Chapter Text
It was a blustery cold winter day. Snow had just begun to fall soft and slow from the heavens above. It blanketed the ground and stuck firmly to the bottom of people’s boots revealing quickly freezing mud in the tracks left behind.
John had always hated the snow.
Scowling ahead letting Rachel nonchalantly trot behind the Count and Silver Dollar, John huffed out an annoyed sigh. This new town Hosea and Dutch were checking out was busy as hell. Men tramped and pushed through the muddy streets with purpose and a dull hypnotized gaze. Most dressed in factory clothing or overalls and a thick coat. Each man was covered head to toe in a layer of dark coal dust and metal shavings. The white snow contradicted fiercely with the dark grey ashy dirt that mixed with it. It lay thick coating the sides of the houses and businesses that lined the cobbled streets. Horses looked dirty and unkempt hitched to the side of the road most likely just as stained as much as their keepers with the dust.
“Tell me again why you chose this hell hole, Hosea?” John called, leaning back in Rachel’s saddle to try and get a better look at the manufacturing prison camp called Pittsburgh.
“John!” Hosea hissed, turning to glare at the young boy over his shoulder. “You watch your mouth, Just because you can say it don’t mean ya gotta .”
If Dutch cared about John’s choice in words he didn’t say. Instead he slowed up on the Count, nodding for Arthur to take his place beside Hosea. Damned town must have been designed to fit on the tip of a pin. The buildings all pressed tightly together. Side by side businesses and homes shared one wall or another. Christ some of these houses had two front doors. Hosea had called them townhouses. He said they were made to fit several families inside at once. John called them prison cells. The roads narrowed and expanded at random intervals. One stretch was narrow enough that John could feel his legs brush against the walls of the buildings they passed by while riding Rachel. Others blew out wide to accommodate train tracks and wagons alike.
“John…” Dutch muttered, pushing his hat down low across his eyes. Whether it was to keep offending polluted snow from getting in his eyes or to hide his face from the locals was a mystery to John. Though he had a good guess which it was as a man in the window of a meat shop glared at them both.
“There’s something ya gotta learn about traveling and fitting in these shit hole towns.” Dutch said, lowering his voice to a whisper. John couldn’t help the snort he tried to hide behind his hand. Dutch always had such a fine way with words. "Ya gotta pretend ta be as Podunk and brainwashed as they are."
"Ah, so just do what you and Hosea do best." John hummed grinning at Dutch.
Dutch hummed, offering a sly smile and gentle nod to Hosea as he glared back from his own hushed conversation with Arthur. “Pretty much." He chuckled. "Besides, Hosea is good at making something out of nothing. I wouldn't worry too much.”
“Oh do I now?” Hosea called back, annoyance dripping from his every word. With a deep belly laugh, Dutch hummed, reaching forward to lean over the Count’s neck to pat Silver’s rump gently.
“Now Hosea -” Dutch mused, quickly cut off as the older man swatted his hand off of his horse like an annoying fly.
“Don’t you Hosea me Dutch.” The blonde said sternly. “John needs to have some sort of manners to get by in this world.”
“He has us! If he wants to be crude, why not let him? We’re not going anywhere yet, old man.” Dutch teased. Hosea however clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes in exasperation.
“And what will happen when he uses that crassness on the wrong people? Hm? I don’t want to have to come save him from the rope again for being a right idiot.” John narrowed his eyes at Hosea. It wasn’t his fault that people didn’t like the way he talked, or never seemed to like him at all really. He knew better than most that you couldn’t just tell people to like you or get over it. Even if that's what he really wanted to do.
Dutch however seemed to sober up without ever having anything to drink as if Hosea had just splashed him with the freezing water laying in muddy dark puddles lining the streets. “No you’re right…” Dutch murmured softly, earning a little harumph from the older of the two. Hosea had turned briefly, touching the brim of his hat, his face still holding that sour expression John really hated. A signal that Dutch alone seemed to understand as he swiped under his nose with a little pout. “C’mon.” Dutch hummed, watching Hosea lead Arthur around the bend ahead of them to the left. “We’re gonna take this right up here. See what this place has in store.”
Slowly the road ahead opened into a crooked Y. The left turn prong curled back in on itself in a strange snake like pattern that wove through what looked to be a fair amount more of company housing and small company owned businesses. Rows and rows of identical looking buildings much too cramped together to be safe or comfortable at all in John's opinion. Hell what would happen if one caught fire? The whole town would go up. They were only made to keep the workers as close to the jobs as possible for the greed of the owner. As the pair made the right, stacks of billowing black smoke rose to mingle and meet with the dark clouds above. Several metal barrels lining the street held flickering orange flames that danced in the snow and smelled of burning garbage. It wasn’t quite dark enough to see the glowing light working magic although orange did lay soft on the men's faces that shivered and huddled close to the barrels desperate to warm themselves before heading in for their next shift.
“Anyway…” Dutch sighed, shifting old bones on the Count’s saddle. “As I was saying before-” John huffed. Dutch wasn’t going to say anything until Hosea made him. But that's just how they were, an old married couple. John made up his mind that he was never getting married or falling in love. He couldn’t imagine having his balls stomped on like that and being told what to do.
“You ain’t just a kid living off the streets anymore, John. You can’t just do whatever you want whenever you want. There’s a method to how things are done properly.” Dutch chided, tilting his head enough to get a good look at the items displayed in one of the company store windows. Obviously taking the opportunity to scoop out the place while he scolded the boy.
John huffed and rolled his dark eyes. Rachel shook her head and whined at the shrill scream of the work whistle tore through the town. The noise made John's ears ring and ache. He was sure he even caught a bit of it in his bad ear. Naturally they slowed the horses to a stop as crowds of faceless numbered men swamped the road. John grumbled low under his breath: “Then what the hell am I then?”
“Excuse me?” Dutch asked, pulling to a stop as the crowd of men only became thicker, most covered in various arrays of filth.
“Nothing.” John hissed his eyes transfixed on the only source of color in a sea of black white and grey. The dancing flames from a trash barrel flickered and spit embers out as someone threw more wood to it.
“You are our son.” Dutch answered, meeting his eyes sternly but lovingly.
So he did hear then...
“Thought Arthur was your son.” John bit back.
“He is." Dutch sighed exasperatedly, his eyes flicking to the lamp post some poor worker tried to light with a long match and a prayer. "He is, just as you are, John. Whether you believe it yet or not. You are.” Dutch hummed, scanning the crowd ahead for a way through the suffocating mass of flesh. “All that means to say… you gotta start acting right. Play nice with others when you need to. Wiping that scowl off of your face would be a good start.”
Though his voice was teasing, John could tell there was some level of seriousness to Dutch’s tone. It was hidden there, deep in those dark eyes that seemed to hide a million thoughts and ideas. It was a similar look he held when they had made it to safety when they first met. One of optimistic hope. A dream John just didn’t quite understand yet. With a deep sigh John shifted his weight on Rachel’s back. The mare nodded and bobbed her head with impatience as the men slowly cleared from the road. One hooved foot dragging across the cobblestones under her. Dutch cleared his throat nudging the Count forward with a click of his tongue as John's silence drug on. Tapping his heels against Rachel John fell into line with Dutch. Little worth laid in the town at all. Company stores held no real money at all. Only scrip which was absolutely worthless everywhere but exactly this town. The items in the stores looked just as worthless as the scraps of paper used to buy them. A few company uniforms stood proud in the windows of the tailors. A basket of rotting fruit stood to entice hungry souls into the company grocery. There were no ammunition stores; the company spun tales of safety and unity against unions in big posters that hung on the windows of corner stores. “We provide the safety. You provide the work!” One sign read in large bold letters. A man rested against the brick with a rifle under the warning. A living representation of the Law of the company. There were no banks on the main street. None that John could see anyway. Not that he expected to see one in a town like this. There was no need for one when money wasn’t being passed from the pocket of the cooperation at all. The only glimmer of possibility in the whole town was a small toy store. The paint peeled from the front of the building. A violent discrepancy when interlocked with finely painted storefronts lining the street on either side. Inside the window display lay an array of vibrantly colored toys and dolls. Most rested in the bright red wagon that shone brightly in the middle of the display. Some hung fancifully on fishing strings swinging in a breeze John could not feel himself. Fancy flying things that caught his eyes and made him selfishly yearn for one.
Just ahead the road split once more. Opening to easily fit the wagons that passed through carrying the wagons carrying the goods the factory manufactured and the coal required to fire the furnaces hot enough to keep production going. In the center of it all was a filthy frozen pond. Well it would be quite the stretch to call it a pond really. More a glorified mud puddle. But still children much younger than he was a year ago danced and gilded easily on the filthy ice.
“What are they doin’?” John asked, squinting at the kids who giggled and spun around in circles.
“They’re playing, John, something you should do more of. They’re ice skating to be exact.” Dutch answered, a smile lifting the corners of his mustache enough to tease the idea that he might actually be happy and content. John however eyed the kids with a confused and quizzical look to his face.
“Why the hell… they could drown.” John whined. His own fear and insecurity about the water made him feel antsy and unsure just looking at the ice.
“In a foot of water?!” Dutch barked, chuckling at the idea. “I don’t think so John. They're just kids having fun…” He said it as if it were the simplest thing in the whole world. As if kids being kids came naturally. Maybe it should have… but for John. He was born an outlaw. There was no time for being a kid when running from the law.
“See you two made it to town square.” Hosea’s voice called over the mass of children screaming and people bickering. Hosea walked slowly beside Silver Dollar, leading the horse alongside himself as Arthur followed as closely as he could, his shire was a tight fit in the town. But Arthur was a skillful rider, carefully managing to lead the mare through without letting her step on any toes.
“That we did.” Dutch replied, one of his dark brows cocked high. One of those loving worried looks he often reserved for Hosea and Hosea alone. The slender man only nodded in return for a silent reassurance.
“My bones ache something terrible, Dutch. Arthur was kind enough to walk with me.” He said, reaching out to pat Arthur’s leg. “There’s gonna be a real nasty storm coming this way, Dutch. I can feel it.” Hosea chimed, limping forward. He leaned heavily against the Count’s hammock to look up at Dutch. Glancing to the sky John frowned. It was as gray as any other winter day he’d seen and snowing still from the little piss they got earlier. An old man’s bones could just be sore from the cold.
Dutch however seemed to believe differently.
“Your bones haven’t lied to us yet…” He whispered it so softly that for a moment John wondered how Hosea could hear him over the mirthful laughter of the brats on the ice, they were using wet clumps of snow as weapons they threw at each other now. They were bound to get even more filthy than they already were. But as always it seemed, Hosea heard him just fine. Reaching up the Count’s body to pat Dutch’s thigh from where he rested.
“Here why don’t you-” Dutch tried to offer Hosea the Count to ride by sliding off the horse’s coal stained back. The white Arabian was a thinner horse in comparison to Silver Dollar, a great and wide grey war horse that if used right sent fear into even the most versed bounty hunters. Hosea just waved Dutch off with a huff.
“I’m fine Dutch. I just needed to-”
“Rest is what you need before you set those lungs of yours off again.” Dutch argued, landing beside Hosea. “I doubt this town even has a doctor that’s not owned by the company.”
“Yeah… company towns always did make me uneasy.” Hosea sighed, waving off Dutch’s fretting by pulling a cigarette from his pocket. “Oh well…This is just a blink of a town anyway. Not worth our time-”
“Oh Hosea…” Dutch countered his friend wrapping an arm around his partner’s back. “I have to disagree entirely.”
John rolled his eyes. Leave it to Dutch to shine a turd and find a diamond inside. It was going to kill them all one day. He knew it. Hell he could see it. Dutch getting too deep. Too lost in those dreams no one nor no thing could ever seem to reach. He had it all planned in his mind. Solidified and sturdy. But John knew more than anyone. Plans never went to plan.
“John,” The boy blinked, pulled back to reality.
“Yeah?” He called out, trying not to get caught with such thoughts.
“Why don’t you go talk to them kids over there? The ones playing on the ice, hmm? Let us adults talk. Maybe they’ll open up and tell ya something important. Hell, maybe you’ll have some fun while you're at it.” Hosea teased with a dry laugh that opened into a hail of wet sounding coughs.
With a glance at the scrawny man Dutch was patting on the back, John frowned. “How come Arthur ain’t goin’ to talk to them too?!” His voice was much whinier than he intended but the sentiment was still the same.
“Because I ain’t a kid John.” Arthur growled with a scowl of his own.
“Oh come on John…” Dutch sighed, taking Rachel’s reins from John’s hands. “You can do this on your own. Your brother doesn’t need to be with you all the time. Go on and do as you’re asked. Maybe you’ll have some fun.”
The boy wanted to protest. He wanted to lay back on Rachel’s back and go limp. Throwing a proper tantrum in the fashion only the rich could afford. But John was not rich. Not in the slightest. As such, he didn’t have the luxury of throwing a tantrum. So John did as he was told. Even if he had his teeth grit tight and his nails embedded in his palm with the squeeze of his fists.
Trust didn’t come easy to the boy. Never had and never would, probably. He was independent from the moment he was born so there wasn’t ever a need for trust. It was a thing that just got him hurt. Again and Again and Again. Yet here he was, trusting Dutch Van der Linde with his life. Trusting the three of them wouldn’t off and leave him. Letting Dutch just push him and order around. Like some kind of god damned kid.
“Hey!”
John froze by the edge of the ice staring down at its cracked and refrozen surface with an air of hesitancy. Distant hollow laughter filling his ears and his mind with so many different things. Jealousy being the main proprietor of his discomfort and his unease.
He never smiled like that. Not as a kid. Not ever. His father made good work of that. Yet here were these kids all seemingly enjoying life. Like they never had to work for a damned thing in their entire lives… truth was they probably hadn’t.
Before he could really register it a heavy weight crashed into his chest and suddenly he was staring up at the grey sky watching soiled snowflakes fall to lay kisses on his cheeks. It almost felt like he was being trampled by a horse for the third time in his life. Maybe he had. It wouldn’t surprise him. Whatever had landed on top of him kind of felt as heavy as a horse…
“Damn it.” A girl whined.
Wait… a girl?
Slowly his eyes trailed down from the grey above him to meet a head of tangled and messy brunette hair. A dark maroon mitten pushed at the hair to reveal beautiful molten chocolate eyes scrunched up in annoyance and anger.
“I told you to watch out!” She’d hissed pushing herself to sit on his legs. Her long patchwork coat draped over her shoulders heavily not quite fitting her just right. He wondered if she had tripped over it.
The girl huffed red mittens now balled into fists that she placed firmly on her hips. A stern glare cast down at him. Though if he was completely honest he hadn’t paid that any mind. Not when she was just… so gorgeous. Tanned skin pinkened around her cheeks with the whipping of the wind. Her nose scrunched in such a way he just couldn’t take her seriously. Especially not when her lips pursed like that. Dark brown eyes that glared at him held something so deep and profound in them that it resonated with something familiar within John.
“Uh… Hello?” She called, jutting her chin forward just that little bit to stick her nose up at him and make a point. Normally John didn’t like being looked down at. Like he was lesser… but she could stare down at him any time. “You alive, cowboy?”
Cowboy… wow….
John blinked, taking a deep breath as he was pulled back into reality. Trying his best to push away the tweedy birds with heart clouds that flew around his head.
“Yeah… yeah I’m fine…” The girl only clicked her tongue at him, pulling herself to her feet and brushing the snow off of her clothes. She said something. Something he didn’t quite catch as her words went in his bad ear and didn’t quite catch with his good one. Didn’t matter much. It must not be that important.
Patting the wet out of his sore ear John grumbled. He was bound to get an earache now. Pressure and pain radiated through his head down his neck suddenly released when water rushed out. It made him shiver and grossed him out. Water that was cool to the touch in his ear yet boiling hot on the skin of his neck as it rolled in rivers down to wet his undershirt. He had to remind himself it wasn’t blood this time as the muffled world opened once more to overwhelming and joyous screaming.
“Well what are you waiting for, huh?” The girl called holding out her hand to him with this cutely annoyed expression on her face that scrunched her brows close together and scrunched her nose sweetly.
“Sorry?” He hummed. Though he did take her hand. He was not about to pass up on an opportunity to hold her hand for a bit.
“Sorry is right…” She sighed, pulling with a surprising strength he didn’t expect from such a small cute girl. She damn near dislocated his shoulder trying to get John to his feet.
“Are you often in the habit of ignoring women when they speak to you?” She sassed.
“No? I just couldn’t-”
“Well it must just be me then…” She cut him off with a playful, teasing smirk. Tugging him by the hand the girl stepped back onto the ice. John watched as water seeped out from beneath the thick layer of ice lapping and licking the muddy line between where the snow started and the ice began.
Dutch said it wasn’t that deep. He would be fine, right? Besides the ice was holding at least ten kids his size or bigger. But John couldn't seem to push away the ebbing fear of drowning that came with water.
“You don’t smile much… do ya?” She teased poking him on the nose. Her own lips curled up into a mischievous grin that reminded John of the bobcats that roamed out in the woods up towards where he used to live. Conniving, vicious, ornery, beautiful.
“The hell-” A blush crept hot up his neck to his cheeks. It burned like fire under the windburn he already had. But her fingers curled tighter around his hand as she giggled and suddenly John didn’t seem to mind the heat so much.
“C’mon cowboy. Let's have some fun…” Tugging John forward step by step he wondered if this is what the sailors in Hosea’s books ever felt when they met mermaids. Entranced and enthralled. Doomed to drown not only in the water they stepped into but in the fury of emotions that washed over them when they saw such beautiful creatures.
He hadn’t even known he had eased into the center of the ice until his feet didn’t feel so steady beneath him any longer. No matter how he shifted his weight his boots slipped and slid from underneath him. He stumbled and wobbled like a god damned newborn deer. His other hand flailed high then low in circles as he desperately tried to balance himself out.
“Jesus… How you kids doin’ this?” John gasped feeling himself falling back. Jerking himself back upright he grasped tighter to the girl. If he was going down so was she. Not that the girl minded at all. She giggled as if John’s struggles were the funniest thing in the whole world.
“Kids?” She hummed smacking John hard in the chest. “How old do you think I am, cowboy?”
Oh now that was a trap.
“Uh…” John hummed, clamping his jaw tight, his eyes danced across her. Her dress was filthy and muddy covered with coal dirt to match those around her. Her brunette hair was tied tight into a bun at the back of her neck. Some of those fine pieces slipped past and framed her face just so and… wow he never realized she had freckles until now. His cheeks flushed bright once more. But with his mind so preoccupied his concentration on his own body waned.
Toppling over John yelped as he fell into the girl. Certain he was going to fall and never be able to get up off the ice again. Why anyone would do this he had no idea.
She only laughed harder as he fell against her pulling and yanking him to stand shakily in her arms. Her face mere inches from his once more. Her arms felt nice, almost natural around his waist. Oh… now he knew why people did this.
“Well?” She asked, hauling him back up.
Well? Well what- Oh…
“Ah… I- eighteen?” John guessed, waiting for the girl to smack him. He actually thought she had to be much older.
“You think I’m eighteen?!” The girl gasped giggling. Well at least she thought he was funny…
“You’re a fool of a man, cowboy.” She giggled.
What the hell did that mean?
“You ain’t never skated before have you?” She teased as she helped him to regain his footing back under his body to stand on his own. His hands found hers from where they rested on his sides. A sheepish grin hiding his intent to hold her hands just a moment longer.
“That easy to tell?” He asked just catching himself in time to keep his right leg from shoot out from underneath him. “Here I thought I was a natural.”
With a roll of her eyes the girl pulled her hands from his. The absence of her mittens was cold on his palms and he was left yearning for more. But if there was one plus. Her gaze remained soft and warm on his face.
“Trick is to keep moving.” She hummed, sliding back a few feet. Her feet flourished and danced easily over the smooth ice helping her to twist and spin. Her skirts lifted in the breeze of her movements just enough for John to catch a glimpse of her bloomers. God he loved ice skating.
“That so?” He hummed.
Keep moving. That was easy enough…
Taking a step forward John’s legs split faster than he could catch himself. The stretch and strain in his groin was intense and radiating up his core even if he did catch himself before he became helplessly stuck on the ice.
“Christ-” The split itself wasn’t even the worst part of the experience. Sure the pain that radiated from his balls was enough to make him want to revisit those eggs Hosea made him for breakfast. But, it was the way his voice cracked so pitifully when he finally could stop whining and holding himself to speak that really took the cake. His only saving grace was the sweet twinkling sound of the girl's laughter echoing around the ice through the voices of the glee surrounding him.
“It’s not funny.” He groaned, forcing his voice down an octave to compensate for the loss of his manhood.
“Oh it is very funny.” The girl chimed. Closing the distance between them. Her bare fingers were soft and cold against John’s scalp as she brushed his scraggly hair out of his face. When she had taken off the mitten he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was laying somewhere close to where he’d lost his chance of ever having kids.
“Do I get to know your name, cowboy?” She whispered, the soft smile she held felt just for him. Gentle and caring. He never wanted that to disappear. Opening his mouth to respond-
“ John !”
God damn it.
John winced slowly turning to his family. They were all laughing at him from the shore line. Bastards. A cigar hung heavy from Dutch’s mouth as he waved John in. Hosea and Arthur’s shoulders were still shaking from where they sat on the horses.
“They yelling for you?” The girl asked sweetly.
“Yeah.” John grumbled. The girl didn’t seem to mind, however. She took John’s hand in her own, their fingers daring to lace together as she led him back to shore.
“Write to me if you ever find yourself passing through again. Maybe we can keep practicing your form.”
Wait, that sounded like a date!
“How will I-”
“Abigail.” She cut him off. “Just write to Abigail in Ligonier. The postman will know it’s mine.”
Nodding John fixed his hat on his head a shit-eating grin plastered across his lips.
“Yes ma'am- I mean Miss Abigail. I will.” He hummed stumbling backwards a step.
“C’mon Marston!” Arthur called impatiently.
“I’m comin’!” John growled back. But Abigail’s soft giggles brought him back to her.
“I’ll see ya later, John Marston.”
Oh… he was in trouble…
If John could dance he would. But he nearly fell flat on his face just standing so that was out of the question for now. Slipping and sliding back to land John stumbled back over to his horse. His face was redder than Dutch’s vest as he mounted his horse once more.
“C’mon lover boy… we got a long ride ahead of us.”
“Shut up, Arthur.”
As the sun descended from its height in the sky it only seemed to become bitter cold. The snow that once fell in soft large flakes came down sharp on John’s face. Cutting in well past his coat to chew at his fingers and gnaw at his toes.
“Where the hell are we going?” He called over the roar of the wind.
“Should be a safe place up ahead from here!” Dutch cried back. “An abandoned hunting cabin we passed on our way in!”
Oh John remembered that place. It was a dump. The roofing was peeling back off the damned thing and it was missing a window.
“We’ll catch our death of cold, Dutch!” Hosea yelled back, his face was buried under thick layers. A rattling cough escaped him more than once since they started their ride out.
“It will have to do.” Dutch sighed. His breath caught in the wind and danced across the frozen expanse of the woods. “Besides, it'll do well enough to keep the wind off of you.”
The cabin was just as John remembered it. A large skull adorned the front of the cabin hanging just above the door. John hadn’t ever seen a moose before but the antlers on that animal looked too big and funny to be any deer. The wooden railing leading up the stairs to the cabin were broken and splintered. Large scratches etched deep into the door that made John worry for just a second that this was where the wolf man lived. Frost crept in vines down the windows that remained intact and sharp heavy icicles clicked and sang from the roof above. The only noticeable difference was that there wasn’t as big of a hole as he remembered in the roof. It was only man sized. He had thought he could fit himself and his horse through.
Dutch swung his body off the Count patting his white mane in a loving appreciation of the horse and his ability to carry him to safety. “Arthur, give me a hand with this door. John take the horses over to the stables and hitch them up for the night.”
Arthur always got the cool jobs.
Swinging off Rachel John brushed the ice off her face. Poor girl had been squinting down at him. He half expected her eyes to be frozen at this point. John took the reins of the other three horses from Hosea with a nod. “Go get inside, Hosea.”
The barn wasn’t too far from the little cabin. It looked newer too. The wood wasn’t rotten in any places or splintered. The roof was still on and the windows stayed in tact. It stopped most of the wind that came its way. Maybe it was a bit drafty. The wooden slats in the wall didn’t shut the entire way the boards warped and twisted in the weather and time. The barn was in good condition overall compared to the cabin. If John had been traveling alone he would have much preferred sleeping in the hay alongside Rachel anyway. But he wasn’t alone. Poor Hosea’s asthma would flare up worse if he stayed in the hay too long. He knew it wasn’t the best option to take for them tonight. But he kept the thought on the back burner. Just in case.
Sometimes John wished that he was still traveling alone. It made things easier. He never had to worry about asthma or following rules before. He could just eat the carrots he shared with Rachel. He could steal candy without some old man telling him it was bad for his health. But he guessed that maybe following some kind of code was better than dead. So he would put up with it as long as they stayed good to him.
John lead the horses into the stables. There were only two stalls in the small barn. It was a good thing the Count and Silver Dollar would get along well enough to share. He couldn’t promise the same thing of Arthur’s horse and Rachel though. Beau had been nosing Rachel all week trying to get her attention long enough to mount her. He just hoped they would behave if he left them alone. Last thing he wanted was to explain to Arthur why Rachel kicked the shit out of his horse.
Hanging the leads up on the hooks in the wall John laid the saddles on the stands he found. It wasn’t neat by any means. But it helped to keep the horses from getting sores in the night. John shut the doors tight behind him once he was positive the horses all had some grain that wasn’t molded. He found the bag on the floor. It would have to do for now. The doors clattered and banged in the wind but no more than any others he’d seen before. Definitely not enough to startle any of them. Besides, the horses were bound to be warmer than their riders tonight. There was no need to worry.
The door to the cabin hung wide open. Dutch’s voice carried on the breeze, his tone carrying that exasperated hint to it that often came to Hosea proving him wrong.
“The hole isn’t that noticeable.” John pushed the door shut hard behind him as he stepped into the house. The wooden door frame frayed and splintered at the doorknob where Arthur kicked it open. At least this time he didn’t stick his leg clean through it like he did last time.
“Dutch…” Hosea sighed, his voice strained from coughing. “It’s snowing inside.”
Hosea was right. There were several piles of snow laying on the cabinets and piling in the sink in the kitchen area. Arthur was working to patch the ceiling, standing precariously on top of one of the cabinets.
“It’s fine. Nothing a little TLC can’t fix.” Dutch argued.
“Boards are rotted clean through…” Arthur grumbled tossing black wet mush of rotted wood to the floor.
Hosea shot Dutch a look John knew too well. “Shut up.” Dutch grumbled under his breath.
“John! See if you can lift the top from that table. That might hold it for now. Be better than it is.” Arthur ordered along with the string of curses that slipped from his lips as he pulled more and more mush from the ceiling.
John nodded rushing past where Dutch worked tirelessly to spark fire on the wet wood inside the fireplace. The table looked old. Older than Hosea. It was made of a fine dark oak and was splintered in several places the lacquer hadn’t quite covered as well. Placing his hands under the lip of the table. Sometimes these old tables were just slabs of wood sitting on a stone base. Dutch taught him that. Told him it was dignified to eat off a board and a rock.
Lifting up John felt the pull in his arms and core. The top lifted easily from the base beneath it but John stumbled forward as the wooden slab slid off and fell to the side.
“Damn it!” The only thing about old table tops… they were heavy as sin. “I can’t lift it by myself Arthur! This thing’s gotta be at least three hundred pounds!”
Arthur huffed glaring down at the board as if it was the table’s fault there was a hole in the ceiling. Chewing his lip Arthur glanced from the table to the roof above him.
“Don’t know if these boards will hold that long if it’s that heavy.” He sighed. His breath caught on the cold air and rose like the smoke of the fire Dutch had just managed to light.
“We gotta do something, Arthur. Unless you got a better idea than that old table.” Dutch coughed, waving smoke out of his face as he opened the flu. Running a hand through his hair Arthur glared up at the hole.
“We’ll give it a shot.” Arthur sighed, hopping off the counter. The way the floor creaked if Arthur wasn’t careful he’d fall clean through if he wasn’t careful then they’d have a hole clear through the cabin. “Can’t promise it’ll last too long though.” Arthur hummed, glancing to the floor with a frown. Somehow the table was heavier as John helped Arthur hoist the table top up. The edge cut deep and painfully into the pads of his fingers.. No matter how he shifted the weight on his hands it was still awkwardly painful. It wasn’t until they had managed to lay it on the counter that John had felt any sort of relief. Arthur hoisted himself back up, kicking snow off the stone countertop.
“Just as long as it gets us through the night.” Dutch called as he shoved a bookcase in front of the broken window. Arthur sighed offering John a hand.
“It’s slippery so be careful.” John knew Arthur meant well. But it still felt demeaning when Arthur said it.
“I got it.” John said firmly even as his foot slipped from under him for a minute. His mind traveling back to that girl on the ice.
“Yeah… you got it alright.” Arthur hummed, rolling his eyes. He crouched low, lifting the top onto its side sliding it in front of him over to John.
“On your go, we lift.” Arthur said, glancing up once more, chewing his lip as he examined the hole once more. “Try and keep a good hand on it. Though it would be fun to watch you get squished like a bug.”
“Arthur…” Hosea’s muffled voice called from the room over. How he could hear them from seemingly everywhere John never could quite figure out. It was like the old man had supersonic hearing. Still…
“Yeah Arthur, listen to Hosea.” John teased sticking his tongue out at Arthur.
“Hosea didn’t say nothing yet.” Arthur retorted, kneeling to get a good grip on the wood. “I can still push you off.”
“Do not push your brother off the counter.” Dutch droned. John chuckled and smirked.
“Yeah, brother… you wouldn’t push me off.” John teased as he crouched low once more. Wiggling his fingers to get under the wood he hoisted the wood up. Getting it to his chest was hard enough let alone hoisting it up over his head. He wished he was as burly as Arthur if not just to hoist the damned thing up and beat him down with it. But he wasn’t and so John felt the air rush out of his lungs as he lifted it higher. His chest feeling too tight to take in a breath that completely replaced the air he lost. He felt like a can of peaches stepped on by a horse. Dented and compressed.
Arthur’s face burned a deep red as he lifted the table top up, maneuvering it back and forth to ease it past the rotten bits of wood.
“Gonna-” Arthur puffed. “Gonna need you to lift your end a little higher Marston.”
John looked up at the wood that balanced between the ledge Arthur had placed it on and the ends of his fingers. John tried to reach. He stood on the tiptoes and stretched as far as he possibly could but he just couldn’t reach the ceiling like Arthur could.
“C’mon Marston.” Arthur grumbled. His broad chest bumped into John’s pushing him out of the way. With a little shimmy and a bead of sweat Arthur hoisted the wood into place himself. “Here just let me handle it, runt.”
“I’m not a runt Arthur!” John’s foot stomped hard on the stone counter. “I’m gonna be taller than you will one day, old man! You watch!”
You know… John hated it when Dutch and Hosea laughed like that. Like he was a little kid saying silly things.
“Oh… now John. I’m sure you will be taller than Arthur one day.” Hosea hummed in that demeaning way he often did when John pouted. “Now why don’t you come rest while Dutch throws some meat on the fire.”
Arthur grumbled something about getting a move on. HIs head tilted high as he poked and prodded at the table and the wooden beams holding it. A deep set frown on his face as he eyed the wet edges of the ceiling that remained. Hosea waved a hand gesturing for John to come join him on one of the plush sitting chairs that sat nicely by the fire. “Let the men work.”
Men… Like he wasn’t a man. There was nothing not manly about John damn it.
But then again John knew better than to resist Hosea. Arthur seemed to have a similar idea as he hopped from the counter top, seemingly satisfied with the way the table would hold the ceiling. For now at least. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring. Tossing the fur pelts that rested on the back of the chair to the floor Arthur made himself comfortable on the ground beside Hosea’s chair. One leg bent towards his chest the other splayed out to the fire Dutch worked at to warm up his cold toes. The smell of meat perfumed the air. It wasn’t seasoned. It never was. But John’s stomach growled at the mere prospect of tasting it anyway.
“Why don’t you come sit here John.” Hosea offered, pointing at his feet. “Let me take a look at that tangled mess you call hair.”
A flush inched across John’s cheeks to his ears. Sliding off the counter carefully John huffed. His hair had started to feel heavy on his head, it brushed against his shoulders and got greasy and stringy much sooner than before. But John did as he was asked.
“It’s not a mess…” He grumbled plopping down on the fur Arthur had laid out for him. It looked like at one point in its life it was a ram. It took a moment. Allowing himself the chance to rest and relax always did. But being vulnerable enough to rest back against Hose’s seat took even more time. Not that Hosea seemed to mind at all.
“Not a mess, hm?” the man teased, pulling the hat from John’s head despite the low growl he received in return. He handed it down so the boy knew where it was. What was a man without his hat?
“I’d have to beg to differ, son.” Holding a small twig out for John to see Hosea chucked a laugh that eased into a whistled wheeze. That flush that still burned his cheeks only grew hotter as he swatted Hosea’s hand away with a huff. He wasn’t some animal that needed to be groomed… he was a man. Men were supposed to be filthy. With a flick of the wrist Hosea tossed the twig into the fire just over Dutch’s shoulder.
“Now. Sit still, let me take a look at this rat’s nest.” If John had guessed he’d say Hosea’s tone was affectionate and warm. Common from either of the men that claimed to be his fathers yet John would never quite get used to it. How long he had sat there letting Hosea run knobbed fingers through his hair he had no idea. He assumed it wasn’t terribly long. Dutch had only just finished cooking the deer they hunted earlier in the morning when he had opened his eyes once more.
“Gonna need to cut your hair again.” Hosea had murmured seemingly to himself as his fingers worked tirelessly on a particularly stubborn knot.
“About goddamn time. You don’t want it to get long enough to be confused as a lady now.” Dutch said, smirking over his shoulder at John.
“It’s not that long.” John huffed.
“Nah… just long enough I couldn’t tell you apart from that girl you were falling into on the ice back in town.” Arthur teased taking the skewer of meat Dutch offered to him.
“Shut up, Arthur.” John huffed. Sitting forward just enough to let Hosea brush his hair behind his ears.
“Go wash up for dinner now.” Hosea hummed gently, patting John on the shoulder. Pulling himself to stand Hosea groaned. Carefully swinging one leg over John’s shoulders than the other Hosea’s bones creaked just as much as the floor as he made his way across to the kitchen to wash his own hands of the oil in John’s hair.
“Why do I gotta wash up and Arthur don’t?” John whined.
“Because I ain’t a greasy raccoon in a shirt and jeans pretending to be a boy.” Arthur grumbled back, his mouth full of meat. “Now go do what Hosea told ya and wash up before ya eat.”
John huffed kicking at Arthur’s side. “I ain’t a raccoon Arthur!”
“No…” Dutch sighed “Ya ain’t. But you sure as hell will choke if you don’t sit the hell up.” Dutch growled smacking Arthur’s leg.
“Yeah Arthur sit up you don’t wanna choke on any meat .” John said, sticking his tongue out.
“Enough.” Hosea hissed over his shoulder. His tone was cold and harsh. Most times Hosea felt more like a mother to John than he ever liked to admit. “John. Come wash yer hands. After you eat I want you ta wash that hair of yours. I’ll give ya a trim while we’re holed up here.”
“But-”
“No buts John.” Hosea said, waggling his finger at the boy. Making his way back to his seat he took a skewer of meat from Dutch, pressing a kiss to the man’s hairline John was sure he’d have to pretend he never saw. “Go. I’ll make sure Arthur don’t touch yer dinner.”
“Awe. I’d never do something like that ‘Sea.” Arthur chuckled despite the way Hosea smacked his arm.
Scrambling to his feet John stormed over to the kitchen. His feet stamped hard on the wooden floor. The faucet looked like it deserved to be outside. A little pump spigot that dripped water openly into a small metal basin. John wondered what the man who put it in did to keep it from freezing. The water dripping from it was freezing cold. Water spattered on the floor and soaked into the floorboards and John’s wool socks. It was bound to give John a headache later when he had to wash his hair. It had turned his hands a nasty shade of red and sent pin prick like pains across his palms.
“Hosea…” John whined, wiping his hands on his vest. Not the most clean place to dry his hands, sure. But what else was he to do? Use the hand towel? He didn’t know who else had touched it beside Hosea! “My hair is bound to just freeze off if I wash it in that.”
“Oh hush.” Dutch murmured, handing John his meat on a stick. “You will not freeze your hair off.”
Dutch always held a certain tone that made John feel ridiculous. It often came at his complaints and whining but was never truly unkind. It almost reminded John of the lectures he got back at the church he took refuge in right before these two had found him. Almost nagging and teasing with a hint of disappointment. But this time John doubted Dutch very much. He was certain that the hair on his head would snap right off at the base. But the meat tasted better than it smelled so John didn’t complain further and plopped back down on the floor closer to the fire.
Something John noticed about these moments when he went scouting for better opportunities with the others was what he wasn’t ever supposed to. Or so that’s what Arthur told him. He wasn’t supposed to notice the way Dutch looked at Hosea, or the way Hosea’s hand rested on Dutch's, his thumb trailing along Dutch’s knuckles in a way that he’d only ever seen the ladies at the bar do to get men to follow them back to their rooms. It was in a way that John had wished that Abigail had looked at him back on the ice. It was a way John knew no man should look at another man. Not that he really cared, that was just how Hosea and Dutch lived. They lived as one unit. One mind and soul.
The meat was tough this time around. The doe Dutch had hunted earlier in the day had been old. Old enough to have battle scars from its life and a small arrow head embedded in her side from a lucky escape. The meat caught stringy in between his teeth. A residue he was sure was silvers kin left over from when Dutch had butchered the deer coated his mouth in that way that made it feel incredibly dry and in need of a thorough cleaning. Hosea never let the silver skin on the meat. Then again he didn’t exactly have the chance to clean Dutch’s kill while tearing down tents and foraging for eggs for the boys to eat. But even if it was inherently bland, tough, and dry John missed it once he’d finished his portion.
“Here.” Dutch hummed almost as if reading his mind, handing him the rest of his own portion.
“Dutch…” Hosea had chided a frown etched onto his face that only highlighted the smile lines he had carved over the years.
“I’m not all that hungry. Besides, the boy’s still growing.” Dutch had insisted, hauling himself to stand. “I’ll go make up a bed for you, old girl.”
Dark eyes gleamed in the firelight reflecting back the flickering orange light in such a way it almost seemed symbolic. A gleaming white smile shone down at the boys and Hosea that contradicted the burning in Dutch’s eyes. John had to wonder if it was the bad quality of the meat that made him look so constipated.
“ Ow .” John hissed as Arthur kicked him hard in the hip. “What was that for?” He whined reaching out to push Arthur back.
“Say thank you, shithead.”
Oh. Yeah…
“Thanks Dutch.” John hummed.
“Mhm…” The fire suddenly became the most enthralling thing in the room as Dutch stepped past him. He could hear whispered words and the distinct smacking of lips that he desperately tried not to pay too much attention to. The chair creaked behind him and for a moment John had thought he was going to have to find another cold room to take refuge in. But as one set of footsteps on creaky floorboards moved into the distance of the hall and another led to the kitchen, John figured he was safe from anymore of Hosea and Dutch’s gross public displays of affections.
The sink groaned as it sputtered to life. John didn’t pay much mind to it besides the fact that Arthur was watching it from over his shoulder.
“Do you want it?” John asked in a whisper. Holding the skewered meat out to him. Arthur’s blue green eyes fell to it, his brow shot to his hairline.
“Don’t you?” Arthur hummed, glancing between the meat and John’s face. A smirk crawled its way beneath Arthur’s beard. “You not fond of it this time around?”
John huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t gotta take it. I’m just being nice.”
Nice was one word for it. Saving his hide for not eating what was offered is another.
“Don’t worry.” Arthur whispered, taking the meat off the skewer. “The silver skin always used to bother me too.”
It was a rarity for Arthur to be so generous. Then again John was offering up his food. Who could say no to an offer when food came so scarcely.
“But that was when I was a kid.” There it was. That usual callousness that accompanied a slight against him.
“Shut up, Arthur.”
“Now…” Hosea sighed, plopping a metal pot in front of the fire. “Stop it both of you.”
“Sorry ‘Sea.” Arthur hummed his mouth still full.
“What’s that water for?” John asked, sitting up on his knees. The bucket was half full of clear water that reflected the orange hue of the fire above it. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the sticks that Dutch used to roast the meat into the fire. It sputtered and flared with the grease that clung down the sides of it.
“He’s boiling the holy hell out of it to get the demon out of you.” Arthur hummed, lying back on the bear pelt he had claimed as his own.
“Arthur…” Hosea sighed. “For once I’d like it if you two pretended to get along…”
John stuck his tongue out at Arthur. “Ha! Hosea’s mad at you.”
“See Hosea, this is why I don’t like him.”
“You two are gonna drive us both to drink.” Dutch’s voice carried down the hall.
If John had known any better he’d say they sounded like a real family.
“So what is the water for Hosea?” He asked, watching as steam rose high and danced with the sweet smelling wood smoke from the fire. If he had to guess then he’d claim it was tea. Herbs of all types floated and swam in the water as they heated. It smelled sweet and fragrant in the air. A nice mix with the wood smoke.
“I’m heating water to wash your hair with.” Hosea hummed.
Damn .
“Hosea…” John groaned.
“Don’t Hosea me. You’re getting that hair washed and trimmed tonight.” John muttered halfhearted things under his breath he never once meant as Hosea’s hand found its way back to his hair once more. Course fingers slid down the length of John’s hair holding it taught without being painful between two fingers. Dark eyes glared at split ends caused by harsh wind and riding horses.
“Why does it matter how long mah hair is?” John grumbled glaring at the fire.
“Yeah… soon he can braid it and wear it up in a nice little bow.” Arthur said, his voice thick with sleep.
“Arthur, why don’t you go help Dutch set up a room for yourself.” Hosea said. It was less of a suggestion, more of an order. One that Arthur took up begrudgingly. With a groan to stand Arthur griped about being too old to listen to an old man as he trudged down the hall. John was sure Hosea would say something and call him out for it the same way he did Davey and Mac whenever they grumbled and growled under their breath at every order barked their way. But he didn't, Hosea just sighed and toyed with the ends of John’s hair.
“You need to cut it.” Hosea hummed. “I don’t care if you let it go long when you’re older. Shoulder length is fine. But having it long comes with its disadvantages, son. Some wannabe lawman could grab it. Then what?”
The thought of a bounty hunter grabbing him hard by the hair made him feel sick. The sharp pain that radiated down his scalp to his neck was something he never wanted to feel again. It was debilitating and dehumanizing and reminded him of all the hypocrites back in Baltimore who tried to hang him for being a street rat.
“I say we go to about-” Hosea hummed moving his fingers down from John’s roots down to hold it just at his chin, “there. That will give it room to grow before the next trim.”
It was also going to expose his neck to the cold of the winter. John glanced at the hair that hung down past Hosea’s pinched fingers. There had to be at least a good three or more inches Hosea wanted to cut.
“You promise it wont be no shorter?” John asked softly.
“I promise.” Hosea whispered. “Now go wash yer hair out.”
The water was warm and soothing on his head. The chamomile smelled sweet compared to the tyme and rosemary Hosea had added to whisk the oils free of John’s hair. It reminded John of all those ointments and elixirs Hosea was always making and grinding in his mortar and pestle back at camp. He wondered what this mixture would cure beyond removing the stink from him. If John had to guess it was a sleep potion based on how his eyes drifted shut with every gentle tug and adjustment Hosea made to his hair.
“Hold still now. I don’t want to cut you.” Hosea said. John had expected there to be more effort put into the cut. Last time when Arthur let Hosea barrow his knife it had hurt a lot. Pulling and tugging one each strand of his hair had made him whine a brand new scar adorned his cheek from where he had tried to shove Dutch away from holding him still. Hosea must have really sharpened his knife this time around.
“You’re soon gonna need to do this yourself.” Hosea sighed. “I’m not going to be here to do it for you forever.”
He hated thinking about being alone. Death was always a thought he kept close to his chest. But when he imagined it, it was always his body lying dead in the street or hanging from a tree. Never once did he imagine life without Dutch or Hosea or even Arthur. The thought sent a pang of panic through him he tried to ignore and pass off as gas and undigested silverskin. Tilting his head back with Hosea’s gentle tugging he felt the man’s hands still in his hair.
But if Hosea saw his tears he didn’t mention it. Instead a calloused thumb brushed at his cheek as if swiping away a stray hair before Hosea set back to work quietly.
“There we are… good as new.” The old man had hummed, shoving his knife back into the sheath at his side. John opened his eyes slowly. His hair hung heavy with water that dripped from the ends to stain his shirt and long johns. It felt lighter than it had when Hosea had started to cut it and clung tight to his skin around his chin in a way that made his skin itch but it still covered his ears from the brutality of the air which is all he could ask for in his hair.
“What do you think?” Hosea asked, swiping his hands clean of wet hair that clung to him.
“It’s ok.” John hummed, running his fingers through it. He was sure he made it look tangled and disheveled. He could hear Hosea huffing behind him in distaste. But his hair knew nothing else. Even then Hosea must have understood that It’s ok was about as good of a compliment as he was going to get as he offered John a pat on the shoulder.
“Good.” He hummed, groaning to stand from the rickety sitting chair. “Now why don’t you go get ready for bed you must be exhausted.
“What about watch?” John asked, twisting around to look at Hosea.
“Don’t worry about watch tonight.” Hosea said, chansing a glance out the window. “I doubt there will be men brave enough to go out in this storm tonight. Besides Dutch and I sleep light. So you just get your rest.”
“I don’t wanna share a bed with Arthur. He kicks me at night and tells me to stop moving.” John whined. “Dutch said there were only two bedrooms.”
“Then I’ll take the chair.” Hosea offered, flicking the water off his hands.
“I’m not sleeping next to Dutch!” John gapped in a way that Hosea must have found amusing. The man just laughed and shook his head like John was the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“Then where do you expect to sleep, John?” Hosea asked playfully. “The roof?”
No… it would be too cold up there.
“I’ll just sleep right here.” John said as he laid out on the furs that Arthur had laid out for dinner.
“In front of the fireplace?” Hosea sighed, turning to stare blankly at John. “Are you a cat?”
“Yeah. I can keep the fire stoked and besides, these furs are real comfy.” John said rubbing his arms up and down the fur like he was making snow angels. Static clicked and snapped as he did in a way that made John worry about touching his gun and causing a misfire if anyone were to break in.
“Fine…” Hosea relented. “But I don’t want to hear you complain about a sore back tomorrow.”
John didn’t answer, instead he just rolled away from Hosea and towards the light of the fire to watch it burn rhythmically. The crackling and spitting soothed him. They reminded him of the fire back at camp.
“ Ow !”
A snap of static stung like the snap from one of Arthur’s hair bands on his shoulder. Turning to Hosea he nearly laughed with how offended the man looked and tried to mirror his expression. “You shocked me!”
“I shocked you?! John you shocked me.” Hosea wheezed on a laugh as he squeezed John’s shoulder. “I’ll be damned if it didn’t hurt too.”
“Sorry…”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll just be in the next room if you need us. Night, John.” Hosea hummed as he let go of John’s arm.
John listened carefully as the creaking of the floorboards became distant and the squeaking door to one of the rooms clicked shut. John could hear muffled voices through the thin walls. No matter how hard he strained his ears he couldn’t make anything out. Which was fine with him. He’d rather not be privy to more of Dutch and Hosea’s affections.
Slowly he found it in him to sit back up, careful not to make the floor creak. He’d never tell Hosea, but he never planned on sleeping. Watch was more important than that. It was the least he owed to them after all they’d done for him.
Though if he really thought about it the heat did feel nice on his face as it worked to dry his wet head. Tossing another log on the fire John hummed, pulling his knees to his chest to watch the flames slowly devour his newest sacrifice. Flames were so hypnotic. They danced so seductively and swirled around what it ate. It almost looked like a beast consumed with hunger. It was a ritual of nature and new beginnings. Dutch had once mentioned a bird born from ash before. Glancing at the stack of wood he wondered if one of those birds laid an egg in the wood. It would be really neat to have a bird like that as a pet. Then again if it caught everything on fire that wouldn’t be cool. Maybe he could get a normal bird as a pet? He liked birds. Most of them. Cardinals had such a sweet sound in the winter. But they migrated for summer and he didn’t want to say goodbye to it for that long. Hawks were cool. He’d like a hawk. It could kill all the mice in camp and attack Arthur if he got on John’s nerves. A goofy grin crept up onto his lips. That would be cool.
Though the hawk might attack him if he couldn’t find mice for it. It was a lot like fire really. If fire wanted to, the flame could leap from the flu to the house in a simple movement. What kind of cruel joke was it to put a fireplace in a room made of wood? One lick from its destructive tongue could destroy the whole place in a few simple moments. Less than a heartbeat even. That’s almost how being around Dutch felt sometimes.
John wondered if the wood house was as afraid of the fire as he was of Dutch. There was something about the man that demanded power and position. Especially in camp. On trips like these it was different. Maybe that was why Hosea was always so relaxed on these trips? Or maybe it was because of whatever they got to do in the private moments they shared… John would lay money that was it.
But even out here Dutch’s word was law. One word and he’d be back on the streets. He knew that Dutch wouldn’t just throw him out without warning. Oh god he really hoped that was the case. But he’d seen the man go off with a hairpin trigger before and he refused to be the next victim standing at the end of his barrel. He had to prove he had a right at the camp and earn the goodness their hearts had to offer in order to stay. He was the dutiful dog.
John frowned, glancing over his shoulder wondering if Dutch was talking about him again. The argument from the thin wall hadn’t stopped at all and didn’t sound like it would any time soon. He wondered if Hosea was talking to Dutch about how he was a waste of time and space?
Shaking his head John ran a hand through his wet hair to loosen the strands to help them dry more evenly. From how hot the front of his head felt, he felt like he had to keep his hair from melting clean off his head. He wondered silently how Rachel was holding up in the stable. It was probably bitter cold out there, but the stable kept the wind off them at least. So maybe with the heat of the horses it was nice enough to sleep. He hoped that Beau was leaving her alone. He would have put her with Silver Dollar but the Count didn’t do well without Silver Dollar by his side in new places. The two were as bonded as their owners were. Laying down beside the fire John wished he could share the heat of the fire with the horses. But Arthur yelled at him last time he tried to light a fire near where they kept the horses. He had stamped out the little embers John worked hard to make screaming: “ That hay will catch and then we’ll have no horses and a forest fire on our hands, dumbass! ”
John was pretty sure Arthur had more to say but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t talk to him for three days after that. Even after Dutch and Hosea and Miss Grimshaw had all chewed his ear off about fire safety. It wasn’t until John had spilled the water for the stew all over Uncle for being a lazy bastard that Arthur began to acknowledge him again. He took him on a long ride to meet his girlfriend that weekend. He even gave him candy on the way home in exchange for the promise that he’d stay quiet about Eliza and Issac. John really liked that day.
Arthur was a good dad. He was better than his own father had been to him so the bar was low on what a good father was. But John saw how gentle Arthur was with his son. Isaac looked just like Arthur. The spitting image really. Arthur took Isaac and him fishing that day. Eliza was really nice too. She gave him good food he’d never tried before and bought him fresh new clothes at the store. She kept some at her house. “ Just in case” she had said. In case what? He didn’t know but he hoped he could go see her again soon.
John twisted his head towards the window above the sink. The snow just came down harder as the night progressed. The ice that crept up the one window was now backlit by a wall of white. God, he hoped it wouldn’t get so deep they got snowed in. He’d only heard about it happening in the stories the other told around the campfire but it sounded bad. No food or water for days and going insane enough to eat each other… He wasn’t made for it. He was sure human meat had more silver skin than deer meat.
He nearly jumped as the walls moaned and creaked in the wind. The windows clattered and snow continued to blow in from the window Dutch had attempted to board up. A cool breeze caressed his shoulders every once in a while. It was cold enough to make him shiver and grab the ends of his hair to keep it warm. John wondered if the roof would hold all night with how much snow was coming down or if it would collapse and kill them all. He couldn’t see the table they put in the ceiling from where he was lying on the floor though. Maybe he should go check-
“Jesus you’re still awake?”
John gasped nearly jumping out of his skin as he twisted to look at who was talking. His hand instinctively flew to his gun belt, his fingers twitching around the handle of the gun. “Christ, Arthur! Give a man a warning will you?!”
Arthur just huffed, plopping himself down into the rickety armchair Hosea had occupied earlier. “Let me rephrase.” Arthur hummed his voice thick with sleep. “Why are you still up, kid?.”
John huffed, sitting up to glare at Arthur. “Why are you up? Dumbass.”
Arthur didn’t seem impressed with John parroting his question. Shoving a wad of tobacco in his lip he sighed, flicking his fingers off. Little flecks of tobacco rained down and dirtied the ram pelt he had sat on earlier.
“I’m up to take watch.” Arthur droned, his blue eyes almost seemed to glow unnaturally and judgmentally as he stared down at John. “Now… what were you doing up?”
John frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hosea said we don’t need no one to keep watch.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Then why ain’t ya sleeping?”
“I was trying to sleep.”
“Doesn’t look like you’ve been doing much sleeping.” Arthur commented, cocking a brow.
“I was taking first watch!” John argued.
“Thought Hosea told ya not to worry about it.” Arthur deadpanned.
Shit…
“Go to sleep Marston.”
“But-”
“Just-” Arthur huffed, sitting up to throw the ram fur over John’s body. “Lay down and go to sleep, damn it. I’ll wake ya if anything happens.”
John wanted to argue. He wanted tell Arthur to fuck off. But as the man pulled his hat over his eyes and laid back in the chair, slinging a leg over one of the wicker arms John knew Arthur wasn’t really going anywhere anytime soon.
Lying back John huffed, staring at the flickering orange hue on the ceiling. The popping and cracking of the wood beside him was soothing and normal. Even the soft way Arthur’s boot touched his leg a few minutes later silently reminding him to shut his eyes and get some sleep was a weight off his chest.
Closing his eyes John sighed. Fine… he’d just rest his eyes for a little bit. Besides he was a light sleeper and Arthur would need his help keeping watch anyway. He was the faithful guard dog after all.