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It started with the fishing trip.
John hadn’t thought much of it at first, Arthur and Charles went off fishing all the time. Men needed time to themselves, away from Dutch, away from the camp, away from Micah’s goddamn face. That was natural. That was normal.
But that time, they came back looking… weird.
Charles had this faint little smile on his face. Arthur was whistling. Arthur never whistled. Not happily, not unless he was drunk or making fun of something.
John filed it away. Probably caught a big one. Maybe they were just drunk.
Then there was the hunting trip where they came back the same way. Charles' hair looked suspiciously mussed, like someone had been running fingers through it. Arthur had a scratch on his neck that, unless coyotes were getting a lot bolder these days, didn’t look like hunting-related injuries.
John tried not to think about it.
Then came the knife practice.
Out by the trees, Arthur sitting on a stump, Charles leaning way too close over his shoulder and laughing. Laughing . Talking in low voices, Arthur actually smiling like he didn’t hate everything in existence. It gnawed at John. He sat there on the edge of camp, squinting at them like a man trying to solve a particularly complicated math problem.
“What are you lookin’ at?” Javier asked, passing by with his guitar.
John waved him off. “Nothin’.”
He wasn’t ready to share his suspicions. Not yet.
It came one lazy afternoon when John rounded the corner of the wagon and came face to face with it .
Arthur Morgan and Charles Smith.
Kissing !!!
In broad daylight. Like they had no shame. Like they weren’t even worried Dutch might come around the corner and give them some speech about loyalty and brotherhood and optics . Arthur had one hand on Charles’ neck, thumb stroking the skin just under his jaw like it was the most natural goddamn thing in the world. Charles had his hand curled into the front of Arthur’s shirt.
They broke apart slow, easy, looking at each other like there wasn’t anyone else in the world.
John, who had gone completely stiff with horror, made a sound. A strangled little wheeze.
Arthur glanced his way. Raised an eyebrow like he was the odd one out. “You alright there, John?”
And John? John fled .
He quickly found Javier sitting near the fire, tuning his guitar.
“Javier,” John said, breathless, “I gotta tell you somethin’. You ain’t gonna believe this.”
Javier didn’t look up. “If this is about you thinkin’ Micah’s been pissin’ in the coffee again, I already know.”
“No, it’s worse.” John leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing top-secret information. “I just saw— Listen, this is gonna sound crazy, but I just saw Charles and Arthur kissin’. Like. Really kissin’. Out in the open. Like it ain’t no big thing!”
Javier finally looked up, very slowly. His expression was unreadable for a moment. Then, with the tone of someone who was both tired and in disbelief, he opened his mouth. “...John.”
“What?”
“They’ve been a thing for months now.”
John blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. “...What?”
“Months.” Javier went back to tuning. “ Everyone knows.”
“ Everyone ?!”
“Yes, John. Everyone.”
John’s voice pitched up like he was fifteen again. “Dutch knows?!”
“Dutch was the first to know.”
“Hosea?”
“Yes.”
“Sadie?!”
“She teased them about it just last week.”
John grabbed the sides of his head like he thought his skull might crack open. “Sean knows?”
“Sean was put in timeout for making a comment about it the first week.”
“I thought he messed up a job or something— wait, what about the girls? Karen?!”
“Karen owes Tilly five dollars because she bet they’d break up already.”
John’s hands dropped helplessly into his lap. “...Even Micah knows?”
Javier gave him a long, pitying look. “Micah knows.”
John stared at the fire for a long time. His worldview was crumbling. His reality was shifting beneath his boots. He thought about every time Arthur had mysteriously vanished with Charles. Every time they’d come back looking smug. The way Charles had started calling Arthur “Morgan” in that soft, almost fond way, instead of the usual exasperated tone.
“Oh my God,” John whispered. “I’m the dumbest man alive.”
Javier patted his shoulder. “Yes.”
The next day, John cornered Javier again. He was starting to think maybe he wasn’t cut out for this whole “understanding people” thing, and honestly, it was eating at him.
“Javier,” he said, with the grim seriousness of a man preparing to ask if the sun would rise tomorrow, “...is there any other relationships I should know about? Like-romantic ones? In camp?”
Javier didn’t even look up from polishing his rifle. “Well,” he said, in that lazy, drawling tone that usually meant trouble was coming, “there’s Hosea and Dutch, obviously. But you already knew that one.”
Silence.
Javier finished wiping down the barrel. He glanced up.
John was staring at him, mouth open. Not like a little open. Like jaw-dangling, stunned-scarecrow, just-watched-the-sky-fall open.
“…You did know about that, right?” Javier said, blinking. “Right? John?”
John’s mouth moved. No sound came out.
Javier sat up a little straighter, suddenly uncertain. “John??”
Still nothing.
Javier set the rifle down. “ John , they raised you.” His voice cracked halfway between disbelief and mounting horror. “Surely you knew. Surely you knew? ”
John found his voice at last. “Dutch… and Hosea ?!”
“Yes!” Javier half-shouted. “Yes! For years ! Longer than you’ve been alive probably! What did you think they were doing all those nights you heard them arguing in Dutch’s tent and then it got real quiet for a long time after?!”
“I just thought…” John’s face scrunched up like a man realizing he’d been eating soap this whole time. “I don’t know what I thought!”
“ John! ” Javier looked like he might throw something at him. “Dutch has a portrait of Hosea in his tent! A painting! In a frame! Who the hell carries around a framed painting of their ‘friend’ through the goddamn wilderness unless they’re in love with him? ”
“I thought it was for morale!” John burst out, desperation in his voice. “I don’t know, Javier! They’re weird old men! I figured it was… an old man thing!”
Javier buried his face in his hands. “Oh. My God.”
“Wait.” John squinted, a terrible suspicion dawning. “Does Arthur know?”
“Yes, John. Obviously Arthur knows.”
“Charles?”
“Yes, John.”
“Sadie-”
“YES, JOHN, EVERYONE KNOWS.”
John ran both hands through his hair, nearly yanking some out. “How am I the only one who didn’t know?!”
Javier gave him a long, pitying stare. “Because everyone else has eyes , John. Eyes that work.”
John just groaned and laid down flat in the dirt beside the campfire. “I hate this camp. I hate this gang. I hate everyone.”
“You’re the dumbest man alive, John Marston,” Javier said, but not unkindly.
John let out a long, mournful sigh. “Yeah. I know.”
Later that night John watched from across the fire as Dutch handed Hosea a cup of coffee, smiled at him like he hung the moon, and then sat down just a little too close to be strictly necessary. Hosea leaned in, murmured something only Dutch could hear, and Dutch laughed . A real, soft laugh.
John thought about the last ten years of his life.
Thought about every “let’s go talk somewhere private, Dutch” and every “you trust me, old man?”.
Thought about how Hosea had threatened to shoot him himself if he didn’t marry Abigail.
Thought about Dutch’s speech about family, loyalty, love .
He covered his face with his hands and let out another groan.
“You alright there, John?” Arthur called over. He sounded smug.
“Go to hell, Arthur.”
Needless to say, John didn’t sleep that night.
He lay there, yes, staring up at the roof of his tent, but sleep? Not a damn wink. His mind was too busy playing horrifying reruns of Arthur and Charles being grossly happy together and Dutch and Hosea being in love since probably the Stone Age .
By morning, he’d had enough.
He stormed out of his tent with all the righteous fury of a man who had been lied to, except in this case no one had lied to him, he’d just been tragically, profoundly, earth-shatteringly stupid .
He found them near Dutch’s tent, as usual. Dutch was talking, gesturing with his hands like he was explaining something very important. Hosea was leaned in, sipping coffee, smiling that soft little smile he usually saved for when Dutch was being a windbag.
It made John furious.
He stomped right up to them and pointed his finger like he was accusing them of murder.
“You two are a couple ?!”
Silence.
Dutch and Hosea just… stared at him. Like he’d walked up and started speaking fluent German. Like he’d declared he’d invented time travel.
Dutch blinked. Slowly. “Pardon?”
“You heard me!” John barked, pointing again for emphasis. “You two! A couple! ”
Hosea raised his eyebrows. “Is this… are you setting up a joke, John?”
“I ain’t joking! ”
They exchanged a glance. Dutch looked deeply concerned, like maybe John had fallen and hit his head. Hosea looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“John…” Hosea started gently, “have you taken ill? Is this heat stroke? Or…?”
“You kiss each other! You sneak off together! Dutch gives you flowers-You share a goddamn tent half the time!”
Dutch frowned. “John, you know very well I do not share my tent-”
“With anyone but Hosea!” John exploded. “And everyone knows! I’m the last idiot in this camp to know! Micah knows! Javier knows! Even Sean knew, and he ain’t know anything, ever!”
Another long pause. Then, slowly, it dawned on them.
Dutch’s mouth fell open just a little. “John… son… you didn’t know? ”
“ No, Dutch, I did not! ”
Hosea put down his coffee with a sigh so weary it could’ve blown out a lantern. “John, we practically raised you. How… how could you not know? ”
John threw his hands in the air, exasperated beyond words. “I just thought y’all were real close friends!”
Dutch looked at him, looked at Hosea, then looked at John again. His jaw flexed like he was holding back the urge to laugh or cry or both. “John. We’ve been together longer than you’ve been able to hold a gun properly.”
“Longer than you’ve been able to read,” Hosea added, not helpfully.
Dutch clasped his hands together like he was praying for patience. “We literally adopted you, John. We taught you to shoot. We fed you. You call me your father. And somehow, somehow , you didn’t realize Hosea’s been my… my partner? My confidante? The man I love ?”
“...No one said it outright!” John defended, but it was weak, and he knew it.
“John,” Hosea said flatly, “I once kissed Dutch on the mouth right in front of you. You applauded. ”
John turned faintly red. “Thought it was a joke.”
“Oh my God.” Hosea looked skyward, as though asking for divine help. “Oh my God. ”
Dutch rubbed his temples. “Why do we even bother with speeches about family if none of you boys listen. ”
“Javier knew,” John muttered. “Arthur knew. Charles knew. Karen knew. Micah knew.”
“Micah’s been blackmailing us with it for months,” Hosea said with a shrug. “You’ve been missing out on all the fun.”
Dutch sighed. “Go sit down, John. Have some coffee. Reflect on your sins.”
John slumped away like a scolded dog.
Dutch watched him go. “You think he’ll figure out Karen and Mary-Beth next?”
Hosea shook his head. “Not a chance.”
Javier sat John down the next afternoon.
Not like “hey, let’s have a chat” sat down.
No.
He herded John like a confused cow over to a log by the fire, sat beside him so he couldn’t wander off, and gave him a look. A serious one. The kind Javier usually reserved for telling Sean to stop setting things on fire.
“John,” he said, tone heavy with brotherly concern, “I’m worried about you.”
John sighed, rubbing his face. “Not this again.”
“Yes. This again.” Javier pointed a finger at him. “You are too dumb to live, and it’s only gettin’ worse.”
“That’s a little harsh-”
“ No . No it’s not. Listen.” Javier took a breath, like he was preparing to deliver the Sermon on the Mount. “You do know you have a wife and child, right?”
John gave him a flat look. “Yes. Obviously.”
“Good. I had to start at the bottom. Now… You know Bill’s gay, right?”
John blinked. “That one’s obvious.”
“Thank God.” Javier ticked it off on his fingers. “Alright. You know Karen and Mary-Beth are-”
“Yes, yes. Javier, I ain’t blind. I figured that one out myself.”
Javier gave him a skeptical glance. “Alright. Good. Now… you know Kieran’s trans?”
John frowned. “What’s that mean?”
Javier made a sound. A long, long suffering sound. “ Dios mio. ” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It means Kieran used to be called somethin’ else. Different name. Different… life. He’s a man now.”
John processed this. His eyebrows did a little furrow. “Well… alright then. Good for him, I guess.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“I just don’t know why y’all gotta use new words for things all the time.”
“It’s not new, John, it’s just new to you because you’ve had your head up a horse’s ass for thirty years.”
John muttered something under his breath about “too many labels these days” like a man twice his age.
Javier sighed deeply. “Okay. Next question. Do you understand that Sean is Irish?”
“…Yeah?”
“Because sometimes I wonder if you know he’s not just loud, he’s Irish. It’s an affliction.”
John gave him a weary side-eye. “You drag me over here for this?”
“No, I dragged you over here because yesterday you had an emotional breakdown over the fact that the two men who literally raised you are in love. I’m tryin’ to help you, pendejo. I don’t want you to accidentally wander into camp one day and have a heart attack because Charles and Arthur are holdin’ hands again.”
“They weren’t just holding hands, Javier.”
“They never are.” Javier rubbed his temples. “John… look at me.”
John looked.
“You are not gonna die because of a bullet, or starvation, or Micah finally stabbing you in the back. You are gonna die because you walked off a cliff while tryin’ to figure out how people work.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s not wrong, either.”
John groaned and leaned back on the log. “Why’s everyone so damn complicated these days.”
Javier patted his shoulder. “They’re not. You’re just painfully slow.”
John stared at the sky. “I need another drink.”
Javier nodded. “And I need more patience.”
After Javier’s little intervention, John wandered off like a kicked dog looking for a quiet place to sulk. Eventually, predictably, he found Abigail.
She was sitting with Jack on her knee, humming something soft and rocking him half-asleep. It was the most peaceful scene John had laid eyes on in days. He sat down next to her with a heavy sigh, like a man carrying the weight of the world and about five layers of humiliation.
Abigail gave him a side glance. “You look like hell.”
“I feel like hell,” John muttered.
“Something happen? Or just bein’ you again?”
John rubbed his face. “Everyone keeps tellin’ me I’m stupid.”
Abigail raised an eyebrow. “They ain’t wrong.”
He groaned. “I just… I didn’t know about Dutch and Hosea. Or Charles and Arthur. Or… apparently Kieran bein’ somethin’ I don’t fully understand yet. I feel like everyone’s been livin’ this whole complicated life and I’m still out here tryin’ to figure out if coffee’s done boilin’ or not.”
Abigail let out a short laugh through her nose. “Well… I mean, Dutch’s always preachin’ about freedom and kindness. Savin’ whores and killin’ racists. Thought it’d be obvious some of the fellers would be different.” She gave him a pointed look. “ Especially to you. You was raised by ‘em.”
John slumped further. “I thought I knew ‘em.”
“Well, that’s on you. Ain’t no one hidin’ nothin’. You just don’t look. ”
John groaned again, pulling at his hair like he could squeeze the dumb out of his skull.
Abigail gave him a look. A real considering one. Then:
“…I actually thought you was bisexual, you know. Figured you liked men and women both.”
John nearly fell off the log. “ What?! What in God’s name led you to think that?! ”
Abigail shrugged. Utterly unbothered. “Yer hair’s long. And you walk a certain way.”
John stared at her like she’d grown another head. “My hair?! ”
“And your walk.”
“My walk?! ”
She nodded. “Little sway to it. Javier does it too. I just assumed.”
“You-You can’t just decide a man’s sexuality ‘cause of his gait! ”
Abigail arched an eyebrow. “Can. Did.”
John looked to Jack for backup. Jack, of course, was mostly asleep and not interested in saving his father from this humiliation.
“I ain’t swayin’ on purpose,” John grumbled.
“Never said you was.” Abigail gave him a small, knowing smile. “But I seen the way you look at Javier sometimes. Like you’re starin’ down a steak you ain’t supposed to want.”
John flushed crimson. “I don’t- I wasn’t- That ain’t-”
Abigail patted his knee. “Relax, John. I ain’t judgin’ you. Man like you, grown up how you did, ain’t surprised you’re a little flexible.”
“I ain’t flexible! ”
“Sure.”
“I ain’t!”
Abigail yawned, rocking Jack a little more. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart.”
John stared at the dirt. Considered his life choices. Considered maybe he really did need to start walkin’ straighter.