Author's Note: Next chapter. Sorry it took so long to update, but I hope to get some more chapters out there now...that is, if the site continues to fix its glitches...

Chapter Nine

Siegfried was tired.

Several minutes had passed since further collapse of the barn and Tristan still had not moved. Siegfried had tried yelling to wake his little brother up, but Tristan remained unresponsive. Then, he tried yet again to pull himself free of the debris that had trapped his legs. It was a futile effort, Siegfried knew, but he had to try anyway.

Once he realized that it was no use, Siegfried was only left with more yelling and additional attempts to stretch his hand over to Tristan. There were a couple of times when Siegfried thought he might succeed, when his fingers were less than an inch away from his little brother's prone form. But in the end, all he managed to do was claw at the ground next to Tristan.

By the end of it, Siegfried was taking unsteady, labored breaths. His hands shook, and another chill enveloped him. It wasn't long before his thoughts began to drift again. When that happened, Siegfried forced himself to keep his eyes on his brother's face so he could remember why he was struggling and why it was so urgent.

"Tristan..." he croaked, his throat dry and raw from shouting.

Another rush of nausea hit him, and Siegfried collapsed back, closing his eyes. Willing himself to not give in to the sickness. He wasn't entirely successful, but he managed to keep his retching brief. Afterward, he let his head loll to the side, keeping his eyes closed while he panted.

'Why isn't James here? He could take care of Tristan and…and no, he said he was having dinner with Helen. Or was she having dinner with him? No…no, there was a calving and, and…no. James must have done that yesterday. Yes, yesterday. It must have been yesterday. And I was supposed to be taking surgery today. So he'll wonder where we are, won't he? He should be here by now…shouldn't he?'

Siegfried ran a hand over his brow, fingers brushing across strands of hair that were stuck to his forehead. Even while lost in a jumble of thoughts, he knew that his condition was deteriorating. His fever was worse and was getting harder to remain conscious.

In fact, the only things that were keeping him awake were the burning pain in his side and his growing fear that Tristan was not going to wake up.

Siegfried coughed again, the fit lasting for a full minute. Just as it started to subside, a sound, low and indistinct, caught his attention. It took almost another minute for his feverish brain to work out that what he heard was a moan.

"Tristan?" he said between coughs. "Come on, Tristan, wake up."

His little brother stirred, rolling up onto his side, and Siegfried let out an enormous sigh of relief.

Tristan's brows knit together, and he grunted. "Have a heart, Siegfried," he mumbled. "I feel ill."

Siegfried couldn't stop himself from smiling. His little brother sounded just like he always did after another night of carousing in one of many pubs he visited: hungover and ready to pout over his lot in life. It was oddly comforting to hear.

"Nonsense, some fresh air will do you a world of good," Siegfried replied, trying for his usual jocular approach to waking his brother up. "Now, get up before I find more reasons to send you out to check on Dent's pigs, seeing as you're the porcine expert of the firm. Speaking of which, I hear they'll be some more piglets before long."

Tristan moaned again and moved around even more. Eventually, his little brother's eyes opened, blinking slowly several times. He took his time sitting up, his motions stiff and hesitant, wincing while his hands clutched at his head.

"Siegfried? What…where are…?"

Tristan's questions were abruptly cut off when he gasped, his face suddenly becoming much paler. Then he scrambled off to the side, and Siegfried could hear him vomiting.

Siegfried frowned. No, that wasn't good. Vomiting, head bleeding, possibly confused, definitely knocked unconscious…no, it wasn't good at all. Tristan was hurt. More than just that gash on his forehead. Concussion, maybe? Yes, more than likely that.

Almost a minute later, Tristan finished and had crawled back over to sit next to Siegfried. Then, an unexpected anger rose up at his little brother.

"Tristan, you…you idiot!" What were you thinking?" he spat.

Tristan blinked slowly again, his hand reaching up to rub his head. "I, I don't know."

"You don't know?!" Siegfried echoed, continuing to rage at him. "Don't you realize what you've done? You could have gotten out. But now, now I'm sure that tunnel has been destroyed."

"Probably so," Tristan mumbled.

Siegfried's jaw tightened. "So now there's no way for you to escape and get help."

"No…no, I suppose there isn't."

"And look at you. Now you've gone and let yourself get hurt."

"I did rather," Tristan said, leaning forward and moaning again. Worry began to creep in again as Siegfried wondered how badly his little brother had been hit by the falling debris. Worry that there were more injuries besides the obvious one on his head.

Worry that fueled his anger even more.

"I told you to focus on getting out first and then we'd deal with the rest of it later. But you didn't listen to me. You never listen to me."

"I know…. I'm sorry."

Siegfried sighed and fell back against the ground. All the rage he felt evaporated. It wasn't difficult to guess what Tristan had been thinking when he chose to stay behind. His mind wasn't so addled by fever that he couldn't figure out that he probably would have been hurt even more if his little brother hadn't shielded him from the wreckage. His little brother's motives were transparent, as usual.

He ground his jaw, despair replacing his anger. He could hear Tristan moan again, the sound making his hands curl into fists. Of all the times when his little brother could choose to not be a coward and allow the noble side of his nature to take over, why did it have to be now? When doing so meant putting his own life in significant peril.

Peril that could have been so easily avoided.

Siegfried gulped and opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, his surroundings were like smeared paint on a canvas. He shuddered and soon realized that he was starting to shiver again.

Worst of all, he was barely holding onto consciousness. Siegfried suspected that he would probably pass out again soon. Only this time, he wasn't sure he would have the strength to wake up again.

A stabbing heat suddenly ran through him. It was that wound again. Tristan had done everything he could, but was still infected. Siegfried was certain of that. And the infection was spreading. It would move into nearby tissues and organs and eventually would get into his blood. Once that happened…it wouldn't be long before it was over.

Siegfried opened his eyes again, blinking slowly and deliberately in an effort to correct his vision. Ever since he had first woken up in this barn, the thought that he could die was always in the back of his mind. It'd become even more salient when he asked Tristan to suture his wound, despite his confidence in his little brother's skills.

God, that seemed like such a long time ago even though it couldn't have been. A day? A couple of days ago? Couldn't have been more than that….

Still, there had been some hope. Tristan had done an excellent job taking care of his wound considering the conditions he had to work in. it had given him more time. And there was always the hope that someone would find them. James and Helen, most likely. Or that Tristan would find a way out and go find help. Yes, he knew he could rely on Tristan for that. Little brother didn't tend to make mistakes when it really mattered.

Now though…it was hopeless. Someone would have come by before now if they were going to. Tristan…no there was no way for him to get out now. No safe way, anyway.

Siegfried swallowed hard. There were no chances left. He was going to die.

Just as he started to force himself to accept this fact, his was struck with a flood of other thoughts. Thoughts of all the things he couldn't attend to now.

What of the practice? Of Skeldale House? James was a partner. He could legally take over, but was he ready? A vet with only a little over a year of professional experience? Would he be able to keep the business afloat on his own? What if he couldn't?

And what about Helen? What about the new family that James was making for himself? Would they be all right? What about Mrs. Hall? If the practice went under, where would she go? She'd been preparing a ham for him and now he wouldn't be there to eat it. Oh, how he hated to disappoint her.

The dogs? Would they be all right? Who would make sure they were fed properly and that they were walked and given as much care as they needed? And there was that operation he promised to do one of Beamish's horses. Who would do it now?

The list of responsibilities continued to grow, overwhelming Siegfried. The thought of leaving so much unfinished and uncertain made his heart ache. He wished to God that he could talk to James and give him just a little more instruction and advice to guide him.

No. No, he would have to just trust that James would manage. He must be able to. James would get by. He'd find a way. And he still had Tristan to….

Siegfried's heart dropped again. Who would look after his little brother? Tristan might be grown in years, but he still needed so much minding. He still wasn't qualified. Who would see to it that it happened eventually? Who would keep an eye on the people who attached themselves to Tristan? People who would use him if given an inch of opportunity. Who would keep him out of trouble? And then who would clean up the mess when trouble finally did happen?

It couldn't be James. James was a responsible, sensible fellow and a wonderful friend to Tristan. But James would have far too many other things to take care to mind Tristan. Mother? Mother meant well and loved Tristan, but she never seemed able to give Tristan the guidance and support he truly needed.

Who would take care of Tristan now? That is, if Tristan…if he….

Siegfried shivered even more, shaking his head as he did. He couldn't let himself think about Tristan not making it out of this barn. Someone would have to find the car and would eventually find this place. Little brother would be all right. He had to be.

Problem was, Siegfried knew he wouldn't be able to hold on long enough to be certain that it was true.

Another soft moan from his little brother caught his attention, and Siegfried turned his head to watch him. The cut near his temple was the most obvious injury, but Siegfried figured that there were others he couldn't see. At the very least, his little brother was probably thoroughly banged up from all the debris falling onto him.

All because he had stayed behind and had tried to protect his elder brother.

Siegfried's vision swam again, but an unexpected thought suddenly gave him focus. He remembered a visit to his mother about a month ago. An old family friend, Mrs. Ellington had come to visit as well, and Siegfried had overheard a piece of a conversation Mother was having with her.

"Sometimes…oh, I can hardly bear to say it…sometimes, I just can't look at Tristan. At my own son. It's so terrible, but I….it's just…he's so much like Edward…."

At the time, Siegfried couldn't fathom how Mother could say or even think that. True, Tristan did bear a strong physical resemblance to their late father: same tall, thin frame, same toothy smile, even the same sandy blond hair that got darker as he got older. Still, Siegfried couldn't see anything else about his little brother that reminded him of Father. No, Tristan just looked like him is all. They weren't even remotely the same.

However, staring at Tristan now, his brother quiet and serious, lines of pain and weariness etched into the spaces near his eyes…pain and weariness he had because he was trying so hard to take care of his older brother…Siegfried couldn't help but see a strong echo of their father in Tristan. A father he still missed so much to this day and who he often wished Tristan could have known.

Especially now, as Siegfried was certain that Father would be so proud, so very proud, of his younger son.

"Tristan…."

Tristan's head shot up and he grimaced immediately afterward. Then he scooted closer to Siegfried, placing a hand onto his brother's shoulder.

"Siegfried? What is it? Do you…?"

Siegfried placed a shaking hand onto Tristan's forearm. "Don't…don't sit around here for too long. Find a way out. You, you've got too much to do. You and James. James…Tristan, you listen to James. He'll know what to do. You listen and you help him. And Helen and Mrs. Hall. Don't you upset her. You understand, Tristan?"

"All right," Tristan said, nodding. "I won't. But Siegfried…."

"Hush, little brother, hush," Siegfried interrupted. He squeezed Tristan's arm and let his eyes shut, the lids just too heavy to keep open any longer.

"Work hard. Work hard and you'll get there. You'll become qualified. Just stop arsing about. You, you'll be a fine vet. I know you will."

"Siegfried…."

Tristan's voice sounded so far away. How was that possible? Wasn't he right next to him? Siegfried curled his fingers around something he hoped was still Tristan's arm.

"Tristan…take care…little brother…."

Then there was nothing as the blackness overwhelmed all of his senses.