We Fought for the Fable @stardustbarbarians - Tumblr Blog

The Sound of Thunder

A Sam Kiszka / Daniel Wagner fic

Summary: When Sam was hired to catch Danny, he got more than he bargained for.

Tags: bounty hunter!Sam, outlaw!Danny, 1870s Arizona, getting together, slow burn, fluff, a touch of angst

Words: 14.9 k

A/N: Yeah when I said slow burn I meant it. I have no chill when it comes to cowboys. Couple of quick things: there's a character named Micah in this fic that is not based off of Josh's partner, but a character from rdr2 who I fucking hate. Secondly, I tried to be as period accurate as I could be (fun fact: did you know one of the most iconic Old West figures, Buffalo Bill, had long, curly hair?). Also, I referenced a certain singer multiple times in here; if you know who that is you win a gold star from me! Lastly, this fic's title is taken from Caught My Breath by Palace. Dedicated to @runwayblues. Enjoy!! <3

+++

“I’ve never been real good at startin’ stories,” the outlaw admitted, the left corner of his lip pulling upwards in a wry way.

“Well, it sure is a good thing I’m looking for the truth rather than a story, ain’t it?” The other man’s boots made a heavy sound as they tapped down against the dusty wooden floor. A small metallic jingle resounded with each step as well, the spurs on his boots jostling as he circled the man tied to the chair in the center of the room.

That got a scoff of a laugh from the outlaw. His dark eyes followed the bounty hunter that circled him like a vulture; that comparison itself almost made him laugh again. The outlaw always thought bounty hunters were like those carrion birds: earning their keep from other people’s kills.

“Would you even believe me if I told it to ya?” the outlaw shot back, refusing to crane his neck as the bounty hunter walked behind him.

The bounty hunter sighed deeply, an annoyed sound that came from his bones. It amused the outlaw to no end.

“Just tell me what you were doin’ in Clearwater. Make it easy for the both of us,” the bounty hunter attempted to bargain, his patience wearing thin. He even pulled out his six-shot from its holster, twirling the weapon around on his finger just like his big brother taught him all those years ago. It wasn’t meant to be an intimidation method, at least not entirely. It had been a habit of his ever since that pearl-handled revolver had been passed down to him.

“Why? Pissin’ you off has been the highlight of my week.” A borderline cruel laugh tumbled from the outlaw’s lips. His eyes glittered in the flame of the kerosene lamp that flickered on the desk in front of him - behind the bounty hunter - as he gazed into the quasi-lawman’s eyes.

“Y’know,” the bounty hunter started, bending at his waist to be level with the current thorn in his side, refusing to be intimidated by his unwavering glare and only returning it ten-fold, “for a fella in real deep shit, you sure are pushing your goddamn luck.”

The outlaw wet his lips before smiling. It wasn’t a friendly one, neither. It evoked images of snakes coiled up before striking, hammers on revolvers being cocked, and knives pressing into throats.

“Ain’t that worrying you, pretty boy?”

“What, that you don’t respect me? I already know you’re a fool.”

That seemed to be just the right answer. That amusement finally reached the outlaw’s eyes, sending an involuntary shiver down the bounty hunter’s spine.

“You sure I’m the fool?”

As if on cue, a thunderous BOOM! ripped through the relative quiet of the immature night. The wall behind the bounty hunter of the single-room cabin the two were holed up in was blown clean open. The shockwave sent him to the ground, splinters showering down on him as the desk protected him from the major debris. The ringing in his ears muffled the sounds of men shouting, his head pounding from where it made contact with the floor. He would’ve been consumed by the darkness encroaching on his vision if it hadn’t been for the sensation of a boot toe turning him onto his back and the sharp sting of a large hand cracking him across the cheek.

“That was fun, Kiszka! Let’s do it again sometime!” the outlaw hollered, his silhouette towering over him. He was cast in a silvery color, the light of the moon highlighting half of his face. His toothy smile seemed genuine, his amusement almost childlike as it scrunched up his prominent nose.

“Deadeye, let’s go! The whole place is gonna go up like a torch!” a disembodied voice shouted from where the wall had been blown up. The outlaw’s attention was snapped to the voice, leaving the bounty hunter to feel a strange cold wash over him at the loss.

“Be right out!” he called back, his attention once again fixating back onto the bounty hunter. He pulled his pistol from where it was tucked into the bounty hunter’s belt, the man having confiscated it when he apprehended Deadeye. “Catch me if you can, pretty boy.”

With a wink and a simultaneous click of his tongue, the outlaw dashed from the bounty hunter’s view and off to join his band of miscreants. Numerous hoofbeats followed shortly after, decrescendoing into the night. He could hear his own horse whinnying with fear as the cabin’s fire grew larger by the second.

With what little strength he had, Sam Kiszka pulled himself out of the debris and splinters. Gathering what little he could with such short notice, he hurried off to where his trusty steed was tethered. His entire body ached as he mounted up, his teeth gritted against the pain. His face burned as he whipped his horse’s reins and the fire blazing at his back could not be blamed.

That had been their first time meeting. Sam had been hired by the sheriff in the town of Clearwater to track down and capture the infamous “Deadeye” Wagner and his posse. There wasn’t anything concrete, but the sheriff was pretty damn sure the outlaw that had been terrorizing their state for nearly a year was to blame for the batch of cattle hustling and home robberies that had taken place while they were in town.

“You’re our best hope,” the sheriff had spoken right after Sam was given Deadeye’s wanted poster. It wasn’t meant as a slight, Sam knew that. But, he read between the lines of that statement.

You’re our best hope since we can’t hire your brothers.

Josh and Jake had been the best trackers and bounty hunters the west had ever seen. They were always in demand, often getting job offers multiple times in a single day and having letters written to them asking for their help. There was not a single bounty they couldn’t bring to justice.

Until Reno.

Jake had caught that bullet in the throat and Josh couldn’t shake it. He quit the life right after he shot the bastard who killed Jake between the eyes. He lives up in the mountains somewhere now; Sam will write to him when he has the time. But, as it is, Sam was left to take on the family business. He didn’t know any other way of living, or else he might’ve been a ranch hand or something.

The Kiszka name didn’t hold the same weight as it used to. And everyone knew that. Sure. Sam was good at his job, but his name no longer struck fear into the hearts of criminals like it had before Jake died. He wasn’t as good as the twins were and he could sense that gap in skill each time he took on a job. He could see the patronizing look in their eyes as they longed to be hiring his brothers in his stead. He could hear the “you’re not as good as them” in their words. He felt their forced respect with each interaction.

But he kept doing his job. And he kept doing it well. He may not have had his brothers’ level of talent, but he was still far better than any other bounty hunter in the state.

And that was why he was specifically reached out to in order to find Deadeye. It had taken him longer than it would have finding other bounties, but Deadeye was no ordinary bounty. When that whole incident went down with the Diamondback Gang blowing up a house and Sam losing some of his hearing in his left ear, he had been tracking them for two weeks before he was finally able to be in the same town. It was another few days before Sam could catch the elusive Deadeye on his own.

Since then, it had been his personal mission to take down Deadeye himself. He didn’t focus solely on catching the bastard - he needed money for food - but he always kept his eye out for any possible lead. Most of them had been completely useless, oftentimes coming to him when it was far too late and the Diamondbacks had already moved on. But, just as a broken clock is right twice a day, Sam will receive useful information from time to time.

And that was how Sam had found himself being the one tied to the chair this time around.

“Y’know, I was expectin’ you to show up again. But this certainly wasn’t how I pictured it,” Deadeye drawled, leaning against the far wall and cast in shadow. Sam watched as the pocket knife he was tossing in his hand would catch the light of the kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what this daydream entailed,” Sam shot back, wriggling against the rough rope as it cut into his wrists. He knew they were going to be raw when he got out of them, he just hoped they didn’t end up bloody by the end.

Deadeye chuckled at the statement, the sound reminiscent of thunder roiling. He pushed off from the wall, his boots heavily hitting the ground to fill the void of voices. It was just the two of them in that cellar; Deadeye had sent the rest of the Diamondbacks up to the house they had commandeered. Deadeye was sure to inform Sam that the house had belonged to a vile bastard who preyed on women. And, while it was still wrong to hang the man by dragging him behind his horse, Sam can’t say he was particularly upset with the outlaw for his actions.

“We’ll just say that there was a lot less rope involved… and a lot more whiskey.”

“Hell, if you’re offerin’ I’d sure as shit love a nip.” Sam never let his eyes stray from his captor’s face, but he also made sure to pay attention to the man’s hand that sat on his gun belt. While he was tossing the knife with his right hand, everyone knew that Deadeye’s left hand was the one you should fear. He was the only left-handed draw in the state and the only one worth their salt in the whole country.

That earned Sam a laugh. A genuine one. It was saturated in smoke and rattled in his chest - no doubt a side effect of having been shot there a handful of years ago. But, nonetheless, it burned good as it hit his ears just like a good hard liquor slides down your throat.

“I knew I liked you,” the outlaw declared, finally slipping his hunting knife back into its spot next to the gun hanging from his hip. Immediately, it was replaced by a flask the man had pulled out from the inside breast pocket of his vest.

He uncapped it and took a pull of his own, walking slowly to the spot right in front of Sam. The bounty hunter watched as the man’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the chords in his neck flexing as he tipped his head back.

“You sure it’s a good idea to get drunk? Considerin’ you’re in the clutches of the man you’ve been huntin’ for months?” Deadeye asked after pulling the flask away from his lips.

“The way I see it: if I’m gonna die, might as well get to enjoy something on the way out,” Sam professed, nodding his head towards the silver, engraved drink vessel.

Wagner obliged, carefully pressing the opening of the flask to Sam’s lips. The bounty hunter tipped his head back, taking a long pull of the liquor. It burned as it slid down his gullet, but it didn’t stop him from taking another gulp. He maintained the eye contact he held with the outlaw, something burning in him that couldn’t be blamed on the whiskey.

“You think I’m gonna kill you?” Deadeye questioned, capping the flask before slipping it back into his vest pocket. There was a very faint quiver in his voice that was easily missed if you weren’t paying attention. It was hushed with a clearing of the outlaw’s throat.

“That, or you’re tryna see just how much someone is willin’ to pay to set me free.” Sam wet his lips to catch the bead of whiskey that had pilled on his bottom lip. He watched as something strange happened to the outlaw’s eyes in the flickering lamplight.

“That so?”

“I’ll just go ahead and save you the trouble, friend. Ain’t no one out there willin’ to spend a single cent on me,” Sam sardonically groused. He felt his temper worsen at his own words.

Deadeye just watched his captive for a while. There seemed to be something brewing underneath that curly head of hair he had, and Sam had the distinct feeling he wasn’t gonna like the outcome. Now that the man knew Sam was practically worthless, he knew he was living off of borrowed time. There was a possibility - however slim - of him making it out of there alive, but he needed a distraction.

“That ain’t what I heard,” Deadeye finally responded.

“What you mean?” Sam had the distinct feeling Deadeye was toying with him, like he was luring Sam into a room only to pull the rug out from under him and get him to tumble unceremoniously to the ground. He didn’t like it at all.

Deadeye shrugged, his arms crossing over his chest after sitting down in the only other chair in the place. Even in the limited light of the kerosene flame, Sam could see the way his shirt strained against the outlaw’s shoulders.

“The way I hear it, you’re the number one bounty hunter in the state. Costs a pretty penny to hire you.” Wagner had leaned back in the chair, his posture perfectly relaxed.

Kiszka couldn’t help the scoff that tumbled from his lips. Bringing up his rate… how ridiculous. “People don’t pay a ransom for their tools.”

“They would if they were smart. In this instance.”

Sam gazed quizzically at his captor, as if he were a puzzle and the pieces were all scrambled.

“You’re the only bastard who’s been able to track me down twice,” Deadeye finally elaborated after Sam kept giving him a funny look.

While he talked, Sam slowly slid his leg back so that he could reach into his boot.

“Typically the ‘bastards’ who hunt you down don’t live too long after they find you,” Sam bit, the venom in his voice not intentional.

The outlaw laughed once more, this one having almost a nostalgic twang to it.

“That just makes you one of a kind, pretty boy.”

The nickname gave the bounty hunter pause. He’d called Sam that before during their first meeting. It should have irritated him. It really should have.

“Why ain’t you killed me?” is what Sam asked. What he really meant was what makes me different?

“I already told you,” Wagner started, his voice sounding like honey as he leaned forward in the chair to look deeper into Sam’s eyes, “I like you.”

“Why?”

Deadeye chuckled, a short little scoff of a laugh, and leaned back in his chair once more. “‘Cause. You’re fun.”

It was Sam’s turn to scoff.

“All we done is tie each other up. And your boys blowin’ me half to hell,” Sam quipped, the ringing in his left ear somehow getting louder at the memory.

“Yeah, but you seem to be forgettin’ exactly how you got me in that chair. I ain’t never been bush-whacked by a fella who lassoed me first,” Deadeye admitted, amusement dripping from his tone and from the toothy grin he wore.

The rope around Sam’s wrists loosened. He slowly and carefully closed the small pocket knife before slipping it back into his boot.

“You say that like you often get kidnapped,” Sam dryly pointed out, carefully unwinding the rope from his wrists and coiling it up in his hands. He was diligently keeping his wrists together, miming that they were still tied up.

“You said it yourself. I’ve been hunted down quite a lot in my time.” Sam had wished that Wagner had taken off his hat so that he might see the outlaw’s eyes. Something told him from the way that he kept his voice carefully level, Deadeye was masking how he truly felt about that. Something that his eyes wouldn’t be able to hide. Was he mad? Scared? Amused? Sam was dying to know. For what reason it made his curiosity burn, Kiszka couldn’t tell you.

There was a beat where Deadeye waited for the bounty hunter to speak. Like a breath being held, there was a palpable pause as they both waited for conversation. And Sam did answer.

But it wasn’t with words.

Sam took the opportunity to lunge at his opponent and tackle him to the ground. Both of their chairs fell to the ground with a thunderous CRASH! and Deadeye’s even splintered into hundreds of pieces as it took the weight of both fully grown men. The bounty hunter used the rope he cut off his wrists to press into Wagner’s throat; not enough pressure to choke the man to death, but enough that the outlaw knew Sam could do that if he needed to. He straddled the man under him, his knees on either side of Deadeye’s hips.

For some strange reason, and before Sam could even voice his demands, the outlaw started to laugh. It wasn’t a pure laugh like a child’s, but one that was full of a twisted kind of delight. The bastard had a cocky smile on his lips, the left corner of his mouth pulling up in a crooked, toothy grin. It made a shiver go down Sam’s spine, one that he had to suppress from wracking his entire body.

“Well, partner, you have my full attention, now,” Deadeye breathed, both of his hands facing upwards in a show of his surrender to Sam. It was a strange thing.

Sam pulled Deadeye’s revolver out of the man’s holster and pointed it right at his head. “You let me walk right on outta here and no one has to die, alright?”

They both knew that Deadeye was the stronger man of them both. If he wanted, he could turn the tides of this situation in the blink of an eye. Yet, for some reason, he was letting Sam be in control.

No doubt in reaction to the commotion Sam had caused when he attacked their boss, a few of the Diamondbacks burst through the door of the cellar the two men were in. Kiszka instantly turned the gun to them out of instinct, noting how they each had a rifle or revolver of their own.

“You sneaky BASTARD! He got the boss!” One of them yelled, causing Sam to point the gun right back at Deadeye’s head.

“Make one wrong move and I’ll paint this floor with his brains, you hear?!” Kiszka shouted back, his free hand fisting Wagner’s shirt collar and pressing him harder into the floor.

“Ohhhhhh, we all know you ain’t got the stomach for that, pretty boy,” the same man hissed, bringing his rifle up to his eye and pulling on the lever to rack in a shot.

Sam bristled at the usage of the nickname.

“You wanna take that chance?” Sam slowly threatened, never breaking eye contact with that particular Diamondback.

“Lucky I’m-”

“Enough!”

Deadeye’s voice cut through the air. It was a commanding presence, one that even made Sam obey. Though, given the way that Deadeye was looking at his crew, Sam was not the one he directed that order to.

There wasn’t another word uttered out of Wagner’s mouth. Yet, somehow, he made his crew lower their weapons. Reluctantly, of course, if the way they all still gripped their guns tightly and kept their fingers on the trigger was any indication. Each one wore a scowl that could curdle milk.

Finally, Deadeye’s attention fell back onto Sam. Despite being the one with the gun pressed into his temple, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that Wagner was in control.

“Let ‘em go, boys,” the outlaw smoothly ordered, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. From this proximity, Sam saw that they were a light brown with hints of green in them. They reminded Sam of a mossy tree you might see in a cold forest after a heavy rain.

“What!?” the Diamondback that Sam was arguing with earlier hissed, clearly unhappy with that decision.

“Isaiah, get Micah outta here! Before I slit his throat!” Deadeye waved his hand animatedly at the men above his head. It was the first time Sam had witnessed the outlaw’s infamous rage. He’d heard about it from the survivors of his gang’s attacks and read about it, too. But it was much more powerful experiencing it first-hand. And Sam had the feeling he’d only seen a glimpse of it.

Just like he’d asked, one of the Diamondbacks - Isaiah - grabbed the confrontational member - Micah - and dragged him out of the room. From the looks of it, no one was upset at this change.

“You’re good, Sam,” Deadeye praised, that dark amusement back in his tone as he slowly rose to his elbows, “real good.”

Sam slowly pulled the gun off of the outlaw’s temple, but kept the barrel pointed at him. You couldn’t be too careful when facing down a predator.

“Your skills, well…” Wagner slid out from under Sam, getting to his feet with Sam quick to follow, “You certainly live up to the stories, if not more so.”

“I don’t rightly get you, friend,” the bounty hunter huffed, his frustration at Deadeye’s confusing treatment of him finally showing outwardly. At least a little.

Wagner chuckled. “‘Course you wouldn’t. Not yet, at least.” He said the last part under his breath.

Even though Sam was still pointing his own gun at him, Deadeye seemed to be as relaxed as a lizard sunbathing on a rock. His hands were still up in surrender, yet it seemed more of a formality than an act of self-preservation.

The outlaw jerked his head towards the door where his men were watching everything go down, their guns still lowered but trigger fingers in position waiting to pounce. “Go on out. They won’t give you no trouble, I promise.”

Sam cast his eyes towards the stairs quickly, placing them back onto Deadeye. While still facing his opponent, Sam made side-steps towards the exit. He still kept the gun trained on the outlaw as insurance that his posse wouldn’t shoot him in the back.

Just as he made it up the stairs and to the threshold, Deadeye called out to him. “Oh, and Sam? Think about what I said.”

The bounty hunter felt that confused frustration shoot through his bloodstream again. Involuntarily, his hand clenched around the handle of the revolver. “About what, exactly? You said a lotta things.”

“You’re an intelligent man, pretty boy. You’ll figure it out,” Wagner answered, his tone bordering on a whisper as his voice smoothly flowed from his lips. His smirk was dripping with that twisted amusement, giving Sam the feeling of a predator toying with his food.

Before Deadeye could change his mind about setting Sam free, the man booked it for his horse. Sam whipped his mare’s reins and had her take off into a full gallop, wanting to put as much distance between him and that confusing criminal as possible.

It wasn’t until after he’d finally stopped to rest for the night that the bounty hunter realized he’d still possessed Deadeye’s revolver.

+++

The next time they met was a complete accident.

No, really.

Sam hadn’t taken to pursuing the Diamondbacks for months. He wanted to leave them be for the time being. And it wasn’t because of the confounding way that Deadeye made Sam feel. It wasn’t that at all so don’t even try to accuse Sam of that.

It’s just that- well- Sam was busy. He did have a life outside of Deadeye and his band of miscreants. And that life included tracking down other criminals so that he could feed himself and his horse, Sundown.

In fact, it was while he was chasing one of those other law breakers that he found himself in Deadeye Wagner’s company once more. They were following the same lead, it seemed.

“You lookin’ for Cotton Jenny, too?” the general store owner questioned, not even bothering to look up from the ledger he was scribbling in to address Sam. Kiszka was surprised, to say the least.

“Yes, sir. How’d you know?” Sam answered, adjusting the bandana around his neck as a nervous habit.

“Son, I’ve been ‘round long enough to know a bounty hunter when I see one,” the shop owner answered irately, his big, grey eyebrows furrowing as he continued to write in his ledger.

Kiszka had to suppress a scoff. “Only people who recognize bounty hunters are other bounty hunters… and crooks.”

The proprietor ceased writing, finally looking up from his book. His wrinkled face told the story of a hard-fought man - a tired one. One that gave credence to the saying “beware of a man who grew old in an environment where people die young”.

“We all got our pasts, boy,” he darkly growled like a greying attack dog.

“Sure,” Sam drawled, his spurs jingling as he took a step towards the old man, “and some of us can’t outrun ‘em.”

The shopkeep laughed; one single, dry cough of absurdity. “You say that like you got ghosts followin’ you.”

“Just like you said, we all got our pasts, mister,” Sam spoke placatingly, taking another step towards the old man, shrugging his shoulders as he rested his hands on his gun belt, “and right now, the only past I’m interested in is Cotton Jenny’s. And if you help me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

The shopkeeper and the bounty hunter stared at one another for a moment, each one deciding how they felt about the other and preparing for if that opinion was bad. But, like a frozen river breaks like a bone in a spring thaw, Sam watched as a smile slowly crept up under that bushy, white mustache.

“I like you, kid.” Sam’s mind echoed those same words in Deadeye’s voice. It had been months, yet he could still hear his voice like he was next to his ear.

Sam felt his shoulders relax, realizing he wasn’t in imminent danger any longer. He never let his hand stray from his gun belt, though. He knew better.

“I’m bettin’ you’re wantin’ to know where she’s holed up,” the shopkeeper inferred, closing his ledger as a signal to Sam that he had the man’s attention.

“Yes, sir. Any information you’ve got on her would be helpful.” Sam nodded his head, having to adjust his hat as it slid down on his forehead a touch.

“Last anyone heard, she was seen hidin’ with her gang ‘round Cherokee Bend. If you follow the river south a ways, you’ll see a bend in the bank. Keep goin’ a bit off the beaten path, there’s an old cabin there.”

Sam repeated the directions in his head twice. He didn’t want to get a single detail wrong. With a nod of his head, Sam reached into his satchel and pulled out a bill fold.

“Thank you,” he politely hummed, setting the five dollars in singles on the counter. The metal clip made a dull thud against the worn wood of the counter, the light green stark against the elm board.

Just as Sam lifted up the handle of the shop door and pulled it open, the store clerk called after him.

“Jenny’s got a real big price on her head, son. That tends to draw in other folk who might not be so honest,” he warned, his tobacco soaked throat making his voice gruff and scratchy. It spoke of experience, his warning.

Sam simply hummed a small laugh, glancing over his shoulder at the man. “I know, sir.” He spoke from experience, too.

And with that, Sam tipped his hat to the store owner and walked out into the burning sun of the evening. His stomach grumbled in anger, reminding the man that he hadn’t eaten since the morning. And while he still had canned food in his saddle bags, He’d rather get shot in the stomach than have to force down that metallic tasting sludge again. Goddamnit, he’d pay the odd sum of dollars to get a fresh cooked meal.

So that pointed his boots in the direction of the saloon.

Usually, he tended to stay away from whiskey bars and gin joints as much as he could. That was where most of his enemies would reside drinking themselves stupid. And, truly, there was nothing more dangerous to his health than a man with a gun and a mind full of liquor. Especially since his family had put away the most criminals this side of the Mississippi. That created a lot of enemies.

With that in mind, Sam strode into the saloon and cautiously scanned the room. No one immediately stood out to him, which was always a good sign. It was early enough in the day that the patrons weren’t very drunk yet, but it was clear that many of the men were not on their first drink of the day.

Kiszka kept his hand close to his gun as he walked, but never made the mistake of touching it. That was a sure-fire way to start a fight. He was able to reach the bar without incident, ordering himself a cut of pork loin, greens, and potatoes. And a beer. What? He never said he didn’t drink.

While Sam waited for his meal to arrive, he tried his best to keep his head down. His head had been pounding from the moment he opened his eyes, and the only relief he got was when he closed them. Though his sight was removed, his sense of hearing sharpened. He could hear the rumble of conversation, the clink of glasses, the thud of boots, and the door opening. But he kept his eyes shut.

That was his first mistake.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” a familiar drawl voiced to Sam’s left, a sense of cold dread washing over the bounty hunter as he recognized the speaker, “Pretty Boy Kiszka, as I live and breathe!”

“Wagner,” Sam blandly greeted, not even bothering to even look his way, much less open his eyes.

“Awwww, don’t be like that! Ain’t you happy to see an old friend?” Deadeye threw his arm around Sam’s shoulders, jostling the man and nearly making him lose his balance.

“We ain’t friends,” Sam growled, throwing the unwanted touch off of him. He shot the criminal a scowl pointed enough to kill a man. He should’ve known that wouldn’t deter the likes of Deadeye.

“Sure we are,” Deadeye drawled, cozying up right next to Kiszka. The bounty hunter just rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment. At that point, he figured it would be less of a fuss to just let Deadeye do his thing then try to shove him away.

“What brings you to the humble little town of Acacia?” Wagner trudged on, willfully ignoring all of Sam’s cues to leave him alone.

“Ain’t no business of yours,” Sam hissed, the bartender finally placing his meal and drink down in front of him. He immediately took a swig of his beer, needing something to get through this interaction.

For a brief moment, Deadeye didn’t say or do anything. He watched Sam as the man ate his dinner with intensely intrigued eyes. Almost as if he was studying his every move; like that would give him the answers he sought.

“You’re goin’ after Cotton Jenny.” It was a fact. That’s how he said it. As certain as death coming his way one day, Sam was going after Cotton Jenny.

Sam made his next mistake here. He froze. His fork was halfway to his mouth when his entire body went rigid. That was all the confirmation needed.

The outlaw wore a satisfied grin on his face and leaned his elbows on the bar, his back pressing into the wooden counter.

“That’s a risky business to take on all by your lonesome, cowboy,” Danny continued, his voice dripping with something saccharin. If Sam hadn’t known any better, he would’ve guessed the man was flirting.

“Who said I was alone?”

The smile on Deadeye’s face at Sam’s comment made him realize he’d played right into the outlaw’s hands. He wanted to pound his head into the wall for his stupidity.

“I know you, Kiszka. You ain’t ran with no one since your brothers.”

So what if he was right? Sam didn’t like the idea of this outlaw pretending to be friendly with him.

“If you got a point, Wagner, I suggest you make it and quick.” Sam’s jaw was clenched together as he spoke.

“Let us ride with ya.” It was as plain as that. At least, that’s what Deadeye’s tone suggested. But Sam knew there was a catch. He wanted something out of this deal.

“And I suppose that means you and your posse get a cut of the reward, too?” Kiszka scoffed, finally taking a bite of pork. It was a little dry, but, damn if it weren’t better than the shit he’d been eating out of cans for weeks.

“The money’s all yours, Pretty Boy.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to study the outlaw. There was a knit in his brow as his eyes scanned Deadeye for any hint of deception. It was too good to be true.

“Bullshit,” Sam called, taking another drink of his beer and shaking his head.

“We don’t need it. Me and the boys just- well… You’ll be readin’ ‘bout it in the papers soon enough.” Deadeye leaned in towards Sam as he spoke, mere inches away from one another. Sam ignored the way his husky tone made him want to shiver.

“I should arrest you for that,” Sam argued, his voice also dipping towards the sultry side. He wasn’t aware of his tone or else he wouldn’t have employed it. Which makes it all the more incriminating.

“But you won’t,” Wagner confidently purred, his eyes darting down to the bounty hunter’s lips as he leaned even closer.

Many eyes in the saloon were fixated on the pair, now. Not that either of them noticed. They were all waiting for one of the men to throw a punch at the other. To spit in the other’s face. To grab them by the lapels and throw them to the ground. That was how tense the air was between the two figures.

“So, we doin’ this or not?” Deadeye asked after the two continued to stare at one another for too long.

Sam sighed and looked down at his plate. He bought himself some time to think as he took another bite of his dinner. While he hated to admit it, Deadeye was right. Going on this job by himself was dangerous. Then again, he went on every job by himself no matter the danger. But Cotton Jenny’s price was high for a reason.

Can you trust him?

That was the big question, wasn’t it? Could he trust Wagner with his life? He had spared Sam twice, now. But those times were different. There would be gunfights, bloodshed, and possibly death. How did he know Wagner wouldn’t tuck tail and run?

Taking one more drink of beer, Sam made his third mistake of the night. “Fine. But we’re doin’ this my way, got it?” Kiszka growled. He slammed the bottle onto the bar, turning to look the outlaw in the eyes.

“Of course, boss. Your word is my command,” Wagner agreed, making a show of splaying his hands out and lowering his head to submit to Sam. It made the bounty hunter’s hackles rise.

“Meet me at the milliner’s in an hour. Gives you enough time to gather your crew,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head at the display. He felt his lip curl back in disgust at Deadeye and his “submission” the longer he thought about it.

“You need a new hat, m’lady?” Deadeye joked, poking fun at the location Sam chose.

“Get outta here and let me finish my goddamn meal!” Kiszka barked, nudging the outlaw away from him and towards the door. He grudgingly followed the order, Deadeye’s boots jangling with each heavy step.

“Hey,” the bounty hunter called out before Deadeye could reach for the door handle, “don’t make me regret this.”

Wagner’s lips pulled up at one corner. He tipped his hat in acknowledgement before disappearing out the door.

This is one of the stupidest ideas you’ve ever had, Kiszka.

+++

Two hours or so after they had met up at the south end of town, they made their way back with Cotton Jenny hogtied on the back of Sam’s horse, Sundown. It had gone surprisingly well for them; not a single death on their side and only one injury. Good ol’ Micah had gone and gotten himself grazed by a bullet in the side. Lotta blood, but nothing too serious as long as he saw a doctor. With the way he was belly aching about it, though, you’d assume he was taking his final breaths.

“Son of a BITCH!!” He cried for the fourth time as they followed the river back towards Acacia.

“Oh, can it, would ya??” Isaiah cried, finally fed up with his acquaintance’s bluster.

“Why we lettin’ Pretty Boy get the money, huh? We did all the hard work!” Micah griped, nudging his horse closer to Deadeye’s.

“Cause I said so.” Deadeye left no room for argument. Yet, the annoying bastard was able to find that tiny margin for error.

“You’re turnin’ soft, Deadeye,” Micah spat.

“You wanna ‘nother bullet in ya, Micah? Cause we both know I ain’t one to miss,” Deadeye hissed at his subordinate. He even went so far as to draw his pistol from its holster and point it between Micah’s eyes.

“That’s enough!” Sam yelled, cutting through the argument. “Isaiah, Virgil, take Micah with ya to the doctor’s. Deadeye, you ride with me to the city lock up. Ain’t nobody shootin’ no one, is that clear?”

All the other men begrudgingly sighed, doing as ordered. Isaiah and Virgil, the fourth man to join from Deadeye’s crew, escorted Micah to the doctor’s office, having to veer off of the path Deadeye and Sam were taking to get to the North end of town faster. That left Deadeye and Sam by themselves. With Cotton Jenny of course.

She had started making these panicked noises a little bit into the trip, catching the outlaw’s attention.

“What’s up with her?”

Sam glanced at the woman tied up on his horse. He noticed how she kept trying to get the gag off that Deadeye had stuffed into her mouth.

“She can’t breathe,” Sam answered, reaching around with a hand free from his reins and pulling the cloth out of her mouth. It was hard enough breathing on the back of a horse when the damn thing was bucking into your ribs, Sam should know.

As soon as he pulled it out, Jenny started gasping for breath. It was only a matter of time before she started yelling.

“Deadeye, you rotten son of a bitch!! I oughta skin you and bleed you dry!!”

Sam couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his lips. That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Usually I’m the one gettin’ cursed out,” Sam admitted, an amused smile on his face as he watched Wagner change color.

“You yellow, no good, RAT! You’re a lyin’ snake with no goddamn guts!!” Jenny continued, ignoring Sam completely.

“That’s enough, Jen,” Deadeye hissed, the warning very clear in his words.

“You sold me out to the law! Not only that, you helped bring me in all ‘cause some pretty boy batted his lashes at ya!!”

“What’s she talkin’ ‘bout?” Sam inquired, searching the other man’s face. There was anger burning in his eyes, no doubt, but underneath that was something that looked like embarrassment on the outlaw’s face.

“Dunno,” Wagner attempted. Sam was starting to realize just how bad of a liar Deadeye was.

“Bullshit! We had a deal-”

“And deals can go sour, can’t they? You’d know that better than anyone, Jennifer,” Wagner spat at the woman, a sneer curling his lips.

Sam was only left more puzzled than before.

“C’mon. We’re wastin’ time,” Deadeye quickly said before urging his horse to speed up. It wasn’t long before Wagner was far up ahead of Sam and Cotton Jenny.

Feeling thoroughly lost, Sam had Sundown pick up speed as well. He couldn’t push her as hard as Deadeye’s gelding, given the extra weight on her back.

“You ruined everything,” the woman spat after a minute or two in silence.

“Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before. I suggest you save your breath for the judge,” Sam tiredly responded. His headache still hadn’t let up and he just wanted some goddamn quiet.

“Everythin’ was fine ‘tween us ‘til you came ‘round.”

That struck Kiszka like a bolt of lightning.

“You mean…”

There was a bitter silence from Cotton Jenny. It was all the confirmation Sam needed.

“Deadeye goes through women like cigars. He’ll use ‘em ‘til he gets bored and finds himself a new one,” Jenny sourly spat. There was a loneliness underneath her vitriol.

The bounty hunter’s head felt like it was spinning like a top.

“My advice? Don’t get too comfortable. He’ll get bored with ya sooner or later.”

“Why are you tellin’ me this?” Sam asked, feeling extremely disoriented despite knowing exactly where he was.

Cotton Jenny laughed at Sam. It wasn’t a pretty sound.

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty, bounty hunter. ‘Cause clearly that head of yours ain’t made for thikin’.”

Even though the rest of the ride went by in silence, Sam’s head was louder than cannon fire. His mind kept racing through everything Cotton Jenny had said, repeating it over and over again on a loop. And just as usual, Sam felt confounded when it came to Deadeye and his motivations.

When they finally reached the sheriff's office, Sam was relieved to finally be rid of Cotton Jenny and her confusing words. Deadeye was waiting by the building already, horse hitched and leaning against a pillar with a smoke between his lips. Sam hitched Sundown right next to Deadeye’s gelding, using his knife to cut the rope around Jenny’s ankles before pulling her off the horse.

“No sudden moves and you get to keep your head intact, got it?” Sam threatened, his off-hand pistol pressed into her pretty black hair at the back of her head.

“I see why you like this one so much,” Cotton Jenny commented to Deadeye, a sourness to her tone.

No one said a word as Wagner opened the door to the sheriff’s, watching Sam as he walked past. Sam wasted no time marching the woman into an open cell and slamming the door behind her. He was given half of the reward right then, being told to come back next week for the rest of it when payroll came.

“You did real good back there,” Wagner warmly complimented, blowing smoke from his lips, “like you fit right in with us.”

“Don’t.” was all Sam said. He rubbed at his temple with his free hand, his headache only worsening since Wagner approached him at the saloon. The constant ringing in his left ear, usually only a minor inconvenience, was now excruciating to his poor head. He wanted nothing more than to sit in a dark, silent room for days.

The outlaw held up his hands in surrender. He took a solitary step back, a display to placate Sam and nothing more. There was no real danger Kiszka posed - to Wagner, anyway - and they both knew that.

It was during this mock display that he noticed the gun Sam was holding.

“Nice pistol ya got there, pretty boy,” Deadeye drawled, his voice reminiscent of dripping honey.

Sam, slightly confused about the rapid change of topic, looked down at the revolver still in his hand. It was a custom one; one only a man with money to burn could pay for. Gold inlays on the blackened steel glowed in the moonlight shining down on them. Right below the hammer was an etched eye, the crying thing Xed out in gold.

Sam knew instantly what Deadeye was doing. It was his gun, after all. The one Sam had stolen from him the last time they were face to face. He decided to play dumb. He looked between the outlaw and the gun like he thought Wagner was acting strange.

“What about it?”

Deadeye caught his eye. The knowing smirk sent a chill down Sam’s spine.

“Just looks real familiar, is all.” Wagner shrugged his shoulders, a lazy gesture that almost felt too casual. Like he practiced it.

That was when Sam “realized”. When he forced his face to light up in recognition and shot his eyebrows up. “Oh,” he mumbled.

The gun wasn’t balanced well enough for him to spin it around his finger gracefully, but he did so anyway. He allowed the weapon to dance in his hand before holding it by the cylinder and barrel, extending the handle towards the outlaw.

A silent moment passed between them. A moment where, even in the rapidly cooling desert night where bugs and beasts were aplenty, you could hear someone’s heartbeat. And Sam did; only it was his own. He forced his hand to steady as he kept it held out, watching Deadeye watch him. The outlaw kept his hands rested on his gun belt, all fluid lines and casual nature that was most certainly practiced.

It had to be a trick of the light. There was no way Wagner’s eyes were able to glitter in the manner that they did as he huffed out a warm, amused laugh.

“Keep it. You took it from me, fair and square.” Wagner left the steps of the sheriff’s office. It seemed he remembered there was also a price on his head.

Sam felt his headache crash into him like a gunshot, making him wince and have to brace himself against the pillar to his left. By the time he opened his eyes again, Deadeye was mounted up and pointing his horse down the road.

“It looks better with you, anyway.” His compliment was accented by a smile bright enough to blind a man.

“Where are you headin’?” Sam called out. He had to ignore the compliment. It had too many implications that Sam was not equipped with understanding in his hindered state.

“That would ruin the fun if I told ya, wouldn’t it?” Once again, his voice sounded like dripping honey.

Kiszka let out a frustrated growl. “For once would ya just answer my goddamn questions??”

Deadeye laughed. It was hearty and forceful, enough to make his head tip back like a wolf howling at the moon.

“See ya around, cowboy,” Deadeye drawled, permeated by a wink that made something flutter in Sam’s chest. Then, he whipped his gelding’s reins and tore off into the night.

Sam watched him go. He wasn’t quite sure why. He knew he wasn’t going to go after the outlaw. But once his form completely vanished from view, Sam huffed a sigh and shoved his gifted revolver into its holster.

+++

It was cold, now. Even though he was still technically in the desert, Sam watched his breath ghost out in front of him as he pulled his wool-lined coat tighter around his shoulders. Guess that was to be expected in the mountains in February. Thankfully, the heavy snow had let up. No longer did he have to wonder if anyone would be able to find his and Sundown’s bodies under 6 feet of snow.

The snow that was falling right now was the kind that was more atmospheric. They were small flakes that lazily, yet gracefully, floated onto the ground. Barely enough to dust the top of his hat or Sundown’s mane. Still pretty all the same. Even though he spent his days in the scorching sand, Sam had always loved the snow. It reminded him of home; of simpler times when his brothers were still around.

Speaking of: that’s where he was off to. To see his brother, not back east. It had been one of the very rare instances where Sam wasn’t working. That’s not to say that people weren’t trying to hire his services. He was sure there was going to be a pile of letters addressed to him when his vacation was over.

No, Sam was taking a break for a while. His last job, well… Let’s just say it was way too close to Jake’s last job. And that was when he realized he hadn’t seen Josh in… shit, two years. So, he wrote his big brother a letter and packed for a long journey.

He was almost there. It was at the point where Sam was close enough that he could make it to Josh’s cabin by daylight. But Sundown was getting tired. He knew she was. So, instead of going right at the fork in the road, Sam went left. Josh had mentioned there was a town with an inn nearby if he needed it. And if the signage was to be believed, he had just reached it.

It wasn’t a big town. Then again, lumber towns really weren’t. Unlike Tombstone, lumber didn’t offer the promise of “get rich, quick!!” like the silver industry had. So there was no rush to live in the town of Cedarville. But, it had a general store, blacksmith, an inn, and a stable. So, all things considered, a nice little town.

Kiszka stabled Sundown for the night, paying the extra few cents needed to get her an extra blanket in this chilly weather. He gave her a few pats on the nose and the explicit instructions to get some rest before he made his way to the inn next door. It was warm; something he first noticed when pushing through the door. Even though the snow had stopped, the wind decided to pick up, cutting through any layer of protection Sam might have had.

When he stumbled inside, he took his hat off and left it on the rack. He shook his long hair out, feeling the strands smack against his cheeks after they were released from their prison inside his hat. It felt as if the cold would never leak out of his bones, but damn if he wasn’t gonna try. He kept his jacket on, walking over to the bartender slinging whiskey and gin to jovial, ruddy-faced patrons.

“What can I do ya for, partner?” the barkeep inquired, offering a kind smile that reached his eyes.

“Got any rooms left?” Sam cut right to the chase, a chill racking his bones despite the burning parlor stove at his right.

The man’s smile dimmed at the question. Sam’s heart sank.

“Hate to tell ya this, friend, but a man came in here yesterday and booked all the rooms available. Sorry, friend.” And Sam truly believed him. That he was sorry.

With a huff, the bounty hunter hung his head. It was just his luck, wasn’t it?

“You know anywhere else I can rest for the night?” Sam had questioned, trying his best to keep his bone-tired weariness out of his words. He was certain he failed.

“You can try Mrs. Cohen’s down the way… she’s a widow with a boarder. Maybe she’s got somethin’ for ya. But I wouldn’t hold your breath,” the middle-aged man sighed. He produced a cloth from one of the pockets in his apron to wipe up a wet spot from a patron’s spilled libation.

Sam nodded his head in thanks, a deep sigh slipping out of his lungs. He knew he had to go back out in that weather. He had just started to get a little bit warmer, too.

Before he could even get his hat off the hat rack, however, he had been stopped by one of the patrons.

“Hey, I know you,” he slurred, a dopey grin on his lips. .

“I’m sure ya do, partner,” Sam groused, being polite as he could feel with his mood souring at the prospect of freezing his balls off again. He flashed the man a tight smile before turning towards the door, hat in his hand.

“You’re pretty boy, ain’t ya? Pretty boy… Keys?”

Sam froze. He could feel his muscles turn to stone as the words reached his ears.

“Nah. That ain’t it. Kiss-ya!”

There was only one person who called him by that name.

“Kiszka,” Sam corrected, his fingernails digging into his palms. My damn bad luck.

“Kiszka! That’s the one! Pretty Boy Kiszka! No fuckin’ way - Deadeye was just talkin’ about you!” The drunk patron’s voice was thundering. It was loud enough that Sam protectively covered his right ear - a habit he picked up after mostly losing function of his left one.

“Was he now?” Sam gritted out. Of all the damn places in the state of Arizona, he happened to walk into the very same one as Deadeye fucking Wagner.

“Shit, he couldn’t keep your name outta his damn mouth! It was all ‘pretty boy’ this and ‘pretty boy’ that! Sounded like my damn teenage daughter about the boy she’s courtin’, I’ll tell you what.”

Sam couldn’t stop himself from spinning on his heel. He wasn’t sure what about the man just admitted to him was so flummoxing, but it felt as if his heart was trying to take flight like a startled bird.

“I’m gonna go get that sorry sonofabitch. He’ll be so happy you’re here!”

Before Sam could even register what the drunkard had said, the man had stumbled over to a table full of rowdy men. He stopped at the man with his back directly to Sam. And, really, Sam should’ve realized Deadeye was here earlier. Because as soon as he saw that head of chocolate curls, he knew. He knew exactly who was in front of him.

Rising out of his chair and turning on his heel with a practiced grace was none other than Deadeye Wagner. The second he locked eyes with Kiszka, a charming smirk grew across his face. One that made Sam feel weak in the knees and forced him to lock his jaw so as not to say anything stupid. It made his chest flutter in anger and his face burn with it.

“We gotta stop meetin’ like this, pretty boy,” Deadeye drawled. And suddenly, Sam didn’t feel all that cold anymore.

Kiszka forced himself to breathe. He knew if he didn’t take a moment’s pause, he’d make a fool out of himself. So he focused on the way his lungs expanded to take in the scent of burning coal from the parlor stove and the tobacco smoke floating in the air.

“Always a pleasure, Wagner.” Sam’s pleasantry was very forced, something he was certain the outlaw would catch. He just couldn’t find the energy to be more convincing. His luck had run out and he was weary from his long journey.

“I thought we were past all this sourness-” Deadeye cut himself off. His lips had formed a word, but he clamped them shut to prevent them from speaking it. He was thrown off by his own actions, if his nervous titter of a laugh was any indication.

Kiszka elected to ignore the… whatever that was… for the time being.

“It’s been a long journey. I ain’t in the mood for your…” Sam vaguely gestured at Deadeye. He hoped the message came across. He wasn’t exactly sure there was a nice way of saying “the way we interact confuses me to no end and it exhausts me”.

Wagner clicked his tongue in a way that suggested sympathy but felt condescending. “You poor thing,” he cooed, wrapping his arm around Sam’s shoulders.

Sam blames his surprise at the touch for how long it took him to throw Deadeye’s arm off. Despite the roughness he used, Deadeye didn’t seem upset by the action. Instead, he just laughed.

“Do not patronize me,” Sam hissed, his temper worsening just from being in proximity of his… shit, what was Deadeye to him? An enemy? But you don’t typically team up with an enemy. His rival? They’d have to be in the same line of work to be rivals.

Well, whatever he was, Sam knew that Wagner confounded and confused him more than any other person he had ever known. Any time he even thought about the man - which, Sam had to begrudgingly admit, was very frequent as of late - he felt a confusing swirl of emotions deep in his gut. It was confusing to the poor bounty hunter and it only made him angry.

“Sure thing, sugar,” Deadeye smoothly responded, slithering his arm back onto Sam’s shoulders. “What brings you ‘round these parts?”

Sam forced himself to count to five. And then ten. He was trying to get under Sammy’s skin and he wasn’t going to allow the man to win.

“What’s it to you?” Sam spat back. It wasn’t as calm as he had hoped, but it wasn’t as venomous as it could be.

“Just tryin’ to see how long you’re fixin’ to stay, is all. No need to act like a rattlesnake, pretty boy.” It was right in his ear, the words Deadeye spoke. Kiszka could feel the warmth of his breath caressing the skin of his ear and cheek as he leaned towards the bounty hunter to talk.

Sam’s fingernails dug into his palms to stave off the shiver that wanted to wrack his body.

“Seems I gotta find another place to sleep. Some bastard came along and rented out the rest of the available rooms here,” Sam grumbled, his sour mood still ever present. It only worsened when he talked about the major inconvenience.

“That was me.”

“What?” Sam barked.

“The bastard who rented out the rooms? That was me.”

Sam had no choice but to laugh at the absurdity. “Of course it was!”

Deadeye watched with rapt fascination as Sam felt like he was coming apart at the seams. He was so damn tired. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted it so bad he felt as though he could cry as manic laughter flooded out of his mouth.

“That’s just-” Sam interrupted himself with another round of involuntary giggles, “That’s just fantastic, ain’t it?”

“You’re welcome to stay with me.” It was casual. Like a shrug of his shoulders. Like talking about the weather.

“Pardon?” But it didn’t feel casual. In fact, Sam swore he could feel the earth shift under his feet at the offer.

“It’s just… well, you ain’t really got much of a choice. And the bed should be big ‘nough to fit the both of us. ‘Course, you could sleep on the floor - or I could…” Wagner rambled. A trait Sam had never really seen Deadeye employ. He could also feel the man’s fingers fidget on his shoulder; watched as he failed to meet Sam’s eyes.

To say that Sam was baffled was one thing. Yet, underneath all of his shock, he was touched.

“That’s real sweet of you,” Sam finally offered. While it had been amusing to watch the outlaw flounder for a spell, it had started to feel like watching a mortally wounded animal. At some point, you gotta put the poor beast out of its misery.

Wagner sighed in relief. Sam felt the way the tendons and muscles in his arm melted into a relaxed state.

“You don’t know how sweet I can be, pretty boy.”

“I’m sure,” Sam patronized, even going so far as to pat Deadeye’s arm around the bounty hunter’s shoulders.

And with that simple act of kindness, Sam felt his agitation and mania melt away.

“Let me take you up there,” the outlaw offered, his arm tightening around Sam so that his side was pressed flush with Wagner’s. Sam did not protest or make any movement to wiggle out of the touch. He knew many people were watching the pair of them. He was too tired to care.

The room itself was very cozy, but very on par with all the other inns and hotels Sam had spent his nights in. A potbelly stove with a pile of coal adjacent to it was stationary in the corner keeping the cold at bay. There was a vanity across from the bed equipped with a wash basin and white porcelain pitcher with sapphire blue flowers painted on it. The walls, floors, and furniture were all made from dark wood, making the room feel smaller than it probably was. Kerosene lamps illuminated the room a little, but it was still dark due to the lack of sunlight pouring through the window. A trunk sat at the foot of the bed. Sam didn’t need to look to know Deadeye’s limited possessions were stored there. He could already imagine what they were: his various guns and ammo as well as his minimal clothes. Sam had the same items to his name.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Deadeye prompted, removing his arm from its perch around Sam’s shoulders. He stayed stationary in the doorway as Sam wandered further inside.

It wasn’t like he was attempting to keep his attention on Wagner, but he found himself acutely aware of the way he watched Sam explore the room. His hands were fidgeting with something - a bullet from his gun belt, Sam realized - and his shoulders were hunched in. It was a strange stance on the outlaw. Sam had really only ever seen him cocky and exuding confidence. It was… nice. Made Deadeye seem a bit more human to Sam.

“Oh,” Sam finally spoke. It was an accidental exclamation more than anything.

“What?” Wagner immediately inquired. Sam didn’t miss the way he jumped up into action, pushing off where he leaned against the doorframe and standing tall.

“Oh, it’s just…” Kiszka gestured at the bed before them. It was a full-size mattress, just barely big enough to fit someone as large as Deadeye. Sam wasn’t large, per se, but the two of them would be hard up for any personal space in that thing. Not that Sam wasn’t used to having to share a bed with someone. It was commonplace in most of the hotels and taverns Sam stayed in. But, in those instances, the beds were large enough that some personal space would be allowed.

Deadeye seemed to pick up what Sam was implying. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“It’s your room-”

“I got to sleep in it last night. Seems only fair that you get it for the night,” Wagner insisted, waving his hand in a dismissive manner, “In fact, lemme go down and ask the owner for some extra accommodations.”

And before Sam could even protest, the other man was out the door and closing it behind him. The only sound was that of the whistling wind outside the window and the hissing of the lamp at his right. The bounty hunter let out a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. He was too bone-tired to even try to think about why Wagner’s gesture made his chest feel warm. Instead, he busied himself with stirpping off all of the layers he was wrapped in. They did their job against keeping the cold mostly away from him. Now that he was in the warmth of a heated room, they were beginning to make him sweat.

Just as he’d gotten to taking off the last of his shirts, that was when Deadeye walked into the room.

“Shit!!” Wagner exclaimed, covering his eyes at the same time that Sam scrambled to cover his bare chest with his discarded shirt.

“The hell, man??”

“Sorry! Sorry. I-I should’ve knocked…” Deadeye rushed out, his hand still covering his eyes. He stayed there like that.

In fact, they both stayed there like that for a moment.

“I’ll… I’ll wait outside-”

“Oh, for god’s sake. Just get in here and shut the goddamn door!” Sam shook his head.

The outlaw did as he was told. He kept his eyes covered, much to Sam’s amusement. He watched Wagner fumble his way around the room with his hand still clamped over his eyes. Sam even took note of the pink hue on the outlaw’s cheeks; what little of them he could see.

“You act like you ain’t never seen a man shirtless before,” Kiszka taunted, the corner of his mouth pulling upwards as he found delight in Deadeye’s theatrics.

With that little jab, Wagner slowly removed his hand off his eyes. It was still pretty dim in the room, but Sam didn’t miss the way his dark eyes snuck a glance at his shirtless form before quickly looking at the extra bedding in his arms.

“I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable…”

That warm feeling in his chest flowered under his ribs again. The same one Sam felt when Deadeye had offered him the room.

“You’re awful considerate. For a low-life degenerate, that is,” Kiszka tacked on at the end along with an anxious laugh. He didn’t wanna seem too genuine. The prospect of that - a moment of genuine connection - made fear thrum in his veins.

“That’s me…” Deadeye agreed. But his tone didn’t match the playful - yet slightly nervous - one from Sam. If he had to put a name to it, Sam would’ve thought Deadeye was glum.

“I grew up with brothers. Nothin’ you need to worry about. I’m far from squeamish when it comes to bein’ scrutinized by the male gaze.” Sam, for some reason, felt like he should salvage the situation. In an act of nervousness, he began spinning his pearl-handled revolver around his finger again.

All Wagner did in response was hum. He kept his eyes trained on the bedding he was laying down on the floor. The fluffing of his bedroll was the only thing filling the void of voices.

With a sigh, Sam resigned himself to the situation. He continued stripping down to his long johns, placing his holster on top of the bedside table. You never knew when you were gonna need it within reach. He rinsed his face and hands in the wash basin once he was done undressing. And with that all said and done, Sam slipped under the covers and sequestered himself to his exhaustion.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep for. What he did know, however, was that he woke up to the sound of chattering teeth. Even in the silent room, Sam was surprised he was woken up by that; it was a very faint sound. Guess that came with the territory of having such a dangerous job.

“Wagner?” Sam blearily called out, rubbing at his bad ear. When it was that quiet, the high-pitched ringing in it became nearly unbearable.

The clattering stopped.

“Sorry, Sam.” It made the bounty hunter think of a scolded hound. Sam blamed that - his love for animals and dogs - for the ache in his chest at the outlaw’s tone. He also used it as an excuse for his next action.

With a small grunt, Sam flipped over onto his side so that he was facing Wagner’s direction. The covers were loud, relatively, as he peeled them back in an inviting gesture. The room was nearly pitch black if it hadn’t been for the sliver of moonlight peaking between the curtains. Despite that, Sam could perfectly see the confused knit in the outlaw’s eyes.

A beat passed. Neither man moved. Well, at least from their respective spots. Deadeye had sat up to see what Sam had done. But he stayed still; like a deer spotting a predator.

“You wantin’ a written invite?” Sam groused, his voice gravely from sleep.

“Are you sure-”

“Just get in, Deadeye.” Even to his own ears, Kiszka sounded bitchy. Guess his brothers were right. He was a force to be reckoned with when he was tired.

With a palpable hesitation, the outlaw abandoned his bedroll and cautiously slipped into the spot next to Sam. The mattress dipped under his weight, the wood frame only groaning slightly at the added heft. Sam was right. There was no room for any space between them. But he wasn’t going to let the man freeze to death for his own comfort. It would just have to be a little awkward for the next few hours.

Once Deadeye was settled - meaning he stopped shifting around enough, Sammy could feel how tense the poor bastard was - Sam closed his eyes again. With the added heat from Wagner’s own body, it was incredibly cozy. It was so comfortable, in fact, Sam had trouble keeping his eyes open. And not one to fight sleep when it came on this easily, Sam submitted to it.

Until he was snapped awake.

“Daniel.”

“What?” Sam quickly whispered, matching the volume the outlaw had used.

“My real name. It’s Daniel.”

In the limited light, Sam could see the anxiousness swimming within Wagner’s eyes. Even in his altered state - so dead tired he was sure he was hallucinating - Sam understood the gravity of the offered information. He was being incredibly vulnerable with Sam. Hell, it was hard not to notice the nervous way his eyes glanced all around Sam’s face to gauge his reaction when their faces were that damn close.

“Daniel…” Sam tested the name on his tongue. He found that he liked it an awful lot more than Deadeye. When Sam thought of Deadeye, it only conjured up images of annoyed sheriffs and infuriated ranch owners. But Daniel… Well, Daniel was the guy with a sweet smile on his lips and an offer of help on his tongue when Sam needed it.

“Y-Yeah,” the other man stuttered, a shiver shaking his body. Guess he was still cold from his time on the floor.

“...I like it. Handsome name for a handsome fella,” Sam muttered, his tone incredibly soft as to not disrupt the quiet in the room. Besides, with only a few inches between the two, there was no need for anything louder.

Like a flower blooming out of the winter snow, Dead- Daniel’s anxiety melted into a giddy smile. “Oh, I’m handsome, am I?”

Kiszka felt a giddy smile of his own spread on his lips. He gently smacked Daniel’s arm with the back of his hand. And as Wagner feigned a grunt of pain, the pair broke out into a fit of playful giggles.

“Keep pushin’ your luck and I’ll make ya sleep on the floor again,” Sam jested, that smile fixed upon his lips as he and Daniel continued to stare at one another.

“Too late,” Daniel sighed, finally releasing the tension in his body as he melted into the mattress, “cat’s outta the bag.”

“I’ll deny it ‘til the day I die.” Sam, god help him, found that he really liked the way Daniel’s dark eyes glittered in the moonlight.

“Hmmm… I’ll getcha to bend one day. Just you watch.”

“Is that a challenge, Daniel?”

There it was again. That chill shook Daniel’s body again as his eyes fluttered closed.

“Everything is a challenge with you, Samuel.”

+++

Sam hadn’t told Josh about that night he spent with Daniel. In fact, he didn’t tell anyone. He wasn’t entirely sure why. It just… it felt too personal.

Every day that had passed between that night and the next time he saw Daniel, he felt an ache in his chest. He wasn’t quite sure what to name it, but each time he thought about that night - or, rather, Daniel in general - he felt a dull pain lurch in his chest. The only thing he could compare it to is the similar feeling he gets when he thinks about Jake… but not quite. There was more pain when he thought about his brother.

But, as usual, the next time the bounty hunter and the outlaw met, it caught Sam completely by surprise. In fact, Sam was very surprised that Daniel was even able to find him.

As it so happened, Sam himself was in the very last place he’d ever think to find himself: in jail. It was very strange being the one on the other side of the bars. He was very hazy on the reasoning behind why he was locked up. Something about an assault on some poor woman. He didn’t know. He was drunk when he was arrested.

Sam scoffed to himself. The one night he let loose a little and look where it got him. He scrubbed his hands down his face as he sat down on the very threadbare cot. He had just wanted to have a few drinks in honor of his dead brother’s birthday.

“So, you care to explain why, exactly, I’m bein’ made to rot in here?” Sam tried again. It had been about three days since he was thrown in the cell and he still hadn’t been given a straight answer.

“Jesus, Kiszka, I already told you! You were seen harassin’ the mayor’s daughter by a very reliable source!” The deputy yelled, his frustration evident in the way he bared his teeth at Sam.

“This is bullshit. I’d never put my hands on a lady!” The bounty hunter was pacing the very limited space in his cell. He felt like he was losing his mind being trapped like that.

“I’m sure that defense will hold up in court,” the deputy snarked. And with that, he went back to reading his newspaper.

With a growl of frustration, Sam slammed his palm against the bars. He instantly regretted it as pain shot through his hand and up his arm. With a curse under his breath, Sammy cradled his injured hand against his chest and sat back down on the uncomfortable cot.

That was where he stayed for the next few hours. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. Thankfully, he was allowed to keep his pocket watch on him. That’s how he knew four hours had passed since he last spoke and when someone entered the building.

“Evenin’ partner,” the smooth voice drawled, heavy boot-steps resounding off the wood floor.

I know that voice

Sam’s eyes snapped open as he shot up-right off his cot. His eyes were able to confirm exactly what his gut instinct had told him. Standing in the jailhouse with his hat in his hand, the evening sun bathing him in golden light, was none other than Daniel “Deadeye” Wagner himself. Kiszka didn’t even care about the implications as a huge wave of relief crashed into him.

Daniel, seemingly aware that he had Sam’s full attention, sent him a sly wink along with the mouthed words of “play along”. Sam hadn’t even needed the hint. He understood from the second he heard Daniel’s voice.

“State your business, friend,” the deputy demanded, barely even bothering to look up from his newspaper.

“My name is Deputy Bobby McGee and I represent the sheriff up in Clearwater. I’m searchin’ for a man by the name of Kiszka… heard tell you might know where I can find him?” The lie was so smooth that Sam himself almost believed it.

“Are ya, now?” The Deputy finally set down his newspaper, taking his feet off the desk and planting them on the ground.

“Took ya long enough, Bobby!” Sam cried, getting to his feet off the cot.

Sam saw the tiny smile on Wagner’s lips before he rolled his eyes. “Apologies, your highness. Couldn’t drop everythin’, y’know.” He grumbled.

“And what, exactly, do you need him for?” The deputy interrupted. His beady eyes never strayed from Daniel’s face.

“Well, he was hired by Sheriff DuPointe to help catch a very dangerous outlaw by the name of Deadeye Wagner. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. The man is very desperate, you see. He’s even willin’ to pay the bounty owed,” Wagner continued, walking further into the jail and closer to the desk the deputy sat behind.

Even though the deputy - who’s name Sam cannot remember - held the authority bestowed by the state, it was clear who held the real power between him and Daniel. It was quite amusing watching the annoying little prick have to crane his neck as Daniel stood in front of him. Even if the other man had been standing, the outlaw would’ve towered over him.

“Unfortunately, there’s no bail to be posted. The mayor is mighty furious and he’s makin’ damn sure the bastard swings for what he did to Miss Lavender.” The smug lift to the corner of his mouth made Sam’s annoyance spike. The deputy was talking about his life being in the hands of some felonious witness, and here the bastard was, smiling.

Wagner seemed to catch onto the arrogant air the little rat had taken on. Well, that is if the way his knuckles bleached as he clenched his fists was any authority, that is. And the way the muscle in his jaw flexed, too. But, in the blink of an eye, that irritation was gone.

“Ain’t that a shame. I’m gonna have a few words with the man,” Daniel stated, no room to be told no. He didn’t even wait for the deputy to answer, simply pushed on past him and towards Sam’s cage.

Sam was thrilled to see Daniel in person after so many weeks. Their last little interaction had taken place in the snow-capped mountains in the heart of winter. Now, almost to the Mexico border, Spring was in the air.

“How you gettin’ on?” Wagner inquired, his tone even but his eyes very tuned into Sam. He seemed to search Sam for any and all signs of distress, knowing they had to act covertly.

“Been better… clearly… Just sittin’ here rottin’ all day,” Sam grumbled. What he didn’t add was how much better this day was now that he had shown up. Despite them having spent longer stretches of time apart, those few weeks seemed to stretch on.

Wagner’s eyebrows knitted in sympathy. His hand came up to lean against the bars, hesitating at where Sam’s hand was coiled around the iron. “You know I gotta ask.”

Sam sighed deeply, resting his head against the bars as he braced.

“Did you do it?” The outlaw’s eyes were intense. Dark as a maw of a cavern. They made Sam shiver.

“I swear on my brother’s grave. I did not touch that woman.” Despite wanting to divert his gaze, Sam held it steady. He needed Daniel to know he was telling the truth. He needed him to know.

After holding the stare for a little longer, the outlaw nodded his head. One curt jut of his chin. Wagner slid his arm from its leaning position, his hand grazing the back of Kiszka’s knuckles. It was brief and far from the only touch they shared. It had felt… heightened. More intense than those other times.

It wasn’t until Daniel took a step back and turned away that Sam even realized how close they had leaned in towards one another.

“Y’know Kiszka, you and the good deputy look pretty similar…” Wagner started.

A bolt of indignation spiked through Sammy before it sizzled hotly in his veins. “I beg your pardon?”

“From far away, that is,” Daniel was quick to correct, “Y’all both got the same lean physique, the same long head shape… hell, even the same hair color.”

Sam watched the lawman’s spine stiffen at Daniel’s claim. That was all it took for the bounty hunter to catch on. He couldn’t help the knowing smile as it tugged on his lips.

“Now that you mention it,” Sam added on, tilting his head as he took in the deputy’s features, “we could be related… distantly, that is.”

“You choose your next words carefully, now,” the lawman sharply ordered. He stood to his full height but stayed by the desk. It did not escape Sam’s notice that he rested his hand on the handle of his revolver.

Daniel must have noticed as well. In a mirror of their second meeting, the outlaw raised his hands up with his palms showing. And just like when it was Sam pointing the gun at him, Wagner was only doing so as a formality rather than for self-preservation.

His back was turned to Sam now. Kiszka’s view was completely obscured as the outlaw stood right in front of him. That was how he was able to hear rather than see the patronizing, lopsided grin on Daniel’s face.

“Now, ain’t no reason to act that way, friend. Just makin’ a simple observation, is all,” Daniel smoothly drawled, all casual fluidity and honeyed tones. You would not assume the man was in fear of being shot based on his body language alone.

“I don’t like what y’all are implyin’.” Sam watched carefully as the deputy’s hand gripped his pistol harder. He involuntarily swallowed as his adrenaline spiked. If he had his own pistol on him, there would be no contest. As it was, his trusty pair of revolvers were sitting on the desk right next to the deputy.

“And what would that be?” Wagner obstructed Sam’s view once again after checking over his shoulder. Sam grit his teeth, irritated about how this was turning out. He was useless trapped in that cage.

The deputy paused. If Sam could see, he would’ve watched the lawman’s eyes nervously dart back and forth between Daniel’s eyes and the spot behind him where Sam was standing. “That I assaulted the mayor’s daughter.”

Kiszka had to bite his tongue. Wagner was good. Really good. With just some simple word play, he was able to get this deputy to own up to his crime.

“Now why would an innocent man be worried about such an accusation?” Wagner’s hands slowly dropped down. He still showed the deputy his open palms, but they were closer to his stomach rather than at shoulder-height.

A tense atmosphere suffocated the one room sheriff’s office. The oppressive, southern spring sun that beat down on the building made the air unbearably hot. Sam could feel the sweat prickling on his hands and forehead. No one moved.

“No one’ll believe you,” the deputy nervously spat, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “it’s my word ‘gainst yours.”

“You sure ‘bout that, partner?” the outlaw drawled, his hands now hanging down by the handles of his pistols.

“He’s gonna swing and you’re gonna watch him die,” the lawman’s voice grew more manic with each word, “and there’s nothin’ you’ll be able to do.”

In the blink of an eye, Deadeye had drawn his pistols.

“Daniel, no!” Sam cried, his hand reaching through the bars to grab the unstable outlaw. It must have worked. Daniel didn’t gun the deputy down. “He ain’t worth it.”

“Sam,” Wagner breathed, his eyes never leaving his adversary, “you know I can’t let this happen to you.”

“There’s gotta be another way,” Sam desperately pleaded, reaching out his other hand to gently lower Daniel’s revolver in his left hand, “I can’t let you kill him.”

Wagner hesitated. His eyes swept from the deputy to where Sam’s hand rested against his left hand. With a curse under his breath, the outlaw holstered his guns. “You’re too good. He don’t deserve your mercy.”

Sam didn’t argue. He simply let out a breath of gratitude.

“Yeah, Daniel. I ain’t worth it,” the deputy taunted. There was a smug smile on his yellowed teeth. Sam wanted to punch them in himself.

Wagner’s back straightened as his muscles tensed. In only a few short steps, Daniel had removed himself from Kiszka’s arms and was inches away from the foolish lawman. It was quite amusing seeing the pathetic man crumple under the sheer tenacity of Daniel’s fiery intimidation. And that was when he growled something under his breath. It was so low that Sam could only hear the tone and none of the words.

It must’ve been one hell of a threat. Cause when the outlaw was finished, the deputy had turned as pale as a sheet. With wide, frightened eyes, the coward glanced between Daniel and Sam. It was no secret what Wagner thought about that, his anger shifting towards dark amusement.

With an eager smile sent Sam’s way after he tipped his hat to him, Daniel made for the exit. “Y’all have a good night, now.”

+++

Sam was awoken that night by the sound of someone whistling. With a confused grumble, Sam checked his pocket watch. 1:15 AM.

“Sam!” came a hissed whisper.

“What?” Sam whispered back. He quickly checked that the night guard was still sleeping.

“Come to the window.”

Sam, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, got to his knees on the cot to peer out of the small window of his cell. Standing in the pale moonlight with his face covered was none other than Daniel. He pulled his bandana down from his face just for a second to flash Sam a sweet smile.

“Oh, what are you doin’?” Sam quietly whined. He knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“Gettin’ you free, of course!” There was genuine excitement coming from his voice.

“Are you crazy?!”

“Maybe just a little,” Wagner conceded. “Look, you ain’t makin’ it outta this alive. That deputy is gonna testify and the mayor will push the judge towards a hangin’. Way I see it, this is your only chance at livin’ another day.”

Despite Sam’s lifelong service to lady justice, he knew Daniel was right. There had been one too many instances where innocent people were made to pay for the crimes of others. He was no stranger to this. He had just hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

“I don’t have my guns,” Sam relented with a sigh.

The bounty hunter could see the smile in Wagner’s eyes as he held up Sam’s gun belt in his hand.

“How’d you-”

“I ain’t the best in the business for no reason, sweetheart.”

Kiszka didn’t even try to suppress the shiver that elicited as it wracked his body. Nor did he try to hide the thrilled smile that pulled at his lips.

“Right. How we gonna do this?” This was it. With one simple sentence, Sam had resigned himself over to being an outlaw. If the legal system was gonna screw him over to protect a crooked man, he might as well screw it over first with the help of an (almost) honest man.

Daniel had told him to take cover as he hooked the window bars to a steam donkey. With a few metallic groans and a big puff of smoke, the cell wall came down with a thunderous crash. Wasting no time, Sam climbed through the opening and strapped on his gun belt after taking it from Wagner.

“We don’t got much time. We gotta make a run for our horses,” Daniel plainly explained, his head on a swivel on the lookout for any possible threats.

“Wait!” Sam - acting on impulse alone - grabbed the outlaw’s face, pulled down his bandana, and kissed Daniel on the lips. It only lasted for a second or two, but it made Sam’s entire being feel alive. It was as if he was a bolt of lightning: energized and charged with static and alive.

A beat went by where Sam watched his counterpart carefully. He’d known he’d just taken a huge risk. However, he had no time to even get nervous before a huge smile broke out on Wagner’s lips. His eyes glistened in the darkness, a familiar emotion glittering in them that Sam had seen times before around him.

“Oh, hell yeah!” Daniel had grabbed Sam by the shirt, pulling him in for another kiss. This was far more heated than the last.

“Kiszka!!” A disembodied voice bellowed. It was what pulled them back to reality.

“Right,” Daniel stated, breathless, “we’ll pick that up later…” He trailed off as his gaze landed back onto his partner’s lips.

“Horses,” Sam blurted. It was more of an attempt to stop himself from being distracted again more than it was for Wagner.

“Right!”

The outlaw took the former bounty hunter’s hand, drawing his pistol with his left. Sam did the same, twirling his family’s revolver on his right index finger before holding it steady.

With an enthusiastic smile and a nod of his head, Daniel lept into action. Thankfully, the horses weren’t stashed too far away from the jail. Sam only had to fire a few shots, all covering fire. As far as he knew, no one died.

Finally mounted up, the two outlaws tore off into the desert. Once they were well out of dodge, Sam whooped and hollered. With the breeze in his hair and the stars guiding his way, he felt alive.

Daniel laughed to his right, letting out a cry of excitement of his own. Sam felt his heart swell.

“Y’know, you can’t go back,” Daniel stated after the two had set up camp well away from the city.

“Ain’t that what you’ve been wantin’ since the start? For me to join your outlaw crew?” Sam’s eyes flicked from the fire to the man lounging next to it.

“Well, of course. But… is this what you wanted?” Daniel met Sam’s eyes. They were cautious as he asked. Vulnerable.

Sam thought for a second before he answered. He never looked away from Daniel. Daniel never looked away from him.

“Yeah,” Sam finally admitted. He saw the relief flood Wagner’s hazel eyes. Sam’s chest ached once more. “Yeah, it is.”

+++

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