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Hosea peered over at Dutch, squinting against the light made thick and opaque with the dust churned up by their horses hooves. They had slowed the horses to a brisk walk, but still their sides were heaving and wet with sweat, and the musky scent of overworked horse filled the dusty air.
Dutch was still upright in the saddle, but he was slumped forward a little, his shoulders hunched as if he were chilly, yet the day was searing all around them. The trail of blood that had been oozing from the wound at his temple had been coloured with the dust that swirled, giving him a browny ochre streak from hairline to chin.
“We need to get off this damn road,” Hosea said, coughing into his sweaty hand. “Pretty sure we aren't still being followed.”
He stared at Dutch, but the other man showed no signs of having heard him. He stared, glassy eyed, at the dusty road ahead.
A twist of unease pulled Hosea closer to Dutch. He urged Silver nearer, gently patting the young horse's neck as he felt the muscles tense beneath him as he neared Dutch's stolen horse.
“Dutch?”
Again, Dutch made no show of having heard him.
Hosea pulled the reins with more force and Silver reluctantly and nervously danced closer to the horse Dutch had just acquired. Silver's ears flattened, and Hosea could feel the bunched muscles underneath him screaming to flee. But he ignored the horse's distress and reached out for his friend.
“Dutch…”
Hosea laid a hand on the younger man's leg, and felt the heat radiating off him.
Slowly, as if waking from a dream, Dutch turned to stare at him. His dark eyes were vacant. Beads of sweat trickled clean trails down his dusty face, making him gleam, almost, in the sun. His cheeks were flushed.
Hosea tried to get a look at the wound on his head, but drying blood, sand and sweat had crusted over the gash, making it difficult to see.
“How're you doing there my boy?” Hosea asked, his voice spilling out gently, yet with a slight tremble betraying his calm. “You okay there?”
Slowly, Dutch shook his head, then closed his eyes against the pain. Hosea reflexively grabbed at him, as he leaned dangerously close to slipping from the saddle.
“Steady Dutch…”
“Tired…”
The little twist of unease Hosea had been feeling had bloomed into full panic. He let go of Dutch and reached for the horse's reins. The new horse was exhausted from the dash they had just done, from the town they could never return to, and so merely eyed the stranger warily, without too much panic. He let go of Silver's reins and took the worn leather from Dutch's slack hold.
“We need to get out of the sun…off the road. Need to see to that head wound. Dutch?”
Dutch's chin was slowly dropping to his chest.
Adrenalin flared throughout Hosea's body.
“Dutch! Stay with me, please.”
Slowly, Dutch lifted his head. “Don't feel good…” he slurred.
“Head Wound,” Hosea muttered, and felt the fear grip him like never before… He had been in life and death situations so many times before, but seeing his boy, his beautiful boy, covered in blood and burning with fever…. Images scattered through his mind then, where to go, what to do, could they get a doctor… “Can't go back to the town,” he muttered, answering his thoughts aloud, “we'd both be hung…”
Very suddenly, Dutch's chin flopped to his chest, and his body, almost ragdoll-like, began to list sideways.
“Shit…” Hosea let go of the reins and grabbed at Dutch's shirt, just in time to stop him from falling.
Silver Dollar let out a squeal of stress and began to dance away from the other horse.
“Not now!” Hosea gasped, as he tried to keep a hold of Dutch.
Without much thought, he kicked his feet out of the stirrups and swung his right leg over his horse's withers and jumped to the ground, running to keep pace with the other horse. He wasn't even sure how he did it, but he managed to keep hold of Dutch's leg, as the younger man slumped forward in the saddle.
In one fluid movement, Hosea was on Dutch's horse, behind the saddle, Dutch held tightly against him.
“Dutch!”
Dutch didn't answer him, and the heaviness of his body told Hosea very clearly, that he had lost consciousness.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Hosea gasped. He gripped Dutch tighter and scrabbled for the reins. The horse began to panic, with the added weight, and Hosea tried to soothe it, but he was beginning to panic himself. The heat that radiated from Dutch was overwhelming. He didn't need to touch the man's forehead to know that he was feverish.
He scanned the land, desperately trying to decide what to do…go back to the town they had just fled, or take their chances and make camp…
“I need to cool you down, you're burning…”
There were trees, over the rise of a hill, bunched together, almost a small woodland, he thought, which surely meant there was a source of water nearby…
“Okay…okay…” he breathed to himself, to the horse nervously dancing beneath them and to the lifeless weight of the man in his arms. “Come!” he snapped to Silver, who was keeping pace with them, despite being riderless, and turned towards the trees, spurring the exhausted horses on.
It was difficult, holding the deadweight of a larger man while maintaining balance on a horse's back, but the treeline drew slowly closer. The heat coming off Dutch was overwhelming and made Hosea sweat. The air was tainted with the stench of blood, sweat and horse, and Hosea was as drenched as Dutch within moments.
“Need to cool you down,” he was babbling to Dutch, “need to get you out of those clothes and cool you down, need to see to the wound…”
He had never been so afraid in his life…the words: he's gonna die, he's gonna die in your arms, he's dying, tumbled over and over in his brain, like sand falling through his fingers. He's known men to die from head injuries before, and that sheriff had hit Dutch so hard he had fallen to the ground…
The shade of the trees touched them, and Hosea peered through the underbrush for any signs of water, a stream, a hollow of rainwater, anything to cool Dutch down.
Silver Dollar had followed them and was noisily crashing through bushes and dried windfall, his muzzle close to the ground in search of a drink.
“That's it, find the water, good lad…”
Hosea let go of the reins and simply held Dutch, letting his hands explore the body before him. His heartbeat was still strong, and he was still breathing, but his breaths were shallow, he thought, almost gasping, and his body was drenched with sweat.
He let the horses move through the woods and trusted that they would find a source of water.
Gently, Hosea unbuttoned Dutch's shirt, clumsily, as the younger man leaned against him. He pulled the fabric apart and yanked it from the waistband of his jeans to expose his front. Heat billowed out from beneath the cotton, and Hosea shuddered.
“You're gonna be alright,” he said, into Dutch's ear as his head flopped against him, “you're gonna be alright…” but, as good a liar as Hosea was, he simply could never lie to Dutch, and the simple untruth was blatant in his shaking voice.
“You have to be,” He said, almost as if in answer to his fear, “you simply have to be…”
It seemed like an eternity before the trees suddenly ceased, and a glimmer of water lit the dying light in the distance.
A lake…an actual lake. “Thank all that's holy!” Hosea muttered, and kicked the horse on.
It was a small body of water, but mostly clear. Fish sent ripples over the otherwise still surface, and a small flock of birds loudly took to wing as the horses broke through the cover of the trees.
“Come on my love, my beautiful boy…”
Again, Hosea managed to dismount while still keeping his hand on Dutch; his fist clutching the fabric of his trousers in a vice-like grip. “Come on…” It was easy to get Dutch from the horse, as the weight of his limp body did most of the work. Hosea gasped as he got Dutch over his shoulder; the weight of him shocking, even though he had known it was coming.
Both horses were at the water's edge, drinking thirstily, as Hosea hefted Dutch to the shimmering light that danced off the surface.
His heart was pounding him, punching at his throat, his chest, and he almost fell as he waded into the water. Soft mud clutched at his boots, but Hosea strode on, his burden getting lighter as the cold water touched them.
He had almost expected the water to be warm, as the day had been sweltering, but it was surprisingly chill. He gasped, as the cool water touched him, gasped again as it reached his hips.
“You'll be okay…you'll be alright, Dutch…”
As gently as he could, he sank to his knees, and gasped again as the water grasped his chest and shoulders, but the water also took his burden, and together they rolled Dutch into the lake's embrace.
Dutch gasped, but did not wake.
“Please…please…just be better, be okay…”
Hosea arranged Dutch against him, holding him close, letting the water take the weight of him; he held the younger man against his chest, his head leaning back on his shoulder. The dusty dirt was already spreading across the surface of the water, departing with the ripples.
“Please, please, wake up…”
Hosea cupped some water in his hand and carefully tipped it over Dutch's hair and face, wiping away the dirt and the blood as the water ran over his burning skin, as much to cool him down as to clean his wound.
“Everything's gonna be alright, my beautiful boy, my beautiful man, you're gonna be okay, its all okay…” Hosea was babbling, but his voice was low and gentle. He peered down at the lifeless face. Dutch's lips were parted, his skin flushed pink. Every now and then his eyelids would flicker, revealing only the whites of his eyes. The wound, now cleaned, wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was more bruising and swelling, rather than the gash it had seemed. But still…
“Get you cooled down, you'll wake up, you'll be alright, you're alright…”
The water had chilled Hosea. The overwhelming heat of the summer day and their fight and their chase from the town were a mere memory, as the cool water saturated his clothes, his boots, and reached up to his chest.
He held Dutch closer and gently nuzzled his wet hair, pushing his nose into the wet locks and breathing deeply. “I can't lose you Dutch…not now…”
The feeling very suddenly grasped at his chest, his throat, and Hosea thought he might weep, there in the chilly water, grasping the man he loved closer to him.
“Please God…please…please…please…” Hosea spoke into the wet hair, pressing his face to Dutch's head and speaking between kisses. “I know we broke the rules,” he babbled, trailing kisses down to Dutch's ear and back again, “I know we ain't getting into heaven, but please, please, don't take him from me, not now…”
Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, but he swallowed down the salty fist of sorrow that was rising up his gullet.
Thoughts began to trickle through him, mingled with thoughts of what supplies they had, what herbs and medicine he had in his bag, did he have bandages, where the closest town was, thoughts of how he would bury his body with no spade, thoughts of how he would kill himself, because he simply knew then, with an odd clarity, that if Dutch were to die, he was not going on without him…
And suddenly, the dark and desperate days he had survived before Dutch, flashed through him. Living alone on the road, with the darkness following him…Dutch had chased the dark away, had given him hope and courage and a reason to be alive…without Dutch, there simply was no life, no reason to be living.
“How long has it been?” he asked, smoothing the wet black hair from his lover's face. “How long have I known you know? Almost a year…It feels as if there was nothing before you…like life was a moving picture, colourless, tainted. And then you came and everything was brightly lit and painted and…” he let his voice trail.
Dutch's hair was longer, when wet, with the pomade washed away, and it floated on the water, softly curling about Hosea's wet shirt. He brushed at the dark locks beneath the water, where they gently curled about his fingers. Stubble had begun, peppering Dutch's flushed face with shadow, and some of the pink hue was definitely sunburn. But the young man was utterly flawless, his lips full, his nose straight. He was the most beautiful creature Hosea had ever seen.
“You are so beautiful…”
His teeth had begun to chatter. The day was swiftly turning to dusk, and the chill of the lake was beginning to take its toll.
Shivering, Hosea shifted his knees in the mud and leaned back. He held Dutch's chin, cupped gently in his hand, so that his face wouldn't slip beneath the surface, and he peered up at the sky.
Sunset had painted the sky in glorious reds, golds, pinks, cloud making glorious texture. Looks like a painting, he thought, like a painting done by God.
Already, he could hear the sounds of the night creatures, snuffling through the hidden places in the woods, the hum of insects over the water and the splash of the fishes as they leaped up to feast on them.
It would be night soon…he knew he had to make camp.
“‘Sea…”
Hosea snapped his head down to stare at Dutch, and was met with his shining eyes.
“Oh Dutch, oh thank god…”
“What happened…”
The relief that pushed through him then was almost overwhelming. He leaned down and kissed Dutch, his mouth suddenly so hungry for his lover's lips. He kissed him deeply, tenderly, and Dutch responded as best as he could. They parted, only for Hosea to seek the full lips once again.
“What's happening?” Dutch asked, his words muffled.
Hosea pulled his mouth from Dutch's lips and instead peppered his face with kisses.
The chill that had gripped him was now wracking great shivers through his body, though he wasn't sure if it was cold or relief.
“Shhh, its okay, it's all ok…” Hosea spoke through chattering teeth, stroking the hair from his lover's face, “everything's okay, you're okay.”
“It's cold…you're shivering…” Dutch sounded like he often did when woken from a deep sleep, his voice soft and grainy. “Why are we in water…what?”
“You lost consciousness…you…the head injury…you were burning up.”
Hosea watched Dutch's face crumple into a frown. Gently, he leaned Dutch forward and steadied him as his feet touched the mud. Slowly, Dutch touched the wound at his temple.
“That son of a bitch,” he muttered, wincing at the pain. “He clocked me with the handle of his pistol.”
“He did,” Hosea said, his body wracked with chills.
“I don't even remember leaving town…”
“Come on…we need to set up camp, get a fire going…tomorrow I'm getting you to a doctor.”
It took them a lot longer to leave the water, as their boots got stuck in the mud; it was almost as if the lake was loath to see them leave and was trying to pull them back in.
“I feel fine, Hosea…”
“You could have died…”
Both horses had obediently followed the men and were waiting patiently by the water's edge.
“It's just a bump on the head Hosea…”
Hosea sighed and helped Dutch out of his wet clothes. He looked both lovely and pathetic, drenched, his hair hanging down his back in shiny, curly waves. Dusk had begun to touch the trees, and the approaching evening was cool. Carefully and quickly, Hosea helped him dress in his spare clothes.
“It was not a bump on the head,” Hosea snapped, as he fastened the buttons of Dutch's spare shirt, tugging him into his clothes like one would dress a child. Dutch stood with his arms by his sides, allowing Hosea to dress him. “You had a fever and you fainted.”
“Such an old fussing wife…”
Hosea snapped his head up to look at him, but felt a smile touch at his lips.
Dry and dressed, Dutch sank down to sit, unsteady on his feet despite his assurances he was fine. His wet hair hung longer, curling almost to his shoulders, a strand or two falling over his face to be swept back.
Hosea began to peel off his wet clothes and discard them on the ground.
“I thought I was losing you…you scared the shit outta me Dutch…”
“I ain't going anywhere, so stop fussing,” he said, but his voice was warm and full of affection, deep and low.
Hosea didn't look at him, yet he could feel Dutch's eyes on him as he stripped. He struggled out of his wet jeans and let them fall to the ground, feeling self conscious, as he stood naked before his friend.
“Look at you…”
“What?”
“You know what…”
Hosea finally met his eyes and felt a warmth rise up his neck, to touch his cheeks with pink. Dutch was peering at him with a lopsided grin, an almost hungry gleam to his dark eyes.
“Come over here…”
“Dutch Van Der Linde…you almost could have died just now…”
“I'm suddenly feeling much better,” Dutch grinned, then winced in pain. He touched his temple again.
“You're not miraculously cured simply by seeing me naked,” Hosea snapped, “my pasty ass ain't the kind of medicine you need right now.” He dressed as quickly as he could to warm his bones.
“It’s had a very healing effect on me…”
Hosea looked at Dutch, at his light in the dark, at his beautiful boy, and thanked the gods above that he was still with him.
“I can't lose you Dutch….I simply can’t lose you, not like this, not yet…”
Dutch’s expression softened immediately.
“I'm sorry old girl…”
Hosea peered down at his lover, at his friend, and suddenly felt overwhelmed with tiredness. The day had taken its toll.
“You don't need to apologise for almost getting killed. Although…you did steal the sheriff's horse…you ass.”
Dutch’s soft frown slipped into a grin, making him wince in pain again.
“Don't know how you put up with me.”
“Neither do I….”
The two men watched each other, both lost in the wonder and beauty of each other.
“I'm getting dressed, making a fire, feeding you, looking at that wound and then keeping my eye on you all night,” Hosea said, tugging his trousers up his legs.
Dutch leaned back to rest his head against the bushes behind him.
“Hurting?” Hosea asked, as he got into his shirt.
Dutch nodded and grimaced.
“I'm gonna take care of you.”
Dutch peered up at him and smiled. “You probably saved my life today,” he sighed. “I owe you my life…”
Hosea felt his tummy jump at the words.
“You owe me nothing. Because without you, there's no life. You are my life…”
Dutch was silent, only the shimmer of his eyes spoke the words he couldn't find.
After a moment of quiet that seemed to gently caress both men with feelings neither of them could have put into words, Dutch held up a hand, reached for Hosea.
“Just come sit with me a moment, rest before fire and food and anything else. I…I just need to hold you close a moment…”
Hosea looked down at the hand, and simply couldn't have said no. He grasped the warm fingers and allowed Dutch to pull him down, where he found the right place in his arms, cradled and safe and loved.