[ Spoilers ahead Trigun Maximum 3 and 12]

Stardate: 043 - Set 80 years after the Great Fall. [A/N: Yes, they lost 37 years before establishing their calendar!]

Dead Fred

Vash opened his eyes groggily. He watched the swaying fringes of the awning over him for a long while before his mind was able to process what it was he was seeing. Shade. He was under the shade of a piece of tarp that had been stretched over the frame of a truck, maybe? Only there was no sound of an engine. And it bumped and swayed. He could hear shuffling and the murmurs of talk. He made the mistake of moving and suddenly everything hurt. He had the worst sunburn on the side of his face. He tried to open his mouth but his lips were stuck together they were so dry. He must have fallen in the desert.

He tried to think what had happened, and his brain groggily crunched into gear. He had caught up with Knives in a small town. They had fought and he had chased him into the desert. He turned his head, looking for his brother, but all that gesture brought was the fiery pain of radiating heat from the sunburn and a better glimpse of where he lay. All around him were bundles and boxes. Someone had laid him out on a few blankets. He tried to shift his arm as it felt all heavy, and was startled when he caught sight of what had just yesterday been a functioning prosthetic courtesy of the people at Seeds. A bandaged stub, that was all that was left of his arm.

The rush of memories returned swiftly now. He had fought with Knives again. At least he had stopped him before he could kill the entire village. He looked at his stump. It had certainly startled Knives to see him with an arm, but he had been furious to discover it was a prosthetic.

He had found Knives in the village after months of tracking him by rumour. He had tried to convince him to join him again, but Knives refused, saying that he only held him back. Vash felt sick. All the 'holding back' he had managed was to keep Knives from killing people. He had challenged Knives and they had fought and, and... he closed his eyes. He had shot his brother, again, this time with no more accuracy than the last. Only this time he had missed completely, it had been intentional so he had fired the shot extra wide. But Knives had derided him for his pathetic reliance on weaponry. After a scuffle Knives had kicked him and had stolen his gun. What use was a gun to him who despised them?

Vash had only meant to scare him, to stop him. He knew now that Knives did not take to that sort of threat. He shuddered and struggled to sit up as the dizziness of dehydration overwhelmed him. He slumped back, gasping dryly at the stinging pain the blistered sunburn set off. Where was Knives? He had wandered after his brother's trail in the desert. He had found his gun on the first day, thrown into the shadow of a dune. Knives at least had not changed his dislike of such weaponry. He had then had been caught in a dust storm, and had guessed his trajectory since then. How had these people found him?

.

"Hey, Dead Fred has decided to return to the land of the living."

Vash peered at a lithe black skinned man who now crouched at the edge of the truck bed he was on. He had a thick afro of black hair speckled with grey.

Others hurried over at this announcement. Vash peered at them groggily. They were a very mixed group of races and sexes. When they spoke, he could hear that their accents were quite different too. He closed his eyes; he had ended up with a caravan. If he was very unlucky, and he felt very unlucky, they would sell him as a slave. He did not care right now; he was too drained and exhausted to care.

"Hey, Dead Fred, we don't want ya any deader. Drink this."

Vash licked his lips at the water someone dribbled on his lips. Then suddenly his throat was burning with thirst. He tried to reach up with both arms and hissed as the pain in his left reminded him of his fate. He grasped the water canteen weakly and tried to gulp. He breathed in half the water and had to turn his face away, coughing and spluttering to get air.

"Don't choke yourself neither!" The man scolded him.

It took a few minutes but he managed to drink an entire canteen full of water. He was still very thirsty, but he could at least think now. He looked around, taking in the faces around him.

"I'm Isaac." The black man grinned at him. "Purveyor of fine flannels and fleeces."

"These are my honourable companions and friends." He waved a hand taking the watchers in.

A few of them laughed.

"He's Izzy and we're the water carriers. We deliver water for the Feds and sell general merchandise at the villages around the Melanice area. This is Izzy's wagon."

Not slavers then, Vash felt rather relieved. Melanice? He had been over a hundred iles away from the area. Had he chased Knives longer than he had imagined? Perhaps, the days had blurred together with the nights in his determination to find his brother.

"What happened t'ya?" Izzy asked, sitting himself more comfortably on a wrapped parcel beside Vash. "We thought you were properly dead for a while."

Vash closed his eyes. He did not want to explain what had happened.

There was a patient silence, then they realised that he was not going to answer.

"He's asleep. Don't nobody wake him."

.

Vash woke and found the swaying had stopped. He could see stars in the twilight skies that showed through the open sides of the wagon. He could hear the grunts and snuffles of tomas's and the chatter of people. He raised his head slightly, then let it drop back on the pillow. He felt horrible. His skin felt like it was on fire if he so much as twitched the wrong part of his face. But there was something about this place. He raised his head again, searching, then his eyes widened. The caravan had settled in a yard directly below a plant orb. He fell back drinking in the sight of the glowing plant going about her work. She sang to herself, and did not seem to notice him.

"Dead Fred! Wake up time." Izzy called. "There's food!"

Izzy clambered back into the wagon with a bowl. He helped Vash to sit up and shifted several bundles to propped him up.

"So what's your name?"

"Vash." Vash said.

"Ooh, so Dead Fred's name is Vash. Hear that?" Izzy called to the others.

Vash could see a collection of caravans, mostly tomas drawn wagons and a few large water trucks with large wheels for travelling the desert. They looked old and slow. The people had gathered to cook their meal within the circle the trucks formed.

"Have one of these." Izzy held out the bowl. It smelled so delicious he could almost devour the smell alone and be satisfied. Vash picked out the small round sugary cake with a hole in the middle.

"You'll spoil his appetite!" A woman stirring a cooking pot scolded.

"Hah! Appetite is what these things were invented for! Go on, try it!"

Vash took a bite and blinked. He'd never tasted something so sweet and so warm and so delicious in his life. He wolfed down the six Izzy had in the bowl.

"Dead Fred likes his doughnuts!" Izzy laughed. "Have some water, I'll get you dinner."

He could not move much, so he lay staring up at the orb, trying various ways to get her to hear his thoughts. He and Knives had an instinctive connection, and he could do it easily if he touched the orb surrounding the plant itself. However, the distance of ten yarz defeated him. He fell asleep before he worked out how to do it. The next morning all he could do was wave his farewell.

.

Vash was shaking with exertion by the time the day had come to an end, but he was exceedingly proud of himself. It had taken him two days to recover enough to be able to get out of bed and a week before he could accomplish this feet. He could walk alongside the caravan without riding in it. He had asked around at every village they had stopped at, but had not heard any word of anyone fitting Knives's description. This was both good and bad. He didn't want Knives anywhere near people, yet without people how would he know where Knives was? It was a conundrum to his mind.

He slept the sleep of the exhausted that night and woke the next morning with a fierce determination in his heart. He knew what he must do. Knives had thrown it in his face again, his lack of skill. He cleaned his gun, it was a serviceable old revolver, and went around begging for ammunition. Most people parted with a few shells, but one of the water truck drivers, a man named Hodges frowned at him. He was a burly man with red cheeks and nose and ice blue eyes looking out from under bushy white eyebrows.

"What ya gonna do with that there gun?"

"Practice my aim." Vash said stubbornly.

"Sounds like fighting talk right there. Have you a pending duel with the man who took your arm?"

"Yes." Vash declared fiercely.

"Then you'll need more than that you've got there. Here's a box of ammo. Now I don't give stuff for free, so you'll be helping me with the water deliveries whenever Izzy don't need you with his work, understood?"

Vash nodded.

He walked beyond the circle of trucks to where the dune sloped sharply towards the skies. He set up a crude target, a piece of cloth he had lain on and got Izzy to trace his outline on. He built up the pile of sand behind it then forced the metal pegs in firmly, then stepped back the distance they had been apart. That was a good place to start. He practiced as the suns set and he could hardly see, he practiced until the moons rose, and until he could hit the target and group his shots. He practiced until he ran out of ammunition. He walked over and inspected the day's progress. Tomorrow would be better. He needed to earn another box of ammunition.

.

It took another two weeks before they rejoined the mother caravan at one of the larger towns. The first thing he did, as had become his custom since he had frustrated himself with not being able to contact the plant he had seen, was to visit the plant. He knew no other way of initial contact than by touching the orb. He had discovered that if there were several plants in relay, he only had to touch one and the others would respond to his thoughts. He found them bewildering and comforting, they filled much of the hole Knives had left and they understood him to a level no human would be able to fathom. They thought in cascading images and colour and light, only sometimes inserting what humans would understand as thoughts, if their everyday talk were a reflection of their minds. He found he could call his goodbyes almost an ile distant. He was improving in that manner, at least.

The mother caravan followed a small sand steamer onto which the tomas's, wagons and half the cargo were loaded. Vash found himself travelling with Hodges now that Izzy worked on the sand steamer. They moved at a faster pace through the area. He made friends with the Sand Steamer plant on the second day when he managed to sneak into engineering. It had been a success. He hadn't touched the glass, he had only stood on the gantry and waved at her. She had noticed him immediately.

(Red brother!)

He gaped at her in surprise and delight, as she waved her hands slowly and then reached out to the orb and watched him expectantly. He grinned and after a quick check to see if the engineers were otherwise occupied, placed his hand opposite hers. Memories flashed through his mind, then stopped. He gazed up at her in wonder. She had shared all the memories of all the plants he had visited. All of them, even the one he had watched that frustrating night, and those that he and Knives had helped over the years. She ended the memories with a query, where was Knives? Vash shrugged disheartened. He had the feeling that if she, or those plants she could reach, had encountered him recently she would have shown him.

(I too am searching.)

He returned to his days work with Hodges, his worry about his brother playing on his mind. He tried to remember his friendly chatter, but it was much more of an effort that day.

"I've got a friend who wants to see you." Hodges said that evening as they clambered out of the truck cab.

Vash followed him over to another truck, though this one was a cargo truck, and found Izzy already there chatting to a man as lithe and dark skinned as he was.

"Dead Fred, this is my little brother Jake."

"Whoo, I do see why both Izzy and Hodges came to me about you man. I think I've just the thing we can adapt."

Vash watched him in bafflement as he hopped up into the truck then returned carrying something odd. It was an arm made from plastic, leather and steel.

"It's a little crude, fits over your shoulder and straps to your upper arm like so, and if I adjust it like this, you should be able to use the way you shrug your shoulder to move the arm."

Vash tried it. The arm shifted clumsily, but to his satisfaction, he could reach out and touch his right hand.

"You'll have to get a proper wiring job for it to be as good as the medical prosthetics, but it should serve to help you carry things with greater ease. I could lock the fingers into a hook position if you like."

"Thank you." Vash tested the arm out. He walked to his newly set up target to practice, relieved to have a prosthetic. It was not anywhere as good as what Seeds had supplied, but it sure made carrying things easier.

He set up the target and spent the evening practicing.

.

"Fred!"

He looked up as he walked across the caravan camp the evening two weeks after he had received his crude arm. Working with Jake he had discovered a way to make the hand open and close by twisting his arm. He could now grasp and hold things with his left hand if he was careful. This helped a great deal when Hodges had him assist with pouring out water rations.

"Look at this!"

Vash inspected the new arm Jake held out.

"Try it out." Jake said enthusiastically.

Vash unlocked the belts holding the other in place and set it down, then with Jack's help hefted the new one on. He tried twisting and stretching. It worked smoother than the first one had. It was actually custom built to his stump, and as a result was almost comfortable to wear.

"Thanks."

"I think you'll like this part best." Jake said and pointed to a spot on the elbow. "Press that."

Vash did so and felt his mouth drop open as the hand part of the prosthetic dropped down as if it had fallen off, and the metal sheeting that covered the arm shifted to reveal rows of holes.

"It isn't loaded, and you'll have to use your right hand as a trigger control. So the next time you go up against the man who cut your arm off, you've got a very nasty surprise up your sleeve."

Vash stared at the arm then pressed the button again. The panels on the arm slid down and the hand re-engaged at the wrist. He flexed the hand experimentally, stunned speechless. He could not decide if it were a brilliant idea, or utterly despicable.

"I've got some bullets for you; let's see how it runs, eh?"

Vash watched as the machine gun bullets threaded into the side of the arm and spat shells out the other side. It was heavier than the previous arm, but he could group his shots on the target. However, an area of a fiel in diameter was not small enough and finer aim than that would only come with extended practice.

"I thought it would be useful for when you leave us at the next town."

Vash turned and stared at him, he had tried to keep his intentions secret.

"How did you know?"

"Izzy, Hodges and I, we're drifters ourselves. We know when something is eating a man so strong he cannot stay in one place. This duel is eating you. Go before it consumes you, at least the journey in right direction may ease some of the burden your carry."

"Hey, I thought I heard the sounds of diligent practice." Izzy walked up with a bowl piled high with food. "Here's some celebratory doughnuts, make sure to enjoy the holes they're extra tasty!"

Jake laughed and helped himself as Vash shut away the gun in the prosthetic, then helped himself to several doughnuts before Jake could polish them all off.

"What, none for me?" Hodges asked as he arrived just too late. "What are you all plotting out here by the dunes?"

"Ways not to have to share doughnuts." Izzy said with his mouth full.

Hodges rolled his eyes at him.

"Ya, leaving us Dead Fred?"

Vash nodded.

"Keep it up with the targets man. It is not always the skill that counts, but the determination to get something done. You have that. Keep it up and you'll be a decent marksman one day."

.

Vash listened to the song of the plant in the orb high above him. He had called to her when the caravan had arrived in the town and she had spent the time he was there catching his attention at odd moments as if to check he was still there. He said farewell now, and she paused in her song then took it up once more. He watched the caravan pull out of the town and shrugged the ragged brown cloak around his shoulders, hiding the plastic of his prosthetic hand. He then turned and looked to the west, the last he had seen of his brothers trail had been headed that direction, so on he would go. Searching. The remark about determination resonated with him, not because of the idea that practice made perfect, but that if he kept looking perhaps he could find his brother. The caravan had given him a second chance at life, so he needed to find Knives to convince him to give a second chance to the humans he so badly despised.