Get Your Gun.

He piled the last of the clothes into the black suitcase, zipping it shut. Sometimes this life was hard, harder than he could handle, harder than he wanted it to be. But it was what the other wanted, and he was willing to do absolutely anything for him.

The two of them moved from city to city, following whatever orders Whiplasher gave them. They were his proxy. Once upon a time, he had been Whiplasher’s slave-boy – that was until the Kitten came, and he was thrown off like an old overcoat.

“You alright?”

He turned around in the direction of the bedroom door, his fingers lightly brushing the gun at his side.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me, Bone,” he muttered.

Bone smiled. “I’m really that…” he trailed off, looking for words. “Sinister?”

“Of course not,” the younger replied, “I’m just really… on edge, I suppose.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Bone said. “I know this one was difficult, Emil.”

He cringed inwardly. “Not while we’re working, Ole.”

“Don’t act like that.”

“Why not?”

“You remind me too much of Whiplasher when you do,” Bone stated. “It’s not… you. I like my sweet, innocent-“

Nightmare laughed lightly. “Should I be querying your sanity?”

“Probably,” Bone smirked, “but I know you won’t.”

“Why not, hmm?” Nightmare asked, moving closer to the older man.

“Because you love me too much to send me to the men in white coats.”