#duhton

𓄋 #RIP WHEELER, ➢ his only goal was to get her out of the bar and into the damn truck. perhaps in hindsight he could've come up with a better way to go about it. IN THE MOMENT, HOWEVER ... carrying her with both arms kicking and flailing sure seemed like the only way. something or other about going out the same way one was born into this world. that sounded a whole helluva lot like his wife. once out into the cool, brisk night air, a ways down from the bar entrance where he'd parked the truck— rip sets her down. but he doesn't let his guard down. he remains vigilant. half of the cowboy expects beth to flee at the first sign of escape. hell, rip doesn't even know what was said to her, and he doesn't need to either. whatever it was, HE KNOWS IT WASN'T GOOD. he holds his hands up. not in defense, but in surrender. "don't go runnin' back in there on me now." though his tone is grave, serious; because getting her home is the most important thing. he'd much rather that than see her taken away in cuffs ... which he's willing to bet is exactly the plan if they wait around for flashing lights. "c'mon." he takes a step in towards her with a nod to the truck, hoping to usher her. "i'm takin' y'home baby."

﹙ *  𓃗  ﹚▌▌ —he hears her heels on the great room floor before he sees her. somewhere between wake and sleep, AND HE THINKS ITS THE FIRST REAL BIT OF THE LATTER HE'S GOTTEN IN A FEW DAYS. ( a damn shitty excuse for slumber if he ever did see one ) but every time rip has gotten himself close to dozing off he finds himself wondering: will she need me? will tonight be like that first night... EXCEPT HE'LL BE SLEEPING RIGHT NEXT TO HER & NOT EVEN KNOW IT. the weight of death sitting on her chest too hard. too heavy to contain. breaking those walls he knows so well to down into pebbled dust and exposing all the pain he sees in her eyes. with her away, on a short flight back, he manages to catch maybe half an hour. he has to, IF HE WANTS TO KEEP ANY SEMBLANCE OF HIS SANITY. until her presence stirs him back awake. because, after all, she's not only one whose pissed. only a low grumble as he sits up on the couch announces his presence. when he blinks his eyes open, her finger is already pointed at him. "oh, christ, i warned ya." & he did: WARN HER. in more words than rip wheeler usually uses for just about anything. but what he should've done was get on that fucking plane with her. regret won't change the past though. he's settled that part of himself a long time ago. "an' i warned 'im too." meaning, he's heard from travis. the warning was for the next time he saw him though. he nods to the chair across from him for her to sit and join him. "walk me through it."

this house is the resting ground for all things that go bump in a dutton's night. unbridled anger & thrown fists. heartstrings & vocal chords shredded in the name of a five letter surname. a mere harbinger for secrets and things that turn innards inside out. he's been here and he's been in the trenches and some days he finds himself mulling over the complexities of their shared nuances. where he would usually only consider such things in the restlessness of his mind he finds himself pulled to understand how the weight of a father and sons argument (one of which is not his own-) could shake the walls as though an explosion had taken root in their very own kitchen. there's only one other person who hadn't been present. one other whom he could turn to at all to impart yet another piece of knowledge that he doesn't know. the unbolting of a lock echoes inside the cellar of his rib cage. he has to find room to store it all somehow. once the tears of his brother have finally dried on his shirt, he seeks out the sister for all that remains— HANGING QUESTION MARKS. “ hey- ” he says quietly, joining her like they're meeting at hell's gate. thinks the front door would open its mouth and rear its fangs at them in welcome every time if it could. or maybe that's just his own reflection when he catches it in the rearview mirror. “ you got any idea what that was about? ” at least some things never change: beating around the bush is only ever good for horseback. he doesn't ask her if she heard it. doesn't need to. but she has the option to leave him as in the dark as everyone else if she wants to. / @duhton,

𓄋 #RIP WHEELER, ➢ from the moment he closed the laptop his brain had been ticking. she has always had a way of dropping things on him, but hell— this was one hell of a thing for her to drop. little house, big barn ... seven thousand acres plus some twenty odd in a blm ... sure sounds pretty, HE THINKS. & it's a good damn thing he did, because she'd already bought it anyway. that's the part that gets him. the part that had him heavy sighing, half-fighting an exasperated type of smile he's only ever worn when attached to her name, and the other half of him fighting a roll of his eyes. so many questions taunt the tip of his tongue as he lays flat on his back in the bed. he doesn't even know where to begin let alone if any are worth asking at all. the spider in her web is always ten steps ahead. his body bloats with a breath ... thick & heavy through his nostrils ... "y'said forty miles west of dillon huh-"