Chapter Text
Arthur's hands were balled up into fists, he brought them close together, up to his lips so he could blow hot air into them. December was a cold month, too cold to be prone on damp, frost hardened dirt.
Unfortunately he had no choice, had to stay low while he stalked his target, or targets, there being at least four of them that he could see.
Four, rough, armed to the teeth men.
He first encountered them at the only saloon in town, a place where he wasn't supposed to be.
'That saloon is full of good for nothing men who would steal the drink from under your nose and plunge a knife in your gut while they're at it. It's no place for a fifteen year old.' Hosea told him.
But he had a mission, on top of that he knew they'd be a good mark, dangerous, but good. Arthur watched them gamble with their money at a game of poker, throw their fists around whenever they lost. Eventually they were thrown out. He decided to follow them, lingered far behind as they went about their daily activities of bullying and robbing other folk.
He stumbled on their camp a few hours ago, had tracked them for a few miles. To be fair, it was a small miracle he had found them at all, his tracking skills being next to non existent as they were.
Now he lay here, waited for them to settle down for the night so he could sneak in and retrieve what he was after. The men were in the midst of setting their tents up and got a fire going.
Fire. How nice and warm that must be, it tempted him to return home so he could sit by one, enjoy it's heat against his shivering body.
No. He had a mission, walked for hours to get here, to abandon it now was not an option he would settle with.
Several more hours went by, hours which the men spent drinking and boasting about their latest spoils. Only now had their cheerful moods finally quieted down as they one by one retired to their tents. Only one of them appeared to have fallen asleep next to the campfire.
This was his chance, ideally he'd wait a bit longer, but Arthur feared that the cold would only worsen as the night progressed.
Now or never. He clambered to his feet, hands and legs felt stiff, fingers clammy from the frosted air. He pushed forward, carefully made his way down the hill. Three in their tents, one at the fire, the only one he had to worry about.
Arthur approached the camp from behind the passed out feller, heard him snore.
Good.
He paused at the spot where they stashed their loot, glanced around, waited, wished his breath wouldn't come out in visible puffs.
Arthur leaned in to the chest, listened as he fiddled around with his lock pick until he heard that victorious click. Quickly but quietly he pocketed most of it's contents, at least the things which would fit in his satchel.
Ready to leave, unseen like a shadow in the night. He stopped, his eyes spotted another prize. A few cans of food adjacent to the passed out man's chair.
The closer he got, the less he dared to breathe, one can, two cans. Take the rest or leave it? Satchel was heavy, should go.
One more.
Arthur gasped when his wrist was grabbed by a hand much larger than his own.
“The fuck you think you're doin'?” The big guy snarled.
“Oi, lads, got ourselves a wee thief 'ere.” Big guy shouted with a thick Irish accent.
Arthur's eyes were wide with panic, he attempted to jerk his arm away, but the brute was bigger and stronger than he. The others emerged from their tents, dressed in nothing more than their long johns.
Not good.
“The hell you doing lettin' a boy sneak up on ye?” One of the men questioned.
“Kiss my arse. You take watch in this bleedin' cold.” Big guy pulled his knife out.
His eyes darted around the immediate area, he had to think fast, improvise like he had never done before.
“Ya know what we do with thieves and their grubby little hands?” The big feller sneered.
“We cut 'em off!” One of the men finished the sentence, the others laughed.
Hand, that's it. Still crouched Arthur reached for a cup from which steam still rose, emptied it against the big fellers hand.
“Aaargh!” Big guy screamed, backhanded Arthur's face as he let go of him.
The blow hurt, stunned him for a second, but Arthur managed to crawl backwards for a few paces, scrambled to his feet and dashed away with all his might.
“Lil' fucker is getting away, get 'im.”
“Shit, shit shit.” He had to hurry, get out of their line of sight as soon as possible, the men had horses, he didn't.
Arthur kept running, legs stiff for different reasons. Every time he glanced behind him he could see lanterns in the distance, could hear them taunt him as they drew closer. He reached a steep incline, straight into a river.
No time to hesitate, he dropped down to his ass, carefully calculated every step until he landed knee deep in ice cold water.
Very cold water.
He made his way across, exhausted from his battle against the current. The forest ahead was thicker, provider better cover, they wouldn't be able to cross where he had, hopefully no where near that location either.
Arthur continued to run until his lungs had nothing left, until every breath was visible as a large cloud. Boots and socks soaked, pants as well. He forgot to pack anything to make a fire, stupid mistake. Probably for the best, fire was a bad idea, the men with guns could still be hot on his heels.
Keep going.
He pushed through, walked for a few more miles until he approached the outer edge of the last town he was in. The place where he first spotted the group of four.
His stride was now reduced to a slow pace, arms wrapped tightly around himself. He kept going until he reached the stables. Attempted to pry it's lock open with trembling fingers, not easy, but not impossible.
Arthur slipped in, carefully glanced around. Place was devoid of people, as expected. It was hard to see but he managed to find an empty stall, packed with hay, would have to do. He got undressed, draped his soaked clothes over it's barrier. He managed to spot a few saddle blankets, spread them out over the hay, used the last two to cover his body as best as he could. The hay wasn't comfortable, but it provided some insulation against the cold.
Now that he felt somewhat safe he finally fished through the contents of his satchel, it was hard to see, light of the moon barely made it through the slits. One item in particular caught his interest, as did a second. For the first time today he found some energy and a reason to smile.
Two more things left to do once the morning came in, then he could head back home. Arthur closed his eyes, drifted off faster than expected.
~~~
He was jostled from his sleep when a boot his thigh.
“Hey!” A voice shouted.
His eyes shot open, wildly darted around, they found him, would cut his hand off or worse.
“The hell you doing in my stable, boy?!” An elderly man stood over him, a scowl on his face.
“Uh... sorry mister, it was c-cold... I-” Arthur stammered, his heart raced, fuelled by adrenaline when he feared for his life.
“Don't give a damn how cold it was, get your scrawny ass out of here before I be calling the sheriff.” The older man said.
Arthur nodded, got up as fast as possible, started to fumble with his still damp clothes. The older man stayed close, watched his every move as he continued to curse at him about being on his property and whatnot.
"Don't never let me see you break into my stable again!" The older man shoved him out the door.
A low hanging mist covered the area outside, blocked out most of the early morning sun. Damn, he would have loved a few warm rays of sun against his skin.
Arthur stretched his limbs, all of them stiff and sore, his jaw being what hurt the most. Deep breath, tired still, his rest had been short, interrupted many times by his shivering limbs. Onward to his first stop, not far from here, half a mile or so.
The smoke which rose from the tiny cabin was the first thing he saw. He removed his hat, held it to his chest before he knocked on the flimsy door.
“Ma'am.” He nodded at the woman, managed a weary smile.
She glanced over him, around him, searched for something or someone else with a deep frown on her face, black bags under her eyes.
“Yes?” She kept the door half closed, shielded herself with it.
“Who is it, ma?” A little boy emerged from behind her, his tiny hands woven into the fabric of his mothers shoddy dress.
“Hush Liam, go back to your brothers and sisters.” She ushered him back.
Arthur cleared his throat, licked his lips. “I mean you no ill will, ma'am.”
“I'm sorry boy, can't offer you nothing.” She said.
Arthur shoved his foot between the door as she was about to close it, this startled her, Arthur hastily raised his hands in surrender. Slowly he reached into his satchel, pulled out a small pouch and held it out to her.
Her wide eyes narrowed, the frown returned, was quickly replaced by bewilderment when she recognized the item and took it from him. She inspected the contents, the few coins which rested inside.
“H-how?” She asked.
“Saw them fellers rob you, followed them and robbed the robbers.” Arthur mumbled, kept his head lowered.
He flinched when her arms flew around him, pulled him closer for a warm embrace.
Unexpected.
...
Awkward.
“Oh thank you young man, thank you so much. Thought we was going to starve.” She sobbed.
“Uhm.” He gently pushed her off, the embrace too much, not his thing. “No need to thank me, bastards deserved it. Ain't right to rob a woman and her children.”
“Please, come in, let me offer you something.” She sniffled, rubbed her tears away.
He shook his head. “Got some other business to attend to. Thank you kindly for the offer.” Arthur donned his hat again.
“If only more people possessed your kindness. I hope good fortune befalls you.” Her smile mimicked the warmth in her eyes.
Arthur blushed, wished he had just left the money on her doorstep, but then some other bastards could steal it.
“Oh.” He fished out the two cans of food, placed them in her hands as she stood there, stunned by the gesture. “Ain't much but... it's something.” Arthur mumbled.
He stepped back when she leaned in for another hug, held his hands out to her. “I should go, merry Christmas, ma'am.”
She nodded, seemed to understand the discomfort he silently expressed. 'Bless you,' she mouthed.
He tipped his hat at her, made his way back to town for the rest of his business.
The general store was said business, it's bell clanged against the door as he entered, the shopkeeper immediately stared at him with suspicion in his eyes.
He must look ragged and filthy from lying and crawling through the dirt, bruise on his jaw didn't help neither.
Arthur ignored the man's judgmental stare, browsed for the items he wanted.
“You best not be here to steal boy, make no mistake I ain't afraid of giving the likes of you a good whooping if the need arises.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “I have money.” Everyone was always so judgmental of him, tiresome. He grabbed a few bars of chocolate and some other candies, set them down on the counter. A book sat on the edge of it, it's cover caught his interest. He flipped it around, frowned.
“T-the s, the sss-says... of the s- sr... shh- shroo iiin the f- foo- fog.” He attempted to read it's title out loud, his lessons with Hosea hadn't gone too well thus far.
“The case of the shrew in the fog. Bit too complicated for you, boy.” The shopkeeper said.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. “How much?”
“For the lot? Eighteen dollars.” The man rested his hand on top of the book.
“What?! I could buy a horse with that.” Arthur grumbled.
“Chocolate and books don't come cheap, boy. Take it or leave it.”
Arthur sighed, he spent months saving up for a horse. But this was more important, he'd wait another year if he had to, should have worked harder, his fault. He started to count the coins in his hand, struggled to remember what came past the number twelve.
“Put 'em on the counter, I'll help you count.”
“So you can lie and steal from me?” Arthur closed his hand. “Ain't gonna happen.”
“Don't have all day boy, got stock to re-fill.” The shopkeeper tapped his fingers on the counter.
Arthur sighed, spread the coins out on the counter, watched with all the concentration he could muster as the man counted them for him, slowly and out loud.
“You got one dollar extra, that's a lot of money for a young man such as yourself.”
There was that judgment again, suppose the feller weren't that wrong, most of it was stolen.
“Can I trade the dollar for smaller coins?” He asked.
The shopkeeper frowned, opened his register and placed three coins of twenty-five cents on the table.
Arthur stared at them, counted on his fingers. “Ain't there supposed to be four to the dollar?”
“Right, my mistake.” Shopkeeper added another coin.
He scooped up the candy and coins, stuffed them in his satchel, the book he kept under his arm, too large to be stowed. Shopkeeper didn't take his eyes off him for a single second until he was out of the store.
“One more stop.” Arthur mumbled to himself.
“Extra extra! Dangerous gang of men with green bandanna's robbed the Winston Express train, read all about it!” The boy waved his newspaper around.
“One please.” Arthur traded a coin for a paper. Nodded at the boy then searched for a quiet place with a clean, flat surface.
He sat down on a bench outside the small chapel. Opened the newspaper, removed a single sheet and placed the book on top of it. It took him a few clumsy tries but eventually he managed to wrap it.
Somewhat.
He wound some thin hemp rope around it, tied it off and placed it next to him.
Hosea.
Next up was the candy, he piled it up, wrapped it in another sheet of newspaper and tied it off as well, it looked worse than the book, but he gave it his best effort.
John.
Last but not least, the beautifully waxed pipe and a small tin of tobacco he found in the chest of those dishonourable men. He struggled with this one, it's shape not as convenient to be wrapped. His frustration rapidly grew, this was the one he wanted to wrap as perfectly as possible, the one he failed at the most.
“Can I offer you a helping hand?”
Arthur raised his head, glanced up at the woman dressed in black and white.
“Uh, it's fine I... I'll manage.” Arthur mumbled. He had to shuffle over when she sat down next to him, hands on her lap, a smile on her face while her gaze switched from person to person as they walked along the dirt road in the distance.
Arthur shook his head, none too comfortable with her presence being forced on him. He lowered his head, re-focused on the task at hand.
“Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it.” The sister said as she continued to stare ahead.
“Huh?” Arthur frowned as her words sank in, he then turned his head to her. “I ain't no charity case, sister.”
“Never said you were. I was referring to you, not myself.” She replied.
Arthur's frown deepened. “Sorry sister, I'm too stupid for that sort of talk.” He chuckled at himself.
“Actions speak louder than words.” She said.
“Ain't gotten smarter in the last minute, you still lost me.” He shook his head, the conversation made it hard for him to concentrate.
“That was you wasn't it? At the Hemsdale cabin, bringing alms to those in need.”
“You spying on me sister?” He said with a smile on his face.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps my eyes were drawn to the brightness in your heart?”
Arthur laughed. “Nothing bright in my heart.”
“If you say so. I suppose it's commonplace for those with a dark heart to go around and give to the poor. Or to sit on benches and wrap gifts for friends or loved ones.” She raised a brow at him.
Arthur's mouth was agape, she had him there. “Just felt like doing something nice, is all.” He muttered.
“It's a good thing, to give.” She said.
“Wouldn't know, never been given nothing. Ma died before I was old enough to remember a thing. My pa... well, let's just say he weren't the giving sort, lest it was a fist to the face.” Arthur snorted.
“Did you expect the young lady to give you something in return?”
“'Course not. Doubt she got anything left with that many mouths to feed.” Arthur fiddled with the wrapping in his lap. “Could have gotten her more if I hadn't messed up.” He mumbled more so to himself.
“So much valour for one as young such as yourself.” She smiled.
“I'm a thief sister, make no mistake of that. Ain't got no qualms about taking what I want, when I want.” Arthur sat up straight, lowered the brim of his hat and sniffed once.
“Oh, so you're of the dangerous, giving sort?" She asked.
Her tone made him side-glance at her. He couldn't care less if she didn't believe him, he knew what he was.
“Listen, just trying to do something nice for my... my fa- my group. Things been rough and they be needing, something. That don't make me a good man.”
“It makes you a man. Gives you purpose and identity, no matter if you like it or not. Your actions define you, not by how you see them, but by how they are observed through others.”
Arthur furrowed his brows, stared down at his hands as they sat in silence.
Not long after, the wrapping and items were taken out of his lap.
“Uhm, what you doing?” Were all sisters this persistent?
“Giving. Something you seem to be all too familiar with, so no pretending you don't understand what it is and why people do it.” She undid Arthur's clumsy wrapping, moved the items around and made quick work of it. Turned it into a very nice looking package, tied it off with a perfect bowstring and handed it back to him.
Arthur was unable to look away from it, the pipe and box blended into a perfectly wrapped whole.
Dutch.
“T-thank you.” He croaked.
“Tssk.” She slapped his arm, very lightly and playfully, “dangerous men don't say thank you.” She smirked, rose up from the bench.
Arthur cleared his throat, felt the need to stand up as well, if only to be polite, he removed his hat, pressed it against his chest.
“Sister Calderón.” She held her hand out to him.
“Arthur Morgan.” He shook hers.
“It has truly been a pleasure to meet you, Arthur. If you ever feel like you need a break from being dangerous, come find me here. There's always room for those looking to help others.”
“Sure.” He slightly bowed his head, cheeks still flushed. Arthur hurried to gather his items, it was time for the long walk back to camp.
~~~
The evening already rolled in when he turned off the path, far later than he planned his return. His walk home had been slow, legs angry about all the strain they've had to suffer in the last day and a half, his ankle felt hot and throbbed, but only recently. He expected to get an earful upon his return, Dutch and Hosea never liked him to be gone for longer than half a day, even that stretched it. He patted his satchel, the items safe. The book he placed under his armpit, on the inside of his damp winter-coat. He made sure it was buttoned-up all the way.
“Heavens almighty! Where have you been?!” Hosea got up from his stool.
Arthur swallowed, already noticed the absence of Dutch's horse.
“We've been worried sick.” Hosea approached him.
“Uh, yeah, got lost on my way back.” He shrugged.
“You got lost and ran into a tree? Or did the tree run into you?” Hosea cupped Arthur's chin, turned his head to get a better view of the bruise on Arthur's jaw.
“Something like that.” He meekly said.
“Dutch left hours ago, looking for you. You know better than to be gone for so long, or to wander out too far.” Hosea chided.
Arthur lowered his head. “Sorry sir.”
Hosea sighed, placed his hand on various spots of Arthur's body. “Get some dry clothes on before you catch something worse than a fist.”
“Yes sir.” Arthur mumbled, headed straight for his tent.
“Arthur!” John hopped off his cot, wrapped his arms around Arthur waist, too small to cover the whole circumference of it.
“Hey you.” He started to pry the little arms off his body, couldn't hold back a tiny smile. He then tossed his coat on top of his own cot, buried the book underneath it.
“Ow!” Arthur frowned at the light punch which was in fact the little man's full strength.
“Thought you was gone forever!” John looked up at him with a scowl.
“Whoa, hey kiddo, I wouldn't leave ya.” John sure had a lot of spunk for a six year old.
“You. Promised. To not. Be gone. For long.” John punched Arthur's upper thigh between every word.
“Christ, you're gonna bruise me.” Arthur took John's wrists in his hand. The boy wriggled something fierce.
“I'm back okay? Ain't going nowhere.” Arthur cooed.
John resorted to using his legs, aimed for Arthur's shin, but the little shit now had a grin on his face.
“Alright that's it.” Arthur smirked, lifted John over his shoulder. “Gonna throw you in that campfire, cook and eat ya."
“No! I ain't food!” John giggled as he squirmed in Arthur's arm.
Arthur smirked, opened the tent and stepped outside while he carried John. Out there he found himself face to face with Dutch. The man had his arms crossed in front of him, tight lipped, brows pulled together.
Arthur swallowed, set John down.
“Dutch.” Arthur averted his eyes from the man, lowered his head.
“Forty. Three. Hours.” Dutch emphasized every word.
“I... I got lost. Won't happen again.” Arthur fiddled with the fabric of his shirt.
“Got lost doing what exactly?”
“S-stuff.” Arthur's voice grew weaker.
“Stuff?” Dutch shook his head. “We've been worried sick. Thought I was going to find you dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“Sorry.”
“You can't keep doing this to us, son.” Dutch walked over.
Arthur slowly nodded. Fingers wrapped around his jaw, turned it slightly.
“Lift your shirt.” Dutch ordered.
Arthur sighed, knew it was best to not object when Dutch used his stern voice.
Dutch lifted it higher, checked every side of Arthur, he lowered it again after being satisfied with his inspection.
“Your clothes are wet, change before you get sick.” Dutch said.
“Already told him that.” Hosea loudly said from behind Dutch, seated at the campfire.
“Well I'm saying it again.” Dutch snapped.
“Boy isn't deaf.” Hosea said.
“That is something I'm not too sure about.” Dutch narrowed his eyes at Arthur.
“I'll eh-,” he pointed behind him, towards his tent, “-go change.”
Arthur let out a deep breath once inside and alone. That was close, thought he'd get much more of an earful. He lifted his coat, hid the book under his pillow. Part of him feared they would be too angry to care about his gifts, use it as a reason to yell at him some more. That it was stupid to put himself at risk for something so meaningless. Meaningless to them, not to him. Especially little Johnny, boy shouldn't grow up without experiencing at least one Christmas. Hosea and Dutch probably didn't care about it, too old for silly things like gifts.
Arthur sat down on his cot, removed his boots. He'll never know what it's like to be a kid and celebrate Christmas with family, too old for it now. His head turned towards his pillow, maybe it was best if he kept the ones for Hosea and Dutch. Surely they wouldn't laugh at him if he gifted only John. Wouldn't call it childish and silly.
He exchanged the rest of his dirty and damp clothes for a set of fresh and dry ones. After that he hurried outside, looked hard for even the tiniest of chores he could do. It was his way of showing how sorry he was for worrying them so much.
Neither Dutch nor Hosea spoke to him for the rest of the evening. Hosea spent most of his time with John, teaching the kid how to read. Dutch remained hidden in his tent, probably couldn't stand the sight of him. For a second he feared he pushed them too far, used up his last chance to prove that he was a good addition to their group. Would they kick him out? Send him on his way with nothing but the clothes on his back, exactly how they found him a few months ago.
Arthur swallowed, he still had a chance, just had to work harder, keep chopping wood. Wash John's clothes, make sure their supply of water is adequate. He just needed his legs and foot to cooperate, only a few more hours. The cramp from earlier only made things worse, left him with an ever harder to hide limp. He couldn't allow them to see it, being crippled would definitely be the final straw for his forced departure.
No. He was determined to make this work, to show that he belonged here and not out there, alone and miserable.
“Hosea!” Dutch yelled his name, cursed afterwards.
Arthur swallowed, wondered if Dutch had spent all this time deciding if he could stay or not. Man sounded angry, probably called Hosea to finalize his decision.
A tug on his sleeve.
He lowered his head, frowned.
“Do you have any sweeties?” John whispered.
“Sorry kiddo, you know you ain't allowed none before bed. Don't want you keeping me up neither.”
John's lower lip pushed outward, his brows pulled together simultaneously.
Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed. “Lemme check.”
“Yay!- oompf.” John used both hands to cover his mouth. “Sowwee,” he whispered.
Arthur shook his head, checked his satchel and held a half eaten carrot out to John with a smirk on his face.
“That ain't no sweety.” John's face contorted to one of disgust.
“Isn't, John. Isn't, not ain't.” Hosea said from behind Arthur. “Also if I'm not mistaken it's way past your bedtime, no more sugary treats.”
“Awww but I-” John's mouth snapped shut when Hosea raised his index finger, he nodded at the older man.
“Good night Hosea.” John hurried over and wrapped his arms around Hosea's legs.
“Good night Arthur.” He did the same to Arthur, only at waist height. Lastly he stormed into Dutch's tent but was quickly ushered out.
“You should know better than to give him sugar this late.” Hosea chided.
Another screw up.
“Now he's getting in the habit of speaking like you as well.” Hosea sighed.
And another screw up. Why couldn't he stop messing up tonight of all nights. At this rate they'd boot him before he could wish John a merry Christmas.
“Hosea!” Dutch yelled.
“Oh for heavens sake, not again. Are your chores done?” Hosea asked.
“Almost sir.”
Hosea sighed, left for Dutch's tent.
Shit, get your damned chores done. Arthur hurried over to the wagon, dragged the heavy square bale off of it. He had to use both hands to lift, hissed when his leg protested. So tired.
“Come on.” He could drag it, but that would leave a trail, waste some of it too. Stupid fucking leg, stupid fucking gifts.
Screw this.
Arthur grabbed an empty sack from the wagon, stormed into his tent. It was over, if not today then surely tomorrow. Dutch wouldn't even speak to him any more, that's probably what they argued about, who would be the one to tell him it was time to leave.
He wouldn't give them the chance.
A spare set of clothes, that's all he had, all he needed, stuffed it all into his sack.
“What you doing?” John whispered.
“Nothing, go back to sleep."
“You mustn't lie.” John said.
Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, gathered the few sheets of paper with his drawings and added them to his bag, didn't care if it crumpled them up.
John gasped when realization hit him. “You're leaving us?!”