Author's Note: After the emotional season finale, my thoughts of what may come next, a purely speculative multi-chapter fic with some Walt and Vic shipping, of course. I can't thank Craig Johnson enough for creating such wonderful characters for all of us to enjoy. As always, your reviews and comments are cherished.

Crack.

The distinctive delayed sound of a long gun in the distance, I turn, an owl greets me in silence, the Plains Indian sign of death; of ones remembered, of ones lost, a visit from the other side. I hear Martha calling to me; saying good-bye, sending her love to me, her plea for me to resist my fleshly urge for revenge. I am motivated by my failure to protect her but reconciled that the mystery is over. This is my right I tell her, my right to exact revenge, my right as her husband to set the world back in balance. Am I wrong for wanting to set this right with the world? It makes me a less than perfect man but a man just the same. Blood will be shed. Men will die.

The tools to exact my revenge are loaded in Bullet and as I head out the drive to the Four Arrows the urging in the pit of my stomach leads me toward the sound of the shot. The lawman temporarily overpowers the man inside of me. The owl guides my spirit. In the far distance pillows of dirt kick up a cloud a mile long and as I close the distance I recognize Barlow Connally's distinctive black Land Rover covering ground but in a hurry. The Land Rover beats me to the paved road by a ΒΌ mile and is relentless in its speed toward town. My 277 pounds of torque aren't enough to close a reasonable distance and stop it so I follow Barlow into town temporarily derailed from my mission of justice.

I catch up to the Land Rover, which is nearly sideways at the emergency entrance of Durant Memorial. The back door opened, blood smeared all over the backseat, and the familiar noise of medical chaos. If the blood is in the back, it means more than one person; my lawman has full control of my thoughts and emotions. I walk down the hallway and see a familiar shape from the back. A disheveld and distraught Branch Connally stands in silence as the nurse pushes him backwards.

"Deputy Connally, let us get to work."

Branch turns into me. He is covered in blood, judging it's not his own, and looks at me with painful grief stricken eyes.

"Walt."

In full lawman effect, hands on my hips, hat pulled down, "Branch", pointing to the small emergency room, "whose is in there and what happened?"

His jaw set, tears welling into sincere pools of regret, "My dad." Branch nearly collapses and I catch him.

"Branch, are you hurt? Branch, Branch." I hold him up as he regains his balance. I guide him to the overused worn chairs and we sit. We sat here before when Cady was fighting for her life.

"Are you hurt" my hands cover his chest but I don't find any entry or exit wounds.

"No, Walt. I'm ok."

"Mind telling me just what the hell happened?"

"I have a lot to tell you, Walt but I don't know if you will believe me. Especially, after all that has happened."

"Did you do something stupid, son?"

"No, but I did something I never thought I would do."

I sit down next to Branch. We sit in silence.

"I think I need to make a statement, Walt."

"Ok. You want your lawyer?"

"No, I don't think so. A lawyer can't change what happened and what I have to say. It's time, Walt, time I accept the man that I am no matter what everyone else expects from me."

"Here or the station?"

"Here is fine. I would like to keep tabs on my Dad, you know."

"Yup"

Branch lays out the entire Godforsaken story about Barlow's involvement with Jacob Nighthorse, David Ridges and Miller Beck. How his dad tried to kill him but the younger man got his shot off first deflecting Barlow's long gun and wound up wounding his father. I believe him. My blood boils under the surface and I can feel it rising.

"Walt, you need to know that I didn't know anything and that I am sorry. I am truly sorry for all of this. Standing out there in the middle of nowhere with my Dad I told him I wasn't like him but what I didn't say is that I am a lot like you. I know I am because I want to be. You are more of a dad to me than my own father. I know I disappointed you, let you down, and made a mockery of the star you have over your heart. Please, forgive me. Please." Branch breaks down and pulls on my coat searching for peace, forgiveness and solace. He is searching for an understanding that I can't give him. He is facing demons. Demons, that take on different shapes and sizes, but every man must slay or be slayed by them.

His sobs are audible as he clutches my chest.

"Branch. I don't have the answers and I can't forgive Barlow for what he took from me."

He shrieks, "I know. I so sorry."

"Branch. Look at me son."

Branch looks up his eyes red and swollen, snot running down his nose. He looks 8 years old.

"I will walk this road with you. I will be by your side."

He collapses in my arms again as a wounded little boy with his world destroyed. In many ways, it is but he will come out the other side because he has found his voice and what it means to be a man. For all of his failings, in the end, I think he will be a good one.

Doc Blumfield ambles out into the waiting room and gives us a quick update.

"The surgical team is working on Mr. Connally. He will make it. The buckshot did not appear to penetrate any major organs. You can relax and I will make sure you are updated."

Branch turns to me, "Walt, let me help you bring down Nighthorse."

I study Branch. Study him fiercely.

"We do it my way."

"There's no other way."