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Dutch is woken up by the shrill screams of their son, he sighs, climbing out of the cot, careful not to jostle the sick man besides him.
Hosea had gotten ill a couple days ago, and then not long after, so did Arthur. It was only a cold but it seemed to all but wipe the older man out; he was exhausted, sleeping through a good portion of the day and then stumbling around like the un-waken dead on the odd occasions that he left the tent.
Arthur, on the other hand, was miserable. The boy was so unused to feeling hindered by illness, too warm and stuffy. Without the ability to speak his discomfort, Arthur screamed and cried; Dutch and Hosea both broke for the boy, hearts aching as their little one struggled.
“Hello, Little prince.” Dutch whispers, walking over to the boy stood up in the cot, face flushed red from his screaming.
The boy gives another scream, bouncing on his toes as he holds his hands out for Dutch to pick him up.
“I got you, I got you, Arthur.” He whispers, tucking the whimpering child into his chest, The boy clutches small fists into the fabric of his union suit.
“How about we go look at the stars, hmm? Leave Papa to get some rest.” They leave the tent and Dutch walks them over to the cliff face.
Whenever the boy couldn’t sleep in the past, Dutch or Hosea would take him outside, something about being able to see the stars and the bats seemed to calm Arthur, quiet him enough to sleep. Dutch feared there’s going to be no sleep for him nor the boy tonight when a cough rattles his tiny frame and then he’s screaming again. His throat is raw and Dutch winces when it sounds like death itself rattles Arthur’s bones. He’s exhausted beyond sleep and simply having a difficult night.
Dutch lowers them down on the large rock that over-looks the river, sees a band of Coyotes snuffling around the bank.
“Shh sweet boy, I know you’re hurtin’” He strokes away a tear that glistens on the boy’s warm cheek.
Dutch tries to think of a time when young Jack had gotten this ill, but honestly can’t think of an occasion. Not when he was this young anyways, he remembers a time when the boy had gotten sick when he ate too much of the candy they had stashed; Dutch shudders when recalls when the boy had thrown up on his shoes.
He’s pulled out of his thought when Arthur whines, holding an arm out to the tent. Dutch isn’t no fool, no matter what Hosea says sometimes, he knows what the boy wants. His papa.
Dutch sighs, drawing the slim arm back down, “I know, Arthur, but Papa has to sleep, he’s not well”
Arthur screams again and Dutch has to hold back the wince when it pierces his ears causing his head to ring. He coos, beginning to gently bounce the boy as he grips on to him.
“C’mon Little prince, give those little lungs a rest, they can’t be feelin’ good.” He coos, trying to sooth the boy, but to no avail. Arthur continues on screaming, his throat his raw and scratchy, further proved when he erupts into a coughing fit. Dutch stands him up, holding his head over his shoulder as he rubs soothing circles into the boy’s little back. He feels his heart tear every time he hears a choked whimper and splutter as the boy struggles to calm down.
Dutch is bordering on becoming desperate at this point, he just wants to help. Hosea needs his sleep and so does Arthur. The boy is near sobbing when Dutch brings him back to rest on his chest, tears soaking into the cotton of his union suit, darkening it.
“I’m sorry, little prince, but you need to rest, you’ll feel better in the mornin’, I swear by it.” Dutch feels his eyes prick with sympathetic tears. Dutch had never imagined that he’d be so affected by having a kid, that his whole world would zero in on his little one so much that Arthur’s pain became his own.
“Arthur, darling, you’re hurting, I know. I know. You’re okay.” He hushes when Arthur hiccups on another sceam.
Dutch jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder. He turns his head quickly around with a hand resting on his gun, ready to shoot anyone that wished him and their family harm while not even thinking about how that would mean they got passed whoever was on guard.
He instantly moves his hand away when he sees who it is. Hosea is stood there wrapped in a thick fur blanket, white as a ghost with sickeningly dark rings around his eye. He watches as Hosea raises his arm to cough into the crook of his arm, holding on to Arthur who’s begun reaching out for the man with a heart-breaking whimper.
“Hey, I’ll take him, Big cat. You need to get some sleep.” Hosea softly offers with a soft smile.
"You should be asleep…" Dutch stresses, standing up to face the man. He feels sick that he couldn’t even give Hosea this, the time to sleep interrupted.
"So should he. But our boy’s feeling sorry for himself and needs a little loving.” Hosea reasons, moving closer to slip Arthur out of Dutch’s large hands.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't calm him down, Old Girl. You must think me real useless right now…" Dutch mumbles, avoiding eye-contact lest he sees an ugly look of disgust in Hosea’s face.
A soft hand touches his jaw and gently pulls his head to look down at the shorter man.
"Don't, Dutch. You know it's not your fault. He's sick and he's tired." Hosea rubs a thumb along his jaw and he can’t resist leaning into the soothing touch, raising his own hand to cup over Hosea’s.
Dutch still feels bad. Especially when he realises the air has gone quiet, Arthur’s screams and whines and whimpers reduced to incredibly quiet coos as the boy rubs his sweaty forehead against Hosea’s bare chest and sighs with a heavy breath that moves his whole small body.
“How do you do it, Hosea?” He asks
“Hmm?” The man responds, groaning as he lowers his aching body onto the rock. He pats the space beside him and leans his head on Dutch’s shoulder when the man joins him.
“How do you get him to settle so quickly?” Dutch sighs, looking down at Arthur’s sleeping face.
“I don’t know, dear. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct you and Susan like to joke about?” He softly laughs. Although he stops when Dutch doesn’t laugh with him.
“Hey?” He nudges his foot against Dutch’s, “What’s wrong, dearest?”
“Dutch?” He asks, more alarmed when he sees a single tear run down the man’s cheek
“I’m sorry, Hosea. I just- I just feel like I’m failing him. Failing you.” Dutch sniffs with a humourless laugh. Hosea furrows his brows.
“Look at me Dutch…” He grasps the man’s face again.
“Listen, Dutch van der Linde, you are an excellent father. You’re trying your best and that is all we can ask. Arthur is lucky to have you as a father and I am honoured to be alongside you to raise him. You understand that?” Hosea asks, a concerned look on his face. Dutch stares at him as he numbly nods, his eyes wet.
“Good. Now how about we go back to bed? I’m exhausted and I bet you are too.” He softly laughs, standing up, shifting Arthur into one arm and holds out the other to Dutch. The man takes it, heaving himself up as they walk back to their tent.