Aftermath
Characters: Rusty Caldwell, Dot Enid
Warnings: Very brief mention of suicide
Notes: Eugh I gotta. Write more
Dot wasn't anywhere near himself when him and Rusty had made it back to camp. Anyone who knew him could see that from a mile away. He was constantly staring into a void- walking around like he'd been locked in his own head and his body was moving on his own. He was almost silent at the fire, hands dangling between his legs for what felt like hours.
It was worrying. Rusty had mentioned to a few of the others that Dot had finally pulled the trigger on a guy, and it clearly brought down some consequences on his mental state. It worried him greatly, and he could see it worried others. He simply assured that he'd talk to Dot and make sure he'd be okay. Truth was, he wasn't sure if he would be able to make it so. Nothing more than wishful thinking. He had to try something though.
By the time the sun fell and everyone retreated to their spots for the night, Dot still hadn't moved from his spot next to the fire. Rusty decided that was the best time to talk to him, maybe it would help to keep the conversation semi-private.
His approach was light, cautious. The last thing he needed was to scare the poor bastard any more. Dot didn't seem to register his presence until he was taking a seat on the same log that he rested on, although keeping some space between them.
"Hey." Rusty greeted. Dot's eyes shot open, like coming back to reality for just a second. They went softer after the jolt of life, but it showed that he was at least listening now. He returned the greeting with a hum. "So... How're you doin'?" He asked. It would be stupid to ask if Dot was alright, he clearly wasn't. Better to keep it a little more open-ended.
Dot's shoulders rose then dropped. Like a string of words were simply too hard to drag from his mouth. Rusty wrung his hands together, rings rubbing against rings. "You saved me, y'know." He murmured. It was hard to admit that he ever needed help, but for a moment he was able to pull that barrier down- for Dot's sake- and he seemed to listen in a little closer at that.
"I mean, bastard was this close to puttin' me down like a dog." Rusty laughed. It died down when he looked at Dot's face again, which didn't change. "...doesn't change how it feels though, does it?" He asked, leaning forward with his elbows against his thighs. "First time killin' someone and all isn't ever easy-"
"It was." Dot cut him off. Rusty flinched, only at the shock of Dot speaking again.
"It was easy. I just grabbed it and shot him and.. and I didn't feel anything." He added. "I didn't feel anything, Rusty. That's... Wrong. Ain't it?"
A loaded question, one the older male wasn't ready for. His chest tightened as the realization that Dot was now feeling exactly what he had so many years ago. As if it were a curse that had been passed down. Rusty stared at the ground beneath them.
"Y'know, I still don't know the answer to that." He confessed. "I been askin' the same thing for a long while now. But, the way I see it? You weren't killing for the hell of it." Rusty began to explain. "You were doing it to save me, you did it for a pretty good reason."
He just didn't want to admit that a lot of the time, killing wasn't for a good reason. They were outlaws. Bad people. No way to make that look good, but he had to try. If he didn't, he worried that the next person who Dot would take aim at would be himself.
"We ain't goin' around shootin' some fella on the street. We're killin' bastards who start things with us, other outlaws." In the lines, it could be read that Rusty believed they all deserved to get shot and killed as well- which he partially did. Partially. "...it's like our job. Just somethin' you gotta do, y'know? And that's what you did."
Rusty had been too busy trying to make Dot feel better about blowing a guy's brains out, he didn't even stop to see if any of it was helping. He looked back up to Dot, who just kept staring into the burning firewood. He scooted closer to the younger outlaw, a hand reaching out and placing itself on Dot's shoulder.
"I- I guess." Dot mumbled. It was a touchy subject, a fresh wound for him. "It just doesn't feel right that I didn't mind killing him. Figured I was just guilty, but I'm not. When I shot him I was almost.. I dunno, glad. Felt like I did something good." Dot explained the best he could. Even though each time he spoke it felt like he was straining every part of his brain and will to continue.
Rusty nodded solemnly. "Well, for normal folk- you didn't. But we ain't normal. We're outlaws, and in those terms, you did. You saved my life and wiped that piss-ant out. Better than doing it just cause." He said. It was hard to tell if he was actually helping, if his points were making sense and doing anything to get Dot back to fighting shape. (Figuratively, at least.)
It was quiet after that. Dot took his time letting Rusty's words sink in and fight with his own fears and worries about what had happened. It didn't absolve all of it, not even close. He wasn't sure if anything ever could. His nerves still ran hot, but Rusty had explained his side well enough that his actions didn't seem as godawful.
The older male broke the quiet. "I'm gonna go get some firewood, it's startin' to go dim." He pointed out, nodding to the orange light, which had indeed started to die down. "C'mon, go get your gun and watch my back." Rusty said, patting Dot's back as he stood up. He'd been sitting there in his own head for long enough.
Dot agreed silently, standing up and making his way to his tent while Rusty went closer to the edge of camp. He felt like he had some higher power to thank over the fact that the conversation had ended well, as well as it could've. He knew he couldn't fix it right there, but he'd given enough that Dot had a chance to work through it himself.
A win in his book, one he had desperately needed.
