Archive of Our Own ^beta

Thank god it had been snowing. 

It had snowed so much that Arthur had to hike his knees high in order to take his next step. So much that the evergreens that shot up around him all bowed heavy with the glistening glittery new fallen snow. It was unperturbed in the windless ravine and had fallen early in the year. Much earlier than he ever hoped it would. It was only early November and the snow had stuck and laid on every damned thing in the Cumberland forest. Hell even in camp back near that mud hole Valentine the snow had frozen the mud clean hard. 

 “This weather is utterly miserable.” Hosea had groaned. No doubt his bones ached the way his joints popped with every movement he made. 

“You’re telling me-” Dutch had replied, hiking that damned heavy fur coat closer to his chest. “I think my piss froze as soon as it touched the ground.”Hosea had groaned a sigh. It mixed with the wind in one large great puff of white. John however had laughed so hard the coffee in his cup swirled around dangerously threatening to spill and burn his hand. The boy was barely thirteen. Maybe. He was a little bit like a mutt. No one knew exactly where he came from or how he got there. But Arthur, despite not showing it outright, had quite enjoyed the past year he’d been in camp. Yes, just like a mutt. 

“Must you talk such harsh language in front of the boys?” Susan huffed, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly as she worked tirelessly to pat the snow off tents so they never collapsed and wet everything under the canvas there. Arthur had been pretty sure that she had also thrown an extra log onto the fire with the way it was roaring now but he wasn’t brave enough to ask and get accused for not paying attention again.

“What, piss? Arthur already knows not to use such crass language in front of respectable people.” Dutch tossed the argument over his shoulder as he pulled the heavy pipe from his pocket and packed it full of sweet smelling tobacco. It seemed to Arthur to be a bit difficult with such thick leather gloves on. But despite that adversity, Dutch seems to get most of what he’s aiming for in the bowl of the ornate piece. 

“Arthur might!” Susan hissed through a dry laugh. “But John most certainly does not! So watch your mouth. That boy repeats everything that spills out of your mouth. All  three of you.” From just across camp, Pearson laughs. It’s low and dull in the brittle cold air. Dutch tsked and rolled his eyes but Hosea had that thoughtful far away look in his eyes that he often gets when he’s been mauling and chewing on something for too long. 

“John does not-” Dutch had tried to argue but just as he did it seemed that John had a point to prove himself. 

“I’m goin’ ta see if my piss freezes!” He chimed scurrying off into the tree line around camp leaving his cup on the stump he had been sitting on. 

There was a mix of groaned laughter that passed through camp. One of those rare moments where the temperature warmed just a bit by the love and pleasure passing through camp. Even Dutch who’s expression had been screwed up into a betrayed scowl eased as Hosea patted him on the chest with his own rattling chuckle. 

“Looks like he hears more than you think, Dutch.” Hosea had hummed, turning back towards the heat of the fire. 

“It’s not what he hears I worry about…” Dutch grumbled, lighting a match he fished from his pocket and igniting the tobacco in slow deep puffs. 

“He’ll get himself kilt he goes round sayin’ whatever he damned well pleases.” Arthur growled glaring after the boy as the wind and the snow overtook him. If anyone had guessed they’d say he disliked the boy. But the truth was as far from that as possible. 

“We’ll have to work on his manners yet.” Hosea agreed. The crunching of thick heavy snow under equally thick and heavy boots pulled all three of their attentions back towards the center of camp. Pearson. Bald as ever trudged forward. His arms crossed firmly over his barrel chest. His hands tucked deep in the crevices of the armpits of his wool military jacket. 

“We’re running out of meat Mr. Morgan.” Pearson called. In truth Arthur wasn’t expecting anything less. The old man rarely asked him of anything else. Once in a while he’d ask him to pick up some sort of grain or vegetable in town. Once he had asked for an herb Arthur had never heard of before. Said it was for the nerves. Arthur didn’t question it. 

No Pearson gave him work most days and long winded stories of the Navy on the others. Arthur never minded one bit. Staying still for too long made him feel jumpy and antsy.

“Alright I’ll load up Beau and head out.” He hummed, blowing into cupped gloved hands. Why he wasn’t entirely sure… Maybe he thought that it would keep the numbness from settling too deep into his fingers. Like the heat from his breath would reach through two layers of fabric. 

“Can I come too?” John cried out from the wood line. Slowly trudging his way back with a dumb hopeful grin on his face. Silently Arthur wondered if his piss did freeze and that was why he was so damned giddy. 

“No.” Arthur growled, not even bothering to look over his shoulder at John. He knew he would be pouting. He could hear it in his voice. 

“What? Why not Arthur?!” John cried and Arthur was certain the boy was kicking around and throwing a proper tantrum with how whiney and childish he sounded. 

“Because.” Was his only offered response rolling the thick fabric of his bedroll he tied it tight before tossing a few belongings into his saddle bag.

“That doesn’t answer my question…” John whined, sounding dejected and much closer to Arthur in his tent now. He wondered if the kid had followed him inside. Damn he was fast. 

“Now, don’t act like that, son.” Hosea sighed. Arthur wasn’t entirely certain if he was talking to him or John but the words whipped at him just as the wind had been. 

“Like what?” Arthur finally responded, throwing his saddle bag over his shoulder and trudging over to makeshift stables that circled camp. 

“Like an ass.” John bit back following on Arthur’s heels. “Why can’t I come? Because ain’t no god damned answer either!” Arthur sighed, patting and swiping Beau clean of the soft snow that had fallen on him in the night. Beau seemed grateful enough as he shook his mane free brought his muzzle close to Arthur. Sure enough sniffing out a treat for all his patience. 

“Because it’s damned dangerous out.” Arthur sighed out. “Can’t hardly see three feet in front yer face out here. And I know damned well you wouldn’t stick close enough ta me. You’d be roaming around and I’d loose yer ass out in the woods. Not that, that’d be a bad thing overall.” 

“Arthur…” Hosea reprimanded in a deep sigh. Though the man didn’t seem to disagree at all with what Arthur said. “John, listen. How bout we all take a ride together in the spring. You, me, Dutch, and Arthur-” Hosea tossed a hard look at Arthur who sighed and rolled his eyes. “We’ll take a good trip up into the mountains and go huntin’ together. How’s that sound?” He asked, squeezing John’s shoulder and giving it a good shake. Arthur knew it was just to placate the boy. He’d be surprised if they actually all went. Seemed like they never had the time to do much “family bonding” recently. 

It was silent aside from the whistling wind. Arthur believed for a second that John hadn’t believed hosea either. But as he drug himself up onto Beau’s back and situated himself in the saddle he heard John huff. “Fine.” The boy whined kicking up a plumb of dusty snow. 

“But we go just as soon as the snow melts.” John demanded. No such promises were made by any of John’s elders. Though he could hear Hosea trying to usher John back to the fire with promises of more coffee. Arthur couldn’t help but to roll his eyes, clicking his tongue to urge Beau forward. Through the thick layers he wore and the brim of his hat he could hardly make out his fathers and brother from where they just were beside him. Damn this weather. 

“Be safe, son.” Dutch cried out, closing the distance between them. With one hand on Arthur’s leg and the other on Beau’s rump he took his time inspecting what his son had loaded. Time that Arthur knew he needed, but he never opposed in the slightest. A rifle and shotgun rested on Beau’s rump. Always ready to go but frosted and frozen over with the cold. Antlers poked from the side of Arthur’s leather saddle bag that he carefully tucked away. “We’ll be here when you get home.” 

Arthur nodded, digging his heels into Beau’s hips as he urged his Appaloosa forward. Up the mountain he rode carefully. The cold biting straight through his jeans and thick leather boots and right to his bones. Snow pillowed into the crevasse of well worn roads. Only the tracks of a few wayward travelers dug paths through it all and lead way to their destinations. By the look of them most turned off to the path into town. Most likely to find drink and booze to warm their bodies and heat their bellies. 

Arthur had learned early that alcohol did little against the cold other than provide a false sense of heat. Too many men lay dead on the roads wreaking of some sort of booze or another. It was a death sentence to pretend that it provided any sort of real comfort. But he could see why it would be appealing. Especially when it was the last dollar they spent in a line of penniless months. 

It wasn’t long before the well worn roads dug deep with cart wheels and tamped down by horses' hooves melted into long flat plains of untarnished snow. The winds that whipped and burnt so deeply subsided by midday replaced by the blinding curse that the sun brought. The snow reflected every ounce of light. Arthur would have believed that it was worth it if the temperature rose even a degree. But it didn’t as a matter of fact he was pretty certain that the temperature was rapidly dropping with every spare minute. 

The snow lay in powdery mounds here not the wet stuff that stuck and clung to himself and Beau’s fur. It reminded Arthur of the talcum powder Mrs. Grimshaw had given him to give to Eliza for Issac when he was first born. He wondered briefly how they were doing now. If Eliza was keeping his son warm. The tot was barely a year now. He promised himself when it became safer to travel that he would visit. 

Each and every last muscle in Beau flexed as they walked. His nostrils flaring in billowing puffs of steam that rose up like the smoke of the chimneys of nearby cabins. Arthur would be riding him harder so he could get back faster. But the way that the snow piled made it too dangerous. It was hard to tell exactly where the trail he followed lead and when a sudden drop would come in such thick snow. 

The good thing about snow was the silence. Arthur always appreciated that aspect of snow. The way it blanketed the ground and seemed to muffle everything with it. Sucking in every stray useless sound. It was easy to focus on the important things that way. Easy to recognize the trails that pushed through snow. Easy to find tracks that lead off into the distance. 

Animals thought a lot like humans in a lot of ways. Snow was hard to navigate. So they often turned to the man made trails that wove and twisted around the mountain like the backs of snakes. It was easier, flatter, than the banks that surrounded them. The difference between the deer he was currently tracking and himself was the animal’s dislike for the silence. In the distance past three dead trees that made a perfect triangle, he could see the beast. It’s head raised high, black glossy eyes wide and watching Arthur carefully. Breath swirled and danced in the air from it’s nostrils, it’s body tense and rigid. 

Slowly. Carefully Arthur reached for his rifle by his side. Moving carefully, methodically as not to spook the animal. The metal was freezing cold on the pads of his fingers, freezing them fast to the barrel of his gun. 

Maybe it was the metallic click his holster made when his iron sight caught on the bare end of the leather, or the miniscule sound of the skin ripping from the tips of his fingers as he repositioned his hand, but he was pretty sure it was the dreadful sound of the hammer cocking back that startled the doe and sent her bolting deeper into the woods. 

Shit .

Arthur sighed, lowering the gun back to his side from where he had it pressed to his shoulder. That was just how it goes wasn’t it. Dinner never came easy for the hungry. Puffing out a frustrated breath of air, Arthur chewed his lower lip. He could track down the doe. She most likely was in the area close enough for him to find if he pushed hard enough… but that meant leaving Beau behind tied to a tree and trudging for god knew how long to find one deer he was never sure if he’d find. It wasn’t like there was any blood trail to find if the wind covered the trail she made. 

Then again he could just keep pushing forward until he got another opportunity. It was too damned cold for the deer to be bedding down right now. There was bound to be another one around here somewhere…

Arthur sat back in his saddle. Laying the rifle across numb thighs he pushed his hat back just enough to see further out down the road. Or where he remembered the road being. There was a fork in the path up ahead. The right split and went towards the East Grizzlies. Now it wasn't his favorite place to be. Especially in this bitter of weather. But he had last seen an Elk past Moonshine Pond the other day. And that was a lead he could get behind. 

Tapping Beau’s hips once more Arthur clicked his tongue urging his companion ever forward. Beau shook his head, shaking free snow that stuck to his pale mane with a low huff and grumble. 

“Oh… I know, boy.”  Arthur praised, patting the horse’s thick neck. “We’ll go home soon.” Reaching low to his side Arthur pulled a half frozen carrot from his saddle bag. Taking a bite from the tip himself he hummed, deeming it thawed enough to present to Beau. As if by instinct Beau craned his neck back lipping and accepting the carrot graciously with large greedy crunches. “There’s a boy.” 

Slowly and ever so carefully he made his way down down the road that forked and merged once more. Right would lead to the Grizzlies, left would lead to Bacchus Station where the train would most likely be sat waiting for better weather to continue on it’s journey. It was tempting to take the left. To try and rob the passengers dry as they waited for time to pass enough to get by. He could buy them all dinner plus some then. But he promised to find meat for a while. And that’s exactly what he planned to do. 

Through trickling streams and over freshly fallen trees, Arthur pushed into the Grizzlies with ease. The grumbled sounds of it’s namesake rolled easily across the mountains with annoying frequency that Arthur could never tell if they were coming from close enough to worry or not. So he just didn’t. Besides weren’t they meant to be hibernating by now? 

Maybe he was hearing their snoring . Is what John would have said right about now. Damned kid… he was as naive as he was scrawny. Which was a dangerous combination when Arthur really thought about it. He was bound to believe some dumbass scheme or another. He could even imagine the kid falling for a dumbass cult… he sighed. 

A snapping in the distance pulled his attention from his ever roaming thoughts. On the top of the ridge stood a great and mighty Elk. It’s fur fluttered in the slight breeze that always seemed to roam around the Grizzlies pushing soft snow across the forest floor. It too just like the deer he spotted back in the Cumberland Forest was staring wide eyed and still off in the distance. This time however, it’s black eyes weren’t immediately on him. What exactly it was staring at was a mystery to him and in truth he could care less about it. 

Pulling his rifle up from his lap he tugged gently on Beau’s reigns pulling him to a stop. Slowly. Carefully Arthur raised the rifle to his shoulder. Staring down the sights he lined them up with practiced precision. Slowly he breathed in. The sights raising shakily as he did. Then even slower, he blew out all the breath in his lungs. Pulling the butt tight to his shoulder. Until the sights fell on the Elk’s shoulder and…

The shot rang out clear and deafening. A cloud of gun smoke stained the air and made it impossible to see. Lowering the rifle, Arthur squinted against the harsh sun. There on the bank nestled in the snow lay the elk. Its fur still swaying and dancing in the wind, steam rising from the hole in it’s side. 

Sliding off Beau’s back Arthur patted his shoulder as he slung the gun over his shoulder. Proud as ever that the stallion was able to stay put. It wasn’t that Beau was skittish in any certain ways. But he was known to flee if startled and Arthur hadn’t given him any indication that he was going to fire. He supposed that was what came with being an outlaw’s horse… but he appreciated it even still.

It always felt longer to trudge to the kill than it was to bring it down. The hunt was always farther off the trail than he ever anticipated. “Just off the side of the road” turned into a good hundred feet or more. He just guessed it might be the adrenaline of it all that made those first moments so short. 

It was also what vastly underestimated the size of the kill itself. Standing at the side of the bull now it was clear to him that this thing was much too massive for him to even try and load onto Beau’s back without hurting him. Not that he would have minded walking alongside the horse on the way back. His legs were about numb as it was and he felt a great need to move around again to try and get warm. But that would mean that the way back would take much longer than the ride down. A day at the least. And Arthur didn’t know if he could possibly stand to be out longer than he had to. 

The hide of the Elk was heavy on it’s own. A massively thick coat that was pierced through both sides. Not that Arthur minded too terribly much. Pearson would throw a fit for sure. Say it was a waste and hardship to clean and turn to good use. But… it still sold well enough. 

He whistled low for Beau to come nearer, hoisting the pelt on his shoulder so he could load it and get back to butchering the useful parts of the kill. Normally he liked Pearson to do it and tried not to leave animals to rot in the forest. But it was inevitable sometimes. \

Beau was edgy. That should have been his first sign… 

No the elk its self was on edge. That should have been his first sign. Beau being edgy should have been his last. But Arthur rarely listened when it was important. Instead he got wrapped up in the task at hand and lost track of time. It could kill him one day

It would kill him one day…

He heard it’s huffing just as he was freeing the tenderloin from the back of the animal. It was one of the last things he pulled and he was always careful to get them right. No one wanted tough tenderloin. Blood dripped from his hands in large disk like droplets that stained the pure white snow red. Beau had screeched and the thumping of his hooves down the hill was near deafening. 

Shit… SHIT .

He didn’t have the time to breathe let alone process. The bear roared. It’s thick fur rolling heavy across it’s body as it ran. Paws as big as dinner plates thundered hard into the earth, claws as long as his fingers cut deep into the land kicking up chunks of earth as he barreled closer and closer. 

If was black fight back… But it was brown, Large and angry and brown. And Arthur didn’t have enough time to lay down let alone raise his rifle before the bear toppled him over. 

It hit him hard and heavy with both front paws. All the air pushed out of his lungs as the beast put all his weight on his chest and shoulders. Arthur couldn’t hold back his screams of terror as it pounced. Pressing down on his chest the bear pushed all the air out of his lungs making his screams mute. 

Big and heavy it happened all in a flash of teeth and claws. Fur caught in his mouth and throat as he desperately tried his damndest to fight back, biting every bit of the animal he could while stabbing the bear hard in the chest as deep as he could reach. 

He didn’t know where his knife ended up. He didn’t even know if he had wounded the animal. One minute he was holding his knife, the next he was clutching fistfuls of fur and pulling with all his might as if he could skin the animal with his bare hands. 

The sound of teeth grinding against his skull was deafening. The icy cold snow pressed deep into his clothes as he was dragged and thrown from side to side. 

Pressure like a boulder rested on his chest as the bear towered over top of him. All was still except for the snuffing and the huffs of the bear above him. It’s nose so close he could feel the cold wetness of it pressing against his skin. Drool dripping down from the bear’s protruding lower lip into the wounds and on his face.

He was going to die. He was dead. 

Just as he never knew when it was going to start. He never knew it was ending. Blood filling his mouth in a tangy metallic bitter. Nearly blinded by the blood that poured from his scalp into his eyes. He was positive from where he lay he could see bones protruding in places they never should be able to. Beside him he heard the disgusting and distinct sound of muscle tearing and bone crunching. A blur of brown still lingered. Rocking back and forth as the beast feasted. 

He was dead. There was no other possibility. 

But the intense pain that radiated throughout his entire body told him otherwise. Death wasn’t supposed to be painful. That’s not what Dutch preached. There was pain. Then nothing. But now there was just pain. Tearing, radiating, horrible, awful, debilitating, nauseating, aching, think of a word and he was feeling it. So he had to be alive. He had to be.

He didn’t know how long he’d been laying there. He didn’t know he was groaning and desperately fighting for each breath. But he was.

Alive.

Horribly, grotesquely, painfully alive. 

A gunshot rang clean and loud through the air. Arthur was pretty positive that he hadn’t caused it. Then again he wasn’t sure of much right now. 

It wasn’t until something came stepping near. The snow crunching under heavy footsteps. Arthur thought that the bear was coming back for round two. But when a blurry figure loomed over him. Too human to be a bear. Too furry to be any human. Arthur blacked out. 

Colors swirled and lights danced in Arthur’s vision. Laughter light and airy filled his ears. Trees shot up from the earth that smelled like home. He was much warmer. With the sunset bathing the trees full of leaves and the ground in red. Hosea’s smile was as brilliant as any. Spinning tales Arthur knew were half true. His voice sounded far off but so calming and peaceful. Dutch’s pipe was burning. Hanging out of his mouth he hummed, love shining in his eyes for Hosea and his sons he pretended the others couldn’t see. John’s footsteps crunched loudly in the fallen leaves and the twigs around camp. His breath was catching in his throat as he laughed. Child-like and young. It was the first time Arthur had heard him laugh. Really truly laugh. A stray chased close behind. Hosea had begged John not to get too attached. Dogs were weight they couldn’t afford to move in a hurry. But his words were hollow as this was the third camp Hugo had followed them to. 

Christ John was so young. Too young to be running around with the likes of them. He wished he could save him. Take him away from all the pain and the blood and the heart ache. He wondered briefly if Eliza would take him in if he were to drop him off. But the thought alone brought anxiety thick into his chest. Besides, Eliza probably wouldn’t want him. The kid didn’t even know the word manners let alone have any. 

Isaac… oh his baby boy. He was so tiny when he was first born. He fit just along the length of his forearm. His head laid perfectly in the palm of his hand. Hair so soft and downy he had never once touched anything so soft in his life. And the smell. Oh he’d never smelt any flower as sweet or any fruit as decadent as the smell his son had. Mrs. Grimshaw explained it as one of a kind. Miracle is what he would call it. Pure unabashed god given Miracle. One he never once deserved in his horrible and terrible life. No. He’d done horrible things. But Issac was the best thing that he’d ever done. Ever made. Eyes as blue as the sky. And a smile as soft and sweet as taffy candy. No one. Not a soul loved as much as Arthur loved his son. The potential of so much more. A life he never had, and never could have was promised in his son. And Arthur was sure he was going to make sure he got it.

But for now there was pain. Mind-numbing pain. 

Arthur’s eyes felt both heavy and sticky all at the same time. His throat sore and swollen. A groan emanating from his chest heaved with great effort from him sounding foreign and out of body. But he was certain it was his. He could feel it tearing through him. 

It was warmer. Much warmer. The biting chill of the wind was no longer pressing down on him and pulling the breath from his lungs. Instead he felt hot. The type of burning heat that could be caused by stepping much too close to a fire on his right side.

Slowly his vision came into focus. Light much too bright for him ached and chewed at the back of his eyes. Brilliant yellow artificial light that could only be caused by a lantern slayed across wooden walls and ceiling. He was inside. 

Carefully, he willed himself to move. Inch by agonizing inch his body protested it as greatly as ever. Even moving his fingers and lifting his arms was a chore of incomprehensible feats. Though he guessed he could count himself lucky that he still had all ten of his fingers. Even if gnarly stitches held his left hand and wrist together by threads. The skin wrapping around his nailbeds was a garish color of dark purple and dried blood maroon. He didn’t need to lift a hand to his head to know that deep gashes were held together by stitching webbed across his scalp. The skin on his scalp felt much too tight. A familiar feeling after all these years of head injuries doing stupid shit. 

Though he couldn’t see or feel them. He knew his legs were still attached. Though the ache in his chest made him wonder if his guts had spilled all over the floor he laid on. 

A door creaked nearby and though he fought it, Arthur nearly jumped clean out of his skin. Reaching out for a weapon he knew wouldn’t be there but was pure instinct anyway. Now that he thought about it… where had his clothes gone?

“Ah… there you are. I was starting to worry you might never wake.” A voice gruff and deep called out. From where Arthur laid on the floor the man that walked in looked exactly like a giant. Taller than life and more intimidating than one too. His clothing was made entirely by hand and the leather of several different animals from the looks of it. Thick strings held the edges of skins together. The man himself was lean enough. Nealy emaciated based on the hollowing in his cheeks with a great bushy beard that hung down nearly to his belly button. 

“What’s your name, son?” The man asked, crouching low to get a better look at Arthur, or maybe to take a closer look at his bandages. 

“Arthur.” He managed to groan out. Worried dark eyes roamed the expanse of Arthur’s body. It would have made him uncomfortable if Arthur wasn’t so vulnerable right now. 

“Well, Arthur.” The man mumbled, reaching a cool hand up to touch his forehead. It felt nice. A good contrast against the heat of the fireplace beside him and the icy chill he was sure was going on outside. “That great bastard of a bear got the better of you… really fucked you up. But you gave him hell…” 

He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Arthur. But that didn’t matter much to either man really. “I stitched you up the best I could… We’ll have to work on keeping the infection out. But I think you might pull through yet.” 

Arthur sighed. He had to get home. No, he wanted to go home. To be back in camp with Dutch and Hosea. Let Mrs. Grimshaw dote over him and Hosea fret. He knew it was childish and selfish. But he did. 

He tried pushing up on his elbow. He tried sitting up so he could pull himself up and tell the man thank you but he was fine. 

That was the biggest lie of his life yet. 

The strangled cry that escaped him when he moved to sit up was instinctual and guttural. A heavy hand eased back onto his back as hot tears stung and pulled at the edges of his vision. 

“Easy there, boy.” The man chastised shooting Arthur a worried glance. “You ain’t well enough to try that yet… give it another week at least.”

WEEK ?! 

“H-How long… how long have I-” Arthur hissed. Fuck even talking was too much it seemed. The pressure in his chest worsened and his throat ached terribly with the terrible itching pain of the need to cough threatening to spill his insides everywhere if he allowed himself the chance. But it seemed his effort at communication was enough for the man to understand. 

“Bout a full week now.” 

Shit . A week. A whole god damned week. Poor Hosea was probably worried sick by now. Dutch had to have been out of his skull if he was still in camp at all… he always did get a little strange when things didn’t go to plan. 

“Thought about burying you that first night. God damned ground was frozen solid or I woulda.” Great… perfect. Arthur huffed slowly allowing himself to fall back to the earth in a solid heap. 

“My name is Earl by the way…” The man hummed, moving just out of Arthur’s range of sight. Hidden by his own protruding cheekbone. He could hear Earl rustling around just out of sight. Something wooden slid across creaky floorboards. Then not long after the sound of water being poured from something into a glass. When Earl re-emerged into sight he was holding a sweating glass of water. 

“Well, since you’re alive, let’s try and get some food and water in you at least.” He wanted to protest. He could have done it himself. In a different time and place he would have just jerked the water clean out of the old man’s hands. But as Earl slid his free arm under his neck and the pain radiated deeply throughout his bones. Arthur gave up quickly on that. 

The water was cold and fresh. The best god damned water he ever had in his whole life. It was crisp and clean. It tasted of the spring and melted snow. He couldn’t help but close his eyes and moan at the sheer sensation of it. He hadn’t even realized how dry his mouth had been or how his blood felt almost like tar flowing in his veins. He drank so quickly and fully that water dribbled and dripped down his beard and beaded in the hair on his chest. Sipping and sucking at even the last desperate droplets that clung to the edges of the glass. 

“Easy there. Don’t wanna go too fast now and make you sick.” Earl chastised, carefully laying Arthur flat once more. “You rest here. I’ll make you some broth.” 

He didn’t wait long at all for the man to make the broth. If he did he didn’t know at all. He might have passed out between blinks after all. But the liquid was the most delicious smelling food he’d ever experienced in his entire life. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was until his stomach growled so loud he was certain people outside could hear it. 

“Now. Tell me.” Earl had murmured in a groan as he knelt back down by Arthur’s side. “What were you doin’ all the way out here?” 

It was a simple enough question in and of itself. He was hunting. That was all. But Arthur had a dreadful sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that Earl was fishing for something heavier and more substantial. Something that would earn him the money on his wanted posters.  

“Elk.” He replied simply. The effort of telling an elaborate lie was too great especially with the broth’s steam tantalizing his senses as Earl positioned him once again to help him eat. Luckily enough it seemed the man bought it or rather pitied him. Because he nodded and brought the wooden bowl to Arthur’s lips much to his great relief. 

What herbs Earl had put in the broth Arthur didn’t know. But good god, he’d never tasted anything so fine in his whole life. His every nerve and cell screamed out with each sip of the liquid that traveled down his throat. A million and more electric charges like a million and two light bulbs lit all at the same moment. His whole body buzzed with it. 

“There you go…” Earl hummed in his ear. Arthur would have thought it off-putting if he wasn’t so distracted slurping the broth down as fast as his body would allow. Just like that it was gone. His rolling stomach soothing and his breath feeling both hot and cold in his aching throat as Earl laid him flat once more. Arthur watched the old man stand at his side once more. He had said something. Something soft and murmured. He thought for a moment that it might be an instruction. But his eyes grew too heavy and his mind pulled to the softness of sleep too quickly for him to wonder too long about it. 

Light soft and shimmering skittered across his face pulling him from a dreamless sleep he had fallen deeply into. Daylight soft and serene pooled into the room from the singular window he never noticed the night before… Was it night when he woke up last time? Shit he didn’t know. All he did know was that it was still snowing. Fat white round snowflakes pittered softly against the window pane seeping cool air into the much too hot room he laid in. Soft almost invisible shadows danced across the light that draped over his body. 

How long had he slept this time? He didn’t know… He couldn’t pretend to know. Earl had said he slept for a whole god damned week last time. How in God’s name he was still exhausted baffled him. If he ever met a man that had slept that long he would have assumed he was either dying or deeply unwell. In his own case he knew he was wounded. Healing made people tired. Once when Uncle got a cut on his leg he slept for four days. Though that could have just been his excuse to sleep that long. That man was as useless as the spots on a toad. 

Hell he didn’t know the extent of his own wounds. His hands were bad. He knew that. He had seen the stitching holding his hand to his arm. It was bad and gnarly looking… he feared what the rest of his body looked like. 

Slowly, carefully he moved his arms. Bringing them close to his center once more he hissed as pain radiated down from his shoulders. His left especially. Straight down from his neck and radiating up into his face, pulling tears from his eyes that fell from his cheeks and mixed with his hair. He didn’t need to touch there to know that there were stitches there. With the radiating pain came flashbacks he never wished upon any living being. 

Being tackled hard enough to feel the bones in his ribs crack and break. Teeth sharp and tearing entering his shoulder right next to his throat. One inch inward and Arthur was sure that he would have bled out and devoured. 

The thought has him gasping. His heart hammering in his chest as he clings to his body tightly. Wild eyes darting from one end of the room to the next as if anticipating the bear to be there waiting to finish the job and eat him whole. 

It was deathly silent for a long time. Silent all except for the pounding of his heart and his breaths labored and heavy echoing in his ears and across the walls. 

He wondered briefly of Beau. Did he survive? Did he run far from the dangers of the bear that still haunted him when he shut his eyes? Christ above he hoped so. That horse was his best friend. Maybe if he was lucky Beau knew the way home. But Arthur had never known luck quite so sweet before and so he didn’t let that hope hold a candle in his mind. 

An hour passed. At least Arthur assumed it had by the shadows that crept along the walls and the ever clouding snow that gathered at the window pane. His stomach had started to growl painfully once more. The need for a more substantial meal urging him to get up and search though his heavy aching body refused to allow him the pleasure. 

The door creaking open was a welcomed sound to be sure. Earl’s boots sounded heavy on the groaning wood. Though with the light haloing unkept staticy hair made him believe for a second at least he was looking at an angel sent from god. 

“You made it through the night… good.” Earl commented, his voice mixed with the sound of water pouring from that blessed pitcher and Arthur was positive he’d never heard anything so beautiful in his entire life. 

“How-” Arthur grunted, lulling his head over to watch Earl feeling the aching stretch of muscles as he did so. “How did you-” It was all he could muster without taking a deep rattling gasping breath. 

“Heard the gunshot.” Earl answered not seeming to need the rest of his question to understand what he meant. A trait Arthur greatly appreciated in men. He never wanted to have to explain something twice. “Thought it was damned foolish ta be huntin’ in this weather.” He tossed a deadpanned look back over his shoulder that made Arthur feel incredibly foolish and sheepish. “Thought someone was shot. Went lookin and when I found the blood in the snow I knew something happened… though I gotta admit. Where the bear dragged you. I might not have found ya if it weren’t for the blizzard.” 

Arthur swallowed hard around the dry nothing in his mouth. He always despised the snow. It never came at any convenient time. He had to heave his body around in it and poor Hosea never did well in it at all. His lungs were too poorly to be out in it without sending him into fits. He never understood the appeal of it. Though John seemed to adore it… maybe that was the mystery and beauty of youth he never got the chance to experience… or maybe he just didn’t remember it. 

But none of that mattered as Earl kneeled to his side once again, guiding another sweating glass of water to his lips. He drank greedily and fully. He wondered if this was what ambrosia tasted like. Dutch had spoken of it once. A drink of the gods in one of his many too difficult sounding books. Sure it did, nothing ever tasted so good in his entire life. 

“It’s a good thing I found ya when I did.” Earl grumbled, glancing down Arthur’s body to the wounds he himself couldn’t see. “Thought you were dead. You were cold as the dickens and soaked through with blood… hope ya didn’t like them threads you were wearing. They’re all but gone now.” 

It was a poor excuse at an apology. And in truth Arthur couldn’t tell if it really was one other than an acknowledgement on Earl’s side. “The damned thing nearly tore you in two and just bout gutted you. Had ta stitch damned near every inch of you ta make the bleeding stop. But… seems like you’ve pulled through the worst of it now.”

It was noncommittal, the way Earl spoke of his injuries. Like it was just another day for him. It might very well have been. Arthur didn’t know anything of his past. He wasn’t going to pretend that he did either. 

“You hungry? Can make you more broth if ya want.” Earl offered softly, glancing to the window above them. “Could bring ya a pillow in and a blanket. Can’t keep wasten wood in here the way I had or I’d throw another log on for you.” 

Arthur grumbled at the promise of broth. He knew it was impolite. He was too weak to do anything himself but that didn’t stop the selfish want for something more substantial. 

“I know… it ain’t glamorous.” Earl answered, though Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what to. “But it’ll have ta do till you’re up on your feet.” 

The man glared down at Arthur’s middle and for a moment he worried something dreadful was happening that he could no longer feel. Was his guts spilling free finally like Earl said they almost had before? Long strings of intestines and bubbling blood emerging from under his stitches. Was the water he just drank bubbling from his wounds like the meal from so many deer he had cleaned and accidentally nicked the guts of? 

“Wha-” He tried to ask but was caught off guard by the hiss and ache in his lower abdomen. Unsure of what caused it. Fearing the absolute worst through it all. Earl slowly lifted his hand, fingers painted in glistening muted blood. His mustache fluttered and swayed as he sighed deeply and stood. 

“Gotta change your bandages. You’re seeping through.” He bit out, shifting from one leg to the next with a dull pop and groan. “Might have enough fabric for one more round… gonna have ta start using something else.” He murmured seemingly talking mostly to himself as he trotted out of the room without a second word. 

Cool air danced playfully across his wounds now that he was aware of them. Stinging and burning and pulling and aching all at the same time. So many littered his body. His leg… he was sure it had broken. His collar bone too. 

The door squealed as it opened. Slamming hard against the wooden wall behind it. Arthur would have jumped had he had the energy to try. But he didn’t. Instead he just watched as Earl laid several rolls of gauze on that table that held the water. The clinking of something metal accompanied the cloth. More of that water poured from the pitcher into something metal. It sounded different than the glass he had drank out of before. Stouter almost. 

Earl kneeled once more. Bringing a red cloth and a metal bowl with him. “Not gonna lie to you son.” He started, digging around in his pocket for something unseen. “This is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.” 

Arthur didn’t know what Earl was talking about…The small tugging and movement was uncomfortable for sure but not painful. The bandage stuck to his skin and it stung a tad when pulled away. Threads of the fabric clung to his skin making it feel itchy and sensitive. The air felt fresh and cool quickly replaced by the shockingly cold rag Earl brought to clean the area soaked in that water Arthur loved so much. Each time it swiped against a new portion of his skin he couldn’t see, he couldn’t help but jolt and wince and gasp at the chill of it. But still even then it wasn’t painful. No more than he was already. 

No it was unpleasant. The smell of fresh blood and seepage from his wounds made him want to gag. The squelching of the rag against his skin was blood curdling and had his stomach rolling. But it wasn’t until the pop of a small cork pulled his attention that he began to believe Earl. 

In his hand was a small bottle of whiskey small enough to be concealed in his pocket, easy enough to go to church and enjoy it like a proper gentleman would. Tipping his head back Earl watched the liquid as if it were made of the same gold it was colored. One swig than two Earl’s eyes drifted shut. Bubbles rose in the glass that had Arthur believing that he would finish it all in one go.

But he didn’t. Instead as he swiped his lips clean he sighed, a far off distant sadness to his dark eyes as he turned back to Arthur’s fresh wounds. “I won’t blame ya if ya scream.” 

What? Why would he-

Arthur screamed. He screamed louder than he could ever remember in his entire life. He screamed so loud he tasted blood at the back of his throat. The pain was indescribable. Burning and tearing all at once. The smell of whiskey and blood made him gag through screams. Earl had warned him. He knew he had. 

Arthur had been hurt before. Gunshots and cuts from enemies all cured using Uncle’s endless supply of booze. Still none of them had ever hurt this bad. None had stung so fiercely that he wished he would die. Burning so fervently that he felt aflame from the inside out. 

When he passed out he had no idea he had. It wasn’t until all was said and done. Earl sitting beside him with a pipe in hand watching him with piercing dark eyes that he realized he must have. 

Time goes by so slowly. The days passed agonizingly. Arthur’s fever rose then fell like the tides on the sore in a full moon. His stitches ache and itched as his body healed some. Though not fast enough to keep the anxiousness out of his body nor the dreadful night terrors at bay. 

Earl has been an inpatient if not kind nurse for him. He changed his bandages daily with not as much fanfare as the first time. Arthur tried to pride himself in that he believed he was getting tougher… though the tears that still rolled down his cheeks, the sobs he couldn’t hold back, and the cries for his fathers held back by clenched teeth would beg to differ. 

He had graduated from simple herb infused broth to real substantial meals. How many days it had taken he had lost count. The moon and the sun seemed to blend into a beautiful cacophony of light. 

It’s on the fourth day he feels like he’s dying. Woken by a fever that radiates hotter than the fire burning at his side. His breath catching and aching in his chest as he fights dry heave after painful and disgusting dry heave. His body shivered and shook so badly that he found it hard to keep his teeth from clattering together. His breathing staggered and broken. 

“God damned mother shitting-” Earl growls as he peeled back bandage after soiled bandage. There’s an urgency to his voice and worry in his dark eyes that’s reflected by the lamp light setting by the bedside. 

“Infection’s got ya.” He huffed, wiping sweat from his brow. A thick bandana covered his nose and mouth as if the infection could catch by breath alone. Arthur knew it was for the smell. It was pungent and rotten and permeated the air so thickly he imagined himself dead and rotting in the spot the bear had gotten him. A spectre staring down at his corpse, wondering if his life was worth all the effort and energy it took him to die in such a manner.

“Listen… it’s a bout a days ride ta town. I can take ya and drop ya off at the surgeon’s there… just don’t fucking die on me on the way there.” Arthur didn’t get a chance to respond. Not that he could if he wanted to. The world swirled hazily around him. He doesn’t even realize he’s outside until the cold bitter air touches his face and he just about vomits on Earl’s shoes. Riding should have been awful. Painful and jarring. It would have been if Arthur could keep his eyes open for longer. 

But he couldn’t despite how hard he struggled and tried.

His mother when she was alive and he was young had told him tales of angels sitting in the trees. Watchers unseen and beautiful. Guardians each and everyone of them, they would whisper in the ears of travelers and guide them far from harm. He stopped believing in them the day he watched his daddy beat her to death. If angels existed they certainly hadn’t been there to  stop Lyle from killing his momma. She was the most God fearing woman he’d ever met. If they hadn’t come for her… they’d never show for a man like him who watched her die. 

Dutch’s ideology was so much simpler. It was easy to believe and understand. There was life. It was hard and grueling. You could do whatever you wanted. Then there was nothing at all… 

That didn’t stop him from being afraid of that, though. He didn’t want to stop existing. He had too much to do. People who needed him. What would become of his family? Had they eaten at all when he didn’t return home? If he turned into nothing he could never say he was sorry for being late. He could never see that John grew into the man he needed to be. The man he believed he could be. 

He was afraid. So dreadfully so. Hosea’s idea of death sounded so much nicer. Easier to accept when he felt his own death knocking at the door. There was pain. There was death. But after. There was peace. A life guaranteed to be better than this one. Maybe it was the only way the old man could get by after Bessie? Maybe it was the only way he managed to stay sane day by day knowing she was happier in a better place waiting for him. 

Arthur didn’t know. What he did know was that he prayed with all he had for the first time that if that were the case, he could keep close to them all. To his family so when they arrived across pearly gates to join him, he would be there to greet them with open arms. 

Maybe then he’d get to see his momma again? Maybe in that life he could do all he could to make her proud of the man he was? He was certain she despised him now. 

Would Hosea hate him if he never came home? Would Dutch look for him? Was he even searching now? Or had they given up and turned their attention onto the boy that lived and thrived in their care the same they had tried to with him? 

Would John end in a fate like him? Pitiful and forgotten? Or would he hang like Lyle did? 

Nothing made sense anymore. He guessed that’s just how death went. 

The smell of clean antiseptic hit him first. Burning of vinegar and soft lye soap. He never expected death to be so clean. Nor did he expect it to feel so warm. There was a voice both far away and near at the same time. It was soft and kind in the way it lilted. 

“He’s got a better chance now.” It hummed. Metal clanged against each other as something moved. 

“That’s good,” A gentle singsong voice responded. “I would be a pity if he died. He’s so young.” 

Death would have been kinder than the weight that sat on his chest. Pain ached deep in his bones and Arthur knew for certain he was alive. If not just for the disembodied voices telling him so. No heaven could ever be so cruel as this. At least the sludgy feeling of his blood was gone and the rolling nausea that attacked him was blissfully missing. 

Cracking an eye Arthur groaned. It as brighter here and much too colorful for his taste. The wall was lined with either bottles or books with bold lettering. He couldn’t quite tell from where he laid and the blurriness of his vision.

“There he is!” The soft unfamiliar voice called. A hand found his own in the haze and Arthur pulled his arm back instinctively. “Easy, son. We ain’t here to hurt you.” The man standing above him was much younger than Earl had been. This man had short dark hair. The thick smell of pomade stained the air and thick looking glasses rested on a thin beak looking nose. 

“Hi, Arthur. My name is Doctor Paul Greene. It’s nice to finally meet you.Thought we might never meet with how hard you’ve been sleeping. Been about a day since you came in. How are you feeling?” The doctor asked softly. 

“Like I got attacked by a bear.” Arthur groaned, half surprised that his voice had held out. Dr. Greene chuckled, shaking his head as he pressed two fingers to his neck. A silver pocket watch glimmered and shined in the daylight. In another time Arthur would be reaching to swipe it from him when it was back in his pocket. But Arthur believed it to be bad karma to steal from those who helped him most. 

“Well I wouldn’t expect any less.” A higher pitched voice hummed from across the room. “You took a nasty turn. It’s good Earl brought you when he did.” 

Arthur cocked a brow, the tiny blonde that flitted from one end of the room to the next smiled softly at him. Her bright green eyes crinkled and made sweet crows feet at the corners with age and the brilliance of her smile. 

“That’s nurse Huckabee.” Dr. Greene answered for him before the question could formulate on his tongue. Pulling a long rubber cord from around his neck with a metallic disk shimmering at the end.

“You should be well enough ta head out tomorrow.” The doctor assured Arthur much to his surprise. Hadn’t he just gotten there? Arthur hissed as the doctor pressed cold metal against his bare chest. He watched the doctor closely, eyes closed and concentrated the man hummed moving the metal disk down further to his abdomen just above his aching scar.

“What?” Arthur asked, gingerly taking the time to pull himself up on his least injured elbow. The doctor winced at first pulling the metal away from Arthur’s body with a small grimace. Removing two rubber buds from his ears he nodded. He moved from one end of the room to the next, placing the rubber tube back on his neck. Picking up a clipboard and scratching at it with the pen that hung from it. 

“Your fever broke.” He said with a satisfying hum. “As long as you take your tonics and apply the salves I give you, you should be right as rain in no time.” He chimed. Shifting and shuffling various glass bottles around. He pulled down two larger bottles. One was short and stout. A balm like cream rested inside that one. The other sloshed as if filled with water. The glass stained were the liquid rested and swirled within it. 

 In truth Arthur didn’t believe a damned word of the snake oil salesman. The pain was still throbbing and his wounds still there hardly healed… but he was glad nonetheless. Being released meant he could go home; it meant Hosea would grind herbs into lotions he trusted and Dutch would sit and spin tales to pass the time until he was well enough to do the chores he needed to get done. 

“How much-” Arthur tried to ask. Doctors were expensive. They were a luxury the camp tried to avoid unless death was the only other inevitability. 

“No cost. Earl covered my services… he said he just wanted you out of his damned house.” Dr. Greene hummed with a smile. 

“If I had to guess, he was just worried. Poor old man doesn’t have much nowadays.” The nurse hummed. 

Huh…

Arthur tried not to think too much about it and make up stories in his mind. But how could he not? Earl had nursed him back to health the best he could with what little he had. He wondered what the man had done in his life to end up being so kind and yet so crass. 

Images of war and cannons going off with a haggard military doctor running around saving lives. He imagined Earl leading a troop of men into battle. He wondered what all he lost to become the way he was. Arthur didn’t want to focus too hard on that though or else he would imagine what he would have to experience to become just like him. 

He made a promise to himself silently to visit Earl once he was able to walk again. He would help around his little cabin. Cutting wood for that he used and finding herbs and meat to replace what he used. It wasn’t that he felt he was a waste of space at all. Instead he just thought the opposite but still Earl deserved that kindness. 

The next morning he was clothed and in great discomfort. His body still ached with pain that shot through his broken leg as he moved hesitantly through the doctor’s office. Christ… he tried desperately to listen to Dr. Greene’s instructions. But the man went on and on about completely nothing and lies when it came to herbs. Something about Mint and Elderberries being the cure to all ailments… what bullshit. Not that Arthur was an expert at all… 

“- to take this one in the morning then these two in the afternoon and-” the doctor’s voice droned and droned. 

“Dr. Greene.” Nurse Huckabee interrupted, thank god. “His horse is ready now.” 

Horse ? Wait… Beau? Had he come back?

“Did Earl leave a horse behind for me?” Arthur asked through pained gasps and staggered steps. Leaning heavily on the wooden crutch the doctor offered to him. 

“Think he might have bought you one. It was here about an hour after he brought you here.” She responded, shoving wrapped glass bottles and vials into Arthur’s leather satchel. Arthur nodded, chewing his lip as he tried to lean far enough to take a peak outside. If Beau was outside he would be surprised… if he was then he’d promise to get him stuffed when he died. 

Leaning down Arthur let the nurse sling the leather strap over his head and rest it against his sensitive side. “I want you to be careful now goin’ back wherever you live. Let your wife tend to you. I’m sure she’s been worried sick.” 

Arthur nearly laughed out loud. Though something dark and yearning ate at the back of his mind with the idea. A wife was a danger in his line of work. She could be used as leverage. Her death would become his weakness. He couldn’t afford a wife even if he had all the money in the world. She would never know peace… but still his mind fell back into that homey and comfortable feeling he got when he was beside Eliza. He didn’t know her for long. But the gift she bestowed upon him was greater than any he would ever get the rest of his life. He owed her that much to make up for it. And in that… he knew he should stay away. 

“Thank you.” He murmured, clunking and stepping slowly out of the parlor and onto the porch. The snow had yet to melt. As a matter of fact Arthur was pretty sure the temperature had only considerably dropped down into negatives during his stay at the doctor’s. He wondered if the camp had moved to a safer, warmer location… Dutch had been considering it for Hosea’s sake earlier. He was sure the old man’s lungs couldn’t handle such extremes. 

Glancing across the street Arthur sighed deeply. He breathed a puff of white that billowed and swirled around his face like a dragon’s. Next door just across the road was the post office. It stood contrast to the white and mud around it. Standing golden and dull against brilliant snow drifts that blinded him in the light of the midday sun. Good for him that he didn’t have to go far.

Hitched at the post was a beautiful mare. Her mane was a silver sheen and fur as black as night. She looked at Arthur with all the softness and kindness of any horse he’d ever met. Though he yearned for Beau, he was more than grateful for the horse Earl bestowed him. Walking forward a step he let the horse huff and sniff at his outstretched hand, happy when she nuzzled up against his hand. She had a gentle spirit. Hopefully she wouldn’t throw him at the first sign of danger. 

Tossing the reigns free from the post, Arthur hummed. Stepping slowly off the porch onto frozen ground was tricky. Each divot and pit in the ground became an obstacle he had to consider. He wasn’t able to lift his legs higher than a few inches. Anything higher tripped him up which was dangerous on the ice below. Leaning all his weight on the crutch as humanly possible he kept steady slowly realizing he was using the mare as a crutch just as much as the stick itself. Leading the mare across the street to the entrance of the post office Arthur huffed and puffed, his chest heaving as if he had just run for his life from the law. Good lord if this short of a distance put him out he prayed he never saw a bounty hunter on the way home. He’d never survive long enough to out run him. 

Patting the mare gently on the neck he held her muzzle gently, laying his head against hers. “I’ll be back soon girl. Stay here.” He instructed, happy when the horse huffed in response seemingly understanding him as he left her for just a moment to approach the office. The man at the window was surly. Small and thin with a large handlebar mustache that reached up into his mutton chops and bled into his hair. 

“Can I help you?” The man asked in a singsong tone that was rare to hear from unhappy men. 

“Uh…” Arthur blinked and sighed. “Tacitus Killgore.” What a horrible fake name to use… completely ridiculous. “I’m here for my mail.” 

The man behind the counter hummed, nodding his head but clearly not impressed with his name at all. Arthur wondered briefly if he’d ever heard a name so ridiculous. “Tacitus… Killgore…” The man recited, flipping through boxes of mail. “Ah yes here you are… a popular man Mr. Tacitus.” 

The clerk slid a pile of letters and telegrams that was at least a dozen high. Worry seeped into his chest as he looked at all of them. Never before had gotten so many letters in his life. Now to have them all at once was not only overwhelming but also foreboding. Taking the stack into his hand, he nodded to the clerk his thanks. Slowly hobbling back to the mare he left at the front of the building. It took a great amount of effort and struggle to mount the girl but it seemed that she understood his pain and knelt down as low as she could to help him out. Sitting on the saddle didn’t do much for his pain at all as it only seemed to spread and stretch his wounds but it allowed the mare to walk while he read his mail and for that he was grateful. 

Dear Tacitus, 

The first letter read in scrawled chicken scratch. Dutch’s handwriting to be sure. 

It has been at least a day since you left to hunt. Lord knows exactly where you have run off to this time or what game you hoped to flush out and gain. It seems each time you leave the longer you stay away and more exotic your finds are. I know I should not worry but I always do when you leave for longer than intended. 

Please send a note to let us know you’re safe. 

Your father, 

Dustin Miller

Arthur’s jaw clenched. Glancing at the dates of the letter. He sighed and closed his eyes. How long had he been away?

Dear Tacitus, 

The next read in beautifully written calligraphy that curved and flowed so easily. A stark contrast to the first in almost every way.

Where have you run off to this time my boy? Your horse had returned to us days ago with only the pelt of an animal on its back but without you. It has been nearly three days since I have last seen or heard from you. Your silence worries me. I have sent your father to begin to search for you. Please send a note of where you are and let us know you are safe. 

Yours always, 

Henry Devon

P.S. If we have done something to upset you please, come home and talk to us about it. 

Chewing his lip Arhur visibly shook his head as if Hosea would see it. His hips swayed with the motion of the mare’s slow trot. Tears bristled his eyes, desperate to cry out and let his fathers know. He wasn’t mad. He had only failed them. Only hoping that they’d forgive him.  

But at the very least… Beau was ok. He was safe. He made it home.

Dear Tacitus, 

The letters scrawled heavily across the page, so heavily in fact they were indented into the page and even torn through in some spots leaving little holes in which he could see daylight shining through the page. 

I have since contacted your wife E. She has reported that she has not seen hide nor hair from you in weeks. I am starting to worry you will never return. Please send a word soon. If not for my old heart, for the others.

Sarah Gentri 

The old girl never minced words even in letters. But Susan was just as worried as the rest… 

Dear Uncle Tacitus,

This letter scrawled in the same beautiful cursive as Hosea’s letter but held a separate tone. The name at the bottom written in large shaky letters in the same way a child would scrawl his name at the bottom of a drawing.

Where have you run off to now? When you said that I could not accompany you on your ride I had thought you wanted time alone from Uncle Miller and the family. I am sorry if I have offended you in any way. Please come just home. I miss you.

Your nephew, 

Jimmy Milton. 

Arthur’s heart sank. Glancing up from the page he took a deep shaky breath that filled his lungs painfully. Poor John… Flipping to the next letter Arthur tried to focus on staying upright as he rode the mare a little harder. 

Dear Tacitus, 

The chicken scratch was back, this time wavered and even more shaky than normal. Not that Dutch’s handwriting was bad. No he was just scared…

I have looked all over the mountains for you but have found no trace of you.The weather is growing bitter and cold. Your mother has fallen prey to her poor old lungs yet again. We are moving south for the winter. A nice town by the name of Strawberry has less of the snow than this dreadful place we have been staying at. If this letter finds you well. Please come and find us there. 

Yours truly, 

Miller

So they did move on. Good. Poor Hosea has probably been down and out for a while. He put his family through so much it was never fair to them in the slightest. Not when all they did was provide for him. Twisting on his axis he slid the rest of the letters, albeit one that caught his eyes into his satchel. Arthur urged the mare on faster, riding on further and faster down the trail south towards the developing town of Strawberry. 

“That a girl…” He promised he would spoil her once he got home. Popping open the last telegram his heart dropped and his head spun dangerously. 

Dear Arthur, 

Eliza… She was the only one who refused to play along with Dutch’s ridiculous games. “Your name is so beautiful. I will not call you a name that does not suit a good man like you, Arthur Morgan.” She would always chide. It made him smile and his heart yearn for her. 

I have just gotten word from Susan. She says you have gone hunting and have yet to return home to them. She sent word just last night and when Dutch visited this morn I knew it must be very serious. He’s worried sick for you Arthur. He hasn’t slept or eaten in days or so he says. Please. Let me know you are safe. If not for their sake. Then mine and Issac’s who love you so. We need you. 

With all ourlove, 

Eliza Morgan

Eliza… Morgan…

Arthur’s heart sang in his chest. Rationally he knew it was a ploy. A reason for him to reply. A way to hide her true name. But still… still his heart was full and happy. He made yet another promise amongst the many he made to himself that he would marry her. Buy her a proper ring… Or rather… he would make an honest woman of her. He hadn’t decided. 

It wasn’t a long ride into town, only a few hours that dragged out feeling like days on his broken and tired body. Despite his initial reservations. He sipped at the tonics the doctor had prescribed to him. Especially the pain relieving ones in the little red vials… None of them worked as well as the morphine the reverend always carried but for a quick fix. It worked well enough.

Camp had been nestled away down a long mountain trail off the side of the main road. As promised it was warmer here with snow only dusting the muddied ground instead of freezing it solid. 

His mare did her best to bring him all the way. Only huffing and puffing as they trudged the steepest parts of the mountain. Not once did she threaten to toss him. Not even when a snake hissed at her feet. Instead she whined and stamped her feet, standing her ground and protecting ther rider on her back.

It was the sounds of pots and pans that brought him close and brought him peace. Susan’s angry voice carried the farthest down the path, far past the guards he knew would be nestled in the woods, followed by Uncle who sounded more sober than he’d heard in a long time… 

“Arthur!” His name startled him, nearly unbalancing him on the saddle and sending him crashing to the muddy ground. The voice that cried out was young and spry. There was a waver there. Sobs followed. John’s sobs. 

The boy crashed through the trees and the brush with all the subtlety of a great bull. The boy whined reaching out for him, arms raised and hands grabbing like that an infant reaching for his father. It was in that instant Arthur was reminded of how young John was. He was just a boy. Barely a teenager, his long stringy black hair and stance would betray that but in all he was just a broken hearted boy. John’s expression changed drastically and all at once when he stumbled to stand right in front of Arthur in full view of him. From thankfulness and yearning it morphed into something too frightened and terrified all at once. “A-Arthur…” He whispered, shaking his head and taking a step back looking as if Arthur had pointed his gun at him.

“John.” Arthur wanted to call out louder and reassure John. He wanted to tell him he was ok… but in truth he had no idea what he looked like nor did he have the strength to waste to try and check. 

“DUTCH!” John screamed at the top of his lungs, toppling over himself as he sprinted off back towards camp released from his frozen state. Arthur could hear the shuffling in camp from where he and his mare rested. Loud gasps, guns clicing and ratcheting, being loaded with speed and accuracy. It sounded like home. 

“Dutch! Arthur’s back! He’s home! And he’s hurt real bad!” John cried. His voice cracking as a great whine broke through his voice. Things moved fast from there. A wave of people poured onto the brush all in an array of worry and fear. Worried faces and glances were shared as Dutch and Hosea pushed through them and gentled Arthur from the mare he rode. 

“Shh… we got you now, son.” Hosea hummed through rattling coughs, his blue eyes roaming Arthur’s injured body. He had a good poker face. But Arthur could always pick out his tell. A quirk of the brow and pursed lips. Now that was the only expression Hosea allowed himself to wear. 

“Arthur.” Dutch breathed hoisting the man up to help him move. “Who-” He always looked for somebody to blame. “What happened?” 

“Bear.” Arthur groaned. A symphony of groans and gasps emanated through the camp. The Callander twins moved quickly, pushing saplings and branches out of the way to clear a path back into camp. 

“Let the man through!” Mac growled out at the few others standing in the way. 

“The man nearly got ate alive! Get out of his way so he can rest!” Davey chimed, nodding his head, ignoring the glare his twin sent him. 

Arthur’s legs didn’t get the chance to touch the ground. Not that he wanted them to, but being suspended with one arm draped over Dutch’s shoulder and the other over Uncle’s really pulled at his middle. He couldn’t help the agonized yelp he made as they moved him, fearful he’d rip clean in half if they weren’t careful. 

“Careful now!” He heard Susan cry somewhere in the back of his mind. 

“She’s right. Take it easy!” Hosea ordered, his voice holding more bite than Arthur was used to hearing. “Davey. Get the morphine. The boy’s been through enough.” 

His tent rested as it always had, leaned up haphazardly against a cart. Less a tent more a lean to that covered the cot he called a bed resting on three crates pulled together and a bed of hay. His photographs remained pinned to the cart from where he left them near Valentine. Several gifts laid out on the create he used as a bed stand. Most likely offerings to some unknown deity to urge him to come home. 

He grunted out a pained sigh as the men sat him down. Never before had he been more comfortable on the makeshift bed than he was then. He wanted nothing more than to lay back, close his eyes and sleep until god knew when. But his family, his beloved family, had other plans. 

Hosea’s hands were knobby and cold against his face. He wondered for a mere second if his fever had returned in the time it took to ride to Strawberry. But that fear was quickly quelled as Hosea pressed a warm forearm to his forehead, reminding him that the poor man suffered greatly from cold hands and feet. 

“Let’s take a look at you, son. Then you can tell us all the story. How about it?” Maybe it was because Hosea had been so frightened. Or maybe he still was. Either way Arthur could tell he was fighting for every stray excuse to keep him awake and talking. Even if it was for just a little while. 

Susan pushed her way past the growing crowd that stretched and creeped ever closer. “Can’t you all find something better to do with your time?!” She hissed, swatting at the others that drew close. “There are chores to be done before the light goes! Pearson I know you have dinner to finish. Now get, every last one of ya!” 

Slowly the group withdrew. Leaving just Hosea and Susan to stand by his side. Dutch and John stood off to the side of the tent looking in. A grim expression pulled at Dutch’s face as he peered into the tent. One arm was wrapped tightly around the boy that buried himself into his back, peeking ever so slightly from behind the man to see his brother. 

“These stitches are nicely done.” Hosea commented, looking at each wound Arthur presented him with. 

“Man found me.” Arthur responded, voice thick with the want to sleep. “He patched me up.”

“He was a good man.” Dutch hummed, his fingers combing through John’s unkempt hair in an attempt to soothe the boy. 

“Very…” Hosea agreed, glaring at the angry wound across Arthur’s soft tummy. “This one’s infected.” He pointed out. 

“Earl. the man that patched me up, he took me to the doctor for that… gave me a bunch of shit. It's in my bag.” Arthur answered, pointing off to where Susan had laid his belongings. Swiftly she dug through his bag, pulling bottles out and handing them to Hosea who only nodded at her in response. Popping the cork to one Hosea brought it to his nose, recoiling when the thick scent hit his nose. 

“Damned…” He coughed, handing it off to Dutch for him to take and smell himself as if the two were searching for poison in a drink. Perhaps they were. 

“It’s strong whatever it is.” Dutch offered, lowering it enough that John could smell too if he’d like. But the boy just buried his head back into his side and so he capped the bottle once more with a small squeak. 

“Smells like bitters and anise.” Hosea sighed, pulling himself to stand with a pained groan. “It’s not bad for pain, probably tastes like shit though.” Arthur nodded a small ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. 

“It does.” He agreed, reaching for the bottle only to have his hand swatted away gently by Mrs. Grimshaw. 

“Oh no you don’t.” She sighed, turning and taking the little bible from Davey. When he had returned Arthur didn’t pretend to know. All he knew was that he had. 

“You’re getting the good stuff. At least tonight. By morning Hosea should have made you something trustworthy I assure you that.” She hummed, sitting at the side of Arthur’s bed and drawing the clear liquid into the syringe. 

“Thought you wanted me to tell you all about it?” Arthur joked, heaving out a pained laugh that no one else seemed to share in. Instead all he got in return were worried glances and heaved sighs. 

“You can tell us when you're a bit better, son.” Dutch offered with a gentle smile. 

“You ready?” Susan offered, helping him to rest flat on his back. He wasn’t going to argue. But even if he had he hadn’t had a chance to try as Mrs. Grimshaw injected him with burning hot fluid that moved and filled his veins like lava flowing across mountains. It burnt and touched his every nerve end. The pain he believed he had was gone, vanished before his very eyes. With a gasp that replaced the smoke he was sure he was breathing, Arthur drifted off into a blissful sleep. 

What time it was when he woke he had no idea. If he had at all. It was only for a bit and he would have mistaken it for a dream had the intense dry mouth he felt and twinges of pain weren’t as real as hell to him. Beside him lay a dog. Or what he mistook as one at first with the smell of him. Unkempt black hair splayed on the pillow beside his head. Nestled in the crook of his arm, John’s finger’s interlaced with his own. He wondered if anyone else was aware he was there. It didn’t seem so with how quiet it was. He was sure it was early morning with the way the light just played in the grey clouds floating by. 

“John…” Arthur hummed, ignoring the pain that radiated through his body only exacerbated by the pressure of the boy laying on him. Blinking slowly, his eyes feeling gross and sticky. “John.” 

The boy to his side hummed in his sleep, scooting impossibly close, his ear pressed to his chest listening for something Arthur couldn’t place. “John.” Arthur bit out with more fervor. Sitting bolt upright John gasped, looking down at Arthur with the same terror he held earlier when he arrived. The fear of a boy about to watch his brother topple over dead. 

“Arthur?!” John gasped through a whisper. Dark eyes drifted from Arthur’s scowling face to his chest. “Are you ok?” 

Ok was a bit of a stretch. But he wasn’t about to tell poor John that. 

“Yeah… just peachy.” Being nice didn’t mean he wasn’t about to be sarcastic with him. There was silence for a moment that felt heavy and full of some unspoken emotion. John merely stared down at Arthur, his eyes unmoving from his chest. As if he was waiting for it to just stop and freeze. His breath ceased and his life to leave him without any hope of saving him. 

“John.” Arthur sighed, gently scrubbing at his eyes. The boy beside him jumped glancing to his face as if he wasn’t expecting an answer from him in the slightest. 

“I’m alright.” Arthur hummed, bringing a gentle hand to John’s back. “Just could really use some water.” 

John heaved a sob, throwing himself, rather painfully Arthur had to admit, onto his bruised chest and broken ribs, clinging to the man tight and hard. Arthur gasped, wincing at first but slowly easing as he gently patted the boy’s head and back. 

“I-I’m sorry.” John cried, heaving a breath as he sobbed. “I’m sorry.” 

Sorry ? 

“Whatchu sorry for, boy? You didn’t do nothing wrong. Not unless ya hid bear bait in my pockets.” Arthur tried to joke with no avail or response. Still John shook. Heaving sobs that wet through Arthur’s thin long johns. 

“John…” Arthur heaved a sigh, using what strength he had to push John back to sit up properly. ‘Boy. Look at me now.” He said sternly. The raven haired kid hiccuped swiping and pulling at his face wet with tears and long strings of snot. His lip protruded out in that pout Arthur was all too familiar with on him now but his dark eyes glared angrily at his own hands, staring at the wetness that was there. As if he was pissed that tears dared to fall at all. Slowly with as much effort as it would be to carry a horse, Arthur hauled himself to sit up straight. Swatting off John’s hands as he desperately tried to help the man up. 

“Listen to me now John.” Arthur groaned, heaving a breath. 

“It’s my fault. I shoulda come with.” John whined, not listening to Arthur at all. The man sighed, rolling his eyes. He had half a mind to thump John on the back of the head. But that wouldn’t help anything. 

“No. Ya shouldn’t have-” 

“Yes I should have! I coulda stopped it!” John cried, puffing out his chest effectively cutting Arthur off. Rolling his eyes Arthur groaned and scrubbed his face. 

“No.” Arthur growled, shooting a glare at John. “ No if ya woulda went you woulda been killed-” 

“Nuh uh!” John interrupted once again, shaking his head indignantly. “You got hurt alone. If I woulda went I coulda drove it off or killed the bastard. I coulda helped!” 

“You woulda died Marston!” Arthur growled, taking a hold of John’s shoulder in a tight grip. Giving him a little shake to make him see and hear him. “There was nothin’ you coulda done. This is not your fault.” 

There was a silence that crossed between the two brothers. For a moment Arthur doubted himself. Maybe he had been too harsh. Too crass in his tone towards the boy. But as John heaved a gasp, taking in a breath and allowing his lungs to fill. His shoulders, shaking yet easing to his sides in what seemed like relief to Arthur, he just nodded. “Ok.” He whispered shakily. “Ok.” 

“There ya go.” Arthur praised, swiping hot tears from John’s eyes. “Buck up now. You’re almost an adult. Men don’t cry, you know.” Arthur lied, patting John on the chest lightly. “Besides. You’re gonna have ta step up in a big way for a bit.”

“Step up?” John questioned, cocking his brow at Arthur. Still the boy puffed up and sat straighter. Christ the kid was getting tall. Scraggly and thin as all hell but he was sprouting up like a weed. 

“Yeah, John.” Arthur lilted, trying to pull hope and light to the situation. “You’re gonna have to step and be the man of the camp now that I’m down and out.” Arthur hummed, grunting as he twisted on the cot to sit beside John. Draping an arm around thin shoulders Arthru smiled, ruffling John’s long black oily hair much to the boy’s dismay, despite the smile on his face. “You’re gonna have to do some of the chores I've been doing ‘round camp.” 

Arthur chuckled as John groaned, tossing his head back. “Don’t complain, boy.” Arthur hummed. “It’ll make you strong one day to do them. Least that’s the shit Hosea spun ta get me ta do them.” John eyed Arthur for a moment his dark eyes drifting to strong arms. With a nod he sighed, pushing back long stringy strands of his hair that stuck to his brow. 

“Right… fine. I’ll do your chores fer ya.” John relented. 

“Good…” Arthur hummed with a nod. The sun peaked higher in the tree line past the camp brightening the sky in soft gentle rays that did very little to heat up the world that it touched. “Ya might need ta pick up a bit of hunting too.” Arthur warned, happy that John didn’t protest it as much. “Hosea’s a good shot. But with his back and joints so bad he can’t go out as much as he used to.” 

Stark still and pale as a sheet John figeted beside him. Normally the boy would be hooping and hollering with the opportunity to hunt alone. Arthur knew that somewhere hidden behind whatever emotion was there that John was holding back a slew of teases and names. He had to be. But still they never came as before him sat a boy afraid. 

“Think there’s bear around here?” John whispered. 

Oh… 

“Yeah.” Arthur hummed, slowly reaching for the cup of water on the create beside his bed. Pulling radiating pain shot across his stomach and up into his ribcage. He tried to hide the wince and hiss that he emitted. He guessed it didn’t work as well as he hoped. Poor John looked to be about half sick. 

“I would bet there is.” He sighed, taking a deep sip from the metal cup. Damn he could really go for a good cup of coffee… there was no chance the others would let him properly sleep now. Birds began to chirp and wake around the forest. No doubt preening and drying out their wings from the cold dew that settled and laid frozen glistening on the trees and brush. 

“What… what if-” John began to whine. Arthur huffed rolling his eyes. His breath puffing out in a cloud of white he had come to expect now. Shuffling in the tents around him told him the others were slowly coming to the brightening sky. Just off to his right he could hear the soft murmurs of Hosea and Dutch as they tried to pull each other from bed before the others caught wind of where they’d slept. Not that the others didn’t pretend they didn’t already know that they never saw Hosea slip into Dutch’s tent in the darkest parts of the night. 

“What if nothin’.” Arthur cut John off with a stern glance. “Bear don’t goin’ round lookin’ ta eat people. If they did we’d all be dead now wouldn’t we? We live out in the middle of the God damned woods.” He harrumphed. “I’m pretty certain that their more scared of us than we are of them… I probably just startled a momma or something… besides, I don’t thoink anything livin’ would be able to stomach you. It would probably just spit yer ass back out.” 

Arthur chuckled, ducking away from John’s lighthearted smack. Though it was nice to see a smile pulling at the boy’s face. “Shut the hell up Arthur.” John groaned, pulling himself to his feet as the others came stumbling out of their tents. “You already got chewed up and spit out.” 

Arthur laughed, holding a hand to his chest as he wheezed and groaned. Pain searing from his core shot in every direction in his body as he chuckled and laughed. “Oh… shit… you got me there…” 

John hummed, a smile pulling at his lips as he gazed out at camp. Mrs. Grimshaw already scuttled over to put the coffee on the fire as the others mozied out into the woods to do the morning routines. “Well… I better get started on them chores.” John hummed, flipping Arthur off by his side so their mother-like caretaker wouldn’t see but sent Arthur into another painful fit of laughter. “I’ll catch ya around Arthur.” 

The light of the day brightened the sky into a surprising blue as the day progressed. Surprisingly, Arthur had found the energy and will to stand walking around camp with the use of his handy crutch, much to his parent’s dismay might he add. Hosea chased him around camp, shooing him off several times from any and all tasks. Dutch had ordered, near yelling at him, to take it easy or else he’d end up an invalid. Mrs. Grimshaw wasn’t near as kind, pushing and shoving Arthur back down all with the threats to knock him clean unconscious. 

Just as Arthur presumed and warned John, Pearson came to the boy asking if he would hunt that afternoon. What he wasn’t expecting was how quickly Hosea and Dutch sprang to their feet urging the navy man to just use what they had til they could go into town. Guess they were just as nervous as John was when it came to more bear in the country… 

Boredom was both ever present as he laid on his cot and pushed far away. It was rare that he found himself alone with his thoughts while he was awake. Reading the books he had read all of and finished several times by then. The leather journal he kept on himself constantly becoming his only friend and companion as he wrote and drew like there was no tomorrow. 

Most time however. Someone was sitting closeby to him or on the create next to his bed. 

“Arthur!” Uncle cried, plopping himself down at the foot of his makeshift bed. The old graying man smiled. Clearly drunk but nowhere near as drunk as he’s been privy to witness before. “Been worried ‘bout you son!” Uncle hummed. Laying a hand gently on his leg Arthur was surprised he didn’t immediately slap down on his injured leg. 

“Well… I’m fine old man.” Arthur assured with a roll of his eyes. 

“Fine is a stretch of the word I think.” Uncle laughed shaking his head. “You know… I once knew  a man that wrestled bear.”  Uncle hummed his tone drawing as he readied to spin a tale. 

“This the same man that was able ta talk ta the animals to track down the one he was huntin’?” Arthur asked unenthusiastically, his eyes narrowing as he laid his journal down on his chest. The letter he was drafting to Eliza forced to wait. 

“Hey!” Uncle chided with an air of offence. “Juno was a good man! He’s the man that saved me from the Romanian trapeze artist, ya know.” 

Uh huh … 

Uncle droned on longer than usual. Probably more relieved than he was letting on that Arthur had come home. That still didn’t make Arthur believe a damned word he said.

“So then the bear- like I said a mighty great big thing- came bumbling in a great big Tutu of all things!” Uncle laughed, slapping his thigh. Arthur had to bite his lip to fight the urge to groan as he rolled his eyes. 

“I’d say that’s about enough of your tall tales Uncle.” Susan cut in, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared a scathing look at Uncle. “You’re keeping this poor boy awake when he should be resting!” She bit out. 

“Awe… come on now, Susan.” Uncle hummed, grinning that silly stupid smile he always held for Mrs. Grimshaw. “Arthur likes my stories. I think you would too if you’d just listen.” Susan just sighed, glancing from Arthur to Uncle. 

“Well it’s your turn to take a watch now. So you better scurry on.” She urged, swatting at him as if he were a fly. “Get! Ya heard me, get now!” 

Uncle laughed heartily, nodding and adjusting the hat on his bald head. “Alright sweetheart alright…” He hummed, much to Mrs. Grimshaw’s dismay as she huffed and glared harder at the man. The old man only laughed harder, patting Arthur’s legs once more sending a shot of pain up into the broken bone within. “I’ll be round again tonight ta finish tellin’ you the story then boy.” 

Great…

Susan huffed, taking up the seat Uncle had just abandoned as he skirted past. “Horrible drunk bastard.” She growled, turning to Arthur. “Alright. Sit up. Let me look at those wounds.” 

Mrs. Grimshaw was always a stickler for particulars and that did not change in the slightest as she poked and prodded at his wounds. Washing him down with a sponge she left to fetch along with a bowl of water, much to his complete and utter embarrassment. But still she swatted his hands away when he tried to wash himself. “Your infection will spread if you aren’t properly clean Arthur. Then you really will up and die on us.” She argued spreading copious amounts of salve and creams onto his body and wounds that Hosea had whipped up the evening before for him. 

Dressed in clean linens he was finally allowed to lay back down, Susan rushing off to do his laundry muttering about living in a pig sty. Not that Arthur took any of that to heart. He really did appreciate her help even if she did overstep her boundaries once in a while. At least he could finish working on his letter in peace…

“Arthur!” 

Never mind … 

Dutch called out to him, his usual swagger exaggerated as he ducked under the canvas of his tent. “How are you feeling?” He asked with all the usual bravado as when he was readying to ask something of Arthur. 

But still that urge that existed within him to excell and be a betterment to the camp beat out his need to allow himself to heal. “Better.” 

“That’s good.” Dutch hummed, plopping himself down on the create across from him. That beaming smile of his faltering as they fell to the bandages that peaked from under the sleeves of Arthur’s long johns.

“I- I thought…” Dutch trailed off. His voice going distant and a far off look to his dark almost black eyes. In front of him, ringed fingers twitched and fidgeted, picking and plucking the dirt from underneath his nails. 

“Thought what?” Arthur asked, pulling himself up to sit properly on the cot. Dutch jerked forward. A strong hand on his shoulder, his expression panicked as he helped to pull Arthur up. 

“Take it easy boy… you’ll rip those stitches.” He huffed, plopping back down on the create the worried expression staying put despite his shoulders falling in a heaving sigh. 

A heavy silence lay between them. The birds that woke with him so early in the morning now chirped and sang fervently. Chitteres of squirrel and chipmunks danced with the sound as it moved through the chatter of the camp around him. 

“I thought…” Dutch tried again, his voice soft and low. Arthur’s chest tightened. In the back of his mind the fear of being tossed out for not being useful rose its ugly head. Though he shoved that down with all he had, reaching a hand out to lay atop Dutch’s tanned one. Dark eyes rose to meet his own. A shock, realization washed over Dutch, his eyes flicking over his face. 

“I thought that we lost you.” He whispered, voice trembling and vulnerable. Arthur felt his hand twist under his own squeezing it tight as he laid the other atop his. “Rode all across lookin for you… I saw blood in the snow in the mountains. But thought…” Dutch shook his head, face pained with a hitched breath. “I hoped it was just my imagination. I’m sorry- I’m so sorry I failed you, son.” 

Dutch failed him ?!

Arthur almost laughed out loud… or rather allowed himself to sob. No Dutch had not failed him. He had never yet failed him, not ever. Not since he and Hosea picked him up from the streets 7 years ago. 

“Dutch…” He whispered, trying to hide the waver in his own voice that threaten to overflow through his eyes. “D-don’t apologize. You couldn’t have known.” 

Dutch sobbed. A deep throated ugly sob which Arthur never wanted to hear again. He promised himself he’d never do anything again in his life that would cause himself to hear it or god forbid cause his father to cry. A father was a man’s strength… he crumbled and the whole family crumbled with him. 

Whether Hosea had heard his partner’s sorrow or if he simply had been lurking nearby Arthur did not know. But as Dutch slumped forward Hosea was by his side in an instant. That inherently gentle and compassionate look Hosea reserved for Dutch rested on his face as he sat next to him on the crate. Running a hand along his back in an intimate and soothing way. Still though Hosea’s expression was grim and sorrowful. 

“It’s been a hard few days…” Hosea chimed, shooting Arthur a wry forced smile. “I has for you more than anyone I believe.” 

Arthur couldn’t deny it. It had been hell. An experience he was glad, oh so glad he’d lived through but never in his life wanted to go through again. “Yeah… I put you all through so much. I’m sorry.” 

Hosea hummed, nodding in time with the strokes on his partner’s back. “Now… I wouldn’t apologize to us.” He hummed. “I would work on a good one for Eliza however. I think you had her worried sick.”

Oh he was more than aware of that… if Eliza knew where they were he was more than positive that she would have packed Issac up and came to search alongside Dutch until she could beat some sense into Arthur. 

“Yeah…” He huffed scrubbing his face. “I was workin on a letter to let her know I’m ok and I’ll visit just as soon as I can.” 

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.” Hosea hummed, moving his arm to let Dutch sit back up. The burlier man hummed eyes still distant and blood shot as he bumped shoulders with Hosea to express his gratitude. 

“We better let you write that letter then.” Dutch hummed sniffing hard, obviously pretending he hadn’t just cracked at all. 

“Yes I agree.” Hosea hummed smiling at the both of them. “You let me know when you’re all finished with it and I’ll send it out first thing tomorrow.” 

Arthur smiled reaching for the journal beside him. “Thank you Hosea.” 

It wasn’t until the dim light of dusk took hold that Arthur felt truly satisfied with the letter he wrote. 

Dear Eliza,

I am sorry for frightening you with my absence. There had been an incident with an angry bear and I was on the losing end. Currently I am resting at home with Dutch and Hosea awaiting a swift recovery. 

I miss you and Isaac something fierce. This brush with death has illuminated and highlighted many wants and wishes for me. The need to see my son grow into a proper well respected man being one of them. I can not accomplish that without you by my side, dear Eliza. 

I will be down to visit once I am physically able. 

I love you and Isaac both, 

Arthur Morgan

Smiling at the page in front of him Arthur sighed. Hopefully Eliza would accept his confession. He knew it wasn’t the most opportune time for it, but when was really? 

“Arthur!” 

Looking up he hummed. The smell of booze and liquor permeated the air. Celebrations for a good meal and his return had started now that the others were certain he would live. 

“Hey Arthur tell us all about that bear that got the best of ya!” One of the Callander brothers cried from the log by the fire. Nodding Arthur pulled himself to stand, limping into the fire light. 

“Alright…”