Chapter Text
Beatrice was a wonderful woman who did her best to give her son a wonderful life. In the end, it never worked. She loved her boy more than anything, and they both knew it. The end of her life might as well have been the end of Arthur’s. Her death would lead to his, in a way.
“I love you, sweet baby.” She hummed softly, her voice hoarse from a night of yelling. She rocked in a soothing motion, cradling Arthur in her lap. Despite being a big boy, he fit perfectly there. She always had enough room for him.
“Love you too, Mama.” Arthur murmured back. Arthur had spent the entire night cowering while his parents argued. All he could hear was shattering glass and hoarse yelling. The noise rattled in a way that hurt his skull and scrambled his young brain.
Beatrice had spent the entire night fighting Lyle while making sure that her son came to no harm. Her voice was mighty and unyielding, nothing like Arthur normally heard from her, the sound reserved for these nights.
Lyle’s voice was cold and loud and full of rage on these nights. His voice haunted Arthur through childhood and beyond.
Mercifully, the bastard would always be defeated by exhaustion and alcohol, and Beatrice was able to gather her shaken son when the dust settled.
The night had started to pale into dawn, painting the world a pastel blue. The breeze ran through the brown hair of both mother and son. Wildflowers surrounded them.
“I love the blue ones.” Mama whispered, not daring to be louder than their surroundings, gentle on deafened ears. She pointed to a blue flower, squeezing her son and grinning at him.
A small hand plucked the flower from the ground.
“Me too!” Arthur whispered back, the faintest hint of a smile in his eyes.
Mama allowed herself a chuckle. After the night they had, that chuckle may as well have filled their world with magic.
“You’ll always be mine. I’ve always got you.” She promised, kissing the top of his head. She never meant for that promise to be empty.
Arthur nuzzled her shoulder, holding the flower stem in his loose fist.
“This one’s for you, Mama.” He insisted.
He lifted the flower into the air, presenting it to her with triumph. She accepted the flower with her worn yet graceful hands, only shaking a little bit. Mama shook sometimes these days.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful, just like you.” She beamed. She twirled the flower between her fingers as she admired it.
Arthur only knew of ugliness in his father’s behaviors. Lyle spat poison, but Beatrice sang kindness. She believed in a golden truth and her beauty was contagious. Arthur believed his mother even without knowing what her words meant, only knowing her love and intention. If Mama said Arthur was beautiful, then he was beautiful.
Their exhaustion started to feel like a warm sleepiness. This moment outshined the horrid night, as these moments always did. Arthur became a shattered child anyways.
“I’m tired but I’on want to sleep.” Arthur complained under his breath. He snuggled closer to Mama, watching as the fireflies went to rest. His eyes felt heavy.
“I know, baby. We can just be here right now. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Mama soothed.
You’re okay.
You’re okay.
The world was much safer back when Beatrice was alive. It only took a shotgun blast to remove her and all the good she could ever do again. Arthur loved her more than anything. If he ever saw her again, he’d be able to breathe a sigh of relief.
It’s a breath he won’t ever take.
Arthur opened his wet eyes to find the ceiling of the hotel room. He wanted to puke up the grief that sat in his stomach, hot and sour and twisting.
“Arthur. You’re dreamin’.” Charles warned softly. He tapped gentle fingers against Arthur’s sternum.
Arthur groaned as he sat upright, sleepily swatting Charles’s hand away. “Not anymore.”
Charles stared blankly, as he had a tendency to do sometimes. Tiredness tugged at his dark, heavy eyes as they scanned Arthur.
Arthur gazed at their environment, his heart heavy but his body lighter than it had been. Sometimes, dreaming about his mother almost felt like seeing her again.
It had to be about four in the morning, which explained their empty states of mind and the sleeplessness that cursed them both.
Arthur moved to rest on his side. He wiped tears and sleep out of his eyes. He allowed himself to stare, eyes following the outline of Charles’s face, tracing the bridge of his nose, and resting on his now closed eyes.
“Stay awake a few minutes. Let your head clear before falling back asleep.” Charles advised, not opening his eyes. This had become a routine conversation during their hotel stay.
Arthur grumbled and gestured at nothing in particular.
“Take five. You’ll be alright.” Charles asserted.
Arthur grumbled once more before pushing himself to sit upright. Despite how much he wanted to be unconscious, he knew that Charles was right. He’d only have more nightmares if he went to sleep while his face was still wet and his throat was still tight.
He couldn’t do anything but stare, forcing emptiness into his mind. He stared at the wood grain of the wall, at the lace of the curtains, at the foot of the bed… his eyes rested most comfortably on Charles.
He idly wondered how it would feel to graze his fingers down Charles’s nose and across a scarred cheek. He wondered what Charles’s stubble would feel like against his cheek. He wondered what it smelled like in the crook of Charles’s neck.
Their proximity was comfortable, their shared warmth trapped under a shared blanket. It felt nice to share instead of having things taken. They had enough comfort to spare for each other. He used to daydream about moments like this, back before…
He almost felt safe, except for the gnawing trauma in his head and the deep-rooted self disgust. There was always the inherent rottenness of his self and his desires within. He wanted more of Charles, more than Charles would ever want to give. Arthur shouldn’t want more of anyone, let alone another man. Loving someone only meant their demise or his pain.
Arthur heaved a deep sigh. He didn’t want to sleep anymore. He didn’t want to have a nightmare and he didn’t want to daydream, either. Both left him feeling unwell in some way.
“Hm?” Charles hummed, seemingly not asleep yet.
“Go back to sleep.” Arthur said dismissively.
That had Charles opening his bloodshot eyes.
Now I’ve done it.
“Ain’t sleep… You worry me, Arthur. Don’t be an idiot.” Charles chided softly. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.
“I ain’t.” Arthur protested. “I’m just… stuck again.”
It was just enough of the truth to be a passable lie. Arthur would almost rather be stuck in that negative loop of remembering instead of this sickening longing. He hated the way his tendencies made him feel, particularly the way his heart sped up at the mere thought of sharing gentle touches with a man .
It all made his stomach twist with guilt and disgust in equal measure; guilt for even thinking of a friend this way, and disgust for the way he felt. He had to ignore the warmth in his chest every time they touched and the peace he felt in their proximity. Yet, he wanted so much more. Sharing a bed should hurt, but it didn’t hurt when it was Charles.
Charles was generous and righteous without thought. He lacked the internal conflicts that Arthur battled. Good, evil, and justice were all at ease within Charles. Arthur only knew of ugliness and how to kill on command. Arthur was no better than a well-trained attack dog baring yellow teeth.
Charles was a beautiful man. Arthur was rotten.
“Arthur?”
Even the way Charles said his name was something he wanted more of.
“What?” Arthur responded.
“Talk to me.”
“What for?”
“That look in your eyes. You worry me.” Charles repeated.
“I ain’t goin’ do anything but lay here.” Arthur protested.
“You’re not on a very good train of thought. I can tell. Not good for you or for trying to sleep.” Charles insisted.
“I’m not sure I’m trying to sleep anymore.” Arthur replied with a chuckle.
Charles shrugged. “Fair enough.” He murmured, turning his head to look at Arthur. Charles’s eyes seemed to explore the inner workings of Arthur’s mind.
Arthur wanted to make confessions, he really did. He wanted to spill for Charles, bare and vulnerable. His desire for Charles wanted to make itself known, but that was just one of many things that Charles should never know. Charles knew too much already. Any more could only make things worse.
“…We oughta do somethin’, once the sun rises.” Arthur sighed.
Charles stared in response, that same look in his eyes as he leaned closer.
“It’s about time, I think.” Arthur muttered. He looked away from Charles’s eye contact to stare at the ceiling.
Charles remained silent. Arthur could feel Charles’s gaze.
“There’s folks waiting on us, and there’s folks that need killed. I ain’t got all my strength back yet, but…”
With you at my side, maybe I am strong enough.
“Whatever you need.” Charles assured him.
“Going back to Clemens…” Arthur murmured. “It’s something that needs to happen. I gotta go back, no matter what all has happened to me.”
“The bastard that did this to you still needs shot.” Charles growled.
“I know it, but he can’t be yet. He’s tied in with the O’Driscolls and such. We can’t just shoot him for shootin’s sake. We don’t know what we’re getting into quite yet.” Arthur said earnestly. Despite what he said, he knew it was a necessary revenge. Arthur wasn’t the first or last of Sonny’s victims.
“So… we get the gang involved.” Charles suggested.
Arthur nodded, but it filled him with dread to do so.
“They don’t have to know what happened to you if you don’t want folk to know. I will honor that.” Charles promised.
“Will that even work?” Arthur asked.
“It’ll have to.”
_______________________________
Arthur stood naked, staring into the water with chattering teeth. There was moonlight on the floor and pain in his eyes. Despite how frozen he felt, his tears were burning hot; even hotter was the bile that threatened to rise from his throat. He looked down at his own body, marred by his battered life.
I should be dead.
But it wasn’t the Lannaheche. It wasn’t the Dakota. This body of water was simply a bath, warm and allegedly inviting. Regardless, he was just as naked as he was that horrid night.
The night was paling into dawn, seeping in through the windows. He could still remember it all. His body remembered even more than his mind did. He rubbed his eyes, gritting his teeth.
Arthur still felt like a broken, crumbling soul with a broken, crumbling body. Only now, his bruises were pale and his wounds were closing. It didn’t hurt his skin when he sank into the steaming water. It didn’t soothe him either. His body still had a deep-set ache and his head still swam in fear.
I should’ve had Charles keep watch again.
Arthur’s eyes locked onto the door handle. He knew that realistically nobody would turn that handle and enter, but it wasn’t enough to soothe him. The tip of his nose and the ends of his fingers started to tingle. When he dunked his head underwater, it felt like he was drowning. Panic trickled into his throat.
He surfaced, gasping for air. Tears heated his face on their way down, blending in with the water flowing off his skin. He bit back a sob.
He was just as naked as he was when Charles had to tend to his wounds. The mere thought of said wounds made him queasy.
What does he think of me now? He’s seen it all.
Charles’s touch was salvation and not servitude. Arthur had hardly even experienced it before; maybe with Eliza or Mary, but that was so long ago and the memories were tainted by fate.
Arthur washed his hair, feeling how his scalp was no longer raw from matting. His hair touched his collarbones when wet and the strands separated easily. He’d likely be bald if it weren’t for Charles and the hours he spent detangling. Hell, he’d likely be dead if it weren’t for Charles and the weeks he spent searching.
I’m more than glad to have him. I still wish things were different.
Arthur washed his chest, feeling scars new and old spattering his skin. He felt his ribs and the heartbeat held within them, the same heartbeat that Charles rested a hand on every night.
He’s given more than enough. Why do I want so much more?
Arthur now took everything offered to him. Sharing touch felt brand new again, both thrilling and terrifying. He’d never been held the way Charles held him. Charles soothed him.
Ain’t ever had a friend as true as Charles. He doesn’t deserve my perversion.
As Arthur washed himself, he resisted the urge to use his nails and scrub too hard. He tried to ignore the sensation of his own touch. He didn’t want to touch or be touched- unless it was Charles.
Several rounds of wound care may have robbed Arthur of his remaining dignity, but they helped him learn that Charles’s touch was healing. In a world full of hurt, it made all the difference that somebody could manage to touch Arthur Morgan without causing him pain. It was a novel idea to him.
Can’t help but hate myself for loving him.
Arthur just barely managed to remain unharmed during his bath. When he finished bathing, he stood and let the water drip off of his body. He shivered at the cold air and it triggered him again, putting him back at Diablo Ridge, where an O’Driscoll bastard had tied him up and stripped him down before being shot. Charles had saved Arthur in many ways and would only continue to do so.
Arthur shook as he stepped out of the bath and wrapped a towel around himself. He found himself waking up on that beach, sand in his eyes and no clothes on his body, and wrapping himself in his saddle blanket. He couldn’t breathe fast enough.
He made eye contact with the mirror and watched the frightened man within. His teeth chattered and his lips quivered. His frame shook with each failed inhale and his extremities went numb. The room grew around him, the walls and ceiling getting taller and taller.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
He couldn’t stare much longer. He dressed himself in a frenzy, desperate to be clothed and dry and warm and away from the memories that rattled his entire being.
Alright, Morgan. Easy now.
He struggled with zippers and buttons and laces until he was fully dressed. The shaking didn’t stop.
By the time he was crossing the hall to get back to the room, he couldn’t breathe at all and his body ached. His vision was obscured by tears and he had no idea what was happening when he barreled into a large figure.
“Arthur? Hey, easy, Arthur!” Charles called as they collided.
Before Arthur could reply, he was under Charles’s arm and was being ushered into the room.
“Did something happen? Are you alright?” Charles asked once the door was closed.
“No, no.” Arthur replied dreadfully as he plopped onto the edge of the bed.
Charles kept a hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he looked him over, those smart eyes seeming to gather what was wrong. Wet hair, fresh clothes, and a panic attack; Arthur had taken a bath and it all went wrong.
“...I would’ve been there had you asked me.” Charles asserted mournfully.
“I know it. I’m just so tired of feelin’ scared.” Arthur said brokenly. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, scrunching and relaxing his face, trying to make it all stop.
The bath was technically a success, but he still felt defeated. He still had tears pouring from his eyes and onto the floor. Charles rubbed circles between Arthur’s shoulders.
“You’re bigger than your fear.” Charles assured him.
“Moments like this, I…” Arthur sobbed, “I feel so small. Like a little kid again.”
“That’s what it does to you. You have to breathe. Breathe and know that you’re far away from that right now.” Charles continued. His hand kept rubbing, now traveling up and down Arthur’s spine at a languid speed.
Arthur closed his eyes and finally, mercifully, he exhaled slowly. He leaned against Charles and allowed himself to soothe.
When his tears dried and the shakes subsided, Arthur looked up at Charles. Charles’s hand stilled, but stayed.
“I still want to go today.” Arthur said. “To Clemens, I mean.”
Charles nodded, brow furrowed. “We can go. Only if you’re sure you’re ready.”
“I ain’t ready, but it’s time.” Arthur responded.
“Hm. I trust you, Arthur. We’ll ride slow and stop somewhere for the night, get there in the morning. I can be ready in about a half hour.” Charles said. He patted Arthur’s back before stepping away.
Arthur heaved a great sigh, doing his best to fill his lungs with courage.