The woods were treacherous, particularly in the dimming light, but Oliver didn’t care. He was so close, even if it didn’t mean anything anymore. This was all he had left, after all. This was what he’d ruined both of their lives for.

Hazel’s map indicated the location of an old cabin on this untamed hillside. There was no reason he would’ve lied in his personal notes, but he was just vague enough that most people wouldn’t have been able to tell what any of it meant. After traveling with him for months, though, Oliver could read it perfectly. 

The cabin, as it turned out, was a gorgeous little place overlooking a lush garden and a pond. Oliver grit his teeth; he’d hoped to find some sort of dilapidated mess. Maybe then he’d feel less guilty. But… No. It was clearly a well loved home, not just some broken down secret hideout. The dark wood of the front porch had been painstakingly painted with bright flowers to match the surrounding garden. The level of detail indicated it must have taken years to accomplish. The flat, low roof was camouflaged with foliage that certainly hid it from the eyes of anyone higher up the mountain. Behind the main cabin sat a similarly embellished stable, perhaps big enough for two horses. From within, Oliver could make out a bit of chatter.

Like any reasonable man, he took out his revolver and unloaded a round into the sky.

The world went silent, for a moment, as the disheveled husk of a man stood at the property’s edge with his arm raised.

A younger man, around thirty and much leaner than Oliver, stepped out from the stable. A mess of shaggy black hair hid his eyes, but his hatred could be surmised from his cold smile.

“Sheriff,” he greeted as he walked up to his guest. “I wish I could say I’m happy to see you, but I notice you’re on your own.” He tilted his head to the side, allowing one of his black eyes to peek through his hair. “Where is he, pendejo?”

Oliver swallowed back a bitter response as he finally returned his gun to its holster. “Nowhere you’ll see him.”

The black haired man’s smile faltered. “What’d you…” He grit his teeth. “You didn’t.”

“What if I did, Ángel?” Oliver raised a thick, brown eyebrow. “What are you going to do about it?”

Ángel grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his face down so they could be eye to eye. “I’ll skin you, hijo de puta,” he snarled. “Where the fuck is he?”

Oliver grit his teeth. He didn’t particularly want to answer, but he also had a code of honor. The least he could do would be to admit to his sins. 

“Answer me.”

Oliver reached down to a sheath at his side and wordlessly dropped a silver-handled knife to the ground.

Ángel’s eyes widened as he stared at the blade. He struggled with his words for a moment before spitting directly into Oliver’s eyes. He released his collar, but only so he could shove him to the ground and plant a heavy black boot on his chest. He could feel warm blood staining the back of his shirt where the knife was being pressed into his flesh.

“Ángel–”

“Don’t open your fucking mouth,” he hissed as he pulled his own gun from its holster and planted it firmly on the intruder’s lips. “Unless you want it full of lead.”

A terribly slow moment passed as the two men made eye contact. Tears were streaming down Ángel’s face as he moved to pull the trigger, and–

Oliver thrust his knee up, hitting the back of Ángel’s calf and knocking him off balance. The gun went off, hitting nothing but the dirt a few feet away from the two men. Using his considerably greater size, Oliver pinned Ángel down and scrambled for his own gun.

“You’re a fool, Sheriff,” Ángel growled as he fought against his captor’s strength. “Even if you kill me, what are you going to accomplish? This won’t clear your name.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Oliver spat back. “You’re the one who got me into this situation, and by God am I going to take justice into my own hands.”

Ángel let out a spiteful laugh. “This isn’t justice, cabrón. Justice is a myth made up by men like you so you can do whatever you want without consequences.”

“I don’t care.” Oliver lifted his arm to reach for his gun, inadvertently giving Ángel enough freedom to punch him directly in the jaw. With a string of curses, he was thrust back onto the ground.

Bang!

Ángel staggered backwards as blood blossomed from his abdomen. He clutched at the black fabric, attempting to slow the bleeding. With his other hand, however, he drew his gun.

“I’ll see you in Hell, Sheriff.”

Bang!


☾🌕︎☽︎

Hazel sat at the campfire, mulling over the events of the past two months. Oliver would be back soon, and, when he was… Well, this was as good of a time as any to have a talk. For now, though, he sat, carving a piece of wood with his silver knife–the only thing he had left of either of his parents. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to carve, so he really just let his hands take him wherever they wanted to go.

The early Autumn breeze was a nice counter to the Arizona heat, and it carried with it a chorus of insects and the occasional coyote. Soon, though, he could hear footsteps.

“Sorry, darlin’, but I didn’t catch anything,” Oliver called sheepishly as he stopped to catch his breath. “Almost bagged a couple of roadrunners, but the little things are just too damn fast.”

Hazel’s carving snapped in two as he started at Oliver’s voice, but he smiled anyway and stood to offer his condolences. “We’ve got plenty of supplies left, honey. It’s really not a problem.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to make you something nice…” Oliver slumped into Hazel’s arms with a heavy sigh. “I wanted to make tonight special.”

Hazel patted his back a few times before pulling away to look at him. His big brown eyes were lovely in the firelight, but it was quickly clear that he was avoiding eye contact.

“Is something wrong?” Hazel frowned.

Oliver chewed on his lip for a moment, not sure what he could possibly say. “I… love you.”

Hazel laughed and planted a kiss on his forehead. “I love you too, but what’s–”

Oliver pulled him into a tight embrace, kissing him with uncharacteristic passion. His wiry beard pressed into Hazel’s face for what only one man knew would be the last time.

After an extended moment, Hazel pulled away.

“You big softie,” he said with a sideways grin. Hazel took Oliver’s hand and led him to sit down by the fire. “I thought you were upset about last night.”

Oliver shrugged and stared out into the distance.

“I’ve just been thinkin’ and felt I needed to… explain myself, some more, yeah?” Hazel took his lover’s hand in his. “It wasn’t my idea, you know. Doin’ that to you. It wasn’t anyone’s idea.”

“I know.”

“We were only tryin’ to, y’know–” Hazel tensed up. “D’you hear that, Ollie?”

Oliver said nothing. He did hear the horses, but he found that he couldn’t speak anymore.

“Ollie.” Hazel’s breath grew quicker.

“Ollie, what did you do?”

The disgraced sheriff stood as the two men dismounted their horses.

“Just like I told you,” he said, gesturing to Hazel.

With wide eyes, Hazel rose to his feet. He opened his mouth to protest, but he was quickly being thrust to the ground, right next to the fire.

“I’m sorry, darlin’.” Oliver wore a look of guilt, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. “I couldn’t just… Y’know…”

One of the lawmen pulled out a gun and placed it against Hazel’s temple, to which Oliver’s eyes widened.

“You said you were just going to arrest him.” Before he could reach out, the other man had grabbed him. “This wasn’t part of the deal–”

“She is a runaway slave and a murderer, Brooks,” the man with the gun said coldly. “You’re lucky we won’t lock you up for helping her.”

Bang!

Before Oliver could stutter out any sort of argument, it was too late. The absolute heartbreak and betrayal on Hazel’s face was burned permanently into his mind, as was the sight of his beloved’s brains splattered on the ground.

Oliver vomited.


☾🌕︎☽︎

The two men lay beside each other, fingers intertwined. Oliver had never quite known someone like Hazel, namely because there never was any other man like Hazel. He was beautiful, funny, kind, and a damn good shot. He was like an angel dressed in black denim and pearl earrings. An angel with guns and a pretty knife. They’d only been traveling together for a few weeks, but he wouldn’t have cared if they’d stayed together for the rest of their lives.

“D’you know any… Ah, hell, what d’you call ‘em? Constellations?” Hazel asked, gently squeezing Oliver’s hand as he stared up at the myriad of twinkling lights above them. It was unusually clear, which was all the more frustrating when he didn’t know the damn things’ names. “I always wanted to learn about the stars, but I never got the opportunity.”

“Oh, Lord, you’re askin’ the wrong man.” Oliver chuckled as he stared up at that which was equally incomprehensible to him. “I’ve always been more focused on stuff down here on Earth, I’m afraid.” He turned to look at Hazel. “‘Sides. Nothin’ up there could compare to what I’m seein’ down here.”

Hazel giggled, his deep brown eyes shining in the moonlight. “You, Oliver Brooks, are a fool.” Still, he turned his head over to meet his gaze. For a moment, they could see nothing but each other. “Are you ready to turn in for the night, or would you rather stare at me like a schoolboy?”

“Not quite either…” Oliver touched his forehead to Hazel’s, contemplating how to continue. “Would you, er, like to… Since we’re both out here, an’ we’re all alone… Well, it’s gettin’ mighty chilly out, ya know. If you’d like, we could, well…”

“Ollie,” Hazel said with a grin. “You know you can just ask me outright. Tell me what you wanna do.”

“I really can’t,” Oliver countered. “I’m not exactly used to this kinda–”

Hazel didn’t let him finish, as he’d already pushed their faces all the way together.


☾🌕︎☽︎

Oliver Brooks had been in prison for four months, two weeks, and six days, and he had hated every minute of it. This was unjust, dammit! The warden was sympathetic enough, but nobody else around him quite liked the presence of a sheriff who couldn’t shut his mouth.

It was the middle of the night when he was awoken by the sound of gunshots. Everyone seemingly leapt to their feet, desperate to see what was going on as a lithe stranger in a long black coat darted into the hallway. They were as quiet and agile as a cat, hunting through the cells for their assumed target. It so happened that Vincent, the man in the cell beside Oliver, was that target. He hadn’t been there for more than a few days, and he was already getting free. How typical.

“I knew you were coming,” Vincent said with a perfect white grin. He’d seemed too much of a prettyboy for this place, anyway. “Just the one of you, tonight?”

The door swung open and the stranger handed Vincent a ring of keys and a pistol.

“Not anymore. I’ve got you, now.” Their voice was delicate and sweet, and Oliver realized that they must be a woman. As they took off their hat to wipe their brow and revealed their long braids and pearl earrings, he thought he must be correct.

“What’s a lovely little lady like you doin’ causing a prison break,” Oliver joked as his own cell was being unlocked.

“I ain’t no goddamn woman,” they spat back, scowling. One of the criminal’s hands rested threateningly on a sheathed, ornate knife. “I’m a man.”

Oliver flushed with embarrassment as the door swung open. “Oh, Lord, I am so sorry. It’s just, well, I’ve never seen such a beautiful man before, y’see. I’ve seen plenty of mighty handsome men, but you’re frankly angelic–”

His savior smacked him across the cheek as he put his hat firmly back atop his head. “Get your ass out here, or I’m locking you back in.”

“Yessir,” Oliver said, stepping out. “Thank you, sir.”

“Quit callin’ me sir,” he hissed, leading Oliver outside by the arm as Vincent finished unlocking the other cells. The prison wasn’t exactly home to many criminals, so it wouldn’t take long. As they breathed in the night air, he took his hat off again. “You’re that Sheriff, yeah? Sheriff Brooks.”

“Yessir, I am.” Oliver held out his hand to shake. “Might I have your name, darling?”

After a long pause, he warily took his hand. “Hazel Blake.” The young man frowned. “Now don’t go telling anyone that, Sheriff, or I’ll have to kill you. I ain’t going to prison for saving your life.”

“I can’t exactly go back to my job after breaking out of prison, Mr. Blake.” Oliver shoved his hands into his pockets, an air of frustration settling around him. “No, I reckon I’m gonna track down the man who put me in there.”

Hazel’s grip on the brim of his hat tightened. “Who might that be?”

“Bloody Ángel Vázquez.”

“You’re joking,” Hazel countered. “What the hell did you do? Or, what did he do, I guess.”

“He killed a man.” Oliver’s expression turned dark.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Hazel frowned. “That lunatic’s known for blowing up whole towns and actin’ like some kinda sadistic showman, and you think he framed you for one murder?”

“I don’t just think he did, Mr. Blake.” 

The pair stared at each other for a moment. Hazel’s expression was unreadable.

“I’ve been… searching… for him, myself,” he finally told his new companion through grit teeth. “I was on my way to find him after getting Vinny back home. I… s’pose you’re welcome to join me.”

Oliver’s eyes lit up. “If you’ll have me, then I’d love to.”

“Perfect.” Hazel took a moment to fix his hair before holding out his hand to shake again. “I guess that means we’re friends now, Sheriff.”

“You can call me Oliver,” he said, enthusiastically shaking his hand. “Of course, my friends call me Ollie.”


☾🌕︎☽︎

The town was usually all but completely silent at night, so Oliver was out of the door immediately when he heard the scream. It came from behind the old courthouse, away from most of the other buildings by a good distance. The judges always said they’d get someone to plant a garden around it, but they’d been saying that for longer than Oliver had been alive.

He readied his gun as he turned the corner. At first, he barely saw anything, on account of the darkness. The sound of a heavy object being dragged, however, cut through the night’s ambience.

“Don’t move,” he barked. “Come out, or I’ll shoot.”

Somewhere in the darkness, someone laughed. Curse the damn new moon.

“What are you going to shoot, Sheriff?”

Oliver pointed his gun toward the voice and shot.

“Seems like you’re a bit hasty,” the voice said. It went silent for a moment before–

Click.

Something cold pressed against the back of Oliver’s head.

“¡Qué pena! I thought you’d be more interesting!”

“What do you want?” Oliver’s voice was steady, but his hands were trembling.

“Ah, nothing much!” The man with the gun circled around, bringing himself face to face with Oliver. He was familiar–very familiar. His horrible grin was plastered on wanted posters in every town for at least one hundred miles:

WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE

“BLOODY” ÁNGEL VÁZQUEZ

The reward money was higher every time he saw one.

“You’re…”

“I’m…?” Ángel smiled, and any doubts Oliver had about his identity were erased. “Finish your sentences, Sheriff!”

“Just shoot me already, I know what you do.” Oliver grit his teeth as he contemplated reaching for his gun. He wasn’t very good with it, but he could still be intimidating.

Ángel sighed and held up his hands in mock defeat. “I’m only here to report a murder, Sheriff!” He stepped backwards a bit and kicked the leg of a dark shadow on the ground. “Of course, I’ll be needing this back…” He reached down and plucked an intricate silver knife from the body’s neck. “But, well, I suppose you’re the one who deals with these situations, yeah?” He tucked the knife into his pocket, paying no mind to the blood dripping down his leather pants. “Buena suerte, Sheriff.”

Oliver didn’t have time to say anything before Ángel had receded into the shadows. He considered sprinting after him, but the sound of voices distracted him for just a moment too long. Some townsfolk had already spotted him.

“Sheriff? Is that you?”

“We heard a commotion! What happened?”

“Good God! Is that a corpse?”

“Oh, Lord. What did you do, Oliver? What did you do?”