Cosmic Castaway

But here I'm, no one.

A Cosmic Castaway

-Electrasy

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Cowboy Bebop. They are the property of Sunrise, Bones, and Bandai Visual (2001); created by Hajime Yatate and Toshihiro Kawamoto. They make the money, not me. Vash, Meryl and the rest of the Trigun gang belong to Pioneer/ Geneon (2005); created by Yasuhiro Nightow. Each chapter title and heading were conceived by their respective author (credited below each quote.)

Thanks for reading this rewrite and now…

Chapter 1: Lights Come Down

On your marks with the sun still pouring in
Hold steady 'till we're ready…

Gettin' set, for [one hell of] a ride

- Nazareth

He grimaced as the Swordfish's gauges went haywire. Finger stabbing connect, he impatiently waited for Jet to flicker onscreen. His partner's silhouette shivered. Glancing back at the dial making counterclockwise loops, Spike grumbled, "Bebop. Goin' down."

Jet scowled at the garbled message. Certain he'd misheard. The comm crackled again. Concerned he leaned closer to the speaker and growled, "Where the hell are you Spike?"

Static replied.

"SPIKE!" Panic began to build. The link was too weak. Spike sounded strained.

A desperate voice broke through the crickle-crack, "Not sure." The volume grew and faded, "GATE… uncharted planet… Double SUNS."

"Spike?" Jet tapped the comm hoping to encourage a better picture.

Static.

"SPIKE!" Jet clutched the device tightly earning a cringe worthy, drawn out hiss and ear splitting pop. "FUCK!" Still cursing his crew and their ill-fated luck, he focused on Faye's side of the screen. Her eyes sparkled as she continued her sport of torment the bounty oblivious her glaring audience.

Irked he spat, "What the hell're you doin'?"

The report of missiles flickered over the line. With a deadpan expression she snipped, "Disabling the profitable bounty heads for pickup, Master Pissypants."

"Alone?" He began gnashing his teeth when the spot Spike's face should be seen began to shiver and roll, "Why?"

"Pff..." she rolled her eyes. Index and middle fingers together she separated them into a 'V', "Ever heard of divide and conquer?"

"Shit." His fist slammed into sheet metal. Hand lifting with his fingers pinched tightly together. "You ever hear sticks in a bundle are unbreakable?"

Grin, "You say so, Swami, but I think your console might disagree." Assuming he was mothering again she snapped, "Tch. Quit with the adages and let me do my job." Surprised at the lack of a retort, she took a moment to actually acknowledge Jet's expression. Worry quickly replaced the adrenaline rush and cocky sense of invincibility that came with a good chase; his sweaty forehead, tense jaw line and pallid cheeks instantly sobering.

Voice soft, "Jet, what's…"

"Ditch 'em." Growl. "Spike's got trouble."

She nodded, percussions pounding through the transmission. "What kind of trouble?"

The screen jostled. "Just find him." Jet shook his head, "Ed's sending his last coordinates…" he glanced at his readings, "…now."

With a grunt, Faye wobbled slightly, several more thumps and bangs blasting across the line.

The sudden sound effects finally forced their way through Jet's stressed psyche. He grimaced, "You end it?" Unconsciously his fists clamped shut: waiting for the worst. With Spike crashing, they'd need minimal collateral damage. Medical bills were expensive. Not to mention what repairs would cost.

Nod. "Disabled the engine." She peered off to the side, "And... Ehh…Someone'll need to collect them fairly soon." She whistled playfully her hand in the shape of a pistol, "I made a nice, big hole." She mimed the recoil of her Glock with a grin, "They're hemorrhaging fuel, air… OH!" giggle, "and crew!" Eyes ahead she cooed, "Hey Cowboy, that's three!" A grin lifted her lip, "And saving your sorry ass gives me the win."

Static.

Jet dug at his shoulder and concentrated on Spike's fluttering image. Face muscles twitching spasmodically, the younger cowboy was the poster boy of nervous; a half smoked cigarette dangled from his tightly pressed lips, shifting every now and then as his jaw flexed.

The connection began to shiver frantically before all visual blanked. Spike's voice frizzled over the line, "Planet's… water... king… enter… hot land… Jet t… Faye…Eee...lost."

"Spike. Come in!" Jet thumped the screen. "Oi! Come in!" He noted Faye shooting him suspicious glances as she zipped around debris.

She blinked curious, "Something happen?"

He frowned, How could she not…? Confusion morphed to irritation when his gaze landed on the innocuous switch stamped with a tiny, slashed speaker.

That son of a bitch.

Green flicked slightly to the left, "Why isn't… Spike?" She tipped closer to the screen, eyes wide. "Spike." He watched as she tapped the snowy image, "SPIKE!"Her gaze rotated back, "Jet. What's goin' on? Why'd Spike disconnect?" Her nose crinkled, "Geez. He's such a sore loser!" Sniff, "Fuckin' baby!"

He didn't know what to say. The truth? A half truth? Assuming there was a reason the cowboy had kept her out of the loop he opted for vague, "Get an idea where he was forced to…"

Something clicked in the cowgirl's head, her rant dying instantly. Face ashen she gasped, "Jet, you said he was having some trouble. What's… Shit!" Faye jerked left, hard. "I've company." She sneered, "Guess they didn't like my hello." He inched to the edge of his seat. One downed partner was bad, two and he'd have to consider looking for replacements or a new job- neither an acceptable option. Partners took forever to break in and he was too old to find alternative employment.

Stomach souring he sighed,"Faye." Fingers trenched into his forehead. "Faye. Retreat."

"I can take 'em." She snapped, pride bruised. "There's only…"

Jet's gut issues turned rancid when Faye's head whipped across the screen.

The image flickered.

"Ho-ly shit!" She tittered sheepishly.

He relinquished his breath as the image settled to a soft tick.

Expression set on high pout she huffed, "Whole damn ship exploded. Fuck!" arms crossed, "I wanted my 150 mil."

He rubbed his head. It always comes down to Woolongs. "Faye, do you see any evidence of where Spike went down?"

She paled, "Who went down?"

Sigh, "Spike." He glared at her, "It sure as hell wasn't you!" Grumble, "And buckle your safety belt!"

"No shit…" She gasped, hand flapping over her shoulder to grip the harness. "Where? Did he land hot?"

"Uh huh. Look for another…"

Her expression grew pained, focus on the opposite screen. There was a soft click of a buckle.

Jet groaned, assuming she was finally reading Edward's data.

"Jet." She swallowed a nervous whimper escaping as her face twisted in despair. "That's the newest gate system!"

He bounced his head gently, "Yup." Definitely reading Ed's findings.

"Why's he out there? Only unmanned mining operations go that far!" She fussed with a few switches, "That's no man's land!" Her focus was off screen. False bravado melting in giant, messy clumps. "I… I don't even know where the newest gate sends you." She shivered, visions of late night spook shows filled with aliens flitting through her brain. Whining softly, "I don't want to be probed!"

He twitched, "What?" Jet rubbed his temples, trying to regain composure. "Spike used it. So get in there and find him!" He groaned at the sad, torn expression- it was always Faye collecting their impulsive comrade. "Look, I know! Do some recon and return before your fuel runs out."

She glanced at a gauge, "I don't have much." Wince, "Maybe another six hours. Hyperspace will knock that in half." Her lip disappeared between her teeth, "That won't get me there and back, Jet." She visibly shrunk, it wouldn't even get her there- Spike left with a full tank.

Jet groused, "You were supposed to refill before heading out, Faye!"

She gave a timid smirk and shrugged, "Extra weight would've slowed me down." Shrug, "Besides, how was I supposed to know I'd end up having to chase Brillo-head across the galaxy and then some?"

"Shit. Use it up. I'll come get you." He took a steadying breath. How? I don't know.

Faye nodded forcing herself not to make him cross his heart and hope to die as though she were six.

Spike chewed on the filter of his smoke while assessing the sandy sprawl below. Great. Looks like Io. He spit the soggy bit of paper out and attempted to level the creaking ship, hoping to skip it through the atmosphere at a comfortable pitch and keep the twisting yaw and roll from tearing the wings off. The left tipped too low, a steady vibration jarring anything loose in the cockpit across Spike's feet. Grunting he flattened the racer, gritting his teeth as the controls fought to break his hold.

Stinging brown eyes glared at the softly shifting sand while he reevaluated his predicament. Optimism was the way to go in no win situations. So with a shrug he immediately decided that hurtling into a massive litter box might not be such a bad deal.

He smirked, "Hope this isn't a planet full of big kitties."

The nose dipped too low, heat panels glowing white hot before flashing off and ashing away. He had to reduce speed. Landing gear creaked as it rolled from its storage compartment. The temperature in the cockpit hastily rose. The ship shuddered, thrashed and bucked against its pilot as he tried to coax it into a controlled crash. Glide and dip, glide and dip. His shoulders screamed under the extra effort it took to keep from portraying a lawn dart in the sweltering desert. Sweat poured down his neck and face, ignored. It dribbled in Spike's eyes, the cowboy unwilling to release his hold on the steering to swipe it away. Pieces began sheering off at a quicker pace. The protective shell of the cockpit snapped, cracked and popped; details of the land instantly fissured and blurred.

With a shrug he tried to blink away the salty sting and peek at the tiny bit of horizon, Better 'n watchin' the sand get closer. He peered through one of the larger sections of glass- the ground was close. I wonder if Faye'll come collect me again? He chuckled, certain she would. She always did. I hope they have alcohol and smokes on this…

Nose struck earth, chucking pilot into the steering. Swordfish tipped, wing snapping in the roll. He bounced around the fuselage until friction stole momentum's steam. Hissing metal sliced through the sand. Bone chilling, teeth grinding squeaks and squeals announced the ship's protest to anyone within twenty miles.

Spike took a pained breath. Upside down and nestled snugly in the remnants of his racer, he studied the situation. Not wanting to aggravate the searing pains vying for his attention and blurring into one massive ache he gingerly took stock of immediate threats. After verifying he could breathe, there were no signs of mammoth cats and nothing of concern was burning, he flicked the soggy wad of what once was a filter off his forehead and with a labored tug to the harness crumpled onto the ground above in an aggrieved lump. He pulled out his last smoke with a twisted semblance of a smirk that morphed into a curse laden groan. His silver lighter twinkled merrily just out of reach ruthlessly mocking him and his vice.

Too tired and battered to crawl to the solution of his current addictive needs, he tipped over with a pathetic wheeze and a soft 'fwump'. The fine sand catching his fall and pillowing his muggy head. With a sigh he let his eyes drift closed.

Blackness scooting in, he was just able to utter a pitiful, "Son of a bitch," before unconsciousness put him in a dreamless fog.

Several iles away, a tall woman excitedly clutched her petite friend's hand. The porch creaked bemoaning the ever shifting weight. Pointing haphazardly she danced, "Look Meryl, Mr. Vash it's a shooting star!"

A tall man's teal eyes narrowed at the brilliant white streak. It's ribboned tail marring the starlit sky. A dark haired woman slipped beside him. Her focus on the small flash. Voice hushed she whispered, "Vash, that wasn't a star was it?"

They both cringed at the sound of distant nails raking over a chalkboard. Eyes narrowing in thought, Vash shook his head. "Uhh..." He smirked at the pretty woman, "Probably just remnants of the fourth moon, Meryl." A black gloved hand clutched shoulder, spinning her towards the front door. "Nothin' to worry about." His attention floated back to the last splash of light on the horizon. A tiny hum from his sisters at the nearby plant setting his nerves on edge.

He frowned, Just what or who has come a callin'?

Milly giggled as Vash snagged her and shooed both girls into the quaint farmhouse. He waited until the screen door clattered closed. Milly's voice trickling out, "Gee, I hope it's a nice alien. Don't you Meryl?"

An irritated sigh leaked through, "Milly! You know there is no such thing as aliens."

"If you say so." She chirped without conviction. "Sure was pretty the way that spaceship cut across the sky, wasn't it?"

Vash smirked at his friend's refusal to let her assumption go.

"Very pretty but it wasn't…"

"Mmhm… 'Night Meryl." The stairs creaked as the tall girl headed for bed.

The shorter woman reappeared in the screen, "What is it with her and moon men?"

His shoulders bounced towards his ears, "Guess she likes imagining what-ifs." He winked, "Isn't too hard to do is it, Meryl?" He frowned at the strange flush. Meryl's focus suddenly anywhere but him.

"Uh…" swallow, "'Night." She was gone before he could wish her the same, not wanting to be rude he breathed a soft, "Goodnight, Meryl." The air still held tightly to the lingering scent of her perfume. Digging at his neck he returned his attention to the small dunes in the distance and swallowed. "I sure hope our visitor's nice," shiver, "or Meryl'll kill me."