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Leaving George stood near Baylock, Micah walks towards a flat rock, leaning down to place the bottles needed for his son’s shooting lessons. But as he sets the final empty bottle against the rock, a horrifying sound makes Micah flinch, the bottle clattering to the ground.
George screams in agony and terror, the sound piercing Micah’s heart in a way he’s never experienced (is this his protective side coming out again, a side of himself he still barely recognises?), and Micah draws both his revolvers, spinning on the spot, ready to fucking destroy whoever hurt his son. But as he races towards George, he finds his son alone beside Baylock, collapsed on his backside and clutching his ankle like he sprained it. George sobs hysterically, his face contorted with pain, cheeks flushed with the effort of crying so hard. Behind George, Baylock whinnies and stomps his hooves, obviously distressed by something. But despite his care for his horse, all Micah can focus on is the boy.
“George, what the hell happened?” he says, crouching at George’s side.
“A… A snake b-bit me…” George sobs, clutching his ankle tighter.
“Shit!” Micah mutters, glancing around (and understanding why Baylock makes a fuss, because his horse has never liked snakes) in case the snake is still here. “You see what it looked like?”
George sniffs, shaking his head. “Think I, I must’ve trod o-on it. ‘Cause it hissed a-and then it…” George whimpers, staring at Micah with tears in his pale green eyes. “Papa, it hurts…”
“I know, kid, I know,” Micah says, remembering being bitten by a snake over a decade ago. “Lemme see it.”
Biting his wobbly lip, George lets go of his leg, his hands shaking violently. George wears shorts today, his legs bare from just above his knees, to the top of his ankle-high boots. And just above his boot on his left foot, George’s pale skin is punctured by two red dots—bite marks. The skin around the puncture wounds is turning red, rapidly swelling as the boy cries in agony.
“Papa, ‘m I gonna die?” George asks.
“Of course, you ain’t, you stupid boy,” Micah says, ruffling George’s hair. Standing up, he adds, “Be back in a sec, kid.”
Micah hurries over to Baylock, calming his agitated horse before rummaging through his saddlebags. He searches for a health cure, but he can’t locate even a single one, his hands beginning to shake. The camp has plenty of health cures, but Micah doesn’t know how George will cope on the ride back, and he dreads to think what might happen if the poison spreads too far through George’s body.
And that’s when another solution comes to him: he can suck the venom out of the wound! Micah has never done it before, but he’s seen other people do it, and it doesn’t seem too complicated. So, he races back over to George, falling to his knees hard enough to bruise.
“I’m gonna suck it out, okay?” Micah says. “Just stay still for me, kid.”
“O-Okay,” George mumbles, sniffing.
After carefully unlacing George’s boot, Micah supports his son’s leg with one hand, easing the boot off with the other. Holding George’s ankle steady, Micah ducks his head, wrapping his lips around the snakebite on George’s leg. George hisses in agony, trembling against Micah, but he’s not strong enough to pull his leg out of Micah’s grip. Micah sucks, a small amount of the disgusting venom filling his mouth. Grimacing, Micah spits it out, ducking his head to continue.
As he sucks the venom out of the bite wound, the inside of Micah’s bottom lip begins to tingle, but he doesn’t pay it much attention, too focused on his task. When he tastes only blood, he hopes that he got it all out, spitting into the dirt. He raises his head to stare at George, who stares back, still crying.
“I think that’s all of it,” Micah says. “C’mon, let’s get you back to camp. They’ll have medicine there to help you feel better.”
“Thank you, Papa,” George says, lunging to clutch Micah’s hand.
“Don’t thank me yet, George,” he says, knowing his son is still in danger (because he doubts that he got it all out, as much as he hopes that to be true). “Here, lemme pick you up.”
As George nods, Micah slips one hand around the boy’s back, slotting the other under George’s bent knees, hoisting George into his arms in a bridal carry. George clutches the boot he doesn’t wear, his wounded leg dangling as Micah carries him. He lifts George higher, resting his son on the back of Baylock, sitting George side-saddle. Taking the boot, Micah shoves it into his saddlebag, before hauling himself into the saddle, being extra careful not to kick George as he does so. Once he sits in the saddle, Micah gets his feet into the stirrups, feeling George’s small hands grab his waist.
“Holdin’ on tight?” he says, his bottom lip now burning, every word formed making it hurt.
“Yeah,” George says, pressing his face against Micah’s back.
“Okay then,” Micah says, spurring Baylock onwards. “Let’s get back to camp, Georgie-boy!” he cries, using the stupid nickname in an attempt to cheer George up (it doesn’t work).
Micah rides back to Clemens Point as fast as he dares with George on the back of his horse, not taking any of the stupid shortcuts he would normally take when riding alone. With every second that ticks by, the burning pain in Micah’s lip increases, but he ignores it, too focused on getting George back to camp in one piece. After everything he and the boy have been through, Micah will not lose George—his goddamn son—to a fucking snakebite.
The ride back to camp only takes a few minutes, but it feels like days for Micah and the rapidly increasing pain spreading across his lip. The moment they reach Clemens Point, Micah yells, “Someone get the hell over here!” He doesn’t notice how his swelling lip gives him a slight lisp, too busy attracting attention. “George needs help, you lazy bastards!”
Kieran reaches Micah first, taking Baylock’s reins as Micah hops down from his horse. As Micah picks George up, cradling the injured boy to his chest, the O’Driscoll says, “Oh my God, what happened to the poor boy?”
“Snakebite,” Micah says. “Now either help, or get lost.”
Kieran doesn’t run away, instead ducking his head and hitching Baylock to a post. Ignoring the O’Driscoll, Micah rushes further into camp, continuing to yell for someone to get the hell over here.
“The kid’s hurt, you assholes!” Micah yells, lisping worse than ever.
Finally attracting attention of a few gang members (why must so many people be out of camp? Even Arthur isn’t here, off on a job rather than being in camp to assist him), Micah watches Susan Grimshaw hurry towards him.
“Oh my… what happened?” she says, reaching Micah and his crying son. “Oh, George, you poor thing…”
“He got bit by a snake,” Micah says gruffly. “We got any health cures ‘round here?”
“Of course. Over here,” Susan says, gesturing for Micah to follow her. Reaching the medicine wagon, she points to Strauss’ desk, all but shoving Strauss out of his chair as she says, “Mister Strauss, fetch a health cure. George is hurt.”
“Ja, of course,” Strauss says, shooting George a worried glance before rushing to the wagon.
Taking Grimshaw’s hint, Micah sets George down on the desk, but the moment he lets go of George, the boy grabs his hand. Micah sighs but doesn’t pull away, covering George’s small hand with his calloused palm and squeezing gently.
Rushing back over, Strauss hands Susan a bottle. “Here,” he says, “a potent health cure, no less. For a child his size, one third of the bottle should be enough to counteract the venom and reduce swelling.”
“Thank you, Mister Strauss. Can someone get me a cup?” Susan asks, opening the bottle with a pop.
“One step ahead of you,” Hosea says, appearing at her side. He holds out a metal cup, giving George a sympathetic smile. “You’ll feel better soon, George. I promise.”
“Th-Thank you,” George mumbles, sniffling.
Susan pours the liquid into the cup, handing it to Micah. He takes it without making a comment, bringing the cup to George’s lips (not trusting George to hold it himself with the way his hands tremble).
“This stuff tastes disgustin’,” Micah says, not bothering to lie and pretend health cures don’t make him want to vomit, the thick liquid tangy and bitter in a way that makes Micah’s stomach crawl. “But it works. So, drink it, ‘kay.”
“Okay, Papa,” George says, and he opens his mouth.
Micah tilts the cup, letting the medicine flow into George’s mouth, his son gagging at the taste, but managing not to spit the health cure out. Once George has swallowed it all, Micah drops the cup carelessly on the grass, needing that hand to ruffle George’s hair.
“Good job, George.” And that’s when Micah notices the way that Susan stares at him. “What’s your problem, you old—”
“Papa…” George says, tugging on Micah’s hand.
Micah sighs, rolling his eyes, but resists the urge to spit insults at Susan. Instead, he calmly (well, as calmly as possible when his son is in danger after being bitten by a fucking snake) asks her, “What’re you lookin’ at, Miss Grimshaw?”
“Your lip. It’s puffed up,” Susan says.
“Oh yeah,” Hosea adds. “Shit, that looks painful.”
For the first time, Micah pays real attention to the severe pain in his lower lip, probing the area with his tongue. A spot on the inside of his lip is seriously swollen, the flesh raised and angry like the area around a bee sting. The burning pain has spread further, reaching the scar sliced through his lip, an increasingly large portion of his lower jaw throbbing with pain.
“Oh my God, Papa, are you okay?” George asks, craning his head up to stare at Micah’s face.
Hating how everyone stares at him, he says, “It’s fine. I don’t give a—”
“Mister Bell, did you suck the venom out?” Strauss says, cutting him off.
Micah spins around to glare at Strauss, eyebrows raised. “What?”
“Did you suck the venom out of the bite?”
“Of course, I did,” Micah snaps, even more aware of the humiliating lisp caused by his swollen lip. “Didn’t have any health cures on me. Why?”
“Oh, I get what you mean, Herr Strauss,” Hosea says. “Micah, do you have a cut on the inside of your mouth?”
Micah pokes the sore area with his tongue again, able to feel a small cut on the inside of his lip, the edges of the wound raised and painful. Now he thinks about it, he remembers getting punched in the face a few days ago; the bruising has mostly faded, but his gum got sliced open when it ground against his teeth, filling his mouth with blood.
“Uh… yeah. Why d’you ask?” Micah asks, puzzled.
Taking the partly full medicine bottle from Susan, Hosea thrusts it at Micah. “Drink this quickly, Micah,” Hosea says. “I think the venom got into your body through the cut.”
“What does that mean?” George asks, worried.
“It means it’s the same as if the snake bit his lip. Drink up, Mister Bell.”
“Shit,” Susan says.
Micah’s stomach cramps, unaware it was possible to poison yourself like that. Not that he regrets helping George, but… he’d rather not die from this. So, he takes the bottle from Hosea and chugs the entire thing, retching at the foul taste, but he doesn’t stop until its empty.
“Christ, that stuff’s disgustin’,” Micah says, grimacing.
“Oh, stop makin’ more of a fuss than your son did, Mister Bell,” Susan says, her tone fond enough to keep Micah from snapping at her. “And you,” she says to George, “you need to rest, young man.” Glancing back to Micah, she adds, “Mind carryin’ him to his tent, Mister Bell.”
“Yes, boss,” Micah says sarcastically, each word sending needles of pain through his swollen lip. He bends down, scooping George up in his arms, holding the boy carefully so he doesn’t jog George’s leg. “C’mon, kid.”
As he walks towards George’s tent, Susan calls after him, “Prop his ankle up on a spare pillow too.”
“Jesus Christ, woman, quit fussin’,” Micah mutters. “He ain’t even your kid.”
“I heard that!” Susan says.
George giggles weakly, staring up at Micah’s face. But when his gaze focuses on Micah’s sore lip, the smile fades. “Papa, does it hurt?”
“Does yours?” he asks. After all, they both have the same venom in their bodies.
“It hurt so, so bad earlier. But since Miss Grimshaw gave me the medicine… it’s getting better and better.”
Micah tries to smile, but his lip hurts so much that the expression becomes a grimace. “That’s good.” Reaching George’s tent, Micah bends down awkwardly. “Hold on tight, kid,” he says, and when George wraps his arms around Micah’s neck, he lets go with one hand, opening the tent flaps. Simply entering his son’s tent takes so much effort when the boy clings to him, and Micah groans, muscles tense as he tries not to drop George on his injured leg. It takes a while, but Micah manages to kneel down and walk on his knees, getting further inside the tent. And then, finally, he eases George onto the bedroll, letting the boy make himself comfortable. “You okay?”
“I, I’m fine,” George says, letting Micah slot a spare pillow under his foot, propping his sore ankle up. “Thanks, Papa. Do you wanna stay for, for a while?”
Micah stares at his kid, raising an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t say that, Georgie-boy, but if you want me to stay… I guess I can make that sacrifice for you,” he says, not able to smirk, but hoping his playful tone shows he isn’t being a jerk.
Thankfully, George giggles. “You’re so silly, Papa.”
“Excuse me?” Micah says, giving an exaggerated gasp and pressing a hand to his chest. “Don’t be so mean to your poor ol’ Papa, kiddo.” Fighting back a wince as his lip throbs with pain, Micah unbuckles his gunbelt and takes off his hat and boots, setting the items down carefully in the corner. “Oh, fine, I guess I’ll stay…”
And Micah flops onto his back, wriggling to get comfortable on the hard ground. The boy probably wants Micah right beside him, but Micah fears kicking George’s sore leg by accident. So, he leaves a couple of feet between them, turning his head to look at George. When George holds out his hand, Micah rolls his eyes, but he understands. Reaching out to clasp George’s small hand, Micah watches the boy smile at him.
And when George squeezes his hand, Micah manages a small, painful smile, squeezing his son’s hand in return.
---
When he and Lenny return to Clemens Point by the early evening, Arthur hands their earnings to Dutch before glancing around in search of Micah and George. Baylock was by the hitching posts, so Micah must be in camp, and wherever Micah is, George isn’t usually too far behind.
“Hey, Dutch, d’you know where Micah and the boy are?” he asks.
“Oh, they’re still in George’s tent, I think,” Dutch says.
“Huh? At this time of day?” Arthur says. And even if George was asleep this early, why would Micah be in his son’s tent?
Dutch looks at him, his eyes widening. “Oh, I forgot! Of course, you wouldn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“I’ll explain, Dutch,” Susan says, walking over. Dutch nods, picking his book up again.
“What happened, Susan?” Arthur asks. “Are they okay?”
“They’re fine, don’t worry. There was an… incident this afternoon.”
Despite being told not to worry, nerves begin to twist in Arthur’s stomach. “What kinda incident?”
“Did Micah tell you he was gonna take George out for shootin’ practise?” Susan says, leading Arthur towards George’s tent.
“Sure,” Arthur says; he and Micah discussed it in bed last night, when Micah expressed a desire to find a new spot for his son’s shooting lessons since they moved to Clemens Point. “What happened?”
Putting her hand on his arm, Susan says, “Remember, Mister Morgan, that I said they’re fine—”
“I get it, Susan!” Arthur says, sighing.
Raising her eyebrows, she continues like she wasn’t interrupted. “George got bit by a snake. Micah sucked most of the venom out and brought the boy back to camp. I gave George a health cure. Which is when I noticed Micah’s lip swellin’ up.”
“How’d that happen?” Arthur asks, assuming that Micah somehow got poisoned when sucking the venom out of George’s wound. And Arthur has sucked venom out of bites multiple times (he’s always encountering weirdos in the wilderness who got themselves bitten, and he doesn’t always have a health cure on him to help them), but he’s never gotten sick from doing it. He didn’t even know that was possible.
“Turns out he’s got a tiny cut on the inside of his lip. The venom got into his blood that way. Hosea said he’s seen it happen before.”
“And he’s okay too, right?”
“Yeah. We forced him to drink a health cure too. George needed to lie down, so Micah took him to his tent. And they ain’t left since, so they’re probably sleepin’.”
“And are you gonna let me check on ‘em, or smack me for tryin’?” Arthur says, smirking.
Susan rolls her eyes. “No, you’re fine to go over there, you stupid boy.”
“Boy?! I’m thirty-six!”
Chuckling, Susan says, “Just get on with it, Mister Morgan.”
Sighing, Arthur walks off, reaching George’s tent. Not wanting to wake them (if they’re asleep), Arthur doesn’t announce his presence, quietly lifting the tent flap and peering inside. He finds George awake, his sore ankle propped up on a pillow. The boy holds hands with his father, who, to Arthur’s amazement, sleeps deeply, his lip still all red and puffy.
“Oh, hey, Arthur,” George says, waving at Arthur with his free hand. He looks rather groggy, like he slept for a fair while, but he smiles as though he doesn’t have red puncture wounds patterning his pink, swollen ankle.
“Howdy, kid,” Arthur says. “How’re you feelin’.”
“It’s sore, but I’m okay. Feels a lot better than earlier.”
“That’s good.” He pats George’s good ankle, smiling at the boy.
“Arthur… Papa, he…” His smile fading, his eyes a little watery, George glances at his father. “He got himself poisoned trying to help me.”
“I know. Miss Grimshaw told me.” And despite already knowing this information, as Arthur stares at Micah, he finds himself proud of Micah all over again. To be honest, he’s still amazed by how much Micah has changed these past few months; once happy to leave the poor boy to fend for himself, Micah now cares so much that he sucked the venom out with no hesitation, getting himself poisoned in the process. Micah has grown into a better person, and a good father, and Arthur has never felt happier that Micah Bell was the man he fell in love with. “It’s ‘cause he cares about you.”
George tries to smile, letting go of Micah’s hand and reaching out to Arthur. “Thanks. Can you stay? Just for a bit…”
“Sure thing, George,” Arthur says.
“There’s room here, if you wanna lie down,” George says, patting the spot between him and Micah.
It’ll be a tight squeeze for a man Arthur’s size, but he can’t say no to that face. Grinning at George, Arthur crawls into the tent, pulling off his hat, boots and gunbelt, before lying down between George and Micah. The moment Arthur gets comfortable (or as comfortable as possible with him squashed into a tight gap), George grabs Arthur’s hand.
Squeezing George’s hand, Arthur whispers, “This better?”
“Yeah. Thank you for staying.”
“No problem,” Arthur says, reaching for Micah with his free hand. He takes his sleeping lover’s hand in his own, interlocking their fingers and joining him, George, and Micah together.
“He’ll be okay, right?” George asks.
“Sure, he will, boy,” Arthur says. “You’re both gonna be fine.”
And he isn’t lying; he knows that Susan gave them both a health cure in time, and both injures look much less swollen than plenty of fatal bites Arthur has seen. It’ll take a few days for the swelling to go down completely, but he doesn’t doubt that both George and Micah will make a full recovery.
“Promise?” George mumbles.
“I promise, kid. Now just rest, okay. Your papa’s gonna be okay. And so are you. But you need to take it easy.”
“Okay,” the kid says, smiling.
And, struggling to get comfortable, Arthur squeezes both their hands. Turning his head, Arthur looks at George, and then Micah, and then back to George, so proud of the little family he has found for himself.