Chapter Text
When the final shot rang out, and the last layer of dust settled in the deathly silent town, only then did Billy Rocks move from his vantage point in the church tower. It was a slow decent down to the cooling body of Bogue, a conversation of looks between Chisolm and Emma. Billy hit the floor without his usual grace, clutching at the throbbing bullet wound in his shoulder.
Chisolm turned to face him, his gaze sombre.
“That it?” Billy asks, his thoughts instantly turning to Goodnight. He only had a day’s head start; if Billy wrapped this wound up he’d catch up with some hard riding.
Chisolm doesn’t answer; instead he disappears out into the blood bath of a street.
Huffing his annoyance, Billy follows slowly, limping a little. He had a grazed leg too, but that wouldn’t slow him down on his ride.
Outside, the others were gathering. Red appeared on his horse, Vasquez dragging along a dazed looking Faraday. Faraday had blood coming out of both ears, and various holes in his torso but apparently that wasn’t enough to bother him. Horne popped up from behind a building, lumbering over with an arrow protruding from his shoulder and his hand. He pulled them both out like it was nothing, and nodded once to Red. They each looked to Chisolm as he stands in the centre of their rough circle.
“Anyone find Goodnight?” Chisolm asks.
Billy feels like his heart has stopped. “Goody?”
Chisolm doesn’t look at him, his fingers twitching as he looks at his boots before glancing at Red. “Bogue… he said we had a sniper behind his ranks. Said it was a good move, he lost a lot of men. But…”
“They got him.” Vasquez breathes out, streaming off into quiet Spanish cursing.
Billy just stares at them both, as if they were speaking another language he didn’t know.
“Red. See if you can find his body?” Chisolm says, looking up towards the ridge where the smoking Gatling gun still sat in smithereens.
Billy surges forwards, wounded shoulder forgotten as he forces himself up onto the nearest horse. He’s off before anyone can stop him, though he can hear the sound of pounding hooves behind him as he gallops off towards the ridge, pretending his heart wasn’t about to pound right out of his chest. It felt like it was five sizes too big, pushing blood round his body too fast, making him sweat when he wasn’t even warm. Everything felt cold, numb, like he was in a dream. He briefly wonders if this is how Goody felt every time his nightmares would follow him into the waking world and the lump that appears in his throat feels like it’s going to choke him. It can’t be true. Goodnight wasn’t here, he didn’t fight, Billy’s just got to catch up. He’s just got to ride fast enough to catch up.
Red shouts behind him, but Billy doesn’t slow his pace as he begins to see bodies.
They’ve been taken out swiftly; dark circles of red decorate each face. A shot between the eyes, one through the mouth, one through the base of his skull. There’s one that’s gone down with his horse, bullet travelling through man and beast. Then there’s body’s further along the ridge, turned towards an unseen foe.
Billy stops his horse abruptly, his gaze following the trail of dead and refusing to acknowledge what it means. He stares at them without feeling, as if they were just rocks surrounded by the swaying grass.
“Let me look.” Red says, sliding from where he sat on his horse beside Billy. Billy hadn’t even noticed him catch up.
He watches as Red picks his way along the grass, skirting round bodies until he reaches a small rocky outcrop that dips into a small river. The perfect place for a hiding sniper.
The man disappears, and Billy is vaguely aware of a splashing sound, but he’s gone back to staring at the trail of bodies leading to the rocks. They were heading to the sniper, they’d seen him. Bogue said the sniper was dead but it wasn’t Goody, it can’t be Goody because Goody was safe, he’d run, he was safe, he was just a day’s ride away it-
Red reappears slowly, and he stops at the edge of the grass. Red was a hard man to read, but for once Billy had no trouble.
“No. No, no, no. No, Red. It’s not- it’s not him.” Billy says, shaking his head as if that would change fact.
Red approaches carefully, his eyes never leaving Billy. “Blood by the river. Lots.” He has something behind his back, and Billy doesn’t want to ask what it is.
“Not his.” Billy chokes out, his nails digging into his palms with how tightly he had hold of his reins.
Then Red holds up a hat.
The noise that comes from Billy Rocks was not something Red ever wishes to hear again. He’s heard bloodthirsty battle cries that chill your bones, he’s heard dying screams and wailing women, even the sobs of a mother were nothing to the heartbreaking gushes of anguish that were escaping Billy’s lips. Billy slips from his horse, unable to find the strength to even keep himself upright as hot tears spill from his eyes, blurring his vision. He doesn’t care, what was the point in being able to see this world if there was no Goody to spin poetry out of it? Where was the point in seeing if he had no Goodnight to look at? The pain in his shoulder seemed like child’s play compared to this. This felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, and now he had a gaping hole where it should be.
Red picks him up off the floor, saying something comforting but Billy couldn’t hear what he was saying. He didn’t help, a dead weight in the man’s arms as he’s placed back on his horse. Billy doesn’t take the reins, simply sits hunched over with Goodnight’s hat clutched in both hands. He doesn’t remember taking it, but it smells of smoke and opium and gunpowder and it’s so Goody that Billy starts sobbing all over again.
The walk back to Rose Creek seems to take a lifetime. Red is out front, Billy’s reins in his hands as he takes them back. Billy’s stopped crying, but his fingers were still curled in Goodnight’s hat, so tight he thought he might never be able to straighten them out again. His eyes are red, and he’s sat hunched over in his seat. Everyone stares as they come back, and Billy wants to lash out at them all, to shout and scream that this was their fault, it was their fault that Goodnight was gone. It wasn’t fucking fair.
Chisolm glances at the hat in Billy’s hands and clenches his jaw, looking up at the sky as he closes his eyes for a moment.
“Shit.” Faraday says, still hanging off of Vasquez.
Horne sighs, and looks upwards too. “Blessed as we were to know him, he’s in God’s hands now. In a better place, free from torment.”
Billy wants to kill him, and his hands shake as he fights the urge. No, Goody wasn’t God’s he was his he should be with Billy. He shouldn’t be dead; he should be just a day’s goddamn ride away.
But he wasn’t. He was dead, and all Billy had left was this hat and his pain. What did Horne know of torment?
He should have gone with him. Should have left this town to burn and been far away with the light of his life.
“Billy? I’m sorry.” Chisolm says.
Billy knows he means it, knows that Sam never wanted to see Goodnight hurt, but if Billy doesn’t feel something other than despair he fears he might not see the morning.
”Fuck off Sam. Fuck all of you.” Billy snarls, allowing the familiar warmth of hate fill the empty space in his chest.
Vasquez sighs, and snaps his fingers as Sam starts to move towards Billy. “Leave him. Let him go.”
Billy jumps from his horse, ignoring the burning pain in his body as his limbs protest the movement. It didn’t matter, he barely felt it. Stalking from the gathered group, Billy begins to head to his room.
Only to stop dead as he reaches the Saloon.
If he goes back to his room, he’ll be greeted with two empty beds. One that was never slept in and the other would forever only hold one warm body. He’d be greeted with half finished cigarettes, a shaving razor that had the initials G and B carved on either side of the wood. He’d find a lingering scent of smoke and whiskey and that soft sweetness that was just Goodnight still clinging to their sheets. He could go back upstairs and pretend that any second Goody would saunter in with that grin on his face as he kicked his boots off and kissed Billy like his life depended on it.
Billy turns right, and storms off towards the stables instead.
When he gets there, he’s not sure the sight he’s greeted with is better or worse. There in the paddock was his horse, just where he’d left her, and standing on the other side of the fence with blood spattered up her legs and fully tacked up, stood Goodnight’s mare.
Billy makes a choked noise as he stares at them, throwing his hat off his head in a fit of pure emotion. He bends over, burying his face into Goody’s hat as he screams, the startled wickers of the horses drowned out by his cries of grief. He can feel his tears soaking through the well worn material of Goodnight’s hat, and he abruptly tears himself away, stumbling backwards and forwards as he watches both horses stare at him.
They’d joked once, that their horses were the animal versions of themselves with how inseparable they were. Even during their first night together, Billy had wanted to tie his horse away from Goodnights, she was usually very stroppy with new horses, and Goodnight had simply grinned at him and tied them both shoulder to shoulder. He’s said his horse was as charismatic as he was and would soon woo Billy’s horse into companionship. Billy had asked if Goodnight intended to do the same to him. Billy remembered Goodnight’s laugh, as if that was the first time he’d laughed genuinely in years.
Now here they were again, they’d always find each other when things went south; Billy and Goodnight had come to rely on it with some situations. Except now, Billy knew he’d never have Goodnight come wandering back down to the stables. He’d never have him riding next to him, their knees brushing as they exchanged sweet smiles galloping away from a rigged fight.
He wants to shout at the horses. It’s not fair, why should they have each other when Billy can’t have Goody? He should kill one of them, make it even, and share the pain.
But even as he thinks it he can feel the anger and the violence drain out of him. The horses stare back, and Goodnight’s horse twists it’s head to start carefully grooming Billy’s, and Billy can feel a fresh wave of tears begin new tracks down his cheeks.
He moves on auto, it felt like he was watching himself outside his own body. He gets both horses inside the barn, taking them both into one stable, locking all three of them inside. He un-tacks Goodnight’s horse, throwing the saddle and reins over the stable door as he reaches for a brush. Rubbing down his own horse was rhythmic, and he could lose himself in the familiar routine, make his mind go blank. When it came to brushing Goodnight’s horse, it was harder to do. He brushed out the blood on her legs through blurred eyes, trying not to wonder if this was Goody’s blood he was removing from her skin. Billy gets them water, get’s them both some hay and oats, and then he stands in the middle of the stable, no idea what to do or where to go.
He feels the satin soft skin of the horse’s muzzle against his hand, and he turns to see Goody’s horse gently pushing into his touch. He strokes her, letting his fingers trace across the velvet fur on her nose, carefully moving up along her face to scratch behind her ears. Behind him, his own horse had lain down in the sawdust, her eyelids drooping as she began to doze. Goodnight’s horse throws her head forwards, knocking Billy in the direction of the horse on the floor.
Pretending he had thought of the idea himself, Billy drops to the ground beside his mare, Goodnight’s hat still clutched in his hands. He leans back, using the horse as a pillow. Goodnight’s horse stares at him, as if she was keeping watch while he rested. It was a stupid notion; one Billy knew was ridiculous, she was just a horse, but he swore she was looking after him as his eyes began to close. He falls asleep to the sound of heavy breathing that was nothing like Goodnight’s gentle snores, and somehow, he doesn’t dream.