The next morning, Machiavelli came down to find bloody handprints on the front windows. "William!" The Kid appeared next to him as if by magic. "Are these real?"

"No," Billy said, his eyes crinkling in merriment. "Looks like it though, doesn't it?"

"What is it?"

"Cornstarch." Billy touched it with his finger and licked the red off. "See?"

"Billy, that's disgusting."

"What? It's just cornstarch." He grinned.

Machiavelli shook his head. "But the window," he said, exasperated. "That's not exactly clean, is it?"

"Cleaner than it will ever be again. Come here, I want to show you something else," he said, completely unfazed. Grabbing his hand, he dragged him up the stairs. "I've won back your honor. Did you know that Black Hawk is afraid of clowns?"

"No."

"Well, he is. In here," Billy said, pulling him into his old bedroom. "I set this up with Fred… look in here." He motioned to the closet door.

Looking suspiciously at Billy, Machiavelli twisted the knob and pulled open the door. Even expecting it- something- he still leaped back, fighting the urge to slam the door shut again. "Billy," he gasped, clutching his chest. "That's, that's, what the hell is that, William?"

"It's a clown," Billy pointed out redundantly. "Looks like the one from It, doesn't it?"

"Isn't it the one from It?" Machiavelli asked, still feeling his heart thump in his chest.

"It is," Billy agreed, looking happy that for once Machiavelli had caught a cultural reference. Coming to stand behind the Italian, he rested his forehead on Machiavelli's shoulder. "Found it in a Halloween shop, when I was getting the spiders…"

"Spiders?" Machiavelli followed Billy out of the room. "Where are the spiders?"

But Billy only smiled enigmatically at him.

"Billy, there aren't real spiders, are there?"

"No, no, of course not," Billy said hastily. "That would be irresponsible."

That only made Machiavelli more suspicious. He spent a good hour searching their house over in great detail, finding not only a trail of fake spiders, but a plastic tarantula, several realistic looking rats, and a spider web down in the kitchen windows. "When on Earth?" he groaned out loud, finding "bloody eyeballs" floating in the orange juice. He fished them out carefully, heading out into the back where he saw Scatty sitting.

"Did you help Billy destroy our house?"

She grinned, her eyes crinkling in merriment. "Great, isn't it?"

He sipped his juice. "You and I have differing definitions of the word great," he said, trying to sound annoyed, but really sounding faintly amused.

She leaned forward. "Fred's helping Billy prank Black Hawk," she told him. "Revenge for the start of the week."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, they're-"

"Here, you are. I've been looking for you," Billy called, making Machiavelli jump. Coming up the back stairs, he strode out into the backyard, with Fred by his side. "It's a nice day for once." He eased into the seat next to Machiavelli. "How do you feel anyways? I meant to ask you this morning, but then I was thinking about that clown…"

Machiavelli flushed a little, but spoke steadily. "My headache's almost gone. I'm beginning to think that I didn't get your cold, it was just my hangover yesterday."

"Good. Wish that was the same for me. I feel awful." Billy drummed his hands restlessly on the armrests. He looked over at the Italian immortal anxiously, perhaps picking up on some emotion emitted by the older immortal, before focusing his attention on Fred. "Fred, you're awfully quiet."

"Mm, I was just admiring your back yard. I've gotten a bit quieter in my old age," the other immortal joked.

Billy leaned forward. "Remember back in the old days? We were so reckless back then."

"I remember how popular you were with the ladies back then. You've settled down too, old man," Fred said acutely. He looked over at the other two immortals. "Billy would go visiting his queridas and our friend Tom would stand outside all night, holding his horse for him. Tom would do anything for you."

"I wouldn't say that…"

"Tom thought our Kid had hung the stars," Fred recollected, smiling slightly at the memory of it. "He was a couple years younger than Billy, thought of him like a big brother, isn't that right?"

"He was my best friend. I still miss him." Billy shifted in his seat. "It wasn't that many women, you know," he said, countering what Fred had been saying before; a fist in front of his mouth obstructed what he was saying slightly.

"Sure," Fred agreed warmly. "You had a couple you were very faithful to, is all. You kept going back to Paulita Maxwell." Machiavelli's stomach turned over, but none of the others noticed except perhaps Scatty who looked like she would like to cut off the conversation where it was. Fred was introspective, remembering something. "I miss Tom too."

Billy hit the arm of his chair with the palm of his hand, making a dull thwacking noise. He looked over at Machiavelli and Scatty. "My friend, Tom O'Folliard, he was shot by Pat Garrett. The one who tried to kill me too? He bled out… I held him when he died. He was twenty-two."

"Billy, that's awful," Machiavelli said, reaching for the Kid's hand. Unlike last night, he didn't dare hang on for too long. Giving it a squeeze, he let go again.

"I want to do something," Billy said, jumping up. "It's almost Halloween," he said pleadingly. "We should finish decorating the house. That's always fun. And we need to get candy for the trick or treaters before everywhere is sold out."

"Black Hawk and I have plans today, actually, but we'll be back by tonight," Fred said, getting heavily to his feet. He patted Billy on the back.

"What- what are you doing?" Billy asked him, sounding shy.

"Black Hawk knows some Indians in the area. He was going to set up a meeting with me. I'm looking for a new place to settle for a while."

"You're going away again? Already?" The Kid looked crestfallen.

"I'll be here another week or so, but then yes, I should be moving on," Fred said gently, resting his hand on the outlaw's shoulder. "It's not goodbye forever. I've missed you these past years." Again, patting him on the back, Fred entered the house, presumably to get ready for his excursion with Black Hawk.

In an effort to take his mind off of Fred's upcoming departure, Machiavelli and Scatty convinced Billy to bring them to the weekly farmer's market. He brightened slightly, glad to be able to drive his car again, his arm almost functional again. Though he was still coughing at a regular interval, they didn't have the heart to keep him cooped up inside the apartment today, not when he seemed so sad.

While Scatty and Niccolo diligently gathered the fruits and vegetables necessary to feed their household of five, it became rapidly apparent that Billy's attention was elsewhere. "What are you thinking of?" Machiavelli finally asked, carrying his bag of food over to where the outlaw was standing, looking over a vast display of pumpkins for sale.

"I was thinking it would be fun for us to carve jack-o-lanterns this year."

"Have you done that before?"

"Haven't you?"

"No."

"Really? You've really never carved a pumpkin before?" Billy asked interestedly. Getting up from where he'd been leaning on a fence, he moved towards the rows of orange, green, and white pumpkins.

"Why would I have?" Machiavelli asked trotting after him and Scatty.

"I thought this was something cultures had been doing for hundreds of years. You would have been around when it first started," Billy said excitedly. He picked up one of the orange fruit and inspected it. Finding some critical flaw, he put it down again. He coughed and they exchanged a worried glance. "I'm not that sick," he declared stubbornly. "I won't be sick around Halloween, it's one of my favorite holidays. I refuse to be sick on that day."

"I hope you get better," the Italian immortal offered sympathetically. "In Mexico, they would carve radishes. The Irish, they carved beets and radishes," he recalled. "But that's hardly Italy. I don't think most Italian children, even to this day, carve pumpkins. It's not particularly well known."

"But you'll carve a pumpkin with us this year, won't you?" Billy asked hopefully. "Cause even Black Hawk's going to carve one and he's not nearly as talented and handsome as you."

"You're laying it on awfully thick, Billy."

"Because I want you to have fun," he said earnestly. "And you are very handsome," he added quietly, so only the two of them could hear it.

Machiavelli nearly dropped the pumpkin he'd been holding. "I will carve a pumpkin with you," he agreed, wondering what he was getting himself into. "How many pumpkins are we going to get?" he asked dubiously, watching Billy wrestle an enormous pumpkin onto their cart.

"Well," Billy said, pushing up his hair, "one for each of the three of us and two more for Black Hawk and Fred, then maybe we should get one for Billie…"

Machiavelli could appreciate Billy's enthusiasm for the holiday, but at the same time, thought the outlaw might be getting a little out of hand. His thoughts ran off back to the skeleton that had popped out at him when he'd gone to get dressed… "Couldn't you and I work on the same pumpkin?"

"We could do that," the Kid agreed. "But I hope that you know, you're not getting out of cleaning the inside out. You're getting the whole experience."

"You know William, in Italy, the holiday of Halloween has never taken on much importance. Having spent hundreds of years celebrating Ognissanti and i Morti- that's All Saints Day and the day of the dead for you- it seems rather superfluous to take up a whole other day…"

"Scatty likes Halloween, don't you? That's why she's been helping me decorate."

Her face glowed. "I love it," she agreed. "A lot of the modern Halloween traditions originated from my part of the world, you know."

Somehow, they ended up in the car again with Billy's five pumpkins. He insisted on draping the back seat with a sheet which he apparently kept in the trunk for such purposes- this did put a slight damper on Machiavelli's crush- but eventually allowed Scatty to climb into the back, clutching the stems of two pumpkins on either side of her (Machiavelli knew that the minute Billy looked away, Scatty would relax). Three more pumpkins were wedged on the ground between the seats. As it was, Machiavelli had been instructed to keep a tight hold on the vegetables they'd bought, in case something horrific, to use Billy's word, should happen.

"You're lucky that I love you," Machiavelli said idly.

"I know," Billy agreed with a flash of his teeth.

~MB~

That evening, Billy convinced them to all sit down and carve pumpkins with him. He made Machiavelli change out of his suit, immediately taking the lead in this enterprise.

Machiavelli thought Black Hawk might protest Billy's leadership, but the huge immortal had been deferring a lot to the outlaw's judgement lately, perhaps afraid that the Kid would start shouting at him again. It was hard for Machiavelli to imagine Billy's legendary temper, after all, the American immortal was nearly always good natured; then again, perhaps that was what made it scarier when he got angry.

"That's better," Billy told him when he came down in different clothes. "You shouldn't get a lot on you, but you never know. I'm going to take off my watch and stuff though," he said idly, undoing the band and also taking the solitaire ring off his pinky. He dropped both on the sideboard, on one of the plates.

Following his lead, Machiavelli pulled off his watch, leaving it with the other man's.

Sitting in between Scatty and Machiavelli, Billy carefully cut the top open of their shared pumpkin. Concentrating, his tongue between his teeth, he cut at an angle- to prevent the top from falling into the pumpkin when they put it back on, he explained to Machiavelli. "Mac, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Niccolo agreed, watching Billy cut the ropey strings of pumpkin guts off the top and throw them into the bowl beside them. He wondered if that was the majority off the guts Billy'd been talking about. He hoped it was so.

"Why don't you wear your wedding ring anymore?"

Self-consciously, Machiavelli glanced down at his left hand. "I keep it in a safe place back in Italy. I was afraid it would get damaged, or lost, otherwise. And I'd have to explain it to the people I worked with."

Billy looked at him furtively. "That makes sense," he agreed. "You just seem like the kind of guy to keep on wearing it… Okay, do you want to scrape with the spoon or just pull out some of it with your hands?"

"Is there a lot more," Machiavelli asked naively.

"Oh, Mac. Just put your hand in. Here." he turned the opening to Machiavelli, who hesitantly put his hand through. Billy giggled helplessly at the look of horror which quickly overtook Machiavelli's features. A clicking noise told Niccolo that this moment had been immortalized on film, the rest of the group cracking up at the indignant look which overtook the other expression just as quickly.

"Oh, no. No, Billy, what is this?" Machiavelli pleaded, making to take his hand out. Billy wrapped his fingers around the Italian's bicep gently, looking at him with his wide, blue eyes. "I have to pull this stuff out?" he asked despairingly.

"Just some," Billy compromised, smiling so that his front teeth stuck out. He positively beamed at the other man, amusement sparkling behind his eyes.

"You've really never done this before?" Black Hawk asked him, leaning forward on the table, his own pumpkin forgotten.

Machiavelli shook his head and made another face as he committed to pulling out a glob of the squishy mess. He wondered vaguely how such a disgusting tradition had persisted throughout the years, frowning as he dropped a handful of the stuff into the bowl. "Why is it cold?"

Billy leaned on his shoulder. "Well, we've been storing them in the basement. I won't make you do this if you hate it, Mac," he said, taking pity on the man.

"I don't… hate it," the tactician mumbled, digging his fingers into the wall of the fruit. He knew that it would make the American immortal happy if he kept going. "This is one of the weirdest sensations I've experienced lately, is all."

"Okay, well I'm going to separate the seeds out from the guts then," Billy said cheerfully. He dug into the mess with both hands.

"What are we doing with the seeds?"

"You roast them," Billy explained idly. "Haven't you ever had…? Never mind, Mac, I'm sure there's a lot of stuff you have done that I haven't." His fingers worked nimbly over the pulp, extracting seeds which he tossed in another bowl, Fred doing the same. "You didn't want to carve a pumpkin, Fred?"

"I might do one after," the older man affirmed.

Listening to them, Machiavelli felt his stomach turn a little. He could feel the uneasiness in Billy's words; it must be very strange for your friend to grow older when you haven't.

Black Hawk looked at Billie, already scraping the sides of her pumpkin. She'd been sitting cross-legged on her seat; now, she was leaning forward, deeply into what she was doing. "You don't want to do one together?"

"Back off, bub," she said tartly. "I work alone."

"Want me to do some?" Billy asked Machiavelli quietly. He offered up a towel, cleaning Machiavelli's hands off.

Looking up, Niccolo caught Black Hawk watching them. He looked away quickly- Black Hawk was looking at them with confusion on his face. "Thanks," he said to the American immortal, gently taking the towel from him. "This stuff gets everywhere."

"I enjoy carving pumpkins," Billy chattered. Turning their pumpkin, he began slinging large handfuls of the goop into the bowl.

Machiavelli took a seat next to Scatty. "What are you carving?" he asked, watching her sketch on the pumpkin with a pen. He couldn't make out the overall design; the lines were too faint.

"It's Dracula," she said with a grin. He chuckled. Leaning forward, she looked at Billy. "Well, what are you going to do? A noose?"

Billy actually shuddered. "No," he said faintly, smiling a little, but Machiavelli could tell the Kid wasn't at all keen on the idea. "No, nothing complicated. I like the faces just fine. Besides, this is Mac's first time. We're breaking his pumpkin virginity. His pump-ginity," Billy made up on the spot, looking up at the ceiling for inspiration. He smiled to himself, singing under his breathe.

"At least I know you'll be gentle," Machiavelli quipped.

Billy grinned. "What makes you think that? There's knives involved," he said, holding up the little saw.

"You two need a room?" Black Hawk drawled.

Billy snorted. "I plan on breaking his pump-ginity," everyone groaned, "right here on this table," he continued, undaunted. "Don't want to see, find somewhere else to be, that's what I always say."

"I'm not sure I want to stand next to you anymore," Fred joked to Billy.

Billy lit up; it had been the first time that Fred really revealed a joking nature and it had been apparently the sign that the Kid had been waiting for. "Don't want to get any juices on you?"

"William!"

"Pumpkin juice, Mac, get your mind out of the gutter," Billy said gleefully, tapping the melon.

"Machiavelli's scarlet, you're embarrassing him," Black Hawk pointed out, jabbing a finger in the Italian's direction. Niccolo didn't think he was actually defending him, but he was grateful nonetheless.

"Sorry, Mac," he apologized, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. He coughed, his laughing causing his lungs to shudder.

"Billy, sit down," the Italian immortal ordered, pulling him into the chair next to him.

"Ohh, my ribs," Billy groaned. He continued to smile. "Okay, Mac, we can draw on our design now." He gave Machiavelli the pen. The Italian handed it back to him. "You want me to draw it on? Okay."

"Are we making it scary or goofy?"

"Scary," Machiavelli decided. He watched Billy draw a mouth with a lot of jagged teeth. "I forgot you were good at drawing," he said, remembering suddenly that they'd sat in the cabin for hours sometimes, sketching.

"I'm nothing special."

"I think you are," Machiavelli affirmed stubbornly.

Machiavelli had a much better time with the actual carving part than he had with the cleaning out the pumpkin. He liked the meticulous nature of the task; it made him focus entirely on the present moment. After sketching it out, Billy seemed happy to watch him do the work. Somehow, they were the last ones to finish; even Fred had managed to prepare and finish a pumpkin (with Black Hawk's aid) before they were done. The Kid didn't seem to mind at all.

"Wait, we should light them all." He dashed into the other room and grabbed a bag of tea lights. The other immortals scattered, letting him do what he wanted. 'So much enthusiasm,' Scatty mouthed at Machiavelli. She turned off the light when Billy told her to. "Well," Billy said in the darkness, candlelight throwing flickering flames around the room, "I think mine's the best. Sorry guys."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Black Hawk said loudly. A scuffle ensued.

Machiavelli smiled, ignoring the fight going on around him. He'd forgotten how much he missed having a family. Grabbing Billy as he went sailing by him, he got him back on his feet again. "We should do this, every year," he told Billy.

"We should!"