Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a normal errand at first. Charles and Arthur had gone hunting not even a half mile from camp, leaving their horses so they could be as quiet as possible. Soon, they came across a small herd of mule deer, and they crouched in the brush to observe a buck from afar. Charles had his hand on Arthur’s back, talking to him quietly as Arthur nocked the arrow. Arthur was focusing mostly on steadying his breathing, though his thoughts strayed to the hand on his back a little too often. His hand started shaking as he drew the arrow toward his cheek, and Charles placed his hand on Arthur’s trembling one.

“Stay calm, deer can sense your shaking from miles away.” Charles’s chuckle was hot against his ear, only sending another tremble through Arthur’s hands. He lowered the bow and turned his head to look at Charles. He was smiling, with his smooth skin and soft lips and gentle eyes, and Arthur suddenly had to hold his breath. The urge to kiss one of his best friends overwhelmed him, making him start shaking again. Charles took the bow from Arthur’s weak hands, shifting to face him. “You okay?”

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and forced a shaky smile. “‘Course, just feelin’ a little cold.” He reached for the bow once more, determined to shoot the still grazing deer, and Charles watched him for a moment before handing it over.

“You’re sweating, but I trust you,” Charles murmured, still too close for comfort. Arthur re-nocked the arrow, drew back, and—Charles’s hand was on the small of his back again—panicked. He let go of the arrow just as he jerked his arms down, and fire erupted in his foot.

“God DAMN!” He yelled, letting the bow fall to the ground next to his feet, one of which had an arrow sticking out of it.

“Damn,” Charles whispered before using both of his hands to steady Arthur’s shoulders. “Don’t look at it.” He moved one hand to bring Arthur’s chin up, which only made Arthur panic more. “Calm down, Arthur.” He was so close, too close, and Arthur was suddenly less concerned with the arrow that he had gotten lodged in himself than he was with how flustered he felt.

“Little hard to do, Charles,” he forced out, trying to back away to create some space between them.

“Don’t you dare try to walk on that, Morgan.” Charles’s voice dropped, his hand tightening on Arthur’s chin. Arthur felt a little ashamed for finding that hot. His thought was cut off by Charles letting him go. “Let me take it out, it’ll bleed but that’s better than trying to move with it in there before we can get Strauss and Hosea to look at it.”

“Thought you weren’t supposed to take things out if they’ve stabbed you,” Arthur said, already starting to resign himself to his fate despite his arguing.

“Not this time,” Charles said, slowly crouching to examine Arthur’s foot.  

“Well, I trust you.”

“Good.” Charles paused for a moment like he was pondering something, before taking off his belt. He held it up to Arthur, who looked at it like it was the very last thing he was ever going to see. “Take this, and bite it. This is going to hurt.”

“Shit.” Arthur took a deep breath and bit down on the belt as he felt Charles place one hand around the base of the arrow.

“On three, alright?” Charles’s voice was kind even as he was about to cause Arthur some of what they both knew would be one of the most immense pains of his life. Sure, Arthur had been beaten within near an inch of his life, he had been shot, stabbed, you name it, but he had never had to pull an arrow backwards out of one of the more sensitive parts of his body: the inside of his foot. Knowing from experience, arrows don’t want to just come out. As he was thinking this over, Charles’s voice, almost disconnected from Arthur’s consciousness now, said “three” as he yanked on the arrow, and Arthur screamed. Everything went black for a second, then Charles was pulling off Arthur’s boot with the most care that Arthur had ever been shown in all thirty-six years of his life, and the severity of the situation seemed to diminish. He heaved in a shaky breath, the pain getting less intense, and snuck a look back down at Charles. He was taking off his shirt, and Arthur almost had time to ask what he was doing before he started to slide it under Arthur’s foot as a compress. He tied it tight, earning a muffled yelp from Arthur, before getting back to his feet. He was bare chested, with just the bow slung across his chest, and Arthur had to avert his eyes to avoid getting himself all flustered again.

“Sorry,” he said, licking his lips as his heart thundered in his ears.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re the one hurt.” Charles reached out a hand to rest on Arthur’s arm, but he stopped just short. “Let’s get back to camp.”

He abruptly grabbed Arthur around the waist with one arm and hoisted him onto his shoulder as easily as he would with a goddamn rucksack. Equally surprised by Charles’s action and how effortlessly he did it, he went beet red.

“You okay?” Charles asked, holding Arthur around the thighs with one arm.

“Yeah," he lied, before adding a truth: "just feel like a sack of potatoes." 

Charles chuckled, slowly starting to walk back to camp. “Do you like feeling like a sack of potatoes?”

Arthur went, if it was possible, even redder. “Don’t know yet, this is my first time.”

He chuckled again, patting his free hand jovially against Arthur’s leg. “Prefer bridal style?”

“Charles, I ain’t been carried in any way, shape, or form since I was a kid,” he responded.

He stopped dead in his tracks, and though he was swinging slightly, Arthur could make out the edge of camp just beyond some trees. “Really?” Charles asked.

“Really.”

“But you’re always picking everyone else up,” he said.

“Doesn’t mean I get picked up in return.”

Charles continued walking. “Huh.”

“To be honest Charles, you may be the only person in camp who can pick me up,” Arthur said, though he was growing more flustered by the moment. He wanted to get to camp, put bandages on his foot, then never talk to anyone ever again.

“Huh,” he repeated, just as they entered camp. Arthur heard voices immediately, everyone apparently already starting to wonder what had happened. He groaned, and though he didn’t hear Charles laugh, he could feel it rumbling in his chest.

“Charles, what happened?” Hosea’s was the first voice that Arthur could make out, and he was glad that it was the man he viewed as a father rather than just about anyone else.

“Someone shot Arthur, but they had really bad aim. Got an arrow in his foot.” Charles lied seamlessly, and that both relieved and embarrassed Arthur. Would he and Charles be the only ones to know about what really happened? Damn it.

“Take him over here,” Hosea said, and suddenly Charles was walking, carrying Arthur over to what he presumed was Hosea’s tent. He was rather gently set onto a table, and his leg was hoisted into the air, something that Arthur couldn’t see holding it up. Charles moved into Arthur’s line of sight, smiling at him.

“You good, cowboy?” He leaned over Arthur, still shirtless, and Arthur couldn’t control his blush.

“Yeah, thanks to you,” he said. Charles patted him on the shoulder and walked away, John taking his place.

“Who did this?” He hissed, gun already in his hand.

Charles appeared again, taking the question before Arthur could unravel the single lie that they told. “Probably a Lemoyne Raider, didn’t see him too well. He rode off on his horse as soon as he saw he missed anything vital.”

John visibly simmered down, trying to subtly re-holster his pistol. “Alright,” he muttered. “Good thing we killed a lot those fuckers already.” He left Arthur’s side, as did Charles, but only after sharing a subtle wink.

Arthur thought he was going to die.

After declaring that there was no damage to the bone, and that Arthur should take it easy for a few weeks, Hosea wrapped his foot and dismissed him. A pair of crude crutches that Mac had used years before were leaned against the table, and Arthur took them begrudgingly. Charles appeared at his side as soon as he was standing, and though he didn’t try to help him walk, he was still standing awfully close.

“Lemoyne Raider, you shot a deer he was going for, when we went to get it he shot you and took our deer.”

It took a moment for Arthur to process that Charles was filling him in on the rest of the lie, but as soon as he realized, he grinned. “Charles, you really got my back.”

“Always, Arthur.”

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, Arthur spent a lot of time sitting around camp. It wasn’t like he had much else to do, but he didn’t want to just lay in his bed like a corpse, so he sat by the fire and used the cursed bow to shoot rabbits and birds that got a little too close. Pearson enjoyed the extra ingredients for stew, and everyone else couldn’t complain that he wasn’t working, because he was still hauling in more game than they were, even if it was all small. Charles sat with him a lot, smoking a cigarette and talking about tracking methods. Arthur clung to every word, even if he didn’t truly understand tracking enough to get what Charles was saying.

“Once you’re back moving, I’ll show you what I’m talking about,” Charles said one day, flicking the butt of his cigarette at the fire.

“I’d love that,” Arthur responded a little too enthusiastically, too full of nervous energy to filter his words and tone.

But Charles didn’t seem to mind. “Glad you’re excited,” he replied, a smile gracing his perfect lips.

By the end of the first week, Arthur was walking around without the crutches, albeit with a limp. He still sat by the fire a lot, unable to use his stirrups while riding. Charles offered to teach him how to ride bareback once he found out about that, but using his heels was still too painful, even when he had help getting both on and off of the horse, so he passed on a second lesson until he was better. Days passed slowly, but the trek back to his bed became a little less painful every night. Knowing he would have a limp for months, Arthur focused mainly on finding ways to walk that seemed natural but kept the minimum amount of pressure on of his arch. Hosea even offered to get him a cane at one point, but Arthur just laughed.

“I’m not old, old man.”

Hosea stared at him. “What if it was one of those canes that has a sword in the bottom?”

Arthur went silent. “Those actually exist?”

“Of course, I almost got filleted with one once!” Hosea chuckled, standing up and bidding Arthur farewell before he could ask many more questions.

It seemed like camp was frozen while he was down. No one planned robberies, no one fought, no one talked about getting away from the East. Just silence. Silence and sympathetic stares. It made his skin crawl.

Then, someone finally decided to throw a party. Everyone was drinking. Sean was singing, Dutch and Hosea were dancing, and Charles was sitting just outside of the glow of the flames, sharpening his hunting knife. Arthur wanted to go over to him, keep him from looking so lonely, but he was starting to get drowsy, and he wasn’t quite sure he’d make it to the other side without sticking his foot in the fire. Besides, he could feel the alcohol in his blood, and he knew that good decisions would not be made if he tried to talk to Charles while wasted.

Within minutes, he fell asleep, eyes on Charles until the moment they closed.

When he woke, he was being carried. Again. This time, though, he was draped across someone’s arms rather than over their shoulder, which admittedly did feel nicer. He glanced up to see who was responsible, and he kicked himself for not realizing before that it could not be anyone but Charles. He shifted in Charles’s arms, sleep trying to reclaim him, as Charles took gentle, deliberate steps toward Arthur’s tent. They were there before Arthur knew any different, but he wasn’t ready to be let go. With the moonshine just starting to leave his system and his consciousness still half asleep, he clutched at Charles’s arm with his own as soon as he started to lower Arthur to the mattress. Finding that Arthur was clinging to him, Charles leaned further down, finally getting Arthur to fall to the bed with a sigh. But a hand caught him at the elbow, and Arthur’s half-lidded eyes blinked up at him.

“Stay for the night?” He slurred, sending Charles’s heart racing.

He said nothing, just kicked off his shoes and slid under the blanket next to Arthur.

“I like you a lot, you know,” Arthur said, leaning in close and wrapping his arm around Charles. His skin was hot to the touch, and with the amount of it pressed against Charles in that moment, he was surprised that he wasn’t already sweating.

“I know,” Charles finally murmured. Arthur started snoring almost immediately after. Charles chuckled to himself and closed his eyes, feeling every single one of Arthur’s breaths against his neck.

When Arthur woke in the morning, he had no memory of the night before. But he could tell he was in bed, which meant that he had gotten into bed somehow. He opened his eyes and about jumped out of his skin. Charles lay next to him, one arm under Arthur’s neck and the other on his own chest. Arthur almost screamed.

“Charles,” he whispered, removing one hand from Charles’s waist to poke him. “Charles.”

The larger man stirred next to him, pulling his arm out from under Arthur and rubbing his eyes. “Good morning,” he murmured. Noticing the panic in Arthur’s eyes, he held out his hands. “Nothing happened, I promise.”

Arthur sighed in relief and flopped back against the pillows. “Then what did happen?” He looked at Charles out of the corner of his eye, too aware of the redness creeping onto his face.

“You got wasted,” he started, and Arthur nodded. “You fell asleep.” Arthur remembered that part too, he remembered the warmth of the fire and the fire in his heart lulling him into tender dreams of the man he was falling fast for. Charles continued, ripping Arthur from the memory of his dream. “I carried you over here, then you asked me to stay the night with you.” He shrugged, propping his head up with his hand, elbow resting on the pillow next to Arthur’s head.

“Nothing else?” Arthur asked, his stomach churning.

“Nothing important.” Charles seemed so nonchalant that it physically calmed Arthur down. Maybe he hadn’t made a fool of himself. He let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Sorry about that,” he said after a moment. “Drunk, half-asleep me isn’t exactly the most logical.”

“You shot yourself in the foot two weeks ago while you were sober and wide awake. I think it might just be you, Arthur.” He grinned as he leaned in closer, and Arthur’s heart started to race again as he remembered that they were laying in bed together.

“No, that was a Lemoyne Raider,” he said in a futile attempt to push away the thoughts he was having about Charles.

Charles hummed. “Yes, of course.” The sun started to creep over the horizon behind the larger man’s body, and Arthur was filled with apprehensiveness in place of the nervous warmth.

“We’d better get up,” he whispered, his face still just inches away from Charles. “We don’t want everyone assuming things about us.” Though I wouldn’t mind if they did was dropped from the end of that statement due to Arthur’s better judgement.

“Of course,” Charles replied, starting to push the blanket off of himself. “One last thing, though.”

Arthur looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“I really like you, you know,” Charles said, so quietly that Arthur would’ve missed it if his heart was beating just a little bit louder. He cupped Arthur’s face in one hand, pulling him up as he leaned down until their lips met. The kiss was gentle, but Arthur felt like he was burning up inside. All of those feelings that he’d been holding inside had been reciprocated. What an absolute miracle. He moved his hands to hold the side of Charles’s face as they kissed slowly, sweetly, so very tenderly that Arthur thought he was going to melt on the spot.

When they pulled away, Arthur couldn’t believe that it had happened. “I confessed to you last night, then?” He asked, earning a chuckle.

“Your drunk, half-asleep self may not be logical, but he’s honest, and that’s all I ask.” Charles smiled down at him, the sunrise giving him the illusion of a halo.

“I may have to kiss you again, just for sayin’ that.”

“You’d better.”