[[ oom : not lexington, kentucky ]]

[itwasjustified]

[ previously, or: the end of the end of the universe ]



Raylan's sense of direction has deserted him.

Sideways feels like down, and upright feels like sideways, and he is everything but prepared for his boots to meet a solid surface that isn't quaking or rumbling.

Partially sun-blind, he hip-checks a trash can, and winds up on all fours.

Once his elbows give, he's face-down in sweet-smelling green grass.

He'll get up in a minute.

Or five.

Comments

[wheelsy_sheriff]

"I will, Mrs. Freeda, thank you."

He puts his hat back on and tips it to her, then turns and heads back to the car.

Giving another wave over the top before he gets in, Bill slams the door and glances over at Raylan.

"How you doin'?"

[itwasjustified]

Eyes closed, Raylan breathes a weak, stilted chuckle.

"Peachy keen."

[wheelsy_sheriff]

"Good. An' I'm trustin' you, as one law enforcement member to another, who knows the kind of nightmare paperwork on an out of universe body would be, t'not die on me."

Bill starts up the car and pulls away from the curb; offering the glass full of gently clinking ice cubes across to Raylan.

"Want some sweet tea?"

[itwasjustified]

Raylan reaches for the glass, his ribs screaming beneath the tape Doc had insisted on earlier.

"I was just about holding my own 'til those damn harpies," he says, and takes a slow, careful swallow.

Despite his best efforts, a few splotches of tea slosh onto the seat.

"Ah, shit," he mutters, brushing away the beads.

[wheelsy_sheriff]

"Harpies?"

Bill makes a turn, and starts heading for home.

Pulling the radio from its holder, he glances over at Raylan and gives a distracted head shake.

"Don't worry 'bout it, you're no worse'n my deputies. Hang on a sec."

"Nancy? Hey, I got Mrs. Freeda taken care of. I'm gonna head home for a bit, uh, Kate called. Y'need anything check with Dave first, alright?"

[itwasjustified]

"Nuttier than anything I saw in that space fight."

As he situates the tea in the nearby cup holder, his voice fades altogether.

He closes his eyes, barely listening to Bill's exchange or the background crackle of static.

[wheelsy_sheriff]

The radio conversation doesn't take long, and only a few minutes after that Bill is pulling into his driveway.

A look next door tells Bill his neighbors are out, and the lack of ecstatic barking and slobbering is a sign the dog duo Fatso and Wally are somewhere else, too.

Rounding the car, Bill opens the passenger door and bends down to lean in.

"Raylan, we're here. C'mon."

[justdidntseeit]

The front door swings open to reveal Bill all but dragging someone into the house; Kate abandons her half-eaten lunch and the latest issue of The Economist.

She looks between Bill and his bedraggled cargo, concern narrowing her eyes.

"What — "

[wheelsy_sheriff]

"Kate. You met marshal Raylan Givens?" Bill grates, moving towards the living room and couch.

The most reliable door he has to the bar is back in the bedroom, but Bill's sure both he and Raylan could use a pit stop. Especially with the way Raylan's breathing sounds, and the bitch fit Bill's shoulder is pitching.

Sitting the marshal down on the couch with a grunt, Bill straightens up and gives Kate a troubled look.

"He's from Milliways."

[justdidntseeit]

"I don't think we've met," Kate says, with a slight shake of her head.

She gives Raylan a worried once-over, already taking mental stock of the first-aid kit in the bathroom.

"How — "

Raylan's pinched face is a different shade of pale as he cradles his side.

"Sorry to drop by like this, ma'am," he says, once he gets his breath back.

"Not sure what happened, exactly; everything went sideways, and I wound up here."

[wheelsy_sheriff]

"He was nappin' in Mrs. Freeda's side yard."

Bill takes a moment to catch his own breath.

"I figure I'll take you back out the door I got here, Raylan, an' we'll get you looked at in the infirmary."

[itwasjustified]

"Doc took a look already," he says, his voice as thin as the air had become in the bar, just before he wound up here. "Fixed me up pretty good."

His head falls back against the couch, and even swallowing is an effort, right now.

"Everything's coming apart out there."

[wheelsy_sheriff]

Bill exchanges another look with Kate, then steps in closer to Raylan.

"Raylan, I know you've been put through the wringer, I can see that plain, but I really need you t'tell me exactly what the hell is goin' on."

[itwasjustified]

Raylan's trying to focus.

He really is.

But he's aching in so many places, even his hair hurts; his head may as well be full of stagnant water, with Bill's voice filtering through all blurred and echo-y; and the couch is so damn comfortable, he can't keep his eyes open.

He drifts, sailing far above a busy battlefield, with an endless supply of grenades and Diana's quiet encouragement in his ear. Somewhere, a beanpole cyclops in heels is singing.

"A mess, Bill," he mumbles. "Get in the Lost and — "

Found is on his tongue, but doesn't quite make it past his cracked lips before he gives in, sinking fast and hard.

[wheelsy_sheriff]

“Shit.”

Bill realizes he's not going to get anything out of Raylan right now, and turns to Kate to try and figure out the situation.

They each try the closet door in the back, but neither of them finds Milliways on the other side.

With no help from the medical staff in the bar, they work on patching up Raylan as best they can.

He's beat up plenty, but nothing too serious that would require immediate medical attention, and the bandages he's already sporting are enough to show that he's been seen by someone already (presumably Doc, if that part of Raylan's mumbling was accurate).

It's a chore and a half, but Bill gets Raylan laid out on the bed in the guest room, and Kate sets to work cleaning and bandaging the wounds she can handle.

With the marshal resting comfortably, Bill reluctantly heads back to work; the uncertainty of what's going on in the bar, and just how Raylan ended up in Wheelsy, gnawing away at his mind.