Author's Note: This was supposed to be 500 words, but as usual it came out longer. I'm not mad, though - I would never say no to more Arthur whump and dad!Hosea. ;)
TW: mentions of blood and non-graphic vomit
Arthur was late, and Hosea was worried.
The boy had just turned eighteen, and he and Dutch had finally begun allowing him to head off to town on his own in the evenings, with the promise that he'd stay out of trouble and be back before it got too late. Arthur did so without argument, slipping away a couple times a week to have a few shots and play a hand or two of poker, maybe stopping along the way to draw something interesting in his journal. But he always upheld his end of the bargain, returning before they could ever wonder about him or worry if he was alright.
So tonight as the moon rose high and then fell low with no word, no sign of Arthur making his tipsy way back into camp, Hosea found himself sitting up by the fire, anxiously waiting for their boy to come home. While he hoped he was just being paranoid, he couldn't help the sense of dread that slowly spread over him as the night wore on and still Arthur didn't return. He knew all too well the kinds of things that could happen to a man in the shadowed alleyways of a backwater saloon, having both suffered and caused plenty of them himself.
"You worry too much, my friend," Dutch gently told him a little after two, covering a yawn with his fist as he approached Hosea's seat from his own tent nearby. "I'm sure he's fine. Probably on a winning streak at the blackjack table, or found himself a pretty young thing to while away the evenin' with. If he's not here in the morning we can go look for him, but you should get some rest for now. Arthur's a man now, he can look after himself."
Hosea shook his head, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers in front of his chin. "Somethin' ain't right, Dutch. I just have this feelin' I can't seem to shake." He couldn't explain it, not in a way that made sense. But Hosea just knew, in the way he always knew when it came to Arthur. There would be no sleep for him, not until he laid eyes on their boy himself.
"Okay," Dutch said with a shrug, a little patronizing when he patted his shoulder. "I'll be reading a bit of Miller before I turn in, so just shout if you need somethin'."
"Sure."
They wouldn't have to wait long. Sometime after three in the morning, just when Hosea's eyes began slipping shut and his head threatened to droop onto his chest, the sound of approaching hoofbeats broke through the still night air. He snapped his eyes up to the treeline, squinting against the dark, and a moment later he made out the tall figure of Arthur, still lanky but filling out with time, swaying in the saddle atop his gray Kentucky Saddler, Apollo. While Hosea looked on, he stopped next to the hitching posts, swinging his right leg over Apollo's back to dismount, and then promptly crumpled to his knees the moment his feet touched the ground.
"Arthur!" Hosea cried, out of his seat and sprinting over there before Arthur's muffled gasp of pain could even register in his ears. He gripped the young man's arm and helped him stand, noticing the way he seemed reluctant to put much weight on his left foot, the unsteady swaying in place despite the fact that neither of them was moving. "Son, are you okay? What happened?"
"Fine 'sea, 'm fine," Arthur muttered. "Musta been a hole there 'r sumth'n', didn'... di'n see't."
His words were noticeably garbled, and Hosea frowned. "How much you had to drink tonight, Arthur?"
"Jus'... j's a couple..." he mumbled, swaying back and forth in Hosea's grip.
"You sure? You're slurrin' pretty bad there."
"Yeah." Arthur swallowed. "Sure. Head h'rts, s'all, makin' me talk all..." He gestured vaguely in the air with his free hand. "All s-stupid."
Icy tendrils of worry began creeping their way through Hosea's gut. "Your head hurts? Did you hit it?"
"Don' know, don' 'mem... 'member." Arthur's breath hitched, voice rising slightly at the admission. "I don' 'member, 'sea, I... I don' -"
"That's alright, son, it's okay," Hosea hurriedly assured him. "Come on over here, though, I need some better light so I can get a good look at you."
He led Arthur over to the fire, only releasing his grip on the boy's arm once he was sure he wasn't going to topple over backwards off the log.
"Ow..." Arthur grunted, bringing a hand up to clutch at the side of his head and squinting his eyes against the light shining into them.
"The light hurtin' you?"
"Mmhmm."
"Can you look at me, just for a second? Need to see your eyes."
Arthur whined but did as Hosea asked. His gaze was unfocused, drifting from one part of Hosea's face to the other, and the elder's heart sank when he realized that the left pupil was blown wide, the right narrowed down to such a small pinprick he could barely make it out. He reached up carefully, not wanting to startle Arthur, and gently removed his hat to prod around in his hair, sighing when his fingers found a large goose-egg on the back of his skull beneath a crust of long-dried blood.
"Looks like you've probably got yourself a pretty good concussion," he said gently, shifting to block a little more of the light from Arthur's face and noticing the bruising that was beginning to bloom around his jaw and cheek. "You get in a fight?"
"No, I... maybe? I don'... can't 'member. Was drinkin' a coupla beers, playin' s'me poker, think, 'n then... was on Apollo 'n headin' back... here." He swallowed hard and groaned, wrapping an arm around his middle as his face took on a greenish tinge. "Don' feel so good, 'sea."
"Your head doesn't feel good? Or your stomach?"
"Both," Arthur moaned, and Hosea could see a cold sweat beading on his skin. He breathed shallowly through his nose, lips pressed tightly together into a thin line, and then jerked forward and gagged, slapping his hand over his mouth when he burped sickly.
"Alright, easy," Hosea said quickly, pushing Arthur's head down between his knees. "Just breathe a minute, nice and slow." Arthur groaned, but did the best he could to obey, taking measured inhalations through his nose and shakily releasing them through his mouth. "There you go, that's it," Hosea encouraged gently. He smoothed his hand down Arthur's back, hoping to ground him a little, and was completely unprepared for the reaction it elicited instead. When Hosea's hand neared his side Arthur flinched violently and gasped in an agonized breath, reflexively contorting himself away as he moved his hand from his belly to press against his flank instead.
"Agh, shit!" Arthur cried, his face losing even more color, and Hosea's heart began to race.
"Arthur?!" With a sickening feeling he already knew what he'd find, Hosea shoved Arthur's hand out of the way, only now noticing the inch-long tear through the black leather of his duster, just above his hip. Lifting the jacket up revealed another hole of the same size through his striped cotton button-down, leading to a deep puncture wound beneath. Around it the fabric was drenched and sticky with blood, saturated enough that it left Hosea's fingers stained crimson the instant he pulled them back. More flowed from the wound even as he watched, and he clenched his teeth.
God dammit.
"Dutch!" Hosea shouted. Without any further hesitation he pressed his palm firmly against the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. Arthur keened in confusion and pain, swaying woozily and blinking up at Hosea with fear in his eyes. "I know, shh," Hosea soothed. "You're gonna be alright. Dutch!" he cried again, hearing the older man snort and a book drop onto the floor of his tent when he finally startled awake.
"Hosea?" Dutch called, his gaze landing on the hunched figure of their boy. "What -"
"Bring me the med kit!" Hosea snapped, unwilling to waste time on explanations. Dutch obeyed, thankfully sensing the urgency in his voice, and as soon as he did Hosea removed Arthur's coat and shirt, not caring that he ruined the buttons as he ripped the fabric open to expose the ugly wound.
"What the hell happened?" Dutch asked, dark eyes wide and worried as they flicked between Arthur and Hosea.
"I still ain't quite got that out of him. From what I can tell he got into some kinda scrape down at the saloon. Thought he was drunk at first, but now it's lookin' like he got himself a pretty good knock to the head instead. I'm not sure what else, though, because apparently he didn't feel the need to mention he'd also been stabbed."
"Did... didn't feel it," Arthur gritted out. "F'rgot... was there..." He blinked owlishly at them, eyelids fluttering, and then groaned, "Shit, 'm gon... think 'm gonna... pass... out..."
"Dammit," Dutch grunted when he immediately made good on his promise, hooking his hands under Arthur's arms and holding him upright so Hosea could continue working unimpeded.
Now that he knew what they were dealing with, the older man functioned like a well-oiled machine, wiping the wound clean with a bottle of whiskey and a soft cloth before stitching it neatly closed, just as he had done for all of them countless times before. It took only a few minutes before he finished, the dim light of the fire slowing him slightly, and then he dressed it with a bit of ointment and a square of clean cotton gauze, securing the whole thing with a bandage wrapped snug around Arthur's torso.
"Alright," Hosea sighed, tossing the soiled bits of cloth and bandage scraps into the fire and closing the medical box. "That's all we can do for now. He should be fine, just needs to rest and get his blood back. We'll have to check his foot later, too; it doesn't seem broken, but it may be sprained. Help me get him to bed."
Dutch, his hands already under Arthur's arms, nodded and stood, taking the larger weight of his torso while Hosea held onto his legs. A few quick steps and they deposited him gently on his cot, making sure to position him so the edges of the stitching wouldn't strain. Once they did, the raven-haired man sighed, sitting down on the edge of the cot and smiling ruefully while he looked down at their son, whose expression was still slightly pained even in unconsciousness.
"Guess you were right," he said softly, running his fingers gently through Arthur's hair. "I dunno how you do it, but that's some intuition you've got, Hosea."
Hosea chuckled. "I don't know how I do it, either. But it's saved my skin on more than one occasion, and probably will again before my time is done, so I sure ain't about to complain." He turned his back toward Dutch, glancing toward the campfire and to Apollo, who still hadn't been untacked and was likely covered in blood to boot. "You mind watching our fool of a boy for a little while? I have a couple things I need to do yet."
"O'course. I got him."
Hosea hummed in acknowledgment and made his way out of the tent, shaking his head with a weary sigh when he saw the mess of supplies by the fire and realized how close Arthur had come, yet again, to disaster. And worse still, the silly fool couldn't remember how he'd done it, so Hosea couldn't even be sure it was his fault.
"Gonna have a full head of gray hair by the end of the year, he keeps this up," Hosea muttered to himself, packing supplies back into the crate with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "I'm gonna give him an earful tomorrow, once he's back in his right mind enough to remember it."
A strange sound met his ears, then, followed by Dutch's horrified shriek, and when Hosea turned to look at the pair of them he grimaced in disgusted sympathy; Arthur had apparently woken up just in time to vomit right onto the man's lap and shoes.
"Maybe I won't need to get onto him, after all," he thought, shaking his head and sighing as Dutch visibly struggled not to get sick right alongside Arthur. "At this rate, Dutch might decide to finish him off in his sleep before sunrise."
Notes: I will always headcanon that Dutch is a sympathy puker, and Hosea has to look after the boys if they're sick or else he'll just wind up looking after Dutch along with them. Poor Hosea; the man is far more patient than I could ever be.
Next fic's prompt is "Impaled." In spite of how serious that sounds, though, it's going to be a more lighthearted one, with a little sprinkling of VanderMatthews for flavor. See you there!