Sticks and stones…(may break my bones but words will never hurt me?) by Roo
A/N:-Birthday fic for Stormm (January )- Chris/Vin/Othe set immediately after Inmate 78
Summary: Words said in anger have painful consequences for Chris. OW, set straight after Inmate 78 and before One Day out West. Chris angst/whump, h/c and Vin comfort but also providing some conflict…
PART ONE
Prologue: coulda , woulda, shoulda….
Wet and defeated, Vin sat awkwardly on a tired horse. He hunched into the damp weight of his coat and tried to ignore the wet hair trickling down his neck. His head and face hurt and he'd rather be anywhere than where he was. He cursed the heavy rain for washing out the tracks. If only he'd pulled himself together and come out to check on Chris earlier. Now he had no hope of telling where he'd gone. And he wondered if Chris was ever going to come back, if he'd have the chance to say he was sorry. That he wished his words back with all his heart. It wasn't as if he and Chris hadn't had an angry word or two before. But this had been different and Vin hated to see the effect his cruel words had on the gunslinger, when he was still feeling so low.
It was Vin's turn to feel low as he remembered the hard shove and angry words from Buck as he showed how he felt about it. Saying such things to Chris and then not doing anything about it until it was maybe too late. But they both knew if they'd gone to see Chris he wouldn't have listened, just aimed his gun at them. And so they blamed themselves for Chris' disappearance and that left the other peacekeepers wondering what on earth was going on.
Vin thought back- things had been going fine in the week or more since they'd rescued Chris from the prison in Jericho ….or so he remembered….
Rescuing Chris…..and after
Sure they had all felt guilty that they had waited to look for him, long past the original three days Chris had said he'd be away. Mary prodded them into action after ten days and again four days later. She pushed even though the other six thought that Chris could handle himself. Buck didn't think there was any need to particularly worry; he was trying to cut his old friend a little slack after the great upset with Fowler.
They should have all known better that in the constantly changing pattern and swirl of good and bad people in ever expanding towns that something bad was bound to happen sooner or later- even to Chris Larabee.
They had all been horrified at what had happened to their leader in the prison and the condition that they found him in, hardly recognising the lean bearded figure in the shoddy, mud splattered prison uniform.
It made Ezra glad he'd managed to escape such barbaric conditions by the skin of his teeth, silver tongue and silver dollars. Mentally he promised himself not to do anything that might put him behind bars and a sentence.
Nathan, although shocked at Chris' state, was no longer surprised at the cruelty man could inflict on his fellow man, whatever the colour of his skin. Many an innocent had been wrongfully accused on the words of another vengeful man.
Josiah could only wonder at the thought of getting money from ordinary hard working decent folk, could make the Sheriff and Warden do for want of more of it. Men in law abiding positions should not abuse it so.
JD had never seen anything like it. He guessed prison would be hard, but not like that.
Buck had seen plenty of bad things during the war and shared many of them with Chris, but he found that he was shaking with anger as they frantically held off the guards. He ordered Nathan and Vin to look for his oldest friend.
Vin spotted him, staggering away from a grated hole and two bodies lying on the ground. Vin raced to meet him and then return to Nathan who had been shot after tangling with Quince. Vin checked the bodies only to reel back as he saw the horrified, strangled look on one, and Quince all bloody and dead from a knife wound. Vin helped Nathan and Chris to where he said the infirmary was. Chris lurched beside him, still trying to get used to the lack of irons on his feet making him do a sad little shuffle walk…
The peacekeepers rounded up the remaining guards from the burning office and locked them up for the night. They checked the bodies and put them aside until morning. They rallied round finding dry towels and food for Chris, whilst helping the prison 'doctor' with Nathan. Vin kept looking at Chris, the uniform, the beard and his blonde hair darker with the rain and mud combining to become not-Chris. It was very unsettling and Chris was too quiet which didn't seem right at all.
Chris gave the guys the gist of what had gone on in the prison and confirming that Philips was a good man and they ought to think of putting him in charge. He fell into an exhausted asleep, barely able to struggle out of his cold wet things and into a dry uniform. The rest of the evening was spent cleaning up and sorting out the books and paperwork and help mind the rest of the prisoners.
Early the next morning Chris managed a brief wash of sorts. As badly as he wanted a real long soak in a tub- he wanted to get out of the prison as fast as he could, and he didn't want to get the stitches, such as they were, wet again. He was pleased to find his own clothes put out for him as he dried off. They felt slightly odd, grubby but good .Now he was ready to ride away from the hell hole that had been his life for the past few weeks. "Boys, let's get the hell out of here!" He was glad to be going even if the riding and bright sunshine made his head pound and his bruised body ache.
Nathan felt bad because he wasn't able to check Chris out as thoroughly as he'd have liked when they first found him in the prison and not for a day or so after that. It was just one of those things that he himself was wounded. Nathan didn't doubt Buck or Vin's treatment of Chris on the trail and back to their town. It was just that he liked to see and judge for himself- he was after all a healer and had patched plenty of their wounds.
He knew what to look for and worried that no matter how good the intent of the prison doctor, the conditions were bound to be rough and dirty. Not every one was as scrupulous as he liked to be about washing his hands and using clean thread and bandages.
Chris had seemed to be fine, healing well -as far as he could tell. Chris didn't say much, but then he didn't expect him to. Vin had been at his side most of the time since he'd been ill when they got back to town, keeping him cool, giving him water. Nathan sighed, massaging his own aching wound. Things had to be pretty bad and desperate before these men would admit something was wrong. Being a man with a reputation was all well and good but not if you were almost dying for want of some pain relief or just plain doctoring.
Life in town when they returned was quiet, which was good as they all needed a respite from this latest adventure. Nathan slowly healed and they all tried to stop Chris from over exerting himself- trying to be normal, trying to get on with life, like his incarceration never happened.
'Doc' Simmons had mentioned to the other six that Chris had been put in the 'hole' once or twice. Vin had seen it in the dark, they'd all seen it come sunup. They didn't dare ask and Chris Larabee wasn't going to tell.
Hiding from himself and the others, Chris retreated back into a quiet desperate shell that even Vin couldn't crack.
Back home in town again Chris had little energy left, he was pretty starved by the time they had rescued him. Forcing him to eat at every opportunity, whilst trying to recover from his wounds didn't seem to be working. He just couldn't keep enough down. It just made him mean and desperate to flee, but knowing that doing so would only make his six friends over anxious again. They wouldn't let him alone; afraid he might disappear on them.
Chris was fed up, but not because he had been rescued. No man should be annoyed at friends who come looking for you, watching your back, even if it was a week or so late. He had tried so hard to escape the moment he arrived in the prison only to be brought down by a vicious blow to the back, falling off the horse into the dirt. He had tried to get word out, but that was before he realised something fishy was going on with the Warden as well as the so called Sheriff. His men had come looking after all and found him. For that he was grateful. Six months or more ago he'd have welcomed death in any form, as long as he could fight, shout and cuss first. But things had begun to change since he and six others had formed a loose partnership defending the town.
No, it was the aftermath. And he was sick and tired…of being sick and tired. And his heart and mood was as black as the clothing he continued to wear years after he'd lost his family. He'd figured Nathan's wound needed more care and attention on the return home than his did. He managed to fend the others off for a while, but it had been obvious to the others on the ride home that Chris wasn't up to snuff. It all began to catch up with him. He dozed off and just about fell off his horse. At least that's what he told himself.