Post Manga, some spoilers.

I do not own Trigun / Vash or Carlito (Carlo). They belong to the amazing Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow.

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Stampeded

Year 0173 month 5 day 14

It was one of those still, desert mornings that sets your teeth on edge. The sky was hazy with sand dust, and no friendly breeze came to scour the air clean. No clouds were visible, and even the blue of the sky felt tainted.

Carlo stood at the corner of one of the buildings at Mesa Probe Church, where he'd grown up and lived most of his life. All clear. He stepped back a few paces, and began scrambling into a long red leather coat, hoping to do so unseen.

When the bandit gang came five months ago, thinking they could take over the town, everyone else had been too afraid to resist them openly. But Carlo couldn't let the bandits have his home town without a fight. These people deserved better than enslavement or being converted into involuntary organ donations.

He'd been the sheriff for fifteen years, and a deputy before that. He was approaching retirement age. The bandits came while he was taking another criminal to a larger prison in another town. They shot his deputies, and the townsfolk had been too frightened to resist them openly or even to assist him openly.

At least the townsfolk would provide their hidden sheriff with meals and bullets, when they thought nobody was looking.

So he'd taken the first solution that presented itself to his mind. He would resurrect Vash the Stampede, and whittle away at the bandits. He'd keep at it until they either left town of their own volition, or else until they were all too injured to do any further harm.

He'd been compelled to do some serious dye work with leather scraps he'd found, to create this red patchwork coat. However, it bore a strong enough resemblance, at least at a distance, to the real thing to make the bandits nervous.

He would gladly take any edge he could get. He knew that if he fell, that would also mean the end of any hope for the townsfolk. These were his friends, and he refused to abandon them.

He checked the corner again. Still all clear.

He backed away again, and wriggled into the boots and gloves. He double-checked that his holster was secure.

The current bandit leader would be coming down that street shortly. Carlo didn't like it, but he knew no better solution than to put the man into the hospital. It would take them a little time to pick a new leader. During that time, the townsfolk would have a brief reprieve.

He carefully hid his normal clothing in the place from which he withdrew this costume, and made sure that it was again well-concealed by sand.

Then he walked again to the corner, and peered about. If he timed this correctly, he shouldn't have to wait long enough to get too nervous.

That's when he felt it. Cold steel pressed against his temple. He turned his eyes, briefly fearing he'd reached the end of his days.

Then, abruptly, he relaxed. "Vash!" he said. No sight could be more welcome... or more uncanny. The man didn't appear to have aged a single day since the last time Carlo saw him, almost sixty years ago.

The taller man's brows drew together in concentration, and then he also relaxed. "Carlito?" he said.

"Yes," he replied, "and boy, am I ever glad to see you!"

"Why?"

Carlo suddenly realized that the gun remained steady against his head. "The bandits, Vash," he explained slowly. "They're hurting the townsfolk. I had to do something. Sorry about borrowing your name, but I couldn't think of anything else."

"What were you planning to do?" The gun lowered as he spoke, but it wasn't going far enough for Carlo's comfort. Surely, Vash wouldn't have changed to favor bandits?

"Shoot their leader," Carlo said without flinching. "If he's in the hospital, they'd be likely to pick a different leader. That would give the people a little break from trouble, while the desperados sorted themselves out."

Vash holstered his gun. "Reporters," he said gruffly, then sighed. "They somehow neglected to mention the bandit problem here."

"Yeah, well, things like that can happen." Carlo grinned. "How have you been? I'd hoped to see you again before now."

"I've been taking your father's advice," Vash said, also grinning. "I've been working on perfecting my disappearing act."

"You've done it well," Carlo said. "I know there have been other imposters, but with no word of the genuine Stampede in all this time, I was losing hope that you were still alive."

"I think they're coming," Vash said, very softly.

Carlo turned to look, and nodded. "Yes," he said, scarce above a whisper. "Those are the current leader's bodyguards."

He turned back, but Vash had vanished. He blinked, but there was no time. He turned his attention toward the street again, waiting for his opportunity.

But today, his opportunity never came.

It sounded like a single gunshot, but three bandits fell to their knees, clutching the shoulders of their gun-wielding arms. Another report echoed through the streets, and three more fell clutching their thighs. More shots followed.

Soon every visible bandit, including their leader, had been shot at least once. Some were hit two or three times, if they didn't drop their guns promptly. All were significantly injured, but none bore life-threatening injuries.

Carlo startled as Vash dropped down beside him. He'd forgotten how well the Humanoid Typhoon could jump.

"That should put a dent in their plans against the ordinary folk here," Vash said grimly.

"Thank you," Carlo said.

"Unfortunately, I can't linger," Vash said sadly. "They'd call in bounty hunters and go after the price on my head, making the local situation worse."

Carlo couldn't dispute that, though he wanted to. "What will you do?"

"Disappear," Vash said. "I'll see about leaving an anonymous tip to law enforcement nearby, though, so you can get some back-up."

"Thank you," Carlo said.

"Take care of yourself," Vash said, and then leaped away.

Carlo didn't see which way he went. He must have jumped to a rooftop again. Vash could make his way out of town from there.

"Take care of yourself, too, Vash," he said.

He didn't know if his friend was still near enough to hear.