cosmicallycrazy

[cosmicallycrazy]

kieran duffy fic alert 🚨 🔔 also with side romances between poly! arthur & charles. it's full works are on AO3 (linked at the bottom)

Chapter One

Dusk falls gently on Horseshoe Overlook; the glow of sunset peers through the trees while the hum of camp life and snickering of horses fills the humid air. I absentmindedly stir the ladle around Pearson's cooking pot a few times before slopping the heavy stew into my bowl, my mind flicking between memories of the last several days.

Our transfer from the frigid grip of Colter to the fragile embrace of Valentine and the Heartlands was shaky and chaotic, to say the least. We scurried around like ants on a river rock for days, but now that we've fully set up camp, everyone seems to be slowly adjusting to this new life, however long it will last us.

I lean my shoulder blades against the side of Pearson’s wagon, lifting a spoonful of stew to my mouth. The thick oregano-laced smell of the hearty mixture of rabbit meat, potatoes, and carrots made it no more appealing to the tongue. Still, its familiar warmth was enough to strike chords of appreciation in everyone who consumed it. Better than freezing, much better than starving, as many of us have before. For some, even now.

The thought provokes my gaze across the stew fire to the small-framed man with his wrists tied to the trunk of the large oak tree behind him. Kieran, I think he claimed his name was. But that name doesn’t mean much; it’s not the one that matters. O’Driscoll. That’s what he is. Or, was. Now he’s just a starving man, slumped and suspended under his own weight, dark, greasy hair falling over his dirt-smeared face.

He had whined relentlessly for days; the sound of his sobs made restless nights for most of us. Threatening him only made it worse, it seemed. Even if he was beaten or terrorized into temporary reprieve, it was only a matter of time before he started up again. But now he would not even groan, and if he had any tears left to cry after this stretch of dehydration, he must’ve released them silently.

I studied him lazily while I picked at my bowl, a summer's breeze opening a window between strands of hair, allowing me to observe his sickly complexion more clearly. His eyes lay shut in their deep purple sockets, his cheeks sunk in around his jaw. Visible trails of past tears span through the layered grime he has accumulated, his busted lip has left dried blood clumped into his wiry beard. Pitiful and pathetic, a fitting place for an O’Driscoll.

Sometimes I’ve thought that to be an O’Driscoll, you had to get your tear ducts removed. You’d have to lie your head back on a wooden table, pumped up on morphine while a green bandana-wearing doctor cut out the last of your tears. Never have I ever seen an O’Driscoll cry. Never have I seen an O’Driscoll show remorse or regret. They don't blink an eye committing atrocities, and they surely don't sob facing the consequences of their sin.

Any other O’Driscoll would have hollered and cussed until we were forced to take his tongue and still be smug. This man… well, he hardly seems a man at all. He’s more like a frightened boy locked in the body of a broken man.

“O’Driscoll.” Javier sneered as he passed, making a show of dramatically spitting at him. The broken man doesn't respond to this, not even to flinch. A bitter, hollow feeling twinges in my gut as pity rises into my throat. Is he even alive?

I glance around to make sure no one is looking before quietly stepping closer to him. The evening hours of camp life are normally the most relaxed of the day. Chores done, jobs ran, food hunted. Now is the perfect time to relax, maybe play a game, and hopefully be very uninterested in whatever I am getting up to.

“Psst.” I say softly as I look down at the man folded at the knees. No response again, so this time I lightly kick him in the leg. “Psst!”

“Hng…?” He groaned as he lifted his head. In between the narrow cracks of his eyelids, dark dusty blue irises stare back at me blankly. Well, at least he lives.

“Don’t ask any questions,” I murmur, crouching down to his level and extending my bowl to him. “Drink.”

“Y-You… Wh-What?” He creaks in a tired voice, confusion fogging his tone.

“I said don't ask any questions!” I reply flippantly. He tries to form words, but I’m quick to press the rim of my bowl to his moving lips. “Shut up. Drink. Now.” I urge again.

The words must have clicked into place in his mind because, like a broken dam and a bottomless well, he absorbed every slurp effortlessly. He did not even breathe between half-chews and hard swallows, taking in the flavorless stew as if it contained life itself. The bowl ran dry too quickly, and I urgently and thoughtlessly replaced it with a cup of boiled camp water, which disappeared even faster.

No more than 100 seconds could've passed, but he somehow looks far more alive now than he did moments ago. Maybe he was laying it on thick to trick me into giving him sustenance, but the gleam of appreciation in his wide-eyed look seems authentic. Or maybe it's just another look of twisted fear. None like any I’d seen O’Driscoll’s wear before.

“Hey, Willow!” A gruff voice calls from the other end of camp, interrupting my sudden act of mercy. A gentle rasp and slow country drawl, it’s Arthur. My jaw instinctively flexes, my teeth gritting together as I snap my head around to look for him as I toss my cup into the brush nearby. Usually, Arthur calling for me would be met with an instantaneous spark of excitement, a girlish giddy feeling. But now, nothing but cold sweat falls over me, a flash of dread in my stomach. I cannot be seen aiding a fugitive, not even by someone as trusted as Arthur. Kieran, despite his frail condition, has been marked as the enemy. He knows it, too. Arthur’s call drains whatever color he had left in his face in an instant, sheer horror falling over his eyes.

“Arthur…!” I greet the large man with feigned excitement, a half-smile turning on my lips. Arthur makes the cross from camp in just a few strides, the orange glow of sunset illuminating his stern eyes. He furrows his thick brow, effortlessly peering over me to the quivering man cowered behind me. Arthur’s momentary silence is filled by a rapid rhythmic thumping, which must be either Kieran’s heart or mine. Focus. I haven’t done anything wrong. Right?

“Now what’chu doin’ with this snake?” Arthur inquires with a glare, icy eyes never leaving Kieran’s face.

“Kickin’ the dog, what’s it look like?” The lie flows off my lips effortlessly. How much had Arthur seen? What if the cup is peeking from the underbush, glinting in the light and revealing my misdeeds? Would he make a scene to everyone, his loyalty to the gang overshadowing whatever friendship we have? Would I end up tied beside Kieran next? Maybe my decent reputation with the gang would earn me a bit of mercy, but I can’t say the same for the O’Driscoll. Will they kill him now for sure?

“Well, don’t let me stop you.” Arthur huffs, loosely crossing his arms. He squints his eyes slightly, an impish look dancing across his face. By the way he leans back expectantly, he’s looking for a show, a display of proof.

I swallow the dry spot in my throat as I turn around, taking every precaution to keep my face unchanged until I once again face the O’Driscoll. The gratitude shining behind his eyes was vanquished, replaced with vivid, almost resonant fear. I’m risking my hide for this? A coward who tried to run, a self-proclaimed betrayer, a weakling crying in the dirt? Sticking out my neck to save his skin? A brutal and vicious O’Driscoll?

“P-Please.” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, and something flips in my gut in response. No bargaining or crying. No defiance. No will. A simple, broken surrender in a single quiet plea.

I furrowed my eyebrows as I raised my right hand to my belt and the knife sheathed in it. Could I use it on my enemies? Easily, almost thoughtlessly, as I have before. The dark silver metal tinks against my belt buckle as I unsheath it by its opalesque hilt. Is that what he is? An enemy to me? Could I use this knife on the weak? Would this fate for him be better than what the world, what these other men, would give him? Would sparing him be turning this knife gripped in my hand back onto my friends? I can’t imagine an outcome where he is both released and accepted, so why does my chest feel so heavy?

I bite down on my tongue, focusing a stern look as I bring the edge of my blade to the forehead of the pale man, who stiffens to stone under the cool touch. The blade parts the messy hair that’s fallen into his face, grazing his temple. Would trying to spare him just delay the inevitable—or worse, brand me a traitor? He’s a lost cause. An enemy of my family, my gang. A goddamn O’Driscoll. So why can’t I conceal the trembling of my fingers around the iridescent handle?

“Anytime now, Wills.” Arthur says flatly. A concealed tightness in my collarbones releases at the nickname. Still in good graces it seems, but I can’t take the chance that he’ll give me another warning. I let my wrist loosely curve the spine of the knife from his temple behind his ear, to rest the blade’s edge at the nape of his sweating neck. I hear the grinding of Kieran’s jaw, but still, he does not flinch away from me. Doesn’t this idiot know his lack of fear makes me look like his ally?

My left hand leaps to his throat, fingers wrapping firmly around his flexing tendons– enough to threaten, not to kill. A small gasp escaped his lips as his wide, frantic eyes snapped to mine in an instant. I hold his gaze with fiery focus. I hope he can see behind my austere gaze to the warning I scream to him in my mind. This is your only chance. Slowly and methodically, my scowling face draws closer to his.

Finally, he squirms anxiously in his bondage, backing into the tree that shackles him. Arthur snorts softly as Kieran’s back thuds against the trunk under my farcely tightened grasp. I swallow again to keep my eyes from rolling. I’m so glad you’re enjoying this, Arthur.

My approach is unrelenting. The nearer my breath draws to his clammy skin, the more the quivering man futilely attempts to writhe away from my blade. Perfect. Keep it up, my mind calls to him. We’re close now, closer than any of us imagined we’d be. My lips linger dangerously close to his ear, the distance between our waists closing in. In any other instance, I’m sure being this close to someone would cause gossip and scandal, but this isn’t like that. It’s just business. Just trying to save a fugitive. If he is what they say, why don’t I see anything but a lost man when I look at him?

“Scream.” My only order is quiet but full of forceful command.

I give him a mere second to register my hushed demand before flicking my wrist downward, the blade biting a small gash into his collarbone. My hand still around his throat protects major arteries, but a cut near the base of the neck can pump a deceiving amount of blood. I’m certain it’s just a flesh wound, but Kieran’s scream explodes into the air around us like it could’ve been his last. I instinctually drop him and step back while the entire camp is pulled to a halt. The chance of any of us being covert about this disappears into the uncomfortable silence.

All eyes fall on Kieran, still bound by both wrists with scarlet blood streaking from his neck into his shirt. His face is pink and ladened with sweat, and I’m sure the girls can see his trembling from the other side of the camp. Arthur’s quick to release the tension, breaking out into rumbling laughter.

“And I thought only pigs could squeal that loud!” He snickered, confidently striding toward us.

Some other laughter broke out among the campfires, Bill’s booming drowning out most everyone else. Indistinguishable comments gradually melted into the familiar hum of camp life returning, but we’ve already caused a scene.

“That’s enough fun for now.” He chuckled almost bitterly, closing the distance between us. “Now, I like makin’ O’Driscoll’s bleed as much as the next guy,” He continued in a hushed voice, leaning down slightly to speak with me. “But with the lungs on this boy?” He flicked his eyes over to Kieran, whose expression I could not see but sparked a smirk to Arthur’s lips. “I bet every lawman in the next five miles just heard ‘em. Let’s not have some unwelcome guests tonight, huh?”

“You’re right.” I nod graciously. I don’t know if the O’Driscoll boy is grateful for my actions, but he should be thankful that Arthur was satisfied with our little show. I try to blink away the possibilities of how far this could’ve gone. With me in chains beside him, with his blood on my blade or his death on my head. This charade could’ve easily turned real, could’ve gone on for hours… all to save him from starving? Arthur’s large hand falls casually on my shoulder, disrupting my inner spiral.

“Got a special skill of makin’ ‘em sweat, huh? Good to know.” Arthur smiles slyly at me, lightly squeezing my shoulder in assurance. “I’m glad you're with us, Willow.”

His warm approval soothes the tension in my chest, my fists loosening at my sides. I feel a half-smile flitting across my face. “Thanks, Arthur.”

There’s a moment of lingering between us, Arthur’s grasp on my shoulder and Kieran’s eyes burning into the back of my head. Arthur extends an arm out to the rest of camp, gesturing for me to make my exit. “After you, ma’am.”

As we stride side-by-side to the campfire, I dare not turn back to face the boy I’d bloodied. Arthur and I’s presence around the campfire is more than welcome by our mutual friends. As the last of the sunlight fades, surrounded by music and laughter, I try not to think of Kieran O’Driscoll and how differently this night could’ve turned out.

The moon beams from high in the sky when we start to break apart from the campfire back to our beds. Kieran has silently blended back seamlessly with the landscape, and most everyone once again acts as if he isn’t there at all.

Holding up the red entrance flap of my tent, I lazily kick off my boots. Exhaustion heavies my muscles and pulls on my eyelids, but I still find my eyes drifting to the man at the tree one last time before retreating for the night. I assumed to find him slumped over again, head dropped in exhaustion. But I’m mistaken.

The small spot of crackling firelight reflecting in his eyes reveals him staring back at me in the darkness. In the dim starlight, the dark stain on his shirt is still visible, but no fresh blood left to shine. His expression is lost to the shadows. I bite my cheek softly, hoping mine is as well. Does he resent me now? Does he understand my actions? Is he going to live long enough to confront me anyway?

My eyebrows knit under the sea of endless questions. In an attempt to rid myself of the swirling spiral of what-ifs and how-coulds, I release his gaze and duck into the familiar safety of my tent. Whatever craving my body has for sleep, my mind won’t be satisfied tonight.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66844723

[cosmicallycrazy]

So here's the first chapters of my new RDR2 AU fic!

mostly about sub/needy Kieran but with poly! arthur&charles as well