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Chapter Text

"What is that?" Arthur asked Dutch in a freaked tone. The 19 year old outlaw's face contorted into one of confusion. Dutch grinned and pushed forward a young boy, maybe 14 or 15, with black greasy hair and dirty clothes.

"A boy." Dutch said proudly. "Your new brother!"

"No," Arthur scoffed "I ain't no brother of his. Hosea, what's this crazy man doing?"

Hosea shrugged, getting off of the wagon with a jump. "You know how Dutch is." Hosea handed Arthur a container of Potent Health Cure, Arthur thanked him. "He's always bringing in whatever people he can into his little 'gang'." Hosea sent a glare Dutch's way while using air quotes around "gang".

"I'm telling you, Hosea, this gang is getting bigger. Now, especially, with little John here." Dutch grinned and patted the small boy on the back. John looked up at Dutch and flashed him a prize smile. Arthur rolled his eyes and tucked the medicine into his satchel. Hosea had made his way to the back of the wagon, unpacking the things he and Dutch had bought from the General Store. "This here boy tried to rob us; didn't ya, Johnny?"

"Yes, sir." John nodded. His voice was stronger than Arthur imagined, the boy looked thin and frail but his eyes and voice were harsh and strong. It surprised Arthur briefly but not for too long.

"That's the way to ol' Dutch's heart, I guess." Hosea grunted when he lifted a heavy crate of Canned Vegetables. Arthur snorted and went to help Hosea. He heard John's light footsteps follow behind him to help too.

"I'm just saying, if we was someone else he would've robbed us silly." Dutch smiled and leaned against a nearby tree. He lifted a cigar to his lips and lit it swiftly.

Arthur shrugged and carried some crates over to the camp. Again, he heard soft footsteps coming up behind him. Arthur glared at nothing, frustrated with this kid already. The footsteps became faster paced and soon the greasy-haired kid was walking beside him. Dutch and Hosea were left behind near the wagon as Arthur and John brought the crates all the way over to camp. "My name's John Marston." the kid said.

"Arthur." Arthur mumbled back.

"Nice ta meetcha, Arthur."

"Talk right, boy."

"I ain't no boy, I'm fifteen years old." John huffed in return. "And I can talk however I'd like ta."

Arthur shrugged again after setting down his crate near the Provisions Wagon. Arthur turned to see John doing the same thing very close to where Arthur had set his crate down. "You don't have to stand so damn close, boy."

"My name isn't boy, it's John."

"Boys!" Ms. Grimshaw stomped over to them. "End your worthless fighting and help me find Pearson!"

"I was wondering where he was." Arthur mumbled.

"Who's Pearson?" John asked curiously.

"Our terrible cook." Ms. Grimshaw answered, "He's big everywhere except where it counts. You won't miss 'im. Big old dirty fella." she sighed and shook her head.

Arthur turned to see Hosea and Dutch carrying over the last two crates. "I can go look for him, Ms. Grimshaw. I think I know where he might've gone."

"I can go too!" John chirped in. Arthur glared at him.

"You ain't comin' with me, John. It's your first day here and I don't want you ruinin' just about everything yet."
John huffed and turned to walk to Dutch, probably to go whine and complain. Arthur rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I won't be long." He told Ms. Grimshaw before jogging over to his horse, Zeke. Zeke is a gorgeous Tennessee Walker, fast and healthy. Black coat, and tall; a bit too tall for Arthur when he first got him but Arthur grew like a weed when he turned 17 and has gotten big enough. He gave Zeke some hay and petted him gently, "There you go, Zeke." Arthur told him gently before kicking back to get Zeke to start walking.

Arthur didn't have to go very far to find Pearson. Pearson usually drunk himself dizzy and plopped down next to some tree near their camp. He never really went into any towns, Arthur would ask why if he cared enough, but he didn't. Arthur had gotten so good at finding people that he became the sort of "Bounty Hunter" of the camp. Hell, Arthur was even good at doing bounties for the law. Arthur didn't even have to get off of the saddle for Pearson to push himself up off the dirt and hurl himself over Zeke, it had become routine. Zeke grunted and Arthur pet him again gently. "Sorry, boy." Arthur made his way back to camp, content that it was still pretty early in the day and he could probably go to Blackwater for a haircut.

---

When they returned, Susan Grimshaw had already unpacked the contents of the crates into their respective wagons. The dirty blonde outlaw, Arthur, was content to see that Dutch and Hosea had half a mind to get some ammunition. Dutch had been kind enough to set up Arthur's tent next to the ammunition wagon, they had even started calling the wagon "Arthur's Ammunition" because of how much Arthur used them. He's their best shot, and practically their guard. You need an errand run? You need Arthur. You need someone to go huntin'? You need Arthur. Arthur is their lead enforcer, almost like a leader. So after Dutch and Hosea, people of the gang looked to him.

"Copper!" Arthur called out for his dog, who came running like a speeding bullet towards him at the sound of his name. Arthur grinned ear to ear and lifted the dog up into his arms. Copper lapped at Arthur's face eagerly. "Hey there, boy. How are you?"

"I said to keep that dog off your clothes, Arthur!" Came Ms. Grimshaw's stern voice. Arthur placed Copper down and continued petting him.

"Cool, a dog." John said from behind Arthur. Arthur turned to look at him. "What's his name?"

"Copper." Arthur muttered turning back to see his pet. "He bites."

"He don't look so mean." John reached his hand forward, Copper sniffed at his hand and started to lick at his fingers. "Cute."

Arthur huffed and stood up straight. "Whatever. I'mma go find Dutch." Arthur left John and Copper and headed to Dutch's tent, where Dutch and Hosea were having a conversation.

"Poor boy, about to get - " Dutch stopped when he saw Arthur. "Heya, Arthur."

"Dutch." Arthur greeted. Hosea shifted awkwardly and excused himself. "What's the deal with the boy?"

"I told you already, son. He tried to rob us, we caught 'im, we took 'im home."

"He got family? Someone to return him to." Arthur glared at a random, innocent tree. The story far too close to his own.

"Nah," Dutch shook his head. "Look, Arthur, I know it's always been just you me and Hosea but we're a gang now. And gangs need members."

"Members." Arthur repeated with a scoff. "Not children."

"He's fifteen. You were fourteen when we picked you up." Dutch reasoned.

"We weren't a 'gang', back then." Arthur raised his hands to do air quotes.

"Right. We were family, and he's family now." Dutch placed his hand in Arthur's shoulder. "Son,"

"Dutch-"

"Trust me." Dutch's eyes were burning into Arthur's soul. His hand clenched tightly but in such a caring manner on Arthur's shoulder that it made the teen shudder. Arthur brought himself to stare back, he only realized he had stopped breathing when he noticed Dutch's chest rise and fall. His broad...firm...chest.

"Okay, Dutch." Arthur ripped his gaze away. "I trust you."

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Chapter Text

Arthur left camp that same day to ride out to Blackwater, he planned on getting a haircut. Arthur liked to keep as clean as possible, no matter how many times Pearson told him how "Real Outlaws" don't care about hygiene. It doesn't matter to Arthur what real outlaws do, not really. Arthur didn't care much about fitting into anything. His plan was just to stick by Dutch and Hosea, and move out West where life was really good. Maybe settle with a nice girl, have a son, and die old. It was a fantasy he dreamt of many times in a day, sure - he didn't believe it'll actually happen, and maybe he didn't really want that life for himself anyway, but the idea of peace and quiet made him feel better.

Point being; Arthur didn't care about being the Outlaw of outlaws. He just cared about surviving, and if surviving meant robbing, killing, and riding from place to place then so be it. But does that mean he'll stop himself from taking a hot bath every week(at least) and being well groomed? Hell no.

Riding into Blackwater was easy enough, no one really knew him or the gang. They hadn't tried to make any scores or started (or finished) any fights. To be fair, they did just move nearby but Arthur counted it as a win anyway. He hitched Zeke and made his runs. Food, ammo, haircut. Yes, he bought extra food and ammo even though Dutch and Hosea brought some in already. The camp finished them all off so quickly, Arthur had to make sure he had something for himself to count on.

By the time he finished up, it was getting dark. So he paid for a bath and left back to camp afterwards. Not bothering to rent a room for the night, the camp wasn't far and he was hoping to sneak into Dutch's tent tonight. Annabelle was off doing some work in the town til morning so Dutch would be all by himself in his tent tonight and Arthur was meaning to make him feel a little less alone.

----

The night overwhelmed the sky by the time Arthur had gotten back to camp. Most everyone was asleep, at least no one was out of their tents. Arthur tip toed quietly into camp, he noticed Dutch's tent was glowing from the lantern he had aflame inside. Arthur grinned and pushed the tent flap open.

"Hey, Dutch." Arthur greeted. Dutch was sitting on his bed reading something. Dutch looked up from the book, 'The American Inferno', and smiled.

"Arthur." Dutch set the book down onto a small nightstand next to his bed. He patted the empty space next to him. "Sit down, Arthur." Arthur moved forward and did as told. "What brings you by?"

"Just..." Arthur bit his lip. "Everyone's asleep, and Annabelle ain't comin' back til tomorrow."

Dutch grinned and placed a hand on Arthur's thigh. "What are you thinking of, son?" Arthur's breath hitched as he locked eyes with Dutch.

"Kissing you." He mumbled. Dutch chuckled and leaned forward, Arthur reflected him naturally. Their lips pressed together, Dutch's beard and mustache scratched at Arthur's shaven skin. Arthur closed his eyes and felt Dutch move his hand further up on his thigh, and another hand hold Arthur's chin firmly.

They only pulled apart when they had to finally take a breath. " 's that all? Arthur?" Dutch pushed.

"No, I-" Arthur licked his lips, they felt swollen from kissing Dutch. "I was thinking about spending the night here, with you, doing...doing what we've been doing."

"Say it, Arthur." Arthur pouted and hid his face in Dutch's shoulder. He mumbled something. "I couldn't hear you, Arthur. Say it clearly."

Arthur leaned away and locked eyes with Dutch again. He felt his lip quiver and his thighs twitch excitedly. "I want you to fuck me, Dutch."

Dutch hummed and kissed Arthur again, it was slow and Arthur felt himself get lost in the kiss. Every touch from Dutch felt like sparks of electricity, and Arthur needed more. He was desperate for Dutch's touch, his hold. Steadily, Dutch eased Arthur onto the bed. Arthur spread his legs wide for Dutch to sit in between comfortably. A moan slipping past his chapped lips when Dutch pressed his pelvis against Arthur's. The blonde felt Dutch's hardness against his own and Arthur began to grind up against him. Dutch tsked and kissed down Arthur's neck.

"So beautiful." Dutch whispered against Arthur's neck. "I like that shirt on you, Arthur." Dutch played with the fabric of the striped blue collar shirt Arthur had on. Arthur smiled and let his hands wander on Dutch's shoulders.

No matter how much Dutch liked what Arthur was wearing, it didn't phase him enough to strip Arthur nude. Arthur helping Dutch out of his own clothes soon after. They were both naked, flesh on flesh as they breathed heavily. Kisses got sloppy when Dutch slicked his fingers in gun oil and pressed them into Arthur, their cocks rutting against anything in closeness. Arthur contained his moans as he had learned to for the past 3 years of doing this with Dutch. Their secrecy was important.

Soon, Dutch was pushing himself into Arthur. Arthur grimaced at the pain of the stretch, they had used gun oil but it still felt strange everytime. They had done this enough, though, that Arthur expected it to get better soon. And so it did, soon Arthur was rocking back and forth on the bed in synchronization with Dutch's heavy thrusts. Dutch's hand pumping Arthur's length. Arthur's eyes half lidded in bliss, he listened to Dutch's pants and groans of pleasure until he could no longer sense or hear. Lost in his orgasm, he didn't notice when Dutch continued to thrust into him. Arthur only regained his senses when Dutch had pulled out of him, leaving a trail of white goo on Arthur's hole and thigh.

They were quiet for a bit, laying next to each other in the cramped bed. Arthur turned to look at Dutch's face which was wearing a focused expression. "What are you thinking about, Dutch?"

"Nothing, Arthur. Just the usual, you should go to your tent now." Dutch smiled.

Arthur sighed and kissed Dutch one more time. "Okay, see you then."

"See you."

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Arthur woke in a start after the sound of screaming pierced through his skull. Arthur tugged on his pants and pulled on his blue striped collar shirt before hurrying out of his tent. "What is going on?!" Arthur yelled at the sight of John backing off from a frightened Annabelle.

Dutch too came out of his tent, Arthur turned to look at him but Dutch was focused on the problem at hand. "What in god's name happened?"

"The boy," Annabelle's voice wavered "he scared me. I was coming back into camp and- nd he just popped up out of nowhere! He's no tall and skinny, I can't believe I couldn't hear him or spot him before he got so close."

John had a red flush on his cheeks. "Sorry, ma'am." Arthur shook his head and snorted.

"It's Annabelle, not 'ma'am'."

"Okay." John nodded. "Sorry, Annabelle."

Dutch sighed. "Were you able to make much?"

"Is six dollars much?" Annabelle handed Dutch some bills.

"It's something. Thank you, Annabelle." Dutch smiled and pecker her cheek, Annabelle giggled and the couple walked towards Dutch's tent.

"Thank you, Arthur! For coming so quickly to my rescue!" She called to the blonde, her and Dutch laughing.

Arthur nodded awkwardly and waved goodbye. How strange it was to be thanked by the woman who your lover is dating. Stranger because he had just had sex with Dutch last night, and now she was going to do the same thing right now. Would he call her beautiful, too?

Chapter Text

John stared at Arthur, the outlaw was watching Dutch and Annabelle walk away.

"What are you staring at, boy." Arthur grumbled.

"I said my name is John." John snapped back, it was easy for John to math Arthur's height despite the fact Arthur is 4 years older. However, John knew Arthur could take John easily in a fight. No matter how tall John might be currently, Arthur was very built and John is still a bit skinny where muscle should be.

Arthur glared at him but eventually turned away. "Whatever." Arthur started to walk away but John followed closely. Arthur peered over his shoulder and John waved. John liked to follow Arthur. Despite the blonde's bad attitude, John thought Arthur was pretty cool. Dutch had told John about how Arthur was their lead enforcer, and how he and Hosea had picked Arthur up when he was 14. John felt like maybe Arthur could give him some tips, seeing that John was basically Arthur with extra steps. Sure, maybe Dutch and Hosea didn't just pick John up, hell, they saved him from getting hung, but Arthur doesn't know that. "Why are you following me?" Arthur finally snapped at John.

"You wore that shirt yesterday." John commented, not knowing what else to say.

"Yeah. And you've probably worn that outfit your whole life." Arthur glared.

"Probably. I don't have any other clothes." John shrugged.

Arthur looked John up and down. The outlaw glanced towards Dutch's tent and pursed his lips. "I guess I can take you into town, buy you some things. I'll have to interrupt Dutch and Annabelle for some cash. Stay near the horses, I'll be right back." John did as told and watched Arthur march over to Dutch's tent and ease the flaps open. He heard a little yelp and protest but Arthur eventually came out with a wad of cash and a frustrated, almost pensive look.

"How much we got?" John asked excitedly when Arthur got close.

"Almost two hundred. We'll get you two outfits and a saddle. You got a horse?"

"No."

"I'll catch you one, there's some wild horses somewhere 'round here. I'm sure." Arthur pulled himself up onto a tall, black Tennessee Walker. Arthur looked down at John expectantly. John scrambled and hurled himself up onto the back of the horse. "You know how to ride, John?"

"A bit. I've never had a horse before. Just used 'em here 'n' there when I needed to get out of a town. 'Usually stole 'em 'n' let 'em go afterwards. They never really liked me much." John wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist. Arthur stiffened.

"Right. Sure. I'll show you how." Arthur pulled at the reigns and soon the horse was on its way on the trail. "What else don't you know how to do?"

"What do I need to know?" John asked in return.

"Well," Arthur shifted a bit and grunted, "do you know how to hunt?"

"Sure. Not perfect but I can do the job."

"Shoot?"

"I like to think I'm a good gunslinger." John smiled when he felt Arthur laugh. His shoulders doing a little bounce.

"Right. Do you know how to fish?"

"Hardly." John answered honestly.

"Don't worry. I ain't good at it either. Hosea is; I'm sure he'll teach you." Arthur hummed in thought. "I guess that's the important things. Anything else I'm sure you'll pick up along the way."

"Sure." John nodded. He started to see the signs of a town, buildings in the horizon and some more traffic on the trail. They were quiet the rest of the way, John enjoyed the air blowing past when Arthur sped up. He heard Arthur whisper commands to his horse. Zeke? John think he heard Arthur call him that at some point. Zeke is a nice name, John supposed.

John was expecting them to keep going into town, but suddenly Arthur pulled the reigns and headed left and off the trail. "Wha-" John yelped but Arthur didn't explain.

"Hya!" Arthur ordered Zeke. Zeke sped up and John leaned to the side to peer over Arthur's shoulder. There in front of them was a group of wild horses. Maybe a Mustang or a Morgan, John didn't know his horses well. It was a race, but eventually the horses started to slow and Arthur began to call out to them. A horse with a nice brown coat, medium height and thin build slowed to a stop. Arthur stopped Zeke. "Stay here." He whispered to John and Zeke.

John watched as Arthur slowly approached the horse. Every now and then stopping to calm it. Eventually, Arthur got close enough to mount the horse. John watched Arthur expertly broke the horse, avoiding being bucked off until the horse calmed. Arthur brought the horse over with a smile. "You lucky bastard. Got yourself a race horse. A little young, but she'll grow."

John hopped off of Zeke and walked over. "Thank you Arthur."

"Sure, get some carrots out of my bag and the brush. Bring it over here so she can get to likin' you." Arthur got off of the horse and waited for John. John jogged back to Zeke and grabbed 3 carrots and a brush. He came back with an eager smile, John reached forward and fed her a carrot. The horse neighed happily. Arthur patted John on the back. "What'll you name her?"

"Rachel, I think." John smiled and stared at Rachel. He brushed her beautiful dark brown coat. Arthur snorted and shrugged.

"Alright. Let's go into town and I'll get you a saddle and some thing for her too." Arthur whistled for Zeke who came trotting happily. Arthur pulled himself up and waited for John to do the same. John balanced himself on Rachel and held onto her rope reigns. "Let's go." Arthur ordered and led John to Blackwater.

They had to go a little West of Blackwater to get to the Stables, but once they got there John was bombarded with congratulations. "What a fine horse," the stable man commented. John thanked him nervously.

"Pick out a saddle, blanket, good stirrups, saddlebag, and a bedroll." Arthur told John. "Oh and get yourself some provisions for her, like carrots and hay. I'll give you some medicines for her; don't worry much about that."

John nodded and picked some out. He tried to theme the things with brown and red colors as they were his favorite colors. By the end, they had spent $100. John felt a twinge of guilt for making Arthur spend so much, but Arthur didn't seem bothered. John felt good with his new things that he had forgotten about the clothes. "Thank you again, Arthur. This is real nice of you."

"Sure." Arthur shrugged. "Let's go get you some clothes." John blinked twice before following Arthur to the general store. "Get two union suits, and a good hat. Whatever else you get is up to you." Arthur handed John $60 when the hitched their horses. "I'mma go to the bar, play some poker. You can ride back to camp or look for me but wait about half an hour before you do. So take your time with the clothes." John nodded and waited for Arthur to leave and go into the bar before going into the general store.

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Arthur entered the bar with purpose, he had five dollars left in his pocket. He had taken fifty from Dutch and he was going to make them back. Or at least half of it to return to Dutch. Arthur looked around at the audience before him, looking for the usual signs. Most men in the bar were dirty, old, and gruff. Occasionally, though, Arthur would spot a strangely clean man. Sometimes they'd be reading, sometimes they'd be drinking water at a fucking bar. And Arthur would come up to them, and ask if they liked poetry.

"You like poetry?" Arthur asked a young looking man. His hair slicked back, short and black. His eyes green and his nose bent a bit to the left. Must've broken it. He was handsome.

"I..." He flushed. "I do."

"My name's Albert." Arthur smiled. "I know a place 'round back of the bar. A little shed. Maybe you can tell me some lines of that book you have there?"

"Yes. I mean," he stuttered, "sure. I'm Mason."

Arthur smiled. "See you, Mason." Arthur moved gracefully out of the bar. He snuck around to the back and moved towards a small shed that he had spotted a few days ago when they had just moved in. He made sure no one else was around before he opened the door and waited inside.

There was a knock on the door and then it creaked open. Mason peered in shyly. When he came inside he cleared his throat. "You aren't..tricking me, are you?"

"No," Arthur smiled. "But you gotta pay. You have money?"

"I've got some, yeah." Mason frowned. "How much?"

"Seventy." Arthur kissed Mason's neck. Mason inhaled sharply.

"Ah!" He moaned. "You that good?"

"Mhmmm," Arthur hummed and reached down into Mason's pants.

______________________________________________________________

That day, Arthur had been introduced to Vaseline which worked far better than gun oil. He got paid $80 instead of $70 and Mason asked to see Arthur again in a month in the same place. Arthur said he'd try.

Arthur cleaned himself up and went to look for John near the horses. John was feeding Rachel, he had a new hat. Arthur whistled and John looked up and waved. Arthur hurried over to him and carefully mounted himself onto Zeke. His hips hurting slightly. "Hey, John."

"Hey." John smiled. "Where were you?"

"What do you mean?" Arthur watched John get onto his saddle.

"You weren't at the bar?" John explained further.

"Oh. I went to play poker upstairs. It's hush hush. Got myself some cash." Arthur shrugged. "You got everything?"

"I did."

"Good, let's head home." Arthur smiled at John and John smiled back, his hat casting a shadow over his clean shaven face. John had gotten a haircut. Arthur chuckled and headed off back towards camp, content with their day.

Chapter Text

When they got back to camp, John could say he learned a little more about horses and how to properly handle them. Arthur had talked to him the whole way about it. They hitched their horses and Arthur watched John excitedly head to Hosea's tent, probably to show him all the cool things Arthur had bought for him. Arthur smiled, sure, the guy was annoying but he was polite and full of life.

Arthur sighed and headed over to Dutch's tent. This time, instead of going in without saying anything, Arthur announced his presence. "Hey Dutch. Can I come in?"

The tent flap pulled open. Dutch was alone, reading. "See, how hard was that?"

"Not hard, Dutch." Arthur walked into the tent and reached into his satchel. He pulled out fifty dollars. "I won our money back in a poker game. John has everything he needs. Horse, saddle, clothes, and -" Arthur groaned. "Oh no, I forgot the guns."

Dutch laughed. "Don't worry, son, John's got himself a nice pistol and a hunting knife. He can buy himself more on his own. You did good, Arthur." Dutch patted Arthur's shoulder. "Thank you for coming around."

Arthur eyed him up and down. Dutch thought he was "coming around"? More like Arthur had to take the boy shopping, otherwise he'd be too unequipped to do his own damn work. But instead of lashing out, Arthur smiled. "Sure, Dutch."

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Arthur was sitting next to the camp fire drinking some coffee for the cold evening. He had mulled over his options, he could go hunt some deer or he could stay in camp and sleep after a long day of being with John. Arthur wasn't one to stay in camp all day, he liked to go out and make money for the camp. Sometimes he'd hunt to sell to butchers, sometimes he'd rob whatever asshole he met, sometimes he'd steal the horse off someone if they didn't return his friendly "Hello". And whenever he, Dutch and Hosea fought off the O' Driscolls, Arthur would make sure to loot every single one they shot down.

At first, when Dutch had told him to do that Arthur had nearly puked up his breakfast. Having to take off wedding rings and finding love notes or finding heirlooms from the dead bodies reminded him they were human. That he had shot someone's husband, son, or daddy. He had taken away some poor kid's old man as the law had taken Arthur's.

He had to learn fast, though, because there was no room for puking on the job. He had had to stomach it, and grow a pair. Later he forced the idea on himself that they were aiming to shoot him too, so it was okay.

Deep down inside, the voice inside Arthur knows it's not. The voice that gets louder whenever he's out of the camp, riding across whatever country or trail he could find, the voice would remind him all the terrible things he had done. All the awful things he had done for Dutch.

"Arthur!" Came a familiar raspy voice. Arthur looked up to see Hosea. "Come with me, will you? I'm trying to teach John how to read and he's having troubles."

"And you think I can help?" Arthur snorted, but getting up anyway.

Hosea nodded and led him to his tent. "Well I taught you already, might as well have the help." John was sitting cross legged on the floor, trying to figure something out in the book in front of him. Arthur took a seat next to him.

"What are you reading?" Arthur peered over at the open book.

"An American Eden." John said proudly.

"I told you that, John, you didn't read it." Hosea snorted.

John frowned and Arthur sat closer to him and pointed at the first word. "What's that say, John?"

"Umm.. Well that's a t-h, so that makes the th- sound." John mumbled. "And that's an e, and a y. So, th- e- y." He pursed his lips, trying to find a word he used already to pair with the sound. "They?" He finally said.

"That's right!" Arthur patted his back. "You know your alphabet well?"

"Hosea taught me." John smiled up at Hosea.

"Yeah, Hosea's good at teaching things. He should've been a teacher, not a conman." Arthur said playfully. Hosea laughed and smacked Arthur's head gently. "Okay then, what's the next word, John?"

_____________________________________________________________

"Arthur!" Ms. Grimshaw shuffled over to him and John. "Arthur, Annabelle is going crazy, you have to calm her down!"

Arthur stood in a hurry and searched for Annabelle. "Where is she?"

"Taking down your tent, Arthur." Susan pointed towards Arthur's tent where Annabelle was yanking down the cloth of the tent.

"Hey!" He yelled, marching over. "Annabelle, stop what you're doing, will you?"

"No!" She snapped, still yanking.

"I am begging you, miss, please stop." Arthur took the calm route. Annabelle glared at him and continued. Arthur sighed. "Well, why are you doing this Annabelle?"

She stopped and huffed. "You!" She pointed a finger at Arthur. "You're trying to steal my man!"

"Your man?" Arthur snorted, he noticed Dutch approaching them from his peripheral vision.

"Dutch!" She cried and fled to him. "He's taking you away from me!" Dutch stepped back from her.

"What are you talking about, woman?" Dutch hissed.

"You know what!" She snapped at him, her mood changing from innocent and pleading to angry and dangerous.

"I don't!" Dutch yelled.

"Alright, alright!" Hosea said in attempts to quiet everyone. "Now," he said when everyone was quiet "Miss Annabelle, please tell us why you were taking down Arthur's tent."

Annabelle looked like she was fuming, and torn. She looked between Dutch and Arthur, Arthur noticed Dutch give her a challenging look. "I-" she sighed. She looked defeated. "I was embarrassed that Arthur walked in on me and Dutch."

"Now," Dutch said in a relieved tone "that is no reason to take his tent down." He laughed and shook his head, turning to the rest of the camp who had congregated around the scene. "That's all to see here folks."

Pearson and Susan left to the provisions wagon, and Hosea and John returned to their lesson. Annabelle stood closely to Arthur and hissed at him. "I saw the marks you left on my man. And I found one of your riding gloves underneath Dutch's bed. I know." She threatened before walking away.

Arthur sighed and set his tent back up.

Chapter Text

Arthur hurried to Dutch's tent after setting his tent back. Annabelle had gone into town after her "tantrum", as Pearson called it when speaking to Arthur and helping him collect some of his belongings she had thrown about. Arthur didn't bother "announcing his presence" like Dutch had instructed him to do since he walked in on him and Ann.

"Dutch." Arthur said hurriedly. Dutch was pacing, he looked up from biting at his nails.

"Arthur."

"Do you know?"

"That she knows?" Dutch forced a laugh, his eyes filled with panic. "Yes, I do." Arthur groaned and sat down on the edge of Dutch's bed.

"I'm sorry Dutch." He said quietly. Dutch turned to look at Arthur, his short hair falling over his forehead from running his hands through it so many times and his blue eyes locked on the ground.

Dutch shook his head. "No, son, it's alright son. It'll be fine. We just have to be more careful." Dutch caressed Arthur's cheek and titled his head up to make eye contact.

After a moment of silence Arthur licked his lips. "Let me make it up to you, Dutch." He reached for Dutch's pants. Dutch swallowed visibly.

"The others?"

"Doing things. Just be quiet." Arthur grinned up at Dutch and tugged the older man's pants down. His cock half hard. Arthur licked tentatively at the tip. Dutch's breath hitched. Arthur had done this so many times, whenever he made a mistake or got Dutch mad - this is how he'd apologize.

There was something strange about Arthur getting down on his knees for Dutch. Kissing at places he knew made Dutch shudder from how many times he'd done it. Licking stripes of saliva up and down until Dutch became rock hard. Taking Dutch into his mouth and bobbing his head up and down Dutch's length like his life were depending on it. Until, eventually, Dutch would grab onto Arthur's short hair and thrust into Arthur's throat. Arthur would relax and breathe through his nose, feeling Dutch's cock hit the back of his throat but controlling his gag reflex.

He remembered the first time he did this. Dutch had told him to get on his knees, angry that Arthur had gone off somewhere without telling him first. It seemed so unimportant now. Arthur had done as told, and Dutch had pushed his pants down and commanded Arthur to suck. Arthur hesitantly leaned forward with his mouth open and Dutch pushed himself into Arthur. Arthur nearly gagged, his eyes swelling with tears as Dutch used him until he came down Arthur's throat. He had told Arthur he needed practice. Arthur had made it his mission to get better.

And he was. "So good." Dutch reminded him when Arthur made a motion with his tongue against Dutch's tip. Arthur moaned like a whore would and not long after Dutch came with a groan. He pulled out and tugged his pants back on. "Thank you Arthur."

Arthur swallowed the hot cum as a man had taught him to back when he started selling himself to the "poets". Arthur stood up and wiped his mouth clean. "Sure," he said in a raspy voice.

Another thing Arthur found strange is how he could do things like that with Dutch and still walk out into camp and have no one be the wiser.

He could walk over to Hosea, or Susan, or Pearson - hell even John! - and have a conversation with them with the same mouth that had just sucked and lapped at Dutch's cock. And no one would no, or expect it. Because Dutch always treated Arthur like a son, and why would a father do that to his...son. His train of thought altered. Arthur stared at the ground for a while. Dutch was like his father, why did he do this with him? Why did Arthur let and support him? If Hosea were to be the one who offered Arthur this type of relationship, would Arthur allow it? He shuddered in disgust, no. Of course not. Hosea was like his father!

Arthur groaned in confusion.
Then what was Dutch to Arthur?
His head started to ache, what a position he was in. How many times Dutch had called Arthur "son" and how many times Dutch had shoved his cock up Arthur.

"Arthur!" John jogged up to him. "Hosea asked me to ask you if you could take me hunting."

Arthur frowned. "What, why?"

"I'm tired of reading and I have a major headache and it can only be...subdued?... Yeah! Subdued- by hunting!" John smiled, his eyes wandering to the side of Arthur. Arthur turned to look and saw Hosea holding a thumbs up to John. He rolled his eyes and turned to Hosea.

"I ain't going hunting right now, Hosea." Arthur explained.

"Oh come on, Arthur!" He smiled. "Pearson needs more to cook anyway. You're our best hunter."

Arthur raised a brow. "And?" He huffed. Hosea rolled his eyes and sighed.

"And the faster John learns to hunt, the faster he can bring in money to the camp and leave you the hell alone!"

"That sounds more like it." Arthur grinned and Hosea laughed his great laugh that made Arthur feel proud of himself. Like a father laughing at something his son would do that made him remember his own youth. Arthur aspired to be like Hosea, so that laugh was wonderful.

John hurried to his horse, and Arthur went to collect some weapons and supplies. He joined John not long after, he looked giddy and excited. "Ready?" John asked Arthur.

"Are you?" Arthur scoffed, mounting his horse with a grunt.

"Always, Mr. Morgan." John grinned and Arthur smiled.

"Stick with Arthur. 'Mr. Morgan' don't sound right coming from you." Arthur snorted as he fed Zeke some hay.

"Why? Make you feel old, old man?" John teased.

"I'm four years older than you!" Arthur defended as he gently kicked Zeke into a trot.

"Don't look like it," John laughed "you look beyond your years, Mr. Morgan."

"Call me that one more time and I swear-" Arthur glared at John who was coming up beside him as they began to follow the trail North.

"Alright! Alright!" John smiled and raised a hand. "I'll stop."

"Good. Thank you." He said sarcastically as he focused his gaze forward.

"Sure thing, Mr. Morgan." Arthur's lips twitched into a smile, he turned to see John who was grinning ear to ear.

"You litte-!" Arthur reached to grab John but John kicked Rachel into full speed.

"Catch me if you can, Mr. Morgan!" John laughed wildly. Arthur bursted out laughing and growled playfully as he started after John.

Chapter Text

Arthur felt the air fill his lungs, his laughter loud and fulfilling as he chased after John. John would turn to see Arthur periodically, a smile pasted firmly on his lips. Arthur cooed to Zeke, pleading for him to go faster and he did. Soon he was at John's side.

"Howdy." he said through a laugh. John snorted and began to slow down. Arthur tugged at the reigns. "There's a hill not far from here," he shouted over to John "close to some woods. Easy to spot; it's right down this trail. If you want, we could race- hey!" Arthur shouted and held onto his hat as John zoomed forward after hearing Arthur mention "race". Arthur laughed at the challenge and raced for John, he had camped at that hill before. It was a good place to keep out of sight from trouble. So he was able to find a faster way there, cutting off the trail and speeding to his destination. He was able to reach the hill seconds before John did. John looked flabbergasted.

"Howdy." John laughed. "That was fun."

"Sure was." Arthur got off of his horse.

"You ain't that boring, I guess." John got off his horse. "So, where we hunting?"

"We're not hunting until.the morning." Arthur snorted as he started to set up camp. John stood still.

"What? No way. It's not even that dark." John huffed.

"It's getting dark. Wolves come out around this time and they're far hungrier than you are, boy." Arthur started the fire. "If you even get a scratch from one of those things, it'll be on me."

"I can defend myself from a stupid wolf, Arthur." John sat down near the fire in a upset manner.

"I don't know that for sure. Besides, we probably ran off all the good meats by making so much commotion getting here. Let's wait it out and I'm sure that by the morning we'll have more to pick from."

Arthur sat down next to John. "I can handle myself, I swear." John mumbled.

"I believe you, John, I do but I need you to do this to make sure this trip goes as smoothly as possible. That way you prove to Dutch and Hosea that you are as good as you say and you can do whatever you want whenever you want." Arthur patted John's shoulder. "How's that sound?"

John hummed and smiled. "Alright. That's fine, I guess." He turned to look into Arthur's blue eyes. "Should we get to bed? Morning will come faster if we do."

Arthur laughed and stood back up, heading for the tent. "Sure," he drawled, "why not." Arthur had a fairly large tent. Big enough for him and John to share and as the night became colder they were lucky to have each other so close. They lay shoulder to shoulder on their own bedrolls.

"Okay," John cleared his throat. "Truth or lie?"

"What?" Arthur snorted.

"You've got to tell me either a truth or a lie, you pick which one." John explained. "I made it up. Look, you ask me."

"Fine. Truth or lie?"

"Lie." John answered quickly. "I have never drank before!"

"So you have drunken?" Arthur asked confusedly.

"Right. So either way, you find out about the other person."

"That's stupid." Arthur laughed. "Just ask people questions if you wanna know 'bout 'em." John huffed in response.

"It's just easier this way, but fine. I'll ask you questions like an old man, old man." He teased. "What's you favorite food?"

"Really? That's a dumb question. I like peaches. My turn to ask a question right?" John nodded and Arthur continued. "Why did Dutch take you back to camp?"

"Wow." John snorted. "Straight to the point, huh?"

"Would you rather I ask you what your favorite poem is, John?" Arthur snickered and could practically feel John rolling his eyes.

"Like Dutch said," John began, "I tried pick pocketing him and Hosea but it went South.-"

"See I find that hard to believe." Arthur said abruptly sitting up. "Because you are quite the sneaky fellow. You snuck up on Annabelle, and that women is the most paranoid of the paranoid."

"Well they're Dutch and Hosea, I suppose they know when a fella is stealing from them." John leaned upwards on his elbows.

"Maybe." Arthur shrugged, unsatisfied.

"It's my turn. Where were you really when you went to go play 'poker'." John used his fingers to make air quotes.

"Playing poker."

"That's a lie," John smirked. "I looked everywhere and snuck in every place and couldn't find you or no 'secret poker game'."

"You didn't look everywhere then." Arthur smiled at John's confusion.

"Only place I didn't check was small sheds and outhouses." John shrugged. "Were you taking a massive shit, or something? How'd you make the money?"

"Or something." Arthur said, settling back down on his bedroll.

"Come on! Tell me!" John poked at Arthur's cheek. Arthur glared.

"I'll tell you if you quit pestering me and if you swear not to tell anyone." Arthur wasn't sure why he was about to tell John one of his deepest secrets, but there had been a sudden urge to get it off of his chest. And here was John, asking.

"I swear." John put a hand over his chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"You're strange, John." Arthur snorted and John shrugged. "I was...um...okay, so there's certain types of men, right?"

"Sure."

"And they like poetry."

"The stuff you read? That rhymes?"

"Some of it rhymes, others don't. Hosea will tell you. Main point is, these men like "poetry" which is code for men who like...men."

"Inverts?" John asked, confused.

"Sure, that's a way to say it. So these men are real desperate. They'd pay real good money to have...some time with another man. 'Specially a young, good looking one." Arthur smiled as he complimented himself but then frowned. "I happen to enjoy bedding with other men. I like women too, I just like men more." He shrugged. "And these guys will pay me sometimes a hundred dollars just to touch 'em so.."

"So you're a whore?" John laughed and Arthur kicked at his shin. "Ouch!" He giggled. "Wait, are you on top ot the bottom?"

Arthur looked confused. "How do you mean?"

"Are you the one giving or getting it?"

"Usually I'm getting it. Don't mean I'm on the bottom, though."

John raised a brow. "How is that even possible?" Arthur sat up and kicked at his sheets to move them off of him.

"Like this," Arthur straddled John's hips "I just get on this way and bounce on it."

John's breath hitched. His hands froze at his sides but wanting to grasp at Arthur's firm hips and thighs. He stared at their touching pelvises. "Uh- Arthur?"

Arthur had been trying to explain the whole position to John, he hadn't realized until John squeaked out his name that John had become very hard beneath Arthur. Arthur felt John's hardness poke upwards against the cleft of his ass. Arthur's eyes widened and he scrambled off of John. "Sorry!" He yelped.

"I'm sorry!" John squeaked again. He covered his clothed erection with his hands. "Arthur I didn't mean to it's just that you were-"

"It's- it's fine!" Arthur cleared his throat. "I'mma go outside and you can uh," Arthur looked anywhere but at John, "you do something. I shouldn't have done that, I was just trying to explain- you know what? Doesn't matter. I'mma go." He laughed nervously before hurrying out of the tent.

John groaned and imagined if Arthur would've stayed, if he would've liked John, John would've had Arthur bouncing on him like he was talking about.

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Arthur was as red as a tomato, how could he have been so stupid? John's a teenager! Of course he'd react that way. Arthur wandered towards the trees near the trail, he sat down. He could wait while John got rid of his...problem.

The outlaw took a deep breath, he pulled his knees up to his chest. John was still a kid, it didn't matter if Arthur was only 4 years older, Arthur was an adult and John was a teenager. Arthur looked down to his crotch, he had gotten aroused at the feeling of John pressed against him. Arthur cursed himself. He stared off in the distance. John is still a kid; he reminded himself.

He heard the hard thundering of horses, and the creaks of a wagon. He looked down the path and saw a man, maybe another in the back, with a small wagon being pulled by 2 horses. Arthur searched for his pistol, he had it in his holster - good. He's prepared for anything.

"Hey there!" the voice called as the wagon pulled to a stop. Arthur stood up hastily. "You camping 'round here?"

"Yes sir." Arthur responded in a deep and gruff voice. The man looked...familiar. "There's more places to camp around here though, sir."

"Hey," the man drawled "you look like someone I know."

"I have one of those faces." Arthur shrugged.

"You Albert?" The man asked excitedly. Arthur's eyes widened, he realized that this was one of his "clients". He didn't ever get his name, he hardly did when things were fast and to the point.

"Uh, yeah." Arthur shrugged again.

"You lookin' to make some good money?" The man stopped the wagon completely, another man from the back of the wagon poked his head out. "If we can both take you at the same time, we'll give you two hundred."

"At the same time?" Arthur asked confused.

"Yeah, I'll fuck your pretty round ass, and my friend here will take your mouth." The man got off the wagon.

"Listen, sir, I ain't working right now." Arthur shook his head.

The man snickered. "If you don't, I'll make sure you never work again."

Arthur flared his nostrils, standing as tall as he could compared to the man. "Oh really?" Arthur snickered. "Who do you think you are?"

"I'm Colm O' -fucking- Driscoll." Colm pulled out a knife and pressed it against Arthur's throat. "And you're gonna bend over and let me fuck you right now."

Arthur glared. Fuck. He had let Colm O' Driscoll be one of his clients. Dutch will be fucking fuming. But it's not like Dutch had a picture of Colm to show them. Arthur didn't know.

"Arthur!" He heard John call from afar. Arthur cursed under his breath.

"Arthur?" Colm sneered and pulled away slightly. "Arthur Morgan?"

Arthur reached for his pistol and quickly put a bullet in Colm's foot. The man yelled. Arthur sprinted towards John. "Run! Run, Marston!"

He saw a figure in front of him start sprinting into the woods, Arthur followed in close pursuit. He spotted a cave near some rocks to the side. He sped up and grabbed John who yelped. "Hey-!" John hissed but Arthur shushed him and pulled him into the cave.

They stayed quiet and still in the cave. Sitting next to each other and waiting to see if Colm found them. After a few minutes of nothing, John turned to see Arthur. His blue eyes bright, reflecting the moonlight. "I think we're okay." Arthur muttered, noticing John's gaze.

"I heard O'Driscoll...Dutch said they were our enemies." John explained why he left the tent.

"Yeah, they are but, John." Arthur groaned. "If it's just you and me, and something like that happens, I need you to stay in the tent. If they don't know you're there let them just focus on me."

"I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can but if anything does happen to you John, under MY watch, I couldn't...I couldn't live with that. You're like my brother."

"I thought you didn't like me."

"I don't. But you're growing on me." Arthur laughed softly. John leaned against Arthur's shoulder.

"I'm sorry I made things strange." John mumbled. "I don't want to be your brother I want..." John left it unsaid, but Arthur understood.

"Come back to me when you're 19." Arthur smiled. "You're too young for me."

"We're only 4 years apart!" John whined.

"Then if that's not long, you can wait 4 years to try whatever this might be." Arthur laughed.

John chuckled and they sat there, gently falling asleep against each other.

Chapter Text

They stayed in the cave until morning. They had fallen asleep on each other, and when Arthur blinked his eyes open to the glare of the morning sun he realized how cute John looked asleep. His black hair flowing over his face and his facial hair barely poking its way out of his skin. His scarce mustache made Arthur chuckle. John was sweet, though a bit annoying, but Arthur couldn't imagine himself being with John. Not now, at least. For one, John was only 15. Despite Arthur only being 19, Arthur deeply disliked that John was a teenager and him an adult.

Then there was Dutch. What would Dutch say? More importantly, could Arthur leave behind his feelings for Dutch? Oh how Arthur longed for the bliss of being asleep and not thinking.

He looked to his side at John again, he was stirring awake now. "Morning." John yawned and eased off of Arthur.

"Hey," Arthur responded, "you sleep okay?"

"Sure." John stretched. "Is that O' Driscoll still around?"

"Nah, he's gone by now." Arthur stood up. "We should probably head back to our campsite. Maybe find some deer for you to shoot down, then ride back to camp."

John nodded and Arthur watched as stood up in a bit of a rush. John patted himself down and followed Arthur back through the woods. Arthur tried finding their way back by the trail of prints and broken leaves and branches he and John made running for the cave. As they walked, John began to ask questions in his John-manner.

"So why did the O' Driscoll stop to talk to you? Did he recognize you?'"

"Probably. He just got off and started talking smack." Arthur shrugged, focused on the trail.

"But why didn't he just kill you?"

Arthur laughed. "You wanted him to?"

"Nome." John shook his head. "Just wondering why he didn't come shooting."

"Do I look like I know?" Arthur snorted. "Try looking for him if you want and ask him yourself."

"I'm good here." John mumbled.

Arthur finally led them back to their tent. They gathered their things, luckily someone didn't steal them. Arthur whistled for their horses and watched as Zeke and Rachel trotted over to them. Arthur grabbed his rifle and handed it to John. "There's some deer out over there." Arthur pointed across the path at a dip of land with bunches of grass. Some white tail deer grazing. John nodded and headed off, hunched over and with a careful step. Arthur watched from afar, lasso at hand and mounted on Zeke.

John lifted the rifle up and was still for a moment before firing. He hit a deer right in the head. Arthur whooped proudly and led Rachel to John who was already skinning the deer.

"Next time don't skin her yet." Arthur said while John put the skin and deer on Rachel.

"Why not?" John huffed while he mounted Rachel.

"If you're just gonna put the body on your horse, might as well keep your horse clean and just skin her at camp." Arthur explained, John nodded and thanked Arthur for the advice.

"You goin' catch somethin'?"

"Nah, you can have the spotlight." Arthur grinned. "Best make some good story up." He kicked Zeke into a trot, John followed.

"So getting a headshot of a grazing deer on the first try, ain't good enough?"

"Nah, make it sound better. Maybe something like you were chasing the herd on top of Rachel and you got a headshot with the first shot. On horseback is more impressive."

"You ever done that?"

"Sure, but not with deer. I usually lasso them and stab 'em to make sure the pelt isn't damaged. Bigger animals is when I do headshots."

John nodded, his face focused as if trying to remember all the tips Arthur was giving him. "Why do you care about the pelt?" He asked.

"You can sell 'em if they're good enough, or Pearson can make you a nice satchel." He patted his own satchel, the best of them all. "I can carry a lot in this baby. Took me a while to hunt down everything I needed for it, but it was worth it."

"Think I can have Pearson make one for me?" John asked in awe, staring at the wonderful satchel.

"If you hunt what he needs for it."

"I will."
They both smiled

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The ride back to camp was quiet. John was focused on remembering everything Arthur told him, every once in a while Arthur would hear him mumble the tips back to himself in attempts to memorize them.

When they did return to the safety of their camp, John made sure to boast about his first camp kill. Pearson whistled at the fine pelt, "Great job, kid!" he had said as he heaved the deer onto his table. Susan handed John and Arthur a cup of coffee, and Annabelle had carefully congratulated John without making eye contact with Arthur. Arthur was still feeling strange with Annabelle avoiding him but still, somehow, managing to glare daggers at him. Such that Arthur could feel her wrath. How strange it was to have heard her thanking him only a few days ago, and now she loathed him. To be fair, Arthur had Dutch before her. She had "stolen" Dutch from him. But then again, was Dutch ever his? No. Dutch belonged to no one person; Arthur understood that when he was 17 and Dutch had started seeing Susan. Arthur had been so upset, he had yelled at Dutch on their hunting trip until Dutch shoved him into the floor and fucked into him.

"I ain't yours, -boy-." Dutch had hissed into his ear as he snapped his hips back and forth into Arthur. "But you are mine."

Arthur left John to be praised by the camp members and headed to Dutch's tent. He was writing something down in his journal. "Hey there," Arthur greeted, "I took John out hunting. I'm sure Hosea told you." Dutch didn't look up from his journal, he kept writing, but he did grunt in response. Arthur looked him up and down, "Alright." he huffed. "You got something you wanna tell me, Dutch?"

"No," Dutch closed the journal, "just thinking."

Arthur sighed. "About?" he went to sit next to him.

"We need more money, Arthur." His eyes locked with Arthur's. "I don't know what to do. Worst is, I was so into the idea of bring John in the camp I didn't think that he's also one more mouth to feed." Arthur frowned and inched his hand onto Dutch's thigh in a comforting manner.

"You'll figure it out, Dutch. You always do." Arthur watched as a smile crept onto Dutch's lips. A swell of pride filled Arthur's chest.

"I suppose you're right, son." Dutch set his journal down onto his drawer. "I just get overwhelmed sometimes. I want this camp to grow, but there's not enough money to provide for all of us and head west."

"Maybe you need to make a system? Have everyone bring in a certain amount of money each week or day. We've got a lot of freeloaders, Dutch."

"Sure," he pursed his lips, "but how do we keep track of that?"

Arthur shrugged. "I ain't that smart, Dutch." Dutch laughed and Arthur inched his hand up and down Dutch's thigh. "I do know how to help you relax, though."

Dutch grinned and grasped Arthur's hand. "Later tonight, okay? I'm still on edge about Annabelle."

Arthur nodded and stood up. "Alright, I'll talk to you later then. I'll leave you to your thinking."

__________________________

Arthur was drawing a familiar face in his journal when he first heard it. A loud smack followed by yelling. Arthur set his journal down and headed towards the commotion, as did many campers. What they found was Hosea and Dutch yelling their lungs out. Dutch's right cheek tinted red.

"We are supposed to help the poor!"

"Hosea, listen to me - will you?! We are losing money faster than we can give it!" Dutch roared, the veins in his neck bulging. Hosea was glaring daggers at Dutch.

John scurried over to Arthur. "What's going on?" He said in a hushed whisper to which Arthur shrugged.

"So you want to get a loanshark in the camp?" Hosea hissed, his tone filled with judgement and disbelief.

"We've given so much Hosea, when is it our turn to get something?" Dutch began to plead, Arthur recognized this tone as one of his manipulative ways to convince someone to do what he wants. A tone that's sounds so much like pleading that it makes what he's saying seem logical.

Hosea was shaking his head when he noticed the crowd of campers watching them. "What're you all looking at?" Hosea snapped.

"We're just concerned as to why our leaders are arguing." Annabelle spoke up, initiating a tumultuous response from the camp members.

Arthur sighed and stepped forward, turning to face the crowd, standing between them and his fathers. "Now, listen up folk." They all quieted. "Times are changing." Arthur stood with his chest puffed out and his hands at his hips. "We're beginning to see a day and age where we're more ghosts than people. Some people just don't want us around anymore, we're a smudge in their perfect picture - understand?" Some people nodded. "Now, this means we have to change too. Dutch and Hosea are just figuring out the best way to do that. Aren't you?" Arthur turned with a smile to Dutch and Hosea.

"Arthur, you took the words out of my mouth." Dutch said with a grin, he was proud. Hosea even looked more relaxed as he nodded.

"Arthur is right." Hosea said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Dutch and I will speak more civilly from now on, and don't you all worry - we WILL figure this out."

Dutch stepped forward and patted Arthur's shoulder, holding it for a second before walking back to his tent with Hosea in tow. The crowd began to disband, leaving only John and Arthur. "You're good at that." John pointed out.

"At what?" Arthur said with a quiet scoff.

"Getting people to calm down, I guess." John shrugged. "Do you think Dutch will figure out what he and Hosea were fighting about? What WERE they fighting about?"

Arthur pursed his lips, he signaled for John to follow him as he walked slowly towards the river nearby. "You're new, so you don't know much but we're good people. Dutch always says, 'We save people who need saving. Shoot people who need shooting. And feed people who need feeding.'." Arthur took a breath, his eyes darting to the water. "We usually steal from the rich folk, and hand the money over to the poor. But since the Law is getting more pushy on us, we can't steal as much - meaning we can't give as much. 'Cause if we do, we don't eat and we don't head farther West. I guess it's getting real bad now, and Dutch wants to start taking from everyone - rich or poor."

Arthur pulled his boots off. He needed a swim, he needed to just settle in the water and let the slow tide move him gently. As he wished his thoughts would move. John watched him patiently as he stripped down to his union suit. After a bit, John finally spoke in a hoarse voice. "So, are we the bad guys?"

"No." Arthur answered as he took the union suit off. "We just have new priorities. Or at least we will, if Dutch convinces Hosea."

"Does he have to convince Hosea?"

"Maybe not. Hosea's not as into the whole camp thing as Dutch is. If Dutch says we turn left, we turn left. Maybe Hosea is right about turning right, but at that point Hosea's the one who needs to do the convincing."

"And you? What do you do?"

Arthur stared at John for a second, almost offended by the question. Moreso because no one has ever really had the balls to ask him. "I back up Dutch. I protect the camp. And I make sure you all don't kill each other." Satisfied with his answer, Arthur stepped into the water and headed to the deeper area. He was about to relax when he realized John was just standing there, watching him. "You need something?"

"I don't know how to swim." John said in a quiet voice, Arthur almost didn't hear him. Arthur laughed.

"Do you need a bath soon?"

"I do stink."

"I'll take you to get a bath tomorrow in town."

"Why don't you teach me how to swim?"

Arthur smirked. "To know how to swim you gotta start off when you're a baby, like the fish. If you don't, you grow up all adapted to living without that knowledge. You can't teach a bird how to swim, now can you?"

John glared but stayed quiet before walking away without a word. Arthur enjoyed his swim.

Chapter Text

The night had fallen over the camp and everyone had settled into their tents. Arthur noticed John had to sleep in Pearson's tent, he felt bad -- the stench must be awful. Their camp was set up in a cramped way, it wasn't like there were a lot of campers but Dutch liked to keep them all close together. Besides, since there wasn't a whole lot of them it was easy to gather each tent around the campfire. Hosea, Dutch, and Arthur got their own tents while Susan and Annabelle shared one (when Annabelle wasn't with Dutch) and -now- Pearson and John shared another.

Arthur closed the flaps of his tent, it wasn't too late yet and he did want to go see Dutch but he wanted to look through his journal first. Hearing Dutch and Hosea argue over the new morals of the gang forced Arthur to remember old times.

Arthur had just turned sixteen, the year was 1887 when they robbed their first major bank. Arthur hadn't yet begun his "experiences" with Dutch, and after two years of riding with Dutch and Hosea -- Arthur had begun to see them like his fathers. Sure, Hosea was frequently away to be with his fiance Bessie; but they were still much like a family. Some times, Arthur would imagine what it would be like if maybe Hosea was a woman and in love with Dutch. Maybe - in the very dark corners of Arthur's mind - he would imagine this to allow himself to believe he could be adopted by them. Be raised by these two wonderfully unlawful people who wanted the same thing Arthur did -- peace.

The three of them had done small things before, sneak into the rich houses and run off with some cash or valuable items only to slip them into the hands of the poor. But this time, Arthur had never seen Dutch and Hosea work so hard. They planned everything so delicately, even the time of the day. At 2 O'Clock, Arthur was busting into the Bank of Lee and Hoyt; his pistols raised by each arm and pointed firmly at the small crowd inside the bank. Meanwhile, Hosea was perched on the rooftop opposite the bank -- ready for the law. Dutch was following Arthur close behind and ensured the doors were shut closed and the people in the bank weren't going to do anything silly as Arthur filled their satchels with gold.

That day, they got away with $5000 in gold and a new target on their heads, one bigger than ever before. The following weeks, they made so many poor families ecstatic with piles of cash and new beginnings.

Arthur stared at the faded writing of that day, how long had it been since they did anything like that? He turned the page to one covered in tears stains. His body went still.

He remembered writing the passage with a shaky hand. Arthur only ever cries in specific occasions -- when someone he loves dies, and when he's hurt by someone he adores. In this occasion, someone he loves so dearly hurt him.

The night they finished handing out all of the money they had robbed, Hosea had turned in to bed early and Dutch kept Arthur talking around the campfire. He was so excited and happy that all he could do was drink, and grin, and talk. All Arthur could and wanted to do was listen. At some point, Dutch's expression became somber. "We ain't got any money left for us," he slurred, "which is what Hosea wanted. What I wanted -- but now maybe not."

"What do you mean, Dutch?" Arthur remembers asking.

"Maybe we should've kept some. Hell, Arthur, moving West ain't cheap. Now we got the law after us and we're out of money when we could've been sitting on five thousand dollars." Dutch smashed his empty whiskey bottle into the fire and Arthur stared at the glass sparkle as it melted away.

" 'm sorry, Dutch." That was all Arthur could think to say. He was only sixteen years old and he was tired and drowsy and confused. Arthur was still watching the fire when he heard Dutch whisper something. "What?" Arthur asked him to say it again, he looked at the older man now.

"Hush." Dutch hissed quietly. "Come on," Dutch stood up and started for his tent, when Arthur didn't move he rolled his eyes and said, "hurry."

Arthur stood up and followed Dutch into his tent.

He shut the journal closed. He didn't want to remember this. There was an itch to reopen the journal and rip out the contents of it, toss them in the campfire and watch it melt away. Maybe then Arthur would forget. He set the journal down and sighed, no -- he couldn't. He would never be able to forget no matter how many times he wrote it down and burned it to ash; it would never go away.

Arthur didn't visit Dutch that night, he would deal with Dutch's attitude for not going to see him happily as long as it meant Arthur didn't have to see him tonight.

---------------

Arthur startled awake when a heavy weight came down on him. "MORNING!" A squeaky voice yelled. Arthur groaned and tossed the weight off of him and on the floor. He heard a loud "oof". He rubbed at his eyes before glaring promptly at John who was grinning ear to ear. "You taking me into town again?" He asked, ignoring Arthur's foul mood.

"You think-" Arthur wheezed, "you think I'mma do anything for you after this?"

"Yeup." John said with a shit-eating grin. "Besides, Annabelle told me there's gonna be a horse show this afternoon in Blackwater."

Arthur sat up with a grunt, keeping his glare on John as he changed his shirt for his silky smooth black shirt he really really liked. "And?" Arthur mumbled as he buttoned it up and slipped on a red and black vest with swirly patterns.

"And," John pushed, "those horses are pure-bred. Meaning that they'll go for a ton of cash at a horse fence I know of down by Strawberry run by some guy named Thomas. He's so desperate for business, he'll buy any horse even without papers."

Arthur raised a brow in interest. "You have that all planned out already?"

"Yessir." John watched as Arthur changed his blue jeans for black ones.

"And how will we be stealing these horses?" Arthur asked, a bit annoyed that John was already getting ahead with jobs and Arthur hadn't gotten any tips yet. John had only been here for a few days and he was already getting work.

"I don't know about that yet," John frowned and Arthur smiled, "but we can figure it out when we get there." Arthur nodded and slipped on his black boots.

"Fair. You gonna take your bath before, or after the job?" Arthur teased.

"Before," John sighed, "I reek."

"On that, we agree."

-

Before they left, Arthur made sure to catch Dutch and Hosea together to let them know the plan. He didn't want to see Dutch alone, knowing he'd have to explain his absence last night to Dutch and Arthur really just wanted to get the day over with. Hosea happily congratulated John on planning the whole job out and Dutch wished then good luck.

The two if them rode off into town and hitched their horses in front of the hotel. "You got any cash?" Arthur asked John, who responded with a shake if his head 'no'. "Here," Arthur handed John a dollar, "talk to the front desk. The bath should cost fifty cents so I want fifty cents when you come back out here. No 'special' treatment bath, ya'hear?" John nodded, 'yes'.

Arthur watched John jog into the hotel before sitting down on a bench outside to clean his weapons. He was startled for the second time that day when he heard a familiar voice greet him. He looked up to see Mason smiled at him. "Hey." Arthur responded.

"Can I sit with you?" Mason asked politely, his voice quiet and smooth. Arthur nodded and inched to the side for Mason to sit next to him. "How have you been Albert?"

"Fine." He shrugged. "How about you?"

"I've, uh," Mason cleared his throat and Arthur noticed his cheeks flush, "missed you." Arthur chuckled.

"You ain't so good at flirting, Mister Mason." Arthur looked back down at his shotgun and wiped at the dirt. "We hardly know each other."

"My apologies." Mason sighed. "Please, call me Mason."

"Sure."

"I just mean, I'm going to be around town fir a few more days before heading back home. I'll be back in about a month, like I told you when we met, but I saw you here and I thought we could --"

"I ain't got time for playing around today, Mason." Arthur interrupted.

"No," Mason shook his head, "I wanted to talk."

"Talk? About what?"

"Just, talk to you." He chuckled. "Believe it or not, Albert, but I've taken a liking to you. Much like what I imagine love at first sight would be like." Arthur laughed, unable to contain it. Mason frowned. "I'm being serious."

"And I am flattered -- really, I am. I must remind you, though, that I am what most people would describe as a whore. I've slept with a lot of men, Mason and --"

"Then I'll pay. Whatever quantity, whatever you want." Mason nearly begged.

Arthur felt a bit uneasy. "And what, exactly, do you want?" Arthur asked carefully.

"A date -- dinner in my home! An evening and a chance to woo you. I'll pay you good money, and all I ask of you is your honesty and your time. If you leave without feeling anything new for me -- I will only ever bother you for sex; but if you feel even an ounce of romantic feelings for me then you must tell me and give me a chance to make you fall in love with me." Arthur raised a brow, glad that Mason was speaking quietly but he could tell how much Mason wished to shout every last word. He also noticed the gold pocket watch the man carried loosely in his pocket as if it didn't matter. And the expensive clothes he wore. This man has money.

"Alright," Arthur said tentatively -- a little surprised he agreed, "sure. Meet me in Strawberry, outside the bar sometime in the evening. You know where Strawberry is?"

"I do." Mason said with a smile. "Thank you so much Albert."

"It's Arthur -"

Before he could finish, the hotel door swung open with a loud creaking sound and John turned to face Arthur. "I'm ready, Morgan." Arthur rolled his eyes and stood up. "Who's this?"

"Nobody. Let's go. See ya later, Mason."

Mason had a wide grin on his face. "Until later, Arthur Morgan." He said it as if he had solved the greatest mystery in the country. Arthur chuckled and shook his head.

"Come on, Marston."

-

As the two walked down the street towards the supposed "reserved area" for the horse show, Arthur noticed John giving him a strange look. "What." Arthur nearly snarled.

"What was with that Mason fellow?"

"He's a client," Arthur explained, "I'm supposed to meet up with him in Strawberry."

"How much is he paying ya?"

"A lot, I'm sure. Last time he paid me eighty dollars for the services in a shed. Apparently, this time, he wants a full on dinner and show in his damn home. I can tell he's one of the rich ones, so maybe about a hundred." Arthur reasoned.

"A dinner? He must be really lonely."

"He ain't too good with words -- so I'm sure you're right. Look," Arthur pointed towards a group of five men in expensive looking clothing, "they look like the type to have really good horses?"

"Sure do." John smiled.

"So what's the plan?" Arthur asked John with a raised brow, he wasn't expecting a full answer and he didn't get one either.

"I ain't too sure." John flushed. "I, ah, damn." Arthur noticed John's eyebrows furrowed into a crease at the bridge of his nose and his fingers were twitching. For a second, Arthur thought the boy looked pale enough to pass out, the blush fading quickly away. "I didn't really think this through. You think there's law? If they catch us --"

"Hey, hey, now. Calm down, John." Arthur pulled John closer to the alley for a breath. "It's alright. It's your first job, don't get so worked up. Listen, our best plan is to wait until the show's over and the riders are either heading in for a beer or out of town. That way, no one is paying any attention to the horses anymore since the show's over. With the riders distracted or isolated, it'll be an easy steal. Looks like there's five horses so we'll have to cut our losses and each take two, one lassoed and riding the other."

John nodded. "Makes sense." He mumbled.

"Good, good." Arthur sighed, he hadn't noticed he had been half hugging John -- he let go. "Now," he smiled, "Let's enjoy the show yeah?"

"Yeah."

--

The horses are gorgeous, Arthur had never seen any horse like them except for maybe Dutch's. The show didn't take very long, the riders kept the horses at a trot and made two cycles around the town before heading out. Once John and Arthur spotted them leaving town on their horses, they whistled for Rachel and Zeke and followed the riders at a distance. They could hear them laughing and talking, probably about their luxurious lifestyles.

Arthur turned to see John, the boy looked nervous. Arthur knew this would be a difficult task but he wanted John to have a good first job. No matter how jealous he was. Arthur signaled for John to get ready, there were no possible witnesses and they were far from town already. The riders were set up by twos leaving one rider trailing behind. Arthur grabbed a throwing knife, if he knew how to pray he'd pray for whatever god to help stick the landing, he aimed and flicked his wrist -- the knife landed perfectly into the rider's skull. Arthur and John watched as he leaned forward with his dead weight.

John looked at Arthur with a look of amazement and wonder. Since the riders were at a trot and very distracted, Arthur was able to get off Zeke and jog over to the trailing horse with a now very dead rider, pushed the rider off and mount the horse before giving it a carrot. Arthur took a deep breath, he wasn't sure how to take it from here. He could try for two more head shots at the same time -- impossible. Maybe just start shooting? Or could he threaten the four of them? No, they would act as if they had the upper hand. Arthur pulled up his mask and signaled John to do the same. Four against two? They would think too much of themselves, but with two left maybe not. Arthur armed himself with two guns -- his revolver and his pistol -- he aimed at the two riders ahead of him and shot in unison. Their heads split open and the horses bucked in fear. Arthur quickly slipped his guns back into his holsters and grabbed his lasso to catch the horse to his left, John swiftly did the same to the horse on the right as the riders slid off to the floor.

The two riders way up ahead began cussing and reaching for their guns, Arthur and John were already pointing theirs at them. "Get off the horses, stay quiet, and we'll let you live." Arthur said in a low growl.

"That was my brother." Hissed one of the riders.

"You wanna join him?" John asked, the sound of his gun clicking made Arthur grin. Thw two riders stayed silent as they dismounted and handed the reigns to John and Arthur. John mounted on of the horses and kept the other on a lasso. They left one to the remaining riders and rode off quickly with a final whistle to have Rachel and Zeke follow.

-
They didn't speak a word until they reached the outskirts of Strawberry and met with the buyer. "Four pure-bred horses." Arthur had told him. "How much?"

"Five hundred each," the man answered, "here you are." He handed them $2000.

John and Arthur were each on their own horse now, staring at the fat wads of cash.

"I can't believe we got away with that." John finally mumbled. Arthur laughed and nearly whooped as he hit John's shoulder playfully.

"You did amazing, John, good work!"

"It was mostly you." John said sheepishly, Arthur only shook his head in return and handed John the money.

"Take that with you back to camp, tell Dutch all about it. Make sure to at least keep five hundred as your share." Arthur instructed.

"You ain't comin'?"

"Nope," Arthur shook his head, "I gotta meet with that client from earlier. Good work though, John, I'm proud of you. Really held your own."

"Thanks." John smiled. "Well, uh, see ya then." John shoved the money into his small satchel and waved goodbye to Arthur before heading back to camp. Arthur only sighed and kicked Zeke into a trot towards the bar.

--

He had downed about four glasses of whiskey by the time Mason prodded his shoulder.

Arthur noticed Mason's hair was freshly cut and his stubble was gone, leaving a clean shaven face a nice look to his face. "Hello, Arthur."

"Hey." Arthur stood up. "Let's get going then." Mason nodded and led Arthur outside, they got on their horses and Arthur followed Mason down the road and out of Strawberry.

"Could I ask you a question?"

"Sure." Arthur drawled. They were pretty far from the town now and were heading a bit North.

"You and your friend, John?-" Arthur nodded. "You both were the ones who stole the horses, weren't you?"

Arthur raised a brow. "How'd the hell you know?"

"Woah, now. No need to get defensive. I simply put two and two together. You already act like quite the criminal," they both chuckled, "when you both headed off to prepare for something and then weren't seen at all after the show only for two riders to return to Blackwater on one horse and sobbing - I realized you must've been the ones to get away with the other four."

"We did." Arthur shrugged, not caring to defend his innocence.

"Killing three men?" Mason asked quietly.

"I've killed more for less." Arthur answered, matching his tone. They were both quiet for a good time, Arthur hoped he even scared Mason off a bit. This whole situation was insane.

Finally, after about ten minutes of quiet, Mason said: "Well they were pricks anyway."

Arthur glanced over at the raven haired man, his face was stern and pensive. "That's a way to think about it." Arthur chuckled.

So many times had Arthur spent trying to think of ways to justify murder. Murder of all folk. He would wonder if they too were awful. Maybe he was blasting off the head of a rapist. Maybe he was piercing the stomach of a cheater. Maybe. With so many deaths, Arthur could only wonder how many good men he had killed and how many were truly bad. The only thing he knew was real was the gang, and the places they called home. And as the sun dipped lower into the horizon, Arthur could only wonder to what place he'd end up this time.

Chapter Text

Mason's house was hidden behind trees, it nerved Arthur that this man could easily trap him and the camp wouldn't be able to track Arthur down but he didn't think Mason had that planned. Hell, the man had figured out that Arthur was some sort of hard core criminal and still seemed to want to be with him. They hitched their horses outside the house, which --now that Arthur was up close-- became increasingly more impressive. Large and clean and detailed in it's architecture; the house stood proudly on its grounds.

Mason led Arthur inside, he briefly mentioned how he had told his cook and maid to take the day off to be with their families so Arthur didn't have to be worried about sneaking around. Mason also mentioned that he lived alone, "My parents have passed and my sister -- the poor thing -- died last year. She was very ill."

" 'M sorry 'bout that." Arthur mumbled awkwardly.

Mason shook his head dismissively. Deciding he was done with that conversation, he led Arthur to the dining room. "I had my cook prepare us something. I would've if I had the time but I had to run an errand before I came to get you."

"Busy man." Arthur pointed out before taking a seat. Mason had sat down at one of the ends of the table where a plate was set so Arthur sat adjacent to him where the second plate was. "What do you work in?"

"I don't work, not really." He sighed, as if not working were a burden. "My father was James Bonsack." Arthur shot Mason a confused look, to which Mason returned a surprised one. "The inventor of The Bonsack machine?" He waited for some sort of 'aha' moment from Arthur but none came.

"I have no clue as to what you mean." Arthur finally said when Mason only continued to stare at him in shock.

"The - the machine! The one that can roll two hundred-ten cigarette per minute! Surely, you've heard of it?"

For effect, Arthur grabbed the fork closest to him and stabbed at the meat in front of him. He lifted it and shoved it in his mouth and chewed. "Naw," Arthur shook his head and sniffed, "never heard of 'im."

"Well," Mason laughed, "that's quite strange. Not bad, just new."

"So yer name is Mason Bonsack?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, Mason Morgan sounds far catchier though." Mason's shy smile turned into a grin when Arthur nearly choked on the meat he was eating. "Pardon me, are you okay? I didn't mean to be so forward." Mason said, suddenly standing to make sure Arthur was alright.

" 'M fine." Arthur waved him off. "Caught me off guard, is all."

"Well I am supposed to be wooing you." Mason said playfully.

"Right," Arthur drawled then tsked, "listen, I don't feel right. I know you're supposed to try and make me fall in love with you? Or whatever, but I just don't think that can happen. We've only met twice now and I got a lot of baggage --"

"Arthur, listen to me...I really like you. I don't know quite why...perhaps it's something in your eyes," Mason reached his hand over to hold Arthur's and paused -- searching for the words, "they draw me to you. The rest of you doesn't quite show just how damaged you are as your eyes do. When I look into them, I see someone who's so broken that maybe others would think you're ast fixing."

"Well thanks." Arthur scoffed but laughed.

Mason shook his head. "You misunderstand. Yes, you're broken Arthur but the thing is...amongst all those cracks and shatters -- only light emerges. Hope and faith and love. It's there behind the walls you've put up. I think the broken part is your exterior, the man who robs and kills, but that light behind that wall? That's you Arthur. And that light is," Mason paused again seemingly at a loss for words, "breathtaking."

Arthur felt his body go rigid, never had he ever heard such words. A part of him wanted to call bullshit but another part of him wanted to melt into the floor. Is this how women felt when a man would court them? Wait, screw that. Arthur wasn't some maiden in waiting; he was FAR from being someone waiting for a "man" to come and sweep him off his feet. His brows furrowed in thought and Mason's facial expression went to one of hope to one of panic.

"Calm down." Arthur finally said whilst removing his hand from Mason's gentle hold. "You got a very pretty way of talking, but it ain't fooling me."

______________________________________________________________

"You can't fool me, Dutch." Annabelle said angrily, her hazel eyes piercing holes into Dutch's back. The two of them were in Dutch's tent. After congratulating John on his first ever job, Dutch had immediately gone into prodding as to where Arthur was. John had answered with a shrug, Dutch was upset but couldn't be angry at the boy who just brought two thousand dollars to their camp. Sure, he had John keep five hundred for his work but it was still essentially the camp's money.

Now, Annabelle had dragged Dutch into his tent and had started with her stories. Upset with Dutch's obsession with Arthur and hus whereabouts. "I don't need to fool you, Annabelle." He answered her with just as much venom as she had spoken to him with. "Besides, why in the hell --" he stopped and lowered his voice "would I sleep with Arthur?"

"Would you stop denying it?" She said exasperated. "This isn't about whether you did it or not anymore; this is about you stopping. It's me or him."

Dutch turned to face her, his eyebrows creased and his lips curled into a false smile. "You think," he laughed, "-you really think you have the power of holding a choice over me, woman? Over the man who saved your life?"

"It doesn't matter if you saved my life, Dutch. I'm not going to stand here and let you humiliate me. I don't know what you see in that boy, but I'm not going to let you be indecisive between him and I. If you cannot choose me, and commit to me fully then you do not deserve me." She stood up to leave but stopped when Dutch said -

"Wait, Annabelle, please wait." His voice had calmed and his volume had lowered into that gravelly tone he had that she loved so much. She remembered the night she first heard that voice. Back in the alleyway where she had been cornered by some man, an O'Driscoll.

-

It felt like a blur now, the broad shouldered man had pressed Annabelle against the wall of the bar. His breath stinking of alcohol. She had been doing her rounds in Strawberry, at the fresh age of twenty-two, Annabelle had found the job to be in her favor. Men paid well, some of them performed well, and she was able to avoid pregnancy with her teas. Some people she encountered had asked her why she didn't settle with a man, she was far beyond pretty and could easily make a wealthy man fall at her feet.

Annabelle had her mothers eyes, blue as the morning sky, and her mothers curves. Her breasts not too busty but not flat either, and her hips were wide. She had always kept clean, especially her blonde hair that she let fall over her shoulders. Sure, sometimes she wouldn't be able to pay for a bath -- but on those days, the stream sufficed.

Her independence could not prepare her, though, for the fear that racked through her body when the O'Driscoll pressed the end of his pistol to her cheek. She had nearly cried. She would have if she had anything to lose or anyone to say would miss her in that moment. He had been following her, and she had noticed. Men did that all the time and she didn't expect for it to escalate this quickly. She had begged for him to tell her his demands, but the man favored watching her squirm beneath his gaze and gun.

She was in complete shock up until someone came towards them, another man. "Step away from the lady." The calm and gravelly voice had ordered. She felt relief wash over her when the man stepped away.

"Who are you?" The O'Driscoll had asked.

"Someone who doesn't take kindly to men like you." Dutch had spat. The O'Driscoll hurdled toward Dutch but Dutch was faster. He stepped away and soon they were in a brawl.

Annabelle was preparing for her escape.

______________________________________________________________

When Arthur noticed Mason's almost defeated look, he began to prepare an excuse to leave. The food had been good -- the little he had been able to shovel in -- but Arthur didn't feel like being there. Leading some poor lonely fella on didn't sit right.

"Arthur, I'm not saying this just to say it." Mason made eye contact with Arthur, locking Arthur's attention.

"Well then, you're crazy." Arthur chuckled. "Ain't no way you know so much about me just by lookin' at my eyes."

"And what if it is plausible? Am I wrong with my assumptions?" Mason pushed.

Arthur let out a long sigh before standing up. "Listen, it's flattering, but love ain't just looking into someone's eyes and finding hope."

Mason stood up quickly and grabbed hold of Arthur's wrist, firm enough for Arthur to not go but light enough to give Arthur the choice to pull away. "Then tell me what is."

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed in thought. He almost pulled away and left, he didn't have to bother explaining something as complicated as love to this stranger. However, the question had been one Arthur had always avoided. If this sappy stuff Mason was spewing at Arthur isn't love -- then what is? His thoughts gravitated to Dutch and Hosea and Copper. His family who he loved dear. But what about romantic love? The love Mason claimed to suddenly have for Arthur.

"Love." Arthur began, taking pauses to think out his words. "Love is wanting to make someone happy, regardless of how you feel." He thought of Dutch, and the night they first had sex or --rather-- the night Dutch forced Arthur into sex. "Love is growing with a person and sticking by them and their ideas no matter what."

"That's a strange way to love." Mason mumbled.

"Well it's how I love." Arthur yanked his arm away from Mason, offended.

"Sure." Mason sighed. "I suppose we all love differently."
______________________________________________________________

Before she could run, she noticed her rescuer fall rather harshly onto the floor. She saw his head bounce a bit on the floor and heard his groan of pain. She saw the O'Driscoll readying his knife to stab her hero. Annabelle, as scared as she was, quickly grabbed a empty jug of moonshine lying on the floor near her, lifted it, and slammed it against his head. After the loud thud, he fell sideways into the mud. Dutch stood up slowly with Annabelle's help, and they hurried away from the scene.

"Thank you," she had said when he mounted his beautiful white horse, "so much."

"No need. A beauty such as yourself shouldn't have to deal with those simpletons. Do you need a ride home, miss?" His eyes shone along with his charismatic smile. She giggled.

"I'd love a ride from you, mister, but I don't quite have a home. My mother is dead and my father up and left some time ago. I'm on my own."

"Not anymore." He said almost quietly, he reached a hand out to her. "I'm Dutch van der Linde."

"Annabelle."
-
"Annabelle." Dutch repeated. Annabelle snapped back into reality. She was in the tent with Dutch. He was standing near his bed and she was about to leave but he had stopped her. "I'm sorry."

"For sleeping with Arthur?" She said quietly.

"Yes. I did...sleep with him." He sighed. "If I'm being completely honest with you, Annabelle, I've been sleeping with Arthur for nearly three years now." Annabelle felt a shudder run through her body. She turned to glare at him.

"Three years?" She hissed. "Arthur -" she gasped "Arthur would've been just sixteen, Dutch." Suddenly her anger wasn't about Dutch cheating, but the disgust that ran through her. Dutch was far older than Arthur. How had their relationship come to be? The open questions made her feel uneasy.

"He wanted it. We both did." Dutch visibly regretted mentioning how long he had been with Arthur. "It isn't a big deal. It never had been. Just occasional foolin' around."

"If it isn't a big deal, why doesn't the entire camp know? Why is it so hidden?" She pressed.

Dutch became frustrated, she could tell by the frown on his face and his droopy eyes. "Because," he drawled, "it isn't important for people to know. Besides, I love you Annabelle. I want to be with you and I want you to be my woman and if it means so much to you -- I can be your man." He reached for her hand, but Annabelle stepped back.

"I don't need to be anybody's woman, and I certainly don't need a man." She huffed.

"Annabelle, please."

______________________________________________________________

Arthur rolled his eyes, already heading for the door when he heard Mason nearly whimper. "Arthur, please." Arthur slowly turned to face Mason. The man was holding dearly to the chair next to him and was on the verge of tears. "Perhaps..perhaps you are correct. I'm lonely and you have filled a void in me I thought would forever remain empty. So please..." He looked straight into Arthur's eyes. "please stay."

The outlaw felt his heart clench. Sure, maybe he'd be doing the man more damage than good by staying here but looking at the man fall apart did something to Arthur. It made him realize that not every gay man had the luck to do what Arthur does. Sleep around with men for money with hardly any consequence. Most gay men and women have to live their lives in hiding and fear. Maybe Mason just needed someone after all these years alone. "Will you pay?" Arthur asked coldly, despite his inner thoughts.

Mason looked almost hurt, but hopeful nonetheless. "Sure," he sighed, "I can do that."

"Alright then." Arthur approached Mason. "Come here." Mason looked almost shocked when Arthur pulled the smaller man into a hug. Arthur hadn't noticed how much less muscle Mason had than Arthur until now. He felt Mason position himself in Arthur's hold and bury his face into the crook of Arthur's neck. Arthur swayed side to side, much like he remembered his mother doing to him when he was younger and crying over how sick she was. "I'm here," Arthur said like his mother had, "I'm not going anywhere soon."

______________________________________________________________

"Dutch, I feel wrong." She explained. "I love you. I do, but knowing what I know now." She shook her head. "I don't know if it can be the same."

"Then what now?" Dutch asked almost defeated.

"Now," she sighed, "now we treat each other as friends. I'll stay in my tent and you in yours."

"How? How can you expect me to have you here and not treat you as I always have? As my woman?" Dutch laughed.

"The same way you did Susan."

"Susan is different, Annabelle. I love you."

Her heart ached. This conversation ached, she felt torn between wanting to leave and wanting to fix this and lay down with Dutch and snuggle into his chest. "Well, then, I don't know." Despite it all, Annabelle really did love Dutch -- he had been the first person to ever care for her.

They stood in silence for a good while. "Come here." Dutch offered. Annabelle glanced at the exit but already started walking to Dutch. "Hey," he said quietly, "you're beautiful -- you know that?"

"I do." She smiled softly, leaning towards his touch when he cradled her cheek. "Don't need you to tell me what I already know, Dutch."

"You're so independent. So strong." Dutch sighed. "Exactly the reasons why I fell in love with you."

It was wrong and she knew it. She knew that leaning towards Dutch and kissing him and feeling the scruff of his facial hair against her smooth cheek was wrong. But she craved his touch. It was against everything she taught herself about living alone, but she wanted him with her. Her soft gasp when Dutch slipped his hand onto her breast was enough to spur on a more feverish kiss.

He led her to his bed, their kiss becoming sloppier while they undressed each other. Soon, Dutch's lips were kissing and nipping as her hard nipples. Her back arched and she felt herself become slick between her thighs when he pressed his two fingers gently yet firmly against her clit. She felt his hard length hit her thigh as he did it. "So beautiful." He would whisper. And she wondered briefly what he would tell Arthur when they had sex.

The thought erased from her mind quickly after Dutch slid into her. She felt overwhelmed but in the best way. She could no longer think. She could only feel his slow and firm thrusts, and heard the moans slip from her own mouth.

Maybe they would fight again later, but for now she didn't mind having Dutch pleasure her.

______________________________________________________________

The hug didn't escalate like Arthur expected. "Let's take it slow." Mason had explained when he stopped Arthur from placing kisses on his pale neck.

Instead of sex, Mason offered to show Arthur around the house. They played a fun game of poker that Arthur won ("This doesn't count as payment." he had said playfully to Mason.) and they doodled away childishly on a piece of paper. They even played tic-tac-toe for a good amount of time.

Eventually, it became dark and even though Arthur was having a surprisingly good time with Mason -- he decided it was time to go.

"Stay another hour!" Mason nearly begged, but he was still following Arthur to the door.

"Naw," Arthur shook his head, "my camp must be waiting to hear from me."

"Your camp, right." Mason nodded. "Well, when can I see you next?"

"I'll drop by when I can. When do you leave?"

"In a month I have to present some innovations to my fathers machine to the cigarette companies that use it. I'll return about a month afterwards, it's a long way and I have quite a lot of places to visit."

"I'll try next week."

"Sounds swell." Mason said with a big dopey smile. "Can I kiss you?" He asked shyly.

Arthur grinned. "Sure." Mason leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss onto Arthur's chapped lips. He had expected a desperate kiss, but instead it was careful and almost loving. Arthur blushed and cleared his throat when Mason pulled away.

"Here," Mason took out a few bills, "your payment."

Arthur nearly felt guilty for taking the money. He shoved it in his satchel to count later. "Thanks." He mumbled. "I'll, uh, see you then."

"Goodbye Arthur." Mason waved Arthur goodbye and watched him as he mounted his horse and rode off.

Arthur couldn't say he didn't have fun, because he absolutely did. Sure, there were the awkward moments but Mason was a nice fellow. Not someone Arthur would be with seriously, but a nice friend. His thoughts lingered to Dutch as he approached the camp -- hopefully he isn't too pissed off.

Chapter Text

Arthur returned to camp and was surprised to see everyone in their tents already. Perhaps it was later then he realized, the night had become dark and he supposed he had spent a long while with Mason. Arthur opened the flaps to his tent, only to find Annabelle sitting patiently on a stool near his bed. Arthur stepped in and stood still before her.

"Arthur." She greeted in a quiet tone, she didn't meet his eyes. Arthur felt confused, wasn't she upset with him?

"Everything alright?" Arthur asked carefully.

"No," she sighed finally lifting her eyes to Arthur's, "it's not alright... Dutch told me something -- something awful." Arthur grabbed the second stool and sat down across from her. Her eyes looked lost, he noticed a small tremble in her voice. She was afraid or sad, or both. "He told me that you and him have been...doing things, for a three years."

Arthur was still, unsure of what to say. "He did." He said, unsure of what to respond. She nodded slowly.

"You were sixteen, weren't you?"

"You're good with numbers." He mumbled with a forced laugh.

"Arthur, Dutch is far older than you. He would have been twenty-six. Did you even know -?"

"Does it matter?" Arthur interrupted, now he couldn't meet Annabelle's sad gaze.

"It does, Arthur it matters so much." She reached for his hand and he allowed her to cradle his larger hand in hers. "I know I'm not much older than you, but you know me Arthur and I'd like to say I know you. I've been running with you for a year, and I'm so sorry for being rude to you when I found out about you and Dutch. I was just upset. I realize now that I shouldn't have been so rude with you. We...we were friends before this."

Arthur watched her face carefully. He remembered how much they would talk, sure he had always been internally sour with her for taking Dutch's attention -- but Annabelle was sweet. She taught him how to drink tea properly, how to flirt, how to treat a woman with respect, and she was always thankful of Arthur when he protected her. Arthur again wondered how strange it was that things could change so quickly. "We were. We are, if you still want to be."

"Of course I do Arthur," she smiled -- then frowned, "but I need you to answer my question. Did Dutch force you into being with him? When you were sixteen?"

Arthur gently pulled his hand away from her. "Why is that such a big deal?"

He heard her sigh and tut. He was about to ask why she was upset (assuming from her tutting) but when he looked back at her eyes he realized she was crying. "Arthur --" she choked down a sob, "I know it's hard. I know." She inhaled deeply. "I know I told you about my mama, and how she killed herself because of my wayward daddy, and my little brother Thomas. But there's more to my story. There's more to everyone than we will ever know. I just...when I was fifteen and Tommy died, and I was on my own," her voice cracked and her eyes wandered, "I was forced into something too. I know how it feels and it never really goes away. It's like an itchy feeling, really. Sometimes you can't stop scratching but other times you don't even notice it. Other times it's too small to bother scratching. Then there's the times when the itch is you, when you just can't stop scratching every part of you because you think you're the problem and you're not." She grabbed Arthur's hand again and locked her eyes with his. "You're not."

They were quiet. Their eyes locked together. She seemed to be pleading silently for Arthur to understand and to trust her -- but even though Arthur wanted to trust her he couldn't betray Dutch. "I'm sorry Annabelle. I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm not even sure what made you think that he made me..." He gulped and looked at the dirt. "But no, Dutch didn't force me into anything." He lied. He heard her stand up and when he looked up at her she was shaking her head.

"If I'm being honest? It was the way Dutch told me he didn't force you into anything. No one would really say that unless they were trying to cover up their lie. But it's okay." She said eventually. "It took me a while too." She grasped Arthur's shoulder tightly before leaving the tent and leaving Arthur on his own.

-----

He hardly slept, he wanted badly to leave camp and sleep out somewhere else but he knew if he left Dutch would be even angrier. So when morning came, Arthur made sure to be away from his tent so that Dutch wouldn't be able to catch him alone. He did everything he could think of, he made himself coffee and drank slowly between bites of a chocolate bar, he chopped some firewood, he even skimmed through some book about dragons. Eventually, though, all he could think to do was sit in front of the campfire and stare off into the distance.

"You alright?' Came John's scratchy voice. Arthur looked up and frowned.

"I'm fine."

"Oh." It was awkward but he wasn't sure why. "Dutch was mighty mad when I told him you weren't coming." There it is, Arthur thought. "How did it go?" John sat down beside Arthur so that they could talk quietly. No one else seemed to be awake yet, but just to be careful.

"It was fine." Arthur shrugged, he reached into his satchel and pulled out the cash Mason had given him and quickly counted it. "Hundred dollars."

John whistled slowly. "He must really like you." John snorted.

"Says he loves me." Arthur grumbled.

John stifled a laugh. "Nah," he drawled with a teasing smile, "you sure?"

"I wouldn't lie about that. I think you were right when you said he seems lonely. He is. I think..." Arthur clicked his tongue in thought, "I think he THINKS he loves me. You know? I reckon that he just realizes it isn't everyday he meets a man that's...into other men...and so he wants to take the opportunity."

"I reckon you're right." John shrugged while heating up some coffee.

"You did good," Arthur said suddenly wanting to change the topic, "yesterday with the job."

"Thanks." He smiled. Arthur nodded and they both stayed quiet, at a loss of what to talk about. They were fine not talking though. It was comfortable to sit next to John, and equally for John to sit next to Arthur. Close but not too close and listening to the sounds of the world around them.

Eventually the world around them was an passive-aggressive Dutch. "Morning John. Arthur." Dutch glared at Arthur and that was Arthur's que to stand to leave. Dutch nearly said something but Arthur was to quick to head to his horse.

"I'm going hunting for lunch!"

"Can I come?" John asked while Dutch said

"Who said you could?"

"No!" Arthur said, acting as if he didn't hear Dutch and mounting Zeke.

"Arthur!" Dutch called but Arthur was quick enough to kick Zeke into a gallop and leave camp quickly. At the very least, Arthur could say he waited to see Dutch before leaving again, besides Arthur would be back by noon with some deer or turkey. Honestly, after his conversation with Annabelle Arthur didn't want to talk to Dutch. He wanted to get the talk over with, but at the same time -- Arthur was feeling rather annoyed. He was nineteen years old and he didn't need Dutch to be watching him like a hawk, recording his every move. It was stupid. There was smaller part if him, though, that knew the reason why he left in a hurry was because seeing Dutch made his heart tighten as if it were being clenched. He knew his face had gone red of embarrassment and fear.

His thoughts were everywhere, this whole situation with Dutch was...for a lack of words...confusing. He wanted to be with Dutch, but he wanted to do it right. If Dutch wanted Arthur, then he'd have to commit to Arthur solely. None of this "you're mine but I ain't yours" bullcrap. And for Dutch to stop calling him son, that was just strange.

He thought briefly of the situation where he would just end this thing with Dutch altogether. Would he be able to? It wasn't just the sex that Arthur enjoyed, hell he didn't like the sex all too much. It was more the feeling of being with Dutch, wanting to please him. He was in love with him, right? That was why he wants to be with Dutch, because he loves him.

"You alright, mister?" Arthur quickly looked around for who was talking to him, he spotted a man on horseback with what seemed to be his daughter behind him.

"Y-yeah. Thanks." Arthur saw the man nod and the little girl wave goodbye.

He needed to have some sort of distraction. He wondered what he could do. He could hunt like planned, but he would still be thinking...he needed to not be alone. He supposed he could go see Mason, or walk around town. If he walked around town someone from camp might be there too. He supposed Mason wouldn't mind seeing Arthur earlier than expected.

He followed the trail to Strawberry and continued on his way from memory. He looked around for landmarks and after a slow ride, he found the house. He looked down at his clothes and frowned, he was a bit dirty. He hopped off his horse and yanked his clothes off, sorting through his saddlebag -- he found a nice black shirt, red leather suspenders and the cleanest pair of black pants he owned. He only had his work boots so those had to do. He combed his fingers through his hair quickly before hitching he horse, then jogging up to the door. He knocked quickly and straightened out his shirt.

The door opened and a older man wearing a suit stood there looking Arthur up and down. "Bonsack residence. Who are you?"

"I - uh..." Arthur suddenly felt nervous. "Arthur Morgan. I'm a friend of Mason's."

The man raised a brow before shutting the door. Arthur sighed and was about to leave when the door opened again. "You can come in. Master Bonsack is upstairs in his quarters. Do you know the way?"

"No."

"Second door to your left."

"Thanks." Arthur stepped inside and moved awkwardly upstairs. He gravitated towards the door he was directed to, luckily the door was open and he could see Mason sketching on a paper. He was seated before a work desk. "Hey." Arthur greeted quietly.

Mason turned around quickly and smiled. "Hi." He looked Arthur up and down. "You look stunning."

"You..uh...look good too." Arthur motioned to Mason with his hand and the other hooked awkwardly on his belt. Mason was wearing a tight button up, silk, and boxers. Mason laughed.

"I'm in my pajamas. I wasn't expecting you." Mason stood up. "But I suppose we've both seen each other nude, so there isn't much to be embarrassed about."

"I suppose you're right." He laughed. He watched as Mason approached Arthur slowly. "I came because, well, I didn't know where else to go."

Mason's went rigid. "So you...came here?" He smiled carefully.

"Don't get too excited." Arthur chuckled. "I don't have many friends other than my camp."

Mason held Arthur's hand and led him to sit down with him on the edge of the bed. "And you don't want to be at your camp?"

"Dutch is pissed with me." Arthur sighed. "Dutch is like my dad, sort of. He and Hosea picked me up when I was younger. He's upset because I've been avoiding him."

"Why have you been avoiding him?" Arthur shrugged.

"Long story short I am and he's upset and now..." Arthur's eyes flicked to Mason's lips, "now I'm here."

"So?" Mason grinned. Arthur smirked and leaned in to kiss him. It was slow, and Arthur enjoyed the feeling of the soft bed beneath them. It was a matress, not a cot or a wall like he was used to.

"So," Arthur pushed Mason onto his back on the bed and crawled onto his lap, "lets make something out of it." Arthur pressed another long kiss and tugged at Mason's lower lip, spurring on a moan.

"Arthur," Mason gasped, "I think we should still wait."

Arthur stopped and looked at Mason curiously. "We've had sex before. In a shed." He deadpanned.

"Well, yeah --" Mason blushed and stuttered, "but I want you to be in love with me the next time we have sex. I want...I want to make love with you Arthur, and for that we both need to ve in love."

With a sigh, Arthur rolled off of Mason. "I don't see that happening, but alright. Can we at least drink?"

Mason sat up. "Sure." Arthur watched the smaller man walk out the room in a strange waddle, he could see the man's erection and scoffed.

"Idiot." Arthur mumbled, and he wasn't quite sure if he directed the comment to himself or to Mason.

______________________________________________________________

"I can't believe Arthur." Dutch said loudly while crushing a cigarette beneath his boot. John watched Dutch carefully as the older man paced back and forth beside the campfire. It had been about an hour since Arthur left, and everyone was awake by now. John had seen Annabelle and Ms. Grimshaw walk out of camp to head to town -- not too long of a walk -- and Pearson was organizing the provisions. He hadn't seen Hosea yet, but he was sure he was reading.

John cleared his throat. "Maybe he didn't hear you."

"He didn't want to hear me. I don't even know why he's acting this way." Dutch shook his head and dragged his attention to John. "Has he told you anything?"

John stiffened. He remembered when Arthur told him not to tell anyone about what he did in town with other men. He was sure that Arthur hadn't told Dutch. "Just what he told you, that he was going hunting."

"So he hasn't told you anything?" Dutch looked at him skeptically.

"I don't know if you noticed," John shrugged, "but Arthur doesn't like me all that much. I reckon he finds me annoying."

Dutch seemed to sigh dismissively, thank whatever deity was real because John was sure he believed him. Dutch thanked John quietly and walked away to his tent.

_____________________________________________________________

They drank far too much. Poker turned into strip poker, and 5 minutes in -- Arthur had Mason naked. Of course, the door was closed. Despite their nudeness, Mason still refused to have sex with Arthur. Arthur wasn't about to force Mason into anything he didn't want, but to say Arthur was annoyed was an understatement. He had needed someone to be close to him that wasn't Dutch desperately, he needed to be cleansed almost. He felt like there was an itch that needed to be scratched and Mason had the scratcher but kept kicking it farther away from Arthur.

At some point, they ended up on the bed again. Mason had initiated the kiss and they were making out. Slow and heavy kisses on skin was all that was allowed. The occasional hump, but nothing more. The drinks were enough to eventually lull the both of them to sleep. Arthur had an arm wrapped around Mason's waist and Mason had his arm beneath Arthur's neck. It was comfortable, but later when Arthur dreamt -- he dreamt of Dutch again.

He dreamt of the farm, of sheep and horses and cattle. Of his dog Copper running the chickens around and of crops that needed watering. He imagined a large house he built himself, and when he walked into it -- he saw Dutch. Dutch and the smile he wore when he was proud. But when he walked towards Dutch to hug him, everything went dark. Arthur was falling but he could see the bright sky. A wave of water washed over him and he gasped for air when he was able to swim up. He screamed for help until his throat was raw. He felt the world around him tremble and shake and --

"ARTHUR!" his eyes snapped open. He was drenched in sweat and he felt the need to cough. He sat up and saw Mason kneeling in front of him. He felt Mason's firm hold on his shoulders.

"What?" He croaked, his hand flew to his throat.

"You were having a nightmare." Mason explained. "I heard you screaming."

Arthur nodded. "Oh, sorry."

"Are you okay?" Mason sat down next to Arthur and rubbed his back slowly. There was a knock on the door.

"Is everything alright, Master Mason?"

"Yes, Richard! My friend had a nightmare."

"Should I bring tea?"

"Please!" Mason got up from the bed to put some clothes on. Arthur was going to as well but Mason shook his head. "Stay in bed." He ordered, Arthur didn't have the energy to do anything but.

When the tea came, Richard had entered the room and handed it directly to Arthur. "Thank you." Arthur mumbled and Richard nodded slowly before walking back out the room.

Arthur drank the drink carefully like Annabelle had taught him. "What was your dream about?" Mason finally asked.

"I can't remember." Arthur lied.

"You were screaming Dutch's name." Mason mentioned.

"Oh." He shrugged. "Probably since he's upset with me. Maybe I had a dream of him dying."

"Do you want to stay over the night? I don't mind you staying, and I think it would be a good idea -"

"No. I'm going to go home soon." He looked out the window, it was still early, maybe a little past noon. "I'm already late." He stood up and set the empty cup on the table. "Thank you for today. I had fun."

Mason stood still when Arthur approached him and kissed him gently on the lips. "I had fun too, Arthur. Thank you for thinking of me." He was about to hand Arthur some cash but Arthur shook his head and smiled before leaving.
____________________

It didn't take long for Arthur to shoot down two turkeys. He always said he was a better shot with alcohol in his system. He hooked the dead birds on the sides of his saddle and headed back to camp.

___________________

"Well look-y here! Mister Morgan has blessed us with his presence." Dutch said loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Be quiet, please." Arthur glared. A headache was coming over him.

"Are you drunk?" Dutch grumbled angrily. Arthur grabbed the turkeys before walking over to Pearson, who seemed to be trying to keep away from inserting himself into Dutch and Arthur's conversation.

"What if I am?" Arthur drawled, turning away from the table but keeping a hand there to keep him steady. "I shoot better when I - when I -" Arthur closed his mouth to swallow down some puke, then burped, "when I'm drunk." He finished. Surprised he even was able to ride home.

Dutch sighed. "John is doing better than you and he's only been here a few days."

Arthur laughed. "Oh! So it's money you want from me." Arthur grabbed the cash he had from his satchel and tossed the bills at Dutch. Dutch stepped back, offended.

"What has gotten into you?! What have I done to make you so angry?" Dutch grabbed Arthur's arm before the younger could walk away. Arthur tried tugging but the hold was too tight.

"I thought you were angry at me." Arthur admitted quietly.

"Well, I am now." Dutch said with a laugh despite his statement. Arthur started to chuckle.

"Oh. Well then, I made a mistake." They both started laughing and soon Dutch had pulled Arthur into a hug. Arthur snuggled into Dutch's broad chest, the pressure of Dutch around him made him feel good. He felt warm and fuzzy, much the opposite to drowning.

Chapter Text

"Yes!" Arthur gasped at the sudden thrust. Dutch pressed his palm against Arthur's lips to shush him. After they had laughed off their behavior, Dutch had slipped a note into Arthur's satchel spurring this moment.

Everyone had gone to bed, and the night had wrapped them in security. So now, Arthur was on his back and his legs were high up in the air, resting on Dutch's shoulders as the older man snapped his hips back and forth into the outlaw.

Arthur had briefly thought about his time with Mason, how desperately he had been wanting the rich-boy to clean him of Dutch but now he was dirtying himself all over again like it was a vice. He thought about Annabelle and how she tried to help him from falling back into Dutch like she had been doing too. Yet here he was. Doing the very thing he knew he didn't want to do; and he didn't even know why. He didn't have to answer to Dutch. He could stay in his tent and let Dutch be angry for a few days before getting over it. He could, but he doesn't. He feels obligated to do it even though there is no force pressuring him.

Maybe, Arthur let himself think, it's because he knows if it's not him here it's someone else. And Arthur feels like he can't handle not being the center of attention to Dutch. He wants the older man to love him just as much as he does. Whenever Dutch sleeps with someone else, Arthur wonders what he had done wrong to be punished that way -- but it wasn't Arthur's fault at all. Still, he couldn't help but think it.

Dutch pumped Arthur a few more times before the younger outlaw saw white dots in his vision and could no longer think his intrusive thoughts. He felt the warm spill of Dutch's seed settle inside himself, and the slide of Dutch pulling out. They panted heavily, Dutch stood to get a rag to clean up the mess.

____________

Arthur was rather chipper the next day, he didn't mind the soreness in his thighs not even when he was chopping wood. He was wearing his blue striped collar shirt and black jeans. He thought about taking a swim later today, too. He had greeted Annabelle before she went with Pearson to town, him to collect some spices and her to do some work for camp. He didn't even get annoyed when John approached him with a goofy smile.

"Yesterday was funny." John snickered.

"Yeah, whole big misunderstanding." Arthur shrugged and smiled. He dug into his satchel and pulled out a chocolate bar to hand to John, who took it gratefully.

"Thanks!" He said cheerfully. "You're in a good mood." He observed as he took a bite of the chocolate.

"Guess it's just a good day."

Later that day, after Arthur made a quick trip north to hunt some deer (in which he was successful in collecting a perfect deer pelt) Hosea called Arthur over into Dutch's tent. Arthur noticed Pearson and Annabelle had returned too.

Arthur took a seat on a small box, Dutch and Hosea doing the same with their own boxes. They formed almost a triangle with Arthur facing Hosea and Dutch. He noticed Dutch clear his throat before pulling out a journal. "We're going to use this," he started, "to mark down who brings in what."

"And this," Hosea pulled out a small lootbox, "to make sure what's written down is kept in place and used for the camp."

Arthur nodded. "So how does it work? We just write our names or something?"

"Exactly." Dutch said with a smile. "Write your name, the amount you put in or the item you give, put the stuff in the box, and walk away."

"We were hoping you could handle the gang's savings." Hosea was smiling and Dutch was looking at Arthur expectantly. When Arthur only stared in shock Dutch said:

"You are my second-command, and all."

Arthur nodded vigorously. "I can do that. Do I mark all the numbers in my journal? What do I even do?"

Hosea laughed at Arthur's anxiousness. "Calm down, son. You'll be fine. Just use the first page in your journal to make sure that, each week, all the money the ledger says we're supposed to have is there and that we're not losing any money. You make sure of that my marking how much we gain each week and adding it up."

Arthur grunted in understanding. "Okay. I can do that."

"Of course you can!" Dutch cheered. "See? We're becoming better organized by the day." Dutch stood up and raised his arms in excitement.

"I would hope so." Hosea grumbled, standing up not-so-enthusiastically. Arthur stood up with them and ducked his head as he left the tent. "Oh, and Arthur!" He turned around. "We'll announce the system to the camp tonight around the fire. Let everyone know we have a meeting tonight." Arthur nodded.

He strode around camp, letting the members know there was news to be shared once the day ended. They all thanked him. He left John for last, because he knew the kid would occupy his time.

"Howdy, Mr. Morgan."

"Enough with that." Arthur sat next to John who was attempting to write out his alphabet. "You getting any better?"

"I'm doing alright." He shrugged. "Hosea is a really good teacher."

"He is. Hey, later today Dutch and Hosea got something to tell the camp. New system." Arthur mentioned, John nodded.

"So what do we do?"

"When the sun goes down and Dutch starts the campfire, you sit down close to it and wait for him and Hosea to talk." Arthur explained. "Not too hard, is it?"

"Nah," John chuckled, "seems simple enough. I'm sure I won't screw that up." They both laughed and Arthur caught John staring at him, making the boy blush.

"What?"

"Nothing! It's just.." he lowered his tone, almost a whisper, "you look pretty when you laugh." Arthur's face went red and he stood up in a hurry.

"Stupid boy, men ain't pretty --" he grunted and stalked off. "Who think he is, 'pretty when you laugh'," he mocked in a mumble, "he's lucky I don't punch 'im in the damn face -- see if he thinks I'm pretty then--"

_____________

They gathered around, Arthur noticed Pearson trying to sit rather close to Susan; but she shot him a nasty glare so that he would scooch away. Dutch and Hosea were standing, and Annabelle was sitting near Arthur on a log. John plopped down opposite the two camp leaders and Copper laid down on his lap. Arthur and Annabelle shared a smile before returning their attention to Dutch and Hosea. Dutch was smiling quite confidently and Hosea was looking rather pleased, Arthur gathered it was because they were finally making progress with the gang. He heard Dutch clear his throat before speaking.

"Nice to see you all in one spot." Dutch started. "It is always good to see my family together. Especially," he paused and smiled again despite himself, "when good news is to be shared." He explained the ledger as he had to Arthur. Hosea demonstrated to the camp the book and box and when Dutch announced Arthur would be handling the gang's savings, Hosea motioned for Arthur to stand up. In a hurry, Arthur stood and straightened his hat before tipping it humbly. "Arthur is the best man for the job." Dutch had said, making Arthur's cheeks heat up. Arthur sat back down and felt Annabelle pat his back in congratulations, he nodded thank you to her. Strangely, Dutch's speech did not end there. Hosea even seemed unsure as to why Dutch had not dismissed the gang yet. Dutch scratched the back of his neck but kept his composure. "Additionally," he paused, "I have been talking to a fellow by the name of Leopold Strauss. He is a loanshark." Dutch stopped again, as if testing the waters. Arthur noticed that Hosea's fists were clenched and his eyes were narrowed -- he was pissed. "I've invited him to stay."

"Dutch!" Hosea shouted. "We did not discuss this." He then hissed.

"Now," Dutch shook his head, "I believe I am the head of this family, Hosea, and though I respect your opinion very highly--"

"Well clearly not! Dutch, how could you make such a rash decision when we had already come to a compromise? You have thrown days of talk out the window! Letting a loanshark into the gang is going against everything we once stand for!" Hosea was rambling, Arthur had always wondered what Hosea looked like when he was REALLY mad. He had seen him upset, disappointed, and resentful, but never this angry.

"Hosea," said slowly, Arthur noticed that the gang was a bit tense, "this is for the best. Now, the law ain't going any easier on us. We'll start slow. I'm just inviting this fellow into the gang to see how the inner works of loansharking is. Don't mean we gotta keep him, don't mean he gotta go."

"What do you think, Arthur?" Hosea mumbled to keep his head. All eyes were suddenly on Arthur and he tensed.

"Well, uh." Arthur sighed, he was unsure on who to side with. He knew he would always have Dutch's back, but he truly was on Hosea's side with this one. 'Save people who need saving', and all. Not: 'scam people who don't deserve it'. He stood up again, his eyes darted between Dutch and Hosea. The expressions on their faces each asking him in their own way to have their back. Arthur stared at Dutch. "Dutch once scolded me for stealing from a poor man's house." He began. "I remember our very first robbery. Do you remember that Hosea?" Hosea nodded, Dutch too. "We got away with near five thousand dollars...and we gave it all away. It was easy then, to do that. Now, we got a family to feed just like everybody else." Arthur looked around at the people who surrounded him, Pearson looked uneasy but listening, Susan and Annabelle were smiling and John was looking Arthur dead in the eyes with no other expression on his face. "I wish we could just keep going on like we have been. But now, we gotta make a choice. We can be good and dead, or we can make some sacrifices and survive. We can't try and be both at once, it's one or the other. Hosea has always been a kind man, I have never seen him back down from defending what he believes in -- but I gotta ask you this once." Arthur turns to lock eyes with Hosea. "Let us make some small sacrifices. I know Dutch can be a pain in the you-know-what," Hosea snickered and Arthur smiled, "but he's right. To make sure our people get through to next month, we gotta put ourselves first sometimes, at least."

"Thank you, Arthur." Dutch patted Arthur's back.

"I think Arthur is becoming better at speeches than you, Dutch. Be careful now." Hosea teased.

"So, we are going to let the sucker in?" Susan asked with a raised brow.

"For now." Hosea answered, glaring at Dutch. "A trial run. If he dares go one foot out of line, either he goes or I go."

"You'll never go," Dutch chuckled, "we wouldn't survive without you and you know that."

"I know." Hosea said with a grin.

_______

They dispersed, Arthur heard some mumbling between Annabelle and Susan but he was sure they wouldn't stir any trouble. Good ol' fashioned chit chat, was what it was. He noticed John lingered even after Dutch, Hosea, and Pearson had gone. "What's wrong with you?"

"You told me a few days ago that you would always have Dutch's back, even though Hosea would be in the right, you would side with him, no matter what." John pointed out, making Arthur quirk an eyebrow up in curiosity.

"And?"

"Was this one of those moments?" John asked, truly concerned. Arthur felt a bit surprised, he hasn't detected this on John's face during his speech. "Is this a moment where you're steering us in the wrong direction, even though there is a right one -- for your own stupid loyalty?"

"Hey!" Arthur barked angrily. "You listen here boy, loyalty is all we got. Do you understand?"

John didn't answer, he just stared at Arthur in disbelief. Arthur felt his blood rising in anger, watching as John finally lowered his head and scoffed before walking away. For some reason, no matter how hard Arthur tried not to care, getting this reaction from John made his chest feel like it was caving in with shame.

_______

Chapter Text

Arthur was skipping rocks. He couldn't quite fall asleep after such a busy day. The night had come quickly after everyone had gathered to discuss Mr. Strauss. Arthur tried to convince himself that the endless turning he did while trying to fall asleep was because he was anxious about handling the gang's savings, and not about John.

The blonde sighed heavily. He watched the world around him, uncaring of his dilemma, and wondered what it would be like to live like nature does. Only pressured by the gusts of wind. He was distracted by the sound of gravel shifting behind him. He turned and saw John.

"Hey." John said quietly before taking a seat next to Arthur. Arthur stared at him for a short while before collecting himself.

"You need something?"

"No." John shook his head, his eyes lingering off in the distance. "I just...don't want to be mad at you. You're the only person I sort of like here."

Arthur snorted. "You aren't taking kindly to Pearson?" He teased. John laughed and shook his head.

"It seems that Pearson finds me far too much of a nuisance to try and be my friend."

"I can't blame him." They both laughed, and Arthur caught John staring -- again. "I'm sorry for...uh...shouting at you." Their gazes coincided for a moment before slipping away again. John was smiling, so Arthur smiled back.

They were quiet again for a moment. "I wasn't lying, y'know." John mumbled. Arthur cocked his head to the side as a response. "About your smile. You look far more attractive when you're laughing."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "This again?" The words came out in a breath, exasperated but still laughing.

"Take a compliment!" John drawled, gently shoving Arthur's side.

"Never." Arthur said, glancing at John quickly before flicking another rock to the water.

"You wound me Arthur."

Despite himself, Arthur said smiling: "And you give me a headache; so I guess we're even." Again they laughed, they were careful to keep their volume low as to not wake the camp, but the glint of humor in their eyes was enough.

______

It was strange to wake up and see Annabelle emerging from Susan's tent for the second night in a row. Arthur wondered if she and Dutch were arguing, which wasn't too unbelievable considering she had been talking to Arthur about Dutch not too long ago. Arthur disliked how he felt happy about them arguing, an awful thing to feel, but he couldn't help feeling like he won something. Dutch had gone early this morning to find Leopold Strauss, Hosea told Arthur while he set up to continue his lessons with John.

Arthur considered leaving camp so that he wouldn't have to interact with Strauss, he could hunt (for bounty or for pelts) or he could go looking for some new plants. Even just do some wandering. It occurred to him, while he flipped through his journal and landed on a sketch of Manson Bonsack's home, that visiting him was also an option. The blonde shrugged to himself and decided that he'd visit him tomorrow, if he had the time.

Miss Grimshaw was lingering around the horses, feeding them some oatcakes. It had been a while since Arthur had a moment with her. He approached her slowly and noticed the small smile she had on her as she fed Rachel (John's horse). Despite her tough demeanor, Miss Grimshaw is extremely kind. Knowing her since he was young, Arthur recognized that she adored animals. She could scold Arthur about Copper a hundred times, but he would never forget the day he spotted her petting Copper lovingly far from the sight of most of the campers.

"Hey." Arthur greeted, Susan looked up and nodded at Arthur curtly.

"Good morning, Arthur." She fed Rachel the last of the oatcake and dusted the crumbs off her hands onto her dress. "How are you?"

"Fine. How are you?" She nodded as to say she was good.

"Quite a speech you gave yesterday. You think this Strauss fellow will be any good?" She began to walk towards the campfire, Arthur followed her.

"I hope so. I mean, at some point we'll get used to him. Just like everyone else, right?"

She snickered, they stopped at Pearson's table where she grabbed an apple. "I don't think I ever got used to 'smelly', over here." She jutted her thumb out to point at Pearson. "So who knows."

Arthur couldn't help but laugh when he saw Pearson go red in annoyance. "What do you know." He heard the large man growl sheepishly. Susan laughed, something like a cackle, before returning her attention to Arthur.

"It'll be fine, Arthur. Speaking about fine, it is NOT fine that you're wearing that shirt again." Her face scrunched and she grabbed at Arthur's collar of his striped blue shirt. "I'd need a third hand to count how many times I've seen you wearing that for several days in a row. Change, would you? Or is it glued on?" She teased.

"Alright." He drawled. Tugging back at his collar when she moved her hands away. He hunched over when he heard her laugh at him as he walked away to his tent to change.

_______

Arthur was loading up his horse's satchel with some fruit when he heard the loud thumps of trotting. He looked up towards the trail and saw Dutch riding contentedly with a mid-aged looking fellow riding on his own horse behind him. The man had some sort of glasses on, a suit and hat that would make Arthur think he was some sort of rich-snob, and he didn't look armed. He couldn't help the look of dislike that came over his face, he didn't like this guy already.

"Arthur!" Dutch greeted with a cheeky grin. "This is Mr. Strauss." Dutch dismounted to hitch his horse on one of the nearby trees. Strauss did the same. "Leopold Strauss, this is Arthur Morgan."

Strauss approached Arthur slowly, looking him up and down. It was clear he was uneasy. "Hello. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur stared at Strauss' outreached hand. With a sigh, Arthur shook the man's hand. "Pleasure's mine." Arthur grumbled. Dutch watched the interaction with a smile, it was almost awkward.

"You going anywhere Arthur?" Dutch asked almost confused, his expression was put off when he spotted Arthur's horse all saddled up and prepared to leave.

"Oh, uh..." Arthur toyed with his belt awkwardly. "Yeah. I am. Thought I'd do some hunting."

"Today's a special day, Arthur." Dutch's smile had fallen dramatically.

"Yeah, you're..uh...you're right. Sorry, I was distracted." Arthur looked down at the dirt before rushing to remove Zeke's saddle.

Dutch tutted and laughed at Arthur before leading Strauss to the camp.

_

It was clear that the camp was unsettled by this new addition to the family. Miss Grimshaw made it clear that she wasn't going to be won over easily when she distributed soup bowls to everyone but Strauss. Annabelle tried her best to be polite, but when Strauss seemed to be attempting to flirt with her she began to keep her distance. Pearson couldn't bring himself to care too much, all he did was greet Strauss and answer questions the man had in a curt way. John, for whatever reason, didn't even say hello. He stayed by Hosea, who's entire vibe was angry and annoyed. The only word mumbled by Hosea to Strauss was "hello".

Dutch seemed to be at his last end. His eyes were squinty and his demeanor was no longer hopeful and chipper. He stuck by Strauss and had Susan set up his tent near Pearson and John's. It was nearing noon when Dutch approached Arthur, defeated. "No one likes him." Dutch admitted.

"They don't." Arthur sighed, he wanted to comfort Dutch but they were out in the open. "To be fair, no one liked Pearson at first."

"Most still don't." Dutch replied sourly. "I just want this to go well. I know this is...different but, Strauss isn't that bad. Is he?"

"I don't know 'im." Arthur shrugged. "But I know you, Dutch." Their eyes met and Arthur felt his heart swell when a smile creeped on his face. "I trust your judgement."

Dutch placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Thank you, son. I can always count on you."

Arthur felt his face go red and his shoulder stiffened. Dutch let out a quiet snort and patted Arthur in the shoulder before walking off towards Pearson to get some leftover soup. Arthur glanced briefly at Dutch's behind and Strauss' tent, with a heavy sigh, Arthur walked over to Strauss' tent.

Their conversation was light, Strauss talked about his youth and how he came to America in search of a lucrative life. One that he had been close to having, had it not been for some thieves who robbed him of his savings. He said, that the reason why he became a loanshark was to accumulate money quickly. It was a strange business that he tried to explain to Arthur, but the outlaw just shook his head in misunderstanding. He asked about the camp members, Arthur gave him a brief breakdown of who was who and how they are. He assured Strauss they'd come around, of course he was lying but Strauss didn't need to know that.

At the end of their conversation, which was decided by the darkening sky, Strauss thanked Arthur immensely and promised he owed him. Arthur simply smiled and bid Strauss a good night. He was surprised to see everyone had gone into their tents already, everyone except Annabelle and Dutch.

She was wrapped in his arms, her hands in his hair while they shared a desperate and hungry kiss. Beer bottles were on the floor. Dutch was moving his hips towards hers and her leg was hitching upwards against his. Arthur felt his blood run cold, he could hear his heart bumping obnoxiously in his ears. He blinked once and hard before sneaking away to his horse. He didn't even think of grabbing his saddle before rushing off towards the trail.

--------

He had no fucking idea where he was. It was dark, and there weren't any signs that he could see nearby. He had been so in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed which turns he had made or which direction he had gone. He would use the stars to help his direction like Hosea had taught him, but it was too cloudy to make up anything for certain.

He thought he could hear the howling of wolves, so he reached for his rifle; which was when he realized he hadn't packed shit. A groan escaped him, and he clutched onto the reigns tightly. He looked around for any clues as to where he could be. He was on some plains. Some mountains in the distance. He pursed his lips, he remembered vaguely crossing some water; a river. It could be he was nearby Valentine.

He was about to kick Zeke back into a gallop when he heard the crushing of gravel and the thumps of horses trotting. He turned his head and saw a wagon coming up from the distance. In desperation, he had Zeke turn and head towards the wagon. He saw one figure begin to ready their gun, so he waved dismissively.

"Howdy!" Arthur said innocently. "I ain't trynna hurt you. I'm lost! Could you uh...tell me about where we are?"

The wagon came to a halt and Arthur could now see that there were two men riding in front. The wagon was pretty small, and the horses pulling it didn't look like work-horses. In a heavy accent, the man with the reigns said: "Near Valentine. Ye, it's up that trail, actually."

"Oh! Thanks."

The two men nodded and continued on their way. Arthur made a mental map in his head, he'd have to go the opposite direction from Valentine to return to Black Water. He decided to just continue going west until he reached Dakota river, which would help him familiarize himself with the area. From there, it would be pure muscle memory.

His stomach grumbled notably, and as he drew closer to the river he came to realize that it wasn't just hunger that wasn't sitting well with his stomach. He was anxious. He wasn't sure why, and he hated the idea that he dreaded going home. It was dark, he deserved to have a place to come back to where he felt comfortable. That should be the camp, with his family, except now when he thought of camp he thought of what Dutch and Annabelle were doing right now.

When he reached the river, he dismounted and propped himself up against a rock near the water. Zeke was watching him closely, and he trusted the horse to keep an eye out as Arthur let his heavy eyes close.

_________

He felt something cold and rubbery against his cheek, he let his eye open slowly to see Zeke nuzzling him gently. Arthur smiled and let his hand wander up to pet Zeke's neck. The horse pulled away when Arthur stood up, dusting his pants off. His eyes adjusted slowly to the daylight, and Arthur briefly wondered how he hadn't been eaten by some wolves. He noticed a chocolate bar on the floor. Strange. He picked it up and examined it before unwrapping the candy. He looked around for some other clue, but found none.

"S'pose this was you, ey Zeke?" Arthur scratched gently behind Zeke's ear. The horse neighed quietly. "Well thanks. Poor boah, you haven't eaten much either, have you?" He led Zeke to the running water. Arthur finished the chocolate pretty quickly, shoving the wrapper in his satchel.

_______

John was pleased to see Annabelle and Dutch talking like always the following morning. He thought they made a sweet couple. It was pretty early in the morning when John realized Arthur had gone and when he asked Hosea where he might be, the older man just shrugged and said "That's just Arthur, probably wandering."

He thought about how much a person could wander. If after a few months, maybe, if there would be anything new to discover. To be fair, he had seen a map of Dutch's and it seemed like there was a lot to look at. Maybe Arthur wasn't done yet.

Being at camp daily was becoming boring, so he was sure the 'wandering' was provoked by the dullness of being in one place all the time. He wondered if the princesses in the stories Hosea would read with him were bored of being locked away in a tower. Maybe that's why they were quick to marry the first guy they meet, they probably are desperate for any social stability.

Copper was fun to hang around with. Despite him being "Arthur's dog", John seemed to be the one Copper followed around the most. He would take him to play out in the woods or, if John was up for it, all the way to Upper Mountain River for a swim. Well, Copper would swim. John would just stand near the edges of the water, hoping Copper didn't get swept over by the current. He would be a lost dog then.

John sat down across from Dutch, who he hardly ever seemed to talk to. Dutch was sitting next to Annabelle, chatting. John was petting Copper when something occured to him. "How come we don't like the O'Driscolls?"

Dutch's attention snapped to John. Annabelle seemed to be a bit on edge. "They're bad people, John. Why? Did one of them approach you?"

"One of them approached Arthur." John admitted. "That time that he took me hunting." John shrugged, he couldn't remember Arthur telling him to keep quiet about the O'Driscoll part, just the sleeping-with-men-for-money part. "I know they're bad, and Arthur told me to keep away from them, but I was just wondering why they're bad."

"Colm, their leader, and I don't see eye to eye." Dutch said carefully. "He treats his gang like their a bunch of...expendables. I hope to treat mine like a family."

John looked confused. He couldn't fathom why this was such a big deal. "Does...does that effect you? Or him? In any way?" He asked, trying his best not to sound offensive.

Dutch smiled and shook his head. "It's strange sounding, sure, but it has a lot to do with morals. I think every life counts, especially if that life stands for yours as well. He doesn't think that way. People, John, fight over everything. Especially things that have to do with how things should be done everywhere. Like religion."

"Are gangs a religion?" John asked, to him a stupid question as it came out of his mouth but to Dutch; it was enlightening.

"Huh..." Dutch looked taken back, surprised by the analysis. "I suppose it could be."

"I think it's like a cult." Annabelle giggled, Dutch rolled his eyes but John was giggling with her.

____

Chapter Text

Hosea felt his head splitting in two. He had received a letter from Bessie that day, he couldn't help but feel awful about being away from her. They had tried before to be together at camp, but Bessie wasn't the type to be running from the law. She wanted to settle and run a farm; not do crimes. The thing being, she had tried his way and he was beyond grateful of her doing that -- but they were both getting to the age of settling; they were past it, even.

Her letter enclosed a picture she had taken of her home, a small thing nearly in shambles but could be fixed up. Her father had given it to her out of pity, he never liked Hosea and he always expected his poor, youngest daughter to end up clinging to her greatest expectations of her husband. So he gave her the farm. She asked Hosea, in the letter, to come by and get the feel of things.

But how could he leave now? Now, that Strauss had infiltrated their camp and little John was learning to read. How could he leave Arthur behind when he was barely starting to take on new responsibilities and becoming a man? In a way, this camp is his family but so is Bessie.

To make things even more complicated, Strauss was making noise about a job he has for Arthur. Since he's 'intimidating' and all. Arthur hadn't even returned from wherever he'd gone off too, last he heard of Arthur was when John asked for him that morning. Hosea walked out of his tent and saw John, Dutch, and Annabelle chuckling about something. He was glad to see Dutch and John...bonding. Hosea was a aware that Dutch favored Arthur over pretty much anyone in the camp, but to be fair; Arthur was the first member besides Dutch and himself.

And who else was Dutch supposed to favor? Simon? Hosea supposed it was between Arthur and John, now, and it was clear Dutch was going to pick Arthur. Except Arthur was acting out a bit lately, from what he had noticed, like when he supposedly was ignoring Dutch and got drunk silly to finally make amends. That was a strange thing to hear about.

Whatever might be going on, Hosea hoped Arthur had it handled. He hoped that in the case Hosea were to...go...that the camp would be fine without him. At least for a little while.

___________

Arthur returned sometime near noon, he looked a bit drained and confused but fine. John saw him handing Pearson over some meats, enough to feed them for a couple of days. He watched Arthur walk around camp up until Hosea directed his attention back to the book. The last he saw was Strauss approaching Arthur, he was sure that would be a lot more interesting of an interaction than any book he could read.

____

"Arthur, how good to see you back. How was your trip?"

"Fine." Arthur hooked his thumbs onto his belt. "You need something, Strauss?"

The older man nodded and shakily grabbed his journal, Arthur watched as he thumbed through the pages. "Here," he said, "Paul Timberland. He owes me about a hundred dollars. Do you think you could head over to him and collect it?"

"Uh-" Arthur scratched the back of his neck - "How exactly do I do that?"

"Oh, you know. Just; scare him a bit?" Strauss shrugged.

"Okay. That's...okay. Where do I find him?"

"Up in Valentine. A bit of a trip, but you'll find him rather quickly. He usually lingers in the bar." Arthur nodded and Strauss thanked him before walking off. Arthur briefly considered asking John to join him, wasn't a matter of time before he'd be doing this type of work.

He dismissed the idea, though, because Arthur wasn't entirely sure what to expect. He hadn't ever really demanded a person to hand over money they owed. It was always sneaking off with wallets, or sneaking into the safes' rooms of banks while Dutch and Hosea did the demanding. He supposed it wasn't all too different, but still. He would rather handle this alone for now.

He couldn't help but notice Dutch was enthralled in a conversation with Annabelle. So much so, he hadn't greeted Arthur. It wasn't his job to, but Arthur still couldn't help but be irked by it. He felt so sensitive lately, and confused. He remembered briefly, as he mounted Zeke again (now with all his gear), when Hosea told him that adulthood started at 19. How he had explained that Arthur couldn't possibly have a mind of his own until he was an adult, and that it was until then that things would get complicated.

Arthur smiled, Hosea was always right. That really shouldn't surprise him anymore.

_________

Arthur was grateful for his encounter the night before. He was able to retrace his steps, and follow the trail the strangers had pointed the direction of Valentine to get there. It was quite the place, a bit dirtier than Blackwater, but nice. Funnily enough, Arthur noticed there were two bars; which made things a bit complicated for Arthur but it didn't seem like too big of a town. He hitched his horse in front of the the hotel and fed Zeke an apple.

Growing up as a criminal, you tend to gather some sort of a sixth sense. Certain things stand out to you and it's easier to pick up when something doesn't feel normal. Despite being in a new town, Arthur was able to pick up on something. He felt like he was being watched. He did his best not to make it look like he was paranoid, so he only took peeks through his peripherals to see if he could spot anything. He couldn't.

When Zeke was done, Arthur made sure he had his pistol on him and some cash before heading into the bar closest to him. It was fairly large, a second floor was open to the public as well as a barber. Arthur made a mental note of that. He headed over to the bar, the bartender was a blonde fellow with a bushy mustache. Arthur always wondered what it would be like to have a mustache that bushy, would it tickle?

"Hey." Arthur said to catch the bartender's attention, the man looked up and hurried over once he poured another patron their drink.

"What can I get you, mister?" His voice was low, gruff, and despite his wording -- uncaring. It seemed like this is the last place he wanted to be.

"Some whiskey." The bartender nodded curtly and poured Arthur his drink. "And, uh, you heard of a fellow named Paul Timberland?" Arthur said his name slowly.

The bartender raised an equally bushy brow, "I reckon I have. Need a little something to jog my memory, though." Arthur smirked and pulled out ten dollars. The bartender took it quickly. "Go to the other bar, he's always playing poker or drinking there."

Arthur thanked him, quickly finished his drink, and left the bar. Again, his senses were getting the better of him. He stopped at the edge of the bar's platform and looked around. There was plenty of people, several of which had never seen Arthur before but would that matter? Lots of people came to Valentine for a night's stay. Arthur wasn't abnormal.

He took a quick glance at Zeke to make sure he was okay, when he was sure the horse was fine, Arthur headed over to the smaller bar.

Upon walking inside, he felt a bit of frustration. The bar was empty except for the bartender, who was quick to offer Arthur drinks and food. Arthur politely declined and asked about Paul, with a look of defeat the bartender shook his head and said he hadn't seen Paul at all today. Arthur thanked him and walked back outside. He looked around, not like that would help much; he didn't know what Paul looked like. What Arthur did notice, however, was the suspicious number of men with green bandanas. Most likely O'Driscolls. There weren't many of them, but enough to know that they were probably trying to claim Valentine. Meaning Arthur should back off before they discover who he is. Luckily, Dutch doesn't indulge himself in camp colors. He likes to play it smart and blend in.

Arthur wondered briefly if the men he met on the trail were O'Driscolls, many of them were Irish. (Colm is Irish, so he prefers to take in Irish folk.)

The thought didn't stay with him long before he started approaching simpler, looking folk and asking about Paul. Many just shook their heads, same answer as the bartender: he was no where to be seen. Arthur realized he was desperate when he went to ask the Sheriff.

"Who's asking?" The Sheriff asked cautiously.

"Uh...a friend." He lied.

The Sheriff smirked and lit his cigarette, he offered Arthur one but Arthur declined. "Paul doesn't have friends. Hell, he's my brother and he ain't my friend."

Arthur perked up. "So you know where he is?"

"I do. He's chatting up the doctor, something about his back." Arthur thanked him and left.

The moment he walked in the door, Arthur felt all sweaty and clammy. He was afraid his voice would waver, or he wouldn't seem legit, so he puffed his chest out and strode over confidently as he could. There was only the doctor and one man inside, the man looked fairly young -- still older than Arthur -- but his clothes was worn and his face was dirty.

"You Paul Timberland?" Arthur asked with a gruff, uncaring voice(like the one from the first bartender, he imitated.)

"Who's asking?" The man quivered, Arthur smiled.

"You owe me some money. Or rather, the Strauss fella." Arthur looped his thumbs into his belt. "About a hundred dollars. If you ain't got it, you can give some of your belongings."

Paul sighed. He banged his head gently against the wall. Arthur noticed the doctor glance at Paul with a look of empathy and concern. "I don't got...nothing. Sir, I --" the man seemed near tears -- "my wife is pregnant and I have 'er livin' behind the Sheriff's office in a damned shed!" He sobbed. "I ain't got no money, no job...only thing I got is a vice to gambling."

Arthur pursed his lips, his chest tightening but he stood as tall as he had been. "Ain't my problem." Paul looked up at Arthur, defeated.

_____

The shed was small, big enough for a bed and a crib crowded together. Arthur nearly turned and sped off when he laid eyes on the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, her belly round as a soccer ball. Her hair was long and brown, nearly red, her eyes a pretty hazel. She looked young and...in love. "Paul!" She exclaimed when the door swung open to Arthur. She was afraid. Arthur...made her afraid.

"It's alright. It's.." Paul sighed. "We need money."

"You spent it all!" She sobbed, her emotions getting the best of her.

"Well I --" Paul stumbled and went red -- "you have put me here, woman. I never wanted...this." His voice was quiet but the woman didn't need him to repeat himself, it was clear they had discussed this before.

They were all quiet before Arthur spoke up. "You," he directed his attention to Paul, "go and tell your brother that an O'Driscoll needs you to pay up a hundred dollars. Tell him, go." Paul nodded and hurried off. "You," Arthur sighed, "here." He handed her the money he had left in his satchel. "Hide it away, use it for you and your baby."

Her eyes were open wide in shock, her hands trembled gently as she took the money. "I...thank you." She said in a whisper.

Arthur heard a yell of what seemed like, "A hundred dollars?!" He snickered. She giggled, a little more comfortable.

"You aren't an O'Driscoll, are you?" She asked quietly.

"No," he shrugged, "just a man doing his job."

"Glad to know those exist." She sighed. "Even though you're taking money from my family."

"Ain't your family."

"Excuse me?"

"Family takes care of each other. Forgets their...guilty pleasures so that they can take care of each other. This what you got here? This is a prison." He stared at her, her expression lost in thought.

When Paul returned, Arthur couldn't muster to speak anymore. He couldn't stop looking between Paul and his wife and their unborn child. How could he live a slothful, gambling life knowing his family lived in a shed? "I...hope that we never see each other again." Paul said quietly. Arthur took the money Paul handed over to him.

Arthur managed to gather together some words. "Fix this." He said. "Get yourself a job, some money, and give your family the life they deserve." They made eye contact for a fraction of a second, Arthur saw pain in Paul's eyes and something else that he couldn't quite place. Arthur didn't stick around, though, he snuck out of the shed and hurried to his horse. He could no longer manage to be here. He needed to go home, to his family.

Halfway to camp, he wondered what it would have been like had he grown up with his ma and pa. Would he still be an outlaw? His pa would've made sure of that, except his ma never like the crime business. Had she not died, would he have grown up going to school? Maybe even getting a fancy job like a doctor or businessman. Most importantly, would Arthur trade this life for it?

He was so into his thoughts, he nearly didn't notice the chocolate bar wedged between the saddle and Zeke. He slowed to a trot and tugged the candy out from the space. Arthur eyed it cautiously, it was the same brand as the one from the river he thinks. He hadn't really paid attention to the wrapper, but the illustrations on it seemed familiar. Unsure whether to eat it or not, he stashed it away in his satchel for later inspection. Clearly, someone had meant to give that chocolate to Arthur and now he wonders if they were the same person who left the chocolate bar for him before?

Most importantly, why were they doing it? He felt a bit desperate to return to Valentine and sort this all out, but -- as Hosea says -- letting the cat out of the bag is a lot easier than putting it back in. Arthur wasn't prepared to look for trouble, he had a lot on his mind already. Except he knew that this would also be in the back of his mind, a reminder that something wasn't quite right and he didn't even know why. Maybe that would make it worse later, but for now it was best for him to just shove it down and wait for it to float back up when it had to.

Chapter Text

He returned to camp before dark, the whole way he was glancing at the chocolate bar and trying to piece together some theory as to what it meant. If he was right and the same person who had left him the candy at the river had done it again in Valentine, then obviously they were targeting Arthur. If he was right about that, then it wasn't some random thing like someone going around handing out chocolate. This was strategic.

It made him think that someone could be following him, so he went through a patch of woods to hopefully lose them. Why would someone be giving him chocolate? Especially brand chocolate -- it looked expensive. He would have to ask the shopkeeper next time around. Were they trying to poison him? Or was there someone out there genuinely looking out for him? Invested?

The only person he could come up with that would do this is Mason. Arthur sighed. Mason might be a little too obsessed with him. It could be him, he was rich enough to spend the money and time to pull a stunt like this and claim it was for 'love'. He would confront him the next time he sees him.

The chill that ran through him as he rode reminded him that winter was coming soon and he should invest in warmer clothes. Arthur jumped off Zeke and gave him a carrot before walking off into camp, still palming the chocolate bar in his satchel. He spotted Pearson talking up Susan again, who seemed annoyed as always. He was going to head to Strauss and give him the money he collected from Paul, but he was stopped in his tracks by Dutch. An angry looking Dutch.

"You crossed with some O'Driscoll's with John and you didn't tell me?" Dutch said, almost in disbelief.

Arthur was still for a moment, surprised, and he tensed as he tried to maintain eye contact with Dutch. He noticed John in his peripherals, shifty and obviously eaves-dropping. Arthur shot him a glare in a millisecond before returning his attention to Dutch. "I, uh," Arthur mumbled, "it wasn't anything big. Just asked us if we were camping there, then moved along."

Dutch was quiet. Considering what Arthur was telling him. "No trouble?"

"Nope." Arthur made a 'pop' sound at the p. His eyes shifting downwards. "Didn't recognize me. Didn't even see John."

"Good." Dutch said, calmer. "How did it go in Valentine?"

Relieved, Arthur returned his gaze to the older man. Carefully studying his relaxed face. "It went well." Arthur smiled, shifting his weight a bit on his toes. "I got the money. and, uh, I noticed the O'Driscoll's seem to be claiming Valentine. I made myself scarce, though, no one recognized me there either."

Dutch smiled, proud, and clapped his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "That's my boy." Arthur blushed and leaned into the touch. "Go report to Strauss and get some rest."

Dutch walked away and Arthur spent some time appreciating the view until being pestered. "That was close." John piped up, his voice cracking a bit. Arthur's smile faltered and he was glaring at the boy again.

"Yeah, I wonder who's fault is that." Arthur snapped.

John winced but smiled nonetheless. "Sorry." he drawled and followed Arthur as the older teen made his way towards Strauss' tent. "Hey, so, I was wondering if I could join you when you go wandering next time."

" 'Wandering'?"

"That's what Hosea calls it." John had his hands behind his back as he walked, Arthur noticed he was starting to act a little more proper after hanging out so much with Hosea. "You know, when you go riding; doing whatever."

Arthur pursed his lips and stopped in front of the loanshark's tent. "I don't 'do whatever'." He sighed and considered it. Bringing John along on some short trips wouldn't hurt, he could teach him more. "Maybe." He said instead. "Now get, I gotta deal with this."

John smiled and ran off, probably to find Copper or Hosea, and Arthur took another deep breath before entering Strauss' tent. "Hey," Strauss looked up from his journal filled with scribbled numbers.

"Arthur!" He closed his book. "Did everything go well?"

"Yeah," Arthur handed him the money, "peachy."

------------

He was in his tent, writing down the earnings of the day into his journal, when Hosea walked in. He looked up, confused. It wasn't uncommon for Hoses to step in for a chat, but it didn't happen often either. "Hosea?" Arthur mumbled, setting his journal aside. "Everything alright?"

Hosea smiled, a quiet chuckle escaping him, before shaking his head and taking a seat across from his son. "Calm down, Arthur, don't get riled up now."

"Can you blame me?" Arthur chuckled, tense but calmer. "You don't usually come into my tent this late to talk."

The older man scratched the back of his neck and sighed. "Nothing gets past you. I suppose it's Dutch and I's fault for the way we raised you."

"You both did a great job raising me, if I say so myself." Arthur smirked.

Hosea smiled briefly, he rubbed his palms on his jeans and cleared his throat. For a moment, Arthur felt like he was 14 again and Hoses was sitting him down for the 'talk' after catching Arthur flirting with a girl in town. "We really did." He took a breath. "Listen, Arthur, I got a letter from Bessie."

"How is she?" Arthur asked.

"She's well. Well, not really. She...she needs me to go see her." Hosea admitted. "She's asked me to."

It struck Arthur what Hosea was really saying. He was saying that he was going to go see her, and that he would be leaving the gang. This talk wasn't to catch Arthur up on Bessie, it was to give him a heads up that he would be leaving. It was a premeditated goodbye and a warning. Still, Arthur couldn't help but ask: "Are you...are you going?"

"Not tonight." Hosea assured. Locking eyes with Arthur. "Not yet, Arthur, but soon. Only for a few months. I'd write to you."

"You mean I'd write to you. Who knows where you'd send the damn letters to, with Dutch moving us this way and that all the time." Arthur grumbled, upset.

The older man's face fell, realizing that he didn't have Arthur's support on this. At least not emotionally. "Arthur. I'm still responsible for you, and for John. I'm not trying to rid myself of you. But I also can't forget that I've promise the rest of my life to Bessie. She's my wife."

Arthur's gaze fell. He thought of Paul and his pregnant wife. Hosea had estranged himself from Bessie to take care of Arthur and Dutch; and Arthur had always thought of that as the expectation -- completely forgetting of Bessie, and Hosea's vows to her. "I know." Arthur said, sighing. "I understand, 'sea, I just... I'm gonna miss you, old man."

Hosea smiled. "I'll miss you too, son."

The moment over, Arthur started to snicker. "Better not stay away too long, God knows how long I can put up with John without you."

Hosea laughed, his eyes crinkling. "Boy, I can't wait to see the disaster I'll come home to between the two of you."

______

It was becoming an unwanted routine of John waking Arthur up first thing in the morning. This time with Copper licking at his palms and John shaking Arthur by the shoulders. "Adventure!" John shouted. "Wander and wonder! It waits for no one, Arthur!"

Arthur groaned and bunched his blanket over his face. "You've been reading too many damn books."

"Well I can't read 'em on my own yet. Lucky I have Hosea!" John yanked down Arthur's blanket who was grimacing now.

"Right." Arthur sighed before sitting up. "Okay, well, I didn't say we could go wanderin' today."

"You got anything else going on?" John said snarkily, Copper at his side almost mirroring his expression by tilting his head.

Arthur scoffed. This kid. "I might." He thought about Mason, he has been wanting to confront him about the chocolate and break off whatever relationship they were developing before it got too serious -- if Arthur was right, Mason was going out if his way to follow Arthur just to leave him a damn chocolate.

"I need experience anyway, whatever you got going on I don't mind tagging along." John assured.

"Yeah," Arthur sighed, "whatever. I got rules though, you gotta do everything I say -- no questions! -- got it?"

John nodded and Arthur almost laughed when Copper started shaking his head 'no'.

______

John was rushing to keep up with Arthur who was getting Zeke ready to ride. John was barely tying the saddle up as Arthur was climbing on. Luckily, Strauss approached them and kept Arthur from riding off. "Arthur! I've got another job for you "

"So quick?" Arthur said from above Zeke.

"Yes. I had a couple lined up before Dutch invited me to camp with you all. This one is in Strawberry. Benjamin Campos. He owes fifty." Strauss handed Arthur a photo of a young man, white with brown eyes and brown hair. "I've got a photo of him. He lives on a farm near there but he works at the hotel. I think his old man owns the farm."

Arthur sighed. "Yeah, alright. I'll take John with me anyway." He said, pressing at John who was struggling to get on his saddle. "Let Dutch know where we've gone, will you?"

"Sure." Strauss smiled and waved goodbye to them as Arthur started going down the path with John in tow.

John struggled momentarily to match pace with Arthur, riding Rachel was still a bit difficult to get used to but he was a fast learner. Going on rides with Arthur, Hosea told him, would help him get practice in. "So, where to first?"

"First, I gotta settle something personal." Arthur grumbled. John wondered what that could be, but didn't press on.

____

'something personal' turned out to be not far from Strawberry and behind a sea of tall trees. Arthur didn't bother hitching Zeke, but John hadn't gained that level of trust with Rachel yet. John was tying the rope around the tree as Arthur seemed to be cleaning himself up. John watched carefully as the older man combed his fingers through his hair and straightened his collar. If Arthur wasn't usually a clean person, John would find it strange.

"Listen," he heard Arthur say, "stay out here while I go do this."

John was unsure. This place looked top notch, sure, but hidden. Reclusive. Kind of spooky. "But--"

"Remember our rules?" Arthur said sternly. "You do as I say. Now stay here and wait for me to come back out; I won't take too long."

He watched as the dirty-blonde teen made his way up the stairs and to the big doors. He waited until Arthur was inside to rush to the side of the building and peer in through the windows.

He could see Arthur speaking to someone, a man he had seen before. Mason? He had spoken to Arthur about this man before. Supposedly, he was in love with Arthur.

They were talking, and Arthur seemed upset. John wanted to hear -- needed to -- so he tried pushing the window sill open and luckily it worked. He was able to inch it upward and hear what they were saying well enough.

"I promise you, Arthur, I have not been following you." Mason said, his voice wavering. He was either lying or afraid.

Arthur huffed. "Who else would be leaving these damn candy bars for me? I don't damn talk to no one else!"

"Arthur, I've been busy working." Mason sighed. "I'm not even changed right now! I don't even know where your camp is. Much less your daily whereabouts." Arthur was pinching the bridge of his nose now, Mason seemed concerned. "Listen, why don't we sit down and I can get you --"

Before he could say anything else, Arthur interrupted him. "No. This is done."

"What?" Mason asked quietly. John almost didn't hear him.

Arthur's angry demeanor fell quickly at seeing Mason's shoulders fall in grief. He almost looked like he regretted what he said, but still he stood his ground. "This. Us." Arthur sighed. "We're done, Mason. I shouldn't have been doing this with you in the first place. Leading you on like this -- we both know I was never going to fall in love with you. I was just screwing you out of your money."

Mason looked hurt beyond repair, he was leaning against the wall now and clutching onto his own arms in attempt to hug himself. "Arthur--" he gasped, sobs breaking through as he slid down the wall. Arthur looked uncomfortable now, unsure whether to comfort the poor man or leave.

"It's for the best. A man like me...shouldn't be breaking down a successful man like you." Arthur seemed to decide to leave then, because he was turning around to face the doors again.

"A whore like you." Mason spat.

Arthur's shoulder hunched; that hurt. John noticed him take a deep breath and mutter something he couldn't hear from the distance before walking out. Mason stayed on the floor crying, for what John knew. He couldn't stay to watch what the crying man would do next, though, because he had to hurry back to his horse.

He was too late, though, because Arthur had already spotted him and was watching him hurry back to Rachel with a annoyed look on his face.

"John." He said sternly, running a shiver through the younger man's back. "Don't go sticking your damn crooked nose where it don't belong."

"Sorry Arthur." John said bashfully. "Just...wanted to make sure you were okay." He paused for a moment, watching Arthur get on his saddle again. "Are you?"

"Am I what?" Arthur snapped.

"Okay?" John got onto Rachel and followed Arthur as he kicked Zeke into a trot.

"I'm fine."

John would come to know that when Arthur says he's fine, he's most likely not fine but he was done with the conversation. He would come to know that Arthur didn't like to talk about how he felt, or about things that hurt him. One day, John was sure he would challenge this -- but that was not today.

They rode into Strawberry without another word spoken between the two and hitched their horses in front of the hotel. John walked close behind Arthur but could sense that Arthur wasn't in the mood to be friendly.

Walking into the hotel, John was overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and smoke. People crowded the tables and bar. Arthur stopped and waited for John to be next to him to show him the photo of Ben. "That look like him to you?" Arthur asked, his head nodding in the direction of the bartender.

John directed his attention to the man and scanned the photo once more. "Seems like it."

Arthur hummed and stuffed the photo back into his pocket before heading over to the bar. John stood behind Arthur, watching his six. "A shot of whiskey, please." Arthur ordered. Ben glanced over at him from his conversation with an older looking fellow with a pitcher of beer.

"Sure." Ben poured the shot.

Arthur thanked him and slid him a dollar. "You Ben?"

"Who's asking?" Ben grumbled, wiping down the bar.

"Friend of a friend. When are you off the clock?" Arthur pressed.

"What friend?" Ben countered.

John couldn't help but notice Arthur smirk, making him blush. "Fellow named Strauss." Arthur grinned. "And don't go looking to run; boy behind me? Outran a cougar up in the Grizzlies. And my aim only gets better when I drink." Arthur drank the whiskey, the liquid going down his throat quick and painlessly.

Ben seemed to still and freeze in fear. He only nodded and mumbled: "I'm done working at noon."

Arthur smiled. "We'll stick 'round here then." Arthur sent a look to the man sitting next to him, a look that could strike fear in anyone, and the poor drunk fellow stood up in a daze and hurried off. "Sit." He told John.

He took a seat and kept a calm look on his face to support Arthur's demeanor. He didn't want to ruin the credibility Arthur had built them by seeming nervous. When Ben was serving the folk across from them, John started a conversation. "How long 'til noon?"

"Not long. Maybe an hour." Arthur sighed. "How has camp been treating you?"

"No complaints from.me." John shrugged. "Hosea's real nice. So is Annabelle. Dutch don't talk to me much, but he's nice. Pearson smells bad, but he doesn't talk to me a lot either so nothing terrible. Ms. Grimshaw is like a mom. Cooper's like a best friend already. And, well, you're you.".

"I'm me?" Arthur snorted. "Nice."

"You know how I think of you already, Morgan, don't make me go and say it." John huffed. Arthur laughed and signaled Ben for another drink.

Ben poured him two more shots of whiskey in exchange for two dollars before heading off to the other side of the bar again. John reached for the glass but Arthur smacked his knuckles and took the two glasses for himself. "And Rachel? You handling her well?"

"I'm doing okay." Another shrug. "Would do better with more practice."

Arthur hummed. "Which is why you asked to come along with me."

John nodded. He tried to make eye contact with Arthur but the man was watching Ben. "I don't mean to make you upset, Arthur, really." Arthur glanced at John but didn't maintain his gaze. "I'm just trying to learn so that I can help out in the camp like you do."

"I appreciate that, John, I do; but i need you to not be in my business. I understand your...feelings...towards me, but I'm grown and I can handle myself. I don't mind teaching you things. But for now, our relationship is strictly of that of brothers. I'll tell you things if I feel I need to tell you them; you don't need to go out of your way to figure out what's wrong with me like some sort of husband."

It embarrassed John to hear this, of course, but he understood. He nodded to show this and watched Arthur down another glass of whiskey.

___________

Ben was stalling. It was well past noon but he was still serving and it seemed like the bartender who was supposed to be working noon and on was already their and annoyed that Ben was refusing to leave.

Arthur, too, was becoming annoyed. He stood up and walked behind the bar and grabbed Ben by the arm. "Alright," he said in a husky voice, "time to go "

The other man protested, people watched curiously as Arthur drug the man out of the bar with John close behind them. "I don't have the money!" Ben cried.

"Not my problem." Arthur drawled. He pushed Ben up against the wall behind the hotel, hidden from the view of the authorities. "Can't pay in cash? You can pay in other ways. Heard your daddy has a farm, watcha got of value there?"

"No." Ben gazed at Arthur pleadingly. "My papa, he's dying mister. I can't take his things."

John watched Arthur carefully. The man had paused after hearing this, his eyes calculating as if heard were turning in his head and his heart. Unsure what to do. John was glad he wasn't calling the shots in this situation. "Not my problem." Arthur spat. Venom lacing his words. Ben flinched. "Take us there and get us fifty dollars worth of material, or we'll find it on our own and take it."

Ben closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheek. He nodded in defeat and Arthur set him down. John watched as Ben led the way to his horse and as Arthur dusted himself off.

______________

It was horrible.

Watching the old man, maybe sixty or seventy, watching in confusion as his son pawned off some jewelry hidden in the old man's room. "Son...son! Those are Elaine's. You can't ---" the old man was near tears. "You can't take those."

Ben was trembling, not sobbing but still crying. "I -- I know, papa. But we don't have anything else and I need to pay these men back."

The old man grabbed at Arthur's arm, his short and feeble stature making Arthur's heart wrench. "Please, sir, give us more time."

"Oh for crying out loud--!" Arthur yanked his arm away. "Fine! Hell, fine! Forget it. Keep your damn jewelry." He put the jewelry in the palms of the old man. "Consider your debt cleared! Please don't make anymore deals with Strauss or any other loanshark for that matter. Come on John."

John blinked in surprise, Ben and his father too were frozen still. Arthur was already out the door before John started speed-walking to catch up with him.

"Arthur!" John called, the door swinging behind him. "Arthur! What was that?"

Arthur kept walking. "We'll make the money on our own. These poor folk don't know how to."

"Fifty dollars? In a day? Arthur!"

"It's fine!" Arthur sighed, stopping once he reached Zeke. "You know, I spotted this abandoned little town. I'm sure we can find something hidden there. I've done it before."

John sent Arthur a skeptical look but followed anyway.

________

They had arrived at the town, the building burned and rotting and skeletons littered about. They had been looking for a few hours now, and they were at their last building. John was sitting on an empty bed while Arthur rummaged around for a loot box. Hungry, John pulled out a banana. As he peeled he said: "May I take your jacket, sir?"

Arthur looked up, flabbergasted. He locked eyes with John and said: "Do you think other people can't hear you?"

John scoffed. "Oh, I'm the crazy one? Need I remind you what we're doing here Arthur?" Arthur rolled his eyes and ducked his head back under the desk. "We're looking for forgotten buried treasure in an abandoned shack! We could be doing a million other more active things to make fifty dollars, but no! You wanted to check out an abandoned town."

It was then that Arthur popped back up, grinning, and holding a loot box. "You were saying?"

"Oh for the love of --" John chucked his banana at Arthur. "I should've complained two hours ago."

Arthur snickered and sat down next to John. Inside the loot box was sixty dollars in cash, some old rum, and a letter. John grabbed the letter as Arthur pocketed the rum and cash (save for five dollars which he gave to John).

"What's it say?" Arthur asked.

John pursed his lips. "I can't read cursive."

Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed the letter. He read through it before crumbling it up and tossing it. "Good. It's some cult chant. Best we get out of here before some angry ghosts come after us."

"Wait --- really?" Arthur was already walking out the door. "Arthur! You're not for real? Right!?"

_______

Another pang of unwanted deja vú hit Arthur when they arrived at camp. There, in the dead center of the community, was Hosea and Dutch chewing each other out. Arthur sighed and got off Zeke quickly to go listen in and possibly intervene.

"What good would it do us, Dutch?" Hosea spat.

Dutch sputtered. "Letting the O'Driscoll's take over more and more -- Hosea! Wed have no where left to go!"

" 'Take over'? Dutch! They hardly have any authority. They just claim land, but we can still walk in it! Besides, we're all on good terms. Why ruin it?" Hosea sighed.

"Whats going on?" Arthur piped in.

"Dutch wants to go in on Valentine and fight the O'Driscoll's for it." Hosea said dryly.

Arthur looked confused. "Why?"

"Exactly!" Hosea exclaimed. Dutch looked annoyed, which made Arthur want to take it back.

"It's just..." Arthur stumbled, nervous now. "Valentine ain't that great. It's pretty out of way, too. And aren't we heading West?"

"The point is to make a statement. The O'Driscoll's think they're all high and mighty because they have claims and we don't. We are going to fight them for Valentine, and that's final!" Dutch went red in the face, now the whole camp was watching.

"Well I hope that goes swell for you, Dutch. You damn know well I'm leaving to see Bessie tomorrow, but if when I get back Arthur or John are hurt -- I will make sure you don't have the voice or the strength to impose your will on this camp anymore." Hosea hissed, Dutch scoffed and didn't bother watching as Hosea shoved past him to his tent.

Arthur sighed and shuffled his feet, he froze when he heard John say weakly: "Hosea's leaving?"

Chapter Text

Hosea had gone. Arthur had been last to hug him goodbye, after John who was sniffling and biting back tears. The old man had made Arthur promise he'd help teach John to read, but Arthur too made Hosea promised that he would be back in time to help him learn to write. They watched as Hosea saddled his horse and rode off East.

Immediately after Hosea had left, John ran off somewhere with Copper to be alone.

"Poor boy." Arthur heard Susan say from behind him. He turned to face her, she looked genuinely sad. "I think he really cared about Hosea like a father."

Arthur hummed. "Hosea was like a father to us all. The old man is definitely old enough." Susan snorted. "I'll check on him." Arthur assured her. "But I think he needs some space right now."

She agreed and headed off to her chores. Arthur then spotted Dutch and Annabelle talking. He approached them, a bit upset and riled up. Maybe if Dutch wouldn't have started up this whole Valentine conversation, Hosea would have stuck around longer and they could have eased John into the idea that he'd be leaving instead of tossing it in his face.

"Arthur." Dutch greeted. "Hosea gone?"

"He is." Arthur grumbled. "I just don't get it, Dutch, you two are like brothers. Why have you been fighting so much lately?"

"I could ask you the same thing about you and me." Dutch countered, his eyes looking Arthur up and down. "Seems like tensions are high right now but that's no reason for us to drop the ball."

Arthur sighed. He was about to argue but Annabelle stepped in. "I think what Arthur is trying to say," she started, her hand finding it's way to Dutch's chest and drawing his attention, "is that he doesn't want to see you and Hosea fighting. Look at poor Johnny, he's taking it extremely hard -- imagine Arthur? Who grew up with both of you."

Dutch pursed his lips and ran his fingers through Annabelle's hair. Arthur felt his stomach churn, despite his current resentment towards Dutch; he still got jealous. "Right. I suppose I've been a little blinded by my plans... I'm sorry about that Arthur. I'll try to talk to John later, get his hopes up. Hosea won't be gone for long; like you said, were like brothers."

The blonde couldn't help but look at Dutch skeptically before shrugging and wandering off, he could feel their eyes on him still but he decided he had nothing else to say.

________

He was shocked to see John fully clothed and trudging in the river, barely knee deep. Copper was nowhere to be seen but Arthur could hear his playful barks (probably chasing after some squirrel). Arthur chuckled at the sight of the lanky teen shivering in the water.

Arthur pulled off his boots and stepped in the water. John turned to look at him in shock but refocused his attention on the river. A tide came over them and John yelped do Arthur grabbed him by the wrists and held him steady. "Hey, woah, there." Arthur calmed. "Just relax. Breathe."

"I can't--" John gasped, Arthur had pulled them a little deeper in the river so they were waist deep now. "Arthur--"

"It's fine." Arthur laughed, making John laugh nervously and unsure. His hand moved up to hold onto John's elbows to make him feel more secure. "Listen, breathe in so that you can float a little better." John took a deep breath. "Gotta relax, John, sometimes you gotta just...go with the motions." Then, another rush of water pushed at them making John tense but he took another shaky breath and clutched onto Arthur's arms. "Good."

"Did Hosea leave because of me?" John asked quietly, his voice wavering.

Arthur was baffled. Poor kid was connecting dots that weren't on the same damn plane. "No." He said sternly and confidently. "Of course not, John. Hosea left to see his wife. He would've told you...explained it himself...but he left in a rush after that whole thing with Dutch."

"I didn't overwhelm him?" John mumbled.

"No." Arthur squeezed John's arm comfortingly. "John, you're annoying but in a fun way. You know, the camp hasn't been this fun since Copper was a puppy."

John scoffed, but was smiling now. "You saying I'm a baby?"

"Might as well be." Arthur grumbled playfully. "Come here brother." Arthur hugged John, and although the claim of brotherhood made John cringe and his heart hurt he still took comfort in the hug.

In their hold, John said: "If we ever fight like them," referring to Dutch and Hosea, "I'm sorry in advance."

Arthur chuckled. "Yeah...me too."

"Boys!" Dutch's gruff voice called. Arthur pulled away, still holding onto John by the arm. "What in god's name are you doing? Stop fooling around and come get ready; we're going to scope out Valentine."

Arthur was red in the face as he helped John out of the river towards Dutch. "Just trying to teach the kid to swim."

"Well get dry and change. And, Arthur, get rid of that shirt it's starting to annoy me from how often you wear it." Dutch snickered and walked back to camp. Arthur suddenly felt extremely self-consciousness; he was wearing the blue striped shirt he thought Dutch liked. He told him he liked it.

Arthur scoffed and tugged the shirt off and threw it onto the dirt. Forgetting John, Arthur hurried back to camp to change. Behind him, the scrawny teen was picking up the abandoned shirt and holding it close to his chest.

______

"We're taking John?" Arthur said in disbelief as John joined him, Dutch, and Annabelle near the wagon.

Dutch, still annoyed, cast a glare at Arthur. "Yes. We need all hands on deck."

"I thought we were just scoping the place out! Dutch --"

"I said he's coming and that's final!" Dutch barked. "Really, Arthur, you've been a real pain in the ass lately." The man huffed before climbing up to the front seat.

Annabelle glared at Dutch and squeezed Arthur's shoulder as she moved past him to sit next to Dutch. John tried to comfort Arthur in the same way but Arthur had already climbed in the back of the wagon and had isolated himself in the corner. His expression making it clear he didn't want to be bothered.

The ride was bumpy and quiet besides the chit-chat John and Arthur could hear between Annabelle and Dutch. Arthur was occupying himself with cleaning his guns and counting his ammo which John tried to imitate with his own singular pistol. Noticing this, Arthur rolled his eyes and passed a shotgun to John and some ammo for it.

He thanked him but nothing else was said.

When they arrived, they left the wagon a good distance away to avoid crowding. They walked in pairs, Dutch and Annabelle in front of Arthur and John. "Arthur is right," they heard Annabelle day, "this place is a dump."

Horse shit and mud everywhere. Rotting wood. Drunk and homeless men. "It's a fixer upper." Dutch responded.

Just then, the sounds of gunfire flooded their senses. Arthur shoved John to the side behind a wooden box and tracked where Dutch pulled Annabelle away behind a metal wagon. "Dutch!" Arthur called.

Dutch and Annabelle had their guns out, unsure where and who to shoot. Arthur could hear John hyperventilating. "Arthur--" John whimpered.

He drew his attention to the boy, shaking and whimpering. "Shit." He muttered. More gunfire. Shouts of pain and of the law trying to stop the violence. "Deep breath, John, like the river. Go with the motions."

John nodded, determined to be strong like Arthur but still afraid. Arthur peered over the box and spotted some O'Driscoll's.

Suddenly, a brunette with green eyes squeezed in next to Arthur. The young man grinned, "Hey there." He greeted, blood on his clothes and sweat trickling down his forehead. His accent was Irish and he was wearing green, so Arthur immediately put the barrel of his pistol to the man's head. "Woah! Not an O'Driscoll, I'mma Callandar Boy. Actually who they're shooting at; so if you could help a poor fellar out?"

The man proved his point when he started shooting at the O'Driscoll men. "Who are you?" Arthur asked.

"Mac Callandar!" The Irishman shouted. Arthur grunted, good enough for him. He started shooting, his perfected aim making him make headshot after headshot. Mac was impressed. "My brother is hiding in the stables, trying to get us some horses, his name's Davey. Looks like that boy wit' ya." He pointed at John before shooting at another O'Driscoll. "T'ink you can send someone ta get 'im?"

"I barely know you! You really think I'mma send my men to get your imaginary brother?" Another headshot.

Mac turned and grinned at Arthur. "My charms haven't won ya over yet?" Arthur responded with a glare. "Tough crowd." Mac grumbled. "Cover me, then? While I get 'im?" Arthur nodded.

"Stay here, John, they ain't shootin' at you " Arthur instructed.

John looked like he wanted to protest, but in an effort to seem brave he nodded and anchored himself to that spot. Arthur shot him another look of confidence before following Mac to the stables, stopping behind boxes and any cover available to shoot their way up.

At last, they got close enough to the stable for Mac to go in and look for his brother. Arthur scanned the area for Dutch and Annabelle, it looked like they were close. Why were they pushing up?

Mac hurried out with a young boy, looking around John's age except he had a crazier look in his eyes. They came out blasting on horseback. Mac grabbed Arthur's arm and swung him up on the saddle. "Let's get your buddy!"

"Wait!" Arthur protested. "I'm here with more people!"

Just then, the gunfire ceased. They watched Davey hurry off towards where John is (Mac most likely directed him to before coming out) and Mac held his position with Arthur near the stable.

"Dutch van der Linde!" A strong, Irish, and familiar voice bellowed. "You killed my brother!"

In Cole's arms, in the middle of the muddy-shitty streets of Valentine, was a young man with black silky hair. Pale from death. Dutch had shot him.

"Now, now!" Dutch said from behind a tall box. "We were all shooting here."

"This fight had nothing to do with you! Only the Callandar boys." Colm growled. "Now?" He laughed bitterly. "Now it has everything to do with you!"

A piercing scream rattled their eardrums, and a haunting sight glared before them. There, next to Colm holding his dead brother, was a gruff O'Driscoll holding Annabelle by her throat and aiming the barrel of a gun at her head. "Annabelle!" Dutch yelled. He was now out of hiding and aiming his gun at Colm. "Let her go, Colm!"

"Dutch no!" Arthur yelled, stumbling off the horse and rushing to Dutch. Colm was raising his gun and pulling the trigger when Arthur shoved Dutch our of the way, the bullet barely missing them. Dutch yelled and clawed at Arthur.

"Die!" They heard Colm scream, then another shot. Arthur and Dutch lifted their heads from the floor in time to see Annabelle fall lifelessly to the ground.

Mac was before them now, "We gotta go!" He grabbed Arthur, who grabbed Dutch, and rushed them away. Dutch was pulling and crying, but Arthur maintained his hold.

Gunshots fired at them as Arthur pushed Dutch onto the back of the wagon and searched aimlessly for John. Luckily, Davey had him on his horse. A little beaten up, but fine. Arthur sighed and signaled for John to handle Dutch, so the young boy jumped off the horse and to the wagon as Arthur took the reigns in the front.

Bullets whirled past them as they rushed out of Valentine. The Callandar Boys and the van der Linde gang. One death behind them.

_________

Dutch didn't utter a word to anyone the whole ride, or even when they arrived at camp. Arthur was unsure how to handle the Callandar Boys but Dutch was gone to his tent before Arthur could ask him anything.

"Uh," Arthur scratched the back of his head when Mac asked him if he and Davey could stay, "yeah. I think so. For now, until Dutch says otherwise."

"Great." Mac grinned. His smile was always mischievous, Arthur noticed. Whether in the face of danger or in the comfort of a new home. The older brother patted Davey on the back and ushered him towards the campfire. "Thank you, Arthur." Another smirk, and a wink, and he was gone to join his brother.

John came up to Arthur next. He scanned the young boy, realizing he hadn't had time to really take in the teen's injuries. "Shit." Arthur sighed. "What happened to you? I left for five minutes." He grabbed John's hand and pulled him towards his tent.

"I got in a brawl with this O'Driscoll when they tried to grab Davey." He mumbled. "His pistol jammed so he started hitting us with it."

He sat John down on his bed and took out some bandages and alcohol to tend to the wounds. A few breaks of skin on his cheek and arms. "Shirt off, gotta see if you have any bruises on your ribs."

John groaned and pulled off his shirt. A few hits on his sides but nothing to worry about. "You're good." Arthur sighed. Finishing up the rest of his injuries.

"What will we do about Annabelle?" John hissed when Arthur wrapped his arm tightly.

"What about her?" Arthur grumbled, he was still in shock and disbelief that Annabelle was dead.

John blinked a few times, surprised. "Her body. Aren't we...aren't we going back for it?"

Arthur froze for a moment, unsure. "Dutch will let us know."

" 'Dutch will'--" John scoffed. "Annabelle was good to us! To you! Arthur, how could you wait on Dutch's word for this?! I don't give a damn about what he has to say!" He seethed.

He stopped and stepped away, John was angry. Tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Arthur tried to remember being 15 and being this angry, but all he could remember was joy from being with Dutch and Hosea followed by the numbness of being 16. Already, John was far more mature than Arthur was at his age. "I --" Arthur stuttered. "You're right. I just..." Arthur took a seat. "It's taking a bit to settle in. It all happened so fast."

He could hear John breathe deeply, calming himself. "Right. Yeah. It did." John ran his fingers through his black hair. "Can we...can we go back tomorrow?"

Arthur nodded. "I'll make it happen, brother."

________

John stayed in Arthur's tent, he had fallen asleep after Arthur instructed him to lay down and rest. So Arthur stepped out to relax at the campfire as the night darkened the sky. Mac and Davey were there with cups of coffee.

"How you two holdin' up?" Arthur asked as he took a seat across from them. "John said you and him took a beatin', you need me to patch you up?"

Davey shook his head 'no'. "Mac did already."

"But t'ank you." Mac added, glaring playfully at his little brother. "He ain't got no manners." He scoffed. "Go, get! Feed the horses." Davey rolled his eyes but did as told.

They locked eyes then. Green meeting green. "You alright?" Arthur asked Mac. "What kind of trouble you boys get into with the O'Driscoll's?"

"We screwed 'em over." Mac laughed. "Told 'em we'd join their gang if they got us to the country, but Davey and me are more of lone wolves. Told 'em to fuck off when we got to Valentine after doing a delivery job for them there a few days ago. You?"

Arthur shrugged. "Dutch and Colm always butt heads. We just happened to be there when it all started and got involved."

"And now that poor woman is dead?" Mac said, a little more seriously now.

Arthur looked at the fire. "Annabelle. Yeah." He glanced at Dutch's tent. "She meant a lot to Dutch. To all of us."

It was then that Susan and Pearson approached them. "Arthur! We've been trying to ask Dutch what happened --" Simon started.

"Where's Annabelle?!" Susan interrupted, anxious to know.

Arthur stood up to meet their gaze. "Please, calm down. We got in the middle of a shootout and..and we lost Annabelle."

" 'Lost'?! What do you mean by 'lost'?!" Susan hissed.

"I mean...I mean she's gone Susan." It was then that it hit him, and he heard his own voice waver but he steadied himself. "She died."

He thought about the squeeze she gave him before riding to Valentine, the efforts she made to help him open up, the friendship they had developed... Susan seemed to be thinking of the moments she spent with Annabelle's too, because she was red and holding back tears as she stumbled for words before giving up and going back to her tent. The tent she no longer shared with Annabelle. Pearson didn't say much else, just shook his head. He glanced at Mac, who nodded his head to the bigger man. "Him?" He muttered.

"Helped us get the hell out of there so they get to stay for a while." Arthur grumbled.

"Dutch approve on that?" Pearson accused.

"Does Dutch look like he's in the talkative mood right now?" Arthur snapped making Pearson back off.

Mac was grinning when Arthur returned to sit with him. "I take it you're second in command 'round here?"

Arthur grabbed at his satchel, hungry, and pulled out the chocolate bar. "Sort of."

"Sweet tooth?" Mac took a sip of his coffee.

Arthur shrugged. "If it's poisoned, I wouldn't mind."

Mac laughed and shook his head, the two of them sat there for the rest of the night. At some point, Davey came back to let Mac know their tent was set up but even then Mac stayed with Arthur 'til the sun came up and they both fell asleep with their heads rested on the logs.

_______

Chapter Text

She was 14 when her mother died. Her mother was beautiful; gorgeous silky brown hair and hazel eyes that could challenge the clarity of a fine whiskey, freckles dusted across her cheek-bones and shoulders, a healthy physique, and a wonderful smile. They lived on a farm that they were still paying off, living off of their sales of milk and eggs to the nearby towns. They lived a common life.

The problem was that her mother couldn't work that well after injuring her knee, and her little brother Thomas was too young to do the harder chores; he was only 6. So, at 14, she was picking up most of the work. Even her father did less than she did.

Her father was a drunk. He would leave after eating whatever her mother had made for lunch to who-knows-where and would return until the early hours of the morning to sleep on the carpet. It hurt her to hear how her mother would weep over the poor excuse of a man. Until it didn't. It became routine for her to hear her mother cry helplessly after everyone was put to sleep, so the pain had dulled away.

Then, one night, after a particularly rough day when a man from the bank had come to remind them they were past due on their payments, she didn't hear her mother weep. At first she was happy; maybe her mother had finally gotten over her husband and was going to find herself and her family someone better to provide. Then, after putting some thought into it, she became worried. Her mother, though smart and beautiful, was extremely loyal. She would not leave her husband even if he threatened to kill her.

So she slipped out of bed and tip toed to her mother's room. The door creaked when she pushed it open and the floor boards squeaked beneath her weight. "Mom?" She said quietly, the room was dark but she could make out a figure resting on the floor in the farthest corner of the room. What was she doing there? "Mom? Are you okay?"

She lit the candle on the dresser with a match she found next to it, and lifted it to illuminate the figure. At the sight, she screamed and nearly dropped the flame when she saw herr mother dead on the floor, her hazel eyes glazed over by a fog and wrists slit and sitting on a puddle of her own blood.

The young girl put the candle down with shaky hands and sobbed, nearly wretching. It was then that she heard the light steps of her brother coming up behind her, so she spun around and left the room and shut the door before he could see.

"Annabelle?" He asked, afraid. "Anna, what's wrong? Is there a monster in mommy's room?"

She tried composing herself, sniffling and taking deep breaths. "No. No, Tommy, it's okay. I saw a bug and got scared. Momma is sleeping, and she'll get mad if we make any more noise so let's go back to bed, yeah?"

Tommy smiled. "Okay, Anna. Goodnight."

"Goodnight Tommy." The little boy shuffled back to his room and Annabelle allowed herself to slide down to the floor against the bedroom door of her dead mother's and cry into her own arms.

_____

He woke up only an hour after falling asleep. He knew because of the watch Pearson kept on the provisions table that he glanced at while grabbing some more coffee beans. Everything that had happened the past few days was finally settling in. Hosea had left. Mason had called him a whore (too bad for love at first sight). Dutch killed Colm's brother. Annabelle died.

Annabelle died. The independent, quick-witted, survivor, died because some bastard was trigger happy and she was nearby. Arthur had only known her for a year, but he had always liked her. There were complications, and he hated himself for feeling the tiniest bit relieved that she wouldn't be with Dutch anymore, but he knew his grief outweighed that. She was a good friend, and an amazing person. She deserved more than to die at the end of a gun and a pointless shootout.

He returned to the campfire, which had long died out, and looked at Mac who was still sleeping. He and his brother...were quite the characters. He hoped that Dutch would let them stay, as funny as they could be; they were great in a fight.

"Like the view?" He heard Mac grumble, his voice raspy from just waking up.

Arthur scoffed, blushing the tiniest bit before trailing his eyes away from Mac and to the burnt firewood. "Nah, just can't believe there could be so many things wrong with a person's face."

Mac stretched and sat up, clearly sleeping on the log hadn't been a great idea for his back. "Right." He drawled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Your boss-man up and talkin' yet?"

"Not yet." Arthur took a sip from his coffee, he watched Mac stand and stretch his arms up and heard his joints pop. "How damn old are you? Sound like you're breaking in each limb."

Mac smirked. "I'm 20 but I've had 'nough adventures ta last me a lifetime."

"Looked like it in that brawl." Arthur commended. "What's your story anyway? If you don't mind me askin'."

"Curious little cat, aren't ya?" Mac grinned. "Maybe I'll tell it ta ya if I'm feeling generous."

Arthur smiled, despite trying to refrain from it. He shook his head and set his coffee down and standing up to stretch himself. He was about to respond when he felt a tap on his shoulder, he turned to see John, he looked taller today. "Hey, we heading out?" John asked quietly, unlike him.

The older teen frowned then, concerned. "Yeah...yeah, let me just check on Dutch. See if he's up to talkin' yet. You go ahead and get the horses ready."

"You're headin' back ta Valentine?" Mac asked.

"To get Annabelle." John answered, although the question had been directed to Arthur.

Mac looked surprised and turned his attention to John. "That's nice. I'd offer ta go wit' ya, but I think if Davey an' I go back, it would only cause more trouble."

"We appreciate it," Arthur assured, "but you've better stay here. John and I can handle this."

Arthur patted John's shoulder before heading to Dutch's tent. He reminded himself to not just barge in like he used to, especially now. "Hey, Dutch?" He called quietly. His footing awkward as he stood outside, only a step away from seeing the older man. "Dutch, I'mma come in alright?"

The lack of response didn't stop him from coming in, albeit slowly and cautiously. He took in the sight before him. There, curled up on the bed, was Dutch. Dutch -- who had never in Arthur's 5 years of knowing him looked frail before -- seemed sickly and pale and fragile. "Dutch?" Arthur called again, quieter. "Hey." Arthur pulled forward a seat and sat down close to Dutch, firmly holding Dutch's arm and massaging the muscle. "Hey, Dutch, wake up."

Dutch was awake, but he wasn't alive; not really. After watching the light from Annabelle's eyes fog over and switch off -- Dutch had felt himself die too. He could feel Arthur's touch, but he felt numb. He shook his head. No, he refused to believe it. The numbness he felt was because it all wasn't real. All of this was just a terrible dream, a product of the awful books he had been reading, and he would wake up soon to the smell of lavender in Anna's hair and her soft, plush lips on his neck.

"Dutch." Arthur said a little louder, but still soft. "John and i... we're going back to Valentine to find Annabelle."

There. That was it. She hadn't died. Dutch turned, almost whipping his body up and to face Arthur. "Annabelle?" He asked frantically.

"Woah--!" Arthur grabbed Dutch's shoulder firmly. "We're just going to pick up her body. So we can give her a proper burial."

Dutch's eyebrows furrowed. "What? No." Dutch shut his eyes. "I'm still dreaming, aren't I?"

"Dutch..." Again, Arthur was quiet. His voice...did the boy pity him?

Rage engulfed him. This boy who didn't know how do jack-shit and who was pig-headed was pitying him. "Be quiet Arthur!" He yelled.

The grasp released him and Dutch was curled up once again. He heard Arthhr sigh. Some shuffling followed, then he heard: "We'll be back soon."

__________

Her father hadn't returned yet. She didn't know how long she had been on her knees scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing at the red on the wooden floors. The smell was overwhelming, and there had been several times that she had needed to step out and puke near the outhouse.

Before the endless scrubbing, she had needed to get some blankets and drag her mother on top of them to wrap her up enough so her blood wouldn't stain anything else. She heaved her on top of the bed and got to cleaning. She cried as she scrubbed away the blood of her dead mother.

She wondered what she would tell Tom when their mommy wasn't around for breakfast. Or anything else, for that matter.

By the time she was done, the roosters had already started to crow and she could hear Tommy up and shuffling again. Annabelle hurried out of the bedroom and locked it behind her, slipping the key into her sock. The young girl hurried off to the kitchen to start breakfast.

Tommy had asked where their mother was, and Annabelle had responded with a shrug and some made up excuse of her running an errand. After breakfast, she ushered Tommy off to collect the eggs from the hens. He whined, but did as told.

Annabelle paced the floors and chewed at her nails. What would they do? She couldn't rely on their father at all, so it was just her and Tommy. The farm wasn't theirs, and even if it was they still owed money to the bank. They had no relatives they knew of, and no friends who would take them in.

The door swung open, it wasn't Tommy (he was chasing a hen at that moment), it was her father. His eyes red and his shoulders slouched. He looked tired and drunk and hungover. "Papa!" She cried, the tears flowing down her cheeks.

He looked surprised, he wasn't ever around enough or present enough for his children to come and cry to him. He didn't know how to respond. So when his daughter hugged him and pressed her tear-stained face into his chest, all he could do was pat her gently on the back. "Anna?" He croaked.

"It's momma!" She sobbed. "She slit her wrists in the bedroom! She's dead!"

Again, he didn't know what to do. He froze and even stopped patting her back. She found herself wishing again that her mother would still be alive, and that if the cosmic fates needed a death then that they would've taken her father instead.

_____

Neither of them were in the mood to talk. Arthur didn't even bother asking why John was wearing his stupid, blue-striped shirt and John didn't feel the energy to ask Arthur why he had slept out near the campfire the night before instead of in his tent (even if John was occupying it).

Few people stopped to look at them, although they had been in the shootout; they weren't the main cast. The people Valentine knew were involved were Colm, Dutch, Mac and Davey, and Annabelle. Whoever else was apart of it was just another face. This made it easier for them to go to the church and find the pile of dead bodies from the shootout and for them to prod about to find Annabelle.

Once or twice, John had to step away to puke. It crossed Arthur's mind that --if he continued down this path-- he might end up in a mound like this. Crushed beneath the bodies of strangers. He wondered if anyone would come looking for him.

After what seemed to be like hours of searching, Arthur finally spotted the cloth of her dress. He shoved at the bodies above her and signaled John to come closer. John hurried over and started to help move the bodies above her. "There she is." Arthur whispered. John grabbed for her feet and Arthur lifted her head to move her out of the pile and onto the floor.

For a moment, the two boys just stared at her lifeless body. She wasn't that much older than Arthur, only by about 4 years. She was 23. She had just begun to live her adulthood. Yet there she was, lying on the ground. Dead. A clear shot of a bullet that carved into her chest. She had been shot in the back.

John couldn't help but puke for a third time, this time into the bushes with budding roses.

___________

Tommy died when he was 7. She watched him die. Their father had long gone to go binge on his vices and left them in a shed in bayou. They had lost their farm and he had moved them to an abandoned shed near a lake. Annabelle had been afraid to go outside, she was terrified of alligators. And Tommy hated how humid and hot the weather was.

Closing in to a year after their mother's death, their father said he needed to go away for a while. He had promised he would return with food and water, but he never did. The first few days had been awful. Tommy would cry and cry, whining about wanting food. Annabelle didn't know how to console him. Sometimes, she would find a small fish that would wash up on the shore and give him the little bits of meat she could salvage from that, but it wasn't enough.

Then, he wouldn't complain anymore. There were a few days where the pains were just...gone. Maybe, she had thought, they had gone so many days without eating that their bodies were becoming used to it and they no longer needed to eat.

And although she loved food and was upset by this theory, she was fine with it. At least it no longer hurt...but then the pains returned. Annabelle and Tommy would curl up on the floor from the pain. They would face each other and make silly faces to try and ignore the wretching feeling that engulfed their bodies.

At some point, Anna tried to go back to the lake to see if she could get another fish but she had not even made it out the door. She collapsed from fatigue. Every movement of her limbs felt awful.

So they remained on the floor, curled up and staring at each other. Sometimes, Annabelle would gather the strength to sing to Tommy and she would nourish herself by watching him smile. The song she sang was one their mother would sing to get them to help them fall asleep when they were children. She wondered if she would one day be able to sing it to children of her own.

One day, when the sun was so hot that the light broke through the spaces between the wood of the shed and when the flies mistook the children's bodies with dead meat, Annabelle did her best to hum the song to Tommy in an attempt to comfort him. Singing had become painful, though, because it dried her throat even more so humming was all she could manage. Halfway through the song, Tommy's eyes began to go dull and fog over. At first, Annabelle didn't notice it but then she was reminded of how her mother's eyes had looked when she died only a year before.

"Tommy?" Annabelle croaked.

No response. The flies buzzed around them, landing on her baby brother's face. It hurt to cry, but she needed to cry.

"Tommy?"

__________

Susan handled everything. By the time John and Arthur had gotten to camp, she had already finished making the cross for Annabelle with her name and dates carved into the wood. She had already thought of a spot and had sent Pearson off to pick flowers while she had been carving.

"I've been trying to talk to Dutch." She said while putting the finishing touches to the cross. "But he's inconsolable. I think we need to find Hosea and fast, boys, because otherwise..."

She couldn't even fathom the rest of that sentence. Arthur nodded. "I can handle all of that, Ms. Grimshaw."

She flashed him a small smile. "I know you can, Arthur."

They kept her wrapped up, not wanting to look at her lifeless and pale body again. Particularly John had a rough time seeing her that way. Annabelle had always been so animated, at least for the short time he knew her. Seeing her frozen from death felt wrong and unreal. He had seen dead bodies before, all of them had, but it was different when the dead body used to be your friend.

Mac and Davey kept their distance, polite enough not to pretend to have known Annabelle but to offer their assistance where appropriate. Mac helped Arthur carry Annabelle over to the hill where Susan had wanted to bury her while Davey helped John dig the hole.

They had set her six feet under when Dutch arrived, they hadn't covered her in dirt yet but she was there. She was being looked down on upon the living who mourned her. Mac and Davey had made themselves scarce, not wanting to intrude.

Dutch kneeled down at the edge, it almost looked like he wanted to lay down in there with her. "She was always so stubborn." He said quietly. "I told her...I told her to stick by me, but she wanted to get the jump on Colm." He shut his eyes tightly. "Always so damn stubborn."

No one else said anything. Pearson and John shoveled the dirt back into the hole and on top of her before leaving. Susan left next, leaving Arthur and Dutch alone.

Unsure, but concerned, Arthur asked quietly: "Dutch...you alright?"

The older man looked at Arthur and glared at him. "Why didn't you let him kill me?" A pause, Arthur's breath hitched and he felt for the first time a true hatred piercing into him from Dutch's gaze. He didn't know what to respond, but then Dutch continued: "I'd rather be dead than be alive without her."

Dutch walked away then and Arthur was left alone with Annabelle. Had it been a choice, Arthur wondered, would he have saved Annabelle or Dutch?

_________

Mac was having a smoke when he saw Arthur head towards the river. Curious, he flicked the cigarette to the dirt and approached him. He had found Arthur interesting the very moment he first saw him, and to say he was invested was an understatement.

Arthur sat down on the dirt, boots in the water, and Mac sat down next to him. They watched the river wash over the leather of their boots. "Rough day?" Mac finally said. He wasn't one to ever be at a loss for words, but situations like these were never easy.

The younger man shrugged. "Feels like I've been having a lot of those lately."

"Just what adult life is like." Mac sighed.

The blonde looked at the Irishman through the corner of his eyes. "I wish I could go back to when things were simpler."

Mac grinned then. "Oh, Arthur, but why?" He nudged the man playfully. "Things were so boring back t'en." Arthur didn't seem into his playfulness, so Mac stood up. "Come on." He instructed.

"Where are we going?" Arthur asked, standing up anyway.

"Ta shoot somet'in'." Mac smiled. "Nothing better in da world than dulling aggression with more aggression."

Arthur wasn't so sure about that, but he followed Mac anyway. Anything but being alone with his thoughts.

Chapter Text

A cascade of glass littered the ground; shot after shot, Mac and Arthur blasted away their pain into bottles and scattered them.

"You're a good shot." Mac said as he put up more things to shoot.

"So are you." Arthur admitted. "I hope you can stick 'round. We need more gunmen in our gang."

Mac smirked, his eyes seemingly always trailing to Arthur. "Wish I could, Sweet-cheeks, but I've got me own plans."

Arthur disregarded the nickname, too curious about Mac's 'plans'. "What 'plans'?"

"Headin' West, making me own gang. Having freedom and liberty and whatnot." The Irishman walked back to his position, Arthur was already aiming at the new targets.

"Maybe I'll see you 'round then, when our camp gets there before you, and you finally catch up." Arthur smirked, at this Mac looked surprised.

"Oh!" Mac's shoulders raised in excitement. "A challenge! Willin' ta bet on dat, Art'ur?"

"Sure." A shot. "What we talkin' about?"

"If I get there before you, you have ta join me gang." Mac said.

"And if we get there first, you have to join ours." Arthur countered. In a deeper sense, he knew this was just talk. Both of the men knew the future was nothing they could bet on, who knows if either of them would live to see the day.

"Done." Mac's accent was heavy, and his green eyes piercing. He turned his attention to the targets and shot. Arthur was quiet for a while after this, marinading in his own thoughts. Mac noticed and pursed his lips. He didn't know Arthur that well, but he cared about him. Something drew him to Arthur and made him want to take care of the poor bastard. "How ya feelin'?"

He heard Arthur sigh. "Like shit." Another shot.

"Makes sense." Mac aimed. "Wanna talk about it?"

Arthur shrugged. "Dutch is...upset with me. I think he thinks Annabelle dying is my fault."

"That's bullshit!" Mac scoffed. "You saved his life!"

"Well he thinks that." Arthur said, defeated. "I think he's just sad, he really...he really loved her." Another blast. "Dutch is like my dad...I really care about him...I don't know if I can handle him hating me."

Mac set his gun into it's holster and approached Arthur, who was holding his own gun loosely at his sides. "You know, me dad an' I used to be close." Mac said quietly, Arthur locked his eyes with Mac's. "Thick as thieves! And we were...thieves, that is." Mac smiled fondly at the memory, then frowned. "He taught me all he knew, and I taught Davey. But then...about a year ago he walked in on me kissin' a boy and he got so mad... He started beatin' me. Hadn't it been for Davey and the stupid case he threw, I probably wouldn't be here. Me ma, she didn't do anyt'ing about it. She just watched when he beat me. Davey and I ran off t'en. We went to the cities nearby and tried ta make a livin'. Word was that me dad was lookin' for me ta kill me, so we made contact with the O'Driscolls in Ireland and asked them to get us here. Since we had a name for our selves as gunmen, they agreed. The Callandar Boys." Mac looked at the sky. "Now...here we are."

"I'm sorry about that." Arthur said, placing a hand on Mac's shoulder comfortingly. Mac leaned in. "That sounds awful."

"People can be stupid." Mac shrugged. "Even the people we love."

Arthur understood what Mac was saying. Dutch might never have the same relationship with Arthur that they had before because of this. Even if they had a great relationship before. And maybe...maybe Arthur's only option would be to run away.

Except he couldn't imagine ever running away from Dutch. He fathomed it would be worse than dying.

"Thanks...Mac, for everything." Arthur said, despite these thoughts, smiling.

"Anyt'in' for you." Mac teased. "And, hey, if you want to join me gang before we definitely best you to the West; you're more than welcome." Arthur rolled his eyes and smiled.

_____

"Hey." Davey barked. John looked up, he had been petting Copper. "What's there ta do here?"

John stood up from his squat, he scratched the back of his neck. "Not much, really. I haven't been here too long though."

Davey looked a bit annoyed, he seemed like the type to need to always be engaged with something. Which was strange, apparently Davey was the same age as John but they had very different personalities. Already, John could say he was definitely a bit afraid of the other teen. "Wanna go hunt something wit' me?"

"Uh..." John shrugged. "Sure. I think I have to ask Arthur first though."

"What?" Davey laughed, his teeth showing as well as the spaces he had where he was missing them. "He your mum or somt'ing?"

John went red from embarrassment. "No! But if he doesn't know where we are --"

"He won't care!" Davey said, already grabbing a rifle and walking towards the woods. "Mac is buttering 'im up. Probably already shagging near the river."

The other teen was taken back. Mac was doing what to Arthur? John follow, confused and wanting answers. "What do you mean?"

The Irish teen glanced quickly behind him to grin at John. "You don't know?" Davey snickered. The boy walked with a confidence John didn't yet have. He was shorter than John, but he seemed bigger. He stood up straight as he walked, and each step seemed like it was calculated. His curly hair falling over his eyes yet it seemed that was precise too. "Mac's got the hots for the blonde boy. He's gay an' Art'ur seems like he is too so he's going to try and get some."

"You mean...have sex?" John said quietly.

Davey shook his head of pity. He turned to face John. "Who hurt ya?" He grabbed John by the shoulders. "Boy! You need ta learn to be a man. Stand up straight." John, despite himself, started to roll his shoulders back. "You're tall, a little thin but you can eat to fix that. You should be towering over others!" Davey tutted. "Gotta learn ta be confident."

"I just...don't feel comfortable doing that." John explained, pulling his face away when Davey grabbed at his chin to examine him.

Davey grinned. "I'll teach ya! It'll be like an experiment. See if I can turn a boy like ya inta a man!"

"We're the same age!" John protested, becoming a little offended.

"You see our problem." Davey countered. John blushed again. "You been wit' a woman yet, John?" Davey asked, spinning around and marching deeper into the woods.

"No." John grumbled.

"Man?"

"No."

"Poor boy." Davey tutted again.

John was shocked. "You have?!"

"Yup!" He popped the p. "Beautiful brunette girl, a little older than me. Big around the waist but that only made her bust bigger, if you know what I mean." Davey turned his head to wink at John.

The other boy was uncomfortable, but interested in becoming a little more confident. He lacked it. Sometimes he would have moments where he felt good enough to be confident, but a lot of the times he second guessed himself and came off as scared and unsure. Which...he supposed he was.

"Anyway," Davey continued, "I s'ppose our first lesson can be on walking."

"Walking?"

"Yes, walking. Look at yerself!" Davey scoffed. "Let's go, we got a lot of work to do."

For the next couple of hours, Davey (who John learned is two months younger than John) taught John how to carry himself more confidently. He told him to hold his head up high, walk with his shoulders back, make secure steps, and even how to think and talk.

"The key," Davey said while holding the rifle up and aiming at a squirrel, "is to know where the conversation is going; lead it there, and shoot." The bullet shot forward, spinning and landing in the skull of the squirrel making it pop and splatter. John was a bit disgusted, but Davey had a twinkle in his eye that turned John's disgust into fear. This kid...is not right.

At the very least, John could pick out some advice. No matter how crazy this kid is, there are few gems in his plethora of advice.

______

Arthur was happy to see Davey and John return from who knows where together. He and Mac had come back to camp only about half an hour before they did, and Arthur had busied himself with camp chores. It crossed his mind that John had left camp without letting anyone know, and when Arthur had done that at John's age Dutch would chew him out for it. But it seemed Arthur was in charge for now, and he didn't think it was necessary. John was unscathed, and he had taken company. And brought back game!

"Hey Arthur." John said, his voice sounded a little deeper than usual.

"John." Arthur grunted, swinging his axe down to chop some wood. "How was your trip?"

"Good." John said, a little more relaxed. "And yours?" If Arthur were a little denser, he would have missed it. But it seemed like, in John's tone, there hid a double meaning behind that. Arthur looked at John, eyes squinted.

"Fine." Arthur drawled. "Mac took me shooting." He set the axe down and dusted his palms off, now facing John. "You and Davey friends?" He asked hopefully.

John shrugged. "I think so." John's eyes seemed to be scanning Arthur.

Having enough, Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Spit it out, John."

The younger teen tensed, his confidence gone. "I, uh, well--" John sighed, his volume lowering as he leaned closer to Arthur. "Davey says that Mac is trying to sleep with you."

The blonde's eyebrow shot up. "Did he?"

John was blushing. "He says he's buttering you up." He stammered. "I, just, well, did he?"

"Are you asking me if Mac buttered me up or if he fucked me?" Arthur spat. This wasn't any of John's business. Hadn't they just had a conversation about not being in each other's business?

John cringed. "Sorry. I don't mean to pry, it's just we don't know these guys and I'm pretty sure Davey is not right in the head --"

"John." Arthur said sternly before taking a deep breath to calm himself. He locked eyes with John and said sincerely: "Thank you, but I can take care of myself." With that, Arthur walked away from John who remained standing frozen in front of the chopped wood.

_______

"You fuck 'im?" Davey said as he chewed on cooked squirrel meat. He and Mac were sitting on the river bank, eating away at the stringy meat.

"No." Mac glared. "Really, Davey, the way you talk sometimes.."

The younger brother shrugged. "Just askin'. You're so hung up on 'im. Haven't seen you this way since Patrick."

Blue eyes scanned green, Mac looked concerned and a bit upset. Usually, the Callandar brothers put up the front of being a bunch of rascals. Always joking and making mischief. But, at the end of the day, when they kicked off their shoes to sleep, they were just two brothers with too many troubles to count. "He's nice." Mac said quietly. "He's got issues."

"You can't try ta fix the people you like." Davey grumbled.

It hurt to hear, but Mac knew his little brother was right. Sometimes, it seemed, Davey was wiser than most kids his age. "I know." Mac sighed. "I know, and I wont. I'm just trying to be there for 'im." He pursed his lips, wanting to change the subject and hear about his brother, he said: "What about you? You make a new friend?"

"John." Davey nodded. "He's fun. A little bit of a stick in the mud, but he's fun ta mess wit' and a good shot."

"Good." Mac smiled. "I'm glad." He ruffled his brother's hair, the curly brown mess tangling more. "You need a bath." He said, scrunching his nose up for effect. Davey rolled his eyes and shoved at his older brother.

"You need to shag your boyfriend." Davey said as he stood up and spat out a bone that he accidently bit off from the meat.

"Not my boyfriend." Mac said, annoyed but smiling.

"Not yet!" Davey sang as he walked away.

_________

Chapter Text

"Not now Strauss!" Arthur snapped. For an hour now, Strauss had been tapping away about some job he needed Arthur to do. Arthur had been patient and listened, and had told the old timer that he didn't have the time or means to, but it seemed like the message wasn't coming across. Now, though, after yelling it, it seemed like it had at least shut him up. "I've got to get Dutch out of his damn tent first."

It had been days now. Dutch hadn't come out of his tent for five days since they buried Annabelle. Luckily, the extra hands from Mac and Davey helped. Arthur was a bit upset that he hadn't been able to talk much more to Mac the past week, but he had been busy filling in the roles of Dutch and Hosea. Mac had been more than willing to take on Arthur's responsibilities, for which he was grateful, and John and Davey took care of hunting.

Strauss pursed his lips, his eyes casted to the floor, nodded, and walked off. The teen took a deep breath, no standing before Dutch's tent. He had had enough. The man needed to get up, get over it, and work.

He pushed the flaps open. Dutch was there, sitting and staring longingly at a photo in his hands. He didn't bother to look up at Arthur. "Dutch." Arthur said sternly. "It's time."

Usually, Arthur wouldn't dare to talk to Dutch so aggressively. But Arthur was tired, and stressed, and he needed Dutch. He channeled his inner Hosea to be able to talk to Dutch in such a manner. Only Hosea, Arthur had come to realize, could talk to Dutch like an equal and not be smacked.

Dutch's eyes snapped up, Arthur was prepared to see rage; prepared for Dutch to storm towards him and smack him -- but his eyes were filled with grief. "She's dead." He said. His voice raspy from not talking for days.

Arthur's shoulders fell and his eyebrows came together in concern. He walked over, his movements gentle and slow, and he sat down next to Dutch. He placed his hand on Dutch's thigh. "She is." Arthur confirmed.

The photo Dutch was holding was of Annabelle. Her eyes sparkling, reflecting the sunshine. There were flowers in her hair and she was smiling, as if nothing bad had ever happened to her. "It hurts, Arthur."

"I know." Arthur moved his arm to wrap around Dutch's shoulders and the older man rested his head on Arthur's shoulder. "It'll hurt for a while." Arthur mumbled. His chin resting on Dutch's head. He rubbed circles into the man's back, feeling the slight shake of his body as Dutch cried. He let him cry for a few more minutes, and when it sounded like he was about done Arthur said: "You gotta get back to work Dutch. The camp needs you. I need you."

*

Dutch moved away, his eyes locking with Arthur. He tucked the photo away inside a box. "I need you too Arthur." Arthur was a bit unsure, but allowed Dutch to push him down onto the bed. He didn't protest when Dutch pulled away at Arthur's clothes, no matter how awful he felt thinking about the photo of Annabelle in the box as he did so. He didn't decline Dutch when he started to push into Arthur, he just bit down onto his hand to keep quiet. He didn't correct Dutch when he whispered Annabelle's name, but Arthur was sure he never felt more disgusted with himself then he did in that moment.

*

When Dutch was done, Arthur realized he hadn't even been hard throughout the whole...experience. Luckily, Dutch didn't notice (or didn't care) and he just got up and got dressed. Arthur felt a bit frozen, but he got up slowly. He noticed he was shaking, and again he felt itchy. Itchy and sweaty and tense. His jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it. Dutch glanced at him, at least he looked better -- more awake.

"How has the camp been?" Dutch asked, as if conducting business.

Arthur stumbled a bit, his hands still shaky making it difficult to button his shirt. Dutch smirked and moved towards Arthur and started buttoning the shirt for him. Arthur froze again, only his mouth moving. "Good. I've been handling your and 'Sea's work." He mumbled. "Mac and Davey have been helping a lot too...and John, of course."

"Good." Dutch smiled, finished buttoning Arthur's shirt. "Good work, Arthur. Couldn't do it without you."

Then he walked out. As if he hadn't just said something so profoundly meaningful to Arthur. As if he hadn't just confused the poor boy enough. He had just made him feel like the shitty mud in Valentine, and then had appreciated him as if he belonged in a museum. Arthur felt like crying now, but he didn't.

_______

The camp morale had definitely gone up. Susan was so happy to see Dutch up and about, smiling and making promises. She even made soup and scrambled eggs, which she hadn't made for days. Arthur was walking around, still itchy, but knowing he couldn't escape to bathe. He had to be present to catch Dutch up.

"This is Mac and Davey." Arthur introduced. His eyes locking with Mac's who was grinning. They hadn't been able to talk since the day they went shooting, and Arthur had been meaning to talk to him about what Davey had told John. "The Callander Boys."

"Callander Boys?" Dutch repeated as he shook Mac's hand. "So you both stirred up trouble with the O'Driscolls then?"

"That would be us." Mac smirked.

Arthur cleared his throat. "They're great gunmen. Mac's taken up my work and Davey's been hunting with John."

Dutch nodded. "Thank you, boys. You interested in joining our little gang?"

Mac and Davey shared a look. "We've been thinkin', even though we have other plans we do feel like we owe you for savin' our skins in Valentine. Let us work the debt off."

"I appreciate that, you're fine men." Dutch smiled. "Let me know when you feel the debt has been paid. Until then, welcome."

With that, Dutch walked off to his horse. He said he needed to go into town about something. Finally, Arthur was surprised to think, he was gone. He felt like he could breathe. Like a weight had been lifted. Usually, Arthur couldn't wait to see Dutch -- but now...

It seemed like Mac was going to say something, but by then Arthur had rushed off towards the river. He was peeling his clothes off before even getting to the river bank. He scrubbed at his skin, his skin becoming red and raw. He felt the dried up cum still on his stomach where Dutch had relieved himself, and he scratched and scratched at it until he started to bleed.

"Arthur?" He heard someone say. His head snapped to the direction of the voice, it was Mac. "You alright? Sort of ran off there."

The younger man stared at him for a second, frozen. "Uh," he stammered, looking at Mac then at the blood staining the clear water, "I'm fine." He lied. "Just needed a bath."

Mac sat down on the edge, his expression that of concern. "You're bleedin'."

"Got um..scratched. Bumped into a tree..."

"Right." Mac clearly didn't believe him, but he didn't push. "Well...I finished updating that journal thing." He looked at the ground, picking at it to not look at Arthur and make him more uncomfortable.

"Thanks." Arthur let himself sink deeper into the water to wash his hair. "I really appreciate you, Mac."

Mac stood up then. "Alright then, I'll leave you to it."

"Hey, uh," Arthur called, making Mac meet his eyes, "John told me something silly."

"Oh?"

"He said Davey told him you were tying to butter me up." Arthur feigned a smile and laughed, "that ain't true...right?"

Mac stilled. "I'm not trying ta 'butter you up'," Mac sat down, facing Arthur and maintains a serious look on his face, "I like ya Arthur. That much is true. But I'm not gonna try ta manipulate ya, if that's what ya mean."

They stared at each other for a while, a longer time than they actual felt pass. "Okay." Arthur said quietly.

"Okay." Mac said, concerned but still smiling.

_______

His fingers were pruned by the time he felt well enough to come out. He put on his clothes, but changed again when he got to his tent. Since Dutch was up and working, he decided he was allowed a break. He mounted Zeke and started riding. Not really sure where he was going, but going.

"Trust me."

"So beautiful."

"I like that shirt on you, Arthur."

"So good."

"...you are mine."

"... something in your eyes..."

"I need you too Arthur."

"When I look into them, I see someone who's so broken..."

"That's my boy."

"...you're past fixing."

"Good work, Arthur. Couldn't do it without you."

"...amongst all those cracks...only light emerges."

"...you've been a real pain in the ass lately."

"And that light is...breathtaking."

"You look stunning.

"A whore like you."

He ended up face to face with Mason's home. He didn't know how he got there, really, he hadn't meant to come here. He hadn't meant to come to the home of the person that hated him and had the absolute right to. Arthur broke Mason's heart and all Mason had ever done was give and give and give. Arthur slid down, off of his saddle, and didn't think as his feet carried him to the door. Or as his knuckles rasped against the door.

The door swung open, there in his boxers was Mason. "Arthur?" He felt Mason's eyes rake over him. "You look pale..." The man said quietly.

"I'm sorry." Arthur croaked. He hated himself for crying, but that's all he could do. His head hung low, and his shoulders shook as he sobbed quietly.

"Come in." Mason said gently. Next thing Arthur knew, he was sitting on Mason's couch. A cup of tea placed in front of him on the coffee table. "Arthur..." Mason finally said. "What happened to you?"

Arthur wiped away his tears on his palms. "Nothing. Really. I just..." He met Mason's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Did someone hurt you?" Mason asked carefully. Arthur shook his head. "Arthur." They locked eyes. "Put those walls down for a second. Please."

"Dutch." He rasped, his name felt suffocating. "I don't -- I don't know why it felt worse this time."

"What did?"

"He's done it before. When he wants to, he...we have sex." Arthur said stammering. "Sometimes I don't want to and sometimes I do. But this time...this time it felt worse because -- Annabell's picture was right there and she just died a few days ago and she loved him and he loves her and he said her name when he was inside me and I can't get clean--"

"You're hyperventilating." Mason kneeled in front of Arthur. "Hey. Hey!" He grabbed Arthur's shoulders gently. "Breathe in through your nose with me, come one." Arthur struggled but did as told. "Hold for four. Then out for four." They breathed out. They did this a few more times until Arthur was only gently shaking. "I think you should stay with me tonight."

"You hate me." Arthur pointed out.

"I couldn't." Mason smiled genuinely. "You...you hurt me. But this isn't about me, Arthur. You need somewhere to be. Besides, if I make you uncomfortable...I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon for my work trip. Feel free to sleep here whenever you want while I'm gone. Okay?"

"I've never done anything for you --"

"Doesn't matter." Mason interrupted. "Besides, that's not true. You've given me so many beautiful moments...you've made me feel normal." He paused. "No one's ever done that for me."

They were quiet then, Mason took a seat besides Arthur and helped him drink his tea.

____

Chapter Text

John watched Mac intensely. Since Arthur left without a word, Mac had become increasingly anxious and had begun to prepare his saddle to ride off after Arthur. John had too been worried about Arthur's sudden disappearance. Sure, Arthur would ride off a lot but usually he would at least let someone know a general idea of where he'd be going.

"Mac!" John heard Davey call as the older brother mounted his horse. "Seriously...you're going after him? Leave him alone." John was surprised to see Davey frowning and concerned, he wasn't aware the guy could express anything other than mischief.

Mac didn't answer him, just kicked his horse into a trot and then sped off. John watched Davey's shoulders fall as he approached him. He was sure Davey was crazy, but that didn't mean he didn't have feelings. "You alright?" he asked.

"Of course I am." Davey snapped. "Come on, let's go shoot something." The younger teen was already marching off towards the woods, his posture straight and.head up high. John wasn't sure how good it was for Davey to bottle up his emotions, but it seemed to be working for him -- for now, at least.

______

He prided himself on being a master thief, gunman, hunter...but most of all; he knew he was a master tracker. From a young age, maybe five or six, he took lessons from his father who worked as a mercenary and was apart of the Irish Mob. By the time he was eight, he had perfected the art and by nine he was joining his father on jobs. At ten, he was teaching his five year old brother, Davey, everything he learned and practiced.

_______

Arthur's trail led him to some woods past Strawberry. It took him a day to pick apart the tracks, and became complicated when they led him to town and were lost amongst the sea of other tracks but he was able to get some tips from the locals. Apparently, Arthur seemed disheveled; pale and out of focus. A few townsfolk were trying to get his attention, but according to them he was in a trance. Some were worried he had even been bewitched.

It only gave Mac more reason to hurry.

_______

His mother's name is Cara. She grew up poor, starving, but she was extremely intelligent. She would pick up books wherever she could find them and even dress up as a boy to sneak into seminars and lectures, her thin frame hiding her curves. Her parents died when she was nearing her twenties, and she realized she needed to marry.

She was considering her options, planning, when she met Conor. A young man who grew up street fighting and killing, orphaned at such a young age and thrown to the wolves such that he knew nothing more than the laws of nature: Hunt, kill, survive.

She didn't love him. She never did and she never would. But she feared him, and that was what he craved. They met when she was dressed up as a man, her hair pinned up and hidden in a newsboy cap and her curves hidden beneath a long brown coat. Sometimes, Cara noticed, she preferred being dressed as a man. It felt...fitting. She practiced lowering her voice and sometimes would even dust some dark charcoal on her upper lip to make it look like a mustache. It was nice. That was, until Conor approached her to ask for a newspaper, but then he was grabbing her arm and screaming at her. He was yelling at her about how she was dressed as man and how she was a spy. She begged him to let her go, but then she was crowded into an alley and he was tearing away her clothes. She was left naked and cold and he took advantage of her. Her screams were blood curdling, but everyone had seen what had happened and anyone capable of helping, it seemed, was on his side. No one appreciated that she was dressed as a man. So they let her suffer.

Soon after, she was pregnant and Conor continued to "check-in" on her. Her home was overrun by gang members, a hub for them now. Her home wasn't her home. She now didn't have the privacy to dress as man, not to mention how she couldn't possibly pass as man with a swelling stomach. She lived bitterly after that, and when her son was born she couldn't bare to hold him for the first few days. She only caved in when Conor threatened her life, spewing hateful words at her for letting her baby starve.

Mac grew up closer to his father. Cara kept her distance, did as told, and after a few years of trying to find a way to escape and failing she became cold and disassociated. Almost robotic. She wouldn't speak unless necessary.

Still, whenever she would get hurt be beaten by Conor or his mobster buddies, Mac would take care of her. He would dab away at the trickling blood with a rag in his tiny hands. He didn't care that she didn't love his dad, or that she didn't love him, he just cared that she was okay.

____

A carriage emerged from a path off the trail. Curiosity struck Mac, so he waited until the carriage was out of sight before riding into the path. If anything, he could score some cash by raiding the place -- but then he saw a horse. Arthur's horse.

His heart raced, he rushed forward; not caring about being stealthy. He dismounted and ran up to the side of the mansion, looking for an open window to crawl in through. He looked up and spotted an open window on the second floor, the curtains pushing out past the frame. Mac scanned his environment, he spotted a shed (one of the nicest he'd ever seen) and climbed on top of it. He grunted and hurried to his feet, steadying himself before leaping up and towards the balcony of the window. He gripped the edge, his legs swinging from the momentum. He took a deep breath before pushing himself up and rolled through the window -- falling on top of a drawer and breaking a bottle of whiskey.

So much for stealth.

A light thumping followed, the door of the room he was in swung open and there was Arthur; bug-eyed and aiming his revolver at Mac. Mac felt a sigh of relief, but then shock at seeing Arthur naked and...wet? "That's a sight." Mac said, his throat dry.

Arthur went red and covered his dick with his palms, his revolver still in his hand. "Mac! What are you doing here?"

"Checking on you!" Mac squeaked. "Why are ya naked?!"

"I'm takin' a bath!" Arthur began to chuckle, making Mac giggle and snort. "I should --" he snorted "--put some clothes on." The younger man shuffled back into the hall.

Mac followed and peaked to watch Arthur walk down the hall. "Love ta watch ya go!" He teased, his eyes trailing Arthur's round ass.

"Ta hell with you!" He heard Arthur shout before watching the man go into a different room, probably the bathroom. Mac laughed and waited in the hall, looking around.

What was this place? Arthur's secret mansion? He wondered if Arthur had broken in here, and if so -- who actually owned it? Did Dutch know about this place?

He toyed with a vase of roses situated on a tall, thin, table. He picked out a red rose, twirled it between his fingers and noticed it had been scraped of it's thorns. He was sniffing it close to his nose when Arthur walked out, dressed and dry. "Havin' a spa day, are ya?"

"House sittin'." Arthur grunted.

"For who?"

"Fella named Mason Bonsack." Arthur was in front of Mason now, chest to chest, close enough that Mason had to look up to meet Arthur's eyes. He hadn't ever noticed how tall the outlaw is. Arthur plucked the rose from Mac's fingers and returned it to the vase. "How'd you find me?"

Mac felt a bit intimidated, Arthur's brows were furrowed and his green eyes were looking at Mac's fiercely. "I was worried about ya. You ran off, all sickly lookin'. I just...tracked you down."

Arthur hummed, almost as if he were considering the answer. In a moment, it seemed he decided he believed Mac before stepping away. It was then that Mac realized he had been holding in a breath. "Well, I'm fine."

"I can see that." Mac breathed. The clean smell coming off Arthur overwhelming his senses. Arthur raised a brow and started walking down the hall towards the stairs. Mac followed in pursuit, his strides widening to match with Arthur's pace. "What's yer plan with this place? Thinkin' of raidin' it?"

Arthur was quiet for a moment, but nodded before it became obvious. "Yeah, skim a little here and there...do a few small chores...take nice baths." Arthur shrugged and started going down the stairs. "Win, win."

"Nice." Mac grinned. "Smart and handsome. Whole package deal, ain't ya?"

Mac grabbed for a chocolate bar in his satchel, hungry from the climb, and tossed the wrapper on the clean floors. Arthur noticed this and picked the wrapper up. "Hey --" he paused, and first annoyed then curious as he inspected the wrapper.

"What?" Mac said in between chews. "Isn't that yer job? Ta clean?"

"You." Arthur said accusingly.

"Me? Clean? I don't even know yer Ballsack fellow." Mac snorted.

Arthur shoved the wrapper into Mac's chest. "You followed me! You've been --" the outlaw closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. "I accused Mason Bonsack of stalking me because I thought he was leaving me those damn chocolates and it was just you."

Something clicked in Mac's head it seemed, he popped the last bit of chocolate into his mouth and swallowed before speaking. "Well, yeah! You asked me and Davey for directions, you looked all spooked so I came back to check on ya once we left our delivery. You were sleepin' so I left you the chocolate since it looked like you had nothing else on ya. Then I saw ya in Valentine, and stuck the chocolate with yer horse in case ya needed it."

It took a moment to register. "That was you and Davey that night?"

"Yeah. You looked awful, kind of like when you ran off yesterday," the Irish man put the wrapper back in his satchel. "What spooked ya yesterday anyway?"

"I said I'm fine." Arthur said through clenched teeth, then relaxed suddenly. "At least that's one more thing off my plate."

Mac started wandering, sneaking some fancy-looking items into his pockets. "So, what we takin' ta camp?"

Another pause. "I can...um...I can probably take some cash from his desk. He wouldn't notice." Mac hummed and followed Arthur to an office that Arthur had discovered that morning before his bath; Mason had told him to take any money he needed from there. It felt awful "stealing" it, despite Mason having told him to use it for himself before leaving. Mason was a saint.

After collecting $500 in cash, the two gunmen headed out (Arthur made sure to lock up) back to camp. They didn't ride fast though, taking the scenic route. Silent until, it seemed, Mac gathered the courage to speak. "Hey, so--" he ran his fingers through his hair, "-- about what we talked about last time. About...me liking you?"

That caught Arthur's attention. He stared at the other man who, despite cockiness being his main attribute, was failing to meet Arthur's gaze and was stumbling over his words. "What about it?"

"I was hopin'...well, for starters--" he laughed nervously "--shit; I swear I've never fooked up this much!" He was red, his eyes darting to Arthur and away.

Arthur was enjoying this. Grinning, he said: "Take your time."

"Ta hell with time!" Mac huffed and surprised the other outlaw when he reached over and pulled Arthur towards him to lock their lips together. Arthur was shocked (and pleased) to note that Mac's lips were very soft. The kiss was brief, but passionate, and when Mac let Arthur go and pulled away they were both seemingly out of breath. "There."

"There?" Arthur repeated.

"I'm a man of few words." Mac said, his cockiness returning.

Arthur scoffed. "Now that's a lie." He couldn't look away, he could still feel the tingle of the kiss. He stared at Mac, who was grinning like he had just found a million bucks. "So now what?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"Well," Mac smiled, "I'm hoping that means you'll be my boyfriend?"

He froze. Boyfriend? What about Dutch? And Mason? They wanted Arthur. No matter how many times his stomach flipped out of excitement to be with Mac, and Mac only...he couldn't do that to Dutch. He couldn't do that to Mason, now that he had taken advantage of his generosity so many times. "I, um," Arthur started to say when he noticed Mac's expression become worried from how long it was taking Arthur to answer, "maybe we should take it slow? You'd be my first...boyfriend...and I just want to make sure I'm doing it right."

"Yeah, sure." Mac smiled. "Take the time you need."

Arthur smiled, but felt his stomach sink. If that was the case, Mac would be long gone by the time Arthur was ready.

______

When they returned, Arthur spotted Dutch's horse hitched with the others. He felt a little discomfort, he thought he would be over it by now. He had never felt this badly, but whenever he did feel...off...about sleeping with Dutch, it would be out of his mind the next day. Except it wasn't. He wasn't happy to see Dutch, he almost wanted to avoid him. But he still loved him. He still wanted to make Dutch happy, so he didn't care if he didn't want to see him. He would be there for Dutch, and do what makes Dutch happy.

When they dismounted, Arthur noticed Mac walked a little closer to him than usual. Their hands brushing as they walked towards the camp. Arthur spotted John running, his face one of terror, and then saw Davey running at him with a worm in his hand screeching: "EAT IT!"

"Boys." Mac scoffed.

"We were young once," Arthur said, imitating an old man's voice and slouching. He smiled proudly when Mac burst out laughing, his irish accent heavy in the genuine laugh.

Dutch approached them then, emerging from his tent. "Son! Where have you been?" He pulled Arthur into a hug, Mac standing awkwardly to the side.

Arthur was at a loss for words for a moment, a confusing state of being both disgusted by Dutch's hold and wanting to melt into it because -- holy fuck Dutch is hugging him for a purpose that has nothing to do with sex. Thankfully, Mac pitched in. "He was busy making you money." Mac handed Dutch the wad of cash, Dutch went wide-eyed.

"How?" he breathed.

"Been, uh, doing chores for this fellow. He went out on a business trip and said this was my payment for house-sittin'." Arthur explained, watching as Dutch couldn't tear away his eyes from the money which he had begun counting.

Dutch finally looked up at Arthur. "Is there more?"

"Yeah, but I don't know where. It's a big house and I've only been there a few times." Arthur hooked his thumbs on the hem of his pants, having stepped away from Dutch and was now standing next to Mac again.

"We can raid it." Dutch mumbled, looking at the money again. "This is great Arthur! Really. Thank you son."

The older man was walking away when Arthur grabbed his arm, "Wait!" he nearly yelled. Dutch turned again with a confused look on his face. "I, uh, need some time to work out some things. It's my job so," he paused, nervous, "can I tell you when it's ready to raid?"

A smile played on Dutch's lips, who nodded curtly. "Of course."

He sighed and turned to see Mac smiling proudly at him. He was lost in the Irish man's eyes until he was tackled to the ground. "Arthur!" John screeched, "why did you leave me here with these maniacs?!"

"Now you know how I felt when Hosea left me with you." Arthur groaned. Mac was laughing above them as Arthur shoved John off, knocking the wind out of the younger teen. "What is even happening?"

Davey joined them then, holding two worms now and grinning like a mad man. "Wormstache." Then, the kid pursed his lips and placed the live worm on his upper lip to look like a mustache. John gagged but kept down his puke. Mac grabbed the second worm and imitated his brother, Arthur cast him a look but Mac was too focused on keeping the wriggling worm balanced.

"He's been trying to get me to eat it." John accused. Davey smiled, not denying nor confirming.

Arthur sighed. "Alright, alright. Come on then, John. We got something to do." Arthur was up and offered John a hand, who gladly took it and momentarily lost himself staring at Arthur. He followed the older teen away from the Callander Boys, forgetting all about the traumatic day he had with Davey.

Davey removed the worm, and looked Mac up and down. "He worth it?"

"I think he's not all that into me." Mac confessed. "We kissed, but he said he needed time. I said it was fine, and it is! but I just get this feeling he's not telling me the whole truth."

"Maybe it's 'cause the truth is he and John have a t'ing. John told me he has the hots for him, and they have known each other longer." Davey said, a eyebrow quirked upwards and a small smile tugging on his lips as he said: "Face it, brother, you lost your crush to that lanky 15-year-old."

The older brother looked shocked, staring at Arthur and John who were walking towards Arthur's tent and still watching even after the tent closed behind them.

---------

Chapter Text

John was still tingling from where Arthur had held his hand. That day, before being chased by Davey and the worms, he had confessed to the other teen that he liked Arthur. That he was, in a lack of a better description, in love with Arthur. He had come to this conclusion when Arthur had left and all John could think about was the older outlaw and whether or not he was alright; and he especially knew when his day and night dreams were plagued with different scenarios Arthur could potentially be in. Had it not been for Mac leaving, John would have gone to search for him.

Now he realizes that he was absolutely right. Looking at Arthur, John could not imagine anyone more beautiful.

"Sit --" Arthur told him, the tent closed behind them and suddenly John was enthusiastic. Maybe Arthur had reconsidered? Maybe, he wanted what John wanted and he didn't need to wait the four years "-- we're going to write a letter to Hosea."

John stilled, not disappointed but certainly let down in a way. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. He was happy, though, that they would be writing to Hosea. "Oh, alright."

Arthur cast him a strange look, as if analyzing his reaction, before seemingly dismissing it and getting out a paper and fountain pen. "Hosea told me to help you with your reading' and writin', so this is gonna be our lesson alright?"

"Alright," John agreed. Arthur hummed and sat down next to John, putting the paper on a small table in front of them and shifting it so that John could see.

Arthur guided John throughout the process of writing the letter, and even gave John a paper and pen of his own to copy it over. In the end, they each had a paper that said this:

Dear Hosea,

We hope Bessie is treating you well and that the farm isn't giving you both too many troubles. What's it like being a farmer? We're sure the life is way too adventurous for your old bones.

You know me, Hosea, you know that I wouldn't write to you this early on. I don't want to disrupt your time with Bessie. You deserve that peace. But there's something I feel you should know. We scoped out Valentine, by Dutch's orders: me, John, Dutch, and Annabelle. We ended up in a shootout, saving some kids called the Callander Boys from the O'Driscoll's, and in the process one of Colm's men got a hold of Annabelle and she was killed.

Dutch had been out of sorts for a few days, and only just yesterday did he finally gather the strength to get back to work.

This isn't a call for you to come back home. You need to be with your wife, and we understand that. This is just me teaching John to write and me letting you know that Annabelle has passed. We buried her near the camp, and had a funeral for her. Maybe we're still here when you do come back and you can tell her goodbye.

Give Bessie our best regards, maybe send us a picture if you can.

Your favorite son,
Arthur Morgan
and Jon Marsten

"Your name's spelt wrong." Arthur grumbled.

"I know," John said quietly, "it's so that he comes back soon to teach me how to spell it right again." Arthur was taken back by the response, his chest tightening in angst. He pulled John into a hug, John shoved his face in the crook of Arthur's neck as the older teen patted his shoulder.

Light shine through the now open tent as Mac stepped in, Arthur looked up, confused, and Mac's expression seemed to turn from one of anger to one of shock and disbelief. "You alright, Mac?" Arthur asked. Mac stumbled a bit, his mouth open and at a loss for words.

John sighed and stood up. "I should go chop some wood. Should I send the letter after?" John asked, grabbing the paper already.

"Yeah, thanks John. Good work today." Arthur smiled at John who was eyeing Mac as he stepped out.

The tent closed behind the younger teen, Mac remained standing. Arthur stood up, clearing up the pens and paper. "You need somethin' Mac?"

"Davey...he told me--" he ran his fingers through his hair, casting a glance behind him "--you and John?"

"What about me and John?" Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, facing Mac now.

"Said you two are...together." Mac said through clenched teeth.

As angry as Mac was, it was nothing compared to the anger boiling up inside Arthur in that moment. "Damn you!" Arthur huffed, pushing past Mac and rushing out of the tent.

"Wait!" The Irishman called, rushing after Arthur who was heading to the river away from the camp so he could yell.

"I am sick and tired of everyone getting in my damn business!" Arthur yelled, still walking away from Mac. Suddenly he spun around, a good distance away from camp now, and shoved a finger in Mac's direction; now Mac was stumbling back a bit. "First, John trying to get in my business all the damn time 'cause the poor boy thinks he loves me even though he's still a damn kid that don't even know what he wants for breakfast. And Dutch --" he laughed bitterly "-- Dutch is always on my ass about something and now you--" he squinted and moved closer to Mac who was stunned but listening "--have the balls to come to my tent, interrupt the first damn brotherly moment I was having with the kid, and get all pissed at me because Davey told you that John told him we were together? And who gave you the damn right to be mad? The kiss you gave me? Or was it me telling you that I needed time before putting labels on what that kiss even meant?"

Mac had a fierce look in his eyes mixed with concern and determination. "I'm not tryin' ta get in your business Arthur...but you said that you needed time and I respect that but I need ta know if someone else is tryin' ta take ya."

"'Take' me?" Arthur felt a sense of realization come over himself when he said: "I'm a damn person! I'm not something you 'take'!" finally, it seemed, Arthur had begun to realiz that he wasn't an object that could be tossed around. To realize that all of those times Dutch had 'taken' him in the cloak of darkness, despite what Arthur wanted or didn't want at the time, Arthur was still Arthur. Dutch could never take that away from him. No one could.

"I know that Arthur--" Mac pinched the bridge of his nose "--I didn't mean it that way. I meant that if John likes ya, he's gonna try ta be wit' ya so he's my competition. Even though you're no object, Arthur, you're a prize," he grinned all cocky again. "Flaws and all."

Arthur felt himself calm down, still rightfully pissed but the joke had made him relax a bit. "Well you ain't perfect either," the younger man said roughly, despite needing to refrain from smiling.

"We alright, t'en?" Mac asked hopefully.

"Naw," Arthur drawled, "make it up to me, Callander," Arthur moved past Mac leaving him on his own as he made his way back to camp.
_______

It had become apparent to Arthur that things were changing. He wasn't sure exactly when it started, but they were. Days were passing and he was becoming more and more independent from the camp, and from Dutch. He spent most of his time going out and making money, working twice as hard so that he would be able to pull of his plan. His plan consisted of making as much money as possible to hide around Mason's mansion, and hiding all the real valuable things well before he brought the camp over to raid it. That way, they'd make some money while not having to betray Mason. Mason had been good to Arthur, despite everything, and even though Arthur was loyal to Dutch and the camp; he wasn't a total bastard.

There was another thing that was changing. Arthur was becoming more confident in himself. A few times, already, he had turned Dutch down from their "meetings". Which notably bothered the older man, but he didn't pester Arthur too much about it. To be fair, Arthur still went in Dutch's tent on a few rare occasions that Dutch seemed particularly needy, but he avoided it if he could. He still couldn't shake the awful feeling he had, and it only worsened when he thought of Annabelle.

Meanwhile, Mac seemed to be on his own venture. Arthur had noticed him and his younger brother sneaking off and whispering things. He wasn't sure what it was about, but one thing was for sure: the Callander Boys had something up their sleeves. Arthur had tried asking John about it, who seemed to be good friends with Davey, but John always answered with a shrug. He too wasn't aware, this was definitely something between the brothers.

A week had passed, and by now Arthur was sure Hosea had received the letter he and John sent. He was sure Hosea would write back, and he hoped that the old man didn't take it upon himself to go out of his way to return to camp. John, on the other hand, was always yapping on about how he was sure Hosea would come back to teach him how to fish and how to write because Arthur was "Too much of a bull" to teach anyone anything. Arthur had responded that he could in fact teach anyone anything, just not John because John's stupidity made him devastatingly angry. Them, John had asked what in the hell "devastatingly" meant and Arthur had stormed off, huffing and throwing his arms up as if to say: "You see?"; to who he directed this, he wasn't sure, but his best guess was to God or whatever deity had placed John Marston in Arthur's path.

_______

"Are you sure about t'is?" Davey asked for the upteenth time. It wasn't typical for the younger Callander brother to be this dubious about any scheme, but to be completely fair they had never done anything quite like this. He and Mac were up in the Grizzlies, they had woken up before the morning birds had, to ride out and make it there by lunch. Davey's stomach had been bellowing for food, so he had stolen all of Mac's candies from his satchel leaving the older brother starving on his saddle. Which Davey didn't mind, this was all Mac's idea in the first place -- and for Mac's benefit.

Mac nodded, his stomach grumbling but he held it as if trying to quiet it. "Of course," he said with a smile. "Art'ur would have ta forgive me with this. A perfect legendary bear pelt? No one could top it--" they hitched their horses and dismounted.

For about a week, Mac and Davey had been doing jobs to buy the best supplies to hunt down the most legendary of bears. They had interviewed and pestered so many folk they had nearly gotten beaten bloody just to discover that the bear was usually spotted north of O'Creagh's Run in the southern parts of the Grizzlies. They had scraped up enough money to buy a new scoped rifle each and had practiced shooting until they wouldn't miss an aim for a bird in the sky. "You must really want ta fook 'im," Davey said as they grabbed for their rifles and bait.

The older brother cast him a side glance. "I don't just wanna--" he paused, sucking his teeth "--I like 'im," he admitted while looking off to the mountains.

"Ya like people too much," Davey grumbled. "Ya can't just trust everyone just 'cause ya like 'em. You've gotta make them earn your trust too, not just the other way 'round," the younger boy said pointedly. "What has Arthur done ta gain your trust so far?"

"He saved our arses," Mac said defensively. "In Valentine."

"That wasn't fer you --" Davey pointed a finger at Mac, waving his rifle recklessly with other hand, "--that was outta pure coincidence. If either of us woulda died he wouldn't've felt a t'ing."

Mac huffed. "He let us stay at camp," he added.

"To repay us for helping 'em escape Valentine," Davey snapped.

Out of answers, Mac spluttered: "I thought you were on board with me tryin' ta git wit' Art'ur!?"

"Why do ya t'ink I'm helping you hunt a goddamn bear for 'im?" Davey said, laughing. "I'm just tryin' ta get you to t'ink, brother," he said sighing. "I've got a feelin' that Arthur's got more ta worry about than you and I t'ink you should be aware of that before going on and expecting him ta feel the same way you do. When you love, you love hard, brother."

It went unsaid, but they both knew Davey was referring to Patrick. "I know," Mac said quietly, "thank you for looking out for me little brother."

Davey didn't respond, only smiled to himself. Despite Mac being the eldest, it had always been Davey who really thought things through. Sure, he knew how to have fun -- that was quite literally his whole persona -- but growing up under the shadow of an older brother skilled in thieving, murdering, and scamming meant that Davey had to work twice as hard to fill the footprints Mac was setting down. So he analyzed ever step, every sway, and he learned from them. He applied it to himself and became objective. Mac was beyond skillful, but objective? Mac had a tendency of trusting people way too easily, and of being far too generous to complete strangers. Which is why Davey would step in, with a crazed look in his eyes to let the strangers receiving Mac's kind gestures know that despite their generosity they were, too, crazy little fuckers that would and could snap their necks in their sleep.

They set up near the river and hid amongst the bushes, waiting for the bear to come by for its lunch. They were hoping that its hibernation period hadn't started just yet, it was already nearing the early days of December so it was very possible that the two brothers were waiting for nothing. A few hours passed when Davey was beginning to complain and pick at grass, Mac was still focused on finding the bear. "Wouldn't a nice fox pelt be better?" Davey suggested as he pushed down on an ant with his thumb, examining the remnants of it on his skin.

"We've already spent this much time," the older brother said sighing. Then, as if on cue, Mac spotted some movement on the other side of the river. He shook Davey to attention, who turned away from the floor to look where Mac was pointing. There, in all its glory, was the biggest and oldest damn bear either of them had ever seen.

"Holy shit--" they both grabbed for their guns. The bear was focused on catching itself lunch, and hadn't yet noticed the two brothers. Mac was firm, his rifle aiming at the bear's face but Davey was shaky; he had never even seen a bear before let alone kill one. All of it in theory was fine and dandy, but even from the safety of being on the other side of the river Davey felt intimidated by the damn thing. Suddenly, Davey felt something sharp bite at him and he yelped and accidently fired his rifle into the ground. Usually he wouldn't have reacted this way, but his nerves got the better of him.

The bear roared, knowing it was no longer safe and began sniffing around for whatever had made the sound. Mac immediately turned to make sure Davey was okay, who was red from embarrassment. In an attempt to redeem himself, Davey stood up and out of cover and raised his rifle to aim at the bear. The bear spotted him, and started running towards the trees, Davey chased it; treading through the waters of the river.

"Davey!" Mac called, stunned at the suddenness of the situation. He ran after Davey, who was already halfway through the river. The bear had been lost from their site, but the Callander Boys were not ones to give up.

As soon as Davey got to the other side he sprinted off, following the trail of the bear's footprints with Mac close behind him. Finally, they reached a clearing and there was the bear feasting on some berries. Determined, Davey loaded his rifle and called: "Hey, fooker!"

The bear spun around and Davey pulled the trigger, it was almost in slow motion as the bullet pierced the bear's jaw. Davey was sure that with that perfect shot, the bear would go down. Except he didn't. Instead of going down with a satisfying thud, the bear roared and hurled itself towards Davey who was frozen still. "Davey!" Mac called again, this time his tone laced with fear and desperation. In that moment, all Mac could think about was saving his brother. His little brother that he raised, who he taught to walk and talk and shoot and the little brother that was in this situation because of Mac. Davey, though, couldn't think. All he could do was stare and gawk at the bear tumbling towards him.

_________________

Arthur had been returning from another collection of money authorized by Strauss and Dutch, it had been easier this time to collect. This time he had collected from a young man who was from England and of a rich family but had been disowned for being a leech, now he was on his own in a new country and still leeching off of anyone who would let him. Arthur didn't feel awful taking money from him. Speaking of money, Arthur had saved up five grand. Doing races, gambling, and following treasure maps made up a good portion of the money he saved but he was ashamed to say he spent most of his time saving money on his knees for men and women. Surprisingly, he had found a few women in Blackwater and Strawberry who were interested in paying for his services should they overhear him giving their husband his services prior. He didn't judge, or ask questions, he wasn't in the place to.

He was walking into camp when John approached him. It seemed that the kid was almost like Arthur's shadow at this point, always following him. It got funnier when Copper became John's shadow, so it was the trio walking around camp doing chores and whatnot. Typically, John would greet Arthur with a smile and a line of inquiries of where he had been, but this time John wasn't smiling. "Mac and Davey are gone," his tone was laced with concern and his fingers were tapping relentlessly at his sides. "They haven't been here all day, they didn't even tell Ms. Grimshaw where they'd be going--" Arthur raised a hand to calm John.

"Relax," he drawled. "Mac and Davey are smart. I'm sure wherever they are, they're fine."

"What if they left? For good?" John had gotten very close to Davey, they were best friends. He didn't want to lose someone else.

Arthur pursed his lips and set a hand on John's shoulder, squeezing it to comfort the poor kid. "They wouldn't leave without telling us, or at least Dutch," Arthur reasoned. He was content to see that John was nodding along, agreeing.

"Right," John sighed as his shoulder relaxed. "You're right."

"'Course I am."

John rolled his eyes as Arthur smiled smugly and let go of John before heading over to his tent. John was following, and Copper had joined them when they passed the pot of soup where he had been licking up whatever fell from the plates. "How was the job? Can I go on the next one?"

"It went fine, easier--" Arthur took off his holster and his hat "--and I think you can, actually. I'm running our next job, I think everything's about set."

Because his tent was open, Dutch had overheard and was now standing behind john. "Is it?" Dutch said firmly.

Arthur spun around, a bit surprised but maintained his composure. "Uh, yeah, the raid? That I mentioned a while ago?" Arthur seemed a bit uncomfortable, John noticed. It seemed like, to John, that whenever Dutch and Arthur spoke to each other it was a gamble as to how they would each act. Sometimes, they would act like son and father; this mostly occurred when they were speaking as a unified front to the camp about rules or changes. Other times, they talked like two good drinking friends. But a good handful of other times, John noticed that Arthur would blush like he had some sort of crush on Dutch and Dutch would act all smug and cocky.

"Perfect. We can ride out now," Dutch instructed. Arthur seemed like he wanted to protest, but Dutch had already walked away.

Arthur had wanted to wait for Mac, and get him involved and help him break in his first official mission. He wanted to get the guy some cash for him and his brother, a good cut of the five grand, but it seemed like that wasn't going to happen. Suddenly he wished he had paid attention to John when he first walked into camp and had gone to go search for the Boys. "I guess we are..." Arthur grumbled, recollecting the holster and hat he had removed to put them back on.

-------------

It was probably the best moment of his life. He had turned 18 that day, and his best friend Patrick had taken him out to have fun. Mac had felt bad briefly for leaving Davey behind at home, but Davey had assured him that he deserved a day out with his best friend. "Besides", Davey had told him, "we spend too much time together already," and that had been that. Mac spent the day running around town with Pat, pick-pocketing and causing mischief left and right. Patrick Byrne was a simple thief who Mac had run into when he was 15 and was practicing shooting birds with Davey and had made quite the commotion. Patrick had always been the curious type, so he came over and asked to have a turn. From then on, he and Mac were good friends.

Celebrating birthdays was never a big thing in their family. Mac always tried to get something for Davey, and Davey for Mac; but this had been the first time he actually did something for his birthday. It was dark when Pat walked Mac back home, and everyone was assumed to be asleep by now. They were giggling quietly about something that seems unimportant now, and they had snuck to the shed behind Mac's house to play cards. Except, they didn't play cards. Instead, Mac was pushing Pat down on the floor and pressing his lips against the other teen's. They were moaning, and their inexperienced hands were roaming and grabbing at everything trying to do everything all at once to satisfy their long-unresolved tensions.

Mac was about to unbuckle Pat's belt when the door of the shed burst open and Pat pushed Mac off of him. Standing there, fuming and with a pistol raised, was Conor. According to Davey, he had heard them moaning from the house and Cara had been trying to calm him: "It's his birthday!" she had whispered as she cried, her voice hoarse from never speaking until that day. Davey had been sleeping, but a loud thud woke him. He had been stepping out of his room when Conor had grabbed his gun and was walking out the house and to the shed.

So Davey did the only thing he could think to do --ignoring his mother's lifeless body laying on the floor-- he grabbed a vase, the only vase they had in the house, and ran at his father who had busted the shed door open and was now pistol-whipping Mac and Patrick. He was only 13 years old, he still needed his older brother. He loved the tall oaf and he couldn't bare losing him. He still had so much to teach him. He let out a battle cry and smashed the vase against his father's skull. Conor tumbled down, groaning and cursing. Mac was crying and holding Pat, who was bleeding and unresponsive besides some small twitches and groans.

"He's dead!" Davey said, grabbing Mac's arm and trying to usher him out of the shed. "Mac, please!" he cried. "We have to go!" his voice wavered as he tried to get his brother to safety, watching in horror as Conor was already trying to get up.

Mac was shaking his head. "No! No, he isn't dead--" he sobbed but he was following Davey out the shed and to the streets.

----------

Chapter Text

He had missed this.

He had missed her toothy smile and playful laugh. He had missed her snappy attitude and her bright blue eyes. Hosea and Bessie met when they were young, both in their early twenties and travelling the country for adventure. Hosea was an orphan, so he had been well versed in living life on his own but Bessie came from a well-maintained family with their own estate up in the North in Boston near their clothing factory and she had taught him to never want to be without her. Being the youngest daughter, Beatrice sought to discover young adventure out west. Then she had run into Hosea Matthews. They were quick to fall in love, and only three months after their initial meeting did Hosea propose to her to which she said yes. Her father never approved, but he didn't need to; not to them.

Before they could get married, however, Hosea met Dutch. Infatuated with the idea of having a conman partner and playing robin-hood for the poor distracted Hosea from his promise to Bessie. He was still young and bitter about his own lack-of-childhood, and wanted to project goodness to those who were living the same traumas. Elizabeth waited two years for Hosea to come around, but finally put her foot down and gave him an ultimatum. Dutch understood when Hosea told him he had to take a break from crime and marry his fiancé, and even laughed at Hosea for leaving his woman waiting. Finally, in 1876, Hosea gave Elizabeth his last name.

Hosea spent a lot of time on the farm, only occasionally going out with Dutch to do quick con-jobs. He lasted 4 years on the farm, helping Bessie and trying for a child. It seemed, though, that either Hosea or Bessie weren't able to make or bare any. After realizing this, it seemed that the two were bitter and needed space so at 27 years old Hosea bid his wife a "see-you-soon" and left with Dutch to seek fortune in the West for the poor. He would drop by and help her for a couple of months then return to Dutch, and it lasted this way for another 5 years. It was 1885 when Dutch and Hosea discovered a small 14 year-old-orphan-boy trying to rob them silly -- and he almost succeeded! Had it not been for Hosea's keen hearing, Arthur would have gotten away with their wagon full of goods and weapons.

Arthur was an unruly child, snappy and a damn good shot. He nearly shot off Dutch's ear the first time they met; Dutch and Hosea had chased Arthur into a corner and the boy had been able to snatch a revolver off of some poor bystander's holster while trying to escape the two older men. Impressed and empathetic, Dutch and Hosea offered Arthur a place in their gang. That had been the first time Dutch had ever said anything about starting a gang, but Hosea didn't refute it. The light of hope in the kid's eyes was enough to make Hosea get on board. He could envision a gang of orphans and misfits, all seeking freedom and liberty, and helping others achieve the same.

They were doing well, teaching Arthur to read and write, and even perfected his already skillful shot. But in 1886, Bessie decided to join their gang. She tried, she really did. She got along very well with Arthur, and even helped him acquire Copper to have another young friend and taught him to draw and play dominoes. But Bessie couldn't hold her own on jobs, and she wasn't willing to sell herself. She asked Hosea to return home, and he did for a couple of months but he begged her to let him return to the gang. He felt like he was being torn up inside leaving Arthur alone. He saw so much of himself in the poor boy. Angry, but understanding, Elizabeth allowed it. Bessie had always been too kind for Hosea. He always asked himself how a wretched sinner like himself could be given someone so perfect?

Now it was his turn to try. He didn't know for how long, but he would try. He was lying besides her, not doing anything but listening to her snore. When he was away from her, at camp, she was the first and last thing he thought of in the early mornings and late nights. Her blonde, messy, hair falling over her pale features, shining under the glare of the sunlight that poured through the open window. How she had run the farm alone he had no clue, but this was Bessie he was thinking of. The same woman that convinced her strictly-business father to let her travel the country alone, the same Bessie that had lied her way through several poker games, the same Bessie that could beat anyone in any race using any horse, and the same Bessie that had driven him completely mad for years.

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled fondly, the love she felt for Hosea was one she had only ever read about in story-books. She never knew she could feel this way about anyone; and she knew it was real because she had so many reasons to hate Hosea but she couldn't. "Good morning," he said smiling.

She hummed and snuggled into his chest. "Good morning," she whispered. Already she could hear the chickens clucking outside and the cows bellowing. "Have you been up long?"

"No--" Hosea ran his fingers through her hair, untangling it, "--I was enjoying the view."

Bessie giggled and stretched before looking up at Hosea, she was about to say something when a loud 'moo' interrupted her. They both laughed. "Duty calls," she said instead. Hosea groaned but followed her up and out of bed.

It was a normal morning, they ate and did their chores and talked. They had so many stories to tell each other and so many kisses to share. Hosea was in the barn, feeding the horses, when Bessie rode off to collect the mail. When she got back, Hosea was surprised when she approached him with a letter. "It's from Arthur," she said quietly. He could sense her worry, so he pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

"Let's read it together," he suggested, making Bessie smile as he opened the letter in front of her. Both of their smiles fell after reading what was written.

-----------------

In a moment of adrenaline, it seemed like everything went in slow motion. There was Davey, glued still in front of the bear that was tumbling towards him and Mac running up from behind his little brother in a race to reach him before the bear did. The bear was lifting a heavy paw to claw at Davey's face, and it was coming down when Mac wrapped an arm around Davey's waist and pulled him back. They fell to the ground on their asses, and the bear's sharp claws landed on Davey's knees only scraping the surface of his skin down to his ankle. Davey screamed in pain, his pants cut open and blood pooling the edges. Mac lifted his rifle besides them, still on the ground, and shot three more bullets into the bear's skull before it collapsed at their feet.

Panting heavily, both of them sweaty, Mac clutched onto his little brother as if he were going to float away if he didn't. Davey was a little out of sorts, too focused on the dead bear in front of him, but he could make out quiet whispers of "I'm so sorry.." from behind him, saying it over and over like a prayer. Mac was rocking back and forth, his face buried in Davey's shoulder.

Davey looked down at his legs, only his left was bleeding profusely. A gash deep enough to see the bone, his other leg looked as if someone had dragged a sewing needle down it. "Mac--" Davey lifted his arm to smack his older brother's head "--I need you to stitch me up," he ordered.

"Yeah," Mac gasped, "right." The older Callander brother wiggled out from beneath Davey, careful not to move him too much, and tore off his flannel shirt to wrap his left leg in. He wrapped it tight to stop the bleeding. Davey noticed Mac was focused, a bit shaky, but determined to get his little brother through this. "You'll be alright," Mac said in attempts to console Davey as well as himself. He gathered some things from his satchel to clean the wound after stopping the bleeding, and then he was stitching it. He was pushing a needle and thread that he had disinfected with a flame of a match in and out of his little brother's leg. He had done this before, when Davey got in fights or fell out of trees, but this had been the first time it had been his fault.

Davey was squirming but bit down on his own arm to distract himself from the pain. It felt like forever until Mac announced he was done and wrapped the now stitched up leg in a clean shirt. They stayed like that for a while, staring at the bear that was still at Davey's feet. Finally, after about an hour of silence, Davey said: "I don't think that whole ass bear is gonna fit on our horse," he said laughing.

Mac didn't feel like laughing, but he laughed anyway. His eyes red and stinging, he was between a laugh and a sob but he didn't want to make his brother feel worse so he kept laughing. The rest of the night, it seemed, they stayed laughing.

-------

Dutch rode beside Arthur, and John trailed behind them. The whole way had been a bit quiet, only a few quips between Dutch and Arthur about previous jobs that John had not been apart of. He felt like a bit of an outsider, but John wasn't too close to Dutch. It had been Hosea who had saved him the day they met, and it had been Hosea who had been kind enough to teach him to read and write. Arthur and Dutch, on the other hand, seemed rather close. They had a strange dynamic, John had long discovered, but he wasn't going to be the one to point it out -- not yet at least. Arthur had already been upset with him for getting in his business, he didn't need more heat on him. Especially after the extremely awkward conversation Arthur had with John not long ago; apparently Davey told Mac that John told Davey that he and Arthur were "together" and Arthur wanted to tell John that that wasn't an okay thing to do. John had been upset with Davey for a day for having told Mac, but quickly forgave him after Davey took him out to learn to fish and gave him a new fishing rod.

When they got to Mason's mansion, John felt a strike of deja vu when Arthur dismounted and headed for the door; only this time Dutch was there too. The three of them were now at the steps, and Arthur was opening the door with the key Mason left him. "So this man," Dutch said as the three of them entered, "what type of jobs does he ask of you?"

"Oh--" Arthur started as he shut the door "--house sittin', mostly, and other smaller errands," Arthur said shrugging. John stayed quiet, aware that those 'smaller errands' were most likely the sex Mason paid good money for. It made him upset that men like Mason could just pay Arthur and have their way with him. That anyone could do that to any person.

Dutch hummed, his tone unsure but no longer interested. "I suppose we should split up, cover the most ground that way."

They split up, John heading for the kitchen, Dutch for the upstairs and Arthur for the halls downstairs to stay close to John. Arthur had hidden everything that he needed to hide down in the basement and covered the basement door with a large carpet. He was sure that he had gone through most of the rooms, except for one that had been locked. If Arthur couldn't get through, then most likely Dutch and John couldn't either.

He had collected some cash already, about two grand, when suddenly he heard a loud crash. Arthur rushed out of the office and towards the sound, which had been upstairs, John at his tail. "Dutch?!" Arthur called.

There was Dutch, standing on the other side of the locked door that was now broken on the floor. He was grinning. "It was locked," he explained, "so I took it down," he said proudly. To say that Arthur found this moment attractive was an extreme understatement, he felt himself blush at the sight. Dutch was already moving into the small room, that was dimly lit and had a desk towards the end of it and some book shelves. It was a fairly small room, so John and Arthur waited, watching Dutch from the other side of the door. Dutch had his back to the boys as he looked through the drawers, John had stepped away already and was walking back down the stairs but Arthur was watching Dutch -- curious as to what he would find and nervous about if there was anything of value in there.

Suddenly, Dutch went still. He was holding something and slowly turning to face Arthur. "Boy." he said firmly, angrily, sending a not-so-nice shiver down Arthur's spine. "What is this?"

The older man lifted a photo, a photo of a sleeping, naked Arthur in Mason's bed. Arthur felt panic rise within him, his heart racing, when had this been? When they got drunk and played poker? Why had Mason taken the photo? "I, uh," Arthur stumbled, "I don't know Dutch--"

"Oh you don't know?!" Dutch yelled, Arthur noticed John watching from the stairs. "You don't know why your employer had a photo of you sleeping naked on his bed? I searched the rooms Arthur! I recognize this bed!"

"I've never been allowed in this room, Dutch!" Arthur argued. "I don't know why he took that--"

Dutch shoved the photo in Arthur's face, grabbing his arm painfully. "But you know when, don't you? You've been selling yourself boy?"

"Dutch--" a loud smack echoed in the spacious mansion. Arthur's face was in shock, turned to the side, and his chin was bleeding. John ran up the stairs but Dutch sent him a glare and Arthur whimpered and gave John a look as if to say don't. John could see that Dutch's ring of his right hand was bloody from where it tore at Arthur's skin.

"You're disgusting." Dutch spat. "Bringing me to this place where you whore yourself off to some pretentious creep," he looked Arthur up and down, "I'm disappointed in you Arthur." The older man walked away, stopping when he reached John. "Not a word of this to anyone. You hear?"

John nodded slowly, too afraid to speak, and Dutch grunted and walked out.

---------

"All we have in this world, son, is loyalty," Lyle told him one night that his mother was particularly sick. Lyle had just beat Arthur for ruining his smokes in the rain, so Arthur was stitching his shoulder wound up from where his father had slashed at him. He was 8 at the time, and his father had become increasingly violent ever since Beatrice had been diagnosed with tuberculosis. "Your mother--" he said after taking a swig of whiskey "--was the love of my life," he spoke of her as if she was already dead "--and I will never replace her," Lyle hiccupped. He stared at Arthur, analyzing the boys' movements. "When you find yourself a woman, son, you hold onto her and don't ever let go. No matter what," he grabbed Arthur by the chin, jerking his head to face him, "you hold onto her. Don't matter if she cheats you, or yells, you take it like a man. 'Cause a love like your first? Ain't nothin' that compares to that." he let Arthur go and downed the rest of the alcohol before setting his hat on Arthur's head. He left that day, and Arthur never saw him again. Beatrice died a few days later, crying for her husband, and Arthur would later hear that his father was arrested and hanged for larceny.

--------------

The bear pelt gave Davey an extra layer of protection as they rode out slowly out of the grizzlies and back to camp. Mac had taken care of skinning the bear and cleaning the pelt, and taking the claws and teeth which he gave to Davey. They rode slowly to not disturb Davey's leg too much, and made it back to camp fairly late. The first thing Mac did was to lie Davey down in his tent and get him some food and care, Ms. Grimshaw took charge of cleaning up his leg and changing the shirt for some clean bandages. Davey fell asleep soon after.

Mac had felt that he had an extremely emotional day, but he was glad Davey seemed like he was doing alright considering. He hauled the bear pelt over his shoulder and to Arthur's tent, he had spotted John at the campfire, uncharacteristically quite. He usually always greeted Mac when he passed, but he seemed...pensive. The older Callander brother shrugged it off and pulled Arthur's tent open. "Do I 'ave a story fer you--" he stopped, shocked and worried to see Arthur stitching up his chin in front of a mirror.

"Shit--" Arthur hissed, almost dropping his needle. He glared at Mac, "I'm busy, Mac."

"What..." Mac set down the pelt, his heart aching, this was too much for one day. "What happened?"

Arthur sighed. "Nothing."

Understanding that Arthur didn't want to answer the question, Mac took the needle from Arthur's hand; their eyes meeting momentarily. The irishman finished stitching up the gash, and cleaned it up after setting the needle down. They were quiet, and when Mac was done cleaning off the blood and their eyes locked for a second time, Arthur unconsciously decided to lean in and kiss Mac. Surprised, but not upset, Mac kissed back, This time slow and gentle. There was no message in the kiss, just comfort. Both seeking a lack of complexity, they poured only gentle and quiet emotions into the kiss. Arthur pulled away first, his jaw aching, and Mac remained smiling. "I, uh, am assumin' that wasn't for getting you a bear pelt?"

The younger man looked surprised, leaning over to look at the rolled up bear pelt on the chair. "You--" he smiled "--you hunted down a bear for me?"

"Davey helped. Nearly died." Mac sighed, his eyes shutting. "I feel awful for doing that to him, but he's fine now. But, yeah, it's for you."

Arthur was unsure what to say, he looked back and forth between the gift and Mac. "I...Thank you, Mac, and, uh, I'll tell Davey thank you too. Poor kid," he sighed.

"Arthur," Mac said quietly, "are you okay?"

Pursing his lips, and letting a sharp breath through his nose before intertwining his fingers with Mac's, he said: "I think I will be." Mac smiled, and kissed Arthur's knuckles. For a moment, loyalty to Dutch didn't matter. For a moment, Arthur allowed himself to dream of a scenario where he'd run away with Mac and Davey and their gang, off to the west and forget about Dutch completely. But the sting on his chin reminded him that the dream would remain only a dream, because no matter what Dutch would do to him Arthur would never leave him. Whatever he felt for Mac, it was nothing to what he felt for Dutch and he was afraid it never would be. He was afraid that no one would ever make him feel like Dutch had. So why not leave well enough alone?

--------------

"You can't leave, Hosea, you just got here," Bessie said as she followed her husband around the room. Hosea was shoving his belongings in his bag, preparing to return to camp. She was angry, no; she was furious. They had been having a perfect day -- a normal one! -- but that letter had thrown Hosea in a loop. All of the sudden he was talking about how Dutch always goes crazy whenever he's gone, that he gets reckless and power-hungry and people get hurt. And something else about John needing to learn to write his name.

Hosea was near tears, hearing his wife argue, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He was a poor excuse of a husband.

"Hosea!" she called again as he moved past her and out the room. "Hosea!" she grabbed his arm now, forcing him to look at her. Her eyes were red, no longer angry but hurt. "Please," she whispered, "you've made no promises to them."

His promise had been to her, on their wedding day, to love her 'til death did them part. And he did, he loves her every waking hour. But he wasn't present, he wasn't there for her and she had given up so much for him. He didn't say anything, because he knew that the moment he would open his mouth to say something he would only make it worse.

"Hosea," she begged, "you're my husband," she was crying now. The strong, brave, intelligent Bessie was crying for him. Hosea had made her cry. "What are they to you other than strangers? I'm you're real partner in crime, Hosea, please, I need you here."

Hosea bit his tongue and shut his eyes. He pulled his arm away and opened the door, only turning to look at her briefly enough to see her face of hurt and shock as he said: "I love you, I'll write soon."

Chapter Text

"Where is Lyle?" Beatrice coughed as Arthur set down some tea on her nightstand. Arthur wasn't sure what to tell her, Lyle had left days ago and Arthur had explained that to his mother over and over but still she persisted. "I need him to--" she coughed "--go get some peaches for your cake," she wheezed.

Arthur shook his head and lifted the blanket over her chest. "Ma, you're sick, don't worry 'bout that."

"It's you're ninth birthday today, Arthur," she said smiling. "You're going to be a man soon," she lifted a hand to caress his cheek. She held him like that for moment, admiring her son. The baby she carried for nine months in her womb, and had painfully given life to. The son she taught to walk, and despite being illiterate she was able to teach him his colors and how to count his fingers to ten. She had done all of that, and still Arthur looked just like his father. Lyle, who had spent his time teaching Arthur to shoot and steal and drink away his pain. Lyle, who would beat Arthur and Beatrice for no other reason than being in the way. "You look so much like him," she said in a hushed tone.

The young boy smile despite himself, he hated that he looked like Lyle but he wasn't going to let his father ruin these moments with Beatrice. "Drink your tea, ma," Arthur said but she shook her head.

She had been feeling the sinking, sharp, pain in her chest all night. Her thoughts only fragments and her eyes drowsy; she knew her time was coming. "No, Arthur--" she shook her head more like a child neglecting their vegetables "--no, I...I think I'm alright," she smiled.

"Ma," Arthur said, worried, "you haven't eaten since dad left..."

"I didn't want to do this to you today, Arthur, of all days," she said with tears in her eyes. Her hand fell to Arthur's shoulder and she clenched her hand around it, her nails digging into the wound his father had left days ago but Arthur didn't flinch, distracted with the pain heavy in his chest.

"Ma?" he whispered, unsure as to what she meant.

She gave him a look, her eyes fond. "I love you, Arthur, so much." It felt like a goodbye; it was. She had never wanted it to end this way, she always knew she would die before her son but not this soon; not when he still needed her. Arthur's breathing picked up, it was all going too fast and still too slow as if her were waiting for the pin to drop. Her hand moved up and down his arm to soothe him, she was dying and still she was comforting him. "I'm not afraid," she assured him, smiling.

Beatrice was crying then, quietly, only tears streaming down her cheeks when Arthur pressed his ear to her heart to listen to her last heartbeats. She held him and ran her fingers through his hair until she no longer had the mind to.

Arthur stayed there long after her breathing stopped, trying to mimic the soft thumps of life in a quiet voice and pretending her limp arm was still warm.

-----------------

His head was lying on Mac's chest, it was too early in the morning for it the sun to be up but late enough for everyone else to be sleeping. Mac had left after their kiss to check on Davey, but had snuck into Arthur's tent once everyone turned in for the night. He hadn't tried or insinuated anything more than cuddling with Arthur, which Arthur was grateful for. He wasn't sure what exactly he had started by kissing Mac, but he supposed he couldn't take it back. He had stayed up thinking and listening to Mac's heartbeat, feeling the gentle movement of his chest going up and down with each breath. It was nice; different, but nice to have someone to lay next to and wrap his arm around. The bear pelt was still on the chair, Arthur hadn't figured out what he wanted to do with it yet. It was funny, now, to think that Mac had been working all week to get the damn thing. He told Arthur, before falling asleep, the whole adventure and what had happened to Davey in the big showdown. Arthur promised he would get Davey something to try and make up for it, but he wasn't sure what could make up for someone almost dying.

They hadn't discussed any labels, but Arthur could tell Mac had just assumed they were a couple now since Arthur had kissed him this time and held his hand, and let him sleep next to him. Arthur felt he didn't know how to tell him that all of those things didn't mean anything, really, just that Arthur liked him too. So he decided he wouldn't tell him; he would just...let it play out. Except if Mac wanted to tell the whole camp, because Arthur couldn't even begin to fathom what Dutch would do should he find out Mac wanted to be with Arthur.

It hurt him, and still stung, the now numb scar on his chin. It felt itchy despite the numbness and he kept scratching the skin around it. He had heard once that the itch meant the wound was healing, so he supposed it was a good thing; but he didn't know how "good" such a bothersome feeling could be. Dutch had slapped him with the back of his hand, he ring tearing his skin. He was sure he had bled on Mason's floor -- god, Mason. Why had he needed to go and take pictures of Arthur that way? Without at least telling him?

Arthur looked up at Mac, staring at his sleeping features, being this close up now he realized the older man had freckles. What would Mac do should he find out about Mason? About Dutch? Arthur suddenly began to realize just how right Dutch was, he is filthy. He is disgusting. He's been playing Mason and Mac and Dutch and --

He was crying. Tears flowing down his cheeks and stinging the wound of his scar, but no sound emerged from him. He just shut his eyes tightly and tried to focus on the sound of Mac's heart. It was steady, he mimicked the sound quietly. Steady.

------------

As per usual, John was on his way to Arthur's tent. Except this time he wasn't as chipper, he was still thinking about everything that happened at the mansion. Dutch had been so harsh on Arthur, he had slapped him. Why? John had never understood, really, why Arthur kept the whole thing from Dutch. Annabelle used to do it too, and Dutch would praise her for her work. Why was Arthur any different? Was it because he was a man? Except, wasn't that better? because he would bring in more money for it being so rare and in demand? It only got more confusing when he thought about the fact that --supposedly-- Arthur was Dutch's favorite; didn't that mean that to Dutch Arthur could do no wrong?

He opened the tent, a cup of coffee in his hand for Arthur and some water to clean his wound, but he froze when he saw Arthur sleeping next to Mac. He felt his heart plummet down to his stomach, churning in the acid. He set down the two cups hastily onto the dresser, briefly noticing the giant bear pelt on the chair next to it. He wasn't sure whether or not to step out, but then thought that should it have been Dutch who walked into Arthur's tent and not John; maybe Dutch would be angry about what he saw. So, John walked over and set his hand on Arthur's shoulder and moved it back and forth. "Arthur!" he hissed.

Arthur stirred, hearing his name. He squinted his eyes open and looked up to see John over him, his expression worried and hurt. "John?" he drawled.

"Mac should get out of here," John whispered, his meaning hidden but understood. Arthur nodded and sat up, watching as John stepped back.

The older teen stared at him for a moment, noticing that John seemed unsure of what to do, he sighed: "Thank you John, you can go now." John went red, he stammered something about the coffee and water before rushing out of the tent. Arthur smiled but quickly frowned when he felt a sharp pain on his jaw. He turned and poked Mac awake, who was beginning to stir anyway. "You gotta go back to yer tent," Arthur said quietly. Mac whined in his sleep, his arms reaching out and pulling Arthur back down onto the cot. The Irishman had his limbs lazily strewn over Arthur now, who was refraining from smiling despite the anxiety that was rising from having Mac in his tent with him like this. Mac started placing lazy kisses on Arthur's neck and chin, opposite the side of his new scar. "Mac," Arthur said again, a bit firmer.

"Arthur," Mac moaned. Then Arthur noticed the firmness of Mac's length against his thigh, and the rocking of the other man's hips. Arthur felt his body heat up and he himself began to grow hard but he shook his head and pulled away from Mac.

"Mac."

Mac looked up then, beginning to sit up, his expression concerned. He was worried he had fucked it up, he had gone to fast. "Sorry," he blurted.

The younger man shook his head, "Not that," Arthur assured, smiling a bit as he said: "That was good. But, uh, not here, Mac. Dutch could walk in," he explained.

"And that would be...bad?" Mac asked, his voice a bit hoarse and his tone confused.

"Yeah, Mac," Arthur sighed, "that would be bad. If we're...doing this, no one can know. Well, I guess now except for John. He just walked in on us, lucky he woke me up to remind me that Dutch would have my ass if I slept wit' you," he chuckled to try to ease the severity and truth of his statement.

The attempt didn't follow, because Mac looked afraid now. "Dutch would...Dutch doesn't care for--?"

"I'm Dutch's right hand," Arthur said firmly. "I can't be foolin' around with other folk in camp. Dutch don't care about if people sleep with men or women, just cares about work and me...being wit' you...in his eyes, would effect my work; so this has to stay private."

His eyebrows were furrowed, and although he was still unsure and a bit concerned about the dynamics of the camp he was still fairly new to he nodded in agreement. "Okay, Art'ur," Mac smiled. He got up and stretched, placing a gentle kiss on Arthur's forehead before sending him a wink and sneaking out the back of the tent to return to his own.

Finally, with a moment to himself Arthur grabbed his journal and started to write. His hand eventually aching for how long and how quickly he wrote, documenting everything that had happened; reliving it. He reminded himself that his loyalty was to Dutch, to the gang, and that whatever this thing was with Mac wouldn't get anywhere too serious.

------------

"You're feeling better now?" John asked Davey, who was laying down on his cot with his leg propped up by a pillow. After leaving Arthur's tent, John had decided to go talk to Davey. He wanted to check in and find out what had happened yesterday to the Callander Boys, and Davey had told him all about the bear and how he had almost died and about his narrow escape. He claimed he took the bear down with only 3 shots to the head and Mac had been too scared to even lift his rifle.

Davey hummed, his eyes closed, tired. "Yeah, I am. Ms. Grimshaw's a mighty good caretaker," he said. "You should've seen the way I left the bear," he said grinning with his eyes still closed. John snickered and picked at the grass on the floor from where he was sitting. He looked up when Davey asked, a bit more seriously, "Did it work?" he was referring to Mac and Arthur.

"I think so," John said grimly. "I saw them sleeping together in Arthur's tent," he explained as he chucked a patch of grass away.

"Sorry, John," Davey said earnestly. It had been difficult knowing that both his brother and his new best friend liked the same man. "I don't think yer Art'ur's type," he teased in attempt to lighten the situation.

John rolled his eyes. "Screw you," he huffed playfully. It was nice to have someone to talk to, no matter how scary Davey could be sometimes; John appreciated having another friend. "He said to wait four years for him, that's way too long," John glared at the floor. "Arthur's just...so cool."

"See, I don't get the interest--" Davey waved a hand in the air, pausing, "--he's attractive, sure, but he's not a prize," the younger teen said. "Maybe it's 'cause I only like girls, but I just don't see what's the big deal," he shrugged.

"I don't know either --" John ran his hand through his hair "--but I just feel so...attached to him. He makes me feel important, you know? He feels like home, and no one has ever made me feel that way. I feel like I love him so much that I don't need him to love me back--" he trailed off and paused before adding: "He wants us to be brothers, but I can't be even just friends with someone that I'm madly in love with and I'm scared that I'm just going to sit back and watch him fall in love with someone else and...I don't know what that will do to me."

Davey was unsure what to respond, so the two young teens stayed silent. John felt like he had at least relieved some weight by finally saying how he felt out loud, he wasn't sure when he started to feel that way for Arthur but he knew that he wanted to spend every minute with him. He wasn't sure how healthy that was, but it was how he felt. All Davey could think about was how much hurt John is signing up for.

-------

Arthur washed in the river and put on some new, clean clothes to try and ease the disgust he felt with himself. On his way back into camp, he ran into Dutch who was reading. He looked up at Arthur from where he was sitting and signaled him over, standing up and walking into his tent. Arthur felt confused but followed. Dutch closed the tent, but didn't really need to. Susan and Simon had gone into town for groceries, Mac was out hunting, Strauss was making more loans, and Davey and John were in Davey's tent talking. Dutch didn't turn to face Arthur, he was serving himself some whiskey in a coffee cup. "How many?" he asked quietly. Arthur stammered, unsure, so Dutch turned around with a fierce look in his eyes and clarified: "How many men have you whored yourself to? For how long?"

The younger man stilled, even he wasn't sure the number. He considered lying, making it seem like it had only been the one time, but he knew Dutch could see through his lies. He wasn't really asking Arthur, he had already decided the answer before calling Arthur in. "I don't know," Arthur said honestly. "A lot. Been doing it since Susan joined two years ago," he added.

Dutch raised his hand and ran it down his beard, scoffing. His eyes glanced to the side, almost as if in disbelief but it was really just for show. He returned his gaze to Arthur. "I can't believe you, Arthur. You used to be my perfect son, what happened?"

Something snapped in Arthur, for a moment he was unafraid. "You never got mad at Annabelle for this." he said firmly, his eyes scrutinizing. "Why does this make me less?"

*
The older man glared, angry that Arthur could talk to him that way, so he grabbed Arthur and shoved it to the bed. Instead of answering Arthur, Dutch forced him down. Arthur struggled, he didn't want to feel worse than he already did but then Dutch was digging his thumb into the fresh stitches of the wound on his chin and clamped a hand over his mouth to quiet Arthur's scream. They were both still then, Arthur's hands on Dutch's arm; his nails digging into the skin beneath his long-sleeve. "I loved Annabelle." was all Dutch said before taking Arthur again.
**

When Dutch was done, Arthur felt like he couldn't move or think. That had been the first time he had struggled and yet he came out hurting more than he ever had.

----------

"I loved Annabelle."
That had been what he said. That had been what was looping over and over in Arthur's mind as he bathed for the second time that day and burned his clothed in a campfire he started near the river. It was dark by the time someone finally came looking for him.

"Brought you some soup," John mumbled. Arthur looked up, slowly processing and taking the bowl from John with a quiet 'thank you'. John sat down next to Arthur in front of the small fire. "I, uh, was going to ask you earlier if you're okay," the younger teen said. His eyes trailing to try and see the wound, which seemed red. "Did you scratch it?" he suddenly asked, worried.

"I'm fine," Arthur said in a hushed tone.

John frowned. "You're not, Arthur, what happened with Dutch--"

"I said I'm fine!" Arthur snapped, angry but his expression quickly fell to one of desperation. "What the damn hell do you want from me?" he asked quietly.

Shocked, and unsure, John said: "Nothing," he lied. He wanted to say "You," but he couldn't bring himself too. Arthur didn't deserve that. "I just want to make sure you're okay, brother." It hurt to say, but seeing Arthur this way...he didn't need John to act selfishly. He didn't need John to spew what he wanted when he had already made it clear he couldn't give that to him -- not yet.

The older man looked grateful, appreciative. "I...'m sorry, John, I--" he ran his fingers through his hair "--I'm a bit out of sorts," he admitted.

Both of the young men looked up at the sky, watching the stars and enjoying each other's company. "I wish Hosea were here," John said quietly. Arthur hummed, agreeing. He took out a smoke and lit it with the flames of the fire before taking a long inhale and passing it to John. The younger man thanked him and took a long smoke. He exhaled when he said: "We should go hunting again, or do something--" he turned to glance at Arthur who looked calm now "--to have fun?"

Arthur grinned, a small one to avoid the stretch of his wound: "I'd like that," he agreed. He took the cigarette from John's hand and took another inhale, breathing it out of his nose, looking up and tracing the constellations in his mind.

------------------------------------

Mac was getting back to camp with a deer and two rabbits when John and Arthur were riding out, he was confused as to where the two were going so late but he wasn't able to stop them to ask. He left the carcasses with Pearson before heading into Davey's tent. He checked up on him, and Davey said he was feeling better -- he definitely looked it. According to Pearson, Susan had smacked him silly when he tried to pull her down for a kiss while she was cleaning up his leg. She now refused to tend to him, but he would probably be fine with just Mac checking in every now and then. Caving in, Mac finally asked Davey: "Do ya know where John and Arthur left ta?"

"They left?" Davey said, surprised. John hadn't told him anything about a mission with Arthur, or any plans. "I don't know anyt'ing about it," he said shrugging.

The older brother let out a worried sigh. "Yeah...you know, Arthur told me he walked in on us this mornin'? You said he likes Arthur, right?"

Again, Davey felt at odds. John is his friend; but Mac is his brother and his loyalty falls to him. "He does, told me today that he loves him," he said quietly before throwing a safety pin at Mac. Mac dodged it and glared, his expression pensive. "He also told me--" he paused and stretched "--that Arthur said he wouldn't even think about dating him until he's 19 at least. Says Arthur doesn't want to date him at his age."

That seemed to calm Mac down, at least he knew that even if John had feelings for Arthur that didn't mean Arthur had feelings for John. He trusted Arthur. He knows he wouldn't do that to Mac, despite only knowing him for a couple of weeks he felt confident enough to say that Arthur wasn't the type of person to intentionally hurt others. He seemed kind, and empathetic. "They probably had ta do something for Dutch," Mac theorized.

Except, it was at that moment that Dutch stepped into the tent. "Where in the hell did Arthur and John go?" he demanded to know. Mac and Davey looked up at him, shocked. They told him they didn't know and Dutch huffed and stepped back out, they heard him yell at Simon about something before it quieted back down. They didn't hear the horses, so he probably didn't go after Arthur and John but it was clear he wasn't happy about it.

The Callander Boys shared a look, hoping for John and Arthur's sake that they would return with something that would calm Dutch's furious mood.

----------

They raced their horses again, they rode up to the Upper Montana River from their camp near Blackwater. The two had decided they would fish, John had told him about how Davey had given him a rod and taught him the basics and Arthur wanted to see him in practice. They were sitting, their fishing rods lines casted, enjoying the quiet night and not really caring if they caught anything but determined to catch more than the other should anyone catch something.

"Tell me about yourself, Marston," Arthur said after about a half hour of silence. He had never really bought the whole story about John trying to rob Dutch and Hosea, and he wanted to know more about John's life before camp. He didn't talk a lot about himself, Arthur had noticed.

John shifted a bit, unsure how to approach this but he recognized that maybe Arthur wanted to know as much about John as John knows about Arthur. To level the scale, John decided he would open up to the older outlaw. "Uh, sure," he drawled.

Arthur listened as John recounted his story. He told Arthur about his father, Jim, who was an immigrant from Scotland who had come to New York where he met his mother, a prostitute, and developed a relationship with her. He told him about how his mother had died giving birth to John, and that his father took him to live in Chicago after her death. He grew up like any other kid, running around causing the normal amount of trouble. His father was illiterate, so instead of putting John to try and learn anything in school he took the boy to work with him out in the farms. His father had always been a drunk, he would typically go out on Sundays to drink at a bar and would come back home with a ball or some candy for John.

Except for one night, when John was 8, Jim didn't come home from the bar. John did his best to stay up, but fell asleep and woke up around noon the next day and waited more. He waited until Tuesday morning, when he finally gathered the courage to run outside and ask the neighbors and barkeep where his father was. Finally, one of the bar patrons told him that his father died in a bar fight and was buried in the local church cemetery.

After learning his father was dead, John tried to go back home to process but the authorities had quickly taken him into custody and transported him to an orphanage. He hadn't even been allowed to get some clothes or toys to take with him.

"I didn't stay there long," he said quietly, beginning to get to the end of his story. "I ran off and learned to survive on the streets since I was nine. I, uh, shot someone when I was eleven and I guess someone recognized me this year and tried to hang me which was when Dutch and Hosea saved me. Well, 'Sea was the one who got me out of it but I met Dutch that day too."

Arthur had his gaze on John, examining his expression. "You've had a rough go," he said.

"Yeah, well," John chuckled, "haven't we all?" John felt a tug on his line, and was too quick to try and reel it up because as soon as he started the line snapped and Arthur fell back laughing.

Chapter Text

He could hear the quiet ticks of a pocket watch and a few birds chirping as the world around them became brighter. He stood there, shaky hands wrapped around the pistol and aimed at the lifeless body lying on the dirt floor. Blood pooled beneath the man, darker than what the boy had imagined. The sounds became clearer as the ring from the blast of the gun began to subside, and it was now that he could hear the thundering of hooves hitting the path. Some shouts followed, but he couldn't move; not until hands were on him and he had to struggle against their hold.

----

They ended up catching only two fish between the both of them. The two of them mostly talked, at one point Arthur asked John what Davey liked so that he could find him a suitable gift to make up for the whole bear-incident and John had told him all about Davey's strange obsession with killing things so they looked around for some Oleander Sage and Arthur ripped out a page of his journal to write instructions on how to make poison throwing knives with it. He included four throwing knives and wrapped it all up in a small cloth and rope. He recalled when he had been taught how to make poison throwing knives, it was back when he was seven and Lyle was helping him practice his aim with the throwing knives. When he was at first having trouble with it, Lyle had told him that by adding the poison would mean that wherever you end up hitting your target, they'd die anyway.

"He'll like it," John assured Arthur once they mounted their horses and started to head back to camp at a slow pace.

Arthur hummed. "I hope so, poor kid got wrapped up in this whole thing." He glanced at John, who seemed like he was trying to figure out the meaning of life; his mouth opening and closing and his eyebrows furrowed together in thought. "What?" he prodded.

"I, uh, just..." he sighed, slumping. "I don't mean to pry--" he clutched the reins of his horse "--it's just that I've been meaning to ask about you and Mac. I don't mean it in a --"

Arthur raised a hand as if to stop John. "I get it." he said simply. He knew that John was curious, and although he didn't like John getting too involved in his business he did recognize John was the only one he could talk to about this. On top of that, John had been making an effort to prove to Arthur (if today was any example) that he was capable of just being Arthur's friend and not trying to be anything more. "It's complicated, John. I mean that. I couldn't tell him no--"

"So you wanted to tell him no?" John pressed.

"I don't know!" Arthur groaned. "I don't know anything most of the damn time! How am I s'pposed to know what I want with Mac? But he just...he had the damn pelt and he told me what happened to Davey and I would be a terrible person if I said no; wouldn't I?"

John remained quiet for a moment, thinking. "Yeah, yeah you might've come off that way--" he paused "--but it wouldn't mean you are. It just means you know what you want."

"But I don't know," Arthur sighed. "I like him, I do, but I've got...I've got a lot of things going on and I think I can't give him what he's expecting of me."

"A relationship?" John asked.

"Yeah." he took another deep breath. "It's all too complicated for me to try and do that."

They remained quiet then, John wondering what exactly was making it all too "complicated". Dutch? Was it him? It seemed that the older man had a trigger for Arthur and who he slept with or had intimate relationships with. John had a hunch before this that if Dutch were to find out about Arthur and Mac he would have a fit, but was Arthur really that afraid of Dutch to not want to even be with the man he likes because of it? For a moment, John wondered what Arthur would be like when John finally turns nineteen and tries to be with him. Would he be too afraid then too?

"Well, then, tell him." John said quietly, as if not to scare Arthur. Arthur didn't respond, so John elaborated. "If it were me, in Mac's position, I'd want to know. So that I could help, or at least know why you act a certain way or feel a certain way," he explained.

Again, Arthur didn't respond but John knew he heard him because he saw Arthur's face harden and his grip tighten on his reins.

--------

He barely had two feet on the ground when he heard Dutch start yelling at him. "Where in the hell have you been?"

"Uh, fishing...with John," Arthur pointed at John who was raising the two fish as if to say see? and even though he had the proof he still felt panicked. He noticed Pearson and Susan peering over from their stations, Davey was not to be seen (probably in his tent), but Mac had a front row seat since he was sitting next to the campfire drinking some coffee.

Dutch squinted and tilted his head in disbelief. "And you thought that was a good idea? After that stunt you pulled?"

"Dutch--" Arthur tried but Dutch simply scoffed.

"I think it'd be best if you stay in camp from now on. There's plenty of chores to do here--"

"That's unfair!" Arthur said before he could think. Dutch was glaring at him and Arthur could almost feel another smack coming, but he had come this far already... "It's just...Dutch, I bring in most of the money..."

"Well John seems like he could cover that," Dutch said with a forced smile, "and we have the Callander Boys now too. I'm sure camp could do without your services." Dutch moved past Arthur, bumping into Arthur's shoulder and pushing him aside before placing one hand on John's shoulder and saying: "You've got it handled, right John?"

John stammered, unsure of what to say. His eyes remained locked with Arthur's who looked hurt beyond belief. "I, uh, don't know if--"

"Great!" Dutch said through clenched teeth and John felt the grip on his shoulder tighten briefly before the older man let go of him. "It's settled then," Dutch glared one last time at Arthur before walking away and back to his tent.

"Arthur, I--"

Arthur raised a hand and shook his head. "It's fine, John," he grumbled before storming off to his tent. It's not like he could just get back on Zeke and race off anymore. John was left standing there with the fish. He met eyes with Mac briefly, who looked confused and worried, before he walked over to Pearson to deliver the game.

-----

The flaps of his tent were pushed open and suddenly Arthur wasn't alone anymore so he had to shut his journal in a hurry before tucking it under his cot. "Art'ur, are you alright?" Mac asked before sitting next to the other man. A good distance away to not make Arthur feel overwhelmed, but close enough to offer comfort.

Arthur sighed, he was tired of people asking him that all of the time. Of course he wasn't alright, Dutch had just told him he was a prisoner to the camp, but Arthur couldn't say that. "I'm fine," he grumbled instead.

"You're not," Mac countered.

"Then why'd you even ask," Arthur snapped. He noticed Mac furrow his eyebrows a bit.

"Because I'm worried about ya, and I'm tryin' ta be nice," Mac said firmly making Arthur go red in shame a bit. Mac wasn't playing games here, and Arthur was beginning to realize that. "What was all of that, with Dutch?"

Arthur shrugged. "He got mad about something, but he'll get over it."

Worry overcame Mac, Arthur looked distraught. Mac wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but he was sure it happened the day he and Davey left to get the bear pelt. Which was also the day Arthur showed up with the gash on his chin. Would Dutch hurt Arthur that way? Mac didn't know him all too well, but the way he yelled at Arthur today...it seemed like he might be capable of it. "Did he hurt you?" Mac asked quietly.

The younger man's eyes snapped to look at Mac, Arthur almost looked offended. "What? No! Dutch wouldn't--" his breath hitched "--no," he said firmly but not meeting Mac's gaze.

That had been the answer, and suddenly Mac wanted to storm to Dutch and smack him twice as hard. Except he didn't do that, instead he held Arthur by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Arthur was tense for a moment, but relaxed into Mac's hold. "Okay Arthur," he said despite wanting to scream profanities at Dutch. Arthur remained still, Mac had his chin propped on his head and was rubbing his hand up and down Arthur's back.

He wasn't sure on what grounds Dutch had hit Arthur, but it didn't matter. The old brute didn't have any right to do so, and for a moment Mac was reminded of Conor. He was reminded of Patrick's limp body after being whipped particularly hard by Conor's heavy pistol; how he had fallen like a sack of flour. No longer human, but still bleeding. Would Dutch be capable of stripping Arthur of his humanity? Mac didn't have time to think about it, because Arthur was pulling away now and anxiously rubbing his hands down his leg and to his knee and releasing a slow and shaky breath. "I messed up," Arthur confessed quietly, "I messed up the job and he found out."

"What happened?" Mac asked carefully.

"I--" Arthur paused, his eyes glued to the floor. "I felt bad," he said slowly, "about stealing from Mason. He's nice; a good person--" he paused again "--so I hid all the valuables before bringing Dutch and John there but Dutch figured it out and now he thinks...he thinks my loyalty is displaced."

The Irishman furrowed his brows, that seemed like something Dutch would get angry about but it was by no means a reason to hurt Arthur. "So he hit you?"

"I already said--"

"So he's mad at ya," Mac corrected himself. He noticed Arthur want to say something, (probably further defend Dutch) but he nodded slowly instead. "That's unfair, ya still brought more money in then he has," Mac scoffed.

The statement seemed to be rolling in Arthur's head for a bit. He stammered and said: "Yeah, it's...it's a bit stupid," he smiled. "But, I know Dutch, he'll get over it," his eyes locked with Mac's and he was smiling now. "I'll be back out there and being a menace to society before anyone can miss me too much," Arthur joked; done with the conversation.

"Of course you will," Mac responded with a grin. He leaned in and now they were kissing, the tent flaps were closed and it was late so they didn't think anyone would walk in on them. Arthur kissed Mac a little more feverishly than they had before, and Mac wasn't going to put up a fight when Arthur gently pushed him down to lay down on the cot. The outlaw's thighs on either side of Mac's hips and his body hovering over Mac's as they kissed.

They broke the kiss briefly to catch their breath, their foreheads pressed together. "I wouldn't mind being a menace to you right about now, though," Arthur said with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes that made Mac's stomach do flips.

"What happened to getting caught?" Mac asked, a bit worried but too caught up in the moment for his hands to stop moving under Arthur's shirt.

"Not like I can get in anymore trouble than I'm already in," Arthur said with a cocky smile, " 'sides, I'm too worked up to stop--" it was then that he grinded his hips down onto Mac's making Mac arch his back at the sudden pressure. They returned to kissing, but Arthur's hands were working Mac's belt off and Mac was busy with Arthur's shirt buttons. They stopped kissing periodically only to catch their breath and take off their clothes. The two were down to only their trousers, grinding and kissing and trying their best to stay quiet.

It was strange for Arthur, this felt very different than any other sex he had ever had. Usually, with Dutch or clients, it was fast and at this point at the very least they would be touching down there but Mac was keeping the pace slow and the kisses heavy. Arthur, for the first time in a while, was enjoying himself.

That was, until John and Davey walked in.

"Shit!" Mac and Arthur hissed in unison when the tent flaps pushed open and the two young teens stepped in.

The two older men rushed to cover their naked upper bodies with the closest clothing available, Davey was snickering and John was as red as Arthur and Mac were. Arthur caught Davey flashing Mac a thumbs up as Arthur found his shirt on the floor and slipped it back on. "John says you had a gift fer me," Davey said with a smirk playing on his lips.

Mac glanced at Arthur who was hurrying to stand on shaky legs. "Right," he grumbled. He stepped over to where he had set down the gift, grabbing it and quickly showing it in Davey's direction. "You two could've waited until tomorrow," he said with a frustrated look.

"I got excited," Davey teased as he took the gift. He untied the rope and examined the knives first, then the paper. "I don't know how to read," he said bluntly as he stared at the paper, "is this a love note?"

"I'll help you with it," John offered.

Davey smiled and nodded before looking between Arthur and Mac. "Thanks, and sorry," he winked at his brother before walking back out of the tent with John close behind him.

"Fookin' Davey," Mac groaned with his hands covering his face. Arthur couldn't help but laugh.

-------------

They didn't end up doing much of anything farther than kissing, but they did cuddle until they fell asleep. This time, Arthur was sure to wake up earlier than the last time so that they would have more time to wake up and get ready before having to leave; more time to be together. This time, when Arthur woke up on Mac's chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart; he didn't cry. He thought about what that meant for a moment, what everything that happened the day before had meant.

After what happened with Dutch, and after being comforted by Mac, all Arthur wanted was the Irish bastard. He wished it could be as simple as leaving camp with Mac and living out their dreams of freedom in the west. He wished he wasn't loyal to Dutch, to the camp -- that he didn't love Dutch the way he does. He wished badly that when he was kissing Mac, that he didn't think about how great it would be if Dutch kissed him that way.

He didn't even believe it. He didn't believe that it would be great if Dutch treated him the way Mac does. Dutch was supposed to be Arthur's father figure, not his lover and not his keeper. He wanted Dutch to be proud of him, he wanted Dutch to call him "son" and mean it.

Mac woke up then, he could tell because his heartbeat picked up a bit. " 'Mornin'," Arthur mumbled.

"Hey," Mac responded as he stretched his limbs. "You sleep alright?"

Arthur looked up at Mac with a grin. "I did, did you?"

"Would've been better if Davey didn't interrupt us yesterday," Mac grumbled and Arthur didn't miss how Mac didn't mention John at all. The thought slipped him, though, when he sat up a bit to kiss Mac. The Irishman hummed and rolled them over to that Arthur had his back on the cot and Mac was situated between Arthur's legs. "God, Arthur, you make me so happy," he said in a breath when they pulled away.

Arthur was struck. He wasn't sure how to take this. Mac must have seen his expression and taken pity on him because he smiled and kissed Arthur again to save him from embarrassment. Before it could get too heated, Mac pulled away and stood up to stretch and dress himself. "What are you doing today?" Arthur asked form the cot.

"Checkin' on Davey, first, then maybe go huntin' or findin' a job," he said as he buttoned his shirt. "I think it's about time I pull my weight around here since you won't be able to leave camp for who knows how long," he explained.

"Right," Arthur mumbled. "I hope it's not too long,"

"Of course it won't be," Mac assured before placing a kiss on Arthur's forehead. He squeezed his shoulder gently before stepping out of the back of the tent to sneak back into his own and avoid anyone who might be up.

The blonde remained where he was for a moment, taking it all in, before getting changed and heading out of his tent to go do chores around the camp. He was chopping wood when he noticed John and Davey run off someplace beyond camp into the trees, he was checking the cash box when he saw Simon head out with the wagon to get more supplies in Blackwater, and he was out of things to do by the time Strauss returned from wherever he had been the past couple of days with a job for Arthur. The old man was particularly confused when Arthur told him he couldn't take the job, and to find Mac whenever he returned to camp.

He felt useless. Even John and Davey returned with some rabbits to cook up for the stew, and Simon was congratulated by Ms. Grimshaw for actually doing some work. Mac hadn't yet come back home, but Arthur was sure he would come back with something great. Dutch hadn't approached Arthur all day, he had been actively ignoring him. Arthur felt conflicted; he was for one relieved that Dutch wasn't near him and screaming his ear off but on the other hand Arthur kind of wished he could talk to Dutch like they used to. He wished he could do a job or some work and make Dutch proud of him again. Dutch had asked not long ago what happened to Arthur, that he used to be his perfect son, but Arthur wasn't sure what the answer to that was.

It was noon, and Arthur was taking a break by the campfire with a bowl of the stew Simon had finished making with the rabbits John and Davey brought back. The boys were shoveling spoonfuls of their own stew while playing checkers nearby. They had asked Arthur to join, but Arthur had said he'd play later. Dutch and Susan were eating together, which was a sight to see since the two hardly spent any time together since Annabelle joined. Simon and Strauss were eating together too, both of them the most unliked of the camp so it made sense.

Arthur was aching for Mac at that moment, but then he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and a raspy: "Hey there, Fenton," the familiar voice greeted. Arthur whipped around, his bowl of stew falling to the ground.

"'Sea?" Arthur exclaimed as the old man pulled him into a hug. The exclamation grabbed the attention of the gang and soon Hosea was pulling away to hug John and Susan. After a few hellos, Arthur spoke again. "What are you doing here? What about Bessie?"

Hosea scratched the back of his head, his hat at his side in the other hand. "I got your letter and thought you all needed me here more than Bessie, she...agreed," Hosea said with a small smile that faltered slightly when Hosea seemed to notice something on Arthur's face; but then he became distracted by the growing crowd around him. "And who's this?" he asked with an outstretched hand to Davey.

Davey shook the older man's hand and grinned. "I'm Davey Callander. Mac Callander is my older brother, he went out but he'll be back soon," he explained.

"Nice to meet you, Davey," Hosea said earnestly. He was glad to see the camp growing even without him around, it gave him hope. He turned his attention to Dutch who was slowly approaching Hosea and the group of people around him. "Dutch! We should catch up," Hosea said as he pushed gently past the crowd and followed Dutch into his tent but not before sending a small smile at Arthur and a look that said he would catch up with him later.

And if that wasn't enough to lift Arthur's spirits, before the two disappeared into the tent Dutch seemed to remember something because he stopped and turned to call to Arthur: "Arthur! Hurry and ask Strauss about that job, Mac is taking too long to get back," he ordered.

It was looking like it was going to be a good day.

--------

Dutch was afraid of only a very few amount of things. The elite was one of them, along with civilization; but neither held a candle to Hosea Matthews. A true conman of his time and a man of many passions. The thing with Hosea is that when he loves something, he loves hard. For the camp Hosea would do just about anything and Dutch was aware of that. He and Hosea had been best friends since they met, inseparable except for the times when Hosea needed to be with Bessie. For a while, Hosea only cared about Dutch and Bessie. But then Arthur came along and he became not only Hosea's favorite person to love, but his responsibility. Dutch had never felt that for Arthur, he had seen potential in the boy but he was never that attached to the boy.

As a child, Arthur was already bratty and feral and Dutch was never a fan of children. Hosea took it upon himself to teach Arthur and tame him --or, as Hosea put it, "treat his trauma and gain his trust". Dutch noticed that Hosea would even get angry at Dutch should the man take his aggression out on Arthur, or if Arthur got hurt under his watch. So when Arthur turned 16, after their bank robbery, and Dutch had taken Arthur quietly into his tent and taken advantage of him, he made sure Hosea was none the wiser.

He made sure Arthur would never tell Hosea, and that whenever he would take Arthur that Hosea would not be around or conscious to find out. Should Hosea ever know, he would surely murder Dutch.

Dutch was aware that what he was doing with Arthur is...wrong. The first time it happened, he swore to himself it would be the last. He hated himself for ever doing it, for feeling so weak and desperate to hurt a child in that way. But Arthur had been so desperate to please Dutch and Dutch couldn't help but find that arousing. The power he felt over Arthur spurred him to take the boy again and again. As Arthur got older, there were even times when Arthur initiated it whenever he wanted to make something up to Dutch and of course Dutch wouldn't deny him. Except he should have. He should.

But he won't.

So when Hosea showed up out of the blue and asked Dutch to catch up with him, Dutch was sure to let Arthur know (without explicitly saying) that he was free from the punishment Dutch had only placed on him the day before because if Hosea knew he would ask questions. Too many questions. And those questions would no doubt lead the old man to the truth.

But there was one detail he forgot to take into account. "What happened to Arthur's chin?" Hosea asked immediately when they both sat down.

"Ah," Dutch sighed, "I think it happened in Valentine, poor boy got smacked by some O'Driscoll he didn't see coming," he explained.

Hosea looked a bit confused. "That happened a while ago, but it looks fresh," he pushed.

"You know Arthur," Dutch said with a raised brow, "never tending to his wounds. I had to ask Mac to force him to take care of it just yesterday before it gets infected," he spun.

Hosea nodded slowly and moved on. They discussed Annabelle, which hurt Dutch. He loved her more than he had ever loved anyone. She was young, beautiful, and intelligent. He imagined living a good life with her, in the free lands where they would make a home. They talked about the O'Driscoll's, and Hosea scolded him briefly for ever doing the job but not too much. It seemed Hosea already knew that Dutch regretted it, because that was the reason for Annabelle's death. Ever going there was a mistake.

Then Dutch asked Hosea about Bessie, and he noticed Hosea wasn't as detailed as he used to be but he did take into account that Hosea didn't spend much time there anyway so there wasn't probably much to tell. So they moved on, and talked about Strauss for a moment. Hosea kept his reserves about loansharking, but listened to Dutch respectfully when he told him it was bringing some good money into camp and that Arthur had gotten them some good money from a raid job not too long ago too. Dutch didn't tell him about Arthur whoring himself, though, because then Hosea might ask questions. And, again, Dutch preferred to avoid too many questions.

It was better if Hosea didn't know anyway.

------------

"John --" she shook him, "John! We have to go!" she cried. Her hands on his shoulders felt too heavy, too harsh, and he was struggling against them. How could he do this? He had never wanted to do this; to take a man's life away. For what? Some girl?

He pulled away from her, the gun still in his hands and now aimed at her but he wouldn't shoot her. He'd never shoot anyone ever again and he swore it. He hated the sound and the smell and the sight. He hated it all. He hated everything. "Why did you make me do that?" he cried back. He was only eleven. Sure, he was an orphan but he wasn't a murderer. He never wanted to kill anyone.

"I'm sorry--" she sobbed but the sound of hooves was only getting louder and louder. "But we have to go," she pleaded. "You can hate me, and that would be okay, but I can't live with myself if you go to jail for me John," she admitted.

John glanced back at the rising dust of the path, the law was getting closer. He had no time to think, so he mounted the horse behind her and she kicked the horse into motion. He held onto her thin waist, gun still in hand, and shut his eyes to keep the dust out of them. He reopened them, though, not caring about the dust when all he could see when he closed his eyes was the limp body of the poor man he had shot for seemingly no reason. Rachel had told him that it was a fake gun, that they would only be threatening him to get some cash and whatever other valuables he had on him. She had promised John that she would take care of them ever since they escaped the orphanage together. Except she wasn't because now John was wanted for murder because he was sure the law saw them and he was positive that they were still on their tail.

Still, Rachel rode on. Her body stiff and tense and her long hair whipping in the wind. Maybe he should have stayed in the orphanage, but her promise of freedom and adventure and family had been to great to pass up. Now, it seemed, John shouldn't have been so trusting.

------

Strauss was surprised to see him, but ready to give Arthur his mission. Today Arthur would be extorting two hundred dollars from some young fellow named Brady Matthews. For a moment, Arthur was inclined to ask if he was of any relation to Hosea but it would only prove to be a goose chase because Hosea had always told Arthur that he was an orphan since he could remember. He was unsure if his last name was even his real last name, if he even had a real one. So, instead, Arthur thanked Strauss and started to get his gear and horse ready for the journey to Blackwater where Strauss said Brady was. It would take him less than a few hours should there be no complications.

He was happy to see that Mac had shown up at camp while he was talking to Strauss. "Hey!" Arthur greeted with a grin. Mac turned and smiled at Arthur. "I'm free," Arthur said when he was close enough to Mac, "and I've got a job in Blackwater. You too tired to join me?"

Mac looked so happy Arthur was sure the Irishman was about to lean in and kiss him, but thought better of it. "I'd love ta," the other man said instead. "I just put my cash in the box anyway, let's go," Mac said with a grin.

As they walked towards their horses, Arthur felt himself gather enough confidence to say in a hushed voice: "Maybe we can stop and get you some...rest...in one of those rooms they rent out in the hotel?"

Arthur was glad to see Mac go red in the face. "You'll be the death of me, Arthur Morgan," Mac responded as they mounted their horses.

"Hopefully a happy ending?" Arthur countered, smirking. Unaware of John and Davey who were nearby the horses playing Five Finger Fillet -- well, Davey was playing Five Finger Fillet, John was watching and biting his own nails anxiously.

Mac didn't respond, but bit his lip and kicked his horse into a trot with Arthur soon matching his pace.

John and Davey shared a glance, but Davey forgot to stop his other hand so he was soon groaning in pain and examining his now wounded thumb. Luckily he didn't cut it off, but the cut was definitely bleeding enough for John to puke his guts out in the nearest bush. "Great, now I'm out a leg and a t'umb," Davey grumbled. Then, he peered at his best friend's puke and the pale face of John Marston and said: "And you're out a stomach. Mind if I have the rest of your stew?"

-------

Chapter Text

They made it into a tunnel in construction for a new railroad by the time the night fell and the rain began to come in pours. John's hands were still trembling and holding onto the pistol despite having long dismounted and now seated on the cold, rocky floor. Rachel was standing, her torn boots in John's line of sight. She was watching him carefully -- was she afraid?

"I killed someone," John said in a trembling, squeaky voice when Rachel said nothing. He looked up at her slowly, her hair was shiny and wet and her eyes were glossy. John remembered that when he first saw her at the orphanage, he had been afraid of her. She always carried herself in a certain way that conveyed a strong front, she seemed... invincible and confident and perfect. Now? though, she didn't seem that way at all.

"Look--" she paused and ran her long fingers through her black hair "--if we just...if we just get to my family up North; we can forget this ever happened...okay?"

Forget? How could she even say that? John glared at her. ""Do you even have a family up North?" John spat.

She stepped back --just liked the man had done when John raised his gun at him-- and her pained expression was enough to make John want to take back what he had said. Except...no. He didn't; she made him kill someone. Of course he didn't regret hurting her, because she had ruined his life. "I...I do." she argued. She fumbled a bit but retrieved a photo from her satchel, the same one she had showed him back in the orphanage. "My dad is--"

"A scientist up North. I know," John interrupted. "You told me this before, but a photo doesn't mean anything, Rachel."

Now she seemed angry. "His name is Marko Dragic!" she yelled, her voice echoing in the tunnel. John kept his eyes locked with hers. "He lives in a mansion--" she pointed her hand down the tunnel as if the mansion were right there to prove it "--and he has his lab on Doverhill," she said in a breath.

"Then what are you doing here," John questioned; although it was more of an accusation.

Rachel blinked once, then a second time, before scoffing and begining to pace. "I told you that my dad needed some space for his experiments and he yelled at me so I ran off--"

"So he didn't look for you?" John pushed, his voice a little stronger now.

"He's busy!"

"Doing what?!" John yelled now.

"Science!" Rachel screamed back, but her glossy eyes were now filled to the brim with tears. "Toys; robots," she listed with hot tears streaming down her cheeks now.

John felt awful for making a girl cry, but he was too far to back down now. He stood up and took her hand and put the gun in her palm. Face to face, eyes locked; almost staring into her soul, he said: "Marko Dragic sounds like a made up name, just like your made up family," he hissed.

With that, he snatched his satchel from the ground and started walking to the other end of the tunnel. He was so close to the exit when she grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around and punched him. Pain flared across his cheek and he stumbled back and fell on his ass. Her boot came dangerously close to his face when she stepped down next to his ear and glared down at him. "My dad is not made up," she hissed, "and my family is real. You can't just humiliate me that way because you're a coward,"

John sputtered. "A coward? You told me the gun was fake--!"

"I thought it was!" she countered.

"I killed someone!"

"We all kill someone eventually!" she said, exasperated and John waited to hear her elaborate. "Eventually," she started, "we take someone's life away. Whether that be at the end of a gun, heartbreak, or.--" another year rolled down her cheek "--if by just existing," she sighed. "But it doesn't matter, because we need to survive. We need to get back up after every punch and keep moving even when we lose someone or hurt someone because at the end of the day it's about surviving--" she stepped back and offered her hand to help John up "--and I like you John. You don't take anyone's shit, so...will you survive with me?"

He stared at her for a moment, weighing his options. He could walk away, alone, and end up having no where to go. Or, he could keep on going with Rachel. And although he wasn't completely over murdering some poor guy, what she said made sense. So he took her hand. She smiled, and pulled him up. "Okay," he said quietly, "but, please, I'd like to reserve guns for hunting," John bargained to which she nodded and patted his shoulder.

________

"BRADY!" Arthur yelled, annoyed, as he and Mac chased the blonde haired and blue eyed young asshole that had tossed dirt in their eyes to get away. They had cornered him in Blackwater and the snake had misleaded them and ran off. Arthur noticed Mac was a bit faster than Arthur but to be fair he was a bit taller and had a longer stride.

Mac's short, wavy, brown hair bounced as he sped towards Brady and Arthur started to wonder if he was running slower than usual because his eyes weren't on his target. He was distracted. The promise of finally being alone with Mac was too overwhelming to not think about; they had planned on "resting" before going to find Brady but they had found him immediately upon entering the bar and hearing his name being called.

At last, Mac was able to tackle Brady down to the floor with a big umph. "Pay up," Mac said with a grin. Brady groaned and whined, refusing, so Arthur stepped opposite Mac; his boots at either side of Brady's head and bent over to face him so that Brady would see him upside-down.

Arthur let a menacing smile play on his lips, one that he had been practicing with each loan. "Fork over the money, Matthews, or we'll dish it out ourselves," Arthur threatened. Mac, it seemed, no longer was paying attention to Brady and had his eyes on Arthur. Brady too had his eyes locked on Arthur, for a different reason, as he sputtered and grabbed some cash from his pockets. Arthur snatched it from him and counted, it was close enough to two hundred that with the pocket watch Mac stole from Brady it would cover the loan. "Many thanks," Arthur said as he stepped away, Mac following close behind.

The stranger stayed on the floor, crying, and Arthur was sure that if they had asked him why he would tell them a sob story that might play enough at their heartstrings for them to find a way to help him -- but they didn't. Instead, Mac was staring at Arthur longingly and Arthur was smirking down at the money pretending to count it again; well aware of Mac's gaze. "That was... spectacular..." Mac said, at a loss for words.

"Glad you liked the show," Arthur responded with a grin and a glance.

"I'm hoping there's...more where that came from?" Mac asked, matching the grin. Arthur let out a deep laugh and allowed himself to hold Mac's hand until they got close enough to town where people would notice.

_______

Davey was skinning a rabbit, careful not to get the blood into his still healing thumb, and John was watching from afar trying his hand at whittling a piece of wood he had found. Over the past few weeks, John and Davey had become like brothers. It was strange how immediate the two opposite souls were able to grow attached to one another, but they were both just content to have found a best friend -- someone who wasn't obligated to like them or care for them; but someone who just did. At first, John had been intimidated by Davey's intensity -- he still was, at times -- but he had learned that Davey was just as complex as any other person John had gotten to know. Still, it surprised him when Davey asked him: "Have you ever fallen in love?" without meeting his gaze and while still tearing the skin from off the rabbit.

"Uh," John started, "yeah. I am right now, I think--" he set his knife down and watched Davey.

Davey still didn't look at him...strange. "What does it feel like?"

John thought about it, Arthur had not been his first love; Rachel had been. That had been the whole reason why he had escaped the orphanage with her despite his doubts of her story, he had been smitten. "I don't know," John said instead, trying to put together the two experiences, "it's overwhelming. It's like you want to spend every moment with them, and you think about them a lot. And you think about what they do and what that means when you're trying to figure out if they love you too," he explained as best he could. He felt that way for Rachel, and he feels that way now for Arthur.

"You're in love wit' Arthur--" Davey stated, finally meeting John's gaze, "--but you haven't stopped hanging out with me. Mac...I know he loves Art'ur, I can tell because he used ta look at Patrick that way before. But he never used ta...he never used ta just forget about me...ya know? I had ta push him to be alone with Pat," he laughed a bit, "but wit' Art'ur...he spends more time with him than me now--" he scratched the back of his head "--I'm happy for 'im, I really am, but I miss being his number one."

The younger boy was no longer looking at John, ashamed almost. John hadn't considered that Davey was feeling anything but supportive of Mac's infatuation with Arthur; Davey always put on a genuine smile whenever Mac and Arthur were together. "Maybe he's just a little too focused on Arthur right now," John reasoned, "and once things settle down it'll go back to normal," John tried to console Davey but Davey was shaking his head.

"Mac has never been in love like this before; or at least he hasn't gone this far wit' it. I think... I think he wants Art'ur to come with us," Davey sighed.

It struck John then, that Mac and Davey wouldn't be around forever. Davey had told John about the brothers' plan to move west, and that had felt like so long ago that John had forgotten the fact or blocked it out. Now, though, Davey was telling him that not only was he going away but Mac was going to try and convince Arthur to go with them too. To lose Arthur and Davey all at the same time? John wouldn't be able to handle it. "I, uh," John stammered. "Really?" he said when he could find nothing else to say.

Davey nodded. "Mac told me, and well...I guess what I wanted to ask you is if you wanted to come with us too--" Davey said as he shoved the rabbit pelt in his satchel "--ta keep me company while Art'ur and Mac are busy shagging or whatever," he grumbled. Clearly Davey no longer wanted to speak in a vulnerable manner now that he was asking John for a favor.

A smile played on John's lips, "Of course I'll go," he said with a gentle shove at his friend's shoulder. Davey grinned, shame gone, and the two started planning the great adventures they would have out west. John, of course, mentioned bringing Hosea with them too -- for the brains of the operation, and Davey agreed that their group needed some of that.

"We should tell Arthur and Mac," John suggested. Davey was nodding along excitedly. "Maybe we can leave soon!" Without another thought, the two boys mounted their horses and headed to Blackwater.

___________

Their plan went perfectly. Mac went in first and ordered a room, headed upstairs and left the door slightly open. Then Arthur ordered a bath and headed upstairs. His bath was short but thorough, he wanted to be clean and ready for whatever Mac wanted from him. When he stepped out of the bathroom, he was faced with the challenge of distracting the lady who was standing in the hallway.

"You need somethin'?" she asked when Arthur had been staring for far too long. Her curls bounced against her shoulders when she tilted her head a bit.

Arthur stumbled, excited to meet Mac in the bedroom. "Ah, I think I might've...ruined the bath?"

Her left brow shot up, she flicked her cigarette to the floor and stepped on it with her heel before stalking towards Arthur who was still in front of the door. She looked him up and down, their faces too close, then she said: "Well, move," Arthur shimmied to the side and her eyes followed him curiously until she stepped inside the room and shut the door.

Arthur let a breath escape him, unknowingly holding it, before scurrying into the open room.

The brunette was nervously fixing the sheets, even though there was no point to, when Arthur stepped in. The thud of the door shutting made Mac spin on his heel and smile at Arthur. "Hey," Mac said almost breathlessly.

"Hey," Arthur repeated. He walked over, a bit of a spring in his step, and kissed Mac feverishly. Mac moaned into the kiss and tugged away at Arthur's shirt; buttons coming undone from the cheap fabric. Arthur's right hand was holding Mac's neck, while the other played at his belt. They parted their kiss briefly to pull off Mac's union shirt.

Their chests were flush against each other, Mac's hands wandered down the arch of Arthur's back and under the hem of his jeans to grope at his backside. Arthur kissed him again, moaning at the feeling. It was then that Arthur pulled at Mac's jeans to lead him to the bed, where he allowed himself to fall onto his back. Mac situated himself between Arthur's legs, rocking his hips against Arthur's, the two young men groaned at the feeling. "Off," Arthur said in a breath as he was trying to remove Mac's trousers.

Mac grinned and took a moment to shove off his pants while Arthur did the same with his own. They both paused for a moment, examining each other. Mac was pale, tall, lean, and his dick was long and skinny. If this were any other moment, Arthur would compare it to a pencil. Arthur, on the other hand, had skin a bit tanner in color, was average height but tall compared to most, had more muscle, and was thicker in length but not short.

It was Arthur that broke the stillness, he licked his palm with a flat tongue and wrapped his hand around Mac's length. Mac groaned and planted his hands on either side of Arthur's head as the younger man stroked him. For a moment, Arthur noticed Mac scrunching his eyebrows together and he wondered if he was hurting him. Maybe he was too dry? Mac was definitely hard, as Arthur was, but Arthur's hands were rough.

In an effort to fix this, Arthur flipped them over quickly and scooted back so that his face was in front of Mac's dick. He could hear Mac panting, and he could see the Irishman clutching onto the sheets. Arthur looked up, green eyes meeting green, before licking tentatively at Mac's tip. "Ah!" Mac gasped and arched his back.

His reactions were intense, and made Arthur wonder how long it had been since Mac had done something like this. Surely not long, Mac seemed like a flirt. He lapped at the head for a few more licks before wrapping his lips around Mac's length and bobbing his head down as far as he could go. Mac's toes curled at the overwhelming sensation, the heat of Arthur's mouth and the sudden hit he felt when his dick hit the back of Arthur's throat was enough to make his balls tighten and for him to release.

Arthur was surprised, and coughed as he pulled back and wiped the white and clear goo off his lips and chin. He took a few breaths before smirking. "That good?"

"I'm so," Mac was red "--so sorry, I've never--" he covered his face with his hands.

It hit Arthur then, Mac is a virgin. Shit. "You're...you're a virgin?"

Mac removed his hands from his face and sat up to compose himself. "Yeah... is--is that a problem?"

Arthur wasn't able to respond, because there was a knock on the door then. Neither of them moved, Arthur was still stunned and Mac was anxiously awaiting an answer. "Mac? You in there?" came a voice Mac knew all too well. Mac sighed and swung his legs to the side and off the bed to stand up, he pulled up his pants while Arthur did the same but sitting and facing away from the door.

Mac swung the door open, his heart still racing so he lit a cigarette as Davey and John rushed in the room to calm his nerves. Mac would be lying if he said that he was upset that John was there; he enjoyed watching the boy go red in jealousy. Wherever this thing with Arthur would go, at least he could say he had him first. He shut the door.

"So, John and I were talking," Davey started excitedly, "since Art'ur is comin' wit' us we t'ink John should come too! An' we can bring the old fellar ta help us out!"

Mac was a bit confused, his mind on other things but trying to follow his brother's speech. He was about to ask Davey to repeat himself, slower maybe, but Arthur stood up then and said: "I ain't goin'," he grumbled.

"What?" Mac said in a hushed voice that he hated himself for. Davey and John's faces fell too.

Arthur was pulling on his shirt, not meeting Mac's gaze. "I never said I was gonna go, I told you--" he locked eyes with Mac now, speaking as if this whole situation was Mac's fault "-- my loyalties are with Dutch."

"That was before--" Mac said with a confused and hurt look on his face.

"Whatever this is doesn't change that Dutch and Hosea raised me; they saved me, and that I owe them my life," Arthur said sternly. "So you two--" he said, turning his attention to John and Davey "--don't get all excited about something that ain't happening. Now can you please stop walking in at the worst times," Arthur finished.

Davey looked devastated, and for a moment Mac was pissed at Arthur for making Davey feel that way. Why couldn't he just go? Dutch didn't love him; he hurt him. Arthur must be delusional. At that, Mac felt a sudden urge to help Arthur see Dutch for who he is. John and Davey were walking out of the room, their heads hung low, and at the thud of the door closing behind them Mac turned to face Arthur. "Ya think Dutch will ever stop hittin' ya?"

It struck Arthur like a smack. He felt hot all over, and not in the fun way. "You don't know what you're talking about--" he drawled, glaring at Mac.

"I don't?" Mac scoffed. "I know he's the one who left that scar on ya chin Arthur, really, how stupid do ya think I am? We were gone the day you got it, and you got it the day you went on some mission with Dutch that he came back from all pissy at ya!"

"I told you--"

"Well you're a liar!" Mac shouted, shutting Arthur up. "and you're a fool if ya think Dutch will ever feel the way you do for him," when saying this Mac meant about Arthur's stubborn loyalty, but Arthur took it differently.

How could Mac know? "What--" he rasped. He felt itchy again, all over, and panicked. Who else knew? "John," Arthur growled. "What did he tell you?"

Except Arthur had never told John about him and Dutch, the only person who knew was Annabelle. But Annabelle could have told John, knowing how nosy John is. "What?" Mac was confused now. "What do you mean?"

"What did you mean?" Arthur pressed.

"That Dutch will never be as loyal ta you as you are ta him--" Mac furrowed his eyebrows "--what did you mean?"

Arthur felt relief come over him, he ran his hands through his hair and sat down but he wasn't out of the woods yet. "John was there...when he hit me. I swear, Mac, he had all reason to," Arthur said quietly.

The tension was gone, sadness replacing it. Mac sat down next to Arthur and held his hand. "No, Arthur, he didn't," he said quietly. Arthur was too tired to argue, the itch being soothed only by Mac's hold. They sat that way for a while, enjoying each other's company, Mac didn't bother bringing up the virgin thing again; he figured they had more time to talk about it anyway. Right now, they had just had their first fight, and neither of them was sure if it was even over.

_________

In all of their excitement and hope, they hadn't expected that. It hadn't crossed their minds that Arthur wouldn't go, and as good of friends that Davey and John were; Davey knew if Arthur wouldn't go; then neither would John. So they went back down to the bar, and Davey bought himself about five shots. John refrained from drinking anymore than two because Davey was sad and quickly getting drunk and those two things don't mix well.

They were still there when Arthur walked out with Mac trailing behind him but they didn't see each other. They also didn't notice, an hour later, someone following them back to camp.

____

"Shut your mouth," she hissed at John. It was dark and the two of them had made camp just outside of a little town near the coast. They were only about a day away from finally reaching her father's lab.

John had been rambling about something, most likely a cigarette card or some new game he had discovered; it didn't matter. What mattered was Rachel, who was tense and afraid. There were very few times John would ever see Rachel afraid; and this had been the last time. "What is it?" he finally gathered the courage to ask after a few painful minutes of silence.

She cast him a glance, a look of fear and anxiety frozen on her delicate features. This time, he heard it. A rustle just beyond their tent. John tensed then too and scooted closer to Rachel. "Earlier," she said in a hushed voice into John's ear, "in town, this man...he was following me--" her voice wavered and it sounded like she was about to cry "--he kept staring at me like...like he wanted something. I thought he would leave me alone when we left but...but I think he followed us," her breathing was shaky and John felt rage. Rachel was only thirteen, how is it that a grown man could want to hurt her this way? How evil must he be to be capable of doing this? He must really not have a life since he's making such an effort to follow her out of town and to her tent.

John wrapped an arm around her shoulders to steady her, despite her being taller than him, at that moment she felt so small in his arms. "We'll stay in here," he whispered to her. Rachel closed her eyes shut tightly and buried her face into John's chest. They stayed still for a moment, and it crossed John's mind that maybe there was no man out there bent on stalking Rachel -- maybe it was an animal -- but he still held her because she believed there was and John wasn't about to ignore her feelings. He was about to run his fingers through her long hair to try and comfort her when the tent was suddenly rocking. She screamed and scrambled away from John. John hurried to his feet and grabbed her hand and their satchels and pulled her out of the tent.

There, clutching onto the cloth of the tent, was a tall burly man. His hair and beard long and dirty and his skin covered in dirt and scratches. "Come 'ere--" the man growled in a rough and unstable voice. He reached towards them so John stayed between Rachel and the attacker. But then the man had tackled him and heavy hands were pushing John's face and neck onto the ground and the man was straddling him. Rachel, it seemed, was frozen in fear. A heavy hand came down on John's chin in a punch, rendering him useless for a few seconds. Those seconds were all it took for the man to get off of John and grab Rachel, she was sobbing now and the man was shoving her face down onto the floor. In a rush, John grabbed Rachel's satchel and pulled out the pistol he once thought was fake.

This time his hands didn't tremble when he aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.

-------

They were sharing some coffee near the fire when John dragged a drunk Davey into camp. Mac was about to get up and go check on his little brother, but John told him it might be better if he left him alone for a little while (at least until he was sober). Arthur and Mac hadn't spoken after leaving the hotel, they had walked and ridden in silence. It was unlike Mac to be so quiet, but he had busied himself with his cigarettes. He had smoked his way through two already and was on his third while sipping coffee.

Arthur maintained his focus on his coffee, washing down the taste of Mac in his mouth. He could hear Dutch and Hosea and Susan laughing about something near Dutch's tent, and Pearson and Strauss discussing older times while playing dominoes. What he wasn't meant to be hearing, though, was the sound of rushing hooves getting closer and closer to camp. At first, he wondered if it was just some lost rider, but when he heard Zeke start neighing because of the intruder Arthur was quick to rush to his feet and gran his rifle. Mac stood up and took his place besides Arthur, their movement catching the attention of Dutch and Hosea.

He held his rifle firmly and aimed it, he watched as a figure dismounted from the intruding horse and hurried towards them. His eyebrows shot up, and he lowered his weapon. "Arthur!" the figure called.

"Mason?" Arthur said, flabbergasted.

Suddenly Mason was right in front of him, and the shorter man was pulling Arthur into a hug. "Arthur! I thought something had happened to you! There was blood on the stairs and--" he stepped away to fully examine Arthur, his hand flying to the scar on Arthur's chin "--what happened to you?"

"Who is this?" Dutch's voice boomed, he had snuck up behind Arthur and Hosea was at his side.

Arthur gulped, panic rising in his chest but comforted by Hosea's interested smile. "Uh, Dutch...Hosea...this is Mason Bonsack, my, uh, boss," he explained.

"You mean the same boss that took photos of you while you were sleeping and naked?" Dutch blurted, making Arthur go red in the face and Hosea's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

The red tint on Arthur's face was only second to Mason's. "I am so sorry about that, I was being foolish. Which is why I'm here today," he said firmly. "After coming home early and seeing my home bare and the door broken down and seeing the blood...all I could think about was if Arthur was okay. I know no priest would ever recognize us, especially not the Lord, but I cannot live like this; without Arthur. I came here to ask you, Dutch, as the leader and Arthur's father figure, if I could have his hand in marriage," Mason said humbly. As if this was something normal.

Rage and panic overwhelmed Arthur as he grabbed Mason by the arm and pulled him away from the awestruck outlaws. "What in the hell are you talking about!" he hissed.

"Arthur...I just--" he stammered "--I need you with me," he explained.

Guilt overcame him. Mason was in love with him and Arthur had taken advantage of him, he had kept showing up even after pushing him away. He damaged this man more than he would ever forgive himself for. But Mason was too good of a person to just forget Arthur, so Arthur decided he needed to hate him. "You are a fool," Arthur said harshly; venom lacing his words. "I fooled you, Mason! All of this was for the money; you knew that. While you were away, our camp raided your house. I put your valuable things in the basement before we did, because you are a kind fool, but what you're doing now..." Arthur shook his head. "You've gotta forget this, Mason. Forget me. Let go," he pleaded.

Mason's eyes were glossy, he didn't want to accept it. "You said we could keep trying...until you felt the same,"

"I lied to you," Arthur pushed. "I lied, because that's what I do--" Arthur waved his hands in the direction of the camp as if to emphasize the point "--I'm a liar, and a conman, and an outlaw. And you...you were just another rich fella I was robbin', I was never going to fall for someone like you."

Embarrassed, Mason kept his eyes glued to the floor. He pulled away from Arthur and took a few steps back. "Right," his voice wavered, "how could you."

And with that, he was off. He left the camp and Arthur was sure he wouldn't see him again. Even with one step forward, though, he had certainly taken two steps back because now Dutch was fuming and red. "Arthur," he growled.

"Now, Dutch," Hosea calmed, a smile playing on his lips, "there's nothing to be mad about here. Arthur did a good job, you conned him son?" Surprised, Arthur only nodded his head. "He paid you well?" Another nod. "Good, although I'd be more careful with who you lead back to camp but I'm fairly sure that he followed John and Davey here since John was busy making sure Davey didn't fall off his horse and he got here not long after they did. Did he know them?"

"He had seen John before," Arthur rasped.

"Well then you did everything right, Arthur," Hosea was laughing now. "Poor fella, did he at least get to taste the goods? Or was it only pictures?"

Arthur was blushing now, but he glanced at Mac who looked utterly heartbroken and decided to lie; because that's what he did best. "Just pictures," Arthur mumbled, scratching at his arm briefly.

Hosea hummed and shook his head as he chuckled. "Come on, Dutch, let's leave Arthur alone. He's probably got enough eatin' at him," Dutch looked like he wanted to say something but Hosea was pulling him away back to Susan to continue their conversation.

Mac and Arthur were left alone, staring at one another. "I guess...this is something we gotta talk about too?" Arthur said quietly.

"Yeah," Mac responded, speaking to Arthur for the first time since the hotel, "yeah...this too."

________

He had shot his leg, and the man screamed and Rachel clawed her way away from him. John took some deep breaths, this would be the second man he would kill. No, he wasn't a murder. He wasn't a murder. But as he repeated this mantra in his head, his vision became blurry and a pain shot up his own leg when the man stabbed his thigh. He fell to the floor and cursed, clutching onto the pistol as he tried his best to aim it again at the man. His hands were shaky now; the adrenaline lot, but he needed to save Rachel. He shot, but missed.

He could hear her crying, and he could hear the blood curdling scream she belted when the man pounced on her again and he didn't need to see it to know he had killed her because her voice suddenly silenced and the world around him had stopped spinning. He shot again, and this time the main screamed and stumbled off of her. John crawled on all fours to get her while the man seized on the floor, John would later discover he had shot him in the back of the head and the man had been throwing up blood.

John placed a hand on Rachel's pale cheek, her eyes wide open showing the fear that still remained in her soul. She died from a knife the man had plunged into her chest. John's left hand shakily took hold of it and pulled it out, a puddle of blood from the wound staining her shirt. He hadn't saved her. Rachel was dead because he couldn't aim and shoot some bastard who didn't deserve to live anyway because John didn't want to be a "murderer". Except now, it seemed, not only was the bastard's blood on his hands; but so was Rachel's.

-

He buried her on a small hill. It took him hours to dig up a grave for her, but the time felt like nothing. He was numb, and he felt like his body was moving on its own. He placed her gently down, six feet under, and examined her face one last time before covering her in dirt. When he was done, he placed some flowers over her and swore that he would never let his fear get in the way of saving the people he loves ever again. He swore he would survive, and help others survive, like she had. Until she hadn't. Fear, it seemed, was the biggest enemy. She had certainly taught him that.

Chapter Text

They headed towards the river for some privacy, luckily most everyone else was distracted talking to another camp member so no one noticed the two young men go. Mac was silent on the way there, and Arthur could tell the Irishman was angry and confused. He had every right to be, in Arthur's mind, because all that had happened in the past day could warrant a full on investigation. "So," Mac finally said when they reached the river bank, "you were with the Ballsack fella?"

Arthur didn't bother correcting him. "No," he shook his head, "I wasn't with him. He...he paid me to go on dates with him; eat with him and play poker," Arthur stumbled a bit as he explained. "He said he wouldn't have sex with me until I fell in love with him, and I just kept up the charade, it was good money and I didn't have to do anything," he explained.

This seemed to calm Mac. "You've got a line waitin' fer ya, don'tcha Arthur?" Arthur didn't respond, he just shook his head, ashamed. "And what about earlier, do you really have a problem with me bein'...ya know," Mac looked at the water to keep from going red from embarrassment. Knowing now that Arthur most likely was a bit more experienced than Mac made him feel unprepared.

"No, not really, I just...I want to make sure that you want it. It'd be your first time, Mac, and as funny as it sounds...you really want your first time to be a nice experience," Arthur didn't want Mac to have an equivalent to Arthur's first time, he didn't want him to have to live with the constant battle against his own skin.

Mac smiled softly, happy Arthur was just worried about his well being. "I do. I do want to be wit' you Arthur--" he paused, and his smile fell, "--do you want to be with me?"

The conversation in the hotel with Davey and John replayed in their minds, Arthur had been especially firm on his stance. "I do, Mac," he smiled, "just because I'm not on board with leavin' with ya doesn't mean we can't have something. Who says you're leaving so soon, anyway?" A smile played on Mac's lips and the two of them were reminded that they did indeed still have plenty of time, there was no restriction to how long the Callander Boys would be welcome to the gang so why not enjoy what time they have. The future was nothing promised.

"Hey, why don't I do something for you," Arthur said enthusiastically, Mac lit up and raised a brow in curiosity, "you're always planning stuff for me, it's only fair that I return the favor. Get ready and I'll take you somewhere tonight, yeah?"

Mac nodded vigorously before planting a kiss on Arthur's lips, both of them smiling through it.

----

He gave him some water to try and prevent the inevitable ache he would feel in the morning from all those shots he downed. Davey was tumbling, tripping on his own feet as he tried to stand up so John sat him back down by pushing down on the younger boys' shoulders. "Lemme--" Davey glared "--I need a woman!" he fought. "I am hard as a...uh.." he started giggling "hard as a tree," he snorted letting the "e" sound drawl out.

"You need rest," John huffed. "Just...rest here, okay? Sleep and you'll feel better when you wake up and maybe then you can go find yourself a girl," he assured his friend.

Davey stared at John for a moment, lost but still trying to calculate. "You're a good friend, John," he mumbled. "You don't wan' me to 'barrass meself if I go all floppy, huh?"

"Yeah--" John snorted "--let's go with that," he tucked Davey in, leaving a flask of water next to his bed, and left the tent.

He meant to look for Arthur, but he didn't seem to be around; neither was Mac. Hadn't they just got back to camp? Where were they? He didn't have much time to think about it because soon he was being enthralled in a conversation between Pearson and Susan. Simon was talking about apparently what had happened while John was wrestling Davey into his cot; Mason Bonsack had shown up and proposed to Arthur. "I didn't know Arthur was a sodomite," Simon huffed.

"Now," Susan said angrily, "whatever Arthur might enjoy in bed -- or whatever any of us enjoy in bed -- should not mean absolute shit to anyone except those who bed us. You looking into courting Arthur, Simon?" Susan pushed.

Simon went red. "No! Disgusting, I'm not...one of them."

"Then shut your floppy mouth, because even with whatever Arthur might like he still ends up doing more of the men's work than you," she huffed.

"Can we...talk about the Mason thing again?" John piped up, Susan and Simon now looked at him. "I wasn't here for that part," he explained.

Susan shook her head and smiled at John. "Oh, it was nothing, some poor fellow came 'round trying to propose to Arthur and Arthur shot him down. Looks like Arthur was scamming him for a good amount of money, but that looks like it's come to an end now," she explained.

"And Dutch didn't say anything?" he asked, trying his best not to provoke more curiosity out of the question but anxious to know if Dutch had decided to hit Arthur again as he had in the mansion. Susan shook her head and looked like she was about to say something more but then Simon was asking her for help with a recipe and John was hurrying past her to look for Hosea.

-----

This was new and way too stressful. What would Mac even like? Of course, he'd want sex. If Arthur didn't have sex with Mac tonight, he thought, then Mac would take it as Arthur not being truly sincere with what he said to clear the whole virgin thing. Having sex with him would be proof that he didn't actually mind Mac being a virgin. Arthur could handle that much. But what else was there to do? Arthur had never really been in a relationship where he'd go on outings like he has been sort-of doing with Mac, and to plan one felt like he was trying to relearn how to walk. It should be easy, he should be able to put together a nice evening for him and Mac, but he's overthinking it and he keeps falling.

He filled a page in his journal with ideas. Hotel? No, folk would be suspicious if we go again. Town? No, we can't hold hands. Bar? Too many drunks. He considered hunting, or something in that nature. Arthur always loved the outdoors. Briefly, he thought of John and the time they went hunting. He had so much fun racing John to the site and up until the whole...awkward situation and Colm...they had been having fun. A fun Arthur rarely had. Camping he wrote and circled it.

A romantic night under the stars. The could hunt something down, maybe do some more shooting like they had before, sit around the fire and talk, and end the night in their tent. This time far away from anyone who could interrupt them. He packed some bread and canned peaches just in case in his satchel and he got dressed in an all black shirt he kept for when Hosea and Dutch wanted him to fool some folk in poker games, and some work pants that fit him a bit tight around the thighs. He shaved and combed his short hair, a part down the middle, and washed his face all in the comfort of his tent. He had already bathed, so he hoped he hadn't gotten to dirty since then.

He stepped out, a small sense of insecurity picking at him as he looked around for Dutch. What would he say should the man see him dressed up? What would he think if he saw him dressed up and then leaving with Mac. Even if he doesn't assume they're going out as a couple, he would assume there's something going on. He didn't see Dutch, he did see Simon and Susan over by the pot cooking something that smelled good, and he saw Strauss over by the fire smoking, and then he finally spotted Mac over by the horses. He was wearing a newsboy cap that tamed his brown hair, only bits poking out from the sides, and a white shirt and black vest and some work jeans. Arthur grinned, he dressed up too.

Arthur hurried over to him, rushing to not be spotted by Dutch. Mac grinned when he saw Arthur hurrying over, "Can't wait ta get me alone wit' ya, huh?"

"Keep your voice down," Arthur hissed but smirked and the light in his eyes only made Mac grin wider. They both mounted their horses, Arthur making sure to feed Zeke a carrot while still in a trot, before speeding up and out of camp.

From his horse, a good enough distance away from camp, Mac called: "Where we headed?"

"We're going campin'," Arthur said, "headed towards Mount Shann, you up for it?"

Another smirk. "I'll race you there," and with that Mac kicked his horse into full speed. Arthur was frozen for a moment, thinking of John, but the thought was brief and suddenly he was racing Mac, Zeke and him at his heels.

The ride was meant to be long, but the laughter and shouts they shared made it feel short as they crossed the Upper Mountain River, and helped them ignore the odd looks from the people of Strawberry as they rushed through the town. Arthur was sure Mac tumbled some poor fellow, but neither of them really cared. Eventually they made it to a field, and Mac declared victory when they stopped in a meadow of tall green grass and purple flowers. It felt romantic and wasn't that what mattered?

Arthur managed to find a patch of land not overrun by too much grass to set their tent and start a small campfire as it was getting dark, Mac sat back and watched. "You ain't going to help me?" Arthur as as he came back from a long walk to find log.

"Nah, I like the view too much," Mac said, implying his view of Arthur working.

When he was done, the two of them went off towards the woods to look for something to hunt but there wasn't much of anything. Still, they enjoyed their walk. Mac told Arthur stories of when he was younger in his hometown with Davey. One story in particular resonated with Arthur, he told him about the time that Davey had gotten drunk for the first time. It had been his birthday, and their father had insisted that Davey needed to drink at least half a bottle of whiskey to fully become a man. Mac said that when their father wasn't looking, Mac would help Davey reach the goal by taking long swigs of the bottle. By the time they reached half, Davey was pale and stumbling over his own feet. Conor, their father, was proud but too busy chatting up some woman to say anything else but a "good" and walking away so Mac, who was too drunk, had to drag Davey to their room to sleep it off. The hangover that they faced the next morning was probably the worst pain either of them had ever felt.

They had been able to catch a rabbit, luckily, and skinned and cooked it by the campfire. They ate the meat with the bread Arthur brought and saved the peaches for the morning. He was enjoying his time with Mac, and it felt nice to hear Mac talk with such enthusiasm. Mac mostly enjoyed talking about his brother, which Arthur assumed was because Mac had spent his whole life raising the kid. Mac tried getting Arthur to tell him about his childhood, but Arthur felt there wasn't much to tell. He told him about how Dutch and Hosea found him, and how he spent a lot of time with Hosea learning to read and that he liked to draw. He even showed him a page of his journal where he had draw Mount Shann, so Mac asked if he could add something to it. Arthur hesitantly gave him a pencil, and Mac gently wrote A + M onto the corner of the page.

When the food was done, and the night darkened the sky, Arthur led Mac into the tent. For a moment, Arthur recalled the first time Dutch had taken him into a tent and used him and it made him feel itchy and panicky but then Mac was placing gentle kisses onto Arthur's neck and the thought was pushed to the back of his mind.

"You want this?" Arthur asked in a husky voice into the shell of Mac's ear. He had his thumb hooked onto Mac's belt as Mac was busy nipping at his neck.

The man pulled away for a moment, locking eyes with Arthur, "Of course I do," he responded before kissing Arthur feverishly. Arthur hummed and let his hand trace Mac's sharp jaw. Mac pushed Arthur down onto the blanket they placed on the floor of the tent, the light of the lantern casting shadows of their grinding bodies onto the cloth of the tent. Arthur raised his hips to match Mac's, both of them moaning when their crotches pressed against each other. The feeling overwhelming, leaving Mac open mouthed and gasping against Arthur's neck.

Arthur moved his hands down to pull away at Mac's shirt, tugging it over his head and tossing it somewhere towards their feet so that it wouldn't be close to the fire of the lantern near their heads. He trailed his fingers down Mac's chest, tracing the light scars on his abdomen and chest. "What are these from?" Arthur mumbled.

"Nothing important now," Mac said quietly, scared to lose Arthur's interest by saying the wrong thing and killing the mood, so he grinded down on Arthur again, placing a knee between Arthur's legs and satisfied when he saw Arthur arch his back up. Another kiss, and Mac's hands were working Arthur's shirt buttons open and then puling the shirt off. He would've just broken it open, but the shirt seemed expensive and Arthur had made an effort to dress up so he didn't want to ruin his clothes.

Soon their pants and trousers joined their discarded shirts, and their skin was rubbing against each other. Arthur had wrapped his hand around the sides of their cocks, holding them together and stroking up and down making them both groan. Mac was kissing him again and had one hand rolling the nub of his nipple which Arthur found slightly amusing but more pleasurable than anything. Then he felt a cold finger prodding at his hole and he jerked back. "Woah--" Arthur reached and grabbed the wrist of the cold, dry finger "--can't just go dippin' dry," he said as he lifted Mac's hand. Mac was a bit red, embarrassed, but Arthur didn't make a big fuss. Instead he grabbed some vaseline from his satchel that he used for this and slicked up Mac's fingers with it. "Lemme show you first," Arthur suggested. He then spread his legs wider, keeping his knees up, and reached down with a slicked finger and rubbed at the rim before making slow movements in and out while trying to keep his stroking movements paced on his cock.

"Fook," he heard Mac curse and grinned. Mac was staring, kneeling and stroking himself as he watched Arthur go deeper and faster into himself with his finger.

Arthur took this opportunity to teach him. "You gotta start with focus up here--" he said as he motioned to his hard length, "--and work your way in here until you reach the spot and then it gets easier to just focus down there," he explained briefly. "Gotta make sure it's stretched out enough too, for the real deal," he said with a smirk. He noticed Mac stroking himself faster.

"Can I?" Mac rasped, to which Arthur understood and consented. The brunette scooted forward and slipped a slick finger into the hole, it was a bit jerky at first but slowly he picked up a pace, in and out, while Arthur focused on gliding his hand up and down his dick.

"Another," Arthur grunted when he felt ready. He felt Mac push in another finger, and experimentally stretching the rim. "Ah--" he gasped and arched his back at the feeling when Mac thruster in particularly deep.

At the third finger, Arthur felt prepared for Mac and Mac was in no position to argue. He had needed to stop himself from cumming several times already. He slicked himself up, and for a moment wished Arthur would've sucked him off again and gotten his dick wet that way, but the thought escaped him when he pushed the head into Arthur. The overwhelming feeling had him.hunched over, panting into Arthur's chest and gripping Arthur's hips tightly. He could feel Arthur's hole tightening and pulsing around him. "Art'ur," he whispered like a prayer.

The blonde outlaw wrapped his legs around Mac's waist and pushed him in deeper, Mac gasped and started rocking his hips back and forth like he had practiced with his fingers. Using the movement to slowly move in deeper and deeper until they were both panting and sweating in the cold night and the sound of slapping skin overwhelmed their senses. Arthur had long forgotten stroking himself and now busied his hands on Mac's shoulders, matching the painful grip Mac had on his hips. Mac's hips were stuttering and frantic, but Arthur didn't need perfect. In that moment, all he needed was Mac.

It was all too soon, but right, when Mac spilled inside of Arthur in a nonsensical babble of Arthur's name and curses as the younger outlaw clenched and tightened around him. Followed not long after by Arthur's climax that he reached with a few more strokes of his cock and lazy thrusts from Mac.

The Irishman pulled out, and Arthur could feel his cum dripping out of him and he felt embarrassed at the feeling of his body naturally pushing it out. Luckily, Mac didn't stare and he instead took the opportunity to lay down next to Arthur and wrap them up in another blanket.

"That was really good," Arthur assured Mac when he felt Mac snuggle into Arthur's side.

A hum of agreement, and then: "I love you,"

Stunned, Arthur didn't respond.

____

Arthur woke up first, or, rather, he hadn't slept at all and was awake before Mac finally came to. He had also been drinking some aged rum he had in his satchel, so he wasn't feeling at his best at all. "Morning," he said, as if he hadn't told Arthur he loved him the night before.

Arthur forced a smile, not meeting Mac's eyes, and said: "Mornin'," as naturally as he could before shoving a can of peaches Mac's way.

Obviously, he failed. Mac sighed and set the can aside. "Okay, Arthur, listen, I know I told you I love you but you don't have to say it back," he assured.

Except that didn't succeed either. "But I do," Arthur blurted and Mac's eyes went wide.

"Then what's the problem?"

"The fucking problem is that if I love you then what the fuck do I feel for Dutch?" the words stumbled out before he could filter them. Mac looked like a mirage of too many complex emotions and all Arthur could do was stare back.

A moment passed, then: "Arthur...what do you mean?"

It was too late to back out now. "I...Dutch and I...sleep together... occasionally," Arthur did his best to explain.

Suddenly Mac was no longer in the tent, hurrying to put his clothes back on, so Arthur followed. Both of them scrambling to buckle their belts and straighten their shirts. He took a drag of a now lit cigarette before he yelled: "You cheated on me with a Dutch?!"

"I cheated on Dutch with you!" Arthur responded just as loud, making Mac snap his mouth shut in shock. He took a few breaths and shook his head. "Or, I don't know; I don't know! I don't know damn anything, Mac, this thing with Dutch isn't even a thing it's been going on since I was sixteen and it just happens but Dutch has had plenty of serious lovers so I don't see why I can't be with you," he explained although he wasn't quite sure himself.

He felt more like a freak when all Mac could do was stare finally, he was able to say: "I don't know, what is going on between you and Dutch--" he started "--but it has to stop. Not only for us, Art'ur, but for you."

They locked eyes. "I don't know how," he rasped.

Then, Mac took a step forward and he said: "Come with me," as if that was the answer to life.

When he was only met with silence and sorry eyes, Mac stepped away, flicking his cigarette onto the ground near Arthur's shoe, and shut his eyes tightly as if refusing to cry. He took a last look at Arthur before gathering his things and mounting his horse and riding off.

____

Blurry vision and stinging eyes made it difficult to get back to camp but Lam, Mac's horse, was smart enough or accustomed enough to bring him back to camp fast. He wanted to help Arthur, he really did, but what Arthur had confessed to him about Dutch hurt more than he could bare. Arthur couldn't see that Dutch was using him, hurting him, and he was too stubborn to accept any help. For once, it seemed, Mac would listen to Davey and stop trying to help those who didn't want to be helped. He decided the best thing to do would be to leave camp and put some distance between himself and Arthur. The night they shared would always be present in Mac's mind, and the love he felt for Arthur hadn't faltered, but he needed to do this for his own sake and for the sake of Arthur. Arthur was confused, and whatever it was that he had with Dutch had to be resolved before he could even try to have a relationship with anyone else.

He composed himself before he dismounted in camp and headed inside to look for Davey to break the news. He made his way to Davey's tent, and found John handing Davey a bowl of stew. "Hey," Mac greeted.

Davey looked a bit hungover, but was grinning. "You get laid?"

Mac glanced at John, who was keeping his eyes locked on the bowl of stew but Mac knew he was listening. As a final 'fuck you', Mac smirked and said: "Yup, fooked him hard and good. Had ta quiet him down or else the town over woulda probably heard 'im," he bragged. Davey grinned and high-fived his brother. "John, would ya mind leavin' me and Davey alone for a moment?"

John looked red as he nodded slowly, lips pursed and eyes glued to the ground, before walking out. Davey was shoveling spoonfulls of stew into his mouth and watched Mac with buggy eyes as the older Callander Boy took a seat in front of Davey. "Whaddya have ta tell me?" Davey asked through a mouthful of meat and carrots.

He chewed on the side of his cheek for a moment, trying to figure out how to tell Davey this the right way. He didn't want to force Davey to leave the camp they had already started to love just because Mac had a fight with Arthur and doesn't want to see him. He knows too that Davey would follow Mac to the ends of the world, no matter what he thought about it. "Something happened between Art'ur and I," he said slowly.

"Was he a bad lay?" Davey snorted.

"No, he was really good, just...what happened happened this mornin', he told me some t'ings that I don't know if I can handle and I'm plannin' on leavin' camp today," Mac explained vaguely. Davey set his spoon down into the bowl and stared at his brother and Mac could tell Davey was falling back into the gloom of being torn away from his best friend. He had probably thought they had more time. So why not give them some? "But--" Mac took a deep breath "--I t'ink you should stay here and finish paying off our debt to Dutch while I look for a place for you and I ta stay. An' you can get some more time with the Marston boy," Mac offered.

"What? But...but we always are together," Davey said, conflicted. He wanted to stay but...to be away from Mac?

"Yer old enough to hold your own--" Mac waved a hand and smiled "--I'm not worried. Besides, I'm not planning on just disappearin' on ya, I just need some space from Arthur so that he can figure out his stuff and I can keep from intervenin'," he said, still smiling.

A beat passed, and Davey started to nod slowly. It sounded like an okay plan. He hated that it had to happen this way at all: why couldn't Arthur just figure out whatever it is he told Mac that morning? Why couldn't he just come with them, and they all could start their own gang with John too. Despite his lingering questions, he trusted Mac's judgement. "Okay, yeah, jus' don't forget about me, alright?"

"I could never."

--------------

When Arthur returned to camp, about an hour after Mac left him, he returned with the intention to give Mac his newsboy cap that he had left behind. But Mac wasn't around. According to Dutch, he had left because he had business elsewhere but Davey would be staying. His heart sank. He hadn't run right after Mac to give him some space, but now he realized he had waited too long and Mac had left while Arthur stared blankly at the grass.

He was standing outside of Dutch's tent, dumbstruck, when he heard Simon say: "Dressed up all fancy-like; you get married after all?" and then Arthur was on him. He was swinging his arms and punching bruises into Pearson's dumb face but then someone was grabbing his arms and pulling him off the fat man.

"Arthur!" Dutch yelled, his voice thundering in Arthur's mind. The blonde outlaw suddenly tensed and let his arms stop swinging, Dutch let him go but had a hand keeping him from striking Simon again who was getting up slowly with the help of John. "What is your problem?" Arthur hadn't ever acted this way, not since he had barely met Hosea and Dutch. He had never attacked someone in camp.

"Someone best shut him up or I will!" Arthur yelled, pointing a finger at Simon. "I am damn tired of this drunk bastard!"

Dutch glared at him, and suddenly Hosea and the others were watching the scene like some play. "Now, Arthur, I expect better from you," he turned to the camp members. "Everything's fine! Arthur's just having a moment but it won't happen again, right Arthur?" he posed as a question but it sounded more like an order.

Arthur glared back, but straightened his back and nodded. "Right."

------

Simon had kept his distance from Arthur, and had even gone off making up stories about how Arthur had just attacked him for no reason; something about having a "wild look in his eye". It made Arthur smile when he heard Susan telling Simon to shut up and get over it, that had certainly made Pearson go red. Strauss, it seemed, now kept an even larger distance than they had before. He looked scared of Arthur, which he had already slightly been before. Arthur was surprised that Hosea hadn't come talk to him yet, but he had seen Dutch and Hosea glance at Arthur a few times before heading into Hosea's tent to chat.

So Arthur was left with Copper near the river bank, he decided to put a good distance between himself and the camp to calm down but not far enough that no one would be able to find him should they be looking for him. He thought about taking a bath, and clean away the traces of Mac that he had left behind, but the thought of that kind of made him want to not wash it away. Mac had felt like the first person Arthur had truly had sex with, or at least...made love to. He didn't want to lose that feeling.

He stared at the hat in his hands and toyed with the hem of it. Lost in the reimagining of Mac Callander. Why had he ruined it? He could have kept his mouth shut and he could have kept Mac. Except, he realized, what would have happened when Dutch asked for Arthur after today should Mac have stayed? It would have been worse, because they would have been a couple then and that would have been cheating. So maybe this was for the better.

"Hey," he heard John say, and he noticed that the teen's voice was becoming a bit raspier than it had been when they first met. He saw him sat down from the corner of his eye, and noticed that Copper moved in between the two boys. "Never took you for a newsboy cap type of guy," John teased experimentally.

Arthur flipped the hat over and set it down in front of him. "It's Mac's," he said quietly.

Silence, then: "What happened between you two?" and he had been expecting this. He had been expecting this question and he could say he had been expecting it from John because of course John would ask it.

He lit a cigarette and took the action as a moment to think about what he would say. He could tell the truth, and expose his relationship with Dutch to John, or he could lie again. "He told me he loved me," Arthur started, "but I couldn't say it back. I don't know how to love people, so I told him that and he decided that he'd give me space to figure it out," Arthur half-lied; omitting the truth.

He let out a swirl of smoke out from his nostrils and kept his eyes locked on the running water. "Oh," he heard John say quietly. "He told Davey and me that he...uh...that you two had sex, so I thought that maybe that went badly," John suggested.

A snort. "Nah," Arthur drawled, "that part was good, just the morning after that I fucked up," he grumbled.

"Well, Davey says Mac isn't going to be gone long. At least Davey's around!" John said, trying to cheer Arthur up but Arthur only scoffed.

"Yeah, lucky you, huh little John? Get your best friend to stick around and keep him from the brother that raised him?" Arthur was standing now, angry, hat in hand. He wasn't really angry at John, he was happy that Davey stayed, but instead he was picking on John for no reason. He was too far gone to go back now.

John shook his head. "That's not what I--"

"C'mon Copper," Arthur grumbled and Copper was already up and following Arthur back to camp.

------

Arthur was called into Hosea's tent before he could hide away in his own for the night. Inside, Dutch and Hosea were sitting on stools and had placed a chair for Arthur to use directly in front of the both of them. He sat down, still holding the newsboy cap and swinging it back and forth to busy his hands. "What's this about?" Arthur grumbled, tired.

Hosea and Dutch shared a look, and for a moment Arthur was taken back to his youth.

He was 14, and he had been running with Dutch and Hosea for less than about four months. He was glad to have them, really, and grateful that they were teaching him to survive in the changing world. But Lyle had always taught Arthur to never let someone trick him, it could be that these two grown men were trying to take advantage of him. Arthur was young, and susceptible, they could send him into a trap as an expendable and not give two fucks. All of this could be a ruse.

So when, that morning, Dutch had tried to force Arthur to eat some stew that Arthur didn't want to eat because he was sure they had poisoned it and Arthur punched Dutch in the gut, the two older men decided it was time to sit and talk with Arthur.

"We're your friends, Arthur," Hosea had said gently.

"Yeah, so don't go punchin' us," Dutch grumbled to which Hosea shot him a nasty glare.

The eldest man composed himself. "What Dutch means is that we need to help each other, and that means not hurtin' each other, understand?"

Arthur had nodded, to get the talk over with, and surely he had punched them again in other situations and they would have the talk over again.

And here they were again.

"What happened today, Arthur?" Hosea started, as he usually did.

For a moment, the three of them were silent and all they could hear was the tense breathing. Arthur clutched the hat tightly in his hands. "Pearson made me mad," Arthur grumbled.

Another look. "Pearson tends to have that effect on people," Dutch said slowly and glancing at Hosea every now and then as if checking if he were speaking right, "but we don't usually go beatin' him -- no matter how much we'd like to," he said with a small smile.

Arthur finally managed to look Dutch and Hosea in the eye and they were both looking at Arthur as if they were looking at a bomb they had just tried to disable and they were waiting to see if it blew up. It made Arthur feel like a child. "He said something about how I was dressed, and that if I had gone to marry Mason," Arthur explained and he noticed how Dutch tensed but kept his composure. "I didn't. If you think so too, I haven't seen him since yesterday, I guess...I guess I feel awful about what I did to him," Arthur explained, another half-truth.

Hosea seemed to understand, or at least he was trying to. "That's alright, Arthur, it happens. There's plenty of people Dutch and I have conned that we've felt conflicted about. But we need you to be on top of your anger, it's been a while since we've seen you act out that way," Hosea addressed.

Arthur nodded, agreeing to get it over with although he wasn't sure if he was capable of doing what Hosea asked. Hosea smiled and nodded, he and Dutch shared another look and let Arthur go.

-------

That night, Dutch had called Arthur into his room and taken him. Luckily Arthur was given a heads up and was able to clean himself up of what he and Mac had done. Dutch would later rid him of any trace of Mac when he took him, he had Arthur bent over the nightstand and held his head down. When he was done, he sent Arthur back to his tent after saying something about not pulling a stunt like he had done with Pearson ever again and that had been that.

To Dutch, it seemed, controlling Arthur's anger meant controlling Arthur. Few people had ever been able to control the force of Arthur Morgan but being able to do so like that, to Dutch, meant controlling everything about Arthur: including his anger. Curiously enough, ever since the first time Dutch took him when he was 16, Arthur hadn't acted out. He was too afraid of Dutch to ever do him wrong again, and he loved Hosea too much to hit him anymore. He trusted Hosea. He was afraid of Dutch.

When he got back to his own tent, he used the bear pelt Mac had given him as the bottom sheet of the cot and laid down on it. He grabbed the newsboy cap and hugged it and tried to imagine having Mac next to him again, he tried to pretend that this whole day hadn't happened and relive the night before and the nights when Arthur had fallen asleep to the steady beat of Mac's heart.

----

That night he dreamt of Annabelle. She was saying something; something she had told him before. "The itch is you." she repeated it, over and over and Arthur was yelling at her to stop. To be quiet. Another face, Mason. Betrayal and desperation played across his face. Lyle started talking over them: ""All we have in this world, son, is loyalty." He kept yelling, the word "loyalty" replaying, Annabelle's voice whispering behind him, and the image of Mason bleeding out on the floor vibrant before him in a dark room.

"Stop!" Arthur screamed, his throat raw and throbbing. The world around him went still and silent and everything went black. No more Mason, Annabelle, or Lyle. Another vibrant image before him, Mac.

"Come with me," he said with an arm stretched out towards Arthur.

He was about to step towards him and take his hand, but then arms were dragging him backwards and Arthur was thrashing in their hold. "Don't you have faith in me, Arthur?" the all too familiar voice growled in his ear and suddenly Arthur was limp. His mind was screaming at itself to move but he couldn't. He was being dragged back into the darkness, Mac becoming smaller and farther away. Suddenly, someone came up on the side of them as Dutch dragged Arthur farther back, it was Beatrice. She was standing still, two hands in front of her and she was smiling and looking at Arthur with crinkled eyes. He tried to scream for her, begged in his mind for his mother, but she just kept smiling.

"You're going to be a man soon," was all that she said before Dutch pulled him back particularly harsh and it all went dark.

Chapter Text

1891

Over the winter, John had gotten a growth spurt. He was definitely taller than he had been, and he had already been tall. Now, it seemed, he was only a few centimeters shorter than Arthur who had too grown (a bit but he had) in height. Arthur had grown more in muscle, though, as he started taking up more jobs from Strauss which lead him to running around more and beating people for their loans. He wasn't as defined as Dutch, but he was gaining some muscle which added to his intimidating looks.

They had moved a bit farther west but stuck close to Blackwater, it was slowly but surely looking more like a town for for civilization and Arthur wasn't all too comfortable with it. He did, in fact, still utilize the baths and rooms but the gang stuck mostly to their campsite. Once, when Arthur was walking around the shops stocking up on essentials, someone had advertised a show to him; some play being performed outside. He saw couples walking over and sitting to watch, laughing at the antics of the comedian on the stage, and he ached for Mac. Mac would've loved that silly show, and Arthur would've loved sitting next to him.

Dutch had asked Arthur, a few days after Mac had left, the real reason behind him leaving. He said Mac had used some excuse about finding him and Mac a place to stay, maybe buying some land, but Dutch had seen through it. Arthur had only shrugged and said that although he was close to Mac, they didn't exactly talk about personal things and Dutch had luckily believed him and let it go. Davey hadn't though.

Davey Callander made it his personal mission to pester Arthur. He would flick spoonfuls of stew at him when no one else was looking, he would steal bullets out of his tent and his satchel, he would sneak worms under his pillow, and he even had stained the bear pelt Mac had given him by pouring a hot cup of coffee onto it. How did Arthur know he did all of these things? Because Davey would come up to him and tell him. He'd asked how he liked it, and ask for an update on how he was on figuring out whatever it was he needed to figure out for Mac to return. Arthur would tell him no; he hadn't like it, and no; he hadn't figured it out.

As for the rest of the gang, not much else had changed. Dutch would still call for Arthur to take him, but he seemed to be moving past the tension the two had built the past year. It felt nice to be praised by Dutch, especially after jobs; like the good old days. Speaking of, Hosea had been especially keen on keeping on their original promises of helping the poor. He would take Arthur and John to do freelance jobs for orphans and the poor. Any job, really. He would even take Davey, should the boy want to (though he often didn't).

Susan made a habit of checking in on Arthur, but mostly remained to herself. She started to recently make comments on being the only woman in camp and about how she would go crazy soon being surrounded by so many men. "So sloppy," she would say, "it's like none of you know how to clean after yourselves!" Pearson, of course, took the short stick of her wrath. Often Arthur would find her yelling at him for drinking too much, or about anything. It was true, though, that Arthur still had to frequently find Pearson who would end up drunk in the forest. Strauss, on the other hand, seemed like the cleanest of all of them. Maybe it was a European thing? He kept to himself, almost like he wasn't really apart of the gang, and maintained his tent clean and tidy.

It was John that was giving Arthur the most problems, really. He was asking to go on jobs a lot recently. Saying something about putting in his part and being responsible, "like Arthur". Arthur wasn't sure what John meant, or was insinuating, because Arthur was nothing near being a responsible adult. Even though he was close to reaching 20, Arthur felt like he was barely figuring out what it was to have his own independent thought. Hosea had always said he was a little block headed.

"I'm turning sixteen this month," John said one day in spring when Arthur was hauling some hay over to the horses. He had grabbed the other block of hay and snuck up behind Arthur to say this.

A grunt from Arthur escaped him as he set the hay down. "Oh? Whaddya expect, a party?" a smile played on his lips despite his condescending tone.

"No," John pursed his lips, "but that means I'm closer to being nineteen," he said a bit loudly as he set down his haul a distance away from Arthur.

It had been a while since the two had talked about this. Ever since Mac, John had been good on treating Arthur like a brother as Arthur had asked him to. Arthur set his hands on his hips and set his gaze on John who was suddenly very interested in the hay he had set down. "This again?"

"I'm just saying--"

Not wanting to hear it, Arthur waved his hand and growled: "Oh shuddup, Marston, before I shut you up," he walked away from the teen before John could respond.

This too was new. His anger. Arthur had never been particularly polite, but he had never been so frequently mean. Now, it seemed, every comment Arthur made had some tone to it. Or at least most of them. It was hard for anyone besides Dutch and Hosea and Susan, who had Arthur's upmost respect, to hold a conversation with him. Everyone else was fair game.

Smoking also became a more frequent habit. Susan called him out on it a few times already this year, saying he was making his clothes stink and that the smell was hard to wash out so he said he would wash his own clothes from now on. For some reason, he had seen a flash of hurt cross her eyes before she covered it up by making a face and looking away, saying something along the lines that it was about time he did. He remembers that that same day she had approached John and asked him for his clothes.

John was becoming the new young Arthur, it seemed. Dutch would often praise him and Hosea spent a lot of time teaching him to write and read, and he would run around with Copper more than Arthur had the time for. Everything John did, it seemed, was perfect. To be fair, he didn't do much; which was also a reason John used to try and get missions. Except Arthur would always intervene and tell Dutch John wasn't quite ready to go at it alone just yet.

Until today, Dutch had listened to him.

"Arthur, good to see you, have you seen John?" Dutch said as he stepped out of his tent.

Arthur raised a brow, curious. "Just saw him over by the horses, apparently it's going to be his birthday this month," he grumbled as he lit a cigarette in his mouth.

"Is it? That's perfect, then, because I was thinking of giving him a job, Strauss has an easy one in Blackwater and I want to see how well he does on his own," Dutch explained before taking the cigarette from Arthur's lips and taking a drag for himself.

"Wait--" Arthur shook his head "--he ain't ready yet,"

"Of course he is," Dutch said, laughing a bit, "and if he isn't, well, the job isn't that high-stakes for him to mess much up. Strauss tells me the man that owes us about fifty dollars is small and frail like and won't need much intimidating, besides, Arthur, you need to do other more important things; I'm sure," Dutch patted Arthur on the back, marking the end of their conversation, and heading in the direction of the horses.

The blonde outlaw took a moment and remained still, taking a long inhale of his cigarette before moving to remove the stick from his lips and breathe the smoke out and walk over to his tent.

Immediately after stepping into his tent Arthur groaned: "Goddammit!" he yelled after spotting a dead squirrely on his pillow. He heard some giggling from behind him and turned to see Davey grinning and waving at him. Arthur swears that this kid is insane. They need to get him checked by a doctor or something. "Seriously, a squirrel?" Arthur huffed as he grabbed the carcass to move outside. Davey just shrugged and followed Arthur out the tent, still smiling with his arms swinging playfully, he followed Arthur all the way to the trees outside the camp. When Arthur set the squirrel down, he stopped to look Davey in the eye. "Listen, I am sorry about Mac. I mean it. But it would've hurt him more if I had lied to him," Arthur said sincerely. Davey looked Arthur up and down, considering, but simply turned around and started to walk away. They didn't talk much, except for Arthur frequently apologizing or yelling at him for his pranks. Besides, Davey always spent his time with John. John... a lightbulb lit up in Arthur's brain. "Hey! Davey! Wait up."

Davey looked curious and slowed. "What do you want, Morgan?"

Arthur made a face, Davey had yet to truly address him and to be addressed as 'Morgan' by him felt strange. "Uh, right, listen, John told me it's his birthday this month. He's going into Blackwater for a job today, I'm thinking that while he's distracted you and I can go and find him a gift," Arthur suggested. Really, he just wanted to follow John and make sure he was okay -- that he did the job right.

Another curious look. "Why did John tell you? He didn't tell me about this," for a moment his tone came across as if he were hurt by this fact; that his best friend who he stayed at camp for away from his brother hadn't told him but told Morgan.

"Ah, you know, reminding me of his age," Arthur grumbled, implying the relationship John was hopeful for that Arthur was sure he had told Davey about.

Davey hummed in understanding, proving Arthur's theory correct. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled, "I'll go with you, but you're paying for whatever I want to get him," Davey said firmly.

Arthur chuckled. "Yeah, alright."

----------

They waited for John to ride off to Blackwater to mount their own horses and head in the same direction. Arthur let Dutch know where they were going and why, and Dutch had said something along the lines of having a little party for John. Despite being outlaws, Dutch had said, they sure did know how to throw a party. Arthur had hoped that at least he could try and settle the tension between himself and Davey and save himself from having to buy more pillows, but the whole ride was silent. He tried making small talk, but Davey would either respond in a short answer or not respond at all.

They hitched their horses near a barber shop; a gunsmith to the left of it. "You thinkin' of getting him a new gun?"

Davey cast him a side glance. "John told me something about wanting a sawed-off shotgun once, I'm thinkin' I can get him one and customize it," Davey shared.

Arthur hummed, "Alright, I'll give you one hundred, is that enough?"

"Two hundred," Davey countered.

"One fifty," Arthur settled and handed Davey the cash who was grinning and counting the money. "I'm going to go see if I find anything else in the other stores and I'll meet you back here, I might end up getting him something here too but I want to see what else there is here," Arthur explained, only half-lying. Davey shrugged and walked into the store and Arthur sighed out of relief that Davey didn't see through his intentions.

He hurried off and started to search for John. He was lost for a moment, but then spotted John cornering a frail-looking man near the Blackwater Saloon. He hid behind a box and listened to the interaction. "Hand over the money," he heard John say in the deepest voice he could muster.

"I -- I don't have it mister! I swear!" the man was near crying. "My...my wife! She just gave birth to our baby girl...I had to feed them and pay for our home...mister, please!" Arthur peered over the box, the man was clearly lying. His eyes were shifting too much as if he were making up the story as he went, and he was near the saloon -- surely he had been there spending his money on whiskey.

John was quiet for a moment and Arthur wondered if John was acting or if he actually believed the man. "You don't have anything else? A pocket watch? Ring?" he asked and Arthur kept himself from groaning. This guy was playing John like a damn kazoo.

Arthur watched as even the man looked surprised that John believed him but quickly collected himself. "N-no, sir," the man said, pushing his luck.

"Can you get some money in a few days?" John asked. One cheap ass kazoo, Arthur thought, glaring at John. He had told Dutch the kid wasn't ready and -- surprise, surprise -- he was right.

The frail man nodded his head vigorously. "Yes, I can," he lied.

John nodded and stepped away to let the man go. "I'll find you here," John said before leaving the alley. Arthur hid so he wouldn't spot him, but then he felt someone breathe on his neck and he almost leaped out of his spot and exposed himself. Instead, he slowly turned his head to find Davey glaring at him.

"You lied to me," Davey hissed in a quiet whisper. Arthur rolled his eyes and waited for John to leave, watching as the frail man started to grin like he won the lottery. Pissed, Arthur stood up and rushed over to the man who at seeing Arthur tried to run off.

The blonde outlaw grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall of the saloon. "You might've fooled him but you can't fool me, bastard," Arthur growled.

"No! Mister, I swear--" he grabbed at Arthur's hands on his neck.

He scoffed. "Even your breath smells of whiskey--" Arthur shook his head "--hand over the money before I shake it out of ya," he threatened.

The man nodded slowly and reached into his pocket and pulled out twenty dollars. "This is all I have..." he said quietly.

Arthur threw him down, making the man groan and cough, and he started going through the man's pockets. He found another wad of cash making up another ten dollar and a pocket watch. "This'll cover it," he grumbled before walking off. The frail man glared at Arthur but was too afraid to say anything more. Davey was waiting for Arthur with his arms crossed so Arthur sighed when he reached him and handed him the cash and watch. "Can you give this to John? Get him to tell you about the sob-story and give him this and say that you'd cover it since the man has a family or something along those lines," Arthur asked.

"No," Davey huffed.

"No?"

"No. You lied to me on top of everything and you didn't trust John enough to let him do his job!" Davey yelled.

At this point, Arthur was tired of the kid's attitude. There was only so much he could take. "And I was right! John isn't ready! This fool wasn't going to come back with the cash to give John in a few days--" Arthur laughed bitterly "--and John would've had to cover the loan on his own!"

Davey shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You should've trusted John," he said stubbornly. "I ain't helpin' you fool him."

"Fine," Arthur huffed before rushing to go find John. He spotted him mounting his horse and jogged over to him. "John!" John looked surprised and confused, already on his saddle. "Here," Arthur said before handing the money and watch over. "I, uh, was in town and I saw what happened. I feel for the guy, so why don't you give this to Strauss and leave the poor fella alone?"

"Don't listen to him John!" Davey said from behind Arthur and Arthur's expression became an annoyed one. Damn kid. "He followed ya here and shook the guy down after ya left!"

John looked beyond confused and a bit hurt. "What? Wait, what are you both doing here?"

"We came to get you a present--" Arthur tried.

"He lied ta me about getting you a present here but he was really just using that as a coverup so no one would suspect that he came to make sure you did your job," Davey said louder.

Another hurt look came from John. "Is that true, Arthur?"

He pursed his lips and huffed. "Alright! Alright, but I was damn right! That fool played you, John, and you aren't ready for these types of jobs you're too soft--" that made John glare at Arthur and throw the money Arthur had given him into his face making Arthur step back in surprise.

"I'm not soft! I'm going to be sixteen--"

"Then damn act like it!" Arthur yelled, quieting all of them and grabbing the attention of the townsfolk. Arthur sighed and hissed: "That fools breath smelled of whiskey and he was lying through his damn teeth and you believed him. You wanna be an outlaw? Don't let your damn emotions get in the way of your job."

John glared. "You do,"

"Yeah, well--" Arthur shook his head "--I was born and raised a criminal, John, you were raised with your daddy bringing you toys every damn Sunday and milking the damn cows," he said harshly making John furrow his eyebrows in anger. Davey shoved past Arthur, bumping his shoulder, and glared at him before whistling his horse over.

"Come on, John," Davey said, "let's get outta here," his horse got there with a neigh and Davey mounted him quickly and kicked him into a trot. John maintained eye contact with Arthur, almost as if trying to speak to him without words, and Arthur suddenly felt shame and anger. All he wanted was for John to get back with the money for Strauss, for him to get his pat on the back, but he knew John wasn't ready for it. He wanted to help. But John didn't need help, he need Arthur to trust him and -- more importantly -- he needed to make his own mistakes and learn from them.

He was left alone in town when John followed Davey off the path and out of town. Arthur collected the money John ha thrown at him and hurried over to the gunsmith.

He ended up leaving the store with a gold Mauser pistol. Did he pay for it? Of course not. He walked in with his face completely covered and in all black clothes that he would later toss in the river. Lucky for him, the gunsmith wasn't behind the desk. So Arthur just jumped over and grabbed the pistol and its bullets. He also took the cash from the register before hurrying off on Zeke before anyone could spot him.

-----

Davey and John ended up sitting by the campfire and sharing a bottle of whiskey. Davey gave John the money from the cash Arthur had given him for the shotgun so that John could give that to Strauss, and as Arthur had predicted Dutch congratulated John and gave him a pat on the back and a winning smile. John didn't feel like a winner.

"Arthur's right," John grumbled as he passed the bottle back to Davey who was giving John a confused look. "I'm no outlaw...I'm no gunslinger...I'm just a farmer's illiterate son that doesn't know squat," he explained.

His best friend furrowed his eyebrows and set the bottle down. "Screw that!" Davey said firmly, making John look at him instead of down at the floor. "You're a outlaw at heart John, and just because folk like Morgan and I got a head start with our parents don't mean that you can't catch up," he encouraged. "I'll teach ya," he assured, "just add it to the list of things I'm teaching ya already," he teased making John smile.

He wasn't sure how much he'd be able to 'catch up' to them, considering how behind he is already, but he trusted that Davey would help him. He's a good friend and he was honest with him -- at least a lot more honest than anyone else has been to John. It hurt that Arthur had lied to him, and that he didn't trust him, but he was right. And John was aware that Arthur had been trying to help, he had given him the money after all. He didn't just follow him to watch him fail and make fun of him for it. So it was up to John to prove to Arthur that he wasn't a kid and that he wasn't just a burden weighing down the camp.

And maybe, by doing so, he would prove to Arthur just how mature he is.

Chapter Text

Being trained as a criminal was a lot more chaotic than John had expected. Apparently Davey had thought it would be a great idea to take John through the "12 stages of outlawing". The first was pickpocketing; which John found comfortingly easy. He and Rachel used to pickpocket whenever they reached a town and needed the money, so this "stage" was like walking. The second stage upped it to horse-napping, which is what Davey called it; this one was a bit more intense because most horses were hitched in public spaces but luckily John and Davey crossed some rich fellow riding out on an empty path and they were able to get him off his horse and run off with it and the contents of his pockets. Third graduated to cheating in poker and fourth was arson. It was a bit concerning to see the light in Davey's eyes brighten more than ever at the sight of the flame burning down the wagon of some drunk bastard they had stopped from raping a woman in an alleyway but John would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy burning the bastard's stuff.

They had spent the whole day after the whole incident in Blackwater completing these 4 stages and to say Davey was proud was an understatement. "You're getting through years of training in mere days!" he said as they walked back into camp. John was excited too, he felt like he was on top of the world. He felt like he needed to tell Arthur all about it. He would have, but Davey was particularly touchy about Arthur now. He disliked him before, but now he hated him. He moved past pranking Arthur to just blatantly ignoring him.

"All because of your help," John said gratefully.

Davey smiled and excused himself to go sleep in his tent, he explained that their day of "outlawing" had tired him out. When he disappeared behind the flap of his tent, John hurried over to Arthur's tent. Arthur was sitting on his bed writing something in his journal when John stepped in, the blonde looked up and shut the book before tucking it away. "Hey," Arthur grumbled.

"Hey," John said awkwardly. He almost regretted coming in here, last he spoke to Arthur they weren't on the best of terms. "Just, uh, wanted to let you know that I'm getting practice in. I'll be an outlaw in no time," John said instead of just walking out. The almost teasing smile on Arthur's lips made him wish he had just walked out though, no matter how strange that would have been.

"Alright," Arthur said, still smiling. "Remind me, what day is your birthday?"

As if on autopilot, John blurted: "Day after tomorrow."

Arthur blinked a few times, surprised. "Good thing I got your present already then," Arthur said with a smile.

They stayed still like that for a few more seconds before John excused himself and hurried out and to the campfire to sit and sulk. Davey could train John in the arts of crime, but not in confidence. He buried his face in his hands and hardly noticed when Hosea sat down on a chair next to him. "You alright son?" Hosea asked as he took a long sip from his coffee.

"No," John grumbled. He looked up from his hands and locked eyes with Hosea. "You're married, right 'Sea?"

Hosea looked intrigued. "I am."

Despite how embarrassing this was, John trusted Hosea completely. He had saved his life after all and the old man seemed wise. He remember his father once told him to respect those who've lived long in the profession of crime and survival because they must be doing something right. "I think I'm in love with someone, but they're not in love with me yet--"

"Yet?" Hosea interrupted with a small smile.

"I'm holding onto hope," John explained briefly. "Anyways, I keep embarrassing myself in front of them and they're always so angry and I can't tell if I've messed it up for myself or not," John said quietly, looking around to make sure no one was listening and luckily it looked like he and Hosea were the only ones awake.

Something seemed to click in Hosea's mind but he didn't seem to voice his connection, all he did was nod and smile. "Well...sometimes you just need to give people space when they've got anger issues. Sometimes anger gets the better of us, but we're not really angry, anger can be sparked from several different emotions. Sadness, fear, worry... There are just some of us who don't know how else to channel these emotions except for by being aggressive--" Hosea put his hand on John's shoulder to comfort him "--give him time, son, and at some point I'm sure he'll give you the time of day," Hosea assured before.

"Thanks, 'Sea," John said quietly before Hosea nodded and walked to his tent. It was only five minutes after Hosea left that John realized he had never said 'he'.

------

"Arthur!" Dutch called at the very moment Arthur stepped out of his tent that morning. He waved Arthur over, so Arthur stretched a bit and went over to him and Hosea who was approaching the both of them with a cup of coffee that he handed to Arthur.

"Thank Hosea," Arthur said with a smile and Hosea nodded and followed him and Dutch into Dutch's open tent. "What's this about?" Arthur asked when his eyes trailed to Dutch's desk covered in papers.

Dutch and Hosea shared a smile. "A mascaraed, my boy, with the richest men and women from all parts staying the night in a mansion up north." He pointed at an invite with the details. "Hosea here met a fellow out in Strawberry who had intercepted this invite with his pals at the post office," Dutch explained.

Hosea intervened here. "He offered me the lead if he got twenty percent of the profits but I talked him down to eighteen; to be fair it is his lead," he explained further.

"So...we're going to a mascaraed party?" Arthur said, inspecting the invite. "As a fellow named Christopher Johnson?" he was a bit unsure. "And you're sure about this...'fellow', 'Sea?"

"I am, he's a fellow conman like me I would've picked up on it if he were trying to trick me, he says that he wouldn't have been able to because he had another lead lined up and he would rather it not be taken advantage of," Hosea explained. "The invite says we can bring up to four people including the person invited, so you, me, Dutch, and John."

Arthur looked unsure still. "John? You both sure?"

A sigh came from Dutch then. "Now, Arthur, I know that you want to keep John's best interest at heart and I can appreciate that but the boy needs to practice to learn," he said with his hand on Arthur's shoulder. Hosea seemed to have his gaze stuck on Arthur, but his mind was elsewhere then.

"Right," Arthur sighed. "I just don't think he's ready, is all, but if you think he is well...then, I'll trust your judgement," Arthur grumbled making Dutch smile and let go of his shoulder.

"Great! I'll go tell John and we'll leave tomorrow morning," Dutch said with a grin before walking out the tent. Arthur was about to leave to go prepare but Hosea stopped him.

"Son," Hosea said quietly. "John told me something last night and...I normally wouldn't share private things like this but...I'm a bit worried about him and it involves you so I think you should know--" he took a deep breath, bothered that he was betraying John's trust, "--John seems to have a little crush on you," Hosea said in a quiet voice.

Arthur was taken by surprise. John told Hosea? "I, uh...yeah I know. He told me," Arthur responded in a quiet tone. "I told him something about me being too old for him still and waiting until he's nineteen to bother me about it," he explained.

"Oh, then I was right," Hosea said. "He only told me that he liked an angry person, so I assumed it was you," Hosea said smiling now. Arthur rolled his eyes at the tease. "But, really, Arthur, thank you for doing that. I was worried that you two would start something and he would be too young to really understand what he was getting himself into, but I know I raised you right. No matter how small the age difference is between you two," the old man said a bit more seriously.

The blonde nodded. "I know. It felt weird thinking about it. He may be mature for his age but I don't want him to get to be nineteen and regret it. If he's serious, he can wait," Arthur said with a shrug.

"Try to go easy on him, though, Arthur. I know how you can be," he teased but maintained a sincere tone. "Poor boy is so confused about you--" he chuckled and shook his head "--he came to me for advice."

The younger man smiled and snorted. "You're probably tired of all us fools coming to you for help by now," he said chuckling.

"Ah, at least I'm kept in the loop," Hosea shrugged and at that Dutch returned with John at his heels. John and Arthur shared a look and Arthur couldn't help but notice Hosea looking between the two and he realized that from now on Hosea would be extremely attentive with the two of them. Should Arthur ever actually end up with John when he was older, he was sure Hosea would be the first to know no matter if they told him or not.

Dutch and Hosea reexplained the job to John who looked excited to be apart of the mission. Arthur had his arms crossed, not completely sold on the idea of bringing john along but after what happened in Blackwater he felt like he owed it to John to not be a prude about it. After they briefed John, Dutch asked Arthur to find some clothes for John to wear to the party and go buy themselves some masks for it too.

They rode into Strawberry, haven been to Blackwater too often already, and looked for some clothes there. Arthur was able to find himself a nice Legion Vest, the red complimenting the red preacher boots he had back at camp for these types of jobs. He noticed John eyeing the gunslinger vest, and he made a mental note to buy it for the teen for his birthday to math the Mauser Pistol. John walked out with some fancy pants, a blue opulent vest, and some quickdraw boots that John practically begged for. To find masquerade masks they had to head to a show down near Blackwater where folk were wearing masks already, Arthur paid almost ten dollars each for the masks since the "entertainers" said they weren't for sale and it seemed like Arthur was in need of them. He was upset that he was being exploited by this nobody, but he needed the damn masks. Total, it seemed, he paid nearly two hundred for everything.

It was nice to see John excited, though, for his first mission so close to his birthday with new clothes and what seemed to be a new lease on life. Arthur had been expecting him to be upset with him after what happened in Blackwater, but instead John seemed like he was trying to prove something to Arthur because of it. Prove that he was a criminal. Arthur wasn't sure how good of an influence he was being if he was getting John to want to be a criminal.

Dutch and Hosea thanked Arthur for buying them their masks, Arthur had unconsciously matched with Dutch by picking the red vest. They didn't have the exact same outfit but the red secondary of Dutch's matched with the red primary of Arthur's. Hosea wore green always, so Arthur got him a green mask, and John was wearing blue.

"Well," Susan said with a wide grin, "don't you boys look nice."

"Got their best bibs and tuckers, don't they?" Pearson added from his table.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're just mad you could never fit in on any of these missions," he drawled making Simon go red. He heard Hosea take a deep breath to hold in a laugh and John snickering.

"Now," Dutch said with a smile, barely holding in his own laughter, "we will be back latest by the day after tomorrow. Ms. Grimshaw, I leave the camp in your hands, you've got Davey here to protect you and go on errands with you and Pearson...well, I'm sure you can figure out what to do with him--" Dutch said, allowing himself to laugh.

The tubby man waved his hands, done with their taunts. "Yeah, yeah, get it out of your systems already and get out of here, we'll be fine," he grumbled.

Hosea and Dutch were mounting their horses when Davey hurried over to John and whispered something into his ear. John smiled confidently and they gave each other a complicated handshake before John mounted his horse and waved Davey goodbye. Arthur stood there for a moment, watching. Davey turned to stare at him after waving John goodbye and seemed to look at him as if asking Arthur what he was staring for, Arthur only shook his head and mounted Zeke to follow the trio in front of him in the path.

---

"Doesn't this feel good, Hosea?" Dutch said at Hosea's side as they rode up North. "The four of us riding off to make our camp money. It almost feels like it was John that was the missing piece for us; finally, a family complete," he said with almost a sense of finality. Like it didn't matter who else joined their camp, it would always been them. Except, Arthur had always thought it was them three.

Hosea seemed to read Arthur's mind, because he was careful with his wording. "It does, Dutch, I don't think we were missing anything but having John around is certainly a great addition to the family," he said turning his head a bit to smile at John. "I'm sure we might keep growing out little family here, and it'll only become more perfect," Arthur appreciated Hosea's spin but he was still a bit sour.

"It's alright, 'Sea," Arthur said chuckling, "we all know John is the new Golden Boy. I've been falling behind as of late, haven't I been Dutch?" he directed his question with the implication of what had happened with Mason and honestly what had been happening in totality between him and Dutch. It felt like forever ago that Annabelle had discovered the truth behind Dutch and Arthur's relationship and had made their already complicated dynamic spin and churn more than they could ever possibly untangle. And then Annabelle had died and Arthur wasn't sure Dutch was completely over grieving her -- if any of them were. If anything, they mostly ignored her death. Almost as if she had just gone on a trip; like Mac had.

John seemed a little flustered then and Dutch started to chuckle awkwardly. He didn't respond to Arthur's question but Arthur knew he wouldn't hear the end of it later because Hosea was sending questioning looks Dutch's direction and if Dutch didn't hear the end of it from the old man then Arthur wouldn't hear the end of it from him. An eye for an eye, and whatnot.

"Well, John hasn't ever bit me, so that's definitely a step up," Hosea teased when the silence got too awkward. The comment made Arthur blush and John had to collect his jaw from the floor before bombarding Hosea with demands to tell him the story. Another laugh from the old man came from John's pestering; "I will -- I will! Dutch, you know this story--"

"Sure, I've got a few of my own," Dutch said with a sly tone and a grin and Arthur knew he was implying the times Arthur had accidentally bitten him when Dutch first put his cock in Arthur's mouth -- not that he would ever tell those stories to Hosea and John or anyone else for that matter.

"Right, well," Hosea started, John listening intently as he recounted the stories of Arthur's youth, "he had just come to our camp -- which really wasn't a camp at all, just me and Dutch and then Arthur -- and he was an angry child--"

"--Feral!" Dutch added, the two older men laughing. "He was like a wild squirrel--"

Arthur interrupted then, a tad offended but smiling. "A squirrel? Really? I think I was more like a wolf--"

"You were too tiny to be a wolf, don't flatter yourself son," Dutch teased making John snort.

Hosea waved at them to shush up. "Let me tell the story! Now, as I was saying, he was definitely not the calmest boy we've ever met. I was raised in an orphanage so I was able to relate a little more to his anger, Dutch was less patient--" Dutch scoffed but kept smiling "--one day I tried to teach the boy to fish so we were out on the boat somewhere I can't remember now... Anyways, the boat started rocking and the boy starts shouting--"

"I thought you was gonna kill me!" Arthur interjected.

"The boat started rocking," Hosea repeated louder, although he couldn't stop smiling, "and the boy starts shouting: 'Don't drown me! Don't drown me! I don't want the fishes to eat my toes'--" they all start laughing then, except for Arthur who was blushing redder than a rose and hiding his face in Zeke's mane. "--then he reaches towards me and bites my arm," Hosea said through breaths.

John was trying his best to breathe, wheezing through the laughter. "Did you--" he started, a wheeze following before he could continue "--did you at least catch a fish?"

Hosea shook his head, his laughter calming. "He caught me by surprise and I fell back into the water and took him down with me; no fish would've stuck around after all of that ruckus," he finished.

"Did you really think the fish would eat your toes?" John asked Arthur then, teasing.

Arthur glared playfully. "Who says I was wrong?" John's eyes went wide in wonder and fear, he didn't know how to swim much less what the fish in the water liked to feast on. They heard Dutch and Hosea bellow a laugh in front of them.

----

Wagons lined around the fountain in front of the giant mansion. The mansion was surely bigger than Mason's. For a moment, as the four of them hitched their horses in an empty spot, Arthur thought of Mason. He had done his best the past few months to forget him. To move past him. And he was being honest when he said he never felt anything romantic for Mason...but he did care about him. Mason was one of the few people who had treated Arthur kindly and genuinely and if Arthur was too late to realize that it was his own fault.

They put on their masks before entering, and at the door the butler was taking invitations and marking names off lists and writing numbers of people down. There was people all over the giant room, drinking and chatting, men and women sharing the small space around them as more people came in and took up more. "Is this what rich people do for fun?" Arthur heard John whisper next to him and Arthur couldn't help but chuckle. They followed another butler (who knew one could have so many) up the stairs and down the hall to their room.

"This is the biggest get together of the decade," the man dressed in all black said as he opened the door to let the four guests in. "Apologies for only being able to provide two beds per invitation," he said robotically.

Dutch nodded and smiled, not making a big deal of it, and the butler closed the door once all four guests were inside and left them to their devices. Once he was gone, Arthur threw himself onto a bed and reveled in it. He almost moaned, it had been forever since he had laid on a bed -- since Mason, no, since Mac at the hotel? it was all to blurry to remember.

He heard Hosea clear his throat. "I think it would be best if Dutch and I share one, and John and Arthur share the other," he suggested.

Arthur looked up and was able to catch the small, discrete wink that Hosea sent John's way and Arthur had to shove his face back into the pillows to keep from exposing the blush on his face. Was Hosea trying to help John and support his crush? Hadn't he been the one warning Arthur on not letting it get too far? Knowing Hosea, he was probably just humoring John and being supportive. At least he trusted Arthur enough to know that even with these small advances; nothing would happen. Not really.

He heard Dutch agree and then felt awkwardly sit down on the side next to Arthur and Arthur almost felt bad for the kid. He reckons that John must really like Arthur since he had been going so far to impress him and still can't gather enough confidence or skill to, well, be confident around him. "There's a bath in here," they heard Dutch say from another room inside their room. He popped his head out and added: "I'll bathe tonight, I'm sure we'll have enough water for one other bath tonight and two tomorrow morning. Hosea, you want to take the one after me?"

"Sure," Hosea drawled as he pulled his boots off. "If I don't doze off," he added and Dutch laughed.

Arthur heard the door close and he turned onto his back and sat up to pull of his boots and vest to keep them clean for the next day. He unbuttoned his shirt and his pants and remained in only his thin trousers he had put on beneath his pants. When everything was folded neatly on the floor next to him, he went to lay down but found John staring at him wide-eyed and red. "What?" he grumbled as he pulled the sheets up to lay down.

"You're naked." John pointed out.

"Obviously," Arthur responded curtly. "You probably should be too if you don't want your clothes to stink tomorrow at the party," he said sincerely as he pulled the sheets over him. He heard Hosea hold in a snicker and felt himself smile too, poor kid he thought as John hurried to get his vest and shirt off (almost ripping the buttons from their stitches) and shoves his boots off to lie down. Arthur was going to ask why he didn't take his pants off (probably say something about how they would smell like ass if he didn't) but then he saw the small tent on John's side of the sheets and shut himself up. He turned onto his side, back facing John, and shut his eyes tightly.

John would never tell Arthur, not even years after this, that he hadn't been able to sleep the whole night as he tried to calm himself down. That each brush of their skin would spark something in his stomach again and the very thought that Arthur was nearly naked next to him and under the same sheets would give him wet dreams for years following. The only person he would ever tell would be his best friend, because hell this was the best early birthday present he had ever received.

Chapter Text

It was the fourth time that John had yawned since they had all woken up that morning when Arthur finally said something about it. "Why are you so tired? This should've been the best night of your life," Arthur said as he walked towards the bathroom with his clothes in hand.

"It was," John said, still a bit half asleep and staring at Arthur's backside and naked skin. Hosea snickered and Arthur caught Dutch casting Hosea a strange look to which Hosea waved him off.

Before Arthur closed the door to the bathroom, Hosea told him he and Dutch would be getting a headstart at talking the folk up. The plan so far had been to pickpocket and find out if there was anywhere in this big ass mansion where the rich folk were keeping their valuables. Of course they couldn't try to pick the lock to each door, so this was their best bet. Arthur was under the cover of Christopher Johnson, and John as his little brother Lee, Dutch as his father Daniel, and Hosea as their uncle Bryan. They would do their best to go without introduction, though, because if anyone there actually know Christopher Johnson then they would see through their facade.

It felt nice to bathe in a clean tub, almost brand new, so Arthur stayed in the water even long after it had gotten cold. When John started banging on the door saying he was getting impatient, Arthur just sighed and got out of the bath slowly and dried his skin and wet hair before putting his clothes back on. He swung the door open to see John standing right in front of him, waiting, with clothes in hand. John cast him a slight glare and got into the bath but Arthur was too busy laughing to care, besides John wasn't really angry about him taking long.

He almost hollared in laughter when John exclaimed that the water was freezing.

___

"You're looking nice and clean," Arthur said when John stepped out.

"I hate baths," John grumbled, shivering slightly and making Arthur chuckle.

Arthur stood up from the bed and walked over to straighten John's vest, he had seemingly tossed it on haphazardly and had some of the buttons on wrong. He noticed John's breath hitch when he touched his chest and Arthur felt bad for a moment so he quickly fixed the best and stepped back. John was sweet, and was growing into his looks, but Arthur doesn't quite see him like a romantic endeavor. He sees him more like a friend still and he didn't want to hurt the kid more than he already has. "You gotta cut that damn hair of yours," Arthur grumbled when his eyes fell to the long black hair.

John reached up and grabbed the ends of his hair. "I like it long," he defended.

"It's all smiles until somebody yanks it out of your skull in a brawl," he smirked when he saw the image cross John's mind and slight worry crawl into his expression. "Now, come on, let's go figure out how we're going to rob these rich folk," he said before walking out the room.

___

They went rattling each door. A few times they would open and the two would make a quick sweep of the empty room, but other times they would open to guests inside and they would need to apologize and make some random excuse; but mostly they wouldn't open at all. By the time they had tried every room, it was nearing lunch and John and Arthur decided to go find Dutch and Hosea. They had spent the whole day hopefully gathering more information than John and Arthur had gathered money; if they were going to get out of here by nightfall with a decent amount of profit then they needed some leads.

Most everyone were now seated in the biggest room with about five of the longest tables Arthur had ever seen. It was then that they realized just how big the party is. About thirty guests, each with their own parties, making up around one hundred and twenty people. This time, Arthur helped John collect his face from the floor by ushering him to one of the tables to be seated and eat.

They had served everyone bread, fruit, and a small amount of meat. Sure they were rich, but they weren't stupid. It crossed Arthur's mind that he hadn't asked who was bold enough to host such a party. As he was about to help John figure out which fork to use (which he didn't really know himself but his best guess was the big one) a loud, thundering, sound came from the end of the room where a man in a nice black suit was standing on a chair holding a frame of metal and a pipe. Classy, Arthur thought with a smirk.

The man had a gorgeous woman at his side, her black dress (almost as if she were attending a burial) matching his suit and their hazel eyes reminded Arthur of whiskey. They were bright enough for Arthur to see from halfway across the room, but to be fair the two were standing higher than anyone else on their chair. The woman had joined him on her own chair after everyone quieted.

For a moment, Arthur wondered if the two were married. Except they looked too alike to be a couple? Both had inky black hair, the hazel eyes, pale skin, pronounced cheek bones, and even a similar height.

"Welcome, everyone!" the man said, his voice not as low as Arthur imagined but smooth. "My sister, Penelope, and I are excited to have some of the greatest minds of America here today with us. So many of you have done so many great things for the world," he said with a smile that Arthur wasn't sure he trusted.

Penny flashed a quick smile to her brother before turning her attention to the crowd. "Great things indeed, Peter. Like Marvin Boyle, inventor of Coke! Or Mr. Cornwall, one of the newest additions to the revolution of industrialization! And who could forget Christopher Johnson? Who owns many of the ever-growing steam factories in New York!" she exclaimed, a smile on her lips too that Arthur didn't trust. He noticed her call his name, which made him nervous, but she wasn't looking at him so maybe she didn't know what Christopher looked like exactly.

They heard some clapping, and people seemed to be buying the siblings warm welcome. "So please--" Peter said with a flourish of his hand that had once been holding the pipe "--enjoy! Feast! And toast to a new era!"

Arthur kept a close eye on Peter and Penny, who were now descending from the chairs and heading to a different room now that the tables were chattering once again. He turned to John, who was watching the siblings too. He had picked up on it, it seemed. The older teen nudged John, signaling to follow him as he snuck away in pursuit of the siblings.

They were careful to keep a distance as they followed the two down a hall and towards the kitchens, and the suddenly Arthur was surprised to see from behind the wall that Penny and Peter were helping the working people in the kitchen. He turned to see John just as surprised.

The two stuck around, watching the siblings at work with genuine smiles as they joked with the workers. When nothing else was happening, Arthur dragged John away to an empty room that seemed to be an office and started to pace.

John watched Arthur scratch the light scruff of his beard as he walked. "They're planning something," Arthur said pointedly.

"We can't know that," John countered. "And what would it matter? We're going to rob them," he said, shrugging.

The blonde shook his head. "I don't think they'd mind us robbing them, is the thing--" he said as he slowed his pace "--you heard them talk about the folk they pointed out? I don't know much about 'industrialization', or whatever, but they didn't seem all too happy about it," Arthur said before taking a seat on one of the chairs.

"Aren't they rich, too, though? Wouldn't they be for it?" John questioned.

"Well I don't know!" Arthur huffed. "I just don't trust their motives," he grumbled.

"Trust whose motives?" A firm voice came from the now opened door and John scrambled to back up close to Arthur who was equally as surprised. There, at the door, was Penny and Peter.

John turned to face Arthur, waiting for him to take the lead. Arthur stood up and stuck his hand out. "You're Penny and Peter, thank you for having us, please forgive us for coming in here without asking but my brother and I had some business to discuss," Arthur said sincerely while sticking his hand out to Peter who tentatively shook it. John stood awkwardly to the side and kept his mouth shut, he wasn't that good at acting so it was better if he let Arthur handle this one. He was impressed by Arthur's ability to sound so formal, surely Hosea had done well teaching him.

Peter stepped aside as Arthur shook Penny's hand as well, and she seemed a bit surprised that Arthur had made the gesture but she smiled at him. "Ah, of course," Penny said in a breath, "I assume you can't find a break even at a party?"

"You know how it is, I'm sure," Arthur said.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Peter asked a little more defensively.

Arthur seemed to still at that, unsure what to respond. This could go badly if they knew Christopher -- the real one, that is. "Christopher Johnson," he said, maintaining his voice firm despite his dubiousness.

"Chris?" Peter said with a raised brown. "I didn't know you have a brother?"

"I don't mention him much," Arthur improvised, "not all siblings can be as great as yours!"

Penny spoke then, a sly smile playing at her lips. "I didn't know you were blonde either, Chris-- or that you had green eyes. Last we saw you, you had black hair and black eyes," she said, still smiling.

Arthur stumbled, his mouth opening and closing and suddenly John was at his side and Peter was shutting the door. "Don't worry," Peter said gently, "we don't mind," he said vaguely.

"Mind what?" John questioned.

"That you're criminals," Penny responded curtly as she moved over to sit where Arthur had been sitting. "We hate everyone here," she elaborated.

Peter walked over to stand next to her, a fire in his eyes when he said: "We want to watch them burn."

"Right," Arthur drawled. He started to think these two were most likely insane. Who knew rich folk could go crazy too. "So...we can rob you folk then?"

Penny giggled and Peter nodded slowly as she said: "The guests have kindly put their auction money into a safe up in the attic. They won't be missing it after this party," she said grinning.

"So...you two are planning a mass murder, then?" John asked then and Arthur elbowed him in the gut making John huff and groan a bit.

Peter and Penny shared a look. "Best you two get out of here before dinner," Peter said.

"We're here with two others," Arthur said gently. "We'll get out of your hair soon," he said.

"Wait," Penny said as John and Arthur made there way to the door. "The scrawny one--" she pointed at John and smiled, "--yes, you. Stay," she said with a look in her eyes that made John afraid and Arthur angry. He looked over at John who looked like a spooked deer and took charge since clearly John was too stunned to.

Arthur stepped in between John and Penny to help him get out of her gaze. "No, he's not leaving my sights," he said firmly to which Penny frowned.

"We're allowing you to steal our guests' fortunes, the least you can do is leave me the boy for a little while," she said teasingly.

"That's just it, he is a boy--" Arthur spat and he could feel John cringing behind him but not protesting, "--he's my responsibility. If anything, we're doing you a favor. Clearly you have something against rich folk even though you're rich yourselves--"

"Our father is rich," Peter intervened. "We've just had our seventeenth birthday and we've come to realize that the American industrialization is not just a technological revelation but an excuse to further suppress the natives of this land and the black folk and the poor," he said.

Arthur stared, a bit lost at some of the words the young man used but following. "Okay, I agree I think, but won't there just be new rich folk to replace them?" Arthur pressed, happy to get the spotlight off of John. Peter looked pensive for a moment but then shrugged.

"We're taking our chances, maybe it'll send a message that the rich aren't as untouchable as they once believed," Penny spoke then, her eyes locked on Arthur.

"Sure, I can get behind that, so we'll just get that money out of your hands and get outta here--" Arthur said as he nudged John out of the room.

Peter peered at Arthur before frowning. "My sister asked for the boy," he said.

Arthur smirked. "Way I see it; we're the ones doing you a favor by not screaming your intentions out to the guests eating lunch right about now and getting them outta here before you can burn 'em--" Arthur said as he grabbed the knob of the door to close behind him and John, "--so how's about we all pretend this never happened and you just point us in the direction of the safe?"

Penny and Peter shared a look, frowning but accepting defeat. "Go upstairs, there should be a door to the attic hidden behind a painting of a boy with a balloon," Peter grumbled. Arthur thanked him kindly before shutting the door and sharing a moment of silence with John before hurrying off to the tables to find Dutch and Hosea.

They were laughing at the whole interaction by the time they found the two older men who were speaking to some folk sitting near them. "Boys?" Hosea questioned when they got close enough.

"We've got some paperwork for you to see," Arthur said carefully, noticing how some of the guests that had been speaking to Dutch and Hosea were now staring at John and Arthur.

Dutch hummed and nodded before standing up, "Excuse us, friends," he said to the folk at the table before following John and Arthur with Hosea at his tail out of the dining room to the stairs to go up. Arthur filled the two older men in on what had happened with Penny and Peter, sure to keep his voice low and quiet in case anyone else was wandering upstairs. Despite their find, Dutch seemed upset with Arthur. He kept casting him analytical and disappointed glances that made Arthur's heart race of anxiety.

They searched for the painting, which was luckily easily distinguished by its vibrant colors. Arthur was the one to lift it and move it aside, and John pulled the small handle to open the door that was painted to look like a part of the wall. Dutch took the lead, heading inside and up a set of stairs with Hosea following and John and Arthur waiting by the door. "Close it," Hosea had said, "we'll knock for you to reopen it. Act like you're just talkin'," he said before following Dutch. John shut the door and Arthur hung the painting back up.

"Does Dutch seem mad to you?" Arthur asked John when the question was beginning to itch painfully in the back of his mind.

John furrowed his eyebrows, as if trying to relive the past few minutes to determine the best answer. "No? Why would he be mad? We found the safe," he said with a hint of concern in his voice.

Arthur shook his head then, looking down and away from John. The kid had already seen Dutch smack the hell out of him once before, he didn't need to know about whatever other drama Dutch and Arthur had. The memory made him unconsciously scratch at the now-healed scar on his chin which only made John more concerned. He had never figured out what it was that had happened between Dutch and Arthur, or was happening, but ever since what happened at the Bonsack mansion John had been wary of Dutch. He seemed to put up a very different front with the camp than he did with Arthur based on that interaction alone. Since then, it seemed, Dutch also made an effort to treat John perfectly. He was always nice to John and treated him like he could do no wrong. John was sure he did this to keep John from telling anyone at camp about what happened that night. The only reason why John hadn't told anyone about it, or at least Hosea, was because Arthur had asked him not to. "I guess I'm just a little on edge," Arthur said after a moment. "Penny and Peter are really something, ain't they?" Arthur said chuckling, directing the conversation elsewhere.

"Can't believe Penny wanted me," John said, smirking, "I guess sixteen is looking good for me," he laughed.

The blonde raised a brow, smiling at the joke. "It is," he said earnestly, making John blush. "You looked a bit yellow there though--" he teased, nudging John's side, "--lucky I was there."

He was quiet for a moment, recalling the interaction. "You really think I'm still a boy, Arthur?"

Arthur met John's eyes then, the teen was looking at him as if the answer to the question would determine the fate of the world and the pressure only made Arthur feel breathless and stupid. Of course he still saw John as a boy, the guy could barely handle himself in front of a woman that wanted him how was Arthur supposed to see John as a confident adult? But should he tell him that?

Luckily he didn't have to decide because a knock from the wall kicked him and John into action. They quickly removed the painting and opened the door and Hosea and Dutch walked out with a bag of cash. "Not much," Dutch said, "but definitely worth it," he patted John on the back and moved past Arthur. The blonde furrowed his eyebrows and watched Dutch walk down the hall to their room and felt Hosea place a hand on his shoulder. Grabbing his attention, Arthur turned to look at Hosea who had his lips pursed and sent Arthur and encouraging look before following Dutch.

John shared a look with Arthur them, he had noticed the interaction, but Arthur waved him off and instructed him to close the door and help him reset the painting.

-----

Their escape was simple enough, they used the excuse of some pressing matters and were able to leave without any suspicion. Arthur noticed Penny watching John closely as they left but she didn't say anything. They walked away with two thousand dollars, an amazing amount, $360 would go to the fellow Hosea had gotten the tip from but that was still a lot of money. Hosea said he was surprised that there wasn't more, but that he could understand that most guests would've kept their money in their rooms rather than the safe.

They were almost to camp when Dutch came to a sudden stop. "Arthur, would you mind riding with me to town? I'll go mail this money we owe Hosea's pal," he said while he handed their part of the cash to Hosea who was looking between Dutch and Arthur with concern.

"Uh...sure, Dutch," he said slowly, watching as Hosea and John trotted down the path to camp. He noticed that John kept looking back but wasn't able to wave goodbye because Dutch was already turning to the direction of Blackwater and Arthur needed to catch up. "Is everything alright, Dutch?"

Dutch cleared his throat, not meeting Arthur's gaze. "I noticed something strange between you and John," he said in a deep voice.

"Me and John?" Arthur repeated, surprised. There was nothing between him and John. Funny how Dutch noticed something between them, but not him and Mac where there had actually been something. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that John has been lookin' at you a certain type of way," Dutch elaborated, his voice strained. "I asked Hosea about it but he refuses to tell me what he so obviously knows," he said.

Arthur took a moment to calm himself, his heart was thumping loud in his ears and he wanted so desperately to be anywhere but here. "John is a kid..." Arthur began. "He just probably has a crush? Or maybe he just looks up to me. He's always tryin' to impress me, Dutch--" he laughed nervously "--don't mean that there's anything between us," he finished.

"There best not be," Dutch growled, finally locking eyes with Arthur. "Need I remind you that you're mine, Arthur?"

The blonde stared for a moment, confused. That seemed to be the general emotion he felt around Dutch: confusion. "No, Dutch, you don't need to. I understand," Arthur said instead of negating it. What good would it do him to argue? His loyalty is to Dutch.

"Good."

And that was that. Dutch took him to go send the money, they found a private shed behind a store and Arthur "apologized" to Dutch on his knees, and they rode back to camp in silence. The taste of Dutch still in his mouth, Arthur was quick to make himself coffee at the campfire and nearly burned his tongue off drinking it. He kept his mind on John's birthday, it was going to be his birthday tomorrow. Dutch had said something about throwing a party? He had never thrown Arthur a party. He was sure that Susan would handle most of it, or Hosea. His eyes scanned the camp, looking for John. Why had he needed to be so obvious with his stupid crush? Why can't he understand that Arthur doesn't want him.

It didn't take long for Arthur to start pouring rum into his coffee cup. He imagined different ways that he could bite John's head off about getting him in trouble with Dutch. And when he saw John playing darts with Davey, and Dutch come up behind John and applaud him for his "great aim", Arthur felt like punching John square in the jaw. It was John's crush; then why had it been Arthur who was punished?

Because John's the Golden Boy, and you're just the old workhorse now.

The voice was his own, quiet yet firm. He stared at the alcohol in his cup. "Time to put you away, ain't it?" he drawled before setting the cup on the floor and stumbling over to his tent. He pushed past the flaps and flopped down onto his cot, not caring that it was moist. Davey probably dumped a bucket of water on it, but he couldn't give two shits then. He considered leaving. He could mount Zeke and ride off. He could disappear for a few days with the excuse of a job; he had done it before when being around Dutch had grown to be too much.

His eyes landed on the gift he had wrapped in cloth for John's birthday, the Mauser pistol and the Legion Vest he had been able to buy in town with Dutch while Dutch mailed the money. For a moment, he wanted to burn it but then he imagined John's skinny, awkward, face staring at him longingly and his chest tightened and he planted his face in the wet pillow instead.

Chapter Text

So maybe Arthur shouldn't have drunk so much because the throbbing pain in his forehead would definitely be the death of him. He groaned and buried his face into his pillow, now dry, in an attempt to block the bright rays of the sun. He could hear the bustling of the camp: Pearson unnecessarily clanging some pots together, Ms. Grimshaw yelling at Davey about something, Dutch and Hosea laughing way too loudly...and John. John was laughing too.

John is sixteen today. When Arthur turned sixteen Hosea had given him his first journal with a leather cover. Before he would practice writing and drawing on Hosea's journal, or scrap pieces of paper, but on his sixteenth the old man had given Arthur his very own personal book to document everything he wanted to. Now, John would reach that milestone and Arthur was giving him a gunslinger's gun and vest.

But wasn't that what John wanted? To be a gunslinger. An outlaw. Why he wanted that, Arthur wasn't sure. Most likely to impress him or to fit in with the gang of outlaws that had adopted him but if it's what he wanted: who was Arthur to neglect it?

He pushed himself up and out of bed, slow and careful. He stared at the bear pelt on the floor, the head propped up and staring back at him. It had been a while since Mac left and although the man hadn't been specific about when he would be back; Arthur had caught Davey's worried glances whenever Mac's name would surface. He wasn't sure either. It seemed like Mac wasn't on a schedule, so who knew if he even would come back?

So then did it matter if he figured out this thing with Dutch at all. Arthur had mulled it over dozens of times. He knew he felt something for Dutch. Loyalty, definitely. Love? Once, he had been sure of it. He had defended it. But Mac had shown him a different kind of love. The warm embrace of it, not a cold exchange. He had shown him the kind of love that Arthur had never even seen, the type where things weren't done to avoid punishment but to make each other happy.

Arthur wasn't quite sure if that was what he had with Dutch. Just the day before, he had received punishment for John having a crush on him. For looking at him a type of way. Supposedly he belonged to Dutch but the same didn't apply in reversed roles. Dutch didn't care about making Arthur happy. If he did, Dutch would've never been with Susan or Annabelle. If he did, he would tell Hosea and the camp about their undeniable "love" which they had been cultivating since Arthur was sixteen.

But that wasn't the case. So did Arthur love Dutch? He didn't know. He doesn't know because despite all of the awful things Dutch has done --what Arthur knows are awful-- Dutch still makes his heart race in good ways too. He still makes his breath hitch when he walks too close to him, or brushes his hand against his. He still makes Arthur laugh. Isn't that enough? Shouldn't it be enough?

Whatever the answer is, Arthur knew he wouldn't figure it out hungover on little John's birthday. He stood up, grabbing a flask of water on his nightstand, and took a swig of it before grabbing the wrapped gift and walking outside. Everyone was where he expected them to be. The camp was decorated in red, John's favorite color, and it looked like Susan was helping Pearson make a cake. Davey was running around with Copper and John was seated with Hosea and Dutch playing dominoes.

Arthur was still for a moment, and his eyes seemed to play tricks on him because suddenly John was Arthur himself. The old days. And it struck Arthur that he was sixteen when Dutch raped him. Because that was what he had done. No matter how many times Arthur denied it. How many times he told himself that Dutch wasn't capable of it. That's what the man had done to Arthur. He had forced him into the tent in a frustrated state and he had raped him and Arthur had cried but he had taken it because he wanted to make Dutch happy. It had taken so long for Dutch and Hosea to get through to Arthur since they picked him up at fourteen. It had taken so long for them to get him to trust them. After two years, Arthur would happily live and die for them. So bending over and feeling pain in his bottom was something Arthur assumed he had to do to remain in their safety. His wild anger gone.

But now it blossomed. He can vividly see the tear stained pages of his journal, documenting the day Dutch had violated him, and he can imagine what would happen should Dutch decide he wanted John next.

He headed over to the table and set the gift down in front of John who looked up at Arthur a bit stunned but smiling. "Arthur!" Dutch greeted, as if he hadn't been pissed just yesterday, "How are you son?"

"I'm miserable," Arthur grumbled before turning his attention to John. "How's our little John? Huh? Birthday boy?"

John's nose twitched at the word 'little' but he was too intrigued by the gift in front of him to care. "Better than you, I s'ppose, what's this?"

"Well open it," Arthur grunted as he sat down on a chair adjacent to John and Hosea, across from Dutch. John cast a glance to Hosea who was smiling before pulling open the cloth. His eyes went wide.

"Arthur!" he exclaimed, grinning as he lifted the pistol and examined it. "This is incredible! And this is the best I wanted! Thank you!"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get too emotional--" he said as John stood up to give him a hug. Arthur noticed Dutch frowning so he pushed John off him gently, John was too excited to notice and gladly sat back down on his seat to continue examining his gifts.

Hosea was smiling, watching John, but Dutch was still frowning. It seemed like he couldn't maintain his anger because he said: "You sure you had enough to pay for those things, Arthur?"

"I make my money," Arthur refuted, his head aching too badly to care what the punishment of his snap would be later. "You know damn well I put in the most money for this camp, if I want to give the boy a nice gift I'm gonna," he grumbled. He noticed Hosea's eyes darting between him and Dutch and John's excitement began to dwindle.

"It's alright if you take it back--" John was beginning to say but Arthur waved the idea off.

"Those are yours, John, ignore Dutch he can be a pain in the ass sometimes--"

"Arthur!" Dutch yelled, slamming his fist onto the table.

"Now, Dutch," Hosea drawled, trying to calm him.

They all were quiet for a moment except for the heavy huffs coming from Dutch. Finally, Dutch said: "What exactly do you mean Arthur?"

Arthur stared, his eyes trailing to John who looked awkward and suddenly he felt awful for ruining the teen's morning. "Nothing. I'm sorry Dutch, I'm not myself this morning," he said quietly. "Excuse me, I'mma go check and see if Pearson had manages to make anything edible for John's party or not--" Arthur excused himself and walked away, not bothering to wait to see Dutch's reaction.

_____

"I envy everybody who hasn't met you," Arthur grumbled to Simon as the old navy man sat and watched Susan do all the work for the cake, drinking some rum.

"What?" Simon slurred.

Susan and Arthur rolled their eyes as she checked the cake. "Ignore him, Arthur, he's past saving," she said before turning to face him. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Just checkin' on the cake," Arthur said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She pursed her lips, examining her station. "I think I'm fine. It should be done in about another hour at this rate, though--" she paused and locked eyes with Arthur, momentarily glancing over to Dutch, John, and Hosea. She stepped closer to Arthur and pulled him out of Simon's earshot. "--is everything between you and Dutch alright?"

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked quietly.

"I heard him shout at you just now, and yesterday he seemed upset. I just...I worry, Arthur. I know how Dutch can be sometimes when he's angry..." she sighed.

He stared at her, it hurt him to know that she was worried about him. Wasting her energy on being worried about him. "I'm alright, Ms. Grimshaw, I promise you--" he held her hands and she smiled "--ol' Dutch can just be a bit sour sometimes but we all know he's a softy," he said jokingly and her laugh made the pain subside.

"Alright..." she patted his hands before stepping back near the cake to watch it. "I could do with some candies, Arthur, that Davey has a sweet tooth and ate all the ones I had bought for today--" she tutted "--you think you could go buy some for me?"

"Of course!" Arthur said before heading towards Zeke to get his saddle ready. He could feel Dutch's gaze on him but Susan knew where he was going so Arthur didn't bother letting Dutch know. Besides, he wouldn't be gone long.

____

He was wrong.

He was so so wrong, because upon arriving at the general store in Blackwater he had bumped into an absolutely breathtaking woman. Black hair that fell to her shoulders, brown eyes that looked blue in a certain lighting, sharp cheekbones and a toothy smile. She was shopping for clothes at the store it seemed and Arthur had nearly forgotten why he was there when he laid eyes on her.

He was infatuated, and maybe it was because he needed a distraction. And maybe it was because he had been feeling itchy all morning and needed someone to scratch it away. But after buying a satchel full of candy he made his way over to her.

"Excuse me," he said with a smile and suddenly her eyes were on him and she was raising a brow at him. "I just wanted to say...if I were a handyman I'd want to sand you down--" he frowned. "Wait, sorry. I mean--" he scratched the back of his neck. "I'd wanna saw --" he stumbled, stepped back, and shook his head. "Never mind," he finally squeaked, chickening out. It had been a while since he had flirted with anyone after the whole Mason incident and after his breakup with Mac.

Despite his awful attempts, the woman was giggling. "Wait, hold on mister, why don't you try again?"

Arthur smiled then, embarrassment subsiding. "Okay...how's this one? How do you like your eggs in the morning? I hope it ain’t poached cause I don’t know how to cook that.”

She giggled again and it made him smile wider. "I'm Eliza. What's your name?"

"Arthur. I'm sorry about...this--" he waved at his own face and she smiled "--it's been a while," he admitted.

She shrugged, smiling still. "Don't worry about it, I ain't no better. You seem half-decent, though, I work as a waitress over at the bar here -- why don't you come by for a drink? We can get to know each other better?"

Arthur lit up. "Sure. I'd love that," camp forgotten, he paid for her things and they walked out of the store and to the bar.

____

Eliza lights up the room. That's what Arthur had picked up from the short time he has spent with her so far. The bartender, her boss, was happy to see her and she was happy to see him. Most of the folk that were regulars greeted her, and even asked her about Arthur whom she described as a new friend.

Seeing her as a friend was easy. He no longer was simply attracted to her, but he liked her. She's funny, and sharp tongued, and a hard worker.

She told Arthur, as they drank at a table near the back, that she lived on a farm with her parents. She told him that she was 23, but that she had never met a man she wanted to marry so she ended up staying with her folks on the ranch living in a small shed across from the main home for her privacy and helped out as much as possible.

Arthur listened intently, interested in the life of someone who wasn't an outlaw. A regular person. That was Eliza. It came time that Eliza started asking Arthur questions about his life, so he kept it short. He was honest about his criminal activity; he told her about his imprisoned father and how he had been adopted by two outlaws and that he was apart of their gang. He didn't share names, but she understood the gravity of it.

Even so, she remained seated and drinking with him. Smiling at him and talking to him. Unafraid, or uncaring, of his lifestyle.

So maybe it was the fact that he knew her that made it difficult to agree when she asked him to upstairs with him to a room. But he did. And when they got to the privacy of the room he noticed she was hurrying to get undressed but didn't seem excited.

"Eliza?" he mumbled quietly, her back facing him. She hummed in response, shaky. "Eliza...we don't have to if you don't want to," he said sincerely.

She turned to face him, her chest naked and her eyes red. "No, Arthur, you must understand--" she approached him and grabbed his hands. "--I need this. I need to know--" her voice faltered. "--please. I haven't been with a man and you're the first one I've met that isn't awful. You're honest and kind and this might be my only chance," she said earnestly, eyes locked with Arthur's.

Her words made him feel concerned, there was more behind this. What did she mean? "You say that like we won't ever see each other after today..." Arthur says quietly.

She smiled and lifted a hand to his cheek. "Were never promised tomorrow, Arthur," she whispered before kissing him.

He tried his best to let the moment flow, to block his thoughts, but it was difficult. Eliza led the way to the bed, guided Arthur's hands to her chest and to her thighs. A bit more comfortable, Arthur rubbed his fingers gently against the top of her pussy and he watched her furrow her eyebrows and arch her back. He kept up the pace, dipping his fingers lower but she wasn't wet at all. "Eliza," he breathed but she seemed to focused to pay attention to him. To remedy it, he placed his head between her thighs and started to lick at the folds, pressing his tongue into her. She gasped and he started to get hard. He reached down and unbuckled his pants as his tongue worked into her. He stroked slowly and only stopped when she pulled him up by his hair.

"Put it in," she said.

"Eliza...I can't just--" he tried to tell her she wasn't stretched out enough but she shook her head.

"Arthur, please," she said firmly. It would have been a turn on should her voice have been laced with pleasure, but it wasn't. Her tone came off as if she were trying to finish a task.

He sighed and shook his head. "Let me try and do the fingers first, okay? I'll hurry," he said as he pushed his middle finger in slowly. Moving it in and out of her, slowly going in deeper. He did his best to continue hitting her clit, which made her gasp every now and then but she seemed lost in her own mind. He kept stroking himself, trying to not get lost in his own as well, but he started to think about the camp, and the birthday party, and poor John. Arthur had definitely stained the day by arguing with Dutch in front of him, and now by being late to be with some girl he just met.

"Okay, now," Eliza said firmly and Arthur simply nodded and pressed the head of his dick into her. She was tight and he tried to use his precum to make it easier. She shut her eyes tightly and he was only halfway in when she started to cry silently.

When Arthur noticed her tears, he shook his head and pulled out. "I ain't doing this," he said as he moved away from her, already becoming soft as he pulled his trousers and pants up.

"Wait--" she said, sitting up, "--I'm sorry, I just..." she whimpered. "There's something wrong with me," she said so sadly and surely.

He stared at Eliza, concerned. "What?"

"I can't..." she sniffled. "I kissed my best friend."

Now Arthur was confused. "Alright..."

Eliza looked up at him then. "My best friend is a woman," she said quietly, as if it were a crime. "I fantasize at night about her, oh lord!" she cried. "The devil has got my mind warped--" she sobbed into her hands.

Arthur frowned and sat down next to her to rub her back soothingly. "Eliza...there ain't nothin' wrong with you. Do you think God cares who we sleep with? I think he's got bigger problems than what makes us excited," he assured her but her shoulders were still shaking.

"I just...I thought that if I tried with a man, that it would fix me--" she looked at Arthur then. "You're handsome, and sweet, but I still can only think about her," she said with a quivering lip.

He pulled her into a hug and she set her head on his shoulder. "Listen," he said firmly, "I've been with men and women, and I've enjoyed both. Not every experience is the best, no one side is better, what's better is finding someone you care about and sharing a bed with them," he said, thinking of Mac. "That's the best sex you can have," he said confidently.

She was quiet for a moment, but nodded. "It's harder here..to hide it," she elaborated. "Being an outlaw...I'm sure you can find the privacy to be with a man?"

"It is easier," he admitted. "But I'm sure you can work something out. Your friend, what's she like?"

Eliza smiled, and for almost two hours she talked about a woman named Cassidy who lived on a farm with her pa not far from Eliza's family ranch. A woman that Eliza had grown up with and who she loved dearly. She told him how Eliza had kissed her one night that they had gotten tipsy after a long day of work with the cattle on Cassidy's farm that she had asked Eliza for help with. This had happened just last night, but what surprised Eliza is that Cassidy had kissed back. And that just this morning, Cassidy had asked Eliza to come by later tonight to help with the horses.

Arthur encouraged Eliza to go, to work something out with Cassidy and to update him tomorrow. He promised he'd be in town again tomorrow, and with that he helped her get dressed and escorted her out the bar. A few lingering eyes were on them, but Eliza was too happy to care and Arthur was too excited for Eliza to care.

He took her all the way to her wagon, waved her goodbye, and headed to find Zeke to go back to camp.

___

When he got to camp, all eyes were on him. "What took you so long?" Susan said teasingly, in a good mood but still annoyed.

"John wouldn't let us eat the cake without you," Pearson said, more annoyed.

"I couldn't find the candies," Arthur grumbled, dumping the candies on the table in front of Dutch who was eyeing him.

"You spent money on all that too?" Dutch said, his voice wavering; drunk.

John was there, sorting through the candy happily with Davey so Arthur just grunted in response to keep from arguing. But then Davey had to stick his nose in his business, literally. The boy took a long sniff at Arthur, snickering, "You smell like sex!" he shouted making Arthur go red.

"Oh so surely you brought back some money too, didn't you son?" Dutch growled and suddenly Hosea was there glaring at Dutch.

Arthur had had enough, hungover and pissed, he shouted back: "What goddamn problem do you have with me, Dutch?"

Dutch snorted bitterly. "My goddamn problem is you whoring yourself around on John's birthday," Dutch snarled.

"Dutch!" Hosea shouted and suddenly Dutch was on his feet.

"I am so sorry, John, for all of this," Dutch said, a hand on John's shoulder, "surely we're all looking forward to how proud you will all make us. At least we can rely on on someone in this gang," Dutch said, glaring at Arthur.

"I...i don't mind Arthur working, really--" John tried but Dutch waved a hand.

"Nonsense," Dutch said, "Arthur had no reason to be bending over for some bastard--"

Hosea had heard enough, "Quiet! All of you," he shouted. "Dutch, I think you've had enough to drink. Why don't you go get some rest?" Dutch stared at the older man for a moment before huffing and walking off to his tent.

"That bottle will be the death of him," they heard Susan say as she brought the cake over.

"Are you alright, Arthur?" Hosea asked.

He waved a hand. "Fine. Now, we gotta birthday boy to celebrate," he said smiling at John who was smiling back.

The moment was passed, and each of them sang John 'Happy Birthday' and had a slice of cake. It was fun, they drank and sang all until the night time. Susan and Hosea retired first, then Simon, and Davey surprisingly excused himself to bed. Unknowingly to Arthur, by John's request.

Arthur was a tad drunk again, happy but still sour about Dutch. He and John were out by the riverbank to not disturb the sleeping camp, singing and laughing. Eventually, their laughter died down, sleep beginning to draw away their energy. They were quiet for a moment.

But then John had something to say. "You and Dutch...was it always like that?"

The blonde was quiet for a moment, thinking. "He and I are complicated, but it isn't about us; today is about you and I am sorry about ruining your day," Arthur said sincerely.

John smiled and met Arthur's eyes. "Nah, you got me the best gifts ever! You didn't ruin it," he assured. "but uh...I was hopin'...do you think I could get a kiss?"

A smile played on Arthur's lips, should he have been sober he wouldn't have even considered it, but the sleep and alcohol in his system allowed him to leaned forward and plant a kiss on John's forehead. John went red, and was still as a statue while Arthur stood up and walked back to camp.

Chapter Text

He stayed up for a while, staring at the fire. He noticed John sneak into camp about ten minutes after he had left him at the riverbank but that was near an hour ago. He was sure John was asleep already. He knew he had fucked up his own sleep schedule because the sun was peaking behind the trees already but the camp was still asleep. Except for him, and now Dutch.

The flaps of the tent had been pulled open, and out came Dutch, glaring at Arthur at first sight. They were still, eyes locked and postures matched. Arthur was holding a coffee cup in his hands, letting the heat of it warm his hands. He thought about the kiss he had given John when he first laid eyes on the older man and he wondered how furious he would be if he knew. He hated himself all over again for giving the kid what he wanted, --even though it was hardly a kiss-- he should have thought about how John would take it. The poor boy would think he had a chance; one Arthur wasn't sure he could promise John even in the (now) three years that remained.

Dutch finally moved, signaling with his hand for Arthur to come closer. The anger in his eyes was familiar, as well as the calm and steady movements he carried; like a pistol pointed to his head, leading him towards Dutch's tent. As if on command, Arthur stood and left his cup behind to join Dutch in his tent.

He shut the flaps. The darkness of the tent cloaking them both from the reality of the situation when Dutch grabbed Arthur and shoved him down onto the bed. Arthur didn't know if he was too drunk, or too scared, but he started to cry and Dutch was shushing him like a father would his child but he was still stripping Arthur of his clothes. Arthur was reminded of John, he's sixteen, Arthur thought, if Dutch gets bored of me, he'll do this to him. The thought alone was enough for him to hold his breath to keep from crying, but although he stopped after a few moments he continued to hiccup at each thrust of Dutch's hips.

When the older man was done, he sent Arthur on his way with a reminder to stay in line to which Arthur nodded wordlessly. He put his clothes on and stepped out of the tent. He stayed there, still, cold, and defeated. His brain felt like mush, he wasn't ever too bright...but now he felt like an idiot for ever getting into this situation. For falling in love, or whatever it was, with Dutch. An obsession, maybe that's what it was. Maybe that's what Arthur is to Dutch? A vice he can't quit.

Usually addictions never turned out well.

He was about to go to his tent but before he could he spotted Davey staring at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed holding a cup on the other side of camp. Just like that, his head cleared and he started running after Davey who had dropped his cup and went into a sprint to the woods.

Once they were out of ear shot of the camp, Arthur started yelling for Davey to stop but the teen kept running. Davey was unsure where to run, but he was sure Arthur would kill him for discovering his secret. "Davey!" Arthur yelled, "stop!"

He only stopped because he was at a cliff and tired, they had run a good distance away from camp, maybe one miles or two, and they were both wheezing. "You---" Davey croaked, "--and Dutch?" he gasped.

Arthur panted, hands at his knees, the sting of his ass had made it all worse. "It's not.." he hissed and shut his eyes, "it's not like that," he tried.

"I thought he was fookin' Ms. Grimshaw in there. I heard moanin' but I only heard one person. Then out comes you!" he confronted, then, as if a light went off in his head, he said: "Is this why Mac left?! 'Cause you were off fookin' Dutch?!"

The older outlaw went silent. Unsure how to answer. "You can't tell anyone--" Arthur pleaded instead but Davey was livid. He stormed towards Arthur and punched him square in the jaw. Arthur let him. He fell to the floor on his ass and felt the pain up his spine. He stared down on the floor, his eyes red and watery but Davey couldn't care. Mac left over this?. "Please--" he said through gritted teeth, "--Dutch would kill me and...and I don't want him to do this to John or you," Arthur said because he realized Davey was nearing sixteen too.

Davey furrowed his eyebrows. "Dutch is doing what to you, exactly?" he asked, confused now.

Arthur was quiet for a moment, taking the time to stand up and dust himself off. "Been doing this since I was sixteen," he said quietly. "I don't know if it's me or if it was my age but...I'm not willing to risk it," he met Davey's eyes then. "I was stupid to think what he and I had was real but I was young then and...and only now am I starting to realize how stupid I am," he assured Davey.

The young teen's eyes went wide, he wasn't sure how to feel. "Mac...Mac left you because Dutch is taking advantage of you?"

"He left me because I said I was in love with Dutch," Arthur corrected bitterly. "Which I thought I was...I'm sorry Davey," he said sincerely.

Davey stared at Arthur, bewildered, for a moment he felt terribly for Arthur and he feared for himself and John. And if Arthur was questioning it all now, this was the perfect opportunity to go find Mac. "Screw Dutch! We gotta get out of here! Take John and the others and head west to Mac--"

"No!" Arthur barked and Davey furrowed his eyebrows again. "Dutch...Dutch has done a lot of things but he saved me and I owe him my loyalty," Arthur explained to which Davey sighed. "'Sides, we don't have a clue where Mac is...best we wait for him to come home," he grumbled.

Davey eyed him, as if he were crazy -- and if Arthur were being completely honest he certainly felt crazy. He didn't know what to feel. For years Arthur had been blindly protecting Dutch from even his own critiques, and now that he's beginning to question everything Dutch had ever done to him he felt obligated to continue to protect Dutch because then...then...had it all been for nothing?

Maybe Davey understood, Arthur wasn't sure. What Arthur does know is that Davey sighed and nodded and walked off, and that had been it. It took Arthur a few moments of silence and an ache in his lungs to realize he had stopped breathing. He gasped and coughed and sat down on the ledge of the cliff and stared off at the warm colors of the sunrise. If he was smart, he would follow Davey to make sure he didn't go off and say something with that big mouth of his; but he wasn't. Maybe there was a part of him, the smallest, tinniest, part of him that hoped he would.

___

To say Hosea was angry is an understatement. He is livid. Furious. Infuriated. How could Dutch act that way on John's birthdays of all days? And to treat Arthur in such a fashion? Hosea had always been aware of the fact that Dutch -- although persuasive with his words-- was terribly impatient with children and had never been good with handling Arthur, but to continue to act that way now that Arthur is an adult?

It had kept him turning all night. He wondered how he could fix it. At some point during the night, he was startled awake by the sound of fast footsteps. He peaked out of his tent, eyes still peeling open, and caught sight of a figure running off into the woods. Worried, he stood up, stance wobbly, and looked around. Everyone but Arthur and Davey were in their tents -- had they run off somewhere?

In Hosea's recent observations, Arthur and Davey didn't get along too well. He wasn't sure why, he had a hunch it had something to do with Mac Callander (the older brother) but Hosea hadn't known him long enough to gather much information. Knowing Arthur, Hosea would guess he had said or done something that resulted in Mac leaving and now Davey resented Arthur for it. Arthur also seemed upset about Mac leaving, so he also noted that Mac and Arthur were probably close -- which is why he didn't prod on the subject with either of them. It must be a sensitive topic.

Regardless, what business did the two of them have out in the woods this early? Or late. Or whatever damn time it is.

Too tired to run after them, Hosea decided to peak into Dutch's tent instead. He trusted Arthur to take care of himself and the boy, so might as well get a head start biting Dutch's head off before the young outlaw gets back to stop him.

Upon entering, Hosea started to have a coughing fit. It smelled awful...some stench being covered up by the smoke of cigar and candles. "Dutch?" he rasped.

Dutch was sitting shirtless behind a small table where he had propped a book up that he was reading while he puffed his cigar. The man looked up at Hosea with a curious brow. "Up already, cowboy?" he said grinning, not noticing Hosea's look yet.

"Dutch," he said, a little more sternly making Dutch cringe, "I'd like to talk about yesterday," he said before taking a slow seat across from Dutch.

The man sighed and bummed out the cigar before setting his book down. "Oh, 'Sea, you know me...I let myself slip too much with the drinking..." Dutch tried to excuse.

"No," Hosea interrupted, "no...Dutch, this has been bothering you for a while and I can tell--"

"--and what exactly do you think is bothering me?" Dutch said a little harshly making Hosea glare.

He locked a firm gaze with Dutch and said it clearly: "Arthur," he gritted. "Or, better, Arthur's choices of work. I'm not going to say I'm happy about it all but I know that Arthur is bringing in good money into the camp and he ain't hurtin' nobody--" Hosea tried to reason but Dutch waved him off.

"Now," Dutch laughed bitterly, "you don't understand. You didn't see those pictures, Hosea, Arthur isn't just doing what Annabelle or Susan would do...no, he's indulging in this. He's getting close to the clients and...and-- well-- you saw! That rich fellow showed up to our camp--!"

"--by no fault of Arthur!" Hosea intervened. He sighed. "I can see what you mean, though, about getting close to the clients. But, Dutch, that doesn't mean you can humiliate him like that in front of the other camp members. If you want to get through to Arthur, you have to talk to him directly without doing all of this passive aggressive input that will only make him resent you. Talk to him. Tell him what concerns you. He'll understand," Hosea assured and Dutch nodded a fraction making him smile. "But if you pull something like yesterday again--" he said, standing up, "I will make sure you lose your trigger finger," he said smiling but serious. Dutch laughed it off, but the message was clear. As a second thought, before making a move to leave, Hosea added: "...and what would be so bad if Arthur got close to someone?" They both froze, Dutch with an unreadable expression and Hosea with a curious one. "Arthur is an adult now...it's about time he found someone special...man or woman," he elaborated.

Dutch didn't respond, Hosea noticed his eyebrow twitch a bit but Hosea didn't think much of it. To Hosea, Arthur was like a son. He had always hoped one day Arthur would meet someone special. He wouldn't deny he would prefer it to be a woman for Arthur to have children with and make a family but he had known Arthur for five years already and if he knew one thing about Arthur it was that the boy liked boys. And that was fine. He liked girls too, Hosea knew, but Arthur would always goggle a bit more at the strong men in town and get all flustered whenever an attractive one would pay extra attention to him. Hosea wasn't blind.

Still, Arthur had barely reached his twenties this year and the thought of Arthur being an adult hadn't plagued Hosea's mind until today and he was sure Dutch felt the same. The idea of it actually happening was still seemingly unreachable. Yet there it was. For heavens sake, a man had come to camp to ask to marry Arthur!

Whoever it ends up being, or however it ends, Hosea knows he will have Arthur's back and will support him and his decisions (unless they were stupid, of course).

___

Susan was about done with all this ruckus. First, the running and rustling in the woods. Then, the mumbling from Dutch's tent. Now the clambering of a hungry teenager in her provisions wagon. Obviously she wasn't about to get a good night's sleep, so she got dressed and headed over to make sure all the food hadn't been eaten yet. She spotted Davey picking at the food there and she rolled her eyes. If Annabelle were here, she would tell her a joke about how men were always hungry. Or maybe she would ask her to get some veggies ready for the soup.

But she wasn't. It made Susan's heart ache to know the young girl had died the way she had. How abruptly painful would a bullet to the head be? She wondered if that would be the way she would die eventually too. Running with this gang, who knew? It seemed that every day they were getting farther and farther from their dreams but what was there to be done? Dutch had a plan, didn't he?

Dutch and his plans. Once, he had planned to love Susan forever. She knows very well how that turned out.

But that wasn't for her to speak to. Dutch had saved her life once, and her loyalty was to him and this family. Besides, she loved young Arthur and now little John and Davey way too much to leave them behind. Despite it all, they were a family and she wouldn't let them go. Not like hers had let her go. Unlike her own parents, she would care and raise for the sons and daughters that came her way because it's the right thing to do.

So maybe that's why it hurt so much to know Annabelle would no longer be there for her to joke with or boss around. Annabelle had been much like a daughter to her, despite the fact they had both been with Dutch -- it didn't matter. Susan had made it her responsibility to teach Annabelle all she knew and raise her right. But she had been ripped away from her. That morning Susan had laughed with her about how smelly Pearson is, and had reminded her to feed the chickens before leaving, and she hadn't even said goodbye because she didn't think she had to.

It seemed saying goodbye came too late then, with one of them six feet under.

"Davey--!' Susan reprimanded when he dipped his dirty fingers into the pot of stew she had been preparing since late last night.

He sucked on his finger and hummed. "Tastes great Ms. Grimshaw!" he said enthusiastically and if Susan was a bit softer she would smile.

"Oh, enough of that, take this apple and go do your chores and leave this alone," she said shoving an apple his way. He took it happily before walking off in the direction of John's tent. She shook her head and her heart ached again remembering when Arthur had been only 17 so long ago, when she had just joined the gang, and he had been particularly hard on her. She always felt it was because she had infiltrated his small found family, but he had come around to loving her as she loved him. She had known he did when he brought her flowers for mother's day, a holiday they had heard someone in town say in passing as a joke.

The ache didn't faze her, though, it couldn't and never would, so she kept working.

____

"He kissed me," John told Davey, mesmerized still. Davey shoved a piece of bread his way, chewing on his own, and stared at him with a raised brow.

"Did he?" Davey grumbled.

John took the bread, staring off to the distance. The boys were sitting inside John's tent, eating and whispering. "Well, he kissed my forehead so I guess he still sees me as a kid--"

"I just don't see what's so damn great about him," Davey interrupted, making John stop abruptly and examine his friend's expression curiously. "Mac was all over him too, 'Arthur this' and 'Arthur that', I'm damn sick of hearing about Arthur friggin' Morgan," Davey spat.

He hadn't considered it, honestly he never knew that talking so much about Arthur bothered Davey. They talked about other things, of course, they were friends. Hell, Davey had even confided in John and told him about how he grew up and John had done the same. But if Davey wanted to stop talking about Arthur, John could do that. They're best friends, John doesn't need to talk about Arthur even if he desperately wanted to.

Instead, they talked about some playing cards they've been looking for and made plans to continue John's outlaw training. The fifth step, it so happened, was breaking and entering. They would need to go find some house, sneak in, and take anything of value. The boys were on their way out the same time that Arthur was mounting his own horse. "You going out?" John asked Arthur while Davey got his saddle ready.

Arthur glanced at John, not really meeting his eyes. "Uh, yeah, I have some errands to run," he said quietly and for a moment John was racking his brain to try and remember if he had done something wrong to create this divide between them. Was it the kiss? Arthur had been drunk. "What about you?" Arthur asked, snapping John out of his thoughts.

"Oh, uh, Davey and I are doing a job," he said and now Davey was approaching them and mounting his horse. He noticed a strange tension between Davey and Arthur but it was gone as quickly as it came because Arthur grunted a goodbye before kicking Zeke into a trot and rushing off.

"Let's go," he heard Davey say.

------------

He spotted her and he felt a smile tug on his lips. Arthur knew that she wasn't his, not romantically, but they were each other's friends now and he couldn't help but feel excited at seeing her. She rushed towards him, dress flowing behind her as she practically threw herself on him to hug him. She laughed and giggled and he spun her around, he was sure some people were staring but they didn't care. "How'd it go?" he asked her, excited to know how it had gone with Cassidy.

She bit her lip, eyes sparkling brighter than they had yesterday and he wondered if they became more beautiful by the day. "Amazingly," she whispered and her grip on his hands tightened. "Let's go to her home? You can meet her? She's alone at her farm and she made some lunch for when I finished up work today--"

"--I'd love to," Arthur assured her, smiling. Excited, she hurried to pull him towards her wagon. He whistled for Zeke as he pulled himself up and sat in the front with her. She drove the wagon with Zeke following them close behind. "So?" he asked once they were out of the town.

"It was amazing! I came by and I told her how I felt, and that I was sure, and she said she loves me too! She told me she's always loved me and that the kiss we shared gave her life, Arthur! It gave her life! I did that!" she giggled and Arthur couldn't help but stare at her and he felt his heart swell with joy. "Of course--" she waved a hand "--there will be challenges but she said she's willing to face those with me when they come," she said, still smiling.

Arthur chuckled and nodded. "I am so happy for you, Eliza," he said genuinely. They talked more on the way to the farm, and he made sure to memorize the path should he ever want to visit her. When they got there, Eliza nearly fell of the wagon from how fast she jumped off and hurried to the house.

The blonde followed, making sure to feed the horses quickly before she led him into the house. It was nice, big and clean, and the land seemed good and fertile. As soon as he stepped into the house he spotted Cassidy, a beautiful brunette with green eyes and a thin frame. "Eliza!" she greeted, only peering over to examine Arthur.

"Cass, this is Arthur--" Eliza went to hug her before pulling Arthur close "--he's the one who helped me. He's a good friend," she introduced.

Cassidy smiled. "A friend of Eliza is a friend of mine," she held her hand out and Arthur shook it, she has a firm handshake he noted. "Please, come in, I've made lunch," she led them to the dining room where plates of meat, bread, and beans were waiting for them. Arthur's stomach grumbled then, unaware of how hungry he was until he smelled the delicious food.

Arthur sat down across from Cassidy from Eliza, and he watched how the two women looked at each other as if he weren't even there. Cassidy would sneak food onto Eliza's plate, saying she was too thin and worked too hard, and Arthur wondered if a purer love existed. Just how much had he missed out on? Living the life he lives; just how much love had he lacked in witnessing? and how could he ever believe that what he had with Dutch was comparable to this?

They were halfway through their meal when the horses started to neigh uncontrollably and Cassidy made a comment about going to check on them. Arthur stood up, following Cassidy and Eliza outside to go see what the ruckus was about. They rushed over when they saw the barn doors open, but they saw nothing there. "I'll check the stables," Arthur said, taking charge, "why don't you girls go back in the house?"

Cassidy frowned. "This is my farm, Arthur--"

"I know," he said smiling. "Go protect your woman, think of me as a farmhand? I'm sure it was probably a mouse," he said kindly and Cassidy shared a look with Eliza who was smiling so she gave in and thanked Arthur before heading back to the house. Arthur combed through the stables, feeding the horses some carrots he had on him before heading back to the house. He noticed the door was still open, strange, so he jogged up to the steps.

He nearly broke down laughing when he walked in. There, in front of his very eyes, was Cassidy smacking John Marston with a broom and Eliza pinning Davey Callander onto the floor. "Arthur! These hooligans were trying to rob us--" Eliza said as Cassidy continued smacking John.

"Oh, calm down girls," Arthur said through chuckles, "I know these two fools. Little John...got yourself in a scrap, haven't ya?" he said teasingly. Cassidy stopped smacking John, watching curiously but Eliza still had Davey pinned.

John stood up slowly, in pain, "Arthur?!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you the same thing," Arthur said with a raised brow. "Didn't you say something about doing a job? This your definition of it? Robbing the two ladies?" he almost scolded.

The teen stammered, embarrassed. "It's just..." he looked at Cassidy, then Eliza and Davey who looked defeated under Eliza's strong hold, then back to Arthur. "We didn't know...it's part of my training! I swear! Step five is a break in!" he said, almost shouting because of the anxiety.

Arthur shook his head. "We rob the rich, John--"

"I thought we were on the fence about that, you know, because Dutch--"

"This ain't about Dutch!" Arthur yelled, suddenly angry at the mention of the man. "John, being an outlaw ain't about robbin' people," he said a bit gentler but still condescending.

John looked confused then. "Ain't it? It's about surviving and sometimes we gotta rob to survive," he defended but it triggered something in Arthur's mind. It was something Hosea and Dutch had explained to him before about the difference between them and other gangs.

"It ain't about surviving, Marston, it's about being free," he sighed and shook his head and finally looked over to Eliza and Davey. "Eliza, would you let my friend there go? I'm so sorry about this girls, these boys are from my camp and they were just looking for trouble--"

"--I ain't a boy!" John snapped then and redirected Arthur's attention to him. "I'm sixteen and I'm mature for my age!"

The older man furrowed his eyebrows, what type of "mature" man whined like this? "Yeah," he laughed breathily, "real manly of you to rob these two women," he scolded and he knew it hurt because John flinched. "Get out of here boys," he said when Eliza let Davey go cautiously.

Davey eyed Arthur. "You fookin' these girls too?"

"Out!" Arthur yelled and Davey glared at him before tugging John out of the house. "And stop robbin' random people!" Arthur shouted as they walked away. He turned back to face the girls who had curious looks on their faces. "Oh, spare me," he said when it looked like they were about to scold him, "the greasy one is in love with me and the irish-maniac hates me for making his older brother run away because of my commitment issues--" he flopped down on the chair, their eyes still on him, "--they had it comin'," he added.

Cassidy and Eliza sat back down where they had been seated before, but their interest was no longer in each other but rather on Arthur. "Do we gotta worry about anymore robberies?" Cassidy asked first to which Arthur shook his head 'no'. "Swear?"

"I swear that my gang won't rob you," he promised. "I can't speak for any other fools," he said to which Cassidy seemed satisfied.

"So the lanky one likes ya?" Eliza asked excitedly. Arthur laughed and ducked his head into his hands. Luckily, he was able to find a way to get them to talk about something else, to Eliza's dismay, and the three were able to enjoy the day working around the farm and playing checkers. It was a peaceful break from the life Arthur knew too well on the run. It gave him hope for the future, pretending as if he were apart of this life.

He recalled how he once wished for a life like this with Dutch, now he wasn't too sure.

-----

Rachel had taught him to strive for survival, but Arthur was telling him that was wrong. That their goal should be freedom. But weren't the two intertwined? Didn't one need to survive to reach true freedom? What extent of freedom were they seeking? How were the meant to do it? On top of that, Davey was fuming and quiet the whole ride back to camp after the whole ordeal. He must really hate Arthur now and it bothered John that his best friend hated his love-interest. Was it because Mac left? But what fault did Arthur have in that?

He wanted to ask, but his head was too occupied wondering what else he could do to prove to Arthur that he was a man. The manliest of men. And he wondered if this whole ordeal had set him back at all? And how Arthur knew those women? What was he doing there? Was Davey right, and he was...with them?

All of it sent John's head spinning, and although he wanted to reach out and talk to Davey about what just happened he couldn't bring himself to. Besides, it seemed like a swirl of thoughts were filling Davey's thoughts too.

Chapter Text

A few months had gone by, and the camp had moved a little farther West. It boggled the mind, really, why they had to practically move inch by inch to get to the glorious west. Dutch said it had something to do with staying low, and saving money, but sometimes Arthur wondered if Dutch just didn't want to lose what he had: a gang. Or rather, a family he could control. Except Arthur would never say that out loud, he would only write it sloppily into his journal so that only he would be able to read it should he want to. Or maybe he'd tear the page out and burn it. Who knows.

Davey had kept quiet, Arthur knew because no one in camp had gone crazy or made any remarks about it and Arthur hadn't being murdered by Dutch. Instead, Dutch had spoken to him briefly about being safe with the way he made money with Hosea present in the tent. When Hosea wasn't present, however, and in the safety of darkness, Dutch would remind Arthur to not be a whore by claiming him as his. Arthur, through his own volition, decided to stop selling himself. After what happened with Mason and the way Dutch was acting he honestly didn't want any more drama. He would go back to being the perfect right hand man he had been. Except he was 20 now, and John was stepping up and Dutch was beginning to prefer little John than the battered and bruised workhorse Arthur. Luckily, this preference didn't come with the attempt to bed John, at least that Arthur was aware of.

John had surprisingly not slowed down with pestering Arthur. He still followed him around like a love-sick puppy but at least he hung out a lot more with Davey and spent a lot of time "practicing to be an outlaw". It was hard to be together, the three of them, because there had been a growing tension between the three of them since the day the two teens had tried to rob Eliza and Cass, but Arthur wasn't going to waste time clearing that up. If either of them had questions they should damn ask, otherwise; Arthur had made himself plenty clear that day about what the gang meant by being outlaws: being free. Arthur had seen little of Eliza and Cassandra since they moved camps, but he planned on seeing them again soon.

Soon, however, became later the next year and Arthur had celebrated his twentieth birthday with Dutch and Hosea playing dominoes -- because suddenly it was winter again and the new year was coming and John was boasting around camp about being seventeen soon. Arthur guessed that he had gone about eleven months without seeing Eliza and Cassandra, almost a year now, whom he had deemed close friends.

He would go see them, but Dutch had become a little stricter with people coming and going from camp. He had made some rule, that he announced to the whole camp, that if you're going to leave camp someone has to be aware of it that is going to be staying in camp to let everyone else know. Otherwise, it'll be assumed that you left the gang. Which Arthur found ridiculous because if Arthur left camp; would they assume he left the gang? He had been there longer than most of the gang members, Hosea and Dutch raised him. And what if Dutch or Hosea forgot to let someone know? Would they be assumed to have left the gang?

Despite his inquiries, all he did was nod and support his decision. It seemed that Hosea was skeptical too, but he let Dutch have the rule. He didn't really think it to be a big deal, at least that's what Hosea told Arthur when he asked him about it privately.

He wondered, too, how this would apply to Mac since he had left for so long already but he supposed it wouldn't affect him because he had gone before the rule was in place. It didn't matter, though, it seemed, because Mac hadn't written to Davey in a long time and Davey was becoming increasingly touchy around the subject of Mac. Arthur felt kind of bad about it, because Arthur had driven Mac away but he reminded himself that it wasn't his fault that Mac wasn't writing or that he was staying away. Whatever Mac had discovered out West it was clearly interesting enough to forget about Davey. Even Dutch, who hardly spoke to the Callander brothers, made a few passing comments about how long Mac had been away.

It was getting colder, so Arthur was fiddling with his gloves and trying to get warm by the fire. Hosea was in Dutch's tent, last Arthur checked, and most of everyone else were in their own tents trying to get warm. It wasn't snowing, but it had rained pretty hard the night before and everyone was just trying to avoid getting sick. Arthur didn't let that keep him from going out, however, because he had just come back from raiding an old abandoned town where he had found some rum and gold. He had given it to Dutch, who smiled at him and gave him a pat on the back after getting details as to how Arthur went about attaining the items.

So now he was sitting, listening to the crickets of the night, and warming up by the fire alone. Or at least he was alone for a few, peaceful, minutes until John went ahead and sat down next to him. It seemed the kid got insanely taller after turning sixteen and although he was still barely reaching Arthur's height it was a little bit annoying that the younger man was seemingly going to surpass Arthur's height. At least he was still fairly lanky, he didn't have a lot of muscle despite overworking himself with Davey. To be fair, they mostly screwed around. Arthur was the workhorse of the camp, doing chores and bringing in the cash. He had checked the ledger, which he had to keep track of, and he noticed that Davey and John combined barely made half of what Arthur brought in. Dutch brought in about twenty bucks a month, and Hosea didn't bring in anything (because he mostly planned the jobs out and had the younger more able members see the plan through). Pearson brought in nothing, Susan brought in about ten dollars a month, and the loanshark brought in the loans (which Arthur saw through).

John was sitting beside him, and for a moment Arthur wondered if the kid was just going to sit there and be quiet. He was almost about to allow himself to relax and enjoy the kid's company, but then John had to open his mouth. "It's my birthday next month," John said suddenly and Arthur looked over with a raised brow. He grabbed a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with the flame of the campfire.

"You gonna ask me for somethin'?" Arthur asked; John had been making a lot of comments about his birthday nearly the entirety of the month but not really saying anything else. Just...making statements.

The younger man was quiet for a moment, he looked around as if to see if anyone were around to hear him and Arthur immediately tensed. What in the hell was the boy about to ask Arthur for? "Last time, on my birthday, you did something for me...could you...do it again?"

It took a moment to register what John was talking about because Arthur had done a lot of things on John's birthday. It came to him, though, that John was talking about the kiss on the cheek Arthur had given John after getting extremely drunk. "No," Arthur grumbled.

"Why not?" John huffed. "You did it once already!"

"Hush up--" Arthur hissed, but the damage had been done. Dutch was coming towards them with Hosea in tow.

"Did what once already?" Dutch asked curiously, sitting down across from John and rubbing his hands together. Hosea sat down next to Dutch.

Arthur panicked internally, but kept his cool on the outside as he had practiced and perfected. "Bought him a really expensive gun," Arthur said before John could interject, "he wants me to buy him the new model for his birthday and I'm telling him that he'll get what I give him and that's all," Arthur said firmly.

John huffed and glared at Arthur for making him seem needy in front of Dutch and Hosea, who were chuckling like two old wise men. "Well, John, maybe you could save up to buy yourself the gun you want," Dutch suggested and Arthur thought in that moment that Dutch would never suggest that Arthur save up his own money to buy something he wanted for himself. But little John? Anything for little John.

The youngest only shrugged and nodded sheepishly, and Arthur noticed that John had picked up the same habit of fiddling with his gloves in the cold as Arthur had and it almost made him want to puke because this was the same kid that wanted Arthur to kiss him and who knows what else. At this point Arthur had spent nearly two years with John and even though he wouldn't see John as a brother John had still picked up some things from Arthur as a student would from his mentor and it freaked Arthur out.

"Well, maybe if you help us with this job you might be able to buy yourself your gun," Hosea chipped in, piquing Arthur's interest, "remember that friend of mine that gave us that invitations to that mansion?"

"The friend that was a little loony?"

"Yes, him, he wants us to meet him back in Strawberry for a bank robbery," Hosea explained. "Dutch and I went over the logistics of it, and we think we'd be able to do it between the five of us," he assured.

Arthur nodded. "Well you know I'm in, no questions from me," he assured and that made Dutch smile the way he used to.

"Yeah, me too," John chirped, making Arthur cringe.

"Fantastic! Get Davey to come, can ya son?" Dutch asked John, but Arthur was almost about to ask why should he get Davey because before the only person Dutch would call son was Arthur. Not anymore, he supposed.

John nodded and rushed off, and Arthur glanced at him speed-walking away for a second. Less than a second. Noticing how tall he'd gotten. Still lanky. "Strawberry huh? Think I might have time to do something quick in Blackwater?" Arthur asked, because he had been thinking about Eliza and Cass and he wanted to see them. He wasn't sure how that might work, if Dutch and Hosea would wait outside while he went in and played checkers with them or if he'd break off after the robbery to go see them but he just wanted to put it out there.

"What'cha got in Blackwater?" Hosea asked curiously, because he noticed Dutch's upturned face and he knew he was about to ask the same thing but a lot ruder.

Arthur shrugged and Dutch made a noise between a scoff and a huff. "Just an errand...somebody I've been meaning to see.."

"We getting anymore details or are we going to get a surprise like that time that rich feller with the pictures showed up here?" Dutch asked and Arthur didn't miss the glare Hosea shot at him.

"Nah, nothing like that. It's a friend of mine. Her name's Eliza--" he explained, deciding to be honest for once and he continued only because Hosea was smiling fondly. "--she has this girlfriend, Cassie, and we're friends. They have a farm. Just...want to visit them. It's been a while."

Dutch raised a brow at the girlfriend part, but it seemed to ease him. "Oh, well, I guess we will be in the area. But it'll have to before the bank, because we can't be putting those girls in any harms way. Since we're adding this detour, though, you best get ready and get those boys ready." He ordered, and Arthur nodded and stood up to go do exactly that.

---

"What in the fucks sake are you two doing?!" Arthur snapped, rushing into the river where Davey was laughing maniacally and shoving John underwater. "You're gonna drown 'im!" he scolded and pulled John up, who gasped and spluttered water out of his mouth and nose, coughing and wheezing.

"I was teachin' 'im to swim!" Davey defended and Arthur sighed, looking at the now wet teenagers that were no where ready to mount a horse. "He gets all nervous around water and we gotta weed out his weakness."

"Oh, well, maybe you shouldn't be doing something that'll take a lifetime before we have to do a job. The minds you both have got...put 'em together and you wouldn't be able to make up half of one." Arthur scolded and John looked down sheepishly but Davey huffed and held his head up high. "Go on! Get changed and hurry up or we're leaving without you two liabilities." he grumbled, letting John go who stumbled a bit, before walking away back to camp.

Davey pulled off his shirt. "Grumpy today, ain't he?"

"Said he wouldn't kiss me for my birthday." John huffed, taking his shirt off too and wringing it on the dirt as the two walked slowly towards camp. Davey had changed too, though not in height, the budge he had on his stomach had leaned and hardened and his chest and shoulders were broader. "If anything, he should do more. Said to give it four years, well I'm almost seventeen now. We're halfway there. Can't give me a break for nothing."

Davey sighed, at this point he had come to accept that Arthur -- and talk of Arthur -- was something and someone he couldn't avoid. And, to be truthful, he'd grown to respect Arthur. He was tough, and though he was a bit of a slut he got the work done around camp. Brought in the most money. Busted the most faces. For that, Davey could respect him. But he lost a big portion of it considering what happened between him and Mac and what's happening between him and Dutch. "I dunno, I tried thinking that way with girls sometimes." he said and tossed his wet shirt over his shoulder to bounce on one foot and tug off his boot. "Never works out. Can't feel--" he grunted as he dumped the water out of his boot "--entitled or nothin'. If you're really serious about this Art'ur thing, and it seems like ya are, ya gotta woo him. Ya know, sweep 'im off his feet."

"Arthur's not a girl." John reminded.

Davey hummed, thoughtfully. "Sure, but ya wanna do things ta 'im that a guy does to a girl, right?"

John blushed. "Right."

"Then listen to me! Besides, when have I ever steered ya wrong?"

---

"Why these boys wet, Arthur? I told you to get them ready not take them for a swim." John scolded as he mounted the Count.

Arthur side, saddling Zeke up and mounting him and joining Dutch and Hosea down the path as Davey and John rushed to join them. "It wasn't my fault they was fooling around in the river." He grumbled.

Hosea chuckled. "They're kids, Dutch, you know how they are."

"Annoying?" Dutch and Arthur said at the same time and the three of them laughed, at this point John and Davey had caught up and were pouting behind them.

"At this point we won't be able to see that girl of yours, Arthur," Dutch said, but mostly to see Arthur's reaction.

Arthur pursed his lips. "We have time, I think. Besides, ain't that feller you talked about always late? Might as well give him a taste of his own medicine..."

"What girl?" John asked, desperate to know, and the distress in his voice was not missed by Dutch who turned and looked at him funny. Davey shoved John discreetly, glaring at him to relax once Dutch wasn't looking anymore.

"A girl I know, John, calm down." Arthur chuckled. "You'll catch up eventually and find one for yourself," he joked, and he was happy when it seemed to ease Dutch who was chuckling now.

Dutch turned to glance at John. "You don't have to grow up so fast, you know, even though your birthday's coming up again. Speaking of, what is it you want this time around son?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, interested in how Dutch was so easy to make expenses on little John but not him. John shrugged, he hadn't thought about anything more than he wanted than Arthur's mouth. Well, Arthur. But specifically his mouth. "I dunno..."

"Didn't you want that gun? What was it?" Dutch raised a brow, and Arthur was nervous about how many inconsistencies Dutch was pointing out.

John flushed. "Oh, well, I thought you said I should buy that for myself. Gotta think about what I do want then. I'd be happy with some good food."

"...and a bath..." Arthur grumbled and Hosea laughed, Dutch shook his head (hiding a smile) and Davey laughed the loudest when John groaned and huffed.

----

They arrived in Blackwater after an hour of riding and Arthur would be lying if he said his thighs and ass didn't hurt. Typically, he wouldn't mind it. But it had been a while since he had rode for that long. "The farm's around here.." Arthur said, leading the way to Eliza's and Cass' farm. He noticed John and Davey were particularly quiet, but he just assumed it was because they remembered trying to rob the girls. They got to the fence and Arthur paused. "Would it be alright if I just go in? I don't want to spook them."

"Spook them? Us?" Dutch chuckled, but nodded. "Sure, Arthur, you go ahead. Hosea, go with him will ya? Make sure he doesn't take too long chatting with his friends."

Arthur smiled, he didn't mind Hosea coming and he was surprised Dutch didn't volunteer himself for that job. Maybe he was in a good mood. On top of that, he was sure Dutch knew Hosea was less scary than Dutch is. Hosea and Arthur got off their horses and headed towards the farm, which seemed brighter than it had before. He noticed a rocking chair out front that hadn't been there before, and he smiled thinking of Eliza and Cass sitting on it, looking out onto their land. He knocked gently on the door, Hosea to the side and a bit behind him, and put his thumbs looped on his belt.

The door opened slowly, and Eliza's bright eyes seemed to shine brighter when she laid eyes on Arthur. She looked chubbier in the cheeks, and the waistline, and Arthur smiled at her beauty. "Hey, Eliza, been a while?" he greeted.

"A long while.." she looked over at Hosea. "I don't think I've met you.."

"Oh, uh, this is Hosea. He's...like my pa," Arthur explained and Hosea smiled proudly. "Me and the gang were in town..." he pointed at the horses near the fence. "I wanted to stop by..say hello."

She smiled softly, a bit sadly. Arthur tilted his head, confused, and suddenly Eliza opened the door a bit more and gestured for them to come inside. "Come inside please..." she said gently and Arthur frowned, nodding and coming in with Hosea close behind and he didn't register what was plain in front of him until he heard the door shut.

A baby. Not even a year old. Hell, not even half that. The baby was swaddled in Cass' arms and she was holding a rattle over the baby's face. She suddenly looked up and looked shocked. "Arthur..." Cass greeted with a soft smile.

"That's a baby." Arthur said, his hands shaking but his voice still.

"He's a little slow, ladies, I'm sorry," Hosea said, putting his hand on Arthur's shoulder to ground him. "I think what he's meaning to ask is where the baby came from?"

Eliza bit her lip and looked over at Cass, who gave her an encouraging look. "Well..Arthur, you remember our...our first encounter."

"But I didn't finish. Neither did you. You're gay." he rattled on and Hosea smacked him on the back side of the head subtly and Eliza couldn't help but crack a smile.

She nodded. "That's right but...as a woman who doesn't like men I didn't have another encounter like that after you. Or before you, remember? And, well, Cass couldn't have done it as much as we would have liked that to be but...but he's our son. Arthur, and you don't have to worry about him at all. You're still our friend and that's that." she explained gently. "I know the kind of life you live, and I can't expect to ask you for more and...and Cass and I...we've got this."

He looked at her, then his baby. Their baby. He knew he couldn't support them. Hell, it took an hour to ride out here on it's own and he couldn't abandon the family he already had. Besides...they seemed happy. He got close, though, and maybe it was a mistake because each step he took forward he felt more deeply connected to the baby. His son. Their son. "What's his name...?" he asked and sat down besides Cass.

"Isaac." Cass said gently. "Would you like to hold him?"

Arthur wanted to say no, he wanted to shake his head and refuse but his body betrayed him and reached out for Isaac anyway. She smiled, and she gently placed the baby in his stiff arms and when he felt the weight of the baby, which was hardly anything, he nearly cried. He looked down at Isaac's blue eyes and swollen cheeks and he felt his heart swell in a way it had never done before. A new kind of love invaded him and he couldn't tear his eyes away. "I want to help." he croaked, and he realized he was crying but didn't dare move to wipe the tears away. He didn't want to drop or hurt his son.

Eliza and Cass shared a glance, unsure. They liked the dynamic they had. Though they liked Arthur, and loved him as a friend, they were happy with the small family they had built. "I really appreciate you, Arthur, because without you I wouldn't have Cass and I wouldn't have Isaac," Eliza started gently. "But we like what we have..."

He gulped. "No, I...I know. I don't mean that I mean...I mean I have some money set aside and I can help out in other ways too you know? I ain't the brightest but I'm a good worker and I can come by every few months and help out and just...I just want to get to know him. I know you two will raise him right, don't need me for none of that." he said and he finally looked up to look between the two.

Eliza smiled and nodded. "I think that sounds great, Arthur." she said gently.

Hosea stared at Arthur, his heart broken for his son...and now his grandson. He almost dared to tell him to stay, to try and work something out and live with them as a farmhand. To visit the gang and write letters. But he knew Arthur would never do that. "We've got to go, son," Hosea said gently.

"Wait--" Arthur said desperately, looking back down at Isaac. "Can I...Can I have a picture..please?" he begged.

He saw her nod and suddenly Eliza was walking off somewhere, and she returned too soon with a picture of Isaac with a bow on his head and hugging a teddy bear. Arthur painfully returned Isaac to Cass, who cooed and reached his small hands out for her, and stared at his son as he took the pictures from Eliza. "Thanks for stopping by Arthur. I wanted to write you but I didn't know who to send it to."

Arthur nodded, and he wrote down his information for her quickly on a napkin. "Here, whenever you need me. Please? and...thank you. For the pictures and...you know."

She nodded and smiled. "Of course. It was nice seeing you, and meeting you--" she said to Hosea.

Hosea nodded and smiled, rubbing Arthur's shoulder and telling him quietly to tuck the photo away. Arthur mindlessly did, tucking the photo into his satchel and then pulling out a hundred dollars and handing them to Eliza who looked a bit shocked and almost said no but he insisted. She smiled softly and nodded, and suddenly he was being guided back to the door, and he was waving goodbye, but all he could see was his son's eyes and the way he reached for Cass. The way he squirmed and yawned in his arms. How light he was. How quickly he had grown and how Arthur hadn't even known he had existed until today.

"It's alright son." Hosea said, rubbing his back and walking slowly with him back to the horses. Luckily Dutch had his back to them and was speaking to John and Davey. "You did right by them. And you're going to continue to do so."

"I already miss him." Arthur said shakily.

"I know." Hosea said and patted his back. "But you have to be strong. And you have to pretend this didn't happen. As much as I love Dutch, he'll blow a fuse if he finds out about this. Let's keep this between you and I, alright?"

Arthur nodded, feeling numb suddenly as they reached the fence. He heard them talking, but he didn't even know what. If they were speaking to him, he didn't hear, he was silent for the rest of the ride.

Chapter Text

Hosea could only imagine the pain Arthur is experiencing. He and Bessie had tried for a baby before, when he stayed on the farm with her the longest, but they never could. Maybe he could understand on a similar level for whenever he left camp to go see Bessie. The feeling of distress as he left behind the people he loved to pursue a different life, not knowing if he'd ever see them again. But Arthur's case was much different, the love that one had for an adopted son that they met during teenage years was much different to the love one has for their own baby. A baby that is innocent of all sin, and requires immense guidance.

Whenever someone tried talking to Arthur on the ride to Strawberry Hosea made sure to intercept it naturally for him. He noticed Arthur was quiet, he knew he wasn't in the state of mind to respond to anyone. He had that expression on his face, the one where he tilted his hat a bit down to cast a gentle shadow over his heart, and the one where his eyes looked down instead of ahead of him.

But there was only so long he could cover for him. "Arthur. Arthur. Arthur." John and Davey started to chant, laughing and giggling, bored out of their own minds on the way to Strawberry.

Dutch looked over to Arthur, a brow raised. "You gonna answer them, son?"

"Huh?" Arthur finally seemed to snap out of it, a scowl on his face as he looked behind him at the boys. "What? Don't talk to me. Why are you speaking?" he huffed and Hosea couldn't help but crack a smile at how quickly Arthur was to act tough.

Davey snorted and John blushed a bit. "We've been trying to get your attention forever!" he whined.

"So that's what that annoying sound was." He grumbled and Dutch chuckled at that one. "Let's hurry up yeah? I think my brain is going to melt listening to these two."

"The brain you have left, anyway," Davey teased and Arthur rolled his eyes and kicked Zeke into a faster gallop.

They reached Strawberry and by Hosea's direction waited in a small clearing just outside of the town. They were a few minutes late and still the man they were supposed to meet wasn't there. Dutch dismounted the Count, taking the time to feed him, and the rest of them followed suit, dismounting and fiddling with something. "What'd you say this feller's name is?" Dutch asked Hosea, a bit irritated.

"Oh well, I think it's--" Hosea paused and tilted his head, smiling when he saw a figure coming their way. "Josiah! Josiah Trelawny." He greeted and soon a man, around Dutch's age (maybe older), who was dressed rather fancily. He had on a full suit, jet black with a blue vest, and a top hat to match it. But what Arthur found the most intriguing was his long mustache. He wondered how he kept it looking so stiff.

"Matthews!" Josiah greeted, and he gracefully dismounted his equally fancy horse, an Arabian that was clearly well groomed. Arthur was impressed, and a bit curious as to where this man had come from. "Good to see you," he took large steps towards them and took Matthews hand in his for a shake, then he was suddenly shaking Dutch's hand who seemed taken by surprise but trying not to show it. Arthur, on the other hand was completely infatuated by this man. When Josiah shook his hand, Arthur blinked twice and let Josiah shake his arm a bit funnily because he was staring at the damn mustache. Was that even possible? "You must be Arthur!" Josiah greeted, still shaking his hand after what seemed like too long of a time. "I use gel," he winked and Arthur was about to say something about him being a wizard because how in the hell did he just read his mind?

Trelawny greeted John and Davey next, who seemed even more confused than Arthur because instead of shaking their hands Trelawny took out a deck of cards. John and Davey shared a look, and after being instructed to pick one they did. "What do I do with this...?" Davey asked Josiah.

"Memorize what you got-- don't show me! Show your friend there...that's right, now put the card back in the deck." Trelawny smiled widely and Arthur stared more at the mustache until Hosea nudged his side with his elbow and Arthur looked down at the floor instead, glancing over to look at what Trelawny was doing with the boys. Davey put the cars back, tucked in the middle, and Josiah had his eyes closed. Suddenly, the cards were being throw up and littered the grass. "Is this your card?!" Josiah asked after seemingly pulling a card from John's ear. He showed it to John and Davey who gasped and smiled in excitement.

"How'd you do that?!" John asked excitedly.

Josiah smiled proudly and tutted. "Ah, ah, ah! A magician never shares his secrets."

"Well, Mr. Magician, mind sharing details on the job then?" Dutch asked, chuckling and eyeing the cards that were all over the floor now.

"Ah, yes, of course." He smiled and seemed to forget completely about the trick. "I'm friends with the teller, who desperately wants to kill himself. He's told me that the bank is the least occupied at eleven and that if you go in at that time you can tie up the stragglers and he'll put up a bit of a fight for the show, you take him in, he'll open the safe and you shoot him in the face and we'll be square. I'll meet you all back at your camp." he said smiling, as if everything he just said was normal.

Arthur furrowed his brows. "This feller wants to die?"

"Right." Trelawny nodded.

"And you're not just saying that so we don't feel bad...shooting him?" John asked from behind Arthur.

"I am not." Trelawny added, still smiling, and it honestly creeped Arthur out a little bit.

Dutch clapped his hands together, as if to get them all out of the trance of Josiah's mustache and sinister smile. "Alright! Well, we best get to work. Hosea, you and Davey will man the windows while Arthur and John tie up the folk and follow the teller. I'll be up top on the roof over scouting the place."

John seemed nervous, and Arthur could understand why. "Arthur, make sure John gets some practice have him put the teller out of his misery." Dutch said as he mounted the Count. At that, John's eyes seemed to go wide and he looked over at Arthur.

"I mean, I can. John's shot his deal of men." Arthur tried.

"Practice is practice," Dutch grunted and kicked the Count into a trot.

---

Practice was definitely not going well for John. He wasn't sure what it was, but seeing the teller smiling up at the ceiling, on his knees, eyes closed, and waiting patiently for John to shoot him was a new kind of unsettling.

Everything had gone well so far. There was only one person in the bank when they walked in, no one had even been alerted of the robbery. The teller had put up a show for the singular person but was now waiting for the sweet release of death. That John was meant to give him. John had shot his fair share of people, and he supposed that as an outlaw and a gunslinger this was just something he had to do. He'd come to terms with that over the year with the gang. Except this was different. This man was facing death and smiling. "Go on," the man encouraged.

Arthur was filling up their satchels with the cash and gold from the safe, but he stopped when the man spoke and looked over. John's hand was trembling, and he was praying to god that his damn trigger finger would just move because he was making a fool of himself all over again in front of Arthur. He couldn't do that again, especially so close to his birthday. He heard Arthur take a step closer and John tried to focus on just pulling the trigger but instead he just put the end of the gun against the man's temple who seemed to smile wider.

Suddenly Arthur was embracing him -- well, not really. He had his left hand on John's left shoulder, was standing behind him so his chest was against John's back, and he had his right hand over John's holding the gun. "You can do this." he said softly into John's ear and if he wasn't about to help this man commit suicide he would probably be aroused. John shut his eyes and felt Arthur's finger over his, and then they were pulling the trigger, and the blast of the gun flowed through both of them but Arthur held them still. Blood splattered behind the man's head onto the wall, and he fell back, limp. John only saw because his eyes opened as a reaction to the blast.

They stayed like that for only a few seconds before Arthur let go and went back to collecting the money, faster now because of the sound of the blast. John took twelve seconds (he counted them) to come back to life. He put the gun away and rushed to help Arthur put the money in the bags and head back out. Davey and Hosea were hidden beneath the windows, looking out, and once they spotted Arthur and John they all rushed out the back and jogged behind the fences to their horses where Dutch was already joining them too.

Arthur and John shoved the bags onto the satchels, distributing them amongst the group, before they all mounted their horses and raced off. It must have been the easiest, quietest job they had ever done and Arthur was only glad this was the first one for John and Davey because of how simple it was. He was worried that bringing two of them along would only double the chance of them screwing up, but it seemed like he could have a little more faith in the two. It had only been a year, but they had begun to earn their badges around camp.

"Don't think anyone even noticed!" Dutch laughed once they were out of earshot (or even eyesight) of the town.

"Except for that teller.." John grumbled, and Arthur looked over at him and noticed a certain look in his eye.

Hosea seemed to notice his tone as well, and John really wished everyone would stop looking at him.

Was it really all that unbelievable? That he was having trouble with this? A man just kneeled in front of him and begged to be killed in the same way another man might beg for his life. It was unsettling, and though John had killed before he had never done this. This was different. He felt...different.

Now it was John who was quiet, and Davey tried to joke with him throughout the ride but John just flashed him quick and small smiles, a few shakes of the shoulder to mimic a laugh, but that was it. Dutch hadn't noticed, too enthralled by their winnings, but Hosea, Davey, and Arthur had.

Hosea cleared his throat. "Arthur, why don't you take John hunting with you? Maybe go exploring, you haven't done that in a while." he suggested, and at this Dutch looked over at them with a raised brow but didn't say anything.

Arthur smiled. "I think that's a great idea. Davey, you wanna join us?" he offered, because even though Davey had surely stopped leaving dead squirrels in his tent they were still a bit awkward with each other and he thought this might be a good opportunity to fix that.

"Nah," Davey shook his head. "You and Johnny have fun," he said smiling toothily at John who smiled softly back at him but didn't seem all too excited.

"Be back by tomorrow, will you?" Dutch asked.

"Sure," Arthur drawled, and once they got closer to camp John and Arthur handed over their satchels to Hosea (after getting their shares of course) and they all parted. Arthur had a hell of a day, sure, but right now John needed him. He looked at John who was looking down at the dirt and he pulled Zeke around to come besides him. He nudged his side. "Come on, race ya?"

John looked up at Arthur, he couldn't even muster a smile and it broke Arthur's heart. "And beat you again, old man?" John teased, his eyes sad but his tone teasing.

Arthur grinned and kicked Zeke off into a full gallop, he heard John say something but didn't make it out, the sound of hoofs padding the dirt overwhelming his ears. He smiled and laughed, riding aimlessly towards the clearings. He wouldn't normally glance back, but he looked back to look at John who was smiling and holding onto his hat. Arthur had to admit he looked handsome, even with the greasy hair. The Legion vest Arthur gifted him for his last birthday helped. He'd have to get him a new one, though, because that one was tearing. "No fair!" he heard John say, but Rachel was catching up to Zeke and Arthur was reminded that Zeke was a year older too.

"Oh! Stop whining!" Arthur cackled and urged Zeke to go faster, praising the aging horse, and if it weren't for the upcoming river Arthur would swear John could have beat him because he was coming up close. He could hear him, he could sense him right behind him, but Arthur managed to make it to the river first beating John by a hair. He laughed and dismounted Zeke, he heard John curse but he was laughing and dismounting Rachel. Arthur set his newcap -- Mac's newscap -- down and crouched down in front of the water and splashed some on his face while Zeke and Rachel drank. He heard John walking up behind him, both of them catching their breaths, and he saw John sitting besides him through his peripherals. He wiped his face on his sleeve and cleared his throat before looking over to John. He eyed him, John was staring at the water, seemingly looking at the reflections on it. "You alright?" he asked.

John shrugged, pulling his knees up and hugging them to his chest. Arthur noticed his boots were tearing too, he'd add that to the list. "It was weird." he said quietly.

Arthur frowned. He had been there, he had pulled the trigger same as John, but he had seen more bloodshed than John had. He had lived more. Just because he wasn't thrown off by it doesn't mean John shouldn't be. "It was." he said softly, and though he wasn't sure he felt the same as John he didn't want him to feel alone. Because Arthur wished he could talk about his newborn son, Isaac, to anyone. To John even. But he couldn't. And even though he could talk to Hosea about it, Hosea was always busy, and Dutch is never far away from him. "I'm sorry for making you do it."

The teen shook his head. "No, you didn't make me do anything Arthur. But I...I just froze and on top of that stupid image in my head I feel like such a failure too." he said, his voice shaky and his eyes watering and Arthur noticed that John was trying to hide his face in his knees. "I'm supposed to be becoming a man and I can't even shoot a guy in the face who wants to die."

Arthur tilted his head and he sat down closer to John and looked at him. "Look at me." he ordered, and John seemed to refuse. "Look at me." he insisted, softer, and John looked up this time but his eyes kept darting to the sides and to Arthur's eyes. "Killing people don't make you a man, understand me? You know what makes you a man?" he asked, and John shrugged a bit. "Fighting for what you believe in." Arthur said sternly, looking John dead in the eyes. "And you know what John? Regardless of everything, you damn fight everyday. I see you fight everyday. If it matters at all, I see you as a man."

John nearly burst out crying. He stared into Arthur's eyes and leaned forward a bit but stopped himself. Arthur being kind to him doesn't mean he loves him. Or wants to kiss him for that matter. Davey had reminded him of that in their lessons. "You do?" He asked, wanting to hear more.

"Yeah," Arthur said sincerely and examined John's features. "I think I noticed today how big you've gotten. How mature you are now. Feeling wrong about killing that man isn't a bad thing, John. I've killed more men than I can count on my fingers and each one I remember." He admitted quietly. "Each one is rough, John, and sure it gets...less shocking, over time, but it don't get easier. If anything, you should be worried when it does."

The younger man hadn't thought of it that way. Whenever he thought of gunslingers he thought of cold hearted, tough men who weren't fazed or afraid of anything. But Arthur was telling him that weakness was what made them men. "Davey says he respects men that aren't afraid."

"Being brave doesn't mean you aren't afraid of nothing," Arthur snorted, and John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Do you and Davey think I'm brave?" Arthur asked.

John thought about it, and remembered Davey saying something about Arthur being pretty brave. "Yeah, we do."

"Well I'm scared of things. I'm scared of losing my family, of y'all getting hurt. Of failing." He said gently, and he looked off to not meet John's eye as he admitted this aloud. "But that doesn't make me less of a man. It motivates me to fight for what I've got to lose." Now he was looking John in the eye. "My weakness make me stronger, and so do yours. If you have a softer heart than most let that motivate you to protect what you believe in."

Arthur had his hand on John's shoulder now, and John had looked up from where he'd hidden his face and now leaned over to hug Arthur tightly. "Thanks Arthur..." He said into his chest as Arthur rubbed his back up and down.

"Sure.." he said gently, and his heart ached at the idea that he would never be able to talk to Isaac this way. Give him words of wisdom or nothing. But at least Eliza and Cassie could. He had to trust that they would.

John bit his lip in thought, feeling a bit more comfortable. "Not to spoil the moment or nothin'...but since you see me as a man now.."

"Oh, no," Arthur groaned and pulled away and it made John frown.

"What?" He asked and he couldn't help but laugh despite the distress because Arthur was chuckling.

"That's separate, John, that's different from this."

"It's not! I'm a man now in your eyes right?" John insisted, and he scooted closer to Arthur, mostly to tease him. He already knew Arthur wouldn't cave, but if Arthur got one thing right about him it was that he fought for what he wanted.

Arthur raised a brow, smiling softly. "Yeah, I said you're a man. And if you had listened you'd remember my definition of a man is somebody that knows what they want, fight for it, and got good morals. Just because you're mature for your age don't change your age. Hell, I'm twenty and I don't know what I'm doing half the time." He chuckled and stood up to put some distance between them because John was getting pretty close.

John pouted and Arthur just chuckled and went over to Zeke to grab a carrot to feed him. "I hate how good of a person you are." John said softly, but Arthur noticed he was smiling softly.

"Hey, at least I'll know if you're dedicated to me if you last that long. Might even win me over, being so patient and all," he encouraged, though he doubted it and part of him knew it was wrong to lead John on this way. To make promises like that, when two years could pass quickly. It felt like just yesterday that John had come in, a foot shorter and shaped like a twig, and was following him around more than Copper does.

The younger man stood up and got close to Arthur, and Arthur had to bring his eyes up and realized how shocked he was that he didn't have to look down as much anymore, John was nearly his height. The shock kept him from moving back, and now John was practically chest to chest with him. "I can be patient." John said in a deep, gruff voice that made Arthur a bit flustered. The hell did that come from? John took a step back, smirking, as if he'd noticed Arthur's new reaction and he went to go feed Rachel a carrot.

"The hell did you learn that?!" Arthur finally snapped out of his trance.

"Davey." John chuckled. "Told ya, he's been teaching me a lot of stuff."

Arthur shook his head and chuckled. "Knew those Callander boys would be trouble.." he said as he mounted Zeke. He felt his chest throb at the memory of Mac, who hadn't reached out or show up at all. He wondered how he was, and he was sure Davey was too. "Davey ever mention if Mac has written to him?" he asked John, waiting for John to mount Rachel as well.

John shook his head, frowning a bit. "Nah...I think he's feeling hurt too. That Mac hasn't written. He hardly talks about him anymore but I can tell he misses him." he sighed. John was worried about Davey, who was always so lively and chaotic but he also saw the side of him that stayed awake at night in their tent; that scribbled mindlessly on paper, that sat besides the riverbank and stared at the depths of the water as if there was something miraculous there. He worried about him, and a part of him worried that one day Davey would wish the same as that teller. "He told me once that Mac was being distant because he had fallen in love with you. That he'd fallen in love before, but never as hard as he did with you. That that's why he minded less of Davey."

The blonde flinched, he had already felt guilty about everything that happened between him and the brothers and hearing that made it so much worse. "I didn't know that..." Arthur sighed and once John got onto Rachel he kicked Zeke into a slow speed. "Sometimes I want to go look for the bastard. Get him to come see Davey. I know Mac wouldn't just...stop speaking to Davey unless there was a reason. But Dutch has these new rules and I feel like I can't even go out to work without being threatened out of the gang."

He saw John nodding in agreement as he came up besides him, they weren't going in any specific direction they were just...going. "He's always been strict though, hasn't he? I mean...at least he's seemed pretty strict since I got here."

Arthur shook his head. "Him being strict now doesn't have nothing to do with you, don't you go putting that in your head. He's become more strict because he has a bigger gang to take care of. Back when it was just him, Hosea and I; it was easy to just trust each other because if anything went wrong it was easy to pinpoint who'd done it. Now there's more of us and now I think Dutch wants to make sure everybody knows who's in charge." he grunted, and he sounded bitter. Maybe he shouldn't be telling John this, who was young and was still developing his own image of Dutch, but he needed to tell someone.

Sometimes Arthur felt so alone even amongst a gang of people that he wondered if he'd be better of just leaving on his own if he felt that way regardless. Maybe he was just broken. "I can see that..." John said and it snapped Arthur out of his detour. "He's always making new rules and just...being bossy."

"But he is the boss." Arthur reminded.

"Hosea should be boss, he's nice." John said smiling sweetly.

Arthur chuckled. "Yeah...well good thing he's keeping Dutch in line then."

------

"Why'd you let him go like that?" Dutch asked, frowning, pacing in his tent.

Hosea sighed, sipping some coffee from his mug as he counted out the money they made for the ledger. "John seemed like he needed a distraction." he said simply. Hosea was still very much aware of John's crush on Arthur, but he also knew Arthur would be responsible. He trusted in Arthur, and knew he would show him an appropriately good time and cheer the boy up. "And you know that John looks up to Arthur. He's the best one in the gang to cheer John up."

"He didn't need any cheering up, the boy just robber a bank without getting chased by the law! He should be thrilled!" Dutch huffed.

"The boy just shot a man begging to die, of course he needs cheering up! You know, I remember a time when it would pain you to shoot a man." Hosea snapped, not liking Dutch's tone and not appreciating at all the changes that have been occurring in the gang. "I remember a time when you wouldn't be policing--" Dutch glared at him but he didn't stop "--the lot of us and everywhere we want to go. You preach freedom, Dutch, but you don't even give your sons that right?"

They stared at each other, and though Hosea was seated he demanded the same amount of respect in his glare as Dutch was. "I'm not doing that." he grumbled.

"You are. Ever since we found out about what Arthur was doing for work, which he's stopped doing by the way, you have placed more rules on him than anyone else and it's effecting him. He doesn't go out with Zeke riding as much, he doesn't bring in as much money as he used to, he doesn't draw as much because most of that he did on rides--"

"--Alright, alright, enough! So what if I have been stricter with him? He's getting older and still refusing to grow up! What do you suggest I do then?" Dutch challenged.

For this, Hosea stood, setting his mug down and looking Dutch in the eyes. "I suggest that you let him find himself. It ain't your job, or mine, or anybody but his to decide what kind of man he wants to be. What you're doing right now is -- is imprisoning him--" at that Dutch laughed and Hosea frowned "--and you're restricting him from making that decision!"

He shook his head in disbelief. "I can't take back on my word. It's a sign of weakness." Dutch said, looking away.

Hosea didn't. He kept looking him head on. "A good leader, and a good man admits when he's made a mistake. When he's wrong."

Dutch sighed and kept shaking his head so Hosea just sighed, grabbed his mug, and stepped out of the tent.

Dutch could only admit to himself that he doesn't know what he's doing at all. The gang seemed to only be getting bigger, and older, and yet he still felt alone. Even Arthur had become more distant and Dutch felt like he was losing control of him. He couldn't remember the last time that they had sex without Arthur crying at some point, and not of pleasure. On top of that, he was missing Annabelle. The one woman he felt could understand him. He would forever hate Colm O'Driscoll for what he'd done to her. They hadn't run into them again since then, but he swore that the next time they do he'll slaughter him.

He was snapped out of his trance when the tent flap opened and Josiah Trelawny stepped in, smiling, and Dutch had to smile back and put on his charm.

----

Davey sat besides the river bank, Copper whining softly besides him, and he turned the card Josiah had given him over and over. He stared at the deepest part of the river, he knew where it was because he liked swimming to it, feeling his toes inch off the platform and letting the water control him for a moment. "I thought it was the both of us, forever, ya know?" he spoke softly, and Copper looked up as if he could understand him. "Through everyt'in', it was me and Mac." he looked down at the card, two of hearts. He pursed his lips and tossed the card to the water, watching the current consume it and sweep it away. "Who needs 'im." he huffed and stood up, walking back to camp with Copper at his heels.

Chapter Text

"My mind is outrunning reality." he said softly, and Arthur could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest without touching him, he'd memorized his breathing patterns and his heartbeat. He'd once wished they'd be in sync, and that they would be undeniably soulmates that way.

He turned his head, turning his attention from the single bright star in the sky to Dutch laying on the dirt besides him. He could hear the crickets chirping around them, and the light of the fire was cascading a yellow hue across Dutch's face. He looked young, like one of the pictures that he had from his youth. Arthur wondered if they would have been friends. "Don't matter...I'll follow you wherever you go."

Dutch smiled, and Arthur turned his head and looked back up at the star, which had gotten smaller and he frowned. Where were the others?

He had that dream every now and then. Groaning, he forced his sticky eyes open and rubbed at them before sitting up slowly. John was snoring besides him, they'd spent the night out camping. Even though John was feeling much better than he had before, they decided to take the time away from camp anyway. He sighed, looking out through the slit of the tent where the light of the rising sun was beginning to lighten up the inside of the tent. It reminded him of the fire. Of Dutch.

The dream he had started not long after the first time Dutch used him. If he were a little more in tune with his feelings, maybe he'd piece together that it was his brain's way of justifying their relationship. Each time he dreamt it, he felt closer to Dutch, like it was normal what they had.

He looked at John sleeping, he looked younger in his sleep. Most people did, he noticed. John still had a bit of baby fat on his cheeks, that squished on the pillow where he'd planted his face and was currently drooling. The fool liked to sleep on his stomach; Arthur's mother frequently told him not to sleep on his stomach, "You'll have nightmares" she'd say. Arthur wondered what John might have nightmares about.

He stopped staring once he started to notice the small freckles on his cheeks.

Zeke and Rachel were grazing when he stepped out of the tent, he looked at the both of them analytically. He'd never really paid attention to the two. He never had to worry about horses getting along with each other at camp, they always do. Zeke and Rachel were no exception to that. If anything, they seemed like good friends. They didn't avoid each other, and now they were grazing besides each other, their nostrils occasionally touching. Arthur wasn't sure why that made him think of John's birthday request. He didn't like how John had asked, and besides he didn't want to give John a kiss. He wasn't lying when he said he didn't see John in such a way yet. Sure, he had been making more observations about the teen but he hadn't actively thought about him in a romantic way. He was just getting close to him. Like Zeke and Rachel.

He was realizing that he enjoys John's company. Despite being annoying, and a bit of a pester about that whole crush thing...John is the one good friend Arthur has had in a long time. Not a father figure, like Hosea, or a romantic interest like Dutch and Mac, but a friend. A brother. Maybe that would change, and maybe it wouldn't, but for now that's how he felt.

Arthur sat down and started a small fire to make coffee, and while he waiting for the water to boil he started to sketch Zeke and Rachel. He didn't hear the rustling or yawning from the tent, too focused on his drawing.

"Morning," John said as he stepped out of the tent, squinting at the bright light of day. He looked at Arthur, who seemed to be drawing something...the horses? He was looking at the horses. John looked at them too, and smiled a bit at Zeke and Rachel who seemed awfully close. "Hey, they're so close they might as well be girlfriend and boyfriend, huh?" John asked, plopping down besides Arthur.

The blonde frowned and looked up from his drawing to look at John. "Nah, you don't know anything about horses do you? They're friends." he argued.

"They're making out'!" John countered.

"Making out? John, you are just about the dumbest man I know. Hell, you make the rest of us look good," he laughed at his own joke, sketching lightly now, a bit conscious of John's closeness.

John raised a brow, frowning. "What do you call it then?"

"I call it two horses, grazing, and bumping their faces into each other. They're friends, they don't mind each other's company, or getting up in each other's space, but that don't mean they're in love." Arthur explained.

The younger man sighed, staring at the horses. He didn't actually want to argue about what Zeke and Rachel are to each other. He wanted to argue about something else. But he didn't want to push Arthur away by pestering him about his intentions every waking hour of every day. "All right, all right, excuse me for trying to help Rachel find herself a boyfriend." Arthur chuckled, and he noticed John peering to look at his sketch. "You're good at that...the drawing looks like 'em. Could you teach me?"

"You can barely spell your name, you think you could draw?" Arthur teased.

"Quit holding me back! I ain't that stupid." John huffed, making Arthur laugh, but regardless he handed his journal and pencil over to John and pointed at the empty page besides his sketch of their horses.

"Go on. Draw." he said, and really he didn't know what else to say to teach him. Drawing, Arthur felt, wasn't something that could be taught. Sure, Hosea introduced him to art but Arthur had always drawn and doodled since he was little. Whenever he could get his hands on a pencil and paper, he would draw. The act came naturally to Arthur, same as breathing comes to people. He watched John start to sketch, pressing the pencil way too hard and his singular line way too shaky. But Arthur let him do it how he wanted first, he'd give him pointers when he felt satisfied with his first attempt. He looked up, to not put pressure on John, and watched the horses. "Why'd you name her Rachel?" he asked suddenly, to make conversation.

"Why'd you name him Zeke?" John countered, a bit rigidly, and Arthur wondered if John was focused on the drawing or if Arthur had struck a nerve.

He raised a curious brow. "Read something once...when I was barely learning. I was with Dutch and Hosea, a couple weeks after they found me, and they decided to help me catch a horse. I didn't know what to name him when Dutch caught him for me, I kept drawing blanks. Went into town once and this fellow gave me a little book, I was waiting for Dutch and Hosea outside the store and I paged through it...ended up on a line. Something about...about a promise to Ezekiel. Said something like: I'll take you from the nations...and gather you from all countries, and bring you to your land. And I will give you a new heart, and new spirit." He paused, he knew he was missing some part, but it had been a long time. He just remembered the main message Or at least what he took from it. "It resonated. Especially after getting the talk about the West from Dutch. But Ezekiel was too complicated a name to say or give a horse, so I named him Zeke."

John had finished drawing what looked like the body of the horses and was starting on their heads. "That's real complicated of a story just to land on Zeke."

Arthur scoffed. "Alright then, how'd you pick Rachel?"

He noticed John stopping for a moment, his grip on the pencil tightening as he rolled it between his fingers for a moment. "I named her after a girl I knew. She was real brave...and strong." he looked up at Rachel who was looking off somewhere towards the mountains. Arthur frowned, it felt strange...almost spiritual. "Smart too. She said her daddy was a scientist. Made robots and whatnot. But I met her at the orphanage, I think that she ran away or...or that her daddy didn't have time for her. She helped me escape, or I escaped with her, I don't know which but she let me tag along regardless. Before she...before she was killed she wanted to go up North to find her dad. Marko Dragic." He chuckled softly..sadly. "That was his name."

"Sounds made up. The name." Arthur clarified.

John smiled. "That's what I said."

They were quiet for a moment, John went back to sketching, his stroked lighter and though it was still bad he seemed to be a little more comfortable with the pencil. "Where did he live?" Arthur asked, wondering.

"North of Annesburg." John said, naturally, having memorized it.

Annesburg was at least 3 days away, so a week's trip, without too many rests. Arthur sighed, looking off at a tree in thought. He made up his mind and looked back to John. "For your birthday, after we celebrate at camp, want to head up there? See what we see...maybe bring Rachel home if you got anything left from her?" John stilled and Arthur was almost afraid he'd done something wrong, but suddenly his journal and pencil were dropped to the floor and he was being embraced tightly. John's face was buried in his chest and long, lanky arms wrapped around him tightly. He was shocked, but patted his back slowly, "I'll take that as a yes..."

----

When they returned to camp, John felt like a new man. Well, a man with a new scar, sure, but a new man. He and Arthur guided their horses with the others before heading for the campfire where Davey and Copper were getting warm by the fire. John hurried over with a smile, but Davey didn't seem to be in the smiling mood, regardless he greeted John and the two got to talking.

Arthur walked past them towards Dutch's tent, he wanted to talk to him about the trip he intended on having with John, but suddenly (and honestly a bit frighteningly) Josiah Trelawny popped into view and blocked his path. Arthur did a double take, standing up straight and stumbling back a bit ut managing to stay on his feet. "Woah!" he said in shock.

"You're Arthur." Josiah said, as if he was proud of himself for remembering his name. The guy was smiling, and Arthur was captivated by the mustache again but managed to shake himself out of it.

"Yes. I am. You're Trelawny," he said, composing himself and fixing his -- Mac's newboy cap a bit to tilt up so he could better see him. "So, uh, you stickin' around? Dutch has got this policy..."

"I don't like policies." Trelawny said, smiling still, and it was a bit creepy. "And, please, call me Josiah."

Arthur raised a brow, and he was going to say something but Dutch finally stepped out of his tent and approached the both of them. He was smiling, and he came up besides Arthur and put a hand on his shoulder. "Uh, Dutch, Tre-" he stopped himself. "Josiah says he ain't staying here at camp?"

"Trelawny isn't part of the gang. He's just a good friend of Hosea's, isn't that right?" Dutch said.

The blonde frowned, rather confused, but he supposed it was good news for Mac. Mac was a good friend of Arthur's, so if he should ever come back Dutch can't give him any trouble. But he most likely will, and even with this situation he was sure Dutch would find a way to justify his opinion. "Right." Josiah said smiling, and they all kind of just stood there before Arthur thought to clear his throat and look between the two.

"Alright..." he drawled and his eyes darted awkwardly for a bit, and he was reminded of how stupid he felt sometimes. Being this big, this old, and still not knowing how to carry a damned conversation like Dutch and Hosea can without being in a situation where he's conning someone.

"Did you need something, Arthur?" Dutch asked, after recognizing that Arthur had been coming to his tent.

Josiah stepped aside, but was still listening. He seemed the type to want to know everything. "Yeah, actually, you know that John's birthday is coming up." He said and Dutch nodded. "Well, he's been wanting to go up to this place where a scientist lived up North of Annesburg. I was wondering if, after the party we have here, if I could take him up there. See what we see and maybe even bring back some valuables." He said, trying his best to sell the idea.

The older man frowned, crossing his arms. "That's s long trip." He pointed out. "A long trip that two of our best men will be on."

He bit his tongue, and glanced at Josiah, who hadn't left. "Yeah, but it's his birthday. And if anything, we could see it as a job." He tried.

Dutch hummed skeptically. "I'll think about it." He said with a huff before turning and going back into his tent.

Arthur stood there, shoulders unwillingly slumping. But he held hope, because Dutch hadn't said no. He used to say no right away. Maybe he wasn't as strict as he had been acting like recently. Maybe Arthur was being delusional. He felt guilty, suddenly, for bad-talking Dutch to John, and he followed him into his tent, noticing that Josiah had walked off somewhere. "Dutch.."

"I said I'd think about it Arthur--" he scolded but went still when, in the dimness of the tent, Arthur stepped forward and tugged Dutch's shirt towards him and kissed him.

He wasn't sure why he did it, other than the guilt. But he knew he hadn't done it in a long time. Dutch seemed surprised, but let him. Arthur kissed him slowly and Dutch let his hand comfortably fall to Arthur's hips. Arthur pulled away from Dutch's lips to busy himself kissing down his jaw, his neck, and Dutch squeezed his ass tightly. "Can I...?" Arthur asked in a whisper, hands on Dutch's belt.

"You must really want to go on this trip." Dutch chuckled.

Arthur got down on his knees and looked up at Dutch, he was reminded of the star in his dream. "I can go." Arthur suggested, but he knew Dutch wouldn't stop now.

The older man smirked, and as he undid his belt Arthur naturally opened his mouth.

___

Hosea had seen Arthur slip away to Dutch's tent, and though he was tempted to go in and see what they were conversing about he was distracted suddenly by Pearson and John arguing.

"What did you give Copper!" John, the tall, lanky, thing yelled at the much rounder Pearson.

Pearson scoffed. "nothing! I don't give that dog anything! But I'm just saying that one of the fish that Hosea brought for me is missing and I think that damned dog ate it."

Hosea frowned and approached then. "Hey, calm down now. We don't know that he did. John, you've seen Copper?"

"He's with Davey out by the river." John sighed.

Hosea nodded and patted John's shoulder. "I'll go see. For now, Pearson, go with what I gave you yeah? We aren't making some big feast," he chuckled and John followed Hosea down to the river banks.

Davey had been spending a lot of his time with Copper there now in days. John worried that Davey was in a depression because of Mac. It pained him to see Davey be less..himself. "Davey!" John called, to give him a heads up, as they got closer.

Davey looked up and at them, Copper even lifted his head to look. Hosea smiled and when they got close the older man too a seat on the dirt besides Davey, and John awkwardly sat besides him. Copper wagged his tail, happy that there were so many people around him, and he got up and started sniffing at John, who took to petting him.

"Hey there son, how ya holding up?" Hosea asked Davey gently.

Davey put on a fake smile. "I'm doin' alright, mister Mat'ews," he nodded.

Hosea hummed and nodded. "That's good. I'm glad to hear it." He said, but John could tell that Hosea seemed to have a light go off in his head. As if he were taking note of Davey's expression. "Copper been in your sight all day?"

"Yessir." Davey nodded.

"He eat anything from Pearson's table?"

"No sir," he shook his head.

"Good." Hosea stood back up. "You keep your head up son. And you know where to find me if you need me alright? I'll see the both of you tomorrow morning for reading." He said, not caring to dust himself off before walking away.

John noticed that Davey only kept the mask up until Hosea left, and then he looked drained again. "Hey..you're not okay," John said softly to him once Hosea was out of hearing distance.

Davey shrugged and skipped a rock he had been cradling in his palm. "I'm confused. Sorry I haven't been teachin' ya much lately. But I just...I don't know how to feel about Mac leavin'. Not writin' ta me. Any of it, ya know?"

John nodded. He didn't know, but he could imagine. He could imagine that Davey felt betrayed and abandoned. Because Mac was all he knew before the gang. Mac was with him his entire life. Until now, of course. "yeah.." he sighed. "but..maybe Mac is trying to write you. Maybe it's just hard. Sometimes mail gets lost. Especially if he's out west by now."

The paler teen shrugged and looked off. "Maybe. Maybe he's dead. But I'd rather be mad at 'im than feel guilty about it." He laughed humorlessly.

John shook his head, but before he could say much else he heard footsteps coming up behind them. He turned and saw Arthur, so he smiled.

____

Dutch had came on his face, making Arthur flinch a bit but he had gotten good enough at it that he knew how to keep his mouth open and eyes half-lidded for Dutch's viewing pleasure. The older man sighed in relief and let himself sit down on his cot.

"Well, wasn't that a nice surprise." Dutch chuckled and pulled up his pants.

Arthur stood and grabbed a washcloth near Dutch's shaving equipment to wipe the cum off his face. "Just..felt like I haven't been doing enough for ya lately. Can't do many jobs and..and I have been acting tough lately. I'm sorry."

Dutch smiled softly, a smile that Arthur couldn't quite place. "well..I'm glad you recognize it Arthur. And actually--"

They both went still with panic because the tent flaps opened, and Hosea walked in. Had it been mere moments earlier that Hosea should have chosen to come in then they would have been caught. Who knows what would come from that. "Boys," Hoses greeted. "Something going on?" Eyes darting between them curiously, and for a moment Arthur wondered if he knew.

"Uh.." Arthur drawled, eyes darting to Dutch, who had changed his demeanor to calm.

"Arthur here is asking me if he can take John on a trip for his birthday." Dutch explained, and Hoses raised a curious and dubious brow. "And I was just about to tell him yes. You know, what you said resonated with me Hosea. You're right. I was being too strict. Arthur, I'm sorry too for how I've been actin'. You just let me know when and where you need to be and I won't be as strict on ya now."

Arthur blinked twice, surprised. Now he felt even more in debt to Dutch. Freedom? All of this from the blow job? Maybe Arthur had been making things harder on himself and the camp by not giving Dutch what he wants. Maybe it was his fault Dutch was strict...

"Thank you Dutch!" Arthur stammered.

Hosea frowned. "Well, hold on now, what's the trip about?"

Dutch raised a brow now at Hosea, confused. Hadn't this been what the old man wanted?

"Oh, well, John told me about this debt he has...not really a debt but more of a mission he has for a girl he knew that passed on. Needs to go to this scientist's place just North of Annesburg. Leave some things there." He explained.

Hosea hummed. "Arthur, could you and I speak privately before that trip? I have concerns about John."

"John?" Dutch intervened now, "What's wrong with John?"

"I'll tell you about it later Dutch. Actually, Dutch, would you mind coming with me. I need you to come see about Copper. You know about dogs, don't you?" Hosea inquired as Dutch stood with a stretch.

"Sure," he sighed and patted Arthur's shoulder. "Get back to work son. And enjoy the trip." He said, solidifying that Arthur could go. The two of them walked out, and Arthur was alone in Dutch's tent.

He was about to leave, but he noticed something under Dutch's pillow. He wouldn't have noticed it, hadn't it been for the fact that Dutch had disturbed the bed after sitting on it do heftily after his climax.

He looked at the closed flaps of the tent, and reached for the papers.

Sealed envelopes -- he turned them around -- from Mac Callendar.

Chapter Text

The West is hot. In every sense if the word. Mac had gotten used to the snow. He'd gotten used to layers upon layers of clothing, of campfires and whiskey to warm the soul on a cold night. What he hadn't been prepared for, though, was the desert heat.

It didn't help that he spent most of his time worrying. It'd been around a year now since he'd left Davey with Arthur. He'd written. Of course he had fucking written, he'd written until his hands were sore. He swears that he might be the singular reason why the paper business is thriving. He'd written a letter almost everyday. One to Davey, one to Arthur. He'd pick out the one he liked best and send that at the end of the week. He'd sent so many, he'd lost count. But, to be fair, he didn't really know how to count past thirty.

____

"What's wrong with the dog?" Dutch asked, hands on his hips.

John and Davey looked up, Cooper was still wagging his tail, panting though it wasn't hot. "Oh, uh," John stammered. "He was vomiting. Which is why I asked Pearson what he gave him. But he says he didn't give 'im anything."

Dutch hummed and crouched down. Cooper seemed fine, on the surface. "He seems alright boys..' he said, Cooper was the least of his worries. "I'd make sure to keep an eye on him. Just in case. Make sure he's only eating what he's supposed to. Ain't this Arthur's dog?" He huffed a bit, standing up.

"Oh, I kind of stole him away." John joked, and Davey nodded in agreement.

"Cooper likes us better." Davey agreed.

The older man laughed, dusting off his hands and looking.at Hosea who was shaking his head. "Remember when Arthur found that dog? Practically begged us to keep him."

"And you told him he'd have to prove the dog was gang material. Whatever that meant." Hosea teased, crossing his arms.

It made Dutch laugh, the memory. Arthur was young. Starry eyed. There had been a fire in Arthur that Dutch had desired to control. "He taught the damned thing to steal my pocket watch."

"He was always a fighter." Hosea said, a bit quietly, and Dutch wasn't sure if he meant the dog or Arthur.

______

His hands trembled. Tears brimmed his eyes and a panic ripped through his chest. His thoughts raced.

He can't take all of them, Dutch will notice. There's so many...how can he choose?

He fumbled some of them, and instead splayed the out on the bed. His eyes searched, he saw his name and he grabbed two that had his name written on it, and another two that had Davey's. He made sure they were the most recently dated, or at least from the ones he noticed, and then he slid the rest back under the pillow. He shoved the ones he'd stolen into the space between his vest and his shirt, hidden, and tried to compose himself as he exited the tent.

"Arthur --!" He jumped, eyes wide, and his sight landed on a confused looking Hosea. "Arthur...are you alright?"

"Peachy." Arthur squeaked, so he cleared his throat.

The older man tilted his head, eyes squinted. "Alright...well...come. I need to speak with you."

Arthur cleared his throat and nodded, following Hosea out of the tent and over to the hill nearest. They walked a bit of a distance away from camp, so Arthur wondered what this was about. Something private, clearly. "What, uh, what's the matter?" Arthur asked, watching as the older man took a seat on one of the stones.

"I have something to ask you about, son," Hosea sighed, and motioned for Arthur to sit. The younger man found a seat on a small patch of dirt. "First, how are you doing? About, well, Isaac."

It hurt, of course it hurt. He tried to keep it deep down, pushing the pressure deeper into his guts and forcing the blood and bones inside himself to crush beneath the weight. Ever since he’d learned of Isaac, he had to bury this sensation. The desire to stay with Eliza and her family and care for them the way a father would — the way he should. He remembered his own father, he thought of how much different his life would have been if he had been different. A law abiding citizen who loved his son and wife more than he loved the rush of crime and money.

Arthur wondered if Isaac would ever ask who his father was, and what he loved more than him to not stick around.

“I’m alright,” he lied, smiling weakly at Hosea. The older man raised a brow and shook his head. He knew Arthur was far from alright, but this wasn’t something he knew Arthur was ready to talk about.

So the older man sighed, reaching a hand to pat Arthur’s shoulder encouragingly. “Well, alright. If you say so,” he said, skeptically, and Arthur couldn’t help but smile genuinely at that. He hoped that even if Isaac missed the presence of his father, that he’d have someone like Hosea to pat his shoulder. Cassidy, maybe. “I also wanted to ask you something else, son, about…well, about John.”

“What about him?” He asked, because now he was concerned. Was there something wrong with John? Or something wrong about him?

Hosea cleared his throat, a bit awkwardly. Arthur had come to know this habit of Hosea’s, it wasn’t a frequent habit of his but it was one Arthur had come to know as one of Hosea’s tells. Sometimes, when they would play poker and Hosea had a bad hand, he’d clear his throat and stretch his back a little. Uncomfortable, Hosea still kept his eyes on Arthur as he said: “It seems like he’s still got a crush on you.”

The blonde snorted, is this what this was about? “Seems so,” he laughed. “Is this what you took me all the way over here for? ‘Sea, you ain’t got nothing to worry about. I’ve set my foot down.” He explained.

“No, no, it’s not you I’m concerned about.” Hosea laughed a bit. “It’s just that, well, when I first discovered this I figured it was an innocent crush. You know, he was new, crushes come with being in a new environment sometimes. It made sense, but, now, well…” he trailed off, hoping Arthur would understand.

Arthur hummed. “Now it’s just strange, ain’t it?”

“A bit.”

He sighed, he grabbed at a bit of the grass beneath him. They all had habits. “I’ve talked to him, about it…seems like he’s a stubborn fella. Says he’ll wait the time I told him to. I’ll tell you one thing, he’s a determined son of a bitch.”

Hosea laughed, and Arthur followed. Both of them knew Arthur meant well. “It seems he is…” Hosea chuckled, shaking his head and leaning forward a bit so his elbows were rested on his knees. “I’m just...surprised. I suppose. He seems to really like you. I’m worried what Dutch will think if you two ever do…well.” Again, uncomfortable, he hoped Arthur understood.

His throat went dry at the thought. “He’d never know.” Arthur rasped, and Hosea frowned. So quickly, he added: “because it won’t happen. He’s too young for me, ‘Sea, it don’t feel right.”

“He’s only four years younger than you, Bessie and I have more of a difference than the two of you. It makes sense you’re waiting for him to be grown enough, Arthur, but no one would judge you for being with him at some point should it happen.” Hosea assured.

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “I…I dunno, ‘Sea, but…it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t seem like Dutch wants me dating anybody, I don’t want to make him upset.”

Hosea barked a laugh, and Arthur’s attention snapped forward and he looked at Hosea, puzzled, as the older man laughed. “Oh lord, please don’t tell me you think Dutch rules your whole world. Arthur, I admire your loyalty, really, son, but if you let that brute of a man control your every emotion — of anyone for that matter — you’ll hardly be living the free life we preach.”

It was Arthur's turned to be uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how to take that. He wasn't sure how to process it. Could he ever live any other way than under the eye of Dutch? It had been so long that he had, it had become second nature to him. Like a religion he breathed and practiced, something that was meant to go unquestioned. He knew Hosea would speak against this, that if he knew that Arthur felt this way he would try to convince him otherwise. Have him see that it wasn't meant to be that way at all, because of course Hosea would do that. Of course he would make Arthur feel like life could be better -- that there was hope -- because that's just the kind of person Hosea was.

But Arthur knew that right after that beam of hope, after their conversation, when he was left alone with his thoughts he would think again. The doubts would come creeping back in, and Hosea wouldn't be there to help fend them off, and Arthur would let them consume him. Because that was the kind of person Arthur is. It doesn't matter that he was the muscles of the group, or known to not crack under pressure, at the end of the day; his mind was weak. At least when it comes to Dutch, he'd lay down his life and let Dutch use it as a mat over mud. And no amount of hope could ever make him feel like any more than that; because that's all he had ever been.

He smiled anyway, because Hosea didn't need to know all of that. "Yeah...you're probably right. But, uh, I'd have to find someone willing to date me first. One step at a time."

That made Hosea laugh, and Arthur smiled genuinely this time. "Well, maybe in a few years that'll be John."

Arthur bit his lip before saying; "A year ago, that was Mac."

Hosea looked surprised. Arthur hadn't know why he'd said it, but he'd never really gotten the chance to talk to anyone about it without feeling judged. Hosea wouldn't judge him, he hoped. "Mac? Callandar?" He laughed softly. "So you like the rough ones then?"

Arthur went red and it made the older man laugh harder. "Now don't go spreadin' that around--"

"Oh, come now, I'm just teasin' you." Hosea laughed and patted Arthur's shoulder. Arthur hid under the shade of his newsboy cap. A light seemed to go off in Hosea's head. "That's why you've been wearing that torn hat so much, I wondered why you were. Seeing that you've got plenty of good ones. That one belongs to him, doesn't it?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "It does."

A thought crossed the older man's mind, and Arthur found it in himself to look up at Hosea as he spoke. "You know, we hold onto pieces of people sometimes...hoping that somehow it'll keep them close to us," he said quietly, his eyes soft and voice heavy with pain. He was speaking from experience. "But...sometimes, Arthur, all they do it make it hurt so much more that they're far away from us."

The younger man looked down at the grass. He thought about all of the things he held onto. His father's hat. His mother's picture. Mac's cap, and now Isaac's photo. All of the things that reminded him of the people he loved, and were far from him. He wondered how true Hosea's advice was. None of these items were bringing them any closer, yet it pained him even more to think about ever getting rid of the items he'd collected of them. He was too stubborn to let them go -- even though he was certain he'd never forget them regardless of the item he had of them.

"I'll, uh, keep that in mind. Thanks Hosea." he said sincerely, and Hosea understood. He didn't expect Arthur to throw all of his belongings because of his advice, but he also didn't want Arthur to spend his life grieving over those not in it anymore.

"Mac is a good man, Arthur, at least...I thought so. I hope that, well, should he ever come back that -- regardless of whether you two get together in that way -- that he continues to be a good man to you and to our family." Hosea said sincerely. "And I hope that Dutch's attitude wasn't what made you two feel like you couldn't be together."

"Even if it was, it wasn't his fault I thought that way." Arthur defended, a bit too quickly, because Hosea squinted and tilted his head a bit. Picking up on things, like he always did. Arthur cleared his throat. "And...it's over now. But, you're right. I hope he doesn't change either."

The older man hummed, and he stood up, patting Arthur's shoulder encouragingly. "Alright Arthur..."

He watched as Hosea walked away, down the hill and towards camp. For a moment, he was still, but the aching desire to read the letter overwhelmed him and next thing he knew he was holding the letter addressed to him with trembling fingers. Mac's handwriting was exactly as Arthur imagined it to be, the writing was dark and indented into the paper -- he pressed hard on the pencil when he wrote. Some of the letters were slanted, or shaky, but overall his writing was very good. Arthur wondered if he had improved in writing after writing so many letters to him and Davey. Letters that were left unread, and progress that was left unseen.

Arthur,

i dunno how many letters ive written to you at this point. Or how many days have passed since i left. Im sorry about what i wrote to you last, if you're even reading these or if they're even reaching you. Forget what I wrote, because clearly ive written to you again so i didnt mean what i said.

i met someone a few days ago. someone that likes me and doesnt like anyone else. someone that isnt hard to love like you are. but even knowing them, here i am. writing to you. i think youve ruined me, Arthur Morgan. i dunno what it is about you and your way of being that has controlled my thoughts and feelings. i want to let you go.

i really wish you would write to me. or Davey at least. one of you. so id know if your dead or alive. If one of you is dead, ill kill you myself Arthur.

hell, at this point i would even want that twig John to write to me. As long as I knew if the lot of you are alright.

i love you Arthur.

-MAC CALLANDER

p.s. i hope you let dutch go.

It was short, yet each word felt heavy on Arthur. He reread it twice, three times maybe, and when he was done he tucked it away into the envelope and stood with a sigh. He wasn't sure how to process it all. Of course he still had feelings for Mac, and of course he hoped that maybe one day they would be able to rekindle what they had, but Arthur knew that Mac would be better of without him. He was right. Being with Arthur must be hard. Clearly, since Dutch knew him best and didn't want to be with him in any serious manner. It was kept at a distance. John was too young to see it. But all the people mature enough to know what loving Arthur Morgan was like had resigned from the task.

Mac would be better off with anyone else.

Arthur clutched Davey's letter close to his chest as he made his way downhill and towards camp. The camp was bumbling with life, the smell of soup mixed with smoke filled the air as he passed through, eyes searching for Davey or John -- where one was, the other probably was too. He cursed when Copper went running past him, he hadn't seen the dog rushing from behind him, he stumbled forward and moved out of the way as Davey and John ran after the dog.

"Hey! What's the matter--?!" Arthur huffed.

John looked back as he ran. "Copper's stole a fish!" He explained in a yell, and sure enough if Arthur squinted he could see something clamped tightly in Copper's jaws.

It made him laugh, Copper had never truly lost the puppy in him. Arthur could spend days training him, but he was not a dog to be controlled. He tucked the envelope in his satchel and joined the hunt.

The three of them were running after Copper, who looped past trees near the camp and rushed towards the river. Arthur had caught up with John and Davey, who were beginning to slow. He wondered how long they had been chasing him. They slowed when Copper finally stopped at the river bank and opened his mouth to let the bleeding fish go. The dog looked proud, wagging his tail and taking a seat next to the dead fish being slowly moved by the running water.

Arthur laughed as Davey and John caught their breaths, he kneeled in front of Copper and scratched behind his ears. "You saved the fish, huh?"

Copper barked, tongue out slightly as he wagged his tail and got closer to Arthur.

"He stole the fish from Pearson." John explained. "He told us to get the fish back but uh...I don't think anyone would want to eat that now."

Davey sat down next to Copper, across from Arthur. "I'll eat it." he said, poking at the dead fish.

"Relax, we'll catch some more for the drunk." Arthur grumbled, letting Copper relax as the dog got comfortable and laid his head on Arthur's lap. "John, go grab my fishing pole will you? It should be next to my trunk."

John pouted. "Why do I gotta--"

"Go." Arthur said with a look that shut John up, the younger man huffed and started the jog back to the camp. Arthur cleared his throat, to get Davey's attention away from the dead fish. "I uh, I found something." Arthur said quietly as he reached into his satchel and pulled the envelope out. He handed it to Davey, who stared at the envelope for a moment before taking it with a shaky hand. "You can't...you can't tell Dutch that we know. But I found a ton of them beneath his pillow. I grabbed the most recent ones addressed to us. Mac's been writing to you this whole time, Davey."

He'd never seen Davey's eyes so red, or the teen's lip quiver the way it was. He watched as Davey practically ripped the envelope open and fumbled to unfold the letter. Arthur looked down at Copper as Davey read, as a means of some privacy. After a few second of silence, he noticed Davey slowly and quietly folding the paper back up and holding it tightly in his hands.

"When did ya find these?" Davey asked, voice raspy.

"Today." Arthur said honestly. "Not more than an hour ago." he estimated.

Davey rubbed his eyes and tucked the letter into his pocket. "I want ta write back to him."

"We'll figure something out." Arthur assured. "Did he write anything about where he is to you?"

Davey nodded silently. "Yeah..but who knows if he's moved. Are ya sure these were the most recent?"

No, he wasn't sure. But to try and check for any others he'd have to risk getting from Dutch's stash again. "From what I saw, yeah. But I'll try to check again."

Davey sighed, rubbing his neck anxiously. He'd spent all of this time upset with Mac for not writing to him, or upset that maybe his brother wasn't alive to even do so and he didn't know. Now, he felt a sense of relief and anger. Relief that his brother was alive and well, and had always written to him. That his thoughts on Mac had not faltered. But angry at Dutch for deceiving them this way. For keeping things the letters from them. Who gave him the right?

He was going to say something more, but John had returned with Arthur's fishing rod and a smile. Arthur patted Copper's head gently before standing, and they spent the rest of the evening trying to replace Pearson's fish.

------

_______

"Hey," the sweet voice came from behind him. He was cradling a beer in his hands, he smiled weakly and watched as the blonde took a seat besides him at the bar. "What's wrong?" He asked, a frown now playing on his lips.

"Not'in," Mac shook his head. Slightly nudging the letter beneath his arm. "Ya done?"

Will nodded, taking Mac's beer and taking a swig. "Yeah, just waiting on you."

"I, uh, just need to use the loo. I'll be back," he grumbled, he heard Will say something about getting their horses ready but he was already going outside. He fumbled a bit, drunk, and managed to get beneath a gas lamp to unfold the letter addressed to him.

It was from Arthur. After a year of waiting. He'd finally gotten a letter from Arthur. He'd gotten one from Davey too. He'd read that one at the bar earlier today. But Arthur's he had left unopened until now. Liquid courage and whatnot.

He took a breath before beginning to read the letter.

______

______

He shifted the saddle, patting Zeke's side as he tightened it so it would fit snuggly around him. "You got everything?" Arthur asked John, eyeing the younger man as he mounted Rachel eagerly.

"Yup!"

"If I find out you forgot something --"

"I got it, Arthur, I got everything." John assured.

The blonde sighed, he glanced over at Dutch and Hosea, who were approaching them with unsure looks on their faces. "Well, looks like we're going." Arthur said to the older men as they got into earshot.

"Looks like." Dutch grumbled, and Hosea elbowed him subtly. "Be safe boys. And quick."

"Don't get into too much trouble, please," Hosea added. "Make it as simple as you can. This isn't some job or nothing, do what you gotta do and that's it. Okay?"

Arthur smiled at them. "Alright, anything else to add ma?" He teased and Hosea laughed.

"Just don't do anything stupid." Hosea added, and that made them all laugh. Except John, who had become impatient.

Dutch pursed his lips, he went to pat Arthur's shoulder. "Make it back to us, son," Dutch said softly.

Arthur tried not to blush in front of Hoses. "I will."

They left. It felt strange to leave camp knowing he'd be gone for so long, but with a companion. Usually, when he had ever gone out for a longer period of time, it would be alone. But now he's got John. He wasn't sure if it was a bother or not. If it turned out he'd have to babysit him, yes, if not, then, well, maybe he'd have fun.

They rode up north, following signs pointing them towards a town called Valentine but they didn't go near it. Just used the Valentine station to guide their way North-East. They stopped near a lake, somewhere in Heartland Overflow.

It was dark when they set up camp, needing the light of their gas lamps to guide them.

"Thank for doing this for me." John said, at some point, when they were sitting by the warm fire.

Arthur looked up from his journal, where he had been drafting a excuse for a letter to Mac. "Oh, uh, of course." He said. Though he felt it wasn't earned. He wasn't present. Ever since he'd read Mac's letter he had been writing and rewriting letters to respond, and none had sufficed. John's birthday had come too soon, and now they were here and Arthur was still trying to find the words.

John wasn't quite done. "It's just..these past few days I've been feeling really alone." He said quietly. "Davey has been distracted lately..I'm not sure why. And you..you have been too. But you've got work to do and..I get it. But... I guess what I'm saying is I appreciate this a lot, Arthur."

Their eyes met, and Arthur set his journal aside. The fire crackled softly besides them. "Hey," Arthur said and placed a firm hand on John's knee. "As distracted as we might be, it doesn't matter. We will always be there for you, John. We're you're family."

The younger man smiled softly, a faint blush on his cheeks. He was grateful for that. For Arthur. For the entire camp and the family they've become to him. Even with the strange behavior lately.

Eventually, the fire succumbed to the cold, and the two made their way into the tent and into their blankets sleeping back to back. Any other time, maybe a few months ago, John would.be saying something uncomfortable to point out they were sharing a tent. That if he moved ever so slightly their bodies would be flush together.

But he learned that wasn't going to be the way to Arthur's heart. He had learned that if he wanted Arthur to see him as mature then he would have to start acting that way. He'd have to flirt more subtly, be more mysterious, and create a chase for Arthur to subscribe to. Where he had learned that? Maybe he'd bought a book. So what? He'd been taught how to read, he might as well utilize the skill.

He had a goal, that by the end of this trip, he would have Arthur head over heels for him.

Chapter Text

"So this girl of yours--"

"She ain't mine." John said with a scoff. They were putting their things away. "She never was. She was always her own person."

Arthur raised a brow; John seemed...tense. He hadn't meant to come off as insensitive. It was clear as day that this meant a lot to John. Bringing Rachel home once and for all. "Alright." He drawled, not fighting John on this. It was his birthday wish, and it was his mission. Arthur was just along for the ride to make sure he didn't do anything stupid, and to keep him company. "Rachel, was it?"

John nodded. "Yeah..her name was Rachel."

"If she was at an orphanage with you, she must've been young too. Was she your age?" He asked while they finished up packing. John had told him a bit of what happened. He didn't mean to pry too much, but he also recognized that saying these things out loud could help work through the grief. Talking about the people that mean so much...helps.

The younger man pursed his lips. "Yeah. She was thirteen when she died. This...this disgusting human just...he hurt her. Real bad. And I couldn't save her." He sighed. "The last argument we had...I told her that her dad was probably made up."

Arthur paused, because, well, as insensitive as it was...were they chasing an imaginary person? "Why'd you think that?" He asked, they both mounted their horses. It was early, but Annesburg was far enough away for it to be a reasonable time to leave.

"Well, his names Marko Dragic for starters." John sighed. "Apparently he's some.. scientist that makes toys and robots." He shrugged, and Arthur couldn't help but feel more unsure. "But it doesn't matter. That's where she wanted to go and we never made it there. I just..wanna honor her."

He was quiet for a moment. That was a very noble thing to do. John was really growing into himself. He sighed. "As much as I hate a wild chase, I have your back on this one, John."

They rode side by side, and John couldn't help but smile.
__

Mac,

The paper business can thank me, too, for their success. I've gone through plenty of it trying to find the words to respond to you. None of them are good enough, but I'm on my last page here.

Please forget me.

__

"Look over there!" It was nearing evening and they had made good progress, and John had gotten a bit more bubbly. Arthur had come to notice over the years that John wasn't a morning person. Around noon, he'd perk up. Especially if he had gotten a good meal. "It's a thief!" John jumped off his horse and rushed over to the small raccoon, giggling at the funny markings on the thing's face.

It was hard not to smile at the sight. At John's excitement, and the poor animal's shocked expression. It had been eating, and hadn't even noticed how quickly John rushed over, so it stilled to laser focus on John's next move. "Leave the poor thing alone, John."

"I will, I will." He scoffed and sat down in front of it, so Arthur put his horse to a stop. "It's just cute. Ain't it?"

"Sure--" Arthur was going to agree, when suddenly a sharp sound cut through the air, and through Zeke's neck.

It all happened so quickly. In mere seconds, Zeke was thrashing and falling. Before Arthur could even react, arrows were being shot at them. All Arthur could think about was John. Rachel had already rushed off, so John couldn't take cover there. Arthur barreled towards him, wrapping his arms around his middle and tackling him behind a tree for cover. He tried to peak to figure out where the hell the things were coming from.

He was about to ask if John had any weapons on him, but when he saw John's face he knew he had to handle this on his own. The guy was pale. He seemed to be lost in shock.

That's why Arthur's here. That's why he exists. He's a protector. He protects the gang, and John is one of them now. He put his hands on John's shoulders, trying to grab his attention. It seemed to work..a little.

"John, I need you to stay here. Alright? Here--" he grabbed John's gun -- which he spotted on his holster -- and put it in his hand. "Watch my back."

John's breathing picked up, which Arthur was grateful for. He had gotten scared that the guy had forgotten how to breathe or something. "Arthur no...don't go.."

"I'll be quick." Arthur assured, and didn't leave John time to argue. He got up, swiftly grabbing his rifle and his blade. This would need to be a close contact attack. Whatever group was shooting at them, they were only using bows and arrows. Arthur tried to get a good look at the gang, but couldn't really. They hid in the shadows, and seemed lanky and oddly shaped.

Carefully, and swiftly, he managed to hide in the covers of the trees too. Trying to not bring attention to the sounds beneath his boots. He reached one of the men, who luckily was focused on adjusting his bow. Arthur came up behind him, and pressed the blade on his neck and sliced it. Not nearly enough vengeance for what they'd done to Zeke. He watched as the blood oozed out of him. His face was..odd. And not just because he was ugly.

He wanted to check on John, he really wanted to, but there was still at least four more of these guys. He tried to identify where they were coming from, but strangely enough, things had gone silent quickly. It made him nervous. "John?" He called out, his own breathing becoming irregular.

He heard some rustling, and nearly jabbed his knife at John. The idiot just popped up out of nowhere. "John?!" He snapped. "Why'd you come up on me like that? I could've --" he paused, John was...covered in blood. "John."

There was a look in his eyes that Arthur had never quite seen on him before. One that sent shivers up Arthur's spine. It was dark, and strong, and determined. "I wasn't going to let them hurt you." John said.

It confused him, at first, until he realized what happened. "You..you killed the rest of them?"

John raised a brow. "What? Like it's hard?"

He had to fight off the shock when John just walked past him. He followed, walking in the direction of Zeke. "Shit.." Arthur sighed, putting his gun and knife away. Going to kneel next to Zeke. "I'm sorry boy.." he pursed his lips. The grief distracting him from whatever feeling he just felt because of John's behavior.

He could feel the other man watching him. He could feel his sorrow. "He was a good horse..a good companion." John sighed. "Do you...wanna do something for him? Say a few words?"

It was hard to find them. It was so hard to find the right words. For Zeke. For Mac... "I just...wish I had more time. I wish I knew today was the last day." He said quietly. "But I guess we never really get that luxury."

He knew John understood. Of course he does. He had lost like Arthur had. "Yeah." John said, and put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur let him. "But the days you did spend with him..they were good. Weren't they?"

"They were."

________

Be with the man that loves you. Forget me and enjoy your life. Please. I'm sorry I hurt you. I know I'm difficult to love so just...quit loving me. You deserve something easy. Someone that doesn't cause you problems like I do. We spent so many good days together, but it's time to let go. I need you to let me go.

_______

They eventually found Rachel. The poor thing was distraught. It took them a while to calm her down. Arthur was carrying his things, which they had to consolidate. Luckily it wasn't a ton. They managed to add it to Rachel's saddle. "I ain't riding behind you." Arthur said, wanting to take lead, and getting on Rachel.

John didn't seem bothered, and Arthur quickly figured why. The bastard wrapped his arms around Arthur's hips and pressed his bulge right against Arthur's back. But he didn't say anything. And Arthur didn't either.

"You okay?" John asked, and Arthur's grip tightened because the words were nearly spoken against the skin of the back of his neck. It ran sparks down his spine and made him feel warm and fuzzy.

"Peachy." Arthur croaked, sarcasm laced in his voice. He could feel John's wide palms inch ever so slightly downwards. "Grieving Zeke." He reminded coldly.

John's hands stopped moving. "Right.." he said, and thankfully he stopped. "That was strange, wasn't it?"

"Gangs like that pop up everywhere. I don't think I've ever been this far North before. Not around here, anyway. But I think we're in Annesburg now." He sighed. "We've gotta be getting closer to Doverhill. Do you know what this place even looks like?"

He felt John's hand slide away, and he didn't miss how John squeezed his hip. "I've got this picture of it that Rachel had..." John offered, handing it to Arthur who took a good look at it. It looked...well, like what he'd imagine a laboratory to look like. Boring. "Huh, alright." He sighed. "It'll stand out I guess.."

John out the photo away. "Yeah..I just don't understand what kind of man just...abandons his child. She said he yelled at her, and she ran off but...how far can a kid get you know? He should've gone looking for her.."

"You're doing far more for her than he ever did. And I'm sure she appreciates that." Arthur sighed. He didn't really...believe in the afterlife. He believes in life and death. But he likes to think that people can still feel things. Maybe not watch over you but...feel.

It seemed like he wasn't going to respond, from how long the silence was, but he did. "Thanks." He said softly. "I hope so...and you know I..I think I just need to let her go. I've lived with this grief for a long time."

"Yeah.." Arthur said, quieting down to think.

____

I'll take care of Davey for you. He's a good kid. He misses you. I'll make sure he finds you, so the two of you can be menaces in the world together again. But don't you worry, he's doing plenty fine driving us crazy on his own.

You should've seen him, when he realized you had been sending letters this whole time. He looked like a kid. Not the wild eyed, crazy one I've come to know. But like a kid on Christmas. A kind one, that just misses his brother. And he is. And he's growing into a man, and hes doing just fine.

And so are you. You're going to make a good life for yourself, and for Davey. And maybe for this fellow you've found yourself too. And you're going to be happy, Mac. And I'm going to be happy for you, but I can't be happy with you. I've accepted that.

_____

"Damn, that looks like a mansion up close like this." Arthur chuckled, they hitched Rachel to a nearby tree and looked up at the towering building. Looked much bigger like this than in the photo.

John looked nervous. Or something close to it. "Yeah." He rasped.

Arthur figured this was a lot for the guy. He had likely been thinking of doing this for years, and here he was. Finally here. He noticed he was clutching onto the photo he had brought with him. "It's hard but.." he paused, remembering what Hosea had told him. "Holding onto things like that...it hurts to hold on to them. Sometimes it's better to let them go."

He noticed John glance at him briefly before looking at the photo again. "Yeah. Yeah." He sighed and started striding towards the house. Arthur was taken by surprise. John was much more accepting of the advise -- if anything, he had already come around to it. He didnt need Arthur to say it.

The older of the two rushed to follow behind him, fixing the cap on his head to fight the wind. John banged on the door loudly, and waited for a few seconds before banging again. "Think he's in there?" Arthur asked. "Maybe he ain't in today."

"Motherfucker!" John grunted before kicking in the door. Arthur stared in shock as the wooden door bent to John's will. John didn't even falter. He heaved what remained open and barged in. "Dragic! Marko Dragic!" He called.

Arthur stepped in, figuring he might as well. The place was huge, and there were plenty of toys and robots and trinkets. But it all seemed quiet. The lights were all off, and it didn't seem like anyone lived here. While John looked around for life, Arthur looked around for other signs.

He combed through the pages of some journals left about. Inside were designs and notes. He'd seen things like this before. He looked through cabinets, finding more trinkets and tools. Finally, he found a photo. A photo of a young girl, being held by her mother. He took it carefully out of its frame, and turned it over.

Written behind it, read:

Rachel,

May love always find you, my sweet girl.

Love,
Mom.

He heard some slamming of doors, and John's footsteps approach. "What is that?" He asked with a huff.

"Looks like a gift from her mother." Arthur sighed. "I don't think this fellow is around." Arthur said, handing John the photo.

"No this...fuck!" John snapped. "He was supposed to be her. And I was supposed to tell him off for being a shit father, and I was supposed to tell him where I buried her so that he could go visit her."

He felt...bad. This clearly meant to much to John. "Sometimes things don't work out the way we want it too, John."

John glared at him, and Arthur tried not to take offense. "I know that."

"Then quit acting like a brat, and figure out how you're going to deal with this." Arthur snapped back, not letting John walk over him. Even if John's new attitude was...alluring.

John snatched the photo from Arthur and grabbed one of the nearby journals. The one dated the most recent. He opened it to the next blank page and put the picture there, including the picture that Rachel had on her when she died. He grabbed a pencil, and scribbled down the location of where Rachel was buried. "There." John said, shutting the journal and setting it down. "He can't possibly miss that." He said, before turning on his heel and heading for the exit.

It took Arthur a minute to catch up, but eventually he was walking out with John. He eyed him because...there was something different about him. A new energy that John carried with him. Some sense of pride and toughness that he didn't have before. It intrigued him. "I'll ride in the front again." Arthur said, and this time he didn't catch John's sly smile.

______

I hope one day you can forgive me for the hurt I caused you. And I hope one day we could be good friends again.

I wish you all the best.

-Arthur .

He had written the letter on the other side of the page where he'd drawn Mount Shann. The same page where Mac had once etched A + M on the corner. He sent the letter at a post office on the way back. He thought about sending Mac's cap off with it too, but decided he wasn't quite ready to let that go yet.