#charles smith.

You always had a habit of working yourself into it—helped you sleep, at least, when push came to shove. However, you weren't the only one that had been suffering from it. There had been a great change in the gang, considering the chaos that had sent you all out east. Attitudes had changed along with the scenery, and it was getting harder to ignore.  It effected all aspects—general camp mood, specific relationships. You hadn't been in too much of a rush to label your relationship with Arthur, and it didn't seem like he was either—just some moments here and there. Fire side visits, close moments when the camp was filled with singing and jovial conversation, a few kisses here and there. There'd been...something, but that had been before the chaos of Blackwater resulted in the corpses of gang members and you'd been pushed out east with the law on your tail. It had been easy to dismiss some of the distance between the two of you with the changes, and you appreciated the isolation sometimes, but it eventually got to putting some questions in your head. (Maybe things had changed too much? Maybe you were too distant too? Maybe he wasn't sharing the same feelings anymore?)

It had been easy to come to the conclusion to leave camp for a bit—you never did too well with how closed in it was, anyway. As much as the scenery was nice, and much better than the bitter cold of Colter, you needed out. Hunting and tracking was something you were decent at, it seemed like a decent enough reason to get away for a while. Why you decided on such a long distance to travel, and alone no less? You weren't too sure. Still, it was worth exploring a bit up there and getting some of the bigger game would be worth it once you got back to camp. After you had given a bit of a cost estimate on what you wanted to bring back, you'd been allowed to leave camp for some time. Pitching the idea to Dutch was odd—you felt it odd that you wanted to report it to him, but someone knowing you were gone was good.

Really good, as it turned out.

Exhaustion was familiar, but it was nothing like this.

You had never felt an ache in your body like this, your arms extended upwards, the burning of the rope around your wrists almost as forgettable as the feeling of the clothing on your body at this point. That position was the tamer of the ones you had been through, your legs and gut screaming from trying to curl them into your chest when they had cruelly hung you over a small fire, the sensation of the flames licking at your feet not quite leaving. The Murfree Brood were bastards, that's all you could tell yourself at this point—cannibalistic bastards. Your stomach was screaming from lack of food too, and it wasn't from lack of them offering, wide grins on their faces. You'd let your stomach cave in before you ate anything they cooked—the man that had been alive in there with you had disappeared a while ago and you knew better than to ask. There was the beatings, the slicing—then they left you to hang limply by your wrists, legs too weak to even let you rest your feet properly on the ground. You would have been completely on the floor if it wasn't for the rope.

You needed to get out of there—you weren't too sure how much more you could take. You cursed yourself for being foolish enough to underestimate this gang, to run after the one that had taken some obviously misguided shots before running off into the bush. You had ran over the moment of the ground breaking away into a man-made pit over and over again. You ran over the conversation with Dutch—they knew you were up there but...lord knows if they felt it was long enough to send someone out to investigate. The Murfree Brood were keeping you alive for a reason, though you wouldn't doubt if it was just for some sadistic amusement. It was hard to keep the thought of nobody finding you from your mind at this point, the pain, exhaustion, and fear was hard to manage. Every new move they pulled made you shake and almost fall into a panic—you liked to think you were hard to shake, but this?

So, it was without much effort that you found yourself struggling to keep your breathing under control when one had wandered over and reached up to untie your hands. What was it now? The fire routine again? The beating? Were they going to hang you by your ankles this time? You could barely keep yourself upright as one of the men grabbed your arm, not too mindful of the gashes there on your shoulders from where your initial kicks and attempts to fight back had been met with knife edges. The bottoms of your feet screamed, it felt like walking on burning logs as you were dragged up the cave. Were...were you leaving?

This was it. You were going to die. They were going to kill you. They were going to set you up in one of those elaborate displays that set the folk of Annesburg on such edge. Your gang members would come out to find your mangled corpse—all those that knew you, Dutch, Arthur...god, Arthur. As much as you could feel yourself starting to panic, your body language and reactions going ignored as you were practically dragged outside, you could feel such a deep sadness. It was something that had come and go throughout this whole thing—the pain was terrible, horrific, but it was hard to focus on much else sometimes. Still...your last conversation with him hadn't been much to remember you by, tinged with bitterness and frustrated, and you regretted not saying something different in that moment. Hell, you could remember being almost excited to just get away from them all before all of this happened...

Now you'd give anything to say anything else to him—something you felt was worth remembering. A better memory. Really, you felt that you might weep at the sight of even a somewhat familiar face.

You were loaded up onto a horse, the cocky rider not even bothering to tie you down—you were too damn tired and injured to run anywhere on him. Momentarily, you panicked about where the hell you were off to now. You had gotten used to the cave, barely able to see anything outside of the firelight sometimes, sharp objects in the dark, laughter, cruel jabs and comments—it had blended together in your mind, but it wore you down to something you had never felt before. This had to end sometime—it had to. The ride was a blur, trees and branches whipping past. Minutes blurred into seconds, scenery changing before you found yourself in a clearing in the dark. The horse had slowed, hands gripping harshly as you were yanked off the back of the horse. Nothing but meat to them at this point. There should be some fight—just something to prove you were still alive at this point, but you were fairly limp as they yanked you along.

Your fears were turning out right—you were going to be put on display. A gruesome warning, scare tactic. As your muscles protested again at your hands being raised above your head again, you found some barrings. There was conversation—gleeful discussion about what to do with you, figures cast in firelight from a single lantern as you struggled to control your panicked gasps. As you felt yourself being secured to the small structure, you found yourself starting to struggle in general. Painful spikes of pain ripped through you as you twisted your body around, distressed noises escaping that you weren't sure were words. However, the glint of a knife and the sting of the the blade biting into the side of your neck stopped you, chest heaving as you stilled.

“—Please. Please...”

Your voice sounded miles away, from a different person, much as you could feel the words leaving you. Pleading was something you had already tried—stooped to, you had initially thought, but in the end it was all you had left. It went ignored as it usually was—they were talking about your eyes. No compliments, no fire side gazing, something much, much worse. You felt your eyes shut somewhat, staring out into the darkness through small gaps in your eyelids as you felt that blade removed from your neck and pressed just under your eye. It stung, but it wasn't a stab. Still, you let out a short yell despite yourself. It was dark out, you could barely see anything, but it seemed like they were ready to make that a certain reality for your last moments.

Two things happened at once—you could feel the blade press and tear, a pained yell escaping you, and the man next to your tormentor collapsed suddenly into a heap with a short grunt. Instantly, the sharp pain was gone, the pressure against your face lifting as the man in front of you whipped around, pulling a gun from his pants. He reached down to pick up the lantern, your eyes burning from the brightness for a few moments as he lifted it up. However, he didn't have much time to react before his head snapped back, dropping the lantern and casting the area into darkness. You heard a fading groan, the sound of a body hitting the ground, and then it was just your panicked breathing.

What the hell was happening?

You shook uncontrollably, your stomach tight as you let out gasping breaths into the silence of the area. There was nothing but the sound of nature for a few moments before you heard shuffling, and someone calling your name. You blinked—once, twice, before it registered.

“Ch—Charles?”

There was more rustling as your eyes started to adjust to the darkness, the moon casting a dull light but it wasn't much. However, you could see a figure making his way toward you, the voice registering as blissfully familiar and you found yourself letting out breathless laughs—borderline sobs.

“Glad I found you when I did,” he muttered, much closer than you thought he was as you felt him tug against the rope around your wrists, “I saw the lights, but your trail had faded. Soon as I saw the trap they made...well...”

“I'm...I'm glad, too,” you whispered, “More than I can explain.”

Finally, the rope gave way and your body dropped instantly. Steady hands gripped at your underarm to keep you somewhat upright, but your knees hit dirt as you let out a pained whimper as your muscles protested against the movement.

“Can you stand?”

You paused for a few moments, taking in some deeper breaths as you willed your breathing to slow before your head started to spin more than it did already. Finally, you nodded softly, but trying to stand seemed like an impossible feat in the moment.

“They...they burned my feet,” you muttered, “feels like hot coals. I just...I can get up but...”

“I understand,” Charles muttered above you, a part of you happy that you couldn't see his expression in the darkness just yet. Hell, you were scared to even see yourself in a mirror at this point, you didn't doubt that you probably looked like death walking.

“Okay...” you whispered, extending an arm up, despite the pain, to find purchase around Charles' shoulders. He followed your lead, carefully wrapping an arm around your back and under your free arm before he helped you come to a stand.

As you mentioned, your feet burned at having your weight on them, much as you shifted a good bit of it onto Charles. You walked a short bit, Charles mentioning his horse, the animal staring back at you two in the darkness. He helped you into the saddle before getting in behind you, wanting to make sure you didn't slide off the back as he started back out onto the road. You felt like you barely had the energy to keep your head upright, the motion making it bob and droop.

“Why did you travel out so far?” Charles asked, causing you to blink as you tried to focus on his words, “This is dangerous country.”

“Thought...don't know what I thought. I figured...figured I might find some bigger game out here...but I found Murfree instead.”

“It's a long ride back to camp, can you hang on?”

You just nodded your head, letting your eyes droop shut as Charles continued to ride. Slipping in and out of consciousness wasn't anything new at this point, reality becoming choppy and confusing. Which it did. You came to in moments where you were on horseback, moments where you were laying on your back as Charles helped put some water into you, back on the horse, laying back down in a wooden structure. It was well into late afternoon when you came to somewhat fully—an afternoon? You weren't even sure what day it was anymore. However, things were looking somewhat familiar—The Heartlands, Charles still riding along at a steady pace as you lifted your head to watch the trees by.

“I took you to a doctor,” Charles said over your shoulder as he noticed your stirring, “Didn't ask any questions, but he wrapped some of your wounds—especially your feet. ”

You let out a small huff, “Feels like a short nap.”

“We're almost at camp, just hang on a bit longer,” Charles explained, the relief at his words almost causing you to cry.

You took a deep breath, your shoulders aching from sitting upright with your head bobbing as you dozed, but it did put a tiny bit of energy back in you. Still, you felt...well, you felt like you were still stuck between sleep and that strange void of chopped up reality. You wondered if you'd fall asleep again and wake up back in the cave—which put an extremely sharp surge of fear into you, forcing you to keep your eyes open. Focusing on the trees, the trail. You were going to be safe soon. You weren't sure if it was minutes that passed, or moments, but things started to become very familiar. You could see the fallen tree that you associated with the camp entrance, Charles continuing to ride the both of you up until you saw the tents. Charles slowed his horse as he approached the hitching posts, keeping a hold against your lower back as he got off first. However, you found yourself dipping and sliding off toward him. You felt yourself landing almost on top of him, almost falling to the ground as you willed yourself to find your feet again. It still hurt, but marginally less. You could see the bandages around your feet as you stood, Charles still keeping steady at your side before the both of you started to walk toward camp. Voices chattered in around you, hard to grasp, though Dutch's rang clear as he stepped up toward your free side.  

“What happened?” he demanded, Charles stopping to let you collect yourself for a few moments as you felt a gentle hand against your shoulder—Dutch's, someone else's, you weren't too sure.

“Murfree Brood,” Charles replied, “A nasty gang up in Roanoke Ridge—murderous, cannibalistic. We had to go to a doctor in Valentine—that was the only way we'd both make it back.”

“They had a trap, some sort of ground cage...” you muttered, “They tricked me, fell in and...”

“You're safe, now,” Dutch said, your gaze meeting his for a few moments as you nodded gratefully, that hand against your shoulder lifting before Charles slowly started to walk again.

“You need to rest—Arthur's not here right now, you can use his cot.”

Oh, you wanted to sleep so badly. The walk across camp felt like it took ages, but eventually you were eased back onto a cot under a familiar tarp. You could hear more noise around you, voices bleeding together as you felt your eyes roll somewhat, your eyelids dropping before the comforting embrace of sleep pulled you under once again.

Dreams and nightmares alike passed in both excruciating slowness and at such speed that you couldn't tell one from another. You dreamed that you were back in that cave—couldn't see anybody, just hanging there as your body burned. You had a dream about your horse, which likely was long gone by now, and the ride out there. That you had brought back a bounty, but the camp was gone when you got back. Everything seemed to pass quietly, pictures in your mind, before you found your eyes opening. The realization was slow, your gaze taking in the side of the familiar wagon, some of the camp chatter much clearer than you remembered it. However, your mouth and throat felt like sand, swallowing not being of any help. Slowly, you turned your head, realizing that your head was propped up by your jacket. The stiffness in your neck was very uncomfortable, but you managed to shift so you could see the area around you more. Arthur was slumped in a chair almost pressed side-by-side to the cot, his legs extended out in front of him as his head was drooped and leaning against one of his shoulders as he slept. Judging from the coolness of the air around you and the somewhat dimmed light, you could gather that it was either late evening or early morning, possibly the latter.

You were tempted to reach out to touch him, place a hand against his shoulder so you could make sure that the both of you really were there. However, you also didn't want to move. You could remember the pain you had been in, and the numbness of sleep hadn't left you just yet. However, you didn't get to dwell on that thought for two long as someone approached the wagon, Mary-Beth's eyes widening as she held a tin cup in her hands.

“You're awake,” she said in something that was barely above a whisper, a small smile touching her features, “You've been out for days...we were gettin' worried.”  

You couldn't find your voice just yet, deciding to stare up at her before she seemed to realize the situation and approached more. She carefully moved around Arthur, holding the cup out toward you.

“It's just water,” she explained, “You need this more than I do. Do you want some help sitting up?”

You had went to reach for the water, but the pain in your side stopped you. With a small exhale, you nodded your head. Mary-Beth glanced toward Arthur for a moment before she moved in front of him and reached out to gently pull you up into a sitting position. You let out a small grunt at the action, your world swaying lightly as you were placed upright. You took down the cup in big gulps as the water soothed your throat almost instantly. You noticed a inhale from beside you as you finished off the last of the water, Arthur shifting his legs so he could sit upright more, rubbing the sleep from his face as you handed the cup back to Mary-Beth. She glanced between the two of you for a few moments before she offered you another small smile.

“I woke up early, thought I would check up,” she explained, “The rest of the camp should be up soon, too, if you need anything...”

“I'm...” God, your voice sounded rough. “I'm okay, Mary-Beth. Thank you.”

She gave a short nod before disappearing back into the still sleeping camp. Arthur didn't say anything as you sat, slouched slightly, on his cot as you watched after Mary-Beth. Slowly, you glanced back over toward him, his gaze off into camp as if intensely studying the empty air there. There had been a million things you had pictured saying to him once you got back, if you had gotten back. Yet, in the moment, you still couldn't find your voice beyond thanking Mary-Beth. You seemed to study him for a few moments, the tightness in his jaw and brow. Finally, you found yourself reaching out, despite the stiffness, to gently plant a hand against his shoulder. He tensed somewhat once you touched him, turning his head to finally glance toward you. There was guilt there, sure as day.

“I should've been there,” he muttered, looking over your face, “With Charles...”

Softly, you shook your head as you squeezed his shoulder somewhat, shutting your eyes for a few moments before answering.

“No...No, Charles almost found me as a corpse. Rather you see me bandaged up than...than like that. Don't do that to yourself.”

It was true. Much as you had wished to be picked up and taken away from there, and nearly crying in relief when Charles' voice cut through the darkness after he killed those two men—it was a state you never wanted anybody else to see. Charles had no choice. If someone hadn't found you, you'd be dead. Still, it didn't appear that Arthur was too convinced, but didn't press further. Your back really was starting to strain from sitting—it would be a while before you were up and walking, burns on your feet or not. However, in the moment, you just wanted to be close to him. You moved your hand to reach out to grab at his hand, pulling his arm toward the cot as an invitation to sit. After a few moments, he finally shifted to sit himself down on the cot behind you, gently placing an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. You leaned into him, letting out a soft exhale as you felt his hand press against the side of your face to hold your head against him. Everything felt secure. This was happening, everything before had happened.

Lord, it really did. All that pain, that torture, and you were just...just back.

“I'm sorry,” you muttered, fighting against the tingling behind your eyes. You felt Arthur shift, as if looking down at you, but you couldn't bring yourself to look up at him.

“The hell ya have to be sorry for?” he asked, causing you to shrug softly, almost uselessly, as he continued to hold you close. You could feel your heart racing, the tightness in your throat as you worked up a response.

“I don't know,” you muttered, voice shaking slightly, “Goin' up there in the first place. Furthest from camp, just by myself. Couldn't handle the pressure here, thought I'd...”

Just take off like you do. You bit back the thought, letting out a small sigh. You felt him do the same—didn't have to tell him, but you felt that he knew the meaning behind the pause. Still, you felt him press his fingers into your hair lightly, the action putting some ease in you. It felt like you were about to burst or pass out, whichever came first. However, with the tears threatening, well...

“Should be me apologizin',” Arthur muttered close to your ear, causing you to furrow your brow, “I lost track of everythin' 'round here, didn't find time to see how you were holdin' up—should've went with you, very least.”

“No, I was the idiot who wanted to go alone,” you corrected—if he'd been there, if you'd both got captured. You thought about the man who had disappeared further into the cave and never came back—didn't even hear a scream. “No...things that happened, what I saw...”

It happened. It all happened. It was over—it was over. You were back. Finally, realization sunk in like a stone flung down into a pond, heavy and fast. Down, and down—the memories reaching out for a few moments—before it hit the mark and you let go finally. You took in a sharp breath, vision blurring heavily with tears before they fell down your cheeks, the breath you let back out shaking before the sobs started to take over. Arthur's hold on your shoulders tightened somewhat, some burning there from a few healing wounds, but you needed him. You wrapped an arm around his back, pressing even closer as you cried.

“Yer safe right here,” he muttered into your hair, “Nothin's gettin' at ya here...”

“I thought...” you gasped out, “I thought I was dyin' and I...I just remembered that we'd just said goodnight to each other. That's it. That would've been last thing I said to you and I...”

“That ain't what happened, yer right here,” he replied, “Don't worry 'bout that—could've yelled at me for all I care, but you ain't dead.”

“I know...” you whispered, taking in another breath as the crying seemed to calm for a few moments, “Just remembered how bitter I was that night—wasn't fair. Should've told you I cared—that I knew you were carryin' a lot and...and that I cared.”

You did—much more than he thought he deserved, and you knew he thought that, but it didn't make it any less true. Coming back to camp, it filled you with such relief to see all those faces again, and you knew you had to thank Charles personally—he saved your damn life, but Arthur...well, that's really what you felt sorry about. Still, Arthur didn't really reply, you felt him exhale heavily, turning slightly as you felt him press his face into your neck, holding there for a few moments. You weren't sure you were going to get answer before he spoke up, lifting his head somewhat.

“Scared the hell out 'f me,” he muttered, “Showed up at camp, got some sympathetic stares and then you was just layin' there—thought you was gone.”

“...Me too,” you muttered, reaching a hand up to grab at his own that still rested off your shoulder, “But...it's done. I'm...I'm okay. I'll be okay.”

In time, at least. You knew your physical wounds would heal, but...well, time would tell. Still, you leaned back against him as you shut your eyes again, the position putting a strain on your back, but you didn't care in the moment. You were there with him, something you had thought wouldn't be happening again. Still, you rubbed his arm slightly as he continued to hold you.

“I slept in that chair the whole four days you was in an' out,” Arthur muttered into your neck, “Saw the color come back, yer on the way.”

“Yeah...” you muttered, “Yeah. It's...it's done.”