Hey. People actually reviewed. Meanwhile, I should mention that this chapter is as awash in grammatical errors as the last. Seriously, I have no time this week, and five major tests in a row. I'm sure none of you will complain, however; if you will, could I direct you to my friends at Eye Log Removal Inc.?
About Marianne/Vash... I never claimed this was going to be an unusual pairing, just not one of the classic eight. I've never read any other Trigun fanfiction, so I have no idea if it's been done before by anyone else.
About characterizing Vash... to say he's been mischaracterized misses the point. This is an AU, and I've never said it was other than that. One will notice in the last chapter that Vash's flashback about Knives is different. Likewise, other things have changed. This chapter doesn't delve too far into this, but you do get another flashback.
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Chapter 4: $$60,000,000,000
Gunfire burst into her unconscious mind, shattering her dreams. Marianne was instantly awake, her hand unconsciously around her gun. In her days as a sheriff before, she'd learned to sleep lightly and cautiously. Recently, she hadn't had any need for such skills, but apparently they had been merely sitting in latency.
Again she heard gunfire. Drawing her gun, Marianne crept to the entrance of the Plant. Glancing out the door, she could see nothing immediately, so she carefully crept outside. It sounded like a fierce firefight was going on, but she couldn't tell exactly where. Apparently closer to the town hall than here.
He had said he would be in there for a while, so it was probably more important that she found out what was going on. The fact that she still didn't know his name continued to irk her. In any case, while it really wasn't her job, she wouldn't stand for any chaos in this town.
She got to the street, and finally discovered what was going on. Most of the firefight had taken place at the town hall steps, but it appeared to be mostly over now. Several sheriffs lay on the ground, dead or dying. Everyone was screaming and rushing around, apparently not in any particular direction. At the root of all the chaos, Marianne quickly discovered, was a group of ruffians at the large door of the town hall.
With the battle apparently over, they now moved from the cover of the door, leveling guns at the crowd below. Everyone there quickly froze, not wanting to test the patience of such obviously bloodthirsty criminals. There was a long moment of silence, then one of them stepped forward. He was wearing a large, wide-brimmed hat that was pulled down over his eyes, and it gave him an air of authority the others didn't have. Obviously the leader.
"All of you!" he roared. "We're the feared Dopunk Gang! You move, we shoot you!"
No one seemed like they were going to challenge him on that.
"Now, we only want one thing," he went on. "Plain and simple. Give him to us, you'll live. Don't, you'll all die. Now, we hear that Vash the Stampede is in this city. Where is he?"
No response came from the crowd, none of them having any idea. The leader stalked back and forth at the top of the town hall steps, waiting for an answer. Marianne nervously watched the situation, hoping it wouldn't turn bad. This was an extremely tricky scenario, and it had to be handled perfectly.
"I said where is he?" the leader demanded. Again there was no response. Glancing at the thugs with a practiced eye, Marianne decided that a few of them were probably certifiable nut cases. That was the last thing they needed. It would only take a spark to set this situation off. Police policy stated that all agents should wait for diplomatic negotiations, no matter what.
The leader raised a hand, and abruptly more gunfire shattered the silence. Bullets struck the first wave of bystanders, sending them toppling to the ground.
"Bring me Vash the Stampede!" the leader roared. "Now!"
Seeing how easily death had been meted out, the crowds turned and rushed away, anything to get away from the crazy gunman. Some of them cocked guns, intending to find the human typhoon and bring him back to end the bloodshed. Behind him, the leader of the Dopunk Gang laughed, amid the pile of bodies.
Screw policy. Marianne checked that her guns were fully loaded, then fired. Her initial attack dropped several of the gang members, but she knew her element of surprise wouldn't last for long. In this situation, there would be no backup, no help. She had to do it herself. While they were still in turmoil, Marianne took a break for a large statue in the center of the square.
Putting her back to it, Marianne drew her second gun. By this point, the other members of the gang had figured out where she was, and were firing in her direction. She winced subconsciously, but the bullets merely chipped away at the statue. Leaning out from behind it for a split second, she fired in response. This was most likely going to be a brutal fight.
At the moment, the statue was shielding her, leaving her free to snipe them one by one. When she popped out to fire, however, Marianne noticed that she was receiving no gunfire in return. That couldn't be good. Without really thinking about it, she took a leap away from the statue, rolling as she hit the ground.
It was quite fortunate that she did. A rocket launcher had quickly been constructed; its projectile struck the statue with considerable force, blowing it away completely. Seeing they had missed their target, the outlaws again opened fire. At the sharp command of their leader, they charged into the city, with a mission to seek and destroy.
Within the Plant, there was an aura of serenity, unmoving, unchanging. Faded into the background, a hum of machinery droned on constantly. A computer terminal counted down in silence, measuring the time that remained. Eventually the count dropped to zero, and then faded without a trace. With it went the humming noise, and for a second there was absolute silence. The surface of the blue bubble was unbroken, and then fingers reached through the surface.
Emerging from the blue bubble, Vash couldn't help but stare at himself. The scars were gone. Completely gone. His skin was smooth, as if it had never been so horribly broken. During the process, the metal grate had dissolved. He was whole.
Picking up his clothes, Vash quickly reclad himself. Without the scars underneath, his jacket felt odd, like something was missing. But, he slowly realized, it was like missing a pain that had been with you forever: it was different, but it was better. Despite himself, Vash grinned. He felt as he never had before, new, refreshed.
The sound of gunfire interrupted his newfound joy. Sighing, Vash focused his senses outside. Some sort of firefight. Not good. Returning his gun to its holster, Vash picked up his glasses and placed them back on his face as he swept from the room. Once again his face was deadly serious.
"This failed experiment," he whispered to himself softly, "...is over."
Ducking into the alley, Marianne rolled hard to avoid pursuing gunfire. They were still chasing her, and by this point they were closing in. Though she'd managed to take out many of them, there were quite a few. Outside of the alleyway, there was an abrupt spurt of gunfire, then silence. Putting her back to a dumpster, Marianne quickly reloaded and prepared to go out once again-
The barrel of a gun appeared in front of her abruptly. Shocked, she could only look down the arm that held it, where one of the outlaws grinned savagely. His gun engaged, the click seeming horribly loud in the silence.
"Hey boss!" he yelled out the alley. "I've fo-"
Suddenly he collapsed, his gun slipping from his hands and clattering to the ground. Not knowing what was happening, Marianne quickly whirled and aimed both guns in the direction the shot had come from, preparing to fire on anyone who might enter the alley...
"Is that any way to greet someone?" Vash asked cooly, standing with his arms folded at the end of the alley. In one of his hands he held a smoking gun. Taking a deep sigh of relief, Marianne let her guns drop to her sides. So he had finished, and just in time, apparently. Getting to her feet, she moved to the entrance of the alleyway, checking for any more of the outlaws. On the street behind him, she saw many of them lying on the ground, one of them the leader. It was finally over.
Smiling in relief, Marianne put both of her guns away. Turning to thank him, she found that he was already gone. Suddenly alone, Marianne glanced around the street, accompanied by only corpses. The wind whistled past her, blowing dust that bit into her skin. Not again...
A gentle breeze floated through the sweet air, blowing the gossamer threads from side to side. The spider's web glistened, tiny dew drops glowing in the artificial sunlight. It was a beautiful sight... and an object of destruction. Struggling with all its might, the butterfly tried to escape the web, its attempts only further entangling it. Slowly, as if sure of its meal, the spider crept forward, mandibles outstretched.
Vash hovered by it, staring in horror at what was about to happen. There had to be something he could do. Struggling with himself, he raised his hands, then lowered them again, unsure how to act.
"We have to let it free," Rem told him gently.
"But how?" Vash pleaded, eyes questioning.
"Go ahead," Knives taunted, standing on the opposite side of the spider's web. "Save the butterfly."
"But I don't want to hurt the spider!"
"Then the butterfly is going to die, isn't it?"
"I want to save them both!"
"Can you?" Grinning maniacally, Knives floated on the opposite side, his question remaining in the air. The spider was nearly at the butterfly now, preparing to wrap it in its thread...
Knives crunched the spider in one hand. As if nothing had happened he wiped his hand off on the grass. With a cry of horror, Vash stumbled back, not believing what his brother had done.
"Why'd you do that?" he demanded. "You didn't have to kill it!"
"Didn't I?" Knives asked slowly. "Had I done nothing, the butterfly would have died. You weren't going to do anything. And then the spider would have killed again. And again."
"But you killed the spider!"
"And you would have killed the butterfly. There would have been as much blood on your hands as mine, brother. The butterfly would have died, your way. Think about that. Can you live with that? Could you go the rest of your life knowing that because of you the butterfly died?"
"Knives!" Rem gasped, finally interjecting into the boy's feud. She mostly let them bicker, boys would be boys, but this time he had gone too far. Knives had been acting strange recently, for that matter.
Hearing her reproving tone, Knives shrank back slightly, looking apologetic.
"Sorry," he whispered, but all three of them wondered if he truly was. He shuffled about for a few moments, then ran off, toward the door of the artificial environment. Rem stared after him silently, torn between the two boys who had become children to her. Vash was crying before the spider's web; he made no noise, but his small body was shaking.
"It's alright," she told him softly, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back, looking extremely forlorn. He was only a few years old, after all.
"But he's right," Vash barely got the words out. "I would have let the butterfly die. I didn't want to make a choice about who would die... but that's a choice too, isn't it?"
"Hush. You did the right thing."
Shaking in her arms, Vash closed his eyes tightly. He couldn't help but wonder...
Taking a slow sip from the glass in front of him, Vash watched the rest of the bar from his peripheral vision. By this point, nearly a week after he had escaped the caravan, he was relatively certain he had shaken anyone following him. That meant only that he could slightly relax his guard; this town was notorious for bounty hunters, so he wanted to keep a low profile.
Perhaps he was being too cautious. He'd picked this spot carefully, chosen a table in a corner where he could put his back to a wall and get a good look at the entire bar. Rumors about the number of bounty hunters in this town were right, almost everyone was carrying a gun. Not a good place for anyone to hear about the reward on his head. A few men were shadily pointing in his direction to each other, but they were doing that to a lot of people. Hopefully, nothing would come of it.
Scanning the crowds, he abruptly froze, recognizing one of the faces that came in the doorway. Why was Marianne here? Though he asked himself the question, he already knew the answer: she was following him. After considering slipping away for a moment, Vash opted to stay. She'd know the danger of mentioning who he was, and she'd be cautious.
She quickly spied him, and made her way through the crowded bar to sit in the chair opposite him. Vash merely nodded to her, taking another sip from his drink to avoid saying anything. What did she want?
"Hello again," Marianne said pleasantly. She couldn't believe that she had finally found him. The longer this went on, the more nervous she became, but apparently it was over.
"You followed me?" Vash asked. She nodded.
"You're a tough man to track. It's taken me all week to catch up to you. How do you vanish like that?"
Shrugging, Vash responded simply, "One acquires certain skills to avoid trouble."
"You seem to need them. Trouble follows you like a cloud," she told him, quite seriously. "Everywhere you go, things seem to go wrong. I have one question, though." He raised an eyebrow. "Was that you that made the leader of that slave caravan give himself up like that? I thought that whole case seemed to go a bit too tight."
"Yeah, that was me. Very perceptive." He took another sip from his glass. "Don't you have a job to do or something?"
Blushing slightly, Marianne lowered her head. Obviously, she did have a job to do. "They don't need me back right away," she explained, somewhat weakly. "My boss never even specified a return date. I got the job done in record time, so I figured I had a few extra days."
"I see." He let it pass, there was no point aggravating the situation. But he wasn't going to let this conversation continue without getting some of his questions answered. "So, why are you here?"
"First off, I had to thank you for helping me. But really, well, we seem to keep running into each other, and something has been driving me nuts: I don't know your real name. You know mine, it's only fair that I know yours."
"Ah." Vash was silent for another long moment, stalling by taking a long drink from his cup. He was running out, he'd have to find another delaying technique soon. "Well, that situation is a bit more complicated."
"Why?" she asked. "You have a reason to keep it a secret?"
"Yes," he smiled imperceptibly, but it was a sardonic smile, not a happy one. "I have very good reasons. But you're right, it's only fair." Vash glanced from side to side, a slick movement that allowed him to glance around without appearing to do so, except that Marianne had been in the business long enough to recognize it. "This might come as a bit of a surprise," he told her seriously. "If you're caught off guard, don't let it show."
"Out with it already. What's your name?"
He leaned closer, whispering with one gloved hand into her ear. It was a barely perceptible movement, that could almost have been mistaken for a hand gesture. But she still easily caught the word, "Vash."
A surprise, like he had said. Years of training kept her from revealing anything on her face, but inwardly she was in total shock. For a moment she was completely stunned, unable to do any more than sit in her chair and be mute. Finally she gathered her wits long enough to respond. At the last second she remembered to keep her voice low.
"Vash? As in Vash the Stampede?"
"Right," Vash told her, eyes sad. Despite the turmoil of her mind, Marianne found herself wondering why he looked so mournful.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Remember back when we first met? I asked you what you would do if I really was Vash the Stampede?"
"Oh. Right." They sat in silence for a minute. Vash drained his glass, setting it down heavily on the table.
"What are you going to do now?" he asked. "Arrest me? Take me in for that sixty billion?"
This question truly caught her off guard, leaving her wondering if she knew the answer herself. What was she going to do? Obviously, this would be the absolute worst place to do such a thing. But if they were elsewhere, could she have tried? Could she even have managed to arrest him? She had said she would, so long ago, but it had all been joking then...
"Not after you saved my life again," she answered. "I owe you a debt for that."
"Perhaps I'd better go. We shouldn't really be involved with each other ever again." Vash abruptly stood up. Before she could even argue or let out a word of protest, he vanished into the night, his characteristic red jacket billowing behind him.
How can this be? she asked herself. How can he be Vash the Stampede? It was a question she had no answer for. Surely, he wasn't the type to destroy entire cities. He'd constantly goofed off, messing around. And that infatuation with her surely didn't befit a killer, especially not such a legendary outlaw...
No. It didn't matter, she reminded herself. All her thoughts had been based on what she had seen while he was still acting. How much of everything he had done been an act? Was even this just a lie? What was the real Vash like? She couldn't imagine him being the type to even shoot another, much less slaughter people. Then again, she remembered the graceful ease with which he had dodged bullets and taken the gun from his opponent. That sort of action was the type befitting a killer.
But why would he have even cared about that situation? Surely, someone running from the law would have no need to enforce it. Whether the water was manipulated or shared had no effect on his personal well being. Certainly, he didn't care about her or those other two girls. Or did he? Even the worst of outlaws had friends. Then again, why would he have counted her as one of his friends?
Another contradiction arose in her mind, further forcing her thoughts into chaos. He had saved her again, at the city, and gone out of his way to do so. That, certainly, was not the behavior of a known criminal. Back at the camp, he'd spent all that time talking with her. Why would he have bothered, if he didn't actually care somehow?
Maybe that was it. A thought sprung into her mind, quickly becoming more well formed. Maybe when one was a legendary killer, they needed friends. That could have been why he was so angry now. She had been the only person who didn't know who he really was, who saw him as a person, not a legend. Marianne gave that a second's thought, and began piecing together pieces of the puzzle. Not the perfect truth, perhaps, but certainly she had some of it. It was all so difficult. She had no idea what he was thinking, and he was an emotionally closed book.
Glancing around, she discovered that the bar had almost entirely cleaned out. That was strange, the patrons had looked to be staying long into the night. Had something happened she had completely ignored in her thoughts? Something about this felt very wrong...
A crushing blow struck the back of her skull, slamming her forward into the table. Completely thrown off balance, Marianne could only vaguely duck to the side as another huge object smashed down where she had been. Her head was still shooting daggers at her, but at least she was still conscious.
Even with her still blurry vision, she could make out the shape of a gun, aimed at her forehead. Freezing instantly, Marianne cautiously glanced around as her vision returned. A circle of ruffians stood around her. All of them were carrying pistols or rifles, and they all looked deadly serious. Obviously something had changed she hadn't been aware of.
Still with the gun aimed in her direction, one of them grabbed her by the neck and lifted her painfully to her feet. What did they want? They were after something very specific, but she couldn't figure out what. In her current condition, she wasn't able to pull a gun on any of them. The others would probably shoot her if she tried, even so.
"Where the h*** is Vash the Stampede?" the leader demanded, getting a good handful of her hair and using it to force her to keep on the tips of her toes.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, more confused than rebellious.
"Don't play dumb," he growled, "We know you were talking to him. Tell us where he went and we'll take care of the situation."
Suddenly Marianne found herself torn between her sense of duty and a vague sense of loyalty to Vash. As a sheriff, she really should help in the apprehension of a dangerous criminal. They might even be able to stop him, ending a horrible threat to the planet. But he had saved her life twice, and she somehow couldn't bring herself to turn him over to them. That wouldn't have been right either. Having no patience for such psychological struggles, the leader pulled her hair up a few inches, making her gasp in pain.
"Where?"
"I don't know," she answered honestly. "Do you think he'd tell me?"
Sighing, the leader growled as if in disbelief, but he loosened his grip on her hair just slightly.
"Search her," he commanded. Immediately several of the men descended around her, checking inside her coat. Their hands did more than merely check.
"D***, this chick is armed," one of the men muttered, pulling out both of her guns. Narrowing his eyes, the leader examined them quickly, then glanced back to her, kicking the others away.
"Who are you?"
"Come on, boss," one of the men whined. "Just get this all over with. We wanna have some fun!"
"Shut up," he growled, forcing the drooling members of the gang into submission. A shady looking member of the group slid up next to the leader. His dark hair was slicked back perfectly, giving him an even sleazier look.
"He's probably still in the area," he advised quietly. "She obviously doesn't know enough. Just shoot her and let's get after him."
"Yeah, you're probably right," the leader acknowledged, nodding slowly. He pulled a long pistol from her belt and aimed it at Marianne's head and cocked it.
A shot rang through the room, and Marianne winced, anticipating the deadly shot. When she failed to die, she opened an eyelid, wondering what was going on. Mere fractions of a second after the first shot, multiple others were fired. The leader's hand in her hair slackened, and he collapsed to the floor.
Catching her balance, Marianne quickly looked around, trying to get a handle on the situation. It wouldn't be unheard of for bounty hunters to kill their own in the interests of getting a particularly high target. But none of the group was left standing. Someone else, then. Bending to the ground, Marianne picked up one of her fallen guns.
Suddenly she saw him, standing in the doorway. Vash's body was silhouetted by the bright lights from the street outside, one hand still raised, the last of the smoke fading from its barrel. Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed almost like Vash's eyes were glowing a disturbing blue.
The moment vanished, and Vash lowered his gun, coming inside to stand behind her. Clipping the edge of her gun with his foot, he kicked it up to his hand, then returned it to her. Not questioning, Marianne took it.
"I thought you said it was better we were never involved again."
"I didn't realize they knew who I was," Vash answered her, reloading his gun. "It would be wrong for you to be killed on my account. The least I can do is keep my problems away from you."
"Why would you care?" she asked, perhaps more cynically than she had thought. He glanced at her, his gaze somewhat sad. To avoid her slight embarrassment at upsetting him, Marianne fully loaded both of her guns, looking away.
"Why do you say that?" Vash asked softly.
"I'd think a killer like you wouldn't care about anyone else."
"Oh," he glanced away from her, remaining silent for a moment longer. "I guess I'm just somewhat altruistic at times. I'm not as bad as the legends make me out to be."
"How can you really be the human typhoon? It seems so unlike you."
A fleeting smile crossed Vash's face, and then vanished. "I'm glad that you think so. But trust me," Vash pulled his reflective shades from his pocket and put them on, then glanced back up at her, "I can be Vash."
"I really shouldn't be doing this," Marianne said slowly. "A police officer talking with the legendary outlaw?" They both knew she wasn't very serious, and the tension lessened somewhat.
"Would you like to handcuff me?" Vash asked, face quasi-sincere. "If it makes you feel better."
"Right," Marianne agreed, falsely gung-ho. "Got to do my duty." Actually taking a pair of handcuffs from her jacket, she clapped one of them around his left wrist, leaving his shooting arm free.
"No!" Vash gasped. "You've captured me!"
Both of them laughed softly, the tension vanishing. Of course, this didn't solve any real problems, and Marianne still worried about her duty, but she somehow felt better. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh, truly laugh, since she'd met him. Something about it made her want to see it again.
"Freeze where you are!" a voice suddenly yelled. Vash and Marianne whipped their heads around to glance at the source of the voice, a thug in the doorway. He was aiming a gun in their general direction. Glancing sideways at Vash, Marianne discovered that he was completely serious once again, all trace of merriment gone from his face. Almost scary, really.
Slowly, Vash pulled his gun, and leveled it at the thug's head. In disbelief, the thug did nothing, just watching him.
"You're the... the legendary Vash the Stampede?" he stammered incredulously.
"Your move."
Everything within the bar was overturned, tables strew across the floor, the literal bar itself chipped away by the massive amount of lead that had been pumped at it. All four walls were still standing, but there were a few gaping holes in them. Only two remained standing, the only others in the room were cadavers.
Simply put, Marianne was in awe. She had helped as best she could, but it had been Vash who had swept the bounty hunters away. He only carried six bullets in his gun, but he made each of them count, then reloaded at a nearly invisible rate. Everyone who attacked the building was dropped almost instantly. Yet, through it all, Vash wasn't really bloodthirsty, just coldly efficient. One of them had lost his nerve and ran, Vash had let him go, whereas Marianne would have been tempted to at least nonfatally wound him.
Determining the battle was over, Vash returned his gun to its holster, first ensuring that it was again loaded. With the bounty hunters knowing his presence here, he needed to be ready. Of course, an incident like this would keep them away for a while. But in his long life, Vash had learned never to underestimate the power of greed.
"That was... amazing," Marianne breathed. "You're really fast."
"Thanks," Vash merely nodded. "You didn't do badly yourself, it's easy to see why you've kept your job as a sheriff."
"Thanks!" Marianne beamed. A compliment from someone like him meant quite a bit. Suddenly she realized what she was thinking. Taking the words of a mass murderer as a compliment? What was she thinking? Having seen him fight now, however, she was in no hurry to try and coerce him to do anything against his will. "At first I wasn't too sure, because of how you acted strange when we first met and all, but after this, I realized you really are Vash the Stampede."
"Right." Vash sighed deeply. "I am." Abruptly he swept away, in that swift manner he seemed to always do. Before she could protest, he was out the door. How did he do that? And, more importantly, what had she said to offend him? They had been joking around a short while earlier, and then suddenly he was gone.
Slowly and deliberately, Marianne reloaded and replaced her guns, getting back to normal after the entire experience. There was nothing else here, she slowly walked for the door, moving around furniture and bodies. The mundane activities kept her from thinking. Nothing she did made the dull empty feeling inside go away.
It was growing dark, but Vash simply ignored it, walking on. Most likely, it wasn't safe to stay in the city. If he left immediately after killing the bounty hunters, the others would likely be more afraid to follow him. Furthermore, if everyone knew he was leaving, they'd be less likely to bother Marianne. She could take care of any minor problems in her way. But that was over now, it'd be best for her if she didn't meet him again.
Reaching into his pocket, Vash pulled out the handcuffs, idly fingering them. It'd been easy to pick the lock, but he'd kept them. Why would he bother? That question remained with him, reminding him that he didn't even understand himself. With a slight smile, Vash put them back into his pocket. A memory.
At least to her he wasn't just $$60,000,000,000. The others all saw him as a number, an easy way to make a fortune, or so they thought. It was at those moments that he wished there was more stigma attached to his name, so they'd just stay away. Marianne didn't think of him that way. But he was still Vash the Stampede.