etceteras | this night ain't for the faint of heart;

this night ain't for the faint of heart;

[ The instant he and Alec return to Anne's ranch, they're greeted with grateful tears and words of gratitude, as Anne embraces her sleeping daughter. Once the girl is safely put to bed, Anne surprises Faraday by wrapping Alec and Faraday each with rib-breaking hugs before she ushers Alec off for some doctoring. Anne's daughter, May, wakes at some point, offers to heal Alec the rest of the way, but her mother bats her hands away.

"She can't do too much at once," Anne explains while she dresses Alec's wounds. "Makes her sick if she tries."

So they stick around while Alec heals – which is just as well, considering the wizard had collapsed nearly the second Anne had taken his weight. Despite his earlier protests, Faraday had obligingly ducked under Alec's other arm, though he grumbled about the new chore. Accused the bastard of being a whole lot heavier than he looked. The man can hardly move that night or the next day, and Faraday feels a bitter little twist in his chest.

(If Faraday were in the habit of being more honest with himself, he'd recognize the feeling as concern, as worry. Strange, feeling that for anyone but himself.)

Not that Faraday gives himself much time to examine that strange feeling, setting to the bottles as he does. Their last stop into a town had refreshed his stores, so to speak, and he takes up station in a corner and tossing back whiskey like his life depended on it. (Maybe not his life, he admits; his sanity, though, is another matter entirely.) He's a charming drunk, at the very least, the alcohol making him boisterous and talkative – better than brooding over the reality of what Alec had told him, of what he is and isn't.

Faraday spends the next several days helping around the ranch – it's a familiar song and dance, and it reminds him of the early days of when he had first trekked out this far west. Before he found more money in cards, before he discovered the strange, shadowy curl just behind his heart – his magic, he supposes. His gift, though Faraday winces at the term, now. He's not obligated to assist, but he does it anyway. It helps to keep his mind off things.

(Because he's not sure if he was better off knowing or not knowing about the existence of magic, about creatures far removed from the natural order of things. He's not sure if he preferred thinking about his ability as some odd quirk of his – painful and abnormal and deeply terrifying, the longer he thinks on it – or if he prefers knowing it came from some deep pool of magic, something that had warped him and changed him. Made him some kind of abomination.

He wonders if the only difference between him and that wraith is that he's still got a heartbeat, for however much longer that might last. )

A few of those days, he wanders back into the nearby town. The first time, he borrows a shirt from Alec and purchases himself new clothing, replacing his bloodied shirt and vest. With a frown, he buys a second set – because for as often as Alec tells him, "Don't die," it's been a uniquely difficult direction to follow. On at least one occasion, he had availed himself of what they generously called their saloon, padded his funds with a few rounds of cards; he doesn't even have to cheat, considering how clearly the men wear their tells on their sleeves. He is gracious about it, though, offers them a conciliatory round of drinks for mopping the floor with them. It seems to do the trick of endearing him to the other men, and the other times he has occasion to ride back into town, they greet him with smiles, not guns.

Today, Anne had sent him to town to purchase some supplies, and with the task done, Faraday wanders back into the saloon. No guns, once again, but no smiles, either, and Faraday is instantly on edge. He slides up to the bar, asks the barkeep in a low voice, "Who the hell died?"

The barman, some weathered old man with a shock of white hair and a beard to match, huffs out a humorless little laugh. "Had a bounty hunter come through, a Wyatt Garrison. Slimy son of a bitch." His smile fades, and he looks pointedly at Faraday, expression solemn. "Was lookin' for a couple'a' men. One of 'em was dark-haired. Lightnin' thrower. The other... well. Sounded an awful lot like you, son."

To his credit, even as something clenches in his gut, Faraday snorts out a laugh, as if that's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. His expression becomes curious rather than wary, and some of the tension drains from the barkeep's shoulders. Fooled by the act, then. Faraday asks, "What'd they do?"

The barkeep shrugs. "Same as anyone does. Killed the wrong folks. $300 for one, $250 for the other. Dead or alive"

Faraday almost wants to ask which is which, but he can figure it out for himself. (A small kick to his pride, but he'll live.) "Ballsy son of a bitch, goin' against a lightning thrower. Good luck to him."

"Said he don't need luck," the barkeep says grimly. His gaze flicks over to the bat wing doors, and though Faraday doesn't turn, he can see movement outside from the corner of his eye as someone meanders down the street. Faraday sucks in a sharp breath and presses his hand to his chest, abruptly struck by the sensation that something is missing, like sitting in a room and realizing all the noise had disappeared. He focuses, and— yes, that shadowy flicker still curls in his chest, but it's muted, somehow. Grown distant and barely there.

Faraday lifts his head, and dread plummets in his stomach like a stone.

He takes his time leaving, at least, takes his time retrieving Jack from where he's tethered in front of a watering trough. Even takes his time trotting out of town – but the instant he's far enough, he urges Jack into a gallop. He makes it back to the ranch in near record time, and when he's near enough to the house, he starts shouting: ]

Alec! We've gotta go.

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You don't know that for sure.

[ That's all the argument he can muster for the moment. This is far from the first time Alec has been shot, but every time it happens, he has to marvel at just how much it hurts. Or he would be marveling if it didn't hurt so fucking much.

He sucks in pained breath after pained breath as they drag him to the house, the walk across the yard seeming like miles. ]

[ They maneuver Alec into the house, find their way to the bedroom. May stands there, pale but determined, and she hovers over the three of them as they ease Alec onto the bed.

In the meanwhile, Faraday keeps up his berating, keeps reminding Alec what a cussed idiot he is, what a complete and utter fool, in a low grumble. He backs away once Alec is settled, allows May to literally work her magic. ]

[ It's difficult for May, but Alec is extremely lucky that she was able to rest as much as she did. He presses her hands to his wound, lips pressed in a thin, determined line, and eyes shut against the blood that seeps through Alec's clothes. She pales as she works, but despite the occasional warning word from her mother, she doesn't stop, doesn't pull her hands away until the pain has eased from Alec's expression and his breathing evens out.

With a final, shaking sigh of relief, she pulls her hands away, a bullet held carefully between her bloodied fingers. Alec props himself up on his elbow to rest a hand on her shoulder in case she topples right over. (And the movement startles him because it doesn't hurt. Sly little girl took care of his shoulders while she was at it.) She does, and she's whisked away to bed by her mother, leaving Alec to get cleaned up and change and Faraday, presumably, nearby. ]

You have any more words about how stupid I am or did you run out?

[ Faraday waits to one side, watching as May works while something bitter and cold writhes in his chest. His hands shake in an entirely unfamiliar way, heart slamming on the inside of his ribs, and he merely stares.

When Alec sits up and May all but collapses, Faraday huffs out a breath. He watches as Anne leaves with May in tow, offers a brief nod of thanks, but after that, he stares at the doorway to keep from having to look over at Alec.

He's angry – that much he has a name for, and the sensation is familiar enough that he latches onto it. Alec addresses him, and Faraday merely huffs out a bitter laugh. ]

Depends. That an invitation?

Not particularly.

[ He doesn't look at Faraday, instead busying himself with shrugging out of his ruined shirt. Damn, he really is gonna run out of shirts at this rate. ]

Look, if you want a real good reason why I did that, the fact of the matter is I don't have one. There was no way the both of us were gonna walk out of that unscathed so I took a chance.

That was a goddamn stupid gamble, Alec. [ His words are heated, and he stalks further into the room, just shy of crowding Alec's space. ]

What if that shot had been just a few inches higher, huh? What if it'd gone through your heart instead of your gut? You'd be six feet under instead of gettin' decent.

[ Alec glances up at him, brows furrowed. He's not sure why the hell Faraday's so angry, but it's starting to get on his nerves. ]

There's an awful lot of "what ifs" right there. I've got some for you: What if he'd shot you dead? What if 'cause your gift was blocked, that meant you were dead?

[ His mouth opens, and the words that nearly fall from his lips are, So what? Death's been chasing Faraday for ages, he figures. It's about goddamn time it caught up.

But his mouth clicks shut, and he grimaces at himself for the dark little thought. The words are briefly replaced with a quick grunt of frustration. ]

That's not what we're talkin' about, here.

Me takin' that shot still would'a been a safer bet, and you know it.

So what are we talking about? A snap judgement in a bizarre situation that we didn't have a plan for? What the hell would you have done? Taken a shot and hoped for the best?

Cause that's exactly what I did.

I—

[ He flounders for a second, because— Alec has a point, but still. Faraday is goddamn mad, and he doesn't quite know why. For the mess in general, for those handful of seconds where he legitimately thought Alec had left him to twist in the wind, for the way his heart had stopped when those shots rang out and when he saw the ragged hole in Alec's gut where the bullet had torn through—

Angry is easy. The strange, cold undercurrent rolling beneath it all – that's difficult. ]

It's not the same and you know it. [ But even this comes out with a little less conviction than Faraday would like. ] You don't have what I have.

[ He snorts, crossing the room to a small basin of water. He doesn't get why they're even having this argument- it all worked out and that should be the end of it. ]

Right then and there, you didn't have it either.

I would've. You felt it same as me, how it came back once he was dead.

[ Faraday spares a quick thought to Wyatt Garrison's corpse outside. They'll have to deal with the body – not out of any respect for the dead, but out of a need to conceal any evidence. Bad enough they're wanted for the murder of four men; they certainly don't need a fifth soul haunting them. ]

It was a damn stupid thing you did, Brennan. That's all there is to it.

[ Alec just. Stops, bracing his hands on either side of the basin and rolling his eyes so hard that the motion somehow takes his entire body. ]

Jesus Christ. I never said it wasn't. We're in a agreement, all right? What do you want from me?

[ He makes another wordless, frustrated noise – obviously Alec isn't going to see things the way he does.

But then again, Faraday hardly knows how the hell he's seeing things right now, either, except through a haze of anger and annoyance. Something that kicks up a fire in his gut, makes his hands ball into fists.

And still that strange coldness seeping into him, crawling into his bones like it means to set up camp. ]

Don't do it again.

[ Quietly, but not without heat. It's about all he can think to say, because all the other words are tangled somewhere in his throat.

He scrubs at his face, trying to dredge up something else to say, but nothing comes. Instead, he takes a breath, trudging away. He pauses in the doorway, a hand braced on the frame as he turns toward Alec – still with that scowl on his face. ]

You...

[ ... he trails off. Faraday isn't entirely sure where he meant to go with that, what he meant to say. "You didn't have to do that." "You need to be more careful."

"You scared the hell out of me."

His knuckles turn white as he grips the door frame, and he looks away again. ]

I'll take care'a' the body. Be back 'fore nightfall.

[ Alec doesn't say anything. He just lets the silence hang there, oddly heavy and charged and different, though he can't figure out why. Faraday leaves and Alec heaves a sigh, dipping his hands into the basin to splash some water on his face.

Does Faraday take him for some kind of idiot? It's not like he wasn't aware of what was going to happen when he made his move. Without his magic, he was good for little more than a meat shield so that was the part he played.

Faraday is the better shot. The faster draw.

Faraday didn't have his gift to fall back on.

Faraday has already died enough.

Ah, hell. That was the crux of it, wasn't it? Christ, since when did Alec have such noble inclinations? He really was gonna get himself killed one of these days.

In the time that Faraday is gone, Alec helps Anne with dinner and with whatever needs doing around the house- it's the least he could do considering he owes his life to May. Faraday's absence makes him oddly nervous, though he's not sure why, so he tries to keep himself busy. ]

[ Faraday's own work is relatively easy: finding where Jack ran off to, first of all. And the horse, being the stubborn, protective cuss he is, had returned to the barn to impatiently await Faraday's return. Grabbing up a shovel. Hauling the body onto Jack's back and swinging himself into the saddle behind him.

He rides hard after that, putting some distance between himself and the ranch. Best to find some remote area for the final resting place of one Wyatt Garrison, former bounty hunter and mean son of a bitch – far from the ranch as possible so as not to give the women cause to worry about repercussions. Faraday buries him in some wooded area, overgrown and difficult to get to, and as he tosses the dirt back over his body, he takes a second to pity the poor bastard for being unlucky enough to cross Faraday's path.

By the time he returns, the setting sun has painted the sky in fiery reds and oranges. Dirt covers his forearms and clothing, and his return is signaled by his stamping on the porch, shaking dirt from his boots. When he finally enters it, he glances around. Keeps his voice light. ]

Took care of that nasty bit of business.

[ Alec is still in the kitchen, helping Anne with the last of dinner, when Faraday comes back. The sounds of someone at the front of the house has Alec tense and ready to fling lightning, but when he hears that familiar voice, the tension leaves his shoulders. ]

Any longer and you'd be late for dinner.

[ Dryly, ] And that surely would've been a tragedy.

[ He ducks to one side to wash up, scrubbing the dirt from his hands and arms.

Dinner itself is tense and quiet, though Faraday answers questions when he's addressed, maintains his usual sense of levity. He makes a few jokes, offers an anecdote here and there, but otherwise he keeps his silence.

They don't bring up the events of the afternoon, which is just as well to him. Probably best Anne knows as little as possible, and Faraday imagines any conversation to be had about how things transpired would only lead to another argument. (Faraday, for his part, hasn't quite expended all the ways to call Alec a fool for what he did, and he still fumes silently over it all.)

After dinner, Faraday sticks around only long enough to gather up a few of the dirty dishes, but he escapes to the porch after that, breathing in the warm night air. With a cigar perched between his lips, he fishes into his pockets for his box of matches – and finds he comes up short. Might've left them in town. Might've left them in his nightstand in the room. Might've tucked them away into Jack's saddlebags, somewhere. Either way, his search yields no results, and he makes an aggravated noise as he pulls the cigar from his mouth. ]

[ It's Anne who ultimately nudges Alec out to the front porch- he really must be having a hell of a time if Anne can pick up on the tension that still crackled between the two of them even if they both make every effort to appear that there was nothing wrong. ]

Need a light?

[ He tenses at Alec's approach, shifting to stand a little straighter. He cuts him only a quick, sidelong glance.

The question is innocuous enough, and he shrugs a shoulder. ]

If you've got one.

[ Alec steps forward quietly and extends a hand. A small flame ignites on his fingertips. ]

Always.

[ Faraday blinks for a second, before letting out an exasperated little huff, though the slight curl of his mouth belies it. ]

Show-off.

[ He uses the offered flame all the same, lets the fire flicker against the tip of the cigar. Inhales slowly to let the flame catch. When the tip of the cigar glows orange, Faraday pulls away, takes in a mouthful of smoke that he blows up into the night sky.

Without preamble, ]

What do you want, Alec?

Clear the air a little?

[ He moves over to the railing of the porch and leans his back against it, arms crossed over his chest. ]

Just wondering how long you're gonna be mad at me.

Now, what makes you think I'm mad at you?

[ Lightly, still. He takes a drag on his cigar as he leans against a post, watches the smoke curl up and away. ]

And what's it matter whether I am or not?

Oh, did I imagine you yelling at me earlier?

Cause traveling with you is gonna be unbearable, that's why.

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