Logan Apari Cooper- Australia

Oscar Orad Cooper- Hutt River

…

This may be a new story, yes. But I've had this idea for a while now and originally put it off until I had a smaller workload, or more specifically, until SOTF was over, thus I could always have the one cowboy/western-inspired fic on the go. But that's not gonna happen for a while so I decided to go ahead with this. Not gonna lie, it'll be slow at first.

Like a large chunk of my other worlds, it's inspired by real history, but at the same time removed from it, so try not to read too deep, and tackles some pretty heavy issues, this one more so than a lot of my previous stories. So be warned for that, and if there are things that upset you deeply, don't read this. For one thing, there will be blood, even in the first chapter, so proceed with caution.

Apart from that please tell me what you think. I hope people like this story too.

...

It was nice, having the family back together.

Logan could count the times he'd seen his father on one hand, and that made every visit almost sacred to him. He remembered each event clearly: when he was a roly-poly little toddler; before his little brother was born; another time, recently, when the two boys were both rather young; and now, just after the twins were born.

Every time his father turned up, it would be in the dead of night and he'd come with stories and songs and little crafts he'd built for them. He'd stay for a few days and that time would be wonderful, but all too soon he'd leave again- under the cover of darkness- before anyone saw him.

No one would've allowed them to be together. It was wrong, they would've said, and had said quite clearly. You can't mix or get married! They were enemies. Each side was an 'other', dirty, savage, disgusting and not to be trusted. Logan's parents fell in love anyway, though they couldn't have that married life with a nice house and children, at least not for the foreseeable future. Well, they had children, but only one parent got to see them, care for them, live with them. Maybe in a few decades, things would change and they could at least grow old together.

It didn't look likely, but Logan had hope.

"Do you think we need anything else?" Logan scanned the shopping list, a hard task to accomplish in the evening gloom, made more so by the fact that the two of them were hidden in an alley next to the little corner shop. Though it wasn't like they had much choice here. He wasn't even sure why his father had decided to accompany him at all; so much could go wrong.

"What else could your mother need?" his father asked with humour in his eyes. "She has half the town's supplies written down there."

His eyes were the same bright amber as his youngest two, shining and crinkled round the edges, and he had Logan's dark hair, messy and pulled into a ponytail trailing down his back. A life of living rough had aged his face before his time, and his clothes were torn and ragged, showing the tattoos, scars and markings he'd collected on his skin over the years.

"Well, it's a special occasion, when we see you," Logan beamed up at him. At 12 years old, he was almost as tall as his father now, lean and muscular from working on their tiny stretch of farm all day trying to save their ailing crops. It wasn't like he could get a job here, given that most of the town shunned his mother and her mixed children. He could get odd jobs farming and building from frail and sympathetic neighbours, but nothing permanent.

His father smiled warmly. "I hope you understand," he began, "I want us to be a family. If it could be any other way..."

"No, I understand." Logan understood far too well, he wasn't innocent like little Oscar; he could understand their situation first hand. "I should probably get going then." He lifted up the large basket his mother provided for him and walked into the street. Yes, he understood that this was the only shop he was allowed in, and that when his mother had to buy shopping, he was in charge of keeping himself and his brother hidden. Now the twins were here too- with their little wails and cries- it'd be all that more harder to hide under the floorboards silently. No one had ever come for them, and Oscar resented having to hide during playtime, but Logan and his mother knew the one day they slacked would most likely be the one day doing so was fatal. And few people even knew about Oscar and the twins. If the people of the town had murder in their hearts, it was directed at Logan and his mother, and his father, though no one had seen him before.

Logan knew there were people in the town who would happily see him dead, a select few would would do the job themselves, if they were presented with an opportunity. He was a mistake that wasn't meant to exist.

Which was why, when Logan went out himself, he was paranoid to the point that he could barely walk down a tiny, deserted street without seeing shadows from every corner and crevice, enemies behind every door. And even here there were limits.

He could buy from his shop, but his father would never be allowed to do such a thing.

As Logan entered the little building, the place seemed calmly quiet, and he could hear his footsteps across the soft wood as he moved between the shelves.

"Evening Mr Kirkland," he beamed.

The shopkeeper, Arthur, tipped his hat. "Evening, young Cooper. Is your mother well?"

Logan nodded and continued his shop, keeping his eyes firmly on the list. Their mother had a very specific names system for all her children: forenames after a member of the family that had shunned her, middle names after the family that left their father alone, and her surname. Well, she wasn't married, after all.

That was the one thing he didn't understand about his mother. Why would she name her children after people who no longer cared for her? He supposed, deep down, she loved her family, even if they didn't seem to love her anymore. He wondered what his father thought of their middle names. They were the ones he used for them though, despite having such similar bad connotations.

Still, it wasn't Logan's place to question his parents' actions, so he just went along with it.

Logan's shop was torn between wanting to hurry, so he could get back to his father before something happened, and wanting to look calm and unsuspicious in front of Mr Kirkland, and his one other customer.

Logan avoided eye contact with the man in the corner, vaguely familiar and reading a newspaper sheet he'd just paid for, but he swore the guy was watching him. He didn't look though, slowly placing a jar of jam in his basket. Oscar loved fruits and sweet food, but wasn't the biggest fan of boiled sweets. Funny child.

As he scanned the shelf of different wrapped cheeses, the strange man made his way to the exit, brushing past the boy as he did so. Logan suppressed a shiver and wondered if they really needed shopping after all. He wanted to get back to his father, but he wasn't sure if it was to protect the guy or because he wanted protection.

Logan scowled. He was the oldest here, the first born! He was supposed to be brave!

And with that, he gathered up the last few items and placed the basket on the counter.

"And a sack of flour too, sir," he added, indicating to the hulking bags by the door.

"Of course."

"Oh, my mother told me to tell you the twins were born last week," Logan added as Arthur punched prices into a large till, "boy and girl, both healthy."

"Oh that's wonderful," Arthur smiled, not ecstatic, but not hostile either, "tell her I said congratulations." Himself and their mother were old friends, nearly betrothed, and Mr Kirkland was still determined to care for the girl he loved and her children, even if they or her love would never be his.

"Will do!"

Logan waited for everything to be priced up before handing over the money he received building a shed for a neighbour and picking up the basket. He hung it from an arm and he pulled a flour sack out the door.

His father was still safely hidden, looking at him curiously as he dragged his haul over.

"Mind taking the basket?" he asked, handing the thing over.

"Of course. That looks heavy," his father winced as Logan shifted the flour onto his back, but the boy just beamed.

"I can manage!" His trembling, knobbly knees said otherwise.

And with that, they set off, navigating the same series of side-streets and back alleys they'd used to reach their destination to get home. The soft wood used to cover the pavements cracked and creaked under Logan's heavy boots and he didn't like the sound at all. Their town was a collection of low, wooden houses, many starting to take on a derelict appearance. The main street, dissecting the place, was the only wide road, with planks acting as pavements running outside the row of shops bordering both sides of the street. This was where most of the shops were, and the smaller roads, where the residential buildings stood, were far thinner, barely wide enough for the two men. Lamps hung from hooks above doorways, thick curtains blocked the views in the tiny windows and dirty water trickled into the gaps in the planks from pipes and guttering. Logan, in all honesty, preferred the place during the day. His favourite place of all was the field just beyond their land, that rose slowly into the hills he'd watch for hours on end in the hopes that he'd find his father, silhouetted against the skyline. It never happened though; he knew better than to show up while the sun was still up.

"What would Josephine need with all this food?" his father asked curiously, "I am not that big, and I know you boys are growing, but this is ridiculous."

"Well, all this can last between two weeks and a month, if we store and ration correctly," Logan explained, "saves us going into town often."

"Well, in that case, this does not seem like much. Still not looking up then?" His father sighed.

"How can it actually get better?" Logan mimicked a sigh. "Honestly, we'd be better off with you."

There was a pause before his father spoke again. "Josephine and I… we have discussed it. I would love more than anything for us all to live together out there, and I really think we would be happy."

Logan's smile fell. "But?"

"Four children out in the Wilderness?" His father pulled a face, "including two tiny babies? Not safe. I could never protect you all. If there was an extended network of family to look out for everyone, I would agree right away."

"I'm nearly a grown man," Logan mumbled with a pout.

"But you know nothing of surviving a hostile environment. You don't know how to hunt or defend yourself."

"Maybe," Logan thought for a long moment, "what if, when Osc-Orad is old enough to look after everyone, I go with you and learn what I need to. Then we can all leave this place and be a family."

His father considered the suggestion, a small smile on his face. "That could work. Yes, a very good idea, Apari. It would take some time, but… yes. I might even take you with me next time I visit, if Josephine permits."

"Do you think she will?" Logan grinned so hard it was painful, "oh that would be fantastic!"

"Try not to get your hopes up too much though," his father warned, though he was laughing, "you funny little boy."

"Mum says I'm funny too," Logan commented, "odd. I don't even try to be."

"I doubt being funny is something you have to try at," his father pondered, "you either are, or you are not. Though what some people find funny, others will find offensive or bland. I suppose in a way, we all are funny to someone."

"You're not," Logan mumbled jokingly, "you make everything a big long boring lecture."

Well, his father laughed at any rate.

They were nearly home now, just a few more streets to go, including this particularly wide one where the farmer's market was held every Sunday. Again, it was empty of life, besides them and a rat scurrying past.

However, there was a creak and his father's voice died mid-laugh; they weren't alone anymore.

Five… eight, no, ten men had joined them, blocking off all exits and carrying an assortment of rather intimidating weapons, from knives to bats, splintered and riddled with nails. Logan recognised them all as locals, young, barely older than himself, but the gleaning hate in their eyes sent him hiding behind his father like the terrified child he was.

"Can I help you young men?" his father asked calmly. Logan couldn't tell if he was scared too or not, but could guess the answer to that pretty damn easily.

"Our parents told you to get out of town," one, clearly the bravest, stepped forward. "Thirteen years ago, wasn't it? What the fuck are you doing back."

"Minding my own business," his father replied simply. "Am I not allowed to visit my son?"

He got no reply. Instead, those behind them moved forward, inch by inch. Slow and malicious. Every hair on Logan's body was prickling, and he couldn't shake the feeling that hands were hovering just over his back, ready to strike. When he glanced behind him, there was nothing there, except the men drawing nearer.

The first blow was a shock to him, and he leapt back as a bat collided with his father's stomach. Logan wasted no time before retaliating, and dropped the flour before darting forward. He swung his scrawny fists wildly. They were easily blocked.

"Apari, get back," his father growled, pushing the boy behind him.

"No! I can help!" Logan's eyes burned with tears and humiliation as he was held back. They were attacking from all sides now, his father simply unable to defend himself and his son at the same time.

It hurt. The weapons cracked against his ribs and shoulders, sending Logan to the ground with a cry. He could do nothing here and it destroyed him.

His father was pulled away and lost in the crowd. Logan's fists were useless. He wouldn't give up the fight, but there was nothing he could do to defend himself. The flour sack had split in the commotion, and the frenzy of boots and swinging weapons kicked up a cloud of white dust. He could barely see his attackers now, and thankfully they were having trouble seeing him. He ducked down and curled into a ball, hoping that would protect him from the worst of it. Tears and flour streaked his cheeks, powerlessness washed over him and his pathetic whimpers made sure his attackers always had a general idea of where he was. His forehead was bleeding now, and a knife had cut deep across his face, nearly splitting his nose in half.

When would they leave? Weren't they bored yet? Was his father fighting back too much to handle? A horror of a thought made its way into his mind, and he knew they wouldn't leave until both men were dead.

"Apari, run!" he heard his father cry. "Get to the others!"

Logan couldn't move. He cried to himself, swearing that he couldn't leave his father alone like this!

"Apari!" He heard shoves and punches as his father burst through the ring of assailants launching themselves at the boy, throwing flour and dust into their eyes and the air. "Get up!" he growled, yanking Logan by the arm, "get to your mother!"

"I can't leave you," Logan sobbed, stumbling to his feet. "I can help!"

"You can help by getting everyone to safety. You have to take your chances in the Wilderness. I will buy you as much time as I can!" They pushed through the crowd and his father shoved him away. "Go!" he cried.

"But-"

"Go, my son! Please."

He didn't move. By now some of their assailants had regained their sight, and were after them with a newfound lust for blood.

"I cannot lose any of you."

There were tears in his father's eyes as he turned to face them, and Logan's legs somehow sent him dashing in the other direction. If he could get to his mother, she'd know what to do. They could find a way to help him!

Maybe his father would rejoin them when they were fleeing into the Wilderness and everything would be fine.

He made it to the end of the street before he let temptation win and glanced behind him.

His father was on the floor now, and no one heard his child's screams as an axe was brought down in his chest.

...

I've mentioned this before on tumblr, but this fic is based on a steampunk/dieselpunk cowboys-themed OzNZ picture I did a while back that seemed to grow a story of it's own, something I hate when I draw things like that because it makes me want to write them. So, that picture, coupled with the music of Abney Park, Ghoultown and the Cog is Dead, created this little world for the characters to roam about in.

I don't have much in the way of side pairings, besides TurkInd and HuttMol. The second one I'm always down to write, and the first I've never written before so that should be fun! I mean, there's spytalia, but I haven't got to the TurkInd bits yet.

Oh, and yes the twins are Wy and Nyo Wy.