COWBOY UP • TnT Duo Western AU

COMPASS

Once they're a safe distance away from town- meaning it isn't visible in the nearly flat expanse of desert- Wilbur stops the horse. Quackity is alarmed at first when they slow since he had settled quite nicely into the rhythmic travel. His eyes scan the desert quickly, for any sign of movement or threat.

Only when Wilbur gets down and offers his hand lazily up to Quackity does he realize this is simply a break.

He takes Wilbur's hand, sliding off the saddle and landing with a huff. A bolt of pain shoots through his ankle, and he wobbles, wings trying to jut out from under his jacket. Wilbur immediately grabs his arm, trying to brace him. Quackity shoulders his hand away, arms out to balance himself. "Quit. I'm fine."

"No shame in being honest," Wilbur counters with a thick drawl, "you did have a horse fall on you. Let me see your ankle. Sit."

He gestures to the ground, already dropping into a squat. Quackity crosses his arms. Wilbur squints up at him, head tilted pretty far because of his hat, and waits.

With a noisy sigh, Quackity sits, rolling up the cuff of his jeans and slipping his boot and sock off. When Wilbur grabs his leg, he flinches.

"Does it hurt?" He prompts.

Quackity blinks. "Yes. Of course."

Wilbur remains looking at Quackity's ankle, trying to discern any possible symptoms of it being broken. Quackity watches his face. He feels the line of Quackity's ankle and then stands, hands going to his hips. "I don't reckon it's broken. It looks okay. Still probably a good idea to keep off of it, though."

Quackity looks at it, at the slight swell, feeling along the line of bone. Nothing seems outwardly wrong with it, which means it probably isn't broken, but it could be fractured. It hurts, but there's a numbness to it. Quackity guesses he'll just have to see how long it lasts.

He puts his shoe back on, standing and brushing the sand from his pants. When he looks up at Wilbur, the man is fidgeting with one of the pouches on his sides.

He pulls out a tiny tin case. Quackity guesses it's some sort of tobacco can before he catches a better look at it. A compass, he realizes. The tin of the cover is slightly rusted and rather bumpy.

Wilbur bites at his lip, looking around before putting the compass back in his little bag.

"So?" Quackity prompts. "What?"

Wilbur glances at him before beginning to pet the horse. "We'll be heading to Snakeridge."

"How long will that take us?" Quackity prompts.

"A few days, if we're quick. Get on, I don't want you on that ankle anymore than you have to be." He gestures to the saddle, and with a grumble, Quackity gets on the horse.

"You told me that's where you're from. Snakeridge, I mean." Quackity says. "Is that true?"

"I don't see how that matters," Wilbur mutters, blinking up at Quackity.

He gets on the horse, seated behind Quackity, and they're pressed uncomfortably close once more. Quackity shivers despite the heat, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

Once the sun begins to set, they stop for the night. Wilbur starts by setting up a fire, insisting he do it without Quackity's aid. They share some of the dried meat and a sip of the water, and then Quackity insists on changing the bloody bandage on Wilburs leg. The wound had worsened due to their rather messy exit this morning and hours of riding.

Once that's over, Wilbur is still pale and shaky for a long time. Quackity really does worry the injury is infected, even if it doesn't really look like it.

They stay silent for a while, watching the sky.

Eventually, Wilbur clears his throat, staring up at the expanse of stars in the night sky. He glances at Quackity, who is doing the same, and then starts to dig in one of the bags at his side. He withdraws the compass.

"Quackity," he starts, waiting for the other to look at him. Quackity has abandoned his coat, and his wings reflect the firelight brilliantly. Wilbur holds out his hand. Hesitantly, Quackity takes it.

Wilbur slaps the compass in his hand, turning back to the stars. "I want you to have that. Keep it safe for me."

"What?" Quackity starts, swallowing thickly. He examines the compass. The tin is rusted, but... the compass is not bumpy, it's engraved. A bird- Quackity guesses a crow- mid-flap, is indented into the metal, very worn down from what Quackity assumes is years of rubbing and touching. He blinks, looking over at Wilbur. "Wil, why?"

"I already told you!" Wilbur says, letting his legs drop to lay flat. His hands drop to his lap. "I want you to keep it safe."

"Okay. Right. My apologies." Quackity rolls his eyes, opening the compass. The needle points at an odd angle. He feels the strings of his past life tugging on his mind, an itch always worsened by Wilbur.

Quackity shuts the compass, sighing, standing. "I'll take first watch. You need to sleep."

"You're sure?" Wilbur questions, standing too. One hand goes to his waist, brushing the handle of his revolver.

"Yeah." Quackity's hands go to the pockets of his jeans, and he squints up at Wilbur. He'd taken off his hat earlier, laying it with Quackity's coat, so Quackity can actually see him pretty good. Well, what the firelight allowed him to see, anyways.

Wilbur pulls one revolver from its holster, offering it to Quackity. "You know how to shoot?"

"Lets hope I don't have to. But yes, Wilbur, I know how to shoot a gun." Quackity takes it, blinking at the weight of it in his hand. The handle is incredibly smooth. He studies it, glancing up at Wilbur. Wilbur watches him, hands gone to his pockets.

"If you hear anything, see anything- whatever, you wake me, okay?" Wilbur raises a brow. Quackity is slightly offended by Wilbur's lack of trust in his ability.

"Yeah. Hurry up and start sleeping." Quackity holsters the gun in the waistband of his pants, watching as Wilbur sits and begins to unstrap his other gun and holsters and bags.

Finally, once he's able to lay down, Quackity pretends not to notice the glances Wilbur throws his way. Instead, he studies the compass, tracing the crow engraving with his thumb and trying to stay mindful of his surroundings.