Chapter Text
After his recovery, his shoulder wasn’t quite the same.
Then again, nothing was quite the same now.
It had been weeks since he left the life behind, the gang had moved on days ago, and he didn’t know where. That sort of helped though, not knowing took away some of the temptation to go after them even though he knew it would only end badly.
The folks in Valentine still looked at him wearily, but it was getting better, never mind that he still wasn’t quite comfortable in his new life. An outlaw living a legal life, it didn’t feel quite right, he still had a bounty in his head, and he was afraid of the wrong person catching sight of him in town.
Dark thoughts swirling in his head opposite of the bright of the sun that was rising and spilling light through the yard. He was leaning against the sink, beside the stove that crackled quietly with a recently stoked fire.
Chores would need working soon, animals fed, garden tended, that giant hole in the roof that had barely been patched needed mending before the storms, work needed to be done, but he couldn’t make that itch go away, and he feared if he left the house he would turn east and ride until he found the gang.
What was he even doing here, living a legal life, it wasn’t what he was born for, it wasn’t-
The snaking of arms around his waist put a stop to his thoughts, the feeling of lips on the side of his neck before a face pressed into the skin calming the itching inside his bones. He turned his head, looking at the person, and couldn’t help his smile.
“Morning” he spoke, and the individual simply grunted, rubbing their face against the shoulder of his union suit before dropping a sharp chin onto his shoulder.
Brown eyes squinted open, glancing out the window before looking at him, John grunting at him, a greeting and all he would get before the younger had coffee in his system.
John had never been much of a morning person, before or after his accident. Arthur's eyes flicked to the scars he could just barely see on the man's face, still fresh and pink even after months.
The luckiest bastard Arthur had ever met, being attacked by wolves and falling off a mountain with little other to show for it aside from some interesting scars.
Well, scars and the loss of all memory, Arthur still couldn’t believe it, that the man had gotten a second chance at life.
A second chance that for some damned reason he thought would be best spent with Arthur. Another grunt pulled him out of his head, the younger tilting his head in a way he was starting to recognize, asking for a kiss, which Arthur gladly obliged.
At first at least.
He pulled away after a minute and scowled at the younger man, “damn it boy” he complained, “you taste like ya ate a skunk!”
John snorted a laugh and leaned back, hands falling back to Arthur's hips, “whose fault is that?” The youngers words and self-satisfied expression made the previous night come to the forefront of his mind, flashes of bone deep pleasure and sweaty skin.
It made him shove at the younger man “Shut the hell up” muttered to cool the burn of his skin, he was too old to be blushing like a maid, but the younger always seemed to manage it.
Despite his shove, John just laughed at him and moved to lean against his chest, sighing happily when Arthur wrapped his arms around him and tugged him closer.
He couldn’t claim to understand it, but having the younger in his arms made the thoughts of finding the gang and returning to the fold little more than a distant inkling of a though, a temptation that held little sway in the growing light of morning.
~1 year later~
It took months for him to become established in valentine, to earn the trust of the people who had known him only as the large man who damn near beat Tommy to death and road with a group of folks who were less than favorable.
But time erased most things, and with a little help from John, people started to like him, and he started to settle.
The unusual nature of legal living started to replace that which he was raised in, the gun belt around his hips now more of a deterrent than an open threat.
His heart used to ache with longing for the outlaw life, but now, as he drove toward home, it had settled into normalcy.
He was returning from a trip to town, old boy hauling the wagon of supplies easily alongside the sorrel Suffolk puck they had found who John had named Bear, because he’d never been great with names. Looking up as he grew closer to the ranch, he squinted at the sky, seeing the tale tell signs of smoke in the distance.
What he thought was just a campfire growing worryingly large as he got closer, the smell of it thick in the air making him worry about a forest fire until he neared the bridge and found the first body.
He whipped the horses faster, wanting to return home, to make sure it wasn’t what he thought, and when the trees pulled away, he saw his worse fear come back to life.
The house was smoldering, flames still crackling on parts of it and making the horses shy. Bodies covered the ground, ones he didn’t recognize, and he couldn’t see any sign of John.
Leaping from the wagon and pulling out his revolver, he looked around, searching for something, anything, to tell him where John had gone, if he had been in the house when it burned or somewhere else. It was only a sudden gunshot that had him turning toward the barn, running for the doors, and stepping over the body of the workers that they had hired to help with the slowly growing herd of cattle.
John sat in the barn, leaning back against a stall.
His hair had grown longer in the past year, closer to what it had been, and it was matted with blood from a wound Arthur couldn’t see, he was staring at the opposite stall, ignoring the fresh body that lay beside him and Arthur rushed toward him.
“John” he dropped to his knees in front of the man, holstering his gun out of habit alone before reached forward to cradle the man’s face, half of it sticky with blood “shit, what happened? Are you alright, darlin? Fuck” he pulled the other closer.
Holding him and calming his own racing heart until the other man inhaled slowly “Arthur” the younger said, voice steady and yet also sounding so strange, the youngers hand settling on his chest and then pushing him away.
Arthur looked down at the man in confusion, brows furrowing as the man's chocolate eyes looked up at him in a way he hadn’t seen for a long time.
“I remember”
His heart dropped.
“What?” he whispered as his stomach shrank, staring at the younger man who was watching him with a steady gaze.
A weight in his eyes that Arthur hadn’t seen since before Blackwater “I said, I remember” his voice was low, almost dangerous, and Arthur wondered if he should remove his hands “Blackwater, Dutch, those damned mountains, all of it” the younger surged up, out of Arthur’s grip to start pacing inside the barn “fuck” he put a hand to his head.
Pushing himself up slowly, watching John like he was some sort of wild animal, Arthur reached into his jacket “you're bleeding” he stated the obvious something that made John give him a dull look “must have jarred your memory when ya hit your head” he held out the handkerchief he had retrieved from his pocket.
“Ain’t hit my head” John muttered darkly before glaring and kicking the body that had been beside where he was sitting “this fucker wanted to see what the hell I really knew, bout the gang” he took the cloth and pressed it to the wound, hissing in pain.
Brows furrowing, Arthur looked down at the body, “why the hell they wanna know bout that? An how they know where to find us? Far as the law knows, we're dead” the snort John let out was familiar for all he hadn’t heard it in near two years, a snort that showed the younger thought he was being an idiot.
“Do they look like the law?” he motioned with his hand “nah it’s a damn headhunt, that fucker bragged bout the contract they got, price on the whole gang” John moved to sit on a nearby bale of hay, taking the handkerchief away from his wound to check if it was still bleeding, using a corner to wipe at the blood on his face before he was suddenly pausing.
As if suddenly hit with a thought that hadn’t occurred before that moment “the gang” he muttered before looking up “hell ain’t you with em for?”
A solid lump formed in Arthur's chest, heavy like dread at the younger’s question, did he not remember Arthur's wounds? Had he regained his memories of the past only to lose those that had come after? Arthur shook his head, he couldn’t think about that right now, not when they were clearly still in danger.
“Things went wrong, I had a bit of a falling out with the gang” that was close enough to the truth he supposed.
John snorted and rolled his eyes “must have been bad, much as you preached about loyalty” John reached up to pick at a bit of drying blood under his nose, making Arthur wonder if it was broken for a moment “thought you’d die before leaving the gang”
Arthur flinched without meaning to, the younger not realizing how close he was to the truth. Something about the way he said it also set Arthur on edge, damn near patronizing, which he supposed he deserved as much shit as he gave the younger when he’d run off, but this was different.
He found himself saying just how without really meaning to “Dutch walked me into a trap and abandoned me to the O’Driscoll’s” he said, voice dropped to a growl. He'd had a year to process the betrayal for what it was, but it still made him angry to think about “touch hard to be loyal after that”
John stared at him, that blank wide-eyed stare he got when he was shocked, an expression that Arthur hadn’t seen in over a year before the younger was blinking it away “so when ya rode up half dead, it was cause ya been tortured? Shit” the younger hissed and reached up to rake at his much shorter hair, looking away just before he could see Arthur's expression.
If John remembered Arthur showing up half dead, then he had to remember the rest, right?
Then why didn’t he mention anything, letting it hang in the air between them like a fog, maybe it was because he didn’t know what to say, or he was still in shock from everything that had happened with the headhunters.
Either way, Arthur dreaded when it would finally come out, “that why ya ain’t never told me ya knew who I was?”
Arthur's lips pressed into a thin line, he stood corrected, he would rather talk about anything aside from that “it’s complicated” he muttered turning away as if to leave the barn.
Only stopping when John was in front of him, hands on his chest and shoving him back “uncomplicate it” he challenged and Arthur realized that the John he used to know was truly back.
The brash, hot-headed man that was never patient enough and far too observant for his own good let alone Arthur's “it was too dangerous, god-damned Pinkerton's were hunting us down”
“We were outlaws. Ain’t nothin bout that safe!” he argued eyes narrowed and lips curled, “you gave me shit for years after I got back, tell me how this is different?”
Arthur puffed out a breath, clenching his jaw and counting in his head before speaking again “you ain’t ran off” he ground out, fingers curled into fists “you didn’t remember, you were happy, you got out, I weren’t about to pull you back in to something that was dyin!”
“Happy?!” he sounded insulted, eyes hard and hot with anger, “I wasn’t happy! I didn’t even know my own god-damned name!” he stepped forward and shoved Arthur's chest again, “why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”
Arthur clenched his jaw before he could blurt out that John himself had told him not to, had said that it didn’t matter because it was in the past “you were safe” he ground out instead and moved as if to step around the younger, he didn’t want to fight, for once and the lack of his usual reaction was probably what was driving John’s temper “it doesn’t matter anymore”
The younger snorted and motioned with a hand, “yeah, I feel real fuckin safe”
Eye twitching, he spun around from where he had almost reached the barn doors “what the fuck was I supposed ta do?!” he demanded, his temper finally lit as he marched up to the younger who glared right back at him and puffed out his chest rather than shying away.
Damn, he had missed that stance, the way the younger would challenge him and push him, John stepping forward to meet him rather than away, “ya should've fucking told me!”
Before their argument could continue, there was shouting from outside, the sound of hooves. They both turned to look toward the door, waiting for a moment before Arthur was creeping forward to glance outside.
A handful of riders had shown up, none of them the local law, and they were looking a touch disappointed “James said he could handle this shit” one of them drawled out before kicking a body “what a damned mess”
A second rider looked at the first, “think they’re still around? Horses and supplies are still here.”
“Spread out, look around” Arthur let the door close then looked at John and jerked his head to the loft ladder.
The younger nodded his head and climbed it quickly, stopping to grab the repeater from its place up above and waiting for Arthur’s signal.
A signal that was heralded by the sound of gunfire, the panic of the new headhunters, and the baying of their horses.
It took only a few minutes to dispatch the riders, but Arthur didn’t wait for ore to show up, moving outside to start rifling through their pockets where he was soon joined by John “get the wagon in the barn and saddle the horses, I ain’t eager to sit around and wait for more of these bastards to show up”
“Getting too old to put up a good gunfight Morgan” the sass made Arthur pause in a dead man’s jacket and look back at the younger who wasn’t even looking at him.
Damn, it was good to hear the sarcasm in his voice again.
He didn’t reply, John didn’t expect him to, just watched the younger lead the horses into the barn while whispering to old boy, the gelding trying to multitask with pulling the cart and nuzzle his owner that had finally truly been returned to him.
Shaking his head, he looked back to what he was doing, searching until he found a folded sheet of paper in the jacket of the last man, reading through it before lifting his head to frown at nothing.
When he returned to the barn, the horses had been saddled, their bags bulging with supplies collected from the wagon, and John was brushing his horse.
He noticed Arthur's presence and glanced at him “find anything?” his eyes glanced over Arthur's face before his own face was pinching with concern “how bad?”
Arthur took a breath and then held out the paper he had found, John taking it and not lowering his eyes at first, but when he did, he read when was written aloud.
“A private contract put forth by a thus unnamed benefactor for the death of former Van Der Linde gang members Van Der Linde, Smith, Williams, Adler, Bell, Marston, and Morgan, upon proof of death the payment of 1000 dollars” John's brows that had furrowed as he read suddenly shot up “$1000 per man?!”
His eyes shot to Arthur, “who, that hell would be willing to pay $6000 for us?”
Arthur shrugged and walked over to bear, “keep reading” he growled while looking over Bear's equipment, needing something to do with his hands.
“Shit, collateral damage in the form of the death of any unnamed gang member or those found harboring them is acceptable to obtain - this is bullshit” John's eyes, hot and angry, snapped to Arthur “you said the law thinks us dead!”
Arthur glanced back “it does” he growled before mounting Bear “we both got graves, mines in Lemoyne, yours is in Colter” he gathered the reins and turned his horse toward the barn doors.
“Where are you going?” John rushed to follow him, old boy stopping at his side when Arthur stopped to look back.
“Town, we can’t stay here and ain’t no one gonna make a move there” he raked his eyes over the place he had lived legal for the past year, the barn standing open, the bodies strewn about, the house that he had put so much work into repairing over the summer that was now burned down to the supports and foundations, all their belongings aside from those on their person burned down to ash.
It reminded him of another far distant memory, a smoldering cabin with fresh shallow graves, but he shook his head and turned away, urging his mount forward, back into the life he had left behind.
John riding along right behind him.
~
They got a room at the Valentine hotel, the air between them stagnant and silent as the day faded the rest of the way into night.
Arthur was staring into the fireplace, leaned back in a chair, and lost in thought, John had taken the bed and currently laid above the blankets, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded behind his head.
Neither knew what to say to each other, if anything, and if Arthur wasn’t distracted with his current thoughts pertaining to the situation, they found themselves in he might have dreaded the thought of the younger asking him anything more about the lack of honesty when it came to his memories.
As it were, though, he was too tired to do much other than stare at the fire and wonder just what they had gotten themselves into this time.
After a while John finally sighed and pushed himself up, “we're gonna have to find them, aren’t we?”
Arthur hummed and then turned his eyes way from the fire, dropping the hand his mouth had been pressed against “well I don’t see them leaving us alone, we find the gang, and we might find who put out the contract?”
“Guess the headhunters can’t get paid if the one with the money ends up dead” John muttered before turning and dropping his feet to the floor, “where the hell are we supposed to start though?”
Slumping back in his chair, Arthur reached up to scratch his chin below the beard he had grown to help make him more difficult to recognize “check the last camp they was at” he answered then lifted a shoulder “check the old channels, trails a year gone cold, so it won’t be easy, but maybe we’ll get lucky”
John’s snort made Arthur look back at him, “the hell have we ever been lucky”
Arthur’s mouth pinched as the stared at the man, not mentioning how his very life was a show of just how lucky they could be, instead he looked back at the fireplace “just go to sleep, we leave early”
He felt John looking at him, but he stubbornly refused to look back.
He couldn’t.