Woohoo story #2! Writing this was really frustrating because I had typed it out ages ago and then lost it and then typed it out again and then lost half of it and then had to type the rest out on my frickin iPad. Eternal rage. I also apologize for this chapter being named "Chapter 1" lol. A glitch won't let me change it. I'll just stick the chapter name down there for the time being.
The wonderful artist of the cover has a Pixiv - his or her member ID is 242715 (I'm working on my own cover image atm)
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I cry every morning because of that. Also, this story will most likely not be 100% historically accurate. I'll certainly try to do my best, though!
Good Shots and Bad Luck
Arthur gazed out the train window. Wyoming, he thought to himself. A vast land containing absolutely nothing. He sighed. He had not wanted to move to the growing country in the first place. His father, a very powerful businessman back home, urged Arthur to take on a ranch in America. After all, his family owned a good lot of them and Arthur's older brother, Scottie, had proved himself a worthy child when he had successfully operated their ranches in Texas. Now Scottie had set high expectations for Arthur and his father was more than ready to let his son go. "You're going to move to America, Arthur."
The young man in question knew he had no right to speak against his father, but he dared to question him anyway. "Pardon me, but why?"
"Because," his father said, "It's about time you learn about how us Kirklands sustain our high status and wealth. Your elder brother is currently faring very well in America, so there should be no reason for you to fail. That land holds opportunity, and I don't want to see you back here unless you've acquired new found success in your name and a wife in your arms, understand?"
"Yes, father. I understand."
The gentleman clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "Arthur, even though you are not the oldest, I don't want you to laze around like all the other chaps your age. Pull your weight. And while you're in the new country, remember that you are a British man and not an American savage."
Arthur had almost forgot about the people inhabiting the virgin territory. Dreadful Americans. "When am I to embark?" he asked with false enthusiasm.
His father didn't sense the insincerity and smiled. "Next week," he said.
And here he was, dreading every passing moment in which he remained conscious.
The Briton lay awake in his bedroom. The young man never really liked his life. He figured that he had nothing to live for, no meaning in anything that he did, every smile being one of fake happiness. Arthur woke up every morning just because he had to, not because he wanted to. The young man did what he was told and that was it. He deemed his own life pointless and was never fond of living. Sure, he's prefer to be dead, but he didn't want to die.
Arthur ceased thinking those thoughts, figuring they were especially toxic late at night. He was slowly drifting into oblivion when sudden shouting pulled him back. He cursed as he grabbed the revolver on his bedside table. When he slid out of his door, Arthur's heart was already pounding. He crept toward the shouting and was soon close enough to take a proper glance at the source.
"I'm tellinnn ya, if I figure out that ANY of ya pissed in MAH drink, Imma send ya straight ta hell!"
"Johnny, buddy, calm down. None of us pissed in your drink. You're just roostered as can be."
"Now why should I believe in you of aaalllll people, eh, Twisty?"
The other man grimaced.
"Don't call me that, Johnny. Now calm down, will ya? You're gonna wake the other fellas."
The other man grumbled in reply, but put up no fight. Arthur let out a sigh of relief when he learned that it was only his hired cowhands that were causing the trouble. He took one last glance at the two before making his way back to his bedroom. Johnny, the drunk one, was a short man with brown hair. Twisty was a taller blonde with spectacles. If anybody caused trouble that night, he knew who it would be.
"Hey, mister, wake up."
Arthur mumbled something indecipherable and turned his back toward the speaker.
The other frowned. He spotted a gun and smirked.
"I said," he declared venomously as he cocked the gun, "wake up."
Arthur felt something cold on the nape of his neck and made a noise of annoyance. His lagged thoughts finally caught up to him and he figured out why the noise sounded so dangerous.
"W-what on earth are you doing?" His green eyes were wide in panic as they stared down into the barrel of a gun.
The man on the other side exchanged his serious expression for a loud- and rather annoying, Arthur noted- laugh.
"What do you find so largely amusing?" Arthur growled with growing irritation.
The other man wiped tears from under his glasses. "That's the first time someone asked me what I was doing when I was about to shoot 'em" He de-cocked the revolver and tossed it to Arthur.
The Briton was clearly not as amused as the American in front of him. "Next time you pull something like that, I'll give you such a sound beating that you won't be able to laugh for weeks."
"Next time yer looking at the wrong end of a gun, ya should move instead of chat."
"Whatever you say, Twisty," Arthur smirked.
"Name's Alfred F. Jones, Mister... Uh..."
The boy was clearly struggling.
"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland. I'm your new boss, if you are not already aware. Keep in mind that I am not yet accustomed to your strange American greetings. Do not go around performing your odd morning rituals on me or I'll see that your career will end," the shorter man threatened.
"Mr. Kirkland! Right! Just some first day hospitality, ya know? Also, Twisty ain't my favorite name. If ya don't mind, please don't call me that."
"Alright, Mr. Jones."
"Aww none of that Mister Jones stuff either. That's my pa. And plus, there ain't no hero being called Mister so-and-so. I'm Alfred F. Jones, hero of the untamed West! But since yer so cute when you're scared, I'll let ya call me Alfred." He winked and gave Arthur a smile that could make a nun blush. Arthur himself was turning an obvious shade of red. Before he could stammer out a response, Alfred grabbed his arm and pulled him out of bed.
"Go get dressed, now. Gotta drive some cattle bright and early in the mornin'!"
Arthur sat on his horse by the river, overseeing the cattle and his cowhands. It was a bit hotter than Arthur was used to, but it was a nice day nonetheless. The long grass was greener than the image that the train window had provided. Tall trees that slightly rustled due to the gentle wind provided ample shade.
"Hey, there are some fellas coming toward us," a cowhand said.
Arthur directed his attention to the three figures advancing in their direction.
"Anybody recognize them?" He asked.
"Don't believe I do," another cowhand answered.
"Maybe they're cow rustlers," Alfred said as he removed his repeater from its scabbard.
Arthur put disapproving hand up to Alfred. "Maybe they don't mean any harm." Just as he finished his sentence, there was a loud pop and Arthur felt a bullet just barely miss his ear. It spooked the animals and the horses became jittery. He grabbed his rifle and prepared for a fight, as did the other cowhands. The three shady figures were shouting something, but Arthur's heart was pounding so loudly that he couldn't understand them. The other men were too busy readying their weapons. Alfred was the first to shoot back but cursed when he missed. Arthur took a deep breath and let his senses take over. Though he never really enjoyed the numerous hunting trips he was dragged to, he had a straight shot and was better than the rest of his family. Arthur accounted for the distance and aimed his rifle a little higher. He held his breath and pulled the trigger. One figure slid out of his saddle, a foot still dangling in the stirrup as the horse was sent into a panicked gallop. The two accompanying figures put their hands up in surrender, their shouting becoming even louder. Arthur kicked his horse and advanced toward the men, the other cowhands following right after him. As he neared, he could barely make out their faces. Even though he had only spent less than a day in the new area, he knew that the two men worked for him.
"Mr. Kirkland! It's us! We work for ya and don't mean ya any harm," one of them said.
Arthur steadied his irregular breathing. "Why the bloody hell did you shoot at us, then?"
The other man knit his brows. "That wasn't us, Mr. Kirkland. It came from behind us. We were yelling at you to tell you that Johnny was hungover so we were kind of late."
Johnny, Arthur thought, yes, the drunk one last night. He looked at the two men. Neither of them was Johnny. That means...
"Oh shit," Alfred whispered.
Arthur's mouth went dry.
Arthur pursued the panicked horse in a full gallop. The horse was slowing down, allowing Arthur to match its pace and ride alongside of it. He couldn't get too close in fear of trampling the dangling body. Using his rifle, Arthur unhooked the foot from the body. It was a sickening sight.
A short man with brown hair.
There was no doubt the body used to be Johnny, but it was barely recognizable under all the blood and dirt. With a bullet wound in the left eye and smashed limbs from the ride, it was too much for Arthur. He felt nauseous. I killed this man. The cowhands caught up. I killed this innocent man.
"Mr. Kirkland?" a voice whispered into his ear.
"Yeah, Alfred?" Arthur offered weakly.
"Now don't panic, bud, but when you hear a gunshot, kick your horse and get the hell outta here with me."
"What the h-"
A shot echoed through the air.
"Alright, boys," Alfred barked, "someone's tryna trip us up and kill us, ya hear? We're gonna look for 'em and make 'em pay for Johnny. You fellas go left, me 'n Mr. Kirkland are gonna go right. A couple of guys have to stay here and round up the cattle."
Arthur was too dazed to move, so Alfred slapped his horse and brought Arthur back.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
The American grinned at him. "Away," he said.
When they managed to get far enough to feel safe, Arthur slid out of his saddle and threw up. Alfred made a face of disgust and looked away as he talked.
"So... Um... Ya put a bullet in Johnny's left eye. Pretty deadly shot ya have."
Arthur wiped his mouth. "What the hell are we going to do now? What even was that back there?"
Alfred was a bit startled at the sharpness in the Briton's voice, but recovered quickly. "Ya shot him, Mr. Kirkland. Shot him dead. I figured ya wouldn't fare too well in jail. I know ya didn't mean any harm when ya shot him, of course. I dunno what the other fellas would've done because Johnny was one of them."
"Why'd you do it? Why'd you save me?"
The American looked up at the sunlight that pierced through the treetops. "Ya seem like a good guy. I'd hate it if I went to some foreign country and got arrested the next day for something like accidentally shooting some hungover cowboy. Besides, I didn't like Johnny all that much," Alfred chuckled.
If Arthur wasn't panicking, he probably would've laughed as well. Instead, he crouched down and cradled himself with his hands on his head. Arrested? Arthur couldn't even imagine going to somewhere as demeaning as a jail cell. He'd rather be dead.
"If ya did end up in jail," Alfred began, "you'd probably be killed. 'Lot of people don't like all ya English coming in. 'Land Vultures' is what they call ya. Once they figure out that ya shot Johnny, they'll be itching to hang ya."
"Well that wasn't quite the response I had wanted, Lord," Arthur mumbled.
"What was that?" Alfred asked.
"Nothing," Arthur responded. "Say, how did you know about that second gunshot- the one that let us get away?"
"I saw some hunters chasing a buck around. They had a child with 'em. The boy wasn't as good of a shot as you, that's for sure. Ain't ya a lucky one, Mr. Kirkland!"
In Arthur's mind, he was anything but lucky. First he was shipped off -against his will- to America, and now he had killed someone and was on the run.
"I'm... I'm going to be a wanted man," his green eyes grew wide in horror. "People are going to be after me. Oh, for the love of God, people are going to want me dead!"
The American was dense, but he could still sense the panic growing in Arthur. "Uh, yeah, that's how things work around here."
The attempted offer of comfort didn't work. Arthur was breaking down by the second.
"Don't ya lose yer balls, Mr. Kirkland. Not yet, anyway. I'm gonna get ya outta here and I promise ya that nobody's gonna put noose around yer neck and hang ya like a limp dick."
Despite the state of utter despair Arthur was in, he still shot Alfred an odd look.
"Cowboy talk, Mr. Kirkland. But really, I'll bring ya to another town. I'll take ya far enough so that nobody will be looking for yer head, alright? Promise."
Arthur looked up at Alfred. "Really?" he asked, voice quivering.
"Really," Alfred grinned. "How can I be a hero if I abandon a damsel in distress?"
Arthur mock gasped and smacked the cowboy. "I am no damsel in distress, Mr. Jones! And if you continue to treat me as so, you'll be the one who needs saving!"
Alfred laughed. "Alright, alright. Yer a beautiful damsel in distress. Does that suit ya better? And what did I tell ya about calling me Mr. Jones?"
A slight smile made its way to Arthur's lips. "It doesn't suit me as much as my fist would in your face, Al-fred."
"Ya really must love the idea of hurting me," the cowboy teased. "So, feeling much better, Mr. Kirkland?"
"A bit, yes. Thank you. I suppose you can call me Arthur," the Briton blushed slightly as he said this.
Alfred's face lit up. "Really? So that means we're friends now, right Arthur?"
Arthur blushed even more when he had heard this. Friends. He had as many friends as he did cooking skills.
"I, erm," he nervously scratched the back of his head, "never had a friend before." He thought about the other young men he spent time with while on his annual trips to London. Dreadful fellows. If anything, this fluky American would be worse. "No, Alfred, I will not tolerate calling a person who wakes someone at gunpoint as a friend," he declined.
Alfred stuck his tongue out. "Yer such a stick in the mud. No wonder why ya have no friends."
"I choose to have no friends, for your information! I quite enjoy being alone!" the Briton huffed. "Anyway, are you absolutely positive that you will take me to safety?"
"Real question is," the American said, "are you ready?"
AN: What old man Kirkland (lol Arthur's dad) was referring to when he said "I don't want you to laze around like all the other chaps your age", he meant that he didn't want Arthur to be like all the other younger siblings of wealthy families. The oldest brother usually did everything and the younger siblings just stood around and looked pretty.
Poor Artie. Killed a dude on his first day on the job. I hated writing that part, to be honest. I'm really excited to write the rest, though! Got some fun (at least to me) plans for this story!
roostered- drunk