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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

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Second Chances - Ch. 15

Confession of One’s Sins

Warnings - blood, murder, swearing, death

Word count - ~10,800

Masterlist

AO3

You hear a rushing sound in your ears, your heart begins to pound as your stomach tightens painfully.

“Dead?” you say in a voice so steady you surprise yourself. “What do you mean?”

Dutch explains how the situation with the O’Driscolls was indeed a trap, as everyone had suspected, but not set the way they had thought. Dutch tells you that Arthur, acting as their lookout on a cliff, was captured and dragged away. He and Micah followed the men’s trail. They found where the O’Driscolls had camped with nothing of Arthur except scraps of his clothes, his satchel and a large pool of blood.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” Dutch says again, gently squeezing your shoulder. You slap it off, anger and pain coursing through you.

“No,” you say, tears welling in your eyes. “No, he’s not dead. Not Arthur. He can’t die.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says in a choked voice. “Micah and I searched, but we couldn’t find his body. I…”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” you suddenly scream. “You couldn’t find a body because there isn’t one! God damn it, Dutch Van der Linde!”

The tears begin to fall and the rushing sound grows louder. You simply cannot believe that Arthur, your Arthur Morgan, is dead. He’s been shot at more times than you can count, gotten into more scrapes than anyone else you know yet he always comes out untouched. You expect to see him stomping in now on Artemis at any second, calling Bill on lookout duty a dumbass.

“Y/N, believe me!” Dutch yells, unsuccessfully pulling you from that rushing sound, which is only growing louder. He gently grabs your shoulders. “We did everything we could to find him! But those men, we never found ‘em.”

Micah walks over, wearing an unconvincing face of sadness. “Listen to Dutch, Y/N. Do you really think we would leave him if there was even a chance he was still alive?”

The rushing sound suddenly stops. Without thinking or hesitating, you turn and thrust your fist into Micah’s face, feeling it connecting with his jaw. He takes several steps back, grunting.

“You son of a bitch!” you shriek. “This was your idea! Your idea!”

You’re about to leap on him, to attack him further, when two people grab your arms and start pulling you back. You don’t stop screaming profanities at Micah, wishing him nothing but pain. Dutch steps quickly between the two of you, holding out an arm to Micah to prevent him coming at you.

“Y/N!” he yells, his brow furrowed. “That’s enough! Javier, Charles, take her away!”

The two men obey silently and drag you over to your tent. Arthur’s tent. You still scream, though you don’t know what you’re saying or who you’re screaming at. When they get you to the tent, Javier releases your arm and takes a hesitant step back.

“It’ll be okay, miss. You’ll be okay.”

The tears spill heavily from your eyes. Charles pulls you into a tight hug, which you accept, crying into his shoulder. He pats your back.

“Arthur was a good man, Y/N,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m sure he was thinking of you until the end.”

You feel your gut tighten more, your fists clench his shirt. Physical pain rips through your chest as the sobs come. Charles holds you close, letting you soak his shirt.

When you’ve cried yourself dry, he lets you go. Grimshaw walks over, her face sullen.

“Come on, dear. Come get something to drink,” she says kindly as Charles leaves your tent.

You shake your head. “No, he’s… he’s out there. He needs help.”

Grimshaw places a hand on your shoulder, her lower lip trembling slightly. “I know it’s hard to accept, dear. None of us want to believe it. But if he could be here, he’d want you to take care of yourself.”

“If he were here, I wouldn’t be like this!” you snap. You don’t mean to be rude to Susan, you know she’s only trying to help. Why can’t anyone else understand that there’s simply no way Arthur could be dead? He’s too tough to die. You decide you need to find out for yourself.

“I… I need to get out of here, Susan,” you say with a slight creak in your voice. “I can’t be here!”

Susan puts an arm around your shoulders and guides you to sit down on the cot. “I don’t want ya going anywhere, dear. Let me take care of you, try to get some rest.”

You realize you won’t be able to go anywhere while the others are watching you, so you simply nod. “I… I think I’m gonna lie down,” you say. Susan nods and stands up only to sit down in the chair. The same chair Arthur used to sit in when you were brought back from Roanoke Ridge.

You lie down and turn so your back faces her. A large ball has formed in your throat which you can’t get rid of, and your chest feels tight. You pretend to fall asleep, trying to calm down the shaking in your limbs.

The sun finally sets, the camp’s unusually quiet. You hear voices coming from the fire, though you don’t know nor care who’s talking. Dutch hasn’t come to see you, not that you want him to. You prefer he stays away, feeling like he’s betrayed Arthur. You wonder for the hundredth time what happened with the O’Driscolls.

Grimshaw has stayed seated in the chair, gently humming and reading a book. You’re glad to not be alone, although you’d prefer to be out there, following the trail Dutch and the others took to meet the O’Driscolls.

The moon rises, bathing the lake in silver. You hear Grimshaw stand up and feel her pull the blanket over you. You don’t move, despite being incredibly stiff from not having stirred the last couple of hours. You hear her quietly walk out of the tent, the camp is completely silent.

When you’re sure Grimshaw’s far enough away, you sit up and throw off the blanket. You hastily grab a few provisions, stuffing them into your satchel. You get up and tip toe over to Rannoch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a voice says to you, only a few feet behind you. You recognize it belonging to Hosea. You turn and look at him.

“I have to know for myself,” you say, a tear falling from your eye.

Hosea simply nods, his face thoughtful. He puts a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Go. Find him and bring him back to us,” he says before walking away.

You pat Rannoch’s neck before climbing onto his back and trot through the trees. Lenny gives you a mournful farewell.

Once out of Clemens Point, you stop on the trail and think of where they would have gone. You know that the O’Driscolls never leave New Hanover or West Elizabeth, so the only way you’ve left to go is west and north. You sigh. There is a lot of west and north.

You kick Rannoch into a gallop, heading up towards Dewberry Creek. You cross the railroad and come to a stop, wondering where to go next. You pull out your map and inspect it, wishing Micah or Pearson had mentioned where the O’Driscolls had told them to meet. Then you think of Kieran, who would probably know better than anyone about their movements. You don’t want to return to camp though. Not yet. Not until you know. You figure, after inspecting the map, they likely met somewhere in the Heartlands or possibly somewhere near the Dakota River. Possibly even the bridge near Flatneck Station.

You begin with the Heartlands, despite its size. By the time dawn comes, you’ve reached the abandoned oil rig, finding nothing but a large skull of a long-dead predator in the bottom of the well and the burnt corpse of a long-dead man on the boardwalk.

You’re exhausted by this point, having not slept for so long and having been so distraught. Despite your desire to continue searching, you pitch camp not far from the oil rig. A rabbit foolishly wanders close just as your forming a fire pit and begins nibbling on a yarrow stem. You take it down swiftly with a bullet from your gold double-action revolver. You stare at the gun, remembering how Arthur had given it to you after you had robbed the wagon with him. You try swallowing the ball in your throat once more with no success.

You quickly skin and cook the rabbit, though you’ve little appetite for it. You pack up the remainder of the cooked meat and wander into your tent, crawling into your bedroll to sleep. Somehow you do, despite all that has happened.

Night has fallen once more and you travel in the darkness, heading further west, looking up into the full moon. You stare at a ridge not far ahead of you, a single glittering tree standing on it. Glittering?

You canter Rannoch up to it and see that a countless number of people have tied empty whisky bottles to its branches; they sway gently in the breeze. You spot on the ground broken bottles that have fallen and something catches your eye. An unopened can of beans lying not far from the trail.

Dismounting Rannoch, you approach it and pick it up. You wonder why someone would leave an unopened can of beans on the trail. Upon further inspection of the ground, you find traces of a possible struggle. Freshly kicked up dirt among the hoof prints, an imprint of where a body had lain. You’ve no idea who or what was laid there, but you wonder if it was Arthur. It looks to be about his size.

You follow the trail of hoof prints, heading further west towards Flatneck Station and the long railroad bridge beyond it. You follow it in the dim light. You come across the remains of a camp, the coals of the fire cold and black. You find traces of where people had slept and a few yards off, a large pool of blood. You recall Micah and Dutch explaining how they had followed the O’Driscolls only to find a camp with blood, clothes and his satchel in it. You don’t find any of the other things Micah described. You examine the blood closer. Sure, it’s a big pool, but not enough to prove the person it belonged to is dead. You follow the horse tracks out of the camp until they disappear on the railroad tracks. You stare out on the huge bridge expanding over the Dakota river, bathed in moonlight.

You jab your heels into Rannoch’s side. He snorts loudly and canters down the bridge. As you near the middle of it, a large owl, sitting on the rail, takes up into the air with a proud screech. You watch it soar up into the air, heading west along with you, almost like a silent and ghostly guide.

You reach the other side of the bridge where the owl abandons you, fluttering towards the thick trees north with a final hoot. You stop Rannoch, inspecting the ground for signs of tracks. You find nothing, but below on the trail beneath the bridge, you spot a single rider, rifle pointing up into the air. He’s heading west, a dead deer strapped to his horse. You take out your binoculars and pear at him, spotting his green shirt. An O’Driscoll?

You lead Rannoch into the cover of the trees, watching him silently. When he’s far enough ahead of you to not become suspicious, you follow him. You don’t have to follow him for long until he happens upon a tiny cabin with an even tinier shed a few yards from it. For such a small place, there’s multiple men standing about it. Their horses are tied to a post near a fire. You spot Artemis among them and your breath catches in your throat. You whisper her name, wishing she could hear you.

You stop beneath a large tree and dismount Rannoch, pulling out your semi-automatic shotgun and Springfield rifle. You stand behind the trunk and pull out your binoculars again, counting the men. You see four of them, standing around and holding rifles. A man appears from behind the house wearing a hat over his shoulder-length dark hair. You spot the white shirt and dark tie on him before he mounts a horse and runs off.

You hunker down once he’s out of sight and run towards the cabin, using bushes and trees to take cover in. You pull out your hunting knife once you’re a few yards from one of the men. He turns his back to you, coughing slightly. You run up quietly behind him and shove the knife into his throat. He gurgles and you gently guide him down to the ground. You drag his body into the bush you’d been hiding in.

You spot two more men, standing close to the horses and the fire. You silently approach them, stopping behind a large crate.

“How long we gotta stay here watchin’ this bastard?” one of the men asks in a heavy Irish accent.

“I dunno. Until that arsehole shows up, I guess,” his companion says.

You take out one of your throwing knives, hoping you can do the task silently. Both men’s backs are turned to you, staring into the night as though expecting someone. You throw it, aiming for the man closest to you. It strikes into his upper back and he falls. His companion turns and spots you.

“Hey! We got someone!” he hollers, pointing his rifle at you. You swing the Springfield off your shoulder and shoot him, but it’s too late. His yell has attracted the last guard, who comes barreling towards you. You pull out your lasso quickly and throw it, catching him.

“Hey!” he yells as you pull him off his feet. You run over, the adrenaline pumping loudly in your ears as you tie him up. You turn him on his back to face you.

“You have a prisoner? Huh?” you spit, holding a fist above his face.

“What’s it matter to you, girlie?” he snarls.

“It matters, your life depends on it,” you say.

“Yeah we got a prisoner. He ain’t nowhere near here!”

You punch him as hard as you can, he spits blood into your face.

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter before wrapping your hands around his throat and squeezing. He gurgles, his feet kick beneath you, still bound by ropes. After a few seconds, he lies still.

Not bothering to untie him, you run over to the cabin where you find cellar doors, locked shut. You pull out your revolver and shoot it. You struggle slightly to pull open the heavy doors. You stand at the top of the stairs, suddenly scared of what you might find.

A small grunt comes from the semi-darkness and you charge down the stairs. You find Arthur, hanging upside down from the ceiling, stripped down to his union suit.

“Arthur!” your voice comes out strained.

“Y/N,” he mumbles as you rush over. You struggle with the rope around his feet, trying to untie it. His weight prevents it, so you pull out your knife again.

“Sorry about this,” you say. He doesn’t respond as you cut the binds holding him up. He falls heavily, grunting again. You drop your knife and kneel next to him, spotting the large wound in his shoulder. Tears fall from your eyes as you take the hood off his head and hold his head to your chest.

“Ah, Y/N,” he says in a course voice. “Thank God.”

“I knew you were alive!” you sob into his hair. “I just knew it.”

The hand of his good arm comes up, clutching you with surprising strength. You release him from your chest. “What did that?” you gesture to his shoulder with a heavy sniff.

“Shotgun,” he grunts, wincing. “Fool… weren’t a very good shot. Lucky to still have my shoulder.”

“Come on,” you say, standing up. You pull him up with some difficulty, causing him to moan. “We need to get that buckshot out.”

You guide him to a seat next to a desk with a single candle on it. He leans back in the chair, his eyes looking up into your face. You feel your heart break at his pained expression.

“It’s deep, Arthur,” you say, inspecting the wound. You unbutton his union suit, exposing his shoulder. He winces again.

“Sorry,” you say. You find a metal file on the table. You pick it up and examine it before looking at Arthur’s shoulder.

“This is gonna hurt like hell,” you say, looking at him uncertainly.

“Just do it, darlin’,” he grunts.

You hesitate, holding the file and pointing it towards him. You suck in your breath and you push it into his shoulder, apologizing over and over again as he groans and winces. You see tears in his eyes as he tilts his head back. You try to dig as little as possible, ignoring the wet sounds coming from his shoulder. After a moment, you feel the file connect with something that seems like metal. With delicacy, you pull it out, watching the bullet fall.

Arthur sighs heavily. You pull out a bottle of whisky from your satchel. “Drink this, it’ll help,” you say. He takes it gratefully with his good arm and takes a deep swig.

You take the file again, wiping the blood off on your shirt. You then hover the file over the candle until the tip steams, just barely glowing red.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” you say, pulling the file out of the fire. “This is gonna hurt.”

“It’s fine. I hardly feel it.”

You take in a breath once more and then shove the file in, cauterizing the wound. He yells out in pain, the smell of burning flesh filling your nostrils. You swallow the bile rising in your throat and take the file away, inspecting it. The hole is now closed, charred flesh peaking through. You quickly button up his union suit so you no longer have to look at it.

“Come on, we need to get you home,” you say, taking his good arm and putting it behind your neck, lifting him. He grunts as you hobble with him up the stairs and into the moonlight.

“Wait,” he says. “Wait, my… my guns.”

With his arm, he points to the shed.

“Can you stand?” you ask. He nods, so you let him go and dash over to the shed where you find a chest. Opening it, you find his gun belt, weapons and his satchel. You grab them and go back to him, whistling for Rannoch. You throw them over him before turning to Arthur.

“Can you ride?” you ask. He nods, taking a step towards you. He whistles for Artemis.

The giant warhorse trots over to him, neighing deeply. With difficulty, you help him mount his horse. You climb up and sit in front of him.

“Hold onto me, Arthur.”

His arms wind around you and his head settles onto your shoulder. You take Artemis’s reins and click at Rannoch, commanding him to follow. You push your heels into Artemis’s side and pat her neck.

“Take us home, girl,” you say, swallowing a fresh wave of sobs.

The horizon is turning pink and blue as you trot slowly through the trees towards Clemens Point. You’ve done the best you can to not cry all the way home, though you can feel yourself barely holding on. Arthur’s kept a surprisingly strong grip around your waist, but you can tell from his panting he’s in bad shape.

The light of the campfires glint through the trees and you sigh in relief, patting Arthur’s hand on your hip. “We’re home, honey! We’re home,” you say in an exhausted tone. He simply grunts in response.

You pull Artemis to a stop by the hitching post. Hosea, sitting under his canopy on his cot, looks up at the sound of her hooves.

“Y/N, Arthur!” he calls out. His voice attracts several of the others, including Dutch. You climb off the horse and Javier helps you guide Arthur gently off her. He groans heavily. Once he’s down, Lenny goes to his other side, draping Arthur’s arm across his shoulder.

“Arthur!” Dutch says desperately. “Arthur, my boy!”

“I told you, Dutch!” you say angrily. “I told you he’s alive!”

The anger that’s been boiling inside you reaches its peak. You march over to him, stopping him from approaching Arthur as Javier and Lenny lead him off to his tent.

“Dutch, tell me,” you demand, your clenched fists shaking. You might be nearly a head shorter than he, but he almost seems to cower at your glare. “Did you even bother looking for him? Sure, you found the camp with his blood, but did you bother to look beyond that?”

He begins stammering, explaining how he and Micah had searched the area, looking for clues.

“I spent not even five minutes at that camp and I found him in half an hour!” you scream. He takes a step back. “You just saw the blood and came to the conclusion that Arthur, the man you claim to be your son, was killed!”

Hosea steps up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N, now is not the time for this!”

You’re about to ignore him and continue screaming at Dutch when Grimshaw marches over to you.

“Y/N! I need your help!”

“I ain’t doin’ them damn chores right now, Susan!” you yell.

She puts her hands on her hips and glares at you. “The only chore I was gonna give ya is to stop hollerin’ and help me with Arthur!”

She and Hosea grab your arms and guide you over to your shared tent. You hear Dutch give a relieved sigh as you leave. You approach the tent and find Arthur lying on his back in his cot. You soften at the sight of him, looking so fragile and helpless.

“Stay with him, girl,” Grimshaw says softly. “He needs you now.”

You nod your head as Hosea pulls over the chair, instructing you to sit. Grimshaw inspects the wound in his shoulder and grabs a rag, soaking it in whisky before gently dabbing it onto him. Arthur shakes her off, groaning. After a moment, she takes the blanket and slides it over his shivering form.

“Y/N, stay with him. Let me know if there’s anything you need,” she says to you before heading off.

Hosea looks sadly down at him and sighs. He turns his face to you.

“Y/N, you look exhausted,” he says gently. “Get some rest.”

You nod, unable to speak due to the large ball in your throat making a reappearance. Hosea pats your shoulder and leaves, closing the tent flaps behind him.

You stare at Arthur for a few moments, some tears escaping. His forehead is shiny with sweat; you can see him trembling with his eyes closed. He suddenly jumps, leaning up on his good arm.

“Y/N!” he grunts loudly.

“I’m here,” you say, getting up to sit down on the bed, taking his hand. “I’m here.”

He visibly relaxes, laying down again. “Thought…” he swallows. “Thought I heard ya screamin’.”

“I was. At Dutch.”

He huffs slightly. “Good. Thought ya was hurt.”

“No,” you rub your thumb across his hand and wipe your cheeks dry. He closes his eyes again. WIthin seconds, he’s asleep. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. You go and sit down in the chair, tucking his hand back under the blanket. You lean back, completely exhausted. You wish you could curl up with Arthur, but you don’t want to disturb him now that he’s sleeping so soundly. You sigh and rest your head on your hand and somehow end up falling asleep.

Over the next few days, Arthur becomes feverish. You and Grimshaw do everything you can to keep him comfortable. Luckily, most of the time he spends sleeping, waking only long enough to eat. You don’t know what you would do without Grimshaw’s help. The only chore she assigns you is to care for Arthur, though she occasionally brings you some sewing so you at least have something to do.

It’s been three days since you’ve returned and Hosea approaches you in your shared tent.

“How’s he doing?” he asks quietly.

You explain that his wound will be fine as long as it doesn’t get infected. You also mention his fever.

“Well,” he sighs, smiling at you. “Sounds like he’s got the best care there is. He’ll be fine. By the way, I found something at the store while I was in town.”

He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a thick book. He looks at the dark blue cover. “Arthur mentioned your grandmother read you a book when you were young, but you couldn’t remember the title. Said you named your horse after the main character.”

“Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling. You wish you could remember the title, but you had been too young the last time she had read it.

“Does this look familiar?” he asks, handing you the book.

You read the title. “Fire Bringer,” you say, rubbing the gold-stenciled picture of a stag on the cover. You open the book and read the first few lines. Immediately, you know it’s the one.

“Thank you, Hosea,” you say, sniffing. You’ve been on the brink of tears since you brought Arthur back. Seeing the book you loved so much as a child brings you to the edge again. He nods understandingly. He pats your shoulder before leaving.

You want nothing more than to dive into this book, to relive the gorgeous descriptions, meet the proud characters. It almost feels like being reunited with an old friend. You resist by remembering how Arthur had brought you Black Beauty when you’d been injured. He hadn’t read any of it unless you were awake. You’re determined to do the same thing for him now.

You set the book down on the table next to his bed, barely glancing at the photos of his mother and Mary. You’ve wondered frequently why he still keeps the photo of Mary near, but you’ve never asked. You adjust the blanket, retucking in the ends of it, before heading out of the tent. You make your way over to the main campfire, scooping yourself a plate of stew.

“Hola, Y/N,” Javier greets you, grabbing himself a plate.

“Hello, Javier.”

“Hope you’re not too mad at me,” he says with a smile.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“For dragging you away from Dutch. Looked like you were settled on the idea of hitting him.”

You realize he’s joking, which you appreciate. “Nah, of course not. Nothing good would have come from that. Dutch, he’s not a bad guy. He’s just....”

You don’t really know how you feel about Dutch at this moment. Before Arthur had been kidnapped, you never questioned the man’s loyalty to his own gang members. Now, after seeing him come so quickly to the conclusion of Arthur’s death, you’re beginning to question. Not that you’d ever admit this to anyone. You know loyalty is important to Dutch and if you were to begin openly questioning it, it would only bring bad things your way.

“Dutch must have been in a bad place, seeing all that blood,” Javier says, pulling you from your thoughts. “People react different ways when people they love vanish like that.”

You just nod, not really knowing what to say. You leave the fire, heading over to the lake with your stew. You pass the table where you’ve played poker in the past. Bill sits there alone now, nursing a bottle.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, gesturing to you. “Come take a load off. Have a drink with me.”

Considering how long you’ve been with the gang, you know relatively little about Bill, except that he was dishonorably discharged from the army (though he denies it), his real name is Marion and he gets mouthy when drunk. You can tell from his eyes that he’s already over the edge.

“No thanks, Bill,” you say. “Maybe another time.”

“I said sit down and have a goddamn drink with me!” he says, his words slightly slurred.

“And I said no thank you!”

You stomp off, going to sit down on the log by the lake as you hear Bill curse behind you. You eye the uneaten stew in your plate, although you’re not remotely interested in it. You haven’t eaten much since you’ve returned. With resignation, you sigh and eat as much of the stew as you can manage, knowing you need to take care of yourself.

After you finish eating, you sit still in the moonlight, watching the water wave back and forth before you. You don’t think of anything in particular as you listen to the sounds of the fires behind you, the faint murmur of voices. A coyote somewhere far off howls. A breeze picks up, playing in your hair. You decide to go back to your tent to make sure Arthur isn’t cold.

You draw back one of the tent flaps enough to slide inside, where you find Dutch and Hosea. No doubt Dutch saw you leave the tent and took his opportunity to come and see Arthur, who’s awake. He looks considerably better, the color’s beginning to return to his face and he’s no longer trembling. They fall silent upon your return.

“Y/N,” Dutch says respectfully when he sees you. He’s been careful to steer clear of you since your return, probably scared of whatever verbal lashing you’ve got prepared for him. “Will you kindly fetch Arthur something to eat?”

You nod before looking over at Arthur, your eyes meeting briefly. You’re sure Dutch wants to speak privately with Arthur. You dish up another plate and bring it back to the tent. The voices inside fall silent once you enter. You set the plate on the table and approach Arthur, helping him to sit up.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says, wincing a bit. You’re glad to hear him speak, as he’s hardly done so since his return.

“Y/N,” Dutch says, handing Arthur his dinner. “Would you mind giving us a few minutes?”

You look up at him and debate on arguing, wanting to state that after he so readily gave up he doesn’t deserve to be alone with Arthur. You look over at Hosea, who shakes his head so slightly only you would catch it. You silently stand up and make your way out, but you stop at the door of the tent, letting the flap slide closed.

“Not the forgiving type, is she?” Dutch says.

“She has her reasons,” you barely hear Arthur say.

“Don’t know how many times I apologized to her for… everything.” You can tell by the grunt in his voice he’s sitting down.

“We all wanted to look for him, Dutch,” Hosea says. “Even I had my doubts on your assurity.”

A brief moment of silence passes before Dutch speaks again. “I never actually found that camp where those animals shot you, Arthur. Micah found it. The way he told it made it sound like there was a lot more to it. But Y/N said when she found the camp there wasn’t enough to say that you had been killed.”

He pauses a moment. “If I had seen the camp myself, I would’ve known. I would’ve known you were out there, alive at least.”

“I keep tellin’ ya, Dutch,” Arthur says quietly. “I keep tellin’ ya how I feel about Micah.”

“I know, but he’s profoundly sorry about it all,” Dutch says.

You doubt that. Micah’s hardly been around since you returned and he’s done nothing to show he’s sorry. The one time you have seen him, he was nursing a large bruise on his jaw from where you had hit him and he had been looking at Arthur in anger. The look had confused you but you’ve hardly given it a second thought.

The next few moments, Dutch tells how the O’Driscolls had refused on a parley when they had met, how Colm had been more interested in trying to insult Dutch and rage him into a fight. He said that after a while, Colm had simply told him to enjoy his gang while they were still by his side and then he had left.

“If I had known then what he had meant,” Dutch says heavily, “I would have been more worried.”

“Colm set that trap for me, Dutch,” Arthur says, his voice a bit stronger. “He told me everything. He figured if he could get me, you’d come to the rescue, guns blazin’ and he’d snag you and turn you into the folks at Blackwater. Figured it’d buy him a way out.”

“That bastard. I swear to you, Arthur,” Dutch growls, “he will pay for this.”

“Thought we weren’t in the revenge business, Dutch. I ain’t dead, you ain’t captured. That’s all that matters”

“I don’t care. Sure, I stole his score by takin’ those train plans. But this… this I cannot forgive.”

“Now ain’t the time to be worrying about Colm O’Driscoll,” Hosea says. “Thought we was tryin’ to rob from these two families, the Grays and the Braithwaites. Think the O’Driscolls can wait for now.”

Another few moments pass in silence.

“You found yourself quite a woman, Arthur,” Dutch says finally. You can hear the smile in his voice. “When… when she came in with you, I honestly thought she was going to shoot me.”

You hear Arthur chuckle.

“She gave Micah quite a good mark,” Hosea adds with a laugh.

“She hit Micah?” Arthur asks.

“Oh, yes. When we came back thinkin’...,” Dutch pauses again, “Micah tried to reason with her and she just walloped him.”

The three laugh a bit, pulling a reluctant smile from you.

“To be honest, I’ve been a little… hesitant to be around her,” Dutch says. “Pretty sure if she had the chance, she’d hit me too.”

“Awe, I wouldn’t worry about that too much, Dutch,” Arthur says. “She ain’t dumb.”

“Well, I wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Dutch chuckles. You hear the sound of something being patted and then the sounds of Dutch and Hosea standing.

“Now you get some rest, son,” Dutch says. “With that girl of yours looking after you, you’ll be up in no time.”

You hear their feet shuffling towards the entrance of the tent, so you scurry away towards Rannoch make it look like you weren’t spying. You watch from the corner of your eye as Dutch and Hosea walk through the tent flaps and off to the main campfire. You give Rannoch an affectionate pat on the neck before approaching your tent once more.

Sliding in through the flap, you see Arthur finishing the last bite of his stew. He smiles when he sees it’s you.

“Hi,” you say almost shyly, although you’re not sure why.

“Hey there,” he responds with a smile.

You approach him and offer to take his plate.

“Just set it on the table,” he instructs.

You give him a curious look but comply. When you’ve set it down, you feel his arm loop around your waist. He suddenly pulls you down so you’re sitting on his lap.

“Oof! Arthur!” you say, readjusting yourself. “Careful, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

He smiles at you, his hands sliding over your back. “Awe, I’m fine, darlin’. All thanks to you.”

You blush and look down.

“You don’t have to thank me, Arthur. After all, you came looking for me when I was lost.”

He takes a finger to your chin, lifting your face to meet his. Without another word, he leans towards you and places his lips against yours. You sigh into the kiss and slide your hands up his chest, carefully avoiding his bad shoulder.

He pulls away just briefly. “Mm, never thought I’d get to feel that again.”

You smile and kiss him again, deeper than the last. His hands slide across your back and then downwards, squeezing your backside.

“Arthur!” you giggle against his lips. He joins in, his deep voice travelling through your chest.

“Can’t blame me, can ya?” he says. You look in his eyes and see the same hunger you’re feeling.

You sigh and pull away again. “Arthur, I’d… I’d love to, but I ain’t sure your body can handle that strain right now.”

“Awe, I’m fine, darlin,” he purrs in your ear. “Just a gunshot.”

You grin and huff at him. “Just a gunshot? You’re lucky to still have your shoulder! You said so yourself!”

He chuckles again, tilting his head back.

“A’right, fine! Ya got me!”

You lean in and cuddle into his chest, resting your head beneath his chin. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’ll make it up to you once you’ve healed a bit more.”

His hands come up again, one settling against your back and the other rubs your arm. You stay that way for a few moments; you happily listen to the steady beating of his heart. The sound is far more comforting than it was before that whole mess with the O’Driscolls.

After a while, you lean back from him again. “What is it?” he asks.

You smile at him. “Hosea brought us something to pass the time while you recuperate.”

You lean over and grab the book from the table. You turn in his lap so your back is propped against his chest. His arms loop around your waist, he clasps his hands together on your stomach. You feel him rest his chin on your shoulder.

“What’s that you got there?” he asks.

“A book,” you say sarcastically. You practically hear his eyes roll.

“I know that, darlin’.”

You giggle and tilt the cover so he can read the title.

“Fire Bringer? Never heard of it.”

“I’m not surprised, you being such a big reader.”

Another eye roll. You pat his hand before running a finger over the stenciled stag again.

“Hosea found it in Rhodes. Said the main character is named Rannoch,” you explain.

Arthur sits quietly for a moment before he speaks. “Rannoch. Didn’t you say you named your horse that because of a book?”

You nod your head, the ball arising in your throat again, grateful that he remembers. “Yeah. The one my grandmother used to read to me before she… before she passed.”

You feel Arthur’s lips brush against your shoulder, his arms tightening around you. You turn and see his eyes studying the golden stag. A strange expression has come to his face.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Nothing. It’s just…” he pauses. “You know how when you’re real sick you get them fever dreams?”

You nod.

“Well, when you brought me back, I had a… a strange dream.”

“Like a nightmare?”

“No. It weren’t scary. More comforting, I guess.”

His eyes glaze a bit as he recalls the dream.

“I saw a meadow. All golden in the afternoon sun. And in it was a real big buck like that one,” he points to the stag on the cover. “Real proud it was. Just walking through the grass. That’s it, and I just kept seeing it, over and over again.”

You sit silent for a moment, imagining what he described.

“Wonder what it means?” he says.

“I don’t know, Arthur. Y’know, I remember when I was a kid and I’d see big bucks in the forest, I always felt like they had a story to tell, and all we had to do was listen.”

Another moment of silence passes. Arthur’s chin settles on your shoulder again.

“Is this that story?” he asks gently, brushing a hand over the cover.

“Maybe. It’s been a long time since I… since my grandmother read it to me. I don’t remember a lot of it.”

“Let’s read it then,” he says, kissing your skin once more.

You smile and look at him as he lifts his head. “You wanna do the honors?” you ask, offering him the book.

“No, darlin’. It’s your book, it’s your story. You read it.”

“Okay,” you say, placing a soft kiss on his lips once more. You settle your back more comfortably against his chest before flipping open the cover.

Four weeks have gone by since you brought Arthur back to camp. It’s been slow-going with the camp as no progress has been made with either the Grays or the Braithwaites nor has there been any word regarding the O’Driscolls. You can tell Dutch is getting anxious, claiming no one is doing their part in bringing money to the camp. You find this claim to be ludicrous because several of the others, mostly John, Charles and Javier, have been picking up the slack for Arthur. You overhear Javier telling Mary-Beth as he plays the guitar how much he hadn’t realized how much Arthur did for the camp before.

You’ve been working a lot, too, in order to help. While you stay around camp as much as possible to care for Arthur, you have to leave every couple of days, mostly to hunt so Pearson’s cooking doesn’t get too lean. You also go on a couple of robberies with Sean, Lenny and even Charles.

Arthur has vastly improved from his first few days. His fever disappeared during the first week and his strength quickly returned. He’s no longer restricted to your shared cot and can even do work in the camp, except Grimshaw’s firm on him not lifting anything too heavy, or chopping wood which you find to be a bit of a letdown. Every once in a while, you’ll see him wince or clutch at his shoulder, but other than that he doesn’t complain. Sometimes when you settle down for the night with him, he’ll express how much he wishes he could get out there again, go hunting, fishing or even just go for a ride on Artemis. You promise him that you’ll take him for a trip once he’s well enough to do so.

The down times you take with Arthur are by far your favorite. At least for a couple of hours a day, you and Arthur retreat to your shared tent. Sometimes you make love, although it’s not as passionate as it had been in Strawberry. You can tell Arthur’s nervous about getting caught in camp. Other times, you sit in each other’s embrace and he insists you read from the book that Hosea brought you. Considering that you only learned to read a few months ago, you’re able to read the book with ease, although a few words will still cause you to falter and Arthur will help.

You sit on your cot now between Arthur’s legs, the book propped open on your lap as you read from it. You’re very near the end of it, which causes some sadness within you. You’ve loved reliving the book, remembering scenes and characters you’d forgotten about. Arthur has told you he’s been enjoying it, too, and you can tell by his eyes he’s being honest.

You reach the end of the chapter, and you yawn, stretching your arms up. Arthur chuckles, catching the cover of the book so it doesn’t close in the absence of your grip.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, placing your bookmark. “Think it’s time for bed.”

“No,” you quietly say, sliding your hand across the back cover. “We can finish it tonight! We’re getting to the good parts!”

He laughs again, taking the book from your hands and setting it on the table. “I know we could, but we got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“I think you mean the usual amount.”

He shuffles in the cot so he can lay down. You hesitate and then join him, curling against his chest.

“Actually,” he says, rubbing your back, “Dutch wants me to meet Bill, Sean and Micah in town tomorrow. Somethin’ to do with the Grays.”

You look up at him. “You think you’re well enough?” You pull at his union suit to reveal what’s left of his wound. At this point, it’s healed into a large, dark spot and a divot in his flesh. You’re grateful, the charred flesh had been an eyesore. You know he’ll have a scar there for the rest of his life. Recently he’s become quite self conscious about it, mostly around you since you’re really the only one who sees it. He drags your hand away now to hide it once more but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“I’ll be fine, darlin’,” he says. “Should be an easy job. Probably just robbin’ more of that Braithwaite moonshine anyways.”

“Well, okay,” you say. You kiss him briefly. “Just promise me you’ll come back right after? I don’t want you gallivanting off someplace the way you sometimes do.”

He smiles. “I promise, princess.”

You wake up to the sounds of Molly screaming at Dutch in their tent only a few feet from yours. It’s nothing new really. Since the gang arrived in Clemens Point, they’ve been arguing more and more. At first, you had no clue as to why, but since their tent is so close, you’ve been able to pick up what their problems are.

“You haven’t touched me in weeks!” Molly says in her thick accent.

“And what exactly is it you want from me?” he snaps.

“To be treated with some respect! A little affection, at least!”

“You think this is the way to a man’s affection? Nagging him all the time? I am trying to read here!”

“You’re a bastard, Dutch Van der Linde!”

You clear your throat, feeling more awkward by the second. You hate eavesdropping on them this way, but it’s not like they’re being quiet about it.

You feel a bit sorry for Molly. Sure, when you first met her, she spent most of her time in Dutch’s tent, brushing her hair or inspecting her face in her pocket mirror. You had barely seen her do any work, except on occasion she would clean dishes for Pearson. It was clear she had come from a privileged background, so doing mediocre work like this was probably not something she was used to. You know very little about how she ended up here with Dutch, but it’s perfectly clear she loves him. You have a nasty idea that Dutch does not feel the same way. You had witnessed him a week ago flirting with Mary-Beth while she was reading.

A few days after that, you heard Molly shouting at Dutch, saying that she’d noticed the way he had been looking at an unnamed her. Dutch had told Molly she was being ridiculous, brushing off her accusations. Later that day, you’d overheard her and Abigail talking. She had told Abigail that she loved him and was sure he loved her, but Abigail tried to make her see reason. You can understand why Abigail has given up on the notion of love, her and John have done nothing but either ignore each other or argue. Molly, however, has not experienced that kind of letdown.

You sometimes wish you could speak with Molly. However, whenever the rare chance to do so comes by, it never happens. She often looks at you like you’re beneath her, and the few times you’ve greeted her, she’s acted like she hasn’t even the faintest interest to talk with you.

“They at it again?” Arthur groans beneath you, ripping you from your thoughts. He rubs his hand over his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning into his chest again.

He sighs, his arm draping over you once more.

“You remember how happy they used to be?” you ask quietly.

“Who?” Arthur says, his eyes closed again.

“Them. Molly and Dutch?”

You silently recall seeing them in Horseshoe Overlook dancing the night Sean returned. You remember the wide grin Molly wore, the way Dutch chuckled and his eyes sparkled. Now whenever you see them together, they always seem to trade a look of contempt.

Arthur sighs again. “Dutch’s in a hard place with her, darlin’.” He pauses. “After Annabelle died, he’s made his way through a few women. Molly’s just the most recent.”

You’re a bit taken aback by the nonchalant tone Arthur’s taken. He talks as though Dutch viewed these women the same way he used his books. You know Evelyn Miller is his favorite author, he quotes the man often enough. You’ve also seen the other few books on his shelf. They would assuredly be collecting a thick layer of dust if camp hadn’t moved so often.

“How do you mean?” you ask.

Arthur stays silent for a moment. “Annabelle was real special to Dutch. Love of his life, I reckon. You think he looked happy in Horseshoe Overlook with Molly, well, that weren’t nothin’ compared to how he was with Annebelle. When she died, it… changed him. Like I said, Molly ain’t the first woman he’s been with since Annebelle.”

“What happened to the others?”

“Most of them just drifted away. Few of them ever stayed in camp the way Molly does. Then again, none of them came so far neither.”

He explains how Molly arrived by boat from Scotland years ago. She had come from a wealthy family, but her parents had died in a fire. After that, Molly and most of her siblings left their hometown. Arthur said he thought most of them had stayed in Scotland; only Molly had come to America to start a new life. That was how she met Dutch. They had bumped into each other on the street and he offered to buy her a few drinks. When she told him she had nowhere to go and almost no money, he had invited her to come to camp and begin anew with him.

“That was about five years ago. They been in love ever since,” Arthur finishes.

“You’re a no-good, degenerate liar!” you hear Molly snarl at Dutch from their tent. “You hear me? You’re exactly what you say you aren’t!”

“Whatever you say, miss,” Dutch responds in a tired voice.

Arthur sighs again. “Well, guess I should say they been in love until now.”

You lie against Arthur in silence for a few moments. The arguing has finally stopped. You figure Molly has marched off somewhere else. You silently listen to Arthur’s steady breathing, his heart pumping in your ears.

“Are you decent?” Dutch’s voice comes from outside your tent.

“One second, Dutch,” Arthur says. He quickly pats your shoulder before sliding out from under you and standing. He puts his pants on over his union suit and slides his suspender straps over his shoulders. You admire his muscled back a moment before he walks out of the tent.

While the men talk outside, you get up and start getting dressed yourself. By the time you’re lacing your boots up, Arthur walks back in.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Oh, nothin’,” he says, reaching for his blue striped shirt. “Dutch just wants us to go into town to meet the Grays.”

“Want me to come with you?”

He starts buttoning up his shirt. “I would, darlin’, except ya gotta remember the Grays deputized only me and Bill. Ain’t quite sure why Micah and Sean are comin’ along, especially since Sean helped me torch their fields. Anyways, my point is the Grays will probably be suspicious if a woman shows up.” “What’s wrong with me being a woman?” you ask, putting your hands on your hips.

“Absolutely nothin’,” he smiles and puts on his hat. “But these Grays are ol’ fashioned. I mean, they so stuck in the past they’re trying to get that young Beau Gray to marry his cousin. Poor kid.”

You briefly recall the story Arthur told you some weeks ago about Beau Gray. How he’s in love with the Braithwaite’s daughter Penelope. You smile at the memory of Arthur describing them as an “inbred retelling of Romeo and Juliet”.

Arthur finishes putting his boots on and then offers you his hand, which you take. You both walk out and head over to the main campfire to pour yourselves some coffee.

Just as you begin sipping your drink, Sean walks over with a big grin on his face.

“Ah, there they are! The lovebirds of the century!”

“What you want, boah?” Arthur says, taking a drink.

“What? Not even a good mornin’, Sean MacGuire?” he says, his arms outstretched. You smile. Arthur just takes another drink.

“Ah, well fine, ya sour ol’ man! Seriously, Y/N,” he leans closer to you. “Don’t know why ya picked him of all us gents!”

“Yeah, well maybe you don’t know him the way I do,” you say, grinning wider.

“And let’s keep it that way!” Sean says, smirking at Arthur. You laugh with him as Arthur just rolls his eyes.

“Can we just go so I can get you to shut up for once in your damn life?” Arthur says. He quickly finishes the rest of his coffee and puts his cup back in his satchel.

“A’right, fine,” Sean says, strutting away with Arthur. He turns back to yell at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N! When we get back, I know Arthur will give you his version o’ things, then I’ll tell you how they really went down!”

You laugh aloud as Arthur grabs his shoulder. “Will you just shut up and get on your horse?”

You shake your head as they march off on their horses with Bill and Micah. Pearson approaches you.

“Morning, Ms. Y/L/N,” he says.

“Good morning, Mr. Pearson.”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

You nod your head.

“Could you just head out and hunt a little? Even a deer and a couple of rabbits would be extremely useful.”

You agree and quickly finish your coffee.

“I tell ya,” he says, lifting up the big cast iron pot from the fire to begin today’s stew. “I’ll be happy when you and Arthur are back to hunting full time. Maybe you ought to think about not getting hurt so often?”

You chuckle. “Yeah, well the life we live doesn’t really allow us that luxury, now does it?”

You hear him chuckle as he walks away. You put your cup back into your satchel and then make your way over to Rannoch. You pat him, thinking about your book, and feed him a treat. Kieran greets you warmly as you begin to saddle him, to which you greet him in return.

You climb onto Rannoch’s back and head on out through the trees. When you reach the main trail, you debate on whether you should head into town. You know Arthur and the others were meeting the Grays there, maybe you could just say hi quickly before going into the store to pick up a few things.

You begin making your way there when you hear the distant thunder of gunshots. They’re coming from Rhodes. You spur Rannoch into a gallop, terrified. Your hindered by the onslaught of riders and wagons coming in your direction, away from town.

“Don’t go that way, miss!” a man on a coach yells at you, whipping his horses. “It’s dangerous!”

You ignore him and go on. Just as you’re about to make the last turn before the town comes into view, a rider appears and your horses collide. Rannoch collapses with a loud snort, the other horse does the same.

“Watch where you’re going!” you yell at the other rider, who gets up and clutches his arm.

“Why you goin’ that way?” he retorts. “Can’t ya hear the gunfire?”

You throw him a dirty look and get back on Rannoch, who has stood up and paws the dirt nervously.

“You’re okay, boy,” you say. You pat his neck and then spur him on. The gunfire has stopped and you make the final turn. Ahead lies the town of Rhodes. You stop Rannoch as you see all the corpses littering the road.

“What the hell?” you whisper. You push Rannoch into a trot. At the end of the main road, you see Micah and Bill mounted on their horses, a limp figure draped over Brown Jack’s rump. You spot Arthur backing away from the horse.

“Micah, best you and I don’t speak for a moment,” you hear Arthur snarl.

“You don’t scare me, tough guy,” Micah responds. He turns in your direction and gallops down the road. He glares at you as he passes but says nothing. Arthur hasn’t seen you and his back is turned towards you as Bill canters down the road, away from you. You see the limp figure jiggling on his horse, and you recognize the green hat and gray coat.

“Arthur!” you call out. He’s standing next to Artemis, his hand on her neck.

“Y/N?” he responds. You trot down the road and come to a stop next to his horse. You dismount and approach him slowly, looking around at all the bodies. Over near the saloon, you see Sean’s horse standing untethered.

“Arthur, what happened?”

You look up at him and see his eyes welling with tears.

“It was a setup,” he says heavily. “Another goddamn setup. Those Grays didn’t want us here to do a job. They wanted to kill us all.”

“What happened?” you say again.

Arthur just shakes his head and looks around.

“Not here, Y/N. Not like this.”

He mounts Artemis and you hop onto Rannoch. You follow Arthur out of Rhodes and up into Scarlett Meadows. He doesn’t say a word to you nor do you push him to speak. He leads you up to a rise in the land, to a place you’ve seen on the map by your tent called Face Rock. He stops Artemis and hops off quickly, taking a few steps away. You stop Rannoch and follow him. He still does not speak, instead he sits down in the grass. You sit too and loop your arms around his, leaning your head on his shoulder.

After a few moments, Arthur speaks. He tells you how the Grays had asked them to meet them at the saloon, claiming they needed some help with matters of security.

“Whole thing felt off,” he says, looking off into the distance. “Town was quiet. Too quiet. Only Micah and Bill seemed to know any real details about the job. Well, you know Bill, damn fool he is. And Micah was bein’ real cagey about all of it. I kept askin’ what they needed security for, but he wouldn’t say. Just kept sayin’ they was gonna pay real good and that Dutch had said to keep goin’ with them Grays until we found this ol’ Confederate gold.”

He goes on to describe that Bill was under the impression that all was fine, how he’d been around the Grays enough to think the job they were asking for was legit. Arthur described that just when things started to feel very odd, Sean got shot in the head. You gasp and cover your mouth.

“Had to shoot our way out after that,” he adds, his mouth in a hard line. “They must have recognized Sean from when we’d snuck in to burn their fields. Probably why they targeted him first. They almost got Bill, but he got lucky.”

He falls silent again and he continues to stare off into the distant trees. You wrap your arms tighter around him, still trying to process the fact that Sean is dead. How could it be that the young Irishman who you’d been joking with this morning, who had endured weeks of torture at the hands of bounty hunters and hadn’t said a word, was now suddenly dead? A tear slips down your face as you realize how quiet the campfires at night are going to be now. How you’ll never hear him talk about his old da or hear his jokes.

An eagle whirls lazily through the sky, screeching in the joys of the hunt.

“He was like an annoyin’ little brother to me,” Arthur says. You look up at him but he doesn’t meet your gaze. “What fun we had ridin’ together.”

“Arthur,” you say, more tears rolling down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“What a goddamn mess we’re makin’ of things,” he says, still not looking at you.

You don’t quite know what to say, so you settle your head against his shoulder again. After a moment, you wonder if maybe he wants to be alone to grieve. You ask him and he finally looks at you.

“No, please don’t go nowhere.”

You nod and he pulls you into a tight hug. You feel his forehead dip against your shoulder. You grip him tighter around the waist, laying your head down on his shoulder. You don’t know how long you stay like that, but by the time he pulls away, it’s well past noon.

“You gonna be okay?” you ask, cupping his cheek with your hand. He nods and places a hand over yours, kissing your palm.

“We gotta try to make this right,” he says. “I’m tired of losin’ folk.”

“I know, Arthur. Just promise me I won’t lose you in the process.”

He kisses your forehead. “Ain’t nothin’ pullin’ me away from you, darlin’.”

He stands up and offers you his hand, which you take. “Guess we oughta head back to camp. Tell Dutch everything.”

“Shit, Pearson asked me to do some hunting,” you say.

Arthur sighs, you can tell he doesn’t have it in him to do that right now.

“Well, I guess we can tell Pearson I didn’t have any luck.”

“No, no. Camp needs to eat. Let’s just do this quick.”

Arthur quickly mounts up on Artemis and pulls out his bow. You mount Rannoch and follow him down in the direction of Clemens Point. Luckily this part of Lemoyne is rich in game and soon you’ve both brought down a deer to take back.

You sling the doe across Rannoch’s back.

“Alright, this should keep us set for the next few days,” you say. Arthur nods, the dead buck swaying from Artemis’s haunches. You remember briefly the dreams he’d told you about. Shaking your head, you mount Rannoch and the two of you head off.

After a few moments of travel, you and he trot through the trees leading to Clemens Point. Once you hit the clearing, you can tell something is wrong. Most of the gang has gathered around Dutch’s tent, looking tense. You wonder if this is in response to Sean’s death.

You and Arthur quickly deposit your kills to Pearson’s wagon and march over to the crowd.

“Arthur!” Dutch calls, pushing his way through to him. “Have you seen that boy, Jack?”

“No,” he says. Dutch asks you and you shake your head. “Ain’t seen him in a while, Dutch.”

“Where’s my goddamn son?” Abigail charges over on the brink of tears. “Where is he? They took him, didn’t they?”

You’ve no idea who she’s talking about.

“Who took him?” Arthur asks.

“We think that Braithwaite woman took him,” Hosea says, walking over. “Kieran said he saw a couple of them fellers that sounded like Braithwaite boys.”

“Where’s my son, Dutch Van der Linde?!” Abigail says, placing her hands on her temples.

“Now, Ms. Roberts,” Dutch says, standing to his full height. “We will find him and we will bring him back to you and we will kill anyone fool that had the temerity to touch a hair on that boy’s head!”

John walks over, looking distraught.

“Just get me back my son!” Abigail pleads.

“We’re going to go get him back right now!” Dutch says, marching away, followed by Hosea, Arthur and John. Bill, Charles and some of the other men join in. You’re about to follow them, wanting to help, when Susan grabs you.

“Not now, girl,” she says. “They’re headed into a guaranteed gunfight. The last thing Arthur needs is to be worrying about you at a time like this.”

“But what if…” you begin to say. You couldn’t live through him getting shot again.

“He’ll be fine, dear. He’s the best shot out of all of them. Those boys will wish they’d never even so much as looked at Jack when they show up on their doorstep.”

“Come on!” Dutch yells from the back of the Count. “Let’s ride!”

#Red Dead Redemption #red dead fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #Van Der Linde Gang #R* Games #rockstar games #I'm awkward #second chances

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