A Tale of Heroism - Chapter One
Title: A Tale of Heroism
Chapter: 1/?
Fandom: Whose Line is it Anyway
Genre: Slash
Pairing(s): Brad/Ryan
Warnings: Quite a lot of violence and death...and one swear
Disclaimer: Don't own Whose Line. Not making money from this.
A/N: AU. This was such a bitch to write. It went through about twenty re-writes, and I'm still not entirely happy with it. Sigh!
X-posted to sherwood_stiles, wl_fanfiction and wliialove.
-----
It took Brad a moment to realise he wasn't dead. The muffled screams began to ring clearer in his ears, and his cheeks were scuffed by the boots of the panicking crowd as they ran in every direction. A flaming torch dropped beside his face, and with a hideous crackling sound began to scorch his skin. Pain coursed through his entire body, but he didn't have long to dwell on it before he was scooped up by a strong pair of arms.
"It's okay, I'll protect you," said a low voice that Brad didn't recognise.
"Stop right there!" Sheriff Davis bellowed. The crowd fell silent and still. A small group of armed troops surrounded Brad and his rescuer. "Put him down."
Brad was set back down on the ground.
"Sorry about that, Sheriff," the unknown voice said, "Just doin' a little justice."
Brad warily glanced up. He recognised the tall gunman that had been aiming at his head before. A little warmth spread through Brad when he saw the noose that still decorated his neck was frayed and burnt from where it had been shot down.
"You're a stranger."
"Well observed, Sheriff."
"Here in Harlinville, we usually don't take too kindly to strangers."
"I would supply you with a name, sir, if I wasn't convinced that it would have absolutely no effect on my fate." The gunman answered. "But I can tell you what you need to know. I hate hypocrites. And every last one of you is a rotten, stinkin' hypocrite."
"The man is a murderer," said the Sheriff, pointing a finger at Brad, "and he is simply receiving his justice."
"Justice?" the stranger echoed, "This man did a murderin', that I cannot deny, but killing him right back don't seem very justful to me."
"Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth."
The stranger chuckled, "No use putting quotes on me, Sheriff. School wasn't my favourite time."
"He has commited a crime, and you will not stand in the way of his punishment."
"Oh, I'm fairly certain I will." In a split-second, two sixshooters had been whisked from their holsters, cocked and aimed. A symphony of guns immediately reciprocated. The stranger looked around. "Huh. So that makes one of me with my two little guns, against...what, thirty of your big ol' guns? Well, never let it be said that Ryan Stiles ain't up to a challenge."
In a feat of gunmanship that Brad had never witnessed before, the stranger shot down eight of the troops, fell to the floor dodging a bevy of bullets, and rolled behind a trough, killing another three of the troops as he went. After a short pause to reload and get his bearings, he hauled himself to his feet and walked briskly in the direction of his attackers. Shooting seemingly blindly, he took down another dozen troops, narrowly avoiding a clip to the ear himself.
"Fuck, that was a close one," he muttered, before pursing his lips and letting out a high-pitched whistle. Moments later, a beautiful bay stallion galloped towards him, scattering the crowd with a cacophony of screams, shots and hoofmarks. Ryan leapt smoothly onto his back and ran over to scoop Brad up.
"Get the prisoner!" Brad recognised Sheriff Davis' voice above the fracas. "Take him down!"
Bullets whistled past their ears as Ryan and Brad rode at a furious pace, away from the crowd and out of Harlinville.
-----
"There's no more trying to shoot me, is there?" Ryan asked after about ten minutes of running.
Brad meekly glanced back, "No."
Ryan pulled on the reigns and the stallion slowed to a canter, "Good. I don't like it when people try to kill me."
"Does that happen often?" Brad asked nervously, "People trying to kill you, I mean."
"Often enough for my liking, and then some." He glanced over his shoulder to scope his new companion, "What's your handle, anyways? Seems almost impolite to save your life without knowing your name."
"Brad. Brad Sherwood."
"Well Brad, Brad Sherwood. We'll be ridin' until sundown, then we'll pitch for the night, okay? Then you've got a bedtime story for me."
"Huh?"
"I saved your life, because I believed it was for a good cause. But I wasn't certain. You need to convince me I did the right thing."
"Oh...okay."
Brad peered back over his shoulder at the distant dot on the horizon that was Harlinville. He couldn't deny that he was grateful to have been saved, but he had been expecting a drink and a rest, not an interrogation. Though, living in this day and age, he had to wonder why that surprised him.
>> CHAPTER TWO >>
.x.Sess.x.
Chapter: 1/?
Fandom: Whose Line is it Anyway
Genre: Slash
Pairing(s): Brad/Ryan
Warnings: Quite a lot of violence and death...and one swear
Disclaimer: Don't own Whose Line. Not making money from this.
A/N: AU. This was such a bitch to write. It went through about twenty re-writes, and I'm still not entirely happy with it. Sigh!
X-posted to sherwood_stiles, wl_fanfiction and wliialove.
-----
It took Brad a moment to realise he wasn't dead. The muffled screams began to ring clearer in his ears, and his cheeks were scuffed by the boots of the panicking crowd as they ran in every direction. A flaming torch dropped beside his face, and with a hideous crackling sound began to scorch his skin. Pain coursed through his entire body, but he didn't have long to dwell on it before he was scooped up by a strong pair of arms.
"It's okay, I'll protect you," said a low voice that Brad didn't recognise.
"Stop right there!" Sheriff Davis bellowed. The crowd fell silent and still. A small group of armed troops surrounded Brad and his rescuer. "Put him down."
Brad was set back down on the ground.
"Sorry about that, Sheriff," the unknown voice said, "Just doin' a little justice."
Brad warily glanced up. He recognised the tall gunman that had been aiming at his head before. A little warmth spread through Brad when he saw the noose that still decorated his neck was frayed and burnt from where it had been shot down.
"You're a stranger."
"Well observed, Sheriff."
"Here in Harlinville, we usually don't take too kindly to strangers."
"I would supply you with a name, sir, if I wasn't convinced that it would have absolutely no effect on my fate." The gunman answered. "But I can tell you what you need to know. I hate hypocrites. And every last one of you is a rotten, stinkin' hypocrite."
"The man is a murderer," said the Sheriff, pointing a finger at Brad, "and he is simply receiving his justice."
"Justice?" the stranger echoed, "This man did a murderin', that I cannot deny, but killing him right back don't seem very justful to me."
"Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth."
The stranger chuckled, "No use putting quotes on me, Sheriff. School wasn't my favourite time."
"He has commited a crime, and you will not stand in the way of his punishment."
"Oh, I'm fairly certain I will." In a split-second, two sixshooters had been whisked from their holsters, cocked and aimed. A symphony of guns immediately reciprocated. The stranger looked around. "Huh. So that makes one of me with my two little guns, against...what, thirty of your big ol' guns? Well, never let it be said that Ryan Stiles ain't up to a challenge."
In a feat of gunmanship that Brad had never witnessed before, the stranger shot down eight of the troops, fell to the floor dodging a bevy of bullets, and rolled behind a trough, killing another three of the troops as he went. After a short pause to reload and get his bearings, he hauled himself to his feet and walked briskly in the direction of his attackers. Shooting seemingly blindly, he took down another dozen troops, narrowly avoiding a clip to the ear himself.
"Fuck, that was a close one," he muttered, before pursing his lips and letting out a high-pitched whistle. Moments later, a beautiful bay stallion galloped towards him, scattering the crowd with a cacophony of screams, shots and hoofmarks. Ryan leapt smoothly onto his back and ran over to scoop Brad up.
"Get the prisoner!" Brad recognised Sheriff Davis' voice above the fracas. "Take him down!"
Bullets whistled past their ears as Ryan and Brad rode at a furious pace, away from the crowd and out of Harlinville.
-----
"There's no more trying to shoot me, is there?" Ryan asked after about ten minutes of running.
Brad meekly glanced back, "No."
Ryan pulled on the reigns and the stallion slowed to a canter, "Good. I don't like it when people try to kill me."
"Does that happen often?" Brad asked nervously, "People trying to kill you, I mean."
"Often enough for my liking, and then some." He glanced over his shoulder to scope his new companion, "What's your handle, anyways? Seems almost impolite to save your life without knowing your name."
"Brad. Brad Sherwood."
"Well Brad, Brad Sherwood. We'll be ridin' until sundown, then we'll pitch for the night, okay? Then you've got a bedtime story for me."
"Huh?"
"I saved your life, because I believed it was for a good cause. But I wasn't certain. You need to convince me I did the right thing."
"Oh...okay."
Brad peered back over his shoulder at the distant dot on the horizon that was Harlinville. He couldn't deny that he was grateful to have been saved, but he had been expecting a drink and a rest, not an interrogation. Though, living in this day and age, he had to wonder why that surprised him.
>> CHAPTER TWO >>
.x.Sess.x.