150 Bullets

140. Target

A glistening brown bottle sits squarely on a fence post. It didn't have much to do today, other than sit pretty. And, hopefully, get shot off its seat.

POP! BANG!...POP POP!

That doesn't look likely.

Another bullet cracks by the bottle's neck. You groan, lowering your gun. "Eleven bullets," you mutter, adding them up as a shopping list for the next town. "This is stupid." Then, louder, "This is stupid! I can't hit it; I'm wasting your bullets!"

"No, you're not," Vash says. He sits on a nearby rock, munching on a maple-frosted donut for breakfast, your own powdered jelly sitting precariously close to his wandering hands. Through a mouthful of pastry, he calls, "Try again! Feet wide!"

You sigh loudly for emphasis. Fumbling to reload the gun, a few golden bullets spill on the sand. You grit your teeth. "What does it matter that I learn to shoot something? I've gotten this far without it!"

"Yeah," Vash swallows half his donut in one go, licking his fingers, "but you're traveling with me now. And you asked to learn anyway."

"Didn't think I'd have to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to shoot a bottle, though."

Vash hums and stuffs the rest of the donut in his mouth. "Just don't want you shooting anyone's head off."

And that was fair. Vash could take care of himself and others with his gun. You, squeamish as you are with weapons, are a hinderance to this status quo. You know this, and Vash knows this, though he'll never admit it. You try to be a good travelling companion, but it's hard when you can't defend yourself. Poor Vash has been put through enough gun fights and brawls just to protect you.

You take a steady breath and go into a wide stance. It's your turn to protect yourself. You raise the little pistol and spot down your arm the glint of amber twenty feet away.

Steady. Aim.

POP!

The shot goes wide.

A frustrated snarl rips your throat. "Vash– "

"Hold on, just," he trots over with a smile and goes behind you, "you're locking your knees. Keep them bent just a bit. It'll help with the recoil." He kicks at your left foot. "Keep one leg a bit behind, too."

"I've been doing that," you grump, but do as he says. It's awkward, standing like this, but you suppose it'll get easier with more practice. "Okay, so I just – "

"Just a sec."

His side presses into yours, and your breath stills. One of his arms comes up to hold your own. You can smell the maple on his breath. "Relax your shoulders," he presses his hand into the groove of your shoulder and neck, "you want to be firm, not frozen. And – " he leans forward, adjusting where you're pointing, "try aiming a little higher than you have been." He whispers something to himself, the words brushing the shell of your ear.

Goosebumps spread across your arms, and you're grateful to have a jacket hiding them.

Careful of the warble in your voice, you ask, "I've seen you shoot with both eyes open and one eye shut. Which is better?"

Vash shuffles, his chest brushing against your back. "Keep both eyes open when you're close to a target," he says, "if you need more focus, close your weaker eye." At your nod, he leans forward. His lips almost brush your ear. "Try again now."

A hush comes. There is only the bottle, the gun, the sound of Vash's coat brushing against your own clothes. You let out a long breath...

...BANG!

The bottle sprays apart in a shower of golden shards. An involuntary yelp erupts from your throat, and suddenly you're cheering, turning around to hug Vash. He laughs and squeezes you tight.

"I did it!" you shriek in his ear. "I shot it!"

"Careful, put the safety on!" He grabs the gun out of your flailing hands and locks it up. Safe from friendly fire, he hands the gun back and smiles. "See? It's not so bad."

You holster the gun. "Well, it's fun when it's not something living! Can we try again?" He winces, and you mirror it. "Um...after the next job, I mean. Need to get more bullets, huh?"

He laughs. "Maybe we can find some rubber bullets in one of these towns soon. Then you can use as many as you want!"

"Maybe..." You stop and lean closer to his face. Your hand comes up to trail at his cheek. Vash feels his ears go pink, his cheeks redden. What are you...? Did you want to...?

"Is that...donut powder?"

His hopes are dashed, replaced with primal fear as realization dawns. "Uh..."

"Vash! Did you eat my donut?!"

He backs away with nervous laughter. "Uh...I – well I – " He takes off, and can't help but laugh at your shriek of rage as you give chase. He laughs again when you curse his long legs. "It's payment for the bullets! The bullets!"