forum place i belong // oxo // closed

Started June 13, 2023 by @larcenistarsonist group

tune

The rest of Kit's evening was uneventful considering he passed out the moment his head hit the thin, flopping piece of cotton he called a pillow. He really needed a new one, something that was actually comfortable and supported his neck rather than the thing that he currently had, which did nothing for him. Hell, he would have been better simply resting his head on the mattress at that point, but as much as the pillow wasn't all comfortable, it was better than nothing at all.

And his sleep was dreamless. After working since the crack of dawn and long past when he would usually sleep it was understandable and more than welcome. He didn't need to be dreaming when he was exhausted, it would only end up with him waking either terrified from a nightmare or sad that a good dream ended and he needed to face the day ahead of him. Neither of the options were good, and he didn't want either so he would take the black, empty realm of unconsciousness any day of the week over them.

Sadly for him, his body wouldn't allow him more than a few hours. The constant cycle that the man had been in for most of his life meant knowing that his body woke regardless of whether he was ready or not for the day and that meant being awake to watch the sunrise. It was a peaceful time, despite being far too early, with the sky turning from a dark ebony to a deep blue he imagined the ocean to look like. And then when the sun rose higher it turned the sky into oranges as deep as the orchard in town. A beautiful sight and this morning was no different.

As Kit pulled on what was practically the same outfit as yesterday only with a blue flannel his eyes were trained on the skyline over the horizon. They didn't leave as he walked down from the house towards the barn where, even if Dane hadn't been there, he would have gone in order to feed and free the animals into the paddocks. When he arrived, however, and found Dane to be awake and blood dripping down his side, he asked.

"Shit! What 'appened?" He asked, voice soft in the early morning as he hurried to grab the medical kit.

Dane surely should've heard someone coming, but it must be the pain, booze, and morning brain that prevent that from happening. His head snaps up when there's a voice in the doorway, momentarily shrouded by a multitude of sunlight before Dane realizes it's Kit, the angel. The pain in his side softly throbs, but he can feel it growing. "Think I slept funny," Dane answers quietly because like hell is he going to admit his nightmare. "Stitches broke." The blood is already seeping heavily through the bandage.

If he had been on his own, Dane wouldn't hesitate to restitch himself with shaking hands and an uncleansed needle. His bandages would be dirty, but better than bloodsoaked. He considers it a fine miracle that he hasn't been killed yet. By a bullet, by an infection, by a loss of blood–Dane's still on this earth and won't kick the bucket until he's pretty much forced to. Slowly, Dane lifts his hand arm to allow Kit better access to his wound. Unlike last time, he's fully conscious, and the small sip of alcohol doesn't offer much to numb the sharp prick of the needle. He breathes carefully, each inhale calculated to cause him the least amount of pain. His exhales are shaky, rattling all his ribs as he tries not to hyperventilate.

The timing is just perfect. A nightmare, an opened wound, and a pretty man walking in on his weakest state. He closes his eyes tight, desperate not to let himself cry at just a little bit of pain. He's suffered worse than this. He should be fine. But something about seeing himself in five different places, all unpleasant and sour in his mouth. Just a damn dream, he tries to remind himself, but the wound on his side begs to differ.

Kit frowned softly, moving with the medical box in hand until he was kneeling down next to Dane. It didn't look like the man had moved much in his sleep but maybe he had just rolled back into the same position before he had arrived. Either way, he wasn't going to question it when he was actively bleeding out once more and he needed to stitch him back up. It wasn't important, anyway, and he didn't know a reason as to why the man would lie about how the stitches broke in the first place.

He pulled out the needle and thread and with expert hands looped the thread through the eye of the needle. Kit placed the end of the sharp metal in his mouth as he quickly unwrapped the bandages so he was able to gain a better look at the wound. Shit. It didn't look good. The dirty bandages were discarded to one side as he grabbed a clean cloth and started dabbing away at the blood so he could see what he was working with. Luckily there was still some disinfectant alcohol spray left in the bottle in the kit, and he grabbed and sprayed some on the wound before continuing to clean the blood. When he was semi-satisfied with what he could see he began to stitch Dane's side. Kit's hands were soft as one rested softly on Dane's stomach while the other worked the stitches, making easy, efficient threads and quickly tying the end once more.

When he was sure the stitches were secure he grabbed some more bandages and gently pushed Dane forwards so he was able to wrap the fresh bandages around his middle, "Now there really is no question, you're stayin' 'ere, Dane, until you're all fixed up." Couldn't have him popping any more stitches.

(sorry its short i was cut on time asldkjf)

Dane watches Kit's hands as they thread the needle. For a moment, it isn't Kit, but another doctor that entered Dane's house on the hourly. They sliced open his mother and sister, trying to gage what could possibly be wrong with their bodies and then sloppily stitched them up before leaving for the night. He swallows, blinks, and then he's back to the present. He doesn't look down at his wound. He's seen enough of them to last a lifetime.

"I am fixed up!" He objects. His voice is loud in the quiet barn, the usually absorbent wood just echoing his voice until it's the only thing Dane can hear. He shuts his eyes and sighs. "I mean–you fixed me up. You saved me and I am forever thankful, angel, but you don't understand. I have to keep moving." A pause. "I'll heal. I always do. But I need to heal very far away from here." For all Dane knows, the second that shot him could still be hunting his tracks. The kid could still be following his trail of dried blood and stolen horseshoe tracks. The last thing he wants to do is lead the killer right here to this kind family's farm. Dane has a lot of deaths on his conscious, but he doubts he could bare to hold these ones.

(lol all good, i feel that one)

Kit’s frown only deepened and he made a deliberately wrong move with the needle as to poke Dane in the side in protest, “No.” He said, and the firm tone that he used sounded strange coming from a man that was usually so soft. No, Dane wasn’t going anywhere, not until he was healed properly and he wasn’t at risk of breaking his stitches in the middle of the night. For God’s sake, the man had ended up practically dead on his door step and then popped his stitches sleeping, how the Hell he thought Kit was going to let him leave in his state was beyond him.

He finished wrapping the bandages around Dane’s middle and secured it tighter this time, making sure there wasn’t a chance of them coming undone while he moved about, “You’re stayin’ until you’re all fixed up, an’ if you wanna argue you can talk to Mama ‘bout it.” Because there was certainly no way she was letting him go anywhere. She’d tie Dane down to a bed if she had to if it meant keeping the man to get some proper rest. Kit had never been one to argue but in this instance he was more than happy to join in.

He packed the rest of the medical supplies up, keeping the dirty cloth out and let it come to rest on his shoulder as he stood. Either way, he had jobs to do, and maybe having Dane around for some company would be nice. Well, that was if the man didn’t insist on leaving every five seconds. Maybe he should take him up to the house now. No one else was awake, so leaving him unsupervised was probably a bad idea.

Dane's face scrunches when the needle pokes him, but otherwise isn't affected. He times his breaths. The man bites his tongue, both to distract himself from the pain and prevent himself from saying something he'll regret. His loud mouth has gotten him into quite the amount of duels, no matter how polite he tries to be. The last thing he needs is to lash out at Kit for only caring. Eventually, when the stitches are all done and Kit's careful hands rewrap his wounds, Dane opens his eyes and looks to the other man.

"You really don't know who I am, do ya'?" His voice is quiet, afraid if he speaks any louder he'll break whatever bubble they've created. Dane is dangerous. He brings mayhem and terror to whatever town he stumbles across. He steals, takes lives, and runs away before any sheriff has the mind to catch him. All it would take is one look at a wanted poster plastered against a saloon and all the kindness Kit has ever shown him in their short span of time to crumble. If Kit knew, he would understand why Dane has to leave. He would understand but… maybe he would want to take things into his own hands. Dane's vulnerable. He's dizzy and delirious and wants to get drunk to forget all of this happening. All it would take is a lucky shot and everyone's problems would be solved.

Dane wants to leave. But the angel is looking at him, the light from the rising sun casting his silhouette in a heavenly glow. God–Dane is a faithless man, has been ever since his prayers went unanswered and two graves were filled. He hasn't believed in no God since he started his lawless tirade. But this angel saved him when it would've been better for everyone if they left him to bleed out–left him to die. "I'll stay," he says quietly, blinking rapidly to still the pain blooming in his side. "But not long, angel."

(Hi hi! Just a heads up that i’m currently away on holiday so i’ll probably be nonexistent for the next few weeks - but i will be back when i’m home!)

Dane was correct in his assumption that Kit had no idea who he was. The farm boy stuck to himself, to the farm he was to inherit when his father passed. He had no friends in this town, nor any, really, for that matter. No one likes his family even if him and his mother and siblings hadn’t done anything to warrant the hate so there was no point in taking to a town that only caused more pain. So no, there was no reason for Kit to know who Dane was. Even if he did he would tell the man that no one in his small place wouldn’t know him, either. They were out of the way, secluded for the most part bar the next town over but even then it was a days trip at minimum to get there.

The rouge cowboy would have nothing to fear, not unless there was another stranger in town spreading the word of his location in hopes of finding and killing him. Kit still wanted proper answers about how he was shot in the first place. A duel? Really? He didn’t know what to think or believe but he was going to give the man the benefit of the doubt for the time being considering he had more important things to care for, such as making sure he didn’t die from his wound.

But he made no comment on Dane’s surprise that he didn’t know who he was and instead turned his back on him, heading over to the small shelf where he kept the supplied and placing them back. When he was done, he walked over to Mols’ pen and opened the gate, only then did he turn back to Dane, “Mama will be making breakfast in ‘bout an hour,” He said, and the cow came out of her pen and immediately started to nudge Kit. He tried to suppress a smile, “Till then you can ‘elp me let all the animals out.”

(alsdfadf thanks for the heads up! have fun on your vacation!!!)

Dane stares at the angel, searching his face for any sort of malice or ill-intent. This wouldn't be Dane's first time dealing with a wolf in sheep's clothing. He's been lied to and out-gambled and been forced from somebody's home in the middle of the night. All of those guys could've killed Dane while his stupid heart was trusting them, but they weren't smart and let him live to torment whatever soul is next on his list. Dane doesn't mean to hurt people. It just happens and he can't help the guilt that eats away at his heart every time he's met with another angry family or another tear-stricken face. 

If his mental map is anywhere near correct, Dane's about a day's away from the nearest town. It's not one he thinks he's been to before, but he's been unpleasantly surprised more than once. News travels fast depending on what pony's delivering the letter. He could lay low here, could sleep in the barn with the cattle and sunrises–but that's just an open invite for whatever trouble follows Dane to follow him right here to this peaceful place and wreak all sorts of hell on the poor family's life. They never asked for any of this, and yet Dane brought it when he was patched up from a bullet lodged deep in his side.

"Alright, partner," Dane says softly, a smile inching across his face no matter how much he tries to will it away. Carefully to not agitate his stitches any further, he grips at the haybales and forces himself to stand upright. He hisses at the shot of pain that rings through his side, screwing his eyes shut as his grimace slowly fades. He blinks away the spots in his eyes, thoroughly surprised when some of them don't go away and instead take the shape of an old cow. "Hey there, girlie," Dane mumbles as the cow nudges at his torso. "Yeah, that's where I done and got shot." And then he adds in an exaggerated stage-whisper. "Not my fault if I do have to add." He laughs softly at that and takes a few labored steps to the next pen. A few goats. Huh. Dane's never seen a goat up close before. He finds the latch that keeps them in and pulls on it gently, stepping to the side to allow the gate to swing open. 

(thank you aksldn im trying)

Now that Dane was standing Kit could properly take the man in. Tall. Taller than him, at least, which wasn't difficult to do all things considered. Good build - he looked strong and more than capable to be able to help out around the farm. Lord knows he needed it. Handsome. The thought both shook him just as Mols nudging him with more strength did. No, there would be none of that. Dane was insisting on leaving after a day, he wasn't about to go and form an attachment to someone who was so set on leaving every five seconds. No, that wasn't going to do him any good. It hadn't before and it certainly wouldn't now.

Maybe it was just because he was lonely. Yes, that had to be it. It was because he was lonely that he was becoming so quick to find the thought of the other man leaving saddening. He was the first new face that he had seen around these parts of a good long while. All the regulars, the townsfolk who lived here were descendants from families that had settled years ago and none of them planned on moving. Everyone knew everyone, and no one was inclined to leave because there was no need. And no one came to visit. They were slightly too far away to be able to have the luxury of fresh faces. But here Dane was. As fresh as a baby cow, standing and walking around his barn as best he could with a bullet wound in his side. Impressive was something else he could add to the list of things he was slowly starting to describe him as.

Mols knew where to go and was quick to head off out the back door of the barn and into the large paddock that was situated next to it. The goats were more than happy for their freedom once again and were quick to trot around Dane's legs before rushing out and following the old cow. Kit hummed softly as he moved to the next pen where there were a few more cows. The pigs and chickens were in a separate, smaller barn on the other side of the field they would have to walk to. At least it would give Dane a view of the whole property.

(AALSKDFJ sorry this is. uh. eight days later, i went camping and did not have service aaaaaaaaaaaagh)

The goats rush around his legs, one of them hitting the back of his knee just right for it to buckle. He catches himself against the support beam–heh, a support beam for the barn and himself. With a smile, Dane shakes his head and laughs and prays that his grin is enough to hide the unexpected pain that came with his close call with the hay-covered floor. He draws a long breath as he rights himself, testing weight on his right leg. Dane finds himself looking at Kit, mentally comparing their heights and builds. While Dane clearly has a couple of inches on Kit, it's the farm boy that has him beat with muscles. 

Dane blinks and turns away, unlatching another pen for the animals to scurry out of. They follow the elderly cow–Mols, was it?–to a large enclosure outside of the barn. For a moment, Dane has to wonder what it would be like to be a little goat with rectangular pupils and a stomach that can stomach anything. He doubts goats make enemies, and if they do, it'll be over after a head-butt match and then they'll be chowing down on a fresh patch of grass and trash together in no time. People are complicated, irritating, fascinating–literally every single person on the damned planet has their own story and path. Dane loves to tell those stories, but can't shake a feeling of unease whenever somebody tries to tell his own. He's a storyteller, not a character. Unfortunately, he's usually the antagonist, or the bad guy for anybody that never payed attention in english class. He's the bad guy because he kills people close to the narrator. Perhaps if Dane was allowed to narrate his own story, he wouldn't hate being in one so much.

After all the animals are freed, Dane looks to Kit with a 'what now' sort of expression. The sun is still rising and the day is still new. The longer Dane keeps himself busy with the angel, the less time he'll be thinking about running off as soon as he gets clear access to his horse. Stolen horse, he has to keep reminding himself. Maybe it's the fact that he nearly bled out atop of her tawny back, but Dane finds himself far more connected to the mare than any other stallion he's snatched in the past.

(lmao you're good, i get back from my holiday tomorrow anyways currently waiting for a flight as we speak)

Having worked on the farm since a young age, Kit had never needed to work out. The farm work was enough to keep him in shape. Even if he was to let himself go, per se, to eat more, it wouldn't matter, considering his whole day consisted of nothing but work. Work from the moment he woke up to right before he went to sleep. The only breaks he ever seemed to get were the ones that came when food was involved. But those were only three times a day, maybe four, depending on snack time.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Kit heaved the large barn doors open and secured them, making sure they were open for any of the animals that wished to take safety back into their pens at any point during the day. Usually, that was Mols. The old cow couldn't be out in the heat for too long, and the trees were all mostly dead from the heat. Until winter came she spent most of her time inside the barn, or as close to the home as she was allowed to be and usually that was with Kit cuddled into her side.

The paddock was mostly brown with a few patches of green here and there, but with the heat and the weather, it was difficult to maintain. Kit had given up trying. Winter would be better. Even though it was coming up fast it certainly didn't seem that way. It crunched underfoot, his boots picking up prickles and dead branches as he walked them to the other side of the paddock. When they were there he opened the door to the other barn. A flutter of feathers and a stamped of little chicken feet over took him as they ran out. Kit couldn't help but chuckle, mumbling a soft good morning to them before he let out the pigs.

Dane carefully makes his way towards the barn doors, heavily favoring his side as he limps along through the grass. Some steps are particularly painful, pulling at his stitches and sending aches through his bones. He keeps his breath steady as he can, occasionally leaning on one of the corrals to keep himself upright. Damn, he thinks with a sigh. Bullet must've been deeper than I thought. As he stumbles his way out, he tries to take in as much as he can, granted last time he was outside he was bleeding out from a gaping wound in his ribs. 

The barn is messy, yet has at least some sense of organization to it. The different corrals partition the room into smaller bits, hay bales and large burlap sack so of feed. It doesn't smell entirely of shit, which is quite the plus in Dane's book.

Not daring to walk as fast as Kit, Dane decides to lean against the outside wall of the barn. He watches, he waits with a smile. The flock of chickens emerge with a poof of feathers and squawks. "They always this excited in the morning?" he calls as his feet get swamped with some of the short creatures. They peck at his boots and cock their heads. He purses his lips at them, mimicking a bit of their head bobbing with his own. He laughs at his own antics and then looks up to Kit. The morning is new, still cool and yet to be touched by the heavy warmth of the day. 

Kit moved throughout the barn with ease, knowing exactly where everything was that he needed. Where all the feed was, the hay. He didn't respond to Dane at first, taking to focusing on the task at hand which was pulling out a sack of grain and pouring the necessary amounts into feeding troughs throughout the barn for the animals to munch out whenever they wanted. When that was done, he hauled a hay bale over his shoulder with a soft grunt.

"Every morning. Every afternoon. Every evenin'," He replied, shaking his head softly. The farmboy moved through the barn and back into the paddock, although not too far away from Dane, and tossed the bale onto the ground. He wiped his hands on his jeans before turning back to the other, "They're crazy. I think we jus' got unlucky with the ones we picked out. Some reason they all seem to be nuts." A soft chuckle.

Not that Kit minded. It was the entertainment he needed to get through the day. Either way, they were his babies. All the animals were. As much as he wished for something more interesting, a change of pace, a new life, perhaps, the creatures he took care of were his whole world. They were everything. From the fresh chicks to the oldest goats that liked to chew his boots when given the opportunity. He loved them. Loved the farm. It showed in how much work he put into the damn place. How he was up before dawn and asleep way after the sun had set in order to make sure the animals he cared for had the best life he was able to give them.

Dane doesn't particularly mind when Kit doesn't immediately respond. It just gives him a little time to marvel at the strong muscles that pull beneath the fabric of his shirt. It looks so easy for the angel–constantly hauling heavy bags of feed and lugging haybales bigger than Dane. He wonders if it would be that easy for Kit to sweep Dane off his feet–wait, the angel woulda had to carry Dane from his horse to the barn somehow. His face goes red thinking about it. God, he must be hungover. Or drunk. Or delirious from blood loss or something, because he surely isn't thinking straight. Hell, it's quite the opposite. 

"Well, they look mighty happy to see ya'." Dane tilts his head as he watches the animals naturally flock around the farmboy, almost like he's some fairytale princess. "They all do." He laughs as a baby goat–a kid, right?–finds his legs and knocks its little head against his good thigh. Dane smiles, reaching down to scratch the little guy's head before it scrambles off to find its mama. The kid nuzzles against its mama, Dane's stupid heart pulling at the sight. He looks back to Kit, wondering how he can just live on this peaceful place with all these adorable little critters. Dane would be terrified to break the peace. He would be terrified to be the one to ruin this beautiful place with his own stupid knack for finding trouble. 

His hand finds his side, easy to do when he realizes he's been shirtless for the past night. He feels his face goes redder; if Kit ever asks, he'll just admit that he's dreadfully hungover. It wouldn't be, well, entirely a lie, but it would certainly be a hyperbole. Dane hasn't been terribly hungover in years.

"I would hope so considerin' am the one lookin' after 'em every day."

If the animals didn't like him after all that he had done for them after so many years Kit wouldn't lie and say he wouldn't be a bit disappointed. They were his whole life. No one else looked after them, just him. His father was bedbound, his mother was tasked with looking after the house and his dad, there was no one else around to care for the animals even if they wanted to. His siblings certainly wouldn't. Since they had been sent away to their fancy schools half of them didn't want to touch anything farm related. A bit disappointing, but that's what happens when children are sent to upper-class spaces.

So, it was just him and his animals. The chickens that flocked around his feet and pecked at his boots. The goats that liked to headbutt his legs and one another. The pigs that ate far too much. The cows who he loved dearly, and the horses, his babies. As much as he dreamed of a different life, a more exciting life, one away from the farm, the place would always have a spot in his heart no matter where he went or how far away he ended up.

Grabbing another hay bale he kicked one of the hinges of the barn door on his way out, bringing the bale with him as only one of the barn doors remained open. A swift move, difficult with a mass pile of hay, but easy for Kit. He turned to Dane and motioned to follow, lugging the bale to the otherside of the paddock, "You ever worked on a farm?"

Dane… well, Dane is entirely out of his element. He's always been outside, always been running and acting, but nothing… nothing like this. Kit does good, honest work, and he's glad to do it. Dane's work is anything but honest. He gets by through lying and cheating and stealing. Oh, how Kit's impression of Dane would flip once he knows. If he knows. As he follows Kit through the farm, Dane decides that it would be far better if Kit stays ignorant, if Kit never finds out who Dane is. It'll protect the angel from whatever demons seem to find Dane.

"Must be nice having little critters who swarm ya' every damn step you take," Dane laughs, watching his footing as a chick scuttles underneath his boot. He looks up at Kit's question. "Angel, do I look like the type of guy who has worked on a farm before?" His thin limbs, awkward steps, nimble build. "If I'm bein' honest with ya', I couldn't even lift one of 'em hay bales." He gestures to the block of feed comfortably slung right over Kit's shoulder. "No, I've only worked odd jobs my whole life." Which isn't exactly a lie. Odd, by his definition, is getting in trouble and getting his mug plastered on wanted posters all over the town. Kit, luckily, doesn't seem the type to get out much. He doesn't know about Tiger Snipe, the man who has murdered twenty-three people and still knows most of them by name. Tiger Snipe, the man who has a trail of enemies following in his every wake. Tiger Snipe, the man who steals horses and books and rarely anything more. 

Maybe Kit could be the first man to know Dane Casper Elliot as Dane Casper Elliot, not the murdering, lying thief that terrorizes towns in the west. Kit could know that Dane loves whiskey and stories around a midnight fire. Kit could know that Dane hates the texture of tomatoes to the point of gagging. Kit could know that Dane makes up his own, wild stories about cowboy heroes that always manage to outwit the villain in the end. Kit could know it all. But Dane has to stick around for that. Maybe sticking around won't be too bad.

"Will ya' always be on this farm?" Dane asks, swaying on his feet from how the stitches antagonize him.

Kit couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him. No, Dane didn't look like the type of guy who had ever worked on a farm. He was far too scrawny. Sure, he had muscle, and certainly was taller than Kit was, but he didn't have the body of a farm hand. The muscles that came with lifting hay and feed all day. Didn't make him any less attractive in his eyes, a thought that was slowly becoming more and more prominent as he caught glimpses of the man in the morning sun. Those thoughts he would keep locked up tight and far away from his mouth, if he had a choice in anything.

A part of him wanted to ask what Dane deemed as an 'odd job'. It was far too vague for his liking. He could mean anything. Dane didn't look like the type to come from a big city, so he doubted that he would have ever worked any jobs there - and to Kit, most of the jobs in the cities were odd - but out here in the West? Butcher? No, didn't have the build. Not a farmer, established already. Maybe he had run a business for a time? Been a sheriff? It could have been anything under that damn too hot sun. But then he was asking about the farm. About if he was going to be on the farm for the rest of his life. All his thoughts turned to that. Realistically, yes. Yes, he would be on the farm for the rest of his life. He would take it over once his father passed, find someone to marry, have children, raise them to be the next generation of farmers and repeat. The life wasn't appealing. As much as he loved the place. His heart yearned for something more. Something bigger.

"I-" Kit stuttered as he tried to form words. The hay bale was chucked over his shoulder with more force than was necessary, "Yeah- I'll always be 'ere on the farm." He turned to face Dane, and although he tried a smile, it faltered, "C'mon, let's go get you some food. Mama will be awake by now."

Dane stares at Kit as he laughs, shakes his pretty little head, and then looks back up. Hell, if Dane didn't know any better, he might say that that the farm life isn't as grand as he makes it out to be. There's no running out here, but Dane wonders if stationary peace is really as grand as it's made out to be. "I'm lookin' forward to meetin' yer mama," Dane says with a smile. The woman can't be all bad if she raised Kit to be the man he is. Angelic, really. "Hope she's a damn good cook." 

They make their way through the rest of the farm, off to a small white house on top of a pretty little hill. There's a large porch with a rocking chair and a door that's chipping away with the wear of the sun and wind. There are roses, but they're a little unruly, a little blanched from the hot summer days, but still very pretty and worthy of any picture book. 

At the thought of books, Dane finally has the mind to wonder where his bag went. It's full of gold, diaries, and the only picture he has of his own mother. It's cut from a newspaper, her obituary that was released when he was seven years old. It was a small town. News travelled fast about the nurse who died from a fever she caught from a patient, passing it on to her newborn in the process. There's no picture of Dane's little sister. She was too little, just a year old. Dane's just proud of her for fighting off the fever for that long. She lasted six months dreadfully sick. "Do you know where my knapsack went?" Dane asks Kit as they finally get to the house. "I woke up and it was gone." He frowns a little.

The small little white house on the top of the hill was the edge of Kit's world most of the time. The days he travelled into the next town over to sell his stock was as far as he ever ventured. This little home was his life, just as the farm was. It was all he had, all he was supposed to need and want. Kit couldn't help but dream of more, for adventure and to wonder what life outside of this place was like. However, he couldn't deny that the home was a comfort.

Each night he was able to come in from working out in the blazing sun to a delicious home cooked meal from his Mama, sit at the table and talk with her about the day, about his father, learn of any news that might have arrived from his siblings. He could sit around the fire and listen to the crackle of the record player with the soft jazz that his Mama liked, warm by the fire on the cold winter nights. Kit wouldn't be able to have that anywhere else, and he supposed that was why he stayed. Well, that, and the fact that he couldn't leave. Leaving meant abandoning the farm, his life, his parents. It would be the ruin of the farm, and his parents, mainly his Mama, needed to keep it alive in order to keep living.

When they entered the home the sound and smell of bacon was sizzling away in the small kitchen to the right of the entrance. To the left was the living room, decorated with an array of knickknacks and random things that the family had collected over the years. Kit removed his hat and placed it on a hook on the wall, messy brown curls falling in front of his eyes, "Oh, yes, I took it up to my room yesterday," He replied, looking back at Dane for a moment before he moved further into the house, towards the kitchen, "Thought it best to keep it somewhere safe. I didn't snoop, if you're worried, honest."

"Otherwise he would have been fed to the pigs!" His Mama called from the kitchen.

Dane can't help but bark out a laugh at Kit's mother's quick interjection. He quickly covers it with a cough, but all that really accomplishes is a firm ache running through his side. Well, at least now he knows his bag is safe and that there's a breakfast he's about to feast on. It's been months since he's had bacon, and even longer since he's had the chance to sit down and eat a full meal. Dane studies the room, how homey it feels and how lived in it seems. It's a stark contrast to the dusty, messy home he stayed in until he was sixteen, until he was forced out because he fired the bullet that was the catalyst for his whole damn life. The chairs look comfortable, the knicknacks sentimental, and the smell just like the perfect mornings he would dream of. He also looks to Kit, the angel and his hair that falls right into his eyes. How he wants to brush them back for him.

But those are thoughts that have nearly gotten him killed before, so Dane shakes them away and takes a few more hobbling steps into the living room. The screen door shuts behind them. The floor creaks softly as he finds the kitchen. Standing over the stove is Kit's mother and Dane tries not to get sentimental over his own. Dane's mother was kind, but oh-so busy all of the time. She had long shifts at the county hospital and spent even longer at home trying to take care of his dirtbag father. She never had time to cook or clean much, leaving that task mostly up to Dane to take care of.

"I'm Dane Elliot, ma'am," he's quick to introduce himself, taking a step forward with a bowed head and extended hand. "I thank ya' for saving my life yesterday." He smiles and tries not to fully look into her eyes, scared that he'll see her past and she could see his. He clears his throat and takes a step back, taking the time to marvel at the homely kitchen set up around him. "Breakfast smells delicious, ma'am."

Clara turned from where she was stood over the stove top, a worn metal pan positioned over the soft flame that was sizzling with bacon, crispy and ready to be eaten. The woman was short, very much so, it was clear that Kit got his height from his father considering Clara was barely five foot two. She had the same piercing green eyes as her son, and the same soft brown hair that was currently tied back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face while cooking. There were clear smile lines on her face to show her age, but she didn't look a day over forty all things considered, "Oh you can drop the formalities," She said, shaking Dane's hand quickly, "Clara is perfectly fine."

Grabbing a spatula, she transferred the bacon from the stove to a plate, "Really you have Kit to thank for savin' you," She said, turning off the stove, "He carried you, stitched you up, spent ages frettin' over you the poor thing!"

"Mama!" Kit whined, going beat red at that little tidbit of information she had decided to share. He distracted himself by washing his hands, refusing to dare even more than a glance in Dane's direction in case he saw how red his cheeks were. He took a seat at the table, which was covered in fresh toast from homemade bread, some pastries with some sort of berry jam, eggs, and of course, the bacon, with freshly squeezed juice already in glasses for them both.

Clara couldn't help but grin, "Now, wash your hands and take a seat. If you boys eat all this then I'll make sure to bring some more. Oh! and Dane, I'll go fetch you some painkillers, I have no doubt your side is killing you." Moving swiftly, Clara grabbed the plate of bacon and placed it on the table. She ruffled Kit's hair, and it only made him go more red, before hurrying out the room.

Dane studies the woman, feeling almost awkward being nearly a foot taller than her yet feeling so small. He can easily spot what makes her Kit's mother. She got them angel eyes. The smile too. "Sorry, ma'am–Clara–it's a habit." He doesn't like pissing off people he doesn't have to. His father got pissy when Dane didn't respond to everything with "yessir". He's polite when he's not firing a fatal bullet or swiping a year's worth of rent. 

Dane smiles, watching as Kit's face reddens. He definitely ignores the swoop his stomach does imagining Kit worrying over his unconscious body. Sewing him up. Being gentle. Holding Dane's stupid life so carefully in his hands and deciding to save it–Dane swallows the ball forming in his throat and is suddenly hyperaware that he's shirtless, save for the bandages, and his ribs are so clearly on display through his thin skin. God, he's hungry. God, he's desperate for the same sort of security that Kit and his mama share in this pretty little house.

"Yes ma'am," Dane agrees. Alcohol is hardly a good solution. There's no doubt Dane's liver is hating him every damn day for the poison he gives it. He watches Clara scuttle out of the room, chest filled with some sort of achy emotion he does not like. "She's nice," Dane says gently. Dane wonders if his own mother would be so kind when not swamped with work. It hurts that he can't remember what she was like outside of her white uniform dress. Slowly, he cleans his hands beneath the cool water of the sink. There's a photo sitting in the windowsill. Family of seven. The house is awfully quiet for a supposed family of seven. "Do you have siblings?" Dane inquires as he dries his hands on a patterned towel. After staring at the photograph for a few more moments, he finally turns away and takes a seat beside Kit at the pleasant little dining table.

Clara nearly made a comment about the formalities while she hurried out of the room but she didn't. For now, she would let it slide. But at least the stranger that would no doubt be living in her house for a while was polite. Good, it also meant she didn't have to worry about Kit, either. Lord knows the kid could get into trouble when he wanted. Not so much anymore, but it didn't stop the woman from worrying about her eldest son.

Kit started to load up his plate as Dane washed and dried his hands, placing warm toast with butter and jam on his plate, eggs, bacon, and making sure he had enough for five people in order to fill his stomach. He might not have been like Dane and be unable to have a good, full meal every day, but lord knows he was still hungry. All the time. Probably because he worked day in and day out on the farm and only ever stopped to eat. The more energy he had the more he was able to do and get done. And working on a farm meant there was far too much for him to do, especially when he was the only one doing it.

He crunched on a piece of toast and hummed at Dane's question. He swallowed before resting his elbows against the table as he spoke, "Four of 'em," He replied, "Five kids in this family. But they all go to school in the city." A small shrug, "All younger, too. Menaces, the lot of 'em. Maybe they'll come visit while you're 'ere and you could meet 'em." It would be a packed house then if they did. But Kit knew his Mama wanted them home soon. It had been far too long since they had come to visit. Even Kit was starting to miss them.

"All the way in the city?" Dane repeats with a whistle. The chair creaks quietly as he leans back in it. He knows there's a train station nearby, one with a mighty ornery station master that doesn't take too kindly to criminals trying to hitch a ride outta town. "Must be studyin' to be something fancy." Doctors or lawyers or congressmen or something like that. It's kinda funny how different they compare to Kit. The angel. "It'd be nice to meet them." It would be fascinating to play spot the difference between the hoard of siblings, but Dane knows there's no promise of to how long he'll stay. For all he knows, he'll be out of this pleasant little farm as soon as his wound is healed.

Dane carefully studies the array of food displayed across the table. There's a plate in front of him and another in the spot across from him set for Clara. The plate is empty. It could be filled but it almost makes Dane nauseous. God, he's hungry. He's been hungry for weeks now, but he's far too frightened to risk making himself sick. It's happened before–eating until he's dizzy and faint and vomiting over the floor. Living off rice and jerky and alcohol hasn't exactly been the best survival strategy. Carefully, Dane reaches forward and plucks a singular piece of toast from the pile and nibbles at the edge. As soon as he swallows, the hunger pains rack through his body at full force. He takes a larger bite and before he knows it, the piece is gone and he's reaching for another. 

Obviously, he doesn't pack his plate with as much food as Kit, but he opts for a third piece of toast, a few sausage links, and a couple spoonfuls of mixed fruit. Dane doesn't doubt it came straight from the farm, plucked fresh from the orchard. It's when he's reaching for a peach slice does he notice how his hand shakes. Maybe the shock from, y'know, getting shot and all that is finally wearing off.

Kit couldn't help his snort, "Studyin' to be somethin' fancy? Nah," He shook his head, "Well, at least not all of 'em. They're only there because Mama and Papa saved up a shit ton to get 'em there. Wanted the best outcome, y'know?" He munched on his toast with a soft sigh, "Give 'em a better education than the one I got. More opportunities."

It was something that Clara had felt guilty about when it came to her eldest son. They hadn't been able to afford to send Kit off to the city to board when he was their age. They barely had enough money to send the others. But Kit had been fine with the fact that he never got a fancy education, had expressed it enough to try and ease his mother's worries. He didn't need one when his task and job of the family was to take care of the farm. Unlike the others, who, although looked up to Kit as the 'perfect child' wanted to see the big city before they decided what they wanted to do with their lives.

Everything would have been easier if they had been there. At least one of them. Kit had spoken to Otto on multiple occasions about his desire to stay back on the farm and help, but his Mama had shut that conversation down. Kit could still remember her words, claiming Otto was 'ungrateful' for the opportunities he was given that Kit had never got. How he should be glad he wasn't here and was getting a proper education and how when he was an adult he could decide what he wanted then. He was nearly eighteen, and Kit had no doubt the next time he came home he would be staying. Another helping hand would be much appreciated.

Dane listens carefully, taking a few careful bites from his peach slices. He eats them in three bites, saving the middle part for last after he eats each of the ends. Both of Kit's parents worked hard for their kids. They worked and they saved and they prayed for them to have a better future. Momentarily, Dane wonders what life would be like if his dad actually got out of his damn rocking chair and went out to work instead of waste away. The dual income would mean less stress for his mother. Maybe she wouldn't have taken that overtime shift. Maybe she wouldn't have encountered the patient who indirectly killed both her and her infant. Maybe Dane wouldn't've been driven to Dane sets his jaw and drops the middle section of his last peach slice back onto his plate. 

"If you coulda gone, wouldja have?" Dane inquires, raising an eyebrow. He tries to imagine Kit as something other than a farmhand. A banker is laughable. His shoulders are too wide to fit in their little cubicles. He doesn't quite seem to have the authoritative demeanor to go into politics. Maybe something in the business type sector could fit Kit the most, but those men are ruthless devils, always after another pocket of change. The Angel could never do such things. But Dane… Dane just might. After all, how is it much different from what he's done? The Robber Barons steal from their consumers by hiking the prices beyond imaginable. They kill their workers with foul working conditions. The only difference between them and Dane is one has the law and upper class to back them up. The other survives off of old beans and jerky and the kindness of angels. "I think I might've. Probably wouldn't've gotten shot if I wasn't stuck doing odd jobs." Another not-lie. Another not-truth.

Kit took a moment to think about his answer. Would he have gone, if given the opportunity? If Dane had asked that question when he was a teenager he would have said no without a second thought. Back then his only interest had been the farm. He had wanted to stay, to help, to only work on the farm and take care of his parents and the animals he loved so dearly. Since the moment he could walk he had been following his father around the farm and learning everything that he could, well into his tweens, and then his teens. Then his siblings came around, one by one and so close in age compared to him and the others, and then they were being sent into the city. Everything had changed when they had left. And changed again when his father grew sick and then sicker still. Now? Now he couldn't leave, even if he wanted to.

"Dunno," He settled upon softly, "Doesn't matter now anyways, got a farm to tend to." It was the best answer that he could think of.

Regardless, he thanked God that he didn't answer because Clara came back a moment later. The woman hurried into the room with a couple of bottles of pills and sat them in front of Dane, "Right, here you go, dear. Take two of each and the pain should lessen. If you want water instead of juice don't hesitate to grab some." She smiled, then took her own seat and grabbed some toast and fruit of her own.

Dane hums and pokes at his sausage link, unsure if he can really stomach it. He's eaten, what, two pieces of toast and half of a peach. It's more than he's had in a while. He wonders if he still has that half-empty can of beans in his bag. Knowing his luck, it probably all spilled out in his bag when he fell off his horse. Dane side-eyes Kit, trying to figure out exactly what he meant by it doesn't matter. Of course it could matter. Kit could be stuck here, tending honestly to the farm for the rest of his life. Monotonous, quiet, peaceful… Tedious, lonely, boring. 

He's knocked out of his mind when Clara comes bounding into the room with a bottle of medication in hand. "Thank you, ma'am," he says quietly as he reaches for the first bottle. He takes two of each, just as she ordered, and quickly knocks them back without any juice to help them go down. He screws each cap back on carefully and slides them one-by-one to her. Hopefully the medication won't take long, because Dane's hand is shaking even more, and the throbbing is beginning to work its way up to his head. Headaches are the damn worst. Dane looks down to his still half-full plate. Desperately trying to be polite, he finishes his sausage link and tries to not focus on how he can feel it fall in his stomach. He takes a few, careful breaths and blinks away the spots in his vision. He'll be fine. He will be fine. 

Stuck was one word for how Kit felt. Stuck and alone. He had his parents, sure, but they weren't really friends. And did cows really count as friends, too? They couldn't talk back. Couldn't contribute to a conversation. They were a comfort, yes, more than anything did Kit love the comfort he had from his animal friends, but it just wasn't the same. Not the same as having people, or at least one persona round the farm. It was why he loved when his siblings came home. After not seeing each other for months it was always good to catch up and revisit the farm with them. Like having friends again. It never lasted long, because they always had to leave again for the city, but for a short period of time, it was good. If only he was able to make friends.

Kit watched carefully as Dane took the pills and picked at his plate. Worry creased his features, and before he knew it, the young man was placing a hand on Dane's thigh, "You aight?" He asked softly, nerves and concern lighting up those deep green eyes. He noted how the other picked at the food on his plate, hadn't eaten as much as he should have considering his size. He was too skinny. Kit was going to make sure he put some meat on him while he stayed at the farm.

If Clara was concerned she didn't say anything, letting her son take care of it and instead focusing on the food on her plate. The others had eaten, and she still needed to.

The table goes quiet for a moment and Dane finds the silence heavy. He pokes a little more at his food, but it doesn't feel appetizing any longer. And then there's a hand on his thigh–one that halts his mind and sets his heart racing. Dane glances up at Kit with raised eyebrows, to the pretty little angel who's still basked in morning light. It takes his mind a second to catch up to what he could be referencing, but with one look at his plate, Dane's own question is answered. "Oh." He tries a smile. "Yeah, I'm a'ight. I just can't eat much or I get sick." He's done it before. It's far less pleasant than just dealing with the hunger. "It's been a long time since I've had a decent meal." He glances to Clara. "Thank you, again." 

After forcing down just one more peach slice, Dane pushes away his plate. It almost hurts to look at it. He almost feels guilty for not helping Kit eat such a feast. Clara must've spent forever making something like this for Dane, and he can't even summon the stomach to eat it. He knows he's skinny. He knows that he's a little sickly. He knows that his very visible ribs desperately need muscle on them, but how can he eat when food makes him sick? Dane pats at his side, missing the familiar weight of his bag against it. "Sorry to bother, Angel," he says in a low-ish voice. His eyes dart around the small interior of the house, trying to figure out which room could possibly be Kit's. "But could you help me get my bag?"