''Has it stopped bleeding?''
''Of course not, you idiot. I still have a few buckets to bleed before I die.''
Despite the cold in the place, you remained with only a thin layer of completely bloodied clothing stuck to your body, lifting the hem of your blouse so that Diego could see and feel around the cut. From the expression he made, it wasn't pretty at all.
''I'll need to sew...'' You murmured.
''I do this.''
''No fucking way, you're going to finish stabbing me. I do. You take the string and the needle, they are in the third drawer inside the wagon.''
The burning slash of the blade made it difficult to breathe. Diego promptly picked up the string and needle. As your chest rose and fell for air, the cut slowly opened. When he handed you the requested items, you spent a long time trying to thread the eye of the needle, but your hands were shaking, and the blood made everything slippery. Gently, Diego took them from your hand and did the work for you, although you didn't intend to let him sew your cut.
You left several unnecessary small holes in your skin from one end to the other. Each pull left you dizzy, but your free hand was busy grabbing and squeezing Diego's shoulder to take the pain out. The cut was so deep that you could see a smooth yellowish layer of fat that had slowly been covered by the suture. You were sweating a lot and the little snowflakes fell warm on you. Diego remained kneeling in front of you the whole time, stroking your shoulders, and now and then taking the hair out of your face and stroking you in a strangely inert way. Dry vomiting washed over you when the last seam was done, but you soon recovered. Unbeknownst to you, your face was covered with hot tears.
''Drink some water.'' Diego said, pressing the neck of his canteen to your pale lips. ''I must admit that you are very brave, Miss (Y/N).''
''I'm not brave, just tough, I guess...'' You drank the water. ''Only the good die young.''
Ragged, dirty and bruised, you leaned against the wall, looking up. Your breathing was still weak and heavy and you squinted at Diego, who held your new weapons.
For a moment, you felt a chill. Seeing him like that, holding a gun in front of you, was a little dangerous. But there was a serene glint in his eyes, something close to admiration or reverence.
''Aren't you going to use your carbine anymore?'' He asked as his eyes slid to your face and narrowed with a curious smile.
''It's worked enough, I'm going to retire it.'' You said, the voice fading.
''I see... These are fine weapons.'' He commented, stroking the warm barrel of the gun. ''La Miranda? I feel like I've heard that name before.''
''Yeah... in Rocky Mountains...'' You tilted your head to look at him and gave an unexpected smile. ''Before I shoot you.''
''It's your ability, isn't it?''
''I don't know. I don't know anything. I've been shot, slapped, punched, kicked and stabbed... and I still have no idea what the hell is going on.''
''It's an unusual name, don't you think? 'La Miranda'. What it means?''
''It means it's a much more creative name than 'Scary Monsters'.''
''Don't be so cruel.'' He countered, smiling, not looking truly offended.
''Shut up and get me some coca leaves, Diego. It's on the first shelf.''
With considerable dignity, you allowed Diego to keep you company for a few hours. Like a true gentleman, he cleaned and bandaged your wounds, as if he were paying you back every time you helped him, whether it was by offering him some tea or giving him some useful herbs. With a gauze pad, he carefully wiped the sweat, tears and blood from your face. You had short, sparse conversations. Your mind was still reeling too much to pay attention to anything he said, but you were grateful he was there. You looked up quickly at him, then looked away.
''Why didn't you kill them all?'' You asked.
Diego's hands passed over the linen bags and the dim table like moths, illuminating here and there between pots and cloths.
''What do you mean?'' He stopped what he was doing to approach you, giving you due attention.
''Knowing you... Well, knowing what everyone says about you, I don't think it's like you to let those men get away. Don't get me wrong, I'm really grateful for that... But I thought it was kind of strange that you didn't kill them all.''
"Are you implying I'm a cold-hearted killer, Miss (Y/N)?"
Your eyes widened embarrassingly.
''No, no! I mean...'' You stammered, having in mind the ironic thought of all the people in the village he had turned into dinosaurs. ''It's not that. I just thought it was weird... I mean... I'm not saying you should, but...''
"It's okay, (Y/N)." He smiled cynically, sitting down next to you. ''I'm just playing with you.''
''Ah... Ha...'' You bit your lip thoughtfully. ''You still haven't answered my question. It's better to say before the coca leaves take effect.''
Diego kept his cynical and questioning smile, carefully brushing some wet strands of hair away from your face, and looking directly into your eyes.
''You were injured, my priority wasn't to kill those men.''
''You didn't know it was me, did you? So you came to help?''
''Help you, of course. Why not? But I'm not the gentleman you think I am. If it wasn't you there, I wouldn't waste my time.''
You sighed and gave an imperceptible smile.
''I never thought you were a gentleman.''
His hand slowly pulled away and you dropped your gaze to the floor. You doubted that the nature of Diego's actions found an outlet in pray or philosophy, although you had no opportunity to resort to either of the two things to find out the answer to that. Glancing at him sideways, you saw him grope the crack in his cheek thoughtfully, his fingers smeared with your blood. You felt a lump in your throat remembering the last time you saw him, as if you were being strangled again. You picked up a few more coca leaves and chewed them, feeling the astringency of the herb ease that suffocating feeling.
''Does this always happen?'' You glanced at him, who was still groping for the crack in his cheek. ''When you use your ability...''
''Yes.'' He nodded tersely. ''At first it hurt a little, but now I'm more used to it.''
''Let me see that.''
You reached your hand out to his face, assessing the dryness, but were immediately stopped.
''No.'' He said, gripping your wrist tightly. ''You should rest. There's no reason to worry about me.''
''Diego...''
''You must rest, did you hear me?'' He interrupted.
''But I just need to put on a bandage and...''
''Exactly. There is no urgency for this.''
You pouted and relaxed your hands, although Diego still held your wrist without intending to let go. Of course, what he was doing was logical, but your body was not willing able to rest; your terrible sleepless nights were proof of that. He looked at you, flashing another one of those unmistakably cynical smiles.
''You are the best doctor I've ever known, Miss (Y/N).'' He said, but he didn't seem to be kidding about it. ''I've never seen anything like your compassion. That's very honorable of you, but I can't let you worry about me now.''
In a rush, your eyes shone pathetically. Doctor? No one had ever said anything like that to you. Did a successful British jockey consider you a doctor? Or rather, the best doctor he'd ever met? You couldn't help but think he was joking, so you laughed in disbelief.
''Why are you laughing? I'm talking seriously.''
''Are you?'' This time, the laughter spaced. ''Me, a doctor? You are more optimistic than I thought, Diego Brando.''
''What makes you think you're not a doctor? I've met renowned surgeons who would never compare to you, Miss (Y/N). Although... maybe you have the instinct for healing.''
You shook your head, briefly forgetting how sore you were.
''Instinct for healing?''
''Well... There is no ignorance or superstition in you. I see your natural inclination. You aren't easily nauseated, nor are you afraid of blood or death. You have the peculiar combination of empathy and ruthlessness that a doctor needs to have.''
Diego's hand was still firm on your wrist, looking straight into your eyes. In this exchange of glances, you understood what he meant. You understood his capacity to see your talent; the knowledge of blood and bone, earth and healing, the secret workings of the chambers of the heart.
Diego lifted his head quickly, turning to the kitten in your wagon and letting go of your wrist. You yawned involuntarily, your jaw creaking at the sight of Diego rising to do something you couldn't make out near your wagon. Perhaps he was simply organizing and analyzing the things you had bought.
Distracted in your thoughts, you yawned again, now sure the herbs were taking effect. You rested a hand on your aching shoulder, starting to massage the area; your thumb moving slowly up the tendons of your neck as you surveyed the tall figure of the man before you. He had lit a couple of candles to better light the place, one at each end of the counter, and shadows flickered on the wooden walls and in Diego's golden hair as the flames flickered with a sudden, icy draft.
''I know... a lot of things about the corpse.'' You mumbled, delirious, not knowing exactly why. ''I just don't know why everyone wants it...''
Diego, who was carefully keeping the things you had bought on the shelves of your wagon, stopped and looked at you. A stern look that, if you were sane, would have killed you.
''Why do you want this corpse, Diego? You'll all end up dying for this... Aren't you satisfied with fifty million? You threaten me, try to scare me, interrogate me... But I still can't get mad at you. I can't help but worry just as I couldn't help but bleed when that knife cut me. All this... because of a damn corpse...''
Silent for some time, a murmur came out of Diego's tense throat, like a soft croak. He shook his head, walking over and kneeling in front of you. Your faces disturbingly close again, his fingers sliding across your jaw, like when he was about to tenderly choke you.
Then, the hand that was on your jaw slid from your neck to your arm smoothly and slowly, as if he wanted to make the sensation of touching your skin eternal. Finally, he stopped when he touched your hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the lightly bloodstained fingers. This was the first time anyone had kissed your hand; you never came close to being a madam or a proper lady to deserve such treatment.
''You need a shower, and some rest. There is a hotel near here, I will pay for your accommodation.''
You didn't say anything, your eyes looking absently at his shoulder. You couldn't look him in the eyes, because you knew he would see the pathetic dilation of your pupils. You tried not to be shaken by his voice trembling in your ear. You forced your mind to hold steady even though your body was completely weak. Concentrated on breathing in the astringency of the herbs, calming your heartbeat until you couldn't feel it anymore. Diego's hand touched your shoulder, helping you to stand up, and you felt his breath shiver down your neck.
''I know who you are. I know what you did. I'm not expecting any confession from you, because I already know everything. I know who you killed, and who took you to Kansas City. There's no need to lie to me.''
You felt nauseated by those words. They sounded as dangerous as a death threat, but his strong arms at your back, helping you to your feet, didn't sound quite the same. In the middle of the street, he covered you with his coat and took you to the hotel. The incessant music and conversation in the upstairs saloon forced you to close your eyes and lower your head.
It was at that moment that you realized how much you enjoyed Diego's company. Suddenly, understood how much you had looked forward to seeing him during the race, how solid and comforting his company was amidst the complexities of that journey. And, to be quite honest, how you liked the warmth and softness of his body. He held you tightly, your head nestled under his chin.
You knew everyone was looking at you. Your muscles tensed and your jaw clenched, but you continued to stare at the floor, until Diego leaned you towards the soft surface of a bed, now with the external sounds muffled. He said something, but you didn't hear or see him leave. You picked up the blanket beneath you, rubbing it roughly over the newly closed wound. Before could falter, forced yourself to sit up and run your fingers across the bed, smeared with blood.
You heard a clink on the small table next to the bed, Diego had placed your guns there, in case you needed to use them. Your questioned, for a moment, if he would really leave you alone there, but soon realized that in your current condition, it was safer.
Your eyes were open only in a narrow slit, but enough to get out of the room. Refused to languish in a bed. You needed whiskey or something stronger to ease the pain. At most, your dizziness would last for a day; at least, just a few hours.
Dizzy, you staggered over and sat down on the counter, smearing it with the blood on your hands, and ordered the largest shot of whiskey they served – and that was a whole bottle – taking immediate and desperate swigs. For the first time, alcohol was helping you to organize your thoughts.
You propped yourself up on elbows in silence as a few well-dressed women and men in suits stared at that disheveled and injured woman. Numbly, you thought of Diego. Landing your head down on the counter, cooling your flushed face against the cold wood. I know who you are, he said. I know what you did and who you killed.
Staring into space, you straightened up and stood.
"Hey, is that (Y/N) over there?"
''Or what's left of her...'' You felt a strong hand shaking you, and slowly looked away. ''What the hell happened to you, woman?!''
You closed and opened your eyes slowly, seeing Gyro hover beside you. The words jumbled together, blurring with your urgent urge to take another sip of whiskey. And yet, when you saw Gyro and Johnny, you felt a bit of peace, an easing of tension as you heard, over and over, "What the hell happened?" followed by "We don't have time for this, Johnny!''
''I'm fine.'' You said, coming to your senses, with the voice slurred. ''I am fine... How were the run, guys?''
''Terrible. I'm sorry, (Y/N)...'' Johnny said. He was in his wheelchair and Gyro was already walking towards the poker table. ''We don't have much time to talk, it's a long story.''
''What? Don't have time? Why? You better explain this straight, Johnny.'' You demanded as set the whiskey bottle down on the counter and turned to face him, still seated. ''What is Gyro doing at the poker table?''
''We...'' He stammered and swore under his breath, looking for short, clear words. ''We need to spend about sixty million dollars before sunset.''
''What? Millions?!'' You gasped slightly, eyes widening. ''Where the hell did you get that money and why do you need to spend it?!''
''I said it's a long story and we don't have time!'' He justified himself embarrassingly. ''I'm sorry, but I have to go. Stay safe, (Y/N).''
Bewildered, you watched him go over to Gyro for the betting table. For a moment, the pain you were feeling disappeared, giving way to confusion and leaving you gaping. You got to your feet more easily, still sipping from the whiskey bottle, and walked over to the two men, but not too close to watch. You were slowly succumbing to fear, confusion, and dismay, but calming down.
They bet an exorbitant amount of chips, equivalent to sixty million dollars. Every minute you watched the bet, the more confused you became. They needed to spend that money before sunset, that's what Johnny said. But if they couldn't, what would happen?
In a smooth and deceitful move, the dealer's hands responsible for spinning the roulette wheel answered his question.
As Gyro and Johnny tried to free themselves from the roots that were pulling them into the ground, you pondered as you saw a man approaching behind them. He was tall, with gray hair and a top hat that partially covered his face.
A revolver gleamed in the middle of the greenish coat, being slowly pulled from his holster. You frowned, taking a last sip of the whiskey and completely getting rid of the pain, leaving the bottle in the hands of a lady who was smoking next to you.
''Keep it.'' You murmured to the woman, walking discreetly up to the man to flank him.
You felt tired and reckless after killing two men in one afternoon. You dodged the armed security guards, drew your revolver and fired without hesitation when saw the silvery flash of the gun aimed at Johnny. A clear shot to the man's head was fired, however, he did not immediately die as he should have. Even with the gray matter exposed and chunks of flesh and skull dangling over the side of his head, he was still staggering, and the shot that should have hit Johnny ended up hitting one of the security guards. A din of screams and clattering feet echoed through the hall.
''Johnny, behind you! He's still alive!'' You warned, hoping they were quick enough.
Gracefully and in sync, Johnny and Gyro finished off the man. They seemed aware of what was going on, unlike you.
''Where'd the rest of them go?!'' Gyro exclaimed. ''There were eleven of them before! Where are the other ten?!''
''What the hell is going on? Are they stand users?!'' You questioned, in vain
''(Y/N)! Did you see them?! Johnny, did you see?!''
''I don't know, Gyro!'' Johnny replied, aware of his surroundings. ''I wasn't looking! I wasn't paying attention at all!''
''I don't know what the hell are you talking about!''
Distracted and numb as you were, you heard two shots fired behind you. Gyro grunted and Johnny fired back. You saw the Italian's face contort in the ambient light. You could see the agony and pain rise to his lips, but he held them back and threw his steel ball in the direction of whoever had shot him.
In fact, they were stand users, and you noticed this when saw two men emerge from the lifeless body, exactly like the dead man. Without thinking twice, you broke through the fire and ran towards Gyro. His arm was hanging in thin pieces of flesh torn apart by two shots, completely susceptible to an amputation. The blood he spurted indicated that an artery had ruptured. You gasped, Gyro was as white as a fish's belly, his hair was sticky with sweat and his blood was all over you. He touched your hand, as a kind of thanks or understanding gesture, and smiled wanly.
''(Y/N), get out of here.'' He said. ''Get out through the back. If there are more enemies, so shoot. But if not, stay safe.''
''What? But...''
"Get the hell out of here now, (Y/N)!" He yelled, grabbing you by the arm and pushing you away from him. Another sequence of shots was heard.
More and more men appeared. You staggered and bumped into something that then grabbed your wrist. That certainly wasn't Gyro's hand. You shook your head when saw that it was one of the men attacking them, raising your arm painfully as the stitched wound stretched in your rib. In a rush of rage and adrenaline, you took your other revolver out of the holster with your free hand and shot the man in the chest, who fell and released you.
A festival of blood, bones and guts covered the luxurious saloon. The glass from the broken chandeliers scratched your body and stuck to your sweat-blooded skin. You hid under a table where the other customers were. You lurched forward, your two guns in hand, and people exchanged horrified looks.
Moving with difficulty, feeling as if this were all part of a dream, you put the hand over your wound and groaned in pain.
Looking ahead, you saw Johnny and Gyro's things and dragged yourself to it, hearing cries of despair behind you.
''They're coming again, Gyro!''
''No, Johnny, the body on the far right! They're coming out of the right!'' You heard the screams. ''No, no! Shit... Hide, Johnny, hide! Go to the back of the room!''
You winced as you heard more shots. This time it extended to dozens. Fearing the worst, you remained hidden, while you rummaged through Johnny's backpack in search of something that would make you forget the excruciating pain of the cut in your ribs that paralyzed your arm.
An eerie silence descended as the gunfire ceased, interrupted by brief sobs and sighs from the other men. You held back your tears, imagining that Gyro and Johnny would be dead by then. Inside the rucksack in your hands, is a small pot of herbs carefully tucked away in a linen bag. The filipendula you had given Johnny was still there.
''Damn, Johnny...'' Someone muttered, and you breathed a sigh of relief. ''I need to sew this up, or else I'm in deep shit. You have a piece of string?''
''I... I don't have any, Gyro.''
''Shit... (Y/N) probably isn't here anymore... otherwise...'' He growled. ''Hey, you guys, over there. The ones under the table.''
The men beside you murmured in confusion.
''You can give me some string? I need you guys to get me a piece of string, please!''
''Listen up, tough guy.'' The voice sounded clearer beside you. ''Frankly, this is a big hassle for all of us. Either get the hell out of here, or hurry and get shot and get this thing over it. I've got a date in a few too. This has nothing to do with us.''
You heard Gyro curse. You tried to reason for a few seconds, and turned to the man beside you with the bag of herbs in hand.
''Hey, hey, hey...'' You whispered, nudging his shoulder. ''I'm with those two gentlemen. You've seen them betting about sixty million before, haven't you? To do something so stupid, they must have been very willing to spend that money, don't you think? Listen, you guys seem to shoot well with those guns. Get me some string and a needle so I can sew up that gentleman's wound... and be our bodyguards. Kill these bastards. In return, I'm sure sixty million dollars will be in your hands tonight. What do you say?''
The man thought for a few seconds, eyeing you suspiciously.
''Is there any guarantee that they will pay us?''
''You already know they have that money. You just need them alive. If they don't pay, I'll let you slit their throats.''
''Fair enough.'' He looked at the other men, and they all nodded. ''Get this lady a piece of string.''
Filipendula wasn't a very effective plant for the kind of pain you were having, but it might be useful for Johnny. When you were given the string, you waited for the men to reload their guns and pondered at the edge of the table, where you could see your two partners hiding behind a pillar riddled with bullet holes. With all the agility you could muster, you rolled to their hiding place, squeezing yourself between the two men.
''What... (Y/N), are you an idiot? Are you deaf? What are you doing here?!'' Gyro scolded you.
''Shut up and give me your arm, Gyro.'' You looked at Johnny, out of breath. ''Here, your herbs. Don't worry about preparing, eat them anyway.''
He didn't say anything, but you knew what he was thinking. Johnny nodded and took the herbs. Gyro's blood still dripped warm on your hands.
You held the needle and dirty string in one hand as you pulled your knife out with the other hand, handing it to the man.
''Bite the handle of the knife. I'm not sober and this is going to hurt.''
Gyro remained paralyzed for an instant, eyes closed, hands clenched around the knife handle, refusing to do what you said. Without delay, you started your work. You didn't know if it was the adrenaline or the whiskey or the fact that you were sewing up the soft, sticky tissue of an artery with a dirty string, but you started to feel like you wanted to throw up.
''Gyro, they are going to attack us from all sides!''
Johnny's scream startled you and the urgency of the moment made you desperate. You closed Gyro's wound with such violence that it made you grunt as much as he did with the effort, and a dark curtain of blood gushed out at the sound of more gunfire. The deafening sounds around you confused your senses, Johnny was out of shots, Gyro had just thrown his last steel ball and you, paralyzed by nausea, couldn't draw your gun fast enough.
Your eyes focused on the cold abyss of the gun's barrel aimed directly at your head. The snap of the trigger, the chill of death. You can feel all this in advance, in just a blink of an eye. But you soon regained your senses with another wave of gunfire. This time, thank God, for the bodyguards you had hired.
The resulting crack from the shots gave you a start, and the man's body fell lifelessly on top of you. However many hours you spent stitching up your wound and tending to your bruises, it was all for nothing. You heard Johnny's heavy, labored breathing, making sure he was hit, but your main focus at that moment was getting the man's heavy, fetid body off of you. Johnny was paralyzed, so pale and sweaty that for a moment you feared he'd died of shock if not for the gunfire. But then an intense chill ran through the man's frail frame. Johnny slid back, seeing that all the enemies were dead, and he rose stiffly. Moving away from the pillar.
''(Y/N), what's going on?!'' Johnny questioned, shocked.
''You bet sixty million earlier, didn't you? I offered your money to these men to be our bodyguards... shit... it's good you have that money. I said they could slit your throats if you didn't pay, but I think I'll do it myself.''
''What a good trade, (Y/N)...'' You heard Gyro mutter, a twinge of pride in his voice. ''Excuse me, gentlemen, would you be interested in some land and a Bulgari watch? Or even a building? As a tip.''
''Yo, big guy, so where are the papers? You've gotta change the name on It, remember that!''
''Of course, gadly.''
''How the hell did you get all these things?'' You questioned, still feeling a bit nauseous.
''It's a long story... Johnny, what time is it?''
''It's still before sunset, Gyro! We've still got time before the end of the day! It means...''
''We used up all of our things, Johnny! Looks like we're not going to be into a tree after all!''
"For God's sake...'' You said, with typical sourness and dismay. Then you got up with difficulty. ''I'm gonna get the hell out of this damn city before it gets dark... what a shitty day.''
If you had stayed there a little longer, sitting beside them, you would surely have heard friendly expressions of gratitude. But you were too tired. That day was chaotic, filled with violence and blood. You thought, countless times, that you would die. Somewhere on the counter chair you sought refuge. You were wasting away as if the weight of death was on your shoulders. How many people had you killed today? When did this become a common question? Your muscles ached like they should after an afternoon of slaughter.
Gyro and Johnny were still there, watching you patiently, getting to their feet almost as weakly as you. Most of your clothes were now bloody, dirty and thrown to the floor, leaving only a single thin layer of clothing that you now lifted to assess the state of your injuries. Not pretty, as you'd expect.
Johnny didn't show any change in expression as he looked at you, except that his blue eyes were barely blinking. You lifted a glass of whiskey abandoned on the bar, but your hands were shaking too much to drink it. Seeing this, he blinked once or twice, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and shook his head as if he wanted to clear it.
''Hey, Johnny.'' Gyro stammered weakly. ''Let's get the horses, they're outside.''
''Gyro...'' He said, still looking at you. ''Do you think that...''
''Let's give her a break.''
''You're right...'' he muttered. ''I'll go with you.''
The back door closed and you sighed, being alone in the saloon. You and a dozen dead men. Johnny looked a little darker than usual, you thought, as you rose from your chair and walked carefully so as not to step on any shattered brains. All the liquor bottles were broken and the floor was completely soaked. Luckily you had your boots on.
You straightened up exhausted and backed away when felt your back ache. Your arms were covered in bruises and your face was strangely numb. You closed your eyes and rubbed your hands across your tingling lips, trying to erase the taste of death. There was something wrong, but you didn't know exactly what. Was all of this supposed to be so quick and easy? All the stand users you faced so far didn't die so easily, even more so because of some armed men. Thinking about it made you think of Blackmore and your throat closed up as you remembered Diego too. The urgency of needing to know what to do about this man was overwhelming and daunting.
The sound of a door opening behind you brought you out of your thoughts. You figured the two men had returned, but you were still alone. Suspicious, you staggered feebly to the door. The dull thud of heavy footsteps on the snow was followed by the ready sight of one of the eleven men.
Gyro wasn't there, and Johnny was crying in a way you've never seen before. The man looked up from what was in his hands to look at you, but you lowered your head to look for Gyro. Your fingers tightened on the holster unconsciously, though the man showed no signs of attacking. He was as wounded and as weak as you are, but the urge to aim your weapon took over your body.
''Johnny, what the fuck is this? Are they still coming back?!''
''No...'' He sobbed. He was on the floor with his back to you. His face was hidden, but he sounded like he was crying. ''Please... (Y/N), put the gun down.''
The man looked at you, holding a pair of ears, an arm and a bottle of wine in his hands. The corpse, you thought and immediately lowered your weapon. He left the bottle on the ground and climbed weakly onto his horse, as if he were about to die.
''Is she planning to finish me off here? Shoot me from behind?'' He questioned, his voice slurred across swollen, bloodied lips.
''Ugh...'' Johnny sniffed discreetly, you saw him wipe his face with his forearm. ''Just go... go back to the president... And if you show your face to me ever again... i'll finish you off, right then and there... this is the end of our deal.''
Deal? The icy wind covered you all over and you kept the gun. The piercing cold made your throat burn. Without looking back you saw the man leave with the corpse parts. You didn't understand anything, but you knew how serious the situation was.
''Johnny...'' You stammered, kneeling beside him.
He shook his head, as if he wanted to hide from you. He was terribly saddened by what had happened, but he couldn't help but feel ashamed. Johnny's voice was shaking, though he didn't really say a word. Hesitantly, you slid your arm carefully around his back, watching for any sign of retreat. But there wasn't. He surrendered to your touch. Johnny rested his forehead on his clenched fists, knuckles driven hard into his sockets. His neck tendons were taut with tension and his face was flushed.
You looked over your shoulders, Gyro was behind you, watching the scene wistfully.
''You gave to him?'' His voice was weak and affable. ''The corpse parts... you handed them over to the last guy left?''
Johnny looked up with desperate courage and spoke very simply to his friend.
''No... the rules were to use them up. So I exchanged them... with this opened bottle of wine...''
You felt the deep rumble of muffled breath in Johnny's chest as he answered. Despite the blizzard, his body was warm and soft. His ears were beautifully red from the cold and seeing him like that made you want to pull him closer to you, but you stopped yourself.
''Johnny...'' Gyro muttered, kneeling down beside you.
Johnny's body was doubled over, his face contorted with the inner struggle, and his voice was choked and breathy. You stood there, between the two men, paralyzed, trying to absorb the silent situation. Calming the turmoil in your mind. Only when you felt your heart slow down did you take your arms from Johnny and drop your head in exhaustion.
So the three of you let the silence wash over you in waves, enveloping you like the folds of a cloak, comforting you against the cold. And you waited for the seconds to pass, countless. Johnny's tears formed graceful frozen tracks on his face.
''The snow... is falling pretty hard right now...'' Johnny broke the silence. ''Do you want a drink?''
''Yeah... maybe... it'll warm up us a little, huh?'' Gyro said. Now, the three of you were sitting in the snow, close enough to feel each other's breath.
''For God's sake...'' You said with your predictable sourness, taking the bottle from Johnny's hand, taking a quick drink and passing it to Gyro.
Whatever Gyro intended to do, you had just ruined it, judging by the man's expression.
''Thank you so much for what you did in the saloon, (Y/N).'' Johnny said, his voice slowly seeming to regain strength. ''If it weren't for you, we'd be dead.''
''It was nothing... you guys saved me a few times too.'' You stopped and cleared your throat. ''I think I'm getting used to all this nonsense.''
''Hey... how about we make a toast, before we got our horses?'' Gyro suggested, handing you and Johnny an aluminum mug.
''To what? We've lost everything.''
You stared at Gyro, temporarily speechless. His hair fell loose over his shoulders, shining like the moon.
''How about a toast... to the ball that hit the net?''
''What do you mean?'' You asked, genuinely curious. He didn't look like he'd hit his head to be delusional now.
''Don't you like it? Then, to the next corpse part.''
''Oh, don't talk about that damn corpse next to me.''
''To the next corpse part, huh? That's good... I liked it.'' Johnny commented. All the bad moods that consumed you disappeared the instant you saw him smile. It was very rare to see him with such a peaceful expression on his face. ''To the next part, and to the goal.''
Gyro filled both glasses and toasted with Johnny. You were ready to drink, imagining that they wouldn't offer the toast to you; after all, you weren't a runner, and you didn't collect the corpse parts. But you couldn't help but light up your eyes when Johnny raised his glass in your direction. You weren't completely oblivious to everything that was going on, and you were his friend. The tense embarrassment disappeared, replaced by a kind of mad enthusiasm.
You toasted with both. Their faces flushed and pretty. To the next part, and to the goal.
''You still haven't told us what the hell happened to you, (Y/N).'' Relaxed, Gyro joked.
''It's a long story... A group of gamblers cornered me in an alley and they tried... well... they just tried.'' You said, with an unexpected smile. ''I'm sure they were betting that one of you would win this stage.''
''They...'' Johnny stammered with a kindly, worried look at the side of your bloodstained shirt. ''Did they do this to you? And what happened next?''
''I shot one, then another and... '' You took a deep breath. ''a guard appeared and scared the rest...''
You shivered, but not from the cold. You remembered Diego and now, without the numbness of pain, his words sounded more frightening than anything you had heard in your life. The two were silent, knowing that, for you, words are not a very effective form of comfort. That's when you heard a soft click coming from Gyro, who had now taken his cape off.
''Come here.'' He said it simply but like a gentleman as he covered you with the thick fabric and rested his hand on your shoulder. ''Let's go inside, the snow is getting worse.''
''Back to the saloon? With all that blood? I'd rather camp away from this city.'' You objected, snuggling into the warmth of Gyro's cape. ''I also need to make you a bandage, tough guy.''