Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Kid shook his head, half-amused, half-irritated, but definitely not surprised that Heyes had turned losing a coin toss into an opportunity to raise more cash. He was sure half of his reason had been to prove a point to his partner.

Held up by a bad storm after finishing his delivery job, Heyes had sent a disgruntled telegram telling Kid he'd be late as he'd had to seek shelter in a town. Kid had smugly replied make sure you get paid, and when you do, try not lose it all playing poker.

Heyes definitely wouldn't let him forget that comment for at least a month.

Smiling, he remembered Heyes' complete shock when the coin had come up tails, and he'd realised he was facing the longer trip. It was the first time Kid could remember winning a coin toss in well, ever.

Pocketing the telegram, he nodded pleasantly over at the telegraph man and asked. "You happen to know when the train from Santa Fe is due tomorrow?"

The man nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed I do, Sir. Eleven in the morning, all being well. The train arrivals are new enough to be still quite an event in town."

The train was late, very late, and the Kid waiting on the platform, had gone past impatient about two hours previously and was heading past concerned, into seriously worried.

Peering down the track, squinting, hoping to see the tell tale puff of smoke coming towards him, he was definitely even considering going to look for the damn thing himself.

But before he could make a move, the telegraph man he'd spoken to just yesterday, came running onto the platform: Breathless, pale, and panting, frantically waving a sheet of paper, his eyes wild with worry.

On seeing him so distressed, the Kid felt icy fingers of fear trickle down his back, even before the man yelled. "Train derailed, two towns over, just got word!"

The Kid's stomach twisted, and without conscious thought, a pained. "Heyes" escaped him. Before the man could run off, he grabbed hold of his sleeve and swallowing hard asked. "Anyone injured?"

The man stared at him with glassy eyes as he said. "Telegram says it's a mess." With that, he pulled out of the Kid's suddenly loose grasp and tore off down the platform towards the station office.

Within in a split second, he turned to run after the man, determined to be on the rescue team. The fact that someone was alive, and had managed to dispatch a telegram to the town, gave the Kid hope, because if anyone could survive a disaster, it'd be Hannibal Heyes.

When he arrived at the Station Master's Office on the heels of the telegraph man, the uniformed official, behind the ticket window, who had the telegram in his hand, looking pale, gave him a stern look as he said quietly but firmly. "Son, I know you got someone on that train, saw you on the platform waiting. So it's best you stay here. and wait for news."

The Kid glared at him, and replied just as firmly, keeping his voice even with some effort. "I'm going with you."

As the man shook his head, his face radiating disapproval at the idea, the Kid tightened his stance, and his hand slipped down briefly to his gun, before he folded his arms across his chest: He would draw on the man if he had to, but he'd prefer not to have to, and just get moving to find Heyes.

The man shrugged, as others came into the small office, then gave a sharp nod. "Just don't get in the way!"

On seeing the mangled mess of burnt metal, lying on it's side, the track under it torn up, with the strong smell of burning in the air, the Kid's stomach twisted, a mess hardly began to describe the sight.

He quickly ran his eyes over the dazed, wounded people who had managed to pull themselves out of the wreck. When he couldn't see the familiar form anywhere amongst them, he hoped that meant that Heyes had been the one to send the telegram.

But his hopes were dashed when a man holding a bandana over his bloody right eye, stumbled over to him, as a member of the rescue party, assigned to assist the walking wounded, came over to them. He was carrying bandages and water in his hands, with a nod over at the Kid, he asked the man. "You travelling with anyone, Sir?"

The man took a heavy breath, that obviously hurt, as he said. "My son and daughter in law, but he's the one who sent the telegram. Ellie is over here! Please help, she's carrying her first!"

The man eagerly turned to head down back to his daughter in law, the rescuer on his heels.

Turning back to the fallen train, the Kid started to run down towards it, and as he met the men ferrying out the more seriously wounded on hastily made stretchers, stopped to help. Hoping to see the familiar form of his partner amongst them.

But when the men finally came out, with no sign of Heyes in the passengers carried out, with their hands free, shaking their heads sadly, as they headed away from the wreck, the Kid knowing they were giving up, tried to push past them.

He was held back, as one of the men said with real regret. "There's no one left alive in there, and the boiler was cracked in the crash, might blow anytime, so nothing more we can do."

But he elbowed him out of the way, shaking his head saying fiercely "My partner's in there, and I'm gonna get him out."

The man who'd spoken, also shook his head, and waved his companions away. "Foolishness! But I'll go with you, as I can tell you're not gonna budge, and if I hear that boiler about to blow, I'll knock ya out if I have to. Clear?"

The smell of burning was even stronger inside, the aisle awash with the water, used to put out the fire, that had swept through the carriages.

Searching desperately through each carriage, crouched and uncomfortable, his eyes tormented by too many charred bodies, the Kid fell with a gasp of pain, when he finally spied a charred unrecognisable body, with a horribly familiar black hat by it's side: Damaged, torn and battered, with the silver conchos bent, and slightly melted, but the Kid still knew exactly who it belonged to.

He picked it up, the felt soggy under his touch and stared in silent horror, water soaking unnoticed into his pants knees. Everything started to blur, and he gasped out a tortured. "Heyes! No! God, no."

Starting when a gentle hand was laid on his shoulder, and still grasping the hat tightly, he looked up into the sympathetic gaze of the man, who'd insisted on coming with him.. "I'm sorry, son. I'll help ya out with the body, but we're gonna have to hurry."

Eyes roaming restlessly round him as he tried to control his careering emotions, the Kid looked up at the luggage rack, and spied a bag that being near the roof had been saved fire damage from the tipped over lamps. It was an ordinary looking travel bag, and could have been anyone's, except that he recognised the beading Heyes had insisted on sewing on, after the mess with Harlingen, and the jewels, so he'd always recognise his bag.

Some impulse made him grab it, and then together, he and the man hauled the body out. The Kid feeling sick, with his hands shaking.

They barely made it out, before an explosion shook the train, rocking the ground beneath them, and the Kid sheltered his friend's body from the kicked up stones, not noticing them dig into his own cheeks as he did so.

The total dead in the disaster, came to thirty seven, the highest number of those killed in a single accident in the area, since the railroad had arrived there.

Lom arriving for the funeral, was somehow unsurprised, that even in death, Heyes had somehow made a statement. Not that he brought that up to the Kid, who met him off the stage, pale, quiet and with heavy bags under his eyes, a shadow of his usual confident self. He took Lom's bag, and all he said as they took the short walk to the brightly painted hotel in the middle of the main street, was. "Railroad is paying for friends and family to stay...till after..." He trailed off obviously unable to finish the sentence.

On receiving Kid's telegram, Lom had wondered after reading the report on the accident, how he was so certain the body he'd found was Heyes, but wasn't sure how to ask, though of course the man's continued absence suggested strongly that he was right. On entering the Kid's room after checking in, seeing the battered torn hat on the night stand between the two beds, he had his answer as to why the Kid had been so sure.

Seeing where his eyes rested, the Kid gave a weak smile, as he said quietly. "Ain't sure whether I'm gonna keep it, or leave it with him."

Unsure of how to answer, and fairly certain that the Kid didn't really expect him to have one, Lom didn't reply, and instead pulled out a bottle of whisky from his jacket pocket, and asked gently. "Drink, Kid? Looks like you need one."

Lom was surprised when he shook his head quickly, though understanding quickly replaced it, with his reply. " I'm kinda worried if I start, I won't be able to stop." He paused then added. "Maybe, after..."

Nodding, the lawman stood, placed the bottle on the table by the door, then looked seriously over at the younger man, noting how much weight he'd lost, since he'd seen him last, and suspected most of that had been lost in the past week.

The morning of the funeral was bright and cold, the late autumn sunshine burning Kid's eyes, as he looked down at the filling street after another sleepless night of memories. Glancing back at the hat and carpet bag, sitting undisturbed between the two beds, he thought about taking them with him, so they could be buried with his partner, but for now,the thought of letting either go, made him ache, so instead he just left them, and began to prepare himself for a day he had hoped he'd never have to live through.

Lom and Clem were waiting for him on the steps outside. Clem's face was streaked with tears, and the lawman had an arm round her shoulders. Kid just nodded at them, unable to speak and together they walked towards the cemetery.

Flanked by a stony-faced Lom and a crying Clem, with his throat tight, his eyes burning, but determined not to lose his composure, the Kid watched as his friend's coffin was lowered to the sound of 'Simple Gifts', played by the town band. The small group of men had played a family or friend requested tune at each of the funerals, or used an appropriate one, if the choice had been too hard for the one left behind, or if there was no loved one to ask. An unprompted kindness, that all of the survivors appreciated, and wouldn't soon forget.

The Kid prompted gently by the preacher, tossed a fistful of dirt onto the coffin, emblazoned with 'Joshua Smith' 1851-1883. Almost bitterly, the Kid reflected, that at least the dates were right. He stepped back, and Lom clearing his throat quietly. tapped him gently on the shoulder, making him start a little, and drawing his eyes away from the men filling his friend's final resting place.

Once sure he had his attention, the lawman gave him a small smile, before nodding over at the small group of men, huddled on the edge of the cemetery.

The Kid, so wrapped up in trying to make it through without embarrassing himself, hadn't noticed them, but as he followed Lom's gaze, he knew who they were, and grateful to them, still looked back at the sheriff, unsure of what he would do.

Lom with a reassuring upturn of his lips, said quietly. "I'm not the law today, Kid, I'm a friend. Go talk to them, I'll take Miss Hale back to the hotel."

Kid nodded gratefully, and as Lom and Clem walked away, he headed towards the men, not surprised to see Preacher amongst them.

He cleared his throat as he reached them, and nodded over at Wheat, as he said. "Thanks for coming boys."

Wheat, hat in hand, at a prod from Preacher standing behind him said a little awkwardly. " Lom got word to Preacher somehow, and he came and told us 'bout what had happened, so we had to come." After another brief, slightly awkward silence, Wheat nodded over at the man in black and continued. "He's stayin with us at Devil's Hole 'til after winter. I'm figurin' so long as you ain't of a mind to take over, you can come back with us...or even come by in a couple of weeks. We ain't changed the way in, or the signal."

The Kid touched by the offer, and already determined to give up on amnesty, though not sure quite what he intended to do, glanced over the small huddle of men, all nodding their agreement "That's real kind of you boys, and I'll think on it." He paused, then added. "But it's best that you boys don't hang about. A US Marshal died on that wreck, and some of his friends are still in town."

Bristol, the man who'd served as medic ever since the first days that he and Heyes had lead the gang, stepped forward, and squeezed the Kid's arm, as he said. "Might be good for ya, to be amongst folk who know ya."

Kid, not quite sure he knew himself anymore, caught in a strange in-between of where he thought he'd be heading with Heyes by his side, and where he was going to go, now that he was alone, shook his head. "Like I say fellas, 'preciate what you're offerin' and I'll think on it real serious."

They each shook his hand, with Preacher going last, and laying a gentle touch on his shoulder. The Kid tensed waiting for some religious platitude, that he didn't want to hear, but instead all he said, was. "Take care of yourself, and remember you have friends."

He watched them walk away, suddenly desperately lonely, and taking a long breath, he turned back to Heyes' grave, which was now filled in, and deserted.

He knelt by it, staring down at the heaped soil, his head thick, and said softly. "I probably won't be back here, Heyes, till it's my time, but don't think that means I won't be thinkin' 'bout you."

He tried to say more, about how he'd miss him, that he wasn't sure what he was going to do now he was alone, and that he had never imagined it ending this way, but he couldn't speak, his throat was too tight, so instead he just knelt there, staring at the pile of dirt, trying desperately to replace his final vision of his lifelong friend, with the wealth of memories he carried in his mind of him vibrantly alive.

Finally when the sun began to dip, the Kid stood, cold and tired, but a little more at peace, some decisions made, and swept his hand gently over the soil as he said. "Goodbye, Partner."

Two days later, dropping into say goodbye to the Kid, and wanting to know what to tell the Governor on his next visit, Lom asked carefully. "So, Kid what are your plans?"

Kid fiddled with the bandana tied round his neck, and Lom's heart twisted a bit, as he recognised it as the one Heyes habitually wore. It had somehow survived the inferno that had taken its owner. He shrugged. "Ain't really got none, Lom, 'cept moving on at the weekend."

Lom cleared his throat, frustrated at the vagueness of the answer, and recognising it as deliberate, and said. "What about amnesty?"

The Kid blew out a breath, his soft tone not quite hiding a sharp edge as he replied. "I ain't gonna go back to outlawing, if that's what's worrying you. I won't ruin ya reputation."

Lom's irritation rose, and he snapped. "That's not what I asked, and you know it!"

The Kid was suddenly furious and raised his voice. "If it wasn't for this stupid amnesty, Heyes wouldn't have been on that train, and he wouldn't be dead! I'm hardly gonna carry on with the stupid plan, that killed my partner!"

Lom glared at him, fiercely angry himself now, as he yelled. "You really think Heyes would want you to give up on it? "

The Kid's reply was just as fierce.."It don't matter what he thinks does it? He's dead because of you keepin' us hangin' on like puppets on a string,for too long." He took a deep breath and added bitterly. "So I don't owe you, or the idiots in Cheyenne anything!"

The words stung, and despite knowing it would be unwise, Lom felt equally angry words, that would remind the younger man, that it was his and Heyes' poor decisions that had brought them here, threaten to spill out. He was relieved then, when their argument was stilled by a knock on the door. The break allowed him to bite down on his anger, as he told himself that the words were simply Curry's grief spilling out, and he best not rise to them.

Swearing at the interruption, the Kid stalked towards the door, and flung it wide open, his face however softened when he saw Clem outside, her bag in one hand, and an envelope in the other.

He stood aside to let her in, but she shook her head, as she said hoarsely. "I can't stay, stage leaves in twenty minutes. I've got something for you. It doesn't seem right me keeping them now." With that she thrust the envelope into his hands, and stepped back, but didn't leave, obviously waiting for him to look inside it.

Opening the slightly battered envelope, already suspecting what it was, the Kid carefully pulled up the pictures so he could see them. The sight of Heyes looking out at him, brought him to the edge of tears, but swallowing hard, he took one of the photographs fully out, before pushing the envelope back at Clem, with one still inside. "You need somethin' to remember him by too."

They stared at each other for a moment, both caught up in memories of their friend, before embracing tightly. With tears spilling onto his shirt, Clem whispered against the Kid's shoulder. "Please Kid, keep in touch, when you can."

Then she was gone, and Kid staring down at the photograph, felt the anger of moments ago fade, as the jagged pain in his chest, that had settled there since finding Heyes in the train returned full strength.

Still, his mind was made up, so he turned back to Lom, and said calmly this time. "I can't keep goin' for amnesty, Lom, it was hard enough with both of us. But as I said I won't go back to outlawing, because it isn't me anymore. " Still staring down at the paper in his hand, he added quietly. "I'll change my alias, and maybe when I get settled some place, I'll be back in touch, so you know I ain't dead."

Lom looked at him, his face serious, but no longer annoyed, as he asked. "And what do I tell the Governor?"

The Kid finally dragged his gaze up from the photograph to meet Lom's eyes, as he gave a bitter snort, and said. "Tell him he won, tell him he beat Heyes and Curry, made 'em give up stealin' permanent, without ever having to follow through on the deal he made." With a heavy sigh he picked up Heyes' ragged hat, handed it over to Lom, and finished softly. "Show him this if you gotta."

Lom sighed, taking the hat reluctantly, as he asked. "You sure 'bout this? " Meaning giving him the hat, as much as his resolution,at the Kid's determined nod he reluctantly recognised that there would be no changing the Kid's mind, but still, stubbornness, made him ask one final time. "You sure 'bout giving up on amnesty? You'll still be wanted, and there won't be any way out, if you're caught."

Resolution clear in both tone and expression, the Kid nodded and replied firmly "I'm sure, Lom. I don't figure it's much different then before anyways." He paused and gave Lom a lopsided, but genuine smile, as he added. "But I know I wasn't being fair before we were interrupted, you were doin' your best, but we're at the end of that road now, so I guess this should be goodbye."

He held out his hand, to shake, but Lom carefully pulled him into a brief embrace, before stepping back, and saying softly. "I'd like to know that you're safe, Kid, so please do send me a wire like you said."

After the Kid gave a non-committal grunt, Lom sighed a little, accepting that the younger man had no intention of contacting him, nodded, looked down at the hat, and then with a final lingering glance, was gone, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Kid locked the door behind him, and then placed the photograph still in his hand, next to Heyes' bag, staring at them for a moment, with his head aching, before turning his back to them, to look at the empty room, unsure of what to do next.

When without warning, his legs gave way under him, he simply slid down the door to land heavily on the floor. After catching his breath, he tried to clamber to his feet, but his legs refused to cooperate, and remained stubbornly locked to the floor.

Sitting there, frustrated with himself at being stuck on the floor, but unable to do anything to change it, he sighed, and pressed the heel of his hands against his aching burning eyes, exhaustion settling over him.

Letting his arms fall to his side, resigned to staying where he was, at least for a while, he looked over at Heyes' belongings, and then fingered the bandana round his neck. As he did so, memories swept over him, and a sob was ripped out of him, followed by another, the strength of them making his chest ache. He bit his lip to muffle them, and managed to stop the tears after only a few had fallen, afraid if he gave into them, he'd drown.

He knew he owed it to Heyes to try and forge a life, even though he had no real idea of what he wanted, so had to make some decisions. But none came to him, so he stayed on the floor, the silence of the room almost deafening, and let himself drift: Memory eventually shifted to dreams, and he slept.