So this was a challenge for the "Brother from Another Mother" over at M7Land on LJ, and much to my delight, I won first place in the challenge!
I will say this was a helluva pain to keep in the 1k word limit, but I guess it just means it may be a series of oneshots later on.
Hope yall enjoy!
Obligatory Disclaimer of Depressingness: No I do NOT own Mag 7, Tombstone, Chris Larabee, or Johnny Ringo. Just several movies and a helluva crush on Michael Biehn.
Chris sat forward in his chair and scrubbed one hand across his face, the other gingerly holding a letter. He tried to collect his thoughts, but his mind had gone blank at the sight of the name scrawled across the bottom of the page. He still hadn't moved when Buck found him, the taller man strolling round to stand in front of Chris. It was when Buck saw the page in his hand that he suddenly stiffened.
"Shit, stud. Don't tell me it's from that bi-"
Chris held the letter up mutely, the sudden movement halting Buck's tirade on the subject of Ella Gaines before it really started. Buck snatched it and skimmed through fast as he could, his forehead furrowed in confusion. Chris watched as the confusion was suddenly replaced with a cold stare when he read the sender's name.
"Johnny? That little shit is crawlin' back after all this time." Buck read the letter again, his frown getting deeper the longer he read. Finally he looked up again to meet Chris's eyes. "Chris, you ain't thinkin' of goin' are you?"
Chris nodded, and Buck began to pace back and forth beside him.
"Damn it, Chris. Do you even know what Johnny's gettin' you into? Ain't you heard of the shit storm he and his little friends got started out there? You could end up on the wrong end of things if you ain't careful, and I don't want to see you die for that bas-" Buck snapped his mouth shut on the last word as Chris's head shot up to glare a clear reminder that 'bastard' was one of Chris's least favorite words. Right up there with 'Cowboy.'
This time it was Buck's turn to scrub a hand across his face, and the big man sighed, considering.
"You're goin.' Ain't you?"
"Yup."
"Damn it, Chris, why? It's not like he ever thought of you as family."
Chris shook his head; he knew that just as well as Buck did.
"He asked for my help. Our entire lives, he's never asked me for anything. And he's askin' now."
Buck sighed again, this time in resignation. He scanned the letter again, eyes lingering at the top this time.
"You saw the date." Chris nodded in reply, and Buck went on. "He sent it months ago, Chris. With all the bullets flyin' since - you know he might be… beyond your help."
"Still have to try," Chris said quietly.
"Yeah. Course you do." Buck cussed under his breath and whipped his hat off to slap it against his leg. "So when do we leave?"
Chris's head shot up again, this time in shock and gratitude instead of anger. "You sure?"
"Hell, stud. I ain't gonna let you go alone." Chris smiled softly, and Buck suddenly laughed. "Tombstone. Sounds like a real friendly place."
…
Tombstone wasn't friendly, Chris thought when he and Buck finally rode into the town after days in the saddle. It was the typical gold rush town: several saloons, gamblin' houses, and plenty of hard eyed residents. He figured most of those wouldn't willingly turn over a man as dangerous as Johnny Ringo. They'd probably have to shell out some coin before anyone'd start talkin'.
Chris dismounted wearily, and pulled a long red sash from his saddlebags. He frowned at the reminder of some of his darker days and then wrapped it back up and tucked it away again.
"I thought I took care of the last of you Cowboys." The threat in the voice behind them had Buck spinning and nearly drawing his pistol before Chris stopped him with a look. Chris turned slowly to face the man behind them, comparing him to the news article Mary'd shown him. Chris recognized the look on the other man's face – vengeance was still burning strong. Wyatt Earp in the flesh.
"I ain't a Cowboy. Not for years."
"Then what're you doin' here with that damn sash?" Earp's hand hovered over his pistol, clearly itching to gun Chris down where he stood. Chris fought back the urge to draw his own. A shoot out wouldn't answer his questions.
"My brother sent a letter. I'm just lookin' for him."
"Who?" Earp demanded, and Chris saw Buck scowl at the order. Chris shook his head at him, and then pushed his hat back to reveal his face. Earp's eyes widened in recognition, and Chris answered.
"Goes by Johnny Ringo."
Earp hesitated a moment, his hand twitching toward his piece again, then he spoke.
"Ringo's dead. Few weeks back now." For a moment Chris held his breath, resignation, grief, and regret creeping over him. Then he looked away from Earp and out toward the edge of town and the small cemetery.
"He buried there?" he asked, turning back to Earp. For the first time, Earp looked uncomfortable and almost guilty.
"No."
Chris eyed him. "He even get a burial?"
Earp didn't answer, just stared back grimly. Buck stepped forward with a scowl, anger clear on his face. Chris waved him back and shook his head, his lips caught between a frown and a faint grin. Hell, Buck couldn't stand Johnny when he was alive; now he seemed half set to avenge him. Damn fool. Chris glanced back at Earp and tilted his head.
"Not much reason to stick around here then," he said, and turned deliberately away. He heard Buck's sudden exhale and tuned out the blustering as he checked his saddle bags and mounted up again on Hector. "You comin' Buck?"
He raised an eyebrow at his friend, and ignored the glare he received in response. He looked back at the silent lawman to see grudging respect on the other man's face. Chris debated on saying something, but decided there really wasn't anything else that needed to be said. Instead, he nodded once, then checked to make sure Buck was ready. "Let's get home."
They rode off, leaving Tombstone and the ghost of his brother in the dust behind them.