The night passes with Jess rousing a few times, though Slim doesn't think he's really aware even when he is awake. Still, he dutifully follows Emma's instructions; coaxing a little water down Jess's throat each time, half of it spilling over his chin and neck. Mostly he sits and watches him. Lit by the moonlight he looks a bit like a ghost already, nearly as white as the sheets he's laying on, the sweep of his dark lashes stark against pale skin. He looks unguarded like this, young and fragile in a way he never does awake. It makes Slim's heart ache from concern and affection both, a feeling he usually only gets for Andy. Most of the time it's easy to forget that between the two of them Jess is younger, the man wearing the weight of his life in a way that makes him seem older than he is, but right now Slim feels their difference in years acutely.

"You got to hold on, Jess. What am I going to tell Andy and Jonsey if I come home without you?" He whispers in the gentle quiet dark, the words echoing strangely against the thin walls. Jess stirs lightly, but doesn't wake.

Slim must doze off sometime in the early hours, because when he blinks himself awake the sun is shining through the window, and there's the sound of movement out in the living room. A moment later Emma opens the door, bustling over to check on her patient.

"Wyatt's already out workin', but there's breakfast left on the table. Go eat something, sleep in a real bed. You can use the children's in our room, they'll be out helping with chores for a while yet anways." Slim glances over at where Jess still rests, and Emma must read his hesitation in his face because her expression sets stubbornly. "Now don't even think of arguing, you look fit to fall right off that chair. Go, eat, sleep, Mr. Sherman. I'll keep an eye on him."

Now Slim hasn't known the lady long, but he's already gathered it doesn't do much good arguing with her. Besides he thinks he's so tired he wouldn't have it in him to if he tried. Nodding he stands, suppressing a yawn and stretching out stiff shoulders.

"Alright, on one condition. You call me Slim, everybody else does." She laughs, and nods, before shooing him out the door.

Slim eats quickly and woodenly, barely tasting the food he scoops into his mouth, before letting himself into the Cobb's bedroom where another small wooden bed has been drawn up against the wall besides theirs and collapsing into it. He's asleep nearly before his head hits the pillow.

He's woken by the feeling of hands on his shoulders, shaking at him lightly. He sits bolt upright, narrowly avoiding smashing the bottom of his head into Emma's chin. The look on her face is grim, and Slim's stomach sinks.

"Is he…" He asks, unable to finish the sentence. She shakes her head.

"He's thrown a fever, a bad one. Pretty sure the wound's infected. He's restless, thought it might help to have someone he knows sitting with him."

Slim nods, suddenly very awake, before pulling on his boots and following her into the other room. Jess isn't as pale as he was last night, a fever flush coloring his cheeks pink. He twists in the bed, light sheets caught at his waist as he mutters something unintelligable under his breath. Slim sinks into the chair, barely noticing as Emma closes the door behind him.

"Oh, Jess." He murmurs softly, taking in the lines of pain creased into his friends face, the sweat beading along his temples and throat. There's a wet cloth across his forehead and Slim takes it, feeling the heat radiating off of Jess's skin even without touching it. Dipping it into the basin someone's set on a stool he wrings it out, carefully wiping at Jess's face and chest before setting it back in it's place, brushing sweat-damp hair back as he does in much the same way Emma had last night. Jess shifts under his touch, following his hand as Slim draws it away, before slowly opening fever-bright eyes.

"Hey there, pard." Slim whispers gently, trying to smile.

"Where are we?" Jess rasps weakly, blinking in confusion, though he doesn't make any move to sit.

"We're back at the Cobb's ranch. They must like you a fair bit, lettin' you bleed all over their nice things like you did." Slim's aiming for light-hearted, but it sounds more haunted then humorous. Still, Jess rewards him with a faint smile, though it fades quickly.

"It's pretty bad, isn't it." He asks, not so much a question. Slim thinks about lying but in the end just nods. Jess has always been one to know himself, know his body. He must feel the truth of it.

"Well, it's not good. But that Emma seems like a real capable nurse. We'll get you through." He says instead, trying to sound sure. Jess's gaze is almost pitying, like he's privvy to some secret Slim can't understand.

"I told you once that if… if anyone shot me I wanted you around to carry me home. Slim, no matter what happens, I want you to take me home….You understand?" Jess mumbles, wearily determined. Slim understands what he's saying and wishes he didn't, shying away from the meaning of Jess's words like they're a hot brand.

"I'll take you home Jess, once you're all healed up, we'll go home together." Slim replies, a hint of desperation coloring his voice. Jess shakes his head, reaching up to catch at Slim's sleeve.

"Slim, I'm not scared to die, figured it's been a long time comin', but I want to be buried somewhere I know. Somewhere y'all can visit me. Please, just swear to me you'll take me home." There's a strange vigour in Jess all of a sudden, his fist white-knuckled in Slim's shirt and lean face intense. Slim doesn't have it in him to resist any longer, afraid that Jess is going to pull open his wound in his determination.

"I swear it Jess, I promise." He whispers past the lump in his throat, putting his hand over Jess's. "But then you gotta promise me to fight this, alright?" Jess sinks back down, nodding slowly. His eyes are distant, looking someplace Slim can't see, and it scares him like nothing he's felt before.

"I promise." He murmurs, so soft it's barely words at all, fingers slipping free and falling to the mattress. It feels final, like the ending of something, and Slim is surprised to feel a tear slip unbidden down his cheek. Brushing it brusquely away he takes Jess's hand and tucks it back under the sheets, pulling them up over his shoulders. "Alright Jess, you just get some rest now okay?" But Jess is already gone, gone to somewhere Slim can't reach him.

He takes a long trembling breath, sitting back in the chair and trying to get a hold of himself. If he's going to ask Jess to fight, he has to be ready to do the same. There's no room for him to fall to pieces, not now, not here. Not when Jess needs him to be strong. Setting his jaw Slim picks up the cloth which had fallen away in the midst of Jess's plea, and wets it again.


Slim sits with Jess for the rest of the day, lost in a haze. He wipes him down with cool clothes, tries to get water and beef tea into him when he can. Murmurs comforting words and old stories when he's fitful. Occasionally Emma will come in, laying the back of her hand against Jess's forehead and frowning. She's put a poultice to the wound to draw out the infection, something sharp and fresh smelling, and the heady scent of it nearly covers the smell of sickness. Slim doesn't realize it's evening until the door cracks open and the little girl, Fran Slim thinks her name is, enters instead of her mother. She's carrying a tray with a plate of food and a cup of coffee on it.

"Ma sent dinner for you." She says softly, eyes glued to where Jess lays, mercifully still for the moment.

"Thank you." Slim murmurs, taking the tray and setting it on the ground beside him. He's not particulary hungry at the moment, but he'll try and eat something later. Fran doesn't leave at once, perching on the edge of Jess's bed, fingers playing with a lose thread in her skirt.

"Did you know he saved my life?" She asks after a moment. Slim quirks his eyebrows and shakes his head. She nods very solemnly. "I tried to ride a horse that was too big for me, and it near trampled me. Jess was the one who got me out from under it. He tried to act like it weren't nothing, but ma and pa are real grateful."

It explains some of the family's loyalty, and Slim smiles. "Yep, that sounds like Jess alright. He's saved my life a time or two as well, y'know."

"Is he goin' to die, Mr. Sherman?" The girls voice is very small when she asks, eyes downcast. Slim sighs, wishing truly he knew what answer to give.

"I don't know, Fran. He's hurt pretty bad. But if there's one thing I know 'bout Jess it's that he's got a lot of fight in him. So don't go givin' up on him yet, I'm not." She nods frantically, dark curls bouncing.

"I wouldn't never give up on him! Sides he promised me he'd teach me how to deal off the bottom of the deck next time he came through, so I figure he can't die yet." Slim can't help the suprised chuckle that slips from his lips, but it feels good to laugh and mean it. Shaking his head he looks at his sleeping friend; seems he's just as happy corrupting the youth in Colorado as he is in Wyoming.

"Is it alright if I stay a little while?" She asks, and Slim nods, pulling up a stool besides him with a smile and giving it a pat.

"Sure, take a seat. Now, do you wanna hear a story about the time Jess got stuck in a mudsink with an angry bull?" Frannie laughs and nods eagerly, hopping up onto the stool. Slim tells her lots of stories about Jess, funny light-hearted tales of his antics on the ranch with Andy, the sort of pranks he'd pulled on Jonsey when he first started working for Slim. It eases something in Slim to remember those times, to remember Jess full of life and joy and restlessness for the far off horizon, not just as this silent pale thing lying before him.

Fran sits with him until eventually she nods off, her little head falling slowly against Slim's shoulder despite her best efforts. He stays carefully still so as not to disturb her until eventually Emma comes to fetch her to bed, a fond smile bending her lips when she sees her daughter. Gently he slides the sleeping girl off him and into her mother's arms, and suddenly misses Andy very badly. The Cobb's are all kind and warm, people Slim thinks he would be friends with in another life, but they don't know him and they don't know Jess and he's terrified his best friend is going to die and he'll have to face it alone and far from home.

Emma puts a hand on his shoulder, hitching Fran higher on her hip.

"I'll be back in a little to change his bandages." She whispers. Slim nods weakly, feeling suddenly uncharitable for his thoughts. He's just tired, he thinks. Tired and afraid and tired of being afraid. He needs Jess to wake up, to be Jess, not this unfamiliar stranger who seems to weary to try and go on living. He's not sure if that's ever going to happen.


Jess's temperature rises in the night. They'd set up a cot on the ground in Jess's sickroom for Slim but he barely lies down in it, too busy bathing Jess with cold towels to cool him off, trickling water in between his cracked lips. The wound-fever makes him restive and there's a few times he nearly thrashes himself off the bed in his deliriums, calling out for names Slim recognizes and ones he doesn't. By morning Slim's gritty-eyed and worn through but Jess seems to settle a little with the coming of daylight, even waking long enough for Emma and Slim to get some broth in him before he slides back under the surface.

Once again Emma banishes him from the room to sleep, but it doesn't come easy today and he slips in and out of a restless doze on Tim's bed until eventually he gives up and wanders back to sit with Jess. He feels at a loss for what to do, like the rest of the world has ceased to exist outside of the four walls of this room and the man lying inside it. The others drift in and out like ghosts, bringing food and water and empty words of comfort, and Slim has to muster all the energy left in him to smile and thank them.
That night is worse than the last, Jess's skin so hot the cold compresses they place on his face and chest dry nearly as fast as they can replace them. Jess is locked in the throes of of nightmares and visions that Slim is helpless to soothe, fevered and tortured even in his unconsciousness. Emma relieves him for a while, Slim so tired he falls straight asleep on the cot with Jess's delirious mumblings as a lullaby, but when it starts to get late he sends her away to bed. She and Wyatt still have a ranch to run come morning, Slim has nothing but Jess.

So he sits with him, holds him down through his fits, wipes the sweat from his brow. When he notices, a little past midnight, that Jess is weeping silently, the tears reflecting like liquid silver in the moonlight, he wipes them away without a word.

Slim's not a deeply religious man. Sure, he goes to church on Sunday's when he can spare the time and keeps a copy of the Bible in his bookshelf alongside Melville and Thoreau and Alcott, tried not to take the Lord's name in vain and taught Andy to do the same. He's always had the sense that a man had to make his own way in the world though. That the good things that come to him are the result of hard work and dedication, not the benediction of some distant divinity. Still, sitting beside Jess as he slowly fades, Slim clasps his hands together and prays.

Please Lord, he begs. Don't take him away from us. He's still so young, there's a lot for him to do here yet. And Andy needs him, he's already lost so much and he's just a boy. And, Lord, I need him, I need him a lot. So please, don't take him just yet.

If God is there with Slim, he's quiet.