Lisa slapped Derrek on the back with a meaty hand. “Good job, Shawn, couldn't have done it without you.”

Derrek chuckled, only half-forcing it. “Don't over-sugar the pudding, all I did was hold the boards steady.”

Raph, a lanky man with a riot of red hair barked out a laugh. “Steady as an oak, those boards didn't shift a hair in your hands. There's a wrong way to do things, and that wasn't it.” He grabbed one of the boards with both hands and tried to shake it with force, the fence remaining firm and unmoved. He slapped one of the posts with an open hand. “Steady as an oak, not even a wobble. Nothing like a simple task done well.”

Derrek couldn't deny it. He had only ever built office furniture before today, but he was satisfied with the result. They told him to hold the boards steady, and that's exactly what he did. A few well-balanced bricks could have done the same job, but he still felt the faintest twinge of pride nonetheless. It was an ultimately pointless task, since no resident of the ranch would live out the day, but Lisa and Raph didn't know that. For them, it was just another day. For them, they were just humoring a fresh face, letting a green punk feel useful for a few minutes.

Derrek shook himself and hid it by stretching his neck. That was too diminutive, regardless of what these people had done behind locked doors. He had felt no pity in the tasks he was given. They were nothing but genuine in taking his help.

“I’m glad I could help,” Derrek said, wiping away imaginary sweat from his brow. “I'm supposed to help round up the straggling cattle next. Is there any chance you could point me in the right direction?”

Raph and Lisa exchanged a worried glance then looked back at Derrek. Raph arched a red eyebrow. “You’ve gotta help wrangle Brutus?”

Derrek put on a confident smile and shrugged. “That's right.”

Lisa whistled long and high and looked out at the pasture. “I wish you luck of it.” She pointed at a distant group of people huddled, discussing something in the field. “There's Kurt and his boys.” She moved her finger toward a huge bull, even from this distance, peacefully grazing at the grass. “And there's Brutus. Three-tons of attitude shoved into a two-ton frame.”

Derrek looked at the bull for a moment, doubt trickling into his mind, then looked back to Lisa, remembering something Discord told him on one of their weekend adventures. He had looked it up, as he did with most of Discords’ sayings, and found out it was a quote from a fantasy series, but it was still an effective phrase. “When you have a task, it's better to do it than to live with the fear of it. We just need to get him into the next pasture, right? It's not like I'm inviting Brutus to waltz.” He gave a false chuckle and was relieved to see both faces in front of him break into grins.

Raph punched him on the arm playfully. “If anyone’s inviting anyone to dance, it's Brutus. Be careful, he’s more partial to tango.” He barked out another laugh and gave Derrek another light punch. “Give him hell, punk, we’ll be cheering you on.”

Derrek nodded and hopped the fence in one fluid motion, trudging his way across the pasture. As he came upon Kurt and his sons, he started to catch some of their discussion.

“No, dammit!” Kurt snapped, shaking his head. He was a big man with a crew cut and a beer gut, his red flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows, crossed arms knotted with muscle. “We tried that already! He’s too smart to guide with a cattle panel, he took both of you down at once last time we tried!” He slapped the young man to his left upside his head. A light tap, but with an audible smack. “Ya dingus.”

The young man rubbed the side of his head, slouching a bit. Aside from the posture, he was a spitting image of his father, separated by a few decades and a few dozen pounds. “I was only saying, that's how we got everyone else. I just figured we weren't lucky last time.”

Kurt scoffed. “Don't figure too hard, might hurt yourself.” His other son snickered and Kurts’ gaze snapped to the lanky, curly-haired youth. “Don't get cocky, Clyde. I don't see you offering any bright ideas.” Kurt shook his head and grumbled, turning away from his sons to see Derrek stepping carefully around a large cowpie. His annoyed frown shifted to a quizzical one. “Who the hell are you, punk?”

Is it my posture? The acne? Why is everyone calling me a punk?

Derrek put on a friendly smile and offered out his hand. “Shawn Bates, new arrival. Charlotte sent me this way, said you might need help with a stubborn bull.” Kurt glared at Derrek's hand, then spat out a brown glob of who-knows-what in the grass and glared at the man himself, pointedly not shaking the hand. Derrek put the hand down.

“Kurt Dunn.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder at the younger, thinner version of himself. “That's Elliot.” He threw the thumb over his other shoulder at his curly haired son. “And that's Clyde. You know anything about cattle?”

Derrek cracked a half-grin. “Not a thing, except they’re where steaks come from.”

Elliot snickered, and Kurt shot a glare at his son, pointing it back at Derrek after a second. “Wouldn't do you much good even if you did, Brutus ain't like any bull I’ve ever seen. Never seen a bull hold a grudge. All he wants is what he wants, and right now he wants to be in this field.” He spat again. “We’re fresh out of ideas, so if you've got anything besides smartass remarks, I’m all ears.” He crossed his arms, his scowl taking on a hint of smugness.

Derrek assessed the situation. The gate was near him, closed at the moment, but could swing out wide. There were cattle panels, metal grids roughly four by twelve feet. If one person manned the gate and two held a panel, they could form a funnel for a fourth to drive Brutus through. He looked over at the bull in question. Even though he was facing away and had his head down grazing, Derrek could still see the tips of his horns over his muscular back. It was almost like an optical illusion, his scale defying his surroundings. Driving something that big would take some doing.

‘Never seen a bull hold a grudge.’

Derrek snapped his fingers and looked back at Kurt and his sons. “Kurt, open the gate and hold it swung out wide, and be ready to close it. Clyde, Elliot, hold one of those panels on the opposite side of the gate, forming a funnel. I'm going to get him through”

Kurt frowned a touch deeper. “And how do you plan on driving him?”

Derrek grinned. “Oh, I'm not going to drive him.” He started walking toward the wall of beef and called over his shoulder. “He’s going to drive me.” He was gratified to catch Kurts frown melt away into bafflement.

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“Are you out of your damn mind?”

Derrek waved behind him, not breaking stride. “That remains to be seen. Just make sure you're ready at the gate.” He didn't look back again, but he could feel Kurt shaking his head disapprovingly. He also felt a smirk crawl across his face. It faded as Brutus came into scale.

It occurred to him he didn't have a plan. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate, he had the bones of a plan; piss off the bull, get it to chase him to the other pasture. It was the ‘pissing off the bull’ part that was still hazy, and the part that grew less appealing the closer he got to the bull.

Could I just throw a rock at him? Would he even feel it? He looked around, but there weren't any rocks big enough to throw, only a few pebbles among the grass. He didn't have anything on him he could throw either, and it wasn't like he could just shoot the bull. Or stab him, for that matter. There wouldn't be any explaining that away, regardless of his silver tongue. Maybe not silver, but silver-plated at least.

He crouched low a few dozen feet from the grazing Brutus’ hindquarters, watching as muscle contracted under his thick hide just from the effort of standing upright. If he noticed Derreks’ approach, he showed no sign of it, happily munching along, no care in the world. Derrek weighed his options as the bulls’ thin tail swished back and forth, flicking at flies, occasionally resting against the bulls dangling…

“Goddamn it,” Derrek whispered to himself. He knew exactly how to piss off the bull. The good news was he had all the tools he needed, the bad news was he forgot to pack hand sanitizer. He made a mental note to always pack hand sanitizer from this day forward. He took several deep breaths, psyching himself up, and slowly crept up behind the bull. He could smell the animals’ musk when he was within twenty feet, and it only grew stronger the closer he was. He was close enough to reach out and touch Brutus now, and he sure hadn't gotten any smaller. Now that he was face to face with his task, he was seriously reconsidering. Do bulls kick? Great, now I need to research livestock behavior. Oh well, that was one of those problems you just have to deal with if it comes up, for now all he had to do was apply a little force. He took a deep breath through his mouth, sparing his nostrils, and reached out his hand, holding his middle nail against his thumb, pushing against it, feeling the pressure rise as his fingers ached with exertion. Better to do it, than to live with the fear of it.

He relaxed his thumb and let his middle finger fly, flicking the bull hard in his testicles. The bull froze solid and a shiver radiated out from the point of contact along its skin, rolling down the hind legs and across its back, disappearing from Derrek's view as it crept up its neck and presumably to its snout. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Brutus lifted his head, turning even slower to look at Derrek, his huge, beady eyes boiling with rage. He let out a massive snort of air through his snout, and Derrek started running.

He bolted toward the gate as Brutus bellowed behind him, slamming his shoe down hard on a cow pie on almost the first step, but he had bigger problems. He could hear the pounding hooves closing in, and when he felt the bull right behind him, he rolled to the side, letting Brutus barrel past him, the wind rushing past like from a semi truck. He scrambled to his feet as the bull made a wide turn, never slowing down for an instant, his murderous eyes and even more so horns pointing straight at him and closing the distance fast. There was no time to dodge this one, there was no time to think of anything else either. It looked like he would have to take a page out of Discords’ book and improvise.

On sheer instinct, he reached out and grabbed the horns as they came to meet him, swinging his weight as he was ripped off his feet, keeping his grip to steer himself as Brutus bucked, slamming his ass into place on the bulls’ back, holding the horns much like he would the handles of his motorcycle. He squeezed his legs tight, holding himself in place as Brutus jerked back and forth, trying to shake him off, but Derrek held firm. Having no idea what else to do, he pulled with all his might, pointing the bulls’ head to the right. To his gratification, Brutus started charging slightly to the right. The bull wasn't anywhere near as responsive and was much slower, but it surprised him how similar it was to his bike.

He managed to steer the charging bull toward the gate, making constant corrections as he fought against Derrek's every action, and thankfully Kurt and his sons had the funnel formed, all three of them staring slack jawed at this impromptu rodeo performance. “Get ready to close it!” Derrek screamed as Brutus rapidly closed the distance. Just before Brutus got to the funnel, Derrek dived off the bull, neatly rolling on the grass as the bull blasted past the gate. He purposely stumbled and sprawled on the ground, trying to make it look like a rougher landing than it was as Kurt rushed to close the gate, latching it just as Brutus looped back around. He glared at Derrek as he pushed himself to his feet, gave another huge snort, and trotted off, finding a tall patch of grass to graze on.

The four of them just stared at the bull for a moment, then Clyde burst out laughing. Elliot joined in, doubled over with laughter, gripping his knees tight. Kurt was next, his face lighting up with joy, sporting a grin that radiated good humor as he guffawed in harmony with his sons. It was about that time the smell hit Derrek. He looked down at his shoe and, as he expected, it was encrusted in cow shit, but it wasn't where the smell was coming from. He tried to follow it, but it always seemed to be right behind him.

Oh no.

With mounting horror, he shifted his illusory jacket so he could see the back, and it was even worse than his shoe. “Oh, goddamn it.” The laughter was redoubled, and Derrek carefully stripped off the jacket, holding it by the clean hem away from him. For the thousandth time, he was thankful for the Reapers’ touch. There was no way the man he was a year ago could have pulled that off. Actually, that Derrek would've probably written off the idea entirely and found a solution that didn't put his life at risk. Something cleverer than flicking a bull in the nuts, at least. He caught sight of Lisa and Raph across the field, clapping wildly, Raph standing on the fence they had just fixed, shouting something Derrek couldn't quite make out. He grinned and took a bow, the tail of his jacket trailing the grass.

Kurt had finally caught his breath, still sporting that bright toothy grin. It was an odd sort of magic, that craggy face shining like light breaking through storm clouds, not a shred left of the sour man who called him a punk minutes ago. He patted Derrek on the back, his sons still cackling behind him. “I thought I’d seen it all, but I’ve sure never seen that!” He tilted his head back and bellowed out another laugh, planting his meaty palm on Derrek's shoulder. “You're alright. Shawn, was it?”

Derrek forced his smile a tooth wider, feeling the weight of his shit-encrusted jacket, not to mention the gun hidden inside. “That's right.”

“You've got balls, Shawn, bigger than Brutus!” Kurts’ grin dimmed for a moment, then gleamed even brighter. “Adams gotta meet you.” He turned to his sons, their laughter petering out, and in an instant that frown returned like a shade thrown over a lantern. “Hey! Dinguses! Get those damn panels back under shelter and get some lunch, I’m taking Shawn to the house.” He turned back to Derrek, the shade lifted and the lantern burning bright. He put his hand on Derrek's back and started leading him. “We’ll get your jacket and shoes cleaned up real nice, we got two girls on laundry almost ‘round the clock. I’ll have them make it a priority. Shouldn’t take long on the shoes, so just do the Japanese sock thing for a bit.” He barked out another laugh and patted Derrek hard on the back. “I see great things in store for you, Shawn, great things!”

Derrek had heard of people with a ‘Jekyll and Hyde personality,’ but until now he had never put much stock in it. It wasn't like talking to someone who opened up after a bonding experience, it was like talking to a completely different person, like he had proven himself worthy. All according to plan, and ahead of schedule too. He smiled back at Kurt who had not stopped talking, leading him toward the big house, and subtly slid the gun out of his jacket pocket, hiding it from view as he brought it back around and tucked it into the back of his pants, covering it with his shirt. Kurt hadn't even looked in his direction, he just led Derrek on to the house, never breaking stride and hardly taking a breath.