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John marston is 12 years old when Dutch van der Linde saves his tail from getting strung on the noose. He's been with them for about 7 months now since that fateful day, and — even though it took some time — John's found his place and this little family of theirs.
In time he found they weren't too bad — sure, Ms. Grimshaw could be mean, and Hosea didn't take John that serious when he pleased, and Dutch was just down right weird at times — through all their quirks, John found he actually liked these folks, funnily enough. And yet, the only person he struggled to get along with was the one and only Arthur Morgan.
The reason? well. Marston could only describe Arthur as an asshole.
It really wasn't up for John to like him — Arthur's older, and he's supposed to be responsible for starting that brotherly bond — as Dutch would put it — but clearly he wasn't too interested in Marston, and he made that pretty damn clear.
He never wanted to be around John, and if Hosea or Dutch requested the man to bring him when he'd go out on a ride with Boadacia? (Arthur's pick up truck, John thinks it's strange to name a car) Arthur's mood would sour, and he'd roll his eyes and try to challenge for a reason as to why John couldn't come with him — which wasn't fair. John's always bored, and if he's got a reason to get out of chores he'd happily come! He just cant wrap his head around why Arthur lacks a heart to help him out.
He made no attempts to have a sound relationship with the kid — and, truth be told — Marston was perfectly fine with it. it wasn't like he exactly enjoyed Mrthur's company — it was the only thing they mutually agreed on.
Morgan and him were far too different to get along, and John hated how insistent Dutch was on the two being something akin to brothers (brothers!?). John never had a brother, and he doesn't need Arthur to fill that gap now.
Besides — what Arthur lacks in character, the other three make up for, so why should he get along with him?
It's around 3am, and John knows he really should be sleeping right about now, even though he doesn't go to school — but, it's the middle of summer, so even if he did he would be on break, so technically he doesn't have to be in bed.
But Hosea says he's too young to stay awake at this time (even though it's not like John goes to sleep when he should, and John doesn't think 12 years old is that young), it was something about how they let Arthur stay up too late when he was around John's age, and now he has insomnia because of the lacking sleep schedule.
Arthur says it don't work like that, and in John's opinion — he doesn't give a damn. It's why he ignores Arthur's unwanted input (even when the conversation at hand is about the older man's experience.)
Still — he's awake when he should've been sleeping about 5 hours ago, and because of that; he hears the retched sound that comes with throwing up, the toilet flushes, water splashes and repeat.
It's getting on John's damn nerves, if he's allowed to be honest. He's got no reason to be awake at this ungodly hour — let alone anybody else. The light in the bathroom spills from the cracked door and into john's room, it's added annoyance, a reminder that he's stuck here for as long as the cycle in the bathroom continues.
The light flickers off, and John sighs in rejoice, an easy smile on his face, getting comfortable in the bed to try his best at a chance at sleep, even if it's getting closer to 4am, John figures he might as well try.
His eyes close, and he's dozing off when all of a sudden the light is flickered on again, the sound of the toilet cover slamming open, just for John to hear dry heaving only seconds later.
He groans at that, tossing the cover away from his body while vile curses leave his lips — things he shouldn't be saying at this age — and yet — still is, just cause he's being raised by men that cuss like it's apart of the air they breathe.
John's storming to the bathroom with annoyance that can't be contained, especially for someone his size. He's at the door when he notices it's not completely closed — a mistake on Morgan's part, John realizes. He freezes in his tracks, no clue if it's even a good idea to storm into Arthur's personal space like that.
It's not that John cares — he just doesn't feel like being yelled at for his lack of.
Marston takes a deep breath, steadying himself to take a peak through the ajar door, only to know if he should continue with his plan or to leave it in it's very tracks.
Taking a deep breath and leaning in, what John sees makes his heart drop while the color in his face drains, leaving him pale from shock.
Arthur's hurled over, holding onto himself as a hand grips at the toilet bowl, knuckles whitened from the sheer force of it. He's shaking like a leaf, forehead slicked with sweat and cheeks wet from what John can only assume is tears. He's never seen arthur cry, the thought dawns on him with discomfort.
Arthur doesn't seem like he's breathing easily — John's not sure if it's because of his stomach bug, or because of something else entirely. Marston knows Arthur has panic attacks, he's just never seen it for himself — the only reason he even knows of their occurrence because of Hosea's light teasing at Arthur for having them. Pointing it out when Morgan has to do something anxiety inducing.
John watches a little longer, feet seemly glued to the ground he stands on, his eyes stuck on the scene for longer than he wishes them to be.
He thinks about getting Hosea — maybe even Dutch to help arthur out. Because, even if John hates Morgan's guts, he'd still feel guilty if the older man died from the lack of air, knowing he could've done something to prevent it.
He shakes his head, clearing his jumbled thoughts, turning away quickly to go back to sleep because John figures Arthur wouldn't want help. knowing he'd chew John out if Hosea, Dutch or Ms. Grimshaw saw him puking his guts out in the middle of the night. He knows he wasn't even supposed to see arthur in this state, anyways.
But as soon as John makes his move to leave, the heal of his foot bumps into the door, revealing Marston as it creaks wide open. Arthur's head snaps at the sound, and before John can explain himself, Morgan's growling out his name like he's about to murder John in cold blood.
The scot feels something akin to fear light in his stomach when his head whips back at the sound of Arthur's cutting voice, but it all drains away when Morgan shudders, dipping his head into the toilet bowl to vomit again. John stands there like an idiot, arms at the side as he's now free to watch Arthur's suffering.
the brown haired man groans, ignoring john in favor of resting his head on folded arms the minute he's done emptying his guts out, john hangs around when he knows he really shouldn't, letting the awkward silence fill the air.
Arthur lifts his head up, propping it to be able to look at the kid proper. "How long have you been here?" he grunts, Marston looks away at that, cheeks heating up in shame.
"John." quick and sharp, his ears pick up the irritation that laces Arthur's voice like poison, in reaction: John cuts in with his own venom. "What do you want you ass?" he hisses, pouting with a roll of his eyes.
Almost immediately, John feels bad for treating Arthur that way, knows it ain't right — especially not now, and if Dutch were here he'd scold his ear clean off for how he's acting, but he can't help his reaction to Arthur — seems like the older man's in the same boat as John is, anyways.
"I asked you a question, you gonna answer me or ya' gonna keep actin' like a little shit?" he growls, pinching his eyes close to steady himself from blowing his lid at the 12 year old. John just shrugs.
it's probably the wrong thing to do, but arthur doesn't press further. john's eyes trail silently, attempting to look at arthur without it being obvious. he can tell he's in his head right now, and john hesitates saying something to him — least he want's to ruin his chance at a proper look.
He's got a better view this way, and like this, John can see the bruise blossoming on Arthur's right cheek, purple and splotchy. Makes the scot cringe at just a glance, Arthur's eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and he looks bone tired.
John ain't stupid. He just — kinda hoped it weren't true. He's seen Arthur with those markings — He's sure Hosea ain't that oblivious to it either, but then again, John cant be sure — Arthur hides it well enough, and Dutch can fool even the smartest of con men, he supposes Matthews isn't an exception.
He knew better than to go with these random men — John just didn't have much of a choice, really. It was this or the noose, and Marston figured he'd have a better chance with them than he did with the Devil in hell.
John closes the door with a soft click, walking over to Arthur, sitting down next to Morgan even when his body stiffens. John knows Hosea would be preferable — hell — he's sure Dutch would be a better fit to help. Even if John has a strong feeling he's the reason Arthur's in this situation right now. But John's the only one awake right now, so it'll have to do.
Marston fights back his urge to ask about what happened, Arthur's clearly in no mood to speak about it, though. He's chewing the inside of his mouth, picking at the skin of his fingers, a bag of nerves when he realizes he's pretty damn useless at helping, to his disappointment. Sitting next to Arthur doesn't really help the way he had hoped it would, John focuses on listening to the 22 year old's breathing, lost in his head when —
"John," a breath, "It's late — you shouldn't even be awake at this time, let alone awake bein' all nosy about what i got goin' on. Go to sleep, i'll be fine." he mumbles, the kid shakes his head quickly. "I ain't leaving you, dumbass. I know it's late, you ain't exactly help me with all that damn noise you were fuckin' makin'." And — John doesn't register the blame he's placing until it's all said and done.
Arthur says nothing at that, and John tries to soften the blow quickly.
"I'll walk you to your room, or somethin', then I'll leave you alone. Deal?"
A beat, John takes to continuing picking at his fingers when Morgan doesn't take to his deal right away.
"I'm a grown man — I don't need little Johnny Marston protectin' me while I take my walk of shame to my room." John's head picks up at that, and he looks at Arthur with an expression he can't name. "I know that! It's just — fuck. I dunno. Just let me do this for once." he rasps pathetically.
Lame — but John can't give a better reason to the pit he's got in his stomach at seeing Arthur — whose practically unbreakable — so small and vulnerable.
With a click of his teeth, Arthur sighs with defeat, and — against everything John stands for — he smiles to himself, knowing what that means.
Arthur stands on shaky legs, John springs up to steady Morgan as if he's strong enough to pull Arthur up if he did fall.
"I gotta brush my teeth, mouth taste like death." he complains, trying his damnedest to get to the sink. Marston smacks Arthur in the back, the action making Morgan look at John with a ball of fire in his eyes, with John Marston standing in the center flame.
"The hell was that for!?" he spits, seconds away from strangling John here and now. "Like hell you are! Get yer ass in your damn room. You look like you'll fall over and die if you don't lay down."
Arthur snickers, ruffling John's greasy black hair like it was second nature, even if he'd never done it before. "You sound like Ms. Grimshaw." he points out, humor in his voice. "I'm serious!" John pouts, shoving Arthur towards the door, which makes him laugh openly now, "I'm going — I'm going. Jesus, kid! Yer gonna make me bust my ass!"
And — with the help of John's relentless shoving, and Arthur's natural gift of being an dickhead (Morgan makes it damn difficult, using all his weight to stop John from being able to shove him down the hall — worse part is he thinks it's the funniest thing in the world, John wants to yell at him for it, but he doesn't need any of the adults waking, so he takes to calling Arthur a "Fat-ass" in an annoyed, hushed voice.) They make it to Morgan's room in no time.
John swings the door wide open, doesn't bother to flick the light on when he directs Arthur to his own bed. He knows Morgan ain't gonna sleep easily, it's probably past 5am now, John figures they're both bone tired for different reasons.
John thinks about resigning to his own room, but he doesn't really wanna leave Arthur alone with his thoughts, he sees how often and easily Morgan gets stuck in that head of his. John figures arthur doesn't even know it's this late in the night, which only proves his point further.
Arthur's laying down at least, and his breathings gone completely normal, now — really, John doesn't need to stay, Arthur's a grown man, he can handle himself just fine without little Johnny Martson's help — how else has Arthur been able to pull himself together?
"I'll be back." John mumbles, leaving down the hall to grab the pillow from his own bed, tucking it between his arm-pit, racing down the hall to make it back into Morgan's room, where he finds Arthur's still awake, unfortunately. He's staring at the wall with dead eyes when he spots John's figure.
"What'chu doin', Marston?" Arthur groans, pulling himself back up to look at what the scot's getting up to.
John didn't really think this far ahead, he picks at the skin on his fingers, unusually quiet. Arthur sighs, spotting the pillow.
"John? c'mon — just say it, kid. you need to go to sleep —" John huffs, snapping out of his thoughts the longer Morgan spoke, "I ain't gonna just leave you like that! I just — I'm not stupid, Arthur. I can see your cheek. I wanna be there if he comes back." he tries to reason, and Arthur says nothing of it for a long while. John ain't even sure if he's heard him at some point as he sits through the weighing silence.
"Arthur? —" he starts, quickly cut off when Morgan decides he's not a fan with what Marston's about to say. "You're a kid, John. He ain't — you don't get it. It ain't what you're thinkin' it is."
That earns Morgan a frown hidden in the dark of the room, Arthur sighs, knowing that John wants to fight about this. But it's late, and they're both too tired for an argument. So he let's him win, just this once.
"Fine." he mumbles, John perks up at that, hesitant. "You ain't hear me, brat? I said fine, get yer ass up here before i kick you outta' my damn room." John nods wordlessly — soon realizing arthur probably didn't see it from the darkness that coats the bedroom in every inch. "Okay. Yeah." he sputters, scrambling onto the comfort of Arthur's bed quickly.
He sets the pillow down, laying it left of Arthur's spot, laying on his back, an uncomfortable and awkward position — it reminds John of the beginning, back when his room was used for storage and he had to sleep in Arthur's because he didn't trust none of the adults yet, and even if he rather be anywhere else, they insisted Arthur shared his room with the kid, just until he'd gotten his own.
Arthur moves, adjusting himself for John's comfort — even if he wouldn't admit that out loud. John relaxes, the only sounds in the room being the fan, and Arthur's breathing.
It's peaceful, and Marston feels his eyes grow heavy with sleep as the night drags on. He blinks a few times, fighting to stay awake to keep look out. Arthur, still awake, even though he had every reason not to be, John knows this because the brunette's breaths haven't evened out yet.
John yawns, eyes slit ajar, refusing to give into the lull of sleep, even if it's tempting. Arthur chuckles when Marston's head falls heavy on his shoulder, moving in closer, subconsciously seeking warmth.
With his cheek pressed snug, John lets his eyes fall close, 'only for a few seconds', he tells himself. But it's so hard to open his eyes back up once they've fallen shut, and he feels like he's floating on a damn cloud, and Arthur's so warm and the bed is so comfortable and he's a terrible little brother for allowing himself the luxury that he knows Arthur struggles with keeping, even though he told Morgan the only reason he'd be here is to keep an eye on him —
Arthur stirs, careful when he moves the head from his shoulder, John groans in protest, but doesn't stop him. He pulls him in, hugging lightly, just enough to keep the warmth between them.
John's ear against arthur's chest, hearing his heartbeat, rising and falling with every breath the older man takes — letting John know it'll be okay, even for a little bit, that he's got nothing to worry about, because his big brother's still here, and he's breathing fine, and maybe he doesn't hate him like he thought he did.
"G'night, John." Arthur speaks, voice dropping into a quiet hum.
John sleeps like a baby that night.