No point in dragging this out any longer than necessary, Grant supposed, and carefully drug his knife to the wound, pressing the very edge of the blade against the bloodied flesh. The contact drew a low hiss from the Kid and his body tensed under Grant’s hands but the boy said nothing and made no moves to stop the lawman so the sheriff didn’t take the time to linger before digging the curved tip of the blade into the bloodied wound.

The fugitive's hand flew up to his mouth and his long fingers curled into a tight fist before he dug his teeth into the pale digits, a muffled sort of scream crawling from his throat around the intrusion. Caramel orbs squeezed shut and the boy’s nostrils flared with a heavy huff of strained air as Grant reluctantly pushed his knife farther into the injury, feeling no sign of the missing bullet yet.

A fresh wave of slow, lagging blood dribbled from the wound as Grant drove his blade as steadily as he could into the Kid’s tormented flesh, running down the silver edge of the knife in a steady stream before dribbling onto the sheriff's hand to stain his fingers red. The ruby liquid felt hot, and sticky, and wrong against the lawman’s skin, tainting the flesh of his fingers to smear across his palms and run over the back of his knuckles as he pushed on, trying his best not to look at his own bloodied hands.

Finally, Grant felt his blade hit something that shouldn’t be there and he tilted the knife down to try and get under it. The maneuver drew a mangled cry from the outlaw who jolted under the knife, only succeeding in jarring the blade worse with his squirming and bringing a strangled, ruined whine from his own throat.

“Jesus! Stay still!” Grant hissed, pressing his free hand into the outlaw’s leg in an attempt to keep him still, knowing he would only end up hurting the boy worse than he already was if the Kid kept jerking every time he moved the knife. “Maybe we should’ve tied you up.” The sheriff joked through a stressed huff, hoping conversation might draw the fugitive’s mind away from the blade in his leg.

The Kid gave a strangled, half hearted attempt at a laugh that sounded more like a choked sob than anything else but hey, at least he was trying. Grant could work with that.

“So, I have to ask,” Grant began, encouraged by the minor success of his latest attempt at conversation. “What the hell were you doing in a brothel the other night?” The man asked, while angling his blade to get under the bullet and nearly sighing in relief as he felt the edge catch on the thing, moving it some.

The Kid on the other hand did not seem quite so relieved, groaning and slamming his other hand into the bench in a tight fist before finally dislodging his teeth from his fingers, eyes slipping open an inch to glance at the man. He quickly shut them again though, looking ill and turning away - Grant couldn’t blame him. Who wouldn’t get sick at the sight of someone digging around in their leg?

“I was,” The Kid began shakily but soon lost his words to a high pitched noise in the back of his throat as Grant began dragging the bullet back up through the ruined flesh it had destroyed on its way in. “Was tracking down information.” The boy explained in a wheeze. He had to shove his fist back in his mouth as Grant nearly brought the thing to the surface, hot, sticky blood flowing thickly from the wound at the torment.

“You needed to wear a can can skirt for that, did you?” Grant snorted amusedly, forcing himself to be calm so he could do this right. He was close, he could just begin to see the black metal through the red stain of tarnished flesh and the silver gleam of his own blade pressed against the bullet.

“That was just for fun.” The outlaw managed to chuckle, voice strained but amused as it fought its way around the fist he still kept just on the edge of his teeth, the intrusion slurring the words a bit.

“And kissin’ me, that part of the fun too?” The sheriff joked lightly, expecting a quick and flippant no - That was obviously some necessary part of a plan Grant didn’t understand. He wasn’t foolish enough to think otherwise.

“Maybe.” The Kid purred sweetly, voice teasing even as it was strained through the pain.

Grant started, jolting at the unexpected response and twitching the knife pressing the bullet up through the wound some in the process. The mistake brought a sharp noise from the outlaw who nearly doubled over from the sudden onslaught of pain, crying out as he curled in on himself and over Grant in the process, hands suddenly flying to the sheriff’s shoulders in a scrambling search for relief.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Grant whispered sloppily, voice unclear with haste and movements unplanned as he drew a hand up grip the boy’s shoulder, trying to squeeze some reassurance into the outlaw. He couldn’t move his other hand for fear of losing the bullet or fucking up worse than before but he did what he could with the other, pressing it against the fugitive's neck as the Kid nearly pressed his forehead into the lawman’s shoulder; still craned over Grant to let hot, uneven breaths gasp out against the sheriff’s collar bones as delicate fingers slowly began to untangle from the coarse fabric of the sheriff's shirt.

“Shit! Don’t say shit like that when I’ve got a knife in your leg!” Grant growled unsteadily, hurriedly dragging the bullet up through the last bit he had left and flicking the atrocious thing away.

“You asked!” The Kid protested defensively, voice shaking but the beginnings of relief ringing through it clear as day as he finally began to lift his head and draw back from the man he still hadn't quite released his grip on yet. The outlaw pulled back just far enough to meet Grant’s eyes, honey dusted orbs brimming with unguarded gratitude and the beginnings of something else entirely. Something that looked almost like…

Trust.

The brief, warm moment was shattered before it could begin by the sound of a door being slammed open and heavy bootsteps stomping across the wooden floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” Gavin’s rough voice demanded, disgust and disbelief alike making Grant really wish he wasn’t on his knees in front of an outlaw who was currently curled over him and shaking like a leaf. Whose lithe body likely guarded Grant’s actual face from view of the door.

“Pulling a bullet out of his leg, Gavin.” Grant nealy growled, leaning over to make himself seen as the Kid slowly leaned back to turn and glare at the newcomer, face suddenly serious as once warm eyes became as cold and dark as the desert night.

“Waste of time.” The deputy informed icily, hard features twisted into a cold snarl. “He hangs at dawn.”