My family recently got Hoodwinked Too, and my brain did its obvious course of action: it took something that I saw and modified it. I don't know why on earth I would write something like what I saw in my puny brain, but it needs to get out somehow. If someone does enjoy this by some weird miracle, then please let me know. I would like to know that I'm not crazy or insane for trying not to go insane.

Before I continue, I would like to point out that my imagination is infinitely indecisive; thus being said, there might be a few confusing plot twists or character personality shifts. However, most of this is, in fact, planned out in my tiny skull. I will try to make this story interesting for all types of readers (minus the romance ones), so expect some serious comedy, extreme violence, and... something else. My brain just lost itself (again).

AGAIN, before I continue, I would like to make a few points: I do not own the Hoodwinked! franchise. Any and all characters, places, events, and/or fictitious ideas belong to... whoever else owns them. I only own any original characters in the beginning of the story and those few OC's whom were not suggested by viewers via Private Messaging or Review. If it seems like I'm copying off of someone else's story or stories, then I would like to point out that I am not; I'm too lazy to try and read any or all of them, so if it seems like I am then I apologize but I won't change the story for that reason alone.

Legends of the West

a Hoodwinked! fiction

Chapter 1: Crimes and Secrets

Well, this is a bit of a pickle. Wolf grabbed a fire poker from the Puckett's fireplace and pointed it at the girl with the red hood. Before Wolf or Red could make a move, a boy wearing a brown hood and black button-up slammed through the wall head-first... and managed to get himself stuck in the wall. Both the wolf and the red-hooded girl looked at him in surprise. He shook broken bits of drywall out of his short black hair.

"Ow," he muttered as he combed more flakes of drywall and paint out of his hair with his fingers. "That hurt." Only then did he notice the two staring at him.

A slight screaming noise came from above, causing the dark-haired boy to look up.

"Here comes Grandad," he quietly noted. The screaming noise grew louder, ending with William Blaiz tumbling through the chimney and nearly bowling over the wolf just as Granny Puckett burst out of the closet, bound in a parachute by some weird miracle. Only seconds later did a woodsman break through the window, going crazy over something and screaming like a psychiatric hospital escapee. Things would've gone downhill from there, but someone just so happened to call the police on all of them.

"Don't touch the mustache," Blaiz growled at the police as an officer put handcuffs on him. "I spent five years growing that thing out and all of three seconds combing it this morning, and I would like to not have it ruined."

"Thanks for getting me out, officer," the younger Blaiz breathed his compliments. "But I still feel like a walking table. Any way you could fix that for me—?" He yelped when the officer tore off the drywall ring off of his waist with ease, proceeding to handcuff the boy seconds after. Somehow they found a black cowboy hat and figured it was his, and slapped it on his head. "Thank you."

(1st person, the younger boy)

It was dark outside when the chief officer came in. The officers were talking about something, but I paid no attention to them; I just figured that—once the officers figured out that I and Grandad are on their side—they'd let us go.

Just then, a frog in a sweet-looking suit walked in. Not saying that suit-wearing frogs the size of Grandad are evil, but Grandad and I normally dealt with snakes and crooks, not lawyers. Again, I wasn't paying any attention what-so-ever to Froggie, Smokey, or any of the cops, so I was rather surprised when Grandad elbowed me in the ribs and pointed at the frog-lawyer.

"Jett Blaiz," the frog muttered, as if remembering my name. "You and your Grandad are a long way from the West, aren't you? Shouldn't you two be sitting around a campfire telling old tales?"

"Well," I retorted. "Grandad heard about this 'goodie bandit' in the forest area, so we came over. If no one finds us guilty in this makeshift courtroom, then this would be a lovely campfire story to tell Gramma back home."

"Why did your Grandad invite you on his trek, then?"

"Why do you care in the first place?"

"I am an investigator. It is my job."

"My point exactly."

"I see," the frog said thoughtfully. "Well, I think it would be appropriate to hear all sides of the story, so why don't you come in after Red." I just nodded, bringing one hand up to get more of that danged drywall out of my hair and eyebrows; I lifted both hands once I remembered that I was in handcuffs.

(30 minutes later)

"Young-un," Grandad nudged me awake. "Red's done; you're up." I stood up, crossing over to the table which the frog was apparently sitting at.

"Ah, there you are," the investigator said as he noticed my entry. "I was wondering if you would ever wake up."

"I've rode lazier horses," I told him. "Never got your name, by the way—."

"Flippers," he cut me off as he introduced himself. "Nicky Flippers."

"Cool," I muttered as I made a note to remember never to call this 'Nicky' guy 'Froggie'.

"So," he began after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. "When the police arrived, you were stuck in a wall. Is there any particular reason for this?"

"Well... I was walking down the road, looking for any suspicious faces—."

"What kind of 'suspicious faces'," the police chief demanded harshly.

"'Goodie bandit', suspicious," I responded from the interruption. "Now, as I was saying..."

(Flashback)

I was walking down the road, trying to identify any potential suspects, right? Well, this girl with a red hood was riding her bike and nearly RAN ME OVER! So, being the city boy I am, I got jealous of her freedom, so...

I grabbed a skateboard from my back and slapped the wheels on the ground. With the board on the ground, I stepped on, pushed off, and felt the light breeze flow through my close-crop hair. Oh, man, the wind felt good—better than the adrenaline of a rifle shot or a horseback ride. A few more times I pushed my foot to the ground and I just let the road carry me. Never felt more alive than that time.

I came across a small shop which just hung up a sign saying "Recipes Stolen". I stopped the board right next to the door just as the owner was about to head in.

"Howdy," I spoke up, making the sad owner look up.

"Oh," he whispered. "Hey."

"How's it going, sir?"

"Terrible. Recipes: stolen. Goodies: gone. Business: good for nothing."

"Now, it isn't over until you give up. Can you give me any ideas about what happened here?"

"The Goodie Bandit happened, that's what!"

"Okay, be a little more specific than that, sir. I'm gonna crack down on this fella once I find him, so you're gonna have to give me more details than that." The critter sighed.

"The door locks were broken when I came here; I come in to find all the shelves empty and the recipe book nowhere to be found."

"Jeez," I muttered to myself.

"No kidding," he shrugged. "That ring any bells?"

"Well, it's similar to all the other robberies in this vicinity, that's for sure. Where do you think the next robbery will be?"

"Well, Granny Puckett's a possibility. Best baker in the forest, I'll tell ya."

"Where's the shop?"

"Her house is... you see that clearing over there? That's her house right there. Little Red goes from there to their shop on a daily basis—."

"Wait," I interrupted him. "Did you say 'Little Red'? Was she wearing a red hood and riding a bike?"

"Are you from around here or not? She's Granny's granddaughter. She goes around and delivers goodies for Granny."

"Ah. And to answer your question, no I am not from around here. Grandad and I are from out West." I set the board down and stepped on before he could ask any more questions. "We'll chat later." I pushed off and rolled on like lightning. I finally had a lead on the Bandit and a plan to stop 'em, and I wasn't stopping until the crook was behind bars.

"So," Nicky stopped my explanation. "You had your lead, your plan, and you knew what to expect?"

"No," I clarified. "I had a plan, but I didn't know what or who to expect. I just had a plan."

"And what was this plan?" I smiled like a psycho and started chuckling.

(Flashback)

Explosives. I was going to tripwire the place up, but leave enough room on the path for Red, Granny, and casual visitors to get out through.

I went to the nearest mine shack to pick up some dynamite, then to the nearest store which sold technology to grab some insulated copper wires and flintlock hammers.

"And Red is staring at me in disbelief," I mentioned, staring at the girl in question out of the corner of my eye. "And is still staring. In disbelief. Or fear. I can't tell which. And so is Grandad. And Granny Puckett. Let's just assume that everyone is staring at me in disbelief."

"Indeed," Nicky muttered calmly. "I assume you knew what you were doing?"

"Yes, yes I did. I already had some spare rope in my backpack—."

"Oh really? Where is it?"

"It blew up when someone threw a rock on a tripwire right next to me. Now, as I was saying, I hooked up the rope and the wires to the flintlock mechanisms. Those wires were, in turn, connected to the dynamite. I pulled the fuses out and replaced them with the wires."

"Interesting, Jett. Did they work?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I didn't catch the Bandit, but I sure did try."

"Did anything else happen?"

"Yes. A bunny came over and visited me while I was setting the traps..."

(Flashback)

"Hiya," the bunny said as I was pulling a fuse from a dynamite stick. I just grunted as I yanked the sucker out. "Whatcha doing?"

"Well, I'm trying not to blow up Granny's house; just the Goodie Bandit. What else would I use the dynamite for?"

"Well, why are you going for Granny's house?"

"Bandit will most likely head here next, so I'm going to surprise him with explosives."

"Wow. Don't ya think that's a little bit violent?" I just shrugged.

"I've faced worse threats."

"Like what?"

"Murderers, thieves, kidnappers, thugs, and even entire gangs."

"Oh, wow. You must be really tough." I heard the sarcasm in the bunny's voice.

"I had help. Grandad just takes me along for the ride, but I normally have to help out."

"Oh. Well, who's your Grandad?"

"You, mister Bunny, have asked me enough questions to fill an entire interrogation. I think it's time enough that you told me who you are and just what you're doing on the premises."

"My name's Boingo. What's yours—?"

"No more questions from your little mouth. What are you doing on the premises?"

"I'm just curious. What's your name?" I groaned.

"Jett Blaiz. Any more questions you wanna ask?"

"Just one." I huffed in defeat. "Who do you think the Bandit is?"

"Well, since you're on the premises, you're constantly asking me questions, and you've exaggerated your answers to my questions, I would say that you're a good suspect. Maybe not the suspect, but definitely a suspect." I set the dynamite in the ground, covered it with soil, and set the tripwire. "Perimeter established. Get out before you blow us both to pieces." Boingo bounced away, a sad look on his face.

After that, I grabbed a rifle and some binoculars, climbed a tree, and waited.

Finally, Granny Puckett came around. In a rather strange, unpredictable, creepy way, but she did so just as the Wolf was coming in, so I assumed that she always does this. Things only got weirder.

I took the binoculars and leveled them through the house's windows. Sure enough, the Wolf was cosplaying as Granny Puckett. The rifle's range wasn't far enough to reach Wolfie, so I climbed down and came a little closer. A rock flew at a nearby tripwire for an even closer stick of dynamite.

The rock set off a ring of explosions, I went flying into—no, through—the wall, and that's about it from my point of view. A few seconds after I hit the wall, I heard Grandad falling; he landed in the chimney, nearly knocked over Wolfie, and seconds later that danged woodsman crashed through the window.

"So you didn't dig your way into the wall, but were literally blown into it," Nicky understood. I nodded. "Do you still think the bunny was behind the robberies?"

"It's possible," I admitted. "I don't know who threw the rock, but I could've been roast Jett had I not been as far ahead of the dynamite as I was. I swear, my life flashed before my eyes back there."

"Alright," Nicky finalized, shutting off the tape recorder. "I suppose it's time to bring in another possible suspect. Thank you, Jett, for your cooperation."

"No problem, Nicky," I answered, walking out. "Do I still have to be handcuffed?"

"He does have a point," Nick agreed. "Could someone remove these cuffs? Besides, it is rather ironic that the grandson of a well-known cowboy from the West would be handcuffed by police from the Woods, don't you think?"

Both I and Red were standing in the doorway as the officers interrogated the Wolf and the bigger guy (whose name I never knew was Kirk). Strangely, I started sweating really badly at around this time, so I pulled off the black button-up to reveal a gray Air Force shirt. Granny Puckett would've been interrogated next, but a closet was opened and a bag was emptied. As usual, I wasn't paying attention to anything that was said—except for some 'secrets' discussion between Red and Granny. That was, I paid no mind until an officer spoke up about something interesting.

"Hey, Chief," the stork called as he opened a closet door. "Check this out." Inside was a large variety of trophies, awards, and wrestling belts from a wider variety of sports. In fact, I recognized one or two belts to be kickboxing tournament belts.

"Dear Jesus, Puckett," Grandad mumbled. "How on Earth did you rack up all this?" Granny Puckett began walking across the room.

"I noticed you had three 'G's tattooed on the back of your neck," Nicky observed. "That's appropriate, since there are three strikes against you." The elderly woman turned around to face the frog.

"It's true," she admitted. "I'm not like other grannies. I never did like the quilting bees and the bingo parlors; I'd rather live life to the extreme."

Out of everyone in the room, three people were shocked: Grandad, myself, and Red. Grandad had this distant look in his eye, like Granny reminded him of something. I was scared for any confrontation between Red, Granny, or Grandad. Red, on the other hand, looked hurt, as if she'd just taken a bullet for her grandmother only to learn that said relative had betrayed the younger girl. I felt sorry for Red, but I couldn't relate to it. I tried to say something, but nothing came to mind.

"Well," Grandad finally confirmed. "This is awkward. Jett, you want to grab some coffee—."

"No thanks," I answered without missing a beat. "I'm good right here." I could almost smell his curiosity.

"Jett, I promise you: I'm not holding anything back from you."

Granny went on to explain her side of the story, but there was still one piece of the puzzle left to discover:

"Hey, Grandad," I pondered aloud while Granny was talking about the avalanche. "How did you fall through the chimney? You couldn't have been thrown by dynamite, or you would've been fried and I would've seen you."

"Well, I was, uh—."

"Don't lie to him, cowboy," Chief griped at Grandad.

"Oh, alright. FINE." He turned to me. "Let's take this somewhere else, Jett."

"No," I responded. "We can talk out here. I'm sure that everyone wants to hear your side of the story." He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply.

"Okay, you win. I didn't come here because of the Goodie Bandit; I decided you could handle that one on your own. I actually got a call from a good buddie of mine about a rogue cowboy; said the crook was raiding mine shacks, construction depots, and small home improvement stores. He also said he had a hunch that the Bandit and the Rogue were on the same side for some reason. I answered right away that I'd be there in a few weeks. Gramma heard about this and demanded I take you with. I was just gonna take on the Bandit and the Rogue on my own, but your Gramma talked some sense into me. So I decided that you should take on the Bandit while I stabilized the Rogue threat."

I couldn't believe it. He had heard of another crook and didn't tell me about it. I pulled my hat down to cover my eyes.

"I didn't want you getting hurt out there by the mountain, so I went alone. I and a former ranger were scouting out an old abandoned mineshaft when he found something fishy: a plantation guarded by barbed wire. When we took a closer look, I saw fields of green and bits of yellow. I found a leaf blown to our side of the fence; I instantly recognized it as a tobacco leaf. That was round about when some city-dwellers came out of the clear blue wearing yellow hoodies and toting AK-47's. We tried to hold them off, and were just about finished when some psycho on a guard tower pulled out a nine-barreled rocket launcher. Either that or it was an anti-aircraft gun. I don't know what it was, but all nine barrels went active and I went flying. Thankfully I knew how to properly skydive without parachutes, 'cause I went flying at least five hundred feet vertical. I tried slowing my descent, but I just kept on flying. I saw that dynamite blow up below your feet, and I thought it was the end of me. Only a miracle propelled me to the chimney. Nearly knocked that Wolf over just as Puckett broke through the closet all tied up. A few seconds later, Kirk smashed through the window yelling like a psycho facility escapee." He took a deep breath just as Puckett finished her explanation.

"Well," Nicky spoke in his rather quiet voice. "It's good to know that there are illegal crops at the base of a mountain."

"I think the tobacco crisped up when I went flying," Grandad admitted. "Either way, that Rogue is on to something. I want to know what it is and stop it before he causes any damage."

I lifted the brim of the hat on my head, crossed my arms, and just looked straight forward. I didn't know what to feel: anger, denial, sadness, or just what. I didn't understand why Grandad would want to hide something this disastrous from me. My grandfather must have noticed my confused state.

"Jett," he said. "You okay?" I just kept looking forward. "Is something wrong?"

"Why wouldn't you tell me about this," I demanded. "I could just have easily helped you out."

"I... I didn't want to see you hurt." I turned my head to him and raised an eyebrow.

"Awkward," the stork officer muttered after a couple of seconds, inching around the wall until he couldn't see the room.

"Is that it? Do you really care that much about me? Or do you just think I'm too young?"

"Jett," he started again. "You know I care for ya. You know I do. You're my only grandson."

"You weren't caring much when you straight-up lied to me. You've told me about at least a hundred different rogues, so why didn't you say anything about this one?"

"It was for your own good, Jett."

"For my own good, was it? Or was it more along the lines of personal gain?" An uncomfortable silence settled over the house.

"Coffee break, anyone," Nicky finally got out, following the other officers as they left the room.

"Austin, I'm sorry for not telling you," Grandad apologised, using my first name. "It was just too dangerous for you to handle."

"Too dangerous to handle," I questioned. "Pull the bandanna off your eyes, Grandad. I'm armed to the teeth in knives and rounds, seasoned in five martial arts, and more than willing to help out. Every time you went off, I would wonder where and why you were off to. I mean, sure you told me a lot, but you didn't tell me enough. I wanted to be just like you all my life, even before Dad got arrested. What else could I possibly want from life as a cowboy?" Grandad smiled.

"I understand what you're saying. All Blaizes have a part of them that wants to be free; it runs in your blood." I exhaled slowly.

"I don't know what freedom is anymore." I took off my hat and dropped it on the ground at his feet, then stepped out the door. Red had already left moments earlier.

"There he is," a reporter shouted as I crossed the police tape. "There's the cowboy."

"No," another protested. "He's not wearing the hat or the shirt." I passed without an interviewer. Without a clear sense of direction, I began walking in a random direction away from the house.

As I passed through the forest—towards the mountain range, to be precise—I remembered all the campfire stories Grandad told me: a giant tarantula attack; a scorpion the size of a cat; even the time when he and I both took on that twelve-foot grizzly bear a few years back.

I stopped when I got to a waterfall. Red was there, probably reminiscing over her own memories. I knew that it would be unwise to try and hold a conversation at this moment, knowing what Gramma told me about girls my age; given that she was looking pretty down, I decided to leave her to her own problems. I kept on walking through the forest until I reached a particular clearing—one which seemed unnatural and smelled of petroleum and tobacco...

I heard voices nearby, so I dove into the nearby brush and hoped that they didn't spot me. Thankfully they didn't hear me, but I certainly heard them.

"How much petroleum," a city-gang accent rumbled from a rough-looking man. I heard static come a few seconds later.

"Enough to keep the dozers going," a voice on the other end responded.

"A hundred 60-gallon tubs?"

"Are they in barrels?"

"Yes."

"Will it keep the dozers going?"

"For three days full speed non-stop."

"Then yes, pack it in. What's the status on the factory?" The voices were getting fainter at this point, so I went to follow the stranger.

"Almost done. Five crates worth ready for packing; almost done with the sixth."

"Tell 'em to hurry the—" profane term "—up. Wade wants it ready to go pronto."

"Tell him I'll do my best. These ain't no cigarettes, y'know."

"Yeah, yeah. The bunny wants the nicotine, and Wade promised to fork it over in exchange for half the cash." Nicotine? Just what are they planning?

"I know; the more we have, the more cash we get. I'll go and pack the five crates we have, then I'll go back and get the sixth. Over and out." I waited until the man was a good ways into the forest before I struck. I tackled the guy and put a knee between his shoulder blades.

"Who the Hell are you," he demanded as he struggled to get up.

"Your worst nightmare," I responded. "I overheard your conversation on the radio. What's the nicotine for?"

"Why the—" more profanity "—do you care?" I put more weight on his spine. "I don't know, okay? The bunny wanted it, Wade offered it, I worked it; that's all I know."

"Who's the bunny?"

"You ain't the brightest bulb in the box, are you," he taunted, grimacing when I pulled his arms back. "Put the clues together, little man. The bunny took all the recipes so far. The bunny wants the competition blasted to Hell and back. The bunny gets really sarcastic at times." My mind clicked the puzzle pieces together. Boingo was the Goodie Bandit. Makes sense, but there's still one piece to the puzzle.

"Who's Wade, and why the Hell is he here," I demanded quickly. This time, the guy was straightforward.

"James Watson Blaiz went to prison on charges of child abuse, assault, and possession of tobacco and other illegal drugs. He got out three years ago and got a new name: Wade Johnson. He started a cartel and I came in. He was caught and arrested for possession of illegal drugs, but got out a month ago. He wants to set up shop here where Boingo was. Things got crazier from there." My mind started flying faster than lightning. I tried to remember any cousins, uncles, or relatives in general with the name James Watson, but nothing came to mind. I knocked the guy out and hid him in the brush. I turned around to face the clearing and nearly had a heart attack at the massive rolling fortress before me...

END

That about wraps that up. No confusion intended, so let me clarify that Jett's full name is Austin Jett Blaiz. His grandfather already explained why they were there, so no need to explain that. As for the Rogue Cowboy, I will fully explain in the next chapter, as with the reasoning behind Grandad's hiding the Rogue from Austin.

Factoid(s) of the chapter: the only reason I started writing this is because I saw Hoodwinked Too (late much, I know) and my insane imagination took it to new heights. I intended this story to start around that time, but my ever-changing and ever-rationalizing mind twisted things to the point where the plot makes much more sense to me now. Henceforth, here we are. Geographically (if the Hoodwinked world is one and the same with Earth), I would have to put the Forest either somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains of North America or near the Rockies. Given the snow-capped mountains North-East of the Forest, this places the Forest near the Mid-Western side of the Appalachian Mountains. This would place the West near Texas and Oklahoma, and Big City from the sequel in either the Gulf of Mexico or on the Western seaboard. Judging by the bridge seen in the first moments of seeing Big City, I would place Big City in the equivalent of Los Angeles or near a Texas/Louisiana port city (if anybody else has his/her own opinion on geographic locations, please share your theory). This is all assuming that the continents have shrunk down, so approximate locations are approximate (Jesus, I feel like I work with CinemaSins; with that in mind, I would like to point out that I do not own or work with CinemaSins).

Multiple questions are out there from this chapter, most from near the end:

1. Who is the Rogue cowboy, and what kind of relationship does he have with Austin (this one should be easy)?

2. What sort of crazy contraption did Austin find?

3. Will Austin's relationship with his grandfather rebuild itself?

4. As most lawmakers and police officers know, nicotine is a drug found in tobacco and its products. Is this the 'Boingonium' Boingo spoke of in the original film (again, this is an easy question)?

5. For every plan, there is a counterplan. Austin is skilled in counterplans and sabotages. What is the Rogue planning with Boingo, and how will Austin counterplan?

6. Will Austin call for help from Grandad, or strike it out on his own? More importantly, will he even make it out of there alive?

If you have an answer or an idea, slap it down in a review or just PM me. I wouldn't normally say this, but I know that some answers will be longer than Fanfiction review limits; thus being said, if you have a long answer and are too nervous to PM me, put out multiple reviews (just be sure to keep them all under your name/Pen name [Fanfiction will not allow more than one review per reader, so for the second/nth review just do it as a guest and say that it's you in the review]). Otherwise, I seriously hope I confused nobody and will see you all next chapter.