A/N: Ah, um, hello.

*coughs*

Hello, readers who are probably not reading this any more. I know it's been three years, more than that actually; and I have no excuse.

I think it would be best if you all considered this fic abandoned. To be honest, I've pretty much fallen out of the writing game, and even though I don't want to actually label this as abandoned if there's even a small chance I might pick it up again, it's best if you lot don't expect anything. Sorry people. Seriously.

For all you guys who messaged me about when I was going to update this fic, and all you readers and reviewers who I love to pieces, thank you so much for sticking with this fic for so long. This chapter was something I've been sitting on for ages because I just couldn't get out the last half of the chapter. But I thought, if I just cut off a bit, that it could make a decent chapter. So please read, if any of you are still following this. I pray that I will eventually find a way back into this fandom so I can finally complete this fic.

Cheers, friends. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The end.

The Great Escape

"Ah told you… hurt him! You deliberately… mah orders… bring him!"

Ezra's first instinct, upon slowly regaining consciousness, was to struggle out of the hands holding him tightly and restricting movement. The second was to struggle out of those hands, find a quiet, isolated corner, and vomit his guts out. And possibly cry his eyes out, too.

But he did none of those things. While still young and, admittedly, naïve and innocent in some aspects (though not many, any more), Ezra was smart enough to realize that alerting his captors to his lucidity might not be the smartest of decisions. Especially since his head was pounding something fierce; so much so that he wasn't confident he would be able to escape should the opportunity happen to arise.

As his senses became clearer, the muffled voices also began to make sense. Since things were still a bit fuzzy, he took the time to take stock of the state of his body.

Overwhelming headache, check. Bucket-loads of terror, check. Unable to move? Check.

While there were a myriad of reasons why he should be terrified out of his mind and panicking horribly right then, Ezra felt oddly calm and cool-headed. Granted, he was terrified, he was, but… he'd already been through such an emotional wringer that day-the past few days-that maybe his mind just couldn't handle any more stress, and had decided to block out those negatives emotions for the present.

Whatever the case, Ezra was grateful, and planned on finding a way out of the mess before his emotions came crashing down.

Still disconnected, in emotions and hearing, Ezra took stock this time of his surroundings and situation. He could feel a piece of cloth tied around his eyes – not too tightly that he could slip it off if his hands were free. His legs were tied, but the rope that was bound lightly around his wrists had been tied in front of him – apparently, his captors didn't think he was much of a flight risk.

Which was probably true; if the way the blood was rushing to his head was any indication, his captor had him over his shoulder, in the way one would carry a sack of potatoes.

Ezra took a moment to be insulted on his own behalf before moving on with his examination.

He didn't dare risk moving his legs to check, but he had a feeling that his legs were tied as well. There was a strange ache in his right foot, one which wasn't exactly painful; more of an annoying tingle, really. But Ezra had the nagging feeling that it was going to hurt a lot more the moment he tried to use it.

Which was going to complicate things… again.

A low murmuring reached his ears, then, and he realized his hearing had returned. Eagerly he blocked out his thoughts and reached with his ears.

"Since yore henchmen deci'ded to go knock him out, ah'm going to have to explain all this to him as well once he wakes up."

The thickly accented voice sounded angry, and Ezra did his best not to give himself away by starting in surprise. The accent was so like his own and like those of people in his past, that for a moment, Ezra couldn't breathe. Then another voice spoke up, one that gave him the chills.

"Dear Cousin, it was for the best. There was no way to guarantee he would come with us willingly – it was highly unlikely, in fact – and I saw no other choice. Considering I only lost him in the first place because I underestimated him, I wasn't about to take any chances. The boy won't be permanently harmed, in any case."

"You'd betta' hope he won't, Raymond, or ah will take it outta' yore ass."

Raymond.

Suddenly his decision not to struggle seemed really stupid.

Before he could decide to move, Raymond said, "You can put him down now, Jones; you have my thanks for finding him so quickly."

The brute holding him grunted and said, "Sure, Boss, thank you Boss."

And then Ezra found himself being tossed onto a hard, unforgiving floor.

"You didn't have to throw him, you dumb brute! Raymond, ah mean it, if any harm comes to the boy…"

"And I meant what I said, James. It was for the best, and he won't be permanently harmed. Now come, let us speak of other things. You can decide what to say to the boy when he wakes up."

A hand briefly touched his head – gently, almost regretfully – and despite the automatic urge to flinch away from the physical contact, Ezra couldn't fight a fleeting sense of safety and comfort. It was disconcerting, and he tried his best to ignore it.

Eventually the footsteps headed in the opposite direction; with his eyes still covered but his ears concentrating on every little sound, Ezra knew the moment he was alone.

A surge of fear and apprehension had him yanking off the blindfold blindly, something he regretted a moment later as the sudden on slot of light nearly blinded him. Blinking rapidly against the pain, he drew his blurred vision towards his bonds, tugging and pulling, even as his mind drifted elsewhere.

Raymond.

It was always the same, wasn't it? Just when he'd gotten away, just when he thought he'd managed to dodge a bullet, karma came around to kick him in the hindquarters. He was either the unluckiest person in the world, or someone really had it in for him.

Raymond.

This was why Maude had taught him to never stay in one place for long. Always, always they caught up with you, the people who – be they shunned lovers, cheated business men, angry townspeople – wished you harm. There were many things Maude had taught him that he wished he could forget now, but this wasn't one of them.

Naturally, it would be the first thing he'd forgotten.

It was really quite ridiculous; Ezra knew of no other eleven year old who'd had the misfortune of being kidnapped twice in the same month. Or for that matter, being kidnapped, period. The Travis boy might be an irritating little brat, but at least he'd never been stupid enough to get taken against his will. Twice.

The quiet neighing of a horse off in the distance derailed his train of thought temporarily, and he sighed – a loud, dispirited sigh – as his thoughts drifted to another, more pressing matter.

Bemoaning his unlucky habit of getting kidnapped was pointless; now was the time to concentrate on escaping, far enough away that by the time his captors noticed his absence, it would be far too late for them to do anything about it.

An idle thought crossed his mind: would Chris or Vin be worried? Would they even notice he was missing?

No, he concluded after a moment's consideration, ignoring the pain in his chest at the thought. Who was he to them, anyway? Just a name with no past, a sad shadow of a boy who would soon fade from thought and memory.

They'll be glad to be rid of me, came the next thought, unbidden. The resulting surge of pain was stronger, and his tied hands twitched with the urge to rub away the pain. In the end, he had no choice but to ignored it, this time with a bit more difficulty.

What did it matter if they didn't care? He'd already resolved to leave, hadn't he?

He sighed again, this time in resignation. Annoying thoughts of their reactions aside, they wouldn't have a choice; these men (that man) were going to be rid of him whether they liked it or not. If Raymond could find him here, he could do it again. Staying was no longer an option.

It would be better this way, anyway.

Blinking against a wave of depression, he centred his thoughts on escaping. His bonds were tight, but not terribly so; if he worked at them for a bit, there was a good chance he could get them off. Even if he couldn't, it wouldn't stop him, as he didn't entirely need his hands free as long as he could walk.

It took a minute or two, but he was able to free his legs from their bonds, and he began work on his hands. As he did so, he got a good look around the room he'd been left in, trying to get an idea for the best possible escape route.

It seemed like a barn of some sort, though obviously an abandoned one, if the mouldy hay and dusty floors was any indication. There were no tools or materials one would generally find in a barn, other than an old, raggedy tack hanging from a nail towards the back of the dimly-lit barn. Everything was boarded up, and other than the front door, there didn't appear to be any way out. There was a hay-loft, but the ladder leading up to it looked a bit unstable, and there was no guarantee anyway that he would be able to find a window up there, never mind be able to get down it.

Hopeless. How typical.

His mood shifting from depressed to irritable in seconds, Ezra quickly finished untying the ropes and stood shakily on his feet. There had to be some manner of weapon in here, or at least something that could be turned into a weapon. With only one door, escaping was no doubt going to involve hitting someone over the head and running for his life. An idea which, if not ideal, was at least semi-plausible, even if the thought of hurting someone made him feel queasy.

Ezra began shifting through the piles of hay and unidentifiable mush on the floor, keeping his ears pealed for noise while trying not to think too hard about what he was digging through.

After about ten minutes, all he had to show for his efforts was a small, broken off piece of wood and – of all things – a carrot, surprisingly fresh. What he was going to do with a carrot was beyond him, but it was heavy enough that it might serve as a weapon in a tight spot.

All in all, it wasn't looking very good. But he didn't have a choice.

Whoever that man with Raymond had been, there was no telling if he would be kinder and more inclined to mercy, or even worse then Raymond himself. And while that deep Southern drawl still nagged at his mind, he couldn't risk the possibility that it was someone from Maude's past who was after revenge on the woman's only offspring.

In fact, he would bet on it. God knows Maude had enemies in abundance.

All the more reason for him to leave. Now if only he could figure out some way of doing that without getting himself hurt and recaptured in the process…

"We'll find him, Chris," Vin said quietly, trying to sound reassuring, even as his own hopes sank with each passing hour.

Chris, wrapped in an angry, determined mood, merely grunted and continued to stare out at the darkened streets.

It was close to impossible to track someone once night had fallen. Vin fiercely regretted that they hadn't noticed Ezra was missing until it was too late to search.

Vin been awoken a few hours earlier by a worried JD announcing that Chris was on a rampage, and no one could get close enough to figure out why. When he finally got Chris to stand still long enough to explain, the news that their curious little guest was missing shot a chill and a terrible feeling of foreboding down Vin's spine. He'd immediately gathered the other men and a few towns people and organized a search.

It had already reached nightfall by the time they were able to confirm that none of the town's people had seen Ezra in a good few hours, and when a thorough search of the town and the immediate surrounding areas provided no new information, Chris had fallen into a silent, dangerous mood that had anyone within a hundred yards of him scurrying in the opposite direction. The mood, already low, plunged even further, and after confirming that the Six would reconvene at the tavern at daybreak, the others quickly, and gratefully, dispersed; leaving Vin, alone, to keep Chris from drinking himself into a guilt-ridden stupor.

He wished he could convince Chris that it wasn't his fault; it wasn't, it's not like they could be expected to keep an eye on Ezra 24/7. But if Vin was being honest with himself, he was blaming himself just as much, something that stilled his tongue every time he tried to open his mouth. If only they could just... do something. This sitting and waiting business was going to drive them both 'round the bend before the break of dawn.

Vin sighed, shifted awkwardly in his seat, and resigned himself to long night of fruitless, sleepless worrying.

It was now or never.

Ezra squeezed the block of wood in his hands so hard he could feel it beginning to splinter. The voices nearing his hiding place couldn't belong to more than two people, and while the thought of fighting two grown adults with a mere stick was sickening, it would likely be his only chance.

As the voices neared, they also got clearer, and Ezra noted distantly that one of those voices belonged to the unknown (yet familiar) Southern gentleman.

"Ah still say it's an unnecessary risk. It is high'le unlikely those gentlemen will find us out hea', and ah see no reason why you should feel the need to dispose of them."

A jolt of fear shot through Ezra as he realized who they must be talking about. Determination swept through next, bringing with it a plan to do everything he could to keep the men he'd left behind in Four Corners safe.

Even if he died trying.

The other voice, Raymond, had to be directly in front of the entrance. Gripping the block, Ezra raised it over his head, grimly waiting as the latch was lifted.

"Unnecessary risk? I don't believe so. They managed to evade my men after the initial attempt to capture the brat, and if they-"

'They' was as far as Raymond got before his face came in contact with wood.

Slipping past Raymond, who was yelling and clutching at his bloody face, Ezra made a blind dash in the direction he supposed was freedom – or as good as, anyway.

His heart beating a mile a minute, relief at the thought that he might, just might, get away helped him ignore the pain in his leg and run, and run, and run.

Unfortunately for Ezra, scared for his life or not, his stride was nothing compared to that of an adult with a purpose in mind.

Just when he'd cleared the edge of a large fence of some sort (barely avoiding breaking his neck as he scrambled over the top), a hand grabbed his arm. It was so unexpected that he flinched and lost his momentum, dragging whoever had grabbed him down to the ground with him.

They landed with a loud 'oomph' of expelled air, and for a second Ezra couldn't breathe as the body above him crushed him under its weight.

And then the weight was gone, and he was being yanked to his feet.

The light from a lantern shined in his eyes, and Ezra tried to look away, but a firm grip on his chin kept him facing forward. All he caught was a glimpse of familiar glittering green before an angry Southern drawl lit into him.

"What in God's name were you thinkin', boy? Yore injured, you can't see worth a damn out hea', and there's a crowd of angry men with guns out looking fore you. This damn fool escape plan o'yours could've gotten you killed. Yore lucky it was me who found you. Why, ah have half a mind to tan yore hide fore this dangerous little stunt."

A flash of shame flowed through him, quickly followed by annoyance as he realized he was feeling ashamed over something that had doubtless just saved his life.

Shrugging off the hand gripping his chin, he shielded his eyes from the light and glared up at his captor, preparing to let loose a scathing retort.

The words died in his throat.

He knew those eyes. He knew that face.

Memories of that face that time had dulled came rushing to the forefront of his mind in an instant; they danced and flickered by in a daze, leaving imprints of emotions and things long forgotten.

Breath stolen from him once again, Ezra could only stare in something resembling horrified amazement.

"…Dad?"