The Worlds Collide (Tomtord fanfic debate)

Saloonatics au

    (Art belongs to Zachary Jack)

An exhausted man stepped into a saloon, more specifically, A Good Place to Start. He brushed past the old wooden half doors with ease and familiarity as he took his 'reserved' seat at the counter.
    "Bar man, get me a whiskey." He requested with slight demand, tired from a days worth of chasing bandits. "Sure thing sheriff." He replied with ease. Tom tipped his hat in thanks, the material heavier than usual due to the badge upon the brim top.
    Soon enough a bottle of whiskey was slid down to Tom's seat, the oh so familiar blue tinted bottle taunting him as he stared.
    He popped off the lid and glanced around the old saloon, studying people's faces incase of any wanted criminals that snuck in. He found nothing in the end, but it gave him something to do as he waited for his whiskey to dry up.
    Thompson brought a callused hand up to his neck and adjusted his tattered brown bandana ever so slightly, the color of which calmly complimented his long blue coat.
Moments passed and the scene began to grow boring, sand on the dark hardwood floor blowing lightly through the doorway from the small gusts of wind outside.
    Then suddenly, a man pushed through the half doors in a rather irate tone. The man had caramel hair that stuck up like horns, as well as a pair of striking emerald eyes. Thompson admired them, seeing as he rarely saw the color. It wasn't often you saw such a beautiful shade of green in the desert, which was dry as all hell. But surprisingly sometimes cold.
    The unfamiliar figure approached him at the bar and took a seat beside him, not glancing once to him.
    The stranger wore a red vest that fit nicely over a white dress shirt, accompanied by a red tie and a blue trench coat that overlapped his suit almost entirely.
Tom shifted his gaze to the nearing barman, "What'll it be?" He asked in a classic tone, the man took a moment then responded, "Whiskey will be fine."
It was strange, yet oddly attracting, the man had a thick accent, resulting in the words rolling off his tongue with concern. He couldn't pinpoint where he was from though, definitely not anywhere near. That's for sure.
A bottle alike to Tom's was slid down, the other caught it with a swift hand, quickly taking a rough swing from the liquid. "I see you looking at me sheriff. How can I help you?" He asked, turning towards him. "You're not from here, now are you stranger?" The man huffed slightly and closed his eyes for a spilt second, "No sir I'm not, m'names Tord, Tord Smith." He smiled a toothy grin and held his gloved hand out.
Thompson took it, feeling the worn leather against his touch. "It's nice to meet you Tord. As you already know I'm the sheriff, but you can call me Thompson." Tord hummed in reply. "So tell me Mr. Smith, where do you come from?" He went to reply but to the side of the room a townsperson had sat down and began to play the old piano, it's keys coming off with the familiar joyful bounce of music. He turned his attention back to Tord, awaiting an answer.
"I'm from a small town up in Norway." That surprised Tom, it was so far off!! How far had this man traveled to get here?
"Wow, that's a long ways away partner. What made you decide to come here?" The norski took a long drink before replying, "Immigration mostly, got nothin' better to do." Thomas hummed in reply.
"I see..well, welcome to Spitbucket USA. Are you staying here or just passing through?" He asked curiously. "Staying at the moment, see if I can get something done 'round here."

They sat for a while discussing pointless things, that is until a bit of commotion was heard out the doors of the saloon. "Gah, these drunkards and their fights!" Tom said as he got up, his boots clacking against the ground.
    He walked through the room and out the doors to see two men who were going at it on the desert floor. A crowd began to grow around the two and Tom drew the line, "Alright boys, settle down now!" As if they hadn't heard him the two continued to fight, but the crowd now started to depart with the sheriff's presence.
    The dominant of the two straddled the other on the ground, empty beer glass in his hand and ready to swing.
Luckily one of the men noticed the sheriff but it was too late, "Hey, what'd I just say?!" The drunkard swung the bottle down towards his opponent, but Thompson dropped to the ground and threw his arm out in front of the other, stopping the bottle from injuring the man. The weaker of the two took his chance and fled, leaving a cloud of dust from all the commotion. "Dang nabbit boy!"
He tackled his attacker on the ground and pressed their body against the hard rocky floor. "When I say settle down, you settle down alright!" He took one look at the man and recognized him quickly, his ruffled black hair and tired hazel eyes gave him away. "Damnit Jessie how many times do I gotta lock you up?" He stood up and dragged the other alongside him by the back of his shirt. He pulled with his good arm as he walked towards the sheriff's department.
"Sheriff I'm sorry, it won't *hic* happen again." Tom scoffed, "Sure it won't Jess, that's what you said the past six times I've caught you!"
The man gave no fight, as he accepted his consequences. It was true, he had been locked away more than once in his time, he was always getting in bar fights and trespassing on private land while drunk. He had a problem to say the least..
Tom rounded into the building with Jessie hauling behind. "C'mon sheriff, have mercy, will ya? I've got a wife and kids!" He whined, "No you don't Jess. Now, until you've sobered up you're gonna stay in here." He continued as he let go of the back of his shirt, his alcohol filled body now laying in a cold cell. He gave the old metallic lock a quick turn with a key before setting the it on a nearby table.
Now to tend to his arm. He scrambled throughout the many papers and objects on the old wood table as he searched for the first aid, not that there was much in there. But something would surely help.
Upon finding the metal box he sat down in a chair nearby and placed it on the floor. He pulled up his now stained jacket sleeve, only to reveal a series of cuts and a nasty looking bruise. He sighed with a pained expression as he rummaged through the kit's contents. "Where is it?!" He exclaimed getting a bit frustrated.
Not a second later was there a knock at the door, which remained open from when he stormed in. "Er- come in." He replied, a shadow overcame the area as a familiar figure appeared. "Oh hello Tord. Didn't expect to see you here." He smiled but his face soon dropped as he saw the state of Tom's arm. "What happened?" He asked as he walked over, bending down to grab something from the box. "Jess got me in the arm with a bottle, crazy man he is." He sneered.
Soon enough Tord pulled out a bottle of liquid that Thompson had searched for with no luck. It's brown transparent glass holding a small amount of rubbing alcohol. The bottle gave a small 'pop!' as Tord undid the lid. "Here, hold you're arm out."
    Tom obliged, holding his punctured arm out. Tord took it gently into his grasp after opening the bottle of rubbing alcohol. "I reckon Jess is the one in the cell back there?" Thompson only nodded in return.
He began to pour the liquid onto the sheriffs arm and immediately Tom gritted his teeth in pain, rubbing alcohol was always the worst part of getting hurt on the job. The stinging and burning that went through his arm seemed worse than the injury itself.
The liquid puddled up small on the dirt covered concrete below their feet, creating a bit of a mess that neither of the men seemed to notice.
    Thompson let out a low growl in the back of his throat and watched as his new acquaintance bent back over to the box, his arm still in Tord's easy grasp.
    The bottle made a small scratching sound as it was placed on the ground, little to no liquid left inside. Tord returned his attention back to the sheriff's arm with a dumbfound look, and suddenly a look of realization came over his face. He through his free hand behind his jacket and retrieved a small red handkerchief, the Norwegian then used it to dry Tom's arm, dabbing carefully at the small cuts and bruises.
    The sheriff couldn't help but let a small gust of pink brush over his face as he glanced away, desperate to find something to distract himself.
    He ended up getting lost in thought, which ended up scaring him when Tord  gave a small, "Done!" He let his arm go and Tom studied it. The new comer had managed to clean, dry, and bandage up his arm in a matter of minutes.
    "Much appreciated, partner." Tord only nodded. "Say, how'd you bandage me up so fast?" He placed his hands on his hips an replied, "I used to be the medic in town back in Norway. But someone ended up taking over for me." Tom stood up and hummed.
    The sun bled through the doorway with an orange tinge, signaling that the sunset was at it's peak any time. "Well, thanks for your help but you'd better get going, there's been plenty of mugging during the night lately..." A
nervous look overcame Tord's face and Thompson was eager to question it but he replied to quick. "Okay, goodnight sheriff."
    "Goodnight Tord..." he thought for a quick second and added, "and if you need anything I'll be in the house two doors down from here." A look of comfort was readable on his face and he thanked him for the offer.
    The man walked out the door and his blue tench coat hit the back of his leather boots easily.
    Tom watched him go, a bit of unease coming over him. He wasn't sure why, but he just felt like something was off...after a few minutes he pushed off the feeling and followed his friend's steps out the door. Making sure to make sure Jessie's cell was locked before he left. "Well...that's a day, Jess. Goodnight." The drunk only yawned in return as Tom set a tired foot outside. Something told him the day wasn't quite over yet.

(A/N; hey guys, if you liked this part make sure to vote and comment, "Glitter and Gold" if you want this au to be turned into a book. Thanks!) -Swingster