Fragmented

PART I

Vin passed from dreamless unconsciousness to jarring wakefulness abruptly. He opened his eyes to a view of a wooden ceiling darkly riddled with knotholes and rotten with neglect. The raw wood sagged and splintered beneath the heavy weight of exposure. Rainwater dripped, darkening grains already swollen from the storm raging outside. Booming thunder rattled through the old house and vibrated the planks beneath his head.

He lay on his back, one arm flung from his side, the other bent awkwardly and trapped beneath his body. He wiggled those fingers experimentally. They felt numb and swollen; his slight weight must have cut off the circulation.

The throbbing between his legs reminded him of the perverted abuse he'd suffered at his captor's hands before he'd been knocked out -- again. Even his righteous anger was no match for the combined strength of his tormentors. He had vague recollections of being tossed back and forth like a child's toy, then held by one man while the other fondled him roughly.

God seemed to be taking his time granting a release from the evil that had him in its grip. Clenching his jaw with steely determination, he vowed to get out or die trying, given the next opportunity. He'd half hoped Chris would be the answer to his prayers, and almost moaned aloud at the sweet thought of rescue.

A soft sound -- the whispering scrape of a boot sole shifting against the floor -- alerted him that he wasn't alone in the room. A wide face wearing a yellow-toothed grin swam through his memory like a waverly reflection on water. . . Matthews.

The man and his brother had greeted him on the trail as a friend and for once, his instincts had failed him. His usual wary defenses had been dulled by the friendships he'd gained among the seven, and the loneliness on the trip to Eagle Bend had drawn him to the two strangers. He'd been taken with their easy manner and had let down his guard.

The headache throbbing at his temples pounded in time with the inner voice berating his gullibility. Too trusting, too trusting, too trusting. The mantra repeated through his brain and he silently argued with it, telling it to hush up.

He shut his eyes when footsteps started across the floor towards him.

"I think he's awake again, Bailey."

"You don't say? You think he's been fakin'?

Bailey's laugh bounced around the room. Without warning the sharp toe of a boot struck hard into Vin's ribs.

Vin automatically rolled over and curled around the pain. The white noise of his pulse dampened his tormentor's laughter. Agony overrode his vow to escape and he struggled to bring air into his lungs.

Two hands fisted into the front of his shirt and jerked him off the floor. The throbbing pain in his head became a roar, vying for attention against the stabbing pain in his side and the hot discomfort between his legs.

"Know'd you was playin' possum, boy."

Moist, fetid breath blew against his face. His expression twisted with revulsion. He opened his eyes and looked into his nightmare. Lightening flashed outside and lit the small house through a grime-encrusted window. It flickered, licking at the walls like a surreal flame, and he blinked against the erupting brightness. A mighty crack of thunder followed the lightening, pushing the air tight against his eardrums. Disoriented because of an earlier blow to his head, he wobbled limply in Matthews' grasp. Nightmarishly strobing images made him dizzy. He could almost believe he was in the pit of hell.

Arms hooked around him from behind and pulled his elbows back. The shocking pain cut through his confusion, and he struggled against the arms holding him.

A hand clamped suddenly around his jaw and forced his head up.

"It's about time you woke up, boy. Been waitin' to play with you again." The grip around his jaw tightened. Vin strained to breathe past the streaks of agony as thick fingers dug into his chin.

He felt pressure at his waist when a hand curled into a fist pressed into his gut. The hand opened and fingers slid down the outside of his pants to touch him. He flinched violently away from the familiar invasion.

"NO!" Desperate rage flashed though his body. Vin thrashed but was unable to escape. Again he prayed for the heavens to open up and God to reach down and smite the devil touching him. This was a perverted evil he'd never even imagined existed. The revulsion of it twisted in his belly and crawled up his throat. Bitterness stung his tongue and his gut convulsed, then bile erupted out of his mouth and spewed into Matthews' face.

Reacting as if he'd been splashed with acid, his tormentor let go and staggered back, yelling and clawing at his face. Vin arched his back, trying to dislodge Bailey's hold, and kicked out at Matthews, catching him across the knee.

The yelling changed to a deep-throated roar. The big man stalked the floor, head lowered like a bull getting ready to charge. "Hold him, Bailey."

Bailey pulled tighter and Vin grunted, "Let me go!" He jerked against Bailey's grip.

Matthews moved closer and punched his fist hard into Vin's stomach.

The resulting flash of agony stole his rage and replaced it with fear. Weakness loosened his knees and he sagged into his captor's hold. A blow caught him in the belly again, then the fist pounded into his ribs, and muscles and tissues strained and recoiled in his body. Matthews' fist smashed low in his belly. The big man's shoulders rolled and shifted like a trained boxer as he pumped bold-knuckled fists into Vin's buckling body.

Breath after breath was yanked from his lungs and he craved air. A respite from the pummeling in his gut was cut off with a hard crack across his jaw. Vin rocked under the blow then hung limply, the pain too great a distraction. He couldn't gather his thoughts, couldn't clench his hands into fists or fight back.

Another hit along the same side of his pain-numbed jaw sent him tumbling to the floor, where he lay helplessly sprawled in graceless angles. Agony paralyzed him, pinned him to the floor. His vision -- edged with a blood-red haze -- darkened almost to black. The narrow tunnel expanded in time for him to see Matthews kneel by his side. He watched as the man reached out for him, then felt his repulsive touch on his chest.

"How's it feel to look at the devil, kid?"

The man's face transformed when his lips stretched back in a parody of a smile. Dark shadows from the poor lighting in the room enhanced the curves and hollows of his face, creating demon's horns and other hideous transformations -- an inhuman visage of hate.

The pressure of his hand changed direction and Vin tensed as the touch slid over his abdomen. His body pulsed with agony, but fury exploded again when his manhood was cupped and squeezed hard in a huge palm like a favored fruit checked for ripeness.

Strength had deserted him and he could only scream with the violation. How could such a thing be allowed to exist in a world of God's creation?

"How long you gonna do this, Matthews, before we get serious?" Irritation hitched Bailey's voice higher and Vin cringed when he realized the pain and humiliation he'd endured was only the beginning of the night's hell.

"You'll get your turn, boy, as soon as I'm finished. I'm just limbering him up for ya."

The touch was removed and both his arms were gripped as he was lifted from the floor. Muscles spasmed with pain through his gut and ribs and Vin cried out weakly. He swayed against the men holding him and prayed for help . . . or death.

The door opened and crashed back against the wall. A dark figure stood silhouetted against the lightening-bright sky, a black coat whipping around legs that stood immobile despite the push of the storm. Blue highlights traced the outer edge of the figure and glinted off the barrel of a rifle.

"Hold it right there, boys." Chris' rough baritone graveled through the room. Bailey immediately let go of Vin to reach for his gun. That was all the encouragement Chris needed.

A bright muzzle flash accompanied the gun's loud discharge and was echoed by the thunder's boom, shaking through the room. Bailey slumped to the floor with a painful grunt. A moment of shock froze the man holding Vin, then with a growl of rage, Matthews made the same mistake.

Chris aimed the rifle at the man on Vin's other side with unerring accuracy. With another fire burst of light, Matthews followed his brother to hell.

Unsupported, his weak legs couldn't hold him, and Vin collapsed to his knees. He caught himself with his hands pressed to the floor, then slowly lifted his head to watch as the black apparition stepped inside the room.

Chris had come for him.

A groan that could have been joy or sorrow rattled from deep inside his chest and he slumped forward, falling to the ground, but the strong hands of his friend caught him, held him, supported him. He could almost imagine warmth and renewal flow through Chris' gently firm touch, but while the part of him that remained sane leaned against his friend, the shriveled and wounded spirit within screamed for escape, demanded he run.

His weary body could no more run than fly, and he accepted Chris' touch as the older man assisted him off the floor. His arm was pulled over Larabee's shoulders, and the man wrapped his free arm around Vin's waist. The pressure against deep bruising made him flinch, but he resolutely kept his complaining groans to himself.

"Let me get rid of the bodies and I'll get you warmed up in--"

"No." Vin shook his head adamantly and staggered toward the door. "We're not staying here."

He heard no response from the older man but Chris unerringly shifted them toward the door.

Heavy rain drenched them instantly, wetting their clothes, soaking clear through to the skin as if the fabric were thin paper. The uncomfortable conditions were lost to Vin as he stumbled against his friend.

Staggered, faltered, fumbled . . . his attempt to walk was pitiful, and if not for Chris, he'd be crawling out on his belly. No, if not for Chris, he'd still be in that dark room squirming like a bug caught between a boy's fingers as bits of its anatomy are cruelly plucked off.

The shadowy memory of groping hands and hot breath against his face pulled at him, dragging sharp fingernails of terror against his soul. He huddled against the bulwark of strength at his side, rolling his face ashamedly away from the dark thoughts into an even darker clad shoulder.

"Steady, Vin, I gotcha. I'm not gonna let you fall."

The whisper brushed against his ear. He clung tighter to his rescuer, ignoring his inner voice that demanded he straighten up and shrug off this man's touch. This touch was not malevolent or savage. This touch offered only peace and healing -- things he craved.

Dullness robbed him of hearing and thought. Sound returned with a bone-shattering clap of thunder and he found himself in the saddle, the stalwart presence of his friend against his back. Chris' arm encircled his waist, pressing into his sore ribs and stomach, forcing a hoarse groan out of his raw throat. The tiny sound was caught and blown away with the storm, but Chris must have felt the vibrations against his chest because he loosened his hold slightly, but didn't let go.

The horse tossed his head and whinnied at the lightening as if challenging it to a race then took off with breath-stealing speed. Vin's horse, eyes rolling with fear, unwillingly followed, pulled by its reins in Chris' grip.

The movement of the animal under him awoke deep pains in places on his body that made him want to scream with justifiable rage. Vin stiffened against the onslaught, unwilling to acknowledge or even hold the ache. Blackness from the night melted into his vision and invaded his brain. He surrendered gladly to it, sinking into unconsciousness.

<oOo>

When the body in his arms slumped forward, Chris carefully slid his palm up Vin's chest and pressed him back. The young man's head lolled against Chris' shoulder, his chin lifted to the sky, and he moved his hand from Vin's chest to the young man's forehead, trying to shield him from the pummeling rain.

Chris' horse stumbled, jostling the riders, and Vin's head settled to the side, his hot temple pressed against Chris' neck. His breath warmed the flesh of his throat. Chris shifted his hold and wrapped his arm around his friend. Vin had always possessed a delicate strength to the seasoned gunslinger. He presented a graceful figure in a tracker's body, usually covered with dust from the trail and smelling like the great outdoors he loved to explore.

His gentle voice and smile hinted at the childlike spirit that lay hidden within. But Chris had seen the other side of his friend, too. The frighteningly fierce side that rose like a cat's hackles when cornered. That's what made Vin so dangerous and unpredictable -- that razor edge wrapped in cotton.

The unknown horror of what may have been done to the man in his arms drove a spike of burning rage through Chris' gut and he unthinkingly tightened his hold. The resulting grunt from Vin cracked the wall of anger he'd been building brick by brick in his mind. The pieces tumbled down around him, leaving a skeleton of shame behind. He loosened his grip, but still held the slight body close. Vin's thin frame felt like nothing more than flesh covered sticks, fragile and desperately mortal.

They rode on into the night, hooves pounding the ground, creating an earthly thunder that sang counterpoint to the rumbles and booms over their heads. Just as morning peeked past the storm and decided to come out anyway, Chris slowed the horse as he caught sight of the abandoned shack he'd passed on his way to find Vin.

Stopping next to the run-down shelter, he eased out of the saddle. Coordination was a challenge as he struggled with fatigued muscles and pulled Vin down after him. The slight body melted in his arms, boneless and plaint with oblivion. His head hung back and his arms dangled freely. He resembled a lifeless body, too close to death for Chris' comfort. With a strained grunt, he hefted Vin higher, cradling him closer, then carried him inside.

Dreariness shrouded the interior of the one-room cabin, opaque light striped the walls from between gaps in the warped boards and the dirt floor offered no comfort for the weary travelers.

Laying his burden down gently, Chris walked back outside for his bedroll, a sack of beef jerky, and his canteen full of water. He pulled the saddles from his and Vin's horses, tethered both animals to a handy post, and pulled the coarse, sweat-stained blanket from his own horse's back. His bedroll had been packed beneath the edge of the saddle and was merely damp, dry enough to still be useful. He brought the whole load inside and dumped it next to Vin.

Vin hadn't moved. His chest rose and fell evenly as breaths passed between his lips, stirring blond hairs that stuck like wet strings across his face.

Kneeling next to the young tracker, Chris looked down at the child-like face and brushed the hairs away with one finger. Bruises darkened the skin along Vin's left cheekbone and that side of his jaw was dark red, mottled from the impact of hard knuckles. Dried blood crusted the inside edge of his left nostril.

Black anger began building again and Chris whispered a curse under his breath, then cupped Vin's chin and rubbed his calloused thumb gently over swollen lips. And those were just the injuries he could see. Judging from his friend's reaction, he'd taken some blows to his torso, too.

With a small smile, he remembered the first time he'd seen Vin -- standing on the front porch of the hardware store, wielding a broom and looking thin and uncomfortable in an apron that obviously didn't suit him. The young man had looked up toward the trouble in the middle of the street. Chris saw blue eyes narrow with concern as Vin watched one woman try to make a stand against a gang of wild and unruly men bent on a hanging.

The challenge the woman issued: "Are you people just gonna let this happen?" seared across Chris' conscience like a branding iron, and he watched the young man across the street retreat inside the store. He wasn't as much surprised as relieved when Vin stepped back out with a rifle in his hands. He saw the kid load the gun. The way he handled the weapon was so different from his earlier ungainly efforts with the broom -- he was graceful and sure of himself with the rifle in his hands.

He spoke to the storeowner, then lifted his head and locked gazes with Chris across the street. Chris moved his head almost unnoticeably, a silent invitation, and Vin nodded, understanding what the older man wanted. With an answering nod, Chris stepped down from the boardwalk, and the two men moved to the street where they walked side by side, taking their time as if they were out for a Sunday stroll.

Chris couldn't help but grin, pleased that the stranger by his side -- a young man he was trusting to back him up when the shooting started -- was wise enough to stay calm and not draw attention to their actions.

Vin continued to follow Chris' lead, and when he spoke, "Reckon you all'd be happier if you just rode away," his soft drawl betrayed not even a trace of nervousness.

It was the beginning of an interesting friendship, one that Chris valued very deeply.

Vin had watched his back and had offered a quiet, supporting presence ever since. To see him hurt now, like this, softened Chris' heart. He knew better than to coddle the tracker, Vin wouldn't appreciate it, but he'd be damned if he'd allow any more hurt to come to his friend if he could help it.

Hating to disturb the hard won sleep, he decided to delay examining Vin until later, after he woke up. He covered the young man with the dry bedroll, then sat down, leaning against the wall at his back, and waited.

He had no idea of the dark memories that swirled through Vin's head, turning his dreams into nightmares.

PART II

Vin woke with a jerk. He scrambled to his feet and backpedaled until he was pressed into the corner of the room. Eyes wide as he took in details of his surroundings, he held his arms up like a shield to protect himself.

From the other side of the room, Chris held perfectly still and waited for his friend's wild stare to lock onto him. When it did, he pulled a smile out of hiding and slipped it on.

"Hey, partner." His quiet greeting bounced gently against the old boards and recognition replaced fear on Vin's face.

"Chris." He dropped his arms and slumped back against the wall. His eyes rolled back in his head as he closed them. "Sorry, I thought . . . "

Larabee stood and moved forward and Vin's eyes snapped open. "It's okay, Vin. I just wanna check you out."

A nod was his only answer as Vin shifted his feet and lowered himself to the ground. He crouched down in front of the young man. Reaching out, he touched the sharp jaw that was softened with youth. One day, age would draw a harder edge on Vin's features, but now, his elfin face just emphasized what most people saw as vulnerability.

Chris noted the ragged breathing and flared nostrils. Vin was like a scared and cornered animal, and he lowered his hand to the tracker's shoulder. "Easy, partner."

Vin swallowed, then closed his eyes and made a visible attempt to calm his breathing. His heaving chest slowed its rhythm as he gained control. He opened his eyes and smiled weakly at Chris.

Chris cupped the injured jaw briefly, then slid his hand down and circled his fingers around the back of Vin's neck. His palm lay warm against the slender throat and the tracker's pulse trembled against his skin.

Vin's breathing caught and his eyebrows drew together in a frown.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

"Don't look like nothin' to me. Sit back here and let's take a look." He reached for the front of Vin's shirt, but the young man flinched and caught Chris' wrist in a claw-like grasp.

Chris looked down at the white-knuckled grip, then looked up. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The injured man held his breath then released it, his body deflating as he let go of Chris. "I know," he whispered.

Moving slowly to make sure Vin knew exactly what he was doing, he began unbuttoning his friend's shirt. Blue-black, knuckle-sized bruises were revealed as he pulled the material open and for a moment, his vision darkened as anger threatened to overrun his calm.

He touched the marks carefully, brushing his fingertips as gentle as air across Vin's abdomen, but the tracker still flinched and couldn't keep a strained moan from escaping.

Chris grunted in sympathy. "Sorry."

He let go and stood up, wiping his palms down his thighs. Eyeing a shadowed corner of the dingy room, he moved to his pile of things and pulled his bedroll from the floor, then snagged the thick horse blanket. He spread them out against the wall, creating a soft spot on the hard earth and turned back to Vin.

"Let's get you settled over here."

Vin moved slowly with Chris' help, groans rumbling deep in his throat, but he refused to cry out. His muscles felt tense with strain under Chris' touch and both men sighed with relief when Vin was finally lowered to the pallet. He nodded his head in thanks, then shut his eyes.

"Think you could eat?"

Vin's harsh breathing caught for a moment, as if he had to hold his breath to think. "No -- not just yet."

Chris didn't push. He abandoned the bag of dried meat and moved to sit next to Vin.

Silence filled the empty space in the room as dawn began to color the sky outside. Leftover storm clouds, cowed by the sunlight, limped away.

Just as Chris' eyelids began to droop again, Vin's quiet drawl startled him awake and he lifted his head.

"Met them on the trail."

Chris nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn't by nature a curious man, just seemed like folks around him wanted to offer information. In his current line of work, that eagerness worked to his advantage. It never occurred to him to ask Vin what had happened; he knew the young man would volunteer the story when he was ready.

"Figured as much."

Vin's head hung low and he wiped under his nose with one finger. "Should have known they were trouble." He looked away and sniffed, and Chris pretended not to notice, more interested in protecting Vin's wounded pride than acknowledging his emotional state. Vin nodded his head toward the doorless entrance. "Storm let up?"

"Yep."

"That was one hell of a thunder storm, weren't it?"

"One of the worst I've seen in these parts for awhile."

"Y'know, I think I might be able to eat something after all."

"'Kay," Chris stood up and grabbed his rifle from where he'd placed it leaning against the wall. "All I've got is jerky. Give me a minute and I'll rustle up some rabbit."

He waited until Vin nodded, then moved to leave the room. Pausing at the door, Chris lifted a hand to press against the frame, then offered, "In case your memory plays tricks on you, I killed those men." Without turning around to see what affect his words had, he left to find food.

Chris returned an hour later and found Vin just where he'd left him. The tracker's eyes were closed, and he didn't move when Chris walked in, but he mumbled a quiet greeting.

Chris smiled. "Didn't even know you were awake." He placed the skinned rabbits to the side and picked up the canteen and offered it to Vin. "Thirsty?"

"Yeah." When he was finished, he handed the water back.

He waited quietly while Chris started a fire near the open doorway and arranged the rabbits on sticks over the flames, then spoke softly when the older man sat back to wait for the meat to cook.

"How'd you know I needed help?"

Chris didn't look up from his work. "Didn't, really. When you didn't get back when I knew you should, I got suspicious is all. Thought I'd ride out and see what was keeping you."

"They were brothers."

Chris nodded as he reached out to adjust their dinner over the fire. "Well, they're dead brothers now."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

The smell of cooked meat swelled out from the flames and filled the room like a warm greeting. Chris sniffed appreciatively and removed the skewered rabbits from the fire. He pulled one of the rabbits free, placed it in his bandanna and handed it to Vin. The tracker accepted it with a soft word of thanks and waited until Chris had his own meal, then began picking at the meat.

They ate together, passing the canteen back and forth as they shared a quiet meal. When they were both finished, Chris disposed of the leftovers outside and moved back to Vin's side.

"Let's take another look here, partner."

Vin didn't move when Chris reached for his shirt, and the older man examined the bruises more closely, lightly pressing on his ribs. Vin's bones felt close to the surface and he winced in sympathy when the younger man flinched. "Does it hurt to breathe?"

Vin grunted when Chris pressed against one of the bruises, but shook his head. "No . . . but it hurts when you touch 'em like that."

The gunslinger ducked his head and grinned, then turned away to grab the canteen and a clean handkerchief. The heat from the dark bruises worried him and he poured water over the material and twisted back to his friend. "See if this helps any." Folding the large bandanna, he carefully placed the cloth over Vin's injured belly and smoothed it out gently. His touch was light and he concentrated on his movements, making sure not to hurt his friend. His palm brushed across the folded bandanna, over the edge, and onto Vin's side. The instant he touched his skin, the young man exploded from the floor. The move took him by surprise and Chris fell back.

"What the hell?" He looked up to find Vin hunched over, his harsh breathing causing his shoulders to rise and fall with exaggerated motion. He stood with both hands clutched to his belly, his eyes wide with uncharacteristic fright.

"Vin?" Chris stood up carefully, afraid the young tracker would bolt if he made any sudden moves. "Vin?" His frozen brain couldn't seem to come up with any other words. What the hell?

Vin closed his eyes and shuddered, then slowly toppled forward. Chris caught him and lowered the limp body to the ground. After checking to make sure he was breathing, he pulled the bedroll over Vin and sat down close. His thigh grew warm were it lay against Vin's shoulder, but he didn't move.

What the hell happened to you, Vin?

The question haunted him as Chris kept watch through most of the day, and Vin slept.

<oOo>

His eyelashes fluttered and Vin's troubled blue eyes opened. He seemed to know immediately where he was as he turned his head and looked up at Chris.

"How're you feeling?"

The tracker cleared his throat. "Fine. Help me up." With Chris' help, he managed to sit up and slump against the wall.

"Vin--"

"Chris." He lifted his eyes to the gunslinger and cautioned quietly. "Just -- give me a minute to wake up here."

Chris nodded, frustrated, but certain Vin would talk. "Want some water?"

Vin nodded and held out his hand. After several deep swallows from the canteen, he handed it back to his friend. "I met them on the way back from Eagle Bend. They was nice, friendly, and I wanted the company."

Chris was quiet, content to let the story unfold in Vin's time. He sat back against the wall next to the tracker and kept his eyes ahead, staring at the warped boards across the room.

"Time was when I would have barely given them a howdy-do and been on my way, but lately, I've noticed I enjoy people's company more."

"Living in a town'll do that to a person."

"It ain't the town, Chris."

The soft voice drew his attention and Chris turned and looked at Vin. The young man watched him, his head resting back against the wall with his eyes half-lidded in thought. "It's the seven. It feels good to be part of a family again." He looked down as his face shaded with embarrassment. "Hell, I could leave Four Corners in a heart beat -- as long as the rest of the boys would come along."

"I know what you mean." His quiet admission brought Vin's head back up, and Chris smiled at the surprise in Vin's face. "And if you tell anyone I said that, I'll have to shoot you."

"I'll be sure and not mention it, then."

The two men shared a smile, and then Vin turned away. "But that's what got me in trouble out there. I trusted two men I didn't know, just for the sake of conversation on the trail."

"It could have happened to anyone, partner."

Vin stood up quickly and brushed away Chris's hand when he stood up too and tried to help. The younger man stumbled to the other side of the room and braced himself against the wall.

"I -- they -- touched me." The quiet voice was raspy with strain and Chris frowned.

"I can see that --"

"No, you don't understand." Vin twisted around and Chris caught his breath at the look of loss and sorrow in the other's eyes. "They touched me -- where only a woman should touch a man."

"Oh god." Fear and revulsion warred within Chris' soul but compassion pushed through when his friend blanched white.

Vin suddenly lurched for the door and fell to his knees just outside the small shack. His body convulsed as he threw up violently, groans erupting out of his throat between heaves as Chris supported him, kept him from falling forward.

When the sickness abated, Chris lifted him from the ground, noting how very small and fragile Vin felt in his arms. The tracker didn't seem to be aware of what was happening as he allowed Chris to carry him back inside the shelter. The older man lowered him gently to the cot, then retrieved the wet bandanna and bathed his friend's face, soothing him with soft words that he used to whisper to his son when the small boy woke crying from a nightmare.

A sudden feeling of paternal love washed over him and Chris clenched his teeth to keep from moaning. His ministrations became even gentler and on instinct, he shifted over and lifted Vin's head to his lap.

"Rest easy, pard."

He held his friend close, and waited for him to wake up. The bruises on Vin's abdomen, and the dark marks on his jaw would be nothing compared to the raw slashes ripping apart the tracker's soul. Chris had no idea how to deal with this kind of hurt, this kind of betrayal and despair. The remembered hollow desolation in Vin's eyes made him tighten one hand into a fist as he repressed his anger. What the hell am I going to do?

PART III

Chris was startled when the body in his arms woke with a gasp and sat up. He pulled back, giving Vin plenty of room, and reached for his matches. "It's all right, Vin," he whispered, then struck a match. The flare of light caught the smaller man where he was crouched, frozen on the ground. His eyes dilated like a wild cat's, fingers extended like claws, he held still until he was sure of where he was.

"Vin?" Chris' familiar voice dispelled the weird moment, and Vin's shoulders slumped as he relaxed and sat back down.

"We're still here?"

"Yeah. Didn't want to move you yet."

"The rest of the boys are gonna be worried." Vin turned and looked out the door. Black night, lit only by starlight, flattened the entrance into a block of solid darkness.

"If you're ready, soon as there's light, we can get started back for town." He yelped and shook his hand when the match burned down to his fingers. Darkness took over the room again until the scratch of another match scared it away. Chris leaned forward and held the flame to the pile of wood that remained from their earlier dinner. The dry wood caught easily and soon lit the small room with a yellow-orange glow.

"Sounds good," Vin answered. Chris looked up to watch the young man shake his head.

"What's wrong?"

"I've just -- I've just remembered something that happened a long time ago."

"How long ago?"

"Before we met. When I was a kid, living in the orphanage."

Chris sat back, silent and patient. He knew this man, after the time they'd spent together, and the look on Vin's face shook him. He'd never seen him look so . . . vulnerable.

"I was five, just a stick with some hair on my head, so scrawny you couldn't see me comin'." Vin's gentle voice grew quiet and his accent deepened as he slipped into the past. His eyes looked glazed as he stared at a point on the ground and he reached up with one hand and rubbed the knuckles of his other hand.

"There was this group of kids -- older, meaner -- than the rest of the kids. They was always pickin' on us young ‘uns, and we didn't have any big boys on our side. It was us against them. We were outnumbered and outweighed."

Chris remained silent, somehow reading that his friend didn't need to be distracted from his memories.

"We was always afraid of gettin' caught by ourselves, gettin' cornered by one or two of those big boys. Funny, they always ran in pairs, like they was afraid to be alone, too." Vin's gaze shifted to the fire and the reflection of the flames danced against his blue eyes. "They caught me once, beat me till I was sore --"

A distant wolf's howl brought Vin's head up fast and after a moment, he turned to Chris. "Being held like that by someone who's stronger than you, and you're helpless to do anything about it -- it kinda leaves an impression on ya, y'know?"

Chris simply nodded.

Vin shook his head and looked down at his hands. "Those two brothers brought that feelin' back, I guess. I haven't thought about the orphanage in years."

"You won't ever be caught by yourself again."

The young tracker lifted his eyes and looked at Chris. "I don't need a nurse maid."

Chris shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I'm not offering you anything I wouldn't offer one of the other boys."

Vin nodded and when he looked at Chris this time, some of the darkness in his eyes had lifted. "I know what you're saying, Chris. I didn't mean to jump at you, I just feel -- strange."

"You sick?"

"No. I feel . . . disconnected, y'know?" He turned and looked at his friend again. Chris was shrouded in darkness. The night seemed to cling to him, weave its fingers into his dark clothes until he was a part of the surroundings. Vin shrugged. "I feel -- fragmented, like when you drop a piece of glass on the floor and it shatters, and the pieces scatter and you know there's no way in hell you can find all the tiny bits."

His friend's unusual wordiness touched Chris and he nodded and did his best to look like he understood. "Just give it time. Grief and sorrow are hard to get over, but it dulls eventually."

Vin stared at him. "Has your grief dulled, Chris? Does your loss seem less today than it did three years ago?"

Chris looked away. He stuck out one boot to nudge at the fire, then pulled back when sparks erupted from the dry wood. "No."

Vin acknowledged his friend's pain with silence and the two sat together, staring at the flickering fire until dawn.

<oOo>

They toppled the last rise and stopped, gazing at the town of Four Corners spread out before them. Dust from horses and people moving down the street rose above the buildings and coated everything with its fine grain, shrouding details from a distance.

Chris leaned back in his saddle, then turned to his companion. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Vin's hat sat low on his head, the wide brim shading his piercing eyes from casual observers. Chris had retrieved the tracker's hat and coat from the house where Vin had been held. He'd left the bodies of his friend's attackers where they lay, covered in a cloud of flies and bloated from the closed room's heat, feeling that to bury them would have been a betrayal on his part. They didn't deserve such humane treatment after what they'd done to Vin.

"Vin--"

"It's okay, Chris." The young man turned and met Chris' worried gaze, then smiled. "Think I might have a talk with Josiah, maybe get some things straight in my head. It already seems less clear to me. You were right -- grief and sorrow do dull with time."

"Just --" the dark gunslinger shifted and looked away. He touched the brim of his hat, then turned back to Vin. "If you ever need any help finding any of those fragments, let me know."

"I will, partner."

Another silent look passed between them and Chris was reminded again of the first time he'd seen Vin, the first time their eyes had met and a connection had formed between their souls. With a nod, Vin reached up and adjusted his hat, then gently urged his horse forward, leading the way down the trail and into town.

<oOo>

Ezra sat slumped comfortably in a chair in front of the sheriff's office. He looked up when the two men arrived and he stood. His eyes widened when he caught sight of Vin's battered face.

"Good Lord, what happened to you?" He took the reins Chris offered without realizing it, then stared at them uncomprehendingly.

"He ran into some company on the trail. Take care of our horses."

Chris and Vin walked off toward the clinic, leaving Ezra bewildered. The gambler slowly began walking toward the stables, the two horses trailing along behind and suddenly turned as his mind caught up with his actions. "Take care of the horses!?"

<oOo>

Vin grabbed the rail along the steps up to the clinic when Chris touched his arm.

"I'll be -- in the saloon." The older man seemed uncomfortable and his dark eyes roamed the ground instead of looking at Vin.

"Thanks, pard."

Chris raised his eyes. One side of his mouth turned up in a brief grin before he touched his hat brim and left. "See ya later."

Nathan was in his room organizing herbs into bottles when Vin walked in.

"Nathan." The young man nodded in greeting and removed his hat.

The dark healer's eyes narrowed when he saw Vin's obvious injuries and he tilted his head sideways. "Fall into some trouble?"

"Yep. Think my ribs might be busted."

"Let's take a look." Nathan moved to a chair and pulled it out from the wall, then gestured for the tracker to sit while he returned to his cache of medicine. He didn't question as Vin slowly unbuttoned his shirt, but he reached out to help the injured man, his touch as healing as the herbs he mixed.

Mottled bruises darkened Vin's lightly tanned skin along his sides and on his belly. Nathan helped him ease down in the chair and began to probe carefully; drawing back whenever Vin's breathing quickened.

"Does it hurt to breathe?"

Vin shook his head.

"I don't think they're busted, just bruised. I could wrap them up, but it wouldn't make you feel any better."

"That's okay." Vin reached for his shirt and began to get dressed. He didn't protest when Nathan moved to help. "They're not real bad, just a mite sore."

An understanding grin widened across Nathan's face and his base rumble vibrated through the room. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Your face will be sore, too. Not a thing to do about it but wait for it to heal." Vin finished dressing and Nathan went back to his table. He picked up a pitcher of water and poured some in a glass, then offered it to the tracker. "You hurt anywhere else?"

Vin shook his head. He quickly gulped down the water and handed the glass back a bit breathlessly. "Nope." He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and grabbed his hat, straightening slowly. "Thanks, Nathan."

"Vin--"

The injured man stopped, his back to Nathan, one hand on the door.

"You gonna tell me what happened?"

Vin didn't turn around but began playing with his hat brim. "Nothing to tell. I got jumped on the trail. Two -- robbers bushwhacked me, worked me over and left me."

"You get a look at ‘em?"

"Yeah." He turned around finally and gave the man a grim look. "Chris did, too."

Nathan nodded, his lips pressed together.

Without another word, Vin left. He'd pushed the memory, still so fresh and vivid in his mind aside, but it lurked behind his eyes. Telling Nathan or any of the boys what happened to him wouldn't help. It would make him feel worse. Chris knew, and as far as Vin was concerned, that's as far as he wanted the news to get.

He left the clinic and began walking toward the saloon, but he changed his mind and detoured toward the church. He knew Josiah would be there, a hammer in his hands, working his ‘penance'.

Summer heat weighed heavy in the air after the recent storm. Half dried puddles muddied the street.

Vin found the church door open; it's paint peeling entranceway blocked with haphazard stacks of wood. A sharp pounding echoed within and he mounted the steps, looking for Josiah.

The back of the older man's shirt was stained with sweat. He heard Vin's steps and stopped his hammering to turn around. "Afternoon, brother."

Vin nodded amiably, tucking his hands inside his front pockets. He smiled gently and looked around at the improvements the preacher had made. "Lookin' good, Josiah. Bit warm to be workin' so hard."

Josiah placed the hammer carefully on his podium then reached for a rag to wipe his hands. He swiped the cloth across his brow and grinned widely. "That's why I take a break about every five minutes." Reaching behind the altar, he snagged a bottle of whiskey and offered it to Vin.

"Don't mind if I do." The tracker took the bottle and uncorked it. Taking a long swig, he drew his sleeve across his mouth, then handed the liquor back. "Feels funny, drinkin' in here."

Josiah took his own long pull. He swallowed before answering. "Just think of it as a different kind of spirit." He looked up and noticed the marks on Vin's face but kept his observations to himself. He walked over and picked up the hammer, then moved back to his work.

Vin leaned against a pew and crossed his ankles. He folded his arms across his belly and watched Josiah work. The man developed a steady rhythm of picking up nails, holding them to the wall, and pounding them in with the hammer. The warmth of the day invaded the room. Droning insects buzzed through bushes just outside the open window, creating a blanket of distraction from the town's noise. Peace permeated the building and gradually, Vin felt it seeping into him. He moved and the ache of his bruises reminded him of his recent experience, but it felt diluted, changed from the vivid colors of fear and terror.

"You been at this all day?"

Josiah paused and glanced over his shoulder. He had several nails clenched between his lips and they moved when he grinned. "Along with the breaks, yeah. Most of the day." He turned back to his work and the pounding continued, a steady heartbeat of mundane labor.

"Josiah?"

"Yeah?" The older man didn't stop. He pulled another nail from his mouth and held it against the wall. His hammer banged onto the tiny head of metal, driving it into the wall.

"How do you fix a broken piece of glass?"

The preacher rubbed his thumb against the nail, making sure it had sunk into the wall far enough. "You don't."

Vin straightened. "There's no way you can mend it? Put all the pieces back together?"

"Nope." Josiah turned and reached for the whisky he'd placed on the edge of the podium. He took a swallow, then offered it to Vin. "No matter what you do, it'll never be the same."

Vin shook his head and Josiah replaced the cork in the bottle. "So, what do you do?"

Josiah shrugged. "Throw it away, start over." He walked over to the nearest window. The shutters were open, welcoming the meager late afternoon breeze into the stuffy room. "Storm blew hard one night before I fixed these." He used his empty hand to pull one of the shutters closed, then opened it again. "It broke the window, made a mess." He turned and gestured with the bottle toward the other windows. "Matter of fact, I only have two left with panes. You know how hard it is to get glass around here: you gotta order all the way to St. Louis, and then hope it arrives safe on the stage."

"What if you can't get any?"

Josiah looked at him. "You make do without. We don't need it during the summer, anyway. And in the winter, all I gotta do is close the shutters." He moved closer and sat in a pew, then shifted sideways to watch Vin. "I think the window looks prettier without it, though. Nothing blocks the view."

Vin lifted his head and looked out the window. The sun lay bright against the ground. Shade outlined the area around the old church, poured there by the overhanging eves.

"You ever miss it?"

"Nah. One less thing to clean."

Vin smiled, then chuckled. "One less reason to have a break, too."

Josiah nodded his head. "Good point, brother." He tipped back his head and took another long swallow from the bottle.

"Think I'll head over to the saloon."

"Think I'll join you."

The two men left the church and moved down the street. The contrast of the dark saloon after the bright street had them both blinking rapidly, adjusting their eyesight.

Loud familiar voices drew them to a table. The rest of the seven were enjoying a drink together, laughing and visiting.

Chris caught Vin's eye. The tracker dipped his head in greeting and smiled. Chris raised his glass in a salute, then moved over to join him. He kept his voice low. "You doin' all right?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Pard." Just letting go of my fragments. He smiled and took a drink of whiskey.

The End