Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Banditos ❯ You Just Gotta Let It Go ( Chapter 20 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
Extreme AU, OOC, non-historic West, violence...supernatural themes, violence.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
Based somewhat on that thrilling vid-game, Darkwatch. Heh. My inspiration for something gory and dark. Oh, but I DO own original characters and creatures.

Colddaye: Thank you for your quibbles! ^_^ I was wondering about that–I know things were THERE, and that it was all conducted discreetly; some aspects were even praised. But...eh. Thanks for those, though. Very nice to know. Happiness for Hs and R?...dunno. I honestly haven’t decided. It’s a heavy fic...why not dark relationships?

I’m Alive: Yeah...I wanted to make sure people knew why Hs did what he did–what he feels what he feels. I don’t want ya’ll to hate him...just yet. (Winces) Everyone in this fic has something they need to work out, something that they’ve got to overcome–I’ve overloaded myself once again (rolls eyes). As for energy drinks...sounds yumma. Honestly. Your review made sense! Thank you for giving me your opinion. ^_^



Chapter Twenty:
You Just Gotta Let It Go




It had been a couple of days–this was his third night. Junior was bundled up in some blankets, his campfire burning meagerly. His horse was standing nearby, eyes reflecting the glow of the fire, fidgeting restlessly. Junior had his hat pulled tightly over his head, his arms crossed tightly–it was freezing. Snow drifted casually, as if it had no real purpose.

He was lost in his thoughts, over his preparation for a future unknown when his horse shuffled nervously, ears flicked attentively forward. Junior heard the noises.

Standing quickly, withdrawing a Mad Man’s rifle from his nearby saddle roll, he watched a lone rider approach them. Their horse was ambling with no real hurry, and he couldn’t tell who the rider was. Dressed all in black, the rider took their time in strolling over. Junior relaxed slightly, lowering his gun.

He waited for the approach, noting that the horse was frothing at the mouth–the rider was packing major heat in the form of several rifles tucked behind the saddle, ammunition belts and bags, and some small supplies.

The rider touched their hat in greeting. A lowered hat brim and a bandanna hid most of their features. Dismounting, the rider gave a small chuckle–revealing their sex.

“You ain’t changed that much,” came the sarcastic announcement, heavy accented. Junior lowered his gun completely. He wouldn’t forget her, not with her antics. He was just surprised that she was here. “Heard ya’ll came into town, and left again. Funny thing is, they all said you been changin’. You weren’t all mean.”

Sullenly, Junior adjusted his hat, unsure of what to say as Jessie removed her bandanna, exhaling heavily. She was untying the leather straps that held her saddle roll and weapons. Handling their weight easily as she swung them off her horse.

“None of the men could come out here,” she said, dropping them on the snow covered dirt. “So Teresa sent me, instead. Kinda don’t mind...keeps me from layin’ on my back, for a few. So whatcha been doin’, man? You seen the light?”

Junior had done a lot of thinking of his part with Alva and the others. But...he wasn’t sure what to do with his past. Only that he needed to change for the future. Now confronted with a part of his past, what was he to do?

He grunted in response. “Whatchu doin’ out here?”

“Like I said–Teresa sent me. Heard ya’ll was ramblin’ alone,” Jessie said cheerfully. She looked at Junior again. “Why’s your chin all crooked?”

“...’Swhat happens when you get your face beat in, I reckon. Don’t look at it.”

Jessie shrugged, but she was also smirking as she dropped to a crouch, poking at the fire with a stick. “Yer daddy all wonderin’ why you up and left him. He thought you were gonna take up where you left off! Sho’nuff surprised him with just leavin’. Figured you were all helpless out here!”

Junior scowled at her. “Shut up about it. I just don’t wanna do that sorta stuff, anymore. Learned my lesson. Don’t be rubbing it all in!”

“Aw...time alone made you all snuggly?” she smirked at him, tossing the stick aside. She then looked around with a frown. “Where’s the honky? Didja lose him?”

Junior didn’t answer, feeling bad for the entire thing. Richie had just been as helpless as he, and...and Junior didn’t even know his name. He shrugged listlessly.

“Well...good. I dunno, been bad for business. I mean, ya’know, wouldn’t be makin’ much if I had more competition. Teresa’s bad enough as it is...”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t mind, would ya ya dumb whore?”

She clapped in delight, laughing. “There’s the fuckin’ turd I know!”

Rolling his eyes, he gestured at the weaponry. “What’s this?”

“Oh...well, kinda figured since ya’ll gonna be on your own, you might as well as take these. Your daddy has a buncha men posted near Montana–since yer headed that way...”

“I ain’t goin’ into Montana!”

“It’s just right over yonder!” Jessie pointed at the mountain that was nearby. “They all posted up to round in survivors and send them into Luna. Help out, some. I mean, ain’t like ya’ll’s goin’ anywhere else, eh?”

Junior was annoyed that even when he said he wasn’t going to help out his father, his father was still trying to get him to do his bidding. But it wouldn’t hurt to have more weapons...

He gave Jessie a smirk of his own. “Sure, then. May as well. Where’s this place at?”

Jessie gave him directions, then gave a low yawn. “Mind if I camp out wit’ ya for the night? I’m kinda tired. Been ridin’ hard the last few days, lookin’ for ya.”

“Whatever. Plenty of space over there.”

Jessie began unloading her bedroll, and made herself comfortable in the spot Junior indicated. Without saying anything more, he glared at the supplies, weaponry and ammunition he was given. He wasn’t going to head into Montana–if his father wanted things done, he should do it himself. Junior wasn’t going to do it. With another smirk, he planned to make use of the things.

That next morning, he packed up quietly and hastily, and left Jessie sleeping where she was. He headed off toward the west, still unsure of what he was going to do, and where he was going. Changing direction, he decided to head south into Nebraska–then see what he’d do, then.

For a few days he traveled, running into various situations and people–it felt as if he were trying to prove himself, or rectify all that he’d done wrong in all his years of wrongdoing. He found himself involved in a raid a group of bandits were conducting against a traveling band of survivors–shooting from within the group to cause chaos, to help the survivors overcome the raid.

He ran into some Indians, but was chased away due to a rumor that some whites had killed off a large camp of Lakota; he barely escaped with his life.

He hit his hometown near the borderline of the state–but it had since burned down....which was peculiar to him, because it seemed that every town he hit thus far had been burnt. There were human skeletons everywhere. Alva’s Town no longer existed–that was somewhat fitting for all that had occurred, he supposed. He continued on south, then changed direction west again.

It was when he finally crossed into Wyoming that he realized the silence, the utter stillness of a country that had no one there, gave him a sense of eerie aloneness. It was as if he were catapulted into a new land–a whole new country. Animals roamed free and seemingly wild–their brands covered by winter fur. Domesticated animals greeted him cheerfully and eagerly–there wasn’t a sign of human life anywhere.

It felt wrong, to him. It felt as if he were the only man living on the planet–it made him intensely scared.

Staring over the scenic mountains of Wyoming, the way clouds continued to cover the sky, Junior wondered what he was going to do with himself. Where he was going to go; whom he should meet. All this survival business worked wonders–he was now fit to take care of himself and possibly others if he had the chance.

Maybe...maybe if Luna was still standing...maybe he could find survivors and herd them in that direction? Maybe the more people Luna had, the better their defenses. The better their chances of surviving the invasion.

Or...or perhaps that was a stupid choice. Herding them all into one area just to be slaughtered.

Lost in thought, he took in the slow moving clouds, feeling the slap of snow–would the sun and warmth ever return?–and feeling blank. His horse shuffled quietly–the noisy cries of sheep caught his attention. Frowning, he looked down into the rocky area below, seeing a small herd of sheep grazing–their wool thick and heavy.

He studied them for a few moments, wondering how they survived a cold winter like this one–wondering if this was all there was, or if there were more. He had no idea what to do with them; what to use them for. He just knew that people used their fur as...clothing?

He stared intently at the wooly animals, trying to figure out how this was possible.

He journeyed on, debating the pros and cons of turning back–to head back into territory where he knew people were. All this aloneness, this emptiness–it was weighing down on him. Before he could reach that decision, he began to hear the impatient braw of many cattle. Curious to know how they had survived, he ventured in that direction.

He had just crested a hill when he saw the farm–it was obvious it had been abandoned, crops dead and rotted over; but there was a man feeding the many head of cattle along one side of the acreage. Junior scrunched up his face, staring at the place. There was a house to his right, smoke curling up from the chimney. Fresh firewood was stacked on the porch, and he could see movement in the windows as someone walked about inside.

A little cheered, Junior began walking his horse in that direction, eying the activity of both cattle and man. That pasture was set too far from the house for him to see everything distinctively, but he saw that a couple of bales of hay were being forked out from a buckboard that was pulled by a horse. There was too much cattle for him to count, so he didn’t bother to measure the herd by valuable amount.

Once reaching the house, he dismounted his horse cautiously, looking around himself. It was quiet, the area was still–it felt like all that existed here were ghosts. It gave him the impression that all he was seeing was a lie. He kept a cautious eye out, tying his horse’s reins onto one of the porch’s support posts, and walked up the stairway.

He removed his hat out of polite courtesy, and knocked on the door. Nervously, he clutched the stained Stetson, wondering what he was going to run into, if he should keep himself armed–

The door opened, and Junior stared in stunned awe at the unexpected sight of Richie, who reacted with the same response upon seeing him. The pair stared at each other in stunned silence, until Richie cleared his throat, reaching out then quickly dropping his hand.

“Yer alive!” Junior exclaimed stupidly, then lowered his voice. “I–I thought that–!”

“I’d thought you died,” Richie exclaimed over him, then quickly looked away, shyly retracting his surprise with another clearing of his throat. “...sir.”

“I–I didn’t...” Junior trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. Then, after a moment of silence, Richie’s face suddenly hardened, eyebrows furrowing with a guarded frown. He visibly tensed, and Junior understood why. He gestured lightly. “I–I ain’t like that, anymore. I’m not here ta be...I never knew...”

“Would you like to come in?” Richie asked after Junior trailed off once more. “There’s some coffee. Some...some food...”

Junior thought that sounded wonderful. But he remained where he was, giving Richie a trite expression. Richie hesitated, looking at him with that guarded expression of his own.

“I ain’t gonna...gonna be like that. I did alotta wrong, back then. Alotta things happened, an’ I...”

Richie stared at him for a few moments, then looked away with a light shrug.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, leading the way to the kitchen. Junior followed cautiously, taking a studious look around himself as he took off his gloves. He removed his hat, a little shameful of his clothes, at the smell that he grew aware of as he warmed.

He sat quietly at the small, handmade table as Richie poured him a cup of coffee. Junior took it with a grateful murmur, warming his hands around the mug as Richie then filled a small bowl of canned venison and a dry piece of dinner roll. He served Junior quietly, then sat across from him, looking out the window for Hotstreak.

He wondered what the redhead would do or think if he came back to find Junior alive and sitting there with him–he was a little nervous about his reaction, remembering that day that Hotstreak accused im of loving Junior. He briefly wondered what the redhead would do to Junior.

The younger Alva sipped at the contents within the mug. He looked over the rim at Richie, noting the difference of his features. This boy was still quite sickly–a greyish pallor shadowed features that were maturing, his frame seemingly fragile and stringy due to poor health. His eyes were ringed with a tannish gray color, signaling a severe lack of sleep–hollow, almost as if there was nothing working that stature of his. He walked with a limp, Junior had noticed, and his movements seemed sluggish.

But still, Richie retained pretty, but boyish features that kept him from being girlish.

Junior lowered the cup, the popping of wood and the far away sounds of cattle the only noise between them. “It’s good ta know yer...still alive,” he said awkwardly, stumbling over his words.

“Same here, sir.”

He shook his head, setting the cup down. “Don’t call me that, man. There ain’t no need. I...I am... shamed. I don’t even...don’t even know yer name...”

Richie snorted, fingertips plucking at the edge of the table. He shot Junior a sneering look, but Junior’s face was reddened with his own embarrassment, his eyes clearly showing shame as he eyed a spot on the table rather than the young blond.

“It’s Richard Foley. But...but he calls me Richie,” he said quietly.

Junior looked up. “Who?”

“The...man. I...he’s the one that found me. His name is Hotstreak.”

Junior sneered at the name. “Sorta name is that?”

Richie shrugged, picking out a sliver in the table and pulling it away. “It’s a little more dignified than ‘Junior’, Junior.”

Junior stilled. It was the first time Richie had spoke to him so derisively. Even as Richie shot him a cautious look, judging his reaction, Junior forcefully restrained himself from reacting physically. He shifted in his seat, shooting Richie an annoyed look. His fingers curled into a fist, but he forced them open again. He made himself sip at the coffee once more, gathering his thoughts. Setting the cup down, he said, “How’d you get this far? Thought we were goners, fo’sure...”

Richie quietly explained what had happened to him, Junior listening incredulously. Marveling at his luck. After Richie finished, stumbling over Hotstreak’s arrival at the Lakota’s camp, Junior stared at him with an expression of confusion.

“This man...you know him?”

“...Vaguely,” Richie muttered, looking down at the table. “He...he was a customer.”

Junior lifted an eyebrow. He knew that customers were sometimes enamored of their whores–repeating their visits, frequenting the saloon just to be close to them. There were times when customers grew jealous and roused fights with others to keep their favorites from being used by others. This was normal–but Junior couldn’t remember any of Richie’s customers, in the short amount of time he’d ‘worked’ there, that frequented his use.

“That...the preacher?” he asked cautiously, trying to imagine the fire-and-brimstone man that dictated the bible by day.

“NO. He...this was just before we left. He...he was there in Runner’s Valley. He...he was there when he...took...when I was shot.”

Junior blinked, then the image of the big redhead he’d encountered in the kitchen at the saloon, and during the chaos in Runner’s Valley, came to mind. His brow furrowed, and he gave Richie a long, studious look.

“Ya’ll...ya’ll in love?” he asked, in disbelief.

NO,” Richie nearly shouted, reddening.

“He followin’ you all over the damn country!”

“I–! I’m not–! But, but he...”

Junior continued to stare at him, not really thinking as he said, “You said it was only one night? Could’ve been makin’ more money–”

“You are–! Piggishly absurd–! You–! Rude, inconsiderate–PRICK!” Richie snapped, rising from his chair, obviously flustered and angered at Junior’s out loud musings.

Junior watched him walk away, blinking with wondrous stupor. For a man to search out another through all the chaos, to be so dedicated to one whore–boy?–was amazing to him. He hadn’t had that same sort of dedication in searching out his own father. At the same time, he understood that this behavior was questionably dangerous. He knew about ownership, about jealousy–he knew he was in danger just being here. A man clouded with imagined love and possession was a man desperate to keep what he found dear. Any threat, imagined or real, was a dangerous one.

Junior frowned. “Ya’ll alone wit’ ‘im, then?”

Richie fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt, drawing the wrists around his palms. “Yes. It’s...it’s just us living here. He’s claimed the farm as...as ours.”

Playing with the mug, Junior blinked curiously. “‘Ours’?”

“He...he said that the...the sheep and cattle are mine. That he’d take care of them until...he just wants to settle down.”

“Sounds like he’s makin’ plans with a woman!” Junior snapped.

“I’m not–!”

“Ya’ll married?”

“NO!!”

“Don̵ 7;t matter! Ya’ll alone out here! He makin’ ya out ta be some sorta housewife! Can’t make a housewife outta some whore–!”

Richie shot him a disgusted look, angrily slamming his chair under the table. “You are just a–angry, piggish–!”

“‘M just sayin’! You ain’t ever gonna find a wife o’ yer own! Too many men can figger out whatcha been up to, ‘specially wit’ them looks! You may as well as git yerself a man–!”

“You speak of blasphemy–!”

“Blasphemy or not, it true!” Junior snapped. He crossed his arms stubbornly. “You’re so dumb to things, you need someone around ta do yer shit–!”

“I’m not helpless!” Richie cried angrily. “I’ve survived this long, I’ve come this far–! I can take care of myself!”

Junior snorted, rubbing his nose with his thumb. “Kid, you wouldn’t’ve if that man wasn’t around. You’d of died in Runner’s Valley wit’out him. You’d of died if he hadn’t been there when those Indians were kilt. Puhlease...”

Richie huffed, but had to admit that incident in Runner’s Valley was true. He turned away, flushing angrily–but getting angry, getting riled up over Junior’s accusations was making his poor health more apparent.

Junior chewed angrily at the piece of bread he hadn’t yet finished, worked up as well. He scowled over at Richie, noting the pulling on the sleeves. “Betcha wit’out him, you’d’ve succeeded in that foolishness, too.”

Richie stilled. He looked at Junior with a sort of startled expression, then shifted that into a sullen one, pulling at his sleeves once more.

“Don’t you think I ain’t knowin’ what that’s about. Been workin’ with whores all my life. Some succeed, some don’t. How long ago was that?”

Richie lifted his nose, haughty expression in place. “This is none of your business. You don’t own me.”

“No...he does!”

Richie grit his teeth. He shot Junior a venomous expression. “I hope you’re not thinking of staying.”

Junior was instantly contrite, shifting angrily in his chair. “Look...sorry...just...it ain’t easy fo’ me ta be...”

“You aren’t sorry for anything, Junior. Without your former power and control, you’re helpless and frustrated over it.”

Junior threw his hat angrily at him. "I realize that! You little shit–! Always pushin’ your damn–! Gawdammit, you piece o’ shit whore!”

Richie sneered at him. “You haven’t changed a bit, Junior.”

Junior rose, growing furious, reddening in the face. “Boy, you are just–! ASKING–!”

Growling low, he took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to sit once more. His knuckles were white, fists tightly curled. Richie watched him with a moody look, observing his struggle.

“Someone needs ta beat out yo’ damn mouth, you fuckin’ piece of shit,” Junior muttered, after he was more calm.

Richie snorted. “Would be nothing new. I’m not surprised at any sort of violence or abuse anyone inflicts upon me. Nothing shocks me anymore.”

Junior scoffed, but the pure bitterness, the resentment in Richie’s soft voice was extremely heavy. He looked up, realizing how old Richie seemed at that moment. He then felt significantly shamed that this boy, once filled with promise and success, was broken into a shell of simmering anger. Enough anger and hurt to slit his wrists. His downcast eyes flit briefly to the bandages that were barely visible underneath the hems of his sleeves.

He cleared his throat. “What about your man? Must care ‘nough ta follow you around an’ take care of you.”

Pink lips tightened into a rigid line of repressed fury. Eyes darkened into almost black pools of hate. “He’s the worst one.”

Bewildered at that, Junior stared at him for a few moments, then he looked away, trying to imagine what it was about this ‘savior’ that caused such a reaction. The boy had been beaten, raped, verbally, mentally, and emotionally abused–he’d been shot, bit, starved, scarred–Junior couldn’t imagine what made this man ‘worse’.

Before he could say anything more, they both started at the sound of someone walking up the front porch. Richie stilled, shooting Junior a scared look. Junior tensed, the front door opening, admitting a man that sighed tiredly as he entered.

At the approach of Hotstreak to the kitchen, both males looked up. Hotstreak looked at Richie, flashing a sort of tired smile before realizing he wasn’t alone.

Looking over and seeing Junior sitting there, Hotstreak stilled. Then his expression darkened considerably upon recognizing him.

Junior wished he’d left earlier. The sudden and building tension was suffocating, clogging his airway. Without any law, without any order out in this chaos, the man was allowed to do whatever he wanted and get away with it. Hotstreak could kill him–and there’d be no help from Richie.

Junior judged the man carefully, noting the size, strength, and meanness reflected in those narrowed green eyes. He’d worn his sidearms, but if they drew...Junior had no idea what sort of shot Hotstreak was. He really didn’t want to find out.

Even Richie stilled at the thick tension, looking from one man to another. Wood popped suddenly, and it looked as if both men were going for their guns until Richie moved quickly, reaching between them to pick up Junior’s dishes. Determination of the redhead told Junior that he wouldn’t dare draw with the blond being there.

Green eyes narrowed and darkened once more, staring at Junior with a sort of assessing expression that begged the younger Alva to make a move.

“What’s he doin’ here?” he demanded, voice raised with severe dissatisfaction.

Richie glanced at Junior carelessly, turning his back to both to put things away.

“Ask him,” he muttered, in a sort of subdued tone Junior hadn’t heard before.

He had to wonder just what sort of wrong Hotstreak had committed to make him that way.

Hotstreak hadn’t looked away from Junior. “What you doin’ here?”

Junior could tell–for it was plainly obvious–that Hotstreak wanted to do away with him. He was looking for any excuse to draw. Carefully, he explained, “In all honesty, I wandered in this here direction. Never had I imagined ever–EVER–findin’ ya’ll here.”

A disgusted snort erupted from the redhead. “I’m sure ya’ll did.”

A dark glare was sent in Richie’s direction.

Not seeing this, Junior explained, “I’d been ridin’ for days. Came across no one but you two. I had no real destination in mind–truthfully, I’m just...real surprised to stumble on ya.”

Hotstreak removed his hat, face hardened with grim determination as he stared at Junior, searching for a lie. He looked back at Richie, who was staring at the sink, pensively listening to their exchange. Junior finally caught the expression, shaking his head.

“I never knew he was alive ‘til ‘bout twenty minutes ago,”he said quietly, sternly. “I was mighty shocked to see that he is.”

The silence, filled with disbelief and doubt, was so thick that it seemed that the fire in the woodstove had died out. Time just seemed to stop–the hairs on the back of his neck rose, and his stomach roiled with tortured fright for his own life. Junior realized that he was scared, and that was probably the only real reason why he wasn’t trying to leave.

“I ain’t lyin’!” he then said, growing insistent as he realized that Hotstreak didn’t believe him.

He stared at Hotstreak with measured calculation, sensing the tension mounting once more. He’d never been so attuned to others’ sense of violence than he did, now. Being aware of it, without the backup of his own confidence and friends, made him uncertain and at a loss over what he should be doing. He grit his teeth, managing to rise from his chair. His legs were intensely shaky and weak, but he managed to do it. “I’ll leave, now.”

Richie looked over at him with an assessing frown. “No,” he finally said, Hotstreak exclaiming with a negative of his own. “Stay for the night. I owe you that much.”

“You don’t owe him shit!” Hotstreak barked, making him wince. A darkened glare had Richie looking at the floor, too subdued to try anything more. But that rigid line of his lips was offsetting to the position he’d taken. Hotstreak looked back at Junior, sneering, “You’ll leave, now. An’ you ain’t takin’ him wit’ you. You don’t own him.”

Junior assessed him with a sideways glance, then looked at Richie, who looked at neither. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t own ‘im, an’ I wasn’t plannin’ on takin’ him. It was never my intention in th’ first place.”

“I’m so sure it weren’t.”

“I stumbled upon ya’ll by chance! An’ nothin’ more! I brought no ill will. I know I done some wrong, an’ I realize tha–!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now, git outta here!” Hotstreak barked, gesturing at the door. “Don’t come back, or I swear I’ll shoot ya! Unnerstand?”

“Crystal,” Junior muttered, plopping his hat atop of his head. He pulled on his gloves and looked over at Richie, saying, “Thank ya fer the coffee–”

“You gave ‘im my coffee?!” Hotstreak about shrieked in dismay.

“–an’ the food–”

“AN’ my food?!” Hotstreak exclaimed, utterly appalled as he stared over at Richie.

Junior realized that he was getting no where. He wondered if he were making things worse. He nodded at Richie, who didn’t even look up as Junior left the kitchen through the back door. As he left the porch, he glanced back at the house, feeling awkward at the trouble he’d caused, at the boy he was to leave behind.

010101010110

Hotstreak watched Junior mount his horse, leaving the property along the front road that led east. He looked back at the silent blond with an expression of disbelief.

“He just happened ta find you by shit-blind luck?!” he asked in shock, gesturing angrily. He was quite fearful that he was going to lose Richie to Junior–it made him sick, desperate.

Richie shrugged a shoulder, not looking at him.

Hotstreak asked, “What are you thinkin’? Why you wantin’ him ta stay? How long was he here?”

Richie said nothing, now understanding Hotstreak’s reaction to Junior. The man was jealous–insanely so. But he didn’t want Hotstreak to get the wrong idea about this unexpected situation. He didn’t feel anything towards the man, except for a little gratefulness for teaching him the things that were useful.

“It’s not what you think,” he finally muttered, almost too low for the redhead to hear. He was angry for feeling more like property than a human.

“Then what?” Hotstreak cried. “What am I s’pposed ta think?! ‘M s’pposed ta believe that he found us by some sorta ‘accident’?! Out here, in th’ middle of no where?!”

Internally debating answering, Richie clenched his teeth, not needing to look up to see that Hotstreak didn’t believe it. Truth to tell, he himself was still shocked at seeing Junior alive. He wasn’t sure if he should believe it himself.

“This is damn bullshit! This ain’t happenin’! You tol’ me he was dead! You said he was dead–why you lie ‘bout it? Why you tryin’ to feel that for someone that fucked ya somethin’ awful like that? Why th’–?! This is horseshit. Alla it. Dammit! This ain’t–am I s’pposed ta believe that he found us by some fuckin’ accident?!” he repeated, growing increasingly agitated.

Fueled by fears of abuse, Richie couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Yes,” he mumbled, quieter than before. Still not looking up. “Because that’s exactly what happened.”

“I’ll bet it was,” Hotstreak snarled, hurling his hat across the room with a stream of curses. He felt so angry, so helpless–! Shocked that Junior had found them. On ‘accident’. Tension mounted, and he ventured forward, feeling desperate in that he wanted to believe–but it was so damn outlandish! What were the odds? The chances? This man was supposed to be dead!

Richie immediately faced him upon his approach, obviously waiting to be struck. Hotstreak stopped cold in his tracks, immediately calming so not to scare or give him any confirmation that he was going to lower himself to that disgrace. He didn’t feel the need to hurt him–just the need to cling possessively at him. He struggled mightily to rein in this desperation, but his hands were shaking as he reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt to draw him close. Richie resisted for a moment, but couldn’t resist the strength the redhead used to draw his body against his taller one.

He went completely rigid as Hotstreak exhaled shakily, squeezing him within his arms. As if by doing so, he would keep him from disappearing. Richie was suffocated against his chest, trying to draw his head back to gather breath–but Hotstreak held on so tightly, squeezing him painfully as his mind continued to panic over the possibility of Junior stealing off with Richie when his back was turned.

Or, worse, if Richie went back to him voluntarily.

He jerked, hands grasping at Richie’s head to pull back. Looking into his eyes, as Richie gasped for air, Hotstreak asked shakily, “You wouldn’t go, would ya? Go wit’ ‘im? He’ll use ya agin. Ain’t you better off wit’ me? I don’t hit you! I don’t do that stuff to you!”

Richie found it absurd that Hotstreak thought he’d go with Junior. As if he wanted that life again? His brow crinkled, and bitterness laced his tone as he sneered, “As if I had a choice in either situation?”

“You have choices here,” Hotstreak insisted, hands tightening on Richie’s face. It was painful, the blond wincing–but Hotstreak wasn’t aware he was inflicting pain in his desperation.

“I’d made a choice. You didn’t like it.”

“Killing yourself wasn’t a very good one!” Hotstreak growled back, grabbing his wrists. He jerked the sleeves back to reveal the white strips of cloth that hid the grotesque wounds he’d repaired himself. “What good is that? Huh?”

Richie managed to pull his arms from his grasp, jerking the sleeves back down. Glaring at him hatefully, he snarled, “A much more agreeable choice than living with a mad man!”

His left eye twitched, and Hotstreak caught Richie’s arm, stopping him from leaving. His fingers burrowed deep into his triceps as he said softly, “You kin call me a lot of things. But I ain’t mad. I’ve never treated you wrong. Bad choices I made, yes–but never have I raised a hand to ya. I’m a much better man than those others you got. Better’n the Indians, even. I’ve never made you work. You’ve had plenty of choices. But I ain’t insane.”

Richie said nothing, fight leaving him as he winced at the pain he felt in his upper arm. For a moment, all he heard was Hotstreak’s quiet breathing–could feel green eyes boring into him with an insistent gaze.

Hotstreak let him go, and Richie pulled away from him, silently walking away. Catching his breath, Hotstreak watched him leave, wondering if he was as mad as Richie claimed. It saddened him to think that he’d never know.