Bart slept through the rest of the evening, but his sleep was restless because of the pain and he woke up a few times. Bret stayed in the room, not wanting to leave in case his brother needed him. Bart never asked for anything other than water, and Bret had the hotel send up a fresh pitcher before he finally decided to go to bed himself. His bed wasn't far from Bart's and he pushed it even closer, so he would hear his brother if he needed him. He knew that hearing Bart wouldn't be a problem anyway, because even though he went to bed, he didn't go to sleep.

Bret clasped his hands under his head and sighed as he ran the events over in his mind. How he wished that things could've gone differently! He didn't know how long he laid there before a soft noise got his attention and he sat up, looking towards his brother.

Bart had pushed his covers down to his waist in his sleep, and suddenly moved his head, making another noise.

Bret stood and quickly headed over, sitting on the side of his brother's bed. "Bart?" he said.

Bart was asleep and showed no reaction to Bret's voice. He was breathing fast and still making little distressed noises.

Bret noticed that his brother was sweating, and he placed a hand on Bart's forehead, finding it warm. He quickly grabbed a towel off the nightstand and wet it before gently wiping his brother's face and placing it on his forehead. His heart started pounding with worry; had Bart's wound become infected? It hadn't looked that way when he'd changed the bandage earlier...

Bret grabbed the collar of Bart's shirt and stuck his hand inside, gently laying it on the bandage over the wound. He didn't feel heat radiating from it, just the same warmth that encompassed the rest of Bart's body. He stood and pulled the covers further down off his brother before crossing to the window and opening it, letting in a cool breeze. Once that was accomplished, he went back and sat on his brother's bed.

Bart moved his head again, his eyebrows drawn into a frown. He was still breathing fast, but the noises had lessened.

Bret took the cloth off his brother's forehead and rewet it, not giving it a chance to lose its coolness.

Bart suddenly shifted and gave a little moan.

Bret put a hand on his good shoulder. "Take it easy, Bart," he said, hoping that he could hear him. Bret wondered if a bad dream was causing this, and considered trying to wake him, but didn't want Bart to lie awake in pain. He was definitely better off asleep.

Bret removed the towel again and felt his brother's forehead. It wasn't as warm as before, and Bret was surprised and relieved. The room was nice and cool thanks to the open window, and Bret wondered if Bart didn't have a fever after all; maybe he'd been simply too hot. Bret had covered his sleeping brother with an extra blanket before he'd gone to bed, and from the looks of it, it may have been one blanket too many. Great, he thought. Something else that's my fault.

As Bret rewet the cloth and replaced it on his brother's forehead, he was glad to see that Bart's breathing had slowed down. If a bad dream had been the reason for Bart's distress, then hopefully it had gone and been replaced by something more pleasant.

With a sigh, Bret moved to the chair beside the bed. He didn't feel like sleeping now.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Bart woke the next morning, he tried to move without thinking, and sudden pain erupted in his right shoulder. He gave a gasp of pain, and a hand suddenly gripped his left shoulder to hold him still.

"I wouldn't move that fast if I were you," Bret said.

Bart's eyes were squeezed shut tight, until the pain lessened a little. He opened them and looked up at his brother. "Morning already?" he mumbled.

Bret sighed back. "Late morning. You had an eventful night."

Bart didn't know what he meant by that. "I did?" he asked, trying not to groan.

Bret nodded, before grabbing the pitcher of water and pouring some into a glass, pulling his brother upright a little so he could drink it.

Bart drank the water gratefully, finding himself to be terribly thirsty. When Bret laid him back down, he carefully reached for his right arm and held onto it. "I did?" he repeated, prompting his brother to explain.

"You were restless, kept waking up," Bret said. "Do you remember that?"

Bart nodded. "I think so."

"Around midnight or one, you grew upset," Bret said. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Bart frowned and thought for a few seconds. "Not that I can recall. What do you mean by 'upset'?"

"You were moving around and making noises," Bret said. "Were you awake at all?"

Bart frowned, thinking.

"You were sweating and I thought you had a fever," Bret went on to say. "I took the blankets off you and opened the window, and between that and a wet towel on your forehead, you quickly cooled off. I think it was the blankets. Too many."

Bart shook his head. He had vague memories of some kind of struggle…whether physical or mental, he had no idea. Maybe he did have a nightmare. "I can't remember."

Bret nodded. He felt Bart's forehead, found no trace of fever, and sighed with relief.

Bart watched his brother's face. "Are you blaming yourself for too many blankets now?"

Bret looked at him and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again.

Bart closed his eyes for a second before reopening them. "Stop it, will you? I told you that it wasn't your fault, and I'm not going to change my mind. Just be glad that I'm alive and will recover, all right?"

Bret said nothing.

"All right?" Bart repeated.

What could Bret say? "All right."

"Besides," said Bart. "If you hadn't given in and let them think that we were Doc and Wyatt, we would've missed out on that delicious dinner, and you would've forever regretted it."

Bret smiled slightly.

"That's better," said Bart. He tried to shift his position, but changed his mind; the last thing he wanted to do was wince and let his brother see it and start feeling bad again.

Talk of food made Bret realize what time it was. "I guess I should feed you," he joked.

Bart wasn't very hungry, but he said, "That would be nice."

Bret quickly headed for the door. "I'll be right back."

Bart nodded, sighing with relief once the door closed behind him. He let out a groan and inched himself upright until he was sitting up high enough to eat, after which he slumped there breathing heavily, eyes closed. Thirsty again, he reopened his eyes to see the water pitcher and glass on the nightstand to his left, out of reach. He sighed again and waited for his brother.

It didn't take too long for Bret to come back, and he headed over to the bed, deposited a tray on Bart's lap, and removed the cover.

Bart blinked with surprise at the pile of flapjacks. "How am I supposed to eat all this?"

"With a fork, brother Bart," smiled Bret, handing one out. "With a fork."

Bart took it, inwardly sighing at how awkward it was to eat with the wrong hand. "You know I won't be able to finish it," he said.

Bret knew that Bart's appetite had never been as vigorous as his own. "Try," he said, seriously, as he poured his brother a glass of water. "You need to regain your strength."

Bart knew that he was right. He didn't dislike flapjacks; on the contrary, he enjoyed them very much…especially with a lot of maple syrup, which wasn't available in many towns that they came across.

Bret took a small creamer off the cart and brought it over, pouring the syrup over the flapjacks. "Say 'when'."

Bart couldn't help but smile. He didn't have to say anything; Bret knew exactly how he liked them.

Bret put the creamer on the nightstand—knowing that Bart would probably want more before he was finished—and grabbed his own plate, which was piled high. "How's your shoulder?" he asked as he sat down in the chair beside the bed.

Bart couldn't lie; he knew that his brother could see right through him. "It hurts."

"How much?"

Bart sighed. "A lot."

Bret sighed too. "Wish there was more I could do."

Bart shook his head. "You're doing fine. Thanks."

Bret nodded, though he didn't quite agree. He quickly ate his food and gathered the things that he would need to change Bart's bandage again.

Bart lingered over his flapjacks, wanting to delay it for as long as possible. He tried to eat it all, but just as he'd predicted, he couldn't.

"Can't fit the rest?" Bret asked.

Bart shook his head. "I tried."

Bret nodded and took the plate, putting it back onto the tray before coming back and sitting on the side of the bed.

"Can't this wait until later?" Bart asked.

Bret frowned. "You know the bandage needs to be changed morning and night. It's noon." He sighed, hating to see his brother in pain. "I'll be as gentle as I can."

Bart sighed too, but submitted, trying not to wince or groan.

The wound looked 'fine'; the stitches were holding well and there was no sign of infection. Bret felt his brother's forehead anyway just to be sure, and found his temperature to be normal. He changed the bandage as carefully as he could and helped Bart lie down again.

Worn out from the pain, Bart tried to go back to sleep afterwards, and Bret decided to run a quick errand. "I'll be right back," Bret told him. "I ran out of cigars last night."

Bart nodded sleepily and closed his eyes.

Bret watched him for a minute before turning and leaving the room. He pulled the cart out into the hall and left it for the bellboy, before leaving the hotel and heading for the tobacconist. He bought his cigars and quickly returned, to find the hotel clerk looking nervous.

"Mr. Maverick!" he said. "Did you hear what happened?"

Bret frowned. "No, what?"

"Jim Mundy just escaped from jail!"

Bret blinked. "What? He escaped?"

The clerk nodded.

Bret realized with shock that he and Bart needed to leave town right now…but his brother was in no shape for travel. Bret quickly ran back up the hotel steps and headed for their room, wishing that he had anything but this to tell Bart...

TBC