Vin sat rather less than upright on his bed, his left leg outstretched before him and his right folded up against his chest, his head resting on the arm draped over his knee as he tried to think, tried to remember. Snatches of voices and fragments of images drifted through his mind, taunting him, tormenting him, and he tried frantically to bring them into focus, to string them together into some cohesive, meaningful whole. But like a weak car battery on a cold day his brain refused to turn over, refused to make the needed connections.

He hated this.

Hated it but recognized it, the sluggishness of his mind, the dull heaviness of his body, knew it only too well. Someone – Chris? – had drugged him, given him one of the tranquilizers that he so hated. Dread pooled cold and thick in his belly at that thought. Why? Chris knew how he hated the powerful pills, hated giving them as much as he hated taking them. Wouldn’t give them at all unless he had no choice. And Vin’s imagination raced at what exactly “no choice” might constitute.

Jesus, what had he done this time?

He swallowed past the cottony dryness of his mouth and throat and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, rolling his head back and forth against his forearm. The voices and images continued to rise from and slip back into the murk clogging his mind, adding steadily to his confusion. Each time he thought he had a hold on one it simply slithered snake-like through his grasp, leaving him clutching only at shadows.

God, God, what had he done?

You need help, Vin.

A short, sharp gasp escaped him as the words again ghosted through his mind. The words, and the voice. Nettie’s voice. A shudder racked him and he wound his left arm around his right leg, huddling into himself. He kept hearing her voice, kept feeling her touch, but just couldn’t remember. Had she really been here, or was hers just one more voice among the many already crowding his mind?

Christ, how had he ever let himself get so fucked up?

Without conscious awareness that he did so, he unwound his arm from his leg and lifted it, then knocked the heel of his hand repeatedly against the side of his head as if trying to jar something loose. Again and again he hit himself, heedless of the pain it caused, knowing only that he had to remember.

You need help, Vin.

Something deep within him recoiled at the words, and some half-remembered terror broke loose again. No! He knew what that kind of “help” meant and had sworn that no one would ever “help” him that way again. He’d rather be crazy than ever submit to that kind of “help” again. Would rather die crazy than live in the place where such “help” was given…

I wouldn’t do that, and I’d fight anyone who tried. I’d never lock you behind bars, within walls, Vin Tanner. It would kill you, and that would kill me.

He lifted his head sharply and looked wildly around the room as Nettie’s words, Nettie’s voice, tried to soothe him. But, God, where was she? Early morning light filtered in weakly through closed blinds, yet even in the gloom he could plainly see that he was alone. But she sounded so real, so close! He chewed his lower lip hard and wrapped both arms tightly around his body, knotting his fingers into the loose fabric of his sweatshirt.

C’mon, honey, you have ta put this on. Her voice again, low and comforting. You’re freezin’, Vin, I can see it. You’re shiverin’ so hard I can hear your bones rattlin’. Put this on for me before ya catch your death.

He shuddered convulsively and began rocking slowly back and forth, still chewing on his lip. He had been cold, he remembered that much, so cold he’d ached from it. And sick …

His left knee throbbed unbearably as he knelt on the cold tile and leaned over the toilet while his stomach threatened to tear itself in half. Even after he’d thrown up anything and everything his body had to offer, the violent heaves continued, tormenting him until he sobbed from pain and helplessness. The cold wrapped around him, engulfed him, invaded him, sank so deep into his bones he knew he’d never be warm again. And all the while, even when he begged her to leave, she stayed right where she was, kneeling behind him, pressed close against him, her loving arms the only source of warmth in his icy world, her loving voice the only bit of comfort amid his sickness, pain and shame.

“Oh, God, Nettie, I’m sorry!”

He flinched at the memory of his own anguished wail, of her sweet, gentle voice, of the shame that pierced him to his soul and the tender touch – her touch – that sought to bind up that wound. Oh, God, he’d hurt her, he knew he had, had done something unforgivable to her, but there she was, right there with him, forgiving him when he didn’t deserve it and loving him when he had no more right to it than the man in the moon.

Love’s mine ta give where I please, honey, her voice whispered to him. Ya don’t have ta earn it. It’s been yours since the first time I saw ya and it’ll still be yours long after we’re both dead and gone ta dust. I love ya, Vin Tanner. I’ll always love ya, and that’s God’s own truth.

He clutched at his sweatshirt, the one she’d put on him with her own hands, and rocked harder back and forth, unable now to stop the flow of memories. She was there when he awoke, her beloved face the first sight his opening eyes beheld, and she was with him on the couch, holding him close as he poured out the brutal tale of his life. She’d never pulled away, never flinched from him, and when he’d tried she’d come after him swift and sure, refusing to let him go.

You listen ta me, boy. There is nothin’ you could ever do that would drive me away from you, or make me drive you away, you hear me?

And she’d meant it, God, she’d meant it, he knew she had, because … because when … I love ya, Vin … when he’d tried … I love ya, Vin. You’re my boy and I’ll love ya ’til I die …

Tears streamed down his face as he rocked ever harder. He remembered. God help him, God forgive him, he didn’t want to remember but he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t shut that door in his mind and knew he’d never be able to again. He tore his hands from his sides and thrust them into his hair with an anguished cry, never feeling the pain as he pulled. Nor did he feel it or taste the blood flowing into his mouth as his teeth gouged into and shredded his lower lip.

I love ya, Vin. You’re my boy and I’ll love ya ’til I die.

Oh, God, Jesus God, he’d tried to kill Nettie.

7~7~7~7

Chris stepped out of his room and ran his hands through his still-damp hair, amazed at the difference a full night’s sleep and a long hot shower could make in a man. True, he knew he was still in arrears on rest, but at least his mind no longer felt as if it were mired in mud and the aches in his body were noticeably muted. Nettie had been right to force the issue as she had. Even after he’d acquiesced to her and gone to bed, he’d expected to lie awake all night worrying about Vin. Instead, he’d been out the moment his head had hit the pillow and had slept like the dead. So far as he could remember, he hadn’t even dreamed.

And given what his dreams had become over the past month, that in itself was a blessing.

He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts, refusing to let them darken the start of his day, and started toward the kitchen, savoring the early morning silence of the house while it lasted. He needed this peace before the storm that was his team awoke, needed this time of quiet and stillness to think, to gather himself for whatever lay ahead today. For whatever they would have to do to deal with the trauma of yesterday. For whatever he would have to do …

He tried to push that thought away, too, wasn’t ready yet to deal with such responsibilities. But as he put together a pot of coffee, a large pot of coffee, it kept intruding. Nettie had told them all what had triggered Vin’s attack, and her words had brought Buck and Josiah’s knowing, unyielding gazes sharply to him. The matter of getting Vin to understand that he needed therapy had just become urgent, and those two had served the ball squarely into his court. And no matter how he wanted to argue that it wasn’t time, that it was too soon, that Vin was too fragile, he couldn’t. Not after reliving time and again in his mind that horrible moment when they’d come in and seen Vin’s hand wrapped around Nettie’s throat …

Goddamn it, how he wished Ezra had been wrong about him! How he wished he were a man who could run from responsibilities!

But that would mean running away from a friend. From Vin …

Shit, they were all right. Ezra, Josiah, Buck, Nettie. They’d all looked him straight in the eye, told him truths he didn’t want to hear even when his own heart was screaming those same truths at him, and he’d been an idiot and worse for ever thinking that any of those four would ever let him get away with such rank cowardice as running out on Vin.

For thinking that he’d allow it himself.

He sighed heavily and pushed away from the counter, then squared his shoulders and turned his back on the brewing coffee and the empty mug he’d set before it. Coffee could wait, Vin couldn’t. As he left the kitchen with a long, firm stride, he couldn’t imagine just what in the hell had made him think otherwise. He made his way down the hall toward Vin’s room, silently cursing himself. That should’ve been his first stop, even before the shower and certainly before the coffee.

Shit, Larabee, you are such an ass!

But the mental kicking stopped the moment he set his hand on the knob of Vin’s door, as he heard the harsh, wordless cry from within the room. With no more thought of himself or his failures, his whole concern now only for the man on the other side of that door, he burst into the room, crossed it in three desperate strides and all but leapt onto the bed.

“Jesus, Vin!” he shouted as he landed only inches from Tanner.

The sharpshooter was huddled miserably into himself and rocking frantically back and forth, sobbing hysterically, his hands imbedded in his hair and pulling, his mouth bleeding from where his teeth were tearing into his lip. Chris reached out without thinking and grabbed Vin’s arms in a hard grip, forcibly stilling his movements and thrusting his own face to within inches of the younger man’s.

“Stop it!” he ordered loudly, sharply, refusing the acknowledge the horror aroused by the sight of the blood staining his friend’s mouth and chin. “Goddamn it, Vin, I said stop it!” He shook Vin hard once, then held him still again, imprisoning the stricken, sobbing man in his fierce, unrelenting grip. “You’re hurting yourself and I won’t have that!” He shifted his hands to Vin’s wrists and, though he hated himself for the pain he knew he had to be inflicting, found exactly the right pressure points and squeezed mercilessly until Tanner’s fingers began to lose their grip on his hair. The moment he thought he could safely do it, Chris yanked Vin’s hands out of his hair and locked his own about the younger man’s thin, bony wrists in an iron grip. “Too many people have done enough damage ta you already, including you. And that all stops now!”

“Lemme go!” Vin wailed, trying to fight against that hold and failing utterly. “Y’ don’t know … y’ don’t understand … I tried ta kill her! I tried ta kill Nettie!”

“I do know, and I do understand!” Chris snapped, hardening his heart against the agony tearing Tanner apart, knowing that neither one of them could afford for him to feel it just now. “But I also know that you didn’t kill her, I know that you didn’t have a fuckin’ clue what you were doin’, and I know that the last thing Nettie Wells wants is for you ta punish yourself like this! God, Vin, look at yourself!” he shouted, fear mingling with his fury. “Look at what you’re doin’ to yourself!”

“I don’t … I cain’t …”

“Fuck that!” Chris snarled. “You can and you goddamn will!” With that he struggled off the bed, pulling Vin with him. Vin cried and cursed and fought wildly to free himself, but Chris never relented, merely locked his arms firmly around Tanner’s narrow waist and alternately carried, dragged and shoved the spitting, kicking, twisting Texan out of the room. Down the hall toward the master bedroom and its large bathroom they fought, their shouts and struggles awakening everyone else. Chris did all he could to keep from hurting Vin, not sure just how much more the man could take, but Vin seemed not to care at all and more than once sent one or both of them crashing into a wall.

“Jesus, Chris!” Buck shouted as he, JD and Ezra came pelting down the stairs from the loft bedrooms above. Vin was shrieking curses like a demented banshee and kicking wildly at Larabee’s legs, heedless of the damage he might do to his own unhealed knee, while he clawed at the arms imprisoning him and tried to pry them loose. Chris had no choice but to shove Tanner chest-first into the wall and hold him there with his own body to keep the man from hurting either of them. Both were breathing hard and drenched in sweat, and Buck could plainly see bloodstains on their clothes. “You’re gonna hurt him–”

“Stay back!” Chris spat over his shoulder. “He’s done all this to himself, and it’s high time it stopped. He wants to kill himself? Fine! But he’s gonna have ta kill me first ta do it!”

Buck fell back and pulled JD with him, knowing they’d have to trust Larabee’s instincts one more time. But pain and fear for both men tore at his heart, and it was all he could do not to go running back upstairs so he wouldn’t have to watch. He couldn’t, though. JD was clinging to him, hazel eyes huge in the boy’s ashen face, and even Ezra was standing so close he could feel the silk of the man’s pajamas. They were all holding each other up, he realized.

Chris drove Nathan and Josiah back with a glare as well, refusing to risk upsetting the precarious balance he’d created. Right now Vin was pissed, to say the least, and that was good; his anger would keep him anchored here. But should more than Chris start crowding in upon him, should his anger turn to confusion, then fear, God alone knew what might snap inside him. And Larabee would not play Russian roulette with his friend’s sanity.

But one person materialized whom he couldn’t stare into submission, and he braced himself for a battle on another front. Nettie pushed her way between Buck and Ezra, knocking aside the hands that reached out to stop her, her only thought for the young man whom Larabee seemed intent upon shoving through the wall.

“You let him go this minute!” she demanded furiously. “You’re hurtin’ him!”

“Nettie!” Vin screamed, trying desperately to see her. “Help me!”

“Vin– No!” she cried as Josiah intercepted her before she could reach her boy, hooking his strong arms around her waist and carrying her back toward Nathan. “You have ta let me–”

“We have ta let Chris,” Josiah rasped in a voice rough and broken with sorrow and pain. Vin screamed again for Nettie and it took all the big man’s strength to keep the small woman from erupting out of his arms. “We have ta let him do what only he can.” Nettie wilted in his arms with a wrenching sob and he bowed his gray head atop hers, his own face streaked with tears. “It’s time all the walls came down.”

7~7~7~7

By the time Chris managed to shove Vin into the master bathroom, he was trying to remember exactly why he’d thought pissing off Tanner would be helpful. His own body ached mercilessly, the bruises from Vin’s previous beating come back to full, screaming life and a few new ones added to the mix, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine what new damage Tanner had sustained. He could only hope they’d be spared yet another trip to the hospital …

“Sonuvabitch!” Vin yelled hoarsely, his throat raw and his voice shattered from his near-constant screaming. Chris stepped into the big bathroom and closed the door behind him and Vin struck, launching himself into the man and propelling them both into the door. “I’ll kill ya–”

“No, ya won’t!” Chris growled, his patience straining at its short leash. He fended off Vin’s attack one more time, spun the smaller man around and wrapped his arms around him in a crushing hold, Vin’s back to his chest, then swung Tanner around again to face the mirror hanging on the back of the door. “Look!” he snarled. “Look at yourself! It wasn’t bad enough that Castro damn near killed ya. It wasn’t bad enough what that bastard in the boys’ home did or what every other nameless, faceless bastard in your past has done. No! You have ta do it to yourself! Well, no more, Tanner!” he spat, forcing his friend to confront the results of his own destructive tendencies. “You look at yourself, look at yourself, and you tell me, you tell me, is this all of you that’s left?”

Vin didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see, tried frantically to turn his head away. But just as Chris’s hand snapped up and locked around his chin, holding it in place, his own gaze caught a flash of red in the mirror and was held by it. Not quite understanding it at first, he ceased his struggles and stared at the mirror in confusion …

And gasped sharply in shock and horror at the sight of himself. His eyes were wide and wild in his ashen face and his long hair was a tangled, stringy mess. Fresh contusions darkened his left temple and the right side of his jaw, and he was fairly certain that his arms, chest and legs would sport new ones as well. Worst of all though was the blood that still welled from his badly torn lip, that stained his teeth and dripped down his chin. He uttered a faint, wordless sound and shook his head slowly, then threw up his right hand as if to ward off the sight. But again he saw red and, turning his palm toward his eyes, he saw the crimson stain spreading across the bandage there and felt another shock rip through him.

Oh, God, God, what was happening to him? What was he doing to himself?

Chris saw the terror glittering in the wide blue eyes, heard the inarticulate moan break from the bloody lips and felt the stiff body in his arms shudder violently and then begin to buckle. But he immediately shifted his hold, gentled it, and went with Vin to the floor, breaking the stricken man’s fall.

“I know, Vin,” he whispered thickly, cradling the shaking body to him and laying his head atop Tanner’s, “I know. But I had ta make you see it, I had ta make you see what you were doin’ to yourself … You can’t keep doin’ this, partner,” he rasped, hot tears filling his eyes and dropping into Vin’s hair. “There’s just not that much left of you anymore! You have ta stop this, Vin,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “You can’t ask me ta just stand by and watch you kill yourself. Not after everything else. I couldn’t take it, Vin. They’d be buryin’ me right beside ya!”

Vin cried out weakly and clutched at Chris, buried his face in the chest of the man he’d been fighting only minutes ago and dissolved into deep, wrenching sobs that shook his whole body. Pain throbbed through him and it terrified him. Oh, God, what had he done?

“I’m crazy!” he sobbed. “I am crazy after all–”

“No, no, you’re not, Vin!” Chris assured him, not far from crying himself. “You’re just … lost … But we’re gonna bring ya back, partner, I swear ta God! We won’t rest until we do!”

“How?”

Chris drew a deep, calming breath and swallowed hard. “I need ya ta sit up and look at me,” he urged quietly. When Vin only moaned and shook his head and tried to burrow deeper into his arms, Chris smiled sadly and gently rubbed his narrow back. “Not afraid of me, are ya?” Vin shook his head again and Chris sighed. “Ashamed, then.” It was not a question. “Hey.” He slid his hands to Vin’s arms and carefully lifted until he could see Vin’s downturned face. “C’mon, Tanner, look at me. I need ta know you’re in there.”

Vin made a hoarse, bitter sound. “Reckon that’s the question, ain’t it?” he whispered.

Chris exhaled slowly and lifted a hand to brush the unkempt hair out of Tanner’s face. “Yeah, but it’s one I can answer,” he said firmly, green eyes intent on his friend’s shadowed blue ones. “You’re in there, I know it. Hell,” his smile turned wry and he ran a thumb across Vin’s cheek to wipe away a tear, “I found that out tryin’ ta get you in here!”

But Vin didn’t respond to the gentle teasing, only winced and bowed his head again. “I don’t know,” he whispered brokenly. “I’m sinkin’ an’ I cain’t … I cain’t git out–”

“Then it’s time we got you out,” Chris said. He set his hands to either side of Vin’s head and lifted, his gaze seeking and snaring Tanner’s. “I’m gonna tell ya the same thing Nettie did, pard,” he said softly. “You need help. Not the kind they inflicted on you when you were a kid,” he added quickly as Vin cried out sharply and tried to pull away. “Ain’t nobody sendin’ you away, Vin, ain’t nobody lockin’ you up, ain’t nobody gonna keep you pumped so full’a drugs that you can’t even think. I’m talkin’ about real help, partner, the kind that makes a difference, the kind that will get you through this and teach you how ta live with everything that’s been done ta you.”

“Ain’t no help,” Vin breathed miserably. “I’m jist–”

“Yes there is, and I know it,” Chris interrupted in a low, firm voice. “There is help, Vin. It’s called counseling, therapy, and you need it. That doesn’t make you weak or crazy, it just means you have a problem and you need help to deal with it.” He lifted his chin and his green eyes flashed. “Just like I needed help ta deal with my problems,” he added without hesitation.

Vin’s eyes widened and a soft, startled gasp escaped him. “You … You?” he whispered in shock. “You b … you been … ta see a shrink?”

“No, not a psychiatrist, Vin, a therapist.” He smiled slightly at his friend’s obvious confusion. “I’ll let Josiah explain the difference. But, yeah, I went. And the thing is,” he set a hand under Vin’s chin and stared intently in his eyes, “it worked. Goin’ ta see Kathi, workin’ with her, helped me get through the trauma of Sarah and Adam’s deaths, helped me learn ta live with my grief and my anger. And my guilt. She didn’t fix it, Vin,” he said softly, “she didn’t take any of it away. She just helped me learn how ta live with it, helped me find ways to cope that didn’t come out of a bottle.”

Vin stared at Chris long and hard, as if seeing him for the first time. Larabee had always been the strongest man he’d ever known, the one he looked to for strength and steadiness when his own deserted him, the bedrock to which he clung while the rest of his world sank into the quicksand. Over the past few weeks he’d constantly measured himself against Chris and constantly come up lacking, viewed with deepening shame the contrast between his uncertain sanity and Chris’s unwavering stability, and been convinced that it was some failing or weakness in himself that was making him this way. After all, Chris had suffered horribly, too, in the loss, the murders, of his wife and son, but he hadn’t gone crazy from it …

Had he?

Vin sucked in a sharp breath and sat up a little straighter, his eyes widening again. “’At’s why ya don’t like me callin’ m’self crazy!” he breathed in sudden understanding. “’Cause ’at’d mean you was crazy, too–”

“No, Vin,” Chris said firmly. “I don’t like you callin’ yourself crazy because you’re not. You have somethin’ called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. But you’re not crazy. And for the record,” one golden brow arched, “I wasn’t either. But I did need help. And Buck made sure I got it. If he hadn’t,” he thought a moment, then shrugged, “hell, I’d be dead by now, either by my own gun or the bottle.” His eyes softened, his face gentled and he reached out, running long fingers carefully through his friend’s tangled hair. “He saved me, Vin,” he whispered unsteadily. “Saved me because he cared too much about me ta let me go. We’re not lettin’ you go either, partner,” he breathed. “We wanta save you, too, but we can’t do it without you. You gotta wanta be saved, and you gotta wanta save yourself. We can help ya, but we can’t do it for ya.”

Vin stared at Chris for long moments and tears tracked slowly down his pale cheeks. “I’m scared,” he whispered. “I don’t … know how … I don’t know how ta do this!”

“You don’t have to,” Chris assured him, gripping Vin’s shoulders hard and staring compellingly into those frightened eyes. “You just have to want to try. We’ll all learn how ta do this together, just like we’ve learned and done every other goddamn thing since we all hooked up. And we will do this, Vin, I swear ta you, partner, I swear on the graves of my wife and son that we will do this, together, one step at a time and draggin’ your sorry ass when we have to. You got that?”

“But–”

“No, no ‘buts,’” Chris cut in ruthlessly, his gaze boring mercilessly into Vin’s. “It’s either ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ but no ‘buts.’ You tell me now, Vin Tanner, do you want help?”

“I …” Vin tore his gaze from Chris’s and bowed his head, unable to think clearly while that green glare tried to sear holes through him. Maybe once he could’ve stood it, but not now. Not when it took every ounce of strength he had just to hold on to his sanity, to keep his mind and soul from unraveling on their own …

Oh, God, he hated this! Shame and self-loathing poured through him as he took stock of himself. Jesus, he was cowering before Chris like a beaten dog, unable to lift his head, unwilling to meet those eyes …

And they’d done this to him, Castro, the bastard he’d killed so long ago. They’d shaken him, shattered him, stripped him of everything he thought true and right and strong about himself. They’d beaten him, broken him, locked him in the darkness, in that goddamn closet …

But now he wanted out. Jesus God, he was tired of this! Tired of hiding from his own nightmares, tired of hiding from himself, tired of trying just to stay afloat …

“I cain’t do this anymore,” he breathed, shaking his head almost dazedly. “I cain’t … I cain’t keep floatin’ …” He looked up slowly, forcing himself to meet the green eyes that could see right through him, and held out a trembling hand. “Ya t … ya told me once … that all’s I gotta do is … is holler like hell an’ then hang on ’til y’all pull me out.” He swallowed hard and stared pleadingly at Chris, his hand still outstretched. “I’m hollerin’, Chris,” he whispered hoarsely. “I cain’t … I cain’t do this on my own. I n … I want help … God, Chris, please,” he begged, “help me get outta the quicksand!”

Chris gasped harshly and reached out, grabbing Vin’s forearm and pulling the younger man to him in a tight embrace. “I will, Vin,” he vowed, clutching Tanner to him. “We all will. I swear ta God, partner, we won’t stop until you’re free and clear!”

7~7~7~7

“Y’ain’t gotta do this, y’know,” Vin said softly as Nathan unwound the blood-stained bandage from his hand. He was sitting on Chris’s big bed, propped against pillows set between his back and the headboard, and with his left hand held an ice pack to his torn lower lip. He kept his head bowed, unable to meet anyone’s eyes, afraid of the anger, disgust or, worse, pity he might see reflected in them. “It’d serve me right if ya jist left it.”

The medic’s sharp snort clearly stated his feelings on the matter. “Ya don’t have enough problems that ya need an infection on top of ’em?” he asked, dropping the soiled bandages into the trash can Chris had provided. He leaned over the medical kit sitting open at his side and reached into it, drawing out a pair of medical tweezers. Returning his attention to Vin’s hand, he carefully pulled away the blood-soaked gauze pad and dropped it into the trash, then sighed and shook his head at the sight of the long gash that sliced diagonally from just beneath Tanner’s index finger to the heel of his palm. The bleeding had stopped, but the wound looked irritated. “Ya been usin’ this hand, haven’t ya?” he asked sharply, though he knew the answer already.

Color rose in Vin’s cheeks and he swallowed uncomfortably. “Hard not to, it bein’ my right one,” he murmured, ducking his head a fraction lower.

Nathan shook his head again, his dark features set into a mask of frustration. “Gonna need ta clean this out. An’ ya done broke open nearly ever’ one of Doc Stone’s stitches.”

Vin winced at that, but didn’t say anything. It was all he could do not to pull his hand away from Nathan and hide it behind his back.

Sitting cross-legged at Vin’s side, Chris loosed a soft sigh of his own. “We’re lookin’ at another trip to the ER, aren’t we?” he asked resignedly.

Nathan raised his head and glanced at Chris, then shifted his gaze to Vin. “That’d be my choice. I can clean an’ bandage it, but I can’t stitch it. I ain’t trained or licensed for that–”

“You’ve put in a stitch or two before–”

“That’s a stitch or two, an’ it’s usually just repair work,” Nathan cut in. “And this,” he lifted Vin’s palm toward Chris, “ain’t just ‘a stitch or two.’” He heaved another sigh and laid Vin’s hand gently on the man’s outstretched leg, then sat back and swept his dark gaze over both men. “There’s somethin’ y’all need t’ understand,” he said firmly. “Vin ain’t got much of an immune system left. Hell, he ain’t got much’a nothin’ left right now! And this,” he jabbed a thick finger toward Tanner’s hand, “ain’t far from bein’ infected.”

“But all those antibiotics–”

“Won’t work if he don’t take care a’ that hand like he oughtta!” Nathan declared, his sparking gaze boring into Chris. “Now, I can understand that maybe that cut ain’t been foremost in his mind, but you shoulda–”

“Y’all want me ta leave so’s ya can discuss me in private?” Vin cut in, irritation coloring his voice. “Me’n my hand can come back when y’all’ve decided what ta do about us.”

Chris and Nathan both had the grace to look abashed. “I’m sorry, Vin,” Jackson apologized quietly, turning a contrite face to the sharpshooter. “I didn’t mean ta sound like ya got no say. But I do think ya need ta go back, have it looked at and stitched again. And,” he reached out and gently pulled the ice pack away from Tanner’s mouth, wincing at the sight of his torn and swollen lip, “might not hurt ta have a couple’a stitches put in that, either.”

Vin’s defiance crumbled and he dropped the ice pack to the bed, turning his face away and shaking his head. “I done a real number on m’self this time, didn’t I?” he breathed dejectedly.

Nathan leaned forward and cupped his big hand around the back of Vin’s head, turning the smaller man back to him. “It’s all right, Vin,” he said softly, his voice and dark eyes gentle. “You didn’t ask for none a’ this, it all just got dropped on ya. And you been dealin’ with it the best way you know how, the only way you know how. But we’re all gon’ learn some new ways, and we’re all gon’ help ya however we can.” He sought Vin’s gaze with his, smiling when he caught it. “We’re here for ya, Vin,” he said quietly, his deep voice warm and strong. “Don’t ever be afraid or ashamed ta reach for us or call out to us. ’Cause if ya don’t call,” his smile broadened, “chances are we’re gon’ come anyway just ta see why you’re bein’ so quiet.”

Vin laughed softly at that, his tired eyes lighting, his weary soul lifting. “I reckon ya will,” he allowed with a smile of his own. “Ain’t ever seen such a bunch fer buttin’ inta a feller’s business in all my life.”

“That’s because your business usually needs buttin’ into,” Chris grumbled, though his green eyes shone. “All right,” he sighed, “time for our semi-weekly visit to the hospital. What’s say we get you cleaned up some first,” he suggested, eyeing Vin’s disheveled and blood-stained appearance. “You go in there lookin’ like that, they’ll likely make ya stay. And probably call the cops ta boot.”

Vin narrowed his eyes and scowled at Chris. “I c’n clean up m’self jist fine–”

“You can’t get that hand wet,” Nathan cautioned.

“He won’t,” came a firm voice from the doorway. Three heads swiveled and Nettie Wells strode in, her gaze going directly to Vin. “Chris, Nathan, you boys get on outta here,” she ordered, her tone brooking no argument. “There’s coffee, eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy waitin’ on ya in the kitchen.” She stopped beside the bed, still staring down at Vin, her eyes permitting his no escape. “You boys go on, eat somethin’. I’ll take care a’ him.”

Nathan glanced at Chris, who nodded slightly, then closed up his medical kit and stripped off his latex gloves, dropping them into the trash. “I’ll be back in a while,” he said, setting a hand on Vin’s leg and squeezing reassuringly, “bandage up your hand.”

Chris said nothing, merely leaned forward and patted Vin’s shoulder. Then both men rose from the bed and walked quietly out of the room.

When they had gone, Vin tore his gaze from Nettie’s and bowed his head, drawing his legs up against his chest and wrapping his left arm around them in an instinctively protective gesture. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice little more than a breath. “I’m so sorry!”

“For what, son?” she asked quietly, still looming over him.

His shoulders lifted in a faint shrug. “Fer … fer what I done … tried ta do … yesterday. You m …” His voice splintered, then broke, and hot tears scalded his eyes. “You must … hate me …”

“Oh, honey!” she breathed, sinking at once onto the bed at his side and reaching out to wrap her arms around him. He resisted for long moments, remained rigid and kept his knees up, but she only moved closer and held him tighter until, with a slow, shuddering groan, he relaxed and collapsed against her, wrapping his arms around her and dropping his head onto her shoulder. “I could no more hate you than I can stop my heart from beatin’, son,” she breathed, her own voice shaking but filled with conviction. “I love ya, Vin,” she murmured against his hair. “And there is nothin’ you can do ta change that.”

“I coulda killed ya!” he whispered, clinging desperately to her.

“But ya didn’t,” she said, rocking him gently in her arms. “You were scared, Vin, you were lost in your past. You thought I was gonna send ya back ta that terrible place and you were only protectin’ yourself.” She rubbed a hand up and down his back, loving him with her touch. “And I’m sorry for doin’ that to ya, honey,” she breathed. “Sorrier than I can ever say.”

“Weren’t yer fault. Ya couldn’ta known what it’d do ta me. Hell,” he sighed, “that’s part a’ the problem. There’s jist no tellin’ anymore what anything’s gonna do ta me! And there ain’t any tellin’ what I’m gonna do ta anybody else …” He tightened his arms about her and raised his head, gazing intently at her, his eyes tired but showing a new glimmer of determination. “You were right, Nettie, I do need help. I cain’t … I cain’t keep goin’ like this. I’m hurtin’ y’all, I’m hurtin’ me … I’m comin’ apart an’ I gotta find out how ta put me back together again.”

Relief poured through her at his words and her heart rose sharply in exultation. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad!” she breathed fervently. She lifted a hand and cupped it to his cheek, her eyes alight with love. “I’m proud of ya, Vin,” she said. “I know that’s not an easy thing ta realize about yourself, and it takes a lotta strength to accept it. But you’ve always been a strong boy.” She smiled tenderly at him and stroked his cheek with her thumb. “I know ya don’t feel that strength now, honey, but it’s still there inside ya where it’s always been, and it’ll be there when ya need it.” She nodded firmly. “Just like I will.”

A shy smile spread slowly across his wan face. “I know that,” he breathed. “And I’s a fool ever ta think otherwise.” He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her weathered cheek. “I love ya, Nettie,” he whispered, “and I’ll make ya proud of me.”

She closed her eyes briefly against the sting of tears, then opened them again and smiled sweetly at him. “You already have, son,” she assured him softly. “You already have.”