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When Billy saw Goodnight come flying down from the target practice, he didn't have to guess what had happened.
Faraday was stepping a thin line with how frequently he was pushing Goody to the edge.
Even from where he was ambling down from behind the stables, Billy could see the sweat dripping down Goodnight's face, eyes wide and frantic. He watches the man take the stairs three at a time and disappear into the room they'd been given above the saloon. By the movement in the distance, it looked like gun practice was over.
Sighing to himself, he wonders if anyone would notice Faraday disappear. Billy would bet his knives on this being his fault.
He takes a slow walk to the saloon. Slow enough to see Sam alongside Faraday and a new anger flared within him. Chisolm knows Goody. No doubt he had the opportunity to stop Faraday and didn't. The pause before he enters their room is both as a warning to Goodnight that he's coming in, but it's also a chance to glare daggers at the two men coming up the Main Street with their piss poor army behind them.
Billy only spares them a second of his anger. He has more important things to concern himself with.
Slipping into the room, Billy is faced with a panting sound, and a rhythmic pacing.
Goodnight is marching backwards and forwards across the far end of the room, where the second bed sits untouched. His hat is gone, hair stuck to his face with sweat, and his hand clench and unclench impulsively as he moves. He briefly glanced at Billy, but he doesn't make a move to approach him nor does he slow his pacing.
When Goodnight panics, he becomes unusually silent. The man always has something to say, but when his demons come calling no words can be choked past his tongue. When he freezes up with fear he can't warn anyone, or help himself.
"I-" Goodnight starts, his jaw trying to work past the foul taste he imagines in his mouth. "You-" He tries again, and his chest heaves with the effort and frustration of not being able to calm himself down.
"Goody." Billy says, his voice low and steady. He steps towards him, holding out one hand. He knows better than to try and approach when he's pacing. "Come here."
Sometimes, when he's too far gone, Goodnight won't come. But thankfully today is not a bad one.
Goody twists in his pacing, breaking his rhythm to march over to Billy, coming to a halt directly in front of him, his head tilted down and his hands clenched beside him. He's hunched over slightly, another good sign. It's when his posture goes military straight and deadly that Billy knows he's in for a rough one.
Reaching forwards, Billy slides a hand around the back of Goody's head, letting his fingers card slowly through the damp hair at the nape of his neck. Goody sinks into the touch, the tension beginning to drain from his shoulders. Billy pulls him closer, his other arm sliding around Goody's waist to press a firm but gentle hand against the small of his back.
"Breathe." Billy says quietly, feeling Goody's hot breath on his throat as he exhales, his forehead resting on his shoulder.
His hands have unclenched from his sides, and now they were curled in Billy's waistcoat, his grip tight and unyielding. Their chests were pressed against one another, and Billy let out a soft soothing sound, muttering gentle words in his mother tongue. Goodnight understood a few of them, but it was more the smooth and steady sound of Billy's voice that brought him back down from his flight of panic.
"Sorry, I'm-" Goodnight began to mutter against Billy's shirt collar, but he was swiftly interrupted.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" Billy growls, but it's with warmth that Goodnight is familiar with, "This is not your fault. No apologies."
Goody hums, and Billy feels him press closer, his nose nuzzled against his jaw.
"Can I kill Faraday yet?" Billy asks, carefully smoothing Goody's hair behind his ear.
Goody huffs a laugh, his death grip on Billy's waistcoat loosening until he was just holding the man. "I don't think that would be a good idea. People would notice."
Billy grumbles a little.
"Besides, I haven't confirmed or denied that this... incident was because of him."
Billy snorts. "But it was."
Goody shrugs, somehow pressing impossibly closer. "The guns-"
"Don't try and play yourself down. You can usually handle guns going off now, especially when you know it's going to happen." Billy says, one hand rubbing gently along the tense lines of Goody's back.
The man relaxes more into him, letting his anxiety bleed out where Billy can squash it. "Mhm. You know me too well." He sighs, lifting his head a little as he speaks.
Billy takes the opportunity to press their foreheads together, waiting for Goody to explain.
"Those farm folk couldn't hit a bullseye if it was three feet away. I was tryin' to coach them but honestly Billy I think this is a lost cause." He pauses a moment, and Billy ignores the stirring of cold dread in his gut. "Faraday reckoned they needed inspiration. Forced a rifle in my hands."
Billy grumbles, his arms tightening around Goody. “Are you sure I can’t kill him?”
“I might let you stab him next time.” Goody says with a small laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Hey.” Billy says his voice soft and soothing in a tone reserved only for Goody. He can see there’s something on the man’s mind, but he won’t push. Goodnight wasn’t a child; if he didn’t want to talk about it then they wouldn’t talk about it. Billy was there for him when he needed it.
Goodnight leans back, a sadness to his gaze that tightens Billy’s throat. He reaches up, cupping Billy’s jaw in a touch so gentle Billy almost sighs. “Am I a coward?”
Billy’s answer is quick and instant. “No.”
“I ain’t so sure.” Goodnight whispers, fingers trailing down Billy’s throat until his hand rests above his heart. “I think I might be.”
“Goody. You are many things, but a coward is not one of them.” Billy says, certain and unwavering.
But Goodnight still has that sad expression on his face. “If I was brave, I wouldn’t run from my rifle. I wouldn’t let anyone so much as give you a dirty look. I wouldn’t be thinking about taking off and leaving this god forsaken town behind.”
Silence falls over the room, and Billy covers Goodnight’s hand over his chest with his own. Goody won’t meet his gaze, instead staring at their hands like they were an intricate pattern he had to memorise.
Billy knows. He knows Goodnight will leave, because his fears are stalking him into the real world if he fights this fight. If he stays, it will be walking into a war again, not knowing if he would come out the other side. It would be killing because he was ordered to. It will be blood, and noise, and pain. It will be violence by his hand, and the Angel of Death will strike more souls from this earth.
But, Billy has faith. Goodnight will leave to avoid war, but Billy hopes he will fight for love. He hopes he will be enough to bring Goodnight back.
Billy was staying to help these people, but he won’t ask Goodnight to do the same.
“If you do,” Billy says, reaching forwards to mirror Goodnight, placing his own hand over Goody’s racing heart. “You are not a coward. All I ask is that you remember I love you, even if I have to watch you ride away.”
“Even though I’d be leaving you to die?” Goodnight asks, his voice thick and broken. He still hasn’t met Billy’s gaze. “What kind of man would think of doing that?”
Billy resists forcing Goodnight to look at him. He knows the man doesn’t want to break just yet. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” Goodnight says, straining against the tight hold his emotion has on his throat. “It does matter. I’m thinking about riding off and leaving this town to die, leaving the man I love to die. I shouldn’t even-“
Billy cuts him off. “You know it’s not that simple.”
“Billy.”
“I will not ask you to fight another war you don’t want to be in, Goody. I won’t do that to you.” Billy growls, his voice low and fierce. “Nothing else matters. I don’t care what Sam thinks, or Faraday, or Red, or Horne, or Vasquez, or Emma. I don’t care.”
He leans forwards, giving into his need to look Goody in the eyes. His finger tilts up the man’s chin, and Goodnight looks at him through unshed tears, his eyes shining with vulnerability and open fear. “I care about you. No-one else. I can’t leave this town behind when we’ve promised to help, but if you need to go, go. I’ll still love you when I catch up.”
“What if you don’t?” Goodnight whispers, afraid of the answer.
But Billy simply pulls him forwards, his kiss gentle and loving, tongue tasting the rouge tears that have escaped Goody’s control. Goodnight kisses him back, desperate and needy as Billy keeps it slow, letting Goodnight feel just how much he wanted him, would always want him.
When they break apart panting, Billy tugs Goodnight against his chest, both of them clinging to the comfort the other provides. “If I don’t catch up I’ll love you on the other side.”
Goodnight flinches, and Billy can feel his grip around his chest tighten, as if that could stop the jaws of death from swallowing him. “Where ever you go, I go.”
Billy tries not to think about what that implies, ignores the crushing dread that takes hold of his lungs at what this battle would bring, and closes his eyes as he kisses the top of Goody’s head. “I’ll be with you. Always.”