a/N: Man, it's been a while since I've written anything for Blazin' Trails, huh? If someone had told me two years ago that this story would remain dormant for a year I would have called you crazy.

But yeah, this update being so late is due to my interest in Hanna-Barbera going dormant for a while (shocking to everyone, I know), then coming back in spurts and then dying again. However, I ended up rewatching some Ricochet Rabbit recently and that got my brain firing again

I wanted to get at least a few BT chapters out before I decide to do a "soft reboot" of the series (namely reorganizing the story so it can flow better). Not sure what I'll title this one, though. "Blazin' Trails Remastered" doesn't have a bad ring, but I want to come up with something more creative.

Anyhoo, this is a long overdue birthday gift for my buddy Vulaan Kulaas, who I'm indebted to for not only leaving reviews on the story, but also coming up with a lot of the series' details, including a timeline when I couldn't come up with a coherent one. Thanks, buddy! I hope you enjoy your very late birthday gift!

This one's another AU in the same vein as "The Only One I Can Trust", only this one's gorier. So uh...for those who like that kinda stuff, this is right up your alley.

Trigger warnings: copious amounts of blood, gun violence and emotional trauma. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: I think this chapter proves exactly why I don't own Ricochet Rabbit and Droop-a-Long.


Story 29: You're Not Done Yet

Jeb Forrest awoke to silence in the office. With a grunt, he pushed himself off the bunk and made his way into the office, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Normally, the smell of Ricochet's coffee would permeate the whole office-the rabbit never did get the hang of making coffee-but the air was tar-free. He pushed open the door leading into the main office, and saw a blueberry muffin sitting on his side of the table.

Ricochet's side of the table had a half-empty glass of orange juice sitting there, as well as a few crumbs.

"Well, at least he ate somethin' this time," Jeb muttered, picking up the glass and tossing its remains outside. Upon discovering the dairyman's delivery on the steps, he picked it up with a small sigh. "I wonder iffin' he even saw this sittin' here."

He probably did...but it probably set off a bad memory for 'im, Jeb thought to himself with a frown. He shook his head as he carried the eggs and milk to the kitchen. Once he got something in his stomach, he'd set out to find Ricochet. After double checking the eggs for any cracks, he took three and set to making some scrambled eggs for himself, followed by a small cup of coffee.

As he sat down to eat his breakfast, he couldn't help but notice the emptiness of the office. Ricochet was hardly around anymore, always out of town or catching another A-list criminal. Most of the townspeople came in to report criminal activity either in town or outside it, and very few people came around to simply chat.

And Droop-a-Long...

Jeb's eyes trailed over to a small plaque on the wall by Ricochet's desk, where Droop-a-Long's deputy star, already discolored due to rust, hung over the chair. He never gave it to Jeb, instead handing him a brand new silver one. And Jeb never complained, for he understood his reasons for doing so.

Reckon I know where he is, Jeb thought with a sigh, his eyes teary as he looked at the plaque.


Shadybrook Town Cemetery

The peace and quiet here beat the commotion in Hoop 'n Holler, Ricochet had to admit. One time back, he wouldn't have minded a lively scene. In fact, it was good to see people out and about and living their lives. But nowadays, even just being around people was a challenge. He couldn't bear the sudden silence, the hushed whispers that followed him whenever he passed.

One time back, he would've chastised himself for feeling this way. He'd learned a long time ago to tune out people's opinions, and had done so during his tenure as sheriff in both Gopher Gulch and Hoop 'n Holler.

Well...three years ago, he didn't. But now, the negativity was a constant stream. He'd try his best to block it out, but every attempt failed miserably. He'd start off his days alright, and it'd take just a word for him to unravel.

Nobody could really help him. Nobody really cared to listen. They all had their own problems going on. And he'd always had little tolerance for false friends and gossipers. So he kept everything to himself, though many could pick up on his mood just by looking at him. As much as he tried to deny it, he really did wear his heart on his sleeve.

And the one person that he wanted help from was gone now.

He let out a shaky sigh, tears filling his eyes as he looked at the tombstone in front of him. It was nothing remarkable, just a small, stubby little marker. A fresh bouquet of flowers rested at the bottom, probably brought by one of the women in town.

The writing was almost weathered away, but Ricochet could never forget it.

Here lies Droop-a-Long Coyote

Brother, Son, Friend

Born 1833

Died 1865

Three years, Ricochet thought bitterly. It had been three years since Droop-a-Long had been killed in the line of duty. He'd long since come to terms with it, but it still hurt to be in the office, to look into the kitchen, to head to the local saloon or the restaurant, and not see the coyote there. There were no more huge dinners after long cases. No more long nights of drinking coffee and just shooting the breeze. No more trick shooting contests that always ended up horribly wrong somehow.

What made it worse was the fact that Ricochet no longer had a sounding board when he needed a second opinion. No voice of reason to bring him back from the brink. No shoulder to lean on when things got hard. Jeb was a good deputy, but he never was and never could be Droop-a-Long.

The day Droop-a-Long died, the coyote had told Ricochet that he was going to move on, to become a sheriff in another town in California. He'd confessed that he was planning to propose to Denise, but also so he could become a sheriff himself. Word of his most successful catch reached the sheriff in Two-Bit, California, and he asked him to consider the position. It didn't take Droop-a-Long long to say yes. As much as he enjoyed working with Ricochet and Jeb, Droop-a-Long was ready to stretch his wings and fly.

Ricochet was somewhat saddened by this, but he understood Droop-a-Long's reasons. He told the coyote to not have too much fun with married life to where he forgot his old friends. He then left to get a lunch for Droop-a-Long and Denise, with the intention of setting them up on a picnic date. He'd even filled Denise in on the idea-leaving out the important details, of course-and told her to wait for him by the hotel.

Not even five minutes after leaving the office, there was a shootout at the local bank. Instead of getting Ricochet, which was his normal protocol, Droop-a-Long ran into action and confronted the outlaw directly. When Ricochet heard the news, he rushed to his deputy's aid, telling Denise to wait for them at the office. He'd gotten there right as Droop-a-Long had been thrown into the wall, and as he was checking on his deputy, the outlaw tried to take the opening to shoot him.

And that was when everything took a turn for the worse.


Three years ago...

"MR. RICOCHET, LOOK OUT!"

Droop-a-Long's warning drew Ricochet's attention, and not a moment too soon. The barrel of a gun stared him in the face, and the outlaw sneered down at Ricochet. Though he had his hand on his holster, he knew he couldn't draw fast enough to counter him.

And then, Droop-a-Long roughly seized him by the shoulder and shoved him backwards just as the outlaw fired. A gunshot exploded into Ricochet's ears, followed by Droop-a-Long's cry of pain. Warm, sticky blood rained down on Ricochet's face and vest as he slammed into the ground, pain exploding through his back.

Shaking the stars out of his vision, Ricochet pulled himself into a half sitting position. Droop-a-Long, with a hole in his chest and breathing raggedly, fought to sit upright. He had his body positioned so that any other shot the outlaw fired, he'd take the hit.

"Sorry, Deputy, but I don't leave a job half-finished," the outlaw sneered, pulling the trigger.

By the time Ricochet had drawn his gun, he was too late. Blood and brain matter burst from his forehead, spattering on their faces and clothes. The stench was horrific, the taste even more so. Droop-a-Long's crashed to the floor with a thud, the floor quickly coloring red.

Seeing as the sheriff was incapacitated with horror, the man took off running, shoving an old man into a nearby post. He leaped onto his horse and took off, hurriedly adjusting the gold bag as he took off. A few of the men, including Jeb, were shooting at him in an attempt to stop him, but to no avail.

Finally forcing himself to move, Ricochet crawled over to his deputy's body. The bullet had gone through his forehead and into the floor, leaving a gaping hole. Brain matter sifted through his fingers as he turned his deputy over, his heart seizing when he saw the coyote's lifeless, fixed eyes. Blood seeped into Ricochet's fur and the floor, painting it red.

"D-Droopy…?" Ricochet started, shakily.

Burke, one of his temporary deputies, came running into the bank next. He took one look at Ricochet, with his bloodstained face and clothes, and stumbled out of the bank, choking on a gasp. A few seconds later, the townspeople started to come out of the shadow.

"Burke, what in the world's goin' on?" Jeb asked, and more protests started up. He then stopped when he saw Ricochet, and his face paled. "Oh my god..."

With a worried glance towards Ricochet, who was still motionless, Burke gained control of himself, and said, "Y-You don't wanna go in there."

"What happened? Where are they?"

Ricochet's ears twitched at that. In the chaos that ensued, he'd forgotten that he told Denise to wait for them…

"Sheriff Ricochet probably blew that feller's brains out," one man remarked.

Ricochet felt an unholy amount of bile come into his throat at that. Jeb looked like he was going to deck the guy on the spot.

After a moment's hesitation, Burke said quietly, "N-No…the outlaw did that to the deputy."

The reaction was instantaneous. Horrified gasps and angry shouts filled the air as the townspeople crowded around Burke and Jeb, who were struggling to hold them back. A few of them made their way through, and horrified gasps filled the air as they stared down at Ricochet, who was still holding Droop-a-Long's head in his arms. People were going white, sinking to their knees, and some excused themselves to vomit.

He knew he should say something, do something, but he found he couldn't speak. Horror he'd never felt before had seized his limbs, gluing him to the spot. Grief the likes of which he'd never felt before had closed his throat, stolen his voice.

Someone pushed through the crowd, and Ricochet finally found his voice as she stood in front of them, her eyes locked onto Droop-a-Long's body, her face melting with pure, unadulterated grief and horror. "D-Denise-"

His weak plea was drowned out by her scream, and the sound chilled everyone to their cores. She collapsed to her knees with a long wail, covering her face with her trembling hands. After a few seconds, she lunged towards Ricochet, her eyes wild with grief and anger. "DROOPY! NO!"

A few women came to her aid, holding her by her waist and shoulders in an effort to contain her. She screamed and thrashed about, and it took a few more to contain her in her hysteria. After a few moments, she sank into someone's arms, wailing her heart out.

Ricochet could do nothing but stare, slack jawed. Despite the arid desert air, he felt a chill wash over his bones. He never wanted to hear another scream like that in his life. He never wanted to see another scene like this in his life.

The townspeople, with their horror written all over their faces, remained still and silent, unable to help. Somehow, their silence was even worse than Denise's screaming.

It took an eternity for her to calm down. An older woman, with tears fighting through her voice, said quietly, "W-We'll take care of ya, sweetie. Just follow us."

It took some effort, but they managed to get her off the ground. The crowd parted so they could lead her outside, where she continued to cry. Though she was not nearly as loud as she had been before, the sound was heartwrenching.

Ricochet stared down at Droop-a-Long's body once more. The sight of his lifeless eyes was too much to bear, and with a shaking hand, he closed them. Tears started to burn at his eyes, and tremors started to make their way through his body. Sucking in air through his teeth, he wrapped his arms around Droop-a-Long's neck to control himself. He'd just watched Droop-a-Long get murdered, and he'd had to watch Denise have a horrible breakdown over it, but he would not have a breakdown in front of the citizens. He would not.

He tightened his grip, feeling his resolve crack bit by bit. Any tighter, and he would probably crush Droop-a-Long's windpipe, but there was no need to worry or to be careful. Droop-a-Long couldn't tell him that he needed to breathe…heck, he'd stopped breathing long ago...

His voice was little more than a harsh, angry whisper. "Droop-a-Long, you knucklehead…y-you should'nt've-!"

"S-Sheriff Ricochet." That was Burke. He sounded drained, as though he'd watched Droop-a-Long die, and not Ricochet. "W-We need to get him to the undertaker. Any longer and…"

"There's no lyin' about that, unfortunately," Sam said morosely.

Ricochet knew what they were saying. Any longer and his body would start to smell.

"I…I'll get Jeb and a few other men to take him," Ricochet said quietly.

"What do we do with that man?" a woman asked, pointing at the outlaw, who was still knocked out.

"We need to recover the money he stole," Stonewall replied. "He stole $8,000-"

"The man jus' killed the deputy, Stonewall! An' you're worried 'bout $8,000?!" Burke shouted at him, spinning on his heel. His face was filled with such anger that the banker stepped back. "He ain't just an outlaw no more, he's a lawman killer!"

"We need to hang 'im! He can't get away with this!" another person shouted.

That was for sure. Ricochet stared down at Droop-a-Long's body, rage burning through his own like fire. The man who took Droop-a-Long's life needed to pay for it with his own.

"I'll take care of him," Ricochet replied sternly. Setting Droop-a-Long down, he said, "Burke, you and a few other men take Droop-a-Long to the undertaker. I'll deal with that man."

He marched out of the bank, meeting with the small crowd that was standing outside. "Any one of you know where he went?"

Nobody answered him, and a few stepped away. An angry Ricochet was not new around town, but the sight of him in bloodstained clothes, with concentrated, deadly fury in his eyes wasn't like anything they'd ever seen before.

The only one brave enough to talk to him was Sam. "Reckon he went through the exit, Sheriff," he said, pointing to the exit. "A-And from what I heard, he shot someone else, too."

"Thanks," Ricochet replied. "I'll handle it from here."

And then, he took off, faster than anyone had ever seen him before. A few people were dragged through the dirt, falling on their faces.

But Ricochet didn't stop to check on them. He continued to run through the desert, the hot sand burning his heels. The wind ripped at his burning eyes, but he continued to push himself, his own tracks covering the ones the outlaw made in a flash.

It didn't take him long to catch up to the outlaw, who was racing ahead of him, dust trailing behind his horse, laughing all the while.

His normal protocol was to issue a warning before threatening to fire. But this man didn't deserve such a thing. Without a word, he pulled out his gun and fired, aiming at his shoulder.

The strangled cry the man made was satisfying. He tumbled out of the saddle, rolling along the ground and hitting a rock. His horse continued to run off, and the bag of money he'd stolen rolled off. The tie broke and gold coins spilled onto the ground.

But Ricochet didn't go for the money. He went straight for the injured outlaw, who was struggling to get up, a hand over his bleeding shoulder. Ricochet's protocol was to at least give the outlaw a chance to stand, but this man deserved no such thing. He kicked him back down, and the outlaw cried out in pain once more, snarling out an obscenity.

"W-What the-" The man started, only for his words to get cut off when Ricochet pulled out his gun, and push the barrel under his chin. The outlaw looked at the barrel, then at the sheriff, and found himself at a loss for words. In the shadow of the midday sun, Ricochet looked like an avenging angel, with blood staining his fur and the browns of his eyes darkened to near black.

Pushing the barrel further, Ricochet ground out, "You'd better say your prayers, an' I mean fast." The hammer clicked. "You're gonna need 'em where you're goin'."

He felt some satisfaction when the outlaw went as white as a sheet. "Y-You can't be-"

"You murdered my deputy in front of me and ran, and you thought you'd get away with it?" Ricochet snarled. "No. You're gonna pay. For the love of everythin' holy, you're gonna pay for what you did to Droop-a-Long!"

"S-Sheriff Ricochet, I-I-"

"You've got ten seconds," Ricochet interrupted. "I'll count them down by fives. So you'd better start talkin'."

"Sheriff!"

Ricochet didn't even look over when Jeb ran up to him. His gaze was locked on the outlaw, who was trembling in fear. He'd give this man something to fear alright.

"Ten."

"Sheriff, don't do this," Jeb pleaded. His voice was choked with a sob. "Please don't do this…Droop-a-Long-"

"Five," Ricochet continued, his emotions fighting through his voice.

The outlaw, with his gaze still locked on the furious sheriff, said two words: "I-I…I'm sorry."

That was the breaking point. "Zero."

Jeb rushed over then, screaming, "SHERIFF, NO!"

The gunshot that rang out was the worst sound Jeb had ever heard. For the third time that day, blood splattered on Ricochet, and burned his eyes. The outlaw crumpled to the floor, eyes fixed on the sky.

Ricochet released a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding, his arms trembling. He stared down at the outlaw, his rage starting to fade, as the full effect of what he'd done started to sink in.

He was then pulled away from the dead outlaw and turned around only to meet a fist to his face. He felt to the ground with a grunt of pain, and the air was overrun with screams and murmuring. Dazed, Ricochet pulled himself to a sitting position. Jeb was standing in front of him, held back by Burke and several men. His junior deputy, spattered in the outlaw's blood, stared down at him with enraged, teary eyes.

"I…I can't believe you right now, Sheriff Ricochet," Jeb breathed.

His fury reignited, Ricochet got up and seized Jeb's vest. "You can't believe me?! That…that man murdered Droop-a-Long!"

Jeb, unflinching, retorted with, "That still doesn't give ya the right to kill him like that! Droop-a-Long wouldn't want you to kill him, and certainly not like that!"

"What Droop-a-Long would want is for me ta get justice for his murder!" Ricochet said. "And if you thought mentionin' Droop-a-Long was goin' to stop me, you're in for a rude awakenin'!"

"You have a code of honor, Ricochet! You don't ever kill the criminals you catch like they're animals!" Jeb snapped.

"He was an animal!" Ricochet roared, the anger in his voice driving Jeb back. "He told Droop-a-Long he don't leave jobs half-finished, right before he shot 'im! He ran away without a second thought and now he's sorry?! He deserved ta be executed jus' like he executed Droop-a-Long, Jeb!"

Jeb couldn't even bring himself to scream anything else. He simply stared at Ricochet, who stared down at the body with a trembling arm.

"Ricochet…how could you…?" Jeb replied. "Y-You're not like the other sheriffs out there, you have standards, y-you wouldn't ever just kill a man!"

"Y-You don't understand, Jeb," Ricochet said. "Had it been anybody else, they would've killed him, too."

And without another word, he left.


A starless night fell on Hoop 'n Holler—rather fitting, Ricochet figured. It was a dark day for everyone involved. A senseless murder had been committed…and he'd killed the murderer in retaliation.

The townspeople were mostly on Jeb's side, as they'd never thought their beloved sheriff would resort to murder. Only a few men, such as Burke, took Ricochet's side, saying that a man who kills lawmen without a second thought needed to be dealt with. And despite what they said otherwise, Droop-a-Long had been loved by some of the townspeople. It'd kept the town from rioting, which would've happened had he brought the man in alive.

But Ricochet could find no real relief in it. He couldn't find relief in the fact that he'd once again taken a life out of revenge. He'd broken Jeb; the young farmer was so traumatized, he'd went straight home after taking the bodies to the undertaker. He'd only stopped by to give him Droop-a-Long's belongings before heading back to his father's farm.

He'd broken his word to protect Droop-a-Long, no matter what. Droop-a-Long was dead because Ricochet hadn't paid attention, forcing him to jump in the way and take the bullet. Even killing the man responsible didn't alleviate his guilt. Droop-a-Long was still dead, and there was nothing he could do to bring him back.

Worst of all, he'd broken his most sacred vow—that no matter what, he'd never take the life of a criminal who took away his loved ones. He'd come close to breaking it several times, but his friends brought him back from the brink.

This time, though, he'd ignored their warnings. He'd ignored his vow. And now, he was paying for it, dearly.

He sat alone in his office with the lights off, drawn into himself, Droop-a-Long's hat in his arms. He knew he needed to turn the lights on—as the darkness would murder his eyesight—but he couldn't bring himself to move. He couldn't bring himself to do anything. All he wanted to do was to drown in his sorrow and grief.

In a scene not unlike what happened two years ago, he buried himself in Droop-a-Long's hat, hot tears seeping into it as he cried. Droop-a-Long's scent, and his blood, filled his nostrils, and it only worsened his guilt. If he'd paid attention, Droop-a-Long would be alive. If he'd shot the outlaw, Droop-a-Long would be alive.

If he'd done a million other things, Droop-a-Long would be alive.

A hand settled on his shoulder. His body on high alert since Jeb's punch, his judo training kicked in and he seized the person's wrist and threw them onto the table, sending papers, his coffee mug and other stuff spilling over. A terrified female scream reached his ears, and he stopped.

"…Denise!" he cried, running over to turn on the lamp. After a few seconds, the room was aglow with amber light. He turned around to see Denise sit up, rubbing her head before holding her wrist.

"Oh no…D-Denise, I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean that, honest," he apologized, hurrying over to her. Seeing her like that made him feel more ashamed of himself. "I-I'm sorry…I thought you were an outlaw."

"It's alright," she said, although she still looked hurt by his reaction. "I came down to see how you were doing. I-I guess I should've turned the lights on, or said something."

"Don't take the blame for it. It's not your fault," he said. "It's partly mine fer not turnin' them on myself. Y-You're not too hurt, are you?"

"My wrist is sore, and my head hurts…but I think I should be fine," she replied. Upon seeing his look, she said, "Ricochet, I'm not fragile…"

"I know, but you know I'd never harm a lady, Denise," he said. "I-I'm sorry."

"You already apologized, Ricochet-"

"I-I mean, for not protectin' Droop-a-Long. I should've. I-I should've paid more attention, I-I should've acted faster i-instead of s-standin' thar like a fool when that man had his gun drawn!"

Denise climbed down from the table and hugged him. "Ricochet…"

"I-I'm sorry…I-I shouldn't be sayin' stuff like this. I-I shouldn't be m-makin' you feel worse," he continued. "B-But when I think of it, I-I just think of what I should've done…and I shouldn't have killed his murderer. I-I shouldn't have…"

"Ricochet, he killed him in front of you and ran away!"

"I know, but I-I swore I'd never kill the criminals I face, Denise. Y-You know why," he said. He looked up at her, fixing her with his most serious stare. "Y-You know exactly why."

Denise swallowed. It'd been a good few months since she'd learned of Ricochet's sister Rose, and how her life inspired him to be a good sheriff. "I do know…But you can't blame yourself for killing that man."

"How can you say that, Denise?"

"Because everyone else feels the same. They loved Droop-a-Long, and they didn't want his killer to get away with it. W-When I came back to the hotel after...you know, some men came out with rifles and rope. They wanted to hang him," Denise said.

"I-I was gonna let the courts decide what happens to that man," Ricochet said. "H-Honest I was…but when I remembered how he ran after Droop-a-Long was shot, I was so angry…I-I didn't listen to Jeb, I-I didn't stop to think. I-I just shot 'im dead. I-I was no better than he was…"

"Ricochet…"

"And even that doesn't change the fact that Droop-a-Long's dead. M-My best friend's dead, a-an' killin' the fella didn't bring 'im back," Ricochet replied. He shuddered as he recalled the outlaw's fearful expression before he'd pulled the trigger. "Y-You know what he told me, Denise? H-He said he was sorry...he said he was sorry for what he did. I-I should've stopped right there, but I...I-" That was all he managed to get out before he broke down and cried. For the first time in years, he clung to Denise as though she were a raft, refusing to let go as he sobbed.

Denise didn't stop him, or push him off. Her own eyes burning with tears, she wrapped her arms around Ricochet and joined him. The friendly, adorably shy coyote she'd fallen in love with was no longer there, killed in the line of duty. He'd warned her about the dangers of his career, and she'd said that she'd still love him despite the fact that, among other things, there was the constant danger of getting killed.

She now finally realized what he'd meant by that.

The two cried long into the night, their sobs wrenching the hearts of any who came close by to hear them.


Ricochet swiped at his eyes, the memories slowly fading. He hadn't heard from Denise in a while; once the funeral was over, she'd returned to California, but not before telling him that she didn't blame him for Droop-a-Long's death, or for killing the outlaw. Rumors floated about that she was married to some rich oil baron, and some of the townspeople's remarks almost made him resort to violence. Knowing her family, she'd probably been forced into marrying that man in order to make her move on from Droop-a-Long and to save face-the Falconeri family cared more about their reputation than the happiness of their children. He only prayed that the man she was married to treated her alright.

Droop-a-Long's family was understandably shattered by this news, and for a while, they refused to contact Ricochet. Drag-a-Long, Sr. almost made good on his word to come after Ricochet for Droop-a-Long's death, only barely stopped by his wife, Selena. Ricochet had returned Droop-a-Long's personal belongings to his family, but they allowed him to keep his star. The thought of pinning Droop-a-Long's star on another deputy felt monstrously wrong to him, hence why he had a plaque made. It was the one reminder he'd keep of his longest serving deputy.

Jeb had been unable to sleep for weeks after Droop-a-Long's death, if only because of Ricochet's actions. He'd even thought about leaving, but decided to stay on when he saw Ricochet start to deteriorate.

As for Ricochet, for a while after Droop-a-Long died, he'd stopped functioning. He slept a lot less due to gruesome visions of his deputy's death haunting his dreams, keeping him awake at night. He ate less as well, losing weight and his energy decreasing. He'd ended up in the doctor's office because he was running on caffeine to keep himself going, only to crash hard during what should've been a routine case. It was when Dr. Johnson and Jeb told him that he would die if he didn't take care of himself that made him slowly snap out of it. He started eating again in spurts, and slept better, even it was only several hours at a time.

His demeanor wasn't the same afterwards, either. Gone was the talkative, friendly Ricochet, always up for conversation. He spoke only when spoken to, and conversations only lasted about a minute. He still took himself seriously when it came to cases, but outside of work, he was morose, hardly speaking to anyone.

It was obvious that Droop-a-Long's death hit him hard. They were brothers in all but blood, and not even the standards their respective species had could break their iron bond. They truly were an unbreakable pair, despite their polar opposite personalities. Droop-a-Long was Ricochet's foil, sounding board, and confidant, understanding him better than he did himself sometimes.

People could try, but nobody could take his place.

"Figured I'd find ya here, Sheriff."

Ricochet turned to see Jeb walk up, his hands in his pockets. "Thought you was still asleep," he said.

"I was, 'til I realized the room didn't smell like tar," Jeb said, a small smile on his face. "An' don't worry. I've got Burke handlin' things while I'm here."

"I see." Ricochet turned to face the gravestone again. After a few moments, he said, "Y'know, I dreamt about Droop last night."

"Good or bad?" Jeb asked.

"Can't say," Ricochet said. "It started out like all my other dreams...me an' him were jus' talkin', an' then he stood up. Said it was time for 'im to go. I said, 'Well, I guess I'll see ya around then, Droop'. He nodded...an' then he looked me dead in the face. He looked troubled, an' I asked him what was up."

"What did he say?" Jeb replied, coming to stand next to him.

"He said, 'Ricky, iffin' our places were switched, you wouldn't want me to wallow in grief an' guilt. I don't want you to do the same. An' before you ask, I know you are'." Ricochet couldn't help but give a wry smile at that. "Yeah, ol' Droop could see through me like a mirror. He was always pretty good at stuff like that. He said, 'You've got a second chance to live, to be the sheriff that this town needs. Use it wisely, alright?'. A-An' then he...he walked out the door without another word. That's when I woke up."

Jeb didn't say anything after a long moment, thinking on the sheriff's words.

"Y'know, Sheriff...I've been tryin' to tell you that for the longest time now."

"What?"

"To not wallow in guilt forever," Jeb replied. "I understand exactly where you're comin' from. But you're lucky you got a second chance, Ricochet."

"I don't think I deserved that," Ricochet protested quietly.

"Apparently, the judge did. Hoop 'n Holler needs ya, Ricochet," he said.

"They coulda gotten a new sheriff. One without blood on 'is hands," Ricochet muttered. "An' especially one who can't hold up a promise-"

"Oh for Pete's sakes, Ricochet!" Jeb shouted. The sudden harshness in his voice made Ricochet cringe. "You've gotta stop actin' like this! You've gotten a second chance at bein' the sheriff this town needs! The sheriff this town deserves! An' all you're doin' is drivin' yourself into an early grave!"

Ricochet finally turned around to look at Jeb and was startled to see the conviction in the young man's green eyes. "I-I...I don't get it, Jeb. Why on God's green earth would I deserve a second chance?! I took the law into my own hands and shot 'im dead!"

"We know, Ricochet," Jeb said. "An' I know what you're sayin'. Anyone else would've hanged ya."

"Droop's pa almost did," Ricochet said, wincing as he recalled the memory. "It's a miracle I'm still standin' here."

"I agree," he said. "But that's why I think Droop-a-Long came to talk to ya. He knew that there's a reason you're still standin' an' not six feet under. He wanted to remind you that even if you think you can't do good no more, He knows you still can. He knows that you can still be used for good. An' He still plans on doin' just that."

Ricochet didn't have to ask who Jeb was referring to. He remained silent as Jeb continued with, "So don't mope about, or wallow in grief forever. Do what Droop said. Take your second chance an' use it wisely."

Ricochet nodded, allowing Jeb's words to sink in. In his grief, he'd blocked out conversations about God. The circumstances of Droop-a-Long's death aside, he couldn't bring himself to believe that he could continue his life. That he could get a second chance after the mistake he'd made.

But in a moment clarity, he remembered what he'd told Droop-a-Long time and time again, the same thing he'd told him when he'd first become his deputy.

"Droop, no one's perfect. We all make mistakes, but we've just gotta learn from 'em an' move on, not beat ourselves up over 'em."

For the first time in years, he felt at peace. It was almost as though Droop-a-Long were there, nodding in approval. Though he felt that he had a long way to go, he had a feeling that everything was going to be alright.

He let out a small sigh, and then looked up at Jeb. "Jeb...I needed to hear that, honestly," he answered. "I've spent so long grievin', I never even thought o' that." He gave him a small smile. "Thanks. Thanks for stickin' by me, 'specially when I was bein' a bullheaded idiot."

"You were bullheaded, but you weren't an idiot," Jeb admitted, brutally honest as ever. "But all jokin' aside, you're welcome. That's what friends are for, right?"

"Yup. An' I'm mighty lucky I've got a deputy an' a friend like you around," Ricochet said. "I think I'll be alright for right now."

"Well, since there haven't been any calls for a spell, how about we head back to Hoop 'n Holler?" Jeb asked.

"Sure. 'sides, I was gettin' kinda hungry," Ricochet replied. "I'd better let ol' Droopy rest for now."

"Sounds like a good idea," Jeb answered.

Ricochet nodded, and then turned to face Droop-a-Long's gravestone. Though he'd still miss his oldest friend, the thought of seeing him again on the other side gave him some comfort.

And he at least wanted to tell his best friend that he'd taken his advice to heart.

Wiping away the last of his tears, he quietly said, "So long, Droopy. An' thanks...for everything."

And as he and Jeb left the graveyard, he could've sworn that he heard Droop-a-Long reply with, "You're welcome, Mr. Ricochet."

The End


Wow, it's been a while I've written Ricochet and Droop-a-Long. But the more I got into writing them, the more it felt natural, like talking to old friends for the time in years (oddly fitting, since I haven't written much BT for two years).

But yeah, I really put Ricochet through the ringer in this one, didn't I? And I thought I put Droop-a-Long through a lot in "The Only One That I Can Trust". Poor Ricochet really felt that he didn't deserve another chance, not only due to killing Droop-a-Long's murderer (therefore breaking his most sacred vow), but also because he couldn't protect his oldest friend. By all rights, he believed that he should've been hanged, by either the townspeople or by Droop-a-Long's father (and those who read the BT wiki probably remember that Drag-a-Long Sr. declared that he'd hold Ricochet personally responsible if Droop-a-Long died in the line of duty), or that he should never be allowed to become sheriff again. But he was given a second chance, and he nearly squandered it. It took Jeb (and Droop-a-Long) to bring him back.

I didn't really have a theme when writing this, to be honest-in fact, I struggled with how I wanted the story to go numerous times before settling on this. The main theme came about from both listening to various Christian motivation teachings on YouTube, and reading VK's "Powerful Friendship, Iron Bond" and "Hollow Victory" for the hundredth time (I can't help it, I love those stories ). One speaker that I listened to was a pastor who had gone to federal prison in one point in her life-yet God used her to preach the gospel to thousands. And it reminded me of many characters in the Bible who made monumental mistakes (like adultery, murder, and such) and were still used by God. It reminds me of that classic phrase "If you're not dead, God's not done with you." Ricochet's story isn't over, as much as he thinks it is, and it took his two deputies to remind him of that.

Writing this also made me realize that I really, REALLY forgot about Jeb in the recent chapters. Dude is Ricochet's second deputy, and he's all but shoved to the side for a lot of other characters. I still enjoy writing about him, though. Perhaps when I do the "soft reboot" for this I'll include him in a lot more roles. Jeb isn't and will never be Droop-a-Long, but it's good to know that he's there to help Ricochet out.

One more chapter, and that will wrap up THIS version of BT. Then I'll start the "Remastered" version with cleaned-up versions of older chapters, but most importantly, the fact that everything will be in chronological order! I'm so excited! XD The next story I'll probably update will be chapter 2 of the Zula Patrol story, but I'm not sure yet.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, VK, and super sorry I got this to you so late!

God bless,

iheartgod175