Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Synopsis / Chapter 1

Year’s 2027, out past the rusted rail line where tumbleweeds speak louder than the townsfolk, sits a schoolhouse that plain shouldn’t be there. Sunset Stable High — painted red, crusted with dust, and glarin’ against the horizon like a warnin’ nobody’s fool enough to heed.
It stands stubborn under a sky that always looks like it’s holdin’ its breath.
Classes start at high noon. No bell rings ‘round here — instead, a rifle shot cracks off the western cliffs to tell the young’uns it’s time for first period. Sheriff-Principal McGree runs the place with a stare sharp enough to shave leather, and detention’s held in the old jailhouse — the one still supposedly haunted by Bad Boy Brooks, who’s said to keep scribblin’ in the margins of the history books.

It’s the first day of the new school year, but it feels no different from any other: a swiped math quiz, two duels out back — one fought with flintlocks, the other with slander and tears. And watchin’ it all is Jesse Rios, quiet, clever, eyes sharp as tacks. He’s got that steady kind of stillness — lean frame, dark hair that always seems one gust away from fallin’ in his eyes, and a mouth that looks like it’s learned restraint the hard way. Folks say he was born with a poker face; truth is, it just hides too much thinkin’ for one boy to say aloud.

Then there’s Caleb Dalton, the new cowboy in town — quick draw, quicker grin, trouble wrapped in charm. Sunlight hits him like it remembers him from somewhere. Blond hair dusted gold by the heat. His eyes the color of worn denim, the kind that don’t blink when the world gets loud, meet Jesse’s once or twice — steady, unreadable. And a smirk that don’t so much appear as unfold slow, like he’s lettin’ you in on a secret he ain’t ever gonna tell. His coat’s too nice for a drifter, his boots too clean, but there’s a weariness in his shoulders that says he’s seen his fair share of bad roads.

Jesse ain’t sure what to make of him yet — ain’t heard him speak a single word — but every time Caleb drifts near, the air feels a shade heavier, like the world’s holdin’ still to listen.

But Sunset Stable’s the sort o’ place where secrets don’t stay buried. Not crushes. Not conspiracies. And sure as shootin’, not love that don’t ride the straight trail.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 — Sheriff-Principal McGree

The sun hung low, castin’ loooong shadows ‘cross the cracked wood’n planks of the schoolhouse meetin’ hall. A single lantern swung gentle in the dust-thick air, hangin’ from that ol’ rusted nail been there since 1890-whatever, its flame flickerin’ like it was fightin’ for one last breath of daylight.
Sheriff-Principal McGree stood at the lectern up front — tall, square, and mean as a sunburnt steer — his arms crossed tight as a rattler coilin’ to strike, eyes scannin’ the gathered crowd of teachers, students, and the few townsfolk who dared show.

“Now listen here,” McGree’s voice cracked through the murmurs like a whip, snappin’ every whisper clean in two. “This school ain’t no ordinary place. We got rules, and we got pride, and if anythin’ threatens that, well…” He paused, eyes flickin’ over the room, heavy with that kind o’ silence that gets into a man’s bones. “Well… you best be careful what you’re bringin’ in.”

The air went still. Even the lantern seemed to quiet itself.

Jesse Rios stood near the back, fingers twitchin’ near his hip like muscle memory, eyes dartin’ ‘tween McGree — ramrod straight behind that lectern — and that Caleb Dalton, who leaned lazy against the window frame. Caleb’s hat tipped low, eyes half-lidded, like he weren’t hearin’ a word of it, just watchin’ dust dance in the last of the sun.

McGree cleared his throat, voice rougher now. “We got ourselves a problem. Bigger than some swiped quiz or a couple o’ half-cocked duels out by the shootin’ range. Someone’s been creepin’ ‘round after dark, tamperin’ with the supplies. I want eyes on every corner — teachers, students, anythin’ that walks on two legs and can spot a snake in the grass.”

A murmur rippled through the hall like wind stirrin’ dry grass. Caleb’s gaze flicked toward Jesse — just for a heartbeat — a silent question hangin’ in the air. Jesse gave the smallest nod, barely there, like a man acknowledgin’ a storm brewin’ he couldn’t yet see.
But before a word could pass between ‘em—

“DALTON!”

The name cracked like thunder. Caleb snapped straight, back off the wall, eyes sharp now. McGree’s stare pinned him where he stood, mean and bright as a noonday sun.

“What on God’s brown earth is so interestin’ over there?”

Caleb hesitated. “Nothin’, sir. Just listenin’ close.”

McGree’s voice dropped low, the kind of low that made the room colder somehow.

“Let’s get to it then. Sunset Stable High’s gonna stay standin’ — with or without y’all.”

He slammed his hand down on the lectern. The lantern jumped.
And just like that, the meetin’ was done. Boots scuffed, chairs creaked, voices rose like the hum of a restless hive.

Jesse didn’t move right away. He watched McGree stride out the door, coat tails flarin’, and then looked back to where Caleb still stood by the window, light glancin’ off the rim of his hat. Caleb didn’t look Jesse’s way this time — just let the corners of his mouth curl slow, like there was somethin’ he found amusing.

Outside, the sky was bruisin’ purple. Somewhere out past the cliffs, a coyote howled — long and lonely. The kind of sound that meant change was comin’.