Disclaimer: Trigun and Trigun Maximum belong to the honorable Yasuhiro Nightow. I am making no profit from this and from what I know, the man doesn't seem to mind fan works.

Notes: Lookie here! At long last, finally a new Trigun fic from me. This was inspired by a pair of AIM conversations I had recently with friends regarding what seems to be the slow death of the Trigun fandom (at least in our circles of it) and the nostalgia we've been feeling for our younger fandom days. I've been drifting away from my interest in Trigun as of late, and it's made me a bit sad. I told my friends that I "missed Vash" and wished I could get an idea for one more poignant fic with him – and in all these nostalgic thoughts, it hit me.

Manga-based (particularly in Volume 12), with some anime references.

YOU COULDN'T...

A Trigun Maximum Fan Fiction by Shadsie

I am Vash the Stampede. A trail of blood follows my name.

This is it – the end of everything, for me, for him, or for them. It has to be for us... it is they who will inherit this planet. It is they who are meant to. The trail of blood has lead me here, to this day, waiting. I stand upon this precipice, the city stretched out below me, waiting for him to appear over the horizon.

If you could call this place a city. It is a mish-mash, a melee of humanity – the remnants of a dying world, a world that he killed, and he's determined to finish the job. They're desperate and afraid. They're waiting for salvation to come from the skies. They are waiting for us to move.

I love them, Knives, and I am not sorry for it. You were right – they have betrayed me, lied to me, hurt me, taken from me, treated me as something other than themselves, ground me into the dirt and so many other things. It is also how many of them treat each other, but I don't care, I love them, anyway. You never took the time to listen to me tell you about all the times they smiled at me, all the times they've thanked me, laughed with me, offered me a glass of water after I'd come in from the desert, and cared for me when I was hurt. You never let me tell you about all the times when they did see me as one of them, and about when those who knew I was something else didn't care about it. They are amazing. They are imperfect, but in imperfection lies beauty. They are capable of beautiful dreams, and mostly, I have faith in them.

I remember.... so many faces. Beautiful faces, ugly faces, the joyful, the grim and the lost. I once told my best friend that I wanted to live a quiet, peaceful life. He told me that I couldn't if I tried. I suppose living quietly means that a man keeps to himself. I could never stand seeing well-meaning people in pain, so I would help whenever and wherever I could. These are Rem's people and I must protect them – sometimes from each other. Knives, you said that you were saddened by my scars, but you've carved so many of them into me. You forced me into your sadistic games. So many of the wounds on my body belong to you, Knives – then there are the scars on my heart.

I don't think I ever told you about the time that Milly and Meryl walked in on me after a shower. The girls... my Insurance Girls – bold, tough ladies... They saw me without a shirt on and they both looked as though they'd been shot. The shock on their faces.... I honestly worried that they'd been offended, seeing my ugly body. Then I noticed it – sorrow, incredible sympathy. They did not like the idea that I'd suffered so much pain, though there was nothing they could do about it. They cared.

You told me that human beings only know how to take, and you were right when you mentioned that which was most precious to me being taken away from me – but you did that, brother. How many childhoods have been taken away by the Eye of Micheal? Wolfwood is gone now – my best friend taken from me. The people of July... You brought out my power, Knives, but it was a power I never wanted. Believe me, I will use all of my power to stop you – even if my hair completely turns to coal, even if I have to die! You know you took away the most important person of all, and for her, I fight.

For everyone, I fight.

"People... the world... they aren't worthless. Let us walk together, let us see all kinds of things together."

Rem, I've done my best – was it good enough? Will my best be good enough?

The faces of the dead appear before my mind. I am swimming in memories and in death. Apologies will not bring them back, and neither will revenge. I can still protect their descendants, their relatives, their friends, all they have built, their memory .... their species.

I've walked and seen all kinds of things. I've watched the luckier people on this planet grow old. No matter what I do to protect them, I must watch them die. I've watched many friends from afar, and even a few who knew what I was – watched their hair grow silver, watched them get sick from one thing or another... Loss is always hard, but it's better than violent death – people should get all the time they can to seek happiness and to tell the world their dreams. I remain, perpetually twenty-four and easy to heal from wounds that leave permanent scars. Everyone leaves me, because of what I am, because of what is written in my blood and body.

But even Plants have to die eventually.

Knives, you think I don't know the cruelty our sisters have suffered. I know it very well – perhaps even more than you do, because I have walked the world and seen all kinds of things. I remember Tessla – I remember seeing her remains probably even better than you do, because I didn't pass out. I saw the truth in full, but came to accept that Rem protected us from her fate – there was hope in humans and I decided not to be afraid, I decided to find the beauty among the ugliness – to believe in the heart that feels the sin. I've seen our sisters in the towns, sick and dwindling, their power drained, mismanaged, bodies filled with tumors and disease... I've seen the people that kept them, also desperate, not knowing how to manage them and not knowing any other way to survive. I've worked to save those whom I could, and most of the time I came far too late. Not all of them are treated so badly, Knives. Some of our sisters are given great care and respect. Some of them even want to help the humans around them. We can understand each other. Knives, don't you see? We were born to be conduits – communicators. Our brothers and sisters want to speak with the humans, to understand them, and, in turn, have the humans understand them.

So why has it come to this? I suppose I shouldn't dwell on how things could have been different. If had or hadn't been for a few choices, the world would be a different place. As much as I'd like to, I cannot bring back the dead. I can only ensure a future for those that are still alive.

I don't think I am going to come back from this. What is between Knives and I is bound not to end peacefully, no matter how much I'd like it to. We've both lived by a childish logic, an idealism that perhaps only makes sense to people who've been alive for over a hundred years. His requires death. Mine requires life. I wanted to live a quiet, peaceful life....

All I can hear in the echo of my memory is "You couldn't if you tried, Vash, you couldn't if you tried."

END.

Shadsie 2008.