A/N: This fic is pretty much based in an AU of my own making. That is to say, I intentionally changed some facts about canon (for example, in this story, Vash and Knives view Rem as more of a mother than their caretaker, and Vash has no idea of what happened to Tessla in Project SEEDS) while mixing in elements from both the anime and manga. I was initially planning to expand this into its own universe of stories, but as you can see, that didn't happen. Still, I hope you enjoy what is here.

"I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills..."

William Wordsworth

Child of the Wilderness

Prologue

"Well, it looks like this is goodbye for now!"

Vash was smiling, but the truth remained clear in his deep blue eyes:

He hated those words.

Namely, he hated that he had to be the one to say them. In the darkness he could just make out the faces of his two traveling partners – one, being possessed of long brown hair, two large bright eyes, and an expression of concern; the other, characterized by sudden dark pain as the significance of those damning words reached her. He tried to put them at ease, summon his trademark grin (a barrier, a façade, anything to keep the Insurance Girls from discerning his true feelings), but the attempt felt forced and incapable of fooling anyone but himself.

It was even worse when the short girl fisted away a tear, too quick for anyone else to notice. His heart sank, and the perennial bully in him scoffed:

Nice going, asshole. You made her cry. Why go on trying to make friends of them when it only ends in tears?

The "them" he alluded to, of course, included not only the Insurance Girls but every human he had ever befriended over the course of his very long life.

I'm sorry, the wimp in him responded; but it was addressed to one person only, a person whose name he could barely bring himself to voice:

"Meryl."

The short girl started at the unfamiliar sound of her name, then quickly composed herself. It was just as important to her to preserve her own mask of self-assurance. Yet for all her professions of no-nonsense, she found she had grown quite close to the gunslinger and the playfulness, danger, and love of life he had to come to epitomize over the last several months.

"Yes, Vash?" she began. It was a far cry from "You idiot!" or "Broomhead!" or "Drunken, raving, perverted moron who ISN'T Vash the Stampede" – and some small, hopeful part of her wanted him to notice.

He did, but not in the way she was expecting. "Ah, so you've finally chosen to acknowledge my infamy," he said, trying to make it a joke. When she didn't laugh, he nervously assumed a more serious expression. "Well, um... I just wanted to say..."

What? I'm going to miss you? It's been fun?

I love you?

"Be careful," he finally said lamely. It sounded so stupid coming from him, an outlaw whose reputation preceded him by 60,000,000,000 double dollars – to say nothing of the fact that Meryl had all but volunteered to track him down. Her job was exciting and well-paying, but never safe.

She was disappointed, but appreciated his concern. "Thanks, Vash," she said with a little nod of her head, "but don't worry. Millie and I have been doing this for years now. You could say we're as prone to danger as you are, even." They both laughed a little at that, even though neither believed it for a second. He wasn't called the Humanoid Typhoon for nothing, after all.

Millie, for her part, had a sixth sense that allowed her to cut through the veneer of happy-talk and BS like a hot knife through butter. She shuffled nervously for long moments, found she could contain herself no longer. "But Sempai, we can't let him go just like that! If anything, Mister Vash will need us even more now – "

"Not true," the gunslinger interjected sharply. "I can protect myself just fine. You two would slow me down, anyway."

Millie shook her head; her perceptiveness was rivaled only by her amazing lack of common sense. She plunged ahead, protesting, "I don't mean like that, I mean... emotionally. Mentally. People are dying around you, Mister Vash, and you don't know why, and... well! It must be awfully scary."

"Exactly!" he said dismissively. "People are dying, so that's why I have to leave!"

"But my second eldest brother always says – "

"JUST STAY AWAY!" he screamed in frustration. His reaction was so unexpected, so intense as to make both women draw back as if they'd been slapped. He subsequently felt guilt, and the longing for reconciliation, wash over him.

"I... I'm sorry," he said after the moment of stunned silence had passed. "I truly am. But you saw the bodies of Monev and Dominique. All those innocent villagers." His breath hitched painfully, forcing him to give pause. The memory of those who had gone before him was always – always – overwhelming. "You have to understand. Wherever I go, people are hurt. I would never forgive myself if something happened to either of you."

He didn't need to add that he'd been struggling with the very issue of forgiveness for nearly a hundred and thirty years after Rem's death.

"Please. I'm asking you to trust me. That means no more questioning, no more following me around. I know it's hard, but you'll have to forget the name of the Stampede from now on."

Millie's face twisted into something like childlike disbelief, while Meryl's held an expression of cool acceptance. "He's right," the latter said at length, surprising them all. "Vash, I have no idea what is going on, or why these... Gung-Ho Guns... are after you, but clearly it isn't for the reward money. Somebody is trying to hurt you, and it'll only get worse if we stick around.

"But I will not..." She paused for a moment, struggled to find the right words. "I won't forget you. That would be impossible. You are an amazing person, Vash the Stampede; and for what it's worth, I'm glad I met you." She expelled a long breath, emotionally exhausted by the intimation of what was – for her – a very difficult speech.

Vash grinned hugely. "That's great," he said. "Fantastic! I'm so happy we can all be honest about this."

Except for me, he added mentally; but the thought was lost to the winds and concealed by the dust of a hurting world, never to be detected by human eyes.