Chapter Text
Vash really did love his job. He had many reasons to, after all.
He felt most at home when he was being helpful, and what was more helpful than a rescue like SEEDS? With such little understanding of hybrids out in the world, they acted as one of the few pioneers in providing awareness and studies on the species as a whole.
Vash was happiest just being helpful in general, but he had an interest in hybrids. Rem had been one of the co-founders of SEEDS after all, barely twenty and already doing everything she could to help those misunderstood. Vash and Nai wouldn’t come until multiple years after, but they always had a hand in whatever she was doing, always heard about the newest advancements, sometimes even got to visit and see the rescued hybrids.
Vash still remembered the first one he ever saw. She was a tiny little serval kitten, but apparently a bit older than himself and Nai. Her name had been Tesla, though he didn’t know if that was her name or just the name SEEDS gave her. She was horribly shy, but when Vash stuck his hand between the chain-link fence (when nobody was paying attention), she’d reached back and held his hand so gently. He remembered how soft her fur was, giggling because it tickled him.
Tesla didn’t make it long. Rem told him that she was just too weak from the situation they’d rescued her from, something to do with experimentation. And perhaps that had been true, she had been very weak.
But he also knew that when Rem had been working at SEEDS, the inner-goings weren't what she wanted it to be. Her company had been slowly usurped from her hands, and she couldn’t do anything to stop what it was turning into. Vash would be much older when he wondered if it really was just failure to thrive that killed Tesla.
Nai fully believed it’d been sabotage. He never had much faith in SEEDS after Tesla died. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but Vash suspected he had really liked her, too.
It wouldn’t be many years till Vash started working at SEEDS. He’d still be a kid when a mysterious fire would set aflame the building, burning documents, hybrids, and people alike. It’d take Rem and his arm with it. Nai wouldn’t look him in the eye for months, yet stuck ever closer to his side. Vash had his suspicions, and he never asked. It wouldn’t matter much—scolding wouldn’t make the message any clearer than the horror on Nai’s face when the fire kept spreading, spreading, spreading.
By the time Vash and Nai started working at SEEDS after a very, very complicated and hellish life post-fire, it wasn’t what it used to be. Still the reigning pillar of hybrid research, but that's all it was: a pillar. One of the first. Nothing more.
So Vash and Nai rolled up their sleeves, and they got to work.
Vash was pretty happy with what SEEDS was turning into now. Nai had climbed up the ladder until he had a stranglehold on as much control as possible, but Vash didn’t really care for that. He just wanted to help, it didn't matter what position he had for that. Though he did try to wiggle into a very hands-on position, he much preferred that kind of work.
Vash had met all kinds of hybrids in his job at SEEDS, from species to backgrounds. Some were nightmares like E.G. the Tasmanian devil who’d singlehandedly made SEEDS consider the ethics of euthanasia for hyper-aggressive hybrids (awful time, would not recommend). Some were absolute angels like Milly the lion, who brought nothing but joy every minute of every day.
Some days Vash seriously considered taking the ‘day off’ just to show up anyway and bury his face in her soft fur. She’d come from a black market situation where she’d been bought by some rich old geezer as a cub and raised like a house pet. She clearly held no ill will to the man, and by all means he seemed to have been a perfectly lovely owner, but it was still incredibly illegal. So when he died, he left behind bewildered cops facing down a fully-grown, scared, grieving lioness in the doorway.
She’d gotten better since then, and he was happy for her. But it left her incredibly friendly to people (and thus non-releasable), to the point that she welcomed any person to her enclosure with a purr. It was the staff's favorite way to de-stress, walking right in and laying on her side on their fifteen minute breaks while she basked in the sun.
Except for Meryl (Milly’s favorite person in the whole wide world, which was saying something), who insisted it was incredibly unprofessional considering Milly was, at her core, still very much a wild animal. Vash had been cowed by her more than once, and he admitted she was completely right. The rare times Milly had been uncooperative had been terrifying endeavors—she was exceptionally large for her species. But then he caught Meryl completely smothered under Milly’s half-grown mane when she thought no one was around, and he figured even the sticklers couldn’t resist.
All of this was to say—Vash was happy. Very happy. He loved his job, he had his brother keeping said job from toppling back under, he had friends among the staff and rescues alike, and he was never more at home than when they had new hybrids to acclimate and help. Each one brought new research to study, new things to share with the world. New proof that hybrids were far, far smarter than any government would give them credit for.
Some of the full-time residents at SEEDS were in the process of learning sign-language, and many were remarkably good at it. Milly not so much, but she had an understanding of English that far surpassed the others thanks to her upbringing. She couldn’t speak as fluently as a person (maybe, jury was still out on if she just didn’t feel like she had that much to say), but a rumble that sounded akin to Meryl or a half-hiss that resembled Vash was easy to hear from her any day.
It was a very tough battle, fighting for hybrids' place in the world. Nai clearly didn’t care as much about fighting it (“Our regulations, procedures, everything has to go through a revamp after every official legal change in their intelligence. Do you have any idea how much more difficult that makes our job?”), but Vash was dedicated. He’d seen his own curious fascination reflected in Tesla’s eyes, saw familiar terror on the faces of the hybrids ripped away from all they knew, the way Milly’s gaze flicked over the words on Meryl’s screen like she was really reading it.
He knew it’d be more difficult the more they proved. But he also knew higher intelligence meant greater protection under the law. He also knew that they couldn’t really help those hybrids until they were treated exactly as they were—they just had to find out what that was, where the line was finally drawn. Some days it looked so much further away than he thought, others he swore it was right next to his heel.
There was nuance, somewhere, between how smart hybrids were and the fact they were still animals. Frankly, in the words of his late mother; “In a perfect world, we’d all just leave each other alone to live as we knew.”
They weren’t in that perfect world. Not yet, not if Vash could help it. He’d gotten a reputation for being the most stubborn of the rehabilitators at SEEDS and he held onto that title with pride. He had one hell of a track record of success, his only failures being truly, truly horrible cases. And still those failures haunted him, giving him conviction to work harder. Multiple hybrids he had managed to rehabilitate were released back into the wild, others he had tamed to the point of being ambassadors for their species across other rescues. Each one he had considered a friend, each one he tried to keep tabs on.
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re half-hybrid.” Meryl snorted.
“No, nothing like that!” Vash had laughed. “You all treat it like understanding them is so hard. It really isn’t.”
“Yeah, to you.” Meryl pressed. “The rest of us are still trying to figure out how their rules work.”
“It’s the same as ours, really.” Vash could only say. “Just because you don’t know what they’re saying doesn’t mean you can’t tell what a growl is. Same rules, different way of saying it, that’s all.”
“You were an animal kid, weren’t you?”
“Very much,” Vash beamed. “If our mom didn’t know something, she’d ask me, and I was almost always right.”
“Figures,” Meryl rolled her eyes with a smile.
So this was why, when the biggest raid of the century got broadcasted, Vash was right there at the forefront.
Eye of Michael was their name. They’d been notorious for years, nearly as long as SEEDS had been around, and a mortal enemy. They’d started small and amassed in no time at all—poaching, black market deals, lab experiments, just about everything. They’d been a juggernaut in hybrid exploitation and everyone knew it. Unfortunately, they were nearly impossible to stamp out. Like cockroaches, they kept appearing. If one base was taken down, five more would appear.
Then, one day, a bust happened. A big one. The big one—home base itself was torn to the ground, with much thanks from other rescues, including SEEDS. It was unclear if this would be what finally snuffed them out, but it was a massive blow and sent everyone scrambling. Suddenly companies all over were being blasted for having been found with their own involvements or blind-eyes towards Eye of Michael, arrests exploded, and a massive surplus of hybrids within the facility were scooped up and in frantic need of relocation.
Many of these hybrids had been captures, usually wild-caught. It was then glaringly obvious how few hybrid rescues there were, because they were flooded with new arrivals in no time. With so many in need of help, plenty of hybrids got lost between the cracks, sending another mad-scramble to find where the missing individuals had gone.
This is where Vash stepped in—more specifically, his little branch of SEEDS. There was a funny little nickname for Vash’s section of rehabilitation; No Man’s Land. Because if there was one thing he was known for, it was taking ‘impossible’ cases. Usually the incredibly violent kind (or assumed to be, in Milly’s case) or the ones no other rescue dared take on. Vash wasn’t a fan of the nickname, but it had stuck. And he could only refute so much—he did love helping those that no one else thought could be saved.
“You’re getting a new hybrid.” Brad informed off-handedly.
“You mean,” Vash glanced back to the door that led to their many, many quarantine-crates, all cleaned and spiffed up, “aside from the ones already coming?”
“You, specifically, are getting one.” Brad sighed, looking up from the company computer. “You’re getting a reject case.”
“Oh, great!” Vash perked up at once. “But please don’t call them that, reject sounds mean.”
“There’s not really a better way to say ‘a case nobody else wanted because they figured they’d get their throat ripped out’.” Brdd deadpanned, eyes scanning over his screen again. “Or putting all their heart into a failure. This one seems to be a bit of both. Even the guys who raided the place seem to think this one’s fit to be put down.”
“None of them are fit for that.” Vash frowned, walking up next to Brad’s chair and peering at the screen. “Who is it, anyway?”
They called him Wolfwood.
It was all they could uncover of his current records, most of which were destroyed during the raid (by the Eye of Michael itself, which was intriguing. Whoever he was, they really didn’t want anyone getting him), a placeholder name given to him by the Eye. Vash thought it was a little silly, because Wolfwood was a wolf hybrid. Northwestern grey wolf, according to the fragmented records, which was a little intimidating. Those were big boys.
Although, according to documents grabbed on him that weren’t from his records, most everyone in the Eye had un-lovingly nicknamed him The Punisher. Vash thought that was even more silly until he read further.
What they had gathered so far was that ‘Punisher’ here was wild-caught as a pup, but was one of the few who hadn’t been sold right after. He’d stayed with the Eye instead, possibly had some experiments done on him based on the recorded scars on his body. Whatever had been done to him was unclear.
But he was one of the Eye’s special hybrids—he belonged to their staff, their bosses more specifically, used as a glorified guard dog. Again, they had no clear record of what exactly he’d done until more research and maybe a few more raids were conducted. But it was suspected he’d been used as protection for bases and people, and thus it was also possible he’d been used as a tracker hound.
He’d been at the main base when it was raided, nearly killed from how viciously he mauled the SWAT team at the order of his masters, and then even more after that. It’d taken an astronomical amount of tranquilizers to sedate him and the people he’d attacked had to be rushed to hospital, one of them needing two hundred stitches and staples.
He had not calmed down since, lunging at anyone who came near and breaking two previous kennels. All staff who’d come into contact with him were terrified one wrong move would mean the end of their life.
How delightfully charming. No wonder Vash got saddled with him. From the looks of it, he was this guy’s last hope. He couldn’t think of any rescue that’d take Wolfwood on with a reputation like that, and with him being raised with humans nearly his whole life, he was almost certainly non-releaseable. The old argument of behavioral euthanasia popped into Vash’s mind—he knew it might come up again, and so he set his jaw and he counted down the days till Wolfwood arrived.
He’d save him. He would not have yet another failure staining his hands.
Vash showed up bright and early on the day Wolfwood arrived. He would’ve been there as they loaded him into his kennel, but Nai had insisted that he was going to be drugged to all hell and he wouldn’t get to do any work with him anyway. Which was only after Nai repeatedly told Vash he absolutely hated this plan and made it very clear the only reason Vash had heard about Wolfwood in the first place was because Nai was busy with documents on all the other hybrids and had (foolishly) assumed Wolfwood wouldn’t be stuck relying on SEEDS to rehabilitate him.
He very, very much did not want Vash anywhere near such a notoriously aggressive animal.
Technically Vash wasn’t even supposed to still be here so early. Nai wanted one of the other employees to deal with Wolfwood first, probably to test the waters. Luckily Vash knew this and intercepted that (much to the employees relief, the poor thing looked petrified), arriving bright and chipperly up to the quarantine pen.
Most of their pens were on concrete floors with stone walls and a mesh gate, some items strewn about, but overall a small space for the hybrids to readjust. In some cases they had heavier-fortified pens for cases like Wolfwood. Calling them pens was generous though—built into the walls so there was stone and brick all around them, a single bar gate with three locks and long narrow holes for a catch pole to slip through if needed.
Wolfwood’s had an extra layer of protection—a sheet of clear plastic placed overtop of the gate, the only holes in the plastic allowing employees to unlock it and to slide a bowl of food and water under. Two of the locks were latches, one required a key. It seemed the precaution was necessary, because the first thing Vash noticed was that both latches were undone. He hummed in concern and made note to bring that up later.
Vash crouched slowly before the pen, holding Wolfwood’s breakfast in a bowl, fresh beef and a few greens. He took his moment to peer inside, vision obstructed somewhat by the fact these pens didn’t have proper lighting inside, thus making it honestly look more like a prison cell if you asked Vash. The only light came through the gate.
But he couldn’t miss the massive body curled up in the corner of the pen, back to the gate. Through the light trying to reach into the far back, he could make out tussled black-gray fur over dark skin, a bushy tail, and a very broad back. Even through the fur, he could see the scars that lined that back, not even fully hidden in the shadows. He clicked his tongue in pity.
In the darkness, he saw a pair of ears prick and swivel.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” Vash put on his friendliest tone. “Are you—”
A low, guttural growl rang out. There were no other hybrids in the fortified pens, they were further back down the hallway in the regular quarantine zone, but Vash swore the distant clamor died down for a minute when that growl came. It sounded from deep within his chest, sending a shiver up Vash’s spine.
He saw what must’ve been Wolfwood’s head slowly lift, turning. Slowly, deliberately, that massive (dear God was he a big boy indeed) body uncoiled itself. In the shadows he saw a glint in a pair of eyes, locked immediately on Vash. They didn’t stray for a minute, head staring straight on at Vash as the wolf moved to a low crouch.
Prey, that was what Vash felt like. What he understood was happening. This was different from most—Wolfwood wasn’t seeing him as a threat, he was seeing him as a target. If he thought Vash was a threat, his ears wouldn’t be perfectly erect, focused entirely on him as he slowly stalked closer into the light.
Wolfwood’s eyes were dark, even with how tightly his pupils contracted. Fur lined his shoulders and down the back of his neck, hackles raised high on his arms, claws clinking against the stone. His hands and paws were just as big as the rest of him.
He had a muzzle on, which twitched at Vash’s brow. Normally not even the hybrids in these pens would have muzzles, but clearly Wolfwood had proved himself enough of a hazard it was warranted. It was the metal kind, so he could still get pieces of food and water in, but Vash still didn’t like it.
His maw was halfway open, flashing horribly large and sharp canines, saliva already dripping off and between his paws. His jaw lightly shook while he growled. He had a rather handsome face, he’d give him that, a defined jawline and broad nose.
Vash just stared, perhaps a little entranced by the sight. Wolfwood was so deliberate in how he moved, all one slow but fluid motion that came with years of practice and experience. And then his heart broke a little, wondering just how often he had been ordered to hunt.
Their eyes met, despite Vash’s attempt to avoid eye-contact because he didn’t want to seem threatening. And yet Wolfwood stopped, as if momentarily stunned. He almost swore Wolfwood was studying his gaze. The growling came to a quick halt.
And then he lunged.
Vash flinched a little, because anyone would, but to most it would look like he simply eased back an inch. Wolfwood collided with the gate and plastic barrier, a loud bang ringing out and sending some of the other hybrids down the hall into a tizzy. The lunge came with a vicious snarl, torn from Wolfwood’s throat as he threw all his weight against the one thing saving Vash’s neck from turning into dogfood.
Luckily they had reinforced those gates. The normal pens probably would have caved under the combined weight and strength of a hybrid like Wolfwood.
“That wasn’t very nice.” Vash tsked, Wolfwood still shoving himself against the gate, fangs bared and snapping despite his muzzle keeping him from doing any real harm. Vash could see now he had one of the good ones on, with multiple complicated buckles that wouldn’t come off from frenzied fumbling or yanking on it too hard.
“Use your words.” Vash said simply, having no clue if Wolfwood could even speak. This just seemed to piss off Wolfwood more though, barking as he clawed at the gate, fingers catching on every possible hold. Vash put that information away for later—he might just have a basic understanding of English.
He figured he was being a little mean, so he set down the bowl just before the hole where he could slide it in. Immediately Wolfwood tried to lunge his hand through it, scrabbling over the floor and putting clawmarks in the floor. This was still a better alternative—opening up the gate to give Wolfwood food clearly had a much more violent ending.
“I can’t feed you if you don’t let me.” Vash said, watching that hand, just barely out of reach of snagging his knee. “Unless you’re not hungry.”
Wolfwood bared his fangs, pausing his ministrations but still keeping his hand through the hole. He glowered something mean, and there was something more familiar there. Vash saw it on a number of hybrids who came from situations like Wolfwood’s: a violent hate in their eyes. Some never got over that hate, and Vash couldn’t blame them. He felt awful all the same.
Still, it was different. There was something faltering at the corner of Wolfwood’s gaze. In the way one could scratch a wall and find the original paint underneath, he thought this: those eyes didn’t belong to a creature that hated.
“I could also give it to you,” Vash went on, “but I just don’t want you to break the bowl. I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
Wolfwood growled. Vash figured that was the best he was going to get and slid the bowl across the way, making sure his fingers weren’t touching it when Wolfwood grabbed on.
He snatched the bowl through the hole, catching it on the top once before yanking it inside, some food falling out. He tugged it inside and threw it to the back wall of his pen, eyes never leaving Vash. He didn’t so much as glance at his breakfast, and went right back to puffing up and lashing his tail.
Figures. Most didn’t feel like eating when they were put in such a new place. At least Wolfwood had put it inside to eat later rather than rejecting it entirely. That was a step in the right direction. Some came so wary they were suspicious of tainted meals.
“Was actually hoping to have that back later, but you can keep it.” Vash shrugged, sitting back criss-cross, hands in his lap. “I hear your name’s Wolfwood. Is that true?”
The growling didn’t let up. Vash didn’t expect it to. He had no idea how much of his words Wolfwood was understanding, but anything was better than nothing. Sometimes just being spoken to, even without an understanding, was all that was needed to slowly bridge the gap.
“My name’s Vash.” He introduced, putting a hand to his chest. The growls continued, but he swore he saw Wolfwood’s eyes narrow a little more. “I bet no one’s really told you what’s going on, huh? I’m sorry about that.” He put forth all his earnestness as he spoke. “You’re at Project SEEDS, we’re a rescue. You’re not going back to the Eye of Michael.” He smiled, careful not to show his teeth. “I promise we aren’t going to hurt you like them.”
Wolfwood’s tail swayed low. But the growling had diminished somewhat, eyes tracking over Vash, ears pricked. There was an old, paler mark around his neck where a collar must’ve once sat that made Vash’s chest twist.
“I’m gonna be the one looking after you,” Vash continued, clasping his hands, keeping his smile bright with no flashing teeth, “primarily, I mean. So, if you need anything, just ask for me.” He held out his hand, raising his index and middle finger in a V. “But it’s okay if you can’t say it, so instead you can sign like this.” He crossed his two fingers over each other. “We started using this sign for me since I have a bit of a habit—love and peace, all that.” He chuckled. “Everyone knows it.”
Wolfwood watched his fingers. Then he went back to watching Vash’s face. He was clearly trying to take it all in at least, though it still wasn’t clear how much he was actually picking up. That was fine, Vash knew this would take time.
“You’ll be here for about a week, just to make sure you aren’t sick.” He went on. “After that you’ll have a much bigger place to run around in, I think you’ll like it. So could you maybe…not attack the staff?” He tried. “I promise no one wants to mess with you.”
Wolfwood glowered, curling his lips back over his gums. His teeth were well-taken care of, at least. His body was all rippling muscle, the kind that tended to be found from hybrids taken straight from the wild, not ones who’d spent the majority of their life in captivity. He could go toe-to-toe with Milly and he wasn’t entirely sure who would win.
And in any case, Vash didn’t expect to be believed right off the bat. He just smiled as he slowly stood, Wolfwood’s gaze following him all the while. He picked up the pieces of food that fell out of the bowl and slid them so they were within Wolfwood’s reach rather than throwing them away, they cleaned the floors anyway.
“I’ll see you later, Wolfwood. It’s nice to have you. Though, you know, I’m sorry we had to meet like this.” He said, brushing himself off before departing. He could feel Wolfwood’s eyes on him until he was out of sight.
Later he’d spin around in the fun spinny chair in one of the offices, Meryl periodically looking up from her desktop to glower at him. He’d stop, she’d continue with her work, and he’d inevitably start spinning again. Brad and Luida had given up on acknowledging this and were just sorting through the paperwork as he talked.
“He’s smart.” Vash told them, watching the lights on the ceiling as he spun. “Really smart. Make sure the security cameras always have an eye on his cage, he knows how to unlock the latches.”
“Just what we need,” Meryl drawled, “another problem-causer.”
“It’s No Man’s Land, everyone’s a problem.” Brad scoffed, but he typed away on his phone for the documentation purposes anyway as Vash chatted. “He try to eat your face off?”
“I don’t think he wants to eat anyone.” Vash puffed. “He’s displaying hunting behavior, but it’s not for the purpose of consumption. I think it’s more a combination of instincts and training. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he hunted just for the sake of it.”
“You’re not making this poodle sound any more promising, Vash.” Brad glanced up.
“But that’s intelligence.” Vash paused his spinning. “He was listening to me. He’s gonna be a tough one for sure,” He sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms. “It’s easier when they’re just scared or threatened. He doesn’t think anyone here is a threat. He just hates people.”
It was a vicious, violent hate. Plenty of hybrids didn’t like people, but it was the kind of dislike where they avoided them. Even the ones who really didn't like people would have a reason for attacking, such as a human on their territory or near their food source.
Wolfwood, he knew, would actively maul a human just for being in his line of sight. He didn’t think he’d go out of his way to find and hunt one down, but if he caught a visual or scent of one, he’d follow the trail. Definitely kill if he scented blood. It saddened Vash further, wondering just what the Eye had done to him.
The fact he hadn’t figured out the muzzle mechanisms yet meant it would only be a matter of time. It was a heavy-duty sort of muzzle, but if he could figure out the latches, it wasn’t out-there to assume he could figure out a muzzle. Milly definitely could, but she had no desire to. Vash wasn’t very miffed about that, he hated the use of the muzzles unless it was strictly for hybrids who would chew till their gums bled and teeth fell out, but it was worth keeping an eye on.
“He’s something special.” Vash said, head tipped up to the ceiling, feeling himself smile. “I can fix him.”
“Oh my God,” Meryl groaned.
“And we lost him.” Brad sighed, lounging back in his chair. “Luida, he’s all yours.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
Vash very staunchly ignored them.