A/N: Alright, I was gonna wait until I had the chapter art drawn, but I've kept you waiting long enough.
*Readying the Fortress of Solitude*
Warning: Blood and torture ahead. (Scenes 2 and 5)
I'm about to get fucking lynched for this chapter. Have fun! xD
Hot. Boiling. Ears ringing. Disoriented and dizzy.
Lily forced her eyes open, her head aching like she had a migraine. Everywhere she looked, she saw flames. As wooden planks fell from the roof, she found clarity.
"SAM!"
Lily ignored how her body screamed in pain when she sat up. She fought through it, unable to notice her limp, how flustered she was, her breath as her lungs struggled to pull in breathable air.
Where was Sam? He was up at that wall with Archie, right?
Lily held her left shoulder, no doubt bruised from the impact of Charles jumping onto her. The shelf in the way was hot, heat cutting through her gloves and to her skin as she pushed with all her might. And when she did, the shelf fell the other way with a loud smash. More flames roared at her as they claimed their new flammable offering.
She stumbled to the other side of the room. Her other hand was on her chest, as she coughed and wheezed.
"SAM!" Lily yelled. She fell over but grasped a wall. "SAM!" However, when she got to the other side, she only found his hat and flecks of blood on the floor. All Lily could do at that moment was breathe more and more rapidly. When she saw the hole left in the wall, she already knew what happened.
As dread took hold, Lily fell to her knees coughing more and more. She reached and grabbed Sam's hat when an arm wrapped around her waist.
Lily fought against her attacker, but her lack of breath made her ineffective. As more rubble fell around them, she flinched and clung to this mystery person, before realizing it was Charles.
Finally, they made it outside where Lily fell onto her knees again, pants dirtied by the muddied ground. Rain was starting to fall all around them.
"SA-" LIly doubled over, coughing some more while Charles rubbed her back, as he was coughing, too. "SAM!" Lily yelled, once she had a proper gulp of air. Immediately, Lily stood up, but when she took one step, Charles grabbed her arm.
"Where are you going?" Charles rasped.
"Sam! I have to find him!" Lily yelled. She swung at him to let go, but it was like paper hitting a rock.
"Don't be stupid!" said Charles. "What will I say to Sam when he gets back!"
"He won't come back unless I do something!"
"He won't come back if we just start running around aimlessly."
Still Charles wouldn't let her go. She tried to run, but Charles tried to pull her into his arms. Lily tackled him to the ground. Both of them started coughing, rolling off each other to get some air.
"Y…You're… too hurt to convince me…" Lily rasped. She got up, a hand on her chest and started scanning the ground. "I'm not going back without him!"
Charles started after her, able to follow her by the sound of her voice. She was still coughing and there was no way to tell who or what was around at the moment.
Smoke was rising into the air and fire had been set to the surrounding smaller buildings which were either sheds or outhouses.
Lily held her chest. There was a hole in the side of the wall and it wasn't made by the blast. Planks had been kicked out from the wall or a weapon had been used. There were marks in the dirt that ended at a small dock, but there was no boat.
Lily was out of breath. She growled and her hands dug into her hair. When she opened her mouth, it was covered by Charles's hand. She immediately knew why as she screamed in agony. Even so, Charles was still by her side, as tears emerged from her eyes.
And then, she pushed him away.
"Don't you touch me!" she shouted. Charles flinched back when she yelled, backing away in fear that he may have harmed her. Lily started walking, still panting, her clothes torn, and her skin bruised and scratched. Charles could only watch as Lily wandered, taking what she could from the dead, as tears streamed down from her eyes. When she was done, she just started walking away from it all, as if the both of them hadn't just emerged from a burning building, coughing and gasping for air.
"Lily, where are you going?" said Charles.
"To rescue my cousin!" she stated, harshly. Holding a random gun she picked off the dead, she fumbled with the handfuls of bullets she had, and stumbled as she loaded the chamber.
"Wait for the others!" said Charles. He reached out his hand. "We need to-"
Lily turned back and slapped it away. "STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO!"
Charles grew quiet. He held his hands back. For a whole few moments, they just stared at one another. When he tried to approach her again, she held up her gun. Immediately, the man froze. Lily would never… What happened in that house?
"You can get out of my way, or I can shoot you!" said Lily.
Charles was as still as a stone. He slowly put his hands up. He had dealt with these situations before, but what do you do when the one threatening you is your friend?
There was the sound of horses. Many hooves were pounding the dirt and a familiar voice cut through the tension.
"Charles?! Sam?! Lily?!"
Charles looked away from Lily and raised his voice, which was rare for someone like him. "Over here, Dutch!"
It took a few more intense seconds, but eventually Dutch made it through the fog with Bill, Javier, Micah, and Lenny.
"Bill, search one side for any stragglers," Dutch ordered. "Javier, you take the other."
"You alright?" Lenny was the first off his horse and ran over to Charles. Dutch followed soon after, while Micah searched the immediate area for any threats. "You look like hell!"
Charles nodded. He turned towards Lily's direction, but when he did, she was already gone.
"Where's Sam?" Dutch asked. He looked to his left and then to his right. All he saw was fire, mud, grass, fog and dead bodies. "What happened?"
Charles wasn't one for many words, but he didn't need many to tell Dutch what happened. The gang leader's heart fell into his stomach when he spoke.
"They got him."
If being cold was what it was like to be captured by O'Driscolls the first time, it was the opposite this time.
Sam screamed as a fist was driven into his abdomen several times. He was helpless to stop it, with his wrists tied behind his back around the rear of a chair and his ankles to the legs of it. His captor's hair was gray and loose, but in those brown eyes, Sam sensed something familiar. Wait. The long black coat he was wearing. It was just like Seth's!
This man, the other Laslow Brother, didn't speak as much as Seth did. However, it didn't make it so that he would hit Sam less.
Sam remembered the man's name from the list: Sergio, right? He recalled it as the O'Driscoll delivered another blow to the side of his face. No teeth fell out, but it was still enough for his cheek to get scraped on the inside and draw blood.
Sam's vision swam, blurry for a moment. He spat blood from the cut in his mouth. His face stung, the burns from the explosion still present. He breathed heavily, hunched over as he let the spit in his mouth drip out mixed with blood onto the floorboards. He didn't know where he was, but he saw brick walls and was near a fireplace. All the doors and windows were closed, which was probably intentional. The heat was starting to become unbearable. The occasional rumbles of thunder were the least of problems right now.
Sergio backed away, moving his fists around. He was breathing heavily, too.
Then he spoke.
"How many was that?"
Sam shrugged. It's not like speaking would solve much of anything. He had something of charisma, but it was nowhere near Dutch's level, and he doubted it would work on an O'Driscoll if he even was here.
Sergio pulled Sam by his hair to make him look at his face. Up close, the man reeked of alcohol and tobacco.
"I said, how many was that?" he snapped.
"I wouldn't keep track for you in hell!" Sam spat back.
Sergio tore himself away. He threw Sam's head back and when he did, the younger man felt himself hit something behind him. It was solid and whatever it was moved forward slightly. He was nowhere near the back of the room, and when he wiggled his bound hands, he felt the warmth of skin. Another's hand.
"Every day…" Sergio grumbled. "That was for every day I've had to live since you killed him."
Sam, despite his shaking frame, managed to grin. "That's nothing compared to those people in Valentine," he replied. His silver eyes looked up at him as he turned back to the sound of his voice. "Those families. Widows. Orphans? You think they don't think about their fucking families every day?"
Sergio growled. "You're an outlaw!"
"At least I have standards…"
Sergio walked towards Sam again. The younger man just looked up quietly at him as the O'Driscoll took note of the strip of blood dripping down from the side of his mouth. He then grabbed his hair, forcing his head to tilt up, and the cool metal of a knife was pressed against his skin.
"Where's Dutch?"
Sam's heart pounded in his chest, even as he breathed his body trembled struggling to stay still to not let the blade cut him. His morbid mind pondered for a second what it would be like to have his neck slowly cut and blood drip out onto his lap and the floor. Even so, all Sam did was let out a bitter laugh.
"I'm dead either way," said Sam. "Why would I tell you?"
The knife pressed into his skin, ever so slightly. "I can make it quick or more entertaining for me."
"How original…" Sam flatly replied. His own words used against him…
"I said, where is your gang?!"
Sam just spat and some saliva and blood ended up on Sergio's cheek. He stumbled back, saw the red of blood and the clearness of spit when he wiped his face. He walked back up to the man responsible for the disrespect, the deaths of his fellow O'Driscolls, and sent them running east. His brother…
It was somehow slow whenever Sam recalled what happened next. The knife came down. He remembered how it tore through his pant leg with ease and through the flesh on his thigh like butter.
Everything went white.
And he screamed.
There was a storm coming.
The sun had disappeared over the horizon, but it went unseen from all of the clouds in the air.
Arthur Morgan had a good respite at one of the rundown saloons in the less rich part of town. Sure the saloon downtown was popping off more and their drinks were better, but he had no desire to mingle with a bunch of people, who'll probably judge him for the manner in which he was dressed. He had a couple of beers, played a few hands of poker, and had something of a humorous chat with some fool artist. He gave him a free sketch, but something told Arthur he would just get punched in the face if anyone saw it. For a while, he felt like he was just in another world or an alternate timeline where he was just a regular patron, like he wasn't plotting with a bunch of miscreants to rob this town blind.
The outlaw knew, however, he would have to return to the real world. The world he lived in. Besides, paradise was in Dutch's plan, and that would mean nothing without people to share it with.
Arthur was used to all kinds of weather. He rode back out to the swamps without hesitation, even the blistering cold from Colter wouldn't stop Arthur from going ahead to find a place for his gang when they fled from Blackwater.
However, as Arthur approached the grounds of the gang's current hideaway, the wind started picking u[ and the clouds were getting darker. Weather didn't normally scare him, but this evening he felt uneasy.
Was it about Sam? He wondered. Surely, he would be excited to see him. Arthur knew that how things ended with Mary was for the best, and while he still cared for her deeply, both of them understood that their time was over. He loved Sam.
And he hoped, even with what he put him through, he still loved him, too…
The camp was unusually quiet this evening. Arthur didn't see a comforting campfire, or smelled Pearson's questionable dinner. There were no tunes from Javier's guitar, or Micah not shutting the hell up while playing rounds of poker.
"Someone's coming!"
Lenny's voice. Guess he was on guard. But, when Arthur finally got to the entrance, he was surprised to see him with his gun already pointed at him. Once they locked eyes, however, he lowered it.
"Arthur!"
Arthur brought Soleil to a stop. Dirt was kicked up as his horse skidded a bit, but Lenny didn't seem to care as he rushed towards him. "Yeah, it's me," said the older outlaw. "What's going on?"
Lenny pointed to the dilapidated house. "You need to go to Dutch. He needs you right now."
Arthur didn't need to be told twice. He got Soleil into the camp with the other horses and rushed towards the house. He could see the worried faces of the others. Wait. Where was Kieran?
Arthur rushed into the house. He passed by the infirmary and was puzzled to see Charles there, but even more so that it was Reverend Swanson tending to him instead of Sam or Lily.
Charles was sitting down at one of the cots. There were bandages wrapped around his upper and forearms. Parts of his face were patched up, too.
Arthur hurried up the stairs. He'd check in on his friend later, he promised to himself.
"It's a trap, Dutch!" the annoying voice of Micah bounced in the halls of the second floor.
"Yes, but not for Dutch," said Hosea. "All of that trouble and now Lagras is…"
"I know…" Dutch said, as Arthur opened the door that was left of Dutch's sleeping quarters. It was where they kept their donation box and it was now where Dutch, Hosea, and goddamn Micah were standing around a detailed map of the Bayou.
"And Lily and Kieran are still missing."
"I know." Dutch said, still in thought. He had an arm crossed, that was holding up his elbow with a hand on his chin. His eyes were focused on the map.
"What's going on?" Arthur asked, his stern voice cutting through the cloud of tension in the air.
As if snapping out of a trance, Dutch turned to his boy. "Arthur! You're back!" He rushed over, putting his hand on his shoulders, like when he was a boy, while Hosea joined in. Even Micah gave him a quick pat, which made Arthur glare. Why was this rattlesnake here?
"Of course I am!" said Arthur. "I always do!"
Hosea shot Dutch a quick glance. The gang leader knew it was a quick "I told you so" but now wasn't the time for sass. He let go of Arthur and wandered back to the map on the table.
"O'Driscolls set a trap for Lily," said Dutch. He leaned over the table and Arthur's breath trembled at what his mentor said. With trepidation, he approached the map, as well. "But it wasn't for her," Dutch continued, the weight in his voice was as heavy as the weight he put on the table with his hands. "It was for Sam. And they knew he'd do anything for her."
When Arthur exhaled, it was deeper than he thought and when he inhaled, it was the same. For a moment he didn't see Dutch, Hosea or even that loudmouth, Micah.
He saw two graves.
"Then why the hell are we still here?!" Arthur then growled, his voice raised immediately.
"The Night Folk," Hosea answered immediately. Even so, his voice was shaky. "Locals around the area talked about a strange group of folk that only come out at night. John ran into them before. They don't speak or use guns, but they're fast and have done some god awful things to anyone caught in their way. I don't know what they are, but we'd be wandering around like blind bats out there right now."
"That don't matter!" Arthur snapped. His teeth showed, nostrils flared and brows furrowing as he leaned forward at his father figures. "Sam and Lily are out there?! And you want us to stay here? What about when John was missing?"
"That was a blizzard and some wolves, cowpoke!" Micah interjected. "There's a storm brewing and an active group of freaks out there in the dark. What good are we to them if we get picked off by the Night Folk?"
Arthur pushed Micah away. "Since when have you ever given a damn about anyone?"
"I am concerned!" Micah said, as he backed away. "But I ain't gonna be lovesick and stupid like you!"
Arthur stepped towards Micah, making Dutch rush in and push them apart.
"Stop it! Both of you!" he interjected, voice sharp. Both of them were still, hearing the "leader" voice kick in. "I am concerned, Arthur, but he's right."
Arthur wanted to gag. Micah? Right?
"Charles said that kid, Archie, was behind it," said Hosea. "I ain't sure what happened in that shack, but it clearly set Lily off. She took off before any of us could get to her. With the storm tonight, she and the O'Driscolls couldn't have gone far."
Arthur, despite the calm restraint, was still staring daggers at Micah. "You better hope you're goddamn right about this." His gaze softened when he looked at his mentor. "Dutch, you know what they did to me. What the hell do you think they're going to do with Sam? He saved me, he killed those men, destroyed their camps! Should I continue?!"
"I am doing everything I can!" Dutch said, raising his voice. He turned so that he was facing Arthur. Finally, face-to-face, Arthur could stop thinking for a moment about the snake in the room and just focus on his mentor. "Arthur, do you think I'm not worried about them?"
Arthur didn't realize how heavily he was breathing until now. He hadn't even noticed how hard his heart was pounding in his chest. He swallowed, facing his mentor, despite all the ghosts of his failures to protect those he cared about, suddenly dancing around in the background, and shook his head.
"No," he answered.
Dutch placed a hand on his shoulder again. "I've got Bill, Lenny and Javier out there, patrolling in case Lily or Kieran come back and John rode into town to find Brandon. All of us are doing what we can in the night. I know it's hard to stay here right now, but we're not just gonna twiddle our thumbs. I promise you, once daybreak arrives we're riding out to find them. We all need to be ready. This is the most important time to have faith. Not just in me, but in everyone here, and for Sam, Lily, and Kieran to hold out until we can get to them." Dutch took a shaky breath. He was holding onto his son, like they were outside in the storm. "Are you with me, son?"
Dutch could feel Arthur tremble under his fingers, despite his imposing stature. Hosea and Dutch knew from one look what this meant. This wouldn't not be a repeat of what happened to them. They knew it, and they just had to make their unruly son see it.
Arthur had his hands balled up so tightly, his nails were digging into his skin. He hated having to wait. Guns, fists, knives… he learned his way around all kinds of dangerous fights and situations… He was a man of action! What was he supposed to do?!
Sam needed him… and he couldn't help him.
"Trust us, Arthur," Hosea's voice cut through the fog in his brain. "We're gonna get them back. They're both fighters, just like we all taught them."
Arthur nodded. "I'm always with you, Dutch," he finally spoke, his voice soft, but solid. "You know that."
"That's more like it!" said Micah. "I'm gonna get some sleep for tomorrow."
"Yeah, you do that, Micah," Dutch said, turning his head for a moment to see him leaving the room. As much as Arthur wanted to pummel him for thinking about violence while Sam, Lily, and Kieran were in danger, now wasn't the time.
Dutch, still clutching Arthur, nodded with a reassuring smile. "Thank-you, son. We're gonna get them back. Trust me."
"Always will, Dutch," Arthur responded, even if his stilted body wasn't giving the same message.
Rain continued to pour down, as expected. And as expected, Lily was indeed not one to give up. The light sprinkle had turned into a torrential downpour. Despite the clouds covering the skies, the storms made it as if the sky was pitch black, regardless.
Lily stumbled on, boots tracking mud, body aching, arms crossed, legs, and face burning, with her clothes and hair drenched in rain water.
Finally, Lily rushed under one of the trees. She raised her crossed hands up and down her arms, trying to catch her breath. Once she did, she just slammed her fest into the bark behind her, causing a few leafs to fall.
The girl ran her hands through her hair. She had been following the river for what felt like hours and hadn't been able to find any sign of her cousin. And, if there was, it was too dark to see and the blasted rain made it even harder.
She sank down the trunk of the tree, burying her head in her damp knees. She felt like she did the very night her father was taken from her: helpless. All she could do was plead and scream, while Sam was forced to take his first life.
Just as Lily let her tears fall, her body just about ready to just break down, she opened her mouth and there was a sob. However, it didn't come from her.
Lily wiped her eyes, vision seeing into the night and to her surprise, there was a tiny campfire in the distance illuminating the shape of a small figure.
The girl stood up, slowly. She had been running, despite literally getting blown up today, and as her muscles yelled at her for giving her body more work, she still stood. Lily brushed back a wet lock of hair and forced herself to keep walking. If there was someone in need, she had to help, as it was her oath, officially or not. Just… common decency, she guessed.
Lily was already soaked, so the rain was the least of her concerns. The closer she got to the figure, the more she realized the sobbing was coming from them.
It was a woman. Her hair was all wet and mangled,and she was in nothing but a nightgown, knelt down by the small fire. With the rain pouring down, it made sense if she didn't hear Lily approach.
"E-Excuse me?" Lily said, softly. She hoped she wouldn't startle her.
The woman continued to sob.
"Uh… ma'am?" Lily spoke up again. "Are you okay? If you need help, I can…"
Lily approached slowly, but when she got closer, the woman stood up almost immediately and swung with a knife. Lily managed to jump back, but the knife cut a huge hole in her shirt.
Immediately, as she looked up, there were multiple other people behind the woman. She, along with the rest of them had their faces painted white, wore tattered clothes and were all running at her with sharpened steel.
And, well, what else could Lily do, but scream?
All of Lily's weapons had been taken from her when she was captured by the O'Driscolls. So all she had was the dirty, grimy revolver of some grunt she picked off from his dead body.
She shot a few of those disfigured freaks of the night, before running with all of her might. She didn't care what she stepped on or of the uneven terrain making her occasionally step weird and hurt her already sore feet.
She tore through bushes and leaves, steps heavy in the muddied ground. Her breaths were heavy and her panting wobbled on the edge of sobbing.
Finally, she saw a building and rushed to find a door. The structure was wooden and the door was unlocked. She hurried in and shut the door, grabbing a nearby chair to jam it shut.
Lily leaned against a wall across from it and just stayed where she was. Water dripped down from her form and gathered at her muddied boots. Her hands gripped the boards behind her, as she gasped for air.
Lightning flashed through the window. She remembered this entrance. Next to her was a door that would lead to a small kitchen and living area and to the side of that was a flight of stairs to the basement.
There was a sheet of paper on the floor. It was covered in rain water, it must have been blown in when Lily opened the door. Despite this, when she picked it up from the floor, the words printed on it were still legible.
This building has been condemned until further notice for investigation. No entry without authorization.
-Pinkerton Detective Agency
Lily tore it up without hesitation before stumbling into the living area. The pieces drifted onto the floor, immediately forgotten. She knew the layout well. This was Brandon's hideout. Or at least one of them before the incident.
A thin layer of dust had settled over many of the surfaces from the absence of people. Despite this, Lily managed to light the single candle on the dining table so she could see better. She slumped down into a chair, exhausted, but her heart still jumping in her chest.
She loathed this place. Nothing was wrong with it, but the fact that Pinkertons had set foot in it. It was by men who thought they knew what was best! Men, who decided who to go after, for what reasons, and who should.
Men, who killed her father to justify their goddamn paychecks.
Men, who thought she had no free will and was only doing all of this because of Sam's influence.
She reached into her bag, and pulled out Sam's hat. Her tears flowed freely as she held it close to herself, hugging it as if it were a stuffed toy. And yet, in the end, she was just helpless on her own. She couldn't even stop the man who thought he knew better from taking the only other man in this world she still had respect for.
"Sam…" she sobbed, like a hurt child. "Sam…" She said his name like a prayer, like he would somehow appear behind her and make this whole nightmare a dream.
Her voice echoed through the house, playing her cries off the halls of the living area and kitchen, only to be muted out by the seemingly endless rain.
Why is it so cold in here? she wondered for a moment.
Sam was sure Sergio got a sick kick out of him whimpering when he pulled the blade from his thigh. He left when another O'Driscoll yelled at him to go help with something and just left as if he hadn't just stabbed someone.
Sam was used to seeing all kinds of injuries, but didn't make the wound on his leg any better. He was just left in that room writhing and gritting teeth as the door slammed shut, trying not to throw up.
Red. It was red everywhere. Blood was oozing slowly from his punctured leg and Sam could do nothing but squirm and breathe heavily. As another clap of thunder made itself known, tears welled up in his eyes as he found himself leaning and swaying in his chair, letting the tears fall and hit the floor to hide his pain.
Just as he threw his head back, he felt something solid again. Panting heavily, sweat dripping down his face, he wriggled his hands and felt the same warmth of another's hand.
Suddenly, there was movement. A whimper. A jolt. It was followed by a shriek. Sam knew that yell anywhere.
"K-Kieran?!" Sam stammered. His bruised and burnt form was still shaking violently. He turned his head and, sure enough, he saw the side of Kieran's face. "How are you h-here?"
"They caught me… w-while I was running away…" Kieran whimpered.
Sam turned his head away, taking deep breaths through his teeth. "You…" The young man hiss in pain, barely able to hold back the tears. They blurred his vision and he decided to lean forward and let them drop, hitting the floor again. "Idiot." In a strange way, however, he was kind of relieved to have a friend with him.
Kieran sniffled, but managed a small grin. "I know…"
Sam continued to move his arms, wiggling, trying to get his hands loose. Then, the door swung open again. Both Sam and Kieran saw him walk in. The notorious Colm O'Driscoll closed the door and strided in with a stupid grin on his face.
Finally, he and Sam locked eyes. Despite his aching body, his punctured leg, and his bruised face with drying up blood on the side of his face, he looked up at his main captor. This was him. The leader of the O'Driscolls.
The man who killed his mother.
"Well, I see my boys have already given you a fine welcome," he said. "I gotta say, you ain't like what I imagined. People were saying you was ten feet tall with glow in the dark eyes." Colm leaned in and stared for a moment, "but I guess rumors are always exaggerated." He smiled, admitting that his eyes were nice, regardless.
And then he stuck his fingers in Sam's wound.
"But you ain't any of those things, ain't ya?!" he sneered, as Sam cried in agony. Sam screamed, using all the air in his lungs and his next breath was a desperate gasp. "Just a man… who somehow managed to kill so many of my own men…" he said. Sam writhed and squirmed, as if leaning away would make it stop. Colm twisted his fingers, making Sam quake, black clouded his vision as he hollered more and more.
Kieran shook in his chair. He held his teeth tightly, until finally his jaw dropped for him to speak.
"STOP! LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Kieran shouted.
And somehow it worked. Colm pulled his hand away, Sam doubled over with a gasp, fresh tears spilled from his eyes as he leaned forward. He panted heavily, as Colm walked away, index, middle and ring fingers caked in red. Sam tried to suppress a whimper, while he gasped for a good breath.
"Oh, and our little horse boy over here," Colm said, wandering around to him. "How's it been stabbing me in the back these past few months?"
"I didn't wanna join!" Kieran shrieked. "You forced me! You just want to kill and rob, but they care about people."
Colm could only laugh. He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that's ol' Dutch, ain't it? Always with his goddamn charisma."
"Why… Why do you care?" Sam strained to speak. "All you care about is numbers. Dutch cares about us."
Colm scoffed. He wandered back around to Sam's disheveled side. "Really?" he said. He forced Sam to look at him, a hiss escaping as Colm pulled his hair to do with his bloodied hand. "Enough to send his own flesh and blood on a murder spree just for little old me?"
Sam felt the world stop at that moment. He didn't move a muscle, but Colm let his hair go.
"Quite the pretty little number you had on ya," Colm said, smugly. He reached into his pocket and to Sam's horror, he pulled out his pocket watch. He ran his thumb over the engraving before opening it. "Ain't this something Dutch says sometimes?"
Still, Sam didn't speak.
"You don't need to say a thing, son." He stumbled towards him,and showed Sam the one photo he had of his mother. The very thing that brought him comfort was now being used to torment him. All Colm could do was laugh at Sam's longing gaze. "I've got Dutch van der Linde's flesh and blood here with me."
Sam grit his teeth. He didn't care what happened to him, but the sight of his most prized possession in that foul man's hands had his blood boiling. The unrelenting throbbing in his leg only fueled him more.
"Are you scared, little bird?" said Colm.
Sam lunged as much as he could. "You killed my mother!"
"And you murdered my men!"
"You burned and raided my home!" Sam spat.
"Nothing personal, kid. It was a paid job!"
"I know," said Sam. "From the damn government I thought we all hated so much! It cost my uncle's life!"
Colm closed the pocket watch. "And that started your legend, huh? Then why don't you stop letting Dutch hold you back and do what you need to, sticking with me?"
Sam struggled. Dutch was right. He didn't give a shit about his own men. "You sick-"
Colm smacked him with the back of his hand. "I ain't finished!" he spat. "You really think he's better than me, huh?"
Sam kept his head where it was. "He doesn't leave his own in the dirt…" He then inhaled through his held teeth, "like discarded trash. Do you even know the name of my friend behind me?"
Kieran froze. His heart skipped a beat. His whole world stopped at the word "friend."
"So you think a kind voice and a little humanity shows he cares?" said Colm. "Anyone can fake that. No one cares about anyone. Even the people you save don't care about you or your little tale they've spun about you. They just care that their hides are saved."
Colm walked over to Kieran. He flinched when he got closer, but instead of hitting him or anything, he reached around and undid his binds. Then, he grabbed him by his shirt to get Kieran onto his feet.
Sam turned his head the best he could. Colm handed Kieran a gun. It looked like just an ordinary pistol.
"This is your one chance, horse boy," Colm muttered. He pointed at Sam. "Kill him, and I'll let you go. We won't bother you again."
Kieran gulped. His entire form shook as he walked over until he stood in front of Sam. He was bruised, bloody and beaten. His wounded leg had soaked the entire part of his pants where his upper leg was and was dripping onto the chair.
And meanwhile, Kieran felt helpless, as he stood there with the familiar feeling… of fear.
With trembling lips, Sam managed to mouth a single word without a sound.
"Run."
Kieran could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. He looked at Sam, loaded gun trembling in his grip. He looked at Colm, who only nodded with a small grin, and then he looked at Sam again.
He didn't see a killer or a thief. He saw a man who, despite what he had gone through, took care of him, learned from him, and tried to teach him in return. Even with his hatred, he slowly brushed that aside just for him.
Sam was his friend.
So, Kieran swallowed hard, raised his gun… and quickly turned it towards Colm.
BANG!
Sam had shut his eyes, waiting for the pain, or to see whatever heaven or hell awaited for him, but there was nothing. When he opened them, he saw Kieran falling to the ground, a bullet in his chest and a yell escaping his mouth. Sam turned his head and Colm was holding a second gun, the barrel still smoking.
Kieran hit the floor boards with a thud as Colm crept towards his writhing form. As if things couldn't get any worse he started coughing up blood. Even so, Kieran tried to reach for the gun that had fallen from his hand, but Colm kicked it away.
Sam knew there was no way he could have started coughing up blood this quickly. Unless… He practically turned white. Colm filled that bullet with his poison!
The young man struggled in his bonds, yelping when Colm moved to pin the ex-O'Driscoll on the ground with his foot. He aimed his gun again. Sam's eyes were wide, filled with tears.
Ah, yes. That was the look Colm wanted. No matter the man, they were all the same. They would break.
"STOP!" Sam cried.
As Colm began to squeeze the trigger. Kieran held out a bloody hand. "Sam, I-"
And as lightning flashed, there was the sound of thunder.
BANG!
And after that, there was silence. Sam could only stare. The bullet in his chest… like those people… like his uncle. The bullet in his head like the man he shot on that dark and stormy night that led to his moment.
Maybe Colm planned to do this all along.
Well, there you have it…" Colm finally spoke up, his voice flat, as he stared at Sam, looking helpless at the lifeless Kieran. "And that's how I'll take care of the rest of them. Every person here for you will leave you or leave this world, one way or another!" Colm didn't even wait for Sam's response before storming to the door and opening it. "Someone get this trash out of here!"
Sam just sat there as Colm's cronies marched in and dragged Kieran's body away, blood trailing on the floor. And once the door was closed, Colm was gone along with them.
He was alone. And tears began to flow from his eyes freely and he could no longer control his breathing. He leaned forward in his chair.
And he screamed.
A/N: Okay, see you later!
*Runs into the fortress of solitude*