We Walk Between The Worlds Part VI

[paulacas]

Title: We Walk Between The Worlds Part VI
Author: YanzaDracan
Artist: Tiggeratl1
Fandom: KANE RPS Historical AU
Rating: R
Warning: Implied non-con, torture and adult situations
Word Count: 6,910/44,486
Summary: When highway men leave a Donna Ackles pregnant and widowed, she stumbles onto a band of Cherokee. Adopted into the tribe and married to one of their healers, she begins a new life. Life is good for Jensen 'Crow Fox' Ackles and his family until the passing of the Indian Removal Act and the Trail Where We Cried.

Once again White Crow was moving their camp. Learning from the villagers that winter could come at any time in Colorado, so one must always be prepared. The outcropping of rock where they had stored their supplies while they were gone was large enough for the horses to get out of the weather, had a small spring close by, and most importantly, the village women had presented him with a tipi for his service to the village. They had shown him how to dismantle and reassemble the large buffalo hide tent, and how to make it as cozy in the winter as any wooden house.

Feeling incredibly blessed, he went to the meadow where he'd been cutting grass to dry for the horses should the snow get too deep for them to forage. Looking at his stockpile of firewood-he knew that was going to be a never ending chore.

In the afternoon he joined the women in foraging for roots, nuts and berries that could be stored to supplement the meager variety of food during the winter months.

Steven and Night Wolf had returned from the fort when he returned with his bounty. Night Wolf exclaimed over their new accommodations while Steven said little and would quickly look away when he or Night Wolf caught him staring.

Worried Steven didn't like their rough accommodations, he picked at his dinner deciding that if he and Night Wolf wanted to move into the fort for the winter, he would put aside his distrust of anything to do with the Army and stay at the fort.

"White Crow?" Night Wolf didn't like how he'd had gone from proud and happy to anxious.

Head lowered worried green eyes looked up from under the screen of long lashes.

"You don't want to stay?"

"What!?" Night Wolf scowled.

Steven's breath caught. He should know he couldn't hide from Jensen. The man 'saw' too much.

"It's the perfect winter camp. Why wouldn't we want to stay?" Night Wolf assured the younger man.

Steven's silence was telling.

"Steven?" Christian turned to the writer.

"It is a perfect camp." Steven assured them.

"You will not be here for the winter." White Crow's flat statement startled both men.

"What!" Night Wolf hissed.

Steven paled.

"You're leaving on the mail coach tomorrow." Night Wolf's voice was incredulous.

"Yes."

Before any more could be said, Night Wolf was headed out of their camp, anger marking every stride leaving Steven to face Jensen.

"When were you going to tell us?" Jensen asked quietly.

Steven finally looked at the younger man. His heart broke. The emotionless mask Jensen had donned when he admitted in front of his family and tribe to being two-spirit was firmly in place.

"In the morning." Steven choked out around the lump in his throat. "I need you to take care of Rocker for me."

"Is she, as the whites say, a consolation prize?" A hard edge crept into the harsh voice.

Steven's head jerked up to look into the handsome face that seemed so ethereal as the firelight highlighted the scarred cheekbone.

"NO!" He practically shouted. "No. I'm leaving her because I want to travel as fast as possible, and she wouldn't stand up to that kind of punishment."

Trying to put into practice the things his Elders had taught him over the years, he fought to be White Crow, healer and spiritual advisor, and not the hurt and angry lover of Steven Carlson.

"Will you return to us?" He asked calmly.

He knew that voice. He heard Jensen use that voice every day to calm the ill and the dying on The Trail Where We Cried. Unable to bear being at the receiving end of 'that' voice, Steven went to his knees beside Jensen and took his hands.

"If my spirit guide had his way, I would not leave." Steven squeezed the fine boned hands so Jensen would look at him. "I…I have to do this. I have to close the book on my life in the east-see my family and tell them who I am now." Steven felt the tears welling as he tried to explain the unexplainable. "I know you're angry. I know I'm hurting you, but this is not something I can tell my family in a letter."

Steven felt Christian's presence behind him, but kept his focus on Jensen. In this matter Christian would follow where White Crow led. The hair stood straight on the back of his neck when luminous green eyes locked onto his. They were no longer alone.

"We hear and accept your need to do this thing, but know that if you do not return with the one Carson calls Fremont, we will wait no more." Jensen's form slumped as the spirit guides left them.

Christian secured the camp as Steven helped Jensen into the tipi. They stripped and climbed onto the palette of furs and blankets lain over a bed of aromatic herbs and pine. At first the men clung to one another their emotions roiling like a river in spring.

After a time their emotions demanded an outlet. Teeth marked and nails scratched as haste cause a burning stretch and anger demanded rough handling that would prompt memory.

Jensen Ackles and Christian Kane had lain down with Steven Carlson in the dark, but White Crow and Night Wolf left their bed at dawn leaving Steven Carlson marked, exhausted and alone with the hope he would return to them.

Waking alone at the breaking of the day, Steven rose from their bed mindful of the night's activities. Washing away the smell of his partners hurt, but abused flesh would remind him for several days of their displeasure with his decision. He packed his saddlebags and a rucksack White Crow had fashioned out of elk hide. Eating the breakfast he'd been left, he stepped outside to see Rocker saddled and waiting, but no sign of White Crow and Night Wolf.

Riding toward the fort, he stopped several times still battling with himself over leaving until he finally reached the fort. Tying Rocker in front of Carson's quarters, he asked the hunter to keep an eye on the mare until Christian come for her. He hugged Adeline close before escaping to the confines of the stage coach. Three sets of eyes watched the coach until all that was left was dust.

%%%%%

Dr. Jeffrey Morgan smiled. All that now stood between him and White Crow was Christian Kane. He'd kept his basest needs in check, but after almost two years in the wilderness with nothing but a few whores brought in by the saloon owner, there was no one to slack his thirst.

He'd seen the beautiful scars on the beautiful white Tsalagi and yearned to add his own-to show Kane he was the alpha-that the quiet healer could be molded to HIS hand.

%%%%%

After the departure of Steven, Kit Carson noticed a change in the fort's doctor. Where once the man was merely intense, now there was a feverish light that burned behind his eyes-one that spoke of madness. The hunter warned Making Our Road to keep herself and Adeline away from the man, and if they needed doctoring to find White Crow. Carson smiled softly at his housekeeper. He intended to marry the woman at the turn of the year.

With winter fast approaching, the hunters spent more and more time bringing in meat to keep the fort in food for the winter. Night Wolf and Carson hated leaving their families for such long periods of time, but their survival depended on them being away from the fort. All the signs pointed to the winter being long and harsh. Not knowing when the fort would be cut off from supply wagons by the snows, they pushed for every deer, elf, buffalo, and antelope they could get to the fort. Many times White Crow and the women from the village traveled with the hunters, smoking the meat and working the hides while the men hunted.

Making Our Road and Adeline would travel with them during those times, relishing the attention of her daddy and her favorite uncles.

Corporal Riley, Private Dolan and Sergeant Manns would seek out Night Wolf after he returned from a hunt and regale him with the gossip around the fort along with tales of how Dr. Morgan would prowl the walls of the fort watching for the hunters' wagons to return to the fort.

Night Wolf was tempted on more than one occasion to steal into the surgery and slit the good doctor's throat in the middle of the night, but knew the Army would come looking for him since all the gossip pointed at Morgan's obsession with White Crow. The scars on his chest would burn with the need to keep the younger man safe, especially now that Steven was gone.

%%%%%

Morgan was quietly ecstatic. The root cellar under his surgery had everything he needed for his soon to be guests, all he had to do was put his plans in motion-Even the weather was cooperating.

He'd seen Kane and White Crow go into that hunter, Carson's quarters. Gossip had it the man had invited them for Thanksgiving dinner. A heavy snowfall that continued through the night had stranded the men in the fort until they could get the gates cleared.

Heading out to Carson's stables to ready the horses, Morgan struck Kane in the temple as he stepped through the door, dropping the younger man like a stone. Hoisting him over his shoulder, he carried him four houses over and down the stairs.

A chain running through a set of manacles then thrown over a support beam had Kane hanging limply until the pain in his arms and shoulders forced him into consciousness.

"What the…?!" He looked around the cellar until his eyes landed on Jeffrey Dean Morgan. "What the hell's going on here, Morgan?" Kane demanded.

"Taking what's due me." Morgan sneered. "You're not strong enough. You weren't strong enough to hold the writer so I know you're not strong enough to hold a beauty like White Crow so I'm taking him off your hands."

Night Wolf felt fear race down his spine when he saw the glassy look in the doctor's eyes.

"He'll break so beautifully under my tutelage. All those who thought to hold me down will see my skill and envy me my beautiful white Cherokee." His voice held a sing song cadence.

Dark glittering eyes turned back on Night Wolf. Fingers ran over his back and sides raising gooseflesh on his skin and bile in his throat.

"You too are a beautiful blank canvas, but the lash has already tasted the beauty of White Crow. I think I shall enjoy you both until time for me to return to those who think they are my betters."

"Dammit Morgan! What do you intend?" Night Wolf demanded.

He heard the sound, and before he realized what it was fire ran across his back.

"You will hold your tongue, or you will pay with flesh and pain." Morgan growled as he lashed out until Night Wolf's pain stole his words. "Time to collect my real prize. You're just an added bonus."

Those words rang through Night Wolf's mind as he watched Morgan climb the stairs. The slam of the cellar door enveloped him in cold darkness.

White Crow studied the story told in the churned up snow. Though the wind had covered some of the tracks he could see where someone had walked to and from the stable and back toward one of the other housing units, but where the tracks ended had been obliterated by the swirling snow.

The slamming of a door stopped him in the shadows as he turned and saw a figure appear out of a cellar. When the man held up the lantern to grab the door, he saw the face of Jeffrey Morgan. He didn't need the spirits to tell him what had happened to Night Wolf. He fervently hoped the doctor hadn't had the time to hurt his mate too badly.

He waited until Morgan disappeared back toward Kit's before leaving the shadows. Careful not to slam the cellar door, he felt his way down the steps and toward where he could hear breathing. Stopping long enough to fish something out of the medicine pouch that hung around his neck, White Crow spoke softly in Tsalagi not wanting to startle Night Wolf.

"White Crow." Night Wolf hissed.

White Crow felt along the up-stretched arms searching for the lock. Before he could find it, a scraping alerted them that someone was coming. He pressed a key into Night Wolf's hand before moving to the furthest corner from the stairs, hoping there would be enough shadows to hide his presence.

As the door opened he shed his heavy coat wanting the freedom to move if the opportunity arose to get Night Wolf free. When he laid his coat down he felt his mate's clothes on the floor. The cellar door slammed in the wind as the lantern light started down the steps. Morgan stomped over to the hanging man and backhanded him across the mouth.

"Where is he?!" Morgan growled.

"What's the matter, Doc? Can't find one little white Indian boy in the dark?" He sneered.

Morgan hit him again. In the shadows White Crow forced himself to be still. He would let play out. If Morgan got angry enough he may go back out in the storm to search again.

"You will tell me." The look on Morgan's face was ugly as his obsession contorted the usually handsome visage.

Taking a step away, he reached out for something hanging on the wall. Taking several steps back he threw back his arm and there was a whistle and crack as the braided leather cut bare skin.

"Tell me, Kane, where he is or I will strip the flesh from your bones." Morgan ground out from between clenched teeth as the whip sang through the air once more.

Having once felt the bite of the lash, White Crow tensed as the blood trickled from the broken skin on Night Wolf's back. Pulling his knife from his sheath, he prepared to move. He knew Morgan would be strengthened by his insane rage so he'd have to be fast, not let him get a hand on him.

Angry that his greatcoat impeded his swing, Morgan pulled the coat off and threw it aside. As he drew his arm back to send the lash singing when fire erupted along his ribs. He looked down to see a dark stain spreading on his white shirt. Adrenaline sent his rage towering through his head threatening to burst open his skull. Cradling his head, trying to hold back the pain, Morgan felt another line of fire along his other side.

"Son of a whore! Show yourself!" The doctor yelled.

The only sounds in the room were Morgan's hyper-active panting and Night Wolf's hisses as he tried to keep from moving. White Crow watched his hands as he worked to get the key in the lock. His gaze kept flickering to Morgan as the man struggled with his pain and rage. He almost gave away his position when the crazed man pulled his side arm.

"You will show yourself, or I will put a bullet in Kane's head." Morgan's voice was calm as he pointed the gun at the dark head.

"You will not." White Crow stepped out of the shadows.

Morgan's head snapped around at the sound of the dark broken voice.

"Don't try me, boy." The doctor leered.

"You will not shoot because the others will hear." The gravelly voice remained calm as he held out empty hands. "You do not want your neighbors to run into your house and put an end to all your fun." The full lips made a little pout.

Morgan's eyes were drawn to the full lips as the pink tongue appeared to wet the tender dry skin. The words penetrated the haze of rage. *Of course he didn't want his nosy neighbors to interrupt his fun.* He moved toward the young man who glowed in the light from the lantern, his gun landing with a soft thud on his coat.

Night Wolf saw what White Crow was doing. He was frantic to get free, but now was not the time to rush. He steadied his nerves and got to working on getting the skeleton key White Crow had given him into the lock on the manacles.

White Crow stood perfectly still as Jeffrey Morgan slinked closer. He never broke eye contact wanting to keep all the attention on him. The doctor's smooth white hand reached out to caress the scar on his cheek. He fought to be still…be what the obsessed man wanted…anything to keep his attention away from Night Wolf and what he was doing. He prayed to all the spirits Kit had heard the shouting and would arrive before things got really nasty. There was no way this play acting was going much further.

As Morgan's tongue was slipping between his parted lips, White Crow's deft fingers were slipping inside his leggings and pulled the knife out of its hidden sheath. Hearing a growl from across the room, he knew his mate was loose and pulled away from the kiss.

"You will be so beautiful kneeling at my feet." Morgan voice was a whisper across his lips.

Right before Night Wolf launched himself against the men tumbling them on top of Morgan's coat and gun. Hands scrabbled for purchase on the gun-Night Wolf's hands still mostly useless from lack of circulation as Morgan sent an elbow across the already bruised cheekbone. White Crow tried to roll their bodies so he could free his knife. Shouts came from above as men poured down stairs with lanterns raised high.

White Crow was able to rise up enough to free his knife hand bringing it down just as his movement allowed Morgan to knock Night Wolf away and swing the gun between them. The gunshot was deafening in the small cellar as was the wolf howled his grief.

%%%%%

By the time he reached Independence, Missouri, Steven was sick of seeing the inside of the mail coach. He was thankful to get a hotel room and hot bath. His spirit was bruised from leaving the others behind, but he wanted to return to them with a clean slate. That was all that was keeping him moving eastward.

First thing the next morning his passage was booked on a steamer to St. Louis. He was fortunate enough to get a stateroom to himself. It gave him plenty of time to polish the articles that were to go with Jensen's drawings. Tears pricked his eyes as his fingers ran over the page. Tired of feeling depressed he put away his writing and headed out on deck.

After dinner and a few hands of poker in the bar, he was feeling better than he had since leaving Bent's Fort. If things continued smoothly he estimated to be at his family's plantation in time for Thanksgiving.

He posted a letter to Christian when he got to St. Louis and another when he got off the boat at Portsmouth, Virginia. The overland coach dropped him at the beginning of the long driveway that would lead to his childhood home.

It had taken nearly two months to arrive at this spot, and he was mentally and physically exhausted. He missed Jensen and Christian like he would miss his left hand and his only companion was a snarky snippy spirit guide that insisted he was going the wrong way to go home. Steven silently agreed, but this was not something one could do in a letter. With a sigh he shouldered his rucksack and saddlebags and started down the road full of childhood dreams and ghosts.

%%%%%

Straightening his back from raking the autumn leaves, Ben looked toward the road. The birds had gone silent, and it felt like the old farm was holding her breath. He spied a man walking up the lane dressed in the manner of men from Mister Steven's stories that Miz Carlson would constantly read. The man stopped and removed his hat letting it fall behind him to rest on his back. Ben began to walk toward the light haired man to ascertain his business when the light fell on the face and he recognized Mister Steven. Without thought he raced forward to embrace his childhood friend.

Steven smiled as he recognized the man coming towards him. Ben Johnson had been a life-long friend of Steven's. Though their stations in life had been different, they had been solid friends as children, and remained so as adults. When his parents had given Ben and his family their freedom after working on the plantation for twenty years, both men had wept.

Ben's family still worked as a paid labor for the plantation, as were most of the plantation's workers. Steven's father kept up with modern farming methods and every year things became more mechanized and less labor intensive. For fear of being snatched by the men who hunted runaways and couldn't read or didn't care what your papers said, many of the freeman remained on the plantation working for their board and a share of the profits at the end of the season.

The Carlsons had been deemed strange in their ideas, but their fortune was solid, and their voice strong in the community so any derogatory thoughts about their management practices were prudently said where there were few to hear.

Throwing his arms around his old friend, Steven was suddenly glad to be home.

%%%%%

Hearing the commotion in the front house, Sandra Carlson left her lists for the annual Thanksgiving party and stepped out onto the wide front porch. Standing in the midst of the dark curly heads that were her grounds and household staff stood a shining blond head.

"Steven!" She rushed toward the group.

The crowd parted giving her access to her son. Steven pulled his mother against his chest and buried his nose in the blonde hair that contained so much more grey than he remembered.

She pulled back to look at him.

"Where's your luggage? Why are you walking? Did something happen to Rocker? What are these clothes you're wearing? Come on we need to get you in the house and get you dressed properly." She chattered on as she put her arm through his and started towards the house, the questions never stopping.

A hot bath and a set of clothes that had been left hanging in his closet, and he soon found himself sitting at the table as his mother picked up where she'd been interrupted by Steven stripping off his travel stained buckskins, and she'd fled the room blushing profusely.

Steven kept the conversation light. He didn't want to get into the real reason for his visit until he got both his parents somewhere private. Hopefully his siblings would be occupied elsewhere for a day or two. He groaned inwardly at the thought of having to endure his mother's annual Thanksgiving ball, but manners and his own conscious dictated that he wait until after the festivities do say his goodbyes.

The reunion with his father was quieter, but no less intense with his questions about The Trail of Tears, and Steven's other travels. The question that caused a pregnant silence between father and son was why he had not returned home when he'd gotten to the Indian Territories.

The next morning, his mother had positively dragged him to the landing to board the canal boat into Richmond. She hated his buckskins and broadcloth, and deemed everything in his armoire too out-dated and old-fashioned so they were off to the tailor.

Steven allowed them to push, pull, dress, and undress him like one of his sister's dolls up until she got to his jewelry and hair.

Steven had secured their packages in the carriage that would take them to the canal boat when she mentioned the barber.

"No need. I had Mary take care of it." He answered offhandedly as he try to find room for the last box.

"Mary? My lady's maid, Mary!?" He voice went up a notch.

"Yes." Steven came around and handed his mother into the seat.

Clucking to the horse, they headed for the docks. Steven was enjoying the drive, the sounds and smells of the city-comparing the differences between Virginia and Colorado. He hoped some day to convince Jensen to return to the civilized side of the country so he and Christian could show him the good side of the white world. His lynx grumbled in the back of his mind.

The horse realizing he was headed toward his stable stayed steady on his course as the growl from his spirit guide turned Steven's eyes inward. He was about to chastise the animal when he saw the stallion and wolf lying with him looking pale and wane. His anxiety rose.

*What happened?*

*Nothing you can do.* The lynx was brutal in his bluntness.

*WHAT! Happened?*

*Morgan.*

*He's…?*

*No longer a problem.*

*But…*

*Enjoy your home time.*

His mind fell stubbornly silent.

"Steven!" His mother shook his arm.

"What? Oh. Sorry. Woolgathering I'm afraid." He said as he sprang from the carriage to hand his mother down and to fetch their packages.

Watching the bank of the canal slip by, Steven chewed over the information from the lynx. He couldn't tell how badly they were hurt or even where they were. He tried to bring back the picture, but the lynx jealously guarded his fellow spirit guides. The only thing he really knew was Morgan was no longer a threat. Steven hoped he was dead. He patted his vest feeling the crinkle of his train ticket. He would be on a train for New York City soon after his parents' party.

%%%%%

Steven had been helping his father carry some last minute additions to the bar out of the cellar. Returning to his room to dress he found his mother going through his saddlebags.

"Mother!" Steven chided.

"You mustn't creep around so, Steven." She pulled herself to her full height. "I thought you were helping your father."

"We finished. Why are you pilfering my luggage?" His tone was short.

"Mother's curiosity. You're not wearing that jewelry tonight are you?" She sniffed daintily.

"Yes. Along with another piece or two." A silver flash amongst the folds of her skirt caught his eye.

"Mother…"

"Fine." She tossed him the piece of jewelry.

Anger blazed as he stepped toward her. Catching himself he stopped.

"You need to leave…now." His voice was firm as he turned his back on her.

"Steven."

"Now!"

He heard the door shut as he stared down at the pendant. The heads of three animals etched on a silver disc. It was hand wrought, hand etched, and meant everything to him. He'd found it amongst his other jewelry when he'd opened his casket on the steamer to find his favorite turquoise bracelet. He'd set on his bunk for over an hour holding it in his hands and staring. When he came back to himself, his face was wet.

Turning to glare at the door, he fastened the chain around his neck and began to dress for his mother's dog and pony show.

%%%%%

Dinner took forever, when the men retired to the library for brandy and cigars, Steven took the opportunity to slip out the French doors and enjoy his cigar and being away from the noise inside. He missed sitting around the fire nursing his coffee Christian had 'Irished', each man absorbed in their own tasks, but relishing having each other close. He missed waking up cocooned in their arms in their bed. A deep loneliness settled in his chest as he looked out over the rolling Virginia river valley and wished for jagged snow covered peaks and his buffalo coat.

"What troubles you, brother?" The question should sincere, but the tone was sly.

"Nothing, just wishing I was home." Steven replied.

"Why you are home." He spread his arms wide.

"No. Not anymore. My place is in the territories, now."

The smile on his brother's face was the first genuine smile he'd seen on the face of his half-brother since Steven had reached the age of majority. He was always afraid Steven would usurp his place.

"Loose you heart to some pretty Indian maiden?

"After a fashion." Steven hedged. "Anyway I leave for New York next week to meet with my publisher. He's excited to have me accompany Colonel Fremont on his expedition."

"But that's not for over a year."

"They're already recruiting support people, giving them time to get their affairs in order."

"In that case, when you talk to your publisher you must make certain that a copy of your work is sent to us." Knowing he would not be competing with Steven for his father's attention had put him in a generous mood. "Have you told the folks your departure date?"

"No. Didn't want to spoil Mother's party."

"Wise choice. Shall we return to the debutante parade?"

Steven groaned as he stood.

"You should feel lucky you are wed, Brother."

"I do for my lovely wife is breeding and shall make you an uncle sometime during spring planting."

"Congratulations! Mother must not know or she'd have poor Laurette embarrassed to her toes spreading the news." Steven was genuinely happy for the couple.

"As you say after the party. Shall we?" He indicated Steven should go first.

"If I must." He rolled his eyes and re-entered the fray.

%%%%%

Steven sipped his coffee and enjoyed his cheroot as the last of the carriage made its way out the lane. He'd managed to slip away from the party early, and sequestered himself in his rooms until everyone left. A great deal had been accomplished. His articles had been finished, Jensen's drawings in place, ready to be published in the New York Evening Post at Bryant's leisure.

"Good morning, Son." His father greeted as he approached Steven's niche.

"Father."

"Seems like we haven't had much time to talk since you got here."

Steven shrugged and returned to his study of the river.

"When do you leave?"

"Wednesday or earlier depending to your reaction to a conversation we need to have." Steven looked back at his father.

"Sounds serious."

"Very. This could possibly be my last visit." He looked at the shocked expression on his father's face. "But we should have this conversation behind closed doors."

"After supper then?"

Steven nodded.

"Better get on with the day then." Christopher stood and looked down at his son. "I'm proud of you, Son." He said quietly before moving back around the corner.

Supper was its usual noisy affair with mother and Laurette talking about the party. Over desert, his brother and Laurette announced her pregnancy. After toasts and congratulations, Christopher steered Sandra and Steven into his office. He sat her on the couch and handed her a snifter of brandy.

"Christopher Carlson, what has gotten into you?"

"This may be the last time we see Steven." He announced bluntly.

"Steven?" Her voice was choked.

He sat beside his mother and took her hand.

"I'm staying in the west when I return there with Colonel Fremont."

"What about us-your family-a wife and children?"

Steven took a breath and plunged forward.

"I have a family." He pulled two drawings and laid them on his mother's lap. "This is my family."

Sandra covered her mouth with her hands as though to hold in her words.

"Oh Steven, sweetheart, are you sure?" Sandra pleaded.

Steven looked at his mother.

"You've known I've been different my whole life." Steven refused to let her brush him off.

"I…yes…" Tears fell from her eyes. "I've always prayed that you would change."

Steven nodded sadly.

"I'll move into town in the morning." He paused to give his parents a chance to say something. Silence continued to hang heavy in the room.

Steven shook his head as he left the room. He did come home to tie up loose ends. It seemed this chapter of his of his life had just ended with a whimper.

%%%%%

Kit helped Night Wolf gather their clothing before he gathered White Crow in his arms and took him back to his quarters. Night Wolf's arms had not yet regained their usefulness, and his stinging back made it difficult to move. As soon as Kit laid him down, Making Our Road set to cleaning and stitching White Crow and Night Wolf's wounds. The wound was not as bad as it looked. White Crow had hit his head against a support when Morgan had shoved him away after White Crow had stabbed him fatally as the pistol shot passed through his side.

While the Army was rushing around, the fort commander wondering how he was going to fill out the reports on this mess, the three men slipped out of the fort under the cover of darkness.

Halfway back, White Crow regained consciousness, and they were able to convince Kit to return home after he seen to the settling White Crow in their bed. Night Wolf had regained enough use of his arms to be able to take care of the horses after getting a fire started.

Exhausted, they spent much of the next several days resting, only leaving the tipi long enough to care for personal needs and the horses.

Carson visited several times, keeping them apprised of what the Army was doing about Morgan and the whole nasty situation. They buried the man and everything that had happened, but Kit advised them to stay away from the fort as much as possible.

After two weeks both men were still a bit sore, but healed. They returned to hunting with Carson, but the frontiersman continued to act as a buffer between Night Wolf, White Crow, and the Army.

After the turn of the year, they stood witness for Kit when he married Making Our Road. Adeline was settling in her new life, and was always happy when Uncles Wolf and Crow came to play.

The incident with Morgan was no longer mentioned as winter turned and spring approached. They missed Steven terribly. They would write letters to the reporter, but not knowing where he was he staying, they placed the letters in a small box to give him when he returned.

With spring in full bloom, many of the Natives living in the village began packing their possessions. Kit, Night Wolf and the other hunters returned from a hunt to find Making Our Road gone and Adeline with White Crow. Heartbroken, Kit Carson packed his household and headed toward his friends' camp.

A travois had been fastened to the heavily pregnant Rocker's saddle and Adeline sat in front of White Crow as the three broken hearted men traveled southwest away from Bent's Fort.

%%%%%

Standing on the platform in New York City, Steven heard someone call his name. He turned to see his old college friend, Thomas Welling waving at him, his beautiful wife, Jamie on his arm.

As he got settled in their guest room, he felt more exhausted and heart sore than when he'd gotten off the stage at the Carlson plantation. His spirit guide had not shown him Jensen or Christian since allowing him to see them injured.

His train trip from Richmond to New York had been a nightmare of breakdowns and delays giving him too much time to dwell on the break from his birth family, and the separation from his mates.

Clean and stretched out on fresh sheets, he dropped into a restless sleep. He dreamed of red dirt, red mountains and deep green fir trees. Five horses travelled across the red dirt, one pulling a travois. He would have sworn the horse pulling the travois was Rocker, a fuzzy black foal trotted at her side. Before he could see the faces of the men the dream faded, but he could have sworn he heard Adeline calling his name. Uncle Steven!

Dammit! He needed to get home.

As he drifted back to sleep he prayed his time at the paper would be short.

His prayers went unanswered as Bryant wanted to hear every detail of his time in the west and on The Trail of Tears. Steven had been effectively kidnapped by William Cullen Bryant, moved into his house drug from pillar to post until Bryant finally introduced him to Colonel John C. Fremont. Next thing Steven knew he was on a train to Washington, DC, the unhappy guest of Colonel and Mrs. Fremont.

%%%%%

"I'm taking Adeline to my family in Missouri." Kit stated firmly.

Dismay crossed White Crow's face at the trapper's statement.

"Why?"

"She needs a woman's touch-schoolin', things she can't get living out here in the middle of nowhere."

Night Wolf's hand settled on White Crow's shoulder.

"We can teach her."

"You can't teach her white woman's ways." Kit snapped.

He would not be questioned about his daughter, not even by White Crow.

Cut to the core by a man he considered a brother, White Crow left the room.

"White Crow…" Kit started after him only to come face to face with Night Wolf.

"Leave him. He won't hear you."

"I didn't mean…"

"What? That he's been good enough all this time, but since ya been courtin' the little Spanish seniorita Josefa, ya ain't got time for a daughter almost as old as your fiancé?" Night Wolf spat.

"We leave in a week." Carson ground out as he stalked off in the opposite direction as the medicine man.

%%%%%

Finally. Steven thought they'd never get underway. The riverboats were full of animals, wagons, supplies, and men. With so many men, Steven wondered by Fremont had Morgan out recruiting locals so he watched and listened.

At Franklin, Missouri, they off-loaded the steamers and prepared to go the rest of the way by horse and wagon. Walking into the hotel dining room, Steven's heart stopped.

"Kit?"

The Colonel swung around when he heard Steven speak.

"You mean Kit Carson?"

"Yes. We were friends when I was at Bent's Fort."

The men hugged each other before Steven introduced Fremont, and Kit invited them to join him.

"Jensen and Christian?" Steven was anxious to know where they were.

"White Crow and Night Wolf, he stressed the names-stopped in Westport. I'm afraid White Crow's a little put out with me at the moment."

The waiter came over and took their order.

"Why?"

"I brought Adeline here for my kin to raise."

Steven looked confused.

"White Crow took over when Making Our Road left with her tribe." He tugged on his moustache. "Come to think of it, Adeline's not too fond of me right now, either.

"I hate to interrupt your family reunion, Mr. Carson, but I have a proposition for you." Fremont injected himself into the conversation.

"Let's hear it." Kit sounded exasperated.

"I want you and your friends to come with us as guides, hunters, whatever it is you do."

Carson looked from Fremont to Carlson and back. He could see Steven practically pawing the dirt to get to his mates.

"You got yourself a deal, Colonel. I'll be leaving at first light" His look told the Colonel he wouldn't wait.

%%%%%

Steven rode one of the remuda horses because he would soon be back with his lovers and his horse. He was so keyed up his horse pranced until Carson shot him a dirty look. Man and beast calmed considerably after that.

Kit informed Fremont they'd be camping outside of Westport where his friends were set up and plan their route for the expedition from there.

The sky had started to darken as the column of men, wagons and horses approached a lone tipi sitting near the river.

"Hello the camp!" Kit shouted.

Steven smiled as Night Wolf stood first putting himself between the strangers and White Crow. His hair was longer, his body trim and strong from hard work, but the piercing blue/grey eyes were the same, if older and sadder.

"What'd I tell you 'bout pickin' up strays, Carson?" He growled at the column of blue.

"Not strays. Brought their own supplies-offered us a job." Kit snarked.

White Crow never said a word, just glared at Kit until he saw Steven. Even he heard White Crow gasp as he stepped forward.

"Steven?"

Night Wolf's head snapped around. "Carlson?"

"Finally made it home." He stepped off the horse letting the reins drag.

He tried to be calm, but it had been too long and he didn't care what Fremont and the others thought as he hurried toward Christian…Night Wolf…

Who pulled him into a hard hug-he turned to Jensen…White Crow. No words could get around the lump in his throat as he pulled White Crow close. The healer breathed his name sealing the tears in his soul.

Keeping Steven between them, arms around his shoulders and waist, they walked toward their tipi.

"We've got the perfect horse for you, 'Ol Son. She comes as a set, and even has a saddle." Night Wolf stated as they pulled him away from the group.

"I'm sure she'll be perfect."

~ Fini ~