Although gunfights were not alien to the towns and cities on Gunsmoke, mention of the name “Vash the Stampede” held the imaginations of residents of March. No sooner had the awning fallen upon a gunman, witnesses rushed to tell others of the event they had witnessed. ‘Think of it – mankind’s first official Human Disaster – in our city! We’d be doomed!’ they worried. But red coat and gun or no, few believed that the true Vash could be this simpleton. ‘Vash the Stampede, the dangerous and perfectly evil gunman, working a lowly job and allowing children to wrestle him? Surely not!’

Leading gossip took Vanessa’s comment to heart – that the coat and gun had been found in the desert. But she didn’t seem the type to pull such items from a corpse. They hypothesized that this proved that the real Vash had not died, but rather had chosen to change his identity. ‘He could be a brunette now, maybe disfigured in the face. Dang, he could be in this very town, and we don’t know it!’ people reckoned.

Before the sun set that day, residents of March had become a touch more paranoid, abuzz with excitement and suspicious of the strangers around them.

Vanessa stepped into the angry man’s hospital room warily, sighing relief that the blow to his head had caused only a minor concussion.

She had come at Vash’s request. “Make sure he’s okay,” he had asked her. “And could you try to get a feel from the citizens? If they believed him, we can’t stay,” he added sadly.

Minutes after silencing his accuser, Vash had grown serious and insisted that they leave March as soon as possible, before more guns aimed his way. But Vanessa argued against this idea, pointing out that running so soon would be proof of his guilt.

The man’s eyes cracked open, and he tensed against the bonds holding him to his bed. “Bitch,” he whispered, weary from pain medication.

“Hey, now, watch your mouth,” the sheriff called from behind her. He was not the only other person present – several medical personnel and citizens stood watch. They had followed Vanessa to the man’s room, wondering why she would be here and what she would say.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him sweetly, stepping close to the foot of the bed. She skimmed the patient’s record clipboard there, and found his name: Chris Rollins. “Mr. Rollins, we got off on the wrong foot, didn’t we?” she said sweetly, sitting at his bedside.

“What do you want? Come to finish me off for that friend of yours?” he sneered.

Vanessa frowned. “He’s not the Vash you’re looking for,” she lied. “The Vash you shot at today is a kind, sweet guy – he’s not the type to hurt anyone. There’s no way he could’ve destroyed July.”

Chris stared up at the ceiling, unyielding. “Somehow, he did. I don’t care how. I care about the dead.”

“Someone IS responsible for that, but it’s not Vash. I mean, the Vash I’ve been traveling with,” she replied. “First off, the incident was over 20 years ago, and he’s not much older than that. Surely you don’t think a toddler caused that explosion?”

The man snorted in reply.

“He may look the part of the outlaw to you,” she continued, unfazed, “but you don’t know him. He’s so upset from today that he wants to pack up and leave. And though that may be logical to him, I’d hate to have to leave such a nice city so soon, and for such an untrue accusation.” She sighed softly and chose to follow rumors. Turning her gaze to her knees to hide the lies, she adopted a sad tone. “I’ve been trying to teach him courage, and you’ve ruined it. I want him to be a man and stand his ground, but he’s scared as a little kid.”

Tears began to run down the man’s cheeks. He shut his eyes. “A mistake? All these years…and I’ve become…” he muttered bitterly.

She touched his hand tenderly. “Forget the past…live a life…Try to show yourself some happiness before your time ends,” she suggested softly, feeling a twinge of hypocrisy from the last bit of advice. “Whoever this Vash the Stampede is, he isn’t worth your time.” She smiled, and leaned closer to whisper privately. “We forgive you, and I’ll be sure no charges are brought against you when you’ve healed, okay?”

Chris’s lips pursed with emotion. He nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Vanessa busied herself to unfasten the tight cuffs holding him to his bed, rubbing the sore wrists and ankles as she went.

Those in the room stood in amazement, slowly dissipating. They were almost saddened by the lack of drama.

Vash wiped away a bitter tear as he stared at his pack on the table. All his belongings were buckled in, and his boots were fastened. At the drop of a hat, he was ready to race into the desert, with or without his brother and Vanessa. He would prefer with. ‘Why does it always happen, once I’ve found a calm place?’ he thought with a whimper.

Hearing bare feet upon the floor outside, Vash peeked out of his door cautiously. Vanessa stood smiling. “We can stay. Relax.”

“I want to go to dinner now,” Knives grumbled further down the hall.

The sigh of relief Vash was bound to release caught in the back of his throat. Even if the humans weren’t going to be his trouble, Knives certainly would be.

After a fine dinner of Knives’ preference, Vash insisted on a drink. Vanessa was able to talk Knives into the diversion by convincing him that the events of the day had probably left Vash rattled. A drink would sooth his brother’s nerves, and leaving him to drink alone was surely a poor choice under the circumstances. Knives’ frown as they entered the saloon did little to dim Vash’s bright smile.

They seated themselves round a small table, taking in the heat and humidity of a room warmed by so many rowdy bodies. Vanessa gripped Knives’ left hand firmly as he angrily eyed the fellows surrounding. He was sure they were looking at Vanessa with lust, and the thought both horrified and incensed him. She rubbed his shoulder to calm him, leading his gaze back to her.

Vash left briefly and returned, dropping two large, glass mugs on the table. “What’ll YOU have?” Vash asked Vanessa loudly over the buzz of the room.

“Uh…water’s fine. Just water,” she insisted firmly.

Throwing no challenge to the comment, Vash obeyed and returned once more with her request.

“What is THAT?” Knives asked, nodding towards the frosty mug Vash pushed his way.

“Beer, Knives! Beer! What, you’ve never had beer before?” Vash replied, grinning.

Knives scowled in reply. He folded his arms and leaned into the chair.

“Don’t waste it,” Vash mumbled, reaching for his own. In a graceless motion he gulped down the entire thing. Lightly punching his belly, he let out a manly burp.

Vanessa giggled. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to,” she said sweetly to Knives, letting a bit of a dare slip into the inflection.

Leaning forward, Knives sniffed the stuff. He was a little thirsty. With great effort, he swallowed the contents. “Tastes like piss,” he choked out, teary-eyed.

“How do you know what pee tastes like?” Vash asked innocently. Grinning as Vanessa chuckled at the joke, he stood abruptly. “I’m gonna get some more. Want one or no?” he inquired impatiently.

Knives frowned angrily, but nodded. He wasn’t amused, but she rested her head against his encouragingly.

Vash brought not two beers, but three. Knives struggled with one while he watched his brother chug the other two and then stride to the bathroom. In no time, Vash was back, this time holding four.

“What’s the point,” Knives growled. He wouldn’t admit how dizzy this was making him, but he wondered why his brother seemed unaffected.

“I can take a lot, and it’s fun,” came the reply. “You’re a lightweight,” he giggled.

Knives choked down another pint as Vash eyed him from the corner of his own glass.

Vash had finished another two by the time Knives set his first empty glass upon the table. Reaching for the last, Vash’s hand was interrupted by Knives’.

Knives downed the last with less exertion and wiped his lips. He smirked to Vash when Vanessa patted his back and smiled.

Both men swayed in their seats now, and every word was slurred subtly. Vash’s antics were of a classic funny drunk, and Vanessa laughed so hard that her eyes watered.

They drank until Vash’s stumbling caused half of the liquid to spill from the mugs on the journey from the bar.

These sloppy drinks landed on the table with a thump in hopes that the action may startle Knives. Instead, he continued to hold Vanessa in a tight embrace, one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulder. She wasn’t squirming to get loose, but looked worried.

Vash fell like a rag doll into his chair, arms wagging in front. A beer mug crashed to the floor.

Footsteps approached. “You guys’ve had enough,” a large man growled at them. “Get outta my bar.”

Knives looked up with a look of pure hatred. “How dare…you…You know I’m gonna…(urp)…kill every last one of you, uh…humans…and…” he stammered, obviously hit hard by the huge amount of alcohol coursing through his brain.

The big guy sniggered. “I’ve been told worse. Now get.”

Vash stood wobbly and coaxed his brother to stand. They wrapped their arms about each other’s shoulders and unsteadily sauntered from the saloon onto the road. Knives was muttering about destroying and exterminating, but was mostly as incoherent as he was intoxicated. Vash struggled to keep his brother upright as feet began to drag.

Vanessa wordlessly left a wad of double dollars on their table and rushed to them, taking Knives’ other shoulder.

By the time they were atop the hotel staircase, Knives’ eyes were glazed and he seemed about to pass out.

Vash and Vanessa stood on either side of Knives’ bed, slinging him into a sleeping position and pulling the covers about him. Moving for the door, Vash looked over his shoulder to Vanessa, his gaze inviting her to follow. His brother was clearly unconscious, and would be for a while.

Pulling her arm from under Knives’ back, Vanessa found herself suddenly held firm by Knives. She turned slowly. He was still passed out, but he pulled her beside him, nestling his face into her hair.

She looked plaintively to Vash.

The look he returned was even more distressed. ‘Want help?’ he mouthed.

‘No,’ she mouthed in reply, turning her eyes away.

Vash moped away, closing the door silently behind him.

Swinging Vash’s door open minutes later, Vanessa found herself staring down the barrel of a silver gun.

Vash, who was sitting in a chair and looking deadly serious, held the gun at arm’s length. The red coat lied in a heap across the room, leaving Vash’s arms to the mercy of the cold night air. He looked like the outlaw of rumor: wielding the big silver gun from a heavily scarred arm, dressed predominantly in black, buckled leather, with an impersonal steel arm dangling from his other shoulder. Anyone else would’ve gasped and run.

But Vanessa’s look of surprise melted into a smile as she shut the door behind her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you; old reflexes die hard, huh?”

Without reply, he lowered his piece and set it on the table beside him.

“You weren’t drinking beer, were you,” she asked slyly.

“The first ones were. After that, he got beer and I got iced tea.” He gestured for her to sit on the other chair.

She did, still smiling. “We’re free for the next five to ten hours, I’m sure. So I thought, since you slept in this morning, and I’m not tired, that…”

Vash’s grin appeared slowly, and a little labored. “Sure, that sounds good.” He wondered why her smile was so prominent. Did she need to fake a smile around him as well? But it seemed kind of genuine…

Self-conscious, Vanessa tried to relax her mouth. “Sorry, I just really enjoy time with you. For tonight, I want us forget our worries and feel like things are as they should be, you know?” she suggested happily.

Longing to nod, he chose to be honest instead. “But they’re so very not. We need to use this time to contrive a better answer to this. This is getting serious, and he’s still dangerous…”

“Want the humans to die?” she asked quickly.

He shook his head.

“Want to kill Knives?” she continued.

Again he shook his head. “But…”

“No buts about it,” she interrupted softly. “There IS no other way.” When no reply came, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He still looked to the door, so she brought his gaze to hers by gently turning his face. Her eyes were pleasant and closed slowly as her lips met his. Though his mouth yielded little, she slipped her tongue past his lips in a kiss more sensual and calm than before. Eyelids lifted slightly, she drew away to judge his reaction.

Vash looked frustrated as he turned from her again, huffing aloud.

“What,” she murmured patiently.

He hesitated. “I wonder how much of what I taste is my brother,” he muttered bitterly.

Hurt, she held back angst to reply casually. “He hasn’t been allowed to enter my body in any way,” she stated firmly.

“Well, good, but what about when he wants to? And you’ve let him touch at you all the time…It just…” He itched his head nervously, meaning well.

“Enunciate yourself, Vash,” she asked. “It makes you feel what? Angry? Disgusted? Jealous?”

Even without replying, his face hinted at an affirmative response.

“Fine, but right now, can you put it aside?” she asked hopefully.

“How can I? This has gone too far already! I ought to stop being so selfish and stubborn and kill him!” he whispered in a fit of frustration.

“Don’t say that,” she snapped. “Don’t let go of your convictions like this.”

Vash looked at his knees. “But things as they are…When I look at you I see two things: a person I care for very deeply…and my brother’s concubine.”

Vanessa’s face went hot, but she found herself without words.

Vash continued before she could’ve spoken anyhow. “I know you don’t want to be; that you’re doing it to save everyone. But come on – I know he’s got to think that you’re going to be THAT for him.”

Her mouth hung open.

He looked up to meet her wide eyes. “Seriously, he is planning on using you for such a thing, isn’t he.”

She took a deep breath. “He believes that, but only after the humans are gone. But what is that, compared to the fact that those ships will touch down any day now! The important thing here is that he remains compelled to allow the ships to land and leave safely. And he’s going to do just that. At this moment in time, everything is set up! The humans are in no danger. You and I are in no danger. And we have the next hours to either brood or be happy. What’ll it be?”

“I wish I could slip into diversion for you. Really, I do,” Vash answered. “But standing idly by when trouble’s afoot just plain goes against my nature! All this time, I’ve been worthless. The sacrifices, the suffering – they’re on YOUR shoulders. I want to take action, and save you from this crap…I ought to do something!” he insisted, flustered with compassion.

“The only sound way for you to save me,” she offered, “is for you to give me hope. Things were bad before I met you, and they’ve been downhill since. I don’t have much to look back on. I’d like a happy memory. Please.”

“Tell me and I’ll make it happen,” he vowed.

Vanessa shook her head, smiling. “It’s not a formula, it’s got to be natural!” She took his right hand and held it softly. “Just sitting with you is good enough. You’re the only one in a hundred years that I trust. You’ll never hurt me, and I love that about you…There’s something about a person who’d cry in perfect empathy for anyone.” Studying his features, she grinned wider. “And you’re so adorable, it’s not even funny.”

Vash chuckled shyly. “No, I’m not; I’m Mr. Disfigurement,” he joked, waving his robotic arm a bit.

“I always heard that scars are sexy on men,” she retorted sassily.

“Ooh, then I’m a damn sexy man,” he added, flashing his trademark goofy grin.

Vanessa smiled, but lowered her eyes. “And my scars…what would you think of them…”

“I’d feel sympathy, then anger, then depression, and finally acceptance,” he listed solemnly. “But time constraints being what they are, I’ll have to run through the stages pretty quick. A couple minutes, maybe. Or I can just ignore them,” he suggested openly, a bit of eagerness shining through.

She smirked, appearing still a little uneasy.

Something more reassuring was needed. Vash drew her into a hug, made awkward by their positions in opposite chairs, and brought his mouth to her ear. “I doubt that anyone could cause you to look less beautiful. You say you were deformed at birth, but I’d say you got over that. And no matter what anyone’s done to you, you’ll always be an intelligent, charming lady.” He drew away to see her reaction.

Her cheeks were a little red, kind of splotchy. She was smiling a bit, but her eyes darted from his gaze sporadically. “Thank you,” she replied politely. ‘He’s seen so many women, I’m no more special than them,’ she thought. ‘He’d say anything to make me feel better; that’s his personality. But just because he doesn’t feel towards me what I thought he might, I shouldn’t let myself feel disappointed,’ she reasoned, forcing herself to smile wider.

But Vash knew the difference between her genuine smiles and the fake ones by now. He resigned to speak his immediate thoughts instead of pondering over compliments. “I’m sorry I drug you into all this…It seems you’re much stronger than I could be, but you don’t deserve this situation. Damn it, I wish things were different! I’d be able to show you a real kind of living; one without running and pain and sacrifices. I’m nothing but trouble…I can’t give you the kind of hope you need,” he lamented. Glancing up at her, his mind switched gears. “I’m such a bastard that even now, when I look at you, I’m thinking about what I want from you…”

“What’s that,” she whispered.

Vash hesitated, but since he had already opened his big mouth, he should surely continue. “I want to take you from him, but I also sort of want to make you my own. Kind of…I mean, not like he does, but because…I feel really close to you, and…um..” His voice grew quiet as he spoke, until it faded into a stutter. A blush crept over his face, redder than Vanessa’s, and he regretted putting her in such a position of discomfort.

“That’s okay,” Vanessa said reassuringly. “If it were possible, I’m sure I’d like that.”

“Huh?” he asked, mystified.

Vanessa leaned in to him again, with her hands on his shoulders. She stopped an inch from his lips, pausing to ponder the possibility of rejection a second time.

Vash kissed her. He wrapped his arms about her waist, kissing deeply and freely, happy to finally explain himself. She seemed to melt into his arms and against his mouth, responding with every bit of enthusiasm and passion as he put forth. Their actions became feverish sighs of relief; comfort on a level foreign to either soul.

‘…Damn it…’ Even with his ear to the door, Vash couldn’t perceive that anyone was in Knives and Vanessa’s room. After rushing to his room to retrieve a lock-pick from his backpack, he hurried to enter the room, pulse rising.

The sour smell of burnt paper met his nostrils immediately, directing his attention first to the ashen mess in the far trash bin. Vash rushed to this clue, but besides paper ash, the only obvious item within was a leather-bound book cover. His heart sank as he recognized the blackened thing as Vanessa’s trusty volume. He lifted it, causing all the fragile pages to crumble into nothing - hundreds of meticulous sketches lost forever.

‘My book? It’s where I plot out my modifications,’ she had explained to him. ‘After I pore over the textbooks, I create these blueprints for regulating an action. All elements must remain controlled, or the subject will be mangled. For every isolated chemical I wish to alter in the mind, there are a thousand other details that must remain at set levels. This book, it's so many things now…the cure for many diseases, as well as the cause; the ability to alter sensory perception and affect emotional climate; and lately I’ve been dappling in genetics – a page on creating trisomy, another on defeating it, and more on the way for insertion as gene therapy…Each page took weeks, sometimes months, to complete…’

The wall clock read 8:17am. She had left his room last night, book at hip, around 4:50am. This book could’ve been burning for over three hours. A hasty search of the room revealed that their belongings were gone, the beds were unmade, and the bottle of rubbing alcohol apparently used as the accelerant for the fire had been purchased months ago, as said the receipt.

Wasting no time, Vash raced down to the lobby and rang the tiny service bell.

The friendly desk worker stepped out after a moment, and addressed Vash with a smile. “May I help you?”

“Yeah, um,” Vash began, struggling to remain calm as adrenaline and fear coursed through his body. “They, er, my brother and Vanessa – did they check out?”

The woman shook her head with a confused look upon her face. “What, did they…They left?” she asked, growing flustered. “I was wondering…”

“…When they left, were they dressed for travel? And did they say anything at all? Nothing? Did she look hurt at all? Or upset? No!? Um…uh, okay…well…thanks,” he stammered, finally turning to his room.

There, he opted to change out of his uniform into leather-covered jeans and threw aside his starchy shirt to reveal the leather vest beneath. The red coat was wadded up and packed into his travel bag. After wrapping his old, crude cloak about his shoulders, he slung his bag over his shoulder.

But where…

He paused in the hall. ‘Where the hell am I going?’ he thought. ‘The cave, his old base, another town, some hidden ship…Where? But…would she want me to follow?’

The cold blanket of night had fallen upon the desert for many hours before they rested. In the dip of small sand dunes, Knives pitched a tent. Vanessa would’ve helped, but her arm was broken.

The night before, Knives had awakened with a start in the wee hours of morning. ‘Vash!’ he had thought immediately, realizing that the sharp perception that hit his mind was an indication from his brother. Such a phenomenon was mutual between the twins, yet not frequent. Knives had felt such an instantaneous connection to his brother over greater distances before, as had Vash from Knives, usually in response to a great physical or emotional stimuli, or upon the use of an angel arm. But his left forearm didn’t tingle as it had when he had sensed Vash’s angel arm output in the past, so…

Vanessa’s bed had been empty. In the light of the five moons, he could see this plainly. At first he feared that she may be in danger, but her hairpins, scarf, and cloak were all present, proving that she was surely not far from here.

When she finally tiptoed soundlessly into the dark room, making her way carefully to her bed, she failed to notice that Knives’ bed was empty.

The light came on suddenly, and her skin paled as she saw that he was blocking the door. Calmly, she turned away, drawing back the bedcovers. Muscles tensed as she heard his footsteps near her.

“Must you sleep with the book?” he asked softly. “It must hurt to lay on…”

“I’m used to it,” she replied.

“Give it to me,” he commanded, his voice still gentle and quiet.

Vanessa gripped the book tightly but did not pivot to greet him. “It’s private. I don’t see why…”

“Now,” he demanded.

“You’ve seen it before. I’m going to sleep…”

He gripped her right wrist and held it between her shoulder blades. In a flash of energy, Vanessa’s belt was slashed; it and the book slid from her hips. Knives caught it and released her, standing aside as he began to flip through the pages. His angel arm remained active, blades and feathers stretching about her dangerously.

Vanessa had no choice but to stand as still as she could, and couldn’t scream, lest humans burst in and be slaughtered ferociously. She could only glance over her shoulder, watching as Knives pored over each page. Mind racing, she attempted to speak to him. “You shouldn’t be so careless – your hair could darken terribly from this,” she called to him.

Knives sniggered softly, eyes glued to the markings he stared upon. “You shouldn’t be so presumptuous. I’ve got plenty of energy to spare before it blackens completely.” After all pages had been glanced upon, he huffed in temporary disappointment and dropped the book into the metal trash bin at his foot. He knelt, maintaining his blades’ position perfectly, and opened the bottle beside the trash bin. Every drop of alcohol fell to saturate the yellowed pages. As the lit match fell, he heard a gasp escape her lips. “I had hoped some of them would be useful, but…” he noted before cocking his head to face her. “Get your cloak and the lightest pack. We’re leaving,” he commanded, gesturing to the backpacks in the corner. Everything was prepared for a long journey, no detail overlooked. The canteens were full, and still cold with fresh water.

Vanessa nodded obediently as she watched each blade retract into his arm. Gradually, she moved to her pack and slung it over her caped shoulders. She stood slowly, adjusting the straps as Knives sat to pull on his own, legs out before him. Once Knives worked halfway into his backpack, she took advantage of the moment, dashing for the door.

The rug shifted suddenly beneath her, and she fell onto her right arm painfully. He had pulled the rug from her with his foot, and remained calm as he stood to help her up.

“But…Vash…We’re leaving him here?” she asked, hugging her arm as she was pulled to her feet.

“We’re going, silently, and I will NOT tolerate anything more from you,” he responded, tugging her cloak around her to hide her arms. “You are going to put on your best poker face and step into the night with me, because you can imagine what I will do to the retched inhabitants of this place if you disobey.”

Vanessa nodded, and did as told, breathing not a word as they passed a yawning desk worker. But on the street, she broke the stillness. “My arm is broken, I’m sure of it,” she whispered. “I can’t heal it myself. I need a doctor, Knives.”

Knives shook his head. “You’ll instruct me and I’ll do what you cannot,” he replied calmly. “But it’ll have to wait until I find a campsite. Do as told and bite your tongue.”

Frowning, she bowed her head and attempted to guess their intended direction of travel. But though they left through the same street they had initially entered from, he headed too far an angle from the cave. His movements betrayed no clue of a set destination.

After traveling all day, Vanessa was eager to tend to her arm, which was throbbing painfully. She watched Knives strike up a small campfire and dropped her cloak to the sand around her. Gingerly, she pulled her dress from her shoulder and eased the sleeve as far down her arm as possible without the fabric falling from her chest. Next, she gritted her teeth and pulled her broken limb from the remaining sleeve and laid it limp into her lap.

The skin was gray and swollen. He observed her effort as she pressed her fingers into the skin of her upper arm. She had fractured it; it would have to be set and splinted. “You have to pull and align it,” she told him.

Knives sat beside the arm, wincing as he felt the fever of the tender skin. She guided his fingers along the skin, explaining what was to be done in detail. He took her arm in a firm grasp and tugged the two sides of the fracture and attempted to ease them together correctly.

She held in a scream with teeth bared as he worked. Finished, she felt the arm, and shook her head. “Try again,” she whispered breathlessly.

The deed eventually accomplished, Knives used a tiny output of angel arm blades to chop and whittle a splint. Torn strips from the hem of his cloak served to wrap the splint to her flesh. As she attempted to relax her mind and heart, he studied her eyes, forcing her to silently reveal something to him.

Nothing was found here except pain and confusion, much the same as she saw in his. She wondered what he knew – of the book, of that night – anything to explain why they had so abruptly fled. He seemed to know the book better than she had given credit for, and his comment on its uselessness didn’t explain how much of its function he understood. But it was gone, and as her primary weapon against him, she was helpless. And he had given no clue of what he knew about herself and Vash. Did he know that he had been tricked into the drunken stupor? How could he have been awake so soon, and what of the preceding encounter was he responding to, if anything? She was still alive, perhaps a sign that he still preferred her to be relatively unharmed. Separation from Vash could mean so many things, from mistrust to anger.

“Remember that night, when you agreed to bear our offspring?” he murmured gently.

She nodded slightly.

“Was I wrong to take that as a solemn promise?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she shook her head subtly.

“You’ll keep that promise on MY terms now.” Knives prepared to stand, but retained his gaze. “Get some rest, and don’t make any motions unless I approve of them first. You’ll be sleeping beside me from now on, where I can keep better track of you,” he demanded, pointing to the blanket laid out beside her.

Feeling faint with dread, she lay in his arms. The warmth kept her safe from frigid desert winds, and he made no moves to violate her, so she fell into a fatigued sleep.

Simultaneously, Vash’s forehead was pressed against the glass of a bus. He gazed into the vast desert as though he might suddenly catch sight of two figures. No one could be seen, and he frowned as he realized that he would soon take on the near-impossible task of tracking down his brother. But first he had to travel to less probable locations.

With still no conclusion as to whether or not he should actually attempt to follow Vanessa and Knives, and being no closer to ascertaining the exact reason of the departure, he chose to visit two abandoned friends.

“Meryl’s gonna kill me if I tell her…” he muttered to himself. “Aw, she’d kill me if she knew about HALF the stuff that’s happened…”