Chapter Text
Vash had been dead for two years when Nicholas found him again. The years of wandering the windswept desert of Noman’s Land hadn’t treated him kindly, but Nicholas had never expected to find kindness in a world that had only ever treated him with bland indifference at best, abject cruelty at worst. As far as Nicholas was concerned, the last light of God had died in July, and all that was left of Nicholas’ existence was moving from town to town, avoiding the weakened Eye trailing at his back.
He may have gotten a little paranoid in the past two years.
Nicholas would later waver between thinking that finding Vash was a massive cosmic joke played by God himself, or the closest thing to a miracle he had ever experienced. He had hopped onto the bus to Kasted on a whim. It was simply the next bus out of the godforsaken town he’d found himself in, and he hadn’t given much thought to why the weathered seats on a well-traveled vehicle contained more sand than living beings. An empty bus to the middle of nowhere had suited him fine.
He’d become a little less sure of that decision when the bus arrived in Kasted and he was nearly crushed in the rush of bodies trying to get on. He had to use his sharp elbows and the bulk of the Punisher to force his way down the steps, and when he looked back the bus resembled nothing so much as a bright yellow clown car. Desperate people clung to the sides, grasping at railings meant to hold luggage. Some even seemed to be trying to force themselves through the windows. The roof, which had to be hot enough to burn skin after driving under the suns all day, held at least ten people, all grasping for a handhold in their attempts to stay afloat.
As Nicholas stepped away from the bench and hand-carved sign that marked the stop, the bus took off at a questionable speed, considering all of the people clinging to its sides. He’d made it halfway down what looked to be the main street of the town when an explosion shook the nearby buildings. The twin suns were working their way towards the horizon, and the orange light and long shadows made it difficult to see where exactly the sound had come from, but Nicholas could make an educated guess. If Vash had been there, he would have gone looking for the bus. He would have helped. Nicholas turned away.
It took Nicholas less than five minutes to locate a bar. Jaunty piano music tinkled into the street as he shoved open the double doors and made his way over to a stool. He dropped the Punisher and his bag against the bar and waved at the bartender.
“You come in on the bus?” the man asked as he approached.
Nicholas didn’t answer, “Bottle of Bride, if you have it.”
He could tell he’d found a good place when the bartender didn’t bother to question him further, just turned around and grabbed a bottle from the shelf behind him. He poured Nicholas a neat shot.
Nicholas took a moment to savor the burn before he responded to the original question, “Yeah, I came in on the bus.”
The bartender gave him a wry smile, “Whelp, you’re gonna be stuck here for a while. This town’s completely overrun. Ain’t no one gettin’ outta here.”
Nicholas heaved a put-upon sigh. Typical. “Know anyplace I can stay?”
“We’ve got rooms here for a hundred double-dollars.”
Nicholas did not have that much money on him. “We’ll see how the night goes.”
The bartender laughed, “So what do you do, friend? You’re lugging around quite the statement piece.”
“I’m an undertaker.”
“Well you’ll have work at least. You let me know if you need anything.” With that, the man walked off to help another patron.
Nicholas proceeded to spend the rest of the evening getting friendly with his Bride. He worked his way through the whole bottle, then another. As the alcohol made his limbs loose and his mind pleasantly fuzzy, he became more vocal, singing along with the pianist and flirting with nearby patrons. Most of those patrons were men, and they seemed a little unsure about a guy with a giant cross handing out terrible one-liners. At least Nicholas hadn’t been punched yet. He eventually joined a card game going on in the back corner, where he managed to rake in a little more booze money primarily by using dirty tricks.
It was well into the evening by the time the bartender and half the bar patrons decided Nicholas had overstayed his welcome. He didn’t even try to fight as a group of three men grabbed him and flung him out of the doors.
“Hey…gimme my cross!” he yelped as his legs noodled his swaying body into the road. He giggled as it took the entire group to lift the Punisher and shove her out after him. His bag followed.
The moment Nicholas stepped into the road, the silliness dropped from him like a sheet falling away to reveal the cold sculpture underneath. Still unsteady, but now lacking any fun distractions, Nicholas’ mind went back to Vash. He should be here. They should be able to throw their arms over each other’s shoulders, two wobbly legs becoming four slightly steady ones. Nicholas missed him like a piece of his probably nonexistent soul. He wasn’t here though, and that was Nicholas’ own fault.
Nicholas stumbled over nothing in the street, face planting into the sand. His sunglasses skittered across the road. The Punisher smacked into his back and knocked the wind out of him. As he lay there wheezing, trying to feel his fingers and toes, a child-sized pair of boots stopped in front of him.
“Hey are you okay?”
Nicholas rolled his head to look up at a girl, no older than twelve or thirteen, leaning over him with concern.
“Drinkin’ kid. You sh’dn’t talk t’ drunks,” he mumbled, getting a mouthful of sand for his trouble.
Another set of hands reached down and grabbed the Punisher, lifting her easily and bringing Nicholas with her. The light from the bar cast long shadows over his face, but Nicholas would have known that halo of golden hair and those blue-green eyes anywhere. He’d been seeing them in his nightmares for years. Apparently, his drunken mind had decided to drag those nightmares into the waking world.
“Heyyyy blondie,” Nicholas slurred, “What’s a gal like you doin’ in a place like this?”
Those pretty brows furrowed, “Hey.”
The voice was right too. That deep timbre, clear and lovely as a bell. Nicholas’ brain had done a good job on this particular hallucination. He told it as much.
The girl next to them snorted, “He’s really drunk. We probably shouldn’t leave him in the street.”
“Yeah, I’ve got him.”
The next thing Nicholas knew, his legs were wrapped around a painfully familiar waist, his arms draped over deceptively slim shoulders. Someone nudged the Punisher into one of his hands.
“Hold onto this, please.”
Nicholas pressed his face into the back of the neck in front of him, breathing in the scent of gunpowder and flowers. The touch, the smell. The feel of his breath. It was all so real.
The man now giving him a piggyback ride gripped his thighs, shifting Nicholas’ weight across his hips. Nicholas decided that this was one of the nicest dreams he’d had in two years. He dropped his head onto the shoulder in front of him, and closed his eyes.