Gunshots. One, two, three, four, five, six. That was more than usual. Someone, Jake knew, had fired back. Nervously, the black haired bandit tugged at the bandanna that covered half of his face. He hoped to god that Dirk was alright. He had been taking on riskier challenges lately, and though he had pulled them off so far, Jake was so afraid Dirk would slip up and that would be the end. Their line of work was not a safe one, and he knew how Dirk would eventually die, but he did not know when. And that was hard to cope with.
They were a bandit duo; one of the best in the state. Dirk busted into banks with his gun and demanded money, and if he didn't get it, he shot those guarding it and took it himself. He always carried a sword as well, occasionally beheading those who would stand between him and his money. Jake, being a little uncomfortable with the idea of shooting innocents and taking their money, was the escape guy. He waited somewhere outside, hidden, with the horses so when Dirk came out they could make a getaway.
He carried twin pistols in case people were chasing Dirk, and he had fired them before, but he didn't shoot to kill. A shot in the foot or the arm was enough to stop most pursuers. Dirk always reprimanded him for this. Too weak to kill a man, English? That weakness will be the end of both of us unless you get your fucking shit together, Dirk would always say. Another gunshot. This one was closer. Jake tugged his pistols from their holsters slowly, and he poked his head just barely above the barrels he was hidden behind. The bank was all lit up now, lights illuminating the nighttime landscape in the most eerie way Jake could imagine. He didn't see Dirk yet.
Should he go get him? He heard yelling inside, but not Dirk's voice, and that was not a good sign. Nervousness was eating him alive, but he didn't know if he should run in or not. If Dirk was alive and uninjured, Jake's appearance would only fuck up the job and piss off Strider, but if he was hurt... or dead... Finally deciding he didn't care if Dirk got angry, Jake pulled up his bandanna and gripped his pistols tightly. Behind him, where rocks and old equipment marked the edge of town, he made sure the horses were tied. Now it was time. He had to go.
Shuffling through the dark alley, Jake's eyes watched bank lights across the street like a moth would a lantern. His heart was pounding, but his mind was void of thought. There was no time to think now, only act. Thinking meant certain death. He picked up his pace to a light jog as he reached the dusty street, his boots clunking against the dirt that was packed down from wagons, unlike the loose soil outside town. He was loud, but no one seemed to have noticed. And now, he was in front of the bank. A nicer building than the others in town, brick instead of wood, but architecture was not a subject to dwell on in such an emergency. Jake charged up the steps and burst through the saloon style door, pistols raised.
The first thing he saw was Dirk. His partner was wounded, for sure, lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. The bank teller and two other employees were dead, slumped over chairs and desks, and a man with a hat was sprawled across a blood soaked table, and had bullet wounds on his chest and head. But Dirk, he was alive.
The blond bandit wiped blood from his face and looked up at Jake. "Where the fuck have you been, where the fuck have.. where the..." his words were fast and strained, and high pitched. Jake dropped to the wood floor and looked over his comrade's body for the wound that was keeping him on the floor. "Shut the fuck up for a second." Jake ordered, taking a deep breath and trying to be as calm as possible. "Where did you get shot?"
Dirk replied through heavy breaths, gesturing to his leg. "Leg. I can't... can't stand..." Jake examined Dirk's bloodied pants, and lifted one side to see the skin underneath. Below his knee, Dirk seemed to have taken a bullet, and one above the foot as well. Jake winced. This was nothing he knew how to fix. Ignoring Dirk's moans and groans, he shuffled over to the man Dirk killed and removed his shirt, tearing it into smaller cloths. "I'm gonna wrap your leg and then I'm gonna carry you to the horse. Then we're gonna get home real quick and Rosie'll fix you up, you hear?" his voice was shaky, and he was unable to mask the fear in his tone, but he had made his intentions clear. Dirk nodded quickly.
Jake pushed the leg of Dirk's pants up higher and wrapped the cloth around his bloody leg swiftly, covering his shin to his foot and his knee area. Dirk was screaming bloody murder all the while, and it brought tears to Jake's eyes as he remembered that his best friend was not an invincible bandit legend, he was just a kid trying to scrape up a living. And now that dream would have to wait a little while.
Jake was about to say something when he heard horses running outside, and loud, booming voices. The police. "Shit shit shit shit shit..." Jake muttered, sliding his arms under Dirk and lifting the lighter boy with a grunt. He weighed more than Jake had originally thought. Carrying the moaning and wincing bandit to the back of the bank on wobbly legs, Jake prayed there was a back door. There was not. But there was a window. He could hear footsteps now, on the bank porch outside, and he knew they were in some shit this time. Dirk was even making an effort to breathe and whine more quietly. "It's the fucking sheriff's gang, Jake, we're dead, we're gonna fuckin' die..." Dirk choked as quietly as he could manage.
"I'm gonna break the glass and call the horses. We can make it out." Jake whispered, though he was panicking more than his partner was. As soon as he broke the glass, the sheriff's posse would know exactly where they were. But without awaiting a response, Jake barreled into the big window backwards so Dirk wouldn't be hit, and it shattered. Jake screeched in momentary agony as shards of glass shredded his skin, but when the people in the bank started yelling, he threw Dirk through the window and leaped out after him. His head was pounding and Dirk was screaming now, "Why the fuck did you throw me, what the fuck, I'm going to bleed out what the fuck is wrong with you," and etc. He scooped up Dirk anyway and whistled as loudly as he could without using his fingers because he had no free hands. The fact that he had left his pistols in the bank was not something he had remembered at the moment, so he just got moving through the dusty night landscape, looking around frantically for the horses.
The police were undoubtedly in pursuit, but the horses came running and Jake gasped in relief. Dirk's horse, a sandy colored mare, and his own, a black and white racehorse he had stolen a long while back, thundered up to them, and Jake hefted Dirk onto the black and white horse. "What are you doing, Jake, I can ride!" Strider spat, apparently outraged. "No time, no time!" Jake screeched, spotting the police running up the slope with guns raised. He hopped on the horse behind Dirk and gripped the reins with his arms around Strider, kind of an awkward hug sort of thing. Jake kicked his horse in the side and rode as fast as he could, away, with his partner close and his heart pounding. If they weren't in a life or death situation, it would almost be romantic. Almost.