(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thanks to Ruby J. for allowing me to borrow Officers Nuñez and Ortiz and a bit of Vin’s background.)

Josiah sat back in the recliner to which he’d moved and watched with secret amusement as Chris badgered Vin into eating a sandwich, refusing to take the Texan’s repeated "I ain’t hungry" for an answer. Vin had said it was too hard to hold the thick sandwich with one hand; Chris had obligingly cut it in half. Tanner had said the still-healing fractures in his cheekbone and jaw made biting into and chewing the roast beef too painful; Larabee had gotten up, disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a pair of scissors. While three men watched in confusion and fascination, he had taken Vin’s sandwich without a word, opened it and cut the meat into small pieces, then replaced the bread and given the altered sandwich back to Vin, a golden brow arched in challenge.

"From here we go to baby food," he’d said in a firm voice, cutting off whatever protest the sharpshooter had been about to make. "And don’t say I don’t have any." A thin, feral smile had pulled at his lips. "Nathan’s a real smart guy."

So, grudgingly, Vin was eating now, and shooting venomous looks at Chris while he chewed. Larabee merely returned the glare with a smug grin, having downed two sandwiches while Tanner was still struggling to finish his one.

Josiah couldn’t help but marvel at Chris’s manner with Vin, at his innate and purely intuitive understanding of how to deal with almost every aspect of the younger man’s unsettled state of mind. He seemed to know exactly when to prod and when to hold back, when to be gentle and when to be firm, when to comfort and when to challenge.

And he’d let Vin fall asleep in his arms.

That one still amazed the profiler, and he doubted he’d ever forget the sight of the most self-reliant man and deadliest marksman he’d ever known sleeping like a child in the arms and against the chest of the man who was the walking definition of "hard-ass." It had been a glimpse into a friendship the likes of which he’d never encountered in all his years, and he felt as if he’d witnessed something sacred.

He’d also been given a rare insight into just how loving a father Chris Larabee must have been.

"Ya gonna blow on my coffee, too, make sure it don’t scald me?"

Vin’s grumbling broke into Josiah’s thoughts, and he returned his attention to the two men on the couch. In his side vision, he could see Buck shaking his head and grinning, and had to fight back his own smile.

Larabee might know how to handle Tanner, but that didn’t mean that Tanner had to like it.

"I’m not sure you need any more coffee," Chris mused. He was sitting angled into his corner of the couch, one long leg crossed at the ankle over the thigh of the other, his arms folded loosely against his chest. He was at ease, relaxed. And as ready to strike as a coiled rattler. "It’s makin’ you irritable."

"Irr’table?" Vin shot back, scowling disgustedly at his friend. "I’ll tell ya what’s makin’ me irr’table. It’s bein’ told I gotta eat when I ain’t hungry, ’n then havin’ some damn hoverin’ she-grizzly cuttin’ up m’ meat like I’s a kid! Hell," he snorted sharply, "I thought you’s gonna chew it up fer me fer a minute there!"

"Wouldn’t have to," Chris said, a lazy grin hovering about his mouth. "I told ya, Nathan bought baby food. And enough Ensure to refloat the Titanic. You need ta eat, Vin." The smile faded, a blond brow lifted, and iron determination shone in his green eyes. "And you’re gonna eat." He shrugged lightly. "I’ll leave it ta you ta decide how you eat."

Vin’s scowl deepened as anger at Larabee’s high-handedness rose through him. Almost immediately, though, the anger was overtaken and quelled by a strange feeling of gratitude. Over the years, most folks had simply found it easier to leave him to his own devices than to fight with him over what was really best. He found it more comforting than he ever would have imagined to have someone – six someones – consider him worth the fight.

Maybe it was time he started fighting, as well.

He sighed and looked down at the remaining portion on his plate – a few bites less than half – then lifted his gaze once more to Larabee, his belligerence gone. "I cain’t eat no more," he said quietly. "I tried, honest, but–" He grimaced and again dropped his gaze. "I jist ain’t hungry."

Chris nodded. "It’s all right. You did good." He leaned forward and retrieved the plate from Vin’s lap, then set it over on the coffee table. "’Least I don’t have ta worry about you eatin’ me outta house and home just yet."

"I’ll try later–"

"Forget it, Vin," Chris said quietly, relieved when Tanner’s head came up and the blue eyes again rose to his. "I don’t want you forcin’ anything and makin’ yourself sick. I just wanta make sure you’ve got somethin’ in your system, especially with all the meds you’re still takin’. We’ll take it slow, just like everything else."

"I’ll do better, I promise," Vin said solemnly.

"Just do what ya can, son," Buck urged gently, smiling encouragingly as Vin shifted his gaze to him. "This ain’t a contest and it ain’t a race. There’s no deadlines here. We know it’s all gonna take time, a lotta time, and that’s all right. The only thing that matters to us is gettin’ you back, all the way back, and we ain’t goin’ anywhere ’til that happens."

Vin frowned at that, feeling a sudden and deep uneasiness at Buck’s words. At the expectation in them. And, looking from Buck to Josiah and then Chris, he realized with a sharp twinge of fear that it was an expectation they all shared. They were convinced – no, they were determined – that he would get well. That he would recover completely and be just like he had been before. Maybe even better. They were counting on that, and they were all set to stay with him, to walk with him and to work with him, because they had no doubt that it would happen.

But… what if it didn’t?

Fear brushed against his soul as he remembered what had happened when he’d disappointed others in the past by not meeting their expectations. Folks who’d said they wanted to help, too, and would do whatever it took…

Only to end up tossing him away when it had taken far more than they’d ever expected and accomplished far less. When it had been so much easier just to let someone else deal with him and his "special needs."

God, how he’d learned to hate that phrase! It was just a polite way of saying he wasn’t right and never would be, and it had become an excuse for shuffling him from one part of the system to another. They’d given up on him then because his problems had been more than they could handle…

What would Chris and the boys do if his problems proved just as overwhelming now?

"Vin?" Buck called worriedly, seeing the shadows return to the tired blue eyes and wondering what he’d said to put them there. "You all right, son?"

Vin looked at Buck, saw the concern written in the big man’s expressive face, and swallowed hard as his own uncertainty deepened. "I jist… I jist cain’t help wonderin’," he rasped softly, once more unconsciously clenching his hands into tight fists in his lap, "what… what’s gonna happen… if I don’t ever git all the way back."

Buck blinked and stared at Vin in open-mouth stupefaction, having no answer for that. He’d never considered that possibility, wouldn’t allow himself to consider it. They’d gone through too much just to find Vin and bring him back into the fold, and God knew Vin had gone through too much just to get to where he was now.

It seemed inconceivable – no, it was inconceivable – that, after all that, they’d never really have him all the way back.

Josiah saw and understood Buck’s incredulity, and decided to step into the conversation before the big man, with all the best intentions in the world, made a promise he might not be able to keep. However noble the thought behind it, Josiah figured that one more broken trust was the last thing Vin needed just now. And having to break that trust was certainly not something Buck needed.

"What makes you wonder that, son?" he asked, careful to keep his tone light and casual. Vin seemed stronger now than he had all evening, as if he’d caught his "second wind," but Josiah had no desire to test that strength. Vin had to remember and face up to his past, but the less traumatic that facing was, the better it would be for all of them.

Vin switched his gaze to the profiler and stared at him intently, almost as if seeing someone else’s face. But the moment quickly passed and his eyes cleared. Then he shrugged slightly, hands still fisted in his lap, and said softly, "Reckon I jist wanta know if it’s gonna be any differ’nt this time."

Buck and Chris exchanged confused glances, then Chris turned back to Vin and asked quietly, "Different than what?"

Vin sighed tiredly and dropped his gaze to his hands, making a conscious effort to open them and lay his palms flat against his thighs. His right one was throbbing fairly insistently now, protesting all the abuse he’d already inflicted upon it, and he had no desire to end up back before Dr. Stone, explaining how he’d managed to undo her work. Again.

"Is that botherin’ ya?" Chris asked, noticing Vin’s grimace every time he moved his right hand. They’d cleaned and doctored the wound and replaced the bandage, and he’d gotten Vin to agree to let Nathan check it tomorrow. Although if Tanner didn’t stop clenching it, they might have to get the medic out here tonight.

"Reckon it hurts a mite."

Chris sighed in exasperation, having a fair idea of what level of pain constituted hurting "a mite" for the stoic Texan. "Buck, you think you could fetch him one of his pain pills and some water?"

"I don’t need–"

"Don’t even try it, Junior," Buck interrupted with a grin as he rose to his feet. "You know how these damn hoverin’ she-grizzlies get." He winked. "If you’re lucky, maybe he’ll cut up the pills for ya, too."

"Hell," Vin grumbled, knowing he was beaten, "he’ll prob’ly jist glare ’em in half with them heat rays a’ his."

"There goes the chocolate pudding I was gonna offer you for dessert," Chris said pointedly, aiming his "heat rays" at the sulking sharpshooter.

"Puddin’?" Vin asked sharply, sitting up straight and shooting a deeply affronted stare at Chris. "Ya got chocolate puddin’ in there ’n ya didn’t tell me? What the hell kinda friend are ya?"

Chris arched a brow. "One who was gonna surprise ya, but who’s now got all the pudding he can eat on his own." He smirked. "And it’s white chocolate, too."

"Vicious bastard, ain’tcha?" Vin seethed.

Chris thought a moment, then gave a self-satisfied grin. "Yeah."

"Asshole."

Josiah heaved a martyred sigh and bowed his head, shaking it slowly. "Buck–"

"Yeah, I know," the big man said, moving toward the kitchen and out of the line of fire. "Pain pills, water and pudding."

"I ain’t scrapin’ you off the ceilin’ when the sugar kicks in," Chris warned.

Vin snorted softly. "Hell, cowboy, the way I feel right now, you could gimme the sugar bowl ’n a spoon ’n I wouldn’t even twitch."

Chris frowned in concern and swept an appraising gaze over his friend. Vin was still pale, and while he no longer looked quite so much in danger of pulling apart at every seam, he was clearly exhausted. The dark circles that seemed to have become permanent fixtures around his eyes now looked almost black, and Chris could damn near count every freckle and blood vein in his face.

"Look, if you don’t feel up ta this tonight–"

Vin cut him off with a sharp gust of breath. "Chris, I ain’t ever gonna really feel up ta this. Believe me, I know fer a fact how easy it is ta find excuses not ta do this. I done it all them years ago when I’s in the hospital. I didn’t wanta talk about it, I didn’t even wanta think about it. And I didn’t. I had folks comin’ in my room almost ever’ day wantin’ ta talk about it, ta know what happened, ta git my statement or whatever. Doctors, cops, lawyers, social workers… Hell, it was a goddamn daily parade! They were all so shocked, so sad ’n concerned ’n sorry… Well, just where the fuck was all that when I needed it?" he demanded harshly as bitterness and anger erupted within him. "Where the fuck was all that concern when they coulda used it ta stop him from beatin’ on us and stop me from havin’ ta kill him? They knew!" he spat venomously, his eyes burning in his white face and his thin body taut with outrage. "They knew! We told ’em! Teachers, the doctor who set our broken bones, the deputies who picked us up when we ran away and dragged us back… We told ’em but they didn’t believe us! Then they had the balls ta come inta my hospital room and tell me how sorry they were it happened. Fuck that! I had ta grab a gun and shoot a man ta death because all these people who get paid ta care kep’ lookin’ the other way! Now you tell me," he snarled. "Jist how goddamn sorry could they really be?"

Chris had gone ashen beneath the torrent of raw rage and flinched from every word as if Vin were physically hurling each one into him. But he made no attempt to stop the onslaught, didn’t even try to soften it. Vin had every right to feel such fury, had every reason to feel betrayed, and he’d held it in, denied it was even there, for far too long. Though it hurt like hell to hear it, Chris would listen to every single word, absorb every single shock, endure every single horror, and then somehow, somehow, help close the bleeding wounds gouged into Vin’s soul and help his friend find a way to make peace with the hell that was his past.

And find the strength to do it in the five other men who’d be at his side doing the very same thing.

The explosion left Vin spent and he fell back into the corner of the couch, shaking from exhaustion and panting from the sheer force of his emotions. He closed his eyes and, suddenly cold, wrapped his arms tightly about himself. Moments later, he felt Nettie’s quilt being tucked close about him once more and huddled gratefully within its folds, feeling the sharp prick of tears against his eyelids.

"Thanks, cowboy," he whispered unsteadily, knowing without looking who had done it. "I’m s–"

"Don’t," Chris interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. "Don’t apologize for what you feel. Not ever. You got a right to it. It’s yours. You’re allowed to feel angry, Vin, you hear me? You’re allowed to feel any and everything you feel. There’s no good or bad, no right or wrong. It would only be wrong if you didn’t feel anything at all."

"Then I reckon I’m doin’ it right," Vin breathed tiredly. "’Cause right now I got so many feelin’s racin’ around inside me I feel like I’m fixin’ ta bust."

Buck returned to the den and went to the couch, setting a bowl on the coffee table and kneeling before Vin. "Here ya go, Junior," he said softly, his blue eyes filled with sorrow and concern. He’d heard Vin’s tirade and, like Chris, had felt as if every word were a shard of glass driven into his soul. But what it had done to him meant nothing when he could so plainly see the toll it had taken on Vin. "C’mon, son," he urged gently, holding out the pills and water. "This’ll take away your pain."

Vin’s eyes fluttered open then and he glanced down at the pills, then looked at Buck. "Ain’t a pill in the world strong enough fer that," he whispered.

Buck’s heart contracted painfully at that and tears stung his eyes. "No," he rasped sadly, "I reckon there’s not. But that’s why we’re here. Ta help you bear the unbearable."

Vin saw depth of compassion in the man’s blue eyes, heard it in his voice and felt it in his very presence, and managed a faint smile. "Well," he murmured, "I reckon mebbe that’s gotta be better’n any pill." He sat up slowly and pulled his left hand out of the quilt, taking the pills and swallowing them, then chasing them with a drink of water. "Thanks, Bucklin," he said when he’d finished, referring not to the pain medication.

"It’s what we’re here for, son. That," he reached behind him and retrieved the bowl, then handed it to Vin with a smile, "and ta fetch and carry."

Vin saw the pudding in the bowl, and his weak smile grew stronger. "Well, hell," he drawled, a faint but heartening light dawning in his eyes, "reckon I oughtta have ya fetch ’n carry fer me more often."

Buck gave a low chuckle and patted the younger man’s knee fondly. "Nice ta see you ain’t plannin’ on takin’ advantage of us," he teased, rising to his feet.

"Hell, Buck, y’know me," Vin said, happily dipping his spoon into the creamy pudding, "I wouldn’t dream a’ doin’ that. ’Least," he looked up and gave Wilmington a wink, "not ’til it’s time fer seconds." He plunged the spoon into his mouth and damn near melted in ecstasy at the wonderfully sweet taste. "’N mebbe thirds," he sighed rapturously.

"God help us," Chris groaned, rolling his eyes and dropping his head against the back of the couch. "He’s gonna eat it all tonight!"

"Well," Vin licked a bit of pudding from the back of his spoon and threw an innocent look at Larabee, "Doc Stone did say I needed ta git my blood sugar up."

"Yeah, but you notice she cut you loose when she said that," Chris growled. "I’m gonna have ta have a talk with her."

"Just warn us before ya do it," Buck pleaded, cringing in exaggerated horror at the prospect of that confrontation. "It’s just got ugly written all over it–"

"And we all know how Brother Buck hates ugly," Josiah intoned solemnly, watching with concealed pleasure and relief as the banter gave a visible lift to Vin’s spirits. "Of course," he added thoughtfully, "Brother Ezra might like ta sell tickets and take bets on the outcome."

"I’m overwhelmed by all this support," Chris grumbled.

"Personally," Vin mused around another spoonful of pudding, "I’m thinkin’ she could take ya." When Larabee shot him an outraged glare, he shrugged and said, "Sorry, cowboy, but I seen her in action. That woman jist don’t fight fair. She’d have you roped, thrown ’n hog-tied ’fore you even knew it was comin’."

"She’s not that tough–"

"No?" Vin arched a brow at his friend. "Then tell me, when’s the last time ya seen Bucklin here hit on her?"

"Now that hurts, Junior," Buck protested, looking mortally wounded.

"Truth usually does," Chris consoled with a sly grin. "Stud."

Buck snorted sharply and sat down on the raised brick hearth with a scowl. "You boys just got no consideration for a man’s fragile self-esteem," he groused. "Only reason I ain’t turned the Wilmington charm on Doc Stone–"

"Is because yer scared of her," Vin finished for him between bites of pudding. He winked at the sputtering scoundrel. "Reckon you ain’t real eager ta see jist how good she is with that scalpel."

Buck instinctively flinched and crossed his legs, sucking in a sharp breath. "’At’s right, laugh it up," he said as chuckles greeted his reaction. "Y’all are just jealous ’cause I got more ta protect than the rest of ya."

"Oh, please," Chris groaned, "let’s not go there!" He turned his gaze on Vin, who was scraping the last remnants of pudding onto his spoon. "Would it be easier if I just broke the bowl in half so you can lick it?"

Vin went for the last little dab and tucked the spoon into his mouth with a happy grin. "You’s the one said I should eat," he pointed out.

"Give it up, Chris," Josiah urged with a knowing smile as Larabee started to argue. "You’ll get sucked so far down into his logic that you’ll never see daylight again."

"And God knows Tanner’s head is the last place I wanta get stuck in," Chris joked without knowing what he’d said. Almost immediately, though, realization hit him and he sat up sharply, his face draining of color as his heart dropped into his stomach. "God, Vin, I’m sorry!" he gasped in shock and horror. "I didn’t mean–"

"’S all right," Vin said with a slight, strained smile. "I know what ya meant. ’Sides, I ain’t exactly thrilled ta be stuck my head, either." He grimaced and dropped his gaze to the empty bowl he held. "Ain’t jist a real pleasant place these days."

"It’s not all right, damn it!" Chris said angrily, pounding his fist against his thigh. "Christ, it was stupid!" he spat. "I should’ve thought–"

"Why?" Vin asked in a soft, pained voice. "Why’ve ya gotta think about ever’thing ya say ta me? Why cain’t ya jist talk ta me like y’ always done? Treat me like y’ always done?"

Chris exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. "It’s not that simple–"

"Why not?" A thread of bitterness edged Vin’s voice. "Because I’m crazy? Because you think I’m so fucked up I won’t know when yer joshin’ ’n when yer not?"

"No! That’s not… Hell, Vin, you know I don’t think you’re crazy!" he snapped in frustration. "But it’s just not that simple!"

Vin stared at Chris for long, long moments, studying him, searching Larabee’s eyes with his own and reading every one of the chaotic thoughts and emotions that filtered through them. The answer dawned on him then and he narrowed his eyes slightly and lifted his chin, a look of defiance settling over his washed-out face.

"Yer scared," he said finally, hoarsely. "Scared ya’ll say somethin’ ’n I’ll fall apart. Or, worse, fly inta another a’ them damn fits. Yer so worried about what I’ll do that ya cain’t even treat me like y’ always done before, talk ta me like y’ always done before. ’S why all yer guns are hid away, ain’t it?" He asked suddenly, his lip curling in a faint sneer. "Hell, I bet even yer big knives are gone from the drawer in the kitchen, ain’t they?" When Chris looked away abruptly, he had his answer. "Y’ want my belt ’n my shoelaces, too?"

Chris flinched at that and bowed his head, groaning softly in misery. God, this was not what he had wanted!

A thick, heavy silence fell upon the room then as three men seemed to stop breathing and the fourth tried to ride out this latest heave in the constantly shifting sands beneath his feet. Just when he’d thought he was learning to balance, too…

Feeling too unsettled to sit still, he rose to his feet and, ignoring the persistent pain and weakness in his left knee, began to pace slowly, restlessly about the den. Once more he folded his arms tightly against his chest, as if trying to keep more of himself from spilling through the fractures. But it was coming, he knew it, could feel it. Too many walls had been breached, too many door wrenched open. They’d been determined to dredge it from him, and Team 7 always got what it went after. He just wondered if they could live with what they got this time.

If he could live with it.

"Vin?" Chris roused himself from his shock and his anger and disgust at himself to follow Tanner’s agitated pacing, wondering yet again how a man who knew so many ways to kill could possibly look so vulnerable. Vin had been hurt before, and badly, plenty of times, without ever once looking as if he were a breath away from falling into the cracks in his world.

Maybe because he’d always managed to hide from them just how deeply those cracks ran…

"Why’d you ask if we want your belt and shoelaces?" Larabee asked, bracing himself for what he suspected was coming. No, what he knew was coming.

Vin continued to pace, but somehow managed to avoid facing any of his friends. He’d learned long ago how to hide in shadows. And where no shadows existed, he could simply make his own. Hell, he’d spent a lifetime hiding in plain sight.

Still not facing the others, he managed a slight, tight shrug. When finally he spoke, his voice was hollow, detached. "’Cause that’s what they wanted before. Y’know," he closed his eyes and tried to believe that he was hidden safely from view, "when they locked me up fer bein’ crazy."

A thick, taut silence descended immediately upon the room in the wake of those words, as if the three listening were afraid of shattering something – shattering Vin – with a single ill-considered reaction. They could plainly see what a precarious line he was walking and knew they had to find some way of prizing still more painful details about his past from him without sending him plunging over the precipice. All three exchanged anxious glances, trying to figure out exactly how to proceed. Then Josiah arched one brow slightly, questioningly, and Chris and Buck both gave small nods, deferring gratefully to him.

The profiler turned his gaze toward the door that led out onto the porch. Vin had stopped pacing and now stood before one of the two large windows that flanked the entrance, staring out into the yard. His back was to them, his arms still wrapped around himself, and he stood rigidly, feet slightly apart, as if he were bracing for a blow. Josiah suddenly realized how many times he’d seen that stance before, but only now understood just how instinctive a posture it was for their sharpshooter.

God, so much about Tanner now made perfect and tragic sense…

"Vin," he called gently, willing himself to relax once more, "son, I wonder if you can explain about bein’ ‘locked up.’" He kept his tone as conversational as he could, careful to imply neither doubt nor accusation. "We’re a bit confused about that. We sorta figured that, given what you’ve told us already, you would’ve been hospitalized following the shooting."

Vin didn’t turn but remained where he was, staring outside, though he saw precious little of what was out there. Instead, bits and pieces of memories rose before him, broke apart and refitted themselves together, like fragments of colored glass viewed through a kaleidoscope. He knew, rationally, that these bits were pieces of his own life, but, just now, distorted as they were by his exhaustion and by the distance his mind had so long ago placed between itself and them, he could almost believe they belonged to someone else.

Hell, who was he foolin’? He had believed that, and for much too long. And if he didn’t stop it, he’d never get any better than he was right now.

"I spent more’n a month in the hospital," he said at last, his voice soft, distant. Detached. "Bastard damn near killed me; I cain’t even remember all the bones he broke." He gave a sharp snort. "Y’all oughtta ask Doc Stone about my x-rays some time. They look like a damn jigsaw puzzle that’s been glued together. The picture’s complete, but you can see where ever’ piece’s been fitted together ta make it so. Hell, I had more screws ’n wires holdin’ me together than one a’ them droids in Star Wars. I was literally a piece a’ work."

Buck winced and looked away from that solitary figure before the window, then glanced at the man on the couch who looked every bit as lost and alone. Chris’s eyes were fixed on Vin and a world of pain burned in the green depths, searing through Buck’s heart. He knew that Chris was seeing that boy, and couldn’t begin to imagine how it must hurt a man who’d lost his own son to know how cruelly others were capable of treating children entrusted into their care.

And to know that his closest friend had been one of those children…

Buck sighed softly and rose to his feet, doing the only thing he knew to do. Right now Josiah was tending Vin, and was probably the one best qualified for that. But Chris needed somebody, too, and Buck figured the good Lord had given him broad shoulders for a reason. He sank down onto the couch at Larabee’s side, not touching the man, but close enough just to offer the comfort of his presence.

Chris knew instinctively what Buck was doing and turned a grateful smile upon the big man. Once upon a time, he’d prayed that Buck would leave him alone. Now he gave thanks that such a stupid prayer had mercifully never been granted.

Might just be that God knew what He was doing after all…

"How did you end up in the hospital, son?" Josiah asked when Tanner lapsed into silence again.

Vin turned and stared at Sanchez as if he’d lost his mind. "Hell, I jist told ya!" he answered sharply, blue eyes afire. "Bastard damn near beat me ta death! Jesus, Josiah, pay attention!"

Josiah had to laugh at the flash of that prickly temper and at the exasperation written on Tanner’s scowling face. "I got that part, Vin," he assured the younger man. "What I meant was, how did you get there? What happened after the shooting?"

"Oh." Vin’s irritation faded and he frowned in concentration, then shrugged. "Cain’t really say. I ain’t ever been real clear on that part. Hell," he added with another sharp snort, "ain’t like I been exactly clear on any a’ this!"

"No, but you’re gettin’ there," Josiah assured him. "You can’t expect to unearth in a few hours what’s been buried for fifteen years."

"No," he sighed, running his good hand through his hair, "I reckon not." He turned back toward the window and again fixed his gaze on the distance, as if seeing some key to his past out there. "They told me later," he began softly, "that one of the older kids called the sheriff’s office when the bastard was beatin’ on me. Took a mighty big risk, ’cause he’da got it too if he’da got caught. They always told us that what happened ’tween them walls wasn’t nobody’s business but ours, and tryin’ ta tell jist got us another beatin’. But one of ’em got up the nerve ta call… I reckon it musta been pretty clear that the bastard was gonna kill me this time. They told me he was frantic, beggin’ fer somebody ta come out ’n stop him. Then they said whoever it was called started screamin’ about a gun goin’ off…" He shrugged tiredly. "Like I said, took me killin’ him ta get somebody out there."

"But you don’t remember them arriving," Josiah put in.

"Naw. Last thing I remember is pullin’ that trigger. Nex’ think I knew I’s in that hospital, hurtin’ worse’n I’d ever hurt in my life. Sonuvabitch’d fractured my skull and a couple’a vertebrae, my jaw was wired together, fingers on both hands was broke, my left arm was busted in two places, he broke my ribs ’n one of ’em punctured m’ lung, I’s bleedin’ internally… Shit," he laughed bitterly, "cost the county a fortune ta fix what he done! ’S why I couldn’t b’lieve it when all them cops ’n social workers wanted ta know why I killed him. I mean, hell," he said incredulously, "I’da figgered it was pretty goddamn obvious!"

"What did you tell them?" Josiah asked, curious about Vin’s state of mind at the time.

Vin sighed heavily and shook his head slowly. "Nothin’," he breathed. "I didn’t say a thing. I jist… flew away."

Josiah frowned, and Chris and Buck exchanged confused glances. "Flew away?" Sanchez asked.

Vin laughed again, less harshly this time. "Lemme tell y’all," he drawled, turning to face his friends with a wry grin, "when yer all broke up like that, them doctors give ya some damn good drugs! Hell, I couldn’t feel nothin’ when they kicked in. Couldn’t even feel my own body. ’S like I didn’t even have one. I’s wrapped in this… haze, ’n I jist went with it. Floatin’, flyin’, whatever the hell ya wanta call it. But I spent a lotta time doin’ it, jist driftin’ up in the air, lookin’ down at m’self ’n listenin’ ta all them folks askin’ their stupid questions. I didn’t wanta talk about it, didn’t wanta think about it." He shrugged. "Didn’t matter none that I could see. Couldn’t nothin’ be done about it. So I jist… pushed it down, made it all go away. By the time them doctors stopped givin’ me all them good drugs ’n I had ta come back down ta that bed, I didn’t have the slightest idea what they was all talkin’ about. I didn’t remember a goddamned thing."

Josiah nodded slightly as he listened. He had an elbow propped on the arm of the recliner and his chin cradled in his fingers, his pale blue eyes narrowed in thought. "Dissociation," he murmured. "Understandable reaction. You’d been pushed beyond your limits and didn’t know how to cope with what you’d been forced to do, so you just shut it out."

"Reckon so," Vin sighed with another shrug. "I reckon that seemed like the easiest way a’ dealin’ with it." His mouth gave a sudden and bitter twist. "Wasn’t like anybody was offerin’ any other solutions."

Buck stared at him in stunned disbelief. "What?" he asked sharply. "You mean ta tell us that amongst that whole parade of folks you said was traipsin’ in and outta your room that nobody tried ta help you? Jesus, Vin, that just can’t be right!"

"Buck," Vin said softly, sadly, "I’s a charity case. No family, no money, no insurance, nothin’. I’s in a county hospital, one that had a contract with the state ta provide ‘indigent care.’ ’N I’s about as indigent as they come. Wasn’t nobody gonna pay fer psychoanalysis. Hospital shrink come two or three times, asked me some questions, wrote somethin’ on a chart ’n left. Believe me, wasn’t nobody goin’ outta their way ta look inside my head."

"But you said they locked you up!" Buck protested in a pained voice, appalled by what he was hearing. "How in the hell could they do that if they didn’t even make a decent effort to figure out what was wrong? Shit, Vin, they just threw you away!"

"Reckon so," Vin said simply, his gaze never wavering from Buck. "Wasn’t the first time, wasn’t the last. I’s jist a foster kid. Reckon I’s disposable."

"People are not disposable, goddamn it!" Wilmington snarled, lunging to his feet as anger erupted through him. "Those sonsabitches should’ve at least–"

"Buck," Chris cut in, rising smoothly to his feet. He saw Vin flinch violently from the big man’s outrage and knew he had to rein in Buck before he sent Tanner over that beckoning edge. "This ain’t the time or place for that." He could see the protest coming and drilled Buck with a compelling stare. "I mean it. Either calm down or go outside," he ordered in a low, hard voice. "You’re scarin’ Vin and I won’t have that."

Buck sucked in a breath and would’ve argued anyway, until a glance at Vin took in the younger man’s fearful stance and white face. Once more, Tanner had his arms wrapped tightly about himself and looked as if he were a heartbeat away from fleeing. The sight tore into Buck’s heart and swept away his anger, replacing it with guilt and sorrow.

Hell, it was taking everything Vin had to keep his own raw nerves and unsettled emotions under something approaching control. The boy didn’t need to juggle his feelings as well.

"I’m sorry, Junior," he breathed. "I shouldn’t have exploded like that. I reckon ya got enough anger inside ya without havin’ ta battle mine, too. It’s just…" He sighed sharply and shook his head, gazing at Vin with pain and compassion. "Jesus, son, it just tears me up when I hear ya sayin’ you’re disposable, or when ya talk about how ya been treated like ya were… You’re not, y’know," he said firmly. "And nobody, man or boy, should go through life feelin’ like he’s just somethin’ anybody else can toss aside. That just ain’t right, and it just ain’t true."

"Mebbe it ain’t right," Vin breathed,"but it’s been true near all my life." He winced and settled his weight to his right side to ease the strain on his left knee. "When folks get tired a’ messin’ with me, or when they cain’t do nothin’ fer me, they jist toss me aside or pass me on ta somebody else. Hell, I reckon that’s why they locked me up. Was jist th’ easiest thing ta do."

"Bein’ easy don’t make it right," Buck said quietly. He noticed Tanner’s shifting and frowned. "Knee’s botherin’ ya again, ain’t it?"

Vin swallowed and shrugged one shoulder, trying not to feel the pain in his knee and failing. "A mite."

Buck chuckled deep in his throat. "Someday, Junior, you’re gonna have ta define for us exactly how much one a’ yer ‘mites’ is. C’mon back over here and sit down, son, before that knee buckles and drops yer skinny ass to the floor."

Vin scowled and tried to look defiant, but was all too aware of his own unsteadiness. The weakness and throbbing in the injured joint were growing steadily more insistent, and he knew he’d have to get off it soon or, like Buck said, end up in the floor. With all the dignity he could muster, he began limping slowly across the den, clenching his jaw resolutely against any sound of pain and silently cursing the bastards who’d taken such savage delight in trying to cripple him.

God, he hated this…

Finally he made it, not to the couch but to the rocker, his rocker, that wooden link to one of the few parts of his past he wouldn’t have traded for the world. He settled himself on the broad seat, relaxed against the high, gently curving back and rocked slowly, exhaling deeply when his movements brought forth the soft creak he so loved to hear.

Three men released the breaths they’d been holding and relaxed when they saw him safely seated. Josiah sat back in his recliner and Buck dropped onto the couch. Chris, however, didn’t sit down just yet, but leaned over and shoved the stack of pillows to the end of the coffee table, within easy reach of Vin’s leg. He straightened, set his hands on his hips and arched a blond brow, his silent command unmistakable.

Vin smiled slightly and complied without argument, lifting his leg carefully and propping it on the cushions, unable to suppress the soft groan of relief that escaped him. "Thanks, cowboy," he breathed, his voice shakier than he would’ve liked.

Chris permitted himself to sit down then, but never took his eyes from Vin. "I seem ta recall you bein’ fitted for a brace." He glanced at Tanner’s elevated leg and noticed the absence of any bulky outline beneath the sweats. "Either they’ve streamlined ’em a lot since I wore one, or we need ta have another talk about you followin’ your doctor’s orders."

"If you c’n find it, I’ll wear it. Don’t know where whoever brought m’ stuff in put it."

"We’ll find it later," Chris said in a voice that guaranteed just that. "And you’ll wear it, if I have to put it on you myself. Last thing you need is another surgery."

"Tell me," Vin sighed tiredly. "Hell, even m’ scars have scars."

Josiah heard the weariness in that soft voice and studied the younger man intently. He’d told Buck that Vin had reserves none of them could imagine, and he believed it. But he knew that even Tanner had to reach his limits sometime, and he feared that time was fast approaching.

"We don’t have–"

"Yeah, we do," Vin interrupted quietly, turning his head to meet Josiah’s concerned gaze. "Y’all got a right ta know. If y’all’re so determined ta walk with me, y’ at least need ta know what yer walkin’ through. Ain’t pretty, though, ’n I wouldn’t blame any a’ y’all fer walkin’ away now."

"That ain’t gonna happen," Buck said evenly, not a trace of doubt in his tone. "In case you ain’t noticed, we’re kinda stubborn."

Vin turned back to Buck and gave him a wan smile, his eyes filled with gratitude. "I noticed. ’N I gotta say… it means more’n y’all could ever know. Ain’t used ta folks stickin’ with me. Like I said, most of ’em have jist found it easier ta walk away. Pass me along ta the next person, or…" His voice faltered and he shook his head.

"Or lock you up?" Josiah finished for him, his deep voice soft and sad.

"Yeah," Vin whispered.

The profiler shifted slightly in his chair, his expression thoughtful. He had a feeling he knew some of what would come, and, though he hoped he was wrong, he feared the hope was futile. "Can you tell us?"

Vin rested his head against the back of the rocker and closed his eyes, swallowing tightly. The memories were growing stronger, clearer, and more painful. But he knew he couldn’t avoid them any longer, couldn’t deny them any longer. Terrible as they were, they were a part of him, and he’d never truly be whole until he accepted them as such.

"After the sh… After I shot him," he swallowed again and licked his lips, "there was an investigation. Y’know, inta what happened ’n why. State closed down the home, took all the boys inta the foster system, slapped some kinda charges against the Preacher. Don’t know what exactly, jist know that he never went ta jail." He shrugged dejectedly. "Reckon he musta got probation ’r somethin’."

Chris heard the growl rumbling from Buck and reached out to grip his arm tightly, forestalling another explosion. His other hand he clenched even more tightly to keep his own anger from boiling forth.

So much for justice…

"Sonuvabitch even come ta visit me in the hospital," Vin said in a soft but infinitely bitter voice, opening his eyes and staring once more into his past. "Folks there’d been told not ta let him in, but I reckon he snuck past ’em jist so’s he could spew his poison at me. Said ever’thing that happened was all my fault. Said a good man was dead because a’ my sins. Said I’d ruined ever’thing ’n God was gonna punish me, said I was gonna burn in hell. Said I wasn’t nothin’ but the Devil’s seed." He turned his haunted gaze upon Chris. "They had ta strap me down ta the bed then, too," he said hoarsely. "An’ sedate me jist ta stop me from screamin’."

"Holy Mother of God!" Josiah whispered strickenly, bowing his head and closing his eyes tightly against the sudden sting of tears. Buck had his face buried in a shaking hand, and Chris had gone white and rigid, and looked as if he might be sick.

"’S why they all thought I’s crazy," Vin continued in a hoarse, hollow voice, his eyes wide, unblinking and glassy. "Couldn’t remember what I’d done, couldn’t stand nobody touchin’ me, wouldn’t talk ta nobody, ’n had ta be tied down ’n drugged when I’d wake up screamin’ from some damn nightmare that I couldn’t remember either. I don’t know," he sighed, absently raking a hand through his hair, "mebbe I was crazy. Sure as hell felt like it. I remember one time, I had a water glass on the table by my bed. Nurse come in ta do somethin’ like they’re always doin’, ’n she accidentally hit that glass, knocked it ta the floor. When I heard it break, somethin’ in me snapped. I’s outta that bed ’fore she could stop me, tore loose ever’ IV I had in me… Took a couple’a orderlies ta git me back inta bed ’n I fought ’em all the way, screamin’ bloody murder. I’s strapped down ’n sedated again." He tried to smile, but it twisted into a tortured grimace. "Doc gave orders that from then on, nothin’ but plastic was allowed in my room."

Chris wasn’t at all sure he could take much more of this. He rose to his feet but didn’t pace, just walked slowly to one of the windows by the door and stared out into the darkness beyond, his heart and mind in turmoil.

God in heaven, how had Vin ever survived that?

"Anyways, when it got time fer ’em ta release me from the hospital, they had ta figger out what ta do with me. And Texas has this fun little thing it does," he said acidly. "If y’ain’t got any place else ta go, ya get sent t’ the local juvenile facility an’ they hold ya whilst some judge ’n some other folks decide jist where the hell ya belong. So I spent about a week in juvie, even though ever’body agreed that what I’d done was ‘justifiable homicide’."

"Jesus Christ," Buck moaned, no longer bothering to wipe away his tears.

"And from there?" Josiah asked, his voice thick and raw with the same pain that churned in his gut and his soul.

Vin sighed and began to rock slowly, his body relaxed but his hands gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles shone white. Against the bloodless pallor of his face, his blue eyes were as dark as the chasms of hell. "They gave me ta TYC," he rasped in a strained voice, rocking a bit faster now. "Texas Youth Commission. Basically, it’s the juvenile prison system."

"But you didn’t do anything!" Chris cried harshly, whirling around and fixing tormented eyes upon his friend. "God, Vin–"

"I killed a man ’n I went crazy," Vin said flatly. "Where d’ya put a kid who’s got no place, Chris? Wasn’t nobody gonna step up ’n take me in the shape I’s in, that’s fer damn sure! What foster family would want a kid who’d jist emptied a gun inta the last bastard who’d had him? This was Texas, fer God’s sake, the state where prisons are a growth industry! What the hell else were they gonna do with me?"

Chris exhaled violently and whipped back toward the window, every muscle in his body clenched so hard it hurt. "Not put you in prison," he ground out through gritted teeth. God. Jesus God. Vin had needed help, and instead they’d locked him up. No wonder he had such trouble believing anyone would help him now.

"Yeah, well, they did," he sighed. "Sent me fer a while t’ a place in Brownwood fer ‘orientation ’n assessment,’ then shipped my crazy ass off ta the Corsicana Residential Treatment Center. Y’all ever been ta Corsicana?" he asked disgustedly. "Hell, it’s the backside a’ nowhere. Gotta be one a’ the ugliest damn towns in Texas. Preacher said God was gonna send me ta hell. Who knew the TYC worked fer God?"

"But at least it was a treatment facility," Josiah murmured, trying to find some light amid the darkness.

"It was a fuckin’ prison!" Vin spat, jerking his leg off the pillows and again lurching to his feet. "Couldn’t go nowhere by myself, even t’ take a piss or a shower!" He resumed his agitated pacing, even now able to feel those grim, unyielding walls closing in upon him. "Stuck behind a goddamn fence with guards, shared a room with a kid who’d knifed his father because the voices in his head told him ta do it, ’n no matter where I went or what I did there was always somebody so close I could damn near feel ’em breathin’ on me. And the minute we stepped outta line, we were theirs. Punishment could be anything from runnin’ laps or bein’ restricted to our rooms an’ havin’ ta sit on our beds ta bein’ restrained." His mouth curled into a sneer. "Nice word fer havin’ a couple’a men twice yer size grab ya, wrestle ya t’ the ground ’n lay on ya ’til either ya stop fightin’ or somebody can get ya cuffed. When it got that far, we ended up in ‘Max,’ a nice little cell built jist fer one." He threw a glance at Larabee’s stiff back. "’At’s when they take yer belt ’n shoelaces ’n damn near ever’thing else ya got so’s ya don’t hang yerself with ’em."

"Tell me you at least got some kinda counselin’ there," Buck pleaded desperately, never raising his face from his hand. "Tell me somebody did somethin’ more than strap you to a bed and drug ya. God, please, tell me they didn’t just drop ya in a deep hole and wait for you ta pull yourself out!"

Vin exhaled deeply, exhaustedly, and waved a pale hand in a weary gesture of dismissal. "They had shrinks there, yeah," he breathed, returning to the rocker and dropping into it just as his knee gave out. "We had group counselin’ – which was always fun, considerin’ the group I’s with – and some individual therapy. But it was a contract system, y’know? Some a’ them folks really seemed ta care, others was jist collectin’ a paycheck. An’ I swear my shrink musta owned stock in a drug comp’ny, ’cause no matter what problem I had, some damn pill was the answer. After a few months there, I could hear a hundred glasses break ’n never even flinch, ’cause I’s pretty much a zombie." He laughed harshly. "But, hell, at least I’s well behaved!"

"How long were you there?" Josiah asked hoarsely, appalled by the thought of the free-spirited Vin Tanner drugged into submission.

Vin shrugged. "Year ’n a half, mebbe two years." He arched a brow and gave a brittle smile. "Hard ta keep track a’ time when yer livin’ in a permanent fog. But after a while I learned ta play the game, say what they wanted me ta say ’n obey all their rules. Drugs pretty well took care a’ the screamin’ fits, ’n when they figgered I wasn’t a threat ta myself or anybody else, they released me ta foster care."

"Thank God!" Buck exhaled sharply.

Vin snorted softly. "Yeah, sounded good ta me, too. At first. Got put in a group home. Me ’n eight other boys. I hated it. I mean, wasn’t nobody beatin’ on me, ’n it fer damn sure wasn’t a prison, but… I hated it. I’d forgot how ta be around normal folks, forgot how ta live without the bastard or them guards lookin’ over my shoulder… Wasn’t good at socializin’, I landed right back in special ed at school, I’s still on them damn anti-psychotic meds… All that wasn’t bad enough, though. Oh, hell no! One a’ the kids in the home overheard the house parents talkin’ about where I’d been before, and the little shit told everybody who’d listen! Imagine how that went over at school! So," he sighed, "after the second or third time I got in trouble fer fightin’, the folks there decided mebbe I needed ta be someplace differ’nt. Decided my problems were more’n they could handle. So they asked my caseworker ta get me another placement." He sighed and shook his head. "I hadn’t even been there two months when they threw in the towel."

Chris groaned softly and leaned forward, bowing his head until it rested on the glass of the window, his soul scored by his friend’s words. What kind of hopes had that boy entertained when he’d finally been released from a prison to a home? What thoughts, expectations, dreams had run through his mind at the prospect of settling into a new life outside walls and not defined by violence? And what in him had been crushed when, instead, he’d found just one more place where he didn’t belong?

God, just how many ways were there to destroy a child, anyway?

"Still, I reckon that was a good thing," Vin went on, new strength creeping into his voice and settling over his pale, thin face. "If them folks hadn’t given up on me, I’da never met Joe ’n Sadie Walker, an’ I’da sure hated that."

Buck lifted his head and regarded Vin through tear-reddened eyes, grateful for the slight smile that ghosted about the younger man’s mouth. "Who’re they?"

"My next foster parents," Vin said softly, though the warmth and affection in his voice marked them as far more than that. "They had what the state called a ‘therapeutic home,’ meanin’ they was trained ta take in kids like me. Kids with emotional or behavioral problems." He chuckled quietly and shook his head. "Hell, I had both! I’s a goddamn mess when I got there. But…" He sighed, his face growing wistful. "That never seemed ta matter ta them. I mean, they had two boys a’ their own ’n already had two other foster kids with ’em, so you’da figgered that I’d jist be one more face in the crowd, one more bit a’ trouble. But that wasn’t so," he breathed in wonder. "You’da thought they’d been waitin’ fer me all their lives. Right from the first, they treated me like I’s jist where I belonged, like I’s theirs." He turned deep and vulnerable eyes to Buck. "Been a long time since I’d had that, y’know?" he rasped. "Since I’d felt like I was somebody’s kid. ’N I’s long past thinkin’ I’d ever have it again."

"Tell us about ’em," Buck urged, wanting desperately to know everything he could about the people who’d given Vin back that feeling.

Vin smiled warmly at him. "You’da liked ’em, Bucklin, I know it! Joe was a big man, like you. Hell, mebbe bigger! Had dark hair ’n a beard, ’n eyes that was all crinkled from laughin’. Had him a great big ol’ laugh that jist shook him ’n ever’thing around him, an’ once he started, wasn’t no stoppin’ him ’til he jist plumb run outta air." His smile faded. "I’s scared of him at first, ’cause he was so big. But he knew that, did all he could ta change it. When he talked ta me he’d git down on one knee so’s he wouldn’t tower over me, ’n when he knew I’s nervous he’d take care ta talk real soft ’n real slow. And he never, not once, raised a hand ta me… But he’d hold them big ol’ hands out ta me an’ jist wait fer me ta take ’em…" His voice quavered, and tears filled his eyes and slid slowly down his cheeks. "Holdin’ his hands was almost like holdin’ Gran’pa’s hands again…"

Chris turned and left the window then, going to the rocker and standing at Vin’s side. As Tanner sniffed and bowed his head to hide the tears, Chris reached down and laid a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, reassuringly, and then leaving it where it lay.

Vin looked up at him and nodded, grateful for that contact, for its strength and warmth and the friendship it conveyed. He’d been so afraid that his words would send these men running from his side, that they’d find ways and excuses to make their escape as had so many before them, that once again he’d be left trying to put himself and life back together on his own.

He couldn’t imagine now why he’d ever thought that.

With Chris’s hand still on his shoulder, he found the will and the way to go on. "But Sadie," he said hoarsely, wiping away his tears, "she was a li’l ol’ thing, like a hummin’bird. Flitted here ’n there like she had wings, never still a minute, looked like she’d break if ya breathed on her." He laughed suddenly and shook his head. "Well, hell, that wasn’t the case at all! She ruled that roost, lemme tell y’all! Ruled Joe ’n us boys like she was queen a’ the universe. ’N I reckon she was queen of our universe. We’da done anything fer her." He turned to Buck and winked. "I know fer damn sure you’da liked her! Fiery red hair ’n big ol’ green eyes, freckles, ’n a smile that lit up yer world like fireworks on the Fourth a’ July. She cried at sappy movies, laughed at stupid jokes, stuck all our report cards on the refrigerator door an’ made our favorite desserts when we did good… But, Lord, she’d flat peel the hide off anybody who hurt one a’ hers. An’ from the first minute she saw me," his voice cracked into a broken whisper, "I’s one a’ hers."

Buck decided Vin was wrong. He didn’t like Sadie Walker; he loved her.

Vin took a few moments to compose himself, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, trying to ease the hard lump in his throat. About the third time he tried to swallow, he felt a gentle tap on his leg and looked up to see Buck holding out a glass of water. He leaned forward, took the glass, and managed a weak smile when Wilmington’s long fingers brushed reassuringly against his.

"Thanks, Bucklin," he breathed.

"’S what I’m here for, Junior," the big man said easily, the words coming straight from his heart.

"Yeah," Vin sighed, still smiling, "reckon I’m startin’ ta see that." He raised the glass in a small salute, then carried it to his lips and drank from it. When he felt a bit more in control of his emotions, he leaned forward, set the glass on the table and sat back, glad to be talking about the Walkers. It seemed right that these men who were his family now should know about the folks who’d taken him into their family back then. Who’d helped him remember what a family was.

"Joe was a contractor, a builder," he said, his voice regaining its strength. "An’ he knew ever’thing there was ta know about buildin’. Carpentry, plumbin’, electrical work… You name it, he could do it. But he loved carpentry best of all. Said it was honorable work." He looked at Josiah. "Said it was a carpenter, after all, who’d come down here ta build the Kingdom of God."

Josiah smiled and nodded, his eyes warm. "True. Our Lord took up the hammer and lathe before He ever took up the cross."

Vin nodded as if satisfied to have Joe’s words borne out, then went on. "Anyways, he was always buildin’ somethin’. ’N he said us boys should know how ta do it. Said it occupied the hands ’n cleared the mind, an’ gave a feller a trade ta fall back on. So he taught us all he could." Again he smiled, pride and pleasure lighting his whole face. "He said I had a natural way with it."

Chris, having seen the easy, methodical way with which Vin went about repairs to his apartment, the ranch and Nettie’s place, believed that. He’d often wondered where his friend had picked up his skills and now knew who to thank for the sturdy new tack cabinets out in the barn.

"Thing was, though," puzzlement colored Vin’s tone, "he took as much time with us foster kids as he did his own boys. Never favored them over us ’n never made us feel differ’nt or less’n them. An’ Jimmy ’n Jack, the boys, never seemed bothered by that. Hell, they didn’t seem ta mind that we was there at all! They jist treated us like they treated each other. Never tried ta git us in trouble fer stuff we didn’t do, wouldn’t let nobody at school pick on us fer bein’ foster kids… Back in the home," he said softly, "we didn’t stick up fer each other. Couldn’t, ’cause we’d git a beatin’, too. And if you could lessen yer beatin’ by drawin’ attention ta somebody else, well…" He ducked his head and grimaced. "Ain’t right, I know that now, but back then–"

"Vin, look at me," Chris commanded in a soft, even voice. When the shamed eyes rose slowly to meet his, he gazed directly into them and said, "You were a child and you were fighting for your life. You were only doin’ what you thought you had to do to survive. In a place like that, in a situation like that, all the rules of decent, civilized society go right out the window."

"Cain’t help thinkin’ I shoulda stuck up fer some of ’em more–"

"And just what do you think you did when you killed him?" Chris asked pointedly. "Yeah, you were protectin’ yourself, but how many other lives do you think you saved by ending his? He was bound to kill one of you someday, but they all lived because of what you did."

Vin’s eyes widened as Chris’s words sank in and a soft, startled gasp escaped him. "I n… I never thought about that," he whispered, praying it was true. "Ever’body seemed ta think what I done was so wrong, so terrible–"

"Fuck ’em," Chris said in a hard, cold voice. "They lost all right to judge you when they didn’t step in themselves. If they’d done what they were supposed to, you wouldn’t have had to do the job for ’em. If they couldn’t accept that," his mouth curled into a sneer, "they can all rot in hell beside him for all I care."

Vin laughed weakly. "Real understandin’, ain’tcha, Larabee?"

"No," Chris answered bitingly. "I don’t understand them at all. I don’t understand how all those people could turn their backs, avert their eyes and let that go on. I don’t understand how anyone could leave children in a hell like that, and I don’t understand how anyone could possibly blame you for what you did. And I hope that anyone who could’ve stepped in and stopped it but didn’t has to answer to someone for their cowardice."

"They will, brother," Josiah said sternly, steel in his voice and in his eyes. "He will answer them, ‘Amen, I say to you, what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.’ And these will go off to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.’" He lifted a heavy gray brow. "The Boss left fairly explicit instructions on the care and feeding of His sheep." His gaze fell upon Vin and softened, and when he spoke his deep voice was gentle. "It sounds as if Joe and Sadie Walker took very good care of the lost lamb He guided to their door."

Vin smiled at that. "They did," he breathed. "Sadie was a special ed teacher ’n she helped us with schoolin’. Hell, she’s the one who finally taught me ta pronounce ‘dyslexia.’" He grinned crookedly. "It’s a real bitch havin’ somethin’ ya cain’t even say." He nodded firmly. "They got the doctors ta wean me off the damn drugs, too. Even after they was completely outta my system, I never had a single screamin’ fit the whole time I’s with ’em. Sadie said the drugs hadn’t been fer me at all, but ta help all them other folks deal with me." Light and pride suddenly blazed in his eyes and he lifted his head, smiling almost fiercely at his friends. "When I took my last pill, she circled that day on the calendar in red and we shot off some left-over fireworks out in the yard that night, ’cause she ’n Joe said it was my independence day."

"God, please tell me they’re still alive and still takin’ care of kids!" Buck breathed fervently, wanting with everything that was in him to find these people and thank them in any and every way he could for what they had done for his friend.

"Yeah," Vin breathed, "last I heard they was still takin’ in kids. ’Course," regret rose through him and he shook his head sadly, "I ain’t talked to ’em in years, not since I joined the Army. I wrote ’em then, reckoned I owed it to ’em ta let ’em know I’s doin’ somethin’ with my life… I wasn’t sure they’d even remember who I was…"

"And?" Chris prompted.

Vin gave him a shy smile. "They remembered. Sent me a long letter askin’ about me, sayin’ they was proud a’ me, and sent a picture a’ them with Jack in his Army uniform, said they had two soldiers in the fam’ly now." He swallowed hard and blinked back more tears. "I still got the letter ’n that picture." He stared at Chris. "Reckon I oughtta write ’em again, huh?"

"Reckon so," Chris agreed hoarsely, his own throat tight. "How long were you with ’em?"

Vin sniffed again, then wiped once more at his wet face. "Six months."

Chris frowned. "That doesn’t seem very long."

Vin shrugged, again feeling the pain of that parting. "State decided it was long enough. My caseworker said I didn’t need a ‘therapeutic home’ no more ’n that there was kids who needed Joe and Sadie more’n I did." Hurt filled his eyes and fractured his voice. "I know fer a fact that wasn’t possible," he whispered. "I still needed ’em so much! But it wasn’t up ta me."

"What did Joe and Sadie have to say about it?" Chris asked, having an idea he knew.

"Not much that’s repeatable in polite comp’ny," Vin joked weakly. "I truly thought she was gonna take after my caseworker with the big wooden spoon she was holdin’. She argued, begged, shouted, cried…" He laughed softly, sadly. "Sadie wasn’t ever one fer holdin’ much inside. Joe argued, too, said I still needed ’em, that I wasn’t near ready ta leave, that there was so much more they could do fer me…" He swallowed hard. "Don’t see how that was possible, either," he breathed. "They’d already done more’n I ever thought anybody could. Or would. I didn’t even know who I was when I got to ’em. They gave me back Vin Tanner."

Buck was dumbfounded. Appalled. Furious. Just how in the goddamn hell could a system designed for the protection and welfare of children yank a child out of the one place he’d found where he belonged, where he’d finally begun to heal?

"Where’d they send you after that?" he spat through clenched teeth, seething visibly. "Or do we wanta know?"

Vin shrugged one shoulder negligently, then again folded his arms against his chest. "Here’n there," he murmured. "Another group home first, then a couple’a private homes. Still didn’t do well in the group home…" He grimaced. "Reckon I jist ain’t one fer groups. But the last private home… It was good. The Garcias. They weren’t Joe ’n Sadie, but they were good people. I’s there a couple’a months, jist startin’ ta fit in, when I got a new caseworker." He laughed shortly. "Hell, I had more caseworkers than foster homes! Seemed like ever’ time I turned around, I’s havin’ ta learn a new name. Finally, I jist stopped tryin’. Jist called ’em all ‘miss.’ Anyways, she thought the Garcias had more kids than they needed, so she started talkin’ about pullin’ me out."

He sighed tiredly and raised a hand to rub it over his face. "I jist couldn’t take it. Seemed like ever’ time I got settled in, I’s bein’ yanked. Either the families decided that me an’ my ‘special needs’ was too much fer ’em or the state decided I’d be better off somewheres else. I didn’t wanta do it again. Didn’t wanta go to a new home, a new school, a new town. So one mornin’, I rode the bus ta school, got off jist like I’s supposed ta… an’ took off. I’d packed ever’thing I thought I’d need in my backpack, had some money I’d saved up from chores ’n odd jobs, ’n I jist lit out. Made my way t’ the highway ’n started hitchin’ rides from town ta town ’til I found a clerk at a bus station who’d sell me a ticket. Next bus out was headin’ fer Denver, ’n that sounded as good as any other place ta me. When I got here, I’s kinda surprised at how big it was, but that was all right. Made it easier ta git lost ’n stay that way. I took odd jobs where I could git ’em, ate at the Salvation Army or church soup kitchens, lived on the streets or in abandoned buildin’s. Wasn’t much, an’ God knows it wasn’t pretty, but at least I was finally decidin’ where ’n how I lived. Reckon the day I took off was my second independence day." He exhaled exhaustedly. "I’s sixteen years old."

Chris closed his eyes and squeezed Vin’s shoulder firmly once more, then made his way back to the couch, feeling much older than his years. And knowing now why Vin was so much older than his years.

His childhood had ended at age ten…

"Did pretty good fer a while," Vin breathed, his strength all but gone. "Ended up in Purgatorio, fell in with some fellers who helped me get enough fake ID that I could git work, learned real quick how ta survive, how t’ avoid trouble." He winced and dropped his gaze to his lap as yet another memory rose from the darkness. "But some trouble cain’t be avoided, I reckon. It was Christmas, but that don’t mean much in Purgatorio. I’s walkin’ at night, jist tryin’ ta git home outta the cold…" The words lodged in his throat and he had to swallow hard several times to get them out. "Some fellers jumped me. They wanted… well, hell, y’all c’n prob’ly figger out what they wanted. But they didn’t get it without a fight. Only I ended up losin’ the fight." He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the sickened expressions on his friends’ faces. "A couple’a cops, Abel Nuñez ’n Graciella Ortiz, found me in an alley, took me t’ the hospital. Only they didn’t jist leave me there. They kep’ comin’ back, checkin’ up on me. Abel taught karate classes at the local community center. I asked him if I could join, he said yeah. So I started goin’. They also had night classes there so’s folks could get their GEDs, Abel ’n Graciella said I oughtta look into it." He shook his head slowly, his eyes still closed. "I didn’t figger it’d be worth anything, not with the problems I had readin’ ’n writin’, but they kep’ on me. Said I owed it t’ m’self ta git off the streets." He shrugged. "So I signed up. Figgered the teacher’d take one look at me ’n boot me out. Figgered I’d jist be too much work. Again." He chuckled suddenly, softly. "Lord God, was I wrong!"

At that, Chris, Buck and Josiah all looked at him in confusion, startled by his laugh and the tone of amazement in his voice. He seemed to feel their stares and opened his eyes, then smiled at their bewilderment.

"Teacher was a li’l ol’ woman named Nettie Wells," he said, all the love he felt for her flowing through his voice and shining in his face. "’N I don’t know how or why, but I ain’t ever yet proved ta be too much work fer her, ’n she says I never will. She didn’t jist teach me, she took me in, gimme a place ta stay, work ta do, someplace ta belong. She helped me git my GED, but did so much more than that. Made me part of her fam’ly, jist like Joe ’n Sadie’d done. She’s already takin’ care a’ Casey, but she said she had more’n enough room fer me, too." His voice grew thick, rough with emotion, but the light in his eyes never wavered. "She gimme a home, straightened me out, made me wanta make somethin’ of m’self. I didn’t have a clue what somebody like me could do, so Nettie ’n Abel suggested the Army." He nodded. "Sounded good, so soon’s I got old enough, I enlisted. ’N I found somethin’ I was good at, somethin’ that seemed ta matter."

He sighed softly, exhausted, the pain throughout his body reasserting itself. But, tired and hurting as he was, feeling as if every inch of his soul and every ugly scar upon it had been laid bare, a faint, contented smile hovered ghost-like upon his lips. "From then on," he breathed, "no matter where the Army sent me, Denver was always home. And Nettie’s address was always my home of record. I’d found someplace ta belong, ’n somebody ta belong to."