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fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years ago

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Red Right Hand XII

—

It had taken all of an hour upon receiving the telegram from her mother in the early hours of the morning for Shada to be dressed and headed for the door of the townhouse. It had taken another hour for her to convince the adamant man that she was leaving, regardless of his own movements, and then another before they were both piled onto the first train to Birmingham.

As the train rattled along the tracks, she found herself shaking slightly whenever the thought that she could have lost her entire family the day before while she was miles away. Miles away and unable to do anything to stop it. Her shakes had only slowed when her hands were held in the friendly, warm palms of the other, who spent the train ride staring out the window or at her reflection in the window, she could not be sure.

The dark haired pair alit from the train as soon as the conductors called it safe, and Shada found the taller man pushing the crowds back from them and making a path for her through those milling about the station. His curly dark hair was easy to follow through the push of bodies. It was moments before they were out on the side walk where Shada took over, leading the way through back alleys and main streets alike as quickly as possible towards the south part of the city where her mother had warned her her brothers would be sitting ducks.

“Shada..Should we be doing this?” “Probably not, but I’ll be damned if I allow them to be so cottonbrained as to get themselves killed.” “Won’t… A shoot out is not a place for a lady.” “Well it is for this one, now come along!”

Shada found herself having the same argument for the twentieth time that morning as the bell tower struck the midday hour. She found herself having to grab the other’s arm and tug him to maintain her quick pace through the city hoping she would not be too late.

There was a loud noise, somewhere from the direction they were heading towards, and the other appeared to draw up short, tugging on her arm to a halt. Blue eyes were blown wide as the man shook and stared towards the direction of the sound, where a plum of smoke was beginning to rise to above the rooftops. Shada could see the fear in his face, but tugged her hand free and found herself, feet pounding as fast as they could carry her, towards the smoke’s origin.

“Shada!” She could hear the shout coming from behind her as the other chased after her, fear filling his voice, but the brunette could not stop. She knew her brothers would be near the source, something telling her it was the start for something horrible.

As the pair rounded the corner to the street leading to the pub her brother owned and frequented, Shada could see the glow of fire and the two groups of men facing off halfway along the road. The dark haired man caught up to her at that point, an arm wrapping around her waist as he stared past her to the flames and tugged her back around the corner from the danger.

“I.. you can’t.. This isn’t… Firing.. Not for you..” Amon’s disjointed words and thoughts were evident, eyes darting about the place from her face to the golden light playing on the streetfronts nearby to the dark smoke in the sky. His hands shook where he was holding her back against the wall, as they would back in London at a loud sound. “Supposed to look after you.”

“Well then, you’ll just need to come with me then.” Shada bit back, jaw set stubbornly as she pushed out past the other again around the corner and began walking determinedly towards the group of men.

As she reached the back of the group only just recovering to their feet, the dark haired girl weaved her way between them to storm across towards her brothers. “Move!” She kicked one of the men in a dark jacket on the way past that did not move from her path quick enough. “I said move!”

“What the fuck are you doing?!” The shout came from Jackson, gun trained still upon the rising Catholics and Black Eyes that were watching on in confusion.

Shada glared towards him and then each of her brother’s in turn, before looking back towards their opponents who were shuffling their feet but held their guns ready but unaimed in their arms. She was not surprised when the looks of confusion turned to anger as her own personal shadow pushed through them to reach her side as she surveyed the lot of them. “I believe this is called No Man’s Land-”

“Shada, what the fuck are you doing?” “Shut up, Jackson, I’m making a poin-” “Amon, get her the fuck out of there!” “I said shut up!”

Both siblings snapped back and forth, Shada drawing herself up as straight as she could as she pointed a finger back at her dark haired brother. As the man beside her moved as if to grab her again, she turned that hand to him with a fierce glare, snarling. “Don’t you dare move me until I’ve had my say.” Looking past him and back at the congregation of gangsters opposing her family, she glared towards them as well. “Don’t any of you dare interrupt me until I am finished - you are all equally blinded in this foolishness and I will say my part for myself, my family and all of yours!”

“Someone get the girl out of here.” The eldest of the men standing in their black coats smirked, jerking a hand at his dark haired son with a mean laugh. As the boy stepped forward, Shada found her own guard stepping forward to meet him despite the shake of his hands.

“I will not get out of here, and you will listen to me - if not for yourselves, but for your wives, your sons, and your daughters.” Her eyes flickered between each of the men’s faces - the leader of the Catholics appeared to take a step back as she hissed the word ‘wives’, and a few of the others moved likewise as she continued speaking; turning she could see her eldest brother’s face slip a little from the dark glare he had been sending her for her interruption. Shada rolled her shoulders as she found her voice quivering staring down the many guns aimed at her.

“You all may have valid reasons to be here, to be angry and want blood, but is this worth your lives? Is this worth all of those who will be impacted by this? Is this your fight, or is this someone else’s and are you willing to leave those behind for it? You all fought in France, you all have faced this down once - is this really worth your lives?I”

—

’Is this really worth your lives? ’

The words echoed through the two sides, and judging by the slight frowns on a few of the Catholics faces, he thought that perhaps there may be a chance for the situation to disperse without any shots being fired. That as Jackson looked across the cobblestone field at the uncertain faces of their opponents, that perhaps his sister would be the one to bridge the fight. To cut through the egos of his brother’s and their rivals.

“The girl is right,” the older, faintly greying man from the Black Eyes group said, stepping forward to a place beside their normal leader. Azazel appeared to smile at the dark haired girl kindly before his eyes travelled to the tall blond shadow, with a shift to a dark smirk. “There is no need for all of us to die, just those few responsible.”

Time appeared to slow as the Black Eyes raised his arm, pistol directly at Michael before the sound of the gun shot filled the street. Jackson could see his brother jerk beside him, and raising his own gun as the man turned his pistol towards him as well, felt as if time had stopped entirely.

This was not how he wanted it to end, this was not when he was to go. Everything had, finally, fallen into place; for the first time since he had read his conscription letter; for the first time since he had dug through the mud with the sticky brown substance coating his face; for the first time since he had read the letter of his childhood sweetheart’s death; for the first time since he felt his insides flooding out in hot, bloody bursts; for the first time since he had set foot back on English soil; for the first time since he’d breathed in the haze inducing black smoke; for the first time since brown eyes had sparkled at him. His world had finally started to match up to his ambitions for it, and as the barrel pointed towards him, Jackson felt he would give anything for another day.

The sound of two gunshots rung in his ears, and he found himself squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of the pain that would tear through him.

It never came. There was a girlish scream.

Blinking his eyes opened, Jackson felt his heart plumet as he saw the dark brown hair in front of his face and the dark red patch soaking through the back of the dark brown coat. The shorter man was before him, gun raised and ready for the fight, as he stumbled backwards into the other. Catching him under the arms, Jackson found himself blinking across the distance before them to see the older man who had fired dead on the ground with a bullet hole between his eyes. Looking back down, he didn’t focus on anything but applying pressure to the oozing wound in the left side of the other’s chest.

“Harry? Harry, stay with me.” Pressing down hard, he did not care for the noise or disruption happening around the pair. Leaning over the other, Jackson tried to ignore the sticky, wet feeling spreading through and across his fingers as he tried to reassure the barman. The machine gun lay across the man’s torso, hands still firm upon the weapon as they had always been in the tunnels as they’d worked together, coated in mud and swallowed by the darkness in the dimly lit world they’d lived for four years. Brown eyes were glazed as Jackson looked into his friend’s face, small gasps filling his ears as the other struggled to breathe. “Harry, we’ll get you help, just..hold on, okay?”

“Okay..” The words sounded raw and rattled through the other’s chest under his hands, the grip on the machine gun loosening as he tried to nod.

Jackson found himself looking up for the first time in how long he didn’t know, eyes searching for the closest person to run for help. What he saw would have surprised him if he could feel anything else at that moment.

Shada had been thrown to the ground by his friend, the curly haired man hovering over her and covering the girl from any harm. A hand was even behind her head between her and the ground, protecting her from the ground as Amon stared around wide eyed and shaking at the turmoil above. His sister was shaking as well, hands gripped tightly over her mouth as she stared back across at where there brother was.

Michael was laid out on the street, holding a hand to his shoulder to stem the bleeding from the first, wide and inaccurate shot. His shirt was slowly turning red where the blood trickeled, and could be seen coming through to the dark grey coat he wore. His face was a grimace, determined to conceal the pain he had to be in, as he stared across at their rivals.

Only Jeffrey remained on his feet, gun still up and pointed across the space towards the other group. There was the unmistakable blood thristy grin on his face that screamed for anyone to give him yet another reason to pull the trigger at them.

Turning to look across at the rivals, Jackson was unsurprised to see noone had rushed to the man who had fired the first two shots. The man’s son had taken two steps back and away from the group as a whole, while the other’s except their leader had already fled down the street into the darkness. The leader of the Black Eyes gang was in a silent battle of wills with Michael, staring the other down but with his pistol already dropped from its raised position.

The other group had also fallen back a few steps, Castiel and Uriel both leaning forward to speak in each of their leader’s ears. All three shared the same thoughtful look as they surveyed the streetscape in front of them with a level of distaste.

“Has enough blood been shed?” Michael’s voice broke the silence that had wafted over the men. The only other sounds in the street being the quiet sobbing of the girl and the rattling, horrible gasps of the barman. “Will we have the opportunity to handle this as gentlemen?”

“I believe we are done here.” Gabriel’s voice replied, though Jackson barely heard it as he turned his attention back to his friend. The shallow gasps had begun to slow as the effort to continue and the slick sound of lungs filling with blood as much as air with each breath reminded Jackson of the men that would be brought back on a litter before they would just, cease fighting to stay.

Blue eyes clouding over as he stared down at his friend’s slack face, Jackson finally pulled his hands away from the other’s chest as it sunk down for the last time.

—

‘Dear Jackson,

This wasn’t Let me explai First off I am

Allow me to formally re-introduce myself to you - my name, as you now know, is Joanna; however my full name is Joanna Beth Harvelle. You had written to my Da regularly this year regarding purchasing my beautiful creature ‘Aisling Fhiáin’ for your racing endeavours. I do truly hope he has lived up to your expectations, as he is my first.

By the time you receive this letter, I will already be on my way home to Ireland with my Da and our new precious cargo. I want to thank yourself and your brother Jeffrey for the information needed to locate your arsenal, and to your older brother Michael for owing me a debt. This has now been paid in full.

One has been left behind for your use and protection. I pray to that you do not need it. Please consider my words regarding returning to your life as before. If you dispose of this once it’s use is complete, there will be no evidence for the Investigator to locate, you may continue your life as before without fear.

I wish you to know that I never intended for things to happen as they did. My Da had wished to ensure our outstanding payment regarding Aisling Fhiáin would be agreed upon, and as such I had entered the employ at The Fort in a bid to assess yourself and your brother’s character. In this, I did find him wanting; but you were always a truthful, honest and trustworthy man. For this, it makes me ashamed of how things have transpired. It was never my plan for our interactions to be anything but congenial and professional; it was never my plan for anything that has occurred between us to do so. I never intended to fall for you.

I am sorry for how this has transpired and for any pain this revelation may cause you, Jackson. You and I were never supposed to be part of this. I could not help myself, and it just…happened.

I am leaving on the south road. I am leaving the city. I am going home and expect to remain away for some time. I intend to return when the payment is due on Aisling Fhiáin, however if you wish me to come to stay away, please let me know - you can address mail to myself to Cork. I am aware that I am taking the cowards way out however I may not be able to speak the words aloud if you let me.

Tá brón orm, tá mo chroí istigh ionat, Joanna

—

She had held out a full day before reading the letter.

Life had been busy as Michael had been brought back to the little house he had once lived in supported by a brother on each side. The doctor had arrived and left within an hour, and had even complimented her daughter on her bedside manner as the girl had helped with the removal of the bullet and dressing of the wound. The girl had been somewhat withdrawn but her chin would jut out stubbornly at the slightest comment from any of her brothers as she moved about the house, making it more homely with tea and fresh flowers by the time morning rolls around.

Her other two sons were equally concerning for her - Jeffrey moved around the house like a storm, crackling with electricity and danger, ready to strike at any moment. It took all of her patience as she forced Michael to remain resting on the lounge to stop from striking the fierce dark haired man in return as he snapped, snarled and stalked about the house. Jackson on the other hand, had disappeared from the house for two hours before returning without a word. She did not think she had heard him speak one sylable since he had arrived with his brothers and sister. He was withdrawn and quiet in such a way she had not seen even after the war.

That morning she had sat at the breakfast table before day break, kettle on the stove and toast heating in the fireplace, and had slipped open the letter. Eleanor had found herself holding a hand to her mouth at several moments, realising both the harm and good the words may make to the intended recipient. The girl’s writing was not particularly pretty, not delicate and drips of ink splattered the pages messily in serval places. If Eleanor was not mistaken, there may have been water dropped near the bottom of the page, but she could not make that judgement herself.

Folding the pages back up, she slid the letter back into her skirt pocket with a sigh as she began to work on the breakfast for the family when they would rise in an hour.

Shada joined her not long after, bustling about the kitchen with the efficiency of two women that had performed the same dance and procedure every day together. The next to arrive was Ian, with sleep still in the corner of his eyes and his hair mussed, to sink into one of the more rattly chairs at the table.

Over the next hour her two dark haired sons slunk into the kitchen, one still a scowling nightmare despite his own sleep-rumpled appearance, while the other appeared not to have slept a wink. Dark circles made the blue in his eyes stand out more as he sat, staring vacantly across the room.

As Shada finalised the toast and piled it high on a plate for the table alongside a jar of preserves and several pieces of bacon, Eleanor spotted her eldest finally entering the room with his arm held in a sling across his front to support it as he recovered. The whole family sat about the table for the first time in six weeks, and the matirach couldn’t help but wish nothing had changed since the last time they had done so.

“I just don’t understand where the guns went.” Michael muttered darkly as he spread marmalade across his toast, the same grumbling he had been making ever since the bullet had been removed from his shoulder. “Nobody could have known.”

Eleanor felt like her ears were burning and as if the folded letter in her pocket was about to catch on flame as she rubbed at it, adding a spoonful of honey to her tea as she hummed in agreement.

“I didn’t tell no one about the guns,” Jeffrey growled in response, his plate piled with bacon alongside the fried eggs each plate had. “Let alone about them being in Amon’s grave.”

“Can we not speak about graves right now?” Shada quipped up, daintily pouring tea into her other dark haired brother’s cup as he appeared to flinch at the word both times. She added the dash of milk he always wanted before pouring her own tea as well.

Michael growled from his end of the table at the head seat, looking down at the rest of them with a frown. “We must, Shada. We have to find out who has recovered the weapons, before they use them against us.”

“Perhaps… is there anyone who may have heard in one way or another about the machine guns?” Eleanor asked quietly, eyes flicking once across at Jackson as he slowly reached for his tea cup. She sighed gently before adding once he had reset the cup after his sip, “Anyone at all any of you may have inadvertently told? Michael, you must admit there were rumours, and if someone had heard, it would not be anyone’s fault.”

Michael’s frown deepened as he stared back at her for a long moment before he took a bite of his breakfast thoughtfully. “If someone was overheard, that would not be the cause of them being found.”

“Joanna…” Jackson whispered the word, but it felt like a shout to Eleanor’s ears as she stared across at her son. His voice was hoarse and sounded painful from the tightness in the word itself. “I.. Joanna knew of them - Beth, Michael. She overheard me speaking with the Investigator to form an agreement regarding their purchase.” He pushed at the food on his plate disinterestedly, egg yolk breaking and spreading golden across the white, cracked ceramic. “I went to see her. She was gone. I don’t know how it’s related, how she would know about Amon-”

“Oh fuck, that gypsy whore…” The curse came from the other dark haired brother, Jeffrey gripping his knife tightly as he stared down at the table top, interrupting the other. His knuckles cracked harshly over the sound of cutlery from the youngest boy. “Fuck, she.. she helped with the books. Asked about Amon’s payments. That fucking pikey bitch!”

Two pairs of blue eyes stared across the table at one another, neither daring to glance to their side to face their elder brother in that moment. It was as if the room rested on a pinhead, the air sucked out of the room in an instant and the atmosphere almost suffocating as each realised their involvement, if at all.

“And you both thought you could trust a lying, murdering fucking barmaid with these secrets?!” Micheal’s voice started almost whisper quiet before building as he pushed himself to his feet, good hand smashed into the tabletop making cups jump and tea splash into saucers. “Are you two completely incapable of keeping your mouths shut around a pretty face? I expected better from you, Jackson.” The last words were growled as the blond loomed over his youngest brother, hand in a fist close to the other’s face. Leaning in, Michael snarled before hissing, “You killed your friend with this.”

“Michael, that is too far!” Shada’s voice shrieked out, eyes wide and mouth open in shock at the accusation. However from the look on the other’s face, Jackson agreed with the words from his brother, eyes fixed on the table top and lips pressed tightly closed.

“Not far enough!” The blond snarled back at his sister with a sneer as he moved away from the table towards the coat rack. Shrugging his coat over his shoulders, Michael glared towards the rest of them, back as straight and shoulders pulled back as tall and broad as he could with the injury. “And now I will need to clean up you morons messes.”

There was a tense silence that filled the room as the eldest stormed from the house with a slam of the front door. The breakfast had turned to ash in the mouths of each of those at the table, and no amount of tea could help wash it away.

Jeffrey stood after a while, beckoning his nephew to join him as they departed to check on the other Shadows around the city. Shada scurried out of the kitchen towards the room she had claimed as her own, the only one of the family with clothes or items left fter the fire, on the premise of getting re-dressed for the day. Jackson remained at the table for almost half an hour before he finally rose, and seemed to disappear from the room in a flash of his grey suit, still blood speckled from the day before.

Eleanor began tidying away the remains of their uneaten breakfast, dividing parts between what could be used for another meal and what would need to be utelised for the chickens and compost out back. As she finalised these moves, she stood over the fireplace thoughtfully before reaching into her pocket and depositing the folded letter into the flames.

—

It felt strange to be sitting back on the worn wooden seat again. Almost as if a lifetime had passed since she had last sat beside the other, traversing up the muddy hillside road away from the smoke, dust and stench of the city behind them. Or perhaps, it just felt as if her life had tilted sharply left since her arrival in the city, as if the rough bounce of the wooden wheels upon the road was from a paralel girl’s life and not her own.

Shrugging the thought off, Joanna pulled the crochet blanket tighter about her as she snuggled into the other’s side, head resting upon a broad shoulder. The man beside her gave a small huffed noise before wrapping his arm around her.

“Good ta have you back now, Joey girl.” “Sure thing Da, good ta be headin’ home finally.” “Will be good ta be back to normal, darlin’, away from all that danger and smoke.”

“Sure thin’ Da.” Joanna replied again, mumbling into his shoulder as he directed the Cob along the road. They had stayed in the field they had first arrived to overnight, and she had found herself missing the convenience of a private place to bathroom and the warmth from sleeping indoors with a fire going overnight. As they had moved about packing up the caravan in the early, misty morning, she had found herself missing the quiet time she would spend having a cup of tea and baking scones every other day. As they climbed onto the driving seat and settled in for the road ahead, she found herself missing the short stroll from flat to the park she frequented before work - where she would sit on the dewy grass and connect to what she now felt so disconnected from.

William Harvelle seemed aware of the discontent in the girl beside him, if the look he shot her, arm tightening around her waist for a moment in a comforting squeeze. The pair lapsed into silence as they made their way up the hill to the crest that would lead them away. Joanna leant out clearing the side of the caravan’s width to look back down the road towards the dark brick city one final time before they passed the top of the hill and began along the other side.

“About time for a song don’tcha think?” “What ‘bout, Da?” “Any you fancy, darlin’.”

The blonde girl frowned slightly at her father’s request, though it was not at all unusual for the pair to trade off crooning as they made their way across the countryside previously. Her mother had always sung, and after her death they had both taken turns replacing the quiet of her absence. Shrugging out from her father’s hold, Joanna tugged the blanket around her shoulders tigher before starting in on the sombre tune.

“I sat within a valley green, I sat there with my true love, My sad heart strove the two between, The old love and the new love, -

The old for her, the new that made Me think of Ireland dearly, While soft the wind blew down the glade And shook the golden barley.”

She sang quietly to begin with, growing louder as they made their way down the other side of the hill. If her father thought anything of her choice of tune, he did not seem to react, simply guiding the horse before them on their way. A revolutionary’s song from the last failed rebellion seemed almost fitting to her, especially the dark themes of loss she could feel bubbling beneath her own surface matching those of the tune. Bill’s foot tapped in time along with her as they crossed between golden wheat and green pasture fields on either side.

Joanna had barely begun the last verse when the quiet of the countryside was disrupted by the roar of an automobile approaching behind them. The blare of the horn caught both their attentions, and Bill slowly guided the horse to the side of the road to allow the other to pass. The horse threw its head back, but otherwise remained calm as the traveller slipped from from his seat to soothe the beast with a hand to its neck and quiet Irish mumbled in it’s ear.

The car roared past them, before drawing to a halt turned across the road blocking their path.

Brown eyes widened as she recognised the vehicle and then the tall driver pulling himself out of the vehicle.

“Where are they, you pikey bitch?!” The blond man’s voice cut over every other sound, like a large rock thrown into a calm lake, rippling out across the country side as he stalked from the car.

Joanna found herself sliding off the driver’s bench into the muddy grass at the side of the road as her father stared at the approaching man venomously. She left the crochet blanket on the seat as she turned to face her accuser with a blank face.

“Gone, Michael. The boys left wit’ them two days past. Probably already on th’ boats to Ireland.” She sounded infinitely more confident than she felt, feet firmly planted in the uneven ground as she slipped her hand into her jacket pocket, brown eyes glaring back into his. Joanna found herself stepping forward away from the safety of the caravan into the centre of the road, approaching him as much as he was her. “It’s too late ta stop’em now.” She glanced away for a moment, before a tiny smirk bloomed across her face as the other man stormed forward still, uninjured arm drawing his pistol towards her. Staring down the length of it, Joanna shrugged one shoulder. “I told ye that ye’d pay one day, Michael. That ye’d pay for what you tried ta do ta me.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her father moving along the horse’s side towards the caravan slowly, silently, with the practised movement of one used to not drawing attention when he wanted to. She could tell he was moving towards the shotgun stored beneath the driver’s bench, however turning her attention back to the furious blond, she knew he would not reach it in time as the hammer was drawn back and the barrel pointed straight at her chest.

The wind blew around them, whistling across the fields with a ghostly cry, tugging the loose tendrils around her face into the air. Breathing in sharply, Joanna stared down the other, eyes wide and focussed.

As she released the breath, the sharp crack of the gunshot rolled out across the countryside.

—

#AU stories #peakyverse fic

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