True North

by HolyFrickenMoly

Summary:

The year is 1889.

Jesse McCall is a cowboy running from his past after a bounty was placed on his head for a murder he had no part in. While traveling, Jesse picks up Truth, a small town preacher literally beaten down after standing up to the sheriff. With no where left to turn, the two of them travel north, out towards Utah and away from any danger that might follow them.

But Jesse underestimates just how bad people want Truth dead, how harsh the desert can be, and how much his and the preacher's relationship could change while on their journey.

Chapter 1

      The wind howled across the barren plains, kicking up clouds of dust that swirled in the midday heat. The town of Dry Creek, barely more than a handful of sagging buildings and crumbling wooden fences, seemed as weather-beaten as the land around it. The sun hung low in the sky, a pitiless ball that made every shadow seem longer, every step more labored, and every breath burn in the lungs. The desert stretched endlessly in every direction, as if the land had given up all hope of ever being tamed.

      Jesse McCall rode slowly as he made his way towards town, the rhythmic clip of his horse's hooves the only sound to break the silence. His eyes scanned the horizon with practiced caution. He wasn't a man who trusted places like this, not anymore.

      Dry Creek's name was quite literal. It had once bustled with hundreds of people looking for drinkable water in the dry, harsh desert. But now, it sat half abandoned. The only thing alluding to its past were a few signs with the name "Fresh Creek" painted high on long abandoned buildings.

      Jesse had never seen the town when it was in its prime. He was too young, out East. 

      Jesse didn't need to look twice to know trouble had taken root here. It was in the way the buildings leaned on each other for support, the drawn and gaunt faces of the few souls that dared to venture into the streets, and the quiet that clung to the place like a death rattle. But it wasn't the town that caught his attention, not at first. It was the figure slumped in the dirt a half-mile from the first building in town. He lay on his front, blood pooling under his face.

      A preacher.

      Dressed in a faded black coat and pants to match it. The man was too thin, too broken, and from the way his body was bent at an unnatural angle, Jesse could tell he'd been beaten within an inch of his life. The town's cruelty was palpable, and Jesse had seen enough to recognize when someone had been broken down by more than just physical pain.

      Jesse dismounted without a word. He knew enough to recognize a man on the brink of dying, and he wasn't about to let another soul go without at least one chance at redemption, even if it was just in the form of a quicker death. His hand went to his gun as he approached.

      Jesse had been through Dry Creek a number of times, but not once could he remember them ever having a preacher. He supposed he never quite paid attention to that aspect of life. He wasn't a religious man. Never was. But, something about this preacher, laid out so close, yet so far from town, beat, broken, starving made a cold chill run up Jesse's spine.

      The preacher's eyes flickered open, his eyes immediately darted to Jesse in a way thst told him he was certainly expecting someone else. The whites of his eyes stark against the dirt and blood smeared on his face. His lips parted, but it took him a moment to find his voice. When he did, his words came out in a strained rasp.

      "Help me," he whispered.

      Jesse knelt down beside him, scanning the preacher's injuries. The man was breathing shallowly, his face pale under the dust and blood. It was clear he'd been struck by more than fists. There were bruises blooming under the dirt and blood that looked like they had been made by the heavy hand of a man who knew nothing of mercy. Multiple boot marks lined the back of his coat, stomped hard into place. From his glance over the preacher's body, it didn't look like he was shot. Whoever had done this wanted it to hurt, they wanted the preacher to suffer.

      "Can you stand?" Jesse asked, his eyes still scanning the man's body up and down. If the man could talk and move, he wasn't worth putting out of his misery. It'd be a long road to recovery, but he'd most certainly live.

      The preacher's gaze met his, and there was a flicker of something. Suspicion, maybe, or the recognition of a man without malice in his body towards a stranger in need. Either way, the man nodded weakly.

      "I'll get you out of here," Jesse said, lifting the preacher to his feet, his body trembling under the effort. There was no time to waste considering there was also no telling who'd be back to finish the job.

      Jesse wrapped his fingers into the lead of his horse, and made the slow walk into Dry Creek.

      As they moved through the streets, Jesse couldn't help but notice the way the townsfolk turned their heads. The few who stood in doorways or leaned out of windows didn't dare to make eye contact, and the whole town seemed to shrink back in the presence of him. Or, far more likely, the preacher. 

      It wasn't just fear that hung in the air; it was something darker, something resentful. Jesse had been in towns like this before. Places where one man's misfortune became the whole town's burden, where everyone knew the story but no one dared to speak it.

      Jesse knew it too well. His own past had marked him, too. Infamous only a few miles away for crimes he never committed, he'd learned the hard way that men didn't get to choose how the world saw them. The men above him did.

      But what had a preacher done to deserve such hate? There was hardly anyone who could stand above a towns preacher. They were the most trusted of men in town.

      The thought gnawed at Jesse as he guided the preacher toward the nearest boarding house. The preacher was quiet as Jesse helped him inside. He was too far gone to have any control over his movements, hanging limp in Jesse's grip. His shoes scraped along the wood clumsily.

      Jesse threw down enough coin to cover the both of them for two nights, and the woman behind the counter scowled at them like she didn't want either of them holing up in her house. But Jesse was paying her, so she wouldn't say a damn thing, he knew that for a fact.

      She slid him a key, and Jesse followed the key's engraving around the corner and into a little room. It was a room only meant to hold one, maybe two if they were close enough. They certainly were not, and Jesse supposed he's be the one giving up his space for the preacher's own comfort.

      He settled the preacher into the bed before grabbing the water basin balancing on the edge of a small table. It was hard to see the extent of the preacher's facial injuries with blood and dirt caked over him.

      Jesse closed the door behind himself as he made his way out of the room. He headed out, and around the side of the building. Bothering the lady at the front seemed like a bad idea, so he figured he'd just find the water pump himself. And he did find it, tucked away on the back side of the building. He pumped it a few times before hauling the basin up into his arms and heading back inside.

      The woman eyed him carefully. And Jesse did his best to ignore her. She wasn't worth his time.

      Once back up in the room, Jesse patted himself down for his bandana before finding it in his jacket's pocket. He soaked the bandana thoroughly, squeezing it out a few times before deeming it good enough to wipe the preacher's face down with.

      The preacher's hands trembled when Jesse pressed the cloth to his face. His eyes fluttered open again, and his gaze locked onto Jesse's with something akin to relief.

      "You're not... like him, are you?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

      Jesse hesitated before answering, his hand stilling as he wiped away the dirt from the preacher's cheek. "No," he said simply. Jesse wasn't exactly sure who the 'he' the preacher mentioned was, but he could certainly take a guess.

      But even as Jesse glanced down at the man before him, he couldn't shake the question that kept rattling around in his mind. What had this preacher done to earn such contempt? Something had happened, something dark. And as much as he wanted to ignore it, something told him that he was bound to learn the answer, one way or another.

      Once most of the blood, dirt and sweat was off the preacher's face, Jesse paused, taking in his injuries. A black eye. A busted lip. A crooked nose. Though, Jesse supposed those would heal in time. Whatever was under his clothes was likely much worse.

      The room was quiet, save for the occasional creak of floorboards. Dust hung thick in the air and across the furniture, Jesse could run his finger through it on the bedside table.

      The preacher lay motionless on the narrow bed, breath shallow and face pale beneath the bruises and what little dried blood he couldn't get off.

      Jesse sat beside him, arms crossed over his chest, watching the man's chest rise and fall in a way like he was threatening to stop breathing altogether. His eyes had slowly closed in the silence of the room.

      The man was dying. It was easy to see, but Jesse would try his damndest to keep air in his lungs and his heart beating.

      But Jesse also knew better than to linger. Word traveled fast out here, faster than a man's boots could carry him. If the man who'd done this was still close, and Jesse figured they likely were, they wouldn't hesitate to finish what they'd started. And Jesse knew he couldn't walk away. What sort of man would he be to drag this preacher from the dirt, patch him up, then leave him to face that devil alone?

      Jesse sighed and leaned back in the stiff wooden chair. His hand drifted to the worn grip of his pistol, fingers resting there like it would reassure him and quell the anxiety that was starting to rise in his mind. It was the one old friend he could turn to.

      "Best rest while you can," Jesse muttered, staring at the preacher. "Might not get the chance later." He rose and stretched, joints popping like dry twigs.

      His stomach shortly reminded him it had been too long since his last meal, so he made his way downstairs.

      The common room of the boarding house was lively, but it wasn't loud. Not the way a common place like that should have been. The room was full enough. Men in worn hats and patched clothes hunched over their drinks, a few women clustered in a corner talking low, but the air felt heavy. Conversations happened in murmurs, voices low like folks in unison knew something they weren't supposed to talk about. Jesse knew a room like this. Knew the feeling of fear being swallowed down with whiskey.

      He stepped to the counter. "Two bowls," he told the woman behind it.

      The barkeep, another severe-faced woman with hair pinned tight and lines etched deep into her face, barely gave him a glance. But Jesse caught the way her eyes flicked toward the rooms behind him before she reached for the ladle.

      "You shouldn't've brought that preacher in," she said without turning. Her voice was low, cold. "Should've left him to die where he lay."

      Jesse tensed. "Don't reckon that's for me to decide."

      The woman filled the bowls, setting them down hard enough for some of the broth to slosh over the edges. "We don't need a man like that stirring up trouble. It finds this town easy enough without someone calling it down on our heads."

      "I'm just getting him on his feet," Jesse said evenly. "Don't plan on sticking around."

      "You'd best see to that." Her voice dropped even lower. "If you're wise, you'll take him when you go. And if you're not wise..." Her eyes locked onto his. "You'd be better off putting a bullet in him now."

      Jesse stared at her, unsure if she was threatening him or trying to do him a kindness. Either way, he said nothing. Just picked up the bowls and turned back for the stairs.

      The preacher was awake when Jesse returned, or half-awake at least. His head shifted slightly on the pillow, eyes flicking to Jesse beneath heavy lids.

      "Where..." His voice came rough and cracked, like gravel grinding under a wagon wheel. "Where am I?"

      "Boarding house," Jesse said at first as he set the bowls on the rickety nightstand. "Dry Creek," he then clarified more.

      The preacher stirred again, trying and failing to sit up. His face twisted with pain, and Jesse pressed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

      "You need to stay put for now," Jesse warned. "Got you some food, but you'll need a clear head if you're gonna eat it."

      "No... no, I can't stay here." The preacher's breath quickened, his gaze turning wild. "He- they'll all come for me..."

      "Easy," Jesse said, pressing him back down. "Nobody's coming up those stairs without me knowing about it."

      The preacher's panic didn't ease much, but he stopped fighting. Instead, he lay back, chest rising and falling like a man expecting the gallows to come crashing down at any moment.

      "What's your name?" the preacher asked suddenly, his voice quieter now.

      "Jesse McCall," Jesse said. "And you?"

      The preacher hesitated. His gaze drifted toward the window, as if the answer was out there somewhere.

      "Truth," he said at last.

      "Truth?" Jesse's brow furrowed. "That can't be all of it."

      The preacher's lips twitched. "It's all you need to know."

      Jesse huffed. "Well, Truth..." He grabbed one of the bowls and set it carefully in the preacher's lap. "I brought you some stew."

      Truth's hands trembled as he reached for the bowl. His fingers were thin, skin stretched too tight over the bones. It took him a moment to get a steady hold.

      "Thank you," he whispered.

      Jesse sat down in the old chair, pulling the second bowl into his lap. The legs creaked under his weight, and he shifted to keep it from tipping.

      Truth bowed his head and muttered a quiet prayer over his food. Jesse didn't bother doing the same. He wasn't the praying type, but he kept his head low anyway out of respect.

      When Truth finished, Jesse took a slow bite of his stew. It was thin and salty, but warm enough to take the edge off the chill seeping through the walls as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains.

      "You'll need to eat slow," Jesse muttered between bites. "Reckon you've been too long without."

      Truth nodded weakly. His spoon clinked against the side of the bowl as he stirred the broth, and for a while, the room was filled with nothing but the quiet sounds of two men sharing a meal.

      Jesse kept his mind on his gun the whole time.

Notes:

So, I suppose I'm going to post this here too. This is cross posted from my Wattpad and I want it to have the same upload schedule, which is every week between Friday-Sunday. I just wanted to post this here incase Wattpad randomly hates me one day and gives me the boot. Also I just love having author's notes here. Wattpad doesn't :(

I have, like, 15 chapters posted on Wattpad so if you desperately need to know where this goes ---->>> Wattpad Account

I'm open to criticism with this story, so PLEASE tell me if you see anything that needs to be fixed grammar wise, flow wise, ect.

Chapter 2

      Jesse had never been a man to spook easy, but the past night had certainly tested him. He wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but every creak of the floorboards, every distant voice muffled by the thin walls set his hand twitching toward the gun at his side. More than once, he'd sat bolt upright in his chair, staring at the door, certain that any moment the handle would turn and someone would come to finish what they'd started with the preacher.

      Worse still was the sound of Truth's breathing. Or more specifically, moments when there wasn't any sound at all. Each time the preacher's chest rose too slow, or his breath rasped just a little too thin, Jesse sat up, half-expecting to find the man cold and still.

      But, when Jesse's eyes opened that next morning, he found Truth awake, staring at him from the bed. Not moving, just watching. Truth survived. A surprise, Jesse had to admit, though the thought was morbid.

      Jesse blinked blearily, squinting and shaking his head. "You always wake folks this way?"

      "Just... thinking." he rasped, his throat sounded raw. He blinked slowly, like he was already threatening to fall asleep again.

      Jesse straightened in his chair, rolling his stiff shoulders. "Hope you weren't thinking too hard. Don't seem like you're in much condition for it."

      Truth's smile faded, but his voice held steady. "Thank you," he said.

      "For what?"

      "For saving my life," Truth said. "Ain't nobody out here would've done that. Not for me."

      Jesse scoffed. "Well, don't go around thinkin' I'm somebody." he groaned a little as he stood from the chair he'd forced himself to sleep in all night.

      "Well," Truth said, "You're somebody to me." 

      Jesse didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't used to gratitude. Never thought he'd done anything to deserve it. He cleared his throat as he walked around the bed and grabbed the two empty bowls from the nightstand, stacking them together. He glanced down at Truth, studied the way his cheekbones sank and his coat pooled around his body.

      "You're awful skinny," Jesse muttered off-handedly, more to fill the silence than anything.

      "That's what happens when folks won't sell you bread." Truth gave a dry chuckle, though there wasn't much humor in it. 

      That made Jesse pause. "You telling me they were starving you out?"

      "They tried," Truth said, his voice low. "A man's stomach can go longer than most folks figure. Long as there's water."

      Jesse let out a bitter laugh. "The town pastor is a pariah. Guess I've seen stranger things."

      "There's nothing strange about it," Truth said. His eyes turned hard. Not angry, just tired, like a man who'd fought too long to waste energy on rage anymore. "I said things they didn't want to hear. That's enough to turn a man into a leper out here."

      Jesse turned the bowls over in his hands. It didn't sit right with him, knowing these folks had tried to kill the preacher slow instead of finishing the job outright. Starving a man was worse than a bullet. It was more deliberate, more cruel, more tactile.

      "How'd you feel about riding?" Jesse asked.

      Truth blinked. "I've never done such a thing. I walked and wagoned my way out west."

      "You're gonna have to learn."

      "You figure I'm fit for that?" Truth asked, and Jesse could hear the reservation in his voice. Riding a horse would be near torture; bony hands, bruised ribs, a body that seemed like it could fold in on itself if the wind hit too hard.

      "Doesn't matter," Jesse said. "You might not have a choice."

      Truth exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, almost a sigh. "You planning to carry me on your back if I can't?"

      "No," Jesse said. "But I was told to take you with me or kill you." His voice was flat, his face drawn into a neutral expression. He wanted to prove to Truth he wasn't joking when he spoke.

      And yet somehow Truth was still finding the humor in it. "And what? Couldn't find it in your heart to kill me?" He scoffed. 

      "Not when you have a fair shot at living."

      The room went quiet after that. Not the sort of heavy, watchful quiet that settled into him the night before, but something more like hesitation. Like both men were waiting for the other to say what came next.

      Still holding the bowls, fidgeting with them in his hands, Jesse lingered near the bed. Waiting.

      "You said we'd be leaving?" Truth asked at last.

      "Tomorrow night," Jesse replied. "I'd leave sooner, but I figure slipping out after dark gives us a better head start."

      Truth nodded faintly. "Then I'll go with you," he said. "Don't know if I'll make it far... but if you'll take me, I'll try not to complain too much."

      Jesse nodded once, satisfied.

      "You'll do fine," Jesse muttered, more to himself than to Truth.

      But as he stood there he found himself wondering just how long Truth's strength would hold, and if whatever the preacher had done to deserve this would come riding after them.

      Jesse was quiet when he finally made his way out of the room and around the corner. The boarding house was just as silent, save for the old wood groaning under his weight and glasses dragging over table tops.

      When he made it to the bar, he slid the bowls over to the older lady. She scowled at him, and Jesse figured it was for the best that he didn't ask for anything from her. He thought she might start poisoning them.

      After returning back to the room, Jesse packed slow. He didn't see much sense in hurrying, they wouldn't be leaving until nightfall. And besides, Truth was drifting in and out of sleep again. Jesse figured the man needed the rest.

      The room wasn't much but still, Jesse managed to scrape together what he could. He claimed an old wool blanket from the foot of the bed and another from the wardrobe. Both were musty, but they'd keep out the cold. In the bottom drawer, he found a shirt and a pair of trousers, stiff and yellowed with age but wearable enough.

      "You're not much for honesty, are you?" Jesse heard from behind him as he folded the wool blanket over his arm. Jesse turned. Truth's eyes were half-open, his voice dry.

      "I ain't stealing," Jesse said with a shrug, knowing he was committing two sins as he stared down the preacher. "I'm packing light for two men, one of whom can't ride."

      "Well, if you're robbing this room blind, check and see if some poor disillusioned soul left a Bible around here." Truth gave a weak chuckle, barely more than a breath. 

      "Don't need one," Jesse muttered as he rolled the second blanket. "I've heard enough sermons to last me a lifetime, and a preacher as my brand new riding partner."

      "Not the same as readin' it for yourself."

      Jesse ignored that. Instead, he hooked the rolled blankets to his saddlebag and started checking his pistol, making sure it was fully loaded. For a while, neither man said anything. Jesse finished packing what little they had, before he leaned against the small table pushed up under the window, arms crossed.

      "How old are you?" Jesse asked, more to fill the silence than out of real curiosity.

      "Thirty-six," Truth said.

      Jesse blinked. "No, you ain't."

      "Swear to it," Truth said, a faint smile tugging at his split lip.

      "Well..." Jesse shook his head. "You look older."

      "Starving and a beating will do that to you."

      Jesse grunted. "I'm thirty-four, last I can remember." Jesse said.

      Truth didn't miss a beat, "You look it." He nodded faintly.

      It wasn't a compliment, nor was it meant to be. Jesse knew he looked hard and worn, the lines around his eyes, the faint scars that lined his jaw, his unkempt beard, the way his shoulders never quite relaxed. A man didn't run from the law without it wearing on him.

      "You got family?" Jesse asked.

      "Had," Truth said softly. "My folks are long gone. My brother too."

      "That so?"

      "Yeah," Truth murmured. "You?"

      Jesse shifted against the wall, crossing one boot over the other. "Just a sister. Lives back east." He paused. "Haven't seen her in years."

      Truth's gaze lingered on him a moment longer than Jesse liked. "She know you're out here?"

      "No," Jesse said, voice low. "Best she don't."

      The conversation drifted after that, settling into long stretches of silence broken only by the occasional muttered question. Places they'd been, places they'd wanted to go, odd jobs they'd had as children, what days were like out in the desert, and how long Truth had lived in town. But, Jesse never asked the one question burning at the back of his mind: why Truth had been left to die in the dust, beaten near to death and unwanted by the very people he was meant to guide. Whatever the answer was, Jesse doubted he'd like it.

      In the quiet, Truth's eyes kept closing. He'd start to drift, then jerk awake, as though some part of him thought, or more so knew it wasn't safe to sleep too deep. Jesse let him go, keeping himself quiet until the preacher was out cold.

      There was a part of this whole situation that nagged at Jesse more than he cared to admit as he watched Truth sleep. If they wouldn't sell to the man and wouldn't let him work or eat, where had he been sleeping? A preacher with nothing. No money, no friends, no home. Jesse knew what that kind of life did to a man, how fast it could turn him to begging or worse.

      It turned Jesse's stomach a little. He'd seen men tortured before, men who deserved it, men who didn't. But there was something colder about this, something uglier. To let a man starve, to shut every door in his face and let him rot on the streets. And all because of what? Something he'd preached? Something they'd refused to hear? Something he'd said or something he'd done?

      Jesse thought of all those townsfolk, sitting in that dead silent saloon, sipping their whiskey with their eyes down, pretending they weren't complicit in something rotten.

      It was evil. There was no other word for it.

      "You ever preach on forgiveness?" Jesse asked suddenly.

      Truth's eyes cracked open again, "I used to," he said, voice hoarse.

      "Still believe in it?"

      Truth smiled faintly, tired and broken. "I'd better." He shifted slightly on the bed, wincing. "Reckon I'll have to forgive a lot of folks if I want to make peace."

      Jesse shook his head. "Better man than me."

      "You don't believe in forgiveness?"

      "Maybe," Jesse's fingers tapped idly on his holster. "But there's some things a man can't walk away from."

      Truth's smile faded, but he didn't argue. He just closed his eyes again, settling into the pillow like a man too worn out to fight anything anymore, even against his own thoughts.

      Jesse sat back down, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms. He sat like that for a while before the position his arms were in loosened, his right hand sliding down to his pistol. He ran his thumb down the grip, it had been worn smooth.

If trouble came, he'd be ready. 

 

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      The afternoon dragged on in quiet stretches where Truth drifted in and out of sleep and Jesse sat by the window, watching the street. The town still seemed quieter than it should've been, even with such few occupants. Few people moved between the squat wooden buildings, and those that did kept their heads down. Jesse didn't like it at all.

      Jesse took a moment, one where Truth seemed exceptionally deep in sleep, to go into town. He kept his head low and his hat pushed even lower as he made his way through the boarding house, keeping his eyes glued on the door and away from the older ladies that ran the place.

      He hated leaving Truth in a place where someone could easily go into their shared room and finish him off, but Jesse knew he wouldn't be long.

      Finding the livery stable was easy. Jesse had seen it a number of times on his ride through, but he'd never stopped. He had no need, really, one horse was all he could afford to take care of. But, if he was going to be attempting to bring Truth with him, then he'd need an extra horse. If Truth made the trip, if he survived, it would just be easier than setting him up behind him every day.

      The livery was old and worn, repairs had likely stopped once most of the town's inhabitants left for places with easier access to water. The back half of the building was sagging to the point no horses could be housed in the last two stalls and most of the wood posts were rotted. Jesse wondered how the entire place hadn't collapsed in on itself.

      Jesse had a dollar in his hand as he walked into the stable. Any horse would do, and that's what he told the man tending to them. He lied, saying he'd only need the horse for two days. The man didn't blink an eye at that, and Jesse walked out with a roan.

      The mare was a bit narrow chested, but she would do. All the horse had to do was walk and be well tempered, and she fit both needs.

      By the time Jesse got back to the room, evening bled across the sky, streaking it in pinks and golds.

      "Time to go," Jesse muttered. He shook Truth awake gently, mindful of the injuries that lined his body.

      Truth stirred, blinking slow and groggy. He winced as he tried to sit up.

      "Easy," Jesse warned, moving to help him. "I ain't about to carry you."

      "You sure?" Truth asked dryly as Jesse hoisted him upright. "Seem strong enough."

      "Don't test me." Jesse said quickly, but there was no bite to it.

      They moved slowly. Jesse kept Truth steady as they shuffled down the narrow hall. The lady at the front desk barely glanced up when they passed, but Jesse caught the way the other woman behind the bar's gaze followed them, sharp and watchful. Jesse thought if he didn't have Truth with him as he left, the woman herself would have smothered the preacher in his sleep.

      Jesse kept one hand loose near his holster as they stepped out into the street.

      The air was cooled but the temperature was still dropping, and the evening shadows stretched long across the dirt road. Jesse's horse was tied up beside the roan. They looked like severe opposites. Jesse's mare was black and muscular from constant travel, where Truth's new horse had a light coat and was thin, not from a lack of food but from a lack of turnout. Jesse supposed their steeds fit them both, in some way.

      "You ever sat on a horse before?" Jesse asked.

      Truth shook his head. "No, but I can figure it out."

      "That's what worries me."

      Jesse helped him up, easing him into the saddle like a man lowering a full sack of grain onto thin ice. And Jesse thought Truth might weigh even less than a sack of grain. He hated to think what he might look like under all of his clothing.

      Truth hissed in pain and shifted, but he didn't complain. Jesse climbed into his own saddle and guided the roan's reins into Truth's hands.

      "Hold those," Jesse muttered. "Don't let her get too far behind me." Truth nodded faintly, gripping the reins like they might wiggle free. "Stay close," Jesse warned.

      They rode slow at first, cutting down the back streets where the dark was thicker. Jesse kept his hat low over his eyes, scanning every doorway and alley. Most folks ignored them, but he caught a few glances. Narrowed eyes peering through shutters and figures shifting in door frames.

      The town wasn't falling asleep as quickly as he'd hoped it would.

      They reached the edge of Dry Creek just as the last bit of light was fading. The desert stretched wide before them, rolling away into endless darkness. Jesse nudged his horse forward, and Truth followed.

      For the first mile, neither man spoke.

      Jesse kept his hand near his gun, fully expecting hoofbeats to come pounding up behind them. But all he heard was their own, slow, steady, alone. The air smelled dry and dead.

      The night deepened, and the wind picked up, rustling low through the brush.

      "I told them things they didn't want to hear," Truth said at last. His voice was soft, like he wasn't sure if he wanted Jesse to hear it at all. "About the sheriff. Told them him and the men he rode with were wicked and corrupt... said a town that let itself be ruled by such men was headed straight for ruin."

      It took a moment for Jesse to understand what he was saying. Letting the words wash over him. Finally, Jesse responded, "Guess they didn't take kindly to that."

      "They didn't," Truth said. "I told them it wasn't just their town at stake. Said they were damning themselves. Told them God would hold them all accountable."

      Jesse couldn't help but laugh dryly. "That'll do it."

      "I thought it was the right thing," Truth murmured. "Still think it was." Jesse would have been fine staying quiet after that, but Truth posed a question Jesse couldn't ignore. "You figure I deserved it?"

      Jesse glanced sideways to look at Truth, but face was shadowed. "No," Jesse said. "I've seen men take a beating for what they deserved. That wasn't it."

      Truth was quiet for a long while after that. The only sound was the wind pushing against them and the creak of leather as the horses moved. Jesse wasn't sure if his words reassured him, or if Truth just couldn't bring himself to speak anymore.

      They rode on, the silence falling heavy between them.

      The last flicker of Dry Creek's light had long since vanished behind them. Even the faintest glow had shrunk to nothing, swallowed by the dark. Now, there was only the desert. Vast, empty, and cold. The wind dragged low across the earth, biting at their faces as it swept up from the legs of the horses, up their boots, and over them.

      Jesse pulled his collar high and tipped his hat low, but the cold found a way to creep in anyway. His fingers felt stiff where they gripped the reins. He hated to think about how far the cold was eating into Truth. He wore a jacket, but if Jesse was freezing through his he was sure the preacher was ice cold.

      They rode on until the cold sank in deep enough that Jesse felt it was worth stopping. He pulled up on his horse's reins and the mare slowed to a halt. Truth's horse stopped beside him, snorting softly in the cold.

      Truth turned his head, looking at Jesse through tired, narrow eyes. Almost suspicious, like he thought Jesse might finally be giving up on him. Might have suddenly decided to just do Truth the overdue service of being put down like a dog.

      "What're we stopping for?" Truth asked. Jesse watched as the preacher curled in on himself, his face drawn in a way that Jesse couldn't tell if the pain or the cold was bothering him more.

      "You good to keep riding?" Jesse asked.

      Truth shifted in his saddle, trying to look more solid than he was. "Right as rain."

      Jesse snorted, twisting in his saddle, moving to rummage through his pack. One of the wool blankets came loose in his fingers, still smelling faintly of dust and stale wood. He shook it out before he held it toward Truth.

      "Here," Jesse muttered.

      Truth blinked at it for a moment, then reached out with both hands. He winced as his body protested the stretch, but he said nothing as he wrapped the blanket tight around his shoulders.

      Jesse nudged his horse forward again, and Truth's roan followed.

      The desert continued to stretch wide and empty before them, endless miles of dry earth and sparse brush. The stars above gleamed cold and sharp, like pinpricks in black cloth. The moon no help as it waned into a thin bow, making it hard to see most obstacles in front of them until they were right on it. The wind continued, dragging sand across the trail, scouring the ground.

      Jesse looked back, and Truth and his horse were nothing but a thick black outline against the deep blue sky.

      "We'll hit town just after dawn," Jesse said. "Can hole up there for a few days. Not many folks know my face there, and surely no one'll know yours."

      "Could stay longer," Truth said. "If it's quiet."

      "Maybe," Jesse agreed. "But I wouldn't count on it."

      The cold dug deeper, the air dry enough to burn the back of Jesse's throat. His mouth was too gritty to even attempt to wet the dryness growing down into his lungs. 

      "Why are you out here?" Truth asked after a while. "Man like you... seems like you'd be settled on a ranch or something. Got a wife. Some land. Something steady."

      Jesse kept his gaze ahead. "Had been the plan," he said carefully. "Did ranch work for a while." He paused. "Things happened. Wasn't right for me." he shook his head, even though he was sure Truth wasn't able to see him at all.

      Truth shifted in the saddle again, the leather groaning slightly under what weight he did have. "So you hit the desert?"

      "Seemed the only thing left to do."

      Truth hummed quietly, like he was mulling that over. "You're on the run from something."

      "I never said that."

      "You didn't have to."

      Jesse let out a dry scoff. "Maybe I just like the desert."

      "Maybe," Truth said. His voice was dry, but there was no judgment in it.

      A long silence followed. Their horses slow and steady along the hard-packed earth. Jesse kept glancing behind them, scanning the dark for movement.

      Nothing.

      Simply sand and darkness.

      Silence.

      "You could head west," Truth said suddenly. "Out to California."

      "Don't know my way too well," Jesse admitted. "I'm not from out here. Came west few years ago. Never learned the land much."

      "Could still try, I hear San Francisco's nice. Sacramento too." Truth said.

      "Don't care much for cities," Jesse replied. "I've heard enough about San Francisco. I'd rather stay out here."

      Truth chuckled, faint and dry. "You'd rather freeze in the desert?"

      "Better than being boxed in."

      Truth shook his head. "Then we should head north. Utah maybe, or farther up like Idaho or Wyoming. Could find a place near the border."

      Jesse let out a low laugh. "You're talking like you're in it for the long haul.”

      Truth's smile faded, but there was something firm in his voice when he answered. "I am," he said. "If you'd let me."

      Jesse glanced at him, really looking this time as their horses settled into pace with each other. The man was still pale, face drawn and hollowed out. The blanket sat crooked on his shoulders, and his hands barely seemed strong enough to hold the reins.

      "You sure?" Jesse asked. "Might not be easy."

      "Nothing's been easy for a long time," Truth said. "But I figure sticking with you beats getting left for dead in another town."

      Jesse shook his head, amused despite himself. "Well," he said. "Far as you can ride, I'll take you."

      "That's all I can ask," Truth murmured.

      They rode on, horses plodding along steadily. The wind had calmed to little more than a whisper, but the air still cut like a knife. Their breath curled in faint, silver trails, fading fast in the chill. Jesse didn't look back. Whatever was behind them, he figured they'd face it when it came.

      For now, they had miles of cold desert ahead.

      Truth was slumped low in the saddle, his head dipping every few steps. His horse had slowed to a sluggish pace, more from her rider's weariness than her own. Jesse kept one eye on him, watching the way Truth's shoulders sagged beneath the blanket.

      "You still with me?" Jesse asked.

      Truth grunted. A sound that barely shaped into language.

      "Come on," Jesse urged, nudging his horse closer. "You can't fall asleep now."

      "I ain't asleep," Truth mumbled, barely lifting his head.

      "Sure," Jesse muttered. "And I'm a banker."

      He rode even closer, settling his mare in step beside the roan, nearly shoulder to shoulder. If Truth wasn't going to keep his horse moving, Jesse figured he'd at least match his pace.

      "Tell me where you're from."

      Truth gave a tired sigh, words slow and sticky. "I told you that already."

      "Tell me again."

      "Kansas," he mumbled. "Outside a town called Topeka. You'd never heard of it."

      "No." Jesse said, "I hadn't."

      Truth gave a breathy laugh at that, short but real. His head drooped again almost immediately.

      "Hey," Jesse called sharply. "Don't go drifting off."

      "I'm not," Truth slurred.

      "Yeah, you are," Jesse muttered. He thought for a moment, then tried again.

      "You got family back in Topeka?"

      "You know I don't," Truth mumbled. His words were slower now, heavier. "Had a brother... passed a few years back. Mother and father too. They were such good people."

      Jesse grimaced. The conversation wasn't helping. "Alright," Jesse said, forcing some life into his tone. "What about something else? You like cards? Dice?" Truth didn't answer right away. Jesse glanced over, half-worried he'd slipped under entirely.

      "Not a gambler," Truth muttered at last. "Never have been. Don't think I'd be too good at it either way."

      "What about books?" Jesse asked, reaching for anything now.

      "I read," Truth mumbled.

      "Yeah? What kind?"

      "Bible mostly, I know a lot of it like the back of my hand." Truth said. "Some penny novels, when I could get 'em."

      "What's your favorite?"

      "Didn't have a favorite," Truth slurred. His voice was so thin now Jesse almost couldn't hear him anymore.

      "You've gotta stay awake," Jesse said, sharper this time. "Few more hours, that's all. You sleep now, you'll fall right off that horse or freeze to death. Neither's a good way to go."

      "I'm not falling asleep," Truth reiterated, muttering weakly. Jesse didn't argue, but he knew the man was lying.

      "Alright," Jesse said, louder now. "Tell me this, if we make it north... if we get to Utah or Wyoming, Idaho, wherever, you gonna start preaching again?"

      Truth shifted slightly in the saddle, like Jesse's words had shaken something loose in him. "Course I will. What do you take me for? A heathen?" Truth said, his voice faintly stronger.

      "You sure?"

      "It's all I'm worth." 

      "Don't say that," Jesse muttered.

      "It's true," Truth said. "Got no other skills. No hobbies. Couldn't fix a fence or mend a wagon if you held a gun to my head. I'm about as good as a lame horse when it comes to anything but socializing and preaching."

      "Well," Jesse said, "you're real good at taking a beating." Truth chuckled dryly. A weak sound, but still warm somehow. Jesse shook his head. "Once you're patched up, I'll teach you whatever you need," he said. "Riding, shooting, fixing a wagon. Whatever you want to know."

      Truth sighed, his head hanging low. "You really would've made some rancher's daughter a fine husband," he muttered. "Patient man like you... world could use more of that."

      His head stayed down after that, eyes low, watching the ground.

      Jesse's gaze lingered on him for a long moment. The moon was thin, but just bright enough that at such close proximity it wasn't hard to see the tired lines carved into Truth's face. For all the slurred words and lazy posture, Jesse could tell Truth was still awake, eyes half-lidded but fixed on the ground, watching it pass slow beneath him.

      And something tugged at Jesse's chest, sharp and strange. The things Truth had said, Jesse didn't know what to make of them. Nobody ever called him patient before. Nobody ever said he was good for much of anything except trouble.

      Jesse swallowed hard and turned his eyes back to the trail ahead.

      "Few more hours," he muttered. "Just a few more."

      The wind whispered low across the desert, stirring up dust that clung to their horses coats, to their jackets and hair. Still they rode on, cold and tired but still moving forward.

Notes:

Ick, they love each other already and don't even recognize it.

Jesse is always too nice for his own good, he knows helping Truth puts his life on the line (supply wise and having to watch him and make sure he doesn't die), but he's too stubborn to let him go when he thinks he can save a man. Truth is also stubborn and doesn't want to die just to teach the guy who tried to kill him a lesson in actually following through with your murder attempts. :P

I already kind of want to go back and fix these chapters up because there's some very small things I want to change/touch up but whatever :L

Chapter 3

      The town greeted them in a hush, the quiet kind that only came at the break of day. The sun had barely climbed above the horizon, pale gold light spilling across the rooftops and turning the dust in the streets to soft copper. The air still clung to the chill of the desert night, dry and sharp, biting at Jesse's exposed skin. His breath fogged faintly in the air as he guided his horse down the narrow road, Truth still following behind.

      Dry Creek was nowhere in sight, not so much as a flicker of lantern light on the horizon, not a thin line of smoke curling from a chimney. Just gone, swallowed by the distance of the night. Jesse wasn't sorry to see it vanish.

      The town they'd found themselves in wasn't much to look at. It was no larger than Dry Creek when it had been at its most populated. The streets were all packed dirt, rutted deep from wagon wheels. Wooden buildings lined both sides of the main road, more taken care of than the ones in Dry Creek but still worn down from whatever the desert had to offer. Most were simple, plain facades with faded paint and creaky porches.

      The town wasn't lifeless, though. A few folks were already stirring. There was a man hammering a horseshoe in the shade of a smithy's awning, his anvil ringing sharp in the morning air. A woman stood by a well, her skirts gathered up as she worked the pulley. Another man leaned on a porch post, puffing on a cigarette and squinting at the two of them like he wasn't sure whether to offer a greeting or a warning. Jesse knew the look. He'd seen it plenty while on the run, a gaze that asked, 'What's your trouble?' without ever saying a word.

      He couldn't blame the man. He and Truth must've looked like hell itself had come riding in. Their clothes dust covered and faces drawn and gaunt, one from too little food and the other too many miles. Truth, in particular, was in bad shape. His thin body slumped in the saddle, wrapped tight in the wool blanket Jesse had taken like a scarecrow barely stuffed with straw.

      Jesse felt a pang of guilt seeing him like that. He'd made the man ride all night, injured, starved, barely conscious and for what? To keep him breathing. That was the choice Jesse had made alone with hardly any consultation of the man he was now dragging around. But Truth didn't seem bothered by being alive, so Jesse didn't dwell on it.

      The saloon was the first place that looked promising. It had a crooked sign dangling above the door: "Red Bluff Inn & Saloon" and leaned a little too far to one side. The porch boards were warped and splintering, but Jesse didn't care. Any place with a roof and a bed would do.

      He swung down from his horse, boots hitting the ground hard. His muscles groaned in protest, stiff and knotted after too many hours in the saddle, but he pushed through it. Tying his mare's reins to the post before he walked over to Truth's horse to tie her off too.

      "Alright," Jesse muttered, reaching up. "Let's get you down."

      Truth barely stirred at first. His head lolled slightly, and his body swayed with the movement of his horse. Jesse's hand found his arm, gripping firm, and gave a gentle tug.

      "Come on," Jesse coaxed. "I ain't lettin' you sleep out here."

      Truth blinked sluggishly, eyes glazed. Without much resistance, he slumped forward into Jesse's grip.

      For a man with broad shoulders, Truth weighed hardly anything. It felt like hauling sticks bundled together with a thick wool jacket. 

      "Almost there," Jesse muttered, mostly to himself. He half-carried Truth up the steps and inside the saloon, his shoes thudding loudly on every step as he struggled to lift his legs.

      The air inside was stale, heavy with the scent of old smoke and whiskey. A few tables were still cluttered with empty glasses, likely last night's drinkers having left their mess behind. The barkeep stood behind the counter, polishing a glass with a rag that looked no cleaner than the floor. He was a larger man with a mustache and a thinning head of hair. He'd glanced up as Jesse walked in, his eyes narrowing as they flicked from Jesse to Truth.

      Jesse asked for a room and the keep was hesitant, but ultimately started to fish his pocket for a key.

      Jesse did the same, searching his pockets for a handful of coins before dropping them on the counter. The barkeep scooped them up without counting and slid it over the counter towards Jesse, telling him he'd be staying in the second room to the right, up the stairs. Jesse didn't wait for him to speak again, he was already hauling Truth toward the room.

      The room was plain; a single bed, a warped wooden chair haphazardly left in the middle of the floor, a rocking chair near the window, and a cracked basin on a rickety table. There was also, thankfully, a kerosene lamp provided to them.

      Jesse lowered Truth down onto the bed. The man let out a low groan, half in pain and half in relief, and his eyes shut almost instantly.

      "Finally," Jesse murmured. He grabbed the wool blanket still clinging to Truth's shoulders and tugged it up to his chin. The preacher barely moved, breathing slow and shallow. "You're alright now," Jesse muttered. "Rest easy."

      He lingered a moment longer than he meant to, watching the man's face; pale, bruised, and thin. For all the cuts and faded bruises that marked him, there was still something soft about him. Something tired but stubborn, a man who knew he was beaten but refused to fall.

      Jesse turned and left the room quietly.

      Downstairs, Jesse was halfway to the door when the barkeep's voice stopped him.

      "Your friend," the man called to him. "He a preacher?"

      Jesse paused. "Yeah," he said. "He is." It wasn't until the words left his mouth that he realized he likely shouldn't have confirmed it. He knew that they were some hours from Dry Creek, but there was still danger to be found in any surrounding town that could have known Truth.

      "Looks like he's one step from the grave." The barkeep let out a dry chuckle.

      "He'll live," Jesse said firmly, more as a reassurance to himself.

      The barkeep shifted his weight behind the counter, arms crossed. "What's got you two riding like that?"

      "Just heading out of the state," he said. "Utah or Wyoming, either'll do." Jesse shook his head.

      "In his condition?" The barkeep snorted. 

      "That's why we're holding up here for a while," Jesse said. "We'll go slow, town by town if we have to."

      The barkeep rubbed his chin. "You lookin' to make money?" he finally asked. Jesse lowered his eyebrows and squinted, attempting to understand what the man was getting at. "Don't give me that look." the man waved him off, "You stay here until your friend is on his feet. You do some work, sweeping, hauling wood, whatever I need and I'll square you off with some money for the road. I'll feed you both too, looks like your preacher needs it."

      Jesse stared at him for a moment, mulling it over. Weighing every option he had in front of him, and honestly the barkeep's offer was the least of all evils. If the man was being truthful, then him and Truth had a place to stay for however long they needed so long as Jesse did work. And Jesse wasn't one to turn down easy work.

      "I appreciate that," he said. "I really do. I think I'll take you up on that."

      "Don't mention it." The barkeep extended his hand out and Jesse shook it. A deal was a deal.

      With that said and done, Jesse turned for the door, heading out to grab his saddlebag.

      The air outside was still cool, the morning breeze stirring the dust along the road lazily. He paused for a moment, staring down the empty street cautiously like he just knew someone was watching him.

      Just until Truth is better, Jesse thought. Then we move on. But something told him it wouldn't be that simple.

      Jesse dropped his pack onto the floor of his and Truth's room, and he immediately sank to his knees before laying himself out on the hardwood floor. It didn't take long for Jesse to fall asleep. The sound of rugs being beat and people chattering just outside the window, and Truth's slow breaths from the bed urging him into sleep.

 

┏━━━━━━━━━━༺༻❁༺༻━━━━━━━━━━┓

 

      The room was dim and quiet when Jesse woke up, sunlight slanting in through the curtains and laying across the floor. He lay there for a long moment, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling above him.

      The boards creaked softly as someone moved around in the room next door. Footsteps slow and steady, like a man pacing without much purpose. Jesse related in many respects.

      Truth hadn't stirred much from what Jesse could tell. He could hear his breath, shallow but even, from where he lay. The preacher had hardly moved since Jesse had helped him to bed, except to roll back and forth on his side and bury his face half in the pillow. Jesse didn't blame him for that. If anyone deserved to sleep half the day away, it was Truth. The man looked like he hadn't seen a warm bed in months.

      Jesse's back ached from sleeping on the hard floor, his muscles stiff. He stretched his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. 'One week,' he reminded himself. 'Just a week. Just long enough for Truth to rest up and for me to earn a little money, then we'll be on our way'.

      Eventually, Jesse forced himself to sit up, rolling his shoulders and neck until they popped. He glanced toward the bed. Truth lay completely still beneath the blanket, face against the pillow. Jesse watched his chest rise and fall, slow and steady. It was a small comfort that he was still alive.

      Satisfied, Jesse grabbed his hat and quietly stepped out.

      The saloon's main room was busier than before, though it still felt subdued compared to some other bars and saloons Jesse was used to. A few men sat at scattered tables, their voices melding into one continuous hum. Someone was dealing cards in the corner, the faint shuffle of the deck filling the space between conversation. The barkeep stood behind the counter, wiping down the bar with that same rag Jesse swore hadn't been rinsed in weeks.

      Jesse made his way over, sinking onto one of the stools. He tapped his fingers on the counter and the barkeep set a glass of whiskey in front of him without asking.

      "Preacher still breathin'?" the barkeep asked.

      "Yeah," Jesse said, lifting the glass to his lips. The whiskey burned sharp and bitter on his tongue, but he let it sit in his mouth a moment before swallowing. "Still sleepin'. Can't blame him for that."

      The barkeep snorted softly. "Man looked like he'd been through hell. I'd be sleepin' too."

      Jesse just nodded, eyes on the amber liquid in his glass. He swirled it absentmindedly, watching the faint ripples. For a while, neither of them spoke. Jesse didn't mind the quiet, sometimes it was easier that way.

      "So, Utah or Wyoming, huh?" the barkeep asked eventually.

      Jesse took another slow sip before answering. "Maybe Idaho." he shook his head. "Canada if we're desperate."

      The barkeep gave a low hum of consideration. "Well," he said, "you're gonna want to stock up as you go. Towns get mighty sparse up that way, harder to find a place to resupply. If I were you, I'd pick up extra where you can."

      "That's the plan." Jesse said. 

      The barkeep leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "That preacher of yours better start eatin' too. Gets cold the farther north you go. Bone cold, especially in winter."

      Jesse huffed softly. "He'll eat," he said. "Once he's awake long enough."

      "Good," the barkeep said. "Hate to see you haul him halfway to Wyoming just to bury him in a snowbank."

      Jesse downed the last of his whiskey and set the glass down on the counter with a dull clink.

      "Where can I get some medical supplies?" he asked. "Bandages and somethin' to take the edge off for him."

      The barkeep scratched at his jaw. "You're in luck," he said. "Ol' Widow Burns sells some odds and ends across the way. Bandages, tonics, things to sew a gash, that sort of deal. Won't be much of a selection, but it's better than nothing."

      "That's all I need," Jesse said, standing and tugging his hat low over his brow.

      "Just don't let her talk you into her 'cure-all'," the barkeep added dryly. "Swears it fixes everything from broken bones to a bad marriage."

      Jesse snorted as he turned toward the door. "I'll keep clear."

      Outside, the once cool morning air had grown warmer as the sun rose. Not hot enough to burn, but it was getting close. The streets were busier, townsfolk moving about their day, carrying bundles of wood or pushing wheelbarrows of supplies. A dog trotted down the main road, tail wagging lazily as it followed what Jesse supposed was its owner.

      Jesse crossed the street, boots scuffing against the hard dirt. Widow Burns' shop sat tucked between a cobbler's storefront and a tailor's, a narrow building with a crooked sign. The paint had long since flaked off the letters, leaving faint shadows where they once were.

      The door squeaked loudly as Jesse stepped inside. The place smelled sharp, like bitter herbs and dried flowers, with something musty that Jesse couldn't quite place. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with jars and bottles, each one scrawled with labels that might as well have been written in some other language Jesse didn't speak.

      Widow Burns herself sat behind the counter, her gray hair piled high in a bun that threatened to topple under its own weight. She narrowed her eyes as Jesse walked in.

      "Don't get many strangers," she said.

      "Just need some things," Jesse said.

      "Uh-huh." Her gaze flicked to the revolver at Jesse's hip before settling back on his face. "What sort of things?"

      "Bandages," Jesse said. "And something for pain. Laudanum, if you've got it."

      Her sharp eyes softened a little. "You sick?"

      "Not me," Jesse said. "Friend of mine. Took a bad beatin'."

      She clicked her tongue sympathetically. "Well, you tell your friend he's lucky to have someone looking after him." She turned, gathering a roll of cloth bandages, a bottle of laudanum, and small jar of honey from the shelves. As she set them down on the counter, Jesse studied the items.

      "Now why do I need honey?" He asked as he pulled some coins from his pocket.

      "It's good for healin'." the woman nodded her head, as she dropped a jar of what looked to be salve onto the counter with the other items. "He's got wounds, put it on them and they'll heal up just fine."

      Jesse scoffed and shook his head, he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he paid for the items all the same.

      She counted the coins in Jesse's hand before he even reached out to hand them to her, and she stuck them away into a drawer behind the counter. Jesse was quick to gather the supplies and tuck them into his coat.

      He stepped back out into the street, the heat rising off the dust in waves.

      The saloon's main room had grown noisier by the time Jesse returned. Voices swelled and drifted in the heavy, stuffy air. Jesse moved past the tables without paying them much mind, heading straight for the bar.

      The barkeep noticed him coming and didn't wait for Jesse to ask. He grabbed two plates from behind the counter and piled on bread, potatoes, and a slab of salted pork before sliding it Jesse's way.

      "Figured you'd be back quick." the barkeep said.

      "Much obliged," Jesse muttered, fishing a coin from his pocket and sliding it across the counter.

      "Don't worry 'bout it," the barkeep said, moving the coin back towards Jesse. "Call it part of this week's future work."

      Jesse gave him a tight smile and a nod as he grabbed the coin back before balancing the plates in one arm. He crossed the room toward the stairs, careful not to spill anything. His boots thudded softly on the worn steps as he climbed.

      At the door to their room, Jesse juggled the food awkwardly before managing to get the key in the lock. The door stuck for a second before finally swinging open.

      Truth was just as he'd left him; still in the bed, barely a lump beneath the wool blanket. His face was turned toward the window, mouth slack with sleep. Jesse stood in the doorway for a moment, letting his eyes linger on the slow rise and fall of Truth's chest.

      Still alive.

      Jesse set the food and supplies down on the table with a quiet thump. He sorted through the bandages and glass containers until he figured he had what he needed, then grabbed the items and moved to the bedside to set them down before he moved to grab the basin from the table.

      The crack down its side worried Jesse, but he could press his palm against it to keep too much water from leaking, and when he was finished he'd just dump the water into the alley next to the room. It was a waste, but the water wouldn't be useful after Jesse washed Truth's blood out into it, and it was better to dump it than let water spill all over the room.

      A bathhouse was attached to the back of the saloon, and Jesse found himself surprised. He hadn't seen a bathhouse, or a basin large enough to fit a person, since he lived out east.

      The water he pumped into the smaller basin was warm, likely from being stored somewhere outside of the building. Jesse didn't mind, it was nicer than having to use freezing water.

      Jesse was careful when balancing the basin on the bedside table as he made his way back into the room, wiping his hand up the side to rid the basin's crack of the water droplets that had started to form.

      "Preacher," Jesse said, voice low as he leaned over the other man.

      Truth stirred slightly, mumbling something Jesse didn't catch.

      "Hey," Jesse said again, a little louder this time. He reached out, giving Truth's shoulder a small shake. "Just wakin' you for some food and medicine."

      Truth's eyelids fluttered, his gaze cloudy and distant when they cracked open. "Medicine?" he muttered, barely above a whisper.

      Jesse nodded. "Got you somethin' to take the pain away," he said. "And somethin' to patch you up a little."

      "You didn't have to..." Truth let his head loll back against the pillow, sighing through his nose. 

      "Yeah, well, I did," Jesse said, "So let's get you sorted."

      Truth hesitated when Jesse moved to undo the buttons on his jacket. Jesse paused, meeting his eyes.

      "Alright if I...?" Jesse asked.

      Truth swallowed, then gave a weak nod. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Go on."

      It wasn't easy getting the preacher out of his clothes. Truth was half-dead weight, his limbs sluggish and weak. Jesse took it slow, easing him upright to slide the jacket down his arms, then working the buttons of his shirt with careful fingers. By the time Jesse had his shirt open and settled back on the bed, Truth was breathing hard, his face pale and clammy.

      Jesse hadn't expected what he saw.

      Truth's ribs cut sharp beneath his skin, a ladder of bones visible with every breath. His stomach was sunken, the flesh stretched thin and papery over what little muscle he had left. And then there were the wounds. Angry cuts scabbed over with dried blood, and one large gash beneath his ribs that still oozed sluggishly. The ride must've been miserable. Jesse couldn't imagine how Truth had kept himself upright the whole way.

      He grabbed a cloth that was laid over the lip of the basin, soaking it in the water that was starting to cool into cold. When he pressed it to Truth's side, Truth flinched and hissed sharply between his teeth.

      "Sorry," Truth breathed out as he attempted to ease himself back into a more relaxed position.

      "Ain't nothing to be sorry about." Jesse shook his head. He kept his hand steady, dragging the cloth gently over the dried blood, wiping away the worst of it. "Should've got some stitches," Jesse muttered as he worked. "Best I can do's bind it tight."

      "That bad?" Truth asked, his voice thin and raspy.

      Jesse glanced at him. "Yeah," he said honestly. "It's nasty."

      Truth closed his eyes briefly. "Well," he muttered, "Guess I'm lucky you ain't squeamish."

      Jesse snorted softly. "Ain't the first time I've patched someone up."

      He reached for the jar of honey and pulled his lips into a thin line as he looked it over. The lady said it'd work, but it wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to push some sort of false medicine. But, really, there shouldn't be any harm in it. It was just honey.

      Jesse held the jar up to his nose for a second, and it sure smelled like honey.

      Reluctantly, Jesse dug his fingers into the jar before leaning over Truth and rubbing the contents over his worst wounds. Truth flinched away as his fingers made contact, apologizing again, and Jesse really wished Truth would just stop saying sorry for things he didn't need to apologize for.

      Truth didn't ask about the contents of the jar, which Jesse was thankful for. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to explain to Truth that he was rubbing the thing bees make into the gash on his side.

      Jesse covered the smaller cuts in salve before he worked carefully to wrap the cloth bandage around Truth's torso. He pulled it snug, tight enough to keep the wound closed, but not so tight that Truth couldn't breathe. Truth groaned faintly, and that time it was Jesse who muttered a quiet apology.

      "Should hold for now," Jesse said once he finished. "We'll check it again later tomorrow."

      Truth hummed faintly in acknowledgment, already half-dozing again. Jesse took the moment to push the window open just enough to dump the water out of the basin.

      Jesse's eyes turned to Truth, whose breathing was slowly becoming even.

      "Hold on, don't go to sleep just yet." Jesse said, turning back to the table.

      As Jesse's hands grabbed at the plate he was planning on giving Truth, he stared at it. He glanced back at Truth, who despite Jesse telling him not to sleep had his eyes closed. Carefully, and quietly, Jesse moved some of his food onto Truth's plate. Not too much. Not enough that Truth would ever notice if he looked between the two plates, but enough that it made Jesse feel better. Truth needed it more than Jesse ever would.

      He grabbed the food. His own portion in one hand, the larger plate in the other. He slid the plates onto the bedside table with just about everything else, and helped Truth shift slightly so he could sit up better, then passed him the plate.

      "You eat," Jesse said. "And after that, take some of this." He tapped the laudanum on the nightstand beside him. "It'll help you sleep."

      Truth gave a tired smile. "Sleep's 'bout all I been doin'," he said, voice slurred.

      "Well," Jesse said, settling into the creaky old chair with his own plate. "This time it won't hurt so bad when you wake up."

      Truth adjusted himself in the bed, cradling the food in his lap as he dipped his head and muttered a short prayer. He ate slowly, hands shaking as he lifted the spoon. Jesse kept an eye on him from his spot in the chair, watching as Truth scraped his plate clean.

      When Truth finished, Jesse nodded toward the laudanum. "Go on," Jesse said. "Might as well get comfortable."

      Truth chuckled faintly, the sound dry and hoarse. "Sure thing," he muttered. He uncorked the bottle, tipping a dose into his mouth before setting it back on the nightstand.

      "Thanks," Truth mumbled.

      Jesse didn't say anything, just crossed one leg over the other, letting the old wood creak beneath him as he leaned back. He listened as Truth's breathing slowed, deep and steady at last.

      Crossing his arms over his chest, Jesse settled himself into the chair, letting his eyes close. For the first time since they'd left Dry Creek, Jesse really did feel like maybe they'd make it through this yet.

 

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      The room had darkened considerably by the time Jesse's eyes cracked open again. The fading light through the window had shifted from gold to a muted blue-gray, and the air carried the faint chill of evening. Jesse blinked, his neck stiff from dozing off in the chair.

      The knock at the door startled him fully awake. Jesse shot upright, heart thudding heavy in his chest. Instinct had him checking the bed first.

      Truth hadn't moved much, sprawled beneath the wool blanket, his face slack in deep sleep. His breathing came steady. 'Thank God'. Jesse exhaled and crossed the room quickly, cracking the door open just enough to peek out, his hand hovering just above his pistol.

      The barkeep stood in the dim hallway, balancing two plates on his arm, steam curling from them. Two cups of water pressed between his arm and his body to make sure they didn't spill.

      "Figured you'd be down," the barkeep said. "But you didn't show. Thought I'd bring supper up."

      Jesse opened the door wider, surprised. "You didn't have to-"

      "Did," the barkeep cut in with a shrug. "Your preacher looks half gone. Can't be skippin' meals."

      Jesse took the plates carefully, warmth covering his hands. The scent of roasted meat and buttered bread hit him, and his stomach twisted. He hadn't realized how long it'd been since he'd really eaten properly.

      "Thanks," Jesse said. "Really, I mean it."

      The barkeep lingered at the door, peering past Jesse into the room. His gaze settled on Truth, and his face darkened.

      "That's the worst shape I've seen a man in," he muttered.

      "He told me he was starved out where he was livin'," Jesse explained, adjusting the plates in his hand so he could balance them on his arm.

      "Starved?" The barkeep frowned deeper. "Why didn't he just get outta there?"

      Jesse glanced over at Truth again, frail and small, like he could disappear if you looked away too long.

      "Can't barely ride," Jesse said. "Doesn't know how. Even so... It's two days to the next town by foot. I don't think he would've have made it regardless."

      The barkeep shook his head grimly. "Damn shame," he muttered.

      Jesse stepped back into the room and slid the plates onto the table top. The barkeep stepped in after him, setting the two glasses of water down on the nightstand while Jesse gathered the empty plates from lunch and handed them over. The barkeep tucked them beneath his arm before straightening up.

      "You got a name?" the barkeep asked.

      "Jesse," he answered.

      "Well, Jesse," the barkeep said, "I'm George."

      "Good to finally have a name for the face," Jesse said with a tired smile, offering his hand out for George to shake.

      George took it and chuckled faintly. "And your preacher?"

      "Calls himself Truth," Jesse said. It felt strange saying it, because it surely didn't feel like a name anyone had. He liked to think it was a last name, and not that Truth had lied to him somehow.

      George hummed thoughtfully. He cast one last glance at Truth before turning back to Jesse. "Well, keep safe, Jesse."

      "I will," Jesse promised.

      George nodded and slipped down the hallway, boots creaking on the floorboards before his steps faded away. Jesse closed the door quietly behind him.

      Turning back into the room, Jesse stood for a moment, gaze shifting between the two plates. He felt that same tug of guilt he'd felt earlier, stronger now after what George had said. Truth didn't just look bad. He looked like he'd been at death's door for weeks. Starved and beaten and God only knew what else. The man had lasted longer than Jesse could've imagined, and that stubbornness was the only reason he was still breathing.

      Jesse sighed and carefully pushed some of his portion onto Truth's plate again.

      Crossing back to the bed, Jesse set the plate gently on the nightstand before nudging Truth's shoulder. "Hey," Jesse murmured. "Wake up, preacher."

      Truth stirred with a groggy noise, eyes cracking open just enough to squint at Jesse.

      "Got some food for you," Jesse said. "Sit up some, if you can."

      Truth groaned softly, rolling onto his side before awkwardly pushing himself up. He winced and Jesse reached down with his free hand to steady him.

      "Here," Jesse said, handing him the plate. Truth took it gingerly, cradling it in his lap. He paused for a moment, eyes fixed on the food.

      Jesse stepped away and listened to the sound of Truth muttering again under his breath. The prayer was rhythmic, like it could be a hymn if set to the tune of a piano. Jesse thought he could get used to the sound of Truth praying over his meals.

      Truth slowly began to eat, each bite was small and careful like he was worried it might not sit right. Jesse kept his gaze low, focused on his own plate, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Truth start to relax, shoulders loosening, color returning to his face bit by bit.

Notes:

They are sooooo... :P
Jesse is just too sweet and nice and wants to do what's best in a bad situation. He's made for western work but has a lot of southern hospitality in his heart.

George becomes a constant btw, he's only around for a few chapters but Jesse and Truth kind of adore him and bring him up even well after they've been on their way back into the desert.

Uploading this chapter today just because this week is a bit odd... idk what Friday's post will look like yet/if I'll post.

Chapter 4

      The sky was pale, something close to a washed out blue when Jesse cracked open his eyes. The room was cool, a draft sneaking in through the warped window frame. The floor beneath him was hard and cold. It wasn't the best sleep he'd had, but better than trying to rest anywhere else the room had to offer while Truth took up the bed.

      Truth was still out, his breathing soft and steady. Jesse took a minute just to watch him, half expecting him to vanish when he blinked. The way Truth slept; calm, still, and without the tension Jesse had seen the first night, he was sure it meant something.

      He got up slow, stretching the stiffness from his back, then moved to the table where he'd left the bandages, glass jars, and most importantly the water basin.

      Jesse went about his routine: collecting warm water from downstairs, bringing it back up, making sure it didn't leak too much during travel, and then soaking his rag in it.

      When all was done, he walked the short distance to the bed and shook Truth's shoulder lightly.

      "Hey," Jesse murmured. "Time to wake up." Truth responded with a sound low in his throat. "C'mon," Jesse urged. "I gotta change your bandages."

      That seemed to get through to him. Truth muttered something incoherent and slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. His eyes were barely open, hair a mess, but he was awake.

      "You sleep alright?" Jesse asked as he eased Truth upright.

      "Could sleep 'nother week," Truth mumbled, voice dry and hoarse.

      "I'll let you after this," Jesse promised.

      He helped Truth peel open his shirt and unwrap the cloth. It stuck a little where the wound had bled through the night, Jesse winced at the sight. The worst cut, the one just under Truth's ribs, still looked angry and red, and despite having bled through the night it looked like it had stopped for the moment. The other marks were fading to bruises, purple blooming dark beneath pale skin.

      "This is gonna sting," Jesse warned as he picked up his damp cloth. He ran it over the gash on Truth's side, wiping away the dried blood and what sticky honey he could.

      Truth hissed through his teeth but didn't pull away.

      "You're too quiet," Jesse muttered, particularly scolding. "Start yellin' if it hurts bad."

      "Don't wanna wake the whole damn town," Truth said, voice thin but amused.

      Jesse couldn't help but smile at that. When he finished cleaning the wounds, he took his time wrapping the fresh bandages, careful to bind the worst one snug.

      "There," Jesse said, tugging the last knot tight. "That should hold."

      Truth mumbled a tired thanks, already sagging back toward the bed.

      "Not yet," Jesse said, grabbing the laudanum from the nightstand. "You need this first."

      Truth grimaced at the sight of the bottle. "That stuff makes my head spin somethin' awful."

      "Better than hurtin'," Jesse said. "You'll sleep right through it anyway."

      With a tired sigh, Truth accepted the bottle and took a careful swig. He barely had the strength to set it back down before flopping back against the pillow.

      "Get some rest," Jesse muttered, pulling the wool blanket back up around him.

      "Don't gotta tell me twice," Truth mumbled.

      Jesse lingered for a moment, watching as Truth's breathing slowed. Once satisfied with how the preacher settled, Jesse grabbed his hat and coat, heading downstairs.

      George had Jesse working before the sun was much higher. The saloon wasn't busy yet, too early for most of the town's regular crowd, but there was plenty to do. Jesse swept the floor first, gathering up dust and bits of dried mud folks had tracked in. He wiped down the bar and a dozen tables after that, he set to scrubbing away sticky rings left by spilled over beer mugs.

      Then, George pointed to three bar stools that had a wobble to them, and Jesse found the problems easy enough. The legs had come loose from the seat. A few minutes of tightening them all back into place and they were as steady as ever.

      "Where'd you learn that?" George asked from behind the bar, where he was busy drying plates and mugs.

      "Worked a ranch for a few years," Jesse said with a shrug. "Fixing things comes with the territory."

      George chuckled. "Bet you're handy to have around."

      Jesse gave a faint smile and kept working.

      "So," George said after a beat, "what's drivin' you and your preacher north? Ain't much up that way, not unless you're set on freezing to death in some nowhere town."

      Jesse hesitated, hand hovering over an empty glass that he was about to pick up. "We just need to get away," he said finally. "Some bad things happened back where I'm from. Ain't safe for me to stick around."

      George nodded thoughtfully. "And the preacher?"

      "Picked him up few days back," Jesse said. "He seems set on gettin' gone too."

      "That right?" George looked surprised. "I'd've sworn you two had been ridin' together for years."

      "Why's that?" Jesse frowned.

      "The way you look after him," George said. "And the way he lets you, no man trusts just anyone to patch him up and get him through the night. Let alone sleep easy right next to 'em."

      Jesse hadn't thought about it like that. Truth had trusted him awful quick. Trusted him enough to ride half-dead through the desert, enough to let him clean his wounds and dose him with laudanum. Trusted him enough to fall asleep knowing Jesse was still awake in the room. Jesse wasn't sure what he'd done to earn that trust, but it settled in his chest like warmth off a fire.

      "Really, coulda fooled me," George added. "I'd've guessed you two were childhood friends, the way you carry on."

      Jesse swallowed and shook his head. "Nah," he muttered. "We hardly know each other at all."

      "Well," George said, leaning against the bar, "sounds like you two got somethin' special, then."

      Jesse paused, unsure how to answer that. "Yeah," he said finally. "I guess we do."

      And the afternoon dragged on after that, the saloon warmed up as folks drifted in for a drink or two before noon. George had been quick to put Jesse behind the bar, showing him the ropes with practiced ease.

      "Start simple," George had said, setting a bottle of whiskey and a stack of glasses in front of him. "Most folks 'round here just want that. Keep the pour steady, watch for the ones who've had too much, and don't go lettin' anyone short you."

      The work was steady, easy to lose himself in.

      Pour, wipe, chat. Pour, wipe, chat.

      Men came and went, some pausing to talk weather, others swapping stories about cattle drives or local gossip. None of it mattered much, but Jesse didn't mind. The chatter kept his mind off things. Off the long, cold ride they'd made, off Truth's sorry state, off the memory of those townsfolk closing their doors and turning their backs.

      By the time George finally waved him off for lunch and handed him two plates piled with roast beef, beans, and bread, Jesse felt like he'd earned the meal.

      Jesse thanked him, balancing the plates carefully as he made his way toward the stairs. As he started up them, George called out telling him if he wanted more work, he should come down after lunch. And Jesse was more than happy to help.

      Pushing the door open with his shoulder, Jesse stopped short.

      Truth was standing.

      He wasn't doing a good job of it, one hand clutched tight to his ribs, his face drawn tight in pain, but he was up.

      "What in the hell are you doin'?" Jesse asked, setting the plates down on the bedside table.

      Truth grimaced, looking equal parts stubborn and guilty. "What? A man can't go take a piss without being questioned?" he muttered.

      Jesse let out a breath that was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. "No, it's that you're not supposed to be up and around by yourself." he shook his head, "You're lucky you didn't end up face-first on the floor," he said. "I'll walk you there. It's downstairs, though."

      "Just my luck," Truth groaned and shook his head.

      Jesse stepped closer, grabbing at Truth's still open shirt. "C'mon," he said, tugging at it. "Put this on so you're at least halfway decent."

      Truth moved his hands to fumble with the buttons of the shirt, before Jesse felt the urge to step in. "Hold still," Jesse muttered. Truth's skin was warm beneath his fingertips, feverish maybe, or just a side effect of the lingering pain. The dried bloodstain stretched ugly and dark across the shirt's front, but there wasn't much Jesse could do about that just now.

      "I oughta swap this out with one of mine," Jesse said offhandedly as he adjusted the collar.

      Truth gave a breathless chuckle. "Long as yours is better lookin' than this one."

      Jesse snorted. "Not sure I'd go that far."

      The trip down the stairs was slow. Jesse stayed close to Truth's side, one hand steadying his arm while the other hovered near his back. Every step looked like hell for Truth. He kept his jaw clenched, but each time his boot hit wood, a fresh curse escaped him, all colorful words Jesse had never heard a preacher say in his life.

      "Didn't figure you knew those ones," Jesse said after Truth let loose with something particularly inventive.

Truth huffed, eyes squeezed shut. "You pick up a few new ones livin' out this way." he muttered through clenched teeth.

      By the time they reached the bottom, Truth was panting, clutching hard at his side like he thought his ribs might fall clean out of his body if he didn't hold them there. Sweat clung to his face, his breath ragged and thin.

      "Hey," Jesse said quietly. "You alright?"

      Truth dragged in a shaky breath and let out a low, exhausted laugh. "Might just have to kill me, Jesse," he muttered, "'cause there ain't no way I'm makin' it back up those stairs."

      Jesse shook his head, but his smile faded when he caught the glassiness in Truth's eyes. "Y'can lean on me all you need," Jesse said firmly. "We'll get you back up there."

      Truth gave him a weary smile, and Jesse thought there was something almost grateful behind it. A flicker of warmth in tired, feverish eyes.

      "'Preciate it," Truth murmured.

      Jesse brought Truth to the outhouse around the back of the saloon and let him be, figuring Truth very likely did not want Jesse hovering over him.

      The trip back up the stairs was no easier than the way down. Jesse kept one hand firm under Truth's arm, the other steady at his back, guiding him step by step. Truth's breathing stayed shallow and sharp, each step dragging another pained groan from him.

      "Almost there," Jesse muttered as they reached the landing.

      "I swear that's what you said two flights ago," Truth rasped back, but there was no real bite in his words, just weariness.

      Jesse nudged the door open with his shoulder and helped Truth inside, walking him straight to the bed. Truth all but collapsed when Jesse let him go, his breath hissing through his teeth as his back hit the mattress.

      "Christ," Truth groaned, arm draped over his eyes. "Feels like I got trampled."

      "You might've felt better if you had," Jesse said dryly. He grabbed Truth's plate of food from the bedside table and handed it down to him. "Here. Eat."

      Truth pushed himself up on one elbow, wincing as he did. "You're too good to me," he muttered, voice low and scratchy, but it didn't stop him from praying. It was quick, and Jesse wondered if Truth was just too hungry to bother saying one of his prayers in full. He didn't ask, though, he thought it'd be rude.

      Jesse grabbed his own plate and sank back into his respective chair with a sigh. The wood creaked beneath him. He was halfway through his first bite when Truth spoke again.

      "Why don't you ever sleep in the bed?"

      Jesse paused mid-chew, blinking over at him. "What?"

      "The bed," Truth said, gesturing vaguely at the empty half. "It's big enough. I wouldn't mind you sharin' it."

      Jesse swallowed his food but almost choked as he did so. "I'm fine on the floor," he said simply.

      Truth gave a tired chuckle and shifted to sit up straighter. "Don't see why," he muttered. "Bed's better than the floor."

      "Yeah, well..." Jesse scratched at the back of his neck, uncertain how to answer.

      "You're welcome in the bed," Truth said again, more firmly this time. "Long as you don't thrash around in your sleep."

      Jesse let out a small laugh. "I don't," he said. "I've been told I sleep like a rock."

      "Good," Truth said. "Then there's no reason not to."

      "I wouldn't want to crowd you." Jesse shook his head, setting his plate on his knee.

      "You ain't crowdin' me," Truth said. "What's crowdin' me is thinkin' about you sleepin' on the floor after everything you've done." He shifted awkwardly, settling the plate in his lap. "You've hauled me through the desert, patched me up, fed me... It just doesn't sit right that you get the floor on top of all that."

      Jesse couldn't help but laugh again, softer this time. He sat further back in the chair, letting the wood creak beneath him. "Well," Jesse said, "if you're so dead set on gettin' me in bed..." He shrugged, smiling. "I'll sleep in the damn bed."

      "Good," Truth said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Just wanted you to know you're welcome here. Me bein' half dead doesn't mean you get the short end."

      They ate quietly after that, the clink of cutlery against tin plates filling the room. The air felt warmer somehow, easier.

      Jesse stole a glance at Truth as he ate. Watching the slow, careful way he chewed, still favoring his ribs with one arm tucked close to his side. He still looked rough, but something about him seemed softer then. Less burdened.

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      George dismissed Jesse for the night, giving him his dinner and telling him to head up and get some rest, he'd be working him tomorrow too. Jesse wasn't disappointed to hear that, he missed being useful.

      Jesse shut the door to his and Truth's shared room behind him and turned to see Truth sitting upright in bed, eyes clear and alert for the first time since they'd left Dry Creek. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, like he'd been waiting.

      "You're lookin' better," Jesse said, crossing the room. He set the plate of food on Truth's lap.

      "Feelin' better too," Truth replied, voice steadier than it had been in days.

      Jesse leaned against the wall for a moment, arms crossed over his chest, watching as Truth bowed his head before he dug into his food. He ate slowly but steadily, each spoonful deliberate.

      Jesse shrugged off his coat, hanging it over the back of the chair next to his gun belt before sitting down.

      They ate in quiet. Jesse couldn't think of much to say or ask and Truth seemed much the same.

      The outside seemed to mirror their quiet as well, hardly anyone was on the streets anymore, not chatter, no rugs being beat or kids laughing, not even any dogs barking. Simple silence.

      When dinner was finished, sooner rather than later, Jesse slipped out of his boots and unbuttoned his shirt halfway down before sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. He maneuvered himself to lay down, hands folded over his stomach.

      Truth reached out and patted Jesse's knee. "See? Ain't this better than the floor?"

      Jesse huffed a laugh and brushed Truth's hand away. "The bed's fine," he muttered.

      For a moment, the silence continued. Jesse's head dipping his head back against the pillow as he let himself relax. The quiet really was comforting. A welcome change from the rowdy noise of downstairs.

      "I could get used to this," Truth said softly.

      "What? Lyin' in bed with me?" Jesse cracked one eye open and smirked.

      Truth snorted through his nose. "No," he said, "just... this. Bein' able to sleep in a bed. Bein' able to eat regular. Havin' someone around, someone I can count on." His voice faltered a little at the end, like he wasn't sure he should've said it.

      Jesse shifted to face him better. "Yeah?"

      "Yeah." Truth stared up at the ceiling like it was so interesting suddenly. "Ain't had that for a while now."

      "I'm sorry to hear that," Jesse said quietly. "I hate thinkin' about what you must've been through."

      Truth shook his head. "Don't think about it, then," he said firmly. "I ain't... that. I ain't just my injuries. Or my past."

      Jesse frowned, eyes lingering on Truth's face. The bruises were still dark along his jaw and around his eye, and there were cuts that hadn't quite faded into scabs just yet.

      If he was honest with himself, it was hard to see anything else. The battered face, the thin frame, the way Truth winced every time he shifted. That's what Jesse saw when he looked at him. It was like his mind couldn't stretch past the hurt. Maybe because it was easier to see Truth as someone fragile. Someone who needed him.

      And yet there he was; clear-headed, steady-voiced, talking like a man who'd come out the other side of something ugly and still had some fire left in him.

      "I know," Jesse said. "I know you're not." He grit his teeth as he thought, mulling over a question he wasn't sure if he should ask or not. "Where were you sleeping?" He finally asked. From the sounds of it Truth didn't have a home, at least not anymore.

      Truth didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was barely more than a whisper. "Old livery," he said. "There's some stalls no one uses, back corner ones, half-fallen in. I kept a blanket there."

      "You've been living in a stable?" Jesse was flabbergasted. He'd seen the state of the livery stable when he'd gone to get Truth the roan. How he wasn't flat out dead was even more of a shock now than it had been before. If Truth was living there, then it was no wonder Jesse had never seen him, tucked away in a building that should have been torn down years ago. He wondered if the owner of the stable knew he was staying there.

      "Didn't have much choice."

      Jesse shook his head. Something about it twisted in his chest, an ache deeper than he liked to admit.

      He'd seen men beaten and bloodied before. Seen men shot dead in the street, strung up from trees, left to rot. But there was something different about this. A slow, deliberate cruelty that left a man hollowed out and starving. A man of God no less.

      "That ain't right," Jesse muttered. "None of it."

      "No," Truth agreed softly. "It isn't."

      Jesse realized then that maybe he'd been wrong. Truth wasn't fragile. No man who'd survived what Truth had could be.

      Truth eased himself down against the pillows. His breath hitched faintly as he settled into place.

      "Get some rest," Jesse said as he reached over to turn down the oil lamp.

      The room faded into darkness, and the silence between them stretched warm and easy. 

Notes:

I don't have much to say about this chapter besides that Jesse is still being Jesse, and Truth is feeling a tiny bit better now.
Also I've been updating my chapters on Wattpad, just fixing a few grammar issues and nit-picky stuffs. Those'll be getting updated... right now! Once I upload this chapter.

Also also, I'm uploading this chapter because I'm now back after my trip and I also have an epic pulled muscle in my back that keeps me from working on most things so I really have nothing better to do than upload another chapter. Also a chapter did not get uploaded onto Wattpad yesterday because I was partaking in a six hour drive and also I don't have the 17th chapter finished yet :/

Chapter 5

      The mornings chill clung to Jesse's skin as he woke up to small bits of light slipping in through the thin curtains. The warmth beside had become far too familiar over the course of the night. Truth's slow, steady breathing, the faint heat radiating off his body. It was almost comforting.

      Almost.

      Jesse shifted, moving quietly as he tried to slip out of the bed, trying not to wake Truth. The mattress and bed frame creaked under his weight and the preacher stirred anyway.

      "Where're you goin'?" Truth muttered, voice thick with sleep.

      "Work," Jesse said softly, pausing with one foot on the floor. "George's got things for me to do."

      Truth grunted in vague acknowledgment and shifted deeper into the blankets. He mumbled something Jesse didn't quite catch before sleep dragged him back under.

      Jesse lingered a moment longer than he should have. Truth looked peaceful. There was no tightness in his face, no grimace of pain. Jesse didn't know if it was the laudanum or if Truth was finally starting to heal, but either way, it was good to see him like that. Comfortable. Safe. Jesse let out a quiet breath, shook his head, and stood to finish dressing.

      When he pulled his boots on and turned back, Truth was already back in deep sleep. With the room quiet again, Jesse slipped out the door.

      The saloon was also quiet when Jesse came down the stairs, morning creeping through the windows in a way not too dissimilar to the way it had up in the room.

      Jesse got to work quickly, keeping his head down as he did so; sweeping the floor of any debris, wiping down the tables and straightening chairs. Jesse wondered if all of his work was even noticed by the patrons, Jesse surely had never noticed when he'd spent his time in places like that.

      George had him restock the shelves as well, moving out the empty whiskey bottles and replacing them with fuller ones, or dumping less than full bottles into each other.

      "You've got a knack for this," George remarked as Jesse carefully filled a half-empty bottle with another. "Might have to keep you 'round after all."

      "Don't hold your breath," Jesse didn't look up as he quipped, focused on not spilling any of the alcohol over his hands.

      George chuckled, but suddenly his voice turned serious, "Y'know, whatever you were doin' before, seems like you're earning more honest coin here."

      Jesse didn't speak as he slowed his pour and turned the now empty bottle back upright. "Yeah," was the only answer that came from him. He grabbed for a rag to wipe down the counter under where he poured, but it was quickly swept away by George.

      "You've done enough this morning," George clapped him on the shoulder, "Go do something worth your time. Like walking those damn horses." He nodded out towards the front of the saloon where Jesse kept his and Truth's mares. "Ain't fair keeping 'em penned up like that."

      Jesse nodded without another word and moved to step outside.

      The air was starting to warm a little, but Jesse still felt the cold prickle down his spine as he stepped out front. His boots scuffed the dry dirt as he headed toward the hitching post. His black mare flicked her ears at his approach, but Jesse's eyes went straight to the roan, and the man standing beside her.

      Jesse slowed, his steps falling quiet. The man was broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, with a badge pinned to his chest. He had his hand on the roan's neck, fingers curling on her mane like he had some sort of claim on her.

      Jesse grit his teeth before he asked, "Can I help you?" His voice was calm but firm.

      The man turned, his face hardening, "This horse," the man said, giving the roan's shoulder a light slap that made her tense, "Looks familiar."

      Jesse kept his stance easy, his fingers curling just a little closer to where his revolver would sit. But now, Jesse was aware of his missing weapon, and he started to sweat.

      "Lots of horses look the same," Jesse said flatly.

      The man chuckled, dry and unfriendly. "Sure they do," he muttered. "But I got word someone's missin' a roan. Fella outta Dry Creek's claimin' someone rode off with one just like this."

      Jesse's gut twisted, but he kept his face blank. "Don't know much about that," he said, voice even. "Been stayin' here a week now. George'll tell you the same." He lied, nodding towards the doors of the saloon he'd just come out of.

      The man's gaze narrowed. "You been out to Dry Creek?"

      "While ago, not recently."

      "Well, in any case, name's Barnes," the man said. "Sheriff Barnes." There was authority in his voice like the name and title should mean something. He stuck his hand out and waited for Jesse to shake it.

      "You the sheriff here?" Jesse asked, carefully taking the man's hand in his own, wondering if he should be offering this man some respect.

      The man laughed as he shook his head, "No," he said, "I'm outta Dry Creek."

      Jesse prayed his skin didn't look too pale or his hand too clammy. He blinked at him as his hand dropped away. For a second, all he could think about was reaching for his gun. The gun that wasn't there. The gun that would have gotten him in trouble.

      Jesse knew he needed to fix his temper, and quick.

      "That so?" Jesse asked, setting his jaw.

      "Sure as the suns in the sky." Barnes said as he locked his thumb into his belt. "You ridin' alone?" he then asked.

      "Yeah," Jesse lied again.

      Barnes' eyes flicked to the roan again. "Funny thing," he said, "fella ridin' alone doesn't usually keep two horses."

      "I ride long stretches," Jesse said smoothly. "One horse gets tired, I switch 'em out. Easier that way."

      "That right?" he muttered. Barnes didn't look convinced.

      "That's right," Jesse said, backing up towards his mare, fingers wrapping around her harness lead.

      "You know a man named Jude?" Barnes asked suddenly. He squinted at Jesse, like he was trying to read something in his face, but Jesse didn't flinch. He kept his gaze steady.

      "Never met a Jude in my life," he said honestly as he stooped down a little to untie the lead. "What's the man look like?" He side eyed the sheriff.

      "'Bout this tall," he raised his hand until it was just two inches above his head. "White man, he's got lighter brown hair, late 30's last I remember." Barnes' expression was unreadable, Jesse attempted to do the same.

      "Can't say I've seen a man by that description." Jesse clicked his tongue as he lied once again, "'sides, awful common you meet a man lookin' like that 'round here." He stood back up straight, and held tight to his mare's lead as he moved towards Truth's roan.

      "Last I also remember, he was thin as a twig off a tree."

      Jesse continued to watch him, staring, desperately attempting to keep his expression flat. Jude sounded an awful lot like Truth, and Jesse wasn't liking it.

      "No." Jesse reiterated, "Think I'd remember a man like that." He shook his head as he moved to untie the roan. "Now," Jesse said, turning back to his saddle, "if you'll excuse me, I've got horses need stretchin'."

      "Maybe you oughta worry less about stretchin' your horses," Barnes said, voice low. "And more about a bigger picture that's brewing at hand."

      Jesse swung himself into the saddle of his mare. He looked down at Barnes, letting a thin smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you for the advice, Sheriff." There was a bite in Jesse's voice that he just wasn't able to swallow down.

      "Might wanna follow it." Barnes patted the shoulder of Jesse's mare in a way he didn't quite care for.

      Jesse didn't dare acknowledge him further, lest something slip out of his mouth that would get him in hot water. He rode off without looking back, but Jesse could feel Barnes' eyes on him the whole way down the road.

      The cool air didn't clear Jesse's head the way he hoped it would. The steady clip of hooves on dirt should've been calming, something familiar, something predictable. But his thoughts kept circling back to the sheriff.

      What the hell was Dry Creek's sheriff doing all the way out there?

      A six-hour ride from his home town wasn't just a casual visit. No sheriff rode that far unless there was something serious pulling him out of his jurisdiction. And this was no coincidence, not when Dry Creek was the same place Jesse had picked Truth up at. Not when Dry Creek was where Truth had been beaten within an inch of his life. Not when Truth had told Jesse the sheriff of Dry Creek was dirty, wrapping himself in men he should have been locking up.

      He shot a glance over his shoulder at Truth's roan, trailing quietly behind his own. The roan seemed unbothered, simply plodding along, but Jesse felt sick just looking at her. The horse was a loose thread, something that tied him back to Dry Creek, something Barnes could pull at.

      Jesse's mind kept picking apart the conversation. The sheriff's voice, sharp and suspicious. The way he'd studied the roan like he knew exactly who'd owned her before. Because in all honesty he did, Jesse had stolen the horse right out from under her owner back in Dry Creek.

      But the name Jude. That's what stuck in Jesse's head the most.

      As far as Jesse knew, he didn't know anyone by that name. The description of Jude sounded an awful lot like Truth, and he supposed he didn't know Truth's full name, or maybe even his name in general.

      Maybe Truth's past had been murkier than Jesse realized.

      Jesse shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts away. Worrying wasn't going to change anything. He just had to hope George would cover for him, or at least recognize that Barnes asking questions wasn't something to take lightly.

      George seemed like a good man. Honest, sure, but with enough street sense not to hand over information to any stranger that came asking. Jesse trusted him. At least, he hoped he could trust him.

      He thought about turning back. Bringing the horses straight to the saloon, dragging Truth out of bed, and getting the hell out of town. But that would only make him look guilty, like he was running from something.

      Instead, he rode on, circling the outskirts of town. The streets were still quiet that early. A few townsfolk moving between shops, a boy running down the boardwalk of stores with a loaf of bread tucked under his arm. It was calm, peaceful even, but Jesse couldn't shake the knot twisting in his stomach.

      By the time he looped back to the saloon, nearly an hour had passed. He dismounted, tied the horses carefully to the hitching post, and gave both a rough scratch along their necks.

      "I'll get you something sweet later," he murmured. "Owe you for sittin' tied up all this time."

      He turned to head inside, swinging the doors open before he froze.

      The sheriff was at the bar.

      He wasn't really talking to anyone, but George was saying something to him. Barnes just sat there, leaning against the counter like he had all the time in the world. His hat was pushed back on his head, and his gaze swept lazily across the room. But when his eyes locked on Jesse, that lazy look sharpened.

      Damn it.

      Jesse's hand itched to turn back for the door, but George followed Barnes' gaze and caught his eye before he could make himself disappear. He gave a casual wave to Jesse before gesturing him over. Jesse clenched his jaw and forced himself forward. The sheriff's eyes tracked him the whole way.

      "Jesse," George said easily, patting him on the back. "be a sport and watch the bar for a minute. Gonna get Dry Creek's finest here somethin' to eat."

      Jesse nodded stiffly and stepped behind the counter. His eyes never left the sheriff.

      "So," Barnes said, voice casual but heavy with meaning. "Seems like you really do work here."

      Jesse forced a tight smile. "Told you I did," he said, matching that casual tone. "Been workin' here over a week now." He said it loud enough for George to hear, hoping that was enough to tip him off to Jesse's distrust. Enough to make George realize that Jesse was saying more for him than for Barnes.

      The sheriff hummed thoughtfully, fingers drumming against the bar. "Guess that's so," he muttered, though he didn't sound convinced.

      Jesse attempted to keep himself busy. Grabbed a rag, wiped down the counter, straightened bottles that didn't need straightening. Anything to keep his hands busy.

      "Y'know," Barnes said slowly, "it's funny... you bein' here all quiet like. You strike me as the kinda man who stirs up trouble."

      "Then I must be doing somethin' right," Jesse shot back with a tight smile.

      "Suppose you are." Barnes chuckled, low and humorless.

      He paused, leaning forward on his elbows. "But trouble's got a way of followin' a man," he added, voice lowering. "Especially a man who's tryin' too hard not to look like he's runnin' from somethin'."

      Jesse's grip tightened on the rag. His blood burned hot, but he forced himself to smile again. Calm. Like Barnes' words weren't digging under his skin.

      "You sure you ain't mistaken me for someone else?" Jesse asked.

      "Don't think so." Barnes' grin widened. "But I reckon I'll know soon enough."

      Before Jesse could respond, George returned with a steaming plate of eggs, pork and biscuits. He slid it down in front of Barnes like he was serving a king.

      "There ya go, Sheriff," George said cheerfully. "On the house."

      Jesse didn't miss the subtle glance George shot him. Quick and questioning. Jesse held his breath and gave the faintest nod. George knew something was off.

      "Eat up," George then added with a smile. "Then maybe you can get back to whatever business dragged you all the way out here."

      The smile never left Barnes' face, but it also never quite reached his eyes. His focus flicked back and forth between George and Jesse, like he was weighing something. Then, without another word, he picked up his fork and started to eat in slow, deliberate motions.

      Jesse swallowed and turned away, busying himself with stacking glasses. But his heart hammered in his chest, dually with fear and with anger.

      It was a while before the sheriff finished his food, and even longer before he stopped chatting with George and other patrons and finally found himself leaving, sliding a coin over the counter as a tip of some sort. Jesse couldn't help but watch him leave, making sure he was gone before glancing towards the stairs like he'd see Truth standing there. Or even worse like he'd see Barnes making his way up there, having somehow snuck his way over there without Jesse noticing.

      There was a knot in Jesse's stomach that refused to loosen. He stood behind the bar, absently wiping down a glass that didn't need it, still feeling the weight of the man's gaze like it had burned into his skin. He was about to excuse himself and head upstairs, maybe check on Truth and clear his head but George's voice stopped him cold.

      "Jesse."

      He turned, and George was watching him, arms crossed, brow heavy, wearing the kind of look Jesse remembered seeing on his father when he'd staggered home early in the morning after sneaking out in the dead of night. A look that meant he wasn't going anywhere until he gave an explanation.

      "What the hell was that about?" George asked. "What do you think you're doing, lyin' to the Dry Creek sheriff like that? You're lucky I like you, or I'd be telling him you've only been here three days at the most."

      Jesse exhaled through his nose, set the glass down, and braced himself against the counter. "It's... complicated."

      George's eyebrows lifted. "Lucky for you," he said dryly, "I love stories."

      "It's a story I don't even know the whole truth to," Jesse muttered.

      George just stared at him, hard and expectant. He wasn't going to let this go.

      Jesse ran a hand down his face, letting it settle on his jaw before he spoke again, "About a mile or less outside of Dry Creek... that's where I found Truth." George's frown deepened. "I thought he was dead," Jesse went on. "He was covered in dirt and blood, looked like someone had beat him without any sense of mercy, then left him for the buzzards and coyotes. If you think he looks rough now, you should've seen him then." He swallowed hard. "I was two seconds away from diggin' a grave for him when he looked at me."

      George didn't say anything. He just stood there, watching Jesse with an unreadable expression.

      "I holed up with him in Dry Creek for two days," Jesse said. "Didn't know what else to do, figured maybe he'd wake up and be lucid enough to make the trip of a town over, maybe I could get him back on his feet." His voice tightened. "But I got warned by the townsfolk. Told me if I didn't carry Truth out of Dry Creek, half dead or not... then I was better off just putting a bullet in him." Jesse shook his head. "And I don't think that was mercy talkin'. I think they just wanted him done and over with."

      George's face darkened. "Why?" he asked. "He's a preacher."

      "Has somethin' to do with that sheriff," Jesse said, pointing toward the door like it was what Jesse was accusing of beating Truth. "Truth told me... said Barnes surrounds himself with liars, cheats, thieves, men who hurt folks just to make their own fortune. Whatever Truth did, or knew, it was enough to make someone want him dead."

      George's mouth pulled tight. "That's a mighty strong accusation to be making about a lawman."

      Jesse's expression hardened. "It's not my accusation," he said. "It's Truth's. That's all he told me... and honestly, I trust the man. Because if it ain't true, then what the hell's Barnes doin' ridin' six hours out of his way just to start askin' questions?"

      George was quiet for a long moment. His gaze drifted toward the door, like he expected the sheriff to come storming back in.

      Finally, George sighed and shook his head. "Look," he said, voice calmer now, "I ain't callin' you a liar. And I ain't callin' the preacher a liar either. But you start throwin' accusations like that around, and you're gonna end up in trouble."

      "I know." Jesse scowled, "Look at Truth."

      George's face softened just slightly. "If it makes you feel any better," he said, "the sheriff wasn't askin' about Truth."

      "I know," Jesse said, nearing exasperation. "He's askin' about some man named Jude." He stopped himself from admitting that the man sounded like the preacher, if only because the thought weighed so heavy on his mind that if he said it out loud it might crush him.

      George grunted. "Well, if the sheriff's diggin' that hard for someone, it ain't for nothin'."

      Jesse ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "That's what I'm afraid of."

┏━━━━━━━━━━༺༻❁༺༻━━━━━━━━━━┓

      The day dragged on, and everything felt just a little too loud. Every step across the saloon floor, every creak of the front door swinging open, every boot scuff against the boards made Jesse's nerves tighten another notch. Every time someone even looked at the stairs Jesse felt like they were looking straight through the ceiling to where Truth lay, likely too battered and too drugged to fight off even the softest hand if someone meant him harm.

      He couldn't shake the feeling Barnes was still out there somewhere, lurking like a buzzard just waiting for the stink of death to call him in.

      Finally, as the evening edged in and the crowd thinned to a lazy trickle, George clapped a hand on Jesse's back, and Jesse damn near jumped out of his skin.

      George gave him a frown like he was sizing him up for a coffin but only said, "Go on up. Bring the food with you. I'll finish closin' down." he nodded towards two plates he'd made for Jesse and Truth, sitting out on the counter like some sort of admission of guilt. Like the second he'd grab them Barnes' would walk in and start asking him how one man could eat so much.

      Jesse didn't argue. His boots thudded dully on the stairs as he climbed, one plate balanced in his hand and the other on his arm. The quiet upstairs pressed heavier than the noise downstairs, like the whole building was holding its breath, just waiting on him to slip up.

      Truth had to have been spending most of his waking hours drifting in and out of a laudanum haze, staring up at the ceiling like he was memorizing every crack in the plaster. Jesse figured he ought to fetch him something like a newspaper, or a Bible, or even one of those penny novels he saw at almost every shop he'd been in, anything to give the man's mind something to chew on while his body healed.

      He nudged the door open with his hip. Truth was awake, sitting against the headboard, his hands resting on his stomach, eyes clear and sharp. No fog, no confusion. He looked tired, sure, but he certainly looked more of what Jesse supposed was himself.

      "Good, you're up," Jesse said, crossing the room and setting a plate on the little bedside table within Truth's reach.

      "I've been up for hours," Truth muttered, his voice still rough but steadier than before. He glanced down at the food, muttered a quick prayer that rolled off his tongue in a single, low breath, and started eating.

      Jesse grabbed his own plate and sank into the chair by the window, balancing the meal on his knees. For a while, the room filled with the soft clatter of cutlery and the faint creak of wood beneath Jesse's shifting weight.

      He should have felt relief. Truth was awake, eating, breathing steady. It was more than he could have hoped for when he first found the man. But instead, Jesse found himself sinking into an unease that had nothing to do with the sheriff.

      It was the comfort that scared him.

      He caught himself relaxing into this strange life, bringing Truth food, keeping watch while he healed, sitting in a sun-warmed room while the world spun on outside without them. Jesse wasn't made for stillness, but there he was, letting his guard slip a little more every day. It scared the hell out of him how easy it was starting to feel.

      How natural it all was.

      This was only meant to be a few days stay, just enough to patch Truth up best he could, then ride north. Leave all of Dry Creek's troubles in the dust. But days were starting to bleed together, it was going to near a week. The idea of leaving, of tearing Truth out of the first bed he'd slept safely in for God knew how long, it made Jesse's gut twist painfully.

      He stabbed at a chunk of dry biscuit on his plate, appetite gone.

      They couldn't stay. Not with Barnes sniffing around. Distance was the only thing that would keep them both breathing.

      But how was he supposed to haul Truth back into the saddle when the man still looked held together by stubbornness and a prayer? And worse, how was he supposed to harden his heart enough to do it?

      Jesse caught himself staring at Truth again, at the way he sat quietly, eating in slow careful bites, as if he was trying to savor the meal. The lamp on the table threw soft light across him, highlighting the bruises that hadn't yet faded.

      He looked human again. And Jesse, the damn fool that he was, found himself wanting to let him stay that way a little longer.

      He forced himself to look away, focusing on the lights down near the street flickering to life outside the window instead. He needed to start making plans. Needed to think about supplies. They couldn't afford the luxury of comfort. They couldn't afford to pretend this was something permanent.

      Jesse took another bite of his food.

      Across the room, Truth cleared his throat lightly. Jesse looked over to see him offering a small, tired smile, a real one, soft at the edges in a way that made Jesse's heart feel too big for his chest.

      "You alright?" Truth asked, voice low.

      Jesse rubbed a hand over his jaw and forced a smile. "Yeah," he lied. "Just a long day."

      Truth nodded like he understood more than Jesse wanted him to. Then he bowed his head over his plate again, eating in slow, deliberate bites.

      The room settled back into silence, but Jesse couldn't shake the weight pressing down on him. Couldn't shake the feeling that every quiet moment they stole there was another thread pulling tighter around their throats.

      Comfort was a noose, and Jesse could feel it cinching tighter with every passing moment.

Notes:

And so it begins >:P Barnes will certainly be around to stay, unfortunately. He'll be Jesse's very own, personal, pain in the ass.

 

I edited this chapter on Wattpad but I feel like this one is a bit all over the place. It's probably not and I'm just having a hard time concentrating on fixing the grammar and flow. There was a lot of BAD flow that I caught in editing. If anyone who reads this catches any flow/grammar/spelling mistakes please tell me where it is so I can fix it :)

Chapter 6

      Morning light spilled through the windows of the room, the slightly open curtains cutting thin lines of warm light across the walls. The room was still mostly cold from the night, but it being occupied helped to cut the bite.

      Jesse rubbed the back of his neck as he stood against the door, attempting to shake off the morning's work. His arms ached from scrubbing tables and sweeping floors, but it wasn't anything he couldn't put up with. He'd been worked harder in previous jobs.

      Truth was awake when Jesse walked in, sitting up in bed with his back against the headboard. His eyes looking around the room, taking in the worn wooden dresser, the warped floorboards, the old oil lamp on the bedside table next to where Jesse slept. He looked thoughtful, like he was piecing something together. He also looked out of it, his eyes glazed over a bit. He'd taken laudanum before going to bed, and the painkiller obviously hadn't worn off completely.

      "Didn't think I'd see you this early," Truth said, glancing over at Jesse, blinking slowly.

      "Yeah," Jesse replied, dropping his hat on the dresser. "George told me to come back after lunch. Guess he figured I deserved some rest."

      Truth hummed at that, still absently scanning the room. He hesitated, mouth twitching like he wanted to speak but couldn't decide if he should.

      Jesse went about straightening up the room while Truth fought to keep awake. It was just something to keep him busy while he milled around; opening the curtains, fixing the chairs, looking in drawers for anything of interest. It also kept his mind off the sheriff. If only for a little bit.

      When Jesse finally turned back to look at Truth, the preacher was staring at him still. Chewing at his cheek like he had something important to say.

      "You got somethin' on your mind?" Jesse asked, finally shrugging out of his coat and tossing it over the back of the chair.

      Truth shifted his weight like the question made him uncomfortable. "Just... I was wonderin' if there's a place to wash 'round here." He ran a hand through his hair, which had flattened awkwardly to one side from sleep. "I feel like hell... Figured it's about time I do somethin' about it."

      "There's actually a bath here," Jesse told him, "but, I hate to break it to you. It's downstairs."

      Truth let out a groan and flopped his head back against the wall. "Of course it is," he muttered.

      "I can just get you water and a cloth." Jesse tried to reason.

      "And pass up on the one time I might ever get to use an actual bath?" Truth scoffed.

      Jesse grinned as he moved to the dresser and started sorting through his things. "I'll help you down," he said.

      After some rummaging, Jesse pulled out the shirt and a pair of trousers he'd taken from the boarding house in Dry Creek. It was nothing fancy and they might have been too big on him in his current state, but they weren't stained with blood like Truth's current shirt. He walked back to the bed and showed them to Truth. "Best I got," he said.

      "Looks fine to me," Truth replied. He slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed, already wincing as he moved.

      "You sure you're up for this?" Jesse asked, stepping in closer.

      "I'm sure," Truth grunted, gripping Jesse's offered arm.

      Jesse eased him up slowly, letting Truth lean most of his weight against him. As he did so, Truth sucked in a sharp breath, one hand pressing hard against his side.

      "You alright?" Jesse asked.

      "Yeah," Truth said through clenched teeth. "Just feels like I've been stitched up with a rusty nail is all."

      "Funny," Jesse said, "because I didn't stitch any of you up at all." He gave Truth a moment to find his balance before guiding him toward the door. "Let's take it slow," Jesse said.

      Truth snorted. "Ain't got much choice, do I?"

      As they shuffled down the narrow hallway, Jesse kept a firm grip on Truth's arm. He could see Truth grit his teeth with every step, but he never dared make a noise. By the time they reached the stairs, Truth was breathing hard, his face pale.

      "C'mon," Jesse said gently, guiding Truth down the steps one slow, painful step at a time.

      Every other step, Truth let out a faint hiss or muttered something colorful under his breath. When they reached the bottom, his knuckles were white as they gripped the banister.

      "You alright?" Jesse asked again.

      Truth huffed out a breathless laugh, blinking rapidly like he was trying to fight off the dizziness. "I'm fine," he said, though his voice was thin. "But you're carryin' me back up, I swear."

      Jesse smirked. "We'll see about that."

      Jesse carefully guided Truth to the washroom, tucked away at the back of the saloon. It was dimly lit by a narrow window that barely let in any light. The basin was a wide wooden tub, scuffed and dull with age.

      With nowhere else to set him, Jesse led Truth to the basin and had him lean himself up against it. His arms folded tight over his chest like he was trying desperately to hold himself together. His face bore an expression that was ultimately unreadable to Jesse, his eyes focused on the floor like it was something interesting.

      The pump creaked as Jesse worked it, filling the tub with warm water from somewhere nearby.

      When the water had sloshed up nearly to the rim, Jesse turned back to Truth and found the man was now watching him, his gaze steady but uncertain.

      "You alright?" Jesse asked, wiping his hands on his pants.

      Truth hesitated. "Yeah," he muttered, then rubbed his hand along his jaw as if he could wipe away whatever was troubling him. "Just..." He shifted his weight against the wall, clearly uncomfortable. "Could you... could you help me?"

      Jesse frowned. "Help you with what?"

      Truth's gaze flicked down to the tub, then back to Jesse. His voice dropped lower. "Help me take a bath." The request hung between them, quiet and awkward. "I know," Truth said quickly, running a hand over his hair. "It's... it's just, I ain't exactly in shape to be haulin' myself in and out of that thing alone. I'd just..." His voice faltered, and for a second he looked more embarrassed than Jesse had ever seen him. "I hate to ask."

      Jesse studied him for a moment, weighing the words and the shame written across his face. Truth looked like a man who'd spent years doing everything for himself, and now he was forced to lean on someone else. It was obviously eating him alive.

      "It's fine," Jesse said at last. "I'll help."

      Truth let out a breath he must've been holding. "Thank you."

      Jesse was careful to work Truth out of his shirt, undoing the buttons for him and helping him shift his arms so he could slide it down and off.

      The blood stain stretched wide across the side of the white fabric, and Jesse debated on just tossing the shirt. There was no way in hell anyone would be able to get it all out and make the shirt look presentable.

      The bandage wrapped across Truth's side came off easily with just about nothing sticking to it. Still, Jesse winced at the sight of the scab and the way Truth's ribs jutted out above his sunken stomach. He struggled with allowing himself to touch the preacher, he felt like he'd crumble if his fingers brushed him the wrong way.

      Jesse stepped away to allow Truth to do the rest of the work, to remove his belt and pants and anything else. He busied himself folding Truth's shirt up, but soon it became very apparent that Truth could not get his belt unbuckled. Jesse dared to look in his direction for just a moment and caught Truth's gaze. Jesse opened his mouth to ask if he needed help but Truth beat him to it.

      "Don't ask, I ain't having you touch me anywhere near my belt." Truth shook his head. Finally, after a few seconds of struggling, the clasp came undone.

      Jesse busied himself again, looking around the room as Truth finished undressing. He found a bar of soap, but wasn't exactly sure if it was something George had set out or something someone had left. Either way, it was good enough to use to get the worst of the blood and dirt off Truth. Jesse smelled it, and it smelled like something harsh, he knew to use it sparingly.

      When he stopped hearing the rustle of clothing, Jesse turned. Truth sat against the tub, covering himself. He wasn't looking anywhere in particular, and he certainly wasn't looking at Jesse.

      Jesse kept his eyes on Truth's face as he made his way over to him, it felt wrong to study him in the moment. To try and pick him apart and pity his state when he was trusting Jesse so much.

      Carefully, Jesse reached out to touch him on the arm, and Truth swallowed thick.

      "Don't make this weird," Truth grumbled, and Jesse bit back a laugh as he moved to grab Truth a little tighter.

      "Wouldn't dream of it, Preacher." Jesse shook his head.

      Truth's breath hitched as he stepped into the basin, and when he finally lowered himself down into the water, he let out a tight hiss of pain. His hands shot up to his face, fingers digging into his temples as if he could rub away the sting.

      "You're fine," Jesse murmured, kneeling beside the tub. "You're fine, promise."

      Truth exhaled slowly, dragging his hands down his face before letting them fall into the water. His eyes lingered there, watching the ripples move away from where his hands had just been.

      Jesse hesitated to help Truth wash, it felt strange. Jesse had helped his father a lot before he'd passed; helped him wash and shave and eat, but this was different. This wasn't a man he'd grown up with, a man who knew him inside and out. Jesse and Truth only knew each other for some days. This was a stranger.

      The soap was handed off to Truth, who used it across his arms and used his hands to rub it in.

      Eventually it got handed back to Jesse, and Truth cautiously asked for him to wash his back. Jesse obliged. As Truth sat forward, Jesse couldn't help but reel a little at how bony his back looked. His skin stretched thin over his shoulder blades and his spin prominent. His back was lined with more bruises than his front. One bruise on his upper back looked suspiciously boot-shaped, matching up to the same shaped mark on his coat.

      There was some sort of sickness in the idea that Truth had been beaten so brutally by another man's hands. And yet, he still trusted that a man who looked and acted like Jesse had gentle ones.

      When Jesse pressed the bar to Truth's back Truth flinched.

      "I'm sorry," Truth whispered, "I won't move."

      "Nothing to be sorry about." Jesse shook his head, even if Truth couldn't see it.

      "Feels embarrassing," he muttered. "Not being able to do this all myself, that is."

      Jesse shook his head. "Ain't no shame in it." Truth just hummed in response. "You've been through hell," He added, wetting his hand in the water and gently rubbing them across Truth's back to wipe the soap away. "You're still healing. Needing a little help don't make you less of a man."

      Truth let out a tired sigh, still staring at the water. He was quiet for a long moment before Jesse motioned him to lean back. As he did, Truth looked at him, shifting himself carefully.

      "If you really wanna help," he said slowly, "you mind shavin' me?"

      Jesse blinked. "Shavin'?"

      "Yeah," Truth said with a faint smile. He ran a hand down his chin, fingers dragging through the coarse stubble. "I ain't had a real razor in a while. Don't care for growin' a beard."

      Jesse tilted his head. "I don't know... I think what you've got going on right now suits you."

      Truth gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "That's nice of you," he said. "But I've seen myself wear a beard before. Trust me, in the long run it don't."

      Jesse chuckled and stood up. "Alright," he said. "You're lucky I keep a straight razor in my bag." He stood up with a light groan.

      "You carry around a razor?" Truth said, feigning surprise. Jesse could see the tease on Truth's lips. "Now, why'd you do that? Doesn't look like you've used one in a few years."

      Jesse didn't bless Truth with a direct reply, just smiled and shook his head as he made his way towards the door, saying he'd be back in one second. He knew where he kept it.

      A few minutes later, he returned with the razor from one of his saddle bags. Truth was leaning back in the tub when Jesse entered the room, his eyes half-closed, his head resting against the curved wooden rim. He looked more at ease than Jesse had seen him yet, the water had softened the tension in his face, dulling the sharp edges of pain that usually drew his expression.

      "Ready?" Jesse asked.

      Truth cracked one eye open. "As I'll ever be."

      Jesse knelt beside the tub again and got to work. The blade rasped softly against Truth's skin, scraping away the uneven stubble a little at a time. Truth didn't say much, just kept his head tilted where Jesse guided it. His eyes stayed closed, and Jesse could hardly tell he was awake.

      It wasn't until Jesse wiped the soap from his face that Truth finally spoke again.

      "Thank you," he muttered.

      "Anytime," Jesse said.

      It was another moment before Truth spoke again, "You're too good at this," Truth said, voice low.

      Jesse smiled faintly. "My Pa used to have me shave him when his hands started shaking too bad. Guess I had plenty of practice."

      "Guess you did," Truth murmured. His voice was softer now, tired in a way that Jesse recognized and knew all too well. The kind of tired that settled in after a body had carried too much pain for far too long.

      "You wanna stay there a while longer?" Jesse asked.

      Truth's head lolled back against the tub. "Might as well," he mumbled. "Water's warm... and it's quiet."

      "Alright," Jesse said as he strained to stand, flicking his straight razor closed and slipping it into his pocket. He moved to gather the rest of Truth's clothes from the floor and put them in a place where they could be grabbed later.

      Truth gave a small, lazy smile. "You're a saint."

      Jesse huffed a laugh, "Don't think you know me too well, then." he muttered. He stepped back to the wooden tub, his fingers grazing the edge before he settled his weight onto his hands.

      The room was quiet, save for the sound of the saloon just a room over as it started to fill with more people throughout the time they were in there.

      Truth sat still, shoulders slumped and head bowed, eyes closed like he might drift off if Jesse let him.

      Neither of them spoke, but neither seemed to mind the silence. It was a rare kind of quiet. Not heavy or tense, just easy. Comfortable.

      "I miss takin' care of folks." Truth finally said.

      Jesse paused, glancing down at Truth.

      "I take it you had a congregation once." Jesse said, more a statement than a question. He stooped down, his knees straining as he did so.

      Truth nodded slightly. "Yeah. A good one, too." He let out a quiet breath, like the memory of it settled heavy on his chest. "There were a lot of folks I looked after... older ones, mostly. Some couldn't get around much anymore. I'd help 'em eat, help 'em bathe." He gave a faint smile. "They'd fuss about it sometimes, tell me they weren't so feeble yet, but they always let me help in the end."

      "Sounds like you did a lot for them." Jesse leaned back on his heels.

      "Not just them," Truth said. "There was this woman... husband died on her, left her with four little ones and not much else. I let her stay with me for a while. Just until she got back on her feet." His smile faltered, fading into something more bittersweet. "They were good people. All of 'em."

      Jesse watched him for a moment, then asked quietly, "What happened to them?"

      "Ain't worth getting into," Truth muttered. His face hardened just a little. He shook his head. "Things happened... and I ain't had a congregation for a while now."

      Jesse wasn't sure what to say to that. Whatever had happened, Truth was clearly dragging its weight with him.

      "I'm sorry," Jesse said finally.

      Truth huffed a dry laugh, lifting a hand to rub at his face. "Ain't nothin' for you to be sorry about," he said. "It's not like you were the one that did it."

      "Suppose not," Jesse said, and let the conversation rest there.

      The silence stretched again, but it wasn't as easy this time. It felt like something unsaid was still lingering between them. Jesse let it hang for a while longer before he reached out, offering his arm to Truth.

      "Come on," Jesse said. "Water's gonna get cold."

      Truth groaned as he pushed himself upright, his ribs protesting the movement. Jesse braced him as he climbed out of the tub, gripping his arm steady as Truth's feet hit the floor.

      "You good?" Jesse asked.

      "Yeah," Truth muttered, though he stayed still for a second longer, like he didn't quite trust his legs yet.

      Jesse grabbed a nearby towel that at least looked clean and handed it to Truth as he carefully stepped out of the tub.

      He began drying himself off, slow and careful, wincing whenever the cloth dragged a little too hard across his body. Jesse busied himself with looking over Truth's old bandage and making sure it was good to reuse, otherwise Truth would have to go up the stairs with no support on his ribs.

      When Jesse was finished with trying to give Truth his space, he looked up at the preacher. Truth was still wiping himself down in slow, methodical motions.

      "You keep movin' like that," Jesse said with a faint smile, "I'm gonna be old and grey before you're done."

      Truth snorted, laying the towel over the lip of the basin. "Wouldn't that be somethin'," he said as he gingerly straightened his posture.

      Jesse walked to stand in front of him and began wrapping the bandage around his ribs. His fingers worked carefully, but Truth still hissed under his breath when the cloth tightened.

      "Sorry," Jesse muttered again.

      "Ain't nothin'." Truth shook his head.

      Once Jesse tied the bandage off, he grabbed the clean shirt and pants he'd brought down earlier. It'd have to do until Jesse could purchase new clothes, or figure out how to wash out Truth's so the stains weren't so obvious.

      "Here," Jesse said, handing the clothes over.

      Jesse felt a bit bad leaving Truth to his own devices while dressing, but he didn't want to overstep their brand-new boundaries. And despite it all, Truth was a grown man. If Truth wanted or needed help he was sure to tell him. He had before.

      Truth grunted as he shifted to put the clothes on, struggling to step into the pants and slip his arms through the sleeves of the shirt. The shirt was loose on him, the fabric hanging off his bony frame in a way Jesse still wasn't used to and certainly didn't like. His hands shook slightly as he slipped the buttons through the holes and tightened his belt, but he managed.

      "You alright?" Jesse asked.

      Truth let out a breath and gave a faint smile. "I might never get over this."

      Jesse frowned. "Over what?"

      "That there's still folks like you in the world," Truth said. "Kind folks."

      Jesse shook his head, almost laughing. "Sounds like you're a pretty kind man yourself."

      Truth's smile faltered, and he looked down at the ground, his fingers caught the edge of his pants like he was attempting to be casual. "It's the job," he said quietly. "You don't get to pick and choose who you help when you're a preacher. No matter your thoughts on a man... you gotta help him."

      Jesse paused, watching him carefully before taking the few steps over to stand next to him.

      "Still," he said. "You're still doin' it, still wantin' to take care of people even now. Even after everything."

      Truth's face tightened, and he shook his head. "Really all I'm good at."

      "Still means somethin'."

      Jesse's arm was wrapped tightly around Truth's waist, steadying him as they shuffled out of the washroom. Truth's breathing was shallow and fast, his ribs no doubt aching from all the moving around. Jesse kept his steps slow, mindful of each wince that passed across Truth's face.

      The very moment they emerged into the saloon's main room, George's voice rang out through the room. Jesse flinched like he just knew sheriff Barnes was going to come storming in at the sound.

      "Well, look who's walkin'!" George stood behind the bar, a towel slung over one shoulder, waving them over like they weren't almost halfway across the room already. Jesse paused, shifting his arm under Truth's to better prop him up. "C'mon now," George said, grinning wide. "Don't leave me hangin'."

      Jesse sighed and guided Truth closer. As they reached the bar, George stuck out his hand.

      "Don't think we've properly met," George said. "Name's George."

      Truth took his hand, his grip weaker than Jesse knew he wanted it to be. "I don't believe we have," Truth said. "Name's Truth."

      "Oh, I know," George said with a chuckle. "Jesse here won't stop talkin' about you."

      Truth turned his head toward Jesse, eyebrows lifting just enough to be smug.

      "That ain't true," Jesse muttered, shifting his stance again to keep Truth upright. "He's exaggeratin'."

      Truth made a low hum, like he didn't believe a word of it.

      "Well," George went on, "it's good to see you up and around. If I'm bein' honest, I figured me and Jesse would be diggin' a grave sooner or later."

      Truth's smile was faint but sharp. "God wouldn't dare kill His best preacher," he said.

      "Don't go givin' Him ideas." Jesse let out a short laugh. "Far as I'm concerned," he added, "it's your stubbornness that's kept you upright this long."

      "Whatever it is," George said, "I'm just glad you're breathin' and talkin' instead of gettin' buried out back."

      Jesse gave a small nod. "Yeah, well... I should get him back upstairs before he decides to keel over right here."

      George figured that was fair enough and shooed them away and back up the stairs. Jesse nodded with a quick thanks.

      The climb was slow, each step drawn out as Truth's weight seemed to get heavier with every movement. His breaths turned ragged by the time they reached the top, and when Jesse finally got him back into the room, Truth's knees nearly buckled.

      "Easy now," Jesse muttered, easing him onto the bed. Truth let out a sharp gasp when he hit the mattress, his hand clutching at his side. He gritted his teeth and swore under his breath. "You're alright," Jesse said, helping Truth swing his legs over and onto the bed before reaching for the bottle of laudanum on the bedside table. He pressed it into Truth's hand. "Take it, lay back, and go to sleep."

      Truth groaned but didn't argue. He popped the cork and took a small swig, grimacing at the taste. As he leaned back against the pillows, his breath slowed a little as he relaxed. Less sharp and less strained.

      "Get some sleep." Jesse muttered,

      "Thank you, Jesse." Truth's voice was quieter now.

      "Anytime, Preacher." he patted Truth's shoulder lightly.

      Jesse moved to sit in the chair in the corner of the room until he was sure Truth was completely out. His breathing even, his face relaxed, and no movement or finger twitching like he was still in pain.

      When Jesse did figure Truth was asleep, he made his way out the door of the room, down the stairs, and out the door of the saloon.

      The town was really only just stirring, shutters creaking open and shopkeepers sweeping their stoops. The warm of the day was starting to settle in thick.

      Jesse shoved his hands deep into his pockets and kept his head low, eyes flicking warily along the street. He knew that sheriff was still lurking somewhere, and Jesse wasn't in the mood to test his luck.

      He wandered a bit until he came across the general store, it wasn't big, but Jesse knew even the smallest of stores were packed with everything one person could need. Especially in a town the size of Red Bluff

      The general store was quiet when Jesse stepped inside, just the soft scuff of the clerk's boots as he stocked a shelf. Jesse quietly made his way to the back, where he assumed they kept more of the food items. He'd wanted to pick up some sugar, both for himself and Truth and for the horses. The horses had done them well so far, and he felt bad for sticking them out in the open like they were. They'd earned a treat

      He grabbed a decent sized sugarloaf from the shelf before deciding to mill around the store, looking at the odds and ends offered.

      Jesse grabbed a small tin of chewing tobacco off the shelf before moving over to the selection of books they had. It wasn't much, but Jesse sifted through the titles, running his fingers along the worn spines. The Bloody Bandit of Durango, Terror in Texas, The Preacher's Revenge. All typical nonsense, but he figured Truth would enjoy the distraction. He pulled two books from the shelf and added them to his small pile.

      At the counter, Jesse set his purchases down and dug into his pocket for some coins. He had just enough to cover the lot, a reminder that he couldn't afford too many more surprises this week. As the clerk counted out change, Jesse heard footsteps behind him. Slow and deliberate in a way that felt too familiar.

      "Awful interesting buys for a man like you." came the sheriff's voice.

      Jesse forced himself not to tense. He pocketed his change before turning, keeping his face neutral.

      "Sugar's for my horses, mostly." Jesse said evenly. "Rest is mine."

      The sheriff's eyes drifted to the books on the counter and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You read penny novels?" he said with a scoff. "Thought you were a cowboy sort."

      Jesse's fingers clenched into a fist. "I ain't no cowboy," he said, sharp and cold. There was enough of a bite in his words to make the sheriff's smug grin falter.

      For a second, they just stared at each other. Jesse didn't like the way the sheriff looked at him. Like he was already fitting Jesse's face into some wanted poster. Without another word, Jesse grabbed his things and pushed past him, the door's bell jingling above his head.

      Jesse set his jaw as he stepped out of the store and swallowed. He knew he needed to keep his temper, lest the sheriff see him slip up. Barnes might have thought Jesse had Truth, if Jude was Truth, but the sheriff didn't know that for sure.

      The horses were right where he'd left them, tied up beside the saloon. Jesse dropped his goods by his feet and carefully unwrapped the sugarloaf. He used his knife to chop off two smaller bits, holding one up to each horse. He whistled low to get their attention, and both horses flicked their ears forward at him.

      "There we go," Jesse murmured, holding the treats out. Truth's roan snorted softly and lipped the sugar from his hand, his horse following suit. Jesse gave their noses a firm pat. "Y'all earned it," he muttered.

      With his job done, he grabbed his items before heading inside. He stopped by the room with the tub to grab Truth's old clothes and bring them upstairs. He still wasn't sure what he was going to do with them, but he'd figure it out. He was sure.

      When Jesse reached their room, Truth stirred awake at the sound of the door opening.

      Jesse knew the man would be out cold in a few hours once his laudanum caught back up with him. But, for the time, Truth seemed intent on fighting off the effects of the medicine, his eyes following Jesse as he set down his items and made his way around the room.

      "Look what I found," Jesse said, tossing the two penny novels onto Truth's lap.

      Truth flinched slightly, surprised, then chuckled as he picked one up. "The Bloody Bandit of Durango?" he read aloud, voice hoarse, grinning. "Real literature." Truth said sarcastically.

      Jesse shrugged, turning back to his saddlebags in the corner. "They had 'em at the store," he said. "Figured you'd get sick of countin' the boards on the wall sooner or later."

      "You didn't have to buy me anything," Truth said, lazily thumbing through the book. "I'm fine just layin' here, bored outta my skull."

      "Yeah, well," Jesse said, "I had to stop by the store for the horses anyway."

      Truth looked over at him, eyes warm with something close to gratitude. "Thanks," he said, voice softer than before.

      Jesse gave a noncommittal grunt as he pulled the tin of chewing tobacco from his pocket. He popped it open, sniffed it once, and made a face.

      "Didn't know you were a chewer," Truth said, his words slurring just a bit as he watched him.

      "I ain't," Jesse muttered, tucking a pinch into his cheek. The bitter taste spread across his tongue immediately, sharp and unpleasant. He grimaced. "I hate the stuff," he admitted. "But it's better than wearin' a hole in the floor."

      Truth snorted, "If I could get up, I'd wear the hole in the floor for you."

      Jesse let out a small laugh, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Hell," he said, "give it a few days, I'm sure you'll be stompin' around here soon enough."

      "Yeah," Truth said, shifting under the blankets, "I hope so."

      The quiet that followed wasn't awkward. It just felt easy. Comfortable. Jesse let his eyes linger on Truth for a moment longer before shifting back in his chair. The bitter burn of the tobacco against his tongue, but for some reason, it didn't bother him as much anymore.

      The room had quickly settled into a comfortable hush. The air was just starting to warm, the smell of wood smoke faint. Truth was tucked deep under the blankets, the lines of pain that normally cut across his face softened by the laudanum.

      Truth was trying to act like he hadn't noticed Jesse staring. His eyes locked on the book, turning pages with a stubborn sort of focus like he was reading and not just scanning the words to get a general idea of the contents.

      Truth didn't bother looking up. He huffed out a breath through his nose and turned another page. "Quit lookin' at me like that," Truth muttered.

      "Like what?" Jesse asked, settling deeper into his chair, laughing quietly as he crossed one leg over the other.

      "Like you're thinkin' somethin' funny." Truth shook his head, but there was the ghost of a smile on his face. "You're a goofy guy, you know that?"

      "Goofy?" He scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

      Truth just shrugged, setting the book aside. "Just somethin' about you," he said. "You're... goofy." He settled deeper into the bed, shifting with a quiet wince as his ribs protested.

      Jesse didn't ask for an explanation. Truth's eyes were already closed, and the slow rise and fall of his chest told him the laudanum was starting to pull him under again.

      For a while, Jesse just sat there, staring at Truth before flicking his eyes up towards the ceiling. The room seemed too quiet all of a sudden, like the air itself was holding its breath. He tried to let his thoughts drift, to focus on anything else, but his mind kept circling back to Truth.

      Jesse sat there for a moment longer, listening to the preacher's breathing even out. Listening to him fall asleep like a man he didn't know, a stranger, wasn't in the room with him.

      He pressed his lips into a thin line before he stood up. He was sure George was needing his help just about then.

Notes:

The bathtub scene 😏 but a very nice and sweet bathtub scene where Jesse and Truth bond :)

This was meant to get uploaded yesterday but I had to work yesterday and work ended at 10 pm so I didn't even get a chance to think about uploading this.

I also did pretty minimal reviews on this chapter. I remember doing a lot of edits on this chapter the first time I posted it on Wattpad, but even with my read through before posting it seemed pretty solid :P

Chapter 7

      Jesse woke to warmth. The kind that settled deep into his bones. The kind he didn't want to pull away from, and for a second he couldn't remember where he was. All he knew was that he was warm and rested, and someone was pressed close against him.

      Then his mind finally caught up, and Jesse's eyes shot open. He didn't move. Not even a breath left his lungs.

      He turned his head and looked to Truth, who was still asleep, his face slack and calm. He lay shoulder to shoulder with Jesse, the preacher's hand laying just over his forearm. A closeness dangerous enough to make Jesse take in a shuddering breath.

      Jesse swallowed hard. He should've moved. He knew that. Knew he should have eased Truth's arm away from him and slipped out of bed before this became something more.

      More.

      And what was more? There was no more to any of this.

      But, either way, he couldn't bring himself to pull away. Instead he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling his own heartbeat drum hard against his ribs.

      He told himself over and over that Truth was out on laudanum. Too asleep to even know his hand was resting over Jesse. Too asleep to know they were lying shoulder to shoulder. But even so, that didn't explain why Jesse couldn't seem to move. It didn't explain the knot in his chest that only seemed to tighten when he thought about pulling away.

      He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing, tried to calm himself down, but all that did was make him too aware of the way Truth's breath brushed warm against his shoulder. It was steady, slow, each exhale like a reminder that Truth was still there. Truth was still alive.

      The knot in Jesse's chest twisted sharper.

      He shouldn't be thinking like that. But how could he not?

      The sheriff had been there, a six hour ride from Dry Creek, asking questions. Not about Truth, no, but about Jude. And Jesse just knew that those names were one and the same. Truth didn't have to tell him that, the way the sheriff spoke told him all he needed to know. And Jesse didn't know what the hell he was going to do if that man showed up again with a badge on his chest and a gun at his hip.

      He couldn't forever protect Truth from that. He could pretend he could all he wanted. He could pretend he could outgun a sheriff, but when it came down to it, shooting down a lawman never did anyone well. No matter how crooked they were. And underneath all of it, underneath the fear and the anger and the gnawing dread, was something quieter. Something Jesse couldn't quite name.

      Because even now, with Truth's hand settled on him, Jesse couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing him. Not right away, not yet, but soon. Like something terrible was already on its way, and all Jesse could do was sit still and wait for it to hit.

      The thought scared him more than he cared to admit.

      He shifted carefully, so as not to wake Truth as he pushed himself away. Truth's fingers twitched once, like he might grab hold of Jesse, but his hand finally relaxed, falling limply to the mattress. Jesse held his breath as he sat up, watching Truth's face for any sign he might stir. But Truth didn't so much as grimace.

      Jesse moved slow, like walking on thin ice. He tugged his shirt straight and buttoned it up properly before he slid his boots on as quietly as he could.

      The door let out the faintest groan as it swung open, but still Truth didn't shift. Jesse lingered for a moment longer, just watching him. Then he slipped out the door and down the stairs.

      The saloon was quieter than usual, the morning light still dim enough that most of the regulars hadn't crawled in yet. George was behind the bar, cleaning glasses and wiping down counters, and he shot Jesse a look when he walked in.

      "Good, you're up," George said, nodding toward the back. "Dishes are yours today."

      Jesse grunted in acknowledgment and made his way to the washbasin. The water was cold from sitting overnight as he dunked his hands in, stacking plates beside him to start scrubbing. But even with his head down and his hands busy, Jesse couldn't keep his nerves from buzzing. Every clatter of a chair against the floor, every creak of boots on wood, had him snapping his head up, shoulders tensed like he expected to see the sheriff walking through the door with a rifle in hand.

      George must've noticed, because eventually he set down one of the glasses he'd been wiping and walked over.

      "Now, you're twitchier than a cat in a room full of rockers," George said. "What's got you spooked?"

      "I just... I feel like me and Truth need to go." Jesse shook his head, scrubbing harder at a stubborn stain on a plate.

      George leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. "Why's that?"

      Jesse exhaled sharply, glancing over his shoulder like he thought someone might be listening. "Because I've got this awful feeling that Truth's Jude," He paused, shoulders dropping as he added, "And that sheriff ain't just sniffing around for no reason. He's looking for him."

      George's eyebrows lifted, and he let out a low whistle. "Well, hell."

      Jesse shook his head and muttered, "I don't know why it's got me so worked up." He set the plate down and pressed his palms flat against the counter, breathing hard. "Feels like I'm just... waiting for something to go wrong."

      George was quiet for a long moment. Then he clapped a hand on Jesse's shoulder, firm and steady, grounding him in place. "Listen," he said, voice low and certain. "Doesn't matter if Truth shot the sheriff's dog or burned his whole damn house down, I ain't letting anything happen to you two. I mean that."

      "Yeah? And what're you gonna do against a sheriff?" Jesse huffed a dry, bitter laugh.

      George grinned. "Barnes ain't my sheriff. He's just some tin star outta Dry Creek. And the sheriff here's too busy making eyes at the young lady in the post office to bother himself with whatever business Barnes thinks he's got here."

      "That don't mean he won't try something," Jesse muttered. "You know how those types are. If he thinks Truth's in that room-"

      "Then we'll roll him up in a rug and stick him in the damn closet," George interrupted, flashing a crooked smile. "Ain't nobody getting their hands on him, or you while I'm still breathing."

      Jesse blinked at him, unsure whether to laugh or curse. "You're serious?"

      "Dead serious," George said. "I'll hide him in the damn pantry if I have to. No one's dragging that man back to Dry Creek."

      Jesse swallowed hard, that tight, breathless feeling still stuck in his chest.

      "Look," George went on, voice softer now. "I know you're scared. Hell, I would be too. But you got people on your side, Jesse. Don't forget that."

      "I ain't scared." Jesse shook his head, it was a blatant lie.

      "Well, you sure look it." George lowered his eyebrows, "You're a good man. And by everything you've said so is Truth. I'm really wanting the best for you two, I'm wanting you to get where you're going."

      Jesse didn't know what to say to that. For so long, it'd just been him with no one else to count on, no one else to watch his back. But now there was Truth... and George.

      Jesse told himself not to get used to it. He knew far too well how things like this always ended. But still, for now, Jesse nodded and mumbled, "Thanks, George." it felt like he could breathe again.

      "Go on," George said, wiping his hands on a rag. "You're wound up tighter than a rusted hinge. Get some air, but be quick about it."

      Jesse didn't argue. He muttered a thanks and headed upstairs.

      Truth was still sleeping, curled into the blankets like he was trying to disappear inside them. His breathing still soft and steady, but his face had become drawn, like he was tired even in rest. Jesse paused in the doorway, watching him for a second longer than he should have.

      He's just sleeping, Jesse told himself. Nothing to worry about.

      Still, that dull ache stirred in his chest. Something about the sight of Truth, so still and quiet, tugged at something deep in Jesse's gut, something ugly and sharp-edged that he couldn't quite shake. He pushed it aside, shaking his head as he stepped further in.

      He quickly found the sugarloaf and unwrapped it from its paper. Carefully, Jesse worked two decent sized chunks of sugar off of it and pocketed them for the horses downstairs before wrapping the rest of it back up tight.

      As he turned to leave, he cast one last look at Truth. "You just rest," Jesse murmured, then slipped out the door.

      The horses were just as he'd left them, tied at the hitching post outside the saloon. They perked up when Jesse approached, and he smiled faintly as he reached into his pocket.

      "Don't say I never did nothin' for you," Jesse muttered as he held out the bits of sugar in each hand. His own horse took the treat eagerly, nudging Jesse's palm. Truth's roan, on the other hand, was more hesitant, sniffing Jesse's fingers like he didn't quite trust him yet.

      "Go on," Jesse coaxed, and finally the roan took the sugar from his hand.

      With that small victory won, Jesse saddled up on the roan, figuring it was best to stretch the horse's legs properly. He gave his own horse a firm pat on the neck before leading them both away from the saloon.

      The ride was slow, lazy even, but that was fine by Jesse. For once, there wasn't much urgency in his day. No looming threat, no panicked decisions to make. Just the steady clip of hooves on dry earth and the low murmur of townsfolk going about their business.

      He passed the general store, the tailor's shop, the blacksmith's forge, all bustling with life. Folks carried bags of flour, called to each other from across the street, laughed with neighbors. Nobody seemed to notice him or the horses much.

      'This is the life,' Jesse thought.

      A simple life, with simple worries; wondering what to cook for supper, or which fencepost needed fixing next, or if the roof was going to leak next rainy season. He wondered, for a moment, if a life like that could ever be his.

      And then his mind drifted to Truth.

      He pictured Truth sitting on the porch of some small house, Bible in his lap, something a little softer than the life he'd led up until now. The kind of life where the biggest trouble was a leaky roof. Jesse pictured himself there too; helping build a garden box, fixing a door hinge, maybe building a table or two.

      But then Jesse's mind snapped back, and he cursed himself under his breath. 'Don't be stupid,' he thought. Truth wasn't meant for a life like that, not one with Jesse in it.

      Jesse wasn't built for quiet or stillness, at the center of it all he was a cowboy, and Truth wasn't built to have someone like Jesse hanging around him. Truth wanted to preach again, to stand in a pulpit and speak to a congregation, to be a man of God. There wasn't room for someone like Jesse in that world, a man who swore too much, who only knew how to drink hard, and whose hands had seen too much violence.

      Besides, once they got north, things would change. They'd part ways eventually. Truth would heal, find some decent town that needed a preacher. He'd marry some kind woman who made pies and sang in church. And Jesse figured he'd find a ranch or a freight outfit looking for an extra pair of hands.

      And that was how it should be. But somehow, the thought didn't sit right.

      He wiped a hand down his face, like that could scrub the thought from his mind altogether. Instead, he focused on the road. On the small rocks skittering across the dry earth beneath the horses' hooves.

      He passed the post office, a group of kids playing in the dust, and a couple of old men smoking out front of a small boarding house.

      There was no sign of Sheriff Barnes anywhere.

      'Good,' Jesse thought. He hoped the man had either lost his nerve or found his answer somewhere else. Maybe he'd already high-tailed it back to Dry Creek. Jesse doubted he'd be that lucky, but still, Jesse could hope the man knew what was good for him and decided to move on.

      Jesse gave the roan a gentle nudge with his heel, steering her down a quieter street. As he rode on, he found himself hoping that whatever future lay ahead, he and Truth might still have a chance to get there. To see it through, whatever it ended up looking like.

      The sun was starting to peak in the sky by the time Jesse reached the edge of town. The air felt heavier and quiet, like the weight of a storm that hadn't yet come. He circled the horses back towards the saloon and figured with his little time before heading back to work he'd pick up more medicine for Truth. He wasn't low exactly, but Jesse wasn't in the mood to be caught without it.

      When the horses slowed as they neared the saloon, Jesse hopped off the roan and tied both horses to their typical hitching post. Truth's horse shifted uneasily, flicking its ears, and Jesse ran a hand down the horse's neck.

      "Easy," Jesse murmured. "I'll be back soon enough."

      He quickly made his way across the street and into the store. It was dim inside, the air cool and faintly smelling of dust and tobacco. Shelves lined the walls, packed with tins and jars and glass bottles, just as it was the last time he was in there.

      Just as Jesse was about to saddle up to the counter and ask for more laudanum a voice that he could only equate to gravel under and wagon wheel spoke directly to him.

      "Long time no see,"

      Jesse's stomach twisted. He turned his head slowly, already feeling his pulse climb in his throat. The sheriff stood by a rack of tin cups, arms crossed, his face drawn into a smug half-smile.

      "Sheriff," Jesse muttered an acknowledgement, before making it clear to Widow Burns what he was there for. The older lady didn't hesitate to grab the item for him.

      But Barnes wasn't finished. The man started moving closer, boots thudding against the creaky floorboards.

      "You sure are jumpy," Barnes said. "Actin' like you're the one I'm here for."

      Jesse turned sharply, fixing Barnes with a hard stare. "Maybe I'm just tired of you sniffin' around town," he shot back. "What's keepin' you out here anyhow? Shouldn't you be back in Dry Creek, doing your job?"

      Barnes gave a dry chuckle. "I'll be back soon enough. Just gotta find the man I'm looking for."

      "Yeah?" Jesse asked, "Well, seems to me if that Jude fellow was here, you'd have found him by now. Town's not that big. Can't go forever without crawling out for food or water."

      The sheriff smirked like he knew something Jesse didn't. "Oh, don't you worry about Jude," he said. "Man like that? He's used to doing without. He's gone long stretches without a warm meal or a roof over his head before. Wouldn't surprise me if he's holed up in some abandoned shack out in the hills, waiting for me to turn my back."

      Jesse scoffed. "Sounds like a dangerous man," he said, dry and mocking. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He'd meant to sound casual, to play dumb, but instead, the words felt sharp, like he was pushing too hard.

      The sheriff's smile stretched wider. "Damn right he's dangerous," Barnes said. "Got thirty murders to his name."

      Jesse froze. For a heartbeat, he forgot how to breathe.

      Thirty murders?

      Truth?

      Or Jude.

      No. Jesse didn't believe it. He couldn't possibly believe it.

      The man who prayed over every meal? Who apologized when Jesse hurt him? The man who thanked Jesse for a pair of dime-store novels? The man who could barely hold a spoon without shaking, or couldn't take pain without tears welling in his eyes?

      That man hadn't killed thirty people. Jesse knew that as sure as he knew his own name.

      He forced himself to keep calm. "Well," Jesse said slowly, "I sure hope you find him soon. Don't need someone like that walkin' around."

      Barnes clapped him on the shoulder, heavy and hard. "Glad to know we're on the same page." Jesse grit his teeth as Barnes walked past him, boots thudding all the way to the door. The sheriff paused in the doorway. "You take care now," he called over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

      Jesse waited a beat, watching Barnes through the window as the man disappeared down the street. His fists clenched tight at his sides.

      Thirty murders, Jesse thought bitterly.

      It was a lie. It had to be.

      But still, the thought burrowed into him like a thorn.

      Jesse had never been one to put his trust in a man easily, and Truth had somehow earned it without even trying. He knew in his gut that the man in the upstairs of the saloon across the street wasn't a killer. But what if there was something else? Something Truth hadn't told him?

      The sheriff wasn't just going to leave this alone. And if Jesse was right, if Sheriff Barnes really was rotten underneath that badge, then things were going to get worse.

      By the time Jesse made it back to the saloon, the air felt colder, a wind that cut sharp and thin through his coat.

      George was waiting just inside the door, wiping down the bar with his usual lazy efficiency. He looked up when Jesse walked in, giving him a crooked grin.

      "Welcome back," George said, setting the rag aside. "Been long enough, I fed your preacher for you. Seemed awfully sad it wasn't you bringing him his food."

      "Right," Jesse shook his head, "sorry about that."

      "Ain't me you should be saying sorry to." George gave a short laugh as he slung his bar rag over his shoulder. "Heard rumors of a storm rolling in from the south, supposed to hit sometime tonight or early morning."

      Jesse shrugged off his coat, and hung it over his arm. "That so?"

      "Mm-hmm," George nodded. "Could be a bad one too. The kind that turns the whole town to mud and keeps folks shut in for a day or two."

      "Guess I better get the horses squared away then," Jesse muttered, already calculating how soon he'd need to start.

      "No rush," George said, waving him off. "Just take 'em around back. Got a supply shed back there. Got solid walls, thick roof, should keep 'em plenty dry. Just toss some hay down in there, they'll be fine."

      "You sure they won't get into anything?"

      "They're horses, not mice, Jesse. I think they'll be fine to spend a day holed up that way."

      "I'll put 'em up in there before sundown."

      "Good," George said, and then gave Jesse a look, one of those sly, scheming grins that usually meant extra work for him. "Tell you what," he said, "I'll cut you a deal. You work the rest of the day; dishes, cooking, whatever else needs doing, and I'll let you off tomorrow. If that storm's half as bad as they're saying, you'll be better off upstairs anyway, nice and warm."

      Jesse snorted. "You're just tryin' to get outta doin' dishes tonight."

      "Damn right," George said with a chuckle. "So we got a deal?"

      Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to mull it over. Honestly, he didn't mind. A full day's work would be a fair trade for a guaranteed day of rest, and if the storm hit like George said, the last thing Jesse wanted was to be slogging through mud to keep the saloon running.

      "Yeah," Jesse said finally, "we got a deal."

      "Good." George smacked the counter. "Now get movin'. You're already five minutes behind."

      Jesse shook his head, smirking. "I'm on it," he said, rolling up his sleeves as he headed toward the kitchen.

      The work kept Jesse busy enough to distract him for most of the afternoon. He washed dishes until his hands were red and raw, scoured the stove until it shone, and chopped enough vegetables to feed half the town. Cooking wasn't exactly Jesse's strong suit, but George barked out instructions loud enough that even he couldn't screw it up too badly.

      Still, whenever there was a quiet moment, between scrubbing pans or peeling potatoes, Jesse's mind wandered.

      Thirty murders.

      The words kept rattling around in his head. It was ridiculous, impossible even. Truth couldn't be capable of that, no matter what that snake Barnes claimed. But what if there was something. Some half-truth Truth hadn't told him?

      Jesse shook the thought off again, scrubbing a stubborn stain from a pot like he could wipe all of the doubt from his mind.

      By the time the sky turned gold and pink with the setting sun, Jesse's muscles ached from the work, and his mind felt dulled enough that he didn't argue when George handed him a glass of whiskey to take the edge off.

      "Go on," George said. "Finish that, then go take care of those horses."

      Jesse didn't need to be told twice. He knocked back the drink without any sort of complaint, grabbed his coat, and stepped out into the cooling evening air. The wind had picked up and off southward Jesse could see thick, dark clouds covering the whole sky.

      The horses were quiet when Jesse reached them, their heads dipping low as they shifted lazily in place. He pet them gently, murmuring soft words under his breath as he untied them and led them around the saloon to the supply shed.

      George hadn't been exaggerating, the shed was solid. Sturdy wooden walls, a slanted roof to keep most of the rain or dust off, and plenty of space for both horses to stand comfortably. Jesse gathered up some hay, then guided the horses inside, giving each a final pat on the neck.

      "You two'll be warmer than me tonight," Jesse muttered.

      He lingered a moment longer, just listening to their soft huffs and the steady sound of their chewing. It was peaceful, calm enough that Jesse could almost forget about everything else.

      Almost.

      Turning back toward the saloon, Jesse scanned the street one last time. The town had quieted. Most folks shut inside for the night. But still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was out there, watching.

      Jesse told himself it was just his nerves. The storm rolling in. That was all. But even when he closed the shed door behind him and walked back inside, Jesse couldn't help but glance over his shoulder one last time.

      The saloon was quiet when Jesse finally closed the kitchen for the night. George had seen him off with two plates of food and two glasses of water, balancing it all in one arm like a waiter from one of those big city joints.

      "Don't spill 'em," George had said with a grin, handing them over. "And don't go sittin' up all night either. You earned your rest."

      Jesse had laughed, but now, as he climbed the stairs to his room, his legs felt heavy. The air in the hall was still and stale, and the old wood groaned beneath his boots. He shifted the plates in his hands, reached for the doorknob, and stepped inside quietly.

      He'd expected to find Truth still in bed, but the bed was empty.

      For half a second, Jesse's chest seized. His mind jumped to the worst, that maybe Truth had wandered off, delirious from pain or fever, or worse that the sheriff had come poking around.

      But then Jesse's eyes flicked upward, and there he was, sitting in the rocking chair by the window. Truth had one of the penny novels open in his hands, his eyes lifted from the pages, watching Jesse.

      "Back later than usual," Truth said, his voice quieter than Jesse expected, it had a bite to it. Like Truth was upset with Jesse for not turning up all day.

      Jesse let out a breath. "Yeah," he said, stepping further inside. "George worked me all day so I wouldn't have to work tomorrow."

      Truth gave a soft hum, one that seemed half like a laugh. He glanced toward the window, where the clouds hung low and dark like a smothering, heavy blanket. "Noticed it's getting darker than usual out there," he murmured.

      "Storm's comin'," Jesse said. He crossed the room and handed Truth one of the plates. "Supposed to hit sometime tonight or early morning."

      Truth folded the corner of his page and shut the book before taking the plate. "Guess we'll be holed up in here for a bit then," he said.

      Jesse chuckled. "Could be worse."

      "Could be better," Truth shot back with a crooked grin.

      Jesse smiled, then gestured to the rocking chair. "Where'm I supposed to sit now that you've claimed my spot?"

      Truth snorted and tipped his head toward the bed. "You can switch spots. Go on, get comfortable."

      Jesse didn't argue. He went over and dropped onto the edge of the bed, setting his plate on his knee. The mattress groaned under his weight, a tired sound that matched how he felt. He stayed quiet as Truth prayed over his food, sort and sweet but Jesse didn't think it held any less conviction than any of the other times he's prayed.

      "It's good seein' you up and around without my help," Jesse finally said, eyeing him as Truth picked at his food.

      "Feels good too," Truth said. "I was startin' to think I was gonna waste away in that bed. Feels good to move again."

      "Sure," Jesse said with a nod, "but don't go gettin' yourself in trouble now."

      "Wouldn't dream of it," Truth said with a smirk.

      They fell into easy conversation after that, nothing serious, just idle talk about the town, the weather, things they'd seen on the road. Jesse hadn't expected much. Truth didn't usually say much about himself, but tonight was different. The longer they talked, the more Truth opened up.

      Truth told Jesse about the odd folks he'd met traveling from town to town as a preacher before he'd settled in Dry Creek; specifically a group of men who rode their horses backwards and answered his questions in opposition to what they meant. He'd stayed in a commune run by women who hated men, but had made an exception for Truth. Jesse had asked why they'd made such an exception and Truth all but dodged his question in a way Jesse wasn't sure he liked, shaking his head and saying he just told them he needed a place for a single night and he'd be on his way.

      And Truth continued on about one particularly nasty storm he'd spent sheltering down in a valley with a small group of campers and the flash flood they'd had to flee from afterwards. And how awful traveling the desert is when you're too stubborn to learn to ride a horse.

      Jesse shared a few stories of his own, half-true tales of ranch work and saloon brawls. How he'd subdued a raging bull with only a rope and his bare hands, or won a fight with a small piece of broken glass as a weapon. Truth questioned every word but Jesse swore to them, despite knowing most were flat lies or inflated.

      And for the first time in a while, they both laughed. Not the strained, weary kind of laugh they'd been trading since this all started, but something easy, something light.

      And through it all, Jesse kept watching him.

      Truth looked better. Not perfect, but better. His face wasn't as gaunt as it had been a week ago. It was still sharp, still lean, but not so hollow. The color had crept back into his skin, warming his face with something that looked a little like life again.

      His smile, originally small and hesitant, was less guarded now. And his eyes... Jesse couldn't ignore how Truth's eyes lingered on him just a little longer than they used to. How they softened at the corners when Jesse spoke. He told himself it was just curiosity, maybe gratitude, but he wasn't so sure anymore.

      He didn't want to be sure. Wanting things like that only made everything harder.

      He should've been relieved that Truth was getting better, that the storm would keep the Dry Creek sheriff away for a while. But instead, that familiar, uncomfortable squeeze settled in Jesse's chest, the one that came every time he remembered how temporary this all was. Sooner or later, Truth would be strong enough to get back on the road. Strong enough to leave.

      Jesse didn't know which idea scared him more. Truth leaving, or Truth never getting the chance to.

      But even with the ache sitting heavy in his chest, Jesse didn't move. Truth kept talking, kept grinning, and Jesse couldn't bring himself to stop listening. The preacher had a way about him, something like half charm and half mystery, and Jesse couldn't help but get drawn in, even when he knew better.

      They kept on like that until the plates were empty and their laughter had faded to a warm hum between them. Truth's stories, strange as they were, had kept Jesse from thinking too hard about what was going on outside the saloon walls. About the looming storm or the questions still gnawing at the back of his mind.

      Eventually, words gave out, leaving behind a quiet that settled between them easily. The kind that didn't need filling.

      Outside, the wind picked up. It rattled the shutters and whined low through the cracks in the wood like something alive and angry.

      "Sounds like the storm's startin'." Jesse glanced toward the window.

      Truth nodded, setting his plate aside and shifting forward like he meant to stand. Jesse moved to help without thinking, but Truth waved him off with a small shake of the head and managed to shuffle to the edge of the bed on his own. He groaned as he sat down beside Jesse, clearly in pain but trying not to show it.

      "You'll be runnin' around in no time," Jesse said, giving him a gentle pat on the back.

      Truth scoffed, but the sound was softer than usual, it carried less bite and more so tired amusement.

      Jesse grabbed the laudanum out of his pocket and handed it to him. "Got you an extra bottle, for the road."

      Truth hesitated before taking it, like the very sight of it soured his stomach. Jesse didn't press him. He just turned away, unbuttoning his shirt and kicking off his boots, pretending not to listen as Truth switched the new bottle with his open one and took a dose. He would've watched to make sure the man drank it, but the sharp sound Truth made after the swallow told him all he needed to know.

      Soon enough, the both of them were under the covers. The storm tapping soft and steady at the window, the cold creeping into the room steadily.

      When Jesse pulled the blanket up over them further, Truth was already asleep. His arms folded across his middle, his face slack, peaceful in a way Jesse rarely saw when he was awake.

      Jesse watched him. Just for a moment, is what he told himself. He traced the line of Truth's brow with his gaze, the way a strand of hair had fallen over his forehead. Jesse's hand twitched like he wanted to brush it away.

      He didn't.

      That would've been too much. Too personal. Too honest.

      Instead, Jesse rolled slowly onto his side, careful not to jostle the mattress. But even as he turned away, he couldn't stop the thoughts crawling in.

      He liked Truth.

      He liked him.

      Not just tolerated his company or admired his grit, he enjoyed it. Looked forward to it, even. That should've been warning enough, but now, lying there in the dark with the preacher's breath steady beside him, it felt like standing on the edge of something dangerous.

      There was a man finding comfort in a pastor's presence, then there was a man finding comfort in a pastor. Finding comfort in a man.

      No, it wasn't anything. Surely it wasn't.

      The feelings, whatever they were, would wear off when they hit Utah. Or likely before that. Jesse and Truth would tire of being around each other. They'd probably fight about something stupid and they'd get on their horses and ride in separate directions.

      It wasn't anything.

      And then Jesse felt it, warm and solid against his chest. A hand.

      Truth had shifted in his sleep, turned toward Jesse, and laid his palm flat against Jesse's chest, fingers curling gently into the fabric of his shirt.

      Jesse's breath caught.

      He stared down at the hand, unsure what the hell to do with it. The simplest thing would be to push it off, roll away, break the contact before it could mean anything. Truth was asleep, high on laudanum. He wouldn't even know.

      But Jesse didn't move.

      He couldn't move. Pushing Truth's hand off felt wrong somehow. Like he'd be rejecting something that wasn't even being offered. And what if it woke him?

      'He's not even really here,' Jesse told himself. Surely Truth was just out of it. He didn't know what he was doing.

      Still, slowly, carefully, Jesse found himself tucking his arm beneath Truth's side, between the preacher and the mattress, his hand curving lightly around him. Just to feel the weight of him, just to press him closer, to feel his warmth.

      Truth shifted with a soft sound, but his face stayed easy, unbothered. Jesse lay still, stiff as a board, heart beating harder than it should've.

      This was different. It wasn't the kind of touch that came with helping someone sit up or cleaning a wound. This wasn't a necessity. This was something else. Something softer. Something close. Too close.

      It unsettled him.

      His mind screamed that he should get up, grab the extra blanket, and sleep on the floor like a decent man. But just as he started to move, Truth's fingers twitched, curling tighter into Jesse's shirt.

      "Stop movin'," he mumbled, voice low and blurred. "My head's spinnin' as it is... you're makin' it worse."

      Jesse froze. "I'll lay on the floor," he whispered.

      "No," Truth breathed, barely awake. "You're not gonna lay on the floor... you're gonna stay in bed."

      Jesse let the breath out slow, like letting go of something fragile. "Alright," he murmured. "Alright..."

      He sank back into the mattress, curling his arm gently around Truth once more. The preacher's hand slid a little higher up his chest, settling like it belonged there, and Jesse felt something twist in his gut.

      It was too warm. Too good. And far too dangerous.

      He stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying to will his heartbeat back to normal.

      That wasn't help. It was somethin' else, and Jesse couldn't afford what that meant.

      But Truth didn't let go, and Jesse didn't move. Not even when the wind howled outside and the rain came harder, like the storm was knocking to come in. Jesse lay there, wrapped in the kind of silence that only came when the walls between two people got paper-thin, when the truth of it all was too close to admit out loud. But he knew it now. Even if he couldn't say it. Even if he didn't know what to do with it.

      He wanted Truth to stay.

      And that scared him worse than anything else.

Notes:

Jesse!!! You have a crush on your little preacher friend, and that's okay. Don't let internalized homophobia be your biggest downfall!

I don't have much to say about this chapter besides that, lol. They're just silly :)

Oh yeah, I don't think I ever shared my Tumblr, which is ----->>>> My Tumblr!!!

I have a debilitating hyper fixation on 2001: A Space Odyssey, so that's what I mostly post there... but I do also make art and have some art I made for this story on their! And I'm planning on making more art and that's the easiest place you can probably access it :P

Chapter 8

      The room was quiet, save for the soft rattle of rain against the window. Jesse woke slowly, blinking against what dim light there was in the room. His thoughts were sluggish, but he rather quickly became aware of Truth pressed into his side.

      He hadn't moved at all, his arm draped over Jesse and hand flat over his chest. Jesse's arm lay pinned under Truth, stiff and tingling, but his hand still had found its way to Truth's back, fingers curled against the worn fabric of his shirt. His ribs and shoulder were sharp under his palm, the thin layer of skin, muscle and fabric barely covering the bones beneath. It made Jesse's stomach twist, a feeling that threatened to bloom into something else. Something harsh and aching.

      But, Jesse didn't move. He didn't have to, there was no work today, no one to answer to. So he let the moment stretch on, let the quiet linger.

      Jesse swallowed hard and closed his eyes, attempting to keep the feeling from settling deeper.

      He knew this, whatever this was, couldn't last. They'd be back on the road soon, heading out into the desert, and surely the Dry Creek sheriff wouldn't be far behind. And when they got to where they were going, well, that would be the end of it, wouldn't it? Whatever this quiet, warm thing was, whatever it meant, it would have to end.

      But then Jesse thought, End?

      What's there to end?

      There hadn't been a beginning. There hadn't been a talk or agreement or understanding. Just Truth, injured and half-delusional, unaware, reaching out for comfort. Jesse was no better, really, looking for validation that he was a good man in someone who relied on him so entirely. Like if Truth looked at him soft enough, Jesse might believe he was worth something again.

      And still, something inside him, something fragile and bitter and aching, wanted to scream at that. Wanted to break something at the thought of there being nothing. It tasted bitter like bile in his mouth.

      Jesse shifted slightly, pulling Truth just a little closer. Not enough to wake him, just enough to feel him. To feel the warmth of him pressed firm against his chest. To feel the weight of someone trusting him this much, this easily.

      They lay like that, unmoving, until the rattle of the doorknob stirred Jesse from his stillness.

      At first, he barely noticed. The sound didn't even register until the door groaned open, and a figure stepped inside.

      Then, Jesse's body moved on instinct, he shot up as his arm tightened around Truth, drawing him in protectively. His free hand hovered, curled into a fist like he might need to strike.

      But it was just George.

      He stood in the doorway, balancing two plates of food, blinking at Jesse like he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. And what was he seeing? Jesse, half-sitting up in bed, arms wrapped around Truth like... Well, like something he didn't want to think too hard about.

      George's expression flickered with something Jesse couldn't place; surprise, maybe, or curiosity, before his lips curled into a small, crooked smile.

      "Didn't see you come down for breakfast," George said almost too casually, stepping inside. "Figured I'd bring you some before it got cold. But..." His eyes dropped to the bed, "looks like you got your hands full."

      Jesse exhaled, part relief and part frustration, and flopped back down against the mattress, his arm still resting firm under Truth.

      "Ain't nothing," was all Jesse could think to say. It was hardly a dismissal.

      George didn't look convinced. He set the plates down on the dresser, still smiling like he knew something Jesse didn't. Like he was just chewing on a joke but was holding it in for Jesse's sake.

      "Right," George said, lingering by the door, his shoulder hitting the frame. He glanced at Jesse again. "Well, storm's been hittin' hard since sunrise. Don't expect we'll get much business today. Besides..." He tapped the doorframe with his knuckles. "I told you you'd have the day off. That's a promise I don't break."

      "'preciate it." Jesse nodded, voice low.

      George lingered a second longer, eyes on Jesse in a way that made the air feel so much heavier. Then he tipped his head in a quiet goodbye and closed the door behind him.

      Jesse sighed, sinking back fully into the bed.

      Truth hadn't stirred at all, his arm still lay across his chest, it felt safe. The warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

      Jesse stared at the ceiling. He knew he ought to wake Truth soon, get some food in him before it went cold. Knew he should do something other than lay there and let his mind crawl over itself into infinity.

      He shifted, the bed creaking as he attempted to slide his arm out from under the preacher.

      "Don't," Truth mumbled, voice rough and slurred from sleep.

      Jesse froze. "Don't what?" he asked quietly.

      "Don't move," Truth muttered. "I'm comfortable." His words dragged slowly, still half-asleep.

      Jesse swallowed hard. He felt sick.

      Comfortable. Jesse doubted Truth had been comfortable in a long time.

      'He's still out on laudanum. He doesn't know what he's saying'. Jesse reminded himself. And still, Jesse stayed where he was. Let his arm rest back against the bed.

      For a long time, he just lay there, listening to Truth's breathing, trying not to think too hard, and failing.

 

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      The room was dim, the storm outside casting everything in muted gray. Jesse knelt beside the bed, unwrapping the bandage from Truth's side with steady hands. The fabric peeled away, and Jesse found himself staring at the wound, or what was left of it.

      No blood. No seepage. Just a dark scab, thick and jagged, stretched across angry, red skin. It looked rough, like it would leave a scar that'd never fully fade.

      "Still looks like hell," Jesse muttered.

      "Don't care how it looks," Truth said, "So long as it holds together."

      "Yeah, well... reckon it's doin' just that." Jesse scoffed under his breath, cutting a strip of fresh bandage from the roll beside him.

      Truth gave a sharp sigh, part exhaustion and part frustration. "I just want to get up. Move around without feelin' like my insides are gonna split open."

      Jesse smiled a little as he tied off the fresh bandage. "Well, speakin' of movin'... think you could make it down the stairs easy yet?"

      "Think I could. Could use a bit of your help, though." Truth grinned faintly, a flash of something mischievous in his eyes.

      "Well, hell, I'd be honored." Jesse chuckled, rocking back onto his heels.

      Truth took his time getting up. Jesse didn't need to hover as much as he expected, Truth's legs held steady as he pushed himself upright, only reaching for Jesse's arm at the very end.

      The walk down the stairs was slow going. Truth clung to Jesse tight with each step, fingers knotted in Jesse's sleeve. Every now and then, Jesse murmured encouragement as they went, the words coming easier than they really ought to have.

      Once at the bottom, Truth braced himself against Jesse, chest heaving like he'd just spent an hour running cattle. Jesse didn't move right away, staying close until Truth's breathing evened out.

      "You alright?" Jesse asked quietly.

      Truth nodded, a stubborn look on his face. "I'll manage." He pulled himself upright, straightening like he wanted to look stronger than he felt. "Figure you'd fuss if I'm not."

      Jesse huffed a laugh. Yeah, he thought, reckon I will.

      Truth tapped Jesse's arm before he turned toward the washroom, still moving slow but steady.

      Jesse watched him go before heading to the bar, where George sat looking about as bored as a man could get. He wasn't even pretending to clean glasses, just sitting there with his chin resting on his hand, eyes lazily watching the rain against the window.

      "Quiet," Jesse muttered as he leaned on the bar. He reached into his pocket where he'd put his tobacco chew and grabbed it, slapping it against his palm. George hardly even acknowledged the action.

      "Yeah," George said. "Storm'll do that. Folk'd rather be home than sittin' in here unless they're desperate." He nodded to the corner where two men nursed their glasses like they were the only things keeping them upright. Jesse had to admit he was impressed by how early in the day someone could drink themselves into a grave.

      Jesse pinched some of the tobacco out of the tin and put it under his lip before he moved to tap his fingers on the bar.

      "Preacher's movin' better." George hummed.

      "Yeah," Jesse said. "Gettin' better."

      "Sure is," George smiled faintly. "For two men who've only known each other a week, I didn't think you'd be that far along."

      Jesse froze, he kept his expression steady as he looked to George. "What's that mean?"

      George gave a lazy shrug, like it didn't mean much of anything at all. "Just the way you were holdin' him this morning." His smile turned sly. "Looked awfully lovin'."

      Jesse barked a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Ain't like that."

      George gave him a knowing look. "Ain't it?" He tapped his fingers against the bar. "I see two men holdin' each other in bed, I'm inclined to think there's somethin' more than friendly happenin'." He paused, giving Jesse a pointed glance. "Not that I mind any."

      For a second, Jesse didn't say anything. Because there was something about George's words, something that hit too close to the truth, something that twisted inside his chest. Because George wasn't wrong, was he? No men held each other like that, arms tangled together, unless there was something there. Something underneath.

      But Jesse didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to wrestle with what it meant. So, he just shook his head again, more firmly this time.

      "There's nothin' like that between us." His voice was tight, and he hated the way it sounded.

      "Alright," he said, raising his hands. "If you say so." George gave him a look like he knew far more than Jesse ever would. He didn't push the subject after that, but Jesse felt his words like a splinter, sharp and nagging, buried just under the skin.

      Wind howled through the cracks in the walls, and rain tapped steadily against the windows. Jesse's mind was still tangled in George's words, awfully lovin', when Truth returned from the washroom, moving carefully but walking on his own. Jesse straightened instinctively, eyes flicking to Truth's side to make sure he wasn't favoring his injury too much. He seemed alright; slow, steady, and stubborn as ever.

      Truth eased himself down onto the stool beside him with a quiet exhale. Jesse turned his head to say something, but George beat him to it.

      "Well, look who's up and walkin'." George grinned wide. "Good to see you movin' about, Preacher. Thought you were fixin' to spend the rest of your life laid up in bed."

      Truth smiled dryly, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "Believe me, I thought so too."

      "Swear I've seen you maybe three times this whole week," George went on, resting his elbows on the bar. Jesse felt his chest tighten just a little, like George might keep talking, like he might bring up this morning. But George didn't. He just smiled, warm and easy. "Glad you're up and breathin'."

      "Glad for it too." Truth gave a faint smile in return.

      "Drink?" George offered, already reaching for the bottle.

      "This early?" Truth questioned.

      "Call it part of a celebration for you gettin' healthier."

      Truth hummed in thought. "Alright."

      "Me too," Jesse added quickly, just to keep from feeling left out.

      George poured them both a glass and slid them across the counter. He lingered just a second longer in front of Truth, his smile taking on a teasing edge. "Never met a preacher that drinks before."

      Truth snorted softly, picking up his glass. "Well, if it's any consolation, I'm really not one to drink in the first place."

      The words were light, joking, but something about them sat strange with Jesse. His mind drifted to what Sheriff Barnes had said the day before. Jude's got thirty murders on his hands.

      No, Jesse thought. That's ridiculous. Truth barely had the strength to walk across a room without gasping for breath. He wasn't some bloodthirsty gunslinger. He was just a stubborn man who didn't know how to take it easy.

      George chuckled, clearly taking the remark as a joke. "Well," he said, "first time for everything."

      Jesse reached for his glass and knocked back the whiskey in one long swallow. The burn scoured his throat, warming him all the way down. He set the glass down hard on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

      Beside him, Truth barely sipped his drink, just the faintest taste on his lips, and then winced as it went down. He grimaced and set the glass down like it might bite him. For some reason, the sight calmed Jesse down more than anything.

      No man who sips a whiskey like that, winces like that, could be a killer.

      "You alright?" Truth asked, noticing Jesse watching him.

      Jesse shook his head, chuckling. "Just marvelin' at what a man you are, sittin' there sippin' your whiskey like it's scaldin' hot soup."

      Truth huffed a laugh and gave him a look, half amused, half put-upon. "Not every man's got the iron-lined throat of Jesse McCall."

      When the storm eased up some and the creaking of the saloon wasn't so loud, George pulled out a deck of cards, suggesting a game of poker. Jesse was in, but Truth seemed hesitant. George dealt cards anyway, and Truth nervously shifted in his seat. George used thin crackers as chips, accounting for the fact he was the only one in this situation who had any money to his name.

      "I'm tellin' you, it's simple," Jesse said, grabbing his cards. "Just keep track of what you've got and what's on the table. Don't go bettin' wild unless you're sure you've got somethin' good."

      Truth leaned forward, elbows on the bar, studying the scattered cards like they were written in a language he didn't know. "Simple," he muttered dryly. "Right."

      George chuckled, fanning out his own cards. "Don't listen to him too close, Truth. Man who talks like he's a poker legend have lost more hands than they've won."

      Jesse shot him a glare, because unfortunately he was correct, but George just grinned wider.

      Truth tapped his cards on the table thoughtfully. "I don't know... I think I might understand." He scratched at the bandage under his shirt as he spoke, fingers moving absentmindedly over his ribs.

      Jesse chuckled "Alright then," he said. "Let's see what you've got."

      At first, Truth was all fumbled hands and puzzled stares. He misread suits, discarded good cards, and couldn't even begin to think of drawing his expression into a neutral one because it was obvious everything was confusing for him.

      But, by his fifth hand, Truth was calling every single one of Jesse's bluffs. By the seventh hand Jesse was cursing and George was laughing at how well Truth could read him. It took Truth a little longer to start calling George's bluffs, but when he did he was getting them one after another. By the last round, Truth was scooping all of the crackers towards himself and giggling like an idiot.

      "Well, I'll be damned," Jesse said. "For a preacher, you've got some skill in gamblin'. Maybe you oughta switch professions."

      Truth laughed, low and warm. "I don't know about that," he said. "I'm really not much for gambling, least I don't think I am."

      Jesse grinned, pointing at the pile of crackers in front of Truth. "Could've fooled me. Looks to me like you've got a knack for it."

      Truth shook his head. "Nah. No preacher's got a knack for anything."

      "That ain't true," Jesse countered. "I think you're better at more things than you give yourself credit for. You just like pretendin' you're bad at 'em. Keeps you humble."

      Truth snorted, shaking his head. "If humble's just bein' bad at most things, then sure. I'm real humble."

      Jesse laughed at that, a genuine laugh that felt warm in his chest. He glanced across the table at George, who hadn't said much in a while. He was watching Jesse and Truth, smiling softly, still looking at them like he knew something neither of them did. Like he was seeing something Jesse hadn't quite managed to put into words yet.

      "What?" Jesse asked, a little defensive.

      George shook his head, smile turning sly. "Nothin'," he said. "Just thinkin' how funny it is. You two sittin' there bickerin' like some old married couple."

      Jesse scoffed, opening his mouth to argue.

      We ain't like that, we're just... we're not...

      But Truth beat him to it.

      "We don't bicker," Truth said, frowning like the very idea offended him.

      "You do," George said, voice rich with amusement. "Lord, you do. And you don't even hear yourselves."

      Jesse shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, their elbows nearly touching. He glanced sideways at Truth, if only to gauge his reaction, and caught him already looking. Their eyes met, held just a moment too long, and Jesse felt something twist sharp and sweet in his chest.

      Truth's expression flickered. Surprise, maybe. Or fear. His eyes dropped to the cards again, and his shoulders tensed like he'd realized something he wasn't supposed to.

      Jesse looked away, throat tight.

      George mercifully broke the quiet. "Well, if you're takin' this game seriously now, deal again. Preacher or not, Truth's gonna take you for all you're worth."

      But Jesse wasn't listening. Not really.

      He was watching the way Truth's hands trembled just a little, the way his eyes kept darting sideways like he was checking how close they still were.

      Suddenly, the warm feeling that had followed him all day faded. Jesse wondered if, in Truth's more sober state, their closeness made him uncomfortable. This was unusual. Unnatural. Even if George spun it to Jesse like it was sweet, Truth was a preacher. Whatever this was, it wasn't meant to last. It wasn't meant for Jesse, and it surely wasn't meant for Truth.

 

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      Near evening, Truth made his exit from the saloon. He moved slowly, but steady. Jesse helped him up the stairs, one hand always hovering just behind him in case his legs buckled. Truth waved him off near the top with a faint smile, saying he could manage the rest. Jesse didn't argue, but he didn't leave either, just lingered by the door like a shadow.

      When no crash or groan came, Jesse finally turned and went back downstairs.

      The lanterns that lined the saloon's walls burned low, casting everything in a dusky orange light. George stood behind the bar, quiet and steady, like he'd been waiting for Jesse's return. He poured a fresh drink before Jesse even sat down.

      "That oughta hold you," George said, sliding the glass his way.

      Jesse took it without a word and nursed it slowly, letting the warmth settle in his chest. Everything felt soft-edged now. The storm had mostly passed. The saloon had quieted with just the occasional murmur of a patron left over from earlier, tucked up to some table with their own ghosts.

      "I keep thinkin' we oughta get movin'," Jesse said after a while. His voice carried a rough tone that came from too much thinking and not enough rest. "Me and Truth. Feels like we've been sittin' still too long."

      George leaned in, folding his arms atop the bar. "Ain't nobody gonna get you here. You're safe enough."

      Jesse shook his head, eyes on the half-empty glass. "It's not just that. We're too close to Dry Creek. Ain't no tellin' who might pass through and recognize him. Or me." He paused, then added, "And I don't know. I got this feelin'. Like if we stay too long, something bad'll catch up to us."

      George refilled his glass in one smooth motion. "You're twisted up 'cause you care about him," he said plainly. "That's all it is."

      Jesse snorted, but the sound had no humor. "Yeah... well, maybe that's the stupidest part of it. Half the folks in this state want him dead, and I don't even know what he's done. Or if he's done anything at all. He spoke against the sheriff for bein' crooked, but that can't be all of it. The state Truth's in doesn't warrant something so simple."

      George studied him for a moment, then said, "Sometimes folks keep quiet not 'cause they're guilty... but 'cause they're hidin' what's been done to 'em."

      Jesse stilled, the words hitting a nerve he didn't know was still raw.

      "I guess I can't blame him. I've kept my share of things to myself too." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

      George waited. Didn't press. Simply left space open.

      "There's this ranch," Jesse said finally, voice low. "This side of Albuquerque. I worked there steady for near four years. One night, the rancher's son turns up dead. Whole town turned on me, said I fuckin' did it 'cause the rancher found me suspicious. All 'cause I talked to his son's fiancée once too often." He shook his head. "Didn't matter that I was across town. They had their story and they stuck to it. I packed up that night and ran before they could put a noose around my neck."

      George's expression softened. "That why you been runnin'?"

      Jesse nodded slowly. "Ain't had much reason to stop." His voice dropped, quieter now. "My folks are gone. Only family I got's a sister back in Tennessee with her hands full of kids. Don't even know if she remembers what I look like. Seein' a lady but she wasn't fond of me after the stories started circulating of men sayin' I was a murderer and thinkin' I was going off a cheatin' on her. Wasn't really friendly with anyone." He traced the rim of his glass with a fingertip. "I always told myself I'd leave New Mexico someday. Really leave. Just up and go instead of circling the same five towns looking for purpose. But I've been here near fourteen years, I don't know any place else. I was too chicken-shit to leave. I used to be a cowboy, and I was scared of gettin' lost out there in the desert with no one around to help when I needed it. But Truth... he gives me a reason to try. If I'm stickin' around, it's for him."

      "You ever gonna tell him that?" George asked.

      "Don't know. Maybe." Jesse looked away.

      "Well," George said, "seems to me you oughta talk to him. Instead of just watchin' him like a coyote starin' at the moon."

      Jesse let out a dry laugh. "Yeah... maybe."

      "Trust me," George said. "Nothin' worse than leavin' things unsaid."

      George's words stung in a way they never had before.

      By the time the lamps burned low and the rest of the saloon had emptied of its singular other patron, and Jesse was some amount of drinks deeper he didn't care to count and half a dozen jokes into laughter he barely remembered starting. Everything felt looser. Softer. But somewhere in the back of his mind, George's words lingered like smoke.

      He climbed the stairs with a hand braced against the wall, steps just a little off-kilter. Not drunk, not really. Just... dulled. He was used to heavy drinking, he was used to getting tipsy off of three glasses of whiskey drunk in succession.

      The room was quiet and dark when he opened the door. Truth sat up against the headboard, a book laid open but unread in his lap. His gaze cut to Jesse, sharp as ever.

      "You've been drinkin'," Truth said plainly.

      Jesse groaned. "Course that's the first thing you say."

      Truth raised an eyebrow. "First thing you do on a quiet night is go get yourself soused? I thought you had better sense."

      Jesse pulled his hand down his face. "It was only a little."

      "I can smell it on you."

      "Well, fine," Jesse huffed. "I'll sleep on the floor."

      Truth frowned, shifting like he might get up. "Now don't be stupid."

      "It's flat."

      "Jesse." His voice was lower now. Calmer. "Get in the damn bed. I'm not lettin' you curl up on the ground like some stray."

      Jesse sighed as he kicked off his boots before blowing out the dying lantern that barely lit any of the room.

      He lay down on the far side of the mattress, stiff as a board, unsure where he was supposed to fit anymore. Everything between them felt strange again. Unsaid again. He couldn't stop thinking about the way Truth had looked away downstairs. Like something about Jesse was wrong.

      Like he knew.

      Knew what, Jesse himself didn't know. But it sat like a stone in his gut.

      Truth took his laudanum without a word, swallowing it back with a wince. He lay down too, pulling the blanket over them both with careful hands.

      They didn't speak. Just lay there. Jesse staring up at the ceiling like it might give him answers. It didn't, of course. It just left him more room to think, and worry, and dwell. To wring his hands over the blanket.

      Then, in the quiet, Truth shifted. A hand moved slow across the space between them, searching in the dark, and then rested hesitantly, but surely, over Jesse's chest. Just above his heart.

      Truth didn't say anything. Didn't explain it. Just let his hand stay there, warm and steady.

      And Jesse, without thinking, turned toward him. Just a little. Let himself inch closer, so that their knees brushed beneath the blanket. He exhaled, long and low, and felt himself soften, like some part of him that'd been held tight for too long finally let go.

      Whatever this was, it was quiet.

      Jesse shut his eyes. And in the hush of the room, with Truth's hand resting over his chest like it belonged there. And he let himself believe, just for tonight, that maybe he belonged there too. With Truth.

Notes:

So, yesterday I had to deal with family stuff... so this is getting posted later today instead...
When I was first writing this story, this was my favorite chapter :P Jesse finally realizing he /does/ have some sort of feelings for Truth, and George immediately catching on :D
If only Jesse just talked to Truth 😔