Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction / Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ The Wolf & The Mouse ❯ The Wolf & The Mouse ( Chapter 1 )

Nicholas D. Wolfwood sighed as he crumpled the last cigarette out of his jacket pocket and thought that he surely must be serving a penance for unconfessed sins. First, the Angelina III had to quit just 110 iles from December. Just too far to walk back or expect any quick hope of assistance. Second, when he had slammed the punisher down into the ground in frustration, it had banged against his saddlebag, knocking the canteen open. He had managed to save maybe a pint of water before it all seeped into the sand. And now he realized he forgot to stock up on cancer sticks before shoving off. One cigarette, 110 iles, a pint of water, a broken down motorcycle. Add two blazing suns and the sum total is bad news, any way you look at it.

He shuddered briefly despite the heat, and then decided to trek up the sand dune ahead just in case there was anything in sight that looked like salvation.

The tall black figure stood out starkly against the desert as he trudged against the wind and stinging sand. He glanced over his shoulder to confirm the punisher, his landmark, was still in sight. His thoughts turned briefly to the orphanage. What would they do if he died out here? Sure, his contracts weren’t enough to sufficiently staff the place or allow them to expand like he wished they could, but no child was ever turned away. And he kept them housed, clothed, and fed. Maybe not well fed, but taken care of nonetheless. And that was something to be proud of. Early this morning, that silly new kid, what was his name? It sounded like Vash, rhymed with Vash…that kid kind of reminded him of Vash, actually. An idealist. Hope in his eyes, believer in miracles. Thought he was going to save the world someday. What was that kid’s name? Damn…well, you can’t remember them all, Wolfwood thought, as a faint smile touched his lips.

Well, Tongari, he thought, if I don’t make it back to you, maybe that kid will carry on your tradition of “love and peace“! He almost laughed thinking about it. Those two words would never be the same--he couldn’t even think them without adding the ridiculous inflection and emphasis Vash used. Unconsciously, his right hand went to form a peace sign…and the loosening of the unlit cigarette in his grip reminded him he hadn’t yet partaken of his final one.

Turning against the wind for a moment, he lit up, relishing the black smoke in his lungs for an inhuman length of time, before releasing it in a slow exhale. Then, turning back, he continued up the dune.

At the summit, he saw exactly what he had expected--nothing in any direction. 360 degrees of dust. Guess this is what hell is like, he thought grimly. Then, turning to descend and go back to try to tinker some more with the bike, a small dot on the horizon caught his eye. Narrowing his eyes against the sand and the glare, he took off his sunglasses to get a better look. Probably nothing. But…could be something….might as well check it out. Cynically Wolfwood set off towards the small line in the distance, half-expecting it to be the skeleton of another unlucky bastard. Shaking his head, he thought to himself: Why do I always leave God out of it? I’m a priest for chrissakes. God, maybe something over there can save your humble servant…help me out here, ok?

He inhaled deeply again, walking a little faster. About twenty minutes later he reached it. A signpost. Battered. Worn. Sticking halfway out of the ground. Shit. No skeleton with a full canteen. No vehicle just needing some pedal power. No deus ex machina. Unless the signpost indicated a stop on a bus route? Dusting it off, Wolfwood’s hopes were dashed again. Well, he hadn’t really allowed them to get that high in the first place. “VIRIDIAN CITY” the sign said, with an arrow pointing to the right. The right of what? Wolfwood silently asked, raising an eyebrow. That was a new one. He’d never heard of Viridian City. Wonder how that could be. Thought I’d been everywhere on this godforsaken ball of sand, he thought. Well, whatever and wherever it had been, he could pretty much guarantee it wasn’t there any more.

Giving in a little to the gravity of the situation and losing some of his “who gives a shit” attitude, he leaned his back up against the ancient sign, allowing his weight to take him down to the hot and shifting sand. Slumped there, he regarded the expired cigarette still in his hand. Shouldn’t have smoked it in the wind, he thought. Waste of a good cigarette. He stuck it in the ground, thinking “the world’s biggest ashtray--and it‘s mine,” and closed his eyes. He flexed his fingers. Damn addiction. He always needed something in his hands…probably why he had taken up smoking in the first place. Couldn’t always have a gun in your grip or people got nervous. In an effort to distract himself, he began sifting the sand restlessly with his right hand. Grasping, clenching, wishing like anything that he wasn’t craving nicotine and smoke. About to get up, he felt his fingertips brush something deep below--something hard.

Tentatively, he dug further into the sand, and felt a small round object. Quickly grabbing it, he pulled it up into the light of day.

It was no more than four inches in circumference, a small red and white ball. Looks kind of like a fishing bob, Wolfwood observed, bemused at the thought of someone fishing in this arid place. Not particularly useful, and definitely not a canteen. Arguably though, at this point he would have traded quite a few canteens for one more smoke. His lungs were burning.

My one big weakness, he admitted, getting up and dusting the sand off. Well, maybe I’ve got another one…but I’m not going to think about that right now. Pushing that unrewarding train of thought away, he began heading back towards the useless Angelina III. As he walked, his fingers played absently with his new toy, keeping themselves occupied and distracted for the moment from the lack of a cigarette.

Halfway to the broken down bike, his trigger finger clicked something on the ball. Startled, he looked down to see a bright light flowing from the center, and when the light went away, he blinked in disbelief at the sight before him.

A small yellow creature sat on the sand, looking up at him with big round eyes. It had a jagged tail and big pointy ears with black tips that currently were laid back against its head, probably in fear, Wolfwood subconsciously registered. Its nose was tiny and mouth was pursed as if it was about to speak. But its most remarkable feature were two red circles on each side of its face. They were faintly glowing and Wolfwood could almost swear he saw one spark for a second.

He decided two things simultaneously. Number one, the thing had definitely come out of the ball. He had seen the light and that was the only explanation. Number two, it didn’t look dangerous. It was a lot smaller than him. He eased his .45 down, which his survivalist instincts had already unholstered, aimed, and cocked at the little yellow creature.

The man and the animal stared at each other for quite some time. Wolfwood half expected it to bolt and run away. It was shaking, trembling actually, and did not look happy at all. He regarded it with interest, and it looked at him with just as much puzzlement. There was something, a look in the thing’s eyes. They glinted with a hint of intelligence. Wolfwood never was one to underestimate his adversaries (or friends for that matter), and he slowly started moving his hand back towards his hip.

“PIKA!” the thing squeaked loudly, and Wolfwood almost fell over. The noise entered his brain like a hammer. Was that how it fought, with excruciatingly high-pitched weaponry? He knew it was possible--Midvalley used sound to kill…Zazie used it to wrangle beasts, maybe this thing had a similar capability.

Almost as if it had realized it startled him, “Pika” it said again, lower and gentler this time. It sounded to Wolfwood like it was apologizing for scaring him (huh, I wasn’t scared, he immediately corrected himself), but he quickly dismissed his interpretation. It was some kind of beast, and he hadn’t yet met one beast that could say “I’m sorry,” including Legato.

Despite this mental assertion, Wolfwood found himself feeling friendlier towards the little thing. It did look scared. And after all, I’m a lot bigger than it is, he thought. His love of children naturally extended itself to all things weaker than himself, and before he knew what he was doing, he found himself squatting in front of the yellow animal, getting as close to eye level as he could, and saying, “Are you OK, little guy?”

“Pika, pi.” it said, and this time Wolfwood did fall over, precariously balanced as he was on his haunches. He could swear the thing was talking.

Sitting up in the sand, Wolfwood reached out to touch it, and suddenly there it was again--a little spark coming out of the red dots on the face and a distinct warning in the little black eyes. OK, bad idea, he thought.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I was just going to say hello.”

“Pika, pikachu,” said his new acquaintance.

“Um….” scratching his head, Wolfwood stood up. “What the hell are you?”

“Pikachu,” it squeaked.

Ouch, was he ever going to get used to that annoying bark? Probably not, he thought morbidly, as my days, and little guy’s too, are numbered. No matter how cute that thing is, it is not getting any of the water. Speaking of cute, it was looking at him expectantly, as if it had asked him a question.

“I’m a priest. My name is Nicholas D. Wolfwood,” he managed, feeling like he’d completely lost his mind.

“Pikachu pi, pika pika chuuuuu,” it said.

“OK, sure, so what’s your name little yellow sparky needle-tail furball?”

“Pikachu.”

“Pikachu it is! Nice to meet you, Pikachu. We’re in the desert, the bike is broken and we don’t have any water and we’re probably going to die out here….” as soon as he said the words, there was no longer any doubt in his mind that this bizarre little thing did indeed understand him. Its ears drooped, its eyes welled up as if it was about to cry, and it immediately looked around as if it was trapped. Wolfwood suddenly (and ridiculously) felt sorry for being so blunt. “Hey, hey, we’ll think of something. You can always go back into your ball until the next guy comes along too,” he said, “and maybe he’ll have water for you.”

“Pikachuuuuuuuu,” Pikachu squealed, and, jumping up, batted the strange ball from Wolfwood’s hand before the gunman’s lightning fast reflexes could even react. It fell softly to the sand a few yarz away.

“Wow, little guy, that was some quick attack. Good thing you don’t have a gun.” Pikachu just looked up at him. “OK, you don’t like the ball. I don’t blame you, it must be cramped, but it’s probably better than this planet at night, just telling you.”

Pikachu shook its head firmly and looked at Wolfwood with a silent question in its eyes. “Yes, we are heading back to the bike now, Pikachu,” he said, feeling slightly less silly than before talking to the animal. “I won’t give up yet, we’ll keep trying to fix it.”

“Pika pi, pikachu pi,” Pikachu said, with a hint of impatience, and then started hopping off towards the motorcycle.

Wolfwood caught up easily and then had to slow down as the wind buffeted the small guy and caused him to slide in the sand. Peering down at the furry ball, Wolfwood said, “Look, do you want some help?” Without a word, Pikachu nimbly jumped from the sand to his knee to his arm to his shoulder, once again scaring the bejeezus out of Wolfwood.

“How the hell did you do that?” he yelled, and this time Pikachu was the one who was scared, jumping off his shoulder with lightning speed and running a few yarz away.

Oops, Wolfwood thought, it was just taking me up on my offer. He felt absurdly sorry for yelling at Pikachu (yup, I’m going nuts, he conceded as he realized he automatically was thinking of it by name) and then immediately wondered if this whole experience was a heat-induced illusion brought on by the futility of the situation and the unrelenting desert suns in the afternoon.

Well, not much he could do about it if he had already lost his mind. Might make his final hours a bit more entertaining, at the very least, he figured. “I’m sorry Pikachu, you just caught me off guard!” he called towards the small blur of yellow.

The blur bounded towards him and he braced himself for another escalation, but it didn’t come. Pikachu stopped at his feet and asked “Pi, pika, pi?”

“Yeah,” Wolfwood agreed, “but this time let me put you up there, ok?”

“Pikachu!” it said happily, and Wolfwood bent down and put his hands around the little furry waist…well, it didn’t really have a waist, but the middle of the thing. It was soft and reminded him of a pet rat Knives had for about three days before he grew tired of it and killed it.

Wolfwood gently lifted Pikachu up and settled him on his broad left shoulder. “OK, little guy, you certainly feel real. Now just don’t do that sparky thing until you’re on the ground again.” So saying, the man headed briskly towards the motorcycle, the light of an idea dimly taking form in the back of his mind.

After a few minutes, Wolfwood was starting to see why Knives had killed the rat. This thing couldn’t sit still, it climbed all over him, from shoulder to shoulder, sitting on his head, and incessantly chattering the whole way in its tri-syllabic tongue. It was enough to try the patience of a priest, and this particular priest was notoriously short-tempered. He was about to go insane from the squeaky noises so close to his ear, but just before he exploded, he realized he truly was understanding some of what this strange and exotic animal was telling him. Not all of it, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he could just about swear that he was getting the gist.

Pikachu was its name, and it was also the name of its species. A long time ago (Pikachu wasn’t sure how long ago) it lived in a place where there were many trees and lots of grass. It didn’t know how got to this desert. It had never seen a desert before. It was a kind of animal called a ….Wolfwood couldn’t get that part. They were friends with people and pets and partners. Then some more that was difficult to understand.

Pikachu had no idea what happened to its world, its friends, its family. It had a ….Wolfwood thought the word was similar to teacher or trainer…who one day put it in that little ball. Pikachu HATED the ball and the person knew it, but did it anyway. Pikachu thinks it was for protection. Pikachu didn’t know how long it was in the ball and Wolfwood was the first person it had seen since.

It made some sense…this planet probably wasn’t always barren, Wolfwood thought. Maybe this Pikachu was the last indigenous life form of the original world here. Poor little guy, he mused, no one left, nothing from his life before. This Pikachu was just another orphan. Like him. Like his kids back in December.

They had left the decrepit signpost unaware of each other’s existence, and arrived at last at the sad heap that was the Angelina III as buddies. Wolfwood couldn’t help but sympathize with Pikachu’s story, and dammit, it was awful cute. He tickled its ears as he set it on the seat of the bike, smiling as it rubbed its head against his hand.

“OK, Pikachu, lemme get to work here.”

Wolfwood got out his tools and checked everything he could think of, engine, sparkplugs, radiator, belts, screws, coolant, but everything was working fine. There was no reason for the motorcycle’s demise. An hour later, he sighed in resignation and looked at his little friend, sad to see the faintest hope in its eyes.

“Shit, Pikachu, but you know I can’t fix it if I can’t find anything wrong with it. I guess we’re stuck here.”

“Pika, pikachu, pika,” Pikachu said dejectedly, with its ears drooping.

Feeling strangely affected, Wolfwood patted the little animal. “Well, want some water?” he asked, conveniently forgetting his earlier commitment not to share his rations.

“Pikachuuuu,” it said, shaking its head “no.”

“Oh come on, little guy, something will happen. The big guy upstairs usually takes care of us…all creatures great and small and all that stuff,” Wolfwood said, trying to cheer it up.

“Piiii….” Pikachu said, flopping down on the sand as if giving up. Wolfwood felt awful…and damn he wanted a cigarette more than he ever had in his life. Talking to Pikachu had made his throat dryer than usual and he felt bad at disappointing the little guy. It comes out of centuries, maybe millennia of hibernation only to die of thirst, exposure, or both, because its rescuer is a lousy mechanic. Talk about bad luck.

Wolfwood lay back on the sand himself, feeling like he was forgetting something. There had to be something he hadn’t tried…what was that thought he had earlier? He couldn’t remember. Damn. The suns must be getting to him. He shut his eyes and before he knew it exhaustion had claimed him.

When he awoke, it was dark outside, and strangely, his first thought was of Pikachu. Had it run away? Was it hungry? Dying? His eyes adjusted to the moonlight and he sat up, noticing the small furry ball curled up against his leg. He involuntarily sighed with relief, and doing so, realized he‘d been holding his breath, afraid of not finding Pikachu nearby. Damn I’m a sucker, he laughed to himself, why does crazy stuff always happen to me? He looked down with instinctive affection at the little animal, and silently prayed for a way out of this, for both of them.

Unthinking, he reached out his hand and laid it softly against the sleeping little face.

Agonizing pain shattered his body as an electric current stronger than a hundred bolts of lightning shook his frame. Screaming helplessly, Wolfwood twitched and shook as the shock penetrated every nerve he possessed. Touching the red spot on the animal’s cheek had triggered this paralyzing wave of energy. And although it lasted only perhaps three full seconds in reality before the startled creature realized its mistake and ceased its attack, Wolfwood would have claimed no less than an eternity of suffering passed before he was blissfully released from the shocking charge.

Clearly distressed, Pikachu desperately tried to apologize to his new friend. “Pikachu, pika pi, pikachu pi, pika ka chu, ka chu pika,” it lamented over Wolfwood’s crumpled frame.

As Wolfwood was about to reach up and smack the tiny bastard to kingdom come, he realized the pain had disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Already receding into the shaky realm of memory, it was actually difficult for Wolfwood to try to remember exactly what the electrocution had felt like. Not that he wanted to, but the suddenness of its departure was completely confusing to him. A few seconds earlier he had thought he was dying, or at the very least going to be paralyzed for the rest of his days. Now he felt strangely energized, and, to be altogether honest about it, not that bad at all. Didn’t even have a craving for a cigarette at the moment. And that was unusual.

And then, there it was, right in front of his face. His deus ex machina. He leaped up, grabbed Pikachu, and did an impromptu jig around the cross sticking up in the sand. “Pi, pikachu?” it asked him quizzically.

“The battery, the battery, it’s the battery,” Wolfwood sang in a warbly baritone, as he danced over the swirling ground. He carefully (he would always be careful touching that thing in the future, he acknowledged) set Pikachu on the ground and then jumped up and down happily.

“Alright, Pikachu! You’re the cream in my coffee…oh wait I like it black…You’re the hole in Vash’s donuts…nah that doesn’t make any sense…you’re the….” he continued rambling as he ripped off the side of the bike and exposed the small black box beneath. Pikachu watched, bewildered, trying to decipher the strange words coming out of Wolfwood’s mouth.

“Here we go!” he almost yelled to the night sky. Turning to Pikachu, he proclaimed gleefully, “You…..Are…..My…..JUMPER CABLES!” So saying, he took Pikachu’s tiny paws in his large tanned hands, and set them on the knobs on top of the battery. Then, squatting down next to the motorcycle, his tone turned serious. “Pikachu, my buddy, you have to do what you just did to me to this box here.” Pikachu wasn’t getting it. Wolfwood pantomimed his electrocution, much to Pikachu’s dismay, and then pointed to the black box, then back to Pikachu’s round red cheeks, then back to the battery.

“Pikachu, pika.” Pikachu said solemnly, nodding up at Wolfwood.

“OK, on my count….” Wolfwood said, getting up and ready to crank the ignition. “One….two….ARRRRRRGH!” he shrieked as Pikachu let loose his lightning a little early. Luckily, the muscle spasm resulted in his hand turning the key reflexively, and the Angelina III roared to life, frightening the little electric monster.

“You, my friend,” Wolfwood said happily to the nervous Pikachu, “are a true blue miracle, well, make that fuzzy yellow miracle,” sitting down on the seat and patting it in invitation.

“Pikachu,” Pikachu said, “pikachu pi?”

“Of course you’re my friend,” Wolfwood exclaimed. “Come on, don’t you want to come?” Then he thought suddenly…I’m going to Demetri…I can’t bring this wonderful little guy to see Knives. Knives can never know about Pikachu. Or Legato. Or even Vash…but then a hilarious image of Vash “accidentally” incorrectly petting Pikachu filled his brain and he chuckled. That was one introduction he might just have to make someday.

“Pikachu pika ka chu ka.” Pikachu said hopefully.

That’s it! Wolfwood thought. Of course Pikachu wanted to meet his friends, and was he just thinking earlier how alike they both really were? Well, I’m a human hitman priest, and he’s a furry electric mouse, Wolfwood amended in his mind, but we’re both orphans.

“Come on, little friend,” Wolfwood said, using the “f” word on purpose. “You’ve saved us both, and now I want to take you home to meet my family.”

Agilely jumping in three steps from the sand to the seat, Pikachu looked happily up at Wolfwood and then settled into his lap. “Well, I drive pretty fast,” Wolfwood said, “why don’t you climb in here?” indicating his jacket.

“Pikachu,” Pikachu assented, snuggling against Wolfwood’s broad chest as the priest kicked the bike into gear and sent them shooting back across the sand towards December.

Pikachu is going to love those kids, Wolfwood thought, thinking how surprised they would be to see him again so soon. And those kids are going to love this little guy. Especially that new one, what was his name? Oh, Ash, yeah, Ash. Maybe I can remember them all, Wolfwood smiled as he drove off into the night.