#Ada’s hat is meant to move yet I fear it is not!

[friedaaaaaaargh]

Happy holidays!! Enjoy this terrible, Snapchat-made image of Hackle as my gift to you all!

[sopxhiea]

Comfortable

Alfie Solomons X Reader

| Prompt

  “Please, stop smiling at me like that. I’m not sure what will happen if you keep doing that.”

The room was full of souls: old, young, tired, happy, intoxicated. The weather outside the grand hall contradicted the one outside, there was a cold breeze caressing the branches of the trees while the inside of the velvet walls smelled of hot air and expensive perfume. There were people drinking in one corner, most of the gentlemen and a few youngins were gone to do play with some snow while most of the ladies and their husbands remained in the crowd.

There were merchandisers, rich millionaires and their pretty things, families of two and the old English ones who never missed a party. His eyes traveled across the room, meeting many smiling faces who were obviously too drunk to decipher anything while he passed by them. Bumping into a couple on the last step he took, he apologised for intruding while the music changed into a slower one, giving the young girls a break from swaying their hips a little too hard. 

There you stood with a couple of ladies, chatting about the last art deal you’d made for a very pricey painting. The women around envied you, he could see that. You had worked for yourself and by yourself, not many were capable of doing that even if they were not a ravishing lady like you were. You patted Charlie’s head when he hugged your legs, Grace following him close behind and chuckling at the young boy while you looked at him lovingly.

Your eyes met his across the room, the relief of finding you at last washing over his features while he gave you a smirk, making you chuckle and a hint of blush on your cheeks followed soon after. He started walking towards you, breaking the crowd when he needed to. He was looking extremely fine today, you had to admit. The suit he had gotten tailored for himself was working out for him, he looked sharp and almost a little too dashing. His hair wasn’t in the usual hat hair style, it was brushed back and the tangled texture of his beard was long gone, he had trimmed it down for you.

It had been about a week since you’d last seen him. He had been away on business and you were staying at your old place, you hadn’t sold it yet and it was liveable. It had been your first home after all. You had spent nights filled with wine, books and jazz as a single lady just like you’d done before you’d married him. You still did all those things but now, there was another soul who would accompany you while you enjoyed the down time. It was better, really, to have his hands massage you as you read the book, cyril would curl up next to you and the smell of vanilla candles would fill the house.

He’d been even better than you thought he’d be after you had gotten married. He was a sweet teddy bear before but he’d become someone you’d want to share everything with, things didn’t feel as good if it meant that he wasn’t there to experience it with you. You had joined souls, almost. He would sense your moods, almost pick up on things you were thinking all too well and you knew him like the back of your hand after a year of being married. He was your sweetheart.

You felt his gaze before you felt his touch, locking eyes with him while he smiled at you, making your heart feel giddy. You had never been the one for feeling this way before, it had been only for him up until this point but his actions had way too many effects on you, it was hard to keep up with your hear when he was around. You let Charlie go and he gently touched your arm, pulling you into him a little while he whispered, his perfume filled your nose which got an approving chuckle from you.

“You look absolutely ravishing, luv.” he spoke, lowly and into your ear. You chuckled, your hand meeting his chest while his hot breath caressed your ear.

“So do you..” you said, eyes meeting his while you came to the realisation that you’d had a little too much to drink than he’d said. He didn’t mind, he liked how silly you were when you got drunk.

“I missed you, doll..” he breathed into your ear, he had been quite miserable for the past week without you. The men were getting into his nerves and he usually had you to pull him out of things like that but the last week, all he had was himself and he liked himself much better when you were around.

You gave him a squeeze on his arm, your other hand holding his while he intertwined your fingers. There was no denying that you both were very active on bed, it had gotten particularly heated after you had become his bride, the first three months were practically spent on the bed since he’d never let you go, you had no opposition to that. After the first three months, the sex was carried in wherever you went, sometimes it was his office and other times the car, an empty valley and even a party once.

You could feel his desperation in his voice, he was dying to kiss you again and it was no wonder from the way his eyes sparkled while staring at your lips.

“You’ve been missed too, Alfie...” you whispered into his ear, aware of the effect you were having on him and it turned you on, undeniably so. You heard him gulp when you caressed his bicep, shivers running up and down his body while you just smiled.

It was a party with too many people around, it was risky to do anything. The people around were also of the high class, Alfie didn’t give a fuck but you were very well aware of the fact that both alone and together, you had a reputation to uphold. You gave him an innocent smile while Arthur walked by, smiling at the sight of both of you. The Shelby family wasn’t particularly in love with Alfie but they liked you a good amount.

The slow sing filled your ears, you contently hummed along to the song while his hand found its usual place in the small of your back, never leaving you once. The rest of the party was spent with you talking to him about what you did, he cracked a couple jokes here and there, making you smile. He had missed seeing you smile. You felt his smell all around you that evening, his figure followed you like a lost puppy. You chatted up with a couple of people you found moderately pleasant and Alfie did too, he was good with people and you saw that once again while he stole all the hearts, and not just of the women.

The night slowly came to an end, you were holding the new born of John and Esme in your arms, whispering a lullaby into the baby’s ear while the room was silent, a candle in the distant corner while you moved your body to the melody. The Shelby family and a couple associates remained in the building, and there was also you and Alfie. You hadn’t seen him ever since Tommy and Michael took him into Tommy’s study to discuss business, he didn’t want to go but you’d murmured into his ear that it was alright and he had been long gone since.

When he disappeared, you had started chatting to the people around, seeing who you knew and who you didn’t. Somewhere along the way, Esme and Grace had found you and soon, Ada and Polly followed. You had ended up in a small room with the familiar women, all of them chatting about the people in the next room. You had shaken your head and remained silent, earning giggles from Ada and Polly while you ate instead of talking. Then they’d left the room and it was you, Esme and the baby and that was how you were in the current position you were put in.

She was a beautiful baby girl, maybe too small but adorable regardless. You’d been afraid to pick her up at first with the fear of being too harsh but Esme had given you the baby, put her directly into your arms and had disappeared. You could tell she needed some time off and were more than happy to give her the opportunity. Alfie was looking for you, had been for the past twenty minutes but they were man around who wanted to chat to him, he declined them politely like you’d shown and told them that they would speak another time, wandering off to the big halls of Tommy’s house to look for you.

Your navy dress was flowing on the sides as you swayed the baby in your arms, a few loose strands of hair falling around your face from the low bun you had. The sweet lullaby filled the room, nothing but your breathing and slow whispers could be heard. The candles were around the room, illuminating your face just the right way while your face glistened, a smile on your lips while you rocked the small baby, getting all the baby smell while you could.

Alfie was struck, his heart was running a mile per second. He had never seen you more beautiful. You were singing to the baby slowly while he opened the door, slowly to take a better look and thats when you’d realised he’d found you at last. Having a baby was something you’d spoken about but it had been one conversation at the very beginning of your relationship with Alfie, you didn’t know you’d marry him then. He had imagined, maybe too many times, that you’d someday carry his kids, you’d be the perfect mother just like you’d been the perfect companion and wife to him. He just knew you’d be.

You gave him a small smile while holding the baby still, smelling the top of her head to get the heavenly smell they carried in such an early age. He smiled back, you could see he was stunned but it was hard to pinpoint why. You wanted kids, especially with Alfie but you didn’t know when the timing would be right, or if there would ever be the right time to do such a thing since it was a big responsibility. You knew he wanted them too, he had told you he wanted an army of kids but you didn’t even know if you were capable of getting pregnant yet. You’d been very careful about that until that point.

You put the baby in the crib, giving her one last forehead kiss before leaving the room quietly. You shut the door behind you, slowly to make sure you didn’t make a sound and the whole time, Alfie was watching you with an intense look. He was falling in love with you again. You didn’t say anything when you turned back and found him just an inch away from you, you could feel his breath on your face but that wasn’t what bothered you at that very second, it was the look he had in his eyes, it was full of sorrow and hope and it made you feel like you were drowning.

You shook your head, smiling weakly as he looked at you with the same intense gaze still. Your hands found his shoulders, pulling him back to life while the look in his eyes was still there. A couple seconds passed and an impeccable smile found his lips, he put a kiss on your forehead, taking all your smell in while you held him in place as much as possible, he was a wreck of emotions after seeing that sight.

You spoke lowly while looking at the handsome man before you. “Please, stop smiling at me like that. I’m not sure what will happen if you keep doing that.” your voice was loving but unsure.

He chuckled, a little too loud which made you cover his mouth immediately to keep the baby sleeping. His lips met your hand covering his mouth, kissing it gently while you gave him an adoring look. “You’re just the best fucking thing, ya’ know that, love?” he spoke, lowly into your ear while you kissed his cheek suddenly.

“I have a vague idea.” you said jokingly, gaining silent smile from him while he took your hand in his and walking down the corridor to the big hall.

They walked into the big hall where the remaining crowd sat still, wine or rum in one of their hands while some of them danced in the now empty hall and some just sat together. Alfie’s hands never left yours while his thumb caressed your fingers, feeling the cold material of your wedding ring against his warm skin. He murmured a small goodbye while dragging you out of the place, you waved to everyone before leaving. He was too impatient.

You soon found yourself in the back of a car seat, Alfie said something to the driver before attacking your neck. You muffled your whimpers by kissing him, letting his coat cover your legs when his hands traveled along your upper thighs. He had missed you: your smell, your smile and the small giggles that came of your mouth when he would make a joke. He had missed your touch and your body, the sounds he would erupt from you as well as the sweet hums you would give him. He had missed your voice and your presence, the delicate way you had of easing his pain and nerves and he was going to make sure he remembered each detail of that night.

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Twenty Seven

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex, mentions of miscarriage, hanging.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Some scenes and dialogue have been taken from the game!

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Blood and Snow

They crossed the Upper Montana River the same way Ada and Arthur had, Abigail’s words ringing in their ears.

John’s the loudest.

He’d just got her back, and now she was going to leave him again.

But he couldn’t not go. He knew in his heart he couldn’t have ever said no to Sadie and stopping Micah Bell. It bolstered him that Ada and Arthur were going, too. Yet it was only a little; they had just as much to lose as him.

And just as much as he couldn’t say no, they hadn’t been able to either.

One of them should have been yelling at the other, telling them this was a stupid, horrible plan, what the hell were they doing and that they should just turn back, but that not unfounded responsibility had fallen to Abigail.

‘Once again,’ she had said. 

But he was just so angry, so fucking angry at Micah for forcing them into this position. To his core Micah was a bad man and they all knew he wouldn’t just leave them be if he got wind of their new, happy lives.

This had to be done.

He glanced over at Arthur and Ada as they passed the burned down Native Residential School, watched as they shared a small, reassuring smile with one another, like they were the only people on the road.

“We’ll be okay,” Arthur murmured, so quietly.

“I know,” Ada answered, the breath she inhaled steeling.

Sadie led their small group, Charles beside her and John, Arthur and Ada behind. They moved quietly, no one really knowing or having anything to say. Their mission hung heavy over their heads, yet it reassured Arthur somewhat that this didn’t feel like the kind of revenge mission he’d feared it would be; blood-thirsty, cold, calculated.

‘Revenge is a fool’s game’, he’d said so, so many times to Dutch during their time together, yet he’d not had much to fight for then.

And here, now, they were a group of tired parents and people, looking to secure a future they had fought so hard for. Revenge wasn’t the word that came to mind when he looked at all of them. Yet who knew how each of them would react when they came face to face with Micah Bell?

He caught the slight squaring of Ada’s shoulders as they turned onto another path and at first he thought it was just the gradual dropping in temperature, but as he heard the noise of a small town, realisation dawned on him.

As they’d packed their bags, he’d told her where Sadie’s route was going to take them through, and she’d just nodded and raised her eyebrows slightly, a faint smile on her lips.

“Well, seems I can’t avoid it any longer.”

Strawberry looked much as it had when he’d last been there, when he’d first met her. Part of him felt he owed so much to this place and to fate for bringing him here, yet it sat in the back of his mind as he glanced at her, keeping his head down, wanting to catch her eye and reassure her again, but her own gaze was darting from cabin to stable as they entered from the south path, the mud beneath them damp.

Ada hadn’t been back to her once home since the night she’d met Arthur. She’d wondered about it, over the years, what it would look like and if it had changed and... it had and it hadn’t. No new buildings had been built, there had never been any space to, but some had definitely been cleaned up, painted and sold to new inhabitants. People bustled about, no more and no less than there had been on the morning walks she used to take. She adjusted the brim of her hat, pulling it down slightly, though she would have been surprised if people had recognised her or even remembered her. They’d read in the papers over the years that Mayor Nicholas Timmins had been re-elected, some claiming through unsavoury means, and that he was still fighting to turn the town into a get-away destination for city folks.

By the looks of things, he hadn’t exactly succeeded. Maybe one or two people had come down from a city, but it wasn’t exactly bustling like he’d always told her he wanted it to be.

I wonder how he is.

She didn’t know what she’d do if she ran into him again, though some bored columnists were currently claiming his health was declining, his failed venture finally starting to take a toll. Maybe he, too, wouldn’t recognise her.

Her gaze landed on the post office as they crossed the bridge over the thundering river, it must have rained recently, and she cleared her throat.

“Can we stop for a moment? I just need to post some letters.”

They all looked to her, and she half expected it to be with an expression of ‘Now? Really?’ but they all, quietly, seemed to understand. Sadie nodded and they remained mounted by the hitching posts as she slid down from the saddle. The air was certainly colder here, she’d almost forgotten how cold Strawberry could get, and she took the opportunity to pull Abigail’s coat on. Abigail was slighter than she was but it just about fit, and she withdrew the three letters from her saddlebag.

Catching Arthur’s eye, they smiled faintly at one another again and she licked her lips as she moved to the stairs.

The post office hadn’t changed one bit. A man she didn’t recognise was behind the counter but everything was just as she remembered, and the familiarity somehow made this heart-breaking act a little less terrifying.

“Hello, ma’am, how may I help you?” the man smiled, leaning against the counter.

At some point in the last few years, she’d gone from ‘miss’ to ‘ma’am’,

“Good morning, I’d like to send these letters, please.” Her heart was beating a little faster as she lay them on the worn, wooden counter. Yet she just told herself what she’d told Arthur; if they lived, their daughter, her brother and his wife would never have to read these, and if they didn’t, she liked to think they would bring some comfort.

She told herself that over and over again as the man marked each envelope. She suddenly could hear her own breathing in her ears, the man’s voice far away as he talked about the weather, and her eyes were now fixed on the envelopes. They were an off-white, the same colour as the pages she’d written on, the only ones she could find in Jack’s room. She’d meant to tell him that she’d taken them, that she would pay for new ones, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to. That would have just led to why she’d taken them and she hadn’t wanted to speak it out loud to anyone but Arthur.

She wished she could have said the gravity of the situation had descended upon her as she’d written them, or now as she was sending them, but... the moment Sadie had said the words it had all come crashing down. She hadn’t cried, and she didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

It had been a long time since she had been numb, and she used to hate it, but now it brought with it a certain element of protection.

As she paid him, she cleared her throat, a certain lightness within her now.

One of the thoughts that had come to her as she’d watched Millie sleep the first night after her birth was that she’d kill for her, and here she was, fulfilling her promise.

“Anythin’ else I can help you with, ma’am?”

She smiled, shaking her head as she tucked her coin purse back into her pocket. “No, thank you.”

“All right, have a nice day, ma’am!”

Her smile lingering, she turned away from him, feeling quite relieved. Now, she could focus, and—

The door swung open, a small bell tinkling with it.

“Good morning, Hershel!” Nicholas Timmins boomed, a great beam on his features.

“Good morning, sir!” 

Mayor Timmins’s beam remained fixed in place as his gaze went to the woman stood in the centre of the post office, a warm greeting ready for her, when he paused.

Ada held his gaze as he looked at her, that great smile not moving. She felt nothing, no fear, no anticipation, no unease.

Her uncle was silent for only two seconds.

“Good morning, ma’am! Have a lovely day!” Inclining his head, he then strode past her to the counter.

As he struck up a conversation with Hershel, Ada moved to the door, the tinkling bell signalling her exit.

Stepping out onto the porch, she inhaled the cold, fresh air. She didn’t have time to dwell on what had just happened, though, as Sadie, Charles and John were nowhere to be seen. Arthur, having dismounted and now also wearing the coat John had given him, was leaning against the railing of the stairs, looking up the path towards the hotel. At the sound of the bell, he looked to her and raised his eyebrows, a corner of his mouth lifting.

“So...” he began as she moved down the stairs, his arms folded, “... Saw your uncle go in.”

"And you didn’t think to yell?”

“Nah, thought he might like a little surprise.”

She snorted faintly as she stepped down onto the mud, arching an eyebrow. “I don’t think it was. He looked right through me. Think he thought he recognised me from somewhere but couldn’t place where.”

“Suppose it’s for the best,” he answered, his arms dropping.

They both knew she wasn’t fazed, in fact she was rather relieved. The only mention of her disappearance from this town had been in the newspaper Arthur had shown her all those years ago at Shady Belle. There hadn’t been a peep since she’d seen him at the party. Glancing at the horses with empty saddles, she raised her eyebrows.

“Where are they?”

“Gone after one of Sadie’s leads, that’s why we’re here. One of Micah’s boys is wanted for murderin’ a woman and he’s been seen drinkin’ here. She says he’ll confirm if Micah’s really at Mount Hagen and what the hide-out looks like.”

Ada followed beside him as they moved up the path, a slight incline to it, frowning. “Wait, so, Micah might not even be there?”

“Nah, she said his camp’s definitely there, just wants to confirm he ain’t off on some kind of raid. It’s quite a spot he’s got, apparently, remote and harsh. Bounty hunters ain’t exactly fond of traipsing through snow and the cold to get to ‘im and, well, he’s literally got the high ground.”

“You’re filling me with such confidence.”

He snorted, hands on his belt. “We’ve been through worse.”

Well, she couldn’t argue with that. She was just about to say so when a commotion and raised voices drew their attention to the saloon up ahead. The doors had burst open and a man was racing across the mud towards a set of stairs that led up to a couple of wooden buildings, and John was chasing after him, yelling.

“C’mon, Cleet, you can’t get away!”

“Cleet?” Ada gasped, recalling the, as Arthur had once described him, rat-faced man who had been with Micah in those fateful last days. 

“C’mon, I’ll go with John, you head ‘im off,” Arthur hissed before running after them.

She ran up the path, hearing the men shout, John’s coming loudest over them with, “Stop that man! He’s wanted for murder!”

They sounded like they were rounding the general store so she ran for the hotel, hoping to cut Cleet off there. He was fast, though, sprinting past her, her finger tips brushing against his coat as she reached out for him. She heard John and Arthur behind her as they followed him up towards the east path, and then, suddenly in her peripheral vision, Sadie was there, and Ada felt herself instantly slowing, pre-empting what was to come.

Sadie barrelled into the man, knocking him into the mud and drawing a loud grunt from him. Charles came down the path the wily man had been heading, while John, Ada and Arthur panted lightly, clearing their throats.

Lord, when was the last time they’d had to run after anyone faster than their children?

Sadie was standing over Cleet, and barely let him catch his breath before she was driving her fist into his muddied face.

“Hello, Cleet, remember us?”

He was too busy groaning to respond. She straightened as they approached, glancing up at them.

“Who wants to take a turn?”

That made him find his voice.

“Hey, hey, hey, we’re all buddies, ain’t we?” he laughed desperately, holding a hand up to shield himself.

Arthur snorted at the man while John stepped forward, his gloved fingers curling into fists. “Sure, Sadie. With pleasure...”

Cleet’s eyes were on his fists, but it was John’s boot that struck out, hitting him in the chin and sending him backwards. Before he could even lift his head, John was grabbing him by the front of his coat, hauling half his body up off the ground.

“Where’s Micah, huh, Cleet? He up in the Grizzlies?”

Charles and Sadie stood to the side as John punched him, making eye contact with anyone who stopped to stare until they quickly averted their gaze and hurried away. Arthur and Ada stood side by side, quiet, watching as John dropped him back down.

“Micah? I ain’t seen him— Wait, wait!”

John was already punching him again, hissing out through gritted teeth, “Where is he?!”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop...” Cleet pleaded, holding his hand out again as blood poured from his mouth. “I don’t know... I ain’t seen him, we fell out.”

“We know he’s there, Cleet, you just gotta tell us!”

“I don’t know!”

Before John could strike him again, Sadie tutted, side-eyeing him. “You know what, I’m bored of this. Let’s hang the bastard.”

Ada’s eyes darted to her as she paused. 

John nodded, reaching out for him. “Good idea.”

Gripping him by the back of the collar, he started to drag Cleet through the mud, following Sadie towards the gallows.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait! Hang on a minute! Damn you!” Cleet was now shouting, trying to grab at John’s arm.

Charles, Ada and Arthur went, too, silent, but not with unease.

The Strawberry gallows hadn’t changed either. A high platform with two sets of stairs leading up to it, it was rather awkwardly situated near the jail and one of the paths that led in and out of the town. Not that many people gathered for hangings, at least not when Ada had lived here, but it seemed as if it had been erected here just because there was space. Three wooden beams were lashed together, and a noose hung from it.

 “I told you, I don’t know!”

“C’mon, John, up here,” Sadie called over Cleet’s yelling as she climbed the stairs, sounding bored.

Half lifting him, John threw him onto the stairs and withdrew his gun, aiming it at him. “Move!”

Cleet did as he was told, scrambling backwards up them as he continued to plead, “Now, hold on! Hang on! Just wait a minute!”

He was so focused on John and his gun that he started in surprise when, as he reached the top of the stairs, Sadie grabbed him, pulled him up and shoved him towards the centre of the platform. Ada, Arthur and Charles hadn’t followed them up, instead having opted to stand in front of the gallows, watching them.

 “Here. I want you stood right here,” Sadie ordered him, her gun now drawn and aimed at him. Her other hand had him gripped tight as she positioned him before the noose, the gun now aimed at his head. “All right, now string the no good, murderin’ bastard up.”

As John grabbed the noose and yanked it down, securing it around Cleet’s neck as he spluttered his pleas, Charles murmured to them, “You okay with this?”

“I’m not not okay with it,” Arthur mumbled with a faint shrug, and Ada found she was rather indifferent, too; Cleet was a murderer, a wanted man who was probably going to be hanged anyway.

A few townspeople had gathered to watch now, and John just moved to the lever that would open the floor beneath Cleet, his hand gripping it.

“Is Micah there, Cleet?”

Cleet had his hands raised, stumbling over his words. “N-Now hang on! Just w-wait—”

“Is he there?”

“I already told you, I ain’t seen ‘im!”

“You lie!” Sadie barked.

“It ain’t my fault!” he yelled, “He tried to kill me!”

“Where’s Micah!” John shouted, his hand moving the lever an inch.

Cleet’s eyes widened and he started, staring at John. “No, no, no, no! Wait, please!”

“Talk, or I’ll pull this lever!”

He moved it an inch more and Cleet cried out, stiff, “W-Wait, wait, wait! H-He is up in the mountains!” 

John released the lever and they paused, allowing him to take a breath. 

“He... H-He is up at Mount Hagen. He got a whole gang now... Bad men, doin’ bad things... I-I tried to stop him from m-murderin’ that little girl...”

Ada’s stomach turned, and she swallowed hard.

“... We f-fell out, honest... I’m...” He managed a weak smile. “... I’m one of the good guys.”

“Hang ‘im.”

They all looked to Arthur, his mouth set in a thin line, and Cleet became frantic.

“No, no, no, no, no! Wait, don’t! John, don’t!”

John didn’t even hesitate. Gripping the lever, he pulled it. The floor opened beneath Cleet and he dropped. They all heard his neck snap. 

Mumblings went though the small crowd that had gathered, and then they started to shuffle off. The Sheriff, a man Ada didn’t recognise, just turned from where he’d been standing in the doorway of the jail, watching, and headed back inside.

“Tried to stop ‘im, did he,” Arthur muttered, watching the body. “Could’ve shot the bastard.”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Sadie said, nonplussed, vaulting over the railing around the platform down onto the mud.

“We’re just leaving him there?” Charles said, even as he followed after her along with them.

“Let the birds eat ‘im.”

They mounted up and passed by the swinging corpse of Cleet as they made their way out of the town. Ada felt no nostalgia for the place, no affection or loss at leaving again. She didn’t think she would ever return.

“It’s a long ride,” Charles murmured as they urged their horses into canters. “Let’s finish this.”

They rode hard, all of them wanting this over and done. As Charles said, though, it was a long ride.

When the sky darkened and the air grew colder and colder, it was he who called that they should stop for the night. They’d taken a few minutes rest here and there throughout the day but they all knew they and the horses were exhausted, and they certainly didn’t want to encounter Micah and his men like this. 

They stopped at a grassy, lightly snow covered hill, a forest at their backs, and let their horses graze as they unfurled their bedrolls. Charles built and lit a fire and they ate what they’d packed as they sat huddled around it. It was bitterly cold, and would only get colder. They were near the mountains now, perhaps ten or twenty miles away from the path they would take up into them, and Ada gazed at their peaks as she ate quietly.

Micah was somewhere within them.

She’d thought about him as they travelled, what he might look like now and how he might have changed. He’d be meaner, angrier, that was for sure, but she didn’t feel afraid.

Her gaze shifted to their group, watching them all. John and Arthur were sat together talking quietly, about what she couldn’t hear, Charles was sat on a rock a little way a way, keeping guard, and Sadie was sat beside her, as silent as she was.

Licking her lips, Ada cleared her throat. “Sadie?”

“Hm?” The blonde woman looked to her, raising her eyebrows slightly.

She just came out and asked it. “Why doesn’t Abigail like you anymore?”

Sadie snorted, her eyes returning to the fire as her eyebrows rose a little higher. “And here I was thinkin’ she was doin’ such a great job at hidin’ it.” Shifting her stretched out legs, she shrugged her shoulders slightly. “John’s been joinin’ me on some bounty huntin’ duties to make some money. Abigail hasn’t liked that.”

Oh.

“And so with this...”

Sadie shrugged again, a faint, wan smile on her lips. “She’s gonna hate me even more.”

  Ada returned her smile, exhaling a breath. “Well, she hates me now, too. Hates us all, so...”

Her friend watched her, her head tilted slightly. “Yet you don’t blame her.”

She shook her head, the barely-there smile lingering. “No.”

“Hm. Neither do I.”

They returned to their silence, neither really wanting to talk. A short while later, John took over from Charles and Ada said a quiet goodnight to Sadie, who needed her rest as she would be taking over after John, before she joined Arthur.

Sat on his bedroll, he lifted an arm as she approached and she sat on her own bedroll beside him, leaning against him and his arm went around her.

“You okay, darlin’?” he murmured after a few moments, his cheek resting against the top of her head. 

“Yeah,” she answered just as quietly. “Just want this done.”

“Me, too.”

Rubbing her arm gently, he held her until she started to finally doze off, her breathing softening. Carefully laying her down with him, he continued to hold her, gazing up at the pitch-black sky littered with shining stars.

His heart had been aching since the moment they’d set off that morning. He loved his wife and daughter more than he could ever possibly say, and two days ago he would never have done anything that would have put their happiness in jeopardy... but the existence of Micah Bell did just that.

If he was the one to put the bullet in the man’s skull he wouldn’t feel joy but relief. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t feel joy; he didn’t want to be that kind of man, never had. He kept his eyes on the sky, listening to their friends quietly settle down for the night, the same thoughts probably on their minds, the same fears. 

He knew it would be useless to say they could still turn back now; they all knew they couldn’t.

—

They awoke just before dawn, having all just snatched a couple of hours sleep here and there.

John stamped the fire out after they’d eaten what little they could manage, no one particularly hungry. They mounted up without much talk or ceremony, and followed Sadie onto the path towards the mountains. It was a cold, misty day, the sky slowly turning from black to grey. They didn’t meet anybody as they travelled; who would be foolish enough to be out this early and when it was this freezing?

Ada knew they were near when Charles kicked his horse into a canter as they made their way up an hill, snowflakes starting to lightly fall.

“We all ready?” he called to them, overtaking Sadie. “This pass will take us up onto the high mountains. There’s an old watchtower up there, over the ridge. They might be using it for a camp.”

“Lead the way!” Sadie answered.

This was it.

Squaring her shoulders, Ada gripped the reins tightly as they climbed. Huge rocks lay to their left and right, and the tall trees had thinned out now, patchy grass turning to snow and rock. They went higher and higher, small stones sliding down the path behind them. Wind whistled around the rocks, mingling with the far cries of a few birds, but other than that there were no other sounds... or were they just masking them?

Her gaze shifted from the back of Charles’s head to the rocks above, half-expecting men to jump out from all over and attack. She hoped Micah was stupid enough to not station a look-out here.

But Micah Bell, while many things, was not stupid.

A gunshot sounded and a split-second later Charles cried out, his teeth sounding gritted. Ada’s heart twisted as Sadie and John leapt off their horses, the animals shifting, startled, unable to see Charles.

“There must be a sniper! Get to cover, quick!” Sadie yelled as Ada and Arthur slid from their own saddles, pulling their guns from them as they ducked down.

“Shit...” Arthur hissed as he scanned the rocks above now, Ada shooing their horses back down the path. 

“You alive, Charles?” John called as they ran up the hill.

Charles, off his horse somehow, either from the impact of the shot or voluntarily, was lying on the ground, gripping at his arm.

“Just about,” he hissed out through gritted teeth as Arthur and John quickly grabbed him under the arms and hauled him behind a boulder as Sadie and Ada took to their own cover.

“Where is this bastard?” Sadie muttered, crouched behind a rock a few feet away from her.

Ada adjusted the grip on her Repeater, peering out as carefully as she could. A bullet bounced off a rock somewhere close by and they all ducked down as another one came.

“Stay low!” Sadie yelled, even as she rose up slightly and darted to the next rock up. Ada did the same as the blonde woman continued, “We gotta get close to ‘im! Short runs so he don’t get us!”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Arthur and John moving up, too, all of them taking the short opportunity when the sniper wasn’t firing. His bullets came close but the rocks were large enough to give them plenty of cover.

It almost startled her when the man’s voice rang down the pass. 

“I got the high ground up here! I got a box of bullets, a canteen and some jerky, you can try by all means but you ain’t gettin’ up this pass! Just ask your friend back there!”

John was surging ahead, faster than any of them, and her heart was in her mouth every time he moved.

Even the sniper noticed his speed. “You’re persistent all right! Guess you ain’t here by no accident!”

Ada ceased moving from rock to rock and instead aimed at where the man seemed to be, firing to try and keep her friends safe. That silenced him but he fired back, and she was certainly happy to keep him occupied because John was getting closer and closer... 

“Take the shot!” Sadie suddenly yelled, and Ada looked just in time to see John rise and fire.

“You shot my friend, you son of a bitch!”

The man cried out, the bullet finding its mark.

“You got him!” Sadie cried, and Ada exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “Let’s get back to Charles!”

They slid slightly down the rocky path as they ran, Arthur ahead of them. Chares was still propped against the boulder when they got to him, breathing hard and gripping at where his chest met his right shoulder.

“You okay?” Arthur asked, crouching beside him and placing a hand on his good shoulder.

Sadie kept glancing up from him to the ridge as they looked at him, their hearts sinking.

“I will be...” he groaned, and that soothed them somewhat because he wasn’t one to lie. “... but go on, go now!”

They still paused, however, and he knew what they were thinking.

“I’ll be fine. Move fast, or they’ll come down that hill and kill us all.”

They knew he was right but...

“I don’t wanna leave him,” John murmured, glancing up at Arthur who was rubbing his fingers against his brow.

"He’s righ’, though,” Arthur sighed, shaking his head. “If we push on, we can hold ‘em back, get to ‘em before they get to us.”

Charles was nodding, his breaths deepening. “They know we’re comin’ now... I will be fine... I’ll follow you up, I just... I just can’t move fast.”

Even though she knew he wouldn’t, no matter what, Ada murmured to him as she removed her scarf and wrapped it around his neck, “Get on your horse and get down the pass if you can’t, okay?”

He nodded, though she knew it was just to appease her. “Now, go!”

Gripping their weapons, they reluctantly left him there as they started to stride up the hill, John hissing out curses.

“They will know we’re comin’ now,” Arthur murmured, wetting his lips. “They won’t know our number, though, and hopefully we can still take ‘em somewhat by surprise.” 

“I should hope so,” Sadie muttered. “They still got the high ground, though, so we better move.”

They quickened their pace, running up the hill, though the thick snow on the ground didn’t make it easy nor did the steepness of the incline. Ada kept her eyes up, waiting, again, for an attack at any moment. She was the one to spot him first.

“Here they come!”

A man was running down the snowy ridge towards them, standing out starkly against the white of it in his dark clothes. She raised her Repeater and fired first, killing him.

“There’s another one!” Arthur called and Sadie shot the man who came behind him as they finally reached the top of the hill, the ground evening out.

A few trees and rocks littered the wide pathway before them but they couldn’t stop for long; they had to push on.

“Up on the cliff!” Sadie yelled, and John shot a man readying to shoot at them.

There were more men now, some up on the cliffs, some hiding behind the rocks on the path ahead of them, and the four of them aimed and fired as they moved up, ducking behind rocks only for a few seconds before darting ahead for another.

A man screamed as he tumbled over the cliff but they just ran on, not wanting to lose any kind of advantage by a second. They were running up another incline now, the snow even thicker.

“More of ‘em!” At Arthur’s call they aimed at the three men who were trying to run for cover, two others hiding amongst the trees. They died in seconds.

“There’s a camp here!” John said as they climbed a hill with gritted teeth, each breath taking cold air into their lungs.

“Can’t be the main one,” Sadie answered as their eyes travelled the four tents and the still burning fire. “It’s not big enough, Micah rides with twenty guys, maybe more. Keep climbin’ ‘till we find that tower Charles talked about!”

The hill was steepening. They hissed out breaths and grunted as they pushed on and reloaded, the snow nearly up to their knees, and Sadie muttered out a curse.

“Air’s gettin’ thin. Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

They reached the top, the land now mercifully flat, but they barely had a chance to catch their breath as two men, waiting, fired at them from the path ahead. Arthur and Ada killed them, the two of them stood side by side.

Running across the path, they came to another incline, this one shorter but steeper. Arthur placed a hand on Ada’s back, helping her up as Sadie, already at the top, yelled, “Micah Bell, we’re here for ya!”

“I didn’t sign up for this much leg-work,” Arthur muttered and a sudden laugh escaped Ada; it was a beautiful, beautiful moment of release.

Yet it was just a moment.

Bullets buried into the snow around them and they had to be firing again, two men several feet apart aiming at them, though it was just Ada, John and Arthur who fired back and killed them. Sadie was charging ahead, a newfound energy from somewhere in her.

“Sadie!” John called after her as they tried to catch up, yet another incline slowing them. “Be careful!”

“I can handle it! C’mon! Keep pushin’ up!”

She was metres ahead, reaching the top and heading around the corner of a huge rock jutting out of the snow. Ada’s legs were burning but she just kept her eyes on her friend. She was so far ahead of them, why wasn’t she just waiting for—

“C’mere!”

A man leapt from the rock and tackled Sadie, driving her into the snow. Ada’s breath caught sharply in her throat as she gasped, trying to run faster.

“Sadie!”

“Get your hands off her!” John thundered as the man wrestled with her, raising his gun, but he barely had time to take aim when another man leapt off the rock, colliding with him.

They collapsed to the floor, John grunting as the man punched him and he instantly punched back. Arthur was ahead of Ada now, striking the man across the head with his boot, fury across his features. Ada ran past them but heard the gunshot that killed the man, her eyes still fixed on her friend.

Sadie and the man were on their feet now, twisting and turning as they continued to wrestle and Ada couldn’t find a safe shot, they were moving too much, if she could just—

She saw the glint of it in the man’s hand.

Ada cried out as he thrust the knife into Sadie’s side and she heard her friend gasp. A gun went off, a hole tearing through the man’s stomach as Sadie stumbled back. Her breathing ragged, Ada lunged forward, finally reaching her, and swiftly wrapped an arm around her, keeping her upright.

“You’re all right, you’re okay, you’re okay...” she murmured, hating with every fibre of her being the strange, strangled sounds Sadie was making.

A lump was forming in her throat as she heard John hiss, “God damn...” behind her, tears starting to prick at her eyes.

Sadie clenched her jaw as she gripped the knife and pulled it out, tossing it to the floor with a gasped breath.

“Hey, hey, you all righ’?” Arthur asked with a concerned frown, at her other side now and gripping her arm. “Charles got ‘im, it’s okay.”

Ada’s head whipped to the side, finding Charles trying to catch his breath as he knelt on the ground, his gun in his hand. Looking back to Sadie, she swallowed hard as the woman nodded.

“Just fine...”

“You don’t look too fine,” John said, and Sadie was vehemently shaking her head even as Ada felt her legs weaken slightly.

“C’mon, we gotta keep goin’...”

“You’re bleedin’ pretty bad, Sadie,” Arthur pointed out gently, and Sadie hissed out a breath.

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not,” Ada cut her off, swallowing again as she looked at the blood staining Sadie’s coat. “Arthur, let’s sit her down...”

They helped her over to a boulder, making her sit down, and it had obviously pained Sadie as she released a long breath she must have been holding.

“Ain’t nothin’—”

“You’re dyin’,” John said, and the words cut through Ada like shards of glass.

“I ain’t dyin’, I ain’t,” Sadie hissed, and Ada so wanted to believe her.

“Give me your scarf, Arthur.”

He swiftly removed it and handed it to his wife without a word, watching as she crouched and pushed it against Sadie’s wound before grabbing the woman’s hand, making her press down on it. The blonde woman winced and Ada met her gaze.

“Keep doing this until we come back, okay?”

“I’m comin’ with you, I just need to—”

“No, you’re staying here with Charles.”

It was a moment or two before Sadie nodded, her teeth gritted. “Go get ‘im, I’ll be fine, just need to rest.”

Ada gazed at her, her pale cheeks and weary eyes, and then she made a decision.

“There can’t be many more men, right?”

Sadie shook her head, taking a breath. “He’ll’ve sent ‘em all out while he hid. There can’t be many of ‘em left.”

Wetting her lips, Ada looked up at Arthur and John. “I’ll stay here with these two. I’ll try and get this bleeding to stop and deal with any of his men that might run.”

“You sure?” Arthur asked, holding her gaze.

She nodded, managing a light smile. “Yeah. Now go, go and finish this.”

He lay a hand on her shoulder and squeezed hard, her own hand going over his for the briefest of moments, and then it was gone. She watched her husband turn away and start running along the path with his greatest friend until they were out of sight.

Arthur reloaded his guns as he and John ran without saying a word. He wished he’d had the time to hold his wife and kiss her and tell her he loved her but they had no time. Even before they reached the end of the path, three men gripping guns were walking towards them, and he was all too aware of how close they were to his friends.

He and John slowed, eyeing the men warily because they weren’t firing at them. Yet.

The man in the middle, a tall, barrel-chested man, smiled.

“Well, well, well... ain’t you a persistent pair. This is your last chance to turn around and head on home, boys.”

“Nah, we got somethin’ to do here,” Arthur drawled, shifting his stance. “Sure you don’t wanna head on home?”

The man laughed, truly delighted at the challenge.

“Sounds like there was more of ya... Just you two now is it?”

“Yeah,” John said before Arthur could answer. “Just us.”

The man nodded. “Well, then, boys, it was nice to meet ya.”

Guns clicked as they were raised, but it was John and Arthur who were faster. The sounds of their bullets echoed across the ridge, mingling with the cries of the men. The one they’d spoken to had wide eyes, incredulous that they had been beaten.

Lowering their guns as the bodies dropped, John and Arthur continued on, the younger man wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We gotta be close if he’s sendin’ someone out to try and reason with us.”

“I think he wanted 'em to kill us, not reason.”

Arthur hadn’t exactly been keeping track but Sadie had to be right, there had to be only a few of them left now, yet he couldn’t imagine Micah giving up or being afraid; he was too arrogant, too wily. He also had a feeling that if Micah knew who was about to storm into his camp, then he wouldn’t have sent all his men out to die in the snow.

Their route took them down now, finally, giving them the high ground and the advantage as they ran down, shooting at the men they could now finally see. There were only three, and they were surprised and alarmed, having expected their own men to have succeeded.

“You’re ridin’ with a turncoat!” John yelled tauntingly as two more men appeared on a cliff, he and Arthur killing them instantly. “You’re fools or worse!”

They were nearing a narrow pass between two cliffs, a man stood guarding at it while another was high on the cliff above. As John fired at the man on the cliff, Arthur killed the man at the pass, and then heard snow crunch behind him. For a second he thought it might be Ada following them down, but just before he could turn someone crashed into him, a man practically growling.

“You’re dead men!” he was shouting, and Arthur gritted his teeth as he shoved his elbow back, driving it into the man’s side. He hadn’t been strong enough to knock him to the ground but he had a wild energy, his eyes wide as he went at him with his fists.

Darting backwards, Arthur then struck him with the butt of his revolver before driving him back now, striking him again before shooting him.

“C’mon, Arthur!” John called and Arthur turned away, running through the narrow pass with him.

A man was waiting for them at the end but he was dealt with swiftly. Another came darting over a rock and he was flung backwards sharply by John’s bullet.

“This way!” Arthur shouted and John followed him up a hill, their breaths harsh.

They were more skilled shots than the men they had currently faced but they were having to do more running, and their lungs were starting to burn.

But Arthur knew they were moments away from the camp when four men surged over the hill towards them, firing repeatedly. Shoving John behind a rock, he crouched with him, flinching a couple of times as bullets battered against it, making pieces break off. They ducked out when they could, firing back at the men who had slowed slightly but were still advancing towards them.

Micah’s men were getting desperate, though, and desperation made way for mistakes. The mountain widened out up here and there were no more rocks beyond theirs to hide behind. The men, realising this in the same moment they realised they needed to reload, charged forward, hoping to take the two men by surprise. Instead, they handed themselves to Arthur and John.

They died only a few feet away, their blood seeping into the snow. Rising, John and Arthur darted up the hill and were finally greeted by the sight of groups of tents, firepits and two crumbling shacks. They didn’t have a chance to take it all in, though, as a few men hid amongst the crates and cloth tents, shooting at them the moment they saw them. Grabbing Arthur’s arm, John pulled him behind a stack of wooden boxes, and they returned the fire.

“How many of ‘em are there?” Arthur asked as loudly as he could over the noise. leaning back against the boxes as he reloaded.

John ducked down as he exhaled a breath, rolling his shoulders. “Three, I think. Could be more, though, hidin’.”

Peering around the boxes, Arthur’s gaze landed on something that made a corner of his mouth lift. “Well, let’s flush ‘em out.”

Raising his revolver, he aimed at a crate of dynamite and pulled the trigger. The explosion made the ground shake and flung wood and debris across the snow. Ducking down, Arthur and John covered their heads as it rained down, the sounds of men crying out accompanying it, along with, “You bastards!”

The two men, using the settling snow and dust as cover, darted towards the tents, shooting the men they came across. They died quickly, disorientated from the blast. Heading on, they moved down a hill, another cluster of tents to their left but no sign of anyone so they continued on down, the hill declining steeply. The sudden silence uneased them so they slowed their pace a little, but it didn’t stop John from calling out.

“Micah! Get out here!”

They came to a single tent on a small space of flat land with a fire still burning outside it, and Arthur saw the flash of movement first. He shot the man as they continued walking. As they came to yet another steep decline, they saw it.

The watchtower was smaller than Arthur had expected, with a wide roof on it and a closed door, and there were two more crumbling shacks outside it, a firepit, stacked boxes, and planks of wood and a wagon strewn about, but there was no one to be seen.

Their boots slid in the knee-deep snow as they made their way down, eyes darting from the tower to the shacks. It was quiet still, not even the wind whistling or howling. It was a long stretch of snow, and Arthur was suddenly aware of how cold and numb his face felt while his body was so warm under the thick coat from all the running and climbing. Grazing his teeth over his lower lip, he exhaled a long breath, though it did nothing to relieve the tension in his shoulders.

“Micah, if you’re here, come out!” John called out again as he and Arthur approached, on flat ground now.

They paused near a wide, open box on a wooden platform, scanning the camp, just waiting for the sound of a gun.

There was silence. Licking his lips, Arthur raised his eyes to the look-out of the watchtower as John called again, “Micah Bell! Get out here, you coward!”

The creaking of the wooden door a few moments later had their eyes snapping to it, their fingers tightening around their guns.

“Hello, Scarface,” Micah Bell drawled as he stepped out, the door swinging shut behind him. “And...”

He trailed off, his gaze having slid to Arthur. Both men, having believed the other dead, stared at each other.

Micah had aged, his face now somewhat gaunt, beard and moustache thinner, the blonde lighter, and his hair, under a white hat, was shorter. He had a thick brown coat on that was tied tightly around his wait by a belt that also held the two things he loved most in the world: his guns.

A smile suddenly broke across his features, and he shook his head.

“Cowpoke.” The old nickname was said slow and pointed, his eyes shining with glee. “Well, what a damn surprise. Must be for you, too.” Holding his arms out, he tilted his head. “Did you miss me?”

It was John who answered, Arthur silent as he didn’t take his eyes off of him.

“Not much.”

Micah’s gaze slid from one man to the other. “Been a few years.”

John, watching him watching them, went to move around the fire pit in front of them, wanting to spread him and Arthur out, but Micah suddenly darted closer to the same side as him, chuckling lowly, his smile lingering.

“How’s that, uh... Mmm...” He raised his hand slightly, as if trying to pluck the name he knew out of the air. “... That whore of yours?”

John didn’t take the bait. “She’s good. Didn’t reckon I should waste my time killin’ you, but I felt different.”

“So it seems.” Micah looked to Arthur, raising his eyebrows slightly. “What about you, cowpoke... That uptight bitch still keepin’ you warm?”

John glanced briefly at Arthur, not wanting to take his eyes off Micah for long, and found he hadn’t moved an inch, his features expressionless. He thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then Arthur nodded a few times.

“Yeah, matter of fact she is. And she did reckon I should kill you.” 

Micah’s smile grew a couple of inches wider. Raising his arms, he tilted his head. “Well, maybe after all this is over, I’ll go pay ‘em both a call, hm?” He turned his gaze to John. “And the boy.”

His tone made Arthur’s skin prickle, but he stayed still. John shrugged. They both knew what was about to happen.

“Whatever you say.”

The moment the words had left John’s mouth, Micah was drawing his guns and firing at them. They dove for cover as he swiftly moved backwards towards the shack behind him. John ducked behind two crates as Arthur crouched by the wide box on the platform, glancing at one another.

“I got more men comin’, boys!” Micah called, ceasing his fire as he took his own cover.

He fired in their general direction before it went quiet again, and Arthur peered out. As Micah appeared to fire, Arthur found he was by the side of the watchtower, using that rather than the shack.

“I look forward to meetin’ em!” John answered, shifting his position so he could rise up a little and fire at Micah.

He picked the wrong moment.

He hissed out a breath as Micah’s bullet grazed his forearm, swiftly dropping down again.

“You okay?” Arthur watched him mutter a curse as he inspected his arm, blood soaking through his jacket.

“‘m fine. Flesh wound.”

“All righ’, if we—”

“Run while you can, boys! It’s your only hope!”

Meeting John’s gaze, Arthur shifted closer to the edge of the box, keeping his voice low.

“He ain’t got more men comin’, we both know that. It’s just us against him here. If you cover me, I can get to the tower and take him from the other side—”

A hail of bullets battered against the wood protecting them as Micah fired at them while he ran from the tower to the shack, and then to the other.

“Shit...” Arthur muttered, his jaw moving.

“I can make you rich, boys! Real rich!”

“He’s gotta reload at some point,” John murmured, wetting his lips. “Should be any moment now—”

More bullets came and they flinched, lowering their heads. Then, it stopped suddenly. Arthur glanced up at John as he frowned, and was about to open his mouth when they heard a familiar voice.

“Come on out, Micah,” Sadie called, pain lacing her tone. “At least die like a man.”

Micah gave a delighted laugh. “Ooh, ho, ho, hellfire...”

Raising their heads, John and Arthur watched as Sadie, stood in the larger shack that lay between Micah’s current one he was using as cover and the watchtower, aimed a gun at him, her hand pressed against the scarf that was now wrapped around her middle.

“Where’s Ada and Charles?” Arthur hissed, glancing up at the snowy hill before swiftly looking back to Sadie.

“... it’s just like old times,” Micah was saying as he slowly raised his hands, his guns still in them, turning towards Sadie.

“C’mon,” she demanded through gritted teeth, taking a step closer. “You turn around...” She stumbled slightly and had to lean against the wooden fencing next to her. Arthur’s heart sank as he watched Micah laugh while Sadie continued, “... and start walkin’.”

And Micah did. Rising to their feet, the men watched Sadie move towards him, pressing her gun into his back and shoving him on.

“You got me,” he snapped, glancing over his shoulder at her, before his gaze went to Arthur and John as they approached. His tone lightened to an almost sing-song as he smiled again. “Just like old times, hm?” He holstered one gun. “All manner of folk payin’ social calls.” He holstered the other.

Arthur felt sick at his knowing smile.

Then, the watchtower door was shoved open.

Startled, Sadie, John and Arthur looked to it, and Arthur felt his heart stop.

Jesus Christ.

Dutch van der Linde stepped out of the watchtower, the guns in his hands raised and pointed at them.

“Hello, sons,” he greeted, eyes shifting from the silent men to Sadie. “Mrs Adler. Been quite a while.”

—

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[cyberneticlagomorph]

She waits for you in the castle garden. A pulsating pustule of evil, in the form of an eerily massive flower bud, tightly closed around the horror it so carefully gestated in its unnatural womb. Reports from Cheshire and your guards state that it appeared sometime during the night, and all attempts to remove or destroy it have been in vain. No one can get close to it, or else fall prey to the potent miasma of adoration that the loathsome thing oozed like slime. The ground around the bulb is blackened and dead, never to host life again, strewn with the kneeling wide eyed bodies of your guards and any foolish enough to dare tamper with the flower. Their faces stretched to the limit by hideous grins and half lidded eyes, steadily crying blood onto the lifeless earth.

They have to be dragged away, pulled to a safe distance with lassos on long steel poles, like stray dogs caught by animal control. The bulb's range is a short one, so you hope that given enough space and time, they'll be alright. By the time you get there, the last are being cleared away on makeshift stretchers, you need medical supplies and actual doctors here badly. Ada can't handle a job like this alone, and you feel terrible for asking her to help so often. Everything around you is a constant state of dangerous chaos that threatens to swallow all you love, and every attempt to distance yourself from one conflict ends with you falling into the frothing maw of another. It's exhausting, you hate it, more than anything else, you hate it.

The bulb senses your approach, petals bulging like flesh or rubber as something presses against them from the inside, you swear you see the palm of a hand or an eyeless face with its mouth stretched wide in a soundless scream. The whole thing shudders violently and begins to unfurl, releasing more of that choking adoration fog that saps your will to fight and end this once and for all. Your knees tremble, and every thought suddenly vanishes from your head, your fear, your pain, your worries. They all disappear and you are left with nothing but adoration for the Queen. Your Queen. Your everything. You are the dust beneath her feet, she is the air you breathe, you are the dog at her heel, she is the benevolent goddess that spares your life just one moment more. You want nothing more than to please her, you'd slit a thousand throats just to see those obsidian eyes alight with amusement. You'd slit your own throat to see her smile, hear her praise you...

The wretched bulb blooms into an unfathomable rose, stolen blood dripping from the spread petals. The stench of blood baking in summer sun coats your tongue and makes you gag, your consciousness fighting to claw through the Queen's control. Within the rose, a figure is curled, coated in blood and chlorophyll laced mucus, but otherwise naked. She doesn't so much as get up as she is jerked to her feet like a puppet on frayed strings, wearing the body she fashioned from your blood. She takes the watery first breath of a newborn, staggering like a reanimated corpse towards you, the rose dissolving into a blinding cloud of petals that coalesces into a dress for her, a crown of thorns and bone atop her head. You stare into a face too much like your own, you're starting to bleed now, from the eyes and nose. It trails down your face and slithers down the back of your throat, making breathing an impossibility. She holds you fast, a deer in headlights awaiting the oncoming truck with sheer animal stupidity. You see her draw the sword, black and cruel, winking red in the sun as it arcs towards your body.

You dissipate into a swarm of blue fireflies, curling back and around to reform behind the Queen, drawing the Vorpal sword despite your evident disorientation. She scowls at you, raising her hand. The bloody ground boils and seethes, the tortured roots of that ugly rose rising from the earth to become thorny snakes the size of trees, each tipped with the smaller sister of that first rose. Single black eyes with white heart-shaped pupils stare accusingly from within their petals, smaller snakes end in bulbous mouths lined with row after row of needle teeth. Mouths not meant to chew and consume, but to tear and crush their victims into horrid puddles of pulpy gore. She flicks her finger with a sneer, a solitary toothy snake lunging at you with jaws wide and dripping with strands of green spittle. You slash with the Vorpal blade, cleanly severing mouth from wriggling stalk. Both spasm disturbingly, like an animal in pain, trailing ropes of green gore before seizing and going still. The Queen thinks you distracted and sends another vine careening towards you, its mouth foaming and rabid.

Your hand raises without your permission, a consciousness nestling beside yours with almost practiced ease. The vine begins to squirm and writhe, curling and flailing in pain as purple-black streams of smoke swirl from it to you, spiraling up the darkening length of your arm. You watch the plant wither and die within moments, its life force settling heavily within your chest as you approach the Queen, your eyes burning red and blue, sickly dribbles of that same smoke trailing from the tips of your dagger-sharp claws. Within your mind, Moira grins.

"How... adorable." you drawl in a voice that echoes itself, your tone full of boredom and venom that leaves a taste in your mouth as plain as the Irish accent that colors your words. The Queen scowls, then smiles, unleashing more thorns than you can counter or drain, you're left helplessly dodging blindly against the shuddering plant-based hydra. You tumble headlong over one limb, only to see another hurtle towards you at high speed, too late for you to escape. The sound of plant flesh against unyielding earth is finite and deafening, but not as chilling as the peels of laughter that claw themselves free of the Queen's throat. Moira's mind and yours are instantly disentangled, her flung almost painfully back into her body back home. Something else, someone else, oozes from the darkness and fills your mind with an endless shrieking hivemind, nearly drowned out by the hissing and groaning of some diabolical machine. A voice calls to you over the buzzing, screaming din in your head, inky and cold

"Because I owe you one, now let's dance doll..."

A dark, spreading pool leaks from beneath the great limb, and the Queen nearly mistakes it for blood before she remembers that yours is luminescent and blue. She strikes too late, you're already upon her, forming a new self from the terrible ink. Your skin is black and gray, trimmed with white, all of you dripping ink onto the ground below. Your lips curl into an unnatural smile, as you speak without moving your mouth in a voice that rings out a dozen times over.

"Surpriiiiiiissse..." you hiss, summoning limbs and misshapen shambling things from the dark pools around you. The Queen shrieks, pulling the strings on her creature, making it lash out against you. The Vorpal sword becomes an ink pen in your hands, its nib razor sharp and gleaming. You prune the plant-beast with ease and resume your assault on the Queen. She can't touch you like this, the moment she thinks she has you, you draw on another friend's mind to break the shaky hold of her miasma. Bendy, the ink demon with his black well of souls, does this the best. She can do nothing but throw physical attacks at you so long as he's here. His hivemind is deep and disorienting, the longer he stays with you, the more you feel yourself drowning in the churning sea of noise. The hydra swats you aside like a pathetic fly and sends you to splatter against a nearby wall. Bendy leaves the moment you pull yourself together. The rose winds itself around the Queen, becoming a vicious looking fortress with glaring floral eyes and snarling mouths. Two more minds brush against yours, longing to throw their hats in the ring.

The first is giddy, gleeful to be out and causing mayhem rather than confined to her cell back in Arkham. Her agility is astounding, the vines can't touch you, and any too slow to draw back become crushed pulpy piles of vegetable mess on the already sticky ground. The Vorpal sword makes a wicked warhammer, paired with Harley's acrobatic and you're the cheeriest tank Wonderland has ever seen. A vine strikes low, you jump high and perch on the stem just behind its drooling maw, one of its brethren darts for you, sinking its teeth into the flesh of its kin with no remorse, you take off running as the vine starts to spasm in panic. Others try to do you in, either to be bashed with your hammer or left snapping at empty air. You spot an opening in the shivering thorn wall, and dive through. Harley reluctantly retreats from your mind and another consciousness takes her place. The Queen strikes with her sword but is left slicing the space between a churning cloud of blue moths, she reorients herself just in time to receive a merciless kick to the teeth.

The Red Queen staggers back, bleeding the same green as her monstrosity. All six hundred years worth of Jeanne's whiskey-soaked rage courses through your veins, stoked white hot by sheer proximity to the Queen. You give her no time to attack, drawing your guns, putting her back on the defensive. Blade and bullet clash, gun-heels unleash devastating assaults, yet she refuses to die. Every limb lopped or shot off grows back in an instant, but it's nothing you can't handle. The Queen drops the thorn barrier in desperation, searching for any space she can put between you. You could almost smile at her stupidity. You step on a discarded limb and slip, one of the larger thorn vines hits you full on as you stand and sends you careening away. You hit the ground, bounce once and roll for some feet. Jeanne is reluctant to leave you, but you force your bond apart. It hurts to breathe, many things are definitely broken. Good.

You play dead as the Queen tiptoes near, face splitting in a smile. She chuckles darkly, her sword dragging in the blood and muck as she waits to crave your heart from your chest and your fool head from your shoulders. You draw on one last person, feeling her pain and panic as she enters your mind. Your magic manifests her abilities and you feel your wounds start to heal, though you keep your breathing as shallow as possible. The Queen raises her black blade, your strength returns just in time to roll away and spring up as her blade comes down.

"Why. Won't. You. DIE?!" she snarls, half mad with frustration. You wipe blood from your lips and straighten up, your blonde hair falling over one eye.

"Haven't you heard?" you half whisper in a voice accented with German, skin glowing as your wings unfurl, carrying you off the ground, "Heroes never die."

Somewhere in the back of your mind you think you hear Angela laugh, slightly manic and panicked but a laugh just the same. It makes your heart flutter as much as the wings on your back bearing you so proudly upwards. The Queen screams like a damned thing, flinging the whole of her beast at you, as bloody and weak as it is. Its attacks are pathetic and sluggish, vines falling apart midair as you climb higher. Those few still healthy enough to do damage meet the business end of your scythe, true its not the weapon of an angel of mercy, but you aren't feeling very merciful today. You swoop low and take a vine out at the base, watching it crash down on its sister-shoots, pinning them to the ground.

"Now!" you shout to the pair in the shadows, Rewind and Bub, the two who have been watching this fight since it began. They take the Queen by surprise, trapping her in a bubble of time as chains of shadow bind her wrists and ankles. You don't stop hacking and flying until the rose hydra is nothing more than sickly green mulch melting into the abused earth beneath. When the time bubble drops, so does the Queen, left screeching and flailing as tears well up in her black eyes. Her tantrum continues as she is dragged to the castle dungeon to stay. You slump, exhausted on the grass and let Angie go, promising to thank her in person the moment you got the chance.