Better Outrun My Gun - parts 67-71
Erik is a restless healer. He knows very well it's too dangerous for him to be here, knows that Shaw knows perfectly well this is where he'll hide. Even if Charles wants to continue denying the truth, it's only a matter of time before the man comes and burns down the entire saloon around them. Erik dreams of what Shaw said he'd do to them, waking in fevered sweats with the bedclothes coiled around him, his chest tight with worry and fear. He takes a deep breath, staring desperately in the darkness. It's a mistake. He's putting them all in danger. He has to go.
The first night he's left alone, Erik pulls on his clothes and slips out, only to find Angel sitting outside his room with a shotgun resting on her folded arms.
“Now just where do you think you're going?”
“I can't stay.” Erik protests weakly. “Charles...”
“Fuck, Charles,” Angel says succinctly. “Do you know what Moira will do if we let you out?” She prods him back to bed, ignoring his objections.
Next he decides to try the window, but it's boarded up. Erik pounds the boards angrily, or he would if he had any real strength in his hand. The blow leaves him coughing and weak. He staggers back and falls against the bed.
“We're going to have to tie you down if you keep this up.” Charles remarks from the doorway.
“Charles,” Erik pushes himself up. “You have to let me go.”
“When you can walk properly, we'll talk about that.” Charles moves in to help him sit up.
“Now.” Erik's fingers dig into Charles's shirt desperately. “He'll come for you, for your family. Charles, don't let them die because of me.”
“Nobody's doing to die, Erik.” Charles is steady and calm, a rock in the middle of a stormy sea, anchoring Erik.
Yet, he shakes his head. “You're a fool, Charles.”
“Maybe.” Charles leans in to press his lips to Erik's temple, as he climbs into bed beside him. Erik allows Charles to hold him, even as his mind races ahead, trying to figure out what he can do next.
“Shh,” Charles murmurs. “Calm your mind, Erik. We're safe for now.”
Erik closes his eyes and wishes he could believe him.
Erik's hand mends slowly. Janos didn't smash it as hard as he could have, and for that Erik is grateful. He flexes it slowly, lying there, staring at the ceiling. He will shoot again.
It just takes time.
It's early morning, but the sound of hooves rattles the glass in the saloon windowpanes. Charles looks up, weariness creasing the lines of his young face. He nods to Angel up on the balcony. She's on Erik duty. She knows without Charles even having to repeat it.
Don't let him out.
Calmly, Charles lifts the rifle off the bar and steps out onto the porch. Shaw has his men riding up and down the main street, and around the alleys on either side of the saloon. Dust whips around in the air, but there's no sound other than continuous ominous hoof-beats. Charles just stands there, until at last Shaw moseys his horse over in front of the saloon. His eyes flicker over Charles dismissively.
“Go get Lensherr.”
“You can talk to me.” Charles stands his ground.
“I want to talk to a man.”
“Lensherr's not available at the moment.” Charles tells him politely. “What do you want to see him about, Shaw?"
Shaw chuckles. “All right. I want you and your sisters to behave. To remember your place in my town.”
Charles's hand tightens on the rifle. “And if we don't?”
“Then you'll die.” Shaw says flatly. “Not quickly. Not painlessly. But bloody.” The look in his eyes is sincere in promising horror. “Now tell me, Charles...do you really want that for your sisters? For Erik?”
Charles faces him steadily. “Now, I'll tell you what I want. I want you to leave, Shaw. Specifically, I want you to leave us alone from now on and I want you to do it now.”
“Now why would I do that?”
“Because it's the last offer you're going to get, and you're only going to get it once.” Charles says softly.
“Always thought you'd get over this foolishness, Charles. Apparently I was wrong.” Shaw nods and a whip snaps through the air, startling Charles. But instead of wrapping around him, the whip pulls the gun away, yanking it from his grip.
Charles swallows. “If you take me...will you leave them alone?”
Shaw cocks his head at him curiously. “You'd do that? Sacrifice yourself? For them?”
“Yes. If you give me your word.”
Shaw considers it. “All right.”
Charles steps forward, swinging up into the saddle of the waiting horse. Even as he does it, he has a feeling it's a mistake.
“Of course, you should know by now, Charles...my word isn't worth a hill of beans.”
Shaw's laughter is the last thing Charles hears before darkness overtakes him.
When Erik wakes in the morning, he knows it’s time. Something is wrong; the feeling settles on him like lead in his chest. Erik pulls himself upright. For once, there is no nausea, no wave of pain shooting through him. He dresses slowly before heading down to the stairs. From the kitchen he can hear the sound of Moira crying.
“They just took him.” Her sobs are broken, her eyes red when she looks up to see Erik in the doorway. Raven’s standing beside her, her hands on Moira’s shoulders, steadying her.
Erik nods. His hands are steady, though the bruises haven’t faded. This is the beginning of the end. It's only a matter of time now.
He spends the day practicing.
They get the message from Shaw that evening. Janos delivers it, riding up to the front of the saloon casual as can be.
“Lensherr!”
Erik nods at Raven and Moira to stay inside and steps out to face him. “What’s the message?”
“Shaw wants you out in the street, day after tomorrow. Dawn.” Janos spits in the dust. “Or your boy dies.”
“What's wrong with tomorrow?”
“Day after, Shaw said.” Janos grins.
Erik knows the game Shaw’s playing. He nods, accepting it. “Tell him I’ll be there.”
“Why’s he waiting?” Moira asks worriedly as soon as he’s back inside.
“He's just trying to make us edgy.” Erik says calmly as he can. Even though he wants to ride into Shaw's ranch and find Charles right now this very instant. If he lets himself think about it, what they're doing to Charles...he will break.
So he doesn't. He focuses on the guns, testing his hand. Raven watches him silently, as he practices. His aim is good, but he's slow. His hand is sore. And if Shaw brings all his men, he'll have no chance.
Charles is tied in the barn, hands above his head, yanked up high. He’s been there for hours. It's a test to see if anyone will come for him. Charles wills them to stay away. Even if Raven tried something so foolish, surely Erik would stop her. He doesn’t allow himself to think of Erik coming for him.
“Think he's coming for you?” Shaw leans against the stall, watching him. “His little whore? Is that mouth of yours really worth getting killed for? Worth risking everything for? Naw. I doubt it. Erik can find better and he knows it. He ain't coming for you. Course, I could be wrong.” He grins and pats Charles on the back. “Get some sleep.”
Charles closes his eyes as the barn door closes.
Shaw’s not wrong.
Nobody comes for him.
Charles is still hanging there in the morning, arms aching and muscles sore.
The next day passes with the speed of a snail. Erik paces the length of the saloon like a panther. The waiting is fraying his nerves, even though he knows perfectly well that's what Shaw wants.
If Charles dies because of him...if Shaw kills him...Erik closes his eyes and issues a prayer to the wide expanse of desert surrounding him. Keep Charles safe, whatever the price. Keep him safe.
That night is the longest night of Erik's life. When the morning comes, it's a relief.
It comes with the stillness of a graveyard. Erik flexes his hand as he checks his gun. This is it. He's going to rescue Charles, and he's going to kill Shaw. These are the only two things that matter. If he allows himself to hope for more, it will all be undone. Erik doesn't believe he deserves more. There are things in his past, things he’s done. He's killed men, threatened women for information, stolen when he was starving. He's not proud of his deeds, or of his past, but somehow, he is proud of Charles and his sisters. Proud of them standing up to Shaw even if it's foolish. Proud they're trying to hold on, proud that he's known them. That is what is in his mind as he dresses and ties on his gun-belt.
His last thought should be of his mother, but he thinks she would understand if he gives it to Charles.
He goes down the stairs slowly. There's no hurry to facing death.
It will come soon enough.
Moira and Raven are waiting downstairs in the bar. Raven's dressed once again in Charles's clothes with her hair pulled back. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright and speculative. She’s plotting something. Erik looks at her with suspicion.
“What?”
“I'm coming with you.” Moira interrupts his question. “Raven stays here.”
He expects Raven to argue, but for once she accepts her older sister's ruling. In retrospect, this is when he should have seen it. Instead, he holds the door for Moira and they step out into the grey dawn.
They walk down the street to the grocery store where Shaw arranged the meeting. It feels like a hundred miles. Erik walks at a measured pace, overly conscious of the woman at his side. The only hope he has in killing Shaw is that Moira and her family will be safe.
He has an idea then. “Wait.”
Moira pauses, looking up at him.
Erik hesitates, then draws out the doeskin pouch from his pocket. “This...isn't all that much, but I want you to give it to Charles.”
“What do you mean?”
“If he still wants to go to school back east, this is a start.” It's not everything. Oh he wishes, it were everything. All the pouch contains is the few dollars he has and his mother’s ring. It’s not hardly anything at all, but it’s all Erik has in the world. Save for his guns, and he guesses Charles wouldn’t want those.
“He told you about that?” Moira asks softly.
“No, Raven did.” He drops the pouch into her hand and her fingers close over it.
“Erik.”
“Come on. We don't want to be late.”
They walk on, but Moira takes his arm for a moment, squeezing it gently.
Shaw's waiting on his horse, sitting easy in the saddle. There's a rope tied to the pommel; the other end is around Charles's neck as he stands beside the man's stirrup. Moira's grip on Erik's arm tightens when she sees him, and then she moves her hand away.
Erik's gaze rakes over Charles quickly. Bruised, exhausted, but still standing. Still Charles. His heart swells a little, and he forces the emotion down. There's no time. Not now.
“Here's the thing, Lensherr.” Shaw grins. “Yeah, I remember the name. I remember a lot of things about that time. The way the wind whimpered through the pines at night. The way your mama's skin was so soft. It smelled like lilacs. Especially between her breasts.”
Erik stays silent.
“This is how it's going to go. You turn yourself over to me, and I let your little whore here go.” He tugs lightly on the rope, jerking Charles's head up. Charles’s face is tightly drawn, like he’s struggling to keep a hold of himself, but his eyes meet Erik’s steadily.
“No.” Erik says clearly.
“Beg pardon?” Shaw leans forward in the saddle, as though he didn’t quite hear what Erik said.
“Let him go, Shaw.”
“Now, Erik, why on earth would I want to do that?"
“You like playing games. Here's one. If I win, he goes free. If you do, keep him.”
“Why, Erik...” Shaw grins. “You really think you've practiced enough to face me? Especially when you've gone and injured your hand.” He sounds reproachful, as though this is all Erik's fault.
“Are you sure you want him back? Seems to me he’s more trouble than he’s worth. You know he was fool enough to come with me of his own accord, if I gave my word to leave you alive?” His grin shows exactly what he thinks of that. "He actually believed that." Shaw guffaws loudly.
“That’s because he, unlike some, is an honorable man.” Erik’s eyes return to Charles. “Foolish as hell, but honorable all the same.”
Shaw yawns.
“How about it, Shaw?” Erik's voice is calm, like the sea after a storm in the night, like the following morning peace. Like Charles's eyes, when he lays beside Erik.
“How about...not?” Shaw snaps his fingers and the rest of his men advance from the shadow of the building. There are twenty-five of them altogether.
“Coward.” Erik looks up at Shaw.
Shaw's smile disappears. “Just for that, I'll string him up after all.” He jerks on the rope and Charles gasps, struggling to breathe. It's a horrible reminder of the night Erik saw Charles. He starts forward, but every single one of Shaw's men have a gun trained on him and Moira. If he moves, they'll kill her. He's trapped again and Shaw has won.
Erik looks at Charles, regretting so much. He wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him until the end.
“Let them go.” A steady voice calls out from above. Shaw jerks in the saddle, searching for the voice that dares to defy him.
“What the fuck?”
Raven's standing on the balcony of the general store across the street with a rifle in her hands. “I said, let them go.”
“Or what?” Shaw leans forward in the saddle, smirking at her. This isn't a threat to him.
“Or this.” Raven fires calmly, hitting Az in the hand. He yelps, dropping his gun.
The other gunmen turn to face her, waiting for orders, but Raven is not alone. The women of the Red Rose Saloon step out and own the town. Jubilee and Jean stand on the roofs flanking Raven's. Marie and Angel are on the roof behind Shaw. He surveys them, his mouth thinning to a severe line. He might make it out, but chances are at least one of them will hit him. Even Shaw knows when not to press his luck.
Tipping his hat to Raven, Shaw looks at his men. “Drop 'em and stand back.”
“You heard the man.” Raven cocks her shotgun.
One by one, the men drop their guns and step away from them. Moira takes a pistol from her shawl and nods at them. “Over there.” She herds them across the street while Shaw seethes. When the men are locked in the general store, Moira turns to face Erik.
“All yours.”
Erik smiles then. It’s a dangerous smile, and Charles knows in that instant that Shaw’s fate is upon him. He closes his eyes for a moment, accepting that this is what has to happen.
“Fine.” Shaw spits, dismounting. He pulls the rope free from the saddle, dragging Charles after him. Yanking on the rope, he forces Charles to his knees. “There, go on.”
Charles starts to get up, but Shaw kicks him savagely in the gut. “Crawl.”
“Stand up, Charles.” Erik says softly.
And Charles does, not once looking back at Shaw as he gets silently to his feet, walking toward them. In an instant, Moira is there, untying his hands and pulling the rope free from his neck.
Charles is safe, that's all that matters. Erik's gun hand is aching to reach for it. Not yet, he wills himself to wait. Not just yet.
“There.” Erik says softly. “Now.”
“Now.” Shaw echos. “Do you really have the balls, Erik? You couldn't save your mother. What makes you think you're man enough to face me now?”
“It doesn't take much of a man to face you.” Erik turns to meet him straight on.
“Go on then.”
They wait. There is no sound in the silent, sleeping town. If the townsfolk are watching from behind their curtains, they stay quiet.
They wait. The minutes tick by. The silence swells around them, filling the street.
Until Shaw finally can't take the silence any longer and his hand goes to his gun, firing quickly. The bullet is a little high, it hits Erik between his chest and right shoulder. For a moment his vision wavers, as his body reacts, and then his hand raises his gun slowly and surely to aim straight at Shaw.
"Well?" Shaw sneers. He raises his arms, essentially making himself a target. "Go on then, if you can."
"You should not have killed my mother." Erik says softly.
His own bullet is clean and true, hitting the center of Shaw's forehead. There's surprise in Shaw's eyes as he falls slowly to the dirt, limbs flailing wide. Erik's hands wavers then, and he drops his gun as pain courses through his shoulder.
“Erik! Erik!” Charles is there, wrapping a hand around the wound, trying to staunch the blood. His eyes are worried as he tries to keep the blood from escaping.
"It's all right, Charles." Erik's hand closes around his wrist. "It's all right." He can't think of a pleasanter place to die than in Charles's arms.
“Here,” Moira wraps her shawl around his arm, tying it tightly. “Let's get you home.”
“Sounds good.” Erik murmurs vaguely. It all feels unreal and hazy, save for the pain shooting through him. The only thing he knows he’s not imagining is Charles’s touch. That's as familiar and as comforting as a gun in his hands.
Charles slips under his good shoulder, steadying him. “Come on.”
Jubilee runs to fetch the doctor, while the others help Erik home. They leave Shaw's body there in the street.