Dec 12th fic prompt
Title: I'm riding somewhere south of heaven
Summary: he belongs here, and they want him here
Rating: PG
Characters: Billy the Kid, Pat Garrett (Young Guns)
Disclaimer: not my characters, just my words. Title taken from Jon Bon Jovi.
Warning: spoilers for the first Young Guns if you haven't seen it, which, how could you have not seen Young Guns. It's a requirement if you were alive at any point after the 80's. Sheesh.
A/N: Written for moofoot for her holiday fic prompt Young Guns: set in the time between YG1 + YG2- something with Billy once the gang has scattered their separate ways and he's left to fend for himself without any backup. Happy holidays, Ali! Hope you like it :D
They shake hands and ride their separate ways into the dusk.
It doesn't feel right to Billy, but that's the way it happens.
He heads North, leaving Lincoln, but not New Mexico. No, never; this is his territory. He belongs here just as much as the wild horse and the sagebrush.
Riding with no real direction at first he wanders the frontier, reacquainting himself with the land.
He skirts the towns he comes across, avoiding people, and the trouble he knows is looking for him. The war might be over, but there's certainly still folks out there who'll take exception to that hole Billy put between Murphy's eyes.
One day bleeds into the next, and while the landscape changes, Billy doesn't feel like he's going anywhere. It isn't too long before he gets tired of the sound of his lone horse's hooves, and of sitting beside a campfire alone, talking to the flickering shadows.
He just can't stay away from people. He likes 'em, and they like him.
Drifting through a couple places, he takes a reading of the atmosphere, getting a feel for how things are, what kind of aftereffects the war in Lincoln has left; how many men with a badge are still out looking.
Some folks talk up the Regulators like they were heroes, others spit in the dirt and call them scum. The temptation is there to jump in on some of those conversations, but instead Billy rides on through and bides his time.
When it comes, he'd really like to make a grand re-entrance; come in guns blazing, horns sounding and canons firing. Instead, he sidles in like a coyote who comes out of the dark to sit on the edge of a glowing fire.
It's not so hard to blend in; a different hat, some dusty clothes, and a bandanna hide his features, an old leather duster hides his guns.
No one recognizes him when he takes a seat at the corner table in a rat trap saloon. He orders a drink and keeps an ear out to the rest of the place; eyes on the front door.
The conversation at a card game catches his attention, and Billy sits back smirking as he listens to one man laying down the bullshit extra thick.
It seems the man was a bounty hunter, and had himself a big run in with the renegade Regulators.
Taking his drink and his hat, Billy walks over and joins the game.
"Yeah, I sure had those sumbitches dead t'rights," the man drawls, a Texas accent if Billy's ever heard one. "Coulda plugged The Kid right then an' thar."
The other two in the game listen in while dealing cards.
"I got Brewer, at least," the man says with pride. "Cut 'im down like the dog he was."
Billy smirks when he hears that, eyes on his cards.
One man leans forward, doubt in his voice.
"I thought ol' Buckshot Roberts took care of Dick."
"That's just what the papers said. Truth is, I was th'one t'skin 'im. Buckshot was already full'a holes in that shit house. I was the one cleanin' house on them boys."
Discarding one of his cards, Billy snickers. He gets a glance from The Texan before the man goes on.
"The others ran off like scared chickens, an' I had The Kid cornered."
"What happened?"
"Why didn't y'shoot him?"
Billy folds his hand, and leans back in his chair, waiting for the rest of the story.
"I coulda killed 'im," The Texan replies. "Maybe I should've. But he was there, cryin' like a babe an' beggin' me not to."
"The Kid begged you?" One man cants his head in suspicion.
"Sure did. He really is just a kid, y'know; baby-faced pretty boy, not long off his mama's teet."
The others all laugh, and Billy does, too.
"So what happened?" someone prompts.
"Well, I don't kill women or children, an' I tell you, in that moment there The Kid was both. So I tell 'im, I say, 'Tell you what. You get down an' kiss my boot, I'll let y'go.'"
Even if they aren't buying the story, the men are entertained by it; leaning in to listen, their cards forgotten.
"Did he do it?"
"Sure as hell did. The coward."
The group breaks into laughter, and The Texan spits and grins. Billy joins in, pitching his voice to rise louder than the others.
It lasts longer, too, and soon the others quiet to stare at him.
"Somethin' funny?" The Texan asks, eyes narrowing on Billy.
"Oh, it's funny alright." Billy wears his brightest grin, eyes dancing in mirth. "I don't believe I've heard a bigger bucket of hog piss, and don't think I've seen a dumber crowd to swallow it up."
"You callin' me a liar?"
The glares comes from all around the table now, and Billy just grins and nods.
"Yessir, I am."
The man starts to stand and draw, but in a blink Billy has one of his Colts out of his right holster and aimed.
Training it on the Texan, Billy continues, casual as you please.
"Y'see, I was there when ol' Dick bit it, an' I can tell you for sure it was that fat ass Roberts who done it."
The Texan's eyes widen, and Billy takes joy in seeing realization dawning on the Texan's face.
"And kissing someone's boot, well, seems to me that'd be something I'd remember doing."
"Billy... "
The reaction from the others is a bit of a surprise. Billy had figured they were all pretty much in shock and like to stay that way, but one man is all it takes, and when the cowboy to Billy's left goes for his piece there's a quick reaction from the other and soon they both have their guns out and trained on Billy.
Billy's head turns left, then right, observing this new development with mild fascination.
"D-- drop it, Kid."
The man on Billy's left tightens his grip, trying to hold his gun steady. Billy sees the bob of the man's Adam's apple, and smirks.
"Whoops." Billy's laugh turns into an amused hiss, and he relaxes his hand, letting the grip on his gun go so that it dangles by his trigger finger, barrel pointed towards the ceiling.
"Guess I underestimated you boys."
The Texan suddenly has his swagger back. He finishes drawing his own weapon and points it at Billy.
"Not so tough without your gang."
The man on Billy's right lowers his weapon to reach for Billy's.
"Actually... "
Billy watches the movement out of the corner of his eye. Just as the other man's hand is about to close on the barrel of Billy's gun, Billy flicks his wrist and rights the weapon into the firing position. He's barely squeezed the trigger on the one, when his other gun is out and firing at the man on the left.
The Texan gets both barrels to the chest before the bodies of his two poker buddies hit the sawdust on the floor. The Texan has a moment to jaw soundlessly, then falls over to join them.
"-- I am," Billy finishes, cackling.
"Almost," a voice from behind whispers, cutting off Billy's laughter.
Billy hears the click of a hammer, but only flinches a hair when the gun goes off.
From somewhere to his left another body hits the ground.
The rest of the saloon clears out in a hurry, and Billy turns first to look at the dead man he missed.
"I figure he had you pegged before they did," the man behind Billy says.
"Maybe." Billy nods, then he turns, gun up and pointed at the only person left in the room.
The man doesn't flinch. Instead, he coolly holsters his own gun, and reaches down to help himself to a shot left on the table by one of the dead men.
"I knew it was you when you come in the door."
It only takes Billy a moment to place the man, and his features lift in surprise.
"Garrett."
Garrett makes a face when he swallows, eying the glass before setting it down.
"Yup."
Billy barks an amused laugh, but keeps his gun up.
"Pat Garrett, well I'll be damned. You probably don't remember me, do you?"
Smiling, Garrett nods.
"Sure I do. New Year's Eve, right?"
Billy laughs again, amused and delighted.
"What the hell're you doin' out here, Pat?"
Garrett answers with a shrug.
"What can I say? Hard times."
Billy's expression turns a bit solemn.
"Yeah. Sure are."
Holstering his weapon at last, Billy looks Garrett over, then nods over his shoulder towards the door.
"I was thinkin' about heading towards Las Vegas, myself."
"Pretty lawless place, I hear," Garrett drawls, resting his hands on his hips.
"Yeah. Ought to be the perfect place t'put together a new outfit."
Billy laughs, and Garrett smiles.
"Well y'know, I was kinda headed that way myself. The action's pretty dead in this place."
"Sure as hell is." Billy's laugh goes up again, high and nearing maniacal as he walks up and presses the toe of his boot to The Texan's lips.
Billy's laugh carries him out of the bar and back to his horse, Garrett by his side.
Summary: he belongs here, and they want him here
Rating: PG
Characters: Billy the Kid, Pat Garrett (Young Guns)
Disclaimer: not my characters, just my words. Title taken from Jon Bon Jovi.
Warning: spoilers for the first Young Guns if you haven't seen it, which, how could you have not seen Young Guns. It's a requirement if you were alive at any point after the 80's. Sheesh.
A/N: Written for moofoot for her holiday fic prompt Young Guns: set in the time between YG1 + YG2- something with Billy once the gang has scattered their separate ways and he's left to fend for himself without any backup. Happy holidays, Ali! Hope you like it :D
They shake hands and ride their separate ways into the dusk.
It doesn't feel right to Billy, but that's the way it happens.
He heads North, leaving Lincoln, but not New Mexico. No, never; this is his territory. He belongs here just as much as the wild horse and the sagebrush.
Riding with no real direction at first he wanders the frontier, reacquainting himself with the land.
He skirts the towns he comes across, avoiding people, and the trouble he knows is looking for him. The war might be over, but there's certainly still folks out there who'll take exception to that hole Billy put between Murphy's eyes.
One day bleeds into the next, and while the landscape changes, Billy doesn't feel like he's going anywhere. It isn't too long before he gets tired of the sound of his lone horse's hooves, and of sitting beside a campfire alone, talking to the flickering shadows.
He just can't stay away from people. He likes 'em, and they like him.
Drifting through a couple places, he takes a reading of the atmosphere, getting a feel for how things are, what kind of aftereffects the war in Lincoln has left; how many men with a badge are still out looking.
Some folks talk up the Regulators like they were heroes, others spit in the dirt and call them scum. The temptation is there to jump in on some of those conversations, but instead Billy rides on through and bides his time.
When it comes, he'd really like to make a grand re-entrance; come in guns blazing, horns sounding and canons firing. Instead, he sidles in like a coyote who comes out of the dark to sit on the edge of a glowing fire.
It's not so hard to blend in; a different hat, some dusty clothes, and a bandanna hide his features, an old leather duster hides his guns.
No one recognizes him when he takes a seat at the corner table in a rat trap saloon. He orders a drink and keeps an ear out to the rest of the place; eyes on the front door.
The conversation at a card game catches his attention, and Billy sits back smirking as he listens to one man laying down the bullshit extra thick.
It seems the man was a bounty hunter, and had himself a big run in with the renegade Regulators.
Taking his drink and his hat, Billy walks over and joins the game.
"Yeah, I sure had those sumbitches dead t'rights," the man drawls, a Texas accent if Billy's ever heard one. "Coulda plugged The Kid right then an' thar."
The other two in the game listen in while dealing cards.
"I got Brewer, at least," the man says with pride. "Cut 'im down like the dog he was."
Billy smirks when he hears that, eyes on his cards.
One man leans forward, doubt in his voice.
"I thought ol' Buckshot Roberts took care of Dick."
"That's just what the papers said. Truth is, I was th'one t'skin 'im. Buckshot was already full'a holes in that shit house. I was the one cleanin' house on them boys."
Discarding one of his cards, Billy snickers. He gets a glance from The Texan before the man goes on.
"The others ran off like scared chickens, an' I had The Kid cornered."
"What happened?"
"Why didn't y'shoot him?"
Billy folds his hand, and leans back in his chair, waiting for the rest of the story.
"I coulda killed 'im," The Texan replies. "Maybe I should've. But he was there, cryin' like a babe an' beggin' me not to."
"The Kid begged you?" One man cants his head in suspicion.
"Sure did. He really is just a kid, y'know; baby-faced pretty boy, not long off his mama's teet."
The others all laugh, and Billy does, too.
"So what happened?" someone prompts.
"Well, I don't kill women or children, an' I tell you, in that moment there The Kid was both. So I tell 'im, I say, 'Tell you what. You get down an' kiss my boot, I'll let y'go.'"
Even if they aren't buying the story, the men are entertained by it; leaning in to listen, their cards forgotten.
"Did he do it?"
"Sure as hell did. The coward."
The group breaks into laughter, and The Texan spits and grins. Billy joins in, pitching his voice to rise louder than the others.
It lasts longer, too, and soon the others quiet to stare at him.
"Somethin' funny?" The Texan asks, eyes narrowing on Billy.
"Oh, it's funny alright." Billy wears his brightest grin, eyes dancing in mirth. "I don't believe I've heard a bigger bucket of hog piss, and don't think I've seen a dumber crowd to swallow it up."
"You callin' me a liar?"
The glares comes from all around the table now, and Billy just grins and nods.
"Yessir, I am."
The man starts to stand and draw, but in a blink Billy has one of his Colts out of his right holster and aimed.
Training it on the Texan, Billy continues, casual as you please.
"Y'see, I was there when ol' Dick bit it, an' I can tell you for sure it was that fat ass Roberts who done it."
The Texan's eyes widen, and Billy takes joy in seeing realization dawning on the Texan's face.
"And kissing someone's boot, well, seems to me that'd be something I'd remember doing."
"Billy... "
The reaction from the others is a bit of a surprise. Billy had figured they were all pretty much in shock and like to stay that way, but one man is all it takes, and when the cowboy to Billy's left goes for his piece there's a quick reaction from the other and soon they both have their guns out and trained on Billy.
Billy's head turns left, then right, observing this new development with mild fascination.
"D-- drop it, Kid."
The man on Billy's left tightens his grip, trying to hold his gun steady. Billy sees the bob of the man's Adam's apple, and smirks.
"Whoops." Billy's laugh turns into an amused hiss, and he relaxes his hand, letting the grip on his gun go so that it dangles by his trigger finger, barrel pointed towards the ceiling.
"Guess I underestimated you boys."
The Texan suddenly has his swagger back. He finishes drawing his own weapon and points it at Billy.
"Not so tough without your gang."
The man on Billy's right lowers his weapon to reach for Billy's.
"Actually... "
Billy watches the movement out of the corner of his eye. Just as the other man's hand is about to close on the barrel of Billy's gun, Billy flicks his wrist and rights the weapon into the firing position. He's barely squeezed the trigger on the one, when his other gun is out and firing at the man on the left.
The Texan gets both barrels to the chest before the bodies of his two poker buddies hit the sawdust on the floor. The Texan has a moment to jaw soundlessly, then falls over to join them.
"-- I am," Billy finishes, cackling.
"Almost," a voice from behind whispers, cutting off Billy's laughter.
Billy hears the click of a hammer, but only flinches a hair when the gun goes off.
From somewhere to his left another body hits the ground.
The rest of the saloon clears out in a hurry, and Billy turns first to look at the dead man he missed.
"I figure he had you pegged before they did," the man behind Billy says.
"Maybe." Billy nods, then he turns, gun up and pointed at the only person left in the room.
The man doesn't flinch. Instead, he coolly holsters his own gun, and reaches down to help himself to a shot left on the table by one of the dead men.
"I knew it was you when you come in the door."
It only takes Billy a moment to place the man, and his features lift in surprise.
"Garrett."
Garrett makes a face when he swallows, eying the glass before setting it down.
"Yup."
Billy barks an amused laugh, but keeps his gun up.
"Pat Garrett, well I'll be damned. You probably don't remember me, do you?"
Smiling, Garrett nods.
"Sure I do. New Year's Eve, right?"
Billy laughs again, amused and delighted.
"What the hell're you doin' out here, Pat?"
Garrett answers with a shrug.
"What can I say? Hard times."
Billy's expression turns a bit solemn.
"Yeah. Sure are."
Holstering his weapon at last, Billy looks Garrett over, then nods over his shoulder towards the door.
"I was thinkin' about heading towards Las Vegas, myself."
"Pretty lawless place, I hear," Garrett drawls, resting his hands on his hips.
"Yeah. Ought to be the perfect place t'put together a new outfit."
Billy laughs, and Garrett smiles.
"Well y'know, I was kinda headed that way myself. The action's pretty dead in this place."
"Sure as hell is." Billy's laugh goes up again, high and nearing maniacal as he walks up and presses the toe of his boot to The Texan's lips.
Billy's laugh carries him out of the bar and back to his horse, Garrett by his side.