For the Children II (3/3)

A Trigun fanfic by Jop & Yen.

Characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow and in no way belong to us. So please don't sue. No money, no money. :)

Nicholas sat in the darkened corner of the bar and brooded. Days had passed and still they were at an impasse. The cup of brandy sat in front of him, untouched. Holding the glass in one hand, he stared into space, his mind running through different plans, different actions, different scenarios… all with one similar ending.

Children dead. Dying.

Shaking his head almost violently, he brought the cup to his lips and drank, the liquor burning a fiery path to his stomach, past his heart which burned with a heavy weight.

He had no idea how long he sat there, his head down, his eyes glazed but gradually, his senses returned, among them his hearing as he recognized the sounds of a scuffle from just outside the tavern. Turning in his seat, he looked out of the window on his right with bored disinterest.

For all of three seconds.

What the… ?! He groaned as he recognized the brilliant red coat hopping in and out of the large dust cloud which consisted of several other men.

“Help! Help! What are you doing? Eek… what are you touching?!” was interspersed with grunts and curses and shouts of “Who are you?” and “Stop moving!”

His sudden movement must have caught the exceptionally observant dolt’s attention for the next thing he knew, Vash was yelling and waving at him. “Nicholas? Yoo-hoo Nicholas! Help!” only to fall back into the dust cloud.

Nicholas slapped his hand over his forehead and groaned. What was he doing here? He sighed and considered leaving Vash to the tender mercies of the Fringe townspeople for about three minutes. Maybe four… all right, five.

Finally pulling himself from his seat, he waved at the men. “It’s all right, I know him.”

* * *

It took several more minutes for the entire situation to be ironed out to the satisfaction of the mob but once content that their pastor was acquainted with the crazy weirdo, they left, though several still muttered about the assumed sanity of any man who claimed Vash as their friend.

Nicholas waved Vash into the cool comfort of the dark bar and sat back in his original seat, his cup of brandy, still half-filled in hand.

“So what are you doing here?”

Vash looked around the bar with interest, his friendly gaze met with cold stares and not-so-subtle turns of the back.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Vash replied as he yelled his order of brandy to the barkeep and turned back to his friend, his green eyes staring levelly into the dark ones. “What’s going on here Nicholas?”

Learning back fully in the chair, Nicholas considered his glass with morbid fascination before turning his eyes back to his friend, his composure calm and painfully won.

“Nothing much.” He shrugged. “The Fringe and the Towners are fighting again.” 

“And?”

Nicholas ignored the entreaty and downed the brandy in one shot.

Vash studied his black-clad friend suspiciously for several minutes before finally turning back to his drink. If his friend chose not to disclose the reason, he would abide by his decision. “I see.”

They sat and drank for several minutes, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them like a taut string.

Finally, Nicholas broke and regarded Vash bluntly. “So what brought you here? I told you not to follow.”

Vash looked up blankly before his face brightened and he hammered his hand into his palm.

“Oh yes! Some vicious-looking mercenaries entered the bar after you left and said they were heading for this place so…”

CRASH!!!!!! The wall besides them exploded in front of their face.

Nicholas looked dryly at his friend. “… you tried to get ahead of them to warn me?” He drew his gun. “I’m almost touched. But you have to do something about your timing though. It sucks.”

Vash grinned as he drew his own gun. “Oh well, we all can’t be winners.”

* * *

“Daniel, are you sure this is a good idea?” The teenaged boy gripped his revolver with sweaty palms and struggled to pitch his voice lower to prevent an embarrassing break. “I mean we could get into *really* big trouble for this.”

“Relax, chicken, nothing’s going to go wrong.” Scoffed the taller brunette who checked his own gun with expert hands. “In fact they’d probably reward us for this, right Tom?”

Tom nodded his head absent-mindedly even as he continued studying the surroundings outside. Five young adolescents sat in the darkened room, in varying stages of preparation for a gunfight. One studied and posed in the mirror while another scoffed beside him, oiling his barrel.

Finally, Tom turned back around and smiled. “Yup. My dad’s complained about the waste of land often enough that I’m sure we’re going to get at *least* medals, if not some cash!”

The poser just snorted even as he flipped back his long blonde hair. “Hell, who cares about that? Just so long as all the babes in town hear about our exciting adventure, we’ll be made!”

The last member of their small band sighed and returned his gun to his holster before straightening. “Roger, unless you get your head out of your pants, I don’t think you’ll be “made” any time soon. Women actually want *brains* in a companion. Besides, this little venture is good for our economy. Once we’ve frightened those kids out of the orphanage, we can finally expand the warehouse into that land and export more water and those profits will go a much longer way in helping us than some petty reward.”

“Profits, schmofits.” Roger sneered before turning back after one last preening look in the mirror. “You’re always such a wet blanket Carl. No wonder your brother is such a scardey puss.”

“I am not a scardey puss!” The youngest boy’s voice quivered in a mix of outrage and fear. “I’m as man as any of you.”

“Oh please Davy,” Roger snorted. “Save it for someone who hasn’t seen you toddling around in diapers.”

“Stop it Roger.” Tom’s voice rang over the assembly, silencing the group. While Tom was normally an easygoing person, everyone knew better than to incite his anger. “Okay, everybody ready?”

Everyone nodded their heads in various moods of assertion, though one timid voice asked, “Tom, what about the Fringe guards? Won’t they stop us from walking in?”

Smiling comfortingly at the scared boy, Tom shook his head. “Nope, the gunfight we asked Ralph and the others to start slightly down the road would have drawn their attention already. Relax Davy. It’ll be easy in, easy out.”

“Hope so.” Carl muttered before standing up. Nodding at each other in a sudden moment of earnestness, they left the room and strode across the street towards their target.

* * *

Vash and Nicholas glared at the two men across from them. Stopping the fight started by the young punks had been a lot easier than reasoning with two stubborn people who had arrived panting because of it.

Hearing the gunshots, the mayor and the representative of the Fringe had quickly been drawn to the pub and now, the four were sitting around a table in a badly shot up pub, trying to negotiate. Trying being the operative word, Wolfwood thought grimly even as the tempers roared around him.

For the last ten minutes, he had been concentrating very hard on holding onto his temper but it hadn’t been easy. For several minutes now, he had been amusing himself with the fantasy of scaring them witless as he had the teenagers by letting them face the wrong side of his gun. Unfortunately, even he knew better than to force a peace at gunpoint.

While he had always been aware what a stuffed ass the mayor was, he hadn’t been very amused to confront a similar asinine quality in his old friend, Fred Gregor and the present representative of the Fringe.

“Look Fred,” he said, struggling to quiet his voice when all he wanted to do was rant and rave. “The mayor does have a point. It might be a better idea to relocate the orphanage outside of the Water District. You told the mayor the last time it didn’t have the approval of the custodian, but now that I’m here, can’t we just move the place? I’m sure the kids won’t mind much.”

Fred snorted in answer to his attempt at mediation. “That might have had *some* value as a suggestion if *he* was willing to provide the land to go with it. Still, compensation would definitely have to be given. The building has sentimental value…”

“Hah! Sentimental value my foot! You Fringe folk are just trying to cheat us out of our money. Don’t think that we don’t know how you work!” The mayor’s unwelcome interruption merely served to heighten the throbbing vein that Nicholas felt in his temples.

“Hah! What do you know of how we work?! While you fat pansies sit up on your lofty thrones and collect the coins, we sit and toil with our blood and sweat to get the water out! All those children in the orphanage are there for a reason! It wasn’t even *meant* to be an orphanage in the first place! Just a child care centre, but because of all your careless disregard for safety regulations, those kids’ parents never came back out of the shaft!”

“Oh no you don’t!” The barrel-chested, gray-haired man spluttered and waved a finger in the taller, dark-haired man’s face. “Don’t you think you can drag up ancient history! Our mines are now as safe as anybody else’s and the compensation paid was fair…”

“Fair?!” Fred screeched, ignoring Vash’s attempts at intervention. “We barely had enough to clean up the orphanage, much less split the rest among the widows! Most of them had to take two jobs to raise their kids.”

The mayor shrugged. ”Well, don’t blame us if you can’t take care of your own finances.” He paused, his eyes glinting. “We do and that land the orphanage is sitting on is worth a lot more as a warehouse than as a building for brats!”

“Brats you put there in the first place.” Fred retorted, his eyes lit with a deep, soul-burning anger.

“Now now…” Vash tried again but the two had already sunk deep into the familiar furrows of an old fight and nothing was going to stop them.

“Your brats.” The mayor corrected. “And as your brats, it’s your responsibility to find their places. We don’t have the time to try to place every single one of those children. Besides, the land rightfully belongs to the town and we should be able to do with it what we would.”

“And what about our rights as the townspeople?” Fred asked harshly, dragging the last word. “Don’t we have any say in this project? You’re just trying to milk my people again.”

“Well, if you don’t like it, just get out! There are plenty of workers willing for a fair chance. And hard workers at that!”

“Are you implying that we don’t work for our living?” Springing up, Fred grabbed the collar of the mayor’s coat, eyes burning while Vash tried to separate them.

Ignoring him, the mayor lit back with a growl. “If the shoe fits…”

Drawing his hand back, Fred felt his fist stopped by an implacable grip and turning, he growled at Nicholas’s hand on his arm. “Pastor, I’d suggest you let go or else…”

“Or else what?” Nicholas growled back before prying the two apart with his other hand. “Now sit.”

Grudgingly, both did while Vash took on this new face of his friend with awe.

“Listen up and listen well,” Nicholas placed his hands, palm down, on the table, glaring at the two, hands ready to rip into the two men. He was about to say more when suddenly, a panting middle-aged man burst in. The tableau before him froze at the panic in his eyes.

“The orphans! They’re under attack!”

* * *

The orphans peered out of the windows in fear, the sounds of gunshots reverberating loudly in their ears. Their caretaker, an old woman by the name of Martha, had long given up from warning them from the windows and was now attempting the more productive task of keeping the babies quiet.

“Sammy! Don’t you dare open the side door!” The small, tow-headed redhead pulled back his hand and looked back at Martha with large eyes.

“But Mama,” he answered, using the pet name the children had for her, “I think I see somebody in the alley.”

She sniffed. “Even better reason to not open the door.”

“But he might be hurt Mama.” Betsy, a sweet eight-year old looked up at her with wide cinnamon brown eyes. “Shouldn’t we help him?”

Martha paused in thought and frowned. She hated making decisions such as this. While she knew the possible danger, her Christian soul rebelled at the thought of letting anybody die, no matter Towner or Fringe.

“Oh all right.” She said in disgust. Turning to one of the older members of the orphanage, a boy of fourteen, she continued. “Chas, you go take a look. And mind your head you hear! I’m not going to coddle you if it comes back full of holes.”

Wisely holding his tongue though he wondered how *anybody* would still want coddling with a head of holes, the dark-haired boy peered cautiously out the window and into the darkened shadows of the alley. Jade eyes widened in shock.

“There *are* people there Ma!” He finally announced in surprise. “And they look hurt.”

* * *

Davy was about ready to cry, man or not. Nothing was going right. It had started off all right with the five of them reaching the door before everything started going to pieces. Somebody had suddenly noticed them and called an alarm and soon, the five young boys had found themselves shooting back at people!

He still couldn’t believe it. All he’d practiced with until then had been tin cans and the occasional annoying cat but never on real live human beings. He still winced at the memory of the loud yell that had accompanied one of his lucky shots and prayed that he hadn’t wounded the man too badly. He didn’t even want to think of the alternative of that.

And then when he thought that things couldn’t have gotten any worse, a shot had caught Carl in his right side and now there was blood all over the place. He’d just managed to drag his brother back into the alley beside the orphanage and the others had trailed after him, covering the two of them. He’d wanted to call out at the shooters to stop but Roger had yanked him back, muttering something about the Fringe and their policy of “Shoot first, ask questions later.”

Quivering, he’d obeyed, but now he wished he’d been braver. They might have let them go and he could be home with his mother and pretend that this had never happened, not lying in some dark dirty alley with his brother covered in blood and the other boys who now somehow looked older with harder expressions and brightened eyes.

“Tom what do you think we should do?” Daniel asked, one back against the wall, pistol ready. They were at an impasse, Tom had said. The Fringe people were cautious about approaching the building with the open street as the only avenue due to the wall that rose behind the orphanage and in addition, they were afraid of the orphans caught in the crossfire. With them in the alley, they had sufficient cover to pick off anybody who tried to approach them, but even then, it also blocked their view out into the street.

“I don’t know.” The mayor’s son answered grimly even as he reloaded. “We can’t keep this up and Carl needs help.”

Roger, normally so concerned with his appearance, smelled of gunpowder and was covered in dust. His playful expression had dissolved with the first shot and Davy had been surprised at what had emerged under it. A cold determination to survive. “We have to get out of here.”

Almost on cue, they heard a quiet shuffling behind them and immediately, Tom and Roger whirled around, Daniel still prepared by the wall, but eyes alert as well. Davy gasped and spun round, shielding his brother’s body as best he could.

A boy around his own age stood by the side of an open door, determination on his face, fear in his eyes and an old rifle in his hand. An old rifle, Davy noted absently, that was pointed at them. Behind him peered several other faces that immediately vanished with a sharp order barked from within. His first words however surprised all of them.

“How badly is he hurt?” His head jerked forward to point at Carl and for a moment, all gaped at him. Finally, Davy answered, his voice tight with fear but firm.

“Don’t know. Bullet caught him in his right side. Too much blood to tell.”

The boy grunted in answer and muttered to the people inside. Some quiet discussion must have taken place because the boy took his time before speaking again. “Ma agrees with us that we should let you in but you have to give us your weapons.”

Davy looked back at Tom’s bleak face who frowned slightly before he nodded. “Okay but one of us will keep our guns. It won’t be out but we have to protect ourselves.”

The boy nodded in understanding before conferring with the others. The agreement reached this time took less time and soon, their terms were agreed to and the five shuttled into the building, Daniel’s pistol in his holster while the others were expertly unloaded in the hands of the children.

Nervously, the four huddled together beside Carl while they watched the activity around their wounded companion. An elderly lady called out instructions to the children while she prodded and probed at the wound, Daniel’s hand twitching uneasily by his side.

Tom watched the scene intently before relaxing slightly, realizing that they weren’t going to hurt his friend, only help him. Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet those of the boy’s who had gone out to meet them.

“Why? Why did you help us?” He asked softly, his voice almost breaking at the sheer relief he felt.

“Chas, get me the bandages from upstairs.” The boy glowered silently back before nodding his assent and running off to obey, though not before placing the rifle in the hands of another boy around his age.

Tom sighed and was about to give up on getting an answer when he suddenly heard a soft voice pipe up, “Because Nico-niichan says that we should always treat others like we want to be treated and I know that if I was ever injured, I’d want the people to help me.”

Tom lifted his eyes to meet the solemn gaze of a six year-old girl who held tightly onto a teddy bear, her eyes almost too wise for her face.

“Nico-nichan?”

Another voice answered him. “Nicholas Wolfwood. Our pastor.”

A smile formed on his face, feeling almost foreign, but once it did, he suddenly felt unbelievably lighter. “Thank you then.”

He lifted his head and addressed the room, his gratitude spilling out. “All of you. We really appreciate this.”

Suddenly, Roger’s face was in his, eyes filled with disbelief. “What do you think you’re doing?! They’re Fringe! You don’t thank the Fringe!”

Tom glared back, the smile slipping away as easily as it had been difficult to form. “Even when they’ve just saved out hides? I don’t know about you Roger but I was raised a lot better than that. They didn’t have to help us, but they did and I’m not going to repay that goodwill with bad.”

The two boys stared at each before finally, Roger’s eyes slid unwillingly away. Sullenly, he stepped back and turning around, growled. “All right, thanks. Now just hurry it up and let’s get out of here.”

Breathing a sigh of relief at the major concession he had managed to wring from the room’s bigot, Tom angled his glance at Daniel and was relieved to see a slight relaxation in the gray eyes of his friend.

“Good then,” he murmured quietly. “Now that everyone’s agreed, I think it’s time to put the fears of the people outside at ease.”

Smiling at the little girl, he walked towards the front door, the children parting before his as he did. His heart beat a little faster with fear before he suddenly halted. Looking down at the culprit who had slid her hand into his, surprising him, he met the twin eyes of the little girl of before. A gentle smile gracing his lips, he gripped it slightly harder before continuing forward.

* * *

“I don’t see anybody in the alley Mayor.” A nameless townsperson called out, confirming their suspicions.

Whirling back around, the Mayor jabbed his finger into Fred’s chest, huffing angrily. “You tell your murderous kids to let my son and his friends go otherwise I’m going to burn your entire quarter to the ground!”

Throwing off the mayor’s arms, Fred stepped back and snarled. “Your son?! Your son and his friends are holding our kids hostage and if they don’t let them go, we’ll give you a fight you’ll never forget!”

A gun answered him. Behind it stood the mayor, eyes narrowed and burning. Vash’s own eyes narrowed in return as the corresponding clicks of the rest of the towners’ echoed in the taut silence.

Suddenly someone’s head shifted and everyone leapt to action. Cursing underneath his breath, Nicholas took shelter behind a large water barrel he had earmarked earlier only to discover that someone had made similar plans.

“Vash.” He hissed out under the cover of fire. “Go get your own barrel.”

“But this is my barrel.” Vash whined, even as he attempted to nudge more of Wolfwood’s body out from behind the wooden container and more of his in.

Growling, Nicholas cut the dead-end argument and gestured to the crowd. “ Now what?”

Vash stopped his wriggling and stared at the dark-haired man. “Why ask me? How should I know?”

“I don’t know.” Wolfwood muttered as he ran his fingers through his hair. “You always seem to create miracles somehow with your spiel of love and peace. Go give it to them.”

Vash rolled his eyes and gestured to the street. “I don’t think they’ll listen to me.” He answered wryly, indicating the chaotic gunfight taking place.

“Fine.” Nicholas accepted with a sigh and lit up a cigarette before taking a long drag on it. At Vash’s disapproving glare, he expertly flicked the ashes off before answering with a level gaze of his own. “It helps me concentrate.”

“And?” Vash answered with a lifted eyebrow.

“We fight.” Wolfwood replied shortly, before drawing his gun and cocking it. Vash sighed, having already expected it. Drawing his own gun, he shook his head and said half-jokingly. “Ah well… don’t kill too many.”

Nicholas stared out at the scene before him. “I don’t kill here.”

Flinging the cigarette onto the floor, he sprang out, leaving Vash to stare at his rapidly disappearing back. Finally, shaking his head, Vash loped out after him into the dusty brawl.

* * *

Time had lost all meaning when the noise was finally heard. Nicholas heard the low rumbling, filtered through the stony cold that always engulfed him once guns were drawn. It could have been anywhere from a few minutes to an hour since he’d leapt out from his conservation with Vash. At last count, he’d disarmed twelve towners and winged eight Fringe but it seemed useless. They just seemed to keep on coming. They just kept on coming.

Stalemate. Or at least until the originators of the sound appeared. Nine vicious-looking mercenaries appeared, garbed in various states of rusty armor, guns primed and ready, eyes beady and glittering… Wait, Nicholas paused…. Vicious-looking mercenaries. Glancing at Vash, he was rewarded with a sombre nod and a discreet thumbs above.

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. The sky? What’s up with the sky? Meanwhile the gang leader had dismounted his own bike and swaggered forward, ego swelling with the thud of his boots in the silence. “Who’s the mayor here?”

Smiling broadly, the mayor moved forward to meet him, hand extended before it fell away under the mercenary’s cocky eye.

“Who’s this?” Fred demanded, gun wavering between the two figures, hostility in every intonation.

The mayor whirled and sneered in reply. “Someone who’s going to take care of our problem.”

His heavy emphasis on the last few words left no one in doubt of his meaning. Fred growled and the fight was ready to begin anew when suddenly a voice squeaked from near the orphanage.

Everyone turned immediately and gulping, Tom stared down the barrels of several million barrels (or so it seemed to him), both friendly and not.

“Tom?” The mayor whispered in disbelief even as his son cleared his throat and tried again, voice strengthening with every word. “Father, stop it.”

“Stop it?” The mayor’s brows rose in consternation before beetling together in an angry scowl as he finally noticed the little girl by his son’s side. “What’s this?”

His tone, less than complimentary, obviously raised hackles with the unsubtle clicking of guns while the little girl attempted to burrow further into the back of the young teenager.

“Her name,” Tom replied, obviously unsettled by everybody’s attention but valiantly doing his best, “is Betsy. One of the kids in the orphanage who helped us during the fighting.”

Even as the silence lengthened and the disbelief grew, Tom never wavered as he recounted his story, finally seeing his actions as the childish, and harmful, prank that it really had been.

Nicholas’s respect for the boy grew even as his irritation at Vash who was standing a ways from him doubled. The blonde’s antics during the lull was distracting at best and infuriating at worst with his incessant pointing at the suns above and the exaggerated opening and closing of his mouth made his resemble nothing more than a stranded goldfish, judging from the pictures Nicholas had seen in the pictures from old Earth.

BANG!

The sudden shot fired startled even Vash as both brought their attention back to the scene, eyes going immediately to the rapidly spreading crimson on the cloth of the boy’s white shirt.

The culprit grinned as he tucked his gun back into his holster, under the horrified eyes of all the townspeople.

“The boy was giving me a headache,” he explained before his smile broadened even more, his teeth winking evilly in the shocked silence. “Boys,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Sic ‘em.”

Whooping in delight, the remaining members of the gang circled around the townspeople, weaving in and out of the wild shots easily. It was soon readily apparent to the townspeople that the mercs weren’t distinguishing between Fringe and Towners and emboldened by the new threat, the two instinctively joined forces, returning the shots with glittering determination.

At the same time, the leader pointed to the blindingly crimson coat and nodded to two of his men, orders clear. Silence the man who knew of the trap. He’d spotted the blonde with his bright red trenchcoat and two-foot high hair almost immediately but the relative calm that he’d been greeted with had placified his fear that the ambush had been revealed. Still, better safe than sorry as his daddy always said and smirking as he watched his best fighters chase after the drunk and another darkly-clad man. With that thought in mind, he turned back to business.

* * *

“Vash!” Nicholas growled out under the thundering roar of the cycles as his arms moved in tandem with the blonde’s, “Why are they chasing you?”

“Ehm,” Nicholas darkly noted the apologetic sheen that overlaid the innocent expression that settled on the blonde’s face and waited fatalistically for the reply, knowing, just knowing that he wouldn’t like it. “Because I know their plans?”

Nicholas’s body twisted and contorted in several interesting positions as several bullets whizzed by, missing the painful spots they were meant to have hit. “What plans?”

Vash winced at the icy calm tone. “I knew you weren’t going to like this…”

Nicholas repeated the question again, lounder, more impatiently, as both scrambled around a corner wildly, continuing their long-legged lope down another dusty street. “What plans?”

“The fact that they’ve planted men on the rooftops for insurance if anything goes wrong? I spotted them just now,” he explained further, even more apologetically as Nicholas’s face took on the mien of an impending thundercloud.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nicholas roared as the two leapt behind a water barrel. That was immediately riddled with holes. Gulping, both continued their run, Nicholas haranguing Vash as they leapt over inconvenient obstacles like yowling nekos.

“But I tried.” Vash protested as he tripped over a trough and was quickly pulled out by Nicholas who dragged him along. “I pointed at the roofs!”

“No,” Nicholas corrected as he leapt over a pile of trash, while poor Vash found himself being dragged face-down in it behind him. “You pointed at the sky.”

Vash sputtered in reply, as much to get the smell and taste out of his mouth, as in indignation. “It was at the roof. Your eyes are screwy.”

Rolling his eyes at the blonde’s pitiful defense, Nicholas flung Vash’s limp body out beside him, certain his friend would quickly find his feet. “Whatever. No time for quibbling. You take the roofs on this side, I’ll take the other.”

Nodding in agreement, a serious Vash easily pulled himself up onto the roof, slightly ungainly Nicholas thought under his critical eye but effective. Meanwhile, distracted by the sudden divergence of paths, the two bandits paused, uncertain of their next course of action, giving Nicholas more than enough time to blow the wheels out from under them and shoot their gun hands, disarming them easily. Rewarded by a cheery wave, Nicholas nodded in acknowledgement before sprinting across the street and clambering up to the roof, his hands and feet finding easy purchase in the many nicks and holes of the wall.

Once there, he easily spotted the four men crouching behind the various boards and signs. He smiled without humour.

Show time.

Loping across the roofs, he made the leaps from rooftop to rooftop easily, not even bothering to mask his sounds, certain that the gunfight below was keeping them fully occupied.

Reaching the first man, he almost pulled the trigger before realizing the tension inside of him needed a more physical, and probably less deadly outlet.

Cold-cocking the first man on his head, he felt the satisfying thud against the bottom of his gun and without pausing, headed towards his next target, two rooftops down. The gunman there was more alert, and put up a slight struggle before Nicholas downed him quickly, driving a fist into his gut and following it up with a bruising punch to the face.

The sound of teeth giving way satisfied the ruthless wolf inside him for a moment.

Two down, two to go.

The next two men were unfortunately not as easy. Alerted by some prickling sense of danger, both whirled as he gained purchase on their hidey hole and taking advantage of his momentary imbalance, promptly opened fire.

Cursing roundly, Nicholas returned bullet for bullet, angling his body sideways for a smaller target area as he dashed across the rooftop. Fortunately, by the seventh bullet, he’d wounded both men enough as they collapsed, bleeding from the various wounds he’d managed to inflict on the non-vital areas.

Stopping for a while to regain his breath, he was greeted by an all-clear signal from Vash on the other side. He dropped his head forward in a quick nod before glancing down, relieved to find the fight almost over with the townspeople rounding up the gang and tending to their wounded. His jaw tightened as he noted several fallen figures at which the doctor shook his head.

Dropping down lightly, he startled a black feline that gave a startled yowl before disappearing into a nearby alley, a picture of affronted dignity. Ignoring the neko, he met up with Vash in the middle of the street and both men strode back towards the orphanage. There, they were greeted with the rare sight of the mayor and representative of the Fringe exchanging handshakes. Nicholas was about to relax, only to realize it was all too soon, all too perfect.

Even as he withdrew his hand, a smirk crossed Fred’s face as he commented, “This is all your fault, you know.”

Nicholas stiffened even as he recognised the quick bristling of the mayor.

“It wouldn’t have happened if you’d been more willing to negotiate.” The gray-haired man retorted as his own hand returned to his side, clenched in a fist and perilously close to his holster.

Fred’s mouth opened for a new stream of angry insults only to snap shut at a stern, new voice.

“Enough!” Turning, both men watched Nicholas stride up, anger radiating from his quick, taut movements while Vash trailed quietly behind him.

“But pastor,” the mayor started only to be stopped short at the cold glare shot at him.

“No buts.” Ordered Nicholas as he leveled an icy gaze at both men. “Shut up and listen.”

Raising his voice to ensure the attention of his audience, he started, waving to the remains of the fight. “Isn’t this enough? Can’t it all stop here?”

Forestalling a protest by Fred, he whirled and jabbed a finger at the man, voice calm. “The Fringe have suffered a lot. We can’t deny that but the towners have made efforts to redress that. While the sufficiency of the funds being channeled to the orphanage and other projects for your welfare may be questioned, the funds do help.”

“And you,” his attention turned back to the older man. “The Fringe may have caused problems but violence isn’t going to solve anything.” Vash’s brows rose at this, but he remained silent, watching his friend intently.

“These mercs,” Nicholas gestured to some of the fallen outside of the orphanage, not yet cleared. “are outsiders, and outsiders aren’t normally able to solve internal problems.”

“Only you can,” he said emphatically, eyes switching between the figures of all the townspeople as their eyes lowered under his eagle stare. “Do you want your children to continue in your footsteps? To watch their neighbours in fear and suspicion? To never be able to relax? Not even in their own town?”

He paused, watching the crowd shifting uncomfortably under his piercing gaze, before nodding to himself. “Thought so. The only way you can do anything is by being willing to compromise. And so far, I’ve seen nothing of that.”

He shook his head in disgust. “Do unto your neighbour what you would do unto yourself,” he quoted. “I want all of you to ask yourselves, Fringe and Towners - have you behaved towards each other as you would to your own?”

The crowd’s rumbling grew louder as Nicholas continued. “The younger generation seems to be willing to forget past grievances, to forget the hate and unhappiness all of you hold close to your hearts. They are willing to live together in peace. Are you willing to burden them with your grudges so that they continue this violence?”

Instinctively, his eyes switched to Betsy and Tom, the former propping the latter up as he staggered towards them. His attention switched just as automatically to the twitching figure of a man behind them. A man whose head rose and arm appeared to reveal…

… a gun. Pointed at Betsy and Tom. Something in his expression must have alerted Tom who glanced around, eyes widening as he grabbed Betsy in reflex and fell to the ground, cradling her, his own back left unprotected.

Nicholas heard nothing as his own gun was whipped out, not the sudden screams and cries of the townspeople as they scrambled to action. Beside him, Vash leapt forward, own gun out, face set in frozen determination.

The tableau stilled until all he saw was the finger tightening on the trigger…

… then nothing.

When time started moving again, Nicholas found himself breathing heavily over the corpse of a man while the doctor turned him over to check.

The short look was enough. Nicholas turned and walked away, away from the crowds surrounding the two, relatively unharmed children, away from the people congratulating him on his quick action, away from the children that had tumbled out of the orphanage and tried to greet him, away from all of them, aware only of the sympathetic eyes of Vash on his back.

Vash’s bullet was in the man’s hand. Wolfwood’s, on the other hand, was in the heart.

* * *

A black-clad figure slumped in a chair at the table in the kitchen, the figure of Martha bustling around him, readying dinner. She had pulled him into her retreat quickly, after one look at his face, while she’d slapped off the grasping hands of the stickier children.

“Those kids.” She tsked affectionately. “Always behaving like heathens when you come.” She shot a look at the man, waiting for a reply.

Silence.

Flicking a glance at the quiet man, she sighed and poured some hot soup into a bowl before placing it in front of him.

“Here, eat.” He stared at the bowl before finally picking up the spoon listlessly and started spooning it into his mouth.

She sighed and sat down next to him, studying him for a while. “You couldn’t help it you know.”

Outside the kitchen door, Vash’s hand stilled as he heard the remark through the thin slit in the door. For a moment, he thought that Nicholas wouldn’t reply before his sharp ears caught a quiet murmur.

“No. No, I could have.”

“No, you couldn’t.” Martha shook her head. ”There was no other way.”

“Yes, there was.” Nicholas’s eyes finally lifted to meet Martha’s, sad and clear. “There always is a peaceful way out. Someone told me so.” Behind the door, Vash stifled a sneeze while Nicholas continued in melancholy. “But I couldn’t see it. I just couldn’t see it.”

Silence reigned for long moments before Martha rose and collected the empty bowl. “The children accept it Pastor. They may not understand, but they accept you.”

Nicholas shook his head from side to side, smile filled with bitterness. “That doesn’t help Martha. Especially when I can’t accept me.”

Martha stared down at the bowed head and sighed. Patting the broad shoulder beside her, she returned to the stove and the stew.

Behind the door, Vash turned at a slight pressure on his arm and watched Meryl and Millie stare at Nicholas through the crack, much the same way as he’d been doing a few seconds ago. The pair had arrived shortly after the gunfight to come across Wolfwood, stalking out into the horizon, eyes dead and empty. Eventually their friend had returned, but had refused any audience, choosing instead to hole himself up inside the orphanage and spurning all conversation, except with the old caretaker, Martha.

Whispering up at Vash, the insurance agent asked quietly, “Will he be okay?”

Vash smiled sadly and shrugged. “I don’t know. Only time will heal the wounds and make sense of the next day.”

I hope.

~ OWARI ~

comments? Please send them over, kudasai! ^_^

HTMLing done by Jop, 2000.