Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wild west was unforgiving. It was especially cruel when you were an outlaw on the run.

Keith set his eyes on the shabby town of Garrison in the late evening, just as stars were peaking out of the orange horizon. The oppressive heat had slowed, but the winds picked up under the cover of night. Sand whipped around him, tossing his long black hair around. He pulled his handkerchief up defensively, trying to keep the sand out of his face.

He tied his horse up at a post out of the sand storm, earning a few wary looks from strangers. He was clad in a red shirt with black embroidered accents, black pants, and his beloved black boots. His handkerchief hugged his face as his hat covered his eyes, and Keith could understand why people might be cautious. He didn't look particularly approachable.

His blood bay mare whinnied annoyedly at the attachment of her lead, which she rarely wore. Keith hardly ever even put a saddle on her, as she was always too against the idea of it. She brayed if he ever even picked up her saddle, let alone tried to put it on her. He long gave up, and learned to not mind riding saddleless.

He managed to get the stubborn thing tied before walking himself into the saloon and taking cover from the officers that wandered around. Garrison was a small town, but crawling with people that would put Keith in handcuffs at the mere sight of his wanted face.

Keith took a seat at the bar, keeping his head down low and letting his hat droop over his face.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked, shaking Keith from any thoughts that rattled around in his windblown mind.

Keith looked up from under his hat to see a young looking bartender staring at him expectantly. They had short light brown hair and ridiculously large round glasses.

"Whiskey. Neat." Keith said, tacking on the last part so he wouldn't be asked how he took it.

The bartender nodded and walked off to take some more orders and make drinks. Soon after, a glass was slid down the wooden table to a very gracious Keith.

After taking one sip, his attention was pulled to the stage on the far side of the saloon. A singer walked up with a guitar in hand and a piano player behind him.

The performer wore a neat blue shirt and black pants. He had short brown hair and tan skin dappled with freckles that Keith could see all the way from his seat. The man beside him played piano. He was tall and big, wearing mostly yellow, with dark brown hair that slipped into his eyes despite his bandanna.

"Names Lance. This is Hunk. Most of you know us, but, I see some new faces," Lance said, giving a little look to Keith. While the outlaw was caught off guard by the wink that followed, a grin crept up his face.

Lance started on his guitar, and soon after Hunk joined him on piano. Keith would be lying if he said they didn't sound good.

What he wasn't expecting was the silvery voice that soon escaped Lance's lips.

Keith felt like a snake to a snake charmer, failing to look away from the singer without his gaze returning soon after. Lance looked pleased, making direct eye contact with the outlaw when his eyes weren't scanning the crowd.

Keith was mesmerized. He was so enraptured that he didn't notice the sheriff walk into the saloon, hand on his holster. A civilian stood beside him, pointing at Keith and talking in a hushed voice.

Keith would've been shot dead if Lance hadn't noticed. He stopped singing, pulling Keith from his enchantment, and stared at the open doorway.

Keith turned his head, and the sheriff stared him down. The man raised his gun just as Keith pulled his own pistol from its holster.

A shot rang out, and people scrambled everywhere. Keith hid behind the running citizens until he could get his gun loaded up. Unfortunately for him, he didn't have long, as people filtered out the door in a rush to avoid the gun fight.

He aimed, but didn't shoot just yet. If the sheriff hadn't intended to kill him, just spook him, there was no use in wasting a bullet.

"Are you the outlaw that's been runnin' around these parts?" The sheriff asked, gun pointed.
Keith grinned under his handkerchief. "I'm just a weary traveler coming around for a drink."

For emphasis, he raised his mask a little and chugged the rest of the whiskey. The familiar burn in his throat was only fuel to his new fire. It gave him a new confidence--maybe too much confidence.

If Keith was anything, he was stubborn. He had no intentions of backing down from this fight.

The sheriff's finger twitched towards the trigger. "You fit the description down to the horse. I ain't dumb, outlaw."
Keith raised his hands, chuckling. "I'll leave. Don't shoot, and I'll go on without another word. Deal?"
"Deal," he said, a twinge of something Keith couldn't name behind his voice.

Keith walked around, hand still on his gun. He walked deliberately slow, if only to annoy the sheriff who'd ruined such a beautiful performance.

As soon as Keith was in range, the sheriff shot a bullet.

Keith braced himself. He knew the sheriff's gun wasn't pointed at him, but he was still scared of the impact. He opened his eyes to find Lance stumbling, blood pouring out of his shoulder.

Keith grabbed him, helping hold him still, and in an instant shot the sheriff.

Keith had expected him to try something, but to immediately shoot and double cross was an agreed upon transgression to all cowboys, officers, and outlaws.

"What the hell?" Keith muttered, slinging Lance's non injured arms over his shoulder and hoisting him up. It wasn't the best thing to say, but it was all he could muster.
To Keith's surprise, Lance gave a hazy smile despite the scarlet blood now hitting the wooden floors. "That shot would've killed you,' the singer noted.

Keith scoffed, already dragging him out of the saloon and over the screaming sheriff. "It would've grazed my side," he confidently said.

Lance coughed weakly. "Didn't you see? He had two guns. One aimed at your side and the other at your chest. That's why he wanted to get you closer, so he could shoot you with the hidden gun."

Keith looked back at the bleeding man and realized he did have a little pistol in each hand. Keith cursed himself for missing that, but at least it meant his death was slightly more deserved now. Instead of just an attempted murderer, he was also a liar.

"Alright, alright. Quit straining before you die here in my arms." Keith said gruffly, always hating to be proven wrong.

With a dry laugh, Lance passed out.

Chapter Text

Lance woke up in his shabby shack he called home to the sound of vague arguing. The familiar blue bedsheets blended with the sounds, not helping his pounding head. He didn't remember it hurting so much when he had passed out.

Lance had no idea how the outlaw had found out where he lived. He decided he'd rather not know.

The shack was small, barely big enough for Lance to live in comfortably. He had the necessities, though. One added bonus the acoustics, which were always spot on. He could play his guitar in peace.

Through the pain in his shoulder and ache in his head, he fluttered his eyes open to see Keith standing in the middle of the room and talking with a doctor. Lance pushed himself up on his elbows and listened. While they weren't yelling, Keith was most certainly instigating something. Lance wasn't too surprised by that discovery.

"What do you mean he just needs rest? There's a bullet hole in his arm for fucks sake." the outlaw said exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walked around in a circle.
The doctor crossed his arms defensively. "I assure you sir, I'm a professional. I know how to handle a bullet wound."
"With how many bullets I've taken out of myself, I'm sure I know how to handle one too."

Lance coughing brought the two of them out of their discussion, making them both turn their heads. Keith waved a hand of dismissal to the doctor, who left the house in a huff.

"I'm not sure if I would nag a doctor like that," Lance chuckled, despite the pain. He decided humor was more important now.
"I'm not sure if I would trust that particular doctor," Keith said snidely.
"And you know so much better, outlaw?" Lance teased.

Keith sighed and took a seat beside the bed in a little wooden chair, gauze in hand. Lance tried not to look as Keith patched him up, getting queasy at the sight of his blood.

Keith's nimble fingers were surprisingly gentle. Despite the callouses that littered his palms, he wasn't as ruthless as he seemed. Lance smiled, the tenderness of Keith's work making him seem impossibly kinder.

As soon as Keith was done, he had a neatly dressed wound and slightly less pain.

"Why're you doing this for me? Shouldn't you be on the run?" Lance asked, raising an eyebrow. It wasn't that he wasn't thankful, he was just confused.

Keith chewed his lip. He looked out the window, trying not to make eye contact. "For one thing, I shot the sheriff. No one was there to witness but you, being as everyone else ran off." He paused, eyes flicking around the room. "For another thing, I feel partly responsible. If I hadn't gotten cocky, you wouldn't have gotten shot."

Lance grinned. Keith tried to pry his eyes away.

"What's your name, anyways?" Lance asked.
Keith leaned back in his seat. "You sure ask a lot of questions."
"Oh sorry, I just saved your life and all. Now, what's your name?" Lance rolled his eyes. He wished he could've crossed his arms, but the wound on his shoulder didn't allow for that.
Keith signed out of his nose, an annoyed huff like that of a stubborn horse. "I ain't got one."

It was a lie, obviously. His name, his horse, and his gun were all Keith had, so didn't hand it over that easily.

"Come on, you can tell me." Lance prodded.
"I'm an outlaw. Why on God's green earth would I go around leaving information about myself in the hands of saloon performers?" Keith laughed.
"I saved your life! You owe me at least that!"
"I treated your wound. That's payment enough. Besides, I didn't ask you to. You did it out of the kindness of your heart. Ain't that enough?"

Keith put his hands behind his head to shield it from the hard wood as he relaxed. Lance tried not to stare too hard, but he couldn't help but notice how good Keith looked.

"Lone ranger? Dusk rider? Bad man black hat?" Lance rattled off, trying to find something to call Keith.
"I liked you better when you were unconscious."
"I liked you better when you were watching me sing, not talking back," Lance said back slyly.

Lance noticed in the lightening sky how pretty Keith was when he took off his hat and lowered his handkerchief. A thick, jagged scar ran down his cheek. Lance noticed how that side of his face twitched when he argued. It was vaguely cute, if an outlaw could be cute.

Keith rolled his eyes. "I wasn't watchin' you sing."
"Yeah? The way you were staring in the saloon said otherwise." Lance laughed.
"I'm a patron of the arts. It's a real shame you're so annoying when you have such a nice voice."

Lance punched him lightly with his non-shot arm. It was playful, breaking the contact barrier between them.

Deciding the silence had dragged on too long, Keith's ragged voice broke in. "My name's Keith. Keith Kogane," he said sharply. His own name sounded strange on his tongue.

Lance grinned. He knew deep down he'd get somewhere with Keith.

"Lance McClain," Lance said. "To what do I owe the pleasure of learning the Keith Kogane's name?" He pronounced every syllable of the outlaw's name. Somehow, it sounded better when he said it than when Keith did.

Keith stood from his chair and put on his hat. He tugged up his handkerchief, hiding the face Lance had been admiring. "I don't know," Keith started, "but I'm starting to regret telling you."

With that, he walked out of the house, leaving a grinning Lance in his wake.

Lance curled up and fell back asleep, still smiling.

The next few days with Keith around were interesting for him. Keith was surprisingly kind when he wasn't trying to pick a fight.

The days turned into weeks, and pretty soon, Keith had made himself at home in the little town of Garrison. After occasionally helping people with little tasks, the citizens had realized he wasn't the big scary outlaw from all the stories.

Keith had earned a home in town. Although officers were wary of him, no one could prove he shot that sheriff, so he couldn't be arrested until there was a willing witness.

He visited Lance every day, occasionally helping him redress his wound. Although, he mostly just came around to talk after Lance's shoulder got a bit better.

Lance sat on his porch, a cigarette between his fingers and his lips. The sun was rising, and he'd gotten up and out of bed a bit earlier than usual.

"You're gonna ruin your pretty singin' if you keep up with that nasty habit," Keith's voice said to the side.

Lance jumped a little before seeing him tying up his horse on the railing of the porch. Keith usually visited him under the cover of night, so this was an interesting change.

Keith joined him on the rickety little bench, plopping down and gingerly stealing the cigarette from between Lance's fingers.

"Hey!" Lance protested, laughing. Keith kept it for himself, taking a puff. Lance would've fought harder if his shoulder didn't have its dull ache—and if Keith didn't look so damn good. "So I'm not meant to smoke but you are?" he joked.

Keith smiled as he finished it off, lips curling around the yellow nib. He reached down to the concrete and snuffed it out. He never did answer Lance, but he didn't feel he needed to.

"How's that shoulder?" Keith said absently, leaning back to admire the sunrise. Well, more to admire Lance under the sunrise. The gold played on his tan skin, showering him in warm sunlight.

It was rare that Keith ever saw him like this. They usually had their daily chats in the lamp light of Lance's shack. The sunrise brought a new kind of beauty Keith had never really seen on a person--let alone Lance.

"Much better. I should be set to start performing tomorrow," Lance said, peeling his blue eyes away from the sun to look Keith.
Keith shuffled under his gaze. "Good, good."
"Do you plan on dropping by to watch?" Lance asked hopefully.
"I should get out of this town."

There was something behind Keith's tone, a sense of disappointment. Of course, he didn't want to go. He'd grown attached to the town. Even more so, he'd grown fond of the saloon performer.

Lance looked at him pleadingly. Keith tried to avoid eye contact, instead looking over at some tumbleweeds that passed by distantly in town.

"Come on, stick around a while," Lance practically begged.
Keith laughed dryly. "I shot your town's sheriff. I don't think it's wise to sit around and wait for a witness to pipe up."

Lance sighed softly. It tugged on Keith's heartstrings, but he couldn't do that to Lance. He was too sweet. He couldn't let the bitter trials of being an outlaw seep into Lance's life.

Lance looked over at him with a twinge of curiosity. "Why are you on the run, anyways?"
"My mother was an outlaw, too." Keith said as he fiddled with the handle of his gun. It was his mother's before it was his.

Thick silence over took them. Lance didn't ask anymore questions, instead looking Keith up and down. He looked like an outlaw through and through.

"How about you? Being a singer and all. What brought you to this little town?" Keith asked, mostly to end the crushing silence.
Lance shrugged. "I was the first of my family to move out of Cuba. I came to America to perform."

Keith looked out at the sunset again, unable to keep up Lance's gaze. His eyes were too kind, and Keith knew they'd only convince him to stay more.

"Got your eyes on the stars, huh?" He laughed.
Lance nodded. "I used to."
"Don't you feel like this town keeps your feet on the ground? Do you think you can ever go and reach those stars out here?" Keith said, surprisingly sincere.

Lance smiled. He turned towards Keith, forcing the eye contact the outlaw so carefully avoided. "I already have."
Keith shook his head. "I don't think I understand."
"The way you watched me in that stage, I felt famous."

Keith's face flushed. He tired to hide it under his handkerchief, although to no avail. Lance chuckled at the red on his cheeks.

"I think you've been looking at the wrong stars, outlaw." Lance laughed.
Keith leaned back more, getting more comfortable. "I'll never understand you."
"You're looking too high. Look around, find the star you really want, not the blinding sun."

Keith looked to his side. His star sat beside him, grinning. Lance was all he wanted. He'd do anything to get that.

"I think I get it," Keith muttered softly.
"Yeah? Then stick around here a bit. Come to my show tomorrow."
Keith grinned. "Alright, alright. I'll come along."
"Promise?"

Keith looked at Lance, who smiled. He normally didn't make promises. Somehow, Lance's eyes convinced him.

"I promise."

Chapter Text

The next night, Lance found himself standing on the stage of the saloon, Hunk behind him at the piano. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar black hat and red shirt he'd grown to grin at the sight of.

His searching was fruitless, as Keith was no where to be found in the saloon.

Lance furrowed his brow. He had promised. Keith wouldn't go back on a promise, he just didn't seem the type.

That hopefulness didn't change the fact that Keith wasn't there. It also didn't change the pang of betrayal Lance felt deep in his chest. He knew it was stupid, that it was just a show. Still, he couldn't help but feel like he'd fallen for someone who he couldn't trust--and in truth, didn't even really know.

The show went by at a drag. Lance felt his heart get heavier with each song. The guitar in his hands seemed unfamiliar and the songs on his lips were far too sweet for the bitterness that lived inside him.

Finally, once it was over and he was released from the stage, Hunk put an understanding hand on his shoulder gently. "I'm sorry he didn't show," he said sincerely.
Lance sighed, defeated and exhausted by his racing mind. "It's fine. I guess I didn't know him as well as I thought I did."

Lance felt like a bird with clipped wings. Being with Keith was like flying, but knowing he didn't care enough to show up to one performance was more adjacent to some horrible kind of sinking.

Lance found his way to the stairs up to the balcony despite the heavy lump in his throat that threatened to sink him to the ground. He sat on the floor, legs dangling off the creaking wood. He used to come out here every night, whether he had a show or not, but after meeting Keith something changed.

He no longer felt the tug to be alone, the need for silence and peace. Yet, this type of alone felt horrible. This was lonely.

The stars seemed to shine a little brighter that night. Lance thought it was some kind of cruel irony. He wanted more than anything to be that outlaw's one and only star, but now he realized he was possibly the dullest in Keith's entire night sky.

Once he was knee deep in his sour thoughts, the balcony door cracked open.

"Hey there," the familiar, thick voice said. Lance couldn't bring himself to turn around. It wasn't worth it to look at him when Keith couldn't manage to look back. "Sorry I missed your show," Keith muttered, lowering himself to sit beside Lance.

Lance whipped around to say something--to argue. A new flash of anger over took his sadness and sharp words readied themselves in his mouth like new rounds in a gun. The anger died in his throat as another realization came to life. "Is that...blood?" Lance asked, hushed.

Blood clung to all of Keith. It was dried, but not all the way. It stuck on his face and hands. A giant stain had worked it's way through the left side of his shirt, not hiding where he was injured.

Keith smiled a dull grin. He looked exhausted, the light faded from his tired eyes. Still, he let a smile play on his busted lip as soon as his eyes met Lance's.

"What the hell happened?" Lance asked, fingers tracing the blood stain on Keith's shirt with a gentleness he didn't expect from himself.
"Nothing important," Keith laughed.
"You're bleeding! That's pretty important!" Lance exclaimed, face tainted with concern.

Keith sighed, not answering. It was obvious he didn't intend on ever giving a reason, so Lance dropped it. Keith was alive and bleeding, but more importantly, he was there. He showed up.

"You know what? Fine, fine. Just...are you okay?" Lance said, raising his hands.
"I'm fine. Just a little scratch." Keith said, dopey grin still on his face.
"That's a lot of blood for a little scratch."
"I thought you said 'fine'."

Lance wondered if the blood loss was making Keith act up, and laughed for the first time all night. It was a desperate laugh, an attempt at brightness to pull them from the dark of the situation.

"Don't tell me what happened--I don't wanna know--just tell me why it happened." Lance requested.
"I found my star." Keith said, as if it was meant to explain.
Lance hit his arm lightly. "Be serious."
"I am, that's the truth."

Lance looked away, smiling softly. It was a horrible situation to be in. The man he loved was bleeding out next to him, but at the same time confessing his love.

"Decided to stay after all?" Lance smiled. The silence that followed knocked the smile right off his face. "You're staying...right?"

Keith lowered his hat in shame. "I would if I could. You know that." His voice threatened to break. It was usually so strong, but now it crumbled.

Lance felt tears prick at his eyes. "You have to stay--or at least let me come with you-"
"You're too sweet."
"What the hell is that meant to mean?" Lance said, anger picking up in him again like the embers of a fire.
"I can't do this to you," Keith said softly.
"What?"

Keith looked away to the sky. A million other stars shone before him. None were quite as bright as the one beside him. "I'm a harsh man. I get into trouble. I couldn't rope you into that. You've got a lovely life here, I can't take that away from you."

The words came out of his mouth like fire. They burned Lance, but they burned Keith more.

"I don't care about that!" Lance said frantically, standing up. "You're all I want, Keith. I can live with outlaws and officers and whatever else you get up to, but I cannot live without you."
Keith stood too, straining from the effort and pain in his side. "I can't let you do that. You're too sweet, my life's too bitter."

Thick tears rolled down Lance's face. He didn't like to cry, but he couldn't help this.

"I don't care about what you think you are," Lance said, "I'm in love with you." He said it quicker than he meant to, words flying out of his mouth before he could register them.
Keith looked just as shocked as him. "You are?" he said softly.
"Yes! Obviously!"

Keith laughed, tears falling from his eyes, too.

"What on earth is funny about this?" Lance whispered, slightly hurt.
Keith wiped his eyes, but tears kept falling. "Nothing. You're very persuasive, you know."
"Are you...staying?"

Keith nodded. Lance tried to stay angry, but laughter found its way to his face.

Keith reached forwards and cupped Lance's face with his less bloodied palm. "I'm sorry I ever even considered leaving you. Can you forgive me?" he laughed, tears persisting.
Lance laughed too. "Shut up, outlaw."

Lance leaned forward, pushing their lips together softly. Keith pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Keith's lips tasted like blood, but Lance didn't mind nearly as much as he should have. All he cared about was that Keith was staying. He wasn't going to blow away like the tumbleweeds that rolled into town. He was firm in place, eyes on his star.

They stayed like that a while. Keith smiled into the kiss, content despite the pain on his side.

Keith had found his star--his impossibly sweet star. He could finally slow down and enjoy the moments they shared. He could stay.

"Don't ever do that shit again," Lance laughed before pulling Keith close.
"I don't plan on it."

The sun rose a few hours later. Keith had fallen asleep next to Lance in his bed after changing form his blood soaked shirt.

While the night was gone, his lone star shone brighter than ever that morning.