Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't make any money.
Author's Notes: This is my first fan fic, but I have tons of ideas and even a couple of pages of new, longer stories already written, so feedback would help me tremendously and keep me writing, even if I should study for my matriculation examinations. Thank you, Lady Angel, for helping me with everything! It must be horrible to beta-read something that a Finnish girl wrote with her bad English! Couldn't have done this without you! (goosh, my hands are shaking.)
I think far too much.
At nights like this when we're on the trail, when the moon's illuminating the landscape and there's no other sounds than an occasional howl from a lone coyote and the guys' breathing, I always start thinking too much for my own good. The thoughts scare me. Besides rattlesnakes and couple of ladies, there aren't many things I fear. I do fear death, but not my own.
Those thoughts that I try to keep out of my head during the daytime sneak up on me almost without me noticing. Almost. Those kinds of dark thoughts that a man with a family is bound to have sometimes, those kinds of thoughts that I got with Sarah and Adam. Those thoughts that became reality with them. Those thoughts that I believed to be forever gone. And now I am having those thoughts all over again.
Here I am, sitting on a log beside the campfire on my watch, scared shitless. I'm starting to think that maybe it would best if I'd just walked away from all of this. I did it once with Buck, and I could do it again.
I think.
I should just get up from this log and disappear into the night never to be seen again. I should just leave them here like this, just let 'em sleep. It would be easy.
I reach out to my right side to pick up a long stick next to Vin's head, being careful not to wake him, and start to poke the fire with it. I need something to do with my hands to keep those thoughts away. It works for a while, but then a small sigh from my left, from a sleeping J.D, turns my thoughts to those trails again.
To them.
I'm still a little amazed how seven so completely different men came together, and even more by the fact that we stayed together. In normal circumstances, I don't believe I would have even noticed half of the guys sleeping here tonight under my watch.
In fact, I would have just rode off the town after a one glass of whisky. I was just riding through. I wasn't even planning to go see Buck after all those years. I thought it would be best, we had became too different.
We all really are different. In this bunch of seven, there's cats and dogs, saints and sinners. Even now, as they sleep, they all seem different from one another. Their unique personalities shine through them, even if they're lying there unmoving and hardly making a sound, except snoring.
They are the same persons that they are normally during days, but in their sleep, they also reveal to be more.
Vin's sleeping on my right side. A bit further away from others and the fire, his riffle next to him like some bizarre rag doll to keep him content in his sleep, to keep away his nightmares. He's alert even in his sleep; unconsciously listening to the sounds of the night, letting the natural voices like coyotes' howls and crickets pass, but ready to bolt up if anything is out of place. He had to learn those instincts young, too young, to keep himself alive.
Now he's keeping us all alive.
But he also looks relaxed, he knows that he now has people to watch his back. I can only imagine what it was like for a young man to live with a bounty on his head, completely alone in the world. Those years made him grow fast. But in his sleep he reveals his real age, which makes me feel old. Every exhaled breath blows his long hair away from his face, only to fall back again to cover his eyes. He sleeps on his left side, despite the fact that he always goes to sleep on his back with his hat over his eyes. The hat has rolled a few feet away from him.
As I watch, his fingers start to twitch. Soon his whole body will follow.
It's really fascinating to watch. Vin's like an animal trapped inside a human body. He sleeps lightly, like a dog or a wolf maybe. If they could, I'd bet his ears would be moving too. He also does this 'twitching' thing, the thing that dogs do when they are dreaming of hunting. I bet Vin's hunting too. I wouldn't be surprised if, in his dream, he's seeing through the eyes of a wolf. Josiah likes to say that there's some weird "wolf-spirit" inside of Vin. He sure is partly an animal of some sort. I swear, that beside that twitching, he sometimes bares his teeth and growls too.
I wonder if he hunts alone or with a pack? A pack, that works together with an almost unnatural ease, each individual completing other?
I hope his dreams are not about bounty hunting.
J.D has set his own bedroll to my left side. He goes to sleep much in the same way Buck does, sprawled across his bedroll. But when he's truly asleep, he always rolls onto his right side and curls into a loose ball. He sleeps with his back to Buck, unconsciously knowing that the ladies' man will watch his back. He tries hard to imitate the others, especially Buck, thinking that his own self ain't as good.
I know Buck would pay to get J.D's imagination when it comes to dreams, hell, I know I would. He probably has the happiest and most exciting dreams of us all. He has seen a lot of bad things, but his soul ain't tarnished, not like many other men's. He smiles in his sleep, an innocent smile. Not that kind of unholy grin that Buck wears when he's dreaming about certain things that are so completely Buck. J.D's grin is absolutely pure and full of childlike joy. I hope that spirit will never fade away. It's the best of J.D. He's still so young, but so brave and full of ideas and daydreams that most of us lost a long time ago.
Once J.D woke up from his dream with a yelp of joy and Nathan got all worried about him. Buck just laughed and hugged the kid without saying a word.
I poke the fire two times before glancing up again and focus my eyes on my oldest friend. Buck's sleeping partially behind J.D, partially behind Nathan who set his own bedroll near Buck's, to make sure he's okay. That's Nathan for you.
Buck got hurt earlier today. It's only a flesh wound. Nothing to worry about, as Nate told J.D when he panicked about all that blood. Nothing to worry about, Buck repeated, he had had worse.
I know what he meant by the 'worse' part. I was there with him when he had 'worse'. And there were more than one of those.
But he's still here. Sleeping on his back, in the same place where he landed, snoring loudly. Buck is the most vocal one, which is hardly a surprise. Sometimes he giggles, even laughs briefly and mumbles in his sleep. Sometimes there's even complete sentences, which are easy to understand, for he speaks like if he were awake. Once me and Vin stayed up together and wrote down the things he said. In the morning, thought, even Vin couldn't say what he had written down. He really has become a better writer, but with no light and the mood we were in, his scrawls were like hieroglyphics to us. But I do remember that the stuff Buck said in his sleep were something that I wouldn't care to repeat.
But his dreams are not only about women. He sometimes surprises even me, when he starts to talk about worrying after the boys...or me. I think he's as scared as I am, for feeling the way we are. This gang will definitely be the end of both of us.
Maybe I should wake him up and then we could disappear into the night together.
Naw, I don't think Buck would leave 'em, run away from them, like I could. I'll let him sleep.
Speaking of running away. Ezra's still here, sleeping opposite me, on the other side of the campfire. He hasn't ran away. I don't know why. He's an enigma. Even in his sleep. He, like the other guys, reveals something of himself when he sleeps, but I haven't yet figured out what it is.
He breathes very quietly, only snores when he's drunk. Sometimes he curses in his sleep, revealing that he ain't as big of a gentleman as he likes to think, or let others think. There's something very angry inside of Ezra P. Standish.
If Vin's a dog, then Ezra's a cat. He's also a light sleeper; jumping up from the smallest of the sounds. Then again, he can also sleep through a thunderstorm. Sometimes he sleeps on his back, his hat over his eyes, sometimes on his side. Most of the times he seems to sleep on his stomach. That's the position I think of entirely Ezra's. He's the only one of the guys who sleeps like that.
Tonight he's just like that, on his stomach, his nose buried in the crook of his arm. He has set his bedroll in the middle of the others, so that he's nearest to the fire. Maybe too close... his face seems flushed.
Last night, he put his bedroll furthest from the fire and slept alone.
I don't get him. During the day, he's got that same unflappable mask on, but when he lays down at night, I can tell whether he had a nice or a lousy day. Today's been nice. I wonder why? Yesterday while we were in a town, we told him he could go play a few hands of poker while we were getting supplies, 'cause his help wasn't really necessary. I thought that'd make him happy, but despite winning some extra bucks, he was much quieter for the rest of the day. He slept on the edge of the camp that night.
Today, on the other hand, we had to do some 'menial labour', and with Buck getting hurt and all, Ezra had to get his hands dirty. He was exhausted and complaining, but there he is now, lying in the middle of us all. He's on the other side of Nathan, his biggest tormentor of the day, and looking content and completely innocent. As I said, he's an enigma.
Even to himself. Maybe even more so to himself.
Take for example that damned 10, 000 bucks of blood money, meant to be the death of Mary and the two others. I knew from the first sight of that money and the look in Ezra's eyes, that he had no control over himself.
I didn't want him to lose himself to his greed and I didn't want to lose him, so I gave the money to Josiah. He didn't know that, but now he knows. And now he won't touch large sums of money if it ain't his. He knows that he can't trust himself with that. And I reckon he doesn't trust himself to watch our backs either. But I know he's capable. More than capable.
I poke the fire again.
I wonder if Ezra's dreaming of the luxurious gambling halls of New Orleans, the endless stacks of money or the piles of gold and diamonds. I haven't the faintest idea. Maybe he's dreaming of the Standish Tavern. Or having nightmares about it. And Maude.
Josiah is probably dreaming of Maude too, but in entirely different context. Poor Ez.
Josiah sleeps with his mouth hanging open. Once I watched for a long time as a small, harmless spider was resting on his lower lip, before proceeding straight into his open mouth and was never seen again. Josiah just slumps somewhere and falls asleep, sometimes in a middle of telling a story. That always gets J.D riled up. He can't stand not knowing how the stories ends. He has difficulties falling asleep 'cause he's trying to figure it out. Asking the other guys doesn't help a bit, 'cause they all just make up their own bizarre, off the wall endings. Trying to reawaken the preacher doesn't work either. You could kick Josiah and he'd still stay asleep.
It's funny how in real dangerous situations, when you need Josiah's help, he has no problems waking. He's always there when you need him, in the fights, but also when the guys have personal problems and need to talk. He's always ready to listen and help. I believe, that without Josiah's calming presence and words, we would all be completely insane right about now. Or dead. He's our balance, while looking for his own. Our center. He's the big brother and the father for the men who claim they don't need one.
Josiah, alongside Buck, makes a contribution to the sounds of the night, by his own really loud and deep snoring. Sometimes there's long pauses between breaths and he's completely still and quiet, mouth hanging open. During those silent moments I get the strangest urge to go and check his pulse.
Sometimes I have the urge to check everyone's pulses, just to make sure they're still really there.
I have it right now as I stare across the fire. It's too easy to imagine that those silent forms scattered around this small clearing are just dead corpses. It's weird to see Vin, who's always so alert and looking over his shoulder, look completely relaxed and safe. To see J.D, who's always full of life and moving, completely still. Ez, who's normally guarded, is now perfectly unaware of me staring at him. Buck, always noisy and on the move, now laying with eyes closed and not saying a word. Josiah with that formidable presence now looks like a pretty harmless man, and Nathan, always worrying after others, now lost in his own dream world.
I force my thoughts away from that image and put some more wood into the fire. Thanks to one man, that horrible image of six dead corpses ain't the reality, when it could have been so many times already.
Nathan looks so ordinary sleeping between Buck and Ezra, on his back with his arm behind his head. You wouldn't believe that the man is capable of performing miracles.
Nate got hit once and we tried to sew him back together by following his orders, but he lost consciousness. That left Vin holding a needle and looking as confused and pale as the rest of us, not knowing what to do, and being afraid to do what he thought he was supposed to do. That's when we realized for the first time, just what Nathan goes through every time something happens to one of us. I don't believe there's anyone else in our gang who'd be brave enough to perform the things Nate does. I know I would walk out of the door, if I was expected to take the responsibility of keeping someone alive and in this world.
I reckon I'm humbled of Nathan's self confidence. Despite the fact that he was born and raised to be a slave, his spirit has never broken. He knows who he is, a human being like the rest of us. He doesn't think he's God, nor does he think he's less worthy than a white man. He knows his worth, even if he was never made to feel worthy of anything. He saves lives, even the lives of men who'd first tried to take his. It's truly amazing. I have no words to say how much all that he's done means to me. What he means to me.
Man, I'm gettin' soft. I poke the fire a few times and look up to the sky. The stars are as silent as they are, but they've moved a little. There's a lighter stripe of colour just near the horizon. Morning's coming.
It's still dark enough for me to ride off without them noticing. I could just leave them here, and this would be my last memory of them. All of them safe and breathing.
There have been too many times that Laudanum have ran through their veins, too many times their breathing has ceased-- just to have Nathan bring them back again. Too many times their warm blood has run over Nathan's dark fingers as he desperately tries to keep it inside of them, where it belongs. Too many times have fevered eyes turned to look at Nate or me. Too many bullets dug out, too many sewn up wounds, too many bones set, too many sick beds.
The sickening smell of Nathan's concoctions.
The smell that brings to mind the times when J.D got stabbed, or shot at. The time when he almost drowned. Ezra getting shot trying to save Mary's life and the time he got so sick that he collapsed in the middle of the game and had to spend a week in Nathan's. Everyone was afraid it was tuberculosis. The horrible smell that reminds me of the time when J.D found Vin lying in his wagon, bleeding to death. All those times when bounty hunters came after him. The time when he got caught in the rock slide. The smell that connects me to those countless times when Buck risks a bullet, saving others, every time that Vin or Ez goes off by themselves to face the enemy, 'cause they think it ain't our concern, when it most definitely is. The times when J.D thinks he's invincible, when Josiah goes to search for his crows, when someone thinks that Nathan's life ain't worth nothing, when it's everything.
Sigh.
I am getting too old for this. I swear, someday I'll completely lose it, someday one of them will jump up from their cover to do something rash and completely stupid that will leave them with a new bullet hole in their hats, and I'll lose my mind and start dancing in my birthday suit in the middle of the Four Corners' mains treet, while pulling off my hair.
Mary would get a good story to put into her paper.
I wonder what Mary and the Judge would say if I went to them one day and announced that we'd quit the job as protectors and was taking all six of them to my shack and never letting any of them out again. Never again let them do something stupid to risk their stupid necks for the sake of the townsfolk who don't even like 'em.
Ezra's face crumbles in his sleep. He's mumbling something with so strong an accent that I don't even recognize it to be English. He sounds sad. Then, suddenly, he's quiet again. Like it never happened. He lays so still and quiet that I don't think he's even breathing. Just as I start to get up, he sighs, and everything looks normal again.
I close my eyes and listen to the six different breathing patterns. Josiah and Buck's loud snoring, Vin's fairly rapid breathes and J.D's heavy, slow breathing near me. Somewhere there's Nathan's growling snore and Ezra's almost non-existent, soft breathing.
There will come a day, when one of those familiar sounds isn't gonna be there any more. Someday, one of those will cease and even Nathan won't be able to bring it back.
It is the thought that makes me so scared that I wanna walk away. There's seven of us, and almost everyday we run into trouble. It's a miracle that all of us are still alive, really. I wonder if Ezra's ever counted those odds.
I sure have. More times than I'd care to count. But we're still alive. They're still alive, all these amazing men, who seem fearless and brave and all around so magnificent, that I start to wonder what am I doing with them. And more importantly, why do they seem to think they have to follow me? I never wanted to be the leader. I'm too weak for that. I get moody and get lost in the bottle. My past is still with me.
Josiah would make a better leader. He's got that presence that gets people to lay down their guns, and I have the opposite effect. Nathan would make a better leader too, he can keep his head clear in every situation. Buck knows when to act and when to back off... most of the time. He'd protect all of them, keep them from doing things that they'd regret. Like he did with me.
Ezra could be the leader with his quick thinking and equally quick reflects. And Vin with his all seeing eyes. If J.D was the leader I bet there would be much less corpses on both sides. And if one of them was the leader, I bet that no one would even think about walking away, like I do now.
I can see it clearly now. The way I'll get up from this log, grab my bags and walk away. I can see how I would go to each one of them. The way I'd whisper goodbyes to my oldest friend's sleeping form, thanking him for all he's done. Then I'd kneel next to Vin and just watch him twitching for a while, being careful not to touch him and wake him. I'd make my way to Josiah then, and chase away the spider climbing up his chin. Next there'd be Ezra. If he's be soundly asleep, I'd lay my hand on his chest until I'd felt his heart beating slowly against my palm, to make me remember that he truly has one. Then I'd go to Nathan and try my hardest to express my gratitude for keeping all of them, all of us, alive. But I don't know yet how I'd accomplish that. I would kiss J.D on his forehead like I used to do with Adam. Let J.D think that it was some beautiful girl from his dreams, maybe Casey. Or his Mom. I'd love to be able to do that just once. Then I would look at them just sleeping, my magnificent six, and disappear into the darkness.
I am scared. I can admit it to myself. I am scared that I can't get up from this log and leave, and I'm scared that I could.
I look at the clock. It's four in the morning, time to get some sleep and let someone else watch for a while. I get up from the log and walk around the fire to kneel next to the man sleeping on his stomach. I watch his back rising and falling with each breath, until I reach under the blankets to shake the warm shoulder of the man sleeping underneath them.
And I shake again. It's one of those times when he could sleep through a thunderstorm.
But not through one Chris Larabee.
One green and irritated eye looks up under the curling hair that had fallen on his forehead. He mumbles something very Ezra-like, and I can only guess that it was an insult.
Yeah, morning to you too, Ezra. Sorry, but you know how it is. Have fun watching. Maybe there's still some coffee in the pan.
I lay down on my back and watch the stars for a while, waiting for the gambler to settle down on the log to watch our backs. Funny how I can trust him to do that now, when I can still remember the time when I wouldn't have. I close my eyes and hope I won't have any dreams about Sarah and Adam, or any of those nightmares where the seven of us can't beat those odds.
Finally, he's asleep and I'll get some privacy. Not that I don't like Mr. Larabee, it's just that in this mood that I have, I'd rather be alone and wallow in my own depressing thoughts.
After that horrible nightmare, I am actually glad that Mr. Larabee chose to awaken me from my slumber. I must say that I will gladly watch over our associates..friends, so that I can make sure that they really are alive and well. If we won't count that little accident Mr. Wilmington had earlier today...or actually, yesterday.
The sound of someone shifting cause my eyes to rise in time to see our illustrious leader turning to sleep on his front. He does that often and it's something I have come to think of as to entirely Chris'. Because, as often as I sit here contemplating the others while they're blissfully unaware of my attention, I have noticed that only Mr. Larabee seems to sleep on his stomach.
Some wild beast out there in the darkness decides to make me jump, by making some inhuman howling sounds.
I shudder.
Fortunately, it sounds as if it's far away.
Sometimes I think that it's only Chris' presence here, that keeps those blood thirsty predators away from our little camp. If he weren't here, I believe that all those horrendous nightly sounds would materialize, rush into our camp and tear us all into little pieces. It's amazing. I wish I could have even a small slice of that mysterious aura that he has, that makes us follow him to Hell and back. That respect.
I get a tad hypnotized watching Chris' back moving up and down with each breath. I hope the day when that simple movement ceases is far away.
I wonder if the others ever have these kinds of ridiculous thoughts?
The end.
Feedback to Author