for those unfamiliar: this will be an au derived from the premise of the 1985 film, ladyhawke. ladyhawke is one of my favorite movies and there aren't enough aus out of there. so here's me throwing in my hat! this will be four chapters. title is from "explorers" by the midnight!

a toe nudges against two-bit's thigh, and the voice accompanied by it is annoyed, "what kinda drunk sleeps in the stables?"

wearily, two-bit cracks opens his eyes to see a familiar enough face: high cheekbones, flat brown eyes, long brown hair and a scowl that seemed placed there by god himself. he blinks, bleary-eyed, and croaks out, "me, pal. get your own spot."

there's a kick to his thigh, the pain sharp, and the sound of a horse whinnying in response, pawing at the grass. "this ain't your place to sleep, drunkie. it's for my horse and he ain't like to share with no one except for me."

groaning, two bit sits up more and looks around himself — it's early morning, it has to be for him to be waking up in a stable like this. for sure though, it's a stable with hay and the works. and that, indeed is the appaloosa horse — the dappled white pattern, the long tail and big brown eyes that matched the brown of him that wasn't the scattered white — that belonged to the equally infamous rider, dallas winston. he's sure the horse has a name, but he can't remember it through the fog in his head. two bit has seen him ride for two years now, at least, with this horse at various rodeos. he's always been whip thin, wild and hard, and two bit has only seen him from a distance. not up close, able to see him scowling so deeply, stone cold sober in a stable.

"sorry, ain't mean to get in the way of you and your little horsey," two bit jokes, trying to get up on his feet. his stomach feels like it's a disgusting grease trap as he tries to stand, grimacing. "was just trying to get somewhere last night is all."

"sure," dallas rolls his eyes as two teeters and then straightens up. his horse seems equally attentive to two bit, watching him as he hardly figures out how to walk. somehow, the horse looks disapprovingly at two bit as he finally stumbles out and into the main way. the sunlight is piercing, the grass much too green, and the smell of stock isn't doing anyone any favors.

two bit has a couple of questions — mostly about how a once a seasoner like dallas gets a stable? — but he catches the smell of the rest of the stables, feels his stomach turn, hardly gets further into the grass and vomits up the bourbon and poundcake from the night before.

he's sure dallas is laughing.

at twenty-two, two bit is hardly all that remarkable in guthrie. maybe he was more, back in tulsa, but not in guthrie. he slips in with the other greaser set here like it's nothing, working jobs where he can, and keeping an eye on the rodeo circuit. it's about as much fun as he gets to have, seeing riders come in and out, picking out those who are actually something special versus the ones who are in it for the money or just the life of it all or ones who should've quit years ago but still was chasing something whether it was money or glory.

it's not necessarily a bad thing to quit, two bit thinks. being thrown off of a horse or bull, getting bitten, having bones break and your body grind down? it wasn't all that worth it most of the time. he still feels disgusting as he comes to the bar later in the day, near lunch, for his shift. he's on his own now and can't afford to not work there, and the cowboys of all stripes usually flood the bars during the rodeo season and as shit as he feels, two needs the money.

which is to say that when dallas winston saunters in, two bit isn't all that surprised. he's not like the ones who should've quit; he's about the same age or maybe a few months younger than two bit and when he rides out on that horse of his, he's got spark, flare.

"you up for a beer?" two bit leans over the bar, not quite knowing what to anticipate. whenever dallas has been to town, two bit usually has been busy, only catching him in excerpts or from a distance. back then he'd been newer to guthrie, and hadn't been working at the bar. now though, it seems dallas might become a regular occurrence; he looks just about the same as he had that morning, hair just a little more windswept, a bandana tied around his neck and dirty from work, sweat on his forehead from the heat.

dallas for his part snorts, pointing at an empty pitcher. "nah, can i get two of them, fill it with water?"

"you looking to piss out the mississippi?" two bit glances over to them and back at dallas. "we don't serve—"

"i ain't asking," dallas snaps out, "i just said i need the pitchers of water. i'm returning them an' all, that's all you need, ain't it?" the air of danger around him gets a little thicker in that moment, and two bit wants to push it over a little. see what he'll do, if dallas will cock back and punch him the way other people have gossiped about years before but he hadn't ever seen himself.

he knows what he wants the water for. no one would ask for two pitchers like that and two bit weighs the option as dallas simmers. it's hot as hell outside, and he's got some pity. "tell you what: slip me a ten and i can get you more than that."

dallas looks like he could bite off two bit's head— and then slaps down the ten. two takes it, gestures dallas to follow him out back. dallas darts outside, and as expected, he comes to the back holding the reins of the appaloosa he's got. the horse looks like it needs it, wobbling a little as he comes around. two bit guides them to the back where there's a bunch of old troughs out back, some of them old but usable. he picks one closest to the back pump — it takes some work from him to get clean water sloshing in it, and it's icily cold.

the horse about canters over to it, and dallas looks concerned as he leans his head down to drink at the water. two leans back in satisfaction, voice almost cartoonishly low, "just keep this between us and the horse, huh?"

"no sweat," dallas says, patting the horse's neck as he drinks and drinks at the water. the relief on his face is palpable, and when he looks at two bit, it's well. not nice, but it's warmer than before. "i'll pay you every day if he can get this water."

"oooh, that a fact?" two bit cocks his eyebrow. "i might upcharge you."

he expects a joke to be cracked or to be pushed. not to have dallas reach into his pocket and pull out a mudstained, yet very, very real fifty dollar bill and give it to him. "think that'll last you a week?"

two bit's first thought is: all that for a nag of a horse?

his second thought is voiced out loud, "you pay me this much a week, i'll even brush him up for you."

the horse gives a snort as if it's in on the joke, water bubbling up before he shoves his head further into it. dallas doesn't pay it any mind, just saying, "long as you got a spot for him, i'll pay. that stable's only good for the night." he sneers. "and catching your puke, apparently."

"that grass disagrees," two bit pockets the money and dallas lets out a laugh. "i'm two bit, by the way. seen you ride up here before."

"that so?" dallas puffs up a little with a smirk on his face. the horse gives another swallow of water, paws at the ground. "i—" the horse whinnies, tugs at dallas' sleeve, nosing around his shirt for at treat as he talks. "we're a good team, and ain't like i got much competition out here."

two bit leans on the back of the bar, raising an eyebrow at that. "not to say you're bad or nothing, but none? with the draw guthrie gets?"

"they ain't real competition," dallas insists, pushing at his horses' nose, who nuzzles back, almost whining. dallas curves his fingers beneath his chin, and his voice is dripping with self assurance, "they ain't got who i got."

he's seen arrogance before on riders, and seen what happens with it. two bit, for a moment, thinks about warning dallas of where that talk'll land him. then he hears a car drive up the street and a whoop go up. he swears beneath his breath and high tails it to the bar — that's lunch for the day.

when he gets out hours later from the rush, dallas and his spotted horse are gone, as expected. the trough is about dried up from the heat, and the fifty dollars is secure in his pocket.

it's well past nine-thirty that night when two bit finally gets to sit down and gather himself on the block outside. the place is still teeming with cowboys, but two bit needs a smoke. he still hates working every damn day, and when he can sink to the ground, beer in one hand and cigarette in the other, he doesn't mind it.

guthrie's not totally the same as tulsa; still dusty in places, but greener without so much of that greaser and soc divide. it was more of a country town — most kids who weren't farm hands of some kind were more greaser like than not and the few rich kids at least weren't as obnoxious as the ones back in tulsa.

he whistles at a girl who walks past — her hair a golden blonde — and she rolls his eyes. "aw, c'mon baby. i can get you free drinks!"

"what kind of girl do you take me for?" she shouts back, and a group of kids — greaser, in a pack — walk past her. at the very back a kid trails the rest of them, who looks pretty young and small. he glances at two bit as he passes, and then back to the kids in front of him.

"a fun one!" two bit shouts back, laughing when the girl flashes him a middle finger. "aw c'mon baby—"

"two bit!" he turns towards the bar, seeing the greasy kids sneak in, and his boss, tom, at the door. "get back in here, we need as much help as we can get!"

two bit lets out an annoyed noise, wanting more time to just loiter, and drink. he throws his cigarette to the ground and makes his way inside to the bar. it's loud, full of raucous cowboys, hoods and greasers. there's no point in shooing out the teens, two bit moving behind the bar to start working.

he serves them — picking out new faces and old — until things start to die down. some people leave for other, more illicit, activities. others just migrate to the billiards across the way. two bit dips outside just to get a breather and ducks back inside right when he sees a dark shadow move to him. he only keeps a half eye on it; it's probably one of the dogs that occasionally come to see their owners at the bar or to eat at the dumpster.

he doesn't think much of it, going back to refresh people. "someone's mutt is at the door! big, dark fella!"

one of the greaser kids glances up at that. he's new, small, with brown, almost auburn hair; he glances at the door, and at his friends. two bit pretends not to see, cocking his eyebrow at the woman in front of him. the greaser kids don't notice the small, new one breaking away from them. two bit pops open the register, watches the kid move to the back of the bar, and to the outside.

he can see their shadows from where he's standing, able to peer a bit out the window. the dog clearly is happy to see the kid, even if his shadow looks unnaturally—

"another round, on me!"

"irma!" two bit turns in annoyance at the woman, "you can't just keep buying rounds you can't pay for!" he huffs out good naturedly and the older woman laughs.

by the time he's finally able to get into the night air, hours later, two bit is feeling buzzed but not achey. the boots he has crunch against the gravel — still fitting after all these years, after his father had gone so long ago — and he clutches the can of beer closer as he moves through the town. it's almost four am; most people are asleep, dragging themselves off to sleep, or being otherwise quiet. it's the nice part about guthrie being this small, and two bit gives another pull of beer as he goes towards his place.

the money from the bar is in his waistband rather than his pocket, and it rubs against him as he moves, looking at the houses, the trees, the patches of house lights. there are still some moments of kids cruising by in cars. tonight though, all he can see are illuminated streets. he can, however distantly, hear footsteps, talking mingling in with static tvs.

when he gets to his room, he shucks off the shoes he has and pulls out the money. the money gets stuffed into the back drawer, with all the others, and the beer, he polishes off. the room is cool, and when he settles into bed, he quietly hopes for blonde hair in his dreams tonight, and no green eyes.

distantly, he can hear a wolf baying and the last coherent thought two bit has is that there wasn't a moon out that night.

that doesn't stop him from dreaming about it: a moon hanging in the sky, shining a bright white. a howl rippling through his dream and a wolf running in long lopes, fur dark as night.

"so, who do you think is gonna come out with the most wins, huh?"

two bit glances up from his breakfast, half tired. he cracks a half smile at the other, drawling out, "i reckon whoever's best." he feels bleary; it's about nine fifteen in the morning, and he doesn't want to do much talking, for once. he'd rather just sit in the booth, but apparently that's not good enough for peggy.

she's a nice girl; a little bucktoothed with a cute smile, a button nose and bottle blonde hair that has some dark roots showing as she stirs her coffee. she's a waitress here and a total rodeo aficionado, her eyes flickering over to the people gathered in town. "we got a whole week ahead and nobody caught your eye?"

"i try not to place a bet til the big stuff," two bit bites into his eggs, chewing rapidly, swallowing. "they usually do these warm ups and kid stuff and it gets real cutthroat later, you know how it is. sides, we got at least ten more days of this, so why do it now?" he glances up at her and peggy rolls her eyes as the door opens.

in strides dallas winston — his hair is shaggy looking, he looks about as pissed off as one can be in the morning, and he goes up to the counter, takes a seat and peggy perks up. she gives two bit a wink, gets up and moves behind the counter to accommodate him.

two can see her flirt, and he makes his meal quick, getting up right as dallas takes a cup of coffee from her. dallas cuts his eyes at him, goes back to his plate and two bit just gives a slight nod. then he's out the door, into guthrie proper and is making his way to the bar for the stock he has to get loaded up for the day.

he thinks about what else he could be doing, what it would have been like to have simply stayed in tulsa as he waves into the bar. about what he would have been doing if he'd stayed with his mother and sister. when he gets to the back, shrugging off his jacket, he tells himself he made his choice — so he had to live with it.

and living with it meant working even though he'd rather be drinking a beer about now or chasing skirts. he could steal beer, but he couldn't actually live without money. so he takes his time to unload the stock, to account for it. all the while, he thinks of the people he left behind in tulsa, thinks of his father, and can feel that sour itch start to scratch at him, of a need to just have a beer to quell down any thoughts he had.

it's around noon when he hears a knock at the back. he looks up from his work to see dallas there, reins on his horse as usual. he looks less pissed off than before, voice gruff, "you still getting me water?"

"yeah, sure," two bit sets down a box and, deciding that they wouldn't miss one bottle of beer, he grabs it, and beckons dallas to the back trough. his horse is as polite as ever, waiting patiently as two bit runs the water. it's a really hot one again — the air is dry, and two bit can feel the sun bearing down on him intensely as he does it. he wouldn't blame dallas for sticking his head into the trough with the horse at this rate.

dallas leads the horse up, and the horse ducks his head in sloppily. the sight makes two pause, put the beer down and duck inside. they won't need some of the ice, neither, he thinks, and dumps at least half a bag into the trough.

"gimme some," dallas reaches over, grabs some ice cubes and pops some in his mouth like candy. he's sweating, and two bit is starting to as well. they both migrate to the wall of the bar, where the awning at least casts a cool shadow. two bit sit down and opens the beer with one hand, dallas munching on the ice cubes in silence a few moments. he breaks it with, "you from around here?"

"nah, from tulsa," two bit takes a pull of the beer, and it'd be better cold. "you from new york, right? can tell with that fancy accent of yours."

"wouldn't call it fancy," dallas says, half snorting. "just sound like any street kid up there." he throws an ice cube into the trough, and the horse's nose moves, tongue lapping at the cube. dallas grins at him in a way that little kids kind of do — a little too eager, too wide and two bit is curious.

he takes another pull from his beer, keeping an eye on the door. "what made you come from new york to ride rodeo in a bum place like guthrie?"

"got a cousin in oklahoma, got me into it," dallas throws another cube that lands with a splash. his horse whinnies and he sticks out his tongue. "got the hang of it real quick, got more money out of doing riding than anything else."

anything else makes two's ears perk up — there was no guessing what that meant here. "alright, makes sense. what don't make sense is how you landed a horse like that," he points, and the horse's tail flicks, as if he knows he's being talked about. he sucks up more water, vying for a rapidly melting ice cube, the act almost comedic. "i don't think it'd be outta line to say you probably couldn't afford to buy one."

"i ain't take him, he took me in," dallas' voice is about brimming with pride, in a way that two bit doesn't know if he finds endearing or not. he's also not sure if he isn't lying about the taking part; in any case, it just makes him more curious, looking over at the way dallas grins at the horse. "long as i treat him right, we win rodeos and that's the deal. better than those idiots with all the dumb equipment, slow horses, and rich parents."

two bit cracks a half laugh, and when the horse sucks up another ice cube with an audacious slurp, dallas laughs too. he stands up, reaching out to two bit who clasps his hand. "well, i'll tell you this: you wanna keep winning, don't stick around in guthrie too long. people get rough out here — real rough." he keeps his tone serious, cautionary. "you get too big, they don't gun for you—"

"they gun for the horse, yeah," dallas' expression gets darker, and the grin on his face can only be described as dangerous, two bit thinks. "i ain't too scared of 'em." he checks the sky, and clicks his tongue. "i gotta go — they got some bullshit qualifier stuff we gotta get to. see you, two bit."

"you gonna come around tonight? beer's free on me," two bit offers. "and the girl's always like a champion."

dallas gives a short bark of a laugh, grasps the reins and leads his horse out. two bit watches, and he's not sure if he's conveyed the danger of it all enough for dallas to listen or not. he shakes his head, goes back inside and gets ready for the first wave of people of the evening.

it's pretty predictable at first: most of the usual drunks roll in first, and then the real rodeo crowd starts to fill in during the evening. some are old cowboys, pissed that they didn't qualify for the rodeo. some are hanger-ons who go to circuit to circuit. some are the greasers and hoods who come up.

he talks to them all in snatches — hearing about the normal people who try and fail, the regulars whose drinks he knows, and then newer faces he's getting accustomed to. what really gets interesting is when some of the newer, blustier riders get in.

" — that winston kid, he's way too confident," grumbles one of the regulars, a blue eyed man named jack who's got a ferociously large mustache (which two bit could usually see beer foam in night after night), throwing back whiskey for once (probably on account of the foam issues). he's a man who's in his mid thirties, has ridden for the past five years, only three of which two-bit was around for. "he's been riding that nag from here to tremonton, winning all on some bullshit."

"i think he's in with some of the staff," another rider — a man with a swollen nose and a sullen look two bit doesn't know. "no way he's just winning without some kind of help." two bit glances up at that, able to see dallas framed in the doorway behind him. the sun is low, but not quite out of the sky and the look that dallas gives the man is so venomous that two bit himself freezes.

the cowboy doesn't see him, voice rising. "i bet if you go through his pockets, you'll find more cash in there than what he deserves." there's a round of agreement and it seems only two bit can see dallas striding through the doorway, making a way for the older rider. he almost is able to warn him; the sound just dies outright in his throat right as dallas turns the guy around and slugs him right in the face.

the sound is hard, wet, and two bit lunges over the bar top to try and keep dallas from landing another blow. glasses crash down, there's a cry and dallas lands two more hits. he about lifts the man up off the floor, eyes dark, and the light makes the snarl on his face seem worse, as if his teeth are literally fangs as he snaps out, "i ain't never take a bribe! i race, i rope clean—"

the rider spits — blood and spittle — and two bit wraps an arm around his neck, pulls him back before dallas winds up for another blow. "hey! no fighting in here!"

dallas snarls again, and he looks like his very hair is about to stand on end in rage, but when two bit snaps out, "dallas!" he looks at him and two bit is taken aback at the way his eyes seem too bright in his face, the way the snarl on his face twists his mouth.

and then he's out the door in a rush, the rider is gasping and two bit has to resign himself to a rough night. the rider shoves him off, and two bit shoves back in a moment of anger, everyone in the bar utterly silent for a moment. two bit glares back, snaps out, "maybe next time you'll keep your mouth shut instead of insulting someone, huh?"

jack gives a hoarse laugh and two bit looks at the older rider, until he mutters out, "i'll pay for the glass."

"good, you might as well," two bit nods. "least you'll look tough with that nose, huh?" a laugh goes up, and he gives a good natured grin back. the mood eases then, but two bit doesn't forget how dallas looked, snarling and pissed off. he's never seen someone that angry at accusations of cheating; and most men worth their salt were pissed at that sort of thing.

but that? that was an overreaction.

and he's curious as to why.

he's allowed out at midnight, going off into the street, the cold nipping at him. he makes his way not to the other bright parts of guthrie, but to the stables. he has a good feeling that dallas is there, and he makes his way there with a beer in hand. the stables are large — they count on rentals there, from riders coming in for rodeo season and from there, when there wasn't the rodeo, they relied on the rich set to pay.

and that was with the other things, too: sheep and cattle. both of them were on an upturn, and even if he couldn't smell them, he could see them, most of the herds sleeping outside, gated in.

what's unusual, as he gets closer, is the kid sitting on a fence near the sheep. he's not someone two bit has seen before; he looks young, with a brown jacket on, smoking a cigarette. he seems to be talking to someone, but whoever it is, two bit can't see. he sure can hear the kid though, seeing him laugh. it's clear, melodic and it makes two bit curious, pausing on the dirt road for a moment.

the kid swings his legs on the fence, cigarette flaring up. there isn't a lot of light out, but the kid picked a place on the fence right near the light pole. he laughs more, and says, "aw, c'mon. c'mere!"

there's no verbal answer; but something moves from the shadows and two bit is shocked when out of it comes a huge dog. it's truly enormous, about as big as the fence itself, all black fur, only distinguished from the shadows with movement. fear crawls it's way up two bit's throat as the dog moves closer — it looks more like a wolf than a dog, he realizes with horrifying clarity. it takes little effort for it to lean up and press it's head on the kid's thigh, and two bit doesn't know what to do until the kid reaches out to scratch at it's ears.

the kid is making a cooing noise — and that's when two bit remembers him from the nights before. he'd been at the bar, and this was his dog. wolfdog, maybe, and he is just petting it, near the sheep.

"kid," his voice is clear, sharp, and he isn't so drunk that he doesn't know the danger of what he's seeing, "i don't think that's tame."

the kid looks up, blinks at two bit and something about him feels vaguely familiar. he doesn't stop scratching at his ears, "who, him?"

two bit strides closer, and god the wolfdog is so huge. he doesn't seem to care or notice him, just nuzzling at the kid's hand and thigh, but two bit gives him a wide berth. "if that's a dog, then my momma's the queen of england. and i don't think you can just walk around with a wolfdog."

"he's sweet," the kid counters, and the wolfdog gives a whuff that seems to disagree. "he ain't so bad, long as you're nice. ain't that right?" he grins down at the wolfdog again, who gives a lick to the palm of his offered hand. close up, two bit can see that he might be sixteen or seventeen, good looking with hair that's long but not quite a hippy look to him, in a shirt that's white and a little dirty.

"i ain't know about that, no collar or nothin'," two bit keeps his tone jovial, but keeps a berth. "you from around here, kid? or you working the season?"

"just here for the rodeo," the kid keeps stroking the wolfdog's head, glancing up at two bit easily. "following along is all. you're the bartender from rooster's right?" two bit nods, and the kid beams. "i'm ponyboy — and it ain't a joke. this here's fang." he scritches his ear again. "he's tough, but he ain't mean."

two hit has a hard time thinking that's true, but the wolfdog seems more interested in nuzzling and licking at ponyboy's fingers. "nice to meet you kid — i'm two bit, cause everyone's gotta hear my—"

"two bits!"

"right!" two grins back at ponyboy. "your parents ride in rodeo for you have to have that name?"

"nah, just creative," ponyboy shrugs, and fang sits between his legs, head turning to look at two bit. his eyes are utterly yellow in the night, and piercing in the way it settles on two bit. "you work here too? or just here to see sheep?" he swings his legs eagerly, as if pleased with himself.

"nah, was looking for someone," two bit polishes off his beer. "you heard of dallas? about six feet and change, dark hair, rides often?"

ponyboy hums, nodding. "yeah, i heard of him. rides good, clean. i ain't seen him here tonight, though. why?" he looks curious, enthralled even. "i know he stirs up trouble sometimes."

two bit raises his eyebrows at that, but isn't very surprised at that. "nah, well. i mean he got into some trouble at rooster's tonight. punched the snot out of someone for trying to say he cheats." the way ponyboy snickers tells two-bit that that's not unusual. "just wanted to see if he was around here, wanted to talk to him. tell him not to let his temper get him too bad cause the guys around here they ain't soft, and not all of them are real clean."

"you mean betting?" ponyboy leans back, cocking his head. "or something else?"

maybe it's the beer that makes two bit hesitate for a moment. he doesn't know this kid; even if he follows around dallas, it feels like violating something, to tell him. he goes with shaking his head, "it's... just if you see him, tell him to catch me at roosters, huh?" he looks at the wolfdog again, standing up. it wouldn't be fair to burden this kid with it, or make him pass on a message. "if you catch me there though, i'll give you a drink on me."

for a moment he thinks ponyboy looks like he'll say something more, but instead he nods. "sure. forgot to say it but thanks for letting fang in. he's tame, i promise." he coos at him again, glancing up. "nice to talk to you, two bit."

a grin cracks two bit's face. "nice to talk to you too, ponyboy."

two bit turns, makes his way from them both. the last thing he sees is ponyboy looking down at fang with an odd expression on his face, almost... sad if two bit had to say.

that night, he doesn't dream of howling or the moon. he dreams are filled of red hair and a smile, and not a single blonde shows up. when he wakes up, he wishes for more. he lays in bed for a moment thinking of what lead him to guthrie: his father in the doorway, his mother in the kitchen. the way their voices had been raised and that he had felt like the only choice he had was no real choice at all. that he'd followed his father out the door, and into the car, leaving his mother, his sister in tulsa.

he breathes out again, throws his arm over his eyes. he can hear people outside in guthrie, and he tells himself that at least the rodeo season mean he'd make money enough to be on his own. then he gets up, takes a shower. gets his clothes on, and gingerly, puts his feet into the same shoes his father had worn when he walked out the door with him years ago. every day he wishes that they might not fit this time, that maybe he wouldn't feel the way he does now.

it doesn't change.

he walks out his door, locks it and hopes he can catch up with dallas, quick.