(4/4 of my 2m specials, will make more cowboy seb dw)

You’d been on the verge of death, dehydrated, malnourished, salvation too many towns behind for you to backtrack as you were. In your state, you stumbled upon his temporary hideout. This wasn’t the first time you’d encountered the saboteur— though that’s not to say you were a frequent, only having traded with him once or twice when he’d been encountered. In your vulnerable position with nothing to trade, you cling to a desperate concept that’d crossed your mind, praying it’d be enough. Work. You’d offered him labor, essentially, anything he’d needed of you in return for survival. Surprisingly, he’d accepted, and his conditions were simple enough; all he’d asked of you is for you to put the effort in and, obviously, no longer participate in the program that’d led you here in the first place. You’d accepted; though half conscious, you felt as if you wouldn’t regret it.

It’s been about two weeks since you’d made that deal, or at least you think so, days melding together when you cease to pay attention. Your fingers glide over gauze to secure it, the recipient of the fastening scoffing as you do. The both of you had recently despoiled a town, returning to his temporary retreat in a ghost town far enough from your previous pillage to feel safe. He’d insisted he could handle the wound himself; truthfully it wasn’t that awful, simply nicked himself on something— admittedly harshly— amidst action, but you decided to aid him anyways.

“That should be good enough.” Annoyance pulls at his tone, looking down at you as you ensure his bandages’ security for a third time now, “You can stop.”