Fic - Run

Mar. 2nd, 2008 10:55 am
sl_walker: (IP&S - ShadowKnight)
[personal profile] sl_walker posting in [community profile] shadowknight
Title: Run
Rating: PG
Universe: Alternate
Timeline: 1984, February 28th, 2006
Written: February 28th, 2006
Summary: A look at brothers - Mike and Eddie Nelson in 1984; another look at brothers, ghosts, fear and trust in 2006. "What're brothers for?"  Saving you when you can't save yourself.


"Hey, Mikey."

"I hate it when you call me that, Edward."

Eddie Nelson winced as he climbed up onto the fence to sit beside his baby brother. "Yeah, whatever. Good stock?"

Mike nodded, looking at the mustangs corralled inside of the fence. They were still skittish, but coming around slowly; the fact that there were stockpiled apples and carrots as incentives did a lot. He loved working with them, loved that first moment when a wild horse came close enough to get a treat, loved how they snorted the first time they had their nose pet by a human hand. His father had taught him a lot in the past three years -- it was, really, all they spoke about.

He pointed to the bay stallion, standing guard over the mares. "Good stud material. Solid, straight-limbed, clean gait."

Eddie wasn't the horseman, he was the fighter. In as such, he didn't pretend to understand more than how to ride. "Got a light?"

Mike pulled his old lighter out, offering it over without taking his eyes off of the herd. "So, tomorrow..."

"Yeah." Ed lit the cigarette, then handed the lighter back. "Don't worry. I'll make sure your horses make it home."

"Make sure you do, too," Mike thought, but didn't say. They had some rocky spots in the past, him and Eddie, but they were brothers now like they hadn't been before the world ended.

Mom was the reason. Losing Mom. Standing, shivering, digging in the frozen Montana earth together so that they could bury her. That terrible realization that this world was unforgiving, and all it took was one bad winter to kill even the healthy. That was two years ago.

Eddie offered the cigarette over. "You got my gear all ready?"

"Yeah. I'll saddle Evie up first thing for you." Mike didn't care for smoking, but he took the cigarette anyway, hit on it, then handed it back. Every once in awhile they'd sit and share a smoke, or a drink, and it had become something of a small tradition between them. "How's Dad?"

"Mad as a hornet."

No surprise. Dad wasn't a pacifist, but his first priority was his family and keeping them safe. The fact that tomorrow one was going to ride off to join a raiding party went against that.

They had left Wisconsin towards the beginning; grabbed what little they could take, loaded up their two quarterhorses and took that old truck and trailer along backroads, past the eerie glow of the Twin Cities on fire, past the refugees, past everything to the heart of Montana. And finally, when the brief war ended, on to Missoula.

Now, surrounded by mountains peaked with snow, and the hot summer air close to the ground, what was left of his family was waiting for tomorrow.

The sons shared a smoke, and watched the horses.

Twenty-two years later, Mike would still remember that evening because it was the last -- the late sunset, the horses, just him and his brother and an old stale Marlboro.

He would remember winter of that year, too, because winter was when Evie came back without her rider.

He knew when he saw the strange man from somewhere south of there ride up on one of his horses, leading Evie, riderless. Knew as they faded out of the snow that the shadow he thought was on her back was just in his own imagination.

He had walked out, not feeling the cold, and taken Evie by her reins, leading her back to the stables. Unsaddled her, hands shaking -- dried blood in the seams, Eddie's blood, not washed away by the miles, the rain, the snow. Took the saddle blanket, stained itself, put it over the rail of the stall. Grabbed the curry comb. Started grooming the old brown mare with the one white sock, that Eddie used to tease made her look like she stepped in a paint bucket, and the next thing he knew he was sitting in the straw with his head in his hands, sobbing too hard to breathe.

Remembered his father pulling him up by his arm, not speaking; remembered the stumbling walk back to the house, eyes too blurred with tears to see where he was putting his feet down; remembered his father ordering him to do something -- not the words, but the rough edge on his voice from raw grief unspoken.

The last thing he remembered from that night was finally giving into sleep, and that last moment before oblivion, when he felt his father's fingertips touch the side of his head to confirm that there was still one son left.


--


Jack's hooves dug into the muddy ground; a thundering, one-horse stampede across the clearing in the valley, in the rain. It had been raining since they left sometime in the middle of the night, and it hadn't stopped.

There wasn't much sense to it. Mike had pushed the big horse; a trot in the darkness with almost no light, over familiar trails that he knew. Pausing to rest, only briefly, then riding again. And come first light, he kicked Jack to a gallop and ran the horse whenever possible, as hard and fast as he could, as far from the settlement as he could get.

He was usually far more careful with his animals. The muddy ground was asking for a fall; one or both of them tumbling to the ground, where death was fairly certain. This kind of risk was unacceptable even when there was a real reason for it.

But he still rode hard; trying to outrun what was chasing him, trying to lose himself in the rhythm of hooves and the heavy breathing of a horse almost more flying than running.

"Get out of my head," he pleaded silently, but it was all in vain.

He didn't discredit himself by pretending that the problem in this moment was the settlement, or the 'bots, or Rick, or Nance or even the resistance. The problem was Joel. Simple as that.

"He saved your life," some voice argued. "He could have just left you for dead."

"He had something to gain from it."


Mike was torn between the two.

Run.

No, stay.

Get away from me... no, talk to me.

He snarled out loud. Jack, who was starting to understand his new rider, felt that more than heard it and poured on the speed, trying to outrun whatever this was that was scaring them.

I know you.

No... I don't.

Why do I know you?

I don't -- you're just some stupid, scared human hiding in the woods.

The rain wasn't going to let up anytime soon. He was cold and tired and hurting quite a bit, but maybe if he could get far enough away, he wouldn't be drawn back again; he could just keep riding and maybe get back to Missoula and the echoes of his father and mother and brother... anywhere but here, anywhere but around these people. Better to face old ghosts than new ones.

You'll take them away from me.

Wait. They're yours, not mine, you can't take them away from me because they were never mine to begin with.

Why does it matter?

They're just robots. It doesn't.

Don't take them away...

He finally eased back on the reins, slowing Jack from that breakneck speed, trying to breathe himself, calm back down. Let his horse breathe. Jack was huffing hard in the cool air, but he was still feeding off his rider's emotions and danced sideways a couple of steps.

I'm okay. It's just me and the horse and the rain.

They're still back there.

Why can't I get away? I have to get away.

I have to go back.

I can't go back.

Mike gave Jack his rein, and the horse took off again; not quite the same running-for-his-life gallop, but still fast. And Mike just let him go. Let him run. The horse was smarter than he was right now. Josh would have done the same -- tried to make it better for his rider, his friend, his family, by getting away from whatever it was scaring them.

I know you... that means you know me.

I don't want you to know me.

Do you know how scared I am?

You're the one who's scared, you were hiding in the woods. I'm not scared.

You act scared. But you're the strong one.

You can't be. What does that make me?

He was torn between the two. Like the wolf prowling around the edge of a camp, just in the peripheral edge of firelight; run back into the wild, or come closer to the fire. Go hide in the cold or risk getting burned. He didn't want to get burned; didn't want to get close. Let Joel just go back to his damn cabin, and never think of going there. Say goodbye to Tom and Crow and let them go.

Why did you save me?

Because you had something to gain from it. You got my horse, and all that gear, that's good enough. What more could I possibly do to pay you back and get you away from me?

Why did I let you?

I didn't.

I did.

Why did you?

Jack finally slowed as they ended the valley; to a canter, to a trot, to a walk, then finally stopped, massive chest heaving, streaked with rain and sweat. And they sat in the rain, soaked, horse and rider and a heavy sky. Ahead was an incline. It was a choice too. Keep going and don't look back, or turn around and go back to the settlement.

Why should I go back?

I shouldn't.

But they're... they're important to me.

They're just more people to lose. They'll use me and lose me. Or die on me. Like Mom. And Eddie. And Dad.

I can protect them.

I can't even protect myself.

Joel will protect me.

Only if it's useful.

No.

Why?

I don't know.

Mike laughed, a slightly unstable laugh, and Jack snorted nervously. Finally starting to get his own head together, Mike patted him on the neck; I'm not crazy, I'm just... something.

Scared.

Lost.

He pulled out the Marlboro he had taken from the dead cajun's pack, shielding it as well as he could from the rain. The cigarette was a little damp, but it lit when he fired it up with his old lighter.

"You're the only one left, Mikey."

"Don't call me that, Edward."

It had to be because he was cold and wet and exhausted and hurting, to hear his dead brother, sitting on Evie with the one white sock next to him. Had to be because he was crazy, and scared and so torn between needing to run and needing to stay. Maybe there was something in the tobacco. He didn't know.

"You can't spend the rest of your life trying to outrun this."

"Yes I can. Just over the hill. Missoula's still there."

He didn't like smoking, but it was a tradition. Except, there was no one there to share the cigarette with but a phantom in his messed up head.

"Why're you so scared, anyway?"

"Because I don't want to hurt anymore. He can hurt me."

It was, at least, the truth. If you care about someone, you trust them, you let them know you, and if they know you, they can hurt you, all it would take would be a couple of words. He knew the 'bots wouldn't, because he just knew -- he knew Nance wouldn't, too. Rick he wasn't so sure about, but Rick didn't scare him. Rick was almost an ally, feeling uneasy with him. It was Joel that scared him.

"Ever wonder what woulda happened if I came home?"

"Eddie... don't," Mike pleaded, though he didn't dare look over because if he did, he'd know he was talking to absolutely nothing but thin air. Not that he didn't already know that. But there was little sense in confirming that he was losing his mind.

"No, really, think about it."

"I can't."

"Sure you can," Eddie said, cheerfully. "See, I woulda come back and we woulda raised Hell in Missoula, partying all night long down at the bar. And after we woke up with hangovers, Dad woulda chewed us up and down for missing the morning chores, but we woulda just laughed it off and gone to do 'em--"

"--please stop." Because for a moment, he was sitting in the straw with his head in his hands.

Eddie's voice lost it's light note. "Okay, okay. But listen to me: You can't outrun this. The ends of the earth wouldn't be far enough, and you know that, Mike. You have to face it. Good or bad. And yeah, you might end up getting burned. But you might not, too."

He didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Didn't want to answer. Did want to answer. But what would he say?

"Just ask."

Finally, he nodded. He knew what his phantom meant. Just ask. The answer, either way, would give him some peace and he needed that before he could run or stay. Any answer. Good or bad.

"...thanks, Ed."

"What're brothers for?"

Mike tossed the butt of the cigarette down to sizzle out on the wet ground; finally looked and realized that no one was there but himself and that last echo of a question. Maybe just his crazy, conflicted mind trying to resolve itself; maybe bad tobacco. Maybe really a ghost. Didn't matter.

He turned Jack and started back the long way to the settlement, answering:

"Saving you when you can't save yourself."

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