A Garden of Chances Chapter 3, a trigun fanfic

Chapter 3: A lesson in karma

When Ozzy came to, he could hear the sound of someone breathing by his head.

A quick glance revealed the culprit to be the man he had saved earlier this afternoon. (Although, a look at his bedroom window proved it to be quite late. Around five or six in the evening, perhaps?) He was quite closer than Ozzy had expected him to be, their noses nearly touching if not for the brim of his hat (something Ozzy was very grateful the man had left alone) casting a slight barrier between them. Luckily, the other was fast asleep, head pillowed atop the mattress of his bed as he let out adorable puffs of breath through his slightly opened mouth, or else he would have witnessed Ozzy sucking in his breath as his cheeks heated up at the close proximity of the other human—or would've thought to be a human if it weren't for the fact that Ozzy knew the other was definitely not one.

Old memories began to trickle in from the final human years of his life. Memories of indulging himself with reading and watching for entertainment instead of memorizing information. Memories of a story he had enjoyed as a pastime about gunmen, outlaws, and space. Memories of a blonde man in a red duster, armed with a large silver gun, and a charismatic smile.

Memories of the man sleeping right next to him.

If the storyline Ozzy had read was true, things were going to get pretty ugly in the next upcoming years. There were going to be so many deaths and towns destroyed. He was tempted to let out a sigh but held it back in favor of not disturbing Vash.

Well, Ozzy sighed in his mind, might as well get started on dinner.

Mindful of the slumbering man, he slowly pulled the blanket off his body and crept off the bed; the floorboards remained faithfully silent as he closed the door behind him and tiptoed to the stairs and down to the kitchen. The boy put on his frilly white apron and surveyed the room.

Knowing Vash, Ozzy figured he should at least triple the amount he usually makes to fill up the gunman's stomach. So fiber-packed dishes were a must, as well as soup and plenty of water to help replenish his liquids. Ozzy nodded to himself, satisfied with the plans for dinner. If he has time and ingredients left over, maybe he can even whip up some doughnuts.

If it weren't for the fact that Ozzy was facing the doorway and heard his footsteps coming down the steps, the knife held in his left hand would've probably made its way through Vash's head.

Probably? Maybe? Definitely.

"You're awake!" Vash cheerfully greeted, a wide smile on his face. "Gosh, you don't know how worried I was when you passed out! Scared me half to death, squirt." His relieved face turned to one of worry. "You sure you're okay enough to be up and about though? Not that I'm complaining; it smells absolutely amazing here."

Ozzy vigorously nodded his head. "Oh, yes. I'm perfectly fine, Mister Vash. I..." He quickly racked his mind for an excuse; anything other than explaining he passed out simply because he was stressed by the introduction of another person other than his family. "I pass out from time to time since I—" I can already tell this is going to be a train wreck. "I have a mysterious illness that has a side effect of making me pass out. It's been with me since childhood, so I'm used to dealing with it. You just caught me at a bad time since I was late on my dosage."

Foot. Meet, mouth.

Instead of reassuring Vash as Ozzy had intended, his wrangled excuse seemed to have only increased the taller's concerns.

"Like I said: Are you sure you should be walking around all willy-nilly? Heck, are you sure you should be cooking by yourself?" Vash exclaimed, hands comically waving around in the air as if Ozzy would pass out any moment.

"Don't worry, I already took some medicine earlier, so I should be fine for the evening." Ozzy quickly amended, nervously dicing the meat on the cutting board faster.

That seems to have put Vash at ease since he'd dropped his hands to his sides with a relieved sigh. "Well, that's terrific to hear. Also, I hope you don't mind, but I helped myself to your fruit bowl. Hope I didn't overstep."

"That's quite alright. I'm glad you did. It sounds like you had a rough time on the road." He waved Vash's worries off as his hands seasoned the meat to prepare for the pot.

"Seriously, uh, kid? That's mighty kind of you! I'll make sure to pay you back for the fruit."

"That won't be necessary, Mister Vash."

That put an incredulous expression on Vash's face. "Wha? But fruits must cost a fortune around here."

"Oh, not at all." Ozzy absentmindedly pointed to the window facing the backyard. "I picked them from my garden just this morning."

The moment Vash heard the word garden fall from Ozzy's mouth, he immediately ran over to the window with excitement, as well as a pinch of disbelief. Something Ozzy understood well; he was living in the middle of a desert with no other signs of human life in sight. Where would he find the resources to build and maintain a garden?

The blond's face was pressed up against the glass, his head whipping away every five seconds like a child that was witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon.

"It's beautiful," Vash breathed out, a slight hitch in his breath. The man sounded like he was going to—scratch that, he most definitely is crying. Tears were dripping down his cheeks like waterfalls; the drops collecting under his chin and splattering on the floor. This only served to increase his attractiveness.

Ozzy did not know how to handle crying. Much less crying men. Mama Dee and Aunty El didn't really cry; if they did, it was usually for comical reasons and in the form of crocodile tears, so fake, you didn't feel any need to intervene.

So what Ozzy did, after a few awkward seconds of freaking out, was offer a box of tissues to the weeping man, who took it with a thankful look.

"Huu, sorry for the sudden waterworks." Vash blew his nose into a tissue. "I tend to get a tad over-emotional at times."

"There's no shame in crying, Mister Vash," Ozzy responded with a shake of his head. "I've heard it's better to cry than to bottle up all your emotions. Some say it's even cathartic for them." At least that's what Mama Dee says.

Vash smiled, "Thanks, Squirt."

"It's no problem." He replied, turning back to his cooking, moving on from the meat to the freshly washed vegetables.

It turned quiet once more, the only sound in the room being the impact of his knife meeting the cutting board as he cut the vegetables, and the slow bubbling of the water in the pot placed on the stove. Ozzy was so focused on cutting the vegetables with a mantra repeating in his mind: "forgetaboutthetallmaninthecorner ", he almost didn't see Vash getting closer. The knife in Ozzy's hand nearly nicked him when he looked at the other side of the table, catching dazzling aqua-marine eyes staring at him from over the countertop edge where Vash was crouching. The man was mesmerized by his cutting skills, never taking his sparkling eyes off Ozzy's quick and skilled hands.

"...Would you like to help?" Ozzy stiffly asked, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.

Vash enthusiastically nodded his head. "Mm!"

"Well..." He looked around for something the taller could do to keep himself occupied that didn't take much effort. "I suppose you could help with the stew," Ozzy murmured in thought. That shouldn't be too complicated.

Vash pulled up his sleeves, eager to help. "Okay, what do you need me to do, Chef?"

Ozzy pointed his knife at the sink. "You'll need to wash your hands first, Mister Vash. After you're done, you can cook the meat on the stove." He instructed." When you've browned the meat, then you can add in the vegetables.

The man gave him a thumbs up before doing just that. Vash's hands were diligent as he followed my instructions, eyes not straying from his tasks. Soon enough, he was whistling a merry tune, adding to the noise in the busy kitchen.

"Incoming," Ozzy warned, shooing Vash back from the stove to add the potatoes to the pot. The meat and vegetables smelled delicious as he breathed in the scent, bringing a smile to his face. "Here," He handed the taller a wooden spoon he was using to cook the pasta. "Keep an eye on the pasta. I'll take over for the stew."

Vash saluted him before taking the offered spoon. "On it, Chef. You can count on me!"

Side by side with him, Ozzy added the stock, stirring the meat and vegetables around in the pot. Despite not talking much, Vash didn't seem uncomfortable with the lack of conversation; instead, he filled up the room with his nonsensical chatter full of anecdotes from his travels. The man used his whole body to recount the stories as he gestured animatedly during certain parts. It reminded Ozzy of his mother whenever she would talk about the day's grievances at work when the three of them came together for dinner.

Once Ozzy deemed the food good enough to be eaten, he took out the bowls and plates for them to use. He could tell Vash was barely holding back his urges as he drooled over the food. The stew was quickly ladled into bowls, the pasta onto plates, the rice scooped, and the other dishes prepared. The two found themselves seated next to each other with a myriad of dishes set before them, steaming with delicious, mouthwatering scents.

Ozzy closed his eyes and brought his fingertips together, reciting a prayer under his breath.

"May the food provided by Life and prepared by our humble hands provide nourishment for our body and soul. For once Death retrieves us, we will wait until the next cycle to receive such gifts again. For peace in the afterlife, we pray."

Upon opening his eyes and taking a glance at Vash, Ozzy held up a hand to his mouth, trying to muffle his chuckle.

The man adopted a praying posture, hands folded together and eyes closed; however, Ozzy's eyes caught the bread crumbs on the side of his mouth. A mouth that was slightly moving as the other tried to sneakily chew. He noticed a bread slice missing from the bread basket.

Not mentioning anything, Ozzy faced the other way and pulled aside his veil to start eating his stew, prompting the other to eat as well. Something the man did with extreme vigor. The first bite of the pasta pulled a pleasured moan from Vash's throat as he closed his eyes to savor the bite.

"Oh, man! Thish ish sho delishious!" Vash cried, mouth full of food and tears in his eyes. "Homemade food ish totally on a different level. I'd have it for the resht of my rife if I could!" With a speed that made Ozzy confused about whether he should be worried or amazed, he shoved more pasta in his mouth and soon licked the dish clean. Done with the pasta, he moved on to his next victim, the stew.

More than once, Vash had asked for seconds and had constantly praised Ozzy for his cooking. He compared him to a benevolent spirit, unknowingly flustering the other with his genuine appreciation and words.

Once they finished eating and cleaned away the dishes and utensils (Ozzy washed while Vash was in charge of drying), he was unsure of what to do next and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Would you like to have a look at the garden?"

Vash brightened up at the suggestion.

"Really?"

He just gestured at the door that led to the back, "Go ahead, and knock yourself out, Mister Vash. I'll be out in a second."

"Well, okay then. Thanks!" He grinned, walking out the door with a happy smile and wave.

Once Ozzy hears the sound of the door closing, he relaxes his shoulders. It's been far too long since he's talked to anyone other than Mama Dee and Aunty El, and he's feeling the mental exhaustion from being in the presence of all that emotion and noise.

But...

Ozzy could feel his lips tilt up just a smidge.

He sure is pleasant to be around.

He almost feels disappointed that he will have to leave tomorrow morning. They've already discussed his plans to set off to the next town and he'll only be staying for a night. A shame really; but it was for the best.

He picked up a covered plate, strategically hidden behind a sack of flour, and two chilled glass bottles of milk.

Might as well enjoy the time Ozzy had left with the other before he leaves.

With a little maneuvering, he opened the backdoor and strolled to the table. Vash was in the background, admiring his flowers and smelling their floral scents. He particularly kept to the red geraniums Ozzy planted a few weeks ago, mesmerized by their vibrant hue under the orange light the suns emitted in the evening sky. Vash didn't seem to notice Ozzy when he walked out of the kitchen.

The glass bottles clinked on the table when he set them down along with the plate. The milk, slightly sloshing around inside, with small bubbles forming from the tip of the liquid's rim. When Ozzy took off the plate's covering, a sweet smell came from the plate, permeating the garden air, carrying notes of sugar and oil.

This was what caught Vash's attention.

"Are those doughnuts?" The gunman squealed, happiness pouring out of every pore of his body.

Ozzy, who was currently looking through his tape box, nodded his head with a hum in answer. Picking one out, he walked back to the table where Vash was hovering over the fried treats, drooling with a finger in his mouth. "They're for dessert, so have as much as you want, Mister Vash." Ozzy encouraged, putting the tape in the cassette player and pressing the play button.

Thankfully, he wasn't the type to change things, so the table still had three chairs from the last time Mama and Aunty came over. Nibbling on a sweet treat and listening to the soft melody of a piano, Ozzy relaxed and gazed at the gorgeous view of the sunset a treeless area of the garden provided him. Vash was doing the same, although there was more stuffing of the face with doughnuts on his end.

A choked wheeze grabbed Ozzy's attention, making him stiffen and turn around to see what was wrong. Turns out, it was just Vash choking on a doughnut. The man was holding his throat and hitting his chest to dislodge a piece.

"Here," He picked up Vash's drink and motioned for the taller man to drink it. "Take it!"

Heeding his advice, Vash took the bottle and drank the contents, letting out a sigh of relief when the choking sensation passed. "Hoo, that was a doozy. Almost thought I saw the light for a sec there." He grinned apologetically at Ozzy, "Sorry about that, kid. Now that I think about it, this is the third time you've saved me. Thanks a lot."

"Third time?" Ozzy blinked.

Vash nodded his head and started counting on his fingers. "Yeah! The first time was when we first met. You gave me water, remember? The second time was when you cooked that amazing dinner. I don't think I've ever eaten anything as delicious as that, or will in the future, if I'm going to be honest," he grimaced. "I think you've ruined my taste buds, Squirt." The third finger was lifted. "And now you've saved me from choking on those tasty doughnuts!"

Ozzy's brows scrunched together in confusion. "But isn't that common courtesy?"

This got Vash laughing. "Well, not around these parts it isn't."

"I suppose so." He admitted, taking a sip from the straw in the milk bottle.

"Goodnight, Mister Vash."

"Goodnight, Squirt."

With a small wave, Ozzy bade him goodnight and walked upstairs to my bedroom. There was only one bed in the whole house and the gunman refused the very notion of taking it from the sickly owner of the house, so the only option left was for him to sleep on the living room couch—which was a very comfy couch, he'd have to admit. Of course, Ozzy had made sure to provide as many fluffy pillows and blankets as he could to make sure his guest was comfortable, much to the amusement of said guest.

"You know, I'd bet you'd make a wonderful father if you decide to raise any kids in the future." He even joked to Ozzy when the other was burying him under layers of blankets.

Was he being too overbearing or familiar? Ozzy hopes not.

Despite the time they've spent together, Vash curiously never asked for his name before, giving him the option to decide if he wanted to give it; however, Ozzy doubts he ever will. Maybe if he thinks about it; but that's a thought for the next morning. Right now, he needs to go to bed and rest to recharge from the toll of today's sudden surprise.

Unlike waking up to the feeling of sunlight through Ozzy's blinds and the scent of jasmine in his bedsheets, the seemingly young-looking boy wakes up to the scent of smoke in the air, dust in his mouth, and the sight of his house burning down to the ground. Gunshots rattled the air and explosions decimated his garden to a completely unfixable pile of plants, dirt, and debris.

Dressed in his nightgown, cap, and gloves—his veil and glasses were mysteriously placed on his face despite Ozzy remembering taking them off before he slept—Ozzy was unprepared for the sudden onslaught of destruction.

A few feet away from him, Vash is full of rage, shooting his gun at a man thrice his size and weight; it was obvious he's shooting nonlethal shots at the other, but that only serves to make his opponent offended and even more volatile with his bullets.

When he shifted to get a better position, something warm and heavy fell off his shoulders and pooled around his body where he sat. He looked down, dazed.

It was Vash's coat.

At some point, Vash must've put this on him to keep him warm and had taken him far enough to not be caught in the crossfire.

Why did he wear a red coat again? Didn't it symbolize a red geranium or something? Ozzy racked his brain for the meanings of red geraniums before remembering. Right, red geraniums are considered protective plants. That must be why Mama told me to plant some by the doorway. They also symbolize passion and determination. Fitting for someone like Vash.

Too tired to contemplate things any further, he pulled the coat back over him and snuggled in the warm, comforting feeling the coat gave him. The scent of cologne and the gunpowder calmed him down, making him a bit drowsy.

"Maybe...I'll just...close my eyes for a little bit..."

Boom!

Of course, those idiots would think now would be a good time to set off bombs again. At this point, saving the house (and the garden—but Ozzy didn't want to think about that right now) was a pipe dream. The apple tree was knocked over, its roots torn from the soil and its trunk exploded into splinters of wood; its destroyed pieces littered the disturbed and sandy ground in front of the dilapidated house.

"..."

Without a word, Ozzy got up and started walking, the long scarlet trailing along the ground behind him.

A loud, pained grunt was made, followed by a muted thump as Vash's opponent collapsed to the ground after he harshly slammed the butt of his gun against the giant's temple.

"Big Blue!" A grunt called out with worry. The worry was for himself, of course. Big Blue, their head honcho, was their gang's best bet against The Humanoid Typhoon: Vash the Stampede. And now, said honcho was knocked out and on the ground with an angry-looking gunman standing above him. A look around showed that the rest of his group had already run off, their retreating backs mocking him as they got farther away.

The wanted man took an intimidating step forward.

"Eek! "

Scared for his life, he pulled out his last safety measure with shaking hands: a missile. He nervously took aim as the gun weighed heavily on his arms; however, that was nothing in comparison to the prospect of capturing Vash and raking in those sixty billion dollars. Think about the money, dammit!

"Hehe, I-I've got you n-now." He laughed hysterically, sweat dripping down his face.

Finger on the trigger, the man gathered his courage and firmed his resolve. Looking through the optical sight, he kept his focus on the approaching man, focused on his aim, and pulled the trigger.

Clang!

Thud.

Or he would have if not for the metal watering can that slammed to the back of his unsuspecting head.

Vash stared, his mouth gaping widely.

"He should be the last one, I think." Ozzy calmly murmured. Behind him, unconscious men lay strewn about on the ground, all with an incredibly noticeable red welt on their heads.

He lifted the can up to assess the damage. There were multiple dents made on the gardening tool, some of them larger than others, all of them coated with specks of blood.

The watering can looked as if someone had used it to cause blunt force trauma multiple times...which wouldn't be too far off the mark. Ozzy wasn't trying to kill the intruders after all; he was just knocking them out. Albeit with an extreme amount of blunt force trauma.

There's a difference. Ozzy swears there is.

"Tsk, I really liked this one too."