Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To be honest, you didn’t think you’d be waking up on some frozen ass mountain, in the middle of no where today. If anything, you’d thought you’d be waking up on your couch, chips decorating the floor; The title screen of that one cowboy game your friend lended you plastered on your living room TV.

However, here you were, on the ground, arms open wide and eyes being flooded with snow flakes that seem to obscure your view from everything. You blink away the snow, turning your head to the right to see a pistol laying in your hand. You sit up, letting the weapon drop softly into the thick snow beside you.

“What the fuck.. What the fuck??” You breath out quietly, whipping your head in different directions, trying to get a good look at where you were.

What happened to you? How did you even get here? Were you kidnapped? Taken from your living room and dropped off? Was the pistol in your hand a warning?

Oh god, were you kidnapped by some rich folk to be in some sick hunting game?

Your mind starts to spiral, and your gasping for air as you can feel panic crawling through your chest and up your throat as you let out a small whimper. You cling to yourself, and as you clutch the fabric on your arms you realize you’re not even in your own clothes.

You’re adorned in a heavily padded flannel jacket, with an ugly brown sweater just underneath it— and instead of the sweats you know you had on before, you now had on black jeans. Your hands are covered in some itchy black fabric, and glancing around you, you find a matching flannel hat. You laugh humorlessly, finding the situation so strange you couldn’t help yourself from the noise.

God you want to scream, to bury your face in your hands and weep, but you knew you couldn’t do that. For one, it was freezing just sitting here, and for two, there could be animals out here trying to hunt you down.

You get up slowly, the cold snow seeping through your jeans becoming too much to handle, along with the jarring new view and destination that came with it. You brush yourself off, not that there was much to brush, and glance down at the gun sitting in the snow.

I should probably bring it, you think to yourself, wringing your hands together. You are in the middle of a mountain with a huge dense forest on it. There’s probably hundreds of predators on this bitch; Bears, Wolves, probably wolverines.

You bend down and grab it quickly, and to your bewilderment, you notice a holster for it on your thigh. You put it where it belongs and place your hands on your hips.

Does this absolutely suck? Yes it does. Are you going to let yourself get killed by just sitting here though? Absolutely not.

You take a good look around once more, and realize slowly that this place looks oddly.. familiar. You’ve seen it before, you had to of. The feeling nags your brain, but for the life of you, you could not remember where you’ve seen this place.

Until, finally, it hits you— The cowboy game. That damn game your friend practically begged you to try playing. This place looks exactly like the beginning chapter, the one where that cowboy went missing for, like, two days. You start glancing around the area again, trying to remember if this was the spot you saw on your console.

But that’s crazy. You couldn’t possibly be stuck in a video game randomly? Perhaps this was a dream, after all you did fall asleep while playing it— At least, you think you had. So you pinch yourself, and the pain jolts you. The realization starts to sink in, along with slight panic, and you look around the area just one more time. 

When you conclude that it was, in fact, the area, you freeze. You were really in a fucking video game: You. You stand frozen, trying to keep your mind from reeling any farther from you. You then begin trying to pinpoint if maybe you were close to where that guy was. If he’s still there, that means you can wait with him until he’s saved, and if he’s not—

Then there’d at least be tracks to follow, right? Being with other people would be the safest for you, and it’s even better if you already have an idea of who they are, and how they act. You needed to survive, now more than ever— This was not your world, nor your time. 

You start your trek through the thick snow, doing your best to navigate with your shitty memory of the game’s geographic layout. You think you might be going the right way, though, when you have to walk straight through an icy cold river. The bite of the water soaking through your jeans just about makes you give up on the spot, fuck that cowboy. He gets saved anyways, let him stay there.

But you don’t quit however, needing the safety in numbers. 

God, you really can’t believe it, to be honest. You, in Red Dead Redemption? You, a cowboy? It’s gotta be a dream, you have to be dreaming right now; but as the snow melts through your already soaked jeans, you realize you couldn’t kid yourself forever. Also, with the lingering sting of the harsh pinch you gave yourself, it was even larger wake up call. 

Which begs the question, if you are actually in the game, how did it happen? Are you dead? You pause at the thought, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach. You couldn’t say for sure, and the unknown is what really fucks you up. Not to mention, are you even still you? You’ve read enough isekei’s to know sometimes they just get thrown into someone else’s body. You decide if you ever get off this mountain, your first job is to find a mirror.

In the beginning of your search, before the devil river, you did find a satchel a good few paces from where you woke up. Nothing fancy was in it, a couple small bottles of alcohol and some canned goods, but nothing of importance, like a damn cellphone. Still, it was definitely good to have on you.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, you found your first clue of the missing cowboy; Blood. You follow the patches and drops, doing your best to not slip as some of the snow opens up to ice. Then, you find a dead horse. Seeing the limp animals makes your stomach lurch, so you do your best to just keep moving and not think about it.

Finally, you found him; Or really, you just found the landscape from the tutorial. However, thanks to remembering it, you didn’t slip down the massive hill of snow and fall to your death while you followed more of the blood.

“Hello?” You call out, walking extra carefully on the icy parts, “I saw some blood, is anyone there?”

The silence is absolutely deafening, and you think to yourself you might’ve just spawned to life a tad bit too late. You start to turn back around before a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Hello?” You hear someone call back. “I’m here! I’m down here!” Your heart starts pounding in your chest, adrenaline pouring into your veins knowing you actually managed to find him.

“Oh my gosh, stay there I’m coming down!”

You hear a humorless chuckle, “Trust me, I’m going no where..”

You set out down the huge mountain, and you start thinking to yourself, how the fuck did this man get as far as he did? With animals on his tail?

Main character buffs, it had to be.

The thought only becomes louder once you make it down, and stare up at the rocky cliff part of the mountain, noting how you have to climb them, before you could finally make it to the damn cowboy.

It was the most bullshit physical activity you ever had to do, and if by some miracle you and this cowboy got to know each other well, you were holding this shit over his head for life. You felt like you couldn’t breath by the time you made it up the cliffs, and you were so annoyed you wanted to just hit him in the damn head when you found him.

When you finally round the corner after catching your breath, you look down and choke on spit. It was actually the character from the game, solidifying you had somehow transported into the world of Red Dead Redemption 2.

He looks like shit, you notice instantly. He has gashes across his face, and a fucked up leg.. he had two massive black eyes, and at this point, probably has rabies. What was it that attacked him again? Wolves?

“Jesus, what happened to you?” You ask quietly, like you were trying to not startle a wild horse. It was a fake question, obviously; you knew what happened to him.

“Wolf attack, they got me pretty good, huh?” He chuckles, but ends up throwing himself into a coughing fit, “Sorry, do you have anything to drink?”

You nod quickly, hopping down and grabbing out a bottle of whiskey before wincing, “Oh, uh, well I have alcohol..?”

He reaches out greedily, you handing it over willingly and watching him demolish the liquid. He thanks you quietly, you only nodding and whipping out a can of peaches right after. You also found a knife in your magical satchel, so you’re quickly ripping open the lid.

You shove the can into his hands, “If you’re dehydrated, that whiskey is going to do nothing for you, this will give you at least some type of fluids.”

He takes it, scarfing down the fruit like he’d been starving for weeks. When he was done, he tosses the can to the side and rests his head on the cliff behind him. He looks at you, well he tries his best anyways, and says, “You shouldn’t have came over here without a weapon ready, I could’ve been a killer- That blood could’ve been a victims’.”

You nod, “Or you could’ve been a hurt stranger in need of some help.” You pat your thigh, where your gun laid snugly in its holster, “ And I have this bad boy on me, anyways.”

He looks up at it, “Still in its holster, I could’ve shot you before you even got it out.”

You scoff, kneeling down finally. You decide to brush him off and rummage through your bag. You don’t think twice when he goes silent, nor when your holster felt suspiciously light, until you hear a distinct click, and a cool metal pressed to the back of your neck.

You freeze, hands going numb and heart pounding in your chest.

“God this is such a strange way to say thank you.” You try to joke, hands going up slowly. “I gave you peaches and liquor you dick.”

“And I thank you, but you’re a little too kind for my liking— Don’t move.”

“I’m going to get shot for being too kind? Are you fucking joking?” you ask him, laughing at his stupid reasoning. You couldn’t even wrap your mind around the logic, “I saw blood and decided to check, sue me.”

“You have a real colorful way of talkin’, where are you from.” He asks, the cool barrel not moving an inch.

You don’t really remember the damn town names, and the towns you do kind of recall are way down the map. You don’t sound too southern, so you hesitate. You know he notices by the way he pushes the metal a little more into your neck, causing you to panic just a tad.

“I- Look, I’m not sure, okay? I don’t remember.” You lie, thinking it was better than announcing you were from a world where his pain was nothing but a plot point.

He laughs, “You think I buy that?”

“Of course not, but i’m telling the truth!”

“Sounds like an O’Driscoll excuse.”

“A what?!” You sputter, “Look dude, I was laying in the snow with no memories when I woke up today, I wish I could tell you who, or where, I’m from but I don’t remember.”

For a good moment, nothing happens. Neither of you speak, neither of you move from the other; hell, neither of you seem to be breathing at this point. You just sit there, hands up and hoping he doesn’t kill you. You start praying, actually praying to god, before he breaks the silence with a soft okay.

The metal leaves your neck, and you’re scurrying away from him quickly, grabbing the satchel along the way. You spin around, clutching your bag to your chest as you stare at him in distrustful anger. He ignores your actions, deciding to toss your gun back to you instead.

You grab it, almost frantic, and slide it into your holster, eyeing him in the process. Finally, after the panic settles you say to him, “Has anyone ever told you you’re a fucking dick?”

“I’ve heard it plenty, actually.” He retorts sarcastically, “How’d you know?”

“Oh you’re so funny, absolutely hilarious.” You spit back.

He laughs at your remark, once again coughing from the effort. The desire to give him something else to drink kicks in, but remembering you almost got shot for trying to help before quickly stomps that out. You wait for his breathing to go back to normal before you ask him, “How long have you been out here?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and you think he might be trying to remember, “A few hours.. probably?”

You nod, moving your bottom lip between your teeth in thought. You sigh, turning your body more towards him and keeping a hand on your pistol just in case. “Look, if you promise not to kill me, will you let me help you get to somewhere safe?”

He eyes you suspiciously, doing his best to adjust how he’s sitting, “Why are you trying so hard to help me?”

“I’m doing this more for myself really,” you start, wringing your hands together anxiously. You don’t really know how to approach the topic of his camp without seeming even more suspicious to him, so you do your best to keep the details to yourself, “You were just found by someone, but instead of begging them to get help, you’re acting like you’d rather them leave.” You gauge his reaction before continuing, “You’re out here with others, aren’t you?”

He says nothing, and you grow impatient at the silence.

“Are you waiting for them to find you, instead?” You finally ask, and he’s suddenly glaring at you, and you know you hit the nail on the head.

You continue hurriedly, “I don’t know why I’m out here, I have no idea where I’m from or where I’m supposed to go.” You pause, hands tightening around each other, “If I help you to your friends, I want you to try and convince them to let me stay too.”

You watch him close his eyes with a frustrated sigh, like he was trying to shut you out. You try one more time, allowing your voice to wobble as you say softly, “Please, I don’t want to be alone out here.”

He groans, throwing his head back in defeat as he yells out a gruff fine. You smile at him excitedly, picking yourself up off the ice and making yourself over to him. You kneel down beside him, putting his arm over your shoulder and telling him to count to three. When you both finally say the number, you do your best to lift him up, as he does his best to use his good leg to stand.

It takes a minute, and few close calls of slipping, but he’s finally standing. You can tell he’s putting most of his weight on his only good leg though, and you frown at him.

“You need to lean onto me or neither of us are moving.”

He doesn’t respond, standing in silence before finally doing what you ask. You let out a strained grunt, not realizing he was actually doing you a favor with how heavy he got. You grunt out a small thank you, and you slowly start to make your way out towards the snowy hills.

It takes a while though, considering you’re doing your best not to slip, and he’s doing his best not to crush you. There’s the huge hill that you both have struggle up, but before that, the damn little cliffs.

It was a fucking nightmare.

He was telling you where to not step, and where to crouch, as if you were playing the tutorial back in your living room. It felt kind of strange, considering you weren’t the protagonist in anyway. Yet, it was also extremely helpful too.

While on the way, you do your best to get him to open up to you. You ask him for his name, and he does tell you, but only after five minutes of nothing but silence and the crunch of snow under your feet. It was John Marston, and you quickly remember your friend talking about him being the protagonist of the first game when you found him while playing. You didn’t know him really, having skipped the first game and went straight to the second.

He tells you he has a kid, though he’s convinced he isn’t his. He even spoke about some of the people at his camp, after what feels like hours of you two warming up to each other— There was Dutch, the leader. Then there was the tracker, a guy named Charles, and apparently an asshole of the group, Micah. There were more, of course, but the person he spoke about the most was Arthur, and the name stuck out.

Arthur.. He was the protagonist of this game, right? He was the guy you started out as?

He spoke about how the two of them butt heads a lot, and that when he gets back he was never going to hear the end of it. You only laugh, slightly out of breath from practically dragging John through the snow. Your toes are numb, and each step starts to become painful, but you say nothing. After all, you don’t have a cut up face and messed up leg.

“Hey, I think we’re close.” John says excitedly, pointing straight out. “I can see the river.”

“God I hope so, you’re heavy as shit.” You gasp out, looking at where he’s pointing. “Will they be able to treat you alright?”

He nods, “Yeah, we have a few medical kits—“

His sentence is cut short by a loud, ear piercing howl. One howl becomes two, then three. You’re looking around quickly, holding John’s arm tightly as you finally spot four massive wolves on top of a hill to your left. John spots them too, as he’s patting his belt before he curses quickly.

“Give me your gun.” He orders, hand open and eyes never leaving the canines. You go to oblige but the wolves howl again, and your quickly shaking your head.

“You’re injured, you can’t shoot them, can you? Can you shoot sitting?”

“No, you’ll need to hold me up.”

“You’re too heavy I won’t be able to hold you up while you’re shooting! Not to mention if they decide to attack from the back, we can’t turn around!” You hiss, heart racing.

The wolves are now slowly making their way down, and suddenly it’s hitting you. Him telling you how to move around, and now there’s enemies? This is the tutorial. You accidentally started the it by saving him, and now you’re going to fucking die because of it.

You’ve never shot a gun before, does the game expect you to be able to do so?

“Put me down, you’ll have to shoot them for us.” John says suddenly, unknowingly confirming your suspicions.

You shake your head at him, “No, No i’ve never shot a gun before!”

“You haven’t or you just can’t remember?” He asks, looking down at you. You curse silently, forgetting you told him you had no Memories.

“No I- I definitely feel like I’ve never shot a gun before.” You say quickly, trying to save your lie.

He says your name and you’re suddenly frozen, looking up at him, confused.

You never told him your name, so how..?

“Your name is on your gun, I saw it etched on the side when I took it from you— You’ve definitely must’ve shot a gun before.”

He sounds so sure of himself you just nod, slowly putting him down in the snow. You grab your pistol and hold it up to your face, moving it around and coming across your name. Like he said, it was etched into the metal. It feels so natural in your hand too, and it frightens you.

You know for a fact you’ve never shot a gun before, but you’re loading it and cocking it like it’s the most natural thing for you to do. Just as you’re ready, the wolves speed at you as if they were waiting. You point the gun at the closest wolf’s head, and shoot.

To some fucking miracle, it was dead on. The wolf drops, body limp as the once white snow turns red. You would feel excited, if it weren’t for the other three wolves still charging at you. You point at the next wolf, ready to shoot, until suddenly, the world actually slows down. Your view turns into a coppery gold and targets pop up on the three wolves heads.

Dead eye. You actually have dead eye.

You’re quickly sending bullets out, watching them move through the air slowly. When the third bullet leaves the barrel, the world goes back to normal, and you watch as each wolf gets hit in the head, and drops, rolling through the snow. You’re breathing quickly, whipping your head to look over at John in dismay.

His eyes are blown wide, mouth open in what you think might be a mix of shock and a bit of admiration. He looks back at you, and cracks a small smile, “I knew you’ve shot a gun before, felt it in my gut.”

You laugh, putting your gun away and sliding John’s arm back over your shoulder. “Next time you have a gut feeling, let me know about it.”

“I’ll do my best.” He answers, helping you lift him up. Both of you grunt loudly at the effort, and you adjust yourselves to start walking again.

You don’t get too far, considering as you start your trek back up you see two horses in the distance, riding towards you. You turn to see John squinting at the figures, before his face breaks into a smile, and he’s waving his free arm around excitedly.

“Over here! Guys, Here!” He yells out to them loudly. You flinch your head away from his voice, and when he notices he gives you a soft sorry.

You only shake your head, dismissing his apology.

The horses get closer, before they are suddenly right in front of you. You and John stumble back a bit, you doing your best not to let him get hit. The two riders hop down quickly, one of them more in a hurry to get over to the two of you than the other. The man in the black jacket was kissed by the sun, with beautiful brown skin and a silky black ponytail. He reaches you first, quickly taking John from your arms with a smile.

He doesn’t even acknowledge you, and to be honest, you were quite alright with that.

“You’re not dead!” He says happily, holding John’s weight way better than you had been. “Abigail has been freaking out over you, you’ve been missing for two days, brother.”

“Two days? John you said a few hours-“ you quickly clamp your mouth shut as you watch all three of the men’s eyes turn towards you in unison. It freaks you out, having all of them finally notice your presence.

“Sure, it’s been a few hours.” The man in the blue coat finally pipes up, the bottom of his face obscured from your view. “48 of them.”

He’s turning to the two other men now, specifically John as he says, “You decided to make your woman worry to go missing with another woman?”

John let’s out an indignant noise, pointing his finger in the guy with the blue coat’s face, “I did not run off with another woman, she found me!”

“She just happened to find you?” His deep voice was filled with disbelief, and it actually caused your anger to spike a bit.

“Yes, I did.”

This must be Micah, the asshole of their little gang. You cross your arms, watching as the man turns back to you and does the same. You’re both staring at each other in some silent stand off before, finally, the nicer man asks, “..So, who are you?”

You give the blue coat man a final glare before turning towards the other and giving him your name. You give him the run down of what happened when you woke up, leaving a few key details out, and how you found John. You also tell them you have amnesia, John thankfully backing you up on your unbeknownst lie.

The blue coat guy still seemed unconvinced, but at this point you couldn’t seem to care.

“I see, well I’m Javier, Thank you for bringing John back.” Javier gives you a smile, before reaching out his hand. You take it, both of you shaking the others. He lets go, gesturing to the man beside him and says, “This is Arthur, he’s a little rough around the edges, but don’t worry about it.”

Oh.

So he wasn’t Micah.

Of course he wasn’t, you think to yourself. When you began the game as Arthur, he had a blue coat. What does the guy you decided to snap at have? A blue coat.

You try to hide the recognition in your eyes, and to seem unaffected by the sudden introduction. You cross your arms again, giving Arthur a small nod, but nothing after that. He doesn’t even do that, only trailing his blue eyes over your form before they stop at your thigh. You also look down at your limb, and see he’s looking straight at your gun.

You look back up at him, “I swear to god if you take my gun and use it against me, I will fucking lose it.”

Finally his stoic face, or the upper half of it, turns into something like bewilderment, “What?” He asks you, his gruff voice seeming to go up an octave, caught off guard.

John’s laugh breaks the slight tension, “That was me. I took her gun when I first met her.”

“You had it to my neck, dude.” You whine.

“Dude?” Javier asks suddenly, looking over at John, like he has the answer.

“Ah, yeah she says weird phrases, sometimes.”

You shrug, not really knowing what else to tell them. You shiver, the wind whipping a cool breeze towards the four of you suddenly. You rub your arms, ignoring Arthur all together as you address Javier, the nicer of the two.

“Do you think you guys could accept a new recruit..? I’m not bad at cooking.”

“Or shooting.” John pipes up, keeping his part of the deal. Your chest warms, glad he’s not, quite literally, throwing you to the wolves. “She took down a whole pack of dogs back there, each shot right to the head.”

“We thought we heard some gunshots.” Javier pipes up, nodding slowly. He looks over at Arthur, “What do you think?”

“It don’t matter what I think,” He says, turning around and hopping up on his horse, “It’s all up to Dutch.”

You look at John, who sends you a thumbs up.

“Can I meet him?” You ask.

Arthur says nothing, only walking his horse closer to you and reaching a hand out. You look at it, then at him. His eyebrow twitches you notice, like he’s doing his best to keep his face as emotionless as possible. You slowly take it, and he’s lifting you up with such ease it makes you squeal. You think you hear a chuckle, only slightly, as you’re practically thrown onto his horse. You adjust yourself quickly, grabbing onto the sides of his saddle.

“You’re not going to want to hold onto that.” He says, looking behind himself. You give him a quizzical look in return.

“What do I hold onto then?”

Arthur taps one of his sides, and your face flushes.

Duh, obviously, like you’re on a motorcycle.

You slowly wrap your arms around him, but loosely. You hold your face away from his back, but Arthur doesn’t say anything about it. You look over at the other two, John already on the back of Javier’s horse, no thanks to the man in front of you. Once Javier is on his own horse, you four head out for Camp.

Thankfully it doesn’t even take that long, John being right about how you two were close to his camp. You’re thankful, as you watch the horse run through the river, that you weren’t the one struggling through the water again.

It was a nightmare in and of it’s self, thank god you only had to do it once.

When the two horses finally run into the camp, Javier is announcing to everyone that they found John, and to grab a medical kit as quickly as possible. People are running out from houses, and into houses, and even up to the horses. Some of the other men are already taking John off the horse before it had completely stopped, and you wave at John as he’s carried away into a house.

He doesn’t wave back, but he was obviously busy trying not to die on the way to the cabin, so it doesn’t bother you. 

A woman comes running out of another home, and running straight into the house John just entered. Abigail, you think. That definitely must’ve been Abigail. Too busy in thought, and people watching, you don’t realize Arthur has been waiting for you take his hand again to get off the horse. Probably fed up with you ignoring him, he’s grabbing your waist and once again lifting you up, and away from the horse. You gasp, hands clutching his shoulders for stability. When he sets you down, you let him go, like his coat had burned you.

“A warning, perhaps!” You hiss.

“I was standing here for about five minutes trying to help you off the damn horse already, what kind of warning did you need?” He hisses back.

You guys were already bonding so well it seems. You both, again, just silently stare at each other, until an older man with slicked back curls walk over to the two of you.

“Arthur!” The man practically sings, arms open wide as he walks closer. “I see you brought home a woman, I’m so proud of you, son.”

“Dutch,” Arthur acknowledges, albeit a little annoyed sounding. He gestures towards you with a nod, “This little lady is looking for a place here.”

The man— Dutch, hums in thought, giving you a once over. He must not find you very alarming, or even threatening, as he gives you a surprisingly handsome smile. “How do you feel about loyalty, Miss..?”

You give him your last name, and he finishes his sentence with it. You only shrug, “I find it very important.”

He nods, agreeing with you. He walks over to you and throws an arm around your shoulders, “And how do you feel about people who break that loyalty?”

You glance at Arthur, who you find is already staring at you. You look back over at Dutch quickly, “They should be dealt with accordingly, sir..?”

Dutch pats your shoulder approvingly, “Right, exactly!” He lets you go and walks over to Arthur, now giving his broad shoulders a pat, “She can stay, show her the women’s cabin and then come meet me back at mine.”

“Why do I have to show her, I brought her here.” He argues.

“Exactly, now be a gentlemen and show the woman you brought to camp her damn cabin.” Dutch scolds in return, although jokingly.

Arthur growls under his breath, looking at you and then cocking his head to the right, wanting you to follow him. You wave back at Dutch, who returns your friendly gesture and then follow Arthur. The walk to the cabin is silent, you not knowing what to say to the guy, and him probably not wanting to even speak to you.

You guys did get off on the wrong foot you feel, so you guess you could start there.

You move to the side of him, instead of just following behind. He doesn’t even look at you as you do so. You clear your throat, trying to seem nonchalant, “Arthur..?”

He looks over at you finally, and you start fiddling with your hands, “I’m sorry— for uh, snapping. At you.” You struggle out, cheeks burning as you look at the ground.

Somehow you can feel his damn eyes on you, watching how you act. You look everywhere but at him after you apologize, and you finally hear a breathy chuckle.

“You don’t need to waste an apology on me, I didn’t mean to offend you back there.”

You let out a sigh of relief, clutching a hand to your chest. You finally hold your hand out towards him, and he eyes it with a raised brow. You smile, urging him to take your hand. He does, though slowly, and you shake it. You finally introduce yourself to him and you think he gives a small smile, also introducing himself. You nod in satisfaction, glad you seemed to smooth over the past interaction.

Or so you thought.

When you finally make it to the cabin, he knocks twice before you hear someone yell, It’s open! He waits just a few more seconds before pushing the door open.

“Evenin’ Ladies,” Arthur greets, tipping his hat towards the women. He moves over to the side, basically presenting you to the others as he gives them your name. “Dutch says she’ll be staying with us, try and be nice.”

Some of the ladies are sending out flirtatious of course’s and we’re always nice, Mr. Morgan! Before he’s turning away from them and heading towards the door. You don’t know what made you grab the sleeve of his jacket, but you do and he’s stopping at the doorknob. The women hush down as they watch the interaction, but you hardly notice as Arthur looks back at you.

“Need somethin’?” He asks you, and you’re shaking your head. He looks down at the hand holding him in the cabin before he’s asking again, “Are ya sure..?”

You let go finally, face red. You nod, and wave his question away, “Yeah! Yeah, no I’m okay. Just— uh, Thank you.”

He looks back at the women who were watching the two of you intently, before he leans in closer to your ear and lowers his voice, probably so the other ladies wouldn’t hear him, “Don’t thank me just yet, I will shoot you if you do anything to put this camp in danger.” He hisses into your ear. 

You rip yourself away from him, glaring up as you scoff from the threat. You thought you smoothed things over with him, but he clearly did not trust you. How fucking irritating it was, not knowing what else you could say to him to prove you weren’t a danger to their camp, or their people. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Morgan.” You hiss lowly back, anger flaring in your chest, “I’m not the one you should be worried about.” 

He eyes you, looking confused by your ominous words. He puts his hands up, like he was trying to show he wasn’t a threat to you in the moment. He says his goodbyes to the women, tilting his hat to them and making his way to the door. He glances at you before he leaves, you waving at him almost sarcastically. He rolls his eyes, finally leaving the freezing cabin. The air is still, and you slowly spin around to find all eyes on you.

“Hello..” You say softly, now giving them their own wave.

“Oh, of course Dutch allowed you to stay.” A blonde woman finally breaks their silence, placing the scarf she was knitting down into her lap.

You tilt your head, not really expecting that to be your first welcoming sentence. You blink at the blonde, “What do you mean..?”

”I mean, how often do you run into a pair of tits in the wilderness, y’know what I mean?” She clarifies, her tone having a hint of humor to it.

”Karen!” a woman hisses to her left, swatting her leg as to shush her. She then looks at you, giving an apologetic smile, “Don’t mind her, she has no manners. I’m sure Dutch was more than willing to keep you because you brought back John.” 

“And because she’s a woman.” Karen tries again, the other woman sending her a disappointed scowl at her words.

You stare at the two, not really sure what you’re supposed to say in that moment. You do let out a small laugh though, the idea of Dutch letting you stay so easily because you had a pair of breasts was actually pretty funny to you— And strangely in character. 

“Regardless of why I can stay, I’m grateful either way.”

“I thought Arthur was acting pretty sweet too,” another woman pipes up, a romance looking book being set down in her lap, a finger holding her place. “Getting all close to her and everything.” 

Sweet? Sweet? He had hardly done anything, except show you to the cabin. Then, when you got to the cabin he threatened to shoot you— Hell, before that even, you guys were bickering and close to a fist fight. Your face must have shown your thoughts, because she then adds, “It’s just a thought..”

“Ladies, ladies! Pipe down, we have things we must be doing.” An older woman bellows through the cabin, all three woman quieting instantly. “We can discuss Dutch’s weakness for women a different time.”

The ladies chuckle, and you stand there, out of place and confused. 

Chapter Text

You’ve dealt with winters before, coming from a northern state and all, but the storm on this mountain was like no other. No matter how big you made the fire in the ladies cabin, no matter how close you got to it, you were still freezing.

The ladies that you were rooming with were kind enough to find thicker clothes for you to wear, seeing how your flannel was not made for such fierce temperatures. You were thankful, so very thankful, but the new attire was almost as useless as your old one. you bit your tongue though, not want them to think you were ungrateful for their generosity.

Time was seeming to progress much slower than it did when you played, also. Missions that you thought were back to back were actually taking days, even weeks, to come into fruition. You thought when you found John, Arthur would be thrusted into finding Kieran— or whatever his name was. After that fiasco, would be the train and then the moving. At least, that was your blurry understanding of the events.

But there wasn’t any moving.

All that’s happened after bringing John back was, quite literally, nothing . There’s been planning from what you heard, Dutch doing his thing. That’s all there’s been though— Planning. There’s been a bunch of hunting runs as of late, too. The real storyline, however? Hasn’t even been touched.

You were actually kind of pissed. How come you had to be thrusted into the damn game at the very beginning? You couldn’t have been blessed with the camp near Valentine? You feared your toes and fingers will freeze off in your wait for the damn story to finally progress.

“What’re you thinking about..?” Sadie asks you, drawing your attention away from your sulking.

You blink away your thoughts, smiling over at her as you try to start your stitching back up, “Nothing much, just how damn cold it is on this mountain.”

Thankfully Sadie was already rescued by the time you got to camp, so you supposed some of the story moved along. You were pretty ecstatic about meeting her when she walked in after the light jesting— Back when you first arrived.

Sadie had been one of your favorite characters from the game, as she’s not much of a damsel in distress— Not that there was anything wrong with that trope, of course. She was brave, and generally seemed like such a good person to be around. She was, unsurprisingly, and she had clung to you over the few weeks you got to know each other.

“Mm, yeah.. The chill never gets better,” She replies kindly, eyes growing distant as she loses herself to her thoughts, “Me and my husband were here a while before— Well, before you guys. The bite of the cold never seems to lessen.”

You nod silently, watching her face as she goes silent herself. You didn’t say anything after that, not quite knowing if it was polite to even do so. What could you say to her, anyways? You’ve never watched your kind hearted husband take in a band of outlaws— unknowingly or not— and then get brutally murdered right after. You’ve never been locked in a cellar, used and abused, until people finally show up and set you free.

You never, and hopefully will never, gone through what Sadie Alder has went through, so you say nothing.

You both fall back into the lull of sewing, you chewing your bottom lip in focus. The other ladies— Them being Tilly, Karen, and Mary-Beth— were in their own little conversation. You were picking up bits and pieces, like Karen talking about how easily men were to pick pocket. How easy it was to just bat your eyelashes, and you could get away with practically anything.

That quickly makes you pay attention to their conversation.

“Anything..?” Tilly asks, her voicing oozing with humor as she says, “Are you sure it’s your eyelashes and not your breasts that get you outta trouble?”

Mary-Beth and you let out a bark of laughter, Karen looking up in faux thought before she shrugs, saying, “I don’t see why it couldn’t be both.”

Tilly only shakes her head, a smile plastered to her face as she returns to her own tasks. Karen, however, was not finished wanting to talk so she sets her eyes on you. She leans forward quickly to grab your attention.

“It’s been at least a week since you’ve been here, tell us what’s got you runnin’”

“Running?” You ask, tilting your head in question.

“Yeah, Runnin’! Like, from the law and stuff.” She illiterates, eyes sparkling at the thought of gossip.

You shake your head, “I’m not sure, to be honest with you. There’s a good chance I’m not running from the law.”

“Really? With a mark like that?” Karen squints her eyes at you in suspicion, “Yeah, that don’t seem like a kiss mark— Looks like you got hit and left for dead. Someone definitely has it out for you.”

You see Sadie eyeing you from your peripherals too, and you’re quickly turning towards her before she could make herself worry, “I woke up with it and didn’t even know it was there,” You then turn back to Karen, “Who’s to say I didn’t just fall off a horse, anyways?”

Tilly suddenly smacks Karen lightly on her shoulder, tutting in disapproval for putting you on the spot, “Leave her alone, for Christ’s sake! You heard Hosea, she doesn’t remember. She has amnesia!”

You nod in agreement, thinking back to when Hosea had you visit him and Dutch in their cabin, Arthur hanging back in a corner like some silent guard dog. They wanted to check your head for a wound, so that it could be assessed and cleaned if needed. Also, you thought, to check just how creditable your words were. To your shocked delight, and concern, there was one. A giant blooming bruise on your right temple, and thanks to this, your lie suddenly became irrefutable.

They still had some questions, obviously, but since you clearly could not recall anything before waking up, they had to trust that you weren’t a threat to them. After your little head check, Hosea had went around to let everyone know that you weren’t a spy, and that you did indeed seem to have amnesia.

Some still had their suspicions, apparently.

“Oh, it’s not like I don’t remember!” Karen backpedals, pouting at Tilly and rubbing her sore shoulder, “But I was hoping maybe she had gotten a memory back or somethin’.”

You smile apologetically, and shake your head. Sadie leans over and pats your shoulder gently, trying to be supportive. You mimic her, before quickly standing up and stretching your limbs. You then hold the shirt out in front of you, twisting and turning it to make sure you had done your job decently. When it met your standards you walked over to Ms. Grimshaw, who had stayed to herself during Karen’s investigation.

She was probably curious herself, you figure.

You stand in front of her before holding the fabric in front of yourself. You smile proudly as she looks up at it, then at you. She goes back to accessing the shirt before she nods and says, “I suppose you’re not completely useless, it looks fine.”

“Thank you..?” You respond, not sure if you should take it as a praise or not. She only nods before reaching out for it, and setting it the left of her, where the rest of the mended clothes were. She glances around the cabin, before shooing you away with her hand, “Nothing else needs done in here, go and see if anyone else in camp needs help.”

You don’t move, and after a minute of stillness she finally looks back up at you, annoyed by your disobedience. You shuffle from foot to foot, saying, “But.. it’s cold outside..”

The older woman quickly snaps your name, grabbing the shirt you mended only a moment ago and swatting it at you. You yelp, backing away quickly and rushing to the door, “Okay, Okay! I’m going you damn witch!”

You think you hear her curse at you, and a small chorus of laughs but you were slamming the door too fast behind you to really be sure. The cold air is quickly sinking it’s teeth into your skin, any bit of warmth you did have quickly leaking out of your body. You shiver, now knowing why it seemed like the other girls were taking forever on just one article of clothing— That shit was fucking deliberate, if only you had gotten the memo sooner.

“Mornin’!” Javier calls out to you. You turn to see him standing in front of a fire, a gun held firmly in his hands. You wave at him, running over to the fire to suck up its warmth.

You won’t lie and say you and Javier have gotten super close over the time you’ve been there, but you guys did at least greet one another when the chance called for it, and that was enough for you.

“Hello Javier, exciting morning?” You ask, rubbing your hands together and sticking them towards the flames.

The man shrugs and shakes his head, “Not really, unless you count standing here and trying not to freeze.”

You hum in thought, “How dangerous, sounds like a very exciting morning to me.”

“If you say so.” Javier chuckles, rolling his neck  to make it less stiff. “Hey, how’d you escape?” He nods towards your cabin, and you glance back at it.

“Ah.. ha, yeah I was actually kicked out.”

“What’d you do?” He asks, his lips pulling up into an amused smile. “Tell Ms. Grimshaw to bugger off?”

You scoff, feigning offense, “Excuse me? I had finished my sewing duties, and was kicked out as a thank you .”

“Ah.. total freedom.”

“No .” You pout, “I should’ve pretended to take forever. Now, I’m out here, freezing, dying of hyperthermia as we speak.”

“Dying as we speak, should I grab a shovel?” A deep voice interrupts, his warm country drawl rumbling through your chest as you jump from surprise. You whip around, finding Arthur grinning down at you.

You clutch your chest, heart beating a mile a minute, “Could you not ?”

“You don’t want to be buried? Okay, how about charred?” He humors, grin only widening as he watches you.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was teasing you— But you did know better, and his words felt like a threat.

You huff, rolling your eyes as you turn back to Javier, deciding it best to just ignore Arthur all together, “Thank you for sharing your fire with me, I better go find something to do before Grimshaw sees me.”

“Of course, anytime.” Javier replies, smiling.

You go to turn around, and walk to the opposite side of camp. You’re practically scurrying to get as far away from the protagonist as you can, not wanting to be sucked into any story building mission being near him. Before you could even take a step out, however, he’s quickly stopping you. His hand latches onto the back of your shirt, and you let out a loud gagging noise as he gently yanks you back towards him. You glare, ripping your body from his hands and placing yourself out of arms reach.

“Why are you always manhandling me ?!” You hiss, readjusting your jacket.

“Follow me, I have somethin’ for you to do.” He ignores your question, hitching his thumb towards the cabin behind him and Javier.

You glance at the door, and back up at him. You’re skeptical, memory being a bit foggy on all the missions that happen in the first half of the story. You remember the Pearson one, actually trying to go find him and see if you could start it on your own. That was before Arthur decided to choke you back in place. You bite your bottom lip, rolling it between your teeth as you think about his offer.

You think you see his eyes flicker down, but before you could really confirm if he’s looking at your lips, he’s speaking again, “There’s a couple men in here you should probably know better, if you’re gonna stay with the camp.”

Javier’s body is suddenly shaking with mirth, then letting out a low whistle at the thought, “oh boy, Dutch’ll love this.”

Arthur only shrugs at the man, “John thinks she’s got a good shot. His brain may have been half eaten by them wolves, but can’t hurt to see for ourselves.”

“No!” You say in a panic, startling the two men into looking at you. You quickly clear your throat, now trying to seem nonchalant as you explain, “I mean, John was pretty much delirious by the time we got back— Those shots were pure luck.”

“Pure luck?” Arthur questions, head tilting as he starts to recall John’s words, “Each shot to the head, those were all luck?”

You nod and shrug, doing your best to stay as far away from most of these missions as you could. Some of them, like the hunting mission, was fine— Harmless. The other ones, however, those could get you shot, maimed, stabbed, and whatever other horrible things outlaws do. 

You were not an adventurer in your past life— er, your real life. You lived the bullshit capitalist 9-5 life and when you had your down days, you played video games. Sure, maybe you and your friends went out and did hiking trips or beach trips, but those were safe and fun . Being shot at, or even shooting at someone else, was not the definition of fun for you.

So, like hell were you trying to follow him into that cabin.

“Let’s make a deal, Lucky Shot ,” Arthur smiles sarcastically at his small nickname, which only grew when you repeat it back in exasperation. He ignores your scowl and continues, “If you come with me and your shot is as shitty as you say, I’ll make sure you stay with Ms. Grimshaw and the other ladies from now on.”

You eye him suspiciously, again placing your bottom lip between your teeth before you ask, “And if it’s not..?”

He grins, patting your shoulder roughly, “You’ll be stuck,” He then leans down closer to you, threateningly, “Right where I can see you.”

You swat his hand away in retaliation, not wanting him to touch you as he basically threatened your life. Again. You huff, looking up at the stupidly tall and stupidly strong looking outlaw.

After a long pause of thought, you begrudgingly agree with his deal. He sticks his hand out towards you, and you grip it, giving it a large shake to officiate your demise.

Of course, you could always pretend to be a real shitty shot, but annoyingly you feel Arthur would know. You look over at Javier after taking your hand back from Arthur’s grip, like you just signed a deal with the devil himself.

He gives you an apologetic shrug, yet somehow you knew it wasn’t genuine, seeing how he looks amused. You scowl at him, bending down and picking up a handful of snow and tossing it at him in retaliation. He moves, but not before yelling out a No! And covering his face.

You miss, but it feels good to at least throw something at his smug little face.

Arthur walks away from you, making his way to the cabin and you, albeit very begrudgingly, follow behind him. Your arms are wrapped around your frame, doing your best to keep the warmth you received from the fire just a tad longer. When you both make it to the door, Arthur looks back at you before quickly shoving the door open, and ushering you inside the cabin.

“—Up with you boys, because I thought you like action.” You hear a man say as Arthur leans past you to shut the door, sniffling from the cold. “Couple of days on the lam.. and thought you all turned yella.”

The man who was speaking then holds out a bottle of some type of alcohol, Arthur grabbing it from him almost excitedly as he walks by. Arthur has you follow him to the corner of the cabin, and you do, sticking as close as possible to him. You didn’t like the outlaw, truth be told, but at least you knew he wouldn’t harm you yet, these other guys were new territory.

Arthur offers you a chair he finds first, but you adamantly shake your head and place yourself just behind it. You push yourself as far into the corner as you could, away for him and the others, just as a safety measure. He scratches the scruff on his neck as he watches you, before shrugging and plopping down.

The man who was speaking before turns towards a younger man of color before sneering, “Apart from you , of course.”

“Shut up, Micah.” The younger man snaps, flicking the ashes of his cigarette onto the ground as he turns away in annoyance.

“I ain’t never seen so many long faces!” The man— Micah, finishes.

So that was Micah.

A real charmer , you think to yourself in disgust.

Javier bursts through the cabin door then, shivering away the cold as he joins the rest of the men who seemed to be having a.. heartfelt conversation. Or maybe it was a bully session, you had no clue to be honest. No one acknowledges Javier making his way in, so you don’t either, afraid to draw attention to yourself.

“I guess..” Another man starts, sounding slightly solemn, “I guess folks miss them.. that fell.”

“Well, when I fall, I don’t want no fuss.” Micah gruffly states, nodding his head to finalize his thought.

“When you fall, there’ll be a party.” The younger man says happily, lifting his cigarette high, like even the thought made him ecstatic. 

Everyone begins to laugh at Micah’s expense, the latter seemingly becoming quite angry. You watch quietly from the corner, already cursing Arthur in your mind for dragging you in here during such a tense time. Micah laughs sarcastically, standing up and facing the man sitting beside Arthur as he asks him, “That funny, huh?”

“Sure,” he chuckles in response, looking up from the ground and not seeming to notice the way Micah sizes him up aggressively.

Micah then lands a punch clean across the mans face, hat flying to the ground from the force of the impact. Your eyes widen, hand flying to your mouth to stifle the gasp the comes out of your mouth. Micah spins away from the man, flicking his hand and stretching it as Arthur and the younger man are holding back his punched victim.

Javier even makes his way over to keep him from absolutely abusing the fuck out of Micah, who only seems to be making the situation worse by spitting, “Maybe I don’t feel like being laughed at by the likes of you two.”

With the other men in the cabin busy with holding back the larger man, Micah’s eyes manage to land on yours. He pauses his movement, head turned slightly— Curiously. You stiffen, not liking the way his eyes rake over your form before once again landing on your face. You shuffle awkwardly, the weight of his stare becoming almost suffocating.

“Now who dragged this little mouse into the lion’s den..?” He finally asks, a sleezy smile sliding across his face.

The others still themselves, each turning to look where Micah was. Your chest tightens as all their stares bore into your form, smooshed into a corner to keep the distance. You don’t say anything, anxiety bubbling in your chest as the silence lingers in the cabin. What do you say? Hello? Are you supposed to greet them in the midst of a fist fight?

Your eyes search the crowd before they lock with Arthur’s, and in a moment of weakness, you start to plead with him silently to save you from the tension. He holds your look a bit longer before he huffs loudly, standing up straight and walking over to where you stood frozen. He gestures to you lazily, taking a cigarette out of his satchel and placing it, unlit, between his teeth.

“John swears she’s a shooter, we was gonna find out.”

Micah let’s out a bark of mocking laughter, pointing at you as he says, “That ain’t no shooter!” His laughter dies down, his expression morphing into a snarl, “John was probably hyping her up after gettin’ lucky .”

Your mouth snaps open, not believing what he was insinuating. This was, what, the second time you were suspected to be some fucking call girl? Some mistress ? Did you look like the type to fuck around a married man? Was John the type to fuck around as a married man? You bristle as you glare at Micah, hands clenched into fists.

“I could probably out shoot you , you homely prick .” You spat, teeth bared like some wild animal. “Let’s get this straight— For all of you, in here, I am not John’s secret fucking whore.”

“No, I— I never thought you were!” The younger man quickly stutters out, hands raised passively.

The sound of agreement flutters around the cabin, save for Micah who was trying to pierce a hole through your head with his glare. Arthur hadn’t let out a noise either, though he seemed to be enthralled in the fight between you and the other man, like it was some high priced entertainment.

“I think I know a whore when I see one, girl.” Micah growls out, venom leaking out of his words like a snake biting into its pray.

Any patience you tried holding onto quickly snaps apart. You don’t say anything, you don’t even retaliate verbally. Instead, what you do, is walk towards him quickly and slap the living shit out of him.

Not just one slap, oh no, you just keep going. The cabin fills with the sound of hand meeting skin and clothes. After the shock of you slapping him fades, he shoves you roughly away from him. You stumble back, expecting to land on your ass and bracing yourself for the rough landing. You don’t make it there however, a pair of arms wrapping themselves around your waist and you slam into the hard chest behind you.

You don’t even care who it was to be honest, trying to shove your way through the sturdy arms to get back over to Micah. The two of you are screaming at the other across the cabin, him calling you a crazy bitch and you spitting back a beady eyed bastard . Some of the others were holding him back too, doing their best to keep the man in place.

“Stop it, now! ” Dutch bellows, throwing open the door aggressively as he pins all of you down with his stare. “You fools punching each other when Colm O’Driscoll’s need punching— hard. ”

You’re quickly being dragged out of the cabin by your waist, the fight that was once burning in your body instantly dissipating. When you finally look up and back at who was toting you around you find Arthur, ducking pass Dutch with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. You don’t even complain about him holding you, just happy to be leaving the tense atmosphere.

Dutch notices you almost instantly, a polite smile suddenly blooms across his face, “Miss, what a pleasure to have you join us on our outing. ”

“Dutch, that bitch attacked me! Throw her out, get rid of her !” Micah yells, shoving his way pass the others to stand beside the older man. “She’s crazy. ”

You scoff, “Me?! You called me a whore!” You then point at the larger man in the cabin, “And you attacked that guy first, you’re the crazy one!”

Dutch’s patience thins as he listens to your squabble start to pick up, until he interrupts roughly with, “You wanna sit around waiting for him to come find us..?” When the both of you fall silent he continues, “All of you, we got work to do.”

“Are you sure about this, Dutch?” Arthur asks, just now releasing his grip on you and lighting his cigarette. He starts rubbing his hands together, fighting off the cold.

“Yes.” Dutch answers quickly, stepping aside to let the others out of the cabin.

“Folks been through a lot recently, we hardly back on our feet yet.” Arthur tries again, like he’s trying to reason with him.

You look at his profile, wondering what exactly you’re being pulled into. Javier quickly stands beside you, giving your shoulder a gentle pat before making his way to his horse. You wonder if maybe he was trying to comfort you, after the little scuffle you had in the cabin. It warms your heart a bit, finding it sweet of him.

You also think you feel Micah’s glare as he walks pass, but you pointedly ignore it.

“And the last thing we need is to get bushwhacked by Colm O’Driscoll.” Dutch fires back, patting Arthur on his shoulder and walking with him towards the horses, which you’re quick to follow after. “Let’s go.”

“I know you hate him, Dutch-” Arthur starts, but the older man is quickly cutting him off.

“He’s here for us.”

“I doubt that..”

“No, you’re just doubting me.”

“I would never doubt you, Dutch, you..” Arthur pauses, finding his words. “You always said revenge is a luxury we can’t afford.”

“This is the right call, Arthur.” Dutch finalizes, holding out a rifle towards the younger man, “Take this.” Arthur complies, and Dutch spins back to his horse as he continues, “And this is about more than revenge for business long ago. They were talking about trains and detonators .”

Dutch is then holding out a rope, “Here.” Arthur holds the cigarette in his mouth as he looks between the rope and Dutch. He takes it from the older man, who then finishes with, “Colm always had good information. C’mon.”

Oh the fucking first raid mission. How lucky you were, to be on this grand fucking infiltration scheme . You gulp, standing to the back and watching as the men start hopping on their horses. You don’t say anything, just continue to stand there awkwardly as you wait for what to do. Do you hop on the back of someone’s horse? Do you take this chance to go flee?

“And you think this is the right time to hit a train?” Arthur asks, walking over to the side of his own horse. Once there he looks to the right, spotting you. He beckons you to come towards him, and you oblige rather quickly. When you make it over he grips your waist, and just like the first time , throws you onto his god damn horse. You yelp, clinging to his stead’s mane to stable yourself in a panic. He then throws himself onto the horse before you can move to the back, placing himself just behind you. Your body tenses, causing you to become rigid.

You look back at him, confused. Wouldn’t it be better for you to be behind him ? How will he drive?

Is he.. actually dumb?

“Now you might fancy living on deer piss and rabbit shit, but I’m too old for that life.” Dutch’s eyes find yours once he mounts his white Arabian, and he seems to finally give his full attention. “I heard your shootin’s great, but who knew you can fight too?”

Arthur takes a drag of his cigarette, his voice becoming strained as he speaks for you, “She can’t but she had the spirit.”

“He called me a whore. ” You mutter quietly, glaring down at the poor horses neck as you feel the familiar burn of rage. You definitely were not letting this go.

Dutch’s eyes linger on you before he chuckles, “You keep that anger for the O’Driscoll camp, we want to see just how good that aim of yours is.” Dutch then turns away from you both and yells, “Mr. Matthews, Mr. Smith, Mr. Pearson! Would you please look after the place— There are O’Driscoll’s about!”

Suddenly you’re all off, Arthur taking the reigns  into his hands and kicking his horse into action. It feels like he just envelopes you completely, his arms placed next your sides as he controls his horse. You’re quite surprised at how well he’s doing and maneuvering, until it dawns on you just how much taller he is than you. Perhaps being able to see wasn’t all that big of an issue like you thought previously.

“Relax, you’re as straight as a board.” Arthur says, his breath fanning across your right ear.

You swiftly turn your head away, before replying, “Maybe I wouldn’t be so rigid if I was behind you?”

“Just trynna keep ya from being crushed if he bucks us off.” He pats his horse’s neck for emphasis. You do the same right after, the horse whinnying from the sudden affection from you both. You don’t believe him honestly, him placing himself behind you like a wall felt more like a safety measure to keep you from fleeing the next chance you got.

You roll your eyes at his words and smile down at the animal, keeping your thought to yourself,  “I want a horse.”

“For what? Falling?”

You look back at him quizzically offended, so he taps your right temple. You wince away from his touch before you respond with a pout, “Karen says I could have been hit.”

“Southwest, Right, Arthur?” Dutch interrupts, the short lived conversation quickly dying off.

“Yeah, he said follow the main trail southwest.” Arthur calls back, moving away from your ear as he raises his voice, “They’re camped near some lake.”

“Okay, let’s go find these bastards before they find us, and rob this score they’re planning!” Dutch declares, and you revel at just how authoritative he could be. It wasn’t a harsh authority, in fact, it was quite delicate, woven in trust.

It was sad how it all goes down hill in the end..

Unless.. it doesn’t..? If only someone knew.. if only someone had the knowledge to be able to stop such a decline? You let the thought stir in the back of your mind, and try to remember who, what, where, and why everything hits the fan— And after riding in silence, planning out all you could in the moment, you decided you would do your best to keep the gang alive and well. You couldn’t guarantee it’d work out, of course, but you’ll definitely try.

Dutch slowing his horse down brings you out of your thoughts, him pointing out towards the ground where a bunch of divots lay in the snow to his left, “What’s that?”

“Tracks— Horses, quite a few of ‘em.” Someone answers, but you’re not sure who, not familiar with all the voices yet.

“Far as I can tell, the only fools out here are us and them.. They must be this way.” Dutch says to the crowd behind him, picking up speed.

“You good, Dutch?” Arthur then asks, hands readjusting on the reigns in front of you.

“Of course.” Dutch glances back, “Look, I know you don’t think much of my ideas recently, but this is the right move.”

“Okay..” Arthur sounds skeptical, but his tone becomes chipper as he says, “You know I have your back.”

“I learned a long time ago that you hit Colm O’Driscoll, wait for him and people you love will die.” The older man emphasizes, practically pleading for Arthur to understand.

You blink at his words, noticing how it sounds from experience. You don’t remember what the guy looks like exactly, but you do remember Colm was a POS— Like the worst kind of man.

“This feud between you and him needs to be put to rest,” Arthur sighs, like he was talking to a child who was fighting with another on the playground. “One way or another.”

Micah Scoffs from the right of you and Arthur, “It will be.”

“Some things I can forgive, others I can forget.” Dutch’s voice then becomes tense, and full of so much rage you can feel your skin prickle in fear, “What he did to Annabelle, I can’t do neither. ”

You look back at Arthur for an answer of who he was speaking of, but he only shakes his head. You suppose you didn’t need to know, though you think you remember from playing the game it was his lover, or someone of the sort.

“You killed his brother, Dutch.”

“Yes, I did.” Dutch grits out, his voice way pass the rage you once heard, “And I hope the bastards’ll be reunited soon enough. That’s how this’ll end.”

Chapter Text

Seeing the black smoke rise behind the mountain you were currently riding made your heart sink and your stomach flip. You push yourself back against Arthur’s chest, who sits upright by the sudden contact, to get as far away from the camp as possible. Arthur shifts, brushing you off him briskly as he readjusts himself better on his saddle.

“Relax.” He orders again, and you’re already annoyed being near him— Which didn’t seem possible, being more annoyed with the outlaw. 

“Hold up here.” Yells Dutch, slowing his horse and turning it towards you and the others. Everyone slows to a stop, too, some fidgeting on their saddles while others start to check their guns. You, however, were trying to lower yourself into the horse— To become nothing, so you didn’t have to be there with them.

“Alright, Gentlemen,“ he pauses, eyes landing on you shortly before adding, “ Lady , this is it.” He claps his hands together twice, looking at each of you individually before leaning forward and questioning, “Are we goddamn ready?”

When everyone either gave a verbal or silent confirmation, he nodded expectantly and hitched his head towards Arthur, “Now, Mr. Morgan and I—“ He points behind himself, up more in the mountain, “We’re going to head up here a little, see if we can’t get a sense of the camp's layout.”

Just  him and Arthur? You were confused by his words. For some reason, you figured you’d be stuck right next to Arthur’s side. After all, Arthur brought you along to see how valid John’s words were— To make sure John wasn’t mistaking your shooting ability. So, you not being lumped together with the two of them shocked you, figuring you were going to be two steps behind Arthur the whole trip.

“Right, what about her?” Micah pipes up, voice turning into a snarl as he brings attention to you. “She not going with her little handler?”

“Mr. Williamson,  Mr. Bell ,” Dutch scolds Micah lightly, pushing on with his directions, “You two take up a hidden position just outside the camp.” Dutch then turns his attention towards the two men right behind everyone else, “Mr. Summers, Mr. Escuella,” He continues with your last name, giving you a slight nod, “You three hold position here.”

You nod back, albeit a tad slow, and start putting distance between you and Arthur. You pull his arms away from your waist, Arthur staying silent as he watches you slide off his stallion. When your feet plant roughly into the snow, you make your way over to Javier, who is already hopping off his horse as well.

When your eyes catch him, you add a little pep to your step; the warmth Arthur gave you quickly rolling off your back. You want some heat again, and quick, even if it was from someone in the gang. You moved as promptly as possible through the thick snow, inching closer to your next heat source.

“You think that’s a good idea, Dutch?” Arthur asks, eyes never leaving your form.

“Her gun’s not needed at the moment. She can stay here and wait.”

“I guess..” Arthur grunts, clearly uneasy.

You smile at Arthur, hoping it’ll make him less wary of you staying behind. It doesn’t, it seems, as he takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders, looking annoyed. You scowl then, spinning on your heels, and continue your walk to Javier, who is still waiting for you with a hand outstretched.

Arthur and Dutch hop off their horses, walking to where the latter pointed out. Micah and the other man, Bill, you think his name was, ride down closer to the road, and sneak into the camp first. You, on the other hand, finally make it to your destination, and you smile at the sun-kissed man.

“How’d you know I was gonna come to you?” You prod Javier humorously, taking his hand.

Javier pulls you towards his horse swiftly, using the momentum to help you up as he responds, “You know me?”

“Hardly.”

“Okay, you know me better.” He rolls his eyes, a playful smile on his face as he also throws himself on his horse, sitting in front of you as you have placed yourself at the rear. “I don’t think you and Lenny had a chance to meet.”

“No, she was too busy smacking some sense into Micah.” Lenny laughs, moving his horse closer to you and Javier. “What I wouldn’t do to see that again.”

You flush at the memory, both in embarrassment and past anger. You look down at Javier’s gorgeous horse, leaning down and giving it a soft pat to hide your reddening face, “I’m sure you will if he never learns to shut up.”

“He won’t, so don’t do it ‘til I’m around— Promise.” Lenny holds out his pinky, and you chuckle, reaching out and linking yours to his.

“I promise.” You assure.

Javier and Lenny soon start a conversation, and your eyes wander back toward the two outlaws up the mountain. Their binoculars were by their sides, and Dutch looked annoyed, Arthur adamantly trying to convince him of something. You watch as Dutch seems to relent, and they shove their items back into their satchels.

You knew your moment of freedom was becoming short as you watched the two stand up and make their way down to you three. Arthur’s gaze finds yours, and you sigh, already hopping off Javier’s horse as you knew  Arthur would want you near so he could keep tabs.

The deal, after all, seems to be very important to him.

“You boys, be ready to pick them off from up there,” Dutch says to the men behind you, hitching his head quickly to where he and Arthur had just been. He turns his gaze to you, almost sympathetically— if not mildly annoyed, and says, “You’re with us.”

“Of course.” You mutter quietly, dragging your feet through the snow to find a place beside the two older men. You don’t quite understand why  precisely Dutch would be annoyed with your tagging along; they forced you to be here. You didn’t exactly volunteer to put your life on the line, and his annoyance slightly sparks yours, but you say nothing.

You make your way over to Arthur’s horse and grab the rifle Dutch had gifted him only an hour ago. You turn back to them, holding the gun to the protagonist like a peace offering. Some conflict passes through Arthur’s blue eyes as he stares at the gun, then up at you. He pauses for a second before he finally makes his way over and grabs the gun out of your hands. You feel hope swell in your chest, but it quickly diminishes.

“Don’t touch my guns.” He says quietly, slinging the rifle over his shoulder in one quick motion. There was no bite to his tone, but it still stung all the same.

You smile mockingly at him before purposely slamming your shoulder into his as you walk back to Dutch. You couldn’t believe this guy, here you were, trying to do your best to show him you weren’t  a threat, and he still treated you like a criminal.

He was so frustrating.

Arthur grabs his Saddle, facing the ground as he tries to hold back his rising annoyance. He breaths deeply once, twice, before spinning around and walking over to you and the older outlaw. He swiftly sticks a finger in your face as he quietly hisses, “Watch it, or so help me I will—“

“What? Drag me to some camp and let me get shot?” You hiss back, interrupting him quickly as you, too, shove a finger in his face. “I’m already fucking here.”

“Enough. Both of you, seriously.” Dutch places himself right between you, cutting the tension as he pins each with a glare. “You can finish this later; right now, we need to get down there and make Colm weep.”

You and Arthur give one last glare before you spin away from him with a growl.  You  didn’t want to be here; he made you come. If he was going to be a dick the whole time, why did he even do it? Was it Dutch who made him bring you? John? It couldn’t have been, Javier commented like Dutch didn’t even know; the older man looked mildly surprised as Arthur dragged you out of the cabin.

You understood wanting to keep an eye on someone suspicious, but it’s been weeks, and you haven’t done anything malicious to the camp to get treated in such a way. You weren’t an O’Driscoll, and you weren’t even some outlaw— You were a nobody. You have no past here, and all they knew was you more than likely fell off a horse and lost your memories.

You didn’t feel that warranted a piss poor attitude— But what did you know?

Dutch, Arthur, and you begin your trek down slowly, and you are stuck right in between the two men, the younger one walking behind. You spare just a tiny glance back, catching a glimpse of Arthur before huffing and looking away. You were still upset with him and getting dragged here, but you also had a compelling urge to try and smooth things over with him, and you hated it.

You shouldn’t have to; after all, he was the one keeping the bad vibes going. You have  tried smoothing things over; he’s too stubborn and suspicious to give you a chance— And that was his problem. You’re done trying to keep the peace, and you won’t speak to him unless he speaks to you; nicely.

“Seems easiest to take the same path down as Bill and Micah,” Dutch advises, pushing through the knee-deep snow. “As you said, Arthur, revenge is a luxury we can’t afford.”

This catches Arthur by surprise you notice, and he replies, “Yeah, I just wasn’t sure you agreed with me.”

“Arthur.” Dutch says softly, almost as if he were hurt, “Arthur, have you completely lost faith in me? Our current needs are supplies, equipment, and a way out of here.” Dutch shakes his head, gesturing towards the O’Driscoll camp as he finishes, “Everything else, including Colm, can wait.”

“Okay.” Arthur, surprisingly, doesn’t sound all too convinced. You applaud him in silence because he shouldn’t be— If the game's ending means anything.

“There’s enough of those bastards down there to deal with as it is.” Dutch adds, “Now come on.”

He picks up his pace, as does Arthur, and you sigh. Your legs are practically numb at this point, and the cold starts to lend itself to your bones. You hate this, you hate this damn mountain, and you almost wish you hadn’t killed those wolves.

Dutch must’ve heard you internally because he slows his pace down and smiles at you. You blink at him, wary, and you already have a sneaking suspicion about where this is heading.

A golden pep talk.

“Come now, don’t let Arthur’s people skills keep you down.” Dutch begins to walk at your speed, patting your shoulder gently as he continues, “We’re so excited that you joined us, a master shooter like yourself.”

“Oh, no, I’m not.” You insist, smiling nervously as you try to make an inch of distance, “I was just lucky.”

“Yeah, Lucky shot here is pretty sure it was nothing but a coincidence,” Arthur adds, adjusting his rifle.

You hear his stupid mocking nickname, and you roll your eyes, annoyance flaring, “It was a coincidence. I don’t know why you can’t believe me on anything I say.”

“Tell me somethin’ worth believin’.”

“Oh, okay, did you know you’re kind of an assho— “

“Alright you two! We get it. Can we please keep ourselves contained until we get to the camp?” Dutch pleads, once again having to stop the two of you from trying to kill each other.

You both fall into simmering silence once more, or so you thought, until Arthur soon blurts out, “She started it.”

Really??

How old was he?

Five ?

The sudden childishness from the giant outlaw was so surprising you couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter. It wasn’t mocking for once; it was just, you know, a laugh. It was something you couldn’t control. You would have never thought Arthur could act like that— It was entirely out of character.

He doesn’t snap at your laughter, just wanting to have the last word. Dutch found it hilarious as well, him joining in on your laughter at Arthur’s expense. When your peals of laughter come to a soft close, you clear your throat. Your stomach hurt from how much you laughed, and it took your mind off of the dreaded mission, so you were almost thankful. 

“So, who’s Colm O’Driscoll?” You ask randomly after a while of silence and rounding snowy roads. You were hoping to fill your foggy memory of the games' relationships.

“Colm O’Driscoll is a no good, thieving, murdering bastard.” Dutch growls, head shaking in what you can only describe as pure hatred. “He’s a stain to this great country, a menace— A bug to be squashed.”

Your eyes widen at the passionate response, but it still leaves your question unanswered. You glance back at the game’s protagonist, and thankfully he seems to understand your silent question.

“He’s a man in charge of a big gang full of nasty men.”

“Exactly! Colm does not care  who they are!” Dutch seethes, and you almost regret even asking him in the first place. “Colm only cares about numbers, and he’ll take in just about any damn man he comes across.”

“I see..” you nod, shrinking away from the fuming leader. “A man with low standards, it seems.”

“ Real low.” Arthur agrees, nodding his head once and taking out his gun.

You realize now that you’ve made it to the end of the path, and you, too, grab out your small pistol. You look down at it and gulp, now not sure if that'll be able to keep you safe. It did fine against the wolves, but they weren’t zigzagging around, doing their best to dodge bullets. These will be real men—

Oh god, these will be real men.

The realization is nauseating, knowing you will have to shoot real, breathing human beings. Yes, this was a game, but you were now a part of it, and these people were alive. Alive, but that will soon be cut short once you and the others come out and spray bullets.

For the past few weeks, you’ve kept this barrier between you and everyone around you. You couldn’t handle knowing they were actual people now and knowing that, at some point, everything would hit the fan. You didn’t want to get attached to anyone, and you knew, for the most part, that this story would end badly. The group disbands, and many will be killed in the fallout— So you looked at them as fiction, to escape the pain of knowing.

Because of that view, you claimed you would do your best to keep the gang alive, but maybe you were naïve. You said that while thinking the game would go out as expected, but you were never a part of it. There’s now an excellent chance the game is altered from the original just because you exist. You hoped you could convert a few actions or missions to change the ending, but could you?

Is the ending even going to be the same now?

You shake away your thoughts, not wanting to spiral down a rabbit hole you wouldn’t be able to escape from. The point is, you have to face reality— And this was it. You weren’t going to give up on them, you’d already decided, but you had to be careful.

“Worried ‘bout somethin’?”

You blink up at Arthur, his voice slicing away your thoughts almost as quickly as you had thought them. You try to smile, but you feel it wobble from anxiety as you shake your head, “No, I’m just- I’m looking at my pistol.”

Arthur eyes it, nodding his head only slightly before he snatches it away from your hands. You gape, not believing you just got your gun taken again, and you take a quick step back in reflex.

Like hell were you having that thing against your neck once again.

Arthur chuckles at your skittish behavior, now shoving his rifle into your hands to replace the one he holds, “Relax, Lucky shot. I ain’t gonna use this on ya.” He sheathes it, tilting his head slightly as he adds, “Well, yet.”

“You are such a comfort, Mr. Morgan.” You say sarcastically, staring down at the giant gun in bewilderment. “Why am I holding this?”

“You’re gonna use it?” He says back like he’s talking to someone with a -0.1 IQ

“You told me not to touch your guns.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

You only squint at him, annoyance flaring at his wishy-washy stance. One minute you were like the plague; touching his guns was the biggest offense. Now, however? It’s all good and fine?

Arthur rolls his eyes at your silence, “I’m not muscle today— You’re gonna be the one showin’ off.”

“So why did you-“ You quickly shut your mouth, closing your eyes in frustration as you let out a long sigh. “You know what? Okay. Thank you, Arthur. I appreciate you trusting me with your gun.”

“Well, I never said-“

“ Thank you, Arthur. ” you interrupt, teeth gritted.

Arthur huffs but says nothing more, moving past you and addressing Dutch, “Maybe Lucky shot should take the lead on this.” Arthur stands next to the older man, hands shoved into his pockets, “They’re going to be gunning for you.”

“They ain’t got me yet.”

“No, but the way our lucks been runnin’..”

“Hush, let’s just get ready.”

“I’m sorry, you want me to fucking waltz right in?” You exclaim, eyes wide and sweat forming, despite the temperature you stood in.

Arthur shrugs, and you make a soft noise, mouth tilting up in dismay as you whisper, “I cannot believe this motherfucker.”

Dutch shakes his head at the both of you, moving past the large trees as he lowers himself into a walking crouch, “Stay low, follow me!” He whispers.

Arthur and you both lower yourselves and chase after, watching as Dutch makes his way to some broken wooden structure. You couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be, maybe a barn, but it made for some great coverage. As the small space soon blooms into a larger area, you see Micah hiding behind a large pillar, but you can’t see where Bill is.

“Okay, let’s get in cover.”

You follow Dutch's orders, placing yourself against a wooden wall to the left of Dutch’s cover. Arthur comes up behind you, chest practically against your back, as he whispers, “So what are we doing, Dutch? We can have Lucky Shot take this if you want.”

“Stop volunteering me!”

“Just make the call.” Dutch says quickly, “She wants to take the lead? Go.”

Arthur looks down at you expectantly, and you shake your head. He hitches his own at the O’Driscoll, expression becoming impatient as you once again shake your head at him.

“Arthur, I can’t! He’s not an animal; he’s a person!” You hiss, holding the rifle to your chest as you’re practically nose to nose with the looming outlaw.

Something flashes in Arthur’s eyes, but you can’t determine what it is, the emotion diminishing as quickly as it showed. You begin to second guess it and question if you saw anything there at all. He looks over at Dutch and Micah then, who you knew was becoming impatient with you as well, and sighs. When his eyes find yours again, he growls.

“ We have a deal. ”

“We don’t have time to debate this!” Dutch hisses suddenly, “Is she going or not?”

“Yes, yes, I’m going.” You whimper, gulping down the bile that threatens to escape. You cock the weapon and slowly take your aim. You lock on almost immediately as if you’ve been shooting people for years. You should’ve known auto-lock would still be a thing, but it almost makes you more nauseous; now, you had no reason to miss.

You aim for the man’s head, wanting his death to be instant, and you pull the trigger. The loud bang makes your ears ring, the shot's recoil knocking you into Arthur’s chest. He catches you easily, and it makes sense to you now why he had placed himself where he did. You check where the man stood only a second before, only to be met with his limp body in the snow and red pooling around his head.

“Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.” You gasp, throwing a hand over your mouth to keep anything from coming out.

“Throw up later, keep shootin’.” Arthur orders, patting your shoulder roughly as he takes out your pistol and reaches across your form to shoot back at the increasing numbers of O’Driscolls.

“O’Driscolls! You’re dead, you sons of bitches!” Arthur yells out, shooting two running outlaws right in the head.

Dutch and Micah start shooting, too, moving away from the broken structure to get more room. Arthur, however, stays near you as you cower away from the whizzing bullets. You’re practically shoving yourself into the man, trying your best to move away from the opening and, in some subconscious way, finding safety.

You’re frightened. You’re not used to gun fights, and you’re not used to being shot at. You didn’t go into this thinking you would be a badass by any means, but you didn’t think you would be shaking in your damn boots, either. However, fight or flight was a human response, and yours, unfortunately, was not fight. You cover your ears, shoving your face into your knees and pushing your body into Arthur’s chest.

You wanted this to be over; you wanted to be safe.

Arthur roughly grabs your coat, hoisting you onto your feet and dragging you away from the safety of the wall to somewhere with more room. However, it was much more open, and you began to hyperventilate. Arthur shoots a man coming from behind, and he’s putting himself right next to you once more.

“Listen to me,” he says gruffly, though there’s a hint of softness, “These men will not cry over your dead body. These bastards have done awful things and will continue to unless you put a bullet into their skulls.”

“Arthur, I’m scared.” You admit to him, voice coming out as a whimper as tears blur your sight. If you weren’t currently getting shot at, you might have felt embarrassed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “I’ve never done this— I’m not a killer!”

“That’s tough shit. You think they’re goin’ to stop shooting because you’re scared ?” Arthur lifts himself from behind the crates, sending out two bullets that made themselves home in the chest of two O’Driscolls. “Shoot, Damnit!”

“Okay!” You wail, wiping the frozen tears away from your face and once again cocking the rifle. You peak out from the crates, locking on one moving O’Driscoll and quickly flicking the gun up and shooting. It gets the man straight in the head, and he drops, just as your stomach does.

“Good! Keep shootin’!” Arthur praises by your side.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

You cock the rifle, shoot, and repeat until no more O’Driscolls pop out from behind buildings or broken-down carriages. Unfortunately for you, each man you took down, you took down with one shot, and you knew this Solidified your presence in other shootouts. Your tears had run dry at one point during the fight, but the immense guilt and sadness never left your chest; they had balled together and stuck there, making themselves at home.

“Search the bodies; strip everything we can from them!” Dutch soon yells out, other gang members moving away from their hiding spots and getting to work. You refuse to move, both too shaken to get up and too sick to your stomach to think. You can’t touch one of their bodies, and you refuse to. You already did your part in killing them. You didn’t feel the need to steal from their corpses too.

You think you see Arthur hesitate to move, but once again, you’re left questioning if you saw anything at all as he swiftly follows Dutch’s command. After a second or two of trying to regulate your breathing and beating heart, you try to stand on wobbly legs.

“You recognize any of them?” You hear someone ask.

“Of course not. Colm doesn’t give a damn about his men. All he cares about is numbers.” Dutch responds. “If you can shoot a gun, ride a horse, and kill without thought, you’re in.”

With just one mention of death, you’re doubling over and releasing everything you ate that day. If anyone was talking before, they weren’t now, and you feel almost bad for interrupting their conversation. You feel a hand come up and start to rub your back gently, which slightly makes you feel better. After another minute of dry heaving, you were good, and you wiped away the remaining upchuck.

“You did good, My dear,” Dutch coos at your side softly, still rubbing your back. “I’m very impressed with the skills you displayed today.” 

“Thanks..” you whisper, though it isn’t as genuine as you were trying to make it sound.

“Heads up, boys! There’s more coming!”

You whip your head toward the voice, and you want to slap yourself. You forgot more came from the woods. This was part of the story where the gamer was supposed to perfect Deadeye. Dutch helps you to your feet a lot more gently than Arthur had and takes off to find cover closer to the onslaught of enemies. You follow after, throwing yourself behind a stack of logs. You see Arthur storm out of a cabin and place himself behind a large metal cart.. thing.

“What do you think, Arthur? Should we hold ground here or go at them?” Dutch asks, sending another array of bullets.

You feel Arthur send a glance your way as he shouts back, “We’ll Stay here!”

The men pick off each O’Driscoll, brave enough to step out from behind a tree. When you noticed two near each other pop out, you initiated Dead Eye. You shot one right in the neck and the other straight through the eye.

You felt your stomach flip.

When the remaining O’Driscolls decide it best to flee, some boys cheer loudly, yelling out snarky remarks about them being cowards. After you were sure there wouldn’t be an ambush, you all made your way back to the middle of their camp, where Lenny and Javier were waiting with the horses.

Dutch whistles for his horse before addressing the group's men, “Good work, boys, Lucky shot.” You roll your eyes, realizing this just might be your name forever. “Now, let’s tear this place apart.”

When his horse arrives, Dutch thrusts himself on top of it, pointing to Bill as he tells him to check a wagon and Micah to go check out one of the buildings. Arthur’s sent to a building on the left, and you-

Dutch allowed you to stay with him, and you were grateful.

“Alright, men, quick! Find those detonators, explosives, anything you can.” When Dutch finishes his yell, he smiles down at you. “I was serious before; I’m real proud of your work today.”

“Didn’t do much..” you mumble, kicking your foot against the icy ground. “I cried and then threw up.”

“Sure, sure, but you also helped us out greatly today. Even in distress, you had great aim.” Dutch ruffles your hair suddenly, and you squeal, moving out of his reach. “I’m sorry about your condition, but I’m glad it brought you to us.”

You blink up at the older man, your chest becoming warm from his sweet words. It felt almost fatherly, and you couldn’t help the sudden tears in your eyes. You try to smile them away as your voice breaks, “Thank you, Dutch.”

Your conversation is cut short when one of the men comes up and shows Dutch a paper of O’Driscoll’s plans. Then, Arthur finds the box of explosives and has Bill bring it out after him. You again find Arthur glancing at you, but at this point, you couldn’t care less. He was probably annoyed with you because you broke down in the middle of a gunfight.

“Did we find everything?”

“Think so, boss.” Micah says proudly, handing over a large piece of rolled-up paper as he declares, “Found this on one one of ‘em.”

“Oh yeah, interesting..” Dutch says softly as he unrolls it and takes a glance. “This is something about the train they was gonna rob.”

He goes on to read in silence for another moment as he then says, “A Mr. Leviticus Cornwall.” He puts the paper away quickly after that, “Mount back up; let’s keep moving.” 

Arthur walks to his horse quickly and beckons for you to follow. You hesitate, the embarrassment you once didn’t care about suddenly flooding your bloodstream and causing you to look away. You still made it over, however, and he gently helps you on his horse. When he again places himself behind you, you scoot as far away from him as possible.

“Alright, let’s get outta here. I’m proud of you, all of you!” Dutch says as he kicks his horse into motion, everyone else doing the same. Dutch goes on to continue your guy’s praise, but you can’t bother to listen, the adrenaline now taking its toll as you become exhausted.

You then watch as Javier places his horse next to Arthur’s, giving you a quick once over, “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, and he seems hesitant to take your word for it. You give him a small smile, hoping maybe then he’d believe you, but it proves to be futile.

“She’s fine.” Arthur cuts in, voice light with a little sense of humor. “She got sick, is all; she’s not dyin’.”

Javier’s brows furrow in worry, “You got sick?”

“I’ve never- I don’t think-“ You also furrow your brows, though it was more in minor distress. “I’ve never killed someone before.” You finally whisper out.

The two men beside you go silent until Arthur says, “It’ll get easier.”

You scowl, “I don’t want  it to get easier; I don’t want to be numb to killing.”

“You wanna throw up every time you shoot a feller?” Arthur asks dubiously, “That sounds awful.”

“No, I don’t want to shoot anyone, ever.”

You half expect Arthur to snap back at you, as seen previously, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a couple of moments of silence before finally saying, “Runnin’ with folk like us, you’ll have to shoot again.”

And you knew he was right, but you hated him for it. You hated the game for it; you hated whatever god that had put you in this game for it.

“..I know.” Is all you can say back.

When you phase back into whatever praise Dutch was throwing to you all, he was pretty much speaking his last thoughts. Arthur, however, seemed to have been listening while talking to you because he yells out to the leader after he stops talking, “You didn’t get Colm, but this hit will hurt him a lot more than any bullet in the head.”

“Especially when we rob this train, too,” Dutch responds excitedly.

“Yeah, I guess we’ll see about that!” Arthur answers back, amused.

“Oh, indeed we will.”

You couldn’t help but block out Arthur and his conversation after a while, exhaustion weighing on your body and mind like a heavy blanket. Your balance was becoming wonky, sleep wanting to take over your conscience. You almost succumb to the need until an arm wraps around your waist, and you realize you were saved from falling straight off the galloping horse.

“M’srry.” You mumble your apology.

“Jesus, woman, this took a lot outta you.”

“Hey, you see that feller? Wasn’t he at camp with Colm?” Dutch asks, and you feel Arthur move behind you.

“Just leave him to me.”

“Alright, we’re heading back. Just bring him alive!” Dutch begins to merge away from Arthur and you, the rest of the crew following behind. “He could be useful.”

“Okay, you got it.” Arthur readjusts you; the space you so carefully put between the two of you closes as he pushes you into his chest. He kicks the horse beneath you to pick up speed, clicking his tongue in unison.

“Wait, I’ll just ride with Javier!”

Your pleading falls on deaf ears, the horse already at top speed as you gain on the O’Driscoll. As you got closer, and you could see the man’s face a tad clearer, you knew exactly who it was.

Arthur drops the reigns, quickly filling his hands with the lasso as he’s only a foot away from Kieran, who pleads to be left alone. Arthur throws the hitch over the runaway and harshly yanks him off his horse. Kieran falls to the ground with a muffled thump and thrashes around.

“Shit, no!” He yells in fear.

“You’re coming with me.” Arthur snarls in return, and you feel a chill zap down your spine.

“Come on! I-I’m nobody, mister!”

Arthur says nothing, picking the afraid man up and hauling him over his shoulder. Arthur looks at you once he turns around, and you stare back, only for him to put Kieran on the rear and grab the reigns, beginning to lead the horse on foot.

“I told you to let me go with the others.”

“Yeah, well, didn’t have time.”

“All you had to do was le-“ You’re cut off by Kieran screaming to be let go once more.

“What’s your name, boy?” Arthur asks harshly, and that same chill comes back.

“I don’t know.” He whimpers his response.

“You don’t know your name?”

“It’s Kieran,” He finally admits, trying to pick his head up and look past you.

Arthur continues trudging through the snow, comically lifting his feet high as he ushers the horse with him, “Kieran, what?”

“Duffy! Kieran Duffy.”

“Well,” Arthur starts, voice full of twisted amusement, “I ain’t gonna lie to you; This is a real bad day for you, Kieran Duffy.”

“Where are you taking me?” Kieran questions, his voice trembling.

“Somewhere you ain’t gonna like.”

Kieran does his best to pick up his upper body, and when you glance back at him from the movement, your heart sinks. He looks terrified, and all you want to do is help ease his worries, but you don’t. You know, later in the game, he becomes one of the sweetest characters, but now he is an O’Driscoll— An enemy. You turn away from his fear-stricken face and stare out ahead.

“Why? What are you gonna do to me?!”

“ Something  you ain’t gonna like,” Arthur admits. “So, I’d advise you to save your breath for screaming.”

“No, please!” Kieran’s body starts to shake from gushing tears, and you feel your heart crack. You sneak a closer peek at him, and he catches you. He lays his cheek flat against the horse as he looks up at you, and you gulp. “Please, Miss, don’t let him hurt me!”

You don’t respond, and Arthur only chuckles at Kieran’s efforts. You refuse to look at him now as you try to drown out his insistent wailing and constant flailing. It was hard, Kieran begging for his life and explicitly begging you for help. You wanted to, goodness, you wanted to help him, but Arthur already has very little trust in you, and you weren’t going to make it worse by helping someone you know wasn’t going to die.

At least, not at this moment.

The trip takes much longer than it would have before, Arthur not being able to ride the horse along with you and the boy. Since the journey has become much longer, Kieran’s pleas start to grate Arthur’s nerves, and you can tell. Arthur’s usually dark-humored quips have now become threatening remarks and quick, growling commands of silence.

“I-I-I’m of no use to you!” Kieran pushes his luck after a period of sniffles, and you can see the camp in the distance now.

“You better shut your mouth, you little shit , or I will shut it for you.” Arthur snaps loudly, whipping his head to look back at the prisoner, teeth baring in a snarl. He was clearly at his wit's end.

“Have a heart, mister! They don’t tell me anything, I swear.”

Arthur quickly lets go of his horse’s reigns, stomping his way through the snow and punching Kieran harshly im his side. Kieran wheezes, a harsh cough following right after as he struggles to catch his breath.

When he can finally take a good breath, Kieran cries, “Take it easy; you’re gonna break my ribs!”

“Are you testing me? Is that it?” Arthur flexes his hand, face darkening as he finishes, “Because I will break every bone in your body.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Okay?”

“Not one more goddamn word, am I clear?” The outlaw warns, a finger in Kieran’s face.

“Okay, Okay!”

“That’s two bones, right there.”

Kieran makes no noise after that, staying as silent as possible. Arthur takes back the reigns and continues to make his way into camp, and you couldn’t be happier. You didn’t want to be on the horse anymore, and you didn’t want to hear Kieran cry, either.

When Arthur brings the stallion to a stop, he comes to the side and reaches for you. You hesitate, debating if you should slide off the horse yourself and ignore his silent offer. You don’t, deciding that if Arthur was going to be, at least a tiny bit, kind to you, you were taking it. You place your hands on his shoulder as his hands slide onto your waist. He lifts you and then gently sets you down away from the horse, and you take a few steps back.

“You did fine today.” Arthur praises you quietly, though he says it awkwardly. “Mighty fine shootin’”

You smile in thanks but don’t say anything back to him. He looks at you as if he’s waiting for a response, but you’re too tired to indulge him with any conversation. After another long silence, Arthur nods and looks away, deciding to grab Kieran instead.

“Here we are, you sack of shit,” Arthur lifts Kieran onto his shoulder, the boy grunting from the shoulder in his stomach. “Let’s introduce you to the boys.”

“Don’t hurt me, please!”

“Oh, don’t worry, they’re real nice.” Arthur grunts, making his way to Dutch’s cabin.

Dutch must’ve heard the commotion because he swings open his cabin excitedly, trotting his way over to the younger man in vigor, “You found the little shit, did you?”

“Yep,” Arthur drops Kieran harshly into the snow face first, whipping out his knife and cutting the ropes on his feet loose. “I got him.”

“Very good.” Dutch praises, rolling up the giant paper found earlier. “Welcome to your new home! I hope you’re real happy here.”

Arthur grabs Kieran off the ground, holding him in front of Dutch as he asks, “Want me to make him talk?”

“Oh no, now all we’ll get is lies ; we get him hungry first.” Dutch gives the young boy a sneer, then turns and addresses two men coming out of another cabin. “Uncle, Mr. Williamson! Tie this maggot up someplace safe.”

Kieran stares as the two men approach him, so Dutch grabs Kieran’s chin and forces his attention back on himself, “I got a saying, my friend. We shoot fellers that need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed ‘em as need feeding.”

Kieran’s eyes widen in fear as Dutch leans in closer and hisses, “We’re gonna find out what you need.”

With that final warning, Kieran’s body drags in the snow as Bill and Uncle take him toward an open barn area. Dutch laughs enthusiastically, arms opening wide as he says, “I can’t believe it! An O’Driscoll, in my camp!”

“I ain’t an O’Driscoll! I hate that feller!” Kieran screeches, kicking and fighting against the two men. It proves fruitless, as they don’t even flinch from his movement.

“Oh, whatever you say, son!” Dutch answers before turning his attention to Arthur and you. “Well done, Arthur, Lucky Shot.”

Dutch turns back to his cabin, but Arthur stops him, “I’m just sorry we missed out on Colm.”

“Oh, there’s time enough for that.” He reassures, opening the paper again and giving it a long, satisfying look, “Now, I gotta figure out if we can hit that train.”

Dutch says his good nights. Arthur returns them and walks back over to you, and begins hovering over you awkwardly. You raise a brow at him, and he rubs his hands together for heat. You both stand in silence before you can’t stand the cold anymore, nor the atmosphere, and you pat his shoulder gently, “Thank you for not getting me shot today.”

“‘Course,” He nods and coughs, trying to clear his throat as he tilts his head down at the rifle wrapped around your shoulder, “Keep that. You earned it.”

You smile at him, and, for once, the annoyance you’ve come to associate with the outlaw is nowhere to be seen. In fact, you were ecstatic over Arthur not acting like he had to take care of a possible threat; it made you feel good. Arthur was finally treating you like you belonged in the camp, even if it felt a bit forced.

“Thank you, Arthur. I’m going to sleep now.” You tell him softly, a yawn breaking your voice as you pat him one more time before brushing past him.

You feel Arthur watching you, but you don’t mind. He always watches you, but at least now it doesn’t feel hostile. You almost make it to the woman’s cabin before he calls out to you, and you halt. You turn and give him a questioning look, and he scratches his scruff.

“Would you wanna go hunting with Charles and me?” You blink at him in surprise, so he begins to rush out his words, “we’re gonna need more meat, and with another hunter, we’ll be able to get it.”

“Uh.. I guess?” You respond slowly, nodding in agreement. “Goodnight, Morgan.”

You don’t wait for him to respond. You push open the cabin’s door and rush to your pallet, throwing yourself under the blanket and allowing yourself to ignore the bloody images in your mind and drift to sleep.

Chapter Text

Arthur watches as she closes the door behind her, rushing to put distance between them. He sighs, lifting his hat off and scratching the back of his head in frustration. He didn’t mean to toss her into chaos; John said she could shoot, so Arthur assumed she could stomach a shoot-out. He stands there a moment longer, eyeing the door that blocks her from him.

“Feeling a little guilty?” Javier asks him, coming up from behind and patting Arthur’s shoulder gently. “She’ll be okay; she just needs to sleep it off.”

Arthur shrugs his hand off easily, brushing past the man as he makes his way to a lit fire. Some of the other men in the camp are already standing around it, being somewhat boisterous, “I ain’t feeling guilty of shit.” He snaps.

“Right. Why else would you invite her to go hunting?” Javier continues to prod, trailing behind Arthur like a lost dog.

“I just figured killing animals would be easier to stomach, that’s it.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you, Mi Amigo.” Javier sighs loudly, speeding up and slinging his arm around Arthur’s shoulders as he shakes his head, “I think you feel bad because you made her distressed; it’s okay to be honest.”

Arthur growls lightly, brushing Javier off again, though with more agitation, “I ain’t that nice of a fella; stop spouting bullshit.”

“Who’s spouting what?” Uncle asks the two as they near the flames, words slurring as he looks up from the large fire. A half-empty whisky bottle was tucked tightly in his hands like he feared somebody would take it from him.

“Arthur’s feelin’ guilty about Lucky Shot,” Javier says quickly, moving away from the more prominent man— Out of reach, in case Arthur decided to take a swing.

“I am not!” He argues, hands out towards the fire to soak up its heat, though he’d probably rather have them around his friend’s neck. Lenny holds out a bottle of rum to his right, and Arthur takes it gratefully, placing the half-filled bottle to his lips to take a large swig. As he pulls the bottle away, he says, “There’s no reason to feel guilty; she did fine.” 

“Oh yeah, Javier and I were too far to see her shoot; Was John bullshittin’?” Lenny asks, reaching for the bottle.

Arthur gives it back quickly, hands going right towards the fire like they never left, “No, he was right. She had a meltdown, but even then, she had a steady shot.”

“What’d she shoot with?” Bill pipes up; Arthur just now that notices he is sitting right next to him. Arthur lifts a brow in question, so Bill reaches to Arthur’s belt and pulls out her pistol. The outlaw’s eyes widen, forgetting he had taken it, “Why’d you take her weapon?” Bill continues.

“She used my rifle— Well, I guess it’s hers now,” Arthur answers slowly, taking the gun back quickly. “She looked nervous, so we traded.”

“Oh, how warm-hearted of you,” Javier teases, elbowing Lenny as he snorts. “Almost sweet if you ask me.”

“Good thing I’m not,” Arthur retorts, a slight scowl forming the longer his gangmate continues. “And if you’re assuming I’m sweet on her—“

“I would be.” Javier interrupts, waving away Arthur’s anger like it was nothing. “She’s hot, shoots well, carried John’s ass halfway here— With no memory, mind you.”

“Supposedly.”

“Ah, that’s right, you’re still skeptical, huh?” Javier sighs, shaking his head like he was talking to a toddler, “She’s been nothing but helpful, and she sounds genuinely confused half the time.”

“Yeah, ever think you might be thinking with your dick and not your head?” Arthur inquires, a slight smirk pulling at his lips as Lenny again offers the bottle.

“Did she not kill a bunch of O’Driscolls? Or bring John back?” Javier inquires back.

“She did..” Arthur relents, taking a swig and handing it over to Bill, “But many O’Driscoll’s turn on each other.”

“She’s not like any O’Driscoll I’ve ever seen— I don’t think they allow woman, anyway.” A voice butts in from behind; the sudden intrusion causes Arthur to jump slightly in surprise. He turns to find Hosea and Dutch, both bundled in thick coats and with more alcohol in their grasps.

“And when I asked her things, things most people would know, I saw no recognition in her eyes.” Hosea continues, defending her easily.

Arthur huffs, turning back to the fire, pouting almost like a child would when their parents disagreed. Hosea hands a bottle to Javier, who opens it quickly to let the stinging liquid flow down his throat.

“How’d the planning go?” Arthur asks, trying to move the conversation from the woman who, for some fucking reason, kept getting brought up.

“Fine,” Dutch responds, opening one of the bottles he brought out to the fire to take a small sip. He then turns on the vinyl player he has also somehow brought out without anyone knowing. “Hosea and I believe it’ll be a great hit.”

“Dutch thinks it’ll be a great hit; I think it’s a terrible idea. Seriously, we should stay as far away from illegal things as we can be— We’re running Dutch.”

“As I’ve said, we need money, Hosea. If I didn’t think we needed this, I wouldn’t do it.” Dutch says, tone implying they had been going back and forth on this for a while.

Hosea concedes, turning from the leader in contempt as he takes a swig of beer. Dutch only sighs at his friend’s actions, turning his attention onto his adopted son, “I don’t see your problem with her, My boy.” Dutch says, beginning to hand out a few bottles, “She’s helpful.”

“Are you saying that because it’s genuine or because you’d like to show her a good time?” Arthur asks, a slight bite to his tone. Not sure why it would be there; he’s shown no interest in the shooter, and perhaps he was jealous of Dutch’s attention on her.

Dutch chuckles, “Couldn’t it be both..?”

“Disgraceful,” Hosea mutters, “You’re with a woman, bedswerver.”

“Can a man not enjoy looking at the goods without touching them?” Dutch defends, his so-called silver tongue coming in for the save. “She is a beautiful woman, a useful woman, am I not allowed to muse? To wonder?”

“Did you muse and wonder with Abigail?” Bill wonders aloud, everyone quieting down instantly, except for Javier, who begins choking on his sip.

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Dutch deflects quickly, yanking a bottle out of Arthur’s hands to take a quick chug. Everyone looks dubious at their leader, each looking at the other as they watch the man do his best to act normal. Hosea breaks the tension with a loud laugh, and soon everyone follows after.

“Don’t start laughing, Javier; we know you’ve been with her too.” Arthur scolds the man in question, who starts piping down slightly at being called out.

“It’s not like it was one-sided! Anyways, she tried with you too!” Javier retaliates, voice becoming slightly slurred. The alcohol was getting to him, and some of his sentences became a mixture of English and Spanish. “I’m a man who can appreciate a beautiful woman when I see one— I’d be stupid not to take my chance when offered.”

“If Lucky Shot were to give you a chance—“ Lenny begins, but he’s quickly interrupted.

“Is that even a question?” He says quickly, “Absolutely I would, no questions asked. If she even hinted, I would drop everything.”

“Damn, I didn’t even get to ask.” Lenny muses, face slightly pink from the warmth coming from his stomach. “Are you sweet on her?”

“No, it’s not like that.” Javier backpedals, body swaying from the liqueur invading his mind, causing him to be more honest than usual, “She’s a fine woman; I’d be stupid to not wanna—“

“Alright, stop; she’s still a lady.” Arthur stops Javier’s ramble, pinning the more petite man with a disapproving stare. “If she were here, she’d probably shoot you dead.”

“I’d be okay with that..” Javier murmurs, eyes going distant as he takes another large swig.

“If there weren’t a stick so far up Arthur’s ass, he’d probably give her a little joy ride himself,” Micah intrudes out of nowhere, plopping himself across from Arthur, placing himself next to Charles, who has been quiet the entire time. Arthur’s scowl becomes much more intense as Micah snickers and takes a bottle for himself, “Though she ain’t much of a Look’r, and her mouth makes me want to shove a damn barrel into it.” He snarks.

“Micah. A pleasure.” Hosea mumbles though he does nothing to hide the absolute displeasure that clouds his features.

“You’re just mad she put you in your place,” Lenny snickers softly, bumping into Javier, who laughs slightly. “Not to mention how hard she slapped you.”

“She didn’t do shit!” He hisses, teeth-baring angrily, “She hits like a whore, hardly felt a thing, that piece of shit couldn’t even shoot a gun without sobbing like a bitch!”

Arthur and Dutch say his name, Arthur sounding angry compared to Dutch’s soft, scolding tone. Micah falls silent, though the glowering expression doesn’t lift for a second.

“You ever wonder how much fire hurts, Micah?” Arthur asks the poorly groomed man. It was a question, but everyone knew what was being concealed underneath it— A threat, a promise of harm if Micah didn’t watch himself.

Micah scoffs, deciding he’ll call Arthur’s bluff, “What’s it matter to you, cowpoke? You don’t even like the bitch— You don’t trust her.” A taunting smile pulls at his lips as he continues, “I bet that’s not true, though. For someone who acts like you can’t stand the slut, you sure do hover around her a lot. I get it; wanna make sure you’re the only one slamming into her—”

Arthur goes to leap for the man, fully prepared to drag his body straight into the flames. Dutch grabs his arm too quickly, keeping him in place as he addresses Micah with a tone of authority, “Micah, enough, we’re trying to celebrate a job well done.” He then addresses Arthur, tone a tad softer, “You burn who I tell you to; don’t get crazy.”

Micah disregards Dutch’s warning, continuing to pester Arthur as he says, “Oh sure, we can let the Mexican talk about plowing into her, but not our precious Arthur.”

Arthur quickly whips out her pistol, cocking it with fast grace as he points it straight between Micah’s eyes, “Give me a reason, I beg you.”

“Awfully touchy, aren’t ya? Are you feeling guilty? ‘Cause of a few tears?”

“Arthur,” Dutch warns, hand tightening on Arthur’s arm, “Enough, put it down.”

With a shaky deep breath, Arthur lowers the pistol, albeit the fury in his stomach does not fade. Micah looks as if he won, and that does nothing to help diminish the anger in the large outlaws veins. He wanted to put a bullet straight through his skull, if only Dutch would let him.

“I swear, we are trying to celebrate— There’s no reason to be arguing, especially over another member who is not here to defend themselves.” Dutch goes on, glaring at the two conflicting men. “Put it to rest; Arthur, stop being so sensitive. Micah, stop picking a damn fight.”

“Yes, Boss.” Micah practically sings, his tone making Arthur’s jaw clench tighter.

“Is she really that good of a shooter..?” Charles finally pipes up, eyes staring straight into the flames, as if he’s trying to read them— like a type of book. “Why she even called Lucky shot.”

“‘Cause she claimed her shots were pure luck,” Arthur answers easily, taking very large, long gulps of a freshly opened beer. “She was clearly bullshitting us.”

“Is that why you decided to randomly take us on a hunting trip tomorrow?” Charles asks, finally looking up from the flames. “You think I won’t be able to take down a few deer?”

“Charles, your hand is burnt to hell, I was trying to ease the load.”

“Can she shoot a bow? Does she know how to track? Can she even ride a horse?” Charles prods further, the questions causing Arthur to bristle slightly.

“I’m assuming so, she looks like she fell off one not too long ago..” Hosea adds, though it wasn’t helpful like thought it was.

“So she can fall off a horse, if anything that proves she can’t.”

“I don’t think she’ll stomach killing an animal— She went ballistic back at the O’Driscoll’s, sobbing like a child lost in the woods.” Says Micah, his face showing his pleasure in Lucky Shot being disregarded in a sense.

“It don’t matter if she can ride, she’ll ride with me like she has been.” Arthur retorts, not understanding why she was such a hot topic for the night.

“I wanna ride with her..” Javier mumbles, completely taken by the alcohol, “Right in front of me, our bodies close and bumping into the other..” His sentence trails off into Spanish and Arthur rolls his eyes.

“We’re up in the mountains, go cool off.” He snaps, shooing the obnoxiously horny man from his sight. “Seriously, what is going on, can we talk about literally anyone else right now.”

Chapter Text

The first time you woke up in the freezing cabin, you did it abruptly. Hair clinging to your forehead as sticky, cold sweat drips down your body. You were having a nightmare, you think, by the way your body trembles in not cold, but fear; And the way Sadie stares at you from the other side of the cabin.

“Are you okay?” She asks, looking like she was ready to jump up from her pallet.

“Yeah, I— It was a nightmare, I don’t even remember it.”

She nods slowly at your answer, before she finally removes the blankets from her over bundled body and makes her way over to you. You look up at her in question when she stands in front of you, so she gestures for you to move over. You do so, and she plops down quickly, yanking the covers over her form and yanking you to lay down with her. You go down easily, adjusting yourself to your side, Sadie doing the same before she reaches over and clasps your hand with hers.

“I get them too,” She whispers, looking down like she’s afraid to be vulnerable. “I get them a lot, especially— Well, after my husband’s death.”

You squeeze her hand, maybe to comfort her, or maybe to just let her know you were listening, and she takes it well. She smiles softly as she squeezes your hand back. Her gaze grows distant as she falls silent, and you can see glimmer of tears in her eyes, but you say nothing about them. If you know anything about Sadie from these few weeks, its that she hates showing her pain.

She takes a shaky breath, and finally meets your gaze, like she was coming out of a painful memory, “So, what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yesterday, when you got back you looked.. You looked very shaken.”

“I had to shoot people,” you say softly after a brief moment of contemplation. It comes out almost numb, “They were bad men.. After all, look what they did to you.”

“O’Driscoll’s? You got to go to an O’Driscoll camp?” Sadie sounds jealous, “How many did you kill?”

You smile at her eagerness, though it’s slightly bitter, “Many— Right through the eye, just for you.”

Sadie must’ve picked up on your undertone, her voice becoming somber, “I’m sorry, it must’ve been hard killing them.”

“No, I’m glad they’re dead, like I said they were awful men but.. It was shocking. Being able to take someone’s life so easily was shocking.”

Sadie, for some reason, smiles fondly at you and chuckles. Her eyes slide shut for a moment, “That’s because you’re a kind person.”

You shake your head at her claim, a feeling of disgust washing over you, “No, I’m not so sure that’s it. A kind person wouldn’t have done it in the first place.” You squeeze her hand again, though it was now a form of grounding. You were trying to blind yourself from the reoccurring memory of bullets whizzing through peoples heads, “A kind person would’ve just stayed in the camp, and done chores.”

“You were dragged along,” Sadie reasons, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face, “You didn’t really have much of a choice.” 

You don’t respond, the guilt you tried to bury resurfacing quickly, and you almost lurch forward to empty your stomach again. Sadie watches your face, and you could only imagine what she saw. She sighs, rolling her body away from you to stare up at the ceiling as she murmurs, “An evil, vile person would feel no guilt killing people— Good or bad. Those O’Driscolls wouldn’t have bat an eye at your passing.”

“I know,” you answer. Arthur had said the same thing, but still, it didn’t ease the pounding guilt in your heart.

“So don’t waste your tears on them, Doll.” She pauses for a moment, before she finishes darkly, “I wouldn’t. They could all go to hell.”

You snort, and she turns to look at you with a satisfied smile. You sigh, patting your joined hands in a friendly gesture and whispering, “You have every right to feel that way.”

“As do you— With your feelings, I mean.”

You yawn suddenly, Sadie doing the same not long after you. You both look at each other with sleep in your eyes as you whisper, “Thank you, Sadie. I appreciate you coming and laying with me; I needed it.”

“Of course, it was getting cold over there anyways,” She shivers, as if to prove her point. “Besides, us outsiders need to stay together.”

You agree with her and not long after that, you both fall into a boring conversation about whatever popped into your heads, which soon turned into light snoring, hands still clasped together.

After what seems like only five minutes, you were shaken gently, a deep voice whispering your name. You swat at the perpetrator, groaning softly as you lift the blankets over your head. You hope the blanket would muffle their soft beckoning— It didn’t. You hear a light snort, or maybe it was a laugh, before you’re being shaken once again. You growl, opening your eyes slowly to get a good look at your soon to be target.

“Get up,” Whispers Arthur, dark circles under his usually bright and aware eyes. “We gotta head out early.”

“Head out..? Where?” You ask, voice breaking in places as it fights off the sleepiness.

“Hunting— I asked you to go hunting last night.”

“Ah..” you hum, “Right I- Yeah, I remember.” You blink a couple more times, and on a count of three in your head, you’re ripping the covers off your form. You couldn’t help the light yelp as the chill bites deep into your, so you thought, well covered body. You’re then quickly scurrying to a thick, black furred coat one of the ladies said you could borrow for the expedition, and shoving your arms into that thick bitch as quickly as you could.

“You look cozy,” Arthur muses, still crouching as he lays his head in his palm, staring at you. “Think it’ll keep you warm?”

You button the coat, nodding for your response as you start looking for your hat and gloves, “I should be fine, thank you.”

He yawns and you finally notice that there were severe dark circles under his eyes. You furrow your brows together, having a hard time concealing your worry as you cast your eyes over his body. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept a wink. If he has, it definitely wasn’t for long. You chew at your bottom lip for a moment before finally asking, “Are you alright, Morgan?”

“Huh? Fine, why?” He asks back, tilting his head slightly and giving you a puzzled expression.

“Bro you look tired,” you answer simply; Worriedly.

He waves away your fear, rolling his shoulders back as he lifts himself up with a soft grunt, “I’m fine, ain’t nothin’ to worry over.”

“Okay, well, I’m worrying over it.”

He huffs, the cabin so cold a plume of steam flares out of his nostrils— Like annoyance was bursting from his body. He makes his way over to you, grabbing your gloves from your grasp and then shoving them onto your hands for you, apparently not liking how slow you were being, “I’m tellin’ you it’s fine, a little tired but when am I not.”

You huff back as he then shoves your hat onto your head, giving him your own tired glare as you look up at him, “What if you accidentally shoot me in the head because you’re so tired? What then, cowboy?”

“Believe me, If I ever shoot you in the head, it ain’t an accident.”

You scoff at his snark, smacking him gently in the arm as you scowl at him, “You’re unbelievable, you act like not threatening me is a death sentence; Can’t you be nice to me?”

“I am being nice to you,” he retorts, lifting your hand up by its wrist as he shows you your clothed hand, “I even dressed you.”

“Bro I’m about to get violent, I swear to god.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, letting your hand drop as he asks, “What does that even mean? Bro? What on God’s green earth is a bro?”

You blink at him, “It’s uh.. It means brother.. I think?” You pause, pondering the origins of the nickname. You think it came from the 90’s— Right? It was 90’s slang? You’re not sure as you continue, “It’s like.. friendlier. It’s short for brother I should say, but it really just means a close friend.”

You watch as his eyes dance across your face, like he was searching for some type of deceit. He must not have found anything as he asks, “You consider me a close friend..?”

You were going to respond, really, but the chance closes when a big pillow flies past your head and lands snuggly on Arthur’s face. Your eyes widen as the soft thump sound resonates around the cabin. Arthur let’s out a startled grunt on impact, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from snickering.

“Please, I beg you both to go outside to talk— I’m trying to sleep.” Sadie groans, her voice thick with sleepiness and annoyance as she yanks the covers over her ears in attempts to block you both out— Like you had only a few moments ago.

“Sorry,” you murmur, taking the pillow from Arthur as he raises it up to throw it back in Sadie’s face. You lay the pillow gently next to her head, whispering a soft goodbye as you then get up and push past Arthur, trying to get yourself outside. He follows easily, shutting the door quietly behind himself and ushering you over to Pearson’s open barn area. When the larger man sees you both coming, he acknowledges the outlaw with a cough and, “We’re gonna starve out here, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur sighs, moving away from you quickly and making himself over to the lit fire, hands outstretched to soak up the heat, “We’re okay,”

Pearson shakes his head as he, himself, moves away from the flames to wave at a small pile of things, “We have a few cans of food and a rabbit— For what? Ten, twelve people?” He looks up from the table, finally noticing your presence as he then tacks on, “Thirteen?”

You only shrug, not sure if his question was rhetorical or not— And if it wasn’t, you didn’t really have the answer. You never counted how many people were in the camp, you couldn’t even if you wanted to; They were all dispersed in separate cabins at all times.

Pearson doesn’t mind, turning back to Arthur as he begins, “When I was in the navy—“

“I-I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy, Mr. Pearson.” Arthur interrupts, moving from the fire and doing his best to shut down the man’s story. You had a feeling that Pearson’s Navy stories get talked about more often than Arthur would like.

Pearson quiets down, as if he was going to listen to Arthur’s soft pleading to not continue his Navy memory, cutting up the rabbit with scary quickness. When he finishes not even a second later, Pearson takes the chunks and tosses them in this big cauldron and says, “We were stranded at sea for fifty days,”

“And you unfortunately survived.” Arthur snaps, annoyed Pearson did not heed is soft pleading.

Pearson slams the knife down, turning to Arthur as be snaps back, “When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn’t able to get supplies in!”

Pearson then lifts the giant cauldron up from the table, making his way back to the open fire as Arthur is quick on his tail with a harsh, “Well, when government agents are hunting you down sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short.”

Pearson only shakes his head as he places the cauldron on two hooks over the fire and quickly moves back over to the table. Arthur stays near the flames to once again soak up the heat as he continues, “We’ll survive, we always have— And if needs be, we can eat you; You’re the fattest.”

Your mouth drops, the threat of cannibalism coming way out of left field. You felt bad for Pearson, guy was only worried about the camp getting fed— And for good reason! You couldn’t count on two hands how many times you’ve heard a whisper or two from someone complaining about how hungry they were, or how worried they felt about the lowering supplies.

You knew Arthur was a.. thorny person, but good lord.

Pearson takes the threat with stride as he lifts up a ladle and points at the opening of the barn, “I sent Lenny and Bill hunting and they found nothing.”

You watch silently from the opening, hands shoved deep down into the giant jackets pockets to keep yourself warm. You feel somebody brush past you and you jolt, jumping to the side as a very tall man walks into the barn in a blue jacket, some type of hood and a hat— Oh, and a bow. How could you forget this tall guy with a bow slung over his body.

The others don’t acknowledge him, and you wonder if they even know he’s there as Arthur continues his conversation, “Well, Lenny’s more into book learning than hunting, Bill’s a fool.. Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read ain’t no wonder they found nothin’”

“Enough of this,” The mystery man speaks, addressing Arthur now as he says, “We’ll find something. Come on, Arthur.”

He turns around and stands in front of you, and you couldn’t help but gulp. He *towers* over you, and the height difference makes you a little more than nervous. You smile at him, giving a small, awkward nod as you begin to shuffle your feet. You feel like.. he didn’t exactly approve of your tagging along— That wasn’t your problem, though. If he wants to be mad at someone, he can be mad at the blue outlaw behind him for inviting you.

“Wait a second, hold on,” Pearson intervenes, and you let out a sigh of relief as the mystery guy’s eyes drift away from yours, “Here, you’re gonna need something to eat out there.”

Pearson then tosses some jar over to Arthur, who catches it easily and reads the label aloud, face scrunching up in disgust, “Assorted salted Offal.. I think I’d rather starve.”

“What is it?” You pipe up, walking to the other side of Arthur to take a peak, and admittedly to put a big distance between you and the other man. Arthur leans down towards you, showing the jar off as he twirls it in his hands slowly. “Is it a fish or something..?”

“It can be,” Arthur says, taking the jar away from your sights to shove it in his satchel, “It’s, uh, entrails. Real nasty shit, you wouldn’t like it.”

“Is it at least cooked?”

“No,” the mystery guy deadpans, “It’s raw, but it’s.. cured, by the salt.”

Your face scrunches at the description, the thoughts of consuming salty, raw animal organs make your stomach twist in an almost painful way, “Oh, Okay, ew.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Says the taller man, turning away from Arthur and you, ready to make his way over to the horses.

He doesn’t get far as Arthur shakes his head, waving his hand in dismissal as he responds, “I’ve thought about it, you can’t go huntin’; Look at your hand.”

The man turns around quickly, shaking his head back at Arthur as disapproval blooms over his face, annoyed he’s being dismissed so easily, “I can’t stay here listening to you two.” He then gestures out towards the forest, “Look, if there’s game in those hills I’ll find it, and you can kill it.” He pauses briefly as his eyes flicker to yours, adding on, “Her too.”

“You need rest, Charles.” Arthur sighs, voice becoming more authoritative. His tone almost reminded you of an Older Brother fighting with the younger.

“You think this is rest?” Charles bites back, his own tone clashing against Arthur’s. He then falls silent, giving Arthur a good final stare before saying, “Come along.”

Charles turns and finally makes his way over to the horses, Arthur admitting a silent defeat as he gives you a look that almost seems to say can you believe this guy? You shrug at him, following after Charles to keep up. The guy already seems to not want you to come, no reason to piss him off more.

You hear Arthur follow behind as his feet stomps into the snow, probably irritated Charles didn’t listen to him. You smile to yourself, it was funny to see Arthur so rustled about being dismissed, especially since he’s so quick to do it to others. Ironic you think, and it almost makes you want to warm up to Charles quicker.

Charles removes his bow as Arthur catches up to you both, holding out the weapon to the grumpy outlaw, “Here, you take this.” When Arthur only stares at the bow with a face of slight confusion, Charles thrusts it in his unwilling hands impatiently, “I can’t use it, so you’ll have to.”

Arthur growls as he puts the bow over his shoulder, “Oh, you’re joking.”

Charles unties his horse from the post, throwing the reins over its head, “Use a gun and we’ll scare off every animal for miles around.” He finishes with a strained grunt, struggling only mildly as he hops onto the stead’s back. When he’s steady, he addresses Arthur once more with a light hearted, “Never too old to learn.. I imagine.”

Arthur only hums a reply, helping you onto his horse and then throwing himself behind you. At this point you knew the drill, so when Arthur snakes his hands around your waist to hold onto the reins you didn’t panic, and your heart didn’t pound from the feeling of his broad chest glued to your back.

You did notice, however, his body a little farther from you, but you figure it was your imagination so you brush it off. Charles moves his horse towards the mountains, calling to you both to follow him. Arthur does so quietly, and you sink into the rhythm of the horse easily. After a few days of being forced on a horse, you notice how good you’ve gotten at keeping your balance— Especially without the other passenger’s help.

Arthur speeds his horse up to ride next to Charles, asking him with hints of concern, “How are you holding up, Charles?”

“I’m okay, apart from this Hand.” He responds easily, shrugging away Arthur’s worry. His voice gets a little dark as he then goes, “Stupid mistake.”

“Is it bad?”

“It’ll be fine in a day or two, I just can’t pull a bow right now.” Charles sounds disappointed, almost angrily so. You don’t get a chance to decipher his tone however as he’s suddenly addressing you. Though, not as warm as he’s been addressing Arthur, “You ever shoot a bow before?”

“No— Well, maybe? I’m not sure, to be honest with you.” You answer easily. Of course you’ve never shot a bow before, is he kidding? Well, you suppose it’s a fair question, weapons are more used in this time than in yours, but you didn’t think you looked like the type to shoot a bow. Then again, you don’t think you look like the type to shoot a gun either, but here you were.

“I sure hope I can, I never really got the hang of it.” Arthur butts in, almost like he was acting as a shield.

Why he would feel the need, you had no idea. 

“You’ll be Fine.” Charles answers, bringing his hands up to his mouth and blowing on them for warmth. “But if you aren’t, we’ll give her a go at it.”

“So, You reckon we’re gonna find something to kill that ain’t an O’Driscoll?”

As soon as the words left his mouth you could feel Arthur regret his question. You tense up, teeth beginning to naw at your bottom lip as you fight off the dark memories of yesterday. Arthur clears his throat, “Like a uh— Like a bear or somethin’?”

Charles let’s put a chuckle, “Ha, there’s meat up here for sure; Pearson doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Charles looks up towards the sky, scanning the clouds as he goes, “With the weather clearing up they’ll be needing to feed.” He then smiles slightly as he nods, “Bears included.”

The trail that you three have been following keeps going straight, but Charles decides it’s be better to go up into the hills more, it’d be easier to spot prey he says, perhaps even predators if they’re after the same things you guys are. Arthur agrees easily, taking a more passive role in this expedition— You, though, you stayed as silent as a mouse.

You had a horrible time yesterday watching eyes that were full of life dull, you couldn’t imagine seeing helpless animals doing the same thing. It was almost worst somehow, the O’Driscoll’s were actively trying to kill you, but these animals? They’re just going to be looking for their own food— Their own way to survive.

“Arthur,” you whisper, not wanting Charles to over hear. It was embarrassing almost, being too weak hearted to hunt, “I don’t want to shoot anything today.”

You were ready to be made fun of, or for Arthur to snap at you, but he doesn’t. He stays silent for a second before saying back quietly, “Okay, I’ll do the shootin’ today.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, any and all tension leaving along with it. You were so prepared for such a harsh backlash, but you never got it. Have you and Arthur come to an understanding? Have you both learn to.. respect the other? It was nice, after weeks of feeling like an outsider, it was nice to feel almost accepted.

Arthur let’s out a loud groan, yelling out yo Charles as he goes over the last couple weeks himself, “It’s been a wild few weeks, Alright.” He rolls his shoulders, like he was fighting of tiredness, “That ride north from Blackwater, gettin stuck in this storm, going out for John..” 

At the mention of John’s name you twist to look at Arthur. Arthur rolls his eyes at your expectant look, adding, “Lucky shot finding John.. And that thing with the O’Driscolls!”

“You’ve had a lot put on you, I wish I could have done more.” Charles admits, and he sounds remorseful, like his hand being hurt was a wrench thrown into every bodies plan. It made you sad, his guilt was misplaced, even kind of unnecessary, but you understood how he felt.

“I didn’t mean it like that, just.. a lot to think back on.” Arthur reassures, or at least does his his best to.

“I still don’t know what happened on that boat,” Charles says, looking back with his eyes full of questions, practically begging Arthur for answers.

“Me neither,” Arthur replies, and Charles curiosity dies as he sighs and turns away. Arthur then says, like he was trying give Charles a little of want he wants, “Well, Javier told me a bit, but.. it sure weren’t good.”

After that the conversation dies, neither seeming to have the energy to keep the conversation going, and you didn’t feel like it was your place to ask anything else. Besides, if your memory didn’t fail you, you kind of already know that answer to their questions.

Suddenly, Arthur jostles you, the sudden movement making you jump. You clutch the horses mane, once again turning yourself to give a harsh glare towards the outlaw. He only shrugs at your expression, not even slightly intimidated. In fact, it looked more like he was smirking, “You were slippin’, didn’t mean to make ya jump.”

“Oh, was I?” You ask, voice laced with suspicion as you look down at your placement. You didn’t feel yourself slipping, believing more that Arthur just wanted to fuck with you, maybe even get you out of your thoughts. “How kind you are, Mr. Morgan.”

After that it stayed silent between the three of you; and with a while of nothing but trees and snow, you could feel yourself start to doze. You shake your head every once in a while, even smacking your cheeks to keep yourself awake, but you knew you were losing the battle. With the quietness of the wilderness mixed with the warmth of Arthur, sleep was a worthy opponent.

Finally, finally after almost succumbing to your sleepy desires Charles speaks, “There’s grass here— That’s good, that’s really good.” He turns his horse down a hill towards a river, even picking up speed a bit, “Come on, let’s try this way. Keep your eyes open for movement!”

Arthur bumps you at the last part, like he poking fun at you. You snort, jabbing him lightly with your elbow, letting him know you got the damn message.

“The wind died down too!” Charles says happily.

“And that’s good?”

“No wind at all is bad, and if the wind is too strong they won’t move at all..” Charles Leads Arthur and you into a river, galloping through the water as he tells Arthur to be quiet, his eyes searching through the trees for any sign of life. After a couple more seconds of galloping Charles finally slows down, “Hey, stop here a second, I see something.”

The horses stop, Charles leaping off quickly and Arthur does the same. The latter tries to help you like normal but you wave him off, you decide it’s about time you get off a horse yourself. You hold onto the saddle, slowly sliding down by your stomach.

However, Arthur does not listen to your wave and grabs you anyways, helping you land on the ground. Once your feet are planted you huff, “I had it, I can get off a damn horse by myself.”

He scoffs, “Are you kidding? You looked as if—“

“Both of you, quiet! Come here, quickly.” Charles hisses, beckoning for you both to come crouch near him. You’re the first to do so, and you could feel the grumpy glare Arthur sends you, following just as quickly.

“Look, deers been through here.” Charles says, pointing at the long trail of hoof prints leading into the forest.

“How can you tell?” Arthur asks, staring down at the trail like it was some kind of trick.

The look Charles gives Arthur after his question about made you laugh out loud. He looked confused, if not slightly dumbfounded as he answers, “How could you not?”

Charles then stands and looks out into the woods, “Let’s walk from here— Don’t leave the bow on your horse.”

Arthur nods and makes sure to go grab it, and you stand awkwardly as you wait for your guide to come back. Charles looks at your rifle on your back and then taps it, “Make sure not to use this, it’ll scare everything around.”

“Oh, no, I don’t plan on.. I don’t wanna shoot nothin’”

Charles eyes you slowly, “so, why come then..?”

You glance at Arthur, watching him grab his bow and scrounge through his horses bag before you finally shrug, “I’m not really sure, to feel included?”

Charles watches you a moment longer before saying, “I guess it can be a learning experience then.” He pauses and then adds, “For tracking.”

You blink at the tall man, his once cold tone melting into something warm. You smile gratefully, “Yes, awesome, that will be very helpful to learn.”

Arthur comes back not long after that and Charles directs you both to stay quiet and low, move slowly and with purpose. You follow the man quietly like he says too, even pointing out the tracks to you and Arthur when has asks if you could see them.

“It’s easier in the snow but, once you get your eye in, you’ll be able to track nearly as well in grass and woods.”

Then, it happens. You look at the tracks a little harder and they start to blink. Your eyes widen, following the blinking prints straight into the forest. You shouldn’t be surprised honestly, after being able to slow time and shoot without practice?

What’s a glowing trail?

Soon you’re the one in front, making your way through the woods with ease. Charles stays silent as he follows behind, Arthur only making the small comment about your startling quickness of learning. Then, in the distance, stands a doe drinking from the stream, just as the trees start to split. 

“Look, there’s one..” you whisper, and Charles pats you on the shoulder.

“I’m impressed, didn’t think you’d take to it so fast.” He nods towards the deer, Arthur getting the hint easily and drawing the bow back. Charles explains what he should do, Arthur listening intently until he finally lets go of the arrow and it flies straight into the deers neck. The deer drops, and Charles praises Arthur.

“Let’s get one more, then we can head back.”

Charles has you track again, and you do it easily. The trail lights up and at the end of it lies two more deer. Arthur draws the weapon back and let’s go, but he was being too hasty. The arrow misses the neck and the deer screams, running deep into the woods as Charles sighs, “Damn, you missed it.”

“Shit.” Arthur mutters, not waiting for either of you as he starts to follow the blood trail. The red splatters make you gulp, and the closer you got, the louder the poor animal’s wailing became.

Watching the deer struggle to get up, and the way it flails to move away from Charles and Arthur as they get closer to it, your eyes begin to well up. You felt so pathetic in that moment, crying over an animal when you put more than enough bullets in the skull of their enemies. You turn away from Arthur as he takes his knife out and drives it into the deer’s throat, killing it instantly.

“Great, you grab that one and I’ll-“ Charles stops mid sentence, and you glance at him. He looks as if he’s listening for something, and you watch as realization grows on his face. “Leave it, get your horse.”

“What? But we got the damn thing.” Arthur replies, already disregarding Charles warning and throwing it onto his shoulder, “No point killing it just to leave it to rot.”

“Arthur—“ A loud growl stops the man from continuing, and you feel your nerves stand on edge. That didn’t sound like any wolf growl, not even a cougar. No, it was too loud and deep, sounding like it belongs to something real big.

Before anyone could say anything, or even wonder aloud what could possibly be stalking you, it walks out. Paws as big as your head, if not bigger, dragging through the snow as it locks its eyes on the three of you. Your eyes widen, taking the smallest step back at dread courses through your veins. You hear Arthur mutter a curse, Charles slowly reaching for a small pistol hanging from his belt.

“Don’t. Move.” Charles hisses through clenched teeth, “Arthur, when I tell you, put the deer down.”

“You just told me not to fucking move.” Arthur spits, him also reaching for a pistol— your pistol. You watch them, but you had nothing you could discreetly bring out. You had your rifle, but the movement would be too much, and you’re really not interested in being mauled today.

Seconds feels like hours as this beast moves a bit towards you guys, you each backing away every time it moves a bit closer, it’s roar sending a spike of fear through your chest. You step back again, but to your absolute horror Charles steps on a patch of ice and loses his balance. He slips, and it seems as if all hell breaks loose.

The bear roars so loud you feel like you’re going to go deaf, The accompaniment of gunshots ringing through the air as Charles begins his barrage of bullets. Arthur drops the deer, also unloading his ammo. This seems to piss the bear off immensely, turning its attention away from Charles, who’s now scurrying to get up, onto Arthur.

The outlaw doesn’t stop shooting, but for some god damn reason the bear will not fall. It’s like it’s fat was protecting it from being wounded, or even feeling the bullets piercing it’s skin. You swing your rifle into your hands, cock it, and point. Your gun was much louder than Arthur’s, and the bear that was so hell bent on attacking him now had its attention on you.

You cock your gun and shoot, back up, reload, shoot. It was a repeat, and the bear still would not fucking die. You think you remember, back in your world, your friend spoke to you about a mission where if you encounter a bear and shoot it, it wouldn’t die. The developers wanted you to focus on hunting the deer and using the bow, so you couldn’t kill anything but the deer.

This must’ve been that damn mission.

You growl and lower your rifle, Arthur screaming your name along with Charles as they watch you lower your only means of defense.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” Arthur snarls, trying to shoot the bear to get its attention again, but nothing comes out. The gun only clicks, so Arthur tosses your gun to the side in irritation, grabbing his bow. He draws it back and let’s an arrow fly, but he misses. He curses loudly, grabbing for another arrow as the bear gets too close for comfort.

But it’s too late, the bear’s already on top of you, yanking your rifle out of your grasp by its large teeth. You scream, grabbing its face and trying to shove the giant animal off of you. It doesn’t budge obviously, it was too massive, too pissed off by the barrage of bullets piercing it’s skin it.

You can hear Arthur screaming your name again, you can hear some more gunshots, but it was useless. The bear sinks it’s teeth into the hands fighting against it, and your throat burns from how loud you scream in pain. You try to kick your way out from under it, but it’s claws dig deep into your chest, your shoulders, your face. The piercing yet burning sensation is the only thing you can notice, until things finally start to dull.

After the pain starts to subside, and things start to blur, it almost becomes.. peaceful. You can hardly hear a thing now— you can hardly feel a thing. You’re warm too, the cold that was once forcing itself into your skin seems to be gone.

You could fall asleep to this warmth.. In fact, you just might. All you have to do is close your eyes now and rest, why shouldn’t you? You’ll be fine after a short, peaceful rest..

Soon, blackness takes over your senses, and the only thing you can hear now was a young boy asking cheerfully, “Would you like to play again?”

You then wake up abruptly, hair clinging to your forehead as sticky, cold sweat drips down your body. You were having a nightmare, you think, by the way your body trembles in not cold, but fear; And the way Sadie stares at you from the other side of the cabin.

Chapter Text

“Are you okay?” Sadie asks, looking like she was ready to jump up from her pallet.

“W-what?” You mumble, disoriented from the change in scenery, and the dull throb echoing throughout your body.

Sadie presses her lips into a fine line before throwing the blanket off her in one, swift motion. She gets up quickly and scurries over to you, urging you to move over— Like she did once before? You stare up at her in confusion and nauseating deja vu, still doing as she asks. She plops down, heaving your blankets over herself and then yanking you down with her.

“You look like you were having a nightmare,” She states, slowly grabbing your hand in hers and caressing your knuckles with her thumb, “Is it about today?”

“Today?” You ask in return, mind flashing back to hunting with Arthur and Charles, before shifting to the gruesome scene of the bear tearing you apart.

The reminder sends your anxiety into overdrive, yanking your hands away from Sadie as you inspect your appendages in vigor. You count ten fingers, and notice there wasn’t even a scratch on them. You pat your face, your chest, your arms— Nothing. You were completely unharmed, there was nothing on you that said you had a bear on top, biting into your very essence.

“What was today?” You continue, looking into Sadie’s worried expression as she watches you in silence. She licks her lips, sitting up to rake her gaze over your form before finally settling on your eyes, “The camp? You went with the others and came back looking.. something awful.”

“The camp? No, That— That was a day ago.” You pause, sitting up alongside her and running a hand through your untamed hair, “We even— You, You’ve already done this. We’ve done this, we already had this conversation.”

Sadie leans over to peer into your face, eyes scrounging along your expression, trying to piece together whatever your mind was tearing apart, “Honey, We haven’t talked since you left on that trip..”

You look at her for a long time, ultimately deciding to throw yourself out of the warm pallet and grab your things. You needed to get answers, and she wasn’t doing a great job providing. Sadie gets up after you, arms latching around her body to keep herself from losing heat, “Where are you going? Just calm down hon, let’s talk about it!”

“I need to go see something— Arthur, let me go speak to him.”

“Arthur’s probably sleeping by now.”

“Then Charles— One of the two.”

Your conversation with the worried blonde is anything but quiet, your frantic words rousing Tilly from her sleep. The younger woman yawns, rubbing her eyes as she sits up to check on the two of you, words hushed as she asks, “Are you two okay? Where are you heading?”

“Nowhere far, I just need to talk to Mr. Morgan,” You respond, practically throwing yourself into the giant jacket you were wearing before— Or, were going to wear?? “I just need a few minutes, I promise I’m not running off.”

“At this hour? It’s freezing out there.” Tilly says softly, her own expression turning into something concerned. You growl, shoving your hands into your gloves hastily as you block out the two women, “It’s fine, I’ll be out there for only a few minutes.”

The two seem unconvinced, going as far as to glance at each other like they were dealing with a disobedient toddler— Or worse, a woman gone mad. They relent however, Sadie only telling you she’ll come searching if you’re not back in ten minutes, Tilly agreeing without a second thought. It didn’t matter, you really weren’t going out for long, only trying to piece together whatever the fuck was going on, and why you were waking up hours before you were eaten.

You yank your boots on as quickly as you could after that, lacing them sloppily and practically running out of the cabin. To your surprise, none of the men seem to be sleeping, most of them boisterously speaking around a lit fire, alcohol swishing in their hands and down their throats. Your eyes search the sea of drunk men, body relaxing slightly as they zone in on the broad shoulders of Arthur, who seems to be mostly coherent compared to the rest.

You yell for him, the men all shushing immediately at your, admittedly, panicked yell. Arthur looks at you swiftly, confusion easily seen clouding his face; Even through the blanket of night. He makes his way over to you rather hastily, brows furrowed in wary concern.

You notice behind the giant outlaw some of the men nudging each other, and a disgusted glint from the eyes of Micah, but it didn’t matter— Whatever the hell was happening around the fire before you came out didn’t concern you, that was their drunken business.

“You alright?” He asks, apprehensive. You can smell the alcohol from his breath, even from the well placed distance. “Someone hurt?”

“No, But—“ Your response is cut short by Javier stumbling forward, arms latching onto Arthur’s shoulders to keep himself from falling face first into the snow. You couldn’t help the way annoyance flutters through your stomach, hands clenching together as Javier does his best to steady himself.

“Easy there,” Arthur says, steadying the drunk himself, the alcohol in his own system seeming to bring out a somewhat kinder side— Less abrasive. “‘Bout made snow angels wit’ your face.”

“Déjame llevarte a dar una Vuelta, mi amor.” Javier slurs, a hand outstretched towards you— Clearly some type of offering. You blink at him, mouth upturned in humor and confusion, the once blooming annoyance evaporating. Your silence has him trying again, hand being shaken in front of you as he says, “No te pongas nervioso, me aseguraré de tomarlo bien y despacio para ti, cariño.”

“I can hardly speak English, what’re you on about?” Arthur cuts in, readjusting his hold on Javier— Whose eye’s dart from yours to Arthur’s face. A scowl forms on the drunkard’s face as he pushes himself away from Arthur, stumbling back in the process. You reach out, ready to catch him if his balance fails, but to your comfort he easily stables himself.

“Why do you always have to be the one she rides with?” Javier hiccups, rocking back and forth on his feet. “We all got horses.”

You and Arthur share a look almost instantly, the way your eyes flicked towards the other was almost comical. You point your thumb at the tall outlaw as you say, “He thinks I’m gonna run for it, that’s why.”

“What? When have I ever said that?”

“It’s not what you’ve said, it’s about what you’ve done.” You reiterate. “You stick me to the front of your horse, a normal person would’ve put me on the back.”

Arthur takes a moment to stare down at you, face almost a scowl. He sighs, taking a long drink of the beer he’s been nursing, “I think I told ya it was to keep you from being crushed.”

“That is the lamest excuse I have ever heard.”

“Oh enough flirting I-“ Javier’s own interruption is cut short by the sudden gag he lets out, hand flying over his mouth to stop anything from leaking past his lips. He latches his other arm to his stomach as he struggles out, “I think ‘m gonna be sick”

“Maybe y’should go lay down.” Arthur tells him, taking a large step back from Javier’s puking range. “You’ve drank more than your fill I reckon.”

You follow Arthur’s lead, taking a large step back as Javier lets loose another gag. Javier nods at Arthur’s suggestion, stumbling his way towards the cabins— But before he could enter one he was doubled over, throwing up the alcohol and whatever else he had in his stomach.

Your face pulls in disgust, worried about the man but also more concerned about the whole bear thing, so you’re turning back to Arthur and yanking him to turn towards you, “Did we go hunting yet?”

“Pardon?” He asks back, one of his brows lifting in confusion.

“Hunting— With Charles? For deer? There was a bear?” You press on, eyes darting between his pretty blue ones, searching for clarity. “You’re telling me that hasn’t happened?”

“You’ve only been asleep for a few hours.” Arthur states, taking another sip of his beer. “Are you so worried about hunting you’re having dreams?”

“Dreams?”

“We haven’t gone hunting yet.” Arthur finalizes, crossing his arms over his broad chest, gaze falling over your form. He seems to be trying to decipher your sanity— Like if you were fit enough for the hunting trip.

“Yes we.. Yes we did.” You argue, trying to seem confident, though your expression tells of your hesitance. “Me, You, and Charles.. We went hunting and then there was a bear-“

“We didn’t.” Arthur cuts you off, looking concerned for your psyche, yet annoyed you were so adamant about something he’s positive never occurred. He takes a deep breath, saying your name with slight gentleness, “I think you were having a nightmare..”

A nightmare. A nightmare? No, you were absolutely positive the hunting trip was more than a damn nightmare.

You couldn’t help the slight edge to your tone, the way your body tenses at the remembered feeling of teeth sinking into your neck, your chest—

“I was not.” You stress, angry tears starting to fill your eyes as you stare up at the outlaw. “We did go hunting— We did.”

Arthur looks more perplexed and worried than annoyed, his voice lowering in what seems like an attempt to calm you down. He places a hand on your arm, rubbing it slightly as he says, “Listen, I think the O’Driscoll camp got to you, you’re tired.. Your brain is just making up scenarios.”

You want to keep arguing, to plead your case but you falter— You have no proof, you have no marks.. Could it truly have been a stress induced dream?

“But..” You whisper, the cold finally catching up to your already worn body. “But we did.”

“Come here for a sec,” He mumbles, gripping your arm gently and tugging you towards the flames. The heat soothes you to an extent, and Arthur gestures to Charles, “He can’t come on a hunt, right? Look at his hand.”

Charles brow twitches, his wrapped hand being shoved closer to his stomach, acting as if he wants to hide it from view. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on trying to calm down your anxieties, “We never went on a hunt, and if we did, it would have just been me and you.”

Maybe he’s right, maybe the stress of shooting your first person had gotten to you, and to try and help ease the guilt, your brain had you get eaten for your sins. You nod slowly, arms wrapped around the fluffy jacket as you murmur, “Okay..”

After a few more minutes of him patting your shoulder, you walk back to the women’s cabin. Sadie and Tilly greet you, both relieved you seem to have come to your senses.

Sadie’s quick to drag you into the covers, making sure you’re wrapped snuggly in the blankets. She scoots as close as she can, running her fingers through your hair as she urges you to rest.

With the soft caresses, and the kind words, it doesn’t take long for you to fall back into a slumber.

                           XxX

After what seems like only five minutes, you were shaken gently, a deep voice whispering your name. You swat at the perpetrator, groaning softly as you lift the blankets over your head. You hope the blanket would muffle their soft beckoning— It didn’t. You hear a light snort, or maybe it was a laugh, before you’re being shaken once again. You growl, opening your eyes slowly to get a good look at your soon to be target.

“Get up,” Whispers Arthur, dark circles under his usually bright and aware eyes. “We gotta head out early.”

“Head out..? Where?” You ask, voice breaking in places as it fights off the sleepiness.

“Hunting— I asked you to go hunting last night.”

“Ah..” you hum, “Right I- Yeah, I remember.” You blink a couple more times, and on a count of three in your head, you’re ripping the covers off your form. You couldn’t help the light yelp as the chill bites deep into your body, which you thought was well covered..

And then you freeze— Deja vu is smacking you in the face, and you’re given whiplash as you stare at the exhausted looking Arthur, who unlike the time before, seems way more worried.

He reaches for the giant coat you had slipped on to speak to him the night prior, trying to urge you to put on the semblance of warmth. When you do so in a daze, he’s out reaching for your gloves, slipping them onto your icy fingers as you stare at him.

“Do you just want to stay?” He asks, his voice gravely and airy, sleep seeming to have avoided his brain and slipped into his tone. “I can go on my own.”

The thought is tempting, the nightmare still vivid, and the fear still palatable. However, you shake your head, Arthur grabbing your hat from the chair to his left and shoving it onto your head, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, not in the slightest. His tired eyes drop over your body, the way you hunch in on yourself, the way you can’t seem to sit still. He sighs, scratching the scruff on his face, “If ya say so.. Nothing’ll happen, we’re just going to go out and try to find some meat.”

You were going to respond, really, but the chance closes when a big pillow flies past your head and lands snuggly on Arthur’s face. Your eyes widen as the soft thump sound resonates around the cabin. Arthur lets out a startled grunt on impact, and you feel the icy claws of remembrance digging itself into your body.

Again? It happened again?

“Please, I beg you both to go outside to talk— I’m trying to sleep.” Sadie groans, her voice thick with sleepiness and annoyance as she yanks the covers over her ears in attempts to block you both out— Like you had only a few moments ago.

“Sorry,” you murmur, taking the pillow from Arthur as he raises it up to throw it back in Sadie’s face. You lay the pillow gently next to her head, whispering a shaky goodbye as you get up and push past Arthur, trying to get yourself outside. He follows with slight worry, shutting the door quietly behind himself and ushering you over to Pearson’s open barn.

When the larger man sees you both coming, he acknowledges the outlaw with a cough and, “We’re gonna starve out here, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur sighs, grabbing your oversized jacket and tugging you quickly over to the lit fire, hands outstretched to soak up the heat, “We’re okay,”

Pearson shakes his head as he, himself, moves away from the flames to wave at a small pile of things, “We have a few cans of food and a rabbit— For what? Ten, twelve people?” He looks up from the table, finally noticing your presence as he then tacks on, “Thirteen?”

You feel nauseous, you feel dizzy. Why was he asking you this again? Why was he—

Pearson doesn’t mind your silence, turning back to Arthur as he begins, “When I was in the navy—“

“The fucking navy,” You whisper, your mind clearly far off. “Again with the navy.”

Arthur seems perplexed by your whispering, by the disdain for Pearson’s navy stories; You shouldn’t have it, you’ve never heard the man preach and groan about his time on the navy, his hardships.

“I-I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy, Mr. Pearson.” Arthur interrupts, moving from the fire and doing his best to shut down the man’s story. “And I don’t think Lucky Shot does either.”

Pearson quiets down, as if he was going to listen to Arthur’s soft pleading to not continue his Navy memory, cutting up the rabbit with scary quickness. When he finishes not even a second later, Pearson takes the chunks and tosses them in this big cauldron and says, “We were stranded at sea for fifty days,”

“And you unfortunately survived.” Arthur snaps, annoyed Pearson did not heed is soft warning.

Pearson slams the knife down, turning to Arthur as be snaps back, “When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn’t able to get supplies in!”

Pearson then lifts the giant cauldron up from the table, making his way back to the open fire as Arthur is quick on his tail with a harsh, “Well, when government agents are hunting you down sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short.”

Pearson only shakes his head as he places the cauldron on two hooks over the fire and quickly moves back over to the table. Arthur stays near the flames to once again soak up the heat as he continues, “We’ll survive, we always have— And if needs be, we can eat you; You’re the fattest.”

Your brows pull together, you lips tugging into a frown as the same conversation plays out in front of you. The same threat, the same speech, the same movements.. It’s like you’re stuck in a never ending cut scene, with no button to smash to skip along.

Pearson takes the threat with stride as he lifts up a ladle and points at the opening of the barn, “I sent Lenny and Bill hunting and they found nothing.”

You watch silently from the fire, hands shoved in front of you to keep yourself warm. You catch a glimpse of somebody walking into the open barn— Charles.

The others don’t acknowledge him, and you wonder if they even know he’s there as Arthur continues his conversation, “Well, Lenny’s more into book learning than hunting, Bill’s a fool.. Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read ain’t no wonder they found *nothin’*”

“Enough of this,” Charles speaks, catching Arthur’s attention as he adds, “We’ll find something. Come on, Arthur.”

For a moment Arthur stares, and his eyes suddenly snaps to yours, and in that moment you can feel your chest tighten.

There was a flicker, a hesitation.

“Charles,” Arthur starts, removing himself from the heat across from you and planting himself next to you. It felt protective, it felt like he was hovering. “I thought on it and you can’t go hunting; Look at your hand.”

Charles looks offended, almost baffled. His eyes meets yours and against your judgement you stiffen, as if it was your fault Arthur was against it.

Charles must have had the same thought as he looks back at Arthur, “Is this because of last night?” He narrows his eyes as he gestures to you, “Because of her nightmare?”

“It ain’t got nothin’ to do with her nightmare,” Arthur dismisses quickly, yet the way he continues to hover around your frame tells a much different story. “I just think it best of you to rest—“

“You think this is rest?” Charles bites back, his own tone clashing against Arthur’s. He then falls silent, giving Arthur a good final stare before saying, “Look, if there’s game out in that forest I’ll find it, you can shoot it.”

You note the conversation is vaguely the same, but parts of it is out of sync— Maybe it truly was a dream, and you were just thinking about the game when you were playing it back in your living room.

“Let him come,” You cut in, brushing past the two to get to the horses. “He’s good at tracking, right? He doesn’t need to shoot.”

“Like I said.” Charles mumbles, annoyance thick as he follows behind to his own horse.

“Wait a second, hold on,” Pearson intervenes, you and Charles pausing your walk to turn back to him, “Here, you’re gonna need something to eat out there.”

Pearson then tosses some jar over to Arthur, who catches it easily and reads the label aloud, face scrunching up in disgust, “Assorted salted Offal.. I think I’d rather starve.”

He reads the label silently for a few moments before he glances at you, leaning down to show you the jar as he twirls it in his hands, “You know what this is?”

“Salted entrails,” You deadpan, your nose scrunching from the thought. “Yeah that.. still sounds gross.”

Arthur’s brows twitch, and he stares down at the jar as he mumbles, “Yeah.. For some reason I thought you wouldn’t know that.”

You watch him, about to question what made him believe you wouldn’t know— But Charles urges you both to hurry, that the animals will be long gone by the time you three even get into the woods.

You silently pray he’s right.

The following scene plays out the same as your dream: Charles gives Arthur the bow, Arthur acts annoyed but obliges, you three get onto your horses and you set out.

Even the damn conversation is the same as you guys make your way into the forest, about the ferry and the shootings, about the running away and the confusion of it all— You feel sick.

Sick. Sick. Sick.

You’re so out of it you don’t realize the two are asking you something, and you continue not to notice until Arthur gently nudges you, and suddenly you’re brought back to reality.

“What?”

“You ever shoot a bow before?” Charles asks again, but it sounds irritated.

“Uhm— Yeah, once.” You reply, voice clipped and eyes distant. You take in your surroundings, and you realize it’s the same snowy hills from your dream, the same stupid questions, the same—

“You remember?” Arthur asks now, leaning next to your side to look at your face. “You remember using a bow?”

“Vaguely.”

You don’t want to be asked anymore questions, you don’t want to be here, the anxiety of remembering the attack clouding your vision and fogging your mind. You’re so out of it you can’t even remember you’re meant to have amnesia.

And Arthur— Bless his heart, and the guilt that seems to be eating at it— Slows his horse down before completely stopping. He nods his head to the right, silently asking Charles to move on, which he does with a roll of his eyes.

“You gotta talk to me— Is it your dream? I swear to you nothing bad is going to happen.” He whispers, watching you grip onto your jacket. “And if, God forbid, a bear does show up, do you really think me and Charles would let it get you?”

How can you explain to Arthur that he couldn’t stop that bear, that the damn mechanics wouldn’t let it happen while the mission was active? He couldn’t understand, he wouldn’t.

“I’m just—“ you growl at yourself, annoyed you allowed something like this to bother you as much as it has. “I’m just tired, alright? I’m tired.”

“Then why didn’t you stay at the damn camp?”

“Because, you asked me to hunt so I’m here to hunt.”

“God damn it, Lucky shot, you’ve been so out of it today I’m afraid you’re going to shoot one of us instead of an animal!” He snaps, his voice raising as both annoyance and worry melt into his tone. “Hell— We’ve tried talking to you for a few miles now and you’ve seemed far away.”

You want to snap back at him, tell him he’d feel the same way if his flesh was ripped from his body by an oversized bear— Dream or no dream— But you’re cut off by Charles.

“Hey, there’s grass here— That’s good, that’s really good.” He turns his horse down a hill towards a river, even picking up speed a bit, “Come on, let’s try this way. Keep your eyes open for movement.”

Arthur sighs at the interruption, kicking his horse into action to catch up.

“The wind died down too,” Charles adds, voice enthusiastic.

“And that’s good?”

“No wind at all is bad, and if the wind is too strong they won’t move at all..” Charles leads Arthur and you into a river, galloping through the water as he tells Arthur to be quiet, his eyes searching through the trees for any sign of life. After a couple more seconds of galloping Charles finally slows down, “Hey, stop here a second, I see something.”

The horses stop, Charles leaping off quickly and Arthur follows. The latter tries to help you but you wave him off. You grab ahold of the saddle, slowly sliding down on your stomach.

However, Arthur doesn’t listen to your wave and grabs your waist, helping you land on the ground gently. Once your feet are planted you snap, “I had it! Why are you babying me today?!”

He scoffs, taken aback by your sudden anger, “I was just—“

“Both of you, quiet! Come here, quickly.” Charles hisses, beckoning for you both to come crouch near him. You’re the first to do so, and you could feel the confused glare Arthur sends you, following just as quickly.

You knew what comes next, thanks to both playing the game and ‘dreaming’ about it the night before— He was going to claim there were tracks, Arthur was going to ask how he can tell, blah blah blah.

You don’t wait for them, you tug at the bow and arrows slung over Arthur’s shoulders and allowed the tracks to blink in your vision. You follow the trail, both Charles and Arthur hissing your name in both irritation and concern.

It doesn’t take long for the tracks to lead to a doe, and you draw back the string and you let the sharp arrow fly. It hits the doe in her damn leg, and it scurries off.

You wanted to scream, you just wanted this mission to be done so you could back to camp. You wanted to be safe, you wanted your anxiety to stop choking you from the inside out, you wanted to hightail it out of these woods as soon as possible.

“I thought you said you shot a bow before?” Charles quips, catching up and snatching the bow from your shaking hands.

“I said vaguely,” You retort, having the trail light up for you again as you try and rush after the injured deer.

You don’t get far as Arthur grabs your jacket sleeve and yanks you back, “Why are you trying to running off? You can’t leave us behind like that, it’s dangerous.”

“I was hunting,”

“Yeah, some mighty hunting that was—“

“Stop!” Charles snaps, stepping in between the both of you with raised hands. “You start yelling now and every prey in these woods are going to be gone.”

“That one will be gone if we don’t catch up,” You add, point in the direction of the blood splatters. “Let’s just get that one and leave.”

Charles stares at you in silence, his eyes narrowing before he says quietly, “We need two.”

You can’t believe this— He got greedy in your dream too and it got you killed, what the fuck does he mean he needs two?!

At this point you’re shoving Arthur off your jacket, snatching the bow back and running after the hurt deer. You just need to kill it quick and leave— It’s simple, it’s easy.

And thank goodness it didn’t get very far, you can see it in the distance wailing— and unlike before in your nightmare, it doesn’t hurt your heart. You sling the bow over your shoulder and pull off the rifle instead, glad you kept it on you when you left the cabin earlier.

You didn’t have a knife, otherwise you would use that to put the poor thing out of its misery, and you didn’t trust the bow to do the job. You cock it, you apologize, and you shoot.

The area around you is quiet, eerily so, and you can hear the crunch of the two men trying to catch up to you. You hadn’t realized you ran that far ahead, and you spin from the dead prey to greet them—

But it wasn’t their annoyed faces you were met with. It was worse, it was big, and it was nose to nose with you. It huffs and it growls, and you already knew what was coming next.

Fuck, you knew.

                           XxX

When you jolt awake, frozen sweat rolling down your forehead and Sadie staring at you worriedly across the cabin, you knew it was no fucking dream.

You didn’t wait for Sadie to speak to you, you didn’t wait for her to jump from her pallet to yours. You throw your blankets off in a hurry and grab any article of clothing you can and you run out of the cabin.

Again you see the men laugh boisterously around the fire, and it feels wrong. They get to sing and drink, laugh and sway while you get to have the feeling of teeth digging into the back of your skull on repeat?

You yell for Arthur, you hear their stupid whistles and their light teasing, and you see the outlaw come to you in hesitance, “You alright? Someone hurt?”

“I can’t go hunting with you,” You wail, the fear and the pain coming out unexpectedly. “I just— I can’t, I can’t.”

He’s startled by your sudden tears, and it’s obvious in the way he fumbles with his hands, not sure if he should pat your shoulders, or pull you into a hug— He’s lost.

“That’s alright- I mean, I just thought hunting would be.. easier?” He reassures, but it’s awkward and strained. He lifts his hat and scratches his head, watching you cry into the fur jacket you stole from one of the sleeping women. “You don’t gotta go, it’s fine.”

“Will you be okay?” You ask, voice thick and barely audible. “What if you get eaten?”

Arthur can’t seem to stifle a laugh at your question, and it’s obvious he feels ashamed about it, “Eaten?”

“By a bear.”

“A bear?” He echos, crossing his arms as he stares you. “That’s oddly specific.”

“I’m serious!” You snap, pointing in the direction of where your body should be laying cold right now. “What if you go out there you get mauled?!”

His eyes widen, mouth opening to speak but then falling shut. He looks towards where you’re pointing, then at your hand that’s shaking like leaf.

He finishes the beer he’s been holding and tosses it to the side, grabbing your shoulder as he says softly, “That ain’t gonna happen, and if a bear comes after me I’m sure a good few shots to the skull will make it stop.”

You open your mouth to tell him it wouldn’t, but again Javier stumbles over and wraps an arm around Arthur. He’s saying something in Spanish, and you don’t have the damn patience this time around to let him interrupt your conversation.

“For fucks sake!” You yell, throwing your hands up and turning from the two. “Can you go throw up somewhere else?!”

They’re perplexed, put off by your sudden hysteria. Arthur shrugs his gang mate off as he follows you, and you can feel the guilt radiating off of his form.

He must be blaming himself— After all it’s only been a few hours since the damn O’Driscoll camp for them, it’s been days for you. He has to be thinking killing those people is the reason for your spike in anxiety, and not the fact you’ve been eaten twice.

By a bear that shouldn’t even be there!

You’re trying to breathe through it, but it’s just you hyperventilating— Why are you so surprised? You’ve been thrusted into a game with a system, a system you’re not meant to be apart of. Yet you’re startled by the knowledge of being able to come back to life?

Arthur tugs your arm and you’re forced to turn back to him, and in a very vulnerable show of concern, he cups your face in his hands, “Breathe, take a deep breath.”

He does it first, holds it, then lets it out slowly. You mimic him, and you can feel yourself start to relax. Your mind is no longer spiraling, and you think you can start to think more clearly. When he notices you beginning to calm down, he lets you go.

“You need to go rest,” He mumbles, hitching his thumb towards your cabin. “I’ll talk to Dutch, have him tell Grimshaw to let you sleep in.”

You stare at him, before looking towards the forest. Would it be safe? Would he and Charles be able to go in there and come back out safely?

In the original there was no bear, no constant fight for their lives. It was just a tutorial, meant to teach the player how to track animals and how to use a bow. The only difference from the original and now is—

You. You’re the difference.

Perhaps the bear was the game’s way of trying to get rid of a glitch— A bug. You’re a variable not meant to even be added, you’re not meant to exist. No wonder the mission went sideways, you were fucking it up!

Which means if you don’t go, then Arthur and Charles are safe, and no one has to die.

You’re completely relaxed now, your tears no longer coming out and streaming down your face, and anxiety no longer feels like it’s digging into your airways and choking you.

You thank him quietly and head back to the cabin, the feeling of Arthur’s stare never leaving your back. When you open the door you’re greeted by Sadie’s worried gaze, but it doesn’t phase you— You’re too relieved, excited you get to live through tomorrow and progress with the story.

With that thought, and realization, sleep came easy.

Waking up the next day came easy, doing the mundane sewing and cleaning came easy. Knowing Arthur and Charles would be back sometime in the late afternoon with meat was easy—

Until it comes crashing down, Charles and a barely recognizable Arthur racing into the camp, blood leaking off the back of the horse as Arthur lays limp.

You feel numb, the items you were helping carry falling straight into the snow as you zero in on Arthur’s body. He’s shredded to bits, flesh hanging and swinging as he lays face down on the horse’s rear.

“It was a bear,” Charles informs frantically. “We were on our second deer and it— It wouldn’t die. We shot it but—“

Why? Why was it still there? You hadn’t gone, you weren’t apart of mission.

You’re so baffled, so confused at the way things are happening you don’t even realize you’re being shoved out of the way. You don’t hear people frantically crying, or asking their hundreds of questions.

’Where did it come from? Were you ambushed? Did you even try to help him?’

The frantic cries, the screaming and the yelling gets drowned out as you continue to stare at his body. Everything is a blur, the people moving about and trying to get more answers out of Charles.

You just stare, and stare, as blood drips from his icy fingers— He must be so cold, losing so much blood like that. Should you cover him? It would be awful if he was awake and freezing.

You take off your own jacket and move over to him, gently laying the black fur over his body as you touch his hands— Freezing, like you thought. You pull your hand away from his and stare at the crimson liquid, and it’s obvious what he is now.

A corpse.

“You idiot,” You whisper. “I told you to be careful.”

You almost want to hit his body, frustrated with yourself for not being the one to take the mauling. You could come back, but what about him?

When you go to take your jacket back from him a slight shine catches your eye: Your gun. Your fucking gun, he never gave it back to you.

No wonder the bear went after him, he had a piece of you on his person. He was like a giant, glowing billboard sign to that bear and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

..But you could.

You hear your name a few times as you grab your gun from his lifeless form. Even that god awful nickname doesn’t make you pause. You put the ice cold metal to the side of your head—

And you pull the trigger.