Chapter Text
He found John leaning on the porch in the early evening, tobacco hanging between his lips and an absent frown on his face. His cigarette had burnt down to half, the ash hanging long and loose, and he had a faraway look in his eyes.
Charles had been working extra hard the past two months, wanting to get as much money together as possible to help pay for the new house that was already going up. It was smaller than John’s, just three rooms, but they could always add to it later. Two bedrooms and a combined kitchen and living area were all Charles and Arthur really needed for now. Arthur was helping him and John build it, and they were trying to work quickly before winter came - and before Arthur would be too big to assist.
His large frame aided in obscuring his growing figure, so they hadn’t told John, or anyone else for that matter, about the pregnancy. Some deep-seated fear of Arthur’s had him worried that spilling the news too soon would jinx it and cause something to go wrong.
Charles was too aware of where that particular fear stemmed from to try and dispel it.
Still, the look on John’s face gave Charles pause. He cleared his throat, and it took a moment before the dark-eyed man seemed to snap back to himself, blinking and standing up straight, taking the cigarette from his lips, almost surprised to see him.
“Oh, Charles, didn’t see you.” He rasped, coughing a few times. Charles eyed the small pile of cigarette butts that littered the ground by his boots, and then brought his eyes back up to John’s almost dazed expression.
“You good?” He asked, his intention for finding the man momentarily put to the side. It wasn't like John to have his head in the clouds like this.
“Me?” John cleared his throat and nodded, shoving his hand into his pocket and hunching his shoulders. “Yeah, course. Peachy.”
He was a godawful liar - even worse than Arthur.
Charles hummed and stepped up beside him, taking a cigarette from the pack on the railing and lighting up, allowing John to stand there like a deer in the headlights without commenting further. He merely waited, and sure enough, it didn’t take long for John to loosen his tongue. He all but vomited up the explanation.
“Abigail’s pregnant.”
The cigarette dropped from Charles’ lips so quickly that the cherry bit him on the wrist. John wasn’t looking at him, gazing blankly out over the horizon of his hard-won land.
“That’s— that’s great, congratulations!” Charles blurted from numb lips, and John’s adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded.
“Yeah... great. Real... real, uh, exciting.” His voice was quiet, and he didn’t sound anything close to as thrilled as an expecting father might normally - Charles should know.
Arthur’s talk of what John had done when Jack was first born, and Charles’ knowledge of how he’d acted towards his son in the bygone days of the Van der Linde gang suddenly surfaced, and there was a trepidatious knot forming in his gut.
John wasn’t the best family man, but he’d grown comfortable with it by now, hadn’t he? He’d had to fight real hard to win Abigail back, after all, and if that wasn’t enough motivation to settle into family life, then what would be?
“Is there... something wrong?” Charles broached, mindful of how badly this talk could go. “She’s well, isn’t she?”
“What? Y-yeah, yeah yeah, she’s fine.” John lit another smoke, heel tapping against the wooden deck in a remarkably similar manner to some of Arthur’s nervous habits. “I just... She weren’t all that thrilled to tell me...”
"She wasn't?" Charles tested, but John just grunted, a small shake of his head, so Charles didn’t push.
He was halfway through his cigarette when he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Dammit, I’m not any kind of father, I don’t know how you done it so easy, but I... it just don’t come natural to me, and hell if Abigail don’t know that. I struggle hard enough with the boy as it is, and I weren’t anything close to good when he was little, and now there’s gonna be another kid? I... how am I supposed to...? A-and what if I screw up again, and make ‘em all hate me? Jack can’t stand me half the time, and I try my best to do right by that boy nowadays, but... I messed up with him, who’s to say I ain’t gonna do it again? I wanna do right but it ain’t like I know what ‘right’ even is! Abigail’s got no reason to be excited!”
Oh, thank Christ, it was just nerves. That could be fixed, and he genuinely seemed to want to do better - what Charles had feared was a repeat of Jack’s infancy, with an absent John and a furious Arthur, didn't seem likely. He could deal with a lot of things, but the impact that would have, not to mention the timing...
Slowly, Charles took a breath in and out, leaning his elbow on the railing. “I can’t speak too much on the past, John, since I wasn’t there, but from the way Arthur tells it... you’re not the man you were back then.”
That got a self-chastising scoff from the wolf-scarred fool. “The way Arthur tells it, huh? Bet he makes me out like a real dumb bastard...”
“Weren’t you?” Charles asked, and John scowled and snorted.
“Sure, but don’t let them rose-tinted glasses make you go thinkin’ he weren’t too.” John sounded bitter, and Charles pushed back the protective urge he felt - Arthur could defend himself, and there was no defense needed from something as harmless as John’s ill-placed anxiety.
“And he’s grown up. One would hope you’ve done the same.” He countered, John’s head lifting to stare at him with a glare quickly setting into place.
“Course I did! I done all that years ago, and spent my time regrettin’ it more than Arthur knows! Bet he thinks it’s so damn easy, goin’ ‘round havin’ kids like it ain’t nothin’, man’s a goddamn—”
At that, Charles stopped him with a quick, low warning, “John.”
That was enough to bring John back to himself, and away from whatever words he would have regretted saying. John turned his face away, breathing in and out for a long moment, shoulders slipping down from where they’d crawled up to his ears. There was a flush on his neck from his brewing anger, and it too slowly receded.
“... Right, sorry. I... I guess I don’t feel like I’m...” A heavy sigh, tinged with jealousy. “Just another thing I ain’t as good at as he is. Y’know, Abigail told me Arthur asked to marry her, that year I was gone?”
“He’s mentioned it.”
The response was much softer than the words that came before it. “He tell you why?” He didn’t wait to hear Charles’ response before giving an answer. “S‘cus I were such a useless piece of shit he didn’t think I’d come back. I weren’t sure if I would’ve, if...” John trailed off, and Charles didn’t pry.
There was more to it than that, but if John didn’t already know that information, then it had been Arthur’s choice not to share it, and so it was not Charles’ explanation to give. He remained silent long enough that John began to speak again.
“‘M such a dumbass, thought... thought it meant Arthur might be Jack’s father, like he’d been with Abigail, despite both of ‘em tellin’ me it weren’t like that. Feel real dumb for it now, knowin’ what I know...” He rubbed the back of his neck and scratched at his face, his heel still tap-tapping against the porch. There was another pause, and in a much quieter voice,
“Was Isaac really Arthur’s son?”
Ah, so maybe John was aware of why it had hurt Arthur so much. It was also a natural question, given the topic, but once more not something that Charles felt he had the right to discuss without Arthur himself present.
“In every way that mattered.”
John blew out a sigh, and nodded. “Christ, I was such a cold bastard...”
“He’s forgiven you, I think.” Charles began slowly, trying to parse through this gnarled bundle of old scar tissue as carefully as possible, doing his best to avoid striking the raw nerve that lay hidden there.
“Has he?” A scoff, disbelieving.
“Have you?”
“What?” John’s brows were furrowed and his lips were thin, but he didn’t sound angry, it was just how he looked.
“Forgiven yourself.” Stubbing his cigarette out on the railing, Charles flicked it out into the yard and rubbed his hand on the back of his jeans - Arthur wouldn’t like the smell that lingered on his skin.
John looked away again, jaw tight. “Don't matter what I forgive, Charles, I ain't the one I hurt the most by what I did. I can get on my knees and beg for forgiveness ‘til I'm blue in the face, but that sorta thing ain't undone by sorry."
A moment passed by, Rufus barking at some animal scurrying around a tree, and they remained silent until the dog quieted down again. Charles turned to look at John, and a smile ticked at his lips.
“That sounds like something Hosea would’ve said.”
John's double take would have been comical, if the topic weren't so serious.
“What d'you mean?” He didn't get it - how could he? - but Charles looked around the pasture and fields until he caught what he was looking for, and then jerked his head for John to look as well.
Arthur, sitting by an old tree, almost hidden by the thick trunk, knees propping up the journal that Charles had got him a while back, head bent down as he scribbled away.
“They fought while Arthur was pregnant, him and Hosea.” He didn’t know if Arthur had mentioned this to John, but felt it was important enough to share in the face of his brother-in-law’s current troubles.
“… What about?”
Unfortunately, there was no answer Charles could give, other than what little he knew of that time, of the damage done by the gang and Dutch himself.
“It was... hard for Arthur to come to terms with things. He struggled... he had many, many moments like what you saw in the barn.”
John winced, looking down at his pile of spent cigarettes and quickly pulling out another. He handed one to Charles, which he took as he continued. “It made Hosea worry, and because they were so wrapped up in trying not to die at the time, they both had their backs up.”
“Arthur always had his back up.” John deadpanned, lighting both their smokes, and Charles scoffed.
“Yeah, well, it created a lot of misunderstandings. Arthur couldn’t help the way he behaved, even if talking might have made it better, but one of the reasons he didn’t was because Hosea said some things he shouldn’t have.”
“Like what?”
Charles’ eyes dropped, the memory still tasted acrid and fearful in the back of his mouth. “Well... Arthur was already confused, struggling, and Hosea didn’t help. He thought he was, but he didn’t listen, didn't believe him, not till the very end.”
“Wait,” John cut in. “Till the end? You mean even when Arthur was... I mean, he looked pregnant, right?”
Charles gave a wry snort. “He was carrying twins, what do you think?”
“R-right.” John shifted in place, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “So, why didn't Hosea...?”
Charles had loved Hosea, he truly had, but there was still something inside his heart that felt so very bitter about this. He fought it down. “It was easier to think Arthur was crazy than admit he’d been wrong.”
John’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. “He told Arthur he was crazy?"
He could feel the scowl on his face, and took a moment to smooth it back over. “He did. Arthur took it hard.”
“No shit. And no doubt Dutch weren’t wise to it, else he’d’ve ended up a whole lot worse, huh?” For as bull-headed and thickly skulled as John could be, he was also pretty damn perceptive.
“No doubt.” He agreed. “But after all that, when the pregnancy got... rough, Arthur didn't have Hosea. As much as I tried to be there for him, I think you know better than almost anyone how close they were.” Without himself and the tribe, Charles wasn’t sure Arthur would have made it through those final few months. The night of the twins’ birth was one of the best moments of his life, but it very easily could have been the worst.
“Yeah... they were always pullin’ special schemes and all. Hosea always seemed to get Arthur.” John blew out a smoky sigh. “I can’t believe he’d call him crazy... What was he thinkin’?”
That, at least, Charles knew. He’d better, after all the days and nights spent talking, trying, and hoping to fix what had been damaged so severely. “His entire world was thrown upside down, and his lifelong friend lost his mind and caused the death of another long-time friend... And then his son says he’s pregnant, after months of acting strange and making odd decisions? It was Hosea’s grief as much as his stubbornness. It didn’t help that Arthur had lost just as much.”
Nodding, John clasped his hands loosely in front of him, forearms braced on the wooden railing, the bright ember of his cigarette burning between his fingers. “Yeah, makes sense they’d fight a lot when you say it like that. So... how’d they work it out? They did, right?”
“Yeah,” Charles sighed softly as a warm, gentle breeze drifted by in the dimming light of the evening, rustling through his hair and brushing against his cheeks. There were many ways he could explain the process it had taken for the two to begin their healing, and most of it would probably fly right over John’s head. But he might have a way to put it all into a context he would relate to.
Charles turned to John and looked him dead in the eyes. “You're right that sorry isn't enough, words alone don't cut it. Your actions are what upset Abigail back then, so your actions have got to be enough to fix it. She needs reassurance, John, and the only way you can do that is by listening to her, and then doing the things she needs you do.”
Several minutes passed in silence, and the sun began its slow descent beyond the horizon before John nodded his head and puffed out a humorless laugh. “Damn... ain’t no mystery how you managed to make it work with Arthur’s stubborn ass for so long.”
At this, Charles had to laugh. “We’ve fought too, John. That’s part of living with someone other than yourself.”
He’d had to learn that, just as much as Arthur had to learn how to stop carrying the world on his back.
“Yeah... guess it is.” And John undoubtedly knew just how difficult it could be, but in this specific instance, he was the one who needed reassurance. He sighed, slowly and to himself, and the set of his shoulders seemed a fair bit more determined than they had when Charles had found him. “Thanks, I’ll... think about what you said.”
“Don’t spend too long thinking, John. Nine months can pass before you know it.”
Swallowing, John looked Charles in the eyes. “Shit, yeah, she’s... I’m gonna have a new baby.”
A trickle of his own anxiety began to drip down Charles’ back, and he took a slow pull on his cigarette to maintain his composure, breathing out smoke and trepidation, nearly equal with his joy. His eyes found Arthur’s silhouette against the darkness once more, posed in such a way that he could tell the man had dozed off, hands resting over his belly and head bent forward.
“Yeah.” He mumbled, his own throat suddenly going dry. “A new baby.”