Work Text:
He was dying.
He could tell he was dying before he even opened his mouth to tell him. To put it mildly, he looked like shit. Sunken, bloodshot eyes; cheekbones too sharp under pallid skin; and he was looking far too thin and pale for a man who spent 99% of his life working outdoors. Well, if you could call running in a gang “work.”
They stared at each other, Arthur poised on the steps, his hat clutched tightly in his hands. Gavin stood on the porch, arms crossed over his chest as he took him in, eyes raking down his body and back up again. He looked… scared. Nervous. But, strangely, at peace.
“What’ve you got?” he asked, getting straight to the point.
“Nuthin’ you need to be concerned about,” Arthur mumbled, idly running his fingers over the brim of his hat, turning it in his hands.
“Still as fuckin’ cryptic as ever,” Gavin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I ain’t a fuckin’ kid no more, Art.”
“ Clearly, ” Arthur retorted, turning to gaze out toward the paddock where Connor was taking care of the horses.
“You said you weren’t tellin’ no one,” Gavin hissed, rushing forward fast enough to make Arthur take a step back. “You said you wouldn’t talk.”
“I haven’t,” Arthur assured him. “And I won’t. I’m takin’ it to the grave, I swear.”
“Which apparently ain’t too far away,” Gavin grumbled. Arthur glared at him, gripping his hat in his hands tight enough Gavin heard the leather crackle. “Just tell me, Art.”
“I can’t.”
“I’m your brother! ”
“It would kill you.”
“Like running in your precious gang would kill me?” he spat.
“Running in this gang is what’s killin’ me!” Arthur spat back.
“Then get out!” He stepped forward again so he and Arthur were both on solid ground, Gavin having to lower his hat against the glaring sun so he could gaze up into his brother’s bloodshot eyes.
“I can’t,” Arthur whispered, voice hoarse like he was trying not to cry. “I been in it too damn long.”
“I can help you,” Gavin whispered, reaching out to grasp Arthur’s wrists. “Connor and I can help. Like you helped us. Art, please .”
“I can’t risk it,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Dutch’ll know it was you. He’ll–”
“He’ll what? He’ll kill me?” Gavin scoffed and shook his head.
“He just might,” Arthur muttered. “He ain’t right no more, Gav. He… he lost Annabelle. Fuckin’ Colm O'Driscoll murdered her.”
Gavin paled and took a step back, absorbing his brother’s words. “Oh.”
“He ain’t been right since.” Arthur sighed and looked down at his boots. “If I leave, he’ll come after you. And we got a fuckin’ rat minglin’ with us now and–”
“Arthur Morgan!” Connor laughed in disbelief as he walked over, slapping off the dirt on his gloves against his thigh before stuffing them in his back pocket. “I thought that was you! What’re doin’– Oh.” He paused when the brothers turned to look at him, taking in their sullen expressions and Arthur’s overall haggard and exhausted appearance.
“Connor,” Arthur mumbled politely, nodding his head in greeting.
“Arthur,” he mumbled back, adjusting his hat so he could see them both properly. “What’re… um… what brings you here after so long?”
“He’s dyin’,” Gavin grumbled just as Arthur said, “Came to say goodbye.”
“Oh.” He walked over to Gavin and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. “I’ll get some coffee started. Y’all should come on inside, OK?”
“I really shouldn’t–” Arthur protested before getting cut off by a hacking cough. He turned away and coughed into his sleeve, waving Gavin away.
“I’m fine,” he wheezed between coughs. “I’m fine.”
“No ya ain’t,” Gavin grumbled, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “What the hell’ve you got?”
“I’m fine, ” he insisted, waving him away. He was still coughing and weaving on his feet. “I… I shouldn’t’ve come. I… I should… should go.”
“Arthur?” Gavin reached for him just as another coughing fit overtook him, knocking him to the ground.
“Arthur!” He rushed over, kneeling in the dirt beside him and turned him onto his side. He was gasping for breath, the air wheezing out of him brokenly and painfully.
“Hold on, Art,” he whispered, squeezing his arm. “Con! Help me get him in the house.”
The last thing Arthur saw was Connor pulling a bandana over his mouth and nose before bending down to grab his shoulders and haul him up.
…::-::…
He jolted awake but managed to refrain from bolting upright, instead staring at the ceiling as he came back to himself. What the hell had happened? He turned to look to his right, seeing his hat on the bedside table, his satchel, gun belts, and bandolier hung over a chair by the door. He groaned and scrubbed his hands down his face, his stubble itching his palms. He really should shave, but why bother? He wouldn’t be around much longer anyway. He’d go out the same way he came into the world: ugly and fighting for his life.
He sat up and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, his socked feet gently grazing along the floor. He sighed and held his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his thighs. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have another episode, he’d been doing well, but it seemed fate had other ideas.
He pushed away from the bed and grabbed his boots, pulling them on as he made his way down the hall to the kitchen. He could smell something cooking, and his stomach growled loudly, rudely reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in hours. He shielded his eyes from the sun as he stumbled into the room, grunting in greeting at whoever was cooking.
“Good mornin’, Arthur,” Connor chirped, chipper as ever. He blinked and looked over at him, still squinting slightly against the brightness.
“Mornin’,” Arthur grumbled as he made his way over to the round breakfast table.
“Coffee?” Connor asked, holding up the percolator.
“Sure,” he sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He heard it being poured into a mug (a real mug and not the tin one he carried around) and soon smelled the delicious aroma as it was placed in front of him.
“You want milk or sugar? Or is just black fine?”
“Black’s fine,” he grumbled, already picking it up to take a drink.
“Alright then. Breakfast’ll be ready soon, so don’t go nowhere.” Arthur just grunted in reply, his nose hovering over the mug as if inhaling the scent would wake him up faster. Connor sighed and shook his head, returning to the stove to finish cooking the eggs and ham.
“Connor?”
“Hrm?” he hummed, not looking away from the stove.
“How long was I out?”
“Just overnight,” he told him, flipping an egg and savoring the sizzle. “Granted, that was about 18 hours ago, so you’ve basically been here a whole day.”
“Aw, shit, ” he groaned, running a hand down his face.
“It’s fine,” Connor assured him. “It ain’t like we weren’t prepared or nuthin’. We got a guest room, so we just putcha in there.”
“And Gavin–?”
“He watched over ya for a few hours. Yer breathin’ had us worried, but you were fine once your body calmed down.”
Arthur sighed and hung his head. He hadn’t wanted to worry Gavin and yet his damn lungs decided to act up at the worst moment. He was running out of time, he knew that. It was why he’d come to say goodbye. He’d just hoped Gavin wouldn’t have had to see him at his worst.
He was jolted out of his trance-like state when a plate was placed down in front of him, the scent of freshly cooked eggs wafting up. He set his mug down and looked down at the first decent breakfast he’d had in weeks . Ham, farm-fresh eggs over easy, and toast with what looked like a blackberry jam on the side.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, digging in.
“You’re welcome, Arthur.” They shared a brief smile before Connor dug into his own meal, pouring some milk and sugar into his coffee before taking a sip. They ate in a semi-comfortable silence, the only sounds the scraping of their silverware and the occasional crow of a rooster.
“Gav’s out milkin’ the cows, if you were wonderin’,” Connor said suddenly. Arthur laughed and shook his head.
“Y’all know me too well,” he chuckled. Connor laughed too and rested his elbows on the table, holding his mug in both hands to warm them. He sighed and stared into the creamy liquid and Arthur knew what was coming.
“Listen, Arthur,” Connor murmured, shoulders tense.
“ No ,” he growled, slamming his fork down onto the table.
“I know what’s goin’ on,” he continued, keeping his voice soft as if Gavin would hear them talking from all the way out in the barn. “I seen it before.”
“Seen what?” he mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Tuberculosis,” Connor whispered. Arthur froze and caught his gaze, both of them swallowing thickly.
“That’s why you put your bandana on,” Arthur whispered, the memory flashing before his eyes. “So you wouldn’t catch it.”
“Yeah,” he choked out, coughing to clear his throat. “My, uh… my sister got it from a guy she was whorin’ herself out to near Annesburg. It… it wasn’t pretty, and she didn’t die quickly neither. Just about killed us all to watch her whither away t’ nuthin’.”
“Connor–”
“I know you’ve come to say goodbye, to see Gavin one last time, but please ” –he looked up and caught Arthur’s gaze, tears in his eyes– “I’m beggin’ ya, don’t give it to ‘im. He’s all I got. I can’t lose him.”
“I won’t,” he whispered. “I won’t.”
Connor nodded and cleared his throat again, forcing himself to drink a large gulp of coffee. Arthur couldn’t help but notice that his hands were shaking. Was he trying to keep back so much emotion he was literally shaking?
“But you need t’ tell ‘im,” Connor muttered. “You can’t leave him in the dark like this. It’ll destroy him.”
“Tellin’ him’ll destroy him too.”
“It’s not like you’re askin’ him to sit by an’ watch you die!” Connor countered, slamming his mug down on the table. “If you tell ‘im, he’ll be able to make peace with it. But if you don’t, he’ll always wonder why you didn’t trust him enough to tell him.”
“That ain’t why I don’t wanna tell him!”
“ I know that, but Gavin doesn’t!”
“I don’t know what?” the man in question asked as he walked in the back door. He stopped when he felt the tension in the room and looked at his brother and then his lover, taking in their sullen expressions.
“Oh,” he breathed out, barely even a whisper. “He told you, didn’t he?”
“He didn’t have to,” Connor murmured. “I already knew.”
“You already knew?” Gavin paused to take a breath, clenching his hands into fists. “You already knew?! ”
“It ain’t like that, Gav,” Connor tried to explain, but Gavin cut him off.
“So he’ll tell you , barely even a brother-in-law, but not his own family? ”
“It ain’t like that, Gavin,” Arthur growled, standing up from his seat. “He–”
“Why don’t you trust me, Art?” Gavin whispered, voice choked. Arthur spared a glance at Connor who tilted his head in a way that clearly said, “I told you so.” He sighed and turned back to his brother, both their hearts breaking for different reasons.
“It ain’t that I don’t trust ya,” he explained. “I just don’t wanna hurt ya.”
“You still treat me like a little kid, Art,” Gavin grumbled, turning away to wipe at his eyes, not wanting his brother to see him so weak. “I ain’t six no more!”
“I know that, Gavin. But I–”
“I’m fuckin’ twenty eight years old. I’m a goddamn adult. I got a life, I make a livin’, I got a good home and someone to share it with.” He smiled sadly at Connor, who gave him a sad smile of his own in return. “I think I can handle you tellin’ me how you’re dyin’.”
Arthur sighed and gripped the back of his chair, leaning against it and hanging his head. The tension between the three of them was so thick Arthur could have used it for target practice. Finally, he pushed away and straightened up, looking Gavin in the eye as he said,
“I got tuberculosis.”
Gavin pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded, tilting his chin up to stare at the ceiling as if it would keep his tears from falling. He sniffled and gnawed on his bottom lip, hands clenched into fists at his side. Finally, he took in a shuddering breath and looked at his brother, a few tears falling down his cheeks. Hell, even Arthur and Connor were crying a bit.
“Thanks fer tellin’ me, Art,” he choked out. “How… um… how long’ve you got?”
“I dunno,” he said honestly, shrugging. “But I know I ain’t got long. Been gettin’ worse every day. I just… I’m tryin’ to do some good with the time I’ve got left.”
“That’s honorable of ya, Arthur,” Connor whispered.
“Yeah, cuz I’m an honorable man,” he groaned, rolling his eyes.
“You are when you try to be.”
Arthur scoffed and sat back down in his chair, picking at imaginary lint on his shirt cuffs.
“How’d you get it?” Gavin asked, still standing over by the door.
“Beatin’ a man to death over a few dollars,” he grumbled, not wanting to meet Gavin’s eyes.
“Strauss?”
“Yeah,” he grunted.
“I always hated him,” Gavin grumbled, shifting from foot to foot.
“Yeah. Me too,” Arthur chuckled. “Always found him a bit queer, ya know? Not like y’all,” he backpedaled, holding his hands up as Connor scowled at him. “I meant like… strange. Unusual. Unsettlin’.” Connor sniffed but didn’t say anything, instead forcing himself to take a sip of his coffee.
“Who all’s left?” Gavin asked, stepping forward a bit to get some coffee for himself.
“Not many.” Arthur sighed, holding his head in his hands. “Jenny and Davey died up in the mountains. We managed to rescue Sean from bounty hunters, but he got shot in the head in Rhodes. We got a new guy, an O’Driscoll we stole and converted, Kieran, but they got to ‘im and sent him back to us without his damn head.” Connor and Gavin both hissed, wincing.
“Lenny and… and Hosea…” He choked on a sob and rubbed at his eyes. “Saint Denis. Bank robbery. We got sold out.”
“God, no,” Gavin whispered, sitting down in the chair next to Arthur. “Not Hosea.”
“So, we got John, Abigail, and little Jack. Miss Grimshaw’s still kickin’. Pearson left a while ago, I kicked Strauss out–”
“Thank God,” Gavin sighed. Arthur huffed a laugh and nodded.
“Yeah. Um… Trelawny’s gone again, but I don’t blame ‘im. All the shit that’s been goin’ on? He was better off runnin’.”
“And the girls?” Connor asked.
“They’re still here,” Arthur assured him. “Though Karen’s probably off drinkin’ herself to death in a pub somewhere. And Molly… Molly sold us out in Saint Denis.”
“No!” Connor gasped, covering his mouth with his hands.
“Yeah. Dutch weren’t too happy with that. Miss Grimshaw shot her and we had to… to burn her body.”
“Jesus,” Gavin hissed, wincing in sympathy.
“But we got a new one,” Arthur added as if that little fact would smooth things over. “And she’s more cutthroat and ruthless than I am.”
“I somehow doubt that,” Gavin scoffed, offering Arthur a small smile.
“I just finished helpin’ her clear out a group of O’Driscolls not too far from here. Found the guy who’d murdered her husband.” He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. “She got ‘er revenge, and closure.” He sighed and looked up at them both, trying to smile. “So, if you ever cross paths with Sadie Adler, don’t underestimate her,” Arthur warned them. “She’ll murder ya with just her words.”
“Kinda like this one here,” Connor mumbled, nodding his head at Gavin.
“Oh, shut up, you.” Gavin smacked his arm and they all laughed, the tension in the room floating away.
“I should go,” Arthur grumbled, looking down at his hands as he twirled his thumbs around each other. “I gotta try an’ convince Dutch to let the women go, so they don’t get caught up in this anymore than they already are. He ain’t right, but he hopefully ain’t a lunatic.”
“Do you have t’ go?” Gavin asked, standing up as Arthur did. “You can stay here. Dutch won’t find you here.”
“I can’t risk it.” He turned to him and smiled sadly, sighing hard. “And I don’t want you seein’ me like this no more. I ain’t gonna let you watch me die.”
“Arthur–”
“Gavin, please ,” he begged. “Let me go.”
Gavin stepped back, his lips pressed into a thin line again. He nodded and watched Arthur disappear down the hall into the guest room, hearing his buckles clink as he put his holsters back on.
He stepped back out and Gavin hadn’t moved, fighting back tears. Arthur sighed and walked over, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat as he took off his spare holster. Gavin sniffled, watching as his brother’s shaking hands handed it over.
“Take it,” he grumbled. “I won’t need it no more soon enough.”
Tentatively, Gavin reached out and took the belt, examining the leather work. He trailed his fingers over the stag design, pausing when he reached the handle of the gun still tucked inside. He looked up at Arthur, a question in his eyes.
“Keep that too,” he sighed, waving a dismissive hand. “Ya never know.”
Gavin nodded and secured the belt around his hips, the gun a heavy but comforting weight against his thigh. He took in a shuddering breath before pulling Arthur in for a hug, resting his chin on his shoulder. Arthur immediately hugged him back, crushing him in his arms.
“You take care of yourself, Gavin,” he whispered, squeezing him tight.
“I will,” he whispered back, digging his nails into Arthur’s back. They pulled away and wiped at their eyes, sniffling like children. “I’d say ‘you too,’ but we both know how this is gonna end.”
Arthur nodded and cleared his throat, looking over at Connor whose bottom lip was trembling as he tried to hold back his own flood of tears.
“You watch over him, ya hear?” Arthur told him, a small smile pulling at his lips to let the man know he was only teasing. “Or I’ll come back to haunt ya and beat your ass.”
Connor choked on a laugh and nodded, sitting back down in his chair as Gavin walked Arthur out to his horse. They’d stabled the Dutch Warmblood the other night, brushed him down to reveal his golden cremello coloring and fed him well, so he was ready to go as soon as he saw Arthur walking down the path. Together, they got him saddled and tacked up as he pranced in place, far too excited to get moving again to stand still.
“Buell, ya stubborn asshole!” Arthur admonished him, giving his rump a smack. “Hold still ya jackass!”
“Buell?” Gavin asked as he secured one of the straps of the horse’s bridle.
“Yeah, not my idea,” Arthur grumbled, double checking the girth strap before calling it good. “Friend of mine gave ‘im to me.”
“You ain’t got many friends left, Arthur,” Gavin muttered sadly, patting the horse’s neck. He nickered appreciatively and nuzzled his shoulder.
“I know,” he sighed. “This friend’s gone now too. Got mauled by a wild boar we was huntin’. Asked me to take his horse, so I did.”
“Oh.” The brothers sighed and looked at one another, neither wanting to leave the other.
“I’ll miss you, Gavin,” Arthur whispered, pulling him in for one last hug.
“I’ll miss you too, Art,” Gavin choked out, burying his face in his shoulder. “I love you, ya damn idiot.”
“I love you too, ya fool.” He tousled his hair and stepped back, wiping at his eyes. “Take care of yourself, ya hear? Or I won’t just come back to haunt your lover.”
“Alright, fine, ” Gavin sighed, rolling his eyes. “Now get outta here. Go do some good and all that shit.”
Arthur nodded and hopped onto Buell, settling in the saddle as the horse trotted away. Gavin followed him to the property fence, leaning against it as Arthur urged Buell into a gallop. He waved as he ran off and Gavin meekly waved back. He gripped the railing and sobbed once the dust had settled, whispering his final goodbyes to be carried off by the wind.
TWO WEEKS LATER
“Con!” Gavin shouted, wiping his brow on his forearm. “Bring me the fuckin’ scythe! This wheat’s gettin’ outta control!”
There was no reply. Only the gentle mooing of the cows could be heard over the rustling of the wheat. Gavin frowned, brow creased in concern.
“Con?” He stood up and walked back toward the house, swatting away the offending wheat stalks as he made his way out.
“Con?” he called out again, shielding his eyes from the sun with his arm as he emerged from the field.
“Over here, Gavin,” Connor called back, voice taut.
Oh no.
Gavin waited for his eyes to adjust to the light before looking toward the house. Connor was standing in front of someone, blocking his view of them, so he quickly made his way over to them. Connor suddenly turned around, eyes bloodshot and cheeks streaked with tears. Gavin froze when he finally saw who had come, tears gathering in his eyes.
Charles was standing there, clutching his hat to his chest as his fingers toyed with the rim, and Gavin knew. He clutched his hand to his chest, the other covering his mouth as he fell to his knees in the dirt, tears streaming down his face.
Arthur was gone.