Summary: During the events of “A Stranger Passed This Way,” Adam struggles against his own emotions while trying to comfort Joe as they both face the grim reality of losing Hoss to the Vandervorts. A Missing Scene Story because these boys deserve some comfort.

Rating: G  Word Count: 2,106

Hoss’ loud, familiar snoring drifted through the windows and Adam forced himself to savor the sound. After hearing it filter so often down the hall and under the crack of his bedroom door, or having it keep him awake night after night on long trail rides, not once did he ever think he would miss the jarring noise if it suddenly disappeared.

Sitting on the porch that fateful night, Adam drank in the sound like it was water in the desert. He had grown used to it over the years, sure, but never did he think he’d miss it.

And, Lord above, he was going to miss it.

Beyond that, the inside of the house had been quiet for at least an hour, now. Everyone else, it seemed, had finally settled into bed. Though he and Joe hadn’t talked much while caring for the Vandervort’s horse, something about being in the barn among the animals—amidst the quiet—had soothed them both in a way neither could explain. Somehow, things would turn out all right. They always did.

Somehow…

Adam scoffed, prying himself off the edge of the porch and giving a loose clump of dirt a good kick. He’d let that soothing quiet lower his guard, so much so that he’d been thrown for a loop when Pa broke the news earlier that evening.

Pa had tried to jog Hoss’ memory to no avail.

In that one, awful moment of clarity, Adam hadn’t been able to tell if his youngest brother was going to punch out his own father for daring to give them such devastating news… or burst into tears right there in the doorway.

The argument that followed had been more of the same. Brief, painful, and fruitless, its only conclusion coming out loud and clear. Hoss would be joining the Vandervorts on their trip to Michigan first thing in the morning. Any effort on their part to help Hoss remember could potentially injure Hoss further and was forbidden. Pa’s word was law on that front.

After that, Joe had retreated upstairs without another word.

Adam had sucked in a breath, eyeing his father’s weary face and slumped shoulders. He knew the man was suffering just as much as he and Joe—no doubt even more so—and yet, he couldn’t stop that twinge of anger. Of betrayal. Knowing Pa could put a stop to all this horrible nonsense just like that but refused to for Hoss’ own sake was equally the most infuriating thing Adam had ever been forced to witness…

… And the most selfless.

“Pa,” Adam had said, voice barely keeping its balance on the thin ledge of steady. His father hadn’t looked up, keeping his gaze fixed on the far wall. “I need you to tell me we’re doing the right thing.”

Nothing. No response as Pa had sucked in a shallow breath of his own and swallowed.

Adam took another breath and pressed on. “I just… I need to hear you say it.”

Please, let me hear you say it.

But Pa had only shaken his head and made for his desk.

That’s when Adam had decided to find his solace in the darkness outside. Though, if there was any solace to be found, he hadn’t been privy to it.

He shifted and leaned against the wooden pole that so faithfully held up the roof of the porch year after endless year. And he willed his body not to crumble beneath the weight of it all. You’ve held on this long. What’s a little longer?

A little longer… He wanted to scoff, to shout. Time was a luxury none of them had right now. It could take a day, a week, a year, forever, and they would never know. Never get the chance to help Hoss remember. To help him break free from the claws of amnesia.

So… Why wait a little longer? He would have the rest of his life to mourn the loss of his brother, so why not scream and shout now? Why not punch a hole in the wall now and rail against the unfair decision to rip his best friend out of his life forever?

Adam clenched a fist, taking a slow, deep breath before letting it out. This wasn’t his decision. He didn’t like it, he didn’t agree with it… but damned if he didn’t admit he saw the logic behind it.

But to be robbed of any sort of meaningful farewell? To not even be able to call him “brother” one last time…?

Hoss’ snoring derailed his train of thought, and for that, Adam was grateful. He didn’t need to self-destruct. Not right now… No, right now, he needed sleep. He needed to shut off his brain and let the darkness consume him—and hope to heaven his raging fears about losing his brother wouldn’t startle him awake.

The house was dark when he finally forced himself back inside. The fire cast only a dim glow as embers crumbled in on themselves in a slow, agonizing death. Was Adam’s happiness to die with them? How could their family ever hope to be the same without—?

Stop it.

He took a breath.

There wasn’t anything he could do about it now. Everyone else was sound asleep, so he figured the best course of action—the only one, really—was to join them.

Trudging up the stairs, he never got further than the first door on the right.

Hoss’ door.

And there sat Joe, knees all curled up into his chest as he leaned his head against the old wood.

From inside, Hoss’ snoring carried through the cracks.

Adam tried for levity, clearing his throat as he whispered, “Enjoying a front-row seat to the symphony?”

Joe didn’t reply. He barely glanced up, shifting only slightly as he fought to find a more comfortable position.

“Last I checked,” Adam went on, “the floor doesn’t have many comfy patches, but if anyone would be the first to find one, it’d probably be you.”

More levity. More humor. A last-ditch effort to keep his own chest from caving in under the pressure of his grief.

Joe wasn’t in the mood.

“I want to go in there,” came his soft admission.

Adam’s next breath didn’t come easy—or hardly at all—as he replied,  “You can’t.”

“… I know. I know…” With a shaky hand, Joe tugged at his hair and slumped back against the door, eyes shut so tight, Adam began to wonder if he’d ever be able to pry them open again. “Do you know how many times I used to run in there when I was a kid? Thunderstorms, missing Ma, bad dreams…” Joe shook his head.

Adam managed a soft smile. “Probably as many times as Hoss sought refuge in my bed. Then,” he sighed, “there were those nights when your own fright was too contagious for him to be the strong one, so you’d both find your way across the hall to me.”

Reaching out a hand, he offered Joe what he hoped was a smile of reassurance, even though it felt for all the world like a grimace. “Come on. You don’t want anyone scrounging for a midnight snack to trip over you.”

“Maybe if they trip over me,” came the mumbled answer, “they’ll be too hurt to leave tomorrow…”

But Joe accepted the hand up all the same, albeit with great reluctance. Adam practically had to pry him off the floor, he was mostly dead weight. Almost as though he’d given up on the world entirely.

What kind of world would that be like, Adam wondered? A world where they let Hoss leave and Joe was reduced to a husk of his former self…

“Come on, Joe,” he repeated, his tone gentler now, not a trace of humor or levity to be found. One step at a time.

That’s all any of them could do in this situation, wasn’t it? If he thought too hard about the future, if he calculated the odds of his family making a recovery from a loss like this…

Adam swallowed. Merely entertaining such thoughts made his head spin. If he thought any further past the next ten minutes, the weight of it all would crush him, suffocate him. Breathing was already hard enough, he didn’t need his rapid thoughts running amok and making it impossible.

Despite his baby brother making it harder than it needed to be, somehow, they made it to Adam’s room and he let Joe slump onto the edge of the bed.

“It’s not fair,” Joe whispered as Adam shut the door.

Breathe… Just breathe…

“No one ever said it was.”

The sound that left Joe’s mouth couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a dismissive chuckle or a choked sob. “Do you know how easy it would be? How easy it would be to just waltz right in there, wake him up, and tell him everything?”

“You heard Pa,” came Adam’s quiet reply as he kicked off his boots. “What he said about the doctor’s diagnosis.”

“But what if that’s what he needs?” Joe pressed on, his voice taking on a pleading tone that cut straight through Adam’s heart. “Someone who’ll tell him everything like it happened. Someone to wake him up from that darkness. Someone who can bring him back to us and—”

Joe clapped a fist to his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. Always the emotional one, the youngest Cartwright. Always quick to anger, quick to joy or love. Joe had been that way for as long as Adam could remember. Always the one to be the first to let the tears fall.

Standing there that night, however, in the wake of all their grief and misery, Adam couldn’t fault him for it. For any of it. The pain twisting Joe’s face as he fought to compose himself mirrored the turmoil in Adam’s chest—mirrored the heartache and emotion that he’d striven so hard to keep off his own features.

He was the oldest. He was supposed to be the calm one, the steady one. The one you run to when you have a problem. When you’re sad, hurt, or angry. The one who gives the comfort…

Not the other way around.

With a slight burst of resolve, Adam set his face in what he hoped was a soothing expression. Joe needed something inviting, something comforting. Someone to lean on.

“It’s our last night with him,” Joe bit out, voice wavering, “and we can’t even go see him. Can’t be with him, or even talk to him! It’s like… like he’s a ghost or something. How’re we supposed to…? How’ll I ever…?” He sucked in a breath as his face threatened to crumble. “Adam, why can’t we at least just talk to him?”

Breathe… Steady…

Steady…

“I don’t—” Adam clamped his lips shut, cursing his throat for betraying him like that. For letting that stray half-sob rise up before he could stop it.

Breathe!

It took a few steadying breaths for him to regain even a small semblance of calm. What good was a steady, soothing expression if his voice sounded like it was about to snap in two?

Get a hold of yourself. Joe needs you, so just…

Just… what?

Just breathe…

Right.

Then, Joe glanced up. When their eyes met, Adam realized with a jolt that he hadn’t been hiding his pain as well as he’d thought. The further shattering of Joe’s expression made that much abundantly clear.

Breathe…

Uncertain as to what kind of tone might come out if he opened his mouth, Adam clenched his jaw and joined Joe on the bed. Maybe the simple act of being together, of sitting shoulder to shoulder and leaning on each other for support both physically and emotionally… Maybe that could be enough.

Enough for tonight.

Tomorrow would be a whole new beast to tame, but if they could just get past tonight… If we could just get through this first wave of pain… Maybe then, the others will come easier. Be easier to handle. Maybe…

“Why’d this have to happen?” Joe’s voice was barely audible now and Adam felt him shiver. “Why him? Why now? Why can’t he just remember us…?”

“I don’t know, Joe.” Adam couldn’t get his own tone to rise above a hoarse whisper. His voice had failed him and so had his face. All he had left to offer his little brother by way of comfort was a steady arm around Joe’s shoulders.

As Joe melted instantly into the embrace, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, Adam’s grip tightened.

“I just don’t know.”

The end…

Tags:  Adam Cartwright, brothers, ESA, ESJ, JAM, Joe / Little Joe Cartwright