Walter ran down the bank trying not to lose sight of the body as it was rushed downstream. His feet kept sliding in the snow and the uneven ground bordering the creek. For the first time in his life he regretted not having a phone.
He went around rocks and bushes blocking the path. By the time he managed to get a view of the river again, he couldn't see John anymore.
"Damn!" he yelled, starting to run forward.
He stumbled over dead branches and groaned in frustration. He was too old for this. He rose and pushed on his feet, his eyes scanning the water. He sighed when he saw John holding some branches, then suddenly his body disappeared under water again.
"Noooo!"
Pushing the bushes around him, not caring that he kept getting his feet caught, Walter ran on following the body. A bigger root sent him crashing to the ground when his boot was trapped. He got to his knees, arms on the ground, breathing hard to catch his breath. He didn't even feel the cold anymore. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. Freaking out wasn't going to help. John was strong; he had been in the army. He would be able to fight the river and hang on to something. He just needed help to get to him before the man froze to death.
Sitting back on his heels, Walter saw the wolf. It was almost full white, watching him from a distance.
"Help me," Walter whispered to him.
His friendship with Henry and the Native Americans had opened his mind to the mystical world. He didn't know if this wolf would help him or was just waiting for him to be too weak to fight back, but if there was a chance that some spirit watched over him, he would take all the help he could get.
"Please, help him," he repeated watching the wolf's eyes.
The big animal blinked, then turned around. Walter sighed, got to his feet and started his mad run down the river again.
On the parking lot of the Red Pony, a big white wolf appeared, looking straight at Henry who was loading crates. It howled once, then turned around, going back to the trees. Henry was familiar with the spirit world. It shaped his culture, and if he mostly lived like the "white" people, turning his back on beliefs wasn't an option. This wasn't just a stray wolf.
It had gone toward the creek that bordered the prairie around Walter's house. The direction it had taken wasn't accidental.
"Walter Longmire, what did you get yourself into?" Henry muttered, jumping in his car to drive toward the river.
He cast a glance to his watch. By now both men had probably turned around from their walk to the cave. With the snow coming down, the trail was bound to be slippery.
The bridge! Henry was suddenly convinced that one of the men had fallen in the water. He accelerated toward the trail that followed the creek further down from the way to Walter's house.
After its mad rush the river widened slightly in the valley. The current was still strong, melted snow always feeding it, but if there was one place where they stood a chance to spot a body it was there. Revving the car, Henry soon reached the trail along the creek. He switched to four wheel drive and turned left, praying that he was downstream from the body.
He slammed the brakes when he saw the dark shape over a dead tree in the water. He grabbed a rope in the back of his car and went toward the log. He sighed when he recognized the man.
"Way to greet you back, John," he mumbled.
"John!" he shouted, hoping against all odds that the man could hear him.
Shaking his head, he tied the rope to a tree, then to himself, and stepped into the water. He yelled at the freezing water.
"Oh shit! Could not have come to visit in the summer, right?" he screamed to overcome the cold.
Crawling over the tree, he soon reached John. He put a hand to his neck and was struck that the skin felt even colder than his own hand. He could feel the pulse, way too weak, but there. He looked around, wondering how he would manage to get him to the shore. He pulled on the jacket hoping to slide him toward him, but the body didn't move. He would need to get him back in the water but chances were the current would drive them both away.
He pulled on the rope, sliding it to loosen the loop around his waist and have enough length to tie it around John. The cold was getting to him, numbing his hand and making it difficult to move. He finally managed to get the rope securely around John and was about to push in the water when he felt a tug in his back.
He turned to see Walter on the shore, holding the rope.
"About time!" Henry shot to him. "Pull us out!"
Taking a deep breath, he grabbed John and jumped in the water. He gasped as his body went under the freezing water. Holding John's head out of the water as much as he could, he felt the rope drawing him back to the shore.
After what felt like hours, he finally felt the ground under his body. Walter got into the water and caught John's unmoving body. Henry turned to his knees, panting, not finding the strength yet to rise.
"Henry?" Walter called.
"Fine. Just let me get my breath back," the shorter man gasped.
Holding him by his arm pits, Walter pulled John's body out of the water grunting. His friend was heavy and the drenched coat didn't help. Henry finally made it to his feet. He was shivering, teeth shattering.
"Let's get…" A strong shiver racked his body and he stumbled.
They carried the body to the car and Walter sat behind the wheel. He turned the heating on, blasting it at the maximum and drove along the trail. It didn't go all the way to his place, but the four-wheeler would be able to drive on the field for the last part. He was driving far too fast, taxing the mufflers and turning the ride in a rodeo bounce.
"If you kill us on the way… it will not help," Henry managed to say, his hands above the vents trying to get the feeling back.
They finally made it to the house. Henry was still shivering but he could feel his hands again, they were actually burning as the blood flooded back. Getting John's arms over their shoulders, they dragged him to the house, lying him down on the floor.
"I'll get the fire. Get off your clothes, grab stuff in my closet."
"John…" Henry protested.
"… can wait a few minutes. I need you to help me, which you won't if you don't warm up."
By the time Henry came back with dry clothes on, Walter had the fire going and had also changed to dry pants and warm socks. Their friend groaned and Walter knelt by his side.
"John?"
Undressing an unresponsive man in drenched clothes was a tedious shore. The ex-agent fought back, battling their hands away. Walter had a relieved sigh. Unconscious and not shivering was severe hypothermia. Now apparently John was slightly conscious if not coherent. They had good chances to get him to warm up with no major risks.
Walter watched the body, but the cold had effectively prevented any swelling so it was difficult to tell if there were any injuries. A red mark on the chest hinted at damaged ribs, and broken skin on his ankle showed were his foot had broken the bridge's wooden planks.
They wrapped him in a blanket and laid him in the couch, then pushed it closer to the fire.
"Want to put him in a bathtub?" Henry asked, wrapping his arms around his body.
"No, he needs to warm up slowly. The hot water would do more damage at this point."
Walter moved to his closet and brought more blankets. For once he was glad Martha had always felt chilly as he found the water bottles stored away on a shelf. He filled them with warm water and tucked them under the armpits and, covering John for modesty with a towel, added one on his groin. Soon the ex-agent looked like a mummy. With a smile he wrapped a comforter around Henry's shoulder.
"Sit by the fire, I'll make coffee."
"Soup. I want soup," Henry asked still having occasional shivers.
A while later, both men were holding warm cups, sitting in front of the fire place.
"What happened?"
"Rock's bridge. A plank broke and John went right through it." Walter watched John and shivered. "I thought I'd never get to him in time."
Silence stretched as the heat filled the room and they started to feel more comfortable. Walter raised his head suddenly.
"How did you get there?" he exclaimed dumbfounded.
Henry frowned and remained silent. Following the spirit world was usually a personal experience that you didn't necessarily share. He knew Walter would understand and accept it; it was still always difficult to admit it out loud.
"The wolf came," he whispered.
"Big. White coat?"
Henry nodded, not really surprised. He rubbed the edge of the cup with a finger distractedly.
"I have always been convinced that John's spirit protector was a wolf…"
"You never told us about that."
"No. I figured he would need to find out by himself."
"Loner, fiercely protective of his own, deadly… I can see the connection," Walt commented.
John started mumbling and moving. Walt put a hand to his face, the only part of the body not covered. It was still quite cold. He was worried that John wasn't shivering yet. His body was still irresponsive. They couldn't do anything but wait.
"Henry, why don't you go lie down on my bed for a while," he said when he saw the Indian's eyes drooping.
Henry opened his mouth to protest, but Walt cut him.
"Go, I'll keep an eye on John. I don't think we'll need to get him to a hospital."
His friend nodded and shuffled to the room, still hugging the comforter tightly.
Walt watched over his friend, wondering at the mumbled words and what they meant. John seemed more and more restless, proof that he was getting near consciousness.
John woke up when his body started shivering. He groaned as he curled up in a ball.
"Look who's awake," Walter exclaimed with a smile.
Shivering and awake were good. John was definitely out of the woods now. Of course, he could still get down with a cold, but considering he had reached stage 3 of hypothermia, even pneumonia would still be on the bright side.
He brought a mug of warm soup.
"Here drink this; it will help."
John moved and frowned reaching down his body. His hand came back with a water bottle. He dropped it on the floor and reached for the other ones.
"Overdoing it much, Walt?" The scowl was lost as his teeth shattered.
Walter chuckled. "You know, these parts of the country, we always go for big."
John tried to sit up and gasped his hand reaching for his ribs.
"That would be broken ribs. Couldn't be sure before, you were blue." He helped him sit, making sure the blankets still covered him as much as possible, and forced the mug in the shaking hands.
"Drink."
The warm cup felt wonderful to his hands and John inhaled the cup with bliss. He drank the soup, feeling the warmth spread in his body. Walter came back with John's duffle bag.
"You can have a hot shower now and dress. Then maybe you can tell me where you got some of those scars…" The tone indicated it wasn't much of an option.
Since he had saved his life, Walter had always felt quite protective of John, making it a personal responsibility to ensure his welfare. He hadn't seen him naked in years, not since they used to go swimming in the river. The extent of injuries over the body was unsettling. And the army definitely didn't explain it all…
John winced and slowly got up. The hot water helped even if he still felt the cold deep in his bones. He came back to the living room. Walter had folded up the blankets and handed him another mug.
"More soup?" John asked wrapping his hands around the cup.
"You need warm fluids and coffee is not really recommended."
John nodded, knowing his friend was right; he knew how to treat hypothermia. Tomato soup was fine. Actually, anything warm would do. He'd even settle for hot water at this point. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulder and tried to find a position that didn't hurt his ribs.
"What happened?" he asked softly blowing the cup.
Walter raised his head sharply with a worried face. "You don't remember?"
He hadn't noticed any bumps in the head. John smiled.
"No, I remember the fall, vividly. I remember the first branches I managed to grab and had to let go. It gets fuzzy after I got on the log."
He frowned. He remembered watching the snow pile on his hand and a headstone with his name on it.
"We got your sorry ass off the river… again!" Henry exclaimed from the door. "You should consider avoiding them, you know."
"How long have I been in the water?" John asked with a frown, surprised by Henry's presence.
Henry wasn't with them and he knew for a fact that Walt didn't have a mobile. How did he manage to let his friend know that they were in trouble?
Henry and Walter exchanged a glance and the Native American came to sit down in the reclining chair.
"You should stop doing that, it's upsetting," John told them.
"Doing what?"
"Talking to each other with your eyes."
"See how frustrating it gets when people do not talk?" asked Henry with a smile.
"So start talking. How did you get that many scars on your body?" Walt intervened. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about the wolf for now.
"I was a soldier, Walt! So were you and Henry, you know it goes with the job."
Walt shook his head.
"Huh huh. You came to visit after your last tour, before you 'disappeared'. You may not remember but it was hot, you helped me chop wood. You had one scar, on your shoulder. Which I actually thought was pretty lucky considering your career choice."
John winced. Damned Walt, he deserved being the town's sheriff. He missed nothing. He sipped the soup in silence. He certainly didn't want to talk about his time in the CIA, as for his work with Finch…
"Who's Samaritan?" Walt asked.
John raised his face sharply and blanched. He immediately corrected his features but he knew he hadn't been fast enough, caught by surprise and exhausted. Almost drowning and freezing to death took a toll on a body.
Walt sighed in sadness.
"Kid, what did you get yourself into?" he whispered softly.
John raised a questioning eyebrow.
"You kept mumbling about numbers and a Samaritan. You seemed pretty upset. I was wondering how you ended up as a banker or something, but I'm beginning to think that I'm way off."
The Machine wasn't his secret to tell and as for his time with the CIA, he still hadn't come to terms with the horrors he had committed. He'd probably never be able to talk about that.
Walter knew that prying information out of John was like pulling teeth out, with a fork. He wanted his friend to know he could tell him anything, that he could trust his friends with his secrets. No one deserved to carry such burdens alone. Sharing went both ways; maybe he just needed to nudge him a bit.
"I told everyone my wife died of cancer," he started to say softly. "Very few know the truth. I even told Cady not so long ago. I didn't want anyone to know she had been murdered."
"Oh my God, Walt!" John watched him wide eyed.
"The police couldn't find the man." He glanced at Henry who nodded his agreement. "I represent the law in Durant, and I did the one thing I won't let my fellow citizens do, I did justice myself." He remained silent for a moment, then added, "and I'd probably do it again…"
John watched the bottom of his cup for a while, before starting to speak in his usual soft tones.
"After Jessica died, I killed him. I couldn't let him live. Then… I had lost my job, was reported dead. Might as well have been. I tried to end it by drowning myself in cheap whisky, even went to the river a couple of times. Couldn't jump." He smiled slightly. "You know why? I kept seeing your face. Remembered how you had pulled me out of the water and realized I couldn't do that to you."
He raised his head to watch the two men in front of him.
"Did I ever thank you?"
Henry chuckled. "Every single time you see us."
"It's actually starting to get a little bit embarrassing," Walt added.
John winced.
"Then somebody found me and gave me… a purpose. It'll never undo all the wrong I did, but it helps a little. Some days I am even happy." Or was… With Samaritan online, the happy days were over.
Seeing his face darken, Walter realized they wouldn't be able to get more out of John for now. He couldn't begin to imagine what demons he kept buried. It made his heart ache. No one deserved to carry such pain inside.
The night had fallen, the snow had stopped falling and the full moon made the valley glisten. The view from the house was spectacular.
"You should get some sleep," Walter commented watching John having more and more trouble keeping his eyes open.
His friend nodded and started to make himself comfortable on the couch. Walt couldn't help a laugh.
"John, I know this place is a mess, but I do have a spare room. I know you never made it to it yesterday, but I believe there's a bed with your name on, that way," he added pointing to the back.
With a sheepish grin, John went toward the room. "Thanks, sorry I can't seem to be able to keep my eyes open."
"Well, you did have a long drive from what I gathered." He raised an eyebrow. "You could start answering our questions for a change, you know."
John couldn't help a small smile. "New York. I live in New York."
"See, that did not hurt too much," Henry quipped with a chuckle.
Shaking his head in amusement, John went to get much needed sleep.
Walter turned to Henry.
"Do you mind spending the night on the couch?" he asked his friend.
"No, of course not. You are worried?"
"He's exhausted, he almost drowned, had severe hypothermia. The night might not be peaceful."
"Sure, no problem."
Unfortunately, Walter's worries turned out to be justified. In the middle of the night, he was woken up by moans and grunts from John's room. He got up and went to check on this friend. The man was restless and entangled in his covers. His face was glistening prompting Walt to check his forehead for a fever. His friend was burning up.
Walter sighed, not surprised by the body's reaction to what he had been submitted to. He pulled on the blankets and yelled in surprise when John grabbed him and pushed him to the ground. Faster than lightning, John was up and fighting him. Giving up on trying to be gentle, Walter fought back trying to wrestle him down. A fist to his cheek almost blacked him out.
"Need help?" Henry asked in an amused tone, then frowned and rushed forward when he saw the way John was fighting.
It took both of them to finally manage to subdue their friend, actually having to knock him out. They looked at each other panting.
"I don't want to know how he fights when he's lucid," Walter commented exhaling deeply.
"What happened?"
"He's burning up. Don't know what demons he was fighting, but damn this kid has issues…"
"You really should stop calling him kid," Henry chuckled, rubbing his shoulder where a fist had almost broken his collarbone.
They left him uncovered and put a wet cloth on his forehead, hoping to get the fever down. John seemed more peaceful and they went back to try to get some much needed sleep.
A couple of hours later, the moans woke Walter again. John was drenched in sweat, this time he didn't fight though and calmed down when Walt put a new fresh washcloth on his forehead. The rest of the night, what was left of it anyway, was uneventful.
Henry and Walter were having coffee on the porch when John appeared on the doorstep.
"Hey! How are you feeling?" Walt asked.
"Like I've been run over by train… and back."
Walt chuckled. It wasn't sympathetic but he was too glad to see him alive.
John rubbed his head with a frown. He seemed to remember fighting during the night, but it didn't make sense. He knew his nightmares were often quite realistic, and he couldn't remember if the bruises on his knuckles were from his rush down the river the day before.
"Did we… fight?" he asked hesitantly.
"You got a bit delirious during the night."
"You were quite impressive despite your being burning up with fever," Henry added.
John pointed to the shiner on Walt's face.
"That me?" he asked with a guilty wince.
"Where the hell did you learn that?"
John raised an innocent eyebrow.
"Kid, I've been in the army too. That's not standard combat training. Those skills are more like…"
Walt's voice trailed as he realized what he was about to say… Remembered how John had disappeared, how he had been reported dead… The whole thing screamed black ops or something along the lines. And the proverbial "If I tell you, then I will need to kill you" probably applied…
"I'm not that kid that almost drowned in the river anymore, Walt…"
"Yeah… I realize that," Walt mumbled.
He watched his friend closely. The grey hairs on his temples, the wrinkles, the shadows in the clear eyes that spoke of a darkness no one should ever have to contemplate… John was indeed not the scrawny kid that spent his holidays in Wyoming anymore.
"You okay?" he couldn't help asking.
A small smile lifted a corner of John's lips. He had understood the question wasn't just about their present situation.
"Not really, but I'll be."
"Friends back home to help?"
"Yes, the best you could ask for."
"Then that's good."
They let the silence settle.
"If you need a job, I could always use a good deputy." Walt smiled at him, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere that was sudden weighing on them. "Although I'm not exactly sure how you could put those skills of yours to use with our cowboys… I guess we could have you wrestle a bear from time to time to help you keep your edge."
They spent the day around the house, taking it easy and resting.
John noticed that Walter had pushed the whisky bottle back on the shelf and had only proposed beer or sodas.
"I don't have a problem with alcohol, Walt," he told the man.
"You did tell me you…" Walter's voice trailed. Calling you friend an alcoholic was not an easy task.
"It really was a means to an end. I haven't seen you taking my gun away."
Walt opened his eyes wide. How far down had John gone to consider death so coldly?
"And stop watching me as if I'm going to crumble down. I'm fine, not even cold anymore."
"You are coughing your lungs out though."
"Yeah… Well, freezing water will do that," John answered with a smile, fighting a new bout of cough.
They had grilled steaks for dinner, and Walter had finally brought the whisky bottle out. They were sprawled in front of a raging fire. The alcohol and heat was starting to get tongues lose, and a nice warm filled John's body.
"You never told me how you got me out of the water," John observed.
"You never told us what you've been doing all those years." John shrugged and Walt scolded. "John, we were told you were dead. We even had a memorial ceremony for you!"
John winced. He hadn't thought about that.
"What do you remember about the Cheyenne stories I told you when we were kids?" Henry asked.
"The legends and traditions stuff, you mean?" Henry nodded and John tilted his head slightly. "Most of it I would say…"
"Spirits are an important part of our lives. We actually believe they are around us, to protect us, to warn us. What most people would call hunches are really spirits talking to us."
"You had a 'hunch' that I was in trouble?" John asked. He couldn't bring himself in accepting it but he respected his friend's beliefs.
"Saw a wolf on my parking lot." John raised a surprised eyebrow at the confession. "I have always been convinced that your spirit animal was a wolf…"
And as if to support his statement, a howling broke the silent night. Creepy, thought John with a shiver. Even though the rational part of his mind told him that wolves were common in the area and that he actually had heard one on the first night, hearing it now was a bit more than he was ready to accept. He glanced at his glass; maybe the second helping hadn't been a good idea after all…
"A wolf," he mumbled. "Kind of like that…"
"Figured you would," Henry chuckled.
"We try to help people… Not getting to them in time is the worst part of it. But when achieve it, it feels great." He smiled as he remembered big blue innocent eyes above a mouth chewing on an old tie.
"Some sort of security detail?"
"Some would say more like vigilante stuff… Minus the cape thing." Although as far as costumes went, Finch did go into a whole lot of trouble to get him the appropriate suit more often than not.
"Still get to have a side kick?" Henry joked.
John chuckled wondering what Fusco would think of being labelled a sidekick.
"How can you have possibly done something so dark that you feel you don't deserve to live anymore?" Walter asked horrified by the guilt he could see pouring from his friend.
"Lost my soul…"
It became obvious for both Henry and Walt that he wouldn't share more than that. The sheriff sincerely hoped that those friends back in New York somehow knew and helped him deal with it. Such darkness was too much to carry alone. He wished his friend could open up more; he knew he trusted them, that was one of their common traits, talking never came easy. The poker face was so easy to put on…
He'd let him off the hook. Let him just enjoy his stay in Wyoming, relax some before he went back to whatever weird redemption fight he had found to be able to face life.
Walter and John were sitting on the porch of the house, bear bottle in hand, watching the sun set down over the valley.
"Nice place you've got here."
"Yes, I like it."
"You could finish it though."
"Exactly what I have been telling him for years!" Henry exclaimed as he stepped on the porch. He helped himself to a beer and sat down by their side.
John took a draw from his bottle admiring the riot of colors in the sky, enjoying the silence and quiet. It had been a good idea to come back here.
He needed to leave soon though. A new life as a detective –of all things! the Machine seemed to have a weird sense of humor– was waiting for him in New York. He didn't like being away from Finch for too long. Whatever the Machine said about them hiding, he needed to make sure his former employer was safe. They needed to get back on the field and see how they could defeat Samaritan.
Walt would always be there when he needed a new break. He had almost forgotten there was a place where he belonged…
The end
Reviews, pleaaase (Begging much?)