rhysothy western au from patreon a few years ago. follow up to this
It’d been nearly a year since Tim had escorted Rhys safely across the desert to what was left of his family’s legacy out in Eridium Blight. Rhys had easily taken control of the ATLAS mining facilities there; he’d gotten in touch with former employees who’d left after Rhys’ father passed, promising them things Tim wasn’t sure Rhys could really deliver on. Money, health benefits, a safe place for them and their families. It shouldn’t have worked, not after the brutal and bloody murder of Rhys’ father, Thomas Caplan. It’d been big and showy on purpose--meant to scare people away, to leave to ATLAS facilities free for the taking.
Tim could admit that he’d perhaps underestimated Rhys’ charisma, his ability to manipulate people into doing exactly what he wanted them to. Tim was still here, after all. He had the money Rhys had promised him, and then some, but every time Tim thought about moving on, maybe heading back to that little nowhere bar he’d grown so fond of, something stopped him.
Rhys’ hand wrapped around Tim’s arm, stopping him from climbing out of bed. “Don’t go.” Rhys said when Tim turned to look at him. His hair was ungelled and messy from sleep. It made him look soft, what with those pouty lips and that baby face. “S’too early.” Rhys murmured, craning his neck to press a kiss to Tim’s hand.
“It’s nearly eleven in the morning,” Tim replied, keeping his voice low in spite of himself. A quick look out the window showed the sun high in the sky, peering in through the drapes of Rhys’ lavish bedroom.
Their bedroom, Rhys always insisted on calling it, but Tim never could. This arrangement was only temporary, he told himself. He’d be on his way soon, start looking for work again. Real work. Being Rhys’ keeper paid well enough, but it wasn’t as if Tim was rescuing him from bandits. Anyone could do this job. Plus, Tim had some notions about the separation of business and pleasure. His relationship with Rhys hadn’t been professional for a long time now.
He let Rhys pull him back to bed. Tim rested his hand on Rhys’ boney hip and kissed his forehead. “Ten more minutes,” he said. “And then we’re getting up.”
An hour later, Tim and Rhys were washed and dressed and headed to Rhys’ office. The housing district was a ten minute horse ride from the mining facilities, and the path between them was well worn, with imprints of hooves and boots alike.
“So,” Rhys said once they’d made it inside, away from the noise of drilling. “I have some news.” He took a seat behind his large oak desk and leaned back in his chair, sliding one leg over the other.
“Good or bad?” Tim ask, slumping into the seat across from him. It wasn’t as nice, just a little cushion on hard wood. Tim was pretty sure Rhys kept the shitty chairs because he liked making the people who came to talk with him uncomfortable. It had to be a power thing. Rhys held all of it here in the heart of his little ATLAS compound, and if you asked nicely, he might make you think you had some too.
“Mmmm…” Rhys hummed, tilting his head to the side. “Bad.”
“Well, lay it on me, boss.”
“It’s your brother.” Rhys said.
Tim blinked, looking at Rhys’ face, met his eyes. He didn’t look like he was joking. Tim sat up a little straighter. “Jack?”
Rhys nodded. “I got a letter from Vaughn a few days ago. Jack was in Concordia causing some trouble, I guess. Some woman was with him.”
“What kinda trouble?” Tim asked with a frown.
“The murder-y kind.” Rhys said. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out what must have been the letter he received. Rhys unfolded it and slid it to Tim. “He killed someone called the...meriff?”
Tim laughed, couldn’t help it. “Yeah, that’s as dumb as it sounds. Sheriff and mayor all rolled into one. Can’t remember the guy’s actual name.” He picked up the letter and skimmed it, eyes trailing over Vaughn’s familiar script.
“Sounds like a tool.” Rhys said agreeably. “Anyway, Jack and his friend have killed a few other people, they robbed a bank…”
“That’s--I mean, that’s what Jack does.” Tim said, eyebrows furrowing. He put the letter back down without finishing it.
It was the truth. Jack had been a troublemaker since they were kids living out in Sanctuary. He’d only done petty crimes back then--pickpocketing, vandalism, stole a couple horses. Tim had even accompanied him on some of those sprees. As they’d gotten older though, Jack decided that he wasn’t happy with his lot in life. He wanted more. He wanted to be rich and powerful--he wanted to be everything a street kid wasn’t. He wanted to be a hero. Jack figured the best way to do that was to become a bounty hunter--though he never called himself that. He and Tim hunted bandits together for a few years, had gone what seemed like halfway across the globe chasing down dangerous men and women.
Eventually, that wasn’t enough for Jack either. He had a very single minded way of doing things, and when someone got in his way...well. Tassiter had been the first, but certainly not the last who’d tried to keep Jack on a leash. It didn’t end well for him. Tim decided to go out on his own not longer after. His brother was violent and unpredictable, to put it mildly, and Tim had decided that seeing him scoop out some poor fuck’s eyeballs one time was one times too many. He hadn’t seen him since.
“Why’s this important now?” Tim asked.
“Vaughn...sent something else along with the letter.” Rhys said, sticking his lower lip out. He looked concerned enough that it worried Tim, made him want to lean over the desk and smooth out the wrinkle between Rhys’ brows.
Rhys slid another sheet of paper across the desk. It was a poster, ripped and stained in a few spots, but easy enough to make out. Tim’s twin brother’s face was staring up at him, his usual smirk in place, one eyebrow quirked. Just beneath the picture it read in large, blocky letters:
For bank robberies and murder of Huxter T. Meredith
There was a reward listed for ten thousand dollars.
“This…” Tim started, staring at the poster, his hands tightening and wrinkling the paper. “He…”
“I don’t know if he’s been saying he’s you, or if there was a mixup with the marshal's office,” Rhys said. “But everyone in Sanctuary thinks you’re the guilty one. There’s no way Roland hasn’t sent someone to come after you.”
“Fuck.” Tim hissed, anger boiling in his veins. Fucking Jack. No way this was a mistake. Jack did this on purpose. He wanted Tim’s attention, wanted him to come back maybe. Tim set the poster back down on the desk with a little more force than necessary.
“Look,” Rhys drawled, “either way...I can’t have a fugitive hiding out at ATLAS. It’s bad for business.”
Tim looked up, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Rhys’ words were like a slap in the face. Tim didn’t expect anything from Rhys, didn’t expect his protection, but to be tossed out like yesterday’s paper? Tim thought...well, he’d thought Rhys liked having him around. He certainly pulled Tim into his bed often enough. Was Rhys tired of him?
“Oh stop with the puppy eyes,” Rhys said. “I’m not kicking you out, Tim. Well, I am, but I’m going with you.”
“Well, no one’s going to believe you if you go to Sanctuary and tell them it wasn’t you. So we go find Jack and turn him in and get your name cleared.”
Tim swallowed, feeling a warm flush crawl up the back of his neck. There was relief somewhere amid his embarrassment. Rhys didn’t want him to leave--Rhys wanted to help him. Tim pursed his lips.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” He said. God knows what Jack had planned for when Tim caught up with him. It couldn’t be anything good. Tim didn’t want Rhys anywhere near his brother. “I can find him on my own.”
“I’m going with you,” Rhys said again. “End of story.”
And Rhys did go with him. They set out not long after that conversation. Rhys left his CFO in charge and had her tell his employees he was going on a business trip, which was probably one of the whiter lies Rhys had told this year.
They found Jack nearly two weeks later, in the heart of the bandit-town Lynchwood, under the blazing hot sun. Jack was sitting on the wooden step in front of a run-down looking inn, leaning his back against the post. He was twirling a revolver in his hand, snapping the barrel open and then shut again, over and over.
“Jack.” Tim said, resting his hand at his hip, over his own gun.
Jack looked up from beneath his wide-brimmed hat with an even wider grin. “Heya Timmy.”
Tim took in his appearance with a start. The scar was new, etched deep into Jack’s skin and carving an upside down ‘v’ into his face. His left eyes was a milky white where the scar ran through.
“What, this?” Jack gestured to his face when Tim continued to stare. “Ya like it? Makes me look pretty badass, don’t’cha think?” He rubbed his chin. “Might have to change my nickname though. Handsome Jack is kinda false advertising. You wanna trade me?”
“What happened?” Tim asked, stepping closer to his brother. Anger stirred inside him, at whoever’d done this to his brother. Jack might’ve been a violent outlaw, but he was family, and he and Tim had always had each other’s backs even when they were miles apart.
“Met the business end of a brand,” Jack said, his smile turning sharp. “That redhead bitch Lilith was holdin’ the other end. Ooohoo, don’t you worry Tim, she’s gonna get what’s comin’ to her.”
Jack’s eyes shone with dark promise. Tim felt Rhys step up behind him, his finger’s brushing against Tim’s. Jack’s gaze slid from Tim’s face and landed on Rhys, looking him up and down.
“Who’s the kid? Here I thought were just having a nice family reunion.”
“You know why we’re here.” Rhys said, coming to stand beside Tim. He stood nearly a whole inch taller than Tim, and he used that impressive height to look down his nose at Jack, his arms crossed. “And I’m not a kid.”
Jack tipped his chin up, not intimidated by Rhys in the slightest. “Sure, sweetheart.” He looked back at Tim. “Yeah, I know, that little mix up in Sanctuary. Don’t give me that look, baby brother.”
Tim gritted his teeth. “It wasn’t a mix up. You told them you were me.”
“Yeah, so what if I did?” Jack shrugged. “What’s the point in sharin’ a face with someone if you can’t trade identities sometimes?”
“They think I murdered the sheriff, Jack.” Tim’s hands tightened into fists.
“Meriff.” Jack corrected him. “He was the mayor and sheriff. Tacky son of a bitch.”
“Whatever he was, it doesn’t matter! Roland’s sent someone after me because of it. I can’t--I don’t--I have a real job now, Jack. A life.” Tim’s throat threatened to close around the words, around what he hadn’t known was true until he said it outloud. Something he wasn’t willing to give up. “I can’t have some bounty hunter knockin’ on my front door.”
Jack looked between Tim and Rhys again, something like recognition lighting behind his eyes. “Oh, I get it now. Pretty boy takes you home and now you’re too good for anything else.”
“Don’t even start.” Tim said. He pointed a finger at Jack. “You fucked this up, you’re going to fix it.”
“Yeesh.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your undies in a bunch. Look, Lilith oughta be rolling back into Sanctuary right about now, she’ll tell Roland the poster’s got the wrong mug on it, and you’re off the hook. Then you and your kid can get back to the dollhouse.” Jack puffed out a breath of air. “And it’s not like I’d be able to do it again.”
Tim...deflated, his shoulders dropping. “I’m...still mad.” He said with a frown.
“Sure,” Jack got to his feet, holstered his gun and brushed the dirt off his pants. “Come on inside, you can stay the night. Nish’ won’t mind.”
“Jack--” Tim tried, glancing at Rhys.
“Won’t even charge ya for it.” Jack talked over him and held open the door to the inn. “Come on.”
Rhys met Tim’s eyes and after a quick, silent conversation, they both followed Jack to the door. As Rhys stepped over the threshold, Jack followed him with his eyes.
“Hey princess, you got a name to go with those long legs of yours?”
“Rhys,” Rhys said as he breezed past Jack without so much as looking at him. “Rhys Caplan.”
Once he’d stepped into the Inn and up to the bar on the far side of the lobby, Jack leaned in towards Tim. “You always did like the bitchy ones.”
Tim shoved him. “Shut your damn mouth.”
Later, after they’d met Nisha and she drank Rhys and Jack under the table, Tim and Rhys retired to one of the guest rooms.
“Your brother…” Rhys started, his words a little slurred, his cheeks pink from alcohol. “Is a real asshole.” He was struggling to unbutton his shirt, his fingers slipping on the metal.
“Mhmm,” Tim nodded in agreement and gently pushed Rhys’ hands away so he could undo the buttons for him. “He’s been that way forever. You get used to it. Eventually.”
“Ugh.” Rhys groaned. “Can’t believe we came all the way out here for nothin’...”
Tim slipped the shirt off of Rhys and reached for his pants--he folded them both and set them aside on a chair. “Think of it like a vacation,” Tim said, pulling his own shirt over his head and leading Rhys to the bed. “You needed one.”
“You needed one.” Rhys grumbled, stumbling over his feet before safely landing on the bed with a quiet laugh. Tim pulled him close under the covers and kissed his forehead. Rhys closed his eyes and settled in, curled up in Tim’s arms. Tim wondered how he ever thought he could walk away from this man.
Tim sighed and reached over to turn off the oil lamp, leaving the room dark. He tucked his face into Rhys’ neck and smelled the alcohol on him, the dust from their travels. No doubt he’d want a bath in the morning. He’d whine in Tim’s ear until he got one, with warm water and bubbles and one of those fancy soaps he liked so much. He’d whine about his hangover and he’d whine about breakfast. The feeling of fondness rather than annoyance at the thought maybe should have alarmed him, but Tim only pressed a kiss against Rhys’ neck and closed his eyes for sleep.
