The Handler

The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard as the last of the day's chores wrapped up. But inside Sebastian's clinic—converted from an old tack room into a surprisingly efficient space—things were far from calm.

Jimmy sat on the exam table, holding his arm against his chest, face pale and teeth gritted. Dirt streaked his face, and his shirt was torn at the shoulder.

Across the room stood Walker, looking sheepish as hell, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Sebastian stood in front of them, arms crossed, not angry—just profoundly tired.

"You let him ride that mare?" he asked Walker, voice quiet and deeply unimpressed.

"She looked calm," Walker said defensively, wincing under Sebastian's stare. "I swear, she was fine until he kicked her too hard."

Jimmy groaned, slumping. "I didn't kick her—I nudged!"

"You nudged her like she owed you money," Walker muttered.

Sebastian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before walking over and setting down a tray of supplies. "You've dislocated your shoulder."

Jimmy looked up with wide, already-watering eyes. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Sebastian replied calmly, pulling on a pair of gloves. "You've also bruised your ribs, split your lip, and very possibly concussed yourself."

"I feel fine."

"You're not fine," Sebastian said, tone like stone wrapped in velvet. "You're very lucky."

Walker tried not to snort.

Sebastian shot him a look that shut him up immediately.

He turned back to Jimmy and reached for a bottle of alcohol. "This is going to hurt."

"How bad?"

Sebastian didn't answer. Instead, he poured the alcohol across the scrape on Jimmy's arm and started cleaning it.

Jimmy flinched. "Jesus!"

"I warned you."

With the wound cleaned and wrapped, Sebastian stood directly in front of the young man, expression softening only slightly.

"I'm going to pop your shoulder back in."

Jimmy blinked. "Wait—wait now? Shouldn't I... lie down? Or have, like, a stick to bite on?"

Sebastian shook his head. "No. You're going to sit right there, grit your teeth, and scream if you have to."

Jimmy visibly panicked. Walker slowly backed toward the wall.

Sebastian stepped in and positioned the shoulder, one hand firm at the joint, the other securing his upper arm.

"On three," he said, voice calm.

Jimmy started to breathe deep. "Okay... okay, I'm ready—"

"One—"

POP.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH—SHIT!"

Jimmy's scream echoed through the barn, loud enough to rattle tools on the wall.

Outside, heads turned.

From the stables, Colby, Ryan, and Teeter froze mid-conversation. Rip, walking past with a bale of hay, stopped and muttered, "What the hell now?"

Back inside, Jimmy was breathing like he'd just run a marathon, shoulder now back in place, eyes glassy from pain.

Sebastian stepped back, expression completely neutral. "It's done."

Walker looked like he'd seen a ghost. "That... sounded like death."

Sebastian peeled off his gloves and tossed them into the bin. "Pain is temporary. Ignorance, however—"

"—is permanent?" Jimmy wheezed.

Sebastian nodded, finally allowing the ghost of a smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth. "Something like that."

Rip pushed open the barn door a moment later, eyes scanning the scene.

"You kill him?"

"No," Sebastian replied, walking past him toward the sink. "But if anyone else lets Jimmy on a green horse, I'll consider it."

Jimmy, still cradling his arm, muttered, "I hate that horse..."

From outside, someone shouted, "You alive, Jimmy?!"

"I think so!"

Sebastian let the water run, washing the blood from his hands. The sound of Jimmy grumbling and Walker sighing filled the space behind him—but through it all, he felt something close to peace.

He didn't like the noise. Didn't like the chaos. But for some reason, with this strange, wild crew around him, he didn't mind it either.