Charles Smith x Reader

Thirty-Eight

The night felt darker, colder than before. Almost as if the lack of light also worsened the lack of laughter, freedom that these kids had felt from the day they had been born under the sky.

With slow steps you approached the wagon. A small fire crackled in the dark, spreading a soft golden glow and warmth that couldn't chase away the ice that had wrapped its claws around your heart.

Charles sat on the stairs of the wagon. His gaze was fixed onto the flames, how they screamed and bit each other, clawed into the wood to turn it to ash.

He didn't even notice that you stopped at the other side of the fire. Or maybe he just ignored you, it was hard to tell.

The expression on his face reminded you of the man you had found in your barn, wounded and broken. He was distant once more, trapped in his own thoughts, trying to avoid anyone getting too close to him.

Yet, as you softly called out for him, your voice so tender that a feather could have torn it apart, he looked up and a shimmer of hope was visible in that deep, sad brown of his eyes.

With a smile, you let out a sigh that pushed down on your chest even more. Your head tilted to the side and a silent question was asked.

He shook his head. He didn't want to know, didn't need to hear what had happened. This had been his life for a long time, he knew how things were for the natives.

"I never told you.", he muttered, unsure if he should tell you yet so dedicated to share this pain with you. "My mother was a native woman. My father, African American."

Not a word crossed your lips as you walked up to him to grab his face gently. Your thumbs crossed his cheeks, rough with a day beard and scars that he had never told you their origin of.

"My father was a good man. For her. He loved her so much.", his eyes turned glassy. "One day she was kidnapped by soldiers. I was... I don't remember. 10? Maybe 11. We never saw her again. And my father never was a good man again after that."

A thin strand of tears rolled down his cheek. Not both, but just one, showing just how much he had cried for his mother all these years and he wasn't able to cry no more.

The wound had turned into a scar. But he also knew that others did not need to share this pain with him.

Not if he could prevent it.

"We will save them.", you whispered softly, feeling how hot tears ran down your face now as well. "I promise you, I'll help as much I can. Just guide me."

His hands found yours, fingers entwined.

Even though the night was cold Charles seemed to burn brother than the stars. His body was so warm, so comforting as he pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him so close that you could feel his nose press into your shoulder. In that moment you did not pay attention to his physical pain, but the one that ate away at his soul.

He did not cry. Too much time had passed, too many lessons had been learned.

But he did clung for you for that one thing he had been missing all these years. Comfort. The way Charles held you gave away that he had never been comforted before.

Not by his own father. Not by friends. Not even by himself.

"Charles.", your voice trembled as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

For the very first time you had a chance to take in his scent fully and without the stench of blood stuck to him. He smelled like freedom, a cracking campfire under the bright stars, the rustling of leaves in autumn and the icy stench of river water after snowfall.

Charles was a kind of freedom your heart had longed for many years. But at the same time he did not lack what gave you safety.

He felt like home. Like a house with a sheltering roof over your head and walls that would drive away danger.

"I can't let these kids be taken.", he whispered against your skin, his breath burning with desperation. "They've taken too much already. One last rest won't be too much to ask for."

Your fingers cramped, entangling with a strand of his long, black hair.

"We can't repay blood with blood.", you muttered. "But perhaps we will be forgiven if we burn it all to the ground."

"And then what?"

You shook your head, a soft chuckle causing your chest to quiver.

"I don't know. We could go wherever we want to. Nothing would keep us back."

Behind your back, Charles' eyes returned to stare into the flaming inferno of the campfire. Red missed orange, devoured yellow. And with each crack a wooden log snapped and crumbled to ashes.

It smelled of rage. Burning hot, desperate rage that only those could feel who had lost a family to this world.

"There won't be no more freedom for us here.", his hug around you tightened, so much so that you could feel him squeeze your bones. "We'd never sleep a sound day in our lives ever again."

Tired, your eyes wandered through the dark. Wide lands stretched across hills, mountains cut through the dark like blades. Trees whispered with the wind.

How much did a human need to be happy?

"Does it matter where we would go?", you asked and breathed a kiss to his temple.

For the very first time since you've returned he leaned back and locked gazes with you. The brown of his eyes shimmered like dark, raw amber in the golden flames.

"How far would you go with me?", he asked in a breathless voice.

"How far do your feet carry you?", you asked back and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"As far as they need to, so that we can be at peace together."