#ITS FINE. it will be. ive survived every summer thus far and im in a better mental headspace than ever before so defo will this one

[steampoweredskeleton]

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[hysterialevi]

Abraham - A RDR2 Fanfic

Fanfic summary [NO SPOILERS]: Lyle Morgan and his eleven-year-old son have a conversation about Beatrice’s death, only for the boy to witness a second one.

Warning(s): Mild language

Author’s note: Bear with me if not everything in this story is correct. I’m not entirely sure where Arthur’s originally from (all I’ve heard is that he’s from somewhere in the north), so I just made something up lol. Also, this fic will only be one part. Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

From Lyle’s POV

A FOREST SOMEWHERE IN MONTANA

SUMMER, 1874

Strollin’ through the tall, thick grass, I led my mount around the forest at a casual pace while my son sat on top, consumed by his journal as always. It was an hour or two before midday, and right now, there was a radiant blanket o’ sunshine bathing the entire forest, painting everything with a golden tint. It was beautiful, and I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day out here...but this feeling of annoyance just wouldn’t stop naggin’ me, and I knew exactly why.

I briefly glanced over my shoulder, peering at my son as he scribbled something down in the weathered pages of his journal.

A quick sigh escaped me.

I didn’t know who the hell Arthur got his interest in art from, or why Beatrice even bothered buying him that book, but that child just couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from it. Every time I came across the boy, he was always scratchin’ down some fantasy world of his, or creating images of a utopia I ain’t ever seen. It was pointless.

He spent more time daydreamin’ in that book than he did playing outside, or hunting, or fishing -- hell, he didn’t even know how to read -- and yet, Beatrice seemed perfectly content with it.

Or at least...she did.

Beatrice weren’t around no more. She was killed by bandits a few months ago. Robbed. Left on the side o’ the road for the crows to feed on. But Arthur didn’t know that. Sheriff told him it was a wild animal that took her. A wolf, to be exact. And he believed him.

I dragged a hand down my face, suddenly feelin’ exhausted just thinking about it.

Had I done the right thing, not tellin’ Arthur the truth about his own mother’s death, I wondered? I figured the kid didn’t need to know the morbid details, or even the entire truth, but I still felt like a piece of shit for not revealing the full story -- especially considering that them bandits who killed Beatrice...killed her ‘cause of me.

I had stolen something from them. Somethin’ valuable. And before it fell into their dirty hands, that “something” apparently belonged to a rich plantation owner who really wanted it back. Ended up gettin’ one of the bandits hanged, and left them thirsty for revenge. But they didn’t have the strength to go after the plantation owner. So, they came after me instead.

They chased me for quite a while. They chased me across the mountains, across the swamps, across the goddamned snow...until finally, they came to their senses and realized there were much better, more convenient ways of hurtin’ me. And thus, their paths diverted to my wife and son.

Those bastards managed to corner her while she was ridin’ to town to do some shopping. Found her on some secluded road between here and the nearest settlement, and ensured she would never return. That was when Arthur went lookin’ for help to find his missing mother hours later, and the sheriff assured him a wolf had gotten to Beatrice.

Christ. I really was a terrible father, weren’t I? Not only did I pay more attention to a bottle o’ whiskey than my own wife, I had also neglected Arthur for years on end, and indirectly gotten his mother killed. And the boy was only eleven.

He had spent half of his life not knowing a damned thing about where his daddy was, or even what he did, only to lose the one parent he already had before he could find out.

Lord...there had to be some way to make this up to him.

I looked back at the boy, suddenly feeling an urge to say something -- anything -- to him.

“Arthur,” I called out, catching the kid’s attention as his head perked up from behind the journal’s pages, “put that damned book away for a moment, will you?”

The boy hurriedly marked his place in the journal with a pen and shut it closed, resting the object on the saddle’s surface as he hung his head low in shame.

“...Sorry, sir.” He murmured.

I shook my head, lettin’ out a concerned breath.

“You spend far too much time in that journal. It was a mistake to buy it.”

Arthur’s eyes wandered to the trees towering around us.

“I’m sorry, dad,” he apologized timidly. “But I like drawing.”

I scoffed. “Yeah? Well, I like Poker. But I ain’t got time to play it. Too busy worryin’ about survival, and keeping the both of us fed. You can’t always do what you want, Arthur. You gotta provide. Things like drawing, gambling...they’re frivolous. We got better things to worry about.”

The child quirked a brow. “Friv-uh-less...? What’s that mean?”

“It means we don’t need to do it,” I explained. “What we do need, however, is to eat. So put that journal away and keep an eye out for deer. You was the one who suggested we come out here in the first place.”

Arthur frowned in a discouraged manner. “Yes, sir.”

I gave him a stern nod. “Good boy. Now...you said you seen a big buck out here?”

The boy pointed ahead. “Yeah. It was by the river.”

I gave the reins a little tug, urging my horse to follow me. “Then that’s where we’ll start. C’mon, Boadicea.”

Continuing our little hunting trip, Arthur and I traveled deeper into the lively woods as creatures of all types scurried around us, rustling blades of grass and alerting the tiny insects that hovered above the plants.

There was a rather peaceful mood to the forest today -- a welcome change considerin’ how chaotic my life usually was -- and I had to admit: some part of me enjoyed being here with Arthur. I rarely ever got to see the boy because of my work as an outlaw, and when I did, he always seemed reluctant to leave the house. Whether that was because he was more of an indoors person, or simply ‘cause he weren’t eager to spend time with me -- I didn’t know. But it was good to be with him regardless.

Approaching the large river, I came to a temporary halt as I crouched down and examined the ground, carefully searchin’ for any tracks that could’ve possibly led us to the buck.

The area here appeared undisturbed -- save for the fish flopping in and out of the babbling water -- and as far as I could tell, there weren’t no deer running around this section of the forest. Not at the moment, anyway. Maybe they were at a different part of the river.

I took a closer look at the grass, only to be torn away from my thoughts when Arthur raised a question.

“Dad?” He asked softly. “Can I...can I ask you something? About momma?”

I paused, thrown off-guard by the sudden change in tone.

“Momma?” I repeated, slowly turning towards the boy. “Why you wanna talk about her?”

Arthur’s expression sank with sorrow.

“It’s just...you knew her better than I did. Or longer, I guess. And I don’t remember her that good. ...Do you?”

I gazed at him in a puzzled manner, admittedly still a bit taken aback by the abrupt question.

“...Clear as day,” I replied, unwilling to sift through the painful memories. “But that don’t matter. She’s...she ain’t coming back, Arthur. No one does, once they die. Ain’t no point in lingerin’ in the past when it can only haunt you. All we can do is move on. You understand?”

Clearly a bit hurt by my response, Arthur dropped the subject and averted his eyes from me, peering over at a nearby gathering of flowers instead.

He slouched despondently. “...I understand.”

That wasn’t good enough for me. I took a step towards him.

“Look at me when you say that, Arthur,” I demanded. “It’s important you look people in the eye when you speak to them.”

The boy brought his line of sight back to me, his face veiled behind a very subtle layer of fear.

He straightened his back a bit. “I understand.”

I nodded in approval. “Good. Now...let’s get back to huntin’ this buck. You sure it was around the river?”

Arthur gazed around. “I saw it this morning when I was playing with Copper,” he confirmed. “It was drinkin’ water right here. That’s when I came to get you.”

I observed the dirt underneath me, squinting my eyes as I searched for clues. The grass in these parts was quite thick, so that made it even tougher to spot fur, or dung -- and I still didn’t see any deer tracks -- but it certainly looked like another animal had been around here.

I kneeled down, shuffling the grass outta the way with my hand.

“It looks like some wild horses might’ve passed through this area,” I examined. “But no sign of deer. Oh, well...the day is still young, and we have some time, so we’ll keep looking.” I gestured to a nearby bridge. “Let’s try over there.”

Grabbing my horse’s reins, I continued to guide it through the woods as Arthur scouted the area for me, his big blue eyes scanning the sharp horizon while the sun escalated in the sky. There was a certain determination in his temperament now, and the longer we carried on trying to locate this buck, the more my son seemed to be enjoying himself.

Perhaps there was hope for us, after all.

“...Dad?” The boy called again, making me flick my eyes to the side. “What if there are wolves out here?”

I encouraged him to stay calm. “Now, don’t you go worryin’ about that. If we see wolves out here, we’ll be fine. We’re armed, we’re fast, and we’re smart.”

Arthur wasn’t convinced. “...Momma was smart.”

I sighed in a melancholic tone at that. “Yes...she was. But...Momma was killed by a different type of wolf.”

He tilted his head in a puzzled manner. “What d’you mean?”

I gestured to my rifle. “Not all wolves are the same, Arthur. Some use their teeth, some use their guns, and some use their tongue. You gotta be able to identify them when you see ‘em.”

The kid didn’t say it flat out, but I could tell he knew what I was really talkin’ about.

“Those sound more like people.” He replied. I let out a gentle chuckle.

“People can be worse than wolves, Arthur. In fact, I’d prefer a wolf over some o’ the people I’ve met.”

Arthur leaned forward in the saddle, his body swaying along with Boadicea’s steady speed.

“What kinda people have you met?”

I lowered my voice, thinking back to the bandits who killed Beatrice.

“Killers. Thieves. Deceivers. Men who will constantly betray each other even though they share the same motive: greed.”

I turned to Arthur with a remorseful look, hopin’ to do at least one right thing in my life, and use myself as a cautionary tale that money weren’t as clean as it seemed.

“...Greed,” I told him, “it breaks people, Arthur. They may not realize it, ‘cause greed can get you far in this world...but the reward ain’t worth it. Not compared to the things you have to sacrifice. In the end, you’ll have tons of cash, only to realize that there are luxuries not even millionaires can afford.”

His innocence took over. “Then why do they do it?”

That was a question I asked myself everyday. I shrugged in a disheartened fashion.

“Because they don’t care. So long as their pockets is heavy, and their bellies is full, they’ll keep on going. But like I said, greed poisons you. It kills you. And you won’t even notice until you’re already sittin’ in a grave. So promise me, Arthur, promise me that when you get to my age...you won’t become a wolf.”

Despite evidently bein’ a little confused, the child was able to make some sense of what I just said and agreed to the promise, reassuring me with a small smile.

“I promise.”

“Good boy,” I praised, bringing my mind back to the main reason we came out here. “Anyway, here’s the bridge. Why don’t you hop down and help me find this buck?”

“Okay.”

Sliding down the saddle, Arthur effortlessly climbed down and joined me, scurrying ‘round like a mouse while he searched for any signs of the buck. But so far, there was nothing in sight.

“See anything?” I checked. The boy shook his head.

I wiped some sweat off my brow, letting out a fatigued sigh. This animal was certainly proving to be a challenge to hunt down. We had already been in this forest for a couple hours now, and our efforts still hadn’t paid off. Part o’ me was almost starting to suspect if Arthur even saw a deer in the first place, and not some other kinda animal.

I decided to take a short break, and turned to ask the boy.

“You positive the buck was roamin’ around in these parts? Or that it was a buck at all? I haven’t seen any tracks so far.”

A soft rustle suddenly reached my ears, interrupting my conversation with Arthur as I reached for my gun, only to be stopped by a sound I didn’t expect.

It was a man’s voice.

“...Don’t even think about it,” the stranger warned, cocking his own gun. “I will shoot if necessary.”

Freezing at the intrusion, I remained perfectly still and didn’t utter a single word as a pair of footsteps steadily approached me from behind, followed by two more men coming in from the front on horseback.

They were all dressed in similar outfits donned with Nevada hats, and I couldn’t help but notice the star-shaped badges shimmerin’ blatantly on their chests.

Shit. These were lawmen. What the hell were they doin’ out here? I never expected the law to travel this far into the country. This was definitely odd.

What really puzzled me though, weren’t the fact that there were three lawmen just...waitin’ for us out here -- it was more the fact that Arthur didn’t seem phased by any of this in the slightest. Just what exactly was goin’ on?

Trotting closer to me, one of the mounted men glowered in my direction as he ordered his deputy to restrain me, his firm, steel eyes never wavering.

I recognized him instantly.

“...Sheriff Buchanan.” I muttered through gritted teeth.

He returned the greeting, scowling from under his hat’s rim.

“Lyle Morgan.”

I shrugged at him, unsure of what to make of the situation.

“What is this shit? What’s the sheriff doing all the way out here?”

Buchanan glanced at Arthur, standing in front of him in a protective manner.

“I told you I’d use every option I had to get you behind bars, Morgan...and I meant it. You made the choice not to heed my warning.”

Taking a second to process what he just told me, the realization suddenly hit me like a bullet to the gut as I stared at Arthur with a sense of immense betrayal, unable to believe what was happening.

There never was no goddamned buck.

Things was never gonna work out for me and Arthur.

This was all a trap.

My own...son...had turned me in.

He was the bait, and Buchanan was the true hunter.

I clenched my jaw in rage, doing my absolute best to shield my emotions as the deputy kicked me to my knees.

“...A-Arthur...?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

The boy looked me straight in the eye, standing adamantly beside Buchanan as his deputies tied me up. I threw a glare at the sheriff, damning him till my last moments.

“You bastard, Buchanan...!” I cursed. “You turned my own damned son against me...?!”

The man showed no guilt and tightened his grip on his rifle, silently advising me to stay back.

“No need,” Buchanan denied. “You drove him to me all by yourself.”

He placed a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder and guided him towards the second deputy, ordering them to bring him back to town.

“Clayton, bring the boy back to the office. We’ll figure out where to send him later. For now though, just keep him safe, and look after him.”

“Right away, Sheriff.”

Preparing both his horse and mine for departure, the deputy left Arthur next to the sheriff as the boy stood firmly in place, his innocent yet damaged gaze never leavin’ mine.

Despite the hint of remorse clouding the child’s eyes, it was pretty obvious Arthur felt he made the right decision in turning me in. And just as Buchanan’s second deputy started to drag me away, I couldn’t help but notice a beautiful Whitetail buck wanderin’ around in the distance, its majestic antlers standing out like a crown on a monarch’s head as it bathed in the golden sunlight.

The animal swayed its head in my direction, almost as if trying to communicate with me.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Arthur whispered as he walked towards Clayton, blocking the buck in the process. “...But you made me promise.”

Taking his leave, the boy finally mounted up and steadily trotted away from the scene, only to reveal an empty spot where the buck once stood as he left the forest.

Well...I may have found the buck like I planned, but it weren’t my job to kill it.

And it certainly weren’t my place to look for it.

I could hunt them down to my heart’s content, and kill ‘em all I wanted for my own desires...but in the end, they would always be able to afford the one luxury I’d never obtained.

Peace.