like a coin that won’t get tossed [Death Rides a Horse]
Here it is, the Ryill shaving fic I’ve been threatening since I saw DRAH!
I wrote this ficelet as a gift for @mcicioni-blog. Have a great day M, I hope you like this. Title is from the song Old Man by Neil Young which I feel is very Ryill.
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Running with Bill for a while, it was easy to get into the habit of being the reasonable one, the less hot-headed one. Though Bill could be cool, revenge aside, he was still a young man, and tended to be the first one to jump into a fight.
This time, though, it was Ryan who’d thrown the first punch. Not to mention the rat-faced gambler had been a better fighter than he’d bargained on.
Ryan flexed his fingers and winced again, a small cry of pain escaping his mouth.
“Easy, old man. They’re broken. Don’t need to keep tryin’ that.”
They’d taken up in a room a town over, having well upset the saloon-goers in the other. It was a lawless town, but they had an order based on crime. Ryan knew the type. In any case, they hadn’t taken kindly to the shake-up, which meant they had to head out, right quick. Though they’d won the fight, thanks to Bill.
“You got something to bind them with?”
“Yeah, hold on there,” Bill pulled a length of fabric out from his pack. He sat down next to Ryan on the threadbare quilt of the bed, passing him the slightly stained bandage.
“You really went after him.”
“He was going to rob you. Seen it before,” Ryan tugged the loop over his fingers tight, to keep them straight. He managed to only wince. Bill was usually the one that got hurt more often, and in those times, Bill wasn’t up for help with getting patched up. Ryan could respect that. Though it might be nice to have another pair of hands when one of his was useless.
“I know, but. Can handle that, we both can and have before, and without raising fists.”
“Yeah. I got reckless. Got caught up in it,” he shook his head, thinking of the liquid calm Bill had shown, one gun on the gambler’s neck, the other pointed at his friend’s heart, “So I might owe you for that one.”
“Guess that makes us even again,” Bill took out a toothpick, chewing on it consideringly. “Seemed like you really hated him. There a history there?”
Ryan shook his head, a bit of melancholy in that. He took a sip of the whiskey Bill had poured for them both, to help with the pain a little. Seemed natural that Bill would connect hate to history. The difference between them in age rarely mattered, but every so often they hit on things he knew that Bill didn’t. Things Bill just hadn’t seen yet.
“Here’s the thing about hate, son–”
“Told you not to call me that.”
“Right. Sorry. I guess you can forgive me being the stupid one today in more ways than one,” Ryan was more self-deprecating than usual, or at least the look on Bill’s face told him so. Not really much to help that, except perhaps sleep and some healing.
He finished up the bandage wrapping, standing up to take stock of the room, now that his hand was taken care of. Might put a stall on them traveling around for a few weeks. At the very least, the room was clean, if a little beaten down, and the bed big enough for two.
“Hate?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Ryan laid out his shaving kit on the vanity, then unloaded the guns in his pack, save for the one on his belt. He thought carefully about what he meant to say.
“There’s a few ways you can hate people, some of them stronger than others. There’s hatin’ because they’ve hurt you, or because they hurt someone close to you or want to. It’s a sane kind of hate.”
“I know it,” Bill tilted his head. They’d come to mean a lot to each other in the past few months, sharing beds and riding side by side. Protecting each other had become second nature.
“So, there’s that. But there’s also a kind of hate that gets to your soul. I dunno if you’ve seen it yet. It’s very sudden, gets right under you. It’s the kind of hate you have towards someone who’s like you. But not in a good way. In all the worst ways, and maybe in a way that they’re proud of,” Ryan’s voice got a little hoarse there. But that’s how he knew he’d said it right. His chest had been heavy since they’d rode out, but at least now he had a name for it.
Bill blinked his steely blue eyes, “You think you were like him?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”
“But you’re not like him anymore.”
“Doesn’t mean I didn’t hurt people when I was.”
Bill opened his mouth, slightly at a loss for words, then said, perhaps too loudly, “You shouldn’t worry about that, not anymore. And you shouldn’t feel like what he does matters, it doesn’t.”
“Shouldn’t a lot of things, Bill, that doesn’t mean they don’t happen,” he smiled wryly at Bill, cutting him off before he goes to speak again, “Now you shouldn’t get hot headed about this, really. It doesn’t matter.”
“It don’t but–”
“I’m alright. Made my peace with that just like you have. Still doesn’t mean it goes away,” Ryan looked at Bill in the eye as he said it, though it was hard to do so. He’d thrown away the silver skull long before they’d reunited, but every so often the weight of it was still there, cold against his neck.
Bill knew enough, at least, to fall silent now, though he didn’t look happy about it. Ryan tried to feel optimistic, but his hand was throbbing. Best to drop the subject for now. He studied himself in the dusty mirror, dragging his good hand across the fresh crop of stubble, “Huh. Looks like a shave will have to wait a while.”
“You’re gonna start a beard if you wait till those fingers heal.”
“Yeah,” he grimaced slightly, watching Bill step closer in the mirror behind him, “Well. At least itchin that will keep me from itching the bandages too much.”
“You want me to shave you?” Bill asked it quietly, meeting Ryan’s eyes in the mirror. He was a steady hand, even though he shaved much less frequently. And Ryan trusted him.
“Yeah. Thanks. I think…that’d be nice,” he did smile a little bit, and more when he saw Ryan smile back.
There was a porcelain bowl on the counter for water, which Bill went to fill at the pump. It was falling on evening now, so Ryan made do best he could lighting the lamp left handed. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to. By the time Bill returned with the water he was struggling with the buttons of his shirt.
“Can do that for you,” Bill stepped closer and got started as sooner as Ryan nodded.
Bill was skittish about touch, but Ryan did enjoy his closeness when he was able to. And understood when he couldn’t. Bill had a particular clean smell to him, gentleness mixed with gun oil. Ryan could feel his chest loosening just being near him. Looking back, it had been a long day.
Bill had him sit down in the wooden desk chair, shook his head when Ryan started to lather the soap with one hand.
“I can do that too.” He was serious about it, like he was with all things, with where they went and why, who they helped out, how long they stayed. They always talked it over carefully. What they did together, too. Ryan was careful with him. Though he wanted to lean forward and kiss him, even now, he stayed where he was.
It wasn’t long, anyhow, until Bill’s hands were layering the soap into the hollows of Ryan’s cheekbones, his ice-blue eyes narrowed in concentration. It was quite arresting. Normally the few times Ryan could afford a shave at a barber, he’d just close his eyes and let go. With Bill, it was hard to look away.
Bill took the time to make sure the blades were good and sharp before he got started. No worry of that, given how well Ryan kept his kit in order. It had always been something that gave him a sense of purpose, made him feel respectable.
The blade was tentative along his flesh. Ryan wanted to say something reassuring, let him know that he trusted the steadiness of his hand, that it would be alright. But perhaps while not while the razor was at his neck. He caught Bill’s eye, feeling a flash of affection pass between them. Bill nodded, then stroked the razor along the sides of his jaw with more confidence.
“I still appreciate you looking out for me, you know,” Bill’s voice was quiet as he managed the fine details of Ryan’s chin. Ryan managed a quiet, ‘mhm’ for that, still not fully able to speak. He could appreciate how soft Bill’s hands were, dripping water on his bare chest. Bill licked his lips, his brow furrowing in concentration as he shaved the last part, around Ryan’s mustache.
When he took the towel to dry Ryan off, Ryan let him. From anyone else, that would have made him feel like an invalid, but from Bill it seemed like a clumsy attempt at affection. In any case, when Bill smiled at him, Ryan felt light for the first time since they’d entered that saloon.
“Looks great,” he studied himself in the mirror, “Couldn’t have done it better myself. Thanks.”
“Good,” Bill stared at Ryan for a moment longer, looking profoundly doubtful, “I know you’re gonna feel what you’re gonna. But for what it’s worth. I think you’re doing good. We’re doing good, alright?”
“Thank you, Bill,” he said, and meant it. Truly. Carefully, watching for any sign of unease, he kissed Bill on the cheek. That seemed to go over alright. Bill ran his fingers along the fresh smoothness of Ryan’s cheek.
“Feeling cleaner?”
“Clean enough,” Ryan smiled, tilted his head up, and slowly beckoned Bill into a grateful kiss.
Ryan: No, son, you got too much hate in you. Sooner or later, that's gonna get you in trouble.
Bill: Hate is hate. There's no two ways...
Ryan: Somebody once wrote that revenge is a dish that has to be eaten cold. As hot as you are, you're liable to end with indigestion. No, I'm going on alone.
So did anyone else miss that Ryan canonically calls Bill hot?
Guildhall Witness- Spirit of the West
Pin-Up Boy- Spirit of the West
high doses #2 - The Mountain Goats
Rover - Jethro Tull
Heart of Gold - Neil Young
Polaroid - Imagine Dragons
King and Lionheart - Of Monsters and Men
Old Man - Neil Young
These Days - Nico
Sons and Daughters - The Decemberists
Well, this has to be the fastest pasta ship playlist I’ve ever done, and perhaps @mcicioni-blog‘s great fic (RECOMMEND!) is to blame for that. This hit a lot of old favourites for me, and even though I wasn’t that into the ship in canon, something about the dynamic hit the right notes for me musically. Explanations under the cut, since this doesn’t have a fic to go with the arc of it but I do have Reasons.
Sincere apologies that the first two are Spotify links but BOY am I thrilled to finally have pasta characters that Spirit of the West fits with, so please message me up if you want .mp3s of these songs.
Guildhall Witness is a Bill song, of course, wide-eyed and heartbreaking. Pin-Up Boy is the effect of the same incident (the Meceita ranch robbery) on Ryan, as he quickly becomes a wanted man.
high doses #2 was an inspired rec by @cudvac describing Bill’s single-minded mission. I added Rover as the foil to that about Ryan. This is picking up where most of canon takes place.
Heart of Gold is a Ryan to Bill song. I’ll note that I see their relationship as at least somewhat fatherly in canon, so I like how this song can be taken romantically or not so much. This is a shippy playlist though, so this should be taken as shippy in this context ;)
Polaroid feels like Bill on himself as he perhaps takes a slight interest in spending more time riding with Ryan, but sees himself as too young and too much of a head case for something like love. King and Lionheart is both of them to each other (gotta have at least one sappy indie-pop on all of my pasta playlists) -- they both think of themselves as the Lionheart, as is their habit of saving the other’s life.
Old Man is a regretful Bill on Ryan after they’ve parted--- perhaps some things he might be missing. These Days is a continuation of that reflection, and possibly a tentative reunion that acts on those regrets. Sons and Daughters gives them a hopeful closing together. If you get this far in the playlist, you absolutely need to read the recc’ed fic.
Good day! I bring you some Ryill content. I really enjoy the man to man concept of the movie, it deserves the title. They save eachother and give eachother chances to live, to ride on and follow eachother even though they want to get revenge on the same people, alone. A couple questions I had, I wove them in, along with my favorite type of diologue, where it repeats and becomes a theme.
