Disclaimer: I don't own anything Trigun, so don't sue me please, thank you!
Tying up Loose Ends
Chapter 3
Disillusions
The storm hit Vash like the stomach flu during the holidays; you expected as much once it was there, but you never saw it coming. Visibility was down to nothing and all chance of Vash finding Knives by following his trail were so much dust. If only he'd paid more attention, he would have known the sand storm was on its way. If only he'd paid more attention, maybe Knives would still be safe with him.
"Safe... With me... right," Vash laughed mirthlessly. Was his brother really safe when he was tied down, doped up, and locked away? Was there no way for Knives to live a normal life and let the humans around him do the same?
Vash was exhausted. His body hurt from the trek, his head hurt from the heat, his face hurt from the buffeting winds, his heart hurt from his sorrow for his brother, and his soul hurt from the weight of all his long years. Nothing, not even the thought of eventually finding Knives again made any of it go away. Once he found Knives, of course, it would start all over again. It was almost too much.
Looking around, Vash numbly realized that he couldn't see where he was any longer. The winds whipped around him, tugging him in one direction first and then in another a second later. Darkness crept along, the suns having long begun their descent. Vash knew he was lucky if he had an hour left of daylight. He worried not so much about that fact but that even once the sun rose again Vash still stood in the same hopeless position.
The group of travelers coming over the dune at that moment put those thoughts on the back burner. Their figures were indistinct, but obviously male and large, all riding on vehicle or beast, Vash couldn't tell.
"Hey guys, am I ever glad to see you!" Vash shouted over the storm, inhaling a mouthful of sand in the process. He hacked and coughed and then shouted again, this time adding arms for emphasis. "Well, I'm glad to see anyone, if not specifically you, seeing as I don't know you, but we can fix that! Can you lend a hand to a lost traveler?"
The grouped moved into view and Vash swallowed his words, chasing them with a pint of dust. He knew on sight they were outlaws, the real kind, not like him. They'd most likely help any traveler out with a bullet to the head after they robbed you blind. There were nine of them, all big and burly and evil-looking. A few of them were missing an eye or a few teeth. The tomases they rode on looked just as hard and faithless as their riders.
"Oh," Vash shouted, pulling out some scrap of paper from his duffel bag, "would you look at that, I found my map! No need for assistance boys, I'll just be moving on!"
As he waved the paper in the air, a bullet cut through it, leaving a hole and a worried Vash. He snorted and turned to run, hand now on the Colt at his side just in case. If it weren't for the howling winds, Vash would have heard the guns as they fired. He seemed to forget to file the fact with his consciousness after the first bullet made a surprise attack on the old Steamer schedule that had the poor luck to masquerade as a map. As it stood, though, Vash was unprepared to dodge the bullet that struck him in the side, lodging there firmly.
Rolling and tumbling awkwardly down the dune, Vash cursed himself again for not paying enough attention. The tumble lasted longer than expected, so Vash had time to release his second gun from its hiding place in his forearm and keep it close beneath him, out of sight. He finally slumped into a lifeless heap at the bottom and waited, breath hiding in his lungs, feigning death. They came over the top without a care in the world, whooping and hollering, thinking they plugged a moron.
"Doesn't matter if he didn't have anything good, he was too stupid to live any longer," one shouted, laughing his oily, low laugh.
"Hope he has enough to pay me back for the two bullets I wasted on his sorry ass," another grumbled with an undertone of "something's-not-quite- right-but-hell-if-I-know-what", stepping before the crowd that had fanned out almost shoulder to shoulder in a semi-circle before the downed man. The shooter, the one elbowing his way forward, was obviously the leader and had plans on picking the new corpse clean before the other vultures had a shot.
His mother should have told him many things when he was young, first and foremost being "I love you," but a second best would have been "Never rely on the best laid plans." Plans have a mind of their own and they often go horribly, horribly awry when one expects of them otherwise.
The wind died down, just long enough for the entire crowd to hear one report and then the soft, muted whumpft of nine guns landing in the sand. Staring up at the bandits was El Diablo himself, eyes ablaze with fury and two guns smoking. As the sun set, realization dawned in the tiny brain of the leader; he knew now why the traveler seemed so familiar, even without a big red coat. It wasn't the infamous coat that was plastered all over the old wanted posters; it was that face.
"Fe.... Feh.... Fellas, I thinks we've chosen the wr.... wro.... wrong gentleman to pick on," the leader stuttered, all his "bravery" gone in a flash of recognition.
Each man there told stories of this meeting as long as their pitiful lives lasted. He had the look of the devil's own fire in his eyes, they all agreed, a sight that both burned and froze the very marrow of the bone. Each had their own way of telling the story, changing who bested the man to himself, but tell it they did, about their encounter with Vash the Stampede, the most dangerous man alive. Of course, not a single one ended it the way it really happened, as follows:
The gale picked up again, taking with it that frightening look upon the stranger's face. He tried again to speak but his audience had long deserted him. Vash was left alone and bleeding, but very much conscious, very much alive and very much NOT chopped into little pieces and fed to the tomases.
Vash struggled to get up but collapsed, panting; the tumble and the bullet took more out of him than he expected, much more than it would of any other time. He managed to holster the Colt but at the sound of some beast baying in the distance over the fury of the waning storm he decided it best to leave his other gun at ready. Three bullets left....
The one bullet in his side had managed to hit some very vital things and proudly shared that fact by bleeding out much quicker than a bullet normally does in polite society; what can one say, it was a young and rather brash bullet, a bit too cocky for its chamber. Not at all civilized like its elders.
Vash did his best to rip away much of his shirt to pad and tie up the wound. Night was almost absolute, and even though the storm had at last faded away to a gentle breeze, it was moonless. Vash couldn't see a thing. Shivering in quite literally just his shirtsleeves, Vash gently curled himself around his duffel bag and drifted of to unconsciousness. That was, until he heard the same predatory howls again, and much closer.
Again and again they sounded, closer and closer to poor Vash. It sounded like a whole pack of whatever they were, and a hungry pack at that. If Vash had a fire going, he would have seen the eyes glittering around him. As it was, he became quite aware of the beasts' presence with the first contact between teeth and skin.
* * * * *
Myskin: I decided to do this one all Vash; I was going to make it longer with another Wolfwood scene, but I wanted to get it up since a few people are actually reading and enjoying the fic. Thanks by the way to all who have given me such great feedback!
Tying up Loose Ends
Chapter 3
Disillusions
The storm hit Vash like the stomach flu during the holidays; you expected as much once it was there, but you never saw it coming. Visibility was down to nothing and all chance of Vash finding Knives by following his trail were so much dust. If only he'd paid more attention, he would have known the sand storm was on its way. If only he'd paid more attention, maybe Knives would still be safe with him.
"Safe... With me... right," Vash laughed mirthlessly. Was his brother really safe when he was tied down, doped up, and locked away? Was there no way for Knives to live a normal life and let the humans around him do the same?
Vash was exhausted. His body hurt from the trek, his head hurt from the heat, his face hurt from the buffeting winds, his heart hurt from his sorrow for his brother, and his soul hurt from the weight of all his long years. Nothing, not even the thought of eventually finding Knives again made any of it go away. Once he found Knives, of course, it would start all over again. It was almost too much.
Looking around, Vash numbly realized that he couldn't see where he was any longer. The winds whipped around him, tugging him in one direction first and then in another a second later. Darkness crept along, the suns having long begun their descent. Vash knew he was lucky if he had an hour left of daylight. He worried not so much about that fact but that even once the sun rose again Vash still stood in the same hopeless position.
The group of travelers coming over the dune at that moment put those thoughts on the back burner. Their figures were indistinct, but obviously male and large, all riding on vehicle or beast, Vash couldn't tell.
"Hey guys, am I ever glad to see you!" Vash shouted over the storm, inhaling a mouthful of sand in the process. He hacked and coughed and then shouted again, this time adding arms for emphasis. "Well, I'm glad to see anyone, if not specifically you, seeing as I don't know you, but we can fix that! Can you lend a hand to a lost traveler?"
The grouped moved into view and Vash swallowed his words, chasing them with a pint of dust. He knew on sight they were outlaws, the real kind, not like him. They'd most likely help any traveler out with a bullet to the head after they robbed you blind. There were nine of them, all big and burly and evil-looking. A few of them were missing an eye or a few teeth. The tomases they rode on looked just as hard and faithless as their riders.
"Oh," Vash shouted, pulling out some scrap of paper from his duffel bag, "would you look at that, I found my map! No need for assistance boys, I'll just be moving on!"
As he waved the paper in the air, a bullet cut through it, leaving a hole and a worried Vash. He snorted and turned to run, hand now on the Colt at his side just in case. If it weren't for the howling winds, Vash would have heard the guns as they fired. He seemed to forget to file the fact with his consciousness after the first bullet made a surprise attack on the old Steamer schedule that had the poor luck to masquerade as a map. As it stood, though, Vash was unprepared to dodge the bullet that struck him in the side, lodging there firmly.
Rolling and tumbling awkwardly down the dune, Vash cursed himself again for not paying enough attention. The tumble lasted longer than expected, so Vash had time to release his second gun from its hiding place in his forearm and keep it close beneath him, out of sight. He finally slumped into a lifeless heap at the bottom and waited, breath hiding in his lungs, feigning death. They came over the top without a care in the world, whooping and hollering, thinking they plugged a moron.
"Doesn't matter if he didn't have anything good, he was too stupid to live any longer," one shouted, laughing his oily, low laugh.
"Hope he has enough to pay me back for the two bullets I wasted on his sorry ass," another grumbled with an undertone of "something's-not-quite- right-but-hell-if-I-know-what", stepping before the crowd that had fanned out almost shoulder to shoulder in a semi-circle before the downed man. The shooter, the one elbowing his way forward, was obviously the leader and had plans on picking the new corpse clean before the other vultures had a shot.
His mother should have told him many things when he was young, first and foremost being "I love you," but a second best would have been "Never rely on the best laid plans." Plans have a mind of their own and they often go horribly, horribly awry when one expects of them otherwise.
The wind died down, just long enough for the entire crowd to hear one report and then the soft, muted whumpft of nine guns landing in the sand. Staring up at the bandits was El Diablo himself, eyes ablaze with fury and two guns smoking. As the sun set, realization dawned in the tiny brain of the leader; he knew now why the traveler seemed so familiar, even without a big red coat. It wasn't the infamous coat that was plastered all over the old wanted posters; it was that face.
"Fe.... Feh.... Fellas, I thinks we've chosen the wr.... wro.... wrong gentleman to pick on," the leader stuttered, all his "bravery" gone in a flash of recognition.
Each man there told stories of this meeting as long as their pitiful lives lasted. He had the look of the devil's own fire in his eyes, they all agreed, a sight that both burned and froze the very marrow of the bone. Each had their own way of telling the story, changing who bested the man to himself, but tell it they did, about their encounter with Vash the Stampede, the most dangerous man alive. Of course, not a single one ended it the way it really happened, as follows:
The gale picked up again, taking with it that frightening look upon the stranger's face. He tried again to speak but his audience had long deserted him. Vash was left alone and bleeding, but very much conscious, very much alive and very much NOT chopped into little pieces and fed to the tomases.
Vash struggled to get up but collapsed, panting; the tumble and the bullet took more out of him than he expected, much more than it would of any other time. He managed to holster the Colt but at the sound of some beast baying in the distance over the fury of the waning storm he decided it best to leave his other gun at ready. Three bullets left....
The one bullet in his side had managed to hit some very vital things and proudly shared that fact by bleeding out much quicker than a bullet normally does in polite society; what can one say, it was a young and rather brash bullet, a bit too cocky for its chamber. Not at all civilized like its elders.
Vash did his best to rip away much of his shirt to pad and tie up the wound. Night was almost absolute, and even though the storm had at last faded away to a gentle breeze, it was moonless. Vash couldn't see a thing. Shivering in quite literally just his shirtsleeves, Vash gently curled himself around his duffel bag and drifted of to unconsciousness. That was, until he heard the same predatory howls again, and much closer.
Again and again they sounded, closer and closer to poor Vash. It sounded like a whole pack of whatever they were, and a hungry pack at that. If Vash had a fire going, he would have seen the eyes glittering around him. As it was, he became quite aware of the beasts' presence with the first contact between teeth and skin.
* * * * *
Myskin: I decided to do this one all Vash; I was going to make it longer with another Wolfwood scene, but I wanted to get it up since a few people are actually reading and enjoying the fic. Thanks by the way to all who have given me such great feedback!