Work Text:
Much couldn’t begin to untangle all the emotions plaguing him. He was aghast. He was angry. He was unbelievably hurt.
He didn’t know what to do. He stomped back into camp and walked around it in circles. He shook his head and wildly waved his arms about. “How…” his voice trailed off helplessly.
He stopped short when he saw John sitting under a large tree, watching him silently. He bit his lip. “Robin’s…” He paused and swallowed heavily. “…gone.”
John nodded grimly but calmly as if he’d expected nothing different.
Much clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “I’ve never seen him like that, not even in the Holy Land. Marian’s upcoming marriage has turned his wits.”
John moved slightly and tilted his head in Much’s direction.
Neither of them could be considered subtle, but Much knew John’s nonverbal cues. He scrambled to sit at John’s side. He leaned close to that comforting warmth.
John put an arm around Much and held him close to his body.
Much shifted so that he was almost in John’s lap. He sniffed and blinked back tears. “You should have seen the look of contempt on his face. He said I’m a small man, that all I care about is a roof over my head and food in my belly.”
John’s grip tightened. He set his jaw and let out a low growl but said nothing.
Much’s voice shook. “He said I’m a pox on his skin. He keeps scratching but I never go away.” He pulled back enough to look into John’s face. “Is that what I am?” he asked like a frightened little boy. “I know I talk too much. I know I’m not the bravest or smartest man in the world. I ask too much of him.”
John gave Much a reassuring squeeze. He pressed there foreheads together. “No,” he said simply.
“But--”
“You: I like. Robin: not so much right now.”
Much cracked the barest smile and buried his face in the side of John’s neck. “And what of the King?” he murmured against John’s skin. “We can’t let the Sheriff…” His voice died out when John started rubbing the back of his neck.
John felt Much relax against him. He felt, rather than heard, the deep sigh from Much’s chest. “We’ll help the King, with or without Robin,” he said with quiet authority.
And Much could’ve cried at the thought. He didn’t. Instead, he clutched John tighter.