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The swordsman wasn't sure how long he'd been fighting. It felt like no fight he had ever been a part of before. Time seemed to drag on for an eternity, each second stretching to be an hour long until time itself lost all meaning. No other fight had dragged on this long before. The only reason that could be causing this horrible situation, the swordsman thought, was the fact that he was fighting his friend.

The other man was an irritation at best and a downright nuisance at worse, but he was the one person that had stuck by the swordsman in times of trouble. It didn't matter if they were facing unwinnable odds or trying to outrun angry mobs or dealing with excitable children that heard of their fantastic exploits, Jericho had never abandoned him. For all their grousing and squabbling, they always had each others' backs.

Ty could hardly recall what had brought them to this point. Fighting between them wasn't unusual, but it was never like this. It was never a fight where Jericho tried to take his head off with that blasted hand cannon of his that he affectionately called The Lady. It had never gotten to the point that Ty had come so close to completely lopping off the other man's head with his claymore. They had never fought with the intention to actually kill one another, so maybe that was the reason that Ty felt like he couldn't fight up to his normal snuff.

He felt like he was slogging through knee deep mud with every step. The air was thick like soup and clogged his lungs. He gasped for breath and felt like he was underwater for all the good it was doing. His body was betraying him and he knew why.

He couldn't bear to harm his friend. As much as they fought and as much as he found Jericho insufferable at the best of times, he couldn't bring himself to deal any lethal blow. He saw so many opportunities; so many openings to strike that shouldn't have been there. Jericho was better than that. He would never leave his guard down in any fight. Ty knew what he was doing, and he refused to follow through with the invitation.

That was why, when that gun went off again and that large caliber bullet pierced his chest and shattered his sternum, he knew it was his own fault. He had refused to take those opportunities Jericho was providing. He refused to kill his friend, even though it was the only way to put a stop to this horrible malaise that had overcome the both of them the moment they had stepped into this barren wasteland.

They had known something was wrong with this place through gut instinct alone. They should have left. They should have followed those horrible screaming red alarms in their heads that warned them to run the other way and fast. They hadn't. It had been more important at the time to enter the land and complete the task that had been appointed to them. Maybe Jericho could snap out of it long enough to hotfoot it out of this place, but somehow Ty didn't think the gunner would be able to. If they hadn't been able to do it together, Jericho certainly wouldn't manage alone.

Laying on the dusty ground, he gasped through the soupy air into clogged lungs and tried to will himself to stay coherent. This wound would kill him, he was sure, but he couldn't die yet. Not until he was sure that this wouldn't be the way their legacy ended.

Jericho was standing over him now, that over inflated head of his blocking out the sun so that Ty could see his face. It was flushed red, with what Ty didn't know. All he knew was that he saw an opportunity and he took it. With a heft of his too-heavy sword, he speared the tip right through Jericho's hip. The gunner tumbled to the ground, taking the sword with him and wrenching Ty's arm to the side. His chest exploded with a new pain and the world blacked out for a terrifying few seconds. When his vision cleared, Jericho was above him again. This time, that face of his was closer and Ty could see the tears in Jericho's eyes. Tears? The man never cried. What a strange expression. Ty had the inclination to laugh at him, but the furthest he got was a blood-stained grin before the pain was too much. The world blacked out again.

This time when he came to, he found himself in a much more familiar area. It was the room in the inn he and Jericho had stayed in when they had passed through town and received the mission to retrieve a few missing children. There was the discolored, stained ceiling above him. When he flopped his head to the side, he saw the ratty curtains doing their best and failing to block out the early morning sunlight that gave the room an oddly dreamy look. In the light of the sun that was just peeking past the tops of the buildings across the street, all the malignant features of the dilapidated old room looked less suspiciously disgusting. It was nice.

The sight soon passed and reality came crashing back down onto Ty. The room was back to its irritatingly gross self and all the memories of his and Jericho's deadly fight slapped him in the face. Where was Jericho?

The answer came from a soft snore from nearby. Flopping his head tiredly to the other side – when had it become so difficult to move? – Ty was greeted with the sight of Jericho sitting in a chair at his bedside with his head and arms taking up a good quarter of the bed. Not only that, the man had the audacity to be drooling everywhere. Mustering up his energy, Ty raised a weary arm and took the opportunity that Jericho's unprotected head provided.

With a well placed, if somewhat underwhelmingly weak, punch, Ty sent the gunner sprawling to the floor.

“Stop drooling on my bed,” he croaked, surprised by the sound of his own voice.

Undeterred, Jericho leaped to his feet, fuming. “Hey! I was sleeping there, asshole! You didn't have to punch me!”

“Shouldn't have been sleeping there then,” Ty countered with a smug smile as he saw just how irritated he'd managed to make his friend.

They went right back to bickering and squabbling. This was the way things always were between them. Of course, Jericho was pretty careful to avoid actually touching Ty and Ty was perfectly aware of the way Jericho was now favoring one of his legs. Despite the injury, the gunner had still managed to drag the swordsman all the way back to town. He didn't say anything to Jericho about it. Saying 'thank you' wasn't worth getting ridiculed. Besides, Jericho already knew.

Allowing himself to relax and rest once more, Ty found himself grateful that he hadn't taken those opportunities that Jericho had provided. The gunner had been trying to bait him into attacking, taking advantage of those openings and putting a stop to the fight early. He had refused, and the pain in his chest and weariness in his limbs was worth seeing Jericho up and about and, most importantly, alive.

Description
The swordsman wasn't sure how long he'd been fighting. It felt like no fight he had ever been a part of before. Time seemed to drag on for an eternity, each second stretching to be an hour long until time itself lost all meaning. No other fight had dragged on this long before. The only reason that could be causing this horrible situation, the swordsman thought, was the fact that he was fighting his friend.

The other man was an irritation at best and a downright nuisance at worse, but he was the one person that had stuck by the swordsman in times of trouble. It didn't matter if they were facing unwinnable odds or trying to outrun angry mobs or dealing with excitable children that heard of their fantastic exploits, Jericho had never abandoned him. For all their grousing and squabbling, they always had each others' backs.

Ty could hardly recall what had brought them to this point. Fighting between them wasn't unusual, but it was never like this. It was never a fight where Jericho tried to take his head off with that blasted hand cannon of his that he affectionately called The Lady. It had never gotten to the point that Ty had come so close to completely lopping off the other man's head with his claymore. They had never fought with the intention to actually kill one another, so maybe that was the reason that Ty felt like he couldn't fight up to his normal snuff.

He felt like he was slogging through knee deep mud with every step. The air was thick like soup and clogged his lungs. He gasped for breath and felt like he was underwater for all the good it was doing. His body was betraying him and he knew why.

He couldn't bear to harm his friend. As much as they fought and as much as he found Jericho insufferable at the best of times, he couldn't bring himself to deal any lethal blow. He saw so many opportunities; so many openings to strike that shouldn't have been there. Jericho was better than that. He would never leave his guard down in any fight. Ty knew what he was doing, and he refused to follow through with the invitation.

That was why, when that gun went off again and that large caliber bullet pierced his chest and shattered his sternum, he knew it was his own fault. He had refused to take those opportunities Jericho was providing. He refused to kill his friend, even though it was the only way to put a stop to this horrible malaise that had overcome the both of them the moment they had stepped into this barren wasteland.

They had known something was wrong with this place through gut instinct alone. They should have left. They should have followed those horrible screaming red alarms in their heads that warned them to run the other way and fast. They hadn't. It had been more important at the time to enter the land and complete the task that had been appointed to them. Maybe Jericho could snap out of it long enough to hotfoot it out of this place, but somehow Ty didn't think the gunner would be able to. If they hadn't been able to do it together, Jericho certainly wouldn't manage alone.

Laying on the dusty ground, he gasped through the soupy air into clogged lungs and tried to will himself to stay coherent. This wound would kill him, he was sure, but he couldn't die yet. Not until he was sure that this wouldn't be the way their legacy ended.

Jericho was standing over him now, that over inflated head of his blocking out the sun so that Ty could see his face. It was flushed red, with what Ty didn't know. All he knew was that he saw an opportunity and he took it. With a heft of his too-heavy sword, he speared the tip right through Jericho's hip. The gunner tumbled to the ground, taking the sword with him and wrenching Ty's arm to the side. His chest exploded with a new pain and the world blacked out for a terrifying few seconds. When his vision cleared, Jericho was above him again. This time, that face of his was closer and Ty could see the tears in Jericho's eyes. Tears? The man never cried. What a strange expression. Ty had the inclination to laugh at him, but the furthest he got was a blood-stained grin before the pain was too much. The world blacked out again.

This time when he came to, he found himself in a much more familiar area. It was the room in the inn he and Jericho had stayed in when they had passed through town and received the mission to retrieve a few missing children. There was the discolored, stained ceiling above him. When he flopped his head to the side, he saw the ratty curtains doing their best and failing to block out the early morning sunlight that gave the room an oddly dreamy look. In the light of the sun that was just peeking past the tops of the buildings across the street, all the malignant features of the dilapidated old room looked less suspiciously disgusting. It was nice.

The sight soon passed and reality came crashing back down onto Ty. The room was back to its irritatingly gross self and all the memories of his and Jericho's deadly fight slapped him in the face. Where was Jericho?

The answer came from a soft snore from nearby. Flopping his head tiredly to the other side – when had it become so difficult to move? – Ty was greeted with the sight of Jericho sitting in a chair at his bedside with his head and arms taking up a good quarter of the bed. Not only that, the man had the audacity to be drooling everywhere. Mustering up his energy, Ty raised a weary arm and took the opportunity that Jericho's unprotected head provided.

With a well placed, if somewhat underwhelmingly weak, punch, Ty sent the gunner sprawling to the floor.

“Stop drooling on my bed,” he croaked, surprised by the sound of his own voice.

Undeterred, Jericho leaped to his feet, fuming. “Hey! I was sleeping there, asshole! You didn't have to punch me!”

“Shouldn't have been sleeping there then,” Ty countered with a smug smile as he saw just how irritated he'd managed to make his friend.

They went right back to bickering and squabbling. This was the way things always were between them. Of course, Jericho was pretty careful to avoid actually touching Ty and Ty was perfectly aware of the way Jericho was now favoring one of his legs. Despite the injury, the gunner had still managed to drag the swordsman all the way back to town. He didn't say anything to Jericho about it. Saying 'thank you' wasn't worth getting ridiculed. Besides, Jericho already knew.

Allowing himself to relax and rest once more, Ty found himself grateful that he hadn't taken those opportunities that Jericho had provided. The gunner had been trying to bait him into attacking, taking advantage of those openings and putting a stop to the fight early. He had refused, and the pain in his chest and weariness in his limbs was worth seeing Jericho up and about and, most importantly, alive.