Updated to fit under the rulings regarding author's notes.

This was originally written for an Alternate Pairings contest, but it is now likely that contest will never reach any manner of end. Regardless, it caused me to fuse two of my seperate Trigun ideas into one story, and I think it is for the best.

My thought was to pair someone outside of the standard characters (Knives, Legato, Vash, Wolfwood, Meryl, Milly), and that was what I did. Being unfamiliar with fanfiction, it turns out I did something that has been done many times before. For whatever the sentiment is worth: that wasn't my intention.

Unfortunately, due to changing uploading policies, much of the formatting of this story has been stripped. Most annoyingly, page breaks may be gone, leading to abrupt jumps in sequence. Also, the asterisks used to censor words are gone, leaving only the first letter of the word. This is just fanfiction, though, and I doubt anyone cares greatly, so I will leave it as it is.

Now, the only important thing I have to say: I altered one event in the past for this story, and that changes a great deal. Hence, most deviations from the show are intentional (in addition to the plot itself being at least somewhat different). Excluding the prolog, this story takes place shortly after episode 10.

Chapter 1: Echos of July

Cheerful music played softly in the background, overshadowed only slightly by the constant clinking of glasses on the counter top. Wiping a glass clean, the bartender straightened fully and glanced about. Stretching, he let a small smile creep onto his heavily tanned face. It was rare that things were this quiet, and he welcomed it.

This situation could turn ugly quickly, he knew. Many of the workers were done with their evening shifts, and relaxing here. It was too early for them to be drunk yet, and with any luck there would be no fighting going on. At the moment, most people were still chatting idly, exchanging ridiculous stories. In his time here, the bartender had heard far too many stories to believe anything he heard. Except, perhaps, that story. A group of men at a nearby table were arguing over it now.

"That's ridiculous. It's a good thing Vash the Stampede hasn't been sighted anywhere near here. I don't care how bored you are, Edwards, you don't want him here."

"Aw, h, he can't be that bad!"

"Want to bet? He's called the humanoid typhoon for a reason. Two cities have been wiped off the map by him. Vicious killer, a deadly shot and absolutely merciless. He'd rather shoot you than look at you. They say he isn't even human."

"You're full of it," another man snickered. "Don't you know anything? I was in a town where he was, one time, and I heard the whole story. He's no killer. It all started with a rumor, and then he got a price on his head. After that, trouble followed him everywhere, adding to the myth. But he's just an imbecile who gets lucky. Not some psychopath."

"Oh, really? How do you explain July, then, huh?"

"Idiot! Were you listening?"

"I've heard he slaughtered armies with his bare hands, man!"

"He's too weak to even kill a fly!"

"Why, I oughtta-"

"Neither of you," a calm voice slid into the conversation, cutting them both off, "know the first thing about Vash."

All the men at the table turned in surprise to see who had spoken. Usually the same guys hung around at the bar, and so they knew pretty much everyone. But not this guy. He was sitting back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs. Most strangely, behind him loomed a large cross, wrapped in greyish cloth.

Taking a drag on his cigarette, the stranger glanced at them cooly. None of them seemed willing to say anything, frozen by his gaze. Seeing they were silent, the stranger continued.

"Keep your dirty mouths off Vash, if you don't mind. He has enough trouble without people the likes of you spread rumors about him."

"Hey!" One of the men finally recognized him and was suddenly emboldened. "You're Wolfwood, that crazy guy who runs the orphanage at the edge of town!"

"Yeah!" another agreed. "It's that priest!"

"What is a priest doing in a bar?" a man sneered.

"Well, I had a drink and now I'm smoking," the priest answered amiably. "Better do it in a bar. Can't set a bad example for the kids or anything."

"I'll never understand you. Why would you do crazy stuff like that? Those kids are all better off dead."

Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Wolfwood glanced up at the man calmly. His expression shifted from pitying to sardonic.

"Whoops, I was about to admonish you for giving and taking life. I had forgotten that you were made God last month. Pardon me."

"Shut up!" The man roared, slamming his fist into the table. Wolfwood calmly blew smoke into his face, forcing him to back away.

"Hey," another one of the men interrupted, face smirking, "I got an idea. He runs that church all by himself, so that means he must have an awful lot of money. How much you want to bet we could sell that church land for? I'd bet he has a lot of money stashed away there."

Raising an eyebrow, Wolfwood dropped his cigarette to the floor, then crushed it with his boot. So impolite of them to interrupt the first decent smoke he'd had in a long time. But, ah well. It had been about done, anyway. The man who had spoken made a symbol with one hand.

Several clicks sounded as the group of men drew guns on the priest. The bartender heard the sound and froze, only his eyes moving to the situation. Not again. This town was mainly full of prospectors, out to make a quick buck and little else. He hadn't thought they would go this far, but apparently he had been wrong.

Multiple gun shots shattered the relatively calm atmosphere of the bar. All the men who had drawn on the priest were now wringing their hands in pain, their guns lying on the floor. Blowing smoke off the barrel of his weapon, Wolfwood put the gun away and got to his feet. Hefting the cross onto his back, he turned and walked from the bar. The patrons were stunned, to say the least.

"Wait a second!" one of the men yelled after the retreating figure. "Who are you? How do you know Vash the Stampede?"

The form of the priest stopped, and he looked back at them over his shoulder.

"Vash is none of your business, and my name is Nicholas D. Wolfwood." With a hint of a smile, he turned back and continued on, quickly vanishing into the shifting sands. Everyone in the bar remained still for a few moments, shocked at what had happened. Eventually the men sat back down, now very much subdued. No conversation started up again, and the guns were left on the floor. Sighing in relief, the bartender moved to polish another glass.

Smiling slightly to himself, Wolfwood continued walking toward his small church. The perpetual wind blew sand into his face, but he ignored it. Something had felt very good about going back there, firing the gun. But it was time to go back. That wasn't his place anymore.

Odd that Vash would come up. They hadn't brought up the legend about him for quite some time. But perhaps that was just as well. Wolfwood's smile broadened slightly as he remembered back...

Leaning backward in his chair, Vash sighed heavily. The back of the chair struck the wall behind him. Vash let his head fall back as well, thumping it against the wall. It didn't help. Sighing once more, he pushed the chair back into normal position. Putting his head into his hands, Vash breathed deeply trying to calm himself down.

You aren't wasting your time, he told himself. Things are fine. They'll turn out alright. You've been the hero. Everything's alright. At least, he told himself everything was alright. Too bad he couldn't get himself to believe it.

"Mr. Vash, sir?"

Jerking his head up instantly and identifying the woman in his doorway, Vash adopted his goofiest grin.

"Heya, Meryl!"

"What are you doing in here, anyway?" Meryl asked as she sank down into the chair opposite him.

"Oh, nuthin', really. Just thinkin' about things."

"What does someone like you think about?"

Vash slid his gaze over to look at her from the side, trying to read what she meant by that comment. It was open ended, leaving him somewhat confused. She was watching him honestly, though, dark eyes fixed on him, waiting for a response.

"Oh, what you'd expect a legendary outlaw to be thinking about. Killing. Guns. Money. Killing things with guns for money."

"You!" Giggling, Meryl gave him a light slap on the back of the head. "I know you don't think about things like that!"

"What do I think about?"

"That's what I asked you!"

"Then what do you think I'm thinking about?" Vash asked, his voice soft. His gaze was fixed out the window, looking into the clear blue sky. Meryl's eyes softened. It was always so strange when he got like this, like he was asking for something, and she had no idea what.

"I haven't the faintest idea," she answered eventually. "I can never figure you out."

"Aw, gee. I didn't think I was that complex!" Gone. The moment was over, whatever it had been had completely vanished.

"Yes you are!" she responded. "On one hand, you clown around and you're one of the goofiest guys I've ever met. But then sometimes you get all serious and you scare me half to death. Like when you were fighting the Nebraska family. What you did there was almost enough to make me believe you really are the legendary Vash the Stampede."

He said nothing, glancing down at her silently. Slowly Vash took off his glasses, glancing at his reflection in them, still completely mute. The silence slowly grew, and it was starting to make Meryl nervous. To end it, she forced herself to speak.

"Everyone is so afraid of you, yet you don't seem all that dangerous. But anyone who can do something like that can't be normal. I guess that's why you're legendary."

"Right," Vash intoned dully. It was over; no amount of argument could convince him anything was accomplished. "The legendary outlaw. The human typhoon."

Another silent moment passed, this one even more uncomfortable. Meryl got the terrible feeling that there were emotions going on inside him that she couldn't begin to understand, let alone sense. What was going on with him? Why was he acting so strange?

"So," Vash finally continued, glancing at her with completely serious eyes, "do you think I'm a clown who happened to be in the right place at the right time? A killer? Who do you think that I am?"

Why did this query feel like it was more important than a simple question? Meryl weighed her answer slowly, thinking about everything. Most of all, though, she remembered the expression on his face when he had saved the people who had tried to kill him just minutes earlier. A grim determination.

"You're Vash the Stampede."

"I guess I am." He said the words calmly enough, but Meryl saw his hand clench into a fist. What had she said wrong? It was too late, though, Vash had already put on his glasses. The yellow, mirrored lenses came up, and with them came an emotional wall. His chair scraped the floor as he stood up, and then Vash swept from the room.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

Vash didn't even turn back, moving on, ignoring her completely. Storming to the front porch, he blew past Milly, who glanced up in surprise.

"Hey, Mr. Vash the Stampede!"

Slowly he stopped, turning just slightly to glance at her over his shoulder. Meryl came out the front door a second later, standing beside Milly. There were only a few feet between them, but there was a gulf in that space a mile wide. For a moment his blue stare just glanced back at them, then he pushed his glasses up, eclipsing his eyes.

"Goodbye."

Seconds later, all that remained on the street was sand, blowing past in the wind. The biting, bitter wind.

The office could not possibly have been more different than the blowing sands of the planet around it. It was a small office, and of the lowest level, the type given to clerical workers. That was all they had to offer, really. A woman sitting at the desk worked industriously, clad in the required tight fitting dresses of the office.

Shuffling a massive stack of papers aside, Marianne begin scribbling out another form. Busywork. That was all it was. Ridiculous busywork. It had been a very long time since she had been in an office position, and now it was obvious to her why. She hated this. Hated this with a passion.

Finishing the form, Marianna set it aside, only to pull up another. There would always be more. The level of bureaucracy was truly ridiculous. Almost enough to make her sick, really. How could perfectly good agents be stuck in offices filling out papers when there was so much wrong in the world? A deep part of her longed to go back out in a sheriff position again: to actually be in on the action and accomplishing something.

But no, she was stuck in here with the paperwork and a very annoying dress; by what right the Police Department could enforce a dress code was beyond her. Nonetheless, she was very interested in keeping her job. If she didn't keep doing this, she'd never get a chance to help people again.

Those had been the days; back when she was sheriff, before the Police Department had formed and slowly absorbed the cities into its system. Not that it really made everything that much safer, but it was nice to be able to call for backup, occasionally.

With it had come bureaucracy, and loads of it. How they had chosen her to be stuck here was another thing she had no clue about. The person replacing her was merely average, nothing to write home about. At least her work in that town had mostly cleaned it up, leaving her successor an easy job.

Looking back, Marianne decided those were probably the best days of her life. There had been excitement, then. The instant excitement came up, she immediately thought back to that one case. It had been the last she had ever worked on, and her most difficult. She had been forced to go undercover to investigate rumors that the water supply was being manipulated. Though the man controlling the water had seemed nice enough, she'd had her suspicions about him from the beginning. And, as usual, her intuition had been right; he had been a betraying criminal who had nearly killed her.

Except that he had been there. Shaking her head, Marianne sent golden locks shimmering down her back. She had never even learned his name. In a guise similar to her own, he'd pretended to be the legendary Vash the Stampede. At first, she'd thought he was a complete idiot. Most of the time, he seemed to be.

But when push had come to shove, and they'd both been betrayed, she'd seen something different in him. Somehow, he had changed, stripping the idiocy from him as if it were just a garment. Most amazingly, he'd dodged bullets. That one still amazed her, even thinking about it now. Sure, she understood the theory. He watched where the gun was being aimed just before the shot was fired and moved out of the way. Still... no one should have been able to do that.

More impressively, he'd successfully and effectively neutralized the criminal in charge of the water scam without even causing him much bodily harm. She knew that he could probably use the gun at his side, but he hadn't even tried. In had she been in his position, Marianne knew that she would have shot him in an instant, had it been necessary. Then again, that was what made him so amazing.

Starting slightly, Marianne glanced down at her desk. The same form was sitting in front of her. She hadn't done a thing for at least a few minutes. Did I really reminisce that much? she wondered. I can't believe I'm so unfocused.

Then again, if there was anyone who could unfocus her, it was him. After nearly singlehandedly solving the problem, he'd left with little talk, not even leaving her with his name. In many ways, she hoped that he was still doing well. Undoubtedly, however, anyone with his skills was doing fine. That doesn't mean I don't miss him...

"Marianne?" Her name was accompanied by a soft rapping on her door. Unconsciously, her hand moved to where her gun should have been, but she remembered herself and where she was. Besides, the gun wasn't there; it was against Police Department policy. It was just her boss, anyway.

"Come in, Mr. Rowans," she responded as politeness dictated. He sidled in a second later, dropping into the chair on the other side of her desk. Even sitting in front of her desk, Mr. Rowans managed to convey the feeling that he was behind it, looking down at her. The man had a lot of personal charisma, no doubt about that. That was probably why he was in charge of the entire Police Department for this sector. His immaculate gray suit matched him perfectly: cold and business-like.

"How are you doing, Marianne?" he asked casually. He always addressed her by her first name, something that annoyed her to no end. Normally she went by it, of course, but something about the way he said it drove her insane. Somehow, he managed to put more into it than just being on a casual first-name basis.

"Fine."

"Good." Of course, he had never actually cared in the first place. Office small talk, the interest all bosses were required to pretend to show in their employees. So, she'd given him a stock answer, and that was all he had asked for. "I'm going to make this simple. Pack your bags."

"What?" Despite herself, Marianne rose from her desk. No! She couldn't possibly leave the police force! This was all she had ever wanted to do...

"Calm down." Mr. Rowans' voice practically oozed with savoir faire. There was a slight smirk on his face that suggested he very much enjoyed making her upset. "You aren't being asked to give up your badge. I just have a job for you to do."

Narrowing her eyes, Marianne briefly considered refusing to answer because of his intended misunderstanding. It wasn't right for him to be so cruel just for his own amusement. But the chance of getting a real job again was too tempting to pass up, or to risk making him angry.

"I have an actual assignment?"

"Yup. And a dangerous one." Mr. Rowans pulled a cigar from his pocket, but didn't light it; merely holding it between his fingers instead. "We have information on a caravan that goes between cities carrying cargo. Illegal cargo. We want you to find out if this is true and stop them if it is."

"What kind of cargo?" Instantly her mind snapped into detective mode, as she began running over facts.

"Slaves."

"Which cities?"

"Now calm down." Mr. Rowans raised both his hands as if to ward her off. "I'll give you the official report with all the details you could want in a few hours. But we want you ready to go by tonight."

"Yes, sir!"

With a startling amount of speed, Marianne was out the door. Left alone in the office, Mr. Rowans glanced around, then nodded slowly. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he lit up and began taking slow drags on the cigar.

"A slave caravan?" a voice asked him from behind. Mr. Rowans didn't bother turning, knowing who it was. Standing in the darkest corner of the room were four figures, faces obscured by the shadows.

"What of it?" Mr. Rowans asked calmly.

"Are you sure it will be enough? Marianne is a capable agent."

"I didn't choose it because of the difficulty of the mission," Mr. Rowan told him. He took a slow drag of the cigar and let the thick smoke float around him, giving no further explanation.

"Why, then?" another of the figures asked, his voice silky smooth.

"There are rumors about this slave caravan, but ones that have been highly substantiated. Rumors that make this entire business worthwhile."

"They are?"

Mr. Rowans stood up from the chair, glancing at the wall for a moment. Turning around, he smiled a thin-lipped smile into the shadowy corner.

"Vash the Stampede will be there."

"I can't believe he's gone," Meryl said again, for the hundredth time that night.

"Gee, Meryl, you say that an awful lot!" Milly responded cheerfully. "It's almost like you miss him or something."

"Of course not! It's my job, I'm required to follow him!"

"Then why aren't we following him?"

The innocent question struck a nerve with Meryl. Holding her anger in check, she realized the true reason the question got to her.

"When he left, he seemed so serious. He really doesn't want us following him." There. She had said it.

"Yeah, Mr. Vash was really scary. At first he seemed really goofy, but I guess he really is the human typhoon Vash the Stampede." Despite the bleak nature of her statement, Milly grinned for no apparent reason. Sighing, Meryl acknowledged that Milly was more truthful with herself than Meryl'd ever be. The real reason she didn't want to follow was that she was afraid. Afraid of what she had seen in his eyes...

A tremendous roar shook the house, startling both of them.

"What was that?" Milly asked, glancing about frantically. They received their answer in a rather grim way the next second when their wall collapsed. A gigantic fist reached inside, grabbing both of them and lifting them helpless from the building. Meryl made an effort to get the Derringers inside her coat, but the gigantic fingers prevented her from moving her arms from her sides.

There was only one person this big, Meryl knew. It had to be part of the Nebraska family. Her fears were confirmed a second later when the fist raised them up to the level of the gigantic son of the Nebraska family. In a pocket on his vest sat the chortling father of the family. He looked much the worse for the wear, but with his monocle on he was acting the same as ever.

"Hey, didn't you get put in prison?" Milly asked. The old man merely laughed, a long, cackling noise that made both of them wince.

"No prison can hold us for long! Never fear, I won't destroy this precious little town... yet. All I care about is finishing off that idiot, Vash the Stampede!"

"You sound like you don't like him very much," Milly stated, completely unobservant. Had she been able, Meryl would have slapped herself on the forehead.

"Fool! Everything was about to be perfect, and then Vash the Stampede had to show up! He stopped my killing spree and hurt my son! For that, Vash the Stampeded must die!"

"You captured us as a way of getting to him, didn't you?" Meryl suddenly realized.

"Oh! You're absolutely brilliant for figuring that out!" With each word the insane doctor practically spat. "Of course I am! I made a trail of destruction to here, one he's sure to follow! He knows what I'm after and he'll be here!"

"Well I'm afraid you've made a mistake!" Meryl crowed, oddly joyful. "He left us! He doesn't care anymore!"

"What? Vash the Stampede isn't here?" For a moment Mr. Nebraska was silent, then he began chuckling. "Figures that the d hypocrite would discard you soon enough. Well then, if he isn't going to come to save you, I suppose there's no reason to keep you alive, is there?"

Meryl gasped audibly, realizing what she might have done. What had possessed her to say that? Stupid, stupid, stupid...

"Hey, it's him!" Milly exclaimed cheerfully, brightening in an instant. Glancing down where she was looking, Meryl's eyes were instantly drawn to the figure in red, standing in the street opposite the hulking Nebraska member.

"Vash the Stampede is here?" Mr. Nebraska hissed, struggling to make his son move so he could look in that direction. Milly and Meryl were unceremoniously dumped on the ground. Meryl noticed grimly, however, that they were still easily within range of the deadly fist of the Nebraska son.

A wind whipped through the street, curling Vash's long coat to the side. Making it to her feet, Meryl got a closer look at him. He was standing erect, more serious than she had ever seen him. His tinted lenses were on, keeping his eyes invisible. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about him had changed, as if all his serious moments were wrapped into one.

"So, Vash the Stampede decided to come, did he?" Mr. Nebraska sneered. "I would have thought the humanoid typhoon wouldn't care about anyone else. Isn't that right, Vash the Stampede?" As before, he drug out Vash's name and title to the point of sounding almost lewd.

"Let both of them go," Vash stated, not moving from his position. His voice held a serious quality that had been completely lacking before. For a second, the father of the Nebraska family was taken aback; then his smug look returned.

"Oh, is Vash the Stampede angry with me? Are you going to threaten me or something? What are you going to do, Vash the St-"

"Shut up!" Vash yelled, cutting him off entirely. Everyone, excepting the eldest Nebraska son, who didn't get it, was taken aback. Since when had Vash ever yelled at anyone?

"Did I strike a nerve?" Mr. Nebraska asked, a gigantic grin on his face. "What are you going to do, Vash the-"

His words were cut off abruptly by the sound of a gunshot. More accurately, two shots fired so close together they sounded as one. Roaring in pain, the gigantic monster fell back, cracking the street beneath him where he fell. Meryl realized slowly that only one bullet had struck the monster, and the other had been aimed at the father of the Nebraska family. A long second passed, and then his body fell from the pocket he had been carried in.

Mouth dropping open with shock, Meryl glanced back in Vash's direction. He had killed someone? Never had she seen him even fire his gun with malicious intent in mind. And now he'd killed them, as simply as that. His expression was completely blank, whatever anger that had been there was gone. Why had he been so angry?

Turning, Vash began to stride away, returning his gun to its holster.

"Wait!" Meryl cried after him. Again, as before, he paused, waiting for what she would say. "Why did you help us?"

"I want to leave you completely. No traces of my life must interfere with yours. Therefore I had to protect you and wipe out this trace. Your days of being concerned with my affairs are over." He paused for a moment, still not looking in their direction. "Goodbye."

For a few minutes Meryl didn't move, kneeling on the ground, tears leaking from her eyes. Her head came up and her eyes locked onto the retreating figure in the distance. Milly blinked, surprised at her expression.

"What are we going to do now, Meryl?"

"We follow him."