JOHN IS NO GOOD AT BEING A SON, A FATHER, OR A BROTHER. family is a concept that is still foreign after all these years, and now is even more so, considering the splintered state of the gang. not even javier will look at him, hasn’t since sadie and arthur rescued him from sisika, which stings something awful. and, yeah, he still feels horribly inadequate for abigail and for jack, and, of course, to arthur. always has. but he’s seen the way everyone’s shifted, and now that arthur’s sick -- john doesn’t know to the extent, but he knows it’s gotta be something severe ‘cause he ain’t stupid, and that idea strikes fear into him that he’d like to ignore but can’t. for a long time, he thought he hated arthur, after spending years vying for his attention and, most of all, his approval.
it’s late. the fire crackles distantly, with none of javier’s strumming on his guitar or singing, none of uncle’s drunken cajoling. it’s quiet, save for bill’s drunken grumbles, dutch’s low voice speaking to micah and cleet and joe, and the distant crackle of the fire. john isn’t on watch tonight, but he’s had trouble sleeping since even before sisika, but his venture in the prison and outside of it, now, have done little to help. with abigail and jack asleep beside him, he lies awake in his tent, stares up at the ceiling, for god knows how long ‘til he’s tired of it and exits, spotting arthur’s broad outline by the periphery of camp. he’s been thinking about arthur, the hack of his new cough, the kind tired look on his face. he hasn’t been a good brother, no, but he thinks he’s capable of being a decent one.
with a bottle of fire brandy in hand, john approaches arthur with his union suit and trousers and boots on, suspenders hanging low. he doesn’t want to treat arthur with kid gloves, ‘cause no matter how much dutch may act like it, arthur is still arthur, and arthur isn’t dead. but —— yeah, he’s worried, he’ll admit that much, that arthur will join the ranks of the long-dead father he can’t remember the face or sound of, of his mother he doesn’t know at all. that idea’s terrifying, inevitable as it is. but.
❝ mind if i join you ? ❞ too late —— john’s already sat alongside arthur in the cold dirt, shoving the fire brandy toward him. he just ain’t sure what to say, really, so he simply smiles and starts them off with, ❝ stole this from micah’s tent. ❞
semi-plotted starter , @redempting ♡