Wolfwood didn't acknowledge the figure behind him until the quiet words whispered past his ear.  



"You want to go back to them, don't you?"  The words were stated so quietly and so simply, one might have mistaken it for rustling leaves or an echo on the wind.  Wolfwood knew better.



"I may not have acted like it, but I was a priest," he retorted sharply.  "I know what I have coming to me, so quit tormenting me with impossible notions."  He turned his attention back to the placid lake before him, and continued to gaze at the images he saw of his loved ones inside it - Vash, Meryl...Milly, his Big Girl.  To even entertain the idea that he could go back to them...no, he'd given up that notion when he'd pulled the trigger on his gun and seen his own life end in the same instant.



"Last time I checked, your fate hadn't tipped either way," the voice said.  "If it had, you'd wouldn't still be here.  Whether any of us want to admit it or not, it was your voice and your gun that kept Vash going and that let him overcome his brother."



Wolfwood snorted softly.  "It doesn't matter," he replied. "My body has been long since buried, and they've finished grieving."



"Have they?"  The whisper slid past his face, bringing his doubts to the surface.  A long, slim, pale hand stretched down past his face and touched the surface of the water.  The water rippled, and Wolfwood could see Milly standing in the kitchen of her house washing dishes.  His Cross Punisher stood against the wall across from her, wrapped in white and securely buckled, just as it'd been when he'd carried it.  Milly's eyes drifted over the gun for a moment before moving over to the window again and gazing outside.



Wolfwood suddenly reached out and dashed his hand against the surface of the water.  The image shattered and the water shuddered violently.  "And what am I supposed to do about it?" he demanded.  "Don't you think it hurts enough to sit here and watch her suffer day after day, without having people come by and emphasize it?"  He brought his hand up and rubbed it across his face as he worked to contain his emotions.  "You should know as well as anyone that I would go back in a heartbeat, were it only possible," he finally choked out.



"It so happens that it is possible."



Wolfwood's breath caught in his throat.  He watched as the pale hand reached down again and stilled the rippling water.   A new figure appeared in its mirror-like surface - a young man, probably in his late teens.  He had scruffy red hair, a small, pert nose and a dash of freckles across his cheekbones.  Wolfwood watched him sit on the edge of a bed and contemplate a small bottle that he held in his hands.



"He's ready to give up on life," the whispery voice said.  "Nothing really wrong with him or his life, other than he feels trapped by his overbearing parents and doesn't know how to deal with it."



"So what's he got to do with me?" Wolfwood demanded.  "And why not just send someone to slap some sense into the kid?"



"It has everything to do with you, if you want to live again," the voice replied.  "And it is not our nature to interfere with self-destructive behaviors - that is something you should know well enough."



Wolfwood frowned and looked back at the image of the young man.



"We can grant you the opportunity to walk into his body and live your life again with his body," the voice continued.



"That doesn't break some kind of rule or something?" Wolfwood asked skeptically.  "And what if he decides he wants his life back?"



"We make that decision, not him," the whisperer said.  "But you don't have long for your decision - he has already made his and is on his way out of the living world."



Wolfwood glanced back into the water and saw that it was true - the boy was lying on his back, sprawled across the bed.  The bottle was now uncapped and lying empty on its side on the floor by the bed.  He stared at the image for a moment.  "Sure," he said finally.  "Why the hell not?  I'll bite."



Slender hands settled on Wolfwood's shoulders.  He felt himself slipping toward the surface of the water, then all went black.

---

Wolfwood woke feeling that something was horribly, disastrously wrong in his body.  His eyes flitted around for a bathroom; not seeing one, he leaped from the bed and raced to the only window in the room.  He tossed up the glass and leaned out the window seconds before his stomach spilled its entire contents onto the dusty ground underneath.  



"Urgh," he muttered.  He leaned back inside and slid down the wall until he was in a sitting position on the floor.  He paused for a moment to catch his breath and wipe his mouth, then he looked around the room.  He recognized it as the room he'd seen the boy in just before he'd passed out.  "So, the kid really went through with it," Wolfwood mused.  "Guess that means I really am in his body now."  He grimaced at the bad taste in his mouth.  "And I guess that was one way to clean out the kid's body so that I wouldn't
die as well."  



He stood and made his way to a mirror across the room.  He examined the red-haired reflection for a moment, then yanked the prissy blue shirt the boy had been wearing over his head.  The tan slacks soon followed.  He tossed them on the floor and rummaged through a nearby dresser for more suiting clothes.  He settled on a pair of plain black pants and a white button up shirt.  "Guess this'll have to do for now," he muttered.  He pulled on the pants and buttoned the shirt half way up, then turned back to the room.  "Money and a gun," he said to himself.  "I'll worry about everything else later."



A quick perusal of the room turned up neither.  Disgruntled, he walked out of the room and into the rest of the house.  The house was quiet as he examined it.  Nothing really caught his interest until he noticed a rather thick painting on a wall in the livingroom.  He carefully slid it back and found exactly what he was hoping to see - a safe door.  He grinned, then leaned his ear against the lock and began twisting the combination.  



After a few tries the safe door clicked and slowly pulled away from the frame.  Wolfwood swung the safe open and found exactly what he was looking for inside - thick stacks of bills.  He left the jewelry and other valuables where they were - those would be too easy to trace, he decided.  He didn't see any firearms, so he swung the safe shut again.  He found a leather travel pack near the back door and stuffed the money inside.  



Wolfwood's eyes swept over the kitchen and entryway.  He spotted a pack of cigarettes on the kitchen table and pulled one out, then stuffed the rest of the pack into his pocket.  He lit the cigarette and took a long drag on it, only to pull away coughing and sputtering.  "Great," he thought.  "The kid didn't smoke." He stuck the cigarette back in his mouth but was careful not to inhale deeply on it again.



He made a last quick round of the kitchen and living room, then shook his head in disgust, causing a few ashes to tumble off of the cigarette and onto the floor. "Un-friggen-believable," he said out loud.  "Not a single friggen gun in the place."



"Of course not, James, you know better than that!" a sharp voice said behind him.



Wolfwood spun quickly to face the speaker and saw a middle-aged couple coming in through the door with bags of groceries.  They paused uncertainly in the doorway and stared at Wolfwood for a moment.



"And when did you start smoking?" the woman demanded.



"Since today, apparently," Wolfwood said with a shrug.  He hoisted the pack up onto his shoulder.  "Look, I'm sure you're great people and all, but if you don't have anything else I need, then I need to get going.  I've got things to do with my life."  He
turned and started for the front door.



"Hold it right there, young man!" the middle-aged man shouted.  "Just where do you think you're going?"  Wolfwood heard the bags the man had been carrying hit the table.



"Out," Wolfwood said.  "And don't expect me back."



The boy's father stormed across the room and grabbed Wolfwood by the arm.  "Don't you use that flippant tone with me," he threatened.  "You are going to stand right here and explain yourself."



Wolfwood gazed levelly at him for a moment then blew the smoke from his cigarette into the man's face.  He jerked his arm away and cuffed the man soundly across the jaw; the blow sent the man sprawling onto the floor.  The man's wife gave a little shriek and rushed to her husband's side.



"Fine," Wolfwood snapped.  "You want an explanation? Your boy killed himself because he couldn't take living with you anymore and was too chicken shit to just walk out the front door.  I'm not this "James" kid - the name's Wolfwood.  Nicholas D. Wolfwood, to be precise.  And it won't hurt my feelings if I never see either of you again."  He walked out the front door and slammed it behind him.

---

"WHAAAAAT?"



The bartender stared at Wolfwood and nearly dropped the glass he'd been wiping dry.  "Vash the Stampede?" he asked in a quieter tone.  "What's a kid like you looking for him for?"



"I've got some business with him, is all," Wolfwood said simply.  "Seem to have lost track of where he's gone off to though - I was hoping someone around here might point me in the right direction."



The bartender shook his head.  His grey hair fell a little across his face as he leaned over toward Wolfwood.  "Look, Kid," he said.  "No one around here has heard hide nor hair of Vash the Stampede for well on three years now - and we'd all like to keep it that way.  We don't need the Humanoid Typhoon in our town right now - things are tough enough with this latest drought."



Wolfwood stepped back slightly from the bar.  "Don't worry, I don't plan on bringing any trouble to your town - in fact, I plan on leaving town as soon as I make a couple of purchases.  I just want to know which side of town to leave from."



The bartender sighed and went back to polishing the glass in his hand.  "All right, Kid," he said.  "It's your funeral.  I don't know exactly where he's at, but rumor has it that he's got himself a girl and settled down near New Astoria - somewhere outside of town."



"Thanks," Wolfwood said.  He turned to the door and left without another word.



Wolfwood stepped outside and blinked in the blinding sunlight.  He remembered seeing a gunsmith when he'd come into town, and glanced up and down the street until he saw the sign again.  He headed directly there.



The inside of the gunsmith's shop was dim except where sunlight was streaming through the dusty windows, and it smelled vaguely of leather and gunpowder.  A lone man stood behind the counter polishing the barrel of a revolver with a dingy rag.



"Say, what do you get for one of those?" Wolfwood asked.



The gunsmith looked up at him.  He peered at Wolfwood through one good eye and one eye that was half closed due to an old scar.  "You're that kid they're talking about in town," he commented.  "The one who's been asking around about Vash the Stampede.  I don't sell anything that'd be able to take down the Humanoid Typhoon."



Wolfwood smiled wryly.  "I don't know that any gunsmith on this planet does," he said.  "I'm just looking for something that'll keep me in one piece until I get to him."



The gunsmith set the revolver down on the counter and slid it toward Wolfwood.  "Latest model," he said roughly.  "45 caliber long barrel.  Doesn't pack the raw power that some guns do but has hairline-precise accuracy."



Wolfwood picked it up and tossed it in his hand to gauge its weight.  He pointed it toward the far wall and looked down its sights.  "You've got ammo for it too?" he queried.



"Right here," the gunsmith replied.  He slid a box of bullets toward Wolfwood.  "Nothing fancy, but they'll work."



With a quick motion Wolfwood snatched six of the bullets from the box and loaded them into the chambers on the revolver.  He pointed it back toward the wall and fired three times - all three bullets hit the same hole and lodged in the wood.



"I'll take it," Wolfwood said.  He set the gun back down on the counter.  "And the box of ammo."



The gunsmith just stared at the bullet hole in the wall for a moment.  Wolfwood followd his gaze.



"Oh yeah, sorry about the lead in your wall," he said.  "You should be able to cover it up with a bit of cork or something."



The gunsmith just nodded and stuttered out the price, and Wolfwood paid him from the cash in his pack  He tossed three more bullets into the gun and put the rest of the box in with his cash, then headed out the door.

---

Vash glanced up at the red-haired young man approaching the gate in the fence.  He didn't seem overly threatening, but something seemed familiar about the way he carried himself, right down to the way the cigarette in his mouth was kind of bent.  He looked down to where his brother and adopted nephew were entertaining each other in the grass.  "Hey, Knives, wait here for a sec?"  He stood to greet the stranger.



Knives looked up and watched Vash move toward the gate.  He wondered what Vash had noticed in the stranger and watched the two of them carefully.



Wolfwood, meanwhile, was doing all he could to contain himself when he saw Vash stand and walk toward him.  He'd been disappointed to finally find Vash's house only to find that he wasn't home, but this trip asking around at the neighbors had paid off - he recognized the house and fence even as he approached it.  This wasn't just any neighbor's house, this was Milly's house!  And here was Vash, already coming to greet him.  



"Vash!" Wolfwood called.  He grinned widely.  "Nice to see you again!  I'm glad to see that you haven't changed any."  He reached across the gate to grasp Vash's hand.



Vash hesitantly extended his own hand.  "Err," he began, "I'm sorry, but...have we met?  I've travelled rather extensively, so forgive me for forgetting."



Wolfwood was crestfallen for a moment.  He hadn't even paused during his journey to think about how he was going to explain things to Vash and the others when he found them.  And while he realized that he looked different in the younger man's body, he somehow thought
that they'd recognize him anyway.  



"Yeah," he began slowly.  "Yeah, we have."  



"Vash?" Knives asked.  He walked up behind his brother.  "Is this a friend of yours?"  He looked Wolfwood over critically.



Vash turned slightly and looked at Knives.  "This is my brother, Knives," he introduced.  "You probably haven't met him, not many of my acquaintances have..."  Vash's voice trailed off as he sensed Wolfwood stiffen suddenly.



Wolfwood fought the urge to tense up at Knives's approach, as he knew that both Vash and Knives would sense it, but he couldn't restrain himself.  His hand automatically slid to where the revolver was fastened at his hip as every muscle in his body readied itself for
action.



Vash spun around, his own hand on his revolver.  "Who are you?" he demanded.  "How do you know me and Knives?"



"Look," Wolfwood said, "I know you're not going to believe me, so I'll give it to you straight the first time.  I'm Wolfwood - Nicholas Wolfwood."



Vash stared for a moment.  Neither of the men could let down their guard as he examined the red-head before him.  "Nicholas Wolfwood died over three years ago," he said finally.



"I know," Wolfwood said.  The frustration he was feeling was evident in his voice.  "I lived that life right up to the end.  I was the one who travelled with you.  I was the one who helped you fend off the Gung-Ho Guns.  I was the one who was supposed to hand you over to Knives - then I went and got caught up in your ideals and ended up dead instead."



Knives cut him off, irritated.  "Look, Vash," he snapped.  "I don't know who this guy is, but he knows far too much about us and about things he doesn't need to know about.  I say we just take care of him here and now."  He reached for the revolver at his hip.



"No!" Vash shouted.  



Knives and Wolfwood drew their guns in the same instant; Vash pushed Knives's gun arm toward the sky with one hand and fired at Wolfwood's gun with the other hand.  All three guns went off simultaneously with a resounding bang.



The three men glanced warily at each other; Wolfwood pulled himself out of the half-crouch he'd fallen down into at the sight of Vash's gun.  Before any of them could speak, a shriek came from inside the house.  The door banged open, and Milly and Meryl rushed outside.



"Nicholas!" Milly screamed.  "Nicholas, where are you?"



Wolfwood started and reached toward the gate; Vash put his hand out and stopped him.  "She's not calling for you," he said quietly.  



Vash glanced quickly toward the toddler, who was still sitting on the grass where he'd left him.  The child was fine, though a bit startled by the sound of the guns.



"He's fine, Milly," Vash called.  He turned his head toward the toddler.  "Nicholas, go to your mother - she's worried about you."  



The boy nodded and climbed to his feet, then ran to Milly, who scooped him up into her arms and pulled him close to her.  She glanced quickly at the three men by the fence then dashed inside with her son. 



Meryl looked over at them curiously.  She didn't see any immediate danger and walked up to the three men.  "That was three guns going off, not one," she commented.  "What's going on?"  She looked at each of the three men for an answer.



"I'm not entirely certain myself," Vash said.  "Though it seems people do indeed come back from the dead."  He reached over the fence and pulled Wolfwood into a bear hug.  "It's nice to have you back," he said.



Wolfwood was a bit dazed.  "How..." he began.  "Just a moment ago, you didn't..."



"Just a moment ago I didn't see you handle a revolver," Vash replied.  "You think I wouldn't recognize your stance?  I relied on that stance more than once, remember?"



Wolfwood closed his eyes in relief.  "Well, that clears that misunderstanding up," he murmured.  He opened his eyes again and looked toward Knives.  "But it doesn't explain other things," he said.



"Knives and I have reached an understanding," Vash said simply.  "He's willing to work on tolerating humanity, and I'm bending a bit to understand how he thinks.  I think it's working out for us."



"Wait a minute!" Meryl interrupted.  "This guy knows both you and Knives?  Who the heck is he, anyway?"  



"Wolfwood," Wolfwood said absently.  "Nicholas D. Wolfwood."  He stared distractedly at Knives for a minute, then looked away.  "I'm glad I found all of you, though I wish I'd thought out this meeting sooner."  



Meryl gaped for a minute.  "Well, that explains what Vash meant about people coming back from the dead," she said.  "But how?  And why so different?  I sure as heck didn't recognize you, and Milly...oh, hell - she's probably still scared out of her mind about the guns going off so close to Nicholas.  Er, Nicholas her son, that is."



"She named him after me," Wolfwood said dully.  "I never even thought...can I see her?"  



"I don't see why not," Meryl said.  "But don't go getting her upset.  And how do you know he's your son anyway?" she asked skeptically.  



Wolfwood stuck out his tongue at her.  "Come on," he said.  "I may not look like my old self any more, but I'd recognize my black hair and huge nose anywhere."



Vash opened the gate and Wolfwood hurried through.  He approached the house and peeked in the door - Milly was sitting at the kitchen table rocking her son, who was babbling happily about the stranger at the gate and the sound that the guns had made.



"Surely he's heard a gun fired before!" Wolfwood said in surprise. He quickly covered his mouth when he realized he'd spoken aloud, but Milly had heard him and looked up from the table.  



"I try to see to it that he doesn't," she said frostily.  "My son isn't going to live his life by guns."  She set the boy on the ground and gave him a pat on the back.  "Nicholas, go play with Uncle Vash and Aunt Meryl for a while," she said.



The boy hurried out the door and Milly straightened up.  "I don't know who you think you are," she began crisply.



Wolfwood quickly interrupted her by drawing closer to her and taking her hands in his.  "Big Girl, I know you don't recognize me," he said earnestly.



"Don't call me that!" Milly said harshly.  She pulled her hands away from him.  "Miss Thompson will do, thank you."



"It's me, though!" Wolfwood burst out.  "Do you really think Vash would have let me approach the house if he didn't recognize me?  It's me, Wolfwood!  Nicholas Wolfwood!"  



Milly stiffened.  "I don't know what sort of line you gave Vash to make him believe that," she said crisply, "but Nicholas Wolfwood has been dead for over three years - I saw him buried myself.  Now, if you're done bringing this pain into our house -"  



Her eyes were starting to tear up, but she was cut off as her son suddenly reappeared through the doorway.  "Mama!" the boy cried.  He ran up to Milly and hugged her around the knees.



Wolfwood looked down at his son with a look of sadness.  "Well," he said suddenly, "at least he wasn't sextuplets."  He patted the boy on the head and then turned to the door.  



Milly stared after him in shock.  "What...what did you say?" she asked.  



Wolfwood paused.  "I said-"  He was cut off by an angry shout from outside.  "What in hell is going on out there?" he wondered out loud.



"Uncle Vash said to come inside!" young Nicholas wailed.  "He said the strangers that came up to the gate just now are kind of mean."  He clung to his mother's legs.



Wolfwood's eyes widened in alarm.  His Cross Punisher was only a few steps away from him, leaning against the wall, and he grabbed it out of habit.  Milly started to protest, then stopped short as he whipped it around expertly, unfastened the buckles on it and tossed the covering aside.  He extended the gun into it's full assault mode and swung it up at his side.  Carefully, he approached the door and peered outside.



The parents of the boy whose body Wolfwood was in were standing at the gate with a few lawmen beside them.  They appeared to be arguing with Vash, who was doing his best to prevent them from entering the property.



"I don't know how you've brainwashed my son," the woman was screaming, "but we've heard nothing but reports since he left that he was looking for Vash the Stampede.  I demand to know what you've done with him!"



Wolfwood stepped outside and didn't lower the Cross Punisher an inch.  "I told you people that your son is dead!" he called.  "My name is Nicholas D. Wolfwood - and I went looking for Vash because he's my friend, not because he brainwashed me."



The officers stared uneasily at the huge weapon aimed in their direction.  Suddenly, one of them straightened up more.  "Nicholas D. Wolfwood?  Not the same gunman who matched Vash the Stampede in a showdown contest years ago?"



"The same," Wolfwood acknowledged.  "And my skill hasn't diminished in the least - I suggest you get these irritating people off this property and see to it that they never bother me again.   Otherwise, I won't be held responsible for the consequences."



The officer who had spoken leaned over toward the others and spoke quietly.  He then turned to the middle-aged couple and addressed them.  They looked angry, and the woman started to shout again. 



"James, I don't know what has gotten into you, but I won't stand for it -"



Wolfwood fired two shots into the ground at their feet.  "Don't try my patience today!" he snapped.  "I've had a hard enough day as it is.  Get out of here and don't let me see you around here again - otherwise, the next shots will make sure that you're not a problem for me any more.'



The officers hurriedly moved to lead the protesting couple away.  As they disappeared back down the road, Wolfwood relaxed and set his gun down against the wall of the house.  He heard a sniffle behind him and turned to see Milly standing speechless, with tears running down her face.



"Big Girl..." Wolfwood began.



Milly rushed to him and wrapped her arms around him.  "You came back to me," she whispered through her tears.  "You came back to me."