This will be a multi-chaptered fic. I estimate about four to five chapters. It will be mainly Raylan- and Tim-centric.
Involves Raylan and Tim whump. Warnings in later chapters for mentions of PTSD.

Hope you'll like this first chapter. The second chapter will be up as soon as possible.
All favs, follows and reviews are highly appreciated ;-)

"Tim, where's Raylan?"

Art walked out of his office and onto the floor that housed the workspaces of his team. He stopped among the desks, and frowned at the empty seat that should house his deputy.
"Out," Tim answered without looking up from the case file he was reading.
"Tim…" Art sighed grumpily at this unsatisfactory answer.
Tim looked up and leaned back in his chair, locking his fingers behind his head.
"He got a call from the witness from that drugs bust a few weeks back," he started, "something about some questions regarding the court proceedings. Raylan feared the witness might be recanting, so he went over there straight away."
"That's not the normal procedure," Art frowned, "the witness has someone from the DA's office assigned in case of questions. So why contact us? When did Raylan leave?"
Tim checked his watch, frowning at the time. "Uhm... about three hours ago."
"That witness lives here in town, right?" Art was starting to get suspicious now.
"Yeah," Tim answered slowly.
"That's way too long, I'm not trusting this," Art continued.
"The witness refused to go into witness protection, claiming none of the perps know who he is." Tim was reaching the same conclusion.
"Exactly," Art said darkly.
"I'll go check it out." Tim quickly got to his feet, took his car keys from the desk drawer, and picked his jacket up from the back of his seat. He was halfway through getting his jacket on, when Art stopped him.
"Wear a vest, please," the older man said.
Tim nodded. "You're really not liking this, huh?"
"No," Art said gravely, "Raylan Givens is many things, but he is not one to skip work without very good reason, and I doubt he's spending three hours with a witness."
"True that." Tim put the jacket back on his seat, and would pick up a bulletproof vest on his way out. He was halfway out the door, when he was stopped again.
"Tim, be careful," Art called after him, "and keep me on speed dial."

Three hours earlier

Raylan had gotten the call around lunchtime. He stared a few seconds at the unknown number on the screen before picking up.
"Raylan Givens," he answered the call.
"Deputy Givens, this is Jimmy Tate," it sounded from the other side of the line.
For just a moment Raylan wondered who he was speaking to. Quickly, though, the name rang a bell, and he recognized the voice.
Jimmy Tate was a material witness in a drugs bust from a few weeks back. Without this man it would've been hard to make any arrests, or even make the bust at all.
Even though his statements were highly incriminating, Jimmy Tate had refused any kind of witness protection thus far, claiming he was not known to the people in the drug cartel. Raylan had always highly doubted that, and had urged Tate to accept the protection detail. But since a witness is not obliged to accept it, and Tate had officially refused several times, Raylan's hands had been tied.

"Mr. Tate, good afternoon," Raylan now greeted the caller, "have you changed your mind about that witness protection?"
"No," Tate answered, "but I do have some questions about the upcoming trial. Is there any possibility we can meet?"
"I can," Raylan answered, silently wondering if Tate was having second thoughts and would be recanting his statement, "but you have someone assigned to you from the DA's office for questions regarding the trial. Have you called them already?"
"No," Tate answered, "the woman they assigned to me, I don't know, we just don't have a connection. I would really like to talk to you. Can you meet me at my house in thirty minutes?"
"Sure," Raylan answered, deciding he would do this if it saved the case, "why the rush, though?"
"No reason," Tate quickly replied, "it's just that I've got time now."
Raylan was a little suspicious about this request, but decided to give Tate the benefit of the doubt.
"Alright, I'll come over," he said, "what's the address again?"
Raylan wrote down the address as Tate repeated it. He promised to be there within thirty minutes, and disconnected the call.

"Going somewhere?"
Raylan turned around to see Tim emerge from the conference room.
"Yeah, I gotta go see Jimmy Tate," Raylan answered.
"That witness from the drugs bust?" Tim sounded surprised.
"He called," Raylan continued, "I'm worried he might be getting cold feet, so I'm going out to meet him."
"Is he recanting?" Tim, too, knew that would be bad.
"No, but he said he wanted more information on the trial." Raylan gave Tim a meaningful look.
"Hmm," Tim huffed, understanding the hidden meaning immediately, "you got to talk to him, make sure he sticks to his testimony."
"Exactly," Raylan agreed.

It was only a short drive from the station to Jimmy Tate's house. Raylan made it there in just under twenty minutes.
Jimmy Tate lived on the outskirts of Lexington. It wasn't actually secluded, but the next neighbours lived at least a few hundred yards away.
Raylan parked on the driveway, behind what he assumed was Tate's SUV.
He looked at the house for a few seconds from the cover of his car. It looked quiet and in order, but something didn't sit right with Raylan. An uneasy feeling had crept up on him. Seeing the house now, the feeling didn't hold much stake, but still he couldn't shake it.

Raylan sighed heavily and got out of his car. The gravel of the garden path crunched under his boots as he walked up to the front door.
He just had his feet on the porch, a few feet from the front door, when it opened with a crash. Instantly, Raylan knew this uneasy feeling of his had been 100% correct…

In the opening of the door stood a man, whom Raylan recognized as belonging to the drug cartel. They had actually arrested this man at some point during the investigation, but Raylan could not remember his name. All he knew was that they had to let this man go, due to lack of evidence of his involvement in the drug trade or the cartel.

The man was holding a rifle. The barrel was aimed, with deadly precision, at Raylan's chest.
"Deputy Givens," the man spoke, "Mr. Tate told me you were coming."
"I bet he did," Raylan sighed agitatedly, raising his hands slightly in surrender. He knew he had no other choice but to comply. There would be no time to go for his weapon. Even if this cartel scum was a lousy shot, missing from this distance would be a feat.
"Throw your weapons away, into the garden beds," the man instructed, "both of them, slowly."
Raylan carefully reached for his sidearm, unholstered it, and threw it into the bushes next to the porch steps. He repeated this with his back-up firearm.
"Now, come in," the man said. He stepped aside to clear the doorway for Raylan to enter the house, but made sure to keep the marshall at gunpoint the entire time.
Raylan moved slowly, making sure not to make any unexpected moves. He stepped over the threshold and passed the man holding the rifle. Something in the man's eye did not sit right with Raylan, and he immediately had a sure feeling he would leave this house in an ambulance. If he got to leave at all...

The front door closed behind him with a click.
"Stop right there!" The man ordered Raylan, stopping him in the middle of the hallway. Raylan made to turn around.
"No! Keep your back to me!" The man ordered him again.
"Where's Tate?" Raylan asked.
"Soon to be dead," the man answered. Raylan did not have any doubts that he was telling the truth.
"And I assume it was your idea for him to be calling me?" Raylan deduced.
"I thought I'd catch two flies at once," the man sneered, "you, too, know a little too much about our operations by now."

Raylan ventured a careful step forward, so he could just peek into the living room at the end of the hallway. Like he had been suspecting, Jimmy Tate was lying on the living room floor, blood pooling all around him. If he wasn't dead already, he would indeed soon be.
"Oh, shit," Raylan mumbled.
"I believe I told you not to move!" The man hissed.
Raylan was sure he was treading on thin ice, and that he needed to be extra careful.
He just now started to appreciate running into Tim before he left the station. Tim would surely notice him not returning within reasonable time, and hopefully would round up the cavalry to come looking.
"You didn't waste any time in killing him, huh?" Raylan commented with a hefty sigh. His eye only now fell on the opened drawers and upturned cupboards, as if someone had been searching for something.
"What are you looking for?" He asked in a further attempt to stall, trying to buy himself as much time as possible.
"Nothing in particular, just making sure there are no loose ends," the man answered with an evil grin.
"Found it?" Raylan asked airily.
"I have now."

The man's voice sounded closer by, and suddenly Raylan felt the barrel of the rifle against his lower back. His breath involuntarily caught in his throat. He had been vigilant, but still this man had managed to creep closer without him noticing.
"So, you came here looking for me?" Raylan continued his stalling tactics. Although, with the man having gotten this close to him, new possibilities had opened up, and the hint of a plan started brewing in his mind.
Raylan remembered Tate had once casually mentioned that he owned a handgun, which he kept on the nightstand in his bedroom. With his own two guns confiscated, and going for the man's rifle way too risky, Raylan knew he did not have much choice but to make a dash for Tate's gun.
This, too, would be a risky move, though. It could get him killed, or at least injured. The man moving closer had brought him within reach of Raylan's legs. One well-aimed kick backwards, might just give him enough of a headstart to make it.
Raylan, however, did have to make a calculated guess. He knew nothing of this house. From what he could see from standing here in the hallway, he guessed it were only a living room and kitchen on the ground floor. There was a flight of stairs to his left, which went up to the upper floor and, hopefully, the bedrooms.
"My colleagues are on their way over here," Raylan decided to give it one last try to end this situation peacefully.
"Well, they won't be in time to save you," the man growled.
Raylan felt the gun press a little harder into his back, and realized it was now or never.

Raylan acted fast. He kicked back with all the force he could muster. The heel of his boot connected hard with the man's knee. A sickening, crunching sound meant he must've broken a bone.
The man screamed out in pain and stumbled to the floor. Raylan had hoped the man would drop the rifle, but his grip around the weapon remained too strong to try and take it from him.

This was Raylan's chance.
He dashed for the stairs and hurried upstairs three steps at a time. He heard the man scrambling around behind him, trying to get to his feet.
Raylan managed to get to the first floor landing, and disappear out of sight from the hallway before the man had fully succeeded.
He did not know which of the rooms was the master bedroom. On a wild guess, Raylan ran into the room at the end of the upstairs landing. His guess seemed right: the room was a large bedroom with a kingsize bed. There was a nightstand on either side of it.
Raylan quickly dashed for the one on the left side of the bed, and started pulling open the drawers. No weapon to be seen…

From downstairs, Raylan heard the man cock his rifle and stumble around with grunts of pain. The loud stumbles came closer, and Raylan knew the man was slowly making his way up the stairs.
Raylan scrambled over the bed to the other nightstand, and started pulling open more drawers. The second one he pulled open hit the jackpot. It was only a small handgun, but a well-aimed shot would still do the trick. The gun felt light in his hands as he aimed it at the hallway and the stairs at the end of it.
Raylan knew the man would only need to get halfway up the stairs to get a clean shot at the marshal.

Raylan slowly emerged from the bedroom, creeping along in the direction of the stairs.
He was about halfway, when he spotted the man.
This was his chance. The man was off balance on the stairs with his broken leg, meaning he didn't have his weapon fully ready to fire.
Raylan aimed his gun and pulled the trigger without a second thought.

Click…

The weapon went through the motions of going off, but never did fire a bullet.
Raylan pulled the trigger again, but for the second time it was nothing more than an empty click.
"Shit!" Raylan knew he was fucked. He stumbled backwards, back to the master bedroom, but he never made it that far…

Raylan had taken only two strides, before the gunshot resonated through the house.
The bullet hit him with the force of a sledgehammer, and tore into the left side of his abdomen.
Raylan fell backwards onto the carpet, and his world went black…