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madhattervanessa · 10 months

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Kill You To Try (Chapter 1)

Summary: Between old and new issues, you let your own health drag. Not everyone seems to be okay with it.

Warnings: grief, prescription pills

Words: 2629

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I need a hero! I’m holding out-

You’re abruptly ripped out of your dreamless sleep and reach out to blindly grab your phone from the nightstand.

“What’s wrong?”

You rub the sand out of your eyes with your other hand. As you open them, you blink up into the darkness.

“Need you to come down, I have some trouble with a horse.”

“Are you in the stables?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be right there, Lee.”

You end the call and let your hand with the phone fall onto the mattress. You follow the grain of the wood in the ceiling with your eyes as you feel your pulse slowing down from its sprint.

It’s strange, not waking up in your bed.

Then again, you have not been sleeping in anything you could call your own bed for the past year.

You sigh and detangle yourself from the suffocating sea of thick duvets. As you swing your feet over the edge of the bed, the moist sheen of sweat on your skin makes you shiver.

You drag your shirt off on the way to the bathroom.

You grab the bar of soap from the shower and bend over the sink. As you start washing yourself, you risk a cautionary look in the mirror.

Your eyes are rimmed with red, the bags underneath a prominent purple, and the lines on the sides of your face are a testament to your tossing and turning throughout the night.

You close your eyes and breathe in the fresh pine smell of the soap.

After drying yourself with a towel, you wander back into the bedroom.

Mindlessly, you pull on your underwear, faded jeans, and a faded but thick sweater, before you roll on your socks and grab your boots as you make your way out of the room.

Downstairs, you hear the hiss of running water from the kitchen. You knock on your way in and let your eyes wander over the generous baskets of produce and the breakfast spread on the kitchen island.

Gabriel, the Dutton’s personal chef, looks over his shoulder from where he is washing produce in the sink.

“Good morning. Since when have you been back?”

You shuffle into the kitchen, the scent of fresh herbs and wet vegetables washing over you.

“Few days ago. D’you have any coffee?”

He dries his hands on the towel hanging from his shoulder, offering a quick smile.

“Definitely. Why don’t you grab some breakfast, too?” He gestures towards the breakfast spread, the eggs still steaming.

“God bless you, Gator,” you murmur and take a seat at the wooden kitchen island. As you lean onto the smooth wooden counter, the smell of bread and butter fills your nose. You spy a leftover plate from what must have been Lee's breakfast.

You reach for a thick slice of bread to pile some eggs on. Just as you chew on your first bite, your travel mug is set down next to your arm. You open your eyes to Gator's scrutinizing look and wipe some butter from the corner of your lips to your mouth.

“Jesus, girl, when’s the last time you ate?”

You hum and swallow before reaching for the coffee.

“Don't ask. Wasn't your food, anyways," you mutter before continuing to scarf down your breakfast with quick, eager bites.

Gator sighs and lingers at the counter.

"Well, I'm glad you're back to appreciate it. Lee just scarfs down everything and leaves. Don't get me started on the others."

You wipe your hands off on your pants and start pulling on your socks and boots. After swallowing your last bite, you meet his eye.

"Like father, like sons. They don't know how good they have it a lot of times, Gator."

You take another sip of the piping hot coffee, rolling your eyes in delight before screwing the lid shut.

"Can I leave my plate?"

"Of course. Just grab some fruit before you go."

"Thanks," you mutter. He pushes an apple into your hand and clasps your shoulder before turning back to the sink.

You bite into it and grab your mug. On your way out, you pull on your hat and jacket.

The morning air sends a shiver down your spine. On your way to the barn, you chew your bite of the apple.

Your steps are cut short when you see a shadow from the corner of your eye. The apple falls to the ground as Lee bumps into you, both of you apologizing to each other as you stop.

"Oh-sorr- Jesus Christ, kid. You look like shit."

You glare at Lee, unamused by his honest words this morning, as if you hadn't previously been aware of your greasy bedhead.

"You called me. I'm here.

"Right. Follow me." He clears his throat, awkwardly pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. A move that seems to be genetically imprinted on all of the Dutton kids. You drop your frown and follow Lee through the stable door.

The light inside is still dim, just a few pale yellow rays of sun manage their way through the windows, tinting everything in a gentle, warm hue that only seems to intensify the mellow fragrances lingering inside: Dry, sweet hay and musky manure, the smell of the leather saddles and warm, mellow horse fur.

It makes your heart squeeze. You missed it all, you realize, startlingly, as you look around until you find one of the horses already out of its box.

Lee gently envelops the horse's nose in his hands before walking over to its side, murmuring something soothing. The grayish gelding whinnies quietly before snorting and whipping his head towards his stomach.

"What made you call me?" you ask. Your boots click on the ground as you approach the horse you now recognize as Cisco, a young horse that had joined the herd just months ago.

"He was sweating bullets and bein' restless when I came in." You study Cisco's eyes before opening his mouth to check his gums. When you finish, you muffle a yawn in the crook of your elbow and gently trace your hand over Cisco's neck.

You pat it soothingly as you let your other hand glide over his side, feeling for anything unusual.

"I thought it might be Colic. But I wanted you to check now that you're back."

You hum in agreement and let your hands scan Cisco's shoulder, the crest, and his spine before reaching toward his stomach. You get a bump against your back for it, the morning air filled with the dull sound of hooves scratching against the concrete floor of the stables.

"I'm thinking Colic is right on the money, Lee", you sigh and turn to look at him over the horse's back. "I'm going to have a look for any build-up but one of you guys has to make sure he moves around today, it will help against his stomach cramps."

Lee scratches the back of his head, already cringing openly.

"I need them out today."

"Well if you don't need me out on the pasture I can do it."

He nods and leaves with a muttered, "I'll leave you to it."

You watch him go, your hand ceaselessly repeating the back and forth on Cisco's back as you watch the first lights in the bunkhouse turn on, just in time for Lee to open the door.

You turn back, muttering some more encouragement to the sick horse before you go to work on him.

"Good morning."

You puff your cheeks before exhaling slowly. The air billows into small clouds in front of you.

"Mind your breathing. Use it to ground yourself, darling."

With the words, the memories of soft morning air, soft cushions on the ground and the smell of myrrh come flooding back, too.

You wish you could call her. Your throat feels tight at the thought.

"Morning."

You pull your hat a bit lower, mindful of the purple bags underneath your eyes that feel like your face is being weighed down. You roll up your whip over your elbow, fiddling with the flaying ends of it, twisting every strand.

"What's poor Cisco in for?"

The rhythmic pounding of Cisco's hooves in the sand echoes on the ranch.

"Colic."

"D'you need anything? Your case, or something?"

"It's fine, I'm almost done. Just needed to get him moving."

You click at the horse, encouraging him to keep moving. Rip's stare is burning holes in the back of your head. He kicks against the wooden post he's leaning against, grating against your already stretched-thin nerves.

"Don't you want to talk about it?"

You contain your laugh in a humorless, short huff.

But you smother the bitterness. Rip doesn't deserve your sour mood this morning.

It might just be the sleepless nights, anyways.

"I ain't ever seen you like this, Bones."

"If you keep talking, you can run laps, next. I won't spare you the whip, either."

The high, grating sound of his whistling, and the warm laughter that follows, snap your nerves.

You let your whip whirr through the air and precisely snap the fence next to him.

"Fuck-!"

You lift your chin, satisfied by the curses behind you as you follow Cisco with more encouraging clicks, turning with him until you can sneak a look at Rip.

The sight of his spilled coffee makes you smirk. Your eyes meet and you twirl the whip over your head again in a pretty circle.

He cusses, clutching his hat as he crouches down behind the fence, anticipating the next hit.

You don't let it come, just to see him squirm again. When he straightens up, he kicks against his coffee cup in the sand and throws another dagger of a look toward you before turning his back on you, leaving you behind, his hands no doubt balled into fists in the pockets of his jacket.

You gnaw at the raw inside of your cheek, biting at it until you can taste blood again.

When Lee finally returns, you watch the other farmhands file out towards the stables, too.

Rip is holding a new cup of coffee but doesn’t dare look at you.

The young farmhand next to him, however, does, chewing with his mouth open as he lets his eyes travel up, down, and up again.

It’s a whole thing with new farmhands, has been since you were twelve and suddenly nestling more weight on your hips.

He looks painfully young, dragged out of college young.

Probably the only reason he’s here anyways. Nothing fits him right, not even his silly little hat.

Except maybe for that fat grin of his.

“Who’s this pretty young thing!”, he hollers. Before you can say anything, a harsh slap is already delivered to the back of his head from Lloyd.

You let the whip whirl over your head anyways, you have to. It’s the law. You would rather die than leave it to the men around the farm to enforce respect for you. You receive more welcome and friendly hollers that speak of admiration from the men you already know from the past few years in response. It warms your chest and you mock a curtsy before turning back to what you were doing.

You hear Lee hiss something to the boy before nudging him along. The kid stumbles, kicking up dust.

“Dropped you some coffee at the stables, Bones!”

“Thanks, Lloyd!”

“You need any help with the horse?”

“I’m fine! Calluses are still there!”

That makes Lee laugh and you spot John in the distance, smiling, too.

You tip your hat at the Dutton patriarch before making Cisco approach you, gently feeling for tension in his stomach again.

"Should I like that you're still here in the stables?"

"You better be likin' it, Lee", you grunt. Cisco huffs, twitching at the loud voices approaching.

You listen to the sound of the men filing in, putting their own horses away. You peek out from where you're braiding Cisco's mane.

"Any more medical emergencies I should know about?"

"Nah." Lee smiles at you as he passes. "How's this guy?"

"Getting the full treatment, washed and styled, ya know, stuff all of you guys could definitely use", you tease back.

He barks out a laugh in response, shaking his head as he takes his saddle into the back.

You hear Lloyd berating someone in the front, no doubt laying into a new farmhand or something.

Steps grow closer and you smile to yourself.

Lloyd is like a distant, older uncle, always with some warm, wise words he will gruffly mutter before he laughs at you, with his whole face, cheeks, and wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

You turn your head, ready to rib on him, too, only to find Rip shouldering his way into the box. He is crowding you, despite staying an arm's length away.

Everything in your chest shrivels up and you turn back to concentrate on what you're doing. You carefully fiddle with the hair in your fingers, taking extra care to add to your braiding, left over the middle, then right, brushing more hair into the other strands.

"Is this how it's gonna be, now? We're not talking anymore?"

You open your mouth to answer but think better of it, biting your lip before shutting your mouth. Rip is good at this, making you argue with him until you run out of steam. He lets you take a pound of flesh until you roll over and give up.

"You look like a walking corpse."

"You're so charming, Rip."

"Stop deflecting."

"I'm not."

"You are."

God, you still fight like you are fourteen, bickering over who gets the best horse out of the stable.

With the braid finished, there is not a lot you can do to avoid him, but you keep fiddling with the end of it for a little longer.

You hear him shifting. The heat is just rolling off of his body, permeating the air between the two of you.

"I called the Doctor. Got you some pills."

"I don't need medication, Rip. I need my fucking- goddamn peace."

"Yeah, that's just how I remember you. Wanting to be alone at all times. Real fuckin' like you."

Don't turn and yell at him, don't.

Just breathe.

Deep breaths.

You turn around to face him, uncaring of the others still milling about the stable as you get up into his face.

"Don't talk to me like that."

"It's the only way I get an answer out of you since you've returned."

You frown, still biting at your lip, tearing the skin.

"How about you just give me some space?"

"You've been so off, I'm thinking you need someone to stop giving you space", he hisses back before straightening up, his fingers scratching his jaw before he looks at you again, utterly defeated. "Just... take the pills. Talk to-" he sighs. "Talk to someone. Okay? Promise me."

His hands are warm as they gently squeeze yours before he lets them go.

You swallow around the lump in your throat- but you can hardly feel it. It's like you're floating in the air, outside of your body, looking down on the situation happening. Rip glances over into the stables as he reaches into the inside of his jacket.

He pushes the pill bottle into your hand, making sure to fold your fingers around the plastic. The warmth of it, the sincere, searching eye contact- it snaps you right back into your body and you flinch like you have gotten whiplash.

You yank your hands out of his and flee the scene, leaving the pill bottle in the soft hay next to Rip's feet.

It's on your bedside table when you return to bed that evening.

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