Javier's Chico

8.

Weeks passed and Javier and Mateo were more than settled. They'd both learnt enough English to talk to anyone, granted it was a little broken and Javier's accent was rather thick and hard to understand at times, but they were getting there quicker than anyone had expected. Mateo's English was much slower, much more delayed, but everyone put that down to his age and that Javier still wanted Mateo's first language to be Spanish.

The night was starting to fall and Javier played guitar for the gang, John's eyes on him the whole time. The way his hair fell in front of his face, or how he smiled how he sung. It was wrong how he stared at Javier. Javier had a wife back in Mexico, he was a married man even if his wife had long passed. He also had a young son, not even mentioning that two men together was wrong in itself. But he couldn't stop himself from watching him; he was hard-working, kind, he pulled his own weight unlike some of the greedy, lazy bastards in camp, and he did it all with Mateo clung to him.

Speaking of the boy, Mateo was sitting in Arthur's lap watching him draw, to give Javier a break from carrying him around and to let Mateo stay awake a little past his bedtime. He had a pretty long nap earlier in the day so Javier had no problem with him being awake a little longer. He was having fun at least, not curled up by his father waiting to fall asleep; Arthur occasionally passed the pencil to Mateo and let him doodle too, then Arthur would take it back and turn Mateo's scrawled drawings into something else.

John knew why Arthur was doing it, why he volunteered to play with Mateo. He reminded Arthur of what he used to have, or what he could've had, and everyone saw the way Arthur looked at the boy, he was missing Isaac. He felt sorry for his brother. He remembered when Arthur rode back to the gang after spending so long away, with news that his son, his beautiful, young boy was gone. He was devastated about it, he blamed himself and drank himself to sleep most nights. He mourned for months and became a husk of who he was. He fought past the worst of his grief, but he still grieved every day. Hosea was worried how Arthur would feel having Javier's son around, if he'd act bitterly or jealous about it. And perhaps he was a little jealous, but now he had another little human to protect, he didn't care who's son it was, he loved Mateo.

He ran his fingers through Mateo's soft hair and held him close. It was sweet, the gang accepted both of them as family. He held one of Mateo's chubby little hands and watched him drift off, as much as it hurt to remember what Arthur could've had, he was happy that he'd get a second chance at world's best uncle this time around.

"I ain't never lettin' anyone hurt this kid.." Arthur stated rather abruptly, putting his journal down and lifting Mateo's sleeping body onto his lap. He was a sweaty kid when he slept, he weighed next to nothing when they first arrived to camp but he was steadily gaining a healthy amount of weight now.

Javier just sighed deeply, as right as Arthur was, there was more to raising a child than just
protecting them, especially while they led their lives as bad people, though none of these people he was surrounded by seemed bad at all. "The world is a cruel place, amigo, I want to protect him from everything, but...we won't always be there."

"Still, anyone hurts him, they gettin' it back ten times worse. He's innocent, pure. He ain't got a clue what the world is really like."

"I just want to cover his eyes forever, never let him see the real world.." Javier could follow exactly what Arthur said. That's why he liked these conversations with him; father-to-father, Arthur was the only one who truly understood what it was like to fend for a tiny human being. A new life who hadn't been tainted by the cruelty of everything else.

"You know what I mean. Isaac was exposed to it too much, an' it was my fault. He was killed over a bit of money, that's real cruelty." He held Mateo a little tighter.

"Kids will never understand how it is until something happens. But...is it wrong that I am...happy, his parent died." Arthur was a little struck by the question. Perhaps it was the lack of context to the question due to his limited English, but he still understood what he was trying to say. "I mean...Mateo never will grow up with them, he doesn't remember it, he never buried his parent. Isn't that something I should be glad about?"

"I guess. Mateo will never remember them before they passed, he'll always remember having you, John, me...everyone else." Javier's sad eyes looked up a little, how peaceful his sweet boy was, all curled up with his hands wrapped around his own tiny body and his legs curled up like a ball, his head laying on one of Arthur's thighs.

"I like talking to you, hermano. Sometimes I think I am so alone...I don't know anything, I barely can be a parent. But now...maybe I'm not alone."

"Parenting is hard, don't beat yourself up about it, then you will fail. You made the right choice gettin' Mateo out of Mexico. And you fell in with the right people. We all willin' to kill someone to keep this little feller safe. An' when he's old enough, me an' John are gonna teach this boy how to live and fend for himself. He's sure got the right curiosity for it, an' he loves his horses." Javier couldn't even see himself living long enough to watch his boy become a man. Mateo always said that when he grew up, he wanted to be a revolutionary, just like Javier. His own life had tainted Mateo's innocence and he hated himself for it.

Mateo let out a sleepy little whine and curled up closer to Arthur, the side of his head that lay on his uncle soaking with sweat. Arthur slowly shimmied him up so he could reach his journal and started sketching what he saw. Mateo's little button nose and his delicate little features, and every little strand of hair that fell on his face, right down to his little socks, feet peeking out from Javier's poncho that covered him up. The quiet strumming of the guitar, John's snoring and the little whines that came from Mateo while he smiled away in his sleep, Arthur liked the new additions to camp. It was more peaceful than it had been in a while.

"Here." Arthur gently tore two pages out of his journal and waved them at Javier, not willing to disturb the boy's sleep.

"Oh...they're beautiful.." On both pages were drawings he and Mateo did together. Each drawing started with Mateo's scrawled lines and Arthur turned it into art. One drawing was of the boy with his big toothy grin, and the newest, curled up with his thumb in his mouth, blissfully unaware of everything. "You people...you are my family now. Dutch said it, we are family. This feels right."

"You plannin' on gettin' to bed soon?"

"Yes, I'm very tired..." He left his guitar by the dwindling fire and scooped Mateo from Arthur's lap, he didn't even stir. His hands went under the boy's armpits, his legs dangled against Javier's body till they wrapped around his waist and his arms around Javier's shoulders. Arthur gave his chubby hand one more squeeze as Javier carried him off to the tent, and Arthur carried John back to his own. It made Javier chuckle, this big, gruff grown man carrying another grown man back to his tent, John was a funny guy and he was really getting along with everyone in camp.

"Thank you for tonight Javier. I enjoy havin' you an' Mateo around." Arthur came by Javier's tent, watching the younger man tuck the boy under a mound of blankets, his curls all wildly displaced everywhere on the bedroll.

"For once in the whole time I have been in this country, I don't feel alone. So thank you, gracias, mi amigo."

"Back at you, kid. Sleep well, both of you."