Chapter Text
Arthur’s nose had healed surprisingly well and didn’t look any worse than before. His eye was fine after the swelling had gone down. The only marks left on him were the scars on his forearms.
He’d gone weeks without doing it. He’d tried to but stopped, overwhelmed by guilt at the idea of having to show Hosea and make the man sad. He wasn’t sure if guilt was the best reason to stop hurting himself, but if it worked…
Arthur had done well with doing more social things. The girls were overjoyed when he came by to sit with them. He felt their eyes on his sleeved arms but they didn’t mention it and he didn’t offer any information up. He knew people would notice sooner or later but he wasn’t ready to deal with it yet.
His scars were still so new, all raised and pink. He needed more time to pass and for the scar tissue to pale and sink down. He wanted to pretend there was more time between now and when they were made.
It became normal for Hosea to sleep in Dutch’s tent, basically moving in while they had been caring for Arthur. Arthur spent his nights there as well, soaking up as much fatherly attention as he could get before he would get shy again and push them away.
A small part of him feared that this would all go away once he was ‘better.’ He dearly hoped he would be able to hold on to their nights together. He wasn’t ready for it to end.
Arthur was nervous as he sat on the edge of Dutch’s cot with his sleeves rolled up. It was time to get his stitches removed and while he was glad to get the itchy bits removed, he was nervous to have Hosea pull them out and have to see his fucked up arms.
Hosea held his hands softly before he got to work snipping and pulling the little knots. They were removed in no time and Hosea found himself gently stroking the scarred skin, fingers massaging at the scars.
“You’ve been doing so well,” Hosea said softly, weary of being heard by unwanted ears. “You know we’re proud of you, don’t you?”
Arthur said nothing in return.
“Talk to me, son. I can tell something’s weighing on your mind.”
Arthur tensed up under Hosea’s calming touch.
“Don’t shut down on me now, Arthur.”
“M’sorry,” Arthur mumbled. “I don’t know, I just feel… different. Ruined my damn arms and disrupted your and Dutch’s lives.”
A warm hand sat on his shoulder. “It was a good disruption. Look how close this brought us together. I haven’t spent time like this with you since you were a boy.”
Arthur looked up at him through his eyelashes. “You like spending time with me?”
Hosea smiled. “Of course I do. I wish it had been under happier circumstances but Dutch and I are thrilled to spend so much time with our son.”
Hosea’s words eased some of the pain in Arthur’s heart, though he still felt a heavy melancholy hovering over him. He thanked Hosea for his help and saw himself out, heading to his own nearly-abandoned wagon setup.
He sat on his cot and rolled his shoulders. He felt fatigued despite having done nothing. He was ready for a nap but he could feel Susan’s eyes burning into him, wanting to demand he do chores but walking on eggshells since she learned his secret.
He felt the same old dread and self-loathing settle into his bones. He got up abruptly and resolved to do some chores, hoping the act would ease some of the feelings of uselessness. He wasn’t used to being so complacent with not working himself to death.
He chopped wood and refilled water around camp. It hit him that he still felt just as shitty as before, if not worse because now he had been exposed to the other gang members. He didn’t want to be seen.
Didn’t want to exist.
Arthur bit his tongue and tried to push back the morbid thought. He’d come this far, he didn’t need to backtrack into suicidal ideation.
But god, was it nice to think about his final moments and the never-ending bliss of death that would follow. Arthur scanned the area, not seeing Charles or Dutch out in the open. He assumed Hosea was still in the tent but it had been hours since he had seen the man.
All he saw was Uncle and Bill and Kieran… or Pearson calling toward him, voice distorted. Sadie looking up from the table at him.
He felt a hand on his arm. “You okay, Arthur? You’re looking pale.”
Arthur was vaguely aware of Tilly beside him. He brushed her off, saying he needed some air before taking off to his tent in a daze. He felt the eyes on him in his open living space. He wanted to get on his horse and take off, but his horse had been killed when he failed to protect them.
The dread ached in his guts, rolling over in waves.
Arthur felt at the holsters on his hips, making sure he wasn’t unarmed before he took off down to the river. His heart was beating faster than it should and he felt nausea bubble up.
Once he made it to the river he sat down on the gravelly sand and tried to focus on the water and sounds of nature around him. It helped being away from the overwhelming sounds of camp, but it only did so much for his stomach.
He did the only other thing he knew would help… and he pulled out his knife. It glinted in the sunlight and Arthur admired how sharp the blade was. He had a feeling he would regret this but he weighed his options and chose ‘regret later’ over ‘sick now.’
He rolled up his left sleeve and accessed the skin for the best place for his next scar—he’s being realistic and accepting that it’s going to go too deep and leave a permanent reminder. There was an unscarred patch in the middle of his forearm that could use some work.
He hissed as he slid the knife through the skin slowly, blood unable to spill around the blade’s pressure. He slid it across until it was a few inches long, spanning the width of his forearm. The blood came up dark and seeped out the cut, trailing down his skin.
He set the knife to work again, carving out another cut near the first one. He wouldn’t stop until he had made a third cut, acutely aware that each one had gone deeper. There was a very real chance this third cut would need a few stitches…
Hosea just took his old stitches out. Now he’s going to have to put new ones in.
Arthur suddenly felt extremely guilty. It had slipped his mind the deal he had made and that by nighttime he’d have to show his parents what he did to himself.
It also hit Arthur that he hadn’t brought any bandages to stem the bleeding or prevent his blue shirt sleeve from getting stained a deep red.
“Fuck.”
He wasn’t sure how he was going to get back to camp unnoticed. He was royally screwed.
Arthur had spent a decent amount of time just staring out at the water, unsure how to proceed. He was close to the blood clotting enough to roll his sleeve back down, but the final cut he drew had gone just deep enough for the skin to stay open and angry.
His right hand was clamped down on his left forearm to stop the bleeding. His other option was to let it bleed and make himself dizzy. Tempting as it was to just let go and let himself lose a little extra blood, he knew how easily it would be misconstrued as a suicide attempt.
And he really didn’t want to spend more time tied to a cot.
He didn’t know whether he was lucky or not when he saw Charles on his horse, returning from a solo hunt. He would greatly disappoint Charles, but it was also his only hope to get back into camp unnoticed.
“Charles!” He called out. Luck was on his side and despite the distance, Charles heard him and slowed down.
“Arthur?”
Charles’s eyes scanned the area and a frown set in his face when he saw the hand clamped on Arthur’s forearm.
“Oh, Arthur…”
Arthur felt a new wave of guilt.
“What did you do?”
He was regretting calling out to Charles. Charles was dismounting his horse and reaching into his bag for a spare bandage. He quickly wrapped Arthur’s arm, the cut bleeding through the cloth.
“Go talk to Dutch,” was all Charles said. He was back on his horse and riding into camp without so much as a glance back.
Arthur stood there, dumbfounded. He thought he’d receive a lecture or a longer look of disappointment.
His eyes burned and Arthur bit his lip before it could quiver. He took a few breaths to clear his head before heading back to camp. People seemed distracted by Charles’s arrival and he easily snuck into Dutch’s empty tent.
Hosea was quickly entering the tent—Arthur had to wonder if the man saw him or if Charles already ratted on him. Soon Dutch was entering the tent as well, sitting right beside Arthur.
“Why? You were doing so good. I don’t understand. What happened?”
Arthur bit his cheek and turned his head. “Just a bad day.” He felt hot tears slip down his face as Dutch pulled him closer into a half-hug. Hosea was wordlessly grabbing his arm and sanitizing it with alcohol. Arthur inhaled sharply at the liquid rushing over his cuts and Dutch hushed him like a fussy baby.
Hosea ended up placing three new stitches across the deepest cut. He wrapped the arm tightly, as if to prevent Arthur from making it worse. He held onto Arthur’s hand after that, thumb running over his son’s knuckles.
A throat cleared at the tent entrance. They each recognized it as Charles and, after receiving a small nod from Arthur, Dutch would call out for the man to enter.
There was a guilty look on Charles’s face. Upon remembering he had been crying, Arthur rubbed his face against his shoulders to dry his face.
“Are you okay?” Charles’s voice was low but filled with concern.
“He’ll be fine,” Hosea replied softly, sensing Arthur would be struggling to speak while also fighting off tears. “Just a bad day.”
Charles nodded but the concern in his eyes remained. He wanted to stand there and apologize to Arthur for how cold he must have seemed. The sight of Arthur with his arm like that made Charles’s chest tighten up. He just wanted to get to camp and bring in his kill to allow Arthur some distraction to get to Dutch’s tent.
Charles stepped back to leave, surprised when Hosea got up and followed him out. Arthur was left alone in the tent with Dutch and he didn’t know if that was better or worse than having Hosea and Charles around.
But he got lucky again, and Dutch didn’t demand him to talk and explain why he hurt himself. His father pulled him into a tight hug, and Arthur hugged back. Arthur buried his face in Dutch’s neck and he breathed shakily, trying his best not to keep crying.
He didn’t even know why he was crying. His nerves felt so raw and open. He did know that Dutch’s arms felt like home and the tighter he held on, the less his heart ached. It was like before when Charles calmed him down with a firm hug.
Hosea came back into the tent to the men still in a tight embrace, one of Dutch’s hands affectionately holding the back of Arthur’s head. He could hear Dutch softly hushing Arthur and gently rock them. From what he could tell Arthur had calmed down.
Dutch pressed a kiss to the top of Arthur’s head. He turned to Hosea, voice low to not startle Arthur, “I think our boy needs some attention.”
Hosea nodded. “That he does.” He sat on the cot beside Dutch and the two manhandled Arthur from his spot on the other side of Dutch, to being sat on Dutch’s lap with his legs on Hosea’s. He was still awake and fully embarrassed that he was okay with them placing him like this.
“Atta boy,” Dutch whispered to the man.
Arthur was still trying to hide his face in Dutch’s body, now having to use the man’s shoulder. Dutch was holding him against his chest tightly and Hosea was holding Arthur’s legs, noticing how relaxed the weight of their bodies made him.
“Just our poor baby boy,” Dutch cooed.
Arthur twisted and tried to bury his face deeper in Dutch’s shoulder. He whined, “Dad!”
The two older men laughed.
They would stay like that until later on when they’d hear Pearson call for dinner. Arthur had nodded off in his comfortable dad embrace but would be jostled awake by Hosea getting up to bring them all back some food.
Arthur yawned tried to get off of Dutch, worried he was crushing the man’s lap. Dutch held him firm and Arthur let it be, enjoying the cuddles he was usually too shy to ask for.
Hosea returned with food, insisting they feed Arthur again. Arthur allowed it but they didn’t miss his red face as Hosea helped him eat. Then, as had been the norm for the past few weeks, Arthur curled up with Dutch in his cot.
In the morning they would finally move Hosea’s cot in, permanently.
Arthur finally felt like the dark cloud that had been looming over him was passing. He wasn’t sure why, whether it was passing on like it always does with time, or if it had been from the combined efforts of his family pushing it away.
He found himself not feeling so lethargic and mindless. He’d started noticing wildlife and fauna again while out on trips with Charles. It was a small thing but Charles nearly laughed out loud in relief when he caught Arthur standing a few steps behind him, journal out in one hand, the other quickly sketching away.
His fathers nearly cried as well when he came to their tent excitedly talking about a legendary animal he and Charles had come across on one of their trips. He went on about the monster’s size and fur, almost animated in his recounting.
Everyone had noticed the change in Arthur. The man himself was still figuring out how to live again and enjoy the little things, not dwelling on the past.
John knew Arthur was going to be okay when the man started teasing him again. Of course, it helped that Arthur was now getting back out into the life around the camp. He was sitting around the fire more often, straying from Charles’s side and successfully managing himself around other people.
“Arthur, good to see you!”
“You too, Mary-Beth.”
Arthur gave a genuine smile as he passed by the women sewing. The girls watched him head to his horse and ride off, surely about to get himself into some trouble. It had been a while since Arthur got out to raise hell.
“It’s nice seeing him smile again,” Tilly said, eyes trained on her stitches. “It’s been a long while.”
The women agreed. Karen swore when she poked her finger.
“Wonder what had him so down?” Mary-Beth asked out loud. “Think it was that Mary woman?”
“Hard to say,” Tilly replied. “Either way, it sure is good seeing Arthur Morgan happy again.”
There was a celebration that night. Arthur and some of the boys, led by Dutch, had successfully robbed a train filled with rich snobs and safes full of money. They had money for weeks. They had done the best they had in months.
Yet Arthur still felt a tightness in his chest. He kept reminding himself how huge their take was, nobody was hurt, everything went exactly to plan… But his mind was stuck on the anxiety and adrenaline he felt as they rode up beside the train.
He couldn’t quite shake the anxiety holding tightly to his heart and constricting his lungs. Javier was already playing his guitar and Uncle and Bill seemed to be playing a game of who can get drunk the fastest. The camp was bustling with life and movement.
He felt his heart pick up beats and he knew he would have to get away soon.
The girls had their eyes on Arthur since he and the boys returned from their robbery. They were hyper-focused on him now, desperate to see him smile again. They loved him dearly and wanted him back to his old self.
Karen had elbowed Tilly when the party started and Arthur’s eyes lost their focus. They watched from across the camp as he stilled and stared blankly around. The girls were ready to follow him when he turned on his heel and quickly walked away from the commotion at the fire.
Arthur stopped by the trees and leaned heavily against one. The girls could tell just by his back and shoulders that he was breathing heavily. Tilly stepped forward slowly, as if approaching a scared animal.
Very softly, almost too quiet to hear, Tilly called out, “Arthur? Are you alright?”
Arthur tensed up and turned his head, seeing the women behind him. “M’fine.”
They didn’t believe it. “Are you sick?” Tilly gently prodded.
Arthur shook his head.
“Awful lot of people over there,” Karen tried. “Gets hard to breathe, y’know?”
“Yeah,” Arthur agreed. “Real hard.”
He felt his anxiety continuing to rise despite his comfort level with the ladies. The sounds of the fire were getting farther away somehow. The girls standing by him felt miles away. Dutch and Hosea and Charles—even John—were too far away to help and Arthur needed to be grounded now. That floating feeling was starting to sink into his muscles and he knew he was liable to do something stupid if he rode through the disassociation.
“I, uh,” his voice broke out, surprising everyone there, “Need some… help.” He hated saying it, even when he was struggling to remain rooted in reality.
“Sure,” Mary-Beth said. “What can we do?”
The girls got closer and Arthur screwed his eyes shut, failing to fight off the mental distress.
“Hug me,” he almost pleaded. “Real tight. Too tight.”
The arms enveloping him set his heart at ease. The tighter and closer they got, the better he felt. His heart slowed down from its panicked beating and his tense muscles loosened. The girls could hear his rushed breaths change into thoughtful, deep breaths.
He felt the world return to him, his body regaining its weight and standing firm on the ground.
“That’s—that’s enough.” He finally said once he was sure he could stay calm. “Thank you, girls, I…” He didn’t know what to say. He was embarrassed to have been like this in front of them, but the girls didn’t look bothered.
“Let’s go sit down away from the crowd,” Tilly said, ignoring Arthur’s embarrassed expression. He could only nod and let the girls walk him to their wagon setup.
He let them pull him down to sit with them against the wood, looking up toward the stars and speaking softly. Arthur didn’t expect to find comfort in people outside of his main circle, pleasantly surprised as he sat with the girls unbothered.
“Sorry I ain’t been around much,” he said suddenly, gaining the girls’ full attention. “Ain’t been myself but… I’m finding my way back.”
They told him not to apologize for anything. Arthur smiled at them and turned his attention back to the stars. He wasn’t thinking when he pulled at his sleeves, exposing some scarred skin in the moonlight. None of the girls would mention it, but they sure saw it.
They had a better understanding of what he had been going through the past few months.
Dutch was stumbling back to his tent when he saw Arthur dozing off with the girls. As soon as Arthur’s sleepy eyes caught sight of him, he was up and heading for the tent as well. Hosea had snuck inside earlier, undetected by Arthur, already asleep on his cot. Dutch and Arthur came in and got on the other cot, snuggled up. He was asleep in moments.
The cloud had lifted and life was back in focus. Arthur was finding better coping mechanisms for when his mind goes dark, something happening less and less as time passed.
He started sleeping in his own tent again, though he still spent every night in Dutch’s tent speaking with him and Hosea. He found it allowed him to go to bed with no weight on his shoulders.
He didn’t feel like he had to hold it all in anymore. If he was bothered by something he knew he could tell his dads and they’d talk him through it.
He was incredibly delighted the first time he wore his sleeves rolled up and nobody said a word to him. He wasn’t sure whether it wasn’t noticeable or if they were holding their tongues. Either way, he was grateful.
Arthur was back in the swing of things, going out on missions, solo adventures, and exploring cities. He finally had a new horse, a beautiful stallion he and Charles stumbled upon by chance on one of their now-frequent hunts.
Things were back to normal and better than ever now that Micah had been hanged in Strawberry for his crimes. Every now and then Arthur would catch a sad gaze fixed on his arms, but he tried not to let it bother him. It meant people cared, and he supposed that was a good thing.
Late one night Arthur was sleepily stumbling back to his tent, leaving behind his fathers after a good, long conversation. It was mostly reminiscing of older days, back when Arthur was still a kid and doing everything he could for their approval.
He still craved their approval, though now he knew he would always have it.
Dutch and Hosea were getting ready to turn in for the night when Hosea found a folded piece of paper on his cot. He picked it up, wondering when Arthur had snuck it there. He opened it, seeing a small sketch and a short letter.
Thank you for helping me through my funk and keeping Dutch sane.
I couldn’t ask for a better Pa.
I love you.
-Arthur
Underneath was a small sketch of the two older men sitting together, laughing. Hosea recalled Arthur recently sitting with his journal out while they talked. He must have sketched it when the men were too caught up in their memories to notice.
Hosea held the paper to his chest and sat down on the cot, a single tear slipping from his eye.
“What’s wrong?” Dutch sat up quickly, ready to go into over-protective mode.
Hosea waved him off and looked back down at the note. “He called me Pa.”