Chapter Text
It's gettin' dark, the seven of us are stuck in this godforsaken old excuse of an abandoned shack, and as usual Ezra is the one takin' up the only excuse for furniture here that ain't in pieces; he's sprawled all over the most ramshackle, moth-eaten excuse for a sofa this side of the Pecos, somethin' and the rest of us have to bunk on the floor.
I'm watching as Nathan hovers over him, checking that goddamn' bullet hole for what must be the tenth time; as Buck an' JD squabble in what they think are whispers over who makes beans an' bacon more temptin' for an invalid (neither of 'em do, but try tellin' them that); as Vin is too busy watchin' Standish to realize he's put twelve extra sugars in the coffee pot; as Josiah reads from some ratty and dead borin' book he found, in a deep voice designed to lull the invalid and everyone else; as Ez shifts, breath catching, mumbles somethin' about damn fool, bullet-not-proof heroes, and settles back to sleep.
They're all damn fool heroes, yeah. And I know now, as I watch them, they're one and all of them mine.
the end