Grant had never gotten a hand on his gun so quickly before in his too long life. The man snapped the revolver from its holster and spun around to face the outlaw before anyone could so much as bat an eye, the cold metal pressing into his palm like the skeleton fingers of death reaching out to take his hand.

The moment he turned, the sheriff found his entire field of vision taken up by outlaw. Wild strands of wayward brown hair crowded his face and tickled at his nose while caramel eyes bore into him from all of about two inches away. A slight speckling of freckles danced across his vision here and there where it was taken up by pale skin, something he’d never noticed from horseback paces behind. The Kid’s slightly upturned nose nearly jabbed him in the cheek.

Personal space seemed to not be be part The Kid’s dictionary and one hot breath of air later Grant found out why - The smell of whisky swamped his nose and mouth like a layer of fog settled over a lake in the early hours of the dawn.

Nevertheless, Grant thrust the muzzle of his weapon forward sharply, digging it into soft flesh like a swift punch to the gut. Drunk or not, The Kid was a cunning bastard and the sheriff wasn’t too awful keen on taking any risks.

The outlaw gave a breathy huff at the impact, sending another stomach churning wave of whisky breath straight into the sheriff’s face. The man tried his best not to gag but even he couldn’t hold back the disgusted cringe that twisted his features as the onslaught of hot, sick air smothered the life from his lungs. Really, he could probably claim a weapon had been pulled on him at this point, that breath was that lethal.

“Is that a gun in my side or are you just happy to see me, Sheriff?” The Kid wheezed, apparently too drunk to remember how exactly to fill his lungs with air.

Before Grant could even think to respond, the outlaw fell into a fit of giggles at his own joke, honey eyes crinkling as a little snort escaped him and he tripped forward, tiny snickers sending him off balance and stumbling straight into the lawman.

Grant caught the boy before he could go face first into the floor, grabbing him by an arm and hauling him back upright but his hand felt bulky and clunky around The Kid’s slender limb, too large and unrefined for his liking. Grant did his best to stabilize the outlaw nevertheless but any attempt to straighten the fugitive absolutely refused to work out. Everytime the man leaned The Kid back up on his own feet, the outlaw teetered forward until his body went falling straight back into the sheriff once more, driving is nose straight into the lawman’s chest with a fitful grunt.

“Jesus, how much did you have?” Grant groaned irritably, grabbing the outlaw by the shoulders and pulling him off of himself for what had to be the twelfth time in the past ten minutes.

The Kid seemed to consider the question for a minute, nose scrunching up and lips twisting into a befuddled frown. The boy’s face was flushed with intoxication, a rose dusted blush dancing across his soft cheeks and fluttering over his nose as a soft “umm” escaped his parted lips on a quiet breath. For a foolish moment, Grant thought he might actually get an answer but, low and behold, all he got for his trouble was a stiff shouldered shrug and an absent giggle.

“Just start walking.” Grant huffed drylly, prodding the outlaw in the side with the muzzle of his gun to remind him it was still there.

“Try’na take me home already, Sheriff?” The Kid purred with an overdone draw of excitement threaded into his lilting voice. “You ain’t even bought me a drink yet.” The outlaw scolded with a belittling tut, shaking his head and nearly sending his poor hat flying as he miscalculated the action and about broke his own neck.

Despite his antics the outlaw did, in fact, start moving; so at least Grant had that small mercy. Unfortunately, the poor guy made it all of about two steps when he miscalculated the location of his own legs and tripped on a particularly nasty piece of thin air, flailing wildly before he managed to catch Grant’s arm and cling on for dear life.

The sheriff sighed heavily, wishing he’d done what his momma wanted and become a nice cowhand, or a banker. Cowhands and bankers never had to deal with drunk, clingy outlaws.

“Well, you’ve caught me, Sheriff,” The Kid slurred as Grant hauled them both through the crowded bar, the swinging doors nearly in sight, though they might as well have been Heaven’s gate at the moment. “Whatcha gonna do, hogtie me?” The boy snickered in a pleased purr, snorting as he slumped against the man and let himself be drug along. He danced his long fingers over the sheriff’s arm as he spoke, clawing them teasingly along the sensitive hairs there until he pressed them over the man’s bulky shoulder and tried to drag them down towards his chest.

“If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I just might.” Grant huffed sharply, grabbing the Kid by the wrist and tossing his cunning fingers away. Unsurprisingly, they were clawing their way right back up his bicep not two seconds later.

Finally, Grant broke free of the crowd and found his way to the front door. He sent the poor thing flying open with a sloppy kick and shoved the outlaw unceremoniously through after his foot. The Kid flailed through the entryway and promptly went straight to the ground just outside, catching himself on all fours and dipping his head nearly to the ground.

The sheriff wished he could say he’d been surprised when the outlaw gave a low groan and suddenly released a horrid gag. The Kid’s angular shoulders arched and his lithe body heaved, a strangled groan fought its way past a wet choke before the poor little shit lost everything in his stomach. Bile splattered to the dusty street and dripped from the outlaws lips is a long trail as he drew his head slowly back up and moaned weakly at the sight.

“That’s the legendary outlaw?” Gavin’s voice drew Grant’s pitying gaze away from the mess of a boy on the ground and up to where the deputy was grimacing disgustedly at the sight before them.

“Just,” Grant began but found himself at a loss. This wasn’t quite how he’d expected the wild chase to come to an end. “Just make a cup of coffee. Let’s see if we can sober him up some.” The sheriff finally decided with a slow shake of his head before he drew his gaze back to where the Kid was currently spitting into the dirt.

The outlaw moaned and flopped onto the ground, sprawling across the street before rolling over to face the stars. “They always say yeehaw.” The boy sniffed to nobody, drawing an arm up behind his head. “But they never ask haw yee,” The fugitive moaned to the ruthless sky and Grant did his very best not to groan.

Oh yes, this was gonna be just peachy.