Two days after his fever broke, Arthur finally managed to slowly crack his tired, heavy lids open. How long had he been asleep? Seemed like ages. Sunlight filtered through the canvas. The canvas at the front had been clinched shut, but with the breeze, it flapped open ever so slightly in places, letting more light in. It was too bright at first, as if the sun were shining directly in his eyes, forcing him to squeeze them shut and whimper very softly. After letting his sore eyes adjust, he started to try and figure out where exactly he was.
Slowly, he turned his head, seeing the table beside him, his things having been set to the very back to make space for rags, medicinal herbs and tonics. Anything that may be needed to help with Arthur's recovery. Seeing his mother's portrait, the flower his mother always liked... He was home. He was back at camp. Though, how he got here was a complete mystery to him. Arthur couldn't help but let out a shaking sigh of relief. He was safe. Safe from the torture he had suffered in the hands of the O'Driscolls.
Warm, salty tears lined his waterline, his lashes fluttering rapidly. Desperate to remove the unwanted signs of emotion. Of what he thought was weakness. Arthur hated crying. He wasn't a damn baby. But with everything that happened, he was surprised he he didn't scream out in anguish. Even as he laid there, recounting everything that happened to him, he felt his breath hitch, catching in his throat before releasing in a distressed whine. He felt so much shame. Oh the shame he brought down on the camp, on Hosea. The shame he brought down on Dutch. It was enough to swallow Arthur whole.
His body began to shiver, trembling with fear and pain. Shaking enough that the cot rattled while he was trying to keep himself quiet. He didn't want anyone hearing him or to come bothering him. He just wanted to be alone in his anguish. However he didn't realise he wasn't quite alone. He hadn't spotted Hosea who was sitting in the corner of the enclosed space. Head dipped in sleep, arms folded over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. His soft whimpers were enough to rouse him. Dutch no where in sight because Hosea had forced Dutch out to get something to eat and clean himself up a bit.
Hosea opened his eyes and gazed over to Arthur, a breathy sigh escaping his lips as he stood, stretching his sore muscles before poking his head out of the canvas, "DUTCH! GET IN HERE NOW!" he yelled out. When he came back, he perched himself back on the chair, not touching Arthur in the fear of spooking him, "It's okay Arthur, you're safe now. Just been sleepin' for a while."
Arthur turned his watery gaze over to Hosea, giving nothing but a stiff, weak nod as he tried to take steady breaths. Trying not to let the memories of what happened to him invade his mind and panic him further. He barely noticed any pain other than the dull ebbing ache in his shoulder and ribcage. His breath rattling past his lips, his lungs unable to really inflate enough that he could breathe without sounding like he was in tremendous pain.
He squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching up his face as he dragged his hands over his eyes. His left arm feeling like it was made out of lead and being slower to respond due to the damage to his shoulder. His breath hissing through his teeth at the pain caused by the tender healing skin around his eyes. The salt from both his tears and sweat irritating them further.
He could hear heavy footsteps approaching, the canvas being pulled back and a deep yet relieved sounding sigh, "Arthur..."
Slowly he pulled his hands away from his face. Pain stricken greenish blue eyes opening and slowly dragging up to look at Dutch. He looked terrible. Dark shadows under his eyes, his stubble having grown out a little more, but at least his clothes were a little less rumpled than they had been a few days prior. Seeing the relief in his eyes nearly made Arthur's heart scream, nearly made his tears flow freely.
While Arthur had been in the company of the O'Driscolls, all he could think about was Dutch. All the things that had been left unspoken. Everything, even the deepest feelings that Arthur kept locked away. He had been so scared that he would never get to tell Dutch... But now he was back, now he was safe maybe he could find the courage to actually stop being a damn coward, scared of rejection and tell him. Well maybe not yet, but maybe soon.
He wiped his hand on the furs before gently taking Dutch's outstretched hand as the darker haired male gently came to sit beside him on the edge of the cot. Arthur gave his hand a weak squeeze, "M' okay Dutch. Just a few scrapes n' bruises is all," he whispered.
A shadow of a smile formed at the corners of Dutch's lips, another deep sigh escaped his lips as he gently brushed his fingers over his forehead, catching any stray soft sandy brown locks and moved them behind his ear, out of his eyes, "Course you are. That's my boy," he said, his voice cracking slightly. The worry and pain he held, slowly lifting.
Arthur took a moment to stare at Dutch, he hadn't slept in a while judging by the dark rings under his eyes. Most likely hadn't kept up his normally very high standard of hygiene with the heavier smell of sweat, even despite the copious amount of cologne trying to mask the scent. Arthur noticed that he seemed a little thinner too. Nothing too drastic but his clothes didn't fit as snuggly as they had prior to his being taken. This had taken a heavy toll on Dutch, that much he could see. Proving to him that Dutch definitely cared about him, but he felt undeserving of such devotion that he had been shown.
Hosea walked over and patted Arthur on his good shoulder. His other hand resting on Dutch's to comfort him, even if it was only for a second, "Dutch has barely left your side. You gave us quite the scare," he said gently.
Dutch couldn't help but nod, watching Arthur as he gazed between them both, "Reverend Swanson thought he'd end up buryin' you with how bad you got," he whispered, reliving the pain of the last week. Arthur could see the tortured look in his eyes, the man having been beating himself up over this all.
"Yeah well I ain't dyin' yet. Got too much to do. Too many people to watch out for. Besides, who'll watch your back better than me Dutch," Arthur said, giving a slight chuckle as he wheezed a little. His own voice wavering slightly. He didn't want Dutch to be sad over him no more. He was okay, or would be okay at least. He might not tell him the full story yet, not until he had time to process it all, but he would eventually. He just wanted Dutch to get over it and move on. What's done is done. No point crying about it because nothing will change it.
Dutch chuckled deeply, gently patting Arthur's hand softly with his own, his ring biting his skin ever so slightly as he hummed, "You're very right on that Arthur, now..." he paused as he let his hand drop, standing as he headed to the canvas. Opening it up a little, "Mister Pearson, Miss Grimshaw, get Arthur something decent to eat! He is finally awake," he called out in what seemed like his normal proud tone.
Arthur couldn't help but shake his head as he slowly braced himself against the table and the side of the wagon to sit up. Unsure if he could even think about even eating something. His stomach rolling unpleasantly at the thought of food. However he managed, with a very tight sounding groan, sit himself up. Hosea quickly resting his hands, one against the back of Arthur's neck, the other around his shoulder blades. Helping to ease the boy up so he didn't tear or damage anything further. The furs on his torso slipping down and resting in his lap. He could see Dutch over by his clothing chest. The man bent down, kneeling on the grass, pulling out a folded pair of loose trousers, briefs and a white shirt. Standing himself up with a wince before placing them on the edge of Arthur's cot.
Arthur normally would have minded dressing in front of Hosea and Dutch. He had been naked around them plenty of times before when they had been forced to live in tight quarters, not to mention the amount of times when he had been younger when he got very dirty and the pair practically had to fight with him to get him clean. Arthur having once punched Dutch clean across the face in one of those fits. Obviously he cared more about his hygiene now, but that was back when he was a terrified orphan street urchin who had been taken in by two strange individuals. He wasn't shy about his body, being very muscular and if anything at least he didn't look like Bill or Micah. Yet... the thought of dressing in front of them now, with what happened to him, made his throat catch. A lump forming that he couldn't swallow past.
"Could I have some privacy?" he whispered, almost inaudibly. Slight twinges of fear striking in his heart that they would be offended or question his sudden shyness. However the pair surprised him and nodded as they both stood up, leaving the lean-to in order to give Arthur his privacy. Both having a pretty damn good idea why Arthur was so reluctant. In ways it pained them to see him in such a way.
Arthur didn't like showing weakness, hated it even. Thought it would give people the opportunity to hurt him more. It was rare that he showed any of his emotions or even shared his feelings with anyone but the pages of his journal. Not even to the men who raised him. Sad really that even after all this time he felt he couldn't quite trust them with such a fragile thing as his heart.
Arthur managed to use his good arm, dragging his clothes over and pulling his shirt carefully over his bad shoulder. Hissing at the fabric catching on the sensitive skin around the wound. Even as the fabric settled it sent shooting pains down his entire arm. Arthur groaned very softly, earning soft, concerned inquiries as to if he was okay. After convincing them yet again that he was fine, he moved to pull his other arm into the sleeve and pop the buttons. Hiding the dark, heavy bruising adorning his chest and stomach. With how dark purple and black they were, his shirt looked discoloured in places. Great.
He pushed the furs off off his lower half, turning and planting his feet against the cool ground. Taking a deep breath, he took his briefs and trousers, scrunching the leg holes up so he could easily slip his feet through and pulling them up around his knees with some effort. He didn't have much strength at all right now. His shoulder aching as he slipped his fingers past the hems, his hand threatening to give out at any given moment. Pushing his exhausted body to stand. Wobbling heavily and teetering back and forth as he quickly yanked the garments up the rest of the way. However he didn't have the strength in his legs, not able to catch himself as he fell forward. Catching his chest on the table leg and his shoulder and head against the rim.
His pained yelp alerted the men outside. Both thundering through, hands pressed against his back and chest, supporting him until he was safely able to stand and get him back to bed.
"Careful Arthur, you alright?" Dutch asked, looking to him with concerned brown eyes. His brows pulled together, carving a tight worried frown on his face.
Arthur held back a pained whimper as his breath rattled past his lips, "Lost my balance is all. You worry too much Dutch. M' fine," he whispered, even though he knew Dutch wasn't blind to see the pain deep within his own eyes, but most likely knew better than to push him lest Arthur snap. He didn't need people hovering, even if they were only trying to help. He weren't no burden. And he wouldn't allow himself to become one neither.
Arthur could hear hushed voices outside as the canvas was pulled aside. Abigail standing there with Miss Grimshaw behind her, a scared looking Jack in front. She gave Arthur an almost sympathetic look before looking down at Jack. Dutch and Hosea moving back so Arthur could see them properly.
"The boy wanted to make sure you was alright, Arthur," Abigail said softly, her hands resting on his small shoulders, keeping him in place.
Arthur did his very best to give his best smile to the boy, removing as much pain from his expression as he could, "C'mere Jack," he said, holding out his good arm. A welcoming gesture for the boy to embrace him. Arthur loved the boy like a son, he meant so much to him and he know Jack held the same feelings, so he would never turn him away. Never. Even when he was as old as he was now, he wouldn't turn him away.
"Be gentle now Jackie, Uncle Arthur is probably still in some discomfort. Don't need you makin' it any worse," she warned as she released the boy. Jack immediately running into Arthur's open arm, nestling his head into the crook of his neck and breathing softly. Settling into the warmth of Arthur's arm, as his other banded around Jack's back. Arthur smiled and gently thread his fingers through the boy's soft windswept hair, "M' alright Jack. Just sore is all. I'll be up in no time," he whispered, looking down kindly to the boy who looked up at him with teary eyes.
He gave a very slight nod and curled against him tighter, "Okay Uncle Arthur," he stuttered. Whether from the fear of not knowing if he really was going to be okay or if he was just relieved that his favourite uncle was finally on the mend and could play with him soon.
Arthur was comforted by the boy, Miss Grimshaw moving past Abigail, Dutch and Hosea, a warning look in her eye as she set down a bowl of stew, "I expect it to all be gone when I get back, Mister Morgan. Or there will be Hell to pay," she said, a hint of warmth in her tone. He nodded before looking back at Jack. It was nice to be missed for once. He bent down, gently wheeze escaping his lips as he gently pressed a kiss onto Jack's hair, "Go on now, go play," He whispered with a gentle smile, "I ain't goin' anywhere. And I'm sure if you ask your Momma, you can read to me before bed if you like," he offered gently.
That's how those within the lean-to knew Arthur would be right as rain in no time. Putting others needs and comforts before his own.
It was another several days before the strength finally began to return to Arthur's legs. Being hung upside down for goodness knows how long, riding a horse and then spending near two weeks confined to his bed, surely took its toll on him. Once it had, he managed to emerge from the stuffy lean-to and finally take some fresh gulps of that humid soupy air. It was far fresher and better out in the open in that space he had been occupying. He would be thankful after today when the other canvas' were packed away and he could sleep more in the open and actually have the breeze hit his face when he slept once more.
He was still incredibly weak. Barely able to grasp much, if anything heavier than a piece of paper, for more than a few seconds in his left hand before he would drop it and get all frustrated at his own incompetence.
However with each passing day, he felt stronger, able to do more, walk a little further with out the need for rest, stay awake longer. All very good signs that Arthur would finally be okay.
The camp was very attentive to him and made sure he didn't over exert himself. Oh and if he did, he had severe talks with Hosea, Miss Grimshaw or even Dutch, reminding him that he had almost died and shouldn't be so careless. Didn't stop Hosea with his hovering, keeping his watchful eyes on Arthur, Pearson apologetically setting down a bowl of stew as soon as it was ready, one of the boys sitting down with him to keep him company, telling him news from around the camp or any existing jobs they had going. Mainly Lenny, Javier and John. Bill would give the occasional tip of his hat and a kind greeting.
It was nice to feel like people actually cared about him and that his wellbeing mattered. Even when he often thought it wasn't. Of course it weren't all sunshine and rainbows. Every night, Arthur was tormented, writhing in silent agony. Unable to escape the horrors of everything that had transpired when he was in the peaceful hold of sleep. Every sickening punch, every crack of bone, those wouldn't go away any time soon. Ghost of pains that he thought were long gone would re-emerge, making his nights a misery. The familiar dull ache in his lower back and his hips. As if the horror was being inflicted over and over again when he was trying to get some rest. He could remember that bastard's face clear as day and it sickened him.
Whenever questioned on what happened, he always gave the same abridged version. Got taken, beat up and escaped. Simple as. No need to go into more detail than that. Most would accept this and move on while others wanted more details. Not that he would give anymore. Not until he was ready. But then maybe only his journal would know the truth. He weren't even sure he could ever tell Dutch or Hosea what happened to him. He just didn't want to be coddled or pitied on. He hated being coddled and even the kind treatment of the camp would eventually get old and he would eventually get tired of it. Return to his quick meaningless barbs and witty retorts.
Only one who hadn't checked on him of course, was Micah. But at least he knew where he stood with him, and he didn't give two shits about it either. Didn't even care that Arthur was back. Not at all. According to Hosea, he was half drunk when him, Bill, Javier and Charles came back into camp from Valentine, which only pissed Dutch off even more than he had already been. Enough that Dutch had a right old shouting match at the bastard, giving him the what for and if he didn't keep his damn nose clean and follow orders, he would be out of here on his arse.
He could feel the daggers glared into his back as he sat with Jack and Abigail one afternoon. Absentmindedly drawing in his journal. Just a small clump of daisies that swayed gently in the grass. Jack playing in the dirt beside him with his wooden toy horse. Abigail sitting in the shade, sewing quietly. He took to sitting with them the most. They didn't annoy or pester him as much as what Sean or Uncle did. So guess it was his peaceful escape. Not to mention, it gave him some time with the boy, and gave Abigail some time to herself.
Spurs clicked behind him, heavy footsteps approaching before the steel toe of a boot prodded Arthur's lower back. It made Arthur near jump violently out of his skin and shrink back away from whoever touched him. He never was a touchy feely person, and was less so with the events of the past few weeks. He snarled and glared up over his shoulder. His eyes meeting the cold ice blue eyes of Micah who looked down on him like he would a stray mangy dog.
"So when you gonna stop playin' sick damsel in distress, and actually get back to work Morgan?" Micah sneered, looking to him with malice.
"When I am good and ready Micah. Didn't realise I needed your damn permission," Arthur threw back as he shifted away from Micah and stuffed the pencil into his journal and shut it.
A menacing chuckle escaped the man, snorting a little as he held his belt buckle and then gestured around, "Don't tell me you like sittin' on your arse like the women. Almost as lazy as Uncle and that's quite the fall from grace Morgan."
Arthur's nostrils flared in anger as he stood up, using the chair beside him to brace himself as he got to his feet and towered over Micah. Glaring down at him, not about to take his shit. He would put him on his arse if need be, "You best get away from me before I rip your damn tongue out and shove it so far up your arse that you taste the shit your spewin'" he hissed, squaring up to him.
Micah snorted as he moved closer, "Oh yeah cowpoke. Seems you've gone yellow. Gonna get soft in the gut an' weak in them muscles if you don't get to work soon," he continued, jabbing his finger into Arthur's stomach and bad shoulder. Arthur shoved him away and advanced on him. Only stopping when a hand rested on his good shoulder, "Micah! Leave him alone ya hear! We know damn well you'd be laid up for a whole damn month had it been you!" Abigail hissed as she glared at him.
"What's goin' on over there!" Familiar angry bellows called out, Dutch storming over, glare carved deep into his forehead. He looked more like himself than he had in days. The stubble now gone, clean shaven, his moustache trimmed and beneath his hat, his hair slicked back with pomade. His clothes back in their pristine condition, not rumpled and creased, and his cologne not as strong as he had resumed his good hygiene.
Arthur was about to speak up when Abigail again chimed in, "Micah is antagonisin' Arthur about not workin'" she stated, glaring at the greasy blonde who seemed highly amused.
Micah chuckled darkly, the noise sickening Arthur further, "You always let the women defend ya Arthur. No wonder Mary and that other woman, Eliza, left ya. Really not admirable of ya," He laughed.
The mention of Eliza was enough for Arthur to advance on him. Ready to curl his fist back and punch that stupid smirk clean off Micah's face. Teach him a damn lesson or two. No one would fault him for it. Yet he bloody well couldn't. His eye twitching angrily as he clenched his hands into tight, shaking fists. Only thing stopping him from putting Micah on his arse was Abigail's surprisingly strong grip and the scared little boy clinging to his hip.
Dutch glared at Micah, putting himself between the two, "Micah! A word," he hissed, voice dangerously dropping an octave as he pushed the man around and stormed to his tent. Micah groaned, looking over his shoulder, "Got Daddy Dutch fightin' your battles too Morgan, you really are pathetic."
"NOW MICAH! GET IN HERE NOW!"
Arthur was trembling as he stared after Micah, snatching his journal from the ground, "Only pathetic one I see round here is you, beatin' on the injured when they already feel low. Scum," he growled, low enough that Micah would be able to hear just as the tent flaps were forced shut as the blonde disappeared.
Gently he looked over his shoulder and patted Abigail's hand, "Thanks," he whispered as he looked down and ruffled Jack's hair. Avoiding her gaze. Not wanting her to see the raw emotion on his face.
Abigail smile a little, "O'course Arthur, you've been through enough without having that damn bastard beatin' you down further," she said as she squeezed his shoulder. Stepping back and getting back to her sewing.
Arthur nodded weakly and then looked to Jack, pressing a finger to his lips before handing him a chocolate bar from his satchel before he ruffled the excited boy's hair and walked away from them. Walking past Dutch's tent, which was filled with angry, thunderous growls. Reprimanding Micah for his atrocious behaviour and stating that he did the bare bloody minimum and had no right to question others.
Dutch had never done this before. He normally just stood there and yelled at them both. Calling them children for arguing or punching each other with snide hurtful comments. It was the first time Dutch had pulled them apart, got between them and given the aggressor a stern what for.
Still, to hear Dutch defending him for once, and the priceless look on Micah's face made him smile a little. Maybe Dutch was making a change. A change for the better. One where he would actually listen to him and Hosea and not that bastard from now on. One could only hope.
Arthur's thoughts were all over the place as he walked along the shore just a little way from the camp and found a peaceful looking spot. Somewhere he could relax as he sat down on a sun bleached log, resting a little as he stretched his legs and watched the water. He would eventually get back to it. Nothing strenuous to start. Otherwise he risked hurting himself more. He knew better than to force himself straight into work with the injuries and weakness he had. He'd end up actually getting buried if that were the case.
Maybe Hosea, Dutch and himself could spend more time together like the old days. If they could both pry themselves from the planning on how they was going to get both the Braithwaites and the Grays to cough up their wealth and gold. Maybe to start, he could take his horse for a little ride along the shoreline, he knew she must be feeling just as cooped up as he did.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't heard footsteps approaching, the log shit as more weight leant down on it. Arthur looked up, seeing Dutch resting a foot on the log and his arms draped across his knee, "You alright Arthur?"
It took him a moment for him to realise Dutch's eyes rested on him. Those warm brown eyes holding so much care and concern, even if it was hidden by other emotions, such as concern and annoyance. Lately, before all this, when ever those eyes fell on Arthur, they had been slowly filled with more and more distrust, disappointment and anger from Arthur's questioning his decisions all the time.
However since Dutch had brought Arthur home, he seemed kinder, warmer, almost back to his old self. There was something underlying in those eyes that Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on and in ways, he wished he could stare into those eyes until he was able to figure out every little thing about the holder.
Arthur managed a nod, looking back at the open water, "He's right though. I need to get back out there. Can't sit here lazin' around."
Dutch's brows furrowed deeply, his frown lines present, "You take your time, Arthur or you'll be right back in the position you were in last week," He warned heavily, his voice stern, "None of us can quite imagine the Hell you've been through. Don't rush yourself back into work. It will come with time," he said, his tone softening. Arthur looked up into his eyes once more and saw the deep sympathy in them. He really couldn't imagine what Colm had his boys do to him.
Arthur was slightly confused by Dutch's wording, confused by the tone of voice and the visible guilt and pain in his eyes. The way his words faltered a little. It held some deeper meaning that Arthur was likely too stupid to even think of, "I'll take it slow. Hunting with Charles, maybe fishin' with you and Hosea, rides with anyone who'll join. Just to get back into it. Nothing too bad," he said gently to ease Dutch's worries. He didn't like it when Dutch worried about him. Didn't feel it was deserved, didn't feel like he was worthy of being on Dutch's mind for too long.
Dutch kindly gazed down at him, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he nodded, "I certainly don't mind goin' fishin' with you, Arthur. Brings back memories of the good old days," he hummed gently, "Just take it easy, my boy. Will ease my mind. I cannot lose you."
Again Arthur sensed there was something deeper hidden within those words, enough that it made Arthur's heart squeeze, his breath catch in his throat a little. His cheeks dusting a soft pink as he looked away. His neck and the tops of his ears burning red, "Yeah well, like I said, I ain't dyin' yet so put your worries and sappy words away will ya."
Dutch chuckled a deep chuckle, smiling down on Arthur as he patted his back, "That's my boy," he said as he turned and left Arthur burning a deeper shade of embarrassment.