Disclaimer: I don't own Tin Man, can we fight for it?

Author's Note: Writing this story is not unlike walking into the break room, interrupting a game of cards, and asking the next narrator to please follow me. I then return hours later to find the game still going and BLOODY WELL DEMAND THAT THE GUARD DROP HIS CARDS RIGHT NOW AND GET MUSING. And please, don't wake Cain's dad on your way by, I locked him in the complete other side of the brain for a reason. I haven't had the chance before, due to writing delays and more pressing topics, to express my dismay at how quickly people fell in love with the fellow. I was also rather amused at how half of you instantly defended Gulch's prior claim, while the other half insisted that Az had to get in there, like right now. Thus do I eye old Jebediah warily where he lounges in front of that fire in the back of my brain – where he has been since he first arrived. Fortunately, the writing delays and muse difficulties seem to have put him to sleep. I'd kind of like him to stay there as I am a little afraid of what he might think to do next. Will he wake? I don't know. All I can confirm is that he is definitely not Gulchverse (gremlin has given a resounding no as to whether he can fit into the continuity; and brain-brain weeps for joy because he, Dawkins and Gulchverse DG can never meet). So don't want to go there. Yikes!

PS This one should be really easy.

PPS Still not telling, not really.

...

Turi Phelan wasn't one to trouble himself overmuch about the vagaries of the Royal Court. The clans of the forested mountains of Gillikin had been guarding the rulers of the shining city since before the Great Gale herself had first slipped into the Old Kingdom of Oz. When the Sorceress had begun her rise to power the mountain folk hadn't joined the resistance, they'd just plain resisted. Through all the annuals of darkness, only the northern realm had never truly been conquered. The Longcoats might've boasted otherwise, but then, not many as were alive to talk had ever so much as set foot in the Great Gillikin Forest. Average life expectancy for those traitors to the Realm had been five minutes – two if Turi was nearby. Hell, by the end of the war, the Longcoat Generals hardly ever sent troops north excepting to cull the ranks.

Gillikin had sworn loyalty to rightful Queen of the O.Z.; they didn't hold truck with hastening the succession. Time was when almost the entire Royal Guard was made up of Gillikins, it'd been over ten generations since the Phelan clan hadn't had at least one member in the guard – Turi himself had lost most of his immediate family in the final defence of Finaqua – so when a member of the Royal Family needed guarding, he wasn't a one to say no – even if that particular royal happened to be a Sorceress not that long ago. Darkness, wouldn't have mattered if he'd thought the House of Gale was scarecrow enough to keep a possessed princess in their midst, Turi still would have answered the call. It was the honour of the Gillikin to protect the Royal Family – even from themselves.

Blue smoke, then, that Princess Azkadellia turned out not to be possessed, just bat shit crazy and all the more scary for it – would've broke Turi's heart to kill her, especially as he'd've had to go through Gulch to do it. The Gillikin liked Officer Gulch, respected the raw determination of the man, that stubborn insistence on doing the best job he could despite being in so far over his head Papay could swim by comparison. The policeman was a good man, damn shame it was going to get him killed.

Because there was no escaping it, putting an Othersider in charge of a Royal protection detail – the eldest princess' detail no less – was nothing short of murder. Didn't sit right by Turi, slipper didn't stand a chance and the Gillikin hated to see folk he liked killed. 'Course, he'd hate it a lot more if said folk hadn't spilled all the ale.

Turi eyed the unfortunately empty depths of his mug regretfully. Men from his neck of the woods didn't ponder the meanings of the universe, they didn't contemplate, meditate nor muse, and they damn well didn't brood, but they did ruminate with the best of them. You couldn't ruminate over an empty mug of ale. Not that he could've heard a thought over the noise the Royal Army was making.

And could someone please stop Lieutenant Cain describing the youngest princess already? Darkest hells, the guard knew back-woods mountain men who'd hardly seen a woman in annuals this kid could make blush.

The Royal Guard would do it himself, but he couldn't think of a way to shut him up that wouldn't start a fight. Seemed a job for the peaceable Othersider, excepting he was having a headcase moment. Now empty jug still suspended where Ol' Gulchy's hand had frozen above his overflowing mug, the guard commander was staring at the soldier with slack-jawed astonishment. There was this furious and increasingly aggressive twitch in the cop's left eye that'd stopped the Gillikin's instinctual protest to the waste of good Northern Ale. Turi couldn't blame him, the boy may be drunk but his words were going to get damn fatal damn fast. Tin Man would burn down the bar with everyone inside – shoot everyone who might've passed by, too, just in case – in order to erase even the memory of his son's, er, dubious compliments of the Crown Princess.

Fortunately a few of the soldier's Royal Army buddies seemed to know this because they shook themselves out of their shocked stupor and desperately tried to get him to switch trails. Witch's luck that they couldn't get him to switch far.

Son of a motherless Papay, the guard snarled silently as Jeb Cain's drunken tirade against the eldest princess of the Realm got going. Around the guards' tables conversations were dropped abruptly as first Princess Azkadellia's protection detail, then Princess DG's, and then every Royal Guard that ever spent any time near the eldest princess focused their undivided attention on the former Resistance Fighter. A tense pocket of silence grew in opposition to the malicious jeering of the resistance scum, fellow's chest must echo like a drum to even accuse her of…

CRACK!

…and that be the sound of the feather what felled the Papay tree – that or the jug handle snapping off in Ol' Gulchy's hand as he slammed it into the table…which suddenly wasn't there anymore. Turi was well aware that drink slowed a man's reflexes, but Officer Gulch had been a few kegs ahead of the Gillikin and he hadn't even seen him move. Jug, table and all of a sudden there's an Othersider halfway across the bar punching the Tin Man's son in the face.

"Yur gonna take tha' back," the cop was growling as Turi struggled to disentangle himself from his chair legs – seemed to have gotten himself knocked over by a solid flying object somewhere along the line, "All o' it."

"You gonna make me?" Jeb snarled, scrambling to his feet.

"Yes," Gulch stated promptly and damned if the peaceable Othersider didn't launch himself at the boy.

Which was all well and good – if the resistance fighter wanted to earn himself a thumping, he might as well get himself a thumping from the most unlikely of thumpers, even the war born brat himself seemed a might surprised by this turn of events – fair's fair…excepting for that witch bred lion-livered Longcoat fodder thinking he could get away with sucker punching their guard commander…

…and there hadn't been a Phelan born that'd not object to that.

Chairs scrape back across the bar, but Turi gets there first with a lesson in fighting etiquette the man won't soon forget – once he regains consciousness. Ayan hits the ranks of soldiers surrounding Ol' Gulchy a moment later, letting them have it with outraged expression of a librarian who'd caught someone disrespecting the books. Argus and the rest of the youngest princess' protection detail are right behind him with their professional opinion of striking a superior officer…

…and then the Royal Army responds in kind. The fight lights up like a scarecrow on fire.

The first few seconds are like a Papay feeding frenzy, with every man there surging forward into the growing brawl. Turi, as one of the instigators, is right in the middle of it, and having made his initial point, is looking for a new pupil. One soldier takes one look at the Gillikin and chooses to cross his fiercely grinning detail mate instead. More fool him; didn't he know where that kid was raised? No matter, the guard thinks, throwing an elbow into another comer…

…only to have the both of them sent flying as Ol' Gulchy emerges from the chaos, hunting Jeb Cain with little care for what obstacles, human or otherwise, that might get in his path. Not that the lieutenant is actually trying to escape, it's just that every solid blow the one manages to land sends the other stumbling far enough into the melee that it takes a determined effort to get back into striking distance. As the two main combatants disappear back into the fracas, the guard's opponent tries to take advantage of the disruption only to discover his war buddy had a reason to avoid tangling with the Gillikin.

The bearded Phelan might be short, but he's built like a bear and, according to a certain guard commander, has a distinct center of mass advantage. Turi doesn't know Otherside physics from sand in a desert, but he figures it means that the seasoned soldier isn't a problem for very long. Two down, another few Royal Army units to go…

Alright, who'd just hit him?

Pummeling his way through a few more Papay baiters, the guard fetches up against the bar, discovers a miraculously unspilled flagon of ale, and is only mildly regretful as he brings the whole thing crashing down on the head of another brawler. Knocked sideways in near instant retaliation, the Gillikin trips over the barkeep making a bid for the exit through the anarchy fighting men thrive in…

…perhaps none more so than amiable Gulch, who's just turned a tripped up lunge over a barstool into a diving tackle that sends Jeb and the Othersider crashing over the far side of bar.

And damned if Ol' Gulchy doesn't end up on top.

"Yu dun talk 'bout princeshesh like deys my ex-gurlfrien'," the guard commander snarls at the lieutenant furiously between blows – doubtless it makes sense to someone, "hell, I woul'na even let yu-hurk," the cop chokes as the two war buddies pinning the Gillikin switch targets and haul him roughly back over the bar…only to get blindsided Argus, as the massive Royal Guard hurls the nearest offending soldier aside like a professional munchkin tosser.

Officer Gulch eels out of the second soldier's grasp and resumes his dogged pursuit of Jeb almost before the first soldier hits the floor, leaving his subordinate with the vague suspicion that the Othersider might have a bit more staying power than they'd credited.

Turi and Argus find themselves fighting back to back as the bulk of the battle shifts their way. Under the sudden mass of new adversaries, the professional forgets himself a moment, a knife appearing in his hand almost as instantly as it disappears. Both soldiers and guards have the discipline to remember this is not a killing matter; flinging a chair to prevent lieutenant getting higher ground, the infuriated Othersider seems to have forgotten he is armed.

In a sudden contortion learned in war, Jeb manages throw the cop off of him, the guard commander vanishing beneath the brawling masses. Tossing aside their current combatants, Turi and Flynt surge forward to go looking for him…and with a roar the rest of the princesses' protection details join them.

Ducking and twisting around the writhing skirmishers, the Gillikin hits the floor a moment later as Ol' Gulchy re-emerges from the fray, shedding a table and half the Royal Army as he goes. Turi would like to think that the flying elbow had been meant for the man behind him, but he doubts at this point whether Gulch can distinguish much beyond Jeb and Not Jeb. Catching a glimpse of the Othersider locking onto his quarry once more, the few Gillikin wits not drowning in rage and alcohol have a notion that a wrathful Gulch might be a whole other kind of animal...

Turi didn't rightly know when the tin men showed up, he figured it was sometime between his ruminating whether they might have to stop Ol'Gulchy killing the Tin Man's son – nobody wanted to explain that one to Cain – and his hearing the Othersider patiently instruct, "Yu kno', yu migh' wanna shift yur grip a little, ya get more lev'rage…"

WHAM!

"…ther' yu go."

But as the guard had just fetched up against that spineless Longcoat of a sucker puncher, the Gillikin wasn't of a mind to take heed.

It took a fair while for the tin men to make their presence felt, and since they made the mistake of bringing Jeb in range of Gulch – who apologized politely to the tin men for the trouble before flooring the lieutenant with head butt that made a mountain man proud – it was still longer before they quelled the resultant fight…and the one that followed as they left the bar…as well as the one that got going in the alley…not to mention the one that broke out crossing the street…and the fight Jeb started on the way to the holding cells…and also-

WHAM!

Ow. He really wished Ol' Gulchy hadn't taught them that move.