Grant’s fingers unconsciously reached up to touch the swatch of material his star was usually pinned to, pads brushing coarse fabric and falling away feeling empty and wrong when no metallic cold met their search. A heavy sigh breathed between his lips as he stepped out of the mayor's office and into the graying streets beyond, dull midday creeping quietly to chase away the misty haze of dawn. The man began the slow plod back to his home with halting, listless steps, no reason to rush.

This dismal feeling of suffocating apathy came to sit heavily in his chest, seeming to drag the world around him to a slow crawl as he made his way through the small town. Things didn’t look quite the same as they had just a few short day ago. They felt… Different somehow. Like everything had been shifted two inches to the left when Grant turned away.

The people on the streets didn’t even feel like his own anymore.

The ex-lawman pushed the obscure notion away as he turned into the town square of sorts, just passing through in hopes of reaching his house as quickly as possible. As he went however, his gaze lingered on the gallows set up in the middle of everything, as if it were the centerpiece of the city itself. The thick, fraying rope already tied and readied for the day’s planned events swung ominously from the splintering wood, heavy and dragging even without a body dangling from its murderous hold.

Grant’s simmering feeling of apathy evaporated as soon as it had come at the sight. He alone was the only reason the outlaw with secrets swimming behind mischievous eyes didn't hang limp and lifeless from that rope, caramel orbs dull and empty and delicate fingers hanging stiffly at his sides with the stillness of death - The rest of the town had no sympathy for the accused.

The man made it back to his house relatively quickly after that, the rush returning his step and new determination hardening his heart. The moment he came to the house, he stalked right past the front door and around to the pen out back, strides steady and confident as he stormed right up to the front gate and threw the thing open before he could reconsider.

A black streak of midnight whisked by the ex-sheriff before he’d even taken his hand off the wood, flying like lighting through the gate and taking the wind under his hooves as he ran. Gleaming mane burning like fire in the dying light and sleek hooves nearly taking flight from the dust underfoot. Silver clearly lived for freedom, the shadow of an animal becoming one with the wild western wind in the evening light.

Grants started after the horse in a slow jog, conserving his energy. He had no doubt it would be a long trip.

For nearly an hour they kept up the relentless pace, Grant always making sure to keep Silver’s blazing ink blot of a tail in sight no matter how far he lagged behind. The man's chest screamed for reprieve but his aging muscles felt as strong as they ever had, like he could run for miles if that’s what it took. And he would too.

He could only be grateful that wasn’t necessary in the end.

Silver finally began to slow to a brisk trot after the first hour or so and a leisurely gallop soon after than until the animal finally let up enough for Grant to finally close the distance between them. The horse seemed practically unbothered by the man’s presence, allowing Grant to walk at his mighty side without so much as a prideful snort and keeping a slow, even gate when the ex-lawman reached a hand out to pat the creature's side.

The horse’s fur felt sleek and soft under Grant’s fingertips as he absentmindedly stroked his walking companion, bringing his hand up to scratch at the animal’s ears only to receive a perturbed flick of the things at his efforts. Still picky as always.

“I see we have a traitor on our hands.” A jovial sing song voice chirped from just behind the pair, bringing Grant’s gaze snapping back behind him. There, from his black boots to his tilted hat, stood the Kid, playful smile flitting across his lips and mischievous gleam shining in his honey touched eyes. Though his left eye was still surrounded by a blue black blotch and his cheek remained marred with the twilight purple of the fight, he looked indefinitely better out here in the trees than he had crouched against the back bench of the gloomy jail cell ready to snap at anything that got too close.

“This finicky thing?” Grant scoffed lightly, rolling his eyes at the traitor in question. “We can barely put up with each other.” The man snorted jovially, smacking the horse’s hindquarters and sending him prancing away with an offended snort.

Silver trotted back the few paces he’d gone too far and jammed his huge nose into the outlaw’s face, huffing a heavy breath of air directly onto the boy who made an elaborate show of gagging and pushed the horse’s snout away with both hands, a warm chuckle falling from his lips to ruin his antics and reveal the true relief one would have to be blind not to see.

“God, your breath reeks! What did he feed you?” The Kid asked the horse warmly, grabbing the creature’s snout with both hands to drag him in, rubbing his hands over the beast’s jaws in squishing circles that smooshed the animal’s face in odd, frankly ridiculous, shapes.

“No wonder he’s so prissy!” Grant huffed exasperatedly. “You spoil him!” The man accused pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes.

“I do not!” The Kid protested instantly, pulling his face off the horse’s to meet the sheriff's gaze, offended pout firmly in place. “I only give my boy the best.” The outlaw corrected then stuck his tongue between his lips at the man who could only try to hold back a warm chuckle at the whole scene. God, it was hard to imagine the boy was supposed to be drug up the gallow this morning.

The thought sent a chill through Grant and he pushed it to the back of his mind.

“Come through these trees, I’ve got a camp set up that should be safe for a night or two.” The Kid directed, thankfully distracting Grant from his own thoughts as he waved the ex-lawman after him and disappeared behind a sparse covering of saplings.

Grant followed, pushing aside the twigs and trailing the outlaw’s footsteps until they came upon the camp in question. Well, if you really so kind as to call it that, that was. A small fire flickered up from a scraped together pile of sticks and a saddle bag lay open near it, a few odds and ends spilling out onto the forest floor. An old looking guitar lay not far from that; but aside from those few things, there no sign anyone had ever been here for more than a few minutes. Grant couldn’t help but wonder how it had to be to live like that - A few nights at a time.

“So what brings your out here, Sheriff?” The Kid asked, flopping down beside the pathetic excuse for a fire and patting the spot on the ground next to him.

Grant scoffed at the title as it left the outlaw’s mouth. “Not sheriff anymore.” The man corrected grimly, moving over to where he’d been directed and letting his body fall heavily down beside the boy, every muscle exhausted and his body seeming to sag under the weight of the declaration.

The Kid didn't respond immediately, busted up mouth twisting into a cockeyed frown and eyes flickering to the embers where they smoldered in the gray ash. “You didn't have to do that.” The boy pointed out after a long moment, delicate fingers carefully coming to rest just beside Grant’s hand, as if waiting for the man to pull away.

“Yes, I did.” Grant replied instantly, not a single doubt in his mind about that. Gentle fingers stretched carefully forward until they met the weathered skin of the ex-lawman, brushing softly over Grant’s rough digits before settling in with a firm squeeze.

“I’m not an innocent man, Sheriff.” The Kid admitted softly, firelight reflecting in his eyes as he watched the flames. “I once got so hungry I stuck a guy up for a buck fifty and half a sandwich.” The boy recalled, genuine remorse humming through his lilting voice like a song you couldn’t quite make out.

Grant waited a moment for the Kid to tell him he was joking; but when no denile came, the man couldn’t help the sharp bark of a laugh that spat past his lips. The breathless snort as disbelieving as it was amused. “You really gotta stop calling me Sheriff.” The man pointed out in a gruff chuckle, shaking his head and letting the warm grin that pricked at him spread across his face.

“Then you’re gonna have to give me something else to call you.” The Kid threw out lightly, small chuckle playing on the corners of his lips.

“You,” Grant startled, thrown. “You don’t know my name.” The guy realized slowly, only receiving a slow shake of the boy's head and an amused shrug in way of response. He’d always just assumed to constant use of his title was some kind of obscure flirt. “It’s Grant. Grant Carson.” The man offered quickly, suddenly feeling odd for not having done so before.

“Grant.” The outlaw repeated, letting the name roll sweetly off his lips as if he were trying to get a feel for how it tasted on his tongue.

Something stirred in Grant’s gut. He wasn’t sure about the Kid but he, for one, certainly liked how it felt on the boy’s honeyed lips.

The fugitive shifted towards him, turning so his lithe frame angled towards the man and held out a hand before him. “Flynn.” The boy introduced, pleased smile crinkling the corner of his honey eyes.

Grant blinked dumbly for a moment longer than he’d liked to admit. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the outlaw had a name different than that of the cheesy nickname pasted across the wanted posters stuck up around town but, well, sometimes it was hard to think past that - To remember that they were someone before this.

“Don’t have a last name.” The Ki- Flynn offered after a moment, misinterpreting Grant’s pause. “Bastard, remember?” The boy reminded lightly, amused smirk sitting crooked on his lips.

Grant did vaguely remember the outlaw making some sort of comment like that when he was roped to a tree but he had been half asleep at the time and hadn’t thought much of it. “Nice to meet you, Flynn.” The man offered with a warm chuckle, gripping the hand offered in a firm hold and giving a hearty shake for the hell of it. The boy’s hand felt small and delicate within his own but somehow the different felt kind of... nice.

“Hey, do you play?” Grant asked after a moment, nodding over at the guitar, eager to move by the awkward moment he nearly created.

“God, no. I don’t have the patience.” Flynn snickered lightly, leaning back on his hands and rolling his shoulders. “Do you?” The boy asked after a moment, turning to gaze interestly at the man through long lashes.

It was nearly impossible to believe the pretty, flirty, little thing smiling at him now was supposed to be hanging from a rope in the middle of town square at this very moment. Grant swallowed a thick lump in his throat at the mere thought.

“Sure, I play some.” The ex-lawman offered slowly and the outlaw practically beamed at his companion as he scrambled up to grab the thing.

Grant really couldn’t help but find himself smiling back.