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"You have got," The sentence was leaving his mouth before he'd even finished pulling up his pants, "to be kidding me." His horse was already disappearing among the cacti and shadows that riddled the evening desert. Jean tugged his pants violently over his boxers, already attempting a mad dash across the dry dirt, but his attempt to run after his getaway horse proved to be fruitless. By the time he was even running at his top speed, the mare had disappeared completely from sight.
Jean let a string of curses fall from his mouth. It was warm, and he knew his pretty gal could survive the night out here without him. Coyotes wouldn't go after her when small prey was running so well, and half the fight a full grown equine would put up.
No, Gear would be fine. It was himself he was worried about. His house was miles back, and there was no way he would get back before dark completely fell. He wasn't even sure if he could reach the edges of his property by midnight. There were all kinds of reptiles and snakes out here that he couldn't fight against at night. And...idiot. Jean shook his empty canteen and tossed it to the ground, kicking it angrily. He was out of water.
The man stood still as a statue, glaring at a saguaro cactus like it was the cause of his problems. When really, it was just his damn small bladder and his usually well placed trust in Gear to not run off when he left her a couple feet away, unreigned. Jean raised his fist, about ready to punch the saguaro square in the arm, when he realized that was another idiot idea. He didn't need a bleeding hand on top of his thirst, hunger, and lack of shelter. He dropped his arm to his side, though his hand still formed a fist.
Jean let air escape hastily through his nose, attempting to calm himself, before he began walking. He scooped up his canteen as he passed it, and he could only hope he was heading towards the road. Because maybe there he could catch a ride home and attempt to ride one of his other horses out in the morning to search for Gear.
Jean felt relief wash over him as the dirt road came into view, along with a house and ranch. Everything looked small with distance, but he was nearing safety nonetheless. The sun had mostly sunk behind the far off mountains, now, and only a couple rays of light struck the sky now. Jean put speed in his step when he spotted the light of a car moving slowly along the road. He came to the edge of a large, barb-wired fence, probably bordering the edge of the property from the house ahead. He debated walking around, but eventually banked on jumping the fence and hoping he wouldn't get prosecuted for trespassing. The property looked huge, more than twice his acreage back home. They shouldn't mind some poor cowboy who'd lost his horse taking a shortcut through their yard.
Jean winced when some of the barbed wire dug into his hand, and once caught on his knee. But otherwise he made it over without too much bodily damage. Jean jogged across the property, not really sure where he was now that he was on flat ground rather than the hill he'd spotted the car from. After several minutes, he came to another fence, and he leaned against it before hefting himself over the barbed wire, snagging his shirt as he shimmied down. He tugged sharply away from the fence, and the sound of ripping came along with his movement. "Shit!" Jean cursed quietly, and reached a hand back to feel out the damage. "My goddamn favorite shirt." The back of his shirt felt shredded, and when he turned back, a strip of cloth was stuck in the fence.
Jean teased the cloth out of the fence and tucked it in his pocket before he began walking towards the road again, his scowl only deepening with his luck right now. He passed the house and ranch without any more trouble, and when he reached the dirt road, he scoped the ground briefly before he plunked down to sit on the side of the road in wait for a car.
He sat.
And he sat.
And he waited for a car. But as he looked down to check his watch, forty minutes had passed, and there was not a sign of life on the road. He supposed this road was pretty dead at night, he lived a good couple miles down it, after all. He grimaced at the time, a quarter to ten, now. Jean gritted his teeth, and turned to look back at the house on the property behind him. At this rate, it was his best bet, maybe whoever lived here had a car they could take him home in. There was someone home, at least, because he could see the lights inside, maybe a television, shining through the window.
Jean got to his feet and began making his way down the wide dirt path towards the farmhouse. Despite the large ranch, not a sound came from the place, and it seemed a bit eerie. Jean hesitated in front of the door, and tried to look into the house through the window. He could just see the shadow of someone sitting in front of a massive television. The Colossal TV station was on, according to the little symbol in the corner of the screen.
Jean's vision of the scene was suddenly obscured by a furry head, and two eyes that didn't match. The dog stared at Jean for a moment before suddenly erupting into barks. The figure on the couch bounced and then disappeared. A thunk could be heard from inside. Jean scrambled away from the window with wide eyes and hurriedly rung the doorbell, pretending he hadn't been spying on some stranger through their window.
A light flicked on inside, and a porch light followed, illuminating Jean where he stood on the stone walkway. There was the sound of footsteps now, accompanied by the barking. They paused in front of the door, and mumbling could be heard on the other side. The dog stopped barking as soon as the mumbling stopped, and a second later, the door cracked open.
"Hello?" The voice sounded a little timid, but Jean suspected the guy was just wary. He had large brown eyes, and Jean could make out freckles on his tanned cheeks. His hair was cropped short, brown, and framed his face. But everything was shadowed by the half-opened door. At the bottom of the opened door, the dog was peering out from the darkness. It's eyes glittering dangerously compared to the guy in the doorway.
"Ah, hi." Jean started intelligently. "Hate to bother you this late at night, man," He started, shoving his hands in his pockets, "But d'ya happen to have a car or something?"
"Why?" The guy inside asked, sounding less shy now, but a lot more suspicious. The dog bared its teeth at Jean, and he raised his hands up.
"Shit, is that an attack dog? I swear I'm not a threat!" He kept his eyes on the dog as he continued. "My horse spooked and ditched me a bit off from your property, and I needed a ride home."
"Your horse ditched you? How'd it get away?" The guy asked, opening the door a little more.
"Well, uh-" Jean finally looked up again at the guy, slowly lowering his arms. "A man's gotta attend to business, and uh-" The guy's eyes narrowed and he stared at Jean skeptically. He definitely wasn't timid as he'd first thought.
"You didn't ‘attend to business’ on my property, did you?" He asked, opening the door so that Jean could see his whole body. He was now a lot less threatening, wearing boxers (...oh god, were those Titans from Colossal TV?) and an off-white wife-beater. Not that it looked bad. It was just too...cute, to be threatening.
Jean shook his head and looked up, pretending he hadn't just been staring up and down at the guy in front of him. "Eh? No, of course not. That's damn nasty." He grunted, his face twisting. "But like I said, my horse ran off an' I know she'll be fine. But my house is several miles that way," Jean jerked his hand in the direction his house was in, "And I was hoping I could get a ride home so I could go looking for her proper in the morning."
The guy's face softened a little and he leaned against the door. "Well, that sounds really unlucky. I'm sorry." He hesitated, and Jean watched his hand travel to the back of his neck, scratching there like he was nervous or something. "Look, I'd totally give you a ride or lend you a horse, but my dad left this morning with our truck and horses for check-ups. He won't be back 'til noon tomorrow."
Jean groaned and pinched his nose between his fingers. "Fuck me, I gotta walk back then." He cursed. "Ugh, thanks anyway man, I guess. Shit."
Jean grunted when a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, and he whipped around fast.
"Hey, wait, I can offer you a room to stay in, i-if you'd rather?" The guy started. He released Jean's shoulder and pulled his hand back. "I mean, you don't even look like you have anything on you, and it's late..." He hesitated, and Jean felt embarrassed as the guy's eyes raked over him, returning the favor he'd given earlier. "And you're hurt, what happened to your knee?"
"Uh-" Jean shuffled, remembering the pain in his knee and hand very suddenly. "There's a price to pay for trespassing." He muttered.
"You jumped the fences?" Freckles asked, eyes widening.
Jean grunted affirmation and avoided his gaze.
"I should kick you off my property at gunpoint." The guy said, and when Jean looked up with wide, frightened eyes, he found a grin - something angelic and pretty - on the other's face. "That's what dad'd say anyway. Come inside, I gotta clean you up at least." He backed away from the door, and after contemplating his options, Jean slowly stepped in, carefully avoiding the dog at his heels.
---
The house didn't look like that of a murderer, at least. There were all sorts of photographs on the walls - pictures of things like race horses and dogs to people that looked a lot like freckles here did. The living room, now illuminated by more than just the TV, was much more welcoming. It was painted a light yellowish color, something you'd expect from one of those polite mothers who never stop baking cookies. The couch was soft under Jean, and sitting down on the plush thing almost sent his tired body right to sleep.
"What's your name, by the way?" Came the voice of freckles, who was presently bent down at the foot of the couch with a first aide kit, looking at Jean's scratches. "That's grade one pleasantries and we already skipped right to sleepovers." Freckles snorted, and Jean looked down to see the guy's eyes nearly sparkling with laughter.
"Jean. Jean Kirstein." Jean introduced.
“Kirstein, huh? I’ve passed your property before, then.” Freckles finished his job on Jean's leg after a moment and stood up, holding his hand out for Jean to shake. "Well, pleasure to know your name, Jean. I'm Marco Bodt." Jean stared at his hand a moment before giving it a hesitant shake. He wasn't used to being welcomed so warmly - especially by a stranger in the middle of the night.
...not like it had ever happened before, but still.
Freckles - Marco now - closed up his first aide kit and disappeared down the hallway with it. Jean took the moment to look over the job Marco had done on his injury, and was glad to see it treated well. Jean himself probably would have just dropped a wet rag on it. This Marco guy knew how to bandage a wound at least.
Marco's voice echoed down the hallway a few moments later. “Do you need anything before bed? ‘s late, and I’m turning in.” He appeared a moment later.
Jean stood up, shaking his head at first. “Oh, no, I’m good. I should be f-” He cut himself off then. “Actually, could I have some water. Cantine ran out an’ all.”
Marco shook his head “No problem.” He stated, and headed in another direction. The house was huge, though probably not much bigger than Jean’s own. It looked only one story, though an attic might be somewhere. Jean hung awkwardly by the hallway Marco had come out of until the other boy returned, this time with a bottle of water. He tossed it Jean’s way, then waved his hand. “Come on, then, I’ll show you to your room.”
They headed down the same hallway Marco had previously been in, and didn’t stop until they reached the end. The walls all the way down were still covered in photos, certificates, even some ribbons here and there.
“You race?” Jean asked.
“Sometimes. I leave it up to my brothers, though, more often. I’m more into animal care.”
“Like vet stuff?” Jean questioned. Marco flipped on the light in one of the rooms and walked in, leaving room for Jean to move past him.
“Like vet stuff.” He agreed, then gestured to the room. “It’s not our greatest room. We don’t really have guests often.” He said, sounding a little guilty at the state of the room. It wasn’t so bad, despite there being dust around. The bed was made, and it was clean for the most part. A little cluttered. “It’s usually used as our storage room.” And that explained the clutter.
“It’s fine. ’m lucky I’m sleeping somewhere and not hiking home right now.” Jean scoffed.
Marco chuckled slightly, and waved his hand in a tired manner. “Right, true.” He walked to the door. “Well, hollar if you need anything. I’m leaving Polo in the hall tonight, so don’t try anything.” At the mention of the word ‘Polo’, the dog from earlier stuck her head in and glared at Jean with bared teeth. Jean shivered uncomfortably, assuming that Polo was the dog’s name.
“I won’t.” Jean promised. He wouldn’t have planned on it anyhow, but with that pooch around, he planned to not leave that room until Marco was up.
“Bathroom’s next door to your left, and if you need to refill your water, you saw where the kitchen was.” Marco explained. With a yawn, he left the room, calling “C’mon Polo,” and shut the door behind him. “Night, cowboy!” Came his muffled voice with the retreating sound of footsteps.
“Night!” Jean called back. And after stripping his clothes - and a very depressing once-over of his now destroyed favorite shirt - Jean flipped off his light and slipped off to sleep.
---
An eruption of barking came from next to Jean’s bed, and he let out a screech because when did he get a dog? He rolled sideways to get away from the creature, and flopped off of his bed.
“Oops. Sorry.” And who was- Oh, wait.
Marco. Psh. Obviously.
Jean sat up, pushing his hair back from his face and grappling with the bed and sheets until he was upright.
“Meant to do that.” He said, cooly.
“Right.” Marco remarked, sarcastically. “Come on, you need to look like you didn’t spend the night here. Dad would kill me, and he gets here in an hour.”
Jean rubbed at his eyes. “I slept in?” He muttered, pushing himself to his feet.
“If you wake up before 11, I guess so.” Marco murmured. “You get up early? You were sleeping like a log an hour ago.”
“An’ you were watching me, Bodt?” Marco suddenly looked pale, and began waving his arms around, sputtering. So maybe he wasn’t as cool as he acted. “ ‘m kiddin’. I get up early to exercise Gear and the others.” Jean snorted. “I guess they’re waiting today.” Finally, Jean’s eyes landed on the dog that had woken him. Polo was watching him very carefully, but didn’t look as protective as last night.
Right, he’d fallen out of bed. Maybe Jean wasn’t as cool as he acted either.
“You rip your shirt?” Came Marco’s voice again. He kicked at Jean’s discarded clothing.
“Mhm. You Bodts make it hard to trespass.” Jean muttered, though his still-sleepy tone suggested his joking manner.
“Well we have let our cowboy security system become outdated, since you slipped through.”
“Are you some technical nerd or somethin’ too, Bodt?” Jean asked, leaning down to pull on his jeans from the prior day. Marco was silent for a few moments, and when Jean looked up, the freckled boy looked like he was just turning away.
“Sorry? Uh, no, I’m not.” He said, quickly. “Come out when you’re finished dressing. I’ve got breakfast.” His words slowed as he talked, and he paused at the door. “And make the bed. Like I said, Dad can’t know you were here.”
Jean pulled on the remains of his torn shirt and did as told with the bed before he headed out after Marco. He was introduced to his meal, and nearly fainted at the sight. He hadn’t had a proper breakfast like this since before he moved out of his mom’s house. Eggs, bacon, toast, and plenty of drinks. He was in food heaven.
Polo sat at Jean’s feet, staring at him expectantly. “If I feed your dog, will she like me?” Jean questioned, bacon halfway to his mouth.
“She might, but she still doesn’t much trust Strangers.” Marco said, and reached under the table to ruffle the spotted dog’s ears. Jean contemplated his options, but then pulled his bacon away from his mouth and offered it to the dog under the table. Polo took it, surprisingly gently from the snap he’d expected, and gave his hand a lick. Jean’s eyes widened, but she didn’t retaliate anymore, and simply ate the bacon.
Jean blinked, and went to pat the dog, realizing too late that Marco hadn’t moved his hand. Both Marco and Jean recoiled from the touch, while Polo growled at Jean’s proximity, and retreated to Marco’s side of the table.
“Sorry.” Marco sounded breathless, and Jean sounded robotic.
“ ‘sfine.” “Don’t sweat it.”
Marco stood suddenly and held out his hand. “Dishes?” He questioned, and Jean handed them off, still moving a little robotically. Wow. Marco had nice hands for all .2 seconds Jean touched them. Jean stood, too, cleaning up what was left between his and Marco’s place. That was also a pretty gay thought, but that was fine. At least he probably made one hell of a veterinarian with those mitts. The dishes were brought through the kitchen and Jean carefully sat them down next to the sink.
“You don’t need to help.” Marco said, looking a little surprised.
Jean managed to sound normal when he spoke next. “ ‘course I do. I steal your bed, I wash your dishes. Or something like that. ‘s only fair.” He stated, shrugging.
“Right, thanks.” Marco murmured. Jean attempted to help wash off the dishes, but there were only two, and he was more in the way than anything. Marco kicked him out to get his shoes on after a few failed attempts at cleaning.
As Jean was slipping his riding boots on, the front door clicked, and a man similar to Marco walked in. His dad? Is that what Marco would look like with a mustache? As soon as the guy noticed Jean, he stared him down for a long time. Very long, until Marco strolled in, looked surprised, then slid over and laid his hand on the petrified Jean’s shoulder.
“Dad! This is Jean Kirstein, from down the street. Jean, this is Gabriel Bodt!”
“Kirstein. The cowboy with the rock in his yard?” Mr. Bodt asked, quirking a furry-squirrel-brow. That was no rock! It was just to tell who owned the property. It was only printed on a rock!
“Right! Jean’s horse spooked this morning, and I offered to help him find her after you got home.” Marco explained, a rather great liar. Surprisingly. Though it was only half a lie. “Can we borrow a few horses?”
“I don’t...see anything wrong with that.” Mr. Bodt said contemplatively. “Go ahead, good luck finding your horse, Kirstein.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jean said, finally finding his voice.
“Sir?” Mr. Bodt snorted. “Sounds terribly official. I ain’t no officer.” The large man gave a hefty laugh and patted Jean on the shoulder, before he left the room.
Jean watched Mr. Bodt leave with wide eyes, and was ushered from the house by Marco. “C’mon, Jean. We gotta find your horse right?”
“Yeah, right.” Jean said, coming out of his second trance of the day. The Bodt family sure had a weird effect on him.