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Christmas was one of the few holidays that had made the transition from Earth to Gunsmoke relatively unscathed; in a harsh desert environment baked by two suns, it seemed only natural that people would gravitate towards commemorating a season whose chief purpose was to provide the hope of salvation to a weary and suffering population. Sure, there was no snow (not that most people even knew what that was), but the Yuletide spirit was strong among grown-ups and kids alike; and that, Wolfwood thought, was all that really mattered.
Christmas was also one of the few times of the year he could retire the tough-guy act. Part of this included dressing like the man for whom he'd been named, although Wolfwood was far from a saint. Also, he doubted that Santa's suit was half as scratchy and mothball-eaten as the one he wore every year.
He tried to ignore the itching as he walked down the street towards his orphanage. The city of December, he was happy to note, was in full holiday swing, exploiting its name for tourism purposes ("Christmas only comes in December!") by employing full-time carolers, bell ringers, and well-wishers, many of the latter hanging up tinsel, ribbons, and all manner of greenery. He was especially pleased to see the expressions of the children shopping with their parents as he passed; as corny and cliched (and freaking Vash-like, he was now forced to append) as it was, the joy on their faces was the best gift of all.
And speaking of Vash: for once he was getting to enjoy a break from that broomhead's shenanigans. Not that Knives gave a damn about the puny spiders' holidays, the Christmas timing was just coincidental. Still, it was nice for Wolfwood to just be able to relax and get into the Christmas mood without having to worry about Shit Going Down.
Of course, it was right when he was having that thought that a certain tall girl decided to get in his face.
"Hi Santa!" Millie cried breathlessly, dropping the the almost-equally tall pile of wrapped gifts she'd been lugging around to give him a hug. "What are you doing here in town? Don't you need to rest up for your big trip?"
Wolfwood would have corrected her, but the shampoo smell emanating from her hair had an intoxicating effect. So instead he just stood there and basked in the glory of her feminine embrace, like an oversexed Santa who hadn't gotten any from Mrs. Claus in a month, until the smaller girl helpfully showed up to put a damper on things.
"That's not really Santa, Millie," Meryl said, crossing her arms. Apparently she hadn't the heart to also tell the big girl that Santa wasn't real. "And let go of Mister Wolfwood, you're going to suffocate the poor man."
"Oh, my God," Millie said with a gasp, drawing back to scrutinize him. "Is that you, Mister Priest? I had no idea."
"In the flesh, honey," Wolfwood replied, trying to sound suave beneath the fat man padding (and probably failing); and beaming, Millie leaned in to give him another hug.
So. The girls were here. And that meant –
"HEY, NICK!" Vash, typically appearing as red as the ribbons that hung from the faux Christmas trees (and as Wolfwood himself, actually) appeared in his line of vision. Once he'd had a good look at what the priest was wearing, however, his mania seemed to increase thricefold, and with his fists bunched and his eyes shining he exclaimed:
"Nick! You're going to be Santa for the kids? That's so nice! Can I be one of your elves?"
Meryl issued a spurt of oh my God is this real life laughter, at the same moment that Wolfwood replied, more calmly than he felt: "You're too tall, needle noggin. And anyway, I value the safety of my kids. So kindly get lost."
"I won't mess anything up," Vash said, making a scout's salute (and Wolfwood doubted he'd ever been a scout). "And you could just tell the kids I had a growth spurt. I'd make a great elf!"
"No! I don't want you to be an elf! Santa works solo!" Dammit, but what was it about Vash that brought him down to the maturity level of a two-year-old? "Go away!" he yelled, trying to push Vash in the direction he'd came, but Vash pushed back against him.
"No, look, I'm getting into character! My name's Twinkle, and I was left at the foot of the North Pole as a baby – "
"The North Pole's not a literal pole, dumbass! Do I have to beat Jesus's mercy into you to get you to understand – "
"Aww, you should let him help, Mister Priest," Millie said. "It is Christmas, after all." Wolfwood and Vash stopped to stare at her, twin expressions of astonishment on their faces.
"And we could get a lot more shopping done without that creep around," Meryl added, seemingly inspired by Millie's vote of confidence.
"This is really happening, isn't it," Wolfwood said, resigned. "I'm going to be stuck with him all day." Millie nodded serenely.
"You two have fun," Meryl said with a wink and a snicker, and the girls abandoned him to his fate.
Christmas at the orphanage was a humble affair. What the nuns couldn't afford in trim and trinkets, however, they more than made up for in holiday spirit; and Wolfwood himself always put forth his very best effort towards convincing his kids that Santa was as real as the suns in the sky or the baby in the manger, even going so far as to go out and get the simple gifts that they requested every year and leaving them inside their shoes on Christmas morning (because goddammit, trees may have looked storybook pretty but they were also expensive).
Of course, this year's act was a little tougher to enact when you had an idiot for a sidekick. Vash had swapped his eye-watering red coat for an eye-watering green one (and really, where the hell had he even gotten that?), and looked happier than a pig in shit. Wolfwood hated to admit it, but the kids seemed like they were enjoying themselves too. Once they'd hopped off of Santa's lap, they burst into fits of giggles as Vash made faces at them and sprung into a ridiculous improv song and dance routine.
Wolfwood, however, would not giggle. Not even once. He was still resolved to this course of action when the final kid, a little girl of nine, clambered into his lap. He was startled to find that she wasn't one of his... and even more startled to see the tears shining in her eyes.
"Hey there," he said softly, without thinking, putting a gloved hand on her head. "What's wrong, dear? Were you not a good girl this year?"
The girl shook her head, although Wolfwood couldn't tell whether that meant yes or no. "Santa, I want you to bring my daddy back for Christmas," she said in a tiny voice. Vash, who had been in the middle of losing a fistfight with himself, instantly sobered.
"Wolf – er, Santa. What's going on?"
"I don't know," Wolfwood said. To the girl: "What's your name, sweetie? And what happened to your daddy?" Please don't tell me he's dead.
As if discerning his thoughts, the girl shook her head again. "I'm Annie. And the bad men took him away."
Shit. That was almost worse. Who knew what the loan sharks had done to a man who couldn't pay up... he was trying to figure out how to let her down gently – much as he wanted to help, he was just another lost fool in a land of helpless, lost fools – when he caught sight of Vash striding over and stooping down next to her.
"Don't worry, Annie," he said kindly. "If you just believe, Santa can do anything."
"Oh, no," Wolfwood said as Vash's suggestion fully sunk in. "No no no no no – " He looked down at the kid, whose expression had grown even more heart-breaking, and quickly checked himself. " – er, ho ho ho ho ho!" To Vash, in a stage whisper: "How are we even supposed to find this kid's dad? Assuming we don't get killed when we do?"
Vash offered a smile and a gesture that clearly conveyed I have no idea, but we have to try! Wolfwood resolved to kill him the second Christmas ended.
Five minutes later, they were following Annie into a seedy bar choked with smoke and the smell of cheap alcohol. More than ever Wolfwood wanted to change out of his costume, but he couldn't break the illusion in front of Annie. Vash was helpfully carrying his cross for him. They looked goddamn ridiculous.
"You live here?" Wolfwood said, goggling. Annie nodded.
"This is Santa and his helper," she announced as every eye in the place was suddenly on them. Wolfwood found himself sweating even more profusely under the suit. "He's gonna help me find Daddy!" Most of the patrons chuckled and went back to their beers, but one man – taller even than Vash, and Very Scary Looking – rose to his feet.
"Santa, huh," he said as he approached them (and his voice was every bit what Wolfwood would have imagined it to be on a man of his stature). "Yer gonna find the little girl's papa, are ye?"
"We sure are," Vash said cheerfully. He nudged Wolfwood, and God help him if he didn't want to kill Vash right now. "Right, Santa?"
"That's right, Twinkle!" Wolfwood said, infusing his voice with fake cheer. "Santa will leave no stone unturned, no chimney unexplored – " He stopped, amazed, as the man bowed to them.
"Well then, pardon my saying so, but God bless ye, sir. Y'really are how the legends tell. Sure nice of ye to be doin' overtime like this, what with all with the gift-giving and suchlike."
"That's my Uncle Steve," Annie said proudly. "He's gonna help, too!"
Wolfwood turned his eyes towards Heaven. Lord, haven't You punished me enough?
They left the bar as quickly as they'd come in, sans Annie, and headed back into the busy streets.
"Where do we start lookin', Santa?"
Wolfwood almost retorted with how am I supposed to know?, but Vash gave him a Look, so instead he sighed and said, "Well, where do the local debt sharks hang out?"
"I imagine they like as not do their drinking at that new pub," Uncle Steve replied. Then he added, slumping his considerably muscled shoulders as if trying to make himself smaller: "They make me mighty afeared, they do."
That did not bode well. "Give me my cross," Wolfwood said to Vash.
"But Santa – "
"GIVE IT." Vash made a little mewling noise and handed it over. "You got your gun?" Vash nodded. "What about you, Steve? You packing?" He was a little surprised when Uncle Steve shook his head, but whatever. Dude's physique was probably enough to put off any would-be assailants.
"All right," Wolfwood said. "We're goin' in."
"Santa doesn't go through the front door," Uncle Steve pointed out, unhelpfully. "He goes down the chimney."
"Uncle Steve has a point," Vash said.
"Don't encourage him," Wolfwood growled. "But he's right. We go through the front door, we're gonna get blown away. There has to be some way of sneaking in... other than going down the chimney."
"Come on, you scrooge," Vash said with a grin. "You said it yourself: no chimney unexplored. Where's your sense of Christmas adventure?"
"And where's your sense of self-preservation, you needle-noggined nutcase?" Wolfwood snapped back. He noticed that Uncle Steve had disappeared, and looked up to see him climbing the roof of what he could only assume was the aforementioned new drinking hole. "What on God's forsaken dustball are you doing?" he called out.
"I am attempting to save the little girl's Christmas," Uncle Steve replied stolidly. He began shimmying down the brick chimney, his feet and torso quickly disappearing, followed by his head and shoulders. After a moment –
"I appear to be stuck," Uncle Steve reported. Wolfwood almost screamed.
"Welp, nothing for it now," Vash crowed. "Now we gotta go down the chimney!"
He leaped up to help their new friend, and with a few most miserly (and unChristmaslike) grumbles, Wolfwood followed. He had to use the butt of his cross to get Steve moving down the chimney again, but the rest of the trip down was easy enough.
Surprisingly, the establishment they found themselves in was a lot nicer than the bar from before. Not only was there ceiling-to-floor red carpet paneling, a grand piano, and a solid marble countertop, the loan sharks were dressed in sharp black suits and drinking from a vat of what looked like real Mexican eggnog. Wolfwood supposed it owed to the amount of money they'd managed to extort from the citizens of this town... he didn't have much time to dwell on that fact, however, as the lead gang member (only half as tall as Uncle Steve, but surely twice as mean) removed his sunglasses to glare at them before pushing back his stool and walking over.
"Any of youse boys requested a house call from Saint Nick?" he hissed. The others shook their heads, and he quickly drew a gun. "What's the meanin' of this, then?"
"Um," Wolfwood said. Fortunately (or not so fortunately), Vash was already prepared with an answer.
"Why, we're here to give you your presents early, of course!" he cried. "For being such good boys this year, you see."
"Yeah?" The shark didn't look convinced. "And who's the oaf?"
"Oh, him?" Vash cast a nervous glance towards Uncle Steve, who shrugged. "Well, er, he's another of Santa's helpers. But not like me! I'm a real elf."
"You're too tall to be an elf," the shark said.
"I had a growth spurt," Vash muttered petulantly.
"Why's Santa got a cross?" one of the lesser sharks piped up. "He ain't Jesus. Least, I dun' think he is."
"Oh, well, uh, that's where we keep the presents," Vash said. "Right, Nick?" He tipped a hearty wink towards Wolfwood, who couldn't have been happier if this charade of a palaver had erupted into a bloodbath with no survivors (not that Vash was gonna let anyone die today, the damn idiot).
"Right," he growled, ripping off the suit (and trying to ignore Uncle Steve's openly gaping expression as he did). "And since you've all been incredibly naughty this year, Santa's gonna lay down some punishment!"
The next few moments – occupied by the sounds of gunfire, shouting, and spilled eggnog – were among the most blissful of Wolfwood's life, as he poured out his frustration in full upon the hapless gang members. Uncle Steve, who seemed to be as pacifistic as Vash, elected to use his strength to sweep minions' heads together, while Vash did his usual Shoot 'Em In The Nonvitals And Watch 'Em Drop routine.
"H-hey, boss!" One of the sharks, who had ducked behind the mostly impenetrable marble countertop, pointed shakily at Vash. "I recognize that mug. That ain't Santa's elf! That's Vash the Stampede!"
"But I'm not even wearing red!" Vash cried. The formerly fearless crime boss turned white as a sheet and looked around wildly for an exit.
"Sh-shit! He'll kill us all! We gotta get out of here!"
"We can't let him get away," Wolfwood said. "We need to know where they're keeping Annie's dad!"
"Nick! Help!" Vash, who was being cornered by a chunk of sharks who apparently thought they could capture him for a reward, raced over to Wolfwood and leaped into his arms like a maiden in need of rescue from a knight. Wolfwood would have dropped him and told him to keep his own damn lookout, but for the fact that Vash was using the opportunity to communicate with him, thrusting his head in the direction of the vat of eggnog and pretending to shoot a gun with his free hand. It was all so very obvious, and also so very stupid. Wolfwood told him so.
"No way, José. Do you have any idea how flammable Mexican eggnog – "
"Exactly," Vash said. "Come on, Wolfwood. I'm all out of ammo. Do it, for me? For Christmas?"
"I hate you," Wolfwood said, and then the place lit up like a candlelight church service gone wrong as he fired once into the whiskey-soaked concoction.
(Reports would later emerge that the explosion could be heard from five iles away, and that several residents of December had ceased holiday preparations in favor of readying themselves for what they assumed was the Second Coming.)
(Wolfwood also decided that this was the last time he would let Vash help with Christmas anything.)
Nothing was left of the sharks' hangout, which made it a simple matter for the sheriff and his boys to arrive and arrest the criminals who'd been terrorizing December. Annie's father, along with several others who'd taken out sketchy loans to buy presents for their kids and were unable to pay back the absurd sums, were discovered tied up in the basement. Annie was hugging her father, who was weeping and telling his daughter how sorry he was that he had nearly left her orphaned.
"I'm sorry, Wolfwood," Vash said, approaching him in the wake of the emotional reunion. To Wolfwood's surprise, he seemed truly penitent. "Did I ruin your Christmas?"
Wolfwood heaved an enormous sigh. Sure, his Santa suit had gone up in smoke, but it hadn't been long for this world anyway, and the stress from the day's events had probably shaved a few years off his life; but the girl's father was safe, so really, it was kind of a wash. Except that wasn't true, either.
"No, needle noggin," he said, with more affection than he perhaps intended. "Heck, I'd say you actually managed to save Christmas for several someones, and that's all – " The rest of what he was going to say was cut off as Vash swept him into an embrace.
"Oh, Nick~!" The red in Vash's cheeks made a perfect contrast to the green of his coat, as he hugged Wolfwood even tighter. "I'm so glad to hear that! I can't wait to be Twinkle again next year!"
"Mgfhhotugh – !" Wolfwood returned (the translation of which will remain undisclosed for reasons of decency), but before he could free himself, Uncle Steve came up to them, tears in his eyes.
"Yer not really Santa," he said accusingly. An expression of dismay touched Vash's face and he let the priest go.
"Are you shitting me?" Wolfwood said once he could breathe again. "Of course I'm not Santa, Santa isn't – " He stopped himself, just in time. "I mean – listen, Steve. Santa's a busy man. He needs guys to pose as him once in a while in order to collect all the kids' toy requests. I was just being a nice guy and filling in."
"Y'speak truly?" Uncle Steve said, a lilt of hope in his voice. Wolfwood nodded, and then he found himself in yet another bone-crushing embrace as Steve's frying pan-sized hands closed around his waist. Vash, the great idiot, took the opportunity to hug him again, and then it was a dogpile of love as Annie and her dad joined in.
And Wolfwood would never admit it, but that moment helped him realize it was one of the best Christmases he'd ever had.
(Now if he could just convince Millie to stand under the mistletoe a little later...)