Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Another one gone in the night, sheriff."

A paper with a photo stacked on top of it was pushed towards Sheriff Thompson, a debrief of the most recent crime committed in the dead of night.

Dusty Creek had seen a spike in abductions, anyone with enough gold or social standing was whisked away in the dead of night, leaving nothing behind but a red rose, and a letter containing a sum of money and a location.

The sheriff sighed, fingers gripping his cigarette just a little tighter as he exhaled the smoke into the reporters office. The most recent kidnapping was of an aristocrat who'd stayed in the town for two nights while traveling down south for the summer. Thompson knew his type - they think just because they got a little cash they're immune to getting snatched up, but those guarding his quarters had to sleep eventually, and now all that was left of him was a wilted rose, and a note.

The sheriff had to do something about this problem, quickly. The town was bogged down with an air of fear - nobody wanted to spend money for fear of being seen with too much, nobody wanted to gamble and win, nobody wanted to ride in stagecoaches, or operate them, for fear of a holdup robbing them of all their worth.

As he thanked the reporter for the debrief, and snatched up the documents, he decided that he wanted to be done with this issue this week. He shoved the papers into a desk drawer and promptly exited his office. The staff steered clear of him as he walked out of the building, and out to his horse who was waiting outside for him. He'd named her Susan, after his late mother.

He hopped up onto his horse, and trotted through the town, the morning patrol was usually uneventful but it never hurt to be safe.

On his way through, one of the townsfolk approached him, "Sheriff!" The elderly man shouted, "Someone done stole my ass!"

The sheriff glanced up, eyeing the now empty stable that stood besides the man's house. He tilted his head, "You should go down to the station and let the little lady at the front desk know. I'll let you know if i see 'em."

The man thanked him and ran off towards the building, leaving the sheriff to his patrol.

Continuing on, the sheriff spent the morning riding around town on his horse, until he eventually reached his most trusted deputy's house. He hopped off, boots thudding against the packed dirt leading up to the door.

When he knocked, the routine followed the same as every morning - the deputy was dressed and ready for the day, already in uniform. His badge shined, and his clothes were scrubbed from the dirt of the previous days tussle.

"You ready to go, captain?" The Deputy's broad smile seemed too eager for it to be this early in the day, but Sheriff Thompson didn't mind all too much, there weren't enough eager law enforcement in his time.

The sheriff shook his head, "Not yet, i got somethin' to go over with ya." He tethered Susan outside, following the deputy into his house.

The interior wasnt much to look at, a filthy floor covered in dirt and sod, and walls decorated with trinkets and knick knacks collected over an obviously long life that didn't belong to the deputy himself. "My pa's already out for the morning, so i can't offer you much, but what did you want to talk about, sheriff?" the deputy closed the door behind him, leading Thompson over to the living room couch to sit down, regardless of the sheriff's dust covered clothing.

"There was another kidnapping last night." The sheriff started, pulling a flask of whiskey from the interior of his vest, "That rich feller that was passin' through got snatched in the night, same note and everythin'. We're waiting for his family to get the letter so they can send some money and get this over with."

The deputy gasped softly, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. "That's terrible! They really been takin folks up like that, huh sheriff? Is that all?" The deputy empathized with the man taken, having talked to him briefly at the local saloon the night before. He was arrogant, but didn't seem as mean as most of the city folks that passed through the little town.

Sheriff shook his head, "We gotta do somethin' about it, and i got a proposition." He swirled the flask in his hand before taking a deep swig, sighing after he brought it down from his lips. "Just an idea i got this morning, you don't have to say yes, but you ever been bait?"

The deputy's eyes widened slightly, and it hit the sheriff how much the lil guy wore his heart on his sleeve. The Deputy's always been that way, probably why Thompson liked him so much. "Well, no sir i ain't ever been bait before but i think i'm pickin' up what you're puttin' down." the deputy shifted nervously in his seat, "What were you thinkin, sir?"

Thompson crossed his arms across his chest, calloused hands still gripped his flask, "I can loan ya some gold, and let you gamble it in the Rusty Pin." The Rusty Pin was the local saloon, a common sighting place of victims before they got picked up. "Don't worry about where it'll come from thats for me to know. You go in, show off, gamble a little bit and tonight leave your door open. I'll be waitin' nearby with my pistol, and we can finally get this over with."

The sheriff's plan seemed simple, straight forward and like it would work in an instant. Something in the back of the deputy's head whispered doubt, that it wasn't ever that simple and that something would go wrong, but on the other hand....

The deputy gazed into the eye of the sheriff, and the resolve it reflected back erased any doubt in the deputy's mind. "I can do it, sir! Point me to the gold and i'll get to movin!"

Chapter Text

The saloon had dim lighting, the gambling tables started late at night and ended early in the morning. The bar opened earlier and ended later, but the kitchen was open all day and night.

Late at night, past sundown and when he'd usually be asleep, was the Deputy with a bag of gold on his hip and hands full of luck. The Sheriff had employed the house to garuntee a couple wins for the Deputy, ensuring that the money he'd win would be returned to the house upon his return from their current mission.

The Deputy entered nervous, and antsy considering they'd never gambled before, but tonight was basics, with a couple rounds of blackjack (or "21") starting off the night. There were three other men sitting around the table, one being the dealer, and the Deputy was one of the few there more than a little inebriated. With the garuntee of the win in the end, he felt secure enough to get a little wasted while playing.

The man on his left was sober, and stone-faced, using mostly hand gestures to let the dealer know what to give him.

The man on his right was also buzzed, not as much as him but he'd had a couple drinks.

And, of course, the house was sober. No drinking on the job.

In the beginning of the night, they'd played a couple losses, drinking mostly out of anxiety but once things started getting on the Deputy's side he was having a great time.

The Deputy's current hand was a four and an eight, totaling to twelve, and he felt confident enough to get a hit. He tapped the table twice, and the dealer passed him a card.

'four... eight... eight..' he counted in his head, squinting at the cards under the harsh light over head.

"Twenty." His head shot up and he looked over at the stone-face stanger on his left. He'd just counted the cards for em, and told them to him. How nice!

The deputy grinned at the man, flushing red at the struggle to read the three little numbers in front of him. "Thanks."

Twenty was a good number, but he was shooting for great. He tapped the table once more, begging for another hit. The Deputy was playing with fire, he should definitely not be getting more cards, but he was emboldened by hi previous wins, and wanted to show off for the others at the table.

The dealer raised his eyebrows at the deputy, but placed down another card.

'ace' in this case he'd take that card to value a one, making it a perfect twenty one! He hadn't gotten many of those tonight, lots of close ones but not a lot of perfect hands.

The four cards stared at the deputy as he grinned and giggled, taking another drink of his beer sitting on the table. The dealer's hand was a Jack, or eleven, and a face down card. The other two at the table stayed, the buzzed man gnawing on his lip as his gaze bore into the dealer's hand. He flipped over the remaining card, and sitting there was an ace.

Since it would put him over twenty one to take it as an eleven, the dealer considered it a one and stayed his hand at a value of twelve. The deputy tossed his hands up, cheering as he spilled a little bit of beer onto his arm.

"Aw, c'mon, one more round!" The buzzed man on his right complained, sore from losing more than a couple times. But at this point in the night, the Deputy had played a couple rounds and was ready to head home.

The Deputy collected his winnings, and stood from his seat, swaying a little as he lined his pockets with the newly earned coins from both the house and the other players. "No thank you, i'm rich enough! I bid thee gentlemen goodnight!" His face hurt from smiling as he took a bow, once again spilling the beer on the hard, concrete floor of the saloon. When he stood, he glanced at the mostly empty glass and then to the bar, which was just about to close for the night.

He sauntered over, and ordered another bottle, setting the now empty one down on the counter top. The lady behind the desk handed him another beer and set him out the door, on his way home.

He stumbled and tripped over his feet as he walked out of the saloon, thanking Jesus for swinging doors without knobs. The night greeted him, colder than any december day and quiet save for the jeering and cheering from the building he just came out of. The Deputy glanced around, as if he were expecting something, and sure enough a couple seconds later the Sheriff rounded the corner on his horse, doing the early morning rounds before the sun came up.

The deputy started walking over to him, leaning against the building for support as he stumbled over. The Sheriff met him half way, hopping off his horse to support the deputy before he fell over on his ass.

"Thompson!" The deputy whisper-yelled at him, "I did so good tonight! Can you take me home, i don't feel like gettin' eat up by a rattler!" He grinned at the older man, still holding onto his beer with one arm. The Sheriff didn't seem very impressed, but the job got done. This was the second night the deputy had been out gambling, except this time he'd stumbled out drunk and idiotic. His breath reeked of the drink, but it didn't seem to bother the sheriff all that much. "oh! Oh!" The deputy started again, holding the open bottle up to Thompson's lips, "Do you want some? It's super good."

Thompson shook his head. "That wouldn't do nothin' for me. I drank so much of it i'd need gasoline to get me tipsy." He didn't laugh at his own joke, and didn't wait for the other man to either, and instead gently shoved him against the wall, holding him there by the shoulders. "You need to walk home alone tonight, i ain't taking ya." he whispered to the deputy, brows knit together as he considered bringing him home anyway. Part of their plan was to let the deputy walk home alone for a couple nights, and hope that he'd get snatched up at home, but yesterday he'd ridden home with the sheriff regardless of their plans.

The deputy's smile didn't waver and he nodded, "Oh- oh yeah! Okay! I can um.." He trailed off, yawning, "I can walk home, definitely. I'll see you tomorrow sheriff!" He broke free of Thompson's hold, falling forward to embrace the older man. "I love ya' so much, Sheriff. I'll see you tomorrow! now get outta here." His speech slurred as he pushed Thompson away. The man's back bumped against the side of his horse, and he stayed there leaning against her while he watched the deputy stumble away into the night.

The Deputy heard the clopping of the Sheriff's horse as they both trotted away in the opposite direction. Every other noise seemed muffled, and the path ahead seemed to twist and turn more than the man remembered. The walk home was much longer than usual, the dark concealed many things about the night which left the Deputy on edge. Between the inebriation, the darkness, the noises and the state of loneliness he was in, the deputy was practically jogging home, trying to get back and get to bed as soon as possible.

As his home came into view, the deputy gained tunnel vision, the relief that washed over him flushed away every other goal of the night, and his body screamed for the rest, and safety that his bedroom would bring.

He stumbled on the loose dirt path that lead up to his door, almost tripping and falling as it transitioned into gravel the closer he got to his door. The door itself was unlocked, in preparation of going out for the night, and the deputy pushed it inwards to a quiet, empty house.

The loneliness hit him as he stood in the doorway, shutting the front door behind him with a groan. The deputy's father was still out for work, and he would be alone when he was to be taken in the night, sooner or later. The door was left unlocked as he walked to his bed in the dark, candles and lanterns snuffed out. He swayed while he walked, all he could really think about was how nice his bed was going to be and how it felt like he was wearing cement shoes, wading through the hardwood floors while all the knick knacks stared at him, piercing eyes reflecting the moonlight that shone through the windows.

The deputy made it to his bedroom door, jiggling the handle with some difficulty. It opened up from a lonely living room to an even lonelier bedroom, walls bare save for some woven carpets hanging against them, and the bedroom suit that consisted of his bed, and a couple pieces of furniture. A desk sat in the corner next to a small set of shelves that looked handmade, leaning to one side and chipped with stray hammer marks along the side. The desk had a notebook set out on top of it, closed with a pen sat on it. The shelves had various books laid in it, some were bought and some made over the years by the boy who lived here.

The twin sized bed called his name, and the deputy shrugged off his vest, leaving it at the door alongside his belt. He unbuckled his pants and laid down face first in the dirty sheets and pillows that made up his resting place, not bothering to remove his shoes or hat before blacking out into a deep sleep, accompanied by the soft snoring of the man, muffled by the pillow his face was buried in.

In the dead of night, a door creaked.

Chapter Text

Hangovers sucked.

Hangovers suck and also so does being hungover while on the back of a horse.

Or? An ass? A stolen ass?

The deputy had been drunk very few times in his life, he could count the times on one hand that didn't have all its fingers (so not his shooting hand) but he'd been around enough drunk people and had just enough experience to know that when he was hungover, the deputy would've preferred to stay in bed. You know, not moving. Not jostling his poor weary head with the rise and fall of donkey haunches, that's for certain.

When he came to, it wasn't…. the pleasantest experience. The deputy's head swam and ached, his eyes ached and almost burned and he was hesitant to open his heavy lids at all, honestly. His shoulders had a new burning sensation to them and his back was sore and oddly almost numb from the position he was in. His mouth was dry, that wasn't surprising, but what was surprising was that it was mostly due to the cloth gag wedged in his teeth that, now that he was awake enough to feel it, was starting to make his jaw rather sore.

His tongue, also rather dry that was unpleasant, carefully probed at the cloth rag in his mouth and honestly it didn't do much, just made him almost gag himself with the way his tongue briefly stuck to the back of his throat.

Maybe the deputy should be concerned about why exactly there was a gag in his mouth. Honestly, though, the swaying sensation had settled after he'd squirmed and gagged and it was starting to feel less jostling and more of like a cradle for children. Maybe he was still dreaming, after all he hadn't opened his eyes yet and his head hurt so much and that little voice that seemed to be muffled with water sounded rather soothing, it was probably better to just…. go back to sleep, and….

And..

And this was the annoying part about being drunk for the Deputy, he didn't dream. It was like he blinked and suddenly he was awake again, who wants to go from being drunk to being hungover in just a second? It was rude, honestly, almost as rude as these fucking people who are talking over him- WHO is talking over him right now?

The Deputy groaned and peeked his eyes open.

Definitely still hungover, maybe even worse so, but now he wasn't swaying anymore, nor was he being jostled. Little victories. His eyelids felt as heavy as lead, his vision swam and blurred, and as he let out a weary groan it felt as though he had aged about three years. But, no. It had only been, umm..

The Deputy's head felt heavy all over, it was good to know it wasn't just his eyelids. He turned his gaze to the sky, tried to roll his head over although his neck felt weak and stiff. It was deep into the hours of the night, and he couldn't right see anything above him other than the sky and he couldn't feel anything below him other than the ground.

So, probably only a couple hours. He really would kill to go back to bed right now.

But then again, his bed was in his room, in his house, and his house most certainly had a roof on it, which meant…..

Oh, fuck, the plan!

His eyes shot open, or, rather they tried, and he blinked rapidly. Jesus Christ, now is not the time to be hungover. The Deputy needed to be alert at all times, sleep with one eye open to make up for the one the Sherrif didn't have, that's his whole job! Jesus, the sheriff, was this how he felt every morning? How did he do it?

No time to ponder, the Deputy squirmed and tried to move. Finding his arms bound, he couldn't reliably stand up, although maybe that wouldn't have mattered since all his limbs felt like they weighed a ton, like he was moving through molasses, or in a dream. The more he woke, the harded his head pounded and by god did it pound. This headache he was baking up in his skull was killer, and while the night sky did little to agitate it, the burning fire a couple feet away from him hurt to look at, or even to look in the general direction of it. God this was stupid, why'd he have to go and do this? Can't even be bait right, and where was the Sherrif?

Maybe this was a good thing. After all, he'd never been bait before. Maybe this was supposed to happen? He did trust the Sheriff, maybe everything would come to fruition. But god, these ropes burned his wrists and this gag was starting to make him feel suffocated. Suddenly his lungs felt bottomless, he wasn't quite hyperventilating per say, more like… gasping. Or trying to, through his nose and around the gag although he was able to get a little air through his mouth. Unfortunately that also made it feel like he was going to get the gag stuck in his throat, which was making him panic more, squirm and thrash and whine although the noise was muffled through the cloth, it made the world feel fogged up and far away on top of the sound of water in his ears, was that normal? For everything to sound like it was under water right now?

Something cut through the panic and the teary eyes, two fingers pressed roughly into the Deputy's mouth, yanking out the cloth and allowing him to finally gasp for air.

This should've been embarrassing, but as the Deputy gasped once, then twice and eventually shallowly yawned, that feeling of breathlessness finally seemed to escape him. Not entirely, he did yawn a couple more times but now it was so much less of a fight to try and get air.

His eyes fought to open once more - still heavy. Everything about him was so heavy, and he was so tired. And his head hurt, fuck did it hurt. Not much when he was still, but when he squirmed and swayed or tried to move his head it felt like rolling around a giant water balloon on his neck, and that made him grateful he was laying down instead of sitting, even if he was laying on.. dirt? Sand? Too dark to tell, it felt coarse so the guess was sand.

"Enough with the thrashing, you're so loud for a prisoner."

….hah?

Maybe the Deputy was having a stroke. "wh- huh?" he mumbled out intelligently, and finally peeked his eyes open once more.

At first, his sights connected with boots. Leather, old and worn although they looked well taken care of, and then as the Deputy's eyes dragged up the form crouched on bended knee beside his head, he eventually made eye contact with what appeared to be some beautiful, European man or perhaps a handsome woman. Hard to tell, his head hurt.

There were other voices, but right now the Deputy was trying to figure out why there was a particularly-beautiful-european-man-or-perhaps-handsome-woman crouched over him with the cloth that had been gagging him in their hand. Now more awake, he could tell that this person was in rather vagabond-looking clothing and that the bonfire behind them was obscuring the deputy's vision greatly, god damn this hangover was disabling him right now. Fuck, he's never doing this again (Chances are the Sherrif said the same thing a many couple years ago).

The deputy caught his breath, chest heaving as he laid there on his back, his wrists bound down by his stomach in a way that made his shoulder ache. He got a brief adrenaline rush, although he suddenly felt dizzy once more. The dizziness never truly went away but it came in waves every couple seconds, and now that he was thinking a little more clearly he could hear more voices, two or three, mumbling to each other in a language the Deputy didn't understand.

Discussing, arguing, whatever - they were talking and it was starting to make him nervous, however as quick as the adrenaline came it dissipated, and it was almost tangible how it ebbed away from his body. He could feel his posture relaxing even, even though this was such a scary situation that he felt he needed to be stiff for.

Maybe this whole bait thing was a bad idea.

"Five…" The Deputy yawned, "Five more minutes."

What are you doing, you fucking idiot?? Sit up! Sit up and fight, where's your gun?? You can get up without your arms you're a spry young man you had a whole drill with the Sheriff on this come on!

The more rational part of his brain screamed at him to get up and do something.

However…. the bigger part of his brain was tired, hungover, and nauseous. So, God forgive him, he let his head fall to the side, and was back to dreamless sleep.