azombiewrites: (The Magnificent Seven)
[personal profile] azombiewrites
Title: Time
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Magnificent Seven
Category: OW
Main Characters: Ezra
Disclaimers: The guys are owned by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, and The Mirisch Corp.
Notes: After writing 50 words for 50 sentences I said I was going to to turn 10 (11 now, [ profile] romanse1 hinted at me to expand no. 10) of them into short stories. Well, here's the first one!
Summary: They moved fast – time wasn’t a friend today – fear dictating their actions, as they circled their seventh, protecting him from any more harm.
Spoilers: None
Status: Complete
Word Count: 1,740

The word was
: Time

The Sentence I wrote was: They moved fast – time wasn’t a friend today – fear dictating their actions, as they circled their seventh, protecting him from any more harm.

The Drabble is:

Ezra’s body jerked at the sound of gunfire, his fingers digging into the hard ground beneath him in an attempt to grip something solid when the pain became almost unbearable. Damn that hurt. He’d never felt pain like this before, not even when he had taken a bullet from an assassin’s gun.

Having no understanding of how he had gotten himself into such a bad situation, his mind drifted, searching for an explanation for what had happened. But there was only a flickering memory of walking across the street towards the saloon, then a sudden blinding pain before finding himself flat on his back, staring up into a bright blue sky.

There was the feeling of dampness as the sweat began to accumulate under his arms and around the collar of his shirt. This wasn’t right; he shouldn’t be sweating, not when he felt so cold. His thought process suddenly changed, no longer thinking about what was happening, instead thinking about how the dirt would cling to his clothes.

He wasn’t sure what was worse; lying on his back in the middle of the main street, the dirt that was ruining his clothes, or the fact that he may be dying. His mind hesitated for a few seconds before realizing that dying would be the worst thing that could happen.

A voice, full of fear and anger, interrupted his confused thoughts.

“Ezra! Get your ass over here now!”

Someone was speaking to him, the ringing in his ears making it difficult for him to understand the words. Was someone calling him an asshole?

“Ezra, of all the stubborn-mule-headed . . . get over here now.”

When Buck’s voice finally broke through the thick blanket of pain, Ezra turned his head to the side, the movement causing his vision to blur, and the edges to grow dark. Just as he thought he was going to pass out, the light grew brighter and the shapes came back into focus.

Gathering what little strength he had left, Ezra pulled his legs toward his chest, and rolled onto his side. Moving had been the wrong thing to do. If he thought the pain was bad before, he was wrong, this was worse, a lot worse. The sudden increase in pain gave a voice to his suffering, the small whimper sounding pathetic even to his own ears and he silently prayed that no one else had heard it. He moved back into his original position, hoping to ease the pain and nausea – it didn’t. Both grew stronger with each breath he took.

“Ezra, get your damn skinny ass moving!”

He wanted to say something in return, something intelligent, something mature but all he managed to do was choke on his own words. Panic surged through him making it even more difficult to breath. He coughed and felt something splatter onto his face.

“Ezra . . . move.”

He turned his head again – this time in the direction of Buck’s voice – and after his vision cleared, he found him. Buck was huddled against the water trough only a few feet away, staring back at him. The concern he saw on Buck’s face caused his fear to grow. For the second time he tried to roll onto his side, the pain biting into the right side of his chest stopped his movements once again.

Dirt kicked up into his eyes when something struck the ground close to his skull. His natural reflex’s kicked in, pushing his upper body away from the threat.

The pain became excruciating.

Ezra opened his eyes and thought he must have blacked out, because Buck was now by his side. His tearful gaze found the cause of the increasing pain. Buck was on his knees, leaning over him with his hands on his chest, close to his right shoulder. He was pushing down against his chest, and putting all of his weight behind the unpleasant task.

Lifting his left leg, Ezra managed to raise it a few inches before it fell back to the ground. When the pain became even worse, he dug his fingers into the ground, the nails bending so far back that two of them broke off when they could go no further.

He could hear another voice as he vainly tried to stop Buck from inflicting so much pain. The voice was almost unrecognizable, the Southern accent – stronger now because of the pain – telling him the voice was his own.

“Buck, you’re . . . making . . . it worse,” he sounded weak, confused, but he continued on, hoping that Buck would understand what he was trying to say. “Stop . . .”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Ezra,” Buck told him. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks. Nathan will fix you up good as new.”

“Buck!” Ezra shifted his gaze hoping to see Chris, but he couldn’t find him. The only thing he could do was listen when Chris continued speaking, “Get Ezra back here before you get yourself killed.”

Ezra watched as Buck looked back over his shoulder.

“Damn it, Chris, we haven’t got time for any of this shit.” Was Buck calling him a shit? “Ezra can’t wait any longer. If he doesn’t get Nathan’s help now, he isn’t going to make it.”

Buck’s words urged his fellow lawmen into doing something drastic. They moved fast, fear now dictating their actions, as they circled their seventh, protecting him from any more harm.

Ezra could see them standing over him, their guns raised and aimed at something or someone not too far away. The direction of his fear changed dramatically. These men were willing to take a bullet to protect him. One of them could die, and for what? He still didn’t know why this was happening.

He opened his mouth, releasing something that dribbled down the side of his jaw, and said, “Not . . . for me.”

“It’s alright, Ezra, it’s okay, we’ve got you,” Nathan was now kneeling beside him, his mouth close to his ear as he whispered, “You’re gonna be okay.”

Ezra turned his head, and stared directly into Nathan’s eyes. “Am I . . . dying?”

Before Nathan could answer him, someone wrapped their arms around his legs, and when he saw Vin reached down to pick him up, Ezra gritted his teeth against the pain he knew was coming. He didn’t want to whimper, not again, not in front of these men.

When his upper body was lifted, his chin fell towards his chest and that’s when Ezra saw it. A bullet wound – the size of a small child’s fist – in his right shoulder. Someone had shot him in the back, the bullet exiting through the front. It wasn’t sweat he had felt earlier, it was blood; it had soaked through his shirt, waistcoat and jacket.

It was as though Nathan knew what he was thinking. “It looks a lot worse than it is, Ezra. I’ll get the bleeding stopped, stitch you up and you’ll be fine. Best not worry yourself about it.”

Ezra was about to try and tell Nathan what he could do with his ‘worry’ but a single gunshot stopped him from voicing his thoughts. He felt himself falling and when his back hit the ground he snapped his mouth shut, and closed his eyes when the pain caused them to fill with tears. He started to think that death was the better option, because nothing could be worse than the pain he was feeling.

The sound of six guns firing almost simultaneously caused his body to flinch.

Now it felt as though someone – probably Nathan – had stuck their finger into his shoulder and was stirring the contents, mixing blood, muscle and bone together. His body started to shake with pain and fear and he couldn’t stop it. He wanted to yell at them, tell them to shoot him and put him out of his misery.

He felt a hand low on his right thigh, another on his left shoulder, the small show of comfort eased some of the fear he was feeling but it did nothing for the pain.

“It’s okay, Ezra.”

“JD, go and make sure that idiot’s dead.”

“We’ve got to move you now, Ezra, and it’s gonna hurt.”

“He’s dead, can’t hurt you no more.”

“You’ll be fine, the bullet didn’t hit anything important, and the bleeding’s already started to slow.”

The voices merged into one.

“Ezra . . . Ezra . . . Ezra. I need you to listen to me, Ezra.”

Someone was trying to get his attention. He forced his eyes open. The image of Nathan was so out of focus, it caused the nausea to roll over in his stomach.

“You’re gonna be fine. You understand me, Ezra.”

Ezra narrowed his eyes.

“Do you understand what I’m tellin’ you?” Nathan repeated. “You’ll be okay.”

Ezra nodded even though he wasn’t convinced Nathan was telling him the truth. He knew that if the loss of blood didn’t kill him, the pain certainly would.

“I know,” Nathan was actually smiling at him. “It hurts, but I’ll take care of that for you.”

When he was lifted – he didn’t have enough strength left to complain about the pain – it was into Josiah’s strong embrace, and he let his head fall into the crook of the larger man’s shoulder. As he was carried toward the clinic, he caught sight of a man lying in the dirt further down the street. It could only be the man who had been trying to kill him.

He wanted to ask Josiah who the man was and why he had wanted him dead, but the only thing that came out of his mouth, was a mixture of unrecognizable words.

Like Nathan had earlier, Josiah understood what he was thinking.

“We don’t know why, Ezra.” Josiah’s voice was soft, almost gentle. “He just pulled his gun and shot you. Kept trying, but we managed to kill him before he could hurt you again.”

Ezra felt a smile creep onto his face.

Five weeks ago, his fellow regulators would have jumped to conclusions, accusing him of doing something unlawful to the man who had shot him in the back.

Today, they had stood by him, risking their lives to protect him and he knew he would do the same for each of them.

They were a family now, and family would do anything for each other.

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