The town was bigger than most. Industrial even - not the dusty, ramshackle collection of buildings and aged populations they were used to passing by - this place had something that could passably be described as a functional economy, and understood the concept of exports.

Roberto claimed that made it an ideal choice when looking to source a new battery for the truck.

Wolfwood would have preferred to keep moving, but then again, he'd also have preferred not to be stuck with a van that traveled in short, hour-long bursts before it needed to park up and unfurl the solar panels.

Battery was fucked. They were lucky it still held any charge at all, and he was pretty sure it would only get worse the longer they left it. At least a quick pitstop would give him the chance to stock up on cigarettes.

"Remember - low profile," Meryl was saying, in the slow, carefully enunciated way people used for children.

"Mm-hmm," said Vash, with all the cheerful nonchalance of someone who had absorbed exactly none of this.

Yeah. Wolfwood really would have preferred to keep moving.

His finger drifted to his pocket, thumbing the empty cigarette carton that still nestled there. He missed the taste of smoke. Nicotine, if he was being honest. The slow exhalation that felt like absolution. He tried to hold onto that thought.

"We're just four totally normal people, dropping by on our way past, nothing unusual, definitely no bounty on anyone's head, just regular people going about their regular business…"

"An undertaker, a reporter, and a plant walk into a bar," Wolfwood muttered under his breath, and earned himself a laugh from Vash.

It sounded like one of his genuine ones.

"Hey, I'm serious," Meryl said, turning in her seat to glare at him.

"Eyes on the road, newbie."

A frustrated sound bubbled out of her throat, but she followed Roberto's advice and turned back to the quickly approaching town. "Just… everyone behave? No gunfights. No drawing attention."

"Yeah yeah, we know the drill. Vash here will be on his best behavior, won't you, eh?" Wolfwood said, jabbing a friendly elbow into the man beside him.

The lazy smile he got in return wasn't particularly reassuring.

"I'm talking about you too, you know."

"What?" Wolfwood asked. "What haveI ever done?"

"Do you want a list? Or should I just mention the time you entered a quick-draw competition? Or the time you skipped out on your tab and left us to deal with the barman? Or started a shootout because the local gangs were mean to that widow? Does any of that strike you as keeping a low profile?"

Wolfwood sank lower in his seat, head turned to stare out the window at the vivid red and golds of the vanishing sun. "Vash entered that competition too."

"Hey now," Vash protested, "let's not go pointing blame here…"

"Low. Profile ," Meryl said again, as if repetition alone would make a difference. "And nobody use the name Vash, okay? We don't need word getting out that the humanoid typhoon is in town. For now we'll just call you… Joe."

"Joe? Really? I think I feel more like a Zane. Maybe an Axel?"

"Maximus. No… Ace," Wolfwood contributed with a snap of his fingers.

"Ooh that's a good one."

Roberto sighed, slowly unscrewing the cap of his flask as he went for another swig. "And people wonder why I never had kids…"

Something was off about the town. Wolfwood knew it from the moment they drove in, but he was three blissful packets of cigarettes richer before it finally clicked. It was the lights. The lack of them.

Plenty of places skimped on things like that - didn't have the money or the resources to build infrastructure, just made do with whatever they had lying around - but this town was different.

It had streetlights. None of them were on.

In fact, nor were the lights in any of the buildings he'd passed, best he saw was the occasional battery powered lantern. One man even had a hand cranked torch.

Wolfwood was a strong believer in the importance of instincts, and his instincts told him this was bad news.

"Everything's been on low power for the last month," the merchant informed him when he asked, counting through the dollar bills Wolfwood had passed his way for a second time before tucking them into his jacket. "Essential services only. Spire and medical are the only places that get lights. Everywhere else… lucky if they give you an hour of power during the day. Some places cope, others… well, the steel mill laid off 'bout three quarters of the workers and I think they're only fulfilling existing orders."

"Sounds tough for business."

'You can say that again. Bad enough for folk like me who sell inside, but anywhere that manufacturers stuff to trade outside town is losing customers like sweat at midday. Few of 'em already packed up and moved out."

Wolfwood lit up the first of his cigarettes as he contemplated what to make of that.

It tasted like heaven. Like a warm bed after a long day's work, or that pleasant wash of bonelessness after a good stretch. It was poison, of course, but he was pretty sure if something was going to kill him that it wouldn't be a little stick of rolled up paper and dried leaves. That would be too easy.

"Anything a passing traveler should know?" he asked.

The man took a moment to think. "Check any water before you buy it. We've still got clean stuff, but people are starting to worry. Starting to hoard what they have. Few of 'em don't see the harm in passing off unfiltered slop from the old borehole to unsavy strangers."

"Appreciate it," Wolfwood said, nodding his thanks.

"No trouble. You pass through here again, think of me if you're needing more smokes."

Wolfwood struck a hasty pace to the saloon they'd agreed on as a meeting point, trailing ash and anxiety in equal measures. When he pushed his way through the doors into the dimly lit bar he was relieved to see a familiar red coat at the counter.

Grabbing the nearest stool, he dragged it across the floor and inserted himself into the space between Meryl and Vash, ignoring her indignant expression.

"So," he said, keeping his voice low. "Guess you heard the news about the power by now."

It would be ridiculous to assume they hadn't. Even discounting Meryl's unrivaled curiosity and talent for snooping, the saloon was lit only by candle light. It gave the place an oddly claustrophobic feel. Narrowed the space to those few pockets of feeble light the tiny flames could muster. Things like that, they invited questions.

"They're having trouble with their plant," Vash murmured.

Goddamn him. Wolfwood knew what that tone meant, and he really, really wished they could have kept moving. He stubbed his cigarette out on the wooden countertop viciously.

"Not our problem, needle-noggin," he said. "Don't even think about it."

"Roberto says this place had money - they made a lot selling parts to the sand steamers, cornered the market when it first started," Meryl offered before Vash had the chance to start whining. "They'll pay to get a plant engineer in… They probably already have, really, so there's nothing to worry about…"

Someone laughed.

The three of them stiffened, turning to face the shadows at the end of the bar.

It was hard to make out much of the stranger in the darkness, but Wolfwood could read his silhouette. Broad shoulders, loose shirt but no jacket, posture slumped as he leaned over the single glass he was nursing. He wasn't sure if he was armed.

"Something funny about that?" Wolfwood asked him carefully.

"Heh… you could say so. Don't know much about this place, do you?"

"Well why don't you fill us in?" Meryl shot back.

The stranger paused, then nodded, tipping his drink toward her. "As the lady commands."

He took a swig before he wiped his mouth off on his sleeve and swiveled in his seat so he could face them with one arm propper up on the bar. "See, you're right about the sand steamers, but that ain't the only reason this town made money back in the day," he said. "Was a time this place used to train plant engineers. Course, had two plants back then, and the big cities hadn't set up their fancy schools… They don't train people here no more, but we've still got our own specialists. Normally they send 'em out to anyone who'll pay, but they've been holed up in their facility for the last month, working double shifts… not that it's made any difference."

"But if they can't fix the plant, then-"

"Then what good's calling in more engineers? Ask me, that thing's a lost cause. Mayor seems of a like mind - been looking to buy a new one. Had a deal set up and everything, but word is things are turning sour. Could fall through."

That caught his attention.

"Money trouble?" Wolfwood asked, trying to play it off as casual interest.

The man snorted. "Nah. Think it's that crazy guy going around stealing plants. Someone 'Stampede', I think it was. Always used to be high in demand, but now… well, lot of places suddenly needing one, not a lot to spare… competition in the market you might say."

Meryl and Wolfwood looked at Vash, who was trying to disappear into his coat, and then pointedly did not look at Vash, because that had been a stupid thing to do in the first place. They were fortunate that people rarely recognised him from description alone, but the less attention he drew the better.

"If the deal falls through, what then?" Wolfwood asked quickly, before the stranger could start to wonder about why they all suddenly had interesting places to look.

The man's left shoulder rose once in a lazy shrug. "Then either our plant gets better, or the town dies. I know what my money's on."

"You don't seem too cut up about it."

"Eh… I've had a few weeks to think it over. Already know where I'll go if it comes down to it. Some folk have already moved on, don't want to risk waiting… Some folk won't leave no matter what happens."

"But if there's no plant…" Meryl murmured.

"Then they'll probably die. They know that though. It's… not easy to leave, not for everyone. Life's tough out here… towns won't take on people who don't pull their weight. The elderly, the sick, the really little ones… they're the ones that have it worst, but even those folk with the strength to work can struggle… No place on this planet that will absorb the entire population of another town… people have to split, go different directions. Say goodbye to family, friends… people they've known their whole life. Leave the weak behind in the dirt. There's some that would rather stay, if it meant a few more days with those they love, in the place they grew up in, than lose it all."

And what was there to say to something like that? It was a reality they all knew, one which Wolfwood was vividly familiar with… He wondered if he would have taken that choice, if it was given to him… A few more happy days with the children he'd grown up beside before blissful nothingness…

But what good was introspection?

Towns fell apart. Families fell apart. People died. People carried on. The sun still rose and the years still came, and that was all you could depend on from a planet like this.

That was fine. He could live with that.

But he should have known Vash would never keep his mouth shut.

"What if… say…" he began, ignoring the frantic 'abort' motions Meryl was trying to make, "there was someone with a, uh… unique perspective on plants, who might be willing to lend their expertise to the cause?"

Because of course he would. Because the idiot just couldn't help himself.

The stranger leaned forward. "You a plant engineer?"

"No," said Wolfwood and Meryl, at the same time Vash said, "Something like that."

Meryl kicked his leg. Wolfwood was a little impressed at how she managed to weave it through his own legs, as if he wasn't sitting between them, but Vash was too busy trying to hide the sudden pain her sharp little toes hand inflicted to appreciate her technique.

The man looked between them doubtfully. "Well," he said eventually, "if you are, certainly wouldn't hurt to take a look. Get a second opinion. They won't turn you away if you're the real deal, too many people relying on good news sometime soon. I'm not expecting no miracles but I'd be a fool to tell you not to bother."

And before Vash could open his maddeningly noble mouth and start making promises, Wolfwood swung an arm over his shoulder and dug his fingers in hard enough he would feel them even through his jacket, grinning all the while.

Teeth, teeth, but no humour in his eyes.

"Actually, we have some of our own business to take care of first," he told the man. "We'll see if there's enough time to stop by after though."

The stranger nodded. Downed the last of his drink and set the glass down heavy on the counter. "Fair enough. Head to the spire if you find you can spare a moment. It's the tallest building in town, can't miss the damn thing. Only place with lights on this late. Don't think no-one 's getting any sleep up there."

Leaving a few crumpled notes for the barman to sweep up, he ambled out the saloon with only a short jerk of his hand in farewell.

They watched him go in silence. Then Meryl hopped off her stool and went straight for Vash.

She gripped the collar of his coat, glaring up at him with the fury of an unchecked storm, as if she wasn't all of five foot nothing with the upper body strength of a middle aged desk clerk.

"Low. Profile," she hissed.

"Meryl, if there was a chance in hell of that sinking in, it would have already," Wolfwood told her, releasing his grip on Vash's shoulder and digging through his pocket for his next cigarette.

"How hard is it to get your head around? Just… just stay out of trouble for one day!"

"All I did was say I might be able to help out, how is that trouble?"

"Because you know why!"

"We could always tie him up until the truck's fixed," Wolfwood suggested.

Vash winced. "Let's not do that."

Meryl's expression was contemplative though. She let go of Vash's coat, hand on one hip as she sized up her target, and asked, "How much rope do we have?"

"Can we please not do that?" Vash said, with increased urgency.

Any further plans to contain the humanoid typhoon were postponed though, because it was at that point that Roberto finally pushed his way through the double doors and into the saloon. He took the stool to Meryl's left and tapped the counter to signal the barman, ordering a drink that smelled suspiciously like lighter fluid.

"About time," Wolfwood grumbled. "We good to go?"

Roberto drained his glass in one go, and tapped the counter again, waiting until his second had been poured. He sipped this one more leisurely. "Nope. Truck's not moving till tomorrow morning."

"What?" Meryl demanded, hands flat on the bartop as she stared at him with incredulity. "How can it take that long just to replace a battery?"

""S not just the battery that needs fixing. Took a look at it, apparently the solar array needs patching up, and the rear suspension won't hold up for long without replacement - someone's been driving too rough. They need power to get their tools running, and that's not happening till they get their allotted two hours in the morning. So. We'll be staying the night."

Vash straightened up. "Well, in that case-"

"No!" Meryl and Wolfwood both said at once. Then they narrowed their eyes at one-another. Wolfwood really hoped that speaking in union wouldn't become a trend for them, it was weird.

"The rope is still an option," he said.

Roberto gazed down at his drink as if longing for something stronger. "What have I walked into?" he mumbled.

Glancing around to be sure the barman was outside of earshot, Wolfwood said, "Vash wants to take a look at the town's plant."

"You know that's a bad idea, right?"

"But they need help…" Vash said, all soft voice and innocent, imploring demeanor.

Roberto snorted. "Don't give me those puppy dog eyes, they don't work on me. We came here to fix up the truck, nothing else, kid. Don't get sidetracked. We leave as soon as we can."

"But that won't be until tomorrow, so-"

"So have a drink. Sleep in a proper bed for once. That's my plan."

"Roberto's right," Meryl said. "It's too risky to get involved."

Vash turned slowly, looking toward Wolfwood with a hopeful expression. As if he might have somehow changed his opinion in the last minute. As if that face had any impact on him. Because it didn't. It didn't.

He focused on the cigarette instead. On the sweet sweet nicotine that he'd gone so many days without.

"Hate to say it," he muttered, "but for once, I'm with these two."

He waited for that expression to crumple. For the waterworks, maybe, if Vash was feeling particularly dramatic, outnumbered and outvoted and with no one in his corner. It never came.

Instead, he blinked, and then smiled. One of those too big smiles. The ones that seemed warm, but buried a sadness Wolfwood could still see the shape of, like a worm beneath the smooth dips and rises of the sun bleached sand dunes.

"Alright," he said with a shrug. "If that's what you guys want."

He waved to the barman, calling for his own drink.

Vash had a peculiar metabolism - which was to say, he seemed to be able to get absolutely hammered from only a few pints, and would remain that way right up until it became more convenient to be sober, at which point he would suddenly lose all traces of inebriation. Wolfwood quietly suspected he was just very good at faking drunkenness. Either that, or some weird plant biology allowed him to rapidly detoxify his own body at will. The former was a less terrifying prospect.

Point was, he wasn't fooled for an instant by the song and dance Vash put on, all his swaying and slurred half-sentences and fits of giggles. He knew perfectly well that the man could walk in a straight line the second he chose to.

Didn't stop him from helping him up the stairs, his prosthetic arm swung over one shoulder and a tight grip on his waist.

He reminded himself of his task. Reminded himself that he was still pissed off, and definitely nothing else, and that the man dragging his feet sluggishly across the floorboards apparently thought Wolfwood was dumb enough to fall for the most obvious lie of the century.

Kicking the door to Vash's room closed behind them, he considered dropping his hapless burden to the floor like a sack of potatoes, but charitably decided this would be a poor way to start a conversation.

He deposited Vash on the bed. The set of drawers beside it looked sturdy enough, so he took a pew and lit up his fourth cigarette of the night.

At this rate he would be halfway through his first pack before they even made it out of town. There was no helping it though, he needed it - it took the edge off, sanded down the sharpness, let him play the role he'd been cast in without the urge to break something. Mostly.

"You done now?" he asked Vash, glancing over at where he sprawled across the narrow bed.

"Mmmm what?" Vash mumbled into the pillow.

"I know you're not drunk. Not that drunk, anyway. I want to talk."

For a minute there was no response. Then slowly, mechanically, Vash peeled himself up off the bedspread and swung his legs over the side.

"What's there to talk about?" he asked his boots.

Oh good, a miraculous recovery. At least they wouldn't both have to waste their time on the pretense that anything else was an inevitability.

"I know you've got it into your head that this place is your problem, but it's not, and you need to be smart about this and not do something stupid that puts us all at risk. That means not sneaking out when we're all asleep so you can run off and play hero. Give the savior complex a rest, for tonight at least."

The smile Vash wore was a faint and lifeless thing, head cocked to the side as he met Wolfwood's gaze. "Got me all figured out, do you?"

"Like it's hard."

He sighed. "They need my help. I'm probably the only one who can help. How am I supposed to just turn away from that?"

"These aren't country hicks we're talking about this time, they're engineers, you pull any weird plant shit and they're going to notice. Start asking questions."

"I'll be careful."

"No, you won't. You're not going."

Vash's hands knitted together. He stared down at them as if they were the most fascinating thing in the room, flexing the mechanical fingers of his left before alternating to his right, and back again, building a rhythm. "If their plant fails, the entire town, everyone in it… they'll… I can't let that happen again."

Wolfwood watched.

Damn him, he knew what this was about… He might not have joined their rag-tag gang yet at that point, but he'd heard enough, from Roberto mostly - not Vash, never Vash…

He hadn't been joking about the savior complex.

Wolfwood wasn't proud of what he did next, but he needed something to focus Vash on the big picture, and there was one word, one name, that always rang reliably clear.

"And if something happens to you," he said, "who's going to stop Knives?"

What he expected he wasn't sure. A sharp inhalation maybe, a glare, silence… something to tell him the blow had landed.

What he didn't account for was a smile. Vash looked up at him with that boyish grin, the one that managed to be both bashful and just the right amount of teasing. "Like I said, I'll be careful. If things turn ugly I'll just run away. Easy peasy."

Wolfwood blinked. Okay. Fine. He'd thought for sure that dragging his genocidal brother into the conversation would get them somewhere, but he wasn't biting. Time for a change of tactics.

Flicking ash from his cigarette he took another drag before tucking it behind his ear and getting to his feet. Arms folded, he tried his best to embody the stern matron he remembered from his orphanage days, and said as firmly as he could, "No, and that's final."

Vash's smile drained in increments until it was a mirror to his own grim expression.

"Wolfwood…" he warned, "you don't get to tell me what I can and can't do."

There was a steel to those words. If Wolfwood was honest (which he wasn't, not about this), a part of him got a thrill out of moments like that. Moments where the loveable goofball slipped behind the curtain, and the man that was left in his place could stare down the barrel of a gun with the calm equilibrium of someone who knew they could move faster than a bullet.

A man who could raze cities to the ground. Who had walked the surface of the planet for one hundred and fifty years, and loved, and lost, and loved again (because he never stopped loving, no matter how the world hurt him, no matter how many times it left him beaten and bloody), and kept on walking with a smile on his face. Who was, in technical terms, an interdimensional energy generator with a conscience.

Someone like that should be terrifying. Was, if the electric tingle down the back of his neck was anything to go by. But Wolfwood did not fear Vash in any way that mattered. Not when he'd seen the depth of his compassion.

There was something to be said for knowing someone could destroy you completely, but never would, would treat human life with the same delicacy of a child carefully cupping a moth between their tiny hands to bring to the window…

None of which made Vash's stance any less stupid, and Wolfwood wasn't about to let him go thinking that dropping his voice a few decibels and putting on a serious expression would win him an argument.

"Sure I do," he said airily. "Someone has to. God knows you'll take every opportunity to get yourself killed otherwise, you're such a headache…"

Silence. Silence wasn't necessarily bad, it might mean Vash was listening… he hoped it meant he was listening.

"We'll stay the night," he carried on, "Roberto says it'll take that long till the truck's patched up, but we'll leave before noon tomorrow. There's too many places living next door to ruin, if we stopped to help all of them we'd never make it anywhere. That's just the way this world is. Don't beat yourself up over it."

The silence continued. Vash went back to staring at his hands. Then, just as he was about to give up, already half turned to the door with the sinking sense that one way or the other their discussion was at an end, he heard him speak.

"I don't think it should have to be that way…"

Wolfwood paused. "That's not for you to decide. Take it up with the man upstairs when you finally kick the bucket."

"Will you put in a good word for me?"

"Maybe. If you behave."

"Aw shucks…"

When he glanced back, that dorky grin had settled over his face once more, like it had always been there, like they could both pretend the last few minutes had been this - casual banter, with no bite.

Wolfwood pinched the bridge of his nose. "Vash… I'm serious. Don't stick your nose into this. It's bad enough you've got a bounty on your head, if people actually figure out what you are…"

"Don't worry about me."

The hypocrisy. Vash could worry about every person he crossed paths with, but the second someone showed concern for him he'd brush them off. It was infuriating. It was fundamentally Vash, in the best and worst way possible, and Wolfwood didn't know if he'd ever make his peace with that.

"Tell me you'll keep out of it," he pressed. "Promise me."

After a beat, Vash nodded. "Okay."

And Wolfwood stared at him. Because… for the first time in a long time, he had no idea if that was the truth. A lie would have been easier. He knew how to process those. But to look at someone and feel as if you saw right through them and found absolutely nothing behind that pleasant smile - not deception, nor malice, nor anger, nor sadness, nor acceptance… only an impossible void, as smooth and dark as obsidian - it was an uncomfortably vulnerable position to find oneself in.

He wondered how it was possible for a man to flip between being an open book and an impenetrable fortress in the space of a breath.

But he'd done what he could, and lingering would accomplish nothing.

"A real headache, needle-noggin…" he murmured, retrieving his cigarette from behind his ear and striding for the door, "a real damn headache."

His next stop was Meryl.

Having travelled together for a while, it would still be a stretch to describe them as friends. Then again, Wolfwood supposed he didn't really have 'friends'. Still, they were acquaintances who recognised each other's skills. Meryl respected his ability to take a bullet without slowing down, and the fact he was the only other one in the group who could be trusted to drive. Wolfwood respected her tenacity, if not her self preservation, and that she would not budge an inch no matter what idiocy Vash introduced.

She was also an excellent snoop.

"I want you to keep an eye on him. He said he would stay put, but I don't trust him. Not about this."

"Oh, I was already planning to," Meryl informed him, "though you all owe me for this. First chance in weeks to sleep in a real bed and I have to spend it babysitting."

"I'll take the short straw next time."

She laughed. "Please, he'd notice you a mile away. You smell like a tobacco factory and you're not as quiet as you think."

Unfortunately she had a point there. He looked down at the cigarette between his fingers. What number was it again? He wasn't sure, had stopped counting.

"Alright. I'll buy you a drink then," he offered.

"Nice try but no. How about, oh…" she said, finger pressed to her chin, "an inside scoop on this 'Eye of Michael'?"

She batted her eyelashes at him. Reporters were terrible and unscrupulous beings.

"Pushing your luck, shortie," he told her, his voice a warning growl.

She just grinned. "Come on… maybe nothing about them, but you seem like you've been around. I'm sure you have some interesting stories to tell."

Wolfwood cast his mind back, wondering if there had ever been a time when he'd been more than a killer on a leash. A tale that didn't end in death and misery. Had he done anything that deserved to be committed to paper in the years since they took him?

He thought of the candy in his pocket, waiting, waiting, because there was always a chance he might need it, that someone would need sugar in the same way he needed a smoke when the world was too much…

The smile of a child, bright and burning.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"Perfect!" Meryl replied, clapping her hands together. "I better get going… oh, and make sure Roberto doesn't pass out in his own vomit or anything… he's probably good for another half-hour but any longer and he'll be impossible in the morning."

Then she was gone, and Wolfwood was left standing there with the sense that he may well have got the sour half of the deal. But he could have another drink, and maybe a clean, and sleep, and if he was lucky then he wouldn't wake till morning.

(("It's a 1-shot", I lie before splitting it into two parts... But yes, Trigun has been on my brain and I couldn't help but write this... I don't know if I have everyone's voices quite right but I tried. I have most of the second part written, so hopefully that should be out in the next week or two.

I'm really enjoying Stampede... it has its flaws, but I actually like it much better than the original anime so far (though I never watched that back in the day so I don't have the nostalgia a lot of people have). I'm crossing my fingers for a second season (and that they don't rush the ending of this one). And maybe also for Milly to show up.))