Lost Souls in Revelry

Meryl Stryfe, Disaster Prevention Officer, holds a letter in her hands. She’s held several over the years, from friends and colleagues and the occasional beau--when was the last time she got one of those? The one person she never expected to get a letter from, however, is her father. Meryl frowns down at the meticulous penmanship. She’d recognize that handwriting anywhere: the neat lines, the tight loops, and the perfect curves, a reflection of the absolute control he needed over everything.

The fact that he took time to write to her himself rather than dictate to one of his many assistants makes her feel some sort of way and none of it good. She doesn't want to open it, doesn't want to know how he found out where she’s been.

Meryl’s fairly sure she knows what he wants though.

A man clears his throat behind her and Meryl starts. The noise of the post office floods back into her world and it's suddenly no longer just her and the letter in her hand, suffocating in a void of uncertainty. She hastily apologizes to him, thanks the clerk for the letter, and slips out of line. Meryl shoves the smooth, expensive envelope into the lapel of her cheap jacket and steps out into the bustling street.

Once again, there was no communication from Bernardelli.

The last time she reported to headquarters was weeks ago and her supervisor has yet to reply. Not that she has much to report now, anyway, seeing how she’s currently playing house with a group of people with mismatched personalities and mismatched traumas, in a spaceship-turned-city that was floating in the sky until recently. Still, she expected them to at least acknowledge her letters.

She doesn’t even know if she has a job to go back to anymore.

It’s her own fault, Meryl sighs, resigned to the situation she finds herself in. She’s essentially abandoned her duties to look after a blonde bounty head who attracts trouble like flies to a thomas. Her assignment from the bureau was to minimize risk and prevent him from wrecking property and destroying whole cities. Somehow--she knows how--that has morphed into devoting herself to following him to the ends of the earth. Quite literally.

-

Vash the Stampede: classified human disaster and the most feared gunman to ever live. Dead or alive, he was worth sixty billion double dollars, painting a deadly target on his back and rendering anyone in his vicinity collateral damage. Every bounty hunter, every crazed gunslinger, every desperate man, woman, and child was constantly out for his blood.

He also cost the Bernardelli Insurance Society, Meryl's agency, a significant amount in property damages, and the company was in danger of going under because of it. Her assignment felt more like a punishment when she was tasked with it, but she fought for her path in life and she wasn’t going to give it up because of a mere inconvenience. This meant that for Meryl Stryfe every mission was an opportunity and a good employee fulfilled her duties without complaint. So, she packed up her suitcase and, along with her partner Milly Thompson, went after the humanoid plotting a speedy resolution.

Imagine her surprise when she learned that the bumbling idiot she had the misfortune of running into again and again during her search for Vash was, in fact, the legendary Humanoid Typhoon. Meryl didn’t accept it in the beginning, irritated by his steady interference with her job and over-the-top buffoonery, but every time she followed up on a lead it always led to him. Every time they crossed paths, disaster struck in a series of unfortunate events, almost by design. And yet, in the end, everyone survived thanks to what played out like a string of lucky coincidences.

It baffled her.

How many times can a bullet narrowly miss a target at near point-blank range? How often were people saved from an impossible situation because of a fluke? How did this blockhead survive a hailstorm of hot lead by sheer dumb luck?

After she learned Vash’s true identity, she couldn’t reconcile the image of the loud, obnoxious, and downright infuriating man with the rumors of a ruthless murderer.

However, the more Meryl was exposed to Vash, the more she saw just how dangerous he could be. Vash was all jagged edges with quick feet and sharp eyes and deadly accuracy when the need arose. His hands were impossibly steady, especially under intense pressure, always thinking five, six, seven moves ahead. No wonder people thought he was inhuman.

What those same people did not talk about, however, was how extraordinarily selfless he was. He was friendly to everyone and loyal to a fault, even if the people he risked his life and limb for turned their back on him. No matter how dire the situation, he adamantly refused to take a life, instead using impressive and, often outlandish tactics to keep people alive. He always made himself a distraction, painting a target on his own back rather than letting someone else take the bullet.

Meryl spent months watching as he jumped from one calamity to the next in a whirlwind of gunfire and blood trying to save people over and over. She witnessed him lose friends and loved ones just by the virtue of existing. It left him broken every time.

Wolfwood was right when he said that it was painful to look at Vash sometimes, even when he laughed. He had a sadness that engulfed him and seeped its way into his very marrow--the kind of sadness that wrapped around the mind, body, and soul and pulled so tight it hurt to breathe.

Meryl couldn't understand why this one man was so unlucky in life that staying anywhere too long meant a death sentence to everyone around him. The entire time she had known him, he never once did anything to deserve the punishment inflicted on him over and over again.

She wondered just how long Vash had endured and how much longer he could keep going.

Then Vash told her about his brother Knives, the true architect behind every devastating incident he was blamed for. She learned about his past, his connection to the Fall, and why death and destruction followed Vash the Stampede like a relentless shadow.

When he left on his suicide mission to confront Knives, Meryl convinced herself that it was the last time she was going to see him.

If, by some miracle, Vash managed to survive, what reason did he have to return to people whose job it was to stop him from doing what he needed to do to save lives?

Still, she stayed in the little town outside L.R. where he left them behind instead of going back home, back to her life.

Days passed and Meryl continued to look out into the desert horizon every time she walked home from her many odd, unsanctioned jobs hoping that maybe, just maybe, she would catch a man in red walking across the unforgiving terrain. Each time when the skyline was empty, Meryl scoffed, feeling foolish and telling herself that it did not matter because she didn’t expect to see anything anyway.

Except when she finally did: a tall, dark figure trudging the mounds of sand under the blazing twin suns.

Initially she wasn’t sure what she was looking at, or if it was even real. Waves of heat blanketed the desert horizon causing the distant silhouette to ripple like a mirage. She barked a single, hysterical laugh thinking that she had finally lost her damn mind.

Still, she made a pragmatic decision to point out the figure to Milly who instantly cried out to Mr. Vash and dashed off toward him.

It took Meryl several days to work through the onslaught of emotions that welled up when it dawned on her that he was, in fact, real. It was unpleasant and too much too fast and she automatically stomped it down to deal with on another day. She had already spent the last few days obsessively locking away every pang of disappointment and every spike of dread before they had a chance to fully manifest.

Still, if on the off chance, someone happened to see the insurance agent wiping her cheeks with the edge of her sleeves as she sprinted to catch up to her partner, it was just because of the sand in her eyes.

As they ran to meet him, the distorted figure stopped walking and for a terrifying moment, Meryl thought they were mistaken. The idea that this man was not Vash, that they had been fooled by the desert haze gripped Meryl’s belly so unexpectedly, so acutely, she nearly came to a complete halt. Blood rushed in her ears, muffling the wind and whatever Milly was saying to her. Meryl almost stopped her too, almost called Milly back to save her from the inevitable disappointment.

Meryl’s legs, however, continued to carry her forward, fueled by the same thread of hope that tied her to the town for the past week.

While he wasn’t 12 fields tall with a mohawk and a ton of henchmen, she knew, undeniably, that the man who stood waving at them was Vash the Stampede. The only thing he was missing was his signature red jacket.

And he was smiling at them.

It left her breathless.

Since getting to know him, the only smile she’d known him to wear was a meticulously crafted caricature, an ever-present plaster cast of joy concealing decades of pain.

This time it was truly unburdened. He smiled like he was finally, finally, free--as if he gave himself permission to be happy without being caged by guilt or chained to the weight of a promise made over a century ago.

Meryl was enraptured.

Milly barreled into him, throwing her arms around his neck, and Vash only barely managed to keep them both from tumbling back. He laughed, gentle and honest, and a little surprised--a stark contrast from the man she knew--as Milly accused him of making them worry. He hugged her back, burying his face and holding on just as tightly. Yet another thing he was allowing himself to have, to want. Meryl didn't bite back a low, shaky puff escaping as her throat squeezed around a lump that was not entirely unwelcome.

Her partner pulled away, sniffling. Vash’s hands held her still. His gaze lingered on her for a few seconds longer, meeting her eyes one last time, checking that she was alright before he stepped back. Something ridiculously fond bloomed in Meryl’s chest at the scene.

Then they both turned towards her. She froze--caught blinking back tears--forgetting that she was very much a tangible human and not just an abstract observer witnessing two fractured people reunite.

Vash grinned, soft and weightless and Meryl had to reign her breath into a subtle inhale. The intensity of it left her out of her element, out of control and that was unacceptable. There were some things she was ready, willing even, to deal with. Then there were other things, dizzying things that had been mounting since who knows when, that made her neck warm from more than just the suns, that she was absolutely not going to ponder over. It was neither the time nor the place and most definitely not the company.

Meryl swallowed and cleared her throat in a vain attempt to distract her buzzing brain. Vash was still looking in her direction, still smiling so stupidly bright. Her heart hummed at the novel sight.

He waited, expecting her to say or do something and Meryl wished, not for the first time, that she was as comfortable and open to physical affection as Milly, but her heart was already pounding, bordering on painful behind her ribs and she didn’t know how much more she could handle.

She settled on rolling her eyes at him instead, “Took you long enough.”

He laughed at that, eyes crinkling at the corners, suggesting he already knew exactly what she was going to say, and gods, who gave him the right? She bit the inside of her cheek to ground herself because, again, she wasn’t going to dwell on this or let the involuntary fluttering distract her from her professionalism.

“Well?” She decided to huff, hands on her hips and doing her best impression of herself, “Are we going to stay out here all day?”

Vash faltered, frowning like he just tasted something unpleasant. An uneasy look flared across his face.

The atmosphere shifted abruptly then. Vash tensed, back pulling rigid, catching her by surprise.

Had she said something wrong?

He looked at her, lips pursed, contemplating, gauging his next words and Meryl had the sinking feeling that whatever they were, she was not going to like it.

“I have to show you something first,” he muttered, then turned and walked away.

She reached out to Vash before her brain had a chance to process, panic spiking through her, afraid he was going to disappear again.

Milly cupped Meryl’s arm and promptly dragged her along after him, apparently just as unwilling to let him out of their sight.

Thankfully, he didn’t go too far.

They followed Vash to the side of the nearest building, hidden from casual view. As they moved closer, she noticed a large cross, wrapped in a fading white sheet secured with dark leather straps. Wolfwood’s Punisher. He brought it back. Of course, he brought it back, that gun was precious. Surely this wasn’t what he was nervous about.

She then landed on him, the man leaning against the building next to Wolfwood’s cross, his unconscious body crudely wrapped in bloodied bandages. She didn’t register who she was looking at until she saw him clearly. Then, it clicked.

Knives. He had to be.

Like she touched a live wire, Meryl was suddenly, violently, hyper-aware.

This was him, the person responsible for the Fall, for dooming everyone to this unforgiving planet, the brute who took pleasure in torturing his own brother for over a century. He killed without reason, he decimated without remorse, and he-

He looked like Vash.

Meryl’s stomach pulled, choking and nauseous. His features were exactly the same but twisted and warped like some kind of a sick fun-house mirror reflection of the man she’d come to know so well. Where Vash’s face was soft and compassionate, Knives’ was cold and callous, even when he was unconscious. The contrast had her reeling.

Meryl was terrified by it.

She rounded on Vash, wide-eyed, demanding an explanation.

He gazed back, silent, unmoving, but with a countenance not unlike desperation. It was fragile and breakable, at the cusp of fear, like he was afraid she wouldn’t understand.

Dammit, Meryl didn’t understand.

The fighting was over; they had reached the end. Knives was supposed to be dead. They were supposed to be rewarded with some semblance of peace. This was going to be an opportunity for them, all of them, everyone in the whole damn world, to have a quieter life. That was the deal.

Vash sacrificed so much for it.

They learned the lesson, they came to terms, and they paid the fucking price, so why wasn’t it over?

What were they supposed to do with him, anyway? Locking him up was out of the question. No prison in the world stood a chance. Knives massacred for entertainment when he had the upper hand, what was he capable of doing once he realized he had lost?

Why was he still alive?

Her confusion and fear and every other bitter emotion Meryl didn’t have the capacity to name must have been wildly evident because Vash’s face shuttered. His whole body morphed at once, melting into resignation. He curled into himself for a quiet second before he straightened, lips drawn like he was waiting for the inevitable.

Silence stretched between them, dense and rigid, broken only by people still cheering in town. Vash wordlessly kneeled down to his brother and pulled him up over his shoulder.

And just like that, he was leaving, stepping out of her life.

The last image of him vanishing sent a new wave of anxiety flooding into her, reaching the tips of her fingers, burning. It was there, the desire to stop him, to pull him back, but her feet stayed rooted to the ground, her vision honed in on Knives.

“We should get you both inside.”

The voice she heard was so uncanny, so saccharin that Meryl didn’t recognize it as Milly's. She stepped over to the cross wrapped in cloth, hefted it onto her shoulder and, without waiting for a reply, marched back towards the town leaving both Meryl and Vash staring after her.

“Meryl...” Vash whispered and turned towards her, searching for the right words.

Meryl cut him off, wrung too dry in too short a time, “Is he going to wake up anytime soon?”

He paused, a dejected look veiling his eyes. He shook his head. It did nothing to alleviate her dread.

“Are we safe?” she asked him knowing full well that safety was relative in their lives. She just needed to know for the time being. His gaze dropped to the ground this time, but Vash nodded. That was probably the best she could expect for now. “Come on,” she said, turned on her heel, and started after Milly, “We should look at your wounds.”

Vash followed them through the back alleys of the town, staying out of sight of the locals. He kept his distance from her and Milly too--particularly Milly who was gripping the Punisher so tightly her fingers turned white. His hesitation, his contrition, was palpable. It waded through the space thick between them, practically choking the air surrounding him.

As muddled and bewildered as Meryl was, she couldn’t help but consider his actions, and his thinking. It should have come as no surprise that Vash didn’t kill Knives--Meryl bristled that the very notion ever crossed her mind. That’s not who he was, not if there was another way, and for Vash, there was always another way.

Vash fought to save people with every fiber, with every breath, in every way regardless if they were deserving--or as undeserving as his twin. It was the core of his existence. Vash was nothing without his ideals. He lived them, nurtured them, and fought for them. He wouldn’t just abandon them and he would not give up on Knives.

Vash wouldn’t have brought Knives back without cause, either. He was not one to take their safety lightly or risk their lives without a purpose. He must have a reason for keeping him alive, even if that reason was beyond her comprehension.

She suspected Vash didn’t envision a grand reception for his brother, or even a friendly one. He wouldn’t hold it against them if they turned him away just as others had done in the past, but he had a spark of hope, however small, when he revealed his brother--the same one that he held onto in extraordinarily impossible situations.

This man faced his brother, someone he feared, someone he loved, so that the people of this godforsaken planet could have a chance to live in peace. The least she could do was offer her support, even if she couldn’t appreciate his decision currently--or ever.

Meryl steeled herself and slowed down to give him a chance to catch up. Vash didn’t lift his head to acknowledge her. His expression remained perfectly blank, concealing whatever thoughts were running through his head with practiced precision.

She didn’t even have a chance to open her mouth before he came to a dead halt.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he whispered in a voice so low she nearly missed it. Then again, she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her. “I had no right.”

The way he phrased it wrenched something inside her, blunt and miserable. His brows contorted with guilt and regret and Meryl realized how this must seem from his perspective.

She and Milly may have waited for him to show up in their lives again, but Vash chose to find them, to be with them again. He never mentioned he was going to come back when they parted, nor did he ask them to wait. Just like her, as far as he knew it was the last time they were ever going to see each other. Yet, he decided to revisit the town, without any proof, not knowing if they had moved on because if there was the chance that he would still find them there, he was willing to take it.

Vash came back hoping they would wait for him. The implications of that decision were so sudden that they threatened to knock her off balance.

She had been so wrapped up in her own jumbled emotions that she hadn’t considered what Vash wanted. The fact that he decided to seek them out settled warmly across her skin. It was a clear act, a demonstration, which proved how much he trusted them. He felt safe enough in their company to show back up, especially with Knives.

Now his dream of returning to a place he could call home--maybe for the first time in a long time--was snatched away in the span of a few short minutes. He thought he had made a mistake, that he had misjudged his position in their lives.

She could see as clear as day, in the lines of his frame, the way he carried not only his brother but also the weight of inescapable loneliness. The image was painfully, devastatingly, sad and she had done nothing to reassure him.

Meryl snapped herself out of her ruminations and turned to the Typhoon, “You had every right to come back.”

Vash stayed mute.

“We are glad you’re here,” she emphasized, charging her words with as much truth and promise as she could muster. “I just wish you had given us some kind of a warning,” she laughed dryly knowing nothing could’ve prepared her to come face-to-face with Millions Knives. “I also know you don’t blame us for reacting the way we did because this,” she jabbed a finger at his brother, “is unexpected, to say the least. We’re going to need a little time to adjust...maybe a lot of time, but we are not going to abandon you.” She wasn’t the first person to make such a claim only to break it, but Meryl was ready to drill it into his head as many times as necessary to make him believe her. He was stuck with them.

“But you also have to tell us what you’re going to do next, we have a right to know. Don’t think we’re just going to stand by and watch you deal with this on your own. We’re here to help, Vash. I just hope you’ll let us.”

“And if you get caught in the middle again?” he countered readily, words spilling flat like an unavoidable reality.

“That’s a possibility no matter where we are or who we’re with. But I’m willing to risk it.” She tilted her head towards Milly who was almost back to the house already and said, “I know she is too.”

Vash remained stoic, pensive, in a way she’d seen him so often. It was an aching sight. All she wanted was for him to be able to let his guard down, be genuinely free and content as he’d been just moments ago because that’s what he deserved: a chance to experience everything good that life had to offer, even in their desolate, uncompromising, existence, without fearing that it was going to be ripped away.

If anyone deserved love and peace it was Vash the Stampede and if she could tender even a scrap of it, she owed it to him to try.

Meryl coaxed him to follow her once again and he did, trudging behind her, head hung low and heart distant. She didn’t feel right to push.

They managed to reach the house without any of the townsfolk noticing. Milly led them upstairs to the room Vash last occupied which neither she nor her partner had the heart to use. The air stood stale and dull with a thin layer of dust clinging to every surface. Meryl opened the small window to let a fresh breeze in.

Vash silently deposited Knives onto his old bed. He lingered on his sleeping brother for a few seconds, shoulders hunched, before he spun around to face them.

“Thank you.”

He was still sedate, still unsure, but the smile that tugged at his lips was authentic.