Disclaimer: I own no rights to the Magnificent Seven or any of its characters. I only sneak in the back door and play with them whenever no one is looking. I make no money from it, just derive a lot of enjoyment.

Warnings: Nothing much

Notes: This is just a little PWP that I cut my M7 writer’s teeth on quite a while ago. It’s been lurking in a copy of Neon Rainbow Press’ Compadres.

"J.D., would you go fetch Miss Nettie? I... I think she’d like to... to be here..."

"Yeah. Okay, Buck."

He didn’t understand what was going on. The darkness was so complete that he could not find any of the other peacekeepers. He could hear them, though; knew each voice as easily as he knew his own.

"J.D.?" It was Josiah talking now. "Son, you need to prepare her. Let her know...he ain’t likely to..." he let the words trail off.

"I’ll... tell her..." Dunne said softly. His voice sounded so young. And so scared.

He heard a door close and knew that the kid had left on his errand. He wondered how it was that the others seemed to be able to see well enough to get around without any trouble. Beneath the confusion, he knew another emotion. Jealousy. They were sending J.D. after Nettie Wells. The woman he had come to regard as a mother. A woman he thought had come to regard him as a son. But it seemed to him that they were fetching her to come to town to see someone else, someone not long for the world. Who? Who had taken his place in her heart? He felt the jealousy grown, becoming infused with anger. Then he felt embarrassment. If the feller was dyin’, how could he be so mean-spirited as to be angry at him?

Suddenly he realized that it had grown quiet around him. The others had gone away somewhere. No...not everyone. Chris was still there. He knew that Chris was there in the darkness. As if to confirm his knowledge, the gunfighter spoke.

"Vin?" The man’s voice was filled with sadness and pain. And beneath was something more. Rage. Was Chris angry at him?

"Chris, I’m right – "

"Vin, I need you, " Larabee’s tone was bordering on something suspiciously close to panic. "Don’t leave me, hear?"

"Pard, I ain’t –"

"Don’t leave me. I need you, Vin. The town needs you. The others need you. I need you. No one can read me like you can... I..." There was something there that Vin had never experienced before. Chris Larabee’s voice was trembling with emotion. But why? And why didn’t the gunfighter seem to hear him?

"Chris," he tried again. "Listen to me pard. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Okay?"

Then... crying. Soft, almost inaudible. But it was the quietness of it all that hurt Vin Tanner to hear. What the hell was going on? Why was Chris so upset? Why couldn’t the man hear him? It didn’t make sense. Or did it? Tanner tried to remember what had gone on before...before whatever had come to pass that put his friend in such a state...

The first thing that came to mind was breakfast. Eating steak and eggs in the restaurant and chasing it down with coffee. Chris was sitting across from him, wolfing down his own meal. The sun was just barely up; it hadn’t even burned the chill of the night from the air yet. They had planned on leaving as soon as there was light enough to ride. They were heading over to Eagle Bend to deliver a prisoner for trial.

Vin moved on to the next set of memories. He and Chris sharing the trail, the prisoner between them. As usual, neither man said more than a dozen words, and most of those were in response to the prisoner’s questions and taunts. They were content to enjoy the day in relative quiet, each living in his own thoughts.

Next came...

He couldn’t remember. There was nothing but a dark hole in his memory. What had happened?

He realized that things had changed once more. Chris had marshaled his feelings, and someone was talking to him. Buck.

"Hey Chris. Brought you some dinner."

"Thanks, but I’m not hungry," came the reply in a hollow tone.

"Chris, " Nathan spoke now. "You need to eat somethin’. "

"I ain’t hungry!" Chris said in a low voice.

"How long’s it been since you had anything but coffee?" The big black man’s tone never wavered.

"Nathan," there was a note of warning in Larabee’s voice now.

"No, Chris. I ain’t lettin’ up and I ain’t listenin’ to anymore of your excuses. I’m tellin’ you...eat the dinner or I’ll have Buck help me hold you down and I’ll feed you."

"Fine," the gunslinger’s tone was a mixture of anger and defeat.

What was it that was tearing his friend apart like this? It was just all too confusing. If only he could see what was going on; get someone to answer him. Maybe he’d be able to figure things out...

More voices. Miss Nettie. She was there. And she was talking to him.

"Vin, you need to wake up, son. Please? We need you... I need you. Please son, don’t leave us. Not yet." Unlike Chris, she made no effort to hide her pain and the tears. She was crying like he would never have thought the ‘skinny old biddy’ could. Then suddenly a new sensation. She was stroking his face gently. He could feel her touch. He reached up, but could not return her touch. His hand met no resistance to it’s searching.

And suddenly he knew. The answer walked up and sat on his chest, making it impossible to breath.

He was dead... or dying at any rate. They had gathered around him; come to be with him. In a way this brought a deep sense of comfort to the young bounty hunter. He was surrounded by friends... family really. At least he would not die alone.

But, after the comfort had passed, he felt anger. Why now? What had happened? What had brought him to this... the end of his life? Rage boiled over and he cried out, bellowing against the injustice. There had been so many thing that he had wanted to do; planned to do. He had so much life to live.

As if the outpour of emotions had cleansed him, he realized that things were changing. He began to notice a lightening of the abject darkness. Then he could see them, all gathered around the narrow bed in Nathan’s makeshift clinic. They were gathered around him.

And lord, he looked horrible.

It was hard to say what was more shocking; how he looked, or the fact that he was standing away looking at himself. Whatever had happened , it had not been pleasant. The entire left side of his face was swollen and distorted; colored by deep cuts and dark bruises. The discoloration disappeared beneath the blanket covering him. What wasn’t bruised had not color whatever. Looking closer, he could see that when he did breath, it was ragged and shallow.

Damn! What had happened to him?

The anger flowed over him once more. Pure, unadulterated rage washed over him like some living entity. He cried out again, needing to vent the anger, the pain and frustration of the current state of events. He screamed again and again...

And it came out a weak little moan, barely audible.

"Vin?!"

He struggled to see once again. It took everything he had to open his right eye. The left one wouldn’t budge. His vision was blurred; and there was something more. He was no longer looking down at himself, but rather up at the others.

Only Chris, Nettie and Nathan were in view. Somehow the others had gotten away. He didn’t care, he would find them later. He was where he was supposed to be. With his friends. His family.

He sighed and smiled up at them. Nettie was crying again. He wanted to reach out to her, but didn’t have the strength. Chris’ hazel eyes were bright with unshed tears as he peered down at him with a smile. Nathan, always the healer, was checking him over.

"I’ll be damned," the ex-slave said.

"What?" Chris’ voice held a touch of fear in it. Vin wanted to tell him that it was alright, but didn’t have the energy for that, either.

"His pulse... it’s... he’s... Chris, I think he’s comin’ back!"

Chris didn’t answer. He only laughed, a soft sound that was part joy and part relief. Then, with a sigh, he bowed his head. Vin knew he wasn’t praying. Nettie did, too. She whispered something to Nathan and the two of them stepped away.

Larabee’s head stayed down, but Vin could see his shoulders quiver and shake. The gunslinger slumped to the floor next to the bed, resting his head on the thin mattress. Vin could no longer see him, but he could feel the weight of his friend next to him. He could feel the bed quiver ever so gently as Chris’ emotions poured out unguarded.

Slowly, painfully, Vin moved. His hand reached out and found the blond head resting next to him. Gently, he touched his friend. "It’s gonna be okay," he wanted to tell him. But the words wouldn’t come. They didn’t need to, though. They had never needed words.

The End