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“Stop laughing, this isn’t funny.”
“It’s kinda funny.”
Understandably, when a couple street urchin kids sneak a handcuff onto you and another man, you’d be mildly upset. The damn kids were so smug when they proudly announced that they didn’t have the key, so good luck getting out.
Saint Denis was a festering cesspool of a city and, for Dutch, it was losing its charm. Arthur, on the other hand, never liked the damn place. He was pissed when he first felt the kid cuff him, but he calmed down when he saw how livid it made Dutch.
And something about Dutch being mad at something small and out of their control made the thirteen-year-old in Arthur want to stir up some shit.
“Arthur, if you don’t fix your face right now, so help me—”
Even the stupid grin Arthur held was pissing off Dutch… which only made Arthur snicker.
“I-I’m sorry, Dutch, but I can’t help it, you’re being so ridiculous.”
“Just shut up and walk.”
They were trying to remember where they hitched their horses, though Arthur was giddy about the next bout of rage this would surely send Dutch into. They found their horses but Dutch grew irritated when he’d try to mount his and Arthur’s arm came with his when he reached for the reins.
“Dutch, I, uh, don’t think this is gonna work.”
Arthur was quite literally at an arms’ distance, and if he tried to mount his own horse, he would surely pull Dutch off of The Count, or they would just look like they were holding hands down the road like they were sensitive or something.
Dutch sighed deeply and used his free hand to rub at his temples. “Jesus Christ,” he lowly muttered, defeat lacing his voice. “Just get on before I make you walk.”
Arthur shrugged and reached up, irritating the horse as he struggled his way up. Much to Dutch’s disgust, Arthur had pulled himself up in front of Dutch, chest-to-chest with the man.
“Get on the back!”
“How am I gonna hold on? You want me falling off and dragging you down with me?”
Dutch growled and a vein in his forehead bulged. He begrudgingly kicked at The Count and the horse took off, angry at the additional weight.
They trotted on for a while in silence before Arthur was back on his bullshit.
“I can hear your heart.”
“Shut up, Arthur.”
“It’s fast, ‘cuz you’re mad.”
“Shut. It.”
“I don’t see why, I think I’m peachy to be around.”
“Arthur, I’m warning you.”
Arthur was quiet, head turned away. It was all but a minute before he says, “I can feel your nipples through your vest.”
Something snapped within Dutch and he shoves Arthur off the side of the horse, so mad he forgot about their predicament and came down with him. The Count was startled and ran off, leaving the men on the ground.
Dutch landed right on top of Arthur, and Arthur landed right on top of a conveniently placed rock. Arthur was torn between laughing and groaning. Dutch felt bad when he stumbled off Arthur, both sitting on the ground, and he saw the apparent damage. Arthur used his cuffed hand to reach back and touch his head, Dutch ready to yell at him until their hands came back into view, both covered in blood.
“See, Dutch, I knew you was gonna get mad and now look at me? Got all this red on me.”
“Blood, Arthur.”
“You really gonna be mean to a concussed man?”
Dutch exhaled slowly. “Why are you trying me?”
“Why are you touching me?” Arthur asked childishly, smacking their cuffed hands together, the blood starting to get tacky.
Dutch clenched his jaw and told himself, Don’t get mad, he hit his head, don’t finish the job even though he’s being annoying as those damn street urchins…
“Doug, I don’t feel too good,” and Arthur began vomiting, thankfully missing their legs. “I wanna go home, Doug.”
He’s hurt, he’s hurt, he’s hurt…
“Get up, we need to start walking. Whistle for your horse maybe.”
They struggled up, Arthur clearly being slowed down from smacking his head into that rock. Arthur reached his hand up to whistle, swinging Dutch’s arm to smack into his chest.
“Jeez, Doug, don’t gotta hit me.”
“You did that!”
Arthur ignored him and whistled. Minutes later his horse was strolling up, and Dutch was struggling to help Arthur get on the horse. He was irritated beyond words but he’d be damned if he didn’t still try to protect Arthur.
The last thing Hosea expected to see when he heard Dutch’s irritated voice carry over the camp, was Dutch and Arthur riding the same horse, face-to-face.
“Well why not?”
“Because, Arthur, I said no!”
Hosea walked up as the horse came to a stop by the hitching post. He stared curiously at the pair, unable to see the handcuffs. He was concerned at the bloody hair on the back of Arthur’s head, and the way Arthur seemed to be annoying Dutch.
It was impossible to say if Arthur was out of his mind with the concussion, or just fucking with Dutch again.
“How did the trip go? What happened to Arthur?”
Dutch sighed deeply. “It’s been the longest ride of my life.”
Arthur scoffed. “Nuh-uh, ya big fuckin’ liar.”
Hosea nodded understandably. “I see Arthur is in prime form.”
Arthur turned to Hosea and stuck out his tongue. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Okay, son, let’s get you to Miss Grimshaw.”
“Wait,” Dutch stopped Hosea, who had been reaching up for Arthur. “Come to the other side, me and Arthur are stuck together for the time being.”
Hosea raised his eyebrows and turned around the horse, now seeing the handcuffs on their wrists. He helped Arthur clumsily climb down, not falling and taking Dutch down with him like before.
Arthur was unsteady on his feet and the men helped him stay up and steady and made a slow walk toward Dutch’s tent. No one had seemed to notice the cuffs, instead focused on poor bleeding Arthur.
Both Dutch and Arthur sat on the cot, Arthur wincing at the movement. Hosea left the tent and returned with Susan, who tsked at the men.
“Just what happened?” She demanded. “You were just supposed to talk to a few people! Did he get into another fight?”
“Just with Doug.” Arthur said, side-eyeing Dutch.
“Who the hell is Doug?!”
Hosea raised a hand, trying to shush everyone. “Dutch, did he hit his head?”
“Yes.”
“On what?”
“A rock.”
“How did he hit his head on a rock?”
Dutch looked away from his second-in-command. “He fell off the horse.”
Hosea sighed, knowing the answer before asking, “How did he fall off the horse?”
Arthur interrupted, “Doug pushed me.”
Hosea raised his brows at the still-not-looking Dutch. “Doug… Arthur, you mean Dutch?”
“Same thing.”
Dutch huffed and the other adults sighed. Susan was getting irritated herself and resolved to just check out Arthur’s head and leave him to torment Dutch a while longer.
Arthur hissed at the prodding cold fingers, his swatting-away-help hand was cuffed to Dutch and anchored down. Susan examined the severity of the gash, deciding to test out bandages. If the wound opened again and bled she would force him to sit through a few stitches.
She tightly wrapped a long strip of cloth around his head, holding in place a bigger folded up piece that sat directly over the cut.
When that was done she was grabbing him by the face, angling him to get the best lighting on his face before she stared intently at his pupils and their un-dilating state.
“Definitely a concussion,” she said, Arthur making a funny face as she finally let go of his cheeks. “Don’t let him sleep,” she added to Dutch.
Dutch narrowed his eyes. “We need to get these cuffs off, then Charles or someone can watch him.”
Hosea felt a laugh coming and exchanged a look with Susan. “Dutch, we don’t have a key to get you free.”
“Then shoot it.”
Arthur had a sudden look of clarity in his eyes and he said, “Don’t shoot it, you want me to lose my hand?”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take!”
Then the dopey look returned. “But that’s my meat-beating hand!”
Dutch groaned and looked down at the specified hand, close to his, he hoped dearly Arthur hadn’t jacked off that morning before their trip into town.
Susan was long gone out of the tent and Hosea was laughing softly to himself as he watched Dutch become redder and angrier, but contained himself knowing he couldn’t just take it out on an injured man… even if the man was being annoying as shit.
“I’ll see if anyone around camp has any pins we can try to pick the lock with.” Hosea stood and left surprisingly quickly, leaving Dutch alone to deal with Arthur’s bullshit.
Word got around camp that Dutch was handcuffed to the very disoriented Arthur, and suddenly nobody in camp has any pins or pieces of metal to use. All the women faked shock that they couldn’t find any hair pins or thin knitting needles.
Arthur wanted to sleep badly, forcing Dutch to keep him on his feet and walking around, otherwise Arthur was liable to nod off and risk damaging his brain.
They kept circling camp, all in an effort to keep Arthur awake. Unfortunately for Dutch, Arthur being awake also meant Arthur being a little shit.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“I don’t know, I never thought about it.”
“I like green… or I think I do? Hosea said I’m color-blind but I dunno... Lenny always said I acted like I didn’t see color, is that the same?”
“I don’t know,” Dutch said between gritted teeth.
They walked by the Marston family tent for the thousandth time that day. Little Jack was playing in the dirt out front as Abigail tried to mend something.
“Hi, Uncle Arthur! Are you feeling better yet?”
Abigail reached forward and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Hush, dear, leave Arthur alone.”
Arthur laughed and tussled Jack’s hair. “I’m just fine, Jackie, don’t you worry about ol’ Uncle Arthur.”
He sounded so normal in that moment, Dutch was hopeful he was recovered. They took another few steps away from the family and Arthur was back asking weird questions.
“You think horses remember when they were little?”
Dutch groaned.
It was twilight now, the camp was gathering around the fire to eat and drink and have a good little time. Dutch was pissed to still be locked together with Arthur, who had not let up being a manchild. He was whining now about being tired and wanting a nap and wouldn’t listen when Dutch tried explaining he absolutely could not go to sleep.
Hosea was ready to snatch the beer out of Arthur’s hands when Dutch gave him a death glare and simply said, “Gotta pick your battles. At least he’s not talking.”
There was a blissful silence, Dutch could finally hear himself think. It had been hours since Arthur hit his head, longer since they’ve been stuck together. If they couldn’t find a way out of the cuffs soon he would surely lose his mind.
“Ay, English! How’s the brain damage?”
Fucking. Sean.
“Shit, Sean, I didn’t know you hit your head too! Face looks pretty fucked up from it!”
Everyone roared in laughter and Sean stared, mouth open like a perfect O.
“At least ya haven’t lost yer humor,” he muttered before slinking off to Karen. Arthur was pretty amusing as long as it wasn't directed at Dutch.
Still no way to free himself, Dutch had to allow Arthur to spend the night in his tent and share the cot. Dutch wasn’t happy with the arrangement but Arthur was so tired he couldn’t care less.
They dressed down as much as they could, forced to keep their shirts on—Dutch thought it would be more annoying having their shirts hang off the cuffs.
Arthur had his pants and shoes off, standing barefoot with the bottom of his union suit exposed. Dutch was ready to climb into bed when Arthur says, “I gotta pee.”
“Then go—fuck. Can’t you hold it until Hosea finds a key?”
“I don’t know, do you want my bladder to explode?”
“Your bladder isn’t going to explode!”
“It may not but you’ll wish it did when you wake up and I done pissed all over the bed because I was dreaming of outhouses!”
Dutch took a painfully deep breath. “Okay, fine, just make it quick.”
They exited the tent, heading to the trees. Dutch jerked his cuffed hand back when Arthur’s cuffed hand reached for the front of his union suit.
“Use your other hand!”
“But this one’s the one I always touch my penis with! Don’t feel right using the other one.”
“It don’t feel right? Arthur, are you fucking kidding me?! What don’t feel right is my grown-ass son forcing my hand to take his dick out!”
“You’re being dramatic.”
Dutch held his arm by his side firm and Arthur pouted, using his other hand to pop his penis out of his clothes.
Arthur’s head was snuggled up into the crook of Dutch’s neck. He was on his side, spooning into the side of Dutch, who lay on his back. Arthur’s arm lay on Dutch’s chest and their hands were almost intertwined. The handcuffs sat on top, ensuring they stay together.
Hosea wished he had a camera to capture this pure moment. It was so wholesome. He’d asked one of the girls for a hair pin, deciding they’ve tortured Dutch long enough. He stepped by the cot, surprised neither party stirred.
The cuff lock only took a few jabs before clicking open, Hosea repeating the process to free the second wrist. Still both men lay unbothered and it seemed Dutch was just as exhausted as Arthur had been.
He slowly retreated from the tent and left the handcuffs on the table.