Fic: Watching for Crows, The Magnificent Seven
Title: Watching for Crows
Fandom: The Magnificent Seven
Character: Josiah Sanchez
Spoilers: For 'Ghosts of the Confederacy'
Summary: Josiah believes.
Author Notes: Thanks to Hana Standish for a damn fine beta. Any remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.This is a fic-riff off of
joereaves birthday request for a fic with 'angel' [the word, not a name] in it.
Disclaimer: I don't own a single cowboy or old west regulator, much to my continued dismay.
Dedication: For
joereaves. Happy birthday, sweetie! If this isn't the right size, let me know, and I'll try another fandom.
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The funny thing about losing faith is you don’t lose faith in everything. Josiah had thought it was all or nothing, you either had faith or you didn’t. That wasn’t how it happened for him though. No, he’d lost the big pieces, lost faith in structure, book and building. For a while he hadn’t been speaking to the Almighty, true; but he reckoned the two of them needed some time apart. Problem was, he spent too long in silence. That’s what drove him out to the desert. He’d forgotten how to speak -how to raise his voice before he raised his gun- and this mute season needs to be appeased. So he set stone to stone, building walls fallen to ruin and - hopefully- re-building the connection he’d forsaken. Every stone held an epiphany; within each, he’d found a kernel of belief waiting. The crows kept him company- their shining eyes spurring his penance. The rhythm of construction lulled him and he remembered how to see, how to hear- almost as important as talking, more so sometimes. The language of sand and snake and wet mortar came back to him, cool water rising from a hidden spring.
Then Nate came, with those other two, and the water flowed away, beyond his grasp. He was needed, they wanted him for protection they said, but Josiah could see past the earnestness in Nathan’s eyes to the guns on hips and saddles. He’d walked away from that world, and now held other concerns. Penance was a word these men could understand- though it was far too simple a phrase for what he was attempting. He was waiting for his sign, and didn’t need to be entangled in bad business. So he turned back to his stones and listened to the hoof beat retreat. But something-that same urge that called to Lot’s wife perhaps- had him looking up, in time to catch sight of that trio of men vanishing over the ridge.
When Josiah lost his faith, there were other concerns that stuck tight. Fate, destiny, a belief in miracles…and in angels. Josiah knew that angels came in all shapes and sizes- just like signs. And the messengers with black wings had always the ones most willing to walk beside him.
As he squinted against the glare, the heat wavered and he clearly saw the flare of black wings on the central figure. Josiah blinked; the three vanished over the ridgeline. But he knew a sign, a reply to his solitary prayer, when he saw it. He didn’t need the sudden caw of a crow to tell him that his message had been received. Angel of death, angel of vengeance- he didn’t know or care. He simply knew it was time to walk out of the desert and act.
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