“He shot you?” Grant echoed dumbly, momentarily taken aback by the revelation and absolutely flabbergasted no one had thought to mention this little fact to him earlier.
The Kid blinked blankly at his lower leg, which was smeared over with muddied blood and only seeping more of the crimson liquid onto the wooden bench as it sat, before lifting his gaze to cast the sheriff a deadpan stare.
“He shot you.” Grant answered his own question in a flustered huff, running his hands back through his graying hair to tug frustratedly at the long strands. Reid should’ve mentioned this. The Kid should’ve mentioned this. Somebody should’ve goddamned mentioned one of their prisoners had a bullet hole in his fucking leg!
“Boy, howdy, sure am glad you clarified that for me, Sheriff.” The Kid snarked acidly, his words carrying the poorly concealed hint of a breathless wince. The outlaw let his head fall heavily against the concrete wall behind him, his hat lost somewhere in the struggle so that sweat drenched hair fell limply into tired eyes as he let them slip closed.
“Hey!” Grant balked sharply, his sudden call causing the outlaw to jolt. “Don’t fall asleep!” The man commanded, a wavering note of concern he wished he couldn’t hear out of his own mouth raising his voice a little higher than he’d intended. All his shouting got from the outlaw, however, was the effort to let his head loll in Grant’s general direction and a slow blink, caramel eyes less than crystal clear as they fixed on the sheriff - Or, well, near the sheriff. Close enough.
“Um, okay. Okay.” Grant forced himself to settle and think, eyes skirting around his desk in search of anything that could possibly help him. His scouring gaze eventually landed on the curved edge of a knife, the silver blade gleaming sinisterly in the dim light of the jailhouse and he snagged it off the wooden surface, holding it up for inspection. It certainly wasn’t the sharpest thing Grant had over owned, he mostly kept it there for opening letters and fiddling with when he was bored after all, but hey, no time like the present to put it to new use. Not like he really had time to go hunting for anything proper.
“Um, Sheriff?” The Kid drawled carefully, his senses seeming to be roused some by the sight. “If you’re planning on putting me out of my misery, that’s mighty kind but I think I’m gonna decline that nice offer.” The outlaw joked through an awkward chuckle, pressing back into the wall to put what little distance he could between himself and the lawman, coffee eyes wide and nervous even as he forced a strangled laugh.
“What?” Grant questioned, confused for a moment until he glanced at the knife he still held clutched within his hand. Ah. Yeah. He could see how that could be taken the wrong way. “No, boy. We gotta get that thing outta your leg.” The man corrected hastily, reaching down to pull open a drawer and rifle through its contents in search of the rest of the necessary supplies. A roll of bandages ages old he’d shoved in there at some point. A bottle of whisky he’d kept tucked away for a bad day at work…
“You’re gonna…” The Kid began slowly, confusion etching its way across his soft face as he slowly let himself untense from his drawn up position. “Help me?” He finally finished uncertainly, lips twisting into a befuddled frown and eyes questioning as they flitted across the array of items Grant had spread out across the desk.
“Well, I can’t very well let you bleed all over my jail cell.” Grant dismissed gruffly, gathering the things he’d found in his arms and carrying them over to the door of the cell. It was the humane thing do. That’s all there was to it. What kind of sheriff would he be if he let his prisoners sit there and suffer?
“Now, I’m cracking open my work stash for you,” Grant began lifting up the bottle of whisky and swishing the amber liquid inside around in a slow circle. “So don’t make me regret this.” The sheriff warned, reaching over to where a thick metal ring with a few iron keys hung from a nail in the wall, the heavy things clattering noisily into one another when disturbed. The black iron of the key he sought gleamed coldy, flashes of dark metal catching in the low light as he drew it up, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger in a slow drawl.
The outlaw pushed himself up into a more alert position with a low groan and brought a hand up to his chest where he curled his other digits back to just leave a single finger extended. With a lopsided grin, he moved the tip of his index finger across his heart in a large X, just letting the pad of the long digit drag against his chest with slow, delicate grace. “You could tie me up if that’ll make you feel safer, Sheriff.” The boy offered, a pleased drawl to his lilting voice and a single eyebrow raised suggestively as he batted too long eyelashes at the man who seriously just wanted to do his damn job without having a heart attack on the jailhouse floor.
“Oh yeah, ‘cause that just worked so well the last time.” Grant snorted through a breathless wheeze, trying to focus on slipping the key into the lock only to miss the thing entirely. Smooth, Grant. Real smooth.
“Dunno, Sheriff.” The boy insisted, amused smile slowly playing its way across bruised cheeks. “Could be fun anyway.” He encouraged teasingly, shifting about to lean back on his hands as he spoke. Grant honestly wasn’t sure if it was for comfort or to show himself off at this point. What had his life come to?
Deciding to focus on the task at hand rather than any horny outlaws begging to be tied up, Grant finally managed to jam the key into the lock and twisted it open, slipping inside and pulling the door shut behind him before he could think about what a truly stupid idea this was. The lawman moved across the expanse of floor between them and lowered himself to take a knee in front of the bench the Kid still perched atop, watching him like a hawk.
The boy still looked nervous, muscles visibly tense and caramel eyes hyper fixated on Grant’s every move, as if the outlaw still expected the man to change his mind and stab him on a dime. Nevertheless, he moved his delicate fingers down to gently ease his bloodied pant leg back up from where it had fallen, movements slow and careful as his lithe fingertips cautiously tugged at the ruined material to expose the injury to the world. Pale skin was marred by crimson stains and a gaping hole tore through the bloodied flesh just off center, deep and jagged to display ripped muscle and decimated meat.
Grant grimaced at the gory sight. Had he not been used to seeing such injury, he was sure he would’ve been nauseous. Trying not to dwell on the scarring image, the man grabbed the top of his whisky and twisted the bottle open with little effort, heavy fingers making quick work of the seal and tossing the cap aside. He brought his knife up and tried to ignore how the outlaw shrunk away the slightest bit at the sight of the blade as he tipped the bottle over the thing and sent the amber liquid spilling over the metal. Poor kid was as skittish and mistrustful as his damn horse.
“Drink this. It’ll dull the pain.” Grant instructed, rerighting the bottle to shove it into the outlaw’s pale hands, a slight tremor shaking through the Kid’s delicate digits a clear indication that he needed it. The sheriff shook the knife to rid it of the excess alcohol as he watched the boy bring the bottle top his lips and tip his head back, caramel eyes slipping shut in a sharp wince as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Hey, Grant never said the shit tasted good, just that it was effective as hell.
The Kid pulled off the bottle with a wet pop that certainly didn’t go straight to Grant’s groin and a heavy breath wheezed through parted lips as he handed the thing back to the sheriff, coffee eyes half lidded and damp hair falling over flushed cheeks. Oh yeah, if Grant wasn't nervous as all hell and about to perform an impromptu surgery in a jail cell right now… Nevermind.
Grant took the offered bottle and placed it off to the side. He’d need it later to disinfect the wound but right now was time for the sucktastic part of things. “This is gonna hurt, Kid.” The sheriff warned as he brought the knife up and prepared for things to go horribly awry, though he was pretty sure the outlaw was already well aware of this fact and the dry scoff he received for his warning seemed anything but unexpectant. Grant almost found himself wondering if this wasn’t the first time the guy had a knife under his skin fishing around for a chunk of lead, though the sheriff had the horrible suspicion this was probably the first time he had anyone else wielding the blade.
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