Warning: Major bullying triggers in this one.

On the plus side, this time Wyatt and Doc really are in bed together. xD

Doc stood in the doorway while Wyatt locked the door between the two rooms. It was only now sinking in that Wyatt could have been seriously hurt, maybe even killed. He shivered, though he wasn't cold, and gave in to a coughing spell. I didn't know him a year ago... and now I can't imagine him gone.

Wyatt returned to take his revolver back, and they moved back toward 215 after Wyatt locked Jackson into 213.

"...Thanks for talking sense to him, Doc." Wyatt's voice reached him as he swallowed against the urge to keep coughing.

Doc took out his handkerchief and coughed once more. "No worry." He opened the door of 215 and they filed inside.

Doc and James sat opposite each other on the beds while Wyatt set up a make-shift alarm system to alert them if Jackson left his room. Then Wyatt came to sit by Doc on his bed.

"So," Wyatt said, "why did Jackson pull something just now? Why not wait until his gang shows up?"

"First time his hands were free without soldiers around?" James suggested.

"I suppose."

"Maybe he was working on an escape from the lockup and didn't like being moved to the hotel," said Doc.

"Maybe..."

"You think there's something else?"

"Earlier you said you were surprised his gang didn't try to free him last night. What if they're in town right now? None of us know what any of them look like. Even though there aren't any windows in the lock box, there is space between the walls and the eaves. Jackson could have had a conversation with someone pretty easily. Maybe they laid plans to come back tonight, betting we wouldn't move him in heavy weather. If someone waited until I left him this morning, he could have told them we weren't leaving until tomorrow morning - I told him that myself."

"So, they cased it last night, laid plans this morning, and now we've thrown them. What will they do next?" Doc waited expectantly. He knew Wyatt was smart, and he liked to see his brain in action.

"Once they realize he's not in there, they'll ask around and find out we haven't left town. They won't risk taking him from the hotel - there are too many people here. Instead, they'll bide their time up the trail a little. They know where we're headed."

"Should we ask the soldiers to come a little further with us?" James asked, sounding doubtful.

Wyatt shook his head. "I'd rather not ask. They have orders to follow. At the least, it would be an inconvenience to them."

"So, what's the plan, boy?" Doc asked.

Wyatt glanced at him, then leaned forward, lacing his fingers and resting his elbows on his legs. "If it's still raining tomorrow, we take what cover we can with us and hit the trail early anyway. If not, we'll take our time and leave town quick at the unlikeliest moment."

"I hope it's the latter. Travelin' in the rain is wretched."

"Either way, we take to the Indian trails at the first good opportunity."

"What if you're mistaken and the gang isn't in town?" James asked. "It seems like a lot of wasted effort then."

"True, but it's worth it to me... even if they're planning to ambush us further on, it's worth getting off the main road for a while. We might miss them altogether if we're lucky."

"It's a lot of risk," Doc said. He didn't mind so much for himself, but he would hate to see Wyatt and his brother lose their lives on a bad bet. "Maybe we oughta at least try questioning the prisoner again first."

After a moment, Wyatt nodded. "It won't hurt to try."

So, Wyatt and Doc cautiously went next door and Wyatt got down to business speaking to Jackson while Doc leaned on the wall and watched.

Jackson lay on his bed with his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. His nose had stopped bleeding, but it looked swollen. He barely glanced at them when they came in.

"Jackson, I've got some questions for you," Wyatt announced.

The outlaw grunted.

"Anyone talk to you while you were in the lockup?"

Jackson frowned.

"Last night, maybe?"

He stole a quick glance at Wyatt before looking back at the ceiling.

"Or this morning after I brought you breakfast?"

Jackson looked at him again. "I ain't tellin' you nothin'," he declared.

Doc laughed, coughed, and said, "He and his boys had themselves a conference this mornin', Wyatt. They laid what they figured was a real good plan. And now they'll have to change it. Ol' Bob here is mighty disappointed that they won't be able to implement it, and he's not sure they won't do somethin' stupid without his leadership."

As Doc spoke, Jackson's face became red. "You don't know a damned thing," he muttered, looking at the ceiling once more.

"I know enough," said Wyatt. "Thanks, Doc."

"My pleasure," Doc replied.

The day had gone well - Doc was a bit richer, and Wyatt's plan seemed to be progressing fine. They had spent half the afternoon gambling and talking about their prisoner before returning to the hotel for supper and to turn in early. They hadn't been sleeping long when Doc reawakened. It sounded like a bear was snarling on the other side of the room. His first notion was that Jackson had come through the adjoining door and attacked, but then he realized it was the sound of snoring.

They had left the lamp burning low in case they needed to find their guns in a hurry, and Doc could make out Wyatt's form across the room. He seemed to have a pillow over his head.

"Wyatt?" Doc said softly between snores. "Is that James?"

"Sure is," Wyatt answered.

"La. Is he always this loud?"

"Not always."

"Seems like that pillow isn't helping much."

"I can't stuff cotton in my ears. I need to be able to hear."

After another half a minute of vainly trying to sleep, Wyatt sat up with a groan. He prodded James, which resulted in a break in the snoring... for a few seconds.

"James..." Wyatt sighed. "Damn it."

It seemed Wyatt wasn't quite willing to wake his brother to stop the snoring.

"Put the pillow over his head," Doc suggested.

Wyatt eased James's pillow out from under his head and laid it on his face. The sound was somewhat dampened, but still obnoxious.

Doc opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, "Well, come on over here with me. At least that way you're not right next to it."

"Oh, that's all right," Wyatt said. "I'll get to sleep eventually."

Doc interpreted Wyatt's tone and wording to mean that his main concern was to not inconvenience him in some way. He worded his response with a goal of leaving the invitation open without making things awkward. "I don't mind at all, but suit yourself."

Wyatt lay back down.

Doc closed his eyes and tried to focus on his own breathing rather than James's snoring. Then he heard Wyatt grumble, "Oh, hell." He opened his eyes to see Wyatt get up and take his pillow from the bed. Like Doc, he was in summer underwear that left his arms and lower legs bare. Doc unceremoniously pulled the covers back for him.

Wyatt got into Doc's bed and lay on his side, dropping the extra pillow over his ear.

Doc smiled a little at Wyatt's pillow-covered head. "Good night," he said softly.

"Night."

He closed his eyes again and once again tried to focus on his breathing. Then he focused on Wyatt's breathing. Wyatt shifted onto his back. Doc was starting to shut out James's snores. Soon, he would sleep. Then he realized that Wyatt seemed to already be asleep.

"Wyatt?" Doc whispered. "You awake?"

Steady breathing was the only response.

This is what it's like... Sleeping beside another man near your age that you care about... That cares about you. Cautiously, Doc inched closer to Wyatt and let his head nestle against Wyatt's shoulder. He could feel his skin against his chin and neck.

He had slept in Kate's embrace many times, and it felt good. Comforting, intimate, sweet. This was different - sneaky, for one thing. Doc felt a little guilty, supposing Wyatt would probably object if he were awake. Might lose some respect for him. But there was something about this warm but tough frame... It was different. Is this how it feels to have a brother? One that's not more like a second father? He longed to know for sure.

November, 1870

Gerald left early Monday morning, leaving John with the Wilsons and their other boarders for breakfast. He assumed his classmate was still avoiding him due to the awkward encounter a few nights before.

"I made up a lunch for you," Mrs. Wilson said when he was about to depart.

"Thank you, ma'am," John said, taking the pail from her. "That's very kind."

"Don't spoil him now, Dora," her husband teased.

She scoffed. "Oh, don't be silly. John's got a long way to go before he's spoiled. Will you be home for dinner?"

"I believe so," said John.

"That's good. Now have a wonderful day."

In spite of his classmates refusing to speak to him unless it was absolutely necessary, John felt a little bit hopeful that the start of a new week could bring an improvement to the situation.

When he got to Professor Blakely's class, only Gerald and Michael were there ahead of him. Stiffening his resolve, John approached Michael. He spoke as loudly as he could without making it easy for Gerald or the teacher to follow his every word.

"Edwards, I want you to know that I'm sorry about the trouble we had the other night. I shouldn't have lost my temper. I don't want any hard feelin's between us."

Michael's eyes turned up toward him in a sort of glare.

It wasn't encouraging, but John pressed on, pulling a book out of his satchel. "I didn't feel right spendin' all that money on myself, so I got you a book. It's Robinson Crusoe. If you already have it, I can exchange it for you..." He held out the book.

Michael glanced around quickly like a cornered animal looking for an escape. Then he snatched the book and tucked it into his own bag, saying, "It's fine. Sit down."

This wasn't quite what John had hoped for, but at least he had accepted the peace offering. He took his seat for the lecture.

That evening, John headed back toward the boarding house, looking forward to dinner. He hadn't bothered trying to walk with Gerald, not wanting to press his luck. The day had gone all right, all things considered. He would "kill" his classmates with kindness, as Mrs. Wilson suggested.

He turned a corner about halfway home and found a group of young men standing at the side of the road. It was a shortcut off the main road that didn't have much traffic at that time of day, so it seemed no one was likely to ask them to disperse or quit blocking the way. He realized in a moment that the five young men were all classmates of his. Gerald, Michael, Fred, Caleb and Andrew looked at him as he approached.

"Good evening," John said uncertainly.

"Evening," said Michael. "We want to show you something, Holliday. Come here."

John's instincts told him that whatever they wanted to "show" him wasn't anything good. "I promised I'd be back for dinner," he said, hating that he couldn't make his voice sound confident.

"We won't keep you long, right Gerald?"

Gerald licked his lips, looking worried.

John's heart started racing, but he couldn't seem to make his feet move as Fred came up to him and took him by the arm.

"Come on," said Fred. He led John down a blind alley and the others followed.

John tried to pull away, but Fred tightened his grip. "Let go of me, please." John fought to keep his voice steady in spite of his rising panic. Five against one was not odds he thought he could beat. Well, four against one... he doubted Gerald would take part in harming him. Maybe he could get Gerald to help dissuade them from whatever they were about to do. Two to one was much better odds, even if Gerald wasn't all that strong.

John's worst fears were realized when Fred and Caleb pinned him against a brick wall. Michael stood in front of him.

"Wait," John pleaded. "You don't have to do this. Just tell me what you want. I'll make it right."

"What we want?" Michael repeated. "We want your blood, Johnny reb."

In desperation, John looked at Gerald. "Gerald, you're a decent fellow. Don't let them do this."

Discomfort was all over Gerald's face, but he said nothing.

Michael's fist landed in John's stomach. The wind was knocked out of him and he instantly felt sick. Before he could recover, the next blow landed, then the next. He couldn't breathe. He was vaguely aware of hands moving on his person, removing his coat and jacket, different hands grasping him. He started to choke down a little air, but then Fred hit him in the ribs and he heard a faint crack. He gave a strangled cry of pain. Then he was struck in the chest. Again and again the blows fell. Then it was Caleb's turn.

"Not the face!" Michael shouted suddenly.

John looked up to see Caleb's fist frozen mid-punch. He drew back again and landed the blow on John's shoulder instead. Andrew took a turn next. John lost track of how many times he'd been hit. Dazed, he sank back against the wall.

"Now you, Gerald," Michael said.

"He's had enough." Gerald's voice was placating.

"No, you need to participate. You're not a rebel lover, are you?"

"No."

"Go on, then."

John looked up, feeling as if he weren't in his own body anymore. Gerald didn't seem real as he came forward slowly, not until he was looking at John eye to eye. John took a ragged breath and wheezed, "Et tu, Brute?"

Gerald's face twisted in anguish.

"Go on!" Michael repeated loudly.

Gerald punched John's shoulder, a weak strike compared to what he had already endured. At the others' urging, he threw a few more punches that John was sure he was pulling. Then he stepped back. "That's enough, isn't it?"

"Sure," said Michael. "Let's go."

Without anyone pinning him anymore, John began to slide down the wall.

Michael grabbed him by his waistcoat and brought his knee up between John's legs. "Don't ever try to speak to us again," he growled. Then he let go and turned away.

John lay on the cold ground until they were gone. Then he crawled to his jacket and gingerly tugged it on. After a short, painful breather, he crawled to his overcoat and got that on, too. Then he sat back against the wall, drew his knees up, crossed his arms over them, laid his head down, and wept.

If you hate me right now, know that I kind of hate myself too. I hope Doc wasn't bullied in real life. If his schoolmates in PA were mean to him, there probably isn't a record of it. If they treated him like everyone else, that was remarkable, because resentment was high on both sides right after the Civil War.

Anyway, let's focus on Doc snuggling up to Wyatt. Maybe some bros are close like that, Doc, but... we know it's more than that. ^_-

Comments? Anyone? Bueler?