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When Hosea sees the blood, he allows himself the briefest pangs of terror shoot down his spine before clamping it down. Be calm for John, for Lenny, for the others. Be calm for the girls too, and little Jack.
Karen is the first to scream, a high-pitched wail that pierces through the dwindling calm of evening. The rest of the gang look up to the horses arriving back to camp, bringing their riders who look concerned. As Miss Grimshaw shepherds the girls away, barking orders to them that Hosea is glad to hear, he takes stock of just what is happening in front of him.
Charles and Javier bring up the front, with blood coating their faces, bandanas and clothes, and heavy-looking bags slung on the backs of their horses. The robbery was successful then. The looks on their faces make it appear otherwise. Arthur is bringing up the rear, reins of his horse, Champion, in one hand. The other hand tugs along The Count, white hair and mane spattered in fresh red blood. Atop his steed, where Dutch is normally sat proudly, he is instead slumped forward, head resting on the back of The Counts.
“What happened?!” Hosea snaps, barely keeping a hold of his calm demeanour as he strides over to Arthur. Charles and Javier busy themselves with hitching their horses, whilst Arthur dismounts and hands the reins of The Count to Hosea.
“More guards on the stage than we expected,” Arthur tells him as he nudges Dutch gently. A groan, and Dutch stirs, looking at Hosea with heavy-lidded eyes. “‘s fine, we handled it well, but Dutch got hit by a stray bullet. C’mon Dutch, we’ve gotta tend to that wound.”
“Oh Arthur, relax, it’s just the shoulder. I’ll be fine,” Dutch grumbles, swinging his leg from the horse and dismounting in what looks like a graceful attempt. He crumples and Hosea is there to catch him. Arthur tuts from behind and helps get him to his feet.
“Yes, a shoulder gunshot. Let me and Charles help, for Christ’s sake,” Arthur complains, looking up and nodding in acknowledgement as Charles joins them, blood hurriedly cleaned from his face and a bowl of poultice in his hands. Hosea feels Dutch lean his head onto his shoulder, muttering nonsense about people worrying too much. He reaches down and pats Dutch’s hand gently, feeling a sticky substance coating his many rings.
“Hosea, you go sit down, have something to eat. Dutch’ll be fine,” Charles reassures him. Hosea nods and lets go of Dutch, allowing him to be helped to his tent by the man he calls son and the man his son calls his lover. He looks at his hand, sees it smeared with blood from Dutch’s rings, and hurriedly wipes it on his pants.
He watches Miss Grimshaw and Mary-Beth head over to the tent to join the men, towels and a bowl of water in hand, and wills himself to think that Dutch will be fine.
***
Hosea stirs when Arthur joins him by the fire, flames dwindling. He watches as his son adds a couple of logs from the pile and stokes it back to life.
“He’s fine, Hosea. You know how he is, complained more than anything. He’s lucky the bullet went straight through, Miss Grimshaw patched him up real good,” he informs, settling back on the log and sticking his hands out to warm them.
“What’s he doing now? Resting?” Hosea asks, not really caring for the answer. He’ll go in the tent just the same.
Arthur nods, rubbing his hands together. “Miss O’Shea wasn’t too happy when we told her to leave Dutch alone for the night. We’ll never hear the end of that.”
Hosea chuckles and Arthur shoots him a grin. They sit in comfortable silence for a bit before Arthur hunts around in his satchel, taking a cigarette and his journal out. “You go, Hosea, I’ll be fine here,” he reassures, sticking the cigarette in his mouth to light. Hosea nods and stands, trying not to look too eager. He dusts off his pants before quietly heading through the camp in the direction of Dutch’s tent. The camp is mainly asleep, with quiet snores filling the night air.
As Hosea reaches the tent, he glances back at Arthur at the fire. Charles has joined him, the two of them sitting closer than just friends would. He watches Arthur rest his head down onto Charles’ shoulder, then ducks into the tent. Dutch is dozing, but stirs when Hosea drags a chair across from the end of the bed to the side of it.
“‘sea? That you?” Dutch asks, voice low and gravelly. Hosea sits and rests a hand on the bed as Dutch turns his head to look. “Hello old man.”
“You had me worried, what the hell were you thinking? I told you that you shoulda left it to Bill to go instead of you,” Hosea sighs, pointedly not looking at Dutch’s face. The man sighs and Hosea feels a hand creep into his, fingers lacing with his own.
“Hosea, you and I both know that if Bill went he woulda ended up dead. He’s too hot headed. Besides, it’s good for me to get out now and again. We should go with Arthur one day, just the three of us!” Dutch says with a squeeze of his hand. “The Old Guard, back together again.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Dutch. You need rest,” Hosea says, finally bringing himself to look Dutch in the eye. He looks tired, dark circles under his eyes, but doesn’t look too worse for wear. Dutch offers him a small smile and Hosea feels himself crumble inwardly. “I...I thought that you might have died. I saw the blood and...I just couldn’t get the thought out of my head that you…”
“Oh come now, Hosea, you think I’d die anywhere that isn’t in your arms when we’re old and grey?” Dutch chuckles, bringing Hosea’s hand to his lips and kissing it gently.
“You’re forgetting the fact that I’m already old and grey,” Hosea says with a laugh, feeling his arm being pulled gently. He watches as Dutch shuffles to the side of the bed, making a bit of room for his lover in the small bed.
“It’s stress, not age,” Dutch supplies, earning a bark of laughter from Hosea as he kicks his boots off. He stands, still holding Dutch’s hand, and places his hat gently on the chair.
“Yes, stress from having to deal with you sending my heart into spasm,” Hosea huffs, making a show of rolling his eyes as he lets go of Dutch. He shucks his jacket and drapes it on the chair too before easing himself into the bed. It’s warm and inviting, the familiar scent of cigar smoke mingling with the heady scent of the poultice, and he soon finds himself pressed up next to Dutch as gently as he can without nudging his shoulder.
“You love me really,” Dutch whispers into Hosea’s ear before kissing it gently. Hosea could never stay angry with him for long. He turns his head as Dutch makes for his ear again and instead captures his lips with his own. He can feel Dutch smile into the kiss before leaning in, kissing back gently. Hosea breaks the kiss with a smile and turns his body properly to face Dutch, looping an arm over his stomach.
“Of course I love you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”