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missblissy · 5 years

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Title: Homeless at Home Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert, fluff, slow burn, friends-to-lovers, pre-game Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Arthur x Reader, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur/ You, Young!reader Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight

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(( Hi I’ve been very busy with college and I’ve had these chapters sitting around so I might as well post them!! Thanks for all the support!! ))

Description:

There were five horses that you could see. Two on the left and three on the right. The first two in the left stalls where females, both working horses and way too big for you to ride. You walked a little further into the stables and found two other horses facing towards you. A white and brown spotted female and a grey male. Both small and friendly looking. Your attention, however, was caught by the last horse in the further stall deep within the stables. You could only see his rear end, he was facing the wrong way. His coat was bright blonde. Warm and yellow like the sun, but he had a dark fluffy tail as black as the night. A mustang. You had seen plenty like him in the wild.

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The sun was falling slowly from its high throne, falling into the mountain range above. The wild colors of reds and blues and yellows bloomed across the sky making a messy painting of a sunset. The cool valley was a lot different from the hot desert but you welcomed the change with open arms. It was a bit chilly. A sneaky little breeze worked past the nape of your neck and caused you to pulled tighter on your thin sweater. You could barely remember the boiling heat you left behind in the summer sun of Arizona. A lot had changed, you reminded yourself as you pulled a pair of fingerless gloves from your pocket and put them on.

You had made it to Nevada, just as Dutch had wanted some few months ago. But you didn’t get there according to Dutch’s original plans. Actually, you didn’t get according to plan at all.

It happened a few months ago, you could barely remember the rush of it all. Dutch had some… Business partner named Colm O’Driscoll. Apparently, Dutch cut him short by a lot of money in some bank robbery. You got to meet Colm and his brother one night when they stormed into your camp during dinner. They demanded money and a lot of it.

When Dutch stood tall and waved his hands in peace, saying he had no such money and made no such promise, Colm swore he’d be back and that he had better have his money. Dutch took the threat as if it were a train heading straight towards him at maximum capacity.

That night he made you all pack everything as quickly as possible. Susan and Arthur did most of the heavy lifting while Hosea ran ahead on horseback to scout a path out of the county. Dutch kept you close to his side all night, making sure you were within arm’s length. You didn’t remember much after that, you were so tired that you slept half the trip.

Colm and his brother chased you and your gang out of Dodge, and you were pretty sure he was following you north into Nevada too. You left in such a hurry in the middle of the night. You still think about it. Much to your surprise though, Annabelle came with you too.

When Dutch told her of his true nature, which was that he was a wanted criminal across the country, she didn’t shy away and leave him like most of his other suitors. She insisted on coming with you, she left her book store behind for her sister to take care of.

Several months had passed now. You were slowly returning to your usually chipper self. Ever since that drunk assaulted you… You changed. You were more quiet than normal, and you were very depressed. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, about your mother, about your father, about how fucked up your life was ever since those bastards killed your parents. You were so stuck in your rut that you nearly didn’t notice your 13th birthday approaching.

The hot desert summer was replaced with cool and shady autumn. Dutch had taken you to the furthers corner of Nevada. 40 miles south of Oregon, 35 miles east of California, in the shadow of Paradise Mountain, you rested in the grassy valley known as Paradise Valley. A few miles within was the bustling busy farming town known as Sugartown. It was nice to return to a climate you were more familiar with. Autumn was always your favorite season. The colors, the smell, the food. You loved it all.

The gang wanted to do something special for your birthday. They wanted a party, but you asked them to keep it simple. Today, however, you were going to face another fear. You had gone to town with Hosea, he was picking up some supplies from the general store, and you asked him if you could run off a bit on your own. He was wary, unsure if you could handle yourself alone seeing as last time you nearly gotten killed. But he let you go after he gave you a spare revolver he had on him. You knew you wouldn’t need it.

Ever since you told Dutch how badly you wanted to be a doctor, he had started collecting medical books for you. More so Annabelle found those books for you, seeing as she was a better bookworm than either you or Dutch. She was lucky to find a few on your trip up to Sugartown, but there wasn’t a book store here much to your disappointment. The books she got you though were not a lot of help. They were outdated and old and surely could use an up keeping. They mostly taught you very basic medical concepts that anyone could know.

You stood outside a building, staring at its door. Your eyes flicker to the sign above that read ‘Doctor’s Office.’ The biggest fear you had right now was stepping inside that building and asking the doctor inside if he had any old books he’d like to give up. Another fear was that he would say no to you. One, because you were still a child, and two… you were female. You could always remember all the men that gave your mother a hard time simply because she was a woman. She gave up on her dream to be a doctor, moved as far away as possible from her family, and became a stay at home mom who occasionally made medicine from local fauna and sold them.

“Okay,” You told yourself, “You can do this. You got this,” You hyped yourself up, biting your lip, and then rushed towards the door. The second you got near it you made a sharp U-turn and waltzed back into the street. This was going to be hard. You didn’t have a lot of time. Hosea would be getting done with his supply run soon. Taking a big deep breath, you held it in and ran for the door again. This time you managed to freeze on the spot with your hand barely touching the door nob. You counted to three then turned the nob and opened the door.

It was old and rustic inside the little doctor’s office. There was a man sitting behind a counter reading a newspaper. He looked old, but not elderly. He was stuck somewhere in-between. He looked nice though, so that was a plus. He stood up, folded his paper and greeted you with a smile.

“Hey there, miss,”

“Hi,” You sounded small like a shy little mouse. You kept your arms folded across your chest and held tightly to your arms, “Um… I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Not at all,” He wasn’t very tall. Much shorter than Dutch or Arthur, and he had warm creamy brown hair that matched his shabby handlebar mustache, “What can I get for you?” His glasses were thick and reflected the low light coming in from the afternoon sun.

“Um- I.. I was wondering if you had any books you’d like to get rid of?” You pressed your lips into a thin line and gnawed on your inner cheek, “I-I.. I’m collecting them for educational reasons. Um-… Like books on medicine? And how to make them?” The doctor seemed very surprised by your request. You rushed out some fumbled words saying, “They aren’t for me! I… It’s for my church?” Your lie sounded like a question and the man raised a brow.

“Sure,” He said slowly while observing your bazaar behavior, “Let me check in my office,” He disappeared for several minutes. You stood in your spot, awkward and nervous while biting your tongue and grinding your teeth.

You looked around the office. It was cute and humble. There were photos on the wall but you couldn’t make out who of. There was the counter that you stood behind, then a doorway behind it that lead down to a hallway that you couldn’t see the end of. Some soft comfy chairs cluttered against the adjacent wall of the counter. There were some shelves on the walls too with dozens of jars and cans that you guessed were medicines.

He came back with three very large books. They looked old, but not as old as the one’s Annabelle got for you. He set them down on the low counter between you and him,

“What’s your name, miss?” When your eyes bugged wide, he went on to say, “Oh- not to pry or anything. You just remind me of someone I use to know. You look a lot like this woman I used to date, I worked for her father in New York City.”

You approached the counter with caution, “Um.. I’m Edna. Edna Lancaster,” You lied on the spot, not wanting to give away who you were. His words boggled your mind however, “You said you're from New York City?”

He slid the books towards your end of the counter, “Mhm. I use to work for this man named Harrison McDuffy. You look a lot like his daughter Blaire,” You tried so very hard not to gasp. He just spoke your mother’s name, her maiden name and your grandfather’s name, “A shame. I heard she and her husband died. They never found her daughter though,”

With care, you took the heavy books from the counter. They stood stacked against your chest, “You must have been close. That’s so sad to hear.” You’re lips twitched and quivered into an awkward smile that flustered back and forth between that and a grimace. The books were a bit heavier than you expected.

“A bit,” Said the doctor as he took off his glasses and smuggled them clean with a part of his coat, “I hope you can find a good home for those books,” He pointed a free finger at your stack in your arms.

“Oh-” You sucked in a sharp breath, “I will- for sure! Definitely!” You were acting a little… odd. Perhaps it was a mix between the weight of the books pulling your arms down and the odd and creepy information you have learned from this man, “Thank you so much!” You spun quickly on your heel and hurried to get to the door.

As you lightly kicked the door open and breezed past it into the cool air you heard the man call out, “Come back any time!” You made a mental note to never go back there ever again. The books strained your arms and caused cramps to start forming between your shoulders. Where the hell was Hosea and the wagon? You tracked back to the outer edges of town where you last saw him.

Frantically you looked around. Your heart started to flutter in the wrong direction. Were was Hosea? Did he forget you? You hated how worried and tense you had become in the last half year. From your parent's death to the drunk bastard who assaulted you… Life was throwing a lot of hard balls at your way. You hoped it didn’t get worse. You weren’t sure if your worried mind could handle it.

Suddenly you felt a tap on your shoulder and you let out a small yip and turned around. Fear washed away and formed into heat that soaked your cheeks. A scarlet blush of embarrassment covered your face at that animal like sound that came out of you seconds before, “Hosea!” You whisper-yelled, “You scared me!”

The older man chuckled and without warning took those books from your arms. You wanted to carry them because you were mature and your own person but mostly stubborn, but you were relieved to finally breathe again. Your arms hung like wet noodles by your sides as you walked with Hosea.

He seemed overly happy, more than usual, “Where’d you get these, girl?” He quirked a smile and raised a brow, “Steal ‘em?” He let out a laugh but you didn’t.

Your little brows furrowed together, “No,” You quipped out, “I asked for them. They’re medicine books,” A flash of your gaze ran over Hosea. You shared a glance for a second before you rounded the street corner where you spotted the wagon.

“Oooh,” He sounded out, “More to add to the collection, hm?” He had gotten to the wagon’s back end and tucked them in between two egg crates, “How many of those books do you have now? Seven?”

“Yeah,” You walked around the wagon and towards the front end, “I’ve read the other ones so much that I needed a few more,” You started to step up into the seats above when Hosea called out to you.

“Hold on a second, (Y/N),” Hosea came up from behind you and spoke while you climbed back down, “We’ve got one more thing to get.”

When your feet smacked back onto the dirty and dusty road you asked Hosea, “What else do we need to get? It looks like we’ve got enough supplies for a few weeks,” The back wagon was jammed packed full of crates and jugs and boxes, “I don’t think we’ve got room for anything else back there.”

“That’s alright,” The two of you started walking again, “This doesn’t go in a wagon,” You wondered where you were going and looked at each store that you passed and didn’t go into. Was it money? Jewelry? Cigars? Was it something small enough to fit in your pocket if it didn’t need to go in a wagon? You weren’t very sure but what you did notice was that you were getting close and closer to the stables in the center of Sugartown. Did he need horse supplies? Hm.

A man was waiting in front of the large open stable doors. The smell of horse, hay, and manure wafted from the darkness within. The stable boy approached Hosea and they met each other halfway with a firm handshake and a smile.

“Hosea!” He exclaimed as if he hadn’t seen the man in many years, “It’s good to see you again!” They both laughed at that with low and loud chuckles.

“What can I say, David, you’re a very handsome man with very handsome horses,” Another fit of chuckles at the inside jokes you just didn’t understand. Who was this man?

Why had you never seen or heard of this… David before? Hosea’s voice snapped you out of your confused and dazed state, “Is Bessie still around? She said she had to leave but I wanted to catch her before she ran off and closed up for the day.” Bessie, another person you didn’t know.

You wondered why you were here and why Hosea brought you along. It sounded like he was being a humble con man by befriending these people and was surely working towards their demise as well. Don’t mistake the mild manner Hosea for being as sweet and innocent as he lets the world see. You’ve seen Hosea lose his temper faster than Dutch, and was scarier too. At least with Dutch, it’s a lot of yelling and finger-pointing…

Hosea was the kind of guy to go missing when made angry or mad. Then he’d come back with a loaded gun, point it at your back, and make you apologize to him publicly while threatening your life. You’ve seen him do this twice to some lawmen before. You couldn’t believe it… two cops standing side by side with smiles as wide as the grand canyon, sweating bullets, while happy smiling Hosea stood behind them with a gun in each hand at each spine, he’d shoot them paralyzed, which was worse than death.

You shook away the vivid memory and followed Hosea and David inside the stables. They were chatting amongst each other and you didn’t care to listen. You stared at the horses inside. There wasn’t that many, just a handful here and there. A woman came from one of the empty stalls, she wore clothes just like you. A poofy and loose tan blouse and was tucked into her pants, which in turn was tucked into her knee-high riding boots. She looked wealthy, happy, and like she enjoyed what she was doing. This was Bessie. Her hair was a deep oak brown that bounced around in thick lockets and curls.

The smile on Bessie’s face went from mild to extravagant the second she locked eyes with Hosea. Who has the woman and why haven’t you met her before? How long has

Hosea knew her? She quickly left her work, leaning the pitchfork on the wall and scurried over.

“Hosea! I was just about to close up!” She stopped right in front of him, hands folded away as she crossed her arms, and smiled wide again, “Is this (Y/N)?” Bessie looked at you and you felt the urge to stick your tongue out at her, but you kept put.

He placed a hand on your head like he always did, and Hosea nodded, “Sure is. She’s the one and only,” He sounded proud to introduce you to this woman, “She’s very bright and I think today is her birthday?” No… No!

You looked up at the man, the cheeky grin on his face, “No, Hosea I said-” It didn’t matter what you said. Bessie seemed to already know it was your birthday too. She cut you off with a little giggle.

“Oh! Is it? Why that’s so neat. How old are you (Y/N)?” Well, at least she was nice. Bessie stared at you with bright green eyes.

“Um- uh.. I’m 13.” God you hated it. You hated saying it. You didn’t want to be 13. You didn’t want to be 12 either. You wanted to be 11 years old, two summers ago when your parents took you to Canada for your birthday. So much has changed since then. You honestly hated it and you hated thinking about it. Never again would you have another good birthday. So long as your parents were dead, you were sure every birthday to come would suck and make you just as depressed as you were today.

However, something was about to change, something that would change your spoiled opinion on birthdays. Bessie looked at you, joy on her face and light and life and oddly love breathed from her skin and oozed into the air. Her kindness was toxic. What was it about women that made them love you so much? Maybe it was the fact that you looked like a little boy for the most part. Maybe they found it cute that a little girl was dressed like a little boy. But Bessie wasn’t wearing a dress or hats or gloves or heals or anything ladylike, though she was as beautiful as a princess despite that.

“(Y/N),” You stared at her, “Would you like a birthday present?” You wanted to say no but when you gazed up at Hosea, he beamed down at you and nodded his head silently.

Everyone was grossly happy while you were wallowing in depression.

“Sure,” You finally said after a moment or two, “I guess, yeah.”

“Well,” Hosea started, “How would you like a horse?” He asked you, a hand now at your shoulder as he gave a gentle squeeze, “It’s about time you started learning how to ride.”

Everything made sense now. All the smiles, the kindness, it was all for your birthday after all. Everyone wanted to spoil you but you just really wanted a hug and someone to cry on.

But a horse? A real one? Your own? For a brief second, you had a flash of thoughts squeeze around in your mind. You’d have a new friend and a new responsibility. You saw yourself learning how to ride a horse, loving the gentle beast and exploring the world by horseback. How much was it going to cost though? You didn’t want the gang spending money on you when you did nothing to bring money to the gang. You felt conflicted.

Your hesitation caused Bessie to inch closer to you, a smile still on her face, “You can pick out anyone you want from my stables today if you like.” You did kind of like the sound of that. You looked to Hosea for reassurance and he pressed a hand into your back to walk you forward.

“What about this one?” You pointed at the golden mustang while watching Bessie’s smile slowly fall.

“Oh-… he’s.. I wouldn’t pick him,” She met up with you as you stared into the stall. You could see his mane, just as black as his tail, “He’s not broken in yet.”

“Broken in?” The knowledge you had on horses was limited. Sure, you could go out into the world and have little to no problem identifying which plant is what, but horse terms? Broken in? Colic? Chaps? Spurs? Stirrups? That was all… cowboy stuff. Outlaw stuff. You didn’t know those things.

Hosea had managed to join you as well in the back end of the stables, “Means you can’t ride him. He’s a wild horse that hasn’t been beaten into obedience yet,” It sounded awful when he put it like that.

You took a few steps forward then approached the stall. The mustang inside swung his ear around towards you, “He’s pretty,” You said quietly, “He does look a little wild,” Wild and majestic and beautiful. To your surprise, and everyone else’s, the mustang slowly turned around in his stall. He looked beautiful, yes, but sad. He looked hurt and very much broken despite what Bessie and Hosea said.

The two adults shared a worried glance. This horse was foul and temperamental. Hosea had tried to ride him once when Bessie first got him. That was an awfully painful day he didn’t want to remember. Since then the mustang had stubbornly kept to himself and avoid most humans he came in contact with. Yet here he was, now sticking his head out of his stall and sniffing towards you. His head was handsome as well. The mustang’s snout was black but faded into the warm gold of the rest of his coat.

Bessie was about to pull you back, fearing the temperamental beast might try to snap his jaws at you. Yet nothing like that happened. You raised a hand and met the horse halfway while he sniffed at your fingers before trying to lick them. Maybe he wanted something to eat? He wasn’t that mean, “You guys are liars, he’s so nice,” You glanced back at Hosea and Bessie who was wide-eyed surprised.

Your smile was small and shy and you turned back to the horse, “You just want a friend,” You said quietly, “Right?” You stared into one of his eyes and saw your own reflection. It was decided then, and nothing could change your mind. This was the horse for you. Bessie tried for a second time to talk you out of picking the mustang but she couldn’t shake you away from him. There wasn’t a mean old animal in him, just a scared and lonely one, much like yourself.

Not once did the mustang fight you when you pulled at the ropes that made the make-shift reins around his neck. He slowly followed you out of the stall as you guided him towards the front of the stables. Hosea had picked out a saddle for you but you refused to put it on the mustang or even ride him. You weren’t ready yet and you wanted to love this animal not make him a tool.

“Not gonna ride him then?” Hosea asked.

You shook your head as you watched David the stable boy carry a saddle down the road and through town to where the wagon was. Hosea stood beside you, “Not yet,” You said, “I will after we’ve had him around for a bit,” You didn’t know much about horses, or animals even, but you knew you had to respect them.

“Got a name?”

You hadn’t even thought of one. You looked deep into your mind, searching for a name for this majestic beast. The horse was standing behind you, minding his own business as he swatted flies away with his tail. You turned around and approached him, giggling a little when he bobbed his head and curled his lips and lapping out to smell your hand. He already looked a lot happier to be out of that stall.

“Callus… You look like a Callus,” You told the horse. His ears flicked towards you then away again. David had given you some sugar cubes that you dug out of your pocket and gave to him. It wasn’t a flattering name, but you liked it. And so his name was Callus.

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Everyone was so happy. Maybe it was just an excuse to party and drink, but everyone seemed to be enjoying your birthday a whole lot more than you. You sat on a log beside the open fire, a smile on your face despite how empty and fake it was. Callus was tucked away with all the other horses and you’d catch yourself looking at him every now and then. He was a bit of a bastard on the ride back home because he was tied behind the wagon and he kept trying to run away. You felt bad, you wanted to let him loose and run free but Hosea paid good money for him.

The new camp was right along a river deep in the woods not too far outside Sugartown. It was a good 15-minute ride back to camp. The shelter of the trees kept you away from the sun’s warm rays. Leaves had dried and turned bright colors. Red, yellow and orange leaves would flutter to the ground every now and then. Some blackberry bushes grew along the banks of the river and that was where you decided to put your tent. Once you had gotten back to camp and unloaded the supplies, everyone made sure to bask you in some kind of attention. Dutch and Annabelle had gotten you new clothes seeing as you were growing out of the ones you already had. You were very thankful because you honestly needed new clothes and they weren’t all that bad either. Susan had gotten you some real riding boots with spurs and everything. You’d be a made into the perfect little cowgirl before you even knew it. Arthur had greeted you with a smile and flagged you over towards the center of camp were food awaited.

The gang sat down at dinner with you, joking and laughing and singing songs. It was all very merry and you joined in from time to time. You didn’t want anyone to worry, and you didn’t want to bother anyone with your problems or how you felt deep inside. You had to be happy for them, they cared for you after all. Dutch had even offered you a drink of whiskey which you bravely and foolishly drank. It took everything in your power to not spit out the bitter and hot liquid. It stung on the way down and warmed your insides. Why did all these freaks enjoy this stuff? Ugh, you were not key on trying whiskey again for a long time.

That didn’t stop the rest of the gang from drinking. At some point in the night, you excused yourself away from them and over to your tent. You sat along the little bench you had outside the front curtains, looking over the spurs you had gotten. You flicked the little star and watched it spin, spin, spin then stop. You flicked it again, and again, and then held the spurs in your lap. Silence followed and filled your head while you blocked out the sound of Dutch’s low boisterous laughter mingled with Susan’s evil cackle.

Why couldn’t you have had one more birthday with them? Just one more year? Why couldn’t your parents… Why did they die? Why did it have to be them? Why you? Why you’re family? You traced your finger along the leather work in your spurs, wondering what life would be like if nothing ever happened. What would your mother have gotten you this year? Probably a new pair of shoes and a dress, with a doll and a book, like she did almost every year. Your father would have taken you out for lunch, gone into town and bought you candy and whatever else you wanted. At the end of the night, you’d all have dinner together, cuddle on the couch while your mother read stories from a book. You’d fall asleep with them there on the couch….

You missed them so much. You could feel the tears well up in your eyes. Why now? Why did it have to hurt so much now?

“(Y/n)?” Shit! Flustered and embarrassed you rubbed your eyes quickly. You made sure no tears had fallen or escaped.

“Y-yeah?” You looked up and over the little wall of blackberry bushes, you had between you and the camp. It was Arthur. You could barely make out his face in the dark. The only light you had came from the small lantern beside your feet. He made a little dip of his head, gesturing to the spot beside you.

You scooted over and made room for him as he passed by, “You disappeared,” His face was a little dirty. He had dirt smudged into his cheek and nose. His hair was looking a little longer too. It just barely curled around the back of his ears. Hosea had normally made sure to keep Arthur’s hair well groomed because Arthur was a little to stupid to remind himself sometimes. But lately, Hosea has been distracted by only what you could have guessed was Bessie.

He was right though, you had disappeared, “I’m just a little tired,” You lied.

“Bullshit,” Arthur sat down beside you and nudged you along the bench some more. You sat side by side, you could feel the warmth radiate off him in the places you touched,

“You normally don’t go to bed till well past one in the morning,”

How did he know that? You squinted at him, “I had a rough day,” You didn’t want to ask that question. He wasn’t wrong though. You did spend most nights awake and reading books. You rarely got any sleep nowadays. Nightmares were evil, tricky and sneaky creatures that had made themselves at home in your dreams, “Hosea made me get a freaking horse! That’s a lot to take in.”

For some reason, he laughed at that and you felt a small smile twitch on your lips, “Well, I guess that’s a lot. I stole my first horse,” He gave you a side glance with an awkward smile, “I’m surprised Hosea actually got the money to buy that horse for you. He must really like you, Dutch too.” You already knew that. You could see the love they had for you, they showed it in their own ways. The same for Susan and Annabelle. They all loved you for some odd reason. What was so great about you?

“They like you too,” You quipped, “We’re their kids to them,” That was the truth. They loved Arthur just as much as they loved you.

“Mhm, we always will be, I’m afraid,” The two of you shared an odd laugh. Arthur made himself busy though and dug around in that satchel he always had on him, “I didn’t come over here to just pester you though,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” You didn’t think he was pestering you.

“Yeah,” Arthur found what he was looking for and you watched his brows raise and a grin grow on his face, “I know you said no gifts, and not to make a big deal out of it but I got you something,” He had something in his hands that you couldn’t make out. You felt a heavy pit form in your chest.

“Come on Arthur- I thought at least you would listen to me. Everyone got me something already-”

“Stop it!” He waved a hand in the air and gave you this look of honesty, “You’re still a kid. Enjoy it,” At the same time he handed you a small box that could fit in your lap, “Open it.”

He was bossy, wasn’t he? You took in a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs and you breathed away the dark pit in your chest. Carefully you lifted the lid. It was hard to see, the light was limited in the dark, but you could make out two things.

A beautiful knife was sitting in the box, latched and sealed by its leather holster. It was beautiful because the handle was as white as snow with vivid flowers and skulls carved into it. The details were burned into the handle so that the dark black contrasted the satin white. You unhitched the latch holding the large blade in place. You watched the silver light reflect the midnight moon as you pulled the knife free. You could see a similar pattern etched into the blade that was on the handle. It was a large hunting knife.

“I know you aren’t to keen on keeping a gun on you- and… I thought you could use something to protect yourself with- And it comes in handy too,” Arthur’s 16-year-old voice was still awkward and broken in many places. He gazed away as you held the knife in your hands. Was he worried if you’d like it? You flipped it a few times slowly in your hands, looking over both sides. It was amazing. He stammered on saying, “You can stop borrowing mine now.”

There was one last thing in the box. You set the knife down and gently picked up the delicate little paper inside. It looked like he tore it from a journal. As you unfolded the note you could make out a ‘Have a Happy Birthday, (Y/n).’ With a drawing of a rosebud barely blooming on a thorny stem. He signed it with a small capital letter ‘A.’

“You drew this?” You looked up at him with raised brows.

“The art book helped a lot,” The book you got him that awful night… “I thought you’d like something pretty to hang up. I see you staring at roses a lot too.”

You looked back down at the drawing. It was really good, it looked like he really took his time on it. The petals were shaded well, and the stem looked as though it was hovering above the page. You felt a sad part of your heart crack open and break loose.

“They were my mother’s favorite flower,” Your voice was shallow and low, “She use to grow bushes all over the house… They’re all probably dead now.” You thought more about your mother and how much you missed her. She was everything to you, your role model and teacher. On today of all days, you missed her the most. You let out a heavy sigh and saw a tear fall that you didn’t even realize was there. It splatted onto the note and slowly stained into the page.

Arthur noticed rather quickly and leaned forward, “Hey-” He looked worried and confused, “What’s with the tears, kid?”

You tried your best to fight your sadness and keep them back, “I..” You opened your mouth then closed it, sighed and finally said, “I miss my mother… I wish she was here,”

A small sob slipped from your throat, “Everyone…” You sucked in a sharp and shaky breath. You felt a few more tears roll down your cheeks, “They’ve all been nice and they got me stuff but I still feel….” You were at a loss for words, “I feel bad,” You finally bubbled out.

It was hard to watch you cry. Arthur didn’t much like seeing your tears, especially in vain. But he understood your pain. He could feel in a deep locked part of his heart the pain it felt to grow older another year and miss everything you use to have. He missed his mother too, and he also hated his birthday. Every year it came around it just reminded him how much older he was and how much further away from his mother he got. He carefully wrapped an arm around you, unsure how to comfort you in such a dire time, but he tried his best.

“It’s alright,” He said as you leaned into his embrace, “It’s alright, (Y/n), you can feel bad.”

You shook your head, “I don’t want to. I want to go back- I don’t want to live like this. I want my parents, I want my home!” You started to sob even more. You couldn’t understand your own grief, it came sudden and in larger and larger waves. You felt like your world had already fallen apart and you had just only realized it. It wasn’t until now did you ever really let yourself grieve about your parent’s death. And you hated it, you felt awful, you felt a type of raw pain that couldn’t be healed.

Yet Arthur stayed put while he felt your pain. He didn’t stop you from crying, and he didn’t speak because he knew there was nothing he could do but just be there for you.

He sucked in a deep breath and as the air passed through his lungs and out of his body, he remembered how much he use to cry and how much he wished he has someone to hold him. This was the least he could do for you.

“I hate this,” You muttered quietly as you caught your breath, “I hate being alive.”

“Don’t say that,” Arthur spoke slowly but with a lot of emotion, “Don’t go down that hole,”

You sat up and rubbed your cheeks and eyes, you were still crying, “I do though. I hate it, I want… I want to be with my parents and that’s not here.” He knew what you were trying to say without saying it. Everyone noticed the change in you over the past few months. You had grown more quiet, you did your chores less often and slept very little and busied yourself with reading anything you could.

As you stared at the ground you could imagine the look on his face. One of those sad but concerned ones where his brows knit together slightly and a frown was pulling down his lips, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you have us.” He was right, you didn’t want to hear that. You knew you had them and it was unfair to say this, but the gang wasn’t enough. The gang was actually the opposite of what you wanted but this is what you were stuck with. That’s not to say you didn’t care about all of them… they just… they weren’t your parents.

You took a chance and glanced up at him, he wasn’t even staring at you. He was looking towards the heart of camp, where the adults had started to chat quietly amongst themselves. Their voices sounded miles away. “I miss my ma every day,” Arthur said each word carefully like he planned them out in his head, “I think about her… Every day. And I try not to. The less I think about her…” He paused and scratched his jaw than his neck, “The more I feel like a regular person.” It sounded painful for him to admit, and his advice was bad but personal. He wasn’t very good at expressing himself… At least not vocally.

A lump formed in your throat and you swallowed it down while biting your inner cheek. You took a quick breath in and blinked, “I can’t stop thinking about her,” Your mother was never far from your thoughts, and recently, she was the only thing on your mind, “I… I want to be her… I want to be just like her and make her proud. I… How do I do that? Like this? Here?”

Arthur shook his head and shrugged, “Don’t think about it. Try your best not to at least. It’s what I do. I just try and remember my ma and how good she was, not what she wanted or if she was here or if this or if… anything. She’s gone. It’s hard to accept but… not thinking about it might be a step,” It wasn’t, not a healthy one at least. But it was the easy way out, just blocking out the thought of your mother, she was gone, she isn’t here. Don’t think about her. Don’t think about her, your father, your home, “Think about the gang,” Arthur said as if he was reading your mind, “Think about Dutch and what he wants and Hosea too. Listen to Susan, do your chores, leave the camp once in a while. Don’t stay in your tent all day hiding and only coming out to eat.” He had made his point. But he wasn’t lecturing you, he was speaking from experience. He could remember when he first joined the gang when Dutch took him in, and how hard it was to accept this new life, you were in the same boat.

Maybe you had gotten yourself into a rut too, “I know,” You admitted, knowing that you had abandoned your daily lifestyle “It’s not easy.”

“It’s not,” Arthur shifted around in his seat a bit, “We might not be family, (Y/n), but we’re all we got. You can leave any time you want, no one is forcing you to stay. We didn’t kidnap you, we just took you in because it was the right thing to do,” You heard that many times before. The right thing to do… that was one of Dutch’s ‘morals’ and teachings and he preached it often.

It had been so hard accepting this new life. It had almost been a year now. Almost, it’d be a year in the spring. The first few months where fun because you escaped death, but after that is when the reality set in that your parents were gone. You were just lucky enough to get robbed by the nicest outlaws you’ve ever met.

In a way, you felt better. Not perfect, still depressed but there was a weight off your shoulders. You felt lighter somehow, “Thank you, Arthur,” You muttered.

“Naah,” He drawled out as he hoisted himself to his feet, “Don’t thank me,” You sat up straight and remembered the box in your lap. You clutched it close, cherishing it already, “Just get some sleep, alright?”

“Okay, Pops,” The smallest, shyest smirk crawled on your face.

“Don’t call me that.” When Arthur’s face dropped to a wince you snickered quietly.

You looked at him, “Sorry, Pa,”

Arthur threw his hand in the air and pointed a finger at your with a glare in his eyes, “Dammit (Y/n)! I’m serious! Go to bed you snot and be ready to wake up early!” He started to stomp off. He made it pretty far before he finally stopped and looked back at you, unsure if he actually got through to you or not.

You sat there for a second then got up, holding the box as you brought it up to your chest, “Goodnight, Arthur,” You gave him a smile as you picked up the lantern resting beside the bench.

He smiled back and gave a silent nod of his head in return before heading back into camp. You stood there for a moment and watched him return to the others. The mumbled and talked, then Arthur whispered something to Dutch and before you knew it they were smiling again. For outlaws, they sure were happy… simple folk loved simple things you supposed. You killed the lantern and walked into your tent feeling tired for the first time in days. You felt the call of sleep as you sat down on your bed, it lulled and cradled you into peaceful dreams.

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