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an-absolute-travesty · 2 years

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Cowboys are Frequently Secretly Fond of Each Other

Ahhhh it’s here!

After the wifi peacing out for like 12 hours, I thought I’d never get this posted lol. But’s it’s here at last.

It’s posted to AO3 and Wattpad (I know, I know) so if you prefer to read over there, its the same title.

This is... kinda a keefitz cowboy au? It’s like a cowboy/country/farmer/historical au.

It’s inspired by that one tumblr post that’s like “it weren’t the whiskey he were tryin to savor” or something like that

Tags: @cadence-talle @ruewen-and-rising @lemontarto @a-lonely-tatertot @catboyruy @percabetn @sewersewersewercouch @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @enbies-and-felonies @blxckh0les42 @rainbowtay-11 @callas-starkflower-stew @impostertamsong @sofia-not-sophie @stars-and-splendor @anna-without-an-e @thisbluewind @we-have-no-bananas-today @we-wont-dissapear @jadenightthewriter @ketterdamkid

And, a special tag to @cowboypossume for being very passionate about this. Idk if you can dedicate a fic to someone, but I would dedicate this to him lol.

And big thank you to @lesbianalliepressman for being the bestest beta in the whole wide world

TWs: Period-accurate homophobia, use of the q-word, swearing, underage (but not at the time) drinking, just 1880′s Kansas in general, very OOC Alden

Word count: 7,170

Keefe was walking through the hell more commonly known as Kansas.

The sun beat on his neck, thin shirt soaked with sweat, rocks digging into his bare feet.

If it was his choice, he would’ve been wearing shoes. Of course, it wasn’t, and his boots had been stolen about 12 miles east by some assholes calling themselves bandits.

If it was his choice, he also would’ve been riding a horse, but she had been stolen along with his shoes. And his spare clothes. And his water skin.

In the simplest of terms, Keefe was having a shitty, shitty day.

Luckily, just there, tiny in the horizon, there looked to be a homestead.

With renewed energy, Keefe waked faster. Then jogged. Then ran.

Eventually, with huffing breath, he reached the house.

It was… big. Whoever lived here was rich. The kind of rich that bought you a couple dozen acres of farmland, a pond, another dozen horses, and a house that really looked like it should’ve been a summer estate for the queen of England.

And standing right behind the gate, was the “whoever” that owned it.

“What’re you doin’ here, boy?”

The man was tall, but not in a particularly intimidating way. Really, it read more like a giraffe with a southern accent pretending to be a lion.

He was also vaguely familiar. There was a good chance Keefe ran into him some time in the last eight years he’d spent on the road. His accent wasn’t Kansas, really. It was more Georgia. Keefe had never been to Georgia, but this man seemed polished and rich enough that he might’ve done some travelling.

“Just passin’ through, sir. Could use a rest for a night, if you got a spare barn-” they did have a spare barn, they had 5 barns, hard not to have a spare, “I’m a good worker, sir. Good with horses, too. Just need a good night of sleep before I reach the next town.”

“Well, just your luck, son. There’s a town about 3 miles thataway. Could reach it by sundown if you get started now.”

“Sir, I really-”

“Alden!” yelled a woman, barrelling towards them faster than a train, “What in the world are you doin’?”

The woman, despite the fact that she was running at them faster than an Olympian, was much more majestic than the man at the gate. Her already dark skin was tanned in a way that anyone could tell she had spent her fair share of time outside, and her (clearly expensive, if simple and practical) dress trailed in the wind behind her like a flag in the wind.

“Della, darlin’, there’s no need-”

“Now, who do we have here?” she asked as she came to a stop, entirely ignoring the man, Alden.

“Um, my name’s Keefe, ma’am.”

“Got yourself a last name, Keefe?”

“No, ma’am, just Keefe will do.”

“Alright, then, Just Keefe. You go on and tell me how you got yourself in this neck of the woods while you walk up to the house with me.”

“Della,” protested Alden, “I really don’t think-”

“None of that nonsense, Alden. Boy’s clearly had a rough day. I expect we’ll hear all about it here, if you’ll just listen.”

And, oh boy, did Keefe tell.

He did his best to keep expletives out of the conversation, although it was hard. Awful as it was, he had to make himself look as pitiful and helpless to these folks as possible. It was always the same song and dance when trying to get help from people. It was easier when he was thirteen than at eighteen, but apparently he still had the charm. (Plus, a lot of material to work with.) Because after he was finished, Della said,

“Oh, you poor boy.”

And Alden was scowling with the anger of a hundred suns, although that look was erased when Della looked back at him.

“Won’t you come up to the house and eat lunch with us. In fact, I believe we’ll likely have some boots and clothes to spare for ya’. After that, you can rest up in the barn.”

“That’s too kind of you, Mrs…?”

“Vacker. Mrs. Vacker. But Della’ll do just fine, bein’ formal ain’t necessary.”

Vacker. Yes, that was it. Alden Vacker was one of his dad’s old drinking buddies, one of his politician friends. Of course, the man didn’t recognize Keefe. Likely, he’d last seen Keefe at age eight, fetching him another whiskey.

“Of course. Thank ya’ kindly, Della, ma’am.”

Della seemed satisfied.

Alden seemed silently enraged, like he was worried Keefe would find a way to steal all his horses and his family in the time it took him to blink.

~*~

It only took a few minutes of sitting awkwardly at the table, waiting for the Vacker kids to come inside for lunch, for Alden to use the worst opener Keefe could imagine.

“So, Keefe, you look awful familiar. Who’re your kin?”

“Oh, they ain’t no one, really.”

“Hm. Well, where’re ya’ from?”

“S’pose a bit of everywhere. Born in New York, but I ain’t been there for so long, I don’t even rightly remember what the city looks like, sir.”

A lie. It had been eight years, but it takes much longer to forget your only home. Hell, even the damn accent he’d been putting on for the last who-knows-how-many months was fake. But, it was so much easier to pretend to have been rural for all your life than explain your father was a rich asshole trying to make the politics of the far-north just the same as the far-south.

“Aw, well, that’s a right shame. Always liked the city. Used to go there for conventions n’ such. Nice break from all the fields. Got a few friends up there.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm. Let’s see, the Sencens were always nice, oh, and Quinlin, of course. Lord, I ain’t seen him in so long. Wonder how the old boy’s doin’ nowadays…”

He seemed lost in thought, and Keefe was hesitant to interrupt that.

Quinlin… yes. Quinlin. He also drank with Cassius, from time to time, although more than likely, he was just there to be with Alden. Keefe recalled many whispers he wasn’t meant to overhear from those days from his father to his mother.

“Gisela, I’m telling you. Those men are too close, I’m not inviting them again.”

“Oh, hush, will you? They’ve got political footholds. And money. It’ll do us more good than harm to have them on our side.”

The door slammed open with a crash as the sound of bickering immediately filled the room.

“Bi, you can’t do that while I’m breakin’ a horse!”

“You’ve been tryin’ to break that horse five damn months, now! If ya’ can’t ride him by now, we oughta just let the poor thing go or send him on a train to the glue factory, and I can ride my mare in whichever field I please.”

“Biana,” Della chided, “language. We have a guest, if you hadn't noticed.”

“Oh,” she said, “hello. Anyway, what’s for lunch, Mama?”

The boy shook his head, apparently exasperated by his sister’s antics, and approached Keefe with a hand out.

“Sorry, I’m sure I smell like horse shi-” - he looked at his mother, who was eyeing him already - “excrement. But, uh, I’m Fitz.”

He smiled, this excellent bright smile offset by his tanned skin. His portrait should’ve been put in the dictionary under the definition “ladykiller”. (Followed immediately by an addendum stating that he was also a Keefe-killer.)

Keefe cleared his throat.

“My friends call me Keefe,” he said as he met the handshake, a little flushed.

That was a lie. He didn’t have friends. His brain simply sputtered out and died, incapable of coming up with anything more clever.

“I s’pose we gotta be friends, then, considerin’ I don’t have anything else to call ya’.”

“S’pose so.”

He tried to do his best “I’m-not-flustered-I’m-totally-sauve” smirk, but he suspected it came off as more of a “doing-my-best-not-to-puke” grimace.

“Well,” Della broke in, “go get cleaned up for lunch. I’m not tryin’ to have two shit-smellin’ kids sittin’ at my table.”

“Oh-ho, I see, so you can swear-”

“Biana?”

“Yes’m. Cleanin’ up now.”

~*~

It was after lunch, and after a lot of not realizing he was staring at Fitz until Fitz caught him looking, that he got his new set of clothes.

“Fitz, dearie, lead Keefe up to Alvar’s room and let him pick out whatever’ll fit him.”

“... are you sure, Ma?”

“Course. What’s Alvar gonna do with ‘em?”

“Alrighty, then.”

He was led through their labyrinth of a mansion (three rooms, a hallway, a stairwell, two more hallways, another stairwell, another hallway) to a door.

“Here’ll be Alvar’s room. You heard Ma, pick out whatever’ll fit. He ain’t got a use for ‘em no more. He was a few inches taller than you, but it should do just fine.”

“I, uh, I’m sorry for your loss?”

“Hm? Oh, no, he ain’t dead. Not that we know of, at least. He just ran away. He got sucked into, uh… I suppose the nice way to call it would be overly traditional beliefs. Some religious something. The sort that tracks down whoever they don’t like and yell and cry that they need the Lord, and if they don’t comply, the next thing they know is their house is bein’ burned up and their horses n’ cows are set loose all over. If the bastard ain’t dead, he’s dead to me. Raid the room, if you wanna.”

“Ah, well in that case, very, very happy for your loss.”

This made Fitz crack another one of those brilliant, blinding, knock-your-socks-off smiles.

Staying in this house was gonna kill Keefe.

~*~

He came out of that room with a fresh shirt, a pair of trousers (that he had to cuff more time than he’d like to admit), and his pockets heavier with a few trinkets.

Nothing big, nothing that looked too awfully sentimental, just whatever he thought might be able to fetch a pretty penny or two for a meal when his stay at the Vacker’s house inevitably ran thin.

And, based on that look on Alden’s face as he entered the sitting room, he suspected his stay wouldn’t last too much longer.

“Keefe, son, come outside with me. I’ll show ya’ around.”

Keefe did not want to come outside with him. It was likely the last thing Keefe ever wanted to do. He really found it very tempting to run out the back door and book it three miles over to the next town.

Instead, he found himself on the porch with Alden, and before he knew it, his feet were no longer touching the ground.

In fact, he was now about six inches from the ground, being held up by his armpits.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“What’s your angle here, boy? I know your type, oh I know it too well. You come in here, you charm my daughter, you turn my son into a- a queer, you turn my wife against me. Admit it, you motherfucker-”

“I don’t know what the HELL you’re talking about! I’m just tryin’ to get work, goddammit!”

“Oh, sure, sure you are-”

Desperate to be free from the crazed man pinning him to a wall, Keefe used the only limbs he had free. His legs. Which just so happened to be at the perfect level.

“Ough, ohhhhh you-”

“Yeah, don’t fucking touch me. I think I’ll find my way around here well enough myself, thanks.”

~*~

He decided to settle down (most certainly not hide) in a barn that seemed to be exclusively used for storing hay.

Rich people.

He found a bale to sit on, dump out his small pile of semi-valuables to pawn off later, and resigned himself to stay there very very quietly, ideally until the Vackers forgot he existed, and he could slip out in the night and book it to the next town.

“Hey, Keefe? You out here anywhere?”

Well, shit.

Frantically, he stuffed the trinkets back into his pockets.

A crack of light fell over Keefe as the barn door was slid open, revealing Fitz.

“Ah, there ya’ are. Pap said you just walked off, Mama said we oughta keep you around ‘til at least dinner, so we had to find ya’.”

“Yes, yeah, um… I was just overwhelmed. Didn’t mean to take advantage of your kindness, or nothin’, just needed a minute.”

“Don’t worry none about that. You up to some work? Wouldn’t hurt to have a hand in breakin’ that horse Bi was pokin’ me about. You any good?”

“‘Course. And… yeah, I’m pretty good, I’d say.”

~*~

“Keefe?”

“Hm?”

“If I recall, you said you were pretty good. How in all the nine hells are you already ridin’ that damn horse?”

It had been about two hours. The stud was certainly jumpy, jittery, and all too eager to buck, but it wasn’t anything Keefe hadn’t dealt with before.

Of course, the horse was probably nearing on 19 hands tall, so that was certainly some motivation not to fall off.

“Horses just like me, ‘s all. It’ll take some more working to get old Grey here really ready, but I could give y’all some tips.”

“Tips? Lord, we’ve gotten tips from every damn equestrian in the state for Greyfell. They ain’t done what you’ve done in a few hours.”

“Aw, well, nothin’ much.”

Fitz shook his head and looked up like the sky would give him the answer to anything.

“C’mon, now,” Fitz said, “we should probably go on and put him up and get to workin’ on somethin’ else, don’t want Pap out here yellin’ to get back to work.”

“That man sure does seem to like yellin’,” Keefe said, dismounting.

“Mm-hmm. You ain’t seen the half of it. Although…”

“Although?” Keefe prompted.

“I, uh, I heard a bit of the commotion earlier. Not much. I didn’t want to tell Mama or nothin’, she’d get all worked up and then no one would be sleepin’ tonight through all that noise.”

“Well… I’m right sorry about that, I am.”

“Ain’t your doin’. Pap just gets… protective, I s’pose. ‘Specially after Alvar went and disappeared on us. Dunno if he cares ‘bout us, or just don’t want another family embarrassment, but he gets real suspicious ‘bout guests. First thing you know, there’s a handsome stranger called Ruy at the doorstep and next thing, the whole town’s gossipin’ about your oldest.”

“That explains it.”

“Still no excuse for him. But… I mean, hell, what can any of us do? Sorry, I don’t mean to dump all this stupid drama on ya’, just frustrated ‘s all.”

“Fathers are the worst sometimes. I can attest to that plenty well, I’ll promise ya’ that.”

“Mm. You can tell me all about it after you help weed the corn field.”

“Ugh.”

“Indeed.”

~*~

They were called up to dinner before Keefe could tell his sob story, all the better for him.

“Alden, how was it today?” Della asked, leaning over to peck Alden on the cheek.

“Just fine, darlin’,” he said, dodging the kiss, rounding over to fill his plate.

“Hm. Any progress on that stud, Fitz?”

“Oh, boy, was there-”

And so on went the dinner conversation, all pleasant and easy as the Vackers carefully tiptoed around any discourse like a ballerina in a minefield. Alden even only glared at Keefe a couple of times, so it seemed like he was warming up.

“Fitzy,” said Della after dessert had been served and dinner was well settled, “won’t you show Keefe down to the hay barn? Pick up some blankets for him, too.”

“Yes’m,” he said, getting up and motioning Keefe to follow.

“So,” Keefe started when they were outside, “Fitzy?”

“Lord,” he said with a laugh, “tried to stop her callin’ me that years ago. It’s no use. Nineteen years old, but that don’t matter none, I’ll always be a baby to her.”

“Mm. Mind me askin’ something awfully nosy?”

“Shoot.”

“You’re nineteen, you’re mad at your father… why ain’t you left yet?”

“I… I can’t leave Bi here. She’s plenty prickly enough to survive on her own, she’s strong like that, but she’s still seventeen. Pap ain’t exactly a suffragist. He ain’t gonna want her to leave ‘till she finds some man, or ‘till she’s old enough to do it on her own. We’re still poolin’ whatever resources we can. And then there’s…”

“Della?”

“Mm-hmm. We don’t wanna break Ma’s heart. Well, again. Ah, here’s the hay barn, you’re familiar.”

“Yep. I’ll see ya’ in the mornin’, I s’pose.”

“Wait, now, you can’t stay out here alone. There’re wolves, and- and timber wolves, and coyotes, and… well, mostly different sorts of dogs, but the point stands.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever dogs mother nature throws my way.”

“Oh, yeah? They get all up in our chicken coops, spook the horses, the farm’s crawling with ‘em at night.”

“Good thing I ain’t a chicken or a horse. What in the world would you do to help, anyway?”

“I can fight off a wolf.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then, you can sleep right outside that door, there. When I hear ya’ screamin’, I know I oughta run on up to the house.”

Fitz bristled at this with all the confidence of a man who insisted he could fight off at least twelve wolves, thank you very much. This, despite the fact he had been bucked off of Greyfell at least twice no more than eight hours previous.

“Alright, you can keep me company down here if you want, Fitzy. But I ain’t hearin’ no complaints about bein’ cold.”

“Won’t need to, ‘cause I ain’t gonna complain one bit.”

~*~

To his credit, Fitz didn’t complain. That didn’t mean he didn’t shiver with enough force to shake the entire barn and probably cause an earthquake all the way through the earth in China.

“Alright, that’s enough of that, c’mere, you’re gonna shake the house down with all that shiverin’.”

“What? I ain’t complained none.”

“Yeah, you ain’t complained, but I ain’t gonna be able to move on to the next town if it’s rubble from your shakin’.”

“Can’t help it none.”

“Naw, but if you’ll come here we’ll both be warm.”

Fitz scooted a little closer, very clearly hesitant.

“C’mon, Fitzy, I don’t bite. Less ya’ want me to.”

He huffed a little before closing the rest of the distance, turning away from Keefe, allowing him to wrap an arm around Fitz’s torso.

“See, ain’t that bad.”

“Don’t bite, you’ll be just as bad as the wolves.”

“Not without consent, Fitzy.”

“Oy vey.”

“Hehehe.”

~*~

It is generally accepted that, perhaps one of the worst ways to wake up, would be the sound of a banging door followed by an onslaught of slurs.

This is, indeed, the exact condition Fitz and Keefe found themselves in that morning.

Of course, Alden was the perpetrator.

“FITZROY AVERY VACKER! IN THE HOUSE! NOW!”

“WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?!”

“HOUSE!”

“LORD! OKAY! OKAY!”

Fitz scrambled up, rushing out the door.

He paused, turning towards Keefe like he was thinking about staying and helping.

Keefe shook his head.

In a fraction of a second, Keefe was being grabbed by his collar, only a few inches away from the face of a man who clearly hadn’t yet brushed his teeth.

“I’m gettin’ pretty damn tired of you bein’ at my house. Corruptin’ my boy. You’re gonna turn him to a damn queer, I know you are.”

“Well, sir, I guess it takes a queer to know a queer.”

“The hell are you insinuating, boy?”

“I was just thinkin’, sir,” Keefe said earnestly, “Don’t seem to care about your wife all that much, despite that - if I may say, sir - she’s very beautiful. You don’t have any workers on the farm, which ain’t usual for one this big. Trying to prove yourself, maybe? Make sure your son won’t follow in your… particular footsteps. Make a man outta him. And, well, Mr. Vacker we ain’t even gotten to your awfully close past relationship with one Mr. Quinlin Sonden-”

“That’s enough!” Alden said, finally letting go of Keefe’s shirt and pushing him away.

“Dunno what the upset is about, sir. Anyway, what sort of work is there to do today?”

Alden was silent for a moment.

“Come up to breakfast, first. Thinkin’ we’ll fix up the barn today. Got some holes in it. We’ll make sure it don’t get too cold down here again.”

“Thank you kindly, sir. That’ll be much appreciated.”

~*~

Fitz didn’t come down to work that day, which was unsurprising. This meant the “we” in Alden’s statement was about as much of a lie as his wedding vows, and left Keefe to patch, paint, and fix the entire barn by himself.

After he was done, he was about as red as a cooked lobster and about as warm as one too. All he needed was to be slathered in butter, and he’d make a delicious meal.

Apparently, in his fixation and dedication to the barn, he’d missed lunch, because next thing he knew Fitz was coming down with a plate of dinner.

“Oh, what time is it?” Keefe asked, climbing down from his perch on the ladder.

“About seven. We, uh, tried to call you up, but you seemed awful focused.”

“Ah. Sorry about that.”

“It ain’t nothin’. C’mon in the barn. I snuck somethin’ extra, but if Ma or Pap sees it, we’ll be gettin’ an earful.”

Once settled across from each other on their respective hay bales, Fitz pulled something out of a satchel at his side.

He took a sip from the flask before tossing it over to Keefe.

“Mm,” Keefe said after a sniff, “whiskey?”

“Bourbon, technically. Pap gets the good stuff.”

He took a swig with a grimace. He’d never gotten used to the burn of alcohol, but anything to help ignore the skin peeling up from his red neck.

“Ah, yeah, and food. Don’t take that stuff on an empty stomach, ‘less you like seein’ the walls spin.”

He handed over the plate, the Vacker’s typical rich dinner. Meat and potatoes, veggies, bread, a full spread.

Keefe eagerly shoved the mashed potatoes in his mouth, mumbling out what was intended to be “compliments to the chef”, although it sounded more like “compwemess do te shef”

“I’ll tell her,” Fitz said with a laugh.

There was a pause where Keefe ate, shovelling food in his mouth at a pace only teenage boys can achieve.

Meanwhile, Fitz took occasional sips of the bourbon, mouth lingering at the lip of the flask after each.

After about three quarters of a plate’s worth of food was shoved down Keefe’s throat within about ten minutes, Fitz spoke.

“Can I uh… can I ask you a question?”

“ ‘Course.”

“Pap was… quiet, today. Said I didn’t need to work, and that was about it. What happened down here?”

“Oh, nothin’ much. I just called him on his behavior, ‘s all. He didn’t like it much.”

“I expect not. What’d you say, exactly?”

“You want the pretty version or the ugly version?” Keefe asked, staring at the ground.

“The honest version.”

“I suspected so. Well, then… he grabbed me by my shirt, told me I was gonna turn you into, quote, ‘a queer’, and I posited that it took one to know one. I had some evidence he didn’t appreciate, I s’pose. He let me off the hook after that.”

Fitz thought for a minute.

“Well, his reasonin’ was awful flawed.”

“Why’s that?” Keefe asked.

“Mighty hard to turn someone into something they already are.” Fitz took another swig of from the flask, tossing it to Keefe. “Don’t you agree?”

“I certainly do… Fitzroy Avery.”

“Lord, I have got to tell them to hush up,” Fitz said, shaking his head, while Keefe laughed maniacally.

“Fitzroy, seriously? Like, alright, nickname Fitz. Full name? I’d guess Fitzgerald, Fitzwilliam, but no. No. The Vackers can’t have NORMAL names! No! We gotta have Alvar, Biana, and Fitzroy, like honestly-”

“Oh, yeah, that’s awful rich from you, Keefe-”

“Let’s not even get STARTED on AVERY-”

“And what’s your middle name, Mister Normal Name?”

“None of your damn business, that’s what-”

“I bet it’s somethin’ great. I bet it’s… Nigel! No, no, wait, I know what it is.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“And what’s that, exactly?”

“Willard.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Am I right?”

“No! You ain’t right! What kinda fuckin name is Keefe Willard Sencen, like honestly-”

He was going to continue, but that’s when he realized he’d said his surname. One Fitz would almost certainly be familiar with, and far too rare to be a coincidence.

At this point, Fitz had worked himself to a giggling frenzy, too much to reply, and hopefully too much to have noticed Keefe’s slip.

“You’re drunk off your ass, Fitzroy.”

“I am still on my ass, thank you very much. I am still using this ass, you can’t have it.”

“God almighty, give me strength.”

“Not much stronger than Pap’s supply,” Fitz said, gesturing at the flask Keefe still held.

Keefe sighed and took another swig.

“S’pose I’d be a bad friend if I let you get ruined on your own.”

“All too true.”

Resigning himself to having a pounding headache the next morning, Keefe got to work.

~*~

Long after the flask was empty and many conversations about nothing and everything were had, they figured it was probably time to settle down and sleep.

“You stayin’ down here again?” Keefe asked, most of the slur to his speech wearing off. “Big risk. Don’t wanna get yelled at again.”

“Lord, can’t go back to the house. I’d get crucified.”

“Mm. That’d be a shame. ‘S probably worth the yellin’, then.”

“Mm-hmm.”

There was a lapse, long enough that Keefe was almost sure Fitz had fallen asleep, until he talked again.

“Thank you.”

“For what? Drinkin’ your liquor and makin’ you sleep in a barn?”

“For not… reacting. When I told you I’m queer.”

“ ‘Course, what else would I do?”

“Dunno. I was pretty damn sure I’d be alright. But, sometimes the ones that seem the kindest will surprise ya’. You didn’t, though.”

“Mm. What gave away I wouldn’t do nothin’ bad?”

“Offerin’ to bite me is pretty high on the list.”

Keefe laughed.

“I s’pose that might’ve helped.”

There was another lapse, long enough that Keefe started to nod off, before he figured it was now or never.

“I am, too.”

“Hm?”

“I’m queer, too.”

“I figured as much.”

“The bitin’ thing?”

“That, and I can read minds.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm… I’m uh, whatchamacallit, I’m a telescope.”

“Ya’ are?”

“Yep.”

“What am I thinkin’ about now?”

There was just enough light in the barn to see Fitz had a shit-eating grin filled with confidence only a half drunken man could achieve.

“You… are thinkin’… about… mmmmmm… ah, yes, about how I’m a telegram.”

“That’s cheatin’. And it ain’t even true. I don’t think that’s the word you're lookin’ for, neither.”

“It ain’t? I’m a… uh… teleport. Telephone.”

“Telepath.”

“Yes! That’s the one. I’m a telepass.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Naw, I’m a telefuck.”

“You’re doin’ this on purpose.”

“Well, how’d you know that? Are you a teledick, too?”

“Say, can teleshits read the future?”

“Don’t see why not.”

“Good. That way you can see that I’m about to knock you into next Tuesday.”

Fitz collapsed into drunken laughter again, and Keefe took the opportunity to crawl over and playfully punch him.

“I foresaw this!” Fitz proclaimed, “With my fourth eye!”

“Shut your trap!”

“Never!”

“You’re a bastard.”

“And I know it!”

After a little more drunk giggling, Fitz eagerly cuddled up to Keefe.

“You’re different drunk,” Keefe said, stating the painfully obvious as if it would get him an explanation.

“S’pose. Maybe I’m just more… out.”

Within the minute, he was dead asleep.

~*~

To Keefe’s immense surprise, he didn’t wake up to the song of slurs. Just a bell telling them breakfast was ready and Biana screeching a similar message from outside the barn.

“Pancakes! Pancakes! If y’all ain’t up at the house in five minutes, I’m eatin’ your serve!”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re comin’,” Keefe mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Fitz barely stirred.

“C’mon, Fitzy, up you get.”

“No… ‘s too… bright,” Fitz said, hardly intelligible.

“I’ll drag ya’ if I have to.”

“Mm.”

“Well, then. Alright.”

“Mm- Wha- Hey, hey, alright, alright, alright-”

Luckily, it had only taken dragging Fitz a few feet by his ankles before he willingly got up.

“Hey.” Biana popped her head through the cracked barn door. “I’m serious, I’ll eat the pancakes, quit your flirtin’.”

“She means it,” Fitz confirmed with the tone of a man who had more experience in the matter than he liked, and stumbled out the door.

~*~

“Keefe, son,” Alden said, “follow me out ‘ere, need your help with somethin’.”

Despite every single one of his instincts telling him to run for the hills and take his chances with whatever wolves and timber wolves and coyotes were out there, Keefe followed Alden.

The minute they were outside, standing on the porch, Alden got this awful look on his face. The sort of smile you only have after you’ve trapped a chess master and know you’re about to win, or a starving man whose lure has just worked and knows he’ll eat well that night.

“You know, Keefe, I should’ve saw it sooner. You look just like your father, you know. Spittin’ image. Can’t believe I didn’t know you were Cassius’ boy from the minute you opened your mouth. You talk with ‘bout as much confidence as he did.”

Keefe found himself too shocked to reply. It was only a matter of time, he knew that, but he thought he’d have longer than two days.

“Now, son, I’m gonna give you two options. I’m nice like that. Now, first one, is you get off my farm by tomorrow morning. I want you away before dawn and I don’t want the kids or Della to know ‘bout it. If you ain’t gone, well, we’ll just see if you can outrun a shotgun.

Now, there’s another way. You can stay right here, and I’ll write a letter to your Pappy, and he’ll come ‘n get ya’. I’m sure he misses his son somethin’ awful. You’ve been missing for eight years, now? The triumphant return of a politician’s son, after an accident where he lost all his memory of home at age ten and just kept on walkin’. Met with warmth and wealth all the way in New York. Now, innit that a nice news story? You’ll fund The Sun for weeks.”

“I ain’t goin’ back home, I’ll tell ya’ that much.”

“Don’t blame ya’. Can’t imagine Cassius without Gisela whisperin’ in his ear. If I ain’t mistaken, she ran off with the same folks my son did. Hm. S’pose the Sencens are fans of tryin’ to corrupt innocent boys.”

“I have as much dirt on you as you do on me, old man.”

“Mm. But who’s gonna believe a bratty rich runaway over a charmin’ well-established farmer from Georgia?”

“You certainly ain’t charmed me.”

“I certainly ain’t tried. Now, it would be real nice of ya’ to water n’ brush the horses, if you’d please.”

Knowing well enough when he was stuck in a corner, Keefe walked off to comply.

“Oh, one more thing, nearly forgot.”

Keefe paused in his steps without turning around.

“Try not to talk to Fitz today. I’ll be watchin’.”

Keefe kept walking.

“Hey, now, son! What do we say when we’re told to do somethin’? You forget your manners?”

“Yes, yes, I won’t talk to Fitz.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Get on down there, now, while there’s still light to the day.”

~*~

Keefe spent the entire day companionless, as Fitz was once again excused from work, and Alden was allergic to doing any work himself. At least this gave him time to plan his escape.

He wanted to go out easy. Quiet. But not without impact.

It would be simple enough to go in the house, snatch what he could (little things that would fetch a pretty penny. Not too sentimental. Not if he could help it.) and get out quick. He could be at the town by sunrise, and back out of the town before noon. Booking it enough that even if Alden tried to chase after him, Keefe would always be a few hours ahead.

He didn’t respond to the bell for lunch, nor for dinner, despite hearing them. He couldn’t face Fitz, not in front of Alden, not without spilling his guts and running away.

Of course, he should’ve realized sooner that Fitz was an inevitability, because it certainly seemed that way when he turned up with a plate of dinner at the barn door.

“Keefe? Ya’ down here? Got some pot pie.”

Keefe rushed to meet him, hoping he was subtle enough in his blocking of the doorway. Hoping this was an olive branch to Alden. Look, I ain’t seducing your son, he’s right in your sight.

“Ah, thank ya’ kindly.”

“You need someone to eat with? Ain’t got bourbon this time ‘round, I’m afraid. Pap is on edge somethin’ fierce, couldn’t slip anythin’ under his nose.”

“Well, now, I don’t wanna burden ya’.”

“You ain’t no burden. C’mon, we ain’t talked all day. Don’t got many friends on the farm, it’s you or the horses.”

“Biana wouldn’t like bein’ called that.”

Fitz laughed, but Keefe was too busy checking the house for a man pointing a shotgun at him to enjoy it. Indeed, right in the window was the outline of a man. They were being watched.

“Keefe.”

“Hm?”

“Did ya’ hear what I said?”

“Oh, naw, sorry. Got distracted. What was it?”

“You all right?”

“Right as rain.”

“Hmph. Alright then. I s’pose you don’t want no company?”

“Naw, don’t worry, I’m perfect here by myself.”

“I’ll take you by your word, then,” Fitz said, handing over the plate.

Please don’t.

“Okay.”

~*~

Keefe wasn’t disturbed again until midnight.

Sleep was well out of the equation, and he was terribly on guard. Any snap of a twig meant Alden was turning the corner with a shiny new Winchester, when the wind howled Keefe figured he must be using it to cover that he was loading, when it was all too silent it meant he must be aiming it.

But, quite stupidly, Keefe’s first thought when the barn door slid open with a creak, was wolves.

Fortunately, it was neither an angry father, nor an elusive Vacker Farm Wolf, just Fitz holding an oil lantern.

Fitz, holding an oil lantern, catching Keefe in the middle of loading up a blanket with his previously snatched treasures.

Less fortunate.

“Oh, you’re awake. Um. What’re doin’?” Fitz asked.

“I don’t- I mean- There ain’t a good explanation, I’m sorry-”

Fitz stepped forward, looking at the trinkets.

“This stuff from Alvar’s room?”

“Y-yeah. But I didn’t- I don’t- I’ll put it back-”

“Hm? Naw, it ain’t of no use. Told ya’ before, Alvar ain’t comin’ back, and we weren’t using it.”

“Oh.”

“I’m more worried that it looks like you’re packin’ up on us.”

“Yes. Right. That. Tell ya’ the truth, I shouldn’t even be talkin’ to you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Your father made a very convincing argument involving a shotgun.”

Fitz sighed.

“I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“He told me to get out by dawn. You caught me right on time.”

“Well, if dawn’s the deadline, we got a while.”

“Maybe not the best verbiage, there. All too literal.”

Fitz laughed, walking over to take a seat on a hay bale, patting the space next to him to invite Keefe to sit.

It was a moment after they were settled that Keefe asked,

“So, what made you come down here?”

“I wasn’t all that convinced earlier. You’re always weird, actin’, but that was worse.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Also…”

“Also?”

“I was thinkin’ that you know everything about us, but I don’t know a damn thing about you.”

“I don’t know everything about you,” Keefe insisted.

“Yeah? Ask, I’m an open book. Then it’s your turn, though.”

“Alright. Y’all ain’t from Kansas, how’d you end up all the way out here?”

“The farm was my great aunt’s. She’s… well, she ain’t the nicest person. Maybe one of the meanest, and most stubborn. She didn’t like it when Kansas decided it was gonna join the Union in the war. She had to free all those folks, whether she liked it or not, and then she wouldn’t hire any… morally correct workers. She just said she was gonna do it all herself. Lord, she managed about fifteen years at it. Don’t know how. But we took over about five years back.”

“Well. You are open.”

“Mm-hmm. Anything else?” Fitz asked.

“Um. Well. No, frankly.”

“Good. My turn, then. Where’re you from?”

“Everywhere. Nowhere.”

“Not the answer I’m lookin’ for, you know that.”

Keefe sighed.

“New York. But I haven’t been there in eight years.”

“Since you were ten?”

“Yes. That’s, um… that’s when I ran away.”

“That’s awful young. Why?”

“My father’s an asshole, my mother’s in a cult. As I saw it, it was that or some kinda boarding school for politicians in training.”

“Did I hear right the other night? You’re a Sencen?”

“Unfortunately. Don’t claim that name anymore, though. Not that many folks recognize it, out here. Except y’all. I stumbled on the only farm in miles that would know my name.”

“Just your luck.”

“Indeed.”

“Where’re you headed, at the end of all of this runnin’?”

“Not sure, honestly. I like the sound of California. Not even sure I know how to settle down somewhere. I’m too jittery.”

“So… you probably ain’t stickin’ around Kansas long?”

“Not if I have a say in it. I’m sorry, but I hate this place. It’s the tenth circle of hell, I swear.”

“Lord. Can’t say I disagree.”

They sat in silence for a while, just listening to the sounds of the world outside the barn and staring at the lamplight.

“Fitz.”

“Hm?”

“I really… I need to go. I’m not trying to meet the working end of a shotgun tonight.”

Fitz sighed.

“Can I be honest?” he asked.

“Always.”

“I really hate this damn house, Keefe. I know it’s easy to… I don’t know, easy to just say you hate somethin’. But I am being serious, I am itchin’ to get outta this fuckin’ place. And… and if this ain’t an opportunity, I don’t know what is.”

“Fitz… I don’t-”

“I’m not kidding around, when the hell else am I supposed to get out? Biana and I both can be packed in half an hour, flat. I’m ready, Keefe, I am.”

“Fitz-”

“Keefe. I am serious. Run away with me.”

“You… your life, I mean, it’s a good one! You’ve never worried about money, you- I mean, you do farm work, but you haven’t worked for a living. Are you ready to-”

“Aw, hell.”

Fitz leaned over, guiding Keefe’s face to his and meeting him with a kiss.

It was tender, and slow. Nothing like the fevered, desperate, fast kissing Keefe had been thinking about (more frequently than he’d ever admit) over the last days.

Keefe would be lying if he said he didn’t immediately melt into it, barely caught off guard. He would be lying if he said something about this didn’t feel inherently right. More than any other boy he’d messed around with, way more than any girl he’d messed around with.

So, when Fitz finally pulled away, all he could say was,

“Wow.”

And then,

“Okay, yea- yes. Yes. I’ll take you. But, you know that Alden will probably chase us. Or say we’re missing, and get the police to do the work for him. It won’t be easy.”

“Well, going on the lam sounds like a new adventure. By the time we hit California, we’ll have new identities, new backstories, new accents, everything.”

“New accents?”

“I’ll be British, or somethin’. Whatever.”

“Alright, redcoat, get packed. Hurry, now.”

“Thirty minutes, flat. Promise.”

“Don’t get caught.”

“I don’t make mistakes,” Fitz said with a wink, grabbing his lamp and exiting the barn.

~*~

How the house caught fire and the horses got free, no one would know for sure.

But, it was most certainly not a mistake if Fitz was to be believed, and the biggest damn mistake in the world if Keefe was.

It went something along the lines of this:

Keefe, too jittery to sit down any longer, stepped outside to anxiously await the sibling’s return.

That was when he saw the first trace of a glow.

Immediately followed by two frantic figures running towards him, bags trailing in the air behind them, clothing loosely stuck and shoved within.

“What the hell happened?!” he asked, as they finally reached him.

“Dropped the damn lamp! C’mon, ain’t got no time!” Fitz yelled, grabbing Keefe’s wrist and dragging him to a run.

They followed Biana to the stables. She was already unlocking the main door and swiftly moved to freeing her horse.

“Take your choice,” she said, “I call Silveny.”

Fitz went to get his horse, and Keefe was immediately drawn to Greyfell.

“Keefe, that’s a horrible idea,” Fitz said as Keefe unlocked the gate and lead the half asleep horse out.

“Naw, it’s a great idea. No one’ll steal him, cause no one else can ride his crazy ass.”

Fitz rolled his eyes, but even in the dark, Keefe could see a hint of a smile on his face.

“C’mon, boys,” Biana said, “We gotta run.”

“Wait,” Fitz said, going over to another mare, unlocking her gate.

“Fitz, we can’t take four horses,” Biana said.

“Naw. But they’ll scatter, the fire’ll scare them, and then Pap can’t chase us without a horse to ride. He’ll never catch up.”

By the time they mounted and rode to the dirt path that led from the house, two other figures were in the yard, staring helplessly as their house burned further.

Alden, so preoccupied with staring uselessly at his home that he didn’t notice the riders in the distance.

And Della, looking at them, frozen.

The riders slowed, seeming to meet an impasse just from her stare.

With a bit of hesitation, she nodded. Waving them on towards the road. The closest to a goodbye she could give.

~*~

When Keith, Bianca, and Fitzwilliam Baker rode across the California line a month after a bandit burned down Alden Vacker’s home and kidnapped his two children, no one blinked an eye.

When they rode up to a farm filled with free walking animals, and were met with a kind looking blonde man, no threats were made.

When “Keith” said, “Sir, my friends and I need work. Do you have some place mats to spare?” The man didn’t even need to think.

“Of course,” he said, with a smile, “welcome to Havenfield.”

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fic #keefitz #yeah :)

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