Chapter Text
Arthur jerked awake, his chest heaving and beads of cold sweat plastered across his forehead.
It was a nightmare. Not unexpected, for he had one every night, but not quite welcome, either.
He pushed on, told himself to keep going, to not think of what happened. And yet, even if he somehow managed not to catch the near-constant reminders, not to think of the house in the swamp, of Sonny, it still came back in his dreams. He came back in his dreams, and just the thought of him gave Arthur a terrible sense of dread.
Arthur sat quiet a moment longer. He stretched, then rose to begin his day.
A breakfast of canned peaches and coffee, a morning full of chores, and by noon, he had a lunch of Pearson's stew. Not the man's best, he'd admit. A bit gamey, hard to fully chew each piece of meat. He finished it regardless, for any food he could take he knew he needed.
Arthur was underweight, but slowly gaining it back to normal. He had days where he ate little, and others where he didn't eat at all despite Susan's nagging, Tilly's concern, and Hosea's light-hearted and well-meaning teasing.
He caught Charles approaching him, taking a half-eaten bowl of stew and setting it down next to Arthur's, joining him in lunch.
Often Charles would notice his eating habits, and as calm and collected as he was, would simply remind him he needed to eat. Others would do it, too, Susan nearly forcing it down his throat when she caught a glimpse of the way his collarbone stuck out. Arthur found himself appreciating their care yet being agitated by it at the same time, though Charles was an exception. He was not going to push him. He was patient, seemed to understand that if Arthur didn't follow the reminder, then he wouldn't eat at all, and no one could make him.
He liked Charles. He was smart, observant, honest, moral, and they got along well. Charles never told him he was dumb, never pushed him, never seemed like he was truly against him. Arthur had made regrettable choices with Charles to witness, and though he called him out, he never seemed to truly hold it against him. He appreciated his honesty, his corrections that pushed Arthur to do better, and admittedly, he admired him. Charles was a far better man than Arthur would ever be.
"Hey, Arthur. Want to go hunting with me again?" Charles asked, and it caught Arthur by surprise.
Last time they hunted together, they found a couple of poachers hired to make it look like Indians had slaughtered the bison.
In a snap, Charles drew his gun and shot the first. Arthur interrogated the second, but when he got the information he needed, he spared him and let him go free.
Charles was enraged, and even more so at Arthur's decision. Since then, he wondered if he'd ever earn Charles' forgiveness.
The man did an awful thing, he'd acknowledge that. Even if Arthur did not hold the same principals as Charles, even if he did not find needless killing of any species repulsive, it was enough to see Charles turn so quick in fury. A part of Arthur regretted not having killed the guilty man then and there, and even now, he wondered why he didn't do it.
It was pointless. The man had a family, and was just doing what he was told. Killing him over it changed nothing other than to make a widow and fatherless children. A part of Arthur believed that. Another part of him believed he only let the plague spread further of destructive behavior imposed upon people who's only wrongdoing was their birth and their culture.
He understood Charles' anger. He wished he could think faster than spare a man who may or may not had deserved it. In the meantime, he figured he would not think about it at all, bury it deep with all the other past sins and pains he had both wrought and experienced. /p>
"Sho'. I'll make sure it's not a repeat of last time." Arthur said, not looking at him as he spoke and lightly picked at his stew.
When Arthur and him cleared the way for the gang to make the place they now stood in their home, Charles then was angry, too. It stung then. Not as hard as it stung with the bison poaching incident, but god, it stung.
He didn't show it. He obeyed Charles' and the family's request and tried to do better, and that was that. As aforementioned, despite the sting, he appreciated Charles' honesty.
With the bison, it was somehow different. He couldn't quite place why he still held onto it with such remorse; a thorn in his chest he could never get out.
Both served one thought: he disappointed the man he admired.
Not that he would admit it, but through Charles' subtle acts of care, his hard work, his sense of morality and his unique point of view, he dearly admired Charles. Ever since that day in Blackwater, when Dutch announced their new camp member, he slowly grew in an interest in him. Over time, that grew into the respect and admiration he held now.
Fortunately, he was very good at hiding both that and the sting.
"Don't worry about it." Charles said, leaving Arthur to long for more, but when he realized there wouldn't be, he dropped it. He buried it, too. Charles took the last scoops of his stew, then finally continued. "We're going to hunt elk this time. Past Annesburg, towards the Grizzlies."
"Ready to go whenever you are." Arthur said, as quick of a response as ever..
Arthur briefly told Dutch and Hosea that he was leaving to hunt with Charles.
Dutch was distant since the day he returned to camp after that one week and a half, and he barely changed since then. He was dismissive of Arthur, but told him to come back soon. Arthur tried to ignore his strange behavior then, and he did so now.
Hosea told him to stay safe, and reminded him to pack extra food and medicine just in case. Arthur followed the reminder.
Soon, they were off, Arthur on Rain and Charles on Taima with a long journey ahead of them.
--
"You know, you've been pretty quiet lately. More than usual." Charles commented, unprompted. They had gone hours on their ride without talking. Arthur took a moment to realize that yes, Charles did indeed say something. In response, he snorted.
"Seem to have a distant look in your eyes." Charles continued. "Everything alright with you and Dutch? You two seem... I don't know. I know Dutch was mad you were away that one week. Not sure why, but it didn't seem like he stopped being mad, either."
Arthur looked down at his hands, trying to keep them steady on the reins. He sharply inhaled. "We're fine."
"Alright. If you say so." Charles replied with a hint of sarcasm.
They made it up to a ridge where they set up camp, bedrolls set down for each of them. Arthur noted that it provided a nice view of the stars once night fell on them.
Arthur went out and caught them a rabbit of which they shared over the campfire. No more words were spoken other than a few 'goodnight's when they crawled into their bedrolls. Arthur was content with the silence, finding he enjoyed Charles' presence and was fine with nothing else.
When Arthur got comfortable, sleep hit him fast, faster than a boulder tumbling down a hill.
--
Arthur felt the familiar sensation of cuffs around his wrists and a weight over his chest and belly.
A weight tugging at him, pushing at him. A weight that soon tore through him, causing enough pain to want to make him scream.
Yet, whatever was on top of him was invisible.
He looked down to see the blurry vision of what looked to be guts strewn out over him. Whether it was his guts or someone else's was unclear, but with the dull ache it caused him, he concluded it was his.
His mouth was dry, ears buzzing like the cicadas in the dead of summer. He looked up to see a figure in the corner of the room, and though it was twisted, something that should not be recognizable, he easily put a name to it that he knew before in his other dreams and the like.
It struck forward, flesh thin with bones poking through, maw open and foaming with a ravenous look in its eyes. Its long fingers with claws like the tips of spears crept over Arthur's thighs, then -
Arthur was thrown back into reality, gasping for air and clutching at his chest. His eyes were wide, unfocused, as panic spread throughout his whole body. He was trembling miserably, nails digging hard into the opposite arm as he held himself close.
"No, no, no - no... no." He whispered. "Can't be, can't be." Repeating to himself over and over, clinging onto whatever might keep him from stepping further into the haze he woke up with.
He heard a voice that was not his own. It was close, yet it felt far off; down a tunnel, or more accurately, at the top of the rabbithole Arthur found himself in.
He felt something on his shoulder. A hand, he realized, and he was quick to jerk away from it.
"No, no, no - don't touch me." He rasped. "Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me." Quiet anger; his voice struggled to break.
Before long, soft yet firm, "Arthur." The figure kneeled in front of him, watching calmly.
It was still dark, sun barely trickling up the horizon, splashing pink and orange paint at the end of a blue-grey sky. Before Arthur could see him, he recognized his voice, and his eyes adjusted fast to confirm that fact.
"Arthur, I'm not going to hurt you." Charles said. Arthur stared at him, wide-eyed.
He knew it was him. Yet, vaguely, he could feel his blood, his veins, his head screaming that he was in danger, still in the Bayou Nwa where he found Sonny.
It was not the same nightmare or feeling he felt after the day he first stood by the graves of Eliza and Isaac; nor when he was a child, his mother gone and father sooner taking to the bottle and scorning his son rather than taking over for her. The fear and pain from his childhood were long gone, replaced by one feeling same as his grief for his own son; weight.
A heavy, suffocating weight on his chest that rarely went away.
He always tried to drown it out one way or another. Bark or his own teeth against his knuckles and arms, bullet to animal or man from his gun. He would ignore it, pushing it down fast when it kept rising up stronger and heavier. Sometimes, he drank it away. He considered sex, but gave up that pursuit long ago, back when Eliza and Isaac were still alive.
It hurt, and some days, it didn't stop hurting. However, he got as used to it as a half-healed wound, and many times it wasn't noticeable at all.
Now, there was the new impact that the one day in the swamp had on him. The weight never left, but now it liked to reach heights he hadn't been in a long time, climbing until Arthur couldn't see it at the top. The few times it got there, it turned into fire and ice in his veins, and he'd wonder if he should take the initiative on his own life if this invisible sickness wasn't going to claim him.
Of course, he never let anyone see it. Uncle once caught sight of the beginning stages, commented on how Arthur froze and looked like he saw a cougar heading his way, but before his breath went heavy he walked away, steps heavy to give the illusion of rage instead of distress.
He told himself that it would only make it worse if someone saw him like that. Hosea's words about healing with others still rung true, but he wasn't ready. He didn't think the others were ready, either.
Arthur was drenched in cold sweat. He sat up, uncertain if he could sleep anymore with that creeping feeling over his limbs, although it had faded significantly.
"Are you okay?" Charles asked. He shifted to sit next to Arthur, keeping a respectable distance.
"Yeah." Arthur croaked.
"If you say so." Charles said. A pause, then, "I'm going to catch us something. We'll need the energy. Think you can sleep any more?"
Arthur scoffed dryly. "Nah."
"Alright. Well, just hold up the camp while I'm gone. I'll be back soon." He said. Arthur saw the worried glance Charles cast, but he didn't turn to meet it.
As Charles left, Arthur gave the pile of charcoal that was once their fire a distant stare.
--
The sun shone bright past the trees, though it was only half above the horizon. It was then that Charles returned with a rabbit alongside tinder and wood for the fire. As he worked to remake a flame, Arthur rose, stretched, and took the rabbit to skin and gut for him.
They stayed silent. Whatever had to be communicated was said through glances and long looks. For Charles, it all meant "I'm worried for you." Not pitying, but still making sure Arthur wouldn't delve into that pit again, that he would be okay, at least to some extent.
For Arthur, it was not quite something he could put into words so easily. He just watched him, guilt tugging at his conscious for letting Charles see him like that; for Charles to see him so vulnerable. In his own way, he supposed he was making sure Charles was okay, too. Or at least, hoping he didn't think differently of Arthur, one way or another. Arthur looked down at his hands, watching the way they fumbled with eachother, feeling soft patches of skin in hopes to find comfort in it.
"You look tired," said Charles. "I gathered some oregano while we were out. It's a good herb to give us some extra energy while we're out."
Arthur hummed in acknowledgment.
"Still up for hunting elk?" Charles asked.
"I've hunted bigger with less sleep. I'm fine." Arthur grumbled.
They ate. Arthur was grateful to find that the oregano did indeed give him the boost he needed for the day, and hopefully it would help keep his mind off of his nightmares, too. After that, they set out.
The first few hours, they had little luck in their hunt, but after that, Arthur found the perfect bull elk and got him fast in the head with an improved arrow.
"You've improved a lot with that bow since last we hunted." Charles commented as they approached the fresh kill.
"Thanks." Arthur said, blank. "Can't say it's always my preferred method, but I like it for huntin'. Like how it's quiet. Feels powerful, somehow. Least I don't have to brace for the recoil, too."
Charles nodded, silently agreeing.
They spent the rest of their day peeling off the hide, cutting off the antlers, and salvaging everything they possibly could from the meat. It left a bloody, gorey mess, not that either of them minded.
Charles scraped off fat and flesh from the hide while Arthur took whatever was left, putting their take in two large sacks to carry back to camp. He helped Charles with the remaining bits of the hide, then salted it to assure its preservation. Arthur took it with him, and the two made their way back to camp. This time, it would be straight there without breaks to make sure their catch stayed fresh.
"Hey, Arthur?" Charles broke the silence. "Thanks for coming with me."
"Sho'. No problem."
A pause.
"I think I kinda needed this. Things feel... tense at camp. Figured you might need a break, too."
Arthur huffed in amusement. "Yeah, you could say that." He held a sarcastic grin, though it was brief. "Break can't fix anything. Helps a little, at least."
Charles muttered an agreement.
Though the rest of their ride they did not talk, Arthur couldn't help but think about their day, as simple as it was.
In the midst of a horrible month, he would say it was the best day he had in a long time. It wasn't the kill that made it good, nor being away from camp, nor the sights to see, nor the satisfying, mindless process of peeling meat and hide from an elk. Though they contributed, he knew the subtle joy in his chest that he found incredibly rare was not due to any of this.
It was Charles.
It was being in his presence, comfortable, free. Being alone with him gave him a certain feeling of peace that he couldn't quite explain. The sting he felt earlier disappeared merely with his soothing and lingering presence.
Charles never judged him, never looked down on him, never forced a conversation he didn't want. He always listened, and Arthur was more than happy to return the favor when Charles spoke about himself. He was fascinated by the man, not by his background, but by him.
They respected eachother. They cared about eachother, and that was all Arthur could ask for in a friend such as Charles.
Arthur took a silent vow to do his best to do right by Charles.
As they unloaded the bags of meat and the hide onto Pearson, Arthur stopped for a moment, glancing at Charles.
"You know, we should go back up there again sometime. Just you 'n me. Don't need to hunt or anythin'."
Charles pursed his lips. Arthur worried that he'd mention their responsibilities at camp, having to stay for one reason or another, but in that brief moment, his worries were washed away by the soft, subtle smile Charles gave him.
"I'd like that. Just let me know when you want to go."
Arthur nodded, and they went their separate ways, back to work.