Work Text:
“Well, would you look at that…” Ungalo snickered, sliding off of his saddle with a loud thump onto the firm, canyon floor. He tossed the reins of his horse off to the side, uninterested in securing his steed to any structure. He knew his horse wouldn’t dare run off in the dry heat knowing the only water for miles was strapped to the hip of his rider.
“What is it?” Rikiel asked, not looking where Ungalo had mentioned, but still trailing from around the corner, checking along his stride to ensure that their group was still alone and unfollowed. He was a lookout by nature, even if his eyes betrayed him more often than he’d preferred. On his good days, however, he was as perceptive as a hawk, and it showed. The misty red canyon rock surrounded them and echoed their words and movements; two voices from behind made Rikiel snap to attention, only to ease at the sight of Haruno and Versus finally catching up with them.
“C’mere! Take a look at this!” Ungalo prattled as he beckoned his half-brother over off his horse. Rikiel was more the more-aware and precautious of the four–he made sure to tie both his and Ungalo’s horse to the dried-up branch of a juniper tree before joining him.
It was a sign board, recently hammered into the rock and bolted down, made of newly cut wood that still carried the scent of wherever forest it’d been plucked from. The posts that anchored it to the canyon floor were heavy and unpolished, while the wood of the sign was thin and easy to nail notices into. On the board already were fresh plasters of paper and ink with pictures drawn of spectacular remedies and inventions made to make life easier, and directions on where to find the good fellows selling such a deal. It was a clear sign that settlements from the east were beginning to make their claim out in the west, which meant riches to fill the boys’ pockets should they come across any naive enough traveling parties. It was a simple way of life and how the four of them made their money: taking the ‘excess’ to help ‘lighten the load’ from the weary travelers. Although, not too many of the wagon-riders had been as appreciative about the aid, and word seemed to have spread about their recent, most ambitious venture yet.
As Rikiel approached the post where Ungalo stood, hands on his hips, giggling to himself, the younger felt his throat tighten at four, crudely-drawn images of what Rikiel could only presume were him and his brothers. All drawn black and white, front facing, with lettering describing their key features, talents, and quirks–wanted posters. Their first ever.
While Ungalo admired how close the artist got to them all–’Ah, they made Don’ a little too handsome. Gonna’ have to tell them to work on that…’–Rikiel squinted at the lettering underneath their pictures, trying to read what was inscribed beneath all of them, in red. His vision was beginning to go fuzzy with worry, trying to swallow down the panic of the reality that there were now, real bounties on each of their heads. As much as he tried, his eyes fought against him as he tried to decipher the writing.
“Um, what–what is–” Rikiel rubbed his eyes, catching Ungalo’s attention who also leaned in close to read the small print beneath their pictures.
“Why are we stopped?” Haruno stated, a bit more firmly than he intended, hands gripped tightly against the reins of his stallion. As he came to a stop by the juniper branch where the other mounts rested, he pulled his hands close to his frame; it was easy to hide how much they trembled if he was in motion atop his horse, but with all of them stopped, he needed to refrain from them seeing him so unsettled.
He’d been unable to shake this discomposure since their last getaway in Nevada, where they fumbled a train heist that nearly cost their lives. But it wasn’t the near death experience that left Haruno unable to keep himself settled. It was seeing Bucciarati, his ally–or so he thought–that he’d left back in the east, on the other end of the pistol aimed towards his face. Haruno hadn’t told his brothers what really transpired that evening; only that the people who’d ambushed their secret robbery were ‘no one that they knew’ and at most, the damage they were left with was Versus gaining an injured leg and only managing to snatch half the bounty they were expecting.
Haruno didn’t tell them that the truth was, he knew every single face they saw that night, why they were there, and how close each of them were to meeting their ends.
“Haru, Don’, finally y’all caught up– come look at this! It’s us!” Ungalo wildly cheered, ushering the eldest over. Versus stayed put on his horse, wholly uninterested, while Haruno reluctantly slid from his saddle, sighing to seem exasperated and bothered, but really to calm the tight coil in his chest. He’d had enough surprises to last him a lifetime at this point. What else could there possibly be? Especially now, when he’d already told the boys they needed to get to California and fast. He swallowed his anticipation and braced himself for the worst; Ungalo’s arm lurched around him and pulled him close, face to face with the sign board.
‘Four Horsemen. Brando blood.’
“Four horsemen? Ain't that somethin' Father Pucci mentioned sometime ago?” Ungalo mindlessly whispered to himself, squinting at the sentence written under their pictures, his brows curling in confusion at the phrase scribbled next to it.
However bad Haruno had prepared this to be, it was worse. He thanked his body for the shock it must’ve gone through, because his terrible trembling stopped and his entire frame ran cold with stillness. This…this wasn’t good, in any way. Haruno’s eyes flickered back and forth between the faces on the board–each a near perfect representation of what each of them looked like. Ungalo was, in all his unbecomingness, in delights about the ‘exciting danger’ added to their lives, while Rikiel was naively correct to be worried, although they only stemmed from the legal warrants out for their capture. Only Haruno could barely breathe, knowing what this truly entailed.
The heists they pulled were always to remain under wraps with their faces masked and no names ever spoken during the act. They were to be quick, and although chaotic in nature, never reckless, with Haruno always taking the lead and directing his brothers in the most well-orchestrated way he could. If all went to plan, and each brother pulled their weight and executed their part correctly, then the four of them would leave in the night alive, safe, and richer.
If only this last one had gone more according to plan.
Somehow, in some way, Versus and Ungalo ended up in the wrong part of the station, leaving Haruno to abandon his post to seek them out. A figure, who he now knew had been Bucciarati, had been waiting for him in the dark–it only took one swipe and a fine-tuned kick to knock Haruno off his balance and pull the mask clean off his face from behind. Before he could scramble to find where the cloth had gone, he’d been hit upside the head and dropped to his knees, his vision swimming in black and whites, only to come-to looking down the black-hole emptiness of the barrel between his eyes.
The look on Bucciarati’s face when he saw who Haruno was was unforgettable; the younger had run off to try and save his kin before he could even begin to fix the damage that had been done. He didn’t have enough time, trying to collect each brother who’d been caught and cornered just as he was. All unmasked, all vulnerable. It was a miracle the train had arrived early, just enough to ensure they could escape among the chaos of the noise and the massive, moving obstacle. They’d been fast enough to cross the tracks before the train cut off their pursuers.
“What’s it mean, though? Brando?” Versus remarked, leaning from atop his horse, eager to see their sketched up resemblances on the board. His leg hadn’t given him peace for a few days now ever since Nevada and he’d been confined to the saddle for their entire travel. Not that he minded, but his horse was beginning to be fed up with the constant task, especially seeing the other steeds relieved and tied to the post to rest and eat.
Haruno ran his hand along the creature’s snout to soothe its displeasure, his mind racing for a response. None of them knew who their father was except him; it was better off that way, and an agreement that Haruno had made with the Cujoh’s a long time ago. Their father was a wicked man with a maleficence renowned in the West. One look at him and your deal was sealed; not a soul who crossed his path ever left it the same.
The Cujoh’s had made quick work of him and nearly quick work of Haruno once they realized the devilman had spawned children of his own before kickin’ the bucket. But they were all on good terms, so long as Haruno stuck to his end of the deal: his brothers, volatile and manic as all three tended to be, were to never know whose blood they truly belonged to. When Haruno had managed to find all three, he only used words and the knowledge left by their own mother’s to convince them of their relation. To this day, he’d left the infamous Dio Brando unnamed and obscure–just as he should be. Jo’ Cujoh warned that if the three men ever learned, Haruno would be looking into one bleak future.
The eldest looked at the red lettering beneath their pictures again; the words not printed, but scrawled in personally by hand.
“It’s nothing, likely just a local moniker. We should leave. It’s unsafe for us to carry this many goods alone and far from town.” Haruno slipped away from Ungalo’s grip before he could ask questions, which he was sure to bombard Haruno with at camp tonight anyhow. It was fine, though…it would give Haruno enough time to think of a story, a new way to avoid their concerns, and a new way to protect them from the truth.
“Is it even safe for us to go into town anymore? With wanted posters of us up nearby?” Rikiel glanced wearily to the board and back to Haruno, untying the reins from the post and getting prepped to continue their trail. They had about a day before they reached the border of California, having rounded around through Arizona since their departure. The thought of having to reroute again sent a wave of despair across the boys, who had grown weary and tired from all the travel, unused to voyaging for lengths across state lines.
“I know a man and a backroad. We’ll get to the storehouse safely, in the dark and in one piece. Just stick to my plans and we’ll be alright.” He assured them with his gentle look and persuasion; it gave him his own ease to see his brother’s uncertainty disappear at his own words.
“Yeah, you said that and Don’ almost lost a leg back there…” Ungalo snickered as he mounted his horse, only laughing harder at the glare Versus shot at him from behind.
But Haruno was no longer listening, eyes fixated on the red ink scrawled beneath their pictures. He could swear he remembered the handwriting from somewhere, someone–but he shook his head and thought that maybe, now is not the best time to work it out. As the other three repacked and saddled themselves in, Haruno let Rikiel take the lead.
“I just need to finish up something first, I’ll be right behind you.” Rikiel gave Haruno an uncertain nod, and the three trotted off in-line, leaving Haruno alone in the soft, breezy whispers of the canyon walls.
When Haruno could only barely hear the echoes of their hoofbeats, he slid from his saddle again and reached out to the board, ripping the posters from their nails. He could take them with him and decipher the handwriting, or throw them away and hope to never come across that hidden past of theirs ever again. But he knew better than to be naive; whoever wrote this once would write it again. It was only a matter of time before the other three would learn the truth.
Haruno tore the paper carefully around the words, ripping it apart from the posters, and folding the handwriting delicately, placing it into the concealed pockets of the inside of his vest. It only took one match to the dry material before the remains of the posters went up in blazes of fire. Haruno held them as they ignited, letting them fall into crumples of ashes and embers onto the canyon rock. Whoever was following them–and he was sure now they were being followed, for that ink message wasn’t meant for them–he hoped the ashen remnants left a good enough message to whoever was coming.
‘Now’s your chance to turn back.’