#i feel like a rabid dog but im not even angry its like a hollow violence

[verved]

I genuinely feel like I'm going to hiss at the next coworker who tries to talk to me but instead I've been continuing to form words and speak normally and it surprises me bc I am like seconds away from ripping books off the shelf and tearing them apart with my teeth.

[kelyon]

Golden Cuffs 46: The Town

Cover art by @paradigmparadoxical​

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU

Belle learns a little of the world outside of Rumpelstiltskin’s castle

Read on AO3

Belle awoke to the sound of birdsong. The sound was so new and so unfamiliar that at first she had thought it a fragment of her dreams. How long had it been since she had heard the twittering conversations of birds? How long had it been since she had seen any animal or had any hint of the natural world?

She had missed this, while she had lived in the Dark One’s castle. She had missed the songs of birds and the chittering of squirrels. She missed the feeling of sunlight on her face and the cool, earthy smell of moss. Belle had spent the night in the hollow of a fallen chestnut tree. Though the dirt had been damp and cold, and roots and stones had bitten into her back, she still woke up more refreshed and invigorated than she had on any morning in the library. 

Stretching out, Belle sat up on the ground and began to look through her new leather bag. Rumpelstiltskin had equipped her with many things she would need for her departure. He seemed to think that her leaving was inevitable, that she would bolt as soon as there was no magic to force her to stay. In truth, Belle had left not because of the Dark One’s cruelty, but because of his indifference.         

He had turned his back on her. He had given her what she needed to survive and then he had cut her loose. Belle was put in mind of a fish that had been caught on a hook and then thrown back into the water. Why had he let her go? Had he ever really wanted her in the first place?

Belle shook her head. It didn’t matter anymore. The Dark One’s thoughts and motives were no longer her concern. If he didn’t care about her, then she would not care about him. She would content herself with the material possessions that he had given her. 

No. That wasn’t right. He had never given her anything and he would be the first to say it. Every kindness he had ever shown her was merely a means to pay her. There were no gifts with that man. Only deals. Only a mercenary fairness that was all the more heartless for its impartiality. 

The leather bag had held the cloak that she wore now, as well as a pair of walking boots and some fine leather gloves. Belle pulled back the flap to see what else there was. She pulled out a wine skin that bulged with fullness. Belle pulled the stopper and drank deeply of sweet, dark wine. When the wine hit her empty stomach, it made her aware of how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast in the library the day before. 

If there was drink in the bag, there would be food as well. Belle pulled out a cloth bundle tied into a knot. Untying the knot revealed two loaves of hearty bread and a wheel of cheese dipped in wax. The bread was still soft when Belle broke into it, and the cheese was rich and creamy.

Leaning back onto the chestnut tree, Belle sighed. What would she do now? So far, the road from the castle only went in one direction--away--and that had suited her fine. But eventually the road would end. There would be a fork or a crossroads and Belle would have to make a decision. Where would she go? Rumpelstiltskin had set her up for this journey, but she would have to decide where it would lead. 

She took another look in the bag. There was a folded piece of Rumpelstiltskin’s black parchment, sealed with golden wax. Belle tossed it back into the bag, not bothering to open it or even read the inscription. If he had something to say to her, he could have said it when she had been standing in front of him. 

There was also a cloth pouch tied with a drawstring. When Belle picked it up, it was heavy--much heavier than the bag itself was when she wore it on her back. As she pulled the pouch out of the bag, she heard the clink of metal against metal. Swallowing her cheese, Belle opened the pouch and looked down at hundreds of gold discs.  

They weren’t coins, Belle observed. There was no value marked on them. They bore no king’s seal or symbol of a great power. All of them were blank on both sides. She picked up one of the discs, flipped it in the air, and caught it in the same hand. The memory came, unbidden, of the first time she had seen the Dark One. In her father’s war room, they had tried to pay him with gold from King Midas. He had turned a coin into dust, and then the dust into gold again. 

Belle clutched the disc in her gloved hand and held it in a fist over her heart. The gold they had offered had been worthless to him. He had demanded her. Her body, her pain, her servitude. Once, she had mattered more to him than gold.

“Those days are behind me,” Belle said out loud as she stood up. “But gold is a very useful thing to those of us who don’t have magic.”

The bag of discs widened her options considerably. Once she found people, she would be able to buy more supplies--a horse or passage in a traveling wagon. As a woman alone, it might behoove her to hire a bodyguard, or see if she could join some company of travelers. Having coin would make her seem like less of a beggar. 

But before all that, she would have to find people. The road she traveled could not always be a road from. Eventually, it would have to be a road to.

But to what, Belle couldn’t imagine.

****

She walked for the rest of the day. Her boots were comfortable, but even they could not save her from the effects of two days of constant travel. Belle’s legs ached more than her feet, and she found herself stopping more and more frequently. The skin of wine never emptied, but in the heat of the day Belle yearned for the taste of cold water. By the time she stumbled upon a town, her only thought was for the public well. 

On a green patch of land in the center of a crossroads, there was a fountain. Women stood in a line by the pump with buckets to fill with water, chatting with each other as they waited. Unsure of what else to do, Belle stood at the end of the line. She took a moment to catch her breath and look around.

Three wide thoroughfares lead off in three different directions, which seemed to make up the shape of this town. Men on horseback traveled on all three roads, along with wagons and carriages and footsore walkers. The three roads were well-kept and paved with cobblestones. Belle had come into town by way of a fourth road, an abandoned dirt path from the forest. 

The fountain was in the town square. A few fine houses lined one of the roads, the rest were set up for businesses. On one corner there was a livery stable--marked by a sign with a painted horse. Next to it was a smithy. On the other side was a glassblower’s, and then a barber-surgeon with bloody rags hanging from the signpost. A travelling scribe had set up a booth where he was writing letters as customers dictated.

There were so many people and animals wandering around, going about their business. Everywhere Belle turned her head, there was something to see. A baker with his tray, offering bread and rolls to sell. A herd of sheep on the green, drinking the spilled water from the fountain. A group of children jumping rope. She was so enraptured by it all it took her some time to notice the wall of silence that had grown up around the fountain. The women had stopped talking to each other and all of them had turned to stare at her.

Belle swallowed and tried to smile at them. “Pleasant morrow, good ladies. Is this a public well? May any lonely traveler drink?” 

For a moment, the only sound was the water splashing from the fountain. All the women stared at Belle as though she were some vile creature that had just crawled out of a swamp.

Finally, a young girl spoke up. “You came down that road, didn’t you?” The girl pointed at the section of forest from which Belle had just emerged. For the first time, Belle noticed a stone marker at the border of the woods, just before the path began.

The road was marked with a skull. 

Belle’s mouth went even drier than it had been. But there was no point in denying it. “I did,” she said.

The women gasped and made signs to ward against evil. One mother hid her infant child under her shawl so Belle couldn’t even see the babe.  

An old woman broke from the crowd. “You should go to the tavern,” she said sternly. “The innkeeper knows what to do with people like you.”

“What to do with me?” Belle said out loud. They spoke of her now like she was a wandering dog, rabid and best put out of its misery.

“Go!” the old woman pointed in the direction of the tavern. “We are good people here, and we want no trouble!”

Couldn’t she at least have some water first? Belle was going to press the issue, but then she saw the expressions on these women’s faces. Only the old woman was angry. A few of them looked at her with pity. But most of them looked at her with terror.

Belle took a breath. Of course they were afraid. These people lived in the shadow of the Dark One’s castle. They lived every day in a town with a road marked by death, with no idea who or what might come down from the mountain. The only thing they knew about Belle was that she had come out of that road, that she had been in the presence of the greatest evil in the world, and that she had lived to tell the tale. 

These women were not her enemies. Indeed, they had helped her by directing her to a place where she would be more welcome. Belle squared her shoulders and nodded at them. “I thank you,” she said. And then she went to the tavern.  

****

The tavern was the closest building to the road marked with the skull. If Belle hadn’t been so focused on water, she would have noticed it when she had come out of the forest. If nothing else, she should have noticed the painted sign hanging from the door. She should have recognized the face that marked this establishment--the pointed chin and wild hair, the evil, rotted grin she had once loved. The words underneath the image read, The Devil’s Own. 

Yes, this would be a place for people like her, people who had been touched by darkness. Staring up at the painted image of Rumpelstiltskin’s face, Belle took a deep breath and went into the tavern. 

It was dark inside, but cool and quiet, a relief after the bright sun outside. An old man slept in a chair by the fireplace, and an old dog slept at his feet. Behind the bar, another man--younger, but not young--was cleaning out a tray of tankards and putting them away on a shelf.

“Ello!” he called when he saw her come in. “Can I help you, miss?”

He was a friendly-looking man, with a round, red face. Like any good innkeeper, he gave off the appearance of being honest, but not stupid. A steady man, he reminded Belle of her father.

She stepped up to the bar and took a seat on one of the high stools. “The women at the well, they said that I should come here. That you could help me.”  

He cocked his head at her. “Do you need help, miss? I mean, something more than room and board?”

“Room and board would be an excellent place to start,” Belle said with what she hoped would be an ingratiating chuckle. When the innkeeper didn’t react, she took her bag off her shoulders and pulled out one of Rumpelstiltskin’s blank discs. She set it flat on the bartop. “Can I pay you with this?”

The innkeeper inhaled sharply through his nose. He stared down at the gold, but didn’t touch it. He backed away from it slowly, backed away from Belle. His red face had gone pale, but he didn’t flinch as he looked at her. 

“So,” he said in a low voice. “That’s the road you come down, then?” The burly man swallowed. “The Dark Road.”

“Yes,” Belle matched his hushed tone. “I made a deal with R--with the Dark One.” She knew better than to say his name in a town so filled with fear. 

The innkeeper’s eyes went even wider. “What did he do to you, that he pays you in this coin?” But then he shook his head and picked up the disc with his large hand. “Nevermind,” he said. “I don’t want to know.”

That was good, because Belle had no desire to tell this honest man that she had been Rumpelstiltskin’s whore. “But will you help me?”

Ashen-faced, the innkeeper nodded. “I must, miss. That is the price I pay, the price all of my family have paid, and will pay, until that creature is no more.”

With shaking hands, the man poured Belle a mug of ale and slid it across the counter.

“So you made a deal with him too,” she said before she brought the mug to her lips.

“My grandfather made a deal with him. And even after he died, we had to honor it, for as long as he has power. We are bound to provide for those he brings in, and those he casts out, especially those who offer his coin. I and my sons and their sons will have no choice in the matter, no more than my father did. You know, that one never breaks a deal.” 

Almost never, Belle thought as she drained her ale. “But what do you get out of it? Surely he pays you.”

“We get left alone, is what we get. We’re never desperate, and none of my family has ever had to walk the road you walked, miss.”

“That is a blessing for you,” Belle muttered, but the innkeeper was too caught up in his misfortune to notice. She slid him the empty mug and he filled it up without thinking. 

“Do you want food, miss? The wife’s done up a pie--rabbit and spring onions.”

Belle nodded. “That sounds wonderful.”

With a curt nod, he went back behind the door into the kitchen.

Cradling her mug between her hands, Belle took a deep breath. So, this was where she was. This tavern would be a safe place for a while. But inns by their nature were not places where one stayed for long. Even if she stayed in the town, she would have to find more permanent lodgings. And from the way the women at the well had spoken to her, she wouldn’t be welcome anywhere respectable. Where was she supposed to go?

The innkeeper came back into the main room, carrying a plate with two large slices of the meat pie. He set the plate on the bar in front of Belle and offered her a fork. 

“What else can I do for you, miss?” There was an edge of desperation in his eyes, as though he needed her to ask him for something. 

“This smells wonderful,” Belle said as she tried to think of something he could do for her. “Give your wife my complements.”

He gave a hasty nod, but kept his eyes trained on her. The poor man looked like a dog expecting a kick. “What else, miss?” he asked. 

Belle took a bite of the pie. It tasted just as good as it smelled. “There is one thing,” she said after she swallowed.

“Anything, miss,” the innkeeper said. “For friends of the castle, anything.”

She took another forkful of pie. “Where are we?” she asked. “Where is this town? Where do the other roads lead to?”

For a moment, the innkeeper didn’t say anything, but he pointed one finger in the air as he raised his hand in a gesture for Belle to wait a moment. He bent down under the bar and came back up with a greasy deck of playing cards in his hands. He began to search through the cards.

“Most people who come from the castle didn’t get there by using a road, so I’ve gotten pretty good at explaining the geography.” He pulled out four cards and set the rest of the deck face-down in front of Belle’s plate. “That’s us,” he said. “Just a little town full of little people that happens to be located at a very important crossroads.”

He pulled out the Ace of Spades, a card Belle knew to be as much a symbol of death as a skull, and set it down on the side of the deck closest to her. “That’s the road you came down. You know what it leads to.”  

Belle nodded. The darkest, narrowest path would lead her back to the man who had never loved her and never would. 

On one side of the Ace of Spades, the innkeeper placed the King of Clubs. “Now, this is the land of King George. It’s a poor kingdom, a little grim. Most of the people are cabbage farmers, but I’ve heard that there is a fairy colony within its borders. If you find a fairy, you might get it to grant you a wish.”

Belle made a face at that notion. “I have had my fill of magic for a while.”

The innkeeper nodded. “Fair enough.” He set down the King of Diamonds. “Now, in King Midas’ land there are many large cities, each with its own university. A young woman such as yourself might find a man to marry who is both rich and clever.”

This time, Belle didn’t let her true feelings show. King Midas had been her king once. Her father was the king’s vassal, her home had been in that kingdom. What would happen if she tried to go back there? How would her family and her friends accept her as one of them again, after she had gone away with the Dark One? They would see her as tainted, ruined. 

They would never want to see her again.

“Whose is the last kingdom?” Belle asked. She picked up her mug to hide her sorrowful expression as she drank. The innkeeper held the King of Hearts in his hand, but when he went to put it down, he shook his head and picked up the rest of the deck. He searched through the cards and then pulled out the Queen of Spades.

“That had been the land of Good King Leopold, but he’s dead now and his wife, the Evil Queen, is in control.”

Belle stared down at the image of a laughing, dark-haired Queen. “Regina,” she whispered. A wave of fear washed over her, but she pushed it down. “I am well aware of what goes on in that kingdom. And I will stay far away.”

The innkeeper nodded. “Yes, more and more people are saying that. Of course, even more are going toward that land because of those same rumors. Most are going to form some kind of resistance, I hear, with the rightful princess to lead them.”

“That sounds like the makings of a civil war. All the more reason to  avoid it.” Belle sighed and pushed away her empty plate. “Once I decide where I’m going, how do you recommend I get there? Is there a reputable coachman who comes this way?”

“Oh, many, yes. They come through at different times, going to different places. The town Sheriff will know all the specifics.” He took the plate and dunked it into a pail of half-clean water.

“And where might I find the Sheriff?”

“He owns the livery stable across the green. I can take you there, if you want me to talk to him for you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Belle got up off of her stool and gathered her things. “I thank you for your help.”

“Should I ready a room for you, miss? Will you be staying the night?”

“At least this night,” Belle said. She pulled out a few more coins from the pouch and set them on the bar.

The innkeeper’s eyes bulged. “How many of those do you have?”

Belle shrugged and made her way to the door. “Hopefully, enough.”

****

The bright sunlight outside the tavern made her stop and squint. Belle took a moment to get her bearings. While she had been inside, the town had cleared out a little. The women at the fountain had gotten their water and gone home. Now a group of boys lounged around it, laughing and splashing at each other in the sun.

The late afternoon had grown hot. This was the kind of spring day that began as winter and ended as summer. Belle envied the young men putting their feet in the water. She took off her gloves and then unfastened the silver clasp at her neck and folded her cloak over her arm. Her bare arms looked so pale in the sunlight.

Her wrists looked naked without the cuffs.

Belle shook her head and moved on to her goal. According to the innkeeper’s impromptu map, the stable was on the corner where the road to King George’s kingdom met the road to Regina’s. She shuddered, when she looked down that road, shuddered at the very thought of going into that land. 

And yet, the idea had a sort of terrible fascination. What would happen if she made her way to Regina’s castle and presented herself to the Queen? What if she offered herself to her as a whore? Would Belle have any value to her, now that she no longer belonged to the Dark One?

Perhaps Maleficent would intercede. Perhaps it would amuse her to have a princess again. Even if Belle’s pain could not longer be used to hurt Rumpelstiltskin, perhaps they would still enjoy playing with her. And if she cozied up to the queens, perhaps she could find a way to undermine them. She could join the resistance as a spy. If nothing else, perhaps she could see that poor guard again, offer him a little comfort.

Perhaps she could find a way to murder Regina in her sleep. 

Belle smiled at that. Even if it cost her her life, such a pursuit would be worth it. That would be a noble end. 

Certainly more noble than any fate that awaited her back at the place where she had grown up. If she went back to her father, to her family, they would expect her to be a girl again, not a woman. They would want her to be the same Belle she had been when she’d left them, innocent and virginal. That simply couldn’t be. 

If she went home, her primary duty would be to marry. Her father wouldn’t allow her to run the castle and his lands by herself. Without a husband, Belle’s inheritance would go to her Uncle Armand, and then to his sons, her cousins. If she couldn’t marry, she would be little more than a poor relation, a spinster only allowed to live in her own home because of the charity of her male family members. 

And fallen as she was, no one respectable would marry her. What kind of man would the Dark One’s whore attract? If she went home, she would have to accept the first proposal that came her way--no matter how old or impoverished or loathsome the man. Marriage and children would be the only life allowed her there, and her affection for her husband wouldn’t be taken into consideration. Once, she had prepared herself for such a life, but she could not go back to it now.  

As much as she missed and loved her family, she didn’t want to see them again. She didn’t want them to know what had become of her--that she had not only been used and marked by the Dark One, but ultimately discarded by him. She had gone with him forever and he had tired of her in less than a year. How could she explain that to them? What would they think of her?  

Belle looked down the other road. Perhaps there would be something for her in the land of King George. The innkeeper had called it a poor kingdom, perhaps her gold would last longer there. She could buy her own house, perhaps a plot of land for food, and hire a servant for the heavy labor. Perhaps she could make money buying and selling books. She wouldn’t have to marry a man she didn’t love, or ever talk to anyone she didn’t want to.

Not that she wanted to be alone. She’d had more than enough of that in the library. Belle wanted to have friends around her, people who accepted her and understood her. She didn’t want to lie about her past or her desires. She had spent too much of her life trying to conform to a mold that had been set out for her--trying to be what other people wanted her to be. She had subdued her free spirit for her family, she had refused to admit her feelings for Rumpelstiltskin until it was too late. Moving forward, Belle resolved to live a life that was as authentic as she could make it. She didn’t want to hide herself, and she wanted to be around people she didn’t have to hide from.

Her thoughts turned to Jefferson and Leona. They would be her ideal companions. The three of them had already shared so much with each other. She could be quite happy, living with the couple and their daughter. Perhaps they would take her in as a lover, but even if all they offered her was friendship, that would be enough. Even if all they offered her was a sympathetic ear and a bowl of soup, that would be enough.

The trouble was, Belle had no idea where Jefferson and Leona were. Did they have a permanent address? Or did they travel constantly, roaming from world to world like vagabonds? How could she find them if she had no magic hat to travel with? How could she even get word to them that she needed a place to stay?

But they were not her only friends. How far was this town from the sea? Ariel had offered her a place in her kingdom under the ocean. What if Belle took her up on that offer? Or perhaps she could share a lonely cottage with the spinster that Ariel had found on that lovely, sunny day so long ago. 

There were many paths open to her. Each of them would have its trials and disadvantages, and none of them felt entirely right, but they were there. She did have options. There were places that she could go to. And whatever she decided, she would need a way to get there. 

The stables were open, but most of the hands seemed to have gone home for the evening. The place smelled as clean as a stable ever could--sawdust and fresh hay. It reminded her of being a child, hiding in the empty stalls with a book while Ermentrude ran around trying to find her and make her practice embroidery. She had found the horses comforting as a girl, and had had no fear of them when it came time for her to learn how to ride.

On a wall near the entrance, there was a printed chart, detailing which coaches went to which locations and how frequently. Belle glanced at it, and then wandered down the stalls to look at the horses. Since she had no plan for a destination, perhaps it would be better to take the reigns of her own travels. If she could buy a horse, she could go wherever the roads took her. 

Most of the mounts here seemed bred for speed, meant to go hard for twenty miles and then be switched out. Horses were rented here as much as bought. Since Belle didn’t know where she would be going, she had no guarantee that there would be another stable where she could switch horses when one began to tire. She would have to pick out a horse she could commit to, one that could be her companion for months or years.

In the last stall, she found it. He was a dray--a farm horse, strong and steady--with a mane the color of straw. He was wide about the shoulders, with powerful muscles, but something about him seemed gentle and friendly. His fur was a beautiful warm brown, like soft leather. The horse had a white stripe along his soft nose. When she petted him, he nickered at her.

“Hello there,” she said softly to the animal. “What’s your name?”

“That’s Phillippe,” a man’s voice called out from across the stable. “He’s not fast, but he won’t throw you either.”

Belle looked up from the horse and saw a man coming towards her. He had the arrogant strut of a man who always got what he wanted. A lock of hair kept falling into his face, covering one eye, but not concealing the sharp glint of his gaze. He was staring at her, and grinning.

Belle stood her ground, bracing herself against the horse’s stall.

“Are you looking for something, Miss…?” He held the word “miss” like he was expecting her to fill the empty space with her name. But Belle didn’t take the bait. 

“Yes, I’m thinking of buying this horse. Is he a gelding or a stallion?”

The man greeted her businesslike question with a sly chuckle. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

Belle squared her shoulders. “It’s an animal, sir. I need to know its temperament.”

“Alright.” The man smiled like he was granting her a favor. “Phillipe is a gelding. Unlike me.” He ran his tongue over his lips and held out his hand for her to take. “I’m the Sheriff of this town and the owner of this establishment.”

Instead of taking his hand, Belle gave a curtsy. But lifting her skirts suddenly reminded her of how short her dress was. She had taken off her cloak, and her arms were bare. Her neckline was not entirely modest. The Sheriff’s eyes followed the swell of her bosom as she dipped down and then rose up again.

Belle straightened up and cleared her throat. “What else can you tell me about this horse?”

The Sheriff gave her another look up and down. “Well, how about this? How about I talk the details over with your man?”

The phrase “your man” could refer to either a woman’s servant or her husband. Of course, Belle had neither, and her silence on the matter seemed to confirm that fact with the Sheriff. He grinned again and took a step closer to her. 

“He’s a good horse,” he said softly--too softly for the subject at hand. “You can ride him all night and he won’t tire. He’ll be gentle on you.”

 Belle’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t breathe. The Sheriff was close to her now, much too close. Closer than anyone had been to her in weeks. She forced herself to croak out, “How much?”

“For you, miss?” He reached out and took her hand. “Let’s call it five silver pieces.”

Belle tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. She was pressed against the stall. Phillippe snorted and huffed at the sudden invasion of his space. “I--I don’t have silver.”

“Oh, don’t you?” The Sheriff said with mock sympathy. “Well, perhaps we can work something out.” His hand still held her hand. He rubbed her wrist with his thumb. “Perhaps we can make a deal.”

At that word, something inside Belle snapped. Clutching her cloak and her bag to her chest, she bolted away from the Sheriff’s grasp and ran to the open end of the stable. 

“How dare you?” she spat out the words with all the same vitriol she had used to say the same thing to the Dark One himself. Oh, if she had the power she would rip out his tongue!

“Oh, come on,” he tried to laugh it off. “I’m only asking for a night.” Belle glared at him in stony silence and his easy smile flickered. “How about an hour?” His face fell even further. “Twenty minutes?”

Slowly, deliberately, Belle put on her cloak and slung the bag over her shoulders. She didn’t even hint at her pouch of gold or the fact that if she had wanted him, she could have pleasured him more in twenty minutes than any other woman would in a hundred years. She just looked at him in judgement, silently counting all the ways this cocky fool was lacking. She left the Sheriff with three sentences, each one from the bottom of her heart:

“I’m not for sale. Not to you. And certainly not for five fucking pieces of silver!”  

Then she turned on her heel and marched back to the inn. 

[dastardlydutchvanderlinde]

The Last Fall

Wrote this to vent some feelings, almost made myself cry lol. Got a happier ask I’m working on that’ll be ready soon, but enjoy this for now if you can! (Am still taking requests, some just take me longer than others!)

—-

Seemed he was out of time. John Marston was coming for him, a rabid dog barking at the end of a short leash. No, Dutch knew Marston was only trying to survive, same as them all, same as always. Only now, now Dutch knew that once the rabid dog dealt with the wolf, they’d shoot him too.

There was no way out, no plan, no future. Dutch’s ideals, his dreams, well, they’d turned to ash long ago buried six feet under with the men and women he’d failed to lead.

John had always seen him with a suspicious eye in the end. John and Sadie Adler never truly trusted him, always assumed he was in this for himself. Dutch can’t admit that wasn’t occasionally the case, but for the most part? The gang had been his life, and now the Van Der Linde gang only had its original member remaining.

The mountains had never been where he’d wanted to die.

It was too cold for a start. There were no gentle breezes here, or beautiful sunsets, or warm rivers, or soft ground. It was harsh, bright, unforgiving. Perhaps it was a fitting end for him.

If he had his way, if he could turn back time and make sure he ended up where he wanted, Dutch would have died gazing up at a starry sky on a warm night. Crickets would be chirping around the sounds of horses, and Hosea would be by his side watching the world turn one last time.

This wasn’t anything like he’d imagined. It was cold. He’d shed his coat, one of the last things he had that Hosea had given him. He can’t remember why now, might have been a birthday gift, or a reward for not dying in their latest scam. Might have even been just because. Either way, he didn’t deserve to wear it, and so he didn’t. He was numb anyway, what good would a coat do?

The necklace though, the necklace Dutch didn’t take off. He hadn’t taken that necklace off since the day it had been given to him, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Hosea had stopped him in a market somewhere, just as they were about to leave town. He’d said they deserved a little break from running, and they spent the afternoon wandering the stalls and laughing about nothing. Dutch remembered the feeling of a hand slipping into his pocket, and looking to a mischievous grin on Hosea’s face.

“I reckon you got another thirty seconds before they realise our bags are as full as our pockets.” Hosea had said.

They’d taken off in a fit of giggles, and in camp later that night Hosea had retrieved the necklace from Dutch’s pocket and tied it around his neck.

It had been a simpler time. Only each other to worry about, only a small time bounty on their heads.

Ever since Saint Denis, Dutch has wondered what Hosea must think of him now. Standing here on a mountain edge, about to be confronted by a boy they’d raised together.

He’s not sure what would be worse, the disappointment or the sympathy.

Dutch hoped he’d find out. When John came to face him, he hoped he’d see Hosea again.

John would be the last man standing, of their original family. The last of the Van Der Linde gang, the last son, the last brother. It hurt more knowing it wouldn’t last long. That sooner rather than later, there would be no more gang to speak of.

It had been years since Dutch had been able to think clearly, but now standing with his back to the wind, he finds rationality and purpose to what’s running through his head. When Hosea had died, all he could think about was surviving, because if he didn’t he would have crumbled there and then. The fight hadn’t yet left him, even with the light of his life gone, Dutch still had the strength to stumble through the dark in the belief things would be better.

Then Arthur... it still hurt to think about. He’d been so blind, so adamant that there was no weak link in the gang, that it was Arthur who was talking crazy. It was something that would haunted him to his dying breath. Leaving Arthur to die alone on that mountain was something he would never forgive himself for.

Arthur’s passing had left him hollow. With the gang gone, and Hosea gone, he had nothing left but his own freedom. What was that worth, in the end?

John calls his last warning up the mountain, and Dutch knows this is it.

Whatever happened to him, whatever happened to the gang, he still loved John like his son. He still saw the greasy angry kid that had grown into a good man, and he hoped in the time John had left, that he would be happy.

It was his last choice. The last thing he had to find any kind of redemption. He would take life into his own hands.

Falling through the air felt more freeing than a bullet from his family. He didn’t want his blood on John’s hands. At least this way, he could look to the grey sky with a smile on his face, the necklace heavy against his chest, and hope that Hosea would still know him when he stopped.