orangetoughguy | log post II

You're hurt. You're hurt real fucking bad, but you ain't dying.

[Reassuring? Okay, not very reassuring at all. He squeezes that man's hand.]

How do you know? Huh? I didn't know you were a physician. [Could have been an apprentice before finding that it doesn't pay off as quickly. Breath, old man. Keep your head.] Are you a doctor?

[Some of that pain turns hysterical.]

I can't believe she fucking killed me, man, who the fuck saw that?

[Only to turn back to frustration and pain. It serves him right to think a woman on her own wouldn't be armed. Freddy kicks the carriage door, any harder and he might bust it open. He's clinging onto that hand as his groaning turns into a low keening. Why are you doin' this for me?]

No...No I'm not. Shit...

[Painful screaming to come in 5, 4, 3...]

[White throws his gaze all around them. No one is visible, but that don't mean a thing. After all, that's what the woman thought.]

See there? You just admit you don't know what you're talking about. Now, since you're through giving me your amateur opinion, lie back and listen to the news right here: I'm taking you back to the rendezvous. Joe's going to get you a doctor. The doctor's going to fix you up, and you're going to be okay.

[Again he looks back into the seat behind him.]

Hear me? Now say it! You're going to be okay.

Oh God.

[Is that his stomach falling out of his belly or just his guilt? Could be both. Freddy's practically oozing sin in that blood. He doesn't deserve Larry's care and protection.]

I'm okay, Larry. [He sniffs, brow furrowing. It's a brief moment of calm because his heart is sinking to the pit of his bloodletting stomach and Freddy doesn't know what else he can do about it.]

I'm okay.

[White has had his share of poker games where the house is loading up on the chips, it would seem that all is lost only to be reversed with the next card. Those times he kept a straight face. He's working on applying the same logic to this situation. He's got a partner here who desperately needs him to step in.]

Atta' boy.

[He clicks his tongue at the horse to urge it along.] Right here with you. Don't go movin' around so much, save your strength.

I've been fuckin' shot I'm not gonna stay fuckin' still.

[To emphasize that the kid gives the side of the coach another kick. Still hasn't busted a hole through it so good for that. Except after this short tantrum he just curls up again, closer to Larry's side.]

Fuck there's so much blood back here, Larry. I don't think I can have another taco. [Two seemingly unrelated thoughts, but they're related completely.]

[He's going to learn the hard way if he keeps squirming like that.]

Not now, now's not a time for tacos. Another time, how about sometime next week? [There's a tomorrow and a day after. Everything is going to be alright. That's what is between the lines. His hand gives another squeeze. This man is going to live if Larry "Two Guns" has anything to do with it.]

[Are they still holding hands? Good, cause it seems like Freddy's trying to hug that big old paw to himself.]

I'm not gonna make it to next week.

[There's sweat and blood in the mix, real warm blood, so don't necessarily assume those are tears touching your knuckles, Mr. White.]

[No way he's gonna let go right now and let the guy just worm his way this way and that. Besides that, all he has to offer for comfort is a hand.]

How do you know? Huh? Ever-ever been shot? A doc is gonna see you and fix you up.

[Let's try distracting.]

[Well Larry has a point there cause Freddy can't lie and say yes. He's lied enough in more ways than Mr. White can know.]

No. No I ain't ever--[He swallows.] I ain't ever been shot.

[He's seen people who've been shot though. Not pretty at all. The up and coming kid doesn't want to be a statistic, just a number to indicate the danger of living on the frontier.]

Yeah. Well. I have. An' I seen other sorry fellas shot.

[Fatally and not so much. We're not going to talk about the fatal though.]

I'm not no ghost.

[Sure it's not pretty, but people can live. Why can't this kid? Bad enough luck to be shot. White slows their carriage, that looks like another stranger traveling. They're passing at a far enough distance not to know but no need to attract attention.]

No, no you're not a ghost.

[Freddy repeats like doing so, making it some kind of chant, will help him believe it better. Hell he's holding the guy's hand, he sure feels fucking real. God bless him.]

I don't wanna be no ghost, Larry. [He whispers.]

Hey, cowboy. You're not gonna be done in by this. Looks real bad, I know it does. Hold on. From the looks of it we'll be there in an hour or so.

[What did they do before horses? Fastest way to get around.

He rubs the back of the kid's hand with his thumb...to calm him down.]

It feels real bad too.

[He nods twice but there's a brief smile on his face as if making light of this situation were possible. Could be the way that thumb is working its magic. Who knew it would come to this. If Freddy had any idea he might have said something--or done something--to Lawrence Dimick the way he wanted to. Wants to. Too late now.]

I know. [He couldn't believe it turned out like this. An apology starts forming on his lips, but it isn't his fault or the kids. The plan was perfect, perfect. Not some hair-brained train robbery.] You're real fucking tough.

[As if he didn't have an idea when he saw him. Something about how he approached in that leather he was wearing. Well, he got his wish in spending more time with him.]

[Oh God why'd he have to go and say that? The kid grimaces then coughs.]

No I'm not, Larry.

[He shakes his head, ready to start spinning again. Being tough is about more than just taking a bullet like a trooper. Freddy's not tough. Tough guys don't shot innocent women and lie through their teeth to men who give him their names.]

You are.

[He grips that hand tighter shakes it a little as though it'll affirm something. Now is not the time for modesty. That's got to be the pain starting. Or was that his first kill? Oh fuck. Green through and through, this shouldn't be happening.]

Tough guys go down but they're not out. You, my friend are not out.

I'm gettin' there, I'm so fucking gettin' there.

[He groans like he's out of breath, sick from all that bloodloss and perhaps close to passing out. Freddy doesn't want to pass out. What if he doesn't wake up? The shaking to his hand helps in that respect, it reminds the kid he's still alive.

Yeah, well, we're on our way. We'll get to the rendezvous and it'll all get sorted out. No dying today, not you.

[Since when the fuck did he get so sure of that? It's a blow to the gut. Where the hell is Joe or that shit for brains son of his? Shit, shit, shit. For all this cool, calm talk he's got going on White's palms are getting sweaty. The kid needs him more than before, no backing down or ducking out.]

So...uh... [think think think] you don't even need to sing that lone prairie song.

I dunno no prairie songs, Larry.

[He shakes his head sadly like this is an even more devastating blow, cause cowboys ought to know a tune or two.]

Don't gimme that. Sure you do.

[He turns back to look at the man. Goddamn does he look a fright, red as an Arizona sunset and growing more pale by the minute.]

You know? Bury me not on the lone prairie.

[Again he's shaking his head like it's such a disappointment to them both but at least the kid's quieting down. A decent distraction, this song business.]

Somethin'...roll on, roll on, roll on little doggies...

[Good God Freddy sounds terrible trying to sing while shot but who wouldn't right? It fucking hurt just to get that much out.]

That's the one. You got it.

[Dimick is no doctor by anyone's measure. If he can get some hot metal or something to cauterize the wound though he'd stop bleeding from the outside. Hell, could do good until they were able to get him some help. For now he'll offer up songs and bullshit to keep him awake, thinking less on expiring.]

You said you didn't know any. Know the one that starts out like I lay on the prairie and looked at the stars in the sky? Heard that one sometime ago.

I just--I just heard stuff. [He nods, green green eyes looking over at Lawrence Dimick.]

No, no...just what I know--shit.

[He feels a twisting pain again and the kid groans, curling like he might just ball up around Larry's fist.]

Listen. Listen okay?

[Fuck. He's having a hard time thinking of the exact words. The man is in agony, there's nothing he can do but get them there as fast as he can with that horse that's already getting tuckered out. There must be a bad moon rising.

The old man puts his lips together and whistles out the tune, light and none as enthusiastically as it is called for. He feels like an idiot, but it's better than allowing the squirming to continue uninterrupted. Letting go of Mr. Orange's hand is not an option.

For a second he thinks to haul him up beside him but then anyone riding past too closely would get suspicious.]

log post II

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