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A fight had broken out on Tumbleweed Trail.
Russell didn't have much information besides that, and the merchant he had met only a handful of times had left as quickly as they arrived. Markus went to Venompeaks that morning, taking a message for Liam and a book Russell bartered for the man's little sister. Thankfully, Caleb, too, was already on his walk with Virgil for the day; Russell didn't need the Great Dane getting caught in the crossfire of an approaching scuffle.
Two men stumbled into his office, covered in dirt and bruises. Between them, they helped carry their third friend into one of the treatment rooms. The injured man masked his face with a heavy bandana, but Russell could see how his eyebrows pinched together.
"Your office was closer than Venompeaks," The first man excused, attempting to alleviate any pressure on his ankle, "Just fix 'im up, Doc. He's an important man, you see."
"What about you two?" Russell asked, helping the bandit to lie down on the bed. A quick scan of his patient showed a bullet wound on his left shoulder - a deep wound - which thankfully did not require any heavy surgery. "Your ankle looks swollen, and those knuckles don't look set properly."
"We'll be fine," The second man sneered, pulling his friend out of the room, "Just patch up his shoulder and check that his jaw ain't broken. Stupid fucker and his nasty right hook. Do that, and we'll be on our way. The sooner, the better in a town like this."
Their friend groaned on the bed, his hand tightening around his shoulder, causing blood to ooze down his arm. Russell ignored their comments, following them to close the door behind them. With a moment of hesitance, he shut one lock on the door.
Better safe than sorry, his brain supplied.
A bullet wound on his shoulder. A potentially broken jaw. Russell could work with this if his patient would comply. He could already predict he wouldn't, though. If he was some high-ranking man in Venompeaks, his distaste for Blindhollow would become obvious soon.
"I need you to lower your mask if you can," Russell asked, turning to the shelves along the wall. The man in the bed groaned, reluctant to take his hand off his shoulder. Russell had treated many bullet wounds; this was nothing new to him. Where had he misplaced his last bottle of saline?
Russell needed to get more saline after this. He would make a mental note to ask Markus or Fate later.
"I know you're in agony, but your friend said someone punched your cheek," Russell spoke calmly, reaching for the last bottle he needed. He turned to face his patient, "I don't care if you were doing something shady - I don't get paid enough to judge. However, seeing your face will make my job a lot easi--"
"Kid thought he could outrun us; that was the problem."
The saline bottle smashed on the ground.
They had found him. Crawford's cobras had found him. He wasn't- his house wasn't safe anymore. This cobra - Mr Powers, he ironically still remembered his name - would run back to Crawford and tell him that he had lived. He had escaped that torturous event and moved on with his life.
Both his hands felt clammy and cold. Irrational. One of them was fake. How could someone feel a limb they hadn't had in a long time? He could feel the tremors throughout his body, yet couldn't get himself to move. His eyes remained locked on the bandit in front of him.
"A bit late for that now, isn't it, Red?"
"The fuck are ya doin' smashin' stuff around for?" The bandit sneered, one hand moving to prop himself up in the cot. His other hand moved back to the wound on his shoulder, fingers digging into the fabric.
The man finally opened his eyes, the dark grey orbs scanning Russell's face slowly, with clear annoyance written all over them. Russell could see the moment his anger became realisation. His breath caught in his throat; a vice-like grip threatening to amputate his-
"Well, I'll be damned." The man's voice was thick with alcohol. Surprise danced on their every word as his mouth split with a toothy grin, "It's Little Red, back from the dead!"
"Hurry up and stop wasting time."
Russell's back slammed into the shelf as he flinched. That name cut deep. Bad memories can link themselves to many events. A simple nickname was quick to bring many bad memories flooding back to the doctor. Overhearing things he shouldn't have, stealing important documents... Running for his life.
Both hands gripped the shelf behind him, tightening to the point of knuckles turning white and tremoring violently. He could barely feel the pain of the shelves digging into his scarred back.
The knife pressed against where feathers met skin.
"Who woulda thought the hybrid runt would make a name for himself in Blindhollow! Of all places!" The bandit jeered, his laughter strained.
His taunting remarks felt as if they were underwater, faint and distorted. The roaring of blood in his ears didn't help the situation. He couldn't concentrate. Crawford had found him!
He needed to find Markus. He would save him. He needed Liam- Virgil-- Anyone! He wasn't alone anymore. No longer trapped in that lonesome room with only his thoughts as comfort. Someone would be home soon to check up on him...
Right?
"N-No," Russell whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes. His vision was blurred. Was it the bandit in front of him or Crawford? Was he in Blindhollow or back in the confines of Venompeaks? Russell could barely breathe.
"Oh, I can't wait to tell my fellow Cobras the good news!" The bandit let out a booming laugh, the hand on his shoulder tightening. He didn't appear to care about the blood coating his fingers. "They're gonna be so excited to see you again."
"D-Don't- Don't," Russell panted, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head violently. His back pressed further into the shelf. Anything to get away from Crawford- the horrid man, "P-Please, I'm- I'm sor-ry, Sir!"
Everything felt hot and cold. His right arm had long since gone numb. His back was on fire- he couldn't feel his wings anymore. Why couldn't he feel them anymore? The bed creaked as the bandit stood up, yet Russell couldn't do anything but watch him move forward.
He loomed over the shaking doctor. Russell felt like a child being scolded by the mayor, like always- the bandit. He could smell the alcohol on his breath; he could see his fear reflected right back at him in those haunting grey eyes. The bandit leaned in close. His face was barely inches from Russell's.
"I can't wait to tell Mr Crawford you lived."
Russell jerked back, causing more bottles to fall from the shelf. The sound of smashing glass seemed to spur his body into finally moving. He lurched towards the door, ignoring the mocking laughter as he fumbled with the handle.
Run. Run. Go. Run. Move. Get out.
Russell tripped in his haste to leave the room, his knees slamming into the floorboards with force. He barely caught himself with his hands before he got up again. He had to run. Otherwise, Crawford would find him. If the Venompeaks mayor found him, then he would hurt him again. He would take his arm. Again.
His fingers fumbled with the many locks of his front door, checking each one was open before both hands grasped the handle. He paused. His chest heaved with panic, and tears streamed down his face. He had to be brave. He couldn't stay here. He had to find somewhere to hide.
Somewhere no one would look for him... Again.
Russell twisted the handle, forcefully pulling open the heavy oak door, and fled the deceased safety of his home.
Fate slammed her glass down onto the bar, wiping away any excess alcohol around their mouth. The Platinum Star had more patrons than usual, the afternoon heat bringing them inside, away from the boiling sun. Fate tried to keep to herself at the bar. Out of sight, out of mind. There was no reason to get involved in other people's drama.
Only if they started it first.
She had been keeping a close eye on the saloon entrance since she entered, watching the bat doors swing with every newcomer and every departure. It was nothing new; the bandit had always been wary of crowds. More people made it harder to keep an eye on suspicious activity.
Even harder to keep an eye on friends.
"If I didn't know you any better, I'd think you wanted your tab to reach the higher digits," Amos chuckled, pouring another drink for the woman. The nails on his other hand tapped against the wooden bar. Rhythmic. Calm.
"I always pay it eventually, though." Fate smirked, lifting the drink in a sarcastic cheer, "And here I thought you liked my company."
"Funny," He deadpanned, watching as she sipped her drink with pride.
The doors flung open under the weight of two new guests. Both looked rugged and straight out of a scuffle. One of the men barely concealed a limp as they made their way to the bar.
"I dunno if I'd trust that doctor," the first one sneered, taking his seat at the bar with a huff. "The man has one arm and treats hybrids without any care for his fellow human patients. Seems like a bad place to treat a gunshot wound if you ask me."
Fate rolled their eyes, both hands clenched on the bar. Amos shook his head, silently ordering her to stay out of it. He poured the two men their drinks and resumed cleaning the dirty glasses. His slitted eyes never left the task at hand, a poor attempt to ignore the blatant racism.
"It's not like we could've taken 'im to Venompeaks in that condition," the second man added, rubbing at his swollen knuckles, "Crawford would prefer his men back alive and delayed than dead in the streets, right?"
Fate drank the rest of her drink with a quick gulp, turning the glass over and placing it upside down. They rose from her stool, throwing a couple of coins onto the bar with a clutter. That was her queue to leave; Russell and Crawford mentioned in the same conversation was never good news. She needed to check on the man and fast.
"Leavin' so soon?" Amos asked, picking up the coins and inspecting them under the light. A couple of saloon girls joined him at his side, curious. One lady gave her a suspicious look.
"Got business I need to attend to; you know me," Fate chuckled, waving a hand nonchalantly, "Try not to miss me too much, Amos."
The bartender rolled his eyes at that, turning his wheelchair away. He kept his back to her. "If it makes you sleep easy at night, then I'll cry when you walk out those doors."
Fate cackled as she left, pushing the doors open with a flourish.
It wouldn't take them long to get where she planned to go. Russell's office was at the end of the curved dirt road, tucked away from prying eyes but easy to locate when the need arose. She wouldn't even need to stay long. All she had to do was knock, see the doctor was fine and then make sure someone was with him if Markus wasn't home.
Simple.
Fate sidestepped a drunken brawl in the middle of the road. They could walk this path blindfolded by now; the road to her ally-turned-friend was a familiar one. Passing by other pedestrians and carriages pulled by horses, she made her way towards the front door of the doctor's office.
She lightly jogged up the ramp, skidding to a halt by the door. Before she could rap her knuckles against the door - and make some snarky quip to the man she knew was inside - someone had opened the door and ran straight into her.
Fate hit the railing behind her harshly with a thud. One hand moved to press against the back of their throbbing head while the other gripped the shoulder of the person on top of her. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to verbally (and potentially physically) assault whoever had knocked her over.
"Gah! What the fuck is your... problem..."
The man, who practically sat on her lap, panted erratically. One hand gripped her poncho with a white-knuckled grip. An all-too-familiar wooden hand pushed against her shoulder; the panicked mind attached to it failed to realise it could not feel the pressure underneath it.
"R-Russell?"
Everything about this situation felt wrong. The sheen of sweat that covered every inch of the clammy, pale doctor. The sun, which shone harshly on everything it could reach, warmed skin which had not felt that warmth in years. His usually bright, green eyes were vacant and wide.
Russell could see something she could not. Something that terrified him enough to leave the safety of his home - if the tight grip on her clothes gave any indication. Did he even know she was there? Or was he so scared that he would take comfort from anyone, regardless of the risk?
"S-Sir... Don't- I'm- I'm so-rry," Russell's voice was barely more than a whisper, forced out of his lungs with dread.
Fate's hand instinctively moved from the back of her head and across Russell's back to his hip. Her right hand settled on the pistol in her holster. She secretly hoped the man would recognise the awkwardness of their hug - how they tightened their grip against his side and not his back.
Was she imagining it, or could she see the remnants of his wings twitching under his clothes?
"R-Russell?" Fate had never heard her voice be so soft and unsure. They were kinda glad - in a dark, twisted way - that Russell wasn't nearly present enough to make fun of her insecurity. "It's... It's me, Fay. What... What's wrong?"
It was the first time in a while that Fate felt like the rational one. She was used to shouting matches with the doctor which ultimately led to her being wrong. The calm, snarky man was their perfect foil; he kept her calm, and she kept him safe.
Neither was happening right now.
Fate's head snapped up at the sound of glass crunching underfoot. Someone was inside Russell's house. A thief? She tightened her grip around her pseudo-brother, attempting to strain their ears for incoming danger. There was an unknown threat inside Russell's house. One which Russell could not describe, but had caused something glass to break inside.
The protective side of her reared its head, wanting to run in and discover what had scared him so badly.
The reasonable side of her argued that Russell was more important. He needed comfort right now, and they were the only one around to provide it.
"Poor Little Red..." Russell flinched in her arms, shoulders raised to his ears. His entire body wracked itself with violent shivers that no amount of being held could cure. "W-Who would've thought that you would wind up in a place like this?"
Fate drew their pistol and fired a warning shot towards the bandit, watching the bullet fly just past his ear. She took a great deal of satisfaction watching him jerk in shock. They would apologise later for the hole left in Russell's wall, but it was worth it to watch the bandit squirm.
"S-Say another word, I fuckin' dare you," Fate growled, cocking her pistol again and moving the barrel to the left, "Next time, I'll blow your fuckin' brains out the back of your head without a second thought."
She could feel sand beginning to swirl behind them, pulled by an unknown force. She needed to stay calm, not for her own sake, though.
Fate watched as the bandit broke eye contact first, the pain of his shoulder outweighing the battle of dominance. She didn't like how the doctor in her arms hardly flinched at the sound of her gun firing; he usually hated even seeing guns in his presence. Russell flinched more at a cheap nickname than the potentiality of being shot.
"To think a hybrid would come to the aid of a "pathetic, fake human", huh?" The bandit sneered. His teeth were constantly gritting against the pain of his shoulder. "Tragic. If your littermate didn't have Mr Holloway as his leader... Well, let's just say Venompeaks would take great pleasure in putting him to work."
He stumbled towards the door, catching himself on the frame and manoeuvring around the couple on the ground. Fate watched as he staggered away with little grace. They could shoot him in the back of the head. She was sure she could make up a relatively reasonable excuse to be justifiable.
Russell gagged from where he had hidden against her shoulder. He was quick to stifle the physical manifestation of his anxiety with a tight hand around his mouth. Fate dropped her gun and began to rub her thumb gently against his spine. With her other hand, she grabbed his elbow.
Fate squeezed the joint, letting Russell feel her hand somewhere where it would register in his muddled brain.
"I'm here," She sighed, feeling the telltale sign of tears gathering in her eyes. They hated crying, but Russell seemed to bring it out of her. "I'm not going anywhere. Keep your head down, and... And try to relax."
She felt so lost about what to do. Russell hated being outside the comfort of his safe space: his home. What if that was deemed no longer safe for the man? Where would he feel safe?
Fate pulled Russell into a tighter hug, feeling as he wept silently into her shoulder.
She didn't know what to do.
It was ironic, really, what came to her mind at that moment. An orphaned bandit with anger issues, holding the shaking, terrified and damaged form of her brother in the doorway of his home.
The bandit who couldn't decide how to help besides holding the doctor as tight as possible, and yet...
Fate sniffled.
She wanted Virgil.
She wanted their dad.