Work Text:
For the last ten hours, the snow hadn't stopped falling.
At first, it was a beautiful sight. Everyone perked up to watch the first few flakes blanket the ground, giggling in wonder and excitement. It brought the mood up an indescribable amount, sparking stories around campfires and friendly interactions all around. The first snow was always a magical sight, dredging up joy from within even the most miserable bastards.
But then, after the first few hours, it got old. The cold seeped in, the wind blew harshly, and the windows of the old house rattled. The sky darkened rapidly. Folks huddled together around the fireplace, wrapped in furs and scarves and whatever else they could find to avoid a chilly demise. Most people opted to just sleep out the storm, to simply wait and wake up to a winter wonderland. Dutch was one of those people. As soon as he saw the snow, he snatched up an oil lamp and returned to his room, cocooning himself in as many blankets as he could and cracking open the yellowed pages of Evelyn Miller's latest novel. He was quickly lost to sleep, with the cosy environment of his quiet room swallowing him up.
He had hoped that by the time he woke up, the snow would be gone. Unlikely as it would seem, the irregular weather had made it happen before! He'd seen it with his own eyes. He was sorely disappointed, however, when he woke up to thick blankets of snow on every surface in sight. The grass, the roof, the trees, even the horses were all covered in it. He sighed, grumpily digging around his room for his winter gear. He grumbled to himself as he pulled out his bearskin fur coat, throwing it on and following suit with his boots and gloves.
His muttering didn’t stop as he moved out of his room, heading for the stairs. Despite his hatred for the snow, he knew The Count would never forgive him if he missed a morning feeding. Every day he’d go out and give his faithful horse an apple, or a carrot or whatever they had on hand. It wasn’t enough food for the stallion, but it was a ritual that had gone on for decades and today was no different. After digging around the kitchen, Dutch retrieved an apple and looked at the daunting front door. It was the only threshold between the safe haven, and the unforgivable cold.
He groaned as he opened the door, a chilled wind immediately biting at his cheeks. He pulled his scarf up to cover his face, rather like a bandana. His boots crunched loudly in the snow beneath them, catching the attention of the only other man outside.
“Jesus. Could you have found a bigger coat?” Arthur looked up from his journal. He’d been there for god knows how long, but there was a little pile of snow gathering on the peak of his hat. Journal in hand, he was clearly sketching out something. The scenery, no doubt. In the rare moments Dutch could look past the snow, he could admit that it was a rather beautiful hideout. Plenty of trees and an old abandoned cabin on the peak of a cliff. What could be better?
“Starting early today, are we?” Dutch glared at the man in return, shooting daggers. He took in Arthur’s appearance, but he could only focus on how little he was wearing. His usual outfit, but with a fluffy blue coat and some gloves. He was a striking contrast to Dutch, who, underneath all his winter clothes, looked rather like a penguin.
“Eh, cheer up,” Arthur brushed him off, burying his nose back in the leather bound pages. “Could be worse.”
“What did you say?” Dutch grumbled. Arthur hadn’t said anything particularly insulting, but he wasn’t in the mood. Not for the bickering, not for the snark, not for any of it.
Arthur just stared at him. Normally, he’d never back down from a chance to challenge the leader, but it was barely seven in the morning, and he didn’t have enough energy. He simply tipped his head back down, pencil already scribbling away.
“I thought so.” Dutch’s voice was gruff, and he stomped away. Once the horses were in sight, he sighed. He just had to give his mount a treat, and then he could return back to the safety of the cabin. Determined, he trudged through the shin-high snow and tried to ignore the breeze.
“Hey there, old boy.” Dutch walked up to the count, softening his voice instantly. He stroked his hand up and down the animal's mane, watching out for the puffs of snow that fell off his neck with every little movement. He whinnied, both happy to see Dutch and unhappy to be left outside in the cold. Despite his obvious displeasure, he graciously accepted the apple from Dutch’s extended palm and munched away. Hot breath plumed out of his nostrils and more whinnied left his mouth, although they were much happier-sounding then before. Dutch stayed there for a minute, stroking his hand up and down the horses neck, cooing at him. Just as he was about to turn around and head back inside, he felt something hit him in the shoulder.
It didn’t take him long to realize it was a snowball, and the anger that had dissipated seconds ago was now back in full force.
"Hey!" He snarled, brushing the snow off his shoulder. He really didn't need this right now. He turned around, expecting to see Arthur with that smug grin of his. The bastard. He scowled, trying his hardest to make himself seem intimidating, even puffing his chest up like a tom turkey underneath his fluffy black coat. His eyes were full of precise rage, and his mouth stretched into a thin line, ready to bite the head off of his son or whoever the hell it was. However, his expression turned into one of surprise when he saw the real culprit. He felt the anger in his blood quickly vaporize as he took in the smiling face of his old friend.
Hosea stood before him, tall and proud with a wide, toothy grin on his face. One hand was behind his back, the other one bent up at the elbow and waving.
"Beautiful morning, no?" He snickered, seemingly trying to look as innocent as possible. His breath puffed out around him in steamy clouds, lifting up and melting into the sky.
"Very." Dutch grinned at him, taking a couple steps forward. It took him a moment to find the words, but this wasn’t a challenge he could back down from. "Feeling mischievous today, are we, Old Girl?"
"Why, whatever do you mean?" Hosea snickered again. It had been quite some time since Dutch had seen him with such a wide smile, and the sparkle in his dark green eyes made his heart flip. The cold weather kept him miserable, and rightfully so. It did things to his lungs, rendering him weak. Dutch guessed that despite the cold, the sight of the first snowfall had brought his mood up quite a bit. He had always found it pretty. Plus, the snow made it easier to hunt certain wildlife, and he was sure Hosea would be happy to get back out there.
"I think you know exactly what I mean," Dutch glanced down at his feet, seeing the mounds of untouched snow at his feet. He grinned wryly as he bent over, looking back up at Hosea and making eye contact. "I'd start running if I were you."
As soon as Dutch stood back upright, a fresh, powdery snowball bouncing between his hands, another cloud of snow exploded on his chest. He looked up at Hosea with a toothy grin, and shot one right back at him. He was aiming for the old man’s chest, but it only managed to make contact with his shoulder. Hosea laughed at him, even going so far as to point with a mocking tone, before immediately running for cover as he watched Dutch ball up another one. It whizzed by his head as he ducked, and he ended up crouched behind a large rock. He immediately started balling up snowballs of his own as he heard Dutch’s heavy boots crunch against the snow. He’d started this fight, and he sure as hell intended to finish it.
“You can’t hide from me, Hosea!” Dutch taunted. He knew exactly where Hosea was, for the brim of his black hat was peeking up over the rock, but Hosea didn’t have to know that. This was his game, and Dutch could let him think he was winning. For now, anyway.
“So, who’s hiding?” Hosea called back, popping up from his hiding spot and throwing one. It landed on the expanse of Dutch’s lower back, chunks of snow painting his coat in circles like a cow’s hide.
“You little-“ In a matter of seconds Dutch was at his rock, and after a moment of eye contact Hosea took the opportunity to duck out and make a run for it. The snow crunched under his boots and out of nowhere his foot flew out from under him. He latched onto the gang’s wagon and held on for dear life, heart suddenly pounding in his chest. Once he regained his balance, he looked down, seeing a thick patch of ice that was hidden under the powder. Dutch was still on his heels, and before he could call out a warning to the younger man he watched him slip, and fall right on his ass with a rather unmanly yelp.
“Dutch!” Hosea shouted, immediately rushing to the other man's side. Dramatically, Dutch flopped down onto his back with a loud groan. “Are you alright?”
Dutch just moaned in response, eyes squinted shut.
“Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine. No big deal,” his face was contorted in pain, voice strained like all hell, and Hosea felt a guilty pit form in his stomach. He’d wanted to act a fool, and now Dutch was hurting because of it. He worried at his lower lip, chewing on it as his mind spun. “Help me up though, would you?”
Instantly Hosea threw his arm out, and just as instantly he regretted it. He should’ve known Dutch was smirking for a reason.
Dutch quickly grabbed his hand and yanked him downwards, and he landed flat on his back with a loud oof. Dutch wasted no time crawling on top of him and straddling his hips, nor before shoving loose handfuls of snow onto whatever parts of the older man he could reach. Between gasps and fits of laughter, Hosea tried to cover his face with his hands only to have them shoved out of the way as Dutch’s assault continued.
“Dutch!” Hosea gasped out between loud, hearty laughs, and Dutch only grinned in response.
“Think you can get the better of me, THE Dutch van Der Linde? Think again, old man!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Hosea grabbed Dutch’s wrists, though his grip was weak and had no real strength behind it. The laughter wracking his body sucked all the fight out of him, and he could barely hold on. “I’ll never do it again!”
“Oh, I’ll bet you won’t!” Dutch allowed his wrists to be held, and he looked down with nothing but fondness in his eyes.
Lying on the ground with his hat knocked off, hair mussed and dampening at the tips from the snow, face red from the cold and dewy from the attack, mouth twisted up into the widest smile he’d ever seen; Hosea looked a beautiful sight. There were snowflakes caught on his eyelashes, holding firm and staying put despite how frequently he was blinking.
“Dutch…” Hosea released one of Dutch’s wrists, and moved to cup his cheek instead.
“Hosea,” Dutch replicated the action, using his thumb to wipe some of the snow from Hosea’s cheek. Despite the leather glove covering his hands, he could feel the cold emanating from the man beneath him. “God, look at you, you aren’t even wearing gloves! You must be freezing!”
“Only a little.” Hosea moved his hand to cover Dutch’s, squeezing it gently. Foregoing gloves had been a mistake on his part, he could admit that. But in his defence he hadn’t woken up with the intent on starting a snowball fight, he just couldn’t resist the opportunity that presented itself.
“I should get you inside. Get those wet clothes off you and keep you by the fireplace.” Dutch continued to stroke Hosea’s cheek, enjoying the resulting hum from deep inside Hosea’s chest.
“I wouldn’t object to that," Hosea looked at Dutch’s clothes, snickering. “But I fear you'll be hogging the fireplace. You're just as soaked.”
“What, you think I can’t share?” Dutch grinned again, teasing. His eyes had a familiar glint to them that Hosea knew well; a mischievous one.
“Don't be silly, you buffoon. I know you can’t share.” Hosea watched Dutch’s mouth drop, grinning with glee as his mind spinned to try and think of a response.
“Now that is untrue, Mr. Matthews. Untrue and unkind.” Dutch feigned offence, even going so far as to clutch at his heart and frown so wide his whole face drooped. If Hosea was twenty years younger, and this was the first time he’d seen Dutch pull this card, he might’ve fallen for it. But after knowing Dutch as long as he had, there was no way in hell he’d give in to it.
“Unkind? Maybe. Untrue? Absolutely not. You and I both know that-“
“Did I hear someone fall?” Arthur’s curious voice sliced through the words on Hosea’s tongue. Both of the men looked up at him, like deer caught in the crosshairs. They’d been so caught up in their bickering they hadn’t heard him race over, and the look on his face proved that sprint over he did. His eyes were wide and his brow was furrowed, worry on his lips and worming its way into the muscles of his forehead. Probably expecting the worst, no doubt. A life in the west would do that to a boy.
Dutch and Hosea stared at him for a second, before making eye contact with each other and breaking out into riotous laughter. God, they must’ve looked a sight. Like children playing in the snow, they imagined. Two grown men, one sitting on top of the other, covered in snow and faces bright red from the cold. Absolutely unfit for a leader and his second in command.
“Do I even want to know?” Arthur leaned on one hip, looking down at his leaders with a grin on his lips.
“He started it.” Hosea looked up at Arthur from his place on the ground, although his vision was rather upside down. He pointed at Dutch with an impish twinkle in his eyes.
“What?! I did not!” Dutch protested, placing his hand flat on Hosea’s chest and shoving him further into the snow.
“Don't listen to him, Arthur! He attacked me. An innocent old man, he ambushed me when I had my guard down. ” Hosea shoved back, pushing against whatever part of Dutch he could reach. He was still grinning wide, despite the cold starting to set in his bones.
“You…He’s a liar, Arthur!” Dutch moved his hand from Hosea’s chest to his cheek, pushing his head down into the snow. Hosea clawed at his arm, but gained no leverage.
“Mm-hmm.” Arthur was now leaning on the wagon, grinning with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked down at the satchel on his hip, feeling a familiar itch in his fingers. The journal was calling to him, sat neatly on top of all the junk he’d stashed in there lately. He’d have to go through it soon. But for now, he was content to pull the book out once more, open to a fresh page, and scribble away.
As he watched Dutch and Hosea squabble, slapping at each other's arms and swatting hands out of way, he sighed. It was a happy sight, deep and dripping with glee. His pencil glided across the paper with ease, each stroke bringing the scene to life. It didn’t take him long to draw up a perfect rendition of the happenings in front of him, right down to the snow falling around them. He dated it, and wrote a little paragraph next to it. He could tell right away, this was going to be a memory he’d think on often.
BONUS LITTLE THING I HAD TO WRITE BUT COULDNT FIT IN THE STORY:
“Hey!” Arthur shouted, closing the book before it could get any snow on it. Once he brushed the powder off his shoulder, he looked up. Dutch had crawled off Hosea, and now both men were grinning at each other with snowballs in hand.
“Shall we, old girl?” Dutch looked back at Arthur, who was quickly starting to understand. He swallowed thickly and put the journal back in the satchel, preparing to turn on his heels and scurry off. Dutch held out his hand to Hosea and instantly they connected, glove to skin.
“Truce.”
Dutch and Hosea shaking hands was the last thing Arthur saw before a barrage of snowballs whizzed by his head. Despite his best efforts to duck, they’d landed on his chest, his stomach, his legs and his back as he ran off. Dutch and Hosea were hot on his heels, laughing and jeering and throwing until their heart's content. Arthur quickly took cover by some crates, making some snowballs of his own.
“You don’t know what you started!” He shouted around a cupped hand, peeking over and throwing one at Dutch. It landed on his chest, exploding all around. Whilst Arthur celebrated for a second too long, Hosea threw one and it landed right on his shoulder, knocking him back a little.
“I think we know just fine, son!” Dutch shouted, momentarily making eye contact with his partner in crime before jeering at their boy.
“At least with your aim, I’ll be alright!” Arthur taunted back, directing the insult solely at Dutch. He couldn’t insult Hosea’s aim, not after he’d seen how perfect it was. Dutch…well, his sights were a little looser than his partners.
Between the midst of taunts, jeers, snow-crunching and laughter, the footsteps of a fourth party went unnoticed until they were practically inside the battlefield.
“What the hell is going on out here?” A new voice joined the trio. It was gruff, and sleepy. Instantly recognizable. The three paused, expressions dropping and moving in perfect sync as they turned their heads to find the bodiless voice.
In the middle of a clearing stood John Marston, hands on his hips. He looked at each man as if they were a child caught doing something they shouldn’t be, with confusion and annoyance in his eyes.
After a moment of silence, Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur all shared glances with each other. There was a silent conversation taking place, an agreement that all three men were coming to together. Once again in perfect sync, they all looked back at John. Arthur had a wicked grin on his face, one that was so obvious it gave away their plan. John looked between the men, his eyes darting around like marbles as he started to understand. He held his hands up, taking a few steps back, even shaking his head no. It didn’t stop anything, of course, as not even a few seconds later tens of snowballs were all flying directly at him. He bolted the other way, back to the safety of the house, but now with three armed men on his trail. He was so lost in the assault he didn’t even notice the small crowd gathering around to find out what the noise was, notably including Jack laughing at him and Abigail shaking her head.
Maybe the snow wasn’t so bad, after all, they thought.