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Arthur doesn’t notice that something’s wrong with John until they get back from Guarma. That occasional cough he’s been hearing from the other man has developed into something wet and thick.
He’s losing weight as well, weight he doesn’t have to lose to begin with, his clothes hanging on his already trim frame and those broad shoulders hunched and diminished.
“You seen a doctor, John?” He asks gently, sitting beside the man at the fire, offering his own body heat as much as he thinks John will allow. It’s cold up here in the mountains, cold and damp and he sees the younger man shivering more than he’d like.
“Don’t need to. I know what’s wrong.” John coughs, spits something dark into the fire.
“You got medicine?” He asks.
“Sure, Arthur.” His voice has gone raw and gritty from the cough, and considering John’s usual tone is thin and a bit strangled anyway it’s downright painful almost to listen to.
He wants to press the man, ask him to take it easy for a while until he’s feeling better, but Dutch is on some mad scheme with the army and the Indians and it’s all Arthur can manage to hold the gang together – make sure everyone’s fed and safe as possible and out of Dutch’s way.
He does manage to pin down Abigail, about a week into their stay in the Murfree caves, ask her how John’s doing. Her lips purse and she looks more strained than he’s ever seen her.
“He won’t sleep in the tent with me and Jack. Says he's worried we’ll catch it from him.” She tells him. “He keeps… he keeps talking about us getting out of here, Arthur. Been telling me to keep my things together, and he’s trying to stash away some money before Dutch can hide it all.”
“He’s probably right.” Arthur hasn’t wanted to admit how far they’ve fallen but John’s got the right of it and a family to think of as well. No one that stays is gonna make it out of this in a good way. “You should do as he says, if I can help ya’ll get outta this I will.”
“Arthur…” She nods, sniffs down what he thinks is a sob. “I ain’t sure John’s gonna make it out of this.”
“Hey, don’t you think like that, Abigail.” He pulls her into a hug. “He’ll make it, for you and Jack. Even if I have to drag his sorry ass along after you.”
There’s a train delivering army payroll that Dutch is determined to rob.
In their heyday it would have been a downright easy job but there’s none of them that aren’t battered and bruised now and John most of all.
“You shouldn’t come, Johnny. Just say and watch the camp.” He tries to insist.
“Nah… I’m good.” John just manages not to sway on his feet.
“Dutch, he ain’t well…" Arthur tries, feeling desperate. "We can do this without him.” The older man stares down at them and there’s something hard and foreign in his gaze there that Arthur can’t read.
Once Dutch had doted on John like he really were the man’s own son. Now… now he looks like he hardly recognizes either of them.
“John, you too weak for this, boy?” He asks, voice flat.
“I can make it, Dutch.” He don’t sound convincing it at all.
“He says he’s good for the job, Arthur.” Dutch ignores the wet cough that follows John’s words and turns to saddle up The Count.
“Johnny…” He tries one more time, and the man just turns to him, smiles a bit sadly.
“It’ll be okay, Arthur.”
It’s not okay.
John doesn’t even make it to the train, knocked off his horse before he can even try and Dutch tells him after there was nothing he could do.
Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever felt this lost before. This alone.
He drags himself forward, for the rest of them. For Abigail and Jack whom he’d promised to help and feels he needs to see to safety even more now.
Once they’re on their way, he goes back to confront Dutch, to try one last time to reach the man. To at least warn him that Micah’s a goddamn rat.
Except John’s there, alive but held at gunpoint while Micah lies through his teeth and talks about hanging him and Dutch… Dutch just watches. Impassive.
“No… Arthur, you were supposed to go with them!” John is frantic, face devastated to see him back here. “You were supposed to take Abigail and Jack and go!”
“So… you were planning to betray me.” Dutch says, flat and unsurprised.
And then there’s Pinkertons everywhere.
They make it halfway up the side of the mountain, Arthur half dragging John along when the man finally gives out on him. Trips and staggers to his knees, breath coming hard and ragged.
“I can’t. Arthur, I can’t. You have to stop this and go.” He pleads, eyes red and blood on his lips, pooling in the tiny scar that cuts through them. Makes the cut look fresh.
“The hell I do! You are making it off this goddamn mountain, boy, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“No. I’m not.” John stares up at him. “I’m dying, Arthur. I been dying. This…” He motions to his face, coughs hard and wet and bloody. “It ain’t going away.”
Arthur feels like all the air’s been pulled from his lungs. Like his spine has turned to ice as he stares down at the man that’s been half his brother and all his hopes.
“No… no, you’re not.” He can’t decide if he wants to step away from John or pull him in tight. He wants the man to be lying but he doesn’t think he is.
“Yeah, I am.” John rolls himself to half sit and half lean against the stone wall of the cliff.
“Johnny… why…?” Why didn’t you say? Why didn’t you let me help? Why is this happening?
“I need you to go after Abigail and Jack, Arthur. They need you… please.”
Arthur shakes his head, drops down to gather the other man into his arms like he can hold him there somehow, force him to keep breathing if he just hangs on tight enough.
“They don’t need me, Johnny. They need you. Jack… little Jack needs his father.” He’s begging, his own throat gone tight.
John half laughs at that, leans his head heavy on Arthur’s shoulder.
“You were always as much a father to him as I was, you know. More sometimes.” John pushes him back, eyes searching his. “Please Arthur… I know you always wanted a family. You could have that with them.”
Arthur shakes his head, can’t quite hold back a keening sob. Because John’s not wrong but he doesn’t want them this way.
Not like this… not without Johnny.
“Aww… ain’t this sweet.”
They’ve lingered too long and Micah is there, guns trained on them, smile vicious and victorious.
“Don’t worry, Morgan, you ain’t getting off this mountain either.”
“No!” John shoves Arthur away as the man fires and there’s a moment of stillness after, where he doesn’t know what’s happened. And then the other man sags, a wet stain radiating out from his stomach.
“Gut shot. Bad way to go.” Micah laughs and Arthur sees red, lunges for the man, knocks his guns away and off the side of the cliff. They grapple, but Arthur’s stronger, has always been stronger than Micah and he’s got the other man pinned to the mountainside, clawing at his arms where he’s choking him when there’s a shot, and Arthur gasps, feels the cold shock of a bullet cutting through his side.
Micah shoves him off, back towards where John is lying still… so still. And Arthur turns to look at Dutch, the man's gun smoking in the cold air.
“Dutch?” He drops to his knees, hands holding the wound, breathless. It bubbles under his fingers, the bullet has nicked a lung. “He was the rat… he was the one that sold us out… Milton told me. It was Micah all along…”
Dutch stares at him, and Arthur thinks he can see a flicker of fear there in the man’s eyes. Like maybe it’s just now the man realizes what he’s done.
“He’s lying! You know it, Dutch! They both betrayed you! They wanted to leave you behind!” Micah’s hand is reaching for Dutch but the man is still staring down at Arthur and John.
John, who is so still, lying in a too rapidly spreading pool of red.
“Why…” Arthur’s voice is weakening; he can taste blood at the back of his throat. "Why couldn't you... just have faith in us too?" Something seems to break in Dutch then and he turns, shoots Micah in the chest. The bastard looks surprised for just a moment, and then he’s tumbling back off the side of the cliff.
Dutch doesn’t say anything, just looks down at them for a long moment and turns to go. And Arthur would yell at the man if he had the strength left, rage at him for choosing his own sons too late if he chose them at all...
But there's a wet gasp at his side and Arthur claws his way over to John, drags the man against him.
He’s breathing still, but just barely.
“Johnny…”
“Mm sorry, Arthur.. I tried… just wanted you to have the chance to be happy...” His voice is just above a whisper and there’s so much blood. “...cold… why’s it always so cold?”
Arthur tucks the younger man into him, curls around him like he can give John his own heat, the little that’s left.
“I love you.” John breathes. “I… I never remember to say it.”
Arthur keens at that, rocking them both, pressing a coppery kiss to the younger man’s forehead.
“Love you too, Johnny.” John doesn’t answer, and he knows he’s gone. Arthur coughs, blood bubbling up that he tries to breathe around but can’t.
John’s right, it’s so goddamn cold.
Maybe this is all just some fever dream and they never really left the blizzard of Colter. He imagines he can hear the sound of wolves calling in the distance, the bite of a chill so deep it cuts at even the memory of warmth.
“I’ll see you soon.” He whispers into the man's hair and lets the cold and dark take him.