AN: So, this fanfiction is based upon the musical Whistle Down the Wind. I saw it the other day and I couldn't help but think about what happened to Swallow and The Man; I couldn't help but wonder if they ever met up again. As you can see, I couldn't keep my ideas in my head. I needed to write them down, and this is the result.

The characters may seem a little out of character, but keep in mind that this takes place over a year after the timeframe in which the musical takes place. I can only assume that these characters have changed over time, and I hope I portrayed that.

Oh, I don't own anything except for my hobo box - and even then I have a mortgage on it, so it's not really mine!

ANYWAY

Without further ado…

PART ONE: THE MAN

I don't know why I've returned to this town. It's a small town in the middle of nowhere, where all they have are their farms and their religion – oh God do they have their religion. Make me remember my first time I was here. But that's besides the point.

I light a cigarette, my eyes shielded by a dark pair of sunglasses. I watch the townsfolk walk by, unaware of close they are to a "dangerous killer." Not that I've killed anyone since that night over six years ago, but that still doesn't change my status, does it? Then again, they all think I'm dead.

All the more reason not to let them find out who I am.

I glance up at the overbearing sun, wondering why people are even outside; hell, why am I even out here? I could be miles away in a bar, drinking away my worries. And of course, I've got to wear a long shirt – can't have anyone recognize my infamous snake tattoo on my right arm. Damn I was foolish when I got a tattoo like that.

There's a whole lot of people still filing out from the church, even though the service has been over for nearly half an hour. I guess the people like to socialize with each other afterwards to reflect upon the sermon or some bullshit like that. They're probably just trying to get out of the sun. But people can only socialize for so long before they have to get to whatever it is these people do.

Children keep running past me, staring as they pass by. It's funny how observant kids can be. One of them walks up to me, and I recognize her; she gave me a plastic flower way back when. She looks up at me, her head tilted towards the side so her dark braid flops off of her shoulder. "Do I know you mister?" she asks, her voice innocent, her eyes filled with the curiosity only a child can experience.

"I don't think so," I reply. Nodding towards the other kids, I continue, "You should probably go back to your friends."

Ignoring my second statement, she crosses her arms and stares up stubbornly. "Are you sure? Cuz I'm pretty sure I've seen you before."

The cigarette hanging out of my mouth, I grab it and hold it between my thumb and forefinger. Kneeling down so I'm eye-level with her, I mutter, "I probably just remind you of someone you've seen. Go run off with your friends before your folks see you talkin' with me. I don't think they'd take kindly to you talkin' to a strange man, nor me talkin' with you."

She gives me one last glance before running off, creating a cloud of dust as she runs on the dirt street. I get up, brushing the dust off of my pants. I go to run my hands through my hair, only to remember I cut it short a while back, leaving hardly anything to run my fingers through. I put the cigarette back in my mouth, breathing in its flavor.

"Amos, how many times have I told you to stop?!"

My head turns sharply as I recognize that voice, the reason why I've risked everything to come back to the shithole of a town. The next thing I know, my eyes are resting upon a creature so beautiful and innocent that it's almost indescribable. Her hair, long and flowing; her eyes, bright and shining; her smile, happy and pure.

Happy and pure.

She looking up a fellow just a few years my junior and a few years her senior. He's got her arms wrapped around her waist, and she's struggling, trying to escape. My teeth clench, and I reach for the gun I've got hidden in my pocket. I remember that night so long ago in the barn, when he kept trying to kiss her and she kept dodging it. He wouldn't give up, no matter what she did.

I swear to God, I'll kill him if he hurts her.

I stop myself when I hear her say, "Amos, y'know I'm ticklish!"

"Swallow, one of these days you've gotta get over that," he says, his face so close to hers.

She manages to duck out of his arms, grinning at him. "I don't hafta to anything, Amos." She twirls around, her dress billowing around her. It's a simple dress, green with a white plaid design, and yet on her it looks stunning. Her smile radiates so much purity it would put an angel to shame.

I keep my hand in my pocket, feeling the contours of my gun. I know I should toss it in the Mississippi, but every time I've tried it felt like something was holding me back; much as I hate to say it, it's almost as if it's God's will that I keep it. I've sworn not to use it unless I have to, and the only time I'll have to use it is if – or when – someone hurts her.

"Amos, I've gotta go. Brat 'n Poor Baby'll be expectin' me, not to mention my dad. And you know he 'ppreciates me spendin' time with you about as much as he 'ppreciates the devil." She jumps to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, and with a flash she runs off towards the children.

I glance at the boy, watching him as he stares at her running off. His eyes don't leave her, and I'm tempted to blast his head off with a bullet. With a grunt I pull the cigarette out of my mouth and flick it to the ground, twisting it into the dirt with the toe of my shoe.

With a sigh, the boy walks away, his hands stuffed in his pocket. I see him head towards his bike, giving it a quick polish with his coat before hopping on it. Revving up the motor, he drives off in the opposite direction of Swallow's house.

Good. If he followed her, I'd've killed him.

Keeping my gaze to the ground, I walk, my mind a blur. She's just a girl, I tell myself. She's a naïve little girl who believed that I, of all people, was Jesus Christ. Jesus! And yet, these emotions that I have are so strange – I don't know if it's love, or not. All I know is I'd do anything to protect her from getting hurt. She's so pure and innocent. I can't forget the way she looked at me the last time we were together; no one had ever looked at me like that. There was so much love in her eyes, it was almost too much to bear.

The walk to her house isn't too long, but the heat and the blistering sun make it seem longer. There's a drought going on right now, so the stalks of corn are drooping and brown, not very good-looking at all. It'll be another hard year for the farmers here.

After walking for a fair amount of time, I finally see the trailer in the distance. There's nothing special about it, to be honest; just a small little trailer on the outskirts of town. Behind it are the charred remains of what was once a barn, and I swallow back my guilt. It was essential to burn it down in order for me to escape, but it was a shame it had to happen to Swallow's family.

I think she understood why I had to do it though. Or at least, I hope she understood. Hell, I hope she realized that I wasn't really Jesus, just an escaped criminal who needed refuge for a few days.

There's a figure standing by the remains, and I know it's her instantly. I walk closer, though I'm reluctant to get too close, in case her siblings or, even worse, her father sees me. My footsteps are covered by the rustle of the cornstalks as the wind weaves through them. I take off my sunglasses, sticking them in my pocket next to my gun.

When I see her, I instantly sense a sadness about her. She stares at the charred wood, and I'm close enough to see her eyes shining with tears. She's clutching something to her chest, and I recognize it as her mother's Bible, the one that she gave to me and that I saved from the inferno that consumed the barn.

"Why'd you hafta go?" she asks herself quietly. "Why haven't you come back? I know you're alive out there!" She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping from her lips. "I can't cry about my mother dying, and yet here I am weeping about a man that I barely know."

It hits me then: she's no longer the innocent child that I first met, and she's been hurt badly. Oh yes, she's been hurt badly. But not by the delinquent, or even her father: she's been hurt by me.

I'm such a fool. I'm a goddamned fool. Here I am swearing vengeance on anyone who hurts her, yet I'm the biggest hypocrite of all. I silently curse, asking myself why she had to fall for me, and why I can't stop thinking about her. It's so hard to stop myself from running towards her.

She's too young, I tell myself. She's too young, and I'm not good enough for her. She's an innocent bird, and I'm a beast, watching the bird that tempts me so.

I have to leave. If I don't, I might do something I'll regret. With one last glance, I see her wiping her eyes. She turns her head and stares at my location in the corn. I know that I'm hidden well, but I can't help but feel that she knows I'm here, watching her. She begins to walk towards me, but stops when her father's voice rings out, calling her to their home. Her eyes looking over my location one last time, she turns and runs.

I watch her go, flying away like her namesake to her father. I turn and walk away, reaching for a cigarette. I've done what I've told myself I'd do, and now I have to leave before I go and run after her. She's safe, and the only thing that's hurting her is me. So that means I have to remove myself from her life. Maybe she'll be able to get over me. I hope so.

It's time to put that gun of mine to use one last time.

AN: Think this is over? Wrongo! There's still one more part left, and I can guarantee that it will answer any questions that you're asking (or at least, I hope it will!).

NOTE: I'm not going to beg you guys to review this. I understand that a lot of people don't really like reviewing, and I can totally relate. However, if you see something that I can improve on, a mistake I've made, or if you just want to say you like it (or don't like it - whatever), say so! I can handle the heat if you guys have some criticism – just try to keep it constructive.

I'll update with the next part soon.