#Abigailmartson

[morston-trash]

The Last Sunrise

I honestly can’t remember if I have ever posted this on here. This is the work that I am the proudest of. It also tore me apart to write it. 

Spoiler warning to anyone that hasn’t finished the game; it contains end of game spoilers. 

Proceed with caution. 

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The gunshots faded into the distance but didn't cease altogether. The hunt was still on, just for someone else that had decided to leave while they had the chance. Whether they would actually escape or not, that was another matter. The men that were in the, once glorious Van Der Linde gang, were very persistent. The remaining men were more than likely in pursuit on horseback.

John could almost hear the whoops and hollers of the men as he fled. His heart slammed against his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. All he could do was keep running, even though his legs threatened to give out. He finally collapsed, falling against a nearby tree. There he lay, working frantically to catch his breath.

"Go to your family," Arthur struggled before starting the climb upwards.

"Arthur!" John hissed.

"Go on, get out of here and be a god damn man," Arthur wheezed.

"Y-you're my brother..." John hesitated, reluctant to leave the man.

"I know..." the older man said before climbing up.

That interaction was burned into his skull, playing over and over again in his mind. He couldn't believe that he had left him. He hated himself more than he could ever express. Arthur had always been there for him. He had always been there to help him, to bail him out of the mess he always got himself into. He had just left him there to die. Hot tears threatened to fall, but he refused to let them fall.

"Be a god damned man..." John choked back sobs.

He stood, his legs threatening to give out once again. Without thinking, he ran back in the direction in which he had left his savior. He ran as hard as he could. Just hoping and praying, for the first time in his life, that he would make it there in time. He could barely breathe but he was willing to endure it. John was determined. He was going to get back to Arthur, one way or another.

The dark-haired man approached where he had left Arthur. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Arthur. Was he still alive? He climbed up the ledge, dread rising inside of him. He didn't know if he could do this. John pushed on, he was going to do this. His eyes scanned the area, searching for the man.

"A-Arthur?" He somehow managed to call out, sounding like a scared child.

He heard an angry groan in response, it had to be him. Only Arthur could make a simple sound seem so grouchy. He followed the noise to the source. The sight that greeted him shattered what was left of his stone heart. There sat Arthur leaning against the stone wall behind him, bloody and bruised from the fight that must have occurred after he left. The older man shot him a look of pure disbelief and annoyance.

"I... I told you to get out of here... Go to your family..." The dying man muttered, barely able to take a breath.

"I can't leave you, Arthur. You're my family too..." John cried, unable to keep the tears from falling.

"Y-you're... A mess... Marston," Arthur coughed.

"Don't I know it?" John laughed in an attempt to control his tears.

Arthur struggled to sit up just a little more. These were his last moments and the pair both knew it. John wished that he could stop time, that he could save his oldest friend. But he couldn't. Instead, he just sat there beside the other man, enjoying the silence. Before this moment, he had never understood what Arthur enjoyed about it so much, but now he completely understood. He understood everything now. It was as if the other man had opened himself up without saying a word. There they sat, Artur's final moments being spent in silence as they watched the sunrise together this one last time. John was painfully aware that he could no longer hear the struggling wheezes coming from Arthur trying to catch a breath. He had passed. John couldn't bring himself to look at the shell of one he had cared for so deeply. Instead, he sat there beside him. Watching the sun climb into the morning sky.

John thought of all the times they shared, just like how Arthur wanted to spend his last moments. It hurt like hell, but it brought the man some comfort. When Arthur saved him from the wolves, drinking around the campfire, all of the many times they had ridden together, their ride to get Jack back. That reminded him of something Arthur had once said.

"We can't change what's done, we can only move on," The now dead man's voice echoed in his ears as if he was talking.

He couldn't help but smile despite the tears that ran down his scarred face. That man had truly been the most selfless person he had ever known. Beyond that rough, sarcastic, intimidating exterior he was really just another hurt soul that loved helping people. Even if it took him until the end of his life to realize it. John forced himself to get up to face reality. Arthur was gone, all that left of him was his corpse and the memories that everyone had of him. His eyes dropped to the shell of the man, his chest feeling like a bear had torn into it. His dull eyes were still open, looking at the rising sun. He brought his hands to the face of his trusted friend, closing his eyes. John dropped to his knees, unable to hold up the facade of being strong. The tears flowed freely, unable to be contained or controlled any longer. His head dropped. He stayed there, unable to move. Without any prompting from him, a pained scream came forth from his throat. He didn't care if the gang heard him, if the Pinkertons heard him, he just didn't care in that moment. He couldn't bring himself to care.

The man heard the sound of pebbles being kicked behind him, someone was coming upon him. He stumbled into a standing position before drawing his gun and turning to face the source. His vision blurry, he could barely make out the image of Charles, the man Arthur trusted most out of the gang. That was still alive anyway. He sniffled and lowered his gun, trying to compose himself. It was fitting, he was feeling and acting just like the child he was when he met the man that now sat dead beside him. Both of the men nodded in agreement, no words needed to be exchanged. They already knew what needed to be done. Charles lifted the body of his trusted friend. John followed as the dark-skinned man carried him away from the place that he took his last breath. The pair walked in silence, both feeling more comfortable that way. They had never really talked much, the only things they had in common being small bits and pieces of the past few months and Arthur. They were both sad about the other man's death, but John was taking it the hardest of the two. Charles had a more private way of mourning, as well as a more considerate way of showing appreciation for the lives of those around him.

Charles led the way, placing Arthur on the back of Taima. He grabbed the reins and started to lead the horse. John followed, reluctant to stray away from the body. They walked away, the rays of the sun chasing away the cold of the hilly region. The walk was quiet, tranquil. This morning was the calm after the storm, and yet they couldn't wait for it to be over. They arrived a short distance from where the heroic man had spent his final moments. They were on a cliff, basking in the sunlight. It was a beautiful spot.

"This spot, it's beautiful..." John mumbled.

"Arthur would have wanted to be buried somewhere like this. Facing west. So that he could look at the sun and remember everything," Charles barely more than whispered.

The pale man had hardly heard the other, but he knew what had been sad. He was right, their fallen friend would have loved a spot like this. It was a beautiful spot, surrounded by a stunning view of the landscape. Had Arthur been alive, he likely would have been taking in the jaw-dropping sight with his journal in his hands. Tears threatened to fall, but he fought the now-familiar sensation. John didn't think that he could cry anymore but he didn't want to risk it. Charles pulled out his small, collapsable shovel from his saddlebag. The darker man removed his friend from the back of his horse before placing the body in the shade of a nearby tree. John couldn't help but watch, noticing the expression of pain that crossed his face. It was unusual, he had never seen him show this much emotion. Arthur had touched all of their hearts, he had saved them. There was no greater man, in their eyes anyway. He may have been a criminal, a murderer, a thief, but he had done it all to help the entire gang. But the bastards had turned on him, on all of those that saw how crazy Dutch really was.

"You should get out of here, get back to your family. I'll take care of him," the other man motioned to the body of their lost friend.

The grieving man could only nod numbly. He didn't want to leave, but Arthur trusted Charles in life and he was sure that this would have been what the man wanted. John turned away and began to walk away reluctantly. He walked back the way they had come, each step taking him a little further from the man who had saved his life countless times. The raven-haired man just wanted to throw himself on the ground, to scream out curse after curse, but it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't bring Arthur back. Instead, he kept forcing himself to take step after step. Towards where Sadie had taken his family to safety. Another person that Arthur had trusted a lot, despite her having only been with them for a few months. But Arthur's judgment was not misplaced. The two had been more alike than anyone other than themselves could notice. John could see that now. It's funny, you only really start to notice and pay attention to things when they are no longer there. John cracked a sad smile at the thought. He felt so stupid, but at the same time, he felt partly to blame for Arthur's death. If he hadn't left him, maybe he would have still been alive. He could have fought off the one that killed him. They could have gotten him out of there. They could have tried to help him get better. The invasive thoughts swirled through his mind like a tornado.

"We can't change what's done, we can only move on,"

The man looked around for the source of the voice. It was like a whisper in the wind. Even beyond the grave, the man was looking out for him. Those words brought some comfort to the man, but not enough to prevent even more tears from falling. He struggled to not fall down onto his knees.

"D-damn you, Morgan. You selfless bastard..." the man sniffled.

He moved onwards despite the pull he felt to return to the corpse of the man he called brother. Each step made it harder to fight the urge. The urge to be there with Arthur. The sound of voices brought him out of his thoughts.

"We can't leave yet! They are still coming!" a woman yelled shrilly.

"We don't know that, they might have caught them." another woman reasoned.

"Momma, where's papa?" A young child asked.

"He's coming sweetie, he'll be here," the first woman soothed.

John recognized those voices, they were the voices of his family and Ms. Sadie Adler. He followed the voices out of the bushes. Sadie had her gun drawn, pointing at John. Once she recognized him, she lowered her weapon. Abigail ran towards him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He hugged her back, realizing just how much he had missed her. Jack came running over and clung to him tightly.

"Papa! Papa!" the boy yelled joyously.

"I'm here, I'm here..." He reached a hand down to grasp the boy as well as his lover.

"Where's Arthur?" Sadie asked, knowing the answer but needing confirmation.

Arthur had told her about the tuberculosis. She knew that he was going to die. Seeing John walk over wearing his hat confirmed it. But she needed to hear it.

"He, uh... He didn't make it. Charles is burying him on a ridge not too far from where he..." John swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Sadie nodded, a dull pain searing through her interior. Arthur had been one of the best men she had ever met, seconded only by her late husband. She was going to miss him dearly. She turned her attention to the reunited family. She had fulfilled her promise to the man, she had helped them get out. They could go on living their life free from all of the madness that had just ensued. Sadie, on the other hand, didn't quite know what to do. She was more of a ghost than a person.

The Marston family loaded onto the wagon that was waiting for them, to take them to their new future. One hopefully free of bounties, robbing, murder, and Pinkertons. John was in the driver's seat with Jack between him and the woman. John turned to look at her as if asking if she was to be joining them. She just shook her head, waving them off. The man nodded, before signaling for the horses to start moving. There the family went, onwards towards their new life, their second chance. All thanks to a man named Arthur Morgan.