Chapter Text
"We've got a runner!"
Tim's moving forward at the sound of Jackson's warning and he gets eyes on Boyd Crowder scrambling up the hill.
This is it. It's finally going to be over.
"Boyd Crowder!" He shouts before he fires off a few rounds in Boyd's general direction. He's not aiming directly at him because the man has already taken a bullet and Tim really doesn't want to kill him.
It's not because he's sentimental or he's worried that Raylan would never speak to him again if he killed the outlaw; he's not aiming at Boyd because they've sunk so much time and effort into capturing this asshole that he refuses to be the one to put him down. He wants to prove to the Department that he's more than just a trigger finger. He's capable of ending a manhunt without ending a life.
And then suddenly Boyd's throwing dynamite and the manhunt goes from a simple chase to a full blown warzone within seconds.
An explosion rocks the uneven ground beneath Tim's feet and he feels an unwelcomed tightness in his chest that chokes the air in his lungs.
"Fall back!" He yells because dynamite is unpredictable and as another explosion sends dirt scattering into the air, he feels a familiar sense of cold spread up his spine.
He needs to get off that hill before the panic attack hits.
"Fall back!" He calls again and he fires a few shots that he knows are nowhere near Boyd because he can barely fucking see.
He needs to get off that fucking hill.
He turns to start his own retreat when his eyes find Rachel a few feet to his left. She's yelling at the deputies to fall back and she doesn't see the stick of dynamite that lands to her right.
"Rachel!" Tim moves forward with a frantic purpose and he reaches her within seconds, slamming into her hard. She lets out a startled cry that immediately gets drowned out by the explosion.
The blast is bigger than he expects it to be.
He's lifted off his feet and thrown backwards before he lands roughly on the uneven ground. Dirt and rocks rain down on him, bouncing off his cheeks and caking his eyelashes, obstructing his view of the blue sky above him.
There's a familiar sharp ringing in his ears and there's a tightness in his chest that is making it hard to pull in a breath. He slides his fingers through the sand beneath him -- no, not sand. Grass. It's grass.
Why is it grass?
He blinks and it feels like his head weighs a hundred pounds, but he moves it to the left. The grass tickles his cheek and he blinks some of the dirt from his lashes. His vision is blurry, but there's something in the grass a few feet away. He tries to focus on it because he feels like it's important. It's brown and he can't --
A pair of hands grip his cheeks suddenly, pulling his head back to the right and his blurry eyes finally focus on Rachel's face. Her eyes are wide and there's blood on her face. She's yelling at him but all he can hear is the ringing in his ears.
She looks scared.
Terrified, really.
"...im! ...me?" Her yelling breaks through the ringing, but it's muffled and far away, despite the fact that she's directly above him. He wants to tell her he's fine. He doesn't know what happened, but his chest is tight.
Maybe knocked the wind out of himself.
But a sudden intense cold washes over him and then there's a white-hot pain that shoots up his left leg and it takes a second for him to realize that the muffled sound breaking through the ringing in his ears is his own screaming.
Vomit bubbles up in his throat and explodes from his lips and Rachel's hand is cradling his head as her yells become further away.
"Get me some goddamn help!"
And then everything stops.
When Art's phone rings, he prays it's Rachel calling to tell him that she and Tim have caught Boyd because after having to deal with Raylan's shit, he's tired.
"It's Rachel." He announces to Raylan as they walk towards the car. Raylan gives him a casual nod and Art brings the phone to his ear.
"Please tell me you have Boyd." He breathes in lieu of a greeting. There's a loud noise on Rachel's end and Art sticks his finger in his ear to try and hear her. "Hello?"
"...dynamite! ....lifted to AHR..."
"What? Rachel, I can't hear you!" He shouts into the phone's speaker. Her voice cuts in and out and Art holds up the phone up for better reception before he brings it back to his ear.
"...im...AHR."
"AHR? The hospital?" He repeats and he hears a confirmation from Rachel before the line goes dead. Art lets out a curse and shoves the phone in the pocket. AHR is the hospital in Harlan, and Art figures the loud noise in the background of the call had been the helicopter.
"AHR?" Raylan inquires and Art doesn't really know what to say because he couldn't hear a damn word from Rachel. "They get Boyd?"
"I couldn't hear much. Something about dynamite. She wants me to meet her at the hospital." Art checks his watch before he tosses the keys to Raylan. "Go to the drying shed. I'll get Nelson to come get me."
"You sure?" Raylan asks and Art almost changes his mind because he literally just sprung Raylan from KSP custody.
But Boyd isn't the only player of the board and they have a pretty solid lead that he can't just ignore.
"Yeah," Art sighs, "and whatever you find at that drying shed, whatever they've done to Ava and Loretta you..." He trails off because he doesn't need to finish the thought.
"I understand." Raylan says simply. "I'll check in when I can. You'll let me know if everything's okay at the hospital?"
"Yeah." Art nods and watches as Raylan gets into the vehicle before he fishes his phone back out of his pocket to call Nelson, who is currently stationed at Arlo's.
"Yeah, Chief?" The deputy answers the phone as Raylan pulls out of the parking lot. Art really hopes he's making the right decision here.
"Nelson, I need you to pick me up."
The hospital in Harlan is busy when they arrive and a nurse quickly brings them to the paramedics' lounge, which sends alarm bells ringing in Art's head. It's empty apart from Rachel. She's sitting alone with her hands clasped between her knees.
She's covered in blood.
She looks up when Nelson closes the door behind him. Her eyes are wide and wet and she stands immediately.
"Art, I have LEOs combing the hillside --"
"Are you hurt? Has anyone looked at you?" Art has closed the distance to her and grabs her shoulders, taking in her alarming appearance. He doesn't give a damn about the manhunt. "Why hasn't anyone looked at you? Where's the doctor--"
"It's not me." Her voice is hoarse, like she had been screaming. "Art, it's not me. It's Tim."
"Tim?" His chest tightens when she nods. "Shit. Bad?" Of course it's bad. Her pants and jacket are covered in blood and there's a smear across her forehead. She has a few superficial scratches on her face, but Art's focus is on the blood covering her clothing.
"He take a bullet?" He always knew it'd be a matter of time before Tim got shot. He's smart and careful, but he's often on the front lines or first through the door. He has no doubt that Tim had been first through that cabin door.
But Rachel's shaking her head.
"Boyd..." She swallows thickly, "Boyd started throwing dynamite, and um... Tim, he-he pushed me out of the way." She's clearly in shock and there's a tremble in her voice as she seemingly struggles to piece together what happened.
"Rachel --"
"I didn't know what to do, but then Jackson was there and he got his belt...and the helicopter was able to..." She pulls in a shaky breath. "They took him right to surgery, but he lost so much blood."
"Rachel, what happened?" Art asks with a tone that he hopes will make her focus because she isn't really making much sense. His heart is slamming against his chest because he just knows that the moment she says the words, everything is going to change.
"Art," Rachel's voice hitches as a tear rolls down her cheek and Art realizes he's never seen her cry before.
"Jesus, Rachel, just tell me." He'll feel bad about snapping at her later. She swallows and he sees her lock into that professional persona she's worked so hard to maintain before she finally speaks.
"Art, his leg is gone."