Work Text:
I Am Your Leader
by Pirate Turner
"Shoot it," Chris Larabee growled from the cot he laid upon.
"What?" Nathan asked, turning to the man in black with raised eyebrows.
"My damn nose," Chris muttered. "Shoot it off. That's an order."
Nathan tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile but managed to swallow his chuckle. He hated it when one of the men he'd come to call his family were sick, but Chris was always the meanest sick one of them all. He couldn't blame him for wanting to be rid of his red, aching nose that alternated between a waterfall and a stone wall of blockage, and although he knew a million reasons why Chris must not lose his nose, he knew telling him now would do no good.
Instead he sat down next to him, pushed his bowl closer to his cot, and offered him a spoon. "Eat it," he said, referring to the chicken soup Rain had made that Chris had been pushing aside ever since its delivery. "Doctor's orders."
"Thought I was the leader," Chris muttered.
"Only when you're well. Until then, I'm your leader." Most men would never have dared to command the angry gunslinger, but Nathan knew him well enough to know that, deep down, Chris knew he needed him to take control and make him well. He also knew that Chris would never fire upon a friend. "Eat it," he repeated firmly, putting the spoon in his hand, "or do I have to feed you myself?"
Chris grunted but finally raised the spoon to his mouth. Nathan watched as he took a swallow of the broth that had long turned cold. He knew it couldn't taste near as good as it had originally, but Chris ate it any way. Nathan sighed silently in relief, knowing that his friend was on the road to recovery.
The End