bakerstreet | pic prompts.

Chuckling out a 'shut up', John put his cigarette to his lips as he thought about it for a while, then a thought crossed his mind, and a furrow came to his brow.

They couldn't name it after Dutch or Hosea outright, but the things they taught, the things that Dutch preached. The things that everyone had sacrificed to get to this point.

Sacrifice. They'd sacrificed Arthur.

Dutch had taught John just about three things when it came to Chess - he'd tried to teach him to play but the game hadn't caught John's attention, thus hadn't been something the man had picked up. But he remembered something in his line of thought, then offered the double meaning,

"King's Sacrifice."

Arthur nearly choked on his beer as he laughed, "Must I repeat myself when it comes you not naming things? Where'd you pick that up from? One of Mary-Beth's novels?"

Felt depressing. King's Sacrifice Ranch? Christ he hoped not.

He tried to recall the ranch names they'd passed over the years. So many they blurred but most were named after the folk who founded it, like this place's original name was MacDougall Ranch. There was also the MacFarlane Ranch in New Austin. Then some were named after animals like Pronghorn Ranch...

Arthur grinned.

"I'm putting my hat in for Bear Claw Ranch." he said, looking pretty proud of himself as he drained his bottle.

"Well then what the hell are you askin' me for? And you think yours is better? That's just a body part! I got it from tryin' to find a way to get one'a Dutch's things in there, and what you done!" He swatted Arthur's shoulder, scowling at him for maybe half a second before snorting out half a snicker, himself.

"I dunno. Linde's Plan."

Arthur swatted him back, grabbing another beer.

At the new name, he laughed, "No, no, no, can't have that, somethin' always goes wrong!" he grinned, then quickly looked around to make sure Dutch wasn't nearby before laughing again.

He took a swig before adding to the pile of names which at this point had lost all seriousness. "Lumbago Ranch, because by the time we finish with that fence and building a second stable, we're gonna have it ourselves."

John couldn't hold back a full laugh at the first, then it sustained with the second. He finished off his own beer shortly after, and grabbing another for himself.

It took him until he evened out enough to talk, he pointed at Arthur, and offered, as somberly as he possibly could, "Gunsmoke Ranch. Certainly saw enough of it to get where we is."

Arthur shrugged, "That ain't half bad actually." he nodded, "But I guess we'll all get together at some point and come up with somethin' that fits us. Definitely need to change it up from MacDougall before we start sellin' anything, horses, peaches or otherwise."

Chickens were doing well, no doubt they'd have an export of eggs in addition to fruit and stock. Tilly was talking of doing something with the wool from the sheep when it came time to shear them, but six heads of sheep were only enough for them to profit from personally, especially when winter hit and they all had need of hats and mittens.

Needed a name for this place that was broad as a last name, but unique enough to entice folk into buying what they were selling.

All in good time he reckoned.

He looked out over their community. So much done, so much left to do.

"We got more important matters than a name for now," John said with a nod, watching Kieran in the distance as the man made his way to one of the smaller shacks he shared with Lenny. He took a slow sip of his beer, looking over at the stable, then out at the road as he thought. They'd been doing a good job of starting up, but they needed to be sure to get things prepared, both for winter, and the upcoming spring. Long term plans were never John's forte, but he figured that he could maybe learn, if he stuck with it.

He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that this was all theirs. All the hard work, all the dirty shit they'd done, all the killing that Hosea opposed, the way they'd put off their original codes of ethics, all of it culminated to this.

"Wonder if we'll be able to get back to helpin' folk once we turn a profit. That was nice. Givin' money to the orphans n' homeless."

Arthur had his bottle to his lips when John wondered that aloud.

He sighed, running his fingers over the glass, watching the liquid roll in the bottom. "I don't know, feels like a lifetime ago we was doing that. Be nice to, to give back again. Be a long time before we'll be turning a profit though. Still got another stable to build and its probably gonna be twice the size as that one. And Pearson was talking about a shack just for canning and the like so that we ain't taking up room in the houses."

Plus all the saplings for the cherry and apple trees, those were apparently pretty pricey too.

"Got a bit for ourselves to be done before we help others again"

"Shouldn't have strayed from that." At least that was John's point of view on it; he'd been doing what he wished would have been done for him before the old men took him in. There were only a couple orphans in Fairview, and quite a few indigent folks that they would have helped ages back, and would have exploited under Strauss' wants.

He swigged from his bottle and shifted his legs to hook his bootheels against one of the wooden slats under the railing on which he was perched, so he could lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"For now though, right now? I ain't feelin' too keen on thinkin' 'bout how much work we gotta do. We done a lot, Arthur. Figure I earned a day off."

Arthur agreed with a nod. They shouldn't have but, they did, for a variety of reasons. Back then, there were fewer in the gang, needs were easily met, simple life was okay. But dreams of more, of living a life and not just on the move ahead of the law started to form, and their group grew as more misfits joined.

He snorted and chugged the last of his beer, "Yea, maybe you're right."

While they really hadn't worked today, having tomorrow to relax and not go anywhere or build anything would be nice.

"Let's take tomorrow off" he agreed, clinking his empty bottle against John's before heading inside to get some rest.

Agreeing with a single nod, and finishing off his beer to leave the bottle on the porch, John hopped off the rail. "Abigail's okay with me lookin' after you," he mentioned as he took off his hat and hung it up on the coat rack near the door, then scratched through his hair. "She didn't even put up much a fuss about it or nothin'." A rare occurrence, but one that was a little victory in John's eyes.

It felt good to take off his boots after a long day of riding and walking, feeling lighter still when he hung up his gun belt and the satchel he had on almost constantly. It may have made him feel a little vulnerable, but they kept their firearms close to the door. If anything were to go down, there was no reason to feel defenseless.

“What was you yellin’ about earlier anyway? Gotta have run out of arguments by now since we’re living so well” he said.

They had their own house, legitimate business was up and coming, John was spending time with his kid, the hell could Abigail be mad at John about to cause such a ruckus?

"I was catchin' hell about bein' gone so much." John waved it off dismissively, then added, "She don't want me strayin' off again, was threatenin' to put me on a leash to keep me from runnin' away." At which point he told her that sounded like a fetish rather than a threat, and she blew up. Served him right for being crass when she was so serious.

"It don't matter in the long run, it ain't like I been gone longer'n half a day since we got here."

"Gone so much?" he laughed and shook his head. John was barely gone half as much as Uncle was. Which reminded Arthur to ask him where the hell that old bobcat wandered off to seemingly everyday. Was he hunting? Exploring? For a man who complained about doing nothing, he was sure doing something.

He looked around the living room, sparse of decor or furniture, was taking awhile to secure such things as Fairview was no Saint Denis in terms of having things on hand.

He headed for his room, closing the door to change in private before settling into his bear form.

"Her words, not mine." John said with an implied shrug in his tone as he walked back towards his bedroom to say goodnight to Abigail before she fell completely asleep. He checked in on Jack as well, the boy sprawled out on the small bed that they'd wound up getting from a family whose boy had grown out of its size. Closing the door as carefully as possible, with a thief's stealth, John slipped away and back through the house.

He walked around with bare feet, snuffing out the lanterns and blowing out the candles, before making his way into Arthur's room, giving the same treatment to the lantern in there, and sat down beside his brother, rubbing his hand over the bear's shoulder with a pat. "Get some rest, brother," he quietly spoke, putting his arm over Arthur as he'd seen Charles do.

Arthur had opened his window and rested his head on the sill, looking out into the night, the smell of the woods and the residual smoke of a campfire actually making him want to go out and wander, but he knew he needed some decent sleep despite plans to take it easy as possible tomorrow.

He looked over as John came in and he laid down on his bed of blankets and pelts, head between his massive paws. He yawned widely, teeth glinting in the dark before he closed his eyes. He grunted an acknowledgment and tried to get some rest.

He wasn't asleep long before he jolted awake from a dream he couldn't recall but could hazard a guess considering what hellish nightmares usually plagued him. He sat up, forgetting momentarily John was there and likely bumping him awake in the process. But crooned an apology before moving to sit at the window again, head once more on the sill as he looked out at the starry sky, taking up most of the area as he was so big.

Much as John's heart was in the right place, it wasn't the same. Charles was, well, things were vastly different between him and Arthur than they were with anyone else in the gang, though admittedly something he wasn't ready or would ever feel like the others should know.

Arthur thought about leaving, going out to find him, maybe help him help the Wapiti, anything to have him near again, but Charles had been specific, and besides, if he was seen anywhere near there, and news of his hanging had already reached the area, he could put those folk in danger. Pinkertons weren't above hurting innocents to get what they wanted. Charles would return, he promised he would, and the man was truer to his word than anyone Arthur had ever met before, and unlike any man he'd come to care deeply for. He believed him, but hell, it'd only been a couple days and here he was, pining like his poor dog Copper used to.

He felt like a damned fool.

Edited 2021-08-19 23:42 (UTC)

John had found himself drifting into his thoughts as he laid beside Arthur, the heat of the large bear warming his side, the fur of him not unlike a blanket - he'd slept on and under bear pelts before - keeping him at ease to a point where he drifted off, himself. He had wanted to stay awake, to keep an eye on his brother, like he'd said he would, but the lull of comfort made him relax, and soon, his thoughts gave way to sleep.

Though that lasted only about as long as Arthur's did, and he gasped awake, sitting up, already alert, eyes darting over to Arthur. It took him a moment to gather a few coherent thoughts before he spoke a groggy, "All right?" He put his hand on Arthur's cheek, brow furrowed in concern. There was a bit of guilty frustration in his expression, like what he'd done wasn't done correctly. It was the same look he'd gotten when he was still learning how to read and write, and kept spelling something wrong. Hosea would get stern, and he'd get mad, mostly at himself.

It was weird how similar Arthur's expressions were in his bear form to his human face. "Please, when you can, talk to me 'bout them dreams." It was starting to truly worry John, not that it hadn't before. He knew Arthur, knew that both of them were haunted, but it had shifted where now, Arthur was far, far worse off. It had rattled him when Arthur returned from the dead - and he truly had - but that haunted, hollow look he'd gotten, that deep running pain. John couldn't say he knew it personally, not to the depths Arthur did, but he knew it well enough that he could spot it.

As he thought, John rubbed his face, pinching his fingers and thumb against his eyes, then vigorously shook his head. Well, he was up, no doubt about that. And he sure as hell wouldn't be getting any sleep, knowing that he couldn't help Arthur like he'd wanted. He'd still try again, of course, but he wasn't very happy that he could help Arthur like he'd needed help.

Arthur looked over when John spoke. He then looked away, back out the window. John wouldn't understand, wouldn't listen, but, maybe he would. At least a little anyway. Uncle said talking helped.

So, he'd try.

After several long moments, Arthur moved back onto the bed and shifted back, the process had become less painful, and it was quicker. Not exactly pretty to watch but he wasn't crying out in agony anymore.

He shivered, the sudden change from fur coat to nothing even on a warm summer night like tonight was always jarring and pulled the furs around him both for warmth and decency, eventually comfortable again as his body got used to the temperature change.

"They blur more these days." he said, resting his back against the wall.

Arthur shifting was still a little eerie to watch, but nothing like the first time. It looked smoother now, despite the jutting, crunching, twisting way Arthur moved between one form to the other. John turned his head to give Arthur a bit of modesty, despite the fact that there wasn't anything there that he hadn't already seen. It was only polite.

He only realized belatedly that he'd left his cigarettes on the porch, and wished he had the forethought to bring them with him when they came in earlier. Smoking kept him focused, kept him from being stressed. This was far too important to excuse himself to go get them, however, and he simply dropped one leg before him as he looked at Arthur once he had a fur over him.

"Yeah?" It was his way of coaxing more out of Arthur, non-invasive, engaged despite the abbreviated way of speaking.

As if reading John's mind, Arthur reached over and fumbled through his satchel. He pulled out his cigarettes, offering him one and sticking another between his lips before finding a book of matches.

He took a long, deep breath, the taste of the nicotine familiar but offering none of the benefit of calming his nerves or the like anymore.

"I don't know, not sure what you want me to say. Shit was a shit experience I can't get out of my head, yet apart from the memories, the dreams all escape me" he said.

Thank God for shared habits. John nodded his thanks and leaned forward to use the same match to light his, then leaned back with an exhale of smoke through his nose, eyes fluttering closed. The motions alone calmed and helped John, but the nicotine helped immensely to focus him.

"You been through a lot of shit this year, Arthur." Not that he particularly hadn't, and even though it was a subconscious gesture on his part, he reached up to rub his still-new scars with his free hand. "Too much." He looked up and out the window, himself, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"You'n me both. Dreams don't stay, they don't let themselves be known, all they do is leave you wound tight and hurt, don't even do any good like give you a bolt from the blue idea. Don't know what fancy moron thought that bullshit up, but it ain't ever happened for me. Doubt it does for anyone."

Arthur did catch him rubbing his scars but said nothing of it. Talk about things that felt like a lifetime ago and yet so near he felt like he could touch them. The icy cold of the mountains and the howl of the wolves as they called out for John, finding his poor horse torn to shreds and fearing he might have been dragged off.

Those moments still sometimes crawled into his thoughts, what if they’d found John dead...

But this was different. Because that had been a what if. This reoccurring absolute terror he felt, of clawing his way out of his own grave and finding himself utterly alone had its grip on him in a way unlike anything he’d ever experienced, had indeed happened. The nightmare itself faded into obscurity, but he was always brought back and reminded of the memories when he thought for sure he’d begun to forget.

Charles helped him forget...

“We all been through a lot.” He said simply.

John nodded to that. "It ain't gonna happen again, nothin' even close will. You got me... us. You got us." He pointedly refused eye contact then, looking with a scowl out the window.

He decided he wouldn't keep harping on the point that Arthur had been through too much, it wouldn't make the pain or terror go away; it never helped him when folks told him that he'd been through hell and survived. In fact, it only fucked him up more.

"Can't mend up what's happened, but we got an actual life ahead of us. All I saw ahead of us after Blackwater was more misery, but now..." He finally turned back to look at Arthur, hope briefly flashing on his face. "We got a real chance. One I ain't ever actually expected."

Frankly, if he was being more open, he'd have said he didn't believe a damn thing that had happened since the mountain. It all felt like a dream in itself. Not a particularly good one for most of it, but the land, the buildings, the trees, the horses, all of it. All of it felt simultaneously raw and real, but surreal and unbelievable. He'd never lived in a house, and now he was sitting in Arthur's room. In his house.

"The pretty words actually came to somethin'."

Arthur smiled a little at that. Affectionate of John to say that. He gave him a nudge before taking a drag on his cigarette, listening to him still.

He saw that hope in him, hope of watching his son grow up while he and Abigail grew old and died of natural causes, not shot to hell and buried someplace they couldn't visit. Barring anyone getting sick or suffering a stupid injury, they'd all see the year out and into a new century, something that boggled his mind.

But therein lay the problem. Eventually everyone would...

He sighed and knocked his head lightly against the wall. He needed to think more short term and stop thinking about the possibility that he'd become something like MacDougall when everyone here was dead and gone.

The nudge was returned quickly with a lopsided smile, albeit one that barely registered. John turned when he heard Arthur's head hit the wall, however, and gave him a look. "You're overthinkin' again."

Not that he knew anything about overthink. Nothing at all. It wasn't like he spent much of his waking time in his own head.

Though eventually something came to him. He'd been meaning to ask since before the man left, but he didn't feel it was prudent, or any of his business, but now he was curious.

"So what's it between you and Charles?"

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