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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ 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.

[ He glances over at Alec again, a measuring sort of look, before he turns back around. For a long while, Faraday stays silent, smoking his cigar, hoping it'll calm him some. The few hours spent riding hardly helped that agitation creeping through him, and, unsurprisingly, neither did burying Wyatt in that shallow grave.

And now, he's still tense, fidgety, and he hardly has a reason for it – or at least, none he can understand, much less give voice to.]

I ain't mad.

[ Simply. ]

I just find myself puzzlin' over how a man who thinks himself so clever could do something so damned thickheaded, still. A mystery for the ages.

[ Alec's eyebrows go up. He's fairly certain Faraday is mad. Or at least annoyed. ]

Why's that bother you so much? You worried about me?

[ He makes a dismissive noise, tapping ash from his cigar. ]

More concerned about how I'd be gettin' to Colorado if you insist on throwin' yourself in front'a' every waitin' gun.

Sorry, was that supposed to be your job?

[ It comes out with a little more bite than he’d like, and he instantly feels bad about it. Getting snappish isn’t going to help anything here, and he instantly lifts a hand to stave off any arguments. ]

I lean on my magic for damn near everything, especially in a fight. Without it, I didn’t know what to do. If he would have taken you out, I don’t know that I could have returned the favor. Then we both would have been dead and no better off for it.

I knew we had May, so I took the chance.

[ He jerks his head around to glare at Alec, eyes narrowing, the corners of his mouth curving downward. Faraday is a temperamental son of a bitch at the best of times, likely to respond to fire with fire, and his lips part to snap back before Alec holds up a hand and continues speaking.

He huffs out an aggravated breath, taking in another mouthful of smoke from his cigar. ]

You even know how to shoot that damn gun of yours?

[ Though there’s a little less heat in his words than there might’ve been even ten seconds ago. ]

You carry it around like it might actually do somethin’, but I haven’t seen you fire it yet.

[ Alec would almost be offended by the insinuation if he hadn’t practically owned up to it just a minute ago. Instead of getting angry, his tone just remains mild. ]

I can use it, just not well. Never had much of a need to, considering I can throw lightning and fire from my hands.

[ A shrug. ]

It’s for looks, mostly. I don’t like people knowing what all I can do, so I try and at least appear normal.

[ That’s about what Faraday expected, really, and he makes a dismissive noise. He’s fully aware that Alec is capable of taking care of himself, but Faraday jabs the end of the cigar at him, the gesture accusing and annoyed.

Sharply, ] Don’t carry the damn thing if you’re no good with it. Either learn to fire, or don’t wear it.

‘Cause people see a gun on you, and they expect you know how to use it. And some folk’ll see it as a challenge, not as a warning.

[ Alec’s eyebrows go up, and he wrinkles his nose as the smoke drifts into his face. ]

Are you lecturing me? I’ve been around a lot longer than you have, and haven’t managed to die a dozen times along the way.

[ His expression darkens, and he steps back, shoulders tense and jaw clenched into a tight line. His ability is still a sore topic, apparently, that dark curl behind his heart flickers at the reminder.

Alec has a point, of course. Faraday has died, over and over – sometimes through no fault of his own. Sometimes because he didn’t know when to leave well enough alone – or because he did know, but didn’t care. Sometimes because he was just tired. And at least once – a shameful, drunken night – because he wondered if his ability wouldn’t save him.

He drops the cigar to ground, grinds it out with his heel – far more force than necessary, but it’s better than punching Alec’s teeth out, as he currently wants to do. The ashes leave a dark stain on the wooden planks of the porch, and he kicks the spent remains away to the dirt. ]

Sure. Fine. [ Brightly, but not without bitterness. ] The hell do I know, right?

[ He pushes off from the railing, putting on an echo of his usual smiles – but this one is sharp and mean. ] I must seem like the world’s biggest idiot to you, huh? Some sorry bastard who can’t tell the difference between bullets and beans. Must be such goddamn chore for you, tryin’ to save me from myself.

[ Christ, this is a mess, and it just keeps on getting messier. Alec is in over his head with this, and he has the brief, embittered thought that maybe he should just leave Faraday to his own devices. Fuck off through the portal to God knows where and leave this whole disaster behind him.

It would be easier. Easier than trying to navigate this. Easier than caring.

But fuck it all, he likes Faraday. He likes having him around, appreciates his company in a way he never thought he would after so goddamn long on his own. The realization that he might actually mourn the man’s absence is startling enough that it saps the anger from him, drawing it out in a sigh. ]

I don’t think you’re stupid. I don’t think you need saving or whatever the hell other ideas you have in your head, and I didn’t mean to imply that I did. I’m sorry, all right?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject