Chapter Text
Isaac managed to maintain his foul mood for all of two days, only relenting when Arthur returned from playing knight for John's sorry ass. Arthur had a hunch Isaac would've kept giving him the could shoulder, if not for his concern for the Walker. Even after returning to Colter, far from the source of its fear, the animal was still spooked, shuffling in place with little huffs as Arthur tied him to the post.
"Why's he all worked up? What'd you do?" Isaac spoke up behind Arthur. His tone was accusatory, but Arthur let it slide.
"Ain't so much what I done," Arthur grunted as he checked the Walker over for any injuries. He was pretty sure he saw one of the wolves get its jaws around a leg; skittish or not, he didn't want the horse to go lame. "Your Uncle John over there managed t'find a way to get hunted without a damn wanted poster. How he got cornered by wolves in a blizzard, I ain't ever gonna understand."
There was a long moment of silence, and Arthur glanced back toward Isaac as he checked the Walker over. His face was tight, paler than it should be. It made Arthur pause, frowning, before mentally kicking himself. Of course Isaac was worried — this wasn't about the horse, it was about John. Just two days ago he'd helped to bury Davey, not to mention all the folks they'd lost. He'd be scared shitless at the sight of his uncle of all people riding into camp half-dead.
Standing up, Arthur willed himself a modicum patience. He could be frustrated with John later; Isaac needed him right now.
"C'mere," Arthur sighed, pulling Isaac over into a hug, and for all his showboating about being angry, Isaac hugged him right back. "John'll be alright. It ain't nothin' serious; looks bad, sure, but he'll be up n'moving in no time."
"You sure?" Isaac's voice came out quiet, uncertain. It broke Arthur's heart.
"Yeah, I'm sure," he answered, kneeling down so he could better hold Isaac. "You know nothin' short of lobbin' off his head'll kill John Marston."
Isaac let out a wet laugh, and Arthur considered it a win. "He ain't a vampire, Pa."
"I don't know, he sure as hell drains me like one," Arthur grumbled, playing it up, and Isaac snorted.
"You say that 'bout almost everyone."
"Don't mean it ain't true!" Arthur laughed, letting Isaac go while ruffling his hair. "Here, you wanna help keep this feller calm while I make sure no wolves got 'im?"
"Yeah, sure," Isaac nodded, and Arthur gestured for him to move up to the Walker's head, standing at his side while Arthur continued checking him over. When he looked up, he found Isaac's face had melted from icy into a smile, careful as he pet over the Walker's nose.
Unable to keep from smiling, Arthur pulled some ointment from his satchel. It was nothing serious; seemed the wolves couldn't get a proper bite on the horse's thin legs without fear of getting kicked. The knicks were small enough they'd already stopped bleeding, but the ointment would make sure no infection took root. Careful as he applied it to the horse's leg, Arthur could hear his son breathe soft reassurances to it under his breath.
"You're alright, boy…" Isaac hushed the Walker.
Yeah, he'd be just fine.
Arthur was already on edge after grappling with O'Driscolls left and right, and Pearson's complaining was doing him no favors in that department.
They'd found the plans for whatever Colm wanted to do with that train, which was worth something. It was a solid lead, and Dutch would always take an opportunity to stick it to his rival. Still, plan or no plan, they couldn't do nothing without a thaw, and the snow just kept coming. Add Pearson's apparent priority of getting lost in the bottle over real food when ditching Blackwater, and Arthur thought it only fair he'd been a little short on patience.
Charles's interruption of their squabbling was a welcome one, but that didn't mean Arthur was happy about it. Taking the bow from the other's hands was awkward at best; he'd hardly shot one before. The last time he'd picked up a bow, his aim was so off, he'd managed to hit a hay bale right where Hosea'd been watching moments before. Might've been hilarious to him after the fact, but Arthur weren't exactly eager for a repeat performance.
Even now, the bow was uncomfortable where it rested over his shoulder, wedged against his collarbone and tight against his back. He wasn't sure what Charles was expecting of a man who'd hardly handled a weapon like this in his life. He may have been marginally better than Charles with a burned hand, but surely not enough to forgo rest — or take someone else, at the very least.
Still, Charles was insistent, and the cool air did help the tension that had settled high in Arthur's chest over the past week. He hadn't realized how restless he'd gotten, cooped up and forced to stick by a fire or risk freezing to death in the barren cold of Grizzlies East.
Conversation with Charles came easily enough, when Arthur finally cooled off enough to bother. They fell into familiar banter without much issue, and Arthur followed Charles's lead through the snowy mountainside, not exactly sure how Charles managed to track anything in this.
"Been a wild few days alright," Arthur mused as they continued through the snow. "The ride north from Blackwater, getting stuck in this storm, John gettin' hunted by wolves in a blizzard, of all things…"
"They were desperate," Charles responded. "Just like we are. Ain't much food in winter; wouldn't normally go for a man and his horse."
"Yeah, well, Marston always finds a way," Arthur huffed. "I've got enough t'be worryin' about without him gettin' himself into trouble."
Charles hummed an agreeing tone, glancing back at Arthur. "You've had a lot put on you. Wish I could have done more, let you focus on Isaac."
Arthur's heart dropped, mouth pulled into a thin line. It was true he'd wanted to prioritize Isaac, but not so much as to ignore the needs of the gang. "I didn't mean it like that, just…"
"It's fine, Arthur," Charles said, voice free of judgment. "It's good you put him first. You have your priorities straight. Can't say that about everyone."
Arthur shrugged. "I guess," he muttered. Silence stretched between them for a short while, only to be broken by Charles once again.
"I still don't know what happened on that boat," Charles said, and Arthur let out a groan.
"Me neither. I asked Dutch about it, y'know," he said, and Charles actually looked back at him, brows raised.
"He didn't say anything?"
"Nope. Absolutely nothin', save 'for it bein' bad." Arthur left out the part where, if he'd been there, maybe things would've been different. He didn't need to hear Charles agree with the sentiment, even if it was true. "Heard a bit from Javier, but… whatever happened, it sure weren't good."
They both went quiet after that, returning to the task at hand once Charles located some tracks. He didn't know if he was lucky or if Charles was just that damn good of a teacher, but something happened to save him the embarrassment of going back empty-handed. He took down a deer with no issue, surprising himself and earning a pat on the shoulder from Charles.
Charles's directions were good enough that Arthur managed to track the second deer on his own, no input needed. He didn't manage a clean kill with that one — missed the vitals by an inch or so, Charles showed him afterwards — but he finished the job, quick and clean. They packed up the deer after that, tying them to Taima and the Walker, before starting on the return trip.
Settled into the Walker's saddle, Arthur let his mind wander. Isaac had gone to see John earlier, before he'd gone out with Charles. The kid was scary smart, sometimes; too smart for his own good. Saw the stitches John was sporting and threw an Isaac original at him — 'now your face is as crooked as you are' — which got a laugh out've John and had Abigail throwing a fit. Arthur had tried — and failed — holding in a laugh about it, and hadn't even had to send Isaac off after Jack.
To say Abigail was upset was an understatement. Maybe he shouldn't have let Isaac just say something like that to John, but it were all in good fun, and nobody ended up hurt. John always said Isaac took too much after Arthur, and he didn't always agree with the sentiment, but in that moment it'd rung true.
As days passed in Colter, Isaac's temperment remained somewhat sour — though he had a feeling it wasn't just their argument making him short with folks. Isaac was kept in camp most of the time, sure, but he'd never been cooped up with everyone this close before. Privacy and quiet were hard-earned things in a gang like theirs, and Arthur was beginning to worry Isaac was near the end of his rope. There weren't anywhere to get a breath where he wasn't being badgered.
There was crack and a thud nearby, startling Arthur out of his thoughts. He whipped his head around — he'd be damned before he let wolves get the better of him now — only to find it was nothing more than a branch failing under the weight of gathered snow. He puffed out a relieved breath. He had to stop getting lost in his mind like that. It'd get him killed, one of these days.
"Isaac's been restless lately."
Arthur glanced at Charles, brows quirking up at the mention of his son. He hadn't expected it to be on the other man's mind. It weren't like it was hard to notice, sure, but most of the gang kept from giving him commentary on Isaac directly, save for the occasional snide comment about his parenting. When they did give input, it was in moments like this, when tension was high between the pair and their help was, frankly, unwanted.
Arthur sighed. "Listen, Charles, I ain't really -"
Charles gave him a look, and Arthur bit his tongue. The look was strikingly familiar; he'd gotten it from Charles before. Right then, talking about Isaac and seeing that heavy, disapproving gaze… He felt like he was twenty-three all over again.
"Now why don't you take Isaac out for a ride, Arthur? You know how he gets, cooped up too long with just me to entertain him."
Arthur let out a groan, unabashed as he checked his gun belt a second time, standing from the creaky chair in Eliza's kitchen. He'd always been more willing to fuss, back then. "Eliza, I've got things t'do, y'know I can't just…"
Eliza's burning gaze turned toward him, and Arthur's next words got caught in his throat at the look in her eyes.
If it was just about Arthur, he would have outright refused. This wasn't just about him, though, and it wasn't just about Isaac — it was about Eliza, too. She was here watching the boy most of the time, raising him, feeding and cleaning him, while Arthur ran amok with degenerates and thieves in the wilds of America. All she was asking was a favor, keep the boy out of her hair for a few hours.
She did so much for that boy, and Arthur had yet to give her proper thanks for it. Hardly around, barely better than a deadbeat. How one woman could get Arthur to reflect and rethink his answer with just a look he had no idea. Maybe it's just how it was, knowing someone as long as Arthur'd known Eliza. She knew why he hesitated, and he knew why she pushed. They didn't need no words.
Isaac would hardly be in the way for whatever Arthur had to do in town, anyhow… More than that, he hated to see Eliza disappointed. She already put up with so much of him, having his child. She'd more than earned a moment alone.
"…Alright. I'll take'im into town, maybe get 'im somethin' while we're out," he conceded, and Eliza's expression had softened, giving him a firm nod.
"Good. He's out back with Orion. Loves that horse more'n me some days," Eliza said with a small laugh, before smiling at Arthur.
She stepped forward, pressing a kiss to his lips, firm and soft. Heat burned its way up Arthur's cheeks to his ears and down his neck, surely turning him red as a desert sunburn. No matter what it was, he'd do anything she wanted if it meant he got a little more of this.
"Thank you, Arthur. I appreciate it."
"O'course. S'the least I can do."
Arthur closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories.
Charles weren't around to meet Eliza, but Arthur would be damned if he didn't look like her sometimes. Not really; they didn't share nothing but their dark eyes in appearance, but the way Charles caught him on his bullshit rang more familiar than he cared to say. He didn't get on Arthur like Eliza would have, but he felt the pressure of Charles's eyes and knew he wasn't taking any of Arthur's excuses.
"...He wants t'be put to work," Arthur sighed finally, letting the Walker fall into a slower pace beside Taima. "Keeps hearin' I was workin' at his age. I reckon, everything with Blackwater, and bein' up here… he's wantin' to pull his weight. Earn his keep."
"You don't think he should?"
Arthur pictured his boy; the faded, dirty blue scout jacket wrapped around his shoulders, gun at his side. Imagined small hands caked with blood, bruises swelling purple and black on his face, his knees. Saw him quiet in the face of loss, readily pointing a gun wherever he's told to aim, finger on the trigger. It made him feel sick.
"I don't."
Isaac was already doing plenty around camp. Helped to feed horses, refill wash bins, and carry food to Pearson's wagon. He'd badgered Arthur for days about learning how to properly chop wood when he'd turned twelve, and Arthur had let him, so long as someone had an eye on him. He'd been making his keep since he damn well could, little hands pulling hay from bales Arthur would carry for feed, tossing handfuls back on top when set down.
He was asking for more than that, though. Isaac wanted to do jobs with the gang. He wanted to leave the safety of camp and contribute like the men did, bringing in money and helping with robberies. He wanted to get his hands dirty, to show he's dedicated to the gang, but he was just a boy. He grew stronger every day, but he barely reached Arthur's chest in height, his cheeks still round with the signs of youth. The work of bad men wasn't a place for someone so young.
A long silence stretched between him and Charles, no urgency in the dull thud of hooves against the snow. With anyone else Arthur would've been uncomfortable, waiting for their judgement or irritation with his hesitance. When it was Charles, he always seemed deep in thought, really considering what he'd been told. The man was always so intentional with his words, it sometimes made Arthur wonder how he'd gotten wrapped up in this bull-headed gang they're in.
Charles was one of few people who truly heard his concerns, understood what he was saying without hardly having to say anything at all. It was something he deeply appreciated about the man in moments like this, where expressing the core of his fears and concerns would do nothing but drag Arthur further into his own mind. He didn't need to be lingering on an uncertain future for his son right this moment, there was too much to be done.
"You can't keep him from it forever," Charles said finally, and Arthur's self-control slipped.
"I know that! Damn it, Charles, I just —"
Charles' stare was back on him, and Arthur's breath shook. He hadn't realized how twisted up about all this he'd gotten, a noose of anxiety threatening to constrict his voice and breath from his lungs. It wasn't fair of him to point all that at Charles for showing concern. He appreciated Charles's input on this; an outside perspective helped keep his head on straight. Charles wasn't blinded by years in the gang, and said things how he saw them.
"Sorry. I just… can't help thinkin' about it all goin' wrong, takin' him on a job. Nothin' about what we do is safe."
Charles simply hummed. Another beat of silence followed before he spoke. "You're right to be worried. Take it slow, help him do something small."
Arthur scoffed. "What's a small way've bein' an outlaw?"
"Hunting, for one," Charles answered lightly, and Arthur scowled. He knew that.
"Charles…" He sighed the man's name, trying to find the words to explain. Apparently noticing his expression, Charles let out a long breath.
"He'll find something to do, one way or another. You'll at least know he's safe if he does it with you." He nudged Taima into a trot, moving to take point ahead of Arthur.
"Take him along, next time we go hunting," Charles called back. "It doesn't need to be a proper job, just something where he feels helpful." The man paused to glance up at the rolling clouds above, and then continued. "We should get back."
Arthur leaned back in his saddle, the Walker trailing behind Taima. A harsh breath escaped his lungs, misting in front of his face in a trail of smoke. He could use a cigarette right about now.
He knew Charles was right, and that's what frustrated him. He remembered being young and restless, how camp had once felt like a wire cage built specifically to keep him inside and everyone else out. The only things keeping him sane at the time were Miss Grimshaw's threats of losing dinner and the inevitable disappointment he'd receive from Hosea and Dutch. Even that hadn't been enough to keep him after a point, which led to some real stupid decisions on Arthur's part.
Taking Isaac hunting would be a good compromise, he had to admit. It was relatively safe, they weren't getting into a shootout, and he'd have a second set of eyes there in Charles to be sure Isaac didn't go gallavanting off. He wasn't sure Isaac would truly be invested in the idea of hunting, but he'd be damned if he weren't gonna at least try. He didn't want Isaac thinking Arthur didn't care about his concerns, didn't want him outside of camp.
He knew how that felt, and it weren't nice. There'd been days where he was left behind with Grimshaw and Uncle, back when their gang was small enough to fit in a family home. Hosea and Dutch always seemed to be scheming back then, keeping him out of the loop before they disappeared for days on end. Every question was left without answer, waved off with an order 'not to worry'.
It happened all over again when they picked up John Marston, and Arthur was left responsible for a kid as feral and restless as he'd been.
Arthur wiped a hand down his face, digging his fingers into the bags under his eyes, attempting to ease some of the ache creeping in. How Hosea and Dutch had done this with both he and John, he had no idea.
When the pair returned after a quick spook from a grizzly, Arthur hauled the deer off his horse. When Charles went to take his off Taima, Arthur held a hand up to stop him.
"Isaac! Get out here, boy!" he called, and watched Charles' brows raise in surprise, before something about his gaze softened. Pulling his attention away from the other man as heat flushed up his neck, Arthur turned it to his son rushing out of the cabin, frowning up at Arthur.
"You called me, Pa?"
"Yeah, c'mere, help Charles with the deer on Taima. Fool's insistent on pushin' himself despite that hand of his," he grinned, sharing a glance with Charles and earning himself a flat look. He couldn't stop himself from laughing, and Isaac looked between the pair of them, hesitating, before giving Arthur a nod.
"Uh, sure Pa — what do I, uh..?"
"Here," Charles said, leading Isaac over toward Taima as Arthur went to deposit the deer on the ground for Pearson. Lingering in the little butchering space, he watched as Charles directed Isaac to haul a deer his own size alongside him. It was very obvious to anyone watching that Charles was bearing most of the weight, but Isaac seemed happy to be involved, and Charles didn't seem to mind all that much. At least it kept some of the weight off his hand.
"'Bout time, Mr. Morgan, Mr. Smith!" Pearson laughed merrily, eyes landing on Isaac. "And let's not forget Morgan Junior here —" Isaac made such a disgusted face at the nickname that Arthur was almost sure he'd say something, but Pearson kept going, " — 'bout time we had some good meat for the pot!"
"You're lucky we don't throw you in," Arthur snarked back, before his eyes caught on the lingering shape of Uncle nosing about nearby. "Or the camp rat over here. What d'you think you're doin', loitering around the kitchen?"
"You wound me, Arthur!" Uncle whined. Arthur remained unamused by the display. "C'mon, don't you wanna be a good influence on your boy?"
"I think my influence on Isaac's just fine, unlike some've us, scroungin' about for scraps." He waved Uncle off, batting at the old man. "Now get lost, some've us have got real work to do around here."
"C'mon, you know you love me, Morgan! You ain't trickin' nobody with all that," Uncle spouted as he left, patting Isaac on the head as he passed by. Arthur watched his son immediately rub at the spot he'd been touched, eyes following Uncle as he left, brows knitted in confusion.
"Well, it seems you boys got on just fine," Pearson said, gesturing down to the pair of deer they'd brought in.
"Charles is a wonder," Arthur said, entirely earnest, an easy grin on his face. "Too kind for his own good, this one."
Charles just shrugged, saying nothing. Pearson pulled a bottle out of nowhere, which Arthur passed on, handing it over to Charles. He didn't need to be drinking right now, too much to think about and too few of them with half the mind to do so.
The tightness in Charles' face at the flavor was undeniable, and Arthur was immediately glad he'd opted against drinking. He did not envy the other man one bit. He learned a long time ago that a drink from Pearson kicked you in the dick no matter what it was; seemed Charles was still learning that particular lesson.
"Damn, that's strong," Charles grunted. Pearson let out a hearty laugh as he reclaimed the bottle.
"That's Navy rum for you! Strong, but keeps you sane, it does."
Arthur decided any comment on that would be wasted, instead opting to nod his head toward the cabin at Charles. "Go n'rest that hand of yours, Charles."
"It'll be fine in a few days," Charles responded, but didn't argue. He moved past Isaac, nodding to the boy, and Isaac waved as he went. Once he was gone, Pearson's attention was back on Arthur.
"Too busy to help me with the skinning, Mr. Morgan?"
"Naw, not busy. Here," he waved Isaac over, his son blinking at him. "I'll show'ya how to skin a deer. How's that sound?"
"Uh." For the first time since he'd started asking to help around camp, Arthur watched Isaac hesitate. "I… Do I gotta touch it too?"
"Nah, just stand over by the —" Arthur started, but Pearson cut in over him.
"What? Since when you squeamish around blood, son?" he chuckled, and Isaac took a step back. When he didn't immediately respond, Pearson kept going, "Don't you worry about it. Blood's easy enough to clean up, n'they don't bleed much once they're dead."
Arthur set his hands in his pockets, willing himself to be calm, even as Isaac visibly shrunk in on himself. He knew it wasn't the blood Isaac was afraid of; kid had seen him and others scraped up, bloody, and bruised plenty of times. He weren't squeamish about the blood as much as he about the animal being dead.
It was easy to figure that Isaac had seen his mother's corpse when Arthur found him, hidden in the cellar for three straight days, starved and dehydrated and damn near tears at the sound of Arthur at the door. When he'd finally recognized his father, Isaac had held onto him with all the strength in his little five-year-old body, and jumped at damn near every unfamiliar sound as they made their way to camp.
Arthur'd had to bury Eliza himself, and couldn't deny Isaac had seen her dead. It wasn't a hard connection to make when, the next time they'd brought someone back dead from a gunfight, Isaac froze like a scared fawn. Arthur thought he'd stopped breathing, and the boy had been inconsolable for days afterward.
He'd improved a lot since then, but death of any kind made his son squeamish. He figured Bo's passing made it harder, seeing an animal in this state, especially since he'd seen Arthur end her suffering himself. He wasn't proud of that moment, but he wasn't about to Bo die slow and painful. He hoped Isaac understood why he'd done it.
"I just asked to show'im, Mr. Pearson," Arthur said sharply, pulling Pearson's attention away from his son. "You've got the other one, right? Don't think we need any more cooks in this kitchen."
Arthur couldn't deny the satisfaction he felt when Pearson visibly paled at his tone, quick to change course. "I… right, Mr. Morgan, you're right," he said quickly, turning back to his own carcass with renewed interest.
Appeased, Arthur glanced to where Isaac stared at the floor, picking at his nails, face in a tight frown. He nudged the kid softly, nodding over towards the deer. "C'mere, I'll show you the way t'do it, and then we'll head on inside, yeah?"
"Yeah," Isaac nodded, expression softening when he looked at Arthur. Offering his son a smile, Arthur gave Isaac a one-armed shrug.
"Y'know, I was thinkin," he added, pulling his hunting knife out. "Might bring you along, next time. Out huntin'?" He glanced at Isaac, watching how the boy's face brightened, and continued. "We got so many folks to feed, I figure it's good you learned how. Charles gave me some pointers. Maybe he can make a decent hunter out of both of us."
That got a bit of a laugh out of his son. "I thought so, didn't wanna say nothin'. Hosea's right when he says you ain't good at it."
Arthur huffed playfully at the statement, turning the deer carcass onto its back. "Weren't before, at least. I reckon we got a pair of better kills than Charles would've done on his own."
"I dunno that I'd go that far. I think Charles is the only one a better shot than you," Isaac shot back, then paled as he watched Arthur prepare to flay the skin off, mouth drawing into a tight line. Arthur paused, and Isaac looked away.
"I… sorry, Pa," he said, voice quiet as he looked away.
"Naw, you don't gotta apologize for nothin'," Arthur said. "You ain't the one actin' a fool. Pearson knows you're just a boy."
"Should be able t'see somethin' dead by now without cowerin' like a pup," muttered Isaac, and Arthur raised a brow in surprise. Last person he heard say that was Micah, weeks before the ferry job. He'd nearly broke the man's nose for it, told him to shove off and keep his parenting advice for kids he'd shot off to his own voice. Dutch had gotten involved before it got physical, but it was a damn near thing on Arthur's part.
"What, you listenin' to Micah now? Thought you didn't much like him," Arthur joked, trying to lighten the mood, but Isaac just pulled his shoulders in tighter.
"Bet you weren't cowerin' over dead things like me, when you was thirteen," Isaac grumbled in response, and Arthur frowned. There wasn't much of use Arthur could offer on that, except offer Isaac a story from his own life.
"When I was your age, I killed my first rabbit," he started, making Isaac look back up at him. "Weren't pretty, either. Took a shot straight to the skull — and with a gun, too, the poor thing." His nose crinkled up at the memory. It was a long time ago, but he never seemed to forget how mangled the body had looked. "Cooked it well enough, but I couldn't bring myself to eat one bite."
Arthur watched as Isaac's expression pulled from tentative curiosity to frustration, brows set into a scowl. "You ain't gotta make up stories just t'make me feel better. I ain't a little kid no more."
"I'm not," Arthur insisted. "You can ask Hosea yourself, he saw the whole thing. Still sours my stomach, seein' a rabbit on the spit — just don't go tellin' him that, alright?"
Arthur winked at Isaac, earning a chuckle from the boy. Arthur's smile softened at the sound, and he shifted to sit more comfortably while they spoke.
"Where's all this comin' from?" Arthur asked, setting his knife down. "Isaac, who's puttin' this in your head?"
Isaac kept quiet for a long moment, drawing the dull cloth of Arthur's scout jacket further around himself, as though trying to bury himself in it. He looked so damn small in that coat, and more so when he was like this, all closed off on himself. Isaac were still just a boy; he ain't been thirteen for two months, and he was already stressing himself over helping Arthur skin a deer.
Isaac had shoved his face into the coat's collar, voice muffled when he finally responded. "Nobody. Jus' wanna… wanna help. If I'm gonna go on jobs, eventually I gotta stop bein' like this. Actin' a fool."
Arthur was struck dumb for a second, trying to process what Isaac was saying. He knew Isaac wanted to go on jobs, but the worry in his voice was new. It wasn't a kid making up grand stories about what they got up to. Isaac had really thought about this; he knew what they actually entailed, and he was trying to prepare himself for that. Arthur wasn't sure what to say.
"…Well, you ain't a fool," he said, forcing himself to speak through the torrent of thoughts. "We've all gotta start somewhere, n'right now, you're helpin' me with this deer. Now, are we gonna do this, or we gonna wait 'till Pearson's complainin' about the meat goin' bad?"
Isaac nodded. He didn't untangle himself from the ball he'd made in his jacket, but he did perk up. "Yeah, I guess. M'ready."
After a moment more of hesitation, Arthur started to walk Isaac through how to skin a deer. All throughout, he couldn't seem to focus. Isaac wanted to go out on jobs. Expected to, even; he'd seen what being in this gang was about, and he was thinking about doing his part in shootouts.
Talk was one thing — Arthur'd heard plenty of people say they wanted to kill others, and never followed through with it. He was pretty sure he'd heard Mary-Beth say as much about an author more than once. Now, saying it and meaning it were two different things. Isaac didn't want to kill just for the hell of it like some men, but he saw killing folks as a reality he'd have to stomach one day.
Thinking about it now, it made Arthur's heart tighten, stole his breath from his lungs. Isaac was just a boy. He shouldn't've been worrying about having to kill anyone, far too young to have such imposing expectations of himself.
Arthur's mind never cleared as he and Isaac finished up, and his thoughts remained as they made their way to their shared room.
"You alright, Pa?" Isaac asked as they prepared for bed, looking up at Arthur where he settled on the ratty mattress.
Arthur offered him a smile, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of Isaac's head.
"I'm alright, son," he said, but shadow of fear followed him into his dreams.