Chapter Text
Clothes, drawings, pencil and two pictures of his long dead parents, not sure why he even carried a picture of Lyle, bastard of a man. Sentimental value? A visual reminder to never be the man he was? Arthur shrugged, then remembered he hid a sheet of paper under his pillow. He lifted it, then the gift wrapped book, the sheet of paper was worn, bore the markings of being folded and unfolded many times. Crumpled even, from all the times he almost threw it away. He decided to pocket it, wouldn't want anyone to find it.
“Arthur?!” John stopped whispering.
He closed the bag, got all he owned, everything now stuffed into the empty sack of grain. With no more than three coins of twenty-five cents to his name, he was ready to start over, to be alone again.
“Is you leaving?!” John repeated, louder than before.
Arthur sighed, should have waited until the kid was fast asleep.
“Don't igor me!” John said.
“Ignore,” Arthur corrected. “Now go back to sleep,” he turned around to face John, narrowed his eyes.
John hopped out of his cot, straightened up, chin high, lips set in a tight line.
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, it was easier to intimidate a bear than this kid.
“Please get back in bed 'n stay quiet, 'm just going out for a quick trip. Be back before you know it.” His voice cracked when he uttered those last few words.
“Liar!” John shouted.
“Whatever kid.” Arthur threw the sack over his shoulder, left the tent.
“You promised you wouldn't go again!” John followed him out, wrapped his arms around Arthur's leg. “Won't let you!”
“Why do you always have to be so damned annoying?!” Arthur hissed, the death grip on his bad leg did him no good.
“Dutch! Hosea!” John yelled.
“Seriously?!” Arthur struggled to pry the boys arms off of his leg, kid was stronger than he looked.
“What on earth is going on?” Hosea asked when both he and Dutch stormed out of the large tent.
“He's leaving again!” John tightened his grip, his eyes squeezed shut from the effort he was putting in.
“Little rat.” Arthur whispered down at him.
“Leaving?” Hosea frowned.
Arthur sighed in frustration, might as well put all his cards on the table now.
“Going where exactly?” Dutch asked, first time he spoke to him in many hours.
“Does it matter? I'm leaving before you can kick me out. That way it's my choice.”
“Kick you out? Have you been hit on the head?” Hosea said in bewilderment.
“Don't pretend that ain't what's happening.” Arthur held his hand up, stopped them before they could interrupt.
“You was right, what I've gone and done was foolish and irresponsible, yes I've lied, gotten into a fight when I was supposed to lay low, came back later than I should've.” Arthur dropped the sack in his hand.
“All them rules broken and I didn't come back with shit for the camp funds, didn't finish my damned chores...” He shook his head, the more he spoke, the more he felt like a complete failure.
“Arthur...” Dutch started, his expression hard to read past the shadows cast on their faces from the lantern.
“I get it, I ain't worth shit.” He interrupted Dutch, wanted to get everything out before he would be shown the door.
“Ain't never done nothing right in my life, been told that plenty. But I tried.” He pointed at himself, sniffled. “A-and I'm sorry that I worried you so much, sorry that I keep screwing shit up.” He had to look away when the words became harder to push past the lump in his throat.
“T-that's why I'm goin', s-saving you both the t-trouble on deciding who d-delivers the news.” Arthur hated how much he started to stammer, how it made him sound like a crybaby.
“No! You won't leave, won't let you!” John still clung to him as if his life depended on it.
Dutch and Hosea spared each other a brief glance.
“Arthur...” Hosea started.
“Son...” Dutch said almost simultaneously.
They eyed each other again, silently decided who would go first.
Dutch nodded at Hosea. “Son, we weren't discussing no such thing.”
“I saw the disappointment in your eyes. You couldn't even speak to me no more.” His lips quivered as he spoke.
“No. No no no.” Dutch approached him, shook his head. “I wasn't disappointed in you, only in myself. Because I failed to properly teach you how to take care of yourself.” Dutch's hand reached out for Arthur's cheek and cupped it, the side which was bruised.
“You're young Arthur. Of course you'll go out there, into the world. There's nothing wrong with that.” Dutch continued, his thumb lightly stroked over Arthur's cheek.
“But when we took you in we accepted a responsibility. Not to keep you away from danger, that's impossible. We accepted that it was our duty to make sure that you'd be ready to face whatever is out there.”
“Ngggh!” John growled in protest when Hosea pried him off of Arthur's leg. “Come on you, you've done your job.” Hosea told John, carried him to their tent.
“There are going to be mistakes, son. Today, tomorrow, next week. From you, from us. It's through our mistakes the we learn how to succeed.” Dutch's hand moved to the back of Arthur's head, pulled him closer to his chest.
“You won't get kicked out for that Arthur, for nothing, not now, not ever.” Dutch wrapped his arms around Arthur's, pulled his whole body closer.
Arthur's sobs were muffled against Dutch chest, tears flowed freely down his face, “'m sorry.”
“Me too son, me too.” Dutch patted his back.
Dutch cleared his throat after they stood there for a few minutes.
“So, are we past all that leaving nonsense?” Dutch ended their embrace, lifted the boys chin.
Arthur nodded, used his sleeve to wipe away the snot and tears.
“Does that mean you'll still be here in the morning?” Dutch asked again.
“Y-yes sir.” He stammered.
“Good, that's my boy. Get some rest.” Dutch ushered him over to his tent.
“Hold.” Hosea blocked the entrance to Arthur's tent.
Arthur swallowed, stared at him, eyes wide. Could it be that Hosea saw things differently than Dutch?
“What's wrong with your leg?” Hosea asked, Dutch immediately stepped away from Arthur for a better view.
“N-nothing, 's fine, I can still work.” Oh God, don't let this be the thing that ruins it. Mistakes, sure, but being too injured to work, that would be a no go.
“Nonsense, off to Dutch's tent with you, where we have some proper light.” Hosea grabbed hold of Arthur's right arm, while Dutch did the same to his left.
“R-really it's fine. Just need to sleep on it.” He said.
“I'll be the judge of that.” Hosea replied.
His foot screamed out in pain whenever he put his weight on it. He was grateful that he could lean on their shoulders for support and hopped along between them. They sat him down in Dutch's tent, inspected his leg and foot.
“Looks to be sprained. Lucky for you I got something which should help with that.” Hosea exited the tent before his sentence ended.
“Son, this is very important okay? I need you to promise me that you'll never ever hide your injuries from us. Do you understand?” Dutch gave Arthur's hand a light squeeze.
“Y-yes sir.” He lowered his head.
“Stop that.” Dutch lifted his chin again. “I'm not sir, or mister. I'm Dutch, he's Hosea.”
“S-sorry, old habit.”
“We don't demand obedience or any form of submission.” Dutch cooed. “A willingness to learn, that's what matters most.”
“I wanna learn.” He mumbled.
“Of course you do, and learn you shall.” Dutch smiled, moved aside so Hosea could do his work.
“No more crazy adventures Arthur, this needs to rest for a few days.” Hosea carefully applied his mixture on top of the swollen area.
Arthur hissed in pain. “It's fine, I can still work, I promise.”
“Arthur, when resting is what's best for you, you'll rest.” Dutch sternly said.
“Thought you said obedience weren't no thing?” Arthur frowned.
“Oh-ho. Sounds like our boy found his voice again.” Hosea grinned.
“What I meant was to say that... well, you see by obedience I tried to say... that, well-” Dutch tripped over his own words, ultimately gave up with a sigh.
“Dutch Van der Linde, silenced by a fifteen year old. Never thought I'd see the day.” Hosea said.
“Careful friend, I know where you sleep.” Dutch snarled.
“Luckily not in your bed with how loud you can snore.” Hosea winked at Arthur, who bit his bottom lip.
Dutch huffed at him. They helped Arthur back to his tent, got him settled in and all.
“Pssst.” John waited until the two older men had left.
“What?” Arthur whispered.
“You know what today is?” John also whispered. Seemed to be calm now, Hosea must have given him a quick talking to.
“A good day for some shut-eye?” Arthur placed his hands behind his head for support.
“No silly, it's Christmas.” John beamed.
Arthur frowned. “How'd you know about that?”
“Hosea told me them stories. About the bearded man dressed in red, he comes at night, leaves gifts for them that been good.”
“He did?” Arthur never heard those stories, didn't think Hosea would tell them to John either.
“Uhu, tomorrow's a super special day. We gonna be getting the best gifts!”
Arthur snorted. “Don't hold your breath for that one, kid.” Best get his expectations down, makes the disappointment easier to bear.
“You'll see.” John pouted.
“Lemme sleep Johnny.” Arthur rolled over on his side. This was unexpected, maybe the gifts weren't such a bad idea after all? Should he proceed with his plan and stay up for a few more hours?
Sure, why not.
It was rough, trying to stay awake, tired as he was, he'd have to extra careful with his stupid foot. Wouldn't be easy to sneak around on it. Maybe he shouldn't bother with Hosea and Dutch's gifts? Save himself the embarrassment.
'Your actions define you, not by how you see them, but by how they are observed through others.'
Arthur sighed, he weren't smart enough to fully understand the sisters words, but felt like he got the gist of it. How would they view his actions? Reckless, pointless?
Arthur groaned, this involved too much thinking, too tired for that. He'd just drop them off and deal with the disappointment in their faces, later.
He got up, put a bit of weight on his foot to test his limits. Felt better than a few hours ago, thanks Hosea. He fished the two packages out of his satchel, careful not to rattle anything. John's gift he placed next to the boys pillow. That was the easy part, with the book in hand he made his way to Hosea's tent. As he feared, it was hard to be quiet while he half hopped, he pushed the flap aside, managed to leave the wrapped book on top of the small pile of other books the man had collected over the years.
Arthur made it out again, closed the flap, slightly proud of how silent he managed to be in spite of his injury. Last but not least, Dutch's tent. He couldn't help but grin when the man's loud snoring greeted him. This would be easier than expected, he placed the beautifully wrapped gift on top of Dutch's chair, made his way back to his own tent. Pleased that it all went without a hitch. About time something went right, he thought as he slipped back under his blanket. Now he could finally get some rest.
~~~
“Hosea, Hosea!!!!”
Arthur rapidly sat up, startled by the high-pitched voice. The flap of his tent still moved after John had darted out.
“Hosea!! You was right, Father Christmas came to our tent!” John shouted as he darted across the camp.
“Ugh.” Arthur let his body flop back down, false alarm. He turned on his side, opened his eyes towards John's empty cot. Bits of newspaper were sprawled across it, a single package of chocolate remained, no doubt fell out of the kids hands as he rushed out. It made his mouth curl upwards.
“Dutch! Dutch! Look!” John shouted in the distance.
Arthur still felt exhausted, but curiosity ate away at his peace of mind. If Dutch and Hosea were up, they must have seen their own gifts. Part of him wanted to see their reaction, the other part dreaded it. He threw the covers down, stepped in his pants and boots, limped out of the tent in his long-johns. A small miscalculation, it was too damned chilly.
Dutch stood in the entrance of his tent, fully dressed, shiny pipe in his mouth as he smiled down at John who was busy showing off every different kind of candy.
Dutch looked up, towards Arthur, raised his hand, the one with the pipe in it, and nodded at him.
Arthur returned the nod, Dutch seemed relaxed, content even. He swallowed deeply, watched John as the kid hurried over to Hosea who sat at the campfire, also fully dressed. How long had he slept?
“Hosea! Look how many candies I got!” John dropped a few more as he held them out for Hosea to see, too excited to notice.
“Wow that's a lot, see if you can count them.” Hosea smirked, closed the book in his hands.
Arthur recognized the color of it's cover, it was the one he spent months worth of savings on. Not for nothing after all.
“Did he bring you something?” John asked.
“As a matter of fact he did.” Hosea showed him the book.
“Oooh.” John traced a finger over the letters on the cover, tried to read a few words but failed miserably.
“Don't just stand there, son, you'll catch a cold.” Dutch joined the two at the campfire, motioned Arthur over.
“You know, Father Christmas accidentally left you something in my tent as well.” Hosea said.
John gasped, his brows shot up as far as they could.
Hosea entered his tent, walked back out with a thin book in his hands and held it out to John.
“What's it say?” John's fingers brushed over the cover.
“You tell me.”
“Uhm... Tuh.” John started.
“The.” Hosea corrected.
“The... sh-shell fish.” John continued.
“Selfish.” Hosea corrected with a chuckle.
“The shellfish g-guh...“ John frowned, “guhnt?”
“The selfish giant.” Hosea read it out in full. “Good try, John.”
John grinned from ear to ear.
Arthur stood by the fire, held his hands out towards it. Little Johnny seemed so happy, a happiness Lyle never allowed him to have when he was a kid. Seeing the kid bounce around with such excitement filled him with a warmth equal to not even the brightest of fires.
“Arthur, what did you get?” John tugged on his sleeve.
“Uh, I'm a bit too old for them things.” He forced a smile out.
“But he came to Dutch and Hosea.” John frowned.
“It's the mental age that matters.” Arthur said, much to Hosea and Dutch's bemusement.
“Huh?” John's frown deepened.
“Don't worry about it kiddo, merry Christmas.” Arthur ruffled his hair.
“It's okay, we can share.” John held a few bars of chocolate out to him.
Arthur swallowed deeply. Stupid kid, being nice, it was hard to deal with nice. Much easier to handle cold and uncaring, things he was used to. “Nah, them's your gifts.”
“It's okay, Father Christmas got me enough for yeaaars!”John started to gather the ones he dropped.
“Years huh?” Arthur smiled.
“With the rate at which you're eating them? You'll be lucky if they last an hour.” Hosea unwrapped another bar for the boy.
A cloud of smoke floated by his head. “How's it taste?” Arthur turned his head to Dutch.
“Like a hard earned prize.” Dutch grinned as he puffed his new pipe.
Arthur lowered his head, face flushed, a small smile appeared on his lips.
“Why don't we all get warmed up by the fire? We can melt some of that chocolate, mix it with a bit of condensed milk.”
“That a thing?” Arthur raised his head, frowned.
“Oh my, you boys are in for a treat.” Hosea grinned.
“Speaking of which.” Dutch wandered off to his tent. “Almost forgot that the bearded man accidentally left something in my tent as well.
“More gifts?!” John bounced on the log, flung his legs over to face Dutch.
“Hmm, that is a lot of gifts isn't it? We wouldn't want you to get spoiled.” Dutch smiled.
“Not too much! I'll be even gooder if you let me have it!” John promised.
“Even gooder?” Dutch raised a brow at Hosea.
“You try and get him to concentrate for longer than half an hour.” Hosea grumbled.
“Catch.” Dutch tossed a wrapped object at John, who clumsily caught it.
“Wow! It's heavy.” John grinned as he inspected it.
Arthur sighed, wished he also had gotten everyone two gifts instead of the one. Didn't know that was the custom. Maybe if he'd been more curious, like John. Asked Hosea to tell him a few stories. Then he would have known, not that he could afford more.
“Arthur.”
Arthur rotated his torso towards Dutch, barely managed to catch the thing which flew straight at his head.
“Yes! knew it, knew he'd bring you something too!” John was overly excited, no doubt the amount of sugar he already consumed assisted him with that.
“What are you boys waiting for? Open them.” Hosea said.
John immediately tore away at the shiny wrapping. Arthur not so much, too stunned by the fact that he had gotten something, that it was wrapped with such care.
“That's an hour of work ruined in seconds.” Dutch mumbled with his eyes on John and the torn wrapping.
“Lot's of cursing too, it's a good thing Father Christmas has a more skilled helping hand.” Hosea happily added.
“Pff.” Dutch huffed, “I'm sure he would have managed.”
“Uhu, is that why he so often called for his trusty helper?” Hosea raised a brow at him.
Dutch narrowed his eyes, to which Hosea responded with a cackle.
Cursing? Helper? Is that what they were doing in Dutch's tent last night? When he was so worried that they were discussing who would tell that his time here was over and done with.
“What's the matter son? Not interested?” Dutch sounded concerned.
“Wha? Oh, no no, I-” He swallowed, stared down at the first gift he ever received.
“Whoa! It's a- it's a... uhm,” John frowned at the object, slipped his hand underneath the leather belt and mimicked a brushing motion. He knew what it was, for the horsies, but he forgot the word.
Arthur unwrapped his, found it to be a similar object, it made him smile.
“The Count and Silver are going to love these. Gonna get them well brushed up.” Arthur promised. He loved Hosea and Dutch's horses, always cared for them as best as he could.
“A selfless idiot like the world has never seen before.” Hosea rolled his eyes.
Arthur frowned at him.
“It's for your horses, well, horse and a pony.” Dutch rested a hand on Arthur and John's shoulders.
Arthur's face fell, mouth agape.
“A pony? I get a pony?!” John couldn't contain his excitement, not while he was seated.
“It's about time a big man such as yourself learns how to ride.” Dutch smiled, tousled John's hair.
“Gonna name mine.. boy! No... uhm, chocolate! No no... uhm-” John rambled on about various names.
“It's a Nokota horse, I think you'll love her. They're waiting for you at the stables.” Dutch smiled down at him.
“N-nokota? Them's like two hundred dollar horses.” Arthur stared at him, completely bewildered.
“We only want what's best for our sons.” Dutch said.
“Amen to that.” Hosea added.
He traced his fingers over the varnished brush. Arthur struggled to swallow, fought hard to not shed any tears. Not in front of John. “T-thank you.” He whispered with a raspy voice.
Arthur was stunned, didn't think he was worth two dollars, never mind two hundred. The first gift he ever received, straight up something worth more money than he ever possessed in his whole life.
“Ha ha! Arthur be crying!” John giggled.
“No I ain't.” Arthur briefly glared at him, rubbed his eyes and sniffled.
“John, be nice to your brother.” Hosea chided.
John's shoulders sagged. “Sowwee.”
Brother. Father, no. Fathers, plural. Could they be, was it wrong to ask? Did he need that level of assurance? It would mean a lot, to hear how they felt about it.
Arthur slipped one hand into his pocket, the other he rested on top of the knee which belonged to his good leg. An attempt to keep it still as it bounced up and down.
“What say you boys we give this story a go? Stables should be open by the time we're done.” Hosea took the fable in his lap.
“Uhm.” Arthur stood up, faced everyone. “C-could I say something first?”
“The floor is yours.” Hosea said, closed the book.
Arthur pulled the crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and swallowed.
“To Dutch and Hosea,” he cleared his throat.
“I was once lost, until you found me,”
“Hungry, cold and broken,”
“You fed me, clothed me, mended me,”
“What you saw in me, I do not know,”
“Only that I am grateful,”
“For the kindness, you did show,”
“As friends and leaders, my heart and loyalty, you have won,”
“In return, I ask to be your son.”
He hadn't stuttered or stumbled over a single word. Only those who knew him could tell that he must have recited it a lot to manage that, both in reading and writing.
“Arthur.” He struggled to say his name, voice weak, throat dry, only now did he realize that his hands trembled. Regret overwhelmed him, these men were con-artists, thieves, gunslingers. Why would they want a boy and his sappy writings in their midst?
He made a fool of himself.
Couldn't read their expressions, couldn't stare at them for another second. He turned on his heels, headed straight for his tent where he would hide for the rest of the day, or week. He crumpled up the piece of paper, threw it at his pillow.
Lyle was right, he thought, stared straight at the topmost picture of the tiny stack. He wasn't good at anything which would help him survive. Always busy with his stupid drawings, head in the clouds as opposed to working on a plan to get by, useless, that's what he was.
He sniffled, brought the palms of his hands to his eyes and rubbed them, “Shit, oh Morgan you moron.” he muttered to himself.
Arthur sighed, closed his eyes when he heard the flap of his tent move, the clanging of spurs from the boots attached to them.
“Turn around.” Dutch ordered.
Arthur did as told, slowly, wished he could shrink down and turn invisible. He turned his head when Dutch walked closer, closed his eyes when his chin was pushed up by a single finger.
“Yes.” Dutch said.
Arthur opened his puffy eyes, searched Dutch's for meaning and intent.
“You-” Dutch used both hands to cup Arthur's face, “-are my son. From now until the end of time itself. We... I love you, and I will do anything, everything, to protect you and guide you.”
“R-really?”
“Come here.” Dutch pulled him into a warm embrace, his chin rested on top of Arthur's head.
“Arthur, my love for you and John goes deeper than hell itself. You could shoot me, and I would still hold you as close as I am now.”
Arthur couldn't return the hug, he just stood there, felt as if he floated. This was the gift he never thought to ask for, a gift more precious than the biggest bar of gold.
The gift of a loving family.
“Little John will grow impatient if we linger much longer.” Dutch said.
“Y-yeah.” Arthur spoke softly.
“One more thing.” Dutch reached behind himself, fiddled with his belt.
Arthur frowned when Dutch presented him a book with no drawings or writing on it's cover. It's binding made of black leather, it was sealed with a belt and it's silver buckle.
“Thought you'd enjoy a little something for those drawings of yours, keep them tidy and in one place.” Dutch smiled.
Arthur accepted the third gift, his hands shook as he held the item and stared down at it. In response, Dutch's hands covered his, held them still.
“You've earned it son, I'd give you the world if I could, who knows, perhaps one day I will.” Dutch cooed.
This time, for the first time, it was Arthur who initiated the embrace. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Guess we should uh, get back out there.” Arthur said.
“An excellent plan.” Dutch followed him out, stepped over the log and sat down in the spot John previously occupied.
Hosea was still seated in the same spot, while John carefully stroked his horse brush over the man's vest.
“Everyone comfortable? I believe it is story time.” Hosea smiled, opened the book.
“What colour is the pony?” John asked as he crawled up into Dutch's lap.
“You'll have to wait and see.” Dutch grinned.
John grabbed hold of Dutch's left arm, wrapped it around his middle, did the same with Dutch's other arm. Crossed them in front of him so he could snuggle against the man's chest.
Arthur saw the look Dutch and Hosea exchanged, swore they almost melted.
“Once upon a time... "Hosea started to read from the book.
Arthur smiled, no longer cared about the moistness in the corner of his eyes. When he woke up this morning, he feared that his wish for a day of togetherness would be rejected. He never expected to be gifted anything, never thought he would receive the greatest gift of all.
A loving family, a place which accepted him for who he was.
A place to call home.
Dutch leaned closer to Arthur, whispered into his ear.
“Merry Christmas, son.”