Chapter Text
Colt winces, sitting at the table as Wyatt pours whisky over the cuts on his hands.
The man had already picked out all the rocks and washed the cuts with water; it seems to Colt like Wyatt knows what he's doing, at least more than he himself would.
The man speaks up,
“So, are ya just gonna sit there and not give me nothing in return for helping ya out? Come on, at least where are you off to?”
The boy lets out an annoyed huff as Wyatt wraps his hand in cloth.
“Just walkin’.”
This gets a chuckle out of Wyatt.
“Well you weren't flying, weren't swimming, so what else are ya gonna do?”
Colt glares at the man.
“Alright, alright, I get it, you ain’t one for talking, but you're in my house, so you outta start.”
He pushes himself up off his knees and plops down in a chair,
“How old are ya, boy?”
Under the table, Colt runs his hands along the rough fabric of his bag, hesitating,
“...Seventeen…nearly eighteen I think."
Wyatt laughs again,
“Like hell you are. There ain’t no need to fib, boy.”
“I ain’t fibin’.”
Wyatt looks him up and down.
This kid looks maybe fifteen, at most, but he don’t look like he’s lying either…
“Take that hat off, boy, let me look at you”
Colt does so, holding it softly, trying not to make his hands sting.
His dark hair still slips over his forehead, but Wyatt looks past it.
The boy’s eyes sure look like he could be seventeen; hell, they look like he could be eighty: deep brown like you're looking straight into the pit, but shining back at you is all the knowledge of God himself.
Caked on dirt and grime still hide most of his features.
Wyatt stands and grabs a towel, tossing it at the boy.
“There's a spout outside; clean yourself up, I’m making something to eat.
“Run if you'd like, but I’ll make enough for you if you wanna stick around a while longer. I am gonna make you talk more though, so your choice.”
Colt stares at Wyatt’s back as the man places a pot on the stove.
He hesitantly stands, the door creaking behind him as he walks out.
Wyatt turns to the table and smiles when he sees the boy’s hat sitting there.
Stirring the pot, Wyatt hears the front door creak open again.
Without turning, he says,
“Choose to stay, I see; sit on down, soup’s near done.”
He ladles out a bowl for the both of them and brings it over to the table.
The boy he is now met with is a grand improvement from the pigsty before: his proud jaw and cheekbones peek out from under the hair he seemed to have attempted to wash out; it’s no longer that deep brown, it's the color of straw.
“Well fuck me, you do have a face! And handsome one at that.”
Colt’s face twists into a frown.
Wyatt sits.
“Who let ya get like that boy?”
“Ain’t no one let me.”
“Where are your folks then, ain’t that their job?”
Colt goes quiet, opting to instead grab a spoon and stuff his face with the soup.
The rancher sits back and stares at him, making it clear that he’s not going to accept silence.
“Well… they ain’t here.”
Wyatt sighs and reaches over, dragging the boy’s bowl away from him, pointedly letting it scrape across the wood.
“Boy, you better lose that damn sass if you know what's good for you.”
Eyes following the bowl, Colt’s eyebrows knit.
“My folks couldn’t give a rat’s ass about me, is that what ya want?”
The older laughs,
“With talk like that, maybe you are really seventeen!” He shakes his head and eats his own soup. “What makes you say that, boy?”
Colt’s eyes peek up and meet the other’s for a second before frowning hungrily again at the soup.
“Are you gonna give me the damn soup if I answer?”
Shrugging,
“Let's say yes.”
“They…” the boy stiffens up and looks out a window, “they turned me out on my ass.”
Wyatt’s eyes widen,
“Really?” A silence falls for a beat. “Well…what did you do to get the boot?”
“You said you’d give me the soup.”
The rancher sighs and slides it back over, watching the boy scarf it down.
He shakes his head and leans down, petting Gus who’s lying at his feet.
What are we going to do with this kid?
“Welp,” Wyatt stands, cleaning up the bowls. “I'll make you up a room then.”
Colt’s eyes dart up.
“Oh, no, no! I ain’t staying…” he nods to the bowls, “this was well good for me. I’ll just be on my way.”
The boy hefts his bag and goes to stand.
A heavy brow raises on Wyatt’s face.
“Oh you ain’t gotta worry, it sure ain’t free; you ever worked a ranch boy?”
Colt blinks and lowers his bag slightly.
“Uh…can’t say I have.”
“Welp, we outta get you learned then.”
He turns and shrugs for the boy to follow him up the stairs.
“Come on then, you can put your stuff in the spare room.”