Work Text:
Never let it be said that dating as a werewolf is easy.
Jawbone O'Shaughnessey however, is highly adaptable. He’s learned fast to be full disclosure, to find the people who are into and ditch those who aren’t. Over the years he’s collected a fair number or regular partners who know, and that has made it much easier, less discussion and potential for being hunted by an ex who thinks he’s some monster for not making it clear enough.
All that to say, Jawbone is used to dating as a werewolf. Dating with a kid is turning out to be a whole different situation.
Not that he ever thought the two parts of his life would really interact. He’s been living with Tracker for almost six months now and has made a conscious effort to at least try to keep the drug dealing and sleeping around thing away from her.
As much as she pretends to be all big and grown, she’s only thirteen. Jawbone may not be the most standup adult, but he knows better than to have his… kid? Ward? Gods he’s gotta figure out what she’ll let him call her one of these days. Either way he knows better than to have her around any of his dates. Or at least he thought he did.
“When were you gonna tell me about your kid?” Rudy, the tiefling he calls his long term fling, is asking him as he sits across the booth. He’s more curious than accusatory, head tilted as he sips at the milkshake the two of them are supposed to be sharing
“It’s um, well it’s new.”
“How new?”
“New since the last time you were around,” Jawbone teases around the question, kicking his leg out so his ankle is hooked around his under the table.
Rudy rolls his eyes, passing the milkshake across the table. “Everything is new since last time, J, but you know what I mean. Is your kid a year new or a week new?”
A year. He hadn’t seen him in a year and still it felt like no time had passed sitting across from him. But Rudy’s always been like that, in and out of his life an instant, leaving nothing but promise he’ll be back and the soft hope that maybe next time he’ll stay.
Jawbone has to remind himself that this time is not that. He’s only in town with the rodeo, gone as soon as the trailers are loaded and the fair grounds are once again left empty. He tries not to dwell on the disappointment, swallowing down too much of the shake at once.
“Six months new,” he tells him as he tries to clear his throat, brain freeze creeping up on him. “And she’s not my kid, she’s… well. She’s staying with me.”
Rudy hums as he parses through the information that he’s been given, brushing a hand over his dark curls. “See, sounds a lot like you’re saying you got a couch surfer, but my sources seem to think you’re a bit more attached.”
“Your sources?”
He tilts his head, coy. “Word gets around, JB. Drug dealer with a heart of gold and a kid to match, hell the gossip writes itself. Took me a bit to put together that people were talking about my sweet werewolf but there are only so many in Bastion.”
“What about it, Ru?” Jawbone asks, dodging the accusation entirely, not willing to think about how close to right he is. Tracker is his kid. If she wants to leave, she could, but Jawbone knows it would kill him.
“Let me take you to the rodeo. The both of you,” he offers, eyes soft even as they seemed to blaze with pit fire. “My treat.”
“Ru, you don’t have to–”
“Too late,” he gives a fanged grin as he takes two tickets out of his back pocket, pushing them across the table. “C’mon babe, it’s the rodeo! What kid doesn’t love the rodeo?”
He’s sure Tracker would put up a fuss if she heard that, but he knows he is right. She would adore it. It’s just the fact that it would mean Tracker meeting one of his partners. But, if it means she’ll have a good time…
“I’ll ask her,” he concedes. Rudy takes his hand across the table, and he can’t help but melt a little as he runs a calloused thumb over his knuckles. No matter what, there was no no denying that Jawbone missed him.
“That’s all I’m asking. Now, let's get out of here.”
“At least let me get the bill?”
The tiefling has the decency to look bashful as he shrugs. “Too late.”
Jawbone growls before he kisses him, maybe a tad too hard for the rinky dink diner they are in. “Guess I’ll have to pay you back.”
–
“You ready to go Tracker Jack?” Jawbone calls across the apartment.
He gives himself a once over in the bathroom mirror, trying not to be nervous about the fact that they were getting picked up any minute. His outfit isn't anything too spectacular, just a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt that he knew Rudy liked to see him in, the band logo nearly worn off. There was no hiding the scar across his face, the jagged bite mark that moved across his jaw and part way down his neck, but he threw a bandana on anyway, covering the worst of it. It was on theme, he reasoned.
Tracker does not respond, but he can hear music coming from the living room, so he accepts the fact that she didn’t hear him.
As he makes his way out to the living room, now functioning as her makeshift bedroom, he presses his lips together at the sight of her. She had been more excited than he had expected when he had proposed the idea, and now he could see why.
Jawbone doesn’t know exactly where Tracker is from, something he is abundantly aware of as he takes in her outfit. He knows she’s not from Bastion, something he’s picked up based on the way that she struggles to get around, only knowing a few places and being surprised when he had mentioned the teleportation pad as if she had never heard of it before. If he had to posit a guess based purely on her accent, he would say she was originally from somewhere around Highcourt, and looking at her outfit, he’s feeling more sure about that idea.
“Didn’t know you had cowboy boots.”
She looks up at him, her grown out buzz cut tucked underneath a bandana of her own. “They’re good boots,” she shrugs as she pulls her socks up underneath them.
“Hell yeah they are,” he nods. Jawbone has spent enough time out in the Red Waste to know that the black boots that she has on on are closer to the work boots that the ranchers use out there than any of the fancy pants dress boots he’s used to seeing when the rodeo rolls in, but he isn’t there to judge, just adding it to his list of things about Tracker he’ll ask her about eventually.
“Your glasses are on the counter,” she reminds him as she stands up. “Gonna need them if we are driving back late.”
Right. He forgot to mention that part. “I’m not driving, a buddy of mine is picking us up. That ok?”
She nods, but not without giving him a look, eyebrow knitted and pulled up on the side.
A series of honks plays from outside, a slightly off rhythm recant of where oh where has my little dog gone performed on the terrible instrument that is Rudy’s stupid truck, but Jawbone gets the message.
The two of them are filed out of their apartment and loaded up on the bench seat of the old chevy in no time, Jawbone sat in the middle as Rudy tears out of the parking lot of their complex.
“Rudrick Thames,” he introduces himself, reaching an arm across Jawbone’s chest to offer a hand to Tracker, who shakes it diligently, “but you can call me Rudy.”
“Tracker,” she tells him, shooting Jawbone a look. He had mentioned Rudy in passing, but he hadn’t expected her to remember. Kids got a memory he’s gotta remember to watch out for.
“So I’ve heard,” he grins. “Nice boots you got there, Tracker.”
She nods in thanks, and Jawbone rolls his eyes as Rudy takes his hand back, instead throwing it over the top of the seat so it's wrapped around his shoulders. He’s got his clowning gear half on, hair already tied back and suspender pants on, though he’s only in a tank top, button down most likely somewhere back at the grounds, and he hasn’t gotten his grease paint on yet. He looks good, Jawbone lets himself think as stares, shameless.
“You ever been to a Centaur Rodeo, Tracker?” Rudy asks as the truck bumps off of the main street, pulling down a less kept up road as they head further out of the city.
“Nope.”
Looking over at her, he might mistake the way she is staring out the window as pure disinterest, sum it up to her being a jaded teen, but even in the short time that he’s spent with her, Jawbone knows better. He can spot the way she’s wringing her fingers in her lap, bending them as if to pop them, though he caught her cracking her knuckles as they got in.
“You’ve probably been to a fair though, right?” he prompts.
“Oh, yeah. But it was a harvest fair, so that’s probably different.” It’s not a lot, but at least she’s looking at him.
“Nah, pretty much the same,” Rudy smiles. “I haven’t been to many Helioc fairs–”
“Solesion,” she corrects him. Jawbone notes that down in his head.
“Of course, forgive me,” he nods. “I haven’t been to many religious fairs, I guess I should say, it comes with the territory,” the tiefling shoots Tracker a wicked grin and Jawbone lets out a smile of his own as Tracker laughs, barking and loud in the cab of the truck. “But, if I had to guess it would be a lot of trucked in ferris wheels, a couple scary looking roller coasters, maybe even a tilt-a-whirl or two?”
Tracker hums in agreement as she nods. “The tilt-a-whirl is my favorite.”
“Oh mine, too,” Rudy nods. “So you know what to expect with the fair, which means I get to do the honor of showing you your first proper centaur rodeo.”
He leaves it at that as they pull down the gravel road into the fairground, the metal structures of the ferris wheel and rattler roller coasters silhouetted in the end of day sky. Jawbone watches as the stadium lights over the rodeo arena start charging up, only faintly glowing in the evening sun. Rudy drives them past the gravel parking lot where the rest of the rodeo patrons are parking and filing out, Jawbone letting himself gaze at the families with thier kids and couples in pairs as they walk and laugh and drag each other along.
They pull up to the side of the arena, Rudy cutting the engine as he slides the car into a spot by the back entrance. “You two go on up and get some good seats, the preshow should start pretty soon and I gotta get the rest of my gear on.”
“You’ll come see us before the show starts?” Jawbone asks as Tracker is already sliding out the door.
“Always do.” He presses a kiss to Jawbone’s mouth, smoke and sweat and the smell of dust that never seems to come off of him since he started working the circuit flooding his nose as he kisses back.
He pulls away with a wink, leaving Jawbone red in the face as he shuts the car door behind him.
“Coming?” Tracker asks, teasing leaching out of her voice.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, pushing the door shut behind him. “Let a man live.”
“I didn’t say a thing.”
“Mhm.”
She bumps her arm against him, walking a little too close as they make thier way into the stadium. The crowd isn’t huge, but its enough that it’s clearly making her a little nervouse, though he doubts she would ever admit it. He appreciates that she’s keeping him close, knowing how easy it would be to lose her in the crowd.
“Wanna head to the back?” he asks, already stearing them that way as they make their way in and up the bleachers. “Might be less crowded.”
Tracker nods, following close behind him till they find a spot on the bleachers a good ways back from everyone else.
“It’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be,” she says after a moment of quiet, the two of them watching as more and more folks file in, a couple of people out on the dirt field spraying it down with water so it won’t kick up too much dust.
“How big were you thinking?”
“I dunno,” she lets herself lean against his arm, looking at the couple that’s making their way up the bleachers until they see them, pause, and turn to sit further down. “I’ve seen like, cattle shows before, so I guess that size.”
“You’ve seen cattle shows?”
She shrugs. “A couple.”
One of these days he’s going to actually get her to explain all of her strange half admitances, but he supposes now is not the time. She’ll tell him eventually, or at least he has to hope she will. It’s a strange life he is living, sharing an apartment with this little mystery of a kid, but he’s scared to push to hard and spook her.
As they watch the bleachers fill up he lets himself go over the things he knows about her, watching her from the corner of his eye. She’s a werewolf, bitten within the last year from the way the scar on her neck has healed so far. He found her in the back alley of the bar he was dealing at, moon sick and clearly homeless, about six months ago. She isn’t from the city, most likely from outside of Highcourt, and she used to be a follower of Sol. She’s thirteen, gay, though she skirts around actually saying it, is allergic to wool, and doesn’t like loud noises. There are probably a million other things, small things he’s picked up, but those are the main ones. She’s just a kid is what keeps echoing around in his head as she looks around, eyes sharp as people steer away from them, the guy with the bite scar and his tiny punk in cowboy boots.
Rudy finds them like he promised. He’s toting two turkey legs in hand, a strange sight to see as he holds them in one hand like juggling pins in his white grease paint and polkadot button up.
“You shouldn’t have,” Jawbone smiles at him as he accepts one, passing the other to Tracker who tears into it immediately.
“Oh, guess you’ll just have to pay me back,” he teases as he sits on the bleacher below them with his back to the arena.
Jawbone obliges, pressing a light kiss to the brim of his cowboy hat, knowing better than to mess up his clown face.
“Mind if I get a photo of the two of y’all?” he asks, pulling a little camera out of his cartoonishly large pockets.
“Why?” Tracker asks around a mouthful of turkey leg.
“Tradition,” Rudy explains, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s an old carny thing, but if you bring folks to your shows you gotta take ‘em on the road with you, so I’ve got photos of all the folks I’ve brought out here to keep with me when I travel. I’ve got plenty of photos of JB here, but I’d love to have you as well if that’s ok?”
Jawbone glances over at her. “Only if you want to, Tracker Jack.”
She blushes at the nickname, Jawbone shaking his head at himself for letting it slip out. He’s not sure where it came from, but he’s mostly just kept inside the apartment, not wanting to overstep. And yet, it slipped out.
“I want to.”
Rudy gives him a smile and Jawbone tries to keep his surprise from showing as he grabs the camera, pulling it up to his eye to capture both of them in the viewfinder. Jawbone puts his arm around Tracker, ignoring the sting in his eye as she pulls him closer, the both of them holding thier turkey legs just out of view as they smile for the flash.
“Perfect,” Rudy grins, “I’ll have to get those printed before we pack up to leave.”
“Make me a copy?” Jawbone can’t help but ask.
“Of course.”
With one last kiss pressed to his hand, Rudy makes back for backstage, letting himself stumble down the bleachers as kids and families watch and laugh.
Jawbone is going to say something to Tracker but is cut off as the lights over the bleachers dim, going even brighter over the arena as the preshow begins, an announcer calling for attention over the intercom.
The preshow is nothing short of glorious, the two of them left giggling and trying not to choke as they dig into their turkey legs and watch the rodeo clowns and centaurs perform bizarre slapstick. Tracker nearly screams as one of the centaurs in drag goes up on her rear hooves and falls backwards on half of the rodeo clowns, Rudy included. Jawbone shakes in laughter at her horror, having seen the trick a dozen times before and pointing out to her as the clowns manage to hold the centaur up, spinning her as she lays upside down on top of them.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, clowns and townies, it is time for the main event of the night!” the ringleader croons into the microphone as the clowns rush off of the field and the sound of stamping hooves fills the stadium.
The two of them watch as a dozen or so centaurs make their way out to the ring, covered in rhinestones and cowboy hats as riders start lining up on the other side of the arena.
They go in groups of two, cowboys jumping on the centaurs on backs and the centaurs pulling every trick in the book to throw them off. It’s amazing to see them go flying, and Jawbone can’t help but smile as he catches Tracker’s awestruck face out of the corner of his eye. The kid is eating it up.
Which is maybe why he should have guessed she would volunteer when the ringleader called for it.
She’s up with her hand in the air standing on the bleachers as the ringleader scans the audience, and he can feel it in his gut even before he points her out. He follows her down as Tracker and the rest of volunteers stand at the bottom of the bleachers, a few of the centaurs leaning over the railing to talk to them.
The centaur nearest to them, a beautiful lady in pink rhinestones and big barrel waves tucked under her cowboy hat gives the two of them a look, glancing from Jawbone to Tracker, back and forth.
“You volunteer to ride, little miss?” she asks, voice butter rich and deep.
“Mhm,” Tracker nods, bouncing on her heels.
“How tall are you, honey?”
Jawbone’s heart sinks for her, already knowing where this is going. He hasn’t seen Tracker this excited for something since he’s known her, and he can see it already slipping out from under her.
“I’m five foot,” she says, but they all know that’s a lie. Even in her boots, she is barely pushing 4’11, scrawny and small, Jawbone knowing the fact that he can’t afford to feed her much isn’t helping her case. She’s still got room to grow, he knows she’ll shoot up eventually, but that day is not today, and no matter how much she wants it, he can tell by the look on the centaur's face that she’s not going to be able to ride.
“How about this,” the lady tells her, leaning so her arms are crossed against the railing, “you keep coming back to these rodeos, and once you are a little bigger, you can come ride.”
“But–”
“Here,” she takes off her hat, placing it so its sits on Tracker’s head, just a hair to big so it slumps down over her ears. “You keep this safe for me, and when you can fit into that a little better, you wear when you ride. Do we have a deal?”
Tracker tips the hat back a little, nodding as she looks at her. “Deal.”
“Cool. Now sit back and watch me throw this guy into the next county.”
And that’s just what they do, Jawbone and Tracker having front row seats to watch as the volunteers are thrown left and right off her back. As much as she was disappointed, Tracker looks just as happy as she had been before as the rodeo goes on, reaching up to adjust her new hat every so often, a look of glee crossing her face every time.
Loves the rodeo, Jawbone adds to his list, letting his arm tuck back around her as they enjoy the rest of the night.