Chapter 1:

In Which the Lawmaker and the Lawbreaker Agree

A/N: Oh look, a western AU. I am basically fantastic and original in every way. I have been working on this goddamn thing for a stupidly long amount of time, you have no idea.

Anyway, here you go.

~!~

"I'll ask you once more, sheriff." The sound of a cocking gun. "Give me the badge, and everyone can be happy. Eh?"

Silence for a moment. "And by 'everyone', I assume you mean yourself. What do you suppose this badge could do for you, may I inquire?"

"You can ask, but I ain't gonna answer. Now, give me the goddamned badge."

"No."

"Sheriff!" The gun was repositioned against the side of the sitting man's head. He made no move, no noise or fuss, just stared at his own steepled fingers.

"What is my name, sir?" Silence greeted the sheriff. "As I thought. You don't know. I'd bet anything you don't care, either." A pause. "No. I will not give up something like this to someone like you."

"Fine." A grin spread over the face of the gun-holder, as though he'd been looking for an excuse. "Then I'll pry it off of your cold, dead body."

And the room was filled with the bamboo crack of a gun.

~!~

It wasn't like Jimmy MEANT to do it.

OK, so that was a lie. It's hard to not mean to shoot someone in the head, especially if you're not meaning to have a gun, too. No, he sure as shit meant to do it.

He just didn't mean to get CAUGHT.

The whole thing had just gone too fast. One minute he was sitting in some saloon, playing poker and generally making money off of idiots, until some jackass had called him a cheater and a few other names he didn't care to repeat. He'd replied, but angered the entire table instead of belittling one man, and then he'd been running for his life, plowing through tables, jumping over the bar counter, and taking a backdoor to freedom while the entirety of the saloon occupants recognized him and realized that he owed them money or something of that ilk and joined together to tear him to shreds. And in the heat of the moment, he'd aimed randomly and fired. And someone ended up pretty dead. And he was in a shit load of trouble now, like woah.

If there was one thing Jimmy had learned in life, it was that mobs are generally made up of a bunch of totally reasonable people who, upon getting together and maybe getting some pitchforks or torches or rope or something, become complete dicks who won't stop until the object of their hatred is destroyed and strewn across the ground. And when you're said object of hatred, that pretty much equates to 'lynch the shit out of him'.

That was the problem with being hated on sight.

Jimmy, himself, had only been part of a mob once, when he was a kid, and that was only because his father had ordered him to stay home, and he'd fancied himself a rebel. His sister had obediently gone up to bed, but he'd taken the window route back down, much to the chiding and worries of the little irritant he called a sibling.

Idly, he wondered where she was now, then figured she was probably as dead as he was going to be. Girls were all bark and no bite, anyway.

The feeling of rope gnawing into the flesh of his wrists brought Jimmy back to the present, but not for long. A million thoughts, countless memories, clawing desperately for attention, pushing to the front of the line, suddenly made death seem…unimportant in comparison. He had shit to remember, and the sudden realization that he had a very short period of time in which to do so seemed to open the floodgates. The splintering rope on his wrists and neck, the violent shoves from his holders, the raging tide of animalistic fury the crowd emitted, all seemed like background music, like the piano player in the bar only minutes before. It had nothing to do with the cards in his hand, or, in this case, the memories dancing in his minds' eye.

Woah, did he really think all that? When did he turn into captain poetic pants? Someone had called him that, he remembered, when he was a kid. It was a girl, he was pretty sure, who went to the same schoolhouse. She was older than him, with dark hair and darker eyes. Prettier than most other girls he'd seen, and certainly prettier than his sister or mother. He'd remedied that by pulling her hair later, made up some rhyme. She'd yelled that when she was a teacher, she wouldn't let his kids in her school, no way, they'd be just as stupid as him, he was such a jerk.

If he ever met her again, he'd buy her a drink. But then, he didn't have kids, didn't need to pop in to some random schoolhouse and meet her by accident. Plus, he was going to die.

Wasn't he?

The sudden loss of breath and sudden panic that overtook him reassured Jimmy that yes, he was going to die. Shortly. With a black tongue.

Memories coming faster now, urgently, only a flash of one or the other at a time. A dog in a cage on the side of the road. Catching cicadas in the summer, chasing his sister with one to make her shriek. Seeing the face of the woman he'd lost his virginity with, and realizing she was barely as attractive as the dim lighting and alcohol had made her seem. A man holding his sister by the waist, being flooded with feelings of rage, instinctual protection. Helping a little girl off her knees. The glare of a man he'd never met, boring into his neck. The sting of a thrown rock. Stealing a horse. Kissing a man, with no inclination of stopping. The sound of a gun, firing into a man who barely deserved it. The thrill of theft, murder. Hearing a woman, undoubtedly a whore, screaming from the alleyway and hurrying away as fast as possible. Two black corpses, swinging in the faint summer breeze.

Pain. Amusement. Pleasure. Rage. Lust. Self-loathing. Lies.

And he couldn't breathe.

~!~

Miles away, in a far less dramatic scene, a woman nursed a glass of vodka at an isolated table in the corner of a tavern. She probably could have been beautiful, if only stress and worry and general frustration hadn't aged her to look thirty, when she was barely twenty-five. But she'd taken a certain job, and she had to accept that stress came with it. She wasn't sure where the other two came from, but she figured they flowered from the first reason or human stupidity.

Human stupidity that was, as of right now, being pushed towards her in the form of two giggling girls(maybe twenty-one or twenty-two), approaching her with obvious intent to mock. The woman glowered, then downed the rest of her drink and pushed the glass away.

One girl stood out, and it wasn't just because her dress was red, while that of her companion was the same beaten brown as the dusty atmosphere. It gave the nagging feeling she'd seen her somewhere before.

"So, my companion an' I were jes' wond'rin' if ya knew how ta smile, strangeh."

The woman raised an eyebrow at the girl in red, who seemed to be the alpha. Her accent seemed…forced. And she spoke too fast for your average southern drawl. Foreigner. That was hardly surprising. What interested her was the attempt at an accent, instead of leaving her voice as it was. There were enough families from the North (and other countries besides) that there was no real accent to cling to in the area. And the girl had a squint. If she had the money to buy a red dress (which looked rather new, so none of this 'belonged to my mother' jack), she should have the money to buy a pair of spectacles. If worst came to worst, she could at least sell the red dress and buy a less conspicuous brown one, and the difference in money would be enough.

"Strangeh? Cat got ye' tongue? Or are ye' jes' dumb?" The alpha smiled, and her beta giggled at the pun(which happened to double as an insult).

The woman made sure to pronounce every syllable with the crisp correctness of someone who is just seconds from punching your lights out. "I happen to be neither stupid, nor mute. Do you make a habit of approaching strangers? Now, if you and your friend would please hurry off…"

A cat's grin. "I guess you don', then. C'mon, then, le's leave th' grumpy ol' maid an' hava drink." The girl in red motioned to the girl in brown, and they turned to leave.

And in the woman's mind, something clicked.

"Hey, Anne."

The woman in red stopped and glanced back, confused.

"Where are your glasses?"

Anne barely had time to open her mouth in befuddlement before the glass (that used to contain our heroine's drink) made contact with her face, probably bruising a cheekbone and certainly breaking that once-attractive petite nose. She stumbled, tried to get her footing back, and probably would have succeeded had she not then received a heel to the gut.

In the time she had gained from throwing the glass, the older woman had gotten herself over the table (or around; no one was watching her at that point) and delivered a kick. She would've punched, if it weren't for the fact that her right hand was going for her revolver, and the other had vaulted her over the table.

The gun was just for effect, of course. Anne was only wanted if she was alive. Her corpse wasn't worth anything to the authorities of the town. Something about hidden gold, whatever. The details made no goddamn difference.

Devi just did it for the check.

~!~

Edgar Vargas peeled groggy eyes open, stared up at the sky above him, and proceeded to let them fall shut again. The sun was shining obnoxiously bright somewhere overhead, and the general dinginess of his glasses could only stop so much light from filtering through.

He was lying by the side of a road he'd never seen before in his life, with not a soul to inquire about his current location. Every part of his body ached like it had been trampled under a stampede of anti-painkiller bulls, but the throbbing in his head took the cake. It was like someone was stabbing him repeatedly in the side of the head, or at least hitting him with some kind of, of, meat…mangler thing. What were those called, anyway? He could recall the woman next door using them, but they'd never talked much, and it wouldn't have come up, even if they had. Oh well. It didn't matter, he supposed.

There was no point in flipping his shit over his current position, either – worrying about being lost wouldn't get him less-lost, it would just get him worried and tense. It was important to come at this dilemma from a logical perspective. The sensible thing to do would be to stand up and assess his surroundings more thoroughly, find some kind of shade. The sun wasn't going down any time soon, so it would be best to get some cover. Trees or something, maybe a hospitable house in the distance…

Edgar pulled himself together and, with a bit of effort, got to his feet, swaying slightly as the blood drained from his head. But his overall pain quotient lowered, and he caught sight of his hat not three feet from where he'd been lying. Small mercies. He loved that hat.

After putting his hat firmly in it's place on his head, he scanned the landscape yet again. Dusty terrain, with scrubby bushes scattered here and there, but no houses and no trees, or even large boulders. Just a dirt road, cutting through the scenery and winding off over a hill and out of sight like an elusive snake.

Well. It was better than nothing, he supposed.

He adjusted his hat, stuck his hands in his pockets, and began walking down the road, whistling a tune slightly off-key as he went.

~!~

Imagine, if you will, the sound of a snapping rope.

There's the faintest of little plinks as the first strings break away from each other. Then a ripping noise, as the majority follow suit. And then there's that snap of finality, as the final few cords tear in two.

In this particular case, you can follow that noise by the sound of a writhing body hitting the ground, catching itself on its knees for a second before slamming face first into the ground below. Jimmy was certain he'd broken his nose. Or his jaw. Or something.

Actually, he wasn't really concerned with that right at that moment. He was mostly concerned with taking huge, gulping breaths and forcing as much oxygen into and out of his lungs as fast as possible, coughs racking his body as his lungs rejected the dirt and dust in the air near the ground. He rolled onto his side, curling up into a fetal position to protect himself from any kicks that might be aimed at his prone body…but they didn't come. After a minute or two, he opened one eye and peered upwards, then pushed himself into a sitting position.

He was absolutely alone.

Well then.

Well then.

Well then.

He was about to think the words "Well then" yet again, but something cut his bemusement off. He definitely heard footsteps. Or pawsteps, as it were, considering it sounded very definitely like an animal. His head swiveled back and forth, trying to determine the source of the sound, and simultaneously noticed the rather unnerving fact that he couldn't hear any birds singing. Or the wind blowing. And that the forest in the distance was decidedly less distant than he remembered it. Plus, there was something buzzing in the air, a sort of wrongness that he could feel as he breathed it.

OK. That was just fucked up.

Jimmy stumbled to his feet with some difficulty (the noose might've snapped, but the ropes binding his wrists hadn't) and tried to calm down as a very real fear spread like a cancer through his mind. He had no idea where he was, he was alone, and it was growing darker by the minute. He could hear the crack of a twig under something's foot, but found himself unable to determine the location. The blood pounding in his ears grew louder as he jerked his head around in every direction.

The growl of a feral animal is always unmistakable, though, and he whirled around in time to catch the eye of a very thin, mangy, and decidedly hungry-looking wolf.

Shit.

Jimmy didn't speak wolf. In fact, Jimmy didn't really talk to animals at all. He didn't even talk to other people that much. He didn't debate. In his opinion, when an argument wasn't going his way, the best solution was to shoot and leave.

But he couldn't get at his gun. First of all, his hands were tied behind his back, and second, someone in the crowd had made off with the damn thing, along with his shirt. So it was him against a pissed wolf, with nothing to defend himself with except his feet.

And on that note, he turned and ran.

~!~

There are a lot of things you could say about Tess Reed. They aren't all kind things, necessarily, but you take what you can get.

A lot of people would say that Tess was crazy. After the incident in the bar, no one blamed her. It was a lot to go through, watching your customers, coworkers, and boss turn into piles of bones and muscle, leaving only you (minus a finger). But because she never said much, it was impossible to track down the killer – she was the only one who could give a description, and her mouth was shut tight.

Regardless, Tess had been pitied by the owner of another saloon in the town over, and offered a job. Without a goodbye to her family or friends, she packed up her meager belongings, took the old horse that everyone said was only good for glue, and disappeared. No note, nothing.

Another thing you could say about Tess was that she didn't get attached to things. Not people, not places, not commodities. She could uproot herself from a town she'd lived in all her life and move to another one where she didn't know a single person, and it didn't make much of a difference to her.

She'd discovered that she didn't really need friends, anyway.

But Tess was smart, and everyone knew that. Even as a child, she was the first to call you out on a condescending or patronizing tone – and Tess held grudges. One of the most common theories on why she hadn't told the police anything about the killer was that she wanted to kill him herself, as the corpse of her current courter had been found among the rest of them. Others would argue that such a thing wouldn't make any sense – their relationship had been on the rocks for months, and he'd gone into the bar with the intention to break it off. He must've had time to say something nasty to her, at least, because whenever his name came up, she glared at the ground, then changed the subject.

She was crazy, detached, intelligent, and vengeful. Add those things up, and the first thing you get is "dangerous".

And she'd been eyeing a certain bounty hunter in her saloon.

~!~

Edgar couldn't say exactly how long he'd been walking. Long enough to be growing tired of walking, certainly, but he didn't have much of a choice. He'd considered sitting down on the side of the road for a breather, but decided against it. If he sat down now, who knew when he'd get back up again. So he continued on, hoping against hope for some sign that he wasn't going in circles, that the road wasn't some cunning trick in his mind to make him think he was going in the right direction.

Well. There was nothing wrong with a little paranoia now and again, was there?

In the distance, he caught sight of a cluster of trees. If only he'd come across that earlier, he'd have scurried to it immediately for some shade. But, from the looks of the setting sun, he wasn't going to need it. And after that long streak of unconsciousness in the afternoon, he wasn't tired, so finding somewhere to sleep wasn't too high on his list of priorities. Besides, wasn't sleeping in the woods more dangerous than sleeping on the side of the road? Not that they really counted as 'the woods', to be fair. It was a little…small. Very small, honestly, but Edgar tried not to judge.

Still, there was something compelling about it. Not necessarily in the 'I want to go take a look' kind of way, but Edgar had a very strong feeling that the trees were…important somehow. He stopped walking altogether and stared up at the shadow of the woods against the dying sun.

And nearly jumped out of his skin as a young man burst out of them.

Well, he couldn't say it was a young man for sure – it wasn't like Edgar had night vision or whatever. But the chest looked flat enough, and the silhouette was lithe enough to determine youth. But whoever it was didn't captivate his attention for long – that was the job of the largest wolf Edgar had ever seen, which was in hot pursuit of the other.

But that was no reason to panic and make a rash decision. It was always best to stay calm and be as logical about things as possible. That had gotten Edgar through life until now, and it wasn't going to change just because there was a giant, wild animal chasing a stranger in his general direction. He considered the problem. The wolf seemed like a threat. Then again, it might be domesticated, for all he knew. Obviously, he couldn't just kill it; and anyway, killing was just…wrong. He'd been forced into putting a mad dog or two down before, and it made him feel sick every time, even if the animal had to die for the safety of the people in his town.

So he wasn't going to kill this wolf, that insofar had done nothing but chase someone around. That left only the option of scaring it off, something Edgar would do gladly. He reached for his gun, feeling slightly more relaxed as he took it by the handle (he really ought to look into that), and aimed a shot between the wolf and the man.

The wolf made a high-pitched yip, turned on it's heel (or the closest it had to a heel) and shot back up the hill and into the trees. The young man took that time to turn around, notice it was running away, attempt to shout something witty at it as it went, and slam head-on into Edgar, knocking them both to the ground.

Edgar sighed. He really should've seen this coming. He always attracted weirdos like a magnet, even back when he was a…a…

His brow furrowed as the other man rolled off of him and stumbled to his feet, muttering curses. He'd been a…a sheriff. That was right. He'd had short-term memory loss or something. How else had he forgotten his profession? None of this 'been', either. He was a sheriff. All this wandering around, it'd emptied his head of thoughts.

"Hey. Hey." The rather irritated voice broke his concentration, and he looked up to make eye contact with the stranger. He'd been right; it was a young man, shirtless and badly sunburned along the shoulders. "Would you just get up? It's not like I hit you that hard, even."

"Really." Something about the young man made Edgar want to stay on the ground, just to spite him. Weird. He'd never wanted to rile someone up pointlessly before. New sensation. "Only hard enough to knock me over, despite the fact that I was rather firmly grounded before you came charging out of nowhere? Surely, not hard at all." He sighed, then got to his feet and took a better look at the man. Not even twenty, from the span of his shoulders – but his face certainly showed its share of wear. Black eye. Split lip. "Regardless, I wouldn't suggest heading back that way, even if there wasn't a wrathful she-wolf waiting there to eat you. The…woods are no place for a growing boy. Certainly not in the evening. But you knew that, of course. Where the hell is my hat."

Jimmy didn't take lightly to being insulted, but before he could respond, his current companion simply continued speaking in a firm, implacable tone, and whatever response he may have made dried up on his tongue. "I…You…I didn'…wasn'…'s over there." He gave up on witty comments and just nodded towards the hat that lay on the ground.

"Thank you." Easy enough.

"So. Uh." Jimmy fumbled around for his once-excellent collection of punchy opening liners and came up short. "Your name. I want it. Give it to me."

"That was…possibly the most awkward wording of that question that I have ever heard," And some people get jittery when they ask the sheriff for his name, Edgar's mind added silently, like a stealthy, truthful arrow. "But at least you asked. Most people don't, I find." He held out a hand to shake, forgetting, for a moment, his companion's incapacity. "Vargas. Edgar Vargas."

"James. Uh, you wouldn't happen to have a knife on you or somethin', would you?"

"Afraid not." A sort of awkward silence settled between them. "So…where are you headed?"

"Nowhere special. Just not back to Warren," Jimmy jerked his head towards the hill he'd come from, "filled with a buncha insane motherfuckers an' a lotta rope. You?"

"Nowhere special, myself. Honestly, I'm just trying to find any town, so I can figure out where I am." Edgar shrugged. "Other than nowhere land."

"Where's the road lead?"

"Couldn't say."

"So it's an adventure, then."

"I guess you could say that."

"Think someone down the road'll have a knife?"

"I have no doubt."

"Then I'm comin' with."

Edgar raised an eyebrow at his companion. "Really."

Jimmy smirked. "Try and stop me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

And with that, Edgar turned back down the road, and Jimmy fell in stride along side him.

~!~