Work Text:
When Charles stirred awake in the middle of the night, it was with an immediate sense that something was horribly wrong. For a few seconds he just lay there, blinking groggily while his eyes adjusted to the dark and trying to figure out what the hell could possibly be amiss. Had he had a nightmare, maybe? One he'd already forgotten? There was no noise from outside, no indication that a coyote might have gotten into the horses' corral or a fox was in the hen house. It was just him and Arthur, lying asleep together in the quiet of their -
Wait. The quiet.
Arthur was never this quiet. Even at rest, there was a rough, wheezing rasp to his breath that had never quite left, despite it having been years since he recovered from the TB. It was a permanent fixture in their lives now, a constant, familiar kind of background noise neither of them really noticed anymore.
And he couldn't hear it.
Charles bolted upright, as wide awake now as if he'd been dunked in an ice bath, and turned over to get a better look at his husband.
"Arthur," he said softly. The man didn't so much as twitch, and Charles's heart began to race. "Arthur, wake up," he said, louder, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. "Arthur."
Arthur didn't answer, didn't move. Even through the fabric of his woolen union suit, the arm beneath Charles's palm was unnaturally cold.
"No... no, no, no -" he whispered as dark, oily tendrils of dread began clawing their way up the inside of his chest. "Arthur, no..."
It couldn't be. Arthur was doing so well, it had been two whole years since his last bad flare-up. They had dinner plans with the Marstons tomorrow, they were going on a hunting trip with Hamish in the Grizzlies next week, for God's sake! He was better, he was fine! It couldn't - He couldn't -
Charles reached over to turn on the lamp beside the bed, if only to confirm what he already knew. Even then, he still wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him.
Arthur's skin was ashen, lifeless, and gray. His face was frozen in what almost looked like a scream, mouth gaping, features tense. Blood trickled out of his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, thick globs of it crusted and congealing in his beard. His eyes, which had already begun to go cloudy, were wide and scared, fixed straight ahead on something only he could see now. His right hand was extended, lying in the center of the bed like he'd been trying to reach for something.
When he realized what that "something" was, Charles had to fight back the urge to vomit. While he'd been sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware, Arthur had been using his last breaths to try to reach for him, to tell him he needed him. His husband had been dying right beside him, gasping for air and choking on his own blood, and Charles hadn't even heard him. He wasn't there for Arthur, the single most important time he should have been.
Arthur Morgan was dead. He'd died alone, afraid, and it was all Charles's fault.
A raw, keening wail escaped his throat as he gathered Arthur's limp body in his arms, cradling him to his chest and rocking them back and forth. "Oh, Arthur..." he wept, clutching him impossibly tighter, as if he could force some of his own warmth and life back into the other man by doing so. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry..."
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to those cold, blue lips -
- and then suddenly found himself holding onto nothing, as Arthur dissolved into a cloud of smoke and vanished before his eyes.
Charles woke with a start to find himself soaked in a cold sweat, his chest heaving with panicked gasps and his heart thundering in his ears. His cheeks were damp with the salty tracks of still-drying tears, and he had to blink to clear more of them from his vision before he could make out more than black, shadowy blurs all around him. He was in their bedroom, lying in bed beside Arthur, just like always. The man in question was stretched out beside him, nestled underneath about three-quarters of their shared quilt and snoring softly.
A dream. It was just a dream.
Knowing that did little to chase the chill from his blood, though. It had all felt too real, too final. He'd had some variation of this old nightmare many times over the past few years, but it never got any less terrifying no matter how many times he saw it. If anything, it only ever seemed to get more vivid. A hiccupping sob escaped the confines of his chest before he could stifle it, and he clamped a hand over his mouth, hoping it hadn't been loud enough to wake Arthur up.
No such luck. Arthur was an incredibly heavy sleeper - twenty years spent napping out in the open with a couple dozen other people would do that to a man. But even the slightest noise that was out of the ordinary and he'd be wide awake in an instant, alert and ready for danger. Unfortunately for Charles, "crying husband" definitely fell into that category. As soon as the sound left his lips, Arthur's snores abruptly stopped, and Charles tensed from head to toe.
God damn it.
"Mmh...? Charlie? Y'okay?" he murmured, turning halfway around to look at him. Charles must have looked a sight, because he couldn't even try to answer before Arthur rolled the rest of the way over, blinking the fog of sleep from his eyes and laying his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, 's goin' on? What's wrong?"
"I-I... I was... You -" he stammered, before blowing a harsh, frustrated huff of air through his nose and shaking his head. I can't. That was another awful thing about these dreams; they always seemed to steal his ability to speak properly for a while after. It was humiliating, and made him feel like a child, but whenever this happened he just couldn't make the words come no matter how hard he tried.
"It's okay, you're alright," Arthur murmured, wrapping his arms around him and drawing him closer beneath the covers. "Ain't in no hurry here. Just give yourself a second."
One of his hands gently cupped the back of Charles's head and guided it onto his chest, right above his heart. While he fought to pull himself back together, reassured by the sound of that strong, steady drumbeat beneath his ear, Arthur's fingers worked their way lazily through his hair, scratching his scalp and carefully untangling any knots that had formed while he slept.
Every few seconds, the older man would draw in a deliberately slow breath - slightly wheezy, as it always would be, but still deep, unwavering, alive - and then let it out, before starting the pattern all over again. He didn't speak, just continued that rhythmic, even breathing, silently encouraging Charles to follow along with him. They lay that way for a long time, curled up in each other's arms while they just breathed. Arthur never rushed him, or tried to ask him questions; they'd been through this enough times over the years to know it would only make things worse.
After what felt like hours, but was probably fifteen minutes at most, Charles finally let out an exhausted sigh and slumped against Arthur's chest, feeling as weak and boneless as a jellyfish. "Sorry, Arthur. Didn't mean to wake you," he mumbled guiltily.
"Charles," Arthur sighed. "You never gotta apologize, you know that. Just... are you okay? "
"Yeah," Charles sniffed, wiping his eyes. His entire face felt swollen and puffy, and it was hard to breathe through his nose. Fantastic. "Just a nightmare. Same one it usually is."
Arthur nodded and hummed, a low rumble that vibrated through his chest beneath Charles's ear. "I figured as much." Arthur's lungs weren't the only things left scarred by his long illness, and they both knew it. "But you gotta know I'd never do that to you, darlin'. After everything we've been through, all the things you put yourself through for me, you think I could ever just up 'n leave without even tellin' you goodbye?"
Charles chuckled, a watery, fragile thing. "You'd better not, you bastard. Or I swear I'll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you again."
"And it would be well deserved," Arthur said with a smile. He wrapped his arms tighter around Charles's back, shifting both of their weight until the younger man was lying fully on top of him like a very warm, very heavy blanket. "But it ain't gonna happen, I promise you."
"I know," Charles whispered, turning to press his lips against Arthur's - no longer cold, like they had been in the dream, but warm and soft and perfect. "I love you."
"Love you too, sweetheart." He pulled the quilt over them both, smirking when he realized Charles had once again let him steal the lion's share of it while they slept, and brought his hand back up so he could comb his fingers through the long, silky waves of raven hair. "Go back to sleep. Still a few hours 'til morning, yet."
"You still gonna be here when I wake up?" Charles teased, knowing full well that Arthur was now completely pinned until he decided to move off.
Arthur smiled, pressing a kiss to Charles's temple, and then whispered into his ear, "Always."