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Encased in staggering mountains blanketed by heaves of frosty white powder, the gang were at their wits’ end.
Food supply was scarce, Pearson scrounging up whatever scraps he could obtain to feed the women of the camp, the men left to fend for themselves. Admittedly, many of them did have the capabilities to hunt, but in the end abstained out of unadulterated laziness.
Hosea insisted that his own reasoning for staying at camp, instead of hunting like he really, honestly should, was reasonable. His old knees hardly helped him mount his horse, let alone allow him to trudge through those retched mountains. Everyone knew how his lungs would seize and fail him in a matter of moments, striking whenever he seemed to finally be at ease.
Frosty air flushed Hosea’s cheeks red, fingers rigid as he slid his hand against the other, friction warming up his palms. His last pair of gloves, knitted lovingly by Miss Grimshaw herself, were lost to young Jack who complained the whole journey into the mountains of cold hands. Abigail had chided the boy for forgetting his own gloves, but who could blame him? And, really, who could blame Hosea for giving into those puppy-dog eyes, rosy cheeks and full-body shudders almost concealed by the onslaught of layers most gang members contributed to.
As Hosea approached what seemed to be the most intact cabin out of the lot, Molly opened the door of said cabin with such ferocity that Hosea wouldn’t be shocked if steam came firing out from her ears. Her features etched into a caricature of frustration, frowning so deeply she ought to worry about wrinkling her pretty face.
“Molly?” Hosea called, worry donning the edges of his voice. “What’s wrong?”
Suddenly, Molly stopped, swivelled ‘round on her heels to burn holes into Hosea. “What’s wrong?” She repeated, her Irish accent a lot more coherent than usual. “You know what’s wrong, Hosea? Dutch is in a horrid mood and he’s just… He’s not talking to me! At all!”
Chapped lips pressed into a thin line, Hosea nodded – this ain’t his first rodeo, and it certainly won’t be his last. “Let me talk to him, dear girl.” He stepped forward, reaching his hand out to pat her shoulder gently. Closer, her eyes were glossy, brimmed with tears. One tear dropped, and Hosea instinctively wiped it away.
“Thank you,” Molly whispered, leaning into his touch for just a moment before shuffling away. For a moment, Molly must’ve imagined Dutch, with the smile that inched the corners of her pink lips upward appearing on her face.
Entering the cabin, the atmosphere could be cut with a knife. Quietude that wasn’t like the shared silence on their rides out together, but a fatal silence that urged Hosea to leave. The fireplace burnt away, embers of the flames fleeing from the pit and floating to the floor like snow. Warmth engulfed him, attracting him like a moth to flame - which was half right - but Hosea was here for one thing only.
Dutch.
Dutch, who sat hunched over on his bed, heaving. Body tensed, twitching; a hungry predatory look to him. When the floorboards creaked, his head snapped towards the suspect. His shoulders drooped. “Hosea.”
“When’s the last time you ate?” Hosea asked, firmly. Straight to business. He kept his boots on the floor, fixed on his current position. As much as he trusted Dutch, when he was starving, the man acted more on instinct than anything.
Knee bouncing in a steady, yet erratic manner, Dutch pondered for a long while. “I don’t remember,” he finally muttered, a sheepish crack gracing that final word. “I was doin’ fine, Hosea, I swear. Then, with Davey just– layin’ there on that table, blood all over the place… I gotta craving, Hosea. An urge. And it’s consuming me.”
Hosea hummed sympathetically, leaning against the doorframe. All he wanted to do was walk right over there, and hold Dutch in his arms, and assure him that everything would work out.
However, Hosea knew that time was running short. Already, Dutch acted on his impulses more often than not. He was a runaway train on the regular, chugging along the tracks of whichever direction he chose. His cravings turned him manic, that runaway train derailing to chug along its own man-made path.
“I don’t know what to do, old girl,” Dutch confessed, “Wild animals ain’t gonna do the trick and diggin’ up Davey to defile his body, after layin’ him to rest? I can’t do that!”
Above all, Dutch priorities lay with upkeeping his morals. Of course they did. That feeling of being morally superior to others was what kept Dutch driving. Hosea would be lying if he said his stubbornness didn’t downright piss him off. Although, Dutch’s own stubbornness was Hosea’s own driving factor.
Hosea spent most of his life devoted to Dutch. Devoted to keeping this crazy man safe and sound. Devoted to serving his many whims and fancies.
Tentatively, Hosea stepped forward. Shuffling off his coat, his waistcoat and scarf shortly follow. Through all of it, Dutch couldn’t keep his eyes off of him, examining his movements, brows furrowed, bemused. Eyes staying fixed as Hosea worked at the buttons of his shirt.
“Hosea?” Dutch whispered, hopelessly lost.
“This is a one time thing,” Hosea stated, closing what was left of the door behind him as he started forward. His shirt slipped from his shoulders to the floor as Hosea stood before his friend. This was not the most naked Dutch has seen him, yet Hosea couldn’t help that feeling of vulnerability, knowing what he was offering up.
Still, Dutch peered up at him from his bed, a loose curl falling down to his forehead. “What are you even talkin’ about? We’ve slept together before.”
At that, Hosea flushed, arms flying up to cover his chest. Dutch really had no idea. “Get your God damned head outta the gutter, you fool.” He cried, further contributing to Dutch’s confusion.
“Then spit it out already!” Dutch retorted, hissier than intended. When Hosea shot him a stern look, he uttered something resembling an apology. For a moment, Hosea reconsidered his proposition, the thought subsiding once he spotted the guilty expression playing at Dutch’s sharp features.
“I was just thinkin’,” Hosea started, rolling his shoulders back in a nervous gesture. “If it’s human blood you’re after, you could have some of mine.”
Immediately Dutch raised from where he was sat, head shaking profusely. “I can’t do that, Hosea, not to you.”
“Yes, you can, my friend, because I trust you not to be greedy,” Hosea said, with little doubt playing in his mind. It was honestly humiliating how much trust he put into this man; this impulsive, crazy man that could kill Hosea in the blink of an eye. Perhaps the thought that Dutch was a beast to be tamed, and Hosea always appeared to be the one to keep him in check.
“Trustin’ me makes you a God damn idiot, then,” Dutch snapped, liquid eyes squinted into Hosea’s own fleeting ones. The man had such a way of taking control – intimidating others when need be. The butterflies that emerged from that were shoved deep down. Not the time.
Hosea shook his head, trapped Dutch’s cheeks in the confinements of his calloused palms. His cheeks are frozen, however lacking that rosy tint to them Hosea knew from many years ago. Although, he supposed, being an undead vampire meant blood flow was essentially nonexistent. Many moons ago, Hosea could cup those cheeks and lean into the warmth of them. Many moons ago.
“I really don’t care what you think, Dutch,” Hosea responded, steady, “because my current priority, above all, is keeping our family safe. You hear me?”
Hesitant, Dutch nodded.
“So if gettin’ bitten means protecting everyone else, including you, I’ll do it,” Hosea finished dismissively, letting his hands fall down to his sides. Dutch chewed the inside of his cheek, brows knitted together.
Finally, he spoke up. “You’re sure about this?”
Hosea could only smile, twitchy, lopsided thing that could only fool Jack. “Positive.”
There was a good minute where neither of them moved, not an inch. In hindsight, they weren’t entirely sure what to do. This wasn’t like how Dutch usually acquired his food; it was typically done non consensually, where he would pounce and devour his game in no time. Alas, this was different. Hosea understood.
So, he made the first move. Turning around, knowing that if Dutch were to see his face it would make this much harder, he angled his shoulder towards his partner. He tapped lightly at the fleshy bridge between his neck and his shoulder, a place in which he was doubtful that any major injury could occur. Behind him, he can hear the rustling of Dutch nodding softly, then he leant down torturously slowly.
His palms settled on Hosea’s bare shoulders, not quite holding him in place but a motion made out of a desire to put him at ease. Tensing up won’t alleviate the pain he knew he was bound to feel for the next few minutes. Hence why Hosea eased into the man’s touch, taking a deep breath that washed a flash of peace over him only for it to disappear in an instant.
Soft lips press a chaste kiss to the decided spot, lingering before a hot breath flushed his skin. Just as Hosea found himself relaxing into the moment, a pair of pointed, sharp teeth dug right into his flesh, and an agonised yell slipped from the tip of his tongue. “Shit!”
His knees went wobbly, as they threatened to send him toppling to the floor, but Dutch’s hands slid down his arms to hold him securely upright. The hot sensation of Dutch’s breath trapped between his mouth and Hosea, bouncing back and forth as he sucks the blood out rapidly. Pain, like two tiny knives impaling him deeply, permeated throughout that portion of his body. Hosea wanted to flinch away, to run, to be anywhere but here. In his mind his thoughts were racing, filling up with panic. However, Hosea’s soft heart had him glued to the floor, sympathy getting the better of him. The bite pulled pained moans and whimpers from his throat, coming from his chest as he writhed beneath Dutch’s touch.
When Hosea figured enough time had passed, he called for Dutch, weakly. Tapped his hip, pushing him away. Despite his primal instincts, Dutch obeyed, lapping away some of the blood that had oozed from his wounds down his back. If circumstances were different, Hosea would’ve found it charming.
“How’re you feelin’, old girl?” Dutch asked, watching as Hosea collected his clothes and started on his buttons. Before Hosea could finish buttoning up his shirt, Dutch rushed over to do the rest of the work, urging the older man to sit down on his bed.
“I feel… odd,” Hosea responded, mind in a far away place as he peered past Dutch, over to the wall of the small room. “It’ll heal in no time.”
“You’re an odd man for lettin’ me do that, Hosea Matthews,” Dutch tried to joke, though his voice fell flat by the end of it. His eyes darted around the room like a rabbit’s, jumping from each button of Hosea’s shirt to his face, then back down again. “You’ve got a bruise formin’. I’m not sure I was entirely biting.”
“Like I said, it’ll heal,” Hosea murmured, a little huffier than he’d meant. He chalked it up to being tired. “All that matters is that you’re fed and you ain’t gonna eat anybody else.”
After putting on Hosea’s coat, Dutch settled down beside him, their shoulders brushing. He angled his body toward Hosea, hand on the other’s knee. Solemnly, he promised, “I won’t be hurtin’ anyone. You have my word.”
Hosea managed a smile, cupping his friend’s cheek in his hand. “Now: would you find me a bandage? I wouldn’t want this to get infected.
Almost instantly, Dutch jumped up, nodding profusely, “of course, whatever you need.” Putting on his own coat, he ran to the door before looking back.
“Thank you, Hosea,” he said, smiling. “I appreciate you.”
“I know you do,” was all Hosea replied with.
And with that, Dutch rushed away.