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Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just playing. CBS and Mirish have that distinct pleasure.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None really, just remember I tend to like hurt/comfort just a little bit.
Author's notes: I had no way intended to do this, but 'someone' suggested it, and you know how I am. I think Maggs has conditioned me in one of her evil moments. Oh well, there is a point to these ramblings; but at the moment Margarett Cassidy won't let me tell you what it is. (bg)

BTW, thanks to everyone who wished me luck on my midterm, it's over, thank goodness. Now, I'm working on dream analysis. (big evil Maggie grin)

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Afraid

I’m having that dream again.

The same one that has woken me everytime I manage to drift off to sleep. It’s the one where all my fears are realized. It’s the one where I don’t save, Chris.

It starts the same as what really occurred. We’re out-gunned. The McKalister gang was a surprise, to all of us. I realize this at the same time my friends do, but as usual, we don’t dare think of defeat.

We split-up. Ezra and Buck go around the saloon. Nate is pinned behind a wagon, near the Clarion. Chris and I have come
from the jail, where I was enjoying whipping him in a game of checkers. His face is grim as he looks up to the boardinghouse. I know what he’s thinking, so I give him a half-grin and take a run for it. The last time I see him before I reach my nest in the sky, he is making his way towards the bank, guns blazing.

I easily pick off two of the gunmen from my vantage point. Just like shooting fish in a barrel. It evens the odds some, and I watch as Ezra takes out another. He of course, cannot resist the smug grin he throws my way, before taking off to cover Buck. The man does not grasp the concept of humbleness, even in a life and death circumstance.

I shake my head, and let my eyes locate Nate, making sure he is still safe, I then search for the form I haven’t yet spotted. For a moment my pulse quickens and I begin to panick, but then I catch a glimpse of black, like a cat stalking it’s prey.

Chris is almost to the bank, where the Mckalister’s are robbing it clean, while their accomplices ‘handle’ the local protection. He moves without worry for what may be behind him; he knows I’ll have his back. And I did.

I see the man coming out of the alleyway near Chris’s target. Unfortunately, he ducks behind one of the crates, Mr. Jensen had been unloading at the general store, and I can’t get a clear shot at him. I know I could try, perhaps startle him, but he may get a round off at my brother. That’s not an allowable miscalculation.

Even though I know some of McKalister’s men are lining the street below me, I know what I must do. This is where things change.

I start to step from behind my cover, to warn Chris, but I can’t move. My body is completely out of my control, almost as if I were made of stone, frozen like the statue of Christ that use to stand in front of the orphanage.

I struggle fiercely, but it’s no use. I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, and time seems to slow down. Not willing to let my paralysis cost me my brother’s life, I try to shout his name. But my voice fails. Nothing, not even a whimper.

The sky starts to grow dark, and thunder sounds around me. Lightning strikes in the distance and I can’t help but to shiver, as a cold rain starts to fall. I’m freezing and hot at the same time. But the shout from below pulls my thoughts away from my own misery.

Ezra’s voice resounds through the downpour and magically I am freed from my invisible prison. With a sluggish version of my usual reflexes, I make it to the side of the boarding house and look over the edge.

“NO!” I hear myself scream, and suddenly I am no longer on the roof, but standing at my brother’s fallen body. His eyes are open, but he no longer sees. Nothing in this world anyway.

In an instant, I am on my knees pleading with him to wake up; but I know it’s too late. I’ve failed to save him. Blood covers my hands, and I can even taste the metallic bitterness in my mouth. God. There is so much blood.

“Chris?” I say his name, and it sounds like some kind of desperate prayer. Finally, with a trembling hand I reach out and close his eyes, unable to bear the emptiness I see in the blue gaze that had always given me a sense of safety, of kinship. I lift my head to search the street for the others, because it is now I realize the gunfire has stopped.

For the second time, I am at a loss. Not ten feet away from us, Buck is down and by the look on Ezra’s face, we have lost him also.

The thoughts of breaking J.D.’s heart fills my mind, and I can feel myself succumbing to the pain. Passing out seems like a good plan and I start to give in to the darkness, when a cold hand on mine stops me.

I whirl back to face the prone form that has gripped my arm, hope surging within me. *Chris.*

My chest constricts and I gasp. I’m no longer looking into the face of my brother. But into the menacing brown eyes I recoginize from a wanted poster. Eyan McKalister. “Your brother’s dead, kid. I made sure of that. You’re all alone , now!”

I backpedal trying to free myself from the outlaw’s grasp. He sits up, and is holding Chris’s gun, which he aims at my heart. “But don’t worry, son. I’m going to put you out of your misery.”

Right before my eyes, McKalister’s face shifts, and it is Chris again. Atleast the features belong to my brother. The look of pure hatred is still Eyan, and even as I reach for my gun to defend myself, I know that I can not shoot my bestfriend.

Unfortunately, I don’t have to.

A flicker of the ‘real’ Chris flashes in the sorrowful blue eyes now staring at me, and before I can react, my brother turns the gun on himself and in agonizing slow motion, pulls the trigger.

“Chris!” The shout explodes from me, leaving a trail of agony in it’s wake. My chest is on fire, and as I struggle against the hands now trying to hold me down, I fear I’m going to be sick.

“Vin!” My father’s voice surprises me, and I have to blink several times before his concerned face is revealed to me. “Take it easy, son. You’re alright. You were just dreamin'."

I’m confused and not quite sure of what’s going on. It’s hard to discern what is authentic and what is not. One thing’s for sure, my pain is real. I hear my self cry out, and my father’s tone reflects my anguish as I hear him yell for Nathan.

“Easy, Vin. Just lie back.”

“Ezra?” I’m not sure if I said the name or thought it, but the gambler continues to try and calm me.

“You need to refrain from moving, Mr. Tanner. Nathan would be quite disconcerted if you were to extirpate all his meticulous work.” His usual overuse of five-dollar words is present, but my friend’s tone holds something I’m not use to hearing. Fear. Fear and Concern.

I take another gasp of air and try to control my runaway heart. My head is pounding and again the agony in my chest almost sends me to the darkness once more.

“Slow breaths, son,” My father eases me back to the cot, and I find myself clinging to his arm.

“Dad.” This time I know the words were vocalized, but only at a whisper.

“It’s me, Vin.” His hand is on my forehead now, and to me it feels like ice. Just like when my dead brother had latched onto me from the grave. My eyes fly open and I remember the reason for my panick.

“Chris?!” Even I realize I sound terrible.  My father looks past me, to where Ezra is knelt on the other side of my bed, and I feel the gambler let go of my hand as he quickly rises and dashes out of the room.

“Your brother’s fine.” Jon tries to assure me, but as I turn my head to scan the area around us, I am not convinced.

Chris isn’t here. He’d be here, if he could. I know it.

“Buck finally talked him in to getting something to eat, he just left a while ago.” The older man must have picked up on my doubt, but I only hear the first word of my father’s explanation, and my head begins to hurt worse.

“Buck,” I say, miserably, closing my eyes against the memory.

Before my father can speak again, I hear another voice. “Looks like I’m going to have to tie you down to that bed, if I expect you to stay still.”

Nathan’s tone is light, but as I lift my gaze to take in his haggard features, I know he’s not joking. “Where’s , Chris?” I manage, knowing Nate is a terrible at lying. If he tells me something that’s not true, I’ll know it.
 
He doesn’t answer though, and before I know it, his hands are on my chest , probing at the white bandage encircling me. “Doesn’t look like you busted them stitches open.” His palm now moves to my face, and I can tell he is gauging my temperature. “That fever just doesn’t want to go away , though, does it.”

“Ezra and I were keeping the water on him like you said, Nathan.” The tremble in my father’s words brings my attention back to him. “But, nothing seems to be helping.”

He looks tired, and although I don’t trust my voice, I try to reach out and touch him. The worry in his eyes reminds me so much of my brother.

“Isn’t there something you can do?” The hint of explosive anger in his tone, is also a legacy he has passed down.

“He’s going to be fine, Jon. This is just the body’s way of fightin’ off infection.”

Nathan is now running his fingers along my side, and I can’t help but to flinch when he touches a tender spot. I clench my teeth as he continues, and I wish like hell that I was still unconscious.

“Does that hurt?” The healer asks, and I know the look I shoot him is a deadly one.

He laughs, though. “With that fall you took, it’s a wonder you didn’t break those ribs, instead of just bruising ‘em.”

“Jon,” I start, and my father gives me his full attention.

“You’re going to be fine, son.” He promises. Unfortunately, I feel anything but.

“I do need to clean that wound.” Nathan is talking more to himself now than us, as I feel his healing touch checking my leg. It’s the first time I realize I have pain there, too. I suppose the constant throbbing in my chest has consumed most of my attention. That, and the ache in my soul.

“Please,” the choked whisper barely makes it past my lips, and my father misinterprets it.

“Damn it, Nathan. Could you stop poking and prodding at the boy. He’s suffered enough.”

The healer ignores my father and I’m not surprised. He’s use to Buck ranting and raving when J.D. finds himself in need of Nate’s services. I wonder if I should warn Jon, that the kind-hearted doctor has been known to toss overprotective parents out on their ear, but I don’t get a chance before Jackson is using some scissors to cut at my bandages.

I try not to move, but my frustration is taking over at this point. Not only am I hurting, and tired, but no one is paying one bit of attention to what I’m saying. It is a curse I have whenever I am hurt. For some reason, I apparently disappear and all envolved tend to talk about me as if I’m not even present.

“This is going to sting some, Vin.” Nathan’s voice is hesitant. “But I need to clean the wound out. No need tempting fate none.”

I look at him, and I suddenly understand the difficulty of his job. Hurting those you care about is never easy, even when it’s for their own good. “Go ‘head, Nate.”

He pats my shoulder and offers a smile before moving off to get more supplies. I let my eyes shut for a moment, tempted to the darkness by the soothing touch of my father. He is stroking my hair and saying words aimed more at comfort than meaning.

If someone had told me that I would have let Jon Larabee become so close to me a year ago, I would have laughed in their face. Or shot them, one. The last thing I needed or wanted was a father, but he has proven his self over the last months. And I have come to realize how he stole the heart of a woman as special as my mother.

It is still strange to hear myself say dad, and to allow him to play the part of the worried father. I was never one to let others touch me, physically or emotionally. But that has changed  since coming to Four Corners. Since meeting Chris.

For the first time in my life, at least since my ma died, I do not flinch when someone lays a hand on me, nor do a shy away from any display of affection.  In fact, I realize how much I have missed. Just another gift my brother has given to me.

The thought of him revives me from my light doze and I can’t fight back the need to ask for him again. One last time. Maybe someone will listen.

It takes a great deal of effort , but I am able to open my eyes to peer up at my father.

My heart skips a beat, and a lump springs to my throat, as I am treated to the very worried face of Chris Larabee staring down at me, instead.

“Hey, cowboy. Just like you to wait until I leave to wake up.”

“Chris?” I ask, not yet believing that I am conscious. “ I was afraid you ..”

His hand covers my mouth before I can finish. “Shhh,” he soothes. “Don’t talk, Nate needs you to be still why he works.”

My eyes remain on him as he flashes the healer a look that I easily read as , ‘hurry and get it over with’. I’m sure he was hoping I had fell asleep once more. This won’t be pleasant. But to me, seeing him, alive and breathing, is worth any amount of struggle.

He’s gripping my arm now, and I try to ignore the sensation of the bandage being peeled away from my skin. I had expected the pain, but as the cold liquid splashes across the all-too fresh wound in my chest, I swear I still stars and my breath chokes me. I’m sure I would have come right off the bed, if Jon and Ezra hadn’t been holding me down. Funny that I hadn’t realized they were even in the room, let a lone gripping my shoulders.

“Easy.” Chris is trying to help, but I still can’t breathe, and that scares me some.

“Hurts.” I get out when I can finally take some air into my lungs.

“I know.” My brother is so close I feel his breath on my face, and I know this is harder on him , than it is for me.  “ I’m sorry. Just hold on, it’ll be over in a minute.” Jon has moved now, and Chris has pulled me closer to him.

As always, he speaks the truth, and soon the burning pain decreases to a tolerable level.

“I just need to rebandage that and then you can get some more rest.” Nathan sounds more calm than I’m sure he is.

“Not tired,” I reply weakly, even as I feel my eyes start to close.

I hear Nathan laugh, and speak to my father. “Looks like I may need you to stay in town a while and keep him in line.”

“I’ll be here.” Jon replies, and I’m relieved at his certainty. Especially after I get another good look at my brother’s face.

Dark circles line his usually clear eyes, and a new spark of hate hides behind the blue-green gaze. He offers me a tired smile, but I can see the anger behind it.

“You alright?”  His voice is softer than usual.

I swallow hard before I answer.“I think I should be asking you that.”

He reaches up and pushes some hair away from my sweat-drenched face.”You thirsty?” He asks, changing the subject.

Or maybe he was reading my mind. I could probably drink half of Silver Falls and still be parched. I nod, and he reaches for a cup on the night table.

“Take it slow.” He holds the cup to my lips and allows me take several small sips. My stomach doesn’t protest too much, but I decline his next offer. “How about some broth?”
 
“Not hungry.” I continue to look at him, in a scrutinizing way that I know he’d call me on if I weren’t so sick. I also know I am one of the few people on the exclusive list of those who can push him and get away with it. In fact, J.D. and I are the only members. “You look like hell.”

That gets a more genuine grin from him, “Sorry, but I was on my way to clean up, when Ezra told me you’d decided to rejoin the land of the living.”

This makes me feel guilty. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept or done much of anything since I was injured. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asks, squeezing my hand a little tighter. “None of this is your fault, Vin.”

“Not your’s, neither.” I tell him, wishing he’d take the truth of it to heart.

I know he won’t .

“Why don’t you try and get some more sleep, before J.D. finally convinces Buck to let him come up here and tell you all about his trip.”

A small grin touches my lips at the mention of the teen. I actually missed him while he was gone, but I’d never tell him that. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

I see a flash of something cross his face, and I recall my nightmare from before.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere, cowboy.”

I want to believe him, but something nags at the edges of my mind. This incident is something he isn’t going to let go. I’m sure there is a piece of the puzzle that I’m missing. “Promise?” The word slips out before I can stop it, and I hate how childish I sound.

I hate what he says even more. Or atleast the way he says it.

“Promise.” His eyes don’t meet mine, and his voice is distant.

I suddenly feel very cold, and I wonder if I’m looking at a picture of the way Chris must have been after finding Sarah and Adam. I know he won’t give up until Eyan McKalister is dead. I know there’s nothing anyone can do to change his mind, whatever it is he has in mind. Not even I hold that power. And as that thought chases away any vestiges of relief I had falsely held.... I am truly afraid.

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The end