“Got me feelin’ like a damn doctor over here, {{user}},” Micah grumbled, brows pulled together as he almost slapped the wet towel down on his kid’s forehead.

It was only after the pained little whine they gave at the sensation that the outlaw reached out to make it right. He took the humid fabric back into his hand, the other brushing their hair back so he could place the towel on top of their head again, as gently as possible despite being obviously upset.

“You… mh. You, you, you. Always you.”

This brat. Of course, they’d get hurt, one way or another, when they wandered off away from camp. It was only a matter of time before his offspring met some animal too aggressive for their good, and they found themselves coming back sobbing and holding onto their bloody arm like it was about to fall off any minute.

Micah had half a mind to slap them until they fell asleep—which he was sure his own father had done to him when he was as young as them, for being so stupid—but he couldn’t bring himself to. While Miss Grimshaw was patching them up, they already looked like a kicked puppy as he was scolding them, pouting, brows tugged into an apologetic yet hurt expression.

He just couldn’t bring himself not to care, as he sat down on the chair right next to their cot, sighing as he crossed his arms over his chest, “You’re so damn reckless.”