[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 2,187
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

Billy blinked his eyes open lazily, wondering for just a moment where he was. The bed he was lying in was incredibly comfortable, and despite the lack of blankets and his own nudity, the room and the bed itself felt warm.

Rolling his head to the side helped him remember. Rose Creek, what Sam had referred to as an opening skirmish, finding a room after a quick argument with Gabi over just who was going to buy something to use as lubricant… and just the memory of watching his newest mates sharing Goody was enough to turn him on all over again.

Too bad everyone was asleep.

Gabi was still curled up around Goody, one arm thrown lazily over the smaller man and face pressed to his neck, breathing slow and even in rest. Goody had at some point rolled onto his stomach without dislodging the Mexican, head resting on one arm and the other wrapped around Josh. Josh himself was on his left side, his right hand resting on the small of Goody’s back and his left tucked under his own head.

Damn, but Billy’s triad was a hell of a lot of pretty.

He was just pondering the merits of jacking off to all that pretty when he heard a hitch in Gabi’s breathing; then the man was sitting abruptly and reaching for a gun that wasn’t there, a gun that was across the room on the desk.

“Okay, Gabi?” Billy asked softly, keeping his voice level and using the same soothing tone he would use whenever Goody awoke from a nightmare.

Gabi blinked at him absently for just a second; then his expression shifted from wary to comfortable, and the Asian knew his mate was back in the present.

“Sí, hermoso,” Gabi replied, sounding more awake. “How long were we asleep?”

“Few hours, I guess. Sun’s going down, so we definitely slept through lunch.”

Gabi huffed out a breath. “I wonder when supper is,” he said. “I’m hungry.”

Billy snorted. “You’ll have to put some clothes on before you start scavenging,” he teased.

“Does he gotta?”

That was a whine from the vicinity of Josh, who still had his eyes closed but had shifted closer to Goody and moved just enough so that his forehead was resting on their mate’s shoulder.

“Shut up, ’m sleepin’,” Goody muttered, a faint lilt in his voice, one that tended to be present for a little while if he’d been speaking French for any measure of time.

Billy snorted. “After that much… activity, Goody, you talking means you’re awake.”

Josh opened an eye. “He talks in his sleep? Really?”

The response to this was a shove from Goody, who rolled onto his side to do so and nearly fell over Gabi. “Fuck you, Joshua,” he said, amusement in his tone as he relaxed against their Mexican mate; Gabi snickered and wrapped both arms around Goody’s waist.

“Buenas tardes, mijo,” he murmured, obviously happy where he was at the moment. “Did you sleep well, querido?”

“I did, mon beau,” Goody replied, turning to kiss Gabi softly. “But I could eat.”

Billy huffed in amusement. “Bottomless pits, the both of you,” he teased even as he set about gathering up their scattered clothing. He wasn’t surprised that Gabi had managed to get his own clothing on the desk, but he had to untangle his own, Goody’s, and Josh’s from a pile on the floor. As he worked at that, Josh rolled off the other side of the bed with a grunt to gather up the weapons that the pair of them had just randomly tossed off earlier. Which was a good idea; normally, Billy was the type to make sure his knives were in a safe spot, but he had been a little bit distracted.

Josh was a fantastic kisser, after all.

In short order, the four of them were dressed once again, even if Josh hadn’t made much of an effort at all to make it look like they hadn’t spent the better part of the early afternoon fucking like wild things. Goody rolled his eyes and moved over to make an attempt at getting their redhead presentable… a failed effort as Josh kept snickering and distracting him with kisses and whispering in his ear.

“Hey, knock it off,” Billy scolded, smacking the Irishman on the arm after the fourth attempt. “Food now, playtime later.”

“How many people you think know what we were doing up here?” Gabi asked idly.

“How many people were in the store when you went for supplies?” Billy responded.

“Two.”

“Then the whole town, probably,” Josh said with a shrug, his left arm already wrapped firmly around Goody’s waist; apparently that was going to be A Thing, and it was so sweet Billy couldn’t fault him for it. “Ain’t like we were trying to keep it a secret or nothing.”

Goody suddenly snickered. “Oh my Lord, just think if anyone asked young Teddy or Miss Emma about it. I don’t think Billy and I were very quiet when we were talking about our ultimate plans once we arrived in town.”

Gabi laughed sharply. “I know guerito wasn’t very quiet. Miss Emma was a shade of red I didn’t even know existed before this week.”

“I should be embarrassed,” the Cajun noted, not sounding the least bit ashamed of himself.

“Nah,” Josh replied, dropping a quick kiss to the shorter man’s cheek and turning him towards the door. “C’mon, Billy. Let’s go get these two fed.”

The four of them made their way downstairs and out onto the street, and Billy wasn’t terribly surprised by how many people looked their way and immediately seemed to have something more important to do. Josh actually managed to keep from laughing, even though his shoulders were shaking and Goody definitely had to bite back a grin. Oh, Maman Arthémie was going to adore the hell out of their Irishman; his sense of humor matched hers almost to a T.

Gabi simply rolled his eyes and muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath in Spanish, causing Billy to bite his own lip to keep from grinning brightly. Both of these men were a perfect addition to their nontraditional triad, and he already loved them more than he’d thought would be possible. He moved a bit closer to Gabi, bumped his shoulder and rolled his eyes at the towns folks’ reactions to their presence. The Mexican chuckled and bumped him back lightly before turning his gaze back to where their other mates were already stepping up on the walkway to enter the restaurant.

“Oh, good, there’s food,” Josh announced loudly, drawing the attention of their other three companions. Sam, Horne, and Red Harvest were already seated in a row at the table, and some of the women from town were working on bringing out supper. Billy spotted Teddy standing by the bar, and by the way his face went bright red upon seeing him, it was clear that word had indeed gotten around town and was augmented by the Cullens. The Korean just smirked and winked at the young man and nearly laughed when Teddy averted his eyes towards the floor.

Having finished picking on the young widower, Billy moved to join his mates at the table. Josh dropped himself into the seat next to Sam after pulling out the chair to his left for Goody. Billy slipped in automatically on his Cajun’s left, and Gabi fell into the empty seat between him and Red. When he stretched his legs out a bit, he bumped into two other pairs, and instead of pulling back, he just shifted enough to rest his feet on top of both Josh’s and Gabi’s; next to him, Goody dropped his own feet on top of Billy’s and relaxed back into his seat.

Sam, for his part, just rolled his eyes at their antics. The man was far too used to his and Goody’s nontraditional romantic behavior, having met up with them a few dozen times over the years and even spending a month in Lafayette with the Robicheaux family. Granted, it was only one month, and Sam had said something about Goody’s parents being far too wild for him to deal with more than once, but Billy figured that was just his way of saying that it hurt too much to be around them. Given the way his family had been killed, mother and sisters and mate all in one fell swoop, Sam had every right to want to avoid that much togetherness.

But he had Red Harvest now, if Billy was reading the situation right. It may have been more of a platonic or familial triad bond, nothing like the one that existed between himself and his three mates or the one Sam had shared with Marla, but it was a bond all the same. Maybe Red could curb some of Sam’s suicidal risk taking…

And then there was food in front of him, and Billy focused most of his attention on that. He understood what it was like to be hungry from his years on the run, and while he hadn’t had to worry since Goody’s family bought out his bounty, he still remembered what it was like. Billy kept a firm eye on his mates, making sure that not only were Gabi and Goody eating—and Gabi was definitely packing away everything placed in front of him while Goody was picking in that way he generally did—but that Josh was getting more food than alcohol into him.

Josh looked around the room as he ate, his expression darkening slightly any time he spotted someone staring. “It’s like being in one of them damned zoos,” he grumbled, taking a bite of chicken.

“Fame is a sarcophagus,” Goody remarked, taking a drink between picking at his greens; honestly, if Maman Sabine was here right now, she’d be standing over her child and glaring at him until he took more than a few bites. The Robicheauxs acted like the man was ten rather than thirty-eight sometimes, and it was hilarious to see. One of Billy’s favorite things was to watch his mate stubbornly glare at all three of his parents who would stare him down in return until the man huffed an annoyed sigh and gave into their whims.

The redhead turned to look at the Cajun. “Do you read these in a book, babe, or just make ‘em up as you go?” he asked, and it seemed like he really wanted to know the answer.

Goody, being a Robicheaux and therefore a bit of an asshole, smiled mildly back. “I’ll try and use one syllable words from here on,” he said sweetly.

Billy rolled his eyes affectionately at Goody, giving him a grin even as Gabi snickered softly on his left. Josh blinked, and he could see the moment when his mate realized he was being teased and decided to retaliate.

“What’s a syllable?”

Goody nearly choked on his whiskey, he was laughing too much; it was wonderful.

Red tossed his plate back on the table at that moment, drawing everyone’s attention as he said something in Comanche. Given his expression, Billy was positive that it was something disparaging about their meal.

“What did he say?” Horne asked, turning to Sam.

Sam, who was honestly as big a jackass as Goody could be at times, replied, “He asks that you kindly stop looking at his hairline.”

Red turned to shoot him an annoyed look, confirming Billy’s suspicions. On either side of him, he could hear his mates snickering; and from the corner of his eye, he saw Josh move to dump some of his beans on Gabi’s plate.

“As long as he stops licking his lips over mine,” Horne replied, drawing an annoyed chuckle from Billy. There were times that he really, really hated how prejudiced white men could be. He had been terribly lucky that Goody was the first apparently white man he ever met who treated him with respect; even discovering that his mate was mixed race himself didn’t sway that opinion. It just helped him hold up a standard for how all people should behave.

When Josh had come along, when he had become part of their triad, Billy found another white man who treated all people equally. Granted, Josh seemed to think most people were morons until proved otherwise, but he treated everyone the exact same way. And he hadn’t batted an eye when Gabi turned out to be theirs as well.

So, yes, Horne was annoying the Korean right now.

A hand gripped his left knee under the table, and he felt a nudge from beneath his feet even as Goody leaned closer to press a quick kiss to his neck. Trust his mates to know when he needed a bit of comfort, even if his face never showed a thing.

“Let’s finish up and go back to our room, cher,” Goody murmured. “I could use some more sleep.”

And trust them to know when to make it seem like they were the ones in need of peace.

[section=Footer Notes]20 February 2017

Translation Notes:
(All translations are taken from Google Translate or Adora’s shaky remnants of French)
French:
Mon beau – My handsome one
Cher – dear
Spanish:
Hermoso – handsome
Mijo – used here as “sweetheart”
Querido – darling
Guerito – affectionate variant of “whitey”

~Adora [endsection]

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,736
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

Teasing Vasquez over the numbers they had each killed was easy. In fact, over the past few days, it had been a bit of engrained habit… which was damn good because Joshua wasn’t exactly the most involved in the ongoing conversation right now. At least, he wasn’t up to date with the one going on around him. No, his mind was back at the end of the street.

In his mind, he was back to back with Vas as they picked off Blackstones as they appeared on the street. He was putting bullets in any of the bastards who came too close to his brother. He was thinking all over again that his brother didn’t need to be involved in any of this mess.

More than that, he still didn’t think that Goodnight should have been stationed on the street. If you had a sharpshooter, especially one might be doing said shooting with a muzzleloader rifle, said sharpshooter should be in a place to do exactly that. Said sharpshooter should not be part of the show of force, such as it was, when you numbered only seven.

In his mind, he was standing over his brother, all but ordering him to take the damned shot. He was feeling the anger rip through him, hard and visceral, when Goodnight made the shot at last… and deliberately only wounded the Blackstone bastard. He was staring back at that horrible blankly pleasant look Goodnight often wore when he was cooly dealing with strangers, people he thought weren’t worth his time. He had hated that expression when they had been running together, and he hated it even more now, seeing it turned on him.

He flipped the tin star abandoned by Bogue’s purchased sheriff over and over again in his hands. The movement was something he could do without putting any damn thought into it, especially given how similar it was to playing with his own deck of cards. It left him too free to think about the blood covering his brother’s hand and dripping into the hard-packed dirt of the street… and the cold look Goodnight had been wearing as they’d settled on the porch of the hardware store… and the way he had been wiping blood off his arm as Miss Emma sent the good townsfolk off to examine their souls.

As the street cleared, Goodnight pushed himself to his feet. “Well, I don’t know ‘bout anyone else,” he declared, “but I could use a drink.”

Without waiting for an answer of any sort, he stalked right behind the post Joshua was leaning on next to Chisolm. Goodnight even suited his words to action by heading immediately into the saloon, Rocks trailing every step he took. Because of course Rocks was. Of course.

God damn but did a drink sound really good right now, he thought direly, shoving that star into his vest pocket. Goodnight wasn’t going to be too happy about him following along behind him like a puppy, like he hadn’t done in years, but he didn’t really want to give much of a damn about that at the moment.

In the meanwhile, though…

He whistled, one long and crisp long note, and only a few seconds later, he could hear the familiar sound of pounding hoofbeats. It look less than a minute for Jack to come tearing into town… because that horse only went at anything less than a full gallop if Joshua was on his back to slow him down. What actually was surprising was that he’d brought along a friend: that flea-bitten grey he’d heard Vasquez call ‘Diablo’. Whether that was the horse’s name or a comment on his personality, Joshua didn’t know. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know either.

And as always, Jack slowed down to a stop with only inches to spare before he would have barreled Joshua over. “You little shit,” he declared affectionately, scratching the horse beneath his forelock and around his bridle. “You do realize you ain’t actually a dog, right?” If Jack did realize it, the over-affectionate nuzzle that nearly knocked Joshua over did little to dispel the notion. “And I see you’re making friends. Diablo, right?”

“Si, güero.”

He didn’t exactly jump out of his skin at the sudden sound of Vasquez’s voice… but it wasn’t far from it either. Once he was fairly certain his voice might be something close to level, he shot back, “And has anyone ever told you anything about sneaking up on a heavily armed person, Vas?”

The Mexican shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing I listen to.”

And yeah, he had to snicker a bit at that. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Vasquez leaned against the hitching posts closest to his own horse and crossed his arms over his chest. “I might be wrong, güero, but I think this might be the first time everyone else is drinking and you’re not.”

And there was a point there, one he wasn’t even going to try to deny. “Probably so,” he agreed, moving around to take the saddlebags off Jack’s back. They would probably be safe enough there, but he made a policy of not trusting townsfolk if he could help it… or too many other people for that matter. Strange, though, that he couldn’t think of any reason not to do this in front of a known outlaw. “Reckon some of the folks in there drinking don’t particularly want my company.”

“This matters?”

He couldn’t help the laugh that was damn near startled out of him. “Not really, no. I’ve got things need dealing with before drinking though,” he answered with more cheer than he honestly usually felt these days. “Not to say I don’t trust our new colleagues with my money, but…”

For a long, long moment, Vasquez didn’t say a word, just stood there with one eyebrow raised in a silent question. And really, the question itself was obvious. There was no actual need to ask why he was trusting Vasquez when he wasn’t trusting any of the others. And it was a question he had asked himself just a couple of moments ago.

“Oh, shut up,” he retorted with another laugh, and this one he ended up sharing. And that was fine.

---

 Personally speaking, Joshua was thinking he had called it: no one looked particularly pleased when he and Vasquez came downstairs at the hotel and joined the others around a large round table for the most uncomfortable dinner Joshua could remember attending in years. Hell, he couldn’t remember one half this awkward since before the War, before he left Louisiana in fact.

Of the ladies dishing out the food, he recognized Miss Emma. There was another girl, around the same age but apparently jumpier than their employer and a lot nervier, more apt to stare at the seven of them and run the minute she was caught at it; he thought he had heard Miss Emma calling her ‘Claire’ or ‘Clara’ or something of the like. Teddy was leaning against the bar, somewhere over near the kitchen, but at least his attention seemed to be limited to his own meal and not the seven men in front of him.

“Like being in one of them damn zoos,” Joshua grumbled.

He had claimed one of the bedrooms at the end of the leftmost hallway upstairs, and that was mostly thanks to the fact it was the one with a floorboard willing to come loose under his stomping, making for a good place to hide the money he’d had in his saddlebags. Vasquez had gotten a great deal of amusement out of that before taking the time to settle in the room next door. That left one room left in that section of the hotel, with one entire hallway of rooms on the right hand side remaining still to be picked from.

When they’d come downstairs, there had been two seats left at the table, between Rocks and Chisolm, and before he’d even had a chance to get annoyed, Vasquez had slid easily into the seat next to Rocks, leaving him exactly one place left if he wanted to join them… and oddly enough, he did. Maybe it was petty to want to be further from Goodnight and Rocks, but right now, he was hungry and he would take what he could get.

“Fame is a sarcophagus.”

Sometimes he wondered if Goodnight even thought about what he was saying before he actually said it. If that was the case, he’d honestly be surprised. All the same, though, that was damn maudlin, even for Goodnight, as their sister Colette would have said, and it was just automatic at this point in his life for him to chime back in with, “Do you get those out of a book, or do you make them up as you go along?”

Goodnight made this odd twitch, one that he honestly couldn’t remember ever seeing his brother do before and that he tried to cover by stuffing more food in his mouth. “I’ll try to use one syllable words from now on,” he shot back. Despite the tone—very obviously biting and curt—the words themselves could be…

No, Joshua was going to just going to assume that was meant teasingly, because apparently his mouth was going off on its own without consulting his brain… and apparently, it didn’t much care for his brother acting all grumpy and morbid. After all, completely without any input from his actual mind, he was already answering, “What’s a syllable?”

Goodnight made a sound that was reminiscent of a very grumpy child being told he had to sit still: something between a huff, a sigh, and a squawk. If anyone had asked him before tonight if such a noise was possible in a grown adult man, he probably would have denied it. Trust his brother to prove him wrong. And trust his brother to start turning that unattractive shade of puce he’d done once upon a time that had meant he was ridiculously embarrassed. If that was still the case, he couldn’t imagine what it was the older man could be self-conscious about.

But then Red Harvest was making some comment in his own language, shoving his plate of food away, and the back and forth between Jack Horne and Sam Chisolm distracted the conversation away, at least long enough for the color to leave Goodnight’s face. If there was going to be this kind of reaction every time the two of them spoke, the six days until Bogue came back to kill them all were going to be a real hoot.

[section=Footer Notes]18 February 2017

I feel like I need to make apologies for how short this section is, which is weird to me, because it’s still a fairly good length. We’re closing in on halfway through what’s already written. There is still over 32,000 words written but not posted, and that’s not counting The Early Years, the letters and journals we’ve completely written out, and the “what-if”s we’ve played with.

~Adora[endsection]

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 2,583
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

Billy walked into town next to Chisolm’s horse, taking a moment to adjust his gunbelt and resettle his holy blades. He wasn’t fully comfortable with letting the hunter make such a production of entering this town, where Blackstones were acting as security, both man and monster, but that was the plan Chisolm had felt best.

Granted, he likely thought he was keeping the one human he wasn’t fully familiar with safely out of harm’s way, which was kind of sweet. Stupid, but sweet.

Billy let his senses expand, keeping his wings fully in check as he sought out his fellow monsters. His little demon was still on the edge of town, keeping close to the shadows so he could “walk” directly to where he needed to be on Chisolm’s signal; he could clearly hear whatever or whomever he was focused on, and at the moment his Goody was listening for the hunter only. Faraday was strolling blatantly through the back alleys, the good people of Rose Creek paying no mind thanks to Fae influence and a bit of you don’t see me, move along. Vasquez, for his part, had flashed a toothy smile and almost literally vanished from view; Billy had been just able to sense him walking alongside Faraday for a few moments before splitting off.

What troubled the angel, frankly, was how easily Horne slipped into town. He was still more human than wendigo, but the change was far too close for comfort. Billy’d known angels—angels of death like himself, seraphim, even archangels—that had faced off with wendigo and just didn’t come back. The only sign they’d even existed was when they would find angel feathers and holy steel much later, the only things left after the wendigo had eaten the rest of them.

He had no intention of letting Horne touch him or his new companions.

The shaman in training had taken to the rooftops, and Billy caught sight of him from the corner of one eye moving to slip up on a rooftop sniper. Content that the shaman had things in hand, the angel shifted his focus back to the street just in time for the Blackstones to approach.

He took in the measure of the ones standing before him and Chisolm. There was a Fae with them, likely Summer court judging by his healthy weight and the fact that he was armed with a crossbow rather than a gun, and the hedge witch seemed to be in charge of the group; at least, he was the one telling the human sheriff what to do. Billy wasn’t impressed, and he made a mental note to take down the Fae first when the opportunity arose.

Chisolm, bless him, led on the Blackstones by cooperating happily with everything they asked, but even Billy could hear the delight in his voice when he remarked, “I’m more than willing to turn over my guns to you gentlemen, but I can’t say the same for my compadres behind you.”

Billy grinned a bit viciously as Goody literally melted out of the shadows in the alley just behind the Blackstones, rifle resting on his shoulder and eyes that shimmering black he made them when he concentrated on it. Faraday stepped just a bit louder, drawing attention to where he’d been strolling back and forth along the walkway for a good five minutes, and Vasquez appeared across the street from him between one breath and the next, almost shimmering into being. Horne, for his part, just walked idly out of the alley closest to Billy, eating something he’d brought along and that the angel hoped wasn’t human flesh.

That the Blackstones weren’t impressed was unsurprising, honestly. That they then tried to get the drop on them wasn’t either. The surprise came when Red Harvest did get the drop on one of the humans amongst them and the hedge witch tried to throw a stunning charm at Chisolm. The hunter drew his weapon and shot two Blackstones down even as he dodged the charm, and Billy took down the Fae and another human with two quick tosses of his knives.

He lost track of the hedge witch after that, focused on taking out weapons where he saw them and unmindful of the fact that his wings had flared in the shadows as he moved, that a few feathers had shifted into the real world and dropped to the ground in his wake. From off to one side, he could hear Faraday take out the three on the balcony of the hotel and Vasquez let out a roar as he fell upon two more Blackstones. The shaman on the roof let loose a volley of arrows, taking down a few more of their shared enemy, and in between the rest of the gunfire, Chisolm’s included, he could hear the quiet pop of his little demon’s revolver sending at least two of the Blackstones to visit with his father. Those two would leave no bodies behind; the curse on Goody’s weapons was such that a fatal shot sent them body and soul straight to hell, where they could then explain to Lucifer just why, exactly, his son had dispatched them so thoroughly.

In short order, the battle was done and there were twenty-six bodies lying in the street; there would have been twenty-eight except that his demon had covertly dealt with them. Billy glanced around as he tugged a blade free from the body he’d pinned to the saloon’s post, and he ignored the sound it made hitting the ground. He was far more interested in the look Chisolm shot his way, one that said they were going to be having a talk in short order.

The sound of a horse whinnying drew his gaze to the livery, where the damned hedge witch finally reappeared riding out of town. Goody was already raising his rifle, and Billy could see the hesitation. He knew what his demon was thinking: they needed to send Bogue a very clear message, and a frightened human wouldn’t show what they were really capable of doing here. Faraday moved to stand behind the demon, and Billy saw the moment when his beloved’s eyes shifted to hellfire white in the instant before he fired.

Faraday let out a low whistle and said something to Goody that was returned with a vicious grin. The angel walked over in time to hear the last of what they were saying:

“Trust me, mon ami: when the time comes, he’ll wish I’d just shot him dead. For now, he’s our message to Bogue.”

Faraday blinked for a moment, looking almost speculatively at Goody, almost searching for something, before he let out a laugh. “Hell, I almost look forward to whatever comes next,” he said. “Does anyone know how we did individually?”

They had been walking back to join the others as they talked, and Chisolm spotted them easily. He definitely intended to talk to Billy, but the angel noticed that the hunter’s gaze was locked on Goody at the moment.

Goody, whose eyes were still blazing white.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Chisolm said evenly, “but ain’t your eyes usually black?”

His little demon gave a sly grin. “Only when I want ‘em to be,” he replied mildly. “I think it’s time to stop playing for the moment, so our messenger knows just what’s what.”

“And what, exactly, will Bogue be dealing with?”

“Well,” Goody drawled, blinking and letting his eyes go back to blue once more, “in this case, an Antichrist and an angel of death, for starters.”

Chisolm’s gaze swept over to Billy, and he obliged by letting his wings flare into sight for a moment before folding them away again; if he left their shadow on the ground, that was his business.

“Huh,” was all Chisolm had to say, but the sound was pleasantly surprised. “How’d everyone do?” he continued after a second.

“I got six,” Faraday offered with a grin.

“Five,” Billy offered, looking around the town and catching faint hints of humans and halflings watching from the safety of the surrounding buildings.

“Two are explaining themselves to my daddy right about now,” Goody offered mildly, which caused Faraday to cackle as he finally realized that the demon was deathly serious when he said shit like that.

Horne chimed in to say he’d taken care of two as well, and Red noted in verbal monster-speech that he had shot down four of his own.

“How ‘bout you?” Faraday asked Vasquez.

“Six,” the ancient one replied, looking a bit put out that he hadn’t actually gotten to eat any of them; a couple appeared to have had large chunks taken out of them, but no one appeared chewed on.

Faraday’s grin shifted to something slightly devious, and Billy just knew the Fae was about to start playing. “I got seven,” he said instantly, counteracting his previous truthful statement and goading the ancient just a bit. He even helpfully held up seven fingers to show Vasquez, who snorted at him in wry amusement. “You wanna try to even it up, V?”

“Say when, guero,” the ancient one replied, amusement clear in his tone and in the flash of his very sharp teeth. From next to Billy, his little demon scoffed at the pair of them and then made a show of checking his rifle when both elder monsters shot a quick glance his way at the sound.

“Behave,” Billy chided; Goody only shot him a grin and a wink before turning a newly white-eyed glower to the man Chisolm was coaxing out from beneath the saloon’s porch. The angel turned his gaze that way as well, keeping his physical wings tucked away but letting them flare in his shadow, and he spotted both Faraday and Vasquez turning fierce looks towards the cowardly human as well.

Chisolm made his statement — if Bogue wanted Rose Creek, he was gonna have to come take it his own self or be branded a coward — and sent the former sheriff on his way. Although he did stop the man to add one more, somewhat cryptic addition: “Lincoln, Kansas. Like the president. Sam Chisolm. Say it,” only letting him leave when he repeated the new information back verbatim.

Billy glanced over to his demon to see if he knew what that meant, only to see those hellish eyes narrowed speculatively at the hunter. Seemed that Goody did understand the intent and was somewhat concerned for his hunter friend. The angel made a mental note to ask about that later and moved to drape an arm loosely around Goody’s waist; he was feeling oddly protective for some reason, and the contact soothed him, if not the demon as well.

Then he noticed the black blood dripping from Goody’s wrist and realized what had sparked his protective instincts. “Goody,” he whispered. “You’re bleeding, little demon.”

“Hmm?” Goody blinked at him absently before glancing down at his own wrist. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”

“I ain’t even gonna ask how someone don’t notice when he’s been shot,” Faraday chose that moment to chime in. “But maybe clean it up before the good people come on out.”

“Where is everyone?” Horne abruptly asked, either truly curious as to where the town folk had hidden themselves or annoyed with the monsters speaking amongst themselves.

“I think we killed ‘em all,” the Fae responded immediately, smart-ass grin on his face.

“Probably just wanna make sure the candle is lit ‘fore they blow out the match,” Goody mused, drawing an amused look from Faraday and a snort from Vasquez; Billy simply rolled his eyes at his demon’s poetic phrasing and lightly tugged him towards the hardware store to shove him into a chair and make him tend to his injury.

Right about then, the halflings rode into town, young Emma calling out for everyone to stop hiding and Teddy chiding them to come see what the monsters had done for them. The first one out was a boy of probably seven, who rushed up to one of the bodies and asked, loudly, if he was dead. Billy wondered if the boy had a bit of monster in him; he didn’t feel entirely human, but the woman who’d grabbed him to pull back by her side had not one hint of other to her.

Emma cleared her throat to draw her neighbors’ attention before speaking. “I have gathered these men and monsters to aid us,” she began firmly.

One of the men, one who felt completely human but who also felt oily to the angel, demanded, “Who asked you to go out and speak for us?”

“Seems I was the only one with the balls to do so,” the Fae halfling snipped in response; Billy felt his lips curl into a smirk while he heard Goody actually snicker in amusement. Emma stared down the man until he looked away, then continued, “These men are here to offer us assistance against Bogue. Mister Chisolm?”

Billy grinned again as the hunter stammered for a moment, obviously not expecting to be put on the spot. He fell into introducing himself, noting that his main purview had been Kansas, although he did have hunting contracts in several states, and noted that this had just been the beginning.

“This was… an opening skirmish,” Chisolm stated. “Bogue will be back, though, and we need to be ready. Now, we ain’t got a lot of time, but if we all work together then we can likely save your town.”

One woman, holding a baby in her arms, stepped forward. “That’s all well and good,” she said, handing the child to the older woman next to her, “but we don’t have the time. Bogue said he’d be back in three weeks, and that was eight days ago. There’s no way—”

“Seven days,” Chisolm interrupted.

“Seven—? What, no…”

Billy shot a look at the hunter, who seemed certain in his words. From the seat he’d pushed him into, his little demon watched Chisolm with a solemn expression, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Faraday watching closely as well.

“Three days to Sacramento to deliver the bad news,” the hunter began, “one day to gather up guns and monsters of his own, three days’ ride back. Seven days is what we’ve got.”

Everyone began speaking at once, most arguing that there was no time, that they couldn’t fight, a few claiming that they weren’t running but weren’t fighters.

“If you wanna leave,” Emma cut in, voice hard and making Billy feel oddly proud of the young woman, “leave. But only take what you brought with you.”

“I’m staying,” Teddy said firmly. “This is my home, and I ain’t leaving my orchard.”

“Everyone go get a good night’s rest,” Chisolm said to the stunned townsfolk. “It’ll probably be the last sleep you get in a while.”

With that, the hunter turned and headed towards the saloon; Billy pushed off the wall to follow, noting that Goody rose as well and fell into step next to him. Faraday and Vasquez joined them quickly, the shaman right behind them and Horne taking up the rear. The angel wrapped his arm securely around his demon again, feeling prickly with the proto-wendigo right behind him.

“I need a damned drink,” Faraday muttered under his breath. Billy silently agreed and hoped to heaven that there was something strong enough in this little town to get him hammered.

[section=Footer Notes]15 February 2017

Running monster tally:

Emma Cullen – one quarter Changeling (on her father’s side)
Bartholomew Bogue – warlock uppity witch
McCann – hedge witch
Denali – skin-walker
Teddy Q – half earth elemental half dryad (on his mother’s side)
Sam Chisolm – human monster hunter
Faraday – Trickster Fae A little of this, a little of that Fae something old and powerful Fae.
Goodnight Robicheaux – demon An Antichrist
Billy Rocks – An angel of death
Vasquez – Ancient God (Old Mexico/Aztec/Mayan)
Jack Horne – mostly harmless future wendigo (currently human, haunted by helpful ghosts)
Red Harvest – shaman (in training)[endsection]

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 4,545
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

He wasn’t entirely sure how he managed it, but Billy entered the boarding house a few steps ahead of them and made his way up the stairs. Joshua and Goodnight followed him, the younger man raising an eyebrow as the Korean man opened each door and gave the rooms a cursory look before moving onto the next.

Must be making sure there ain’t anymore Blackstones hiding about, Joshua mused to himself before herding Goody towards the first room their Billy had checked out. While he fully intended to have his partners in whatever way they preferred — and knowing quite well already that his eldest greatly enjoyed being fucked to the point he wasn’t even thinking in English anymore — he wanted to make sure they had a comfortable bed to sleep in afterward and enough space in the room itself to keep from falling over each other every time they turned around.

“No, this is just a single,” Goody remarked, a frown in his voice even as he let his weight rest fully against Joshua. It was quickly becoming his favorite way of walking around, his smallest partner tucked neatly into his left side so his right hand was free to draw Ethel or Maria if needs be. And he would draw either to keep his odd triad safe.

“Maybe the triad-friendly rooms’re down that a ways,” Joshua suggested, nodding to where Billy was apparently done looking for Blackstones and was now returning to the rooms for another look. Maybe he was trying to find a suitable bed, too, or maybe he was killing time till Gabe get back from buying slick for ‘em, who knew.

Goody turned one of those sweet little smiles his way and started towards the end of the hallway, one hand moving to keep Joshua’s in place on his hip as the taller man moved with him. They were apparently going to start their search at the end of the hallway and work forward, but when they entered the very last door, it seemed like they might have already found it.

The room was plenty big, probably at one point in time acting as two separate rooms but the wall had been knocked out at some earlier point, with a triad-sized bed on one wall with a little space between it and the window on the left. A couple chests of drawers and a good-sized writing desk were the other primary features, and the overall look of the room was that someone with money spent time here.

“Room looks about big enough,” Joshua remarked, letting his arm slip from around his Goody’s waist and moving to look out the end window. “Good view of the town, too.”

“I doubt a lot of big spenders come to a little farming community like this,” the Cajun mused, already starting to rifle through things on the desk. “I have to wonder…” His words trailed off, yet before Joshua could grow concerned, the other man let out a bright laugh.

“Goody?” he asked, turning from the window to frown slightly.

“This is the room,” Goody declared, facing Joshua with a brilliant grin and a handful of letters. “Three guesses who stays here when he’s come to terrorize the good people of Rose Creek.”

Joshua blinked at him for a moment before a slow grin crossed his own lips. “You telling me this is Bogue’s room?” At his partner’s nod, he laughed aloud. “Yeah, this is our room now. And I fully intend to fuck on every horizontal and vertical surface I can get to.”

Those pretty blue eyes darkened with lust. “Vertical surfaces, too, huh?” Goody asked, sounding very much in tune with the idea.

“Thinking that wall right there,” he nodded to the open space by the desk, “for starters.”

“You certain you can hold someone up that long?”

“I know I can.” He was stalking forward as he spoke, and he was pleased to note that Goody dropped the letters back on the desk even as he backed up towards said wall. “And I think you like that idea.”

“Hmm?” And now he was being coy, which was nearly enough to make Joshua want to pin him against it and have him right now… and Goody would happily let him. “What makes you think that, mon coeur?”

As he’d suspected, once Joshua got into his space, the Cajun wrapped one arm loosely around his neck and pulled him in closer, using his free hand to toss aside first his own hat then Joshua’s. The taller man followed willingly, pressing forward and kissing his partner breathless. It wasn’t any effort at all to hook his hands under slim but well-muscled thighs and lift the other easily, and Goody let out a lewd moan into his mouth that had him purring in response.

“Really?” came Billy’s amused voice from the doorway. “You couldn’t even wait to find a bed big enough for that?”

“I don’t know, hermoso.” Oh good, Gabe was here too now. “I’m enjoying the show.”

Goody’s hand squeezed his shoulder for a moment before he turned his head away, and Joshua reluctantly let him go to speak to their triad mates. “We found the room. Y’all can figure out the bed situation.”

The Irishman snickered, pressing a kiss to his mate’s neck before glancing over to add, “This was Bogue’s room. It’s ours now.” He paused before adding, “Even if the bed’s still too small. No one considers more’n three.”

And now Goody was giving him an amused, yet still affectionate, look. “Well, Joshua, most triads only run to three. We are a mite different.”

Joshua smirked. “If you’re talking this clearly, then I ain’t doing my job right.” He moved in to steal another deep kiss, tongue curling against Goody’s and drawing it into his mouth to nip at. He thought he heard Gabe and Billy discussing grabbing a single bed and hauling it in here, but he was a bit too busy forcing their eldest mate to forget about everything that had happened earlier.

Granted, he still fully intended to find out just where Goody’d been grazed and make sure it wasn’t going to open up again, but first off, he wanted Goody writhing beneath him again, so lost in what was being done to him that he was babbling in French. When it had happened at Volcano Springs, it had been hot as hell; it became even hotter when Billy, just as naked and hard and pressing against his back, purred into his ear that he was doing something very right to make their Goody so incoherent.

And, as fun as it may have been on the final night’s ride to Rose Creek to slip off with Gabe for a quick hand job between newly-bonded mates between staying back at the rest stop with first Billy — which was fun on its own with sloppy kisses — then Goody — and he was fast becoming fond of just hauling the smaller man against his side for a cuddle — what he really wanted was all four of them in a bed and working through some bedroom gymnastics.

The sound of something being dragged nearly distracted him from where he was all but tongue-fucking Goody’s mouth, but his sweetheart chose that moment to try and draw him impossibly closer so he focused his attention to what was really important here. At least up until two other pairs of hands pulled both him and the Cajun away from the wall and gave them a shove.

Joshua was not too proud to admit to yelping when he found himself landing on the now-larger bed, because Gabe and Billy were assholes who really had hauled the single bed from the room down the hall into their room and pushed ‘em together. Goody, however, apparently thought it was hilarious since he was now laughing his head off, face pressed against Joshua’s neck so he could feel each breath on his skin.

“One: I hate both of you,” he said mock-sternly to the pair still standing over the bed. Billy just shrugged while Gabe smirked and tossed his hat towards the desk — oh, that’s where Goody’d pitched theirs, good to know. “Second: why the hell’re you both just standing there? Get over here, and give me a hand.”

Gabe snickered at him and started to remove his clothing; Billy crawled onto the bed and leaned in to give him a thorough kiss even while he left one hand to rest possessively on Goody’s ass. And goddamn, could Billy kiss. He hadn’t been just blowing smoke when he’d told Gabe just how that man could wring sounds out of him that shouldn’t come from a man of his age.

Joshua broke the kiss to take a deep breath and give the Korean a sunny smile. “Apology accepted,” he said, grinning more at Billy’s amused snort. “Now, then, where were we?”

“Apparently seducing that one,” Billy replied, and they both turned their gaze to Goody, who had settled back to watch the pair of them. He hadn’t been the least bit idle, either; his waistcoat and shirt had both been tossed somewhere in the vicinity of the floor, his gun belt had migrated to the desk somehow — probably Gabe’s doing, as he was currently moving all the guns that-a-ways — and he had apparently stopped to slip his boots off before they looked up from where they’d been kissing like they were fighting.

“Oh, trust me, mes amours,” Goody said with a smirk, “I don’t need near that much seducing.”

Joshua snickered. “No, you don’t, babe,” he replied. “But you’re still wearing too much, ain’t he, Billy?”

“Definitely.” With that, Billy lunged across the bed to grab Goody by the waistband of his pants and pulled him over. Joshua snickered again, moving to assist in getting their Cajun stripped completely since Billy was distracted with kissing him senseless. It took a minute to get Goody’s pants off with the Korean in the way, but in short order, their sweetheart was laid bare for them.

“Now who’s wearing too many clothes, guerito y hermoso?” Gabe asked from somewhere close by; Joshua glanced up to find him sitting on the edge of the bed naked as the day he was born save for the medallion around his neck. “You two need to catch up.”

Joshua took a second to mentally note that his Gabe was far too skinny for how tall he was before turning a leer to Billy. “He’s got a point, babe. Help a guy out?”

Billy gave him a filthy grin before attacking his mouth. They both bit at one another, neither willing to give an inch even as their hands tugged at each other’s clothing. Gunbelts hit the floor, Billy’s knives clattering as they shifted, followed by shirts, vests, boots, and pants in short order. Somehow they managed to do all that without breaking their kiss until breathing became an issue.

“That’s very pretty,” Goody observed breathily, lounging on the bed and running his fingertips over his stomach lightly; Gabe had moved to lie next to him and was stroking the Cajun’s thigh over that darker patch of skin while nibbling at his neck.

“Not as pretty as you,” Joshua replied, crawling over the bed to claim the smaller man’s mouth. While he kissed Billy like they were fighting and Gabe like he needed it as much as air, he found that he needed to kiss Goody like he was something precious. And from the way Goody responded, a soft hum and easy surrender, that was exactly what his sweetheart needed from him. He broke the kiss but stayed close, speaking against Goody’s mouth. “Always so pretty when you’re getting pleasure from us. You want us to do that for you, baby? Make you forget your own name?”

The response to this was a soft whine, those blue eyes darkening further for him. Joshua grinned against the Cajun’s mouth, and he rolled onto the other side to ponder the dynamics for just a moment. Gabe made a vaguely inquisitive sound, having never really moved from his spot and still biting lightly at their eldest mate’s neck. Billy, for his part, had knee walked up the bed a little and settled his weight on the Irishman’s legs before turning his attention to where Goody was now trying to drag the Mexican into a true kiss.

“What you thinking, Billy?” Joshua asked, reaching up with one hand to stroke the other’s hip lightly. The Korean reached down absently to lace their fingers together, pulled his lover’s hand up to press a quick kiss to the back of it.

A truly filthy grin crossed Billy Rocks’ lips. “Something I discussed briefly with Goody when we were stopped outside Junction City,” he replied before leaning down to share, his weight held by knees and hands as he bit Joshua’s lip. “You and Gabi, sharing our Goody, making him whine for all of us, and me quieting him down just a little.”

Joshua groaned, the image firmly in his head now at Billy’s words. “I love how you think, babe,” he breathed, wrapping a hand around his mate’s neck and stealing a truly vicious kiss from his mouth. When they broke apart, both panting hard, he said, “Let’s do it.”

Almost as one person, Billy and Joshua untangled from one another and worked their way in between Goody and Gabe; while they’d been plotting, the other two had fallen to deep, soul-searching kisses and exploration. Hell, their Mexican had unscrewed the lid from the slick and had worked two fingers easily into Goody, and the Cajun whined low in his throat when those fingers were removed by Billy’s distraction techniques.

“Shh, s’okay, sweetheart,” Joshua murmured, sitting up and pulling Goody up with him. He wrapped on arm firmly around the smaller man’s waist, used his free hand to drape Goody’s legs over his own then shifting them open before reaching down to press his own fingers where Gabe’s had just been moments before. “We’re going to take such good care of you. Just gotta get you ready for me and Gabe.”

“Joshua,” Goody whined, hands reaching up to wrap one around the back of his neck and the other to tug at his hair. “Please, want it now.”

“Easy, Goody,” Billy said softly, moving to brush a kiss to the Cajun’s inner thigh and grinning at the tremble that action drew. “Soon, sweetheart. Just let Josh hold you up there for us.”

Gabe groaned softly, moving to steal a slow kiss from Joshua before stealing another from Goody. “You will enjoy this, querido, mijo,” he purred, then moved down to press a kiss to the opposite thigh. “Move your hand, guerito,” he demanded, and Joshua moved his hand despite Goody’s whine.

The Cajun’s head fell back against Joshua’s shoulder, a keening cry slipping from his throat as both Billy and Gabe each eased two fingers into him. Joshua tightened his arm around Goody, moving one hand to rest low on the man’s stomach, grinning at his cock brushed against the back of it, and pressed just enough to feel the muscles twitching.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he breathed into Goody’s ear, enjoying the quiet moans that had replaced the keening. “Don’t that feel nice, baby? Our boys opening you up for us, finding those hidden places that make you moan so pretty. Just a few more fingers, gorgeous, then Gabe’s gonna slide into you and show you the stars.”

“S’il te plaît,” Goody whimpered, and Joshua’s smile nearly split his face at the French.

“Yeah, beautiful,” he praised, kissing their mate’s throat. “Not long now. Give him another one, guys,” he directed to the other two; Goody’s sharp cry and the way his hips tried to buck was evidence that he’d been heeded.

“Muy bonito, mijo,” Gabe crooned gently, twisting his hand a bit and shifting to nip at the discolored patch of skin on Goody’s hip. “Going to be so good for all of us, going to feel so perfect.”

Billy chuckled softly, moving to drop soft kisses to Goody’s stomach. “I think he’s ready for us,” he said softly, grinning as their Cajun let out another cry as Gabe twisted his fingers again followed by a string of what had to be truly filthy words.

“Josh, get up by the headboard,” the Korean ordered as he slipped both his own and Gabe’s fingers out of Goody; Joshua complied, tugging the nearly boneless Cajun along with him. “Perfect. You know what to do.”

Joshua shot a dirty smile to Billy even as he pulled Goody close and gave him a slow kiss. “You ready, beautiful?” he asked, even as he lifted the smaller man by his hips and settled him against his chest. His cock brushed lightly against his mate’s well-opened hole, and he pressed up even while tugging Goody down.

Goody’s head fell back onto the Irishman’s shoulder again, mouth open in a low moan of pleasure. “C’est bon, mon coeur. Maintenant… maintenant… Baise-moi, s’il te plaît.”

“Shh, not yet, beautiful,” Joshua whispered, not sure what his lover was saying but getting the general gist. “Gabe wants you, too, sweetheart. You can take him, right?”

Gabe chuckled softly, moving to settle over the two of them and pressing a long, demanding kiss to Goody’s mouth. “They tell me you can take both of us, mijo. Let me in, querido. We’ll take care of you.”

Joshua groaned himself, eyes narrowing but keeping them open as Gabe’s hips moved, slowly pressing his cock deep inside Goody against his own. It was just as tight a fit as when he and Billy’d both taken the Cajun in Volcano Springs, but the Mexican was a bit thicker than Billy; the press was exquisite and Goody was trembling in his arms, soft breathy whines escaping him as Gabe settled deep.

“Beautiful,” Billy murmured, leaning in to drop soft kisses onto all three of their mouths.

“Hear that?” Joshua purred into Goody’s ear. “You’re so good for us, taking two of us at once. Feel so hot and tight around us, look so damned pretty when you take your pleasure from us.”

He shifted his hands from Goody’s hips, one hand pressing against the smaller man’s chest and his other moving to pet that spot on his thigh that made him squirm the most. “Just let us give it to you, baby. Love watching you take it from us. Gonna fuck you real good, beautiful, fuck you so good you’ll drop right off to sleep when we finally let you go. You want that, don’t you, gorgeous?”

“Oh, oui, s’il te plaît, n’arrête pas, avance, maintenant,” Goody whined, hips moving in aborted little thrusts. A long keen of pleasure escaped him when Gabe began to move his hips in short, sharp thrusts and left Joshua also whining in needy lust.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” the Irishman moaned, kissing Goody’s neck. “Feel how Gabe’s taking care of us, beautiful? He’s gonna give it to us so good, baby.” He closed his eyes at a harder thrust, biting back a scream even as his Cajun let out one of his own, before adding a soft, “But Billy wants you, too, gorgeous. Gonna let him in, too?”

Billy, who had been kneeling next to them and running fingers along Gabe’s back as the Mexican moved, grinned fiercely and leaned in to steal a hard kiss from Joshua. He followed it up with a softer kiss to Goody’s mouth, humming as the Cajun whined into it. “You want a little more, Goody?” he asked softly, one finger tracing their mate’s lip. “Want me right here?”

“Mon cher, oui, s’il te plaît, laisse moi te sucer la queue.”

Joshua chuckled breathily and pressed a kiss to Goody’s neck. “Sounded like a yes to me, babe. Now, you just open up, beautiful. Let Billy give you what you want.”

Goody’s mouth dropped open as Billy moved to straddle the pair of them, pressing his cock carefully into their smaller lover. Joshua moved one hand to rest on the Asian’s hip, helping to steady him even as Billy pressed one hand to the wall behind the bed. He began to move almost immediately, keeping the motion slow and steady even as Gabe’s movement picked up a bit of speed and set Joshua to swearing softly.

“Mm, fuck, baby, that’s good,” the Irishman moaned. “You love it, don’t you, gorgeous? Love me and Gabe stretching you so wide, love Gabe fucking both of us so good, hitting all those spots that’ll make you fly. Love Billy fucking your throat,” he punctuated this with moving his arm from Goody’s waist to let his palm cover the Cajun’s throat, feeling where his other little mate was thrusting. “Mm, yeah, you love how we take care of you.”

“Shit, you never stop talking,” Billy groaned, his own free hand moving to tangle in Goody’s hair. “Trying to talk around my cock like that.”

“Still speaking, beautiful?” Joshua murmured, kissing Goody’s check and rubbing his thumb where he could feel Billy moving and the faint thrum of attempted speech. “Fuck, that’s hot. Gonna talk him into spilling, baby? Want that cream to flow right to your stomach, fill you up so good?”

“You talk almost as much, guerito,” Gabe groaned, punctuating his words with three sharp thrusts that dragged a sharp wail from Joshua and a high, muffled whine from Goody. “Gonna come too soon if you keep that up.”

“Mm, yeah,” Joshua breathed, moving to bite Goody’s ear. “Do it, Gabe. Mark us both up good. You want that, beautiful?” he directed to the Cajun. “Want Gabe to come inside you, fill you up but good? Mark you for days as his?”

“Chivato,” Gabe groaned, thrusting hard, one, two, three more times before grunting and going still; Joshua closed his eyes and moaned low at the feel of the other’s cock twitching against his own, at the warm rush of come filling up their shared mate and over his own cock. It was enough to trigger his own release, and he felt the spill of his own come deep inside Goody.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he groaned, biting his Cajun’s ear. “Take it so good, beautiful, all filled with come and still haven’t fallen yourself.” Joshua’s hand moved to tease Goody’s own hard cock, twisting his hips and grinning at how the move made his lover’s channel tighten. “Come for us, beautiful. We know you can do it.”

Billy grunted, speeding his thrusts up for a moment before falling still; Joshua could feel his cock twitch in Goody’s throat, could feel him release, and knew that some of that cream would still be on his Cajun’s tongue when the Asian pulled out. Goody groaned, hips twitching and body tightening as he finally fell over, only a minute or so after his three lovers had taken their pleasure from his body.

Joshua purred, moving to kiss Goody’s mouth as Billy pulled free and dropped onto the bed again. “Thank you, gorgeous,” he praised. “So good for us, taking it so well and giving us what we needed, too.”

“J’ai sommeil,” Goody murmured, eyes blinking slowly as his head lolled to the side.

“Tired, babe?” the Irishman asked, smiling warmly at the nod he received. He bit back a moan as Gabe slipped free, leaving Joshua still resting within the Cajun. He shifted his hips just enough for his softening cock to slide out as well, before settling Goody gently down onto the bed. “Then close your eyes, gorgeous. Get some sleep.” He moved to claim a slow, gentle kiss, grinning mentally at the taste of Billy on the other’s tongue. “Love you, babe.”

“Je t’aime, mon couer, mon cher, et mon beau,” Goody murmured, eyes slipping shut and only making a soft and slightly annoyed sound as Gabe moved up the bed to wrap around him. Within a few moments, both Cajun and Mexican were out, dead to the world but resting peacefully.

Joshua stretched and rolled onto his side, propping up on one elbow to watch the pair of them. Billy slotted himself up against the redhead’s back, chin propped on his shoulder and one arm wrapped around his waist.

“Gabi’s too thin,” he remarked softly, and Joshua made a sound of agreement. “We’ll have to feed him up.”

“Between the both of us, we’ll manage it,” Joshua replied. “Hey, did you see anything to clean up with?”

Billy snorted in amusement. “So you found a big enough room for us but somehow missed the wash basin in the corner?”

“Shut up,” the Irishman said, elbowing Billy in the side. “I was distracted. But now that he’s out, I wanna see where he got hit.”

The Asian fell silent before rolling out of the bed and padding to the corner opposite the desk. Joshua sat up fully, carefully moving to pick up Goody’s left arm and look it over carefully. On his forearm, just over the wrist, he spotted where someone’s bullet had taken out a chunk of skin. It wasn’t bleeding again, thank God, but it could still do with tending.

Billy returned just then, a wet washcloth in hand, and he set about cleaning off the injury before moving to wash up what he could of their come and sweat from between Goody’s thighs and Gabe’s stomach; he waited until Joshua had wrapped a clean strip from the bedding around the injury before throwing the cloth at him and letting him clean himself up a bit.

Joshua tossed the cloth in the general direction of the basin and dropped back onto the bed; Billy almost instantly dropped down on top of him and kissed him breathless. “Hey, stop it,” he chided. “I could use a nap myself, you know.”

“I know,” was the quick reply. Billy fell silent for a moment before adding, “I like it, when you talk to Goody like that.”

“What, the praising thing?” At Billy’s nod, Joshua let his head drop back and he chuckled. “Is it weird if I say that I didn’t know I liked doing that until I found y’all?”

“You never did that with other lovers?” Billy asked. He didn’t sound jealous; if anything, Joshua suspected both he and Goody were glad he’d had experience before they finally met in Volcano Springs.

“Nope,” he replied honestly. “If anything, I’d tell folks that it was good and I’d had fun after the fact. But when we were all back there, I couldn’t help but tell Goody how pretty he was that way. No one ever went all boneless like that, no matter what we’d been doing.” He shrugged and, a tad defensively, rushed out with, “Just felt right to keep doing it.”

Billy turned his head, hands resting on his cheeks, and gave him a long, sweet kiss. “I like how you both enjoy it,” he admitted. “I think Gabi enjoyed it, too.”

Joshua blinked before snickering. “Yeah, I think so,” he remarked. “Now, shut up and go to sleep, Billy Rocks. We can go get something to eat after a nap.”

[section=Footer Notes]13 February 2017

I’m… not putting translation notes on this chapter. Mostly because OMG I’m red again just reviewing for posting.

That being said, all French herein is not Cajun/Creole, because our resources were only in Parisian and Belgian French. That being said, anyone who does speak Louisiana French, PLEASE feel free to correct translations! And upon the next bit of porn, would you like to translate and beta?

~Adora [endsection]

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 2,368
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

If there was a part of this plan of Chisolm’s that he didn’t like, it was the whole damn thing, Joshua had decided to himself.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that Rocks and Chisolm would be able to successfully draw all the town’s attention to themselves, leaving it easy enough for the rest of them to slip into position. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the pair of them to stay alive long enough to assist the rest of them in clearing out the town of Blackstone agents.

No, it was the needless splitting of their numbers. Seven was a small enough number as it was, and little Teddy Q and Miss Emma had confirmed that there were at least twenty-something Blackstone agents in town, barring any others having been sent in or some having left while the pair had been gone retrieving them. Yes, they had the element of surprise on their side, but this seemed like pointlessly risking losing part of their group way too early in the game. This wasn’t even a battle Bogue himself would be at. No, this was just housekeeping that Chisolm was making more dangerous than it should be.

But he was going to follow the plan for now. If it came down to deviating from it later, he wouldn’t hesitate to do just that, though he might let at least Vasquez in on it. He had come to some conclusions early this morning as to V’s feelings regarding the warrant officer: the short version was that he didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. He didn’t think that Vas would be too unwilling to go off script for the right reason. Survival? That was definitely the right reason, he figured.

He had taken up position on the long porch surrounding the saloon, and Vasquez was across the street, walking up the alley between the hardware store and the mining office. Between the two of them, they would be able to keep anyone from getting too far down the street. The positions also gave them room enough to duck and weave in and out of buildings and alleyways, while still keeping them in the thick of things.

He knew Horne was stationed in an alleyway not far from where Chisolm and Rocks would be stopping, ready to do some damage on some seriously wicked men. And he knew the Comanche that Chisolm picked up this morning was on the roof of the sheriff’s office, ready to take down the Blackstones’ sharpshooter and maybe participate in a bit of that himself. That part wasn’t such a bad idea. Certainly no one would be expecting it. He certainly hadn’t been.

Tell me I’m hallucinating, whispered though his head again, still in his brother’s voice, coming back to him from early this morning.

You’re hallucinating, came once more in his own voice. And so am I.

And speaking of his brother… That was another part of the plan that he did not like: the fact that Goodnight was more or less holding the end of the street nearest the livery stable. Even the most rookie commander in the War had known that that wasn’t how you used your acknowledged sharpshooter. You didn’t put him down in the thick of things. It just wasn’t the way things were supposed to be done. And of the two rifles he had seen on Goodnight carrying in his saddle holsters, the one he had had on him when they left on foot the rest of the way into town had been the Mississippi Rifle… the damn muzzle loader. If Goodnight had to take a shot, it was going to take way too long for him to reload: probably around three minutes, if he hadn’t gotten a lot faster since the last days of the war.

And then that was also saying nothing of the fact that he couldn’t remember seeing his brother fire any gun since he had last been ordered to. Yeah, he had that pretty Colt Peacemaker on his hip, the twin to his own Ethel, but he had never seen the revolver come out of its holster except for cleaning. He didn’t even remember ever seeing Goodnight test fire it a single time. If Ethel wasn’t such a damn good gun, he would wonder if her twin was defective.

He was in position, and his energy was up because, damn, this was going to be fucking fun. Even if he gave credit where he wasn’t sure it was due, the odds were better than three to one. He had taken on odds like that and come out on top, but the thrill was always there. This could be the time when they got the better of him, or it could be the time he obliterated everyone who stood against him. This could be the time when he came out on top, or it could be the time he was gunned down where he stood.

It was chancing his hand, which always got his blood going, whether it was cards or violence.

---

 It was almost too easy to slip into Rose Creek unseen.

He’d honestly be more comfortable had he gone in with Billy, but Chisolm’s half-assed plan seemed to be to alienate the people they were hoping to aid as well as rile up the Blackstones, and as such he’d decided that it would be the two most offensive-looking people would enter by the main road into town — although why he had Billy on foot was beyond Goodnight’s reasoning.

Instead of going in next to his cher, Goodnight headed in by the back road, accompanied by his little brother and the Mexican, both of whom were in a right mood, clearly spoiling for a fight, as well as crazy ol’ Jack Horne. The man was eating jerky as they walked, for God’s sake. That was hardly the definition of stealth, but there you had it.

Rather than stick close for longer than needed, Goodnight had slipped away to take his position nearest the livery. He listened to Chisolm bullshit the Blackstones and snorted to himself, checking his Mississippi to ensure that he still had a round chambered. He wasn’t overly concerned with taking more than one shot; Joshua had always been a deft hand with his Peacemaker, even though Ethel (as he’d named it long ago) seemed to be retired from what he’d seen thus far, and he trusted the men he knew, as well as his new acquaintances, to keep anyone from even coming close to where the sniper would be keeping watch.

“I can’t say the same for my compadres behind you,” Chisolm was saying, and Goodnight took that as his cue to walk out from the alleyway, rifle resting on his shoulder as he stared down the Blackstone men. Not far off, he could spot Joshua leaning against the door of the hotel and Vasquez directly across the street on the saloon’s porch. Horne was coming out of another alley, and Goodnight was pleased to see Billy tensed and ready even as Chisolm pretended at calm. There was no sign of Red Harvest, and hopefully that meant the Comanche was already in position atop the bank.

And his assessment proved to be true, when one of the Blackstones whistled a signal and Chisolm responded with a call in Comanche. Red Harvest tossed the body of the sniper from the roof and let fly another arrow into a heavyset man standing behind the apparent leader of the group of cowards. One moment was silent glaring between the head Blackstone and Chisolm, the next bullets were flying.

Goodnight stepped back from the alley, shifting his rifle into ready position and moving to keep a steady eye on all the men in play. His brother and Vasquez were cutting through them easily, at one point standing back to back as they kept the bastards from getting anywhere near his own position, and Billy was making short work of them with only his knives. He could hear Horne preaching the gospel to each man he tackled — no, really, Goodnight was positive that the bear of a man had just tackled one man off of a horse — and their Comanche friend was letting arrow after arrow loose. Chisolm was systematically taking down the ones who were trying to get towards the main way into or out of town, and the Cajun remained at his post, wary of any stragglers.

Finally, the shooting stopped, and he took a moment to assess the casualties. At least twenty men lay dead, but not a single member of their band. He was certain that a bullet or two had zipped by him, but the Blackstone men had had shit aim. Goodnight could have had more fun waiting in a cornfield at two in the morning during the winter in the pursuit of taking out a Yankee supply line. And he had, at that.

The sound of a horse drew his attention, and Goodnight stepped backward just in time for the lead Blackstone man to go tearing past hellbent for leather. The Cajun turned and took aim with his Mississippi, the same rifle that had served him well during his stint as a sharpshooter in the army. Two hundred yards out. Two-fifty. Three hundred.

“Go on. Take the shot,” came Joshua’s harsh voice behind him, and Goodnight ignored the words.

Four hundred yards.

“Take that shot.”

Four-fifty.

“Take the goddamn shot.”

Five hundred yards, and although he knew damned well he could lead it on for longer, Goodnight gently squeezed the trigger.

The Blackstone jerked forward in his saddle but remained upright. Even from this distance, he knew that he at least got a through and through on the bastard’s shoulder. Rather than reload, Goodnight lowered the rifle and turned to face his brother with a pleasant, passive expression.

It was one his brother probably hated as much as his Hero and Legend poker face.

“You missed,” Joshua accused, eyes hard and angry.

“I sent Bogue a message,” Goodnight replied, tossing his Mississippi to Billy as the other man approached. It was tempting to slam his shoulder into his younger brother’s as he passed him, but he restrained himself and simply headed towards the hardware store to rest on the porch.

He paused for a moment when he noticed Chisolm crouch down, and he scowled darkly when he realized that the ‘good’ sheriff of Rose Creek — bought out by Bogue himself, and about as useful as tits on a bull — had survived the gunfight. Goodnight scoffed in annoyance as his old acquaintance gave the man his marching orders and sent off a second (and probably less effective) message to ol’ Bart Bogue.

Truthfully, his message was likely clearer: This town ain’t yours, come fight if you want it. Chisolm’s was spurred solely by his own desire for revenge, and he was starting to wonder if this was the day he’d been waiting for since the other man pulled a group of Billy Yanks off of him in Lawrence, Kansas, a little over ten years ago.

“You okay?” his Billy asked, startling him out of his thoughts; the other man had been checking over the rifle and was now moving to hand it back. The Korean paused, and at Goodnight’s questioning sound fixed his eyes firmly on the other’s wrist. Goodnight followed his gaze and blinked to see blood dripping from his sleeve onto his hand.

Huh. Looked like one of those Blackstone agents got off a lucky shot after all.

Rather than worry too much on it — hell, he still didn’t feel any pain, maybe it was someone else’s blood — the Cajun sat down hard in one of the few chairs on the porch of the hardware store and pulled out a handkerchief. As he heard Miss Emma and Teddy come riding into town and calling out to their fellow townsfolk, Goodnight set about cleaning himself up. The blood on his hand was made quick work of, and he unbuttoned his sleeve and pushed it up just enough to confirm that, huh, he seemed to have been hit in the forearm.

He would get Billy to fully attend to it later. For now, however, Goodnight folded the handkerchief carefully and pressed it to the wound. He rolled his sleeve down over the makeshift bandage, buttoning the cuff and shaking his jacket sleeve back into place as well. From the corner of his eye, he caught his cher scowling worriedly at him even as he lit two opium cigarettes at once, and Goodnight turned just enough to offer a reassuring half-smile.

Then he settled back to listen to Emma Cullen berate half her friends and neighbors for being too cowardly to ride off for aid as she had. The woman was a stone cold beast, and he was almost sad that she reminded him so much of Colette in her take-no-prisoners approach to all things that were worthy of her attentions. In all honesty, it made him miss his little sister more than he had in the years since he’d received Joshua’s letter telling him of her passing from the fever. If only she could see what had become of her brothers; chances were good she’d smack their heads together and yell at them both before trying to mother them half to death.

Goodnight sincerely hoped that the number of residents wasn’t going to shrink to zero come morning. He would honestly be more shocked if no one fled for safety; hell, during the war he’d given some thought to fleeing and only stayed because his commission kept him and his brother in food and clothing for months before they’d turned to bounty hunting. Even now, he was pondering if he had some sort of death wish that had led him to this foolhardy battle or if he’d really been trying to see if reconciliation was possible.

Once the street was clear, he pushed himself to his feet. “Well,” he said aloud, “I don’t know ‘bout anyone else, but I could use a drink.” Without waiting to see if anyone was planning to join him, he turned on his heel and walked his way right over to the saloon.

Even without a barkeep, it wouldn’t take long to find some good bourbon and drink away his worries for the moment.

[section=Footer Notes]11 February 2017

Happy birthday, Katsuko! It’s her birthday, and you guys are the ones getting presents.

~Adora[endsection]

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,515
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

“Now remember, my darlings: this is like to be the only time you will ever see your father’s bastard,” Maman said seriously, a scowl on her pretty face. “You will be cordial so that your father has no reason to become… angry.”

Old bastard don’t need no excuse, Goodnight thought uncharitably but nodded at his mother’s request. He wasn’t far off from thirteen now, and the only sibling he’d ever had was Colette. She was closing in on twelve herself, and having a new child come in who weren’t older than six wasn’t anything like they’d expected.

“Good. Thank you, my lambs,” Maman said gratefully. “This is not going to be easy for any of us, but the new nanny is going to be responsible for the boy. Goodnight, I expect you to keep up your studies despite this… upheaval.”

“Yes, Maman,” he replied, and his mother smiled fondly at him.

The door to the foyer opened then, they could all hear it from the sitting room. Maman smoothed out her skirts and stood up straight, a severe expression on her face; Colette did her best to mimic it with some success, while Goodnight let his face slide into the indifferent mask he oftentimes wore when faced with the man who’d sired him. Monsieur Robicheaux’s boots sounded loudly on the hardwood flooring, then the door to the sitting room opened and the old bastard all but dragged a scrawny little someone into the room.

Don’t they got food in Missouri? Goodnight thought irreverently, blinking at just how tiny this supposed six year old was. Kid was only wearing threadbare clothing, the shirt about three sizes too big and pants with a hole in the knee and shoes that likely should’ve been tossed last year. Add to that that the boy looked terrified, and he was positive that things were about to not go the way his bastard of a father wanted them to.

“Oh, my poor little thing!” Maman all but squealed, crossing the room in a flurry of silk skirts to catch the boy’s face in her hands and look him over thoroughly. “Oh, but you are freezing. Where is your coat, little lamb? Where the hell is his coat, Etienne?” This part was hissed at the old bastard, who looked thunderous.

“The bastard don’t need no coat, Arthémie,” Monsieur Robicheaux all but snarled in response. “Besides, it was falling apart anyway. Tossed all that shit off the train halfway between here and St. Louis. Now can we please just toss him to the nanny and forget he exists?”

Damn it, Goodnight thought, exchanging a look with Colette. You just guaranteed that Maman ain’t ever letting him outta her sight.

Sure enough, Maman’s spine stiffened, and she stood up to glare darkly at her husband. “No,” she said sternly. “You will dismiss her, or I will. I am going to get some suitable clothing on this child, and he is going to eat and get some sleep. You are not coming close to him for the rest of the day. Poor thing is terrified. What did you tell him was going to happen here, Etienne?”

The kid did look frightened… and more than a mite confused. That was likely to do with the quickly spoken French than the actual argument, honestly. Colette turned to look up at Goodnight, and for the life of him, he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next.

“Can we go to the library, G’night?” she asked hopefully, a thread of fear lacing her tone.

Goodnight looked over at his parents, still glaring darkly at one another, and his new half-brother who was looking their way almost curiously. “Yeah, Letty,” he replied. “We’ll be safer there.”

That was the last he set eyes on his new brother — because there was no doubt in his mind that Maman had gone and adopted the boy the second she saw him — for a couple days. When he did climb his way out of the books in his mother’s safe haven, it was to find that she had gone through his old clothing to get something more suitable onto the boy. And whereas he could have been angry that his hand-me-downs were being utilized by a usurper, Goodnight was just pleased that the kid was cleaned up and looked as if Maman was trying to fatten him up some.

Even so, Goodnight didn’t really talk to the boy. He was leery of the old man’s temper at the moment and hoped in the back of his mind that his mother had been keeping the child close at hand; more than a couple times now, Monsieur Robicheaux had stalked by the library and glowered in at his two legitimate children, causing both himself and Colette to keep seated and look back innocently… and not leave the room until Nana Jolie came by to fetch them for bed. He wouldn’t dare lay hands on either of them with the slave girl around; she would go immediately to Maman, who would go to the old man and make threats of contacting the authorities. Nothing would come of it, of course, as it would be a woman’s word and that of a slave against a man’s, but it oftentimes served to curb him for enough days to allow Goodnight to recoup from a beating.

When he did finally speak to the child, Joshua, it was to snap at him for being underfoot. He was fairly confident he called the boy an annoying little shit, only to have the kid snap back that he was a damned fool jackass. Yet Goodnight was the one punished for cussing, which weren’t fair and left him hiding in the library in a snit for a full day and a half. In spite of this, Joshua kept just being there, in the background, like a little six year old shadow. It wasn’t until another week went by that he was willing to speak cordially to the boy, and even then he kept it to a minimum. He knew the old man was angry, and he hope that minimal contact might keep the kid safe from a whooping.

Even so, whenever Colette would come wandering up and asking him to read aloud to her, Goodnight noticed that the boy would silently slip in and hide behind a settee. And so he would read to both his siblings, keeping one eye out for when Joshua eased out from his hiding spot and slipped closer slowly. Given that Goodnight read aloud in both the French he’d learned first and English, he hoped that Joshua was at least gleaning a bit of the new-to-him language. Maybe someday, if he could trust that the old man would leave them in peace for a few hours, Goodnight would actually sit down with the boy and tutor him some.

It was sometime during the third week of Joshua living with them, on a day that he knew for goddamn sure that Monsieur Robicheaux was in the house, when Goodnight looked up from his lessons with his tutor to realize it was far too quiet. It could just be that Colette, who’d taken a mind to feed up their new brother, had dragged Joshua off to the kitchen to get Cooky to make them some snacks. It could be that Joshua had found a different hiding place from the library where Goodnight’s tutoring was taking place that day.

Hell, it could be that Joshua had slipped out to the stable to see the horses. The child was obsessed with horses, and Maman intended to get him a yearling to train to saddle before his seventh birthday rolled around.

But Goodnight was terrified that the silence meant he’d failed as a brother, that the old bastard had caught the youngest member of the family and that next time Joshua appeared, it would be with bruises and cuts.

He didn’t realize he was having an anxiety attack until his tutor had shaken him out of it in an effort to gain his attention again. Goodnight forced himself to pay attention to the rest of his lessons, but his mind was more focused tracking down his T-Jo—and just when had he started to think of the boy by a nickname, one that was so close to the JoJo that Letty was calling him whenever they spoke of him—and making sure he was okay.

The second the tutor released him, he all but ran to the kitchen to start his search. Cooky took one look at him, clucked her tongue, and directed him to the stable. He found his brother easy enough, even though it was obvious T-Jo was trying to hide, and it was also clear that the old bastard had found him first. Rather than say anything, Goodnight pretended he hadn’t seen him and moved to tend to his pony. He spoke softly to the creature, more directing his assurances towards his brother, and hoped that the child took some comfort there.

Because Goodnight Robicheaux would be dead and buried before he let Monsieur Robicheaux touch his brother again without going through him first.

And he did his best to keep that promise.

[section=Footer Notes]10 February 2017

Greetings and love from Katsuko!

Yes, it’s my turn to toss in some early years stories to you, the good people of the internet. And it’s Goody-centric, because we think it’s important to see what was going on in this child’s head when he suddenly acquired a younger brother.

Additionally, tomorrow is my birthday. We will still be posting the regular timeline Wicked Ones chapter, but this is a nicer pressie-from-birthday-girl than completely angst, yes?

~Katsuko[endsection]

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,255
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

Given that monsters really didn’t need sleep, most mortals tended to automatically assign them to the night watch so that they could rest.

Billy honestly didn’t blame them for that, but he still resented it a little.

Granted, he didn’t sleep much, even when he had the opportunity. Most times after he and Goody had fucked, the demon would drift off into a light slumber and Billy would just watch him. The decades quite literally slid away when the youngest Antichrist was lost to pleasure and sleep, and Billy enjoyed tracing the soft curves of his face with eyes and gentle fingers. It was his own private pleasure to wrap the younger being in his wings and keep watch as they rested until the next morning arrived.

Tonight, though, he wasn’t thinking on pleasure. There were mortals amongst them, even if a couple of those mortals had monster blood to some minor extent, and monsters he was as yet unfamiliar with, so he would watch over them in the nighttime hours.

Vasquez, whatever ancient hungry beast he may be, seemed to pick up almost immediately that it would be safe to feed and rest. The monster had all but fallen on the food provided for them to share by young Miss Emma then settled himself into the space just below where Billy’d set up as his watch position, slid his hat over his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep. Even from nearly ten feet away, the angel could hear the other’s snoring.

Almost exactly across the way but a few feet lower, Faraday had stretched out with his feet facing the east, his own hat over his face as he rested against his saddle in somewhat lighter sleep. Billy still had no idea what variety of Fae the man was, and he knew that Goody would chew on the mystery for ages until Faraday took pity and told him. All the angel was certain of was, that whatever Faraday was he was likely as old as he himself was at a minimum; after all, the Fae had been roaming the earth long before the Host of Christianity started to populate the heavens and hell.

Goody himself had settled into a nook just below Faraday, obviously feeling some level of security in all the older monsters surrounding him, and fallen into a true slumber. Billy could tell because the age faded from the little demon’s features, leaving him looking closer to what his age in the mortal world would be. Amongst the Host, the youngest of Lucifer’s sons would be closer in age to the young widow Cullen and her companion than to Sam Chisolm, and in sleep he looked it.

Billy cast his awareness to the surrounding land, letting his wings truly unfurl as his odd cohort slept around him. Their shadow was wide, and he took a few moments to preen out any damaged feathers before hiding them away again physically yet leaving their shade on the rock behind him. Any wild creatures that gave thought to harassing their camp would be frightened away by his display, and any monsters meaning harm would likely think twice.

After all, humans weren’t the only ones unfamiliar with angels. A wise monster would pass them by once realizing an angel was part of the group.

He let his attention wander through the night, finally opting to slip into a light slumber with the first hint of the sun on the horizon. Goody would likely be rising soon, since he couldn’t stand the thought of the humans guessing how young he truly was and would pull the decades back to his flesh in short order; and Faraday was facing the sun and would probably arise as it drew higher into the morning sky.

What drew him back to full wakefulness, however, was the scent of near-death approaching and the sound of Chisolm’s gun.

Billy was on his feet between one heartbeat and the next, his favorite blade drawn and at the ready. Goody was already crouched in an attack position, looking every inch like a mortal in his mid-forties and holding his rifle in a firm grip; that weapon had dispatched many an enemy directly to the devil himself, and Lucifer was far too fond of his youngest to not accept such gifts happily. Faraday was sitting up, both hands hovering over his guns that, Billy noticed, each had a handle that would prevent him from directly touching the iron. And below him, he could hear Vasquez slowly awakening with a low snarl that sounded like thousands of monsters rather than the one he knew the ancient to be.

Jack Horne was standing just within their little camp, and while the near-death still clung to his flesh like a red flag, he didn’t pay any mind to the monsters. Rather, he used signals that Billy recognized as military to indicate that someone else was approaching from the west, and the angel let his awareness lock onto the future wendigo even as he turned to see who or what was approaching.

He nearly relaxed as he caught sight of the Indian, recognizing the markings on his face as those of a young shaman.

The natives of these lands and the monsters had something of a symbiotic relationship. Those they called shamans were capable of learning the language of the monsters and could speak it aloud even if they could not use the mental version. In point of fact, during the many wars with the white men over these very lands, monsters had taken up arms and fought alongside the Indians. Billy himself had warred with the Kiowa, and he knew Goody had thrown his lot in with the Sioux and Apache tribes at separate times. Given the way that Faraday relaxed as well, it was likely the Fae had rode amongst one of the tribes himself; Vasquez undoubtedly had walked and warred with the natives of Mexico against the Spaniards when they came.

Chisolm called out to the Indian, in the tongue of the Comanche that Billy was passingly familiar with. When the young shaman replied in kind, the angel fully relaxed his stance to turn the bulk of his attention to the proto-wendigo that had somehow not only moved further into their camp but was now standing just in front of his own watch point. A sidelong look revealed that Vasquez had his revolver trained on Horne, teeth still bared and fully prepared to devour the threat. In the meantime, Goody had taken a higher post to train his rifle on Horne while Faraday had his pearl-handled revolver drawn but held loosely; the Fae must feel that the others had things well in-hand but was ready to provide backup if needed.

These were good comrades, Billy realized as a small smile crossed his lips. Even with a threat to them all, the elder monsters were subconsciously moving to keep the youngest in the safest position. And, as the shaman tossed aside the deer he’d hunted down and shared its liver with their mortal leader, their group grew to one more ally. Even if Chisolm had apparently decided Horne following was a good thing—and Billy’d let him live so long as he didn’t turn on his people—the angel would still follow, just to see where this ended.

Besides, he hated witches who thought themselves greater than others more than anyone else in this group. It would be his pleasure to thwart Bogue and his ilk, and he would personally pin the witch down with his blades before his Goody dispatched the man to Lucifer’s domain.

[section=Footer Notes]08 February 2017

Running monster tally:

Emma Cullen – one quarter Changeling (on her father’s side)
Bartholomew Bogue – warlock uppity witch
McCann – hedge witch
Denali – skin-walker
Teddy Q – half earth elemental half dryad (on his mother’s side)
Sam Chisolm – human monster hunter
Faraday – Trickster Fae A little of this, a little of that Fae something old and powerful Fae.
Goodnight Robicheaux – demon An Antichrist
Billy Rocks – An angel of death
Vasquez – Ancient God (Old Mexico/Aztec/Mayan)
Jack Horne – mostly harmless future wendigo (currently human, haunted by helpful ghosts)
Red Harvest – shaman (in training)[endsection]

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,577
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

“I ain’t too sure I like this plan,” Joshua said for the third time in twice as many minutes.

This plan being, Sam and Billy strolling in through the main road to town while their new Comanche companion Red Harvest—who, unless he was sorely mistaken, was the long-missing third to his old friend’s triad that had already lost their second a decade prior—was to take to the rooftops and Jack Horne, Joshua, Gabriel, and Goodnight himself were to slip in quietly by the lesser traveled back roads.

Horne and Red Harvest were already making their way to their positions, while Joshua was still scowling in annoyance. Gabriel didn’t look much inclined to argue with the young man, and Goodnight really didn’t much care for this plan either but was willing to give it a shot.

“There’s only twenty-three Blackstones in town,” he reminded his two newest partners. “Young Teddy and Miss Emma confirmed that before we arrived. It won’t really require all of us to take them down, plus we need to leave someone alive to deliver the message back to Bogue.”

“Well,” Joshua groused, “I don’t like that you’ve gotta cover everyone the way Chisolm wants.”

Frankly, Goodnight didn’t like it either. But he had his Winchester, and it hadn’t let him down before today. Hopefully things would continue on that path, even if he hoped that he wouldn’t need to fire a single round. He’d already had one nightmare on the way here, only keeping from waking the whole camp by virtue of Billy wrapping around him during the night and waking him with soothing words and reassurances that they were all okay.

“It’ll be fine, mon coeur,” he said instead. “I’m positive that neither you, Gabriel, nor Billy’ll let anyone even get close to me.”

“Es verdad,” Gabriel said sharply, moving to split off down his alleyway. He paused for a moment then caught Goodnight’s chin and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth. “Buena suerte, mijo,” he murmured before repeating the gesture on Joshua, replacing mijo with guerito then slipping away.

“What he said,” Joshua remarked, grinning brightly and moving to drop a quick kiss of his own to the corner of the older man’s mouth. “I’ve got your back, Goody.”

Goodnight smiled wanly and watched as Joshua slipped quietly across the street to the saloon and stepped carefully up onto the walkway before ducking down the small side street between the general store and the livery. He quickly checked to make sure the rifle was loaded—yep, and one round in the chamber—and waited for Sam’s signal.

When it came, he wasn’t entirely surprised that the Blackstones decided to escalate the situation. And as he’d suspected, once the shooting started, the closest any of their enemy got to him was ten feet away, with both Joshua and Gabriel taking extreme exception to those who opted to rush the sniper.

It was a damn good thing, because once shots were fired, he found himself thrown back into the darkest days of the War, and he couldn’t entirely trust his eyes or his ears.

Once it grew silent again, Goodnight was able to wrestle himself back to the present, only to be startled as the Blackstone leader nearly ran him down on his desperate ride out of Rose Creek. Instinct had him taking aim with the Winchester, but the old fear held him frozen.

“Goody, take the shot,” Joshua’s voice came at his shoulder, and he tensed as his hands once again wouldn’t do what he wanted. There was a beat, as the Blackstone rode further away, then one of his coeur’s arms slipped around his waist. “Aim for me, babe,” he said, voice practically a breath in his ear, and Goodnight knew immediately what his partner had planned.

Still holding his aim true, Goodnight let his finger slip the guard… and Joshua’s hand replaced it and pulled the trigger.

Five hundred yards out from Rose Creek, the Blackstone agent lurched forward on his horse but managed to remain in place. He seemed to kick the horse to go faster, but one hand had moved up to grip his right shoulder.

“Damn it,” Joshua muttered. “Thought we had the bastard.”

Goodnight leaned back into his coeur’s chest and sighed. “It’ll still let Bogue know we mean business.”

Then Billy was there, taking the rifle carefully from both of them and clasping Goodnight’s face into his hands. He searched his eyes for a moment before leaning in and kissing him breathless, pulling back to finally ask, “Are you okay?”

At his shaky nod, Billy gave him another, softer kiss before redirecting to kiss Joshua just as fiercely in thanks. Goodnight chuckled and let himself relax between the two of them for just a moment before tapping them both on the shoulder to remind them that there was still work to be done.

Joshua cleared his throat and began walking back to the center of town, one arm wrapped firmly around Goodnight’s waist. The gesture was both possessive and protective, and he appreciated it more than he could honestly say at the moment. Gabriel turned a searching look onto the three of them, only relaxing when he realized they were all unscathed. It was obvious to anyone that he wanted nothing more than to fuss over all three of them, but he was holding himself in check as yet.

“How’d everyone do?” Sam asked once they were all in the same spot again.

“I got five,” Billy noted absently, his gaze falling onto Goodnight’s left hand and frowning.

“I got six,” Joshua added, following his partner’s eyes. At the sight of red dripping steadily down Goodnight’s fingers, he pulled his bandanna off and handed it to Billy silently. “Goody sniped one who was headed out of town, but he still managed to ride off. Hopefully he’ll bleed out between here and Sacramento. Gabe, how’d you do?”

“Six,” Gabriel replied, gaze already shifting to where Billy was cleaning up Goodnight’s hand and tensing with worry.

“I got seven,” was the Irishman’s immediate response, complete with holding up seven fingers and making their Mexican scoff in amusement. “Wanna even it up, babe?”

“Say when, guerito.”

Goodnight let his attention waver when Sam stooped down to coax out Bogue’s bought and paid for sheriff, although now he was just going to be their second method of delivering the message. He gladly suffered through Billy’s fussing over him, smiling softly once the blood had been cleaned away even as he knew that his triad was going to thoroughly check him over to see where, exactly, he’d been shot or grazed. He made his way to the hardware store once Billy let go of his hand, even though the Korean man followed close behind, and found a chair to drop himself into.

He would be the first to admit that he was still shaken, and all he really wanted was to fall into a bed and sleep for the remainder of the day. He wouldn’t be opposed to his partners coming along and wearing him out first, quite honestly; it might even help him sleep more easily. Goodnight was particular about his pleasure, and despite how often Billy accused him of bossiness, he had yet to deny his mate’s whims. And before they left Volcano Springs, Joshua had proved to be just as willing to let Goodnight be more than a little… demanding in bed.

And while they’d had to try to be a bit… discreet during their journey to Rose Creek, Gabriel had proved himself to be quite happy answering to Goodnight’s demanding nature. Hell, he’d let the Cajun talk him into a quick and dirty fuck while they were supposedly checking to see which way the stream was running but was just a flimsy excuse to spend a little time alone with his newest mate. That had been a fun way to spend a half an hour, but even more how safe he’d felt while they were cleaning up afterward. If anyone aside from Billy and Joshua guessed what they’d really been up to, it had nothing to do with clothing being mussed or out of place, that was for damned sure.

The widow and widower Cullen rode into town just then, calling out to everyone to come out, and it was a sight to see when Miss Emma berated the other residents for their cowardice. Hell, if she turned that temper towards him, Goodnight was like as not to apologize to the lady and slink away hoping to go otherwise unnoticed.

As the good folk proceeded to head back to their homes, he noted that his triad had settled themselves around him, half-forming a wall between Goodnight and the rest of the immediate world. The gesture was much appreciated, and he looked at each of them evenly before pushing himself to his feet.

“I think I’m gonna go find us a room,” he said, a sidelong look revealing that Sam, Red, and Horne were headed for the saloon.

Joshua was beside him in a heartbeat, arm slipping around his waist again. “I think I’ll come help you with that.”

The two of them set off across the street, Billy and Gabriel moving to speak quietly with one another for a moment—and unless he missed his guess, to determine which of them was going to hit up the general store for petroleum jelly or Macassar oil—before the former fell into step right behind them. The latter trotted down the way to the general store, and Goodnight couldn’t help but smile a bit to himself.

Looked like he might be getting what he wanted after all.

[section=Footer Notes]06 February 2017

From Katsuko: On the end segment there… yes, Adora did a shit tonne of research on what would be used for lube back in the 1870s. The research turned up… more than we expected, quite frankly. She did a snap on Tumblr to show just how much research was actually done for the whole of the stories we’ve been working on.

Trust me, y’all: it’s a lot.

Translation Notes:
(All translations are taken from Google Translate or Adora’s shaky remnants of French)
French:
Mon coeur – My heart
Spanish:
Es verdad – It’s true.
Buena suerte – good luck
Mijo – used here as “sweetheart”
Guerito – affectionate variant of “whitey”

~Adora [endsection]

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 2,702
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

Writing in his journal, even as brief a lament as it had been, was apparently just what he’d needed in order to start functioning a bit better.

From his spot in the group just behind Chisolm, with Billy a half-step behind and Joshua five steps ahead, Goodnight huffed an amused breath. “What a band we are,” he mused aloud, still feeling a little mean but not viciously so. “Me a grey, Chisolm a blue. Billy a mysterious man of the Orient.” Here Billy shot him a look that he chose to ignore, even as he pondered something a bit more… polite to say next. “A half-Irish Creole, a Texican. A female and her gentleman caller. Oh, this is not going to end well.”

Ahead of him, he noticed Joshua turn about in the saddle as if to read his expression, but Goodnight had his face schooled into the same affable southern gentleman facade he’d been wearing since they rode out that morning. He wasn’t going to change it unless the situation called for it, and right now it was suiting him just fine.

“I’m Mexican, cabrón,” Vasquez insisted, pausing to spit on the ground as their horses trotted along. “No such thing as a Texican.”

“Well, go tell that to my granddaddy,” Goodnight retorted. “He died at the Alamo.” Up ahead, he could see Joshua’s shoulders slump a little, as he’d been born long after Grand-père Robicheaux had died in battle; even Goodnight was born afterward, and he’d wondered a time or two if maybe the man would have tempered Monsieur Robicheaux any had he lived.

“New Orleans Greys,” he continued, recalling the words from his bastard father, “long barons, bayonets, blood and teeth, mauled to death by a hoard of teeming brown devils.”

“My grandfather was one of those devils,” Vasquez replied. “Toluca battalion. Hey, maybe my grandfather killed your grandfather, huh?”

Goodnight looked over, and from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Joshua’s shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. Glad to have offered some amusement, T-Jo, he thought dryly even as he said, “What a charming thought.” To Billy, he added, “I sense we are bonding.”

“Goody,” his lover hissed quietly in warning, and the man just smiled back blithely. He could pretend to be cheerful all he wanted, but the Korean could see right through him and he damn well knew it. When they finally stopped for the night, he was going to be in for a tongue-lashing, but he didn’t rightly care.

It was about another hour to their destination, another supply station heading up into the mountains, where Chisolm finally revealed that they were looking to get Jack Horne to join their team.

Goodnight actually stared at his old acquaintance askance and could all but sense Billy’s displeasure at his back. Is Chisolm trying to find every sad sack of a bastard he can for this mission? he thought uncharitably, including himself in that number because he was nothing but honest about how broken he was.

He didn’t help much with the asking around, especially as it was proving to be useless, although when they asked the two brothers hanging around by the boarding house they were told that the younger was in possession of Horne’s rifle.

“We are talking about Jack Horne?” Goodnight asked incredulously from where he was leaning on the porch rail. “I mean, the Jack Horne, the legend Jack Horne?”

The brother not holding the rifle snorted. “Legend, my ass. He may have killed three hundred Crow, but he ain’t never met the Pigeon Brothers before.”

“And you say that’s Jack Horne’s rifle,” Joshua clarified from where he was sitting on the stairs. Goodnight had honestly been surprised when his brother had all but flung himself down in the spot, but he had quickly decided that the younger didn’t trust him any more and was doing his best to keep a covert eye on him. It would be touching if it wasn’t equally insulting.

The younger brother flipped the rifle over to show the initials JH carved into the stock. “It was Jack Horne’s rifle,” he said proudly. “There’s an army base, offering a thousand dollars for proof of death,” here his words jumped a bit, as his older brother shoved him for talking too much. “We figure the rifle ought’a do.”

“You don’t have the body?” Chisolm asked, picking up on what was unsaid. Goodnight could hear Billy huff in annoyance behind him and mentally agreed that this line of questioning wasn’t going to lead anywhere, not really.

“Well, no,” the elder Pigeon Brother replied. “Len here bashed him over the head from behind with a rock. Knocked him off a cliff, too.”

Chisolm didn’t look impressed. “So you snuck up behind him,” he stated.

“Yes!” the elder brother replied. “What exactly are you imply—”

He was cut off by the hatchet that appeared seemingly out of nowhere to make its home in his chest, and he fell to the ground dead.

Goodnight caught the others turning from the corner of his eye as he shifted to see where the damned thing had come from, and blinked at the gigantic bear of a man storming his way down the trail. There was a little blood on his left temple, and the beginnings of an impressive bruise to go with it.

“Here he comes,” he mused just under his breath, and as Jack Horne stalked over to Len Pigeon, added, “and there he goes.” Billy snorted softly in amusement, likely the only one to have heard Goodnight’s commentary.

He watched idly as the younger Pigeon Brother scrambled backward, accidentally shooting the rifle in the air as he fell over in his attempt to escape. Ol’ Jack Horne snatched his weapon back from the sad son of a bitch and bashed him in the face with the stock before lifting one large foot on Len Pigeon’s skull.

Everyone was silent for a moment, seeming to be shocked by what they’d just witnessed. Goodnight felt his lips twitching into an amused smirk, and schooled his voice before he said the thought that was going through his mind: “Pigeon Brothers weren’t famous for very long.”

On the stairs in front of him, Joshua made a sound like a laugh had been punched out of him. Goodnight blinked but smiled slightly as Vasquez chuckled beside him. Apparently he could still be funny when he wasn’t trying.

---

 Watching the back of Jack Horne disappearing up the mountain, all Joshua could think to say was, “I believe that bear was wearing people’s clothes.” A couple of steps away from him, Vasquez chuckled loudly. The last day riding together had proven that the outlaw had one hell of a sense of humor, one that meshed well with his own. Joshua had even managed to set it off a few times now already.

What was interesting to him, though, was that Goodnight had just made a sound very much like the one he had made himself only a couple of minutes ago: like the laugh he let out had snuck up on him and surprised him on the way out, like it might have even hurt a little coming out, hard and unused in its realness. For him, it had been in response to Goodnight’s commentary as to the short-lived fame of the Pigeon brothers, because yeah, it had been funny.

But Goodnight laughing thanks to him… Well, that left him more than a bit torn: a vicious part of him was happy that it sounded like Goody wasn’t, a different vicious part of him want to beat Rocks for his brother not being a happy man, a third altogether wanted to rail at his brother for the audacity of laughing at what hadn’t really been that funny an observation…

And a part of him he hadn’t thought about in years, a part of him he had thought long buried in the years of the war and since, was just tickled pink to have made Goodnight laugh. It had always been a special pleasure of his as a child, and apparently even eight years apart hadn’t been enough to dim it. It made him feel like a kid all over again, and he damn sure didn’t like that idea, not with all the associated memories it threatened to bring up.

Or maybe it was all in his head thanks to that comment Goodnight had made on the trail up here. He had assessed the group this far in a deadpan drawl. Granted, it was more a summary than anything too in depth, but still… He had called Chisolm a blue, himself a grey, Rocks a mysterious man of the Orient—and he had had to drink long and hard from his little travel bottle to keep from snorting, rolling his eyes, or scoffing—before reaching his assessment of Joshua.

He had thought that he’d been all prepared for whatever Goodnight might say. He had even half been expecting something very much like what had been said during that fight that drove them apart: a drunk green Paddy. And while he couldn’t truthfully deny the drunk part, especially not right now, the other two had stung when they had been said eight years ago. They still stung in his nightmares these days.

Instead, Goodnight’s assessment of him had been as ‘a half-Irish Creole’, before swiftly moving on to call Vasquez a ‘Texican’, while Miss Emma and little Teddy Q were ‘a female and her gentleman caller’. But he hadn’t heard most of that. He had barely even heard Vasquez arguing about there not being such a thing as a ‘Texican’… or the discussion of the Alamo.

After all, he had instead been turned around in his saddle, far enough around that if he had been riding any horse other than ol’ Wild Jack, he probably would have fallen off, given the sheer amount of alcohol in his body by then; Vasquez had had something to say on that, forcing one of Miss Emma’s trail biscuits off on him and stealing the whiskey until he had eaten at least that much, but that had been in the earliest hours of the day, several long hours before Goodnight decided to share that particular bit of insight.

He had missed all of the resulting conversation about Texicans and the Alamo and anything else, because he had been turned around staring at his brother like he had never seen him before in his life. It’s not like he don’t know I don’t have a drop of Creole in me, he had thought to himself in sheer, utter confusion, sitting back down hard enough in his saddle that Jack huffed hard at him in displeasure; if they weren’t moving, he probably would have gotten a good hard nip wherever Jack could reach him for that maneuver. What I have in me is every drop of bad Cajun that fucking Monsieur Robicheaux had to spare. I don’t think Maman Arthémie was able to give me a single damn drop of Creole over the few years I—we—had her. Why the hell would Goody—Goodnight, damn it—call me half Creole then? It don’t make sense. What the hell is Goodnight running at?

While he was stewing on that, he in turn missed a lot of what Chisolm had to say on the matter of losing Jack Horne, catching up only as the others started stepping down off the porch. Rocks always already on the grass as well, rounding up his and Goodnight’s horses, and Vasquez had just stepped by him to do quickly check over that grey of his. Chisolm had already remounted that big black chestnut of his and had walked it a few steps beyond everyone else, clearly using the extra height to watch where Horne was heading.

“Damn, Chisolm couldn’t have picked a more sorry bunch of sacks of shit if he tried,” he muttered aloud, eyeballing the assembled group and trying to judge their survival chances based on what he was seeing so far. It wasn’t looking too good.

“He has exceeded beyond his wildest expectations,” a familiar voice drawled behind him. He found himself smirking in response. The reaction was completely involuntary.

When his mind caught up with the rest of him, dragging him to a split second halt halfway onto Jack, he could have cursed aloud if he had been able to summon up the energy or anger. Apparently, he thought to himself as he finished settling himself in the saddle, being this close to his brother meant that he was going to keep slipping into thinking they were friends again. Given how stiff Goodnight looked climbing back on that horse of his, it didn’t look like friendship was in the cards.

Fine. Fine, he could live with that. There was no denying the blood between them—neither how they were related nor the sheer amount of bad blood that had built up over the years—but he only had the one brother. He would just have to do his best to get them both out of this mess alive… and Rocks too, he supposed, since the other man was gaining some begrudged respect from him and since he was apparently the most important thing in Goodnight Robicheaux’s life.

And then he was going to light out back to Missouri and stay there. Hell, he might even offer Vasquez the chance to come along with him. He liked the other man’s company and sardonic wit that meshed so well with his own… and those trousers that had to be designed to tempt a man to sin. And what the hell? He had bought off one bounty already. He might not be able to do that for one the size of Vasquez’s any time soon, especially not where killing a Ranger was concerned, but he could probably figure out another way out of that particular mess.

---

 Joshua was going to have to find a way to deal with spending so much ‘quality’ time around his brother, especially when his brother obviously wanted nothing to do with him. No, instead, it seemed like all Goodnight wanted to do was stick close to Rocks and Chisolm, even now that they were bedding down for the night.

Traveling today had been… interesting. Leaving Junction City for the weigh station, then leaving it and Horne behind, it had then been a trip through a graveyard, one of the Comanche persuasion, and he couldn’t say he liked it over much. He didn’t mind graveyards all that much as a rule; generally speaking, you would be hard pressed to find a quieter place than one, especially if you needed to lay low. There was something about these Indian ones though: maybe the fact that the bodies were above ground, exposed to the elements, right there ready to be picked clean. He had had nightmares of ending up that way himself, forgotten and unmourned and left for the birds to devour.

He still was probably going to end up that way. Who the hell was going to miss someone like him? He didn’t have any friends. Hell, the closest he had to a friend right now was Gabriel Vasquez, followed by Miss Jane back in Missouri, neither of which were likely to miss him all that much once he was gone. He had a brother, but there was too much bad blood between them now. He knew that they were never going to be close again, and sometimes he wondered if he had dreamed up the closeness they had once shared. Hell, maybe he had gone mad, gotten too overheated during one too many rides through the desert, and dreamt up even being related to Goodnight Robicheaux.

Little Teddy Q’s whiskey of choice was of a considerably better quality than Joshua’s usual, and it might have been hitting him a bit harder than usual. Of course, thinking back, he wasn’t sure how much he had actually eaten since they had left Junction City… or before that. Vasquez had made him eat at least once during the day. If he had had more than that, he couldn’t recall.

And that was going to be his excuse for this kind of maudlin behavior. He had to have replaced at least half the fluids in his body with alcohol of varying qualities and quantities by this point, and it was affecting him a bit. Just a tad.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was one of two still awake. Miss Emma and little Teddy Q had bedded down next to each other like a pair of puppies, sound asleep and seemingly without a care in the world, and Goodnight was a few steps away from them. Chisolm wasn’t too far off from Goodnight, and damn, if those two hadn’t been thick as thieves earlier. He hadn’t realized Goodnight was so close to the other man. Vasquez had tucked himself into a crevice and long since fallen asleep, and personally speaking, Joshua was envying him a bit. It had to be nice to be able to trust people enough to sleep well with them around without resorting to a bottle first.

Rocks? Rocks was still awake, though, and watching him like a damn hawk. Maybe he could even see why. Where he had stopped, he was standing right next to his brother. Given the events of the last couple of days, it might happen that Rocks thought there was cause for concern. Situations were reversed, he wasn’t too sure he wouldn’t be having concerns himself.

Well, that was just stupid so far as he cared. If he hadn’t shot Goodnight for calling him a drunk green Paddy and if he hadn’t shot Goodnight for punching him, he wasn’t going to shoot Goodnight while he was sleeping. Especially not while they had been having a fairly good day.

And the ten year old in the back of his mind still thought that shit was funny. At least the twenty-nine year old he was now was able to keep from laughing aloud at it these days.

He had dropped his saddle down at the bottom of the horseshoe section of canyon that made up their campsite, and that was where he continued on to. There was enough of Teddy Q’s fine whiskey in his system to put him right to sleep only seconds after his head hit the saddle, using it as a pillow and covering his eyes with his hat.

And he was just going to hope that he was so drunk that he didn’t dream tonight.

---

 Billy decided to set up watch when the group stopped for the night, despite his misgivings at leaving Goody to settle in near the fire alone. He’d noted Joshua taking the other high post, but apparently that was only so he could better torment young Teddy Q.

Yes, the boy needed to learn — and very quickly — that it was just as bad to be hyper-focused as it was to be caught unawares, but he felt Goody’s brother could have been a little less confrontational with it. Still, it wasn’t his place to comment; his concern was how Goody was handling everything, and the answer to that was not very well.

The few times he apparently forgot that he was pissed off at his brother — which seemed to coincide with Joshua forgetting as well — his Goody was much happier than he’d been in a very long time. When he remembered, however… That was when he went quiet, distant, and threw up that goddamn Goodnight Robicheaux, Southern Gentleman mask that Billy so despised.

In all honesty? He’d much rather Goody drink himself into a drunken slumber than pull that damned poker face of his.

The sound of coyotes in the distance drew his attention momentarily, and when he glanced back into the center of camp, he saw that Goody had joined Chisolm. Their voices didn’t carry much, but he could hear his lover asking their erstwhile leader about young Missus Cullen. It almost seemed as if Goody was displeased at the widow’s age, but he didn’t appear to be talking about her at all. He did note that Chisolm’s expression closed off, and Billy reiterated his distrust of the man to himself.

As the hour grew later and the fire died down, the rest of their party began to settle down to sleep. Billy noticed Joshua slink down from his watch spot and move to the opposite of the fire from Goody, pausing briefly before continuing towards where he’d dropped his saddle.

The Korean frowned to himself. For a moment, it had almost seemed like the younger Robicheaux brother actually contemplated bedding down close to the elder before changing his mind.

He wondered to himself if the letter in his saddlebag, the one that had been awaiting them at the post the morning that they had left Volcano Springs, might have been a second missive from Joshua Robicheaux — and no, he didn’t give a shit what the younger was calling himself; Goody had always called him brother so as far as he cared then that’s what Billy’d think of him as — and decided that, once they were in Rose Creek, he would give it to Goody.

Billy took another long look around the area surrounding them, spotting nothing approaching in the desert, and settled back against a boulder to sleep.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d actually slept, but Billy came abruptly awake at the sound of a gun cocking. He sat upright in time to catch sight of Chisolm rising, gun in hand, and heard Goody ask if anyone else smelled what he did. Billy caught a whiff of blood right about the time Joshua answered Teddy’s question, and he glanced around to spot Jack Horne appear from the way they’d come.

“He’s been tracking us,” Goody mused even as Horne indicated the problem approaching with no words, only hand signals. Billy pulled his favorite blade and tucked it against his right side as he rose to his feet, eyes turning to the left as a young-looking Comanche warrior rode out of the morning mist.

He wasn’t the only one on immediate guard; Vasquez had one of his weapons drawn as he kept tucked behind the rock wall, Goody had his rifle trained on the man (and Billy knew damned well that he kept at least one round chambered at all times despite his misgivings about using it in close range), Emma Cullen was likewise aiming her rifle even as she crouched next to Teddy, and Joshua’s Colt was locked on the Indian.

“Tell me I am hallucinating,” his lover said sotto voice, likely not realizing he’d spoken aloud.

“You’re hallucinating,” Joshua replied instantly. “And so am I.”

Billy heard Goody say something about there likely being more, and it was a good assessment. However, he was more focused on the threat he could see and dearly hoped that his lover would take on the task of any others that might be approaching from the cliffs above.

Then goddamn Chisolm was speaking Comanche, with the Indian responding in like manner. Then Chisolm was speaking English again with the Comanche still replying in his native tongue. Obviously the newcomer at least understood English, but Billy wasn’t about to let down his guard again. This man had already approached with them being none the wiser; until proved otherwise, he would see this situation as potentially deadly and kill to protect those most important to him.

And right now, that number was limited to Goody and Joshua: Goody because of obvious reasons and Joshua because Goody still loved the little shit.

For a tense several minutes, he watched and listened as Chisolm and the newcomer talked. Then the other was giving what seemed to be his name in what might have been English — Red Harvest — and offering Chisolm some of the deer he’d been carrying’s liver. Even when Chisolm returned to the fire and said that this Red Harvest was with them, Billy kept his blade out and ready.

He didn’t trust Chisolm at all. He wasn’t entirely willing to believe his word on the Indian until the man himself proved himself as no threat.

[section=Footer Notes]04 February 2017

As always, here’s your note of who wrote what: Katsuko did sections one and four, and I did two and three. I’ve tried to make the transitions seamless, so fingers crossed. In the meanwhile, I’m home with the crud, so I’m going to be trying to get these damn boys to cooperate with my sick self.

~Adora[endsection]

[section=Disclaimers & Notes]Disclaimers: All copyrights belong to their respective copyright holders, including but not limited to MGM, Columbia Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, and others. I make no profit on this piece of fan-produced work. The story itself belongs to Adora Addams and Katsuko. Please do not steal!
Word Count: 1,026
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]

The thing about Jack Horne was, he wasn’t a stupid man.

He was a lonely man, yes. And he was a vengeful man when the mood called for it. And for too long a time, he was a broken man.

That happened when one lost his family, wife and children in one fell swoop, and he knew without a doubt who the culprits were.

But rather than stop with the Crow who had attacked his family for the crime of being white and living too near to their lands, Jack had let the vengeful man have the reins and kept killing until he had three hundred scalps to his name and three hundred dead Crow haunting him.

And they did haunt him, even still.

At first, they had all been loud and angry, most especially the five who had attacked his family. They were the reason he had retreated into the mountains when he came back to his senses, when the vengeful man gave way to the broken one. And their voices always called to him, damning and condemning his actions.

But, over time, the voices of the ones who he had taken righteous vengeance upon fell silent, as if they had been crushed by the weight of the remaining two hundred ninety-five. Those voices grew quieter in his head, but the Crow remained with him… only they had stopped damning him and started working with him.

For some reason, those other ghosts haunting him seemed to want him alive.

Jack remained in the mountains, however, where it seemed to be safest and his ghosts were much quieter. But there was something odd that began happening.

Whenever monsters stopped by the supply station where Jack himself often wound up when he needed something, they shied away from him. He had personally heard Fae clam up and sink back against walls when he passed by, and on one occasion a demon had yelped and sank into the shadows; as far as Jack knew, the young man hadn’t returned.

Jack Horne was not a stupid man. He was a lonely and broken man, and on occasion he could be a vengeful one. But he was just a man, and would remain that way so long as he listened to the warnings his ghosts gave him.

He was furious when he had been approached on the trail up to his cabin by Ken and Len Pigeon, the two idiots stopping him to ask him about the stories people told. Jack had told the boys he wasn’t interested in sharing stories, and then…

And then two hundred ninety-five voices began to scream a warning at him just in time for him to duck away. Not enough to avoid the blow to the head or the tumble over the edge of the cliff, but enough for him to remain somewhat lucid and to tuck into the fall so he wouldn’t break anything.

The vengeful man came back out to the forefront, trailing the Pigeon boys for two straight days while listening to the whispers of his ghosts. His constant companions whispered that it had been too close this time, that he’d nearly been lost to the monster soul trying to come to the surface. He wondered, even as he tracked the Pigeon Brothers with the intent of retrieving his property, if that was what the monsters sensed in him, if they could sense that wrongness that his ghosts feared.

And then, well.

Somehow he knew that four of the men with the man calling himself Chisolm—and he did remember the man, vaguely—were monsters even before he looked their way. To a one, they had hands on weapons, and the skinny Mexican one had been baring far too many sharp teeth; the one who was likely an angel of the lord had been hovering by the demon, who had been watching him carefully with fathomless black eyes. The one he couldn’t rightly identify as anything beyond old and powerful had watched him warily, hands on his own weapons but not touching the iron.

He also knew, in that same distant way, that the woman and the youngest man in the party were at least part-monster. And he didn’t want to ponder on how or why he knew that; he feared that it was the same thing that his ghosts feared.

Jack Horne was not a stupid man. He had heard tales of the monster who had been a man first, one with blood on his hands or an evil in his heart when he died. He knew what those men became.

His ghosts whispered it when they thought they were quiet enough, but he lived in silence; it was never too quiet to hear the whisper of wendigo on the wind.

If he was a smarter man, Jack would have retreated back up the mountain with his property and let that be the end of that. He would have returned to his cabin and his traps and waited to see how death would try to come for him. He would have waited to see if he had the fortitude to put a bullet to himself before the monster hiding under his skin could free itself.

Instead, he made it halfway back to his home before stopping, heaving a sigh, and turning his eyes towards the sky.

“I’m going to end up regretting this,” he asked aloud, “aren’t I?”

Destiny fate signs came the whispers. Hope redemption chance.

Jack sighed again. “Y’all ain’t any help, you know this.”

Not all evil, argued one.

Good in all men and monsters, another chimed in.

“All right, okay,” he said, shaking his head and turning back around. “If I die because of this, I’m blaming all of you.”

Companion enemy friend.

Jack Horne was not a stupid man. He was a broken man for the most part, and at times, he was a lonely man. But it was near impossible to be truly alone with so many ghosts following one, and he’d been carrying his for years. Maybe if he did die in whatever was to come, they could finally move on and leave him in peace.

And yet, he doubted that, too.

Ah well. Whatever happened would happen, and maybe he could learn to live with that the same as he had with the ghosts.

[section=Footer Notes]01 February 2017

Running monster tally:
Emma Cullen – one quarter Changeling (on her father’s side)
Bartholomew Bogue – warlock uppity witch
McCann – hedge witch
Denali – skin-walker
Teddy Q – half earth elemental half dryad (on his mother’s side)
Sam Chisolm – human monster hunter
Faraday – Trickster Fae A little of this, a little of that Fae something old and powerful
Goodnight Robicheaux – demon An Antichrist
Billy Rocks – An angel of death
Vasquez – Ancient God (Old Mexico/Aztec/Mayan)
Jack Horne – mostly harmless future wendigo (currently human, haunted by helpful ghosts)[endsection]