Hey everybody! This is the beginning of the origin story in my Troublemakers AU. Troublemakers itself should be updated either tomorrow or the day after. Hope you enjoy it!

Ezra tried to keep the nervousness off his face as he skirted around behind the crowd that was growing on the street after the murderer-for shooting an unarmed man in cold blood, twice no less, could be nothing else-had been apprehended. Apprehended by a combination of the group he'd rode with to defend the Seminole village and Orin Travis. A man Ezra had had no intention of running into any time soon. No matter how fond the Judge had claimed to be of him, Ezra was sure disappearing the way he had, without a word and two months left of his probation, would require him revoke it. Even just the week that he had spent in the cells before Judge Travis had released him and more than graciously given him houseroom had assured him he wanted no part of jail. Looking quickly around he scaled the saloon steps, nodding to JD as he joined him on his walk to the bar. He liked the younger man-and Ezra had no doubt that JD was younger than him, whatever he'd said. Still, he'd let him keep his secrets, best way to guard his own. Compared to the fresh-faced, bold, and overeager lad Ezra found himself remarkably mature.

Settling up against the bar, Ezra spoke quietly to the bartender and received his drink, relaxing from the first sip and exchanging grins with JD. Turning, he leaned his back against the bar and surveyed the tables, wondering if he'd be able to get anyone interested in a game of chance after he'd been so publicly caught cheating. Ezra had known it was foolish, that he'd overplayed his hand, acted too intoxicated for as sober as he'd suddenly become the second he'd made his last shot, but he'd needed that money, had been down to ten dollars and his watch, and had realized too late that he had not had as much control over that need as he thought. No matter, someone would want to play poker eventually and Ezra would be happy to oblige the gentleman or gentlemen, or perhaps, though it seemed unlikely in this dusty burg, gentle lady. He'd have to expedite his trip out of town now that both Un-the Judge and Mrs. Travis were here, it would not be prudent to do otherwise, and so he needed to increase his meager funds without delay. What a short-thinking fool he'd been, using his own name.

Not that it hadn't been good to see Judge Travis, in particular good to see him walk away whole from his initial confrontation with the despicable coward who'd laid Mr. Potter permanently low. When Mary had rushed over to him-Ezra hadn't even known she was back in the town, probably never would have gotten off the stage here if he had, no matter how low his funds-his heart had seemed to skip a few beats, not sure what to do, but unable to stand the idea of guns pointing at her even for a moment. When the others had begun to silently and quickly slip around the villains, Ezra had taken his place among them, still surprised that he had been allowed back into their fold, perhaps not eagerly, but he had not been rejected either. He moved the glass in his hand slightly, sloshing the whiskey in it back and forth as he looked around the saloon, mind moving back to the last moments on the top of the ridge, expecting Mr. Larabee to lay him out, or at least tell him he was no longer welcome among them. He could not have blamed the man for either or both. Instead, the gunslinger had approached him with a look on his face that had warned Ezra not to look away as much as it had compelled the desire in him to do so, his eyes seeming to see right through him, and fiercely, sincerely, told him, "Don't ever run out on me again."

Ezra was still trying to figure out whether the words had been the offer of another chance or a threat. The more he got to know Mr. Larabee, the likelier he thought it was that they had been both. Slipping out without the judge seeing him was an unfortunate necessity, but he would have to beg his leave off that man. He did not quite dare to do otherwise, though Ezra was sure Larabee wouldn't think twice about granting his permission. Knowing his time was running out, that he should duck out of sight if he didn't want to be discovered, Ezra turned back to the bar, intending to inquire of the bartender if they had any rooms for rent when footsteps, confident and solid, but not as quick as they had once been, sounded just inside the mostly empty building, the batwing door swinging shut behind. A strong, carrying, voice sounded around the floor, "I got twenty dollars for any man who wants to be sheriff. A week's worth." Ezra ducked down over his drink, willing himself to become intangible, invisible, or at least, to remain unnoticeable for the duration of the time Judge Travis remained in the saloon.

Uncle Orin.

"Alright, thirty dollars." The only movement from around the room came from men shifting in their seats, ducking their heads, or turning their backs on the determined old man, and Ezra wasn't surprised at the scoff of disgust that left him, or the dry voice informing the saloon's customers, "I am deeply moved by this exhibition of courage." As he heard JD, next to him, push himself away from the bar excitedly, he snuck enough of a glance to see him straighten his hat and hitch up his gunbelt as he approached the judge and grimaced internally. He could just see the younger boy listing his qualifications as having aided in the saving of a Indian village and going on to list his compatriots by name.

"Sir...I'd like the job."

"Nah. You're too young."

"I've never looked my age." JD's voice was almost amusing as he tried his best to sound capable, but really just sounded over-earnest. Still Ezra was impressed with the misdirection from someone who likely had little experience with it-Mr. Dunne had never actually said he was a teenager, but he hadn't said he was older either, not in so many words.

"This job could kill you."

"I know." There was something in his voice that said he did, that he had learned at least a little of that lesson in the village, but Ezra, who had done his utmost to stick to the rules of his trade, and not involve himself in matters that could not bring some boon to him, had a hard time not protesting. JD was too young, very much so, and the idea of him trying to handle James and his ilk, or the gangs of bank robbers and other scum that were said to plague this small backwater, without backing made Ezra feel slightly ill.

"There's no glory in it."

"I'm not looking for any." Then why, Ezra thought, a mouthful of whiskey warming his stomach as he swallowed, do you desire the position?

"Am I to understand this is the only brave man among you?" Still, no one moved. "Alright, you're hired."

Peering over his shoulder for just a moment he got a glimpse of the two shaking hands and then went back to trying to blend in like a chameleon, willing no one to draw attention his way. Which was why, he was sure, JD all but ran up to him, slapping him on the back and saying excitedly, "Hey Ezra, guess what? I'm going to be the sheriff!"

Wishing he could sink beneath the floorboards, Ezra muttered out a, "Congratulations." He was as caught as the time when he was ten and a policeman out of uniform had stepped to where young Ezra had been offering games of 'find the queen', played, lost, and with a surprising amount of cheer had told the young boy he was coming with him.

"Ezra...?" He heard the surprise in the voice, and braced himself, for what he wasn't exactly sure, but did not move or otherwise acknowledge his un-Judge Travis, even as he heard the man take several steps forward, stopping at his side, his eyes seeming to bore their way all the way into his gray matter as he stared at him for what felt like an endless eternity, before finally, voice low, said "Ezra Patrick, you look at me right now."

Knowing he had no choice, that no good could come of him doing otherwise, Ezra tore his gaze from the truly fascinating shot of whiskey left in his glass and did his best to smile at Orin like he hadn't a care in the world, "Hello, Judge Travis, what brings you to this fair municipality?"