Grant walked just behind Flynn, trailing in the boy’s wake as the outlaw stalked silently through the trees, riding boots noiseless on the leaf covered ground as if his feet never actually touched the earth. His lithe body constantly ducked behind some tree or brush to conceal him in shadows. Grant, on the other hand, felt like a walking stampede in his companion’s wake, large boots falling heavily to crunch against every leaf in the goddamn forest, a deafening roar in the silence of the woods, and bulky build impossible to hide in the sparse coverings available.

The man wouldn’t lie, he thought this was a bad idea. The last time Flynn tried to break into Gavin’s place, he’d ended up bloodied and beaten in a cell. Yet, here he was and didn’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. He had no choice.

Nervousness roiled in Grant’s gut as the boy he followed finally began to slow and came to a halt just at the peak of a swelling crest, delicate frame slunk behind a pine to stay hidden from sight. The ex-lawman’s heart pounded against his chest like a battering ram until he could hear the rush of his blood in his ears, a dull roar he was sure the forest had to able to hear at this point as he ducked behind the tree as well, pressing in close to the outlaw to avoid detection.

“His horse is gone.” Flynn pointed out in a soft whisper, craning his head a bit to the side and turning it back to touch his mouth nearly to Grant’s ear as the man craned over the outlaw’s sharp shoulder. “He’s probably out stealing your job.” The fugitive chuckled lightly, his words humored and warm even where they stood at Hell’s gate.

Grant gave a huff of a laugh, the sound bursting free around where his lips drew up at one corner, Flynn’s mischievous snark more responsible for the fighting smile than the joke itself. The actual thought of Gavin becoming sheriff, on the other hand, was not a pleasant one. The man had it out for the outlaw Grant ran with and if he became the law, the previous sheriff had no doubt Reid wouldn’t rest until Flynn hung dead in town square for all to see.

“Let’s get down there before he comes back then.” Grant suggested determinedly, face hardening as the chilling, stomach churning thought passed through his mind and left his blood running cold in its wake. He wouldn’t let that happen.

Flynn gave a sharp, affirmative nod and slid out from behind the tree, moving like a shadow around the trunk before beginning down the small hill, skirting the edge of the forest. The boy threaded through the sparse woods like a wisp of mist on a breeze, slinking behind saplings and crawling around bushes to be nothing more than a soft rustle in the early dawn light.

Grant made after his companion, wincing at every noisy step as he blundered over sticks and tried to smoosh himself behind the thick trunks of the largest trees in their path. It was slow going, trying to avoid eyes that probably weren’t even there and the ex-lawman found his gaze snapping to every leaf caught in a breeze and flutter of bird startled into flight by their presence, his paranoid mind providing shadows that weren't there and sounds that didn’t exist in the whisper of the wind.

Finally, however they made it to the bottom of the swell and came to a halt a few paces from the house, still sticking to the woods and keeping to the shadows where they drew out long in the early light of sunrise. A white painted door framed by wide windows adorned the front of the building, an almost pleasant sort of style that seemed a mockery to the man who lived there himself and elaborate curls were carved into the wood to speak of wealth and indulgence.

“Door’s probably locked.” Flynn hissed softly, lilting voice barely more than a breeze as he leaned forward to squint at the entrance critically. “Let’s head around back. Best to do this quiet if we can.” The man explained and waited for Grant to give a solid nod before beginning to creep along the edge of the trees, knees bent and back lowered to stay close to the ground.

Grant tried to mimic the position but his back gave a sharp twinge in protest, sending him jolting upright with a grimace twisting his features. Opting instead to simply keep a close eye out, he followed Flynn around the building until they could see the other side, same white paint and elaborate trimming adorning the rich wood as they’d seen out front. However, a discrepancy stood out and a long finger in front of his face pointed to it just as Grant himself caught the sight.

“Pretty dumb to leave your window open with an outlaw on the loose.” Flynn drew with a wolfish grin playing at the corners of his busted lips. His slender digit curved smoothly towards where a white paned section of glass was pulled up to let warm beige curtains blow through the gap, the thick cloth catching the breeze to whisk out into the open air.

“Someone could break in!” Grant agreed in an over dramatic drawl, keeping his voice lowered for safety sake but letting a cunning smirk rip across his face nevertheless. Maybe things were finally starting to go there way.

“My thoughts exactly.” Flynn agreed in a sinister purr, returning the wide smile with that familiar spark of mischief dancing like lightning through his caramel eyes. The boy cast a quick glance around then darted out from behind his current hiding spot, a tree he’d curled his lithe body around like a snake. Just a dark smudge of motion, the outlaw's dust coat whipped behind him as his riding boots kicked up dust in his wake, putting the short expanse of yard between him and the woods in an instant and pressing his body tightly into the wall of the house the moment he met it.

Grant felt his body tense up in sick anticipation as he waited for things to go wrong, muscles taunt and ready for action. All it would take was for Gavin to come strolling up the path, shotgun in hand to put a quick and bloody end to the outlaw and Grant didn’t think he’d ever get over witnessing Flynn die at the end of Reid’s barrel. However, the tense moment stretched on for a minute and nothing seemed to stir in the quiet, all still and silent as the dawn’s creeping rays basked the sleeping world in their warm light.

Eventually, Flynn began edging himself along the painted walls of the house and come to stand pressed just beside the window, pulling back one of the curtains and craning his neck to glance inside without sticking his whole head in and asking to be blown away. The outlaw drew back a moment later and returned his gaze to where he’d left Grant at the edge of the woods, meeting the man’s waiting eyes and giving a small nod before turning back to the window.

Grant cast one last suspicious glance about before he spurred himself into motion and dashed across the yard, nearly expecting to hear a shot go off as he finally crossed the distance and skidded to a hasty halt at Flynn’s side. The man’s heart raced but he forced himself to remain calm and keep an eye on things as his companion curled his slender digits over the edge of the window sill and carefully leaned inside, a wayward lock of mahogany hair falling into his eyes as he dipped forward through the open window.

“Coast’s clear.” Flynn informed softly, leaning back to whisper the words before dipping into the window again, this time bringing a long leg up with him. The outlaw pushed himself with the butts of his hands and drew his knee up so he practically crouched in the window for a long moment, glancing around once more before swinging his other leg over the barrier and letting it hit the other side.

Grant moved to stand in front of the window as Flynn slid the rest of the way in through the small gap, watching to make sure nothing befell the boy as his dark boots hit the wooden floor and he came to stand in the wide living room of sorts beyond. However, everything stayed as it had been and the large bookshelves spanning the brown walls made no moves to attack the outlaw as Grant paranoidly feared they might.

The ex-lawman wasted no time in gripping the edge of the window himself; and throwing a leg over it, pulling the other through much less gracefully than Flynn had. His feet hit the wooden floor heavily as Grant ducked to pull the rest of his body through, only succeeding in banging his forehead painfully on the glass pane in a pointed reminder that he was nowhere near as small and agile as his companion. Rubbing his head, the man ducked lower and slipped under the glass, coming to stand on the other side and glance around the living room.

The place was spacious but empty. A few bookshelves lined the walls with a layer of dust thicker than a cow’s leathered hide settled over them like a blanket and a desk sat near the far corner, as barren and empty as the desert outside. Ebony floors creaked under Grant’s boots as he moved away from the window and turned in a slow circle, taking in his surrounds and watching for any sign of movement but his eyes caught nothing to raise suspicion.

A soft metallic clatter sounded from the edge of the room, nearly gave Grant a heart attack; but when he snapped his head in that direction, all his eyes found was Flynn picking up a revolver from a small table set near the doorway. The boy turned the thing over in his hand, running long fingers over the barrel but he tossed it back down again a moment later, apparently not anything he’d come here to find.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Grant hissed in a sharp whisper, returning his attention to the room around him just in case any of the bookshelves had moved when he wasn’t looking.

“A blade.” Flynn answered quietly and his voice sounded odd, off almost, soft and distant like he wasn’t all in the room with Grant anymore.

“A blade isn’t gonna get us very far.” Grant pointed out strategically. They were gonna need something indisputable, especially with Gavin’s father being the mayor and all.

“This blade will.” Flynn promised, stalking silently across the room to begin peeking in between shelves. “The wound wasn’t normal, whatever made it had a distinctive shape.” The boy detailed, voice carefully detached as he pulled back a random book and glanced behind it only to push it back where it was a moment later. “They just chose to ignore that ‘cause they already had a convenient suspect.” He added dryly, pulling back the next book in line and sliding it back in place just as quickly.

“We’ll find it.” Grant promised solemnly, blood running ice cold in a silent, smoldering anger that seared deep in his chest. Flynn didn’t deserve any of what he’d endured and no matter how well Grant made up for it now, as he was determined too, the ex-lawman would always resent that.

“I know we will.” Conor agreed determinedly then let his long fingers fall from their current task to turn towards the man, intense gaze seeming to nail Grant to the spot. “Thank you.” He added softly, piercing eyes swimming with too many things to pick out just one.

The look sent a warmth rushing through Grant’s chilled veins and he let himself smile back before actually getting to work, making for the empty desk at the far side of the room since Flynn seemed to have the bookshelves covered. The top was truly barren with nothing to offer but a few scratches and the occasional coffee stain but its front was lined with a collection of small drawers, elegantly carved with deep bronze handles gleaming in the low light.

Grant wrapped his thick fingers around the handle of the top drawer and tugged it open slowly, trying not to let the mess inside clatter about too noisily. Odds and ins scattered around the wooden bottom of the thing; but none of it seemed that important, so Grant closed it and moved on to the next rather quickly. A piece of string. A bible. About a dozen loose buttons. Two cent candy wrappers and a deck of cards. A toy pony with a bright, flowing mane..? Nothing to prove Flynn’s innocence.

When Grant wrapped a hand over the handle of the third and final drawer, it wouldn’t budge. The man gave a rough yank, thinking it was probably just another wooden pony jamming up the works, but something caught and stuck the wood fast even then. “This one’s locked.” The man hissed over to his companion, turning to see Flynn shove back yet another book with a disgruntled grimace only to fall into a muffled coughing fit as a huge cloud of dust exploded out in vengeance.

“Lemme see it.” The boy huffed scratchily, waving a delicate hand in front of his face to clear the dust and try to find fresh air again as he crossed the floor to stand at Grant’s side. The outlaw squinted critically at the lock for a short moment before reaching a hand into the saddle bag he currently had slung over his lean shoulder and rummaging through. After a second, his long fingers re-emerged; and clasped between them, he held a thin wire, small and bent in the middle to create two long prongs.

“I think I can get this open.” Flynn explained, crouching down low in front of the desk and bringing the makeshift lock pick to the hole. The fugitive slipped the small wire inside and leaned against the wood, caramel eyes narrowing in concentration as his delicate fingers twirled over the metal in small, careful motions.

Skilled fingertips moving with practiced confidence, it didn’t take long for a quiet click to sound from inside the lock and a vicious smirk to crawl across Flynn’s busted lips. “Gotcha!” He whispered to the lock and leaned back, pulling out his wire and bringing it to his lips to press a grateful kiss to the metal - Which Grant was definitely not jealous of - before stretching back up to stand his full height. One dainty hand tugged on the brass handle of the drawer and it slid out effortlessly, both men craning over to get a look in the thing the moment it was open.

Papers. Tons and tons of fucking papers spilled forth, falling from the edges of the drawer to flit to the floor below as the scraps fought for space in the crowded hole, old papers, yellowing and beginning to tear at the edges.

Grant reached down and plucked a few up from where they had had fallen, turning the aging sheets over in his hand to feel his heart stutter to a nervous halt. A mayoral ballot from sixteen years ago had fallen, tallying the votes for first time runner, Mr. Reid. Beside it was a court document from the same year, detailing the sentencing of a boy who’d been found with blood on his hands over his mother’s body.

Before he could say anything, a voice sounded from the doorway, cruel and grating. “Looking for this?” Gavin’s familiar tones demanded disgustedly; and when Grant turned, he saw the man standing there, the silver revolver from the table in one hand and a blade, curved over and again like a snake, twirled between his fingers in the other.