This fic has only one chapter, but there are two versions.
An old, late-night version
and a revised version 55555.
(for now, I’m posting the first version. The second version will be uploaded separately so the content doesn’t get too long.)
— This fic exists within the same storyline,
but follows different paths, which is why it branched into two versions.
— The timeline for both versions is:
the period when Vash the Stampede went missing for five months, after a battle in one of the seven major cities.
In that battle, Vash clashed with a member of the Gung-Ho Guns.
The enemy was a swordsman who could somehow use his sword sheath as a gun (ridiculously crafty).
However, that fight was being overseen by “Legato.”
When Vash was about to lose, Legato used his power to control Vash’s body,
forcing him to unleash the destructive power within himself.
The immense force completely destroyed the city — repeating the tragedy of July City from years ago.
On top of that, Vash’s power also left a crater on the moon.
That was the reason Vash chose to flee from the ruins of the city,
which had become his second unforgivable sin, even though no one had died.
On that day, he arrived at another town, wearing an old cloak
and carrying a shattered heart.
And that leads to my story! —
— What if the one who encounters Vash the Stampede is you (y/n)? —
How will the bond between the two of you end!?
Find out in the next chapter!
(The reason why two versions branched out:
The first version was written during a period when my mind sank to its deepest point — feeling lonely, and craving something
that everyone is probably very familiar with.
As for the second version, it was written at a different time. The original intention was simply to fix the wording, but at that moment I was in a cheerful mood, able to smile, fully charged and ready to go.
So in the end, another version was born lol.
It would be a waste to throw it away, so I decided to keep going and see it through to the end.
If you ask why I had to do it that way?
Well — who would ever dare to throw away their own feelings so easily?
Especially when it’s a piece of writing that comes straight from genuine emotions. No one would have the heart to discard that.
If I had to do something like that, I’d feel terrible. Because not only would no one care about my feelings — I would also be the one choosing to throw away what was in my heart, just to satisfy someone else’s idea of “correctness.”
When your heart is already completely exposed like that — isn’t that just cruel to yourself?
That’d be way too harsh, honestly 55555.)
Version 1: Chapter —
[Thais Don’t Abandon Each Other 😋]
Augusta City — a scorching town rich with deserts.
It’s fairly boring that every time you walk home after work at the restaurant, sand always slips into your shoes or clings to your body. Walking under the blazing sun is such a normal part of your life that your skin is tanned rather than fair like other girls.
You live alone, since your entire family died three months ago while traveling through the desert. And you’re not friendly enough to spend time trying to track down distant relatives from either side of your parents’ families.
You have to admit — you’re deeply scarred when it comes to losing people you love. Because of that, every time someone approaches you with even a hint of flirtation, you immediately shut yourself off.
Not because you despise it —
but because you’re too afraid to open your heart.
You used to be someone who loved physical affection: sitting close, patting heads, hugging, kissing cheeks. You would tell your family everything that happened during your day.
But now that none of them are here anymore, there’s no need to adapt yourself for anyone. You simply live day by day, lying down and waiting for death to someday come on this barren planet.
But in truth — you miss every touch from your family.
You secretly dream that one day, your wounded heart might heal through someone who truly understands you. Maybe you’ll hug, kiss cheeks, or gently pat each other’s heads to offer comfort.
These things are your nature —
to be loved for who you truly are, like a romantic story waiting for you to prove it real.
As you sink deep into your thoughts, softly humming a tune with a sense of calm — at least realizing that you aren’t so broken beyond repair —
Until—
“Miss?”
You accidentally come across a man wearing a cloak in terrible condition, slumped against a wall, barely breathing.
“Sir?”
You call out again, eyes widening as you clutch your food basket tighter.
“Are you badly hurt?”
A question without an answer.
The blond man, filthy and unmoving, lies there without reacting. But he isn’t unconscious. His large frame sags slightly, aquamarine-green eyes fixed on the ground.
The sight makes you swallow without realizing it.
It’s like seeing someone carrying the entire world alone on his back…
That’s pitiful… maybe he just needs someone to help carry the stone.
As the sky slowly darkens, you make up your mind immediately —
you can’t bring yourself to leave someone sleeping alone in the cold outside, especially someone who looks like he has nowhere to go.
“Um… are you sure you’re not injured anywhere?”
Even though you’re secretly afraid of his appearance, you approach him with a faint smile. The smell of gunpowder clings heavily to the narrow alley, making you curse yourself for approaching someone who clearly uses guns — and who still won’t answer you.
Hey! — He’s still staring at the ground!
Sir, please answer me! I’m scared now!!
You scream internally, sobbing *sniff sniff*, throwing tantrums on the ground in your mind like you’re knocking on the Earth Goddess’s door — but she won’t open.
“Mom!! Please save me from this man!!”
Finally—
as if the Goddess heard your cries from the forest—
I mean, heard your sobbing — she grants your wish.
[I granted it, now shut up, child.]
The Goddess (?) sends a message straight into your mind.
“I’m… not too badly hurt…”
There it is — instant blessing.
The crying in your head stops immediately as you mentally bow three times to the Goddess before snapping out of it and turning your attention back to the man in front of you.
“What’s your name?”
You take the liberty of lowering yourself to sit beside the tall man, who’s clearly at his limit beneath his tattered cloak.
“…My… name is Eric…”
His voice is so hoarse it makes your chest ache. He coughs, his large body bending forward as the sound scrapes through his dry throat.
That sight makes your entire body burn, tears threatening to spill.
— Eric looks completely unwell in your eyes. He looks like he’s suffering terribly, both physically and emotionally. You can sense it from the aura around him, from the dullness in his aquamarine eyes.
“Please… come rest at my house first, Mr. Eric.”
You speak quickly, driven by pity and concern. Without thinking, you slide your hand beneath his cloak, gripping his firm waist — you can feel his ribs shift under your touch, like someone who’s endured something awful but is still trying to live.
The way he looks like he could die at any second pushes you forward.
You take his large hand and place it over your small shoulder. You don’t care anymore. All you feel is that you have to succeed — you have to bring him home. If he collapses halfway, you’ll just call for help from nearby townsfolk.
In short, you’ll do whatever it takes —
just to bring him home safely with you.
“Hold onto me, Mr. Eric. I’ll help you right now.”
His large body leans into yours with gravity’s pull. He’s heavy, but he still steps forward without saying a word, eyes fixed on the ground, letting you support him as you struggle along.
It’s hard to believe you manage to carry such a big man home all by yourself. You grit your teeth, pushing with everything you have to finally lay him down on your bed, not forgetting to remove the filthy cloak from his body.
“Please rest on my bed for now.”
Your body trembles with exhaustion, sweat pouring down your temples as your head throbs from the sudden exertion.
You look up at him. Though you’re still lightly panting, you manage a faint smile through your eyes. Your dull-colored gaze reflects warmth, filled with kindness meant only for him.
“Wait just a moment… I’ll be right back…”
Vash the Stampede —
or now, under the false name
Eric
— watches you leave. The door closes, leaving him alone in the quiet room. Sounds from outside and the aroma of food drift through the gap beneath the door.
Vash stares for a while. He doesn’t look any better than before — not after just escaping his second unforgivable sin.
The sin of destroying a second major city — one of the seven great cities.
He won’t excuse it by saying he was controlled by “Legato,” one of the Gung-Ho Guns, who took over his body and made him lose control of his power.
This is his fault.
And Vash is too tired to stand up and fight a second time. Right now, he just wants to rest… and never wake up again.
He turns onto his side, his body still aching from the battle. His red leather coat hides and absorbs all the blood, so the girl — you — never saw it.
Vash lifts his hand to grip his right arm. Silence settles as he remembers what this hand has done — wiping out homes, blowing human lives into rubble… even carving a crater into the moon.
No matter how you look at it, he isn’t human —
that’s what people must think. And now the hatred and the bounty on his head must be even higher. And he has to bear it.
Vash squeezes his arm harder, hard enough that it trembles — but he doesn’t care. Right now, he just wants to tear this arm off.
Why does it have to be him…
the one who has to go through all of this?
“Mr. Eric…”
The door opens. Vash doesn’t turn to look. The door closes again, and he listens instead to your footsteps approaching.
“Please get up and eat something first.”
Vash doesn’t answer. He just lies there. His stomach is empty, but guilt fills his chest. No matter when, he’s always useless. So—
…so—
Even though a demon like him doesn’t deserve rest, when the sound of a food tray being set beside the bed rings out, and the mattress dips with weight—
“Mr. Eric…”
You call softly, then stop when you realize he’s already lying down.
Then, with a gentle smile and warm actions—
“Sleep well, Mr. Eric.”
You carefully tuck the blanket around him, adjusting it gently but firmly to make sure he won’t be cold tonight.
Then you stand up, walk over to close the window against the cool night air, and carry the food tray away.
In that moment, everything feels… fine to Vash.
He knows he doesn’t deserve kindness — but when you offer it, his heart accepts it. His hand tightens around the blanket.
He curls into it, burying his face in the pillow, wishing to sleep without nightmares. And when he finally allows himself to be exhausted, Vash finds that he falls asleep with ease.
As if his body has been yearning for moments like this all along —
moments safe from the outside world, where no one fears the name Vash the Stampede.
Moonlight filters through the curtains, falling over pearl-colored eyelids lost in dreams. His chest rises and falls in deep, steady rhythm, until the moonlight reflects something—
A small tear,
from a man.
