Chapter Text
Arthur had his role in camp, and he liked to think he played it quite well.
He’d work, he’d donate to camp funds, he’d rob, cheat, steal. If anyone needed any help around camp they knew they could come to him. He took pride in this, liked being reliable, liked living up to what people expected him to be.
He had a role in life as well.
It was his job to protect those weaker than him, those who couldn’t right defend themselves. All the omegas in the camp knew they could go to him if any of the alphas started to act up. They knew him, they trusted him. For some odd reason they sensed he wouldn’t try and take advantage of them, even if they were in heat. Arthur didn’t think too hard about why he was someone they could trust with something so vulnerable, but he chalked it up to his loyalty towards Mary.
Mary Gillis was a good woman, a good omega. That’s what Arthur told himself. She was perfect for him. He’d often find himself scribbling in his journal, daydreaming about settling down with her, maybe having a few pups, being able to put his days of lawbreaking behind him in favor of a softer existence. He’d draw too, imagining a nice homestead out in the country, Mary and their pups all together. Her face was always distorted, blurred out when he drew these scenes, but he told himself it was because he hadn’t seen her in so long.
Truth is, he and Mary had parted ways nearly a lifetime ago. So long, he could hardly bring himself to conjure up her face, aside from the mole on her cheek, the one he used to stoke with his thumb when he’d try to hold her gently, hold her the way she deserved. Last he heard, she got married to a good man, a better man. Sure, he was pretty sure this guy was a beta, but he knew he’d treat her better.
Mary’s father had always hated Arthur, and Arthur could never bring himself to blame him. The man only wanted a good future for his daughter, something Arthur would never be able to give her. He was a bad man, he was rough, dangerous. So much so he was scared to even hold Mary for too long, afraid he might snap her in half. He didn’t know how Bill, or Javier, or Dutch managed. How they could handle omegas like they did. Maybe they just didn’t care, didn’t put much thought into whether or not they left an infinite mark on these delicate creatures. Arthur cared.
Maybe that’s why omegas felt safe with him, knew that he was too afraid to hurt them, too afraid to leave his mark. Maybe they thought he was weak. Arthur didn’t want to think too hard about that.
Arthur knew how dangerous men like himself could be. He’d seen it. From the sparse, blurry memories of his life before Dutch and Hosea picked him up, he remembered his mother. His only memories of her were with a black eye. Such a sweet, innocent woman, mangled at the hands of an alpha with a bottle dangling from his hand. When he saw his father be hanged, he didn’t feel the way he thought he ought to. He just took the man’s hat and ran. Maybe he should’ve felt sad, grief for seeing his father hurt like that. Then again, his father never seemed to feel grief for what he put his mother through.
Arthur swore he’d never be like that. If that meant swearing off any relationship with another, then so be it.
Besides, it would just distract him. Dutch always talked down to the other alphas in camp, saying they were slacking off, running out to town to shack up with whichever omega happened to bat their eyelashes at them. Dutch could trust Arthur not to lose focus, to go along with whatever plan he had conjured up that week. Arthur was a loyal dog, that’s all he knew he was good for, and relationships would just distract him from his role. His fantasies of settling down were just that, fantasies. Something that he could think about to go to sleep at night, something he could think about to satisfy his urges deep in the woods when he would go into a rut. Nothing more than that.
There was a new person in the gang, that’s what Dutch told him, named Charles Smith. An alpha. Arthur rolled his eyes at the information, crossing his arms and looking off to the side. This many alphas in a camp was never a good idea, Arthur knew that. Another alpha just meant another violent man that Arthur would have to protect the omegas from.
“Don’t be like that, son,” Dutch tutted, his heavy hand landing on Arthur’s shoulder with a soft thud. “I know you aren’t a fan of newcomers, but I need you to make Mister Smith feel welcome. Can you do that for me?”
“I guess,” Arthur muttered, toeing at a rock in the dirt before lifting his gaze back to Dutch.
“Good man,” Dutch smiled, letting out a hearty chuckle and patting his shoulder a few more times, the force of his hand echoing through Arthur’s entire body. “He’s over by the campfire, near Micah. Why don’t you go introduce yourself?”
Arthur let out a sigh and sauntered over to the campfire, his steps slowing as the new man comes into view. Arthur was always confident that he could take down any man in camp, but he wasn’t so sure with this one. The man was large, had to have been over 200, all muscle. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin. He had a scar on his jaw, Arthur thought about asking him later where he earned it. Before he could get ahead of himself, Micah’s booming voice snapped him out of his trance.
“What are you anyway?” Micah sneered, pointing his beer bottle at the new alpha. “You black, or indian, or something?” Micah was slurring his words, clearly drunk and clearly trying to start a fight so he could assert his dominance. He had his chest puffed out, a mean snarl on his face.
“Shut yer mouth, asshole,” Arthur groaned, sitting down on a log next to Charles and warming his hands by the fire. “Don’t matter to you what he is, he’s ridin’ with us now.”
“Mind your own damn business,” Micah muttered, standing up from his seat and stumbling back to his bedroll. Arthur turns towards the new man, taking an opportunity to study his face a bit more.
“You let me know if he ever bothers you again,” Arthur said softly, taking the opportunity to open his own beer bottle and taking a swig. “He acts tough, but he’s all talk.”
“Thank you,” The new man replied, his words short and to the point. His voice was smoother than the other men in camp, not yet roughened by years of yelling and cigarettes. “But don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”
“Suit yourself,” He mumbled back, taking another drink from his bottle and looking back to the fire. “Why’d you start running with us anyway? We don’t often get new folk.”
“Just tired of running alone,” the man replied, his conversation sparse. “Why does anyone join a group like this?”
“Desperation,” Arthur chuckled, resting his forearms on his thighs as he leans forward towards the fire.
“Well then I guess I’m a desperate man,” The man smiles back, a glimmer in his eyes that Arthur was not used to seeing.
“Anyway, I came over here because I need to do some hunting, heard you’re good with a bow.” Arthur finally muttered, putting his now empty bottle on the ground beside him. “Hosea always gets on my ass when I try to use a gun hunting rabbits.”
“You want me to teach you?” Charles asks with zero hesitation, lifting his head to search for Arthur’s eyes. “Better than a gun, at least for hunting.”
“Uh, sure, if it ain’t too much trouble for you,” Arthur replied, caught off guard by the man’s quick response. Why anyone would be so eager to go hunting with him, let alone teach him, he didn’t think he’d ever understand.
“We’ll head out tomorrow morning,” Charles replied, turning his attention back to the fire. “I know a good spot.”
“Well okay then,” Arthur smiled, putting his hands on his thighs and standing up. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Arthur walked back to his cot, a strange sense of warmth in his chest.