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He had been asleep just long enough he had begun to dream. It had to have been deep and hard enough, too, because for a few fleeting moments it feels real. The dream that he’s living the life of a different version of himself, somewhere far off, in a house that they won't be leaving in a few days, one they call theirs, one who’s door frame they mark the ever changing height of their child.
It was Dutch’s fault really. The man’s idea of pillow talk was sharing domestic dreams. Hosea found it funny since when he had met the man he was reckless with an adventurous spirit that burned like a magnesium fire. Of course he was still the same man, still talked about his wild ideas of living in the untameable west only now they were accompanied with ones of domesticity. Their dreams could be reality if Dutch would just accept the way the world actually was. Instead he chased the ideals of great american outlaws who knew no laws and there Hosea was to make sure he didn’t get himself into too much trouble with a sweet little child in tow, all because he loved him too damn much.
That never ending argument ebbs itself into his dreaming. Suddenly, instead of living some perfect domestic life of a couple of homesteaders, they’re fighting, voices booming loud over the thunder from the storm outside that mirrored the storm in their marriage. Marriage. They were married in his dream. But it wasn’t a happy one. Not anymore. Despite settling down like Hosea had convinced him to, even if it was best for their boy, Dutch’s heart was still wild and he fought him, declaring how tied down he had felt. How this life was what Hosea wanted and Hosea tells him taking in Arthur was his idea.
Arthur. Arthur who thought the way they traveled around was some big adventure. Arthur, their little boy who seemed to always be smiling or knew just what to do to make them smile, even at such a young age. Arthur who Hosea loved with his whole heart and who he knew Dutch loved too.
He was asleep but not soundly enough to not hear the soft pad of footsteps across the wood floor. Hosea doesn’t want to open his eyes, hoping that he’s dreaming it as well. The rain outside the small cabin melted perfectly with the dream he’d been having, so it very well could be a dream.
But the pat against his arm isn’t. And the little whisper of, “Papa,” isn’t. Great. Arthur was awake.
Every night for the last three years it went this way and every night for the last three years Hosea cursed himself for thinking it was a good idea to hold the infant all through the night. He thought he would grow out of it, swore to Dutch he would and that it was only for the moment, just a few nights and he’d start sleeping on his own. Except he wouldn’t. At least he didn’t cry every time. Instead, as he got a bit older, he was stubborn and wouldn’t fall asleep unless one of them held him. Sometimes, when he or Dutch thought they could lay Arthur down after he had fallen asleep, the baby would realize what they were up to and immediately wake up. Hosea thought it was a crime that an infant could be so smart.
Even when he hit two he still hadn’t broken the habit. Now their boy was three and insisted on sleeping between his fathers. No matter how hard they tried to get him settled in his own bed, he never stayed. Not for long. It didn’t matter if Hosea sang to him and gently combed his fingers through his hair or if Dutch read to him while rubbing his back till the little boy couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He always fell asleep just long enough for the pair of them to get good and asleep themselves before he woke one of them up.
It didn’t even seem to matter if his own bed was in the same room with them or not. Arthur was horribly stubborn and found a way around whatever his parents tried.
Hosea does his best to ignore him. Hoping, praying he’d go back to bed on his own. When they picked him up from his two night stay with Annabel and Bessie, the girls had told him that he had slept just fine on his own. That was the previous afternoon, he had hoped that maybe he had suddenly grown out of it. Hosea just needed to be firm. That’s where he went wrong in the first place. He couldn’t say no. If he just ignored him then his habit would finally be broken.
Or he’d walk around to bother Dutch, he had done it before and Hosea wouldn’t put it past him to do it again.
For a brief moment he doesn’t hear anything and he hopes he’s lucky enough that it actually worked. Except he’s hoped too soon. Instead, little hangs shove insistently against his arm and once again says, “Papa!” but loud enough he’s woken Dutch up too. The other man groans and begins to roll away, leaving Hosea to have to fight him just to keep him from taking all of the covers with him.
Now Hosea has to open his eyes and acknowledge the boy, lest he chance a melt down to which he’s never been able to not give in to. One day when he’s old enough to understand he needs to sleep in his own bed, he thinks to himself, that’ll be the true day they end the co-sleeping. Until then he may just have to accept this was how it was going to be.
“What is it Arthur?” He sighs, propping himself up on his elbows, knowing full well what his boy wants. He watches as Arthur rubs his eyes with tiny fists, clearly still very tired. He briefly wonders if he had forcefully woken himself up.
“Wanna,” He’s interrupted by a big yawn and Hosea has to keep from rolling his eyes, maybe the boy hadn’t even fallen asleep at all and had just been waiting the whole time. Sometimes he was almost sure he waited till they were asleep on purpose. This kid was just far too smart for two grown adults, “Wanna sleep with you and Daddy,” The whine in his voice is just so pitiful.
He’s about to tell him no, that he needs to go back to bed and sleep on his own like he had when he was with the girls, but poorly timed thunder rumbles outside. Not loud enough to shake the cabin but loud enough Arthur seems startled, making a desperate noise and reaching his arms upward, practically begging to be let in the bed.
It’s not like Arthur didn’t understand the word ‘no’. They told it to him plenty of times. Arthur, no, don’t pull the horse’s tail. Arthur, no, don’t drink that. No, you can’t go with Daddy. No, don’t touch that. No, Arthur, no. He knew the word, that much was certain, and he heard it from the both of them equally frequent. It was only when it came to the sleeping arrangement they couldn’t tell him no.
Hosea sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting back the oncoming headache from interrupted sleep, all while another clap of thunder sounds overhead, making Arthur cry out as he gets impatient and tries to climb into the bed himself. “Alright, alright I hear you,” Hosea mutters, leaning over to lift him up by his armpits and pull him into the bed, setting the little boy in the space between himself and Dutch with a grunted, “Incoming.”
Dutch rolls over to look at Arthur as he pulls the blankets up over himself, clearly very happy he’s gotten his way. “I thought you were asleep,” He says, voice heavy with sleep, reaching around to tickle him. Arthur is thrown into a tired fit of giggles, attempting to wiggle away from his daddy and into Hosea’s side as he settles on his back, only for Dutch to sit up and pull him back towards himself. Arthur eventually stills, laughter fading to a stop and back to being sleepy. He starts to curl up in the space between them, his breathing becoming slow and steady, all while Dutch runs his fingers against his scalp to ease him into sleep.
Hosea watches the two of them, trying hard to forget what he had been dreaming about before Arthur woke him up. They’d never fight like that for real. They loved each other too much, understood each other and the life they had chosen too well to fight about it. They had set boundaries years ago, lines they swore not to cross so they wouldn’t endanger Arthur. Things weren’t perfect, clearly, but they weren’t like that. Hosea didn’t need to live in a permanent house with some delusion of domesticity because he was happy with how things were. He was happy because Dutch was happy and so was Arthur. He didn’t care as long as the two most important people to him were alright, safe and sound and happy.
The only thing that ever came between him and Dutch was Arthur, quite literally, in that little space next to them in the bed.