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Mrs. Grimshaw had her hands on her hips and a stern look on her face as she looked at him. Arthur knew she was going to try talking to him and there was no way out of it now.
“Mr. Morgan! You do realize that your bed is in the open?” she chides, her eyes slightly narrowed, but not too unkind. Arthur internally sighs and responds with a simple, “So?”
“So keep it clean! You have clothes on the floor! Imagine what bugs will get into them.”
“Alright, Mrs. Grimshaw.”
“That means now.”
Arthur passes her and heads to his makeshift canopy, pushing down the urge to grumble to himself. He sees John look at him from where he’s sitting. “Yeah, ‘Mr. Morgan’,” John hassles him, which he has learned not to do often.
Arthur is quick to scold him, “Shuddup! Mind your business.” Still, he sees John look back at the table, satisfied. Somehow, this place can make Arthur feel like he’s still 20. It’s not often that he sees John’s childish side come out because as a kid John would act like how he thought an adult acts. It wasn’t until his late teens until he let the childish side out, but a couple years later he was right back to acting “adult”. At the time, Arthur found the kid a pest because of how rabid he acted. Now, he realizes that before Dutch and Hosea took him, his strange personality may have been the only thing that kept him alive. Arthur doesn’t blame him. After all, he did get hanged. His voice had never been the same, but John knew how to carry on and adapt.
“Arthur!” Javier greets, causing Arthur to turn around. Javier has a welcoming smile on his face as he tells Arthur, “I think we should go get a drink. John’s comin’.”
“You think he should be anywhere near alcohol?” Arthur said. Even though he sounded serious, he just wanted to take a poke at John.
“He’s an adult.”
“Point still stands.”
Javier chuckles, slightly shaking his head. “You and John need to find a way to get along better,” he says. “Damn. Now I sound like Dutch.”
Arthur grabs Javier by the shoulder in a friendly manner and then lets him know, “I’ll go to make sure John doesn’t get you into any trouble.”
Javier smiles, looking somewhat amused. “What would we ever do without you?” he jokes, his tone sarcastic. Javier has gotten much more comfortable with Arthur as of late, which is something Arthur has come to welcome. After all, it could’ve been Micah trying to get buddy-buddy with him instead of Javier.
⌗ ┆St. Denis ★ ₊ ˚⟡
Arthur has gone to St. Denis’s big bar multiple times, but there are instances where he prefers the small one, like when he has a headache or wishes to meet someone interesting, like Charles Châtenay.
Arthur’s relationship with John has improved ever since he actually began to watch over the kid, which has sort of helped his and Arthur’s relationship, but Arthur still can’t imagine completely forgiving him as of now.
John looks disgruntled and annoyed, but Javier is doing a good job at lifting the Man’s spirits. “You haven’t left camp in forever! Come and have fun,” Javier coaxes him. “Hey, it ain’t like I’m tryin’ to convince you to get black out drunk, but you need to relax, Brother.”
Arthur downs a shot as John does. It burns Arthur’s throat, but he’s used to the feeling and knows he doesn’t need to cough. Arthur can hear people all around him, but doesn’t focus in on it. Javier, however, knows that he should be cautious in places like these. How could he not after all that’s happened to him?
Javier heard a gruff voice behind him complain, “That man has a friend that beat me in the ring.” Javier slightly turns his head, noting the dark hair and mustache on the man. A different man with red hair, clearly the man’s friend, responds, “How would you know that?”
Mustache man grumbles, “I saw them talking to each other.” The redhead places his hand on his friend’s back, then assures him, “Not worth it.” The much bigger man grumbles, then turns back into their table. Javier smiles, looking back at Arthur. “In my hometown, the bar was so much nicer-”
Someone grabs Arthur’s shoulder and the second he turns around, a fist connects to Arthur’s face. It’s the same man with the mustache. Javier would feel guilty for not warning Arthur if he wasn’t so damn worried.
When Arthur looks up, he doesn’t see just another man at the bar; he sees an angry, drunk man that’s much bigger than him with a face that reminds him of his father’s. Arthur thought he had gotten used to drunk bastards ever since his father made him steal him liquor, but perhaps he had just built up a wall that was now breaking down.
Arthur stated on the floor, only able to watch was John roughly shoved the man back. “What the Hell did you for that for?!” John shouts, now full of anger. He doesn’t give the man the option to answer before John’s hand is on his gun.
Arthur, get up Javier all but commanded, grabbing Arthur’s arm to help him to his feet. Arthur was tense and unbalanced as he stood, more spooked than Javier had ever seen him. To Javier, seeing Arthur scared is more disturbing than the man punching Arthur.
John is fuming by the time they’re outside. Javier has to be the one asking Arthur if he’s okay. Arthur nods, silent. It scares Javier that someone close to him might be taken away again. It reminds him of when he left Mexico.
“Let’s go,” John says, his voice good. He mounts his horse, but when Arthur doesn’t follow he continues “Arthur, I said- Arthur?” John dismounts his horse just as fast as he got on.
Arthur is in a posture that looks closed off, his hands reaching across his chest and latched onto his sleeves. “Hey, ride on the back of my horse. I’ll keep you safe,” John promises. It’s odd to Javier how John is acting like an older brother, but he trust that John knows what he’s doing. “I’ll make sure the hijo de puta doesn’t come back. Next time I see him, I’m telling el bastardo to vete a la mierda antes de que me cague en todo su linaje-” Suddenly, Arthur snorts. It’s small, but it’s there. It caused Javier’s anger to swiftly cool. Javier pause for a second before concluding, “C’mon, brother. Let’s get back to camp.” He finds himself a bit embarrassed.
When they arrive Arthur hops off first, stumbling a bit. It’s like he thought the ground was farther down than he thought. It’s like Arthur forgot how big he is.
Arthur goes off to his tent and John follows, still fuming about the guy. Arthur blinks at him. John sighs, recognizing that this means Arthur needs his alone time again, but when he tries to leave, Arthur tugs his left sleeve and drags him inside with surprising force, once again forgetting his size. “Okay, I’m coming!” John tells him, trying to get him to stop dragging him.
Arthur reaches above his canopy, managing to close two flaps. The wagon hid the other side and the crates left a window that faced away from the camp. “Alright…so what’d you wanna say?” John questions, only slightly annoyed. Arthur sits down on his bed and lays down. John stares at him, a frown on his face. Confused, he tries to ask, “Uh…?” but Arthur closes his eyes before he can continue. The poor guy’s sleeping.
John pauses, then sighs, patting Arthur’s head. “Guess I’m keepin’ watch…” he mutters, believing that to be why Arthur’s dragged him in here.
⌗ ┆4 hours later ★ ₊ ˚⟡
“John, where’s Arthur? We need help carryin’ this crate,” Hosea says. By “we need help” he means “I need help”, but is too proud to fully admit it.
“I’ll do it. Arthur’s sleepin’,” John informs him, walking over to Hosea. “Had a bad day.” Hosea looks skeptical because it’s strange for Arthur to be sleeping at this time in the day and not working. Even so, Hosea admits, “I’m glad. That boy works too hard.”
John lets out a grunt of approval in response and picks up a box, realizing that Hosea isn’t just old and that it truly is heavy as Hell.
Hosea can easily tell something is off about John. After all, the old man can read anyone. “What’s going on, John?” Hosea questions, straight to the point. John instantly answers, “Arthur’s actin’ strange. This guy hit him in the bar and he’s been odd ever since.” John finally managed to move the box to the back of the wagon and get it tucked in between two other boxes.
“How so?” Hosea pushes, his eyebrows furrowed. John shakes his head, still worked up over the ordeal, and answers, “He wanted me in his room and then he fell asleep.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s odd.”
“It would be if you were in my shoes! He would always tell me to get outta his room as a kid.”
Hosea turns to Arthur’s tent, a frown on his face and his eyes squinted. “I’ll go check up on him,” he decides, pating John on the shoulder before continuing, “Make sure to pack the rest of those boxes.”
John looks back at the other boxes and sighs, not wanting to do it, but doing it regardless for Hosea. On the other hand, Hosea makes himself known to Arthur by commenting, “You’ll become vitamin deficient if you stay in here.” and then enters Arthur’s tent.
Arthur is curled up in a couple blankets, laying on his side. He lets out what sounds like a whine of complaint when Hosea comes in. Hosea smiles, greeting, “Hello, Arthur.” Something about the sight is innocent to Hosea, though he doesn’t exactly know why. When Arthur didn’t seal for a few moments, Hosea sat next to him on his bed before asking, “What’s wrong?”
Arthur murmured, “Feels like I’m a kid again, ‘sea.” Hosea hummed, hesitated for a moment, then brushed Arthur’s hair out of his eyes. Arthur was never this open as a kid.
“You never got the chance to be a kid,” Hosea concludes, looking down at his son. Arthur whispers a, “Yeah.”
“Stay here.”
Hosea leaves, which makes Arthur curious, but he then comes back with a warm meal. “If you had to be any age right now, what would you be?” Hosea questions. Truthfully, Hosea doesn’t want to embarrass Arthur by asking how old he feels mentally since folks don’t take too kindly to questions like those. Arthur answers him, “F-Five..?” Hosea hums, setting the warm food on one of the crates Arthur has in his room.
“My mother would make me this dish,” Hosea says, taking a spoonful of chicken noodle soup. “Took me years to realize it came from a can.” Arthur smiled at that, finding the story silly.
Hosea holds the spoon to Arthur’s lips and, for a moment, Arthur panics. He seems to think about it before eating the soup from the spoon. Hosea smiles, taking a seat and getting another spoonful. “Still sleepy?” Hosea asks. Arthur shakes his head “no”. Hosea adds, “Well, I’m glad. John was real worried for you.”
Arthur eats another spoonful, his eyes heavy. “Thought you said you weren’t tired?” Hosea teases. Arthur scrunches his nose and narrows his eyes at that, causing Hosea to laugh. “Alright, get some rest.”
Arthur did respond, clearly preferring to stay quiet, but Hosea didn’t care as long as his son was fine.
Arthur only went back to acting differently a couple different times within the past month. John often watched, his face in a scowl. It’s not like he intended to be rude, but he couldn’t help it.
Abigail often asks things of John, but other than that they don’t talk much besides the occasional small talk. Today is one such time. John is sitting next to Abigail as she sews and says something about Mrs. Grimshaw. John listens, nodding his head, but his attention ended up getting taken up by Arthur. “Why can’t I do that?” he suddenly speaks.
Abigail looks up at him and follows his eyes to where Arthur and Dutch are sitting at the wooden table. “Do what?” she asks, noting the flower crown that Arthur is creating. It heavily reminds her of Jack.
“Be…there! Do that!” John attempts to clarify, but he ends up sighing and kicking at the dirt. Abigail scolds, “Don’t be like that, John.” but immediately eases up. More gently, she asks, “You don’t feel like you can talk to Dutch?”
“It ain’t that. It’s just…he seems so carefree.”
Abigail hums, going back to sewing, but still continues to talk to him, “When we were talking back when I had just joined the gang, you said that you liked to climb trees and get muddy.”
John scoffs. “Yeah, as a kid,” he responds. Still, Abigail tries to convince him, “Healing your inner child can be good for the soul. Look, my childhood weren’t so good either, but I made time to do what I always wanted to do as a child and created myself a few dolls. They didn’t last long, but it helped me.” John considered this, thinking to himself that if Abigail did it, then it can’t be too ridiculous. He finally gives in and heads into the woods.
John picks up a stick, swinging it like Jack does, but quickly drops it with a scoff. He looks behind him so nobody else can see the ridiculous display. Overly cautious, he picks up a rock. He recalls that Abigail said that she didn’t pretend to be just any kid, but rather did what she wanted to do as a kid.
John looks at the various fallen branches laying on the forest floor. As a kid, he tried to make a hideout, but he couldn’t build one very well because he didn’t know knots or the most effective way to lay the sticks. Now he does.
John finds the biggest branches he can find, holding them in his arms. “No, you can’t come in, Arthur,” he whispers to himself. “Why’s that? Well, it’s because you…uh..because you can’t!” John gets mad at imaginary Arthur, remembering how his dads are facing over the real one, so he shuts up and begins to set up base.
He leans the sticks on a tree and ties them together with rope. Still, something felt missing. It wasn’t therapeutic at all. It’s like the significance it would have on him as a kid is forever lost. John forces himself to shrug and accept his loss.
“Pa!” John turns as he feels a tugging on his jacket. Jack’s there, stuck in hand. “Uh…Hi, Jack,” John says, a bit surprised that the kid found him so easily. Jack looks past John at the base. He excitedly exclaims, “Woah!” and crawls inside. John doesn’t interfere at all, allowing the kid to claim it.
“It’s a military fort!” Jack informs his father as though he built it. Suddenly, Jack begins to gather pine cones and more sticks. John speaks up, “What’re those for, Kid?”
“Weapons?”
John suddenly finds himself becoming interested. He pauses, then picks up a few scattered items himself, placing them inside the fort. Jack is smiling and suddenly tugs John’s sleeve. The kid explains, “You’ve got to get in here before they fire!” John has no clue who they’re pretending to fight, but at the same time it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that Jack’s smiling and John’s becoming intrigued in the storyline.
John gets inside, noting how tight of a fit it is. Somehow, though, Jack can still move around enough to grab one of the pine cones behind them. “It’s a grenade,” he explains before throwing it. Jack covers his head, so John does the same. John finds that in his head, he can imagine the exact moment the “grenade” goes off.
John suddenly takes a stick and pokes it outside the walls. “I’ve got to…y’know. Fight them off,” he awkwardly tells Jack, still struggling to communicate with him. However, Jack seems to not care and responds, “Whatever.” The kid definitely picked up some stuff from watching John.
Jack chucks a rock. John follows, curling up so he can get low and be less noticeable from the imaginary enemies. John signals to Jack. “They’re having a meeting. What do you think it’s about?” he says.
“Can’t hear them! Maybe it’s a plan!”
John thinks to himself Well, no shit it’s a plan. before remembering that Jack is only 4 years old. He suddenly finds himself feeling bad.
“We can throw this grenade at them!” Jack says, smiling. John doesn’t want the bit to end quite yet, so he interjects, “You can’t do that!” Jack argues back, “I’m gonna do it.” John is about to say something back before remembering that Jack is a literal four year old. Giving up, John agrees, “Okay, okay. Throw it.”
It’s four hours later before Jack is running up to him mom in camp with John in tow. “Mama!” he says, eager to tell her about the game he just played with John. “Me and Pa built a fort!”
Abigail gets a kind look on her face, pleased to see her boy so happy. “That so?” she responds, setting down the book that she was reading. Jack is quick to answer, “Yes! We pretended to be soilders!”
“I never thought I’d see your pa as a soldier.”
Abigail gives John a teasing look, which makes John slightly smile. Jack continues to tell his mother, “We used pine cones as grenades.”
“Oh, well that’s…lovely.”
John knows that Abigail will likely allow this one to slide, but he knows that Abigail doesn’t like her son to be around anything violent. Sometimes, John thinks that she tries to shelter the kid too much, but John can’t blame her considering where Jack is currently growing up.
“I’m gonna go see Dutch,” John excuses himself, crossing his arms and already beginning to walk off. Abigail says to him, “Thank you, John!”
John responds with a simple wave. A while ago, John would probably not acknowledge her thanks. Nowadays, he knows better
John finds Dutch and Hosea sitting by Arthur and begins to speak, “Dutch. Is there anything you-” John pauses, looking at Arthur, who is sketching and has the attention of both Hosea and Dutch. That damned lucky bastard.
“Yes, what is it, John?” Dutch asks, turning his head to face John. John huffs, then says with an accusatory tone, “Why are you watching him draw?” Dutch’s tone is nonchalant as he answers, “Arthur is simply practicing his creative streak.”
John knows that Dutch doesn’t like giving away too much, but John is smart enough to know that Arthur sometimes acts like a kid. Well, he mainly acts like an adult, but when he got triggered, he must’ve been affected pretty badly.
John sits down next to Arthur to get a look, but Arthur snatches the paper away. “Wha-!? Hey! I wanna see, too!” he complains, a bit indignant. Arthur sends him a look that causes Hosea to chuckle. John stands back up dramatically before announcing, “Me and Jack have a fort and you don’t!!” He then storms off. Hosea and Dutch watch, a bit confused. “…should we see if he’s okay, or…?” Dutch inquires, looking at Hosea. Arthur stands up, following after John. Hosea looks after them, deciding, “Let’s keep our distance.”
John sat in the fort, grumbling to himself as he messed around with rocks. As a kid, John always annoyed Arthur because he hated playing alone, but now he’s stuck on his own once more.
John looks up when he hears crunching, assuming it’s an animal, but soon enough Arthur is in the doorway, poking his head in. John taunted him, “Ha! You can’t fit-! Oh shit-” John stared as Arthur entered anyway, his head hitting the ceiling and his arm hitting the side as well. Arthur must be younger than John mentally. John thinks that means it’s his responsibility to play older brother.
“You’re annoying,” John concludes. “But I guess I can play with you.” Arthur ignores him, instead picking up rocks to softly clash together. John stares, then groans. “What would a toddler even like?” he wonders out loud. Arthur glares at him, but John pretends that he doesn’t see.
John digs into Arthur’s satchel, but he oddly doesn’t care. John fishes out coloring supplies and begins to drag a face on a rock. “There you go,” he says, handing it to Arthur, who slowly picks it up. He then clashes it against another rock. John thinks that’s good.
John makes a few more, each one with their own design. The minute John finishes their design, Arthur clashes one together and they break. Arthur stares at it, stunned. John rolls his eyes, but then he sees the way Arthur’s chin trembles and he’s reminded that he’s not an adult right now. He doesn’t wanna embarrass the guy, but he feels bad doing nothing.
“Hey, uh, it’s okay? I don’t mind,” John assures him. Still, his brother doesn’t calm down, so he does the only thing he knows and cradles his brother’s head. “Shush,” he tells Arthur, but his tone isn’t one of anger or annoyance.
Arthur swiftly calms down and goes back to clinking rocks together.
It was a little while later until Javier formally apologized for the bad time at the bar even though he knew he didn’t necessarily have to. John and Arthur were both not angry at him, of course.
“There’s always next time,” Arthur said. “‘sides, it helped me a bit.”
Javier sends Arthur a confused look. “It helped to get punched in the face?” he questions, thinking about what the mane just said. Arthur furrows his eyebrows, responding, “What? No. I meant- Nevermind.”