Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Finding Heaven ❯ Lost ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer- Just so I don't forget, like I did when I first posted Chap. 2. Don't own it, wish I did, and I'm not making any money at all off of this. There, I think I covered it all.
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All of the moons had risen already by the time he left the inn. Wolfwood adjusted his coat once to block out the chill desert wind that had sprung up when the suns had left, and proceeded down the boardwalk towards the street corner. It was going to be a long night.

Puffing his cheeks out and blowing on his hands, he wished he'd thought to bring some gloves with him. If only the desert didn't have such extreme temperatures. Glancing back at the inn, he watched the light from its windows spill out into the street, seductively beckoning him. It certainly would be warmer in there. And there was that barmaid that had taken a shine to him... He shook his head vigorously to shake those unpleasantly welcome thoughts from it. If he gave up now, it might grow to become a habit, and thus make a mockery of the last decade of his life. Better to freeze, he thought. At least I would have been trying to help then.

Picking a direction at random, he headed for the edge of town. This would take about a week altogether to search the whole thing, but it couldn't be helped. And the irony of the entire situation was that whoever he was looking for was more than likely not here anymore if he or she had indeed ever been here. This was the major problem with locating someone who may or may not exist, you never knew where to start. That was why he'd chosen, oh so long ago, to wear the coat. If nothing else worked out, the person he was looking for was bound to recognize this for what it was. Unfortunately, so did just about every bounty hunter worth his salt. No matter that he didn't possess even the slightest resemblance to the descriptions of the legendary gunman, he wore a red trenchcoat and was thus suspect. It was the main reason that the insurance companies sent people to monitor his whereabouts. And although he was very fond of the old coat, he really wished he could get rid of it. But such was life-

With a start Wolfwood realized that he had been so deep in thought that he had reached the edge of town and begun his search without even being consciously aware of it. He certainly was being more contemplative than usual.

"I wonder what's bringing this on?" he asked himself idly as he paced his second block. Still nothing, but that wasn't any surprise. He knew though, that the main reason for the strange funk that had stolen over him in the past few weeks was almost solely due to the upcoming seventh anniversary of his decision to follow the bread crumbs and see where they led. Seven whole years of his life gone. Seven years that would never come back. And not a clue in the interim to lead him to believe that he wasn't chasing a phantom. However, at this point he wasn't willing to give up, much as he wanted to. Hopefully it might all end soon, but it wouldn't be for his lack of trying.

"Damn, I'm in a dark mood today. Maybe I should have taken that drink earlier, it certainly would have stopped this." He smirked, "And I probably wouldn't have woken up alone either." Scuffing his feet on the street below him, he turned down another block. Four down and about seven billion to go, but the night was young and he really didn't have anything better to be doing. After all, what if he missed his target after all this time simply because he was busy doing 'other things?' Gods, he was busy depressing himself today, wasn't he?

"Dammit, Nick, you're just digging yourself deeper every minute." He paused to fish out a cigarette and light it. "If you keep this up you'll be committing suicide before dawn." Not that he approved of suicide. He found the whole concept to be beyond his comprehension... why kill yourself when you have so much to live for? In fact, he found the whole concept of killing itself to be repulsive. Isolation was his greatest fear in life, and killing increased that prospect tenfold. Why silence another's laughter? Why end another's tears? It only increased your chances of ending up alone in the end.

Lost in his thoughts, Nicholas D. Wolfwood walked the streets of Inepril until he was stopped by weariness. He'd been walking without stop for hours and nothing had happened. Now it was time to retire for the night and wait until tomorrow. Another night gone, never to return again. If only there was some sign that he was on the right path.

"All right, I think what you need pal, is a good stiff drink or two and a soft bed." Pushing the hair out of his eyes, he wandered off towards where his inn was. After locating it, he sat at the bar and followed his own advice. Warmed by the drinks and exhausted by his own thoughts and meanderings, he climbed the stairs up to his room to sleep.

When he finally crawled back into bed for the night, he barely had the energy to take the coat off. Tossing the coat over the nearest chair he threw himself down on his bed and fell into a deeper sleep than he'd been in for a long time. All night he dreamt of chasing a man who remained just out of his reach. The man seemed vaguely familiar, but Wolfwood would later not recall who it was. He was almost certain that he had never met this tall blonde stranger, but in the dream it seemed almost as if they had been friends. It seemed to him that the emotions stirred within him during the dream had been that of--of something that he hadn't felt in a long time, love.

After a night of restless tossing and turning he finally awoke, not rested but unwilling to undergo any more mental anguish. Stumbling downstairs with the coat draped over his shoulders he ordered another drink at the bar and slumped over the counter.

The barmaid from the night before eyed him concernedly before pouring him a drink. "You okay?" she asked as she pushed the drink to him, "You don't look so good. Did some of the drunks last night bother you?"

"No," he barely lifted his eyes to meet her gaze, "Just bad dreams."

She nodded. "Oh, I know what you mean. When I first moved here I had this time where all I had were these bad dreams. I swear, I got no sleep for about a month." Frowning slightly, she added, "The weird thing was that they didn't make any sense."

Knowing that was his cue, Wolfwood sipped his drink idly before asking, "Oh, and why was that?"

"Well," she thought for a moment, "They were all very sad, but I don't know why. It was like the dream wanted something, something that I didn't have. ...I don't remember what happened in the dreams except that sometimes there was this man..." Her brow was furrowed as she tried to recall the dreams of long ago. All this was sounding very familiar to Wolfwood. She must've noticed a change in his expression, because she asked him worriedly, "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"That's sounds like my dream-" he thought he sounded vaguely crazed, but she nodded sagely at this.

"I know this sounds odd, but it's not that surprising. I know a few other people who have had the same dream as well." She shuddered violently before serving a drink to a man down the bar. Upon coming back, she found him lost in the contemplation of the amber of his drink. "Don't worry, it goes away after about a month, and it fades every time." She smiled at him warmly, "We think it might be because we live so close to the Plant. Honestly though, I don't care so long as I never get those dreams again."

Wolfwood recalled the dream of the man and wondered to himself whether it was as a result of the Plants. It seemed so unlikely, but... Shrugging mentally, he wondered if this was the clue he'd been searching for all this time. If it was, it was a pretty bizarre clue. What was he supposed to do now, wait for something to happen?

Wolfwood spent the remainder of the day napping and wandering the various shops in the older section of town. Although this wasn't precisely his favorite pastime, he felt that at least it gave him time to think. And at least he was thinking while out and about instead of being cooped in his room all day, which would have worsened the effect of his mood immensely. At least this way, the constant presence of others prevented him from getting deeper than he could swim.

For the next couple of days his routine were pretty similar to the activities of the first day. Spending the days ostensibly enjoying himself and helping others, only to spend the nights searching. However, the woman was wrong in telling him that they would fade with time; instead, they were more intense every time he slept. He'd begun waking in the middle of night with tears streaming down his face and the image of the man implanted in his mind. It was like a memory of someone he'd never met but who had been very dear to him. It was torture, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Every morning, the barmaid politely asked him how his sleep was, wanting to know if the dreams were getting better. By better, he supposed she meant less worse, but he wasn't one to quibble over details. Not wanting to concern her with his problems, he did the next best thing. He lied. So he would just smile, nod, and attempt to look less exhausted than he actually was. However, the strain of crying the same tears every night was getting to him.

After four days of searching he was already making plans on where he would travel to next. Although neither of the two open choices appealed to him, he really didn't want to spend any more time in Inepril than he had to. Although this seemed to be the most likely place to find what he was looking for that he had come across in a long time, it was too difficult for him to continue on like this. It was getting so that he would force himself to stay awake through sheer willpower. The dreams were also beginning to wreak havoc on his health, and if this kept up he might be forced to seek professional help for a very personal problem. This being the least appealing idea he had at the moment, he felt it might be best to just back away from Inepril for awhile and see if the dreams went away.

On the morning of the fifth day, he forced himself out of bed, only to stumble downstairs to the bar, where he ordered a cup of coffee. The usual barmaid wasn't here today, which he was secretly relieved about. He didn't enjoy lying to people and he didn't like causing others worry. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was doing both to her.

"How would you like your coffee?" The man behind the counter barely looked at the Wolfwood. From his bored and vaguely irritated voice, Nicholas surmised that he probably wasn't supposed to be working here today.

"Black." He needed something to wake him up. Last night's dream had been especially hard on him, but despite his best efforts, he couldn't wake himself from it. Strangely enough, in this one he wasn't chasing the man. Instead, he had been seated on a porch with the twin sunsets blazing off to the side. There was no breeze that he could recall, but the man's hair was being blown slightly anyway. As they sat there, the man finally turned to him so that Wolfwood could finally see his face. The thing that stuck in his mind the most was the intense expression in the man's eyes. They were a light green, the color that water took sometimes. They were the most incredibly penetrating eyes that Wolfwood had ever seen.

"Hey, don't worry, I'll be all right." The man assured him softly.

"I-I know. B-but still--"

With a start Wolfwood realized that he wasn't actually a part of the dream. There was someone else here, someone who evidently knew the man. Standing up, he stepped away from the porch before turning around. Before him were two people. One, the man, was as solid as real life. The other, a child of maybe ten, was as insubstantial as a ghost.

"Everybody makes sacrifices sometimes-" The man was talking again, this time time not meeting the child's imploring eyes. "I am no exception. You understand that, right?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Sir?" The man chuckled without humor. "That's new." There was no response from the boy beside him. Sighing, he put his arm around the child's shoulders, drawing him into a bear hug. From within the depths of his embrace, the child began to cry, his body racked with shuddering sobs.

"I promise to come back. Don't worry, I'll be all right. I'll be all right. I'll come back and we'll live here forever. Don't worry." The man whispered this into the child's hair, hugging him even tighter towards the end. From Wolfwood's vantage point, he watched one tear slide down the man's face, only to be chased by another, and another. After a few moments, the man released his charge and turned away, not allowing the child to see the tracks that the tears had made down his cheeks. Deftly wiping all traces of his sorrow, he turned back to the boy and forced a smile. "Well, I'd better go. Don't worry about dinner, I asked Mrs. Marlowe to keep an eye on you." He reached behind him and pulled three things from the shadows, one of which Wolfwood recognized immediately. "Here." He gave the child a small wrapped package. As the child stared at it, the man stopped him from opening it. "It's a surprise that I want you to open after I leave. Got it?" The child nodded slowly. "Okay. Then I'd better go. Goodbye, Legato." Standing up, the man pulled on the coat that Wolfwood had recognized earlier and holstered the big revolver. Buttoning up the coat, the man gave one last hug to the child before walking away from the porch and into the sunset. He never looked back.

After several minutes of silently watching the man's figure recede into the distance, Legato's face crumpled and he began to cry again. "Goodbye, Dad. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye... goodbye..."

Wolfwood cried along with the boy, wishing there was some way he could comfort Legato in his hour of pain... wishing there was some way he could end his pain. But there wasn't, and so they stayed there, with the sunset reflecting off of their tears.

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"Hey, you okay mister?" The bartender shook Wolfwood's shoulder gently.

With a start, Wolfwood realized that he'd fallen asleep at the bar. Beside him a cup of cold coffee waited. It was black, just like he'd asked for. Ignoring the taste, he sipped some of it carefully to get rid of the parched feeling in the back of his throat. "Oh, thanks," he managed at last, "I must've dozed off."

"Dozed off?" The man snorted, "That's an understatement. You've been asleep here all day. You looked so tired that nobody wanted to disturb you. I only woke you up after you started whimpering in your sleep."

"All day?" One whole day spent sleeping, and he still felt tired. What was wrong with him?

"Yeah." The bartender took his coffee from him, pouring it in the garbage. "Why don't you get yourself some air. You look like hell. Coffee's on the house." Wolfwood nodded, and slid out of the seat, pulling his coat on as he stumbled out the door.

The night air outside ruffled his hair, and he closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation for a few minutes, before forcing himself to find a nice place to eat dinner. He felt horrible, but that feeling was receding as he spent more time out in the open air beneath the canopy of stars overhead. Maybe he would just spend the whole night walking, but that's what he did most nights anyway... God, it was so beautiful out.

Dropping his eyes from the heavens, he nodded at a few people in passing. Where to go now? He reviewed his options while watching the evening crowd pass by on the street. And then he stopped suddenly, because he had caught a glimpse of a face in the last group... a face who had been haunting his dreams recently. It was the face of someone who was at the center of the quest he had taken upon himself seven years ago, and had not fulfilled, thus far. Vash the Stampede, the man from his dream had just passed him on the street. Turning on his heel, Wolfwood followed in the steps of the man, being careful not to get too close. Even if he meant no harm, it still was a rather strange thing to be approached by a random stranger on the street and to be told that he had spent the last decade of his life searching for him. No, it was best to simply follow until he developed a plan on how to approach him.

Ahead of him, the man from his dreams turned a corner, crossing the street to enter a bar on the far side. Trudging behind him, his eyes glued on the stranger's back, Wolfwood followed him across the street, no longer caring whether or not the man saw him. At this point, all Wolfwood wanted was for the dreams to stop, and he knew that if anyone could stop them, the blonde haired stranger ahead of him could.

His mind blanked as he entered the bar and approached the man from across the room. Vash's back was to him, and all Wolfwood could do was watch him as his feet, acting independently of his mind, walked up to the man. After a moment of just standing there, Wolfwood cautiously tapped the man's shoulder, not knowing why this was going so fast.

The man turned around in surprise, and there was a moment of shocked silence as each took the other in. The man's mouth had formed a perfect 'O' of surprise when he saw the coat, and then he he choked out a strangled, "What?" before meeting Wolfwood's eyes.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood, nomad of the open desert, the man of the red coat, and helper of those afflicted, could only stare in shock at the man's eyes. Blue, they were blue... They weren't supposed to be blue, they were green--green. "Vash-" he managed, before being interrupted.

"I'd almost given up on him. I wasn't expecting to see that coat again." The man's normally cool gaze was startled, and Wolfwood's sudden appearance seemed to have unbalanced him. "We need to talk. Alone. There are people around who shouldn't see this. Come with me. Quick."

Dazed, Wolfwood was led by the man out the door and hurried down the street. It was all going so fast-- He couldn't follow all that was happening... his brain kept stopping at that point in time where the man had turned around and his eyes had been the wrong color. What was going on here?! However, the only way to find out was to follow the man ahead of him, and hope that he wasn't making a mistake.


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From across the street, two pairs of eyes watched the proceedings, one with a detached look on her face, and the other with keen interest.

Grinning in anticipation, Millie Thompson sipped the drink in front of her before setting it down carefully and checking her weapons. So Knives had been lying to her... This was the first break she'd gotten in a long time and she planned to take full advantage of it. If Vash's coat had appeared again, maybe Vash himself was not too far behind? The thought excited her. "Vash the Stampede... I toast you and your legacy." Raising her glass for the toast, she downed the rest before dropping a tip on the table and taking off after them.

Meryl leaned against the wall of her booth, before signaling a waitress. As she handed the waitress her glass, she noticed something odd. On the other side of the room a woman was staring intently out the window at Vash and his companion. Marking her as a subject to watch carefully, Meryl wondered casually whether Inepril might turn out to be more interesting than previously thought. That last thought made her smile with pleasure. At last... However, now was not the time to daydream. Vash and the other man were leaving now, and she had a job to do.

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Author's note- If this last bit seems a little deus-ex-machina... well I wanted to get this posted and go outside. And as a side note, this last note was written listening to the freakin' Gummi Bears theme song--*shudders* So, any mistakes? I'll fix 'em later when I'm less antsy. :) And if I don't say so myself, DAMN but it took a long time to get Wolfwood to meet Knives... well, to realistically meet Knives anyway. Oh, and I'd like your opinion on whether or not this should be divided into two chapters (it seems SO long for one chapter).