A/N: People who do not like slash please do not read.

Annoyed because the limp left him visually weak, he couldn't help but acknowledge the excitement as he clocked Carson with one glance. Each step awkward but determined, there was a certain thrill in coming into contact with Mr Well's essence, it reminded him of their history, some of the memories good, and others questionable. Although Carson was forced to become a piece of the puzzle, the very fact that he had been hired to track him was an insult, and all insults had to be strangled out of consciousness. It wasn't the method that was important, just as long as it was done. As Carson wiped the sweat from his brow he could feel eyes on him. He hoped it was really good looking girl, or even a big guy that wanted to kick his ass, anyone would have been better than the voice he heard behind him. He stopped and turned, looking down at Anton as he looked back with the delicate remains of an innocent grin. "Hello" He said with slow deliberateness. "Show me the way" Carson had no choice but to lead him to his room, this could be the last night he was gonna spend it in alive.

Chigurh's inprint of destruction had swiped it's sweaty palm on his shoulder, and he was willing to do anything to wipe it off. He opened the door pushing it with a creak as he walked though his crappy little set-up. If it was anyone else, he would have felt embarassed, but he knew his visitor didn't give a corpses shit. Chigurh shut the door, and placed himself against a leather chair. Fancy but expected for someone like Wells, one of the reasons their partnership went down the crapper, but possibilites whirled round in both of their minds. "I take it you don't want tea or coffee" Wells said, moulding his mouth into a smile, but sure as heck knew that if Chigurh told him to stand up, underneath him a puddle would erupt on the floor like niagra falls. "You've been in contact with Moss" Anton told him, ready to get the information. "I sure have" Wells told him with a sure nod. "He threw it over a fence. Landed in greenland. Can show you" He told him bluntly. "Bow down and give it to ya like a god, that's how you want it" Wells stated as if that was a fact. "The fake pedestal is broken, live with it...or not" Chigurh teased him as Wells's pulse quickened. Flattery apprently did the trick because two minutes later they were heading to Moss's money hiding place and Wells's wishing well. Wells hoped it was still there or his body would be dragged out onto the road by dogs. After politely going into a shop to get torches Wells had to literally place his Jacket on the floor, because they both knew that it wasn't going to be held. His shoes were covered in dirt and nettles enjoyed slashing his arms, he cursed Moss for being such a paranoid ass, but he did have every reason to be. With Chigurh clutching the case and his weapon, Wells figured he was either going to be dead or homeless tonight. Chigurh claimed no pity as his own so he'd probably have to go to the lobby bathroom to get cleaned up then run the fuck outta there.

Alarmed by his own cowardice when they got back to the hotel, he immediately went to the bathroom and took his shirt off. With the thin cheap toilet paper he started dabbing the bloody scratches on his skin. His eyes widened as he saw Chigurh watching him. "Dammit, I could have been squatting over last night's steak Chigurh" He told him. "But you weren't" He answered. "Stop hiding, and sit on the chair" He asked, and in itchy pain, Wells did as he was told. His upper half in pain as his body sagged from gravity alone. Chigurh came out with what looked like napkins and a small pot which looked like it had water in it. "Chigurh, you ain't touching me with that" Wells warned, even though he'd knew he'd lost before he'd opened his mouth. "I "ain't" Chigurh told him. "This is" He said, putting the pot on one of the napkins and dabbing it on Well's arm. It hurt, and he was sure Chigurh was getting some type of happiness from doing it, but it never showed on his face. After he finished the torture, Wells's went into his room picked out the most ugliest looking shirt he could find and came to face Chigurh buttoning it up. "Shirt suits you" He said without one note of sarcasm. "I guess, busted inside and out" Said Wells as he began getting his suitcase out. Chigurh couldn't help but stare at both of the objects. "Where are you going?" He asked.

"Find another place to lay"

"But this is your room" Chigurh stated in the flatest tone he could muster.

"It can't be, it's yours" He said, as Chigurh walked to the door and leaned against it. "You were here first, time travel" He asked, forcing them to remember the nights in copy-cat rooms like this, where he'd lie on the floor while his "partner" took the bed. It couldn't be that way tonight though, not with so much money in the room. "You bought the room, you take the bed" Chigurh told him, as if reading his mind. "Nah I insist" Wells's said. Chigurh shook his head. "Southern hospitality slays me. It's just a myth. Your wounds won't heal on the floor" "Anton" Wells said in a tired groan. "They're just plant marks" "It's only fair you stay" Anton said putting his hand against his weapon, leaning for attention on his leg. "I tell you what I'll do" Said Wells, as he got up and walked towards Anton and knelt on the floor. Anton was careful clueless until he could feel Wells's tongue on his torso. "Atlantic city, the swinging lantern, nineteen seventy two" Anton said as he knelt against the door.

"Nothing gets past you, I hate to break it to you Anton, but this good old southern boy's more than just a one trick pony" He began to unzip Anton's trousers, but his teammate took his circular gun and placed it against Wells's head even though Wells's was pretty sure Anton wasn't gonna pull shit, he bowed his head from the solitary pressure of submission he'd placed upon himself. "Tricks from who?" He asked. "Anton this is a secret that goes no further than here. K? I can read more than a painting or a can of beans" He said with a grin, his fingertips on the elastic waist of his underwear. Anton put the gun down and Carson used that as permission to complete his task. It was better than diving in shit to get that satchel, but he didn't know what he was gonna say to Anton tomorrow. The throbbing in his gut constantly reminded him that he may not survive the mysterious angst that gnawed at Anton endlessly. He stayed calm, hoped Anton felt that he was good at this mission, he'd be a sorry excuse of a man if he took a bullet to the skull dying on his knees wearing a shirt even his dog wouldn't choose to piss on.