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Arthur watched the sunrise with exhausted eyes. For the last month he’d barely slept more than a few hours at a time, catching naps outside of camp, or a few hours in the pup tent Hosea and Dutch had given him. The nightmares had been bad, his paranoia worse.
At first he thought the kindness had clearly been a ruse; something to get his guard down so they could do whatever it was they planned to do. He’d heard stories of some of the things men did to young boys, he kept that in the back of his mind with every meal they shared; waited for the ultimatum; for them to use their kindness and generosity against him. The hunting knife he hid in his boot was for just such occasions.
But one week turned into two, then into three, and soon a month passed. After the first week, he began to suspect that maybe they weren’t perverts after all. This didn’t come as a total relief though, because it meant they wanted something else, and he just didn’t know what it was yet. Anxiety built with every meal bought; every new article of clothing they tried to gift him; every time he fucked up and they didn’t beat him for it.
His daddy kept him around as some unspoken obligation to his dead Ma. That, and Arthur made for a good punching bag. Sure, when Arthur was small he could reach in places grown men couldn’t, was easy not to notice when pickpocketing, but ultimately his daddy kept him around because he was easy to hit.
Sometimes it was Arthur’s fault; letting the fire die out, moving too fast, not moving fast enough, tearing a shirt, being hungry, being thirsty, looking at something in the distance, looking at his father. A lot of the time it wasn’t; a job went bad, they ran out of whiskey, a working girl made some snide comment, someone looked at him the wrong way, a train whistle woke him up.
Dutch and Hosea though? When Arthur let the fire die out, he expected the hit, but it never came. When he snuck an extra can of peaches, he expected a smack, again, it didn’t come. When he woke the whole camp up screaming from a nightmare, incidentally of his father giving him a thrashing that time a train woke him up from a nap, he expected to finally, finally get the beating he was so sure was coming.
Instead Dutch and Hosea looked at him in that way he was starting to hate, this pitying look that made Arthur’s skin crawl. His father would throw pitying glances at him when he beat him too hard, nearly to death on a couple of occasions, and he’d act all sweet for a few days while Arthur healed. Shame it never lasted for very long, and that pity always left a sour taste in Arthur’s mouth.
Dutch and Hosea’s calm, level minded reactions to Arthur’s transgressions didn’t put his mind at ease though. It didn’t bring him any relief when they didn’t hit him, or grow angry, even when they had every right to be, because surely, surely there were limits to their calm demeanors. Boundaries that if crossed, would explode with rage and violence. There had to be, Arthur would console himself. There had to be, and he just needed to figure them out, sooner rather than later.
Because if they didn’t want to hurt him, then…then he didn’t know what they wanted. Because it couldn’t be what it seemed, this fairy tale level miracle happening to him, of two men wanting to help him out because they could, because they wanted too. Shit like that didn’t happen to kids like him, and he knew if he waited long enough, eventually the other shoe would drop. It always did.
Dutch had the suspicion that this kid may be…scared of them? That first week the kid definitely thought they were gonna do something awful to him, he watched them with (bruised) hawke-like eyes from under the brim of that gambler’s hat that was too big for him. He kept a few feet of distance between him and them at all times, and if they got too close the kid would visibly tense up, as if preparing to strike. Or take a hit.
In retrospect, it was really luck and the fact that the kid was half conscious from the beating he had taken behind the saloon that Dutch was able to convince him to come back to camp. The kid must've gotten his bell rung pretty good, cause Dutch just kind of steered him to his horse, promising a warm meal, an extra bed roll, and some medical attention and the kid complied disorientedly.
The next morning though, the kid was a little more lucid, watching him and Hosea with cold eyes, flinching at every sudden movement or noise that was just a little too loud. They hadn’t gotten much out of him the night before, other than his name was Jim Callahan (two weeks later the kid would confess that wasn’t his real name) and no he didn’t have any family they could take him too.
Kid was such a pitiful sight that Hosea, who had been adamant that they couldn’t keep a kid around, that Dutch’s idea of a protégé was outlandish and stupid, felt compelled to try and get him to stick around for a few more days at least. The kid was skin and bones (and bruises), surely it was only reasonable to try and put some meat on those bones before sending him back to the wolves.
But by the time the second week passed, Dutch and Hosea found it increasingly difficult to just throw the kid out. For all his bluster, general hostility, distrustfulness, and tendency to be a little shit, Dutch found himself liking this Arthur Morgan. Under that prickly exterior, they caught glimpses of what they thought might be a sweet kid under the surface.
One morning Hosea nudged Dutch awake, holding a finger to his lips to signify that Dutch needed to be quiet then pointed towards the outside of the tent, to where the horses were.
That's when the low voice of the kid drifted to his ears and he and Hosea cautiously peaked their heads out the tent. Arthur stood where the horses were hitched, Zeus lipping at the food in Arthur’s flat palm while Lucky Penny sniffed his hair. The kid giggled, gently pulling away when she started to lip at the straw colored strands, Yous already got some, hold on-
One time in town Arthur disappeared for a while, which wasn’t unusual, except Dutch spotted him by accident in an alley, crouched down and holding his hand out to a flea bitten dog. Hosea sidled up to him and Dutch nodded towards Arthur, and they watched as the mangy, nervous dog sniffed his hand, anxiously wagging his tail while Arthur cooed to him softly. After Arthur finally managed to pet the mangy beast did they make their presence known, the kid jumping so hard that the dog yelped and bolted and the kid visibly paled as he straightened up, looking terrified before covering it with a scowl.
It broke his heart, how the kid clearly thought he’d be in trouble for…petting a dog? It burned Dutch up to think some mean bastard must have terrorized that kid for some time for him to be so…damaged and terrified all the time. And damn it, if Dutch was gonna throw that kid back to the wolves who beat him and threw him away like trash. Hosea seemed to feel the same way, though he was a little less forthcoming about it, because he still didn’t think keeping a kid around was a good idea.
So when they finally packed up camp they wordlessly agreed to take the kid with them. Dutch wouldn’t forget how confused the kid looked when Dutch beckoned him over to Zeus.
“Aren’t you coming, son?” The “Ain’t your son.” was muttered halfheartedly, nearly forgotten, as the kid dazedly took Dutch’s hand to pull him up on the horse.
Some of that timidness eased up, not a lot, but enough for them to get an idea of what this kid was made of. Arthur had spark, sure he was nervous and flighty like a deer sometimes, but he could also be ballsy, stealing and pushing back against reading lessons, the basic (and really bare minimum) parenting Dutch and Hosea tried to implement after a couple of weeks. He didn’t take kindly to folks telling him what to do (which was mostly just Dutch and Hosea trying to get the kid to stop behaving like a street rat and more like a regular kid). And boy, did that kid have a temper.
He’s testing them, Hosea would say, knowingly, as if he had kids of his own. Figuring out their boundaries. Their limits.
That was the other thing. In recent weeks, it was almost like the kid wanted them to hit him, he’d mouth off, break something, openly disobey, then steel himself, flinching if they so much as looked at him too quickly. Then look confused, and maybe a little angry when they didn’t raise a hand, or voices at him, brow furrowing and lips pulling into a scowl.
Odd behavior indeed.
Hosea woke at some odd hour in the night, unsure why, though he had a hunch. Sighing and scrubbing a hand over his face, he quietly left his and Dutch’s tent.
The boy, as he suspected, sat by the fire, knees pulled to his chest, watching the smoldering flames with dreary, exhausted eyes.
The kid had nightmares, that they knew for a fact. Those first few weeks he and Dutch had been woken several times by the kid crying out in his sleep. Scared the hell out of them that first time, they thought somebody was in the damn camp, and in retrospect it was incredibly stupid to burst into the kids tent, pistols drawn and eyes wild.
The look of visceral terror on the kids face at both the sight of them and being cornered in his tent by them was not a look Hosea would be able to forget anytime soon.
Recently though, the kid hadn’t been making much noise in the night, though Hosea could tell he was still having nightmares. The kid had bags under his eyes that were so dark they looked like bruises, and a couple of times now he and Dutch had found the kid had fallen asleep in random places.
Just the other night the kid had fallen asleep while sitting around the fire with them, they didn’t notice until the sound of a faint snore pulled their attention from their conversation. He had his elbow on his knee, and his head resting on his hand, softly snoring, but as soon as the conversation came to a stop the kid stirred, blinking blearily at them.
“Can’t sleep either?” Hosea said softly, crouching to stoke the fire.
The kid tore his tired eyes from the embers to Hosea before giving him a curt nod. Hosea sighed, knees cracking as he stood back up.
“Well, I’m gonna make some tea, want some?”
The kid shook his head but Hosea made enough for him anyways, putting an extra spoonful of honey in for him. When he held out the tin cup to the kid, a pair of surprised and tired eyes stared back at him.
“Here kid, you look exhausted, this will help you sleep.”
The kid took the cup but only took a small sip before returning to his thousand yard stare into the fire. Hosea sighed. The kid watched him out of the corner of his eye as Hosea licked his lips, carefully trying to think of what to say.
“You wanna talk about them?” Hosea asked softly. The kid turned his head, brow furrowed.
“Talk about what?”
“The nightmares, kid.”
“Oh.” Arthur answered then shrugged, shaking his head. “Nah.”
Hosea barely refrained from rolling his eyes.
“Kid, you gotta give an us some idea on what's going through your-”
“Why do you and Dutch keep me around?” The kid blurted.
Hosea opened his mouth, a little taken aback, words having abandoned him.
The kid nervously picked at a hangnail, unable to look at Hosea.
“My daddy only kept me around cause it’s what my Ma would have wanted.”
Hosea still didn’t answer, barely daring to breathe as the kid finally opened up.
“And he…he only really kept me cause he liked having something to be angry at. So he kept me ‘round. But you don’t hit me, and you don’t owe anything to my Ma.” The kid finally looked at him, eyes moist and so, so tired looking.
“So why the hell do you two keep me ‘round?”
Hosea blinked, finally shaking off the brief shock that had taken over him.
“Cause we like you kid. Sure at first, it was just cause we wanted to help you, but we’re way past that now. You ain’t noticed how you fit in like a puzzle piece?”
The kid’s brow furrowed again as he shook his head.
“See, me and Dutch ain’t know it when we met you, but we really needed another person. We ain’t know it till we found you, but it turns out that missing piece was a 14 year old pickpocket who let us call him Jim Callahan for two weeks.”
Arthur snorted, scrubbing his hand over his eyes, hastily wiping away tears before they could fall.
He shot a shy glance at Hosea, leveling him with a thoughtful but hard gaze.
“That’s it? That’s all you wanted, is another set of hands?”
“Sure, but also cause we just like having you around. Why, what did you think we were keeping you around for?”
The kid shrugged, taking another small sip of now lukewarm tea.
“Thought you was perverts, at first.” The kid answered finally, a nonchalant muttering that barely made it to Hosea’s ears. Hosea’s jaw dropped, again.
“You thought- why the hell did you hang around if you we was perverts?” Hosea spluttered. The kid shrugged again.
“Kept giving me free food, figured I’d just fight you off when the time came.” The kid said nonchalantly.
Hosea sat there, slack jawed.
“Well that does it then.” He said and the kid's head snapped up, looking at him in alarm once again. “You have to stay with us now, can’t you have you hanging around camps full of perverts in hopes for a hot meal for chrissakes.”
There was a moment where they both looked at each other, straight faced and serious, before they both broke into fits of giggles.
It was absolutely not funny, the reality of Arthur’s life but they were both exhausted and something about the fact that they were trying to keep quiet as not to wake Dutch made it so much harder to stop giggling.
Arthur was wiping tears from his eyes, though completely different from the ones from earlier and Hosea was trying so hard to stifle his laughter when Dutch sleepily poked his head out the tent.
“The hell’s going on here?” He slurred, blinking sleepily at the two of them.
“Nothing.” Hosea dismissed, trying to keep his composure. “Go back to bed.” Dutch didn’t need to be told twice and as soon as Dutch retreated and Hosea turned to face Arthur again they both immediately broke into laughter all over again.
When Dutch emerges from his tent the next morning, he will find that after the laughter had finally died down, Hosea had opted to teach Arthur about the constellations. Sitting side by side, Hosea started pointing out stars, but between the general exhaustion and calming tea, Hosea soon felt a warm weight against his shoulder. The kid had fallen asleep on him, and while he was sure he’d be sore as hell in the morning, he couldn’t bear to move and wake the boy up. So Dutch finds them, side by side, heads resting against each other, fast asleep in the soft morning light.