Icee's Garbage One-shots

Diego: Sleep Tight, Don't Let the Monsters Bite

"Hey, Icee, you're not channeling your severe depression left over from Red Dead Redemption 2 into Steel Ball Run, are you?"

I SURE FUCKING AM. ENJOY!!

You weren't really sure how you'd managed to do it, but you'd become a campfire "companion" with Diego 'Dio' Brando; companion wasn't exactly the correct term per se, it was more he'd occasionally use your camping grounds and insult you while he did so.

The first time it had happened you'd left your camp for a few moments, looking for firewood in a nearby patch of trees, only to return to find the turquoise clad jockey sitting on the log you'd rolled over so you yourself could sit on. As you approached, asking what he was doing there, he simply made some smug comment about 'finders keepers' in his posh British accent; childish as it was, it seemed only fitting for him. You huffed silently to yourself as you dropped the firewood by the fire and sat on the ground, arms crossed in annoyance. There was minimal words exchanged that night, which you didn't really mind, when he was around you suddenly became hyper aware of how your backwoods accent sounded thick and dim compared to his accented eloquent quips. He made sure to emphasize that you weren't a threat to him race wise, which you already knew. He was constantly coming in on a low number, which he was very proud of, while you hardly bothered to check anymore. It wasn't about winning to you though, you were no jockey nor were you even hardly a racer before this, aside from racing your brother to the creek and back behind your house. It was about the journey, a statement that Diego openly scoffed at, to be able to say 'I did this'. He was gone before the sun rose, which didn't surprise you in the least.

What did surprise you was the second time he appeared at your camp. This time you had been present when he'd arrived, his horses' hooves altering you to someone approaching. You'd called out to see who was approaching, but received no answer, your hand hovering over your revolver in case you'd need to draw on them; you weren't a jockey, but you sure as hell were a decent enough gunslinger. You called out, this time adding on a threat letting whoever know that you were armed. You unholstered your pistol as the horse drew near, the rider seemingly slumped over. You were worried that it was either someone hurt, drunk, or drunk pretending to be hurt to attack an unsuspecting female traveling alone. The horse pawed at the ground, head tossing about, clearly unhappy about something as the rider slowly slipped off, legs buckling under them as they fell to their knees, hands catching them. You watched them muster up the strength to get up and stagger over towards your campfire, the gold pattern on their shirt as well as the letters on his helmet glinting in the light of the dancing flame letting you know who it was.

You recall holstering your pistol and quickly hurrying to get under his arm, helping him over to the fire. You wrapped your free arm around his waist, noticing that for his slender build he was deceptively muscular. Sure, he was an arrogant asshole, but you had nothing against him otherwise. He seemed dazed, completely out of it, as you set him down on your own bedroll, him slumping over a bit, but managing to stay upright. His face had a piece of white gauze on it, covering an injury it seemed, as his neck had some sort of rash or skin irritation going on, cracking it looked like, the flickering campfire made it difficult to tell exactly what it was. You grabbed your canteen and kneeled in front of him, in-between his spread out legs, gently cupping his face. You were sure that this probably looked terrible to anyone who would have happened across the two of you, but modesty be damned in that moment. You lifted his head, heavy in your hands, as you tried to get him to look at you, but his electric blue eyes were unfocused, looking at nothing. You spoke to him the whole time, explaining what you were doing and using his name often, as of that would snap him out of it. You washed his face with a cloth, careful to avoid the gauze patch as you washed the dirt and bits of blood off him, noticing that it looked like the skin was split underneath. What on earth had happened to him? You attempted to get him to drink water, but it ended up just dripping out from the tear under his dressing. You pursed your lips as removed his riding helmet and helped him lie down in your bed. You planned on staying up, and attempted to do so, but ended up curling up on the hard earth in front of the fire, unable to fight off sleep. When you awoke Diego was already gone, your bedroll tossed over you in a nice gesture. That was the first time you'd met 'Scary Monsters' Diego.

After a few more odd clandestine meetings by your fire, Diego seemed more comfortable around you, opening up a bit more and being more social, still holding onto his arrogance though; always reminding you of his 'nobility'. You supposed that was just a part of his "charming" personality though.