Re:Zero – A Gunslinger Starting Over In Another World
Disclaimer: I (obviously) do not own Re:Zero or its characters, only the few OC's involved in this fan work.
Chapter 1: Staring Down The Barrel of a Gun
September 21 1866, somewhere in Texas
The fire crackled, giving amber lighting as he swabbed through the barrel of the dismantled revolver on his lap, hand-rolled cigarette held loosely between his lips.
He finally got the got the last of the soot out as he pulled the water-soaked swab out, blackened from burnt residue, he had fired all six chambers earlier that day.
Satisfied, he drew in a puff and looked around for a moment.
It was a gentle night, the moon shining bright over the rough and sandy terrain, the nearest town being some ways away.
The only sounds came from the campfire, the chatter of crickets in the distance, and a faint snoring sound.
Sitting around the campfire around him were two others, a tall red-headed man sleeping soundly with his hat over his face, and a stout, short brown-haired boy quietly whittling away at a stick, turning the point into a spike out of boredom.
He exhaled the smoke and resumed his maintenance, now applying oil to his Colt 1851 Navy from a small glass bottle.
He had long dark hair that barely reached his shoulders, swept back behind his ears, adorned with gold stud earrings.
A young man of nineteen years, his youthful face would've been considered boyish if not for the, mean. piercing look from his dull blue-grey eyes.
His name was Erik von Fahren, or simply Erik as he preferred, not wanting to attract attention to his background.
They routinely would stake out desolate roads that traveled between towns and settlements, waiting to ambush and rob travelers and carriages, earlier that day they encountered vigilantes waiting for them at one of their usual stake out locations, a firefight ensued.
His ears picked up the sound of footsteps in the distance, he immediately threw his cigarette in the fire.
"Dave, grab your gun, Fletch wake up!" he hissed at the two, Dave dropped the wood and pulled out his LeMat revolver tucked in his belt while Fletch slowly stirred.
A long-haired figured approached, hauling a small sack over his shoulder as Dave took aim, straining his eyes to see his face.
"Watch where you point that fuckin' thing Dave, it's just me" the figure spoke as he entered the light, revealing a blonde-haired man in his early twenties, "Sorry boss…" said Dave, relieved as he tucked his revolver back.
The long-haired man set the dirty sack down with a clatter of glass, and set his Remington New Army down on a nearby rock, letting out a sigh as he sat down next to Erik, completing a square around the fire.
The sleepy red-head, Fletch, grumbled as he slowly rose upright, putting his hat on his head, fully awake upon noticing the new visitor "Back already James? What'cha got there?"
He smiled "I brought our provisions for tonight, heh." He replied as he grabbed the sack and reached inside, grabbing a dark bottle with a faded label. He pulled the cork and took a swig, "Hmph, pretty good for being buried for a week…"
He passed the bottle to Erik, who took a gulp of the burning liquid before wiping his mouth on his wrist, before silently passing it to Fletch then returning his attention his attention to his revolver.
"You're awfully quiet tonight, cat got your tongue Erik?" inquired James.
…
"Well?"
"Nothing, just got nothing to say." Erik replied.
"I've known you for about a year now Erik" James began, "You get like that when you're all uppity over somethin', so just spill it out will ya?"
Erik was silent for a moment, there was indeed something on his mind.
"Fine, well, we could've died today…" He said began, referring to the shootout earlier, twice a bullet ripped past his head, still vividly remember the ominous snap of the bullets passing by his ears.
"… We're just cheating death, what if he catches up?"
"Damn, Erik, I never figured you for lily-livered!" interjected Dave, Erik shot him a dirty glance.
"Shut your flap, midget." He shot back, Dave became livid over the jab on his height. His fist clenched and he began to get up, before Fletch placing his hand on his shoulder, pulling him back down.
"Cool yer head Dave, drink this." Fletch assured him, handing him the bottle, he took a swill while still giving a murderous stare towards Erik.
"Really, Erik? We didn't die and we made it through every other fight before, hell didn't you say you made it through some foreign war? You're a war hero then, don't be ridiculous." James went on.
Flustered, Erik retorted "Oh fuck off, no I'm not, and so what? Those times were pure luck, we won't be so lucky when they start sending rangers or the goddamn cavalry after us! That bounty is only going to get higher if we keep shooting people!"
James laughed "Erik, the cav's got way bigger problems than chasing some small-town bandits. I'm telling ya, this shit town is too small for anyone to care about. No one around here even knows how to shoot straight 'cept for us, and they know it!"
"C'mon Erik, didn'cha used to say this was fun?" Fletch brought up.
He remembered his first robbery, a stagecoach with some wealthy travelers, how obedient they were to give their belongings at gunpoint, nobody was harmed and not a single shot fired, a real thrill compared to the harshness of the boarding school.
"Now, this is fun!" he said then.
Until they started encountering armed travellers and vigilantes, James was a natural crack shot and had taught them to shoot straight, they held their own.
It wasn't the first time he killed, he had done it before two years prior at Schleswig-Holstein.
Back then it was simply following orders, kill or be killed, for king and country.
But as robberies turned to murders, he couldn't make excuses anymore.
He was well aware they were simply trying to defend themselves, he had become the aggressor, and the feeling of guilt began to build up.
Suddenly this wasn't fun anymore.
He looked up "How long do you think we can keep this up then? They'll catch up at some point!"
"Alright, let's give up then! We'll just go on up to the sheriff and tell 'im we've changed our ways! Then he'll give us pardons, I'm sure we won't ever get the rope!" Dave retorted sarcastically, pacified from the alcohol but now in an obnoxious mood.
"No, really, Erik, why are you such a bitch all of a sudden?"
"Forget it then, whatever." Erik gave up, and resumed tending to his revolver.
With his arms crossed, James spoke up "Frankly, I don't give a damn about that at all, I'm as free as I want to be right now and you are too, or so I thought. When they come for us we'll give 'em hell, won't you?" Glaring at Erik.
"Or do you just wanna leave us in the dust?" he added coldly.
Erik paused and looked at him, hurt that his loyalty was questioned "Of course I won't, just worried is all… Can we drop this now?" he replied impatiently.
"Sure, just loosen up though, your mood is spoiling mine. Hey pass the whiskey Dave!" James finally replied, craving another swig.
Erik remained silent, unsure what he intended to get out of that argument.
He finished reassembling his pistol, afterwards reaching into his vest pocket and took out a golden pocket watch, opening it to check the time.
'10:34, probably should sleep soon.' He thought, James nudged him, passing the bottle back to him, going back full circle.
He took another swig before passing it over to Fletch, feeling it burn in his throat. He tucked his revolver into his belt and got on his back, using a rolled-up coat as a pillow as the rest chattered and joked.
Ignoring them, he took a look at his watch again, watching the little brass gears churning underneath the crystal windows of the watch face, feeling the floral engravings of the case in his palm.
Thoughts of home drifted across his mind.
It was a parting gift from his parents just before they sent him off to boarding school years ago, reminding him of the time before with nostalgia.
Checking the time often lead to a moment reminiscing oh his childhood, growing up in a German-speaking household at his family's estate in Connecticut, he often played in the Gardens, trying to catch frogs and hide-and-seek.
He was taught English by the teenage house maids, who would often bring him on shopping trips to see the city.
The eventful day came when he turned thirteen, as he was sent off to a prestigious boarding school in Pennsylvania, Brixton Academy.
September 22 1866
The fire was now a smouldering pit of ash, James was the first to get up as dawn cracked, going around to each person giving them a light kick.
"Rise and shine, boys, rise and fuckin' shine!" he crowed "Got a long hike ahead of us."
Erik groggily woke, his head pounding, he began to question exactly how many rounds of whiskey he had.
Dave was already sitting upright, "What's plan today?" he asked yawning.
"It's been a long week, let's head to town and take it easy, I don't feel like sitting in the sun all day today." Replied James.
Dave leaned over to violently shake Fletch, who was still sound asleep "C'mon, Fletch, git! Sleeping like a damn stiff!"
Erik remained laying, holding his hand over his eyes as the creeping sunlight continued to disturb him, James stood over him and leaned down.
"Hungover already? We'll get you some coffee in town, get up already!" he told him, slapping his face as he groaned in protest.
Having enough, Erik batted his hands away from his face, finally sitting up as an equally tired Fletch finally stood up.
"Can't wait to eat something that didn't die last week." Exclaimed James, distributing what was left of their dried meat reserves
Erik grabbed a waterskin drained it of its last few gulps, hoping dull his migraine as they broke up camp and set off to town.
As they walked Dave struck up conversation "Erik, you were talking in your sleep again."
Erik chuckled "Was I? Did I say anything interesting this time?"
"Nope, just babbling in gibberish, or maybe it was German? Can't tell them apart sometimes." He replied.
"How much of you think you're funny is how much of an ass you are, did you know?" He replied smiling.
David laughed, Erik too enjoying the banter, fondly remembering how they'd jab at each other as classmates years ago.
Sometimes striking each other's nerves, prompting Fletch to come in between them to mediate them.
'Never change, Dave.' He thought, it would be boring otherwise.
Life at the academy was subject to strict discipline, beatings, and bullying.
Things only got worse as the Civil War began, quality of food diminished and an air of melancholy arose, often students would receive letters informing them of deaths in their family as the war continued.
Stripped of the freedom and leisure he had in his parent's estate, Erik quickly became defiant and ill-tempered, he'd often get into fights with other students and was often beaten by teachers for talking back or rule breaking, he knew the feeling of a yardstick against his knuckles all to well.
Among his misdeeds are skipping classes, sneaking outside the dorms at night, and sneaking out of the school itself.
He also began ignoring dress codes and began growing his hair out, managing to avoid attempts to have it cut, and wearing earrings, thinking he'd look 'dashing' with them.
He endured beatings only to spite the staff and defy what he thought of as unfair treatment and stupid rules.
The only thing standing in the way of his expulsion was his parents' patronage to the academy and his generally good grades, despite his poor attitude.
At one-point, fellow students would sometimes commission him to sneak out and acquire things from nearby towns, usually alcohol or cigarettes, on the account of his apparent talent for sneaking and that he had stolen a set of keys to the academy.
Despite constant correspondence with his parents, he felt lonely and isolated, almost as if they just abandoned him there.
The only real friends he had were Fletch and David, two fellow delinquents who were in constant detention with each other.
At one point he decided he had enough of the place and snuck out for a final time; in the fall of 1863 he escaped the academy and ran away to "go on an adventure" as he had put when he told them.
Shortly after making it to the town they began making their way to the saloon, catching looks and stares from suspicious townsfolks, their reputation preceded them.
"Is it just me…" Fletch began.
"… Or are we getting stared at harder than usual?"
James simply grunted in response, not particularly worried, the locals should know better.
It had been a few days since they last visited, generally they kept to themselves and no one bothered them, even the sheriff was more then well aware he couldn't take them on.
As they stood by the steps of the saloon, they paused for a moment, realizing it was empty.
Suddenly doors and windows begin closing around town as people quickly began to retreat indoors, even James perked up for a moment and looked around.
"Somethin' ain't right… Gun's out!" he announced sternly.
Just as he said it a loud shot rang out from behind them, James fell, a gaping bloody hole in the back of his head.
Erik, Fletch, and David already drew their guns and turned to the source of the shot; a sharply dressed, bearded man with a wide brimmed hat aiming a repeater, having just ejected an empty casing from it.
Two more shots rang out in quick succession as Fletch and Dave fell before even lining up on their sights on the assailant.
A splatter of blood hit his face, Erik stumbled backwards in panic and shock, tripping on his back over James's corpse.
His Colt flung out of his hand on the ground, he desperately reached towards it, touching the handle with his fingers.
The bearded man rapidly caught up and kicked it away, Erik began breathing heavily as he stared down the barrel of the Henry repeater pointed at his face, noticing the faint gleam of a round star badge on the man's vest, the star of a U.S. Marshal.
"Are you Erik von Fahren?" he calmly asked.
…
"Y-you k-killed them-" Erik begin to babble, halfway sobbing.
"Answer me, son!" he yelled.
He shoved the muzzle into his face, Erik put his hands up.
"Y-yes!" he finally yelled, tears streaming down his face.
"Good, now get up!" he said as he grabbed Erik by the collar and pulled him up putting barrel of the repeater into his back.
"Walk to the town hall, try anything and I'll shoot, got it?" he demanded.
Erik nodded as he began to walk, coming to terms with what had transpired.
…
He was escorted upstairs into a guest room, in a corner there sat two chairs and a table.
"Take a seat, Mr. Erik, lets have a chat…" The bearded Marshal commanded.
Erik sat obediently, and the Marshal took a seat in the opposite chair.
The marshal coughed before beginning, "My name is Steve Randall, U.S. Marshal, you might've heard of me." He began, pointing at his badge.
His heart sank, his worst fear came true, he was now sitting before a legendary gunfighter.
"I've been tracking you and your friends for a while now; did you know that each of you had $100 on your heads? You boys caught the federal government's attention, and I just couldn't miss out on this offer! From what I heard, I thought this was going to be a tougher fight…" He began on a tirade, adding insult to injury.
Erik only sat and stared, still in shock, his eyes puffy.
"For all of you to be such easy targets, heh… You boys were all bark, didn't even return a shot!" He gloated, pulling out a cigar from a case and lighting it, Erik to frowned at his words.
"Now I didn't come for the bounty actually… The little deal I was giving is the sheriff will step down and give me the title, so long as I wipe your little snot-nosed gang out."
"Except for you, son, lemme tell ya. You might be wonderin' why didn't I shoot you like the rest of your shit-piss bandit friends?" He asked.
Erik began to grip tighter on the armrests.
"Simple, the only reason you're not out there on the ground right now is because I was also specifically commissioned to find you alive." He proclaimed, drawing on the cigar.
…
"W-what? Who? Why only me?" Erik asked, now perplexed.
"None other than your folks, they pulled some strings and got me to look for you, even paid off your bounty." He spoke, sending smoke out his nostrils.
"W-what!?" Erik was stunned, up until then he was certain he'd never hear from them again.
"Were it my way, you'd have a noose around your neck by now, but Mr. von Fahren back in Connecticut promised he'd make it worth my time…"
Erik's eye twitched, he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"They're sending someone to pick you up, unfortunately I am supposed to escort your sorry ass until you get home. I'll send them a telegraph letting them know you're safe, but do this for me..." He explained pointing his finger menacingly at him.
"Stay put here and behave, don't give me any trouble, or you'll be coming home in a box, got it? It'll be a couple days until we leave."
Erik stared down at his feet and said nothing, lost in thought.
"Can I have your assurance, Mr. Erik?" He demanded, taking another draw on the cigar.
"Yeah…" Erik replied quietly, still looking at his boots.
"Good, you'll have lunch brought to you later." He said, getting up to leave.
He left the room, locking it from the outside, while Erik sat, still gripping the armrests tightly.
He wasn't sure how he could face his parents again, not after all he had done.
His idea of adventure apparently was visiting his birthplace, Prussia, where his family of declining nobility originated.
While he was a small child they had emigrated to America in hopes of finding better success and living, his father became a wealthy business man and they found a small German community in Connecticut to settle in.
He snuck onto an ocean-going steamer and shortly found himself in his former homeland, hoping that the von Fahren name still had some bearing there.
Much to his chagrin, all of their old property and assets were sold, he was effectively stranded and strapped for cash in the country.
Only few people still remembered the name, none gave him any special treatment for it, he was effectively a commoner with an out-of-place name.
Still lusting adventure and with nowhere else to go, he decided to join the Prussian Army.
Having only just turned seventeen, he lied about his age, the recruiter just barely bought it and assigned him to a rifleman regiment.
The only other alternative would be cleaning stables, which he had no interest in, he rationalized that being a soldier would be more dignified than shovelling manure.
Tensions broke over the dispute of land between Prussia and Denmark, only months after joining a war broke out.
It was not long before he tasted battle for the first time.
September 24, 1866
Two restless nights had passed, having difficulty sleeping without the usual dosage of whiskey and cigarettes before bed.
Erik spent the entire time in the room, having small plates of food brought up and occasionally being checked on by Marshal Randall, exchanging no words.
The first night he watched from the window as his former gang members, his only friends, were picked up and dropped into a cart and dragged away.
All the times they shared, cut short by the quick trigger-work of a Marshal, all because of their reckless lifestyle.
'I told them… I knew this would happen someday… Just not so soon … Just for me to survive, God's just messing with me.' He thought.
He laid on the bed, looking at his watch, turning it over to look at each side, trying to find some comfort in it.
The door lock turned open as Marshal Randall entered once again, Erik glared at him disdainfully as usual. The Marshal unenthusiastically spoke up, "It's time to go."
Erik got up, tucking his pocket watch away into his vest and followed the Marshal out to the train station.
Standing on the platform was a brown-haired maid, her hair put in a bun, holding a wooden case, Erik recognized her immediately.
"Gertrude!" he called out as he ran to her, one of the maids from his younger years who taught him English, now in her late twenties.
Tears welling in her eyes, she approached holding her arms out, Erik entered her embrace.
"Oh Erik, it's good to see you again…" She spoke gently in German as Erik sobbed into her arms.
"Come, Erik, lets go home." She said, letting go of Erik and recovering her composure. She approached Marshal Randall with the case in hand.
"Mr. Randall, this is a gift on behalf of Herr von Fahren for your troubles, please accept." She said in accented English, presenting the case, with a brass badge with the Colt emblem upon it, to him.
"Much appreciated." He replied as he took it, tipping his hat.
Erik wiped his eyes tried to pretend the Marshal wasn't there, he was happy to see Gertrude again, but distraught that he would have to tolerate the presence of his friend's killer throughout the voyage.
They boarded the train on the first car behind the locomotive, as it departed shortly.
He sat next to Gertrude, while the Marshal sat in the opposite aisle, opening the case and eyeing to contents with gusto.
He began regretting his decision as he took part in a couple battles, enduring sleepless nights of artillery barrages, standing for hours of volley fire and bayonet charges took their toll on him.
He suffered a non-fatal gunshot wound at the Siege of Als and spent the rest of the brief war in a military hospital, there he decided he would return to America.
Shortly after leaving the hospital and resigning from the army, he boarded a steamer back to America using what little earnings he made.
By pure luck he met his old friends and former classmates, learning that they also escaped the academy not long after he did, inspired by his search of adventure.
They had wandered the countryside living off odd-jobs, now that the three were reunited and the Civil War having been concluded, they decided to head south in search of 'real adventure' as Erik put.
While at a small-town Texas saloon, they met an older man in his early twenties with long hair.
He was a gunfighter who was starting to earn a reputation in the area, he was looking for 'business partners' as he put it, he had some extra pistols he just needed some extra hands to hold them.
Inspired by his tales, they decided to join him as a posse, in return he taught them how to use them well.
Their 'adventures' would land them in trouble, often being kicked out of towns for causing shootouts, to a point where they resorted to robbing travellers and carriages to sustain themselves.
Even once robbing a bank at one point, it was not long before 'James's Gang" would begin appearing on wanted posters, calling for the capture or death of each member.
They'd settled near a small town in which they came to a mutual agreement with the residents, they would try not to cause trouble inside the town, and the sheriff would leave them alone.
Several hours into the trip in the crowded passenger car, Erik remained silent, not wanting to talk after all that happened.
Gertrude spoke up, "Erik, I have a letter for you." Pulling an envelope from her apron, handing it to Erik, noticing the von Fehran seal stamped on it.
"It is from your parents." She said as he opened it, written in German.
"Dear Erik,
My beloved son, we are overjoyed to hear you are safe!
Your father and I have been worried to our wits end ever since you disappeared, we were told you ran away, these last 3 years have been very difficult ever since.
We finally heard of your whereabouts recently, but we are saddened to have found out you became an outlaw, of all things!
However, we are not without blame, as we now believe we must have wronged you somehow.
As per our conference with your old headmaster, it seems we were simply not aware of how you where really doing, if we had known we would have done something for your sake!
Why did you not tell us how you felt in your letters? Why did you make such a drastic decision?
Regardless of that, you were always a sweet and kind boy, and we will always love you, no matter what you have done.
We are sorry to have subjected you to that experience, and are sorry to force you back as well, all we want to do is see you again.
You do not have to go to any academy if you do not want to, we just hope you are willing to make amends with us and forgive us.
With tender love,
Mama."
A tear dropped onto the letter, as they began to well up in his eyes. Not once did he consider his parents when he ran off to go through a war and then join a gang, he blamed the years of loneliness on them, but reading those pained words hit him hard.
Even in his darkest moment, despite being branded a criminal, they still missed and loved him. 'I don't deserve this…' he gloomily thought.
"Gertrude…" He quietly called out.
"Yes, Erik?"
"I-I don't understand, I've done horrible things! how could they want me back still?" He said in German, full of remorse and disbelief.
"Herr Erik… They believe they are responsible, that they neglected you- "
An explosion immediately shattered the world around them, as the locomotive violently exploded.
Moments earlier, brigands stood by with a detonator in view of the rail, having rigged a section of the track to explode with the aim of derailing the train.
Their target being the payroll car in the back, however, the detonation was delayed, and set off right as the locomotive passed over the dynamite, rupturing the boiler and igniting the coal tender.
The first car took serious damage, as the front half shattered into a barrage of splinters and shrapnel.
Inside, among the commotion, some are dead or wounded, including Erik who laid with a large splinter in his right eye, and his left hand maimed, covered in burns and cuts as he laid on the floor bleeding to death.
'So, this is it then?' He thought as he began to slip from consciousness.
'Guess it's what I deserved, I was a shit son.'
'Mama, Papa, I'm so sorry.' He thought remorsefully, as he accepted his fate.
He slowly began to wake as he was rustled, he felt gentle hands tending to him, he faintly heard a feminine voice he couldn't make out reassuring him, 'Is that Gertrude?' he wondered.
He felt a strange cooling sensation that soothed him, as he no longer felt burning pain all over his body.
At one point he felt tugging, as if stitches were being done on him, after a while he was picked up and placed on his feet, still semi-conscious.
"Come now." The voice said, now clearly in English.
'Who is that?' he wondered again, still unable to see.
Someone was supporting him on their shoulder, walking him out of the wreckage, he felt the handle of a case placed into his hand which he involuntarily gripped.
"Wake up."
Whoever was supporting him suddenly let go, and he was standing on his own strength. Feeling fully conscious and aware, he inhaled the fresh air of the outdoors, no longer smelling smoke and dust.
He was very much alive, his mind blank as if he was reborn.
He opened his eyes to a sight completely removed from the carnage he just endured.
A/N:
I've never done this stuff before, this is my first serious attempt at fictional writing.
Go ahead and hit me with the reviews, give it to me straight, Doc! I'll probably need it.
This chapter feels sort of rough, there was a lot of backstory I felt was needed, but I know no one likes info dumps.
Maybe I should've left most of it out and brought it in by dialogue? I just thought it would turn into too many strained out conversations.
I tried to divvy it up between dialogue and keep it brief, but I guess the whole point of this chapter is to set this character up. A prologue if you will.
I wouldn't blame you if you thought the ending was a 'Diaboli Ex Machina'.
Second chapter is flowing much nicer, I guess since I already know how and when to introduce who and what.
It should come out pretty soon, if I somehow managed to catch your attention!
Make what you will of this OC, he's replacing Subaru here, more similar than I originally thought, they're both fairly self-depreciating!
The plot will more or less follow the original. I have some ideas where to diverge these arcs, but most likely end up coming back to the same direction.
That is, of course, assuming this gets far enough to reach those arcs.
Will it?
Maybe. I dunno, depends how well these next few chapters go, I'm just testing the waters at this point.