COWBOY UP • TnT Duo Western AU

PREVARICATE

There is a sigh of relief when Wilbur sits down the gun. Quackity looks, making sure both are on the table before he walks over, sitting all his supplies down.

He pulls out a chair for Wilbur, and Wilbur sits with a loud huff, groaning a little bit. He leans his head back, watching Quackity grab the knife.

"I'm gonna cut your pants a little, to get a better look at this thing. Now you tell me what happened." Quackity settles down in front of Wilbur, moving his flamboyant coat aside to get to the injury. It's scarily close to his kneecap. And inflamed, irritated. "Is the bullet still in there? Do you know?"

Wilbur closes his eyes, leaning his head back with a sigh. "Yup, it- it's in there. Somebody shot me."

Looking at more than his legs, Quackity thinks somebody did a little more than just shoot Wilbur. "How long has it been? Since you were shot, I mean."

Wilbur bites at his lip when Quackity begins messing with the cloth around the wound. "Uhh, three days? ...I dunno." He moves a hand to paw at his neck, voice wavering. His hand comes away slick with sweat.

"Okay." Quackity sighs, contemplating. The injury doesn't look infected, thank God, but all Wilburs traveling means the bullet has been worked pretty far up in there, and the wound was horrifically agitated.

There's just no way Quackity is going to be able to get it out with just his knife and some bandages, not when it's already been there for three days and the swelling is only getting worse. "Okay." He sits the knife aside, grabbing the bottle of alcohol and uncorking it.

"I'm gonna sanitize it, okay? Clean it." Quackity bites at his lip. There is crusted, dried blood covering the wound. "This is going to sting."

"Okay." Wilbur's voice is strained, he doesn't have the strength to be witty. Without wasting another minute contemplating, Quackity splashes a bit of the alcohol onto the injury.

Wilbur hisses, biting his lip hard. Quackity watches as his fists squeeze beneath his gloves, grabbing the bandages and beginning to wrap them around his leg.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find something to clean it, all the rags are dirty and I don't want to give you an infection." Quackity finishes wrapping Wilbur's leg as quickly as possible, cutting the bandage off with his knife and fixing it into place. "Sorry I couldn't get the thing out... don't want to hurt you worse than you already are."

Wilbur frowns, watching as Quackity stands. Why Quackity didn't kill him or throw him out or even just leave him... "Quit sayin' sorry. You could've just left me, its a wonder I ain't dead."

"I can't just let my customers die, it's a terrible way to do business." Quackity shakes his head, sitting his supplies up on the table. "Anything else I should know about? Injuries?"

Wilbur thinks for a moment, thinks of his worn hands beneath his gloves, or the various scrapes beneath his jacket, and shakes his head. "No."

He wants to ask about the bounty again, how Quackity doesn't know about it, but he's scared it might be something of interest. Instead, he watches as Quackity gathers the bandages and bottle in one hand, knife in the other.

With a glance at Wilbur, Quackity goes to return his things to the backroom.

Wilbur is alone again. He looks at his revolvers and, already missing the weight of them on his sides, reholsters them. When Quackity still does not return, he studies the bandages on his leg.

When Quackity reappears, Wilbur stands. His hands remain down by his sides, as if he is just waiting for an opportunity to draw.

Quackity pauses, resting one hand on the counter, studying Wilbur. "I have a place you can stay, if you'd like." One hand goes to his hip.

Wilbur thinks for a moment. "Does this town have a lodge?"

"Maybe." Quackity says, raising a brow. "But I'm sure it's closed for the night, and they're not likely to do business with an outlaw."

Wilbur taps his finger on his leg, thinking, keeping his eyes trained on Quackity. "Okay, i'll stay."

"Wonderful." Quackity smiles, bringing his hands together.

"But I want to know how you know my name."

Quackity frowns. They stay like that for a minute, just staring. Wilbur is drawn again to Quackity's scar, a pale gash in his face where a milky white eye resides. His black hair nearly covers it, it's so long.

Quackity crosses his arms. "I don't know what you're talking about. Now, are you coming to bed or not?"

He moves, heading for the first candles, blowing them out.

"Don't give me none of that shit," Wilbur counters, "you seem to like saying it. How do you know, if not the bounty?"

His fingers twitch. Quackity is acting quite charitably, but Wilbur just can't bring himself to trust it.

Quackity moves on, to the next candles. As he steps from the shadows and into the illuminated area, his expression is taught, guarded. Wilbur searches deep for possible answers, and comes to one conclusion.

"Was it Dream? Did he do something to you?"

Something about that question makes Quackity fall still, and Wilbur feels the triumph of it. Quackity looks at Wilbur then, eyes wide and filled with raw emotion.

"How do you know that name?"