JE/NEWS- "A Fistful of Dumbasses [REMIX]"
Title: A Fistful of Dumbasses
Universe: JE (Western AU)
Theme/Topic: N/A
Rating: PG-13 for language
Character/Pairing/s: NEWS (Ryo-centric)
Spoilers/Warnings: Very little knowledge of the old west. Some violence.
Word Count: 4,695
Summary: This is the NEWS gang.
Dedication: For the original story "The Good, The Bad, and the Shige" by nanyakanya at coldbloodedfire. Special thanks to track_04 for the beta.
A/N: Original post here.
Disclaimer: No harm or infringement intended. All is just for fun.
When Ryo agreed to sign on with Yamapi for this whole outlaw gig three years ago, he’d theorized that with his smarts and Yamapi’s prodigious gunslinging skills, the two of them would be able to gather badass comrades, fearsome reputations, and more money than they could carry before they’d both even hit their final growth spurts.
In the wildest of his youthful imaginings, Ryo had expected the two of them to become as infamous as the likes of the James-Younger gang (except prettier, and with fewer war crimes). He’d thought that they’d become legends just like that, held in high regard by their peers, hated by the law, and unquestionably respected by everyone everywhere.
But he’s beginning to realize that youthful imaginings like that are exactly what they sound like: meaningless flights of fancy. The reality of it all is that he’s not going to get the James-Younger gang. He’s never going to get the James-Younger gang.
Instead, he has Robin Hood and his Merry Morons.
Plans involving Yamapi as the centerpiece to a potential empire just tend to swing that way, probably. Ryo is starting to think that Yamapi doesn’t actually know what the word “outlaw” means.
Proof of that comes from recounting their exploits over the last six months, in which the not-so-infamous, not-so-feared NEWS gang robbed a crooked cattle rancher in order to redistribute his funds to the homesteaders he’d cheated out of their land, busted up a group of reprobates threatening to torch a brothel full of scared foreign girls, and worked a stint on the Texas cattle trails earning legitimate money because their intrepid leader had decided that robbing the stagecoach would be tacky and mean.
For a normal gang of so-called outlaws, that particular list of accomplishments would usually lead to a grand falling out, possibly a shooting or two, and an eventual (and most likely angry) parting of ways between gang members.
But somehow, somehow, Yamapi had managed to recruit the only other two other “outlaws” in the universe who agree with him completely.
Koyama had paled and shaken his head vehemently when Ryo had suggested the stagecoach robbery idea, the lanky former army medic citing that “innocent people could get hurt,” and that he would rather continue to starve and freeze from sleeping on the desert ground than risk any unnecessary civilian injuries. On the other hand, Masuda had suggested that since they’re low on funds, they could return to working the cattle drive instead, probably because the sharpshooter-slash-cook had taken advantage of the fact that the four of them had been given all the beans and beef jerky they could eat along the way.
Clearly criminal masterminds, the both of them.
Yamapi of course, had instantly vetoed Massu’s suggestion to return to the trail because it’s not an adventure if you’ve already done it before, and after the stagecoach idea bust, he had simply declared that their new plan was to “head west.”
Koyama had cheered at how impressive and stoic their leader was. Massu had agreed that that sounded like a very profitable plan.
Ryo’s reaction had been to bite the inside of his cheek, turn around, and march out into the brush alone to shoot at rocks.
Now, some days later and true to Yamapi’s word, the four of them find themselves trekking slowly across the hills of New Mexico, moving west towards California, because apparently Koyama has a friend of a friend of a cousin who owns a giant lettuce farm out there and is willing to take on four more hired hands for the harvest.
Ryo sits low in the saddle and thinks that this is not where he’d planned on his career leading him at all those three years ago; even with his recently lowered expectations, he would have liked to have at least had a few banks robbed by now, truth be told, so that he’d have a comfortable nest egg stored away with which to buy the appropriate amounts of liquor and hookers due to a man of his young age and rakish good looks.
But instead, he’s currently hunched over his horse, trying to ignore the buzzing of the flies and the sweltering noonday sun overhead, all while very seriously debating whether or not to turn around and shoot Koyama, who keeps talking to his stupid gelding like it not only knows what he’s saying, but is completely capable of conversing back to him.
“Just a little further until we can get some water, Yucchi. Won’t that be nice?” the lanky medic tells his gentle-eyed chestnut comfortingly, as it sweats in its admirable attempt to trek across a rough stretch of New Mexican wilderness. The horse makes a few huffing, grating noises in its throat as it moves but continues gamely on, while Massu rides alongside Koyama and looks sympathetically at both his and the former medic’s beleaguered animals.
“I’m tired just looking at them,” the group’s part-time cook and full-time marksman murmurs, wiping his hand across a broad forehead that is sweating almost as profusely as his lanky dun gelding is. “It must be awful being a horse out west.”
Up in front of them on the trail, Ryo rolls his eyes, even as he hears Koyama’s cluck of empathetic agreement. His own horse is weary but isn’t showing any signs of outright irritation yet; usually the stubborn black mare will balk against his commands or refuse the bit when she’s particularly testy, and sometimes, Ryo can swear that she’s actually glaring at him.
As for their cheerful leader, he’s riding at the head of the gang, whistling breezily to himself. The flies and the heat and the long miles ahead have absolutely zero effect on his generally optimistic bent (and his naturally perfect hair). Even his moron horse seems to have contracted its master’s sense of easy-goingness, the big dappled gray prancing along the trail and flicking its tail proudly, stopping to occasionally nip curiously at the rough tree branches hanging over its head on the road.
In other words, there are idiots talking to horses behind him, and an idiot in front of him who doesn’t realize that whistling in the middle of hostile Indian country is a good way of getting shot.
Ryo wonders if this is what his life is doomed to be for the rest of his years.
Of course, that is the exact moment when Yamapi suddenly decides to push his horse from the road toward the top of the adjacent ridge without a word of warning. Ryo grudgingly thinks that it must be God’s answer to his questions.
“What are you doing, leader?” Koyama asks when he notices Pi purposefully straying off of the beaten path.
Yamapi smiles lazily. “Scenery!” he calls out over his shoulder, and the volume of it makes Ryo cringe, because when you yell like that in the middle of the road, it’s like painting a giant target on your back for Indian raiders to see.
“Not so loud, dumbass,” Ryo tells him tightly, and pulls his mare up alongside Yamapi’s idiotic gray as they begin to ride up the incline together. “You’ll get shot by an arrow and die from infection, and then who’ll be our fastest draw?” It is a sensible thing to worry about; Massu is flawless enough when it comes to longer distances and his Winchester Rifle, but if the poor idiot got challenged to a one-on-one duel in the middle of a street at high noon with six-shooters, he’d probably cry and run away.
Yamapi chuckles quietly at Ryo’s irritation and looks at his old friend from under the brim of his hat, his dark brown eyes glinting bright and sharp. Sometimes, when Ryo looks at him when he’s like this, it feels as if Pi really can do everything he thinks he can. “I won’t die,” Pi promises very seriously, just as their horses start to climb the final curve of the ridge that will take them to its apex. “I have too many things to do.”
Ryo almost wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter how much he has to do because Indian raiders and roving gangs of less-scrupulous bandits don’t care either way, but before he can, the sound of shouting in the distance grabs their attention.
Instinctively, the two outlaws-in-name dismount at the first indication of potential danger, Ryo and Yamapi hastily tethering their horses to some prickly brush and ducking close to the ground as they climb the rest of the way up the ridge themselves in order to see what’s going on.
At the top, when they peek into the rolling desert plain below, they can see a dry-looking homestead overrun with grubby-looking men in dirt-covered jackets, all of whom seem to be very busy shouting at a group of shackled people as they herd them off of a rickety wagon and towards an equally rickety barn.
Yamapi frowns. “What’s going on?” he asks, voice low.
Ryo watches, the muscle in his jaw twitching when he recognizes the signs. “Slavers, probably,” he answers, and forces himself to sound nonchalant. “We better get out of here before they see us. We’ll ride wide around the ridge. Horses won’t get water for a little while longer, but better they’re thirsty than we’re dead.”
He turns to go, keeping his head low as he slips down the slope, back towards his mare.
He expects Yamapi to be right behind him.
Which-of course- means Yamapi does not follow him at all.
Ryo scowls. “Pi,” he hisses, glaring. Out of the corner of his periphery he can see Koyama and Massu waving up at him, back from where they are waiting along the trail. With his luck, one of those two idiots will shout to welcome them back, like they’ve been gone for years or something, and in so doing, alert the entire gang of slavers to their presence. Ryo can maybe get past not being a successful or rich outlaw, but he definitely does not want to be dead one at the tender age of nineteen. “Pi,” he repeats, slightly louder and slightly more desperate, “let’s go!”
In the meantime, Ryo also makes a few abortive motions at Massu and Koyama down below; one to tell them to be silent, and another to stop them from riding up the hill after him and Pi, because their slack-jawed expressions tell him it’s a decision they seem to be leaning toward.
Koyama reads the motions and the look on Ryo’s face-thank god for that army training-and turns to say something to Massu.
Ryo breathes a sigh of relief as the two converse before he turns back to Yamapi, who is still watching the proceedings by the homestead, his mouth grim, eyes unreadable.
“Pi, they’re going to see us and then we’re going to become slaves too. Now c’mon!” Ryo mutters to him in low tones, and starts to fidget impatiently.
Yamapi doesn’t move.
Ryo makes argh noises and clenches his hands into fists before taking a deep breath and trying to find some logical line of explanation. “Look, if you’re imprisoned, then you can’t have your stupid adventures. Ever think of that?”
Pi purses his lips. “No more adventures for them, either,” he murmurs, and lowers the brim of his hat over his eyes.
“Yeah, we’ll cry about that later. For now, can we please…”
“Ryo-chan!” Koyama greets, interrupting Ryo’s pleas as he and Massu cheerfully make their way up the hill, “are you sure you want us up here too?”
“Why are you whispering?” Massu asks Ryo next.
Ryo makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat as he turns to see Koyama’s chestnut and Massu’s dun picking their way up the slope a few feet behind him, the two of them grinning like they’re so incredibly flattered that Ryo had invited them up here to take part in manly male bonding time with Yamapi.
Idiots. Ryo is surrounded by happy idiots.
Speaking of which, Yamapi finally tears his eyes away from the inhuman atrocities or whatever that are happening below, and looks pleased when he sees Koyama and Massu making their way gamely towards them.
“What’s happening, leader?” Koyama asks as he dismounts from Yucchi. Which is fortuitous, because like that, Ryo can reach up to slap a hand over the taller rider’s mouth and growl, “Whisper,” before Koyama can draw attention to them.
Koyama looks a little bit bewildered with Ryo’s hand on his face, but after a moment, manages a nod. Ryo slowly withdraws his hand and gives Massu a look.
Massu nods and puts his own hand over his own mouth as he dismounts as well.
Yamapi punches the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. “Boys,” he says, eyes sparkling with the prospect of justice and adventure, “we’re going to take out some slavers.”
“How brave!” Koyama breathes, while Massu nods again in what can only be deemed as approval. His hand is still carefully placed over his mouth.
Ryo groans and goes to get his rifle.
**~**
The shootout itself is nothing to write home about. Massu is a stupid glutton and a full on idiot, but when he wants to hit something with a bullet, he hits it, and the first three bullets fired in the melee are his. They each hit a guard along the homestead’s perimeter before the slavers even know what’s happening.
For all the sudden fury and accuracy of the shots, the scumbags think that they have the entire force of the union army on them, and a few of them take off full throttle on their horses for the hills before they realize that their attackers only number in the low single digits.
The next few shots are the NEWS members laying cover fire for each other as their horses speed over the hill; Yamapi, always quick on the draw, manages to wound what Ryo assumes is the leader before the man can dive behind the front porch of the house for cover. Slaves scatter at the gunfire; some take off for the open plains in hopes of escaping the battle altogether while others duck behind trees, the wagon wheels, or the windmill to avoid being shot.
Ryo is in a dark mood as his black mare fans out on Yamapi’s right flank and with some satisfaction, he manages to take two of the bastards out himself before having to toss the rifle and go for his gunbelt.
Koyama, with very slightly less deadly intent, flings the pigstickers strapped to his chest into arms and legs and shoulders where he can, to divert shots and make the slavers drop their weapons.
With the element of surprise on their side and Massu riding in from behind, the NEWS members all manage decent positions in the melee while the slavers attempt to regroup; by the time Ryo takes a flying leap off of his mount and rolls to safety behind the silo he counts the opponents down to eight, which makes it two to one.
Better odds than fifteen to one had been a moment ago, but at the same time, there are innocent people running around the place like spooked chickens, and while the slavers might not care about hitting them, Ryo knows damn well that his idiotic gangmates aren’t so hard-hearted, no matter what the wanted posters might assume.
Koyama, who is ducked behind the watering trough and all out of knives, is to Ryo’s immediate left; he thinks he can make out the steady bob of Yamapi’s hat from nearby as he trades fire with the leader and two other men, who have managed to make it back into the safety of the cabin and are shooting at them from the windows.
Massu is pinned close to the same side of the barn that Ryo is, and thinking like that, Ryo realizes that they’re all too damn close to one another, and that’s going to give the slavers the advantage unless someone moves before they realize it.
The plan, then, is to take out the five guys out here around the perimeter, and then slowly close in on the men holed up inside the cabin when they have the advantage of numbers.
But they have to spread out first, before they get corralled in by their bad positioning.
“Koyama!” Ryo shouts. “Coming in, cover me!”
“R-right!” Koyama answers, voice high-pitched and awful sounding as he fumbles with his gun. “Count to three!”
“No!” Ryo snarls back, because that’s as good as telling the opponents “Hey I’m coming!” and sometimes Ryo can’t believe Koyama managed to survive the war.
“Just shoot!” Ryo snarls, and after reloading, says a quick prayer to whatever asshole deity set him up for this before darting out into the open.
Gunfire rings out, Koyama yelps, and in the melee, Ryo sees a dirty kid in the distance by the well, being a complete dumbass and poking his head up over the rocks to get a better view.
Ryo almost instinctively shoots at the moving head, but keeps himself from squeezing the trigger once he realizes that the kid is probably twelve or something, and cursing, rolls toward the pile of firewood between the well and the cabin instead.
He makes it none the worse for the wear, and from his vantage point, can see across the yard towards the barn, where two goons are closing in on Yamapi’s position as the NEWS gang’s stoic leader successfully hits and disables one of the three men in the house. Which is good, because two against four for later is awesome.
Ryo drops the pair of thugs aiming to sneak up on Yamapi with two quick shots that end in two pained cries.
Ryo grins to himself at the sounds; three down, five to go.
A body collapses out from behind the windmill when Massu jumps out from behind the barn and shoots twice. Ryo’s seen that shot before; one bullet to make a hole in the wood, a second to take the hole all the way through. It would be impressive if Ryo hadn’t known that the guy who can pull it off is also deathly afraid of puppies and laughs to himself uncontrollably whenever someone says the word “duty” out loud with an accent.
Either way, the odds are even now, and Ryo finds himself whooping out loud as he stands up to make his way around the side of the house, planning to cut back towards the barn near Massu so they can close in on the final two slavers crouched behind the overturned wagon from both sides.
It is-as he will later insist-this bout of particularly ingenious in-fight planning that distracts him from the fact that one of the slavers with two of Koyama’s knives stuck in his legs is still kind of conscious, and still capable of holding-and firing- his gun.
He’s also right behind Ryo.
To be fair, Ryo is too busy closing in on the blind side of one of the slavers behind the wagon to notice, and he even manages to hit the bastard in the leg with a clean shot before he hears the telltale click of the downed man’s pistol being hoisted behind him.
He curses to himself at the familiar sound; this is Yamapi’s fault, he thinks, and now he’s not even going to live to see twenty because of his best friend’s idiotic adventure-seeking and pointless do-gooder-ing.
And then the gun behind him goes off.
Ryo is knocked forcibly into the barn wall.
But not by a bullet.
The sound of Massu grunting dully in pain on top of him is what tells Ryo he hasn’t been shot dead after all, and even as he’s shaking the stars from his eyes after his skull’s impact with the side of the barn, he manages to get off a shot that finishes the job that Koyama’s knives hadn’t had the heart to earlier.
There is another grunt, followed by the sound of the bastard who would have shot him in the back crumpling to the ground.
And then there is Massu as well, groaning on the dirt next to him, rubbing a bleeding arm and for once, not looking like the happy idiot he normally is.
“You okay?” Massu asks, prompting Ryo to roll his eyes.
“Fine,” Ryo grounds out, and rather than look Massu in the eye, peers around the corner, towards the lone slaver left behind the wagon and the sight of Yamapi and Koyama exchanging shots with the two slavers still in the house.
Massu is bleeding now, and Ryo can’t tell how bad it is, because he’s not the medic in the group.
“Man hit!” he announces, during a quick lull in the gunfire.
A moment later, he hears Koyama’s answering yelp of, “Massu? Is Massu okay?!”
“I’m okay!” Massu calls out hastily, when the sound of Koyama’s voice going up an octave makes him wince. “Just a scratch!”
“He’s bleeding,” Ryo corrects. “We need to end this now.”
Part of him thinks they never should have started it in the first place, and all of him thinks that somehow, somehow he’s going to come out of all of this regretting everything.
He just knows it.
For the time being, he grabs Massu’s shotgun out of the younger outlaw’s bleeding hand and fires two quick shots with it at the overturned wagon, sending wood shards and gravel flying.
“Koyama!” he shouts, and makes sure to use his angry voice. “They’re not surrendering!”
Koyama looks confused from where he is stretched out under the watering trough. “No, they really aren’t,” he answers, because it’s polite to answer, even if the statement is way obvious.
Ryo j grits his teeth and hopes the idiot will get the signal this time when he gestures with his hand in a cyclical motion at Koyama. Then he fires at the wagon again, because even if the bullets probably won’t penetrate the wood and iron, it’s a great scare tactic for everyone being shot at. It lets them know they’re serious, and violent. He takes a deep breath before bellowing, “So we should use the dynamite!”
Koyama blinks in surprise; Ryo gives him a significant look.
“The…dynamite,” Koyama repeats. “The…”
“The dynamite!!” Ryo snarls as he reloads the shotgun and proceeds to empty the barrel into the broken windowpanes of the house this time. “I’m running out of patience with these idiots. If they want to fight to the death, then fine! If the bodies are burned and blown up then there’ll be less digging and explaining for us to do afterwards!”
Koyama finally seems to catch on. “Oh right! The dynamite. That I have right here. Okay! Then…”
“Wait!!” a voice calls out, from inside the house. “We surrender! No dynamite.”
Ryo sighs in relief when he hears the magic words. Koyama collapses a little into the dirt with similar sentiments.
The edges of Yamapi’s lips quirk upwards, though no one who notices would call it a smile, at least not exactly. “Throw your guns out,” he instructs.
“And come out backwards, with your hands up,” Ryo adds, because Yamapi doesn’t do well thinking about details.
On the ground next to Ryo’s feet, with a hand putting pressure on his bleeding arm, Massu looks confused. “Do we have dynamite?” he whispers.
Ryo silences him with a look, just as two guns are thrown out of the window and one more skitters out from behind the overturned wagon.
“We’re comin’ out! Don’t shoot!” the same voice from earlier announces, and after a moment, the wounded leader and his two men are all standing behind the wagon, hands on the backs of their heads facing the house.
“You lawmen gotta treat us with prisoner’s rights!” the leader feels the need to shout, as Yamapi collects their guns and Ryo proceeds to tie the slavers up. “We are citizens!” the leader adds, while Ryo just smirks at him. “We know we got rights!”
“Who said we were lawmen?” Ryo asks after he’s finished tying them up.
The leader gapes. “But you came in ridin’… and firin’… we’ve been wanted by the circuit judge for years.” Pause. Sputter. “If you ain’t lawmen then why the hell did you attack us?! You crazy or something?”
Ryo grins. “Something like that. We could shoot you where you stand and your prisoner’s rights wouldn’t matter.”
The slavers look at him with a mixture of confusion and horror.
From where he is bandaging up Massu’s arm, Koyama kind of does too.
Ryo sighs and pointedly looks away from the medic. “Right.”
He pulls back the butt of Massu’s rifle and slams it right into the leader’s jaw. He drops like a sack of potatoes, and Ryo finishes his two lackeys off in similar fashion a moment later. They get to live, but they’re going to at least hurt for a few days afterwards.
Yamapi, not noticing the bodies slumped at Ryo’s feet-or not caring-simply whistles appreciatively as he comes out of the cabin a little while later, with a sack full of cash and a satisfied look on his face. “Lots of supplies inside,” he explains to Koyama. “We should be good for a few days like that.”
Ryo grunts in acknowledgement as Koyama and Massu share an excited look before going inside to pack up the goods. Ryo wordlessly takes the cash from Yamapi to store in his saddle bags.
Ten minutes later, as they’re preparing to ride out with their food stores and their wallets restocked, their horses watered, and some serious ass-kicking and mayhem in their wake, Ryo grudgingly figures that maybe-just maybe- this whole “defeat the evil slavers” deal hadn’t been such a bad idea on Yamapi’s part after all.
But before he can admit it out loud, he sees a flash of motion in the corner of his eye.
He nearly has his gun drawn and the trigger pulled before he realizes that it isn’t an errant slaver but that same twelve-year-old kid from earlier, as the idiot suddenly pops out from behind the stack of firewood alongside the cabin, looking dirty and hopeful.
It is one of the damned stupidest moves Ryo has ever seen. And that’s saying a lot, considering he rides with Koyama and Massu every day.
“Hey!” the kid yells, and abruptly starts waving his arms at the four men rapidly, “take us with you!”
Ryo isn’t sure why, but looking at the kid, he suddenly feels that strange, familiar sensation of helplessness rising up in his gut again, the same one that he’d first felt when Koyama had joined on, and then Massu after him. He thinks it has something to do with fate trying to tell him that being surrounded by all sorts of inexplicable idiocy for the rest of his life has simply always been in his stars.
In the meantime, the kid-who has an older friend with goofy eyebrows now standing next to him, looking like he’s going to piss his pants- is slowly creeping closer towards the group, still hopeful and still dirty.
Ryo sighs, and as he looks them both over, can’t help but hope that Yamapi isn’t getting any more stupid ideas about anything. Like taking them along. As it is, they should probably shoot the two kids where they stand, out of mercy. The pair wouldn’t make it a day out here all on their own, with no money, no supplies, and no friends.
Ryo silently hopes Yamapi goes for the mercy kill and please not anything else.
Of course, when they’re riding out not fifteen minutes later with two new members to their merry band of morons- bringing the grand dumbass count to five in total- Ryo supposes he should have known it would come to this, no matter what he might have said or done to the contrary. It’s just destiny, he supposes.
Stupid, stupid destiny.
He’s learning that this is the crux of what it means to ride with NEWS.
END
Universe: JE (Western AU)
Theme/Topic: N/A
Rating: PG-13 for language
Character/Pairing/s: NEWS (Ryo-centric)
Spoilers/Warnings: Very little knowledge of the old west. Some violence.
Word Count: 4,695
Summary: This is the NEWS gang.
Dedication: For the original story "The Good, The Bad, and the Shige" by nanyakanya at coldbloodedfire. Special thanks to track_04 for the beta.
A/N: Original post here.
Disclaimer: No harm or infringement intended. All is just for fun.
When Ryo agreed to sign on with Yamapi for this whole outlaw gig three years ago, he’d theorized that with his smarts and Yamapi’s prodigious gunslinging skills, the two of them would be able to gather badass comrades, fearsome reputations, and more money than they could carry before they’d both even hit their final growth spurts.
In the wildest of his youthful imaginings, Ryo had expected the two of them to become as infamous as the likes of the James-Younger gang (except prettier, and with fewer war crimes). He’d thought that they’d become legends just like that, held in high regard by their peers, hated by the law, and unquestionably respected by everyone everywhere.
But he’s beginning to realize that youthful imaginings like that are exactly what they sound like: meaningless flights of fancy. The reality of it all is that he’s not going to get the James-Younger gang. He’s never going to get the James-Younger gang.
Instead, he has Robin Hood and his Merry Morons.
Plans involving Yamapi as the centerpiece to a potential empire just tend to swing that way, probably. Ryo is starting to think that Yamapi doesn’t actually know what the word “outlaw” means.
Proof of that comes from recounting their exploits over the last six months, in which the not-so-infamous, not-so-feared NEWS gang robbed a crooked cattle rancher in order to redistribute his funds to the homesteaders he’d cheated out of their land, busted up a group of reprobates threatening to torch a brothel full of scared foreign girls, and worked a stint on the Texas cattle trails earning legitimate money because their intrepid leader had decided that robbing the stagecoach would be tacky and mean.
For a normal gang of so-called outlaws, that particular list of accomplishments would usually lead to a grand falling out, possibly a shooting or two, and an eventual (and most likely angry) parting of ways between gang members.
But somehow, somehow, Yamapi had managed to recruit the only other two other “outlaws” in the universe who agree with him completely.
Koyama had paled and shaken his head vehemently when Ryo had suggested the stagecoach robbery idea, the lanky former army medic citing that “innocent people could get hurt,” and that he would rather continue to starve and freeze from sleeping on the desert ground than risk any unnecessary civilian injuries. On the other hand, Masuda had suggested that since they’re low on funds, they could return to working the cattle drive instead, probably because the sharpshooter-slash-cook had taken advantage of the fact that the four of them had been given all the beans and beef jerky they could eat along the way.
Clearly criminal masterminds, the both of them.
Yamapi of course, had instantly vetoed Massu’s suggestion to return to the trail because it’s not an adventure if you’ve already done it before, and after the stagecoach idea bust, he had simply declared that their new plan was to “head west.”
Koyama had cheered at how impressive and stoic their leader was. Massu had agreed that that sounded like a very profitable plan.
Ryo’s reaction had been to bite the inside of his cheek, turn around, and march out into the brush alone to shoot at rocks.
Now, some days later and true to Yamapi’s word, the four of them find themselves trekking slowly across the hills of New Mexico, moving west towards California, because apparently Koyama has a friend of a friend of a cousin who owns a giant lettuce farm out there and is willing to take on four more hired hands for the harvest.
Ryo sits low in the saddle and thinks that this is not where he’d planned on his career leading him at all those three years ago; even with his recently lowered expectations, he would have liked to have at least had a few banks robbed by now, truth be told, so that he’d have a comfortable nest egg stored away with which to buy the appropriate amounts of liquor and hookers due to a man of his young age and rakish good looks.
But instead, he’s currently hunched over his horse, trying to ignore the buzzing of the flies and the sweltering noonday sun overhead, all while very seriously debating whether or not to turn around and shoot Koyama, who keeps talking to his stupid gelding like it not only knows what he’s saying, but is completely capable of conversing back to him.
“Just a little further until we can get some water, Yucchi. Won’t that be nice?” the lanky medic tells his gentle-eyed chestnut comfortingly, as it sweats in its admirable attempt to trek across a rough stretch of New Mexican wilderness. The horse makes a few huffing, grating noises in its throat as it moves but continues gamely on, while Massu rides alongside Koyama and looks sympathetically at both his and the former medic’s beleaguered animals.
“I’m tired just looking at them,” the group’s part-time cook and full-time marksman murmurs, wiping his hand across a broad forehead that is sweating almost as profusely as his lanky dun gelding is. “It must be awful being a horse out west.”
Up in front of them on the trail, Ryo rolls his eyes, even as he hears Koyama’s cluck of empathetic agreement. His own horse is weary but isn’t showing any signs of outright irritation yet; usually the stubborn black mare will balk against his commands or refuse the bit when she’s particularly testy, and sometimes, Ryo can swear that she’s actually glaring at him.
As for their cheerful leader, he’s riding at the head of the gang, whistling breezily to himself. The flies and the heat and the long miles ahead have absolutely zero effect on his generally optimistic bent (and his naturally perfect hair). Even his moron horse seems to have contracted its master’s sense of easy-goingness, the big dappled gray prancing along the trail and flicking its tail proudly, stopping to occasionally nip curiously at the rough tree branches hanging over its head on the road.
In other words, there are idiots talking to horses behind him, and an idiot in front of him who doesn’t realize that whistling in the middle of hostile Indian country is a good way of getting shot.
Ryo wonders if this is what his life is doomed to be for the rest of his years.
Of course, that is the exact moment when Yamapi suddenly decides to push his horse from the road toward the top of the adjacent ridge without a word of warning. Ryo grudgingly thinks that it must be God’s answer to his questions.
“What are you doing, leader?” Koyama asks when he notices Pi purposefully straying off of the beaten path.
Yamapi smiles lazily. “Scenery!” he calls out over his shoulder, and the volume of it makes Ryo cringe, because when you yell like that in the middle of the road, it’s like painting a giant target on your back for Indian raiders to see.
“Not so loud, dumbass,” Ryo tells him tightly, and pulls his mare up alongside Yamapi’s idiotic gray as they begin to ride up the incline together. “You’ll get shot by an arrow and die from infection, and then who’ll be our fastest draw?” It is a sensible thing to worry about; Massu is flawless enough when it comes to longer distances and his Winchester Rifle, but if the poor idiot got challenged to a one-on-one duel in the middle of a street at high noon with six-shooters, he’d probably cry and run away.
Yamapi chuckles quietly at Ryo’s irritation and looks at his old friend from under the brim of his hat, his dark brown eyes glinting bright and sharp. Sometimes, when Ryo looks at him when he’s like this, it feels as if Pi really can do everything he thinks he can. “I won’t die,” Pi promises very seriously, just as their horses start to climb the final curve of the ridge that will take them to its apex. “I have too many things to do.”
Ryo almost wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter how much he has to do because Indian raiders and roving gangs of less-scrupulous bandits don’t care either way, but before he can, the sound of shouting in the distance grabs their attention.
Instinctively, the two outlaws-in-name dismount at the first indication of potential danger, Ryo and Yamapi hastily tethering their horses to some prickly brush and ducking close to the ground as they climb the rest of the way up the ridge themselves in order to see what’s going on.
At the top, when they peek into the rolling desert plain below, they can see a dry-looking homestead overrun with grubby-looking men in dirt-covered jackets, all of whom seem to be very busy shouting at a group of shackled people as they herd them off of a rickety wagon and towards an equally rickety barn.
Yamapi frowns. “What’s going on?” he asks, voice low.
Ryo watches, the muscle in his jaw twitching when he recognizes the signs. “Slavers, probably,” he answers, and forces himself to sound nonchalant. “We better get out of here before they see us. We’ll ride wide around the ridge. Horses won’t get water for a little while longer, but better they’re thirsty than we’re dead.”
He turns to go, keeping his head low as he slips down the slope, back towards his mare.
He expects Yamapi to be right behind him.
Which-of course- means Yamapi does not follow him at all.
Ryo scowls. “Pi,” he hisses, glaring. Out of the corner of his periphery he can see Koyama and Massu waving up at him, back from where they are waiting along the trail. With his luck, one of those two idiots will shout to welcome them back, like they’ve been gone for years or something, and in so doing, alert the entire gang of slavers to their presence. Ryo can maybe get past not being a successful or rich outlaw, but he definitely does not want to be dead one at the tender age of nineteen. “Pi,” he repeats, slightly louder and slightly more desperate, “let’s go!”
In the meantime, Ryo also makes a few abortive motions at Massu and Koyama down below; one to tell them to be silent, and another to stop them from riding up the hill after him and Pi, because their slack-jawed expressions tell him it’s a decision they seem to be leaning toward.
Koyama reads the motions and the look on Ryo’s face-thank god for that army training-and turns to say something to Massu.
Ryo breathes a sigh of relief as the two converse before he turns back to Yamapi, who is still watching the proceedings by the homestead, his mouth grim, eyes unreadable.
“Pi, they’re going to see us and then we’re going to become slaves too. Now c’mon!” Ryo mutters to him in low tones, and starts to fidget impatiently.
Yamapi doesn’t move.
Ryo makes argh noises and clenches his hands into fists before taking a deep breath and trying to find some logical line of explanation. “Look, if you’re imprisoned, then you can’t have your stupid adventures. Ever think of that?”
Pi purses his lips. “No more adventures for them, either,” he murmurs, and lowers the brim of his hat over his eyes.
“Yeah, we’ll cry about that later. For now, can we please…”
“Ryo-chan!” Koyama greets, interrupting Ryo’s pleas as he and Massu cheerfully make their way up the hill, “are you sure you want us up here too?”
“Why are you whispering?” Massu asks Ryo next.
Ryo makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat as he turns to see Koyama’s chestnut and Massu’s dun picking their way up the slope a few feet behind him, the two of them grinning like they’re so incredibly flattered that Ryo had invited them up here to take part in manly male bonding time with Yamapi.
Idiots. Ryo is surrounded by happy idiots.
Speaking of which, Yamapi finally tears his eyes away from the inhuman atrocities or whatever that are happening below, and looks pleased when he sees Koyama and Massu making their way gamely towards them.
“What’s happening, leader?” Koyama asks as he dismounts from Yucchi. Which is fortuitous, because like that, Ryo can reach up to slap a hand over the taller rider’s mouth and growl, “Whisper,” before Koyama can draw attention to them.
Koyama looks a little bit bewildered with Ryo’s hand on his face, but after a moment, manages a nod. Ryo slowly withdraws his hand and gives Massu a look.
Massu nods and puts his own hand over his own mouth as he dismounts as well.
Yamapi punches the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. “Boys,” he says, eyes sparkling with the prospect of justice and adventure, “we’re going to take out some slavers.”
“How brave!” Koyama breathes, while Massu nods again in what can only be deemed as approval. His hand is still carefully placed over his mouth.
Ryo groans and goes to get his rifle.
**~**
The shootout itself is nothing to write home about. Massu is a stupid glutton and a full on idiot, but when he wants to hit something with a bullet, he hits it, and the first three bullets fired in the melee are his. They each hit a guard along the homestead’s perimeter before the slavers even know what’s happening.
For all the sudden fury and accuracy of the shots, the scumbags think that they have the entire force of the union army on them, and a few of them take off full throttle on their horses for the hills before they realize that their attackers only number in the low single digits.
The next few shots are the NEWS members laying cover fire for each other as their horses speed over the hill; Yamapi, always quick on the draw, manages to wound what Ryo assumes is the leader before the man can dive behind the front porch of the house for cover. Slaves scatter at the gunfire; some take off for the open plains in hopes of escaping the battle altogether while others duck behind trees, the wagon wheels, or the windmill to avoid being shot.
Ryo is in a dark mood as his black mare fans out on Yamapi’s right flank and with some satisfaction, he manages to take two of the bastards out himself before having to toss the rifle and go for his gunbelt.
Koyama, with very slightly less deadly intent, flings the pigstickers strapped to his chest into arms and legs and shoulders where he can, to divert shots and make the slavers drop their weapons.
With the element of surprise on their side and Massu riding in from behind, the NEWS members all manage decent positions in the melee while the slavers attempt to regroup; by the time Ryo takes a flying leap off of his mount and rolls to safety behind the silo he counts the opponents down to eight, which makes it two to one.
Better odds than fifteen to one had been a moment ago, but at the same time, there are innocent people running around the place like spooked chickens, and while the slavers might not care about hitting them, Ryo knows damn well that his idiotic gangmates aren’t so hard-hearted, no matter what the wanted posters might assume.
Koyama, who is ducked behind the watering trough and all out of knives, is to Ryo’s immediate left; he thinks he can make out the steady bob of Yamapi’s hat from nearby as he trades fire with the leader and two other men, who have managed to make it back into the safety of the cabin and are shooting at them from the windows.
Massu is pinned close to the same side of the barn that Ryo is, and thinking like that, Ryo realizes that they’re all too damn close to one another, and that’s going to give the slavers the advantage unless someone moves before they realize it.
The plan, then, is to take out the five guys out here around the perimeter, and then slowly close in on the men holed up inside the cabin when they have the advantage of numbers.
But they have to spread out first, before they get corralled in by their bad positioning.
“Koyama!” Ryo shouts. “Coming in, cover me!”
“R-right!” Koyama answers, voice high-pitched and awful sounding as he fumbles with his gun. “Count to three!”
“No!” Ryo snarls back, because that’s as good as telling the opponents “Hey I’m coming!” and sometimes Ryo can’t believe Koyama managed to survive the war.
“Just shoot!” Ryo snarls, and after reloading, says a quick prayer to whatever asshole deity set him up for this before darting out into the open.
Gunfire rings out, Koyama yelps, and in the melee, Ryo sees a dirty kid in the distance by the well, being a complete dumbass and poking his head up over the rocks to get a better view.
Ryo almost instinctively shoots at the moving head, but keeps himself from squeezing the trigger once he realizes that the kid is probably twelve or something, and cursing, rolls toward the pile of firewood between the well and the cabin instead.
He makes it none the worse for the wear, and from his vantage point, can see across the yard towards the barn, where two goons are closing in on Yamapi’s position as the NEWS gang’s stoic leader successfully hits and disables one of the three men in the house. Which is good, because two against four for later is awesome.
Ryo drops the pair of thugs aiming to sneak up on Yamapi with two quick shots that end in two pained cries.
Ryo grins to himself at the sounds; three down, five to go.
A body collapses out from behind the windmill when Massu jumps out from behind the barn and shoots twice. Ryo’s seen that shot before; one bullet to make a hole in the wood, a second to take the hole all the way through. It would be impressive if Ryo hadn’t known that the guy who can pull it off is also deathly afraid of puppies and laughs to himself uncontrollably whenever someone says the word “duty” out loud with an accent.
Either way, the odds are even now, and Ryo finds himself whooping out loud as he stands up to make his way around the side of the house, planning to cut back towards the barn near Massu so they can close in on the final two slavers crouched behind the overturned wagon from both sides.
It is-as he will later insist-this bout of particularly ingenious in-fight planning that distracts him from the fact that one of the slavers with two of Koyama’s knives stuck in his legs is still kind of conscious, and still capable of holding-and firing- his gun.
He’s also right behind Ryo.
To be fair, Ryo is too busy closing in on the blind side of one of the slavers behind the wagon to notice, and he even manages to hit the bastard in the leg with a clean shot before he hears the telltale click of the downed man’s pistol being hoisted behind him.
He curses to himself at the familiar sound; this is Yamapi’s fault, he thinks, and now he’s not even going to live to see twenty because of his best friend’s idiotic adventure-seeking and pointless do-gooder-ing.
And then the gun behind him goes off.
Ryo is knocked forcibly into the barn wall.
But not by a bullet.
The sound of Massu grunting dully in pain on top of him is what tells Ryo he hasn’t been shot dead after all, and even as he’s shaking the stars from his eyes after his skull’s impact with the side of the barn, he manages to get off a shot that finishes the job that Koyama’s knives hadn’t had the heart to earlier.
There is another grunt, followed by the sound of the bastard who would have shot him in the back crumpling to the ground.
And then there is Massu as well, groaning on the dirt next to him, rubbing a bleeding arm and for once, not looking like the happy idiot he normally is.
“You okay?” Massu asks, prompting Ryo to roll his eyes.
“Fine,” Ryo grounds out, and rather than look Massu in the eye, peers around the corner, towards the lone slaver left behind the wagon and the sight of Yamapi and Koyama exchanging shots with the two slavers still in the house.
Massu is bleeding now, and Ryo can’t tell how bad it is, because he’s not the medic in the group.
“Man hit!” he announces, during a quick lull in the gunfire.
A moment later, he hears Koyama’s answering yelp of, “Massu? Is Massu okay?!”
“I’m okay!” Massu calls out hastily, when the sound of Koyama’s voice going up an octave makes him wince. “Just a scratch!”
“He’s bleeding,” Ryo corrects. “We need to end this now.”
Part of him thinks they never should have started it in the first place, and all of him thinks that somehow, somehow he’s going to come out of all of this regretting everything.
He just knows it.
For the time being, he grabs Massu’s shotgun out of the younger outlaw’s bleeding hand and fires two quick shots with it at the overturned wagon, sending wood shards and gravel flying.
“Koyama!” he shouts, and makes sure to use his angry voice. “They’re not surrendering!”
Koyama looks confused from where he is stretched out under the watering trough. “No, they really aren’t,” he answers, because it’s polite to answer, even if the statement is way obvious.
Ryo j grits his teeth and hopes the idiot will get the signal this time when he gestures with his hand in a cyclical motion at Koyama. Then he fires at the wagon again, because even if the bullets probably won’t penetrate the wood and iron, it’s a great scare tactic for everyone being shot at. It lets them know they’re serious, and violent. He takes a deep breath before bellowing, “So we should use the dynamite!”
Koyama blinks in surprise; Ryo gives him a significant look.
“The…dynamite,” Koyama repeats. “The…”
“The dynamite!!” Ryo snarls as he reloads the shotgun and proceeds to empty the barrel into the broken windowpanes of the house this time. “I’m running out of patience with these idiots. If they want to fight to the death, then fine! If the bodies are burned and blown up then there’ll be less digging and explaining for us to do afterwards!”
Koyama finally seems to catch on. “Oh right! The dynamite. That I have right here. Okay! Then…”
“Wait!!” a voice calls out, from inside the house. “We surrender! No dynamite.”
Ryo sighs in relief when he hears the magic words. Koyama collapses a little into the dirt with similar sentiments.
The edges of Yamapi’s lips quirk upwards, though no one who notices would call it a smile, at least not exactly. “Throw your guns out,” he instructs.
“And come out backwards, with your hands up,” Ryo adds, because Yamapi doesn’t do well thinking about details.
On the ground next to Ryo’s feet, with a hand putting pressure on his bleeding arm, Massu looks confused. “Do we have dynamite?” he whispers.
Ryo silences him with a look, just as two guns are thrown out of the window and one more skitters out from behind the overturned wagon.
“We’re comin’ out! Don’t shoot!” the same voice from earlier announces, and after a moment, the wounded leader and his two men are all standing behind the wagon, hands on the backs of their heads facing the house.
“You lawmen gotta treat us with prisoner’s rights!” the leader feels the need to shout, as Yamapi collects their guns and Ryo proceeds to tie the slavers up. “We are citizens!” the leader adds, while Ryo just smirks at him. “We know we got rights!”
“Who said we were lawmen?” Ryo asks after he’s finished tying them up.
The leader gapes. “But you came in ridin’… and firin’… we’ve been wanted by the circuit judge for years.” Pause. Sputter. “If you ain’t lawmen then why the hell did you attack us?! You crazy or something?”
Ryo grins. “Something like that. We could shoot you where you stand and your prisoner’s rights wouldn’t matter.”
The slavers look at him with a mixture of confusion and horror.
From where he is bandaging up Massu’s arm, Koyama kind of does too.
Ryo sighs and pointedly looks away from the medic. “Right.”
He pulls back the butt of Massu’s rifle and slams it right into the leader’s jaw. He drops like a sack of potatoes, and Ryo finishes his two lackeys off in similar fashion a moment later. They get to live, but they’re going to at least hurt for a few days afterwards.
Yamapi, not noticing the bodies slumped at Ryo’s feet-or not caring-simply whistles appreciatively as he comes out of the cabin a little while later, with a sack full of cash and a satisfied look on his face. “Lots of supplies inside,” he explains to Koyama. “We should be good for a few days like that.”
Ryo grunts in acknowledgement as Koyama and Massu share an excited look before going inside to pack up the goods. Ryo wordlessly takes the cash from Yamapi to store in his saddle bags.
Ten minutes later, as they’re preparing to ride out with their food stores and their wallets restocked, their horses watered, and some serious ass-kicking and mayhem in their wake, Ryo grudgingly figures that maybe-just maybe- this whole “defeat the evil slavers” deal hadn’t been such a bad idea on Yamapi’s part after all.
But before he can admit it out loud, he sees a flash of motion in the corner of his eye.
He nearly has his gun drawn and the trigger pulled before he realizes that it isn’t an errant slaver but that same twelve-year-old kid from earlier, as the idiot suddenly pops out from behind the stack of firewood alongside the cabin, looking dirty and hopeful.
It is one of the damned stupidest moves Ryo has ever seen. And that’s saying a lot, considering he rides with Koyama and Massu every day.
“Hey!” the kid yells, and abruptly starts waving his arms at the four men rapidly, “take us with you!”
Ryo isn’t sure why, but looking at the kid, he suddenly feels that strange, familiar sensation of helplessness rising up in his gut again, the same one that he’d first felt when Koyama had joined on, and then Massu after him. He thinks it has something to do with fate trying to tell him that being surrounded by all sorts of inexplicable idiocy for the rest of his life has simply always been in his stars.
In the meantime, the kid-who has an older friend with goofy eyebrows now standing next to him, looking like he’s going to piss his pants- is slowly creeping closer towards the group, still hopeful and still dirty.
Ryo sighs, and as he looks them both over, can’t help but hope that Yamapi isn’t getting any more stupid ideas about anything. Like taking them along. As it is, they should probably shoot the two kids where they stand, out of mercy. The pair wouldn’t make it a day out here all on their own, with no money, no supplies, and no friends.
Ryo silently hopes Yamapi goes for the mercy kill and please not anything else.
Of course, when they’re riding out not fifteen minutes later with two new members to their merry band of morons- bringing the grand dumbass count to five in total- Ryo supposes he should have known it would come to this, no matter what he might have said or done to the contrary. It’s just destiny, he supposes.
Stupid, stupid destiny.
He’s learning that this is the crux of what it means to ride with NEWS.
END