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Wolfwood had known much pain in his life, but somehow the time he felt the least amount of pain was when he died. As his consciousness slowly faded on that worn couch next to Vash, Wolfwood felt at ease. He closed his eyes and wished for a final time he could’ve seen Vash smile just once more.
He closed his eyes on that couch and opened them somewhere totally different. It was overwhelmingly cold and all he could see was white.
“Huh?” Wolfwood gasped, his breath leaving his mouth as a cloud of steam in the air. His entire body felt so cold. Freezing. It was never so cold on Noman’s Land, even at night when the suns hid behind the horizon and the temperatures plummeted. He looked up into the white nothing above him and squinted. Where was he?
For as much or as little as he truly believed in it, Wolfwood had never thought he'd go to Heaven. But he had no idea where he could be beside that… He had died, that had been undeniable. Overdosing on the healing serum had no doubt caused most of his vital organs to shut down. If he wasn’t dead, he didn’t know why it was so cold or so empty. Noman’s Land had been empty of course, a barren wasteland of sand and tiny footholds of humanity. This place was an entirely different type of empty. It was an empty that was full, all encompassing. It surrounded Wolfwood, pressing in on his body and holding it in place with its unfamiliar cold embrace.
There were a few moments were Wolfwood just stayed where he was. He breathed slowly, watching his breath turn to fog with each exhale. After some time, the coldness around him began to feel wet. He felt it seep into his clothes and bite into his already freezing skin. It was only then that Wolfwood realized that he wasn’t standing, he was lying down. He lifted his hand above his head and something white fell from his finger tips, dropping and immediately melting once it hit his skin.
Snow? Was that what it was?
Vash had told him about snow once, not that he had seen it either. Vash’s only knowledge of snow had been from his education as a child on his fancy SEEDs ship. He had all of the knowledge of the Old World at his fingertips and had soaked in as much as he could. Then, over a hundred years later, he still remembered the things he never got to experience. Snow, the sea, and giant redwood trees larger than any home either of them had ever seen.
In their too short time together, Vash had taken to telling Wolfwood stories from memory. Books he had read and films he had seen. He shared these memories, these stories with Wolfwood, who would otherwise never be able to see him unless he traveled with Vash to one of the remaining SEEDs ships to view them himself. They had talked about that once. Going back to the ship once things calmed down and going through the expansive media library together. There was so much Vash wanted to show Wolfwood, but Wolfwood had always been happy just to be able to hear the tales spill from Vash’s lips when the nights were cold and lonely.
What story had it been where Vash first mentioned snow? Wolfwood wished he could remember. After Wolfwood’s confusion, he took a moment to pause and to explain the act of weather that would never be witnessed on Noman’s Land.
“Think… rain,” Vash said. “Before it hits the ground, when it’s still in the sky, it gets really cold and turns into snow. It’s white, the prettiest white you’ve ever seen.” He had smiled at the odd look of contemplation on Wolfwood’s face. “When it’s all together on the ground, it looks just like one big piece. A blanket. But it’s made up of so many tiny snowflakes, and each of them are different! Different patterns and shapes.”
“You’re goin’ pretty fast for me, spikey…” Wolfwood admitted. He didn’t know how to conceptualize such a foreign thing then. How could he possibly? “Can ya dumb it down for me?”
“Trust me,” Vash’s smile turned into a mischievous grin. “I already am.” He pressed a kiss to Wolfwood’s stubbly cheek.
The snow on Wolfwood’s face melted and dripped down his cheek. It felt just like tears.
Wolfwood sat up and his back felt even colder than before. He was shaking, shivering, but the cold wasn’t painful. On his pant leg, he saw them, snowflakes. They were so small, but even in their size Wolfwood could make out their shape. They were like stars almost, each having a different number of points. Inside their points were designs Wolfwood couldn’t begin to describe, but they were perfectly mirrored.
They were just as Vash had said.
He reached out with one finger and tried to scoop one of the snowflakes from his clothing, but it melted as soon as he touched it.
Wolfwood looked up. Wherever he was, it was not as bleak as he originally thought it was. Trees, the strangest trees Wolfwood had ever seen grew thickly around him. They were nothing like the wiry shrubs that grew on Noman’s Land. They were tall, with thick trunks, and covered in rich greenery. Past the trees on either side of him, Wolfwood saw a dark plume of smoke rise into the air.
For a brief moment, he thought it was Vash. But Wolfwood knew better. There was too much for Vash to do before he could die… Wolfwood had only finished his job a little earlier than him. Vash was not there.
Still, the smoke meant people. Or at the very least a fire. Wolfwood pushed himself up from the ground and reached for the Punisher on instinct. The cross he had worn for so many long years was not on his back. That shouldn’t have been all that surprising, but it still felt odd to Wolfwood. With no weapon, he felt even more vulnerable than he was in such a strange place.
“Can’t take it with ya…” Wolfwood muttered, giving a look over his shoulder before he headed off towards the smoke. While he was free of his cross, he still walked slightly hunched from its weight. The ghost of his sins were still heavy on his back.
As Wolfwood walked, he noticed that the only footprints in the snow were his own. It felt strange. He may have only been seeing snow for the first time, but Wolfwood was not a dumb man. If anyone had been where he was, there would’ve been signs. Tracks in the snow were the most obvious, but there was also the presence of a person. Wolfwood had been trained well to know when there was someone in his vicinity, even if he couldn’t see them.
He would’ve felt more at ease if he could’ve sensed someone, anyone nearby. Instead, Wolfwood was left with the fact that he truly was alone.
Wolfwood briefly wondered if he was in some sort of Purgatory, forced to wander through the snow until it cleaned him of his sins. He honestly wouldn’t have been scared if that was the truth, but not long after the thought entered his mind, Wolfwood saw where the smoke was coming from. The trees grew further and further apart on his sides, and the path he was on opened wider to reveal a house.
It was a simple house, small and seemingly built from the wood from the same trees that surrounded the area. There were two windows Wolfwood could see, and they were full of a dull, warm light. The smoke he had followed rose from a simple chimney. It didn’t smell like the smoke Wolfwood was used to, it wasn’t like cigarettes or burning garbage. It was… fresh. Or at least as fresh as smoke could be. The smell stood out starkly on the cold air, cutting out everything else.
There were still no footprints. Not even some sort of path through the snow to show that someone came and went often enough to need one. It didn’t feel right, but nothing about the snowy setting Wolfwood found himself in felt right. He was dead, after all, so beggars couldn’t be choosers with whatever afterlife they were luckily enough to achieve, but it all felt so foreign to him. Maybe if he was amidst the sand and burning suns once more, then he wouldn’t have felt so worried.
Maybe if he was still alive.
Oh, well.
Wolfwood made his own path through the snow and came to the door of the house. He stood there, staring at it for some time without doing much else. His trousers, cold and wet, clung to his legs uncomfortably. Once enough time passed, he raised his hand and knocked. He heard the sound like a bullet in the quiet around him and tensed. He had absolutely no clue who or what might be behind the door. God? Satan? Some cosmic sandworm who controlled all time?
No one opened the door, there wasn’t even a sound of shuffling inside the house. No lights flickered, no shadows showed themselves through the windows. Nothing. Wolfwood’s hand fell to the doorknob and he gave it a slow turn, it was unlocked.
He had never been one to pussyfoot around. Christ, even if the house did belong to someone, Wolfwood had done a great many things worse than entering private property. He pushed open the door and called inside as he entered. “Hello? Anyone here? I’m a bit lost.”
The inside of the house was warm. It was a dry heat, but not scorching. As Wolfwood cautiously stepped inside, he eyed the fire burning in what looked like the living room. The wood inside the orange flames was fresh, barely burnt up, only blackened. Someone had to have put it on recently. A shiver racked Wolfwood’s body as he closed the door behind him. It was like it took his body feeling warm again for it to remember how cold it was.
“Just ya…” Swallowing thickly, Wolfwood began to walk through the house, looking for any sign of life. He didn’t know to stomp his feet on the rug in front of the door, and the snow fell off his shoes and melted in his wake. “Friendly priest lookin’ for a bit of help.”
The house was small. An open living room connected to a kitchen with a round dining room table in it. He rounded a corner and found, behind another door, a bathroom with a washer and dryer. Past the bathroom door in the very back of the living room, there was a tucked away twisted staircase. The stairs were narrow and the curve steep. From where he stood, Wolfwood couldn’t see much of the upper floor.
He still didn’t sense a single person around him. His skin only bristled with his own fear.
“Whatever’s up there can’t be worse than dyin’,” Wolfwood told himself as he began to climb the stairs. He tried not to think about how dying had been rather easy and much less painless than he thought it should have been.
The entire second floor was devoted to being a bedroom. The top floor wasn’t nearly as big as the bottom floor, but it was much bigger than any bedroom Wolfwood had ever known, and even bigger than the hotel rooms he and Vash had shared together. The bed was big and covered in a heavy looking, brown quilt. At the foot of the bed there was a trunk with a thick lock over the latch, and near the wall was a wooden dresser with a transistor radio. The other wall housed a closet with a sliding wooden door.
Such a wonderful house, easily the nicest home Wolfwood had ever stepped foot in, and there wasn’t a single soul there except for him.
“This can’t be right.” Wolfwood shook his head and turned to go back down the narrow steps. He had to take his time going down, and even then he nearly tripped on the final one. He searched over the cabin again, more thoroughly.
The bookshelf in the living room housed titles that seemed familiar, though Wolfwood knew he had never read any of them. The only book he had ever owned had been The Good Book, and he had never been a good reader. The rabbit-eared television in the corner didn’t want to turn on no matter which way Wolfwood turned and twisted the dials. The record player and the few vinyls stacked next to it were of little interest, but Wolfwood thumbed through the albums and recognized many of them from drunken dances with Vash. Even the kitchen and the bathroom, they had all the things they needed, but it was as if they were placed there in anticipation of someone else.
It was like the whole house was waiting to be used.
After Wolfwood had found heavy jackets and clothes suited to the cold weather, all in his size, up in the closet in the bedroom, he felt almost defeated. He really was alone there. Alone in some house with everything he could ever need, but without the one person he wanted more than anything else.
He sat down at one of the two chairs at the table in the kitchen and put his head in his hands. Wolfwood had never feared death. He had known it would come for him sooner or later. While the healing serum he used had given outsiders the impression that he was indestructible, it was the farthest thing from the truth. From the moment every single human was born, they inched closer to death. That damned serum had only fastforwarded Wolfwood’s life, speeding up his internal clock until his body was years older than he truly was. If it wasn’t the serum that killed him, Wolfwood had always figured it would be his work. No, Wolfwood was well aware of death. Every time he stood over one of the people he was assigned to kill, their blood staining the sand, he easily saw himself in their place. Wolfwood wasn’t scared of dying, he had died easily enough after all.
There was even a point in his life when Wolfwood wasn’t even scared of being alone, years where he traveled into towns like a holy sandstorm and sent men to their Lords without a second thought. It was a lonely job, but even then Wolfwood wasn’t scared of his solitary life. Even as he sat in that cabin, alone and dead, Wolfwood wasn’t scared of being by himself.
The only thing Wolfwood was afraid of then was that he might never see Vash again. That was what Wolfwood was afraid of. That he’d live in some perfect little home, a home that had every little amenity and wish he and Vash had vainly whispered about in the nights they chose to dream of whatever future they might have. It was the home full of ‘someday’s and ‘when things get better’s. It was all useless without Vash.
When Wolfwood finally pulled his face from his palms, he spotted something in front of him on the table that he knew for certain wasn’t there before. It was a pack of his usual brand of cigarettes and a red lighter. He didn’t crave them like he should have, like he would have had he been alive, but he lit one for comfort nonetheless.
At least it tasted the same.
Time was a strange thing there in the snowy cabin. Wolfwood was used to long days and short nights. Now, he was thrust into a world where the days were over in a matter of hours and the nights were longer and colder than he'd ever experienced before. Stranger than that, there was only one sun and moon. The sky felt empty without the extra celestial bodies he was so used to, and the constellations he had long known were replaced with unfamiliar star patterns that brought him no comfort.
It was hard for Wolfwood to tell how the days went by. Were they even as long as a normal day? Did they follow the same time as… Well, where he had been before? Out of everything the cabin had, it did not have a calendar. Wolfwood had taken to marking down an ‘X’ on a piece of paper whenever he thought it to be a new day. His tallies only confused him, either adding up too fast or too slow. He had the idea that maybe he was in Purgatory, just a different one than he originally thought.
There was little for Wolfwood to do to pass the time. He muddled through the books in the house the best he could with his meager reading skills, but he often needed breaks when the words got too tedious for him to follow. While the kitchen did have the supplies needed to prepare different foods, Wolfwood didn't cook. He had no appetite and it was no fun eating alone. Sometimes he smoked, he did it more out of habit than desire. A familiar act in such an unfamiliar place helped him feel at ease.
The largest thing Wolfwood did to entertain himself was explore. He trekked out as far as he could into the snow and walked and walked until he thought he might freeze. Sooner than later, his steps always led him straight back to the house. His previous path was gone, and the snow that blanketed the ground was fresh again. It had been jarring the first time it happened, but deep down it made sense. Wolfwood could not escape death, nor could he escape wherever he happened to be. When Wolfwood decided to travel through the trees instead of the snowy clearing, he found an axe. It had felt heavy in his hands when he picked it up, and a thought of testing his life in his own death flashed across his mind… It was so tempting to see if the dead could die, to see if he could go anywhere else beside some frozen land.
Instead of turning the blade on himself, Wolfwood got angry and threw it at one of the many pine trees that encircled him. With a hard thwack that sounded loudly through the cold quiet, the blade sank into the trunk and stayed there.
Wolfwood found that chopping wood helped more than any other task. It allowed him to work through all the emotions he had been avoiding since he arrived there. His anger of being trapped, his loneliness and fear of losing Vash, and every other emotion he couldn’t begin to describe. He’d stay out in the thicket of trees, falling them until night came, and then he’d bring back as many chunks of firewood as he could carry back to the cabin to burn in the fireplace. It was a physical act, leaving him sweaty and tired by the end of the day. It distracted him and kept his mind busy. And the trees always seemed to grow back by the time he returned to them the next day. At least he wouldn’t be without work.
One day, while Wolfwood laid on his back on the living room floor with very little interest in doing anything else, the television switched on. The audio crackled like a radio out of range and the picture was a mess of swarming flies for how much static there was. Wolfwood’s head perked up and he crawled over to the television set. It was something new, something that might provide him with answers. When the picture did not clear on its own, Wolfwood reached up and began to play with the metal ears on top of it. He twisted and turned them until gingerly the picture cleared and the audio became intelligible.
It was Vash.
His hair was blacker than it had been when Wolfwood last saw him, and he looked tired- older than Wolfwood had ever seen him.
“Vash?” Wolfwood asked the television set in a hushed voice. He touched the screen but was only shocked by a small burst of static. Vash could not hear him, not see him through the screen.
Vash was talking to someone off-screen about the Ark and how to best defeat his brother. It felt so strange for Wolfwood to see him like that, so far away but so close at the same time. The television screen only showed Vash’s face, not bothering to show the rest of him or where he was. Wolfwood ached from where he sat in front of the television and didn’t even dare to breathe, lest he drown out the sound of Vash’s voice.
What felt like all too soon, the picture and audio began to fade on the television. Wolfwood hurriedly began to jerk the TV antenna around, hoping to clear up the connection. He couldn’t lose Vash again, couldn’t see him disappear into a mess of static behind a lifeless screen. “C’mon, c’mon.” He begged under his breath, “Stay with me, please.” Vash’s words grew garbled as the picture buzzed, fading in and out as static crackled in the corners of the screen. The static spread like an infection until it filled the screen. It didn’t stop Wolfwood from desperately trying to tune the TV back until the television finally flicked off. The screen was left humming and glowing faintly for a few faint seconds as the dregs of power faded from it.
Feeling his hands shake over the antenna, Wolfwood let go of them and slumped back. His face was wet with tears that felt like snowflakes.
He wondered if he was in Hell after all.
The day the television came to life marked a new era in Wolfwood’s afterlife. He stopped leaving the cabin. Nothing interested him, nothing took his mind off the life he had left behind. The life he had once cared so little about. He laid in the bed that was much too large for just himself, and tried to remember the people he had left behind. While Vash was the one who dominated most of Wolfwood’s thoughts, there were others there, too. Livio, Ms. Melanie, Milly, Meryl, the kids at the orphanage, and even Knives… He ran through each of his decisions, the thoughts that had brought him to where he currently was.
Maybe if he had done things differently…
During one of the many days Wolfwood spent in bed, the transistor radio in the bedroom whined and turned like the television had. The room was dark, the sun having just set for the day. An orange glow came from the radio and lit up the room like a candle.
Wolfwood wondered if he was going to be tormented again.
“We’ve got to keep going.”
Meryl’s voice. She sounded determined.
“We can help him!”
Milly.
Hearing them knocked the wind from Wolfwood’s lungs. He felt his body tingle and sat up to look at the radio in the dark. He could imagine them speaking. God, they were a stubborn pair. At least they were still alive.
The conversation was brief, but unlike the short-lived program of Vash on the TV, it did not leave Wolfwood feeling upset. He listened to those girls, determined as ever, to follow through with their work- to help Vash, even though it meant they were in danger. By the sounds of it, the war was even closer than before. Wolfwood wasn’t worried, even if he wasn’t dead, he had absolute faith in Vash.
Although he was still sad, something inside Wolfwood settled for the time being.
Every so often, the television in the living room and radio in the bedroom turned on on their own accord and gave Wolfwood a snippet of what was happening. Most of the time they followed Vash, but along with the girls he heard from others he knew. He heard Livio struggling for strength, heard the countless Plants calling for Vash, and heard Ms. Melanie blaming herself for what had happened to him with the Eye of Michael.
Each radio show and television program from Gunsmoke gave Wolfwood new life. He did not know where he was, but as painful as it could be, he knew he wasn’t in Hell.
Over the radio one evening, Wolfwood heard a scrap from an actual news bulletin in Gunsmoke. Ships from Earth had landed successfully and were helping to reconstruct the planet. The missing fugitives known as Millions Knives and Vash the Stampede were wanted at all costs for acts of terrorism and attempted human genocide.
While Vash being declared as missing etched some worry in Wolfwood’s mind, he couldn’t help but feel glad. The only world he had known, as shitty as it was, was safe. Everything Vash had fought for- it had survived. Vash had disappeared once on the world for 2 years before, Wolfwood had no doubts he’d return again. If he was dead… Wolfwood only hoped that he would’ve known. The cabin he lived in was built for two, after all.
A bottle of whiskey appeared in the pantry after Wolfwood heard the bulletin and he took a shot of it the celebrate Vash’s success. The tears that formed in the corners of his eyes as he swallowed were not just from the burn of the alcohol.
Radio and television programs continued to air whenever Wolfwood least expected them to. He no longer needed them to find purpose in his death, but he still enjoyed feeling connected to those he left behind. A program aired that confirmed Vash was alive, and Wolfwood breathed easier.
Death for Wolfwood wasn’t as difficult as it originally was. He had only needed time to grieve his life before he began to put himself back together. He settled in, as strange as that sounded, to being dead. He still missed Vash terribly, but the grain of faith he managed to keep gave him strength in the hope he would not be alone forever. He began cooking, putting more effort into reading, and even took up whittling again using the wood from the pine trees around his cabin. His little wooden figures, although crude at first since he was out of practice, were mostly cats and other animals. He lined them along the dresser in the bedroom and placed them over the hearth in the living room. Wolfwood found himself living in his death.
It was lonely, but Wolfwood could deal with it.
The night Wolfwood heard a knock at the front door, he had been scared absolutely shitless. He had lived so long there alone, without the sounds of others, that the knock sounded like a bomb. Wolfwood had nearly tumbled out of his chair at the kitchen table at it, and he reached to his side, in an instinct he’d never lose, for a gun he didn’t have.
Wolfwood stared at the door and heard a knock again. His heart pounded furiously and he tried to think of what to do. The most obvious thing would have been to open the door, but he had no idea who or what could be asking to come in and no weapon to defend himself.
Fear was soon driven from Wolfwood’s mind as he realized that someone behind the door meant he would no longer be alone. His breath caught in his throat as he soundlessly got out of his chair and moved towards the door.
Just like the day he had arrived at the cabin, Wolfwood was hesitant to open the door, but he still found himself twisting the unlocked knob.
In front of him, shivering and red faced from the cold, was no one else but Vash.
Their eyes met for a long moment before they fell into each other. Vash had all but jumped across the entry way at Wolfwood, and Wolfwood had caught him. They tumbled to the floor, not minding how the open door let in a draft of cold night air.
Tears like snowflakes wetted both of their faces, hands shook and fumbled as they clung to one another. Shaking, gasping lips trembled to speak between desperate kisses.
“Nick?” Vash asked, his cold hands cupping Wolfwood’s face. “Nick?” His blue eyes were wet with tears. He seemed in such disbelief, only able to mutter Wolfwood’s name over and over again.
Wolfwood held Vash about the middle, his grip was tight enough to hurt anyone else. “‘M here, angel.” He took heavy breaths, but they didn’t feel like they were enough. His head swam and despite being on the floor, he felt dizzy. “Right here.”
He knew what it meant for Vash to be there, but Wolfwood couldn’t be sad about it. How could he be sad if Vash’s death meant they could see each other again? It was a selfish thought, but he couldn’t help it. After so long of being alone, Wolfwood figured he deserved to be a little selfish.
“Vash-” Wolfwood separated from Vash’s lips to breathe. He studied his face. Vash looked the same as he had when Wolfwood died. Mostly the same, at least. His hair was completely black and there were smile lines around his eyes. He looked aged, but not forcibly, not badly, but in a way that was undeniably human. “You’re… you-”
“Bullets sting a bit more when you can’t heal from them.” Vash said, but he was smiling. There was no sadness in his face. He only had eyes for Wolfwood. He stared at him like he hadn’t seen him in a lifetime… Wolfwood wondered how long it had been since he had died on that couch. “Oh, Nicholas…” Vash’s voice wavered with emotion and he kissed Wolfwood again.
He had almost forgotten what it was like to be kissed by Vash.
The chill had grown in the room from the open door, but neither of them noticed.
“You’re more beautiful than ever, angel.” Whispered Wolfwood once they parted
A laugh that quickly turned into a sob left Vash. He shook his head softly. “And you look more alive than I’ve ever seen you.”
Much time passed where the two only held each other on the floor, staring in awe at the other between hurried kisses. Eventually, they got up. Wolfwood shut the front door and led Vash up the dangerously steep staircase to the bedroom. Wolfwood couldn’t tear his eyes away from Vash as they undressed and fell into bed together. He didn’t notice that the lock had fallen off the trunk at the foot of the bed and the open closet had been filled with new clothes in addition to his own, all in Vash’s size.
They took their time, relearning the maps of each others’ bodies, remembering how they felt bare against each other. It was slow and loving and lasted until the single sun peered from over the horizon in the morning.
Wolfwood had forgotten how Vash had made him feel, what it felt like not to be alone. He hoped to never forget again.
There was so much to be said between them, so many questions on either side, but that could wait. Wolfwood and Vash had their entire deaths ahead of them, they could take their time if they wanted to.
Snowflakes like tears fell from the bright, early morning sky outside while the two could only cling to each other breathlessly in bed. A bottle of Bride and two glasses sat on the nightstand nearby, waiting for the pair to notice.