Disclaimer: I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2. This story contains blood, violence, abuse, and dark themes. Viewer discretion is advised.

Colm helped Kieran down from Ardal, though the boy initially hesitated to leap from the steed's hulking back. The large steed was like a fallen tree laying across the forest path, hitched in the cramped roads of the modest town of Patience. The young boy held on tight to Colm's belt as they walked into the crowded doctor's office where the sick and wounded congregated.

"I'm sorry, but Dr. Martin won't see anyone else today." The receptionist boredly mumbled, gesturing to the crowd with her pencil, not looking up from her book.

"I'm sure he can squeeze in one little boy," Colm calmly said through his polite smile, ignoring the sting in his hand that wanted to reach for his revolver. The receptionist stood up and looked at Kieran with skeptical eyes over the desk. Kieran gave a shy wave.

"The boy doesn't seem to be dying." The receptionist scoffed, pushing up her spectacles, and plopped back in her seat.

"Dyin'?" Colm chuckled, biting back the threat jumping from his throat. "Ma'am, I'm sure you've got some kindness somewhere in that soul of yours," he pulled out twenty dollars from his coat and set it on the desk. "Everybody got some kindness in 'em." The receptionist eyed the money before finally smiling and snatching up the cash.

"Can I get a name for you, sir?"

"Kieran Duffy."

"Alright then, please wait for the doctor to see you."

They sat down in the only couple of chairs left available between an older man with a nasty cough and, a mother with a busted lip and her young son sitting in her lap, half of his face wrapped in stained bandages. Colm took the chair next to the older, sick man.

"Howdy," the young boy waved to Kieran, grinning despite the wound on his head. Kieran gave a small wave back. "What's your name? I'm Will."

"… Um—"

"Hey, you've got wraps on your head like me! How'd you get 'em?"

"Quiet, sweetie," his mother gently hushed him, stroking his messy brown hair. "Don't be naggin' that boy." She looked at Colm with a tired smile, dried blood around her swollen lips.

"Sorry for my boy. He's a chatty one."

"No problem, miss." Colm tipped his hat to her. "Kier's just quiet is all."

"I hope he isn't too ill. He seems to be such a sweet boy. You also look beat yourself, sir."

"We'll both live." Colm absent-mindedly licked the cut Kane gifted his lip. "Just want the doc to look the boy over." He glanced at the young boy, Will, who looked curiously at Colm's revolver. "'Sides the bash on his head, seems your boy will be alright."

"I pray so." She held her son close. "I's robbed earlier today. Went to the store today with my boy and walked in on a robbery. The brute there demanded money and smacked me around good. Brave Will here tried gettin' in his way and want too kind to him either." She wiped away the tears that were starting to form in her eyes. "Though we got off lucky. The shopkeepers were shot down."

"That's terrible to hear, miss." Colm gave his best impression of a sympathetic frown. "… Which store did this happen at?"

"Harry's General Store. They still haven't caught the pair of bastards."

"A shame, that is." Colm could easily imagine the masked Kane beating the woman across the face and pistol-whipping the boy who dared take a stand to defend his mother. A genuinely merciful punishment his brother gave.

Colm spent the following hours in the lobby lazily tapping his foot, browsing the supplied newspapers and magazines, and watching Kieran "play" with the Will boy. He even offered to run down to the general store and buy snacks, getting Kieran an apple and the other boy a bag of candy at his behest. It wouldn't heal his head wound but was a sweet enough apology. The boy was still smiling when his name was called, "Willard Ward," and waved goodbye when he left.

It was when all the patients had cleared out, and the sun had fallen underneath the horizon that the doctor finally came out and said:

"Kieran Duffy."

"That's him," Colm replied, stretching his stiff body. Kieran slept soundly, curled up on his side. "C'mon, lad, get up." The boy yawned as he awoke, rubbing his tired eyes. They followed the doctor to his office, Kieran sitting in the examination chair.

"You're Kieran Duffy, I assume," Dr. Martin asked, cleaning his spectacles with a handkerchief. Kieran nodded. "How can I be of service, young man? I see you've hurt your head."

"There was a shootin' accident yesterday," Colm said, standing beside Kieran. "He tried shootin' a Cattleman revolver and head his head pretty good from the recoil."

"Hm," the doctor hummed as he pulled back the bandages on Kieran and examined the stitched wound on his head. "Did you already see someone else?"

"No. My um… The boy's momma stitched him up."

"Well, she's done good work." He started cleaning the wound, Kieran gripping tightly to his pant leg at the sting. "It's a nasty cut, but he'll live."

"That isn't all, doctor."

"No?" Dr. Martin pulled back with an intrigued look.

"See, ever since the boy woke up… he's had trouble speakin'."

"He can't speak?"

"He can, but it comes out all… Show him, Kier." Kieran tried clearing his throat and taking a deep breath.

"G-G…G-Good-d ev-v-ven-nin', d-d-doc."

"… I see what you mean, sir," the doctor eyed Kieran like he was a horse that just strolled into his office. He quickly regained his mask of professionalism and went to his table of medical tools. "His throat wasn't injured?"

"No, only his head," Colm confirmed. "I can't make sense of it. I was hopin' you would."

"… I've handled many a strange case before." The doctor started examining the boy, checking his heart rate, looking down his throat, and checking his reflexes. "Alright then," the doctor sighed as he collected his notes and gave them one more once over. "This seems similar to a case I had years ago. A man fell off his roof during construction and developed a severe stutter when he woke up in my office."

"And you were able to help him?" Colm asked, hopeful.

"Well…" the doctor paused to light a cigarette and exhale a puff of smoke. "I prescribed him throat medicine and told him to practice talking, see if he could reteach his tongue to speak."

"That worked for him?"

"… I can't say," the doctor shook his head. "A couple months later, he passed in a stagecoach robbery. He still had a stutter at that point, so I'm unsure if he had more time to heal that his stutter would have improved." He gave a pitying smile. "Hopefully, you'll be a more successful case study, young man."

Colm silently paid for the multiple medicine bottles, and the doctor was generous enough to send Kieran off with a fancy hard candy on a stick. The boy silently sucked on his treat as they rode back home, not that he could really say much if he wanted to.

"You doin' alright, Kier?" Colm checked up on him, and Kieran nodded through his quiet sniffing. "You're a strong boy." He wrapped an arm around the boy to comfort him, a raging torrent of anger tearing at his insides, wanting to brutalize the nearest living thing. He shook his head, heaving a sigh more like a snarl. "Keep your head up and stay strong."

~ O ~

The Van der Linde gang was leaving Horseshoe Overlook, and Kieran would tag along with him. Morgan and Smith had found an area further down south called Clemons Point to set up a new campsite. Kieran got up before the crack of dawn and was scared half to death to see a dark figure looming over him, scurry away before his eyes could adjust to the low light. He couldn't tell who had been standing over or how long they had been there while he slept, but he didn't have time to dwell on it as he went to work cleaning up the camp. He packed much lighter than the rest, stuffing his fishing pole and Mary-Beth's gifted novel into Branwen's saddlebag. However, one of the later pages was ripped out, and Kieran's messy handwriting was scribbled in the margins: in clemins point. He left the crumpled paper behind as the gang set off early in the morning.

He was made to ride in the back of a wagon, not trusted enough to ride on Branwen, though the mare kept close, trotting alongside the cart and keeping pace with the caravan. Riding in the back with him was a passed-out Reverend Swanson and Miss Roberts trying to contain the restless Jack to his seat. Driving the coach was Morgan, with Smith being shotgun, having one of their quiet conversations.

"I finally used them fire arrows you gave me, Charles. Hell of a weapon."

"It's a delicate crafting process. I'm glad they work."

"Do they? I nearly burnt down the entire Cumberland Forest shootin' those things at a rabbit. Burnt the shit outta my jeans tryin' to stomp out the blaze."

"I'm sorry to hear you ruined your pants after nearly starting a forest fire… Did you get the rabbit, at least?"

"Eh, I couldn't save the pelt but got some crispy meat bits. Tasted pretty good, actually, I'll save you some next time."

"Thank you… will starting another forest fire be a part of your cooking process?"

"No, smartass."

"Are we there yet, mama?" a restless Jack groaned, tugging on his mother's sleeve.

"Not yet, Jackie," Miss Roberts said, fighting back the tiredness creeping into her voice.

"When will we get there?"

"Soon."

"You said that last time."

"We'll get there. Now, hush up, boy."

"But, ma—"

"You l-like horses, Jack?" Kieran asked, grasping the boy's attention away from his tired mother.

"Sure, Mr. O'Driscoll," Jack happily answered.

"W-Wanna meet mine?" Kieran clicked his tongue, and Branwen's ears perked up as she trotted closer to the wagon, curiously looking inside.

"Hmm," the boy hesitantly hummed, clearly torn. "Micah told me that if I get too close to you, you'll eat me up."

"What?" Kieran couldn't help but laugh at the absurd idea he gobbled up children. "I promise, I-I'd never do s-such a thing to y-you."

"Wouldn't you say that get me to come closer?"

"Smart, boy. Listen, y-you're too big for m-me to eat, give me a s-stomachache. 'S-Sides your mama would w-wring my neck i-if I tried anythin'." Jack looked to Roberts, who nodded in approval. Finally, the boy moved over to Kieran to properly meet his horse. Kieran spent his time giving the boy treats to feed Branwen, who was more than happy from all the attention, and answering the seemingly never-ending stream of questions about horses, the O'Driscolls, fishing, and somehow public executions, until the boy tired out and curled himself in his mother's lap to nap, in as deep of sleep as the Reverand was.

Thank you for playing along with little Jackie," Roberts quietly thanked with a grateful smile as she rubbed the sleeping boy's back. "You'd think you got your own youngins to wrangle."

"No, ma'am," Kieran spoke just as quietly. "I-I had a little sister to t-take care of m-myself… I w-wanted to thank you t-too, Miss Roberts."

"For?"

"For… stoppin' M-Mr. Callander and Miss K-Kirk that night," he unconsciously rubbed his branded side.

"Don't mistake anythin'. I only did that for my boy. I didn't want him seein' all that nasty work so young… He's already seen too much ugliness in the world."

"S-Still, thank you… Y-You're a good m-mother, Miss Roberts."

"I try."

"What's this train dynamite fiasco I keep hearin' about?" Mrs. Adler asked with a mischievous smirk. She rode on the wagon behind Kieran's, sitting shotgun while Williamson held the reins.

"Don't be listenin' to the horseshit spewin' out these boys' mouths," he huffed. "It was just a simple mistake. Some dynamite I set up didn't go off on a train job, but we still made the score. Everyone's blowin' it outta proportion."

"Not like that train," she chuckled, and he glared at her.

"Don't you start too. I bet you've never lit a fuse."

"Nope, but it sounds fun."

"It is. Train jobs are the best. My nerves jolt outta my skin every time I jump on a runnin' train, and the winds rushin' over you like you're flyin'. It's better than a bottle of booze."

"Hmph, I wanna rob a train."

"Ha! You hear that, Mac?" he called out to the Callander brother, who rode atop Mad Bronco beside the wagon.

"What, Bill?" Callander gruffly responded, looking up at Mrs. Adler and Williamson though his worn maroon cowboy hat shadowed his eyes.

"Sadie, here is a buddin' outlaw, already wantin' to rob trains."

"I'll need a gun and some pants first," Mrs. Adler tugged on her dress skirt. "I borrowed Jake's pants all the time. He'd get so flustered when he couldn't find his trousers in the mornin'," she solemnly chuckled, her eyes reminiscing.

"Hmph…" Callander grumbled, eyeing Mrs. Adler up and down. "Just watch yourself, lady, or you'll find yourself six feet under if there's anyone to bury you."

"Call her Mrs. Adler." Williamson calmly scolded, though his brows furrowed in frustration. "She's a friend. Two of us go way back."

"I'm sure you'll cry over her like you did Davey, or no," Callander's bearded lip upturned into a sneer. "Ya didn't."

"Mac, you know that ain't true!" Williamson's plea was met with an eye roll, Mac spurring Bronco ahead, Kieran ducking down as the cowboy rode past, feeling the dark cloud of aggression that followed him everywhere.

"That's a friend?" Mrs. Adler asked, watching Callander leave with a scowl.

"That's not Mac," Williamson sighed. "He don't act like that. He's always laughin' and sharin' a drink with everyone and takin' on so many jobs he's pissin' cash. Now that Davey's gone, he…" Williamson went silent, shaking his head. "I've been tryin' to lift him up. I wanna help, but I don't think I'm doin' much."

"… You've done good liftin' me up, Bill," she said.

"Really?"

"'Course, I'd still be a weepin' mess, waitin' to die curled underneath my floorboards if it weren't for ya'll fellers. You and Miss Abigail have been good company. Jake should've met you."

"I would've loved to meet him… Sadie…"

"I'm still here."

"Thanks… for still bein' you after everythin'."

"… That's good to hear. With all I've lost, I don't plan on losin' myself."

The caravan stopped when they were nearly at the campsite as one of the front wagons broke a wheel, the only one happy about it being Morgan, who proudly declared that it wasn't him this time. Kieran took the small break to stretch his legs and relieve himself. Not without a guard, of course. Callander was the first volunteer ahead of Will, and Kieran forced himself to go out into the forest with the gunslinger despite his fears. When the chatter of the gang fell into silence and only the quiet trees basking in the amber afternoon sunlight surrounded them, they stopped. Kieran made sure his business was quick, constantly glancing over his shoulder to see if Callander would ambush him, the scowling man staring him down each time.

"… We c-can head back n-now," Kieran quietly muttered, turning around to head back to the caravan. Callander didn't move; an uneasy silence settled amongst thm, feeling like he was staring down a panther crouched in a bush.

"… I didn't think you'd make it this far, O'Driscoll," Callander finally spoke. "Thought we'd leave you behind, not shack you up with little Jackie."

"I-I'd never hurt that b-boy!" Kieran blurted out, being the most argumentative he'd been with the Callander brother, whose frown only deepened. "I-I know you don't w-want me here, sir, and I d-don't wanna b-be here, but I am s-so…"

"Get over it?" Callander growled as his hands curled into fists, spiking a rush of adrenaline in Kieran, telling him to run.

"No, sir! Th-that's not what I-I was gonna say," he slowly stepped to the side as he spoke, planning to give Callander a wide berth when he moved past him. "I'm s-sorry if it came out l-like that."

"You say sorry more than any word, don't ya?" Callander's glare followed Kieran's every step like a hunting hawk.

"Is there…" Kieran stopped in front of the other man, still keeping his distance. "A-Any other w-way you wanted me t-to apologize?" Callander took a moment to think before a wry smirk carved itself onto his face.

"… You can die."

"I'm afraid I-I can't do that, s-sir," Kieran firmly shook his head. He couldn't die just yet. "I still got h-horses to t-tend to." He continued walking back towards the group, the dry grass softly crunching underneath his feet, though the quiet sound was overtaken by the loud thud of rushing footsteps. Kieran jumped out of his skin as a sharp pain sliced down his backside. "Christ!" crying out in alarm and spinning back around, he pressed his hand against the fresh wound on his back, warm blood seeping into his palm. Fresh blood dripped like morning dew on a leaf from Callander's serrated knife that he held out, ready to strike again.

"I'll tell 'em you got lost, O'Driscoll." Callander cruelly grinned and lunged. Kieran couldn't have run away any faster, putting that stored adrenaline to use to sprint back to the others, feeling Callander's knife scraping the back of his neck. He ran through bushes and weaved through trees, not daring to look behind him, and focused on nothing more than escaping. Kieran rushed out of the forest and back onto the trail but didn't stop. Using his momentum, he pulled himself over the side of the wagon and crashed down with a heavy thud, rocking the cart.

"Jesus!" the Reverand startled awake, nearly falling over.

"What the hell was all that?" Roberts asked, holding Jack, who was now awake, close. "Scared us half to death."

"Sorry," he apologized through gasps, trying to catch his breath and slow down his heart. "Th-thought I saw a w-wolf or somethin'."

"Is Mac all right then?"

"He's alive, I-I'm sure, miss," Kieran reassured her as he felt a warm trail of blood pool down his backside.

~ O ~

Kieran made it to campsite alive, a spot by the water with its own dock and hidden behind a collection of trees. He wondered when Conan or Maeve would investigate Horseshoe Overlook and find his note or if he'd have to find a way to leave camp and tell them himself. He was finishing unloading the last storage chests when he heard Mary-Beth's sweet voice.

"Hey, Kieran," she approached him with a pep in her step, excited about something.

"Hello, Mary-Beth," he greeted, setting down the box and wiping the sweat off his brow. "Need s-somethin'?"

"More like you need something."

"Whatchu mean?"

"Don't you think those worn rags of yours have served their time?" she tugged on his black coat tail, torn up like a bear had gotten ahold of it, dirtied from mud, sweat, and blood, and more overbearing than comforting in the Lemoyne sun. His white shirt wasn't doing too much better.

"Oh, th-they're startin' to smell unholy, a-aren't they?"

"Just a tad." She chuckled. "A couple of the boys and I were gonna head into town for supplies. You can tag along, pick out a new set of clothes, and freshen' up."

"Sounds nice, b-but I don't have any c-cash on me."

"We'll be paying, of course. Come on," Mary-Beth grabbed his arm and led him towards the horses; he flushed a bit from her warm grasp. "You're not getting outta this." Morgan and Williamson were waiting by their respective steeds, talking about something Kieran didn't quite hear. "You ready to go, boys?" she said as she mounted Prince Charming.

"Let's just make this quick." Morgan griped, stomping out his cigarette underneath his boot and hopping atop the massive Hercules. "So don't be draggin' your feet, O'Driscoll."

"Course, sir," Kieran muttered, ignoring the sharp pain in his back as he mounted Branwen.

"He ain't no O'Driscoll, Arthur," she reprimanded. "Go easy on him."

"Hmph, just for you, Mary-Beth, I'll play nice for the day." Kieran doubted how true Morgan would keep to his word. The four of them rode into the nearby town of Rhodes. It was refreshing to get out of camp and for Branwen to stretch her legs, though they had to keep a low profile. He thankfully didn't see any familiar faces, O'Driscoll or otherwise. They stopped by the general store. First, he and Mary-Beth browsed the catalog for outfits while Morgan and Williamson browsed the shelves, the latter uncharacteristically silent on their trip.

"Oh, that'll suit you perfectly, don't you think?" Mary-Beth pointed to a rancher-like outfit with a decorative tie and hat.

"Ain't that p-pricy?"

"Would you quit frettin' about the price? This is a reward for all your hard work. It'd be bad manners to turn this down." she pulled out a clip of cash from her violet purse and set it down on the counter. "This outfit please, sir, oh and," she flipped through the catalog, and as she did, a particular item caught his attention before she flipped to the final page to show the shopkeeper the display of a shaving kit. "And this as well."

"Can do, ma'am," the shopkeeper took the cash and went to fulfill the order.

"How are ya healing up?" she asked. "Not too bad, I hope."

"No, I-I'm doin' fine," Kieran said. "Nothin's i-infected, thank all th-that is good."

"What about that new cut on your back?"

"Oh th-that?" he reflexively turned his back away, flashing her a hopefully reassuring smile. "J-Just got s-scratched duckin' under some t-twisted branches. Nothin' s-serious."

"… If that's what you say," she sighed, clearly unconvinced by his excuse.

"But…. I-I still need to p-patch it up. I can get s-some supplies from the d-doctor's office.

"Sure."

"Here you are, ma'am. " The shopkeeper set down the outfit and a shaving kit.

"Here," she handed Kieran the newly bought items, "take these and head to the doctor's before washing yourself up at the hotel."

"By myself?" Kieran inquired, an idea slowly forming in his mind.

"Well, we still have shopping to do, but," her smile turned somewhat mischievous, "I'm sure Bill has no issue with accompanying you."

"I'm what?" Williamson sputtered, nearly dropping a can of salmon. "Why do I gotta follow that O'Driscroll trash around?"

"Ya want me to do it?" Morgan suggested.

"I didn't say I wasn't gonna do it."

"Sure," the other cowboy chuckled with a knowing smirk.

"C'mon, O'Driscoll, we don't got all day," Williamson said, leaving the store, and Kieran followed him with an internal groan. He didn't want to think Williamson would try to kill him, but he couldn't let his guard down after nearly being stabbed to death by Callander. For all he knew, Williamson also thought the stable boy overstayed his welcome and was waiting for the opportunity to do him in. He flinched when Williamson suddenly stopped, almost bumping into the other man. Williamson looked up and down the street, searching.

"It's th-that way, s-sir," Kieran softly muttered after standing in the street for a minute.

"What was that?" Willamson spun around to stare him down, and Kieran stepped back.

"Th… The doctor is th-that way," he pointed in the other direction.

"Yeah, well, I knew that. I's just thinkin'," Willamson shouldered past him, and they both finally headed for the doctor's.

"You been here before?" the cowboy questioned.

"Uh, once o-or twice… Have you, s-sir?"

"Me?" William paused before answering: "No, I haven't myself."

"Th-Then how do know wh-where the doctor is?" Kieran's question slipped out, and he covered his mouth, shrinking under the glare Williamson sent his way. Thankfully, he did not retaliate more than that. They made it to the office, and Williamson sat in one of the porch chairs.

"Go on and buy your shit," he ordered though Kieran stood awkwardly still. "I said get!"

"Well, sir, I-I don't got m-money so…"

"You want some of my hard-earned cash?"

"I-I'll pay you back, sir… s-somehow."

"Pay me back, huh?" Williamson laughed to himself as if he thought of a joke that tinted his face pink. He quickly cleared his throat and took the clothes from Kieran to hand him a wad of cash from his pocket, not meeting Kieran's eyes. "Take this."

"Oh, th-thank you, sir." Kieran took the money and was surprised that Williamson gave him quite a bit. It was enough for him to buy bandages, medical ointment, and a small bottle of horse medicine, with some leftover. He pocketed five dollars and tried giving the rest back to Williamson.

"Just keep it," the man responded, turning away the cash. "You've already tainted it, O'Driscoll."

"… Thanks," Kieran clicked his tongue at the backhanded gift. Thankfully, they found the hotel without much issue, and Williamson went inside this time, tossing some coins on the front desk and ordering a bath before Kieran could protest.

"Go on and get yourself cleaned up," Williamson said as he shoved the stable boy's new outfit into his hands. "You smell like horseshit." Kieran kept his retort to himself and headed to the bathing room. He set his clothes down on the dresser and began undressing himself, cringing at how his clothes peeled off his oozing wounds and old bandages. He kicked the ruined rags to the corner, having left to take off his dirty bandages. The slices on his chest were healing well, having already taken out the stitches, though the area was still sensitive. The brand on his hip was far from healed, but the angry red had cooled down to a bruising purple. Despite its ugly appearance, Kieran was relieved to see no signs of infection.

As he took a washcloth to press on the fresh wound on his back, he caught a glimpse of his naked self in the nearby body mirror. He was gaining back the weight he lost during his nearly month-long starvation, stretching out the many scars he gained over his life, old and new, around his ribs, thighs, and arms. He was gaining some lean muscle for his daily chores and heavy lifting, but his physique was still lanky and frail compared to anyone like Morgan or Conan.

The tub was already ready, foaming with soapy bubbles, and he slowly lowered himself into the warm water, hissing, his open cuts burned in protest. Once he settled in and the stinging subsided, he allowed himself to relax in the warm water and leaned his head back against the rim. A polite knock on the door disturbed his quiet soak.

"Need any help in there, darlin'?" a woman asked from the other side.

"N-No, thank you, miss," he shyly responded, never having been confident enough to accept a working girl's services. He began washing himself, starting with his head, lathering his black greasy hair. His hair was growing longer, closer to his shoulders, and his facial hair was slowly growing out, not that he'd ever grown a full-on beard, not in his genes. He washed his arms and legs and was careful when cleaning his chest and abdomen to avoid agitating his wounds further. Trying to wash his back was a struggle, stretching too far behind, sending a shot of pain down his back.

"What's takin' so long?"

"Sweet Jesus!" Kieran cried out, splashing water out the tub in his flailing, as Willamson suddenly intruded, cracking open the washroom door and peeking inside. "S-Scared me half t-to death, ya wacko!" Kieran crossed his arms over his chest to cover himself and turned his body away from the loony cowboy, feeling exposed as his face burned red.

"I-I was just checkin' on ya, damn," Williamson stuttered as he shifted his gaze to the side, having the decency to at least not gawk at Kieran like he was a circus act. "You were takin' too long. This ain't no time for relaxin'."

"I'm hurryin'. I-I was just havin' t-troubles reaches my back, b-but I'll—"

"Fine, I'll help ya out," Williamson groaned as if Kieran had been pleading and begging on his knees for the man's aid. How did he get stuck with the lunatic of the gang?

"No! I d-don't wanna t-trouble you, s-sir, really."

"I've gotten used to you bein' a troublesome little vixen. I can handle this, boy." Williamson glanced out into the hallway before slipping into the room and quickly shutting the door. He took a deep breath and then turned around, still not fully looking Kieran in the eye, not that the stable boy wanted him to.

"So…" he paused to clear his throat. "It's your back, ain't it?" the mad cowboy sounded less confident than he had earlier. The air of anger was nowhere to be felt. The man's usual intimidating posture failed him, becoming something more unsure, asking for guidance.

"Yes," Kieran sighed, ready to get this over with. "O-Only my back, m-mind you, mister."

"I-I wasn't thinkin' about anywhere else, O'Driscoll. Don't flatter yourself." Williamson scoffed. "Just turn your ass around." After a breath of hesitation, he turned his back, Williamson, minding his gun belt lying by the dresser. He was tense hearing Willaimson pull up the stool and settle behind him, dunking a washcloth into the soapy water.

Kieran flinched as the warm cloth rubbed into his back, body tense and ready for any form of malice. That never showed its ugly face as William's touch was surprisingly gentle for rough hands that could cause so much harm. The touch was almost timid, ghosting across Kieran's skin as if it'd tear like tissue paper, though grew more confident when the stable boy nodded approvingly. Williamson carefully maneuvered around his wound and thankfully made no comment about it, letting a calming silence settle between the both of them. The soft wool of the washcloth was replaced by the gunslinger's calloused hands kneading into his back, sending a surprised shiver up his spine.

The firm yet tender massaging was unlike any touch Kieran had experienced with the Van der Lindes, and especially with the O'Driscoll Boys. It eased away the tension in his back in a strangely intimate fashion, making Kieran's insides quiver with weary delight. With how often cruel hands brought him pain, he let himself enjoy the soothing touch despite whose hands it came from. When the warm hands reached his shoulders and melted away the pent-up strain, the flooding rush of relief that followed made Kieran sigh in contentment. He immediately bit down on his tongue like a steel trap, body heating up in shame, as the sound came out less like a relieved sigh and more akin to an acknowledgment of pleasure. Williamson's hands froze in place.

"… God damnit," he angrily growled as if defeated.

"Th-That's good enough, s-sir!" Kieran anxiously sputtered and pulled away from Williamson's touch so quickly that he splashed water on the floor. "Just let me g-get dressed, and I'll b-be out."

"Right, I'll, uh, just be outside." Kieran didn't watch Williamson leave, though he heard him nearly trip over his stool before stumbling out of the room. Once alone, Kieran took a moment to give himself a disciplinary slap to the face. He couldn't let himself get so comfortable here to invite temptation. He was here on a mission.

"Get a h-hold of yourself, Kieran." He reprimanded himself, getting out of the tub and drying himself off. He quickly dressed his wound, wrapping the bandages around his midsection, and put on his new outfit, the turquoise of his tie and tuft blue coat. The colors were too off from the greens he wore with the O'Driscolls. He packed the rest of his supplies in his satchel and peeked out the door, not seeing Williamson. He quickly and quietly left through the back door, staying out of sight of Mary-Beth and Morgan, who were at the butcher's tent. He slipped back into the general store and approached the front desk.

"Excuse me, s-sir?" He grabbed the shopkeeper's attention after he found the picture of the item in the catalog he was looking for. "How m-much is this?"

"That'll be four fifty." Kieran counted out the leftover money from Williamson and handed it over, anxiously looking back at the front door as the register chimed.

"Who's the sh-sherriff 'round h-here?" Kieran asked.

"That'd be Sherriff Gray."

"… Wh-Which Gray, exactly?"

"That'd be Leigh Gray. Murdo stepped down quite a few years ago. You know them Grays?"

"Only h-heard of them, s-sir."

"Then you know to steer clear of them fellers," the shopkeeper warned as he retrieved Kieran's item from his shelf. "You gotta pest problem?" The shopkeeper inquired, handing Kieran the bottle of rat poison. "That'll kill a whole pack of them vermin."

"I-I just got one, sir." Kieran stashed away the poison.

"Good luck to you then, boy."

Kieran left the store and went into the alley, pulling out the horse medicine he bought earlier. He dumped out the liquid before taking the poison and transferring it to the medicine bottle, not spilling a drop. Once empty, he tossed the poison bottle away. He made a deep scratch across the horse medicine bottle with his knife before settling it back in his bag. He returned to the hotel from the back door, and the shopkeeper gave him a quizzical look as he walked out the front. Williamson was waiting for him, leaning back against the porch rail guard and downing a bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He greeted Kieran with a nasty sneer, his threatening stance returning tenfold.

"Don't you dare think about sqealin' this to anyone, or I'll string ya upside down and slit your throat like a pig, got that, O'Driscoll?"

"Yes, sir," Kieran nodded and stepped away, shame creeping up his back like a crawling venomous insect. "S-Still… thank you." Willamson strangled the bottleneck of the bourbon.

"Just get goin', boy," was the last the cowboy said to him before going silent, drinking his alcohol as they headed back towards their horses to head back to camp.

~ O ~

When supper time came around, Kieran was the last to grab himself a bowl and sit by the scouting campfire away from the gang. Most of the gang, anyway. One man decided to give him company.

"I see you got a new look going for you," Mr. Mathews observed as he approached the stable boy.

"Y-Yes," Kieran said with a mouthful of stew, quickly swallowing and wiping his mouth. Mr. Mathews sat on the log beside him, groaning softly as he settled.

"I'm astounded that you're still with us, Mr. Duffy," the older man mused with the warm glow from the fire dancing in his brown eyes. "I thought my boys would've scared you off long ago, the barking dogs they are."

"It ain't f-for a lack of t-tryin', sir."

"Like I said, barking dogs," the older man laughed, coughing a bit and pausing to clear his throat. "But if they nip at you, don't be afraid to bop 'em on the nose. I assume you can handle our ilk if you survived living amongst the O'Driscoll boys."

"… I-It ain't much different t-to me, sir," Kieran said, staring down at the fire. "No matter wh-where you go… there's gonna b-be one feller wantin' t-to kill ya. If you're smart o-or lucky enough, y-you'll live. I-I'm not sure wh-which I am."

"I don't take you for much of a fool… more so a man prone to foolishness."

"Ain't they the s-same?" Kieran looked up at Mr. Mathews.

"Well, you see, the fool is a man who can't but let himself fall prey to his impulses time and time again without reason. Now, a man prone to foolishness falls to lunacy from time, like when you fell in with the O'Driscoll Boys, for instance."

"Hmph, I'm sure."

"But, unlike the fool, he has sense enough to anchor himself when he's gotten himself turned around and think to get himself outta his mess." Mr. Mathews gave him a modest smile. "You'll find a way out of all this foolery, Duffy."

"Hm… th-thank you."

"Just some ramblings from an odd man in a mess himself."

"I-I mean… thank you for s-steppin' in when I w-was… stuck t-to that tree."

"… You're welcome. I told those two that wouldn't make you talk but, who listens to this old man anymore." He sighed. "Jenny's at least found some time to smile. Mac…That boy's heading down a dark road." he shook his head. "Have yourself a nice night, Duffy.

"Thank y-you, Mr. Mathews," Kieran watched the older man leave, seeing him going over to Van der Linde, who stood before the main campfire, weaving grandiose tales of their future for his gunslingers.

That night, Kieran stayed up, sitting against a nearby tree with Branwen snoozing nearby. Underneath the dull glow of the crescent moon, Kieran stared at the bottle of poison disguised as medicine in his hand, wondering if it'd be the key to getting himself out of all this mess, he'd gotten himself into.

~ O ~

Colm and Kieran returned to the homestead to find the Van der Lindes throwing a small shindig in the yard for their first successful day of thievery. Colm wanted to hold up in his home for the night, turning down Dutch's offer to play poker, but waited for Conan to greet them as he sat with the brothers Fergal and Fergus and Dutch's Arthur. Entering his own home, he was stopped by Kane waiting for him in the entryway, arms crossed over his chest.

"Colm, you took an extra ten from your haul today." Was his greeting.

"It's a joy seein' you safe and sound too, brother," Colm greeted back with a mocking smile as he hung up his black coat. "I needed it for Kieran's medicine. The doctor says his condition's an oddity and that… he'll see what he can do." Kane gritted his teeth, not sparing a glance at Kieran.

"… You still owe ten."

"Ha!" Colm barked a laugh, releasing just a whisp of his rising anger. He handed Kieran the medicine back and the doctor's note before sending him upstairs, the boy keeping his distance from Kane as he passed him. Colm dropped any hints of a smile. "That's what got ya worried, Kane? I'll gladly shove those ten dollars down your—"

"Good to see you home, Colm!" Deidre's loud greeting interrupted Colm's threat as she hurried down the stairs. "How was the doctor's visit?"

"Oh, Kane can tell you about that, if he was listening." He toned down the intensity of his glare, seeing the worried Diedre. "The doctor noted how much medicine to give the boy. Let me get your ten dollars, Kane, so you can care for your son, 'cause you love him just that much." He sarcastically spat, watching Kane tense up like a coiling snake, and quickly left back outside.

"Changed your mind, have you, Colm?" Dutch called out to him from where he sat at the picnic table, cards and drinks laid out.

"… Why the hell not?" Colm threw up his arms in defeat and joined the table, sitting between Hosea and Susan with Dutch sitting across from him. Annabelle was comfortably perched on Dutch's lap, her blonde air undone in glossy waves down her back, and her arm slipped around his shoulders.

"Oh, are you finally done hiding from us mongrels, Colm?" she chuckled with smirking lips. "Here, I thought our brutishness scared you back to domesticity."

"You strike me more as a high-class gal than a rugged brute, Miss Annabelle," he shot back, grabbing the stack of cards Susan prepared for him.

"How's the boy?" Dutch asked once the pot got to five thirty-four.

"… He'll live, couldn't ask for anythin' more," Colm answered.

"What'd you name him?" Hosea asked, keeping a straight face.

"Kane the second." That made the man raise a blonde brow.

"Wouldn't that be Colm the second?"

"Nope. I'm just the boy's uncle. I got no little Colms runnin' around."

"So, you have no wife either then?" Dutch asked, resting his head against Annabelle's bosom. Colm was starting to grow irritated from all the personal probing.

"I suppose not."

"Luck is on your side, Colm," Annabelle started, "Susan's a young bachelorette looking for love. She may just sit in your lap."

"Hilarious, darlin'," Susan rolled her piercing blue eyes.

"The pair of 'em would tear each other apart quicker than rabid coyotes on carrion," Hosea chuckled.

Colm said goodbye to the measly dollar and fifty cents he gave to the pot as Dutch secured his victory and claimed the ten-dollar pot.

"Fair game, gentlemen," he proudly grinned. "Would you try your luck in another round?"

"And fatten your pockets with more of my money? I'll pass," Colm said, taking a swig from his beer, cards abandoned.

"In need of some money?" Annabelle chimed in.

"Ain't that why we're all here?"

"Of course," she slipped off Dutch's lap and walked around to Colm, the O'Driscoll watching her every controlled step. "I've got something you'd like to hear,' she playfully whispered as she sat down on the table close to him, the silky material of her flowing peach skirt, brushing against his leg. He leaned away from her, though he could still smell her minty perfume, and looked up into her warm hazel eyes as she gazed down at him as if he were a fascinating insect she found in the dirt. "I've been doing my share of collecting information, and I heard about an old prospector that lives south of Golden Hills. His last haul was more than successful, and he's got it stashed somewhere on his homestead."

"You gonna go get it?"

"I was thinking," he shivered as she drummed her fingers up his arm like a prowling spider, her maintained nails poking him through his shirt. "We'd go get that gold, Colm. Together, you and me."

"I-I think Dutch would be better suited for somethin' like that," he brushed off her hand and avoided her intense gaze, glancing over to Dutch. The Van der Linde leader had already started a conversation with Hosea, either none the wiser or uncaring how Annabelle carried herself so sweetly to Colm.

"I'm a classy lady who knows what she wants, and if I wanted Dutch, I would've asked him. But I asked you." Her nifty smirk curled. "Dutch told me how you gave such an entertaining performance during your robbery today. I'd just like you to entertain me as well, Mr. O'Driscoll." She softly chuckled, and he saw how her eyes flashed something mischievous, tempting him closer to see what she'd do. "Tomorrow afternoon would be the best time."

"I've brought more drinks!" Diedre brashly announced, marching out of the house with a crate of beers. "Excuse me," she gleefully grinned as she squarely placed the crate between Colm and Annabelle, making the other woman move aside.

"You're excused," Annabelle said, maintaining her polite smile. "I don't believe you've properly introduced yourself."

"Oh, apologies. I'm Dina." Diedre gave a small curtsey before handing out new bottles to the gang members.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dina," Dutch flashed his charming smile and brought Deidre's hand to his lips. "Where have you been hiding all this time?"

"Working like everyone else, Mr. Van der Linde," she curtly responded, wiping the back of her hand on her blue skirt. She passed the last bottle to Colm, who took it even though he wasn't finished with his first bottle. She lingered closely by his side, brushing off invisible dust from his shoulder.

"You have perfect timin', Dina," Colm smirked up at Diedre with a raised brow.

"I don't know what you mean, mister," she feigned ignorance. "I just thought you boys were low on drinks." She gave a final tap on his shoulder and glanced towards the barn before walking to the other table to greet Conan and the other boys, kissing her son atop his head, to the boy's embarrassment. As the mumble of conversation started again, Colm slipped away for the barn, hiding behind the building in wait. Not long after, Deidre's quiet footsteps approached, and she rounded the corner; the gentle moonlight illuminated the bashful flush to her cheeks.

"What was all that out there?" He teased, smirking. "Hardly ever see you get like that."

"Sorry," she walked to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Seeing that Annabelle woman looking at you like some lecherous vulture stirred somethin' fierce in me."

"I wasn't gonna take the bait."

"That wasn't what I was worried about," she sighed, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Something in that woman burns unkind. Be careful around her."

"I can handle bein' around Miss Annabelle, but" a bit tipsy, he smoothly wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her against the wooden barn, making her gasp in excitement. "I don't know how to compose myself around you, Deidre." He kissed her warm neck, and his hands massaged her hips, teasing up her blouse.

"Aren't you the sweet talker?" she contently sighed, running her fingers through his black hair and sliding a hand down the back of his shirt, her nails raising excited chills through his core.

Colm let his defenses crumble and allowed Deidre's loving warmth to envelop him on the chill night of the crescent moon.