DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.
The walk back to the barber shop was a short distance, but felt like an eternity as Vash tried to puzzle things out.
He had sworn he would never take a life, sworn it to Rem, and he legitimately did not want to kill anyone. But with people like Monev and Legato and the more common variety of killer that he had come across far too often – sometimes it just felt too much like the human race was determined to destroy itself.
How could people so callously kill other people? Look at how many lives Monev had taken, people he'd never even met before. All just to provoke Vash into fighting.
Anger burned inside, and he took a deep breath. If he didn't get out of here soon, he was going to find these feelings too hard to control. He had to get away for a while, just get away from people until the dark emotions burned themselves away. Until he could remember, not just in his head but in his soul, that everyone deserved their ticket to the future.
Even life-takers deserved the chance to change, if only because men are not God.
He had to leave, before he did something he couldn't undo.
It still felt like something Rem would disapprove of. What was he supposed to do about that? Leave, and people might get killed. Stay, though, and who could say he wouldn't be the one doing the killing? Ever since Monev, his grip on himself was getting less and less.
It might be easier to work this out if he weren't so aware of the two killers he was walking between.
Pierre had been scowling the whole way from the hotel, but Kurtz had been regarding Vash and spoke now. "Why'd you take off the gun?"
Vash kept his eyes straight ahead. "My business."
"Call it professional curiosity."
Vash was trying hard to stay flat, but it was tough to keep an edge out his voice. "Call it my business."
Kurtz didn't quite chuckle, more of just a simple "heh" syllable. "You don't push easy."
"No. You can quit pushing any time."
"Why would I? You can try to pretend you're something you're not, but I saw in your eyes. Pushed hard enough, in the right spot, you'll strap that thing on again. And then between the two of us, we'll settle the question of which one dies. And maybe you'll finally be the one."
Now Vash looked over. "The one what?"
A full laugh this time, that rustle-of-death laugh Kurtz had. "The one good enough to kill me."
Vash looked away again, unwilling to reply. If he responded to what was almost an invitation, the wrong part of him might answer.
From the other side, Pierre spoke; growled, was more like it, the way a wild animal issued a warning. "Remember, Kurtz, your death wish has already cost you a lashing and part of a finger. Step out of line again, and you might find it the last time."
Kurtz held up his gloved off hand, turning it like he was looking at the hidden damaged finger. Squeezed his hand into a fist, and Vash could hear again the rush of pain that escaped him.
"Pain is an interesting thing," Kurtz said with a sigh, relaxing his hand again and letting to fall back to his side. "People run from it. Some tolerate it. But if you embrace it, roll in it as proof that you're alive, it becomes a strength. Something to keep your body going until you find that one person that's meant to kill you."
"And you think that's me," Vash said, still forcing his tone flat.
"We'll find out."
"Ms. O'Brien said he gets to leave," snapped Pierre. "So no matter how badly either of us wants to kill him, he gets to leave."
Thank God, they were almost back at the barber shop. Now Vash could rid himself of these two problems and hopefully avoid them until he was gone. Men arguing over who got to kill whom, who lived and who died as if life were nothing more than the stakes of a high card draw or a throw of dice – it sickened him.
Such people don't deserve to live.
The thought was swiftly quashed. He couldn't allow himself to start thinking those thoughts. Had to remember that no one has the right to take the life of another.
No matter how much they might have it coming.
He looked between the two as they came to the shop. "Thanks for the company. Bye."
Sighed when Kurtz opened the door and went in. Should have known it wasn't over.
Heck Hyde looked grim at the entry of Kurtz. He appraised Vash as he entered, noted Pierre's presence.
"Time to talk," Kurtz told the barber.
Of the people present, Kurtz had the only gun that Hyde knew of. He and Vash might be able to take the two O'Brien men, almost certainly if the big woman helped, but six bullets were six chances for things to go wrong, maybe kill his boy. Caution prevailed, and he wordlessly led the way into the back.
Jeckle Hyde started to follow, stopped at his father's stern glare. Given their recent history which culminated in his son risking death last night, Heck Hyde didn't want his hotheaded teenager anywhere near Kurtz. With a jerk of his head, the barber silently ordered his son to wait in a corner of the shop. Jeckle sullenly obeyed.
The air was thick with tension, the possibility of things that could happen. The atmosphere the two O'Brien men had brought with them was almost stifling, and Pierre's eyes were locked solely on Vash.
If this were any other time, the spikey-haired blond man would stay. As it was, the way he was feeling after his meeting with O'Brien, anger and guilt over his need to leave were swirling around inside. In his state of mind, he was as likely to kick off trouble as to prevent it. It was best to leave.
Unfortunately, Meryl didn't think so. She chose just the instant he decided to depart to barge up to him.
"Just where have you been?" she demanded. "What were you thinking, just leaving like that? Didn't you think I would – well, that Milly and I – damn it, didn't you stop to think to think of us? I – Milly and I were worried sick! And what are you doing showing up back here with those –"
She was cut off in surprise as Vash grabbed her shoulders and whirled her around, placing his back to Pierre so what he said could not be observed. Leaned down and quietly but heatedly murmured, "I told you to put the safety on! Now you need to leave. Do not say my name, do not say anything else. Just get Milly and leave. Go back to the saloon, wait for me."
Meryl searched his eyes for a moment. Finding nothing but humorless gravitas, she nodded, her frown less out of being irked and more out of concern. What had happened to him in his time apart from her today to change him from how he had been earlier, back to this…this man she was suddenly relieved was not armed?
"Come on, Milly, we're going."
Having recognized Kurtz from last night and feeling the negative charge in the shop, Milly offered no protest. She willingly followed Meryl out.
One problem down, but one still present. No teen in a hurry to grow up ever keeps their mouth in check for long.
"You'd better be damn glad you have that fancy damn knife," Jeckle Hyde snarled at Pierre, reminding Vash of a small creature yipping at something that could squash it. "You're real good at swaggering around when you have it, same as that bastard Kurtz with his damn gun, but you wouldn't have the balls to strut without it, would you? Or without all your gunslinging buddies. Hiding behind numbers and weapons, just like your bitch boss!"
Vash had already figured out that for whatever reason, badmouthing Mercy O'Brien was something Pierre would never tolerate. He had also already figured out it was only a matter of time before the kid went too far. As such, he had turned his attention from the departure of the insurance girls and sidled over to Pierre, placing him in a position to act as Pierre wordlessly raised a fist to strike the teen.
While nowhere near as thick as Heck Hyde, Vash the Stampede was very strong – and very fast. Quicker than a blink, his gun hand grabbed and held Pierre's wrist, keeping the half-Chinese's arm still with relative ease.
"Don't," he said tonelessly.
Pierre turned his attention away from the teen, whose jaw trembled but stood firm in defiance, and back to Vash. "Let go!"
Vash did so, side-stepping to place himself between Jeckle and Pierre.
"Let it be."
Pierre scowled. "He gets one pass from me, because he is a boy playing at being a man. But only the one." Hawked. Spat to the side. It landed in one of the barber chairs. "He can enjoy cleaning that, instead."
Focused squarely back on Vash. "But you…you declared you have no sides in this. You are only passing through. If you go back on Ms. O'Brien's terms, you may find your woman in the cape is the price you pay."
It didn't matter if he was deducing from their brief moment together in his presence, or if the fact that Vash was in the company of the insurance girls had already been noticed and reported by O'Brien's men – however it came to happen, Pierre had just dragged Meryl into this.
The thing inside slipped the leash.
The air didn't so much whoosh out of Pierre as it whuffed out, as Vash plowed into his midsection with such force he was actually lifted off his feet and carried by the momentum of the charging drive. Breaking glass sounded as they both went through the shop's window.
Pierre landed hard with Vash on top, raining down forearms and elbow shots, not giving the O'Brien gunman a chance to respond. Something dark and primal, that force of anger Vash had never wanted to let loose, was in charge now, planting a knee on an arm to stop Pierre's hand from flailing around trying to grip his kukri. The other knee was planted firmly on Pierre's diaphragm, limiting his breathing capacity as heavy-bone blows repeatedly found their marks.
The broken window was not made of the tempered glass found in some plant-based cities, designed to shatter on impact into miniscule fragments, which resulted in less laceration-related injuries in brawls. No building in town could afford that sort of glass. Instead, this was plate glass, which broke into large pieces. Desperate for anything that would ease the volume of hits he was on the receiving end of, Pierre's free hand groped and found one such piece. With as firm a grip on it as he could get, he snaked his hand back and brought the glass right into the side of Vash's head, hoping to stun him or knock him off balance, anything he could try to get away.
But Vash's altered state of mind barely registered what would normally be a solid stunning blow that reduced the large shard into smaller shards that fell from Pierre's hand, tinkling as they hit the ground. A good-sized cut was opened up, trickling blood that started tracing its way toward Vash's eye, but still those heavy shots kept coming.
Jeckle Hyde was watching this relentless punishment, rooted to his spot in the shop, expression half-awed, half-horrified. By this time, still under half a minute from the time the blond man drove Pierre through the window, the two men in the back of the shop had heard the fight start and come out. They watched, Hyde grim and cognizant of the possibility of being gunned down by Kurtz if he tried to intervene, Kurtz seemingly just enjoying the show with a bemused half-smirk.
There was no solid goal to what was happening, no point at which this would definitively stop. The thudding sounds of impact had turned into wet smacking noises as flesh bruised and gave way to blood. Pierre was now the focus of everything Vash had been holding in, all the frustration and rage and helplessness merged together into one maelstrom of violence. It had finally slipped past his control and was expressing itself fully, snarling and seething and bent on destruction. It coursed through his body like it was in his blood, even the capillaries in his eyes swelling with it until he literally saw red.
Something touched him and was knocked away. When his eyes strayed up to confirm threat/no-threat, the image of Meryl sitting on the ground, expression stunned and aghast and fearful all at once, was waiting for him.
Full consciousness returned once more. With it came full comprehension of what he had just allowed to happen. The loss of control; the assault; the knocking aside of Meryl, which was maybe the worst of it because of the look on her face and in her eyes.
He suddenly saw again his gun sights lined up on her sleeping form.
Milly overcame her shock and began helping Meryl to her feet. Vash more fell than sat back off Pierre, noticing for the first time the wet blood that stained his shirt sleeves. They felt heavy with the stuff.
Horror struck him – what had he allowed himself to do?
Pierre was barely conscious, and even though it usually looks worse than it is, the damage he had taken was plenty bad. It was to his fortune that none of his internal organs were damaged, though that was more an accident of Vash's position on his torso than lack of trying. It was also to his fortune that the target selection had been random – if the devil-ridden Vash had zeroed in specifically on the skull or the windpipe or the chest, he could very well have beaten Pierre to death through sheer trauma.
That wasn't lost on Vash as he looked back and forth between his bloodied sleeves and the damage he had wrought. Resembling something like a bad insect impression, he scooted back on hands and legs, trying and failing to distance himself from the results of his loss of control. Managed to push himself to his feet, albeit shakily, legs feeling like he was moving in quicksand. Turned and started walking, struggling to control his ragged breathing and the nauseated feeling inside. It was as if the shame and guilt of what he had just allowed to happen were physical things his body wanted to vomit out.
"Wait!"
He turned back at Meryl's call. Her eyes no longer held stunned fear; instead, they were full of compassion. Compassion and…something else? He was too shaken up to contemplate it.
He had nearly killed a man. Even leaving his gun with someone else hadn't worked; the darkness inside had still found a way out. And Meryl – damn it, Meryl had been the catalyst.
Vash looked at her, knowing this, and the fantasy he had allowed himself of a life with her disintegrated. It was clear to him now what course of action was necessary, regardless of what Rem would say. Regardless of whether Meryl understood just how permanent his words were:
"I need to be alone."