Chris stood out on the porch and leaned against a support post, a cooling mug of coffee cradled in his hands, a freshly lit cheroot clenched between his teeth. He stared out into the gathering dusk, but saw nothing, his mind fixed instead on the confused and hurting friend who’d finally fallen asleep on his couch.

God, there were so many things Vin needed, and he wasn’t sure he could provide a single one!

He heard the door behind him open, then close, heard the quiet footfall on the wooden porch behind him, but didn’t turn around to see who’d joined him. Didn’t need to see. He could tell just by the warmth the man seemed to bring with him wherever he went.

"I see Junior finally gave it up," Buck said softly, going to lean against the post opposite Chris. "Guess all them meds kicked in at once." He looked across at Chris, saw the deep grooves weariness and worry had carved into the battered features and the pallor beneath the bruises. "Shame we can’t get somethin’ like that for you."

Chris puffed on his cheroot and exhaled deeply. "Not sure pain-killers could reach where I’m hurtin’," he breathed.

"Yeah, I know," Buck sighed, crossing his arms against his broad chest and joining Larabee in staring into the distance. And seeing just as little of what was out there. "Helluva thing, ain’t it?" he murmured sadly. "You’ve done all you could ta hold that boy together, and now, for his sake, you’re gonna have ta do all you can ta break him right back open. Tear down ever’ damn wall he’s ever built, knowin’ all the while it’s them walls that have kept him goin’ on as long as he has." He shook his head slowly and winced deeply, his handsome features twisting into a mask of sorrow. "Ain’t no pain that hurts worse than a friend’s pain."

"How’d you do it, Buck?" Chris rasped, finally turning his eyes upon his oldest friend and staring at him as if he’d never seen him before. "How the hell did you manage?"

Buck turned to face him, setting his back against the post and shoving his hands into the pockets of the jeans the cool evening air had finally forced him to don. "Sometimes," he said quietly, gazing at Chris through sad but steady blue eyes, "by just the skin of my teeth."

"No," Chris said, shaking his head slowly. "I remember. Well," he winced and looked away again, "some of it. But," he frowned and returned his gaze to Buck’s, drawn to it by his need to know, "what I do remember is that you were always there, and you were always strong. And every time I fell, you were there to catch me."

"Yeah," Buck breathed, bowing his head, "but what you don’t know is how many times after I left you I went home and cried ’til I couldn’t cry anymore."

"I was that hard on you?"

Buck’s dark head came up at once, and his deep blue gaze shot to Larabee’s face. "No," he said firmly, almost angrily. "What you were goin’ through was that hard on me. Tell me you don’t feel that with Vin. Tell me ever’ bit of pain that boy’s sufferin’ ain’t rakin’ through you like a sharp spur. Tell me after you’ve held him and helped him through one of his ‘episodes’ you don’t feel like goin’ into a room by yourself and screamin’ until your throat bleeds because of what he’s sufferin’. Tell me you wouldn’t take it all away from him in a heartbeat if you could and that you don’t feel like the world’s most useless human bein’ because you can’t. And tell me you won’t get up tomorrow mornin’ and do it all again, knowin’ exactly what that’s gonna do ta you."

"I have to," Chris said without thinking. "He needs me. He’ll never make it through this on his own."

Buck smiled faintly at the words. "Y’see, pard? That right there’s how I managed. What I did for you ain’t one damn bit different than what you’re doin’ for Vin. Hell, what we’re all doin’ for him. Y’ don’t walk away from a friend when things get hard, Chris. Not if you really are a friend."

"You never let me say thank you."

Buck arched a glossy dark brow. "You gonna want Vin ta say thank you when this is over?" He saw Larabee scowl at the evasion and shrugged his broad shoulders deeply. "Ain’t nothin’ ta say thank you for, Chris. A friend does what a friend does, and this is what a friend does. Do you thank the roof for holdin’ off the rain? Do you thank the walls for keepin’ out the cold?" He shrugged again. "Roofs and walls, pard. That’s what friends are."

"And windows," Chris said as a slow smile curved about his mouth. "For lettin’ in the sun."

Again Buck bowed his head, made suddenly uncomfortable. "Aw, hell, stud, y’ been hangin’ around Junior too long. Startin’ ta pick up his poetry."

"Thing about Vin’s poetry," Chris said quietly, his gaze never wavering from Wilmington, "it’s all true. That’s where it gets its beauty. Thanks, Buck. Whether you wanta hear it or not, thanks."

Buck swallowed hard as a lump suddenly formed in his throat, and had to blink back the sting of tears. He’d never expected to hear it, had never asked to hear it, but couldn’t help being warmed by it when he did.

"You’re welcome," he finally managed to rasp. He raised his head then, and met Larabee’s eyes squarely. "Just so you know, though, I’d do it again in a heartbeat."

"I know," Chris said with utter conviction. "Hell, you’re doin’ it right now. For Vin… and for me."

"Well," Buck sighed, a shadow of his familiar smile breaking through, "I figger you’re both worth it. And I don’t have so many friends that I can afford ta let even one go without a fight."

"Hell, Buck, you’ve got friends all over the place!"

"Yep," the big man said soberly. "And ever’ one of ’em’s precious to me."

Chris had no answer for that. He knew it was true, knew it was exactly that truth that made Buck Wilmington the man he was.

The two were silent for long moments, reflecting on what had been said, and what hadn’t. And, eventually, it was the latter that prompted Buck to break that silence.

"Josiah and I… overheard you talkin’ ta Vin earlier," he said softly. "Didn’t mean to, but we were comin’ into the den–"

"It’s all right," Chris sighed. "I didn’t tell him anything you didn’t already know. Shit, you lived through it. As for Josiah…" He shrugged and exhaled a stream of smoke. "I don’t think there’s gonna be any secrets between any of us for a while."

Buck narrowed his eyes and searched Larabee’s face at that, seeing no trace of the man’s usual reserve, but only an overwhelming weariness. "Glad ta hear you say that," he said at last. "Because Josiah and I were thinkin’…" He paused a moment, then decided just to go for it. "You ever tell Vin you went through counselin’?"

Chris looked sharply at him, frowning. "What?"

But Buck was too far into it to back out now. And he wasn’t at all sure he would’ve backed out even if he could. "Could be," he said quietly, holding Larabee’s startled gaze with his own, "that knowin’ you been through it might make him a little more amenable to the idea. He knows you’re not crazy, and he knows you’re not weak. And maybe," he shrugged slightly, "hearin’ that you needed help will make him stop thinkin’ those things about himself. Because you know as well as I do," he went on before Chris could protest, "that if he doesn’t know you’ve been through it, then the minute one of us mentions the word, that’s exactly what he’s gonna think. Hell, he thinks it now! And you tellin’ him not ta say it hasn’t changed that a bit."

Chris stared at Buck and puffed contemplatively on his cheroot, turning over the big man’s words in his mind. And knowing they were all true. In Vin’s mind, the fact that one of his medications was an anti-depressant proved he was crazy. God knew what the suggestion that he needed counseling would do.

"How did it ever get to this point?" he asked in confusion, voicing aloud the question he’d asked himself silently a thousand times. "How did we ever miss this? Why didn’t we see–"

"Because he didn’t want us to," Buck said softly, sadly, torn by the thought of all the pain the younger man had kept locked inside himself for so long. "And you know as well as I do that if Vin don’t wanta be read, ain’t nobody gonna read him. That boy’s made a damn art out of hidin’ in plain sight."

"And we’ve let him get away with it," Chris said bitterly, resting his head against the support post and closing his eyes. "If we’d just tried a little harder–"

"Then he would’ve just shut us out. Chris, look at me," Buck ordered gently. When the blond head lifted and turned toward him, the green eyes opening to reveal the pain that now seemed a permanent shadow in them, Wilmington sighed deeply, aching as much for what all this was doing to Chris as for what it was doing to Vin. "Ain’t none of us mind-readers, and ain’t none of us shrinks. We missed the signs because Vin’s an expert at hidin’ ’em. Had ta be, I reckon, just ta survive. And he’s been doin’ it so long that now it’s just instinct. If we’d tried pushin’ him, pard, we woulda lost him, sure as the world. He woulda pulled back so far and so deep inside himself we’da never got him back. But now… well," he sighed, "now he just doesn’t have anything ta hide behind. Those walls of his have all come down. As much as it tears me up ta say this, it took Vin bein’ broken into a thousand little pieces for all this to come out."

Chris stared intently at his old friend, searching the deep blue eyes and the expressive face, and shook his head slowly in wonderment. "How’d you get so damn wise?" he asked softly. "And how is it that you can see things in all this that I keep missin’? Hell, I’m supposed ta be the one who knows Vin–"

"Ya do, pard," Buck assured gently, leaning once more against the post and crossing his arms loosely against his broad chest. "You and Vin are tied in ways I can’t even begin ta understand. You two’re tied at the heart, and the soul. But, right now, both of you are in so much pain, and all of it’s in your hearts and souls, that ya just can’t see through it. But me… I hurt for the boy, Chris," he sighed, his whole face drawing up with that pain, "hurt for him more’n I could ever say. But even so, my pain ain’t near as deep as yours, and I can still see through it. And you need that." He gave a smile, but it was small and sad. "You’re spendin’ so much time and effort lookin’ after Vin, takin’ care of him, makin’ sure he’s got what he needs, that, well, hell, you just plumb forget about you."

Chris stiffened at that and drew himself up to his full height, shooting a defensive, narrow-eyed glare at Buck. "He needs me–"

"Yeah, he does," the big man answered easily. "Needs ya like he’s never needed anybody before in his life. And I wouldn’t dream of tellin’ you ta back off from him." He winked. "I ain’t lived this long by bein’ stupid. But what I am sayin’ is this." He lifted his dark head slightly, and determination shone in his face. "You go on watchin’ Vin’s back, his front, hell, whichever side you figure needs it most. Do whatever you think needs ta be done. Just don’t you forget that while you’re watchin’ him, I’ll be watchin’ you. And when the load gets too heavy, stud, I’m gonna step in and take some of it on myself, whether you want me to or not. I ain’t gonna drop ya, Chris, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna let you drop Vin. Neither one of ya’d survive the fall."

Chris was appalled to feel the hard bite of tears in his eyes, and had to look away to keep Buck from seeing them. Though, even as he did it, he knew how useless an act it was. Buck, being Buck, would’ve seen. But, being Buck, he wouldn’t say a word, would just lock those tears away along with everything else he stored in that vast, bottomless treasure-trove he called a heart.

"Don’t sell yourself short, Larabee," Wilmington advised. "You’re worried you can’t be what Vin needs, can’t give him what he needs, can’t do what he needs done for him. And that, ol’ son, is just bullshit. You’ve already given him all that, and more." He paused, saw the blond head whip around and confusion flood the taut, tired face, and met that stunned look evenly. "Vin don’t need you ta ‘fix’ him, Chris, anymore than you needed me ta ‘fix’ you. He just needs you ta help hold him up while he tries ta fix himself. He just needs you ta give him a safe place where he can rest and try ta get his strength back. Hell, pard," he breathed, his voice growing thick and rough with all the emotion that spilled from him, "he just needs you ta be there, ta walk with him. Folks like me and you, who’ve always had that, don’t – can’t – really understand just how much that means, how important something so simple is. But Vin…"

He thought again of the young man now so nearly crippled by abuse he should never have known, and felt his own tears falling. Being Buck, though, he made no attempt to conceal them. "That boy’s never had anybody just take his hand and say, ‘Walk with me,’" he rasped in a hoarse, shaking voice. "Never had anybody who’d sit at his side while he slept and watch over him, never had anybody who’d reach for him when he stumbled or pick him up when he fell. And he never asked for it because, hell," bitterness welled from deep within him and tinged his voice, "Vin Tanner knows better than ta ask for what he ain’t ever gonna get. Some brutal sonuvabitch taught him a long time ago that all he’ll ever get for askin’ is more pain. But you…" He fixed a steady, measuring stare on Chris and smiled slightly. "You gave him all that without him ever havin’ t’ ask for it, just held out your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. And even when it went against every hard and hurtful lesson he’d ever learned in his life, when it defied every instinct he depended on to keep him alive, that boy stepped out of his shadows, out of his silence and solitude, and took that hand, holdin’ on to it for dear life. And he’s holdin’ on still, Chris, because, in all his life, no one has ever, ever offered themselves to him like that, without takin’ some piece of him in return. So don’t tell me or yourself that you can’t give Vin what he needs. Because you’ve already done it, and you just keep doin’ it every day."

Chris stared at Buck and let the man’s words wash over him, let the feeling behind them sweep through his soul like a healing rain, and felt everything that was in him rise up and wrap desperately, gratefully, around the hope that they offered. He’d been so busy taking stock of all the things he couldn’t do for Vin that he’d forgotten to consider what he could do. What he’d already done.

And he’d forgotten that he had Buck Wilmington around to kick his ass for being stupid enough to do that.

"If I can do that," he said at last, his voice shaking uncontrollably, his green eyes shimmering with tears he didn’t bother to blink away, "it’s because I learned it from someone who’s better at it than I’ll ever be. Because you’d already made sure I still had it in me to give." He took one last puff of his cheroot, then threw it out into the yard to burn itself out in the dirt. Still holding Buck’s gaze with his own, he stepped forward and extended his hand. "Because you taught me how important this is," he said roughly.

Buck looked down at that outstretched hand for several long moments, saw its strength, its steadiness. But it wasn’t quite enough. "Well," he said consideringly, "that’s real good. And now that you’ve learned that," he smiled, "I reckon it’s time you learned this." And before Chris could back away, he stepped forward and grabbed Larabee in a warm, tight hug, all but burying the smaller man in his arms.

Chris let his coffee cup fall to the porch, and returned that hug for all he was worth.

7~7~7~7

Josiah settled himself in the recliner and opened his Book of Christian Prayer, and quietly intoned the Invitatory. "God, come to my assistance. Lord, make haste to help me…."

As he gave voice to the familiar words, he felt the peace he’d sought stealing upon him and exhaled slowly in relief. He’d first begun praying the Liturgy of the Hours many years ago when, in the first flush of religious exuberance after converting to Catholicism, he’d entered the seminary, certain he’d been called to the priesthood. That certainty, like so many others in his life, had crumbled, and its loss had set him on a spiritual quest that, he supposed, continued to this day. But even after he’d stopped thinking of himself as a Catholic – had stopped thinking of himself as anything, really – still he clung to this one ritual, this one ancient form of prayer, treasuring both its discipline and the wisdom to be found in it. This was the prayer of the church, required of all clergy and strongly recommended for all the faithful, and even now it gave Sanchez a deep sense of comfort to think that his voice, his prayer, was being joined to those of so many others in a great communal outpouring of praise and petition to the God he mightily hoped still paid heed to such.

Because, right now, every prayer he uttered was for the young man who slept on the couch nearby.

"Like burning incense, Lord, let my prayer rise up to you…"

He lifted his gaze from the thick, well worn book and turned it to Vin, dearly wishing that by these words alone he could exorcise the demons that plagued Tanner’s soul. The former seminarian in him wanted to believe he could; the psychologist in him knew better. But the friend in him figured any straw was worth clutching at when Vin’s soul, Vin’s sanity, was at stake.

Returning his attention to the book, he saw that the first Psalm for tonight’s evening prayer was the 141st and couldn’t help thinking just how fitting it was. Hoping the Almighty might take some notice of this as well, he began to recite the Psalm aloud, as was his habit when praying the Divine Office.

"Lord, I call to you;

come quickly to help me;

listen to my plea when I call.

"Let my prayer be incense before you;

my uplifted hands an evening sacrifice…."

The deep voice welled from the vast cavern of his chest in a smooth and sonorous flow, as rich as velvet, as dark as mahogany, its burnished timbre filled with all the might and majesty of the Lord it invoked. He pitched it low, but could not restrain its inherent power, could not hold back the feeling that rose through him and grew stronger as he prayed. As that feeling gained strength, so did his voice, until, like thunder rolling from the mountains, its echoes reached into every corner of the room.

Reached into the mind of the man lying still and silent on the couch.

But, caught in that state halfway between sleep and waking, Vin’s mind distorted the voice, gave a harsh edge to its smoothness, turned its fervor to wrath. From a soothing, supple flow it changed into a raw and raging torrent, its hard and heavy cadence pounding furiously at the frail shell of a dam that held his memories in place. Then he heard not just the voice, but the words it thundered, and cold fear seized upon him.

Lord God, it was the Preacher!

Terror coursed through him as the words fell like blows upon him, as the voice that should have offered redemption promised only retribution. He could see him now – big, broad, towering like an avenging angel over the boy who cowered before him, pale eyes burning like twin pits of hell, florid face twisted into a cruel mask of righteous fury and huge, hard-clenched fists punctuating every word with a vicious thrust. Those pale eyes were suddenly fixed upon him, pinning him, piercing him, and his terror gave way to panic as the full weight of certain damnation crashed down upon him.

No…

He knew then what was coming, what those awful words heralded. He’d been judged again, and been found wanting, was being warned of his coming punishment. His breathing quickened, grew shallow, desperate, and his heart hammered frantically in his chest. He wanted to run, to hide, but knew it was too late. He’d been marked, condemned, and nothing now could save him.

"NO!"

The sharp, sudden cry shattered the peace of the room, and Josiah was stunned to see Vin erupt off the couch. He dropped his prayer book and shot immediately to his feet, realizing the younger man was in the grip of yet another of his "nightmares" and knowing he had to calm Vin down at once before he did further harm to himself. But even as he started forward, Vin turned wide, wild and unfocused eyes set in a deathly white face upon him. The sheer terror written in that face stopped Josiah in his tracks and sent his heart plummeting into his stomach. This wasn’t a nightmare; Vin was wide awake.

And he didn’t have the slightest idea where he was.

But Vin did have an idea, and the horror of it was nearly choking him. He stared at the Preacher, knowing only too well what was coming. "No!" he called hoarsely, his ragged voice and thin frame trembling uncontrollably, his heart beating so fast and so hard that it hurt. "I ain’t… I ain’t gonna let y’all do it! Y’hear me?" he shouted desperately, backing slowly away. "I ain’t! I cain’t take it no more!"

Josiah swallowed hard, his stomach doing a slow, heavy roll. Now he, too, knew where Vin was. "Easy, son," he soothed in his deep voice, taking a slow step forward. "Nobody’s gonna hurt you. You’re lost, Vin, lost in your past. But we can help bring you back."

Vin’s head jerked up at the word "lost," and his heart twisted in his chest. He’d heard it before, too many times, and knew only too well how they’d try to "bring him back." Fresh fear sliced through him, and icy hands gripped his soul. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest and shook his head almost feverishly, still backing slowly away from the Preacher.

Josiah’s heart broke for the abject terror he saw in the young man before him, as he beheld the full extent of the damage done to his friend. The dam inside Vin’s mind was breaking open, he knew, and the whole horror of what he’d suffered was flooding him at once. This was not at all how Sanchez had hoped it would happen. Now, his only hope was that they could bring Vin through it intact.

"It’s all right, son," he said gently, taking another step forward, careful to make no sudden moves. Vin was poised just on the edge of a precipice, and the least provocation could plunge him into a darkness from which he might never return. "I’m not gonna hurt you, Vin. You know I’d never hurt you."

A sound tore from Tanner that was something between a laugh and a sob. "Liar!" he spat, his voice, like his nerves, much too tight. "All’s y’all’ve ever done is hurt me! Said I had it comin’, said I brought it on myself… Even quoted words from the Bible that said y’all had ta do it!"

That brought Josiah up short, sent a hideous pain through him and almost dropped him to his knees. "No," he moaned strickenly, his craggy face going deathly pale. "Oh, God, my God, they didn’t–" But one look at Vin, and he knew they had. All at once, he remembered a line from the Psalm he’d just read, and was very nearly sick. "Let the just strike me; that is kindness; let them rebuke me; that is oil for my head…"

"Shut the hell up!" Vin shouted harshly, raising his hands from his chest and clamping them over his ears as the familiar, hateful words hammered like spikes into his soul. "I ain’t gonna listen ta you no more!"

Josiah groaned aloud and rushed forward, moved beyond caution by the younger man’s torment. "Vin–"

"No!" With a snarl of mingled fury and fear, Vin threw himself to one side, desperately dodging the preacher. Big hands grabbed at him and he managed to knock one aside, then wrenched himself free of the other just as it closed about him. With a wordless cry, he shoved the much bigger man violently back. Never stopping to watch him fall, he turned sharply on his left knee, determined to make his escape.

But the knee wouldn’t cooperate. Unsteady and hurting like hell, it simply buckled beneath him between one lurching step and the next, dropping him to the floor. As he pitched forward, he fell into a small table, knocking it over and sending the lamp upon it crashing into a shattered mess. The sound of breaking glass brought still more memories bursting through the ruined dam and turned his fear to panic.

"VIN!"

The door crashed open and two men rushed through it, both shouting at him. He gave another cry and tried to get up, but his knee simply refused to support his weight. The Preacher was getting up, the other two were moving toward him, and he couldn’t get away. An animal-like scream tore from him as his own body betrayed him.

"Vin?" Chris froze in place, riveted to the floor by the panic glittering in the wild, unseeing blue eyes darting about the room. The raw terror on Vin’s white face hit him like a blow, and a harsh, croaking gasp escaped him. "Sweet Jesus, not again!"

Buck stopped next to Chris. He, too, knew that look, remembered it only too well from the night he’d found himself staring down the barrel of his own gun, and was as frightened by it now as he’d been then. Vin was staring at him now as he’d done that night, and, to his sick horror, Buck realized that, once again, he’d become the living embodiment of the man who’d inflicted such hell upon the young Vin Tanner.

"Well, ol’ pard," he whispered hoarsely to Chris, "just what the hell do we do now?"

Chris licked his lips and thought frantically, his eyes never leaving Vin. "Hell if I know," he finally rasped. "Try to calm him down, and try to keep him from killing one of us–"

"Or himself," Buck added softly, again remembering just how close Vin had come to turning the gun on himself that night.

"Chris," Josiah called softly, "we may have a problem."

"You think?" Chris spat, wondering just which part of this Sanchez didn’t consider a problem. Then he turned his head toward him, and noticed that the older man wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t looking at Vin, but was staring down at the floor, at a spot a few feet from where Vin had fallen, and looked as if he were staring at a rattlesnake. Chris followed the line of that gaze downward, and almost fell to his knees, damn near threw up, when he saw it, too.

A gun. A small automatic, no more than a .38, but deadly in its own right, laying amidst the other contents of the drawer that had fallen open when Vin had knocked over the table. He knew it wasn’t one of his, then recognized it as one he’d seen Tanner wearing a few times in an ankle holster.

"Oh, shit," he breathed sickly, wondering just how in the hell Vin’s gun had gotten into that drawer.

Buck, too, spotted the pistol, and was hit by a sinking feeling of dejá vù. "Fuck," he sighed.

"Yeah," Chris rasped, "that about sums it up."

Vin was not listening to them, couldn’t hear them, could do nothing but stare in frozen horror at the big man who’d come running through that door. The bastard always did that, moved faster than a man of his size ought to be able to, striking with a speed and fury that left his victims all but helpless. And Vin knew that, battered as he now was, he’d be no match for the big man. This time, there would be no escape.

Because, this time, the bastard was gonna kill him.

"No," he moaned hoarsely, pushing himself up on his arms and struggling to get his legs under him. "Not again." He stared at the bastard through wide, glittering eyes, remembering every blow that had ever landed, every kick that had ever connected, every insult that had ever seared like acid through his soul. "Ain’t gonna letcha do it no more." He was tired of being humiliated, tired of being brutalized, tired of being punished for living. He was just damned tired. "Ya got no right… ta hurt me like ya do," he rasped, determination warring with pain and exhaustion in his voice, in his body. "Mebbe I ain’t smart like I oughtta be, but that don’t give ya the right ta beat on me. ’N I ain’t gonna take it no more."

He tore his gaze from the bastard’s face and looked down at the table he’d knocked over. And felt a new surge of strength as he saw the gun laying just out of reach. Maybe this time he would die, but he sure as hell wouldn’t go alone.

"No, Vin, don’t!" Chris breathed, tensing as his friend’s tortured gaze fell upon the pistol. Hardly aware he did it, he rapidly calculated the distance Vin would have to cross to get it, and the distance he’d have to leap to stop him. And prayed like hell that the safety was on.

For a long, agonizing moment time stopped, and four men hung in suspended animation. A thick, choking tension lay over them all, making even the simple act of breathing nearly impossible. Four hearts all but stopped, even as four minds spun frantically around the axis of that gun. Like figures in some horrible tableau, each man stood delicately poised, waiting only for another to break the spell and plunge them all into bloody hell.

And then it happened. With a soft snarl, Vin launched himself toward the gun, willing his sluggish body to respond. But he did not move alone. The very moment he saw those blue eyes widen, Chris leapt, hurling himself across the distance like an athlete whose very life hinged upon his performance.

Which, in a very real and chilling way, it did.

He reached Vin just as Vin reached the gun, and the two of them went down in a tangle of bodies. Vin was knocked back by that weight and hit the floor hard, the collision driving the air from his lungs and jarring the gun from his hand. But every instinct for survival he possessed rose sharply and took command, and, giving a harsh, wordless cry, he fought with a savage, desperate fury against the man who held him.

Stunned by the suddenness of it, Buck and Josiah looked on in horrified disbelief as Vin and Chris rolled and wrestled wildly on the floor. Chris was struggling desperately to pin Vin’s arms while trying to avoid his fists, all without any great success. Tanner’s mind might be lost in his childhood, but he was fighting with all the vicious skill of a grown and deadly man.

Buck saw Vin trying to reach for the gun even as he grappled with Chris, and that shook him out of his frozen immobility. With a foul curse, he sprang forward and kicked the pistol across the room, then immediately dropped into the fray, joining his strength to Larabee’s in a frantic effort to subdue Tanner.

Vin felt new hands grabbing him, big hands, and screamed as terror exploded through him. Pain ripped through his body as old hurts were opened and new ones dealt, and despair engulfed him as he felt himself weakening. The bastard was too big, too strong, and now he had help. He was trying – Lord God, he was trying! – but his own blows and kicks were rapidly losing force, and his arms and legs were being steadily borne to the floor. Another scream of sheer animal rage tore from him, then gave way to broken sobs as he was finally pinned in place.

Those sobs stabbed like hot knives into Chris and Buck, sent their own tears falling. They hated this, hated every moment of it, came very near hating themselves, but knew they’d had no choice. Had no choice now. As much as they wanted to, they couldn’t release Vin yet, knew they couldn’t let him go until he’d come back to himself.

Or they’d only have to do it all again.

"Talk to him, Chris," Buck whispered urgently. He was leaning over Vin’s torso, holding the sharpshooter’s shoulders forcibly to the floor while clamping powerful thighs about his head to still its thrashing. "If anybody can reach him, it’s you."

Chris swallowed hard, knowing it was true but unable to find his voice. Vin was still sobbing, still trying to fight, and pleading all the while not to be hurt, not to be hit, not to be locked away in the closet. All at once, Chris had a horrible understanding of his friend’s claustrophobia, and again came perilously near being sick.

"Chris!" Buck hissed.

Chris shook his head sharply to clear it, then leaned over Vin. He was sitting on Tanner’s thighs and held the Texan’s forearms against the floor in an iron grip. He knew they had to be causing Vin pain, and hated with everything in him the animal who’d reduced them all to this.

"Vin?" he called quietly, his voice gentle despite the anger coursing through him. "Vin, can you hear me? It’s me, pard, it’s Chris. You’re all right, Vin, I promise. Nobody here wants ta hurt you, pard, we only wanta help. But you’ve gotta stop fighting us, you hear? I know you’re lost, Vin," he soothed, his voice shaking, his green eyes dark with pain and tears, "and I know you’re scared. But you know us, pard, you know us, and you know we only wanta help you."

"No," Vin moaned, closing his eyes tightly and trying, in vain, to break free of the hard hands that held him. "I know how y’all ‘help.’ Ya say I got the devil in me, ’n you’re gonna beat him out. Then… then ya lock me in the c… the closet…" His voice broke, and a hard tremor ran through him. "Keep me in there, in the dark, so’s I c’n think on my sins."

"Oh, my God!" Josiah groaned, sinking to his knees and burying his face in shaking hands. Not only had the bastards abused the boy, they’d used God to do it.

"No, no, Vin, I swear," Chris rasped, his father’s heart shattering inside him. He couldn’t imagine anyone treating a child, a child, the way those animals had treated Vin, and couldn’t imagine how that child had survived. "Listen to me, pard," he crooned, leaning as low as he could and still keep Vin restrained. "Listen to my voice, Vin. Forget about my words, just listen to my voice. You know my voice, Vin, you know Buck’s voice, and Josiah’s. We’re here, pard, we’re all right here, and all we want is for you to come back to us. You’re safe with us, Vin, you know you are. We’re here to protect you, pard," he vowed in a voice thick and rough with emotion. "You know we’d die to keep you safe!"

"No," Vin whispered, relaxing as all the fight suddenly drained from him. "Don’t want… nobody else dyin’. Didn’t mean… Oh, Jesus!" he sobbed. "I didn’t wanta kill him! I jist wanted him ta stop hittin’ me!"

Chris let go of Vin at that and slid off his body as those words confirmed the suspicion he’d never allowed himself to face. He shook his head slowly, dazedly, wanting to deny it still, wanting to believe that final torment hadn’t been forced on a child who’d already suffered so much.

"Chris?" Buck saw Larabee’s reaction, and was infuriated by it. Vin was sobbing, was rolling onto his side and curling into himself in agony, and Chris was just sitting there. "Damn it, Larabee, do something!" he hissed. "He needs you!"

But Chris couldn’t move, was frozen in place by sick horror. It couldn’t be true. Vin couldn’t have been forced… to kill… He was just a kid…

"Oh, shit!" he gasped, suddenly lurching to his feet and racing for the nearest bathroom as nausea erupted through him.

"Goddamn it, Larabee!" Buck shouted.

"Buck, your voice," Josiah counseled weakly, trying to contain his own horror. He’d suspected – hell, known – what Vin had been forced to do, but that didn’t make hearing it any less appalling. Yet, as terrible as it was, as shocking as it was, they were all going to have to restrain their reactions, their emotions, if they had any hope of getting Vin through this night without another trip to the hospital.

Or worse.

To his credit, Buck reached the same realization at the same time, and quickly swallowed his anger at Chris. Focusing his whole concern upon Vin, he reached down and carefully gathered the younger man into his arms, then lifted and cradled him close against his broad chest.

"It’s all right, son," he murmured tenderly, rocking Vin slowly and stroking his long hair and shaking back with an infinitely gentle hand. "I got ya. I got ya now, Junior, and I swear, I swear, I won’t let another livin’ soul hurt ya."

Josiah listened, then bowed his head and uttered a silent but fervent prayer for guidance. Because, in his heart, he knew it was not a living soul that was hurting Vin now.

7~7~7~7

Chris retched until it seemed his stomach was ridding itself of everything it had consumed in the past week. Unbearable pain tore through him, but it had nothing to do with the force of his sickness. Over and over, no matter how desperately he tried to block them out, he heard Vin’s broken, anguished words.

His stomach convulsed and heaved again, though he had nothing left to bring up but bile. The words twisted at his heart, his soul, his mind, conjured up hideous images of a boy forced to kill to save his own life. He knew it happened, had read the tragic stories in the paper or seen them on the news too often to pretend otherwise. But this wasn’t a story in the paper or on the news, and this wasn’t some nameless, faceless, unidentified juvenile who’d endured circumstances and been pushed into actions Chris Larabee couldn’t begin to comprehend. This was Vin.

And Vin had been abused to the point that he’d had to kill his abuser.

Finally having thrown up all he could, he flushed the toilet with a shaking hand and scooted back across the floor to the far wall. Raising his knees, he folded his arms atop them, then dropped his head onto his arms.

A wrenching wave of grief swept through him as he thought of his friend and of all that he’d been made to suffer. God, how had he borne it? How did a child survive that? And what the hell kind of vicious fate demanded that he should have to?

He remembered the nights he’d spent in the hospital nursing Vin through one nightmare or another, remembered the times he’d had to stand back and allow Tanner to be strapped down because he couldn’t get him through it, remembered the times he’d held Vin when he fought and held him when he cried. And knew then that it was still too soon to say he had survived.

Chris raised his head at that, and his green eyes flashed. No. His face was deathly pale and streaked with sweat and tears, but a fierce determination settled upon his bruised features. Over my dead body.

He pushed himself to his feet, his lean frame uncoiling with a grim purpose. Swallowing his own horror, banishing the last, lingering threats of nausea, he went to the sink and turned on the cold water, stripped off his shirt and tossed it into the hamper, then rinsed out his mouth, brushed his teeth and scrubbed his face.

He turned off the water, dried his face thoroughly, then went into his bedroom and put on a clean shirt, preparing himself for the battle to come. The quicksand might have Vin now, but it wouldn’t have him for long.

Not while there was breath in Chris Larabee’s body.

7~7~7~7

He felt the strong arms holding him and tried to fight against them, but could not free himself from their prison. His strength was gone, his battered body refusing any longer to obey the desperate commands of his mind. Anger and helplessness welled up within him, but there was nothing more he could do. He’d fought all he could, had struggled and resisted with everything that was in him; now he simply had nothing left.

And this time the bastard was gonna kill him.

He waited for it, steeled himself against it, and found himself almost welcoming it. At least it would all be over then. All the pain, all the fear, all the humiliation. All the loneliness. Would Mama be there waiting for him? Lord, he hoped so. It’d been so long… And Grandpa. Maybe he’d be there, too. It’d be nice to feel big hands on him again that didn’t hurt. He’d forgotten what that was like. But Grandpa’d had a way of laying a heavy hand on his shoulder in just such a way that it seemed like it belonged there, its strength a source of comfort instead of fear…

Lord, he was cold!

He could feel his whole body shaking, but couldn’t stop it. And his heart was racing like he’d just run two miles. He tried to raise his head, didn’t want to die with it bowed, but just couldn’t make it move. He couldn’t quite catch his breath, no matter how hard or fast he breathed, couldn’t swallow past the cottony dryness of his mouth and throat. It wasn’t fear, or at least he didn’t think so; and by now he was too familiar with fear to mistake it.

What was the bastard waitin’ on?

He was shaking harder, breathing harder, was colder than he could ever remember being. His head hurt terribly, the pounding ache throbbing in time to his rushing heart. He tried to listen for the bastard’s voice so he’d know when it was coming, but couldn’t hear through the heavy humming in his ears and head that muffled all other sound. When he forced his eyes open, his vision tunneled so abruptly that it made him dizzy, tore a small, sick moan from him. Then, mercifully, a thick gray fog descended, obscuring every painful sight, and, with a breathless groan of relief, he let himself fall into that void, no longer caring what happened.

At least the hurt would all be gone…

7~7~7~7

Stark fear gripped Buck as he felt Vin go limp in his arms, and he looked down in time to see the younger man’s eyes roll back into his head. "Josiah!" he called sharply, his heart slamming into his throat. Tightening one arm about the sagging sharpshooter, he freed his other and thrust his hand against Tanner’s throat, swearing harshly as he felt the racing pulse. "Shit, his heart’s goin’ a mile a minute!"

Josiah hurried over and knelt beside Buck, then reached out and laid a big hand against Vin’s cheek. Tanner’s skin was much too cool, clammy, and gone the color of ashes. "Shock," he breathed, gently rubbing one thumb over Vin’s sweat-slick temple. "Let’s get him on the couch. We gotta get his feet up, get him warm. C’mon!"

Buck gathered the slack form close and rose to his feet, lifting Vin as if he weighed no more than a child. With a stride made longer and given speed by fear, he carried Vin to the couch and laid him gently down upon it, then stacked pillows under his legs to elevate them. That done, he snatched the afghan off the back of the couch and spread it over Tanner’s supine form, tucking it close about him. Vin’s shivering did not abate, and Buck glanced over his shoulder at Josiah.

"Get me his quilt!" he ordered.

Josiah hastened to obey, grabbing the heavy quilt from the rocker and taking it to Buck, praying all the while that they could get through this night without trip to the hospital. Hell, just get through this night, period. He watched Buck tuck the quilt around Vin over the afghan, and was struck by a sudden thought.

"Nate said Dr. Stone was worried about Vin’s blood sugar bein’ too low," he recalled. "More than likely all this has just sent it plummeting. We’ve gotta raise it fast."

"There’s soda in the fridge," Buck said. "And there should be some juice–"

"Either one’ll do. I’ll be right back." Leaving Vin in Buck’s care, Josiah turned and headed quickly for the kitchen.

Buck sat down on the floor beside the couch and reached up, laying a big hand on Vin’s chest and staring into his bloodless face. "Don’t do this, Junior!" he pleaded softly, rubbing his friend’s blanket-covered chest in an effort to infuse some warmth into him. "Don’t quit on us now! You’ve survived so much already, and I know you’ve gotta be tired of fightin’, but ya gotta hang in there just a little bit longer. Y’hear me, Vin? Ya gotta hang on, son. If ya don’t, that bastard will’ve won, and I don’t think any of us want that!"

"Buck?"

He looked up at the soft summons and found himself staring into Chris’s anxious face. Larabee was standing behind the sofa and staring down, his stricken gaze riveted to Vin, the question he could not voice showing plainly in his eyes. Buck sighed, his broad shoulders sagging, and bowed his head, scrubbing his free hand over his face.

"What happened?" Chris asked, his voice little more than a harsh whisper.

"Shock," Buck breathed tiredly. "I guess it just overwhelmed him, and he shut down. Josiah’s gone ta get him some soda or juice. Thinks a jolt to his blood sugar might bring him around."

"It doesn’t stop, does it?" Chris rasped, coming slowly around the sofa, his fearful gaze never leaving his unconscious friend. "It just keeps poundin’ at him, draggin’ at him… How the hell is he gonna get past it when it just keeps suckin’ him down?"

Buck rose to his feet and moved aside to let Chris sit on the edge of the couch at Vin’s side. Whatever anger he’d felt at the man earlier for his seeming abandonment of Tanner vanished at once as he beheld the true depth of his old friend’s torment. Realizing yet again how close the two were, he knew he could no more blame Chris for getting sick than he could blame Vin for succumbing to shock.

How could he, when Chris was so clearly feeling Vin’s agony as if it were his own?

"That’s where we come in, ol’ pard," Buck breathed, his sorrowful gaze taking in both men. "We gotta hold him up, keep him from sinkin’, until he’s strong enough ta do it on his own."

"And what if he never gets strong enough?" Chris whispered, searching Vin’s ashen face and seeing only its frightful thinness. "God, Buck, look at him! There’s so little left of him–"

"He’s stronger than you think, Chris, stronger than you know. Hell, we saw that just a little while ago! He fought us, Chris, he fought us when he shouldn’t’ve had anything left to fight with!" Pride sounded even through the pain in Buck’s voice, shone even through the pain in his eyes. "Weak as he is, beaten down nearly ta nothin’, that boy fought us with everything he had, and God alone knows where it came from. But it was there, pard, and he used it! You’ve gotta remember one thing, Chris," he said in a firm, compelling voice. "This is Vin Tanner we’re talkin’ about here, and there just ain’t any give-up in him. Yeah, this knocked him low. Shit," he gave a mirthless laugh, "it knocked us all on our asses, too, and we ain’t nearly in as bad a shape as him! But you watch. He’ll come around, and he’ll come up fightin’." His eyes locked on Chris’s and held them. "Because now he knows he’s got somethin’ worth fightin’ for, and he knows he’s not fightin’ alone."

Buck’s words rekindled the determination Chris had felt in the bathroom, reminded him of all the times he’d tried to convince Vin of that very same thing. He tossed a wry grin up at Wilmington. "Thanks, Buck."

"Aw, hell," Wilmington sighed, scowling down at Larabee, "ya gotta stop sayin’ that, Chris. Folks’re gonna start thinkin’ you’re human or somethin’."

"There’s no need to be insulting, Buck," Josiah chided with a smile as he returned to the den carrying a pitcher and a stack of cups. "Just because Chris hasn’t killed anybody today doesn’t mean he’s joined the human race."

"Day’s not over yet," Larabee warned in a low, menacing voice, narrowing his eyes and shifting his gaze between Wilmington and Sanchez. "And you two are just too big to miss."

"Lucky for us you locked up your guns," Buck said with a cocky smirk.

Chris arched a golden brow. "There’s Vin’s gun," he reminded the big man.

"Yeah," Josiah breathed, his humor fading, "there’s Vin’s gun." He set all the cups but one down onto the coffee table and poured juice into the one he still held, then handed it across the table to Chris. "You do know we’re gonna have to ask him about that?"

"Yeah," he sighed as he took the cup, "I know." He looked at Josiah. "I’m assumin’ one of you took care of it?"

Sanchez nodded. "It’s put up. I’ll show you later so you can lock it with the others."

Chris studied Sanchez for a moment, then turned his attention to Vin. Slipping one hand beneath Tanner’s head, he lifted slowly and set the cup to the man’s pale mouth. He knew Josiah had more to say, but it could wait. Vin couldn’t. "C’mon, pard," he called in a clear, firm voice, "I got somethin’ here I need you ta drink." He tipped the cup and let its cool, wet contents tease Tanner’s lips. "Drink for me, Vin," he urged. "Gotta get some sugar into ya." Again he tipped the cup, sending a small trickle into Tanner’s mouth. To his immense relief, Vin swallowed and opened his mouth for more. "Yeah, that’s it," he breathed with a smile. "Tastes good, huh? Not too fast, though," he cautioned, carefully controlling the flow of juice. "We got plenty, and the last thing you need is ta choke." He let Vin have a few swallows more, then eased him back against the couch and watched him. "Let’s see how that settles."

"Chris," Josiah called quietly, "we need–"

"Later," he said firmly, never taking his eyes from Vin. "We gotta take care of him first." He watched the younger man intently and felt his relief deepen as Tanner’s eyelids began to flicker and his tongue emerged to lick a drop of juice from his lips. "All right," he murmured, leaning forward and setting his hand once more to the back of the Texan’s head, "let’s see if we can’t get some more down you."

Vin was vaguely aware of that hand and of the voice that hummed against his mind. Mostly, though, he was aware of the blessed wetness entering his mouth, cool and sweet but with a bracingly sharp tang. It felt even better than it tasted as it lapped against his tongue and slid down his dry, tight throat, and he groaned in sheer pleasure as it seemed to seep into every thirsty hollow of his body.

"Bet you never thought orange juice’d taste so good, did you?" Chris asked with a chuckle when he heard that groan. "No, no, don’t get greedy," he cautioned as Vin tried to suck more of the juice into his mouth. "You get sick, and we’ll be right back where we started."

Slowly, slowly, that voice was growing clearer, words taking shape where only a formless buzzing had been. Even through the dense fog still shrouding his aching, sluggish mind he recognized that voice, and he welcomed the comfort brought by its low, familiar tone.

Larabee smiled broadly at the soft and slurred exhalation of his name and once more lowered Vin to the couch. He watched in relief as Vin’s eyelids flickered and then slowly fluttered open to reveal two dazed and unfocused blue eyes. "Howdy, pard," he greeted, mimicking Tanner’s Texas drawl.

Vin stared up at the blurred and shadowy figure above him in some confusion, trying to bring it into focus and failing utterly. His head was tight, heavy, and ached miserably, and his brain felt as thick as cold oatmeal. His body seemed both made of lead and utterly drained of strength, and he thought that if he concentrated hard enough he could probably be sick.

"It’s all right, Vin," Chris soothed, seeing the uncertainty flickering over his friend’s face. "Just relax, and you’ll be all right. Do you know where you are?"

He closed his eyes against light that was painfully bright and drew in a breath through his nose, fully expecting to inhale the much too familiar and coldly sterile scent of antiseptic. It wasn’t there, though, and his confusion only deepened.

"Not… hosss… pital," he slurred, his tongue as thick as his brain.

Chris chuckled at that. "Surprisingly for you, no," he joked. "Thought for a while you might end up there again, but luckily you missed out. The ER crew is just gonna have ta figure out how ta get through the night without ya. You want more juice?"

Vin licked his lips, thought, and nodded gingerly, not at all eager to send his brain sloshing against the sides of his skull. He knew he should probably sit up, but couldn’t quite puzzle out the mechanics of that, and so was deeply grateful when that strong hand lifted him again.

Buck watched in something akin to wonder as Chris lifted Vin and dribbled the juice into his mouth, as he soothed the sharpshooter’s confusion and uncertainty with gentle touch and low-pitched voice, as he slowly drew Tanner toward awareness without ever seeming to do a thing. He’d witnessed this same thing countless times in the hospital, but it never ceased to amaze him. Chris had a patience and care with Vin he had for no other. Somewhere in the midst of this hellish ordeal, Vin had resurrected the father in Chris Larabee that Buck once thought had died with Adam.

And God knew both men needed that just now…

When Chris again withdrew the cup and laid him back, Vin stared up at him, brows drawing low over his eyes and mouth tightening into a thin line as he forced himself to concentrate. Chris. Chris was here. But… how? Chris didn’t know this place, didn’t belong here, hadn’t been here when… when…

When he’d killed the bastard.

He jerked upright with a sharply indrawn breath and looked wildly around as that memory exploded into his mind. Terror gripped him hard and he propelled himself back into the corner of the couch, throwing off his blankets and jacking up his knees against his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly about himself and huddled there as panic threatened to overcome him again, still looking frantically around and breathing hard and fast, shaking violently and rocking back and forth.

Chris had been expecting this, been waiting for it, and so was not at all surprised when it happened. But, determined not to let Vin slip back into shock, or back into his past, he set the cup of juice on the coffee table, then turned his whole attention upon Tanner. From the corner of his eye, he saw Buck start to rush forward, but loosed a sigh of relief when Josiah grabbed him and held him in place.

Vin was balanced on a razor’s edge, and too many people rushing him would only send him hurtling over.

"You remember, don’t you?" he breathed, trying to catch that panicked, darting gaze and failing. "That door’s been ripped open, and it’s never gonna close again. But it’s all right," he soothed, carefully inching closer to Vin. "I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it will be. If you’ll let us help you."

"No," Vin moaned hoarsely, hugging himself tighter and rocking faster. "Ain’t no help fer me. Not after what I done! I shouldn’ta killed him… Preacher said… But I did," his voice broke and tears slid slowly down his white face, "’n I’m goin’ ta hell fer doin’ it."

"No, you’re not," Josiah said. He never moved, but his voice, though infinitely soft, easily reached across the distance. "That preacher lied to you, Vin. Or, worse, told the truth as he knew it. But his truth isn’t God’s truth, son, and God doesn’t judge you through the blind eyes of man."

Vin seized upon that voice and sent a pleading, desperate gaze to its source, his eyes locking upon the big man who spoke so gently. "Preacher said–"

"Preacher was wrong," Josiah assured him with a loving gentleness, though his heart burned with rage against the man who’d so damaged the soul he’d been charged with protecting. "The God who gave you the strength and the will and the heart to fight would never condemn you for using those gifts to protect your life. Your life comes from God, Vin, and is precious in His sight. He didn’t give it to you just so another could take it from you."

"But it was wrong!" Vin insisted hoarsely, all the confusing, conflicting images and feelings colliding painfully in his brain. "I sh… I shouldn’ta done it!"

"He was hurting you, wasn’t he, Vin?" Chris asked quietly, his voice even and calm despite the bitter anger churning through him at what had been done to his friend. "He was hurting you, and you just wanted to make him stop."

"He’s always hurtin’ me," Vin groaned, bowing his head and closing his eyes tightly to shut out the horrible visions. But they penetrated even closed eyelids and seared into his brain. Time and again he saw the bastard’s sneering, rage-twisted face, saw the hard and heavy fists flying toward him… "God, please, make him stop!" he cried, wrenching his hands from his body and driving them into his hair.

Chris saw the thin fingers winding through the long strands and pulling hard, and could take no more. In a single move he slid to Vin’s side and carefully pried Tanner’s hands out of his hair, then held them firmly in his own. He wanted desperately to gather Vin into his arms and hold him, shelter him, but didn’t dare. He had no idea how Tanner, confused and frightened as he was, would take it, and he wasn’t about to do anything that might cause his friend to break.

And right now, he knew, it wouldn’t take much at all to do that.

"You already stopped him, Vin," he said, tightening his hold on Tanner’s hands and trying to infuse whatever strength he could into him. "You did what you had to, the only thing you could do. He was hurting you, he’d already hurt you more than he ever should’ve been allowed to, and you had to stop him. You were just trying to protect yourself."

"He was gonna kill me," Vin whispered, shuddering violently at the memory. "I c’d see it in his eyes. All them other times he’d stopped hisself… But not this time. I pushed him too far, fucked up too bad… ’N he was gonna kill me fer it."

Worry gripped Chris as he felt the hard tremors running through Vin’s frail frame, as he heard the too-fast rhythm of the Texan’s breathing. Glancing down at the hands he held, he could see the pulse racing beneath the paper-thin layer of flesh at Vin’s wrists and knew his heart was beating dangerously fast. "You gotta try and calm down, you hear?" he asked softly. "You gotta relax, breathe slow, or you’re just gonna pass out again."

But Vin was too lost in his memories, in his fear, to hear Chris. "I’s doin’ the dishes, tryin’ ta dry a bowl. But it was big, heavy…" His words tumbled out in a rush, as frantic as his breathing. "I c’d feel it slippin’, but I couldn’t hold it. My wrist… it still wasn’t healed from when he’d broke it… I tried, Lord, I tried! But it fell… Soon’s it broke, I knew he was gonna git me."

Buck groaned softly and stumbled to the nearest recliner, sinking weakly into it and burying his face in his hands. For long moments he feared he’d be sick. He tried to imagine the terror that had gripped that child, but it was entirely beyond the vast realm of his experience.

And over nothing more than a goddamn broken bowl…

"When he come in," Vin said strickenly, "I knew it was gonna be bad." He stared into the distance, eyes wide and unblinking, his pupils so dilated that their black almost swallowed the blue of his irises. He was deathly pale, still breathing much too hard. His shaking had subsided, but his stillness was that of a cornered animal gone rigid from terror. "I knew I had ta git away," he rasped, seeing it all again so plainly. "He was comin’, ’n I knew if he caught me… I could see the door, but ta git to it I’d have ta go through all that glass, ’n I wasn’t wearin’ no shoes."

Chris listened in deepening horror, remembering yesterday afternoon in the kitchen. He’d startled Vin, and Vin had dropped that cup… A low, wordless moan broke from him and he bowed his head as he suddenly understood the true enormity of his own mistakes in handling the situation.

God, he’d thrown Vin right back into the worst moments of that hell!

"But I tried," Vin went on, unable now to stop or even control the awful flood of memories. "Ran through the glass, tried ta reach the door… Didn’t care about what I’s doin’ ta m’ feet, didn’t even feel it. All’s I knew was I had ta git away… But I didn’t. Bastard caught me, ’n soon’s he hit me that first time I knew it was gonna be worse’n it’d ever been before."

Josiah roused himself out of his own outrage and revulsion with an effort, knowing he had to take control. Vin was remembering, which was what he needed, but, in his present state, he needed guidance through those memories lest they overwhelm him again and do even more damage than they already had.

"Vin," he called, his voice quiet but compelling. "Vin, look at me." He waited for a moment, not at all sure Tanner had heard him, then exhaled in relief as those dazed blue eyes tracked slowly toward him. "Do you know who I am?"

Vin stared at him – or through him – for what seemed an eternity, his white face devoid of emotion. Then he blinked, and blinked again, though his face remained as blank as ever. "Yeah," he finally said, his voice as empty as his face. "You’re J’siah."

"That’s real good, son," Sanchez said gently, smiling warmly. "I’m glad ta see that you know me. Now, I’m gettin’ kinda tired of standin’ here. Would it be all right if I came over there, maybe sat down in your rocker? I like ta be close ta folks when I’m talkin’ to ’em."

Vin thought a moment, or didn’t think, just stared, no one was sure, then nodded once. "I reckon that’d be all right."

Chris watched Josiah carefully, more than willing to let the profiler take the lead in this. The last time he’d tried, the effort had gotten him a beating and sent Vin back to the hospital. He’d gladly defer to Josiah’s experience this time.

Josiah went slowly to the rocker, careful to make no sudden moves, and pulled it closer to the sofa. All the while, he noted, Vin’s eyes followed him though the rest of the younger man never moved. When the chair was as close as he thought Vin could tolerate, he settled his big frame into it and set his elbows on the curving arms, lacing his fingers together over his stomach.

"You thirsty, Vin?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet, level and as casual as he could manage.

Vin blinked once, then swallowed and licked his lips. "Yeah," he rasped. "Reckon I am, some."

"There’s plenty more juice there on the table. Would you like some?"

Again Vin nodded, and Chris released his hands. "Want me ta get it for you?" he asked quietly.

At that voice, Vin tore his gaze from Josiah and turned his head slowly, settling his eyes on Chris and seeming to study him intently. "You gimme some before," he breathed, trying to sort through all the various conflicting memories knotting mind. "You… you was there… when I woke up… Only," he frowned in confusion and leaned slightly forward, studying Chris more closely still, "ya couldn’ta been. You wasn’t there. You… That was b’fore… Lord God," he groaned hoarsely, raising a shaking hand to his head and closing his eyes, "why cain’t I git it all ta lay straight in my head?"

"Take it easy, Vin," Chris soothed in a low voice, reaching out to lay a hand on his friend’s knee, "it’s all right. This has all been in there a long time, and it’s gonna take a while for you to work through it. But that’s all right. We’re here, and we’ll be here. We’ll be with you every step of the way."

Vin stared into the deep, compelling green eyes of the man before him, then dropped his eyes to the hand on his knee and stared at it. The hand was strong, he could feel it, but he knew it was a strength that meant him no harm. He vaguely remembered that hand and its mate holding him, comforting him, when he’d waken up screaming, remembered its strength protecting him from the demons that raged within and about him, remembered its gentle, soothing touch easing the pain and terror that had gripped him. In his life, he’d known what hurt strong hands could do him, had learned to hate and fear them. But here, he knew with everything that was in him, were strong and powerful hands that would never do him any harm and that he had absolutely no need to fear. Slowly, slowly, as if it were the first time he had ever done so, he reached out and laid his trembling, bandaged right hand over Chris’s, then lifted wide and frightened eyes to Larabee’s and gave himself into his friend’s keeping.

"Help me," he whispered weakly, tears filling his eyes and sliding slowly down his white cheeks. "I d… I don’t know… what’s happ’nin’ ta me." He swallowed hard, and his whole body trembled uncontrollably. "I f… I feel like I’m lost… ’n I don’t know how ta find my way back."

Chris gazed down at the hand laying so trustingly over his, then looked up into blue eyes almost childlike in their pleading. And without a second thought, never doubting the rightness of it, he slipped his free arm about Vin’s thin, shaking shoulders and pulled the younger man to him in a close brotherly embrace.

"You’re not lost, Vin," he said hoarsely, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against Tanner’s bowed head. "Not to us, anyway. We’ve got ya, pard," he vowed with a quiet ferocity, "we’ve got ya and we’re never lettin’ go. You just hang on to us with all you’ve got and we’ll lead you home. It won’t be easy and it’s gonna take a while, but we’ll do it, one step at a time and all of us together. You hear me, Vin? You let us help you. That’s how you find your way back."