So, yeah, I love Young Guns. And I have done role plays before with my girl Kristal Starr and Billy the Kid, and it got me thinking, I should try and do a fanfiction. So, I did this one. It honestly helps when I have a friend who loves and knows so much about Billy that it's inspiring. She and I have tossed around so many ideas and she is, hands down, the best writer of Billy I've ever known. Anywho, disclaimer - the only thing I own is my own character I created, Kristal Starr and maybe a few other random people I'll probably bring in. So, yeah... please enjoy and let me know what y'all think because I truly love feedback.
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It had been days since she had last seen a town or anything other than a few ranches scattered about the barren wasteland of New Mexico Territory. In a way, she was glad there was no one out and about. No one to recognize or interrogate her on why the hell she was bleeding from a hole in her side. As well as no one to question why she was alone and dressed like she was, when most women were respectable, genteel creatures who didn't venture far from civilization if they had a choice. That was not who she was. Still it was a small blessing, to not be bothered by folk who would pester her with incessant questions.

However, she was beginning to worry about the injury. It burned fiercely despite her crude attempt to clean and gut the bullet out. She had wrapped it best she could too, but it kept bleeding, and that was what she mostly worried about --- blood loss. She needed to find a safe place to stop, continue to gut her wound, and rest but where?

Riding forward, she swayed on her black mustang, feeling faint. Beads of sweat had been forming on her brow for some time now, and she worried she may have a fever... which meant she probably had some sort of infection or maybe it was just too much blood loss. She didn't know, nor did she care. At the moment all that mattered was getting somewhere safe to assess the full extent of her injury.

Cursing beneath her breath, she rode on coming to a road. Halting her horse's steps, she looked down the road in one direction. Nothing. A dry desert terrain, littered with cacti, joshua trees, and sage bushes amidst barren dirt. Turning her aching head the other way, she saw a wagon approaching from over a hill. Her brows furrowed at the sight and she turned to take off when someone called out.

"Halt!" Came a very British sounding voice.

The blonde woman debated on whether to bolt. Though, she doubted she would get far. It was all she could do to stay on her horse at that moment. Not to mention the man riding shotgun had a rifle in hand. She was tired of being shot at.

"You are awfully close to my land..." An older British man spoke, holding the reins. It was clear by how he held himself, the straight and confident posture, that he was the one in charge. "What are you doing out here... alone?"

Lifting her head up, the brim of her hat shadowing her piercing gaze, she eyed them all. It was then she noticed someone in the back of the wagon causing her lips to tilt into a wary frown. "Wanderin'." Was all she answered, her voice low and husky. She wasn't thrilled with being stopped. These men made her eyes narrow, ever vigilant.

"You're a girl?" The younger man with the rifle blurted, a surprised smile flicking across his face.

"She looks like hell," came the voice of the man in the back of the wagon, holding a pistol on her. "She ain't dressed like a girl normally would neither." His expression held confusion at the mere sight of her.

"William, that is no way to talk to a lady." The older man shook his head and lifted his hand before slowly lowering it, a gesture for the blond boy with the cap that sat behind him. "And you can put your gun away. There's no need for it."

"Ain't no lady here, Mister. Jus' me," she practically snarled, disliking the fact he had called her a lady. The blonde woman also wasn't too fond at the attention they were giving her. Their scrutiny was making her nervous.

"John, she's hurt," the man with the rifle announced, his brows furrowing with worry.

The one called John frowned, noticing the blood on her shirt, shadowed by the duster coat she was wearing over it. For a moment, he was quiet, silently considering before making a firm nod. "Alright miss, we will not do you any harm. My name is John Tunstall, this is Doc Scurlock and behind me is William Bonney." He said in introduction. "You are injured. My home is not far from here. Why not come with us. Have a hot meal and your injury looked at."

Brows furrowed, curiosity mixed with caution riddled in her sharp green eyes. "I'll be fine." Her tone was stubborn even as a sharp pain shot through her side, causing her to flinch.

"You are not fine, my dear. Please," the Englishman pleaded, worry in his voice, "you have my word. No one will harm you. We simply want to help you." John smiled gently, offering her a welcoming and friendly hand.

Eyeing the man, she bit her lower lip in consideration. Trust was not easy for her. As warm and welcoming as this English man seemed to be, she hesitated. She had been betrayed and burned far too many times. The bullet in her side attested to that. Still, she couldn't help but weigh her options, until the pain and nausea threatened to overtake her, making up her mind for her. "Fine..." she breathed, hoping this wasn't a mistake. "I won't hesitate ta shoot anyone though, if I feel threatened."

"That is understandable, my dear," John said with a warm smile. "You can get in the back of the wagon with William. It might just help your injury. May I ask your name?"

"I'm fine ridin' m' horse." She said, and then frowned. Perhaps she should give a false name. Her name wasn't quite as reputable as her adoptive mother's, but it was getting up there. Ah, the hell with it. Maybe it was the pain she was feeling that made her so lax, unable to think of an alias. "Starr. Kristal Starr."

Doc's eyes snapped up to her. "Starr? Any relation to Belle Starr?"

The blond in the back of the wagon was also eyeing her, a brow raised, curious as to her answer.

Kristal just gave a painful smirk, "perhaps."

~~~~

"You want to play games pendejo?" The Mexican-Indian, Chavez growled waving his knife at the jackass white boy in front of him. The boy had insulted him again and he was getting tired of it.

"You red-assed Mexican greaser. You do it with your horse! Mexican greaser!" The lighter haired man taunted, a smirk forming on his face. Steve eyed the knife in the other man's hand, spitting at Chavez trying to anger him.

"Come here you little white chicken-shit," Chavez growled at Steve twirling his knife in hand with deadly skill. The blade whistled as it cut through the air.

Chavez swiped at Steve, who in turn jumped back several times still taunting. The light-haired boy was enjoying getting a rise out of the mixed breed. "Greaser! Greaser... come on greaser, cut me there!"

Before Chavez could come at Steve again, Richard Brewer, also known as Dick, rode his horse between the two boys in an effort to put a stop to their nonsense. "Hey, hey! Knock it off! Knock it off! Hey!" He shouted at the two glaring first at Chavez then at Dirty Steve. The two moved around the horse, ignoring the older boy, Steve still heckling. "Cut me there, Mexican."

Frowning, Dick continued to try and intervene as Chavez swung again at Steve, coming rather close to contacting with the annoying man. "Knock it off! You know better, Chavez!" The two boys fought nearly everyday, and Dick was growing tired of it.

"Navajo! Navajo!" Steve continued goading, enjoying the reaction he was receiving from Chavez.

Turning back to Steve, Dick sighed in frustration. "Enough," he tried shouting again to get them to stop. He then noticed John's wagon and turned back to Steve and Chavez, "John's back. Now wash up and in your supper clothes!" When neither one moved, still glaring at the other, he raised his voice a bit louder and firmer, "NOW! Both of you!"

Chavez was breathing heavily and shook his head, his hair moving out of his eyes. Steve bumped him as he walked by to go clean up and Chavez growled low, cursing the other man.

Tunstall and Doc drove the wagon towards the house. The woman on the black horse was quiet, as she rode beside them, beads of sweat still forming on her brow. She glared at the other boys she saw approaching the wagon. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Who were they all? And why were there so many?

A blond head, topped with a cap peeked over the side of the wagon and saw the boys gathering around. He rose a curious eyebrow, "who are them?" the boy asked.

The older man smirked, "they, William." John Tunstall corrected. "Who are they?" Turning to look at the young men that were nearing the wagon, his smirk shifted to a smile. He was proud of these boys. "They are the boys of the dregs... the flotsam and jetsam of frontier society, if you will." Pointing over to the side house, he glanced back at Billy. "We got room in the bunkhouse, my young man. If you don't want to stay... the Santa Fe runs out of Albuquerque in the morning."

Tunstall then turned to the woman on the horse, eyeing her thoughtfully. What was he going to do with her? There was no way he would allow her to sleep in the bunkhouse with all the boys. He wasn't about to take any chances. He wasn't sure of the woman's reputation, but he had one to uphold on his ranch. "You may stay in the house. I have an extra room." He was keenly aware of Doc and William's apt attention on him. However, the young woman was watching the other boys approaching, which made John frown. She seemed flighty and easily agitated. He would need to be careful with this one. Even more so seeing the weapons she had on her.

"Why don't you come inside and we can take care of that injury, my dear girl." John offered, and the wagon stopped in front of the house.

Dick rode over then catching John's attention, but only briefly and went to Doc. "Glad you're back, Doc. Stile hold the rope inside," he greeted with a nod.

Doc nodded back and glanced back at the woman that John was trying to talk to. She was still just staring at everyone. He still couldn't believe it. That was Kristal Starr? He had read about her briefly in the papers, a 'rising outlaw' from what the reports had said, but they mostly spoke about her mother, Belle Starr and the Starr Gang as a whole.

"John bring another hard case in?" Charlie asked and squinted at the figure on the horse. "Or do we got two hard cases?"

"Hope it ain't another Mexican," Dirty Steve said still taunting Chavez.

"Mexican-Indian, you son-of-a-bitch," Chavez hissed back at the annoying boy.

Tunstall shook his head and turned back to Billy, "If you do wish to stay... well... we have just the thing for you..."

Getting off the wagon, he headed for the house and then paused to look back at the young woman. "Are you coming, lass? If you are thinking of bolting, you won't get far with that wound. I won't keep you though. You are free to leave whenever you wish."

"Wait, that's a woman?" Charlie queried, his eyebrows raising in surprise and delight.

"What kind of woman dresses like a man?" Dirty Steve grumbled, but he couldn't help but eye the girl either. She was an oddity. He never met a woman not wearing a dress.

"She's an outlaw, I'm pretty sure..." Doc said softly. "Names Kristal Starr... Her mother... I think, is the notorious, Belle Starr."

All the men turned to look at Doc as if he were crazy. It was Dick who finally spoke up. "Who the hell cares. John's helping her out like every other hard case here, so we'll all be respectful. You hear?" They grumbled under their breaths and went on their way.

Billy, however, had merely moved to sit on the edge of the wagon, staring at the woman. "You gonna sit there all day?" He asked curiously a mischievous smirk on his face, which grew when the girl turned to look at him. "How old are you?"

"None o' yer damn business," Kristal replied turning her eyes back on the house.

"Ah, she does talk. I thought I might have imagined it." He grinned at her.

"I can do alot more'n talk... but I reckon ya'd like to keep yer tongue," she said without bothering to look at him, as if he weren't worth her time.

Billy's eyes darkened, but only briefly before his blue eyes sparked with amusement. "If you think you can do anything to me, then I'd like to see you try."

Turning her piercing green eyes on the blonde man, Kristal smirked despite the intense pain coursing through her side. Her gaze looked him over, sizing him up, a brow rising in interest. "Is that a challenge?"

"Yeah, maybe it is. Why not? Come on!"

Amusement flickered over her shadowed expression and Kristal's head slowly shook. "If I were up to par, I'd easily take ya up on that." Her gaze bored into his eyes, unwavering. "So, why don't I take a raincheck. When I'm better, I'll whoop yer ass." Kristal's husky voice was smooth, without hesitation. Her tone was full of confidence, despite the underlying pain. The woman was clearly unafraid to fight.

"Unlikely. When I win, you'll owe me," Billy said his smirk returning, an odd glint shifting in his cornflower eyes.

"Oh? An' what might I owe ya? Not that ya'd win, mind ya." Kristal's gaze trailed back to the house, where John had disappeared to. She was confident in her abilities and what she could handle, this blond boy would be easy pickings.

"I dunno yet. But I'll think of something," Billy replied with a crooked grin, enjoying their banter.

"An' if I win?" The blonde woman queried.

"That'd be up to you. Not that you'll win." The young man repeated casually, confidence oozing from his silvery smooth voice.

With a dark smirk of her own, Kristal turned to him, green eyes flashing beneath the brim of her hat. "If I win, ya get ta leave me the hell alone." And with that, she kneed her horse forward towards the house, before sliding off and following John into the house.

Billy stood there gaping after her. The odd glint was still in his eyes mixed with a determination that only he knew. Hot damn was she something else! He'd never known a woman like her. She sparked his interest. He was curious about her, wanting to know more about the mystery that surrounded her. He stood there watching her until she was out of sight, and even then lingered, his thoughts remaining on the enigma she was to him. Shaking his head, the boy chuckled not about to be deterred from her. Hopping off the wagon, Billy headed for the bunkhouse whistling.

***

Stepping foot into the house, Kristal eyed the inside, her green gaze carefully taking in her surroundings. It was a quaint home for a man who appeared to be single along with all those single boys outside - at least she hadn't seen any other female presence anywhere. Wiping the back of her hand on her brow, she gingerly moved into the living room, the wound in her side hurting like hell.

"You're not going to steal anything are you?" Came the English man's voice to her left. He had a calm smile on his face, a look of amusement glittered in his eye. His laid back demeanor made it clear he wasn't worried about it at all.

The young woman gave a pained smirk, "nothin' worth stealin'." Her amusement was hidden by the pain coursing through her body.

John laughed and motioned for her to follow him. Kris balked at first, hesitant and wary, but finally relented. Following him down a hall, her pace slow, her feet nearly dragging. She found the tall Englishman in a small room with a bed, a simple dresser with a mirror and a window against the far wall. A few simple decorations and paintings hung about the room, welcoming her inside. Her eyes scanned the room and then landed on what the older man had on the dresser - a bowl of water, a rag, bandages, and some alcohol. The sight caused her to hesitate, but if she wanted to survive, she had to deal with it. And she was a survivor. She was too damn stubborn to die

"Please sit down." Tunstall motioned to the chair, and Kristal again hesitated, eyeing the red wood piece of furniture before sitting. "I don't mean to seem forward, but you will need to show me the injury if I'm to mend your wound, my dear. I promise I won't do anything unsavory. I just wish to help."

Licking dry, chapped lips, Kris closed her eyes contemplating her options and then nodded. "Ya try anythin' I'll kill ya anyway, hows that?" Taking off her hat, she set it next to her on the bed, and painfully pulled her duster coat off. Her shirt was stained with blood which made John frown. Kristal then proceeded to lift up her shirt, gently prying the wet stained cloth away from her skin, exposing her toned stomach and the bloody bandage just under her left breast.

John's frown deepened at the sight. The makeshift bandage was stained with blood and dirt. The skin around the cloth was dark with bruising, and an old scar swept diagonally just under the fresh wound. Concern shifted in his eyes, taking the wet rag from the bowl on the dresser and looked at her to await her permission. When she merely nodded, he slowly pulled the bandage off. "You know if you tried to kill me, those boys outside would be after you in a heartbeat. You would end up in jail." It was spoken casually, but it was the truth. His Regulators were protective. He taught them to treat women with respect and care, but he knew they wouldn't stand aside for one that harmed him.

At the sight of the bloody hole in her flesh, the man's expression turned sympathetic. It was a serious wound, deep it seemed, since blood still flowed freely from the hole puckering at her pale skin. Thankfully the blood flow was more a trickle, otherwise he worried about blood loss. If she made it out of this, he had to believe it would be nothing short of miraculous. "How did this happen?" The Englishman asked his brows furrowing at the sight. It was a miracle the girl was still alive. "Doc mentioned you're an outlaw?"

Kristal hated small talk, but as the man started cleaning her wound, she hissed in pain. This was what happened when one couldn't properly take a bullet out. Unfortunately, with where the wound was located, it was rather hard to search for the bullet which had caused her to bleed so much more than she thought was good. And she worried if anymore of the cursed ichor flowed, she would surely die of blood loss. "I'd like ta see 'em try." Kris finally spat. If she were up to par, she wouldn't back down from any one of those boys outside, no matter how protective they were. However, she knew she was faring pretty bad. "I got shot, clearly... and whether I'm an outlaw or not ain't none o' yer concern." Kristal snapped due to the overwhelming pain in her body.

The Englishman frowned at her snappy tone, wiping away more blood and trying to see inside the hole under her breastbone. This young woman was a feisty one. "I can't tell if the bullet is still there..."

"It's in there... I couldn't... I couldn't get it out." The young outlaw said through clenched teeth interrupting the older man. "I tried... just couldn't find it."

Pressing his lips together in thought, John straightened. What did she mean, she tried? Was this a common ritual of hers? Getting shot at and needing to extract her own bullet? He considered asking but thought better of it. "I need to get a tool to hopefully get the bullet out. I'm going to get some extra help too if that's alright with you? I'll be right back. I would suggest laying on the bed; it would make it easier to get the bullet out." Without another word, the man left the room leaving her alone.

Kris eyed the door wanting to escape the confines of the room. She honestly hated small, enclosed spaces. Her gaze then slid to the bed with a frown. It felt too vulnerable, but she needed that bullet out. She was too damn stubborn to die, so might as well do what the Englishman suggested for now. So, why couldn't she make herself move? Because she didn't trust the Englishman. The warm, comforting accent was soothing to her soul and it bothered her. But, if she didn't move, surely it would be the end of her.

The dirty and bloody blonde cursed her options before trying to slide to the edge of the chair. The slightest movement now made her lightheaded. It took a few good minutes before she managed to get onto the bed and lay down. A sigh left her lips as her head settled onto the silky down pillow.

In the process of moving, she had to grab the rag and place it against the wound, so she didn't bleed any more than necessary. The movement from the chair to the bed had caused a tickling sensation down her side, which she guessed was blood flow. She tried to roll up her shirt in a futile attempt to leave her wound exposed and to keep her breasts covered. As soon as she had relaxed, John returned with one of the men she had seen from earlier --- the one with the sour, judgmental look in his dark eyes.

The dark-haired man's gaze turned onto her, a frown pressing at his lips. "Doc said she's an outlaw?" He asked the older man at his side, his gaze washing over her. The young woman was pale, eyes he assumed were green, faded and lined with dark circles underneath, stared back at him. He was surprised to see fire in those green depths. She was trouble and he knew it. Her long blonde hair was covered in dirt and blood and strewn wildly around her head like a messy halo. As he approached closer he noticed the beads of sweat lining her brow as well as the silver scar that crested her jaw, near her cheek. The very sight of her unnerved him for some reason.

"That is the assumption, Richard. But now is not the time. She'll bleed to death if we don't hurry. We must get that bullet out," John said placing his hand over hers where she was holding the rag. "I don't have any chloroform. So I'm afraid we'll have to..."

"Never had the stuff 'afore... Don't need it... Jus' get it done... I've had worse than this... But, I'd rather not... bleed ta death... if ya don't mind?" The young woman's words were ragged and breathless, sarcasm edging her tone despite whatever pain she might be in. Her hand fell away from her side, her fingers curling into a ball at the pain she was feeling.

Richard's brows rose at the woman's fiery demeanor. His eyes fell to her wound, unable to look away. The flesh around the bloodied rag was turning dark in color and he pulled his gaze away. Instead, dark brown eyes lowered to her abdomen, following the scars littered about on her flesh like a puzzle to be solved. Questions sprang to his mind, but he refrained from speaking them, at least for now.

"Lay still. We'll take care of it." Dick tried to soothe, though it came out gruffly. Carefully, he lifted the bloodied rag and swore. "You're lucky to be alive," he said reaching for the bottle of alcohol.

"No shit!?" The blonde somehow managed to growl, her pale eyes flashing between pain and anger. "Quit the small talk... "

"I'll have you know, ma'am, we're the ones helping you. So if you can..." Dick began, his own irritation growing at her rudeness.

"Richard..." John spoke up, his voice was gentle but firm, coming over with a pair of long skinny forceps and some fresh bandages.

Dick immediately shut his mouth, obeying the elder man.

"When I say, pour the alcohol over the wound. I need to be able to see." The Englishman waited for Dick to acknowledge his words before he turned his kind eyes onto the woman. "This is going to hurt. Do you need something to bite down on?"

Shaking her head, sweat continuing to bead along her brow, her anger growing at the younger man's superior attitude. She didn't need his damn opinion. After a few moments as well as a few shallow breaths, she finally responded. "No, jus'... Jus'... do it."

With a nod, John looked at Richard who then poured the alcohol over the wound. The woman inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening into the balled fists she already had at her side and squeezed her eyes shut, but other than that made no sound. Richard was surprised and even a little impressed by how she reacted. He doubted even he could withstand the pain to not cry out. His gaze lowered to watch as John dug the forceps into her flesh, wincing at the sight. It had to be painful. Blood oozed from the wound and he had to tear his eyes away. His gaze then went back onto the woman who showed no emotion, though her eyes remained closed. More questions sprang to his mind, curious as to how a woman could withstand such intense pain without crying or saying a word. He doubted even a man could withstand such pain without crying out.

It took some time; the bullet was lodged deep. No wonder the woman was bleeding so much. She was lucky it didn't hit her lungs or shatter her ribs or breast bone. After what seemed like forever, but in reality was only around fifteen minutes, John pulled the bullet out and placed it on the tray. His gaze went to the woman who was now eyeing him weakly. The older man could see the questioning in her eyes; he could also tell that she was struggling to stay awake. "I'll sew it up now, and place a fresh bandage over it. You can rest my dear. I swear to you; we mean you no ill will."

Kristal felt weak and tired. No, that was an understatement, she was exhausted. It was hard to keep her eyes open after that agonizing pain. Even though she didn't show it, it took everything in her to not scream or cry out. Year's of practice had apparently paid off, and she had been able to bite her tongue. Her gaze flicked to the bullet, drowning in a pool of her blood on the silver tray. She wanted to say it was the worst pain she had ever felt before, but that would be a lie. With a soft quiet sigh, the exhausted woman nodded and settled her head back down. If she didn't rest, she was going to end up passing out and she definitely didn't want that. Her eyes closed without saying a word and she drifted into a deep slumber as Tunstall and Richard continued to fix up her wound.