Chapter Text
Arthur found John sitting at the edge of the overlook on the outskirts of camp. Since recovering from the wounds he sustained from the wolf attack near Colter, the younger outlaw had made it a habit to sit there when he was deep in thought. With some encouragement from Hosea, Arthur started to join him on most mornings. At first, Arthur had done it only for Hosea’s sake. The bitterness that lingered in his heart over John’s year-long absence was a stubborn thing, and while Arthur was trying to be kinder towards his brother, he found that he couldn’t quite bring himself to forgive him completely.
That all started to change, however, when Arthur found himself bit by a vampire in Saint Denis. Turning into one had been the most painful thing Arthur had ever experienced, and John had stayed by his side through it all. He had stayed awake during those long, feverish nights, nights full of inexplicable pain with no relief, only waiting for it to be over. Arthur didn’t think he’d live to see the end of it, and he certainly wouldn’t have without John’s help.
Arthur sat beside John in the grass, letting his legs hang over the edge as he stared out at the Grizzlies that stood proudly in the distance. “How’re those wounds healing?”
John shrugged. “I’ll be fine. Ain’t my first time dealing with a werewolf.”
“You gotta remember to use your damn nose so you don't wind up trespassing,” he said.
“Well, now I know that,” he huffed. “I’m still new to this.”
“It’s been five years!”
John rolled his eyes. “In the grand scheme of things, that ain’t very long, Morgan!”
“I’m sorry,” he smirked, “I didn’t realize using your sniffer was that hard!”
“You’re the worst,” he muttered.
Arthur snickered to himself before pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He offered one to John before getting another for himself. Arthur then struck a match and lit the end of both.
“How’s the….you know,” John asked as he gestured vaguely at Arthur with his hand.
“It sucks,”
He snorted at that, and his amusement caused Arthur to grin.
“I’m sayin' its TB for now,” he added.
“Yeah?”
Arthur nodded, taking a long drag on his cigarette before checking the time on his pocket watch.
John cocked an eyebrow as he watched him. “You got somewhere you gotta be?”
“I told a photographer I’d meet him northwest of Wallace Station,”
“That Albert guy, right?” he asked, smiling impishly at him. “The one you’ve been head over heels for?”
Arthur smacked him in the arm, unintentionally using more force than he meant to, which earned a quiet ow from John as he snickered at his reaction.
“Don’t worry,” John said while rubbing his arm, “both secrets are safe with me.”
“You’re lucky I don’t shove you right off this overlook,” he muttered as he rose to his feet.
“Just be careful, Arthur,” he said. “You’re still…adjusting.”
“I know,” he replied. “Don’t worry about me, John. I’ll be fine.”
–
Arthur unslung his rifle and knelt beside Albert as he eyed their surroundings. The photographer had decided to make wolves, of all things, his next subject for his photography project. While Albert seemed calm, it left Arthur on edge.
“If anything comes, I’ll protect you as needed," he said.
Albert smiled at him, almost fondly. "You are a gentleman!"
He chuckled to himself. "You don't know me very well."
"No, perhaps not yet," he mused, "but regardless, to me, you are a gentleman."
Arthur shifted his weight, still unused to Albert's kindness. It wasn't the first time the photographer had complimented him without hesitation. His words never failed to make Arthur's heart flutter in his chest, and he adjusted his hat in an attempt to hide his reddening cheeks.
"Usually, I'm worse than the wolves," he finally said.
“Nonsense!” he assured as he adjusted his camera. “Have you had many dealings with wolves, Mr. Morgan?”
“More or less,” he admitted. “A friend of mine had a pretty nasty encounter with one recently.”
“Oh, I hope he’s alright!”
“He is. Left one helluva scar, though.”
“And, if I may ask, how is your TB?”
Arthur swallowed as he stared ahead. While blaming his changing appearance on tuberculosis seemed to satisfy most questions, he hated how the lie troubled those he was close to, especially Albert. When Arthur first told him about his ‘diagnosis’, he was surprised by how much the news had upset the photographer. The man had instantly offered to help him, even to the point of offering him a place to stay and rest in his very own apartment in Saint Denis. It was an offer that was both generous and intimate, yet given without hesitation.
For selfish reasons, Arthur had wanted to say yes. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to risk Albert’s safety like that, not when he was only beginning to understand the new hunger he was cursed with. Losing control and hurting Albert was the last thing he wanted to do.
“The same as it was, I guess,” Arthur sighed. “I don’t think it’s going away.”
A heavy silence settled between them before Albert spoke again. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me too,”
“My offer still stands, Mr. Morgan,” he said as he glanced down at him, and Arthur tried his best to ignore his somber expression. “It might make you well again.”
“I’m afraid I’m too far gone for that,” he paused as his nose caught a new, yet familiar, scent in the air. “Quiet, now. We’ve got company.”
Albert squinted, searching the forest until he spotted two wolves. “Ah, yes! Yes, there they are! Now don’t do anything. I’m going to take a few photographs.”
Arthur eyed the two wolves as they approached the tree where Albert had strung up some meat. His grip on his rifle tightened as Albert quietly coaxed them from behind his camera, complimenting them as he made a few final adjustments. He waited until he was content with their position before finally taking the photo.
The sudden whoosh and the burst of light from the flashlamp startled the wolves, and Arthur tensed as their attention shifted to them. He straightened himself as he aimed his rifle at them, staring them in the eye as he unwittingly bared his teeth at them.
Albert took another photo as a few more wolves appeared before finally backing away from his camera. His eyes widened as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. Five of them had encircled them by now, snarling as they slowly moved in.
“Oh my, they don’t seem to be fans of modern technology,” Albert stammered.
“No, but it sure looks like they’re fans of you,” he countered as he stepped in front of him, pulling down the lever of his rifle and bracing the stock against his shoulder.
He let his years of experience take over, giving in to an instinct that was old and familiar to him. Taking down the wolves took hardly any thought at all, and it wasn't until he heard Albert's pained cry that he snapped out of his deadly focus.
Arthur whirled around as he cocked his rifle, his sights landing on a wolf that had its teeth in Albert's leg. It was larger than the rest, and Arthur snarled as he unloaded the remaining bullets into the animal.
The wolf yelped as it released Albert, and Arthur frowned hard as it managed to run away. No wolf would've survived that. He'd unloaded enough bullets into it to put down a bear, and the thought left him fearing the worst as he ran to grab his spare shirt from his saddlebag before kneeling beside Albert.
It was a struggle wrapping Albert's bleeding wound enough to last them the ride to Strawberry. The sweet, enticing scent of Albert's blood hung thickly in the air, awakening the dark hunger that tempted him to give in to his new instincts. It was overwhelming, far more than any other blood he’d smelled before, and the realization terrified him. He swallowed hard, frowning as he focused on the movement of his trembling hands and the texture of his shirt as he tore strips and tied them around Albert's leg. Anything to distract himself. His mouth was watering, and he subconsciously ran his tongue over his sharp canines before looking up at Albert.
The photographer's face was pallid, and sweat was beginning to form on his brow. He was visibly in pain, grimacing as he alternated between digging his fingers into his thigh and worrying at the fabric of his pants.
"Hang in there, Mr. Mason," Arthur said. "I'm gonna take you to the doctor in Strawberry."
He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as he drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm so sorry, Arthur, I should’ve known better than to attempt something as stupid as–"
“Hey,” he interrupted as he gave Albert’s arm a reassuring squeeze, “unless you asked that wolf to bite you, there ain’t no need to apologize.”
His words caused Albert to exhale a breathy chuckle, and while getting the photographer into his saddle was quite the undertaking, he managed to stay upright on his own. As Arthur stood beside him to ensure he wouldn’t fall off, his eyes settled on the still-bleeding wound. The scent of it was still strong despite the makeshift bandage, and Arthur had to shake himself before leaving Albert’s side to pack up his photography equipment.
–
Arthur chose to wait on the bench outside the doctor’s office, worrying at his bearded chin as he waited. While he had wanted to stay by Albert’s side, he didn’t trust himself. He had barely managed to resist his growing thirst and how it had warped his thoughts. Along the way, a part of his mind had tried to convince him to give in, that a little taste wouldn’t harm the photographer. How if he was already bleeding, it wouldn't really be his fault for drinking from the wound.
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut as he recalled those thoughts. They left him sick to his stomach and hating his new self all the more. He was cursed, and an ache resounded in his chest as he remembered he was damned to this life.
Dying at the end of a rope would’ve been an easier sentence. It was how he’d always thought he’d eventually go out, an outlaw sentenced to die at the gallows for his crimes. This, however, was infinitely worse, and while Arthur had always known he wasn’t a good man, it left him wondering just how bad he was to deserve such torment.
He opened his eyes and stared at his hand, noticing a few drops of blood on his knuckle. Without thinking, he brought it to his mouth to clean it. He ran his tongue over his skin only to belatedly realize that it belonged to Albert. Arthur swore under his breath as he jerked his hand away and wiped what was left on his pants.
While Arthur tried to drink from animals as much as possible, he had fed on people before, whether it was an unfortunate O’Driscoll or a bounty hunter. He was familiar with the metallic tang of blood and its bitterness, which left him confused when he found that Albert’s tasted sweet, like an expensive, decadent dessert. He had never imagined that it was even possible for blood to taste like that. While Arthur wasn’t sure what made Albert’s taste different, he knew now for a fact that his nose hadn’t been lying to him.
Arthur drew a deep, steadying breath as he heard Albert finish up inside. The doctor wished him well, and Arthur rose to his feet as Albert joined him outside. He had a crutch under one arm, and his leg was bandaged properly. The doctor must’ve stitched the wound, as there was only a hint of his sweet scent in the air. Arthur’s eyes flitted to Albert’s face, and the photographer offered him a tired smile as he hobbled over.
“Well, you’ve saved me once again, Mr. Morgan,” he said. “It’s getting late. Would you allow me the privilege of renting a hotel room for you? It’d be the least I can do to thank you for your help.”
“That’s mighty kind of you, but I couldn’t,”
“Please, I insist,” Albert said. “It might do you some good. When was the last time you slept on a proper bed with a roof over your head?”
He honestly couldn’t remember, and he shook his head as he chuckled to himself. “You’ve got me, there.”
“Come on, then,” he said. “I’ll even pay to have them treat you to a warm bath if you’d like!”
“That won’t be necessary,” Arthur assured as he walked beside him.
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know,”
“Will do,” he said as he tipped his hat.
Arthur opened the hotel door for Albert once they arrived and followed him inside to the mustached clerk seated behind his desk. The man looked up from the papers on his desk and offered them a smile.
“What can I do for you two?” he asked.
“I’d like to rent two rooms for the night,” Albert said.
“I’m afraid we only have one left, gentleman. We’ve been busier than usual this week.”
Albert spoke before Arthur could interject. “That’s fine. We’ll take the one, thank you.”
Arthur’s heart hammered in his chest as the photographer exchanged his money for a room key. He swallowed hard as he wordlessly followed Albert up the stairs, staying close to his side to support him if needed. Yet he took each step slowly, wincing as he leaned heavily on the banister to his left.
“Did the doctor give you anything for the pain?” Arthur asked as they walked down the hall.
“He did, although maybe not enough,” he chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.
The outlaw frowned at that. “I’ve got some whiskey in my saddlebag that should do the trick. Do you want me to grab anything while I’m out there?”
“Just the spare pants that I luckily packed,”
Arthur was there and back in less than five minutes, yet he hesitated in front of the closed door. While he knew Albert had rented the room for both of them, he found it physically impossible to bring himself to turn the doorknob. Exhaling a frustrated sigh, he knocked on the door, and it wasn’t until he heard Albert give him permission to enter that he could open the door.
He stepped inside to find the photographer sitting on the edge of the bed. Albert had removed his vest and hung it on the coat rack by the door. Arthur did the same with his leather jacket before handing Albert his spare pants and a bottle of whiskey. After the gentleman thanked him, Arthur stepped outside onto the balcony to give him some privacy.
Arthur leaned against the railing as he watched the sleepy town. While the sun had just dipped below the horizon, the sky was determined to hold onto what little light was left. It gave the velvety sky a faint golden hue that bathed the wooden buildings in a dusky pink. Arthur drew a deep breath as he felt his strength return with the setting sun and smiled.
Albert joined him outside once he had changed and felt a cold chill run through him. It was brisk for a late spring evening, and he wrapped his free arm around himself as he looked Arthur over. The chill didn’t seem to bother him. In fact, he seemed perfectly content despite his rolled-up sleeves.
“Aren’t you cold?” Albert asked.
“Naw,” he said as he shook his head. “You get used to this kind of weather when you sleep in a tent.”
The photographer wasn’t sure if the two were connected, necessarily, but he didn’t have the experience to argue otherwise. “Well, I, for one, am. Why don’t you join me inside? I’ve even got the wood stove going.”
While the wood stove made no difference to Arthur, he followed him back inside anyway. His eyes flitted to the whiskey on the nightstand as he shut the door behind him, and he frowned when he found it as full as he’d left it. “Why didn’t you drink any of the whiskey?”
“Well,” he started as he sat on the edge of the bed, “honestly, I was waiting to share it with you.”
Arthur couldn’t help but smile at him. The gesture was endearing, and despite being unaffected by hot or cold temperatures, it caused a warmth to bloom in his chest.
He pulled a chair over and instructed Albert to rest his foot on his leg to keep it elevated. They passed the whiskey back and forth a few times, sharing stories and laughter. It didn’t take much liquor to color Albert’s cheeks. By his fifth swig, he was loosening up, and Arthur couldn’t help himself from smiling fondly at him.
“See, Arthur,” he said with a lopsided grin. “We could have this kind of merriment more often if you took me up on my offer!”
Arthur chuckled as he took the whiskey from him and corked it. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”
Albert’s grin faltered, pensively studying him for a moment. His eyes were profoundly sad, as he was deeply grieved by the reality of their circumstances. “Why won’t you come with me?”
His gaze lowered to his boots, unable to meet his mournful eyes. “I’ve already told you, Mr. Mason–”
“Please, call me Albert,” he quietly insisted.
He hesitated before daring to lift his gaze to meet Albert’s. “I’m too far gone, Albert. I’m afraid your quaint apartment in Saint Denis won’t do much for what I’m fighting.”
Had he been sober, Albert would’ve let the topic go. He knew how tight-lipped Arthur could be, and typically, he respected his privacy. Yet, emboldened by the whiskey, he decided to press further. “But how do you know if you haven’t tried?”
Arthur swallowed hard as he avoided his gaze. Because it wasn’t tuberculosis that was causing him to waste away. Because he knew there would never be a cure to reverse his vampirism, and he refused to risk Albert’s safety by staying with him when he hardly understood what he had become.
“My gang’s a long way from there,” Arthur finally answered. “They need me.”
Albert’s expression pinched at that, his crushing sadness contorting his features. “You can’t help them if you’re…”
“Al,” the strength of the photographer’s sorrow over the thought of him dying forced Arthur to pause, struck silent for a moment before finally heaving a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid I ain’t got much of a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,”
Arthur only shook his head as he gently moved Albert's leg to the bed and rose to his feet. The photographer was just as stubborn as he was, and Arthur knew there was no point in arguing any further with him. “Come on, you should get some sleep.”
With a somber nod, the photographer adjusted the pillows behind him before lying down. Arthur stayed beside him as he did, ready to help as needed.
“Goodnight, Al,” he said as he pulled the covers over him. Yet Albert’s hand grabbed his wrist as he started to turn away.
“Where are you going?”
“To the chair,”
Albert frowned. “This bed is perfectly capable of fitting both of us.”
“I–,” he exhaled a nervous chuckle as his eyes flitted to Albert’s hand still around his wrist. Despite his soft hand, his grip was firm, and Arthur knew in the back of his mind that he was fighting a losing battle. “You’re drunk, Al.”
“I’m not drunk,” he huffed indignantly, “just tipsy enough to take a risk.”
Arthur gave in with a sigh and set his hat on top of one of the bedposts. He toed off his boots and glanced up at Albert to find a pleased smile had spread across his face. Arthur couldn’t help but mirror his grin as he settled down beside him. “I’m starting to think all you do is take risks.”
“Perhaps,” he mused, “although I don’t regret a single one of them.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “What about getting your leg gnawed on by a wolf?”
“It was worth it,” Albert said as he scooted closer. “Goodness, Arthur, you’re freezing!”
“Sorry,” he sheepishly replied.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m sure it’s something you can’t help with your sickness. Turn over.”
Arthur did as he was told, and as Albert’s arm wrapped around him to pull him close, he smiled as the tension and unease melted away. His fears about harming the photographer melted away in his embrace, and he easily slipped into a deep sleep.