It was near dusk when Hoss finally showed up.

Sitting upon the ground in front of the farmhouse's remains, Adam stood as his brother approached, his stomach turning with a mixture of dread and relief. He hadn't moved since Pa left him, and in his father's absence he seemed to think of everything and nothing at the same time. He tried his best to ignore the things they had both said, and in trying not to think about the conversation that had just taken place, he began to recall a more distant one, the details of which wouldn't be silenced or ignored.

Before, when he had abruptly decided to live at the Silver Dollar, he couldn't tolerate remaining inside the house. The air inside of it was too thick and stifling, the overwhelming emotions stepping inside of it—for even the briefest of moments—invited were too horrid to endure. Something about the house was foul; something about it was wrong. Intent on avoiding it, he set up residence in the barn and waited. Even back then, he hadn't expected Pa to adhere to his demand to be left alone. He hadn't anticipated such a request would remain granted for long.

Sleeping on a bedroll, alone in the barn, that first night, Adam had expected—he had wanted—Pa to be the one to come upon him. He hadn't anticipated to wake up and find someone else.

"Skinny," Ross had whispered, the word cooling Adam's skin like a breeze. "Wake up. You and I need to talk."

Roused from fitful sleep, Adam opened his eyes and gasped.

Seeing Ross the second time was nothing like the first. The first time Adam's shock had been impeded, soothed away by the strength of the alcohol he had consumed. Vison blurred and slightly swimming, it had been impossible to truly comprehend what he was seeing. It had been unfeasible to distinguish and absorb the details of what Ross looked like in the darkness of the house. Although the dimness of the barn wasn't much better, this time, Adam was able to see more than he ever wanted to.

Towering above where he lay, Ross's ghost wore the same clothes he had been killed in; the front of his shirt remained stained with blood from the wound that had taken his life. He looked the same as he had the day he had died, but he looked different too.

Eyes gleaming brightly, Ross grinned, his lips curling up to expose jagged, sharp teeth. "Adam Cartwright," he said, his voice too deep and gravelly to be recognized as his own as he peered down at him. "My brother by choice, my twin by fate, once my shadow always my shadow. When we were kids you used to follow me everywhere. Are you ready to follow me again? Boy, you better be, because a whole lotta bad is gonna start comin' for you. You think things hurt you now, you just wait. The way you feel inside is gonna get a whole lot worse."

Breaths coming in panicked gasps, Adam stared helplessly at the vision of a man who was once his best friend. Something about Ross's teeth was unsettling; something about the look in his eyes wasn't quite right. There was a fury lurking in them now, a glint of something evil and wrong. Adam's stomach turned with a sudden sickness; he didn't like the way the Ross was looking at him. He couldn't tolerate the trepidation born from being the extended focus of his lingering gaze. He shouldn't have been afraid of him, but he was. It was a fear that didn't bode well with him; it was so incompatible with his guilt and grief.

Something about this moment wasn't right. Something about it was incredibly wrong. Wrong with barn, with the night, with the way Ross was looking at him, his eyes gleaming, black orbs with a hint of red in the center.

"What are you?" Adam gasped. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" Ross laughed, the barn echoing the deep, grinding sound. "Who are you? Who are any of us once we're lost to this world? I was lost first, but your time is coming. You know it is, that's why you've come to my land. That's why you're here, sleeping in my barn. When I was alive, I descended into darkness. I led the way and carved out a path and now you have no choice but to follow because that's the way it's always been ever since we were kids. When everything is all over, when your life is a destroyed as mine was, you'll understand. You won't want to, but you will. A man is responsible for what he does; there comes a time when he needs to take responsibly for the bad things he's done. The next time you talk to your pa you tell him he was wrong."

"About what?"

"About me, about you, and about time. There are some things a man experiences and does that he ain't destined to ever make peace with. Some mistakes are too bad to be forgiven. Some cuts are just too deep to ever be allowed to heal. Ain't nothing really gets better with time." Ross laughed then, his grin becoming impossibly wide. "I don't need to tell you that. You have your own scars, even if you choose not to ever look at them, even if the people around you pretend they don't exist. And you have your own faults. I can see them all now, Skinny, your failures, your secrets, your fears. Everything you want to hide is reflected so clearly on your face for only me to see. You were a fool to come back here. You should have run far away when you had the chance."

It was foolish in hindsight—Ross's words so painfully apt—that despite the feelings awoken by the house and the faint memory of seeing Ross's ghost inside of it, that Adam would have dared return to the property at all.

But he had.

He hadn't expected to be visited by Ross again, however. It was an asinine assumption. So obvious now that if the soul of his dead best friend had reached out to him once, it could do so again. Then again, maybe that was the underlying purpose of leaving the Ponderosa for the Silver Dollar back then. The unspoken desire Adam had harbored when deciding to leave the predictability of his own home for the variance of someone else's. Maybe he wanted to Ross's ghost again, or maybe he wanted something else instead.

After the emotional conversation with Pa in the Ponderosa's barn, Adam had remained home. Pa had kept him close then, requesting he dedicate his time to tasks that required more of his brain than his body. Adam spent days aside his father, reconciling the current ranch budget with proposed increases of expansions. Their rapport was easy, though they were quieter than usual. It wasn't until Pa broached the subject of extending the property lines of the Ponderosa to include the Silver Dollar that their companionable communication dissolved into a fight.

Adam had refused his father's suggestion. He hadn't wanted the Silver Dollar to be added to the Ponderosa; he wanted them to remain independent. This was a declaration Pa had neither accepted nor agreed with. Their bitter difference of opinion lingered between them, impeding them from focusing on anything else. Pa couldn't understand why Adam was so adamant on keeping the land separate, and Adam couldn't explain his determination because he wasn't certain himself. It just didn't feel right; the thought of permanently binding their land to that which once belonged to the Marquette's was deeply troubling. They needed to stay separate. He couldn't begin to explain why, so he didn't explain at all.

With no explanation being offered, Pa was quick to create his own, and then endlessly annoyed by his father's willingness to put words in his mouth, Adam started offering a few of his own. They weren't actually any he had intended or wanted to say. He just couldn't stop them from slipping off his tongue once they showed up in his mouth. He found himself saying all sorts of things he didn't truly mean. He would long to retract them later. Once the fight was long over and his temper had cooled. Once he found himself sleeping in the Silver Dollar's barn, his family and the life he had wanted feeling so far away. And maybe he would have felt like he could have retracted the words he had said that led to his predicament, if only they had been said to his father in confidence. If only he hadn't been overheard.

Hoss had overheard the tense discussion. Standing just out of sight, in the periphery of their argument, he had heard Adam's declaration to leave, and then Hoss had stood in place, his expression stunned, while he watched Adam leave.

Saddling Sport, Adam had expected his middle brother to follow him into the barn to ask him what had happened before asking him to stay. Once his horse was ready, he led it to the ranch yard, then waited a moment or two, giving Hoss ample time to immerge from the house. Hoss never did. And so, Adam left home, not really wanting to. Not really understanding where his determination had come from or how a day that had begun so good could end so bad. And later, lying awake on his bedroll on the hard ground of the Silver Dollar's barn, Adam wondered what else he could have said to prevent the fight that had led to him his surroundings and why Pa hadn't properly interpreted what he had actually said.

"I don't want you to leave," Pa had said.

"Do you think it's what I want?" Adam had exclaimed. Apparently, Pa had, because he hadn't sent Hoss outside to stop him.

Looking upon Hoss now, as he approached with Sport in tow, Adam wondered what Pa instructed his younger brother to say in order to convince him to come home.

Directing the horses to stop a few paces away, Hoss cast Adam a wary look, his gaze first setting upon the trail of dried blood marking the distance between his older brother's temple and neck, then settling on the blood staining Adam's fingertips.

"You need to clean that wound proper," Hoss said flatly.

"I know," Adam said.

"It's gonna cause you trouble if you let it sit. Infection, sickness."

Hearing this warning, Adam wondered if Hoss was thinking of the last time they had come upon each other this way. If his brother's warning of infection and sickness wasn't due to the bad memories which seemed destined to be lingering in the forefront of his mind.

It had taken days for Hoss to venture to the Silver Dollar the last time. By the time he did show up, Adam had been sleeping in the still erect barn for nearly a week. The days had passed in a hazy stupor, a sickening combination of too much alcohol and legitimate illness; his body was already infected by sickness, the tangible symptoms of which would remain imperceptible for days. Nobody hadn't known he was sick back then; he wasn't even certain he had known himself. He had known something was wrong, however. Something about the house had been horribly wrong—that was what led him to set up a space in the barn. Of course, those surroundings hadn't been much better, because the overbearing feelings of wrongness had lingered, and something else had lingered too.

He had begun seeing Ross's ghost with increasing regularity. Sometimes they spoke and others they didn't. Sometimes Adam thought Ross was no more than a figment of his imagination, a vision born from too much liquor mixed with unresolved negative feelings, and others he knew he was all-too-real. It didn't take long for Ross's kindness to wear thin, for him to begin asking things of Adam that couldn't be done. It didn't take much longer than that for it to become clear just how dangerous that ghost really was.

"I need you to do something for me," Ross's ghost had eventually said. "Something for Del. I would do it myself except, well, I can't."

To Adam, this statement was painfully familiar, because the words Ross's ghost had chosen to declare this demand were the same ones he had used before. Of course, he was alive when he had said them prior, the request he made back then was glaringly opposite to the demand he was making while dead—as the priority of the living always seemed to be focused on creating and sustaining life and the priority of the dead to facilitate more death.

"You can do it," Ross had said—first in life then in death. Though the words he had said were the same on both occasions, the things he was asking of Adam couldn't have been more different. When he was alive, Ross's words instilled within Adam a deep, mournful sadness. When he was dead, these very same words had instilled within Adam a vast fear. "You know you can. I know you don't want to, but think of me. Think of Del and what you can do for her. You're my best friend in the world, my brother, my shadow, my twin. If it has to be anybody other than me, then it's only right that it's you."

"No," Adam had said. Quick and firm, his answer was always the same at first. In life and in death, each time Ross made his requests and demands they were always destined to first be met with resistance. Adam was too principled to expect anything less. "I won't do it. I don't care your reasoning, there's nothing that could ever convince me to do what you're asking of me. I can't believe you would even think I would."

"And I can't believe you won't." When Ross had responded in life, his eyes had been shining with disappointment. In death, they had been glistening with fury, his words a little to pointed and sharp. They sounded like a threat and they were. "Think about what I'm asking from you and why. I wouldn't be asking you for help if you didn't have some hand in creating the problem, you know. You're just as responsible for what happened as anyone. This situation is as much your problem as it is mine. I want you to think about that, then I'm sure you'll change your opinion in the matter."

Adam shook his head, forcing the twin memories from his mind. There was no purpose in thinking of such things now. In awakening regret over a past that couldn't be changed. Things couldn't be any different than they were now. The purpose of Delphine's ghost prompting him to think about how he could have done things differently always did was it was intended to, awakening within him a deep, cavernous pit of shame and grief. Not purchasing the Silver Dollar would have done nothing to change what happened with Ross and Del; it wouldn't have changed the mistakes already made. But it would have prevented Adam from making anymore.

He cringed. He shouldn't have fought with Pa, not today, not back then. He shouldn't have left home. He should have stayed where he was, then maybe with the help of his father and brothers, he would have had enough strength to remain who he was. Strong and courageous. Moral and principled—until a point. There had been a point where all of that for ended for him, and now the memories of that point were carefully crafted and sharp as a knife. They cut him deeper than he once imagined they could.

"What came over you?" Hoss asked.

"What do you mean?" Adam blinked dumbly.

He wanted to ask Hoss which he truly preferred, the Adam of before or the Adam of after? The Adam who showed no weakness or all? The Adam who didn't speak or the one who chose exactly the right thing to say to tell the most limited of truth. Well, the truth was that the Adam of now was quickly becoming a little too much like the Adam of before. So used to the Adam of after, it was a transition that his family was bound to struggle with. After needing them so much for so long, it was a change Adam was bound to struggle with himself.

But if there was point of change then there had to be a line too. An invisible one that once drawn firmly separated him from them. It was the only way. If he was ever going to stand alone again, as a person, as a man, then that line needed to be drawn. As quickly and firmly as possible.

"I mean, what happened last night?" Hoss asked.

Adam shrugged. Though he had anticipated the repetitive questions, he had no intention of answering them. Of course, he anticipated a different brother too; the quick-tempered younger one who demand an argument that would rival the one that had already taken place.

"What happened with you?" Adam asked. "I expected Little Joe to be the one to show up. Did you draw the short match stick again?"

It was meant as a joke, the uttering of the familiar age-old quip meant to dissolve the tension between them. It wasn't right that such a stiffness should be allowed to grow and linger between he and Hoss— between he and Joe, sure, but not between he and Hoss. They understood each other too well not to be at ease in one another's presence. They had never needed much in the way of words to find peace in each other's company—even in the most dire of circumstances.

"Yes, sir," Hoss said. His voice was uncharacteristically curt, this, coupled with his refusal to properly acknowledge the joke, ignited Adam's anxiety. Hoss wasn't in the mood to play around, which begged the question of what he was in the mood for. Maybe that second argument was coming after all. "We drew for it," Hoss continued, his attention fixated on Adam's bloodstained fingers. "Who would head up the timber camp today and who would come bring you your boots and horse. As you can see, I drew the shorter stick."

Growing increasingly uncomfortable beneath his younger brother's stare, Adam shuffled nervously in place, crossing his arms and pressing his hands to his sides in an effort to hide them from view. "I'm sorry to be such a burden to you," he said flatly.

"You ain't never needed to apologize to me before. Don't you dare start now. That being said, the way I see it, I ain't the one you need to be asking forgiveness from. You owe Pa an apology. You have no idea how worried he was this morning, how worried we all were when we realized you was gone."

"I said I was sorry."

"To me," Hoss said. "But not to Pa. I already told you I don't want your words."

"What do you want?"

"For you to come home."

"I..." Adam hesitated; he didn't want to argue. "I'm not going to do that," he finished carefully.

"Yeah. That's what Pa said you'd say."

"What else did Pa say?"

Hoss shook his head.

"That bad, huh?" Adam said.

"No, sir, what Pa had to say when he came home wasn't bad at all."

"In comparison to what?"

"In comparison to this." Hoss looked between the piles of ash marking where the house and barn once stood. "In comparison to you. What on earth are you doin' here, brother? What could this place hold for you?"

"I didn't want to come here."

"And now that you're here, you don't want to leave. Sounds too familiar."

Pressing his lips together firmly, Adam didn't respond. He had already made the mistake of speaking of the past with Pa; he wasn't going to do it again.

"Alright," Hoss said. A hearty sigh followed the word, a deep-chested exhale that escaped him as he finally dismounted his horse. It seemed to finally cure him of his stern indifference. "How bad was it?"

Adam thought back to his conversation with Pa and all the things he had said and things he hadn't, the terrible, unspoken memories he had weaponized to get what he wanted in the end. "It wasn't good," he said.

"You got mad and said the wrong thing," Hoss said knowingly. "And Pa, he probably got mad and said the wrong thing too. You've both been known to do that from to time, especially when you're both wrapped up in getting the other to give into what you think is right."

"Wait," Adam said, his eyes narrowing as his lips curled into a slight frown. Hoss's explanation was too generalized to imply he had known anything about the argument. "Pa didn't tell you anything about our fight."

"I never said he did." Dropping the reins to their respective horses, Hoss took a step forward. "Let me get a good look at what you've done to yourself." Finger hooked under his brother's chin, he tilted Adam's head and carefully inspected the wound. "This needs to be cleaned."

Adam pushed his brother's hand away. "You said that already."

"Well, then let me tell you something new. It's awfully deep this time. It looks to have quit bleeding but it's still wide-open and wet. I don't think it's gonna heel right on its own. I think it needs to be stitched up."

Adam's frowned deepened. "I'm not going home."

"That don't leave you a favorable choice. Either you come home, so Hop Sing can fix you up, or we head to town to see Doc Martin."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You do it."

"No, sir."

"Come on, Hoss. It isn't like you haven't stitched up a wound before."

"Different circumstances. I've only ever done it when there wasn't no other choice. That don't mean I'm good at it, or that I'm willing to do it again."

"There is no other choice," Adam insisted.

"Sure is. I gave you two others to pick from." Hoss cast Adam a serious look. "What's it gonna be, brother? Town or home?"

"Pa doesn't want me in town."

"Pa ain't here."

Adam didn't know what to say, or choose. He wasn't certain which option was better or worse. If he went home, he would be faced with Del's ghost and Pa's relief and disappointment. There was no telling what kind of conversation they would have and, if after, he would ever summon the courage to leave again. There was no predicting what Del would say or do once she set eyes upon him again. No limit to the horrendous things she could show him or say.

Entering Virginia City was variable too. There were so many rumors about him; so many unkind opinions about his change in character and past actions. He could predict what people would say easily enough; he had seen the town turn on enough people over the course of his life to know showing his face promised complications and danger. Did he really want invite anymore trouble? Was he really ready to burden the weight of public opinion? There once was a time when he could have stood up to the harshest of criticisms and the most wounding of words, but was he strong enough to endure those things now? Or coupled with the burden of everything else, would the commentary of the townsfolk—direct or otherwise—crush him instead?

"Come on, Adam," Hoss said. "It can't be that hard of a decision. After all, isn't that what today is all about? You making your stand, demanding Pa let go of the authority he has over your life. Well, he did, brother, so this up to you now. He ain't here, directing you to do as your told. What are you going to do? How are you gonna take care of yourself?"

Mouth hanging agape, Adam was outraged. He had never known Hoss to speak in such a way, sharing veiled wisdoms about choices. Those were Pa's words, his uncertainties and doubts spilling from Hoss's mouth.

"You did talk to Pa!" Adam lifted an accusing finger. "He told you what was said. There were no matchsticks between you and Joe. Pa sent you here. He sent you here because I told him to go away!"

"Adam—"

"Don't try to deny it. Don't try to make it sound any different than it is. You knew about the deepness of my wound, because Pa told you it was bad. You came here with the intention of manipulating me into going home!"

Hoss's expression contorted with quick remorse as he lifted his hands in a surrendering motion. "Look, Adam, we wasn't meaning to manipulate you," he said. "Sure, Pa and me, we talked about that wound. What I would say, what kind help I would offer you, but it's still your choice. I'll take you to town if that's what you want to do."

"I want you to leave," Adam said, his eyes sparkling with fury. "That's my choice."

Hoss was hesitant to reply. "That," he said carefully, "wasn't an option."

"Yeah, well, I don't much care about the options you and Pa concocted when you were talking about dealing with me."

Clenching his fists at his sides, Adam squared his shoulders and stood tall, striking a menacing posture. If his brother thought he was going to brought home then he had another thing coming. If Hoss thought he wasn't going to have fight, either with fists or jagged words, to get his way, then he was wrong. There was a line between them now, separating him from them. Though it was invisible they could both feel it; they both knew how important it was. How was he ever going to stand on his own again if he wasn't given the chance? How was anything going to get better if he was forced to remain in place where everything was worse?

"I told Pa I wasn't going to be made to go home," Adam said firmly. "And now I'm telling you the same."

"What are you gonna do? Fight me? You ain't gonna win. I've always been a mite bigger than you, even more so as of late."

"You think you're stronger than me?"

Adam was not thinking of Hoss's physical size. It didn't seem likely that Hoss, always so jovial and affable, gentle and sensitive could have endure all that Adam had in the past few years or even endured it any better than he. It didn't seem believable that he would have survived it at all. Adam wouldn't have wanted him to experience it. Despite his anger, he would never wish that kind of pain and horror on his brother—on either of his brothers. And in spite of his frustration, his quick fury over discovering the truth of how Hoss's presence in front of him came to be, Adam abandoned the cruel words lingering on the tip of his tongue. Hoss wasn't Pa; he hadn't lied, not really. He didn't deserve to be the focus of his overpowering frustration and discontent.

"Please…" Adam said, his voice softening. "…just go. I don't want to go to town and I'm not going home, so just... leave it and me alone. I want—I need—to be alone."

"For how long?"

"I don't know." How did one calculate an indiscriminate period of time? How could one ever put a timeline on the transformation of feelings that a man needed to change? "I just need some time. I need some space. I need to do something different than what I've been doing lately."

"Space and time," Hoss repeated, his voice carrying a slightly bitter edge. "And what are you gonna do with it? Take a good look around you. The last time those things were granted to you, you burned this property to the ground. What are you gonna destroy this time?"

"Nothing. There's nothing left here to hurt. Be happy I'm not going home, Hoss. There's a whole bunch of things that I could set my attention on destroying there. Big barn, big house. If I was dead-set on staying, then I'd have to do something to rectify the future with the past."

"You say that like it's some kind of threat," Hoss said. "Like destroying the life we all know is supposed to frighten us, but the problem is it ain't scary. Not anymore. Because, although both the house and barn still may be standing, the life we all knew is gone. You already destroyed it. Pa, me, and Joe we're all just trying to hold on to what little pieces we can find. You ain't the only one who's struggling to move on from what's happened. You're just the only one who's intent on ruining what we got left. You think any of us are happy about how things are? You think we want life to be so difficult? For us or you? Ain't nobody happy with the way things are."

Adam flinched, stung by the words. He and Hoss had always had such a good relationship, an understanding and bond that allotted feelings and painful truths to remain mutually felt but unspoken. They had never needed to speak to each other with much firmness; they had never needed to be so direct. They had always understood each other—silently knowing what one needed the other to do. But it wasn't like that Adam realized. Not now. Not anymore. This was an unavoidable fact that hurt so much more than the rest; it only seemed to highlight how much everything had changed.

All of them had changed. Pa had become stagnant, a strange mixture of too gentle and too stern as he struggled to weather the variable variations of Adam's abilities and moods. As Adam became less recognizable, his behavior becoming more unreasonable and foreign, it was Hoss and Joe who had been forced to step up, to shoulder the responsibilities Adam had once had. Hoss had become Pa's right-hand man, and Joe had grown up, endlessly displaying an almost impenetrable serious of a much older, much more cynical man.

They had all changed, but it was Adam who had changed first. It was he who first made the choice that changed everything. And then later he had made another one, leaving the comfort of home for the stifling, menacing confines of the buildings that once stood tall and luring just beyond the Silver Dollar's head gate. He had chosen to come here back then, and he was choosing to remain among its wreckage now. It would have seemed poetic it if wasn't so damn sad. Pa had spoken about admitting truth and choices, a man owning up and taking responsibility for the harm he had caused. Remaining here, among the ashes of the pain of what once was and would never be again, was the only way Adam could conceive of doing that. It wasn't much in the way of atonement, but it was enough for the moment and the night. Maybe it wouldn't be enough for tomorrow or the day after, but it was enough for now.

"I want you leave," Adam said. "Don't make me tell you again."

Hoss looked upon him for a few stubborn moments. "Yeah," he sighed finally, his expression contorting with fatigue. Lifting his hand, he ran his palm over his face and sighed again. "That's what I told Pa you'd choose."

Oddly, Adam felt a rush of sympathy for his brother; he felt unkindly for being the cause of a difficult conversation between Hoss and Pa that morning and guilty that his determination now was bound facilitate another between his father and brother. "It isn't easy, is it?" he asked.

"What?" Hoss snorted. "Dealin' with your stubborn ass?"

Adam's lips curled in a small smile. It wasn't often a curse word slipped from Hoss's lips and it always sounded disingenuous when it did. Blaspheming didn't suit him; he was much too easygoing, too kindhearted for the harshness of such words to ever come across as authentic.

"No," Adam said. "Dealing with Pa's. Being his righthand man is not an easy thing. It's a precarious position. When you're serving as his confidante, his friend, it can be hard to draw the line between where his opinion ends and your own begins. When those two things differ, it can sometimes be difficult to stand up to him because, well, he's your father and he raised you up to do as you're told. You go against him and you run the risk of feeling like you failed him. Like you disobeyed. The thing to remember is that when he's asking you to speak your opinion on something, he's not coming to you as your Pa; he's coming to you as a man. That gets easier to see over time and then becomes easier to speak against him when you disagree."

"I don't want it get easier," Hoss said. "I want things the way they were. I want you to come home."

"I'm not going to do that. You're gonna leave and I'm gonna stay. For what it's worth I am sorry for the difficult conversation that is waiting for you when you return home because of my decision. I'm sorry for putting you in a poor position with Pa. I'm not trying to make things harder on anyone than they've already been."

"You sure ain't makin' them easier either. Ah," Hoss sighed, kicking the toe of his boot against the dirt beneath his feet. "That's alright for now, I suppose, seein' as I already told Pa you weren't gonna change your mind about coming back."

"You did?"

"That ain't all I told him neither. Talking you out of anything you got your mind set on is a fool's errand and a waste of breath. Sure, it's easy to want you back home and underfoot, because that way we all know where you are and what you're up to. Given what you done to Frank Mitchel, I don't think anyone can fault us for that, not even you. It easier on us to have you home, but it's harder on you. It affects you… poorly, makes you act in ways unseemly for a grown man, and it makes us feel as though we gotta comfort you in ways that we don't want to, not really. You think Pa likes reading to you, Adam? Or telling you how much you gotta eat, what you can and can't do. Do you think I was happy the nights I found you next me in my bed? We hate those things too. We want you to be independent of us as much as you do."

"You and Pa talked about all that?"

"'Course we did," Hoss said. "I ain't the one who's ever had trouble bringing difficult truths to him for fear of losing his love or letting him down."

While Hoss hadn't spoken with any malice or ill-intent, the words cut Adam like a knife. Pursing his lips, he stood still, wondering how he could have been so transparent and if his brother was repeating yet another fact he had already discussed with Pa.

Seemingly taking note of his discomfort, Hoss tilted his head back at Sport. "I brought your horse," he said. "Your boots and hat are in the saddlebags, along with some supplies. You can't stay out here with nothin'. There's a lot of bad that can happen upon a man when he's without rations and alone. Of course, I don't need to tell you that."

Brows furrowing, he cast Adam a serious look. He seemed to be struggling with something, silently debating whether he wanted to share what he was thinking.

"Come here," he said, tilting his head in invitation as he turned and strode toward the horses.

Unsure of his brother's intentions, Adam refused to follow.

"Come on," Hoss urged as he came to stop beside Chubb. "I ain't gonna force you to do anything. I wanna give you something."

"What is it?" Adam asked skeptically.

"Why don't you come on over and find out?"

Adam stood in place a beat longer, unsure if it was stubbornness or uncertainty rooting him in place. It wasn't until Hoss began to untie his saddlebag, lifting the flap to procure something from inside, that Adam decided either reason wasn't enough to keep him from investigating what Hoss had brought. He closed the gap between them quickly, coming upon his brother just in time for the object to be liberated from the saddlebag. The familiarity of it was enough to take his breath away; the shock of being presented with it after all this time was enough to freeze him in place once more.

"Pa doesn't know I took this," Hoss said as he held Adam's rolled up holster. "In fact, I am pretty sure he's gonna have a conniption when he finds out. He's not ready for you have this back. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure I am either. But if you're gonna stay out here alone, then you need to have a way to defend yourself. A whole lot of bad things can happen upon a man out here." He looked at Adam knowingly. "I don't need to tell you that."

Hoss extended the holster in offering. Eyes locked upon the item, Adam hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted it; he didn't know if he could bear the responsibility of having it in his possession, the weight of it hanging off his hip, putting an odd kind of pressure on his heart. He had already killed one man; he didn't want to kill another—whether his hand was forced or otherwise. Pa was right to withhold the weapon. Having it at his disposal was going to be incredibly difficult. He didn't want it. But he knew what he needed and wanted were two different things.

Sighing he lifted his hand and reached for the holster. The feeling of the dark, broken-in leather, smooth and cool against the palm of his hand was predictable. Hoss's refusal to let go of the item was not.

"Pa don't know I took this," Hoss repeated, holding it tight. "Don't make me regret giving it to you."

Adam's throat tightened. The gun felt leaden in his hand, the words Hoss was saying almost too foreign to accept. The last time he had possessed a weapon he had killed a man—of course he had taken Mitchel's life with a knife, not a gun. It had been ages since he had been allowed to carry such a thing; it seemed like a lifetime had passed since he had last set eyes on his holster, wrapped it around his waist and buckled it tight.

"I want you to promise you won't go looking for trouble," Hoss continued. "I want your word that you ain't gonna hurt nobody. I need to know you ain't gonna use this hurt yourself. Pa, me, and Joe, we've already lived through two occasions when we thought for sure you were dead, we will not be forced to endure a third. Our family ain't gonna survive without you. As a matter of fact, I don't believe we're doing too good now. So, promise me you won't do nothin' stupid with this gun or otherwise."

"I promise," Adam said numbly.

Hoss held tight to the holster, seemingly deciding if his brother's vow should be accepted and believed. Then, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, he finally let go of the holster, his hand falling to hang at his side.

Black, worn, and achingly familiar, Adam held the holster in shaking hands, his fingertips unconsciously searching for verification that it was what it seemed. His fingertips eventually found it, branded on the inside of the leather the faintest hint of his initials, AC. Age and use had nearly worn them flat; they were harder to find and decipher than they once had been, years ago, when Pa had first presented him with such an unpredicted and startling gift. He hadn't expected it—he hadn't really wanted it, either.

There had been nothing wrong with his old holster, the brown one which the black one had replaced. When his eldest son had begun favoring darker clothes, dressing himself head-to-toe in black, Pa had become of the opinion that the old holster looked out of place. It was he who declared the need for a replacement; he who had carefully selected the black holster, ensuring Adam's initials were deeply imbedded on the inside of the leather, and it was Pa who took Adam's old holster after presenting his son with the new. It was Pa who had decided back then and Adam who was forced to go along.

The holster felt heavy, burdensome without Hoss's hand helping to hold it. Adam quickly realized he didn't want it now any more than he had the day it had been originally given to him.

Pa was right not to trust him with the weapon, Hoss with his hesitance to return it. He was dangerous enough without being armed. If the shadow figure came again and forced Adam to wander there was no telling where it would take him or what he could be made to do.

"You know the holster, I'm sure," Hoss said. "Pa came upon it when we were searching for you in the desert outside of Eastgate. We never did find your gun. That one is new. Pa got it for you the week after we brought you home. I think he was expectin' you would need it a lot sooner than now. I think back then we all were hopin' home would calm whatever bad feelings that desert woke inside of you and you'd settle back into yourself." Sighing, he shook his head as though he was trying dismiss the thought and then nodded at the gun. "That ain't been fired since the day Pa bought it, so you be careful with it. It's still a Colt, same as what you're accustomed to carrying, but bein' so shiny and new, it ain't gonna feel as recognizable in your hand until it sees some real use, and, Adam, I am trusting that gun is going to feel new in your hand for a while. I mean it, don't go lookin' for trouble. Don't you dare put Pa through more hell than you already have."

Adam nodded, his brother's words awakening countless mournful thoughts. It wasn't always likes this. There was a time when such warnings weren't needed, when his family would have worried more about him being without a gun than with one. A time when not having a gun strapped to his side was as foreign as not wearing a hat. Both things were wrapped up in a man's identity, contributing to how other people saw him, how he saw himself. He had been different back then, pertinacious, capable, and strong. He had once been confided in, respected, and trusted.

And now what was he?

Absently, he lifted his hand to left side of head. He had no hat. Nothing was on his head but a gaping wound and trail of dried blood, serving as evidence of what he had done to himself the night before. Still, the scar had served of evidence of something else. Something elusive and mysterious. Where had it come from? And what would it look like now when it healed? Marking him forever what kind of warning would it declare?

Stay away from this man? He's dangerous, unpredictable and unbalanced?

There was a time the scar could have served as a proof of his strength. Now, Adam feared it would only serve as a reminder of his weakness.

"I really do wish you'd let someone tend to that wound," Hoss said. "If you ain't gonna do that, then at least clean it real good. There's some ligament and bandages in your saddlebag, you best make use of them. And I best be getting if I'm gonna go."

Adam looked up at the darkening sky. Night was coming a little too quick; it wouldn't be long until darkness was the only thing surrounding him.

"You sure that's what you want me to do?" Hoss asked.

Nodding, Adam couldn't speak for fear of what he would say. Once his brother left, he would be alone. But how long would he stay that way? The shadow had come the night before and it had brought him here. Would it come again tonight? Where it would take him if it did? Where would he wake up tomorrow? Would wake up again at all?

Which was worse? Staying here alone, surrounded by nothing but disquieting darkness and unsettling memories. Or going home? Being surrounded by the comfort of his family members and Del's insatiable ghost. Neither place was impenetrable to the shadow figure; he couldn't be protected from that no matter where he was.

"Alright," Hoss said, the agreement not passing his lips easily. "You enjoy your space and time. I would anticipate a visit from Little Joe tomorrow if I were you, and probably another from Pa."

"What about you?" Adam asked impulsively.

"What about me?"

"When will I see you again?"

Eyes gleaming with sadness, Hoss forced a small smile. "Brother," he said, lifting his hand to grasp Adam's shoulder tight. "You don't know how long I've been wondering the very same thing about you."

Pulling him into a brief hug, Hoss held Adam close. It was an impulsive, telling act; one which only seemed to draw attention to the uncertainty of the moment and the decision that was being made. They didn't hang on to each other for very long before Hoss pulled out of the embrace and stepped back. They didn't speak as Hoss mounted Chub; a firm nod was the only thing traded between them.

Watching his brother slowly ride away, Adam wondered what the night would bring and if, even in the absence of family, a time would ever come when he was truly alone.

TBC