DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.
A little while later, a town began to shimmer into being on the horizon. Milly whooped for joy. Meryl smiled a little smile of relief. Vash didn't change expression.
Meryl touched him on the arm. When he looked at her, she broadened her smile in reassurance and nodded. His response was to shake his head.
He was not refusing to go with them. She could tell he just was worried about what was going to happen. But his eyes were just so sad…
Her hand slid down to his and grasped it. Even with his gloves on, she felt a thrill as he closed his hand around hers. The look in his eyes changed for a moment. What was that she saw in them…longing? Hope? What went through his mind as he looked at her and they held hands?
Then the moment was over. Vash sighed and gently placed her hand back at her side, releasing it and moving forward again.
Meryl realized she had been holding her breath. Released it, squared her shoulders, and marched forward with the other two. At least there had been something in him other than that secret pain he refused to share with her.
With us, she corrected.
The town ceased to be a hallucinatory shimmer and became a reality. The closer they got, the more Meryl realized it was less of a town and more of a village. But who cared? There must be water, otherwise it wouldn't be here, and water was what her body cared about.
It was the end of a long, hot day by the time they reached it. Between the three of them, there was now one canteen left. Meryl was unable to tell whether Vash was, but both she and Milly were already scanning for the saloon, hydration on their minds.
A thomas sounded as its rider spurred it in front of the group, blocking their path. The rider sat tall in the saddle, lean and tough and leathery. There was nothing nice about his scowl, nor about the rifle he leveled at them with one hand, either.
"Staying long?" he demanded.
His tone irked Meryl, and after the journey the trio had just been through, she was in no mood to hide it. "So what if we are? We'll pay our way."
"We don't take much to strangers, not even ones with money. My advice, do your business and leave. Nobody likes people who overstay their welcome." He tried to put some venom into it, but venom had never worked well on Meryl Stryfe.
"Now listen, you overcooked jerk of a man, my name is – hey!" she exclaimed as Vash stepped in front of her.
"Just passing through," he informed the man in the saddle. "Need water and food and rest. We'll get it and leave."
The barrel of the rifle traveled up to between his eyes. Vash faced it unflinchingly, focused on the eyes of the man with his finger on the trigger.
When the eyes of the man with the rifle looked into the eyes of the man in the red coat, he recognized at least some of what he saw. If he tangled with this man, he knew he would somehow lose. The rifle raised.
"Do your business and get out!" The thomas trotted off into the night.
"I suppose that was the welcome wagon?" Meryl snorted.
Vash looked at her, too cognizant of what had nearly happened. That rider's finger had been pretty tight on the trigger. The hand that brushed her hair was gentle; his words were not. "That mouth will get you killed. Put the safety on and quit shooting it off."
Strode off, leaving a shocked and fuming Meryl to stomp after him, Milly trying to calm her down.
The saloon was not hard to find; if not the exact center of this tiny place, it was close. A second story indicated it also had rooms for rent. The lights were on, but there was no music yet and things were not very raucous. It was still early, though. Saloons and bars were a great way to tell how rowdy a town was, but only at party time. The quiet now might get loud later. Vash passed by the swinging doors, giving the inside a once-over.
Meryl still had her dander up over his comment, and slammed through the doors, Milly in her wake. Vash let all eyes be drawn to them and watch them walk to the bar before slipping in himself and sidling along the wall to a corner. Waited for people to go back to their drinks before moving along the side wall and up to the bar next to Meryl and Milly.
The bartender was a wiry 5'9", neatly combed hair the color of rust and trimmed mustache the same shade. He looked at the two insurance girls, assessed their dust-covered appearances. While everyone was watching their entrance, he had noticed Vash use the ladies as cover for his own quiet entrance. He knew the hallmarks of a dangerous gunman. It was rarely the loud, blusterous ones you had to worry about for anything beyond property damage. The truly lethal did not draw attention to themselves...unless they were ready to make their lethality known.
"Ladies. Gentleman. What'll you have?" His voice, while deep, was quiet and measured. Relaxing, the way a good bartender's was. Even as he spoke, he was searching his mental files for anything matching a tall blond gunman in a red coat.
"Water," Meryl and Milly both proclaimed.
"Whiskey." Vash slid a bill on the bar, covering all their orders.
The bartender looked at the bill. "Must be thirsty."
"Yep. Give the ladies all the water they can handle, and we'll need to top off our canteens."
"Water's scarce around here," the bartender commented. "You're asking for a lot of it."
"How scarce?"
"Scarce enough to be expensive. You may have noticed we don't have a plant."
Vash indicated the bill on the bar. "What's this buy?"
A glance was directed at the insurance girls. "Maybe enough refills for the short one. Tall one, maybe, maybe not. Not enough for drinks and the canteens."
"How much would cover it?"
The bartender smiled. "Have the drinks for now. Get a little loosened up. We'll talk money later."
Chuckle. "The same all over the place, you are. Have a drink now, get in the mood to buy some more drinks later."
"You know the story." The glasses were set up. "Wife and ten kids to feed."
"Sometimes fifteen," Milly contributed cheerfully.
The bartender laughed as he poured their water. "Yes, ma'am, and sometimes a few cousins thrown in, too."
Meryl and Milly drank down their water thirstily as the bartender set up Vash with his whiskey.
"Leave the bottle."
Bartender looked at him, then shrugged. "Keep in mind, I don't want any trouble –" Lowered his voice to a mutter. "– Vash."
If the gunman was surprised at being recognized, he showed no sign of it. Merely poured a shot. "No trouble. Not in the market."
The bartender nodded and proceeded to chat with the insurance girls. Vash got to work drinking, starting with rinsing the dust out of his mouth, then focusing on the feel of the liquid fire. He knew it wouldn't work, but still hoped it would.
They had only been there a little while when the swinging doors banged open again. "Kurtz, you son of a bitch!" barked a voice that cracked with adolescence. "I've got my gun on, let's finish it like men!"
Every face looked up. Meryl and Milly turned. The bartender glanced up, taking in the scene. Vash alone stayed focused on his drink.
Heard a chair scrape as someone stood up. Boots sounded on the floor, going up to where the adolescent's voice had come from. Not heavy steps, light. They sounded to Vash the way his own steps had when he slipped into the saloon. The subconscious part of his mind was already plotting their location and angles in relation to where he was. Laying out trajectories.
The man who stepped up said no words, just waited.
Leather creaked, but the kid was too slow, too inexperienced. A cracking demand of "Let go!" told Vash the man had grabbed the cylinder of the boy's gun, keeping it from going off.
A grunt as the gun was removed from the kid's hand. One by one, the sound of shells hitting the floor, five in all. A cylinder spinning before the click of it being closed.
"Everybody dies." This voice was low and raspy. Sounded like its speaker was about the same height as the bartender. "Which one of us will it be?"
A click as the trigger was pulled on an empty chamber. "Your turn, boy."
The gun was placed in a hand shaking so badly Vash could hear the firearm rattle.
"Come on, boy. You wanted it finished."
Shaky gasps coming from the teen. The hammer being cocked back again, breath coming more ragged. From where the sound of the hammer came from, Vash knew it was not at his head. Good; the game would end here, the point would be driven home, further violence would be avoided. The kid would have the rest of his life to get over losing face.
Meryl did not see it that way. "Hey!" she burst out. "You can't just –" Stopped as Vash laid his hand on her arm.
"He's yanking the kid's chain. Leave it alone."
"But –"
"Leave it alone."
It was too late. Her exclamation had been heard. Vash heard the boy be thrown to the side. Several pairs of boots moved, but stopped halfway. Only one pair continued up to the bar.
Vash turned his head just enough to get a look at the man called Kurtz. Clean-shaven, mean knife scar down one cheek. His guess had been right, the man was about the same height as the bartender. Same kind of wiry build, too, except where the bartender was relaxed, this man was like a coiled spring. Or like a gun ready to go off.
Kurtz gave Meryl a silent once-over. Then his eyes traveled over to Vash, scanning over him, and they lit. He saw something in Vash's eyes that the kid's had not held, and his teeth bared in something that could be a grin or a snarl or both.
Hand drifted down by his holster. Somebody not looking might not have noticed him lightly flick off the strap keeping it from accidentally slipping out, the movement was that smooth. Vash noticed.
Not going to pull, Vash told himself. Not going to that place again.
"Leave it alone," he said once more, quietly, eyes locked with the other man. "Nobody wants to die."
Kurtz the gunman whistled through his teeth, eyes still locked on the windows to Vash's soul. "I think you do."
It was faint, from across the room, but Vash caught it – a shell being pushed into a chamber in a frantic attempt to load a gun.
Somebody else heard it, too, and they were fast. Leather whispered at the same time as a hammer was thumbed –
But just a heartbeat slower than Vash's fluid movement as he took his shot glass and stepped to the side of Kurtz and threw, the glass seemingly propelling itself from his hand and knocking the man's gun off balance as it fired, sending the bullet –
To barely miss the kid who had started this whole thing rolling, the bullet slamming into a table leg an inch above his arm where it would have hit. He went ashen, too stunned to even aim, let alone pull his own trigger. The man who fired the shot cursed and thumbed again and –
Was sent flying by an X-shaped projectile with such force that it used him to knock aside a table before slamming him into a wall. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.
Heads turned to see where the hell that had come from, and found Milly holding her awesome stun gun.
"Who else wants some?" she asked calmly, all good humor gone from her face.
Before anyone else could answer, Kurtz commanded, "Pack it up! We're done for the night."
"But Mr. Kurtz –"
"No buts! Gutman, get Geiger off the floor. Everybody who works for Ms. O'Brien, clear out!" Turned back to Vash, voice low. "You're good, cowboy. We'll see who's better, when it's time to decide who dies."
After Kurtz and company had departed, Milly re-slung her stun gun and brought the teenager to the bar, where she and Meryl fussed over him. The color was coming back to him, but he was still fairly pale.
"Think some whiskey would help?" Meryl asked the bartender.
He shrugged and set up two glasses, one a replacement for the glass Vash had thrown. "Old enough to be stupid is old enough to drink."
The kid grabbed the shot and tossed it back, then threw a coughing fit that spit half of it out.
"Miserable bastards," he fumed, fire in his eyes even as his hands still shook. "Just wait. There's a war coming to this town, and when it does, I'll kill them all!"
Vash cuffed him on the side of the head, knocking him off his stool.
"Behave yourself!" Meryl scolded, but was ignored as the gunman took a few steps and stood over the adolescent.
"You don't want war, boy." His voice was low and dangerous, suddenly the growl of a chained animal. "You don't want to know what it's like to see people die, and you don't want to know what it's like to be willing to kill them. You don't ever want to know that you have that kind of darkness inside you."
He turned to the bartender. "Need a room."
The bartender nodded, unshaken by both the incident and Vash's address to the teen. "Upstairs." Tossed a key to Vash, who caught it easily and left another bill on the bar before heading upstairs.
As shocked as she was at his behavior, Meryl still noticed the way he quivered as he walked. The way his trigger finger twitched.