The Shepherd

By DuoLordOfDeath

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun or any of its characters or other affilations. I'm just using them for my own entertainment. Whee!

NOTE: I blame this fic entirely on my drunken and depressed Wolfwood muse. Of course, if it ends up being my best fic ever, then it figures, heh.

~*Part One - Lost In Two Deserts*~

A legend in his own lifetime.

That was what he was to the people of this miserable little planet…a legend. An untouchable outlaw who had evaded capture everywhere he went and destroyed entire cities without killing a soul. The mere mention of his name was enough to send the strongest men into fits of fear and cause avarice-ridden bounty hunters to salivate in anticipation.

But that had been many years ago…and the name of Vash the Stampede had faded long into the depths of local myth after it was decided that he was most undoubtedly dead. So, for the past one hundred years since he and his brother Knives had reconciled their differences and once again parted ways, Vash had found himself living in relative peace. He'd shelved his gun long ago and had resigned himself to a life of tranquility, though he kept in contact with Millie and Meryl often through the years; his last few friends on this hostile world. Hate and prejudice had taken the woman who had been his beloved surrogate mother, and blood and violence had taken the life of the one man who'd ever truly understood him…the only two people he'd ever truly, deeply loved. However, when he received word of first Millie's death, and then Meryl's, his world had been plunged into silence, and for the first time in many years he found himself utterly alone. Both had lived long, full lives, building families and living in great happiness, but somewhere in Vash's embattled heart he knew that Millie and Meryl could not live forever…The deaths of Rem Saverem and Nicholas D. Wolfwood those many years ago had left scars more horrible than those visible on his body…and in the wake of the girls' perishing as well, he found old wounds reopened. He was recluse now, living on the outskirts of the city of New Oregon, and many stories floated around in the town about him; of the strange young man who seemed to have lived there for years, and yet was rarely seen…

He often sat in a chair on the narrow veranda, looking out towards the desert; towards the horizon, where beyond the rise lay the small town where his dearest friend had fallen, finding his solace in front of the altar of a church, surrounded in blood…Indeed, the feeling of loss that Vash had felt upon finding the priest's battered body and knowing that nothing could be done…He'd never completely healed from that wound. He felt a bit foolish about it now…jaded perhaps, against the softer emotions after all these years of nothing, but he'd loved Nicholas D. Wolfwood then…loved that infernal, cocky grin, the good-natured swagger he possessed…those dark, brooding eyes that seemed to penetrate through his own green gaze…

But that was all in the distant past…and now; the former outlaw was alone in this world, lost in this endless sea of sand…lost in the endless lonely desert of his own mind. No longer did his expressive eyes twinkle with silent laughter, nor did a warm, truly happy smile alight on his lips. It was as though all his happiness…everything that had made the gentle gunslinger who he was…had evaporated in the overbearing light of the binary suns. There truly was nothing left for him on this dry, bleak world…

But that ended today.

A gritty, warm wind blew lightly against his face as Vash turned his back to the small town he'd called home for so many years, his light shirt rustling lightly in the breeze. He bore no provisions for his journey, nor was he dressed for such a grueling trip, but he seemed to not care. His dulled green eyes peered out into the desert, and with a soft sigh, he took the first step into the wastelands. He didn't know where he would end up after this…nor did he care.

It was time to become the endless wanderer once more…but this time, he was not searching for his brother and the closure that came with it.

He was searching for himself…

~*~

He was lost. He'd been lost ever since he lost sight of New Oregon yesterday…

Not that he'd spared a glance behind him…

He'd not rested in the time that he'd been wandering…he had no reason to sleep. He saw things in his slumber that he did not want to relive, and so denied his body its respite. His mind had been filled with random, brooding thoughts for the past 48 hours…mostly memories of friends and enemies long dead…of questions unanswered…of promises unfulfilled and words never spoken.

For two days, Vash had been wandering aimlessly through the desert, putting miles and miles of rock and sand behind him. Nothing but the mournful howl of the wind filled his ears, and the sun beat down upon him horribly, shining on the drying sweat that dripped down the side of his face and caused his flaxen hair to wilt in the heat from its normal, characteristic style. His face was painted pink from exertion…or perhaps impending heatstroke…he'd lost most of his coherent thought by now. His feet ached beneath him, and yet he continued on, ignoring the insistent hunger pains that plagued his stomach and the parched, dry feeling on his tongue. He ignored the dizzy, ill feeling that kept rising up within him and the pounding headache right behind his eyes…it was becoming more and more frequent now. And still, he pressed on, trudging in a slightly disoriented fashion against the sandstorm that whipped against him, casting sand relentlessly in his eyes and causing his already thirsty mouth to taste the gritty sand.

His chest burned as he tried to breathe; his lungs felt constricted and tight, and he could feel bile rise in his throat as another wave of heavy nausea washed over him. He walked unsteadily over the next dune, but as he came to the summit, he paused and looked blearily up in the sky, which was made hazy by the inexorable onslaught of swirling sand, coughing slightly. His eyelids fluttered slightly as he gave a slight sigh, and with a grunt, he fell to his knees, wavering slightly. The sand shifted precariously beneath him as he breathed out heavily, and his whole body felt suddenly rather heavy…as though all the gravity in the world was pressing down upon him. He gave a faint whimper, his eyes half opened, and then, as his vision began to darken, he sighed and fell forward, his eyes closing against the heat's oppression.

All faded to black.

~*~

Author's Notes:

Oh my! Will someone find Vash before it's too late? And what of the title, "The Shepherd"?

All will be answered in the upcoming parts…this is only a three part one-shot fic…I blame it all on my drunken Wolfwood muse. I hope this doesn't totally suck, but as this fic is more about parts two and three, Part one is really only preliminary stuff to get Vash into the action. This is yet another Trigun fic that deals with Christianity in some form or manner…I like using it in my Trigun fics for some reason. But all will be clear…