Work Text:
Why won’t everyone shut up?
Micah hunches forward on a log by the campfire, trying to hide the tremor in his hands by cleaning a revolver again and again. The gang surrounds him, laughing and cheering and singing along as Javier regales them with one of his admittedly very pretty songs (Micah loves Javier’s music when it’s just him and his guitar, and not the entire gang screaming the chorus and clapping). And it should be a joyous occasion (and for most of the gang it probably is, because Morgan and Marston pulled off a massive score and the gang decided to throw a party to celebrate) but all Micah can think about is how badly he wants to get away from them all.
He doesn’t do crowds. The only loud, chaotic settings he enjoys are gunfights, but if the noise isn’t gunfire… it just annoys him so much (and it even hurts his ears on his worst days—the days that leave him tense and stammering and so goddamn close to one of his pathetic fucking breakdowns…). He hates parties for this reason, and Micah previously avoided each party thrown by the Van der Linde Gang ever since he joined, either hanging around on the edge of the camp or just leaving for the night, uninterested in their stupid idea of fun.
But… things are different now. Micah never thought it would happen, but the gang… likes him now. Well, they all tolerate him at least. They ask him to join in with gang activities and Micah… says yes now, despite how little he enjoys himself. Although it’s more to impress Charles than anything else (because he loves Charles so much it goddamn hurts and making Charles proud of him makes Micah pathetically, revoltingly happy), Micah hangs around with the gang more often, and if he ends up enjoying himself sometimes, that’s just a happy side effect to his main goal of impressing his sweetheart. And he never thought he would ever find a gang that (mostly) accepts him and all his weird, annoying quirks (once he quit some of his particularly awful behaviour around camp, at least), and Micah… doesn’t want to lose this sense of safety. So, he puts up with the party, despite how much he wants to leave.
It would help if Charles was here, but his lover is on guard duty, standing on the edge of camp far away from the noise. Micah’s leg begins to bounce, his skin prickling as everything gets louder, suddenly bothered by how bright the campfire burns. Everyone sings the chorus again and Micah’s chest tightens, holding back a flinch when someone slaps him on the back and tells him to join in. Goddamn it, he feels like a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse, about to explode any second. But he can’t explode around the gang, not only because they’ll all think he's a freaking moron, but because that will ruin the party and they’ll all get mad and Charles might get mad and…
Getting an idea, Micah jumps to his feet. As he turns to leave, stepping over the log to escape, Mary-Beth says, “Aren’t you enjoying the party?”
“Don’t, don’t worry, Miss,” Micah says, wanting to kick himself for stammering. “I just need a piss,” he lies, and he walks out of camp as quickly as possible without looking suspicious.
He wants to visit Charles, but Micah should compose himself first; he doesn’t want Charles to see him trembling like this. Micah wanders into the trees around Clemens Point, but not far enough to reach Charles, and leans against a tree. A shaky hand pulls one of his revolvers from his holster, and Micah begins to spin his gun, again and again. Away from all the noise, he lets out a long, shaky sigh, that unbearable tension within him beginning to fade.
“Micah?”
He jumps, and if he didn’t recognise the voice, Micah would have shot the person instantly. Hiding his shaky breaths, Micah turns his head to stare at Mary-Beth, who watches him warily.
“Sorry, did I make you jump?” she asks.
“N-Nope,” Micah says, trying to shoot her a cocky smile (but he probably ends up grimacing instead). “What you doin’ here, anyway? You follow me?”
“Um… yeah, I did,” Mary-Beth says, stepping closer. “I knew you were lyin’. You didn’t need to relieve yourself at all, did you?”
Micah forces eye contact despite how awful it feels. Other than Charles, Mary-Beth probably knows him best, having started talking to Micah a lot more after he got together with Charles and started becoming a better person. She once said she finds him fascinating, and she wanted to talk more back then, but his shitty personality (his choice of words, not hers) put her off. Mary-Beth also admitted once that she became a lot more comfortable around Micah when he began his relationship with Charles because she realised that Micah was never attracted to her, and she found things a lot less awkward around him after that. They might even be friends now, not that Micah would admit something so sappy.
Still twirling his revolver, Micah puts his free hand on his hip, raising his eyebrows. He lacks the energy to lie, too busy trying to hold back one of his freakouts and calm himself down enough to go see Charles, so Micah doesn’t concoct a lie and snap at her to leave him alone, instead sighing and muttering, “Fine… I admit it. Are you gonna drag me back to them all so I’ll join in like a good little boy? Or tell Charles I’m hidin’ from everyone?”
“No, of course, I ain’t,” Mary-Beth says, her gaze flicking between his spinning revolver and the tense expression on Micah’s face. “I was just worried. You didn’t look like you were having fun.”
“That’s ‘cause I wasn’t, obviously,” Micah says. “I hate parties.”
“So why did you stay?”
“’Cause I’m, I’m better now, or however Charles put it. And a good gang member joins in even if he fuckin’ hates all that crowdin’ and noise and his goddamn lover ain’t ever there, ‘cause when his lover comes back he’ll b-be all, all proud and… shit…” Micah trails off, realising what embarrassing shit just came out of his mouth. Heat rushes to his face and he grits his jaw, genuinely considering threatening Mary-Beth to never tell anyone what he just said, but… what if Charles found out?
Christ, you’re obsessed about what he thinks of you, he thinks. And Micah can’t argue with that.
“It’s okay, Micah,” Mary-Beth says, always so goddamn nice. Micah sighs through gritted teeth, turning his head to avoid looking at her. “You don’t have to go back. You don’t have to do stuff you hate just to fit in.”
Part of Micah wants to slap her across the face. Part of him wants to hug Mary-Beth and thank her for being his friend when most of the gang still doesn’t trust him. But Micah doesn’t do either thing. Instead, he just says, “Uh… thanks I, I guess.” Trying to focus on spinning his revolver and not his stupid, pathetic embarrassment, he adds, “I ain’t gonna go back. Parties really ain’t my thing…”
“Me too, to be honest,” Mary-Beth says, smiling. “I’d rather read under a tree than sing and drink. Are you gonna go see Charles?”
She knows him too well, she really does. But… Micah doesn’t mind. He’s always liked Miss Mary-Beth (although not the way she probably thought when Micah once asked her to dance—he really did just want to dance, but he mainly did it to make himself fit in with the rest of the men in camp and not out himself as more interested in Charles Smith and his muscles and his smile than any of the very pretty women in camp), so the fact that she can read him so well doesn’t fill him with paranoia. After all, it isn’t like a nice girl like Mary-Beth would ever try to blackmail him or anything like that.
Still, that doesn’t mean he must admit it to her face. Instead, Micah smirks as best he can, raises an eyebrow, and drawls, “Wouldn’t you like to know, sweetheart?”
“I’ll go back now,” she says. “I’ll try to stop anyone else coming after you.”
Micah doesn’t thank her with words (because that would be pathetic), but he smiles. “Whatever you say,” he says, but he lets a softness bleed into his voice that few people get to hear.
Rolling her eyes, Mary-Beth says, “See you later, Mister Bell.”
Once Mary-Beth has left him alone, Micah holsters his revolver and wipes his sweaty hands on his pants. Trying to hide how stressed and awkward he still feels, Micah adjusts his hat to hide his eyes further and heads off to locate Charles. He just hopes that he doesn’t look like shit, because he doesn’t want to worry his lover.
He finds Charles by the entrance to Clemens Point, holding a carbine repeater and leaning against a tree. Slowing his breathing, Micah walks towards Charles, holding up a hand and awkwardly waggling his fingers in a stupid little wave.
“Hey, Charles,” he says, fighting the urge to grimace at how weak his voice sounds.
Charles turns his head, glancing at him. A smile appears on his face, but the expression soon fades into a puzzled frown. “Oh, hey, Micah. What… are you doing here?”
“Can’t a feller come visit his sweetheart?” Micah says, stepping closer.
“Of course, you can,” Charles says. “And it’s nice to see you. Is everything okay, though?”
“What d’you mean? I’m fine.” Micah turns his head, hating how inquisitively Charles studies him; if Mary-Beth is good at reading him, then Charles is goddamn incredible at it. Micah has never been the best liar (he knows how to lick someone’s boots, but straight-up lying is harder for him), but his lies always fall flat in front of Charles Smith. “Just wanted to, to check up on you. In case you was, y’know, lonely or somethin’…”
Charles takes a step towards him, getting closer without invading Micah’s personal space. “Micah… Was the party too much for you?”
Forcing a chuckle, Micah says, “What? No! Course it weren’t too much for me. I’m a goddamn outlaw, not some pathetic little moron who can’t, can’t cope with everyone singin’ and cheerin’…” He sighs heavily, twitchy hands tapping his holsters as he resists the urge to draw a revolver and spin it again. “I…”
“It’s okay,” Charles says, his voice so soft.
“No, it ain’t!” Micah snaps. “I should, should be able to handle all this shit. I should fuckin’ suck it up and just learn to fit in already, ‘cause most of them still goddamn hate me and, and I’m meant to be good now but… I freakin’ hate parties so much…”
His face burning with embarrassment, Micah raises his head, expecting Charles to laugh or tell him to grow some balls (not that Charles would ever speak to him like that, but he can’t think straight when he feels all stupid and vulnerable), but… Charles just smiles sadly and holds his arms out, a silent offer for a hug. Needing to hide his burning face, Micah accepts the hug without question, slamming against Charles and wrapping his arms around his lover’s toned body (now ain’t the time to admire his muscles, you pervert, he thinks). He grabs the back of Charles’ shirt, rubs his twitchy fingers against the soft fabric, and presses his forehead against Charles’ shoulder.
“I don’t like them either,” Charles whispers, running a hand up and down Micah’s back (at the back of his mind, Micah realises that he distracts Charles from his job on guard duty, but he can’t bring himself to care). “I don’t get… overwhelmed like you but… it’s just exhausting to be around so many people. At least for me.”
Micah snorts. “I feel that.”
“You didn’t need to force yourself to stay, y’know. Just attempting to join in was enough for the gang to know you’re trying to be friends—”
“So why don’t anyone like me, huh?” Micah mutters. “I’m a good boy these days, but… nobody trusts me.”
“That ain’t true, and you know it,” Charles says, not even flinching after being cut off. “Mary-Beth likes you. And I think Arthur is warming up to you too. I told you it’ll take time for everyone to like you, Micah. You were a… a dick back then. No offense.”
“None taken,” Micah chuckles, fully aware of every awful thing he said and did for months, how he spat venom at everyone simply because he didn’t like them all. Of course, Micah falling in love with Charles and their getting together changed a lot of things (such as Charles supporting Micah’s attempts to be better, and people being more… neutral towards Micah when he stopped antagonising everyone for a laugh), but the gang’s attitudes towards him didn’t change overnight. Even a few months after Micah and Charles first kissed, plenty of people in the gang don’t like him, and Micah doesn’t even blame them.
“And people might not be your friends, but… they do trust you more. And they care too, even if they don’t, well, like you. There are people in this gang I’m not fond of either, but I still care about them. Look, the point I’m trying to make is… If you needed to get away from the party, nobody would’ve laughed or called you weak. They would’ve let you go because there’s nothing fun about watching someone get stressed. Besides, you’re not the only person in this gang who prefers peace and quiet.”
Micah hums in thought, processing everything Charles said. The idea that Micah could have left the party long before he reached breaking point never occurred to him because he never really forgot his father’s teachings about weakness and pity. It’s a little soothing to know that the gang wouldn’t have laughed, although Micah still struggles to believe that himself (and he often thinks about the first time he had one of his breakdowns in front of the gang, and how a lot of people thought he deserved that humiliation—unlike Charles, who was there to help when Micah did not deserve such kindness from a man he treated so badly).
“You mean all that?” Micah asks.
“Sure, I do,” Charles says, squeezing Micah tighter (Micah likes the pressure of a tight embrace, and Charles knows this). “You ain’t weak for feeling this way, and nobody will act like you are.”
Very glad that Charles can’t see his red cheeks, Micah smiles, slumping against Charles. His tense muscles finally beginning to relax, he sighs and mumbles, “Thank you, Charles. I…” He trails off, not sure what to say. Eventually, he just says, “Thanks.”
“No problem. You can stay here with me for as long as you need.” He chuckles. “I’d like the company, to be honest.”
“Well, then,” Micah says, managing to inject some of his normal cockiness into his voice as he adds, “I’m happy t-to help.”