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fuckin-sick-bih · 10 months

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Bounty of Sneezes

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 Summary: Slightly pre-events of Red Dead Redemption 2, Arthur is heading out on a bounty job and seems to be coming down with a cold. Luckily he has some help. CW: period typical gun violence, some mess, cold sneezes Word Count: 2,391 words MINORS DNI Author Note: i had an ask a long time ago i am so sorry for something rdr2 related and i hope this will do and i hope i did the cowboys justice bc i had to just keep picking at it. also i make no apologies for subjecting you all to my equine bullshit.

The change in seasons from summer to fall had always been challenging for Arthur, both as a young man and as an older one. Bounty hunting wasn’t exactly easy work either, but it was good pay, which the gang needed right now. Money. A lot of it. So, Arthur would do what he always did. Provide. Pull his weight. Because that’s what he was to them. A workhorse.

While everyone else was sitting comfortably down near Pike’s Basin, Arthur had chased a bounty up in Tall Trees. The chill of the air got worse as he followed the lower Montana River further up North. The bite of the air was starting to make his nose run.

Although, come to think of it… his nose had already been running when he left camp this morning. He sniffled again, just as he’d been doing all last night while trying to pick his way through Pearson’s threadbare stew. Gathering up the edge of his coat sleeve, Arthur swiped at his nose tiredly.

He knew he was about due for his annual cold, and it hitting now that he was away from the rest of the gang was probably for the best. Lest the rest of them get sick because of him and blame him for going around camp with everyone in such close quarters. A subtle itch had started somewhere in the back of his left nostril, and Arthur grunted as he shifted in the saddle, sniffling to try and disrupt it.

The sniffling didn’t seem to be doing him any good, so he briefly stood, readjusting in the saddle before sitting a little deeper and pulling his thick, blue coat closer. He’d woken up cold this morning, too. No surprise there. Arthur naturally ran hot, but when he was sick? He froze over. Squeezing his hands into fists on the reins and then stretching them out again, Arthur tried to ignore the growing itch that was building in his sinuses now.

It was starting to make his nose run worse, and he cleared his throat a little, wincing at the sharp and grating pain that tore through his throat from the action. He swallowed, wincing when that hurt, too. This time, he brought a hand off the reins to scrub a little more roughly at his nose with a finger, causing a soft sort of squelching noise that made him grimace. Still, it did nothing to alleviate the itch, and his other hand began to brace on the horn of his saddle in preparation for what was to come, his heels pressing down a little more just in case his horse spooked.

The poor creature beneath him was new. Still learning. Arthur was still learning her, too. He didn’t know if he could trust her not to spook at his sneezes. The sound of another set of hooves coming up behind him at a fast-paced trot briefly caught his attention, but Arthur was quickly becoming all too consumed with the coldish tickle niggling at his nose.

“God daahh… ax’TSHHiuh! Snff! Huh…” Arthur pitched forward in the saddle, bending at the waist, careful not to jerk back on the reins as he pressed them flat to the crest of his mare’s neck. Said mare nickered anxiously, tail lashing up and down at the sudden sound of the sneeze while starting to sidestep off the road. “Easy, girl. Woah. You’re alright… Just a sneeze.”

“Some sneeze.” And if that wasn’t the most irritating voice in all creation, Arthur Morgan didn’t want to hear today of all days. “I’d say you nearly fell out yer damn saddle, Arthur.” Because, of course, John Marston had to have followed him up here on Old Boy.

The elder outlaw gave a gruff sort of huff and sniffled once again, able to feel the congestion in his nose threatening to leak. “If anyone’s going flying out of their damn saddle, it’s you, Marston.” He snapped back, his mood only soured more by a blanket of exhaustion that was settling on him. “Thought I left you back at camp.”

By now, John and Old Boy were matching pace with Arthur and his mare, riding beside him on the road. “You did. Dutch sent me out here after you. Said we could use some brotherly bonding time.” He sounded just as bitter about it as Arthur felt. The two hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms lately, given John’s disappearance that Arthur had taken somewhat personally, not just as a hit to Abagail, Jack, and the gang. There were plenty of complicated feelings Arthur had brewing for the outlaw he once treated like a younger brother.

“Dutch should know better. I do this kind of work alone.” Arthur growled, but it only served to irritate his throat further, making him turn from John to cough roughly into a gloved fist. He could feel John’s eyes on him as the coughing tapered off, and he patted his mare’s neck, sliding a hand under her mane to keep it warm. Then he turned his eyes back to the road and surrounding trees, pretending to ignore John.

For a few brief moments, there was just the sound of hoofbeats on the dirt road before Marston spoke up. “Because you’re just so damn capable…” He muttered, and the words were distinctly bitter now, instantly stoking that ember of anger in Arthur.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” The blonde snarled back before he had to dissolve into another fit of coughing, this time leaning against his saddle horn for support. His mare danced off to the side skittishly, and Arthur rubbed her neck as the fit died off, leaving him feeling distinctly more tired after each one.

By the time Arthur could look over at John, the younger outlaw was leaning to reach back into his left saddle bag. “That.” His voice was that same rasp it always had been since the brunette hit puberty. “You’re sick. Same damn time as last year. You think I don’t remember? You always get sick around this time of year, Arthur. We’ve practically been brothers for how long now?”

A scoff left Arthur, and he took one end of his reins to smack Marston’s leg with it for his meddling. “I ain’t sick, Marston. Just ride along back to camp and tell Dutch I sent you h-home.” The itch was back but in the opposite side of his sinuses now, making itself known much faster than the last tickle. So much so Arthur barely had time to grab the saddle horn and make sure he kept his reins low as his whole body jerked with the sudden sneeze. “Eh’TSHXuh! EXXtsh! Woah! Easy, girl!”

Quick as a flash, Arthur was going from sneezing to soothing his nearly spooked mare while driving his heels toward the dirt like his life depended on it. The horse below him had taken off at an anxious lope as if trying to escape the sudden explosions from her rider. “Ahh, easy- woah, come on now, girl. Nothin’ to be scared of.” John on Old Boy kept pace just behind them as Arthur eased his horse back to a walk.

“So… you ain’t sick?” John checked as he pulled up beside Arthur again with a smug smirk.

Arthur grimaced and rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Why’s it matter? I’ve worked jobs sick before.” Once again, his wrist came up to rub at his nose with a thicker sniffle now, every rub causing a wet squelch. If he wasn’t careful, he would be more congested than when he’d had a cold over Christmas.

When Arthur looked over, he spotted a bottle in Marston’s hands that looked like a tonic of some sort. “Because usually there’s a whole posse behind you, right?” It was like John was trying to direct him in a particular train of thinking, and Arthur was just too damn sick and tired for it.

It did earn a semi-congested snort of amusement from Arthur, who hastily had to press his wrist back to his nose and sniffle. “Contrary to what you might believe, Marston, I ain’t like you. I pull my weight. I run jobs by myself all the damn time.”

“Shuddup, ain’t like that-” John defended instantly.

Arthur fixed him with a stern glare but did down the tonic before continuing. “You wasn’t even in camp for a damn year!” The thought did occur to Arthur that talking this loud while tracking a bounty this close maybe wasn’t such a good idea. “You came back for two or three big jobs. Couldn’t e-ehh…” His voice trailed off as his breath hitched that itch coming back.

Suddenly, though, John slowed down his stallion while reaching for Arthur’s reins. “Arthur, not now-” For some reason, John’s voice seemed to have gotten quiet.

Tears of irritation formed in Arthur’s eyes as the itch prickled and brushed through the most sensitive parts of his nose. The ticklish sensation was strong enough to make his mouth fall open as he hitched, “Hehh-! Eh-!”

“Arthur-!” John’s voice was an urgent hiss now as Arthur’s mare began to prance beneath him. Something was wrong, very wrong, but he couldn’t-

“EXT’shhiew! HiT’SHiew!” There was the sudden chaos of six shots ringing out, and Arthur gasped as he choked up on the reins as his horse reared before well and genuinely bolting. Old Boy did just the same as the bounty they’d been searching for came guns blazing from the brush.

Element of surprise gone, Arthur threw a leg over his horse’s back and dismounted before she could run too far. He stumbled a little on the landing but drew his revolver before ducking behind a tree. “Come out, Treva! Wanted poster said dead or alive! Don’t care how we get the money!”

Another three shots hit the tree he was hiding behind, and Arthur looked around for Marston, wondering if they could get this fool to run out of lead and reload. He spotted the younger outlaw moving in closer and shook his head, waving a little before motioning to call out.

“What’s the matter, Treva? Too chicken shit to come find us? We’re on our way to finding you!” John called; not exactly wrong either. He’d been well on his way to getting close.

One shot whizzed by Arthur’s hiding place on the left, then on the right. Just barely clipping the edges of the tree and sending shrapnel of bark flying in every direction. Treva could aim, but could he reload fast enough once he’d shot that last round? Arthur took off his hat and stuck it on the end of his revolver, nodding to John just before peeking it out from behind his tree.

Crack. With a hole in Arthur’s hat, John made his move and launched from his own hiding place. Arthur stuffed his hat back on, sniffling back the mess threatening to run down his lip, and went to follow. By the time Arthur made it to John, Treva was out cold, and Marston was preparing to tie him up.

“You got ‘em, Marston?” Arthur crackled out, sniffling and rubbing his gloved hand against his bright red nose. It already felt like that tonic was wearing off.

John pulled the binds tight and nodded. “All set. Just gotta get him to town.” He stood and hauled their bounty over his shoulder, both men whistling for their horses. “You should get a room in the town when we drop him with some of the money. I’m sure Dutch won’t mind…”

Arthur glared at the younger gang member as he caught his horse by the reins, soothing her gently. “Bullshit. We oughta drop him and get back.” He said gruffly, putting a foot in the stirrup to haul himself back into the saddle. Now that the action was over, his nose was still running, and Arthur could still feel that prickling tickle teasing at the back of his sinuses. “Hhh…”

They rode silently for a while, Arthur still struggling against that incessant sensation in his nose. It was like an entire feather pillow had been stuffed in his nose, tickling and blustering about as if in a dust storm. He squeezed his saddle horn and pressed his heels down, “Heh-eh! EXt’Shhuh! Hhh… hih-! Hh! HDt’SHH! Christ alive!”

Thankfully, given his outbursts this time, his mare seemed to only toss her head in displeasure. He patted her neck and sniffled thickly, exhaustion weighing heavily on him as he followed her motions without conscious thought. Riding was second nature in this business. He could do it while sleeping, let alone while sick as a dog, and if Arthur spent enough time with one of his mounts, they became quite the pair working in sync with one another.

“Bless you,” John mumbled under his breath, and Arthur grunted a quiet “Thanks” in reply. It continued on in much a similar fashion until they reached town. Their bounty was delivered without complaint, though Arthur found himself on the receiving end of more than a few curious sets of eyes watching him. Townsfolk were always suspicious of strangers riding in.

It was not uncommon, but now he suspected it was because of how poorly he was beginning to feel and look. He stayed mounted in his saddle while John handled everything inside. It felt like he wouldn’t get back up once he dismounted. He was too exhausted from it all. He just wanted to make camp, maybe have a fire, fall asleep, anything to rest and warm his bones.

A shiver ran through him, and Arthur huddled further into his coat, rubbing his raw, chapped nose against the wool lining with a gurgling sniff.

“That don’t sound too good.”

John had appeared at his side, offering him his cut from their bounty job, which he took and stuffed directly into his satchel with a nod. “You’re tellin’ me.” He rasps back and winces. “We should go.”

“No. You should rest. Abagail will kill me if she finds out I let you ride back like this.” Without any more warning, Arthur suddenly felt himself being dragged from the saddle. He protested halfheartedly, stumbling as he tried to find his footing once on the ground. “We’re gettin’ a room. C’mon.”

And without another word, the two outlaws set off for the closest hotel.

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