Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Attempting to calm himself, Boyd breathed heavily, hindered to a large degree by the bound man on top of him. His arms were still circling Raylan’s chest, so he felt the other’s heart beating away in terror.

He leaned up to press his mouth to Raylan’s ear again. “Shhhhh, shhhhh, shhh. I got you. You’re safe. Shhhhh, we’re safe.”

Boyd kept up his litany of reassuring words while he shoved the fingers of his right hand into Raylan’s front pocket to get to the cuff keys; a task made infinitely more difficult by the marshal’s constant, frantic squirming. The sudden hip turn from Raylan, made him drop them into the dirt when he finally pulled the tiny keys free, and he had to pat after them blindly until he could feel the cool metal at his fingertips once more. He grabbed the keys and, realizing he wouldn’t get Raylan to hold still long enough to free him, simply rolled them over and buried the taller man underneath him. It only made Raylan fight him even more, distressed noises, he probably didn’t realize he was uttering, falling from his lips.

“Raylan, shhhhh,” he tried again and then, at the end of his rope, pinned his wiggling friend down with his knee between his shoulder blades. Unable to twist free, Raylan kicked out with both legs – but to no avail. Boyd made short work of the shackles securing his arms behind his back, then removed his knee from his back to take care of the rope binding his ankles.

As soon as his hands were freed, Raylan reached up and fumbled to pull the burlap sack off his head. The material clung to his face, heavy with condensation, and it took some effort to muster the coordination to yank it away and drag unfiltered air into his lungs at long last. He pushed Boyd an inch or so away with his boot, then lay blinking owlishly, his limbs splayed where they fell after getting uncuffed, for the moment just concentrating on catching his breath.

Boyd leaned against the rocky side wall of the mine shaft doing the same. He was still mumbling soothing nonsense; to calm himself or Raylan, was anyone’s guess. There was no denying this experience had shaken both of them to the core; the call much closer than either men was comfortable with.

After two solid minutes of silence except for their labored breathing, Raylan sat up and looked around a little hazily. Boyd pushed himself to a standing position and held his hand out in an unspoken peace offering. Raylan allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and then punched Boyd in the face without warning. The dark-haired man dropped into the dirt like a sack of coal.

“The fuck?!” he complained, wiping blood off his mouth while Raylan stood over him with wild eyes, hands balled into fists and working his jaw angrily.

“Never again!” the marshal snarled incensed, pointing two fingers at him. “You hear me?” He kicked Boyd in the leg for good measure. “Never. Again.”

“My sincerest apologies for saving your sorry hide, asshole,” Boyd assured mockingly with his hand over his heart, leaving a bloody finger print on his shirt. “Wasn’t me got himself knocked out by Mr. Gotta-Get-Rid-Of-Feds.”

“That’s literally my job, catchin’ fugitives like him.”

“This Cally guy caught you, more like. And ain’t been the bluffin’ kind, either.”

“Gonna be one hell of a conversation with Art,” Raylan sighed and looked down into the vertical shaft, albeit from a safe distance. His anger had run its course for now, so in a show of good-will, he reached for Boyd and helped him up again.

“Got any smart ideas how to wrap up this present?” With his hands on his hips, he sent a questioning glance at the other man.

“Well, I ain’t claimin’ I know your boss beyond him hittin’ me with a bible, and you’re sure a handful at the best of times, Raylan Givens, but I’m still willin’ to bet he’d rather see a would-be-murderer down that mine shaft than you.”

“Mostly anyway, I guess,” Raylan agreed. He brushed brownish dirt off his jeans legs and stomped for good measure to discard the worst of the rubble from his leather boots. Then he sent an unreadable look in the direction of the long tunnel before starting for the exit.

When Raylan tried for a conversational tone with his next question, he easily missed by a league. “Why’d you tell me to kick him off? Thought was you two throwin’ me down the shaft.”

Boyd, who was following along the tunnel in reverse to the dusty foot prints of their arrival like a lost puppy retreating his steps, hesitated a second before replying vehemently, “Raylan Givens, you ever find yourself at the Pearly Gates untimely, you been off’ed by me – no one else! Got it?”

Raylan turned to stare at Boyd for a long moment, then nodded, and they exited the mine together without another word.

The next half hour saw Boyd drive the two grime-covered men out to the Givens homestead. With Arlo in hospital for a few days for observation because of his heart – as Boyd provided without Raylan asking or caring –, the house was at their disposal. It beat disturbing the still recovering Ava in her home, and it was closer to the mine shaft anyway; a definite plus in the sweltering summer heat.

Sweat was trickling down their temples and backs, mixing with the residual coal dust and covering them in the blackish smear Raylan had believed for sure he had left behind twenty years and change ago. It made his skin crawl and irked him more than he wanted anyone, Boyd included, to know. By the careful, unblinking focus of the driving man’s eyes out the windshield, he had a feeling Boyd was aware at any rate.

They climbed out of Boyd’s truck, leaving dark stains on the salvageable upholstery and headed to the house. Raylan yanked the half-unhinged screen door outward and stopped short at the locked front door. Before he could say anything, Boyd produced the key and opened up.

This stark and undeniable reminder of the Crowders taking care of Arlo in his stead, darkened his mood in addition to the shitty day he had had so far. So he shouldered past Boyd with a growl and stalked straight up the stairway and into the upstairs bathroom, slamming the door loud enough to rattle the frame. Moments later, the shower started and Boyd guessed Raylan would be busy scrubbing himself clean until his skin resembled a well-cooked lobster.

He himself headed upstairs as well but passed the bathroom for now; no point in cranking up Raylan’s anger more than necessary. Boyd’s mind occupied itself with the noises of the irritable man showering mere yards away until he came to a sudden halt in front of a wooden door he hadn’t crossed in more than two decades. His finders were already wrapped around the handle, shaking slightly. Entering this room in this house, felt like time travel made possible against all common sense.

Intellectually he had always been aware Raylan had left with barely the shirt on his back all those long years ago, yet seeing the unchanged childhood bedroom for the first time in forever, drove it all home with a sledge hammer. His hesitant footfalls disquieted the patient dust motes in the corners but Boyd paid them no heed. Emotions he had buried deep clawed their way up his throat, and he choked them back down like stomach acid.

He was still standing unmoored in the middle of the room, his knee leaning subconsciously against the bed-frame, when Raylan emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam with a towel wrapped around his slender hips.

In another time and place, Boyd would have taken some sort of satisfaction from his friend’s equally faltering steps.

“I uh... think–,” Raylan began and looked around forlornly as if he could see the young boy he had been once upon a time seeking refuge in this sparsely furnished room. He swallowed heavily and plowed on, “Think there’s sweats and a couple shirts in the dresser.” If his voice wavered a little, Boyd refrained from pointing it out. Instead he stared at the expanse of Raylan’s pink but clean back while the other opened the top drawer and pulled some old, well-worn clothes out that smelled of moth repellent. Their respective positions meant Boyd couldn’t see the tremor running through Raylan’s hands as he picked the articles out of their resting spot. Small mercies.

The damp towel dropped to the wooden floor unceremoniously an instant later as Raylan pulled his ancient sweats on. They still fit him surprisingly well, Boyd noted with a hint of nostalgia. Unfortunately, this didn’t go for his high-school t-shirt because while Raylan was still lean, he had unquestionably bulked up since their teenage years. Somehow Boyd couldn’t bring himself to dismiss the view either way.

“I’ll be–” he gestured helplessly in the general direction of the bathroom and left without finishing his sentence. The protesting creak of long-unused bed springs told Boyd that Raylan had sat down on the rickety bed. Then the bathroom shrouded him in warm condensation and he clicked the door closed, shutting the world out for a merciful quarter of an hour.

When Boyd resurfaced from the bathroom, showered and drying hair already sticking out to all sides, the sun was already setting. He found Raylan supine on his bed in the darkening room, left arm stretched to the side. The unmistakable shape of a quarter-full Whiskey bottle adorned the side table where Raylan’s fingers rested listlessly. His eyes were staring sightlessly at the ceiling, lost in what were most probably unpleasant memories. He didn’t say anything, much less move, when Boyd took another pair of sweats and a stained shirt from the lowest drawer.

Never one to pass up the opportunity to break the silence, Boyd prompted, “Can’t hardly believe you still got my spares in here.”

His only answer was the slosh of Whiskey when Raylan took another swig straight from the bottle. Boyd sighed and turned around while he kept dressing; growing up together and working the mine, meant there was no modesty between them. He walked over to the side of the bed, dropped wearily onto the mattress and made a grab for the bottle. The amber liquid burned down his throat in an almost cleansing way.

This time, neither man felt the need to speak, passing the Whiskey back and forth wordlessly until their supply ran out.

In the numbing buzz that overtook both of them, Boyd felt emboldened to lay down right next to Raylan with only fractions of an inch between them. Just like old times, when the hushed whispers of their teen-aged selves traded secrets like collecting cards and their friendship seemed shatterproof.

It took hardly any time at all for the two of them to fall sleep after, feeding off each other’s body heat and secure in the knowledge that while some things had changed drastically, some things never really would.