COWBOY UP • TnT Duo Western AU

CUT AND RUN

Wilbur sits up immediately at the sound of the banging, reaching over and grabbing one of his guns. He holds it tight against his chest, counting the seconds between knocks.

Quackity startles, sitting up. He looks to Wilbur, who is pressed against the backboard of his bed, gun angled towards the door, and shakes his head. "You're so tense."

Still, Quackity throws on a coat to cover his wings, scowling when the knocking persists. He glances at Wilbur before opening the door. He doesn't open it fully, just cracks it. The fact that he opens the door at all befuddles Wilbur.

"Hello?" Quackity starts, fixing his hair with a hand.

"I caught wind of a rumor, that you're housin' some outlaw with a real big bounty. Know anything 'bout that?"

"I think I would know if some billion dollar man walked into my saloon. And I don't house people, so beat it. No outlaw here." He raises one hand in a sort of shrug. Wilbur straightens his arm, holding it steady with his free hand.

Quackity takes a step back as the man pushes through the door. Wilbur had guessed where his head was by where Quackity had been looking, drawing a messy estimate of his height. Still, he cannot bring himself to shoot the man in the head.

The guy is able to half-draw his gun before Wilbur shoots him in the knee. He falls with a cry. The gun slips from his grip, skidding and hitting the far wall with a thump. Quackity hesitates. And then he picks the gun up, unloading it.

Wilbur stands, beginning to reholster his belts and bags, cursing himself for letting the guy get as close to shooting as he did. He keeps one gun out on the nightstand as he works. "It's not safe for you here, Quackity. You should come with me."

"Yeah, because traveling with an outlaw is incredibly safe." Quackity has to speak quite loudly to be heard over the groaning and weeping of the supposed bounty hunter. He hooks his arms under the man's armpits, dragging and leaning him up against a wall.

"It'll be safer than staying here, and you can ditch anytime you want. I- I know someone, if it's finding work you're worried about." Wilbur pulls his coat on, turning to face Quackity.

Quackity stares at him. "But I've got connections, Wilbur. I know people. I live here." He rubs his arm.

"I- I did too. I had a life like yours. My own father tried to kill me, Quackity. You have to understand that these bonds of yours won't last in a world like this. They'll kill you to get to me, and if they think you've purposely let me go, they'll- they'll do worse. It's- Quackity. Please." Wilbur looks at him then.

Quackity bites at his lip. Really, he was ready to go the second Wilbur mentioned leaving. But this gives him shocking insight. Odd, the Wilbur from Quackity's old life had been killed by his father. What a crazy parallel. Looking at Wilbur now, Quackity is shocked by just how much he is reminded of Manberg Wilbur. Its a dangerous concept. Wilbur had been a dangerous man.

Quackity inhales, blinking. "...yeah, okay. Sure."

Wilbur sighs with relief, and Quackity is unnerved by just how much he cares.

Wilbur heads downstairs, leaving Quackity. He keeps a gun in one hand, nearly losing his footing several times. His leg aches terribly, and each step makes Wilbur wince. He heads to the backroom Quackity was in last night, pausing to grab his hat off a table, and starts to rifle through boxes.

Quackity is down quickly, a bag on his back. He begins to pile stuff into his bag. Money, bandages, a bottle of alcohol, a bottle of water. He takes Wilbur's waterskins, filling them up with another bottle. Dried meat, a knife. Wilbur mostly just watches, glancing anxiously from door to door.

Quackity had shut the door leading to the backroom. Wilbur hears someone enter through the swinging doors at the front of the Saloon and readies his gun.

Quackity stands, opening a different door, one that leads outside. He glances around before gesturing for Wilbur to follow him.

They leave, and Quackity shuts the door behind him. They take off in a sprint, Quackity in the lead. It's early morning, yet the sun is already hot on his back. "We'll go to the old barn at the far end of town. They've got horses." At least Quackity hopes so. This world is so strange and his memory is stranger.

It's quite the sprint for Wilbur, and Quackity keeps throwing looks over his shoulder. By the time they arrive at the barn, Wilbur is panting, and dizzy. He follows Quackity into the barn, gun still drawn. Shouts are sounding from the other end of town, getting louder.

Quackity goes to a stall at the far end of the barn. He finds a horse. Two horses, actually. He looks to Wilbur.

"Can you ride?" He asks, looking down at Wilbur's leg with a raised brow.

"Can you?" Wilbur parrots, almost defensive in nature. "Have you ever ridden?"

"Yes." Quackity recalls his horse made of bones, a fond memory from his old life. It was the horse Wilbur had tried to blow up. He'd gotten Ranboo instead. "Of course. Are you well enough?"

"Yes. Come on." Wilbur pushes open the stable door next to Quackity, saddling the horse with much effort. Quackity follows his lead, and soon they are riding out of the barn doors, into town.

Quackity makes a left, towards the desert, Wilbur following him. A gunshot sounds. Wilbur draws his gun. Another bang.

Quackity's horse startles, rearing, and he curses. Wilbur throws a look over his shoulder. Another shot and Quackity's horse falls on its side with a loud groan, sending up a dust cloud.

Quackity yelps, right leg getting relatively crushed, side hitting the ground with a heavy smack. He pulls himself from the horse's kicking body, trying to get a glimpse of the crowd beyond Wilbur. His vision is too blurry, but he can guess that they're getting closer by the rush of sound.

Wilbur rides around to Quackity's side of the horse, urging him to hurry.

With a heave, Wilbur pulls Quackity up in front of him. Where he found the strength for it, Quackity doesn't know. He feels the heat of a bullet pass his face before he can realize what it is. Wilbur curses.

They depart at a ridiculously fast speed, ducking behind a building and riding straight off into the distance.

Once they're far away from town and Wilbur slows the pace of the horse, Quackity feels he can finally stop holding his breath.

People had actually tried to shoot him. People he knows, people he's served. Surely they'd been able to tell he was Quackity, their bartender from the saloon?

Could they even tell if it was really Wilbur, the infamous outlaw? Or did they just assume, with no care for Quackity's wellbeing at all? If that was the case, that makes Wilbur right, and Quackity hates when Wilbur is right.

This really must be hell, he thinks.