Anyway, here ya go...
TITLE: Stand Your Ground (11/? (At this point...))
A/N: Language, shooting, people being angry. And then there's some other stuff I wrote about being bad at all the previous things listed. =3
“Christ, did you hear that?” Andy breathed, his hand clutching at Andrew’s arm out of habit.
They were coming up along the long wall of the church, past the cemetery, attempting to crouch and run at the same time beneath the windows. Nearly at the corner, they’d frozen and taken cover, the explosion of gunfire just the thing their addled nerves needed.
“Wut d’we do?” Galen whimpered, running his fingers through his hair as Doris tried to calm him.
“First, we stop acting like fucking women,” Andrew spat. Seeing the vicious glare Doris was trying to kill him with, he muttered, “Sorry, Doris…”
“Yegojerpulensherf togalor,” Bob interpreted.
“We’ve gotta move,” Owen said urgently, sneaking around the queue to continue slowly forward, dropping to his hands and knees intermittently as he tried to hurry.
“Wha-?” Andy began to question as the others scrambled headlong toward the corner.
“Gunfire’s stopped,” Stephen explained, grabbing Andy by the arm as Andrew gave him a shove in the ass. “Either somebody’s dead, or they’re about to be.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Nicholas choked, losing his composure. Everyone was holding him back now, random, unidentifiable arms and hands and even legs tangling against his sheer will. If he gave them up, they’d all die, and they weren’t about to let him fuck it for all of them.
Franky had fallen against the first row of pews, a bullet in his left shoulder and another in his gut. Tadd had frozen halfway up the aisle, his gun at his feet, his hands in the air, as the lads closed in around him.
“What now?” Tony breathed. “We can’t just let him-”
“We won’t,” Grace cut off, the distinct click of a magazine muffled between her stomach and Simon’s, which just happened to be juxtapose to Nicholas’s hip in the crush. Another click and a shuffling of limbs, and Audrey felt an M&P forced into her hand, exchanging real arms for firearms.
“Let me,” Nicholas gasped, still fighting. “I’ll kill the bastards, I swear-”
“The last thing we need is you with a gun,” Simon snorted. “Between your brother and your boyfriend, you’re an atom bomb, Chief…”
Nicholas went rigid suddenly, then gave a strangled squeak and flailed madly. They all dropped him, mostly surprised and confused, except Skinner, who was wearing a smug grin.
“You groped him, didn’t you?” Robin sighed.
“He’s a rather attractive man,” Simon admitted.
“Fuck’s sake, are you all gay?” Grace sighed in exasperation, the tension of the moment somehow forgotten.
“S’kind of hot,” Audrey nodded her approval.
“My, my, but if this isn’t an odd twist of events,” Derek sighed, shaking his head as he tried to hide his grin. “I bet your father would be surprised, Nicholas.”
“Um, gun fight, remember?” Tony suddenly chimed in.
“Oooh, right!” they all replied, or some variation thereof, before things got serious again.
“Danny, there’s…” Frank sighed, trying for the thousandth time to explain things without explaining them.
“Dad, forget it, a’right?” Danny sighed.
They’d been told to wait in the annex, but of course, they didn’t listen. Standing just inside the doorway leading to the tiny room, they could hear the gunfire and understood what it meant: There was a battle in Sandford again, and it was Frank’s fault again.
“No, Danny, I need you to listen,” Frank tried, grabbing his son by the shoulders and fighting for his last shreds of courage. Danny fixed him with a hurt, inquisitive look, taking Frank’s resolve from him; he couldn’t hurt Danny. He couldn’t tell him.
“C’mon, now,” Danny soothed, shaken by his father’s pain. “S’not all that bad, is it? I mean…well, there’s…there’s a lot fucked up, but you didn’t mean it…Well, you did, but maybe….No, s’pretty bad, innit?”
Frank couldn’t help but give a little chuckle; leave it to Danny to find comedy in the darkest of tragedies.
“Danny, I’m…so sorry,” Frank sighed, hugging his son for the first time in over a year. “I never meant for all this, I swear. After your mother died, we…Well, we realized how bad the world had become. I, the other villagers and myself, that is, we wanted to protect everyone-”
“Dad,” Danny sighed against his father’s shoulder, “I already know ‘bout all that.”
“I suppose you do,” Frank smiled, feeling the beginning of tears. He sighed, gathered his strength, and continued, “Danny, the NWA isn’t restricted to Sandford. It’s not even called NWA in other parts of the world. America, Mexico, France…there are all different words for it, but…It’s basically the same thing.”
“Knew that too,” Danny smiled, though this did shock Frank a bit.
“Well, let me finish, you cheeky monkey!” he chuckled, feeling the first twinge of real happiness. “Danny, we just need a little key, that’s all. After that, I -we’ll go away, and nobody needs to get hurt, alright?”
“A key?” Danny asked, pulling away, studying his dad’s face. “What’s it open?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Frank admitted, feeling foolish. His face grew dark, a coldness clenching around his heart, as he murmured, “But they want it.”
“Well, what d’we got ‘ere, boys?” Mark smirked, nudging Franky in the side with his steel-toed boots.
“Seems a bit of a rat problem around here,” Luke replied as Michael appeared at Tadd’s side to relieve him of his concealed weapons.
“What’re you going to do now?” Tadd asked calmly, staring Michael down as he took a few moments too long with his search.
“Finish our deal,” a woman said from out of sight.
Tadd and Franky spun around to look toward the church entrance, where Jillian Monroe stood with an AK-47 slung from a strap over her shoulder. Franky seemed outright shocked, but Tadd was smiling, moving toward her and ignoring the shouts of his cousins. She came toward him as well, meeting him half way and exchanging inaudible words before their mouths met.
“Tadd…?” Franky called, trying to get up. “Tadd!” His voice continued to rise, realizing his betrayal, feeling his pulse quicken and his blood run cold.
“Nicholas,” Derek growled, clutching his nephew’s shoulder, “Wait.”
“Can’t fucking believe this,”Audrey snarled, Grace holding her similarly in check. “Stupid cunt-”
“She’s no CID, I’m afraid,” Robin explained. He’d recognized her the moment she walked in the door, and was surprised to hear she’d been under cover for so long; usually her stints were much more short-lived. Jillian was actually Kerry, a master con-artist associated with the NWA’s parent chapter for over 15 years, and as a doctor in an NWA-owned township, Robin had been called upon to patch up their spies and agents whenever necessary; he’d seen Jillian three times shortly before his incarceration. “She was supposed to go back to London, I thought-”
“That was before our Nicholas here intervened,” Simon smirked. He was reaching for something…
Nicholas lunged and grabbed his wrist, twisting Skinner’s arm so that the other man hissed in pain, fumbling a .38 in his captured hand. The two adversaries shared a tense glare, squaring off with scowls.
“You grabbed my ass,” Nicholas muttered menacingly.
“You grabbed my gun,” Simon nearly snarled, his usual cool venear gone.
They had reached an understanding.