Post-Manga. Contains spoilers, some from the manga's last chapter.
I do not own Trigun / Vash or Meryl. They belong to the amazing Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow.
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Search for a Stampede
Year 0148 month 8 day 17
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Meryl stood at the railing on the deck of the sand steamer, watching the desert go by. She brushed her graying hair out of her eyes, to better enjoy the view. The second sun was just clearing the horizon, so the sky was still tinted with all the myriad hues that came with a sunrise.
So far, the trip had been boring. The steamer would arrive at May city by late afternoon or evening the day after tomorrow.
Her sources informed her that Tonis was a deputy sheriff in May City. He was one of many boys who'd played with Vash, all those years ago when she and Milly had been following the humanoid typhoon's steps. This made it possible that Tonis might look the other way, if Vash were seen in the area.
Meryl had been in her early twenties, back in the days when she and Milly had traveled with Vash. Now she was 58, a wife, mother and grandmother. Yet she still wanted to find the humanoid typhoon. Among other things, it would be nice to see him again and maybe chat over old times a bit.
At least this trip, there wasn't such a shortage of funds that she lacked a room. Her husband was currently in their room, sleeping. He tended to sleep in most mornings, and she would often stay dozing with him. However, today she wanted to be up and about. She wanted to see if anything interesting would happen.
Vash... he'd been her first love, and she still felt warmth toward him. That man was so annoying, irritating, gentle, frustrating, foolish, insightful, childlike... and adorable. He'd frequently told her to stay away from him for her own safety. If she didn't let him go, he would run away. That seemed to be his idea of the best way to protect her.
He must have had some idea how she'd felt about him. Milly hadn't exactly been subtle when she scolded him about it.
When he'd promised to return after fighting Knives, Meryl had thought... or perhaps, hoped... that he meant it romantically. She'd imagined that he'd only been speaking to her.
But in the six months that followed, with no word and not even a clear knowledge of if he was alive or dead, she belatedly realized that Milly had been standing right there with her when he spoke those words. He might have been speaking to both, as a friend.
The more she'd thought about it, the more she'd realized that Vash had never shown any preference for her over Milly. She'd made efforts to reach toward him, but he hadn't reached back in the same way.
He'd always treated them both equally, with respect and as friends. He'd never acted as one might expect a man to behave toward a lady that he admired romantically.
Wolfwood had been fond of Milly, which sometimes left Meryl alone with Vash. While she'd treasured those times, she came to understand it wasn't anything he had sought.
That had been a difficult realization. At the time, it had hurt. Badly.
So when she finally learned where she might find Vash, half a year later, she'd chosen her career over her hopes for him. She'd deliberately behaved in a manner that she knew was sure to drive him away.
It had worked better than she'd imagined.
Vash had always been a very forgiving soul, so she had confidently expected to see him again after awhile. She wasn't sure how long it would take him to forgive that, but she'd fully expected to see him long before now. She'd half-hoped he would miss her enough to come after her, for a change. But that never happened.
Thirty-three long and life-changing years had passed. There had been no valid sightings of Vash in all that time. It seemed as if he had vanished entirely.
She'd not realized at the time what harm she might do, broadcasting his face and his red coat all over the planet. That had made it completely impossible for him to travel anonymously, protecting people from harmful outlaws, as he had done previously. It also must have made it very difficult for him to find a place to hide. Yet, somehow, he had hidden himself very thoroughly.
About 25 years ago, the rash of "Vash the Stampede" sightings had become almost comical. There had been ten or fifteen men claiming to be Vash. They all wore red coats, and did their hair up in a manner similar to his.
However, none of them had behaved at all like the man Meryl had once known. Instead, they all acted like his ill-matching evil reputation.
Someone, who had never yet been identified, had begun to do something about it during the last ten years or so.
Men who claimed to be "Vash the Stampede" had begun appearing in front of sheriff's offices, all tied up, with punny notes on them. The notes said things like, "I tried to be Vash, but I got stampeded," or "I was run over by a typhoon," or "I was caught by a localized natural disaster."
Most people assumed the notes were merely mocking the audacity of men pretending to be someone they were not. However, Meryl's instincts whispered to her that it might be the handiwork of the real Stampede.
Though very patient, Vash had his limits. People using his name to hurt or kill others would not please him. He might have decided that enough was enough, and come out of hiding to hunt them.
It was like him to turn them in, and not kill them.
Rottenberg canyon was one of several sites where someone claiming to be "Vash the Stampede" was currently committing crimes. BDN must have retired, and his replacement was masquerading as the humanoid typhoon.
The sand steamer she was riding would enter that canyon in just a few hours.
Meryl had carefully tracked the path that had been left by captured impersonators, and it was moving toward this area. The timing seemed about right, so there was a hope of seeing the vigilante who had taken it upon himself to stop the false Stampedes.
It had taken some effort to persuade her aging home-loving husband to take a vacation in May city, using a route that passed through that dangerous canyon. Yet she had succeeded at last, and here they were.
She started pacing. She noticed that the security guards were on high alert, too. Her hand strayed to her pocket, where she'd concealed a derringer. She glanced down at the comforting weapon. Even if she had missed her guess, she should be fine.
While distracted, she bumped into someone. She turned her head, and was at eye-level with the crewman's name-tag on his chest. "Kaite," it said.
"Oh, I'm sorry," they both said.
She chuckled. "I wasn't watching where I was going," she said.
"No problem," he said, smiling. "Have a good trip."
"Thank you," she replied.
Well, nothing was likely to happen until after breakfast. Meryl went to the dining area, and browsed the buffet. When she saw doughnuts, she seemed to have something in her eye. She blinked rapidly several times, and felt better. Surely, she couldn't be growing so sentimental as to get dewy-eyed simply from seeing Vash's favorite food!
She selected various items, and found herself a place to sit and eat. Staying with a crowd was a good idea, anyhow. On one hand, there was some safety in numbers. On the other hand, that seemed likely to increase her chances of being present if anything happened.
After eating, though, she grew restless. She wandered aimlessly around the steamer until they entered the canyon.
They hadn't gotten far when an alarm sounded, and she heard crew and security rushing about. So the so-called "Stampede" was making a try at the steamer.
It was nearly time for lunch, so likely that most people would be in the dining area. That is where the criminal gang was likely to corral them, so Meryl moved in that direction.
She darted into one doorway of the dining area almost exactly sixty seconds before the outlaws flooded in from all of them. They waved their guns around, and shouted, and pushed everyone into a corner without a doorway.
Then what she'd hoped for happened.
A tall man with shoulder-length black hair came through a side door, and shot one of the bandits in the shoulder. From the angle where she was, she couldn't see the shooter's face.
The shot bandit screamed and dropped his gun. In rapid succession, each of the other bandits received a similar injury, with the same results, except for the one in the red coat (who didn't currently have any weapon in his hand).
The way the tall vigilante moved left no doubt in Meryl's mind. Even though she couldn't see his face, she knew the man standing there stopping the robbers from hurting anyone was the real Vash. The original humanoid typhoon. The genuine article.
Meryl was briefly distracted by a movement from the crewman she'd seen earlier. She recognized him from his name tag. He was slowly edging toward the bandits, looking grim. She hoped he wasn't planning to try anything foolish, and moved her own hand slowly and carefully toward her stowed derringer.
"Stop this," the vigilante said in a soft, intense voice.
"Right - and you think you're going to make me?" the false typhoon jeered. "Do you have any idea who you're messing with? I'm Vash the Stampede! I take what I will, and I kill where I will. And nobody can do anything about it!"
"I can," the vigilante said, in the same intense voice. "Please, don't make me hurt you."
Meryl's stomach felt like it was doing acrobatics. She'd been right. Nobody else would ever say that in quite that tone of voice.
In his arrogance, the counterfeit dared to point his weapon toward the tall vigilante. There was a muzzle blast from the taller man's gun, and the man in the red coat fell to the ground. He grabbed at his leg and started screaming.
The vigilante calmly threw a roll of bandages to the crewman who had reached the bandits. "Please bandage them," he said, "then take them to the nearest sheriff's office."
The crewman nodded, and smiled. The vigilante holstered his gun and stepped through the side doorway where he had entered.
Meryl lunged to her feet, and immediately ran after him.
"Vash!" she called when she passed through the doorway.
She saw him turn a corner. She ran faster, and turned the same corner. There was only one doorway, and she opened it to find a nearly empty storage room with no other exit.
There was no unseen place large enough to conceal even a child, let alone Vash.
He was gone, again.
It took her ten minutes to find the ventilation shaft he must have used. That suggested he'd planned ahead, which would fit with the idea that he was indeed hunting imposters.
Deeply disappointed, Meryl returned to the dining room. Even if her husband was not in the crowd, he'd be going there for lunch and wondering where she'd been all day.
There was no further hope of seeing Vash. It was time to return to her current life.
...
When the steamer reached May city, Vash watched the passengers disembark from concealment. He saw Meryl with her husband beside her. The way the two interacted, they appeared to be a happy couple.
He was genuinely glad for Meryl. He was also sad that they couldn't remain friends. The way she'd felt about him back then had made that impossible. It would only hurt her.
Now, it would be inappropriate for other reasons.
She must have guessed who was hunting counterfeit Stampedes. She'd been too quick to go after him, calling his name. Thankfully, she hadn't brought news cameras this time!
"Goodbye, Meryl," he said softly. "Be well."