The night was still around him. Completely still, devoid of life. No sounds of far-off wildlife, no distant howling of a lone coyote. Not even the faintest breeze which may have brought him a trace of something, anything, familiar.

Nothing.

Nothing to remind him of from where he had come, from where he would, most likely, never return.

The weak, partially clouded moonlight and stinging pain in his back were, regrettably, his only companions.

Even sleep seemed out of the question. Restlessly, the steel-grey horse pawed the ground with a single hoof, and again pulled himself as far as he could from the solitary post to which he found himself tied.

It was in vain. The harsh rope of his crude headcollar only pulled itself taut, almost threatening to dig into his tender skin.

A low, pitiful sigh escaped his nostrils. Of course he wouldn't be relieved of his suffering so easily.

It had only been three days since they - whoever they were - had brought him to this place, this place of torment, but to the miserable wild stallion it felt as if he had been trapped here for an eternity. The onslaught against him, against whatever shred of his former self he had carried with him, had been endless. He had thought that the round-up, and the accompanying torture of being forcibly marked as just another burden, would be the end, but alas, it was not to be. Since he had been liberated - as if "liberated" was even the right word - they had sheared off his beautiful long mane, cropped his long tail, nailed heavy iron shoes to his hooves and pressed him, against his will, to obey the harsh commands of the spur and whip.

They had, unknowingly, only made him feel... dehumanised.

The grey mustang sighed again, inwardly cursing himself. Why hadn't he tried to escape? Why hadn't he just taken on his human form before any of this had happened? Before he became subject to the iron will of those who saw him as just another ordinary horse?

Why? Why hadn't he?

Reluctantly, he paced over to the lone wooden pole. Laying his forehead against its surface, he tried to ignore the relentless twinge of the whip-scars across his back.

Why...

He closed his eyes.

It was going to be a long night.

...

Jesse McCree was used to horses.

He was used to the incomparable feeling, the sheer thrill, of riding on horseback. On any normal day, it was not unusual for him to find the rhythmic, even hoof beats and gentle swaying of his horse beneath the saddle to be relaxing, but tonight they seemed more... soothing than usual. As his mount continued picking its way carefully through the forested trail, he could feel the need for sleep quietly threatening to pull him under.

The cowboy yawned, and tried to force himself upright.

It's around here somewhere. We just need to keep goin' 'til we find it.

Still, that was easier said than done when sleep threatened to pull him from the saddle...

"Jesse! Sit up straight and concentrate on the mission."

The stern order seemed to reverberate around him, as it cut through the silence. McCree hastily straightened his back, startled, and gave a sigh. Jack Morrison was a valuable companion, and one of the best ranch hands a man could wish for, but he sure was grouchy sometimes.

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, stop pushing him so hard, Jack." Ana Amari, his close friend, had always cared deeply for him. Tonight was evidently no exception. McCree instantly picked up on the reassuring tone in her voice, as she chided their serious comrade. "A man is bound to feel tired so late at night, surely."

"We left at ten on the dot and haven't yet been riding for two hours," McCree heard the older man scoff. "It isn't late."

McCree only rolled his eyes. He spurred his horse onward, eager to distance himself from the bickering. As Ana once more criticised Jack, the cowboy only eased his horse into a brisker walk, almost a trot, and lightly stroked a hand down the chestnut mare's neck.

"They really are like two squabblin' children sometimes, eh, Huckleberry?" he questioned, quietly, hoping his companions wouldn't hear. The horse flicked its ears backwards, listening, before letting out a snort of acknowledgement.

McCree smiled. He could've sworn that the horse understood his every word. "Yeah, I agree. Though I have to put up with 'em, I s'pose..."

The tired American yawned again, and closed his eyes.

Lena's never wrong. It hasto be near...

A sudden instinct in his gut prompted him to open his eyes.

It seemed his intuition was right. Their destination was near. Right on top of them, in fact. Abruptly, the cowboy pulled his mount to a halt.

Through the trees, the gated arch of the small, run-down ranch could be visibly seen before them, casting an eerie silhouette against the cloudy sky.

McCree couldn't help but give a shudder.

Holt & Stansfield Family Ranch.

Just reading that name was enough to make the cowboy feel nauseous. Holt & Stansfield were infamous in these parts for their treatment, or rather mistreatment, of horses. All of the folks who lived and worked back on their own farmstead knew the horror stories that had come out of such a place, and to someone as caring as he, they were borderline disturbing.

And Lena had called them out here, yet again?

What had happened this time?

McCree almost didn't want to know, but if the task at hand demanded it, so be it.

"Hey guys, I've found it. It's right here."

He turned in his saddle. His two companions, behind him, had urged their horses into a trot, eager to catch up.

"Lower your voice, Jesse. We don't want to wake anyone." Ana pulled her horse to a halt on his right, and gently placed a finger to her lips. Somewhere, far-off, McCree thought he heard a dog bark. He tensed. He sure hoped it wasn't from the property before them. Silently, he cursed himself for being so absent-minded.

The American sighed. Once again, he glanced at the menacing silhouetted arch before them. A fresh feeling of revulsion involuntarily settled itself in the pit of his stomach.

Focus on the task, Jesse. Be strong...

He had no choice. Pushing down the anxious knot deep inside him, he nudged his horse onward, Jack and Ana following closely behind.

"I just... let's just go in there right now an' find out what's wrong. I don' wanna leave a poor horse waitin'..."

"Neither do we," the older man responded, in a similarly concerned tone. "Let's just get the job done."

McCree only nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Halting at the battered-looking wooden gate, he swiftly dismounted, keeping a hold of the reins. To his surprise, the gate opened easily. There was no fumbling with a stiff latch, nor the loud creak McCree had expected from such neglect. Nothing to give the three riders away.

He couldn't help but feel pleased, as it yawned open in front of him.

Now if thatain't the most convenient thing.

The cowboy smiled to himself. He wasted no time in tying the reins, good and tight, to the fence post. From behind him, he heard the soft thud of booted feet hitting the ground, as Jack, too, dismounted.

"You're not going in there by yourself, Jesse," he said. Leading his horse to the gate, he too firmly tethered the gelding to the post. McCree felt a stern hand come to rest on his shoulder. "It's too dangerous."

"We'll go together." McCree turned, to see Ana dismount. A look of deep concern presented itself on her face. "We never know what we're up against."

The cowboy flashed his companions a reassuring smile.

"Don' worry," he said, patting the holster strapped firmly to his side. The outline of his trusty Peacekeeper could be felt beneath his fingers, resting snugly at the ready. He rather hoped it wouldn't come to that. "I've got ya covered."

The two riders were silent, before Ana gave McCree a smile of acknowledgement. Once more placing a comforting hand upon his shoulder, she turned to Jack.

"Jack, patrol the perimeter for us," she ordered. If she was in any way as nervous as he, she certainly didn't show it. "We'll go in and find this poor horse."

The grey-haired man nodded, drawing his own gun.

"Acknowledged."

A soft pat on the shoulder was all it took to encourage McCree.

"Come on, Jesse," Ana softly said, as they bravely set foot across the threshold.

The American gave a weak smile. At least, he thought, he was not alone.

The ranch before them was not hard to navigate. To the apprehensive cowboy and the older woman, it was grimly familiar. Too familiar. The enveloping stench of manure, the ramshackle buildings, the rusting pieces of abandoned farm machinery... at this stage, he knew it like the back of his hand.

A blessing and a curse.

Still, McCree couldn't shake the shiver which coursed down his spine as they both crept stealthily across the yard. It was deathly silent; even nature herself had abandoned this place.

This place reallygives me the creeps.

A sudden, though somewhat faint, sound set him on alert. Suddenly wary, his eyes darted around the ranch grounds. Was it a dog? No; it didn't sound aggressive enough. A bird, maybe? Something else? He wasn't sure. Instinctively, his right hand curled around Peacekeeper, ready for action.

"Ya hear that?" he whispered. Ana, he noticed, did not seem at all perturbed. Though her own hand was similarly positioned on her own holster, she continued striding purposefully forward.

...Was he just imagining it?

He couldn't have been. Trying to keep up with his companion's brisk pace, he turned a corner. There it was again, clearer now - a sorry-sounding snort, almost a sigh of sadness.

A horse.

A single, lonely, miserable horse.

The mere sound was enough to twist McCree's heart into feeling nothing but pity.

Quickening his step, heart now pounding in his ears, he approached the single, isolated corral behind the barn.

At first, he only saw the silhouetted figure of Ana, standing before the flimsy-looking fence. She was shaking her head, slowly, sorrowfully; her accompanying low mutter of "poor thing" only heightening his fears. He hastily walked towards her, and squinted, straining against the inky darkness. Damn it, this was why he should have remembered to bring a torch.

He could see nothing. Nothing but pitch-black night. He could have sworn the corral before him was completely empty, but he knew better; there was a reason they were here tonight.

As his eyes began to adjust to the dark, though, familiar shapes materialised out of the blackness.

A lone wooden post. A length of rope trailing from its side.

A dark grey mustang, head down, eyes closed. Looking totally, utterly defeated.

Holt & Stansfield's latest prey.

It was too dark for him to see the extent of any physical damage, if there was any, but already McCree could only imagine the torment they had put the poor animal through. He gave a sympathetic sigh.

Another soft snort, followed by a short, surprised whinny. Hearing McCree's expression of dismay, the horse raised its head, and quizzically cast a glance in his direction.

McCree froze. His breath caught in his throat. The horse was looking right at him, ears pricked.

He's beautiful.

The cloud had cleared somewhat since earlier, and now the cowboy had a clearer view of the animal's features. Despite its miserable state, McCree couldn't deny the beauty of the creature before him. The stocky, well-built body, the dapples on the steel-coloured coat - marred by a set of irregular and somewhat fresh-looking whip scars across the hindquarters. He winced. The cowboy's gaze then drifted over the horse's neck, only to be met with the usual BLM freeze-mark, a short, crudely-cut mane and a look of desperation in the animal's eyes.

Help me, they clearly said.

The American's heart clenched in his chest. He simply couldn't remember the last time he had seen an animal look so depressed, not in his many years of working with horses.

Help me.

They couldn't waste any more time.

"Ana, we've gotta help him," he softly but urgently whispered to his companion. "Come on."

His body moved faster than his mind could catch up. McCree wasted no time in rushing to the gate and sliding back the iron bolt. Perhaps too hastily. He grimaced as the harsh scraping sound of metal against rusted metal rang out around them.

Damn it. They couldn't afford to mess up, not now...

"For goodness' sake, Jesse, don't be so hasty." McCree almost winced at Ana's indignant tone, as the older woman joined him in the corral. "Someone might hear us. Worse, you might frighten the poor horse."

McCree took a closer look at the tethered beast before him. His dark brown eyes had never left him, and he intently followed the cowboy's movements as he walked over to the wooden post. Ana was wrong. He seemed placid enough, McCree thought. Not in the least spooked.

"He's not frightened," McCree said, in a low voice. He believed it. Slowly, carefully, he extended a gloved hand. The horse made no movements, not even the slightest flinch; instead, he only allowed the American to gently place a hand against his sleek neck.

"Shhh... it's okay. I won't hurt you..." he soothed. The mustang felt warm beneath his hand. A pulse could be distinctly felt beating beneath the skin, too quickly. Stress, the American presumed; but not fear. "We're here to help..."

The horse exhaled a deep breath. He was remarkably calm. McCree knew that mustangs could easily grow accustomed to life with humans, but all the same, he was quite surprised. A wild animal, treated in such an appalling way, and which trusted him so readily? It was unheard of.

Still, a wild animal was a wild animal. Unpredictable, sensitive, fickle. This one, though seemingly docile, was no different; they had to be careful.

"He's a beauty, isn't he?" Ana slowly stepped over to McCree's side, and herself drank in the elegance of the animal before them. "It's a shame what some people will do to such an innocent creature."

The cowboy slowly nodded. His thoughts exactly.

"It is," he agreed, still entranced. He lightly massaged the horse's neck with his fingertips, softly at first, but then more vigorously. Glancing at the horse's face, he smiled. His eyes were half closed, and another deep sigh escaped his nostrils.

He likes it.

He heard Ana chuckle softly.

"He likes you."

McCree said nothing, only smiled wider. It always gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling deep within whenever an animal reacted positively to him, but this time it felt... different. Deeper. Warmer. More... wholesome.

More rewarding.

No doubt, this was going to be one of the easiest, most pleasing rescues they had undertaken in a long time.

McCree continued gingerly stroking his right hand along the mustang's soft neck, and took hold of the rope in his spare hand.

"Ana, untie him. I'll walk him out."

"Very well." With a deft hand, his companion started picking at the knotted rope, her fingers dancing against the pole as she worked to untie the intricate coils. All the cowboy could do was wait - and continue enjoying the silky, soft feel of horse beneath his hand.

He knew it wouldn't take very long. Within a minute or so, the rope was untangled, free from the post.

Great. Now all they had to do was get this horse to safety.

It would be easy, McCree hoped. At least if this horse's docile nature was anything to go by.

He heard Ana give a relieved sigh.

"There, one free horse," she said, cheerfully. "He's all yours now, Jesse."

She let out a soft chuckle. "Not that he already wasn't..."

She gestured to the animal he was now holding. Now free from his tether, the steel-grey mustang had turned his head, and now curiously nosed at McCree, eventually nestling his velvety nose in the crook of the cowboy's shoulder. He let out a loud huff, his warm breath tickling McCree.

"Hey, stop it! That tickles." McCree joined Ana in laughing. Even through the collar of his heavy serape, he could feel the moist warmth, and the unbearable ticklishness of the fine whiskers. He was confused as to why, how, the animal had taken to him quickly, so easily, but he wasn't about to complain.

It took considerably more effort than he had expected to stop his laughing. Their mission was not yet over; he couldn't afford to lose focus.

Quite reluctantly, he gently pushed the horse's nose away from his shoulder. The animal obliged, pulling away without resistance.

"Come on," McCree softly encouraged, giving a gentle tug on the rope. Turning around, he took it in his other hand, and started in the direction of the gate. Sure enough, it didn't take much for the obedient mustang to follow his lead. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had thought that, likely deprived of food or water, the animal would appear quite lethargic, but no. The taste of denied freedom was, evidently, too strong to resist. His equine partner instead moved forward with a confident stride. So confident, the cowboy almost struggled to keep pace.

He was glad, in a way. No self-respecting wild horse would have stayed under such conditions.

And he will no longer have to.

The deathly-still yard no longer appeared menacing as McCree and Ana retraced their steps, horse in tow. Instead, the ominous shadows and intimidating structures were almost illuminated by the pale moonlight which now filtered through the clouds. It wasn't as if it made successfully returning any easier - they still had to remain vigilant at all times - but even so, McCree was glad. Anything to lift the involuntary feeling of dread still lodged in his gut.

Back around the corner, past the dilapidated machinery, and towards the gate. It took a mere five minutes for the trio to successfully return to their starting point, where Jack attentively awaited them. Evidently, his patrol had been uneventful. Though he still wore a look of watchfulness on his aged face, he now looked considerably relieved. McCree gave a small smile, and inwardly congratulated himself on a mission well completed.

"We got him, sir." The cowboy pointed proudly to the roped grey horse behind him. "Didn' even put up a fight. He's a calm one."

A similar expression of amazement showed on the older man's face, as he took in the horse's features. Their roped mounts also seemed curious about this strange new horse, and they attentively lifted their heads to look him over.

"He doesn't look too bad," he said, a tone of relief in his voice. He had undoubtedly expected worse from Holt & Stansfield. Then again, didn't we all, McCree thought, before Jack's expression grew more serious. "But you never know what they might've done. A veterinary check is still well in order."

Saying no more, the older man walked over to the open gate, slowly swung it closed again, and bolted it firmly. He untied his horse from the fence post, and swiftly vaulted into the saddle. The dark horse beneath him gave a snort, as Jack nudged him on ahead. Always liked forming the head of their ride; tonight was no different.

McCree sighed in relief. At least that was done.

"It always is," Ana replied. She, too, had started freeing her own horse from its restraint, and in mere seconds she too was seated elegantly in the saddle. She turned to McCree. "We'll get Dr. Ziegler to look him over in the morning. Jesse, I'll hold him while you mount. You can hang back and lead him home."

The American nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You don't need to be so formal. 'Ana' will suffice."

McCree smirked. Force of habit, he guessed. He gave the grey horse one last pat on the neck, before handing the rope to his accomplice. The horse, despite his earlier energy, now appeared considerably fatigued; his head was drooping, his eyes half-closed.

Makes two of us, buddy, the cowboy thought to himself, yawning. Every bone in his body now ached with the raw need for sleep.

He could rest easy when they were home. They both could.

Untying his horse, and nimbly vaulting into the saddle, McCree walked his mare over to Ana and once more took control of the rescued mustang.

"He looks exhausted, poor thing," Ana said softly. McCree nodded, agreeing.

"I think we all are at this point," he replied. Another loud yawn. "But we can worry about that later."

Ana smiled at him, sympathetically.

"Indeed. Let's get going, Jack."

The two riders spurred their horses onward, leaving McCree and his new-found equine companion to bring up the rear.

He could think of worse.

Safely escorting a weary, dispirited horse to a place of refuge - a real place of refuge, where he would be safe - on a peaceful night like this. Nothing but the soft breeze, the glistening moonlight, and the gentle melody of hoof beats to accompany them on their journey back home... he could think of far, far worse.

Taking one more glance at the horse by his side, McCree smiled.

"Alright, buddy. Let's get ya home safe."

The ride home, mercifully, proved uneventful. Guided by the gentle sounds of countryside wildlife - sounds which had been absent from their neighbouring ranch - and the starlight of the now-clear sky, the three riders, plus mustang, arrived at their home ranch in less than an hour.

The lights in the farmhouse building were switched off. Not a single window was illuminated. Lena and Lucio would no doubt be sleeping peacefully by now, lucky things. Another deep yawn assaulted McCree's body. Man, did he wish he could be in bed right now.

Bed could wait. Their rescued horse needed rest more than he.

"Think I'll bring this tired fella to the corral," he said to the others, dismounting. His chestnut mare stood in place obediently, Ana circling back to take her. The cowboy gave the worn-out looking mustang a soft pat on the neck, prompting a content huff. "You guys go on up to the paddocks. An' take Huckleberry with ya."

Jack acknowledged McCree with a nod.

"Don't forget to fill up the water trough, and give him something to eat," he called over his shoulder, as he nudged his gelding onward. "He's probably starved, and dehydrated."

McCree nodded eagerly. "Got it."

"Good. Good night, Jesse."

"G'night."

Ana, taking his mare's reins in her hand, smiled at him.

"Make sure he's settled in nice and comfortably," she said. A look of fondness came over her features. "He seems to trust you."

She paused, taking in the sight before her. McCree glanced over at the sleepy grey horse - and found him with his eyes half-closed, head leaning against his own shoulder.

Poor li'l thing.

He smiled weakly.

"He does."

For some strange reason, McCree thought. Softly, he placed his hand on the velvety nose. Sure enough, there it was again, the inexplicable warm feeling he had felt earlier.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Not yet. But a niggling feeling deep within told him that it sure as hell meant... something.

Probably just affection, he supposed. Mentally, he tried to shrug it off.

"Goodnight, Jesse." Ana slowly turned her horse around, and with a snort and a swish of tail, horse and rider walked off.

"G'night." McCree smiled to himself as Huckleberry gave a disgruntled snort, before reluctantly being dragged along behind. She could be quite the stubborn rascal, sometimes; he had the scars to prove it.

Not at all like this wild beast. Surprisingly.

Now left to himself, the cowboy turned his full attention towards the grey horse. He looked truly drained, poor thing. McCree placed a hand tenderly against the animal's neck, and sighed as he once more looked over his body. The freeze-mark and the moon-illuminated dapples were nothing unusual, but he couldn't help grimacing as his eyes once more fell upon the pinkish-red scars across his back. They were not fresh, and probably wouldn't even need stitching up, but nevertheless, they looked painfully raw.

Dr. Ziegler will be here tomorrow, he reminded himself. She'll take care of 'em.

He yawned, feeling sleepier than ever. In this moment he truly sympathised with his sleepy equine companion.

"C'mon, boy," he said softly, turning and gently tugging on the rope. "Let's get you settled in."

With a quiet nicker, the mustang raised his head, and opened his eyes. He had no choice. McCree felt him walk forward, cautiously, as he led him into the round pen.

It was only when they had stopped, that McCree noticed. Something wasn't quite right. A strange quiver marked the horse's every movement. Alarmed, the cowboy looked closer.

Despite the balmy temperature expected from the late summer's night, the horse appeared to be shivering.

McCree hastily loosened the harsh rope headcollar, and with a gentle motion tugged it off. He let out a sigh of pity, bringing his hand once more to the animal's warm neck. Yep. Definitely shaking. With every breath he took, the horse's body gave a shudder.

Was it a fever? McCree ran his hand along the neck, then the chest, upper back and legs. No, it couldn't have been. There was no obvious sign of sweating, and the creature did not appear to show any other symptoms.

He's just tired, poor fella.

Tired... and probably still afraid. Possibly quite dehydrated, too.

A fresh feeling of pity gripped at the American's heart. There was just no telling what despicable things Holt & Stansfield had done.

Without thinking, McCree unfolded his heavy red serape and tugged it off his shoulders. Gently, carefully, he settled it on the mustang's dappled back. It was the least he could do. A poor replacement for a blanket it may have been, but it was better than nothing.

"It's okay," he whispered, stroking his hand along the horse's velvety neck. "You'll be safe here. Don' be afraid..."

A soft whicker caught his attention. The horse had turned its head, and was now looking right at him. McCree cast his gaze to the horse's deep brown eyes. Though partially closed, he couldn't deny the warm intensity to them. But there was something else there, too. In the least threatening manner he could manage, he kept his eyes locked on the animal's.

He understood every word the cowboy had said. He refused to believe otherwise.

"You understand, don'tcha?"

Letting out another soft whicker, the animal looked away, and hung his head low. He closed his eyes, and let out a soft huff.

McCree smiled.

"I know. Ya just wanna sleep." He yawned. Damn it, now he really did need to get to bed, before he fell down where he stood. "So do I..."

The cowboy glanced down at the food and water troughs. Those were his priority. Once this poor horse had got what he needed... only then could he sleep.

In five minutes, he could return to the house, where his warm bed awaited.

He tried not to let that thought distract him too much. Giving the tired grey horse one last pat, and giving his arms a good stretch, he set off for the feed room.

I sure hope he's alright out there on his own.

The same single thought filled McCree's mind over and over as he quietly let himself in the door of the large farmhouse. Ana and Jack had clearly been efficient at turning out their horses for the night. Not a single light was turned on, and the house was almost eerily quiet as he locked the door behind him.

He shook his head. Of course their rescued horse would be okay. Turning out a mustang in the round corral was standard protocol, after all. Besides, the animal had seemed all too exhausted, physically and mentally. He wouldn't try and escape. What had he got to worry about?

You're just bein' paranoid, Jesse.

Another deep yawn racked his body as he set foot into his small, square bedroom. The moonlight outside painted the cream walls in an almost luminescent hue, and radiated off of the plain white bed sheets. Had he been more awake and alert, he would have thought it a beautiful sight.

Right now, he would not be satisfied until he got a good night's sleep.

He was too worn out to even bother properly undressing. Instead of returning his hat to its usual hook on the back of the door, he simply opted for dropping it to the floor where he stood. Instinctively, he reached for the thick coiling folds of his serape around his neck - and paused.

Of course. He'd left it with that wild horse.

McCree shrugged. The poor creature needed it more than he did.

Promptly, he resumed undressing. He could only hope that the mustang didn't accidentally trample it into the mud, not if he didn't want to spend the whole next day washing it clean.

The American let out a content sigh as he kicked off his long boots and peeled off his heavy leather chaps and trousers. Now stripped down to his underwear, he ambled over to his bed and positively flung himself down on its plush surface. The slight breeze from the open window felt pleasant against his bare skin, but he knew it would not be enough. It was just another of those nights. One of those south-western summer nights where a duvet would simply be too stifling.

Even still, how relieving it was to finally curl up to sleep...

It had, no doubt, been a rough day.

But it had been worth it.

As he relaxed against his pillow, he couldn't help smiling smugly to himself. He felt... comforted.

There would be many others, he knew. But at least there was one less mistreated horse in Holt & Stansfield Family Ranch.

McCree smiled, and closed his eyes.

That thought alone was enough to effortlessly send him into a deep, untroubled sleep.

Finally.