This story is an orphan – that is, the writer has not been active in the fandom for a long time, and the story has been rescued from the old, defunct Yahoo groups. So that we don’t lose the story entirely, we’re storing it here.
However the original author still owns this story. Should they reconnect with the fandom at some point, we will naturally respect whatever they want to do with their story.
Part of the Brother’s Drabbles
A series of 55-Word stories by Juanita
Worried, Scott looked over his shoulder where Murdoch was stooped above his unconscious brother, knowing well they were all at the end of their tether.
Facing pointed guns, he raised his hands.
“You know what we want,” the leader growled. “And no one else will get hurt.”
“Guess, you caught me,” Scott said. “I’m Madrid!”
Scott’s head dropped while they tied his hands behind his back.
Forced to mount Charlemange, he searched Murdoch’s gaze, making sure he wouldn’t intervene.
His blood froze, upon seeing the pain in his fathers eyes, his lips forming a whispered “No!”.
Then he saw the noose and closed his eyes.
“Don’t look,” he pleaded silently.
„Let’s get it done!“ he heard.
He tried to ignore the rope around his neck. Fear rose in his chest.
Has he made the wrong decision?
Wasn’t it easier to face death than to live with a feeling of guilt or a heart shattered into thousand of pieces?
The world around exploded, … and he fell.
A desperate scream, … muzzle flashes, … an eerie silence, … a lingering acrid smell of fired off gunpowder.
Three men lying in the dirt, bleeding and unmoving.
Noose still around his neck, the flesh above his throat ripped open, burning like hell, he came to his knees, … gasping, trembling.
“Easy, son!” Strong hands calming him. “You’re safe!”
“You realize how far he’d go for you, John?” he heard Murdoch’s low voice.
Sapphire-blue eyes and slate-blue eyes locked. “Yeah, I do!”
Taking hold of Scott’s sweat-bathed neck, he pulled him close to his chest, feeling his thundering heartbeat. “Thanks, brother!”
“Any …,” Scott whispered huskily, nestling his face to Johnny’s raven hair, “… any time!”
Finally left alone, Johnny’s silence filled the Great Room, nearly obscuring the fireside.
It hurts to see him like this. Sitting on the couch, his drink untouched, his gaze aimed at nothing, … lost.
Close to him, Scott knelt down, finding his breaths shivering.
The sapphire-blue drowning, Scott leaned his forehead against his brother’s, … in silence.
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