Disclaimer: ooooooooookee... Trigun isn't mine, and I'm using these guys with out permission. And no money is made!

AUTHORS NOTES: This is inspired by wonderful writers like Dr. Worm. Feedback is welcome and wanted. This takes place during and after the last ep on tape 4. I hadn't seen any of the eps after that tape before writing this.

Wounded Soul

By Youko Rayah

A shaft of sunlight crept across the dingy room and slid up the side of the bed. It crept over the pillow and came to a rest on his face, pulling him, kicking and screaming back into the waking world. And with a groan, he slowly rolled over and pushed him self into a sitting position. Dawn came, as it always had, far too early in Vash's opinion.

He climbed out of bed and stretched, working the kinks and stiffness out of tired muscles. Last night had been very hard on him, physically and emotionally. In the back of his mind, he could feel the silence where all those slain last night should be, and it hurt.

"Stop it," He hissed. "You can't change the past. All you can do is move on."

He moved slowly towards the bathroom, hoping a shower would help. He laid out a towel, his shampoo and other shower items, and turned on the tap. Steam soon filled the room.

As he stood under the spray, he let his mind wander. The man from the fountain was involved in all this, but ultimately he knew who was behind it. He just had no name to go with that knowledge. So deep was he in his musings, that he lost track of the time, and was rudely jolted back to reality by the hot water running out.

With a shriek, he twisted out from under the cold spray, only to loose his footing and land in a heap with a loud thump. "Great," he grumbled, snatching up a towel and stalking out of the bathroom. "Just great. What next?"

This question was answered as he toweled his hair dry. Milly and Maryl came tumbling into his room, alerted by the shout and crash. It took a second for this to registered in his more than slightly sleep deprived mind. Once it did however, he flinched back in an attempt to cover his scars.

He sighed as he went to put some cloths on, and as he did so, he noticed Maryl kept glancing at the grate over his breast and then looking away. Part of him was angry, part was hurt, and another part took a perverse pleasure in her discomfort. If she wanted to look, fine. Let her look all she wants. He skipped donning a shirt in favor of grabbing a beer.

As he explained about the scars, he cracked open the can. Maryl made a rather asinine comment about she- oh I'm sorry, they- not being repulsed. Funny, you'd think he'd be used to it by now. The looks and the reactions. How people look, then look away like he's something disgusting, then look back out of perverse fascination. You would think it wouldn't hurt so bad any more. He slugged back half his beer, determined not to let it show just how bad it did hurt.

He made small talk with them for a while and then excused him self to continue getting dressed. He knew what would happen when he left his room. It was the same thing that always happened. The marshal was going to throw him out of town, even though it wasn't his fault.

When would it end, he wondered. When will I find the thing I'm looking for? Would it ever happen, or would he spend the rest of his life searching?

As he left the town he flirted with a pretty young lady, in an attempt to make him self feel better, but all it did was wake him feel worse. He had to laugh and smile, or he would brake down and cry. And if he started to cry, he didn't think he'd be able to stop.

Wolfwood was right. He did hide behind his fake smiles and joking manner. But what else could he do? Most of his past was one big hole. And for some reason people wanted to kill him, and not for the reward. Things were going to get worse before they got better.