We're on the home stretch! Just have to rescue Dutch and do a little... pest control...

Chapter 55: Recovery

He hadn't seen Milton or Ross for two days.

They left him hanging from his wrists, his foot barely scraping the cold, hard dirt that made up the basement. No one visited, not even to give him the small, unsatisfying sips of water that kept him from dying. They had a routine, before. Wake him up. Hurt him. Then, Ross would come down and try something new. A new position, new way of keeping him tied up or making him bleed. Milton showed up last, asking the same questions. Where was Dutch? Where was the camp? How did the gang stay in contact?

Arthur didn't say a word.

At least, until Milton mentioned Isaac.

Milton had come down into the basement with a confidence he hadn't been able to muster before, casually mentioning how he heard about O'Driscoll torturing Isaac for the fun of it and how the Pinkertons alone could rescue him… for a price. Give up Dutch, and they'd rescue Isaac.

Arthur almost gave in then. Isaac wouldn't last long with Colm, not with a barely-treated bullet wound in his shoulder. But he knew how lawmen lied to get what they wanted. If Arthur gave up Dutch now, there was no guarantee that Milton would follow through and save Isaac. So, Arthur spat in Milton's face and said wouldn't talk unless Milton brought Isaac to him alive.

Milton didn't do it. Maybe Arthur was right about the lie or Milton simply thought he could get Arthur to talk without wasting the manpower or the bullets on an outlaw's kid. But Milton didn't know how determined and stubborn Arthur was. Days went by before they left him hanging alone in that basement, days where Arthur barely made a sound.

Pain shot up and down his arms. He couldn't sleep in this position. Not well, anyway. Just bouts of unconsciousness followed by burning in his shoulders.

The basement door opened, bringing the smell of rotting fish and factory smog and some decent smelling food from a shop nearby. They took him to Blackwater initially, but they drugged him when they moved him. Asked him questions while drugged, too, but whatever they gave him wasn't enough to forget who they were. Or maybe he'd been too tired to talk. Either way, they didn't try again.

Arthur didn't know where he was. He didn't recognize it. And if he didn't recognize it, then how was Dutch going to find him?

Did Dutch even know what happened?

"Good news, Morgan!" Milton said. "We found your son, just like you asked. Now, tell us everything about the gang."

Arthur looked up, hopeful but still apprehensive. "What?"

"As long as you hold up your end of the bargain, no harm will come to him. Where is Dutch?"

Arthur gazed up at the basement door. "Where is he?"

"Excuse me?"

"Isaac. I want to see him."

Milton glared at Arthur. "That wasn't part of the deal."

"How… am I supposed to know… you ain't lying," Arthur huffed, his head dropping again. He was too tired for Milton's games.

"Tell me where Dutch is."

"Let me… see my son. Or I won't tell you."

"Tell me, or I go upstairs and kill your son right now," Milton said.

Arthur let out a laugh. If Milton really wanted to scare Arthur, he'd drag Isaac downstairs and put a gun to his head. "You don't have him," he said. "I don't believe you."

Milton was silent for a moment. And then he said, "Very well." Milton whistled to his men upstairs, and Arthur felt fear stab through his chest. What if they really did have Isaac upstairs? But two Pinkerton lackeys appeared and cut Arthur down. They dragged Arthur into a corner where a tub of water sat waiting.

"I suppose you are smarter than I gave you credit for," Milton said. "But you can't hold out forever."

They shoved Arthur's head underwater. He shifted weakly, but he didn't have the leverage to fight back.

They yanked his head out of the tub by his hair. Arthur managed only a few gasps of air before he was back under.

This time, they kept him under.

Water entered his mouth. His lungs seized. He coughed automatically, but that only let more water in!

"Arthur!"

He couldn't breathe! He was coughing, but there was no air!

"Come on, Arthur!"

Hands wrapped around him. Moved him. It didn't help.

"What's going on?"

"Is he alright?"

He was sitting up. Someone pulled him up. Why couldn't he stop coughing?

Someone was rubbing circles into his chest, their arms coming from behind and keeping him upright. He collapsed back into their chest, dragging the heavy air into his lungs.

"Let me look at him, please."

Arthur didn't know that voice. It was new. Maybe a new Pinkerton. He forced his eyes open. He didn't know the man in front of him, coming at him with a stethoscope, and he jerked back with a whine.

"Arthur, it's okay. He's here to help."

The Pinkertons didn't call him Arthur. Morgan, yes, but not Arthur. Why did they change it? Was it a trick? It had to be.

"Give him space, okay?"

Arthur knew the person holding him. Knew him, even if his mind wasn't working enough to give him a name. He felt safe in his arms. It didn't make sense.

The others backed up. Whoever was holding him and keeping him safe was in charge of the room. Arthur slumped back into him. He didn't know if this was a trick or real, but this person was safe for now. Arthur decided to enjoy it. Just for a second.

There were hands on his face and tapping his cheek. Trying to get him to focus. He didn't want to look up. The room was dark and blurry, and he was too tired.

A cup pressed against his lips and dumped water into his mouth. He choked. He hadn't left the basement.

"Easy now. Easy."

The person holding Arthur shifted him again, tucking Arthur's head under his chin. Long hair tickled his face. Arthur could feel the rapid heartbeat under his cheek, so familiar and comforting and human.

Arthur knew this was a Pinkerton trick, but he so badly wanted it to be real.

The person holding him rocked gently back and forth. It was nice. Even if it was still hard to breathe past the water in his lungs and the ache in his ribs.

He let himself sleep.

When Arthur woke again, he was still being held. The room was quieter than before, and while his chest was still tight, he could felt a little better than before. He shifted a little.

"Arthur?"

He could have cried, if he had the energy. It was Charles. Charles rescued him. He was safe!

But wait, if they rescued him, then what about Isaac?

Arthur forced his eyes open. He was in a large room, though it was covered in peeling wallpaper and water damage. It wasn't a place he recognized. He tried to ask, but only a wheeze left his lips.

"Save your strength, Arthur. You're safe," Susan said. Susan was with him, too.

Arthur coughed, and tried again. "Isaac," he croaked.

"Oh, Arthur. He's just fine," Susan said.

Arthur shook his head. "No, he… he…"

"Just get him," Charles said.

Susan got up and hurried out of the room. Arthur turned his attention back to Charles, who held up a cup of water for Arthur to drink. His throat was sore, but it helped.

"Please," Arthur begged. "You gotta find him. They'll kill him."

"We did find him," Charles said. "Isaac is going to be alright."

He needed to see him. Charles sounded so sure, but those O'Driscolls shot Isaac! His son could be dead by now!

"Pa?"

Arthur looked up. Isaac was standing in the doorway nervously. "Issac," he muttered.

"Pa!"

"Careful," Susan said as Isaac ran over. Arthur tried to sit up, still entirely supported by Charles, but soon he was holding his son in his arms again.

"It's okay, now," Charles said. "I told you he was fine."

"Isaac? You okay?" Arthur sobbed.

"I'm fine, Pa."

"I'm sorry! So sorry, Isaac."

Charles explained. "We tracked the O'Driscolls to a ranch in Big Valley and got Isaac out. Dutch killed Colm, too. You never have to worry about him again."

Arthur felt the exhaustion hit him again. But he had to know everything was fine.

"Is your arm okay?" he asked, only realizing after that Isaac was hugging him with both arms just fine.

"I'll be okay. Are you okay?" Isaac asked.

Arthur honestly didn't know. Everything hurt, he felt a cough growing in his chest, and he didn't know what exactly happened with the Pinkertons. It all blurred together, but he couldn't remember Charles or anyone in the gang rescuing him.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"An old plantation house outside Saint Denis. It's… a long story," Charles said.

Arthur couldn't read the expression on Susan's face. It was part relief, but also worry and apprehension. He couldn't figure it out, so he asked, "What happened?"

"Nothing," Susan quickly said, but Charles shook his head.

"We should tell him."

"He's still healing!"

Arthur tried to turn his head to look at Charles, but that hurt. Everything hurt.

"Did someone die?"

"No," Susan said quickly. "No, but… well…"

"The Pinkertons arrested Dutch," Charles said.

"No," Arthur said. "No, they couldn't- Dutch wouldn't let them!"

He saw Dutch, didn't he? He remembered seeing Dutch, or maybe he dreamed it. Did it happen during the rescue? Was the gang forced to leave Dutch behind?

"We'll try to get him back," Charles said. "There were other-"

"He doesn't need to know about that," Susan said. "Hosea and John said they got a lead, and they took Javier with them to deal with it. Don't worry Arthur more than he already is!"

"What?" Arthur asked with a tired frown. They were not making any sense.

"We'll tell you about it later. Don't worry. Just rest," Charles said.

Arthur wanted to say more, but another cough ripped through his chest. Black spots covered his vision as he struggled to get in a breath. "Fuck," he whispered.

"Pa?"

Isaac was staring at him with so much worry on his face. He wanted so badly to reassure his son, but he didn't have the words.

Fortunately, Charles chose that moment to say, "Isaac, why don't you let your father rest a little more?"

"Okay," Isaac said. He gave Arthur another hug, his arms wrapped lightly around Arthur's middle.

"I'm glad you're okay, son," Arthur said, patting Isaac's arm. "I'm so sorry. I love you so much."

Arthur didn't realize he was crying, from pain or relief or both, until Isaac was out of the room and Susan was gently wiping his cheeks with a handkerchief. "Oh, Mr. Morgan," she said sympathetically. "We think you have a nasty case of pneumonia. But we're going to get you better. You need plenty of rest and some food. You lost too much weight."

"Didn't feed me," he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"They didn't give me much food," Arthur said again. He could say it now that Isaac wasn't there. Isaac didn't need to know the details.

Susan choked on a sob. "Well, we're going to fix that up. Now, are you okay with seeing a doctor?"

"Not sure I want to go anywhere," Arthur replied. He couldn't imagine moving at the moment.

"He's in camp," Susan said. "Doctor Renaud. He tried to see you earlier, but you didn't… you weren't really awake."

"Okay," he said. He blinked, his eyes feeling heavy.

While Susan went to find the doctor, Charles shifted out from under him and propped Arthur up on a mountain of pillows. Charles pressed a kiss into Arthur's forehead and whispered, "I missed you. So much."

"Missed you, too," Arthur said. "Didn't think I'd see you again."

"Oh, Arthur."

"I love you," Arthur said. He remembered that Charles hadn't been too sure about his feelings the last time they spoke, but Arthur needed to say it. There was so much he wanted to say to Isaac, John, Hosea, Annabelle, the whole gang, and Dutch, once they had the man back. He wasn't going to hold it in.

Charles smiled. "Arthur, I-"

"Here we are," Susan said, leading the doctor into the room. Charles got out of the way, but he kept holding onto Arthur's hand, giving it a light squeeze. Arthur tried to do the same. They had plenty of time later to say everything they needed to say.

"How are you today, Mr. Morgan? You seem better right now," Doctor Renaud said.

Arthur hummed, letting his eyes fall shut. He fell asleep while Doctor Renaud listened to his lungs.

"He needs plenty of rest and regular meals," Susan was saying when he opened his eyes again. The room was all blurry, but he could see Susan's outline talking Hosea. "The doctor left some tonics for us and instructions on how to make more. Do you know these plants?"

"Yes, I use some of these myself," Hosea said. "Anything else we need?"

"I'm sure something new will come up. It always does," Susan groaned.

"When have these boys ever been easy to take care of?" Hosea said with a chuckle, like he was reminiscing. "Why don't you take a break? Enjoy the party a little."

Arthur finally registered the noise from outside the room. Guitar strumming, Uncle's off-key singing rising from the group, folk clapping along to the song. The last party was when Arthur and Sean came back to the gang after they got separated in Blackwater. Did that mean Dutch was back?

He coughed and said, "Hosea?"

Hosea was at his side instantly. "Hey, Arthur, I'm here. You okay?"

Arthur nodded. He was still exhausted and didn't want to talk more than he had to. But he had to know. "Dutch?"

"What?"

"The party. Did you find him?"

Hosea looked down at Arthur's blankets. "Oh, dear boy, I'm so sorry. The party is for Jack."

"Huh?"

"Jack is just fine, you hear me? Just fine. The Braithwaites kidnapped him, but we got him back."

Arthur shuddered. "What? But he's just a boy, they-"

"They didn't hurt him," Hosea said, steadying Arthur's head in his hands. "The Braithwaites gave him over to this Italian man named Angelo Bronte, who treated him well. Like royalty, almost."

"So, he's fine?" Arthur said.

"More than fine. He won't stop talking about Italian food and the fancy slippers they let him wear around the house."

"Good," Arthur said, trying to breathe a little deeper and slower. "What about Dutch?"

"We're working on it," said Hosea. "We had to take care of Jack first."

"How'd they get Dutch?" Arthur asked. "What happened?"

Hosea hesitated. "Now, I don't want you blaming yourself. It's not your fault."

"Rescue plan went bad, didn't it?"

"The Pinkertons found us, Arthur."

His stomach went cold. He remembered the endless questions, constant confusion, and pain. "Did I tell them?" Arthur asked.

"Now, we don't know for sure."

"I must have." He was hyperventilating. "It's my fault."

"Arthur-"

"I made a deal with them," Arthur confessed. "I- the O'Driscolls had Isaac and I was scared!"

"Of course you were," Hosea said.

"I told them if they saved him, I'd talk," Arthur cried. "I didn't know if- no one came so I-"

"Hey, Arthur, it's okay!" Hosea said, wrapping Arthur up in a hug. "I'm sorry we didn't get there in time. We came looking, I promise! We did, and we found Isaac. I'm sorry we didn't get you out, too."

Hosea rocked him back and forth while Arthur cried. Weeks of thinking his son would die at Colm's hands, weeks of looking for escape and waiting for rescue, weeks of pain from things he could barely remember… And now Dutch was gone. Dutch was all alone in a prison waiting to be hanged because Arthur told the Pinkertons how to find him.

Arthur needed this. He needed to cry in Hosea's arms.

"Now, you listen to me," Hosea said. "Dutch wants you to be safe. We all do. If the Pinkertons had asked for me, I would have given myself up immediately. You're our son! It's our job to take care of you. So, let us take care of you. Okay?"

Arthur tried to speak, but another cough came out instead. He was sick of this cough already.

"Is everything alright?"

Charles stood in the doorway with some bowls of stew.

"He's going to be fine," Hosea said. "We just talked a little about Dutch."

"I brought some food up for you. And Miss Grimshaw wanted to see if Arthur would eat a little, but if it's a bad time-"

"No, it's a perfect time," Hosea said. He set Arthur against the pile of pillows. "We'll just try a bit of broth. Does that sound okay, son?"

"Guess we'll see," Arthur said.

He tried to reach for the bowl, but his limbs weren't ready to work yet. And he noticed bandages around his left hand, not sure when-

Ross did that. He got out of his ropes, but he wasn't fast enough and Ross smashed a hammer into his hand again and again while Ross mocked-

"Hey, you with me?" Hosea was tapping his cheek when Arthur blinked back into the room. "If you aren't feeling well, you don't have to eat yet."

The idea of putting anything in his stomach made him feel nauseous, but Hosea was practically begging him to try. "Maybe a little?" Arthur said.

A little was all he got. Hosea spooned the tiny amount of broth into his mouth, waiting patiently to see if it would stay in Arthur's stomach.

"How's that?"

Arthur sank into his pillows and closed his eyes. "Don't feel any worse."

"Well, that's good."

Another cheer went up outside. "You're missing the party," said Arthur.

"I don't mind," Hosea said.

"I'll stay with him," charles said. "I've never been one for parties."

Hosea smiled. "You are a good man, Charles Smith. Don't keep him up too late."

Charles snorted, and took the chair Hosea had been using. "Hey."

"Hi, Charles."

"You know, there are a few things I've been wanting to say. I just wasn't sure how to say them before."

Arthur's heart fluttered. "Yeah?"

"I want to be a family," Charles said. "You, me, and Isaac. I want to spend my life with you. I love you, Arthur Morgan."

Arthur grinned and said, "I love you, too."

Another cheer went up outside, and a new song began. Charles slid into bed next to Arthur, encouraging Arthur to lean against him. It didn't take long for Arthur to start dozing, soothed by Charles' steady breathing and faint music.

"You okay, Isaac?"

Arthur forced his eyes open again. Isaac was leaning against the doorframe.

"I want to stay here," Isaac said with a slur.

"Have you been drinking?" Charles asked.

"Sean said we should celebrate."

Arthur sighed and mumbled, "I'm gonna kill him this time."

"Don't kill him, Pa! Sean's my friend!"

Isaac stumbled over and crawled into Arthur's bed, snuggling against him. "Careful," Charles said, but Arthur didn't mind. His whole body ached and his lungs were full of liquid, but he was damn lucky to be home with his son.

"Fine, I won't kill him," Arthur said. "Just yell at him. A bit."

"Okay."

Arthur owed so much to the whole gang for looking out for Isaac. And most of all, he owed his own life to Dutch.

God, he hoped they could get Dutch back.