Chapter Text
At the burning light reaching past his eyelids, Arthur ducked his head down, shielding his face with the brim of his hat. Sagging down in his seat, Arthur realised he was still sitting on the same wooden bench where he had dozed off last night. From his vantage point, Arthur could see the lively main road of Valentine stretching out in front of him, bustling with people going about their daily business. He observed the street vendors setting up their stalls, the horses trotting by, and the wagons creaking under the weight of their cargo. Already high up in the sky, the sun casts a searing light on everything in sight, making the atmosphere feel parched. The heat, already unbearable, made sweat trickle down his forehead. Despite the discomfort, Arthur couldn't help but marvel at the energy of the wayward town.
Arthur remembered the paper he had caught at Clawson's Rest and dug into his chest pockets, feeling for the specific note. His fingers touched the crinkled paper, and he pulled it out, placing it on his knee. He smoothed out most of the wrinkles gently until the words became legible. Holding the paper closer to his face, he read the cursive text that flowed across the page, the words rushed but still easy to read.
Glen & Eddie
I've gone to track down those men and get our money back.
The door's locked and the windows are boarded shut. Promise me you won't answer to nobody who comes calling even if you think you know them. There's enough food and water for four days or more but I should be home by tomorrow night at the latest. Practice your reading and writing for me.
All my love,
Momma x
It felt like reading an obituary, a receipt for these kids' deaths. They were about to die, it was as simple as that. And Arthur saved them from their mother's choice.
There were three things Arthur was sure of. One that these boy's momma was long gone, either she'd been killed or captured by the men mentioned or something worse had happened.
Two, they didn't have anyone to fall back on. No one else was mentioned in the note, the kids hadn't cried out for anyone else, and there was no evidence at Clawson's Rest that anyone other than the two boys and their mother lived there. That meant there was no father in the picture.
Third, Arthur was not prepared for anything that was happening. That didn't matter, though; all he had to do was get the two back to camp.
He crumpled the sheet of paper with his fingers and tossed it over to Branwen with a flick of his wrist. The horse leaned in, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed the paper ball before bringing her hoof down hard on it. The paper was now buried beneath the sodden earth, never to see the light of day again.
'He'd have to find out which boy's name was which, Glen and Eddie'.
Arthur rose from his seat, feeling the stiffness in his limbs. He entered the clinic and approached the cots where the boys were resting. The younger of the two, with brown hair, was awake and appeared to be in distress. The smaller of the two held his brother's arms tightly while emitting soft whines. As Arthur drew closer, the floorboards creaked under his boots, causing him to stop mid-step. The brown-haired boy's head spun around to face Arthur, his eyes wide with fear.
The man paused, captivated by the young boy's piercing blue eyes, which seemed to have no end. The shade of blue was akin to that of a Bluejay's feathers—a rich cobalt that shimmered in the morning light. The boy lifted himself off his brother, and his eyes brightened, fixing themselves on Arthur's gaze. Despite the tears streaming down bony cheeks, the boy's expression was joyful, and a broad smile illuminated his face.
Arthur approached the bed with a sense of caution evident in his steps. He sat down slowly at the foot of the bed, taking a moment to observe the young boy sitting across from him. The boy's brown hair was matted, uncontrolled from his time in the cabin, and his gaze bolted across Arthur's face restlessly, searching for something that seemed to elude him. Freckles dotted the boy's cheeks, and his hair, although coated in grime, hid an orange hue that contrasted sharply with his pale skin. Dirt accumulated in the crevices of his nose, mouth, and eyes, while small scars crisscrossed his face, each hiding a secret story. The cowboy wondered how many hardships this kid had to witness.
Arthur shied away as the younger boy lunged at him, causing him to feel a shiver of shock run down his spine. The boy's face mashed into his side as he sobbed uncontrollably, and Arthur could feel the kid's hot tears soaking through his shirt. Arthur raised his arms hesitantly, unsure of what to do next. Looking down at the child, he couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with him. The boy seemed more disturbed than any lunatics Arthur had encountered before, and he'd met quite a few in his line of work. Arthur had never seen a child behave like this, and he felt a pang of sadness as he realised how much pain the boy must be in.
Arthur reached out to pick up the crying child, but as his arms closed around the boy, his cries grew louder. Suddenly, a rustling of blankets came from behind Arthur, and he turned to see the boy's older brother standing there with a fierce glare. "You have three seconds to give him back", the brother said sternly, hovering Arthur's hunting knife at him. Arthur could see the anger and determination in the brother's eyes.
Now, Arthur gently placed the brown-haired kid back onto the ground, and to his surprise, the boy stopped crying but clung to Arthur's leg. The brother demanded, "Don't touch him", to which Arthur quickly defended himself, "I'm not trying to." The cowboy did his best to show that he had no intention of causing harm to the younger kid and hoped that the older brother would understand.
The scene was tense as the black-haired kid's hands shook, causing the knife in his grasp to tremble uncontrollably. The man standing before him remained still, watching as the trembles increased. Tears welled up in the boy's eyes, and he struggled to keep his grip on the weapon.
Eventually, the knife slipped from his grasp, falling to the ground like a bolt of lightning. Arthur swiftly swooped in and retrieved it, carefully placing it back into its sheath. A sense of concern settled in his gut as he wondered whether the knife was too heavy for the boy to wield or if the kid was just that weak.
Rigid as all heck, The black-haired boy's posture is like that of a trapped panther, ready to defend itself. Arthur slowly extended his hands forward, hoping to convey a sense of safety that he meant no harm. The boy's illuminated, verdant eyes eyed him untrustingly.
"We didn't need you then, and we don't need you now", the kid seethed over the blankets. That got a rise from Arthur, the nerve of this kid; all he'd done was try to help. "Cut your tone, boy. I didn't need to, but I saved you from starvation", Arthur's lips tucked to a thin lip. Glancing down at the boy hugging him, the child's face turned toward Arthur, revealing a pair of striking ocean-blue eyes that seemed to shift in colour like a summer storm. Tears welled up in the child's eyes and trickled down his cheeks, gathering at the corners of his eyes and forming little pools of water.
"Save us?"
"I couldn't leave you there". Arthur grumbled under his breath.
The taller boy spoke, "Yes, you could have like those men did when they came and robbed our house".
Arthur shoved the kid clinging to him and sent his hand to grab the elder kid's shirt. Pulling him forward and off the cot, Arthur shook his roughly as the kid focused on the man. "But I could'a! I could've killed you in that cabin like the rats you were eating", He snapped at the child. The black-haired boy flinched like he'd been struck, cramming his emerald eyes shut.
"Don't think I didn't see the blood, for Christ's sake- LOOK AT ME!"
Arthur's voice boomed across the room as he yelled; he immediately regretted it when he saw the boy trembling uncontrollably, scared out of his wits. Arthur's words trailed off as he observed this, his mind racing to understand what was happening. The trembles continued, rippling up the boy's arms as if his fear was taking hold of his entire body. The boy's eyes were wide, and his breathing shallow as if on the verge of collapsing. Arthur's heart hurt; a python suffocated the organ, intending to kill.
Tremors ran through his hands as he grappled the boy's shirt tightly, Arthur's thoughts drifting away.
Fat hands wrapped around Arthur's neck, and with what little air remained, he used to tear at the fingers, catching the skin. His nails pierced the skin, and the man yelled, throwing him away. As Spirals took hold of Arthur, his surroundings began to merge and morph into a blur of colours and shapes. However, amidst the chaos, Arthur glimpsed his childhood home - a small cabin he once called his own. Caught in the body of his younger self, knobby knees and dirt-crusted skin, he barely comprehended what was happening when his body was suddenly thrown against a nearby wall, causing him to crumple onto the ground in a twisted heap.
His arms trembled uncontrollably, and Arthur struggled to maintain balance and temperature in the frigid cold. "YOU'RE USELESS, USELESS BOY! I FEED YOU, AND WHAT DO I GET IN RETURN? NOTHING!". The sound of his father's voice reverberated through the room as he let out a piercing roar directed at Arthur. The infamous Lyle Morgan cracked his belt across the boys' legs. Pain like nothing else emerged on his knees, and Arthur wailed from the strike, holding his legs in tightly in the corner of the room.
"GO GIT ME MORE BOOZE!". The man slurred and threw his belt down instead over Arthur's head; as it hit its mark, the cold room grew fuzzy, and Arthur covered his head gingerly. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he suddenly leapt up from the cabin floor and bolted out the door frantically.
Arthur ran down the steps quickly, but his foot slipped, and he cried, losing balance. He tumbled down the steps, unable to break his fall, and landed in a muddy puddle with a loud thud. The impact knocked the wind out of him, disorienting in nature. His clothes, already threadbare, soaked in the sludge with gusto, clinging to his skin like a second layer. The frosty, wet mud starkly countered with the warm liquid trickling from his forehead, a liquid he reckoned as blood as it seeped into his mouth on its mission to venture down his face. The mud had covered his eyes, making it hard for him to see, nauseating Arthur further. He stumbled to his feet; his vision was blurry, the crowded houses of the slums meshed together. The sound of the door to his home slammed open, and Arthur knew to run for cover.
" I SAID FUCK OFF! ". His father roared into the night, glass shattered against the ground beside Arthur.
His skinny legs burned with fresh welts while he cradled his pounding head, bounding into the alleyways. His mouth gaping, gagging for air, weeping spittle and snot over his face. That final step into the shadows brought his eyes open.
Arthur locked on to the elder boy, who struggled in Arthur's hold, his hands tearing into his forearms— as he'd done to his father . Arthur let go of the kid like he'd become red hot; fire seared over Arthur's hands, crawling up the appendages until it hit his face. Arthur chastised himself when his eyes became wet.
You're just like your father. Lyle would've nearly killed me if I'd talked back.
Scenes of his childhood played past Arthur's mind as he lept up off the cot, flinching back, a firey sensation sent waves of excruciating pain over the surface.
The elder boy stood frozen in place, his eyes widened with a mix of shock and fear as he watched Arthur slowly retreat. The sound of Arthur's spurs scraping against the wooden floor filled the silence, adding to the tense atmosphere in the room. As Arthur stumbled towards the door, the boy's fear intensified, his eyes never leaving the man's form. The sudden burst of alertness in Arthur's demeanour was palpable, his senses heightened by the boy's reaction.
"L- Look, I'm sorry, I am, but you'll be better off without me".
So much like his dead drunk of a father, Arthur's vision tinted with distortion, and he slapped the door open, prepared never to show his face to those boys again.
How could he hope to be anything different than what he was raised to be?
A guttural wellow, a high-pitched cry that spoke of deep distress and desperate need for aid, cried at him. Arthur had heard that noise from his lips countless times as a child.
Arthur's heart pounded as he stood there, unsure what to do next. He took a deep breath and slowly turned his head, eyes scanning the room with trepidation.
The younger boy had moved from where Arthur had pushed him. He sat on the edge of the bed, his arms held at Arthur. The boy's fingers shook, trembling and grasping at nothing. Shell-shocked eyes greeted him, that stunning azure that asked for help so vividly. The boy's mouth ran without purpose, saying incomprehensible words concurrently. Was his tongue out of order, or was he only slow?
The scene was tense, as the two boys reacted oppositely to the situation. The elder one seemed to be on the brink of a breakdown. He had backed away and pressed himself against the wall, his eyes tightly shut and his breathing rapid and shallow. His whole demeanour seemed to be panicking, and he pleaded to Arthur not to leave him alone.
"Please, don't go!".
The boy curled up tightly, his emotions so thick that his words came out muffled. As he spoke, his laboured breathing punctuated each syllable. "We can't be alone again", he pleaded, his fear fully displayed to the man.
Arthur felt a dull pain coursing through his body as he stood there helplessly watching the boys suffer from an inexplicable ailment. His mind raced frantically, searching for a solution to help them. In desperation, he thought of his gang and wondered what Abigail, a mother who loved her son dearly, would have done in this situation. The memory of her love for Arthur passed before John claimed her heart flashed through his mind. All the women he'd been with had been whisked away; any romantic love had long since withered away into nothingness.
Even then, Abigail's sweet tone spoke to him in his ear.
"You just need to support them. Life always finds a way to love".
But how can I when I failed my own family? I'm the least suitable to care for these kids.
"Start by just staying".
Although he knew little, the two boys needed help, and he was willing to offer it, even if it meant they were accepting assistance from someone with a checkered past.
Arthur took a deep breath and tried to move his legs towards the cot. As he approached, he saw diamond-blue eyes tainted with tears lit up with joy, transforming into crescents as the younger boy's cracked lips widened into a grin. Arthur's boots scraped against the floor as he used the side of the bed to soften his descent onto the wooden planks underneath. He let out a huff of air as his belt dug into his sides, causing him discomfort. Wriggling his hips to alleviate the pressure, he heard the metallic clinks of his guns as the tips of their barrels made contact with the floor. With a firm grip, he pulled off the heavy leather material of his father's hat and tossed it carelessly by his side.
No knowledge guided the man as he lay his head on the cot's frame, resting in the morning glow. Facing away from the boys, Arthur heard the elder boy's panicked breaths mellow.
Arthur felt a delicate sensation on his head as if tiny snowflakes landed on his hair. It was a ticklish feeling but somehow pleasant, and as time passed, the fingers behind the touch became more assertive. They dug deeper into his hair, creating a strange yet soothing sensation on his scalp.
Suddenly, a faraway whisper interrupted the tranquillity of the moment. "His name is Eddie, mine's Glen". Arthur barely heard it, but it was enough for him to realise that the midnight-haired boy had talked. He nodded without looking up, his hair wholly tangled in tiny fingers. "That's good to know", he whispered, comforted amid the unfamiliarity.
So the black-haired, forest-eyed boy was Glen and the Hazel.
The kid didn't speak again. In silence, Arthur waited with the two boys, Glen and Eddie, for the Doctor to arrive; when he did, he would check over the boys one last time and get ready for another busy day treating the citizens of Valentine.
"Eddie. Glen". Arthur tested the names out; like silk, they rolled off. Nodding, he showed Glen he heard him- the hands tugged at his cheeks to tilt his head back. He looked back at Eddie, who peered deep into his eyes, then slapped the man's cheeks. Flinching, Arthur bit his cheek at the tinge of pain from his cheeks.
Arthur clenched his teeth, struggling to suppress a crude comment that was about to escape his lips. He folded his arms tightly against his chest, keeping a safe distance from the kid. The kid had made it clear that his brother didn't want to be touched, so Arthur had to be careful not to enter his personal space.
As the young boy placed his tiny hands on Arthur's arm, a bright smile spread across his face, beaming like the sun. Arthur winced at the radiance, squinting his eyes in discomfort. He quickly glanced over to Glen, who flinched.
Arthur did not reciprocate Eddie's touch as the boy continued playing with his hair, a smile tugging at the man's lips.
"Let's rest for a bit. Later, I'll take you back to my gang, and they'll help care for you both".
As they drew closer to their destination, Arthur, Branwen, Glen, and Eddie journeyed through the rolling hills, surrounded by the lush greenery of the forest. The wildlife was abundant and full of activity, with rabbits darting about and deer bounding gracefully through the trees.
Branwen seemed in high spirits, cantering eagerly ahead to rejoin the other horses and enjoy a well-deserved meal after several days of grazing on grass. Arthur, however, found himself struggling in the humid air of the southern lands, his throat constricting and making it difficult to breathe correctly. He wondered how Glen and Eddie were coping with the change in climate.
Glen sat behind Arthur, his arms wrapped tightly around the cowboy in a self-assuring embrace. Eddie perched on Arthur's lap, his head buried deep in the folds of Arthur's clothes, seeking comfort from riding for so long, keeping his face from view.
As he turned the last corner, his gaze was drawn towards the Van Der Linde gang's camp—his home—situated by the edge of a shimmering lake. The sight of shabby tents pitched under the shade of a massive oak tree offered a momentary respite from the scorching afternoon sun.
He noticed a few of his friends going about their day—Mary Beth folded clothes inside her tent, Tilly and Karen by her side, all of them engrossed in a conversation that seemed to be amusing them. Mrs Grimshaw yelled at Mr Pearson over a bowl of cooking stew, and laughter echoed across the campsite from a very drunk Swanson over the matter.
Arthur hadn't noticed a figure prowl close to him until a voice interrupted his thoughts, " You get off that horse now ".