It was dark.

He was falling.

Well, he couldn't really tell if he was falling. It was too dark. But there was a cool, refreshing sort of wind whipping at his face, so he naturally assumed. It was silent, as well. Save for the periodic buzzing in his ear. He ignored it.

It was dark.

He was falling.

He kind of liked it.

"Shit, he's not even breathin'!"

"Well, pound on his chest a li'l more. That should get 'im goin'."

The buzzing got louder, more frequent. It began to vaguely resemble speech to his ears. He listened a little more. The refreshing breeze stopped suddenly.

"Y'killed him!"

"No I didn't!"

"Quiet. Get 'im outta the irons. Lay 'im out flat."

A sudden, blinding pain in his chest. It faded, ebbed away, and he was content to have it stay that way. But it came again, and this time it left a burning sensation. He decided the only way to remedy this was to try and expel whatever was in there. He coughed out a breath and then started the involuntary process of breathing.

"There we go. See? Told y'I didn't kill 'im."

"Shut up, Dan."

"Wake 'im up."

"I'll do it!"

"And kill 'im again?"

"Shut up, Charlie."

"Wake him up!"

Pain exploded in his body as he was jolted back to consciousness. He held back a scream, letting out only a low groan with his newfound awareness. His eyes opened to intense brightness, although it was already starting to get dark in Philadelphia.

"Mornin', sweetheart," a husky voice leered from somewhere to his left.

He was yanked to his feet before he could even realize who the voice was. Or where he was. Or why his foot hurt so goddamn much. Trying to figure this out, he was escorted (by the underarms and feet dragging, no doubt) out of the car into the cooler dusk of Pennsylvania.

"Jesse?!" someone screeched from far away, "Oh my Lord, what the hell did y'do t'him!?"

Coming back to his senses after the pain subsided to a dull roar, he turned his head slowly in the direction of the voice. "Alex?" he tried weekly, but it was barely audible to even him.

"Jesse! Oh, God damn you, Billy Ray!"

"Keep her quiet!" Ralph roared, tired of hearing her complaints. "Now c'mon, we're s'posed t'report t'the police station."

***

Six o'clock that same night, the cargo train that carried a special load rolled up to the station. Cole, who had been silently anticipating the arrival, roused the others. He kicked Bob's foot lightly and Bob woke with a start, his arms reflexively blocking his face. Cole chuckled slightly and offered his hand to his younger brother. Jim and Frank slid open the huge door and jumped out, followed by the others. They proceeded to stalk around the front of the train, hopingly unnoticed.

"We need horses," Bob complained after they'd been walking for about an hour. "An' where the hell're we goin', anyway?"

"I got a friend up in these parts. We'll stop at her place, see if she can't help us out."

Four heads swiveled in Frank's direction. He raised an inquisitive brow and held out his arms. "What?"

"She?" Cole questioned slowly.

"Yeah," he drawled. "What about it?"

"She?" Cole asked again, with more emphasis on the word.

"Her name's Anna."

"Why didn't y'tell us about her?"

"I didn't think I'd be back here."

"You didn't think you'd.." he stopped, amazed. "How'd y'leave things with her?"

Frank didn't respond. Cole groaned.

"We're screwed. Fellas, better get used t'walkin'."

There was a chorus of groans.

--

"Oh, lookit you," Alex said hopelessly, her hands gently caressing each of his cheeks. The two sat in a cramped jail cell, both on the bed suspended above the floor by chains. Ralph had convinced the officer that she was an accessory to one of Jesse James' murders and therefore should be locked up with him.

"Ah, I'm fine," Jesse shied his head away from her, working mainly on the adrenaline pumping through his system. "You're pretty bad-off, too."

"Thanks," she was sarcastic, but she touched her cheek lightly.

"I didn't mean it like that," his mouth twitched slightly, as if he were trying not to smirk, "just - here," he touched her cheek as well, then moved his hand down to thumb her healing lip, "and here. An' your eye don't seem to be healin' over too well."

"I know. It smarts real awful," she complained, slipping into a deeper farm- daughter's accent. She tended to do that when she was in pain; she didn't have a high threshold for it. "Ribs hurt, too."

"Really? Mine too," he broke into a smile, a small, humorless smile, but still a smile.

Her brow cocked as she studied his face, feeling selfishness flare up in the pit of her stomach. He was in a worse condition than she, and yet he failed to voice it. She stood, ignoring the flame of pain that flickered in her chest, and without a word, gently laid him back. He fought her weakly, insisting he was fine. She shook her head.

"Just lay there for a bit?" she meant it to be declarative, but it came out more or less ending up into a question. Then, more to herself, "I'll see if they can do something for you."

She turned to the wide bars of their cell, stepping up to them and resting her cheek against the cool metal. "'Scuse me?" she called, purposefully thickening her accent now. She wasn't sure if these Yanks had the same soft spot for a sweet country bumpkin that people back home did, but it was worth a try. At first, there was no answer. She tried again, "Hello?"

"What do you want?" a thick voice asked from out of her line of sight. There was a light thud of footfalls and a jingling of keys. She had coerced him into getting off his duff, at least.

"I was wonderin'.." she paused, letting the copious Southern drawl sink into the air, "well, m'friend's hurt real bad, sir. He could die if we don't get 'im to a doctor soon."

"So?" he had appeared now, in all his robust glory. Not fat, like the chief had been. Far from it. He was tall, maybe six feet or so, and built. Light blonde hair, blue eyes. Pleasant features, chiseled and angled in all the right places. Lovely. The outside made up for what was inside.

"So.. d'y'think we could get a doctor t'at least look at him?"

"Of course."

"Really?" she brightened somewhat.

"No," he responded darkly.

"Could I at least have some bandages, an' maybe a lil' bit of water?"

"I don't think so."

"Please?" she tried.

"Hm," he thought aloud, the gears churning in his head almost audible to her. "Maybe, if you were willing to.. make an exchange?"

Alex was utterly repulsed. So was Jesse, who had been listening intently. He sat up quickly, wincing at the blinding pain and the wave of dizziness that hit him, but unrelenting. He stumbled towards the bars and caught them before diving headfirst into them and narrowed his eyes.

"Now lissen here, you slimy sonuvabitch," he started, "there's no way in hell she'd ever do anythin' like that, so don't come askin' for it."

"Suit yourself," he said dismissively, and left them in silence.

"Jesse.." Alex breathed out as she looked at him. Her arm slipped over his shoulders.

"Alex, don't do anythin' stupid jus' 'cause I'm a lil' banged up. I'll be fine."

"I'm not so sure," she said doubtfully as she guided him back to the cold steel bed and sat him down on it. She slid down next to him and scooted back to the end of the slab. "C'mon an' get some rest." She pulled gently on his arm to get him to lay back; he used her legs as a pillow.

"Everythin's gonna be okay," he assured her through slurred words and closed eyes. She sighed as she leaned her head back against the stone wall.

"I hope so, Jesse. 'Cause you aren't gonna last long if things keep up like this."

--

"We could use some horses. Really," Bob whined. "How long we been walkin' now? Two hours?" Although it seemed to the rest of them that he was complaining out of his own exhaustion, he really just wanted to pick up their pace. The faster they were, the quicker they could find Jesse, and the quicker they could get back home.

"Bob," the other four warned in a unanimous groan. They were avoiding the main roads in fear of being labeled conspicuous. Five cowboys walkin' down the middle'a main street, conspicuous? Shucks, naw.

"How's about we jus' saddle him up an' ride him there?" Cole suggested as if his younger sibling wasn't there, with a tone of annoyance.

"Shut up, Cole," Frank cautioned. Spirits were already damp, and tension was too thick to be starting little squabbles that would end violence-free.

"Are we there yet?" Jim asked tiredly, his age showing through his inquiry.

"Not yet," Frank replied. "Soon."

They fell silent after that. As the sun disappeared over the horizon and they were left in complete darkness, Cole was unsure that Frank still knew where he was going. It felt as though they had passed many of these houses before, and without a torchlight he couldn't tell if he were right or not. Finally, when his insecurities had bore a hole in his stomach and he was doubtful Frank was leading them straight, he spoke up.

"Frank?"

"Yeah?" Frank's voice returned from his left.

"You sure we're goin' the right way? D'you really know your way 'round these parts that well?"

"Yeah," he responded with a tinge of frustration.

"'Kay," Cole said, sounding reassured. They took a few more paces in silence. Then, "When were y'here? When'd y'come here.. meet her?"

"I met her in Missouri. She's a school teacher."

"So why's she here?"

"Her father's Sam Ralston."

"Sam Ralston, that gun tycoon from Independence?"

"The same. Moved her up here a few years ago. Better business, or somethin'."

".. Frank," Cole said, as if he were slowly piecing something together, "is this the 'important issue' y'had t'take care of that y'left us for? When y'quit with Jesse, you went here?"

"What?" Jim, who had been listening in for lack of a better pastime, butted in. He didn't like being reminded that Jesse had left the gang because of him, because he'd gotten hurt.

"Yeah, I did. Left when I found out Jesse'd been arrested."

"Not a long time here, then."

"Nope." Cole could've sworn he sensed something like sadness behind the word. Before he could comment, though, Frank had suddenly turned onto a small pathway that wound and twisted all the way up to a huge Victorian- style mansion.

The home was huge. Cole surmised aloud that it had to be as big as the Younger barn and house combined. The outside was white, but it seemed more of a gray with the lack of luminosity. It was dotted with large windows that showed darkness within them, save for one that peeked out from just under the wraparound porch. In this window, a candle flickered and produced shadows of the residents inside. Just beside the twinkling candlelight window, a front door stood imposingly with angry glass eyes.

Frank slowed them with an outstretched arm before clambering his way up the sturdy porch steps alone. He raised a hand to grip the gold-lacquered doorknocker - in the shape of a dove in mid-flight - and knocked once. It was soft and uncertain, but apparently heard. The door opened. Frank removed his hat and laid it across his chest.

"Hi, Anna."

If he was expecting a verbal response, he didn't receive one. In fact, what he got was a nice hard slap across the face.