Wolf

"Hey Charles," Arthur sat down on the crate next to Charles, overlooking the main campfire. Charles gently rubbed gun oil on his sawed-off shotgun, thinking quietly to himself, like he always did.

"Arthur." Charles nodded at Arthur, glancing at him quickly before looking back at his gun. Arthur put his hands in his lap, clasped together tightly. He closed his eyes briefly, trying his best to gather his thoughts. He had known Charles for less than a year, but somehow Arthur felt more connected to him than Dutch.

Arthur didn't want to tell him. In fact, Arthur couldn't think of a thing he wanted to do less than tell Charles the truth...

Because he was dying. Famous gunslinger Arthur Morgan, taken by a goddamn lung disease. How ironic. Charles deserved to know, he had been so kind to Arthur. Arthur remembered the weeks after the O'Driscolls had kidnapped and shot him, and who stayed by his wagon the longest.

Not Dutch, not John, not even Hosea.

Charles.

"You shouldn't get up," Charles said bluntly, staring into Arthur's blue eyes, glazed over in a Morphine-filled daze. Arthur shook his head like he did every time someone told him not to do something. It didn't stop him from hoisting himself up so his head rested on the back of the wagon. Charles just shook his head, a small smile on his face.

"Swanson's Morphine is certainly doing its job," Charles muttered, mostly to himself, Arthur scoffed in return.

"Why you here anyways?" Arthur took a deep breath and tried not to wince at the stitches from the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Charles chuckled, a lighthearted noise that made Arthur smile...Even if it was mostly because of the Morphine.

"Just, watching... Got nothing better to do." Charles shrugged his shoulders and continued sharpening his knife next to Arthur's wagon.

"I think in the time you've been with us-" Arthur took a moment to think about what he was going to say, his words slightly slurred from the drugs.

"I've never heard you speak more than two sentences to anyone." Arthur shook his head, smiling. Charles rolled his eyes.

"I just don't have much to say, I guess." Charles shook his head, but couldn't help the smile that graced his face.

"Charles...Smith... The lone wolf... A man of few words." Arthur put his hands up and made a gesture like he was reading a newspaper headline.

"If I knew you were going to act like an idiot I wouldn't have given you the Morphine." Charles shot back, but he didn't take any offense. How could someone take offense to the ramblings of a Morphine drunk Arthur? Arthur acted like he had been shot (very fitting), giving Charles an exasperated look.

"The lone wolf does speak!" He said dramatically, drawling out the 'does' to annoy Charles even more.

"You should sleep Arthur," Charles finally said, putting away the knife and other sharpening materials.

"Y'know..." Arthur yawned, the euphoric sensation of the Morphine and the drowsiness that healing cost was really getting to him.

"I'm quite fond of you, Mr.Serious." Arthur slurred, moving his head down to the pillow and looking up. Charles studied Arthur's expression, trying to read his true emotions. Arthur's eyebrows were relaxed, his lips upturned in a lazy smile. He could see the crow's feet that appeared next to his eyes, and the scar that was on the bottom of his chin. Charles meant to ask about it, but never did.

"You've always been the hardest worker in camp," Arthur yawned again, and Charles shushed him.

"Go to sleep Arthur, for god's sake."

"Somethin' on your mind?" Charles' deep voice brought Arthur out of his thoughts, and Arthur nodded. Charles looked at him, narrowing his eyes a little bit. Charles must have had an inkling of what Arthur wanted to speak about. He was quiet, but he wasn't stupid. At this point, no one could deny Arthur looked sick...Real sick. His collarbones were sticking out from his pale splotchy skin, his clothes were now bagged around him. His eyes were bloodshot, and when he ate there was a large coughing fit that followed.

The cough. It made Charles' ears ring, the violent shake of his chest, the crackled wheezes that followed. Charles saw the bloodstains on the inside of Arthur's sleeve.

"You wanna ride with me?" Arthur blurted out, Charles took a second but nodded.

"Always." He said curtly. Charles walked with Arthur over to his horse, before he mounted Taima. Arthur led the way to the outskirts of Annesburg, before riding aimlessly towards the mountains surrounding the Wapiti Indian Reservation.

"Yer a smart man Charles," Arthur started, taking in short breaths, thinking hard about how to word things. This did nothing but make Charles nervous.

"Arthur," Charles said in almost a warning, like he was afraid Arthur was going to beat around the bush and never get to the point. Charles didn't like it when people weren't straightforward. However, Arthur was the only exception to this rule. The only noises that accompanied them through the ride were the clopping of hooves on rock, and the rushing of water from the nearby Dakota River.

"If things go bad, you get yourself out of there, alright?" Arthur coughed but tried to stifle it, which only made it worse.

Charles wanted to get off his horse and punch Arthur in the face. Not because he was angry at Arthur...

But because he was scared. Charles Smith, the fearless lone wolf. It wasn't like Charles hadn't experienced loss before, hell, in the last few months it was constant... Davey, Sean, Kieran, Hosea, Lenny, Molly... Charles was sad, of course, but life went on. The sun still shone the next day, the coffee was still brewed like normal, and the songbirds still chirped their melodies.

"You got... More to lose." Arthur said, his voice softer, more vulnerable. Charles shook his head, immediately shooting back,

"No. Come on. Don't start talking like that." It was obvious though, even when Arthur explained it.

"I didn't tell you before," Arthur took in a wheezing breath.

"I saw a doctor."

Charles wanted to jump into the Dakota River and feel his entire body go numb from the cold. He wanted to push his hands to his ears and hum until he couldn't hear Arthur's words anymore because they cut like a knife. They made him bleed like no one had ever done before. Instead, Charles gripped the reins of Taima tighter, slowing down to a gentle trot.

"It's pretty bad, and it's gonna get worse."

Charles shook his head, but luckily Arthur didn't notice. He bit his lip and tried to make sense of it all.

"Take a left down this trail," Charles said softly, pointing to the slightly worn trail into the thick woods of the Cumberland forest. Charles led Arthur to a clearing, where a thick, lush layer of grass grew, and flowers erupted from the space.

"I don't remember much of my childhood," Charles said, dismounting his horse and motioning for Arthur to do the same. Arthur followed Charles into the clearing and they both sat down on a fallen log, covered in bright green moss.

"My mama though, she taught me all about the herbs..." Charles smiled gently, then motioned to the flowers. Arthur looked at him, confused.

"These are flowers..." Arthur corrected, Charles just shook his head and chuckled.

"She taught me about the flowers too, if you'd let me finish." Charles pointed to the flower with stems that held a few dozen tiny bundles of red flowers, with a bright yellow center.

"Blood flower," Charles said, Arthur nodded, listening intently. Charles then pointed at the other flower that covered the clearing, a stem that held a single, cupped, red flower.

"Field Poppy," Charles informed, Arthur could have probably guessed that, but just hearing Charles talk was enough. There were a few minutes of comfortable silence, the horses quietly grazing near them.

"Did the doctor say how long?" Charles was careful with his words, but he wanted...No, needed to know.

"A couple weeks, a couple months..." Arthur drawled, coughing again. This time the fit was so bad Arthur wheezed for breath afterward. Charles rubbed Arthur's back, hoping the contact would soothe something, even if it was just his soul.

"You're a good man, Arthur Morgan." Charles forced through gritted teeth, afraid if he said more he would have to wipe tears off his face. Arthur chuckled.

"I ain't a good man,"

Charles frowned, if only Arthur could see himself through Charles' gaze. The way he glowed, Arthur's soft smile and kind words. He acted tough, but he loved. Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, promising himself he wasn't going to break down.

"I'm only going to say this once, Arthur," Charles warned.

"You're one of the best men I know." Charles smiled bittersweetly like it should be obvious to Arthur.

"You're kind, hard-working, loyal, and smart." Charles removed his hand from Arthur's back, before resting it on his shoulder.

"Hell, you've probably saved my life countless times." Charles sighed, then made eye contact with Arthur. What a horrible choice. Icy blue eyes, bloodshot and tearstained, inflamed with the pain of the human condition. Charles stared back at Arthur with warm brown eyes, trying to keep his equanimity. He was normally very good at it, a skill he prided himself on, but this was different. At that moment, in the clearing, Charles realized something.

He was soft for Arthur Morgan. He wanted to see Arthur happy, he wanted to see him thrive. It took everything in Charles not to scream about how he loved Arthur Morgan... And, more importantly, how much he loved the way Arthur loved. Freely and fully. Arthur rarely shared by the campfire, but when he did it was always a story about saving a man who got bitten by a snake, or a woman who was stranded because her horse died.

"Yer' a good man Charles, one of the best." Arthur choked out, now trying to keep his own composure. Charles just smiled, it was all he could do. But Charles broke when Arthur made eye contact with him again, his face wet with the streams of hot tears that poured down his cheeks. It was instinct as he opened his arms for Arthur, hugging him tightly. In a useless wish, Charles thought about how he regretted not doing this earlier. Arthur clung to Charles and Charles clung just as much back. Arthur wrapped his arms around Charles, burying his head into Charles' chest. In a swift movement, Charles gently brought his hand up to the back of Arthur's head, his other arm wrapped securely around him. They both sat there for a good while, breathing in the scent of each other and trying to memorize the way their bodies fit so perfectly together.

"Shouldn't leave things unsaid, should I?" Arthur finally said, breaking the silence. Charles nodded, still holding Arthur close to his chest.

"Then I think I love you, Charles." Charles wasn't going to debate what exactly Arthur meant by this. Charles didn't care. He loved him back.

"I think I love you too, Arthur," Charles murmured, now gently carding his fingers through Arthur's hair.

"I always imagined you were a Bison," Arthur muttered softly, Charles nodded.

"Dutch told me I was like a buck... Unlikely friends." Arthur chuckled, but it ended in a painful cough that Charles tried his best to soothe.

"You think we'll meet in another life?" Arthur looked up at the sky, it was now dusk, and the stars were beginning to appear. Charles nodded,

"I hope so." Arthur smiled at the response, a real nice smile.

"Then I'll look forward to meeting you all over again." Arthur was always the best at bringing out even the most buried emotions. Charles froze, trying not to lose it. He didn't want Arthur to go. He can't let go. He was never able to let go, everything he ever lost is covered in claw marks from when he tried to make it stay. Charles choked back a sob, gently lifting Arthur's head to place a tender kiss on his forehead. Arthur's blue eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, every decision Arthur ever made had spun through his mind, all leading up to this one single exchange. Perhaps death wasn't going to be that bad. Charles brought both of his hands and cupped Arthur's jaw, looking at him, trying to memorize the face.

Charles knew that love existed because Arthur was love.

That's why, when Charles carried the limp, cold, body of Arthur Morgan down that mountain, one arm around his torso, the other around his leg, he made sure to stop by that clearing. He uprooted those flowers and planted them on his grave. It was the least he could do.

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for Righteousness."

A/N- Woah! First fanfic on this account! Last time I regularly wrote fanfiction was when I was sixteen (I am in my twenties now). Couldn't get Charthur out of my head so I created this (it got very out of hand very fast). Unfortunately, I do not apologize for the amount of heartbreak this may cause you.

If you would like to leave a request, go for it! I am a full time college student, and I do work two jobs, so there's no telling if I'll ever get to it, but if it's a good enough request I'm sure I'll make time. It's weird to be so familiar yet unfamiliar with creating a fanfic post, but alas, I'll stop yapping. Hope you enjoyed the fic!