Chapter Text
Everything was fine. Totally and utterly fine and completely under Arthur’s control. He was in control, and the horse below him knew that too.
In theory.
In reality, Arthur couldn’t get settled. Anytime the horse that he sat on top of — Lucky Penny was her name, “the calmest mare you’ll ever meet” as Hosea said — moved in the slightest he could feel himself tense up and have the knee jerk reaction to pull the reins tight. Lucky Penny, while understanding at first, was clearly beginning to lose her patience with the situation as a whole. It didn’t help matters that Hosea and Dutch seemed to be in the same boat.
“For god’s sake, son, just relax,” Dutch said from the sidelines, obviously exasperated. This of course has the opposite effect and only served to make Arthur square his shoulders more, sitting ramrod straight in the saddle with a white knuckled grip on the reins. At Arthur’s reaction, Hosea sighed heavily.
Without meaning too, Arthur yanked on the reins a little too hard and that seemed to be the final straw. With an irritated huff and a shake of her head, Penny reared up in an attempt to rid herself of the boy. Arthur, caught completely off guard, tumbled straight off of her back and onto the dirt below him.
The first thing he was aware of was the lack of air in his lungs. He tried to suck in a breath and found that he could barely do even that, and when he made an attempt to sit up he found that he couldn’t. It felt like all the lead in the world had filled the hole where his brain was supposed to be, and black spots filled his vision. He resolved himself to his fate, to lay there in the dirt and die.
And then he catches movement in the corner of his eyes, and remembers just where he was and what he was doing.
Hosea moved closer to where Arthur was still immobilized, making his fight or flight kick in hard. Neither Dutch or Hosea had laid a hand on him in the handful of months that he’d known them, never even giving him reason to think they would. But old habits die hard and when Arthur realized how badly he must have fucked up, all he knew was he needed to move.
Despite the heavy feeling that had settled in his limbs and the twisting in his stomach, Arthur forced himself into a sitting position. He stilled once he was fully upright, his vision swirling around him and nearly making him lay right back down. But Hosea had gotten closer and Arthur couldn’t quite parse out his facial expression, so he knew it was safer to just push through the pain and nausea instead of just laying there waiting for whatever beating surely awaited him.
Arthur struggled to find his legs underneath him. Like his head, his legs felt weighed down by lead and moving them felt like he was wading through the deeper parts of the lake nearby. He stumbled, nearly falling face first into the dirt. He would have, if it weren’t for another set of arms gently wrapping around his shoulders and hoisting him back up. Arthur caught a glimpse at the golden rings that sat on the new set of hands, which was helpful in at least figuring out who was supporting most of his weight right now.
Arthur had forgotten Dutch was even there.
Cool hands, a smaller pair but just as worn and calloused, gently held his head up from where it had lolled onto Dutch’s shoulder. Hosea’s concerned face slowly swam into focus in front of him, eyebrows furrowed and a thin frown to match. Arthur felt Hosea’s hands travel down his arms and along his ribs, before traveling back up to cradle the back of his while he searched for any injuries. He let out a hiss of pain where his fingers ghosted over the back of his head, and Hosea’s frown deepened.
“Arthur, how many fingers am I holding up right now?”
Try as he might, Arthur couldn’t focus on the hand not three feet in front of his face. He decided his best option was to feign confidence.
“Four.”
Hosea’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and Arthur heard Dutch chuckling beside him. He didn’t get what was so funny.
“You grow new fingers right in front of our eyes, Old Girl? I could have sworn you were only holding up two.”
Ah, that’s what was funny. He got it wrong. While Arthur would later deny it, he giggled slightly before his own face crumpled at the pain that spiked through his head. That giggle quickly turned into a whimper as Arthur turned to hide his head in Dutch’s shoulder.
“He’s got a concussion, Dutch.”
Dutch said something in response, but Arthur couldn’t quite figure it out. He was too busy trying to figure out what the hell a concussion even was.
“I’ve got… got a what?” Arthur cringed at how slurred the sentence sounded to his own ears.
“You’ve knocked your head around pretty good there, son. But you’ll be okay.” Arthur hummed lightly at Dutch’s explanation but still didn’t quite understand. Judging by the chuckle that followed Arthur’s response from both Dutch and Hosea, they could tell.
Arthur whined as he felt himself move forward, slowly being pulled along with Dutch to who knows where. They didn’t get too far before the twisting feeling that had settled in his gut reached its tipping point, causing Arthur to lean forward as he was sick on the ground. He felt Dutch move away, trying to hold him at a distance while still supporting his weight. In any other situation Arthur would have found Dutch’s squeamish behavior amusing, but right now he didn’t appreciate being moved around all that much.
“Hosea?” Dutch’s voice was raised at least an octave higher than what it usually was. Hosea sighed heavily, and Arthur felt himself being passed off to the older man.
“Come on dear boy, let’s get you home.”
Home. That sounded good.