[ Vash's frown deepens. It would be simple, if Wolfwood just hated him and didn't want him anywhere nearby, but even Vash isn't so mired in his own doubt that he can't see exactly what's going on. Even though he has every reason to, Wolfwood doesn't hate him.
Wolfwood is trying to protect him, and even though he doesn't really understand why, Vash doesn't have the heart to start another messy fight over something like that.
His gaze softens a little, but Vash doesn't budge. ] Please, Wolfwood. You're hurt. I just want to help.
[ Vash's concern hits Wolfwood like a blow, triggering a fight or flight response that has agitation itching under his skin, torn between surrendering and closing the door in Vash's face.
He doesn't want his help nor his guilt, but he doesn't know how to untangle them from his companionship—which he can't bring himself to surrender.
One heel inches back, as though he's preparing to run, before he just turns on his heel with a grunt, leaving the door open.
He doesn't say anything as he eases off the soft sweater that he'd been wearing, revealing his poorly bandaged shoulder. ]
[ Vash steps away for a moment to find the shared bathroom for the suite to wash his hands and borrow the first aid kit from inside. He has to take a moment to breathe there, feeling a little unsteady from hunger and vertigo. When he returns to Wolfwood's room, he lets himself in then shuts and locks the door behind him, mostly out of habit.
It's not the first time he's seen Wolfwood undressed, but he feels a lot less self-conscious about it when he knows he has something to do. Vash settles on the bed beside him, taking a moment to try and parse the mess of bandaging around Wolfwood's shoulder, and how best to remove it.
He moves slowly, his real hand on Wolfwood's bare arm. He's not so much supporting it as guiding him to move it a certain way while he starts to unwrap the bandage. It's easier for him too, to feel the way the muscle tenses and flexes, so he can know if he's hurting Wolfwood or moving too quickly. Vash knows better than to ask him to say anything about it.
There's no second guessing or hesitating - Vash has done this for himself so many times he's lost count. He can't even fault Wolfwood for the messy work. He's done that to himself, too. It's just the way things are, when you expect to heal quickly -- or don't care if it heals at all.
Even before he's finished removing the bandages, he can see fresh blood. Vash frowns. He's completely unsurprised to see that Wolfwood has pulled a few of his own messy stitches. Nai's "tiniest knives" have left deep angry-looking wounds that are definitely going to scar. Vash's brows knit together, full of sympathy and regret, but he knows better than to voice any of that. ]
It doesn't look infected, so I don't think you need to go to the hospital. Some of the stitches were too tight - you have to account for the swelling. I'm going to redo them, and then I can fix the bandage, okay? [ In other words, it's going to hurt, and he wants to give Wolfwood enough warning to brace for it. ]
[ Once upon a time, Wolfwood had been fairly good at basic first aid; bumps and scrapes were common among rowdy children, and he'd always been better at staying calm in the face of a bawling baby. The skill had deteriorated over time as he stopped trying to avoid blows and got used to the taste of Conrad's medicine on the back of his tongue.
It's been a long time since he's had to care about an injury, and it's hard to get back into the habit. It doesn't help that the angle of the wound makes it difficult to treat, awkwardly having to administer stitches with one hand while watching himself in a mirror.
He doesn't flinch when Vash sets a hand on his arm, but tenses instinctively when he starts to undo the wrapping, the movement reminding of the steady, dull throb of pain emanating from the still open wound.
And still, as he takes in Vash's expression, he feels like Vash cares more about it than he does. ]
I ain't gonna cuss you out over it, if that's what you're hesitatin' about.
[ He hmphs a little, tilting his head away to give himself some space, awkward in the close proximity. ]
I'm just surprised you didn't send some other blonde haired guy to do your biddin'.
[ Vash almost teases him, something like You're not? That would be a first., but the wound still feels too fresh and he doesn't want to risk reopening it. He reaches for the disinfectant pads first, then shifts the rest of the first aid kit into Wolfwood's lap without preamble. ]
This is going to sting, that's all. [ Without any further warning, he dabs at the raw edges of the stitches, holding the disinfectant pad to each one only long enough to wipe away the worst of the dried blood.
He doesn't flinch when Wolfwood calls him out. He doesn't regret anything he's done in that respect, either. ] I was planning to. Bricks is better at this kind of thing than I am and -- scissors please? -- and I didn't think you'd want to see my face again, let alone... get into bed with me again. [ So to speak. ] If you wanted to keep your distance, I'd understand.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Wolfwood is trying to protect him, and even though he doesn't really understand why, Vash doesn't have the heart to start another messy fight over something like that.
His gaze softens a little, but Vash doesn't budge. ] Please, Wolfwood. You're hurt. I just want to help.
no subject
He doesn't want his help nor his guilt, but he doesn't know how to untangle them from his companionship—which he can't bring himself to surrender.
One heel inches back, as though he's preparing to run, before he just turns on his heel with a grunt, leaving the door open.
He doesn't say anything as he eases off the soft sweater that he'd been wearing, revealing his poorly bandaged shoulder. ]
no subject
It's not the first time he's seen Wolfwood undressed, but he feels a lot less self-conscious about it when he knows he has something to do. Vash settles on the bed beside him, taking a moment to try and parse the mess of bandaging around Wolfwood's shoulder, and how best to remove it.
He moves slowly, his real hand on Wolfwood's bare arm. He's not so much supporting it as guiding him to move it a certain way while he starts to unwrap the bandage. It's easier for him too, to feel the way the muscle tenses and flexes, so he can know if he's hurting Wolfwood or moving too quickly. Vash knows better than to ask him to say anything about it.
There's no second guessing or hesitating - Vash has done this for himself so many times he's lost count. He can't even fault Wolfwood for the messy work. He's done that to himself, too. It's just the way things are, when you expect to heal quickly -- or don't care if it heals at all.
Even before he's finished removing the bandages, he can see fresh blood. Vash frowns. He's completely unsurprised to see that Wolfwood has pulled a few of his own messy stitches. Nai's "tiniest knives" have left deep angry-looking wounds that are definitely going to scar. Vash's brows knit together, full of sympathy and regret, but he knows better than to voice any of that. ]
It doesn't look infected, so I don't think you need to go to the hospital. Some of the stitches were too tight - you have to account for the swelling. I'm going to redo them, and then I can fix the bandage, okay? [ In other words, it's going to hurt, and he wants to give Wolfwood enough warning to brace for it. ]
no subject
It's been a long time since he's had to care about an injury, and it's hard to get back into the habit. It doesn't help that the angle of the wound makes it difficult to treat, awkwardly having to administer stitches with one hand while watching himself in a mirror.
He doesn't flinch when Vash sets a hand on his arm, but tenses instinctively when he starts to undo the wrapping, the movement reminding of the steady, dull throb of pain emanating from the still open wound.
And still, as he takes in Vash's expression, he feels like Vash cares more about it than he does. ]
I ain't gonna cuss you out over it, if that's what you're hesitatin' about.
[ He hmphs a little, tilting his head away to give himself some space, awkward in the close proximity. ]
I'm just surprised you didn't send some other blonde haired guy to do your biddin'.
no subject
This is going to sting, that's all. [ Without any further warning, he dabs at the raw edges of the stitches, holding the disinfectant pad to each one only long enough to wipe away the worst of the dried blood.
He doesn't flinch when Wolfwood calls him out. He doesn't regret anything he's done in that respect, either. ] I was planning to. Bricks is better at this kind of thing than I am and -- scissors please? -- and I didn't think you'd want to see my face again, let alone... get into bed with me again. [ So to speak. ] If you wanted to keep your distance, I'd understand.