A Good Man

by penless

Buck's not a villain, but he's no saint. And JD is a good man, too good to die like this. Buck & JD h/c.

My first M7 fic, written for the lovely Faye Dartmouth. This is unbeta'd, so my preemptive apologies.

Disclaimer: M7 and its characters are not mine.

---

Buck threw his first punch when he was thirteen. He was tall for a kid his age, and a mite skinny too, but no one paid too much attention to that. Not when he was swinging at someone who stood more than a head taller than him. Some bully -Davey Jeffers, he remembers his name was- that he had happened across, kicking little Tommy Shore for no good reason other than being there. And Buck had never been one to abide that kind of meanness, so he took it upon himself to come to Tommy's aid. He knocked ol' David's tooth out with that singular punch, and although it hadn't been his intent he had felt no compunction about it. What was right was right, after all.

Buck took his first punch at a much younger age. He couldn't rightly say how old he would have been, exactly, but he remembers it was one of the brothel's regulars, and when standing Buck was barely waist level with the man. Things were like that, though, and Buck had learned to accept that. It was times like those when he just had to remember that at least he had a roof over his head and a momma who loved him, because he knew there were some folk with less.

As Buck got older, he learned how important it was to recognize that it took a man to know that life was a series of throwing and absorbing punches. It also took a man to know that between those two actions, there was a whole lotta options to pick from. Sometimes you duck for cover, sometimes you charge on ahead. Sometimes you back down, because you know you're beat.

Other times. Other times you did your best. That was another thing Buck had learned to accept during his childhood in the brothels. Sometimes you will do everything in your power, and it won't be enough. You're not enough.

Buck shifts in the saddle, grunting in discomfort. JD's head bobs and lolls with the rhythm of the horse's gait, and he adjusts his grip around the younger man's waist to keep him from slumping too far forward.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, here. Kid?"

There's no response. But then, that hasn't been news for the last while. He sighs and shifts again, and hopes this is one time where he will be enough, after all.

-0-

Two Nights Ago

"I didn't know you could track. Your girlfriend teach you?"

JD brushes his palm off on his pant leg, straightening with a glare.

"Casey's not my girlfriend, Buck."

Buck smirks. "Sure, kid." He jerks his chin at the ground JD's studying. "So what can you tell? This them?"

JD swings up into the saddle with practised ease. "Looks like," he says. "I can't say for sure, Buck, but if it is then they're headed straight for Four Corners."

"And they're bringing half the law of Tascosa on their heels. And Lord knows how many bounty hunters, once the word is out they're on the loose." Buck ran a hand over his face, mind racing. "We need to go back to Texas and send a wire down to warn them. Vin needs to get out of there."

"We can't do that, Buck. They're too far ahead; we ain't got the time." JD's eyes are wide, the way they get when he's set in his mind. Buck really hates it when the kid has that look. There's no talking sense to him when he's like this.

But hell, Buck tries anyway.

"JD, don't be stupid. We ain't that far away from Texas yet, if we turn around 's a way to go about this, and chargin' on ahead in the dead of night -"

"Is exactly what Chris would do?" JD challenges. "Or Vin? Any of them?" He exhales loudly, impatient. "We're wasting time arguin' about this!"

And just like that, JD's wheeling his horse around and Buck doesn't have any choice but to set his heels to his mount and take off after him. Chrissake, he hates it when the kid's like this. He understands JD's urgency; even though they were in a nearby town when the Llewyn brothers escaped from the Tascosa jail, by the time the news had reached them the brothers had already a half day's ride head start. The brothers were known murderers and were set to hang the next day. Worse, they were wanted for killing a judge. There would be a lot of badges after them, Buck and JD knew, and Four Corners was right in the path of the outlaws. There had been little time for Wilmington and JD to try and pick up the trail before it got cold, and now it was dark and they were in danger of losing it altogether. So sure, the kid's hastiness was justifiable but Buck's seen enough sunrises to know that being impulsive is a damn sure way to get yourself killed. He grits his teeth and follows.

-0-

It takes several hours before they stop for the night. Even then, it was a hard stumble from one of the horses that finally clinched the need to wait until dawn. Setting up camp was a quick and quiet affair.

"You take first watch, okay kid?"

JD rolls his eyes. "I figured that was comin'."

Buck frowns. "Now, whacha mean by that?"

"What I mean is you never take first watch." JD leans forward as he snaps a twig in half and tosses it into the fire.

"Well gosh, JD. It must be because followin' your sorry butt 'round all day, keepin' it out of trouble, is tiring work."

JD smirks. "It's tiring work gettin' old, more like."

"And here I was gonna share my flask with you."

"Keep it, old man."

Buck snorts and rolls over, adjusting his blanket.

"Buck?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Do you think they know by now that the LLewyn brothers escaped, and that Vin needs to get to ground?"

He knows that even though he's facing away from JD, the younger man is still studying him for any reaction, so he focuses on keeping his shoulders relaxed. "Can't say for sure, JD," he tells the kid, but he keeps his voice light. "But I'm willing to bet that chances are good we're just overreactin' here. For all we know, they change their course and veer off tomorrow, or they already have and we just ain't caught up yet."

Buck can hear JD poking disconsolately at the fire and he grimaces at himself. Ezra's the bluffer, not him.

Off in the night, a horse whickers nearby. The fire was built small and low, but it still softly pops and crackles every few seconds. The cicadas drone. It's all very peaceful and pleasant, and despite the hard ball of tension and worry in his gut Buck's weariness gets the better of him. He closes his eyes.

-0-

Buck can't say how long it was - it feels like it was no time at all - until he's jerked out of a dead sleep by a pair of rough hands. The sensation of coming awake so suddenly is like being dragged out of underwater and Buck flails, disoriented. He's brought short by the blunt jab of a pistol at his temple. Even half-awake, the instinctually familiar click of the safety being released cannot be mistaken.

"Hold up there," a voice sniggers. "Or don't."

Buck freezes, his eyes rolling to find JD. He sees the kid not far away, the other Llewyn brother standing over him with his gun pointed. The brother grins at Buck, raising his eyebrows in an invitation for him to do something brash.

"I'm sorry, Buck," JD says, and keeps the tremor out of his voice. Buck is proud of him for that. "They got the drop on me." He casts a baleful glance upwards. "Cowards snuck up from behind."

The brother standing over JD kicks him savagely in a kidney, taking him by surprise. He bites back a cry and hunches over until he can breathe evenly again. When he can straighten where he sits, he glares daggers.

Buck's voice is soft but heavy with intent. "You do that again, mister, and you'll be sorry."

There's a chuckle over Buck's head.

"You hear that, Henry?" the voice guffaws. "He's fixin' to make you sorry."

"I heard it, alright," Henry Llewyn confirms thoughtfully. "Maybe I oughta apologize." His gun lifts again, deliberate and easy. He looks over at Buck, and that's when Buck knows.

And he explodes. The fool idiot with the gun to Buck's head never saw him go for his knife, and he's already buried it to the hilt through the top of Llewyn's boot even as he reaches for the gun at his head. Llewyn howls, his grip on his pistol slackening from the shock of the pain, and Buck twists the weapon out of his hand easily.

He doesn't remember much after he surges to his feet. Mostly, it's just the sound of the blood pounding in his ears, and his vision tunneling to a singular point: the gun pointed at JD, held by a tightening trigger finger. All the rest is a blur of motion and impact. He slams into Henry Llewyn with brute force, hands reaching for his own gun. There are voices, alarmed and angry. He can hear JD in the din, but it's indistinct, confused.

The sound of the gun reverberates explosively, its echo just as loud and it shocks Buck to the bone. He blinks up at Henry Llewyn, confused by this turn of events, and just like that the man is gone, and with him the profound weight on Buck's chest. He sits up, eyes wild.

"JD?"

He sees JD slumped over on the ground, beside him is the body of Henry's brother, dead and sprawled. The flattened brush around them and Buck's own knife buried in the man's chest tells the story: He must have wrenched the knife out his foot and come after Buck or JD, but the kid was too quick. They'd scuffled on the ground and he'd managed to roll the brother over on Buck's knife that Llewyn had been wielding. Good job, kid. Buck flips over onto his knees, clambering over. "JD?" He reaches out a hand he doesn't notice is shaking and gently rolls JD over. What he sees isn't good. JD makes a choked sound of pain as his eyes latch onto Buck's. His hand is pressed to his side, dark blood welling between his fingers.

Buck's heart seizes right in his chest, and panic grips him. No! He covers JD's pale hand with his own, and presses. Hard. The reaction is instantaneous, JD jumping underneath him, and Buck tries his best to ignore it. The sharp, honest moan is much harder to block out.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry, JD," Buck says, fighting to keep the pressure applied as JD squirms. "Just for a little longer."

"Jesus, Buck," JD pants, white as a sheet.

"You said it, kid," Buck says, trying for levity. "That was a hell of a way to wake up."

At that, JD swallows. "I messed up, Buck. This is all my fault, I -"

"Hey," Buck cuts in, and he forces a smile. "Don't go hoggin' all that blame, now. It shoulda woke me, them sneaking around out there in the dark." He tries for levity, to joke like he always does, but he knows he's doing a piss poor job of it. "I must be old and deaf."

JD smiles, a weak and wavering expression.

"How bad, Buck?"

Buck glances back up at JD's face, then back down at his side. It's hard to tell anything; Buck doesn't want to take his hand away just yet. He yanks off the bandana around his neck and hastily folds it into a square with his free hand. He relents on the pressure on the gunshot wound just long enough to apply the makeshift compress before pressing down again, eliciting a fresh groan from JD.

"I have to see if the bullet went through." Buck waits for JD to nod before he gently rolls him just far enough to check. The exit wound is easy to spot, as is the pool of blood that JD is lying in. His stomach quakes in relief. He couldn't have imagined JD making the long ride back to Four Corners with a bullet in his gut. Blood loss he could manage. He could keep the wound clean. He could help JD ride if it came to it. But a bullet lodged in the gut would have been the end of it, leaving Buck to explain to the five men who had become like brothers to him why he hadn't been enough to save their friend. Buck feels his resolve harden at the thought. That ain't gonna happen.

JD looks like he's thinking along those same lines. "I can make the ride. I can." He has to bite his words short for the pain.

Buck forces all the bravado he can muster. "You bet your ass you can ride, cuz I ain't carryin' your sorry hide back. Let me get some things from the saddlebags first." He slaps JD lightly on the ankle as he stands.

Buck hurries, but doesn't let the anxiety show in his movements. When he returns to JD's side, he starts slicing up shirts for bandages. He concentrates on the task at hand, aware of the younger man's eyes watching his face for any of his tells. It's hard, perhaps one of the hardest things he's had to do in a long time, to keep his tone and expression light.

"So much for that nice, peaceful escort job, hey kid?"

JD snorts brokenly, flinching from the pain as Buck begins securing the compresses and starts winding the cloth around his torso. "Next time Mary's cousin comes to visit, Chris and Ezra can take her back to Texas."

"Hell of an idea, JD." Buck squats back on his heels to inspect his handiwork. The bandages look to be secure, but already there is a slow bloom of blood beginning to darken the fabric. Worry tightens its viselike hold on him. He's suddenly unsure if getting JD up on a horse is such a good idea. Maybe it's best to wait until morning, or at least until the bleeding's stopped? The riding would definitely be a lot easier on JD if they waited until daybreak. He looks down at the younger man, taut with pain and bled white. It's almost enough to make the decision, right then and there. And then he remembers that the surviving Llewyn brother is still out there somewhere, and he and JD are like sitting ducks unless they get out of there.

Alright, then. Time to move.

Decision made, Buck stands. He makes short work of packing up and saddling their horses, but something's different. He's not sure what to make of it, exactly, and that in itself is troubling to Buck for some reason. He's dimly aware in the back of his mind that he's missed something, and he needs to be concerned about what that something is. He's not sure where this sudden, blanketing fuzziness has come from, when just seconds ago everything was clear as a bell.

It's when he's struggling to help JD stand, holding the kid up as he leans all his weight on the arm around Buck's neck, that he feels it. A lancing, burning agony in Buck's left thigh. The pain is so ferociously constant that Buck realizes it's been hurting for some time, but the heat of the fray had drowned it out. And now it's making its way known by taking up every inch of Buck's consciousness. It hurts so bad it sends out undulating waves of fiery torment through the rest of his body, and he sucks in a sharp breath as he shoves JD up into the saddle. JD hunches forward with a grimace, but he takes the reins without hesitation. The relief of not supporting the extra weight any longer nearly turns Buck's knees to rubber, and he has to rest his forehead against the withers of JD's horse. His heart is set to pounding, for some reason, and it's making him a mite dizzy.

"Buck, your leg!"

The note of alarm in JD's voice snaps Buck's head back up. His leg? Oh, yeah. That's right. He looks down at the blood soaked fabric of his pants. He blinks, surprised. When could that have happened?

Henry Llewyn, that's when, you oaf. You were just too dumb to realize you'd been shot.

"Buck, we gotta look after that."

JD's voice pulls Buck out of his haze. He looks up at JD's face, the kid's concern plain as day on his face. It makes Buck snarl at himself. JD's been shot up, and it's up to Buck to get him back to Four Corners safely, and here he goes and makes a mess of things by getting shot, himself. Worse, they don't have the supplies to sustain two wounded, bleeding men.

Buck sets his teeth. They have enough for one, at least. Buck'll make do. He always has.

-0-

Sunrise is as welcome a sight as Buck has ever seen. It's not as hard for him to pick the path that will be easier on JD, and he can relax his vigil ever so slightly. Which is a good thing, too, because the bone deep ache in his thigh has been wearing him steadily down. He glances down at it. "Bone deep" seems to be as accurate as anything to describe the pain. He had hoped that in the saddle he would at least get some relief by not doing any weight bearing of his own. That hasn't been the case. If anything, the pain has been getting worse, and at its centre is a red hot molten core that intermittently burns and numbs. He suspects that the bullet is lodged up against bone, and the thought makes him mildly nauseous. The bleeding had been heavy, but now seems to have slowed. Buck looks at the blood stain that has spread from the top of his thigh to just below his knee, despite the strip of cloth he'd wound around the wound during the ride. He doesn't entertain the thought that the bleeding has slowed because he's lost so much. He can't think like that. Not if he wants to get JD through this.

Speaking of. He swivels his attention to the kid. JD's been holding his own so far, sitting at an awkward slant that suggests he's having a hard time sitting without causing himself pain. His face is pale, and his breathing is ragged.

"Need to stop for a minute?" he asks JD softly, nudging his horse closer to hear the younger man's reply. He wants to get to Four Corners as swiftly as possible, but he can't be riding JD into the ground in the process.

JD looks over at Buck, and Buck can see the beads of sweat forming under his hat brim, his lips white from the strain of staying upright.

"Will you take care of your leg proper if we do?" he asks, his eyes resting on the bloodied strip around his leg.

"It'll keep," Buck growls, suddenly angry at himself all over again. It'll keep because it's his own stupid fault for letting himself get shot, and damn him for making JD take first watch and getting the kid hurt in the first place, anyway.

"Buck, that ain't gonna keep. Don't be so wool-headed about this."

"I ain't the one sportin' a new hole through my side, JD, so leave it," Buck warns him, more tersely than he'd intended. "'Sides, it's just a leg wound. Have a drink, now, and quit that fussin'. If you can make it to the mountains, we'll wait til there to stop." He passes JD his water canteen. Kid's lost too much blood to go getting dehydrated. He gives the bandages around his midsection a cursory inspection as JD drinks. He doesn't see any fresh blood soaking through, and for that he's eternally grateful.

JD passes the canteen back. "You too," he tells Buck, with a look far too stern for his age. Buck chuckles, but obeys. The sensation of water flooding his mouth awakens his thirst. Lord, he'd never realized how parched he was. It's an effort to pull the canteen away after just a few swallows. He needs to make sure JD's got enough to get them to the mountains.

He looks over at JD and musters a grin. JD returns it.

"You good?" Buck asks.

"Better'n you."

Buck smirks fondly. "Depends what you mean by that."

Seeing that JD has the strength to roll his eyes at his comment fortifies Buck with hope. He nudges his horse on.

-0-

JD's fading under the noon sun. He does his best to hide it, but Buck can see it. The kid's head bobs lower and lower, and each time he jerks himself back up to attention it takes him just that much longer. His body is rigid with pain; every unexpected jolt from the horse under him elicits an involuntary gasp. It's damn near torture, watching the kid suffer in silence like that. It's a furious, desperate feeling crawling under Buck's skin, but if nothing else it helps him forget about his own injury. Finally, Buck calls a halt.

JD leans over in his saddle, hunching over his agony. One hand presses over his bandaged side and he's pale, so pale that Buck's gut twists. He forces his sluggish brain to go over the distance left to travel to Four Corners, and when he comes up with his answer he frowns.

"I c'n keep goin'," JD pants, squeezing his eyes shut a moment before continuing. "Don't gotta stop…"

Buck's tone is gentle, damn near remorseful. "I think we do, kid."

By the time they find a spot well shaded and well hidden enough, JD doesn't protest when they stop. Buck expects that dismounting will be painful, but he's not prepared for the stars that burst in his vision when his bad leg touches the ground. Christ, and he's still got JD to help down.

He steels himself for the inevitable agony, and he hobbles over to JD's horse, stiff muscles protesting with every step.

"I'll do it," JD mutters, and starts to ease his weight to the side to dismount. He doesn't get far. He's not even half dismounted before he hisses in pain, half collapsing, and Buck scrambles to catch JD before he finishes his tumble. It's pure agony for Buck but he clamps his lips shut against any sound, a tight grimace his only indication of pain. I

It takes a few moments, but JD manages to plant his feet under him and eases off on Buck. "Sorry 'bout that," the younger man says tiredly, and doggedly refuses to stagger.

"It's alright, kid. Now sit down before you fall down. Here, that log looks comfy, don't it? There you go." Buck helps JD ease himself down and pushes the canteen into his hands. He stands over the younger man with his hands on his hips until he takes a drink. He waits until JD has a second swallow before he attempts sitting down, himself.

Problem is, the act is proving far more difficult than he would have thought. As much as he avoids using his bad leg, it's still attached to his body and he has to use his body to move. By the time he's seated next to JD he's sweating and clenching his jaw so hard he's sure he's going to crack his teeth. His heart is pounding in his chest, and faster than usual. It makes him feel mildly dizzy, and he's starting to get nauseous again. He blinks hard and focuses on getting his breathing under control. He turns back to JD when he feels a little steadier.

"The bleedin' still stopped?" he asks, and pulls back the kid's shirt to get a better look. Things don't look great, but they definitely don't look worse, and Buck decides now is as good a time as any to clean the entry and exit wounds.

JD isn't keen on the idea, though, when Buck makes his intentions known.

"What about your leg, Buck?" he asks, and he almost sounds like he's whining, but that's just because JD's so damned young. "You're bleedin' like a stuck pig!"

"Now JD, that ain't true and you know it," Buck says with mock chastisement. "We both know I'm too pretty to be compared to a pig." He risks a quick glance at JD's face, and does his best to read the lines of pain there. Tries to discern how much the kid can tolerate. "This ain't gonna be fun, pard."

JD swallows and closes his eyes in acquiescence, the pulse in his throat flickering.

"Just get it done."

-0-

Buck gets it done. It's an awful, torturous process for both of them, but he gets it done. Just the simple act of unwinding the bandages leaves them both shaky. The entry wound is dark and angry, with bruises mottling the tissue surrounding it. He doesn't see what he would consider an undue amount of swelling. He's encouraged by this, at least. The edges of the exit wound look more jagged, the wound itself looking bigger than the other, and Buck suddenly remembers something he'd heard Nathan say once about gunshot wounds. There was the risk of bits of clothing and other debris getting pulled through the wound with the bullet, and this invited a whole mess of complications. Buck bites back a sigh, almost wishing he hadn't remembered.

He places a hand on either side of JD and gently tilts him forward, ever so slightly. Even that small movement is enough to make him gasp. Buck hates himself for having to do it, but he manipulates JD just a little more.

"Sorry, pard," he says softly, his heart wrenching. "But I gotta do this."

"'S ok, Buck," JD's voice is weak and muffled, his face nearly buried in his knees. It's painful as hell, but it makes the exit wound easier to clean out. He flushes the wound out with water, then works on clearing out any debris. JD stiffens under his hands, and his breathing becomes harsh and ragged through the worst of it, but otherwise he doesn't complain. Buck tries to keep his touch as gentle as he can, but there's no avoiding the pain he's causing. It makes him feel sick.

When he's satisfied that he's done all he can, he returns his attentions to the entrance wound. Although this one doesn't look as bad, tending to it is worse for Buck because he can see JD's face.

Lord Almighty, the kid looks like shit. He's white as a corpse, and looks about as lively. Still, for a man with a fresh hole through his side he's shoring up pretty well. He seems to be managing the pain as best he can, something Buck figures is no easy task at the moment, not with him poking and prodding at the gunshot wounds like he is. He finishes up as quick as he can, and winds fresh bandages snugly around his torso. JD grunts when Buck ties the bandages off, and he glances at the younger man apologetically.

"How you doin', sport?" He gives JD an appraising look.

JD shakes his head and shifts subtly away from Buck, and that's all the indication he needs that the kid's at his limit.

"Like I gotta lie down," JD mumbles, and he fumbles to lower himself from the log he's sitting on to the ground. He stops partway with a hiss and clutches at his side, head bent. Buck reaches out and puts a hand on his elbow to stop JD from moving any further.

"Let me help," Buck cajoles. "Ain't no one around to see." He closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around JD's shoulders, taking his weight and slowly lowering him to the bedroll Buck had already laid out. He has to support himself with his bad leg to do it, and the pain nearly steals his breath. His vision is doing strange things to him; he's seeing bright pinpricks of light sparking in his periphery, and sometimes things look dim and hazy. It's mighty inconvenient.

Buck manages to get JD lying down with a saddle roll under his feet. He moves back up to JD's head and produces the canteen. Sliding a hand under the kid's head, he helps him take a drink and then eases him back down.

"You gonna look after yourself now?" JD fixes Buck with an evaluating look as he waits for a response, as though preparing to measure the truth of his words.

Buck shrugs. "It's bled enough. That'll have cleaned it out some."

"Bull," JD challenges. "You just don't wanna use up the water."

"Don't go on the worry about the water, kid." I'll do that for the both us.

"I know what you're doin', Buck. Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Protectin' me!"

Buck smooths a hand over his mustache, trying to hide his smile. "Well, I hate to point this out, JD, but you're the one flat on his back. I wouldn't exactly be hirin' you as my bodyguard right now."

JD sighs in frustration. "Quit playin' dumb with me. You're keepin' things from me, Buck. Important things. Things I oughtta know."

Buck arches an eyebrow. "Things like what?"

"Like your leg, for one," JD gestures weakly with his hand. His voice is starting to take on a slurred quality, and Buck isn't sure if he should be concerned that JD is losing consciousness or grateful that this conversation -which has taken a turn Buck had wanted to avoid- will be coming to an end.

"Well shoot, JD. I guess I figured me getting shot in the leg wasn't much of a secret."

"This ain't a joke, Buck."

"You see me laughin'?" He doesn't mean for it, but it comes out hard and flat. It makes the younger man pause, but it takes more than sheer orneriness to deter someone like JD.

"Buck," JD says, and licks his lips. Buck moves to fetch the canteen, but the younger man throws out an arm to stop him. "Buck," he tries again. "We've both been shot. You been takin' care of me, but I'm pretty sure you've still got a bullet in you. And we need to be honest with each other; you know Chris would agree. We watch each other's backs, and we gotta tell each other how we're doing. It's our best shot." The short speech seems to have sucked JD's energy dry. The restraining hand on Buck's forearm goes limp and slides to the ground, but the kid's eyes don't drop from Buck's face until the older man is forced to break eye contact first.

Buck hangs his head and squints at the ground for a moment. When he looks up again his smile is small but genuine.

"You got it, pard."

JD exhales shakily, visibly summoning his strength to speak again. "Good," he says. "That's good. Now...you gotta look after that leg, Buck." A corner of his mouth turns up. "If we're both flat on our backs, we're done for."

Buck pats JD on the hip. "You got it, hoss."

Of course, that's easier said than done. Any offer of help JD could extent is rescinded moments later when he loses his hold on consciousness. Buck sighs and pats him again, running a weary hand down his face. Probably for the best, anyway. This ain't gonna be pretty.

Truth is, Buck has been dreading taking a closer look at his leg. Judging from the excruciating level of pain he's in, he figures he's in a whole world of trouble. He unwinds the bandage slowly. The cloth is stuck in some parts where the blood has dried, and he has to tug a little, and the pain of it makes stars explode in the back of his head. By the time the last of the bandage mercifully falls away, he's left gasping and weak. The wound, partially sealed with congealed blood, has broken over from all of the agitation and starts to bleed profusely again. His thigh is black and blue, and the skin around the bullet hole is swollen and livid. But worse is what he can't see. He can feel the bullet down there, nudging up against the bone. Buck imagines it chipping away, driving itself deeper with every movement. Suddenly, he's incredibly nauseous, and he's not sure he can do what he knows he eventually must.

He glances back over at JD, sleeping. He wants to give the kid more time, he really does. They just don't have that kind of luxury. Or water. He scowls as he flushes his leg as best he can, then works on cleaning it. The pain is cruel. It churns his stomach, and Buck's legs feel cold. Except for the gunshot wound, of course. That is a burning coal embedded deep in him, pulsing with his heart and counting out his life in beats. By the time he's done, he has to swallow hard to push back the reflex to puke all over his boots. He takes a moment to steady his breathing, which has suddenly become inexplicably difficult to do. Then he pushes himself to one knee, bracing himself for the next onslaught of pain. He rises to his feet and waits for the tide of dizziness to pass. His leg is a column of agony, the limb cumbersome with it. It's an effort just standing there. He's not sure how he can possibly help JD get back on his horse.

"Buck? Y'ok?"

Buck swivels at the sound of JD's voice and sees the kid staring up at him, eyes lidded with exhaustion. The brief rest and water seem to have perked him up some, but what he really needs is Nathan. And damned if he ain't going to get the kid to him. He stands over JD and smiles. "You done with your siesta? We oughta get movin', here."

JD's face falls. "Shoot, Buck. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I'm holdin' us back."

Buck laughs. "You got a hole in your side and you're apologizin' to me? I won't hear it." His expression grows somber. "I just wish I could let you sleep longer. You good to stand?" He extends his hand to help JD up, and the kid takes it without hesitation.

It's a god awful process getting JD back in the saddle, one that Buck does not wish to repeat any time soon. Judging from the kid's pale face and white knuckled grip on the reins, neither does JD. Buck hands the younger man the water canteen and refuses to take it back until JD has a pull. Buck tries not to be obvious about it when he tries to judge the amount of water left and compare it with the distance they need to close before they get to the mountains.

"There's enough," JD's voice cuts in, and Buck glances up to see the kid watching him. Damn. "You need some, too. So drink. We'll last to the mountains."

JD's certainty is genuine. Even as the kid says it, he's straightening as best he can in the saddle. The kid's resilient, Buck can't deny it. And he'll need every ounce of that resilience to get him through this. To get them both through this.

Buck throws the younger man a wink.

"Damn straight we will."

-0-

Never before has Buck been so happy to see mountains. Glorious, shade-giving, life-preserving mountains. It had been a hard ride, to be sure. Hard, long, and hot. Buck had made a difficult decision once they had set out again: Stick to the outskirts of the worst of the terrain and make it an easier passage for JD, or bend to the need to hurry and take a little bouncing in the saddle and cut a straight line to their destination and save some badly needed time. Buck looks over at JD and wishes that he'd had the luxury of taking the easier path, but the truth is that they need to get back to Nathan pronto. And now they're both paying for that need. The sharp dips and rocky low level hills had meant more than simply sitting in the saddle, and every time Buck shifted his weight into the stirrups his bad leg screamed in protest. It didn't take long before the flexing and moving of the limb caused the wound to start bleeding again. By now, the blood stain covers his leg beyond his knee, the fabric darkening and stiffening further as fresh blood saturates the fabric yet again. He glances at the leg and grimaces, turning his face away so JD can't see it. Truth is, Buck's not sure how much longer he can ride like this. He's lost too much blood; he's never bled this much before and he just doesn't know how much a man can stand to lose. It's a worrisome thing.

Speaking of worrisome.

Buck reaches over and grabs JD's reins out of his hands before they slip free completely. JD rouses out of his doze at the unexpected contact, blinking. A small flinch of pain, and his arm reaches across his torso. Buck glances down. It would seem that he's not the only one losing blood on this ride.

"How you holdin' up, pard?"

"Managin'," is the quiet reply. JD looks at Buck's leg. "Buck, your leg is-"

"Yeah, kid," Buck interrupts him gently. No sense for JD to go wasting energy on saying something they both already know. Energy he clearly needs, by the looks of things. The kid is swaying in the saddle in a way that makes Buck edge his horse closer to JD's mount, just in case.

-0-

By the time Buck finds them a well-shaded spot by a stream to stop, JD is barely conscious. He's slumped over so far forward that more than once Buck has had to reach out and grab the kid by the back of his shirt. Buck's not just worried anymore; he's downright concerned. He needs to check the kid's side and get some food and water in him.

Dismounting is so difficult that Buck is left sweating and dizzy. His heart feels like it's tripping over itself in his chest, and he feels like he can't catch a deep breath no matter how hard he tries. He stands there, leaning into his horse and keeping as much weight off his gunshot leg as possible, and just breathes. It takes a long minute before the spots in his vision dissipate and he can keep going. He limps heavily to JD's horse and slips the kid's feet free from the stirrups.

"Come on, kid," Buck whispers, reaching up and tugging JD gently down. His leg screams blue bloody murder, but he takes the unconscious younger man's weight and manages to get him lying down in a shaded patch of grass. It's a decently wooded area, the trees providing an effective windscreen as well as block out the stifling mid afternoon sun. Most importantly, there's water. Buck wastes no time in fetching the canteen and crawling to the stream. Or at least, he comes close to crawling. His bad leg is practically useless, and hurts so powerful bad that he can barely move it. It's not the toughest he's ever looked, but he has to clumsily scoot with his bad leg dragging behind him and canteen balanced on his stomach. He submerges the canteen under the cold water, suddenly desperate for a drink. That first swallow is like drinking from heaven's well, Buck decides. As he drinks, he imagines the water flowing into his body and filling up the crevices, the parts of him that were starting to dry up like a dead beetle. He can't remember anything ever tasting so good before.

He manages to wrest the canteen away from his lips and fill it up again for JD, even though he's sure he could easily drink the canteen dry again. He scuttles back to the younger man.

"Come on, kid," he tells JD as he lifts his head with a hand and touches the canteen to his lips. "Adam's Ale; drink up." He pours a scant amount into JD's slack mouth, watching anxiously. To Buck's overwhelming relief, he swallows. Buck applies the canteen again, and it's received with more enthusiasm. Buck smiles. "That's it...There you go." He's careful not to let JD have too much at once, and pulls it away. "JD? You with me, pard?"

JD's eyes open fractionally, and at first Buck can see that no, he's not. But after a moment, the younger man focuses on him. "Hey," JD manages, voice rough and rusty. He moistens cracked lips with his tongue. "More?"

"Sure thing, but not too much at once now," Buck cautions, giving JD another drink. The kid takes his advice, and drinks slowly. When he's done, Buck takes a swig for himself before settling down into a more comfortable position. He looks at JD carefully. "How's the pain?"

"Painful," JD replies, with a twitch of a smile. It's for show, but Buck appreciates the effort.

"If you have the spunk to be a smartass then I'd say you're not licked yet," he returns the younger man's smile, then sobers again. "I need to check your side, JD."

JD winces. "I knew you were gonna say somethin' like that," he gripes, but struggles up to his elbows. That small effort leaves him panting. "Better get it over with, then."

"Glad you're so willin'," Buck muses, and slowly climbs to his feet to retrieve his supply of bandages from his saddle bags. When he gets back, he can see that JD is starting to fade again. The younger man's face is white from pain and blood loss, sweat beading along his temples and matting his hair. He's visibly fighting to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. Buck grits his teeth and quickly unsaddles his horse, bringing saddle and bed roll over to use to prop up the younger man. For his part, JD accepts the assistance willingly, without complaint.

Buck wastes no time in unwinding the bandages around JD's midriff, and does his best to keep his poker face. The wound looks more inflamed than it did before, and as it's cleaned it continues to weep a clear fluid. The process of cleaning it is hard on JD. The younger man tries not to flinch, but it can't be helped. Nor can the soft gasps of pain. By the time Buck's done bandaging him up again, JD's passed out. Not that Buck can blame him. He feels damn close to doing the same thing, himself. Instead, he pushes himself to his feet with a groan, and makes his painful way over to the horses. They need tending to, also.

After Buck unsaddles JD's mount and gives both animals a rubdown, Buck isn't even sure he has the strength to look after his leg. He makes his way back over to JD and sits down. His hands are shaking and he's dizzy, and that strange breathless feeling hasn't gone away for some time, now. Buck knows that means he's lost too much blood, but there's not much he can do about it except clean and bandage it up again. He prods at the leg around the wound, hissing. The skin around the bullet hole is red, redder than before, and hot to the touch. He briefly considers trying to get the bullet out himself, but he quickly dismisses the idea. He doesn't think that he can manage it; the bullet's too deep, and he's too close to passing out. He'd probably carve himself up to death before he even got the damn thing out, the state he's in. The idea of extracting the bullet suddenly makes him want to vomit again, and he closes his eyes against the assailing nausea. Alright, then. So that's out.

Buck douses the wound with water, and the sensation of cool liquid against the burning hell that is his leg is like a godsend. He douses it again, just because it feels so good, before he works at cleaning it. He's not sure how successful he is, but it's the best he can do. Resigned, he winds the old bandage back in place. He dares not use a fresh one; they're already dangerously low on anything that would render more clean bandages. He tries to position the cloth so that a relatively fresh patch is overtop of the gunshot wound, and ties it firmly, biting off a curse as he does.

Beside him, JD stirs in his sleep. His face is pinched tight with pain, even unconscious. Buck sighs as he looks on. He can't stand feeling this way, feeling so goddamn helpless. Useless.

Worthless.

The word rings in his ear, a drowned memory dredged up to the surface with such clarity that it surprises Buck. Suddenly he's thirteen again, and standing over Davey Jeffers with stinging knuckles. The insubstantial press of Tommy Shore as the kid crowds close to his protector. Buck remembers the way Davey held his fingers under his nose, catching the copiously falling drops of blood like he's testing the rain. He remembers the way Davey glared at him as he climbed to cautious feet.

"I know what you are. You're one of the whores' kids. Don't even know who your Pa is. You ain't nothin'; you're worthless."

The words hadn't bothered him so much, Buck recalls. At least, not until he got licked that night by the brothel owner for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and spooking off a potential customer for one of his whores.

"You get in the way of business again and you're out of here - you and your whore mother. I don't care how good her twat is. Next time, you're gone. What goddamn good are ya? Huh?You're less than nothing to me. Worthless."

Buck was never one to worry about a black eye or split lip. He knew from experience those went away on their own. But laying there, half-sprawled in the dirt with the brothel owner leering down at him and spitting those hateful words at him that had a peculiar echo of Jeffers' insult to them, Buck felt something about himself change. Thirteen is a damn young age, but even greenhorns got to learn a thing or two about a man's worth.

Even now, as Buck looks down at JD, he swears he can see the kid slowly slipping away and he's reminded again about the value of a man. More importantly, a good man. And Buck has never had a doubt about JD's goodness. He knew it the moment JD approached them that fateful dawn they rode out to the Seminole village. The kid was eager as a pup and hellbent on finding a hero's adventure. Nevermind the kid got himself thrown off his own horse, dunked in a trough, and that Buck had caught him in the foolhardy act of following them to the village. Underneath the dimestore novel dreams of the adventuresome West JD had in his young head, Buck could still see that goodness in him. Even when he pushed the kid's buttons, prodded at his pride in an attempt to get him to find his sense and turn around and ride the hell back to town, he saw that goodness. When JD had stepped in when the Seminole warrior had ambushed him, Buck had been angry. Not for nearly shooting his ear off like he'd claimed, but because if by chance something had happened to JD and he'd lost his life trying to help Buck it would not have been worth it.

Because JD is a good man. And Buck...Buck's no villain, to be sure, but if JD had died for him, well, it wouldn't have been a good trade. Buck isn't sure if JD would agree with him on that, but he aims to make sure the kid lives through this so he can live a good, long life and prove Buck right.

Buck's pulled out of his musings by a shadow across his legs. He looks up and blinks at the dazzling sun, and sees a small flock of birds cut across it. It takes a second for his brain to catch up, his thoughts running slow and thick as honey but also scattering everywhere on him like dropped marbles. It's when he realizes that it's not just the birds that have his heart tripping in a different way and sets his nerves to buzzing. It's what direction the birds are flying, and that's away from the course Buck and JD had been traveling in, from a point they've already passed.

And that's how Buck knows Henry Llewyn is following them.

He's not surprised. Not at all. After they killed his brother, it makes sense that he'd want revenge on them. Buck'd do the same, he's sure. But that son of a bitch has made one fatal mistake, and that's figuring Buck and JD for easy prey, following as close as he is. Buck forces himself to think, think,dammit, and finally his brain catches up with the situation. He may be nearly bled dry, but he ain't outta smarts yet.

He figures he's got until dusk, maybe a little later, before Llewyn catches up, judging from the distance of the birds and the tricky terrain they've crossed. Better get a move on things, then. He starts rummaging through his saddlebags, rooting around until his hand closes on the packet of jerky he's been carrying. He turns back to JD and pauses, biting his lip. He hates to wake the kid up, but he's gotta eat.

"JD," he says, reaching out and jostling a shoulder. "Wake up for a bit, son. Just for a little while." JD's face turns at the sound of Buck's voice, and finally he opens dull, exhausted eyes.

"Buck?" It's so soft, it's barely a whisper. To Buck, it's sweet music. It means JD's still here, still hanging on. He has to swallow back the lump that threatens to rise in his throat.

"Yeah, kid. It's ol' Buck. I wantcha to do somethin' for me, and that's to eat. You need it." He reaches out and helps ease JD into a sitting position, propping him up carefully.

JD closes his eyes, but not before Buck can clearly see the grimace. "I'll try, Buck, but I don't feel like eatin'."

"Don't matter. This ain't a choice, now here." He tears off a hunk of jerky and hands it to JD, along with the canteen. The younger man accepts the offerings, sighing a little as he does. Both men refuse to point out the way JD's hands are shaking. Instead, Buck watches as JD starts to eat, waiting until the kid takes his first bite before he starts chewing on his own portion.

The eat in silence for several minutes. It's JD who speaks first.

"Buck?"

"Yeah, hoss?"

"When you gonna tell me?"

Damn. "Tell you what?"

"Whatever you're stewin' on. I thought we had an agreement. No protectin' me, and we gotta help each other."

Buck grits his teeth for a moment. Damn, again. The kid's got him, there. Still, he would have liked for JD to have rested in blissful ignorance for just a little longer.

"We're gonna have company in a little bit."

"Llewyn?" JD's eyes flash.

"He, himself."

JD accepts this with a slight nod. "How long we got?"

"Til dusk, I reckon. Ain't no chance of outridin' him, shape we're in."

JD accepts this, too, with stoicism. He draws in a long breath, and cringes at the pain. Buck takes the lull in conversation to look at him closely. The kid looks like hell, no two ways about it. Dark circles hang under his eyes, and his skin has started to take on a waxy sort of tinge to it. There's a heaviness to his movements, an uncoordinated sluggishness that Buck doesn't like one bit. His gut twists. I have to get the kid outta this.

JD catches Buck looking at him, lost in thought, and grins crookedly.

"Care to tell me about your plan, Buck?" Even as weak he is, the kid's still got spunk.

The younger man catches Buck's eye, and Buck can't help the pride that swells in his chest at the kid's pluck. He returns JD's smile with one of his own, pushing back his hat with a chuckle.

"I figure we'll just help Llewyn see where he's going a mite." He finishes his jerky and and slowly climbs to his feet, determined not to let JD see the effort and pain it costs him. "Finish up your dinner, kid. I'm gonna scrounge up some firewood."

-0-

He knows it's not much of a plan. Hell, it's no plan at all. But seeing as how he hardly can put one foot in front of the other, he figures it's still mighty impressive. And anyway, he won't have to do much walkin' after he gets JD safe and hid.

JD, of course, disagrees strongly.

"Buck! This is the opposite of what we agreed on!" The kid struggles to sit up, but he can't. He just can't. Just speaking is taking its toll on him, and Buck's insides are starting to twist in genuine fear for the younger man. JD's clammy and gray looking, and he's starting to shake with small tremors. Buck's been checking his bandages frequently, and while the bleeding is now only a sluggish ooze, the gunslinger isn't much comforted by that. The younger man has lost more than enough blood, and Buck has no way of knowing if anything was hurt inside him. God, he hopes not. After all this riding, and it ain't exactly been easy on the kid -

Buck shakes his head to clear those thoughts. No sense thinking on it. Nothing he can do for it, but get them through this.

Lord, he has to get them through this.

"JD, I ain't arguin' with you on this," Buck comes and stands over JD, his eyes kind despite the hardness to his voice. "There ain't no other way to do this."

"We could do it together," JD protests weakly. "That's the way it's supposed to be."

Buck smiles fondly down at JD, and struggles down to one knee. JD watches him, waiting for the argument he knows is coming from the older man. Even in the dying light, the kid looks terrible. Worse than that, even. If Buck weren't an optimistic man, 'near death' would have been the words he'd have used. The smile slips from his face, and Buck reaches out a hand and clasps JD's shoulder.

"I know what we agreed on, JD," Buck tells him gently. "But kid, I need you to trust me on this. And I know I'm always goin' and givin' you advice that you don't think you need," Buck breaks off with a grin at the way JD rolls his eyes. "But I'm about to give you some more. And that's this: Sometimes in life, a man has to know when to roll with the punches. And this is one of those times, son. I need you to trust me," he repeats, and he can't keep the pleading out of his voice. "Please."

At that last word, JD turns his attention back to Buck. He studies the older man, a thoughtful look on his face. A few tense seconds pass in silence, the two men holding each other's stare. Then, finally, the fight drains right out of JD.

"Ok," he says to Buck, real quiet.

-0-

Buck doesn't dare move JD more than he has to, so he builds the fire down a ways, placing himself directly in LLewyn's path, after he makes sure the kid has a full canteen and is as comfortable as he can possibly make him. It's a matter of minutes before the fire is roaring and sure to be seen from a distance. Not much to be done now, but wait. Buck walks into the trees, backing up into the shadows but making sure to keep the fire in his line of sight. He slumps down against a log, gun in hand.

It doesn't take long, except it does. Buck can't help himself. He's tired, and he's weak and his leg is hellfire. His heart is doing that strange thing in his chest again, where it's pounding and then stuttering and it makes it harder to breathe. He drops his chin to his chest, just for a moment, and tries to take a deep breath but he can't. It's getting harder and harder to tell if it's getting darker because evening is descending, or if it's his vision.

Finally, Buck can't tell the difference at all.

-0-

I know what you are.

What good are you?

Worthless.

A body's got to know the value of a good man.

-0-

Buck jerks awake, heart thumping like a jackrabbit behind his ribs. At first, he's not sure what woke him until he hears it again. The sounds of a man on horseback approaching. He checks to make sure his safety is off and shifts his weight until he's in a crouch, ignoring the pain in his leg.

Buck keeps his gaze focused on the darkness beyond the campfire, and eventually his eyes adjust and he can see a shape breaking apart from the night as it approaches. Before long, Henry Llewyn steps into the firelight, guiding his horse cautiously as he looks around. Buck hunkers down in the dark, keeping his breathing as controlled and quiet as possible. It's not easy; it's like the air is too thin and he can't get the oxygen he needs. He's dizzy from the effort. He focuses on counting. He just needs Llewyn to step closer...closer.

One.

Buck's never taken joy out of shooting someone out of cold blood, not even if it's a murdering low-life like Llewyn. Truth is, he's never rightly had to do it before. But that don't mean he can't still count the number of men he's killed on both hands, neither. He may not be a villain, but he ain't no saint. But this is for JD, and that makes it right. A body's got to know the value of a good man.

Llewyn's horse steps closer to the fire. Buck squints and steadies his shaking hand as he raises his gun and takes careful aim.

Two.

He's looking down at Davey Jeffers, who spits blood right back up at him. He's staring up at the brothel owner, prodding thoughtfully at a newly-loosened tooth with his tongue. He's watching a wet behind the ears kid trying to step up and be a man, out here in the West with his eastern ideas of cowboys and Indians and his ridiculous hat.

He's looking right into the whites of Henry Llewyn's eyes.

The value of a good man.

Three.

-0-

Buck leads the horse carrying Llewyn's body on its back to the campsite, and as he gets near he's suddenly gripped with the uncontrollable fear that JD has died during his absence. His throat tightens as he approaches the rocks he's got the kid stashed between. Please, God.

He can see a limp hand, flopped limply out to the side.

Please, God. Please, God.

"JD?" he drops the reins of Llewyn's horse and collapses to his knees. The pain is galvanizing, and he starts to crawl towards that hand. "JD?"

Please, God.

He reaches out a trembling hand, afraid to touch. Afraid of what he won't touch. When JD's cold fingers weakly wrap around his wrist in response, Buck could weep from the relief.

After that, it's a blur.

He doesn't remember saddling his horse and getting JD on, then climbing up behind him. It's a grim procession, he and JD astride together, followed by the JD's unmounted horse and the horse carrying Llewyn's body bringing up the rear. It's still dark, but Buck gives his horse its head and it instinctively finds its careful way, plodding towards home.

All Buck has to do is hold on to JD, and keep them both in the saddle.

It's a long, difficult ride out of the mountains.

-0-

Buck shifts in the saddle, grunting in discomfort. JD's head bobs and lolls with the rhythm of the horse's gait, and he adjusts his grip around the younger man's waist to keep him from slumping too far forward.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, here. Kid?"

There's no response. But then, that hasn't been news for the last while. He sighs and shifts again, and holds on.

-0-

Buck threw his first punch when he was thirteen, but he'd been taking punches for a long time before that. His mother had always said that he'd had to grow up way too soon, but since Buck didn't know anything else but the life he'd been given, he figured he'd had no cause for complaint. And besides, he'd learned some valuable lessons. Like when to throw the punch and when to dodge them. Sometimes, a man has to take a punch or two. And sometimes, he can only do his best and hope it's enough.

He clutches JD close, keeping him upright. The kid is unconscious and slack as a boneless fish. He doesn't respond to Buck's voice, or twitch a smile at his stories. He gives him water, and stops the horse when the kid starts to moan and waits for the pain to subside before getting a move on again.

When Buck's voice gives out and he can't push another word past cracked lips, he just rests JD against his chest, and keeps a hand over the kid's chest to feel his heart beating, to make sure he's still alive.

Eventually, Buck starts to lose the battle to remain conscious, and he can feel himself descending down into himself, into a place he can't keep himself from sliding. Desperation wells up in him, and gives him the strength he needs to give JD the last of the water from the canteen before he sets about lashing the both of them in place as best he can, nudging JD's feet under the saddle fenders and tying their wrists to the saddlehorn.

His horse whickers suddenly, nostils flaring and ears swiveling forward with curiousity. With the last of his strength, Buck looks up at the landscape in the lifting dawn. He squints, holding back the black wave that threatens to take him under.

The last thing he sees is the welcome sight of Four Corners looming up before him like a benevolent giant. His vision becomes murkier, like he's underwater, and when hands untie him and tug him off his horse, he fancies it's the tide carrying him off before he's lost under the darkening eddies.

-0-

Buck dreams, but it's disconnected. He hears snatches of sound, of voices, but they're disembodied and fragmented. Nothing makes sense, nothing is solid. Everything just sort of swirls around him.

" - hasn't woken up yet. Fever's still real high. I don't know - "

" - no change yet, either."

"Has the bleeding stopped? How about -?"

" - anything we can do?"

He drifts, for a time. Away from the heat, the haze, the pain.

"Buck?"

Someone is saying his name. Buck has no idea for how long, but the way it suddenly pierces his consciousness, and the way the voice sounds tells Buck that whoever it is has been saying it for some time now. Buck opens his eyes, but the light is so intense he has to shut them again.

The first thing he is aware of is that he's no longer in the saddle. He feels Nathan's familiar cot underneath him, can smell the herbs and liniments in his cupboards. The very next thing he's aware of is the pain in his leg. It's like a constant barrage, and it fills his brain and very nearly robs him of all coherent thought.

"Easy, Buck," a deep voice says. Nathan. "I have something for the pain, but first I want you to have some of this water. It's been real hard work, keeping you from getting dehydrated while you've been out of it." A gentle, callused hand under his head, and a cup of water touches his lips. Buck drinks until he nearly chokes, and the water is quickly taken away.

Buck opens his eyes again, and slowly things stop pinwheeling. Nathan's face hovers close, concerned and intense. "You with me?"

Buck licks his lips and manages a feeble nod. "I reckon," he mumbles, voice rough and raspy.

"Was startin' to think you'd sleep another week."

Buck looks past Nathan to see Chris standing over his shoulder. He smiles at his oldest friend. So, he's made it, then.

"Hey, pard," he manages, trying for a grin. He's not sure how well he does with it.

Chris leans over Nathan and fixes Buck with a crooked smile of his own, clasping him on the shoulder. "'Hey pard,' yourself. You're a damned sight for sore eyes."

"Ain't nothin' new there, hoss." Buck has to close his eyes as he talks. Keeping them open and speaking requires more energy than he has.

Chris chuckles dryly. "You looked in the mirror lately?" There's the sound of a chair scraping against Nathan's wood floor, and Buck opens his eyes again to see Chris sitting next to his bed. The gunslinger looks at Buck earnestly.

"You look like you're about to pass out again, so I'll make this quick," Chris tells him. "You did good, cowboy. We sent Llewyn's body on a stagecoach back to Texas, and three days ago we got a wire from one of the marshals. They found the other one's body. We're presuming you and JD had something to do with that, too. They're right grateful to the both of you."

Buck grunts, feels himself sliding away again. But there's something Chris just said, something important…

His eyes fly open again, and he struggles to sit up. "JD," he says sharply, groaning with the pain the movement causes him. Nathan reaches out a hand to press him back against the mattress; Chris beats him to it.

"Easy there, cowboy. Hold up a second. JD's fine. He's fine, Buck."

It takes a second for the words to absorb, and finally he relaxes back.

"Where-?"

"Over here, trying to get some sleep but that's mighty hard with all that racket."

Buck cranes his head, and Chris and Nathan move out of the way, smiling. JD's there, on the other side of the room, propped up into a sitting position by a mountain of pillows. He's washed out looking, to be sure, but his eyes have their youthful spark back in them. Buck swallows. Not that long ago, he wasn't sure if he'd see that spark again. It was close, he knows. Far closer than he wants to think about. He can't think about it.

"Hey, Buck?"

Damn. Buck didn't even realize he'd closed his eyes. He opens them, but it's difficult. JD seems relieved when Buck meets his gaze again.

"Yeah, JD?"

"I wanted to tell you thanks. For saving my life." JD slumps a little. "I wasn't so sure if you were gonna wake up for me to say it."

Buck frowns. "Kid, maybe it's cuz I'm just wakin' up, but I'm a little foggy here on what you mean."

"What he means," Nathan interjects, clearing his throat meaningfully, "is that we didn't know if you were gonna pull through." Buck shifts his attention to Nathan, puzzled. Nathan can see his bewilderment and supplies an explanation. "You did real good looking after JD, Buck. But you lost a lot of blood. More than a man rightly should. It's a miracle you stayed on that horse for that amount of time. You're lucky, though. Bullet came out with no real complications. You had a fever, but you seem over the worst of it. Even so, you been back for a week and this here's the first time you've really woken up."

Buck's head spins. "A week?"

Chris smiles and leans forward. "And a long one it's been, at that. This place has been real quiet without you up and about."

"Too quiet," Nathan agrees, standing up and clearing away used supplies by Buck's bedside. "I want you two to both get some sleep, y'hear? Ezra and Vin will be glad to hear you're awake and talkin', and there's no holdin' those two back from seein' you. Casey, too. She's been here every day, seein' to JD and worryin' about you. So in the meantime...rest. I mean it." A moment later, and he and Chris are leaving. The door clicks shut behind them.

Buck has questions, lots of questions, but he can't make his mouth work in time to stop the healer and the gunslinger. Questions will keep, Buck figures as he stifles back a yawn. His eyes are sliding shut, and he doesn't fight the tug of sleep that's overcoming him. Rest does sound like a mighty sound plan. He feels himself beginning to drift…

"Buck?" JD's young voice brings him back from the edge.

"Hmmm?" It's the best Buck can muster.

JD falters for a second, seemingly at a loss. "Buck, I still don't understand."

Buck groans. The kid sounds like he's got something pressing on his mind. He opens his eyes a fraction. It's the best he can do; he's utterly spent. "Understand what?"

JD plucks at his blankets, fidgeting. "Why you went after Llewyn alone. I mean, I thought we had an agreement to watch each other's backs. I could have helped you, Buck. I could have -"

"JD," Buck interrupts wearily, lifting a hand in a gesture for silence. JD's mouth clicks shut, and he looks chagrined as he waits for Buck to continue. "There wasn't much to be done out there. It was a piss poor ambush, and lucky for me Llewyn was thick enough to walk right into it. I couldn't have asked you to risk your hide for a dumbass stunt like that. It wouldn't have been right."

"But it was right for you to risk yours?" JD's eyes blaze with something akin to anger.

Buck looks at JD, then. Really looks at him. Looks at the kid with the ridiculous bowler hat, and the baby face that barely holds any right to grow whiskers, the young mind stuffed full of fancy ideals and grand visions. Looks at the man JD is, has always been, is about to become. All the things that JD has yet to learn about himself, Buck can already see.

The value of a good man.

Buck's no villain, but JD's a better man than most. It would have been a fair trade. It would have. JD can disagree all he wants. Hell, the kid can be mad as a hen for as long as he wants, but it won't change the decision Buck had made back there. The decision he would make again, given half the chance.

Buck closes his eyes, and immediately feels himself sliding back into sleep. He doesn't fight it, lets himself sink deeper into the cot underneath him.

"Damn straight, kid," he murmurs, a smile playing on his lips. Let the kid be mad. A fair trade, indeed. "Damn straight."