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Chapter Text

His lungs felt like they were going to fall out of his chest. At last, after months past of the incident when he'd beaten Thomas Downes to death, Arthur Morgan was going to die. There was no point in pretending otherwise. His teeth gritted together as he drew up breaths, managing to move his body, even though it was full of agony.

"Oh, Black Lung…you ain't gonna reach that gun," the rat snarled. "You ain't."

His bruised eyes managed to stare ahead, directly at the revolver. This would make it all worth it, to put a bullet directly through the rat's eyes, and make sure he wouldn't be able to hurt someone else.

"You lost, my sick friend." Micah's agonized voice, lanced with anger and victory, said. "You lost."

Arthur groaned, wincing as he crawled.

He rationalized that he won. He'd managed to save John, Abigail, Jack, Tilly, Sadie, Charles. His only regret was the inability to save more. In the end, Arthur Morgan felt like he achieved the greatest victory of all.

"In the end, Micah," Arthur wheezed. "Despite my best efforts to the contrary…it turns out I've won."

Arthur managed a smile because it was true. At that point, it didn't matter if he managed to reached the gun. It didn't matter because Micah wouldn't be able to hurt them for now, and the next time he possibly could, they would be ready to counter.

A few more breaths and he made it. Arthur reached his digits out to the gun, finally having the will within him to end this rat once and for all. This would be the final shot. The final kill.

"Goddamn you," Arthur croaked as he gripped the gun, prepared to turn around when something happened.

His fingers suddenly were crushed under the weight of a boot. He hadn't noticed if anyone was coming. His first thought was of the Pinkertons. They would swarm both Micah and Arthur, kill them both, and throw away the key. Because they were just using him. A means to an end.

"It is over now…Arthur."

That voice, rich with pacifism and calmness, sent a shiver through his spine.

He looked up to see Dutch staring down at him coldly, angry, but especially disappointed.

"It is over."

And he realized that for one final moment, his father figure returned, but not to help him. To help the new boy. The obedient one. That was all they were. Tools for him. Killers. Milton was right about that at the very least, but Arthur had been too blind, too obedient, and even now he wanted to reach the man who once cared about him if that was anyway to put it.

Tears willed up. "Oh, Dutch…he's a rat."

At the end, he wanted to save him, appease to him to be the man who Hosea once was proud of. Be the man hat they could all look up to.

The negative emotions on Dutch's face faded, now replaced by... loss and regret.

"You know it and I know it."

Dutch looked at Arthur as he wattled. His boot lingered on the gun, his form imposing as always. His eyes softened, face expression full of sorrow, as he took in Arthur's wheezing form.

"He's sick," Micah spat behind them. "He's dying…He's talking crazy."

"There! Up there! On the ridge!" He distinctly heard. Pinkertons.

He stared up at Dutch, pleading. "I gave you all I had."

Dutch choked. More tears poured from Arthur's puffy eyes as he attempted to breathe.

"I did."

The former leader of the Van Der Linde gang opened his mouth. "I…" Dutch removed his boot from Arthur's hand, snapping back, his lips curled.

Arthur rolled onto his back, the fight and will within him suddenly gone.

"I-" he repeated, his voice solemn and confused.

"Come on, Dutch," Micah hissed, coming closer. "Let's go, buddy," he said, arms outstretched at his direction. "We made it!" He laughed. "We won! Come on!"

The convulsions slowly came to an end. The dull agony was terrible, but strangely it filled him with peace. Those wrongs were made right. He may be going to hell, but he left some good in the world. A bonus point would be in saving Dutch from Micah's manipulations temporarily...

Dutch's eyes traveled over him, mouth opened.

He smirked. "John made it…he's the only one."

Dutch towered over him. There was a brief moment of anger in his eyes when he'd mentioned John, but it passed.

"The rest of us…no," he pushed. "But…I tried…In the end, I did."

"C'mon, let's go," another attempt from Micah, less vigorous, almost solemn actually. "We can make it."

Dutch stared up before taking one step back and then another.

"Come on, Dutch!" he growled. "Come on!"

He gave a frustrated yell, and then the footsteps left...

Arthur was confused, lost. He blinked. Dutch may have abandoned him, but he'd abandoned Micah. Maybe, just maybe, he'd saved the man. He doubted it though.

Gaining some willpower, Arthur dragged himself across the mountain. His breaths were labored, raspy, but they were becoming quieter and quieter. He found a comfortable rock and collapsed back.

He stared over. The sun lingered above the mountain, orange and yellow. A new sunrise.

He felt relieved, at peace, because he managed to save some people. His only regrets were the lives he'd claimed in the past in the name of Dutch. But even he came to peace he couldn't have more time to atone. This life was over. Another was beginning. Time to move on.

The last he saw was a buck staring at him. He saw it before. When he was diagnosed with TB. And now, it seemed ultimate. It looked at his direction with eyes that reflected sadness and grief among countless other emotions. It turned away to the direction of the sunlight.

White consumed his vision, and Arthur Morgan knew no more until...

Coldness?

"Arthur! Any luck?!"

That voice pierced his skull. It was the same one, the one which...

Arthur opened his eyes to find the source of the coldness. This was an odd place to be considered hell. Surrounded by a blizzard. He looked down to see he was on top of a horse. What happened? His hands tightened into fists as he felt the snow continuing to push against him, only barely able to cling on due to instincts alone.

"Arthur!" The voice barked again. "Did you find any shelter?!"

Arthur kept his head down. Dutch, his father figure, the man who he'd loved... the man who aimed his guns at him back in Beaver Hollow, who viewed him like scum when he insisted that he let the women and the children along with John and his family go, who left him to die.

Who was just walking away back on top of that mountain just a few moments ago.

Was it possible Micah shot him?

Was that why he was in hell with him?

"Son! Are you alright?!" The familiar old voice barked above the storm. It wasn't Dutch this time. It was the man who embedded in him how to read, how to write, how to ride his horse. Dutch taught him how to rob, kill, and hurt people. Hosea taught him how to view things outside of the gang.

He'd sacrificed himself to save Abigail back in Saint Denis. He didn't deserve to be this low, with Dutch. Maybe Arthur for being a damn fool. Maybe he should have saw through Dutch's webs of bullshit long ago, like Hosea did. Even Lenny saw what Dutch was becoming.

No, it was something bigger than that. It had to be. Either he was dreaming, forced to relive past moments after helping John escape to Horseshoe Overlook, or he had been given a repeat. A second chance. A chance that others deserved. He'd been a bad man at the end of the day, even though he came to value others' thoughts and opinions.

It would be so, so simple to go back to the man he once was. To be an unmerciful killer. With his knowledge of the future, he would not run into the same trap that forced him to be humbled in another life. He would make sure that he wouldn't contract TB from Thomas Downes, that he wouldn't be a choking mess for months.

'Take a gamble that love exists and do a loving act.' Sister Calderon...

No. Never again.

Arthur realized he'd rather be a better man. He knew what type of life following Dutch blindly led to and wanted no part of it. Innocent folks being killed. Herr Strauss was no better, just a simple man who lived off the poor and didn't care about anyone who suffered. He would be the man who he could be this time around without being on death's door.

"Son!" Dutch snapped.

Arthur shot him a look between resentment and mourning, cursing himself when he found the man shying back. He couldn't stop himself. Dutch always had a goddamn plan. In some ways, Arthur was glad he got TB. He was doubting Dutch for a while, but TB helped him come to reality, and now he recognized what the Van Der Linde gang really represented.

Killers.

Under the pretenses of a caring family.

"Arthur...?" The man asked, looking hurt and saddened.

"Ye-yes," Arthur managed, forcing his voice to become rough, 'cause for now, he knew that freezing to death or being found by whatever law that was searching for them was out of possibility. After all, he had to go save John soon goddamn it! He still loved the idiot! And he was the only one who stood by him in the end along with Ms. Grimshaw. "I found an old mining town. It ain't far. Come on."

"Come on!" Dutch echoed behind him to the gang.

He didn't even want to think 'bout what was 'bout to happen to Davey, even though it was inevitable. Maybe if he time traveled back in time to before they painted themselves as killers in Blackwater, was able to stop that damn robbery, but there was no point in thinking about what could have been. All that mattered was saving who he could save now.

They followed behind him to the mining town. The formerly sick gunslinger gritted his teeth in frustration. The blizzard was still a goddamn bitch like last time, but they made it.

When they arrived, Hosea extracted himself from the wagon first and held his gun and lamplight. He opened the door of the cabin and casually stared around with the help of his lamplight. After finding that no one in this old mining town like last time, Hosea decided that this would be the place where they would take up residence.

"Bring him in here," Hosea ordered.

Abigail entered first alongside Jack. Followed by Arthur and Bill holding Davey with a stretcher, most of the other gang members entered the cabin as Dutch was the last one to enter and closed the door behind him.

"Miss Gaskill, get that fire lit, quick," Ms. Grimshaw instructed. "Miss Jones, bring it whatever blankets we have, Mr. Pearson, see what we got in terms of food."

Susan Grimshaw. Shot. The mother of the gang. Killed right in front of Dutch by that rat. All he could hear from her in that moment was the screams of agony. All of those years with her, the brief time she and Dutch engaged into a relationship, must have meant nothing to him as well. That was what Dutch was like, someone who used people and toss them away... not like Hosea.

After settling some things down, Abigail placed her hand on Davey's neck, hoping he was still breathing in air, but like last time, it was not to be.

"Davey's dead," Abigail informed solemnly.

Arthur walked up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder in support. "You did all you could, Abigail."

Everyone stared at him, stunned by his willingness to comfort someone.

Still, Abigail nodded in appreciation and placed two pieces of coins over Davey's eyes.

"What are we gonna do?" Hosea asked. "We need supplies."

"Well, first of all, you're gonna stay here and get yourselves warm," Dutch told him. "Now, I sent John and Micah scouting up ahead. Arthur and I, we're gonna ride out and see if we can find any of 'em."

Arthur nodded. Part of him wished he could have just shot Micah, but doing so, now, would not just solve all of the problems. He was torn between leaving John into the wind and leaving Sadie alone with Micah and Dutch. That bastard would rape her, and Sadie have been gang raped by the O'Driscolls. For now, Arthur would have to hope the wolves don't get a better shot on John.

Dutch turned to the door, hearing the storm still raging outside.

He turned his sights on the gang. Always the fine speaker, he could give Dutch that. "Listen… listen to me all of you, for a moment."

Then everyone turned their eyes on their leader, the believers of his words. Arthur had a hard time not rolling his eyes.

'This is different. We know this is full of cash. Army payroll. Money and supplies to repair the bridge that you blew. This is all going to plan.'

"Now," He spoke, "We've had… well, a bad couple of days. I loved Davey… Jenny… Sean, Mac… they may be okay, we don't know. But we've lost some folks. Now, If I could… throw myself in the ground in their stead… I'd do it… gladly." Bullshit. "But… we're gonna ride out… and we are gonna find some food. Everybody, we're safe now. There ain't nobody following us through a storm like this one… and by the time they get here… well we're gonna be… we're gonna be long gone. We've been through worse than this before." He looked at the two crafters of the camp. "Mr. Pearson, Mrs. Grimshaw, I need you two to turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days. Now all of you… all of you, get yourselves warm. Stay strong. Stay with me! We ain't done yet!" He turned and grabbed his lamplight. "Come on, Arthur."

While they exited the cabin, Susan commanded everyone, "Alright, we've got some work to do."

Time to reunite with a rat.

Chapter Text

Due to his lack of his curiosity to Dutch, torn between being too disgusted with him, and caught up with the fact that he had been sent back in time to the beginning of the end, they didn't talk much. Arthur just stayed behind Dutch. He'd mourned about Davey, but he knew that turning to Dutch for advice and that same old saying 'bout Dutch' they won't lose no more folks were complete and utter bullshit.

"Hey, I think I see something up the path," Dutch declared. "You up ahead! Who's there?!"

The rat revealed himself. Arthur knew that it wasn't John, but he'd wished it was. It'd been better than to face the same man who took everything from him. The same man who couldn't fight him when he was in his prime.

The sights of the individual made Dutch felt relief after seeing who he was.

"Micah," Dutch spoke, not doing anything to hide this.

For Arthur, it sparked many emotions.

Arthur's hand shot near his revolver for a nanosecond. He'd loved Dutch but knowing that the feelings weren't mutual hardened his heart to the man who he once believed was his father figure. Two shots were all it took.

Two shots, and he could take both Micah and Dutch down.

Two shots, and Sean, Hosea, and Lenny would be saved.

Two shots, and he and John never would get betrayed.

Arthur wasn't going to shoot them.

There was no place for folks like them no more.

Despite Dutch's fucked up "plans" and Micah's doing, it was always a matter of time. The world was becoming too civilized for the gang. The downfall was 'round the corner. It was only a matter of who would fall and who would come out, going into the shadows and avoiding the people who would want them swing.

Soon, it would be very clear that the gang had nowhere to go. So, despite a more discreet approach, they'd have been caught anyway. Or lose a lot of people.

Besides, it was likely that some would not listen to Hosea, nor would anyone want to go after Marston. Actions have consequences, and he had to defeat Dutch and Micah by breaking some free, cutting their losses, and running before the heat became too much.

No. There would come a time, one day. He had a special bullet for Micah. Without TB slowing him down, Arthur would destroy Micah if they ever got into a physical fight. The rat wouldn't have even put his neck out if he thought Arthur was physically capable of stopping him. It was only when he saw Arthur was practically dead that he was willing to take him on. Micah was a coward who would not be able to shut his trap, but he was smart enough to stay under everyone else's noses and stay alive.

One day.

It wouldn't be for revenge but rather out of necessity.

Poetic justice...

"Gentlemen," Micah spoke.

"Found anything'?" Dutch asked.

"I think so," Micah answered. "Found a little homestead down that way."

Dutch nodded. "Okay. Anyone home?"

"Sure. Place is blazing with light and noise." He replied. "Sounded like a party."

"Let's go see," Dutch decided.

"Follow me."

They did so.

"How's Davey doing?"

"Ah, he didn't make it," Dutch replied. "Nor did little Jenny."

"That's too bad." Micah said, sounding disappointed. Like he cared. "Davey was a real fighter. Both of them Callander boys is, or… was…"

"Yeah," Dutch agreed, sounding a tad bit saddened.

"And Mac and Sean?" Micah asked again.

"We don't know," Dutch replied.

"Quite a business," Micah claimed.

"I'm glad you're alright, Micah."

"I bet you are." Arthur thought to himself in a whisper.

"Arthur, let me take the rear. You move up."

He followed this command. He'd preferred being next to Dutch 'cause killing Micah was more tempting than Dutch.

The rat quipped, "No "Glad you're alright, I was worried, Micah"?"

Arthur declared with full honesty. "Would have rather have John returned than you." Contempt leaked in his tone, though it only amused the rat.

"Marston likely got himself buried in this endless amount of snow." the man snickered, testing' Arthur's patience.

"Where are all the others?"

"Old mining camps up north," Arthur spoke bitingly.

"Oh, goddamn this snow. Gets right to the bones." Dutch complained.

He kept quiet, doing his best to squash any concern about both John and Sadie. One change, and everything could be fucked up. He was not going to save himself and allow John to die in his place! It took so much patience to not shift off course and look for his brother until he found him and brought him back.

"Okay, let's keep it down now," Micah spoke with a bit of wisdom. "It's just up ahead."

"Okay," Dutch responded as they all looked at the top of the hill. "Let's head down there."

Arthur followed behind them, taking deep breaths. The blizzard actually helped in some way. It was like the wind shooting through his bones calmed him down, remove the tension from his body in some degree. Colter was by no means a place which he would want to live in, but places where it had both temperatures were definitely ideas Arthur would use for the future.

"Let's hitch up here," Dutch whispered a command.

The order followed, they dismounted them and walked towards the house.

"Let me do the talking," Dutch told them. "We don't wanna scare these folks."

Arthur saw no reason to argue. They were O'Driscolls sure, but he had to play the act of being oblivious.

"Someone's having fun there," Micah stated, a twinge of satisfaction in his voice. He glared at him in disgust.

"You two, get yourself out of sight," He told them again, "One lonely man is a lot less intimidating than three nasty looking degenerates. "Micah, hide behind that wagon. Arthur, you take that old shed on the left."

The two quickly went to their hiding positions as Dutch stepped towards the doorstep and knock on the door.

"Hello?!" He shouted. "Excuse me? Hello?"

The door opened revealing a man wearing white clothing.

"Oh well, hello friend," Dutch greeted.

"What you want?" The man asked bluntly.

"I am very sorry to disturb you," Dutch apologized. "Uh, my friends and I, well we got into, some, trouble up the way. Lost in the storm."

Then a few more men exit the house and have the same expression as the man who opened first.

"Ah, gentlemen," Dutch greeted them.

"We can't help you, mister," The O'Driscoll told him bluntly.

"I got folks," Dutch replied. "Dying n that trail…"

While hiding, Micah saw a corpse inside of the wagon like last time. He looked at him.

"Arthur," Micah murmured. "Arthur, we got a problem." He lifted up the blanket revealing the corpse inside. He'd wished he been able to save Sadie's husband this time around, but fate opted otherwise. Maybe he could help her sooner, however. "There's a corpse right here. Arthur... there's a body in the wagon."

"Just shush your paddling and keep an eye on Dutch," Arthur replied roughly.

"Now friend," Dutch continued playing the old act. "I ain't asking for much. Please. I am… kinda desperate."

Arthur reached for his cattleman revolver out of instinct alone. He was tempted to allow Dutch to be shot, but he knew the futility of doing so. The man would react even if Arthur didn't. The O'Driscolls were nothing compared to Arthur, Dutch, and Micah. All emotionless followers who only listened to one cause, that man, Colm O'Driscoll.

He peeked out of cover and painted the targets. He looked to see one in the window. The others stood aside, their hands gripped over their weapons.

"Hey, I don't believe it!" The man exclaimed. "It's goddamn D-"

Time slowed as it always did. Ears ringing, Arthur's instincts kicked into high gear. That familiar yellow haze. The moment where everything froze right then and there. Blood rushed through his veins as he painted each target. He pulled back the hammer on the revolver. In seconds, the three were dead, each shot perfectly in the head.

He casually aimed his revolver at the one that came out of his shed. Two shots took him down at the right thigh, killing him before he could even get a shot off;

Two more O'Driscolls came out, aiming their rifles.

He caught one in the forehead, yet his gun had to reload. Ah yes, getting caught up in the moment, even after as long as he fired triggers, were bound to happen.

"Save some for me, Morgan!" Micah shouted.

All the while, the final shooting O'Driscoll missed his shots.

When his gun finished reloading, Arthur put him down between the chest with three bullets.

"We got a runner! You see him, Arthur?!" Micah shouted from the distance.

Arthur did. It was the same one he'd put down last time. He dashed up, hoping to save the bastard. The man pulled a revolver and aimed it at him, only for Arthur to shoot him in the chest as well.

Arthur came back, hearing "That's my boy, Arthur! Good shooting." from Dutch.

Arthur felt sick to the core. While they were rapists, robbers, and murderers, he was aware that they were only following what Colm taught them. What a damn tragedy.

"Goddamn O'Driscoll's boys here? Why?" Dutch spoke coldly.

"I don't know. Maybe same reason as us." Micah called back from the distance.

"Micah," Dutch barked a command, "go bring the horses closer to the house. Arthur, let's go search the cabin."

When Arthur first entered, the small stench like the last time assaulted him, making him scrunch up his nose at the thought of how they tormented Sadie in many ways. Taking away the goddamn woman's husband and then gang rape her?! It contributed onto his disgust to know that the woman was the one who helped him save Abigail, the same one who'd been at his and John's side at the end, the one who lost everything and rebuilt herself for that.

Instead of looking in the cabinets and the drawers, he went directly up to the cellar and opened it slowly. He wasn't going to allow Micah to scare the shit out of Sadie this time.

"Get away from me!"

The form of the traumatized woman emerged. She stabbed forward and almost caught him with the knife. He dodged and gripped her arm. This earned her frantic screams as she began to kick and punch at his direction. Even now, she was feisty as ever.

"Miss! You're safe! You're going to be okay!" Dutch looked stunned, while Arthur subdued her. "Sa... Miss! It's going to be alright! You're safe! We're not like them O'Driscolls!" He saw her extending the knife to his direction. "We mean you no harm." His hands softened a fraction. "Miss, you're going to be okay."

Her hand softened over the knife, and she dropped it. He turned to the leader of the Van Der Linde gang.

"We can't leave her here, Dutch." For the time being, Dutch wouldn't harm her. "I'll go see if there's anything in that barn," he told Dutch who nodded and patted her on the back gently. "I'll be back, miss."

He dashed up to the nearby stables.

Arthur closed the door to the barn, waiting for his attacker.

"You bastards killed my cousin!" The O'Driscoll plummeted down from above. This time, he was prepared. He dodged the boy's attack and gripped his wrist, putting his hand on his lips as he smothered the man offering resistance.

"Listen, boy! Listen!"

His eyes trembled for a millisecond. He held him, tightly pressing his mouth shut. His echoing heart began to slow again. Then once his shoulder calmed down and relaxed, he released him.

"Listen," Arthur urged in a hushed voice. "Listen to me. Your cousin is gone. I'm sorry about that. I lost my love and my child 'cause I was too blind. Too loyal. Don't make the same mistake I made. I know you're loyal to Colm, but he doesn't care about you. You're just another warm body to him."

The O'Driscoll's eyes widened.

"Your cousin will not want you to die for no purpose at all. Colm and that man out there are similar. Caught up in the past. Live. Keep running and don't look back."

The now calmer boy's fear was evident. Eventually, he nodded.

Arthur reached into his satchel, pulling out a can of oranges he still had left since before Blackwater. "Take this and play dumb."

"Arthur, what's going on, my boy?!" Dutch's voice was coming close.

Arthur snarled. "Remember, it's not what your cousin would have wanted." He didn't know that for sure but hopefully it would appease him not to go back god damn it!

"Play along."

The doors to the barn burst open. Dutch stood in the darkness. He didn't know if it was due to the lightening, but at that moment, he looked more like the man who'd left John to die.

Dutch looked around for a nanosecond, gun drawn, before he lowered it. The man's lips broke out into a smirk.

"I found this goddamn animal." Arthur pretended to choke him. "Where's Colm O'Driscoll?"

"With the others. At an old mining camp southwest from here." He responded in a show of decent acting.

"Why are you here?" He continued. Unfortunately, he had to ask this question.

"We are planning to rob some train! I don't know more than that, I swear!"

"Let him go back to the others," Arthur looked at him. "Could make an example."

Dutch contemplated for a moment before he nodded.

"Get out of here, boy."

Meanwhile, the Tennessee Walker screeched heavily, and Arthur patted him on the neck. His horse. His... it was the one who hadn't died yet being shot by Pinkertons. After the recent death of Boadicea, Arthur bonded with this horse, even though it belonged to the O'Driscolls. While the horse had slow feats and was quite skittish, Arthur trained it day in and day out, and it eventually grown.

"Easy! Easy! Ryan. Easy..." He didn't recognize he'd called him by his actual name he gave him, but it did the trick for some strange reason.

"I had almost forgotten you lost your horse back in Blackwater!" The man exclaimed. Damn, he'd still missed her. "That looks like a decent horse. Why don't you keep him?"

"Right," Arthur nodded.

He turned his attention back onto the horse. After they got well acquainted with one another, Arthur made a mental note to have multiple horses this time around. Not that he'd hated the one he had before, but this life called for death.

He walked back to the house.

"Heard you attacked Morgan! Wild thing, ain't ya?!" Micah cackled his terrible cackle that made Arthur want to put a bullet through his skull.

"Get the hell away from her!" Arthur's overprotective fury over his friend burned up. "I'll bring her with me," he declared.

Dutch nodded, not seeing any reason to argue.

Another change; Sadie would ride with him instead of Dutch. A positive one if anything.

"You're alright now, miss, who are you?"

"I'm... I'm Sadie Adler."

"I'm Arthur Morgan. That's Dutch van der Linde, and that idiot is Micah Bell."

"They took him away... from me. My husband. Those savages."

"I'm sorry, miss. You're safe now."

Arthur held her, offering comfort and support as he buried his head over her. "Go! We'll catch up!"

The two men took off.

He noticed, this time, the house wasn't burnt. He went inside the house and grabbed the picture frame of Jake and Sadie on their marriage day. She grabbed it and sobbed, burying her head into the frame, while he rubbed circles into her back, not realizing it was a small gesture he himself needed.

Chapter Text

With Sadie riding on his back, Arthur led her back to camp. Unlike last time, they were at the camp far past the time Dutch and Micah returned. Everything was set up and organized per Ms. Grimshaw's authorization. The woman knew how to get things kicking. Without her, the gang would have been in some shit long ago, probably dismantled by now.

He'd briefly considered dropping Sadie off somewhere safe. After all, the life of an outlaw was no way to live. Arthur'd learned that the hard way when his "father figure" abandoned him.

However, he knew that she was broken, having just lost her husband, and her time with the gang helped her regain much of her previous vigor. She was uncontrolled-such as when Colm was swing, and she'd shot up a bunch of people, but could Arthur be in any position to judge her?

He'd done worse, beaten a good man within inches of his life, served Dutch brainlessly, requiring death itself to finally realize what being too loyal to a cause resulted in...

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Oh, it's Arthur!" Lenny shouted in enthusiasm, looking seconds away from bouncing in joy.

"Hey, Lenny," he smiled 'cause he missed the kid. Dutch'd once made the comparison that Sean was a younger form of Arthur. Maybe that was true, but he personally thought Lenny was the younger version of John. "Try not to wake up the whole camp, why don't ya?"

"Love you too, Arthur," Lenny quipped back.

Sadie leaned against him, finding him the most comfortable person to be around in this moment. It wasn't something he had the heart to refuse.

"This is the Van Der Linde gang," he introduced gently and disembarked, helping her off the horse softly. "You're going to be okay, you hear?"

He held her in an embrace, head on top of her own, allowing her to work the remaining tears out of her system. When she finished, the former sick gunslinger saw the form of Susan Grimshaw approaching, along with Dutch and Hosea.

"I was talking to Hosea about how those O'Driscolls is about apparently… scouting a train." Dutch declared, his eyes twinkled with thoughts as plans no doubt traveled through his mind. Would Arthur punching him shake him back into reality? They couldn't just do shit like rob and kill no more. Not only was it morally wrong! BUT, the law would be on them quicker than a cobra on a rabbit.

"That's the last thing we need right now, Dutch," Hosea said, correct as always.

Dutch chose not to address the matter further. The leader of the Van Der Linde gang began to speak. "Mrs. Adler. Miss Tilly, Miss Karen, would warm her up, give her a drink of something, and Mrs. Adler, it's gonna be okay… you're safe now." The girls escorted Sadie to one of the cabins. "They turned her into a widow… animals… I need some rest. I haven't sleep in barely three days."

At last, the exhaustion and black bags under his eyes revealed itself. Worst, it sent a pang up to Arthur's heart. Part of him couldn't be too certain if Dutch didn't care about the gang in his own secret way, or were they all just pawns for him? They all served his own interests, yes, but maybe something was there.

Susan nodded and motioned to Arthur. "Mr. Morgan, we put you in a room over here." She pointed at the cabin-the same one as last time.

"Thank you, Miss Grimshaw," Arthur nodded in gratitude.

"Oh, how come Arthur gets a room and I get a bunk bed next to Bill Williamson and a bunch of darkies?" Micah complained, making Arthur roll his eyes.

He decided there was no need to satisfy that with a response...

As he entered, he felt the weight of it all coming down on him.

Truthfully, it was less about the failure at Blackwater which forced him and the gang to evacuate with losing people along the way-but rather the fact that he died once and was brought back in time. And even now, Arthur considered the dilemma of this second chance that fate either decided to gift upon him or cursed him with.

He breathed in. His lungs obeyed, stomach becoming heavy for one moment as he relished the air of the cabin. It smelled like a lot of nothing, but it was relieving. He continued to breathe in and out, never thinking he would have been able to enjoy simple gestures. TB clogging up his lungs really fucked up everything. The air cleared, and his lungs breathed deeply again.

Still, he'd almost expected to be gasping and coughing. It grew to be a second nature to him. To know that he was freed of tuberculosis, that he hadn't gotten it yet and never would if he had anything to say about it, was odd. When he sat in that chair back in Saint Denis, Arthur cruelly realized all of his dreams, promises, and ambitions were for nothing. He realized he wouldn't have been able to settle down and take it easy with Mary Linton or Mary-Beth. He realized that no matter if the gang was able to get out or not, he wouldn't have been strong enough to stop the injustices from Micah and Dutch. It was only due to Sister Calderon that he conquered his fears of the world falling apart around him.

In the end, instead of giving up and allowing himself to die without leaving an impact, he created the opportunity that he'd wanted for himself and handed it off to John. That was his final loving desire. To not allow himself to die in vain and really replenish his own desires and passed it off to John.

In the end, he helped others escape, forgoing his own ambitions and wants and gave that to others. That gave him peace even now.

Honestly, Arthur had been too exhausted to think about who to save. The main reason, as it turned out, time traveling back in time when you die took a toll on the bones. Despite that, he wondered how he'd managed to keep himself up, let alone fought a bunch of armed gunslingers 'till now.

Without even undressing, Arthur moved over to the cot and collapsed into it. His eyes closed, and he was consumed by darkness...

That was until he felt a whoosh travel through his body, and he opened his eyes. He was surrounded with a whole lot of gray smoke.

He didn't know where the fuck he was.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times before he stood up and moved. The landscape seemed empty, void of life.

"Enjoying your sleep, I see, Mr. Morgan. I doubt this is usual."

He saw a young, beautiful woman standing in the middle of the gray smoke, her face turned halfway, allowing him to see the lighter part where the darkness of the sky illuminated her face. He opened his lips to ask if she was alright, but no words came for some reason. The woman just stood there... in normal clothes not fitting for this weather. For a moment, he'd thought it was Sadie or Abigail, both women having reasons to think about things to themselves.

"Hello, Mr. Morgan, I don't believe we have been acquainted," the woman said in a sweet voice, sounding more so like a girl than anything else. The voice was unfamiliar to him.

He tilted his neck ahead as he attempted to get a good look at her. He knew, or at least hoped, she was no threat, so he didn't even think about reaching for his gun. Those instincts mellowed out in his final days, only when it came to defending himself.

"Do I know you?" Arthur inquired. "Do you need help?"

"The women have done wonders to the place, don't you think?" She deflected conversationally.

He nodded. "Sure." He couldn't help a small smile.

"How's your first day reliving without tuberculosis, Mr. Morgan, in the past? All that pain gone? How does it feel?"

That alerted him.

...

"Good." He admitted after a few seconds of silence. How the hell did she know 'bout that?!

...

"Who're you?" He asked after another lengthy silence, not impatient-just curious.

If she couldn't answer that, then she would have to leave.

He moved closer to her, his hand traveling to her shoulder, but she wouldn't turn over, keeping her head directed forward.

"You had a son, Mr. Morgan, am I'm correct?" She chuckled. "We are similar, are we not? Like you never get to raise your child, I could never raise mine."

Arthur froze, his heart throbbing against his chest. He didn't recognize the woman, but something told him he should have.

He couldn't tell if that was what made him look away.

"It's rude not to look at someone when they are talking to you, sir."

Arthur managed, "So is not giving a name when asked."

"Touché."

"Why are you here?"

"I came back... not for revenge but for justice." She ticked. "You are the only one to stop him. The last hope."

"Who?"

"Dutch van der Linde," she responded with so much venom that it took so much to prevent himself from shivering.

"What...?"

"He stole me from my child, a loving family. Because of him, my family has to suffer." She sneered. "Do you know what that's like, Mr. Morgan? How it feels like to be a child having to come to accept their mother being lost? And do you know that bastard would do it again? That he would take another innocent woman from her loved ones, in a similar way, right in front of John Marston, I should add."

"Who?" Arthur asked coldly. "Tell me who, and I'll stop it!" He pleaded.

"Her name is, or should I say was, Muriel Scranton."

Gray cloud consumed his vision, and Arthur was taken to a room of some sort.

He looked up to see the form of John Marston - looking years older or so rushing - through a door of some sort with two other people he didn't recognize, holding his revolver at his direction-or rather that was what it seemed.

"Be quiet and just watch," she scolded before Arthur could have said something.

She'd turned out to be right seconds later. On closer look, Arthur could see John was different. His hair was right parted and dark brown, styled very similar to how it was currently, but shorter. He looked older than Arthur, and his scars have fully healed, leaving two noticeable lines on his cheek where his beard seemed to be unable to grow back. He was in his signature striped, grey trousers, a loose-fitting beige shirt, a dark denim vest and his classic hat. His facial hair stayed at a permanent short stubble, and his stubble was shaved down to an elegant mustache.

Inside was the form of Dutch with also other people he didn't recognize. He aged considerably and had large white streaks through the sides and top of his hair. His hair was also cut much shorter than it was, and his hairline appeared to have receded slightly, giving him a widow's peak. He had also gained some weight, having a bulkier look, and wore a faded orange shirt with no collar, brown pants tucked into brown leather moccasin boots with white fur, a dark brown gun belt and with a black cord necklace with a silver pendant. He had also shaved his beard off, sporting a thick mustache without the soul patch, with stubble covering the rest of his lower face.

There was only one conclusion that clicked in his mind.

So the little shit went back for revenge after Arthur TOLD HIM not to?!

Oh, Arthur was going to kill that idiot!

"It's nice to see you, John," Dutch spoke with malice, holding a gun to a woman's head.

"Hello, Dutch," John greeted back.

"How's Abigail?" The man who was once their father figure asked.

"Well, I hope. I ain't seen her for a while..." He left her again?!

"'Cause you've been chasing me?"

John didn't care about satisfying that with a response and demanded, "Let the woman go, Dutch."

"Of course, of course... how's your little boy?" he asked, stepping forward.

"He ain't so little now," John responded, a flicker of sadness flashing, quickly conquered.

"No, he must be what, 15? 16? Doesn't time fly?" What?! How long ahead was this supposed event?! 1911?! 1912?!

"Don't it just. It's over, man."

Dutch took another few steps to the door. "Of course, of course. I surrender, John. You're the master now."

"I've been my master since you left me to die." Coldness was now in his voice.

Dutch actually looked remorseful for a moment. "We all make mistakes, John. I never claimed to be a saint." The moment of remorse was gone. "But equally, I never took you for an errand boy."

Ah, so he found a new gang then...? Didn't he learn what this type of life led to?

"Just trying to help my family, Dutch, by making compromises we all have to." What did John meant by that? He wondered. How did leaving them again help them? "Now let her go, it's over."

"You want the girl, John? You always were the romantic sort." Dutch's voice darkened a degree. He almost laughed, proving that he didn't care. "You know, gentlemen, this man here, he married a whore. Used to ride with us. We all had her," the bastard was trying to get under John's skin, "but oh he married her, and you know that makes him a better man than us. He's a better man. Have the girl, John."

He did not like that tone from Dutch.

Neither did John, it seemed.

"Easy, Dutch."

"She's a parting gift from me."

He shoved her forward to John's direction and blew her brains out, exiting the room.

More gray smoke consumed him, and he was snapped out of the vision, and he didn't have to look to see the woman staring with coldness and contempt. "Some people never change, don't you agree, Mr. Morgan?" She spat before sighing. "Fortunately, you can stop that."

"Why do you want Dutch dead so badly?" He pressed, still staring at where the scene was just playing, feeling a twinge of disgust consuming him again. If that was the future of a life he'd left behind, then there was no point in trying to save him...

"That moment ain't obvious, sir? You saw what he just did. Dutch van der Linde is a tyrant. John saw through his bullshit long before Blackwater if anything else. He needs to be put down as soon as you get the chance before more families are torn apart."

"I would... do what I have to do," he said slowly, unable to fight the pain that suddenly fueled through him. How would he be able to sleep at night if he'd killed his father figure? But Dutch'd seemed to be able to work just fine years after his death...

"Now that you're at full strength, I imagine you can do so." She actually looked sympathetic. "Will you have to live with that afterwards? Yes, but how do you think countless others feel at the people they care about deaths on the hands of that monster? I was a test for him, Mr. Morgan, a test he'd brutally failed." She hummed and snapped her fingers. "To answer your earlier question, sir, I am..."

His heart beat even heavier as she finally gave a name. The name stole so much air from his lungs-it was like having TB all over again. It couldn't be real! It just couldn't be!

"Heidi McCourt."

Chapter Text

"Keep gaping at me and your jaw might fall out, Mr. Morgan."

He felt the world leaving his body. When his brain came back to reality, he closed his mouth slowly and stared at her with a frown.

He'd never met Heidi McCourt-only heard 'bout her in passing. She was an innocent young woman who Dutch murdered in Blackwater for no good reason.

Instantly, Arthur felt sadness inside of him. Dutch'd killed her under persuasion from Micah the last time he'd heard John describing the events.

"I'm..."

"You weren't there, Mr. Morgan, how can you blame yourself for an event that you weren't present for?"

She fell into hysterics on the ferry according to John, but she'd been determined to call Dutch bluff and reveal who he really was all along.

"I know but... I-I'm sorry for what happened to you." He replied solemnly. Also ashamed it was the man who raised him after Lyle, taught him how to fend for himself in the life of an outlaw. The same man who left him to die.

"I could say the same about you. Being raised by a man who didn't even have the respect to give you a proper burial. Just left you there. Never even asked about what illness you had. What type of parent does that to their child?" There was a loud amount of venom in her tone, but also bits of sympathy.

He saw everyone's faces after Blackwater. While most were still loyal to him, there were some doubts about where things were going. For some, those were quelled by Dutch's speeches such as Javier. For others like John and even Arthur, those speeches became less and less convincing.

'We did what we had to do to get out of there. End of discussion.'

"We both know that excuse is a load of rubbish," she stated bluntly. "Honestly, considering your story I feel bad for you. You have such good potential to be something more, but that piece of shit wants you to be his protégé."

Arthur was surprised that she didn't chastised him. He still had a bond with her murderer that was shattered in more ways than one by actions of the future. He'd expected disgust.

"Why would I hate you? You were a lost boy when you were found by him just as you were lost in your final moments?"

She glared at him, her eyes full of warning.

"Let me tell you something, Mr. Morgan, Dutch and Micah Bell are perfect descriptions of scum. No matter what you do, you're not going to be a perfect son. There's always more. You never were. Bell was."

Slowly, another figure manifested behind her.

A man stood not too far away, tall like Arthur and wearing a black three-piece suit with a top hat. He heavily resembled Trelawny.

"Hello, Mr. Morgan."

The man had a different voice from the outcast of the group. But Arthur knew he knew the man from somewhere.

"I know you..." he stated more than asked.

The man smirked. "Many people do know me; I am a very distinguishable man."

He was pretty sure that this was just crazy-talk. "I... can't recall our last meeting."

"I know you from all over. You, John, and many others. You've forgotten me at certain points, or outright shoved me away. But our last meeting was actually just recently."

"Whatcha talking 'bout, pardner?" Arthur asked. "I need an explanation."

The Strange Man smirked, his eyes gleaming in amusement. "At least, you're more patient than John was. Predictable. Given you're the eldest."

"John?" Arthur repeated, wondering where this strange man may have met him. "How do you know him? You're someone he never told me 'bout?"

"Unfortunately, you were long dead when I talked. He's way more different than he is now. You would have been proud to see the legacy you left behind. Though unfortunately, John couldn't escape the consequences of his actions until it was too late."

He frowned. "Why are you telling me all of this? Hell, why do you even care?"

Arthur looked around, hoping for a way out among gray smoke. He was willing to try. Did he really even spoke with Heidi McCourt or was it just his imagination being caught up in the moment? Was this all a dream, and he was actually dead with the devil hoping to taunt him?

"You're looking for a way out when you just got here."

He looked behind him, only for the mysterious man and the woman who claimed to be Heidi McCourt was gone. He turned back around and saw the man walking up.

"I know many things about you, Mr. Morgan, I know your parents, your background, the events of the past twenty years. All the difficulties you have or will endure, all the deaths, all the betrayals, everything. Despite life itself going against you, you accomplished redemption, friend, at the end."

Arthur swallowed, his gaze locked onto him. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"Perhaps I misjudged your patience." He snickered. "I want to tell you that you cannot undo everything. Some events are meant to happen. No matter what, you'll have to keep running and don't look back."

Arthur shivered. A chill crawled across his body, and he remembered what he'd told John moments before his death on that mountain.

His nostrils flared. "How do you know 'bout that?"

"I saw your ending, Mr. Morgan." The stranger nodded. "It's partially the reason why pity was granted upon you at the end."

"Pity?"

"Well, not exactly pity," the man chuckled, "you'll face many challenges in this time as well. Nothing is ever easy. You will have to carry regrets about things you wish to avoid."

"I don't understand."

The Strange Man smiled. "You aren't meant to, friend. The future you know continues as accordance. John allowed his hate to blind him, and he paid for it. Gunned down surrounded by foes. Young Jack Marston grew up, blinded by revenge. What a shame to a story already so tragic."

He didn't understood what the hell was going on, but when he processed the words, he couldn't help the sadness that traveled through his body. He saw images of people he'd cared about. The bloodied form of John. The vengeful glare of the man who heavily resembled him: Jack. And tombstones.

"Why are you doing this?!" Arthur shouted, his emotions uncontrollable.

"This is the only chance you're going to get, sir. You won't receive another. You'll have to proceed very carefully. Not everything is going to go in your favor."

He frowned.

"You will encounter hardships along the way. Morals will be at question. Betrayals would come... again. Any and all obstacles, you will have to prepare for or continue to move forward. There's nothing that can be done for that world you've left behind. A story retold time and time again. With the same ending."

"Can you stop it?"

"I can only do the bare minimum, Mr. Morgan, but far too many lives have been claimed due to the likes of Dutch van der Linde and Micah Bell. There is nothing we can do, not for that world, only allowing it to play its course. Who knows? Maybe there is hope for him, where he finds people, or maybe his ending as tragic as the rest of this story. Let us think of a title, shall we?"

He hummed.

"Red Dead Redemption."

He laughed.

"Quite a befitting title, wouldn't you agree?"

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Arthur repeated, his thoughts on Jack solely, growing up, hell-bent on revenge, becoming possibly worse than Micah. It all terrified him. "Why coul... If Jack is destined an outlaw, what's the point of this?"

The stranger smiled, his eyes flashing with the distant amount of sadness before it was gone, "I'm merely warning you what's at stake. I said merely that there was nothing to be done for that world. But perhaps, for this one, hope exists. The future is already changing. Time as you know it has altered, some by your actions and others by the universe itself. You've already left a mark, one that you haven't seen yet. You've already walked away from death once. Brought back to a centered point of time where you are not bonded by a time limit."

He frowned. "What... do you mean?"

He focused his stare critically on him. "You not getting that illness is going to change things. Every action has consequences. Every deed. Every change. You have an advantage of sorts. You're still healthy, not plagued with the threat of death. But sacrifices will have to be made. Kinship. Friendships again. Brotherhood. You would have to be strong no matter what."

The image of Jackie burnt in his mind, that innocent little boy being twisted into someone, it overwhelmed all previous doubts. There would be no time for hesitation. He would follow Dutch... for now. He wouldn't allow himself to be fooled by delusions that he could persuade the man to think reasonably. He needed to save all of them. They were all brainless followers. Indoctrinated. Only a few would leave right now, but when he could, he would pull as many as he could out.

He would feed upon the doubt that many already have. Teach others to think for themselves.

He nodded, face growing determined. "I'll do anything."

The stranger spoke solemnly. "You are the final hope, Arthur Morgan, make every choice with a grain of salt. Be prepared for the ramifications of what this could all mean. Things can get better... but they can get worse."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Worse?"

"Futures are always changing as I have told you. This is not a chance offered to many people, simply because of the dangers that come with impacting the future."

"I... don't understand," he retorted.

"This is a new world, Arthur, it took much to send you back suffice to say," the smirk came across his lips again, "it was argued that you didn't even deserve it or that it was too dangerous. Everything that you have experienced has had a profound effect on you. That said, what was done was very dangerous. We could have inadvertently unleashed an honor-deprived version of you upon the world."

He stared at him, shocked. The burden of the entire world, or at least as much as he knew it, was at stake. He would sacrifice himself over and over again to ensure Jack a brighter future most of all. He didn't want that boy to become an outlaw. There was no point in trying to save Dutch if he didn't want to be saved at the compromise of Jack's soul, something that was a guarantee.

His primary obligation to leaving the gang or reorganizing it into something new and better, aside from saving as many folks as possible, were preventing Jack Marston from potentially following Dutch's legacy, without even knowing it.

"I would do what I could. But how do I know what I have to do?"

He smiled. "You'll find a way. Trust in yourself and your gifts, move with strength and conviction, conquer any weaknesses, do what you have to do, keep fighting, keep pushing now that you can."

He closed his eyes, finding a tear traveling. "I'll do it."

"ARTHUR!" a voice shouted from a distance, sounding so far away.

The stranger snickered. "Ah, there are matters of most dire importance." He tilted his hat down at his direction. "Good luck, Mr. Morgan."

Instantly, he was swooped away. Darkness consumed his vision as he spotted the outlines of a smile on the Strange Man's lips, before he drowned in an abyss.

The faint voice got closer. "ARTHUR! Wake up!"

His world exploded, and he came to, finding the form of Hosea Matthews standing over him, fatherly concern in his eyes.

"Are you alright, son?"

Chapter Text

"Yeah, just thinking about the events of late," Arthur fibbed and felt like shit for it. It never pleased him, lying to his father figure, his true father figure. Blackwater no longer troubled him. The emotional pain of losing Jenny, Mac, and Davey was still partially there, but it felt like a lifetime away, no longer troubling...

"Ah, yes, can see why," the elder man sighed in resignation. "I fear sometimes what Dutch is doing."

"I can see why."

Hosea looked at him as if he'd just burnt the whole cabin down with his horse alone. "You're questioning Dutch? I never thought I would see that before."

His new behavior was starting to cause confusion. Fortunately, he had a perfect excuse.

"Things changed after Blackwater, Hosea. I wanna be more... careful. We'll have to be prepared for every outcome. Good or bad." Especially the latter when it came to Dutch's "perfect" plans.

Hosea nodded and smiled. "We'll get out of this, Arthur, don't you worry, son."

If only he knew Dutch never cared about his opinions.

Maybe, he did, but he didn't want to admit it.

Arthur nodded and laid back, closing his eyes, but he didn't fell asleep. While he didn't mind talking to the older man, it was just surreal to find him alive again. The hole in his heart that was created after Hosea's death hadn't yet been refilled. It was a scene that he was always going to remember. Terrible as Angelo Bronte's death when he died in the most disgusting way possible, fed to an alligator by Dutch. At least Milton let Abigail go.

The door opened, and Arthur just kept his eyes closed. Most likely, it wasn't important.

"Arthur, you're up?" The familiar voice of Charles broke through his vision. "Arthur!" He didn't shout his name, but his voice rose with urgency.

Ugh... Never mind!

He sighed, already knowing where this was going, and looked up. "What's up, gentlemen?"

"When we ran away in Blackwater, I wasn't able to get supplies in," Pearson replied, seeming to be angry and impatient.

"Well, we'll have to eat you then," Arthur said in his typical dry humor.

"I sent Lenny and Bill hunting and they found nothing!" the man snapped in irritation.

"We'll have to go find something," Charles imputed, his voice calm and collected as always. "Come on, Arthur."

Arthur groaned and stood from the bed, allowing his joints to crack, knowing that Pearson and Charles were right. Last time, he'd been arrogant and believed that they all would survive as always. Now, Arthur no longer followed that belief. Anyone could die in all types of ways. In the lands of the Wild West, the youngest such as Lenny and the oldest such as Uncle, weren't freed from that burden.

Pearson threw a can at his direction, which he caught in his hands. Assorted, salted Offal. "...Alright. Alright. I'm coming. This ain't your military days no more." he remarked, full of sarcasm.

After he redressed himself, Arthur Morgan stepped out in his glory. The blizzard had since calmed down, decreasing in ferocity. Charles was waiting patiently. Aside from John, the man was practically his second brother.

They walked past Hosea and Dutch sitting in their chairs next to the window in the living room, neither of whom seemed to notice that him at that moment. Arthur could tell that the argument was getting more heated now. Dutch had a dark glint in his eye. Hosea had his forehead buried in his hand.

'John? InSiSTs?'

The simple fact; Dutch was never going to Tahiti. Paradise was just the carrot Dutch dangled in front of everyone to keep them motivated. Dutch was addicted to being the Savior of them all and in Tahiti he would lose that: once you have paradise you do not need a Savior. If there were no Cornwall, then Dutch would have just found someone else to rob. If Dutch really wanted that Blackwater money he could have gotten it, but by getting it he would have lost everyone to paradise. It was just that the adversity post Blackwater was greater than Dutch anticipated, and the stress eventually broke him completely.

Both men moved over to their horses, keeping silent, not wanting to get into the middle of that-even though Arthur knew it was inevitable. They'd adjusted their equipment on their horses, making sure their saddle was in place. The winter had entirely frozen parts of the stirrup, making it complicated to secure properly.

"You should be relaxing that burnt hand of yours," he spoke conversationally to Charles.

"By the time I recover, everyone would be as good as dead." Small amusement was in his tone.

As Arthur got on top of his horse, Charles tossed the bow to him when he finished getting on top of Taima, which he caught. At one point, he found hunting to be an outdated and useless form of living. Quickly, that opinion changed. Hunting was necessary to survive, even without living the life they did.

At that moment, a door to a cabin in front of them opened, revealing the whacked with concern form of Abigail.

"Arthur! Hey, Arthur!" she shouted.

"Let me guess, Abigail? Little Johnny got himself in another mishap?" he asked.

"Yes, Arthur! Please! Jack needs his father!" Fleshly spilled tears dripped from Abigail's eyes. "He's been gone for days. He probably got... just please."

"I'll find him," Arthur assured. He was actually 'bout to head out for him soon enough.

"Count me in," Javier walked up, a cigarette lit in his hand.

Arthur bitterly thought about how Javier left them to die. He couldn't trust him. Not right now. Possibly never again. He'd understood Javier was in a tight spot, but the man was smart. While harboring somewhat of good moral character, Javier submitted too much to Dutch's leadership when he had to take personal responsibility not only for Blackwater but also for everything that came after. Bill had the excuse of not being the brightest gang member. On that regard, Javier's betrayal hurt more than anything, even Dutch's in some ways, because he had time to prepare for Dutch and hoped that at least Javier would have backed him when the time came.

That hope died in Beaver Hollow.

Javier looked up at Arthur as he walked over to his own horse, Boaz, unhitching him, taking his disdainful look for something else, no doubt. "I know if the situation were reversed, he'd look for me."

Shaking the thought off, he nodded. Javier didn't yet leave John to die, or side with Dutch. Even though he would in the future when the cards were shown, it hadn't happened yet. Maybe he wouldn't ever have to make that choice. However, Arthur didn't have any fancy dreams 'bout attempting to convince Javier. Regardless of if Javier opened his goddamn eyes or not, others deserved the chance to survival, to be given the chance to see outside of Dutch's leadership.

"I think I have the idea of knowing where Marston may have turned up," he declared when Javier finished gathering up his own supplies and equipment on his horse. "We'll get him back, Abigail." he reassured.

The woman nodded. "Thanks, Arthur, all of you!"

Arthur always had a good sense of remembering things. He'd known that going back to the date of that event could result in something going different. The mere fact that Charles would be joining Arthur and Javier in finding Marston was a sign of something changing. How much would be changed soon enough?

The three men rode through the snow with Arthur at the lead this time around. Not even pretending to play dumb, they continued moving. He wanted John back at camp now. Not later.

"Woah, compadre! Might as well be a natural born hunter!" Javier quipped as they continued moving.

Arthur didn't satisfy him with a response.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?"

"Yeah," he forced out. "This is the right direction. I'm sure of it."

The snow was becoming thicker and thicker as the horses accelerated their way up the mountain path. It wasn't long before Arthur detected John's horse ahead, a bloodied mess-a sign of the wolves having their fun and looking for the next thing, or maybe the poor thing died due to exhaustion. Either way, it'd reminded him too much of when he'd lost all of his previous horses, including Ryan in the fight against the Pinkertons.

Kieran would have been heartbroken if he'd seen the horse. While Arthur at the time was annoyed with his presence, the man taught him how to keep better care of his horse, something that helped him train his Walker.

"John!" Javier shouted.

No response...

Arthur didn't pretend to not know where John was. Still, he had to be careful. He moved ahead, his hand on his gun, checking his surroundings for any possible threat.

"John!" Javier shouted again. "Brother, where are you?!"

"Hey! I'm here! Over here!" The voice...

A smirk spread across Charles' expression. "That's John!" he exclaimed.

"Always lucky, that one is." Arthur slid off his horse and swung his rifle around his shoulder.

Charles followed suit, sinking knee-deep into the snow next to him along with Javier. "What is it with you two anyways?" he questioned. "I thought he'd grew up with you."

Arthur shrugged. "He's still my brother and I love him. Just wished he'd never abandon us."

He stormed through the trek, jumping with the two men following behind him. When he looked over the ledge, he found the man, wounded and bloodied. John had an amazing knack of survival, being eaten alive by wolves, survived falling off a moving train, close calls with swinging. It was like something always protected him from doom and death. Silly, though. Probably was just some luck.

"Never thought I would say this but it's good to see you, Arthur Morgan," John said upon seeing them. His eyes were glazed over in agony. There were two nasty cuts on one side of his face.

Before Arthur even realized what he was doing, he stepped down, not in the mood to quip or snark. He wasn't particularly pleased with finding him like this the first time around either, but this time, he felt his heart sinking, wishing he could do more to help with John's injuries.

John was a complete and utter mess, what remained of his coat and pants torn to pieces like his face. The scars that had bred John's face were fresh and new, and he was overwhelmed by the urge to grip John's face. There were other read gashes across his body, namely his knee, but his face was what concerned him the most, even though he'd been alright the first time around.

He thought back to the mountain the moment before they'd separated when he was 'bout to draw the Pinkertons away. Little John, staring up at him with admiration and respect, like viewing his brother in a way different light from before.

'You're my brother…'

'I know.'

He narrowed his eyes at the man for a long moment, and he found his arms frozen, eyes narrowed as he stared deeply...

'Now listen,' the familiar form of John Marston said, walking up to his family. "Jack, darling, get on this horse. Get out of here. Go find a place to hide."

'You're coming with us, Pa,' Jack - was that seriously little Jackie?! - said.

'I'll catch up,' John lied. 'You keep riding and don't look back and don't be worrying about me, you hear? Now get going.'

'You stay out of trouble, John,' Abigail warned.

'Ain't no trouble, Abigail,' John responded, a small smile on his lips. 'Ain't no trouble.' He quickly gave her a kiss and added, 'I love you.'

'I love you,' she replied, tears welling up in her eyes. Something 'bout the scene was sentimental and... saddening.

'Now go. Git!' John tapped the horse, and it galloped off.

He walked over to the barn doors and looked out of the peep hole, at unnamed enemies. For a moment, his brother stood, staring down, and was stuck between a sigh and snort, before taking one last breath and pushing them open.

He looked at them all, and two seconds later, raised his revolver, pulling the hammer back and firing.

Taking ten or eleven down with him when twenty or so bullets tore through him. Arthur's heart clenched. Over a dozen bullets impaled his body within half a second. In a remarkable show of willpower, he was able to remain on his feet for a few seconds; but it seemed like his body just couldn't take it anymore, and he collapsed onto his knees.

One of the men - the commanding officer no doubt - lit a cigar as he stared at John, coughing and wheezing slightly, before falling back. He shook his head and indicated for the rest of his posse to follow him back, leaving behind John's body.

He jolted without even realizing it, noticing John staring up at him. His body riddled with bullets was buried in his mind. What was that? The life he'd left behind? He'd remembered the words told to him earlier by the Strange Man. Of what Jack would become. What did it all mean?

"Pretty nasty, huh?" John quipped while Arthur observed him, hands coming back on both of his shoulders. "Thought you would have been happy finding me like this."

"No, John, I..." What Arthur really wanted to say was: "No, John, you're my little brother. You always have been since you came into the gang."

His words were stuck in his throat 'cause this wasn't the same John yet. He was a deadbeat, the man who'd neglected his fatherhood duties, who didn't yet have the best relationship with his brother. Arthur planned to fix that soon, no matter how long that took. John was the only person who stood by him in the end. And seeing him in even slight pain no longer amused him.

"You're okay, John?" Charles asked the barely groaning man.

"Never better, Charles, never better," John commented with sarcasm.

Arthur reached into his satchel and produced out a bottle of Absinthe. "Drink this, John. It'll help with the pain."

He nodded, shakily accepting the liquor with gratitude. "Th-thanks…"

The three helped him up, bringing him away from the ledge.

"Come on, compadre." Javier urged, sounding like he was pleading.

"I ain't dying, amigo," John assured, clearly close to unconsciousness.

"Not on my watch," Arthur thought out loud-it wasn't a threat. It was a promise.

"Huh, what did I do to earn such loyalty, Morgan?" John inquired.

"You're my brother, scar face, no matter what happens between us, that'll never change."

"Wow, uhh, thanks, Arthur." John said awkwardly as Arthur loaded him on his back.

AROOOOOOOOOOO

The familiar sound grabbed each men's attention. Looking ahead and upwards, the three men found a snow white wolf on the ledge of the rim. Another wolf's head emerged in sight from around the bend, then another, and another. John's horse wasn't enough for them. They'd wanted actual feasting, and no matter the harsh wind, they were going to get it. They descended from the perch, landing about fifty feet in front of the four men, and began walking up.

"Is that what I think it is?" John inquired gloomily from Arthur's back, unable to see the threat ahead of them.

"A pack out for you, John," Arthur quipped good-naturedly. "You must have given off a good impression."

John scoffed. "One way of putting it."

"They're attempting to intimidate us," Charles noted. "They are trying to terrify us into running and leaving John behind. They want to target the weakest of us."

"Would have to get through me first," Arthur declared.

John declared, "We can't outrun them. Even if I could keep up, we'll be running on eggshells when it comes to the goddamn snow." The man shivered once more, and Arthur didn't think it was from the cold. "We cannot outrun them. Arthur, tell Abigail I-" he began, painful moans escaping his lips.

"You tell her, you goddamn idiot."

He argued weakly, "I doubt they would follow if you don't carry me to the horses."

"You are not dying here." Not for another fifty years at least. Sixty or seventh if he was lucky. "You two, bring up the horses."

Charles followed the command, but Javier stopped, looking back with concern. "And what about John, cabrón?"

"I'll protect John," he snapped. He didn't trust him with John, not even for a moment. Call it paranoia, but he didn't care! "Get outta here and go get the goddamn horse, Mr. Escuella."

The Mexican looked for one moment, stunned by his tone, before rushing off as fast as he could.

In a span of a moment, he had his revolver produced and aimed. In his sights were the pack leader, his eyes challenging him. The wolf's front leg began to kick at the snow, ferocious and anger in his dark eyes.

Arthur fired, dropping the animal with a shot between the eyes. The wolf fell and twitched slightly, and that gave the rest of the wolves the inclination to attack. The wolves dashed up, all in opposite direction, teeth bared, willing to take on their two victims.

One wolf was struck in the left shoulder and faltered. Another was struck in the stomach twice, a clean execution. Two others were hit in the head. Two remained. Arthur had been determined to give them a distraction while Charles and Javier bailed as fast as they could.

One wolf was moving faster than the other.

The second to final wolf collapsed in a heap of its own blood, caught between the neck. The final one, however, came up, growling. Arthur couldn't help the fear hammering inside of him.

"Shit..."

Maybe giving John to Javier would have been a smarter idea...

His gun recharged, and Arthur aimed to fire once again, only for the wolf survival instincts to kick in. He jumped up at him, knocking John off of his back. He tried to fire. The wolf kicked his gun away with his paw, but Arthur kept his hands in front of its hungry face. The animal sliced his chest and arms, hoping to weaken him. One of the strikes caught his cheek, causing a scar to open on the side of his cheek.

Arthur pushed the head away with his right hand with as much effort as he could, finding his strength decreasing with his wounds. Wolves weren't any pushovers whatsoever.

A gunshot went off, putting the creature down. His revolver was smoking, but it was in a different hand. John's hand.

"Damn, Morgan, next time let someone else take me, why don't ya? I don't enjoy falling off your back and having a trip in the snow like this." John managed weakly.

Arthur gently laid the creature onto the ground and stared down at it, not too surprised by the guilt that crept up. Would this continue happening every time he'd claimed a victim? It was necessary, but it didn't make it right.

But he had to leave them. Arthur rushed over to John's icy form, noticing that the man was passing out. His heartbeat wasn't faint, but rather very vibrant. But he was tired, and Arthur, proving to be the protective older brother, didn't helped them this time. After John was secured on his back again, he picked up his revolver in the snow with his free hand and holstered it, walking over and gently laying John on the horse being pulled by the reins and swinging on top of it.

At last, John was safe.

Time to go back.

Chapter Text

Conveniently - well that was what both Javier and Charles believed - along the way back from the mountain, they found themselves running into lone Deers.

Given John was on Arthur's horse, he selected Javier and Charles go. Unsurprisingly, they didn't argue. The two worked together well, and this was before Javier descended into madness.

Arthur pulled on the reins, deciding it was paramount to get John back, while they'd hunted. He made sure to be extra gentle with the ride, not jumping over rough edges and grounds, allowing John's fading into unconsciousness to be undisturbed. This resulted in him taking the longer way, but Charles and Javier caught up, corpses of Deers strapped on Taima and Boaz's rears as they carried their hunt back to the direction of Colter.

"How was your hunting expedition?"

"Javier learned well," Charles answered, a tone of dissatisfaction pouring into his voice, "though I do wish for you to teach you soon."

"We could in the future when little Johnny boy stops getting himself into these mishaps," he quipped 'bout John's survival streak.

The mostly unconscious John groaned at that moment. No matter what he told him or the others, Arthur did indeed care for the little fucker. If only Marston could just value his body more and work on his goddamn shooting, so Arthur didn't have to come to rescue him again and again.

For a long time, Arthur was angry 'bout him leaving 'cause of what happened to his son and woman. He knew how special it was to have both, what it was like to lose them, and regretted not being there for him. So, seeing John make almost the same mistake he did and even worse in some degree really ticked him off. He would have to whip John into shape of being a proper father, one of the people Arthur would pour much of his time into saving him.

John Marston was truly a man at the end of the day. He eventually recognized the mistakes he'd made and went on to make improvements. Was he the best father out there? Far from it, but he was better than Dutch. At least, John, being young and inexperienced, realized the flaws of his parenting, and did his best to make sure he was able to be there for them eventually. Hosea would have ultimately been proud of John and the man he'd became.

"Are you alright, vaquero? You have been acting strange. Is it only about Blackwater or is there something we should know about?" Concern lined Javier's features.

"No," he responded bluntly.

"What happened in Blackwater?" Charles asked. "I keep hearing this woman being mentioned. Heidi McCourt?"

Javier responded with an ounce of nonchalance, or denial. "Dutch killed a girl...in a bad way, but it was a bad situation."

"Bad enough to blow a woman's brains out?" Arthur couldn't help but reply sarcastically. Javier's hands tightened over the reins.

Javier replied with as much stoicism as he could, "We wouldn't have survived as long as we have without Dutch."

The last days of his life replayed in Arthur's head. His loyalty was what got him murdered. It would do so with Javier... eventually, 'cause that loyalty, everything he'd given Dutch, was wiped away by a rat. Even before TB, in Colter, he'd questioned Dutch from time to time, even though he'd deferred to his leadership naturally.

But Javier only rarely questioned him.

When the hell was Javier going to ever realize the truth 'bout what they were? See Dutch's delusions? Realize the truth about the man? Could he even ever go against him? Could he see the same thing as Arthur did, and would still follow Dutch long after his end?

It was almost like he was willing to look past the fact that she was an innocent bystander 'cause of the situation, contrary to Charles' reaction seemed to consist of doubt and displeasure.

Initially, Arthur believed Dutch had changed, had originally intended to achieve paradise, only for it to fall through at the end. But that couldn't be further from the truth.

So why did he still felt that ache in his chest whenever it came to Dutch van der Linde? Why couldn't it be easier? Then again, this whole journey wasn't meant to be.

He knew the answer. Dutch didn't change; all Micah did was reveal who he really was on the inside: a man who preached lies and false promises. No, Javier changed. He was watching the person he trusted, believed in, would follow through the gates of hell, fall apart in a rapid manner. His hero who he lived with just turned out to be a character, and everything he said he stopped for was nothing more than words. Most people took that very hard, and everyone would process that differently. The Mexican just bottled it up and decided to trust nobody and be close with nobody so he can't be hurt again. His history in Mexico wasn't pretty.

The gang failing apart hit Javier hard-harder than even Arthur and John, and just 'cause of living in delusions and dreams instead of having to face the fact that Dutch was a liar, he couldn't admit the flaws in his mentor.

"You should go to Dutch," Javier persisted, "he would help you. He always has." The concern in his eyes, and borderline disgust, Arthur could detect.

Arthur chose not to satisfy that with a response, thinking 'bout other things. In some ways, Heidi McCourt was a personification of the innocents killed in the trials and tribulations of the Van Der Linde gang as they sought for freedom and liberty and couldn't bear the brunt of accepting the moral facet that they were killers of the innocent and vulnerable, and embody the very type of frontier colonial brutality that they claimed to hate so much.

"I agree," Charles supported, and it took all within Arthur not to swallow the lump forming in his throat. The dark-skinned man didn't notice, and continued his supposed helpful advice, "I understand that you two are reasonably close. Maybe he can help you."

Of course, there was another problem. Arthur trusted Charles. He knew that the man was a great morally character, but he had no reason currently yet to doubt Dutch. That was the cruel reality. Not that Arthur could blame him. He, himself, was loyal to Dutch to the point where he'd refused to see through his bullshit 'till it became undeniable right in front of his face. The African-Native American was as loyal as Arthur from the beginning. They both noticed Dutch changing around the same time which was when they started doubting his judgment. Everyone made noise everywhere they went, which drew major attention to the gang. Bar fights, bank heists, shootouts, not to mention all the Cornwall attention. Literally everything the gang did was ringing the world's biggest dinner bell saying hey guys, we're over here. No, now we're over here.

Both of them were extremely loyal and dedicated people. Charles was a bit more reserved, and it was harder to earn his trust and loyalty, but, once you had it, he would take a bullet for you. Charles was a bit wiser with the loyalty he put in people. He was always more aware of Dutch and how he was "changing" during the first time around than Arthur was. He was more willing to admit something was wrong and to start questioning if following Dutch and being dedicated to him was a good choice. Granted, while he may not have been raised by the gang and been in it for 20+ years, Charles cared about as much for the gang members as Arthur did. Or at least, the people who managed to earn that, in his mind.

It did occurred to Arthur that Charles always expected better of Arthur compared to everyone else, but most of all, he respected Arthur so much 'cause Arthur treated him as a person despite his mixed heritage. Which couldn't be said for the likes of people like Micah or Bill, who were extremely derogatory towards him.

He was determined to save Charles 'cause he couldn't allow him to fall with the rest of the gang when Dutch's ever so wondrous plans came into flow. Hopefully, he didn't severely misjudged the man.

Something within Arthur told him it wouldn't take as much motivation, not like with some of the others, but still he had to be careful.

Arthur stopped thinking when they arrived back to Colter.

Pearson, who was already standing outside, waiting, moved up. "

"Found some wolves, Mr. Pearson, highly doubt everyone wants to taste Marston, so we decided to change the menu." Arthur offered dryly.

Pearson noted the dead Deers on the back of Boaz and Taima and nodded as both men took them off, the grimace clear across Charles' face. He'd still wondered how he'd gotten that injury in Blackwater.

Abigail was the first one to burst open the door. When she'd seen John, she was relieved and glad. Still, Arthur had to wonder why did she put up with him for so long.

"You're alive!" Abigail exclaimed in relief and moved over to the trio. "Oh, you're alive!"

Bill and Lenny also arrived and moved to extract John from the horse. Arthur wasn't going to allow them. He got off of the horse and slowly removed him with all of his strength, making sure to retract him safely. Several stunned stares awaited him as they all looked at the form of Arthur Morgan carrying John Marston. Some hadn't seen such a scene for a long, long time, and the public show of almost affection was just outright shocking. One, Hosea Matthews, joined them, his face dropped in shock, before a smile broke out on his lips.

Arthur ignored the stares and walked inside, passed Lenny and Bill who shared a stare at one another and shrugged at the same time in almost a comedic manner.

"Come on," Abigail shook her head, the shocked expression removed. "let's get him warm."

The idiot that was John Marston was settled on the bed inside the cabin. He was quickly tucked in with a blanket and they slowly placed a gauze on his head. The sleeping man looked peaceful in that moment, but Arthur still couldn't help a distinct shot of concern flowing through him at seeing him like this. He was alright. He would have to be okay. But it still didn't meant that he felt the screaming inside of him, the part of him that wished he went back before John went on top of that mountain and had a close encounter with the wolves. He would have gone in his stead if he had to. Goddamn it!

He still made sure he was rested close to the nearby fire place, wanting to guarantee that his body would get warm instead of colder.

Arthur noticed the brooding form of Abigail. Not that he could blame her. The man was a father. He also had to take better care of himself. He didn't want to be a father or didn't want to accept it. Too goddamn bad! Life was full of challenges.

"This is a new low," Abigail snapped at the unconscious Marston, hands clenched up into fists, likely wanting to throttle the idiot. She would never do it. She was too loyal to John for his own good. "-even for you."

"Why? You know Marston, Abigail?" Arthur smirked. "His survival streak is commendable."

Abigail nodded in agreement, her lips curling slightly. It wasn't exactly a smile.

"Uncle Arthur," the innocent voice stole his attention, "would my dad be alright?"

"Yes, Jackie," Arthur reassured, patting his hair softly, "just don't be an idiot like your pa and end up into these situations."

Jack laughed, much to his relief.

"Thank you, Arthur," Hosea said behind him.

"You got any other lost maidens need saving, old man?" Arthur replied sarcastically. After this morning, it was clear that the man had been worried about him. Arthur wasn't the type known for nightmares.

"Not today," Hosea retorted, smiling at this. He may be in the clear for the time being at his current behavior.

"You have talked to Dutch about our problems." He decided to bring back the root of conversation to the matter at hand.

"I was just discussing with Herr Strauss," Hosea informed him. "When the weather breaks…. I suppose we'll have to keep heading east."

"East?" Arthur repeated the word. He'd thought it an insane idea last time. That was when he'd believed that the problems at the Blackwater were the end of it. He shrugged. "I supposed it wouldn't be a bad idea. Moving into east with all of the civilization would be what the law wouldn't expect and maybe we can lay low."

"Hmm," Hosea responded after a second. "I thought you would have been one of those who wouldn't want to go."

"Blackwater-"

"Changed you, I know. I know." He waved his hands in front of himself. "But..."

Arthur ignored anything else the man may have said, thinking 'bout the circumstances.

The late 1890s have been very dangerous year. There was no avoiding it, and quite frankly Arthur didn't want to. Times were changing. If Dutch, Arthur, or anyone else had gathered up a powerful army of outlaws and somehow stood against the US government, it would just delay the inevitable. They would come back, stronger and more powerful than ever. Taking their losses and disappearing at least would allow them to live normal lives.

Besides, considering where they could move, Arthur came to three conclusions. Europe, New York, or Ohio. The Pinkertons were officially outlawed in the latter after the Anti-Pinkerton law when they killed supplied workers a few years back, and in the others, they were cracked down upon and not above the law.

Hosea coughed. He clawed at his chest for air like Arthur used to. The fact that he was sick reminded him of how much time the old man truly had left. He wrapped his arms around him and helped him breathe in the ways he used to do himself.

Hosea gagged slightly and sighed, finally breathing air inside. Only then, Arthur released him, solemn, dirty, empty...

"Just the cold out here." The closest to a reassuring smile fell across his lips. "This weather just ages you, I tell ya." He'd seen through the charade.

The man didn't want him, anyone in the camp, to get worried 'bout him. He wanted to be strong. The man was a lot like Micah without the rat aspect in his younger days, but he was humbled through time and became better.

It was also a reminder to how the Wild West was in the brink to death. Old breeds like Hosea were dying out one by one. But at least, he could give hopes for future generations before Hosea died. His death may be inevitable, but not everything needed to collapse before the man's very eyes. It would already be harsh with Dutch, extremely harsh.

He turned around and walked out of the cabin, noticing the two looming shadows of Dutch and Javier. The Mexican had his hand outstretched in front of his face and speaking in a hushed whisper, while Dutch nodded, his face troubled and... rigid as he glanced briefly at his direction...

A sign from the past, whenever Arthur and John told on one another to either of their father figures when the other created mischief, a sign that "they would need to have a talk".

A confrontation awaited.

Chapter Text

Arthur knew that the moment Ms. Grimshaw threatened to inform Dutch and especially Hosea that he was going to have to listen to their demands. The amount of hell Hosea would give him for not taking care of himself would be an understatement to the threat that Micah represented to the gang.

Mary-Beth whipped up some stitches which went on Arthur's face.

Some time to sleep it off, and Arthur was back on his feet.

He stood next to the cabin. The weather now was not as grating so he could just relax. Others around camp seemed to agree, eager to get back on their feet after recent events.

Bill was blabbering off 'bout a man, Sonny. He was familiar with that man. He lived in a house northwest of Saint Denis, south of Lakay. Around the house were many alligators and some pigs kept in a pen. Arthur killed him last time-another kill he ain't regret. A kill he would commit again when given the chance. The man was obviously a rapist, and if he had anything to thank Dutch and Hosea for, it was his survival skills and instinctively knowing all of the dangers in an area. Rumors often popped up missing around that house. His suspicions were correct when the man's house was a bed with chains, shackles, and handcuffs around it.

Pushing aside the thought, Arthur kept his eyes focused. Really, selfish pleasures were having his lungs cleared for air, and he'd relished every moment, enough to not even smoke for the time being.

That was 'till something cut through his momentary peace, 'till the darkness only looming in the surface decided to invade, taking whatever peace and shoving it to the side.

Dutch van der Linde walked up to him and spoke, "With the number of failures that have been happening lately, I'm glad to see you were able to recover John." His lips quirked up into a smile. "At least, you two have similar scars that you can use to bond with one another."

"The wolves that were pecking on Marston decided they wanted more than some nibbling, he should be happy I'm a great brother," Arthur said in his ever bland dark humor, 'bout the only thing that didn't mellow through time.

Dutch snorted. "You two are more alike than you realize."

For a moment, they were father and son.

That moment didn't last.

"Listen, if there's something going on, I must know."

"It's nothing, Dutch." Arthur lied.

"Don't give me none of that, son, everyone sees the changes. Before I sent you to find us substance, you were alright. Since you've returned, you have been different. Now... Javier told me 'cause he's concerned and so am I so don't be angry at him," Dutch chastised him and leaned forward to the other, his voice going low, "You're terrifying folks, Arthur. Whatever it is that's gotten into you needs to stop. So talk to me. What's wrong?"

Arthur felt like a child right now, he hadn't had one of these talks with Dutch and Hosea since he was a boy, struggling with the harshness of the world.

'I gave you all I had. I did.'

"Now, Arthur," Dutch's face ticked with barely contained impatience, "I would like an explanation, son. Why are you badmouthing me?"

Each syllable came out with gingerly leisure patronization, concealed as a diligent tranquil that descended over the frangible, chill in Dutch's voice; he spoke as though Arthur Morgan was a fifteen year old yet again. Even now, he felt the urge to bristle. He had to stay strong... for Jack, for John, for all of them who would want to break free of Dutch's madness at the end. Whatever dissension which'd began to shattering between them since Blackwater, what'd stretched wider the further they evacuated from troubles what they'd caused 'cause they were unable to lay low, then transformed into an inevitable separation within the toxic air of Beaver Hollow? Despite how he knew in his heart Dutch wouldn't accept salvation, the shadows of the good dog from months ago still wanted to save him, submit to him, and bow his head down as he continued to move with the next plan.

That shadow was crushed. This was the same man who walked away from him when he'd begged him for help, hoping to reach whatever goodness inside of him. The same man who would leave him to die as he did to John in Sisika Penitentiary, off of a moving train in a bank robbery, believing that he was a traitor. The same man who was infuriated by his and Sadie's insubordination and perceived disloyalty. The same man who killed, no, murdered that innocent old lady in Guarma. Who drowned Angelo Bronte, a living and breathing man, to an alligator in an inexcusable way-no matter the crime.

He'd been loyal, too loyal, and it led to his death once. It wouldn't do so again, not this time, not with truthfully having his own wants and dreams. He couldn't judge him for actions that he'd committed in the future. Less he looked mad, but everything all resolved around...

Heidi McCourt. Around Blackwater. Around all of it. To Dutch, he was a brute. Well, he was 'bout to be a brute no longer. He'd ran out of chances. And simply put, Dutch didn't deserve them. Let Javier and Bill suck his balls off, Arthur Morgan wasn't having it.

"I would like an explanation to why you decided to kill that innocent girl, Dutch," Arthur rebuked with the same tone, even now feeling a wince travel through his body as he stared into those two cold irises. "It's Micah again. It's always goddamn Micah."

"Micah has been loyal, son." He defended his prize pupil with veiled anger. "Don't tell me you're still jealous."

A passive attempt to infuriate Arthur no doubt, so he could wrap him around his finger. He succeeded in one goal, but not in the other. Not again. NOT THIS TIME! Not after when he should have punched him in the face for leaving him behind to get stab.

He sneered. "Everything you and Micah touched have landed all of us into this shit. Take Blackwater for example."

Goddamn the lot of them. They were all fools. Then again, they were a gang of outlaws living rough in the Wild West. They don't have a human resources department. He did voice his disapproval about Micah numerous times, but Dutch didn't listen, and Arthur didn't want to challenge Dutch's leadership because he was his closest friend and he looked up to him as a mentor and a father figure. His emotions clouded his judgment, and he couldn't see the truth 'till it was too late.

But even if he ever grew to care 'bout Dutch, for Dutch to admit he'd fucked up sooner or later, he could never look at him the same as he once did.

His eyes became fiercer, boring into his soul, even though on the surface, Dutch's face stayed composed. "Blackwater was just bad luck, Arthur..."

Arthur couldn't help it. He scoffed. "Bad luck? So bad that you didn't even consult with me and Hosea before going through with the goddamn plan?"

"Consult, my dear boy?" His voice dropped an octave.

Unlike last time, Arthur didn't fidget or look around. No, he met those cold eyes with cold ones of his own, keeping his hands at his side. "Yes, Dutch, consult. Me and Hosea are both upset 'cause you decided to go on that damn massacre after we left on that con which would have served our interests better."

He wasn't going to be an apprehensive mess like he was last time. Death already claimed him once. If Dutch'd fallen that far to draw on him here and now, let him, Arthur would retaliate. The argument could be deescalated. But he wouldn't-Arthur believed so. Dutch may have always been crazy, but he hadn't yet been stressed by the deaths of Hosea, nor Lenny, and Sean. This was the sanest one could call Dutch. Hosea was still alive, and somewhere inside of him, Dutch'd cared about the man even though he valued himself more.

Very likely, he would take the first opportunity to leave him to die just as he did John's when even that fractured entirely. He already did so on that forsaken mountain, surrounded by Pinkertons. He could have at least taken him with him and given him a proper burial, but he didn't. When he could have shown that those years weren't for nothing, Dutch'd mattered far more.

'I expect you'll betray me in the end Arthur, you're the type.'

"Let's face it, Blackwater wasn't 'bout getting out," Arthur continued icily, noticing that the others, including Hosea, Pearson, Tilly, Javier, Lenny, Abigail, Charles, Mary-Beth, Uncle, all of them, were standing around now. The raised voices enthralled many of them to come forward, for Arthur actually questioning Dutch was rare. "It was just you and Micah were acting crazy again 'cause you want to cling on delusions of the past."

Dutch was quiet for a long moment, confirming that he wasn't ready to discuss this. He never would be. He gotta have a reason to sleep at night. There would always be rationalizations for why Dutch pulled that trigger and blew that girl's brains out. It was just one among many atrocities that Dutch van der Linde caused and would cause. John and Javier were spooked by what happened, and while the former went into detail, somewhat horrified, Javier shifted often, his demeanor turning a little dark as he tried to dismiss the thoughts.

Clearly, this wasn't something Dutch or anyone else expected. For Arthur to actually challenge him and call him out. He didn't look as mad as he did back in Beaver Hollow before that train robbery, but he'd came close. His lips opened and closed again. For the second time, Dutch van der Linde was rendered speechless.

"Blackwater was 'bout surviving, Arthur," he finally offered, though the small waver in his tone suggested that his control was shattering.

Arthur was forced to accept the harsh truth yet again. Heidi McCourt was right. So was the Strange Man. He couldn't save Dutch. It still hurt. It still hurt really badly. Dutch required far more than he could ever give, if anyone could ever really help him. Arthur felt he could argue 'till they were old and gray, but it would all be for nothing. The conflicting feelings arose and left, only leaving dull pain in his chest.

As if on cue...

Right behind Dutch, amongst the crowd of onlookers to the argument, he spotted the visage of Heidi McCourt, but not looking nearly as sweet as she did in that dream. Could it really be called a dream? Maybe, visions. Mary-Beth once mentioned that visions happened in legends. Purpose of storytelling, they said. Bullshit, Arthur called it... 'till now.

She was smiling a bloodied smile, the red liquid traveling down, sending a chill through Arthur's spine.

The urge to nausea surfaced, but he managed to resist it with most of his might, though small vomit came to his lip.

Her brains, blown out of her head, her eye hanging out by a thread of tendon, the most gruesome sight Arthur ever seen.

It disgusted and refilled him both.

Poison leaked into tone. "You're right, Dutch, we all survived. But that girl wasn't a threat. Heidi McCourt's child has to live without a mother, a family broken 'cause of what you'd done..."

Dutch's face paled white as the exposure of his crimes were called out by his third in command in front of a bunch of followers...

He found that he just couldn't care, not even as he moved over to his chair inside when the show rained down and began to think.

The man didn't even have the respect to admit his mistakes and wrongdoing, to face the consequences of his actions.

Some were eyeing him with obvious displeasure and distrust. However, others were eyeing him with something... different. Not disgust or negative emotions but as if they predictably agreed with him. The reception of what happened didn't matter, Arthur decided.

Loyalty went both ways.

What was the point of pledging loyalty to a man who would have - would - leave him the moment he'd began to question him just to keep up that act of being unstoppable?

The thoughts made him feel sick, worse than TB. When the truth came to play, Arthur couldn't trust Dutch further than he could throw him, and he couldn't trust him with the future of everyone here. At least, of what consisted of people who wanted to be saved.

He had to think about who to save. John, Abigail, and Jack were top priorities. Fixing the relationship and giving Jackie a better childhood was in order. The boy deserved to be with someone who cared 'bout him. That small resentment he had to John leaving died when he'd realized he was loyal to him at the end back in Beaver Hollow. Arthur had faith that John's parental responsibilities would reveal themselves.

Then there came the other folks. One image came to mind. The man whose death hit him the hardest. The old man who had always been there, offering comfort and support. The death that had hurt by far the most Arthur'd ever witnessed.

Hosea Matthews.

He knew if he could, he would shoot Milton dead if he'd gotten Hosea into the same position he did before and damn the consequences.

The real question was if he could save Hosea from certain death?

The man had shown signs of having a terminal illness of some sort, and his death drove the gang apart. Was it unavoidable? Was Hosea Matthews always meant to die? Arthur shook his head. Perhaps, but migrating the damage could still happen to prevent a repeat of what happened.

Oh, that horrible shot, the smoking gun in Milton's hand, him barely able to hold back a whacked sob from escaping his body as he watched his father figure collapse after that cruel execution.

He managed to force himself through those thoughts. While it lingered in the back of his mind, he'd reasoned it hadn't happened yet. It never would. Even if Hosea lived an extra week, that would be inevitable. Death was inevitable. A harsh reality of living. Nobody lived forever. Maybe another few years but it was only a matter of time. He would give Hosea something to be proud of when he died.

Sadie, Charles, Lenny, Sean, and Kieran were good people. Sadie was obvious. She only stayed 'cause she had nowhere to go. Charles was intelligent and knew what he was doing. Lenny had some tension with Dutch-very perceptive with a bright head on his shoulders, having some philosophical disagreements with the man. He couldn't allow Lenny to die, not again. Sean, he was admittedly uncertain 'bout given he quickly defended Dutch for what happened in Blackwater, but the man disliked killing so Arthur didn't know 'bout him. Kieran was not going to die without purpose. The man'd saw through Dutch since day one and only stayed to prove himself. Arthur wanted to save that boy no matter what! And he wasn't getting tied up and deprived of food this time around!

The women, Swanson, and Pearson were also other topics. They were good women. Mary-Beth would decide not to die, and Karen would likely follow. Tilly as well, when she'd overcame Dutch's webs of lies. Swanson and Pearson could be loyal if everything doesn't head to shit.

Then there was Javier. His betrayal hurt John more. For weeks, John'd tried to strike up a normal conversation with Javier, only to meet with coldness and detachment. So strong was the loyalty to Dutch that it overcame any previous friendships and interests that Javier had, making him another stooge who was blinded by Dutch & Micah's bullshit. Just like Micah, he was a survivor. He abandoned John with Dutch and Micah in their last train robbery. And he abandoned Dutch to save himself when Pinkertons came to the camp. He did things out of his own survivalism. He used to care about survivalism of the gang but by the end he only cared about his own.

Bill was insecure and inarticulate trying to stay alive in a rough world. He was constantly being belittled and bullied by the gang. Arthur doesn't think he remembered him doing anything cruel beside threatening Kieran... under Dutch's orders... even treating him nicely later... but he considered his past treatment of him. He'd gotten along with Cain at the end of it all. Maybe he could be saved, if he'd wanted to be...

And at last, Micah.

It was with anger that he'd admitted he'd respected the goddamn rat. Micah, even though he was always the worst, the stinkiest rat in the west, also knew how full of shit Dutch was. Micah wasn't a good person by any means, but his expression on that boat in Guarma shown the disgust of hearing someone like Dutch trying to sound like a hero, like someone who cared about anyone other than himself - he clearly doesn't, he abandoned his gang members several times - and called them family. Micah betrayed the gang 'cause he knew there was no salvation for them, in that point Arthur couldn't completely blame him, he was selfish and wanted to survive, so what was the point of siding with someone who would keep chasing after money forever? Dutch couldn't fight his nature.

Arthur came to that realization. Micah wasn't the ultimate villain who he had to be worried about. He was a hiccup for sure, but Dutch was. Dutch only cared about the gang to the extent that they helped his ego. The gang made him feel like the important leader he wanted to be. He was constantly trying to be seen by others as powerful, virtuous and learned, but most of that was just an act he put on to feed his need to be respected. Whenever one of the gang became more work than Dutch felt they were worth, he suddenly stopped supporting them. The lack of effort he put in to look for John shown that he could easily lose his "affection" for those he called family.

At the end of it all, Dutch was not a goddamn child.

Disregarding that thought, Arthur opened the journal to the empty page. Last time, he'd vented about running for weeks. This time, as he stared in the blank page, he had something else to vent about. He pulled out his pencil and began to write:

'When I went on that mountain, I knew I wasn't coming off. Tuberculosis, army of Pinkertons and the law, former friends, enemies, they'd all wanted me to die. Like I told John, I did all the running I could. That was 'till I given a second chance. I know one thing for damn certain. I'm going to do it right this time around. It ain't 'bout saving folks. It's 'bout giving people a chance to be happy.'

He placed the journal inside of his satchel and removed his boots, his hat, and decided to just relax.

Chapter Text

Colter's weather would never stop being irritating, no matter how much time passed.

Arthur almost didn't come out here, based on that alone. But he had to. He still had his responsibilities as the third in command around the tent.

He was moving to the shed where John was currently recovering in. He had to make sure scarface hadn't done something he shouldn't have. Also, he wasn't particularly keen on leaving Marston next to Dutch, Javier, Bill, and Micah, knowing what they would do at the end of all of this.

Along the way, he noticed the form of Lenny standing alone, looking utterly lost and defeated, as he stood in the middle, a cigarette lit.

"Hey, kid, you're okay?" He inquired, though he had a feeling he knew what Lenny's current state was 'bout.

Lenny hesitated for a moment before responding, "...I miss Jenny."

"I understand."

He nodded, "I mean I know this life is crazy, but it's still hard to believe she's fucking gone."

He clapped him on the shoulder. "She would want you to be happy. Mourn for her but don't put her memory in vain."

He smiled. "Thanks, Arthur, you're a lifesaver sometimes, you know that?"

His bearded lips curled up into a smile. "Easy now, kid, ya don't want Sean to know that you're going soft on everyone."

Lenny scoffed. "Sean is the last person to be talking."

Arthur entered, brushing the snow off him, and approached Swanson and John. "Hello, Reverend, I thought you was reading him his last rites. Now I see you are introducing him to your other passion."

John's expression was unreadable, but he most likely would have rolled his eyes. The offended Reverend repudiated, "I'll mind you to show me some respect, Mr. Morgan."

"Don't hit your head too hard. You might end up devoured by wolves too." Arthur quipped before sitting on the rickety chair next to John, doing his best to hide his concern. Yeah, yeah, he survived. "You're still breathing, Marston?"

"I owe you," John mumbled.

"Nah, this is enough," Arthur snarked in his dark humor. "You have quite a survival track, boy? Bullet in Blackwater? Now this? Like I always say you're just lucky."

"Don't feel like it right now. You should have went up to the bloody mountain," John replied.

"Oh, but you're so good at those type of things," Arthur responded in a fake pitiful tone, "you know, we need to come up with a better story for that scar."

"So, freezing, breeding, starving, damn near getting eaten to death, ain't good enough for you?" John responded gruffly.

"I heard better," he replied.

"...What's been happening to you, Morgan? Folks are saying that you've been a bit different." There was faint concern in his voice, even though the younger idiot wouldn't ever admit it. "I heard Bill talking 'bout how you called out Dutch 'bout Blackwater."

Arthur was pretty sure a shiver traveled through John's body at that moment, at least from the inside. He'd understood why. Heidi McCourt was a traumatic event for John for a long time. It'd shown him the truth behind Dutch, even though he didn't want to admit it.

It should have shown that to Arthur.

"I did," he admitted without guilt or hesitation.

It was really the beginning of the end for the gang. But since Dutch had shown no signs of wanting to get out of this life despite the many opportunities knocking, Arthur couldn't depend on him for doing anything else aside from getting folks killed.

The door snapped open, allowing the cold air inside. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Dutch van der Linde walked inside, the eager anticipation clear.

"Arthur, I think it's time for Colm O'Driscoll."

Ever the opportunistic, John offered. "Want me to come?"

"Of course I do but look at you," Dutch gestured to him.

John tried to find humor in the situation. "I was always ugly, Dutch. It's just a scratch." His voice came out more as a wheeze than the laugh it was intended to be.

"Lie still, son," Dutch growled in a warning tone.

"You worry too much, old man."

"Don't be a child, Marston, you can barely even move," Arthur contributed in agreement, pushing John back onto the bed.

Abigail entered the cabin with Jack trailing after her, playing with his fingers, he looked curiously and apprehensively at his Pa.

"Little Abigail," Dutch greeted.

"Dutch." Abigail greeted before looking at John. "The boy wanted to see you, John."

Jack approached John slowly. Arthur's heart ached. Not even a pipe from John. It made him want to gift him with another scar. When would the stubborn son of a bitch realize he'd gotten the opportunity many others didn't.

"He seen me, now. What's left of me." John commented sarcastically. "What 'bout you?"

"Guess I was hoping to see a corpse," Abigail replied roughly. Arthur known she didn't mean that. But their antagonistic relationship had went away only when John realized what he'd almost lost. If Arthur could whip him back into shape, then maybe that could fix that strained bond and finally just raise the boy exactly in the way he should be raised.

"Bide your time. You'll see plenty of them." John returned.

"You're a rotten man, John Marston!" The woman snapped.

"He's a goddamn idiot, Abigail," Arthur added before scowling down at John, "and don't talk like that around your son, boy."

"Sure, Dutch," John scoffed.

At the end of the day, John hadn't been through any of the things that made him realize he needed to be a good father and partner at that point: Jack getting taken, him being arrested, seeing the gang slowly fall apart under Dutch's leadership, Arthur's sacrifice, all of it, so another reason why the past was kicking him in the ass. He reckoned things would deteriorate between him, Abigail, and Jack pretty quickly in the scenario where Arthur forced them to leave the gang earlier. How was he going to open his goddamn eyes again? Make him become the goddamn man he'd wanted not to be, but the one Jack would need?

"You two are fools," Dutch commented with bland humor in his tone, before he left the cabin, having nothing else to say.

All that mattered to him was finally catching Colm O'Driscoll, and more so, that goddamn train. It occurred that this conversation was a familiar one, though it happened at a different event, at a different time. Did he make any changes yet to make certain conversations happen sooner? He didn't think so, but eh, what could he do?

He followed him out, vowing to have a very important conversation with John later. Abigail too. 'Cause if John stepped forward as a father, the last those two idiots needed to do was pushing away each other. The relationship was strained, not broken.

"You're okay, son?"

"Yes," Arthur responded bluntly, the tone of voice stunning Dutch as he collected the rifle and lasso from Dutch and mounted his horse. He knew that there was no changing this. But he did agree at a chance to take out Colm. Colm had to go. He had to be put down before he'd hurt anyone else.

"Mr. Matthews. Mr. Smith. Mr. Pearson. Will you please look after the place? There are O'Driscolls about!" Dutch barked.

He urged the horse ahead and pulled on the reins, leading them down the path.

"Southwest, right, Arthur?"

"Yes," he responded sharply. "Just follow the main trail southwest. They're camped near some lake."

Ultimately, he didn't want to rob Cornwall. That would be a disaster for the Van Der Linde gang, but he had to go get Kieran. If he don't, the boy would remain an O'Driscoll, stuck with Colm and the rest 'till the day came where they've fallen, no chances of happiness. At least, Mary-Beth provided him with some form of that for the short time he was there.

"Okay! Let's go find these bastards before they find us and rob this score they're planning!" Dutch shouted to the followers behind them.

They went down the direction, pushing through the cold blizzard. Arthur didn't say anything. Eventually, they came across a few tracks. His good muscle memory made them unnecessary."

"Horse tracks," Dutch observed correctly. "As far as I can tell, the only fools out here are us and them."

"Like I said," Arthur declared.

Arthur remained silent, so the leader of the Van Der Linde gang continued, "Listen, son, I know you don't think much of my ideas recently, but this is the right move. I learned a long time ago that you hit Colm O'Driscoll. Wait for him and people you love die."

"We aren't going to wait for him," Arthur dismissed, the words spilling out in a darker tone than intended, though not for the reason Dutch most likely believed.

"There's the Arthur I know." Satisfaction leaked in his tone. Ha, that was exactly what Dutch'd always seen in him. As long as Arthur was a good boy, Dutch loved him. When he'd acted out of place, however, all of that meant nothing. "I was worried that Hosea may have corrupted you, son." Although phased as a joke, Arthur'd spotted what he'd perceived as a threat in his tone. It was only a matter of time before Dutch would've started pinning things on him as he did Marston last time. Let him, Arthur didn't care. His little brother being accused of being a rat hurt the man at the time. Arthur would spare him of that burden 'cause John didn't deserve that type of treatment from Dutch nor them goddamn traitors, Bill and Javier.

"Maybe Morgan hadn't gone soft after all!" Micah cackled behind him, his irritating voice causing Arthur to pull on his reins harsher.

"You will wish I had." It wasn't a threat-instead a promise. A promise that went over the rat's head.

"Enough," Dutch snapped, at his wits end with the arguments between Arthur and Micah. "Whatever's going on between you two, it stops now."

Dutch actually had a point. Arthur would take care of that when they'd crossed that bridge when it came to it.

But for now...

It was time to end this once and for all.

Soon, the gang found themselves housed on top of a mountain overlooking the O'Driscoll's camp.

The world was deaf to Arthur's ears, his eyes narrowed on the small forms of the many O'Driscolls moving 'bout, most standing alone, isolated.

He'd spotted the small form of Kieran tending to his horse, and he could help a silent jolt that traveled through his body.

Revenge was a fool's game.

But was it revenge-doing what must be done?

Truth be told, he hadn't held any harsh feelings to Colm about kidnapping, shooting, and holding him upside down. Those moments didn't matter. He had been through worst. All that mattered was...

Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran Kieran

No...

KIERAN CAN'T DIE! KIERAN CAN'T DIE! KIERAN CAN'T DIE!

Him...

KIERAN KIERAN KIERAN KIERAN KIERAN

For Arthur, the Earth suddenly seemed frozen in place, as if time itself had stopped. He realized he was at a crux in time; the fate of Kieran would be decided in the next few moments.

Memories washed over him in a wave, and a million possible outcomes entered through his mind simultaneously. The O'Driscolls were a large gang. They would come after Kieran when discovering he was in their enemy's hands. He saw variations of the boy's own life and death played out over and over in every conceivable way, shape, and form.

He had to choose, but there was no way to know which was the most likely outcome, or what actions of his would lead to which results. If he did what he was tempted to do, this would be a big change to the point where the future wouldn't be too certain. There would be consequences for this, though he didn't know exactly what just yet.

The moment passed and the world began to move again, though everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Colm O'Driscoll revealed himself, walking up to his horse. Arthur knew he had to act now; he had to make his choice.

In a sudden moment of clarity, he saw...

'Now I wish there was something I could do to make the two of you get along better.'

'Well, that's easy. Make him change.'

'Very funny.'

'...What is that?'

A shout, full of pure, unsullied horror.

'It's Kieran!'

'What the hell have they done to him?'

Kieran Duffy. Just when he had started liking the kid as well. At the very least, Sean and Lenny's deaths were nothing short of painless. Kieran, however, had been forced through who knew what type of horror. It'd shown the sadism and ruthlessness of the O'Driscolls.

Originally, he didn't want to change too much and invalidate his future knowledge...

'Kieran saved my life, yet I wasn't able to do the same for him.'

-but doing so meant that Kieran's life would be on a timer. Possibly Sean, Hosea, and Lenny's too. He had already accepted that he couldn't allow them to die again. For better or worse, he would have to do what he could with the force of humanity around them.

Right then and there, the gunslinger knew what he had to do.

Instead of advancing with his five companions, he stepped to the side of the cliff face, where he saw a small ledge, he could jump down to, then descended the rest of the way.

"Arthur?!" Javier? Lenny? Dutch? It didn't matter. None of them did.

He landed just shy of the water tower, feeling verbal backlash. He glanced around, wondering if anyone spotted him yet. He gripped the one on the tower, hands in front of his mouth, 'till the protest in his body stopped, and the man doubled over, temporarily unconscious.

He gripped his Cattleman Revolver from his holster. It felt cold in his hand, as Kieran's headless body was. He breathed in, the best he could, even though his lungs threatened to fall out of his body. Steadied. Calm down. It was not going to be the same. Kieran won't die again. He had knowledge of the future. He won't let it happen again.

It was time to end this now!

He raised the weapon. Time was in slow motion. His ears rang. There was an almost crackling sound, getting higher and higher as the seconds passed and noise started to accelerate. He flagged an invisible 'x' in his mind and released the lever.

One round, two, three, four, five, six, seven, they collided into the target. Resounding, thunderous, booming, vibrating over everything else. Cutting through the mountains. Unseen to Arthur, the few animals in homes nearby stopped and looked up at the source of the noise. Some scurried off while others went back.

His hands reloaded the weapon on instinct, but his mind was absent.

Colm O'Driscoll stood. From what it looked like, the gang leader was staring at him, his eyes bore into his very essence, seeing right through him. Arthur returned the stare with a glare of his own, defiant 'till the very end. No smile. No taunt. No threat. He was just standing there... empty, a vessel.

His worst fears came to life. He'd fucked up, got Kieran killed, alerted Colm. The boy who saw through Dutch, the boy who was mistreated by all, the boy who was too good for this world. He died again. Killed by the blade of man yet again.

Arthur changed nothing. If anything, it made the tragedy of the whole situation happen quicker. By his hubris and anger, for a moment forgetting his code, Kieran was dead even sooner. He wanted to change something, wanted to make everything better.

His revolver was still smoking, it stench almost pouring into his nose and making him cough.

Nothing happened for a moment...

Most looked each and every way to see where the shots came from.

Then something did happen.

Bullets cut all over, the leader of the O'Driscoll gang collapsed onto the ground, large pool of blood pouring out of the man's body.

Arthur Morgan stood unshaken at what he had just done, allowing the thought to travel through his head.

The first major change.

Chapter Text

It took what felt like an eternity for Colm O'Driscoll to finally land on the snowy ground, and when he did, all Arthur felt was a surprising amount of numbness. He was the arch-nemesis and former friend of himself or Dutch, and the sadistic and cruel leader of the O'Driscoll Boys.

Gone.

Another death in the habitat of the Wild West.

He didn't bother to conceal his cruelty, but Arthur didn't know how to felt as he replayed the events of what he'd just done. It was necessary, a cruel necessity. Could he have done anything differently?

It wasn't the first life he took, nor would it be the last. But it left him to feel very unnerved, disgust worming up in his system as he'd thought about the bond that they used to share. They were... friends. He may have been an enemy of Dutch, but it wasn't anything personal as far as Arthur was concerned. He hadn't thought 'bout how he'd tortured him since it happened, having plenty of time to grumble 'bout it, before moving on.

Colm O'Driscoll was a monster, murderer, robber, and rapist. But half of those titles fit every member of the Van Der Linde gang, including Arthur. He'd never forced himself on another, but he'd labeled those other titles to a horse. He'd allowed Kieran to suffer for weeks in the other lifetime, approving of starvation and threats against an innocent man.

Technically, Dutch've started it. He killed Colm's brother and in return, Colm murdered Annabelle. This of course only strengthened the hatred and rivalry between the two and their gangs.

Once, the Van der Linde gang once planned to rob a stagecoach, only to find it filled with women and children. The gang chose to abandon the robbery and let the innocents go their way. However, they later discovered that the O'Driscoll gang encountered them down the line and robbed and killed them all.

Did Colm have anyone who cared about him? Those who he'd abducted didn't matter for a brief moment. Did Arthur just made children orphans, a woman a widowed, his parents childless? Colm had no care or a genuine relationship when it came to his men whatsoever, not even bothering to know their names. However, every evil person out there had someone who cared about them.

Good people don't kill anyone. Good or bad. They'd allowed the law to take matters into their own hands. And so maybe, Arthur wasn't a good man, not entirely. He'd wanted to be, but the best way to describe him was morally gray of anything else. He would never kill people for the hell of killing, no matter if they were hostages or not. He just couldn't do it. But it didn't meant he wasn't a saint.

He lowered his gaze, diverting the weapon down at the direction where Colm collapsed. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of... curiosity? What would happen now that the leader of the O'Driscolls were dead and gone-killed earlier than the last life?

Colm was no longer a friend and had not been for a long time. He hadn't held back any longer, intent of destroying everything for control and power. He had done many people a favor. There were no other justifications to be made. Simply put, Arthur couldn't laid down the gun just yet. If he'd ever been given the chance.

What snapped him out of his thoughts were the sound of Colm's mount, the American Standardbred, neighing in fright, shrieking, before dashing away in the snow.

Arthur watched as a few men dashed over to the body of Colm.

Kieran was... alive.

The poor boy was stuck between approaching and retreating, his hands shaking as he didn't know what to do. The men who passed him to their fallen leader shoved him to the side.

Arthur knew he had to grab the boy now. He had to get Kieran the hell out of here! And quick!

One spotted him. "Over there! On the tower!"

All of their eyes went from shocked and borderline terrified to angry and vengeful. They all raised their guns. All of them paid for it. Now, he didn't hesitate as he fired, catching them all in vital areas; the neck, forehead, or spine. None was spared.

No time for doubts!

Kieran screamed and dropped, his hands falling over his head. Good. That could work. Would have to be very careful with his bullets. Shooting those who came close, Arthur took the moment of reprieve to jump off of the tower and land on the ground, knowing that just staying there would be a death warrant if they'd swarm around him.

He aimed at the general direction of the nearby O'Driscoll who kicked poor Kieran in the side.

"Get up you goddamn coward! Be a man!" He heard, followed by a grunt from the poor boy.

Someone on top of the nearby building's bullet came right past his body, almost shunning him. Arthur paid him back with a shot right through his chest, causing him to stagger back 'till he was falling off, collapsing on the ground.

He put the rest of the advancing men down, making a path for Kieran.

Just a little further!

Where was the goddamn rest?!

Right?! On top of the bloody mountain?! Was this punishment questioning Dutch even earlier?!

He'd expected Dutch, Micah, Bill, and Javier to leave him to die.

But would Lenny...

Goddamn it, he should have just followed Colm and took him out silently without Kieran being in danger! Now, he was actually desperate for help.

He aimed at the O'Driscoll almost manhandling Kieran, this time hitting him in the stomach and chest, and causing him to finally collapse. They focused on him, with Arthur only peeking out, firing at them, injuring some, missing others.

Just a little further...

When Kieran was stolen from him. The horse, Branwen, took several bold steps and, in a moment of confidence, the lowest O'Driscoll of them all gripped the reins, the horse taking off as he'd slowly positioned himself on top of the horse. Some bullets traveled near the traveling horse, a few bullets almost came at the creature's leg.

Not expected, but something Arthur could take advantage of...

"Hey! Come for me you bastards!" Arthur exclaimed, taking a few warning shots which diverted their attention to him.

Few of the bullets came close to the cover he was behind, a thick wall. He waited, hearing them coming closer, spending many of their bullets as he'd stayed close. Behind the cover, he sniped clean with his revolver, staying determined as each of his shots connected to O'Driscolls. He couldn't decipher how many he'd killed at this point, but he had to force himself not to care. Now was not the time for mercy.

His shooting was still sights for sore eyes. In general, Arthur was always an amazing shot. One good thing about contrasting tuberculosis, since Arthur lacked the physical advantage, he'd excelled in his shooting and became even more proficient at it. Beforehand, he often used his muscles and strength to overcome obstacles. It was only on his last legs when even that abandoned him.

Now, that was gone.

Turning, he fired six more shots at the men near the buildings, striking and killing four of them and injuring two of them. While there were obvious signs of O'Driscolls in the area, Arthur'd known they were frantic, a helpless bunch after the death of their leader, making it easier for them to dispatch.

The saddening fact was proven when he looked to see a wounded O'Driscoll - the last one left here - and aimed at him, only to find his arm over his shoulder, his gun empty as he stared at him, throwing it down, putting his hands up.

Arthur hesitated for a moment.

"Pl-please don't kill me. I never wanted to work for him. I would leave. I have a fami-"

The bullet pierced through his head, dropping the poor boy onto the ground. Just a goddamn boy. Arthur was 'bout to, have killed, a boy. But it... wasn't his gun where that bullet came from.

The familiar form of Micah snaked next to him, his pistols smoking.

"Needed my help, huh, Morgan?"

"You didn't have to do that. He was-" Arthur began to protest, staring down at the poor boy with nothing but pity.

"Oh oh oh," he cackled snidely, "come on, Arthur, don't tell me you're getting soft for these O'Driscolls. You took out their leader. Do you honestly think they would show you the same mercy if we take 'em in?"

Always goddamn Micah Bell.

But Arthur hated to admit through his gritted teeth that the goddamn fucker had a point.

He couldn't afford to get emotional through combat. That was a way to get himself shot, stabbed, or maimed in some other way.

He'd searched for Lenny, shooting at more O'Driscolls 'till he found the goddamn boy, taking down three of them with his sniper before casting that aside and using his revolver to take down another two.

An O'Driscoll aimed behind him, only for Arthur to fire at him and catch him in the chest, knocking him back. Surprised but recovering from it quickly, Lenny delivered the finishing shots, nodding in appreciation as he offered a small smile to Arthur.

"Looks like I gotta work on focusing on my surroundings, whatcha think, Arthur?!"

"You have no idea..." Was it sarcasm or was it a truth? If he did, maybe he wouldn't have died during that bank robbery.

Arthur moved over to his direction. Worry 'bout Kieran later. Worry 'bout Lenny now.

The two worked side by side, taking down any O'Driscolls who came close to them.

Predictably, they found Bill who was blowing away any O'Driscoll with restless abandon with his Bolt Action Rifle, and they'd offered aid, 'cause Arthur was unsure if he'd wanted the fat idiot to die.

Arthur switched to his Lancaster Repeater and fired at the nearest ones in sight.

Those were the last O'Driscolls he'd murdered for the day.

The camp was promptly cleared out minutes later. Those who survived were mortally wounded. Their deaths were slow and painful. Goddamn barbarians, they all were. Arthur was no better.

Micah stood over a whimpering, bleeding man with a sadistic smirk as he stared down. "Aww, look at the poor O'Driscoll. It's so fun when they bleed."

His eyes gleamed with the pleasure of the carnage. It'd sickened Arthur. How could Micah so savagely enjoy these men's literally barely clinging onto life, only able to open their eyes from the graves if anything else?

Arthur could only wish he'd been able to shoot Micah here and now. Goddamn it. The rat always had to survive. Always the survivor! He was right 'bout that too!

Micah kicked the man in the gut, forcing him to groan and roll slightly, but making his death all the more painful for him.

The man'd enjoyed killing, but he loved staring in the eyes of his victims even more. The classic gunslinger.

He approached the form of Dutch who stared down at the corpse of Colm O'Driscoll. The man appeared to be sadden and disappointed for a moment.

"It's over now, Colm." Dutch expressed, and Arthur again remembered before all of this when he was staring at him like that too. There was no anger across his face, just familiar disappointment as if expecting more. "Send my best regards to your brother."

As Arthur approached, Dutch's lips broke out into a smirk and stepped over the dead body of Colm, proving his moment of sentimentality as bullshit and nothing else. One last sign of disrespect to the dead.

"Well done, son," Dutch praised, and Arthur fought the warm sensation that crawled up his chest at being praised by this man who would have left him to die.

"It was necessary," he replied, doing his best to hide any contempt from his tone. "Colm had to die."

Somewhat surprising that Dutch wasn't angry that he'd went against his command and put this whole thing at risk now thinking 'bout it after he'd called him out for what happened in Blackwater, but the fact that he'd finally got rid of Colm and send the O'Driscoll gang into disarray clearly succumbed any sorts of negative emotions he may felt towards Arthur.

The most he'd offered Arthur was a nod. He barked to the others, "Did we get everything?!"

"Think so, boss, found this on them!" Micah shouted, handing off the map to him.

As they gathered up everything, Arthur toned out Dutch rambling off. His heart froze as he'd contemplated what was to come next.

Everything led back to Leviticus Cornwall.

Arthur had the clear mind to think 'bout the ramifications of killing Colm earlier. The train robbery was still going to happen, Arthur was unsure if he'd changed that much.

"Hey, Dutch," Javier said, walking up with the O'Driscoll, the same one he'd knocked out earlier. Oh, damn it! He'd honestly didn't think 'bout what that would lead to! "Find this cabrón on the tower. Think John knocked him out earlier."

"Well done, son," Dutch praised, slapping the standing at attention Javier on the shoulder. "He might know where the others are. With the death of O'Driscoll, we are one step closer to winning this. Load up our... guest, would you?"

Part of Arthur wished he wouldn't. That Javier would disobey, show any signs of doubt. But all that came was a curt nod of respect, like the good little dog he was.

'What happened to loyalty, Arthur?'

'Oh, so it's true... you're undermining us all... just when it matters the most?'

John and Javier were incredibly close, always have been. But how the hell was he going to get Marston to see the real Javier? The same one who would plot with Micah and Dutch? The same one who would leave them to die if Dutch so commanded it? Javier was full of a lot of passion for something he was loyal to but had no love. If Dutch told him to jump off of a moving ferry into a raging pack of hyenas, he would do it, out of loyalty. When the situation came down to it, Javier may take far too much time to show the truth. Lenny and Sean could possibly be broken free. Charles had been before.

Arthur watched as the Mexican obeyed, hog-tied him, and placed him on Boaz's back. Arthur knew hell awaited the poor man, but he couldn't blame Dutch entirely this time. He didn't even know his intention. Hell, if he'd never even met Kieran before, he would have assumed that he was also an O'Driscoll, no matter of his pleads and begs.

As the sun began to set and the skies turned dark while they moved back to one of the many lakes, Arthur resisted taking off. Where the hell did Kieran end up to? He may have freaked out and turned tail... Damn, well as long as he found some decent folks. Maybe it would be for the best.

But... not in this weather! The boy might as well freeze to death!

Dutch said: "Arthur! You see that fella? Wasn't he at the camp... with Colm?"

There was a figure in the distance. He was taking off in the blizzard, his horse moving as fast as it could under his command. Kieran. He must have took the longer route to avoid the gunfire but ended up in the same place just to escape. A gamble of luck for Arthur.

"Leave him to me," he demanded.

"Are you sure you want to leave Mr. Morgan with the job, boss?" Micah interjected, just as Arthur was 'bout to take off. "I mean no disrespect, but he'd been acting different since Blackwater. I'm concerned."

Bullshit, if Arthur'd ever seen it.

Dutch's eyes landed squarely on the rat, "Mr. Bell, I understand your concerns, but Arthur had proven himself today," he declared, much to Arthur's shock deep down. He'd never thought he would see him glaring at Micah again. "What he'd accomplished today was no small feat. He'd killed Colm O'Driscoll. He'd proven that despite his... controversial views, he still wants what's best for the gang."

"Yes, Dutch," Micah complied, though not without eyeing Arthur for a moment with an uncertain look in his eyes.

The leader turned to Arthur, "You go get the O'Driscoll, son, and again good work."

Unable to deny the urge to spare a momentary smirk of satisfaction at Micah's direction, the third in command of the Van Der Linde gang urged his horse forward, after Kieran.

Time to right a wrong...

Chapter Text

Like last time, Arthur was able to catch up with Kieran. He couldn't allow him to escape, or the poor boy could freeze to death. But he didn't want to be too aggressive with him either.

This was 'cause he knew one thing. Kieran Duffy was more tragic than him. With Hosea and even Dutch, he had good moments when he was able to just enjoy the times as they bickered, laughed, and relished in each other's company.

He didn't realize how much he'd appreciated the boy's company 'till it was too goddamn late. Kieran had a remarkable knowledge of horses, due to him taking care of them as a child, and again for the O'Driscolls, connecting with 'em well. He would like to think that the poor boy wasn't on a timer and could make it, though Arthur had to be careful.

Arthur threw his lasso and wrapped it around Kieran, pulling off the boy from the retreating horse, allowing him to collapse onto the snowy ground. He immediately disembarked and tackled him without hesitation. The man didn't even had the time nor willpower to resist, but he still squirmed helplessly.

"Let me go! Let me go! Please! Let me go!" The boy sounded near tears. It sent an ache through his chest. He knew that he was a fearful face, especially when he'd attacked. There were plenty of people who feared him in over twenty years, but now seeing Kieran afraid saddened him to an immense proportion.

"Boy, calm down!" The gunslinger barked. After seeing the fight retreating from him, Arthur looked down. "Look, I know you ain't with the O'Driscolls, Kieran Duffy, at least not by choice. I want to give you an opportunity to prove yourself."

Kieran's eyes widened as he calmed down and nodded. "Ye-yes, sir."

"You were a slave to Colm O'Driscoll," Arthur pointed out. It was a brutal fact. Colm and Dutch viewed their men similarly. The only thing was the latter didn't attempt to hide it. "You were 'bout to be send out to hunt for food for him. When we attacked, your friends died. We make you sound sympathetic."

He had several good bruises that he had gotten by Colm so that wouldn't be too hard to use as a story. More so, Arthur had to make sure the O'Driscolls wouldn't be able to find him. Disappear with him after making sure he'd gotten that far.

"Come on! You got to trust me, boy!" Arthur practically pleaded.

Kieran looked him in the eyes, seeming to be trapped between taking his chances with attempting to escape, or going along with Arthur's plan, which could very well be a deception.

"I ain't leading you to a trap, son, I'm trying to save you!" He couldn't help the way his voice broke out into a desperate plea.

The man nodded after two seconds. There was ultimately no other choice. He sat up on his knees. "How did you know my name?"

"I have heard 'bout the O'Driscolls," Arthur answered after a few seconds of contemplation and winked. He gripped his hand and helped the boy up, helping him on top of the horse and joining him seconds later.

The honorable outlaw pulled on the reins and took off.

"So why did you target Co-Colm anyway?" Kieran asked.

"It's a stupid feud. The leader of my gang, Dutch van der Linde, killed his brother and Colm decided to take the girl," Arthur kept on the trek back to camp.

"Wait, so your leader started it, but..." Kieran started, expression surprised.

"Don't ask," he interjected. The poor boy closed his mouth, taking that as a threat more than Arthur actually agreeing with him. "Listen to me, kid, most of these folks are decent folks, but there are a few crazies. Just answer Dutch. Don't say nothing out of place. Don't do nothing."

They came back through the entrance of the camp.

"It's Arthur!" Lenny shouted in joy, before his face darkened upon seeing the lowest O'Driscoll of them all, "And..."

"I got this." Arthur dismissed. "He ain't what you think he is, ain't that right, young Kieran?"

"Oh, well, you can explain that to Dutch," Lenny said, all too trustworthy and confident in Arthur Morgan. "He's in the stables over there. The O'Driscoll ain't pleasant company, that much is for damn sure."

Arthur nodded and motioned Kieran along. He heard a yelp of agony and looked up to see Dutch, Micah, and Bill surrounding the poor O'Driscoll from earlier, now conscious.

"Why, you were right, Mr. Williamson, I'm afraid water and grease don't mix after all," came the familiar baritone of Dutch van der Linde's from a distance.

"Fuck you," the O'Driscoll squealed.

Another sound of splashing greeted Arthur's ears, and another shout of pain escaped the squirming boy. Goddamn it. He shoulda killed the boy. Snapped his throat when he wasn't looking. But Arthur honestly didn't even consider the consequences of rescuing Kieran, that another would have to suffer similarly, and for what? Colm was dead. Did Dutch seriously wanted to wipe the O'Driscolls out? The one currently being tortured was more loyal to Colm O'Driscoll than Kieran ever could be, but still unfortunate.

"What have we here?" Arthur inquired, walking up, doing his best to hide the nausea building up.

"The O'Driscoll have been giving Mr. Williamson and Uncle a difficult time when he stirred..." Dutch walked up. "You found that little shit, did ya? Should he be more cooperative, son?" the leader of the Van Der Linde gang asked, stepping closer, his face illuminated by darkness. Kieran shrunk slightly.

He stepped in front of him, shielding him from the man. "I believed that too, but he told me what really was going on between him and O'Driscoll. He was a slave, someone who was taught to go out and somehow get food. Their marks all over his body. That's what he was doing before I caught up to him."

"Oh, is that so?" Dutch's demeanor changed, his face going from cold to calculated and considerable. Typical Dutch, taking advantages of people at their lowest points and bringing them up to become unmerciful killers. Arthur doubted that Dutch would be able to win Kieran over. The man had seen through him in the other life. The boy was smarter than he looked.

Perhaps someone who Arthur could for sure refer to as a true ally.

"Yes, Kieran was assaulted and beaten for months, the lowest of the bunch," Arthur kept the lie going.

Dutch nodded slowly. "You have a last name, son, or is it just Kieran?"

Kieran swallowed and stood straight at those domineering eyes. "Kieran Duffy."

"Well, Mr. Duffy, would you happen to know this O'Driscoll who is our guest in my camp?" Dutch led them back to the captured O'Driscoll.

"Oh, that's Morris Steinburn," Kieran replied, loyally staying good to the act. "He's one of Colm's good snipers."

"Perfect!" Dutch beamed.

"I always knew you weren't shit, boy!" Came the tormented voice of Steinburn, glaring up, as he tried to wrestle for freedom from where he was tied up, failing to do so. "Colm would-"

"Colm is dead," Bill laughed viciously. "So are many of your boys..."

"Your friends," Dutch added with no hesitation.

"The rest will come! And we will wipe you all out one by one!" The man vowed pitifully.

"Such loyalty to your gang," Dutch's mustache churned up in amusement, "I have a saying, my friend." Oh, not this again. "We shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed 'em as need feeding. We know what Kieran here needs. We'll figure out what you need."

"You'll pay, you piece of shit!" The O'Driscoll hissed, glaring at Kieran. "There's always a reason why Colm never treated you well! Why we all thought you were a softie! Shoulda killed you a long time ago!"

"I'm going to have real fun with him, wouldn't you agree, Dutch?" Bill inquired, looking like a puppy to a master demanding approval.

"Oh, that wouldn't be necessary, Mr. Williamson. Hopefully, his behavior changes with the lack of refreshments," Dutch said, placing a hand on the fatter man's shoulder, giving him what he'd needed. The O'Driscoll looked horrified, eyes widening as he stared at Dutch, his eyes saying everything. He received an impassive look. "Ain't that right, Arthur?"

"Sure," he responded. No matter how much of a bastard the O'Driscoll - most within the gang - was, didn't meant that killing him wouldn't solve the problem. Given his loyalty to Colm, it was unlikely that he would squeal as Kieran had or turn on the O'Driscolls as a whole.

Micah added in a mocking voice. "To wipe them out one by one. Killing all of his friends. We should bring 'em in front of him, wouldn't you agree, Dutch? So-" his eyes became sadistic, "he could rethink 'bout his standing?"

"We shall see," Dutch allowed, obviously fighting a smile to keep at bay thoughts of Micah's suggestions. "Come on, let us leave our little friend behind to get well acquainted with the place."

"You will die, all of you will die!" The poor man shouted as the five men exited, ignoring him. Dutch, Arthur, and Kieran stopped while Micah and Bill kept walking to their cabin. The former was groaning in displeasure while the ex-military soldier was now confused, eyeing Micah.

When they were out of ear shot, Arthur began to speak to the Van Der Linde gang.

"I think we can give Kieran here women duties for the time being," he declared. It was better than the boy being tied up for weeks and deprived of any food or drinks. He wouldn't be this time. If word spread that the boy was a slave to the O'Driscolls who were expectant to throw himself at the knees of Colm, and Dutch knew but decided to torture him nonetheless, it would lower trust in him, even slightly.

Dutch was many things, but his main strength was intelligence. Keeping his allies at his side. He must present himself as a sympathetic figure, and it was obvious that few agreed with Arthur 'bout the events that happened at Blackwater, despite being fiercely loyal to Dutch, nevertheless.

As for Kieran, he would struggle at first, but Arthur could shrug that up with excuses 'bout fearing failure or whatnot. Having women around camp fulfilled their roles of sewing, cleaning, washing the gang's dirty clothes, guard duty, medical care, random labor around camp, and small-time criminal activities, was a major bonus for a band of criminals in this time. Besides, the women would appreciate an extra hand for the time being. Also, Mary-Beth and Kieran'd hit it off quite well last time.

Additionally, Dutch would take any opportunity to convince himself that he was a hero.

At that, he'd tried to imagine how Dutch would end up in the... last time? Other time? It ain't 'ought to be anything good. The man'd lost it for a long time.

"Ms. Grimshaw," Dutch said to the woman walking over. "Take Kieran here. Feed him. Give him a bed. And have him work tomorrow with the women."

Susan raised an eyebrow.

He nodded in understanding and smirked slightly. This time, Arthur couldn't blame him. Not often do you see a man doing women's duties these days. "He was a slave for the O'Driscolls."

Situation understood, Susan led him to the cabin with the women.

A life for a life.

Very likely, they wouldn't have to ever travel to six point cabin, meaning that John could rest up for a little bit longer, and they could focus more attention on that whole operation. Last time, they were fortunate to being able to rescue Sean before he was dragged off to a federal prison. This time, they might not receive that fortune.

Arthur began moving to the cabin when Uncle stepped in front of him. He had a soft spot for the man. He had noticed the gang was deteriorating and wanted to know if everything was going to be okay. Beyond that drunk exterior, he'd cared 'bout the gang and saw through the bullshit Micah spewed. That was more than Arthur could say 'bout some.

Still, he couldn't help the sarcastic comment. "Look who finally came out of the abandoned schoolhouse to come into this endless land of snow. When are you going back?"

Uncle snorted, slightly, but smiled. "I just want to know if you're alright. You haven't been yourself lately." The man said, a beer in his hand, but he hadn't been drunk yet. Just a little tipsy if that was what one could call it.

Arthur sighed, knowing that this was the same man who selflessly stood up for John and especially Abigail when Javier was going to get aggressive. "I have been the same... just more careful."

"Well, I had seen you calling out Dutch 'bout that Blackwater business. I know it was horrific what happened there, but that was unlike you." Uncle did his best to sound reassuring. "Ya know, I know you think I'm just another drunken fool, but I'm here if you need me. You don't have to go whatever you're going through alone."

Although tempted to disclose what happened or what could happen to him, he shook his head. "I'm fine, ya jester, go do some goddamn work, why don't ya, old man?"

The man saluted. "Yes, sir!" But remained...

Arthur faked annoyance in his tone, betrayed by his lips twitching up into a smile. "Catch you later then."

He clapped the man in his shoulder in appreciation before he walked up to the cabin. He heard footsteps behind him and the soft, meek voice:

"You're... back."

"Mrs. Adler," Arthur said gently in greeting.

"They said you'd killed the leader of that gang," she noted.

"I did," he confirmed.

He gripped her hand. "You're going to be okay, you hear?"

"My husband..." she whimpered slightly. She was quiet for a moment. She shook her head and then asked meekly, but with anger in her tone. "...Was a fat one with a beard there?"

"No."

The widow licked her lower lips, "Nice to know."

"Mrs. Adler, I'm real sorry about all of this." Yet again, he wished he could have saved him. A day earlier, and he would have been at the Adler's house, damn it all. Could have maybe saved Davey as well. But life out here was rough. "-but," he continued, "revenge is a fool's game."

Wrong words. Something snapped inside of her. "I have to kill that son of a bitch! He took him from me!"

"Your husband, I'm pretty sure, was a good man," Arthur countered with sympathy and pity. "He wouldn't want that for you."

"You didn't ever lost anyone important to you!" She sobbed.

Arthur was silent 'cause those words cut deep. Eliza, Issac, Jenny, Mac, Davey, Sean, Hosea, Lenny, Kieran, Ms. Grimshaw, Trelawny, Reverend...

Dutch, Javier, Bill...

All of the others...

To either death, departure, or betrayal.

While the words sent a stab to his heart, he felt nothing but emotional turmoil for the weeping woman in front of him. She glared at him for a few measly seconds, trying to keep her sobs under control, then her composure shattered.

"You don't lecture me!" She fell onto her knees into the snow and cried. It was hard to believe in a few short months she would be a hardened gunslinger, ready to take on the challenge of the world.

Not even having the heart to be angry with her, Arthur collapsed and collected her into his arms and allowed her to sob 'till her tears went dry. Her violently shaking body stopped, and she only sobbed quietly now, the tear strands traveling down her eyes.

When it ended, Arthur gently led her inside of the cabin, alone. He had to remember that none of them were not the people they'd grown into.

"I lost," he related to her, "my son. His mother? A waitress. Only 19. Robbed and murdered for a paltry sum of ten dollars." He didn't realize his own tears were falling. It was still awful. They were good kids. They'd deserved so much more. "Eliza and Isaac's deaths deeply scarred me, contributing to my cynical view of the world and of the life I led. Their deaths also caused me to value the concept of family and the gang even more, but..." pain flashed across his face, "I wish I could have saved them. Would have sacrificed myself if only that boy could live."

Even now.

Fuck whatever Dutch and Micah did.

Arthur would rather replace his son sixth feet under and warn him of everything in his last words, or just take them out discreetly and let everyone else make their choices.

All this talk, no bite...

"I'm-I'm..." she started, horrified, realizing what she'd said to him.

"Don't apologize. I just wish I could have helped them. I only visited them every few months and stayed with them every few days. I wished I had more time with them." It was a pain to know that would always be his biggest failure. If he was sent that far back, Arthur might have had the "fuck all" mentality and left the gang, convincing John to do the same. But then again, maybe not. Even now, he'd wanted to save folks when he could easily turn tail and run. It was a sign of how much obedience he formerly had, how much of an obligation he felt like he'd owed the whole gang.

Dutch's untamed leadership would lead the gang to collapse, and everyone would burn in one final stand if they were lucky. If not, they would be picked off one by one 'till there was nothing left, a remnant of what they once were. Inevitabilities, it was.

"They were close to you," she noted softly.

"Yes," he nodded. "But now, I'm thinking 'bout what both would have wanted for me. They wouldn't want me to continue to murder senselessly, hurt innocent people, get revenge, they would want me to move on. To be as happy as I can be. And I'll try. I'll try. Your husband loved you, and he wouldn't have wanted you to not be happy. You gotta give respect to his memory. Having blood on his name out of revenge would accomplish nothing."

Sadie didn't explode again. Her hands fidgeted, agony and anger flickering across her face, but she didn't take either out on him. He was getting through to her. Slowly. But it was progress. What did the other Sadie Adler accomplish? More emptiness at the end. He should have tried harder to convince her not to go back. He'd wanted to help.

'They turned me into a monster.' Words said after her and Arthur raided Hanging dog Ranch.

She doggedly pursued the people who ruined her life, and when it was all over, realized that it doesn't just make the pain go away. All she was left with the memories of her past life and the stark reminder of how she couldn't ever go back to that. A bloodthirsty outlaw consumed by vengeance who missed the days of her happiness with Jake. Once she got her vengeance, she had nothing else and in her eyes, she definitely couldn't go back to being a simple housewife with the all of the people she had killed.

Arthur didn't know what happened to her last time after the gang fell apart, but he couldn't allow her heart to be consumed by hatred. Mourn. Grieve. Those men raped her and tore her life apart. It was one thing for Arthur to say revenge is a fool's game, he wasn't wrong, but for Sadie there was literally nothing else. When she said she couldn't reenter polite society she was absolutely right, she was a widow and if the O'Driscolls were true to form, she was a "soiled" one at that. Combine that with running with a gang, and if she hadn't turned into a bounty hunter or anything of the sort, her only road would've led to prostitution.

Nevertheless, it won't happen again.

'Not this time.'

"Killing that bastard won't bring your husband back. At the end, you'll feel relieved for one moment, but then you'll be hunted by emptiness as you'd put your husband name in vain. Letting karma strike him 'cause it will happen would be enough. We got his leader. You have the chance to grow a connection with some folks here. You can have a family, Mrs. Adler, but that can all go away if you don't let it go."

He placed his arms around her, knowing what was to come. Her head buried under his chin, and she cried delicately onto his coat. He felt a tear drop at his open collar and roll down his chest. It was a mysterious and intimate feeling. He continued to hold her, nevertheless.

After a few minutes that felt like hours, the widow's sobs had died down to slight sniffles. "I'm sorry," she whispered in a croak from beneath his chin. "I guess I... I don't know what to do anymore." He noticed she was staring at him, the same way he did to the Nun when he was lost not that long ago.

"You're lost, but your husband died, hoping that you will live. Don't go and disgrace his memory 'cause of your vengeance." Arthur repeated the words told to him not too long ago, the principles that he'd followed now, as he buried his hands into her hair.

She stayed in his embrace, still and quiet and he couldn't deny that she felt good in his arms. Maybe a little too good.

Chapter Text

Colm O'Driscoll's death, predictably, spread around the camp.

It left a feeling of happiness and exhilaration in its wake.

Arthur Morgan, the perfect son to Dutch van der Linde, murdered him. It was a surprise to no one as he'd murdered rivals of Dutch before, but the knowledge that the O'Driscolls wouldn't be a problem most certainly did raise hopes and morales.

With the death of O'Driscoll, Dutch vowed to throw a party when they'd settled into a comfortable place. It was a small victory. O'Driscoll was someone he just couldn't regret killing.

Arthur didn't think 'bout Colm after that day. Not much. The man wasn't on his mind. He did want to make sure Kieran wouldn't be capture and tortured to death, eyes ripped out of his skull, head in his lifeless hands as he went back to camp.

As another day started, Arthur exited the cabin, only when his stomach began growling. He didn't have much to write in his journal today so he chose to leave that activity for later.

"Hey, Arthur, took you long enough!" a youthful shout grabbed Arthur's attention, beckoning him over.

"I was enjoying my sleep," Arthur laughed as he came next to the kid at the table, enjoying a small part of soup.

"Yeah, I bet you were, after that trek down the mountain. You might have gotten some snow on your very bones, Arthur Morgan!" The dark-skinned man laughed too.

"Assuming you didn't eat all of it just yet, is there some food left, Lenny?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, what do you take me for? Of course there's some, but you should cut back a bit. You're gaining some weight." Lenny teased.

"Am I..."

Arthur joined him. He very much missed the kid, would have done anything for him to be brought back to him. In some ways, he was like a little brother. Others, a nephew. And in more ways than one, a son. Sean's death saddened him to the extreme, taking a bit of optimism out of his life.

Lenny, however, ripped a bit of his soul out, something that would never be replaced. While Arthur viewed Sean as a little brother, Lenny helped nurtured the hole formed in his heart when Isaac died.

Eating, they exchanged in conversation throughout, 'till the thunderous sounds of doors opening and peeked out to see it was Dutch emerging from his own cabin, his eyes gleamed with opportunity and optimism.

Dutch moved over to the stables. "Gentlemen!" he bellowed loud enough for all to hear. When he guaranteed he had that attention of everyone in the camp, the leader of the Van Der Linde gang continued. "It's time we make something for ourselves."

Arthur stiffened. He knew what was coming next, had prepared for it even. It filled him with emotions 'cause this was when the robe was tied for the gang.

"Gentlemen, get your horses ready! We have a train to rob!"

He despised Cornwall. He was a greedy bastard who believed himself on top of the world and could get away from shit. But, robbing that train was what started this bullshit in the first place! Goddamn it! Dutch had to always carry his prideful nature, and everyone had to bite the bullet at the end, except for that rat bastard which preyed upon Dutch's opportunistic nature and took advantage for himself.

He spotted Hosea ahead, trying to stop Dutch from doing this suicidal move. Trying and failing. Arthur would too. "Why are we doing this?" the man was inquiring. "Weather is breaking, we could leave. I thought we were lying low."

"We need money, Hosea." Dutch said in exasperation, all the while prepping up his horse for what it was to come. "Everything that we had was back in Blackwater."

"But..." Hosea's lips curled as he tried to find ways to approach this with Dutch.

Arthur decided it was time to step in. "Hosea is right, Dutch," he interjected, moving up to join them. "It's too much of a risk. This is a terrible time to be robbing folks when the Pinkertons would be hot on our trail and Marston is still sleeping off being devoured his wolf!"

A glint passed through Dutch's eyes. Let it never be said that he had been exactly happy with being questioned by Arthur a few days ago. Too bad. "Haven't you already doubted me enough, Arthur?" Dutch snapped in impatience, his true colors revealed for a singular moment. He sighed and regained his composure. "You should know that this train robbery is full of money. With enough money, we can go to out wes-"

Arthur was done with that bullshit!

"It ain't 'bout going out west and the goddamn money no more. It's about survival." Arthur snapped, his frustration barely contained by a thin veil of control. This type of line of thinking, rather intentional or not, was the type that got so many of their brethren killed. The type that would have led to Milton almost killing Abigail. He didn't want Jack to become an outlaw, even though Dutch may choose differently!

"This train you want to rob…" he continued icily. "It belongs to a man named Leviticus Cornwall. That asshole owns this place, everything you set your eyes on. The mines, railroads, oil, and let me tell you, if we push our luck, he will pay the Pinkertons or some sort of other agency to come after us, and we'll have a bigger storm of heat than we already have!"

Desperation gripped his lungs with a powerful grasp. Come on, you stubborn son of a bitch! Listen! Stop valuing your fucking ego! Think 'bout everyone else! He wanted to say this, just voice his words, but his throat didn't obey. For some reason, the words tasted of hot ashes, on the tip of his tongue, but wouldn't leave his mouth.

"Well, good for him then." Dutch positioned himself on top of the Count and turned to face outward. "He can learn just who he'll be dealing with."

Arthur gritted his teeth. His words had fallen on deaf ears. "Goddamn it, Dutch, get it through your fucking head that this ain't the time to be robbing and killing! We have bigger problems on our hands 'cause of you!"

Now, Dutch's face darkened. "I don't answer myself to you, Arthur. I did what I believed was best. We needed money. The mess at Blackwater happened due to them getting over us. Get over it, son! It won't happen anymore. If you trust in me, in my plans, you will see results." His voice softened a degree, but still right with the sound of steel. "I cannot function the well-being of this gang with you two continuing to doubt me. We need money and supplies for resources."

Oh, how Arthur wanted to tackle that idiot off of that goddamn horse and slammed him against the stables over and over again 'till he'd listened to reason!

"I understand that. Don't you get how bad things are getting? Time and time again, we are being hunted."

"That's why we make a name for ourselves."

"Dutch!" Hosea and Arthur both snapped.

"Either follow along or not, the choice is yours, Arthur. If it bothers you so much, stay here. Maybe you'll have time to clear your head."

Dutch pulled on his reins and left them both behind in the storm. Others followed loyally, and Arthur stormed up to the stables and kicked so hard that the horses still present screeched.

A few of the women came out, terrified at the usually controlled Arthur Morgan just losing his temper like that. At this point, they didn't matter.

A hand came onto his shoulder. "Arthur..."

He looked at the visage of Hosea.

"Are you okay, son?"

"Yes," he responded, gruff, feeling a pain 'cause it wasn't Hosea's fault, and he thought it was. It was always Dutch, Dutch, Dutch. The man wanted them to follow every one of his plan, willing to go as far as sacrificing his supposed son and his woman. Dutch was the only one who kept the gang from running the way it did!

Dutch van der Linde served as a father figure at one point. An act among countless others-no doubt. But Dutch didn't value family as much as he'd valued loyalty, no matter how misplaced that simple concept could be.

It didn't matter if he'd killed Colm O'Driscoll and ended that feud. All that mattered was Arthur being a good boy until he couldn't, only for him to find a successor. He approached Ryan, remembering him dying, being shot by Pinkertons a few moments after Dutch'd turned him on, how much was at stake. That horse was more loyal to him than Dutch ever could be.

He swung on top of the horse and pulled on the reins. At this point in time, the horse wasn't fast. He didn't felt comfortable around him, but Arthur eased his concerns, rubbing the side of his neck. His Walker. His horse. He didn't care if he belonged to O'Driscolls beforehand. It never mattered for Arthur. Horses were loyal, and they had no titles.

As they rode through the snow, Arthur could feel his senses growing harsher. He'd wondered if Dutch would ever realize the consequences of his actions, or would he actually carry his beliefs until guns surrounded him, or knowing Dutch, the goddamn bastard would probably take his death into his own hands.

Always to be the one in control.

Never being wrong.

Must always be correct.

The ride soothed his anger just a bit, but the rage was still present. They were swimming in his mind. Sean, Hosea's, Lenny, Molly, Ms. Grimshaw, all of the others. All 'cause Dutch wanted to have the perfect plan, to demand loyalty and receive it from emotionless bunch who would follow behind him off of a bridge if they'd so choose in front of a moving train and die for their efforts.

Yet, if Arthur'd punched Dutch, broke his goddamn nose, it may rattle some sense in him. Then again, probably not. It might alienate even Lenny and Hosea from him. They were concerned 'bout him right now, believing it was the stress of everything, but he didn't want them to become anger.

He exhaled the smell of smoke and sniffed again, followed by the stench of death.

What the fuck?

Arthur rode up, expecting them to be on a cliff, waiting, planning. It would be just someone sent up there with Bill instead of Arthur. Probably Javier. He was as effective as Arthur. But...

Did he came late? Maybe...

But he just followed behind them a minute or so earlier, and it taken a few minutes last time. At most, they should be ready to be sent down.

Arthur was piqued by curiosity.

What?

What was this?

Where was the goddamn gang?!

Unlike last time, they weren't on the cliff, planning. The train was in front of them, but something was off about it. It didn't appear vibrant or full of life. It appeared to be blasted through.

The horses were down next to the train, along with the armed gunslingers.

"Arthur!" Lenny exclaimed, jumping up and down in enthusiasm.

Arthur didn't share it.

"What happened?" He looked down at the forms of the gun-riddled men before snapping his head up at the gang leader, horrified. Would Lenny go along with this blatant lack?! "Did you..."

"No, the train was robbed beforehand! Goddamn it!" It clearly took much for Dutch to resist kicking at the ground. "Must have been those damned O'Driscolls. Getting back at us after killing Colm or to make his death hurt."

"Without Colm, they must have decided to respect his final wishes," Arthur suggested, doing his best to contain his glee. The Pinkertons may be on them, but not as much. They might focus on those O'Driscolls instead, buying them chances to survive!

Ah damn it! The victory was short-lived. It would have been better if they had robbed the damn train if anything else. Not only would those men be dead on the ground, but the Van Der Linde gang would be going up to the Grizzlies after the Blackwater incident during a bad storm. Coincidentally, when the weather was getting better, a train that was going through near the Grizzles was robbed.

It was possible that both gangs would be blame, and Agent Milton would just decide that killing them all would resolve the problem. Colm O'Driscoll's death would be spread to the public, and the Pinkertons would definitely want their part in wiping out Outlaws, even ones that didn't commit any wrongdoing in the name of the law, at least not publicly.

"Oh boss," Micah said, approaching him. Arthur had to give him points for his manipulation tactics. He placed his greedy hands on Dutch's shoulders. A good servant to the eyes of the eager King. "We can rob somewhere else. We don't need the train. There would come another opportunity."

He looked at him for one moment before he nodded.

Dutch's eyes shone over the corpses for a few moments before he stormed up to the Count.

Suddenly, a gunshot went off in the air.

Arthur had the good nature to be startled. His heart beat into his chest, but he recovered quickly. He turned around to see the forms of O'Driscolls charging up. The O'Driscolls were a big gang, and they now spreaded around them. In a split moment of instinct and good reflexes, Micah pulled out his revolvers, set his aim on the targets, and fired, moving around swiftly.

Five O'Driscolls dropped onto the ground, the ones with the bigger guns. Not too dissimilar to after Sean's death when the Grays ambushed 'em. Arthur gripped his revolver and fired as well.

Three more fell to his shots, all hit in the head.

Their horses took off at the sounds of the chaos, Ryan by far the most terrified, leaving 'em to themselves. The O'Driscolls fortunately chose not to set their aims on them, instead deciding the smaller gang was important.

Arthur noticed Lenny was shooting as well. He caught three folks off their horses, and he couldn't be too certain if they were dead. Definitely wounded for the time being. One, he'd only shunned in the shoulder, but it unfortunately done little to no harm. His attention now on them, Arthur aimed his revolver at his direction and fired.

The second to led O'Driscoll of this pack were hit in the shoulder, and another in the neck. The man fell off of the horse. The O'Driscolls approached, abandoning their skittish horses.

"Kill them all!" Came the voice of one of the O'Driscolls, someone who he couldn't see. "Try to get Van Der Linde!"

Arthur crouched behind what little cover he could and fired.

No one fell. While initially caught off-guard, Arthur kept Lenny behind him safely, still firing at the ones swarming the cliff side.

They vaulted, gunshots of all types still vibrant behind them. Ironically, Arthur, Micah, Javier, and Bill were working together and were providing cover for the others.

One by one, they were off until Arthur was the final one left, and then he was gone as well, shells and gunshots flanking behind him. By now, smoke filled the air as they dashed through the trees, too tightly connected that forced the O'Driscolls to get off their horses and given chase on foot.

Damn it, he have altered things too soon, and now the gang was heading down a path most divergent from last time!

Chapter Text

The horses trotted forward back to camp.

The moment Dutch got off of the Count, allowing Charles to lead the horse inside of the stables, the leader stormed inside of the cabin and slammed the door shut. It was no big loss, at least not outside with a surface level point of view.

Arthur watched this display with some form of mild disappointment.

He wasn't alone.

Hosea's aged face stared at the man, the one who was supposed to be his successor, with a similar expression.

"I take it the robbery didn't go as plan," Hosea said when Arthur disembarked.

"O'Driscolls got to the train first," he explained, "burnt the train to hell, killed all of them." His tone became solemn at this 'cause he wished he could have saved those folks.

He'd doomed those poor folks to their faiths. Now, someone would have to explain why a family member wouldn't be coming home to either children or parents. They would be lost, parents having to bury children, other orphans forced to suffer 'cause of barbarians like them who didn't think 'bout the torment that they've caused others.

"In some ways, this is a miracle," Hosea spoke, resigned, surprising Arthur. "When Cornwall investigates who robbed his train, I imagine a bunch of dead O'Driscolls wouldn't go unnoticed."

"Still doesn't make it right," he replied, looking down.

Hosea gripped his shoulder in company and support. A grounding that Arthur didn't realized he needed. "Don't blame yourself, son, you can't. It isn't your fault."

Still, he felt the urge to argue. Those folks back at those innocent men and women's homes wouldn't think so. They were all the same, no matter of the gang. "But I-"

Hosea's lips scrunched up, and his expression became more parental. "I will say it again, Arthur. It. Isn't. Your. Fault. You cannot control everything."

Hosea didn't know how much those words hit close to home. Even after everything that happened, a small part of the former sick gunslinger wished Dutch was here, offering this now. That same part of him felt like a failure for not being good enough for Dutch, that indoctrination that went away forever, but it still insulted his heart to see Dutch upset.

For Hosea to be here, the wise father figure in the place of Dutch's absence, like he always was, it hurt more than it should have. He knew on that mountain, back in Beaver Hollow, how far Dutch was willing to go.

Arthur still managed a soft smile, even after his touch left his shoulder, and Hosea walked to the form of the cabin Dutch was in, the door closing. Another argument awaited no doubt. Or maybe this would be one of those moments.

He sighed as he walked to the woman's cabin. He figured it was time to check on both Sadie and Kieran. He'd hoped slapping Kieran under the responsibility of the women wouldn't be too much of a handful. The boy'd been able to fit in just fine last time and didn't ran off no matter how they were mistreated.

When he walked inside, he noticed Kieran sitting next to Mary-Beth, reading a book, and the two broke out in laughter, their smiles remaining directed at one another.

The familiar feeling of envy jolted through Arthur at that moment. But not for the reason one would have thought. He didn't envy the relationship between the two, or at least the relationship that would happen one day. With his time traveling to the past, Mary Linton most certainly was on his mind. His heart clenched as he'd wished, even now, to run off, to take the chance Marston was given, and live a normal life with the woman who he'd loved and had been forced to leave behind 'cause she rightfully couldn't understand.

What did it matter if the gang collapsed? Sooner or later, everyone here would have to deal with the fallout. Arthur wasn't a Saint. He was still a man with his own wants. One of them included just leaving Dutch behind, let him burnt the camp to the ground, and hope that Marston would be able to get his head out of his ass on his own. Why did it have to be Arthur who had to deal with it?

Rationality came back with the force of rotten soup. It was not his desire for Mary Linton that drove him, for temptations of the flesh were extremely foreign to him as he didn't desire sexual acts with women-not like Micah who was a dirty dog. No, it was an emotional desire, to reconnect with the woman who he'd shared romantic feelings for. Arthur had a streak of altruism, and he was desperate not to make the world any worse than he already had. He didn't care 'bout redemption, that implied some concern for the self. He didn't care anymore what happened to him, he just wanted to make sure the people he cared for and even the people he had unjustly wronged were alright before he had to go.

Mary Linton was a good person. She had a fucked up family and no one who cared 'bout her but Arthur so she kept writing him when she hit a low point. She did love him, she just couldn't join his world any more than he could join hers. Neither one was wrong in that, Mary more so. They shared a mostly a self-depreciating sense of humor. Whether they realize it or not, the rest of the gang told Arthur she was no good for him b'ause she was the one thing that could get him to give up the life. But she didn't deserve that burden. Arthur now knew what this life led to, and he had far too many issues for a traumatized woman like her.

Those thoughts were all that kept him sane now.

Looking at her, at Mary's eyes and soft face-reminded of his own, and Kieran's too. It caused a great throb in his aching heart, but he kept his emotions in check. She reminded him of Mary Linton. Kieran had a good head on his shoulders-no pun intended. The man stayed after everything, after Arthur mistreated him. In another life, Mary-Beth was the only one who understood him, who sat at his grave and mourned for a life they could have shared, who tried to give Kieran a chance when no one else had. It was reciprocated 'cause Kieran never knew a simple kindness, just harsh treatments and misplaced loyalty that got him tormented for hours and killed.

Arthur decided right then and there. Amidst the turmoil of his emotions, he swore he would not approach Mary Linton as he wanted to do this time around. The wants to run off with Mary, was high, but there were too many issues. Arthur could not act freely, without limitation, if he pursued her as he so desperately craved. The Mary for her part, he would help, but he wouldn't approach in the ways he'd wanted.

He realized with a pain in his chest that he couldn't relate to Mary Linton. That was the harsh reality. Arthur couldn't provide her with stability simply 'cause too many things happened, even without the gang being involved. She'd be worried out of her mind with or without children thinking 'bout where her husband would be, and then they might have to keep moving all the time. It was not a life Arthur even wanted for Jack. Both Arthur and Mary made the right decision by not indulging in the relationship further, which is the sad point.

When Arthur opened his eyes, he sought her face, finding it disappearing and melting back into Mary-Beth, a girl who was like a little sister, still light with amusement as she laughed at a joke Kieran made. Those two love couldn't be even more painfully obvious. The truth was that Arthur wasn't her Mary, not any longer. He was different, have changed from the person he was. He was a scarred man, but he was a scarred man that would do right by the collapsing of everything he'd loved.

He would have to save those who he could and cut his losses quickly.

Would have to probably put a bullet through Dutch at the end.

Mary Linton didn't deserve to be in the fallout of all of that. In his current conflict.

He had no choice. It was just how things were supposed to be. Life would continue going on, no matter of the agony in his heart.

He turned to the oldest woman of them all. His next concern would have to be addressed.

"Ms. Grimshaw," he called, causing her to look up at his direction, bemusement flashed across her face. He was reminded of something. "I heard Micah and Jenny had gotten to know each other a little too well. I don't know if it was consensual, but I don't want any of these girls harmed. If that bastard even looks at one of them flirtatiously, I don't give a damn if Dutch demands he remains unharmed, I won't be in control of my actions. And I expect you to keep me informed."

The older woman looked at him for a long moment. Arthur's eyes suggested full seriousness and sincerity. None of the girls would be harmed. He was already planning to find them a ranch of some sort. This gang didn't deserve any of them. Right now, there needed to be more protection for the girls. And he knew if Ms. Grimshaw didn't take his warning seriously, he would not hesitate to call her out either. He was not playing any games with the safety of every camp member who could be saved.

She shared his sentimentality. "You'd bet, Mr. Morgan, I would keep an eye out."

Good. Ms. Grimshaw was many things, but she cared 'bout those girls and wanted the best for them and tried to get a bit closer. She would shoot Micah's balls off if he'd nearly approached any of them. It wasn't that Arthur was above them getting into relationships as much as he would have to meet the men before giving his approval, but anyone beyond Micah. That goddamn asshole wouldn't get his hands on any of them.

Arthur moved over to Kieran. "Hey, Kieran, how's things?"

He smiled up at Arthur. "I'm fine, sir, I hope you don't min-" He tilted his head slightly to the flushing Mary-Beth.

He glared at him for a long moment. "I ain't said you can't become friends with her, boy, but if you hurt her, you have to go through me, understood?"

Kieran swallowed, looking incredibly nervous at the "fake" glare poised at him by Arthur.

Mary-Beth snapped out of it and looked like a flustered child in front of her older brother who'd just introduced her boyfriend to the family. "Mr. Morgan, I-"

"I have to make sure you're protected, little Mary, you're all important to me." He knew that was incredibly sentimental for him, but it was truthful. Kieran was a good kid, but he was extremely protective over the women. Even more so-after what happened to Karen and Molly and how the former drunk herself into a depression and how the latter was too loyal to Dutch and got shot.

He wanted to save her as well, though he didn't know if it was possible. Not everyone would be saved. The eventual deaths of Sean and Molly were too much for poor Karen to take. A woman who was so vocal not stopping to drink once in Beaver Hollow as the stagnation of the gang without any comfort or support getting to her. If Molly did indeed die, Karen didn't deserve to suffer as she did the last time. Maybe, if he saved Sean...

He smiled now, "However I doubt that would be a problem as long as you keep this attitude up." Ain't want to treat the boy too harshly after all...

Choosing to leave them be, Arthur continued walking through the cabin, 'till he found Sadie. His eyes landed on the recently widowed Sadie for half of a moment whose head was extended downwards, her hands fidgeting slightly. She brightened up slightly at seeing him and invited him over. Arthur took the invitation and sat down next to her.

Really, around him, she seemed to be happier than she was last time when Arthur only glanced at her direction and said a few words of condolences. In some ways, she'd helped with his emotional situation already.

Arthur placed a hand on his chin thoughtfully.

"You seem upset," she commented.

"Not upset, thinking-" he told her sincerely, "-the train we'd planned robbery failed."

Sadie grimaced. "Sorry 'bout that."

"How it's feeling today?" he queried.

"Horrible," she replied.

He snorted slightly in amusement. "Fair."

"B-Blackwater," she said, taking the wind out of them.

"Huh?" That caught his attention.

"I heard 'bout this guy name Mac, another guy name Davey, and a woman name Jenny. People are worried 'bout you. They say you're not acting like yourself. Do you want to talk 'bout it?" Sadie inquired.

Truthfully, he was stunned by this. He hadn't thought 'bout Mac, Davey, and Jenny's deaths for a long time. Tragic as they were, Arthur came to accept them being gone. Sean, Lenny, and Hosea's deaths were far more impactful 'cause they were more recent. Dutch walking away and leaving him to die on that mountain hurt far more deeply 'cause that was when he realized how irrelevant they were all for the man.

The death of the gang shattered everything Arthur believed.

The fact that it was unavoidable drove an even deeper dagger in his wounded heart.

He forced himself to smile as he looked at the woman and responded, "It's still all in my head 'bout how everything could have gone so wrong, but don't worry, Mrs. Adler, I'm fine."

"You're lying," she observed with a frown.

Arthur fought a groan. Women in his life had a tendency to be difficult and not take no for answer.

He didn't get a chance to respond when Mrs. Adler glared at him.

"I know when men are lying, Mr. Morgan," she responded, her jaw set firmly as she eyed him with that glint that women tended to make men's speechless. "I have been married to Jake for almost three years and he'd learnt that the hard way."

He chuckled. "You're a feisty one, Mrs. Adler."

"Don't change the subject," she said flatly. "Your gang saved my life. You saved my life. And I owe it to them to try and help you with your current... issue."

He blinked. "Issue?"

"You're moving around a lot, some say. Stressing out way too much. You even missed a few meals, I heard. Dinner, typically."

He looked abashed. Folks were complaining 'bout him overworking? Why? He was the older brother of the Van Der Linde gang! What did they think he was supposed to do?! They were leaving in a few days anyway, 'less the botched train robbery changed that. "I have important things to do."

"You do," she said simply, "But at the cost of everything else. You have done nothing but eat, sleep, and help for weeks now. While not uncommon for your gang, the old man told me most at least take the weekends to themselves or relax when they don't have nothing to do."

Arthur actually scowled. "I have to do other things! Why do you even care?"

"For one, you are a man, Arthur, men have limitations and can get tired like all people do. You gotta stop stressing sometimes. You have been going around the camp and doing stuff nonstop. Even the women take a break."

His scowl turned upwards. "I don't care. I have important things to do! When we're all safe and sound, I'll take a break."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You cannot be serious."

He glared full force at her. "I am serious, deadly serious."

"Arthur, what makes you think you ain't liable for taking a break once and a while?"

Arthur scoffed. "I'm a third-in-command of the gang, if I must die for it to live, then I will do so willingly." Not exactly but have to give that image a way.

"You haven't answered my question."

"I just did."

"No, you didn't."

He was flustered. "I have a responsibility to do things for the gang."

"Not nonstop," she replied, incapable of keeping the edge to her vice. "You are not a weapon nor a tool to be thrown away at a moment's notice. You are still a human being with restrictions."

"A future doesn't matter when everyone's dropping dead."

"And that's an excuse to not consider the worth of your own life?" she shot back, equally exasperated, "you are not invincible, Mr. Morgan, you gotta calm it down and not worry so much 'bout things. The gang ain't going to collapse 'cause you took a break from tending to the horses for one day."

"Then what do you suggest I do?" He inquired.

"Wait," she said simply, "Be patient, and calm down. You have done all you could for the gang, all you could for me, you're not a God. You deserve to sit it off."

"I do so when it snows."

She scoffed, "Blizzard aside, have you even had time to do stuff outside of night?"

Arthur looked... sheepish, averting his eyes. "Erm..."

She stared pointedly. "I thought so. Go tell Hosea and Dutch you're going to take the next few days off and relax. I think they'll agree."

Yeah, they would, that was the problem!

"Is that an order?" he asked gruffly.

She wasn't going to let him go that easily. "If I have to make it one, then I will. If you ain't gonna tell 'em, I will, and don't you think I won't. Go now."

So much for her being softer before she became a gunslinger.

Chapter Text

Goddamn it, Sadie'd been right.

Arthur had been too frantic. Worse, now that folks knew that Arthur Morgan would listen to Sadie Adler, Hosea have been giving him that smile-that smile that shown he had an idea in his head. All previous plans have been put to shreds 'cause Arthur was dragged more and more into unpredictability.

He'd wished he could come up with a plan, but all of 'em included risks of some sort. It didn't help that Dutch never had a plan, or at least accomplishing a plan. He was a conman who got lucky and kept escaping. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for Arthur if he'd wanted to save folks and get out, but how could he know?

The failure of robbing Cornwall did lower morale slightly, 'specially since Dutch'd believed that this score would still be enough to get them back on their feet. However, the next morning, Dutch was back in action, the ever unmovable leader of the Van Der Linde gang, the source of support in time of peril.

Now that the weather had shown them a bit of leniency, there was no better time for the Van Der Linde gang to move on.

Boxes trembled, Grimshaw barked, and the wagons groaned.

"Arthur, wake up and start packing, son!" The door opened with an abruptness that would have terrified anyone else. Hosea tended to do that. "We want to be off this mountain and away from the snow by midday."

Sleep came harder these days. Sometimes, Arthur've felt himself having TB again, coughing up a storm. Other times, he'd seen Micah on the mountain, plummeting him with fists as his unprepared body. It wasn't exactly sleep deprivation, for Arthur would force himself to sleep 'cause he knew if he was barely able to raise a gun, the rat could strike at any time-this time earlier; but it had been difficult.

He hadn't owned much. His satchel, his lantern, some clothes, and a few torn pieces of sheets he referred to as a bed.

It took all of three minutes to clear the entire room. He'd cared primarily for his satchel and the journal inside of it. Nothing else. Everyone else around here carried most of their things, and while that applied to Arthur as well, it didn't mean that he didn't have favor possessions of his.

"So, the question is, where now?" Per usual, Dutch went to Hosea 'bout their new course of move. Probably the only times he'd ever listened to him.

"I told you, we should set up camp in Horseshoe Overlook near Valentine." Hosea retorted, always coming up with a solution. Arthur shoulda noticed that the first time. "We'll be able to hide out there no problem as long as keep our noses clean."

"Well then, let's go! Clean noses, and everything else." Dutch promised, his lips curled up into a smirk, arms spread outwards gloriously.

The older man turned to look at him. "Arthur, why don't we ride with John?"

Huh. That didn't... happen last time.

Hosea was beaming now, ear to ear. "Given your latest... changes, I imagine you would want to keep your little brother safe."

Dutch snickered. "I know you two like to talk 'bout the good old days... and what's gone wrong with old Dutch. Add the idiot to the conversation, and I might have something new at my feet by the time we'd arrived."

Hosea placed a hand on Arthur. "Come on, son, before you freeze to death."

Arthur's legs took him to the different wagon from last time. Well, his closeness with John altered which ride he took. Not a major change, and of course, the old bastard would know that something was different with that public display of protectiveness Arthur'd shown over a bond thought ruined long ago.

In the back part of the wagon, John was positioned on a cot. Mary-Beth was present as well, in case anything went wrong. She was the second best at dealing with these type of things right behind Ms. Grimshaw. John should be alright, presuming that the idiot didn't do something else like getting shot off of a moving train again.

"Me, you, and John again. Just like the old days." Hosea swung onto the passenger seat, his lips now a devilish smirk.

"Tell me 'bout it," he found himself laughing as he recalled an event that felt like a lifetime ago, "I remember when Marston here thought swimming with the fishes were a good idea against your instructions and almost drown for his efforts."

John's lack of ability in swimming was always a joke in Arthur's opinion no matter how much time passed.

Hosea looked, eyes gleaming in amusement.

"That night wasn't fun for him," Arthur said. To say Hosea was pissed was an understatement. The idiot knew he couldn't swim, and he did it anyway. With two nights of sleeping on his stomach, he didn't worry Hosea like that again.

The old man smirked. "I thought you two finally agreed on a truce 'bout that one, son."

"We did... though Johnny boy is too busy being in dreamworld to even remember this."

Before he joined the old man, Arthur had a distant concern. "Wait a moment, Hosea."

He took a few steps back to analyze the entire vehicle. He'd almost facepalmed for looking like a goddamn moron in front of Hosea. Right different wagon, there weren't the same issues as last time. Still, he'd checked carefully.

Right, he would be riding a different one this time. He moved over to Ms. Grimshaw with the women, settling up currently. They were riding the wagon with the fucked up wheel. One observation, one of the rear wheels was starting to become loose.

"Ms. Grimshaw!" He shouted. "You got a fucked up wheel."

The woman nodded, pulling lightly on the reins, but not taking off yet, the horses snorting in front. For the women, Arthur gave it a few good smacks to secure it back into place.

"Something wrong?" Hosea quipped as Arthur rejoined him.

"Naw. Just making sure. I like to check twice 'bout things." Arthur fibbed.

"Blackwater must have changed you that much," snickered the old man.

Arthur didn't say anything to that, reaching out to grab the horses' reins. He couldn't deny being eager to join the others in getting away from all this snow and going somewhere habitable. With a sudden burst of energy, he barked a command. Then the wagon accelerated.

Silence persisted for the first half of the trip. Arthur kept his eyes narrowed forward, mind blank as he overlooked the scenery gradually altered around him. There were occasional groans from John in the back, and he kept looking behind him whenever he could, stealing a glance to make sure Marston was still breathing. It typically consisted of him turning over, or just reaching out instinctively to scratch an itch, anything of the sort unconsciously. Hosea, even without doing anything, kept his eyes opened, also taking in the awe of what seemed to be a new life.

As the wagon traveled through the yellow grass, Arthur noticed Hosea turning to face the broad horizon, almost as if eagerly anticipating something. His demeanor fell, becoming crestfallen if anything else. His lips arched into a straight line, and his eyes became very, very distant as he looked far, far away. Arthur chose to remain silent. As it turned out, Hosea wished for a conversation.

"You know, I was up in this bit of a country with Bessie long ago."

Bessie. Arthur only knew 'bout a few things. He'd known Bessie's death struck a major blow to Hosea-that he'd eventually went back to a life of crime.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Hosea," Arthur spoke, thinking 'bout Jamie Gillis, back when he'd helped Mary retrieve him. The man also mentioned Bessie alongside Annabelle, inquiring 'bout the two women's whereabouts. Upon hearing that both Bessie and Annabelle had died, Jamie noted that it may have been a good thing for Arthur and Mary's relationship to have failed, lest a similar fate befall the latter. Arthur agreed with him then and he still did so now, though the reasons only increased in why he couldn't engage with a relationship for her after his death and receiving a repeat from when everything went down to shit. There was no getting out of this.

Still, he'd wondered if it was ever going to be a possible where he would be able to take it easy.

"It's okay, son." He sighed. "It's just I was always particularly fond of this stretch of road," Hosea admitted. "I was hoping to catch a glimpse of it. There is this very tiny creek that runs next to it. And alongside the same creek, there is this wonderful array of flowers growing alongside it. Sunflowers, poppies, lilies, all of it. We both loved it."

Sadness was clear in his tone, though he kept his voice level.

"You okay?" was all Arthur could voice.

"But don't ya worry 'bout me, son, I ramble much in my old age." Hosea chuckled dryly. "Am often reminded of the past due to something I eat." He leaned against Arthur and planted a hand on his shoulder. "How have you been? The latest changes aside, what's Arthur Morgan greatest adventure?"

He should have seen that coming. Hosea was in grips with Dutch, but the fact that he'd questioned him when he was previously loyal to him was something that the old man clearly caught on.

"I'm... alive," he offered, trying to pass of as sarcastic as he typically was. "Ain't nothing to worried 'bout."

He'd wanted to tell Hosea the truth. He really did. But... he couldn't. It wasn't not being out of ability to trust Hosea. The man would move with him through thousands of Pinkertons if he'd believed achieving victory was possible. He knew that. He hadn't doubt the old man would believe him. He wasn't afraid of changing the past. Hell, he'd wanted to go into it and make sure that problems would no longer be problems, yet with the end of those problems, others arose. He didn't want Hosea to worry 'bout that. Arthur wasn't that desperate. If there were problems currently, Arthur would handle them alone.

It was mainly out of the unfortunate outcome where the old man may not be able to take being told what Dutch would become-have always been. It could make things worse.

"Son, Dutch may not admit it, but we are both concerned 'bout you," Hosea said calmly, his hand guiding down his shoulder in support, the promise that he would understand, sending a pang through his chest. "I know Blackwater was exhausting. The failure of robbing Cornwall's train is stressful, even for Dutch," the man laughed, "you know that not everything is going to be according to plan all of the time."

Oh, so Hosea was concerned 'bout him being stressed. It wasn't a wrong settlement, but Arthur'd been stressed out 'bout events of the future, events that may or may not happen. Damn, Sadie really caught onto it somehow.

"It's not that, trust me, old man," Arthur said, forcing a smile at his direction, somehow able to look at those concerned eyes and still lie. "I'm fine. Like you said, I'm alive. We're living."

The old man sighed, but not in irritation, more so a fondness. "You also called out Dutch 'bout Heidi McCourt. I have never seen you like that." Hosea smiled. "I know Dutch tries to do things reasonably, but he ain't perfect. I'm very proud of you." A smile plastered across his lips. "You've always been obedient, listening to us without thoughts of your own. I do see you writing in that journal of yours from time to time, scribbling the days away as you keep your own thoughts bottled up. You should speak freely more often. Anyone could. From youngest to old. Dutch and I won't get mad."

Dutch would. Hosea wouldn't. Arthur reflected bitterly.

"You are worrying too much, old man." He replied, trying to play it off. "I ain't a teenager no more."

"I know. I know. You're an adult now. I heard it over and over again from both you and John. But you two have the lowest self-esteem I ever seen. It's a quality that connects you two perfectly."

He grunted. "My confidence is just fine."

"You keep telling yourself that. I'm hoping you two just talk 'bout things. You should. John loves you, you know. And you love him. Why can't you?" Both eyebrows narrowed in sadness.

"I will," Arthur guaranteed. "I ain't ever said I didn't care 'bout John. Just wish he wasn't a selfish asshole who'd abandoned Abigail and Jack."

They traversed through the rest of the trip, enjoying themselves as they talked 'bout the Pinkertons and Cornwall, and what everything meant. While their bond remained strong in this time, Arthur didn't truly appreciate the man 'till it was too late, and he was laying in the middle of the road in Saint Denis. This time, he approached with questions and received such in validations. He'd cherished every moment with Hosea so he didn't have to live with the indefinite sadness with knowing that one day Hosea would no longer be with them.

But he'd wanted Hosea's death to be more peaceful, for him to know that they would be okay. Hosea's end didn't have to mean the end of something. That was what he would have wanted. Just a new beginning.

Unfortunately, it didn't matter what he'd wanted. Unpredictability was normal in the life they've lived. Killing Colm was a sign of when that urge could overtake him.

When they finally arrived into Horseshoe Overlook, Arthur saw Dutch getting off of the wagon and moving 'bout at the construction. It occurred to Arthur this was different from last time where they've arrived by the time things set up.

Arthur and Hosea picked up the unconscious form of John and led him to the cot already built. His same tent as last time.

"You weren't wrong, Hosea, this place is perfect!" Dutch barked as they escorted the man's unconscious body. "We have survived the impossible, and we will do what we have to do and prosper!"

Both landed him gently, before turning to him with matching expressions.

"Arthur and I were 'bout to prosper in Blackwater. We were on to something big... then Micah got you all excited 'bout that ferry and here we are." Hosea said, disapproval clear in his tone.

"We have all made mistakes over the years, Hosea..." Dutch replied nonchalantly. "Every last one of us. But I kept us together... kept us alive... kept the nooses off our neck."

"Only to attract more attention and was ready to rob a train from a powerful man," Arthur added, his eyes narrowed at him in similar disappointment.

Hosea nodded at him in agreement, eyes still centered on Dutch. "I ain't got that long. I want folks safe before I go."

They stopped near the cliff, overlooking the horseshoe bend in the Dakota and the forests below, and the others followed.

"And now we are stuck... east of the Grizzlies and out of money... and a long way from our dream of virgin land in the west." His voice dripped in disapproval and disappointment.

"We are safe, are we not? Come on, both of you, a little faith. A little faith!" Faint irritation was in his tone. "We make a bit of money here, then we move again... head out around them, be west of Uncle Sam... in a few months buy some land."

"We've been through this just a few months ago, I recall," Arthur snapped, 'cause he heard this bullshit before. "And now 'cause of you, we are wanted fugitives."

"Would you just look around you. This world has its consolations." Dutch spoke thunderously. "We are surviving, are we not?"

"Off scrapes," he responded, keeping his face straightened. "If you just listen to us 'bout that goddamn ferry, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"I fear you two have been spending too much time together, Arthur." he looked at Hosea pointedly, a muscle in his jaw throbbing. "What type of worries have you filled him with?" Fake humor was in his tone.

Hosea didn't share the seemingly public display of affection. "Arthur is thinking logically. You ain't been acting normal lately." His voice grew in intensity.

"Your excessive complaining isn't helping the situation. Both of yours." Dutch scrutinized them with firm eyes that did little to hide his anger.

Now that all of the wagons were present, Dutch called for all of them to gather up.

"Not again," Arthur mumbled to himself.

"Listen, I made mistakes in Blackwater that I now live to regret!" For a moment, he stared at Arthur, and nodded, as if planning to take accountability and accept he and Micah'd fucked up. Arthur would believe it when he seen it. Of course, he had to disappoint him when folks began moving up. "I know that things have been tough... but we are safe now, and we are far too poor. So, it is time for everyone to get to work."

"Get to work but stay out of trouble. Remember, we are itinerant workers." Hosea imputed.

"Laid off when the shut down our factory to the north," Dutch concluded. "Now, get out there, and see what you can find. Uncle, Reverend Swanson... no more passengers." Some of the gang members laugh. Even Arthur felt slight amusement. "It is time for everyone to earn their keep."

"There is a town a little way down the track... name of Valentine... livestock town. All mud and morons if I remember right. That seems a decent place to start." Hosea advised.

Pearson spoke up from the crowd. "And... we need food... real food... that means every day, one of you."

Dutch walked into his tent and produced a small box. "And remember, whatever it is that you find..." He settled down the box on a nearby barrel. "...the camp gets its slice. Now, be sensible out there."

Once out of ear-shot, walking away from the cliff, Arthur mumbled sarcastically. "And you have a lot to learn 'bout sensibility." He looked at Kieran who actually looked sadden as Mary-Beth wasn't at his side for the first time in a long run.

Taking pity on the poor boy, he searched for two fishing rods. Unsurprisingly, Charles possessed some. He'd doubted the man would care if they'd brought back some more food.

Kieran looked up, "Hello, Mr. Morga-"

"Don't call me that." Fear and surprise crossed his face. "Arthur'll do, boy." He patted him on the shoulder.

"Okay, M-Arthur." The man was more comfortable with him this time around.

He offered, smiling now, "Come on, Kieran, let's go fishing, why don't we?"

"What? Don't you have-" he began.

"Bold of you to assume I do work out of free will," he chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. He would appreciate his presence this time around. "Besides, I have a feeling you know how to fish."

"Oh, you bet! I used to fish every time I can!" Kieran exclaimed, joining him on top of his horse.

"Tell me all 'bout it and don't mention the part where you may have gained a little weight."

"Have you seen yourself lately, Arthur? You might have grown a little lighter in all that snow."

"The same way you'd grown red spending time around Mary-Beth."

He'd really wanted to know 'bout Kieran Duffy.

Chapter Text

While fishing entertained Arthur 'bout as much as Pearson cooking raw meat, he couldn't deny there were moments that he'd enjoyed the simplicities of it all. Memory-wise, he hadn't done this with Hosea and Dutch for a long while. But they had been busy with preparations for whatever next big score last time.

Hosea, he understood. He saw what was happening and wanted an out to all of the blood soiled. Dutch, on the other hand, well he'd doubted there was anything slowing him down then.

They didn't travel too far, merely going some places away, and beginning to fish.

"Got another one," Kieran said, grinning in satisfaction as he placed it inside the small box that Arthur'd stored. He looked at him, noticing his eyes were closing. "Arthur."

"Huh? What?" He snapped out of his doze.

"You closed your eyes again." The man wasn't irritated actually, if anything else, amused.

"I ain't caught one yet," Arthur replied.

"Cause you're not trying hard enough," Kieran laughed. "Just standing there like a bear. Be careful or you might scare all of 'em away."

The older man grumbled, "It ain't even the goddamn fish. It's me."

"It's just how it goes. Keep trying and you'll get it."

"Why ain't we just turn around and come back tomorrow?" Anything to get out of this, even though it would be temporary.

"This is my opinion from experience from land based fishing. There is much less noise and no shadows to spook them fish are more actively feeding at night 'cause they have a better chance of not being seen and hunted by predators. I always have much more success at night." He laughed. "Come on, chin up."

Arthur hummed. "You'll learn fishing ain't for me, boy."

"You got to learn to enjoy these moments." The boy chuckled.

He rolled his eyes. "It's just standing there with a rod and doing nothing."

"Not nothing."

Silence...

"You know, you ain't got a high opinion of yourself, Arthur."

"What?" He blinked. Not another one of these sort of conversations.

"You ain't got a high opinion of yourself," he repeated. "Whenever you accomplish something, you take it for granted."

First, a widow. Second, Hosea. Now, he was getting told by the lowest former albeit honorable O'Driscoll of them all? What had his life turned into?

Not having the heart to say anything too scathing, Arthur responded to the accusation with, "I consider myself pretty humbled, boy."

Kieran looked nervous 'bout what he was going to say, but he came out with it. "Humbled or too pure and not even recognizing it?"

"Huh?" His eyes now darted at him. Whatever the hell was Kieran getting at?

"You ain't perfect, Arthur, ain't nobody is. But you didn't even know me and heard my side of the story before judging me, came up with some false story so I wouldn't be tied up." If he only knew... "You'd also helped Mrs. Adler when you ain't have to. In the short time I have been here, you have always been helping people, doing favors, throwing yourself forward. You ain't ever giving yourself enough credit."

Arthur didn't believe a word Kieran was saying at all. The man admired him, probably as much as Javier admired Dutch this time around. That ain't something he liked. Unknown to Kieran, last time, he didn't allow him to explain himself. He immediately saw an O'Driscoll and went along with the torturing of the man in order for him to squeal 'bout Colm's location. His insight in the future gave him some things to consider, but it came with careful consideration. His view was at best, from tinted-views instead of knowing who Arthur Morgan ever would be or was.

Everyone he'd ever loved had died or left him. His parents, his wife and son, Mary, Hosea, Dutch, Javier, Bill, Lenny, Kieran, Sean. Everyone. He was a broken man. Didn't have any reason to believe that he could be otherwise. Didn't have any reason to believe that folks wouldn't leave him yet again.

That was all he knew how to do. Ruin things. Get the people close to him in scores of trouble or not being good enough.

"You ain't known me for long, Kieran, you'll be gone too." He lowered his rod and collected the small jar, no longer in the mood for conversation

"Says who?" Kieran actually challenged back, disengaging from his activity and following. "You ain't ever known yourself. You would put yourself in harm's way for people without even knowing them. You have something you believe in, but you ain't ever believe in yourself."

This spookily reminded him of Sister. Damn...

"And how do you know this?" Arthur asked, his tone rising. "You only been here for a few days."

"A dishonorable man would not go above and beyond to make sure someone they didn't know and could be lying ain't tied up. A dishonorable man would not comfort a widow they have no reason to comfort. A dishonorable man would not put people's well-beings before his own."

Was Kieran going to give this up?

His morality changed purely 'cause he saw Dutch for what he was. However, he didn't question a lot of actions he did beyond that. He knew all the time what he did was bad, and still did it.

Although one could debate he did it purely for survival, that still didn't make him a good man. It didn't make him evil, but it doesn't make him good.

Even with saving John, one could look through a different perspective. Did John deserved to be a free man? The reason Arthur saved him was to avoid John in prison 'cause in Arthur's eyes John didn't deserve to be captured.

Nevertheless, he was a thief and a murderer. He'd killed plenty of people who weren't in self-defense. A lot of his actions were unforgivable. Kieran, on the other hand, well he ain't ever had a choice. Arthur did. And that was the difference.

"You're assuming you know all 'bout me, Kieran, don't make that mistake." He found his voice.

"Well, shoot me."

Arthur froze, his eyes turning to him, wide. Did he just say-

Kieran looked back at him. "If you're a bad man, shoot me."

Arthur was shaking his head. He could never hurt Kieran, not ever again. It wasn't out of morals like the bastard would think, but merely 'cause he wouldn't shoot a man who saved his life. He couldn't. He couldn't even imagine aiming his revolver at him.

"You ain't a bad man, Arthur." he said. "Everyone knows it. Everyone except yo-"

"HEY!" a voice interjected, coming from the water and running towards both men.

He pinned Kieran. "Hey! You ain't allowed near my lake!"

Arthur gripped the ugly man and wrapped his arms around him, surprised by the overprotective fury brimming up inside of him. He recognized the idiot. "Calm down, boy, you ought to go get a normal place instead of swimming in the goddamn waters, you bloody fool."

He tossed him onto the muddy ground.

"Bout as naked as a jaybird!" Kieran grumbled as he stood back up on his feet.

"Hey! Why don't you take a break and come on in?! You ain't allowed to be coming this far out here and having no fun!" The naked man recovered to his feet and stared at them enthusiastically, having no reaction to what just occurred.

Arthur couldn't help the shot of amusement ripping up. "Why don't ya go back home? Ain't got no place being out here."

The naked man laughed. "Oh, oh, oh, this is my home! Look at the nature!" He motioned with both arms as if proclaiming a great speech. "My lovely abode!"

Kieran nudged Arthur on his shoulders before indicating to the man and murmured. "You actually seeing this shit? There's someone that needs to go to confession."

"I feel bad for the fish," Arthur nodded in agreement.

"I have to keep the blood pumping! See y'all fellas later!" The naked man jumped right back into the water and began to swim.

A small part of Arthur contemplated just shooting the crazy freak. It would definitely make the fish' lives a lot more easier. But no matter, the man was harmless even though he'd just assaulted Kieran, and the fishes would probably move elsewhere.

"You're okay?" he inquired, wondering what happened to him being able to shrug off things so simply, so...

"Barely a scratch," Kieran admitted grouchily, "now where were we?"

Arthur'd remembered the earlier events and was 'bout to tell him. The man clearly lost his line of thinking. He'd took advantage of this instantly. "You were talking 'bout your first few days here."

"Ah yes," Kieran said, seeming to recall the story. Arthur actually fought laughing out loud as Kieran began to break down the tale. "Well, the first days weren't really that bad. It was..."

At least the other matter was dropped.

Chapter Text

'Well, here we are. Back at Horseshoe Overlook. Last time, I was disgusted with coming into civilization. Hell, Hosea even mentioned once that we would have been to New York by Christmas. Oh, if only he knew what bullshit Dutch would have gotten us wrapped up in the following months. That aside, I made the occasional trip to Valentine during a few times in the past couple of days, mostly for supplies, but there was no rest for anyone 'till all tents and supplies were where they belonged. At least, Kieran ain't tied up this time around, and the women actually seem to enjoy his presence. This way, John gets more rest, everyone's safe, and I can plan.'

Arthur set aside his writing utensil and closed the journal, placing it inside of his satchel. He pushed up from the wood he was sitting on and walked inside of the camp. Since his recent change in attitude that most of them ain't seen coming, the reactions were mixed.

The likes of Dutch, Micah, and Javier were actively eyeing him, but none said anything to him yet. Others like Lenny, Hosea, and most of the women-aside from Molly who still were chasing after Dutch in her delusions, treated him like all was normal.

He could see the looks in Dutch and Javier's eyes. They were the same as they were back in Beaver Hollow. The faint distrust. The wonder of what happened to his loyalty. The disgust of him questioning Dutch.

Arthur wasn't exactly helping himself for sure.

But he ain't found any reason to care.

Not now as he'd moved over and carried two sacks to the provision wagon, loaded two bales to feed to the horses, a bucket of water to carry to the provision wagon and top off a wash barrel and 5 logs to split. It was a routine he had made. To take away the burden from the women at camp. His heart opened to the world, he didn't want to leave them to do all of the chores.

Since Kieran gained some esteem around the camp already, he was positioned next to the camp stables-a good move by Dutch. Seriously, Arthur didn't know what the fuck Dutch and Hosea were thinking having Kieran doing camp guarding when it was known that he wasn't able to even rival the likes of John or Lenny yet. He'd needed training before he did such ever again.

He walked inside of the tent where Marston was resting in. The man was conscious, his wounds healing somewhat, but there was still a long way to go.

"Anything interesting happened when I was out, Morgan?"

"Nothing worthwhile you being eaten by wolves," he replied.

"I wish Dutch would just let me leave." John grumbled with distaste. The decision to force Johnny boy to rest was another thing that Arthur'd agreed with Dutch 'bout.

"Dutch is right, Marston, you have a son. It's time for you to worry more 'bout those duties."

"If he's mine," John responded with no small amount of venom.

"That's just an excuse to ignore the fact that you've gotten a little too fancy down there with Abigail, boy," Arthur responded, not having the patience to deal with this bullshit. "He is yours. He looks like you. You just don't want to take the responsibility."

"-Pfft, now you're sounding like Hosea. He had been nagging like a wife to me 'bout this too." The younger man groaned. "Ya know, ya care so much 'bout the boy, why don't you raise him?"

"Are you serious?" Arthur asked, glaring at him full-attention.

"Deathly so, Morgan."

"You're such a goddamn idiot, Marston, take on the responsibility. Those twenty minutes of pleasure turned out to be an eighteen years of yours." Arthur replied pointedly. He didn't exactly warn Marston 'bout the consequences of his actions when it came to sleeping with Abigail, far from it-cheering him on. This turned out to be a mistake that Marston would have to sleep with. "You have no idea what you're pushing away, boy," he continued not with just anger but more disappointment, "I would do anything to be in your place. You have this opportunity and you're wasting it. What a goddamn deadbeat."

"I'm not a deadbeat," John replied, a tad bit defensively, his eyes narrowed.

"Tell yourself that, Marston, to sleep better at night. You have been given a gift with that boy and you push him away, blame him for the mistakes that you have made." He sneered. "You know what it is like to be an orphan. You have been abused yourself and you're doing the same to Jack. Hosea is the one who's teaching him to read when it should be your goddamn responsibility. He's not Javier's son. He's not Dutch's son. You act like you hate him."

"Look, I don't hate the boy," John sighed, "bu-but you know what this life is like. I can drop dead in five minutes, and the boy would have to live with that. He has his ma. She can take care of him."

This stubborn slack of shit...

Arthur fought down the rising rage, replying icily. "We're going to be leaving this life behind one day, John, you can't push Jack away. He's getting older every day. You know damn well what's it like to not have a parent in your life. When you want to take care of him, it would be too goddamn late. Come on, John, you're better than this."

"Look, why do you care so damn much?" John inquired pointedly. "You weren't there before."

"Cause I don't want you to waste an opportunity as I have. The chance is right in front of you. You and Abigail ain't have the best relationship. It was just a night of lovemaking; but she's right. You have a son. Like it or not, you'll have to be a man and take care of him. There's no time to run off on your horse and leave behind that boy. You have to step forward and be a father now." Arthur indicated to the boy sitting by himself, shifting. "Look up, Marston." He didn't. Fury crossed his face, and he shouted. "Look, boy!"

John did so, slowly, looking up at Jack from a distance-sitting by himself, playing with the dirt in his hand, no one noticing him. A brief moment of pity flashed in his eyes. It was distinct, almost not seen by his flesh scars, but it was there. Crushed by the forced apathy that he'd placed on.

"You're doing the same thing to him that had been done to you. You're a better man than this, John Marston, he didn't ask to come into this goddamn world. You brought him here with your stupid mistakes. He is a Marston as much as he is a Roberts. Accept it. Come true to yourself."

His point made, Arthur stood up and left. He'd known John would at least think 'bout it-hopefully. There was no doubt in his mind that it would take time to sink in. But if he was lucky, John would at least try to be friendly to the boy. That would be another positive change in his favor. To make John step up sooner 'cause goddamn it, the boy was a Marston!

He had made jokes 'bout Jack, right directly to him and away from him. But even last time, Arthur saw in the whole pictures they'd used to have that the boy'd looked so much like John than he did Abigail that John'd to be a goddamn fool for not seeing it.

He spotted his tent a short mile away. Grimshaw had located all of his belongings right where he was accustomed to. His layers of clothes, at the foot of his bed. His table was an arm's length away, and his shaving kit at the front. His photographs, newspaper clippings, and souvenirs surrounded him. He walked inside and just sat on the bed.

He reached for his trimmer.

"Mr. Morgan, I need a favor," Susan Grimshaw said, appearing at his side.

Arthur fought a groan. He'd already knew... That drunken fool was always going to make Arthur age some extra. "Lemme guess. Reverend?"

"Reverend," she confirmed. "Gone missing again. I need you to go find him." She indicated in a general direction.

"Not this again…" Swanson really drove him crazy. Arthur knew he could never do it, but the goddamn drunk bastard was going to end up on the other side of his revolver at this point.

Well, he could let Ms. Grimshaw handle him. "I got him." He sighed in irritation and moved over to his horse. Luckily, he had known exactly where the priest would be. Some rundown shack next to the railroad, betting his money, and likely some of the camp that he'd smuggled away, which landed himself on stupid debts.

As he approached his destination, he could hear Swanson's guffaw. It was soon interrupted by a shout as the Reverend found out his losing hand.

Wanting to get this out of the way already, Arthur busted through the door, perhaps far more abruptly than necessary.

Swanson stared up from his pile of cards. "Mr. Morgan!" he shouted. "I took your advice, sir. I took your advice."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, let's go home." He reached out to grip him, but Swanson slapped his hand away. In an awkward motion, the priest stumbled to his feet, knocking aside his chair as he grabbed Arthur by the shoulders.

"I took your advice, sir," he repeated. "I have removed myself from Morpheus' embrace. No more shall I sink, sir. I am free. I am free!"

"Come on, Reverend, I ain't got time for this bullshit," he wrapped his arm around his shoulders and led him away. Swanson stumbled underneath his grip, obviously wanting to put up a fight, but the alcohol made him more irritating. "This is finished."

Seeing that his chance at easy money was vanishing, one of the poker players immediately got to his feet. "Sit down, Reverend, we ain't finished." Arthur glared at the man, making him shy back slightly. "What? Ain't none of us forced liquor down his throat, friend, I just want him to play."

Goddamn Swanson, sober up for once. Grimshaw'd really needed to have more people watch the drunken fool. "Play? Look at him. He's drunk."

"Why can't we all just get along?" Swanson interjected. "These are good men, Arthur. They're children of God. Children of God…" Right as the last word exited his mouth, the man's eyes rolled up and he collapsed on the ground. Expected.

Arthur scoffed.

"Oh. Well…" Seeing that the Reverend was not in the position to play the game further, the indignant player went silent. "How's 'bout you play in his place, huh? That seems fair."

"Have you missed the part where I said I ain't got time for this shit?" He asked as he gathered up Reverend's unconscious body. And he was certainly in no mood to be chasing witnesses and preventing Swanson from a suicide attempt on the goddamn train tracks. "Good day, fellers."

Their faces dimmed with disappointment, but to Arthur's relief, neither men decided to press the issue any further.

Once outside, he placed the unconscious priest onto the Walker to begin his journey back. He rode his horse through the forests back to camp. Fortunately, along the way, the Reverend didn't stir.

Arthur lifted him up from the Walker and moved over.

"Sleep your way to salvation." He commented with a grunt and placed Swanson onto his bedroll. The man had spent him nearly his entire day, never mind his sanity.

Leaving him behind before he could have come back to the real world, Arthur moved back to his tent, hearing the coughs from the man behind him as Ms. Grimshaw began to tend to him like a child. The scene filled him with both genuine pity for the Reverend and amusement 'cause Ms. Grimshaw always looked out for the gang.

Unfortunately, the day wasn't over yet.

He heard a voice from a distance.

"Dutch! They got-"

What?

"Dutch! They got-"

SHIT.

He almost forgot. That being, one of the biggest things that happened when they first came here. When Dutch sent Micah and Lenny out to patrol ahead moving here, they had gotten themselves into trouble. Lenny managed to escape, but Micah was arrested and thrown in jail.

This! This was it! The perfect plan! This way, he could get to kill Micah without suspicion. The law could get to him, or Arthur could do it himself and retreat. It would be smooth. It would be perfect.

When he came closer to the direction of the voice, Arthur's joy was short-lived. A chill started at his feet and traveled to his chest as he'd stared. No! No! No!

His senses jolted.

Heart picking up rapidly.

It was...

No! NO! NO!

Arthur's breathing increased in fierceness. His chest tightened.

HOW?!

This couldn't be real!

"Little red skin's been arrested for murder! We were in Strawberry..." Micah Bell stated. Arthur saw Dutch ahead, joined by a few others who were at the scene at the time, the rat speaking.

This DID NOT happen last time!

"They nearly lynched the boy. He got lucky-I think. They... they got him in the sheriff's in Strawberry and there's talk of swinging him." Bill added, but a part of him actually seemed regretful.

What, why? Another change in events hurt Arthur more. He'd noticed Bill have been gone, but he ain't think Dutch had sent more than two-that being Micah and Lenny. But it... made sense in hindsight. Dutch'd gotten paranoid 'bout the failed robbery with the Cornwall's train. When Dutch was paranoid, things happened, and when they happened, it usually was up to Arthur, Hosea, or one of the others to fix the goddamn mess.

Goddamn it!

But in some ways, Arthur grudgingly understood. Bill ain't ever had shit to do besides being a fat drunk around camp. Giving him responsibility was definitely understandable. Or just kicking him out altogether. Still, he couldn't help the disgust that worked its way in his system as he glared at the two goddamn rats!

"So, you just left that boy behind to die?!" Arthur demanded, feeling the urge to put bullets through both of them. If Lenny died, he would. Bill's line of thinking got Sean killed last time. Misjudged, misguided, he was, but the fat bastard was a goddamn idiot. Throw Micah in there, and you have chaos added.

"Woah, woah, woah, calm down, Morgan," Micah said, holding his hands out in front of him, not even looking slightly fearful. "He was just a boy. He ain't nothing of real importance." A smile came across his lips, making Arthur felt an even stronger urge to wipe it from his goddamn face. "Plenty of those turds to go around." he laughed.

"They are going to have him swing as soon as possible 'cause of his skin color, you goddamn fools!" he growled.

"I'm afraid I agree with Mr. Morgan here," Dutch interfered on his behalf, his eyes narrowed at their direction, "the fact that you both left Lenny is concerning. I do not want to see it happen again. We are a community. A family. We do not leave each other to die."

That was rich coming from him.

"Now we gotta go get him," Hosea spoke up.

"I will go," Arthur commanded more so than volunteered, and he wasn't just angry 'cause Lenny'd gotten captured instead. It was as if fate was mocking him for shit to happen differently every time Micah Bell was concerned. Was this just the consequences of killing Colm, of the failed train robbery?

How much had he changed indeed?

How much would be the same and totally different?

"You're worrying too much, Morgan!" Micah said behind him, putting false sadness. "While it is a shame to hear 'bout red skin, you are acting like we left him on purpose." There was a momentary glint in his right eye, that suggested this was no accident.

How the hell did Dutch not spot it?

Even if Arthur almost didn't, he'd known the boy was nothing but trouble.

"If it was you, trust and believe I wouldn't try to save you," he threatened darkly. "Would have even encouraged them to swing ya."

"Oh, I'm hurt, Morgan," Micah replied, placing a hand on his chest. "You shouldn't talk 'bout that way with a brother of yours."

"Ain't no brother of mine, Micah," he snapped back. "Lenny? That boy is loyal. One of the most loyal ones to our family." He'd really hoped that Lenny ain't gonna betray him like Javier did, 'cause right now, all he could be sure of was Kieran and Sadie's loyalties.

"Son-"

He couldn't help it. He glared at Dutch now. "And you don't even want to help."

Dutch's eyes sharpened. "What are you implying, son?"

Arthur wanted to go in and label Dutch's crimes again, but the gunslinger bit his lip.

"That both of those idiots could have stopped this," he hissed, "but all they do is stir up trouble. Every goddamn plan." It took much to resist the urge to mention what happened to Sean in Rhodes, an event that would never happen if Arthur had anything to say 'bout it.

Bill spoke in his pompous loud voice, "It ain't my fault, Morgan! Any of ours!" he snarled, looking seconds away from grabbing Arthur's throat. He was beginning to make Arthur seriously reconsider saving him. "Look, what's the big deal?! We could find someone else. It ain't worth the effo-"

"That boy is part of this gang, just like everyone else, Mr. Williamson," Hosea scolded, his face twisted in anger. "You better hope he doesn't swing."

"So much for us being a family," Arthur snapped, glaring at Dutch who held his stare for one moment-stunned by his words.

He eventually gave up the staring contest and walked away.

Dutch recovered from his surprise and followed. "Son, you gotta calm down," he stated softly, holding his hands out, attempting to grip Arthur's shoulders. "I understand wanting to save Lenny but don't do something you regret."

How dare he preach to him like a child? Despite this, Dutch was unfortunately right. He couldn't shoot up the entire town nor kill Micah and Bill, tempting as it was.

"Why is Micah still here, Dutch?" Arthur snapped. "He's always doing crazy shit, as if trying to cause us swing." he huffed. "And Bill is a useless sack of shit who shouldn't be assigned these type of jobs."

"Micah wouldn't do that," Dutch defended. "He's a good man with a bright head on his shoulders. And Bill is an army veteran. He's skilled at the end of the day. We can't predict the law, son, but they can't hold off armed men by themselves. I plan to punish them for this."

Right, likely cleaning out the stables for a day...

"Bullshit. I have a feeling they'd left him to die on purpose." That last part had slipped out, but the venom in his tone seemed to make Dutch stiffened.

"They wouldn't. We are loyal to each other, son. Micah and Bill are my sons. Lenny is too. You are my son," Dutch continued.

"Blackwater shows why we can't trust him, Dutch," he pushed forward up to the horse. "For Micah, he's always the first. The one who has to survive. He would let us swing just for himself." He knew this. Micah admitted this himself. "That piece of shit has been nothing but a problem since he'd got here, and you'll still keep him around just 'cause he fills your goddamn ego."

Dutch's face became cold, and it wasn't just 'cause of surprise. Both of his eyes went dark, his face darkened, the sunlight almost brimming off of it. "Son," he stated in a breaking tone, "It ain't 'bout my ego. You're acting like a child. Mr. Bell has been helpful to get us out of this mess. I need you to keep faith. You questioning me is exactly why folks like Micah and Bill are needed. I fear you wouldn't be able to do what must be done."

"Whatever that you tell yourself that helps you sleep at night, Dutch."

Ignoring the icy glare, Arthur stormed to the hitching post. Ryan stood on guard. Kieran have been given the responsibility to train his horse, something the boy obviously enjoyed with being a natural horseman. Time to see how much that training paid off.

So much for second chances being easier!

Chapter Text

Arthur sped to Strawberry as quickly as he could. The steed only slowed when energy was spent which Arthur'd understood as it wasn't trained completely yet, but when he'd sped up, Arthur got to Strawberry within an hour and thirty minutes or so. His mood only got worse 'cause it should, would, have been Micah. Maybe killing Colm wasn't a good idea 'cause since then, even bigger changes have been made, influencing Dutch's decision-making and such. The entire gang goddamn it.

Ugh, he was an idiot, and he'd always blamed Micah for being as such.

When he'd finally arrived at Strawberry, Arthur had a brief moment to wonder 'bout what would have happened if he'd made a living here. The town was only just building, and further advancements were expected, but small establishments were mainly what to describe Strawberry at this point.

The more he'd thought 'bout it, the more he'd realized it was not a location Arthur would want to take it easy at. Ain't much longer before Pinkertons started coming here.

His horse moved over to the Sheriff's Office and the form of Maggie hitched right outside the building gave him reassurances that the kid was alright, but likely, they'd wished to make Lenny look as much as a bloody criminal as possible.

The horse looked at Arthur and neighed in recognition, shoving her upper body up in excitement. She wasn't perfect, but she was relatively docile and extremely loyal, just like Lenny.

Wanting not to get unwanted attention, he moved over and tapped the horse on the neck, calming her down. "Imma get Lenny. Calm down, girl. Girl! Calm down."

Maggie obeyed, leaning her head down in his direction. He placed his hand on top of her snout and sniffed when she'd calmed.

"Make sure he falls off later for getting himself captured, why don't ya, girl?" He always had a good bond with horses, even the ones that ain't belong to him.

Arthur disembarked from his horse and placed his Springfield Rifle on his back. 4 rounds. But fully loaded to other calibers. It should last him a bit. He had his revolver for backup. After checking to make sure he was fully armed and loaded, he approached and knocked on the door.

He'd waited.

"Yeah?" A Deputy opened the door with a pistol in hand.

"Hello, sir," Arthur said, raising his hands over his head, "I've come from Blackwater-a Pinkerton. There was a fight earlier, I heard. I believe one of the people that you've apprehended is one of them folks."

"We don't deal with the bounty hunting business around here, mister." The Sheriff stated, distracted by the paperwork on his desk.

"I was just wondering if I could confirm it's the same person," Arthur said timidly.

The Sheriff sighed. "Well there were three of them," The man put his pen down and moved towards Arthur. "One gets into a drunken fight, in which he kills two men, and is almost caught by the law. Then the fat fool came in and started blasting out my officers and various different people. We found this Negro. I don't know if they were friends, but they were with each other. Caught him attempting to escape."

Arthur nodded, "I appreciate your help, sir."

He exited onto the dirty street. Ah, that explained things. At least, the boy was in the same cell as Micah, relieving his frustration and irritation.

He walked around the side of the Sheriff's Office, his body freezing when he spotted no Lenny.

Goddamn time travel!

Where the fuck was the kid?!

Panic gripped him.

Only then did Arthur notice people were gathering up. The Sheriff and Deputies exited the office. Another wagon pulled up, picking them up, and leading down the street.

He'd gotten on top of his horse, unhitching Maggie, and followed behind the wagon. They conveyed with other wagons and horses. An over-exaggeration of security if Arthur does say so himself.

His worst fears came true.

And low and behold, in the main wagon, was Lenny Summers.

When they'd arrived at the stage where the swinging would take place, Lenny was dragged out of the wagon, his hands bound together. Taking a closer look, he'd seen Lenny's busted lip and bruises across his face. It angered him.

What the hell have they done to him?!

Stopping the horses and hiding them in what little cover he could, Arthur spotted the fear across Lenny's face as the noose tied around his neck. The hanging man smiled sadistically as Lenny stared around nervously, his hands being secured behind his back.

The formal man began to speak, "This negro is guilty of murder of twelve civilians..."

Arthur toned the rest of the meeting out. He'd doubted that these weren't charges that were being coughed up on a whim to make Lenny look worse. He almost scoffed. How little regard do people in positions of power have over civilians-especially those of Lenny's type.

Goddamn Micah Bell and Bill Williamson!

"These negros have been inflicting our land long enough. It's time for true justice to be brought today. Anyone who goes against the law, especially those of this type of horrid skin, ould be hunted down and defeated."

Lenny's eyes widened in horror as he turned to look at the man. One pull and everything would end for him. Arthur was just getting as close as possibly could, knowing if fuck this up, Lenny was damned again.

"Let us end this terrible affair and conclude this business! May God forgive you, boy, because no one dead or alive will!"

Time slowed again, ears ringing, and Arthur had his revolver raised, drawing an invisible "x" as he fired the bullets, dropping the hanging man and the people next to him, along with the rope tied around his neck.

Lenny's eyes went wide, but it didn't last for long, as he collapsed on stage, and removed the remnants of the rope. By now, all of the lawmen and people turned to look at Arthur who simply raised his gun and started firing at the shooting gunman, avoiding the innocent people.

Innocents retreated at the sight of the fearsome outlaw. The lawmen retreated behind what cover they could, but only a few made it. His hand lingered over the trigger, only stopping a brief time to reload, before continuing to unleash hell upon them.

The lawmen who managed to duck and fire forced Arthur to do so himself, but it turned out to be a major mistake. Lenny was behind them, reaching for the few dead's revolvers, and firing at the men. Some of his bullets missed their marks, but others connected, dropping them onto the ground.

Arthur moved up the small stairs and reached out for him, seeing him caress his neck. "That damn rope was not fun to have tied around my neck at all, huh Arthur? I thought I was a fucking dead man."

"You just couldn't run, huh, Lenny?" Arthur spoke, not even angry with Lenny-just disappointed. He shouldn't be like this right now. "What the hell did they do to ya?"

"I was beaten up. I thought they were going to lynched me sooner, but they had to make it look all legal, ya know. They were searching for fatass and that son of a bitch." He nodded, "I owe you one, Arthur."

"It's what friends do for each other, kid."

"I thought Dutch would come for me," Lenny stated, a little hurt.

"Ah, you know Dutch? Too busy with dealing with a rat." He subtly implanted more seeds of doubt into the darker-skinned man.

Whether it worked or not, Lenny laughed at that. He gripped his repeater and fired at the approaching men who shot at their direction, coming painfully close. If any of them poked their heads out, they were doomed.

"Stay behind me. I ain't letting you get shot." Again, like in Saint Denis, he bit himself from saying.

"Should have known you were up to no good!" The familiar voice of the Sheriff chorused upon gunfire.

Instinctively, Arthur held his repeater out and fired three bullets, piercing them through the chest. The men collapsed onto the ground one by one, and with the momentary peace, a shiver coursed down his spine. Arthur couldn't help but feel sorry for the men who were simply doing their jobs, even if that job description involved killing them.

Unfortunately, more civilians of Strawberry who wanted Lenny to swing came forward, making life slightly harder for the gunslinger. One on a wagon, and the other on foot. They aimed and opened fire in his direction, forcing Arthur to reload and fire at them as well. Two he'd missed. Five he had put down within five seconds.

More men on horses approached, shooting in their direction.

He poked out and fired at them.

"Hey, Arthur, they took my weapons," Lenny called over, shooting another man off the horse, his eyes flashing contemplatively. He shook his head and shrugged, "but eh let 'em keep it. I just want to get back to camp."

Arthur nodded in agreement. Very likely, the same folks who stole Micah got Lenny's weapon, but he could always just replace it.

"Ya know!" Lenny shouted, sarcasm in his voice, "This reminds me of the good old days Hosea likes telling me 'bout. 'cept the great Arthur Morgan came to bail me out of trouble."

Arthur smirked. "You could go back in your cell, ya know."

Already, the dark-skinned man was shaking his head, the smirk clear on his lips as much as the irritation. "I'll pass."

Gripping Lenny by the arm, he dashed down through the streets, firing back at the few lawmen, a warning if anything else. When they'd gotten into a more or less cleared area, both men whistled for their horses and got on.

He gripped the reins of his horse, making Ryan off into a sprint with Arthur firing back at the dozen or so men shooting at them. Maggie followed behind with Lenny providing covering fire as well.

'Bout ten minutes later into a relative cover fire that occurred only seconds prior, Arthur knew they were searching for him. The sounds of horse stomps and running made that crystal clear. Others running with guns in their hands as well.

Ryan and Maggie stayed silent and led them on the path Arthur continued to make in his head. When they were away from Strawberry in the forest, and the shouts of the men and horses became distant, Arthur knew that they were in the clear.

"That's the last time I will ever agree to go with Micah and Bill anywhere." Lenny breathed out.

Arthur shrugged, "The next time, just leave 'em to swing."

Lenny sighed. "Ya know, they were planning to blame me for all charges." His voice became a little sadder. "He always be taking the blame."

Remembering his meeting and helping with that one fella who thought he'd offended him in Rhodes, Arthur could understand. He'd never seen the problem with Charles and Lenny's skin tones that "civilized" folks had. That was another good thing 'bout being raised under Hosea and Dutch-he had to admit. Teaching him how to treat everyone the same and welcoming diversity in the gang.

When they made it back to camp after around an hour of making sure they weren't followed, Arthur and Lenny hitched Ryan and Maggie. The latter had a scowl across his lips as Arthur followed him up to Dutch who'd just so happened to be present with Micah and Bill.

"Oh, glad to see you're back with us, boy!" Bill said in a pompous loud tone, clapping Lenny in camaraderie.

Dutch landed the fat man with an unimpressed stare. "His name is Lenny, and he's one of us, so don't call him that no more."

"Sorry, Dutch," Bill looked ashamed and incredibly well-reprimanded. Arthur fought a laugh. It was a wonderful scene to witness.

"Ain't it nice when they talk 'bout hanging you for crimes you haven't committed?" It had been a long time since Lenny looked this pissed. "If Arthur hadn't came for me..."

"Ah, you're still alive, aren't ya?!" Micah laughed. "C'mon, kid, it was a bad situation."

"Whatever you say," he replied bitterly, before at last, the weight of the situation came down upon the poor lad's shoulders. He collapsed forward, and Arthur and Dutch reached out for him. The treatment he'd undergone was going to take a while to recover from.

"While Lenny recovers, we're going to need some guards watching over camp," Hosea said sternly, eyeing both Bill and Micah with no small amount of disapproval. "You two will be filling his duties."

"Oh, but come on, old man-" Bill began to complain, his feelings on that obvious.

"This is not a negotiation," Dutch interjected authoritatively. It was only a reminder of how "fair" Dutch van der Linde was when he'd wanted to be. How would he still have Lenny's loyalty if he didn't allow him time to sleep it off? "Hosea's right. You both left him behind. He needs rest for the next few weeks and he will get it."

A lengthy silence passed.

"...Of course, boss," Micah consented, doing his best to hide any anger or negative emotion. If he'd lost Dutch's loyalty, he wouldn't be able to twist the gang into anything he'd imagined.

"Fine..." Bill agreed in his pompous way, rolling his eyes. "I need a beer first."

"Now..." Hosea cut in. "You can get yourself drunk later."

"I know you were upset earlier, and haven't approved of me lately, but still, well done, son," Dutch said, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. "You go get some rest too."

This command, Arthur was glad to follow.

He was 'bout to take a nap when he'd noticed Tilly walked up, adorned in her yellow dress.

"Are you okay, Arthur?" Concern was in her voice.

Arthur was taken back in time.

'You're a good girl. You have a good life now, you hear?'

'Alright, Arthur. I'l-I'll miss you.'

'Me too, sweetheart. Me too.'

"Never better," he responded with forced plainness, appreciating the time he had off.

"I know you and Dutch haven't been seeing eye-to-eye lately, but he means well. I ain't going to pretend to know what had happened to Blackwater, but... just saying you should..." Tilly paused and stared in the direction of Dutch, "should trust him more."

"I trust him, Tilly, but it's everything else I ain't been liking lately. We get to live. Those who did in that massacre does not." he stated with some solemness.

A glare crossed her face, and Arthur couldn't tell if it ain't been directed at him. "You know the Foreman Brothers?"

"Them boys who you used to run with?"

"They ran with me," she asserted as if correcting him. "They kidnapped me when I was twelve years old right from my momma. Malcolm Foreman..." she shivered, "well he treated me real bad. He was bad. You know how I slit his throat and ran away? I never felt bad 'bout killing him. I ran back to where my momma was working, but she'd died. I was falling into trouble."

Tilly looked up at him, her eyes flickering.

"Dutch... Dutch, he found me, saved me, raised me, treated me right, taught me to read. He ain't perfect, but he's the closest I've met in this world." Her glare darkened. "And how you been treating him lately ain't right, I think."

Arthur swallowed a curse. It made sense. Tilly stayed 'till the end and didn't run with Pearson, Swanson, Mary-Beth, and Uncle. Dutch took her in and taught her to read so she still did feel some loyalty to Dutch. She did believe that Molly got what she deserved due to breaking the gang rules. She believed in following the rules and she didn't want to help Kieran at all when he was tied up. Arthur did save her from Anthony Foreman twice and said she'll miss Arthur but since she followed the rules and if she heard Arthur doubting Dutch she may have disliked Arthur. Did she right now? If Tilly'd stayed 'till that showdown, would she have backed Dutch and Javier, who she also had a close bond with?

But Tilly was a smart girl. A brave one, too. Perhaps seeing Dutch leaving John to die would have snapped her out of that indoctrination. She was capable of thinking for herself, Arthur knew this. He knew that she was very loyal to Dutch, but it wasn't an obsession to appease his nature. Not like Javier. Arthur wouldn't give up on her.

For now, he had to choose his words carefully.

"I love Dutch. He'd done the same for me, Tilly. I really care 'bout him, but the man ain't above shortcomings as you've just admitted. Sometimes, he makes mistakes. Hosea knows this. That massacre and the death of Heidi McCourt is inexcusable."

Tilly's eyes didn't sharpen, but her voice did rise. "We have to stick together for survival, Arthur, it's the rules. Dutch would get us out of this. Give him some faith. He needs us all to survive." It struck him how similar she'd sounded to Javier in the final days of the gang. She was just worried 'bout him, 'bout him questioning the man who was her father figure.

"We also have a rule 'bout not killing innocents, Ms. Tilly. That girl was an innocent. She ain't been shooting at us. She didn't deserve to die."

The tension in her shoulders decreased, thankfully, and Tilly nodded. "I know, Arthur, but Dutch would make up for it. Everyone make mistakes. He wouldn't get us all killed. There's still time for him to take accountability."

He sighed and went over to his bed, and the moment his head met the makeshift pillow, sleep consumed him.

Chapter Text

Kieran learned quickly under Arthur's instructions.

The man already knew how to fire a revolver. When Arthur'd told folks at the camp that he was planning to train the kid, there were no protests. Dutch even looked on with some faint approval, no doubt thinking that Arthur was wishing to feel his self-made legacy. Truth be told, Arthur wasn't planning to allow the man out of his sight-not with the threats of the O'Driscolls taking him again.

They may be lost and misdirected without Colm's presence, but it was likely that they were leading into a whole other bunch of shit. Maybe, with the bodies of so many members of the gang, Milton and the Pinkertons would tighten their hold over them this time 'round.

Arthur had 100% trust in Kieran. The kid was a good one who should have earned that the last time the moment he'd saved Arthur's life. The only problem was Arthur had been a cold son of a bitch who only softened up through time, but Kieran hadn't been able to see that.

This time around, the two had connected instantly.

When Mary-Beth was off with Tilly, Arthur had taken the opportunity to bond with Kieran, treating him like another brother.

It was odd to think that he had bonded with an O'Driscoll. Arthur Morgan once would have punched someone in the face or swung someone himself if they'd told him that he would ever do that.

The bottles settled up in the abandoned ranch were used for his training.

Much to Arthur's amusement, the younger man was actually landing his shots, unlike Sean.

Sean.

The pain sent through his chest again when he'd thought 'bout half of his brains blown out in Rhodes.

Damn, he'd missed that Irish bastard.

He actually been planning to go after him soon, but Hosea had prevented him.

"Hey, Arthur," Hosea said, walking up, notably smiling at the form of Kieran shooting another beer bottle. "This reminds me of the days-"

Arthur sighed and waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, "Not this again."

"I don't know why you're always so embarrassed 'bout those times, son." Hosea said with a knowing grin.

"I was a foolish boy back then. Those days are over now." It was some of the GOOD memories that they have. But whenever Hosea mentioned them, Arthur'd felt embarrassed. One time, he told the whole camp 'bout Arthur climbing a tree and not being able to get back down that it required Dutch to climb the tree himself to recover the lost boy.

For weeks, Mac and Davey didn't let him live it down.

He'd liked Kieran, but the last he needed was the former O'Driscoll having some ways to tease him. While the boy was helplessly scared of disappointing him, or anyone else, which helped with the story 'bout him being a slave to Colm, the man could easily be teasing on his best days.

"Unfortunately," Hosea smiled, "you really gotta gain appreciation for them days."

"Maybe when my bones are whittled like some people," Arthur played along.

"You're still joking 'bout my age, boy?" Hosea scolded half-heartedly. "You really gotta gain an appreciation for your elders, son."

"I got 'bout the highest appreciation for you, old man," Arthur replied sincerely, "but only when you shut your trap and stop being a nuisance."

"Oh, what fun would that be?" The older man snickered and poked him in the ribs. "Gotta keep you and Dutch on your toes. You need my parental presence. Without me, who knows what type of mess you all would get in?"

Oh, if only he knew...

"I can only imagine the amount of trouble that Dutch would get in," he sarcastically remarked with half-truths.

"Can we talk about that?" Hosea inquired, gripping his shoulder and leading him away. "There seems to be a tension there between you two, and while I don't want to think it's your fault, I actually wanted to ask you is there something about Dutch that I should know?"

Yet again, the temptation to tell the old man the truth rose again. Maybe, the older man could reason to Dutch...

Yet again, he saw Heidi McCourt.

Her claims Dutch ain't able to be saved.

It was a goddamn dream, even though it felt more like a memory.

How did he know he'd seen Heidi McCourt and not just him going insane?

This sometimes felt like a dream too. Was this real?

"Micah." Contempt leaked into his tone. It should be a sign of what type of trouble the rat bastard entailed when he and Bill left Lenny to swing. Last time around, the kid had no choice but to leave the more experienced and troublemaker son of a bitch.

Arthur didn't even have to elaborate, for Hosea jumped on. "Yea, fair enough, I often think the same. Micah is an opportunist. I can just see it. He doesn't care 'bout nobody here. He just wants to survive. If it was my choice, he would have never been allowed here." Hosea replied, clenching his hands up into fists. Unfortunately, none of them could kick him out. There was no reason to do so, and Micah hadn't given them any reason that would sound excusable to Dutch.

What grated on Arthur's nerves was the fact that each of his signs of showing his true colors could be passed with simple explanations, and mainly, reinforcements from Dutch.

But that wasn't just it. He didn't like how the man continued to deny them chances for an out and only a few were questioning where things were heading. "And I don't like how Dutch continues to do shit and justify them with the fact that we're going to all get out."

The old man's lips curled up into a smile, replacing the frown of exasperation. "My little boy finally left the bar and unleash his wings."

"Hush, old man," he rolled his eyes.

The conversation ended there, but Hosea didn't leave. His eyes flickered between him to Kieran still shooting at the newly placed logs behind them.

"Are you just going to just stand there?" he asked with dry humor. "What do you have to tell me anyway? I'm sure this is 'bout all that bullshit with Mica-"

"I wanna go out hunting with you. The Legendary Bear. They call it. A big Monster, I call it." Hosea got straight to the point. Ah, Arthur hadn't considered that trip. With the lack of Arthur going with Uncle and women to town to cause trouble, he didn't even think it was going to still occur this time 'round.

"Alright," he nodded, glad to take him up on that offer. Again.

"But-" he stopped and turned back around, facing Kieran who just shot off four other logs. His shooting was still next to nothing when it came to the likes of Arthur, Micah, and Dutch. "I want to bring Kieran along."

He ain't trust Javier and Micah not to harass the boy while gone.

"Alright, the more the merrier. Let's go."

Arthur shouted, "Kieran! Come on, boy, let's go!"

Kieran, ever the jumpy one, responded with slight hesitation. "Ye-yes, sirs."

Arthur and Kieran followed Hosea up to Silver Dollar, Ryan, and Branwen. Ready, they pulled on the reins and took off, making their way out of camp.

"I reckon this monster is nearly a thousand pound."

"A thousand pounds?!" Kieran shrieked. "Monster?!"

"It ain't nothing, kid, trust me," Arthur reassured.

"Sure, we know, Arthur Morgan took on more," Hosea snickered before nodding at Kieran who didn't look a bit assured. "You'll be alright, kid, stay behind us and just watch."

"You stay behind Hosea, you'll probably end up deform. You stay behind me, you'll be alright."

Hosea scoffed. "In my opinion, experience outranks everything, Arthur."

"Shaky hands can't though," Arthur grinned.

"You could sell that horse in Valentine." Hosea pointed out as Arthur's horse scoffed.

"Nah, I like this one," he responded, patting him on the neck. "Kieran's starting to make progress with this one. The kid's good with horses."

He shrugged, "Eh, if you ever change your mind, they got a good range of horse tack, some beautiful saddles. I used to have a real nice one before it got stolen outside that saloon in Deer Creek."

"That was quite a day," Arthur snorted.

"Yes. You remember? Mac went crazy, threatened to kill the whole town. And Davey was passed out so cold we left him there, came back in the next day and he woke up, started right back drinking again."

"Honestly, I miss them all. It must be pretty hard on Lenny. You tell he was sweet on her."

"Well, Lenny and Jenny could have never worked out. That's like Arthur and Martha, or Bill and Phil."

Arthur shrugged, "Eh, I don't know. I believe it could have worked." After seeing John and Abigail come back together at the end, he could have seen Lenny and Jenny. "It would take time and effort but the two had a good bond."

"Probably. We'll never know now." Hosea responded solemnly.

"In some ways, I'm glad Cornwall's robbery failed."

"Failed in one way at least," a slight scoff, "but yeah I agree. I have a feeling it would come back to bite us. Don't tell Dutch that."

"I won't," Arthur promised.

Soon enough they arrived in Valentine. It was just as John remembered it and how Hosea described it, full of 'mud and morons'. The only thing decent the town had was the saloon and even that wasn't great with the amount of buffoons in it dedicated to testing one's patience.

"I will be at the general store, get a few things to lure that bear out with. Anything you want, son?"

"In fact, we'll join you." He'd 'ought to get something for little Jackie anyway and Kieran too to ease him throughout this process so that no harm would be brought to him.

Hitching up their horses, they entered the store.

He'd noticed a few others were inside. A man standing at the corner, grabbing some hunting equipment, it seemed.

"Kieran, get some fishing supplies for later," Arthur stated.

"But I don't got the mone..."

He was pretty sure he was the only one who would roll his eyes with his entire body, "Obviously, I'm buying, boy."

Folks gotta be so stupid sometimes...

Arthur meanwhile grabbed three chocolate bars. Hopefully, Marston would be the one doing this soon goddamn it. He looked over at Hosea who came to his side, and he took Arthur's silence as a means to explain himself.

"Meat... berries. Stuff that bears like." Hosea elaborated.

"Got a few good snacks for Jackie."

At that, Hosea became bemused, "Usually, you would find ways to mock John 'bout Jack."

"Yes," he replied regretfully, reminded of the person he used to be. "John doesn't deserve that boy, but I talked to him. Reminded him of his past. Maybe I got through to him."

Hosea looked with pride. "Blackwater really humbled you, huh?"

"This again," Arthur groaned. He purchased the chocolate bars, storing them in his pockets for when he would return to camp.

Hosea threw his hands up innocently, "Alright, alright, I'm just saying. The change is so sudden and abrupt. One moment, you were a sworn follower of Dutch, cold, distant, uncaring. Now, you're just... different, more compassionate, calmer, friendlier."

Arthur beamed at the praise, but it didn't last for long.

"I was always compassionate and friendly," he said, chipper.

"Sean wouldn't think so," Hosea scoffed.

"And Sean is so reliable," Arthur quipped.

He laughed.

The two left the general store.

At that moment, he'd spotted commotion nearby and saw the doors to the bars slamming open, a result of a black boot kicking against it. He tossed the man out and glared at him.

"And don't come back!" The man barked in a warning tone, glaring at him. Tommy turned around and walked back inside.

The man groaned and glared up in his direction, "That's all you got, you fat fuck?!" But he didn't give chase. Arthur meanwhile arched his eyebrows. It was odd to see Tommy again, not the mess that he had become due to brain damage.

That thought filled him with guilt. Defended himself and Javier he may have, but the thing was no one deserved to be placed in that sort of condition. No one. Not even Arthur's worst enemy. Death was far more painless and merciful. It wasn't right what he did, he could admit, and he would wish to atone for it-even if none of them would know what he had done to his fellow men in a different life.

The many onlookers stared, no doubt having hoped for a brawl, but when one didn't come aside from the man scowling at them, they all turned away.

One approached behind him. "Excuse me, mister, while I was getting supplies for the mistress, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," one of the men inside of the store said, "bears are in the area?"

Something 'bout the man was familiar, but he couldn't recall his voice. "Yes, to the O'Creagh's Run, in the Grizzlies East."

"Damn, thanks for the warning." the man chuckled. "I plan to deliver these supplies to my wife." he became thoughtful. "You're going to go after it?"

"Well, yeah, you gonna tell the law?" Arthur asked, not wanting to get into some trouble or whatnot with some common dogooder.

"Oh, I doubt the law would care." he shrugged. "Though you should be careful, mister, even I know when not to hunt them goddamn massive beasts. You got a death warrant or something?"

Arthur shrugged, "You could say that."

The man looked at him and snickered. "Now, the mistress can leave me alone 'bout my own insanity when I tell her 'bout three men going off to hunt claws."

"Who are you?" He asked, shaking his head. He really, really, didn't know what was going on. Nothing like this had happened before…

The man looked at him and responded, the smile still on his lips.

"Cal Balfour."

Chapter Text

"Of course you are," Arthur sighed, ignoring the perplexed look the man gave him. He wracked his brain, trying to find if Charlotte told him anything 'bout her husband. Inside of him, there was a churning in his chest-the sensational feeling he'd been getting from the moment he left the other time and came here to the past. He wasn't certain what it meant but it concerned him. This ain't the first time recently that he'd tried to remember something and found he just couldn't.

The man shrugged, "Uh, well, yeah, thanks for the warning, sir, I'll have to be careful."

"Just don't go that way," Arthur warned, 'cause he didn't want Charlotte to be a widow, he found. The fact that she'd understood him, offered him solace, gave him momentary peace. When she insisted for him to take anything from her homestead, he ain't have the heart to do it. He just wanted to help the people he could with the time he had left. It just felt wrong to take anything, even if that was what she wanted.

Worse, a man who had been spying on her mentioned to Arthur how he'd like to essentially get his hands on her. The nude pictures and handcuffs in his tent ain't exactly paint a promising picture. So Arthur had to shoot him.

"Take the longer route back. I doubt your wife would want whatever you're giving her along with your corpse." Arthur said, laughing slightly.

"Will do, mister, I may be a banker but I ain't suicidal," he laughed. "We live in the wild, but we ain't trying to get into any trouble." He sighed. "I know how to hunt. My wife doesn't."

"Teach your wife how to hunt. Learn how to hunt yourself. You ain't going to survive without knowing the basics."

"Arthur," Hosea piped up from behind, already mounted on his horse, "come on, son."

"You 'ought to teach her. In case you might not be here one day." Arthur persisted.

"I might," he sighed. "She's probably going to chew my face off for not coming back sooner. Again, thanks for the warning." The man walked up to his horse, which was also hitched nearby, and climbed on top, riding away.

With him, Arthur hoped he'd repaid Charlotte. He was the one who knew how to survive in the wild. She was already hungry, and Arthur taught her how to shoot and skin an animal.

Assuming that he'd gone in that area, he might check up on Charlotte. Then again, there might not be time. The man seemed to be a good one, someone that the woman loved unconditionally. Maybe she would be happier with Cal. He would admit when she kissed his cheek, he was very bashful-it was the first affection he'd seen in some time and it reminded him to some extent that he did a good thing.

"Son, are you alright?" Hosea asked, concern in his voice as he began to dismount from the house. He'd wanted to get the monster, but he wasn't going to allow Arthur to go on this objective, worrying his days away. That was the type of man he was.

Arthur shook his head and dismissed the thought. What did it matter anyhow? If the bear was indeed the same one who killed Cal Balfour, even if he'd saved her, by extension her, that pain, it didn't mean that something couldn't still happen differently. He couldn't get too hopeful 'bout things without considering other actions.

"Yes, I just been thinking a lot," Arthur replied, unhitching Ryan and mounting his horse.

"I'd noticed." The man stopped himself before disembarking.

They took off.

At Arthur's silence, Hosea began to speak. "The lake we're going to is called O'Creagh's Run, up in the mountains east of Cumberland Falls. I just hope I can remember how to get there."

"Try to not get us eaten, why don't ya?" he quipped.

"Silence, boy."

"Oh, look, it's John's favorite location. Mountains." Arthur snarked.

"You know, I remember when it was you, John, and Javier."

That introduced a new pain. He'd wanted to save Javier more than anything, but the man was loyal to Dutch.

"Hopefully, it doesn't end up like Cain and Abel," Arthur said, sharper than intended.

Hosea sighed in irritation, making Arthur wonder, "Just when I thought you and John..."

"Oh no, John wouldn't leave me for dead, nor would I leave him." That was an immature response, and it didn't happen yet, but Arthur couldn't help the disdain for Javier. It was even bigger than the one he had for Bill. Sometimes, he'd felt like he had overcome it. Other times, he'd just seen the blind bastard who slowly aimed at John in Beaver Hope. The fact that he hesitated notwithstanding.

"Oh, Javier? What is it with you two lately? You and Javier? You don't seem to want to be around him." Hosea frowned. "Did something happen that I should know 'bout?"

"No," Arthur lied again. "It's nothing."

Poor Kieran looked like he'd wanted to say something. The man hesitated briefly, opening his mouth three times before the words came in a squeak.

"You know... you all ain't that different from the O'Driscolls."

Arthur looked at him now. This was a familiar conversation.

Kieran seemed like he cursed himself at his stare before just continuing. "You're outlawed like them. You're out to survive like them. You live rough. You live hard, fighting the law, and nature. You're out for yourselves."

Yep, described them perfectly. Arthur ain't want to admit it last time, seeing it as an attack against the gang, and willing to defend it. Now, he was humbled, enough so to take into consideration how much was at stake, and how Kieran was ultimately right. If they'd all shared his mentality, maybe Dutch wouldn't land them into as much trouble. Rhodes. Shady Bells. Beaver Hollow. Countless events where everything headed to shit.

Arthur didn't realize his face became grim, almost into a glare when he'd looked at Kieran. The kid looked terrified.

Not 'till Hosea looked at Arthur, no doubt taking his silence and stare for anger, "It is a fair comparison."

"I didn't say it wasn't." Arthur nodded in agreement, though his tone came out forced, strained, 'cause it was still a hard pill to swallow. "Blackwater shows how far some of us are willing to go." Now at Kieran. "You're a smart kid, Kieran Duffy, just ain't let no one else hear you say that. Could get yourself shot."

The kid breathed out a sigh of relief and nodded.

They continued on their ride for a few minutes in silence, the only source of noise were the hoofs of the horses continuing to hit the ground and birds flying.

The rest of the ride continued in a peaceful and serene silence. They made their way on the trail, Hosea at the front with Arthur and Kieran at each other's side.

On the way, they came past various wildlife, who upon spotting them, retreated.

As well as a pretty little body of water with Hosea helpfully informing them was called 'Moonstone Pond'.

"That's the lake there," Hosea said, grabbing the attention of his companions. "Good, we made it. Let's loop around the other side." Hosea accelerated while the two dutifully followed. "Look there. Rabbits. Maybe we should catch one to cook."

"Sure. Let Kieran try and shoot one." Arthur said thoughtfully.

"You need to work on it too." Hosea grinned. "Kieran has much to learn."

"I have hunted rabbits before."

"You obliterated them with a shotgun if I remember right."

"Not the best memory," Arthur feigned a yawn, "I learned since then. Let Kieran do it." He looked at the anxious boy. "You don't want to use anything too powerful on a small animal like that. You'll just ruin the meat. Best thing's a bow or a .22 caliber varmint rifle." he grabbed the bows he had forgotten he had when he, Charles, and Javier went out to rescue John and tossed them at Kieran.

"Charles taught you well, I see." Hosea complimented.

The boy followed suit, with the bow in hand.

"Come on, kid, you'll be alright."

Eventually, they found the rabbit.

Arthur instructed. "Focus. Stay low. It's easier with snow, but once you get your eye in, you can track in all type of habitats." Kieran nodded as he approached stealthily. He continued. "Quick, get that bow. Aim for the head or the neck. You want a good, clean, kill. Get good tension of the string before releasing. Just don't overdo it."

Kieran followed all of the instructions and released. The bow connected to the back of the neck. The rabbit dropped. The two moved up.

"Nice job, kid. Now, pick it up."

The boy nodded and picked up the kill, his nose scrunched in disapproval. Arthur had to laugh. "You can fish but not hunt?"

"That'll make a good enough meal. It's getting late." Hosea said, getting off of his horse, Arthur quickly following. "Reckon we should camp here. You two can get the camp set up."

By the time they made themselves a camp and started up the fire, the sun had gone down. The wildlife was still and pensive, the only audible noises were the crackling of the fire and crickets chirping in the grass.

Their bedrolls were secured nearby with small foldable chairs by the campfire. Arthur wasn't that tired. He had a lot of time to sleep with his time traveling to the past taking a toll. He began cutting up the rabbit and skinned earlier as the other two stared with hunger when he began cooking the pieces over the fire.

Arthur passed them pieces of meat when they were finished. Hosea and Kieran thanked him before turning to practically inhale the savory meat as soon as it was handed to them. With their hunger satisfied, they began dozing off.

Time passed. Was it hours? Was it minutes? Was it seconds? It didn't matter, for Arthur suddenly woke to a loud, gruff sound. The sun was slowly rising, he'd seen, so it confirmed it must have been a bit. He'd heard a whacked cry and instantly reached for his repeater. A growl confirmed his worst nightmare, and he ran to it, hearing a gunshot, followed by a thunderous roar that cut through his hearing.

There was another cry, a yell, followed by that said roar, and Arthur spotted the bear. Hosea stood in front of Kieran, looking terrified, as he had his revolver in hand, willing to protect the kid with his life.

Arthur froze.

This. Did. Not. Happen. Last. Time.

The bear fell back on its back legs and fell into the air. Its teeth bared together in fangs as it eyed the two victims, but it focused on the armed one, not spotting Arthur yet. Nothing mattered at that moment. The familiar slowness came to him. His ears rattled. His hand shot closer to his revolver. The paw, nails extended, was coming closer. There was a sound of waving, and the mighty beast got closer and closer. Inching away. Then it was an inch. Arthur's revolver came up as he glared at the target, aiming, as he fired.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Everything still proceeded slowly. The beast was still moving, 'bout to rip both of its victims' limb from limb, 'till it began to fall over, as time began to speed up, still coming at Hosea, not with the same fierceness as before. It tumbled over, giving one last whine before its head fell slowly, and it collapsed, dead. Wow, it was easier than last time.

But that was a distant thought.

"Old man, come on," Arthur said, as the beast landed on top of Hosea. Did he accidentally get Hosea killed earlier? Worry gripped his heart as he pushed the dead beast off of his father figure with the help of Kieran. "HOSEA!"

Hosea laid there, looking lifeless for one singular moment, eyes closed, head on the ground.

"Hosea..." He repeated solemnly.

No!

No!

No!

But he was-

Then he blinked, opening his eyes as he looked up at Arthur's relieved eyes, and gripped his hand in support, helping himself up.

"Next time, we're not going this mighty far."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Arthur felt the tremendous urge to grip him and never let him go, like the child he once was. Being held by Hosea Matthews 'till the end of time would give him a peace that he didn't know he needed. He quashed this, reminding himself that Hosea was already suspicious 'bout his latest behavior, and he didn't need the man to crack down upon him more than he would already soon enough. Sadie did so for some reason.

Hosea eyed the corpse of the mighty beast, placing one foot next to the dead bear in satisfaction.

At times, he was more like Dutch than he liked to admit.

"Well done, son, a great kill. And with some excellent shots too," Hosea's lips broke out into a smile. "Saving my old carcass as well."

"How did it got here anyway? Why did it came after us?" Arthur wondered, mainly to himself, but Hosea must have taken it as a question.

"Probably smelt the meat we'd ate," Hosea said. "Bears do have a good sense of smell."

That was the most plausible explanation. Arthur decided not to look into it too much.

"Or maybe it's Kieran." he quipped, grinning at the boy. "He does have a way to attract trouble. The bear probably wanted a bit of young meat." he laughed.

Kieran, finally fully at ease, and realizing he could call Arthur a friend too, laughed as well, "Probably went after us 'cause it couldn't smell you. I don't know how though. With that amount of stench you'd given off."

"Actually, that makes sense," Hosea snickered, "Arthur with bears, John with wolves-what next?!" He pretended to deliberate.

"Unlike Marston, I ain't allowed myself to get eaten. I saved you two bastards." Arthur quipped.

"Oh, Arthur, Arthur Arthur, I had the situation under control."

Sure he did. "Should have allowed the bear to have you as a mating partner," Arthur pretended to grumble.

Hosea grinned. "You ain't getting rid of me that easily, son."

Chapter Text

After skinning the dead bear, Arthur placed the skin on the back of Silver Dollar, receiving a beaming smile of pride from Hosea.

"You gonna come with me back to camp?"

"Nah, I got some important things to do."

Arthur'd doubted Hosea would get into any trouble anyway.

Hosea nodded. After the older man rode off, it was just Arthur and Kieran. Treating the kid nicer and showing a softer sign around him gave Kieran some confidence.

"Arthur, may I say something?" Kieran asked. Arthur nodded with an exasperated sigh. "I'm glad I ain't with the O'Driscolls no more."

He smiled, patting him on his shoulder. "You'll never be with them again." He pushed against his shoulder. "You don't have to be in this gang, ya know. You can go off. Find a family. Do something else without getting dragged into this nonsense. I won't be hurt."

It would absolutely hurt Arthur. To know that he'd saved someone who was his biggest regret. At least, Sean and Lenny were remembered honorably by people like Tilly and even Jack. After Kieran's head was taken back, people'd debated if he was a rat 'till the very end, never wanting to give him a chance. Arthur realized he wasn't, that he'd found a new community and home.

"I already got a family," Kieran shook his head. "I'll be by your side no matter what comes."

Those words gave him reassurance. It was a bond that Arthur knew was genuine, slowly closing the gap in his heart after Beaver Hollow when Javier betrayed him and John. It was 'cause he knew Kieran's loyalty to him was built on friendship and brotherhood instead of loyalty to some gang.

Arthur felt a bubbling in his chest. "I bet you were scared when you'd seen me kill Colm. That was why you ran to that horse, huh?" he tried to add humor to the situation.

"Shocked more than scared," Kieran defended. "Saw this overweight big guy charging up and shooting the leader of the O'Driscoll gang."

"Coming from the pipsqueak?"

"I ain't the big gruff like a bear Arthur Morgan."

The two men stared at each other challengingly before chuckling and swinging on top of their horses. A thought occurred to him. It would not be a good idea to take Kieran with him with what was to come. The kid could shoot fine and have some good reflexes, but it may not be good enough when others are shooting at him.

Arthur'd wanted to go sooner. But he knew that Hosea wanted to get this trip out of the way, and with Lenny getting imprisoned, that had to be pushed back. Arthur decided he'd waited long enough.

"What's wrong?" Kieran inquired.

"I have somewhere to go. It's going to be dangerous."

Even with the threat of that alone, Kieran nodded. "I'm with you, Arthur."

"What is it?"

Sean. They had to get Sean freed.

This was earlier than last time. Dutch would probably disapprove of Arthur going off on a rescue mission without consultation. He'd personally believed that more effort should have been used in freeing Sean.

With the former lowest O'Driscoll of them all flanking right behind him, the two rode. He'd given him multiple chances to back out throughout the trip, expressing that he could leave if he wished.

Kieran, however, refused every opportunity, proclaiming that he'd wanted to be at Arthur's side.

Eventually, they crossed over the Great Plains, coming over the ford, and then ascending the plains themselves. They stopped just short of the hilltop overlooking Blackwater, only for his chest to tighten, eyes to widen, and heart to beat even faster.

Oh, damn, what the fuck happened? The camp appeared to have been tarnished, the ashes of fire, marks everywhere, but there were no signs of the two members.

"Damn, there appeared to be a fight," Kieran noted.

But that doesn't make sense. The last time they were able to go down effortlessly and rescue the boy. They'd just arrived a bit earlier. How could this be happening?!

Arthur grabbed his Schofield Revolver, searching the makeshift camp, eyes narrowed. Kieran did the same with his own revolver, prepared to shoot anything that came at them. It took much within Arthur to prevent from hyperventilating, as he got off of his horse and looked around the camp. His tracking skills improved drastically since the last time around. Not as good as Charles, but still acceptable for hunting standards. Hoof prints, he'd spotted. Shells of gunshots.

Damn it! He slammed his boot against the ground.

Goddamn this stress of everything!

He'd made one change, and everything got fucked up! Could anything have remained the fucking same?!

He took measured breaths and steadied himself. Even if Sean swung, losing his temper wouldn't do anything to fix this. It would just make everything worse.

"We've gotta look for 'em," Arthur declared.

The two men got onto their horses and kicked them into action. The sounds of footsteps vibrated in Arthur's ears, sounding suspiciously more and more like gunshots. Damn it! He should have come out here by himself to save Sean, even though he might have gotten himself killed doing so! It would have been worth it, because now that boy was probably dragged off to a federal prison, due to Arthur's mere presence.

Arthur's eyes narrowed when he saw a cloud moving. It wasn't going away, but coming closer and closer. He'd seen it was Taima, Charles's horse, but without the man on it. The horse was skittish more or less. Another cloud and Boaz were following behind.

"Charles and Javier's horses," Arthur voiced, eyes widen.

"What should we do now?"

"We'll have to leave 'em for now," he declared.

They took off in the direction of where the horses surfaced, hoping to keep out of sight, Arthur mumbled about good five curses to himself as his hearing picked up an all too familiar sound.

Eventually, the sound was much closer.

Gunshots rippled in the air nearby. The shouts of individuals.

Arthur pulled on his reins and Ryan rode off in the guided direction.

More gunshots rippled, each with the sounds that vibrated when a body fell. The smoking atmosphere didn't help. Arthur's breaths were tight, his mouth having to open at the last moment to allow air in.

The vibrations of the gunshots seemed to increase as they'd gotten closer.

At last, Arthur'd spotted them.

Between the rocks on a cliff, someone was shooting at them, the sniper shots coming closer and closer to the crouching figure behind the rocks. The familiar dark hair and mustache told him who it was: Javier.

When the sniper stopped to reload, Javier peaked out and fired multiple rounds, landing what bullets he could against the nearby shooting 'till he had to duck again at the fire from the others.

The part of Arthur that was the shell of the man left after Beaver Hollow wanted to see Javier die again. There was no question about that. For, while Arthur found redemption, he still was a man and couldn't always uphold his own code that revenge was a fool's game.

Yet, the former gunslinger had merged with the essence of the younger Arthur Morgan whose body he inhabited. That shadow still saw Javier as a friend and brother, the Mexican who sang his guitar and was a positive figure around the camp.

For a moment he stood still, wondering what to do. He acted.

With the secrecy on his side, Arthur leveled his revolver at the sniper, seeing Javier's face cringing in worry. He fired his revolver at the unsuspecting sniper, dropping the sniper behind the cover of rocks.

Javier looked in his direction and let out a notable sigh of relief. At his side, some meters away, Charles was also safely unharmed if shaken up a bit, crouching behind cover with some blood, blood that wasn't coming from him. At the very least, he could still shoot. Arthur and Kieran raced forward, firing their guns as their horses ran away into the path of safety.

The next moment, Arthur threw Kieran to the ground, not willing to allow him to get his head blown off, shot in the heart, or whatever else way that bringing the stubborn kid here would result in!

"What happened?" Kieran's question stole the words out of his mouth.

Charles leveled his shotgun at three remaining bounty hunters on the scene, blowing them away. Now that they had been lifted of the burden, the dark-skinned man turned to look at them.

"They caught onto Trelawny," Charles told him. "It must have been a trap or something because they were waiting for us."

"Where is..."

The dark-skinned man motioned to the nearby corner where blood was leaking, like a puddle due to an impending rainstorm. Fear slammed into him, and all didn't matter in that moment.

Lo and behold, Trelawny was also there, face tight in pain. The Rolling Block Rifle clutched tightly into his right hand. He seemed to have been in a rough condition, given his left hand was gripping a wound. Oh, goddamn it! He had to get the hell out of this!

"Luckily, I caught one of them about to pull out their gun!" Trelawny added on, painfully. "Didn't stop them from... shootin-" his hand went limp around his rifle, and he breathed.

Arthur couldn't deny the urge to move over to the wounded man, softly removing his hand from his bloodied injury. From this position, he just couldn't tell if Trelawny was going to survive or not. It had filled him with such fear 'bout what could happen 'cause he wasn't even directly involved and the man got hurt! It was like Lenny in Strawberry.

"We began looking for Sean! Couldn't find him!" Javier added.

Some of the bastards were riding on horses, causing them to crouch behind cover as bullets came bitingly close to them. Only peeking out of cover slightly behind a rock, Arthur targeted the closest ones, blasting eight of ten bastards off of their horses onto their asses. The remaining two were dealt with JAvier.

"Damn, we should have brought the whole gang!" Arthur snapped.

"Wait! I think I see him! Sean!" Javier shouted, pointing in his direction when cleaning the bastards in his way.

Stealing a corner out of his direction, Arthur saw the form of a man being led away on a nearby horse, hands and legs constrained. Some good things were going to happen after all.

Pushing through the first rows of enemies, they fired their guns. The few guards standing there turned around and shot at them, forcing them to duck again to avoid the gunshots continuing to rain hell upon them.

They forced Sean into the wagon and closed the doors, the two taking a moment to fire. As they boarded the wagons and began taking off, Arthur cursed the lost opportunity.

"Goddamn it! We're going to have to follow 'em!

They ran back in the direction of the horses. There must be some luck 'cause Taima and Boaz weren't far away from their horses. Even if they chose to retreat, there were still the faint sounds of gunfire. There was another problem.

"The bullet's still in?"

Trelawny shook his head. Sweat. Coming down. Arthur didn't hesitate. He took action. He gripped his satchel and gripped some whiskey.

He ain't going to let the man die. Trelawny simply couldn't die without a bloody fight with the devil! It wasn't meant to happen, not now, hopefully not in many years! He would save his life for the life of him.

He recalled the terrible agony, all of it, feeling like he had been pulverized, set aflame, impaled all at the same time, and now he was gonna do it to someone else. He spattered the whiskey over his knife, drenching the blade and clearing it as much as he could. He streamed the rest of the whiskey in the wound just in case. That had Trelawny spitting out a worrisome noise, an agonized, pained hiss pouring out of his gritted teeth, but he didn't make any other sound.

He rippled apart of Trelawny's three-piece suit, exposing the injury, and didn't hesitate as he stabbed the knife a second later, swiveling it slowly, carefully, searching for the bullet. Javier and Charles both held him as Trelawny stiffened. Now, his breathing was shallow, quick, hurt. Much, much too swift.

It felt like an eternity, but finally, the blade secured with the bullet and Arthur pulled it out. There was a new source of blood. Fortunately, the blood was controlled-as controlled as it could be with the situation, not dark, nor cold.

He gripped one of his own bullets, bit the shell, and placed the gunpowder over the wound. His breathing accelerated, a stammer now, jarring enough to grip his shoulder. He trembled and shrilled out before his breathing calmed. He still didn't talk, even as Arthur activated a match and connected the flame to the wound. There was the scent of gunpowder; bold, strong, and sharp as a bullet, as the flame spread and sealed the wound, sterilizing it. Trelawny yanked, finally fighting against Arthur, but it ended, painfully slow.

The handiwork almost made the time traveler gunslinger forget.

"Javier, get Trelawny back to camp! Me, Charles, and Kieran would handle this!" Arthur barked.

He gripped Tralawny's limp, faintly breathing body, and supported him onto Boaz, the man groaning and collapsing forward onto his neck. They led off in the direction they came from, undoubtedly going to safety.

They took off in a different direction, going around the small mountain down the tracks. The bastards would soon secure the area, and if Arthur could say one thing good 'bout much of those enemies involved with the government, they were a competent bunch of bastards. That included bounty hunters employed by them.

Eventually, they saw the form of the wagon, being led by the bounty hunters on the horses. The few agents that had been gathered up were following, keeping a close eye.

"They got away!" A man shouted. "We gotta make sure they don't get their boy back!"

"Oh, they won't," another one, clearly someone in power, said back, a sardonic grin across his lips.

That earned laughs from some of the other men.

"We are going to have to be careful about this," Charles murmured-barked at the two others. "They have Sean in there. We misfire, he will be meeting the angels sooner."

Arthur took a long glance at the corpses that formerly belonged to the decreasing bounty hunters. "I have an idea."

Chapter Text

"For all your schemes, Arthur, this is far from the best one." Charles commented in half amusement, half exasperation.

"Quiet before you blow our cover, Charles," Arthur said to the man who merely rolled his eyes.

Arthur looked down at the over-fitted outfit. Quite frankly, he'd agreed with the dark-skinned man, but Arthur was trying his best here. This ain't within his skill range. This scheme was barely cooked up when it became clear that infiltration wasn't in the cards.

Another result of one change in the past that resulted in everything being different.

The old him would have preferred coming in hard and coming in hot, but it was just not in the cards Even if he was still the same man as he was then, he would have to admit that. He'd grown much. He was forced into brutal situations plenty of times.

They were able to take the outfits from the dead men however and covered themselves up. Patrols of bounty hunters were still searching for any signs of the gang members. The three men stayed together. The few back here were unimportant. It was rescuing Sean that was important.

Before they killed the Irish gunslinger!

The plan involved them "borrowing" the bounty hunters' horses, too. They've got four horses as well. Ardennes, Dutch Warmblood, Hungarian Half-breeds, and Mustangs. It was a gamble that they were taking now. The possibility of detection was very, very real.

Nevertheless, they had to try. Kieran climbed on a Mustang, patting the side calmly for a moment of extra show of care. Arthur climbed on a Hungarian Half-breed, and Charles on an Ardennes.

The bounty hunters, especially ones working for the government, were oblivious. As far as they were concerned, a few lost horses weren't as important as imprisoning a gunslinger like Sean who participated in the mess at Blackwater and getting their paychecks.

Arthur and Charles loaded up, making sure that each of their weapons was full. This was going to be a tight operation regardless of how it ended.

And then they were traveling down, urging the horses into a canter. Moving down the trail, it took a lot of patience within him not to pull the trigger. The horses moved at almost an average rate, not too fast but a little slow for Arthur's liking. He sped up.

They take the same trail that Arthur ventured the first time around, descending to the river and then moving through the cliffs, though this time there wasn't a battle. There were no men, no guns being pulled, no Sean. Nothing! Goddamn it! He took deep breaths to keep himself from losing his temper, remembering that not everything was lost.

As they traveled by Fort Riggs, they slowed to a stop. Arthur pulled down his hat which was starting to slip up, and his hands pushed up his coat on instinct alone. There was a small water tower evident, and some half-burning if anything else. They still weren't halted, aren't questioned. There was no sound of gunshots. Maybe, they could get in. Maybe, everything was going in his favor. Of course, the past had to play further tricks with him.

"This may have not been a good idea, Arthur," Charles commented unhelpfully. "We might have to head back."

And then, Arthur saw it.

The place was completely vacant like nothing had ever been heard. No supplies. No people. Just, nothing, and that filled him with shivers.

The angry red haze was back in full glory. Goddamn it! He must have failed at something else. What sort of cruel gamble was this?! Why ain't nothing going in his goddamn favor?! Why did it seem like the card was stacked against him by fate itself?!

No, he had to calm down. He had to believe that something could be saved, that Sean wasn't killed earlier because of his presence! And if he was, he would have to mourn and move on, endure another long, painful speech from Dutch, 'bout oh how much of a tragedy this situation was, that they would all have to be strong, that he would have to be strong.

He pulled tightly on the reins, but mainly to just flex his fists, taking in breaths to help himself with the effort. The random moods weren't good for the health as Hosea put it, and stress could kill him quicker than TB at this point.

And then a loud horn perked the three men's attention. Once, twice. They recognized the sound of the wheels of a train.

Arthur was the first one who cried out "Come on!"

The two others followed that order without debate, moving in the direction of the noise. Another horn caused them to kick at their horses faster, not even caring about infiltration. They were relocating Sean up West, but surely-

Clouds of dirt and dust kicked up. This time the horses moved swiftly, their ears perked, eyes attentive, forms moving quicker and quicker through the grass, at last through some rocks, another bunch of trees, and finally banking hard through a small hole that would have led them to the bottom. The horses landed perfectly with Kieran almost falling inside, pulling at the horse's neck to make sure that didn't happen, and lingering behind.

At last, he saw a glint. Suddenly, it became a race against time itself.

They swerved around thorns, launched over woods, and transversed through water throughout Riggs Station.

The more movements, and guidance, led them to follow behind the train, which skidded to a stop.

"Alright, we're going to have to wait."

The train was present, at the station, just right there, a few seconds away. The men were loading the last of their equipment hastily.

They were standing there, oblivious to the threats. A good amount of the bounty hunters pushed back and away, returning to their horses, as the train began to accelerate, leaving the station and slowly gaining speed.

They followed in track for a few moments before Arthur nodded at Charles and his direction. The signal to open fire. The three grabbed their repeaters and fired in their direction.

Numbers of them fell, caught off-guard, surprised... and betrayed? Well, that was what they thought at first. Each of their shots was on point, shooting the bastards off of their horses. There were shouts of surprise. They attempted to bank back, to prevent the accelerating men from gaining ground. But it was too late. All of them fell in mere seconds, staggering off of their horses which ran astray.

They pulled on the reins harder as the train got faster and faster. The three didn't dare holster their weapons, keeping their guns leveled at the advancing men. Plenty of shots came too close.

They had to bank right and left. Arthur and John have done this dozens of times-Charles to an even a less degree! The two moved with their combined strategy, while Kieran was forced to stay behind because he simply wasn't ever in this type of gunfire. Being the lowest O'Driscoll meant that Kieran likely didn't assist in robberies and shootouts much.

"Come on, boy!" He barked, staying in front, wanting to make sure Kieran didn't get shot.

Arthur took a precious aim, taking down as many of them as possible. The stragglers broke off, either picked off by Charles, and - to his amazement - Kieran.

"You first, Charles!"

Charles swung around to the flatbed carriage with Arthur and Kieran following.

"This is suicide!" Kieran couldn't help himself. Arthur agreed. It was! But it was also necessary.

Arthur released the reins, wanting to line this up right.

"Boy, come on! Now!" he urged.

He watched as the horse banked, and gritted his teeth as he began preparing before at last jumping, and grunting as the air rippled through his entire body. Breath was stolen from him, his cheeks momentarily turning a darker color as he finally crashed behind the crates. He groaned, breathing when he noticed some of them were training their weapons in his direction, walking slowly. In a singular moment, Arthur pinned all of his targets with his deadshot and fired, dropping them quickly.

Kieran broke off. Arthur didn't blame him. It was too risky, and he was new at this. A few of the bounty hunters chased after him, but he fired, catching a good few of them. He would be alright, he tried to convince himself.

More and more bodies collapsed onto the ground under the might of Arthur and Charles, the latter's shotgun blowing them away.

"Sean!" Arthur shouted over the shooting, continuing to fire along with his two allies. One crate after another, and another again!

"Sean!" he shouted again, now throwing his repeater to the ground and adding with frustration. "Answer me, you little shit!"

"ARTHUR!" someone shouted, but it sounded desperate. Terrified. They rushed in the direction.

Somewhat along the way, Arthur swapped his repeater for his Schofield, choking back a breath that he didn't even recognize was there.

"You come any closer, I'll cut his goddamn throat!" They peered around the carnage, through a few more crates, until they found him finally...

Sean...

Arthur was stolen by him for a long moment. He was the little brother that Arthur never knew he needed 'till he was gone, talked big around him and John, and he'd just wanted to have a good time and enjoy being the goofy little shit.

His heart ached.

Arthur found him obnoxious, but he cared about him. Arthur was truly upset about Sean's death, but at the same time-he was used to it. His whole life has been hell and he's seen so much death in the gang and elsewhere. He knew he had to carry on. The truth of the matter was he was reluctant to get close to Sean because he didn't want to get burned like he was with John.

The image of his brain being shot out, exploding from within his head, would always be in Arthur's mind. He would never stop living that moment. It hurt even more than having TB. He was supposed to protect Sean.

Even... even if Sean sided with Dutch instead of Arthur in Beaver Hollow, he would have rather had him alive for another few years. He knew that Sean's betrayal would have hurt if it happened, just like Javier, but he ain't ever going to allow either of the men to die.

Behind him, a man held a pistol to his head, clearly pushed to do so.

Arthur recognized him.

Ike Skelding.

The man was intimidating. Arthur could barely see him, but the two long gashes across his face stretched in clear anger.

Goddamn it, he couldn't get a clear shot. It would be too close to call. It was obvious that he was going to pull that trigger.

"You're each coming with me!" Skelding exclaimed with insane laughter. "They would pay highly for Dutch van der Linde's boys!"

Arthur searched for something, anything, to get that gun away from the Irish's head.

He buried his gun even deeper. "Put your hands up and put down your guns or I'll shoot him!" he swore.

Sean smiled. Even being seconds away from death didn't deter his chipper attitude.

"Nice to see you again, King Arthur!" Sean shouted humorously, trying to find amusement in this situation. "Knew ya would come for me! Yer ought to give me a hug!" he added sarcastically. "A warm embrace for a brother, once lost, now found?"

Arthur almost managed a smile. Months ago, he'd never thought Sean would have been gone. Now, that light was back into his life, everything felt alright right then and there.

"Shut up!" the bounty hunter barked.

A shadow moved from Arthur's peripheral vision, unseen to Ikelding. He only resisted the urge to stare in his direction, for Skelding was keeping an insane eye on him, not turning the opposite side. One sudden movement and Sean's brain would be splattered on the floor.

"Y'a ain't getting with nothing! Y'a a dead man now!" Sean swore.

Ikedling grumbled about how he "known he should have gagged him" and looked instead at Arthur who kept his eyes forward. He added, "Your friend here is irritating. I don't know how you put up with him."

"I often ask myself the same thing," Arthur spoke matter-of-factly, stealing a glance in his direction, having caught on that he wasn't spotted yet either.

"Should have left him to rot! Now, ain't nothing awaits you aside prison!" Skelding declared madly.

"Let him go," Arthur commanded, seeing the shadow getting closer and closer if his vision wasn't deceiving him.

The shadow peered closer.

A mad grin fell on his lips, allowing the scars to stretch even further... "Oh, oh, that would be too easy. I-"

The shadow revealed itself behind the crates, firing.

A bullet traveled through the air, a shot of red, and...

A grunt of pain filled the air. At the same time, Arthur snapped up his weapon, firing at the same time, catching the target...

The man fell, with his victim...

Chapter Text

Horseshoe Overlook vibrated with the early morning light. The atmosphere was typical with the usual activities—some gang members conversating around tents, others attending to chores, and few sleeping. Arthur found himself on the outside part of the camp, sitting against a log.

He never thought he would enjoy the aspects of living as much as he did after being diagnosed with TB, but well, he did.

Watching the few animals hopping around gave him a peace that he never noticed before. Hearing the camp buzzed with activity, the folks not knowing what was to come, even Dutch, only sent another throbbing ache up his chest when he'd thought 'bout how quickly things would go downwind.

While many of the women didn't have much care for Kieran, they'd quickly adapted to the fact that Kieran and Mary-Beth had a "special friendship" as Karen and Ms. Grimshaw have put it; and so he was surrounded, telling them 'bout the bear HE shot. Egoistical bastard...

Arthur would do the same.

"Hahahaha, so Arthur found a new buddy when I was gone?" The familiar form the Irish asked, eyeing Kieran. "Don't have time for yer good old Sean MacGuire."

"He's far more tolerable," Arthur chuckled, gripping his shoulder tightly to ensure him that he still cared.

Sean smirked. "I'll get new ways to annoy ya later!" The Irish broke off. "Gotta go feed Lenny! Have fun!"

He heard the sounds of footsteps and saw the form of Sadie breaking off from the rest of the women and coming up to him. The woman had been somewhat happy. But there was still a long way to go.

"Hello, Mrs. Adler."

She allowed a rare smile, "Is it true that Mr. Duffy stared down the bear without fear while you shot it?"

"Not how I remember it," he snorted. "So how have you been?"

"I'll live," she replied, proving that part of her was still weak at the knees when it came to the mentioning of what had been happening lately. "I'm kinda glad we got away from all that snow. It gives me hope to move on from everything."

Arthur nodded. "I understand."

"I want to say... thank you for being here. It feels good to have a... friend among these bunch of strangers." Sadie said slowly, not yet the eventual hardass she had grown to be.

"I'm always going to be here if you need me, Mrs. Adler, but I'm not the only one available. If you need advice, you could always go to Mr. Matthews. He lost the love of his life as well." Maybe, with Hosea's guidance, Sadie would be able to learn that she has the means to truly move on from the events. He'd often assisted with Abigail and Jack with Johnny boy neglecting his fatherly duties.

"I will do what I can..."

"...And?" Arthur asked.

"I want to ask you if we can... um, head out. Later. To one of them cafe or whatever they call it in town."

Arthur thought 'bout it for a moment. What harm could it bring?

"Sure."

Sadie nodded. "...Okay, well, see you later."

She turned around, and rejoined the rest of the gang, leaving him behind to remain there for the rest of the morning, taking in the time.

"Mr. Morgan," Strauss greeted, correcting his spectacles. "A moment, if you will. I meant to approach you sooner but you have been troubled and I presumed that you needed-"

Knowing that any concern of his wasn't something that he'd cared 'bout, Arthur decided to get to the matter at hand. "What do ya need, Herr Strauss?" He inquired, though he had a feeling he knew what it was.

The aging, monocled man clapped his hands behind his back, a habitual stance that frequently preceded matters of business. "There's a matter that requires your attention, Mr. Morgan. A debt, to be precise. Thomas Downes. A farmer. A gooder if you called it. Seems he's fallen behind on his payments. Quite pathetic if you ask me. He needs the right persuasion to be reminded of his-"

"I'll do it. Is that all?" Arthur inquired bluntly, squashing the disgust worming in his gut.

"No, there's a few others," the man responded, indifferent to his tone of voice. "A Chick Matthews, works at Guthrie Farm. He's a hand, I believe. Mr. Wróbel… the small holder at Painted Sky, runs the operations there—badly. Miss Lilly Millet is a ranch maid up at Emerald Ranch."

"Okay."

Strauss warned calmly, "Do try not to kill them, Mr. Morgan. It's very bad for business." he pulled out the list and handed it to him, "and be sure to put the debts in the deed box when you return."

"...Alright." Arthur took the list from his hand and headed straight to the horses. He would be dealing with them all at the same.

It didn't take long for Arthur to handle the debts, though not the way Strauss may have thought he would.

Chick Matthews had attempted to run as soon he saw Arthur asking for him-he quickly reassured the man that he wasn't going to hurt him, but just that he needed to watch out.

Mr. Wróbel was slightly more irritating. The man couldn't speak the slightest of English nor Spanish, grating on Arthur's nerves nevertheless, but he managed to get the point across 'bout being careful from loaning from gangsters…

Yet, not everything was to be changed. It did de-escalate into violence. When he walked up, he heard the sound of a man in a deep argument with a woman.

"I told you I'd get you the money soon so many times, and I will get it."

"We have been through this. If you didn't get the money this week, who's to say you will next?" she replied in a flat tone.

"Don't you take that tone with me, I thought you said you loved me."

"I-I do! I do," he repeated, "but I don't make enough money for one person, let alone two."

"Scuse me." Arthur interrupted, playing idiocy, "I'm looking for a Lilly Millet. That wouldn't happen to be you, would it?"

The arguing lovers halted to look at him, the man glaring as the outlaw dismounted. He didn't want to fight, but he was prepared should it escalate to violence.

"I— yes, that'd be me. Why?" She looked terrified as she took in Arthur's bulky appearance.

"Be careful borrowing money from gangsters, Ms. Lilly. You pushing your luck is going to result in unwelcoming consequences."

"Don't talk to my woman like that," Copper growled, "'I ought to teach you a lesson in manners!"

"Copper!"

"You don't want to do this, sir," he responded, tensing up. When would some people learn the hard way 'bout why attempting to impress a woman wasn't a good idea when it came to mangling with a stranger who you don't even know?

The man didn't respond, swinging his fist forward to Arthur's right side, almost knocking him down. Having enough, Arthur placed aside his morality for later, righting himself and raising his fists. Cooper took a moment before punching out at him again. Arthur deflected and gripped his outstretched arm, slamming him over his head. Would leave pain for a day, but not as painful as it could have been.

"Please don't kill him!" Lilly shouted as she approached the form of the two men, her hands outstretched in his direction.

"I don't want to harm you, ma'am, but this idiot should have never attacked me. You don't borrow money from a gang and not expect for things like this to happen." Arthur advised. "Fortunately, I'm not an ordinary type."

The woman bit her lip and nodded, understanding now that Arthur didn't want to bring harm to her. He even left the man with whatever he had.

He righted his hat and turned around, ignoring her helping her lover up and inside the house.

Shame now accompanied. A small part of Arthur couldn't blame them - anyone - for assuming that he'd wanted to bring pain to them. He was still part of an infamous gang, no matter how much he'd wanted to share to the world.

But now that he was finished with that, he had one objective left.

Thomas Downes.

The ride to the Downes' residence was terrifying. Longer than any ride 'ought to be. There was an impending feeling of doom lingering over his shoulders. His chest squeezed as it did throughout all those weeks. The faint sounds of coughing were in the air. He couldn't help but feel like everything depended on this.

He was thinking again, remembering his first time coming to the Downes' ranch, and he didn't want to admit it but he was terrified. It was possible that fate would damn him and want him to suffer for all those months for the lives that he have taken.

There was never true pain in his life that went as far as TB. TB meant choking a lot, vomiting, and coughing. For this reason, part of him was tempted to have Micah be sent to the Downes' residence. But knowing the rat bastard, he might have killed the boy and the woman, which was why he immediately dismissed the idea.

It was getting close to the afternoon, borderline the evening, but the sun was still out. Part of him wished it was dark, so he could leave a note warning them 'bout where to go, 'cause he knew Herr Strauss may not care even if they pay off. He always found a way.

He didn't realize he was thinking so much he almost crashed Ryan against a tree. He squeezed tightly over the reins and kept his eyes forward. How hypocritical. He'd often warned Sean 'bout why he shouldn't sleep on the job, or why keeping his eyes forward was the good thing to do. Yet, that same message couldn't apply to himself.

He wanted to run. He ain't never ran away from a challenge, but this... this was beyond terrifying. Everything that had happened at the worst possible time. Death after death. Words after words. The mood of the camp darkened. The threats of the Pinkertons. Only one brother remained among what had once been a devoted family. He could hear cries, shouts, gunshots, saw John look at him that last night, and knew that he ain't gonna be leaving… he was simply not strong enough to remain a face of confidence as his body began to shut down.

Arthur pulled Ryan's reins to a stop within the tree line, the ranch itself just out of sight. He kept the horse some distance away, wanting nothing more than to climb on the Walker and accelerate far, far away.

He was too arrogant the first time around, caring too much 'bout the goddamn gang, 'bout loyalty to Dutch, and appeasing his ego not to care 'bout himself, 'bout others. The "gang code" made it clear not to target innocents, and they have all broken that, using sweeter terms to make themselves feel better. For a moment, as he finally reached the ranch, he just remained there, not able to move.

He could almost hear the same sound he heard the last time, except the sound continued in his head - the clang as he shoved the rake aside, as it hit the ground, the slap as he struck Mr. Downes across the face, inflicting horrible punches to him, his own voice, shouting. This time, Arthur would approach differently with precaution.

Absently, he reached his side and tied his bandana on, securing it sternly above his nose. His hand wrapped around his bandana, simple and black. It was selfish, but he wasn't gonna risk catching tuberculosis again. Why approach when he had something that could prevent him from getting it? Even if Mr. Downes doesn't cough in his direction, Arthur would still head to one of the general stores for a change. He needed to be strong. To survive. For John. For Jack.

When he reached the nice climate of New Hanover, he couldn't help but feel his hands shake.

He stepped down from Ryan and traveled through the tall, fresh grass. Ryan munched on the grass.

In front of the patio area, there was a woman - Mr. Downes' wife. When she looked at Arthur, she cowered slightly.

"Yes?"

Arthur frowned. "You don't have to fear me. I have no intention to hurt anyone." In a show of trust, he gripped the revolver and passed it in her direction. She hesitated for a moment before reaching out but pushing it back.

He holstered it, "I need to speak to your husband."

"Why?"

"I got to warn him about something."

"Hmmm, will you like to come inside?" She asked, passing the revolver back to him now that she was at ease.

"Sure," he accepted, feeling nothing but pity for her now.

On the inside, the place was nice and habitable, somewhere Arthur would definitely like to take it easy. The floor was void, save for a rug on the floor, likely coated by a wolf. There was also a long wooden table with three chairs, a couch, and a rocking chair. The centerpiece was a large fireplace, currently unlit since it was warm and light outside.

Mrs. Downes insisted that Arthur sit down on the couch, then dashed off to her kitchen as the familiar noise of a whistling kettle echoed in the air. "I was making hot water. Will you like some?"

Not having the heart to say no, Arthur nodded. "Sure."

A tall, tin mug was placed on the table before him. Hot water with a few random herbs and flowers tossed in. It had a strong smell 'bout it.

"He always say I should be more welcoming to people," she said, her strong voice not hiding the ache she was currently in. Arthur hummed as the drink was poured in a cup, and after waiting for her to get her fillings, he began to drink, "What you want with him, anyhow?"

"It's... it's 'bout the debt..." Arthur decided to be honest.

Mrs. Downes' face fell. "Thomas had a plan to pay off his debts when the next harvest season came."

Arthur nodded, "It's not like Herr Strauss is very forthcoming concerning the actual terms of his loans; a pretty common refrain among the debtors. What kind of legitimate loan expects repayment in full in so short a time? Your husband fell into the wrong crowd." Indeed, perhaps Downes' worst sin was naïveté; he didn't realize what kind of people he was getting into business with.

"I don't know what to do. How to repair from this." Her lip trembled slightly. "Thomas is going to die soon. He tried to tell me he will not but I know. What sleep will be his last?"

"Your husband is a good man. He do something I don't think I could do. He did not have put his family before anything and anyone, but that makes him a better man than if he has chosen to value the quality of his families lives than that of the poor and weak."

She couldn't respond for several seconds before she managed softly, "Thank you." her face fell, "we can't pay the debt."

"I know." he responded grimly.

"If you want to kill me, you can. Work me to the early grave too to recompensate. I know that's why you're here. I just ask for you not to kill my son." She grew more and more desperate. "You can even sleep with-"

"No," he dismissed her concerns adamantly. "I'm not doing any of that."

The memory of his last meeting with Mrs. Downes before she'd left last time plagued his mind.

'I'm ashamed…'

'Don't go and get yourself killed because of your pride...'

"I understand Thomas has done so much good for this world and I plan to abolish his debt."

Her face lit in surprise, just as he heard the door open and close behind her. Her son, Arthur knew. He came to her side and stared at his tall frame, no doubt hearing at least some of the words. Support, he offered.

"I want to give you. Each of you an out. I know a Sister." He doesn't, not yet anyway. But she would help. She did a lot for him and opened his eyes when Dutch was unable to do so. "Sister Calderón. She could use some assistance. She's down in Saint Denis." Right, she didn't yet go to Mexico. On that thought, he wondered if Javier would ever go back to Mexico like he'd wanted. Pushing aside that thought, he continued. "It would help you get back on your feet. I know it's surprising. But for now. Take this. This money is clean. You won't see me again." He pulled out bills and offered them in her direction.

He was met with silence. He'd feared that he failed, that someone would come and kill them. In the other life, Mrs. Downes and the young boy made it. They'd gotten out. But in this one, he may have doomed them all.

Of course, Mrs. Downes was put in a tight position. Many people didn't want to hire her 'cause she was a woman. Women couldn't work aside from a few means. He'd never got that. The woman proved she was a strong one, stronger than plenty he'd known. She was selfless, caring 'bout her son, 'bout her husband. She'd needed help.

"Thank you," was all she said as the son grabbed the money, smiling as well.

"Take care of your ma and yourself, you hear me?"

Something told him this wouldn't be the last time he'd seen them.

"Sister would help. She always helps." Arthur didn't need to even tell her 'cause she wished to atone for her younger days, just like Arthur.

"Will you like to stay over for dinner?" The woman offered.

"I'm afraid I cannot. I have to get back... home." He refused gently. He didn't want to intrude on their lives further.

"You're a good man, I hope you know that." she said.

Another pang of guilt assaulted him, "Believe me, I'm not."

Still, when he left the Downes' residence, he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing eventually they would be alright.

It was not just avoiding TB, but helping them just after the unforeseen tragedy. He didn't even meet with Mr. Downes. He must have been sleeping. Last time, Arthur would have waited over and over again 'till he found the sick man. This time, he ain't have plans to make the health of the man even worse.

As if symbolizing the mood, the sun began to set, as Arthur Morgan rode back to camp.

Chapter Text

When Arthur returned to the camp, he couldn't prevent cracking a warm smile. For some reason, despite the darkness looming over the camp at least from his tinted vision, the honorable outlaw never felt so light. It wouldn't last for long. He'd known it, not with the stench of Micah's vile nature and Dutch's plans hanging over them all. But he disregarded any concerns. For, in that moment, it'd felt like family. He tossed the bandana to the side.

It wasn't long before he noticed that Strauss was sitting on a nearby log, not seeing the glare Arthur had in his direction. This was an opportunity he had been waiting for. The thing he should have done last time.

The older man looked down at him. Arthur felt his rage rising, for all of those that have been wronged.

He started walking.

"Ah, hello there, Mr. Morgan," the man said, oblivious to his anger.

"Get up," Arthur said, waving his hand forward.

"Wha-" Strauss began, completely confused as to what was happening.

"Get up!" he gripped his back and led him down to the direction of his tent, causing all to look at him.

Fearful, Strauss cried out. "What are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago," he responded, pushing him forward. Impatient with him yet again, the gunslinger moved over and grabbed his bag.

"I don't understand..." Strauss protested, caught off-guard by these turns of events.

"I ain't gonna kill you, though I probably should. You disgust me! And you shame us and what this gang is supposed to represent!" Feeling like he wasn't moving fast enough, Arthur gripped the ledger and shoved it at his direction. He caught it instinctively. "That should be it! Leave! Leave now! If you ever come back here, I will put a bullet in your body." Go!"

"Why?"

Arthur responded, "Herr Strauss, I admit that I am not an expert when it comes to loan sharks. But I fail to see how one could ever hope to be repaid by a man who was busy dying of Tuberculosis, let alone how you could send me there. What do you think that would accomplish?"

Strauss' eyebrows disappeared into his headlines. "Tuberculosis? How do you know that?"

Arthur sneered. "I have done my research into tuberculosis." he fibbed. No, not exactly. He should have! Would have probably saved his sorry ass. He'd heard 'bout it, but never cared enough to look into it! "The man is working himself into the grave! And you wanted me to convince him to give some money."

"No! No! Mr. Morgan! You got it all wro-"

"The man was looking out for his goddamn family," Arthur growled, not giving him time to explain himself.

He gripped him by the collar and tossed him out. While the others were bemused, none dared to say anything.

He walked him out and camp, shouting. "Go and get a job!" tossing him out.

Strauss went forward but stopped himself. "You know... Dutch and Micah say that Blackwater changed you irreversibly. I was your friend..."

"You and me? We ain't decent. But those folks, they are. Spending our money on sick and lost? You have been squandering the camp's funds on misguided ventures for far too long. Your loans will be dissolved. The gang will survive without you." Arthur tossed money at him, "Now, here, take that. Take that, and get lost." He looked at the man getting ready to go on his patrol. "Bill, if he comes back or ain't out of here in an hour, shoot him."

The man seemed surprised by the haste in the usually patient man's tone, but he nodded. The orders were clear. Herr Strauss was not to step foot around camp again.

He would always regret getting involved with that endeavor!

"I'm-"

"Leaving," he interrupted, pointing in the opposite direction. Strauss hesitated, looking around for assistance, finding none.

"Come on," the confused Bill said loyally, gripping the man's shoulder and leading him sternly but not harshly.

While they went back to doing their various duties around camp, waiting for what came next, Arthur allowed himself to breathe easier. Without Strauss's influence around, persuading various members of the gang, namely Arthur, to do his dirty work, a lot of people were saved. He was a spineless loan-sharking piece of shit. But it would be a lie to say Arthur didn't feel guilty at least slightly. He was actually making money for the gang, but he was doing it the wrong way, "robbing" poor people who had no choice, like Thomas Downes. Strauss' philosophy went against everything the gang stood for. Deep down, Arthur didn't like what Strauss was doing for a long time, but he ain't say nothing.

It wouldn't be enough to save the gang. There were plenty of problems that involved just the entire situation.

He moved around the camp, noticing that some of the members were talking 'bout what just happened. Others were silent. Though all eyed him. There were a few greetings namely from Karen, Mary-Beth, and surprisingly Miss Grimshaw but that had been all. Moving further away, he could feel eyes still burning into him.

Now Arthur could focus on Dutch and Micah.

Speak of the son of the bitch and he shall appear.

"You'd gotten tired of making money, did you, Morgan?" The bane of his existence spoke.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, cowpoke," he responded.

"Ah, easy, softie," Micah rolled his eyes, "Herr Strauss... I thought you liked helping the weak and unfortunate."

"You're unfortunate and I don't like helping you." He really wanted to punch the bastard in the face. Part of him felt like he had a score to settle with him after that goddamn mountain. Why did his jaw have to be so tempting to break? Now, without TB, Arthur would plummet him, but the only restraints that came were killing Micah now and forcing folks to choose a side might make some think he'd gone crazy and side with Dutch in their best interests if it went that low.

Micah chuckled, eyes glistened with amusement. "Very amusing, just try and stop making more trouble for us. Some of us are trying to save folks. Not making..." he sniffed somewhat, "unnecessary drama."

Arthur countered, "Coming from the man who encouraged Dutch to kill that woman on that ferry, that is rich."

"You're still on that?" he laughed. "That woman was a real piece of work. She was going to get us all caught. Dutch killing her avoided that. We're safe now, aren't we? Up in all of this..." he added in a mocking voice, hands outstretched as he grinned at Arthur, "civilization. Use your brain, Morgan," the hiss in his voice was obvious, "you and that old coon questioning Dutch is going to get us all killed." He indicated to Hosea sitting.

"That "old coon" have been around even longer. He's the one who's going to save us." Arthur snapped back.

"You're biting off more than you're chewing, Morgan. Dutch needs us all to be ready to do what must be done."

Dressed in her yellow top, Sadie approached. Damn.

"Oh, and here's the lovely lady," Micah grinned. "Quite a fine piece of work." He turned to Sadie. "Come on, you don't want to go with Morgan. Come over to a real man."

Sadie stepped back, but she kept her eyes narrowed, fists clenched. If Micah'd laid even one hand on her...

The widow replied, "When he shows up, you tell me."

The rat piece of shit placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense, "Oh, oh, oh, you know you remind me a lot of myself."

"I will seek to correct that," the woman responded.

Arthur motioned. "Get lost before I break your teeth."

"Yes, sir!" Micah laughed and fake saluted, walking away.

Arthur glared after him, but addressed Sadie, "Don't listen to him. He's a goddamn idiot, Mrs. Adler."

"Don't worry, I won't." she laughed slightly. "I'd almost thought you have drove off the edge of the cliff. You were gone all day." she continued with a slight smile.

"Boy, I wish," he said back sarcastically. "Come on, let's go."

The two left the camp.

Arthur approached the Walker, which Kieran was feeding. The man stopped and nodded at him, but eyed Sadie longer than necessary, a small smirk crossing his lips. Arthur would get him later for that one.

"Ah, so you still kept the horse?" she asked flatly, eyeing the horse.

"I lost my other horse in Blackwater." Part of him still missed that damn steed. He would never forget Ryan getting shot by Pinkertons. The horse sniffed as if sensing his sadness, allowing Arthur to place his hand on his neck. "Got attached to him quickly."

Sadie nodded in understanding.

Arthur climbed on top with the woman following behind and he pulled on the reins, taking off. Arthur rode his horse to town. Contrary to normal trips, the two were silent. It wasn't out of the awkwardness of being with one another, but the fact that Arthur and Sadie didn't have much to talk 'bout. He didn't care to entertain her with anything that hadn't been happening in his life, and Sadie didn't care to probe.

At this point, they'd just met. The gang hadn't shown any signs of collapsing despite all of the problems faced so far. In those days of a future that may or may not come to be, it was just them against the entire world.

He'd guessed he should enjoy more of his time. Now that he had longer to live, he didn't have to worry 'bout which day would be the last. And his new attitude seemed to be effective.

Simply put, Arthur didn't trust folks in Valentine. He knew that Sadie shouldn't get into too much trouble, but there were sketchy folks out here who wished for any woman they could get their hands on. Arthur could admit that some were even worse than Micah 'cause they had ways to bribe the government.

The so-called incorruptible lawmen.

He parked Ryan in front of the restaurant, and after hitching the steed, walked with Sadie at his side inside.

"Never been here before," Sadie smiled, her face beaming as she looked at the outlaw. "Try not to get us lost."

"I have good navigation skills." he grinned.

"You men are egoistical, ain't you?"

"Only the best of us," Arthur replied with a smile and roll of his eyes as they walked up.

"Whatchu want?" The man at the counter of the restaurant inquired.

"Give me pig's feet, beans, and butter. And what 'bout you, Sadie?"

"Sausage and dried pumpkins."

They sat at the table, opposite one another, at the isolated corner of the restaurant.

Arthur didn't know what to say but went along with Sadie's talk. He wasn't a man of many words. No, that was always Dutch and even Lenny and Hosea's expertise.

When the food was delivered to both, they began to eat. It had been a long time since Arthur've even been brought with a person of the opposite gender. He didn't realize how much he'd missed it. For so long, he'd abandoned the feeling of attempting to find a woman in place of misplaced loyalty that had gotten him killed. Yet, it... wasn't like that. He'd viewed Sadie as a great friend, someone who he could trust would take on armies of snakes and go down trying to kill them all.

They engaged even more conversation 'bout the food. Arthur personally believed it was good while Sadie believed she "tasted better". Ever the picky and feisty one. Slowly, the conversation bubbled into full laughter. He wondered what was that feeling bubbling inside of him. As he sat there, laughing and smiling at Sadie, with her doing the same in return, Arthur Morgan found himself finding feelings thought dead long ago reshaped for...

Sadie Adler?!

It was the feeling he'd shared with Mary. It emerged briefly when he'd found Charlotte Balfour, though not as intensely as it was now. What was this? Why? He ain't felt this before with Sadie. What was going on?

This Sadie Adler was not the one who managed to convince herself that she overcame what she'd done to the O'Driscolls and attempted to shrug it off that revenge gave her completion.

This Sadie Adler wasn't thinking right.

She ain't yet moved on from that traumatic event in the best way she knew how, but he'd seen the way her eyes brightened around him. The fact that she smiled when they instantly began to bond. Last time, he didn't exactly ignore her, but there wasn't much of a friendship until his dying days of TB.

Arthur was left wondering about these feelings when they arrived back at camp.

Sadie moved in the direction of her assigned tent before she stopped and turned around, her face even brighter for the first time Arthur've seen in weeks.

"You have done so much for me with this alone," Sadie said, gripping his shoulder. "I'm... real thankful."

"Just doing what I have to do," Arthur dismissed, keeping his head down.

Annoyance came across her face now. "Are you kidding? That was above and beyond. You have been very supportive of me even when we'd just met. Mr. Duffy too. A slave to the O'Driscolls. You're a good man, Arthur Morgan."

He actually was tempted to tone, "I'm just doing what I had to do, Mrs. Adler."

"Between you and me, I wouldn't have stayed here if it wasn't for you, not after that bastard died."

"All that ain't necessary, ya know. If you want to leave one day, you could."

"No," Sadie said, "I... just wish there were more good people like you in the world."

Arthur huffed a hoarse laugh again. He doubted that many people would like that comparison to him, alluding to all of his previous crimes.

"You don't want that."

"'Course I do!" She snapped. "If more people were like you, maybe the world would be a better place."

Kieran? Now Sadie? They were driving him into horse's shit.

"You got it all wrong, Sadie, I'm a bad person, even though I dislike killing and threatening."

"Well ain't we all?"

He sighed, "I'm-I'm the worst."

"No you ain't, just take the fucking compliment, would you?" The slimmer of the Sadie Adler from a future time pierced through in this shiny moment, a scowl across her lips. "You're a better man than you give yourself credit for. And forgive me, but I was thinking that you didn't choose to live this goddamn life."

"I don't think you kno-"

Sadie looked at him sharply, and Arthur hushed.

Eventually, she breathed and said, "Let's live together someday."

Arthur's blood went cold. What? He was surprised more when he wanted to say yes. He craved it, he craved it so badly. There was no reason to stay as part of the gang in its current state. They didn't have to stay down here, not with the Pinkertons hunting down outlaws and gangs like animals in a dry season. But, he couldn't. She just lost her husband, and for the sake of what happened, Arthur wouldn't hurt another woman better off somewhere else.

"You're still mourning."

Sadie deflated slightly. "You can just say no."

"It's ain't like that."

"Then what is it like?"

"It's more that there are more important things in the world." Like ensuring Dutch ultimately doesn't hurt other folks. "I ain't able to choose to abandon that and run off into the sunset. I highly doubt I'm your idle version of a man you would want to be with, ma'am."

She fought on, "What if I say you are?"

"Then I say you should look around you. Find others." he responded, his tone getting rougher again.

She seemed to process all of the words, her eyes expanded, before she nodded and relaxed her shoulders.

"Thanks, Mr. Morgan, for your companionship."

She laid a kiss on Arthur's cheek and walked away.

Chapter Text

'Some things have been happening differently. Some things hasn't happened at all. I managed to stop myself from getting TB this time around. 'Course I have more years left assuming that I can live that long. I don't like the way Dutch has been eyeing me lately. Javier and Bill have also been different. At least, Sean is back. The camp is whole, united. All of us are together for now at least.

Last time, I was happy that things were going to get better. I know better this time. Right now, I have to stick it out with Dutch's plans. I don't know what to think 'bout Mrs. Adler's attitude, but she seems to be happier lately. It seems like ever-'

"Hey, Arthur."

He frowned, stopping, but kept his eyes on the page.

"Hey, Arthur." Abigail snapped him out of his thoughts.

Arthur sighed, having a feeling he knew what was coming. "Miss Roberts?"

Abigail's hands came together apprehensively, unable to meet his eyes. "How are ya doing?"

He smirked in amusement, "I highly doubt you came here to ask 'bout my day without a request."

Her lips curved up more guiltily. "I guess I'm that obvious."

"Yes, you are. Let me guess. Jackie?"

"Jack." She confirmed, biting her lower lip. "He just- I don't know. He seems... kind of down. All of this upheaval couldn't be easy on the poor kid. We don't talk nor smile." She seemed so sad in that moment, lost and conflicted. It was obvious enough that this had been pestering her for a while. "I just don't know what to do, Arthur. The boy... well, you have been different lately. You'd gotten better. Nicer. More compassionate. Jack needs that type of role model. And John... Well John..."

She seemed on the verge of tears, and Arthur reacted without hesitation. He wrapped his arms around her. "Now, now. None of that, sweetheart." He pulled away and smiled, "I will do whatever I can for little Jackie. That boy matters to me. His happiness matters. His future-"

The thought of that little boy becoming an armed gunslinger plagued Arthur's heart.

Abigail sniffled slightly and with irritation swept at her eyes. "I don't even know why I'm acting like this now, I just-"

"You're a single mother worrying 'bout her son." Arthur shook his head. "And with all of these changes with everything, it's too much to take."

"I need him to take his mind off of everything for a little while. And well you know his father is useless." She replied.

Arthur's mouth folded into a flat line for some strange reason. He'd known Marston was far from perfect. But the man tried. At least, he did later. In the end, he did care 'bout that boy, even though it took a bit of time for him to wake up and come to reality.

"Sorry." She added quickly, gaze dropping to the ground. "I don't mean to sound so... callous but we'll you know how John is. Maybe somewhere in there is a good man, but... I just don't think I'm ready to trust him with my son just yet. Maybe not ever."

Arthur caught on the way she said 'my son', excluding the boy's father entirely. Normally, he wouldn't have commented on it. Almost desperately, he clung to the hopes of repairing this relationship.

He still passed off what advice he could, "Abigail, while I want to do what I can for the boy, I'm not his father. John is. You two made a commitment to raise him together. He is both of your sons. I can only act as a uncle or second father figure-nothing more. I have already discussed things with him. You two are going to have to talk it out eventually." They really had to, if they wanted things to get better before it was too late.

Abigail looked stunned for a moment before she nodded slowly. "I will keep that in mind. Thank you, Arthur."

"Where's Jack?"

"He was over on the edge of the camp, by the horses." She stated and motioned.

He nodded. Jack was beside the tree, his expression sullen and lost. The boy was drawing something in the dirt Kieran, meanwhile, was tending to Ennis, with Sean making wisecracks while Kieran quipped back in amusement. Their friendship was certainly another debacle that Arthur didn't know how to think 'bout it.

"What is this guy's deal, Arthur Morgan? Too much of a pacifist, I tell ya!" Sean shouted, throwing his right hand on his forehead.

"What happened now?" He inquired, looking between the two men.

Kieran turned back around, "I just so happen to prefer being around horses than people."

"And that is the problem. This guy's boring!"

"Who are you calling boring?!" Kieran exclaimed. "Ain't you supposed to be reading with Lenny?"

"Yes!" Another voice boomed out. The still recovering Lenny stormed up. "I want to have you read."

"Ah, shit, I gotta head off to town. Dutch has plans for me. Bye-bye now!" Sean unhitched his horse and rode off.

"Not so fast, you Irish fucker, we're not done!" Lenny unhitched Maggie and followed the Irish. "Now! Hold up, Sean MacGuire! You promised! I ain't giving up on you!"

"Kid, I told ya enough times! Reading ain't for me!"

Their voices became more distant as Arthur couldn't help the laughter that escaped his chest at the scene. He couldn't always worried.

He didn't stop his stride until he found Jack and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Jackie, how you been?"

"Playing." The boy responded.

"Anything fun?"

"I guess…" Jack sounded unsure. Damn, it reminded him that Jack didn't have any other children to play with. Didn't have any siblings. Just a loner. There were plenty of women, but those considered "children" were far from the boy's age.

He realized he wanted other children around. He wanted a community where Jack, nor those kids, ain't have to think 'bout those types of things and wouldn't be alone. But, this life, with how it was, they would just be future killers under the impression of a family. He wasn't meant to be out here, constantly evading the law like all of them were.

But he was...

For now at least.

And no other child deserved that.

He headed over to prepare his mare for their little river trip and approached Jack.

He swung the rod out to the boy's hair, catching his attention. His face brightened, eyes widened, the beginning of a smirk coming over his lips.

"Well, I'm going to be taking a one way to take a trip to the river," he grinned, "Enough of sulking, boy! Get up and go get a rod!"

Jack stood straight as expected and ran to the back, wanting to be strong in front of "Uncle Arthur".

Arthur, Lenny, and Hosea have been teaching him how to read. Sean was the type to get the kid into all sorts of trouble. But eventually, when Lenny managed to drag Sean's ass back here and onto one of the seats, he might be joining Jack. Arthur'd hoped to see that...

Javier was a good uncle to the boy. He was often found teaching him how to sing with his guitar. Indeed, it did give the boy some tempting ideas. One time, Jack hid his guitar with the help of Sean, and the amount of hell Javier gave to Sean wasn't a pretty sign. To give the Mexican credit, he never took his anger out on Jack. Bill was somewhat nice to him, mutually watching over Cain when the nice dog showed up. Micah was the only one Abigail didn't like being around him. And Arthur couldn't blame her.

That was another reason why Arthur ain't going to let Micah live for that much longer. He couldn't let whatever Micah did to that goddamn dog happened again. He just-

Damn it.

Arthur needed to calm himself down.

He didn't have to always concentrate on the conflict between Micah and Dutch. Not when they were resting. Even the rat didn't always find ways to be irritating, just sitting on his seat and cleaning his revolver, murmuring to himself on an isolated log.

When Jack came back, and he loaded the boy onto the back of Ryan, he was 'bout to climb on, stopping when he noticed that John Marston was standing again, a slight limp in his step if anything else, but was able to stand. His scarred face curled into almost an upset frown as he stared at the back of the oblivious boy's head.

Then his eyes moved over to Arthur, their eyes locking. It was almost as if John was going to move over and finally accept his parental responsibilities. But he didn't move. Arthur shook his head and climbed onto the horse, pulling on the reins and taking off, leaving behind the camp in the dust.

"Uncle Arthur, this is boringgggggg!" The boy complained.

"Patience," Arthur laughed.

"Ughhhhhhhhh..."

"This is a good lesson, ya know."

"Howwwwwww?" The boy inquired, confusion in his voice.

"You gotta learn to wait 'till the prey comes to you."

Jack glared down at his fishing rod; irritation and intrigue halfway across his face. "This is so goddam-"

"Jack!" He reprimanded the boy before he finished that. Oh, Abigail would have given Jack hell if she'd found out that he was using that word. "Where did you hear that word before?"

"Pa was mumbling the word a lot," Jack admitted sheepishly. "He was mentioning you and Uncle Hosea."

Ah, that explained it. Likely, brooding. Well, he would have a lot more to sulk about with Abigail when she'd found out what he was teaching her son-

"Well, don't let your mother hear you say that. Better yet, don't curse at all." The amount of tail she would whip if he did... and well, Arthur didn't want her to think he was the one teaching Jack that type of language! Abigail was very much a reluctant disciplinarian but was far from a pushover when it came to her son.

"Fine... but still boring," Jack said.

Disregarding that thought, he looked at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Just calm down, kid, don't be rushing it. You will catch them eventually."

Jack seemed halfway between a groan, but responded, "So we just need to relax?"

"Yep."

"Like Uncle?" The boy giggled.

Arthur snorted. "I wouldn't call what he does as relaxing. His tales 'bout the good old days, Red Harlow, and all of them is crazy talk from a jester." He declared.

Jack laughed somewhat. "Uncle Hosea and Miss Grimshaw was talking 'bout how you have been a matured young man lately." He said.

"Have they now?" He smirked. "Why is that funny?"

"Well, you're old!"

It would be a lie to say he wasn't partially offended. "I ain't that old, boy. Not as old as those two fossils losing their memory more and more." Arthur replied. He looked down at the boy. "Um, don't tell them I said that."

"I won't."

Sheepish, he detected. Yeah, word would reach them, and another problem to deal with.

"So… Anyone else had anything to say 'bout my maturity?" He smiled.

"No, just them." he retorted simply, almost without thought.

The time traveler shrugged, laying back against the bank of the river once again. His eyes closed, and he began to ponder.

What felt like hours passed without a word from either. Eventually, though, Jack wanted to break the silence.

"Uncle Arthur?"

"Yeah, boy?"

"You brought my pa back down from that mountain, right?"

"Me, Uncle Charles, and Uncle Javier ya. Why?"

"Thank you." The boy replied. "Ma was sad that he was gone."

To his shame, he looked guilty again. He looked down at the boy and smiled, the boy tilted away from the fishing rod as he focused on the mission.

He could see the waves of fish coming near his line, but none tried for the cheese clung at the end. The goddamn bastards.

"But Ma looks mad again." Jack declared, his teeth gritted slightly.

"Well... folks ain't going to always going to be happy, Jackie."

"But Pa's alright now."

"Now, he is," he declared. "How 'bout you, kid?" he changed the topic.

"I'm fine." The boy replied a little bit more.

Arthur wasn't going to let the conversation go that easily. His lips pursed together as he breathed slowly from his nose. "These last few weeks haven't been easy." He declared. "Lots of moving. Lots of changes. With some folks going mis... on a trip and not coming back, I know it's just been a lot to take in." He changed from direct to subtle. "'Specially for you and your Momma. You ain't alone in this world, Jackie."

Jack didn't reply. When he wasn't pushing off questions, the boy tended to think a lot. One of the positive traits Dutch had.

Arthur pushed himself up to a crouch, crouching in front of Jack. The kid was short. Still so young. So innocent. It was hard to believe one day he would become an outlaw. At least, another version of him. "You've been really brave. You have been strong, much more of a man than me, Uncle John, and most of us could ever be." Arthur looked into the boy's small eyes, looking for something suggesting anything was happening. He found an impassive stare. He'd make a good poker player.

"But it's okay to admit your weaknesses. You have the right to show weaknesses. Not everything is something you should be worried 'bout." he continued. He removed his hat, placing it into Jack's head. "And no matter what your pa says or does, you will always have people who care 'bout you, you get that-son? Appreciate what you have, 'cause it could all be gone. Allow us to take the stress from you and worry while you be happy."

Arthur felt a pair of tiny arms wrap around his neck. Jack trembled slightly, and he realized the boy was crying. He patted the boy's back, allowing him to work it out of his system.

"There you go. You're alright." Arthur muttered softly, recalling Hosea, Dutch, and him during moments like this so long ago. It worked too, just as he did him.

Eventually, Jack pulled away calmer than before, wiping his nose with a sniffle.

"You'll be alright, kid." Arthur ensured him, holding him by his shoulders. "Just- look, if you ever have something you need to talk about… but you don't wanna talk to your Ma 'bout? Come to me, Hosea, or even Charles, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed with a newfound smile.

"Alright then. Just try not to keep everything bottled up. It ain't good for you. You had your Ma worried. Remember, you still have her."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize, kid."

"Okay." he promised. His face suddenly brightened. "I think I know what'll make Momma feel better!"

He jolted upright, making to rush off, but stopped at the last second. He stared down at the fishing rod that he'd abandoned on the riverbank, then stared back up at Arthur. Arthur's hat nearly fell in front of his eyes.

The older man chuckled, fixing his hat. "Go ahead. I'll keep an eye on the fishing rod for you."

Jack smiled in appreciation, then scurried off. He dashed between patches of plants, gathering flowers as he ran.

A smirk found its way to Arthur's face as he observed the kid working. Jack's excitement was palpable, darting for flower patches with more happiness than he'd seen the kid show in weeks.

"I guess I could be a good dad after all," he said to himself sarcastically, knowing that ain't true. He could never be a father. He ain't like Hosea in that regard.

His attention was diverted when he heard a tug at the line. He collected his rod, bemused. He hadn't seen it so much as move.

Another pull. Not on his line...

"Ugh, you have to be kiddi-" he started, noticing as Jack's little fishing rod - a toy basically by Hosea - twitched. It was a clear sign.

He dropped his own rod, reaching down to grip the much smaller one before it was pulled into the river. He picked it up and began to pull, but the fish resisted against him.

The next minute or so was simply recalling the techniques that Hosea and Dutch had instructed since childhood. Pull, relinquish some slack, and reel when it got exhausted. Repeat. The little shit was a fighter, though, and this goddamn rod wasn't helpful at all! It actually took Arthur a tremendous amount of effort to bring the fish back to shore.

When he finally did, he smiled with pride at the ten-or-so-pound salmon that hooked off of the line.

"That was on my line?" Jack inquired behind him.

"Sure was." Arthur confirmed, not taking his eyes away from the squirming fish.

"I made Momma a necklace. Look, Uncle Arthur, look!"

Arthur smiled, looking at Jack's little creation. "Well, well, now, let's head back to show her, why don't we?"

A while later, they head back.

Only then, he realize something was off.

The question rang in his mind savagely, making him ponder.

Where the hell was Agent Milton?

Chapter Text

The unpredictability of the future left Arthur very uneasy.

Right now, nothing major happened so there was no reason to put anything in the journal. But, the outlaw life most certainly did leave much for one to think 'bout, despite how Arthur'd planned to make it this time with John and his family.

John?

Speaking of which, the man was walking up to him. Arthur ain't know what this conversation meant. He didn't say much to anyone in the past couple of days.

"They're arguing again," John said. He didn't have to elaborate who "they" were.

"I bet." One day, them arguments were going to escalate into something more. There had come points where Hosea didn't even look at Dutch for hours and vice versa. "What is it now?"

"A train robbery," Marston responded.

Arthur turned away for a span of a moment, but his thoughts kept nagging at him. He slowly craned his head back at John and asked, "What is it, Marston?"

"I have been... thinking about what you said... 'bout the boy." There came the admittance. Ah, so was it possible Arthur had gotten through to the stubborn idiot? The man looked down and stiffened slightly, like the older days of a far easier time. "I don't know if I could do it, Arthur, all I know is how to shoot, kill, and rob. Being a father... he doesn't deserve that type of treatment."

"Give him something close to it, Marston," he replied. "Eventually, we'll get out of it."

Now, John looked disturbed. "I actually wanted to talk to you 'bout that." Arthur arched an eyebrow, waiting. John bristled somewhat, looking entirely pensive and apprehensive. The younger outlaw continued instantly. "Not here."

Arthur was confused 'bout what Marston was up to this time, but he decided to oblige. They led further into the forest in a secret area far from where Javier was currently carrying out his guard duties and beyond.

"Do you think," John glanced over in his direction for a moment before back at Arthur's, "Dutch lost his mind, Arthur? That he won't get us out of this?"

"Yes," Arthur admitted without hesitation. "Dutch going through with what he did... I can't make excuses for what he did any longer. Sooner or later, the law would catch up to us. And ain't many are going to get out at this point."

"You're losing faith," John offered placidly a small bit of humor to the situation. "That's unlike you, Arthur."

He shrugged. He couldn't help the shot of amusement that flooded through him. "Once, you were his favorite."

John grunted, "I'm afraid those days are long gone, Morgan."

Arthur grinned mockingly, "You know your shooting has been off. Did the wolves caught your vision?"

"Better at shooting than you," John responded dauntingly.

"You should have practiced it when you were gone for a year."

"Hmph."

Hearing the offended tone, Arthur placed his hand on his shoulder. For a moment, it reminded him of that final night on that mountain. That John would never see him.

"Ya know I forgive you for that by now," he offered in a far softer tone, clenching his hand slightly around his shoulder in the hopes of showing him that he was sincere. "You are my brother, and no matter what you would ever do, that would never change."

Silence won for a moment. Arthur let his defenses down, hoping that this wouldn't throw him off. Marston was still immature, unwilling to accept any sort of responsibility, be it to his woman or his son.

Arthur overestimated him, it turned out, for John nodded slightly and responded, "I... I guess I'm sorry, Arthur, for leaving."

"I accept your apology... under one condition." The younger waited, muscles tensed, expression stuck on him. "Be a father to that boy. You don't have to be the best, but give him a better childhood than we had. Our parents were horseshit, and well, ya know better than that, John."

John's face scrunched up into uncertainty. It was obvious that he wanted to fix that relationship, just like Arthur did. Even in the end, they weren't as close as they could have been. There was plenty of time this time. He didn't believe in second chances and all, but well, fate proved him wrong.

And then finally he responded, "I will... try, Arthur."

"I have faith in you," he responded. It was pretty close enough. Arthur wasn't going to press his luck. Hosea have been trying to do this for a long time, but Arthur's animosity wasn't exactly helpful with those endeavors. Now that John could depend on him for being the lending shoulders that he needed, it was more likely for John to carry out his duties.

The conversation should have ended there, though John didn't leave. The two stood side-by-side, just staring at the surroundings. The few animals scurried 'bout among the grasslands, the plants blending in with one another, though it set the scene.

Arthur didn't know what possessed him to ask the next question, but he did. Goddamn it, Marston wasn't the only idiot sometimes.

"Do you trust Dutch, John?"

John hesitated, "...Yes." The waver in his tone showed the lie on his lips. He was trying to avoid an argument. Trying to read him. He knew. He knew that this would stay from Dutch. John and Dutch'd debated constantly. Even though John hadn't lost as much fate as he did later on in the next few months may or may not come to be, John ain't know how bad it would be.

"I ain't judging you for it, John, 'cause I don't," Arthur stated, his tone more blunt than it ought to be, "and nothing will change that now."

He looked at him momentarily before laughing, "I never thought that would happen."

"I learn new things every day. Now, let's go check on the annoying Irishman."

Arthur and John soon arrived at the deprived shack and detected the wagon had been tethered up to two horses, spying Sean shooting at several bottles and cans.

"Shit…" the Irishman cursed, struggling to pull his gun out of the holster before firing a shot and missing.

Arthur and John both found amusement in this. John may not be the best shot, but at least he could land some bullets.

"Well, we'd found out Kieran's a better shot, wouldn't ya agree, Marston?"

John snorted. "Calling this Irish a good shooter at all is giving too much credit, Arthur."

"Ah, shut up, ya two." he answered, firing another shot and hitting a can knocking it down.

"Yeah, your job's starting the fight, ain't winning them," Arthur taunted.

"I can scrap, Arthur... I'm just no good at homework." he fired again.

"I see that."

Sean pushed forward, "Besides, what do you care, Englishman? You've got no time for me. I tried to find your work... but then you're off cutting jobs with other folks, and your boy, Sean, doesn't get a look in."

"Guess Morgan doesn't want to get shot, that's all," John responded, and Arthur looked with a smirk, recalling what he'd said something similar. Ah, great minds think alike.

"Ah, you're a real fucking funny shit, John Marston, huh? Real fucking funny."

Sean reloaded his revolver.

"Calm down." Arthur tried to play the peacemaker. "No need to worry, Sean, you just ain't a good shot."

"I am, Englishman!"

"Come on, take a shot. Come on, take your best shot, please, eh?"

Arthur drew his revolver and fired at a bottle, arching his eyebrow, "Impressed?"

Arthur and Sean holster their guns as they approach the oil wagon.

"Let me come on the raid with yous..."

"I already told you that you weren't coming," John stated, disdain clear.

"Oh, come on, scarface, what yer doing out here, yer going to need guns... yer going to need men."

"Bringing him would be like bringing Micah," John said to Arthur now.

"Compare me to that oily turd again... you're a dead man." Sean threatened.

"Sean does have his usefulness."

"Like what?" Marston asked.

"He could talk the lawmen's ears off for hours if we get captured." Arthur offered sarcastically.

John looked like he wanted to argue but he shrugged, "Fair enough."

"Imma take a nap, John."

"Anything new?" John snarked.

"Sean's yapping tends to tire me," he joked.

Sean looked at him, "Arthur... what's yer problem with me? In fact, don't tell me, I already know... ya threatened by me."

"Is that so?" he asked.

"Yeah, my youthful vigor... it intimidates ya. Ya know, it's a story as old as the hills. The changing of the guard... the fading of the light. You're toast, old man." Sean threatened, false aggression in his voice.

He actually chuckled, "That goes more to Lenny than you, boy. Have you learned how to read yet?" Arthur offered.

"That doesn't matter! I'm the future, in all its glory!"

Hopefully, not fighting for this stagnating gang. Arthur would like to believe Sean would see through Dutch when everything went to hell... if he'd been able to save him this time.

"Sounds like a future I don't want to see. Now, shut up and let me sleep." Sean rolled his eyes as Arthur lowered and closed his eyes, falling asleep.

When he opened his eyes and spotted John and Charles, his brother's hand on his shoulder nudging him awake, he gripped a pebble and tossed it at the also Sean, the small item colliding against the Irishman's cheek, and he snorted awake.

"This is going to be a party," the Irishman exclaimed, not even letting exhaustion keep him from opening his goddamn mouth as he boarded the wagon.

"Train's due through tonight." John stated.

"Me and the big cheeses, love it. Can't wait to slit some bastard's throat." Sean said.

"Easy now, boy, you don't need to kill everyone ya see. We aren't savages." Arthur stated. Sean's desire to cause trouble would need to be handled sooner or later, but in the boy's defense, he was like that at that age. Dutch was actually right 'bout that.

"Ah, you're no fun, Englishman."

John and Charles walked to the wagon. He climbed into the driver's seat beside the Irish and gripped the reins while John and Charles flanked either side of the wagon on small wooden steps.

Once they were all set, he snapped the reins, and the horses began to take off, pulling the wagon along.

"Are the horses untethered?" Charles asked.

"They are," Arthur ensured, silencing any concerns from the man.

"Good," he replied.

"You find good spot for us, Wolf Man?" Arthur asked John with a small smile.

John nodded, returning it. "Yeah, follow the trail southwest. There's a spot that's…remote, but should still give 'em enough time to spot the oil wagon."

"Well, if anything goes wrong, we can use Sean to stop the train."

Sean snorted. "I can stop that train with my eyes open, Arthur."

"Don't assume you'll be able to open your eyes after, kid," Arthur said.

"If you two are done," John spoke up, "the train picks up a new team of guards at the state line, so shouldn't be much in the way of guns to deal with."

"I can't believe this. I disappear for a couple of weeks, and you cut me out of all the action." Sean complained.

"The only action which requires a brain," John replied.

The Irishman laughed, "You're a funny feller, John Marston. From what I hear folk say, you had your feet up the whole time playing sick and fondling that new scar like you're gonna buy it breakfast in the morning."

"You don't know what you're talking about." John replied with faint sheepishness.

Sean added, "Stay close on this, wouldn't want you getting scratched by a squirrel or something. That could put ya outta commission for the rest of the year."

"Why do you have to speak so much…it's incessant." Charles remarked to the Irishman. Ironic, Arthur reflected, Charles had been one of the folks who actually missed him.

"You should have not asked him that," Arthur pretended to groan.

"'Cause I've still got some blood in me veins! You old bastards have forgotten how to live!" Sean replied.

"I blame you two for rescuing him," John stated, staring pointedly at Arthur and Charles, who rolled their eyes as they persisted along the way, the wagon soon entering the state of Lemoyne.

"Yeah, takes a while army of bounty hunters to bring in Sean MacGuire. And look at me now, in the gunner's seat! Back in business, boys! Ya know, my da always used to say…." Not this again! Arthur jumped to attention. Please! Anything but this! Even after his first death, he didn't want to go through hearing about that story again.

"Not the da, please!" John interjected.

"No, no..." Charles groaned.

"Shut your goddamn mouth, MacGuire!" Arthur shouted.

"Fine!" Sean shouted, "Damn, you three... Sulky, Angry, Scar Face. A right barrel of laughs."

They arrived at the train track.

"That was too long of a ride," Arthur pretended to complain as he put the wagon over the tracks, receiving a scoff from Sean.

"So we block the track with the wagon the jump 'em? That's the plan?" Sean asked.

"Pretty much. Charles, you deal with the engineer. John, secure the passenger car fast, take charitable donations. MacGuire, you focus on the baggage car, grab any valuables you can find," Arthur commanded. "And don't kill or hurt anybody... much." His eyes narrowed at the Irish, as he untethered his horse along with the others.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Sean complied, a groan in his voice.

"I'll run point, keep an eye out for outriders, and the law, and help you three where I can." Arthur stated. He'd trusted them to get the bloody job done. "You three, go over there. I'll make sure she slows." Arthur relayed.

"Still a bold one, you are, Arthur Morgan. Folks were saying you've been different," Sean noted with a chuckle. "I don't see it."

"Get moving," he commanded, putting the bandana on before climbing up onto the wagon. The other three dashed off to hide in the trees to wait for the train. Damn it, this was risky. He didn't know what could happen. After how much had changed, he didn't know if he could depend on that.

Soon, he heard the train coming up. Slowly it came around the bend and began blowing its whistle loudly once the driver spotted the wagon and Arthur. The other three observed and waited impatiently before the train came to a halt just before it collided with the wagon.

Arthur climbed down and began walking to the train as the driver got out. "What's going on here? What's going on?" he questioned, when Charles approached with a roar. He swung his Sawn-off Shotgun, hitting the driver and turning him limp.

Sean did the same to a guard who exited the first carriage, knocking them out with the butt of his revolver. "All yours, Captain. I'll going on ahead." He told him.

Arthur nodded and quickly entered the first carriage. The passengers all looked at him, concerned and frightful.

It gave him pause briefly, but he kept his voice level as he spoke. "This is a robbery, ladies and gentlemen. Give us your valuables and money, and none of you will get hurt."

Doing this now disgusted him.

John approached the first people in the carriage with a sack into which they placed everything they had of importance. Arthur only flanked him, feeling like shit for doing it throughout.

"I ain't got nothing," One man said.

"You wanna have a little chat with Romeo and Juliet here?" John beckoned to them.

"Look, we ain't want to hurt anyone here," Arthur forced out, "just give us your valuables and you'll be alright." he promised, unable to play this act now.

"Don't do this. Just give it to him, Thomas, please." The man's wife pleaded, and he consented, putting the valuables into the sack.

Arthur looked at them with hesitation but only for a second as his footsteps took him to follow behind John to the next carriage. Sean walked in through the back door as the two began gathering from the passengers.

"You two need me up here?" he asked.

"In fact, yes," Arthur nodded. "Keep an eye. Try not to get anyone killed."

He approached the baggage car and waited.

The guard came out and moved to slam the butt of his rifle against Arthur. He was prepared, however, gripping his weapon and slamming his hand against his head, knocking him out. However, another guard quickly emerged on the roof of the baggage car. He aimed down at Arthur, who grimly pulled out his revolver, and shot him without hesitation.

Two more guards scurried out of the baggage car upon hearing the gunshots, but Arthur put them down too, unable to bear to look them in the eye.

Damn, he'd hated being an outlaw.

Nevertheless, he checked the material within. They'd recovered some useful loot from within.

Arthur looked far and wide for the lawmen, caught off-guard again where no lawmen were approaching...

"Come on, Arthur, you got everything?" Charles planted a hand on his shoulder, shocking him.

"Y-yes, I'm fine," Arthur nodded his thanks for his concern, "come on, let's go."

He was unsure if all these changes were good or bad.

Chapter Text

With the lack of the Pinkerton Agents, there was no haste to move on from Horseshoe Overlook. Unfortunately, this gave Dutch and Hosea even more ideas. Even with the least stressful situations, neither, especially the former, couldn't help but get them into loads of trouble that would certainly attract their attention. While Cornwall might not be interested in chasing after them, Arthur've reasoned with the Pinkertons playing law and order for a civilized society.

In some ways, Arthur'd understood. They'd needed cash to stay on their feet, and with the law closing in on them, Arthur knew it was only a matter of time as much as he'd enjoyed this.

"Arthur," Hosea summoned, moving over to him lounging alone in a small seat, "Dutch has another plan."

Arthur couldn't help a sigh as he stood up and moved over to the tent, following behind Hosea. Notably, Dutch weren't alone. Micah was next to him. Javier too. He really didn't like the amount of time they had been spending together since Colter, but he'd presumed with him questioning Dutch, that wasn't to be unexpected.

"Son," Dutch nodded. "I have been discussing it with Mr. Bell and Escuella here-"

He glanced briefly at Micah and Javier.

"Yes?" Arthur asked, his gut feeling clenching up.

He proclaimed, "We decided we are going to rob the bank in Valentine."

Arthur froze. Last time, Cornwall and the Pinkertons started roaming around, and they had to postpone that robbery. Even afterward, it was Bill of all people who planned and Ms. Jones who played the good role of a distraction. But this time, it was going to be through more firepower. He couldn't blame Dutch too much for this as well. At the end of it all, Cornwall was holding back the Pinkertons, even though they'd still wanted them to swing Blackwater.

"You're alright, son?" Be it he viewed it as hesitancy or reluctance, a reason to question his plans all the more, Arthur didn't know.

"I'm fine, Dutch," Arthur responded, noticing both Dutch and Hosea were eyeing him with similar looks.

"We are going to separate into two groups," Javier spoke up. "Arthur, you're going to go with Micah and I. Dutch is going to go with John and Bill."

"We will be holding the hostages," Dutch declared with finality, "you three will be going in and getting the money." He raised his voice, "Now, listen, folks, we have planned for this robbery. With this money, we'll get one step closer to paradise. We must remain strong. I need you all to work together."

The speech concluded and they all gathered up their equipment. While it irritated him slightly to know that he would be working with Javier and Micah, Arthur didn't see a reason to protest. He'd made sure his horse was prepared before he pulled on the reins, taking off right with Micah and Javier catching up.

"You have been acting pretty different lately, you know that, Morgan," Micah spoke in an obvious tone to get under his skin. "Always going behind Dutch's back, now talking to Marston a lot more. What do you two got planning?"

"Shut up," Arthur said flatly.

"I'm just pointing out that you should have more faith in Dutch, Morgan, after everything he'd done for you," Micah responded, and Arthur knew exactly what he was doing. The goddamn bastard was subtly luring Javier in. The Mexican clearly didn't like his attitude while they were in Colter and it was starting to grow into actual resentment, with fewer and fewer conversations happening between them.

Arthur found it increasingly difficult not to put a bullet through Micah right then and there. Damn it, shoulda done it to both Dutch and Micah back in Colter before they went to the Adler's ranch. He'd guessed he'd thought he could tolerate Micah's taunts along the way.

"He does have a point. Why are you always doubting Dutch, Arthur?" Javier echoed. Of course, Javier have already burnt the bond that once meant a lot to Arthur, but it still hurt. The moment Arthur'd rightfully questioned Dutch and where things were going, the Mexican didn't even care.

"Javier, since Micah has been riding with us, there's nothing but trouble. Stirring things up all the time, getting in Dutch's ear. Encouraging him to kill that girl in Blackwater." He was trying to reason with Javier. All that came was a cold mask and another stab of betrayal 'cause Javier wouldn't ever think for himself, not when it came to being a follower.

"Ah, you are still on 'bout that," Micah dismissed, rolling his eyes. "She was just a girl who wouldn't stop squealing. Dutch did us a favor in putting her down. She would have lured the law to us, cowpoke."

"I'm more careful after Blackwater. You two went on that bloody massacre, bringing the law right on us, and getting Jenny, Mac, and Davey killed." Arthur gritted out, glaring at the rat piece of shit who he'd wanted to lunge at and remove off of that goddamn horse already.

"Ah, you think I'm bad, Morgan? Them Callander boys were a bloody bunch. They went out in their flame of glory." Micah countered without care. "Jenny was useful," he licked his lips, his face darkening, "I'm speaking from experience."

"Shut your goddamn mouth before I shut it for you!" Arthur hissed.

Soon...

He'd just needed to make sure it didn't lead back to him...

"Oh, don't get mad, Morgan," the rat bastard laughed. "You and the widow..."

"Leave her out of this," he replied, surprised by the surge of overprotection crawling through his spine at that moment.

"You know you had your own fun before," Micah replied, "what are you doing now with her anyway? She should be shared!" Several cackles vibrated out of him.

"You don't know what you're fucking talking 'bout so keep your mouth shut before I'll put a bullet through your eyes," Arthur threatened, though he knew Micah got what he wanted. He'd been successful. With the control he had over both Dutch and Javier, it was obvious what his plans were.

Wouldn't win the fight in physicality. Would do it by destroying the gang, taking his losses, and running before Arthur or either of them would even know what was happening.

What was the next plan Micah was going to cook up?

Or Dutch and Javier even? He didn't know how far any conspiracies of theirs went. Very likely, Dutch would begin to talk 'bout the possibilities of a rat and looked at both him or John as the ones responsible.

These thoughts wouldn't leave him as he continued the ride. Damn it, he wished he pressed to remain with Marston instead. Their bond was getting better lately. At the very least, the conversation ended there.

They'd arrived on the opposite sides, taking their supplies, and pushing on their horses to run off for cover.

"Now, listen," Dutch said as they all gathered up in front of the bank's doors and began putting on their bandanas, "we go in, incapacitate the guards. Arthur, you go to the back. Any questions? Disagreements?"

None came.

The leader of the Van Der Linde gang kicked the door open and shot his revolver in the air, causing all of them to look within, and fall onto the ground, raising their hands.

The guards pulled out their guns, only to be put down instantly by Micah.

A woman screamed at the bloodied sight, causing John to shout. "Silence! Now! I said silent, woman!" He aimed his revolver at her head, and she put a hand on her mouth, whacked sobs escaping her, but she tried to calm herself down before she ended up shot.

Arthur turned his revolver on the teller, his voice lacking conviction. "Give us the key, and no one gets hurt."

The teller tossed him the key and he walked over and unlocked the door. He moved in and pushed him on the arm, leading him to the vault, though much more gently than last time.

"Make it easier for yourself and open the vault," he commanded.

The teller looked terrified, scrambling over and trying to open the vault with shaking hands. He took too long, adding to Arthur's stress of the situation, and forced bark of command to hurry up.

Unfortunately, his timing couldn't be worse.

Micah walked in, his sneer across his lips. "He still ain't open the vault?!" He walked up and slammed his fist against his side. "Open the vault! Open the goddamn vault now!"

Arthur gripped Micah's hand and growled out, stopping him from inflicting further injury, "I got this."

"Are you trying to make us swung, cowpoke?" Micah directed his question to Arthur. "You're taking too long. He needs to-"

"It's open," the teller managed after a shrieking episode.

Arthur glared at Micah for a moment before sighing and looking at the teller.

"What do we have to open the lock boxes?" Arthur asked much more softly, knowing the answer.

"T-the manager does that."

Micah slammed him against the nearest wall, making him groan and grip his head. He smirked in satisfaction and turned to Arthur who could only glare helplessly. Marston walked inside next, checking to make sure everything was okay.

While he looked slightly displeased, Marston didn't argue. "I'll make sure our friend behaves himself, okay, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded after a moment of hesitation, not wanting the poor man's brains to be splattered on the ground.

"I'll blow them up." Arthur stated, planting dynamite on the boxes.

"Hurry up in there, amigo!" Javier shouted from the outside.

"I'm moving as fast as I can!" Arthur snapped back, on the fifth lockbox.

"Ple-please, let me go. I won't say nothing I swear." The teller pleaded.

"Shut up!" Micah snarled, kicking him in the side again, making him groan.

Arthur exited, coming to the rat's side, waiting for it to blow.

When the familiar "BOOM" echoed, the boxes were opened, and Arthur scurried in, looting the safes for all of the money. Plenty of which to move on. He would have to hide away some of the cash. It would not be clean money, Arthur knew, but it was the only way to stop all of this.

By the time he exited, they had a good amount of money. Too much for Arthur to even count.

"This is Deputy Aiden Pulaski of the Valentine's Sheriff Department!" A voice bellowed from the outside. "We've you surrounded. Lawmen are everywhere. You ain't getting out of this one so you might as well put your guns down and come out with your hands up."

"I am ready to get the hell out of here whenever you all are!" Bill murmured to the rest who gathered up.

"If the shooting starts, you're all dead!" The deputy barked.

"How we're going to do it this time, Dutch?" John inquired, staring at their leader.

Ever the fine speaker, Dutch couldn't wait for his moment to shine yet again. Holstering his weapons, he walked out and put his hands up.

"Please, all of you, we represent the society that is still breeding. We're not killers. We're not thieves." Arthur almost had to scoff as he followed behind him. "We are only... trying to make a living. I'm sure all of you understand this."

As John, Javier, and Micah followed behind them, Arthur looked at a few of the lawmen who were aiming their guns in his direction.

"We all have one thing in common. We wish to survive. To live. To make a living for ourselves. You may all view me as a madman. Me and my associates here." Dutch nodded. It was the signal. "But I insist for you to consider my words."

Ultimately, having no choice, Arthur gripped his weapon as time slowed yet again. He raised his revolver and cocked back the hammer. The Deputy's eyes went wide as three bullets came sailing in his direction. It hit, twice in the arms and another time in the stomach, forcing him to drop behind the cover, bloodied.

Damn. Someday, this would all stop. Someday, he wouldn't be killing folks and would have to live with the shame of following Dutch's bidding,

They moved through Valentine, shooting at whoever got in their way. Arthur did his best to avoid killing folks, but the others weren't as gentle.

They made it to their horses, Dutch being the first one, with Bill and Javier also on theirs the next. Micah was the fourth. Arthur made sure Marston made it before swinging on top of Ryan, still shooting at those who were crowding around them on their horses or the ground.

Somewhere along the way, he gripped his pistol instead. As they took off, the retreat was not as close as last time. There were still some reinforcements, but they were put down with sufficient ease if not by Arthur then Dutch, Javier, or Micah.

The former remained at the front, leading their retreat. When no more was coming past the train tracks, Dutch nodded in approval.

"Alright, good job, men, we pulled that off!" He praised in satisfaction, eyes glistening with pride as Arthur disembarked from his horse and began passing their cuts. "But right now, it's best we ride separately. Don't head directly back to camp and make sure you aren't followed."

He had a good amount. He would have to go get his own collection box, and would have to find a area where to hide it and not have Dutch find out.

Also, look like Valentine ain't going to be planned by Bill and Karen. This meant more events would happen.

He almost groaned.

Why it had to be him instead of Marston sent back?

Chapter Text

'We've been in Horseshoe Overlook longer than last time. Milton and any signs of the Pinkertons are a no-show. I think me questioning Dutch ain't a good idea. More and more, Dutch, Javier, and Micah have been meeting in silence with each other. I don't know what they're planning. I don't even know if they are planning. But I'm keeping an eye out. Folks have gotten use to my new attitude. It's been welcomed. At least, Marston is starting to show signs of wanting to step up as a father.'

Arthur finished his drawing of a buck, pocketed his journal inside, and stood up, masking in the relieving afternoon morning.

He approached the table where Dutch and Hosea were sitting opposite from each other.

"What did I tell you, Hosea?" Dutch asked, his voice ticked with pride and confidence, "everything's getting better. One step closer. We gather our losses and keep on moving."

"But how long? How far?" the older man asked inquisitively, "How much do we keep running before we finally lay low and stop killing folks?"

Dutch's voice didn't change. "With Arthur and the rest of our boys, we're getting one step closer to the west. Come on, Hosea, where's the faith? You know we'll pull through. We always do. You gotta look at things more optimistically."

"Dutch, I'm glad we got some money from this score. But this ain't how we should be handling things. After a robbery like that, it's only a matter of time before more of the law would close in on us."

"I have a plan, Hosea," Dutch dismissed, keeping his cool facade in the face of questioning, "we're almost there. In Colter, we got Colm O'Driscoll. Here, we'd managed to recover our losses. The train robbery. The bank. What could go wrong? I need you to be strong. There's no time for weakness. We have to do what we can do to survive."

"I'm trying, Dutch, trying." Hosea submitted, his voice weak, almost a sigh. It was as if he'd known that trying to reason with Dutch here and now would result in nothing.

"Try harder," the word was ever so blunt but spoke with a cool measurement that almost even had Arthur swayed that everything was going to be okay. He didn't know how he could still fall for the charade sometimes when that led to his death, but he'd presumed that was just part of the indoctrination and loyalty that he used to have to Dutch van der Linde. "We need to remember what is at stake if we fail. We have to have faith in one another. In every man and woman here for survival. Remember that."

His face became severe for a moment 'till Arthur came closer, placing one leg on the nearby crate and staring at them.

Dutch's face brightened when he'd seen Arthur. "And ah, there's my prized son, how have you been feeling today?"

"I've been good, Dutch," Arthur answered. "What is it now?"

"Do you expect action all of the time?" Dutch chuckled, amused.

"I fear we may have imbued that into him, wouldn't you agree, Dutch?" Hosea's face broke out into amusement. Arthur hated when he did that, just 'cause this reminded him of the old days. When it was just him and the two. So long ago as a lost 15-year-old. Arthur wished he'd enjoyed the moments more.

"I'm aware that you don't work well with Mr. Bell, and haven't seen eye to eye with myself lately, but despite our different opinions, you're still my son," Dutch added, Hosea nodded in agreement behind him, no doubt having also felt the wrench between them. The wrench that Arthur himself implanted 'cause he couldn't forget Dutch leaving him behind.

His hand removed from his shoulder, feeling like chains that were slapped over him, Arthur Morgan could think again.

He nodded. "I'm loyal to you, Dutch," he lied yet again. "Just don't agree with you all of the time."

A chuckle rumbled out of Dutch at that moment. "Hosea, if there's anything we could have said 'bout young Arthur here, we'd learned that your influence of worrying too much for things have rubbed off of him. What else would you teach our son, I wonder?"

Hosea grinned. "I have to leave some sort of legacy behind in my old age, Dutch." He laughed somewhat, though it quickly transformed into a cough, beating against his chest as he hid his face from the two men who'd mattered mostly to him and coughed to the side 'till a spit came out.

"Oh, don't talk like that, Hosea. Like we all told you, you would outlive the lot of us." Dutch quipped, slapping the man on the shoulders playfully.

Laughter came beside them as Uncle joined them at the table, stopping at the right end of it. "Hello, gentlemen. For once, Dutch's not reading." He laughed. "Hopefully, it becomes common."

Hosea snorted. "Not likely. You know how our king likes to be a reader."

Uncle laughed, shaking the table, something that notably annoyed and amused all of them. "Ha. I imagine that Your Majesty have a lot of obligations to pay for to himself. Don't you, Dutch?"

Arthur rolled his eyes but hummed.

Dutch chuckled, "More than you can imagine, jester."

"Oh, I see where this is going. I'll leave the King and Jester with each other," Arthur remarked sarcastically, moving away from them to avoid the oddities of Dutch and Uncle's relationship.

He'd been searching for Mrs. Adler. He'd known she would recover, but there were still concerns 'bout her mental state. She didn't have any reason to stay with Colm dead, really. But unfortunately, he didn't run into her. Instead, he'd spotted the form of John sitting on a crate. He'd attempted to be wise and calm, but he had enough of this shit.

"Get up." he commanded, glaring at John.

"What is it now, Morgan?"

"I'm tired of this shit. C'mon! Let's go!" The big brother of the Van Der Linde gang barked, halfway pulling Marston behind him, attracting much attention. Sean and Karen were sitting next to each other next to the latter's tent. Kieran and Mary-Beth were sitting on a log, enjoying each other's company. Abigail was sitting near a wagon, looking up to see him dragging Marston, and huffed slightly.

"Mary-Beth, Kieran, come over here. Ms. Roberts, you too," Arthur gave his next command.

Kieran and Mary-Beth both stared at each other in curiosity, and the latter lowered the book, following this order.

"Kieran, Mary-Beth, watch Jack. You two, let's go." Arthur led John and Abigail to the river, now gripping both of their arms, pulling them down the hillside to the direction of the river. "You two are not allowed back into camp 'till you talk it out and decide to be decent with each other."

"What?!" Both chorused.

"And if I catch you fighting after this 'bout this bullshit, you can sleep in the forests or here 'cause you won't be around Jack 'till then."

"Morgan, this ain't funny!" John snarled.

"Am I smiling, boy?!" Arthur thundered back. "I already told you! You don't talk it out, you both ain't sleeping in your tents tonight!"

"There's nothing to talk out! He won't listen!" Abigail exclaimed.

He looked at the woman. "There's my points. I'm done with you two keep on goddamn insulting each other like it's going to solve a thing." He glared at John. "Marston, that's the mother of your child, and you speaking nasty things 'bout her, right around the goddamn boy no less; every attempt she made to rekindle your relationship, you have been taking it as a personal attack against your character." And now, he glared at Roberts. "And you gotta talk to him without losing your temper. Insulting him, snapping at him, it ain't solving the goddamn problem. Treat him like a goddamn person. TALK!"

They may hate him now, but he was doing them a favor.

His voice darkened and he pointed at them with his index finger, intimated with the mood of the next words.

"Don't make me come back here."

"Arthur!"

"MORGAN!"

When he entered the camp, ignoring the shouts of complaints behind him which grew fainter, he'd noted that his scene with Marston and Roberts attracted attention.

One of the faces was Lenny, who approached him.

"You know," the boy laughed timidly, "you are stubborn when you want to be, Arthur."

He huffed.

The sigh of irritation that escaped his throat could not be contained, but right now John Marston couldn't care less. For the first time since Arthur Morgan rescued him on that mountain in Colter, he'd found himself shocked, 'cause Morgan's change in demeanor had been noticeable. It had come both at the worst and best time.

The gang may have robbed and killed, but only killing when necessary. It seemed like Morgan believed they weren't getting out, escape to another county was a dream. They would be hunted 'till they were all caught, or dead. Marston didn't understand. He hadn't exactly trusted Dutch and thought too fondly of him lately, but that didn't mean he'd lost all faith in him. The death of the girl on that ferry... it still made him shiver, something that John actually agreed with him 'bout. For some reason, it reassured him that Morgan wasn't a fan of the acts that had been occurring. He was very fond of pulling scams with Hosea instead.

But the fact that both Arthur and Hosea doubted Dutch, and Arthur didn't back down when it came to Dutch's excuse according to Tilly, it was... a rough chance.

He could see folks were starting to get worried 'bout where all of this was going.

He'd supposed it didn't matter, none of it, at least not right now.

"So we have to talk," Abigail stated, her voice bitter. "I guess Arthur's right 'bout that."

Deep down, Marston knew she was correct, they did need to talk, and Morgan had put them in the perfect position to do so. Maybe he wouldn't kill him later.

"Yeah, I know..." an awkward silence passed. "So how you been? You and the boy?" Damn...

"We ain't been eaten by wolves so you could assume we're fine," Abigail retorted darkly, her eyes piercing right into his.

"I guess Morgan's change ain't all good, wouldn't you agree?" While it would sound like a joke, John was simply pointing out a fact.

"I feel like even after all you've done, he still loves you," Abigail noted, a small smile on her lips, something John almost didn't spot. For some reason, she was glad to see Arthur treating him nicely more lately. Although John didn't understand it himself, he knew Blackwater probably had a part. Probably opened his eyes to something that Marston or most of them didn't catch on to. She scoffed, and Marston knew this was the end of the movements: "How have you been? Have you found someone else to use and get rid of?"

"Look, I'm trying here, woman," Marston snapped, anger starting to take over.

"Don't take that tone with me, John Marston!" Abigail shot back, slapping him across the face. "You'd left me and Jack when we'd needed you the most, abandoned us for a year, and now you're trying! John, I can't ignore what you did, or pretend it was done out of our best interests! You didn't want to raise him! You'd left him under the care taking of other men 'cause you couldn't take it that we'd brought a child into this world."

Surprisingly, the fight left John Marston as quickly as it came; another emotion came. Shame. Resignation was in his tone. "I know." he hated to do it, but if they didn't talk 'bout it, Morgan would not let up, and he remembered his conversation with the older man the other day.

"You had not even tried to be a good father at all. You'd think Jack asked to be brought here?! We made that mistake, and now we have to live with it. Moreover, Jack has to live with the fact that his father hates him!"

"I don't hate him!" This wasn't the first time Marston had been accused of hating the boy. Last time, it hadn't been as personal. Could people stop saying that, goddamn it?!

"Well, you most certainly don't love him!" Abigail growled. "If you did, you would be here! But you're not! You continue to leave him without a father! While Arthur and the others try, he doesn't want them. They're not his father. YOU ARE." The last words, spoken so strongly,

Another sigh escaped John, knowing full well what Abigail was talking about.

There was no excuse 'bout it. Leaving Jack for a year was wrong.

He knew.

The argument that Jack wasn't his son was just something he'd held onto. An idiotic argument, just like him. That boy was completely innocent, even though he was part of a gang of outlaws and low lives. The boy hadn't deserved to be brought into this life. But he was...

He had left them without hesitation when they'd needed him the most. And whilst Abigail only attempted to push his fatherly duties onto John, practically holding his hand, John continued responding with childish responses and neglect, insulting the boy and his mother right in front of them. It was probably something Abigail would never be able to forgive him for.

And honestly, neither had he. He would never tell anyone, would never admit it, not even to Morgan, but he realized he would regret leaving Jack behind every day.

He hated himself for it.

"I was wrong to leave you, and I wish to apologize for it. Nothing I can say and do will make up for it, Abigail. You've given me plenty of chances, and I've turned you. I understand if you want nothing to do with me no more."

After a minute, a gentle hand laid on his arm, pulling John into Abigail's side whilst she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Oh John, it takes guts to apologize and admit you were wrong, but you did, and I admire you for that." She sighed, her face sharpening, "But I don't know if I could trust you around the boy at least not now. How will I know you won't hurt him again? How do I know you won't make him cry again?"

That was the closest he was going to get for now, but it was a step. Both knew that Jack needed a father. He realized Arthur forcing them to have this talk was a good thing 'cause he would admit being resentful when Arthur and Jack went out fishing, tempted to join them too.

"So… you really forgive me?" John inquired, honestly stunned at how simple it had been to convince her. He wasn't sure he deserved it honestly.

"Forgive you? Yes, I do. I love you John, but that doesn't mean I'll forget. You can't keep acting like this, 'cause if you do, Jack's going to suffer for it. I'll see how things change, and I hope that you will be an actual father. Please keep this in mind. Don't forget it."

He would. He would prove himself to Abigail that he could be a good father. Strangely enough, he'd wanted to do the same with Arthur. At the end of the day, the man was his big brother, and he didn't cut his losses as he could have easily done on that mountain. It would have been something John'd deserved, for being too afraid of accepting his duties. But Morgan didn't. He did play the role of father figure to the boy to cheer him up, but John could not do it. He would prove himself to Morgan, Abigail, Hosea, and the boy.

"I promise, Abigail, I promise."

"Thank you."

They embraced, her head on his chest, and John's hands in her hair.

He would shoot Morgan when he saw him, but he'd thank him too...

He would never let this go again...

Chapter Text

Despite all of the good things that have been happening in life lately, Arthur couldn't help the pit churning in his stomach that something bad was gonna happen. He knew that bank robbery and the train one before it would come to shoot them in the ass sooner or later. Be it the Pinkertons, the Bureau, or anyone else, it was coming.

He had made sure to check on Hosea, Kieran, Lenny, and Sean. All three of the younger men seemed to be getting close and often found bonding with each other. Unlike Sean, Kieran enjoyed the idea of reading and had been trying to convince Sean to read the bloody book with Lenny, in which Sean would make comments about "the false Irishman". The O'Driscoll captured weren't squealing 'bout anything, even though he was slowly losing muscle mass and becoming more and more hungry, he still held loyalty to his dead leader, viewing him as a god.

Arthur didn't personally approve of his treatment, and would rather just put the poor bastard out of his misery, but unfortunately, he had no choice.

If Arthur defected now, he would be rounded up shortly by the Pinkertons. He was obviously well-known by them, as he was easily recognized by Milton and Ross when he went fishing with Jack.

He couldn't go back West, as trying to cross the Upper Montana would be suicide. So just like the gang, his only real option would be to head East. Out of his element, without anyone to watch his back. Unless he snuck out to Europe or South America or something, and there he'd be even more out of his element, sticking out like a sore thumb.

As for the gang, Dutch's descent into madness would probably happen even faster. Arthur saw how losing Hosea affected Dutch, and losing Arthur would have the same effect, especially since it would be Arthur leaving by choice, which Dutch would probably view as a betrayal, especially if it happened later. Micah would quickly move to fill the vacuum left by Arthur, and drive the gang into chaos even quicker. Arthur was instrumental in finding the locations of Clemens Point, Shady Belle, and Beaver Hollow, so if he had not there, it would have been more difficult for the gang to find hiding places. They probably would not have lasted past Saint Denis.

The temptation did come multiple times every few days, but his loyalty to his friends, to save John, Sadie, Charles, Lenny, Sean, and all others from the fates that would await them if they'd followed Dutch, crushed that thought. Ultimately, he didn't have certain alliances yet with anyone aside from Kieran. Marston was starting to make efforts at least to be more supportive of Jack and Abigail. He had to tackle everything slowly, or else, Dutch may do something worse than last time.

As he pushed himself up, Arthur'd noticed Sadie. More and more. She had usually only seen around Pearson's Carriage. Lately, she had taken part in camp chores more actively and greeted Arthur more enthusiastically. She was sometimes left out by other women in the camp, however, as she never took part in their singing at night and rather sat behind the wagons alone.

"Oh, hey, Arthur!" Karen greeted, a smirk across her lips as she left the tent.

"Karen, will you happen to know where Mr. MacGuire may be right now?" Arthur asked.

"Sleeping."

While slightly uncomfortable with the conversation, Arthur couldn't help the amusement that overcame that when it came to Sean and Karen's relationship. One wouldn't think they would be able to get together, yet they were. He'd seen it after Sean's death when part of Karen died, and she couldn't take it anymore, and milked out the grief with the call to liquor, not even stopping one time. Like with Molly, he'd ignored her.

Goddamn it...

"What are you doing up now?" Arthur quipped good-naturedly.

"I can't stay in my bed all day." she shrugged. "For someone so active, Sean takes hours to wake." Karen replied sheepishly.

"You must have made him really tire out." Was Arthur's last response before the end of the conversation as she'd joined the other women, currently Tilly and Mary-Beth, at the table after grabbing a bit of stew. She always had a good relationship with both Mary-Beth and Tilly, and the trio bonded over their shared responsibilities and subordination to Ms. Grimshaw. Of the three, Karen is the most negative towards Grimshaw. She often ridiculed and insulted Grimshaw, sometimes even to her face even now, and after Grimshaw killed Molly for her apparent betrayal of the gang, Karen became downright hostile towards Grimshaw, severely criticizing her for the murder.

Arthur stared at them for a long moment; another reminder of how everything was at stake. The friendship, the laughing, the smiles at one another as if everything was going to be okay. He shook his head. Three souls Arthur also wanted to save.

"You seem stressed out, Arthur," a voice spoke in concern, grabbing his attention. Lenny. For someone so young, he was so perceptive and smart. Smarter than Arthur could ever be. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, kid, how have you been?" Arthur inquired, noticing his healing facial expression. His scars have healed in the past couple of weeks, though it required minimum movement, 'cause Strawberry really did hurt. Basically, he was relegated to the same Marston before they came to Horseshoe Overlook. Goddamn Micah...

"I might be able to do guard duties tonight," Lenny shrugged his shoulders, "gotta see what Hosea and Dutch thinks."

Arthur snorted, "I doubt Hosea was happy when you went on chasing our favorite Irish all over Valentine." he remarked dryly.

"That's an understatement," an ounce of snark poured into his voice. "I can't help myself, Arthur, I told him I'll have him reading. I think I'm getting through."

"Heh, the boy's an idiot. You probably got so much work to do." Arthur commented, clapping Lenny on the shoulder in false camaraderie.

Lenny's face became more severe.

"Boy, you're okay?"

"...Can I... can I talk to you for a moment?" Lenny asked after hesitation.

Arthur nodded.

"Not here." The boy finished.

Following Lenny behind, the darker-skinned man pulled up a crate as Arthur sat down at a chair next to a small table, and began to whisper. "I need to tell you something, Arthur."

Arthur nodded. "Sure, kid."

"Promise this won't reach Dutch."

"I promise."

Lenny looked like he was considering his next words. "Well, I don't like Dutch's Evelyn Miller obsession on an academic level and on the level of being the child of a former slave given the context of what Miller writes."

Arthur honestly didn't know what to feel 'bout that.

Lenny wasn't done. "Dutch's ideal world is probably one where he is doing good for the people, and the people have also decided to make him their ruler or grant him special privileges, and he unquestioningly rules. I have been thinking since we got to Colter and you're the only one I can trust."

"...Yes?"

Lenny looked hesitant again as if everything weighed on this. "Sometimes, I feel like, when he implores faith, that's just a request to not overly question him or his methods."

"You are a bright kid with a long future in front of you," Arthur responded. "Don't die for Dutch. For any of us fools."

"No, no, I'm here to stay," Lenny dismissed, still loyal to the gang. "But... I don't like seeing Dutch, Micah, and Mr. Escuella spend as much time with each other as they do now. I know he's infuriated with you after you'd called him out 'bout Blackwater, but you have been at his side for twenty years. He should be going to you first. Surely, that all means something."

"Micah is trying to cause trouble," he agreed, truly touched that Lenny could relay this to him.

"Mr. Dutch is a great man," Lenny nodded slightly, "but he gotta remember who's been by his side since the beginning. Whatever happens, if Dutch cut you loose, he'll have to cut me loose too."

Those words brought a warm feeling to his heart. "Thank you, Lenny."

"Thank you for this conversation, Arthur, I appreciate it."

Now that the conversation was over, Lenny and Arthur went their separate ways. While the terrible feeling abated slightly, Arthur couldn't feel the borderline apprehension pounding in his chest.

Another few days proceeded.

Arthur helped with the chores, feeling his apprehension growing. Moving maize sacks. Carry hay bales. Chopping firewood. Tap water into the wash basin. In his haste to distract himself, Arthur almost became lost in his thoughts. Almost.

"Hey, big man," Uncle spoke, actually startling him. "I'm worried. Really worried. 'Bout you."

Arthur sighed, shrugging aside any concern to come off as nonchalance. "What are you talking 'bout, Uncle?"

Uncle placed his hands on his shoulders and looked at him with actual concern. "You have been looking concerned all throughout the morning. You know, I know we aren't entirely close, but I... ain't dumb, Arthur. I know you are always working hard for the betterment of the gang. It's okay to struggle. To talk it out. You and Dutch ain't been the same lately."

"I'm fine," Arthur lied, standing up, feeling his hands becoming sweaty. Hosea. Sadie. Kieran. Now, Uncle of all people? He had to get away from them. Away from here. Some time to cool down, to keep control, as things have been going what mostly one could refer to as good lately, Arthur Morgan would be back to the controlled man he always was.

This wasn't without his lapse of control at times.

Unfortunately, unlike Hosea in Colter, Uncle wasn't standing down.

His face contorted into a sharp frown. "Enough of that shit, Arthur. You don't have to keep things from everyone here. We are a family."

"Enough with that shit, Uncle." When did any of them realize that Arthur would be fine? Everyone was acting as if he was a child who needed to be watched. He was burdened with the knowledge of what happened.

"C'mon, Arthur, you aren't yourself."

"I'm trying to protect my family," Arthur scowled, wondering why he couldn't just bark into the older man's face 'till he went away.

"You're a good man, Arthur Morgan, don't-"

Suddenly, a sound so familiar went off. It was the same sound Arthur heard for years. The same one that this life often brought. And the next moment, Uncle slumped over, his hands now wrapped around his legs as if trying to bring himself back to the surface.

No!

No!

No!

His chest clawed for air. Uncle!

Uncle!

Uncle!

Uncle!

Uncle!

Quickly, Arthur dropped to his knees and crouched for Uncle. No! No! No! Surely, this couldn't happen! Surely, Uncle couldn't die!

After all, Uncle made it last time!

"I'm hit..." Uncle managed weakly.

"Goddamn it!" Arthur shouted.

"Arthur! Arthur! What the hell happened?!" Marston shouted, coming to his side, along with Lenny, Sean, Kieran, and Javier.

When they took in the wounded form of the camp's jester, all of them looked with surprise.

"Caught me in the goddamn knee..." Uncle said dryly, still pained.

Thank goodness...

Arthur felt nothing but horror. Terrible, numb-aching guilt. And Uncle was standing right in front of him, took a bullet for him without even knowing it.

Dutch charged in the direction of the tent, revolvers gripped in his hands. Micah Bell stood loyally at his side. "What happened?!"

"Dutch, someone shot Uncle!" Arthur managed, looking at his former parental figure, mournful, hurt, a stab so deep, so painful.

"Oh, goddamn it!" Actual concern was in Dutch's voice. "We need to find where that shot came from!"

As if on cue, another shot went off, not connecting with anyone else. Everyone tensed up and dashed for cover, grabbing their closest weapons in sight. Arthur was the only one who didn't move, his hand on his chest, willing his body to move quicker, faster! Do something! But what could he do?!

"Look! In the trees, compadre!" Javier hissed, pointing out to the shadows swarming around them, weapons loaded. What the hell?! Who would attack them now?!

"O'Driscolls!" Lenny answered that question. The young man swore as he held his sniper rifle, and Arthur only glimpsed up to spot more movements in the tree, sounds of gunfire. "How did they find us?!"

"No time for questions! C'mon! Arthur! Hide!" Dutch commanded, now ducking behind cover near a wagon with some crates on top, peeking out. It only occurred to him at that moment that he was the only one not in cover, and when that feeling reached his brain, his first instinct was dragging Uncle to safety, wondering.

What the hell was...

HAPPENING?!

Chapter Text

It wasn't the first time that Kieran Duffy had been shooting for days. Thankfully, with the lessons from Arthur Morgan, Kieran knew how to shoot bullets left and right. He was no Arthur Morgan, no Javier Escuella, no Dutch van der Linde, but Kieran would consider himself a good shot. Better than Sean, Lenny, and Mr. Morgan would often tease.

Quite frankly, he didn't expect this attack, having just finished breakfast and prepared to move back to the abandoned shed where he would practice his shooting. That was until sounds of gunshots went off and he spotted people running to the front, having just been attacked.

Ms. Grimshaw led the women, including Mary-Beth, to shelter, while the men held up the defense.

When he'd spotted the man, Uncle, on the ground, Kieran couldn't help but feel sorry for Mr. Morgan. By far, in his opinion, the man was the most compassionate of them all. Seconded by Hosea. His opinion was contributed by the fact that Arthur provided him with an out to the O'Driscolls. Seeing the man borderline broken, looking down at the corpse of someone he'd obviously cared about, shot.

When he learned that it was an O'Driscoll, Kieran Duffy was consumed by rage and anger.

So it was without hesitation that he shot at the O'Driscolls, his former "allies". Even his so-called "friends" treated him like trash, like the lowest of them all. The Van Der Linde gang was different. It was a family. A symbol of hope. His loyalty was primarily to Arthur Morgan. He owed the man his life. And worse, the man didn't believe himself to be a good man.

"Your friends seem to have arrived, amigo," Javier commented in amusement as Kieran dropped next to him, providing cover fire.

"They aren't my friends," Kieran said back, unable to deny that he felt safe with Mr. Escuella. He'd known that he couldn't just stay there and not offer any covering fire, but he knew that if he'd stood alone, he would be like a drunken woman on the streets of Saint Denis at night to the eyes of the targets.

More O'Driscolls arrived from the trees, raising hell on the camps. Eventually, he'd spotted Javier slowly pressing back, firing his revolver, nevertheless. He moved back with him, still shooting, also, hoping to get a few shots off at the former allies that he'd used to share.

The distant footsteps kept pressing on as more and more O'Driscolls came. The O'Driscolls may be leaderless, but they were still strong. A mighty army. The fact that they'd stood together even with the death of Colm actually terrified Kieran because he knew what would happen if he ended up back in their custody.

He stared at his revolver. Damn, he had three bullets left. Better use them wisely. He peeked out of cover and set his aim on the first few attackers coming in. Firing the three remaining shots, he caught two, killing the first with a shot between the neck and catching the other in the arm.

"Hey, what's wrong, ese?!" Javier demanded, ducking and tossing him a concerned stare.

"Gun's out of bullets," he informed him.

The Mexican peeked out of cover and started laying cover fire at the attackers who were still struggling to move into the camp. Almost instinctively, he dodged bullets left and right, retaliating with shots of his own, taking down a few as the number of bullets decreased.

In a bold moment of courage, he picked up the first few revolvers. Kieran wondered if the Mexican was suicidal given how the bullets kept coming awfully close! Javier fired back, running back to cover, and stopping temporarily. By now, Karen was up, using her Rolling Block Rifle to shoot away at the attackers slowly pushing further and further into the camp.

Kieran couldn't help but feel his nerves crawling up as Escuella came to his side.

"Give me your gun!"

He held it out absently, and he began to reload with his hands moving with practiced ease, reloading his gun with bullets quickly. By the time he finished, the O'Driscolls had already pushed them back, with them falling back, firing. Now that the gun was back in his hand, Javier and Kieran joined the small group of Micah, Bill, and Hosea.

Falling back to the tents, they pushed up the crates, tables, and whatever else that was available, using them as shields as they crouched. Micah Bell, even though Kieran didn't like the man, was one hell of a shot, taking them down with practiced ease. Bill Williamson's approach was much more restless but still good, catching a few people with his own shotgun.

And finally, he'd spotted Mr. Morgan. The man was gripping his repeater, with John Marston and Charles Smith behind him, working together to take out the invading attackers that were coming close to them. All of these men were eyes for sore eyes, but he felt like Arthur Morgan was a god. Not only had he realized that Kieran wasn't loyal to Colm all the way, but the man was one hell of a gunslinger, a ruthless one at that. Someone who Kieran had looked up to and awed to be like.

"They're snipers," Arthur stated with a forced calmness, the possible death of the old man taking a toll on him. "I took some of them out, but there are a handful of them left."

"If we get push back to the river," Dutch declared, after taking down three attackers with significant ease, "we'll have to be careful."

The leader of the Van Der Linde gang became contemplative.

The gunshots were getting closer and closer.

Forced to return shots, the O'Driscolls collapsed onto the ground one by one. More continued to pour in, aiming their various weapons. Notably, a few of the restless O'Driscolls knocked down crates and tables, shattering things like wild animals.

Goddamn...

Barbarians...

Dutch van der Linde gritted his teeth.

As gunfire erupted, bullets whizzed past as the O'Driscolls came pouring out from the woods, their yells filled with savage delight at catching the gang off guard. They had the advantage of surprise, and Dutch's crew scrambled to find cover behind rocks, overturned crates, and whatever they could use to shield themselves.

The O'Driscolls would pay for this...

Arthur found himself buried in grief and loss as he continued to fire his repeater. Regretful as it was, he didn't feel any guilt about gunning down the O'Driscolls. At the end of it all, Arthur Morgan was still a man. He wasn't a God, someone who could always control negative emotions, keeping things within himself at bay. He had normal human feelings.

And right now, anger overcame anything. He didn't hesitate, didn't show any mercy. The deaths were swift, not brutal and ruthless, but still he didn't have any guilt of mind to hold back. Not now. No shot was off. He'd unloaded his repeater, catching every target with his repeater 'till time caught up, 'till he was forced to duck and load.

For the first time in months, Arthur Morgan felt nothing but rage. He knew revenge was a fool's game. That he could kill hundreds of them, and it wouldn't stop Uncle's hurt, but he didn't care. He couldn't care. He'd been attempting to be a good man, tried his best to keep to his personal code, but what did it lead to?

Uncle's?

The man almost didn't realize his repeater was empty until it clicked a few times and he threw it down, gripping his revolver and unloading the next rounds into the many O'Driscolls.

Right now, Arthur would go back, go a few weeks ago, kill Colm O'Driscoll over and over again. Convinced Dutch to go after the remaining O'Driscolls and slaughter them all!

His face was consumed by an angry red, and he allowed himself to see nothing else!

A nasty sneer was planted across his lips, and he found himself wanting them to see it. He wanted them to see the look in his eyes, the glint that surfaced on his face.

"Come get me! You goddamn bastards!" The words left his lips, and he slammed his revolver against the side of the head, knocking an approaching O'Driscoll out and blowing his brains out the next moment. He knew he wasn't alone, but he wasn't going to let them hurt anyone else!

He would rip that entire gang apart one by one!

Hunt them down to the last if he had to!

O'Driscolls basically recruit anyone going, especially from the immigrant community, but not a family just a gang doing what they're told! They don't even work on an even cut basis-Kieran mentioned a few things about how big and non-family their gang is. They do reduce as time goes by, so the ones hanging around Valentine disappear. But they still seem to just reproduce every time they attack a camp. It did occur to him that these were probably new numbers the O'Driscolls buried up, that the Pinkertons probably went after them, and once spotting they were leaderless, slaughtered them one by one. That not all of them were responsible...

But Arthur still couldn't care, not even as he pulled his hammer on the revolver, not as more and more numbers fell under his gunshots. Unlike the Dutch gang, they didn't care about the people. They barely knew each other and were considered cannon fodder. All thoughts faded from his mind at the time.

When the numbers began fleeing, halting gradually one by one, Arthur Morgan snapped out of his haze and looked down at his revolver, finding himself feeling nothing but emptiness now. He did kill them in self-defense, but he'd allowed his emotions to cloud his feelings, shouting like a barbarian as he'd gunned down every enemy. He'd forgotten himself.

The pain and conflict tore him apart. A few shots went off in the distance while he moved over to Ms. Grimshaw and Pearson. His uncle's face looked so cold and empty. His heart shattered at the sight of the unconscious man, something dying in him, another piece of his heart taken out.

He was a panderer and degenerate, but his heart was in the right place. He was a thief and mostly found leads. He kept spirits up in the camp with his campfire songs and tall tales. He was charming enough and old enough that he could get away with not contributing as much.

Uncle had missions, which meant he was providing financially. That's certainly more than Arthur could admit about some others: Kieran, Pearson, Swanson, Grimshaw, Abigail/Jack. Uncle also went out and got information via his trips into town and the saloon. So often he was finding crimes for others. And as others have stated, Uncle was the optimist and light-hearted person in camp. He told stories and kept everyone going and entertained. That was certainly important when times were tough.

Darkness fell over him. This time of turmoil made his breath catch in his throat. Everything faded. Arthur would have rather gotten TB than have Uncle die like this. The man didn't have many years left. Probably twenty, but those twenty would have been worth a life like Arthur Morgan's.

Arthur found the perfect location outside of camp, because as much as he wished, he didn't have the means to prevent death. It was up to him to save as many as he possibly could, to break those who would want to see through Dutch, and get lost.

Why was it so deep in him? Those deaths...

"Good job, A..rthur," Uncle managed, his voice slurring.

No, he wasn't dead...

He got lucky...

Hopefully.

"O'Driscoll's brains got blown out," John said. Arthur turned his attention to the gruesome sight, his brain hanging out, still bleeding all over the rope. Just like Kieran's. "Looks like they don't care about each other."

"Mary-Beth and Grimshaw got him treated in time," Dutch said, gripping his shoulder, "don't worry, son, he'll be alright."

Arthur breathed. How many times had he watched folks get hurt or killed when they were staring at him and caught off-guard?

"What's next?" Hosea asked, looking to Dutch for direction. Although it was a question, Arthur wondered if that was unintentionally directed at him. If it was some form of foreshadowing.

Dutch considered, "We'll have to move on soon."

As Dutch turned away, Hosea followed, Arthur stiffened, feeling eyes on him.

He turned and found Micah, Bill, and Javier staring at him...

He held their gaze before they turned away.

Chapter Text

John leaned back against the old oak tree at Horseshoe Overlook, the bark rough against his back. The sun was setting, though after what it happened, it was unlikely sleep would come. The gang would be moving on soon somewhere, especially since those O'Driscolls raised hell on the goddamn place.

A fire crackled nearby, its warmth inviting as the evening chill set in. He glanced over at Arthur Morgan, who was sitting across from him, nursing a cup of water.

Arthur looked different every time he looked closer. He couldn't quite place it, but it gnawed at him like an itchy that he couldn't reach. They had been through thick and thin together, more than most, but yet again as a lot recently, Arthur seemed… distant, as if he was carrying something heavy on his shoulders.

"Hell of a day," John said, breaking the silence. His voice sounded louder than he intended in the stillness of the evening.

Arthur grunted in response, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He was always a man of few words, but tonight, the silence between them felt different.

John frowned. "You alright, Arthur? You ain't been talking a lot nowadays."

Arthur took a sip of his water, then set the cup down beside him. "Just thinking, I guess," he replied.

"'Bout what?"

Arthur hesitated. "'Bout all this," he said finally, gesturing vaguely around the camp with a sweep of his hand. "Dutch, the gang, this life we've been living."

John raised an eyebrow. "Ain't nothing new to think about there, is there?"

Arthur's eyes met John's, and for a moment, John saw something in them. "Maybe it is," Arthur replied silently. "Maybe it's about time we started thinking a bit harder."

John shifted uncomfortably. This was unusual, even for Arthur. "What're you getting at?"

Arthur looked away, back toward the fading sun. "You ever think about the future, John? About where all this is heading?"

John shrugged, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping up his spine. "Dutch says we're gonna find a place where we can be free. Get away from all this, start fresh."

"Yeah, Dutch says a lotta things," Arthur grumbled, almost to himself.

John frowned. "You doubting Dutch now?"

Arthur didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a match. He took a long drag before speaking again. "Ain't that I'm doubting him," he said slowly. "But I've been thinking… all these years, we've been following Dutch, believing in his vision. But what if… what if he's wrong?"

The words hung in the air between them. John stared at Arthur, his mind racing. Dutch wrong? The thought had crossed his mind in Blackwater, but now Arthur Morgan of all people seemed to echo his tjoughts. Dutch had saved him, taken him in when he was nothing, given him a purpose. But now, hearing Arthur, the man he once trusted most after Dutch, voice these doubts… it shook something in him.

"What're you saying, Arthur?" John asked, his voice low like that child he once was.

Arthur sighed, coughing slightly at the cigarette before tossing it away. "I'm saying we might be heading down a path we can't come back from," he said. "You ever think about that? How all this might end?"

John's mouth was dry. He had thought about it, in the quiet moments when he was alone, but he had always pushed those thoughts aside, burying them under his loyalty to Dutch, to the gang. But now, hearing Arthur voice those fears… it was like a dam had broken inside him.

"Dutch has always had a plan," John said, but the words sounded hollow even to him. "He wouldn't let it down. Not now."

Arthur nodded slowly. "He hasn't before. People change. And I ain't so sure Dutch is the same man he used to be."

John opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn't come. Deep down, he knew Arthur was right. He had seen it too, the way Dutch had become more reckless, more desperate. But saying it was something else entirely.

"What do you think we should do?" John asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur exhaled, as of he was still smoking. "I think we need to start thinking 'bout a way out, John. Before it's too late. Before this life swallows us whole."

John's heart pounded in his chest. A way out. He had thought about it before, when he looked at Abigail and Jack, but it had always seemed like a dream, something too far out of reach. But now, with Arthur saying it…

"Leave the gang?" John asked, the words tasting foreign in his mouth.

Arthur looked at him. "I ain't saying we gotta do it today, or tomorrow. But someday… maybe. We're gonna have to, if we want any chance at a real life. Otherwise…" He trailed off, but John knew what he was going to say. Otherwise, they were all going to end up dead, swung by the law.

Arthur grunted and looked own. "Every job with Micah has gone wrong."

"So what do you think we should do? Cut him loose?" John inquired. He wasn't an idiot. Okay, he was, but all he knew was that Micah liked starting trouble. The man was a bridge waiting to explode. If something ain't changing soon, and Dutch didn't hold a leash over Micah, something drastic might happen.

"I doubt Dutch will approve," Arthur responded. "And it ain't just Micah. Dutch has to make the choice whether or not to listen to us and Hosea."

John nodded slowly. He had always trusted Arthur's instincts, and if Arthur was saying this… maybe it was alright to at least start listening.

"Alright," John said finally. "I'll think 'bout it. But not a word to Dutch."

Arthur nodded, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "Not a word," he agreed.

They sat in silence for a while longer, the fire being the only noise. John stared into the flames, his mind a whirl of thoughts. The life he had known, the life he had lived for so long, suddenly felt fragile, like it could all come crashing down at any moment.

And for not the first time, John began to truly doubt the man who had been like a father to him.

The night deepened, the fire in the center of camp casting long shadows on the tents and wagons. John still sat by the fire, trying to find warmth against the chill creeping through the air. But it wasn't just the chill of the night that made him uneasy.

In less than an hour, John Marston was face to face with Arthur Morgan, but now, it was the dissenters to his brother whom he had faced.

Across from him, Micah Bell lounged back against a log, his hat tipped low over his eyes, a smug grin playing on his lips. Javier Escuella and Bill Williamson sat close by. That wasn't what he liked. Just how much was Bill and Javier was changing? Sean MacGuire lingered nearby, his usual rowdy demeanor lessened, a look of discomfort etched on his expression at the unlikely group. Lenny Summers sat beside John, his arms crossed, his gaze hard as he listened to the others.

Discomfort etched in his gut. Things were happening far too quickly.

"So what's going on here?" John asked the trio of gunslingers, trying to quash this feeling.

"I spoke to Dutch. We're going to get more folks to join the gang soon."

John arched a eyebrow. Dutch just agreed to that without observation or something? Well, as if anything was different with him and Micah these days. Ever since Micah joined up, Dutch hadn't been acting rationally. "Who?"

"Boys who used to ride with me, Cleet and Joe."

John nodded at once. "Alright, as long as Dutch approves."

"We might as well need it, since Morgan's been nothing but trouble lately," Micah said, his voice laced with disdain. "Always back talking Dutch, questioning his decisions. After all Dutch has done for him, it's like he's forgetting who's kept him fed and safe all these years."

Javier nodded, his eyes narrowing. "Dutch pulled Arthur out of the gutter, gave him a life when he had nothing. But now all Arthur does is stir up doubt, always bringing up what happened at Blackwater. We can't have that. Not with everything we're facing."

Bill grunted in agreement, his large arms crossed over his chest. "Dutch needs us to stand by him, now more than ever. If Arthur can't get on board, then maybe we oughta think about what's best for the gang. He's been pushing back too much, and it's starting to cause real problems."

John clenched his fists, holding back the urge to jump in. The idea of cutting Arthur loose felt like a betrayal. Arthur had been there for him more times than he could count. Sure, he might have been at odds with Dutch lately, but that didn't mean he wasn't loyal. But before John could speak, Lenny beat him to it.

A distant memory where Hosea and Dutch were out for a few days and Arthur covering his little brother up on a bed, promising them their fathers would return, embedded in his mind.

"Arthur ain't the only one who's changed," Lenny said, his voice tight with anger as he looked hard at Javier. "Seems to me you've been spending a lot more time around Micah, Javier. Maybe you oughta take a look at yourself before you start talking about cutting someone loose. Arthur might be speaking his mind, but at least he's got the guts to stand up when he sees something wrong."

Javier's eyes flashed with anger, but he didn't back down. "I'm looking out for the gang, Lenny. Someone has to. Micah's right. Arthur's been causing trouble, questioning Dutch, and it's making things worse."

Finally, John couldn't hold his tongue any longer. He stood up. "Morgan's been with Dutch for twenty years," he declared tightly. "He's always been loyal, even when it's cost him. Dutch might've done a lot for Arthur, but Arthur's done just as much for Dutch. You're all talking like Arthur's the enemy, but he's the one who's been keeping us together when things get tough. If he's speaking up now, maybe we should listen instead of talking about cutting him loose."

Micah sneered, leaning forward, his eyes glinting in the firelight. "Arthur's lost his way, Marston. He's been stirring the pot, making things harder for Dutch. We don't need that kind of trouble right now. Dutch needs us to be solid, and Arthur's been anything but."

John stepped closer, his eyes locked onto Micah's. "Arthur ain't making trouble for the sake of it. He's just tryinh to make sure we don't end up dead. Dutch might've saved him, but that don't mean Arthur's gotta keep his mouth shut when things are going wrong. He's earned the right to speak his mind."

He paused, allowing them to think.

"Arthur is a little troubled. Blackwater has changed things-maybe you guys should talk to him."

Javier argued. "No, I tried talking. I... I... I..." he stammered, "tried to make him be faithful to Dutch. I tried everything a man could reasonably try and still call himself a man."

John decided to make a off-handed quip, "So what are you going to do? Kill him?"

His joke was dry. Lenny and Sean shot him glares. Micah looked partially amused, too amused for John's liking. Bill laughed.

Javier looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "Hey I didn't say that, amigo."

"I was joking!" John exclaimed.

Javier didn't reply, looking down. Micah assumed control of the conversation. "But what else choice will there be? If Morgan gets cut loose, he might get apprehended by the law."

"I doubt-" Javier started, eyes widening.

"Come on, Javier, remember. Loyalty." John felt like there was something he was missing here.

"Loyalty," Javier repeated, as if under control some sort of spell.

John grew angrier. "Well, you can't kill him." Not like Micah could get close to him. Arthur would destroy him in a gun battle. It would take some element of surprise or territorial advantage for Micah to actually win.

"No..." He acknowledged, much to John's surprise. But he felt the impending doom sting at his consciousness. "But you can."

Sean cursed some Irish words John didn't understand.

Lenny followed suit. "Micah-!"

John paused, the chilliness growing in his spine. Of all the... "M-me?" he began, gasping.

"If you're loyal to Dutch, I mean," Micah shrugged. "If he steps out of line... It's perfect! He won't see it coming."

No, John would never kill Arthur. Never! "But I don't want to." Was all he could say.

"Neither do I, John-" For some reason, he didn't believe that. "-but if he goes insane, we'll all be dead anyway. I mean, Arthur is a killer. He'll be dangerous if he is against us."

John moaned. "I don't like this conversation."

Javier's expression became angrier. "Do you think that either of us do, John? But it's killed or be killed out here. We have to be careful, cabrón."

John couldn't deny the anger that formed within his chest. Arthur and Javier were close before all of this. Now, it seemed like since Arthur started questioning things, Micah filled the role for Javier.

"Arthur saved your life multiple times, and you're actually thinking he needs to die?!"

John paused.

"Come on, Javier, this ain't you."

Javier's eyes were as hard as steel. "I'm loyal to my family. Dutch is my family. Arthur is too, but if he's causing trouble, cutting him loose might be the only option."

"No," John said lowly, his face flashed with something dark, "you're letting him get into your ears, Javier, you gotta think. Think for yourself. We ain't gonna cut Arthur loose. We can't. Arthur have been behind us for so long. Every job with Micah has gone wrong."

Before the argument could escalate further, Sean, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up, his Irish brogue cutting through the tension. "Now hold on a second, lads," Sean stated. "Arthur's been a pain in Dutch's arse lately, no doubt about that. I'm not saying Dutch don't deserve some respect, especially after Blackwater. We all know it's been a shite show, and Dutch's been under a lot of pressure. But Arthur… he's like a big brother to me. Always been there when I needed him, y'know?"

Sean paused, looking between the men around the fire, his expression conflicted. "I don't like seeing him butt heads with Dutch, but I sure as hell don't wanna see him cut loose either. We've been through too much together. Arthur might be giving Dutch a hard time, but that's 'cause he cares about this gang, same as all of us."

Javier shook his head, his expression hard. "This isn't about feelings, my little friend. It's about survival. Arthur's been undermining Dutch for too long. If we don't do something about it, it's gonna tear us apart."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. He looked around at the faces in the firelight, searching for some sign of understanding, of loyalty, but all he saw were hardened expressions and cold eyes.

Before, since Arthur ain't ever let him live get down, 'bout leaving Jack and Abigail for a year, John might have taken it as an opportunity to badmouth Arthur. To taunt him and go to Dutch, telling him of what he heard from Arthur.

However...

Now...

Now, John was uncertain. He, too, have been doubting 'bout where Dutch was heading with his plans since he blew out Heidi McCourt's brains on that ferry in Blackwater. For the third senior member of the gang to doubt Dutch and Hosea, especially the former who have been changing since Micah came around, John knew that shit was going to be different sooner or later.

"Arthur's always had the gang's best interests at heart," John argued, realizing that the protective fury he had for his older brother always was there. Maybe, some part of him-who felt a call to responsibility, wanted to mend the ropes with Morgan and make their bond as strong as it once was. "He ain't perfect, but he's loyal. Dutch knows that, and so should you."

Micah leaned back, his smirk returning. "Arthur's been poking the bear too long, John. Dutch doesn't need someone questioning him at every turn, especially not now. If Arthur can't get in line, then maybe he's the one who's lost his way."

Lenny was evidently disgusted and didn't even try to hold it in. "Arthur's the one who's been keeping this gang together when Dutch's plans don't go right. Maybe y'all need to remember that before you start talking about who's loyal and who ain't."

Sean sighed, looking at John with a mixture of sympathy and worry. "I don't want to see this gang fall apart, John. We've all got too much at stake. But if Arthur keeps pushing Dutch, it ain't gonna end well for anyone. I just hope he sees sense before it's too late."

John looked around at the men, his heart disbelieving. The gang was starting to crack. Never before they actually killed someone. He knew Arthur was strong, but with the way things were going, he feared that strength might not be enough.

"Arthur's always stood by Dutch," John said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "And I'll stand by Arthur, no matter what. But if we don't find a way to pull this gang back together, we're all gonna pay for it."

Chapter Text

Inside the tent belonging to Dutch, Hosea sat across from him, the two men huddled over a map spread across the table between them. The dim lantern light illuminated, casting shadows on their faces, emphasizing the lines of age and worry that had deepened over the past few months.

Hosea traced a finger along the map, his brow furrowed in thought as he stared up at his companion. "The O'Driscolls found us here," he stated, his voice low and firm. "Now, we have been compromised. The Heartlands aren't safe anymore."

Dutch leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as he considered Hosea's words. Annoyance was in his eyes. "You think I haven't considered that, Hosea?" he asked, his tone clipped.

Hosea met Dutch's gaze, his own eyes filled with concern. "I'm not saying we leave tonight, Dutch, but we have to start thinking about where we're going next. The O'Driscolls may still be out there and isn't going to stop until we're dead, and you know it. Staying here just gives them the chance to strike again."

Dutch sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And where do you propose we go, Hosea? We're running out of places to hide, and the law might be breathing down our necks. We need to find somewhere safe, somewhere we can regroup and figure out our next move."

"There are options," Hosea said, pointing to different spots on the map. "But we need to be smart about it. We can't just go running off into the unknown."

"Micah suggested Dewberry Creek."

"Dewberry Creek, like Micah recommended, is too exposed. The terrain there is a nightmare, and it's too close to the roads. Anyone could stumble upon us. I also don't know if we should trust anything he suggests."

At the mention of that, Dutch's eyes sharpened. "Micah's got his faults, but he's a survivor. He's been pushing for Dewberry Creek because it's remote, away from prying eyes. Maybe we should consider it."

Hosea's expression soured, his resignation only holding down his disappointment. "Dutch, you're listening to Micah more and more these days. I know he's been helpful, but he's reckless. He's not thinking about the long term—he's thinking about what's convenient right now, about what's best for him. Dewberry Creek is a dead end, and you know it."

Dutch slammed his fist onto the table, making the lantern flicker. "You think I don't know how to survive, Hosea? You think I'm just blindly following whatever recommendation comes my way? I'm attempting to keep this gang together, to keep us alive! We need every option that someone has."

Hosea held his ground, his voice calm but firm. "I'm not questioning your leadership, Dutch. I'm questioning the path we're being led down. Micah's got his own agenda, and it's not in the best interest of the gang. I don't have to have proof. I just know it. We've got to stop following whims and start making decisions with our heads, not our hearts."

Dutch's jaw tightened, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and frustration. "And what about Arthur? He's been doubting me at every turn, questioning every choice I make. It's like he's lost faith in the cause, in everything we've built together. He's supposed to be my right hand, but all I get from him lately is resistance and rebellion. I can't keep going along like this with him."

Hosea sighed deeply, shoulders slumping. "Arthur hasn't lost faith, Dutch. He's concerned, like the rest of us. He sees what's happening to the gang, and he's trying to keep us from falling apart. I think it's good that he's adopting the voice of reason, the one who questions when things don't make sense. That's not a flaw—it's a strength."

Dutch leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. "I don't need reason, Hosea. I need loyalty. I need people who believe in what we're doing, who won't hesitate to follow me wherever I lead. If Arthur keeps questioning me, it's going to spread doubts to other folks. I can't have that. We can't have that."

Hosea shook his head, his expression tinged with sadness. "You don't need blind loyalty, Dutch. You need people who will challenge you, who will make sure you're making the right decisions, who tells you what you need to hear instead of what you want to hear. Arthur's been with you for twenty years, and he's always stood by you. But he's not a mindless follower, and you shouldn't want him to be."

Dutch's eyes flashed with anger. "I'm trying to keep us alive, Hosea. You think I'm asking too much?"

"I think you're letting fear and paranoia drive you," Hosea retorted softly. "We've always been about freedom, about living life on our own terms. But lately, it feels like we're just running, reacting to every threat, instead of thinking things through, and running some more. If you keep pushing everyone to follow without question, we're going to end up in a place we can't come back from."

Dutch fell silent, his gaze drifting to the map on the table. Both felt this. There have been a crack in the foundation of their long partnership. Would it ever be fixed?

Hopefully...

But if not...

"You and Arthur have been making my life a lot more difficult lately."

"You need to listen to Arthur more often. He still is our son." Hosea said with a slight sigh. He held him with a firm stare. "I want you to do that when we move up. Ask him what he thinks. Maybe he's speaking out because he's feeling unwanted."

Dutch's eyes softened for a moment. "Arthur means everything to me. But he's our son. He have to respect me."

"I'm sure he does. But he's getting worried about you. We all are." Hosea replied.

After a long second, Dutch spoke again, his voice controlled.

"If not Dewberry Creek, then where? We can't stay here, that much is clear."

Hosea leaned forward, tapping a spot on the map. "Clemens Point. It's far enough from the Heartlands to give us some breathing room, but close enough to keep an eye on things. There's water, good cover, and it's away from the main roads. We could set up camp there, lay low for a while."

Dutch studied the map for a second longer. "Clemens Point…" he muttered, the name rolling off his tongue as if testing it. "It's not ideal, but it's better than nothing."

Hosea nodded, sensing the shift in Dutch's tone. "It's the best option we have right now, Dutch. We need to think about the long game, not just the next few days. If we move to Clemens Point, we'll have time to regather, to figure out our next steps without constantly looking over our shoulders."

Dutch sighed, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the decision. "Fine. Clemens Point it is. But Hosea, we need to be ready to move at a moment's notice. This ain't over. The O'Driscolls, the law—they're all still out there, coming after us. We can't afford to let our guard down."

Hosea met Dutch's gaze, a flicker of contentment in his eyes. "We'll be ready, Dutch. But we need to start trusting each other again. That's the only way we're going to survive this."

Dutch nodded slowly, his expression softening. "You're right, Hosea. We've been through too much together to let things fall apart now. We'll go to Clemens Point, regroup, and then… we'll figure out where to go from there."

Hosea smiled faintly, the tension in the tent relaxing just a bit. "That's all I'm asking for, Dutch. We'll get through this. We always do."

Dutch stared down at the map one last time, then folded it up and tucked it away. "Clemens Point," he repeated, as if he was affirming the decision in his mind. "Let's hope it buys us the time we need."

The morning light cut through the trees, introducing a rise of the new day. Arthur stood near the hitching post, tightening the saddle on Ryan. Dutch had just given the word: they were to head out to Clemens Point, a new spot for the gang to relocate to. Arthur didn't know what to think of it, but he knew one thing for certain—staying here wasn't an option anymore. The O'Driscolls had seen to that.

Dutch barked orders. "Arthur, John, Sean, Javier, Charles—you folks check out Clemens Point. Make sure it's good for us to move the camp. We can't stay here, not with the way things are. I trust you'll see to it that everything's in order."

Arthur nodded, pulling himself into the saddle, his eyes catching John's across the way. John returned the look, a silent understanding passing between them. Sean and Charles were already mounted up, prepared to ride, while Javier swung into the saddle with his usual smooth grace.

"Be careful," Sadie said softly behind him. A slight smile was across her face. And Arthur pretended not to notice the grinning face of Sean and John. Even Javier's lips curled.

"I will be," Arthur nodded. Dutch and Hosea checked the surroundings to make sure that there ain't no O'Driscolls around. It ain't meant that none of them weren't paranoid.

As they rode out of camp, the quietness stretched between them, only the soft clop of hooves on the dirt trail preventing the silence from becoming deafening. Clemens Point was some ways off. Arthur allowed his mind to wander, bathing in the scenery, fighting to keep the unease gnawing at his insides at bay.

Sean.

Sean.

Sean.

"You heard the lady, Arthur. Keep careful, why don't ya?" Sean taunted. "Finna have to keep an eye on that one. She'll be something different."

"Shut up," Arthur replied in a forced grouchy tone.

"So, Clemens Point," John stated after a while, breaking the silence. "Never thought we'd be heading down there. Feels like we've been moving camp every other week."

"We have been," Arthur replied, his tone resolute. "Ain't safe nowhere, not anymore. O'Driscolls got their eyes on us, and the law ain't far behind."

Even though they were arguably in a better position than last time.

Just gotta prevent folks from getting themselves injured or killed.

Javier chuckled, though it held no actual humor. "Well, we'll make do. Dutch always finds a way. Clemens Point could be good for us. Get us away from all the mess in the Heartlands."

Arthur was barely able to prevent a grunt in response, not trusting himself to say much more. He didn't want to voice what was really on his thoughts, though, not out loud. Not when Dutch was trying so hard to keep them all together.

The trail narrowed as they persisted on, the trees growing denser around them. Arthur noticed Javier glimpsing his way, a stare in his eyes that made Arthur's skin crawl.

"What's wrong, Arthur," Javier stated controversially. Arthur almost thought he was concern. "You alright?"

Arthur kept his eyes on the trail ahead, his jaw tightening. "I'm fine, Javier. Just trying to keep us all from getting killed, that's all."

Javier smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You sure about that? Just seems like maybe you've been doubting things more than usual. Dutch notices it too. We all do. Can't have you second-guessing everything, Arthur. Not when we're all trying to stick together."

Arthur felt a pang in his chest. It wasn't the first time Javier had attempted to get under his skin, but this was different. It felt more personal, more deliberate. He didn't think Javier would go this crazy just yet. He'd thought he could save him, but with his active time around Micah, more and more he began resembling the bitter and antagonistic man that he turned into at Beaver Hollow.

Arthur swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat, keeping his voice steady. "I ain't doubting Dutch, Javier. I just want to make sure we're doing the right thing. For everyone."

Javier chuckled, as if dismissing the whole thing. "Of course, Arthur. We all want what's best. Just… know this. Dutch knows what he's doing. He always has."

Arthur nodded, knowing it had been far too late for that. He wished things were different, that he didn't have to keep questioning every step they took. But it was hard to shake the feeling of knowledge that they were headed for a fall, and every choice they made seemed to edge them closer to the cliff.

He probably ain't got tuberculosis (if he did the symptoms would come up sooner or later), but there came the nature of man. At least, they were getting away from the Pinkertons, but the gang may be doomed.

The group was occasionally broken by the sounds of the wilderness. Birds shrilled out from the trees, and the wind rustled through the leaves, but the unease among the group remained thick in the air. Arthur kept his concentration on the trail ahead.

Sean, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for most of the journey, suddenly piped up. Hell, Sean ain't ever been that quiet. Arthur almost forgot the Irish was there. "Javier, I've been meaning to ask ye something," he started.

Javier raised an eyebrow, glancing at Sean with intrigue. "What's on your mind, Sean?"

Sean leaned forward in his saddle, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Javier. "You've been spending a lot of time around that bastard Micah lately. What's that 'bout? I ain't been the only one who's noticed it."

Javier's face temporarily darkened. His expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he kept his attention straight ahead, avoiding Sean's gaze.

"Micah's loyal to Dutch," Javier said, defensive. He was always the most loyal to Dutch and it made sense. He copied Dutch in wearing nice clothes, his mannerisms, all of it. "He's done his fair share to keep this gang afloat. You might not like him, Sean, but he wants what's best for Dutch, same as the rest of us. You should know better than to question that."

Sean scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Loyal? Micah? That's rich, Javier. That fella's as loyal as a shark in the ocean. He's got his own agenda, and you're fooling yourself if you think otherwise. Just because he's been whispering sweet nothings in folks ears doesn't mean he's got the gang's best interests at heart."

Javier's eyes narrowed. "You don't know Micah like I do, friend. He's rough around the edges, sure, but he's proven himself time and again. Dutch trusts him, and so do I. You should, too."

Arthur's grip tightened on the reins, seeing Sean rolling his eyes. He kept his mouth shut, but Sean wasn't thrilled with the latest turn of events. Still, he understood that it was better to remain quiet in this argument.

Sean laughed bitterly, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Ye're blind if ye can't see what's going on, Javier. I trust Dutch but I don't trust that fucker. Finna be the death of us, I'll tell ya. He'll stab us all in the back if it means saving his own skin. Don't say I didn't warn ye."

Javier's eyes flashed with anger, but he kept his voice even, though the edge of tension was impossible to miss. "Sean, Micah's been nothing but loyal, and if you can't see that, then maybe you're the one who needs to consider about where your loyalties lie."

Silence rained again.

Arthur pressed on, keeping his thoughts to himself. It was good to know that Sean was doubting Micah, but that ain't meant he was doubting Dutch. In the other lifetime, Bill and Javier weren't close with Micah until Beaver Hollow. Now, due to the events of recently, that have sped up.

Who could say the same ain't going to happen with Sean? With Lenny? With Marston even? That they feel that they must side with Dutch, or else...

They rode in silence for a while longer. It wasn't until they arrived to Clemens Point that Arthur pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. The land around them opened up into a clearing by a large lake, the water calm and reflecting the clear sky above. It was peaceful, serene even, and Arthur couldn't help but feel a small smile of relief. Maybe this place would give them the reprieve they needed.

"This could work," Charles noted, breaking the silence as he surveyed the area. "Good cover, plenty of water, and far enough from the main roads that we shouldn't be disturbed."

John nodded in agreement. "Looks promising. Better than I expected, honestly."

Javier dismounted, his eyes observing the surroundings with an appraising look. "It'll do. Safe enough for us to lay low for a while."

Arthur slid off his horse, and registered in the familiar landslide. It was a good spot. Isolated, yet with enough resources to keep them going for a while.

"John, Javier," Arthur commanded, staring at them. "Head back and let Dutch know it's all clear. Tell him it's good for us to move the camp."

John nodded quickly, mounting up again. "Will do. We'll see you back at camp."

Javier gave Arthur a final look before he, too, mounted his horse. "Don't worry, Arthur. Things will get better as long as you stay loyal. You'll see."

Arthur didn't reply, just looked, as the two left. When they were out of sight, he turned back to find Sean lingering nearby, his horse tied to a tree. The Irishman wasn't glaring at him like he have grown used to from Dutch, Javier, and Bill, nor was he approachable like Lenny or Kieran. The Irish was clearly split.

"What's on your mind, Sean?" Arthur questioned, leaning against a nearby tree, the cool bark pressing into his back.

Sean scratched his head. "It's nothing, really." Arthur held his stare. "Just… thinking. 'Bout all this. 'Bout you, to be honest."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, but kept his tone light. "What 'bout me?"

Sean sighed, leaning on his horse. "I know you've been having a hard time with all this shite lately. And I get it, I do. Blackwater was a cock-up of epic proportions, and Dutch… well, he's been under a lot of stress. But, Arthur, you've always been like a big brother to me. And I don't want to see you getting on Dutch's bad side. We're all in this together, y'know? And it ain't gonna help if you're pushing back too much."

Arthur felt the pang in his chest again, sharper this time. Sean wasn't wrong, but it didn't make things any simpler. "I know, Sean. I'm just trying to keep us all alive. It ain't 'bout doubting Dutch—it's 'bout making sure we don't walk into a trap we can't get out of."

Sean nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I get that, Arthur. I do. But maybe… maybe just ease up a bit. We need you, Dutch needs you, and the rest of the gang needs you too. Just… don't let this tear you apart, alright?"

The feeling of betrayal passed. Arthur realized that there was still hope for Sean. The Irish was one of the most loyal members of the gang, however, he didn't know what Arthur knew. He didn't know Dutch left John to die in a Federal Prison; Javier, Micah, and Dutch later lying about going back for him when he fell off a moving train, or...

This time, Sean would not be on the receiving end of a victim of a bullet. Arthur would make sure of that, and he would also make sure that Sean didn't just continue following Dutch into the madness as Javier did.

Right now, it occurred to him that Sean shown more concern to him in his current changed mood than he'd deserved.

Sure, a bit of it centered around Dutch, but what hadn't these days?

Arthur allowed a small smile, clapping Sean on the shoulder. "I'll be fine, Sean. Don't you worry 'bout me. We'll get through this, same as we always do."

Sean smiled back, slight sadness ripping across his eyebrows. "Aye, I suppose we will. But still, Arthur, just… be careful, alright? Don't wanna drag your corpse back."

Time to go through this part of the journey again...

'What fun,' Arthur thought bitterly.

He searched his memory and frowned. He had to go help that German...

Chapter Text

They've arrived to Clements Point no sooner than afternoon and began working.

What Arthur didn't expect was two other men joining the gang. What the hell were they doing here?! Cleet and Joe. Micah's boys. The last time they've arrived, it was in Beaver Hollow, when the gang was starting to collapse. Although Arthur wanted to convince himself that he didn't hold any animosity to them, he did.

Damn it, he did.

Somehow, with the knowledge of the future, this whole adventure was a whole lot harder.

Arthur's leg faltered for a moment as he stared at the two. Warm smiles was on both of their faces. The sight caused him to hesitate, for just a second.

Were these not the men he had believe would get the gang out of a bad situation not too long ago? The men who had been his fathers and mentors? And now what were they? Hosea definitely wasn't an enemy. No, Arthur still thought of him as a father. He had no doubt Hosea would chose him and John over Dutch despite their relationship.

For how Dutch would sometimes bully both Arthur and John to feel like shit, just 'cause they chose to do something that he didn't want to do, or they'd fucked up or failed. How most of the fights were 'bout the two men they'd raised. Although the two men would often fight verbally, one time when Dutch had the confidence to slap Arthur himself for no good reason, Hosea made sure Dutch never did it again.

That memory added on the oil to say something. The scene between the two men didn't matter compared to the other concerns.

"What are they doing here?" Arthur demanded to the forms off Dutch and Hosea, indicating to the laughing forms of the two from the future he've came from with Micah.

The main question on his mind; why would the latter accept this without an argument? Was Hosea more loyal than he thought?

"They've arrived sooner after you left," Hosea said unhelpfully, oblivious to what the cause of their presences could lead to.

"Sorry, son, I didn't want to disturb you," Dutch responded, and he almost seemed sincere too. "After what happened in Blackwater to the Callander boys, we decided we need to get more boys."

Hosea looked reluctant but nodded. "Dutch is right, Arthur."

"And Micah provided an alternative," Dutch added. "I hope you aren't upset. After all, you keep reminding me of Blackwater." Instead of guilt, Arthur was face to face with a smug visage; the cool, controlled mask of Dutch van der Linde.

Arthur stood there, fists clenched at his sides, grappling with the frustration and despair churning within him. The sight of Cleet and Joe, those two unwelcome reminders of a future he loathed, twisted something deep inside. Ain't nothing more than just faces from a past he desperately wanted to escape; they were harbingers of the gang's inevitable downfall.

"Why them?" he pressed, his voice low. The quietness by both men, and possible annoyance at being interrupted, angered him. "You could've picked anyone. Hell, we might as well do this ourselves."

"I didn't it upset you so much," Hosea glanced away. "We need more hands, Arthur. You know that. The gang—"

"The gang's already got enough issues without adding Micah's cronies, Hosea," Arthur interrupted, his tone sharp. The weight of history bore down on him, pressing like a stone in his gut. He'd witnessed the gang fracture under the influence of those two before, and the thought of them being back in the fold made his heart race with anxiety. "This isn't just about manpower. This is about loyalty, trust. You can't seriously believe this is a good idea."

Dutch's eyes flickered with irritation. "Nothing seems to please you these days. We need all the help we can get, especially after the mess at Blackwater as you are prone to remind me, son. Micah's boys know how to fight and can prove themselves—"

"Prove themselves?" Arthur spat, the bitterness rising in his throat. "They'll be backstabbers and cowards! They'll turn on us at the first sign of trouble." His mind flashed back to Beaver Hollow, to the chaos and betrayal that followed the arrival of Micah's men. Just 'cause they came earlier wouldn't mean that Arthur could reach 'em. "This isn't just business, Dutch. This is family—our family. And they don't belong here."

Hosea tried to intervene, hands up. "Arthur, calm down. We've dealt with worse. We can manage this."

"But at what cost?" Arthur growled, frustration boiling over. "Don't you see what this leads to? I can't let this happen again." He stepped closer to Dutch, his intensity palpable. "You know what happened every time Micah is involved with something. It's a disaster, and I won't stand by and watch it happen helplessly."

Dutch's smile was infuriating. "You're too caught up on threats that aren't there, Arthur. We're building something here. You have to learn to adapt."

Adapt. The word stung, leaving ashes in his mouth. Arthur felt the helplessness swell in his chest, knowing he had no control over this second chance. "I'm trying to save us, Dutch! I don't want a repeat of what we lost. I thought that's what we all wanted." His voice quaked with emotion, and he could feel his resolve slipping away.

"There's no way to avoid that, son," Dutch replied coolly. "You can't change the past. We have to look ahead, and right now, this is what we need." His tone suggested finality, a decision made without regard for Arthur's protests.

The betrayal was palpable, and Arthur's heart sank. The gang had already lost its way, and now, with Cleet and Joe back in the mix, it felt like the final nails were being driven into their collective coffin. The laughter of the two men burned as deeply as tuberculosis. Arthur turned away, clenching his jaw to stifle the surge of anger.

"Are you really that blind?" he demanded. "You think bringing in Micah's boys is going to strengthen us? They'll bring chaos, distrust—"

"Arthur, you're overreacting," Hosea interjected, his brow furrowed. Betrayal shot through him, misplaced as it was. "They may not be ideal, but we're in a precarious situation. We can't afford to lose anyone else."

Arthur felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him, drowning out the words of his friends. "You're not hearing me! This isn't just about numbers. It's 'bout our values. We've fought for something better than what they represent."

Dutch looked at him deeply, his gaze piercing. "You're letting your past cloud your judgment. We need these men. This is survival. You'll thank me later."

"Thank you for what? Betraying everything we stood for?" Arthur felt a surge of anger he couldn't contain, his voice rising. "This is not how we do things, Dutch! You're throwing away everything for what? A few extra guns? A little more muscle?"

"You didn't mind, Kieran, Arthur," Hosea pointed out.

"Kieran is actually helpful to the gang. In just a few weeks, he commenced with guard duty and helped the women in areas Mrs Grimshaw assign him to. What have Micah been doing since he got here?" Arthur looked at Dutch. "Oh, that's right. Disrespect all of us besides Dutch. Every job ending up in failure with him. And-"

"Enough!" Dutch snapped. "This is my decision, and you will respect it. We're a gang, Arthur, and I'm the leader and we're going to do things my way. You need to remember that." He stormed away.

"What's the matter with you this time, Arthur?" Hosea asked with a slight sigh.

"I can't just stand by and watch everything go to shit, Hosea," he whispered, a sense of despair gripping him.

"You're not alone, Arthur," Hosea said softly, reaching out a hand to grip his back. "We're all in this together. Just trust us. We'll figure it out."

"I thought we were better than this," Arthur confessed quietly, his heart heavy. "But maybe that's just wishful thinking."

There was no way to run from the past, and no matter how hard he tried, it seemed like everything was escalating even faster. The gang may crack sooner if things continued at this goddamn rate! Deep down, he feared it would be the same—if not worse.

Dutch sat in his tent, the flap open but only slightly, allowing in the dim light of the evening. His eyes darted between the men in front of him - Micah, Bill, Javier, and Sean — his trusted men, or so he thought. He'd once thought that way of Arthur, but after what happened between them earlier, he was seriously questioning what would be ramifications to cutting him loose. It was as if all his faith in him had been drained away from him.

"Listen, Dutch," Micah started. He leaned forward in his chair, locking eyes with Dutch. "We gotta start thinking smart, looking inward."

Bill chimed in, "Micah's right. Blackwater was a mess—no denying that. But you gotta ask yourself, why was it such a mess? Someone was tipping them off."

Dutch's brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed in faint suspicion. "And what exactly are you two implying?"

Micah bristled at his tone. "We're just saying, Dutch, something was off at Blackwater and I think someone was giving the Pinkertons information. Maybe not intentionally, but… you gotta consider all the angles." He stopped for effect, glancing around at the others before continuing, "Maybe there was a rat in Blackwater."

"Do you have any guesses as to who?" Dutch asked with genuine curiosity. He had considered the possibility since the law came down on their heads far too quickly.

Bill looked at him for a long moment. "We think it might be Morgan."

Sean immediately stiffened. His face, normally filled with that familiar mischievous smirk, hardened. "Arthur? Are you two outta your minds? Arthur? A rat! Get your heads out of the gutters! He's been serving the gang for twenty years." He sat up straight, his eyes narrowing. "He's saved my life more than once."

Micah shrugged, feigning indifference. "I'm just pointing out the obvious. The man's been acting strange lately. Always off on his own, taking these 'rides' without telling anyone where he's going. You don't think that's suspicious?"

Javier toyed with his knife, thumbing it between his hands. "Arthur's been distant lately. He's not the same as he used to be, Dutch. Maybe Micah's got a point. We gotta consider everything."

Dutch shifted in his chair, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. "Arthur has always been loyal to this gang, Sean," he mumbled, though there was the slightest of absence of confidence.

"But has he, though?" Bill contributed, making it worse. "He's been getting on your case, Dutch. Questioning our decisions, like he don't trust you no more. You've noticed it, we all have." His thick arms rested on his knees. "If anyone's been acting like they don't believe in this gang anymore, it's Arthur."

Sean shifted uncomfortably, his loyalty to Dutch pulling him in one direction, while his loyalty to Arthur yanked him in another. "Arthur's got his reasons for questioning things. But that don't make him a damn rat. You're jumping to conclusions. Both of yas. And you're dragging Dutch into it, making him think—"

"Think what?" Dutch interjected, his voice sharp and cutting through the tension. "That my right-hand man has lost faith in me? That maybe, just maybe, the man I've trusted for years might be the one who's selling us out?" His eyes darted to Sean, then to the others, each of them frozen in place as Dutch's voice grew louder, more erratic. "I founded this gang! I made each and every one of you into what you are today! And now you're all looking at me like I'm the one losing my mind?"

"Easy, Dutch," Micah held up his hands innocently. "Ain't nobody saying that, Dutch. At least not all of us. And Arthur? He's been slipping. You gotta admit it."

Dutch shot Micah a look, his jaw clenched, the muscle twitching as he struggled to maintain control. "Arthur's been with me from the start. He's always been my most trusted." His voice wavered slightly, the confidence that usually accompanied his words seeming less certain.

Micah sighed. "And maybe that's why he's the perfect one to sell us out, Dutch. No one would suspect him. And let's be real—Arthur's been different since Blackwater. He ain't got the same fire. He questions you in front of the others, undermines your authority even more than the old coot. Hell, who's to say he hasn't been lining his own pockets with the Pinkertons?"

Sean stood up suddenly, his chair marking the ground. "I ain't listening to this any longer." His voice cracked slightly, anger and disbelief written all over his face. "Arthur's not the problem here, and deep down, you know it, Dutch. We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for him saving our asses time and time again." He glanced at the others, shaking his head. "You all forgetting that? Huh? You forgetting all the times he pulled us outta the fire?"

Javier avoided Sean's gaze, his loyalty to Dutch outweighing all else. Bill, on the other hand, gave a slow shrug. "No one's saying Arthur hasn't done his part. But things have changed, Sean. We all see it."

Dutch sat back, running his hands through his hair, the disheveled strands adding to the look of a man slowly losing his grip. "Arthur… has changed," he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes glazed over for a moment, staring through the tent wall as if trying to peer into the past for answers. "But the world's changing, too. Maybe… maybe Arthur's just feeling the weight of it all." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Micah leaned back, arms crossed. "That's what I'm saying, Dutch. The man's breaking. You put too much trust in him, and now it's backfiring. We need to watch him closer."

Dutch's eyes flickered with indecision. The once proud, charismatic leader who always had a plan seemed to falter, his mind racing with paranoia. "Arthur… Arthur's family," he repeated, but the conviction in his voice had evaporated, replaced with uncertainty.

Sean's fists clenched at his sides. "Dutch, for Christ's sake, you can't seriously be considering this. Arthur would never — never — betray you! He's as loyal as they come."

Dutch's gaze snapped to Sean, the flicker of doubt intensifying. "Loyal? Loyalty ain't what it used to be, Sean. The world's full of rats, backstabbers. The ones closest to you—those are the ones who hurt you the most."

Micah nodded, his voice smooth as silk. "Exactly, Dutch. The ones you trust the most? They're the ones who'll bring you down."

Sean stepped forward, his eyes blazing with conviction. "Look, we all acting crazy, and th-that's not what we would be doing I thought!"

Dutch stood up abruptly, his chair knocking backward. He was pacing now, his movements erratic, hands gesturing wildly as if trying to grasp the unraveling threads of his own mind. "I can't afford any more mistakes! I won't! Not after Blackwater. Not after everything we've lost. I have to protect this gang. I have protect all of us." His voice grew more frantic, the weight of his words crushing him under their impossible burden. "Uncle Sam will not be merciful to us."

Micah, ever the opportunist, leaned in one last time. "And sometimes that means making hard choices, Dutch. Even if it's 'bout Arthur."

For a moment, the tent was quiet. Dutch stopped pacing, his back to the group. His shoulders slumped slightly. He stood there, frozen, lost in thought, before finally speaking, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I'll… keep an eye on him. For now."

"Wha-Dutch, ya couldn't be considering this!" Sean wasn't sure when was the last time he felt the urge to scream and cry at once.

Dutch looked down at him, expression unreadable. "Sean." His voice carried a cold tone now. Sean never saw Dutch like this before. What have been happening since he'd gotten caught by those lawmen? "I have a responsibility to this gang. We have to move out West, and nothing can stand in my way."

"So you're just going to abandon your son of twenty years?!" Sean couldn't stop the slip. Even when the conversation was going to end, the Irish couldn't let it go.

"It ain't like that!" Dutch snapped.

"Then, what is it like?" Damn...

Micah looked at him coldly, "I want to live, my Irish friend, I'm sure you do as well."

Sean looked at them frantically, at a loss for words.

"Dutch, you're supposed to be the leader of the Van Der Linde gang. As such, we are all supposed to respect you. Asking questions is perfectly normal." Micah continued before Sean could find words. "But you shouldn't feel like you have to answer to someone."

"You're right," Dutch decided after a moment.

Sean's face twisted in anger and sadness as he ran up next to the man. "Dutch..."

"It pains me to say it, Sean, but he's right," Dutch held up his hand.

His heart collapsed. "Dutch!"

"You have a choice to make, Sean, would you remain loyal or..." Dutch's eyes narrowed, "perhaps you share Arthur's pessimistic views?"

What were the last twenty years then for Arthur?

A quiet part of him wondered if he'd meant nothing to Dutch as well. He quashed this, knowing that such thoughts were treasonous.

"Dutch…" It came out a mutter. A beg for him not to do this. Not make him choose.

"Answer."

Sean opened his mouth, his voice caught in his throat.

Desperation clawed at him. He didn't know what to do! His hands trembled. He was alone!

"Bu-"

However, Dutch didn't relent. He stayed emotionless, eyeing Sean as if everything the gang needed depended on it. "That's my final word on this matter, Sean," he said, barely above a whisper. "We have to be smart. Loyal or not? Yes, or no? The decision is yours, son."

Sean looked at Micah, then at the others, and they all stared back, as if he was the only problem right now.

Ashamed, he managed. "I'm loyal to you, Dutch."

He had no choice.

After all, was it not Dutch who showed mercy to him? That meant Sean couldn't go against him no matter what.

Micah simply smiled, leaning back in his chair.

And, Dutch? He smiled as well.

While Sean, the youngest, was stuck with loyalty or friendship. He'd never thought he would have to make a choice, but it felt like everything was going downhill. It was the hardest choice he would have ever made; but if things got worse from here on out, who knew what would come?

"Good," Dutch said, placing a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that would have once offered warmth and comfort to the Irish now replaced with apathy, "go to your guard duties, Sean."

The Irish straightened, nodded, and immediately followed his orders, but he couldn't push what just happened out of his mind throughout the night. His heart ripped into pieces, the comedian facade slowly dissipating as he comprehended the gravity of the situation.

He moved past the women, noticing his eyes following him. Occasionally, he would offer a quip in their direction. He loved to make people laugh, but now wasn't the time.

As he stood in guard duties, his eyes felt damp and torrents of assaults ripped against his chest.

"Sean," Karen said behind him eventually. A moment of silence passed, for Sean wasn't in the mood to offer a joke. "Sean, talk to me, what's happening?"

"I-I..." Sean whimpered, "I can't tell you."

"You can," she said, pushing against him gently. "If you need someone to talk to, you gotta talk 'bout it, Sean. Or do you want to talk with Hosea or Arthur?"

"No!" Sean exclaimed. He couldn't face Arthur. He recognized that in his shame, he just couldn't face the man who trusted him. Why couldn't he just be loyal to Dutch like he used to be? Maybe he saw something Sean ain't, but did it matter? "We can't tell them."

Karen looked at him suspiciously, "Is it something with Hosea?"

Sean shook his head.

"Arthur?"

Sean stiffened but he shook his head again.

Karen noticed this. "So, Arthur, what's wrong with him?" She looked at him. "C'mon, Sean, you gotta tell me. What's wrong with Arthur?"

"It's not 'bout Arthur," he confessed.

"What's going on?" Karen asked, wrapping her arms around him. Sometimes, he felt like she would be different than the other flings he'd engaged in. She'd understood him on a level others didn't.

But she never saw him this weak.

And here Sean was, crumbling in her arms, for once barely able to utter a sentence. "Just..."

The eyes of his fling were upon him, and for once, unlike the others, it wasn't a gaze filled with coldness. It was welcoming... inviting. Like she actually wanted to hear what he had to say and help him.

Suddenly he was assaulted by that feeling that came around sometimes. A deep dark secret was something he would rather avoid. He didn't always felt good. He felt like nobody wanted him around and wouldn't miss him. But as he remained in the embrace of the woman he felt guilty, and lost... dirty. This was different than all the others.

For the first time in years, Sean — the camp's joker, the prankster of the Van Der Linde gang — wept in the arms of another, the choices of his life laid out before him in two names...

Arthur or Dutch?

Tomorrow, he would try to be the Sean MacGuire they all knew, but for now, he just cried, knowing that whatever happened just don't seem to have any ending in sight...

Chapter Text

While Arthur was resting against a tree, listening to the rustling wildlife and the air moving around him, the gunslinger had allowed himself to feel a sense of peace. This was something Arthur wanted to do more often. He'd vowed to do more often if he'd made it out...

Despite the thick atmosphere around him, Clemens Point was making the spirits even higher, as Arthur remembered Charles pointing out last time. The scars from the attack that the O'Driscolls had launched were obvious, though Uncle was recovering well, and Dutch and Hosea were becoming less paranoid. He couldn't even fault either of them for being so in the first place. Hell, he had been since then. If he didn't make it, Arthur had no idea what he would do. The man was resting and drinking a lot of alcohol to dull the pain, though he most likely enjoyed that.

"Hi, Arthur, I hope this is what is a good morning," Sadie walked towards him.

Arthur responded. "It is."

"You sure?" Arthur felt a tinge of irritation rising within him. It was irritating that folks started treating him like a child. He didn't need any protection; he only wanted to provide it himself. Was this not his second chance to give them an out?

They weren't the same.

They had one chance.

Once down, they stayed down...

"Yes," Arthur hoped that he managed to keep the bite out of his tone. Sadie was by no means a pushover. She was far from a pushover and didn't take any man's authority. He'd wondered if that would become a feature of society someday.

Hell, who knew? A female President may happen beyond Arthur's lifetime if that was the case...

"What is it, Mrs. Adler?" Arthur inquired.

"You saw your friend getting shot," she pointed out. "I thought you need to talk 'bout it with someone."

"I don't," Arthur said, closing his eyes.

"There was nothing you could have done."

He saw where this was going... "Gee, thanks, maybe give it to the man who'd gotten shot."

Sadie stared at him for a long second before grumbling, "That's your problem."

Arthur blinked, "What?"

"Never giving yourself enough credit," she answered.

Oh, this again? Seriously?

Of course, when she started, there was no stopping her.

"You'd gotta stop blaming yourself for everything, you know? You can't control the way the world works. It's not all on you."

Arthur sighed. When would folks understand? It was. It was all on him. Throughout everything, he had to remain strong. That had been one of Dutch's many powerful messages that he agreed with. Lacking strength would mean that John, Abigail, and Jack wouldn't get out this time, hopefully with more folks capable of thinking for themselves.

He couldn't afford to be weak and desperate.

That would get them nowhere and accomplish absolutely nothing.

"You don't understand, Mrs. Adler," Arthur said.

Sadie fixed him with a pointed glare, "Well, make me understand."

For some reason, Arthur wondered how Jake and Sadie had been as a wedding couple. She was by far too commanding. Not like the others. Abigail, Mary-Beth, and Tilly were able to be tamed. Sadie wasn't the type who let a man talk her down from her goals and dreams if she didn't have to.

"I can try, but you wouldn't," Arthur stated, resigned.

Sadie sighed across from him, "Alright, alright, you win this round, Arthur Morgan."

Thankfully, she didn't argue further.

"Thank you," Arthur said, though he knew this was over.

What felt like another hour passed.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Arthur, a moment of your time, please..." The sentence came from one he'd recognized, and he looked up to see Dutch, another cigar in hand... "Ah, Mrs. Adler..." His eyes flashed, before he smirked slightly, "I'll only borrow Arthur for a moment."

Sadie huffed, "It ain't like I can keep him, Mr. Van Der Linde."

He stared at the leader of the van der Linde gang and frowned.

As they retreated to a quiet corner of the camp, Dutch's fingers edged around the cigar, and an exhalation of smoke exited. Part of his lungs grew irritated with the smoke, but he overlooked it.

"What's going on, Dutch?" Arthur asked.

Dutch exhaled slowly, "First, I want to apologize for what happened the other day."

Oh, how long Arthur had been waiting to hear that word from Dutch. Once upon a time, Arthur wouldn't have thought so much of it. Dutch rarely apologized, but Arthur still held love in his heart for the man and didn't realize he would leave him and John behind to die.

"-Though I am admittedly still confused about your reluctance in accepting the new members into our gang, I shouldn't have blown up as I did."

But it was a cold comfort.

Joe and Cleet weren't gone yet.

Moreover, Arthur couldn't tell when Dutch actually meant an apology. It ain't likely Dutch would cut him loose as easily. He was healthy, still in his prime. It had been unlikely that things would be the same.

Arthur nodded. "I want to apologize as well, but there's more." He ain't need to keep the matter going.

"Of course..." Dutch sighed, almost in fondness; or fake fondness as he put it.

He nodded. "We're all being haunted, I didn't forget about that, Dutch," he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "This life ain't easy." Boy, did Arthur ever know that from himself? Betrayal could happen so suddenly.

"We can fight our destiny."

Unlikely, given how deeply the government's influence went.

Arthur's face cracked at those words.

Dutch's expression remained the same nevertheless. "If we stay under Uncle Sam's eyes."

"Perhaps," Arthur whispered. "But I don't want to lose any more folks and I doubt you do either. Folks doesn't always get as lucky as Uncle, Dutch."

A moment of quietness fell between them. "I am working a lot to ensure that it doesn't happen again," he replied. "But I have a gang to lead, and I need you to stay strong."

Stay strong. Just how long had Arthur heard those words in the past many years? He wouldn't pretend Dutch was always wrong. No, he'd led them through death itself and came out with a few casualties at most.

He looked at Dutch. If he'd stood there much longer, he would have lost the last of his sanity. He was stuck in a hard place with no possibility of getting out. Sometimes, he wanted to scream and bash his head on the ground. Other times, he didn't know what he wanted.

This was not one of them times...

He'd needed to stop Dutch from going too far...

"Dutch," he began carefully, thinking about how to word this. "I read up on the conflict in Rhodes. 'Bout the Grays and the Braithwaites. We have to be careful here. We shouldn't get too involved."

"So you have gone behind my-" Dutch lowered his voice, "back, and did your own investigation here?"

Those words almost shattered Arthur's calmness...

"I did it for a reason, Dutch," Arthur confessed, "I want to be involved as more than just a killer."

"You are," the leader snapped, frustration crossing. "But you're causing dissent. Can't you see that? Folks are murmuring about how they agree with you. They're showing doubt in my leadership, Arthur. I need to keep us together. We cannot afford to be separate now." Dutch gripped his head. "So, what can I do to stop this attitude from you?"

This was... wonderful.

Before Arthur could respond, of course, Dutch wouldn't let it go there. "We have to dream big to get big, Arthur. I have a plan. I just don't know why you don't understand this."

'If I hear that word one more goddamn time, I'm gonna jump in front of a stagecoat,' Arthur thought furiously, feeling the urge to roll his eyes. Dutch clearly saw his aggravation.

"Fine, fine," Dutch said, taking two other puffs of smoke. "What do you want to tell me?"

Arthur gave a small nod, though guilt coursed through his body. It made a small part of him hate himself even more.

His thoughts traveled to the Grays and the Braithwaites, and the reminder of what happened gave him strength. The Braithwaites stayed to themselves, while the Grays attempted to dominate the area. And they killed the man who was like a little brother to him. The Braithwaites were slavers and kidnapped and sold Jack. The Grays were slavers and corrupt lawmen. Certainly, the Gray killed Sean. But that was AFTER they figured out the gang was trying to fuck them over. In some ways, it was understandable, because they were all pretty shitty, selfish people, and everyone would be better without them.

Dutch and Hosea played a dangerous game and were rewarded.

Goddamn it, he wasn't going to let any more folks be put in harm's way 'till it was time to rally them up against Dutch and demand a change or cut their losses.

He didn't fully agree with the Braithwaite and Gray fiasco but played along because he trusted Hosea's skills and plan. 'Bout Sheriff Gray, he was surprised they are pretending to be deputized and he kept asking Dutch what the end plan is. When they race back to Clemens Point after stealing some moonshine, and when he was pretty critical of the whole thing, Dutch ain't seem to realize or care what he was telling him. He also disagreed with the night attack at Bronte's manor and the way Dutch murdered him.

"They were both previous slave-owning families until Lincoln and the Union got involved. The Grays are among the worst hecklers of the suffragettes. I heard that the Braithwaites locked a poor mentally ill girl in an outhouse for years until she died. Not even a cellar or cabin in Ohio, just an outhouse. The Braithwaites are also close with the Lemoy Raiders, who are basically terrorists. The Grays are far from good, but they're taking criminals off the streets."

An eyebrow raised at those words, and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Oh, Arthur," he said, "do you not have a high opinion on Hosea's charisma?"

Arthur held his ground. "Too much of a risk. We got really lucky in Blackwater, and folks who agree with me might not be too fond of this."

"We have to keep mov-"

He sighed, agitated. "This ain't gonna stop 'till you listen to me, goddamn it!"

Sean's head blown off, the blood leaking from his head, came to his vision again...

Dutch's face paled in surprise, and an indignant shout of "Arthur!" left his lips.

But Arthur did his best to keep himself at bay. He ain't gonna be the stuttering mess he was at Beaver Hollow.

By now, Arthur had that one card over Dutch. The gang may fracture... eventually, but if Arthur played his cards right, maybe they could stay clear. The rules were simple: mind their own damn business and just rest up and recover, until next time. But it was almost as if chaos called to the older man. Without it, Dutch couldn't live.

"I think we ought to be careful," he continued, his tone firm. "We don't want to attract any unnecessary attention."

He looked at him for longer than necessary. Apprehension clawed through his entire body again.

"And how precisely did you find out about the locals?" he inquired, his tone dark, and it made Arthur feel the urge to shiver. "I hope you're careful with any new friends you may be making."

"I'm trying to avoid more problems, Dutch," he replied calmly. He knew that by doing this, he wouldn't be able to help Beau and Penelope. They were raised in dysfunctional families and were in a nasty situation. However, he couldn't help them. At least for now. Maybe in the future, depending on what happens after all of this. But there were more important matters like making sure Micah got put down before he hurt anyone else.

"Caution is not known to shine upon you, Arthur," he responded, and there it was. The gaslighting. Yes, that's the fucking word... "We're a lovely community trying to forge our own path in the world. We can't afford to be held back by fear of what might occur. And with your breakdowns, it ain't helping us maintain a positive image. We need to be as tight as we once were.

"I understand, Dutch," he replied tightly. "But sometimes, it's better to proceed lightly than to charge ahead. We need to be calculative if we're going to preserve, and we ain't able to jump at every opportunity 'cause we feel like doing it."

A tense silence passed...

Arthur saw Dutch's fists clenching again.

"I assume you'll find an alternative. If we don't make more cash, we'll have you to thank when the law tracks us down and we ain't able to get closer to the West."

Dutch's willingness had shown that Arthur was growing stronger in the gang's standing. After what happened with the O'Driscolls, many of their confirmations were proven correct. Both men saw it...

"You're a firm believer in this," he replied. "Will this new attitude of yours stop now?"

Arthur barely managed to prevent himself from shifting uneasily. After all, this was what he wanted: to assume the role that Micah had without appealing to his ego.

"It will if it stays like this," he declared, able to keep his composure, eyes locking against those darker orbs.

Dutch nodded. "Very well," he decided. "We'll stay uninvolved."

Arthur knew this could have just saved Sean and even Lenny. The Pinkertons were no doubt looking for them, but let me look and let them avoid them for a while longer. Again, he had never been the type for planning. He would have to ask Lenny 'bout it. The kid was gladly smarter than all of 'em.

In this game of words, Dutch was still testing his loyalty. Even with his foresight, he couldn't rival Dutch.

"I'm doing this so we can all survive."

A ghost of a smile crossed Dutch's lips. "I know, Arthur," he murmured.

Taking that as a dismissal, Arthur walked away, comforted by the fact that he had convinced Dutch to stay out of that affair. The gang's meddling with affairs, as they always did, backfired. They were not on top of the world anymore. Things didn't work because they always worked. The strategy was to get the Grays and Braithwaites to start shooting at each other. To turn their feud into an open war. They believed they could rob them both in the chaos. The problem was that both families figured out it was the gang who was messing with them. It would've been smarter to try and rob one family instead of playing both sides and trying to rob them both, but even that was dangerous for various reasons.

As Arthur got even further from the leader, he spotted Micah and Javier. Javier had his arm wrapped around Micah, with two bottles of beer on their table, laughing and jeering. He shook his head at what once would have been an unlikely friendship in his eyes and sighed. It was too late to reason with the Mexican with him being Dutch's dog right now and not seeing what Micah could do to them all.

Further away, Arthur found John and Abigail spending a rare moment of vulnerability together. They were watching the nearby river, the former's arms wrapped around his woman. Arthur lingered for a moment longer, watching the two. It was a moment of peace, one that Arthur wished he was able to share, but he had to keep an eye on folks throughout; Micah and Dutch too.

"So John was telling me 'bout you and Sadie..." Abigail started, of course noticing him first.

Arthur was confused for a moment before he realized... "She just lost her husband. Ain't no time for her to find a new one and focus on mourning." He noticed that she was more stable and didn't lose her temper nearly as much as last time, though much work was still needed. Healing was required.

John laughed. "Sure, Morgan, sure..."

"You find something funny 'bout this, boy?" Arthur demanded.

"Oh no. It's just, can I be the one who marry the both of ya? It would be a ceremony, I'm telling you."

"There ain't a marriage, and if I ever get married, you won't be invited. With your brain being frosted by snow, you probably won't show up to your own. Then again, you'll probably engaged with new wolves." Arthur said with his significant dark humor.

The younger man rolled his eyes while Abigail laughed and leaned even closer to John. "You're never going to let it go, ain't ya?"

Arthur smirked. "Nope."

Chapter Text

Part of Arthur doubted that Dutch would have upheld his word. After all, as pointed out before, Dutch decided to get involved with chaos. Hosea sometimes did so as well. Obviously, he was a far more cautious and wiser leader than Dutch, but he had his fair share of screw-ups. It was Hosea who persuaded Dutch to do the bank job despite the insanity of the plan, following the massacre at Saint Denis; also, he entirely foiled the job by negotiating with the Braithwaites in their attempt for the gold—that was even more embarrassing. Lying to folks was what Hosea was known for, but they'd seen through him immediately.

Throughout the coming weeks, Arthur had been more or less busy with his endeavors. He kept true to his word and no longer questioned Dutch. It was a reminder to the older days when Dutch had been a different person back in the day. Aside from helping Trelawny inviting him to see a discouraged worker at Rhodes post office 'bout any available stagecoaches to rob, Arthur had been allowed to just relax.

The truth was he would prefer it to stay like this.

But then the day came...

The day Sean died...

And before they knew it, they were taking the short walk on the long road again. It was them: Arthur, Bill, Sean, and Micah.

"-That Catherine Braithwait-" Bill started.

Arthur interrupted him, saying, "Hey, hold up," as if he had no control over his own body. This made everyone stop. It was a tense quiet as they all turned to look at him, though Sean kept walking in front. "This don't feel right," he continued, vocalizing what you've been thinking for the past few minutes.

"Now it doesn't feel right?" Sean asked snidely, turning around to look at Arthur. "I coulda told you that-" but he didn't get to ever finish his sentence, as a loud gunshot pierced through. The Irishman fell onto the ground, blood leaking from his head, never to wake again.

He grimaced. "SEAN!" he exclaimed, his hands reaching up desperately to grasp his forehead.

At the same time, gunshots echoed within his hearing.

"Arthur!" Mrs. Grimshaw's voice cut through his line of sight, and the scene distorted, blanking out. He felt a familiar sensation, followed by his face being smacked by a firm hand.

Arthur winced as he stared up, spotting the forms of Hosea, Susan, and Dutch surrounding him. Hosea and Dutch were on either side of him, both gripping his arms. Susan was looming slightly over him. Behind them stood John, Abigail, Sadie, Charles, and... Sean himself, their eyes flickered with concern.

"Are you alright, son?" Dutch squeezed tightly around his arms, bringing his face close to him.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep after that, Arthur barely managed to prevent himself from weeping into Dutch's shoulder. He ain't supposed to be this weak. But, he wanted to. Damn, he wanted to fall in the arms of his mentor and one of his fathers. He resisted as much as possible, and simply nodded, trying to remind himself that nothing had happened.

His brain came back to the present. With Dutch's cooperation in an attempt to reign them all in, they'd never met the Grays. But it was a reminder. It could have happened.

"I'll be fine," Arthur gritted out. "Leave, all of yas." He tried to be as strong as possible.

"But-" Hosea started.

"I said I'll be fine, Hosea. Go back to sleep." Arthur demanded in a tone that brook no argument.

They all left with great reluctance, save for the Irishman, who was arrogantly smirking.

"Heard ya screaming my name in your sleep. What? You're having bad dreams 'bout yer favorite Irish, Englishman? I always knew you would become terrify of me replacing yas someday."

Perhaps expecting a crude response, or something of the sort, Sean was taken aback when something flashed across Arthur's face. His jaw fell into order and he glared...

Arthur didn't say anything, though he felt guilty.

Sean placed a hand on his shoulder, and actual concern flashed in his eyes. "Are ya okay, Arthur? You have been stressing out for days on end. Folks even say since you've arrived at that snowy mountain. Ain't it that stinky toad bothering you?"

Arthur swallowed slightly, hoping the Irish didn't see it. Although most of his problems revolved around Dutch or Micah, it didn't mean that he kept control over the situation most of the time. For what reason did Arthur have to worry so much? Perhaps, 'cause Sean's death would be a permanent imprint inside his mind.

After all, it would have already happened.

But, actually, no, Micah have been easier to deal with in the past couple of weeks...

It was a fragile peace. Likely, Micah was thinking 'bout his next grand scheme that he could use to sway Dutch into believing that he was loyal. It was possible that the feud didn't interest him as much.

"No, Sean..."

"Englishman..." Yet again, Sean's voice became serious. "What is it, Arthur? Did you see me..."

"It's fine, Sean," Arthur growled. He was supposed to be the one worried 'bout Sean, not the other way around.

"Ya always looking out for others lately, Arthur," Sean said. "First with that O'Driscoll slave, then that widow woman, bookworm, even Scarface, are you okay?"

Oh, now Sean was doing that too. How long before John did it as well? What was wrong with them all? But it was strange, Arthur realized, to see a more serious side of Sean. He must have been paying attention somewhat to Lenny's lessons 'cause he sounded more attuned to an American than otherwise. At the end of the day, Arthur recognized that Sean did care 'bout him.

"I am," Arthur replied.

"Ya lying."

"Go back to sleep, boy," Arthur finally gave up on the nice guy act, losing a bit of his temper.

"Arth-"

"I said now or I'll make Grimshaw force you to do stable duty."

Sean deflated slightly. "Alright, Arthur, well, ya know where my cot is if ya want to talk 'bout it."

Arthur didn't even try to sleep throughout the remaining night, as exhausted as he was. He'd seen the eager Irishman get his head blown off over and over again. It had played in his mind like them black-and-white "films" recently released.

Arthur Morgan wasn't himself.

Sean MacGuire saw it last night and the moment he woke up.

He'd known it.

Truth be told, the Irishman was scared. He'd constantly liked to tease Arthur. It was one of his favorite things to do when trying to make the camp brighter.

But it had unnerved him terribly. It was almost as if the man witnessed something horribly damaged. Plenty of stories came to mind, many that Sean knew, but the haunted look in his eyes had taken him aback.

The man wasn't just watching him when he was eating with Karen, Scarface, and the former prostitute. Arthur had been known to keep hidden. But it was almost as if he wasn't trying to stay hidden.

Then, when Sean did guard duty, not wanting to piss off the terrifying old man again, Arthur's eyes still followed him. He'd always liked Arthur, viewing him as an older brother since he'd ended up with this gang of unliving slackers. He was a cold killer, someone who protected the Van Der Linde gang, and the Irish strived to be like him.

But in the past weeks, things changed.

Arthur became more... lighter, they were saying. More considerate. More paranoid. More questioning of Dutch. He didn't understand why they'd questioned Dutch. In Sean's opinion, folks needed to stop giving Dutch a hard time 'bout that Blackwater situation. The man wasn't a fortune teller.

The last time he had been this nervous, it was when Grimshaw discovered he'd puked in the camp funds. Not only did he try to hide from her, but she knew it was him and searched for him for hours. He'd thought he got away when Lenny, the little snitch, told her his location. His worst fears came true, and he was forced to sleep on his stomach for the next three days. This wasn't like that though...

Micah's followers, Cleet and Joe, aggravated the Irish. They were just like that slippery fucker. Sean'd thought they would be useful. They were nothing compared to the Callander brothers. If there was anything he'd agreed with big man 'bout, it was the loss of those two.

He'd considered approaching Arthur, but when he saw the lost look in his eyes, he changed his mind.

Eventually, Sean found Marston. The man was actually sitting with Jack. The Irish couldn't stop smiling at the scene for a brief moment. Jack's innocence would always be refreshing.

The older Marston caught him staring and beckoned Jack away. "Alright, Jackie, you should go back to your mother."

The boy responded with optimism that Sean hadn't heard for a while. "Okay, pa."

He ran off, searching for the women to find his ma.

Now alone with Marston, aside from Pearson lingering nearby, looking for cabbages and other food sources he could use, Sean didn't know how to start this discussion. He and Scarface hadn't gotten along as much since they'd met.

"What do you want?" John asked, his tone laced with irritation when Sean didn't move away.

Sean felt his heart beating a little. Sometimes, he didn't know why folks didn't like him... He quashed that thought and focused. "It's Arthur."

Curiosity followed. "Arthur? What's wrong with Arthur?"

"The Englishman-" Sean responded, "-ain't stopped looking at me, I tell ya."

"Maybe you should go to Hosea," John shrugged. "He would be able to talk to Arthur."

"I thought 'bout it," Sean admitted. "But Arthur ain't been himself lately. Saw him push the old greaser away last night. What happened to him when I was gone?"

John looked like he was thinking 'bout it for a moment before he shrugged. "Don't know. He's been like that since he found me on the mountain back in Colter."

"Blackwater must have gotten to his head..."

"I can't tell you that. If not Hosea, go to Charles. He has a keen eye for these sorts of things. Maybe he'd got a sniff."

Sean resisted a sigh of frustration. With everything going as it is now, the Irishman was sure he would lose his mind. All of the jokes and attempts to lighten the camp's spirits just ain't working right now. Arthur's attitude aside, Sean wondered what would happen if things worsened and a fight occurred between him and Dutch.

He'd tried to convince himself if Arthur held a bit more faith, everything would be alright.

Sean settled with a nod, doubting that Marston could help him in any way. It wasn't long before he found Charles, cleaning his hunting rifle.

The Irish didn't know if the man was going to care or listen. Charles was always either brooding in silence or grumbling under his breath. No matter how many times Sean tried, the man only turned his nose up, scoffed, or looked down, and there was no telling what he was thinking.

"Hey, broods," Sean said in his characteristic fashion."

Charles said nothing.

"I need yer help. Scarface told me I should come to ya."

Still silence...

Sean tried to push him with a joke, "Oh, come on, you can't ignore me forever. I'm right here."

Charles still ain't relent.

Now, Sean felt the urge to squirm. He should just give up, but he couldn't...

"Charles..." He decided to use his name, hoping he would understand the severity of the situation if he did so. "Please, I really need it this time. Really..." He ain't known who else he could go to.

Charles seemed to ignore him for a second, and Sean was stuck, wondering if it was just pointless to try. At last, the dark-skinned man sighed, placed the hunting rifle at the corner of the nearby tent, and came out, still holding the rag. "I'm not in the mood for another one of your tricks." He folded his arms across his chest with an unimpressed stare.

"It's not that," Sean denied. "I need to make sure if you know Arthur is alright."

Surprise crossed the other man's face for a brief moment, but it filtered away. "He should be. Why?"

The Irish bristled slightly. "Arthur's been acting differently..." He concluded. "He's been losing faith in Dutch."

Charles betrayed no emotion, keeping his eyes on him.

Sean couldn't help but continue. "I don't understand why. It ain't Dutch's fault 'bout that whole Blackwater business. Ya ca think. Ya can use yer head. But ya never know what you're getting into."

Charles' eyes sharpened for a moment, and he stared at him. Unsure if he had said something offensive, the Irishman knew he would have to be careful.

"I understand why Arthur would have lost faith in him. Hosea told him not to go through with that massacre and he did. Micah did, and he did it when they were doing a con elsewhere. We lost the Callander brothers and Jenny." The man replied. He paused for a moment, his eyes darting slightly as if recollecting an event. He shook his head and stared at the Irish, before scoffing, "We don't even have the Blackwater money."

That was a good point. The Irish hated to admit it. Dutch was still trying his best. Sean knew that. But if Arthur and John questioned him, how long before folks around here began to question Dutch? Couldn't they see what Dutch were trying to do?

"You're thinking that listening to Micah too much Dutch does?" The younger Irish inquired, though he knew the answer.

"In my experience, all Micah does is cause trouble," Charles replied. "He's a risk. With those new goons, both might become more unpredictable."

"Those new unfunny clowns?" Sean asked.

"Exactly," Charles nodded.

"Dutch needs more gunners. Without 'em, them savages would hunt us down."

"Micah isn't known for having the most reliable intel or interest, Sean," Charles said.

"If something goes wrong, Dutch'll notice. He always do."

Charles scoffed slightly. "Dutch isn't a god. He's capable of flaws like you and me."

The words irritated Sean.

The Irish felt the urge to defend the man who took him in. Dutch and Hosea had him dead to rights, yet the former regarded his killing attempt as a sign of him being a worthy individual in the gang. Dutch probably ain't perfect, but he was the closest. How long have they been doing this? Years? Decades? Dutch got them through so far...

"He have been leading the gang just fine for years," Sean pointed at him with his index finger. "When will ya and Arthur understand that? The new guys might be mighty good killers, I tell ya."

"I understand that, and I believe Dutch does as well. But you have to think for yourself. Don't forget that Arthur usually does most of the heavy lifting for Dutch. It is understandable if he questions him and doesn't follow every order mindlessly. You should strive to do the same."

"Do the same?" Sean inquired. "I'm loyal to my family."

"There's more to life than following orders, Sean," Charles answered. "Being loyal to someone and asking the right type of questions instead of deferring to them by some misguided code doesn't decrease your value."

"Aye! Dutch brought us here!" Sean protested.

"And we should be grateful and able to hold him accountable at once." Charles sighed. "One day, you're gonna have to look at yourself, reflect, and think as a person. Not as a follower of someone, but as Sean MacGuire, strip away all the joking and take things literally for once; and wonder what type of man you want to be."

"But we wouldn't be together if it weren't for Dutch."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean Dutch is automatically correct every time. Arthur is calling him out, not because he doesn't love Dutch; or he could have just left, but because he genuinely cares about him as much as he does for everyone else."

"It could be for the money," Sean recommended.

"If money were the reason, Arthur would be long gone. You have to consider this: Arthur has known Dutch for twenty years. They've fought together. With the exception of Hosea and John, he knows Dutch better than anyone. You're going to have to start asking questions if you want to live a long life. If Lenny could ask questions, you can."

Sean paled slightly, gut twisting at those words, but he offered no response.

The Irish only turned and walked away, his thoughts on Charles' words, namely;

'One day, you're gonna have to look at yourself, reflect, and think as a person. Not as a follower of someone, but as Sean MacGuire, strip away all the joking and take things literally for once; and wonder what type of man you want to be.'

The day moved painfully slowly.

Any time, and Arthur'd expected Sean was going to drop dead again, shot from afar. It didn't happen. He watched the Irish particularly closely, unable to relive that event yet again. He kept his eyes on his surroundings, fully prepared to draw in case someone shot at him.

Fortunately, Sean's guard duties seemed to tire him out as usual, and the Irishman collapsed on his cot. Karen was at his side. The two were yet to be in an official relationship, though it was only a matter of time, Arthur'd suspected.

It became clear that Sean ain't going to die. At least, not right now. The fate that had fallen upon him the other time had been avoided. It was up to Arthur to break his tinted views of Dutch and make him see how this life wasn't for them.

Now, he'd needed to go into Rhodes tomorrow and ask Pearson if he needed some supplies. Part of him was still concerned 'bout doing that, but they couldn't stay here forever without some necessities.

A hand was placed on his back when Arthur finally stopped staring at him and looked at the evening sky. He turned around to see Charles, a slightly concerned look crossing over his face.

"He's worried about you, you know that, right, Arthur?" Charles asked rhetorically. He then added, "I am too."

Arthur's eyebrows arched before he sighed and stared away. "You wouldn't understand even if I told you."

"What if I do?" Charles pushed back. "I'm not blind, Arthur, something have been happening between you and Dutch. Blackwater was scarring, but I feel like it's something more... intense."

Arthur grimaced. "He won't listen to me 'bout Micah," the words slipped out before he could stop himself.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Charles asked firmly. "I doubt it'll do much good, but I can try, at least."

Arthur scoffed out a mirthless laugh. "Dutch would never listen to to you 'bout something like this. He won't listen to any of us. He probably-he probably respect us, and all of you, but we're meant to listen to him no matter what." He sighed. It only required everything he had being at stake for Dutch to listen. But even so, that might be a temporary solution 'till next time.

All the more reasons, Arthur might have to cut himself loose sooner.

"I know you have been stressful lately."

The gunslinger shook his head. "It's not just that, Charles."

"Then what is it?" Charles' face flickered. Despite his loyalty, the want to help seemed to still be ingrained inside of him. "You keep avoiding folks, and it's making everyone very concerned. That's why we keep asking you. So I want you to tell me. This will stay between us."

His tone almost got through to Arthur.

Almost...

"I can't tell you..." Arthur responded, guilt-ridden as he turned away from him, "not yet."

Behind him, the dark-skinned man's eyes bore into him.

Chapter Text

Sadie Adler ain't know what to think 'bout Arthur Morgan on most days.

Sometimes, it felt like he ain't belong here. It was hard to believe someone gentle as him was in any sort of Outlaw's gang. The gunslinger was far more soft than anyone would have thought. However, that wasn't always a case as he would scold other members. It was a reminder of how one with such a gentle voice couldn't be underestimated. He was both compassionate and firm.

Just like...

Damn, she'd missed her husband.

She really did.

But he wasn't coming back.

No matter what she did, Jake was gone. Gone. Gone. GONE!

Sadie ain't have a reason to stay after the gang had downed Colm O'Driscoll and his cronies, but she did. Oh, she did. It was due to the comforting of the women and Arthur that she was uplifted slightly to be even the semblance of an happy woman she used to be.

Her feelings, the same ones she'd held for Jake, were suddenly centered around the gunslinger. Sometimes, she missed owning a ranch, being with a happy husband in a small world that ain't give a shit. Other times, she felt like she had gotten over the pain. It ain't make sense. Both these conflicting feelings and the fact that she was already longing for another man after his passing.

For the first few months after her husband died, she was in a complete fog. Then she began to wake up and slowly came back to life again. She noticed the happiness that surrounded the camp with the others: John and Abigail, Sean and Karen, Kieran and Mary-Beth. They were supportive and wonderful, but it was just difficult to be alienated; the tag-along like Grimshaw.

She realized she missed having a man to be with, but she knew it was not her choice. Another man might be interested in her eventually, and she would have to force herself to get over it. Women ain't have a high role in society. They were meant to follow behind men and be good wives, regardless of their protests.

However, she was different from most women.

Many men she'd crossed slapped her across the face and dismissed her cause she ain't ever let go of what she'd believed in.

That was until Jake came along. He'd welcomed her independence, enjoyed it even, and allowed her to continue to speak up before and after their wedding. That was one of the reasons why she loved him so dearly. He cared 'bout her, never raised his hand against her, and was the light in her life. When dimmed...

She numbly lifted her head, finding Kieran and Mary-Beth staring at each other. They were officially not a couple yet, but they most certainly communicated like one. The two cared for each other to an extreme degree, and it made her long for that affection again.

"Mrs. Adler," Pearson, the camp cook, said, snapping her out of her thoughts. "I need your help."

Sadie nodded. She knew it wasn't fair. She could have ended up with worse than the O'Driscolls. Some part of her felt pity for Kieran, not even wanting to know what those damned savages put him through.

Still, it didn't stop a scowl stretching across her face. After the latest attack, the widow knew she couldn't complain. But doing the same routine all day for the past five to six weeks was beginning to grate on her impatience. As she chopped the vegetables, she forced a smile at the cook and told him she was done. He nodded in satisfaction and gathered them up and took them to who knows where.

Finally, she decided to approach Arthur. The man was sitting down next to the edge of a cliff and marking in that journal.

"Hi, Arthur," she said.

"Mrs. Adler," Arthur replied, looking up briefly to acknowledge her, "how can I help you?"

She thought 'bout how she should approach this before she declared. "My husband and I shared the work, all of it." Her face hardened. "I don't feel like chopping vegetables for a living." Arthur nodded once with a small twitch of the lips. "I was out on the fields, carrying a knife, and using a gun."

"Let me guess," Arthur replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "you want to go into the land of men."

Sadie rolled her eyes, the response dry: "One day, women would be free to walk among the land too." She'd hoped she would be around to see it.

Arthur said so quietly that she almost didn't hear him, "I hope so."

That was another thing. Unlike many men in society, Arthur had never seen another man and woman as anything to be treated differently. No matter their race, given his bond with Lenny, or their gender, like with her, he just saw them as one in the same.

Hopefully, men all over the world would be like him one day.

Arthur moved up to the camp cook...

"Hey, Pearson, the lady decided to find herself among the lands of men. Got anything you want me to pick up on this endeavor?" Arthur said to the camp cook, standing next to the pot, no doubt planning to feed the repetitive dinner he had been doing for the past weeks.

Swanson shot out of the nearby seat, "She have defiled us! She have defiled us, Arthur Morgan! I'm telling ya!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Reverend," Arthur said. He looked at Pearson. "Why are you allowing him around the food, Pearson?"

"Grimshaw told me to keep an eye on him. Apparently, I'm a babysitter now, and he's a good cooking... advisor," Simon remarked sarcastically.

Pearson moved away from the giant pot and picked up his signature white paper. "Yeah, on this list." He handed it over.

"Come on, let's go."

Just before approaching the Walker, she was tempted to tap the horse's neck. She reminded herself that it belonged to an O'Driscoll, and disgust rose in her throat again. She was disgusted with the impulse. It was an animal, one arguably innocent. It was probably picked up at some stable or something those damn savages raided. It wasn't fair to be judgmental over an animal.

That ain't what Jake would have wanted.

Walking past it, she took the offered hand of the gunslinger who already swung on top of the horse. Arthur'd pulled on the reins, and the horse neighed obediently, before taking off in the direction of the town. Rhodes, they called it.

The ride was by no means a quick one, but it ain't mean that Sadie didn't enjoy it.

Even after they arrived in town, Arthur slowed the ride, allowing himself to observe the town. She'd sworn his form stiffened, and felt his body tightening. It was as if he was reliving a past, terrible experience.

"Arthur," she said, worry in her tone. "Arthur?" She tried again, a little bit louder this time.

That did the trick. Arthur looked down at her, his eyes void for a moment, sending fear down her spine.

"Are you alr-"

"Yes." His eyes landed on the General Store. He got off the horse and hitched it to the nearest pole, before helping her...

They'd noticed a couple was talking in aggravated tones nearby but nothing happened. The woman looked afraid, her fists tight. But that was all they'd saw as they entered the store.

Sadie frowned, watching him, even as she'd chosen the items. Arthur had many deep and personal issues that made her worried 'bout him, suffice to say. It ain't a good thing to see such a kind man who tried to help others often not talk 'bout his problems. He'd decided the cook's supplies as well.

As they were walking out, they found the man now yelling at a woman, pointing his finger. "You filthy whore!" he growled, making her grimace. "I have better things to do than be trapped with you!"

She looked far too nervous. "I thought you would b-"

"Well, I ain't," he hissed, pointing his index finger at her face, making her recoil.

"Hey," Arthur finally interjected, his eyes filling with rage. "You goddamn animal, why don't you point that finger at someone your own size?"

The man's eyes locked onto his, ire still in them. "Ah, so you wanna play hero? Do you know who I am? My name is Timmy Vercetti."

Oh, he was one of those guys.

Arthur scoffed. "Am I supposed to be afraid of you?"

Anger rising, Vercetti swung his fist at Arthur's direction. With ease, the man caught his fist and twisted it, causing him to yelp loudly, which eventually turned into a full-blown shout, before pressing his knee against his back.

"Stay away from her from now on." Arthur declared. "You don't want to make me angry."

Vercetti glared at him for a moment before disappearing.

His demeanor softened towards the woman who was still staring after the man who had just run away. "Hey," Arthur collected a few dollars from his satchel and held them in front of the woman, "this should be enough to help you, right?"

"I want to be wi-" she began, looking down at the money with hesitation.

Arthur sighed, "You can't chase after someone who doesn't love you, sweetheart. He ain't gonna be brought. If he'd wanted to be there, he would be already. Don't go and get yourself killed cause of loyalty."

The woman looked conflicted before the expression faded slowly, and she finally took the cash offered to her, nodding in appreciation. "Thank you. You're a good man..."

Arthur tipped his hat once and moved back to the Walker.

"Are you alright?" She eventually had to ask.

"Yes," he answered.

Sadie's face screwed in agitation. "Arthur..."

Something in him snapped. "I said, I'm fine, woman," he growled. "You ain't have to keep trying to make me talk. Let's just get what we need and go back."

Sadie didn't grow angry. "You should talk to Hosea 'bout what's troubling you, Arthur, you are doing it again."

"Doing what?" he asked sharply.

"Keeping them emotions bottled up inside of you and pushing away everyone who's trying to help ya. I've seen folks do that and it never ends well."

Arthur huffed, "Why do you care so much?"

"Cause..."

"Cause what?" His tone became harsher.

"Cause..." Sadie wrapped her arms around him, the urge too tempting. "Cause you're too good to be like this all the time, Arthur. For once, let someone help you."

Arthur stiffened, his eyes wide. "I... I can't. You can't help me, Sadie."

She thought 'bout it for a moment before she decided to press further, "Does it have something to do with Micah and Dutch? I'm not blind, Arthur, they have been staring at you a lot recently."

Arthur broke away from her, "...No, it doesn't." A lie...

Sadie was suddenly filled with the determination to do something. Anything.

She won't let Arthur do this alone.

But how could she help was the question when he didn't want to answer.

That was what she'd been wondering 'till they got back to the camp.

John Marston could admit he ain't been this happy in a long time.

It was only due to Arthur Morgan that he had this much to be happy 'bout. When John allowed reality to set in, all that came was shame and guilt over how he'd treated not only Abigail but also little Jack. He'd made him feel worthless and caused the same pain people he cared 'bout onto the kid.

Less and less, John had even thought 'bout going back to the tent and decided to stay near Abigail 'till they were old together. That talk was something that needed to be done.

"Pa, I got someone to show you," the little boy's voice broke him out of his thoughts, full of happiness and excitement.

Unsure how to respond to that, John's face flushed momentarily. It didn't make sense. How could he, usually a man of many words like Dutch, be stunned by this little boy?

John asked curtly, "What is it, boy?"

Before he knew it, his son kidnapped him.

"Look, Pa," Jack said, halfway dragging the taller man 'till he motioned to the dog. "It's a new dog. A new dog!"

John looked up at the black mutt.

"His name's Cain!"

Truth be told, John, like Arthur and even Bill, had always loved animals; be it dogs, cats, or horses. Animals were more loyal than people-an unfortunate truth that John learned when he was away for a year.

Animals ain't deserve to be part of this world, for folks like 'em didn't deserve them. No amount of good, honorable folks, would be able to live up to the loyalty of animals.

John whistled, and the dog came slowly, allowing Jack to laugh and pet him. He followed likewise, feeling his black fur and sighing with happiness, which the dog obviously took notice of and began to lick.

John spat, trying to push him off, but the dog ain't giving up easily. "Alright, alright, boy." When he finally got him off, he looked at his beaming son, ad his heart melted. "Well, Jackie, do you want a dog?" He asked, smiling somewhat. Damn, he was going to have to wash that feeling of spit from him afterwards.

It ain't like Grimshaw was never willing to help whenever any of them came home, smelling.

"Yes!" The boy practically leapt.

"Okay, then, go find Hosea and he'll tell Dutch." John'd imagined that was how things would be going from now on with Dutch's moody attitude as of late.

"Yay!" Jack ran off.

He noticed Javier and Bill playing five-card draw from afar. The latter groaned 'bout his coming defeat while Javier laughed with condescension and boasted to his face 'bout his victory.

John rolled his eyes and decided to leave the scene, walking around the camp. Finally, his leg didn't felt as stiff and his scars were not as agonizing anymore.

Someone disturbed his servitude again. "He-hey, John."

He looked to the source of the voice and found Molly moving up to him.

"Hi, Ms. O'Shea," he nodded, 'bout to continue walking when her voice stopped him.

Molly looked down at her nails, terrified, when she responded. "May I have a quick word?"

"Yes, Ms. O'Shea?" John asked.

"Ah, call me Molly would ya?" She declared.

"Sure, Molly." John gripped her outstretched hand and helped her up.

"John, how is Dutch? I mean, how does he seem to you?"

"'Bout the same as usual, I guess," John shrugged, knowing that wasn't exactly true. He ain't wanted to admit it, but John was scared of what was happening between Arthur and Dutch. Worse, he couldn't stand behind the latter this time when most of Morgan's points were actually true.

"I... I really love him, you know... but if he... Like he always says, loyalty is everything, so..." She sighed. "I... I'm gonna be honest, John, I think folks are driving him crazy."

John looked at her for a long moment. She took his silence as an expectation of denial.

"I mean... well, you see, I notice that he spends more time around Micah since Arthur's change."

"Arthur's got a mind of his own," John still felt the impulse to defend his older brother as he used to. "Dutch ain't always right, Molly."

"He ain't exactly been reasonable with Dutch either, John. And well..." Her eyes now sparked with anger before it receded again, "I'm..."

"Worried?" John finished. Dutch had welcomed him back with open arms when he'd come back that year he was gone. He'd expected he would have to deal with Dutch's lashings and speeches 'bout why traitors ain't part of the gang and offered his own counterarguments, but that wasn't to be.

Even so, since then, things ain't been the same between the two, but John still respected and loved the man 'till Blackwater when doubts started settling in for his insanity.

"Well, yes," she confirmed with a nod. "He doesn't even listen to me as much..."

Damn it... John felt some pity for the woman. He knew that she'd cared 'bout Dutch obsessively and wanted to serve his every need. Yet, John'd only seen her as a replacement for Annabelle. She was ostracized by the gang cause of her upper-class history, and damn, this might be something he needed to bring up to Morgan later.

Perhaps it was what Morgan said a while ago, but John felt a sudden burst of determination. He'd seen people get driven crazy before, and Molly could be yet another one.

"Molly, you were manipulated into leaving behind your family," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, wanting to word this carefully. "But you gotta know that money ain't going to buy his love for ya. You have to find someone who appreciates ya. Dutch, at the end of the day, is the gang's leader."

"What am I supposed to do, John? Leave?" She slumped her shoulders. "I don't have anywhere to go."

John sighed, growing tired of this discussion. Damn Morgan for not being here when the woman needed him the most. Hosea was also available, but Arthur seemed to be more vocal against Dutch and his recent moves than the old coot somehow. John would have laughed once if he'd learned that would one day be the case.

"You don't need Dutch. There are other people in the gang. Befriend Abigail, Karen, or even Tilly. You ain't have to be alone, Molly."

"I... I need him. He needs me."

"He needs the gang. Us-the shooters. The women-lie, cheaters, robbers, murder. Also cleaning and maintain the camp and everyone's clothes. And you ain't that popular with the women here." Oh, Abigail bitched quite a few times 'bout her since she and John came back together.

Molly's eyes widened. "B-"

John sighed, "It's your choice. Do you ever want to leave and go somewhere else? Ask Morgan. I'm sure he knows folks. Or stay here and feel bad for yourself. It ain't gonna phase Dutch. He's got a gang to run."

He ain't like what he was telling her, but she needed to hear it... just like he'd needed Arthur to tell him what he'd needed to hear.

Goddamn it, since when did Morgan influence him so much?

Chapter Text

Lenny was reading about mathematics. It had been difficult at first for even him, but when he started getting into the subject, the young outlaw couldn't deny the urge to get more proficient at it. He might even teach Arthur and the lads when he'd finally convinced them to get involved. After all, Sean MacGuire wasn't the only outlaw that had been avoiding him. The rest needed to get used to it because when they leave this life behind they have to know some things.

He felt movement beside him and spotted the form of Tilly. She wasn't much older than him, though sometimes he forgot that they were the same age.

"I need to talk ya brains."

Lenny frowned. "Sure, what is it, Til?"

"Not here." She caught sight of Bill lazing around, likely too drunk to even know what they were talking about.

Lenny complied with a nod, moving with her to the outside of camp. He really hoped Micah hadn't seen them, or Dutch. He didn't need rumors spreading.

Finding Javier — just his luck — standing in patrol not too far from them, Lenny was fortunate that the Mexican was focused on the trail ahead. He didn't want any problems with him either, especially since he and Tilly did have a connection, too, but his latest change of attitude was discernible.

Tilly waited, trying to find words for herself, "You really think Arthur could be right?"

"About what?"

"About it all. I see him questioning Dutch."

Lenny frowned. He wasn't the type to brood. That was Charles' job, but he might be doing a lot of that soon. Ain't no point in listening to Micah when he had someone who had been at his side for years.

"It's been a crazy time," Tilly continued before Lenny could answer. "But Dutch ain't led us wrong before. Things are getting better."

That did, at last, elicit a reaction. "Dutch ain't perfect, Tilly, there's always mistakes that humans will make."

Tilly stared at him. "Dutch is doing his best with what we've got."

Lenny shook his head. "His best?"

"Yes. His best." she enforced.

"Arthur and Hosea were both away on a con when he had us go to Blackwater. Hosea told him not to do that job, and he did it anyway. We lost the Callander brothers and Jenny because of that." Only now did he understand he had some contempt for Dutch and Micah. It was wrong. He felt bad about it. The former made a mistake, but he couldn't help it. Simply put, while Lenny didn't like Mac or Davey much, Jenny would have been alive if they never went to Blackwater.

"I'm... sorry, Lenny," Tilly said sincerely, placing her hand on his shoulder. "But you gotta think. Dutch has a plan."

Before Blackwater, those words may have been enough to get him to fall back into place. Lenny wasn't pleased with the idea of going to Blackwater in the first place. But he kept his doubts to himself. That was until Arthur started speaking out about Dutch, and those quiet doubts came back and increased.

At this point, it made Lenny wonder. Micah was a goddamn fool, but while Arthur's criticism was expected to anger Dutch since it was stressful times, the fact that he was listening more and more to the obvious racist and sexist asshole over Arthur was just absurd. How did Javier not see it? Or even Bill? It was just common sense.

"I don't like seeing any of them like this."

"No one does, Tilly, but do you think Arthur doesn't know him? He has more experience than all of us except John. He knows Dutch like the back of his hand."

Tilly opened her mouth, about to respond, but Lenny didn't let her.

"You believe what you want, Tilly, but Dutch's latest decisions have been a disaster. For the past six months, we have been getting in more danger. Micah ain't nothing but a hired killer. Arthur and Dutch are much more than that. I like to believe that their bond means Arthur would know more about the man who raised him."

Tilly looked him in the eyes, "You lost faith in him too?" She sighed, resigned. "What's wrong with all of you?"

"I'm still here, ain't I?" Lenny pointed out, becoming angry for a moment. "I just happen to agree with Arthur. Micah gets away with too much. He should have been kicked out. The man doesn't care about anyone but himself. He's made that clear. Dutch continues to provide excuses for him."

"And you're speaking as if Arthur can't be wrong? That he can't make mistakes either," Tilly said coldly. "I don't want him cut loose, but come on. Dutch is a busy man. All I'm seeing is you two and others unappreciative of his hard work."

Lenny couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Tilly, I'm aware that Arthur makes mistakes. We all do as humans. Arthur will probably be the first to tell you he can be wrong. You see how much he degrades himself. He calls himself ugly, he doesn't have a lot of confidence when it comes to women, he can be awkward at times, and such. We've both saw this before."

The dark-skinned woman looked at him, a smirk coming across his lips. "He annoys you too when he does that, doesn't he? John and I thought 'bout tying him up to a tree and telling him that you're handsome once."

The tension calmed for a moment. Lenny nodded with a smile. "Yes, Arthur doesn't have faith in himself. He's always been depressed. Even more so lately. You are like his sister, Tilly. He would do anything to protect you."

"I know," she nodded. "I'm worried 'bout Javier." She shot a look at the Mexican, who was still staring out from afar, his eyes piercing through anyone who came within his line of sight. "He hasn't been himself lately either."

"Javier has always been one of the most loyal in the gang," Lenny shrugged. "I feel like it would take a lot for him to call out Dutch, and he's taking it hard that folks are asking questions to the leader of us."

"You never know," she batted an eyebrow. "Maybe with that mindset, we can get away."

"Maybe. But one couldn't be too thorough, however."

That ended the discussion. Tilly moved away, while Lenny had a second to be surprised with how it had been this peaceful. Since a few weeks ago, when John "recommended" that they kill Arthur (that joke gave Lenny a heart attack), and the fact that Javier and Bill didn't argue, Lenny was also keeping an eye on all of them.

Folks often forget that he was as good a sharpshooter as Arthur, Micah, Javier, and Dutch because of his age. But Lenny vowed if anyone actually tried to kill Arthur, the dark-skinned man would put a bullet through them and get Arthur out. It could be the last thing he did, but he wouldn't go down until that person was with him.

Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

Yet, if it did, Lenny knew who he was loyal to.

"I needed that," Sean breathed out, satisfied as his head lay against the cot of the tent. Karen was always special enough to make sex intense. It made him feel complete at times and took his thoughts away from Dutch and everything going on.

The woman snuggled against his chest and nodded. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

They remained content with one another before the afterglow began to fade, and they went their separate ways.

By the time the Irish came to, Joe and Cleet; those two jerks, were playing a game of cards. They both looked up with an irritating smirk. Sean was getting more and more tempted to shoot them on sight.

He was loyal to Dutch, but what the hell had he been thinking about letting these two into the gang? They were 'bout as useful as Bill on his finest day. Meaning useless at all.

"Hey, my little Irish, why don't you share the lady?" Joe whistled, looking at Karen, who was now lifting up the shotgun from Javier to take over guard duties for a day.

"She's something," Cleet snickered.

Sean's fury rose, nevertheless. He didn't like to admit it, but the more sex they had, the more he cared 'bout Karen.

"Oh, fuck off, you inbred cunt. I'm sure you have enough from sucking off that master of yours. You ain't got the slightest clue how to approach a real lady." Sean dismissed.

"Hey," Micah approached, putting his hands at his side with a clear false platitude, "now, you got a be kinder to your new brothers, Sean."

"None of yous my brothers," Sean growled. Arthur, Lenny, even grouch over there," he motioned to Charles, sitting down in silence, "and John's my brothers."

"Oh, Sean," Micah's eyes gleamed, "what would Dutch think if he hears 'bout this?"

"You ain't got no right bringing your boys in here, Micah, not like this. You're overstepping, I tell ya. Dutch needs to make an example of you. Ya getting into his head!"

"A survivor I am nothing but of, Sean!" Micah boasted, intimating Sean. "Oh, no, you hear this, boys? The sweet little Irish telling me that I am brainwashing Dutch when I'm trying to treat folks the same unlike good old Arthur." Both Cleet and Joe laughed at once.

He ain't wanted anything more than to wipe that triumphant grin off Micah's face. The fucker deserved nothing less.

And so Sean lunged forward.

Micah kicked him in the stomach and cackled as Sean vaulted over and wrapped his hand around his stomach. "Oh, naughty, naughty, my little Irish, we don't want anyone else to get hurt, do we?" the bastard taunted from above.

"Fuck... you..." Sean breathed out, standing back up. He'd considered shooting him now, but he knew he couldn't. Micah got things done, and Dutch had considered him useful, and Sean was loyal to Dutch.

If Dutch had thought something was wrong with his presence, he would have said so already, right? Micah was regrettably one of the best shooters they had.

Still, Sean couldn't stop speaking spitefully, "Go to hell, you spineless piece of horseshit."

Trying his best to ignore their simultaneous laughter as he walked away from them, Sean was thankful Micah didn't have a strong kick.

Eventually, he heard the familiar sounds of gunshots and found Kieran practicing, yet again being torn away from Mary-Beth.

"Are you alright?" Kieran inquired.

"No, slave, don't worry about it."

"Slave? You ain't call me that since you've gotten to know me." Sean huffed. "Let me guess, Micah, Cleet, and Joe."

"Smart thinking,," Sean replied sharply. "You ain't got to talk so much, you know. I'm beginning to wonder why Arthur keeps ya around. Ain't nothing around."

Kieran scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I doubt Arthur would think that way."

"That old Englishman doesn't know of the virtue of the good Sean MacGuire."

"Well, let's see you shoot."

The argument was temporarily forgotten, and Sean decided to work on his shooting. He'd missed except a few times, and it made him grit his teeth. Damn gun was still against him.

Sean raised his revolver, eyes narrowing on the distant tree he'd chosen as his target. His hands were still shaking from the earlier encounter with Micah, that smug bastard. Even Cleet and Joe's laughter still echoed in his ears, but he pushed it all down. Kieran's presence next to him, doing much better in shooting, wasn't helping much either, though he tried to ignore the other man.

He squeezed the trigger, and the bullet missed the mark. Again. He cursed under his breath. Damn, he'd just performed so well.

'Should shoot Micah's dick riders,' Sean mused, and found himself smirking at the thought. They would be good training fire, and they were just as disliked by everyone except Dutch, who welcomed them into the gang.

"Maybe try not to think about Micah so much," Kieran suggested, his voice teasing.

"How do you know who I'm thinking about?"

"It seems to rattle you more than it should."

Sean glanced at him, narrowing his eyes. "And who asked you for your wisdom, Kieran?"

Kieran shrugged, unbothered by Sean's poisonous tone. "Just saying. You get worked up over them, and it's not going to do you any favors. I just ignore them. Why bother with 'em?"

"Because they're trouble, that's why. Micah's out for himself, and Dutch doesn't seem to be able to see it. And as for Cleet and Joe—well, you know them, they're fucking useless." Sean spat on the ground. "If I don't keep an eye on 'em, who will?"

Kieran shot again, his bullet hitting the target dead-on. "From what I've seen, Arthur is the lieutenant to Dutch. I'm sure if something's up, he can handle the situation."

Sean grunted in reply, turning back to his target and raising his rifle once more. He hated how Kieran had a point. He didn't want to admit it, but letting Micah get under his skin was becoming a bigger problem. Karen had already told him as much, urging him to stay level-headed. But it was difficult to let it go when he could feel Dutch slipping further under Micah's influence, day by day.

However, it wasn't his place to question Dutch. He had gotten them out of close scrapes in the past.

As he fired again, the shot finally hit near the center of the target. "There we go!" Sean exclaimed, grinning for the first time that day. He gave Kieran a playful nudge with his elbow. "See that, lad? I'm just getting warmed up. Beat that."

Kieran smirked. "Okay."

Quickly lining up his shots, he released the handle and allowed bullets to hit three trees at the same time, giving Sean a smirk as if to say "Take that".

Sean accepted the challenge, firing his revolver at the bottle on top of the broken tree. He grunted in frustration when he'd finally hit it... narrowly. By "narrowly," he meant that the glass shattered on the right side, leaving one side damaged.

Well, at least he hit something again...

Now he had to keep it that way...

One day, he would be the best shooter of them all.

"Feck!"

Kieran pushed him forward playfully. "Hmph, that would be something. Sean MacGuire, finally a good shooter. You could save someone's life one day with that."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, ya fake Irish," the Irish rolled his eyes, "you wait. Time is on my side."

Chapter Text

"Are we going to do something, Dutch?" Bill asked at last after another week of nothing went by. "I mean, I'm sorry, boss, but we're not making any progress."

Dutch made a faint scoffing noise. "I have decided to listen to my dearest son and Hosea."

The obviously irritated Dutch didn't have to elaborate on things further, and it annoyed Bill equally as much. When would Arthur see the bigger picture? They couldn't stay in the same hideout forever. Eventually, someone from the past would find them. Dutch were trying to keep them safe from local laws and those who may be chasing after them since what happened at Blackwater.

Bill praised Arthur for putting that bastard, Colm O'Driscoll, down. But it was his lack of faith in Dutch; his sudden shift in attitude. Ain't he got an appreciation for the men who saved him? Don't he have any faith?

Micah was right. Arthur was losing his head.

"But what are we going to do now?" The dishonorably discharged soldier asked, hands clenching into fists in irritation.

"Ain't it obvious, son?" Dutch asked rhetorically. Through gritted teeth, he continued, "We'll follow their recommendations to make sure this strain don't grow worse."

"Bu-"

"Are you doubting me?" A sudden glint passed through Dutch's face.

Bill put his hands up in defense. "Woah, woah, sorry, Dutch, I didn't mean to question you."

"Not to worry, Bill, you've been showing loyalty and faith," Dutch praised, making his chest beat heavier at the praise.

The fat man turned around and moved back to his tent. He didn't know what to feel now. If someone told him that Arthur would have become a liability after the Blackwater robbery mere weeks ago, Bill would have laughed in their face and been unable to believe it.

Now, Bill just couldn't help expressing disgust toward the man. If anything was needed at this time, it was trust and faith in their leader.

Couldn't he see his attitude was beginning to affect the camp?

Upon not finding Micah in his tent, Bill searched the area. Eventually, he found Micah near the lake somewhere far from the camp, alone, sitting, legs folded. He frowned, his eyes narrowing at the asshole. He wasn't blind. Eventually, the son of a bitch might have to be put down when Bill had his own gang.

"Spoke to Dutch, ain't ya, my fat friend?" Micah greeted, cocking his revolver.

"Yes," Bill confessed, the words admittedly going over his head for a moment. "We aren't going to be making any moves," he couldn't help but add with dark intent, staring distantly at the empty tent across from them where Arthur rested.

"Morgan hasn't been himself lately. The man obviously lost his mind after Blackwater." Micah stated, remaining indifferent even in the face of a drastic situation. "I know you care 'bout Morgan, but there's only a matter of time 'till he snaps."

"Do you think he needs help?" Bill asked uncertainly, his thoughts traveling to those people who were known to help folks. "Psychotherapy" was the word, but it wouldn't last. If Arthur went to vent to someone about his issues, it would cause other problems since they would know about the gang's misdeeds in trying to find a better life and would report it to the law.

"I believe he should be cut loose," Micah answered sincerely. "Arthur's fighting is good, but he is just one man. We cannot afford to lose more people because he wants to be a pacifist or saint."

"Well, what can we do?"

"Arthur's influence is too widespread for cutting him loose to be a wise decision," Micah said.

The man flexed his fists, a wave of sadness coming over him despite himself.

Micah stared down regretfully. "Sorry, Bill, but I think it might be for the best if we have to take more extreme measures-not now, but eventually. Maybe, we ought to use Marston's..." he paused for a moment, finding a word, before settling on, "suggestion," and he continued in the same ashamed tone, "to remove Morgan."

Bill tried to remember that night, and when he finally did, his head pounded.

"You mean kill Arthur?" Such an idea was almost repulsive.

"Not now," Micah repeated the words when Bill's eyes became considerate. "We have to plan this out and convince Dutch..."

His words didn't matter anymore.

Fuck him and fuck Dutch if he had to.

This could be the opportunity he was waiting for. Folks would come and thank him when they'd stopped lying low!

They'd always thought he was an idiot!

Loyalty to Dutch and Hosea ain't matter as much as Bill getting the respect he'd deserved.

What the two men didn't see was Kieran standing nearby after a fishing trip to hear this new one, his eyes widening, before darting off.

Once summoned, Josiah Trelawny moved up to the form of the King. The man had always been able to respect Dutch van der Linde for being able to keep an astonishing grip on control, and at the same time, keeping the lot of them united.

Yet, despite his respect for Dutch, it had always been Hosea Matthews whom Josiah found interesting.

The two - Matthews and himself - represented an older version of the gang, where they were into grifts and cons rather than just massacring their way through everything. A more refined kind of outlaw.

Yet, that didn't mean Josiah wouldn't try his best to find contacts elsewhere. Dutch'd provided him with chances; it allowed him to spread his base and grow closer with contact from afar. With his secret family and other "employments," Josiah had not always been allowed to be around.

Dutch puffed on his pipe, allowing the smoke to rise into the air, somehow giving the leader of the Van Der Linde gang a more commanding presence.

"Josiah," Dutch greeted. "Now that we're in private, I wish to tell you that I require your talents."

"My talents?" Josiah's lips curled up. He was always happy to accommodate, as long as it favored him in the long run.

Dutch nodded. "Your adaptation has always been noticed, Josiah. You don't have to pretend otherwise here. I want to make sure that we remain undiscovered, that our trails are covered by anyone who may be following us, and that we won't have another ambush from the O'Driscolls or outside forces."

Josiah frowned. "Ah, yes, I assume I'll be conferring with Arthur Morgan."

"No," Dutch's eyes darkened, and Josiah's lips twisted into a half-frown. "That is unnecessary. I want to discover locations known only to me in case the worst happens."

It was an odd circumstance.

Josiah knew that in only a few months civilization would be changing. Signs were already starting to pop up already. But, Dutch giving this order made him wonder.

"Why not inform Morgan, sir?" Josiah queried, arching an eyebrow.

"You are a loyal member of the gang. While I do love my sons," Dutch's eyes twinkled, "both of them have been questioning me as of late, seemingly believing that we should leave all of this behind so we can live and love." His fingers tightened around the pipe and a small laugh escaped him. "I need backup... contingencies. In case the gang splinters because they no longer seem interested in loyalty, it is necessary."

Loyalty?

And Josiah wondered, what would make both Morgan and Marston question Dutch van der Linde? The two men obviously cared for Dutch and the gang, having done multiple favors in the past. It all changed when the latter left for a year, which strained his bond with Dutch.

"Your plan to go out to the west is no longer on the table, then," Josiah said more than asked.

Dutch smoked some more with the pipe, his eyes locked on him throughout as more smoke filled the air. At last, he finally responded.

"Josiah, your adaptability is proficient. It is needed in this time of despair. In a few more months, it will be a new century. We need to survive the coming tides. My sons are smart, but they don't recognize what must be done for us to accomplish this, unlike Micah Bell. The riskier the job, the bigger the payroll."

Josiah never liked Micah Bell. He was a predictable killer. Where Dutch was a calculated one, working via his tongue, Bell believed he could just storm through and slaughter whoever got in his way. Yet, Josiah could acknowledge that Bell was true to form when it came to the representation of the Wild West. He didn't have any care for anyone but himself, and while Arthur was one of the best men, Micah's type of life had been useful when it came to survival and sustainability as far as those Outlaws knew.

Josiah would never consider himself an Outlaw.

He straightened, "I'll find you some options," Josiah replied. "When shall I leave?"

"Now, if you could," Dutch answered with a slight shrug. "Good day, my friend."

Coming back from the river, Micah Bell approached at the dawn of evening.

"What's so special 'bout Arthur Morgan?" Joe commented with condescension, cocking his revolver. No one else would hear it since their voices were low as always. "He's soft."

"You don't want to let Morgan get too close. He knows how to strap," Micah retorted, knowing that Arthur Morgan could get in the way. His original plan was to secure Morgan's loyalty in a similar way he did with Dutch, but Morgan's new attitude since they came to Colter has changed his priorities.

But that didn't mean Arthur Morgan was untouchable.

Like he'd told Bill, all he'd needed was time.

How many boats, trains, or banks have they robbed, ending up with someone getting killed and Arthur Morgan keeping himself alive? Damn...

Micah was truly at a loss for options when it came. Unless he'd got close with Charles Smith-something that was unlikely, Javier Escuella was his only option. The man equally could fight in physical arts, and forcing them to fight against one another would be able to allow the gunslinger to get out in the absolute worst circumstances. But Bill was needed in case Micah needed someone to use as a scapegoat. The fat slob was the most useless Outlaw here.

The other option was getting Arthur when he wasn't looking, but that was the problem. Arthur was constantly keeping an eye on him as if he were a slithering snake waiting to strike. How long had it been since Arthur had started going against him?

The man slept, but it would be too risky to get close enough to cut his throat, especially if someone moved around at night. Since someone was always on guard duty, all it would take was the wrong moment for him to be caught, and Dutch would have no choice but to oust him, and he would lose everything he had built.

Besides, what better way than to fracture this gang for all to see and use Dutch's cleverness to gain himself some extra gold 'till he was no longer useful?

The bounty needed to go somewhere.

"Is that fear in your tone, Micah?" Cleet snarked, a dirty grin falling across his lips. "Is that why you brought us here? To protect yourself?"

Micah rolled his eyes. "I brought you here because I need to make sure I can get out alive. Things seem to be falling apart, and we have to give Dutch the idea that we're behind him all the way."

Joe scoffed. "It's a weakness."

"Easy money while riding with some of the most skilled gunmen in the state," he said as if it was obvious. "Blackwater. The gang is skilled, but they're bound by family."

"Family?" Cleet repeated the word almost as a slur.

"Get rid of the girls and the old people, and there's more loot to go round for each of us." Micah looked at the poster. "Eventually, his time amongst us would be... expired."

Joe laughed. "Pathetic."

For a moment, Cleet seemed to be considering this. "That actually ain't too bad an idea."

"Oh come on," Joe quipped, nudging him in the side, "you can't be considering the idea of falling along with a family. That ain't the life we've lived."

Joe was right. Micah had long since recognized how terrible he was. His own brother wanted to kill him, yet he wasn't afraid of that bastard and his family. None of them did. All that mattered was surviving the changing times. Redemption was nothing but bullshit. It won't stop your enemies from drawing in around you.

"What has Morgan done so far outside of looking like a bloody lunatic?" Cleet queried, shaking his head and staring at him.

"Morgan killed Dutch's enemy, Colm O'Driscoll, back in Colter." He'd remembered the trace the man seemingly fell into during that winter, how his eyes darkened as he broke off from the gang... and he remembered landing perfect shots from afar, dropping Colm O'Driscoll amid all that snow. What a shame. Micah could have used Morgan to get to Dutch if all else failed.

Did he recognize that the more he looked insane, the more he played right into Micah's hands? Just with time...

"And you were saying that there was another attack," Joe snickered, an idea coming to mind. "There's likely some stragglers out there. Maybe we can negotiate with their lost leaders."

That was one reason why Micah liked being around both men.

He didn't come up with all the survival ideas.

Micah licked his lips, as if he were a predator desiring something to eat. "We can head nearby," he "recommended" with a vicious smirk, "and see if there are some whores that need to find themselves in this lovely night."

After all, Micah enjoyed his own breaks once in a while.

Chapter Text

Arthur moved over to his seat, pulled out his journal, and considered what could have come next. He had much to express, yet he found nothing to come up with.

He had been miles away in his mind for a while to write in his journal. Too much was happening far too quickly.

He had been lost in thought for a long time, apparently, 'till he felt movement beside him and saw Kieran.

"Hey, kid, how have you been?"

"Fine, just fine, Mr. Morgan," Kieran responded earnestly.

"Mary-Beth?" Arthur snarked.

"No!" the younger man instantly denied. With a raised eyebrow, he succumbed to his reasoning for being worried: "I need to talk to you..."

Arthur's face became serious. "'Bout what?"

The way Kieran spoke fearfully made him concerned. Last time he ain't listen to Kieran and took the idea of the O'Driscolls lurking around seriously enough, it got the man decapitated and tortured. This time, Arthur ain't gonna make the same mistake.

"Not here..."

He nodded and sat up and followed Kieran to a secluded part of the camp.

"I think I overheard Micah and Bill talking..."

"Okay." Just why would that make the boy so anxious? "And?"

"It's Micah, Arthur. He's plotting something. And well, I...I don't want to rip you apart from Dutch."

"I've seen through Micah for a while. You can trust me, kid." Arthur replied in understanding.

Kieran looked concerned.

"Answer me, kid!" Arthur demanded, dropping into his 'Lieutenant' persona in an instant. He didn't like using his authority over folks no more. But concerning anything involving Micah Bell, he had to be forceful.

After all, if anyone else had heard them speaking like this they would be accused of betrayal!

And he was unsure if the gang was ready for that.

"I didn't mean to be snooping around, Arthur..."

"What exactly did he say, Kieran?"

"He said... He said..."

"Kieran, I'll protect you!" Arthur guaranteed.

"It's all of this, Arthur! You never saw through Dutch before?! Saw through Micah?! I have! None of them ever cared about you! At least not as long as I have been around! Dutch has been controlling you! I'm telling the truth! Please, you have to believe me! There's something wrong with them!" Kieran pleaded, moving towards Arthur and gripping his shoulders, shaking.

The wild look in Kieran's eyes made Arthur wonder. He was desperate, and if Arthur was right, afraid. Not for himself, but for him. This time, Arthur would protect him. He'd already done from Colm. Colm was long gone in Colter. His O'Driscolls were the only folks around that could get to the boy.

"It's ok, Kieran. Breathe." Arthur replied as he squeezed his shoulders.

It took a few seconds for Kieran to calm down before he stepped away from him, nodding in gratitude.

"Sorry, it's just… I'm worried about you. You'd shown me kindness first for the first time in years and you don't need to be here! We can leave..." Kieran suggested.

"I appreciate that concern, Kieran, but trust me, I can take care of myself, boy..." Arthur replied, watching as Kieran's face fell slightly. "However, that doesn't mean I'm not going to listen to you. I know firsthand that Dutch is using all of us. Perhaps it had been the man's true colors all along. If you think something is happening, then I believe you."

"You… you do?" Kieran replied, shocked. "Twenty years..."

"Dutch have been using as killers or thieves long enough."

The reply to his question came immediately.

"I think they're plotting to... kill you."

"Kill me?" Arthur repeated the words before they fully registered in his head, and his eyes widened. Once, he wouldn't have believed Kieran was telling the truth. The man had been an O'Driscoll after all. It was likely that he could have told a lie that would have further broken up the gang.

This time, Arthur knew better. He knew Kieran was as loyal as they came, dragged into a nasty life and defending a bunch of folks he'd just met.

His unconditional trust wasn't given lightly. Not after Beaver Hollow. But Kieran was one of the few folks he did trust, right behind Marston, Lenny, Sadie, and Hosea. If he said there was a threat, there was one.

There was no greater time.

"I think," Arthur said, "that we have all been played for fools."

Kieran tilted his head to the side. "Played for fools?"

"Micah is attempting to ruin the gang," Arthur replied. "He wants the Blackwater money - a heist we did before you came along - and nothing else."

"We need to move on. We have to kill Micah." That was another suggestion.

While Arthur'd appreciated the gesture, he knew that Kieran couldn't live up to Micah as a gunslinger. The rat bastard was many things, including a good shot. Someone like Kieran had to get close to him without a gun.

The gunslinger nodded once, his right hand looming over his revolver. "You must stay at my side"

He had long suspected this was coming. He'd wondered if Dutch was involved in the conspiracy. Kieran had mentioned only Bill and Micah, but he would keep an eye out. He wasn't going to let anyone die for Dutch if they didn't had to.

"I am behind you, Arthur," Kieran answered loyally.

"I know you are, but we ain't needing to be alone," Arthur responded, gripping his shoulder. "I have a plan. I'm going to speak with Lenny, Marston, and Charles. I need you to gather 'em up. Short of Parlor House."

Kieran nodded. "Yes, Arthur."

Arthur moved away, feeling like a leader at that moment. He would have to go get his funds, which he had been keeping locked away and prepared to cut his losses sooner. He might not be able to get Sean out if the man refused to wake up, but getting the rest would make the victory less bitter. Dutch ain't going to be pleased, that much was for sure.

Not to mention, there were also the Native Americans. Whenever they came around, Arthur'd planned to help. Eagle Flies wasn't going to die again if Arthur had anything to say 'bout it.

Life was going to get a lot harder...

They'd met in town, right outside the Parlor House.

The other three men were obviously confused. Kieran had a map, and Charles was a good hunter, so it wasn't surprising when they easily tracked him down in Rhodes.

Arthur knew that Charles was still loyal. He had been like him a long time ago. But perhaps that was why he could trust him. Charles was naturally a good man. He wasn't born to be in this life, and Arthur didn't want Dutch to get him murdered. The color of his skin ended up putting him on the wrong side of the law. He was just doing what he had to do to survive.

Lenny was much the same way. Young, but a good boy. He ain't gonna get killed at Saint Denis either.

And Marston was obvious. He would be able to convince Abigail and Jack to leave, but the only problem was where they would go-which Arthur could talk 'bout with Lenny and Charles. They were both smart.

"Morgan, what's going on?" Marston asked, concerned.

"We need to move quickly," Arthur said in a hushed whisper.

"What do you mean?" Charles asked. "We just moved. And why aren't you taking this up with Dutch?" Concern was audible in his voice.

"I'm getting to that, Charles," Arthur answered. "I know what's happening and I need to make sure that you all make it. Take your items. Take your sheep and go far away. This is all done."

"Arthur, we ain't leaving ya!" Lenny insisted. Good, loyal Lenny. "What's causing you to talk like this?!"

"Mr. Duffy, will you tell 'em?" Arthur asked.

The boy's cheeks reddened in humiliation before he looked at the three men staring at him. "I think Bill and Micah are conspiring to kill Arthur."

Gasps followed.

Charles's hands tightened over his holster instinctively, and he breathed in.

Lenny's hands flexed over his sniper rifle.

Marston was able to resist reaching for his weapon and kept his hands at his side.

"This ain't funny," Charles looked at Kieran darkly, making him flinch away.

Kieran cringed.

Arthur came to his defense. "I believe him."

Charles looked at him. "I find it hard to believe that Dutch would allow this."

"I'm not going to accuse you of disloyalty, Charles, but I'm only asking for your trust. Micah is a survivor. He would get us all killed." Arthur said.

Charles stared at him, and his face softened a degree.

Lenny, however, had a different reaction.

"Let that son of a bitch try!" the boy shouted, fury across his face.

"We cannot have childish outbursts," Charles said wisely at last.

"Which is why I believe it's too dangerous for all of you to be here," Arthur stated urgently. "Micah is dangerous. He looks out only for himself. But I understand if you're all loyal to Dutch."

He directed that part to Charles last. After all, Dutch ain't gave the man any reason to want to sever himself from the gang. Apparently, that seemed unnecessary.

"Arthur, I know loyalty. You have been loyal to the gang for twenty years. Those like Javier have been obedient. If Dutch can't see that, then I can no longer be at his side in good conscience." Charles looked determined and resolute. "And you're right. Micah Bell has always been out for himself. I knew it since I saw him. He's scum."

"I started seeing things differently after Blackwater. We cannot let Dutch get everyone killed." Arthur declared, still loyal to the fault to the gang, despite how it was him this time being plotted against. Barely able to stay calm, Arthur had to wonder. Was Javier in on it too? Was Dutch-? It didn't make sense for this to be happening so soon.

"That girl, Heidi McCourt," John said slowly, his mouth falling open. When everyone looked at him, he added, "She was unharmed and defenseless, and I witnessed blew her brains out."

"I can't even reason with him." Arthur lowered his head. "I try. I want to get him out. I would fight for that man, but he would leave me to die!"

"Would?" Lenny repeated slowly, moving over to Arthur's side nervously. "Arthur, are you alright? What happened between the two?"

Arthur looked at the boy, and he felt like something ripped out of his chest. The honorable gunslinger couldn't stop himself from reliving what he had done on that mountain and the months before. But none of them knew. Dutch never asked once what was wrong with Arthur and even mocked him for having tuberculosis. Although Arthur never came to them, Sadie, John, and Charles seemed to be concerned.

When it came down to it, he couldn't trust Bill, Javier, or Dutch. Possibly not even Sean either.

Arthur shook his head. "We cannot live that life anymore. The times are changing. We have to do what's right and get out of this." Perhaps he should have made the call sooner, but it had been a faint hope that things would get better when they only worsened since Colter and because Arthur couldn't oversee what was going to befall them all.

Milton and Ross would catch up with them soon, and even if they didn't, Micah's path was destructive. Anything he'd touched was destined to go downhill. Dutch, too, probably.

"I did believe we should have slowed down. They were closing in on us because we kept doing more." Charles conceded.

"So what are we going to do, Arthur?" Lenny asked, a slight, teasing smirk falling across his lips. "Make the Morgan gang?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not worthy of the title of leadership. I'm not smart enough to run a gang. I'm old and sad."

"No, you aren't, and you have to stop degrading yourself!" Charles growled. He breathed in and allowed himself to calm down before holding his stare. "You are able to lead, Arthur, but you don't trust in yourself, and that's your problem. You don't have to be alone. You don't have to take everything on without help. Say we go off and become Mafia men, or lead a more peaceful gang-maybe even be farmers; it don't matter. You're smart. You're loyal. And you care too much 'bout folks."

The other men nodded in agreement, and Arthur felt his heart soaring with a hope that had been lost since Beaver Hollow. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. What happened to him? How damaged was he after Beaver Hollow that he didn't even realize it?

Arthur finally understood.

It had been through weeks, but Sadie, Kieran, and all of the others kept telling him that he was all these things. But Arthur never wanted to believe it.

"Let's just worry 'bout other things later. We have to plan things."

Before they knew it, they were walking in the direction of their horses. Darkness fell around them. No civilians were out. The threat of Lemoyne Raiders was possible. He wasn't like Dutch. He would truly take any advice he could and not pretend that he was infallible. He was vincible. He had to listen if he wanted to make sure some folks survived.

"So, we're leaving, huh?" Marston asked. "Me, you, Abigail, Jack, and the others-? Want to tell us why you want to move elsewhere?"

Arthur opened his mouth. It was time. Time for this all to end.

"Yeah, Morgan. Want to tell us, too?"

Every muscle in Arthur's body stiffened as he looked ahead, searching for the voice.

When the shadows fell around and the veil collapsed, he spotted the form of Bill Williamson... and someone else was with him, shrouded by the cloak of darkness. For a moment, he'd thought it was Javier.

When he got a closer look, he discovered he was wrong, for he saw - no - standing there was Sean MacGuire.

Bill's expression was familiar anger, yet the Irish's eyes seemed to be wide, his fists clenching, an expression he had never seen before.

How did they find him?

How could it come to this?

Deep down, Arthur knew.

He knew what was going to happen.

The time had come...

Chapter Text

Bill Williamson's lips curled into disdain. He wasn't an idiot. None of these fools realized this. And he saw the disappearance of half of the gunslingers. As the hours passed, Bill's apprehension grew, as did his thoughts.

What better way to deal with the fallout and gain Dutch's trust if Morgan was trying to break everything apart? Maybe he could take Morgan's spot soon and finally get the respect he deserved.

Nevertheless, he approached Dutch's tent, ready to lay out his suspicions. But as he got closer, he overheard quiet voices—Dutch's voice with Hosea's laughter. Bill paused, peering through the flap of the tent. Dutch was sitting close to Hosea, their hands nearly touching as they spoke in hushed, relaxed tones.

Bill's gut twisted, and he took a step back, clenching his jaw. 'Here I am worried 'bout the gang, and he's too busy enjoying himself to see it.' He shook his head in disgust and turned on his heel, deciding he'd take his suspicions to someone else.

He found Javier on the edge of the camp, scanning the tree line with an intent gaze. Javier looked up as Bill approached. "Bill. You look like you're 'bout to set something on fire," he muttered.

"You haven't seen Arthur, have you?" Bill asked, his voice tight.

"No," Javier replied with a grimace. "And if I did, I wouldn't be rolling out the welcome wagon. As always, he's above all of us."

"Exactly!" Bill snapped, feeling a flicker of validation. "He's got no loyalty left. I'm telling you, Javier, he's gonna sell us out. Maybe he already has." Bill's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "We're going to probably get swing if we don't figure out what he's planning."

Javier, arms crossed, let out a low breath. He ain't a fan of Arthur these days either. But Javier, though he shared the distrust, still cared 'bout Arthur deep down.

"I hear you, Bill," Javier said cautiously. "But I'm not about to go chasing after him. Arthur does whatever he wants, and Dutch hasn't given the order."

But Bill wasn't listening. Arthur Morgan had vanished without so much as a word, and to Bill, this was just another sign of Arthur's carelessness for the rest of them... after convincing Dutch to stop doing what brought money in.

'Traitor,' he thought bitterly. 'Always thinking he's better than the rest of us.'

"Maybe you should relax."

Bill wouldn't let it go. He set his jaw, turning back toward Dutch's tent. "He needs to hear this from me."

Javier just shook his head, watching as Bill stomped back toward Dutch's tent. Bill pushed his way inside, finding Dutch and Hosea both looking up, surprised at his abrupt entrance.

"Dutch," Bill said, his tone urgent, "Arthur's gone. He took off without a word."

Dutch leaned back, exchanging a glance with Hosea. A flicker of annoyance passed over his face as he slowly got to his feet, releasing Hosea's arm. "Bill," Dutch said with a measured tone, stepping away from the other man. "Arthur is out there doing whatever he wants. He's dependable."

Bill's expression tightened. "Maybe once, Dutch. But he's different now. Always questioning you, thinking he knows better than any of us."

Dutch sighed, shaking his head as though trying to brush away a pestering jester. "Bill, if he's out there, he's got his reasons."

"His own reasons," Bill bit back. "And who's to say those reasons don't end with us getting strung up?"

"Are you doubting me?"

Bill still recoiled slightly at that tone.

Unrelenting at his discomfort, Dutch took a step forward, his voice hardening. "Bill, that's enough." He glanced over at Hosea, who gave him a reassuring look, then back to Bill. "Arthur is one of us. Now, unless you've got something more than hunches, I suggest you let him be. You're interrupting now."

'I'm interrupting?! I'm interrupting?!' Bill felt the sting of Dutch's dismissal, his frustration boiling over. But he knew better than to push further. With a final glare, he turned on his heel and left the tent, leaving Dutch and Hosea behind.

Back outside, he found Javier watching from the shadows, a smirk on his face. "Didn't go well, huh?" Javier said, crossing his arms.

Bill's lips pressed into a tight line. "Dutch is too blind to see what's right in front of him. We got to do something."

Javier shrugged, leaning against a tree. "Maybe. Or maybe he knows Arthur better than you do. Either way, I ain't going after him."

Bill glared at him. "Oh you t... you'd just sit here and do nothing?"

Javier gave him a long, steady look. "I'll keep my eyes open, but I'm not going to chase after shadows. And I'm not going to question Dutch."

"Thanks for your help," Bill replied sarcastically, barely able to keep his agitation at bay. He needed to walk away or else he would have inflicted harm on the man.

Bah, these idiots... Was he just the only one?

No, he'd needed an ally.

He found one of the few gunslingers who he might be somewhat friends with.

Sean looked up as Bill approached, arching an eyebrow and grinning slightly. "You look like a man on a mission, big man."

Bill smirked, taking a seat beside him. "Might be I am, Sean. Just thinking... we're looking a bit thin around here lately, ain't we?"

Sean frowned, glancing around the camp. It was true that things felt emptier. "Sure, folks come and go all the time," he muttered. "But nothing unusual 'bout that, is there?"

"Maybe," Bill replied slowly, choosing his words with care. "But think 'bout it. Arthur's out on his own a lot more. We barely see him in camp lately." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It feels like half the gang is losing it!"

Sean's brow furrowed as he considered Bill's words. "Arthur's been helping Dutch with jobs, hasn't he?"

Bill gave a nonchalant shrug. "Maybe. But then, Dutch don't seem too worried 'bout where half his men are either. Last time I saw him, he was too busy sitting around with Hosea to care." He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Funny, if you ask me."

Sean rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around camp as if expecting someone else to weigh in. "You think there's something we don't know 'bout."

It was not a question. Bill tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Just find it strange, is all. We're a gang, supposed to be looking out for each other. Yet here we are, half of us staying loyal, and another questioning Dutch."

Sean's hands clenched. "Well, I don't like it either," he muttered. "What do ya reckon we oughta do?"

Bill leaned back, his gaze steady. "We keep our eyes open. We go into town, find that damn Morgan, and... take care of him."

"What are you talking 'bout, big man?" Sean asked, his eyes slowly growing.

Bill shrugged. "Ain't it obvious? Morgan is trying to break us all apart!"

"Arthur is as loyal as they come," Sean weakly defended.

"Not anymore. You saw him questioning Dutch too. We cannot let Dutch's gang fall apart!"

"Bill..." The same frantic look from weeks ago was back in his eyes.

"You ain't loyal to Dutch, boy?" Bill'd thought for a moment. "If they were still here, them Callander boys would have done something."

Silence passed for a moment. Sean's look became haunted before a sigh came. "What are you planning, big man?"

Bill stared at him.

"You know what we must do. Since Dutch ain't got the heart to do what must be done, we have to help him." Sean didn't move after him, not at first. "Come on, kid."

"I'm coming. I'm coming." Sean grumbled but followed. He bit his lower lip hard. Bullocks. He could think of better things to do throughout the day.

'What the hell am I doing?' He thought to himself, throwing a glance at his piece in his holster...

Arthur tensed slightly at the sight of Bill. Williamson already had his gun out and pointed it at Arthur. Beside him, Sean stood. And Arthur couldn't resist from eyeing him for a moment. Just what the hell was he doing here?

It didn't matter, not now.

"Don't know what you're going on 'bout this time, Bill." Somehow, Arthur managed to maintain control. "Think you must've misheard. Ain't that right, brothers?"

A chorus rang out, trying to calm Bill down.

But the gun didn't lower.

"Oh-ho, don't think I'm that idiotic, Morgan. Knew there was a rat. Micah and Dutch thought someone talked 'bout the Blackwater job, and with your attitude, it's the only thing that makes sense."

Arthur's stomach twisted as Bill's gun almost nudged his temple. Damn, when had he been so easy to catch unawares? Arthur was one hell of a gunslinger, prepared for the outcome of everything, but Bill was a military soldier before he was dishonorably dismissed from the army, and he had been so distracted, so...

Lenny, John, and Kieran all gripped their weapons. The three aimed their weapons at the man, while Charles kept his weapon lowered, clearly not wanting things to get worse. Most likely, he was the most level-headed here, even as the situation continued to escalate far too quickly.

"That's not necessary," Charles said, his voice strained even now.

"Bill, put the gun down!" Kieran barked. "Don't be a fool! You're outnumbered! Both of you!" He looked at the hesitant form of Sean briefly. "Sean, did he tell you how he wanted to kill Arthur? He'd plotted with Micah. Come on, think for yourself!"

Sean's eyes widened at that, and they fell on Bill in horror.

"MacGuire is on my side, boy!" Bill cackled. "You ain't going to convince him!"

"Fuck you to hell, Bill!" Lenny growled. "I'll kill you!"

"No, stop," Arthur pleaded, not wanting anyone to die here.

"You weren't on the boat, Morgan," Bill continued. He approached, finger on the hammer, ready to pull back. "Weren't nowhere to be seen. You were safe. Imagine that. And you took that O'Driscoll boy in, probably making up some lies. Ain't it strange how he's never loyal to Dutch?" Williamson paused, grinning, though there was no levity in it, and Arthur thought 'bout everything. "Colm is dead due to you, but Dutch have suffered so much betrayal recently. You treat Dutch without respect, and you somehow hold a bigger title."

Bill had been so ready to torture Kieran, too. He had assisted in the death of the Irishman standing next to him, believed John was the traitor, and trusted Micah. Micah, of all people. Just thinking about it deepened Arthur's anger. Bill could have helped them. Him and John the other time. He could have done something, anything. But he didn't, cause he was a fool

"I don't think Dutch'll trust you, Bill."

"Just let it go, you fool!" John added without contempt, his hand tightening around his weapon.

Williamson scoffed, completely ignoring John's statement. "And how's he gonna react to you wanting to ruin everything he's built up?! We can't have any rats around!"

"And what 'bout you, Sean?" Arthur asked, hurt but resigned.

The Irish flinched at his words... "Aye, sorry Arthur, money is money. You won't suffer," he replied slowly, his voice shaky. 'Oh god. Sean too. Sean would have sided with Dutch if he'd lived last time.' Betrayal rid deep in his heart. All of this led only to this: where another brother would betray him. For someone like Sean follow Dutch into madness. And above all, for it to end like this! Much sooner! Yet while Arthur could have retaliated, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't ignore their... Their connection.

Damn, the idiot looked troubled before he finally said, "Are you going to take the shot, Bill?" He asked, staring at Bill. "Why hold back on us now? You've got the gun."

It was then that Sean looked at him deeply, and saw his eyes locking onto him in despair. He could see Bill shaking slightly, clearly not in the right state of mind either.

Still, Arthur'd wanted to keep Sean safe. He could hear the rest moving behind him. He just couldn't let Sean die again. His life was meaningless. He didn't have many years left now that Arthur thought 'bout it. But Sean was too young. Maybe the boy would find out the truth 'bout Dutch when he was gone.

"Hesitating now, Bill?" Arthur asked.

"I ain't hesitating!" Bill snapped back, but the sweat creasing his brow told a different story. The man had suddenly realized what this all meant, and it was weighing on him. He might have pitied him if Arthur wasn't at the end of his weapon. "Sean, what if we need him?" Bill asked, shaking slightly. "What prevents them from killing us afterward?"

Sean glared. "Oh now you can't do it, big man?!"

Bill's face stressed, "It's four against two!"

"Bill, Sean, you're trusting someone Dutch's known for six months over two men he's known for twenty years?!" Lenny growled. "Come on, you both know this is not right! Put your guns down and let's talk!"

Sean looked like he was 'bout to vomit.

"I can't back down now! We can't just pretend this never happened! It's too late!" Bill roared.

Arthur knew Bill was right. They all understood this. There was no way his loyal friends were going to forget 'bout this, and now it seemed like the final betrayal had come full circle.

John stared pointedly at Bill, "Let him go, and we'll let you leave. This doesn't have to come up between us ever again." Surely, Marston didn't think that was going to work, but Arthur couldn't blame him.

"Now I can't do that, John," a faint tremor was in his voice.

Still, nothing happened.

"Bill..." Lenny stated, stepping closer. "Don't do-"

"Step back!" Bill growled, turning his aim away from Arthur on Lenny, taking a few steps to now aim at both Lenny and Arthur, Sean falling further back. "You ain't able to do nothing, kid!"

"Sean... you're my brother," Lenny stared at Sean. Always able to keep a straight face. "Don't let him do this. Help us!"

"Sean, you know despite Morgan always mistreating you, he always looked to you as a little brother!" Marston pleaded. "He was the one who planned to come after you, not Dutch! No, Dutch was too busy springing together another goddamn plan, probably writing another rehearsed speech 'bout your death!"

Sean stared back, and anger was in his eyes. He stared between Bill and Lenny, before finally looking beyond.

They all just stood there, staring, waiting. No further action was taken for a long moment. No one dared to fire, for they knew that the situation was fragile. Even Bill in his small brains...

And for a moment, it seemed that time was endless.

...Finally, the next move was decided.

"Goddamn it," Sean sighed, reaching for his holster and pulling out his own revolver. He swung the blued steel in the direction of Arthur, seeming to be possessed by fire. "Together."

Arthur stared down the barrel of the gun. Somehow, knowing that Sean would make it a quick shot through the head, and it would be over, unlike Bill who wanted to no doubt make it painful and would aim for the ribs. This was all he was made for. To be betrayed and tossed aside like a dog. He would be able to get more out this time at least. There was no way Charles, Lenny, Kieran, and John would go back after this.

"What are you doing?" Bill asked, anger in his voice as he aimed between Arthur and Lenny...

"What I have to," Sean answered with an underlayer of seriousness that almost no one ever heard in his tone.

Arthur stared at him, sadness in his eyes, "Sean..."

"I'm sorry," Sean said truthfully, holding his piece tighter.

The honorable gunslinger kept his eyes open. Everything was drained of color yet again, back to the yellow. Arthur heard the hammer click. And finally, the world came back. No, he couldn't risk it, he thought. He couldn't risk all he'd done so far. Not for Bill. Not for Sean either. Maybe it ain't just Dutch who was destined to go crazy. But if they'd wanted this to happen, it had to. This shouldn't be happening. Not due to Micah's manipulation.

Time slowed.

And his hands inched to his holster...

And the gunshot went off, cutting through Arthur's senses. The bullet sailed through the air, coming quickly and mercilessly in the direction of its target.

Bill missed.

Arthur didn't know how.

Even the worst gunslinger couldn't miss such a close shot.

No...

He didn't miss.

The expected gunshot never went off.

The right side of Bill's face exploded from the deadly gunshot, blood splattering like a bottle of beer, staining his grey trousers, boots, and plain white shirt, along with his long, brown leather jacket. The five grimaced. Bill collapsed.

There was no doubt 'bout it. Bill Williamson was dead before he hit the ground.

He'd seen only Sean, Lenny, Hosea, Molly, Grimshaw...

And Bill!

Who killed him?

Marston could have decided to take this luck.

Lenny would have been able to get a well-accurate sniper's shot.

Charles would have shot him like prey.

Kieran could have taken his newfound luck.

But no, all of their guns were still poised, quiet like the night sky.

Sean stared, and suddenly, all present became aware that his gun was smoking. Visibly, the gun was now trained on where Bill was just standing.

It was at that moment Arthur realized Sean was never intending to kill him or changed his mind.

For a moment, Arthur felt that none of it mattered. Sean had just murdered Bill. Perhaps he shouldn't be angry. The fool'd saved his life.

Just as suddenly, he became aware of Marston's weight on top of him, Kieran likewise on top of Lenny. The damn idiots could have gotten shot. But Arthur's attention was on Sean. What happened to him? What spurred this change of heart? Now...

No, he couldn't feel angry towards him. It wouldn't be right. There was only one person.

Micah.

Micah.

That rat bastard, Micah.

And possibly Dutch.

Sean was terrible at making decisions sometimes. He was young. He didn't think straight at points. Oh, he knew 'bout Arthur's doubts and ain't like it. He ain't exactly been subtle. But unlike Bill and Javier, he was a lot more emotionally attached to Arthur to cut him loose. Maybe, this would allow Arthur to explain everything-assuming that Sean didn't just go crazy and decide to kill everyone.

After a few more seconds of a terse silence, the Irish holstered his weapon, took off his cowboy hat, ran a hand through his hair, took an unsteady breath, controlling that rising feeling of "I-need-to-get-fuck-now-and-damn-the-goddamn-world," and stared back at Arthur with a coldness that made even the older gunslinger freeze for a second, speaking with a voice drained of emotion and the comedic flare it usually had:

"Get up."

Chapter Text

Sean MacGuire couldn't believe what he had just done.

In his mind, it had all but been confirmed that Arthur was a rat. Bill Williamson ain't just shown it, but he heard Arthur's last words confessing that he wanted to leave the gang before they confronted him. It had been a difficult thing to wrap his brain around, to know that all of Dutch's seemingly paranoid statements had been confirmed.

However, as the confrontation escalated and Bill became more agitated, Sean had time to think about it.

And finally, when he aimed his gun at Arthur, he realized that he didn't have it within him to pull the trigger. And now, although Arthur may be a rat, Sean had just followed him for what he had done, another traitor.

Watching as Lenny and Charles gripped the body of the dead man and found an appropriate burial stone somewhere in the forest. Seeing that Sean had killed him, he stood there through the small ceremony, hoping that the big man would be able to build that gang he'd always talked about wherever he ended up.

Sean stood a few points beyond Lenny and Charles, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the ground, his mind a tumultuous storm of guilt and confusion. The horses shifted restlessly nearby. Smart creatures. Smarter than Sean...

Lenny watched Sean's conflicted visage with a mixture of concern and understanding. He had seen the torment in Sean's eyes after the confrontation with Bill, and he knew that the Irishman was grappling with the gravity of what he had done.

But without them, Bill might have whacked someone, likely Arthur.

Lenny leaned against Maggie, his arms crossed over his chest, as he spoke softly, "Sean, you did what you had to do. Bill wasn't giving you a choice."

Sean scoffed, his voice bitter. "I had a choice, Lenny. I chose to pull that trigger. I chose to kill a brother."

"And do you think you could have shot the gun out of his hand? Bill wasn't thinking straight. All he'd seen was a traitor. You would have to live with guilt of killing Arthur." Lenny answered.

Charles approached and gripped Sean's arms tightly. "Sean, Bill was out of control. He was going to kill Arthur, and you stopped him. You did the right thing."

Sean looked up at Charles, his eyes filled with anguish. "But I betrayed Dutch. I went against everything he stands for. I went against the gang."

Lenny scoffed. "What gang? The gang that continues to become about Dutch everyday? The gang that tries to kill each other?"

"The gang that took us all in! He saw something special in each of us!" Sean growled.

Lenny shook his head, his voice firm. "Sean, you've got to see the truth. Dutch ain't the man he used to be. He's probably never been that man to begin with. He's letting his paranoia and his greed cloud his judgment. And Micah... Micah is just taking advantage of that, twisting Dutch's mind for his own gain."

Sean ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed as he allowed himself to breathe. He just couldn't hate Lenny, not ever... "But Dutch took us in, Lenny. He gave us a family, a purpose. We owe him everything."

Charles sighed, his expression solemn. "We owe him our loyalty, Sean, but not blind obedience. Not when he's leading us down a path where we're going to get hung by the law or killed because of the likes of Micah. Look at what happened in Blackwater. We can't let folks continue to die on us. There ain't no winning with the law."

Sean recoiled at the mention of Blackwater. He remembered when everything went to shit instantly. He remembered the cold look on Dutch's face as he ordered for them to move.

"But... but that was different," Sean stammered, trying to reconcile the memories with the image of Dutch he held in his mind. "That was a mistake, a terrible mistake."

Lenny shook his head. "It wasn't a mistake, Sean. It was a choice. A choice that Dutch made, and a choice that Micah was all too happy to carry out. And it's not the only choice they've made that has led us down like this."

"But... but what am I supposed to do?" Sean asked, his voice filled with desperation. "I can't just turn my back on Dutch, on the gang. I can't just walk away from all of that."

"Why not? You've done it before."

"It will be..."

"Permanent. Ah, yes, but at least you wouldn't have to die because of Dutch, Micah, and their plans. Sean, you have to realize this. If two people who have been raised by Dutch are questioning him, what do you think that means? You've said it yourself many times. Micah is a snake. He will tear apart everything we've built, only for the goddamn money." Lenny emphasized strongly.

"I should have died instead."

"Sean..." Charles tried.

"You should have killed me for what I done."

"Sean..."

"It would have been what I-"

"SEAN!" Charles barked, and the Irishman realized he had never heard the man yell at him before, even when frustrated and agitated. "You don't have to turn your back on the gang, Sean. You just have to stand up for what's right. You have to be true to your own code, to your own conscience. That's what makes you a good man, Sean. That's what makes you one of us."

The Irish breathed deeply. "I... I don't know what to do," Sean stammered, fearful. "I don't know where to go from here."

Lenny leaned in. "You don't have to have all the answers, Sean. You just have to take the first step. You have to choose to stand up for what's right, even if it means going against Dutch, against the gang. And you have to trust that, together, we can find a way forward."

Sean looked up at them, gripping his forehead.

"I... I'll think about it," Sean answered, his teeth clenched.

Charles squeezed his shoulder before releasing him. "We don't expect it to be easy, Sean. But we do expect you to be true to yourself, to your own code. And whatever you choose, we'll be here to support you, every step of the way."

Lenny - good kid - nodded in agreement. "We're in this together, Sean. Whatever happens, we'll face it as a family. You should talk to Dutch."

The world around them was dark. The air engulfed them completely. Sean leaned to a quiet corner.

"Thank you, Sean," a familiar voice said, gripping his shoulder.

"Why?" Sean asked, his anger coming back as he turned to face the man. "Why do you want to leave the gang? You've been loyal to him for twenty years! Why do all this? You are a goddamn idiot, Arthur Morgan! The worst type! I should have shot you and Big Man over there! Did the wolves that Scarface met got your brains?! They were saying you changed up in them mountains! Dutch's going to skin you alive for this!"

Arthur didn't seem to be insulted or terrified. All he did was snort. "If you're done..."

"No, I'm not done! You're going to get yourself killed, Arthur!" Sean shouted.

Arthur sighed. "I've thought 'bout things for a while, Sean, and I realized that there's always a new plan when it comes to Dutch."

"We need to make more cash!" Sean snapped. Goddamn him!

"I thought that at first," Arthur responded. "But then I looked back at Blackwater and reflected on how everything went to shit."

"Dutch has a plan-!"

"Heard that one before," Arthur remarked sarcastically. "I always thought it was that way. Unless Dutch suddenly went mad for what he did without me and Hosea around, I believe that Dutch wants to do anything without our approval. We're a family. We're supposed to look out for one another."

"You're his goddamn son!" Sean exclaimed. "You're supposed to respect-"

"And where is that respect going to go?" Arthur inquired pointedly. "Get more folks killed, Sean. And he didn't even try to come save you."

"It all went to shit so fast..." Sean went silent. "Do you think someone was talking back in Blackwater?"

"I don't know," Arthur shrugged. "But think 'bout it, Sean. Think 'bout how Micah want to snatch Dutch's stash. Did you ever notice that his main motivation is to get the cash, lose some burdening chicks, camp, and all that romanticize bullshit? Yet, Dutch has it all hidden, full of high ideas about how we will all have a peaceful life with that cash. The more it burns Micah's fantasy of getting his hands on it, the more tips he gives 'bout where the gang might get ambushed, making Dutch disillusioned and more susceptible to Micah's words."

The more Sean'd thought 'bout it, the more it seemed to make sense. Micah always looked after himself. Sean met plenty of folks like that evasive bastard.

"And the other day, Kieran heard Micah and Bill talking 'bout trying to kill me."

"I thought John was-"

Arthur enforced with a shake of the head. "No, Marston wasn't lying."

The Irishman gasped and recoiled. The light in his eyes suddenly died, murdered by the gravity of Arthur's words. And it all made sense. He'd just played in that bastard's game and almost participated in the death of a brother. To know that Micah played him for a fool angered Sean to no end. And now that he had time to think 'bout it, he wondered 'bout all the time Javier and Bill spent around the oily bastard.

"Arthur-" For the first time in years, Sean MacGuire was speechless.

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed. "Micah is a rat. He will sell us out."

"Do you think he works with the O'Driscolls?"

"I don't know," Arthur shrugged. "Ain't above him. But I can see it. He should have never been allowed in."

The revelation came quicker than the bullet to Bill's head.

"I don't like the road but how-"

"Let me explain. He urged Dutch to do the Blackwater robbery and convinced him to kill Heidi McCourt, likely to increase Dutch's bounty. He pretends to admire Dutch as if he were a god; he never asks questions, he always does what he's told. Not out of loyalty. He keeps mentioning the money from Blackwater and tries to convince us to get it. He always insults and antagonizes all of us except Dutch. Every job we do with him ends up with a pile of dead bodies. He hardly if ever donates to the camp."

Sean couldn't argue any longer. His face twisted to all stages of denial, melting straight into anger and hatred. "That... I'll kill him!"

Arthur tightened his fists. "We'll get around to that, Sean. Trust me. There's nothing I want more than to make Micah pay for what he's done."

"But surely Dutch would notice," Sean responded, losing his vigor.

"I suspect that Dutch doesn't see it because of all the ego-stroking," Arthur replied sadly. "Retreating to them mountains was the right thing to do, but once at Horseshoe Overlook, we should have stayed low and not continued to press our luck. The O'Driscoll attack were out of Dutch's hands, but it doesn't mean that we should have robbed that bank in Valentine or committed that train robbery. We're making too many enemies, and if we want an out without the law swinging us, we have to be smarter 'bout this."

Sean didn't know what to feel 'bout his words. He'd liked to believe that Arthur was telling the truth, but the only problem was that it was with Dutch. The Irishman was loyal to both men. Had that been why he hadn't been able to kill Arthur? By pretending to do so, had that been why Sean placed Bill's guard down and finally brought an end to the big man when he wasn't looking?

"But to stand against Dutch instead of trying to reason with him... it doesn't make much sense, Arthur!" Sean exclaimed. "All those years had to mean something—loyalty." He waved his fist.

"It doesn't," Arthur acknowledged, "but I think that's why it's time to start new and fresh; this time with a bigger community. I want to guarantee that we're all safe. We ain't need one more score. We'll find a different way to move on as soon as possible before the Pinkertons catch up."

Sean's teeth was giving his lower lip a nasty beating. "And how are ya certain you're going to survive, Arthur? Ya think ya can go off on your own without Dutch-?"

"Dutch enjoys the shooting," Arthur said. "Times are changing. We have to change with them. We can't do this anymore, but I understand if you don't want to stand against Dutch. I'll give you a choice here and now."

Sean straightened, eyes darting.

"But before you choose, you should know he never cared 'bout any of us. I learned that the hard way."

"What is it?" Sean inquired.

"Go back to camp, take Karen and leave. Go anywhere ya want. Live the lives you deserve. Don't look back, no matter what."

Sean was already shaking his head. "No, I can't. I can't leave y... leave D..."

"You already killed Bill, Sean, and we both know you ain't a good liar," Arthur mumbled solemnly. "You're going to crack to him eventually and he ain't gonna let you go for what you did. Dutch raised us to be killers. I knew him for twenty years. I've seen folks fall before. Hell, I-I did some of them myself."

Fear entered Sean's heart.

He could understand it, too.

Dutch raised Arthur of all people the longest. He'd watched him grow from the age of fifteen, finding him when he was a lost boy. The two were close before whatever happened at Blackwater. For Arthur of all folks to be judging him, it unnerved him. And if Dutch fell to someone who he'd listened to in six months, it wasn't a good sign. He'd wanted to be loyal to Dutch but he couldn't find himself listening to someone like Micah, who didn't stop spreading lies.

"What can we do, Arthur?" Sean sighed, knowing that this wasn't going to end well.

Chapter Text

Being a man of such intelligence, Dutch would, of course, notice that half of the gang was missing.

Normally, it would have not disturbed Hosea either. After all, he'd trusted Arthur to keep them all safe, but it happened far too fast and there hadn't been any plans for so many men to be sent out. For them to be gone all night, it made Hosea's older heart fray with worry.

Hosea slung around throughout the night, knowing that he was acting like a worried wife as he continued ransacking the camp. There was no plan, as far as he was aware, to do anything.

He remembered Dutch grumpily telling him that they were lying low due to Arthur's convincing. The doubt in Dutch's leadership was far from pleasing for Hosea, but at least, things were proceeding at an alright pace.

Eventually, Hosea collapsed onto the cot within their tent and went to sleep, though it was anything but peaceful. When he woke up nearly five hours later, he scowled in irritation. There would be hell to pay when Arthur and John got back. He didn't like it when any of them ran off without telling anyone.

Sure, they were children no more, but it didn't make it right.

"Javier," Hosea said, hands on his hips, conveying just how frustrated he was with this situation, "do you happen to know where Mr. Williamson went throughout the night?" He was the last one seen and tried to interrupt him and Dutch when they were in a moment...

Little Sean's disappearance was concerning.

"No, boss," Javier answered, "the last time I saw him was yesterday."

Hosea sighed and nodded. "Of course. Thank you, son."

Javier nodded and moved over to the nearby seat, taking the meal that Pearson had left behind.

Hosea moved around, making mental notes in his head to track down who was missing. Aside from Bill, there were also Charles, Lenny, Sean, John, and Arthur.

What could his sons need with such a big committee? Hosea would never know. Hopefully, they wouldn't get themselves into too much trouble.

"Hosea," Dutch said, gripping his shoulders and turning him around, "did you find where our sons may have ended up?"

"No," Hosea shook his head, feeling the fear clawing within his chest, "I'm getting nervous, Dutch."

"Ain't no time to be nervous, Hosea," Dutch dismissed, trying to maintain the strong demeanor he always did, "we have already decided that Arthur and John are going to have some explaining to do when they get back here." His eyes flickered with sincerity and anger, almost parental.

It reminded Hosea of that one time when John went out late with Tilly and the two got into mischief all over town. Suffice to say, Dutch wasn't pleased, and he let both of them know it by sleeping on their stomachs, making sure such a display never happened again.

The thought of Dutch enforcing discipline for them all was something that actually amused Hosea. He'd doubted such threats would work with someone like Charles, but even after all that had happened, Arthur and John still listened to him as if he were their father.

Well, that had happened once...

"This ain't like them to leave without notice. What if the law caught up to them, Dutch?!" Hosea asked, beginning to pace around. "What if they're arrested and about to hang?"

"Hosea!"

"I knew Blackwater was a bad idea, and you should have listened to me before you went with Micah! Goddamn it, if those boys are hurt-"

"Enough, Hosea," Dutch interrupted. "What happened in Blackwater happened. There's no pretending it never happened. We'll have to trust that they're alright."

"Bu-"

"Hosea," Dutch placed a hand over his lips, smothering him. Hosea's eyes trembled for a nanosecond, even as he held him, tightly pressing his mouth closed. His echoing heart started to slow again. Then, once his shoulders came back down and relented, he released him.

"Sorry," Hosea smiled slightly. Dutch glanced at him sideways for a second. "But I do hope you're right. Things have been growing tense of late." Worry settled in again as he faced the real possibility. "Ma-"

"They better not," Dutch's voice darkened considerably. "No one is allowed to leave like that without my approval, and doing so without permission."

Hosea paused, noticing the way Dutch's eyes shadowed. It seemed like he was consumed by a physical entity, devoid of his basic human traits and becoming someone from Hosea's darkest and deepest nightmares.

"I was joking, Dutch."

Dutch's eyes followed him for a moment before nodding once. "Of course," a slight chuckle emanated from him. "I forget that your jokes are getting weaker with age."

"Oh, I'll show you weak!" Hosea swung back his right hook.

"Dutch, Hosea," Karen dashed up, repeater in hands, "sorry," she actually looked sheepish than usual, "but I think... I saw some folks moving near camp."

"Thank you, Ms. Jones," Hosea said, placing a hand on her shoulder and moving out along with Dutch.

Most noticeably, the man beside him fell silent, his teeth gritted together.

Guns clicked.

Since that attack many weeks ago, all of them knew that there was no certainty in safety. Although the worry diminished, they didn't want to risk dying.

Hosea reached for his revolver, wondering who would come this far out here at this time. The worst possible thoughts came to mind. Perhaps they lined up with the disappearance of the folks currently gone. Maybe it was... O'Driscolls coming here to attack when they were...

Aiming, Hosea waited, along with Karen, Dutch, Grimshaw, and a few others.

The trepidation died when the six silhouettes revealed themselves to be Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Sean MacGuire, Charles Smith, Lenny Summers, and Kieran Duffy. But there was one other. Kieran was hanging onto a rope of Bill's horse, Brown Jack, with no sign of the owner...

The gang quickly assembled when they saw their gunslingers and enforcers for Dutch returning.

"Arthur," Sadie called out when Arthur finally stopped, the entire group doing likewise.

Guns were holstered instantly.

"John Marston!" Abigail shouted, her agitation rivaling his. "How dare you leave me like that?!"

"Not now, ladies," John said in a tone of voice hardly heard before.

The woman paused. Hosea felt a slight shiver fill him. The stresses of the world strained his voice, and the knotting feeling inside Arthur flooded through him.

"Arthur Morgan! John Marston!" Dutch's voice broke through the air, not taking note of their expressions. "How dare you all leave without informing us?! I should have left you both in Colter! You gave us all quite a sca-"

"There was no need to care 'bout us, Dutch," Arthur said sharply as the man emerged from the shadows to come out into the opening, his face the opposite of the composed one he normally inhabited.

"I'm glad you're all safe, but where's Mr. Williamson?" Hosea inquired, managing to keep his own rage buried within his chest.

"We're just getting to that, Hosea," John replied tightly. "Some things have been happening in the past few days. That involve Micah. Not like that's nothing else."

"Ah, so there's the lost crew," speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Micah Bell revealed himself, his form taunting.

What happened next shocked everyone.

"You..." Lenny Summers stated, aiming his Springfield Rifle at Micah.

Instinctively, several members of the gang, including Hosea and Dutch, lowered their hands to their weapons. Cleet and Joe predictably raised their weapons at the young man, just as Micah's expression broke in surprise.

"Woah, woah, you ain't a slave no more, dark meat!" Micah shouted, shrinking away from the dark-skinned man. "That ain't necessary!"

"You know damn well what you did, Micah," Charles hissed. "You should have never been allowed in the gang. You've been nothing but trouble for so long."

"Arthur?" Dutch asked slowly. "Arthur, what's going on?"

Everyone looked at the form of the man who remained quiet.

Arthur moved forward, keeping an eye on Micah.

When he finally spoke, his voice grabbed their attention. The seven words that exited his mouth were determined and authoritative.

"We need to have a little chat..."

"What is the meaning of this?" Dutch's cheek throbbed with anger.

Hosea shared the settlement, even though he kept quiet and without much emotion.

Oh, he didn't know the following shell that was to come.

"Bill's dead, Dutch," John announced.

The proclamation sent a shiver through the gang.

"Dead? Why?" Dutch gasped. "What happened?"

"He tried to kill Arthur. Sean killed him." Charles answered.

Everyone looked at the Irish, his fists clenched at his side, anxiety and angst flaring off of him. For all the times Hosea talked, scolded, and told off the Irishman, he never saw him like this. The young man who was typically the jokester of the gang was now seemingly in fright, unsure what to do, lost...

"You rats," Arthur glared at Micah and the approaching Cleet and Joe in particular, "all of you."

"Why would Bill try to kill Arthur?" Karen asked.

"Ask Micah," Lenny motioned to the man in question, not taking his eyes off of him even for a second. "After all... it was his idea that got Jenny killed."

"Oh, would you ever get off of that, kid?!" Micah exclaimed.

"Micah... Micah, what did you do?" Hosea demanded, feeling the situation escalating far too quickly. This wasn't good...

"Oh come on, isn't this obvious?!" Micah shouted. "They've all lost their minds!" He beckoned to the leader of this rebellious group. "Knowing Morgan, he probably manipulated the Irish boy to kill the fat man! I had nothing to do with it!"

"Lies!" Lenny growled, tightening his hands around his weapon, "You have been using us since you've came here! Tell the truth or I'll shoot!"

Micah looked desperately at the gang's leader, "Dutch, tell them. I have been faithful since the start."

Dutch nodded slightly in agreement, even though he remained tight-lipped.

"Dutch," Charles said slowly, "Micah has always been nothing but trouble. Since that botched robbery in Blackwater to everything that has been transpiring in the past few months, it's not Arthur, John, or even Colm. It's always been Micah Bell. He's a type of scum who will sell us out to anyone who benefits him."

Dutch swung his head back and forth, obviously conflicted.

"No, that can't be true," Dutch's fists tightened. "Micah is my son, just like all of you, Charles. He will not stab us in the back. You're all misunderstanding him."

"Yeah, listen to the leader!" Micah chuckled slightly, bringing himself closer despite the gun and numerous hateful glares trained on him. "You cannot kill me. There's no proof."

"There's enough. You have a picture of Dutch and Hosea's bounties in Blackwater. The game's over, Micah, time to go and explore getting swing, if you don't break the rope in the process." John growled.

"You ain't the leader, Marston. Maybe the rat is you. After all, you've left the gang for a year." Micah looked at Dutch, his eyes considerate. "Dutch, are you really going to trust the men who always be asking questions? Come on. You need loyalty! I need it! Loyalty!"

Dutch's eyes landed on his momentarily, his face straining. It was obvious that the man was torn, and when he was, he didn't make the best decisions. Hosea knew that more than anyone.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "We were idiots. It made sense from the beginning."

"No, it damn well hasn't."

Arthur snapped out his weapon which Micah retaliate with both of his weapons, aiming at Arthur and Lenny.

"I should have killed you months ago," Arthur growled.

Lenny kept his eye trained on Micah, but appealed to both Dutch and Hosea. The kid could have pulled a trigger, but he didn't want a possible gunfight. That occurred to him. "Dutch, Hosea, think."

"Dutch, Hosea..." Micah said. "Be practical now. I gave you both followers. We lost some of our best in Blackwater. Cleet and Joe are by your side cause of me. None of us are questioning you because we're trying to get out!"

This was getting out of control. Hosea commanded, "Put your guns away."

John didn't move, his hand wrapped around his revolver. "We can't do that, Hosea."

Damn, this was lining up to be a tragedy greater than Lincoln's assassination.

"And why not?" Hosea demanded.

"We ain't riding nowhere with the likes of him no more," Arthur declared. "The rest of you, pick your side now, cause this is over." He looked at both Hosea and Dutch. "All them years for this snake."

"Oh, be quiet, cowpoke," Micah spat at Arthur. "You live in the clouds." He looked at both before his gaze settled on Dutch. "What was I telling you, Dutch? He's gone mad and now he wants to rip your gang apart! It's time to cut him loose!"

"I'm sure that's not the case!" Hosea exclaimed, his own frustration catching up to him.

But his words fell on deaf ears. Despite his power in the gang, he was truly powerless in this situation.

"This is a clear and cut case, Dutch!" John shouted. "Micah has been a rat from day one I tell ya! You're trusting someone you've known for 6 months over me and Arthur?! We have always been at your side for all them goddamn years, but we cannot work with him!" He indicated to Micah. "What would Annabelle think of you right now?!"

Wrong words. Dutch's vein in his jaw throbbed painfully, showing that statement landed a low one.

His voice booming, he delivered his statement... at John.

"All of you are betraying the gang with these actions, John. You'll no longer be a member of the gang if you don't put your guns down." Dutch spoke, his anger manifesting in his tone.

"If saving all of us from being swung is betrayal against the gang, then that's a risk I am more than willing to take, Dutch," John replied, receiving mumbles of agreement from those behind him... and even others who were standing. Oh no, this was going to turn ugly fast. "Look at you! Micah's behind it all. He wants us to become crazy and abandon our values. But I won't let him. We won't let him."

"You'd rather be deemed a traitor?" Dutch asked, the threat still present.

"Rather stay loyal to my family than follow a rat who only tells you what you want to hear, Dutch," Lenny spoke sadly this time, but passionately.

"You both are rats..." Dutch growled. "And here I thought you were smart, young Lenny."

"From where I'm standing, the only traitor here is you, Dutch," Charles replied, resolute.

"Hosea," Arthur looked at him, his face pleading. "Hosea… please, please, don't follow him. We all love Dutch, but we cannot stand with Micah. You don't have to be a part of this. You know it's wrong. Come with us!"

"He's right, Hosea," John joined in next, the previous hostility in his voice diminishing considerably as he addressed their other father figure. "We don't want to harm you, either of you. But you both know this is wrong. We know that times are rough, but he's not going to fix anything. Turn back now, before it's too late."

Dutch eyed him coldly. "There's nothing to turn back from, Mr. Marston. We must remain loyal to one another. I'm afraid Mr. Bell's accusation may have been correct."

"Then you are lost to us, Dutch." Arthur replied solemnly before he focused again on Hosea. "Hosea… please!"

Hosea opened his mouth, unsure of what to do. He wanted to help Arthur and John, but leaving behind his partner...

He didn't have long to think.

Agitated beyond belief, Dutch snapped up his revolvers, pointing at both sides as he assumed his positions. "Who amongst you is with me," he stared back and forth between Arthur and Micah before turning his aim on Arthur, "and who is betraying me?"

Hosea noticed that those who followed Arthur shuffled closer to him. Lenny and John aimed their guns at Micah. Sean's revolver was directed in the air. Karen walked to Sean's side and aimed her weapon at Micah as well. Sean remained at her side, looking terrified but less so now. Pearson and Swanson also hesitated but joined Arthur. When Sadie, Uncle, Mary-Beth, also moved to Arthur's side, those armed turning their aim to Micah, Dutch lost control:

"What the hell is wrong with all of you? You're going to be okay!" He ground his teeth together, incensed at their quietness and insubordination, which he perceived as a lack of loyalty. "Trust me!... Please!"

Yet, Dutch wasn't without his own loyal followers. Javier and Tilly moved behind him. Teeth clenched, Tilly's hands were wrapped around her repeater, almost as if using the weapon to reassure herself. Javier looked even more frantic and lost but determined. Grimshaw hesitated but also joined Dutch, aiming her weapon at the ground. Molly seemed out of place, for she was unarmed, but she stood alongside Dutch. Micah, Joe, and Cleet also drew closer to Dutch, keeping their weapons lined up on their targets.

The gang was broken apart...

Arthur and Dutch had their weapons aimed at one another; as did John, Lenny, and Micah, Charles and Cleet, and Kieran and Joe.

"Tilly, Grimshaw, Molly, Javier, think, think for yourselves," Arthur said, a pained expression on his face.

"He's lying," Micah said. "He's ly-ing."

Abigail grabbed Jack's hand and made her way to Arthur's side, with Cain following loyally. Although Javier slowly lowered his weapon on Charles, Sean and Tilly kept theirs in the air.

"You all know the rules!" Grimshaw shouted, clearly pained. "We have to stay by-"

"We cannot do that anymore, Ms. Grimshaw," Arthur said quietly.

And now, Hosea recognized he was in the middle. This was all just... too much. He didn't think it would have come to this! But he had to stop it! He had to stop them all quickly before they did something stupid that they would regret!

At the center of the makeshift arena, Hosea aimed at the air and fired.

Chapter Text

All eyes turned to Hosea, knowing not to dare pull a bullet.

Even Micah Bell wouldn't.

Goddamn it!

Micah had either wanted to get into Arthur's good books using his morals against him or to make him fall blind with the gang's code and finally put a bullet through Morgan's skull and make sure it stayed that way. He'd needed that Blackwater money!

He hadn't expected Bill to act so soon.

Perhaps he'd overestimated the man's stupidity.

Or perhaps this was planned for quite some time!

He had been convinced that Hosea would side with Arthur and John (should have killed Scarface when he had the chance). After all, they were his sons.

But to his astonishment, Dutch shot up in the air, drawing all of their attention. Even Micah wouldn't dare fire upon Hosea. It would risk turning Dutch against him, but Esucella as well, and the rest of the folks siding with Dutch.

Siding with Micah.

Except Cleet and Joe.

Those two were his boys...

And damn...

Meanwhile, Arthur had no delusions left about what would happen if they all decided to stand down now.

"Enough!" Hosea barked. "Enough!"

"Hosea, are you betraying me as well?" Dutch's darkened eyes landed on him, agitated.

"No one's betraying you, Dutch!" Lenny growled. "No one except him and his goons!" He motioned to Micah who stared at him coldly. Dark-skinned would have to be taken care of soon if Micah wanted a chance.

"You ain't got no proof of that, my dark-skinned friend," Micah growled back.

"Hosea, don't you see?" Morgan inquired. "He's betrayed us all. We're all trying to tell you!"

Hosea's eyes swapped from gunslinger to gunslinger, noticing none of them were aiming at him. Yes, Arthur was aiming at Dutch and the other way around, but whatever that came up between them may be irreparable. But even that could be justified with what Micah'd been plotting no doubt behind the scenes.

Hosea noticed Sean was aiming in the air. The kid looked so conflicted and utterly broken. No doubt, killing Bill hurt him. He always was extremely loyal, despite leaving the gang for lapses of time.

'He wants to side with Dutch, but is staying loyal to Arthur.'

That was the description that best matched most of the folks on Arthur's side.

And now, Hosea recognized why they were doing this.

"Come on, come on. I have a plan..." Dutch said, his voice barely maintaining its control. "All you all have to do is wait for us to make a little more of money!"

Hosea's eyes snapped to Dutch. "Dutch, can't you see what Micah is doing?! He's splitting us all apart!"

"He won't!" Dutch guaranteed in a croaky tone. "I will make sure he won't!"

"We'd lived without him and we'll live after him!" John exclaimed.

Fire burnt in his eyes. "I want to give him a chance. To open his heart. You all don't see the good inside of Micah? There's more than an savage killer! Now put your guns down!"

"No, Dutch, no, it's either you kick him out or we all leave," Arthur said, unflinchingly, receiving nods of agreement from the rest-most reluctant but still rather take their chances with him than someone like Micah.

"I am the leader."

"Well," Arthur started slowly at first before finding a sudden surge of courage, "maybe you ain't deserve to be any sort of leader no more."

Dutch's nostrils flared. "What. Did. You. Just. Say?"

The hiss would have made even lawmen afraid.

But not Arthur Morgan.

He stared back, without any thought.

"You tell us to follow you. You want us to do all these things?" Arthur elaborated. "And we all believe them. I've believed them. But then I take a step back, look at the amount of money that gets us closer to the west, and realize what the plan is. All that comes is putting others down for thinking about leaving. You blame us for making mistakes. You tell us to stay behind you. But when we come to think for ourselves and try to find a life outside of it, you'd either talk about one more score. How many scores are there, Dutch? You tell me."

Dutch's quiet was deafening. The birds in the background and the sounds that came with the early morning light were all that the gang leader could hear.

"Was there ever a plan?" Arthur demanded. "Ever a plan to get us out of this life? We can't just walk out in the sunset. Admit it, Dutch, you never wanted to move out west. You just want thoughtless killers like Micah who would follow you into schemes that will get more money. Everything you did was designed for one purpose and one purpose only. To keep us together and under your thumb. You didn't want to go no more, he wanted to stay where he was robbing those who he felt he should and maintain control of the gang. Every time we try do anything to actually change anything you get angry, cause that means you might lose power. The West and whatever else is the carrot you used and nothing else."

Dutch recoiled in surprise. "No, I... I have a plan. We're all just unfortunate. I have listened to you lately, ain't I?"

"Only because the doubt in your leadership that everyone is showing," Arthur challenged. "If it was up to me, we would be lying low and avoiding the law. Instead, everything you've been doing is anything else, and you have that rat-" he nodded at Micah, "ruining everything we've built."

Still, no one dared to fire a shot.

Arthur looked at his allies and Dutch's supporters both. "I can't promise I'll be perfect. I ain't good at giving speeches but I will do my best to make sure no more folks fall. That we depend on each other. We'll be a community, not a gang. We'll listen to older members," he nodded to John and Uncle, "and new ones." He nodded to Charles and Sadie.

"You can't do this," Dutch said darkly. "I am your gang leader. You all can't betray me." His hand tightened over the hammer of his revolver.

"Don't do it, Dutch," Charles said.

"I used to believe being a good member was doing everything he tells you. That's how me and John were raised. But we're capable of feelings. We have to make our own decisions."

The Morgan Gang, or whatever it would be, stood straighter.

"Prepare the horses, grab your items, leave everything else," Arthur beckoned. "We'll make sure nothing happens."

They all dispersed, save for the gunslingers.

Dutch's chin throbbed. "So you're really doing this? And you too, Sean? I thought you were loyal."

Sean grimaced.

"Sean is loyal," Karen growled, "you aren't, Dutch van Der Linde."

Dutch clearly was thinking about what would happen if he fired a shot. So did Micah. However, none decided to do so if they wanted to live. Not now. It was going to be a disaster if they all went and got themselves killed.

"Come on, Hosea, you don't have to stay here. You know what Micah wants to do."

"I know," Hosea nodded before staring at Dutch one last time with disappointment, "it shames me that you're choosing to heed the words of someone who causes nothing but trouble, Dutch, I hope you wake up."

Dutch's jaw descended, a weak "...Hosea?" slipping out of him. "You're betraying me?"

Hosea looked at him, pained and saddened, "I'm staying loyal to my sons, Dutch."

"You did this..." Dutch growled as Hosea moved down in the direction to help Karen and Mary-Beth. His temper rose. "You did this!" He repeated. "All of you!"

"You did this, Dutch," Lenny snapped back, "Arthur told you to do one thing and you'd done another." His face flashed with disgust. "Maybe you aren't the man we'd all thought you were."

When finally supplies were loaded on a single wagon, Pearson said behind them nervously if anything else. "We're ready."

Sparing one last glance at Dutch and motioning for the rest of the gunslingers to follow, they all kept their eyes on them until they were assured that no one was to fire.

It took a few minutes, and the tension was still in the air as Charles, Lenny, and John kept their eyes out on Dutch's followers.

Moving over to the wagons, he heard his name being called out.

"Arthur!"

He turned around.

"Arthur!" The voice said again.

Closer now.

And he looked down to see a dark-skinned girl. Tilly. It pained him to know that she would side with Micah. After all, she had gotten out before he died last time. She was smart enough to get out this time, right? But then again, Bill didn't die, nor did everything proceed the same as they did.

"So that's it, huh?" Tilly asked emotionlessly. "You're just leaving us all."

"Tilly..." He addressed with some bitterness, unable to deny the pang. She was his sister. While she didn't aim at him or John, it still was a painful wound to know that she would always be loyal to Dutch more. She didn't make it to the draw on their final day before everything fully went to shit and he finally died.

She'd also believed that Molly'd deserved to die, something that Arthur and Mary-Beth were both conflicted over.

"I know you're not lying, Arthur," she said, placing a hand on his wrists before he could have walked off, capturing him in her grip.

Still unable to ever hurt her, Arthur replied, "But you decided to side with Micah."

"Dutch, Arthur, Dutch..."

"Why, sweetheart?" Arthur asked. He had to know Tilly's reasoning. Maybe he did but hearing from her would explain everything.

"He found me, Arthur. Took me from the pits and gave me a purpose in life. Before that, I was tossed from person to person. He gave me a community. Friendship. All of it. But you're still my brother. You and John." Tilly answered, clear emotion in her tone. "And I'm not staying just cause of him."

Arthur frowned, his forehead scrunching, "Javier?"

Tilly nodded slightly, "Yes, Arthur, I know that he's capable of doing good, and... he... Won't allow Micah or his boys to hurt me. But I have something to give you. Dutch won't notice. He'll think Abigail or someone else took it. Maybe I can... do some more work from the inside."

"It's too dangerous, Tilly," Arthur pleaded.

Tilly straightened, "It is, but I have Grimshaw here to protect me too. You know, she also isn't blind. We both know what have been happening. And, well, Dutch doesn't need to know everything."

Unsure of what she was talking about, Tilly pulled out a box from the blom of her dress. The camp donations throughout so many years were in her hands, offered to Arthur. In his haste, Arthur didn't even think about taking them. After all, it was a way only to cause a rivalry from Dutch; the official confirmation that they'd all betrayed him and none of them cared.

And yet, while Arthur did not doubt that they could maintain themselves for a while, they would have to do something to get back on their feet.

"Tilly... why I..." Arthur started, his words a slur as he was caught off guard.

"Don't say it. Get out of here, Arthur," Tilly declared. "Or I'll have to whack you for taking our payrolls." She winked at him, a mischievous smirk across her lips. "You and me, we ain't decent."

A small smile crossed his lips, "We ain't."

The remaining gunslingers got to their horses and pulled on the reins.

Arthur moved to the wagon and pulled on the reins which consisted of four horses, Ryan included. Hosea and Abigail sat next to him. The wagon took off seconds later, dragging itself out of the Clemens Point.

"Where are we going to go now?"

Arthur'd thought about a location. He had to take them somewhere that they won't all lose faith in him and return to Dutch's services. Yet, so large of a committee couldn't be found in a city. He'd considered Shady Bell since it worked the last time they'd gone to last time but decided that was far too close and allowed Micah to pick them off one by one.

The forest near the Balfours could work, though it would require a negotiation, and unlike Dutch, he didn't want to compel them to feel like they had to welcome their presence. A bunch of killers, they were. But they would have to make the best of the situation.

"We'll have to start new..." Hosea said, his voice grim. "I never thought it would come to this."

"Dutch hasn't been the man we'd thought we knew for a long time, Hosea," Arthur said weakly, producing the camp funds for both to see.

"Arthur..." Hosea said slowly, his eyes widening. "When Dutch finds..."

"Tilly gave it to me."

"Tilly?" Abigail asked. "I thought she was with Dutch."

"She is, but she's still a good kid," Arthur answered with a bit of defense in his tone. While he would worry 'bout Tilly for perhaps a very long time, he knew that she wasn't stupid and that she deserved no anger.

After all, she was just doing what Abigail and Karen did of Arthur, just riding with Dutch.

Grimshaw was much the same.

"Where we're going?" Charles inquired.

"Roanoke Ridge," Arthur answered. "Tell the rest."

Charles nodded, "You got it, Arthur."

It was a day of relentless traveling. They had to stay close to the sidelines and lowly populated streets, driving through Saint Denis to beyond. All were confused and even a little afraid about where they were going, but none questioned Arthur's decision-making, knowing that he must had a plan.

They'd stopped briefly for Lenny and Sean to grab new camp supplies in the city before continuing on.

Roanoke Ridge was located in eastern New Hanover, bordering the Heartlands and Grizzlies East to the west, and Lemoyne to the south. Along the region's eastern border was the Lannahechee River.

With rugged and mountainous terrain, Roanoke Ridge was a heavily forested area. The hills were abundant with coal and precious metals, making mining one of the largest industries in the area. Aside from Annesburg and Van Horn Trading Post, the region was quite isolated, with a few scattered villages and homesteads that had little contact with civilization.

As they set up the campsite here, it was only a matter of time before the women could finish. Karen, Mary-Beth, Abigail, and Sadie were no Ms. Grimshaw, but they learned much from their environment and had adaptability skills that made them.

"Since the law doesn't pay much attention to the poor community in Roanoke Ridge, we'll have to be careful," Arthur announced as the new members walked around. "This area allows vicious gangs like the Murfree Brood to be a bunch of killers. We'll have to take care of the problems and show that we're not here to terrorize the community to build good-will."

"We'll need an enforcer to take Arthur's role now that Arthur can't do it anymore as much since he'll be the leader," Hosea declared.

"Who said I can't do it anymore?" Arthur insisted. "I ain't helpless cause I decided to be a leader, Hosea..." He started in protest. For twenty years, he was an enforcer. Being that for a gang means more than having heavy hands and being able to take punches. Arthur was the main enforcer because when there was dirty work to be done he would do it. When someone needed to be beaten or killed he would do it.

And he learned that they couldn't run from their past.

That everything won't be better cause they wanted it.

They would have folks after them, seeking their blood.

"But you're going to be needed here, son. They all decided to follow you, not me." Hosea persisted, staring at him. "And you might need to be around if Dutch and Micah decides to turn up."

Arthur saw all was staring at him back and he realized that Hosea was right. "Alright fine, but I... want everyone to vote."

"Everyone?" Mary-Beth asked.

"Everyone," he confirmed.

That was... new.

Most of Dutch's choices ultimately came from leadership and that alone. However, that choice also just won the complete loyalty of the vast majority of the gang members.

"Why not Charles?" Karen asked.

"I want to stay close and hunt for the same reasoning. I also don't trust that Micah and his goons will stay away." Charles declared.

"What 'bout Sean?" Karen teased.

Sean spoke with his usual chipper for the first time in the past day, "Aye! I can strap, but I ain't no Arthur Morgan! All English does is stare down anyone and make 'em follow him! I would make it a lot more fun for everyone! We need some joy in our lives."

"If you want anyone who tries to whack us to get their ears talk off," John mumbled, "that will be a good idea."

"Oh, shut up, Scarface!" Sean leaned in. "I ain't the one who got eaten by wolves!"

"Alright, alright, we get it," Arthur grumbled. "I will always wonder why I never left you in Blackwater."

"You woulda missed me, Arthur! You need me and I need you!" Despite how much he irritated him, it was good to see that there was a possibility of Sean recovering from what he did to Bill.

"John?" Hosea looked at the younger brother of Arthur.

Many didn't want to leave that life because it was all they knew. To them, running off and becoming citizens were unrealistic. Just cause they sided with Arthur didn't mean that they were able to walk off into the sunset. No, they needed each other, and with Dutch cut loose, many of them were terrified.

And perhaps a part of Arthur didn't want to be as disorganized as they were. They didn't have to rush into heat and get the law over them all of the time. Robbing was a thing of the past, but cons could be pulled off, and perhaps growing.

John nodded.

"All of you?" Hosea asked.

It received agreement from all, and it was expected. John Marston would be the new main enforcer of the Morgan...

What was it?

The Morgan Gang?

"Mr. Morgan," Kieran spoke up, turning the matter to the question at many's thoughts, "what is going to be the name of this... gang?"

"The Morgan Community?" Lenny recommended, earning a glare from Arthur. "What? Don't blame me, boss, I'm just thinking of names."

"Hey, I like that name!" Karen shouted. "Come on, the Morgan Community doesn't sound bad! Ain't I right?!"

Agreement followed again.

"The Morgan Community it is," Hosea said with a smirk at Arthur.

"So it is," John said, nodding.

Goddamn them...

Oh, he hated that name, and they all knew it.

Chapter Text

The first few days came with uncertainty for the new Morgan Community. Quite frankly, they had nowhere to go, and nothing else to plan. Cutting their losses from Dutch was something that no one wanted to do, but they'd depended on Arthur and Hosea to come up with something instead of planning to stand here for a long time. It was not an isolated place, and they'd received a few attacks from Murfree Brood. Hell, Arthur and Charles even set out and dealt with them, rescuing a few of their captives and bringing them back to civilization. It was by the fifth day that they were finally being left alone. The Murfrees seemed to have recognized that their area was up for shares and this group of members weren't going anywhere.

After that good old strapping, they were back to the lowest points of their lives. They had no Dutch to speak to them about plans, even giving speeches about hopeful possibilities. Pearson was able to put together something passable for them, but it was clear that they were running low.

A week and three days after they'd left the Van Der Linde gang, Hosea called Charles and Lenny in and asked Charles if he could take young Lenny out and train him how to improve his hunting skills. Thus, Charles was guiding him.

Under his whispered instructions, Lenny leveled his Bolt Action Rifle and dropped the deer onto the ground, taken down by a sole dart.

"Did you see that, Charles?! Did you?!" Lenny exclaimed eagerly, lowering his rifle and wrapping it around his chest.

"You learn quickly," Charles said, distant and reserved as always. Truth be told, Lenny's innocence was relieving. Charles had known a brief summary about the boy. He was eager, ambitious, but the boy had a touchy past on slavery.

But in some ways, Charles found himself dealing with more responsibility since they've left Dutch behind with his followers. He was no fool. He knew that Dutch wouldn't let all of this slide. Him drawing his guns on Arthur and John was telling. Doing so with Hosea, it just confirmed that the man wasn't who he'd thought he was.

Arthur thankfully had seen through him and the bullshit. With the likes of Micah Bell, it made for a dangerous combination.

"This is how you cut the meat," Charles said, carefully guiding his knife over the meat and giving it Lenny to grab instinctively.

"Do I have to carry this?" A groan almost came from Lenny at the last statement.

Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes and looked at him pointedly. "You want to have something to eat, right?"

Lenny nodded once.

"Then yes."

"Okayyy," Lenny agreed at last without complaint, loading the meat up on Maggie. "Hey, you're coming back to camp?"

"Hosea and Arthur may have found something for me at Saint Denis," Charles voiced. "They told me to meet up with them."

"And why can't I?"

"You'll be too busy making sure that nothing happens when we're gone," Charles said seriously, catching the way the younger man's face darkened.

Lenny nodded once again and kicked his horse into action, allowing Charles to move over to Taima, briefly checking the map for the location that Arthur and Hosea told him to meet up, before doing the same, but in the opposite direction.

It only took what Charles guessed was a few hours as the sun rose even higher.

As Charles moved into the bustling streets of Saint Denis, he'd checked around to make sure avoiding the law enforcement that populated the streets. He navigated through the crowded thoroughfares, his eyes scanning the alleys and side streets.

He'd spotted the familiar figures of Arthur and Hosea tucked away in a narrow, shadowed lane. They were close together, deep in conversation, though quietly.

Charles hitched Taima and approached them, his boots echoing softly against the damp stones. Arthur looked up first, eyes softening slightly as he acknowledged Charles with a nod. Hosea glanced at him briefly but continued speaking as he looked back up at a nearby hotel.

"Glad you could make it, Charles," Hosea greeted, finally turning to face him. "We've got a plan, but we'll need your help to pull it off."

Charles nodded, obedient and prepared. "What's the con?"

Arthur leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's a wealthy gentleman in town, goes by the name of Theodore Harrington. He's a collector of rare artifacts and has a particular fondness for Native American relics. We've got a fake artifact that we're going to sell him for a hefty price."

Hosea chimed in, "I got it all figured out. We'll need to play our parts just right, but if we do, we'll walk away with a tidy sum."

Charles was already ready. "Just say what you need me to do."

The edges of Hosea's lips curved into a small smile. "Here's how it's going to go down. Arthur and I will approach Harrington, posing as dealers with a rare and valuable artifact. We'll spin a tale about its history and significance, getting his attention. Meanwhile, Charles, you'll be our eyes and ears, keeping watch from a distance. If anything goes wrong, you'll be our backup."

Charles listened. He didn't know much about cons as much as Hosea did, but he was no idiot. "Sounds straightforward enough. What's the signal if things go south?"

Hosea smiled, a small grin spreading through his lips. "If things go south, Arthur will tip his hat. That's your cue to step in. But I don't think it'll come to that. Harrington is a collector, and he'll be too eager to pass up the chance to own something so rare."

"It won't require shooting," Arthur felt the instinct to add in. "We don't want to kill anyone. We just want to keep this low."

With the plan prepared, the three men moved into position. Arthur and Hosea stepped out into the bustling street, becoming the perfect actors of respected dealers in seconds. Charles watched from the shadows, his eyes never leaving the trio as they approached Theodore Harrington, surrounded by other clearly wealthy men.

Harrington was a portly man with a well-groomed mustache, and clearly a self-centered type if Charles do say so himself. He was standing outside a fancy hotel, engaged in conversation with a few other well-dressed individuals and making a public show of how he had plenty of money.

Arthur and Hosea knew they had to deal with this carefully. They approached him with a polite nod, introducing themselves as dealers of rare artifacts. Charles stayed on the sidelines, prepared to keep on the lookout and acting like a normal commoner who didn't wish to interfere.

"Mr. Harrington," Hosea started. "We've heard about your passion for Native American relics, and we believe we have something that will interest you greatly."

Oh, that was interesting to the dark-skinned man even more.

Harrington's eyes light. "Oh, really? And what might that be?"

"Arthur, show him, please," Hosea beckoned, waving at him to come forward.

Arthur approached him, holding out a beautifully constructed, albeit fake, artifact. "This is a rare and ancient piece, said to have been passed down through generations of a long-lost tribe. It's believed to hold great spiritual significance."

Harrington's eyes widened as he looked at the artifact, his fingers tracing the intricate designs. "This is amazing!"

"Hu ah hu ah," Hosea said, gripping it. "It comes with a reasonable price, my friend."

"How much are you asking for it?"

Hosea chuckled and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "Given its rarity and historical value, we're asking for a substantial sum. But for a collector like yourself, my friend, it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

Charles didn't know how Hosea could sound so useless and convincing at the same time. But it was a good thing. He wasn't with the gang for long. The community was a new life. Arthur made it clear day one that they wouldn't do much shooting outside of hunting and self-defense. It made Sean MacGuire and Karen Jones groan, of course, but they were respecting Arthur's wishes. Besides, the Irish wasn't the same after killing Bill and his comedic demeanor have tuned down plenty.

Charles found that he didn't want to kill any more people either. He'd doubted that they would be able to gather their loses and walk into the sunset. But, it felt much better, knowing that they were doing something and establishing a community that would hopefully grow as they leave this life behind and one day won't have to do this bullshit anymore.

The greedy man nodded eagerly, green in the face, clearly intrigued. "I'll take it. Name your price."

"5,000," Hosea answered.

"5,000?" Harrington repeated, eyes widened.

"5,000," Hosea confirmed. "It was 10,000 where we got it. You could easily put it up for sale."

The collector didn't hesitate. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, handing it over to Arthur with a satisfied smile.

"Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen," Harrington said, clutching the artifact tightly.

Arthur and Hosea exchanged a small glance, a unnoticed inclination that their work was done. They bid Harrington a polite farewell and made their way back to the alley where Charles slowly followed them when the man was continuing to usher people forward, proudly holding his new artifact.

"Well, that went smoother than I expected," Arthur said, smiling widely now.

Unfortunately, Arthur spoke too soon. The artifact came apart in Harrington's hands, causing him to shout out. "Hey, this isn't a artifact! It's a fake! I want my money back!" He barked, throwing it down, red in the face, and turned to face the few men in suits. "Get them! Get them!"

"Shit!" Arthur cursed.

"Looks like you've spoke too soon!" Charles commented.

The three men began running in the streets, the men in suits following them, including Harrington. There was no time to get on their horses. They were too busy, running through the alleyways and pushing people outside. The commotion naturally drew the attention of law enforcement.

"He was such a delightful purchaser! We could have made more deals!" Hosea pretended to be hurt by being discovered.

"Sometimes, I'm thinking you've lost your mind, old man!" Arthur hissed, climbing frantically over the fence.

Hosea cackled this time. "Oh, are you kidding?! This was fun! We're doing this again!"

"Like hell we are," Arthur grumbled, almost tripping over a garbage can and only managing to stabilize himself as he leaned against the wall.

Harrington's men in suits were getting closer and closer, and the situation was quickly spiraling out of control. Charles, Arthur, and Hosea exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They had to lose their pursuers and quickly!

"Split up!" Hosea called out, turning sharply to the left and fading into a narrow alley.

Arthur and Charles nodded, each taking a different path to confuse their chasers.

Arthur dashed down a bustling market street, going through stalls and startled shoppers. A few people had to dodge out of the way or be pushed by the bulky man, making the man feel bad, but couldn't distract them. Once, he knocked over a basket of apples and oranges, sending them rolling in all directions and resulting in several of Harrington's men to slip and collapse. Two managed to stand straighter, and moved through a few, but both eventually toppled over when others tried to lean on them.

Charles, in the meantime, jumped over a low fence and found himself in a courtyard combined with laundry lines. He grasped a sheet and roughly pulled it down, wrapping a few of the pursuing men in sheets of white and black and giving himself even more time as he'd moved away.

Hosea had led his pursuers into a dead-end alley. As they rounded the corner, he was waiting, perched atop a stack of crates. They gasped, but it was too late for them to react. He tipped over a barrel of fish guts, sending the men sliding and slipping in the slimy mess.

"You'll never catch us, you fools!" Hosea laughed, leaping down and practically dancing away.

Back in the market, Arthur had managed to lose most of the chasers, but one particularly ambitious man kept on his heels. Eventually, Arthur spotted a nearby tavern and ducked inside, coming outside a moment later with a tray of empty mugs.

The man turned around the left corner. Arthur tossed the tray at him, sending mugs flying in all directions, receiving a shout by a few people who had to jump aside. The man yelped and ducked, giving Arthur the opportunity to slip away.

Charles was climbing onto a balcony to escape the people who were chasing him, but now found himself cornered. He noticed that they devoted most of their attention to him.

"Get the negro and take him in!" One pompous windbag hissed.

With a quick glance around, he spotted a nearby awning, kicking the racist one of them lot in his lower abdomen for good measure, and leaped, catching the edge and throwing himself onto the roof just before they came out. Below, and from afar, his chasers stared up in bemusement, unsure of where the dark-skinned man had disappeared.

Charles waited until appropriate timing until he jumped down and slowly landed on the ground and went hiding into another nearby alleyway, trying to blend himself in with common folks, receiving a few odd looks from nearby civilians, but nothing much. He looked around frantically, barely resisting jumping and resisting put a bullet between the person's eyes when a hand was placed on his shoulder.

Charles gripped the collar of the person and prepared to deliver a punch to his eye to knock the bastard out when he saw the person he was about to harm.

"Hey, Charles," Arthur Morgan's gruff voice met him. "Can you let me go now? Please?"

"Sure thing. I managed to escape. How did you get out?"

Arthur smiled slightly, "I was able to trick the fools to run pass me. Think they are not chasing Hosea. Let's go find the useless man anyway."

With a whistle, Arthur and Charles signaled for Ryan and Taima, who came galloping down the street. Both Arthur and Charles moved over quickly, climbing gracefully on Taima's saddle, and rode off, leaving his pursuers in the dust.

Hosea out of the end of a long road, spotting Taima, Ryan, and the owner on top, did the same.

He whistled Silver Dollar, and mounted up, riding through the streets of Saint Denis.

A few of the men in blue piped up on seeing them after their mischief, but they were gone. It was nothing big that a small fee couldn't handled. It most certainly wouldn't result in swinging, but they would have to be careful.

The three men rode together at the outskirts of the city, coming across the bridge that was a landmark for their way home.

"That was fun!" Hosea laughed.

"You're saying?!" Arthur called out. "That's crazy!"

"Well, at least, it was successful!" Hosea countered. "Maybe going down the straight and narrow would help us more! Why don't you plan, Mr. Morgan?!"

"Don't think that it would cause any trouble?" Charles interrupted, reserved and unsure as always, despite the small smile across his lips.

"Maybe," Arthur shrugged. "I could send Mary-Beth to pay off if anything else. Blame the old coot here."

They continued moving until they were sure Saint Denis was behind them.

"Well, that was a close one," Hosea admitted, wiping a tear from his eye.

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "I haven't had that much fun in ages. Reminds me of the old days with John and Du-" he stopped himself, not wanting to mention the gang's former leader. "Nevermind, we'll just have to be on the lookout.

The mood changed nevertheless, but Charles found that he was dissatisfied with it. It wasn't like he'd enjoyed leaving Dutch. None of them did. But it was something they were working through. The path that Micah was leading Dutch down didn't give off a good impression.

Many folks weren't happy with the way things were going already in Blackwater. It only kept happening when Arthur called Dutch out in Colter, and again with every scheme. The Valentine bank robbery didn't mean nothing when the main enforcer of the Van Der Linde gang weren't letting us with every scheme.

As soon as they made it back to cap, Hosea pay Silver Dollar one last time and grinned at the men who hitched their horses up to a nearby tree. "We make quite the team, don't we?"

"You're saying it," Arthur said. "Charles, thank for your help."

Charles nodded and moved past them, noticing Pearson cooking the meat that Lenny had brought back. It wasn't long before he'd finished it, and everyone was able to grab their food, including Karen who was at camp duty for now on the lookout, allowing Lenny to take her place as he'd finished his food fairly early on and was fully energized.

That night, they'd planned to sleep while keeping two lookouts.

Their lives were far from better. They would have to think about going somewhere so that they wouldn't have to live off thievery, but it didn't help that most of the money in Blackwater was lost. What little they have may not be enough to support them in the long run.

But as a community, they would be alright, Charles believed as he closed his eyes and settled in for a good night sleep, knowing that a better tomorrow would happen sooner or later.

Chapter Text

"I hope that con was for something," Arthur said. At the very least, they didn't kill anyone. It was just minor mischief, and they were taking from the rich, but didn't make it all the way right regardless. It was a matter of survival. That said, Dutch's way of survival wouldn't work with the ways things were heading.

The edges of Hosea's lips turned up into a slight smile. "Every little bit counts, son. As far as I'm concerned, we're not robbing from the poor. We are from the rich. There's a difference."

Arthur could acknowledge that there was. But they were far from the position to be taking anything from anyone. Fortunately, this one, outside of stepping on livelihoods, wouldn't draw much attention on them as much as a bank robbery would.

Arthur wasn't a saint after all.

But it was still odd that Dutch wasn't with them now. He didn't know what he could do; Dutch was always able to came up with plans. Arthur wasn't exactly meant to be a leader, at least not in a way that Dutch could. At one point, John was convinced that Dutch could recruit entire armies.

Arthur only had the loyalty of these folks, who for some reason, decided to leave with him. They didn't swear loyalty to him. They'd swore loyalty to Dutch, but only split from him since none of them liked Micah.

He had several problems to deal with; more like thinking 'bout long-term goals and what they were going to do. Harvesting mangoes in Tahiti wasn't Arthur's idea of living life, but goddamn it, he had been a bloody fool who believed anything that came out of that man's mouth, even sometimes more than Hosea, and losing his life for it.

"I just want to keep it easy, okay, old man?" Arthur placed his hand on Hosea's shoulder, keeping full eye contact.

Hosea nodded. "You're the leader of this fine little community, Mr. Morgan. I will follow behind you no matter what."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the title's reminder. He would have to think of something better for them to consider, but he knew John, Lenny, and even Sean enjoyed it...

Sean.

Sean...

As Arthur moved away, he spotted the young man moving up, repeater clutched in his grip as he'd prepared for guard's duty.

"Karen think I shoulda talk with you," Sean said. There was an underline of seriousness that was in his eyes now.

"'Bout what, Sean?" Arthur knew that leaving Dutch behind wasn't easy for him. The Irish man was a born killer, though he did have a heart. He couldn't help but wondered if Karen wasn't there what would Sean have chosen. He didn't want to think 'bout how Beaver Hollow might have went if there was a possibility that Sean could have made the same decision as Javier and Bill.

"'Bout all of this. Me thinks that Dutch is going to show up again." Sean said.

"We will be ready when he does," Arthur responded with a nod. The next time he'd showed up, he would be prepared to put down Micah Bell as well. He'd succeeded in tearing down the gang once before, almost did so again... partially did so if you'd counted the amount of people who were riding with Arthur, though reluctantly.

"Want to get a shot at that little toady snake," Sean spoke, something dark shooting through his eyes. "Know you do too."

"Sean, we must be careful," Arthur shook his head slightly, though he'd shared the sentiment. Micah Bell was a danger to civilization; to so many good folks. He had failed to stop him due to his terminal illness last time, Arthur was determined to shoot Micah first chance he had, now that they split from Dutch.

He would have to keep an eye out on them. There was no way Dutch would just let them go on their merry way. He didn't react to the gang's breaking apart last time. By all means, they have broken away from Dutch before the mess in Saint Denis and Guarma, hopefully preventing any type of equivalents.

Arthur wasn't going to leave the fate of his people up to chance.

The possibility of Micah, and even Dutch, showing up with the intent to shake things up, was a legitimate one. The way Dutch got even crazier when Mary-Beth, Uncle, Karen, and the others left was a bad sign of how everything was going.

Sean's concerns were warranted. "I want to save im. Dutch wouldn't be crazy without that rat bastard whispering in his ear, I tell you, Arthur."

"Maybe," Arthur shrugged partially. Personally, he didn't know if Micah was entirely to blame. Perhaps, if Arthur got the chance to whack him in Strawberry, it would have changed things. But maybe not. Dutch still made the choices to leave him in that oil factory, and left John to die.

Truth be told, it wasn't Dutch's choices that shocked him after all. It was Bill and Javier's - especially Javier's - that did. In a way, Javier Escuella was a version of Arthur who never broke free of that commitment to Dutch, at least before that cliff. He'd remembered the antagonistic way Javier carried himself on in the camp, with his loyalty to Dutch blinding him to the reality of the situation.

Out of all the folks still alive in Beaver Hollow, he'd expected Javier to be one of those who would have opened his eyes, same as Charles and Sadie. But that guess had been wrong.

"I do think it won't be long before Dutch finds his way to us," Arthur said truthfully, "but the first chance I get, if we can put Micah down, I would like for any of us to take it."

"I'll do so, gladly!" Sean exclaimed eagerly and only pipped down at Arthur's inquisitive look. "Maybe with him gone, Dutch will go back to normal."

"Ain't putting all my hopes into that, Sean," Arthur said slowly. "Ain't like Dutch been himself..."

"Found us, he did. Found you." Sean pointed at him. "You are his child, Arthur Morgan, same as I, same as the rest of the people in this camp."

"Ain't going to risk any of the women or anyone else here to save him," Arthur admitted truthfully, though he'd hoped with all of his heart that the Irish was right. Maybe, with the gang broken up like this, it would force Dutch to finally acknowledge that Micah was the problem and pull the trigger himself.

Arthur'd doubted it, but it wasn't the first time he had been wrong 'bout Dutch or Hosea.

It was just Arthur couldn't pour any more into Dutch if he didn't want to risk lives. After all, he had gotten most of them out so far, but they didn't have the money to support themselves or laid down their weapons. Without the attention of the Pinkertons and needless robberies, hopefully, that extended the period of both where Dutch or Javier could finally realize, or follow the same path as Bill by following Micah.

"Be careful of looking too deeply into Dutch, Sean. Something tells me he ain't going to be too positive to you next time you meet for what you did to Bill." Arthur clasped his shoulder. The Irish looked down for a moment, in appreciation or sadness Arthur believed a mixture of both, before staring back up.

"Woulda kill big man again if it is to save you," Sean said truthfully but his eyes wavered. "But think that was the most unsatisfying kill I ever committed, I do. I knew what he was doing to do."

"Should have just let him shot me," Arthur offered in good jest as he moved away from his brother.

"Ain't like I would have been able to leave there alive if I did. Think you were already reaching. You were going to whack him if I didn't." Sean pointed out, a bit of a child-like glint entering his eyes. To him, Arthur was a God in many ways; the legendary shooter who just suddenly wore his emotions on his sleeve.

"We'll have to see but if you have a chance, Sean, put a bullet in him. Don't be letting him catching you when you're down. Micah isn't stupid. He knows how to survive." Arthur responded, a bit of a haunted look entering his eyes.

Sean nodded at once, his fist tightening.

"Arthur, we have visitors..." Hosea said.

Two men walked up, Lenny in toe. The community gathered up, looking at the two natives. Arthur stilled. It have been some time since that incident, but he would never forget the slowly dying man, clinging onto life. Now, to see him healthy and full of life, it was a reminder of himself.

The natives, Rain Falls and Eagle Flies, moved up. "Hello, sir. I am Rains Fall, Chief of the Wapiti. This is my son, Eagle Flies." The younger man nodded in respect. "We have seen you before, and we would like to talk."

Arthur looked at him, jaw slacken, before his eyes traveled to Hosea who nodded with a knowing smile, "Of course. Tea is in order, I believe."

"I still can't believe Arthur would do this!" Dutch snapped, kicking the ground once more.

"It was surprising for all of us," Susan Grimshaw said, laying a hand on his shoulder in the hope of camaraderie.

"My gang," Dutch sneered. "That boy took my gang! What happened to loyalty? What happened to faith?" He sneered. "Should have known that I put too much trust into that boy."

Javier was watching the exchange, pretending that he wasn't. The Mexican couldn't believe that Arthur would separate their familia like this. Did Morgan not realize that they were going to be alright as long as they've suck with Dutch? No, Javier didn't want Morgan dead. He'd wanted Morgan brought back into place, but Micah seemed to have came to the resolution that Morgan was going to bring them all down with his ways.

Yet, that opened the question of why did most of the folks here went with Arthur? What could have motivated them to do such? They were all loyal to Dutch. He'd saved them from the gutters, but the moment Morgan confronted Micah, most of them flocked over to Morgan.

'They were scared.'

Perhaps Javier could sympathize with them, but Dutch had always sprung them out of bad situations. If they'd remained together...

Tilly emerged in her yellow dress, and Javier almost snapped his revolver up on instinct. She gasped, but recognized who it was standing before her now. "Oh, it's you. I thought it was Micah's crows."

"Don't like them either," Javier said honestly. Beyond that, he wished Arthur and John were here. Joe and Cleet might have been loyal to Dutch, like Micah was, but that didn't meant that they weren't the type who made Javier's skin crawl.

"Javier, I need to talk to you," Tilly said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Do you think that we might have made the wrong choice? Maybe, we shoulda left with Arthur. It was-"

"I can't abandon Dutch, hermosa, not now," Javier said fiercely, but with a layer of sadness. What did he not owe Dutch?

If Arthur and John were only able to see that Dutch was their father, that they must remain behind him, within a few short months, they would be safely away in the West, together. Everyone would be safe. They'd barely had enough money to get by as it was. Blackwater was one of their failures.

"He's been there since I was 12 away from those Foreman brothers, Javier," Tilly stated. "I know you feel that way, Javier, and I do too. Dutch saved us, gave us a family when we had nothing."

Javier nodded at once.

Tilly looked down. "But... but what if he's changing? What if he ain't the same man who pulled us out of the dirt?"

A muscle in Javier's cheek throbbed, a darkness passing across his face. "He's still Dutch, Tilly. He's just... he have been through a lot since Blackwater. We all have."

Tilly shook her head gently. "It ain't just that. You saw how Arthur was. He didn't leave for no good reason, Arthur. He was by Dutch for 20 long years. And when he went, he took most of the gang with him. People who've been with Dutch for years. What does that tell you?" She squirmed. "I don't like it."

"They were scared," Javier muttered. "Scared of following the plan."

"Blackwater shows that they may have been right in being," Tilly pressed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Javier, we ain't just talking about the law. We're talking about Dutch. The way he's been acting, the things he's been saying... it ain't like what he used to be. He's getting reckless, and we have lost good folks because of it."

If it was anyone else, Javier's revolver might have became a whole lot more useful in that moment. But Tilly was someone who earned Javier's soft spot. He'd knew that she was swayed by his charms. They couldn't work out in the long term, not yet anyway, but he wouldn't be able to shoot her.

He couldn't just treat her like he did with Arthur and John.

She was innocent, and she was terrified.

She had been Dutch's daughter for the longest and stayed behind him when Arthur cut his losses with the rest of the gang.

Goddamn it, he missed Bill.

"You think I don't know that? But he's still our father. We owe him." Javier insisted.

Tilly looked around for a moment, hiding her nervousness as she spotted the silhouettes in the tent. "But, I'm not sure 'bout this no more, Javier. I... everything felt safer when Arthur and John was here. Come on, you know that."

"They should have stayed loyal to Dutch."

"But what if Dutch didn't give them a choice?" Tilly asked. "If Arthur was telling the truth, Bill tried to whack him. Sean killed him for it. Would you have-"

"No," Javier insisted. "I didn't want that puto dead. I just wanted him to know."

"That means Micah betrayed him first," Tilly rebuked.

Javier didn't know what to say or do. It would have been so easy to just ignore what she had been saying and staying behind Dutch. But he could tell Tilly was fearful. It shouldn't bother him so much. He was loyal to Dutch, not Tilly. The gang as a whole was made by Dutch and Hosea.

'But Hosea went off with Arthur,' the voice in his head mentioned.

And that was what he hated. Hosea Matthews was the father figure of the gang, being one of the first people Javier met. While he'd swore loyalty to Dutch for bringing him apart of this uncivilized state, Javier couldn't ever forget that Hosea was always the smile that made life easier. And with that gone and the way Micah smiled, it brought the smallest unease to his chest.

"You're asking me to betray him," Javier grunted out finally, his voice tighter.

Tilly's hand slid down to grasp Javier's cheek. "I ain't asking you to betray him. I'm asking that maybe we should at least hear Arthur and John out. They are likely not long gone yet, but... I don't think Micah is the way."

Javier stared at her, really stared at her. He wanted to defend Dutch with every fiber of his being. But there was the way that Tilly looked at him that softened his heart. He loved Dutch, held much passion for him and the gang. But what was the point of being around folks like this?

He pulled his hand away. No, he needed to be faithful. Loyalty was all that mattered. He couldn't abandon Dutch no matter what.

"I need to think," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.

Tilly looked after him for a moment, but the sound of footsteps grabbed his attention.

"-Now, Dutch, maybe you should think about this!" Susan Grimshaw insisted with fear and desperation.

"No," Dutch said coldly. "Mr. Bell! Bring Cleet and Joe! Mr. Escuella, you're coming with."

Dutch swung on top of the Count with the rest of the men doing the same.

"What's going on, Dutch?" Micah asked what Javier was wondering.

"We're going to bring back the members of MY gang!" Dutch sneered before beckoning the reins forward and taking off in the direction the former members of the Van Der Linde gang took off.

Javier stared at Tilly's worried eyes one last time before turning away.