Tales of Derring-do, Bad and Good Luck Tales!

Pot Calling The Kettle!

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️
Blood, violence, and a shock induced panic attack
No graphic details

A/N: Scrooge is 30~ish in this chapter. If you're trying to keep count. (Even though that makes no sense! Google says this is 1867 - making him 10 when he got the number one dime - which is impossible because the good rush ended in 1855. Am I being too logical about this, yes but it bothers me.)
Anyways enjoy! 😊

It was warm. Very warm and itchy. Wait, itchy? I opened my eyes, and I was laying in a pile of sand.

"Why is it always sand?" I growled and punched the sand. It splattered around me onto my clothes. Ever since I started time traveling, I started making sure I wore half decent clothing. Though this time I had been asleep when it happened but thankfully due to all the sleeplessness yesterday I hadn't changed out of my clothes when I collapsed. So I was still in jeans and a t-shirt.

I stood and shook off as much sand as I could. Glancing down the dune towards the small town. I could tell from the buildings and the weather I was in the old west.

(Great.) I thought, rolling my eyes.

The Time Turner was in my bed after the incident with Lena last night, something must've set it off. I looked it over. A yell and an explosion to my right caught my attention by causing me to fall down. I knew from the sound who it was.

"Scrooge!"

I ran over to where I heard his scream but saw nothing but a hole. I looked down, and he was trapped under a rock. I noticed a rope. I threw down and ran over to him. I scraped my plans pushing it off.

"Thank you, las," he said once he was back up.

(Downgraded to las.) Not that I missed the other nickname, but usually I got lassie, so it sorta felt like payback for using his last name yesterday.

He dusted himself off. He still as he straightened himself. He gave me a confused look. "What are you doing here?"

"At the moment rescuing you." I smirked and noticed his foot. "You're hurt here."

I slid an arm under him and helped him to his stuff. I sat him on his cot and dropped to my knees beside him. His foot was in desperate need of a splint but before I could say anything about it we were interrupted.

"Howdy, friends! It's me, Sheriff Marshall Cabrera!" a man, I could've sworn was Fenton, said.

"Well, which is it? Sheriff or Marshall?" Scrooge raised an eyebrow.

"My name is Marshall, but I happen to be Gumption's town sheriff. Though my friends actually call me Deputy, which was my nickname before I got the promotion. Hard to shake a nickname. Anyway, need some help?"

Scrooge shot me a 'really?' look before he popped open a can of beans with a spoon.

"Not from you."

"Don't be rude." I hit him lightly on his shoulder. "Nice to meet you, Sheriff Marshall."

"Haven't seen y'all at any of Gumption's town hall meetings."

"Prefer it that way. I work alone," he said, chewing and glanced up at me. He added between bites, "She just got here."

"Well, there's a big towner from the big city coming through, promising big things for Gumption! I wanted to let all you prospectors know." That threw Scrooge for a loop.