Number 36, AU (kinda think about the Robin Hood/Merlin TV show era)

Robin Hood

Maybe being a biased helper of the poor is as bad as being a rich, stingy bastard.

Patch didn't care, though. He was running away from some house he just looted - they hadn't noticed yet, but the guards would realise soon - and his coat was flapping around his torso. Fucking stolen goods never fit right.

Maybe he would take his jacket to the pretty seamstress...an idea formed in his mind and he grinned before refocusing himself on his escape. Dreams about a certain beauty's long legs would have to happen at some other time - perhaps when he'd have a moment or two to entertain them.

Patch never ran directly back home, otherwise the well-off would realise who was committing the 'crimes' after following him or something. He always made his way to the forest, shed his clothes to something less black and ordinary before he took off back into the village. He would drop the goods off at people's houses when they weren't looking or just leave them at the doorstep.

His identity was a secret, but that didn't stop people from talking about the Man in the Mask who would steal from the rich and give to the poor. It was less stealing and more the redistribution of wealth, but it did manage to give Patch an adrenaline rush.

The gorgeous seamstress was the first to have a small mound of coins placed on her front step. Then came the larger families, maybe the people taking care of the ill or elderly - there was a slight rotation Patch followed so he wouldn't leave anyone out.

The seamstress really was beautiful. She was hardworking and her red hair was frayed around her face in a hot mess, and she looked after her older brother who was a victim of war.

The poor being placed as soldiers while the rich controlled their movements - they were sick, disgusting, treating people different just because of class of all things!

There were many people after the seamstress' hand - Nora Gray's hand - but she was quick to reject them, having a whole fusillade of excuses perfect for each and every one of the villagers proposals.

She was yet to reject Patch.

After he did his rounds, Patch approached her door.

It took a while for her to open it, and she was clearly busy; when she did come to the door, her apron was untied and she had a large lock of hair messily out of place.

"Patch!" she said. "Oh, do come in - I'm sorry, I'm just crazy busy today, I swear -"

"I'm low maintenance, Angel. Don't you mind me."

She giggled and tucked some of her hair out of the way, relaxing and moving to let Patch through the door. He shook his head.

"I know you're busy, sweetness; I don't want to take up any of your time. I just want to give you this." He pulled a slightly wilted flower from his pocket - damaged in transit - and presented it to her with a flourish.

"Fuck - sorry - I didn't think it'd get squished..." Patch looked sheepishly at Nora, who was blushing a deep colour.

She took the flower from his hand. "It's beautiful," she said. "I love it."

Not as much as I love you. "It doesn't hold anything to your beauty, gorgeous."

If anything, Nora's face turned darker. "Thank you," she said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

...

It was bad. Very bad.

Patch was running. He didn't know where to go. There were people waiting in the forests, he was sure. He couldn't risk looking over his shoulder, but he could hear the sound of tens of pairs of feet slapping against the bumpy road.

He was a goner.

Someone came from his side, throwing him to the ground - he struggled - pushed him off - and then there was someone else - and someone else - he was restrained, face to the ground - couldn't breathe properly - tasted the dirt, coughed it out, couldn't breathe -

People were pressing down on his lower back, and he was sure that if he moved it would be broken. Someone slammed the butt of their weapon onto his face, and he was glad in that moment that his mask was one of leather - at least it took some of the blow. But then they hit harder and harder and it no longer mattered because he doubted the little bit of hurt the mask was relieving him of really mattered.

He couldn't even struggle. He was pressed so firmly into the ground that he couldn't even breathe - how would he be able to struggle?

"Leave him," someone said smoothly, and Patch's heart soared for a moment. "Let the people see what happens when you dance around in masks and steal from me. Let us show them."

Patch was hauled up by his upper arms and the men turned back towards the village.

...

He was frogmarched through the village, his mask covering his face, enough to entice the people to follow the entourage of guards - they didn't need the petty threats Hank Millar was spitting out to get them to follow him.

The passed the seamstress' house and Patch hoped and prayed she was inside, maybe sewing - her machine would be too loud to her the commotion. But she wasn't - she was hanging the washing outside, and as soon as she looked up...

There was an electric recognition in her face. She could tell who he was - just from looking at his body - is that how well they knew each other? Had she memorised him just as he had her? The beautiful seamstress...dropping her white sheets...the absolution of shock causing her mouth to hang open...

Now clutching the ends of her dress and running after the guards...Patch had to look away...

He was on his knees before the only landmark of the town - the pillory. They dragged him into the holes, his chin hitting it painfully.

"So," said Hank Millar, his voice carrying magnificently. "Our masked villain! Finally, I shall bring relief to this town!"

"Let him go!" someone shouted, the suggestion followed by assent from other villagers.

Hank laughed. "You don't even know who the buffoon is! Ah, let's find out!"

The mask was off.

Patch couldn't tear his eyes from Nora. She was shaking her head, tearful. Her hands were covering her lips - she was frozen - shock -

I'm so sorry, Angel. I'm so sorry.

"Who are you?" Hank shouted in his face. When Patch didn't respond - too focused on the love of his life - HAnk slapped him. "Who are you?"

"My name is Patch Cipriano," he said through a mouthful of blood. There was an emptiness in his voice that drowned all of the doubt. He couldn't take his eyes off his girl.

"And Patch," he said. "Do you know what the crime for stealing is?"

"Yes."

"You don't even know if he stole anything!"

"Yeah! You have no proof-"

Hank was quick to silence the two villagers, and everyone was left to stand in awe.

"We haven't had to use the stocks in a while, but today appears to be an appropriate occasion," Hank said, patting them lovingly. "The Man in the Mask - dead by my hand."

He withdrew his knife and pressed it under Patch's chin.

Blood splattered onto the ground.

"I'm pregnant!" A scream came from the crowd. "Patch, I'm pregnant!"

Patch's eyes met Nora's-

More blood met the ground-

His head fell to the floor, a charming crack of his nose breaking.

At least he couldn't feel it.

A/N: Okay this one was bloody adorable everyone should agree with me

At least you guys finally got a long one!

Yes/no for the story idea? You guys prefer these types or ones like 35?

xxx