#tombstone fanfic

[rattledazzlebones]

The first chapter of my Tombstone fic has been posted!! I'll drop a little excerpt here for anyone who's curious :)

Carson City was a beautiful city, if a bit too busy for Doc’s tastes. He was unused to being so far west, but he found the dry air helped with his lungs as long as he avoided the deserts. Which, unfortunately, was near impossible. But in such civilized places like Carson City, he’d be hard-pressed to find a patch of sand within city limits.

Riding in with half the Nevada desert stuck to both his clothes and his poor horse, Keats, he was only grateful he’d had the foresight to tug a bandana over his mouth and nose before he started his journey across the dunes. Despite the extra layer between him and the elements, his breathing beneath the bandana was more haggard than usual, and he was slumped forward in the saddle over his horse from the long ride. Despite preferring to ride his own horse over taking a stagecoach most often, even his body was beginning to feel saddle sore from the long journey.

Him and Kate had a bit of a… falling out, a few weeks prior. Doc had wanted to move on from Prescott, sick of the hustle and bustle and the Godawful heat interspersed with a truly atrocious amount of Bible-thumpers. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the law had begun cracking down on crime with an upsurge in recruitment. Needless to say, Doc had felt suffocated on all fronts and was practically begging Kate to leave. Unfortunate for him, yet fortunate for her, business was great for her in Prescott, and she was loath to leave. She wanted to build up her savings again, having not worked since their brief stay in Dodge City. Doc admitted to himself, rather reluctantly, that he’d definitely mishandled the situation, and his lonely exile was his own fault.

[wr1t3w1tm3]

Tombstone Reveal

Morgan: What's the future like? Gigi: You know how Doc lives his life? Doc: *glowers* Gigi: subtract the tuberculosis and add the everybody knows and that's most of America circa 2023. I know nothing post 2023 because I refuse to believe it's been years since then but I digress. Wyatt: *Cocks eyebrow at Doc* Virgil: *Hard eye roll and grunt* Morgan: *speechless* Gigi: Yee-haw.

[sgt-tombstone]

When Johnny asked Simon to come home with him on leave, he had never expected… this.

Johnny’s flat in Glasgow was a tiny thing, barely large enough to fit one, much less two massive soldiers. They made it work well enough, as long as neither of them minded being constantly wrapped up in each other, always within reach, and neither of them did. Their last mission had gone to hell in a heartbeat, and the 141 were lucky to be alive; Price had sent them all home on mandated medical leave, and Simon and Johnny were taking full advantage of the time off base to reacquaint themselves with each other being present and tangible and alive.

That didn’t change the fact, though, that his flat was only slightly larger than a postage stamp, which was fine for a few days, but he had sensed Simon getting antsy, feeling caged in, and had suggested visiting his parents for a couple of days, if only to get out of the house. It wouldn’t be any less oppressive—the MacTavish family was massive and overbearing on the best of days—but it would offer some reprieve from the near-constant contact and the stifling city.

Which was how Johnny found himself staring down at his lieutenant, his partner, curled up on his back on his parents’ couch, fast asleep, a green dinosaur stuffed animal clutched against his chest.

It didn’t look particularly comfortable; Simon was too tall, his legs too long, to be able to stretch out completely, so his knees were hiked up, his socked feet flat against the cushioned armrest. His neck was at an odd angle, resulting in his chin nearly touching his own shoulder, his unmasked cheek squished slightly where it was pressed against the leather. And the stuffed animal…

Johnny had bought it as a gift for one of his nephews, a toddling bairn who had struggled with nightmares, and the shopkeep who sold it to him had assured him that the little beads in the dinosaur’s tummy would provide enough weight to be a comfort without being dangerous. Evidently, his nephew had taken one look at Simon Riley and decided that the scarred soldier needed it more than he did.

Both of Simon’s arms were wrapped around the soft toy, squishing it against his chest, rising and falling with every slow, deep breath. He looked at peace in a way that Johnny hadn’t seen him look in a long time. They had spent the day surrounded by fussing family members and babbling children, their attentions split between warm homemade meals and whatever trinkets had caught the toddlers’ interest. Johnny would’ve felt bad; he was long used to his family’s antics, had grown up surrounded by siblings and cousins and extended relatives. But Simon had taken to it like a duck to water, effortlessly shifting focus from one person to another, treating each with equal sincerity and devotion, the same way he did in the field. It had been a delight to watch, especially when his mam and sisters had taken advantage of Simon’s distraction to shoot Johnny knowing glances.

“Gonna stand there all night, sergeant?”

Johnny startled, not enough to move, but enough to send his heart rate skyrocketing. He recovered quickly though, too well trained to do anything else. Simon hadn’t moved, hadn’t even opened his eyes, and it would’ve unnerved him if he hadn’t spent the last two years cementing himself as a permanent fixture in Simon’s life and, therefore, becoming incredibly used to his partner’s uncanny sense of perception. Even, apparently, while asleep.

“Just wonderin’ if Gaz’d ever believe me if I told him, sir.”

“Take a picture,” Simon grumbled, his voice deep with sleep. “It’ll last longer.”

Johnny snorted a quiet laugh, already imagining the look on his fellow sergeant’s face. He didn’t pull his phone out, though, just like Simon knew he wouldn’t. These moments were for the two of them alone, raw and bare and soft.

“Let’s go to bed, love,” he whispered, reaching out to run his hand through Simon’s hair. It was tangled from the grasping of tiny, fisted fingers throughout the day (Johnny’s nephews had never seen blond hair before and, as such, had been absolutely enraptured by Simon’s head of golden hair), and he didn’t mention the way Simon pushed into his hand, seeking touch and warmth like a cat. He also didn’t mention the way Simon continued to hug the stuffed animal to his chest as he unfurled his long legs, stretching slightly, his knees popping, before drawing himself up to his usual towering height. His eyes were half-lidded with sleep, soft in a way he rarely allowed himself to be, the green dinosaur tucked safely in his arms as he followed Johnny upstairs.

In a week, they will be back on base, back to their tactical gear and their sidearms and their razor-sharp focus. They will be shipped out to some foreign soil, either sweltering heat or numbing cold, either dry deserts or soaking rainforests, and blood will be spilled, probably their own, definitely their enemy’s. They will once again be hardened soldiers, products of war, and there will be no room for such softness. Which was why Johnny reveled in the way Simon curled around him now, in a bed two sizes too small for two muscular men, a warm blanket blocking out the worst of the Scottish chill, a green weighted dinosaur stuffed animal clutched in two massive arms against an equally massive chest.

He tucked his nose against the nape of his partner’s neck, one arm thrown over Simon’s hip, and drifted off to the quiet sound of breathing, of comfort, of peace.

[murphy-kitt]

like like a tombstone (yet secrets will bloom) - Chapter 13

—

Word Count: 2,205

-

They shouldn’t be receiving this news. It should be the real parents of the poor boy in the park. Then again, what does that say about the parents? Their teenage son buried, forgotten. Walked by—possibly even on top of—on the daily, but never noticed.

What if one day, her and Jack receive this news about Danny? He’s still missing. She should file a report. She should.

-

So finally after a year I’ve made a reappearance with this fic! I’ve been super busy with uni & academic stuff but I’m really pleased to have this out. There was a bit of writers block too, since this is my longest multi chapter & I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go with it. So I just..procrastinated on it for ages and got stuck on a scene for ages lol.

[angelinthefire]

Thinking of a version of 13x04 The Big Empty where Mia the shapeshifter therapist offers to appear to Dean as someone he lost, and he looks like he's going to turn her down, but then he hesitates, and gives her this long evaluating look. And then the scene cuts, and you think Mia is going to appear as Mary, because that's who they were talking about before. You see Dean's reaction, and it's this blank kind of shock, because he was expecting to see what he sees, but he didn't realize how it would hit him. And you hear "Hello Dean". And it's Cas. And he doesn't look right, Mia doesn't have his mannerisms, and she doesn't have the outfit, just a plain white button-down and dark slacks, but she looks enough like him. Dean's about to say something, but he can't. He just swallows and grits his jaw and stares. And Mia/Cas says something like "I'm sorry I left you, I know it's hard. But I love you; and that love will stay with you." And you the viewer don't think too too much of the word "love", because Cas has used it before, love like family, love like friends. But anyways, Dean hears that and he frowns, like he's trying to internalize it, he's trying to get some closure out of this, but he can't. He shuts his eyes, with furrowed brows, and he's regretting that he agreed to this at all. And then Mia/Cas moves closer to Dean. She puts her hand on his cheek, and Dean sucks in a breath but he keeps his eyes closed. And then she leans in and kisses him so, so softly. Because she thinks they were like that. And at first Dean trembles at the kiss, but he keeps his eyes closed and lets it happen. Only after a few seconds does he jerk back, wide-eyed, looking terrified. And of course Mia/Cas is immediately worried and sorry that she made a mistake, and she says "Dean--" and is about to apologize. But Dean just turns around and storms out. Dean rushes away from the house, breathing hard like he'd just lost a fight. He gets in the car and slams the door. And his expression collapses, hes looks shattered, and he gasps, shaken and hurting, and tears run down his face.

And that's it. No further discussion or explanation of what happened. No comment from Dean. And then 13x05 Advanced Thanatology happens as normal.

[supernatural-sophia]

In honor of the archive being down today, here is a oneshot that I posted to ao3

Tombstone 

Dean’s phone started ringing and he was willing to do anything to get out of an awkward conversation with Sam. 

“Hello,” Dean says with a gruff in his voice. 

“Hello, Dean.” Dean almost crashes his car. Sam looks at him with wide and concerned eyes but Dean is already turning the car around. 

“Stay where you are. We are coming to get you,” Dean says doing a U-turn so fast his car left marks on the ground. Dean didn’t hang the phone up or set it down; he kept it held up to his ear just to hear the person on the other end breathing. If this was some sort of cruel joke from God, Dean wouldn’t survive. He ignored his brother’s angry questions, lost in thought until they turned down a road. Sam knew where this road took them and started getting concerned that Dean had lost it. Then he saw the figure in the phonebooth; A tall man dressed in a tan trench coat. Dean barely had the car stopped before he opened the door and jumped out. 

“Cas, is that really you?” Dean couldn’t stop his voice from cracking with emotion. 

“No. You're – you're dead,” Sam stuttered trying to protect Dean from any more heartbreak. This had to be a shifter or some sort of demon trying to mess with them. 

“Yeah, I was. But then I… annoyed an ancient cosmic being so much that he sent me back,” Cas said with humor in his voice. Dean’s eyes noticeably had water in them. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Sam stood in awe. 

“I do. Welcome home, pal,” Dean hugged Cas tightly, breathing in his scent of ozone and forest before letting go. Sam gives a quicker, less intimate hug to Cas. 

“How long was I gone?” Cas asked, seeing the way Dean was practically shaking in his presence. 

“Too damn long,” Dean replies with a smile 

-

“How did it go?” Jack asks, not looking up from his computer. He already assumes it went well judging by the fact that the bunker door closed and didn’t slam. 

“Well…” Dean said suddenly embarrassed of how he treated the kid. 

“Jack, um..” Sam stumbled over his words trying to explain what had just happened. Jack looks up from his computer with fear in his eyes. He thought it went well. Had he misunderstood again? 

“What’s wrong?” He panicked. 

“Hello, Jack,” Castiel said with a small smile on his normally stoic face. 

“Castiel?” Jack said, trying to hide the hope in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Cas sighs. “It’s me.” They were all overjoyed with Cas being back and Jack wanted to show off his skills to his chosen father. He drags Cas over to a table where a pencil sits still before it starts to levitate for a few moments before Jack giggles, letting it fall back down. Cas quirks an eyebrow but says nothing. 

“I found a case. Hunter’s case,” Jack said, beaming with pride and excitement. 

“What kind of-”

“Zombies!” Jack says confidently to Cas only. “I know what Zombies are now,” He whispered with a grin. 

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Dean asked with suspicion in his voice. 

“By watching you. And Sam,” Jack exclaims, excited to see a side of Dean that wasn’t drunken anger. “Three days ago, a vintage pocket watch with a personal inscription was sold at a pawn shop. But when they went to authenticate it, they found out that it'd been buried with its owner… 20 years ago. And when they checked out the grave, it was empty. Which means… The dead are rising in Dodge City, Kansas.” 

Dean could hear cowboy music playing the moment Dodge City was meantoned and made up his mind to go. He could see Cas in a cowboy hat just like all the movies they have watched. Cas glanced over at Dean, seemingly knowing what Dean was thinking. Dean blushed, embarrassed to be caught with the joy of dreams on his face, but Cas only smiled softly before looking back over to a confused Jack. 

Jack didn’t understand how Dean and Castiel seemed to have a full conversation without words when Jack couldn't ever get a normal one in with Dean as it was. He looked up at Sam for clarification, but Sam had a more awkward look on his face. 

“Right. O-or maybe it’s a-a grave robbery,” Sam stuttered 

“Oh,” Jack’s face fell but then Dean spoke up with a tone of voice Jack had not yet heard from him. 

“Yeah, but we should probably check it out,” Dean said, not thinking it really was Zombies, but just wanting a Cowboy vacation. 

“Wait. Really?” Cas asked towards Dean, giving another knowing look. 

“Yeah, we've done more on less. Besides Dodge City's kind of, uh, kind of awesome,” Dean blushed with excitement. “All right, well… two salty hunters, one half-angel kid, and a dude who just came back from the dead. Again. Team Free Will 2.0. Here we go.” 

-

“All right, this is supposed to be the best room in the joint,” Dean grins, shoving his key into the door. When he flips the light on, he couldn't help but show his excitement. “Oh, ho! The Wild Bill suite!” Dean exclaimed and Sam just gave a sarcastic ‘wow’ in response. Dean was laughing with delight as he looked at all the cowboy decor. If he could have had a room as a kid, it would have been decked out just like this. 

“He really likes cowboys,” Jack says quietly to Castiel in some sort of confusion. He expected his father, who Sam explained had a hard time with human interactions as well, to have a similar confused expression, but he only saw one of deep love. 

“Yes. Yes, he does,” Cas smiles adoring Dean from afar. 

-

Dean was in the bedroom now, unpacking all his cowboy gear he brought. 

“I still can’t believe you brought your own hat,” Sam shook his head as his brother said that he should have brought one as well. “You’re in a good mood, huh?” Sam was trying to get something out of Dean, even if he wasn’t sure what it was yet. 

“Yeah. And?” Dean asked, no longer unpacking his bags. 

“Nothing. No, no, I-I-I just, uh… you've been having a rough go, so it's… it's good to see you smile,” Sam said trying not to send Dean back into another episode. 

“Well, I said I needed a big win. We got Cas back. That's a pretty damn big win,” Dean grinned a bigger smile than Sam had seen in years. Suddenly it clicked in Sam’s brain and we wondered why he hadn’t figured it out sooner. 

“Yeah. Fair enough.”

-

Jack and Cas were having a sweet heart to heart when the next alert for the case popped up. Jack jumped up excitedly to wake Dean, against the protests of his father. 

“Dean? Dean?” Jack attempted to wake up a sleeping Dean. Dean pulls out a gun from beneath his pillow, aiming it right at Jack’s chest. “No, no, no! Dean! It’s me,” Jack said, trying to get the angry man to calm down. The sound of saloon doors swinging brings Dean’s attention to Castiel standing in the room. Dean set his gun back down and demanded coffee. 

“I told you,” Castiel whispered into Jack’s ear. “He’s an angry sleeper. Like a bear.” Jack wondered how many times Dean had pulled a gun on Cas for waking him up. They all, besides a still grumpy Dean, discuss the case and where to go next. As Castiel stood up to leave with the other men, Dean held up a finger and then pointed to his coffee. Cas sat back down on the couch next to Dean, glad to be back. 

Cas watched as Dean slowly started to perk up. He still had bags under his eyes, but those wouldn’t be fixed from one short night of sleep and some coffee. Cas hadn’t noticed how dark they were when he first saw Dean but noticed it the moment they got back into the bunker. With some of his discussions with Jack over the night, he understood that Dean was not coping very well. 

“Are you alright, Dean?” Castiel asked to see if he could get anywhere with him. He watched as Dean stared into his almost-gone coffee. Cas almost thought he wasn’t going to respond until he noticed that Dean’s eyes had begun to shine. He was holding back tears. 

“I thought you were really gone, man,” Dean said, closing his eyes, and forcing tears away. Cas placed a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder. His hand always seemed to find its way back to where the scar used to be so long ago. He sometimes wished he hadn’t healed it away, especially on days like today when Dean leaned into the touch. 

“I’m back now,” Cas said in a quiet tone to not break the comfortable silence they had mastered over the years. 

“He’s just like you, you know,” Dean said, taking a drink of his coffee before speaking again. “Just-everytime I looked at him, all I saw was you.” Dean opened his eyes and stared into Cas’s bright blue ones. “He has the same beauti- blue eyes,” Dean blushed and looked away trying to cover the Freudian slip. 

“It’s okay Dean. Really,” Cas tried to assure the man who had been so excited previously. “Now, let’s go to the crime scene.” 

-

Dean smiled every time he looked over and saw his angel wearing a cowboy hat. How far he had caused Cas to fall was truly astounding. The only problem was every time he looked over at Cas, his hidden feelings bubbled towards the surface. Ever since he cradled Cas’s limp, dead body in his arms he couldn’t deny their connection. It had only taken one of them dying for him to realize it, but hey better late than never right? They were discussing a strategy when Dean had to lean close to pull the motel’s advertising off Castiel’s hat and Dean’s heart was racing. He hoped Cas couldn’t tell how nervous he suddenly felt. 

“Just act like you’re from Tombstone, okay?” Dean said, trying to calm himself down. 

“The city?” Cas asked. 

“The movie,” Dean sighed. “With Kurt Russell? I made you watch it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The one with the guns and tuberculosis,” Cas said and Dean just rolled his eyes. Then Cas lowered his voice to sound more like a cowboy and quoted, “I’m your Huckleberry.” Cas would have never guessed how flustered it made Dean and Dean tried to hide it as much as he could. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Dean stuttered trying to refocus his thoughts. “Well, it’s good to have you back, Cas.” Dean smiled as he and Cas excited Baby, loving the sound of his cowboy boots on the ground. He loved the way both he and Cas had cowboy hats on and he especially liked it when Cas used cowboy slang, even if he used it incorrectly and was awkward like the entire conversation with the sergeant. 

-

Cas and Dean made it to the motel before Sam and Jack did. Dean put Baby into park but didn’t move to get out of the car. 

“You alright?” Cas asked knowing that Dean wanted to talk, but was trying to find an opening. 

“Yeah, I just…” Dean looked over at the angel who he was mourning a few days ago. “I missed you so much.” Cas could tell that this wasn’t the important thing Dean wanted to say, so he nodded his head, keeping quiet so Dean could still talk. “It was so much harder this time. At first, I couldn’t figure out why, but I was ignoring the one answer that I didn’t want to be true.” 

“Dean,” Cas sighed, putting a comforting hand on Dean’s leg. Dean looked at the hand then back at Cas with wide eyes. Maybe Cas was reading his mind like how he always seemed to do. Dean shifted in his seat so he was facing the angel properly. He moved slowly, putting his hands on Castiel’s face holding him. Then he put his forehead against Cas’s and could feel the tears prickling through his closed eyes. 

Dean wasn’t sure where the courage came from, but when he took his forehead off of Castiel’s he pushed his lips against his best friend’s. Cas had made a small sound of surprise before leaning into the gentle kiss. The moment Dean realized Cas was kissing him back the gentle kiss became a passionate one. It was an inexperienced kiss that was teeth clanking together due to the smile that kept forming on Dean’s lips. 

They slowly gained experience with each other 's as they became more passionate introducing their tongues into the mix. Dean could feel his hands wander over the stupid, dirty trench coat that his angel always wore. He started sliding his hands underneath the trenchcoat, trying to remove it so he could be closer to Cas. 

Cas didn’t seem to mind Dean’s eagerness and almost seemed just as eager. He helped Dean slide off his trenchcoat before letting his hands start to explore Dean’s body. A hunger he had locked away came pouring out as Cas started moving his kisses all around Dean’s face and neck. He gave a spot right under Dean’s jaw a small bite and the sound Dean gave at it made Cas repeat that motion in different spots, slowly sucking on them as well, leaving a dark bruise behind on Dean’s neck. 

“Back seat,” Dean breathed out. Within seconds both men were in the back seat of the Impala clawing at each other’s clothed bodies. Dean was shaking and struggling with the buttons on Cas’s shirt and with a snap of Cas’s fingers, all their clothes were thrown across the Impala leaving both men in just their boxers. “Cas, you tease,” Dean laughed, tugging at Cas’s waistband. 

-

Jack and Sam found a few bitten bones in the cemetery and Sam immediately dragged Jack back to the car they came in. It wasn’t too long of a drive to the motel but must have been long enough because the Impala was in the parking lot. 

“Guess they beat us here,” Sam said, turning into the parking lot, not paying much attention to the Impala as Jack was. 

“Sam!” Jack exclaimed with fear in his voice. 

“What?” Sam turned to look at Jack. 

“Someone is in the impala! Look!” Jack pointed to the impala and Sam squinted to see what Jack was seeing. Then he noticed clothes thrown across the seats, bits of skin, and moving bodies in the windows. Sam paled so noticeably that Jack’s panic doubled. “What? What is it?” 

Sam looked back down at the child in his seat. “Let’s go inside,” Sam said before grabbing Jack’s wrists to pull him out through the driver’s door, putting as much distance between them and the impala as he could. “Sam, what’s going on?” Jack asked as he was being pulled into the motel and Sam went to the front desk asking for a new room. 

“Uh..hey. Can I get another two-bedroom room by the Wild Bill suite, but no shared walls?” Sam asked. The woman quirked an eyebrow before she nodded in understanding. 

“Why do we need a new room?” Jack asked. 

“How old is he?” The woman asked Sam, curious why the man next to him seemed oblivious. 

“Uh.. younger than you think and he..uh…” Sam pointed to his head and the woman nodded again. Jack looked around confused at how Sam and the woman seemed to be having their own conversation that he had no idea what it was about. 

“I’m going to go find Cas and Dean,” Jack said with a huff before Sam grabbed his wrist again. 

“Bad idea, kid. I’ll…uh,” Sam looked to the woman for help but she laughed and pulled up a magazine to read. “I’ll tell you when we get to our room. Just don’t go find them. Not right now.” 

“I don’t understand,” Jack sighed before he let Sam drag him towards their new room. When they got into the room Sam closed the door behind him before hitting his head on it. 

“Now? Really?” He said to himself, but of course, Jack heard. 

“What is going on Sam?” His voice echoed across the room. He was tired of being left out of the conversations that Dean and Cas were having and now the silent conversation that Sam and the woman at the front desk were having. 

“Jack, it’s a bit of a- Um, weird conversation,” Sam said before joining Jack on the end of the bed. 

“I want to know. I feel like everyone else knows something right now that I don’t,” Jack whined. 

“Look, Dean and Cas have a different relationship than the rest of us have with each other,” Sam sighed trying to find the right words. “It’s why Dean was much more of a wreck than I was when Cas died. It’s not that I didn’t miss Cas or didn’t want him back, it’s just different.” 

“Different how?” Jack asked, still not understanding. It seemed like Sam was jumping around the answer without saying it. Before Sam could answer there was a knock at the door. 

“Sammy?” Dean called. 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. Dean opened the door slowly and Jack noticed how disheveled Dean’s clothes were and his hair was a wreck. He also had odd bruises on his neck. 

“Are you okay?” Jack jumped up worried. “Sam, I told you we should have gone and found them! He is hurt!” Jack exclaimed. Dean had wide eyes as Jack healed the random bruises on him and only was blushing while he made eye contact with his brother. 

“How much did you two…?” Dean asked trailing off. 

“I saw enough. Jack saw enough to get confused,” Sam ran a hand through his hair. 

“Where is Cas?” Jack asked watching Dean do the impossible which was stiffen even more. 

“He’s, uh, cleaning the impala,” Dean said, face turning a bright red. 

“Gross,” Sam scoffed, which just got a confused look from Jack who was even more frustrated than before. 

“Any case updates?” Dean tried to change the conversation. 

“Someone explain what’s going on!” Jack boomed to the point where the lights in the room started flickering along with his anger. Dean looked to Sam for help, but Sam was doing the same thing to Dean. Luckily that was when Cas walked in. 

“Why do we have a new room?” He asked. 

“See, Cas doesn’t understand either!” Jack said, calming down knowing he wasn’t the only one confused. 

“Understand what?” Cas gave a quirked eyebrow to Dean. 

“We saw someone in the Impala in the parking lot then Sam made us get a new room and when Dean said you were cleaning Dean was super red and Sam said gross,” Jack rambled. 

“Sam, you of all people should know that sexual relationships are not gross. You seemed to be satisfied having sex with a demon who was poisoning you,” Cas said and both Sam and Dean’s faces were bright red. “You humans confuse me. One day you are bragging about your sexual partners and the next sex is a taboo subject.” 

“Cas! Stop talking about sex!” Dean said, looking extremely uncomfortable with the topic. 

“This is about sex?” Jack asked quietly. He knew what sex was and this didn’t need to be as confusing as a conversation as it needed to be. 

“Yes,” Cas said while Dean replied with “No.” 

“Cas, he’s a kid. Your kid. You want to talk about that right now?” Dean said, still uncomfortable. Cas just rolled his eyes and stepped closer to Jack. 

“Jack, what you saw was Dean and I having personal relations. They are normally supposed to be private and others are not supposed to see, that is why both Sam and Dean are flustered. We will not be talking about this anymore because what happens between Dean and me is no one else's business but our own,” Cas said before walking out of the room to their original suite. Dean stood frozen for a few moments before turning and following Cas. 

“I’m going to shower, Jack. Get cemetery off of me. Then we will discuss the case with them two. Just turn something on the TV for a while.” 

-

An hour later the awkward feeling was gone and Sam handed Dean the bone he found at the cemetery. 

“Leftovers,” Dean scoffed. He tossed the bone to Cas who was explaining what a ghoul was to Jack. They discussed who it could be, but couldn’t think of anyone who fit the bill perfectly. Jack pulled up an image he had found previously while researching, asking if it could be of any help. 

“Holy crap,” Dean said, which gave him a glare from Cas. “That’s Dave Mather.” 

“Who?” Sam asked. 

“Dave Mather. Cowboy. Outlaw. One of the Dodge City Gang,” Dean said with more excitement with every word. He could hear the cowboy music playing in his head as he took down a picture off the wall. “He was one of the greatest gunfighters ever. I mean, he died in 1886, which makes this a little weird, but…” Dean laughed with excitement. “Mysterious Dave Mather. I'm gonna get my boots on. One of the best gunslingers ever! Whoo!” 

Sam rolled his eyes as he watched Dean practically skip around the room getting the supplies. Jack explained that he noticed that there was a picture of Dave and Athena together and said they were probably together. He gave a look to Cas and then Dean, who were staring into each other's eyes. It wasn’t the first time he had seen them give that look and Sam’s reaction, an eye roll and ‘bitch face’ as Dean called them, he had seen them too. 

-

The team went to speak with Athena first, but Dave wasn’t there, but she knew where he was. They rushed to the bank where Dave was robbing and running outside. 

“Two, three, four Hunters! Whoo! Must be my birthday!” Dave exclaimed seeing all of Team Free Will 2.0 waiting for him in the parking lot. A gunfight started out and Jack was excited to help. 

“What the hell?” Dave said after Jack took several shots in the chest. Jack then uses his untrained powers to blast Dave backward, however a security guard was behind him and also got hit in the blast. 

“No!” Jack cried out. “No, no, no, no, no!” He begged for Cas to save the man, but Cas couldn’t bring back life. Even worse, Dave got away. 

-

“Is this the first time he’s hurt anyone?” Cas asked looking back at an upset Jack on the couch. 

“No,” Sam sighed. “No, but it is the first time he's hurt someone that didn’t get back up.” 

“Alright, you two should get Jack back to the bunker,” Dean sighed. That rotten feeling of having the son of Lucifer nearby was back in his stomach. He didn’t want to feel this way, especially with the kid as a wreck on the couch behind him, but he had expected this. Lucifer always caused problems, so it’s no surprise his kid was too, even if it was by accident. 

“I can stay here,” Cas tried, but Dean knew what the kid needed. He needed his dad and he needed someone who didn’t threaten to kill him in the past. 

“No, I’ll handle it. Besides, you need to be with the kid in case he…you know.” 

“Okay,” Cas sighed heavily. “All right.” He could feel Dean begging him to stay, but he knew Dean would never admit to something like that. 

-

Dean worked with the sergeant to take down Dave. The sergeant had no problem killing Dave in fact, he was prepared to. Dean then explained that Dave killed Sarge’s friend, so Sarge killed Dave. He then pursued and put the blame of the death of the security guard at the bank on Dave too. Jack didn’t need any more trouble than what was coming for him by just being an associate with the Winchesters. 

-

When Dean got back to the bunker, all he wanted to do was drink and sit with Cas. He had gotten a picture of the two dressed up printed out and shoved it into his wallet. 

“How’d it go?” Sam asked worried about Jack. 

“Took care of it,” Dean huffed. 

“Good,” Sam said quietly. 

“Good?” Jack stood up. “How is that good? I killed someone. What was his name? The guard? Did he have a family?” Jack was almost crying. 

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Cas tried to calm him down/ 

“Did he?” Jack demanded. 

“Yes, he did,” Dean said, not sure if the truth was better than lying.

“Jack, look, this life, what we do,” Sam tried but Jack was having none of it. 

“Just don’t. You’re afraid of me,” a tear fell down Jack’s face. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just another monster!” Jack yelled at Dean. 

“No, you're not. I thought you were. I did. But…” Dean tried but he knew he was fumbling. 

“Every time I try to do something good, people get hurt,” Jack cried. “If I stay, I’m gonna hurt you. All of you. And… I can’t. You’re all I have.” 

“Jack, listen…” 

“I have to go. I’m sorry,” Jack said before using his powers to knock the three Winchesters backward. He disappears with Castiel crying after him. 

[cowboys-of-tombstone]

Fixing a Broken Fence (Curly Bill x Rancher!Reader) 3/4

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     All the way back to camp, Curly Bill felt the wind brush against his face. He felt lighter, serene, even. He chuckled at the thought of himself using the kinds of words Johnny would, but he couldn’t help but have a sense of clarity from how he felt. He wasn’t just happy, but he wouldn’t describe himself as overwhelmed with joy, rather, he felt at peace with himself. 

     That peace stayed with him even as he tied his horse up and headed back to his tent for the night. 

     His cot groaned stiffly as Bill laid upon it. His hands cupped the back of his head, gazing up at the tent’s ceiling. All that passed through his ears was the whistling of the trees and the occasional cough from Ike in the distance. Bill laid there for what felt like hours, just reliving the day he had with you. He didn’t even know when he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

     Thunderous galloping ripped Bill from his slumber. It was light out, but the day had not broken the horizon just yet. 

     Bill hopped out of his tent, yanking his legs through his jeans, to see what the commotion was. At the center of camp, a great red cloud billowed in, engulfing the small group of Cowboys that had gathered around it.

     As the dust settled, familiar forms emerged from the haze, dusting themselves off with wide smiles.

     “Billy!” Ike cawed, recognizing his brother’s gait.

     “Johnny?!” Bill perked up, rushing over to meet the rest of the crowd.

     Indeed, Johnny Ringo and his posse marched out of the haze, with his arms spread out, as if to embrace every member of the gang. Through his thick mustache, Johnny’s grin shined like ivory. Curly Bill and the surrounding Cowboys looked on, confused by Johnny’s unusually jovial demeanor. 

     “Gentlemen,” Johnny paused, “we found our way back into Mexico!” 

     The whole camp exploded into cheers and gunshots, Bill galloped to Johnny and embraced him with a tight bear hug. Barnes and Billy lifted Ike upon their shoulders and spun him around; the old Clanton howled, holding his crutches above his head like a king, his staff. 

     “How’d ya do it, Juanito? How did you get back in?” Curly Bill asked, firmly gripping Johnny’s shoulders.

     Johnny chortled with a deep breath, “It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure. Let me get something to drink first.”

     “You heard this man!” Bill roared with laughter, “Crack the kegs, pop the champagne, pull out the good stuff you was savin’! These boys are thirsty!”

     Soon, the whole camp had gathered around to hear Johnny’s tale. The very air began to stink of alcohol, as no bottle was spared from being opened. However, Curly Bill realized, a bit too late, that they should’ve had breakfast first. In hardly any time at all, the dehydrated, starving Johnny Ringo began to slur his words and slosh around his half-full bottle of whiskey.

     “...Next thing we know, a group of twenty, no, fifty Mexican soldiers sprang from the hilltops. I’ve never seen a sight like it, not since Mason County. Anyway, they came running down like a stampede. There’s no way that the half-dozen or so of us would’ve been able to make it past them without bein’ ripped to shreds. Thanks to Sherm, he spotted a bottle-neck with sharp corners that we hid behind. Those soldiers rode passed and never thought twice. From there we followed the trail back and here we are, in one piece!”

     Bill swished some cheap hooch around his tongue to burn off his cottonmouth. He spat it out and clicked his tongue, “And so you reckon that’s how we sneak in and out?”

     “The way they got that border wrapped up, it might be the only way. For now, at least.”   

     “Well, what’re we waiting for? I’ll bet just about every feller in camp is itchin’ for some action!” Bill jumped up from his seat, “How about we head out in a couple hours so that you and your lot get some quick shut eye?” 

     His second in command nodded, “Yeah, we saw a few close ranches. They’re not far from the trail.”

     “It’s settled then!” Bill commanded, shattering his bottle into the smoldering fire pit, “Everybody, get ready to head out by noon. Grab a bite, some shut eye, or hit the can, cause we’re leaving on the dot! Let’s go make some moolah!”

     The camp ignited a roaring fire to heat up a massive cauldron of stew. While Johnny and his scouting party fell into an unwakeable slumber, the remaining Cowboys oiled their weapons, filled their canteens, and fed their horses.

     Soon, their shadows disappeared as high noon approached. Though the heat dug into their shoulders, their eyes were gleaming with a hunger that food wouldn’t suffice. Like wolves, they gathered together again to split their pack into war parties, each one led by one of Johnny’s scouts. Even Bill took a step back so that Ringo himself could take the lead. 

     The red-sashed locusts rode out and followed the trail to the border. They passed the great river, and once they got on the Spanish soil, they went their separate ways, all with the prospect of riches on their mind. 

     They were on Bill’s mind too, of course. However, there was something else on his mind as well. While the other Cowboys dreamed of wasting their nights on gambling, booze, and other unscrupulous activities, Curly Bill had the sudden realization about how little he knew about you. What kind of gifts did you like? Were you the kind of girl who would like flowers? Or were you more into books and the like? What would you think would be a good night out? So many questions that he didn’t even realize he had until now, when you were far away from him.

     Bullets whistled out of their barrels. Skittish cattle bellowed in blind panic, following any horseman to guide them. Fire ascended from the burning pueblo in pillars of thick, woolish ash, and pained Spanish begged for retribution.

     All music to Curly Bill’s ears. And what’s more, was there was no sign of the Mexican military to slow them down. Only a thread of smoke was left in the star studded sky by the time Bill, Johnny, and the rest made it back on the other side of the border. When the other war parties joined back together with them, they all had several dozens of cattle between them all. 

     There were still several miles to go before they could find themselves back within Cochise County. With no sense of danger from their surroundings, just a flat plain with sparse tufts of bush and a shallow creek for the cattle, The Cowboys felt they were in the clear and set up camp for the night. 

     Because of how many men there were, a number of separate campfires were started, each with several Cowboys huddled around them. The smoke trails curiously spiraled into the heavens in a loose, yarn-like thread. Eventually, this twine disappeared amongst the stars who seemed to lightly tug at the smoke like fish nipping at a baited line.

     Curly Bill and his closest comrades exhaustedly chewed salty jerky and sipped pungent, bitter coffee. Though they had won the day, none felt like the victor with mixed nuts and dried fruit. 

     Barnes, who chewed his jerky with the same thoroughness as a cow with its cud, longed for a plate of real food.

     “Say, fellas, whatcha fixin’ to do when you get paid tomorrow? I am hankerin’ for some steak and eggs and a real frothy beer.” Barnes imagined as he tried to get his mind off the bland paste that accumulated in his cheek.

     Stilwell picked his teeth with his hunting knife, “I’ve been savin’ up to get my guns engraved. Maybe I’ll get them polished too, while I’m at it.”

     “Thinkin’ on buying a bath for Ike,” Billy Clanton thought as he spat into the dirt, “I think soaking his foot in the hot water will do him some good.”

     McMasters lightly ruffled his hair, “I think I found the one-”

     The whole campfire groaned. 

     “I’m serious this time! She’s the redhead from the Birdcage Theatre. She told me I was her favorite customer.”

     Indian Charlie perked up, “¡Ándale! She told me the same thing, Sherm!”

     The group’s eyes practically popped from their skulls as a mixture of gasps and howls erupted from them. Poor McMasters wilted like a desert flower.

     “What about you, Bill?” Johnny asked, after a drink of his coffee, “Got any plans yourself?”

     “Well, now that y’all mention it, I got a girl I got my eye on too.” Bill shrugged as he dragged from a smoke.

     “That’s right!” Stilwell snapped his fingers, “Is it true you’ve gone smitten on the girl that turned Ike’s toes to a batch of plums?”

     “Who’s goin’ around spreadin’ rumors like that?” Bill sneered with smoke flowing from his nostrils.

     “Uh, Ike did.”

     “Oh.” Bill clicked his tongue, “Reckon he’s still a little sore about it. But it’s true.”

     Johnny let out a short laugh, having just found out about your supposedly tumultuous affair with Bill.

     Barnes guffawed, “No way! She’s crazy!”

     “No she ain’t!” Curly Bill waved off Barnes. 

     Billy Clanton thought deeply as he rubbed his jaw, “What makes her so special, boss?”

     Curly Bill sighed deeply, “I get it, but the way I see it is that nobody died. And all Ike has to do is nurse off that foot. Hell, I’ll pay for a couple of baths myself too. But, truthfully, I don’t know why that girl is so special. Something about her eyes and the way she looked at me when we first met. I haven’t gotten the chance to get to know her at all, but I’m gonna once I get paid.”

     The group was silent for a moment. Yet, whistles and sounds of swooning swelled from them all into an overwhelming wave of laughter and kissing sounds.

     “Oh, shut the hell up! All of you!”

------------------

     A little bit more than a week went by since you last saw Curly Bill. The thought occurred to you as you swept your porch, one particular afternoon. You leaned against your broom and wiped away the sweat from your brow. Looking out to the far distance, you hoped, at any moment, you would see that familiar silhouette ride over the hills and down to your side.

     However, a whispering gust of wind brought you back to your senses. Afterall, why should you expect a fella like him to come back and commit to one girl? Not that you were hoping that he came back, but he was great company to have after being by yourself for so long. Bill was a handful, without a doubt, but it sure beat the next few days since he left, you admitted to yourself. 

     Having listened to your own ramblings enough, you finished your sweeping and headed inside. Your chores were finished for the moment, and you weren’t hankering for anything in particular. Really, you were just simply bored. Even your dog found entertainment chasing the calves amongst the herd, while you, on the other hand, plopped onto one of your handmade armchairs in order to ride out the wave of dullery. 

     Just before you planned to doze off, a rushing beat became louder and louder from outside. The noise came to a rasping halt as you scrambled out of your chair. But before you could reach for a window to see what the commotion was, there was a knock at your door. 

     “Who is it?” You asked.

     “It’s the sheriff! You’re under arrest for stealing my heart and resisting my charm!” An all too familiar gruff voice called from the other side.

     A smile was forced upon your lips, much to your chagrin, as you opened the door. 

     Curly Bill flicked his tongue, “Hey! Don’t open the door unless I got a warrant!” 

     “I’ll remember that next time you say some tomfoolery like that.” You tsked with one hand on your hip, “What brings you around, stranger?”

     “Oh, don’t be like that. Fella’s gotta find some way to make ends meet!” Bill reasoned while thumbing his nose.

     “Oh? And how’s that? What does a fine businessman, like yourself, do to earn his way?”

     “Well, just like you said, I’m a businessman. And I help the Clantons sell any cows they get their hands on. And they pay me handsomely so that I can bring a gift like this to you!”

     Out of his pocket, rested a little box that he gently placed in your hand. You opened it and a glint of light shined in your eyes. They were little earrings that could rest just on your earlobes alone. A stone of turquoise sat upon a simple gold base that was polished until reflective.

     “Oh my God, they’re beautiful! Hold on, let me see them in the mirror.” You gasped as you clenched them to your chest. 

     That devil smugly dusted his knuckles and tossed you an equally complacent glance. 

     Your smile puckered into a scowl with rosy cheeks, “Well, what’re you standin’ there with that look on your face for? Get in here!” 

     Curly Bill closed the door behind himself as you hurried to the decorative mirror that hung in your living room. The slight tremors from your excited fingers made it a bit difficult to get them on. However, once you got them into place and stepped back to look at yourself, your hand covered the smile that graced your lips.

     “These had to have cost you a fortune.” You muttered, turning your head from side to side.

     Curly Bill shook his head, “Nah, it was nothing. I originally wanted to get you some thick gold bars to dangle from your ears. But then, I saw those and thought that you could wear them anytime you liked, even when you’re busy working!” 

     You laid your hand on your collarbone, with a tightened throat.

     “That’s mighty kind of you,” You said softly, “for thinking about me in that way.” 

     Curly Bill sauntered slowly over to you and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, “I can’t help it when you’re all I think about.”

     You reached out and felt his abrasive fingertips, your eyes entranced with his, and your words caught in your throat.

     “I…” You managed to say, “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

     “Is that so? Missed me that much, huh?” Bill’s toothy grin returned.

     Glancing to the side, you admitted, “I would’ve appreciated some company, yeah.”

     Bill leaned in, “Well, let me give you all the company you need.”

     The Cowboy drew closer to you, his eyes sparkling with desire. He had wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you gently towards him. You felt his warm breath on your face and his lips hovering over yours. No doubt he wanted to kiss you, and part of you wanted to kiss him back. But you also knew that he was a dangerous man, one who could easily break your heart. Even then, you still hardly knew him, by any metric.

     You swiveled your head to the side and gave him a light peck on the cheek. Smiling sweetly, you looked into his eyes.

     “Easy there, Beau,” you said softly. “We’re not there yet. But, I meant it when I said I missed you.”

     You saw a flash of disappointment in Bill’s eyes, but he quickly masked it with a charming grin. 

     He kissed your cheek in return and whispered in your ear, “Sorry there, Darlin’. Didn’t mean to rush you. You were just so irresistible, I couldn’t help myself.”

     You hugged him tightly, taking in the coarseness of his shirt. When you let him go, you pointed him to a chair, “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, while I get us something to drink. You look famished.”

     Lumbering over to the wooden seat, Bill plopped down with a thud. He leaned back, balancing himself on the chair’s two rear legs.

     “S’pose I am a bit parched. Whatcha got?” He inhaled sharply.

     The cupboards had everything, from jam, to oils, and pickled produce; and all were lightly covered in dust, waiting for a rainy day. There, waiting in the back, was a stoneware bottle. A relief of an apple and two stalks of wheat decorated its surface, and two handles to carry it with.

     “I don’t have anything too harsh, but would you like a drink of apple cider?” You asked, reaching for the heavy jug.

     “Dessert before dinner, huh? Y’know, I haven’t had cider since I was an ankle biter. Yeah, I’ll take a cup.” Bill licked his lips.

     Into two cups you poured the bubbling golden liquid. It had been a while since you had enjoyed cider yourself, and took an early swig. It was tart and the bitterness of the drink burned your tongue with a sanitizing hiss.

     A wheezing cough escaped your lungs, “Ahem! It’s a bit strong for my tastes. I think a scoop of sugar and cinnamon will do it some good, would you like some for yours?” 

     Bill shook his head, “I don’t know, I think I might want to try it as it is!”

     Your lips tighten and you squinted with repulsion, “Ugh, are you sure? It’s pretty bitter.”

     “Yeah! I like when my drinks put hair on my chest.” Bill said proudly. 

     With a defeated shrug, you quickly mixed your drinks and brought them over to your living room. Bill raised his cup to you with a nod and took a foamy sip. He smacked his lips, took another sip, peered one eye into his cup and muttered, “Did you give me your drink by accident?”

     “Of course not!” You answered boisterously, and then you paused. You were sure you passed him the right cup, and yet now you had to double check. So you pressed your lips to the mouth of the cup and drank.

     It was a warm, sweet experience, reminiscent of a bowl of fresh apple pie. The heat ran down your throat, soothing it all the way down. 

     “Wait a minute, what’re you talking about? Are you telling me that’s too sweet for you?” You asked with disbelief, pointing to his cup.

     Bill shrugged, “I was talking about how tame it was. Hopin’ it would burn on the way down, with the way you reacted. But…”

     “You’re crazy! You could wash rust off with that!”

     Bill laughed, reveling in your amazement. It was charming, seeing someone who didn’t live the kind of life where feats of bravado were tested regularly, and to see the astoundment of something trivial to him, not be so with you.

     “Thanks for the drink, though.” Bill continued. “It’s, uh, a breath of fresh air!”

     You giggled, “You’re too kind. Maybe I’ll save up for some good whiskey next time I’m in town.”

     “No worries, you don’t have to, on my account. I’m already getting used to this.” Bill insisted, quickly swallowing another watery drink.

     You shook your head while you too indulged in your sugary beverage. Though, as you settled into your thoughts, one emerged from the back of your mind.

     “So,” You asked, rubbing a circle into the coarse hair of your armchair, “how did your job go?”

     The sun-tanned Cowboy rubbed his chin with caution, “It went… about as well as it could have. Why do ya ask?”

     Your finger tapped your lip, “Well, I guess I ask, because I was wondering what would bring you to keep coming back to that kind of work?”

     Bill sighed, “Don’t judge me too harshly, Miss. It’s just what I do. A fella like me ought to use what he’s good at and get paid well for it. Don’t ya think?”

     “But don’t you ever get scared? Like you might not make it out in one piece?”

     “Once in a while, sure.” He nodded, “But it’s what I’m made for and I have some fun while at it too!”

     Distant barking gave you pause. However, it quickly turned back to playful growling and mooing, allowing for your attention to turn back to Bill.

     You tilted your head to the side, “How can you have fun doing something like that?”

     Bill shifted his eyes to the side under a heavy squint. His teeth lightly bit his bottom lip, “Huh, I don’t think I ever really thought about it. But since you asked, I reckon it’s because fellas like me are used to it.”

     “But, how? How could anybody get used to it?”

     Bill began to stare off, remembering a time before The Cowboys. He smirked kindly, “I guess your folks did you well, then.”

     You furrowed your brow with deep contemplation. Just what was going on in his mind?

     Suddenly, he shook his head, releasing himself from his thoughts, “I gotta ask, did your old man tell you about the Civil War?”

     “Huh,” You thought, “I don’t think he ever did, now that you mention it. How’d you know he served?”

     “Just a lucky guess, I suppose.” He shrugged jovially. “You’re a fine lady with a good head on your shoulders, old enough to run this farm on your own. I reckoned then, that your old man would’ve seen it. Anyway, I can see he’s a good man for not telling you.”

     “Why’s that?” You asked, garnering more questions than answers.

     “The things we saw in those fields, in those hills, what happened to the good men that were lost in the mud, all fighting for something they believed in, will change a man in a way you mix two colors of paint. Once they’re mixed, they can never be unmixed. Some men can be the color your old man was, tainted, but otherwise able to return to their old lives. Some of us turn out a bit too different from where we began, and so we accept our lot and keep doing what we’re good at.”

     “Is that why you took the night we met so lightly?” You asked with more concern than you wished to let on.

     Bill rolled his eyes, half expecting the conversation to lead to that. “The way I see it is this: No one died, and the worse thing to happen to anybody, is my friend havin’ to be drunk for a couple of weeks cause his foot hurts. But I’m paying for his doctor bill and his brother’s paying for his ‘medication,’ so there ain’t no harm done.”

     Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. Sure, it made sense why Bill and his like are the way they are, but how could he not see how he affected others? How he affected you?

     “Sure,” you coughed hoarsely, “I get it.” You struggled to swallow your apprehension along with your cider. Although it felt like a stone was forced down your throat, you were able to get it down. With your painted on smile, it seemed Bill was also put at ease.

     The Cowboy spun his cider within his cup, letting out a short chuckle, “Hey, uh thanks for not judging too harshly. I know that ain’t easy.”

     A hesitant nod rattled from your head. The carefree attitude he held with himself was both admirable and daunting. As much as you attempted to accept his explanation, there remained a prodding in the back of your mind. Hopefully, you thought, it would subside in due time.

     The many adornments of your home were a constant catch to the Cowboy’s eye, more so that day, than his previous visits. The walls were adorned with taxidermy and various framed watercolor paintings.

     The heads of deer and pronghorn did not sit as trophies, a few were hardly impressive in that way. Yet, their necks curved in ways as if they were frozen in time, in a single moment, rather than stuffed.

     Nothing helped bring about that moment more than the watercolor paintings. Each one laced with black ink and vivid colors revealing landscapes that Bill could recall seeing himself, but never with quite the same beauty.

     “Nice decorations.” Bill managed to utter, “I can almost tell which of your folks chose what around here.”

     “Actually,” You laughed shortly, “they made ‘em! But you are right about one thing, they definitely had their own tastes.”

     Bill’s eyes widened, “Oh, they made these?”

     You leaned back and crossed your arms pridefully, “Yep! Just about did everything with their own two hands.”

     “So I’m guessing these are all of your old man’s trophies?” 

     “I guess in a way they are.” You thought aloud, “He once told me, during the war, he saw this beautiful horse riding into battle. It was a life changing moment, but later he found it killed. It broke his heart seeing that creature like that, and would’ve rather have had it live on in some sort of way. So he took up taxidermy as a hobby just in case he wanted to preserve such a moment again.”

     “After shootin’ the deer himself?” Curly Bill asked with a brow raised.

     You shrugged playfully, “It’s free meat and leather. All it takes is one good bullet and some free time.”

     “I guess a fella’s gotta feed his family somehow. What about your mom? What kind of scars was she carrying?”

     You waved away the thought, “No, no, no. Nothing like that at all. She just loved to paint, always had since she was knee high. These were some of the last ones she painted before she got sick. Her best ones, in my opinion.” 

     Bill carefully stared into the paintings. The pen strokes implied a shaky hand, carefully attempting to outline vegetation and mountain faces with strict intent. However the wobbling lines allowed for nature to be implied, such as the gnarled surface of tree bark or broken stone. This was juxtaposed by the soft watercolor that messily flowed in and out of the outlines. Many times, the colors were blended together and yet, never felt muddied or accidental. Truly, they were one of a kind, and not meant to be replicated like printing pressed pictures.

     Bill hummed, “Ever thought about paintin’ like your Ma?”

     “Sure did!” You chirped, “Got real into it a few years back, I thought I got pretty good at it too.”

     Coyote’s playfully yowled in the distance with a pair of rock doves seemingly joining in with soft cooing.

     Your smile shrank to one side, “But, uh… that’s when my Pa started needing more help around the farm. I thought I could get back to it eventually, but I suppose I never did. It doesn’t feel like I got any time, I guess.”

     Curly Bill scratched his scalp, “Well, why don’t you make time? That’s what I always do when I wanna do something.”

     “That sounds mighty nice,” You noted sarcastically, “but in case you’ve forgotten, I got a whole farm I need to run! I can’t just leave and go do whatever I want, there’s always something to be done around here. If it ain’t broken, I gotta feed it, or clean up after it. And by the end of the day, I’m exhausted and want to relax. Not to mention, I got handsome thieves comin’ around trying to steal what’s mine!”

     Your compliment burned him like chewing on cinnamon, endearingly warm to the palette, but searing to the tongue. However, it got him thinking.

     “Hmm, well, what if this handsome thief, you speak of, had brought some help so that you could take a day off?” Curly Bill asked smugly while rubbing his chin. 

     “We’ll see about that.” You shrugged with a coy grin. But as you looked over at the Cowboy, you too began to ponder him and his story. “What about you, Bill? What were your folks like?” You asked as you leaned your head onto your palm.

     Bill quickly chugged the last of his cider, and with a sharp sigh, he muttered, “You don’t wanna know.”

     The stilted response had almost knocked over you and your chair. No witty response, no quip, it was very unlike what you’ve come to know of him. Of course, it was his own way of politely asking for privacy. However, for such an open book as Bill, to suddenly close himself off as quickly as he did, it caused your curiosity to ring like a church bell.

     “Well that hardly seems fair,” You commented softly, sliding the pitcher of cider closer to him, “you know pretty much everything about me and my folks now, and I’d like to know more about you.”

     Crickets cautiously tuned their instruments with the sun’s steady departure. Bill stared at the pitcher with contempt. It was rare for the Cowboy to find himself left open to vulnerability, what was worse was that it was on a subject he held closer to him than any other secret. 

     He sucked air between his teeth and snatched the pitcher off the table. In one last moment of regret, you quickly raised your hand, “I-I’m sorry, Bill. I was just teasing, you don’t have to tell me anything too personal, until you’re-”

     “No, it’s alright.” Bill began while pouring more cider, “It’s just that, I don’t think I ever talked to anybody about this.” He stared into his bubbling drink, almost transfixed by the disappearing froth. “I reckon it’s ‘cause I never wanted to think about it.”

     “What do you mean?” You leaned in closer.

     Curly Bill wiped his nose with contemplation, “Well, uh, where do I even start? I mean, I don’t recall ever having a mother; and my Pa, well, he liked me ‘bout as much as I liked him. And I didn’t.”

     The Cowboy gulped down the cider like a fish did water and poured himself another glass full.

     He continued, “Ol’ Man Clanton was always tough on his boys, but I think it’s ‘cause the geezer didn’t know better. Kind of making due with what he had, you know? 

     “But my Pa? He was sharper than an arrowhead, and could shoot through you twice as fast. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he took every chance he could to make me feel like I couldn’t measure up to be his son.”

     You shook your head, “Ugh, how terrible! What did he do? Did he hit you?”

     Bill shot you a crooked glance, then chuckled, “Well, yeah he did. But I usually deserved it. No, what he did felt worse than a sore keister.” 

     Before the Cowboy could explain himself, you quickly reached for the pitcher of cider. The warm, sugary drink felt like a protective campfire from the sudden chill of Bill’s tale.

     When you lifted the pitcher, however, there was hardly enough to fill your cup halfway. Maybe the cider was weak for his palette after all?

     “You know what?” Bill noted as he smacked his tongue, “I’m so used to all that coffin varnish they call whiskey back in town. But I reckon this grew on me. Maybe I’ll get a cask for myself.”

     A small smile perked the corners of your lips. You had almost forgotten what he was trying to distract himself from. 

     “But back to what I was sayin’,” The red devil sighed, “yeah, my ol’ man beat me. But it was for the usual things, breaking something or stealin’ one of his smokes. That’s fine, but there was never a ‘job well done,’ or a ‘I’m proud of you.’

     “There was this one time, where I stayed up all night takin’ care of his prized heifer for the county fair. I groomed it, I brushed it, I went and shaved down her hooves, I damned near got in there and brushed her teeth for her! All because I wanted our cow to get the blue ribbon. And we did. Now granted, that heifer was from award winning stock, already, but I knew I played my part. 

     “But when it was all over, and I told him what I had done, not a single pat on the back, a handshake, not even a nod. All he said to me was, ‘Well son, that’s what you’re supposed to do.’ And that was my entire life with that man. Never a moment of pride nor gratitude for me. He was always above all of it.”

     The wind whistled from underneath your door as the room fell into silence. Rasping from Bill’s thick calluses against your mug hissed like a feather in your ear. He looked down, but it was as if he was looking at his reflection in an imaginary pond. He exhaled lightly and his contemplative expression seemed somber, gloomy even.

     Then his brow furrowed, and his mouth contorted and twisted into a snarled smile. Guffaws erupted from his belly. He threw back his head and placed his palm over his eyes.

     “After I came back from serving in the war, that gray jackass stayed exactly the same. So, I left!” The Cowboy flicked his tongue with the grin of a diamondback. “And I took what I deserved. Done rustled about a third of that bastard’s five thousand cows with me!”

     Your jaw fell to the floor, “You didn’t!”

     “Single handedly.”

     “But weren’t you worried they were gonna catch you? I mean, you’re just one man with this huge herd of cattle. How did you even get away with it?”

     “Believe me, after riding with that lot for a full day, I started to wonder the same thing. But somehow I did, and I made it to some reservation. San Carlos, I think it was. But the best part was selling the whole herd to them Indians there for a new horse and a couple of dollars. Never knew what happened to ‘em all, guess I never really cared enough to find out.”

     By that point, the coyote garbed in red had released himself from his mental chains, and sat back in his chair with a pompous grin. And all you could think, by that point, was how much of a… free-spirit he was! However, you thought to yourself, perhaps if you had an upbringing like Bill, you’d eat the devil with the horns on, too. 

     Pouring the remains of the pitcher into your cup, you raised your drink to him with a chuckle, “I suppose that’s a toast to a fresh start, huh?”

     Bill leaned over and gently clinked his mug with yours, “Amen to that! And cheers for hearing me out. I’m starting to feel like I can tell you anything!”

     “Oh,” You softly remarked with your hand on your chest, “I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you.”

     Bill nodded contently, but the conversation began to lull. He appeared to enjoy the quiet. You, on the other hand, reached over to the pitcher again. The toast had gone down softly and emptied your cup, leaving it thirsty for more. However, the pitcher was hollow and left you feeling peckish for another drink.

     “Hm,” You hummed, while rhythmically tapping your fingers together. 

     “What is it?” Bill sniffed loudly.

     You inhaled sharply, “I’m feeling pretty good right now. But, I’m thinkin’ maybe I could go for a couple more drinks.”

     Bill clapped his hands thunderously, then rubbed them together with a little too much enthusiasm, “Now we’re talkin’! Where do ya keep the good stuff?”

     Your eyes floated to the loft upstairs that had now been blanketed in a gentle darkness.

     “Give me one second, I’ll be right back.” You noted out the side of your mouth. 

     With a lit candle, you made your way up the rickety, groaning stairs. Animals frozen in time watched you unjudgingly as you carefully tiptoed to the loft’s entrance. 

     Long roughly cut rafts ran across the ceiling at angles that made the room seem almost triangular in shape. Hanging from the ceiling-walls were a Great Blue Heron and a green headed Mallard. Their wings were spread in orbit around a saber and a wide brimmed calvary hat. The gold of both relics of the past faintly glowed from your candle’s reflection.  

     The far end of the loft was hardly visible, but was home to a sturdy dresser and a stuffed beaver that sat upon it. But midway through, sat two beds. Each was composed of a heavy wooden frame and adorned with thick quilts of flowery design. Both had their own chests that sat at the feet of the beds, but you were interested in the one further from the entrance. 

     You kneeled down to the chest and set the candle to the side. Upon opening the heavy lid, it released its breath into your face with the stinking fumes of old varnish. But inside was a messy pile of treasure and old letters to friends and family long forgotten. 

     As you rummaged through the bottom of the old, sour-smelling chest, you found what you were looking for. Two casks of whiskey were laying side-by-side, with one already opened and half drank.

     You sighed with a gentle smile, “Still workin’ on that one, Pa? How about I take that old bottle and you can keep the fresh one to yourself.”

     Softly and gingerly you raised the whiskey from the chest and closed the lid. A sigh of relief rushed out of your lips and blood flushed through your ears. Quickly, you picked up the candle, and hurried downstairs. 

     “Did ya say something to me up there?” Bill called as you trotted down the steps.

     “Sorry, I was talking to myself while looking for this!” You chirped, eagerly presenting the bottle with a playful jingle. 

     The Cowboy slapped his knee and snarled, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about! I need a sip of that!”

     “Hold your horses, I’m getting there!” You bit your lip, ripping the cork off the top with a satisfying, bloomp! 

     The fumes from the noxious liquid burned the insides of your nose. Your eyes also felt the sting of sterilization, even as you kept yourself away from it. Bill, on the other hand, breathed so deeply it was as if he were smelling a patch of roses.

     His fingers crawled towards his cup, and with a strangulating grip, he seized it and began to drink. Air was sucked in between his teeth and was released with a satisfied ‘ahh!’ 

     “You know,” Bill licked his lips, already pouring another cup, “That cider wasn’t too bad. But boy howdy! This is perfect, it’s like I’m drinking a cup of melted scrap iron!”

     Your nose scrunched, not with disgust, but with morbid curiosity. The bronze colored drink vaguely reflected your appalled expression as you peered into it. 

     And so you took a sip.

     Much to Bill’s description, the alcohol ripped into your tongue like a vengeful jalapeño, searing every surface of your mouth on the way down. You gulped much to your body’s dismay. Your ears began to ring and your face became flushed, as if you were holding your breath the entire time.

     “Thatta girl!” Curly Bill pounded the table. 

     You wheezed, while clearing your throat, “Thanks, for what that’s worth.”

     “Whatcha think, do ya like it?”

     The edges of your lips tightened, “Hmm, liked it, huh? I reckon I didn’t.” You grimaced, much to Bill’s delight as he let out a hoarse guffaw. 

     Your lip smacked with embarrassment, “I’m not trying to be a party pooper, dammit!”

     “Party pooper? Who said anything about that?” Bill tilted his head curiously. 

     “You know, ‘cause I can’t drink like you?...” You muttered realizing the extent of your panic. Bill simply smiled as he leaned his head upon his hand. His cheeks were softened and his gaze was not piercing.

     “You’re real cute, you know that?” He chuckled softly.

     A soft red glow emanated from your face and neck. Incoherent stammering sprang from your mouth with intent on saying something, but after a short ramble, you simply stopped and continued to collect red in your cheeks. The more you tried to hide your embarrassment, the more it showed. And the more it showed, the more Bill seemed to smile.

     “W-well, anyway; I can’t drink this as it is. I gotta go fix it up, I’ll be right back.” You uttered, spinning around and heading for the kitchen. You could’ve sworn you heard Bill chuckle under his breath.

     Back in the kitchen you began kicking yourself internally. You loathed how childish you felt in the moment. You were never one to feel shy around potential suitors, even the ones who were obnoxiously bold. So why was he, of all people, able to reduce you to a babbling mess? You felt like a mouse being played by a cat.

     Patting your cheeks, you blew out a puff of air, then continued on with what you were looking for.

     ‘Maybe,’ You thought to yourself, ‘my nerves won’t be so shot once I get a little juiced.’ 

     With such a bitter drink, however, you knew that sugar wasn’t gonna cut it alone. Quickly glancing around, you wondered how you were going to keep yourself from getting heartburn from the noxious drink. Thankfully, a jar of peach jam caught your attention. 

     ‘Oh, thank the Lord.’ you sighed with relief.

     With a pop of the lid, you began shoveling the syrup covered peaches into your whiskey. After a quick spin of your spoon, you gave your concoction a taste test. Still bitter, but much better than before. You took your cup and the jar, knowing you’ll be needing more of it.

     “Well, Hell’s bells! Had to go sweeten up your drink, again, huh? What happened, was the sugar not enough for ya?” Curly Bill snickered as he shamelessly poured another cup.

     “Well not all of us can guzzle watered-down shoe polish! Some of us like to actually enjoy the things we put in ourselves.” You puffed, throwing yourself back into your armchair. 

     Bill nodded while still glancing around at the peculiar ornamentation of stuffed animals, “I’m glad we can drink this together then.”

     There he went again, you thought as you smirked with a hand covering your mouth. Curly Bill was like biting into a freshly made pie, scalding with his banterous words, and yet, almost on the turn of a dime, saying something so sweet. You waved him away, even though it seemed like he saw through you.

     The Cowboy reached around to scratch his own back while pondering aloud, “So, what do you do for fun around here, anyway? You’re still quite a ways away from anywhere reasonably enternainin’, right? I know my boy, Johnny’s getting cute with this one girl from town. She’s a bookworm and a half like him though. Is that what you do?”  

     “Yeah, I read on occasion. Wouldn’t call myself a bookworm though.” You shrugged, “Really, if I’m not reading, I either take a walk around my property, or I play fetch with my dog, Rocky, out there.” 

     The silence of the sudden end to your list surprised you. Curly Bill glancing at you from the edge of his eyes only served to woefully confirm what you were already thinking. 

     “I, uh… Huh.” You mumbled, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so boring, heh.”

     “No! No, that sounds like a, er-” Bill squinted one eye in thought, “Like a time and a half right there!”

     “Oh, shut up.” You laughed out loud. However, when you finally started quieting down, you began to really think about it. 

     “It wasn’t always this way, you know.” You bit your lip. “When he, my father, was still around, I didn’t have to worry about everything so much. I could actually go into town and window shop without thinking of the time. We’d go camping every so often, or even go horseback riding when he wanted to have venison. All the way until he just couldn’t anymore. Then I couldn’t either.” 

     You realized how much you were missing out by keeping your parent’s legacy alive. It seemed you yearned for just a bit of adventure, but weren’t willing to pay the price for it.

     You poured the biting peach concoction passed your lips, perhaps more than you wanted, but gulped it all down nonetheless. What felt like steam escaped from your chest as a feeling of calm washed over you. Leaning one arm against the rest of your armchair, you admit to Bill, “I guess if you want to know what I reallywant to do, I just wanna let loose for once. Have a hot meal I didn’t need to make myself, or get me one of those fancier drinks. But, I’d really like to go see one of those theatrical shows at The Birdcage, at least once, just to see what it’s like!”

     Perhaps your own enthusiasm caught you off guard. You shrunk back in your chair, unsure what Bill would think of your idyllic adventure. Surely a cowboy, who has lived enough for several lifetimes for you, would find such a night to be trivial in what could only be considered ‘just another night’ for him.

     He rose from his seat and sauntered towards you with his hands in his pockets. When he reached your side of the room, he took your hand in his and pulled you from your chair. The sudden force of his strength was like that of a horse suddenly pulling you along at full gallop. You blinked, and when you opened your eyes, you were in his arms. The rough cotton of his shirt rubbed against your face abrasively, and yet it felt warm and comforting. He led you in a slow two step dance with gentle sways and spins. All the while saying softly in your ear, “What if we went together, just you and me? We can dance the night away, drink and eat ‘til your heart’s content.” 

     His muscular hands bent you backwards as if in the climax of an exotic dance. Using his thumb, he gently brushed away the few strands of hair that fell upon your face before caressing your cheek softly. 

     “And then, we could head somewhere nice and quiet, and…” Bill trailed off as he drew you closer, never breaking eye contact. He could smell the sweet marmalade in your breath as you two almost brought your lips together. 

     A building pressure expanded in your chest. Heat had gotten stuck behind your heart in your throat and was on the verge of setting you ablaze. You wanted to kiss him back, but flashes of the past, what he had almost done, still kept you from fulfilling your desire.

     You put a pair of fingers between the two of your lips keeping them from making contact. Bill pulled back with a furrowed brow, not entirely sure if he had taken your first kiss or not.

     “I’m sorry,” You sighed softly, “I’m just…”

     “Just not ready, huh?” Bill muttered with a half smile.

     A slight chuckle escaped your lips, “Would you be, if you were me?”

     “Well…” Bill trailed off again as he straightened the two of you back to your feet. Whether he was unwilling or unable to answer, you weren’t sure.

     The both of you took a moment to adjust yourselves to an awkward silence. Unwilling to live a moment further in the embarrassing miasma, Curly Bill approached you with his thumbs through his belt, sheepishly saying, “Sorry about the… uh, well you know.” 

     You smiled warmly, “Thanks for dropping by, it means more than you know.”

     The Cowboy nodded unsatisfactorily, but he held his head proudly as he made his way towards the door. 

     He jiggled the door handle and strolled out onto the dry dirt. The crumbling soil crunched underneath his heel as he dug into it. You, on the other hand, stayed just behind the door frame, watching him gather his thoughts.

     “So, can I,” Bill inhaled sharply, facing away from you, “Can I come see you again?”

     You rested your hand against the frame and chuckled, “Of course you can.”

     The charming thief’s shoulders straightened and suddenly, he spun around with a wide grin that was barely held together within his mustache. He took off his hat and held it to his chest, “Then, until next time, Miss.”

     Bill lowered himself into an exaggerated bow before making his leave. As that red devil became enshrouded by the night you gave him a quiet, gentle wave and closed the door. 

     You bit your lips together as you cleaned the cups and put away the alcohol. A smirk kept swelling up from within you as you thought back to the various moments of enjoyment throughout the night. Even as you looked at the quarter-full bottle of whiskey one more time before returning it to its chest, you thought about how close you two were in that moment. How much you wanted to kiss him back, and shuddered when you pushed him away. 

     “Ugh, real smooth, girl.” You tsked.

     Meanwhile, Bill had made his way up the lonely hill. He looked back and saw the last candlelight in your home disappear, so too did his smile. Rubbing the back of his neck, he untied his horse from the tree, taking one last longing glance at your cottage. 

     “Damn.” He hissed, “Did I mess up?”

[wthelvetica21]

Boneheads ; Bright Orange Light

Prologue

Manny is cleaning the glasses behind the counter of the bar. Lewis and Manolo had to escort Brook out because he had a little too much for the night. Likely from being away from ‘pretty girls for too long’. Both Papyrus and Sir Daniel were cleaning up the rest of the cantina talking among each other. Most likely asking him more about knightly stuff he thinks. The tired former travel agent of the Department of Death gets startled from his thoughts by a familiar lackdascale voice.

Sans: “How's manning the bar been Manny?”

He puts up the last glass with a sigh and lights up a cigar from his coat.

Manny : “Same as usual Sans. But things have been monotonous lately.”

The skeleton with the blue hoodie shrugs closing his eyes with a light chuckle.

Sans : “Yup, a real ghost town you could say. No bones about it.”

Manny would roll his eyes if he had them in the way Lewis, Manolo, and a few others did as he lit his cigar at the pun. The only one he hasn’t seen in a while was…

Manny : “Oye, where’s Jack?”

Sans : “Oh him? Still mulling over that weird stone thing he and Paps found one day.”

Now that he hasn’t heard about.

Manny : “Si, what about it has him mulling over it?”

Sans : “It was shaped like a tombstone with runes I haven’t seen before. He’s been at it trying to crack what they mean but I may have a hunch but it's...”

He hasn’t heard Sans this unsure in a long time, but then again he’s the only one of the group who is way more savvy with things that would normally be unheard of where he was from. Hell anyone that wasn’t from San’s particular universe. But Manny admits it's interesting and knows Jack is a kindred spirit in knowing more about it. The door swings to the east wing open with Jack using his long leg to kick it open.

Jack : “Sans you won’t believe what just happened!”

In his spindly arms was tombstone-shaped slate. The runes seen to have a subtle glow to them and is making an eerie hum.

Sans : “Woah there! What do you mean by that Jack?”

Jack : “It spoke! Do you think it's a ghost trapped inside this headstone or…”

The seems to get louder as a disembodied and faded voice saying.

??? : “Not a ghost… a messenger… They will arrive in a bright orange light.”

Manny and Sans look at each other. Was this a bad omen? The slate is placed on a table. Lewis and the others save for Brook who was sobering up look at the strange tombstone. The hot-headed ghost with a magenta pompadour asks…

Lewis : “Well? Ya’ll two don’t think it's a trap ain't it?”

Sans : “No idea. Jack just came in with it and it just started to talk.”

Papyrus starts looking at it with suspicion crossing his arms.

Papyrus : “I have my eyes on you tombstone thing. What is your motives?”

No response but still that eerie hum persists before it pipes up again. It was still faded as if whoever was speaking through it was trying desperately to come through but the signal was weak.

??? : “No harm... The Coded, the Hero and the Alcoholic…”

Sir Danial huffs with the sword at his side. He was getting impatient with this thing.

Sir Danial : “Umm um um ummm um umm um?” / [Now what it’s talking about?]

Manolo looks concern putting his hand on the one eyed knight’s shoulder.

Manolo : “Coded, hero and alcoholic? Does it mean out of all of us?”

Papyrus : “The ‘Hero’ could be me or Sir Daniel right? But who is this coded?”

Manny shrugs and sighs. If this thing isn’t talking about either of them then he dreads he’s going to have another handful to deal with. Brook stumbles in, sober enough to process what’s going on.

Brook : “Can someone put an end to that dreadful hum please. My skull hurts… Oh? What is that?”

Lewis : “Notta clue. Donno if this thing is talkin’ about us or someone or somethin’ else.”

Brook : “Oh… A living tombstone? Haven’t heard of that but then again…”

Sans : “Living tombstone? Um…”

Sans has heard of that somewhere before. Now he recognizes the voice and can get a vague idea on who “the Coded” is but the other two not so much.

Sans : “Ahh! Now I get it. The Coded is one of the…”

Before Sans could finish the sentence all the sudden they all could hear and feel a loud hollow boom coming from the outside. Out the window there was a pillar of orange light that was nearly as bright as the sun in the moonless midnight sky.

Sir Danial : “Ummm um umm um umm?!” / [What the hell is that?!]

Manolo looks at Sir Danial with a stern look before turning to Lewis, Manny and Sans stepping outside. The orange pillar of light started to warp and distort into three thinner bands of light. The tombstone slate seems to be playing… music? The genre of music seems to be indie rock of some kind. It seems to be alternating between three songs like a radio with a broken scan nob.

“Then you will know what I am thinking…”

“But they told me, "Dance…”

“But now I'm feeling so beautiful…”

The runes are glowing the same shade of safety orange as the warping beams of light. Then the three beams meet back into each other causing a flashbang with three streaks streaming through the sky like shooting stars with one of them colliding into the lighthouse on the shore a few miles away from the cantina. The other two forked west into one of the beaches while the other east into the outskirts. The bonehead crow looks at each other with a mixture of concern and confusion as the voice from the tombstone slate coming clearly this time before glow from the runes die down and it becomes silent.

??? : “They are here… Find them.”

The Bonehead crew decides to split up into three teams to investigate what or who crashed down.

Sans and Jack head to the lighthouse.

Lewis, Manny and Brook go west to the beach.

Manolo along with Papyrus and Sir Danial go east towards the outskirts.

[notthatnoodle]

Little Ringo study from some months ago <3

[sparxaf]

The Sun in My Eyes: Chapter 55

Like Stars in Hidin', You and I Burn On

AO3 | Wattpad

Second to last chapter! In which, between fluff and smut, Bobby and Lili must navigate the last barriers between them and their happily ever after.

It was originally one monstrously long chapter so I split it in two. Which means the story will end very soon, and on an even number, which soothes my neurotic soul for some reason.

[icy-saturday]

MELODY MEME

Feat. KNAIFU (from Object Womb Observation)

Animation by me ^^

CW: (BLOOD/FLASHING LIGHTS/ SLIGHTLY CREEPY AUDIO)

enjoy ^w^ 🔪❤️‍🔥🪓

[rattledazzlebones]

Hello!!! I've started posting for another fic, this time it's Tombstone. It's got a lotta Kate/Doc and Wyatt/Doc with plans for a sequel. Read on if this interests you :)

Doc puffed out his chest a bit for show. “Now I’ll have you know, I was the only certifiable dentist in those there parts, alright? So of course my establishment was positively filled to the brim every single day. If you would believe it so, I was told I was “off-putting” and “strange” when I did finally start losing business. I do have a feeling it might’ve been the consumption, however,” Doc mused, running his forefinger and thumb over his mustache to smooth down any wayward bristles.

“Hard to believe,” Mussing deadpanned. Doc grinned at the man, teeth bared.

“I’m sure it is. I’ve the loveliest personality south the deadline, haven’t you heard?” Doc said, tilting his head.

“Lovely as a sunset in fall,” Mussing agreed, solemn.

Doc snapped his fingers and pointed them at Mussing, miming a gun going off. “Yessir, you get me, you sick bastard, for you must be to keep up with the likes of me.”

Or

How Doc meets both Wyatt Earp and Kate prior to the events of Tombstone.

[guilty-pleasures21]

After watching Tombstone, I can't help but wonder what Dara or Ali (both if you're up to it) would think of a reader who's like Doc Holiday.

Sick as a dog at a CONSTANT but remains hella strong and fierce in combat. Dies sometimes, but always comes back, and is always ready for a fight. Like- lemme grab short scenes

https://youtube.com/shorts/9tjNYAQLhM0?si=xwbCP5qaXK4V1nMb

https://youtube.com/shorts/c0zP2QRXkrg?si=qTKrMlQkuUdfkld-

https://youtube.com/shorts/bEymttt_6T4?si=pj7eV9JQHPmim86q

What makes it better is that Doc beat everyone's ass.

Hey hey! So nice to hear from you again @queen-shiba ! 🥰

I watched the clips and OH MY GOD I LOVE this guy!!! He's so cool, I think I might just watch the movie myself!

I did my best to try emulate his character in the form of a female reader and I really hope it works, but I'm always happy to try again if you're not happy with it!

Also, I'm going to split what I've written into two parts, a) so it isn't too long and b) because I added some smut (with my love Dara, of course 🥺) and I'm not sure if you want that, so I'm separating it into a part 2 just in case you don't want to read it (if you do though, just let me know and I can tag you when I release it 😊).

The end of this town

Part 1

Part 2

Warnings: depictions of violence

----------------------------------------------------------

Ali followed behind Dara as he led X into the tavern. He still couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed, especially when he glanced over at X and saw the way she stumbled over to the table Dara had found. Ali took the seat across from them, his curious gaze still trained on X as she slumped over the table tiredly.

“Delam?" (My heart?) Dara bent over to catch X’s eye after ordering them some food and drinks - she needed to get her energy back after all the magic she’d just spent on helping them escape. “The food will be here in a bit. Don’t worry, you’ll be all right.” Ali leaned over the table, eyes wide with disbelief.

“She’ll be all right?!” he repeated incredulously. “What about the entire village she almost decimated?!”

They’d chanced upon a quaint settlement whilst on their way to find X’s mother - the great Banu Manizeh. Of course, Ali had made his objections to the quest, his first priority being to return to the city he’d been exiled from by his own father - it was still better than chasing after a ghost, after all. But Dara had simply left him with the choice to join them or stay behind and starve to death in the desert - a choice that hadn’t really been a choice at all, Ali had grumbled quietly as he’d jumped onto the horse X had left for him. They’d reached the village soon after - a reasonably sized oasis with food and water and a proper bed on which they could rest their aching muscles. But then someone had recognised Ali and the entire population had grabbed whatever weapons they could find so they could kill him and get the reward money. Dara had tried to fend them off for long enough that Ali could take X and make an escape, but they’d found themselves in a dead end - trapped by a solid brick wall on one side and a crowd of frenzied villagers on the other. Ali had recited a prayer as he’d raised his zulfiqar, ready to go down defending his honour, when suddenly, the entire mob flew backwards like a gust of wind had blown them off their feet. Those of them who hadn’t been knocked unconscious by smashing their skulls into the surrounding buildings had curled up in pain, bloodcurdling shrieks clawing their way up their throats along with the blood that oozed out of their mouths and nose. Ali had turned to grab X and seize the opportunity to make their escape, but she hadn’t seemed present anymore. He still remembered the cruel twist of her lips and the dangerous glint in her eyes, like something truly wicked had taken over her. Ali had watched in stunned silence as she’d taken a step forward, the sickening crunch of bones breaking following after her as she'd swept past the villagers. She was doing it, he’d realised with horror; she was using her healing powers to reach into their bodies and twist around their insides however she liked. The thought had made him sick to his stomach. Thankfully, Dara had quickly reappeared and bundled X up in his arms, his emerald eyes glowing with concern as he’d brought her out of her trance. X had returned to herself soon after, then collapsed against Dara, leaning on him for support. And that was how they’d ended up here: surrounded by a roomful of vagrants who at any moment do something to set X off. How had he landed himself in this situation again?

“I’ll go get us some rooms for the night,” Ali decided, pushing himself off of his seat. Dara shot up immediately, his thick brows twisted into a frown as he stared Ali down.

“Maybe if you’d kept your headscarf on, you marids-cursed sandfly,” Dara growled at him in anger, “we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we?!” Right. As always, everything bad that ever happened was his fault. Great. Dara ignored the tightening of Ali’s jaw as their waitress returned to set their food down on the table, his attention focused entirely on guiding small spoonfuls of food into X’s mouth. X sighed wearily and took the spoon from Dara to begin feeding herself. But Ali saw the way she continued to sneak glances at him, her full lips curling at the ends every time she saw the concern etched onto his features. His heart cracked at the sight.

“You will stay here and keep yourself hidden,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll go book the rooms.” He looked down at X then, already smiling up at him sweetly, and his expression softened. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, then trailed his fingers down the side of her cheek.

“Make sure you finish everything, jaaneman,” (my soul) he told her softly, his voice gentler than Ali had ever heard it before. X rolled her eyes affectionately, then turned to gesture to the numerous platters spread out across the table.

“You practically ordered me the entire tavern, jaane delam!” (the life of my heart) she exclaimed, her snickers quickly turning into weak coughs. Dara grabbed a glass of water and lifted it to her lips to get her to drink. She obliged, then grinned again when he’d set it back down. “I’ll explode if I try to finish all of it! Here, have some, Ali. You haven’t eaten anything either.”

Ali looked to Dara for permission - not that he needed his permission for anything - and found the warrior’s green eyes boring into him threateningly. X sighed again and nudged Dara with her shoulder, forcing him to look at her and see the frown on her face. Dara clenched his jaw, but silently relented, turning around to go get them some rooms. X pushed one of the plates over to Ali once Dara’s back was turned and he cautiously accepted it.

“So,” Ali cleared his throat once the silence around them had become too awkward to bear. “Are you all right? After … everything?” X shrugged and continued munching on the rice and vegetables laid before her.

“I’ll be fine,” she dismissed him nonchalantly. “Magic follows emotions, right? And I have pretty powerful emotions.” She tried to give him a mischievous smirk, but the effort required to raise her head seemed too much at that point, so she continued to remain slumped over the table as she ate her food.

Right. Was that why she seemed so tired all the time? Because her magic was so powerful that it drained her whenever she tried to use it? But she hadn’t seemed to be as sickly when he first met her - she’d probably been holding back then; hiding the true extent of her power so his father wouldn’t deem her too dangerous to keep around. Ali startled as a metal cup slammed down on the table in front of him and he looked up to find a grizzled, middle-aged man taking the seat beside X.

“You must have been working hard today to work up such an appetite, princess,” he murmured, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Think you can ‘squeeze in’ one more customer tonight?” The man glanced over at the table behind them to exchange delighted snickers with his friends.

“Leave her alone!” Ali demanded, leaping to his feet and holding a hand out in warning. He rested his other palm on his zulfiqar, wanting to draw it instinctively, but knowing it would be dangerous to reveal himself here. The man eyed him up and down, then let out a disgusted snort.

“Mind your own business, crocodile,” the man insulted him before returning his lecherous gaze to X. He raised a hand to her head, meaning to reach out and twirl a strand of her hair between his sticky fingers, but she stopped him immediately.

“Don’t touch me,” X told him, her soft voice so at odds with the vice-like grip she had on his forearm. The man sputtered in shock as he tried to free himself from her grasp and X let go of him to continue eating her food. The man rubbed his wrist as he stood up, his eyes still wide with surprise. Then his expression hardened.

“You insolent whore!” he screamed, raising his hand to smack her with it. “I should- AHHHHHH!” He shrieked in pain and crumpled to the ground as he felt his blood pounding against his own skin, fighting to break free. Every face in the tavern spun around to face them at the commotion and Ali felt his heart start hammering in his chest with the fear of being discovered. He had to stop her before she gave them away! Or hurt someone! Or hurt everyone!

“Did you not have a mother or was she too busy crying over your cheating alcoholic scumbag of a father to teach you any manners?” X asked, pushing herself to her feet. Her tone was lazy, her movements slow and exhausted, but Ali saw that same terrifying gleam in her eyes as she looked down at the man.

“How dare you!” one of the man’s friends exclaimed as he shot to his feet. He swayed as he marched over to X, clearly inebriated, but delusional enough to think that he could take her in a fight. X sighed and placed a hand on his chest when he approached her, stopping him easily. Then she grabbed onto his shoulders and pulled him down as she raised her knee to slam it into his stomach. The man gasped, then began wheezing for breath as he sank to his knees beside his friend, still bleeding out of his nose on the ground.

“Anybody else want me to ‘squeeze them in’?” X asked, spreading her arms and spinning around to give the rest of the tavern a questioning look. “I’m feeling generous tonight, so I’ll even offer you a two for one special if you’re interested!” She let out a snicker, then stopped to cough again, the movement causing her to bend over so she could catch her breath. Ali took the chance to rush over to her side and lead her back to her seat so she wouldn’t cause any more of a ruckus than she already had. Ey khuda (oh God), did that goddamned Afshin have to teach her how to fight? When she was already so dangerous?! Ali held onto X’s arm as she lowered herself to the seat, but then he almost fell over when a fist struck the side of his head.

“Wha-” Ali turned around, dazed, and was met with the two other members of the man’s entourage. Was this never going to end?!

“Y-You … f-freaks!” One of the men wagged a finger in his face, his words slurred from all the alcohol in his system. He swung a fist at Ali but he caught it easily, holding the man in place.

“Sir, trust me, you don’t want to do this,” Ali warned him, more concerned about the drunk man than about the young woman happily munching on her food behind him.

“Sh-Sh-Shut up!” The other man yelled at Ali before smashing his glass down on the table. Then he held the jagged edges out before him, waving them around wildly as he tried to focus on his target. “Get out of the way, s-s-sandfly! We want that b*tch, not you.”

Ali winced at his words, knowing that it had been the wrong thing to say. X pushed herself up and turned to face the men, her lips pressed tight with anger. She grabbed the wrist of the man holding the broken glass and tugged him towards her with more force than she looked capable of wielding right then. She glanced at the man's companions, still curled up helplessly on the ground, then pulled her gaze back up to her current target.

“Why is it that the most unintelligent of men are always the loudest?” she asked, not bothering to wait for a response before punching the man square in the throat. He dropped his glass to clutch at his throat and staggered backwards as he desperately gasped for air. The last man standing howled with fury before charging at X, but she just bent over and calmly picked up the broken glass lying on the floor. The man tripped over her hunched form, flying across the room and landing on the table he'd previously been sitting at.

“Wha-” He appeared disoriented for a few seconds, but then shook himself out of his daze and ran at X again. She held the glass in front of her as he approached, letting him ram his stomach right into the sharp edges. The man shrieked in horror as the blood began to trickle out of him, then he, too, was writhing around on the floor in agony. X smiled at the sight, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, then she lowered herself to her knees.

She was insane, she was actually insane! Forget about Ali accidentally giving away his identity and putting them all into danger, X might actually just get them all killed sometime soon! Ali knelt down beside X and shook her shoulder, trying to get her to abandon the man whose chest she'd placed her palms upon.

“X,” he hissed at her, his gaze flickering around the tavern discreetly to take in the aghast faces of the people around them. “X, get up. We have to go!”

X didn't listen, choosing instead to stay in position and continue healing the men she'd broken. She hadn't injured them that badly - it only seemed worse because they'd probably already downed half of the tavern's monthly supply of alcohol by the time she'd gotten there. But she'd sober them up now; fix their wounds and clear their minds so they'd know never to treat another woman with disrespect again. Honestly, the state of the world astounded her sometimes: how dare all these pathetic men beat and abuse the very beings who brought them to life, who nurtured them and gave them everything they could ever wish for. Dara would never treat her that way. Or allow anyone else to, for that matter.

She stood up, finally, and the men jumped to their feet at the same time. The four of them stared at X with a mixture of disgust and fear, then they began scrambling over each other to race out of the tavern.

“Finally!” One of the waitresses turned to grin at X, delighted by her show of bravery. Well, ‘foolishness’ was probably a more appropriate word for the situation, Ali thought to himself. “I thought we'd never get rid of the ‘furious four’!”

“‘Fumbling four’ is more like it,” one of the patrons added in jest.

“Or what about ‘frightened four’?” another suggested, waving his cup in the air in agreement. The crowd burst into laughter, all of them throwing their own coins into the pot, and Ali allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Maybe they really could be safe for one night; just one.

[sgt-tombstone]

Simon hates how much he hates fireworks.

It’s a stereotype, that military personnel can’t deal with fireworks, and the last thing he ever wants to be is a stereotype. He’s spent his whole life trying to avoid being a statistic. And yet.

They’re in Washington DC and it’s the Fourth of July. Just their luck, really; an overnight layover at the end of a long and boring op. Normally whenever they stay in big cities, Price tries to get them as far off of the ground as possible, which usually means fancy hotels. None of them ever complain; it’s a safety risk, sure, but it helps enormously with the traffic and city noise. Now, though, all it serves to do is get them closer to the fireworks exploding above the city.

As an apology for his oversight, Price had handed out military-grade noise-cancelling headphones when they had gotten to the hotel, the same ones that they regularly use to protect their eardrums from firearms and grenade explosions. They’re uncomfortable as all hell, and they don’t completely block out the noise, but they’re better than nothing. Simon had stomped up to his and Soap’s room, head already a mess from the mind-numbing mission and the impending stress of whatever bullshit the country’s capital would pull for their independence day, pulled his headphones down tight, and promptly passed out, trying to force his brain into unconsciousness before the worst of the fireworks start. Maybe he can sleep through it.

No such luck.

Read the rest on AO3!

[jeeprsoart]

This is for Disastrous_Canasta on AO3 and for him only...his Trans!Doc Holliday AU is very special to me.

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[undead-knick-knack]

I have no talent 😘🥲✌️