Work Text:
Arthur was sure he was going mad. That had to be it. All the years filled with endless violence must have come to this. There wasn’t any other explanation that he could think of.
It had gone on for two months now. Two months of torment every time he managed to fall asleep. The dreams were more or less the same every time. He would be alone somewhere with Charles and he would kiss him, it was always so soft and so lovely. Every time he woke up he was met with a warm feeling spreading through him mixed with a sharp dread at what he was feeling.
He didn’t know where the dream had come from. Not entirely true but not entirely false either. He liked Charles from the start, how could you not? He was nice and gentle but also stern and reserved. Arthur liked the way he taught him new things, the way he seemed to respect the people around him and the way he especially seemed to respect Arthur.
Charles hadn’t said much when he first showed up. He kept to himself, often sitting in a far end of the camp working on some arrows or quietly moving though chores in the background. It always seemed like he was there when Arthur needed him. It didn’t matter when or where, like he had some special ability to know exactly when he was needed.
Charles didn’t talk much during the first missions he joined either. He was simply there as a secure presence, shooting anyone when needed and never speaking more than a few words at a time.
Arthur couldn’t help but be intrigued. He found himself staring at the man more times than he’d like to admit, trying to figure out what he was thinking about that required all that silence. He never could crack that question but that never stopped him. He would study Charles' hands as he carefully crafted arrows, gladly accepting a couple when Charles offered. He never admitted that he didn’t own a bow. He would conveniently pop up beside the man when he was on guard duty, attempting to spark some dull conversation.
Much of the connection between them was built on silence. They sat side by side in silence and it was just enough. As time went on Charles began to utter more words. So much so to qualify for some actual conversation every now and again. The day he realized that Arthur didn’t own a bow and was just hoarding Charles arrows had been a big one. He had chuckled lightly and simply offered Arthur to teach him to hunt with one. It’s one of Arthur’s favorite days, knee deep in the snow with Charles beside him, gently guiding him through the steps. The lesson had made him realize how utterly terrible he actually was at hunting but there was always room for improvement with a good teacher.
Later in the year the lessons had picked up, becoming more and closer together. They also offered an escape from the growing tensions within the camp. They would ride side by side some way from the camp, Charles always picked the spot. They would set up a small tent each and spend a night or two just hunting, eating full meals and bringing back some of their earnings to camp as a viable excuse. Charles would teach him to track, how to identify the animals and how best to kill them with minimal suffering. He would explain and demonstrate as Arthur listened intently. Arthur would follow up with his own attempts, varying in success, Charles would correct him on mistakes and on they went.
That is where the dreaming started. The first time it happened Arthur had woken up with a startle, frightened at his own mind as he stared up at the tents roof. He knew Charles was asleep barely a couple meters away from him, it scared him like nothing before. He stayed very quiet for the rest of the trip, making sure he didn’t stare for too long or do anything off putting. He took a long time before suggesting another trip after that one, dreading them and longing for them all the same. He continued to dream even outside of the trips, every night without fail would be consumed by the same man.
After a while he did get used to them, they still startled him and left him confused but he decided to simply pay them no mind. Boiling it down to some form of insanity. Charles himself hadn’t seemed to notice any change, he displayed the same soft smiles and gentle demeanor around Arthur. He had begun documenting his dreams to give them less of a striking effect on him. He would write entries in his journal about them if he felt that he needed to, which was quite often. Sometimes the entries were short and frustrated, other times they were calmer and longer, maintaining far more detail and care. It always grounded him to write down his thoughts, pouring them out on the page instead of letting them get all tangled in his head. It became routine, waking up in a haze and reaching for his journal to write it all down. In the end he offered Charles another trip and as always he agreed, god knows they both needed the break.
Charles had picked a spot further from camp this time, they rode for hours to reach a secluded spot in the trees around Little Creek River. Charles explained that it was a good spot for deer and Arthur countered with mentioning the bears that lurked in these parts.
“They won’t bother us if we don’t bother them.”
Charles was calm, seeming awfully confident in the statement.
“I’ve had very different experiences with them.”
Arthur shivered at the memories of grizzlies running at him full speed. He had gained a couple scars to prove it.
“To me the scenery is worth the risk.”
Arthur couldn’t help but smile in return, feeling that warm and fuzzy feeling sneak up his spine. They settled in a small clearing where Arthur had set up their tents while Charles prepared a fire. They had left camp early in the morning but the sun had already begun to nudge at the horizon.
After a few minutes of silence Arthur had reached for the game he had wrapped in his satchel. He cooked the meat slowly while Charles began to work on arrows for the next day by his side. He always seemed to be working on arrows, how many could a man really need?
“I don’t use all of them, I sell some to the gunsmen for a few extra dollars. It’s quite calming to craft them by hand like this.”
Charles said it so suddenly, like he’d been reading Arthur’s mind just before. Arthur thought about his journal, how the writing and sketching was calming to him in much the same way.
“I could teach you if you like?”
The offer was quite intriguing, Arthur had to stop himself from yelling ‘yes’ far too quickly.
“I don’t think my hands were made for such delicate work I’m afraid.”
He was quite proud of that excuse. He didn’t want to admit how much he enjoyed watching Charles work at them, or how scared he was to do it wrong and embarrassing himself.
“That can’t be true, I’ve seen those drawings of yours.”
He was caught far quicker than expected. He didn’t think that Charles would actually believe him but he hoped that the man would let it go. He was left with no other choice but to agree. Charles shifted close enough that their knees brushed together and Arthur could feel his heart giving out.
He found it rather difficult to pay attention to Charles’ careful instructions when they were sitting so close. His heart was pounding in his ears loud enough to drive anyone insane. His hands were quivering slightly as he hurried through the steps of crafting his first arrow. The result was sloppy and far from Charles’ arrows. Arthur reluctantly tried a few more times and after about half an hour of chaos he had crafted something that could pass as any other arrow. He had calmed down significantly and almost gotten used to their knees pressing together. That was until Charles gripped Arthur’s hands to study the arrow he was holding.
“Told you.”
Arthur couldn’t respond, he was just staring blankly at the man in front of him and doing everything in his power to keep his body under control. The task grew more difficult when Charles started turning their joined hands over while nodding in agreement.
“Yours are better.”
None of them could deny it, Charles’ arrows were perfectly balanced. There were never any errors with his craft.
“You’ll get there.”
Arthur could never dare to believe that he could reach the level Charles was at. Maybe that could qualify as an excuse to have Charles make all the arrows. He much preferred to watch.
“I think I’ve had enough, you do the rest.”
He gestured towards the pile of faulty arrows that had grown in front of him to emphasize his point.
“If you say so.”
But Charles didn’t move away, simply started working where he was just sitting, keeping their knees together. Arthur carefully leaned backwards against a tree, making a point to not move his leg. He fished his journal out of his satchel and began to sketch mindlessly. He had the journal propped up in his free leg to keep it out of Charles’ gaze. He always made a point to keep the drawings to himself, feeling that they were awfully personal. He was sketching Charles now just like he had plenty of times before. Paying close attention to the way the man’s face and his hands looked as he worked away.
He had just about finished his sketch when Charles gave him a puzzled look before starting to haul himself off the ground. He’d crafted a nice pile of fresh arrows, a little on the bigger side for their short trip but Arthur didn’t complain at the company.
“There you go, think I’ll head to bed.”
Charles handed him his half of the pile before turning around and making his way into his tent. Arthur sat frozen against the tree, feeling the absence of Charles’ knee as his hand was held out with the arrows. He hoped that Charles hadn’t seen his drawing, it would make things very uncomfortable.
When he had composed himself enough to move, Arthur put out the fire and made his way into his own tent. Carefully placing the arrows and his satchel by the opening. He gave his journal one last glance before tucking that away as well. The ground was never very comfortable. He had just purchased a new bedroll and was ever so tired, it was enough to allow him to fall asleep just as he laid his head down.
He was shaken from his dream by gunfire. The familiar sound startled him enough to make him jump up and grasp for his gun. With the first step he took outside of the tent he was tackled. He could just make out the large man charging at him in the dim moonlight, he wasn’t awake enough to react and fell hard on his back right onto the tent. Letting out a deep groan at the splintered wood that poked into his back. While he was scrambling to get to his feet he noticed that Charles was in full motion. He was swinging wildly, taking on the two men that had attacked them. He decided that Charles could probably handle himself and it all seemed so very difficult.
He opened his eyes slowly, letting out a soft sigh at the dream that passed once again, but fuzzier this time. It had been lacking in any details. The events of last night flooded over him, the awful pain in his back and the one in his abdomen that he only seemed to notice now. Arthur instinctively reached to his stomach with his hand, checking for any excessive bleeding, there wasn’t any. He did however feel the familiar texture of bandage wrapped around him.
“It’s good you’re awake.”
The low voice was coming from outside the tent, judging by the soft sunshine making its way inside its way into the tent, the day was growing into evening. How long had he been out?
“What happened?”
“You were shot.”
“I gathered that much.”
Arthur chuckled a little at his own joke, keeping things serious had never been his strong suit anyway. He could almost feel Charles’ eyes glaring at him but he also knew that it would be closely followed by a quick smile. A genuine smile.
“Two men from the ranch decided that we were a little too close. They barged in with their guns, quite aggressive types. One of them shot and tackled you, after I’d taken care of them I got you in here and bandaged you up.”
Arthur ignored the fact that this meant that he had very likely been carried in here by Charles.
“He hit anything important?”
It seemed like an important question, the pain wasn’t exactly a good sign.
“Doubt it.”
Arthur looked up then, seeing where Charles was sitting. He was crouched just outside the tent, clearly keeping watch for any more of them. They were both silent for a moment and Arthur felt very guilty that Charles had to deal with them both.
“You okay?”
He hoped that it seemed like a normal question and that the concern didn’t bleed too much into his tone. It took a lot of willpower to appear calm.
“I’m not the one who’s been shot.”
“I mean it.”
Calm be damned, he was worried. Charles turned around at that, the same puzzled expression as before draping across his face.
“A few scrapes but I’ll manage.”
Arthur didn’t believe that but didn’t push it. He knew that Charles could take off himself just fine, pressing him for answers never did any good. Arthur just smiled and let his head fall back onto the bedroll.
“What happened to my tent?”
He remembered the crash of wood beneath him as he fell. It was always a hustle to get ahold of a new one.
”Beyond repair.”
He’d had his tent for a long time, he knew that he was laying in Charles’, he could even make out some of the man’s smell lingering in the fabric. All forest and rivers running through the land. The smell was always an instant comfort, more so than he’d ever dare to say aloud.
“You planning on sleeping out there?”
Charles didn’t look very comfortable where he was propped up. Artur couldn’t bear the thought of robbing the other man of a good night's sleep.
“I’ll be fine.”
Charles almost sounded annoyed. Any other time it would’ve been enough to shut him up but for once he couldn’t let this pass. He had seen the dark circles developing other Charles’ eyes over the last couple of days, they both needed decent sleep.
“There’s plenty of room for the both of us in here.”
That wasn’t entirely true, the tent wasn’t meant for two and especially not two men of their size. It would be a tight fit and Arthur was more than ready for a stern ‘no’ in return but it never came. He only heard ruffling as Charles carefully made his way into the tent beside him. His heart was going out of rhythm again, it seemed to be happening awfully often.
Charles didn’t say a word and Arthur didn’t dare to say anything himself. He stayed on his back and stared at the ceiling of the small tent as Charles’ back pressed against his side. He focused hard to keep his breathing even, he didn’t even dare to move, afraid that he would ruin the moment.
As the man beside him settled and began to breathe evenly he couldn’t help but follow close behind. Having Charles so close and being so tired was more than enough to knock him clean out.
The dream was clearer than it ever had been. It was so very detailed, he could smell Charles and feel his warm skin in the figment his imagination had conjured. He woke up slowly with the ghost of Charles’ lips on his own. It had been so very real, it was frightening. The space beside him was empty now, as he propped himself up on his elbows he could see Charles by the fire cooking up something resembling breakfast. He had a very private smile as he looked down at his work, it was soft and small and so very lovely. Arthur made sure to memorize it all to sketch later before making his presence known.
The smile on Charles’ face was quickly tucked away when he saw that Arthur was awake, simply giving Arthur a small nod before returning to the cooking. Arthur hoped that he hadn’t made the other man uncomfortable with some pressure in his words he couldn’t sense himself.
“You hungry?”
Charles’ tone was very neutral but in no way harsh, perhaps that was a good sign. Arthur sat up to accept the food that Charles offered. They ate in silence and just as he got the chance Arthur fished out his notebook to get working on documenting his latest dream, it seemed like a significant one and he didn’t want to forget any of the details.
“I think I’ll go find something for us to bring back to camp, there’s no use in turning up empty handed.”
Arthur agreed and didn’t ask to join him even if he wanted to. He stayed with his journal and wrote away. Then he got to work on drawing out the smile he had seen on Charles’ lips just before. He was quite happy with the result, it wasn’t quite as good as he’d wanted but good enough for a memory.
“Are you ever going to show me any of your drawings properly?”
The voice startled him, Charles must have found something good to be back so soon. The large buck that was laying just behind the man confirmed just that as Arthur smacked the journal together, tucking it away before Charles saw too much.
“What?”
“Your drawings, you’re always buried in that thing. If I’m not mistaken there’s a few of me in there too.”
Arthur didn’t know how to respond, he was just staring blankly at the sheepish grin in front of him. He’d been caught red handed, there was no way for him to make it out of this in one piece. The blush that was sneaking up his neck wasn’t helping.
“I’d rather not. I like to write some rather… personal stuff.”
He hoped that sufficed. It seemed it did, Charles let it go and got to packing their things together. Charles never pushed Arthur, it was a very nice exchange between the two of them. Arthur tried his best to grant him the same favor whenever he could.
He stayed very quiet all the way back to camp. In a way he dreaded the return of chaos and lack of sleep. Even so he could never leave them behind, they were his family, he’d die for them any day. The hectic nature it had taken on recently had left much to desire but the breaks with Charles were enough to keep him mostly sane.
He was met with scolding for disappearing when he was needed and returning injured. The camp's best working horse would be out of commission for at least a few days. Even so he tried to do everything he could to help, most of the time he was pointed right back to bed by anyone who spotted him.
The lack of work left his mind alone to wander. It spun long threads around Charles with every passing minute. He thought a lot about letting Charles see his journal. He couldn’t recall a single person who had. He wanted to show him, more than anything. Even so he couldn’t help but be scared, Arthur poured everything onto the pages, even the drawings were of the life around him.
After a week of pure agony he had finally had enough. Nobody would let him go on a mission for another couple of days. Dutch would send him running if there wasn’t so much protest from the other camp members. Arthur marched over to where Charles was sitting on guard duty late in the evening, making sure that nobody spotted him as he plotted his temporary escape.
“I need to get out of here and Pearson is in dire need of better meat.”
It was all very true, the stew had been worse than usual for the past couple of days. Charles was well aware and simply nodded lightly. He went to get his things and tacked up Taima while Arthur did the same with his mare. They slipped out before anyone noticed them and went on their way.
Charles picked a spot close to camp, a secluded spot of forest comfortable enough to make due. As they started setting their camp up Arthur realized that he had not had the chance to replace the broken tent. He glanced over to Charles with the broken pieces in his hands, suddenly afraid that this would cancel the trip he so desperately needed. Charles just chuckled at him, smiling that same smile that Arthur had traced over time and time again in his journal. His fright was quickly replaced by a glee he tried and failed to stiffen.
They ended up in the same places as last time. Arthur was on his back while Charles was turned away next to him. It felt like Charles was pressing closer this time, he was probably just imagining it. A simple spark of hope making its way through his mind. After a long moment of silence he finally managed to get the words out.
“You can look through the journal if you still want to.”
He almost stumbled over the words as they hurried out. It was barely more than a whisper, he hoped that Charles had heard.
“Okay.”
The response was soft and gentle, more than he expected. They ended up sitting opposite each other in the tent, their shoes just connecting between them. Arthur had handed the journal over slowly, trying to stiffen his trembling hands. It was only after Charles had begun to flip through the pages that he realized just what he had been writing in there. What he’d written about Charles and what he was sure to read any moment. He couldn’t muster the strength to snatch the journal back, he just sat frozen and waited for some sort of reaction. He made sure to expect the worst, he was ready for anger and disgust. Ready to never get to talk to the man ever again. Somehow the risk seemed worth it. He didn’t think he could stand keeping silent for much longer. It had gotten very difficult.
It went on for what felt like hours. Charles carefully turned the pages, letting his fingers graze over the pencil markings within the drawings and Arthur just watched. He was frightened and breathing hard, any attempts of keeping his breathing under control had been long abandoned. Charles finally reached the page Arthur had been dreading the most. It was the page from their last trip. Arthur had detailed his awfully vivid dream and the sketch that followed was right there. Charles stilled, he must have seen what Arthur had written on previous pages but this was different, they both knew it. This was raw and open right before Charles’ eyes.
Arthur had never been so scared as when Charles looked up to meet his eyes. No shootouts or attacks could ever compare to the fright that was clogged in his throat. And then he realized that Charles was looking at him so softly, there was no anger and not a trace of disgust. He almost seemed happy. He couldn’t be, there was no way. Arthur knew this only ever happened in his dreams, that warmth in the eyes before him only ever showed up in imagined figments. Except this was real.
Charles carefully closed the journal and put it aside, every moment seemed awfully slow and Arthur wanted to beg him to just say something. The silence was driving him further into insanity than he already was.
Charles started moving towards Arthur so slowly, settling himself right in front of him. Arthur couldn’t move, he waited for something horrible to break the illusion. For a moment he thought it was a cruel joke even if Charles would never do something so awful. The careful hand that was placed on Arthur’s cheek quickly settled the spirals of thoughts that raced through his mind. He tried to lean into the touch carefully, letting his eyes flutter slightly as the warmth consumed him whole.
After a moment Charles leaned forward so carefully. He was moving slow enough for Arthur to have every chance to flee. He didn’t. He stayed where he was, anticipation rising to his throat along with his heart as Charles moved ever closer.
After an eternity their lips locked. Arthur couldn’t help but to exhale a sob at the contact. It was better than any of the dreams could ever conjure. Charles’ lips were so gentle and soft against his own. He almost begged the other man to come back when Charles leaned back. Charles almost looked scared himself, the shielded expression was slipping through the cracks as he looked Arthur in the eyes and waited for some kind of reaction. Arthur realized that he was crying. Perhaps that was what contributed to Charles’ expression. He couldn’t get any words out, after opening and closing his mouth a few times he gave that up. He couldn’t bear it any longer, couldn’t bear just looking at the man in front of him. He gripped Charles’ face with both of his hands carefully before pressing their lips together firmly. He felt that he needed to reassure Charles of something, he didn’t know what but words would never compare to this.
They continued for a while. Exchanging soft kisses back and forth. Small bursts of laughter escaped in between them after a while. It was so perfect, it was everything and more. He wanted to stay in this moment for the rest of his life. Wanted to live and die in this spot of complete bliss.
Charles had guided him back onto the floor of the tent. They were lying there facing each other. Holding each other as closely as they could manage. They peppered each other's faces with soft kisses until they both fell asleep, wrapped up in each other's arms.
It was the best night of sleep that Arthur had ever gotten. Wrapped in the arms of the man who knew him better than anyone he was at peace, he didn’t dream at all.