An unlikely story of what might have happened if Slim and Jess had encountered each other during the civil war.
(My first attempt at Laramie, I just recently started watching the show.)
He'd shot the would-be assailant down, almost accidentally, so quickly it had to have been reflexes. A jerk knee reaction that possibly cost another man his life.
Mathew swung a leg from his skittish mare and cautiously approached the fallen bundle. Too much fabric, too much blood, not enough man. Or, as it was, boy.
A knot forming in his stomach, Mathew knelt. A pulse would be a miracle. Both bright red and faded mahogany stains covered the grey uniform. He reached, shakily, for the exposed, skinny wrist. A tell-tale thumping confirmed his newly acquired prisoner was still alive.
Blue eyes flickered open. "Dammit, mister. Just leave me alone."
Mathew was taken aback by the savagery in the wounded soldier's tone. "I'm trying to save you."
"Well don't." Came a quiet mumble as the eyes slid closed.
Mathew ripped his bandana off and stuffed it onto the freshest wound. The one he had caused.
"Dadgumit!" the patient slurred thickly, jerking beneath Mathew's hands.
"Take it easy, Gray." He soothed. "I'm just trying to keep you alive."
The dejection in the boy's voice was frightening as he responded, "I ain't looking to live any longer, Mister."
Nevertheless, Mathew Sherman worked faithfully to keep the man alive in spite of his protests.
In the ever imposing twilight, the forest seemed to stir with living grey shadows. Mathew knew he couldn't leave his prisoner behind. Still he would rather be at camp right now. Rebels had a way of going invisible in settings like this. Scouting assignments could go to blazes for all he cared.
But each time, as soon as he thought the bleeding had stopped, another spurt of life seemed to shoot from Gray's chest. And the blue eyes hadn't opened since their earlier conversation. In fact, Gray had stopped struggling against his painful ministrations.
"C'mon Gray, haven't you got a reason to keep living?" Mathew begged quietly, unsure why this soldier's life meant so much to him. It could have been easily said that he was tired of killing, but that wasn't enough to explain it. The urge to keep this man alive was as strong as if Gray had been a lifelong friend. A brother.
"Only a few minutes ago I wanted to live and you were trying to kill me. Now you wanna save me and I wanna die. Ain't you a contrary yank?"
Mathew started at the voice. He could have sworn the confederate soldier was unconscious. "You would have gladly killed me earlier."
"I just wanted your horse, Mister."
"And would have killed me to get it." Mathew said firmly, then sat back to survey his handiwork. "That looks like it'll hold you over."
Gray's sooty eyelashes flittered, but never parted. "Don't want to be held over."
"Come on, haven't you got something to live for?"
The southerner ran a tongue over the narrow gap in his front teeth, then opened his eyes to blankly stare at his savior. "Nope."
"You escaped from a prison camp?" Mathew asked as he rose to get his bedroll. In this chilly wind his captive would be dead before they hit camp.
"Yep." Came the answer.
Mathew was puzzled. There was no anger in the boy's voice, no sign of him caring or hoping. Just emptiness where there should have been fight.
"Just leave me alone, Mister." He asked again.
"You'll die out here."
"I wanna."
Mathew grabbed his blanket and spread it out on the dirt. "Don't you have something to live for? A home?"
The blue depths remain impassive.
"A girl?"
Still nothing.
"Haven't you got a family?"
Now there was a spark. Not of love, or of hope, but complete and pure anger and agony.
The soldier quickly turned his head away. "I ain't got no family, Mister."
"I got a name." Mathew said softly.
"Don't figure I wanna know it." Gray deadpanned. "Then you're gonna want to know mine and I don't care for you to."
He swallowed. This man was dead set on dying. And he wouldn't let it happen.
"You're not going back to a prison camp, huh?"
"Can't. Can't keep a dead man in prison."
Mathew steeled himself to lift his patient. "Hold tight, I'm gonna move you to this blanket."
Gray's indigo eyes closed wordlessly.
"Easy now," he murmured as he started to raise him.
A cry caught in Gray's throat, turning into a gurgle. His hands turned into fists as pain shot through his body, not just from the new gunshot wound, but from numerous abrasions and bruises. Suddenly he cried, "Mister, please! Just let me-"
"There." He laid him on the blanket.
Gray was not to be deterred. "I ain't going back, I can't go back, I'd rather die! Please, please-"
Mathew's heart physically hurt. He didn't know this man, why should he care? This could be the soldier who killed Thomas last week. He himself had held Thomas in his arms as he breathed his last...
But somehow he knew. He knew this tired, abused and empty man was a good one.
"I ain't got nothing to lose! Just one sister who's better off without me! Lemme go! Lemme die."
The last sentence was spoken with such removal that Mathew wondered if the boy was already dead.
"Just lemme die." he repeated.
"I want you to live." Mathew offered suddenly, his voice full of gentle emotion.
Blue eyes rolled towards him. In complete and utter contempt. And then there was nothing.
"And I'm gonna get you sent back south."
"No, you ain't, Mister. You might want to, but there's gonna be some high and mighty officer that wants to send me to another hellhole like the one I'm running from." Gray said.
"Running?" Mathew hid a smile. The kid was finally angry. This felt much better than the cold, barren attitude he had given earlier. "I thought you were done running. Thought you were just dying."
Stubbornly the soldier clamped his jaw. "I was. Until you came along."
Mathew snickered. "Sure you were, Gray. Looked mighty alive and well when you were trying to get my mount."
Now it was Gray's turn to laugh scornfully. "Did I?"
This stopped Mathew cold. His hand smoothed the blanket over painfully accentuated ribs. "Not really."
"Didn't figure." Gray smiled vacantly.
Callously Mathew grumbled, "You done pouting?"
Ashamed, the boy ducked his head. "Figure you're gonna keep me alive no matter what I do. Stubborn Yank."
"How old are you?"
The boy gave a low grumble, "Twenty."
"No you aren't." Mathew said firmly. "I put you at fourteen."
Gray growled, "A month to seventeen, maybe two of 'em. I don't know anymore. Don't care."
Somehow Mathew believed him.
"Figure on taking me back to your camp?"
"Nope." Mathew tucked the last corner of the woolen blanket in.
Gray's eyes closed wearily. "Gonna leave me out here?"
"Not exactly..." Mathew tucked his arms beneath the boy's head and legs. "Now, I'm gonna raise you real slow onto my horse."
Gray's shoulders tightened but he showed no sign of resistance. As if he still held to the hope that this wound would end him. And then the pain, the internal screams at his body being jostled in the arms of the tall, blond Union soldier, and the blessed darkness. Gray passed out.
When he woke up the voices around him were more familiar then that of his captor. Lower, more broken and comfortable, carefree. One or two held a real amount of pride, but mostly they sounded like home. Kinda like Texas.
"I can't believe it! You say Sherman brought him back?"
"Damnedest thing I ever did see." the second voice confirmed. "That stiff Yank that captured you, Major, bringing in a bundle of rags like this."
A voice that Gray could only assume was 'the Major' said lightly, "That young man was quite a soldier... a tight laced type. The way I saw it, he hardly held to trading me back. I never suspected him of breaking rules... I suppose war breaks everyone's rules for them, eh?"
"Wonder what it was about this little fella that made him think again?" The first voice drawled softly.
"You never can tell. Maybe he knew this boy wouldn't be a soldier much longer in this condition, viewed him as a civilian. Or maybe he knew him." The Major suggested. "Well, let's get him out of the cold."
Gray tried to close the pain out as his comrades moved him. It was useless, and he slumped into unconsciousness again.
Mathew was still beating himself up as he left the officer's quarters, three tents strung together to make a slightly larger, slightly more precarious living space.
He'd lied.
He, Lt. Mathew Sherman Jr, lied to a superior officer, telling him that he was, quote, 'Late because he stopped to bury an unknown Confederate soldier.'
Which was, he reflected, kind of true. He had stopped to inspect a body, which turned out to be a live one, which lunged for his mare. He'd shot, expected the soldier to be dead, and dismounted to bury him. Twice over, he had stopped to bury Gray. And twice over, Gray was alive.
Why would he lie for a little Reb?
"Dammit Gray. I couldn't even recognize you should I see you again and here I am crossing enemy lines, flying a white flag and lying for you. And I can count on one hand the number of times I've lied." Mathew murmured under his breath. Then he smiled gently to himself, pleased at a sudden thought. "I hope you find something to live for."