Archive of Our Own

The afternoon sun was sitting fat and heavy on the horizon, burning deep orange across the sultry desert and dusty lines of streets that Jason rode down. The outlaw, notorious for miles around the new Southwest but currently dressed more like any other civilian, was heading West to Panamint City at the request of his older brother, Dick. Dick was starry-eyed and furiously ambitious, having just built his new wife Barbara a gorgeous house nestled in the California mountains which had been recently won by the republic’s army. He had written to Jason upon completion of the build, noting that he was expecting all of the family to arrive within a month and that did include Jason despite his nomadic habits. So upon the command, the Outlaw had abandoned the cattle station he had been working at and readied Maple, his Palouse horse. 

Under Jason’s felt hat, his head of dark ashen curls was dusty with the heat of the day; a strand completely devoid of colour hung forwards and bobbed from left to right as Maple found her footing across the sandy trail. An expensive brown overcoat hung to his thick shoulders and forearms, brushing his hips and rugged chaps. The beloved riding boots he wore were slowly coming apart, the heel and sole wishing to divorce the rest of the show as fast as possible.  Having ridden without his modern luxuries, Jason was sporting a muddy short beard and a small line of stubble across his lip which struggled to meet the rest of his facial hair. His eyes were hazel-green and accompanied by a crooked nose which had been broken as a child. Dry air and heat had cracked his lips, flushed his cheeks and darkened his skin leaving him an ornament of the barren plains he wandered through. At this state of disrepair, it felt almost inappropriate to ride Maple, whose resolve and beauty refused to crack.

They had been riding for two weeks, stopping every thirty or sixty miles to water Maple and catch a break from the sun that beat down on the pair. Jason had slung his travel bags over her back, tightening the back cincho so that the bags didn’t sway as she strode. Maple stood at sixteen hands and was speckled with white and fawn as if someone had sprayed her down with liquid gold and mud; Jason had bought her off a native man along the Oregon trail a year back and she had served him well since then. Like the Palouses, he had seen galloping along the Missouri River whilst up north, Maple was agile, useful in getting Jason away from the scene of a crime and intimidating during a gunfight; although he didn’t get in as many of those now as he used to. She was his way of travel, at least, and his best friend at most. 

They crossed through hours of flat sand desert. Jason pulled his hat far down over the crown of his head as the sun refused to relent and wrapped a piece of maroon cloth over the bottom half of his face and around the back of his neck. The rider cursed his brother and his own easily manipulated heart. He hadn’t seen his family in what must have been at least a summer and autumn, and a small part of Jason did reluctantly miss his brothers and his sister. No part of him missed his father who was the mayor of the town they had grown up in, morally astute and strict in his child-rearing. As they trotted on, Jason tried to ignore the shadows of his childhood and instead focused on the way that the landscape changed over the days from yellows to grey and greens. Climbing over the Dead Mountains, on his fifth day of riding, had marked the end of Jason’s wit, his groin and inner thighs ached and he was sure that Maple was tiring under his own bulky frame. Maple’s pale hooves stepped precisely over the winding gravel path that marked their descent into the nearest town, Jason could see the smoke rising from within the wooden-fenced settlement. He craved a beer, a hot meal, a bath and a bed; he could not sleep out in the wilderness for another evening. After this stop, he would have only another three days of riding before he reached Panamint City where he would be a guest of his brother and Babs.

The main street was quiet as the dusty wind rattled through it. It was the afternoon and from the look of it, most people who worked in the town had disappeared back to their family farms in the surrounding country. Jason urged Maple through the entrance to the town and dipped his head at a young woman in a buckskin coat and white apron who loitered outside of what looked like a grocer of some sort. She flushed rose gold across her cheeks under Jason’s eyes and it made him bristle with pride. 

The company that Jason kept was not the most desirable but, Christ, was it satisfying. The women who helped him through his nights at various saloons across the West seemed most often to be satisfied with Jason’s performance. Hopping from town to town, he had a reputation of sorts that he liked to maintain and after weeks of camping, his energy was built up, thrumming through his body with the need to be with another human. Maple was company and a kind soul, but her companionship was never the same as being curled around a woman as the wooden ceiling fan of one’s room spun monotonously to infinity and back. Even as a young man, throwing rocks outside of his father’s office, Jason had attracted local girls’ attention. He was rough around the edges, all dark colourings but with green-hazel eyes that pulled people in. As one of the mayor’s sons, Jason was invited to every debutante dance and with quiet excitement he whirled the girls, who wanted him so desperately as their partner, around with vigour enough to knock their pin-like figures over. Surpassing Dick’s height at only sixteen years, being an excellent horseman and overall, causing his father general stress, led to Jason being well sought after by brooding mothers and their daughters as he grew into his bulk and rounded out. 

However, Jason had never been nailed down but instead had wanted to push West, getting into too many drunken fights along the way as a credit to his slyness and quick wit. His father had condemned Jason’s rebellion but eventually had accepted that his son belonged to the sky rather than the ground, purposefully ignoring the gangs of ranchers he had executed as he travelled. He was quick and clean, not yet being caught but having been labelled by various posters and sheriffs as ‘the Red Hood’. When caught in a bind, Jason used his father’s name as a method of dodging blame; not that he was ashamed. Killing those who raped mothers and children, and stole the wealth of the poor was satisfying and overall, just. He, Jason, the Red Hood, refused to walk the earth with those despicable people and so he removed them. It was like plucking out weeds; overall, harmless. 

Sliding off of Maple outside of the town’s saloon, Jason led her over to a young man who was cleaning the hooves of a grey piebald Paint Horse. He had forty dollars in his pocket; they paid him twenty per month on the cattle station and the rest he had stolen from a corpse's trouser pocket. Jason whistled at the boy, taking in his dusty and freckled face. 

“Give her a water and a clean, will you? Put her in a stable for the night.” His fingers fiddled with five gold dollar coins in his travel bag. 

The boy nodded with clear understanding and respect for the large man, and his larger horse, who stood in front of him. 

“Saddle clean?” The boy’s voice was quiet but sure of himself and with only three more days of riding, Jason refused the temptation and placed the coins, alongside Maple’s reins, into his hand. 

“Look after her,” Jason commanded as he turned his back, striding towards the saloon entrance. It was at least two storeys and rectangular, stretching backwards in a strange illusion of size. The windows were characteristically blocked by thick wooden shutters which boasted a yellow sheen of dust, dirt and degradation. Climbing the bleached deck stairs, Jason straightened out his overcoat in a strange display of decorum. 

Jason had been in more saloons than he could ever remember and he felt no insecurity in stepping through the threshold of the building. It was busy with men who had finished their day of work, Jason had passed a timber mill whilst riding and noted its activity, drinking and playing faro with invigorating comradery. Only a few eyes scanned him and as Jason stepped in he pulled his bandanna off and shoved it in the back pocket of his chaps. Stepping over to the bar, Jason patiently waited for the bartender to serve him. The man behind the bar had a narrow face and large brown eyes; his moustache was impressive and hid most of his upper lip. The bartender smoothed down his uniform as he approached Jason. 

“Yes, sir. How can I help?”

“I’d like a room for the evening and a glass of tequila.” 

The man nodded as Jason spoke, obviously examining Jason’s dirty skin and dark under eyes.

“A room is ten dollars and a tequila fifty cents.” Jason rummaged once more through his bag and passed the man fifteen dollars. “The rest can go on the tab.” 

Taking the money with a small smile on his face, the man turned to the back of the bar and pulled a key from a locked drawer. “Here’s your key. I can make your drink if you want to see your room?”

Jason tipped his hat in agreement before leaving the bar to walk up the stairs to the wooden landing. Disappearing through a confusing labyrinth of corridors, Jason found his room and pushed the door open. It was spacious with one small arched window and attached shutters. The walls had been plastered with a cream colour whilst the ceiling and floor were clearly defined by horizontal planks of - originally polished and currently unpolished - ash. His legs nearly buckled at the sight of the bed, it was a double and, although plain, looked like the most comfortable thing he would ever lie on. In the corner of the room, there was a tin bath which called out to Jason and he reminded himself to ask someone to fill it for him before bed. Leaving his hat on the bed, Jason turned to the small mirror that had been propped on the wall and ran his hands through his hair. The cloud of dust that rose from his head made him shiver with embarrassment and he steadied himself, dusting his clothes off once more before placing his travel bags under the bed and returning downstairs. 

Upon the bar counter, Jason’s short class of tequila looked delicious and whilst wrapping his hands around it he turned to face the room. His fingers itched to join on the faro, he was good at gambling and had enjoyed tormenting his younger brothers for years whenever they had played after dinner or at parties. 

“Oh,” Jason turned back to the bar when the bartender placed his chaser of beer down, “can you have someone draw me a bath before midnight?” Jason noticed the small quip that braced the man’s lips. There were still parts of Jason that harked back to his wealthy upbringing; he had been a working man for five years now but his childhood prosperity was a melodic lilt to his rough tone. Before Jason could scowl, the man disappeared calling for more staff members to serve the now even busier barside. 

Sipping his glass of tequila, Jason grinned at the burn and turned his eyes to the woman who was sitting at the upright piano in the corner of the room. Her hair was bundled in a nest of copper curls on the back of her head as she rhythmically pushed the keys and filled the room with bright and jolty notes. Her amber eyes were stuck to the keys as she played and Jason watched her with a critical eye; he had been fairly skilled at piano when he had last played. Sensing his stare, she looked over her shoulder. Her lithe fingers were still jumping over the keys; the scowl he was rewarded with was enough to stop his rampant imagination. Avoiding her disapproval, Jason downed his drink and, taking his tin cup of beer in his now empty grasp, moved to watch the game of faro which held many patrons’ attention. 

The men who stood around the table were older than Jason. He guessed they were timber mill workers, farmhands and labourers due to the callouses that littered their dry hands. Some of their faces were deep red from labouring in the sun for too long whilst the ones sitting at the table were more trim and put together. Jason recognised these men as similar to his father; wealthy men who enjoyed rolling around in the sewer from time to time. They ruled the game of the new frontier and, from what Jason was seeing, also ruled the faro table. Suppressing a smile, Jason felt excitement shivering over his spine; power was made to be inverted, and on this day he was feeling particularly lucky. 

The table was halfway through the round and there was a clear winner already; his checks made two healthy-sized red towers. As the dealer’s deck became smaller, Jason tried to guess the numbers still in the pack and placed his mental bet on a four. In faro, you placed as many checks as wanted on the number you thought would be pulled from the pack next; its simplicity was a huge part of the game's success. The three men at the table pondered the discarded cards before they placed their bets. Holding his yellow checks, the man with an impressive dark-haired beard placed his check on the number two. To his left, his compatriot placed a green check on the jack; he was bald with greyish eyes that darted over the other two men insecurely. The winner, whom Jason had focused on, confidently placed four red checks on Jason’s personal choice.

The dealer called the round and then pulled two cards; the first card was the losing bet and the second one would be the winning number. 

“Jack.” The dealer called out to the table and quiet chuckles rippled through the crowd as the bald man slammed his hands down on his thighs in frustration. “And four.” Jason grinned to himself as his imaginary bet was called and the crowd cheered, applauding the winner for extending his lead again. 

Soon enough as Jason had predicted, the house declared the grinning champion as the winner of the round and he pulled his checks greedily towards his broad chest. His eyes looked to the watchers with mirth, smirking at his own prowess; Jason was bursting with the need to put the wispy-haired man in his place. 

“I’m done.” The bald man proclaimed, leaning back in his seat and sighing loudly at his defeat. “I can’t afford another round with you, Flinter.”

The winner -Flinter - grinned and accepted the compliment. “Still unbeaten,” He raised his eyebrows at the man with the dark beard who groaned once more and held his hands up in submission. 

“I want to deal back in, but I’m sure my woman would kill me.” He drank from his tin cup and then licked his lips, savouring the malt across his mouth. There was silence as the working men looked around, frustrated that they were forever bound as spectators rather than players. 

Drumming the table with his fingers, Flinter scanned the room and sucked his teeth; he was chewing Tobacco obnoxiously and Jason’s fingers tightened around his cup. Taking one more swig, Jason decided it was time to pull Flinter back to the humbling reality of his petty wealth; the Red Hood had more class authentically than Flinter could ever create from making these humble men feel inadequate. It was cruel but more importantly unjust. 

“Really? No one wants t-”

“Deal me in,” Jason stated. A couple of the men turned to face him with sudden excitement. Making sure to look his tallest, Jason left Flinter’s bitter eyes to take Jason in.

Flinter looked to his peers before beckoning Jason forward. The bearded man stood up and offered his chair to Jason. He seemed the most genuine of the group and offered Jason a kind and sincere look. Walking to the table, he dipped his head to Flinter out of respect and shivered at the feeling of twenty eyes staring at him. Upon sitting down, Jason noted that the music had stopped and his eyes slipped to the corner of the room. 

The scowling pianist, who had turned down Jason’s boyish advances, was twisted around on her stool, craning upwards towards a figure that Jason hadn’t noticed yet. Tall and shrouded in ominous darkness, the figure peered down at her from under his hat and then, in one smooth movement, turned to catch Jason’s eyes in an ivy-green stare. For some reason, Jason realised that he couldn’t breathe, and he coughed harshly, turning away from that stare to face Flinter’s disapproving glare. “You new around here, son?”

And God bless him, Jason hated that. He was no one’s son but his father’s, and even that felt strained to say. “Riding through.” Jason nodded to the dealer and passed him ten gold dollar coins, noting the nervous quirk in Flinter’s eyebrow. The moustached bartender sidled up next to Jason. “Another tequila,” he smiled at him and then turned to his opponent. “Tequila?” 

“I don’t drink that southern stuff.” Flinter shuffled his checks with growing frustration, and Jason licked his teeth in anticipation.

“A beer for my friend then,” Jason told the bartender as he was dealt his checks. 

A fox-like voice cut through the general hum of noise that filled the saloon. “And a beer for me.” Turning to look at the voice, Jason found that it belonged to the shadowy man who had been whispering in the corner of the room.

He stood just below Jason’s height and was wearing a deep maroon deerskin jacket that rested just above his knees. Under the coat, his shirt was white with a high yoke and red-brown piping over his chest; the pattern was beautifully delicate and swirled over the man’s collarbones in a show of wealth as well as strength. His belt was lopsided from the weight of a white and grey Paterson revolver; it looked nearly identical to the gun that his father had gifted Jason’s brother at his coming of age. “Harper.” Flinter greeted the newcomer with a slight reluctance but also recognition.

Dipping his head, a lick of Harper’s copper hair fell forward in front of his eyes, and he cracked a sharp smile, showing off canines that looked so pointy they belonged to one of Jason’s favourite gothic novels. Looking closer now that the man was sitting down, Jason saw the bridge of freckles that crossed over his nose and the slit of a scar that ran through the man’s left eyebrow. Two pots of beer were placed on the table as Harper tried to pass some silver coins to the dealer. “We don’t take that shit.” The dealer huffed loudly, and Jason didn’t miss the smirk that unnaturally gripped Flinter’s face.

Taking a sip from his pot, Harper shrugged and threw the dealer a couple of gold coins. While silver coins were still used in the cities of the east, they were considered worthless on the frontier; Harper must have travelled far to still have silver in his coin purse. “So,” Jason thanked the bartender for his new tequila and turned his eyes back to the smooth voice that was talking, “who dares challenge the faro champion of the Dead Mountain ranges?” The man’s eyes were tracing Jason’s face; they seemed to be taking in every small inch of Jason’s skin and body. 

Swallowing his real name, Jason tipped his chin towards Harper and took another sip from his short glass. “Haywood.”

The other man’s eyes narrowed in a way that made Jason feel uneasy before he turned back towards the dealer. They all had their checks ready, and Jason fiddled impatiently as gunpowder burst through his blood. They had accumulated quite a crowd as the two younger men took on this ‘champion’. Jason was still trying to figure out why the east-born redhead had decided to join in on the game.

Underneath the conversation, the dealer shuffled the deck and laid the suit of clubs out on the table. Flipping the first card between two long fingers, the dealer then placed down the soda, which was a ten. The dealer called the first bet, and with anticipation, Jason watched Flinter place a red check on two. At the beginning of the game, there was no strategy and only luck. So with little care, Jason tossed one check onto card number five and then another check onto the king. The move provoked no reaction from Harper, who, with one smooth motion, placed one check down on the queen and asked, “First time in town?”.

"I can't say I’ve had the pleasure before,” Jason replied as he watched the dealer turn over the losing rank.

“Five.” He stated it emotionlessly and then turned over one more card. “Two.”

“Shit.” Jason huffed as he realised he had chosen the losing rank, and, either more infuriatingly, Flinter had received the first win. Jason passed his losing check back to the banker, while Flinter was rewarded with two checks to grow his pile.

Scratching at the stubble of his jaw, Harper spun a check on the table. “Relax, friend.” His boots were tapping the table leg; they had star-shaped spurs and red strokes of paint around the heel. “We’re only starting.” And his words were dripping with some sort of deeper meaning that Jason didn’t quite understand.

They continued with the next four rounds in silence. Jason played more modestly, spending most of his energy trying to learn Flinter’s story. But the man seemed to play with no real skill, tossing checks across the table in a pattern that only furthered the Red Hood’s confusion. Harper had won the last round after three no-wins, providing him with a small collection of Jason and Flinter’s checks. Flinter addressed Harper directly, “Travelling back east, Harper?”

“No.” Harper paused to let the dealer pull the losing and winning ranks. Jason tried to subdue his relief when his number was revealed as the winning rank and he collected his first checks. “I’m going west to California.” He kept it short by finishing his beer after the sentence. “I heard you found oil under Wanir Creek Farm." Harper raised his slitted eyebrow, and Flinter placed three checks on the number five.

Flinter grinned at the question. “Liquid!”

“And the Evans?” As an outsider in this small settlement, Jason listened in with both extreme interest and utter boredom.

“They’ve agreed to go eighty-twenty with me. I take eighty, of course.” His smugness made Jason’s blood boil from his feet to his eyes. The piano’s cheerful singing did nothing to calm his building hatred.

Harper paused, and an awkward silence settled across the table. “Giving up already, Haywood?” A small smirk was tugging at Harper’s lips, as if he could hear the torrents cascading through Jason’s mind. “It’s your turn.”

Shaking off the small laughs echoing from the peanut gallery of workers, Jason placed one check on a random card; he unsurprisingly lost that round. He started to wonder if his pride had been misplaced. Flinter was growing confident, chewing louder than before as if to put his younger opponents off.

“You travelling west, Haywood?”

“To Panamint City.” Jason stated, “Only for a coupla’ days though.”

“Panamint?” Harper questioned, clearly weighing the statement in his mind. “Chasing gold?”

Jason placed three checks on five; he had been counting the cards, and triple-fives had already appeared, meaning that the chance of another five appearing in the next rounds would only grow as the rounds progressed. “Family commitments.” He attempted to keep his responses unassuming.

The room was quieter at Jason’s large bet; the workers lived vicariously through the chance that he might beat their petty overlord. Taking note of the checks, Harper raised his bet and doubled down on the card he had chosen previously, a six, whilst humming carelessly to the music.

Jason caught himself gazing at Harper. He wondered how the man could live both in the east and west while also being known here in this small and quiet mill-powered town. For a moment, Jason wondered if he had ever seen anyone with eyes as green as the other man’s. As if from a nightmare, Harper caught his wandering eyes and let his lips tug upwards in a slow and sly movement of recognition. Heat rose through Jason’s stomach, and he turned back to count his checks, feeling mortified and also more perplexed than ever. Luckily, the feeling didn’t last long as he won the round, rewarding him with the largest pile of returns they had seen so far. His confidence flooded back at the short win, and he steadied his mind; he had to beat Flinter, and he was going to.

Flinter’s eyes scanned the deck, and he floundered for a moment, tapping his check as the seconds passed. He placed two checks down on number one and then looked up to watch Jason with deep, honey-dirt eyes. Jason smiled as he repeated his previous move. He was sewing the seeds of the fruit he knew would come. “Another beer?” Jason questioned the man.

“You tryna get me drunk?” Flinter spat back, and Jason could see the tobacco circling his mouth.

Harper laughed as he placed two more checks down, but on a different card this time, seven. “He’s trying to be friendly.”

“Trying.” Jason huffed as the dealer announced the winning card, which was a two, and the losing bet, which was a seven. Harper lost his checks, and the lines across his forehead creased with frustration. Flinter grinned as he took another winning bet, and something inside of Jason flickered dangerously. Scanning the table, he noted the flicker and held it underneath his tongue.

Looking at his checks, Jason could probably last a couple more rounds, but he needed to start digging away at Flinter’s stash if he wanted to survive the game. To his left, Harper had a slowly declining pile but seemed unbothered, wrapping a piece of loose hair around his middle finger absent-mindedly. He flashed Jason a wiley smile as Flinter threw one singular chip onto the table with no real purpose; Harper was confusing but, more importantly, completely captivating.

Jason reaffirmed his choice, and Harper once more placed a singular check on seven. He seemed to have lost all interest in the game and instead focused his burning stare on Jason; he could feel its heat on his skin even when he didn’t face the man. It was distracting, to say the least. Catching Harper staring once more out of the corner of his eyes, Jason quirked his eyebrow at the stranger in confusion, and in an even more perplexing response, Harper’s ivy eyes darted down to the table and then back up again. The dealer called out, “Eight and nine.” Flinter had won again, despite his cluelessness.

Holding his arms behind his head, Harper whistled toyingly and, in one quiet motion, kicked Jason under the table. “The Palouse outside, she’s yours?” Harper showed his canines.

And all of a sudden, Jason understood his situation. Staring across at Flinter, Jason felt as if his veins were on fire; this would be fun. The wispy-haired man paled slightly under Jason's sudden attention. “A good horse.” He said it monotonously.

“She looks it,” Harper replied, his delight at Jason’s realisation evident in his tone.

After rounding back to the dealer, he pulled the winning card. The dealer looked up at Jason before calling out the number, and Jason’s skin thrummed excitedly as he announced, "Five."

The crowd erupted as Jason’s pile of checks was doubled in one hand. Flinter’s bottom lip wobbled slightly as Jason’s reward pulled him neck and neck with Flinter’s once-victorious lead. In a bittersweet turn, the losing rank took Harper’s last checks, and he rolled his eyes as he placed last. “And I thought I was good at faro.”

“You’re not bad.” Jason chirped without thinking; he was desperately awaiting the mistake that would reveal Flinter.

Harper swiped his chin with his thumb. “Not bad, huh?”

But Jason couldn’t respond. His entire energy was poured into staring at Flinter, enjoying the other man’s uncomfortable squirming. He was coming undone, and it was glorious.

They played for three more rounds in silence. Harper hummed aloud and filled the room with rising tension. Flinter was lost at sea. He threw his checks randomly across the board but continued to win each round, no matter how much he sweated. Jason played conservatively until the last round, in which he placed a large bet of three checks on the number one card. Out of pure luck, the Red Hood won the round and once again extended his league. Harper smirked deviously from the corner of the table, watching Jason’s dominance with a hunger that made Jason’s lungs and limbs weak from some sort of feeling that he couldn’t label. He waited patiently for the break. “Time for a big move.” Jason goaded Flinter, leaning forward in his seat. The entire room laughed, obviously growing aware of the total lack of skill that Flinter possessed. Flinter flushed red at the shame of being laughed at by supposed inferiors. 

The muscles in Flinter’s face twitched, and in a strange show of misplaced confidence, he placed every single one of his checks on, and Jason couldn’t believe what he was seeing—five.

Jason’s eyebrows scrunched together in utter confusion at Flinter’s play; in Faro, when all four versions of the number had been called, you weren’t allowed to bet on the number once more. The biggest win of the night had been Jason’s bet on five, and looking at the cards that had been drawn, Jason could see that there were no more fives in the pack. Roy whistled long and slow as Flinter made his choice.

“Deadbet!” Jason called immediately.

“What?” The crowd murmured. At some point, the pianist had stopped playing, and Jason could see her stretching on her toes to watch the game.

Jason ground out the word, glancing at the dealer. “Dead-bet.”

The dealer nervously looked at Flinter, obviously unsure of whether to call out Flinter’s move. “Mr. Flinter, sir,” Jason stated, feeling the room’s soul possess his body. “Will you allow me to explain for a second?”

“I don’t understand?”

“Oh, I know.” Harper let a small laugh slip from his lips as Jason continued. “Your playstyle is very strange. I’ve played a lot of Faro, and I’ve never seen someone place their checks so randomly while winning so often.”

“What are you accusing me of, boy?” Flinter’s eyes squeezed small into slits, and a cold chill washed over Jason’s skin. This was a serious move he was making, but he felt strangely secure under the red head’s gaze.

All the eyes within the room addressed Jason, waiting for his response with desperation. “Deadbet. When all suits of a number are called and a player bets on said number, you bet on a five, they lose their checks.” He let the words settle in the air. “And I win the checks.”

“Bullshit.” Flinter laughed. He turned to the room and said, “You believe this fool? We have no idea who this outsider is, and he tells us how faro is played.

“You need to be honest about your strategy, sir.”

“As if I don’t know the rules of faro?” Flinter refused to answer Jason’s statement.

Harper’s voice cut through the suspicious whispering, “Show me your hands, friend.”

Flinter froze, and his head snapped towards Harper. “Don’t you dare touch me.” Harper’s head tilted to the side ominously, his skin was drained of colour, and Jason’s stomach twisted at the seriousness plastered on his new peer’s face. “You have no right to talk to me like that, bastard.”

“Careful, sir.” Jason stopped any further comment; his father’s lectures on calling out ungentlemanly behaviour reared their ugly heads. “I would watch your words. You’re clearly not in control of your emotions.”

“How dare you!” Flinter stood from the table, pulling his chips back towards him. The crowd closed around the players slowly as Flinter scanned the room for allies and possible escapes. From behind Flinter, an old man who had been patiently watching the game with curious attention grabbed Flinter’s wrist and shook his hand.

As the hand waved, a thin, singular line fell from Flinter’s fingers to one of his chips. “Horse hair!” The old man’s strained voice shouted, and the crowd erupted in horror, yelling various insults at the ever-reddening Flinter.

Jason leered at Flinter and said, “I’ve heard of using horsehair to pull your checks across the deck to win every round. But I’ve never met someone so deficient at Faro to actually do it.”

“Haywood, this one is a different breed.” Harper held Flinter’s furious scowl with fearlessness. “I was watching the game earlier. He’s been using this trick for a while. It’s pathetic, honestly.”

Flinter’s voice was strained and muddled by unchecked privilege and rage. “You, sir, have made a mistake. This town doesn’t take well to know-it-all-strangers.”

“Is that a threat?” The words resonated deep from within Jason’s throat; it wasn’t his voice but the Red Hood’s.

Out of either fear or superior logic, Flinter backed down and, in an act of cowardice, left his checks on the table before stumbling violently through the crowd and out of the saloon.

The entire room buzzed with conversation and laughter. Jason took a moment to settle his breathing. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he had managed to conceal it fairly well. “Change back the checks to dollars and hand them out to these men.” He commanded the dealer, who nodded sheepishly before collecting the checks in a woven sack and carrying them over to the bar.

“You played just to see him be exposed.” Jason addressed Harper, who was nursing his tin of beer.

“No, I played to see when you would realise.”

Approaching behind Harper, a woman’s voice commanded Jason’s attention. It was the pianist, her red lips twisted into a happy-serious sort of smile. “Good job, you two. That ass has been a pain in my side for months now.”

“Arty, you should have written to me.”

“By the time my letter would have arrived, Flinter would have drained us dry with his little trick. I knew eventually someone would challenge him. Sometimes you simply have to wait. Drink on the house?” The pianist, Arty, asked Jason.

“Thanks."

“No. Thank you.” She winked, and Jason swore he felt his groyne twitch; the building need within him had only been exacerbated by his faro excitement.

Harper took his hat off and placed it on the table. He shook out his hair, and his wayward locks brushed the shoulders of his coat. “Those checks could serve you well."

“I don’t need them.” Jason shrugged as he put his feet up on Flinter’s now-abandoned chair. His legs still ached from travel, and his mind wandered to the thought of steaming water enveloping his entire body. “Travelling to California?”

“Yes, but I will stay here for a couple of days before I move on.” He looked over his shoulder at the pianist, who was now cleaning the tins behind the bar. “Want to make sure Arty doesn’t get any trouble from Flinter’s goons?"

“Hmmm,” Jason nodded, and Arty appeared behind him, placing his tin of beer down. “Cheers. Are you a regular around here?”

Harper grinned. “I ride through sometimes. My folks live in the Sacramento Valley, but I have a daughter who stays at a boarding house in Queens.”

“Jesus, that’s far.” If Jason himself ever had a child, he couldn’t imagine spending so much time away from them.

Almost sensing Jason’s judgement, Harper laughed gently. “She lives with her mother. Let’s just say that having a child was never on my cards. I do my best to see her at least twice a year.” The room was emptying slightly as the workers were rewarded with Jason’s winnings. “Once she’s old enough to ride with me, West, I will move her in with my father, but currently, she would struggle to even sit still on the horse.”

“My father moved my siblings and me to Illinois when he returned from fighting the Confederates. I still remember the journey. It was chaotic; I’m unsure how he did it.”

“Illinois, huh.” Harper’s eyes scanned Jason once more, and he tapped the table. “Run with me here.”

“Okay?” Jason sipped his drink, suddenly wondering if he had overshared.

“A young man with dark hair appears in a nowhere town and is travelling ast. He’s got a rugged look and pitch-black hair with a white paint stripe through it. His clothes are expensive, and his voice is polite as if trained in etiquette.” Harper’s ivy eyes glittered dangerously, raising Jason’s heart rate with every word. “And he tells me a name, but I’m sure that it’s fake because his jaw reminds me of a particularly famous Union commander who is now the mayor of Edwardsville and is running to become governor of Illinois.”

Swallowing his fear, Jason held Roy’s heated gaze with a fool’s defiance. “And what have you learned from all this information?”

Harper licked his teeth, obviously excited by Jason’s defensive answer. “That you are a Wayne, not a Haywood. Bruce Wayne has one son who lives out on the frontier, and here he is, sitting in front of me."

Jason was almost blown away by the amount that this stranger knew about him and his family. And for some strange reason, he wasn’t offended but strangely flattered; his stomach squeezed and flipped at Harper’s interrogation. “So am I right?” Harper asked, his smile widening as Jason’s silence stretched on.

“Maybe.” Jason laughed softly. The room was almost empty as the dealer returned to the bar and helped wash over the sides. “How do you know all this?”

“My father is Oliver Queen. His father fought in the war down south and then settled in Sacramento.” The name was familiar in Jason’s mind, but he wouldn’t lie and say that he knew the man himself. “I think our fathers have met at least once.”

“My father has met many people.”

“I’m sure.” Roy leaned back in his chair, his shirt strained over his chest and arms. “But if your father is in Panamint, I will write to Oliver tomorrow and tell him of your family's arrival."

Jason flushed from embarrassment. “Oh, there’s no need to bother.”

“My father would accost me if I didn’t tell him. I may look like a brute, but I still remember my tutoring.” They were the only people left in the room, and Jason couldn’t help but feel sweetly charmed by the other man. “Roy, by the way.”

“Jason,” Jason replied, finishing his drink with a large slurp. For some reason, he couldn’t divorce his eyes from Harper’s; Harper felt like a correct weight on his tongue, and he imagined the way that the word would feel if he spoke it aloud again. The room was swirling with an unspoken force that whispered deviantly into Jason’s ear; the energy swelled from out of Harper in a pulsing deep red and purple dusty wave.

Artemis sidled up next to the pair, cutting through the deep cloud that was choking Jason and setting his stomach on fire. “We’re closing down the lounge, so I would suggest you two retire.” She slipped her fingers around Jason's tin and retreated to the bar before sauntering to the door and locking it.

Standing up from his seat, Jason swayed slightly. The hazy mist of drunkenness and overwhelming victory was climbing up across his neck and scalp. The stairs were comically difficult, and at the top of them, Jason laughed loudly. He watched as Harper held onto his hat as he followed Jason, his fox smile strangely magnetic under the dim light of the landing. A tingling sensation rose through Jason’s body as he heard Harper’s boots clicking on the wooden landing. He could see the mistakes forming in his future memory. Rounding the corner, Jason swayed awkwardly in front of his door, unable to say what his lungs were demanding of him. Stood in front of him, Harper was only a couple of inches shorter than Jason, but he emanated an almost irresistible darkness, which poised a question that was begging to be answered for the first time ever.

“Um,” The silence was cutting as they stood alone in the darkness. Harper’s face was still, his lips pulled into a gentle and aggravating smirk. “I appreciated your help tonight.” Jason felt suddenly vulnerable under the other man’s mossy eyes; he felt as if Harper could steal his thoughts from his mind and crush those strict boundaries that society had compounded within him. “I would enjoy it if you wanted to write me. I’m sure we can probably"

Interrupting Jason’s sentence, Harper leaned forward and, in an act of pure desperation, crushed his mouth against Jason’s. Jason felt as if he had been hit by a flashbang, or he had struck gold, or he had just won a difficult game of faro—oh, wait. The intensity of Harper’s lips was painful, but instead of retreating, Jason let out a quiet groan, allowing Harper to push him up against the hardwood door of his room. Roy’s fingers brushed the back of Jason’s coal head of hair as he pulled at Jason’s lower lip, and the sensation made the Red Hood’s legs judder. As Harper finally pulled away, taking a shaky intake of air, his hat tipped backwards, and in a show of agility, Jason caught it with his right hand, letting out a breathy laugh. “Harper.”

“Hello.” Harper smiled, and Jason reminded himself that this was no saloon girl; instead, it was a young man of similar societal status who knew Jason’s family and had an extensive web of connections. His heart was bursting out of his chest, and his mind was screaming to stop; his reason flung itself to the floor and scoured every childhood memory for a source of this now deviant desire to let Harper pull him over this line.

He stumbled over his words, unable to choose between complete ruin or marking this strange outburst down to too much tequila laving over his tongue. His lips traitorously tingled with the dangerous wish to feel Harper’s lips once more; a small voice inside him wished to feel those lips forever more. “I need to bathe.” The words that slipped from his mouth were neither a yes nor a no; they, him and this man, were an unlocked door, which a part of him begged Harper to push.

Raising his eyebrows, Harper brushed Jason’s jaw with his thumb, and he pushed. “Who says you have to bathe alone?” Scanning the hallway, Harper tipped his head to the side. His eyes were a lush garden of green. “I wouldn’t mind helping.” His voice stirred the forbidden heat that was simmering in Jason’s stomach. “Only if you want it, of course."

To hell with it! Grabbing the door handle with his left hand, Jason pushed the door to his room open. He roughly grabbed Harper’s shirt with his other hand, dragging the redhead into the room. Looking to the corner of the room, Jason grinned at the steam that was evaporating off of his tin bath. Wasting no time, Harper spun Jason back around and pulled him down into a passionate kiss, which was the result of forbidden and buried desires. Kissing a man was completely different from kissing a woman. But it was right, and Jason couldn’t help but fall into the deep black pit of lust and truth that was growing in his mind. Meanwhile, unaware of Jason’s mental undoing, Harper had very much taken control of the exchange, his tongue pushing deeper into Jason's mouth at every small sound that escaped Jason’s stubborn lips. “You’re beautiful,” Harper whispered as he kissed the corner of Jason’s lips; his stubble left a sweet sting, which Jason definitely enjoyed. “Let me take care of you.” The words were a honey balm over his turmoil, something that he felt as if he was resisting but had always wished to be told. And there was something about Harper’s voice that made Jason’s mind sink deep into a level of comfort that he had never experienced before.

Harper’s lithe fingers were working at Jason’s cravat and the string ties at the top of his shirt. With careful hands, Jason lifted Harper’s bespoke and expensive hat off and placed it on the dresser. In the mirror, Jason caught his reflection and shivered at the sight of Harper dipping his head to kiss Jason’s now-exposed collarbone. With a deadly sweetness, Harper skimmed his lips and warm mouth over the plain of Jason’s neck; he lathered the skin with growingly possessive attention, and Jason almost saw stars as he felt teeth scrape under his jaw. Threading his fingers through Harper’s hair, Jason stroked Harper’’s scalp and felt his heart flutter as Harper pushed into the touch, moaning softly under Jason’s hands. Turning his head away from Jason’s neck, Harper focused on removing Jason’s shirt with a growing sense of urgency.

Holding his hands above his head, Harper freed Jason from his shirt and, in a moment of awe, grinned at the myriad of scars that littered the outlaw's body. “You’ve been through it, haven’t you?”

“God, if you knew.” Jason could feel small bruises blooming on his neck, and he blushed as Harper’s hand snaked around his waist. For a moment, Jason wished to tell him every story that had given him scars.

“I want to know,” Harper mumbled into Jason’s shoulder. Heat flashed through Jason’s groyne at the almost fated admission and nuzzled into Roy’s bent head, seeking out the other man’s malt lips. The kiss was shamelessly open-mouthed, and for a moment, Jason couldn’t imagine he had ever kissed anyone else. Harper would ruin his experience of fucking, for sure.

Jason didn’t respond but only turned his head to rest on Harper’s red waves.

As if Jason’s heart couldn’t race any higher, Harper’s fingers dipped to his trousers and manhandled them down over Jason’s thighs and ankles. Standing nearly naked in front of the other man, Jason felt growingly vulnerable. “Hmm.” Harper’s green eyes were glued to Jason’s crotch. "I bet you’ve got a nice cock.” In retrospect, Jason had never had any issues with his dick and felt quite proud of its large thickness.

“Gosh, you know how to flatter a girl.” Jason rolled his eyes, laughing, and pulled Harper’s chin up so that he could find his blown-out pupils. He needed to see that this was true; that this person was in fact a person and not some strange manifestation of a hidden part of him that had always been there. 

Harper’s hands were mapping their way over Jason, feeling him through the cotton of his undergarments. It took Jason’s breath away, his mouth hanging open as Roy teasingly skimmed his fingers over the already wet head of his cock. “I’m going to be all you think about when someone touches you," he squeezed Jason mercilessly, “here.”

“You talk too much.” 

“I’m going to make you sing, Wayne.” For some reason, that made Jason’s brain empty of all thought, and he pushed his hips forward into Harper’s grip. Harper raised his eyebrows in nasty satisfaction and said, “See. Let’s get you in that water.” In one smooth movement, Harper pulled Jason’s undergarments down and grinned as Jason sprang forward. Turning Jason around on the spot, Harper pushed him towards the tin bath; he snuck in a couple of squeezes to Jason’s bare arse as he walked over.

Some part of Jason missed the heavy presence of Harper’s hand on his waist as he stepped into the tin bath, moaning at the way that the water stung slightly as he slipped underneath it. Kneeling behind the bath, Harper reached forward and brushed his knuckles, caringly, over Jason’s cheek. Letting his body sink into the water, Jason rested his head on the lip of the bath and turned into Harper’s sensitive touch. “Feel good?” His lips were hot against the shell of Jason’s ear.

“Mmm.” Jason smiled as Harper ran his hands through his black and white hair, applying varying pressure across his scalp. With a delicate touch, Harper turned Jason’s head to kiss him once more. This kiss was sweeter as Harper set the pace of their melding. Pulling away from the kiss, Jason sighed at his overall level of relaxation, and his skin glowed maroon under the hot water. He closed his eyes and allowed the sound of Harper’s movement across the room to flood his mind. The sound of a belt hitting the floor forced Jason’s eyes to open in sudden curiosity.

Roy Harper was now facing the bed, trying to shuck off his shirt in an act of apparent need. His ass was gorgeously round while somehow retaining muscle tone; it looked sinfully pillow-like. Some part of Jason wondered whether men’s asses’ had always looked like that or only now his eyes were looking afresh from his past constriction. Letting his eyes wander over Harper’s thighs and surprisingly slim waist, Jason found himself getting hard again. Almost sensing Jason’s return arousal, Roy turned on his heels and grinned at his observer. “Like what you see, doll?”.

Now, kneeling back down at the bathtub side, Roy landed a kiss on Jason’s rosy cheek. “You feeling flustered?” A part of Jason liked the infantilism, the handholding through something that he had always thought he knew everything of. 

Groaning, Jason smiled softly and wrapped his hand around himself; the water rippled gently as he began to stroke himself back to hardness. Harper’s eyes were burning like evergreen fire, small huffs of breath leaving his mouth as his right hand snaked behind his back confusingly. Legs spread wide, and Harper’s hand moved slowly up and down, sinking into his body. “What are y-?"

Harper laughed softly as he opened his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering every so often as his fingers appeared to press upwards. “You think that I can take you without a little work?” His laughs were jaunty and representative of Harper’s history within this new world. “I want to have you, Jason Wayne, fully. I’m going to be like one of your saloon girls.” Jason remained uncharacteristically silent, still unable to join Harper in the excitement of this conversation. Sensing this lingering insecurity, Harper tilted forward on his knees and kissed the corner of Jason’s lips. “Trust me, you’re going to love it.” Pulling away from Jason’s mouth, Harper returned his focus to his fingers and continued to scissor them slowly. With a frustrated yet heady grunt, Harper turned to look around the room. He stood up, taunting Jason with his full ass once more, and padded over to Jason’s bed. Harper crawled over the bed, allowing Jason a more than scandalous view; his throat was as dry as the mountain ranges he had called home over the past week. Harper found Jason’s bag and began to rummage through it, throwing Jason’s travel equipment across the room.

The water sloshed around the tin as Jason sat up as if he were a startled animal. “Do you mind?” He tried to keep his temper in case Harper removed the carnal offer he had made to Jason.

Harper made a small aha sound as he pulled out a packet of medical gel from the bag. Ripping it between his teeth, Harper paid Jason no attention and coated his fingers in the gel before reaching around and pushing them back into himself. Harper’s red hair was spread over the pillow, and his face was turned to the side so he could watch Jason in the bath. His chest was flush with the white sheets of the bed, while his ass remained raised on bent knees. A soft purr of pleasure struck Jason at his core, his three fingers moving with much more ease than before. Jason carried JP Gell with him to help with healing wounds, but this new foreign use stirred some sinful, deep-hidden part of him. A small voice in his head wondered if he could ever do that to himself. Lying across his bed, Harper was the answer to everything - gorgeous, genderless, enrapturing and irresistible. 

“Wanna give it a go?" Harper cooed; he had pulled his fingers away. Jason’s legs pushed up out of the bath before his mind had even processed the question, and lukewarm water dripped over the wooden floor as he stumbled towards the bed. Once at the foot of the bed, Jason faltered deeply, struggling to follow through on what he desperately wanted. “Getting cold feet?” Harper questioned huskily; his cheeks were flushed red against the pillow.

“I still don’t know what to do,” Jason admitted, and he shuddered as he heard his admission of truth mix with the desperation that he felt building in his chest.

With a sudden sweetness, Harper reached back for Jason’s hand and smiled softly. He pulled Jason’s fingers towards his fluttering entrance and encouraged Jason to push slowly into his body. With his experienced partner’s assurance, Jason pushed forward, feeling the way that the muscle squeezed tightly over his two fingers. It was hot and rough, only made possible by the gel that soothed the way. And god, was it amazing! Jason reached one hand to himself and, in response, received a throaty growl from Harper, who was enjoying Jason’s prying and clumsy touches. “Do not touch yourself. I need you hard for me, okay?”

“Okay.” Jason swallowed, a bead of sweat dripping over his temple. Investigatively crooking his fingers upwards, Jason grinned as Harper’s entire body shuddered with pleasure. Capturing the moment, Jason reached forward and wrapped his hands around Harper. Mimicking the way he liked to touch himself, Jason stroked slowly back and forth, committing every small sound that Harper made to his long-term memory. The muscles across Harper’s back rippled, and Jason leaned forward to kiss the back of Harper’s now sweaty back; the salt was sensually bitter against his tongue. And for a moment. Jason thought that Harper was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

The thought was roughly disrupted as Harper turned over abruptly and pulled Jason forward onto the bed, capturing him in a kiss that was dangerously intimate. In a show of agility and manhandling, Jason was placed on his back, his head resting on the pillow that Harper had been huffing into. As if the exchange couldn’t have been more ridiculous, Harper reached to the dresser and grabbed his hat, placing it on top of his soft sweaty waves. “Are you serious?” Jason struggled not to smile as he placed his hands behind his head. The familiarity of the position made his blood steam with need.

“Deadly.” Harper drawled before he swung one leg over Jason’s waist.  “You just sit back and enjoy, darling.” And as if Harper knew Jason’s inability to commit himself to a future of restriction and secrecy, Harper grasped Jason and lined him up with his entrance. Holding his hat with one hand and using his other to hold Jason's, Harper slowly sank onto Jason; his eyelids fluttered at the slow burn as gravity pulled him down.

The air grew hot as Jason fisted the pillow; the tightness was nothing he had ever experienced before, and it automatically topped his list of sensations. The slowness of the drop was unbearable; habit commanded him to reach forward and pull Harper down onto him as if he were a wet saloon girl. However, as a stranger to this, he trusted Harper’s intuition, no matter how much he wished to rock upwards and fill the other man. Rewarding his patience, Harper eventually was flush to Jason’s hips, and he leaned forward, his spine bent like a full sail.

Harper whispered against Jason’s lips, “Give me a moment.” The muscles in Harper’s gorgeous thighs were shuddering as he continued to acclimatise to the thickness Jason boasted. “You’re a bit more than I used to take.” And for some reason, Jason felt a flash of anger at the idea that Harper had ever allowed anyone else to do this to him. Instead, he rode the wave out, running his palm over the soft fat of Harper’s backside. After a few more seconds, Harper’s eyes flashed open. “Ready?”

“Christ, yes.” Jason retorted; he feared he wouldn’t be able to last in the vice grip that was Harper. With a tortuous grin, Harper rose up and then dropped down, rocking his hips forward and back. The air was thick with breath as Jason placed one of his hands on Harper’s bony hip, helping him slowly lift up and down. His toes curled against the sheets of the bed as a wave of contractions rippled over him. Harper was slowly gathering momentum; the sound of his ass and thighs slapping against Jason filled the warm room in a show of unbridled lust. One of his hands ran forward to rest against Jason’s chest, allowing the man on top more leverage to lift himself nearly fully off of Jason before slamming down in one movement. He squeezed his eyes shut as Jason guessed he was brushing up on some special spot of pleasure within him.

“Jason.” He huffed, his body shaking, as Jason watched with infatuation as he slid in and out of Harper’s body. “Christ above.” He commented, tipping his head and hat back to look up at the wooden ceiling.

Enjoying the tightening vice that was attempting to milk him dry, Jason reached forward and fisted Harper’s cock as if it were his own, making the other man fold forward. Jason echoed Harper’s groan as his ass clenched around Jason in pleasure. Chasing his pleasure, Jason attempted to push his hips up but was held down by Harper’s strong arms. “Let me look after you.” He reminded Jason before grinding his hips so that he rode Jason faster and with more force than before.

Jason threw his head back in pleasure, seeing a constellation of stars as Harper rode him as if his life depended on it. "Darling, I want to feel you.” And at this point, Jason lost control. With glossy eyes, Jason watched Harper’s grin as he pushed Jason over the edge, purposefully clenching around him in an attempt to get what he wanted.

The air left Jason’s lungs as his endurance snapped, and he came deep inside the other man. His muscles tensed and cramped, pulling across the back of his thighs and biceps. There was a glistening of sweat across his brow as the sound of his own groaning rang loud in his ears. Harper’s lips on his were the only grounding sensation he could point to, allowing himself to be soft between the other man and the pillow. Only a couple of moments later, Harper was moaning into Jason’s mouth, and the outlaw felt wetness spill over his stomach.

Harper’s red hair hung forward and tickled Jason’s nose. “I might keep you around.”

“Riding to Panamint," Jason huffed, still pulling his breath back into his chest.

“Don’t ruin my dreaming.” He lifted himself off of Jason and curled up on his side next to the outlaw. Jason missed the warmth around his cock, and a disgusting part of him felt curious about what he could feel dripping out of Harper. “I can track you down.”

"It's easier to just get another saloon girl.” Tiredness was begging Jason to relax; in contrast, Harper was gently kissing Jason’s neck.

“Don’t think a saloon girl is going to have your cock.” Jason’s eyes were heavy as Harper used his agile hands to rub small circles into Jason’s chest. 

“Sleep.” He kissed Jason’s cheek and reached for a piece of cloth to clean Jason. “I know Dick - I can come visit.”

Obeying the redhead’s command, Jason allowed himself to drift away without considering the statement. Content on a mind and body of full satisfaction, Jason didn’t stir once, and if Harper left the room, he never noticed.

The words Harper had licked into Jason’s ear bounded across his head as he rode away from the Dead Mountains the next day. They were a deadly curse, pulling at the neatly tied knots that held his life together. In truth, however, Harper had not only unlocked a newfound freshness within Jason, which emanated out of him, reflecting the envious desert sun, but he had opened Jason’s mind to many overlapping and new fantasies that begged Harper’s return. No matter how much shame he carried across his shoulders and chest, he was desperate to do it all again.

Luckily, his solitude along the trail hid the sinfulness that he possessed as his mind cyclically fluttered to Harper bent over on the bed or his crimson lips pressed intensely to Jason’s. The new part of him that wished for Harper’s company dominated any other traditional cell in his body as forced thoughts of women suitors grew stubble and shoulder-length copper locks. Harper had thrown something within him wide open, and it was troubling but, most importantly, deviously tempting.

His arrival in Panamint City was delayed a day further as Maple had lost a shoe while scrabbling through a low-lying river bed. Sturdy and reliable as she was, Jason noticed her slight slow pace and decided, with only an inch of annoyance, that he would have to rest one night more and fix the shoe so that Maple wouldn’t suffer through the very last steps of their journey; she had made it so far, he saw no need to torture her.

Panamint City was bustling with energy when Jason and Maple finally arrived, only a handful of days later than planned. Noting the waggons and pedestrian-filled streets, Jason weaved through the new and polished roads. He counted at least five saloons, an upscale lodging house of some sort, two banks, a multitude of various stores, including a hat store that raised his excitement, and most importantly, a large and imposing theatre that was made of red timber and displayed the words 'Burlesque: five cents a seat’. He noted the words and slotted the thought into his head so that he could bother his father into buying them tickets; perhaps they could sit in one of those new boxes if the establishment had some. Along the side of the road, women in straw hats and silk bonnets held desperately onto their hair, grinning and gossiping as they looked into the steamy windows of the seamstress and glove maker. He admired their smiles, and he felt positively changed.

Dismounting outside the letter office, Jason stepped into the shop, dipping his head in front of the clerk. He quickly received his brother’s full address and returned to Maple. They plodded on for five or ten more minutes, the houses becoming more and more grand as the effect of gold was seen throughout the new domestic neighbourhoods. A group of young boys were throwing marbles in the street and clearing Maple’s path when they spotted her sandy face. They stared up at Jason with a look of awe, jaws hanging low at the ruggedness and sheer bulk of the outlaw and his clothes. In a move of pure showmanship, Jason tipped his hat at them as he passed by, feeling increasingly proud of his stature and status.

The road rounded out into a small semi-circle as the pair continued. After double-checking the address, Jason confirmed it was the correct house and felt a sense of ease at the assurance. As they moved closer, he spotted Dick’s waggon and a brown mule who chewed grass within a fenced-off pasture. He recognised the mule’s determined face as that of his youngest brother’s newest pocket-change purchase.

The house itself was as grand as Dick had proclaimed. Surrounded by a lush but organised garden of deep velvety greens, the house stood on two floors with a series of symmetrical two-by-two columns that called back to the pictures of Europe that filled his father’s office in their childhood home. Sickly and acidic paint hung in the air, and Jason couldn’t begin to guess how much it had cost to cover every beam and pillar in ivory white. Up a handful of even stairs, the door was arched and a turquoise blue; it was large, with swirling grains of wood embedded throughout. The second floor boasted three arch windows of leaded glass and a balcony that jutted out from what appeared to be the main bedroom. Finished with a flat roof and wooden shutters over the windows, the house boasted size, style, and condition. It was beautiful and contemporary; against the other houses, it stood in a class of its own.

Before Jason had the chance to dismount Maple, the door swung open with an energetic slam. Richard Wayne, Dick, stood exiled at the doorway. He rushed forward, jumping over the stairs and practically pulling his younger brother off his mount. Freeing his foot from Maple’s stirrup, Jason was engulfed in an embrace that could only be described as passionate. Before letting go, Dick kissed his cheek in a juvenile show of deep care and then allowed Jason to step back slightly. “Jaybird!” He shouted the nickname as if he wished everyone to hear it. “God, I missed you.”

Gathering his focus, Jason saw the Wayne heir anew. Dick’s cheeks were flecked by the very gold that had granted him wealth, his skin at its darkest chestnut brown shade. His blue eyes were crystal-swirling rapids, and his nose was perfectly sloped and handsome in ways that stirred jealousy in Jason’s stomach. Dick had dark hair that fell forwards, backwards, and sideways in a way that appeared accidentally styled, no matter his new wife’s suspected attacks with a comb. Reflectively, Dick had dirt under his fingernails but clean hands. And on closer inspection, there was a drop of white paint on his overly scrubbed left moccasin. This version of his brother, standing now before him with a smile to rival a half-crescent moon, had found vitality in the heart of the deep and warm mountains that bracketed this sapling of a town.

“Good to see you.” Jason allowed himself a genuine smile.

Dick’s sleeves were tight around his wrists and billowing at his elbows. The cravat around his neck was boyishly loose, and his trousers were pulled up to his shins in a modern sort of fashion. “I was starting to think you were never going to come. Although, I knew you would make it really.” He winked at Jason and ran his eyes over his body. Jason didn’t miss the fleck of anxiety that bobbed about in those blue rapids.

“Maple lost a shoe.”

“And here I was thinking you were off on one of your adventures. Christ,” he used the word rather often and flamboyantly, “Barbara was beginning to worry.” Which meant that Dick was worrying; his wife was not easy to scare. He clapped his hands theatrically, the light catching on the metal links that were stuck into his cuffs. "So, what do you think?”

“It’s just as you described.” Jason let his hands settle on his hips in a show of once again admiring Dick’s project.

Dick flushed a deep pink and rewarded Jason with a fresh grin. “It took a lot of work and time, but I’m rather," he humbly dipped his head, “pleased with it. It’s wooden, not stone, but extremely strong. You see, they built it from redwoods! Redwoods, Jay! Father said he felt a tremor two nights ago, and the house barely moved an inch. There’s five bedrooms, a parlour, a full kitchen, a pantry, a reception room, a dining room, bathrooms, and even, to my wife’s determination, a garden room. I might even see if we can get a pond built for when the heat is too much. There's enough room to never move again, that’s for sure. I could have ten children and still have space for a gentleman’s reception!”

“Ten children?” Jason arched an eyebrow with a mouth full of mirth. He turned to pat Maple, who was becoming restless from mindlessly standing. “Fuck!” He jumped at the presence of his sister, Cassandra. She stood silently, only a stride from the conversing pair, and quietly stroked Maple’s mane. Her pinafore was splashed with mud, as was her face; in fact, her hair looked as if it had been pulled in every direction. He swore he could see a branch nestled within the dark straightness of it.

Dick peered around Jason to see Cass for himself; she mouthed the word ‘Maple’ under her breath so quietly that neither of the men would ever have heard her if they hadn’t seen her face. “Cass, you can’t just sneak up on Jay like that! He’s had a long journey!"

She shrugged wordlessly, and to Jason’s soft surprise, she produced a small cube of sugar from her apron pocket and offered it to the tired mare. Understandingly, Jason passed Cass the reigns to Maple and allowed her to lead the horse towards the grazing pasture.

“She’s gotten too good at sneaking. I’ve been trying to get Barbara to teach her some womanly skills, but she’s been rather unaffected.”

“That’s because womanly skills are tiresome.” Jason remarked, stretching his arms up into a long yawn.

“I know.” His brother sighed. “But if she is ever to marry, then she will need some.” That forbidden topic didn’t provoke any excitement within Jason, and he let the silence hang slightly. “Christ, I’ve let myself get carried away.” Dick smiled and pulled Jason by his hand towards the house. “I’m sure you’re exhausted from your recent excitement. Damian and Timothy are practically perturbed that you have your own room next to Father’s; I have been guarding it diligently for you.”

Dragging Jason up the steps and out of the California sun, Dick pushed open the turquoise door and revealed to Jason a homely hallway of dark floors and a tassled rug of some sort. Fearing Dick’s wife, Jason tapped off his boots and removed his hat, revealing his tangled and dirty hair. Sneaking a look in a mirror that had been placed by a long set of ascending stairs, Jason noted his rugged image and braced himself for familial cold and concerned looks. “Everyone’s been waiting on your arrival; I was in the kitchen when you rode in, hence my swift arrival.” Jason was sure that his brother had been daydreaming out of the window instead of intently waiting. Preparing himself for the confrontation, Jason held his breath and his hat to his chest. With a quick look over his shoulder, Dick flung the door to the parlour open with a loud bang.

“Darling," Barbara said, placing her embroidery down with a jump, her crimson hair neatly lying in a braid over her right shoulder. “I really wish you wouldn’t slam the doors so hard.”

“Jason’s here!” Dick shouted, allowing his excitement to override his wife’s wishes. The whole room snapped to attention, swivelling towards the doorway.

The parlour was painted pastel blues, greens, and pinks, and every corner of the room was covered in plants of varying sizes and colours. In the corner of the room, there was a deep brown bookcase that was comically empty of books, and Jason’s youngest brother, Damian, was surveying the sparse collection from the floor. An oriental-style rug centred the room, and along its borders sat three plush sofas and a delicately blue love seat that was shaped in an 's'. Barbara was seated on one side of the loveseat, accompanied by the Wayne-family friend Miss Stephanie Brown; together, dressed in rich shades of brown, red, and blue, they appeared to be a picture of wealth. Behind Stephanie, the middle Wayne son, Timothy, stood. His dark hair was combed backwards, and his eyes were wide with a youth that Jason had lost years ago.

As usual, these characters in Jason’s life orbited one point of gravity. General Bruce Wayne stood in the centre of the room, strong, broad, and unmoving. His collar was tight around his neck, and he wore a silky grey cravat, which was tied economically in a small knot on his jugular. He stood with his hands clasped by his back, emphasising the width of his chest and the strength of his arms. Forever handsome, Bruce Wayne had Jason’s coal-black hair but Dick’s unsettled blue eyes. Over his forehead, he had a scar that charmingly nestled along the wrinkles he had collected there. His eyebrows were dark but shaped, and his lips were pulled thin in a serious line. To Jason, this man, his father, was both a clear mirror and a pristine, frightening reality.

Barbara stood and said, “Jason!” She smiled and approached her in-law, kissing him on the right cheek. For a moment, Jason worried that she would taste the dirt on his skin, but if she did, she never showed it. “You’ve missed your brother’s tour of the house and town.”

“It was most riveting, I assure you.” Stephanie sighed, placing her hands neatly on her lap.

“Don’t be mean.” Barbara tsked, reaching to squeeze Dick’s hand in reassurance.

Tim placed his hands on the loveseat and leaned forward with a smile. “It was interesting to say the least.”

“More like utterly uninspiring.” Damian snorted as he turned to face Jason; his likeness to Bruce was almost terrifying.

“Need I remind you of your manners?" Bruce’s voice was low and clipped, cutting through the room with sudden precision.

Damian bristled slightly and smiled sheepishly. “It was a pretty good tour, Dick.” Tim nodded intensely before placing his hands back behind him and straightening his back. Jason tried to hide his grimace at the way Bruce was able to control his youngest brothers with only a few words.

Jason dipped his head towards Stephanie and then addressed his brothers. “You’ve both grown a bit.”

Damian scoffed, and Timothy bit back a laugh. “You don’t look too good yourself, Jason.” Damian barked with more bitterness than perhaps he meant to let on.

Grinning at the chance to have a go-back, Jason patted his hat on his chest a couple times. “That’s what happens when you ride on the frontier for a month. Don’t worry, you may understand one day once you can go past a trot.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason watched for his father’s reaction and felt a slight confusion at the uncharacteristic smile the general sported. “In truth, Jason, your travels continue to entertain us even when you’re not in our company.”

Jason stilled at his father’s comment and looked to his brother for clarification. “Oh, christ.” Dick remarked before rushing out of the room.

“Oh, christ.” Miss Stephanie muttered, her voice dripping with amusement.

“How do I work that saying out of his vocabulary?” Barbara sighed with a dreamy look in her eyes. Jason didn’t miss the way her hands settled like a weight on her stomach.

“Dollar-jar?” Bruce suggested with a small smirk that Dick had always tended towards dramatics throughout childhood. Jason felt Bruce look him over as if to say, How are you? Are you okay? Are you healthy? Feeling their silent communication, Jason offered Bruce half a smile and a fleeting look before turning his eyes back to falsely admire the decorations of the room.

Slamming the door open once more, Barbara whithered at her husband's energetic urgency. Dick returned to the room with a flourish and a piece of parchment in his left palm. “So about two days ago, when you were planning to arrive, I received this letter from an old friend of mine. It was quite a shock to be honest; I haven’t heard from him since my work for Congress on the east coast.” Barbara urged her husband to reach the point. “Anyway, here it reads.”

Aug. 10, 1878

Panamint City

Dear Richard,

I write this letter from the centre of the New Mexico desert in an attempt to convey my gratitude for the presence of your younger brother at a passing saloon.

Upon seeing Jason Wayne, I spotted him as your kin and watched with pure bewilderment as he exposed a local lowlife through a game of faro. It is sure that without his help, the landlady of such establishment would have been plagued by con-men for the coming months.

Further raising my respect for the man, your brother passed his winnings among the workers in a show of gentile breeding. In truth, your brother has impressed me in many ways. His good manners are furthered not only by his excellent faro skills but also by his ability to ride.

With your arrival in Panamint City, I wish to strike up our friendship once more and also congratulate your father on the excellence of his son. Having also written to my father in Sacramento, I hope I can receive you and your family soon at our estate and celebrate Wayne's being a beam of goodness across our new republic.

With kindness and admiration,

Roy Harper

Dead Mountain Ranges

Jason’s blood ran ice cold as he turned into a tableau of fear and shock. This man, Harper, had found his brother and now continued to toy with Jason despite their separation. He tried to hold down his embarrassed flush; the anxiety of being found out for his perversion was making his heart rise into his throat and choke his breath. Jason imagined his father’s disgust and disappointment at what Jason had done. Roy Harper now held this power over him. The realisation of the gravity of Jason’s actions was drawing upon him, and he felt as if he were suffocating on society's judgement.

Pulling him from the horrifying spiral of reality, Bruce grabbed Jason by the shoulder. Readying himself for Bruce’s cascade of disappointment, Jason whinced slightly. "Everyday," Bruce squeezed Jason’s shoulder, and his blue eyes glimmered softly. “You continue to surprise me with your endless selflessness and search for justice. You are a credit to our family.” Feeling his heart calm slightly under the rapid list of compliments, Jason considered their validity while enjoying the way they made his soul flutter appreciatively. In his mind, Jason didn’t quite consider getting ridden into the mattress by a lustful redhead selfless. But what Bruce didn’t know wouldn’t harm him, so Jason decided to remain tight-lipped in case he dampened his new, virginal image.

“Gosh, Jason I’ve never seen you blush so hard.” Stephanie leans forward with a grin and an excited expression. “You’re rosier than rosy!"

“I’m also glad that you’re making more friends to travel with.” Bruce remarked, removing his hand from Jason and straightening his shirt. “It makes me worry a little bit less."

“Everyone needs not to worry for me so much.” Jason sighed and then yawned once more; he hoped it would signal to someone that he wanted out of this room.

Tim had been chatting quietly with Stephanie under Bruce’s words, and his voice struck up clearly. “I’m desperate to know how you ‘unveiled a lowlife’ through a game of faro.”

"Well, how can we not worry? Christ, we don’t hear from you for months on end. Maybe you should stick around Panamint for a bit instead of going back to the frontier. It would do my nerves a bunch of good.” Dick ignored his brother and powered through the conversation.

“I would endorse that.” Bruce hummed before relaxing, uncharacteristically, back onto one of the sofas.

Shaking his head with a gentle roll of his eyes, Jason addressed the group once more. “Can I at least rest before you try and settle me?”

The glint in Bruce’s eyes twinkled handsomely. “Of course.” And in good guestkeeping fashion, Dick led him away from the family, up the wooden stairs in the hallway, and onto the landing of the second floor.

His older brother stood outside the bathroom attentively. “I’ve run you a bath, if you would like it.” Jason flushed ruby once more, feeling far too seen for his liking. He wondered if Harper’s next letter would sadistically remark on Jason’s adeptness for bathing. “You are bashful today, Jay. I’m not sure what Harper did to you, but you shouldn’t be affected by his compliments. Do you not hear them from us enough? I can tell you what a good rider you are, although Harper seems to have beaten me to praising your horsemanship as well.”

Waving his brother away, Jason spluttered out a subdued and breathy sound. “Okay, okay. Let me rest."

Only once he was free of his older brother and fully submerged in the porcelain tub could he see the humour in his predicament, and he allowed his mind to consider the possibility of playing with Harper back. The letter was written word for word in his mind before he had even picked out an ink quill to write with.

Aug. 12, 1878

Sacramento, California

Harper,

If you wish to taunt me for my inability to think my actions through or my complete naïveté within your realm of business or my more feminine sensitivities, then I ask you to taunt me in person. It is much more fun when I can observe rather than imagine you. If you are as confident as you seem, then I will await our next meeting. I have never been to Sacramento, and for some reason, I feel urged to visit.

Your obedient servant,

And he scribbled the last words out, refusing to seem obedient in any sense, even though the surrender beneath him had felt like a mortal slice of the second life.

I await your response.

Jason Wayne

Panamint City