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John knew when Arthur was lying. You don't grow up around someone and not pick up on the cues. The way Arthur would avoid a person's eyes before he spoke, then snapping his gaze back and staring straight into whomever he was lying to in an attempt to overcorrect himself. How his mouth would set in a line, letting nothing but the necessary words escape his lips. It worked very well on most around him.
Except John.
It had worked when he was younger and Arthur came up with a convincing enough reason for why John wasn't allowed along to some jobs. But it really hadn't taken too long for it to stop working and Arthur could tell when John didn't really believe him. Sure, Arthur wasn't aware of why exactly John didn't but he could see it in his eyes. When his words would linger in the air and John would sigh, a subtle shift in his gaze like he was staring right through Arthur before focusing right back on him. And then...deciding to pretend he believed Arthur just enough to rebut him.
This was more or less how things stayed. They understood each other, not in a way that they would draw attention to it but both of them, somewhere in their minds and heart, knew the other. They knew when to let a squabble die out, when to leave well enough alone - choosing very carefully in their conversations how they expressed their care. Neither one had the courage (or perhaps courage was never needed as just knowing was good enough for them) to say it out loud.
That...
'You are my brother and I love you.'
That was up until John had done something Arthur didn't understand (and even if somewhere inside him, he did understand, he didn't care that he understood). Their silent understanding was broken, shattering in the quiet morning when John took off and didn't look back for a year. Leaving Arthur all gnashing teeth and stormy expressions until he settles into a hardened glare at just the mention of his brother.
--
The day John returns to camp is the happiest and angriest Arthur has ever been. He barely looks in John's direction before bumping into his shoulder and through gritted teeth, uttering a forced "Welcome back." His mouth is set in the thinnest line John has ever seen and it doesn't take a genius to figure out he's not very welcome anymore.
Not that Dutch would let anyone else think so however, and the celebration of John's safe return stretches into the early hours of the morning. Arthur takes his chance when daylight starts to break to slip away. He's not sure if he's mimicking how John left on purpose but he makes sure to catch John's eye as he saddles his horse and rides away from camp.
His eyes spell out something John tries to ignore.
'You are my brother and I wish I didn't love you.'
--
Guilt doesn't hound John for nearly long enough. And even if it does snap at him, he stuffs it right into the back of his mind - easier to do when those around him seem to forgive. He could almost forget he'd done anything at all when Dutch patted him on the back so warmly or Abigail could finally stand to look at him again. And when Arthur stopped acting like John had contracted the plague in his years absence, forgetting was as easy as breathing.
What John can't shake though, is the ever growing coldness in Arthur's gaze. Swapped in place of outright ignoring him but it doesn't feel any kinder. Instead, John stumbles his way through their conversations as if trying (and failing) to find any modicum of understanding between them. He was reaching for something that'd disappeared just as silently as it had started.
Perhaps the only thing they do still share is the question dancing on their lips, one they're scared to ask and not entirely sure they want to know the answer to.
'Are you still my brother?'
--
"Can't sleep?" John's voice is just as scratchy as ever, even when it's thick with sleep and he sounds like he's just woken up. Arthur diverts a few seconds of his attention away from staring at the main path to their camp to John. His eyes flick quickly away soon after. He'd known John was coming, heard his footfalls - knowing even better that John was probably trying to be quiet. Arthur gives him nothing more than an affirming grunt. It's quiet for a few more seconds before Arthur opens his mouth, and John holds his breath.
"I'm guessin' you can't either?" He points out the obvious, happy to let this interaction fizzle out and die just as he had been in the months following John's return.
"No. Suppose I can't." John almost leaves it there and had he been any less exhausted, he may have taken Arthur's hint and gone back to bed. But he doesn't, instead taking up a spot beside Arthur. Arthur bristles slightly and John is sure that if they were still speaking that silent language they used to, it would have sounded something like:
'Go away. I won't ever forgive you.'
But they aren't and so John ignores it. The rasp of John's voice is the loudest thing in the world to Arthur and with only the crickets chirping to fill the silence where their conversation should be falling, Arthur can't block it out.
"I didn't leave you, you know? Just...everythin' surrounding you." It's the first time John's brought it up and Arthur feels his entire body get all hot, like John had lit a match underneath him and the flames were licking at his feet. Anger starts its well tracked course through his veins, bubbling up into his chest and Arthur feels like he can't breathe for a few moments.
With a deep ache in his chest, one that felt hollow and familiar, Arthur tries his best to respond. Respond without spitting up the hot fire now swirling and burning his ribcage. He wants to say a thousand things and none of them seem right.
'You left without saying goodbye. I kept wishing you died and I'm so happy you're okay. I spent so long asking myself "why" that I don't think I want the answer anymore.'
Arthur swallows betrayal, feeling like bile in his throat and settles on something shorter. With a wave of his hand, he dismisses John's poor attempt at an explanation.
"I ain't mad anymore."
John knows when Arthur is lying. He knows.
"Sure don't feel like it. But I'll take your word for it." John clears his throat weakly, stepping away.
Arthur knows John is lying. He knows.
John goes back to bed and Arthur doesn't stop him.
--
John doesn't try again after that, tricking himself into believing his brother's words and hoping maybe that Arthur had fooled himself too. The guilt subsides further still when he's saved from a windy mountaintop, a few new slashes to his face and a story to tell Jack. It stops weighing on his shoulders, chased to the very back of his mind as the law breathes down harder on their necks and Dutch gets crazier with each passing day.
And he catches Arthur's eyes from across their newest camp - nestled away in Beaver Hollow - a silent nod of his head. There's something unspoken there, something that hadn't been for so long and it echoes how they used to talk.
'Are we the only sane ones?'
--
"Alright, Arthur, come on, let's go." John knows Arthur’s response before he even speaks, he knows it from how Arthur bends over, coughing loudly and somehow it isn't drowned out by the sound of rainfall or gunfire that surrounds them. A small part of John hopes Arthur won't respond how he knows he will, that he won't break John's heart like this but he has to and he does.
"You go." Arthur waves his hand and for a moment John tries to imagine a world where they both get out alive. He holds onto that sliver of hope, all the way up until Arthur's lips form a knowing smile and he takes off his hat.
The sound of gunshots echo all around them and the air is thick with the smell of iron and gunpowder.
"We ain't both gonna make it." Arthur's words are as hoarse as they are true and John stares into his eyes - hoping for a brief moment that he'll catch one of Arthur's tells. That maybe somehow Arthur is messing with him but all John finds is acceptance. It burns like a dull flame in Arthur's eyes, almost illuminating his sickly face and it's the first time John can truly accept how close to death his brother seemed. It scares him half to death but there's nothing else he can do but let it wash over him as Arthur places his hat firmly on John's head.
"There ain't no more time for talk." John takes Arthur's things as they're handed to him and he's struck with the sudden flash of a memory. And for a moment he melts into it.
Back when he had less scars and his and Arthur's whole world didn't seem to be ending. Back then, Arthur would playfully shove his things at John, making him carry their riches from a successful hold up, claiming that if John wanted to come along more often this is where he got his start. John knew Arthur was lying. He carried his stuff anyway.
John recalls with bittersweetness burning his tongue that Arthur had insisted he follow him down the shoreline. Down to a little dock where lake water lapped gently at the wooden beams. It took some convincing (and a few drinks as a reward) to get John onto the dock but Arthur manages. There they sit, and Arthur talks.
“This is my favourite spot. For right now at least.” Arthur gazes out at the lake, at the dragonflies skipping and skimming across the surface. Flies dance about, coming to rest on the tip of Arthur’s hat before he shakes them off. It’s getting late and the humid air buzzes as resting insects start to stir. John leans forward a little, not quite comfortable enough to dangle his feet in the water just yet.
“Really?” John palms his drink before taking a swig and Arthur watches the liquid swirl down the neck of the bottle.
“Sure is…but you’re kinda ruinin’ the view.” Arthur playfully shoves John back, and John’s eyes grow wide. Truthfully, Arthur does little more than make John shuffle back slightly but John rises to his challenge.
Hissing out “Asshole!” with a smile on his lips, he shoves Arthur back. Arthur hardly moves, much to John’s disappointment but he considers himself satisfied. Not many could put their hands on Arthur Morgan and not get knocked out in response. John was one of the few.
A few drinks later and John nearly goes careening off the end of the dock - thanks to a particularly funny joke that doubles him over - saved only by Arthur gripping his shirt and pulling him back.
"Idiot" Arthur chuckles. He tugs John back to his sitting position. John's cheeks go red, embarrassed and he falls silent for a few moments. He stares at where Arthur dangles his feet in the water - letting it gently lap at his skin.
"Thanks." John finally manages.
"'S fine. I'm always gonna be saving yer dumbass."Arthur said gruffly but with enough affection that it made John look up. Arthur’s smile is warm enough to melt ice and no doubt it’s partially due to his alcohol induced buzz but it doesn’t really matter. John can’t forget the way his eyes sparkle and his whole being crackled with electricity - the kind that leaves no question as to why Dutch kept him around.
John isn't so sure about himself.
“Yeah, sure.” John says simply, resting his head against his knee. Arthur seems to want to say something else but he closes his mouth after a few seconds. They let things fall silent, ears only perking up when they hear Dutch call for them.
He’s calling them to dinner and the two men hop up, John with a twinkle in his eye.
“Race you back?”
“Mmm…nah.” Arthur shakes his head, shoving their empty bottles into John’s hands. “Well. actually-...yeah. Why not?” The smirk on his face tells John he’d been fucking with him and John’s expression drops to a grimace, starting on Arthur about what an asshole he was-
But it hardly mattered, Arthur had already set a pace and John had to drop the bottles to catch up.
They run like wild dogs back, laughing and shouting the whole time.
- - -
Their laughter is drowned out by the sound of gunfire.
"Go." Arthur commands and John tries to think of something to say. Anything to thank Arthur and beg him not to leave at the same time even though he knows better. But he can't and even if he had a thousand years, he wouldn't be able to.
And so, he simply says:
"You're my brother..."
'I'm sorry.'
"I know...I know."
'I'm sorry too.'
Bullets whizz and rain falls harder as John watches Arthur walk away. John ducks out of sight, underneath the slight overhang of a rock and soon he's limping away as quickly as he can. He pushes himself for every second Arthur won't be able to and even then, a selfish part of himself hopes a stray bullet will catch him. And that this time he won't be so lucky to walk away.
But it doesn't, nothing like that saves him. He lives. He makes it.
--
Knelt next to Arthur's grave, John lets go of their silent understanding. He lets it rest with his hand in the bed of flowers covering Arthur. And although he swears he's stopped looking back, he can't help but get the final word in. Knowing it'll likely go unappreciated but in case Arthur can hear him, he clears his throat and in the raspiest tone he can manage, he croaks out
"I'm staying this time. Ain't goin' nowhere."