Chapter Text
“Hand me that rifle, Joe. The best we can do for ‘im right now is put ‘im outta his misery.”
The deep lines between Hoss’ brows spoke of how much the deed would hurt his tender heart. Normally, Adam wouldn’t fault him for it. The steer couldn’t go on with a leg busted that bad—not on a cattle drive that was only half over, at any rate.
In fact, normally, Adam would’ve been the first to take up the rifle; to get the miserable deed done and over with so his brothers wouldn’t have to.
Normally…
As Hoss raised the rifle with reluctant hands, Adam felt his insides go cold as ice. It’d been a year already. One whole year. You should’ve been over it by now, don’t you think?
Normally, he would’ve told the cynical voice to shut up—he’d gotten pretty good at shutting it out since… Well, since East Gate and… and everything…
At that moment, however, the ground seemed to shift. Because he was raising the gun, curling his finger around the trigger.
Bang! The long-buried memory exploded in his mind. A slight stumble was enough to get him to Hoss before his brother could fire.
The trigger. Don’t pull—
“Hoss, stop.”
Confusion swirled around the lines of pain as Hoss started, glancing back. “Aww, come on, Adam, you know we gotta—”
Don’t pull the trigger. Don’t—
Cold beads of sweat began to line his forehead; his brain raced as he wet his lips. Dry. The sun would only get hotter from here and everything was so dry.
Always too dry out here. Too… The trigger. Don’t pull—
“There has to be another way. Look,” Adam began, keeping his hand wrapped tightly around the barrel of the gun, “we can still help it, just like we do at the ranch.”
Hoss shook his head. “Yeah, but we ain’t at the ranch. Ain’t no way we can heal ‘im probably on a cattle drive.”
He was acutely aware of both his brothers’ stares narrowing on him, studying him. Wondering what the hell is wrong with you.
Well, what is wrong with you, Cartwright?
He couldn’t say. Not now. Not when his heart was beating for fast he could barely breathe. Not when everything was shouting at him to save them all while he still had the chance.
Save them. Save yourself.
Save—
“Come on, Adam, let go, will ya? Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
The rifle moved; Adam’s mind screamed. A desperate cry of survival. “Hoss, stop!”
“Adam, what in tarnation—?”
“Adam,” Joe tried from somewhere off to the side, his tone cloudy with emotions Adam couldn’t identify, “what’s your problem, huh? Can’t we just get this over with?”
“No, we can’t.” Can’t, can’t, can’t pull the trigger! “There has to be another way—”
Guns.
No guns, no—
When Hoss began wrestling the weapon away, Adam only clung to it tighter. “Dadburn it, Adam! Why can’t ya just let me—?”
“Because if you shoot her, we’ll never be able to get out of here!”
A silence settled over them, heavy and suffocating. Words once spoken can’t be taken back. Adam was reminded of this when he heard Joe suck in a breath; when Hoss’ grip on the gun briefly faltered.
Because now they all knew. They understood, and the worst of it was Adam wished they couldn’t. For so long, he’d wanted them to understand, to know what he went through out there. To be able to relate. Now, he wished more than anything that they would look at him like he was crazy. Like they didn’t understand a darn thing he was saying.
And yet, they did.
After all, isn’t that what you always wanted, Cartwright?
One year. One whole year and still that desert haunted him. One year. You’d think you’d have gotten over it by now…
Sure.
Like it was a smoldering branding iron, Adam released the rifle. Schooling his face into a neutral expression, he forced himself into a slow, steady retreat—no matter how loud his brain screamed at him to turn and run.
“Never mind. Just…” He shook his head, not daring to look either of them in the eyes. He knew what he’d find there. He’d seen it all before. You don’t need their pity.
They’re just concerned, that’s all.
Sure. Or maybe they still think you’re insane.
Shut. Up.
Waving a dismissive hand, Adam turned away. “Never mind.”
He didn’t look back; didn’t answer when Joe called out after him.
Yet, he couldn’t help but flinch when he heard the inevitable gunshot.
Oh, and here you thought it was over.
Didn’t you?
Heaving a sigh, Adam retreated to Sport, finding relief in simply stroking his friend’s mane.
“Shh,” he whispered to the steed, though whether he was trying to soothe the horse or himself, he couldn’t tell. “It’s all right.”
Some scars never fade, I guess. How unfortunate.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he sucked in a long, slow breath.
Unfortunate…
“Adam?” If one more person said his name like that—in that careful, treading on eggshells tone—he was going to…
What? Came that haughty voice from within again. You’ll kill them like you killed me?
I didn’t—
Banishing the old argument to the depths of his tormented mind, he looked his father in the eyes, determined to play it cool. Because if he acted like everything was fine, he might be able to convince his mind that it really was.
“Is everything…” Ben’s gaze held that studious glint, ever-knowing. “… All right?”
“Fine.” With a tug, Adam mounted Sport, then risked a glance at Hoss and Joe. “We lost one of the steers.”
“I know,” Ben replied with a grim nod. “I heard the shot.”
“Yeah.”
As his father sucked in a breath, Adam felt himself holding his own. “Adam…”
Adam. Adam. Adam.
Are you sure you’re all right, Adam?
Adam, you spaced out again.
Hey, Adam, I’m not trying to pry—honest—but you seem a little…
Ben seemed to backtrack after that. Out of the corner of his eye, Adam noticed the way his pa appeared to be sizing up the situation. “Son… you’re sure you’re—”
“I’m fine, Pa. Now, are we going to get this drive moving again? We’ve lost enough time already, don’t you think?”
He didn’t wait for Ben to reply. He couldn’t.
Not without completely falling apart. Again.
Like you did back in that desert. Remember that?
Urging Sport forward, he put as much distance between his family and himself without abandoning the herd altogether.
Shut. Up.
‘Course, you remember. Everyone does.
Just… Adam closed his eyes again, only briefly this time. He didn’t have time for this; had to focus on the drive. Just…
Shut up.
Please, just…
Would it take another year? Two? Three? How long would the memories haunt him? How long would he have to worry about triggers popping up out of the blue like this?
Some scars never fade. Just remember that.
Just…
… shut up.