In the attic of an old farm building in West Elisabeth, an old photograph along with a scrap of newspaper is found in a leather-bound journal:
“A rare occurrence happened in southern West Elisabeth: snow! People were seen outside, initiating snowball fights while they could. Seen above, ranchers in Beecher’s hope, laughing to tears. Everyone needs a good laugh in these trying times!”
At the back of the photograph, a confident hand has written:
“Beecher’s hope, 19XX. First time snowing since we built the ranch together. Jack is thrilled, Sadie and Abigail are cosy inside the ranch and John and me, we went down in the most brutal of snowball fight. I won. But most of all? All of us, we are happy.”
--
Happy Holidays @shabawdy!
I was really happy when seeing your first prompt, because I love drawing emotions but also because crying of happiness/laughter is something too rarely seen. I’ve drawn tears of pain before, but never tears of joy. I’m glad I got your prompt!
A big thank you to @morstonweek for holding the event!
This is my gift to @cowboydeluxe for the Morston Secret Santa. I hope you’ll enjoy it :)
Pairing: Arthur x John | Words: 4121 | Rating: Explicit | Tags: blood, gore, smut
Arthur holds up his binoculars to check the treeline again. Next to him, John is fumbling with some matches, trying to light a cigarette. Heavy winds shake the trees, and the sky is so dark that it might as well be night.
John finally gets the cigarette lit and barely manages to take a drag before Arthur wiggles his fingers at him to demand the cigarette from him. He doesn't look at John while giving it back seconds later, his eyes still on the forest in front of them.
"Are you sure about this one?" Arthur asks.
"He was bitten three years ago," John says, blowing smoke into the air above their heads. "His family says he didn't take it well. He's wandering around in those woods and hasn't changed back for half a year."
"Then there should be more of them," Arthur says with doubt in his voice.
John shrugs. "Seems like the locals don't go into the woods anymore. That's why he's coming closer to town now, looking for someone to bite."
"Alright," Arthur says, finally putting the binoculars down. "Let's take him."
They head back to their horses and ride over to the treeline. Arthur rides in without hesitation, but John stops for a moment to take a deep breath. He prefers the times when they only trap werewolves and make them see reason. Most of them know how to control themselves, after all. This one is marked for death, though. He took too many lives and changed god knows how many poor souls.
Inside the forest, it doesn't take Arthur long to find a trail they can follow. The werewolf must have been here recently. They pass a little hunting cabin that's been smashed to pieces and even some uprooted trees.
"He must be a big one," Arthur says, and John nods, a shiver running down his spine.
"Sure we can take him?"
"Size doesn't matter if we hit him right." Arthur takes his rifle from his satchel and points into the trees. "You go left. We make a circle and meet in the middle. Let's see if we can find him tonight."
John's not sure he wants to find that beast, but he still steers his horse in the pointed out direction. The wind blows through the trees, and the constant rustling of leaves makes John nervous. He strains his ears for other sounds, nature way too loud for his taste.
More fallen trees litter the ground, and John finds a pretty mutilated deer. That werewolf must be out of his mind hungry. That's just one more reason to leave, but that's not what they do. He and Arthur have been hunting these monsters for years, ever since one almost killed Arthur.
John's lost in thought, remembering how shaken up Arthur was back then. He doesn't notice how nervous his horse is until it's too late. It shrieks, spooked by a sound in the trees, and a second later, something hot and heavy jumps them, knocking John off his horse.
The werewolf follows the horse, and John does his best to get to his feet, but when his horse gallops out of reach, the werewolf turns, looking for easier prey. John doesn't plan on being just that. He aims his rifle, and before the werewolf can take another step, John riddles it with silver bullets.
At first, it seems to be a done deal. The werewolf sinks to the ground, blood oozing out of his wounds, but then he lets out a horrific scream before getting back up. John does his best to reload as quickly as he can, but the werewolf lunges forward, a lot quicker than him.
John barely manages to hold up his rifle before the werewolf pushes him to the ground. He snaps at John, his stinking breath washing over John, making him dizzy. Still, John uses the rifle as his last line of defense, hoping against hope that there's a way out of this.
"Arthur! Help me!" he screams against the sound of the wind.
The werewolf pauses for a second as if he remembers that he used to talk to people, but then he growls and snaps at John again, his fangs closing around the rifle. When the werewolf pulls away, John can no longer hold on to the weapon, and it flies away, dropping to the ground out of reach for John.
Letting out a scream, the werewolf gets in motion again, but before he can jump John, he gets pushed back by bullets hitting his face. Arthur comes rushing through the trees on his horse, sticking his knife into the werewolf's head. He screams even worse than before, but instead of attacking them again, he takes off, disappearing deep into the woods.
Arthur turns his horse and jumps out of the saddle next to John. "Hey, you alright? Did he get you?"
"I don't think so," John says, but he's still unable to move.
Arthur helps him up, brushing leaves and dirt from his clothes. "Let's get you home. Where's your horse?"
"Ran off."
"Then you'll ride with me."
Arthur gets back in the saddle before pulling John up, and they make their way back at a slow pace. After a while, Arthur looks over his shoulder. "You're still with me?"
"All good," John says, a tingling feeling in his chest.
He knows that Arthur's just trying to be a good friend, but he still enjoys it a lot to be taken care of. Nobody made much of a fuss about him all his life, so every bit of affection makes him almost dizzy.
John holds on to Arthur's jacket, resting his head on Arthur's back. It's unnecessary since he's not even injured, but John won't let such a chance slide. After all, it doesn't often happen that he can be close to somebody, especially the one he longs to be with the most.
As they reach the hunting cabin they're currently staying in, Arthur hops down first before helping John down from his horse. Inside, Arthur gets a fire going, hanging up a small kettle to warm up some water.
"Let's get you cleaned up," he says, and John slips off his jacket.
When he tries to open his shirt's buttons, he fumbles a little, losing control of his fingers. Without a word, Arthur reaches for the buttons instead and peels the shirt from John's lean body.
John never would have asked that of him, but Arthur fetches the warm water and washes John, starting by his face.
"Sure you're okay?" he asks, his eyes boring into John's.
"That thing just surprised me," John says. "I thought I had it, but it just wouldn't go down."
Arthur drags the washcloth over John's shoulders and along his neck, his eyes roaming over every inch of John's skin. John knows he's only checking him for wounds, but it still makes his skin prickle.
"We shot it full of silver, and my knife was laced with wolf's bane," Arthur says. "He will die tonight."
"What if he's one of the old ones?"
Arthur huffs. "I'm still not convinced that's a thing."
He keeps washing John, moving from his stomach to his back, while John thinks about the stories. The werewolves Arthur and John hunt are part human, part wolf. With enough focus, they can switch back and forth, making it possible for the ones infected to stay human, even during the full moon.
The old ones are said to be different, though. They're more animal than human, and over time, they fall into being wolves all the time, unable to think clearly. Supposedly, they're not easily killed, if at all. John always wondered if they might encounter one of the old ones one day.
Arthur's skeptical about them even existing, but John can't shake the idea. That monster that jumped him today seemed quite old and clearly out of its mind.
"Are you hungry?" Arthur asks, bringing John back to reality.
"I could eat," John says.
Arthur gets up and throws a fresh shirt over to John. It's one of Arthur's. "I'll fetch you something."
Arthur goes outside, leaving John to bury his face in Arthur's shirt, sighing deeply.
-------
John is still asleep when Arthur gets up, snoring slightly. Arthur watches him for a moment, a new wave of relief washing over him. Yesterday was a close one. Arthur's determined to hunt rogue werewolves, but John's life is too much of a price to pay.
Arthur can't help himself and strokes a strand of hair out of John's face, his fingers lingering for a moment on John's cheek. Arthur wishes he could do this while John was awake, but he doesn't dare. Washing him like he did yesterday is much likely the closest he'll ever get. Arthur often thought about confessing his feelings to John, but he's too scared to destroy their friendship.
With a sigh, Arthur turns around and heads outside. Although he told John that the werewolf was surely dead, he's not so sure. Arthur heard John shoot, knowing that he didn't miss a single shot. That thing should have been more than dead by the time Arthur put the knife in its head. Arthur needs to be sure.
He rides back into the woods, following John's tracks from the day before. It doesn't take him long to reach the spot where they fought off the werewolf. Arthur gets down from the horse, checking the ground for more clues.
There are drops of blood on the leaves, so they at least wounded the werewolf. Arthur keeps going but soon loses the trail. The strong winds must have blown the leaves away, making it hard for Arthur to find anything.
He's not sure how long he wandered through the woods, but after a while, he comes back to the same spot without any idea where the werewolf went. Arthur whistles for his horse, ready to go back and make sure that John is okay.
Arthur's about to get in the saddle when he hears stomping and breaking wood. He grabs his rifle right when the werewolf appears on the other side of the clearing. Arthur's horse flares its nostrils but doesn't run, and although Arthur aims his rifle at the werewolf, he can't bring himself to shoot either. This isn't the werewolf from yesterday, the fur somewhat shaggy and a lot darker.
"Change back and tell me who you are," Arthur says, pointing his rifle, "or I have to shoot."
The werewolf lets out a low howl and goes on its hind legs, moving its paws around as if it wants to show Arthur something. Arthur shakes his head.
"Look, mister, if you want to live, you change back right now."
The werewolf whines and dances around on the spot, and Arthur can't shake the feeling that it looks familiar, but it's too dangerous to trust a werewolf at sight. Arthur puts a warning shot at its feet, and with a soul-crushing cry, it jumps away and disappears between the trees.
Arthur waits a few more seconds before lowering his gun, and he's about to leave when something hits his back with force. He stumbles forward and falls to the ground, the weapon buried under him. Arthur's horse neighs, and by the time Arthur looks around, he sees it kicking at a werewolf.
It's the beast from the day before, and now that he sees it up close, Arthur wonders if maybe John was right about the old ones. This thing in front of him feels old and out of place, and it still got Arthur's knife sticking out of its head. There's just no way it can still be alive.
Arthur's mind is filled with every rumor he's heard about the old ones. They're far beyond reason, nothing human left inside of them. Wolf's bane and silver hurt them, but the only thing that can kill them is another werewolf. Arthur heard stories about beheading them or setting them on fire, but there's absolutely nothing he can do to defend himself.
Leaving his rifle where it is, Arthur gets to his feet and does the only sensible thing - run. He zigzags through the trees, hearing a loud growl behind him. Seconds later, Arthur's horse is stomping past him, far out of reach.
Arthur curses and thinks about hiding or climbing one of the trees, but he's pretty sure that the werewolf will catch his scent with the way he walked through the woods earlier. Crashing sounds behind Arthur tell him that the werewolf is gaining on him. Despite his better judgment, Arthur looks back.
The beast comes after him with giant leaps, only a few feet away. Arthur thinks about John, regretting that he'll never get to tell him how he feels. All Arthur can do is face the end. He stops and waits for the werewolf to reach him.
It never does.
The werewolf from earlier jumps the old one, burying its teeth in its opponent's neck. The old one throws it off after a short struggle, and they begin a fight to the death. Growling fills the woods, the wolves biting and scratching at each other, and the old one lands a hit, tearing open the other's cheek with its claws.
Arthur's about to run off when the new werewolf lets out a pained scream, turning Arthur's blood to ice. It's almost as if he can feel the pain himself, a strong urge to protect the wolf taking hold of him. He pulls out his revolver and shoots at the old werewolf.
It can't feel much more than a sting, but it still turns, rushing at Arthur. He ducks behind a tree, feeling the impact when the old wolf runs into it. It growls with fury, clawing at everything in sight, but it doesn't land a hit. Arthur shoots it into both paws, making it howl.
Then, there's a horrible ripping sound, and blood splatters to the ground next to the tree. Arthur stares in horror as the old wolf drops to the ground, its throat ripped open. The new werewolf isn't done with it, though. It steps over the other wolf, scratching and tearing until the beast's head comes off.
The woods turn silent after that. No more howls, no wind, and no shooting. Just Arthur's rapid breathing, and the werewolf licking one of its wounded paws. Arthur steps back, holding up the revolver. The werewolf follows the sudden movement and gets to its feet, taking a step closer to Arthur.
"Who the hell are-?" Arthur interrupts himself when the sun falls through the trees, illuminating the werewolf's face. Arthur would recognize these eyes everywhere.
"John?"
The wolf ducks its head, letting out a low howl. Arthur takes a step closer, unable to help himself. He stretches out his hand, and the wolf holds his face against it before moving closer, rubbing his whole body against Arthur like a cat.
"Jesus, what happened?" Arthur asks.
He knows there's no way John can answer him in this state. Somehow, the old werewolf must have hurt John, turning him in the process. The first time coming back is said to be the hardest, and it looks like John doesn't know how to do it.
Arthur runs his hand over John's head, and somehow it feels a lot less awkward than he thought it would. Then he holds John's face in his hand, holding his gaze.
"You have to turn back, you hear me?"
John looks back at him but whines, rubbing his face against Arthur's hand.
"Come here," Arthur says, for once giving in to his feelings. He hugs John to his chest, running his fingers through John's fur. "You have to come back to me. I know you can do it."
He's holding on to John as tight as he can, and suddenly, John seems to shrink in his arms. The fur turns to warm skin under Arthur's fingers, and John grabs Arthur's shirt and leans against him, his face a bloody mess.
"Arthur," he says, his voice even raspier than usual, right before passing out in Arthur's arms.
Arthur sinks down to the ground with him, just holding him to his chest. "It's alright, John. I've got you."
------
John wakes up from a horrible nightmare, pictures of bloody teeth and sharp claws still on his mind. Although he feels exhausted, he tries to get up, just to find out that he can't. Thick ropes tie his arms to the bed. John pulls at them, but there's no way he can free himself.
"Help," John croaks, the one word making him cough as his throat burns like fire.
Arthur appears in his field of vision, a worried expression on his face. He holds a cup to John's lips and lifts his head enough so John can take a few sips.
"What happened?" John asks while Arthur sits down next to him.
"You don't remember the woods?" he asks. "How you've fought with the werewolf?"
More pictures race through John's mind, and he groans. "It wasn't a dream. I'm one of them now."
"I have no idea how, but it seems so."
Arthur sounds sad, defeated. It pains John to be the reason for it. "Was a scratch on my leg. I found it after waking up. I figured you'd go back into the woods, so I followed you and then-"
John doesn't finish the sentence, unable to remember what happened next. All he feels is a sense of dread and the fear of losing Arthur.
"Guess you turned on your way," Arthur says. "Lucky for me, or I would be dead."
"Yeah, lucky," John says, pulling on his ropes again. He's not sure why, but it begins to annoy him that he's tied down. "Any chance you get me out of these?"
"Not sure I should," Arthur says. "I feared you might turn in your sleep, and you still could."
"I changed back, didn't I?"
"You did."
Despite saying the words, Arthur doesn't move. Hot anger flares in John's chest, and he pulls on the ropes with more force, his voice a deep growl when he speaks. "Let me out!"
"You gotta stay with me, John," Arthur says, his calm tone only riling John up.
"I don't want to," John grunts, "I want to turn and rip these off."
"If you change back after such a short time, you might not be able to do it again."
"I know, goddammit," John curses, still straining his muscles without meaning to. "I have no idea how to stop."
Arthur puts a hand on John's chest, holding him down. "You have to fight it."
"I don't know how."
John pushes himself up, fighting against Arthur's strength. He wants to be strong again, have claws and teeth to rip everybody apart who stands in his way. He wants power and no more painful thoughts.
Everything inside John wants to turn, only one thing holding him back. Arthur's hand on his chest.
"This helps," John huffs. "You - touching me."
"This?" Arthur asks, looking at his own hand with wonder.
"Please, Arthur, don't let me turn."
Arthur watches John for a moment, then he leans forward to untie the ropes. "It's gonna be fine."
"Are you crazy?" John shouts, but Arthur doesn't stop.
The second John's hand is free, he grabs Arthur, holding on to his shirt. Arthur unties his other arm before looking at him. "You can do it. Like you said, you turned back."
John wishes he could trust himself like that, but his insides are burning, the wolf fighting to come out.
"Please, Arthur," he begs, his voice getting weaker. "I need something. You."
Arthur's coming closer, John tugging eagerly at his shirt. They look at each other in the eyes until Arthur closes the gap between them, touching his lips to John's.
The wolf inside screams, but John's singing heart is drowning him out. Arthur is kissing him. That's something the wolf can't have.
John throws his arms around Arthur and kisses him like his life depends on it. "More. Please."
They deepen the kiss, and John tears at Arthur's clothes. He pulls off his shirt and Arthur cups John's stitched up face, holding on to him while John gets Arthur's pants down. He eagerly pulls at Arthur, desperate to be as close as he always longed for.
They end up pressed against each other, kissing and touching, forgetting the world around them. John can feel the wolf disappear, Arthur the only thing on his mind. He can touch him, taste him, and hold him close like he always wanted.
John can't remember being this happy before. Despite his pain and the wolf bite, this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.
"You're with me?" Arthur whispers into his ear, and John pulls him in for a kiss, smiling against his lips.
"Just keep going, Morgan."
They grind against each other until John can barely take it anymore. He reaches down to help them both along. Arthur growls, sounding like a wolf himself. His teeth scrape along John's neck as if he wants to bite down any second. The thought drives John over the edge, his hand moving in a frenzy until he takes Arthur with him.
Arthur buries his face against John's neck, both of them catching their breath until Arthur moves and they settle down next to each other.
"You're good?" Arthur asks, and John's stomach seems to do a little hop. Arthur's concern for him is almost more than he can handle.
"Yeah, all good, I don't feel like turning anymore," John says. Arthur turns to him, running his fingers over the scratch on John's thigh. It makes John wonder about the future. "How do I keep it from happening?"
"You find something else that matters more to you," Arthur says without pause.
"And you think that will work?"
"I know it does," Arthur says.
There's something about the way he said it that gives John pause. "How would you know?"
Arthur turns to him, something wild in his eyes that John has never seen before. Then he opens his mouth to growl at John, his teeth sharper and longer than they usually are. John blinks in surprise, and suddenly Arthur's face is back to normal.
"You're a werewolf? Since when?" John asks.
"Remember the one that attacked me back in the day, before we started hunting them? I only said I was fine, but it got me."
John stares at him, unable to believe it. "All these years? But I've never seen you turn."
Arthur runs his hands over his face as if the wolf inside of him could come off this way. "I did a couple of times in the beginning. Killed a few animals at a farm. Hosea stopped me before I could kill the farmer, too. Told me to find a purpose, something to keep me in the human world. And if I ever turned again, he promised to shoot me. Haven't turned since."
It's hard for John to get all of this into his head, but his thoughts finally arrive at the present day. "That thing in the woods was about to kill you, and you didn't turn?"
"Couldn't risk it," Arthur says. "Not with you nearby. You might have ended up with two werewolves on your ass."
"You're such a dumbass."
"Says the feller who's jumped an old one after being a werewolf for all but five minutes."
"Saving your ass," John insists, and Arthur nods.
"You still have to promise me something."
"What?"
"I know it's tempting, especially after you killed that wolf today, but if we keep doing this, you can't turn ever again," Arthur says, his voice dead serious. "There's no guarantee that I can bring you back."
"Fine, I promise," John says, although he's not sure if he can keep his word. "What's your thing then? That keeps you human."
Arthur huffs, not quite meeting John's gaze, and his answer is barely audible. "You."
A shiver runs down John's spine. The idea of being so important to Arthur for such a long time takes his breath away. Still, he can't pass off an opportunity to tease Arthur.
"I see," he says, "so you've been in love with me all this time?"
Arthur growls. "Shut up, Marston."
"Make me."
John is just joking, but Arthur lunges at him, taking his breath away with a kiss. John's about to defend himself when Arthur's lips ghost along his ear.
"Yes," he says, the one word bringing goosebumps all over John's body.
He puts his arms around Arthur, holding him close. He's no longer afraid.
For John Marston, nowhere felt like home. Not since the gang fell apart. The problem wasn't the place nor the people there, it was him. Most days the urge to run and roam coursed so hot under his skin it was a wonder he hadn't burned up from the inside out yet. If he could just pay off Beecher's Hope and have somewhere that his family and friends could live, grow, and be safe then maybe, just maybe, his restless bones would stop trying to jump clean out of him.
Determined to pay off that bank loan, John goes to Gaptooth Breach in search of Esteban Cortez and the sixty-five dollars on his head. The thing is, John isn't the only one after that bounty.
A Gift for: @thefire-in-the-nightsky
Rating: Explicit (Graphic Violence) [ M/M ] [ Morston ]
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28327881
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I had a pleasure to write @simping-for-sadie her gift for morston secret santa organized by @morstonweek
I hope you like it and sorry for it being so long, I got carried away a little but it was such a delight to write I just couldn’t stop :) I hope you don’t mind the winter setting but I wrote this when it was snowing outside of my window and couldn’t resist myself :)
