In the town of Lazarus, Karl Jacobs awakens to see two bandits in his room. Bandits that had been shoot dead days before. With no gun in hand and tooth picks for arms, he'll have to find out what they want and hope it's not revenge.
---
Bring Bring Bring Bri-
Karl groggily rolled onto his back as the dreadful contraption called an alarm clock stopped ringing. Sleep sings its siren song trying to lull him back into its clutches. He blearily looks at the clock, his eyelids closing against his will as he struggles to read the time.
“Thirty minutes until church,” Karl mumbles to himself, “you got to be there on time. Sheriff Thompson said so. You can be a morning person. Up we go.”
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, shivering at the still cool desert air. The hardwood floor of his hotel room is unpleasantly cold on his bare feet. He bravely shuffled over to the chair where he had set his shirt to air out overnight.
He’d worn the shirt during hand to hand combat training with Thompson only two days before. It had been drenched in sweat and sand while Karl had been tossed around like a ragdoll. Thompson had told him that hand to hand combat was a vital part of being the sheriff of Lazarus.
“With all due respect,” Karl had said, “you need to duck through doorways and I don’t think I could fully wrap both hands around your biceps. I am best described as a stringbean. Maybe we-”
Thompson had flipped him onto his back and knocked all the wind out of his lungs. “Lesson 1: Always be ready.”
He lazily pulled on the shirt, not bothering with the buttons. He could feel the desert sand still clinging to the fabric even after being scrubbed for what felt like hours. It was his only shirt though, he hadn’t had the time to pack any others when he’d left home.
As he reached over to the dresser for his holster and gun, his hand met only empty air. The fog began to clear from his brain. He checked the floor around the dresser and in the top drawer. Nothing.
“It didn’t grow legs and walk away. So where did it-”
He turned around and spotted his gun and holster on the other side of the room by the desk. It was held by Jack Kenoff. A bandit that Karl had met and challenged to a duel on the first day in town. And was supposed to be dead. Karl had seen Jack get shot in the head along with the two other bandits. Mason, one of those other bandits, was standing behind Jack and loosely held his own gun.
A chill raced through his veins, unrelated to the morning air.
“Mornin’ pretty boy,” Mason drawled with a crooked grin, “Glad you’re finally joining us in the land of the living.”
“Ya know, sunshine, Thompson usually gets up before noon.” Jack snickered out.
Karl stood motionless, jaw dropped. Was he still dreaming? The nauseating twist of his stomach didn’t seem like a dream. The thrum of his heartbeat in his ears felt real. Then again, the bandits did just flirt with him and weren’t scowling with hatred. But if it was that type of dream why would they have his gun?
He must have fallen back asleep. Shoot. He was going to be late to church. But how to wake up? He’d never been shot in a dream before and he wasn’t looking to try it out. Looking down, he had a brilliant idea. He kicked his foot into the side of the dresser as hard as he could.
“Mother-”
Karl smothered the curse and swallowed it back down. Cursing in front of company is always rude, even if the company is laughing at you.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“I thought I was going to be late for church.”
The two bandits devolved into hysterical laughter.
Reality sunk its teeth into his chest. He’s unarmed. They have his gun. They’re both holding guns- safely? Their fingers aren’t on the triggers, pointed down at the floor and away from anyone. This isn’t a dream. Didn’t one of them call him pretty boy a minute ago?
He put on as much bravado as one could have after stubbing their toe and said, “So, you called me pretty- no, sun- I mean-“
“Oh no,” Jack spoke over the fumbled words, “we heard you pretty clearly, pretty boy.”
Karl takes another shuttering breath. Take stock of the situation, not just the people in it. He wasn’t restrained while he was asleep. The door is only three steps away. If they laugh really hard again, he could bolt out the door before they can realize what’s happening. He’d just have to pray that the last bandit, Flint, wasn’t waiting outside.
“That wasn’t what I meant to ask.” Confidence is half the battle, shoulders back, head high but tilted forward in respect. “What I meant to ask was: didn’t you all lose yesterday? The duels between you all and me and the townsfolk.”
“Hey, I won against John.” Mason corrects.
John John, the sweet kid who’d shown Karl around Lazarus on his very first day. A cold fury seizes Karl’s heart as he remembers John’s body hitting the ground. Lifeless.
He can hear the anger sticking to his voice like honey as he speaks. “Congratulations on winning against a kid. But then you lost your duel against me.”
The bandits tense up and- shit, Karl still doesn’t have a gun. He probably shouldn’t be back talking to the guy he shot. New topic, redirect the conversation.
“So, how are you both-“ don’t say dead, don’t say dead, don’t say dead “-not corpses?”
The bandits seem to have a silent conversation between themselves. They’re not scowling or even frowning, but there’s a lack of amusement in their faces. The anger that burned so brightly only seconds ago drains back into fear as silence hangs in the room.
“Well,” Jack stood up from the chair while clipping Karls’s holster and gun to his belt, “that’s a question that the priest does best at answering.”
Oh, so they are going to kill him. The priest had died before Karl had even arrived in town. John had told him about it while giving him a tour of the town.
He wasn’t ready to die.
His arms were shaking as he slowly stepped back. His leg brushed up against the chair behind him.
Mason starts to gesture with the gun.
In what felt like a blink, Karl is holding the wooden chair in front of him. It’s a terrible shield; he can feel the wood ready to give just by being picked up. But it’s something between him and-
Why does Mason have his hands out like he’s talking to a cornered animal? There’s not any softness in the voice, but there’s a smoothness to it that wasn’t there before. Like a good whiskey.
“Hey, you’re good. You’re all good. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to holster my gun and we’re going to take you to church, okay?”
Even before Karl responds, Mason slowly, carefully lowers his gun into his holster. It’s not until Mason’s hand lets go of the gun and raises back into the air that Karl dares to choak out, “Why?”
Jack pipes up from the chair, also holding his hands in the air in seeming surrender, “If you’re askin’ why we’re going to church, it’s ‘cuz they’re better at explaining all of, uh, everything.”
“Explain what?” he laughs out hysterically, “Explain that I’m going to die?”
Karl has never heard someone so genuinely confused as Jack is as he asks, “What? Are you deathly allergic to churches? You’re not going to die.”
“You are literally taking me to church for my own funeral! You’re going to shoot me with my own gun!”
“We’re not going to do that.”
“You’re going to stab me?”
“No! We’re not going to kill you. Or hurt you. We’re just takin’ you to church.”
It shouldn’t make him relax to hear those words. It could so easily be a lie- but why would they do that? They have every advantage, and they haven’t pushed it at all.
He lowers the chair to rest one of its legs on the ground.
“Why take my gun?”
“Most people shoot first and ask questions later when they see the dead up and walking around.”
“Why-“
Mason cuts in, “Alright, we’ll answer all your questions soon, but can you finish getting ready? We’re burnin’ daylight and since it’s your first Sunday in town, everyone will be waitin’ on you so keep getting ready.”
“Yah, the priest always gets cranky when he has to delay the service.”
Wait, if the priest is alive, and these two are alive, then- “Who’s going to be at the service?”
“Everyone is.”
“Even- “
Hope strangles the question before it can even leave his mouth. It clears away the fear in his body so fast it burns.
There’s a flicker of kind and understanding smiles on both bandits, there and gone so fast Karl’s not sure if they were there in the first place.
“Ya know,” Jack leans forward with a mischievous smirk, “from what I overheard, John sounded pretty excited to see you again.”
The chair legs hit the floor as Karl is already halfway across the room to grab his socks.
He’s alive. John John is alive. He probably doesn’t even blame Karl for getting him shot in the first place. Not yet, but Karl will take every moment he can to make it up to him.
Am I ready for this?
The thought makes him pause for a moment. He’s a mess. His hands are shaking so hard he can’t properly tie his shoes. His body feels like it’s covered in boiling ice. He’s not ready for this at all.
He can give them what they want. He can be ready.
Karl takes a deep breath and shoves down all the mess into the back of his brain. Be polite. Smile, even when everything sucks. Give the people what they want, and he can break down in private later. Just like his parents’ parties.
He slides on his coat. A comforting weight settles on his shoulders. Everything is a little less overwhelming.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
---
Thank you to everyone for your patience! I'm so glad I could finish this rewrite just in time to start my next semester. I've truly grown leaps and bounds since I started this series and I couldn't have done it without you all to support me. From when I was posting multiple times a day during the first few months of this AU to now, where posts and updates are spaced apart with months of silence. I appreciate all of you who have read these stories. I hope you enjoy this gift, that I give to you all on my birthday!
I hope you have a lovely day! (Edit: added a missing line.)
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Hey everyone, it's been a while since the last part of this series and I promise it's coming. I took a writing class this semester and I've learned a lot, even though I didn't have the time to work on my own stories.
I just realized, it's the 5th anniversary of this blog. Like, as I'm typing this. Wow. Somehow, this all lines up really wonderfully.
For the final project in that writing class, I decided to do something with the wild west story. Unfortunately, it's not fully written yet and I'm struggling to get it done. But, here's a snippet of what I have written! I'm hoping your comments and enthusiasm will give me the energy to finish it up over the next few days.
This rewrite is aiming to double the length of the original story and adds new insights, descriptions, and dialog! Let me know what you think of it so far!
The First Sunday (2025 Edition)
Bring Bring Bring Bri-
Karl groggily rolled onto his back as the dreadful contraption called an alarm clock stopped ringing. Sleep sings its siren song trying to lull him back into its clutches. He blearily looks at the clock, his eyelids closing against his will as he struggles to read the time.
“Thirty minutes until church,” Karl mumbles to himself, “you got to be there on time. Sheriff Thompson said so. You can be a morning person. Up we go.”
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, shivering at the still cool desert air. The hardwood floor of his hotel room is unpleasantly cold on his bare feet. He bravely shuffled over to the chair where he had set his shirt to air out overnight.
He’d worn the shirt during hand to hand combat training with Thompson only two days before. It had been drenched in sweat and sand while Karl had been tossed around like a ragdoll. Thompson had told him that hand to hand combat was a vital part of being sheriff.
“With all due respect,” Karl had said, “you need to duck through doorways and I don’t think I could fully wrap both hands around your biceps. I am best described as a stringbean. Maybe we-”
Thompson had flipped him onto his back and knocked all the wind out of his lungs. “Lesson 1: Always be ready.”
He lazily pulled on the shirt, not bothering with the buttons. He could feel the desert sand still clinging to the fabric even after being scrubbed for what felt like hours. It was his only shirt though, he hadn’t had the time to pack any others when he’d left home.
As he reached over to the dresser for his holster and gun, his hand met only empty air. The fog began to clear from his brain. He checked the floor around the dresser and in the top drawer. Nothing.
“It didn’t grow legs and walk away. So where did it-”
He turned around and spotted his gun and holster on the other side of the room by the desk. It was held by Jack Kenoff. A bandit that Karl had met and challenged to a duel on the first day in town. And was supposed to be dead. Karl had seen Jack get shot in the head along with the two other bandits. Mason, one of those other bandits, was standing behind Jack and loosely held his own gun.
A chill raced through his veins, unrelated to the morning air.
Phil rarely regretted his line of work. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had truly, deeply reflected on his work and regretted it. Mostly about the way he went about approaching a target and making a careless mistake or causing unnecessary extra death.
Usually, he would take that regret and turn it into determination. Working harder. Practicing longer. Being better at his job. The paycheck was worth every sleepless night spent swinging a practice sword or following around strangers to practice his stealth. Worth every concerned glance from Wilbur, every argument with Tommy, and every missed moment with his wife.
It was all for them.
That's what he always believed. That he would never - could never hurt his family. The thought made his skin crawl, and his stomach flip. Not even for all the money in the world.
His latest and final job had shaken that belief down to its core.
C- Karl Jacob. When had he become family?
Before they helped him run away, that much is clear. Younger than that. Maybe when he took the blame for a vase that Tommy had accidentally broken when he was a young child. Maybe it was when Wilbur tried to teach him how to bake a cookie from scratch and the two ended up nearly setting fire to the oven.
It- It couldn't have been that first day on the job. Waiting in the too-perfect-Jacobson-garden for the parents to arrive from a meeting. Feeding the flock of crows that followed him around like lost puppies.
A tiny gasp from behind one of the trees almost had him scolding Wilbur for following him to work again. Almost. Instead, it had been a young boy with a book clutched to his chest and curiosity in his eyes. Flighty, the energy of a young child being condensed and trapped by a suit and some manners, it took nearly an hour to draw him out of his shell.
He had asked so many questions. His book was all about birds, and Phil was proud to say he learned so much from Karl in the thirty minutes they had to themselves. He even allowed Karl to gently touch his feathers. The birds warmed up to him too. One of the bravest even let him pet their head. It was shocking that one child could hold so much wonder in their eyes.
Maybe he did become family the moment his parents strutted in. Watching such a bright child shut down in fear so quickly was heartbreaking. The casual dismissal and degrading from them was so shocking that he couldn't actually process it before Karl was sent away to his room. Maybe that's why he accepted the honestly underpriced job they were asking him to do. Why he stuck through the genuinely insulting comments he heard coming from side rooms and guests about him.
Yes. That sounds right.
He couldn't say no to the job. He had to save his wife. But now it was time to save the rest of his family. He couldn't just kidnap him, not with the security he knew Karl was under. He needed more people. A fresh perspective. People that cared for Karl just as much as he did and were far less cowardly about something as normal as death.
A truly impressive string of Spanish curse words floated out from behind the thin walls of the cheapest motel on this side of town.
Thompson hadn't exaggerated Jack's creativity with words.
No more time for moping. Time for action. And hopefully not getting shot by two emotional bandits.
He knocks on the door with three solid raps. He waits a few seconds and hears nothing, like they're hoping he's just a drunk at the wrong door. Or preparing to shoot first and ask questions later. Probably the second.
"Hello," he calls out towards the door, "Mr. Kenoff. Mr- er, I don't think I know your last na-"
He's cut off by the door swinging open and a gun being pointed directly at his head. Ah, make that two guns. He takes his nerves and hours of training and shoves it screaming into the back of his mind. Let them control the conversation. Ignore the guns pointed at his head. This is fine.
"Yer Thompsons pa, right?"
Jack's voice is much rougher than when they last spoke. It's a dry crackle. Like he hasn't had any water at all while riding through a desert all day. Or like he'd scratched up his throat raw while screaming or crying. Maybe both? Probably both.
He gives the shallowest nod, and Mason steps just outside the door. His gun moves to be pointed right at his heart. Definitely not survivable. Just- focus on the conversation. On Mason.
Mason has red rimmed eyes and cheeks still shiny from tears. But he must have just finished crying instead of being interrupted. His eyes are aware and focused on every move or twitch Phil makes.
"Thompson told us you've never been to early morning church when you visit. You know about them, but you've never joined. Is that right?"
"I h-" the safety clicks off on both guns. That's fine. One word answers then. "Correct."
There's a few seconds of silence. Don't spiral. Don't disassociate. Catalog what you see. Stay in the moment.
Mason's shoulders droop. Jack's head tilts just a touch to one side. Mason glances down at his gun. Jack bites the inside of his lips. Hesitant. Considering. Calculating.
Jack breaks the silence first. "Why the fuck are you talkin' to us?"
Okay, now or never. Just have to get through one sentence without being shoot. Here he goes.
"I want to help you get Karl-" okay, fingers moving towards triggers. This is still fine. "- back to Lazarus-" Trigger fingers moving away now. Getting better. "-in a way that will prevent his parents from following him back."
It takes a moment for the information to sink in. Mason barks out a single wet sounding laugh. Or a sob. His eyes are dark when he growls out, "Why the fuck would we believe that from you?"
"What reason would we have to trust you when you're the one who took him away?" Jack hisses with a poisonous fury.
Right, he can do this. This is the dumbest thing he's ever agreed to but he can do this.
"My sons would like to help too."
Two clicks. They really are careful around kids.
"Wilbur, Tommy, would you like to come out now?"
He can't turn around. He doesn't want to startle the bandits. But he hears the moment his boys come out of hiding.
"What the-"
"IS THAT A REAL GUN?!"
Jack and Mason immediately holster their guns. Both are looking at him like he's officially lost his mind. Which, fair, bring his two sons with him wasn't a good parental decision. But they would have followed him anyways so he might as well make sure they were safe when they did it.
Jack's mouth twitches into an almost smile for less than a second. Mason nods, not in approval, but more to himself.
"Alright. We'll hear you out."
They get ushered into the room. There's only two rickety chairs, a worse for ware table, and two beds that look better suited for children than any adult to sleep in.
Jack and Mason sit at the edge of the beds. Tommy and Wilbur get the chairs. Phil stands between his boys. He's fine. He just has to explain again.
So he does. He explains the letter and how Karl was found. His wife's sickness and his impending retirement. His regrets. His realizations. His plan.
Jack and Mason listen to every part patiently. They barely twitch at the explanation behind the wedding. They don't ask questions or interrupt. Phil almost wishes they did.
When he finally runs out of words, he takes a deep shivering breath. Please let this go well.
"So," Mason gestures at Tommy and Wilbur, "these two here are gonna be messengers."
"Which only works because the bride is a lesbian," Jack chimes in with a thoughtful expression.
Phil nods and finishes off, "and our plan is to kidnap Karl after the wedding once the security dies down. I'm stuck on how we're going to make sure no one goes after them. Any ideas?"
"Mason," Jack says with mischief in his voice, "you remember how you told me you got out of your old life and into this one?"
"Yah. And you swore not... to-" a spark of something ignites in Mason's eye, "Oh. Oh yah. I can set something like that up easy."
"Are you going to tell us or..." Wilbur's confidence quickly flees as the two bandits turn towards him. Knowing your dad got into dangerous situations and actually watching your dad get into the dangerous situation were two very different things. Being in the dangerous situation was something the two boys insisted upon. Phil was so proud of them for behaving this long.
"Nah," Jack answers easily. "We want to get Karl back, but we weren't born yesterday."
"Words are cheap," Mason cuts in when it looks like Tommy is going to protest, "but actions? Now actions are worth far more then words."
Mason and Jack look back at Phil.
"Right," Phil nods and pulls out some paper and ink, "I've got a lot of actions to make up for. First, let's get you two in contact with Karl."
It's not going to undo his actions. It won't rewind time. But as Phil watches the bandits lightly argue about what to write about and Wilbur and Tommy slowly get pulled into the discussion bit by bit, maybe that's okay. Maybe they'll get Karl out of this town and back to Lazarus, and everything will be fine. Maybe everything won't be fine.
He's trying. He's trying with every fiber of his being. He hopes it will be enough.
-------
This part is done! I hope you've enjoyed this newest part! Thank you to my newest beta reader for reading through the entire series so far earlier today and motivating me to finish this! Please let me know what you think!
This was meant to be a Mason or Jack POV part, but I couldn't get it to work until I tried out Phil's POV! He's really going through it right now! Next up: we catch up with our lesbians, Karl, and some cake!
It took Mason a moment to realize what he was actually seeing.
He'd been expecting the typical Overnight Writing Session Karl Look. Dry eyed, drowsy, and at least one ink stain somewhere on his face. His multi-colored coat rumpled and creased from sitting in the same spot for hours. Usually a few books, several piles of paper, and a scattering of quills on the desk. The rest of the room would be in a state of what Karl called "the middle of organizing", which it had been in since the second week of his stay.
His room was neat and tidy. Everything must have been put away except for his satchel, laying innocently in the middle of the perfectly made bed. His desk was a tidy mess. A stack of envelopes were the center piece of countless crumpled, ripped, or half burnt papers. Karl turned to face the open door with a wild desperation on his face. He wore a plain black coat. Ink smeared over most of his face, leaving the tear streaks clear to see from the tracks left behind.
"Karl," Jack whispered, "are you alright?"
A sniffle. A choked off response. Then Karl was barreling into Mason's arms.
He sobbed into Mason's shirt as both bandits gently guided him onto the bed. The two supported him as his tears ran out, his breathing stopped hitching, and he slowly composed himself.
"I'm-" Karl breathed through another round of sobs, "I'm going to see my family and- and please don't ask why."
Jack glanced back at the desk. "Can we ask about what those letters are for?"
"The- the letters, right." Karl wobbled to his feet. Mason and Jack helped him shuffle over to the desk where he gave them both envelopes with their names on them.
"Don't open them yet." He sniffled. "They- they explain why I'm going. And a few other things. I wrote letters for everyone."
"We'll make sure they're delivered." Jack said seriously.
"Thank you," Karl sagged like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, "I didn't want to break down in front of anyone, especially John, so letters."
"Hey," Jack cooed, "we all cry sometimes. It's okay to ask for a bit of support from any of us."
Karl looked over at Jack, "Are you sure?"
"Of course we're sure." Mason affirmed.
"I-"
"Karl." Phil's voice called through door. "It's time to go if we're going to make it by nightfall."
"I'll- I'll be there in a bit. Just got to wrap up here." Karl called back. He barely breathed until the sound of Phil's wooden shoes disappeared.
"You're leavin' now." Mason could hear how hollow he sounded. He tried to put a little more energy in when he asked, "need help packing anything? Carrying your stuff down?"
Karl shook his head. His breath quivered as he grabbed his satchel off the bed. It looked far too small to hold more than the bare essentials.
"Don't worry, I'll be- I'll be with my family. It's only a day's trip if you don't stop more than an hour. I'll be fine."
Jack stopped him before he could walk out the door. He pulled at his bandana and quickly undid the knot. "Here," he offered, "so we can comfort you while you're gone."
"Yah," Mason agreed as he wrestled with his own bandana, "a bit of Lazarus to take with ya."
Karl held the fabric like they were the most precious items in existence. He folded the bandanas and tenderly tucked them safely into his satchel.
"I- I don't know when I'll be back." He muttered numbly.
"You can keep 'em as long as you need." Jack reassured.
For a moment, they all just stood there and stared at each other. So many things were almost said. Almost.
"Safe travels Karl."
"Be safe sheriff."
"I- I will... bye."
Karl turned around and marched out of the room.
Mason brook the silence first, "... should we follow him?"
"What?"
"Down to Phil."
"Oh, no. We already wished him well." Jack ambled over to the window. It faced out towards the only street in town. "We'll see him off from up here. I thought for a sec you were suggestin' we follow them on horse."
"No, course not." Mason joined him at the window, "This seems real personal. Probably dead family or somethin'."
The pair watched as Phil and Karl rode out of town. Even after the pair disappeared around the corner and out of sight, they watched for a little while longer. The sun began to brighten the sky when they finally moved to open their letters.
Longing turned to fury as they read the tear stained pages.
-----
Thwap.
"Ah! Wha-" Connor croaks.
"Make sure those get delivered." Mason growls before marching out of the cave with a travel bag. Jack is right on his heels with his own bag and a lump of colorful leather wedged under his arm.
Connor slowly collects the papers that were thrown at his face and stands up out of his chair. He can hear the pair galloping off at high speed. He looks around. There's no smoke for a fire. The ground isn't shaking. There's no whistling storm. All he has for an explanation are the pile of letters in his hands.
"Did I miss somethin'?"
--------
I'm home for winter break! Something I realized as I was writing this fic, when I'm drafting I tend to yo-yo between present tense and past tense. Do you all have a preference for past or present tense? Do you even notice it in a fic? Looking back, I can see how my tense changes practically every other sentence.
Once we get further in the story, would you guys be interested in me "remastering" the old stories? The story would stay the same, but details might change, and I would likely only remaster the stories from before the current story arc, but my writing has seen such a major boost in quality over time and it could be a fun side project. It would basically be me rewriting the stories but following the same plots.
Also, how's everyone enjoying the story? :D Fun fact: this is the 1,000th post on this blog! Crazy!
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"I don't know. Could have been something personal. Maybe an anniversary yesterday or something? Family tragedy?"
"Maybe. I think it's something to do with Phil."
"Phil? Thompson's dad? What do ya think he did?"
"Not sure. He might not have done anything. Karl rushed off when he first arrived but he came back down and talked with em just fine."
"He could look really similar to someone else? Bad memories drudged up."
"Could be. I just wanna check in on him."
"So that's why we're riding into town at the crack of dawn."
"Mmm, you didn't argue."
"Too early to argue."
"Mmm."
"..."
"..."
"His lights on."
"Yep, must be writin' something. Least we don't need to worry 'bout wakin' him up."
"Yah... I got a bad feeling 'bout this."
"Me too... let's go cheer up our favorite author."
----
Hi! I live! Winter break is here! The next part of the story will be up tomorrow! Hope you guys enjoy this little teaser/prologue type thing in the meantime! The title of the next part will be: The Last Morning. Actually, I'd love to hear any guesses on what tomorrow's story will bring!
(Helloooo! Looks like I'm back from the dead like the inhabitants of the Town! Sorry for disappearing, but life had been a b*tch and I lost a bit of interest in the fandom, but I still enjoy the Au a lot!)
Thank you for the quote!
Yeah, this is exactly how it goes with them in the future!
Right now in the story, they uh, *glances at the next part of the story I'm working on* I mean... they gave him their bandanas before he left. And, minor detail you might not have noticed in the last story, but they took Karl's favorite coat with them as they stormed off! So. Hurray for steps forward in their relationship!
Don't apologize for disappearing. If you haven't noticed, I tend to do that, too! Just pile up the queue and disappear for a while longer! I am very glad to hear you still enjoy the AU though! I do too!
