Chapter Text
It was subtle, the way Arthur changed. It took a trained eye to spot the signs, see the little quirks and altered reactions. Hosea was a pro at reading his boys, even if Arthur wished he would just look the other way and let him be.
Lately Arthur had withdrawn—a trait that was hard to discern when the man was constantly leaving camp to go hunting, run missions, or whatever it was he spent his free time doing. Arthur had always liked solitude and deeply appreciated some time alone and away from the stresses of human interaction.
Hosea first noticed it when Arthur stopped sitting at the campfire when there was more than one other person there. Something in him made him antsy once more people showed up, sat down, and started talking. Hosea took note of how Arthur could easily sit with Charles, then become fidgety once Sean or Uncle joined them. He’d get up, saying “Catch you later, then,” before retreating to his tent or to the edge of the site.
At first Hosea thought Arthur was avoiding specific people. That notion was shot down when he caught Arthur sitting alone with Sean, getting up to leave once Mary-Beth came by to sit down. Another time he’d seen Arthur sit with Kieran at the poker table, leaving before Bill and Javier could join them.
Arthur wasn’t socially anxious per se, but he did get nervous in crowds when he was tense or stressed… which is near constantly anymore.
Maybe he was socially anxious. Just a bit.
Hosea’s concern grew when he caught Arthur in white lies, unnecessarily coverups for things. One morning he’d heard a particularly harsh exchange of words between Arthur and Dutch, the scene ending with Dutch storming from his tent and Arthur standing just outside of it for a while, blankly staring ahead. He’d eventually retreat to his own tent, left wrist clutched in his right hand.
Hosea’d barely caught it when Arthur’s thumb moved, scratching at his wrist until the skin was raw and red. Later on Hosea would ask about it, disappointed when Arthur claimed it to have happened when he smacked his arm against his wagon.
It was becoming apparent that Arthur wasn’t all there anymore. He didn’t smile or laugh around camp as much, forcing it when he did. Offers to play games or dance were ignored. Offers of extra food were turned down, often the food left out after being forced on him to take.
Hosea didn’t like where this was going. He’d seen Arthur slip into a deep depression before, thank god it was a rare occurrence with the man. He’d seen Arthur go off the deep end only once, attempting suicide and unable to be left alone else he hurt himself.
That was when Eliza and Isaac had died. He almost joined them, only prevented by Hosea, Dutch, and Susan’s constant attention. They’d stopped him just in time.
It didn’t truly worry Hosea until he looked up one day to see Arthur in his tent, cleaning his gun, staring longingly at it. There was a sadness in Arthur’s eyes as he held the pistol and admired it.
It was one thing for Arthur to self-harm, that was manageable and never lasted long with the man. He’d always stop on his own accord before Hosea had to step in and have a talk with him. But the way Arthur zoned out around camp and never seemed genuinely happy made Hosea think this was something more serious. His ‘funks’ usually only lasted days, maybe weeks, before returning to normal.
They were passing the time threshold of his usual bouts.
The depressive state from losing his son had come on suddenly, instantly, and lasted for months before Arthur could work past all the grief. He’d spent just about every moment of that time with Dutch or Hosea or Susan, never given the chance to slip up after they had caught him holding a gun to his own head. They all understood his feelings and the need to feel something, or the desire to just end it all.
It was harder when his depression came back and there was nothing to blame it on.
It took all of Hosea’s willpower not to ask Arthur why his wrists were actually rubbed raw, why he kept ‘smacking it into the wagon’ like he claimed. He observed Arthur’s behavior, hoping to see signs of it stopping, instead picking up how much it had worsened.
Because now there were cigarette burns on his hands.
It was going too far. Hosea knew he had to stop this before it ended with Arthur making a permanent mistake.
“Dutch, a word?”
Dutch looked up from his book and caught Hosea’s eye. He placed a bookmark between the pages and sat the book aside, hand gesturing for Hosea to take a seat.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a walk.”
“If you say so, Old Girl.” Dutch’s lips curled up in a playful smile, noting how Hosea didn’t return the carefree expression.
They’d made small talk as they strolled through the camp, heading for the small beach on the outskirts of site. They went farther than normal to avoid anyone else joining them there. Hosea didn’t need everyone to overhear what he had to say.
“Okay, what’s wrong? You look grim.”
Hosea sighed and looked out to the water. “I’ve been watching Arthur lately. I see him slipping, Dutch.” He brought his gaze back to meet Dutch’s softening eyes. “He’s getting bad with people again, and you know when he gets people-shy that means he’s getting sad. And he’s hurting himself and lying about it.”
That caught Dutch’s attention and his eyes widened a fraction. “That scrape on his wrist?”
“Wagon my ass,” Hosea grumbled. “Now he’s putting out cigarettes on his skin. God knows what he’ll do next.”
“Does he know you know?”
“No, he thinks he’s hiding it. Any time I’d ask about what happened to his skin he says he was clumsy and slipped.”
Dutch sighed and rubbed his palms over his eyes. “Why does he do this?”
“I don’t know, Dutch, but we need to keep an eye on him before it gets worse. He got a little too close to… y’know. Last time he was like this. I’m not losing him.”
“We’re going to take care of this,” Dutch reassured, placing a hand on Hosea’s shoulder.
While Hosea appreciated the gesture, he knew Dutch could be dense as bricks. Dutch obviously hadn’t picked up on the change in Arthur, hadn’t seen him withdraw, had believed his lies about his wrists. Dutch was a good man, but he was far too self-absorbed to notice red flags waving in his face.
“You shoulda seen the way he was looking at his gun. He wants to do it; I can feel it.”
Dutch’s stomach dropped. “We’re not going to let that happen. Look, hear me out on this… we get the whole camp to watch out for him.”
Hosea’s jaw dropped. “The whole camp? Are you crazy?”
“We’re a family! Everyone loves Arthur, even if he’s too dumb to see it, and surely they would want to help keep him alive.”
“You really want to out his personal struggles to everyone?”
“If it keeps him alive, then yes, I do.”
Hosea sighed deeply and looked away from Dutch. He was thinking over it, how disastrous it could be if Arthur found out they went and told the whole camp he was mentally unstable.
“Just… what would you say?”
“Well, I’d tell them that they need to keep an eye out and make sure Arthur isn’t left alone. That he’s going through something, and they need to make sure he’s not doing anything reckless.”
“I don’t see this going over well.”
“Just have some faith in our little family, Hosea.”
They weren’t pleased to return to camp and be told Arthur had already left, telling Charles he was just running a few errands in Rhodes. Though it worried them, Dutch decided this may be the most opportune time to have a little gang meeting to discuss Arthur’s problem.
“Everyone, center of camp! We all need to have a little talk!”
His tone was that of a father about to scold his children, making each gang member wonder what they had individually done wrong. They were gathered outside Dutch’s tent, Dutch and Hosea standing together in front of it.
“Now, this isn’t an easy thing to talk about, but it needs to be heard. Everyone here cares for Arthur, correct?”
There was a surprised hush over the gang and a chorus of confused agreement.
“Good. And everyone wants to see him well, correct?”
They agreed again, still silent and curious.
“Then you’ll all agree that we must do anything possible to keep him safe, even from himself.”
A couple of the girls gasped at the words, Bill and John mumbling out “What?” when their brains registered what was meant.
“Now, some of you may have noticed lately that Arthur hasn’t been around much. Or he seems rather shy. And some of you may have noticed the frequency in which he gets hurt. Scraped up, burnt.”
A barely audible “Oh, god,” was heard among the group.
Before continuing, Dutch looked to Hosea for support. “We need someone to stay by his side at all times. If you see him hurting himself, you tell us. If you see a new mark, you tell us. If he looks a little too long at his gun, you tell us.”
The silence was short before Sean spoke up. “What’s… wrong with him? Why would—why…”
“Ain’t always a reason,” Hosea replied, knowing what Sean was asking. “Sometimes you just get sad to the point of no return, and there ain’t nothing to cause it. Just happens. He usually finds his way back out of it, but I’m not so sure he will this time.”
The group talked quietly amongst themselves, worry growing. Susan was sighing to herself and hoping this wouldn’t be as bad as when Isaac died, though if Dutch was basically putting the whole camp on guard… putting Arthur preemptively on suicide watch. Well, that didn’t sit well with her.
Later that night Arthur would return from his busy day, heading straight to his tent once Kieran insisted he take care of the horse. Arthur barely entered his tent when Dutch approached him, smoking on a cigar.
“There’s the big man! How was your day, son?”
Arthur looked at him with tired eyes. He’d been running around all day and just wanted to lay down and forget the world. He was socially drained and simply could not handle a conversation with Dutch. Sometimes he felt like Dutch just liked the sound of his own voice.
“Long.” He sat on the cot and looked away from Dutch as he shucked his boots off and slowly undressed. He hoped if he ignored Dutch long enough, he’d get the hint and leave.
Dutch got the hint alright—and he sat himself down beside Arthur instead.
It took everything not to exasperatedly ask, ‘Really?’
“You know, I’ve missed the time we used to spend together. You, me, and Hosea ought to go out fishing sometime. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
“Fun?” Arthur repeated. “Couple old men makin’ fun of me for a few hours, trapped on a boat? Count me out.”
Dutch’s smile dropped. “What’s going on with you?”
“I’m tired and you won’t let me sleep,” Arthur bit back, harsher than he’d meant it to sound.
Dutch sighed and his eyes landed on Arthur’s raw wrists and burnt hands. At least there weren’t any new marks.
“Get some rest, son.”
He got up and left Arthur in his tent alone. Arthur exhaled a tense breath and finished undressing, taking off his pants and shirt before pulling his worn blanket over his body and falling into an uneasy sleep.