you until you have to go do. Uh. The-" Vash is already yawning around his words.
"Until I need to go play Santa. Yeah, right. You can hardly stay awake right now! Go to sleep, Spikes. I'm gonna wait an hour, just to be sure the kids are down, before I go out there." Wolfwood tucks the duvet tighter around them.
"Yanno, you were made to play Santa-"
"Don't you fucking say it-"
"Ol' Saint Nick," Vash sing songs, prodding his fingers into Wolfwood's chest until he prods back, fingertips dancing along Vash's ribcage.
Vash wheezes. "Mercy! Mercy! I'm too tired for this! I'll go to bed!"
"Good. I'll try to be quick so you won't miss my body heat too much."
Vash hums from where he lies on his shoulder. "P'mise?"
"Promise. Night, angel."
The hour passes, Wolfwood quick and silent as the night, just as he used to be on those nights he was sent on assignments. By now, he knows which board creaks, stepping over and around until he makes it to the living room. He opens the bag of extra presents Ms. Melanie hid in a broom closet, scattering the presents under the tree. A quick bite of a cookie and a sip of milk later, he returns to his room, lightly shutting the door behind him.
He steps up silently to the side of the bed and takes this moment to soak in a sprawled, drooling Vash, shaking his head at how deep he's shoved his head into the pillow he was holding.
Wolfwood observed this since their time together journeying No Man's Land: Vash likes to sleep holding something in his arms. In the early days, it used to either be his jacket or his sack, depending on whether they had a bed for that night. Now that they're maintaining this… relationship between them, Vash prefers to adhere himself to Wolfwood's side, blood circulation to his arms be damned.
Vash now swears up and down he can't fall asleep until Wolfwood is at his side, and he has the sneaking suspicion there's more traumatic reasons for that, but he tries to be in bed with Vash every night that he can.
Making up for the nights they should have had before.
So when he had to sneak out just now to go fulfill his Santa duty, Wolfwood felt like one of those heroes in the Earth movies, timely swapping a pillow for himself. Vash grumbled in his sleep, arm squeezing questioningly into the plushness before resuming his snoring.
Just as quick and silent to slip back under the covers, he replaces the pillow Vash held with his chest, lying back and praying for the sweet release of a good night's rest.
Wolfwood stops counting how many times he's opened and shut his eyes in hopes that the throes of a blissful, dreamless sleep would take him. He's kidding himself at this point. He can't remember the last time his sleep wasn't interrupted.
He opens his eyes again at the onslaught of his final battles with Livio, with Chapel, then Razlo. The slumping of his arm against that worn couch, his fingers loosening around a bottleneck as his heavy…so heavy body and eyes, laden with that goddamn serum, beg for a rest he knew should've been his last-
He rips his eyes to the moons' light streaming in through the first-floor window, desert landscape faintly hidden behind the sheer curtains. He was glad Ms. Melanie and the other adults of the orphanage were so accommodating of him and Vash, jumping to move them into the adult area on the first floor when he asked to live with them again. They cleaned out two rooms for them, and at first, Vash and Wolfwood did use them. Separately.
It didn't even take several days before Ms. Melanie spotted them leaving one of the rooms together one morning. Vash sat down next to her, none the wiser to the simpering look she settled on Wolfwood from across the table. He gnashed his teeth into a piece of buttered toast, eating the whole slice in three bites before choking on a few spare crumbs.
It settled him a little more to not only share a bed, a room, a living space with Vash, breathing bodies close to one another, but also to be in the room closest to the stairs, preferring to be the kids' first line of defense should any danger come their way.
A deep breath refocuses him. He follows the moons' rays to the source of that sigh, to where Vash lies his head against his chest, right arm lightly grasping his ribcage, subconsciously marking each rise and fall of his chest. Wolfwood ghosts his fingertips along that one arm, monitoring his deep breaths, calming his nerves with the texture of Vash's skin. His light snoring stutters on Wolfwood's nth pass up his arm, tightening the ankle hooked around Wolfwood's on his awakening.
"'verythin ok?" Vash barely raises his head from where he's drooling into Wolfwood's night shirt, his concern barely comprehensible with his mouth half-pressed into the fabric. Bleary eyes flick up to lazily note Wolfwood's troubled state. "Nightmare?"
Wolfwood can't help but tighten his own arm around Vash's shoulders, budging him up slightly so that he can nose into the frizzy black of his hair, smelling their shampoo. That black shade of his hair, a shade that now matches his own. It throws him back to the time when he first saw it; the sight of Vash's fully darkened hair had nearly ripped his heart from his chest, Vash rushing to grab him at the sight of his wide eyes, assuring him for minutes on end that he was ok.
He presses a kiss to Vash's head, hand coming to rest at the back of his neck, thumbing along his moonlit, pale skin to track his pulse. "No, not a nightmare this time. Just have a lot on my mind."
"Care to let me in?" Vash shivers at the midnight chill permeating the air, pulling the duvet back up. "You can talk it out with me. If you want, of course."
Wolfwood lulls his racing mind to a steady trot of thoughts, tickling his open mouth with the tips of Vash's hair in contemplation.
"It's my first Christmas with the kids again, and since I'm now an adult, I feel like it's on me to make their Christmas."
"Well…it's not all on you to do that, though. But… I think you should give yourself more credit, honestly. You may not see it, Wolfwood, but as a newbie to the orphanage, you've done more for these kids than you think."
He scoffs. "All I've done is chores and look after them. That's nothing out of the ordinary."
"Christ, you're denser than the bread you bake. It's a wonder how we even got together." Vash bumps his forehead against Wolfwood's, nearly concussing him as he stares him down. "Listen to me. You being here, back home with them, is more than what they could wish for from Santa. Nicholas, you help this place feel like home. You make any place feel like home. I would know."
Wolfwood's heart and mind slow, stunned by something…he's always wanted to hear. Needed to hear.
He knocks his head back against Vash's. "Cheater. Ya can't just butter me up like that and win me over."
"Worked though, didn't it? Just you wait and see. Someone will prove me right tomorrow."
"I pray they don't. I hate when you're right."
Vash yawns. "Start praying, preacher man."
Morning comes and passes. The kids ripped through wrapping paper to get to their toys, now playing with the trucks, block building sets, and plushies. He sees the mess, has a keen eye for it now and what might be his plan of action, but Vash's legs resting over his on the couch stop him from enacting it.
Vash raises a brow, reading the stress creasing his forehead.
"Not today, you hear me?" Vash digs a heel into his thigh. "Just be present. You've got nowhere to be but here."
Wolfwood breathes deeply, inhaling the smells of fresh home cooking coming from the kitchen. Even Ms. Melanie had bumped him out when he offered his help. "Go relax, Nicholas. You've got a very handsome man waiting for you on the couch." Following her line of sight, Vash sat with a book in his lap, winking at him over the pages.
"Blondie, ya already know I suck at that kinda thing. My body hates to stay still for too long. Call it a…killer's habit." He whispers the last bit, cautious of any kids overhearing them.
Vash curls around him, anchoring him to the cushions. "I know it's hard, and it'll take some time to settle that habit. But we're home. The fight is long over, and we're still here. Together."
Wolfwood leans against Vash's pressing weight. Vash stills, recognizing the reason for Wolfwood's inclination for more physical contact, the unspoken what ifs that wind him on occasion, and he locks his arms tightly around Wolfwood's middle, refusing to allow him to drift into those theories.
"I know, Wolfwood. I know." Vash rests his head on his shoulder, Wolfwood lolling his own to rest on top. "…you do know I'm not blonde anymore, though, don't you?"
Wolfwood nudges Vash's head up so he can look at him, at the watercolor eyes that now shimmer from a life he's now living instead of surviving. "And you do know that you're always gonna be my Blondie, don't you?"
"Big Brother Nico!" The kids certainly know the best time to interrupt them. "Thank you! This was the best Christmas yet!"
Marlene, with several of her teeth missing, shouts this up at him from beside the couch with a slight lisp, the other children trailing her uproaring their agreement.
The kids' declaration is so side-blinding, so out of nowhere, that Wolfwood has no preparation for the stinging in his throat and the wobbling of his chin.
Wolfwood rubs his hand atop her head, covering her eyes with his palm. He clears his throat. "The pleasure's all mine, kids. Now shoo! I'm sure you have way more exciting toys to be playing with than talking to this old man."
They don't need to be told twice, a herd of little legs fleeing the living room and back to where they had come from, Wolfwood watching on with a tight throat.
Lips rest against his ear. "I told you so-"
"Not another word outta you."
Vash's cackling rises into the air, joining the children's laughs and screams echoing from the other room.