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startrekfangirl2233-fic-recs · 2 years ago

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Lucky! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Poor Sadie-bug. I don't blame her. I don't blame her at all for being confused.

I AM LIVID. So livid at Bradley. Where does he get off with that double standard. Liz can't grieve but Sadie can? Liz can't trust somebody just because he said so?

I'm so glad Sadie and Liz found Jake. I'm so glad.

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 13 - Sons & Daughters

📜This one is going to hurt... 😬 Depending on how you think... I challenged myself with this one as it's almost all from Sadie's POV.

Also, do you guys listen to the songs at all? Just curious 😂

❗+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, original child, name-calling and implying some derogatory things, mentions of concussions, Angst, Protective Dagger Squad, mostly from Sadie's POV.

#6.5k words

Part 12 | Masterlist | Part 14

The first thing Sadie thought when she woke up in the morning was that she had never had a headache like this one.

She had nothing to compare it to. This wasn't a soccer ball to the face or a cold with a bad stuffed-up nose. This type was the one that made your eyes water in pain, the kind where your headband was just too tight, but there was no headband for her to remove. The type to create intrusive thoughts about hitting your head off a wall to see if that would fix it.

On top of that, she was exhausted from her Uncle Jake waking her up throughout the night, ensuring she could still wake up. And each time he did, she had trouble falling back asleep.

When you came to wake her up in the morning, a smile on your face, she couldn't stop her tears from escaping due to the pain. She could handle a lot, but headaches were her weakness. And your reaction only made it worse, Sadie not wanting to add more to your plate, as a frown graced your face.

Whether the question of if she was feeling okay, physically or emotionally, was going to cross your lips, Sadie didn't want to know.

She groggily sat up, trying to bury her face into your neck, clinging to you tightly and whimpering, "It's my head."

Something about just holding on to you soothed the pain. Sadie could remember the doctor telling her before leaving the hospital that she would feel worse on the second day. She thought he had been stupid to say that; nothing could have been worse than what her entire family just went through.

Then she understood what he meant. However, he should have paid better attention to his choice of words.

Sadie tried to hide her whines as you stood, carrying her out of her bed and into the bathroom, where you single handily searched for the bottle of pain meds as she clung to you.

Uncle Jake was working a wooden spoon through a bowl of batter in the kitchen when he saw Sadie in your arms. He frowned and immediately dropped the spoon, walking over to the pair of you and placing a hand resting on Sadie's back.

"It's her head," you spoke quietly, kissing her forehead. Jake took the bottle of meds from your hand without saying anything else, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, saying quietly, "Go sit. I'll get everything ready."

Sadie didn't pay any attention to what was happening after you sat down with her in your lap. Uncle Jake brought over two pills and a glass of orange juice at some point, and you coaxed her into the chair next to you to take them.

But she was impatient, waiting for those nasty things to work, pressing her head into her arms as if the small amount of darkness would help. Then Uncle Jake placed a packet of ice on her neck, and she wanted to cry from the relief.

The awful bandage came off after she started to feel slightly better, you sitting behind her at the kitchen table as you worked the thing loose. Uncle Jake was at the stove, flipping pancakes, laughing at the faces Sadie was making as you tugged one way or pulled the other.

After living off hospital food almost all day yesterday, the pancakes did wonders for her stomach. But she was more pleased to see Uncle Jake smiling and laughing with you at the kitchen table as everyone ate. How he made her laugh and feel happy, despite everything that happened.

Uncle Jake just fit in.

And that was the thing with you and Uncle Jake. Neither of you babied her. Sadie knew she could always come to you with anything; she just had to say the word. And it only took shared looks with Uncle Jake to know he was an option as well, constantly checking in with a knowing smile and Sadie nodding to let him know she was doing okay.

But she didn't want to think about everything just yet.

After breakfast, however, was a constant cycle of boredom. Sadie didn't know how to cope. You told her she couldn't look at a screen, and while she understood, she was bored. This was different from when it was the flu or a cold, and she got to stay home from school. She could huddle on the couch, play her Switch, or watch a movie during those times. Despite loving to read, she could only stare at the pages for so long before the words ran into each other.

Or her head started to pound again.

Uncle Jake tried to help, sitting with her outside while you curled up in one of the chairs, reading a book in between answering phone calls. Sadie hadn't seen you with a book in a long time, that book in particular, and she wondered what convinced you to pick it back up again. But she liked the fact you did, watching you turn every page with eager intent, lost in the world described in the pages.

Until she fell asleep against her Uncle Jake, who was content to let her be until two hours had passed and she needed to be woken up again.

She honestly just wanted him to let her sleep.

Then the Daggers had called, more Auntie Nat than any of them, to ask if they could bring dinner over. When they arrived, she hugged everyone slightly longer than usual, not that they seemed to mind. Even if she had to put up with the same questions from all of them, Sadie honestly just wanted her family close by.

But there was something off about her Uncle Roo.

He barely said a word to her when he walked through the front door. And his hug wasn't as warm or nearly as tight. And after dinner, with everyone in the backyard, she was beginning to worry. She could tell he was mad as she feigned sleep, lying up against Uncle Jake on the bench to avoid answering another, "Are you doing okay?"

He hadn't stopped staring at her once. Or at you, for that matter. His eyes tracked every movement you made in the backyard, from refilling a water jug to nibbling on a piece of food. Or every conversation.

Every time you to came over and spoke with Uncle Jake.

It was weird, she thought.

And she wanted to find out why.

Despite her headache going away, being around everyone made her exhausted. And she suddenly felt the urge to be alone. She excused herself from the backyard, asking if she could lie in her room for a minute, everyone frowning. But you had let her go without complaint.

You always knew what she needed, and you never forced her to do something that made her uncomfortable.

Rooster had been there for her when she was struggling with the fact she wouldn't see her mom anymore. Maybe she was trying to let him approach her by going inside. She half expected him to follow her inside, or there might have been a moment when she would have pulled him aside and asked if she could talk to him about what had happened. This shouldn't be any different than those times.

But he didn't follow her inside, and he really hadn't said a word to her all evening, unlike Auntie Nat or Uncle Bob, who had asked if she needed to vent.

She couldn't figure out what she did wrong.

It was making her upset.

Sadie lifted her from her pillow head to a knock at her bedroom door.

"Come in," she called out softly. Her door opened, revealing you on the other side, a sad smile on your face.

"Hey," your voice was soft. "I just came to check on you. Everyone was worried."

Sadie put her head back on her pillow, glancing out her window. "I'm okay. Just tired. It's just a lot."

"Should we have not had everyone over? You're allowed to say no. No one would blame you."

She closed her eyes, moving her head back and forth against her pillow. "No, I wanted everyone here. It was just more than I thought it would be."

You stepped forward to sit beside her on the bed, hand reaching out to stroke at her leg top her covers. "You've been through more than anyone your age, Bug."

Sadie turned to look at you, instantly drawn to your eye. Your bruise had gotten darker and lighter, yellow patches adding themselves to the stains of the blue since she came home. Its presence on your face still haunted her, making her return to her belief that you or Uncle Jake wouldn't have gotten hurt if she had stayed in the bathroom. But then she'd remember what Uncle Jake had said, and she'd stop herself.

She knew even her mom would have come up with the right thing to say, which sounded exactly the same as everyone else had been telling her.

People were just sometimes bad.

"Am I supposed to buy the "It will make me stronger" speech people give me?" she wondered aloud. You squeezed her leg through her puffy green comforter, saying, "Not if you don't want it to."

Adjusting herself on her bed, she replied, "So if I wanted to be upset about it?"

You slid closer to her, and Sadie reached for your hand, threading her fingers through yours. You touched her cheek and answered, "It's okay to cry about what happened Bug. To be upset. Why do you think you can't be upset?"

"Because you and Uncle Jake got hurt. Because I don't want anyone else to worry about me. Because it will cause more problems, and I don't want you to be sad."

You gasped, crying, "Sadie, you're never a problem! Please don't ever think that! I'm only sad because I can't fix everything for you. I would do anything to make sure you're happy."

Sadie cried the second you said those words, releasing the pent-up emotions weighing her down since she woke up in that hospital bed.

Maybe she didn't need to talk to her Uncle Roo about these things.

You had been right here all along.

"Thank you for understanding, Aunt Liz," she sniffed, wiping her eyes. "And being there for me. For taking me in."

Laying beside her on her bed, you wrapped your arm around her side. "As if you were going to end up anywhere else than with me. That's nothing you have to thank me for, Bug."

She played to the edges of her comforter, the question burning on her lips. "Is he my birth-farther? The bad man."

Her mom had always said she had a father out there. One that left before she was born. She hadn't started putting everything together, the photos her mom had shown her, the warnings to stay away from that man, until after everything had happened and she had time to think about it when she was stuck in that hospital bed.

Sadie knew you would tell her the truth. You always did, even when she didn't want to hear it. You swallowed hard before nodding sadly. "Yeah, he is."

Sadie let go of the comforter, pushing it off her. "What does that mean for me? For us? I just... don't want anything to do with him."

"Well, hopefully, when the police catch him, he will go to jail. So we will never see him again. Your mom ensured that would never happen. He's not going anywhere near you."

"Really?"

You nodded. "Everyone outside would buzz the CPS building if that was even the slightest possibility too."

She giggled at that.

"So whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me. And those idiots outside."

Sadie huffed a small laugh, remarking, "Till I run off with a boy, right?"

You gasped, sitting up and remarking, "Sadie Beck, don't tell me you have a crush!"

Well, shoot, she really shouldn't have gone with that reply. You could always tell when she was hiding something.

Well, almost always.

"I'm almost eleven, Aunt Liz. Do I really need to be thinking about a boy right now?" she attempted to throw you off her trail, rolling her eyes. But you didn't relent, a knowing grin on your face.

"Not if it's Will your thinking about," you teased. Sadie squealed, rolling herself into her pillow.

Will had called her today asking if she was okay. She liked him more than she cared to admit. She was still too young even to consider having a boyfriend. But she liked the way he cared about her. It reminded her of how Uncle Jake cared about you. Then she realized, turning her head with a shout, "You and Uncle Jake's date got ruined!"

You chuckled softly. "It's nothing that can't be replanned. Besides, I think he likes spending time with the both of us anyway."

Sadie giggled, thinking back to this morning. "Don't let him flip the pancake pan again. And he needs to stop singing in the shower. I think it's making my head worse."

Something warm sparked in Sadie's chest at watching you finally laugh wholeheartedly after what seemed like the longest 24 hours of her life.

She liked seeing you laugh. You only ever did once Uncle Jake came around since her mom had left the two of you.

"Is it okay that Uncle Jake is staying here?" you asked her after a minute.

Sadie sat up in her bed, looking at you questionably. Uncle Jake had left just after lunch for a half hour, returning with a bag in hand. She hadn't questioned it. It made sense that he would stay with you two while the bad man was still out there.

She also didn't trust the police officer outside across the street in his car either. She had often peered out the front window to see him asleep in his front seat.

She nodded. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, with everything that has happened? The fact he and I.."

She didn't have to think twice about her answer. "I feel safe with him in the house."

You smiled. "So do I, Bug."

You were about to say something else when a loud shout echoed down the hallway, an f-bomb, as you had labelled on the swear jar in the kitchen. Sadie's eyes shot to her open door, and she quickly remarked, "Somebody needs to put money in the swear jar."

But this wasn't a slip of the tongue. More shouts and angry words were coming from different people. Sadie looked at you, wondering what to do. But you had gone stiff, your face emotionless as the both of you took in the fight.

You seemed to snap out of it when you heard Auntie Nat's voice shout Uncle Roo's name, and you finally looked back at her with worrisome eyes.

Sadie watched as you grabbed her oversized black headphones with puffy sides from her bedside table and quickly turned them on. You were biting your bottom lip as you placed them on her head, looking down at your phone and hitting play on a playlist. You squeezed her shoulder, mouthing 'stay' to her before you quickly exited her room, shutting the door behind you.

Sadie couldn't hear anything beyond the music playing in her ears. She could tell without looking at your phone screen that it was the playlist you had made for Saturday Nights.

She caught snippets of shouts and yells for a couple of songs when the music shuffled. She could hear you, Uncle Jake, Uncle Nat, and Uncle Roo, who was the loudest. At one point, she thought she even heard Uncle Bob raise his voice. That one shocked her the most - she had never heard him speak that loudly.

But after a while, she couldn't hear your voice in the mix while another song changed. Sadie reached up and pulled the headphones from her head, leaving them on her bed as she climbed off and to her door.

She didn't know why everyone was fighting but needed to know. If her suspicions had been right about Uncle Roo being mad about something, she needed to know why and if she could fix it.

She opened it carefully, not that anyone would have heard her with how loud it was and shut it closed behind her. The hallway was dark, save for a light coming from your bedroom. Tip-toeing across the hall, she pressed herself to the wall as she peered over the corner, spying on everyone standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

You weren't in the room with them anymore. And Sadie confirmed she had indeed been right about Roo being mad. Her first thought was that her comparison of how red as a Rooster he could get wasn't accurate. She needed something redder, maybe a lump of coal from the fire pit or the stuff inside the glass thermometer you kept in the backyard.

But then she started to question why he was mad and yelling. And, most importantly, why was everyone standing behind Uncle Jake and not Uncle Roo when she knew they didn't like him?

---

You didn't want to admit it as you left Sadie's room. But nothing would have gotten Rooster to react that badly had he not found out about you and Jake.

Rounding the corner of the hall, Nat stood between Rooster and Jake, her hand on Bradley's chest. She was pushing him away from Jake, who had his arms crossed and jaw clenched, staring him down.

The rest of the Daggers were spread out amongst your kitchen, caught between trying to figure out what the hell happened and wondering what side they would go to bat for.

"Bradley, what the hell was that?! Sadie is in her room!"

You shouldn't have said anything. Bradley's red-hot temper, face contorted in outrage, suddenly pinned you down. Pointing his finger at you, he stepped forward in your direction. Nat countering his movement, making sure to stand between you and him at all times.

"You liar!" he seethed.

You took a step back, slightly frightened.

"How long have you been sleeping with him? Since before we were deployed or after?!"

"I'm not sleeping with him!" you replied, your voice slightly brittle. Bradley scoffed, placing his hands on his hips. "Well, something is a little fucking fishy considering his bag is next to your bed in your room!"

You narrowed your eyes at him, your fist clenched. "You went into my room?!"

"Didn't need to when the door was wide open."

Some part of you wished you could have sat Bradley down and told him without fear of a reaction like this. But Bradley was unpredictable at best. And from what you knew of his relationship with Mav, he could hold a nasty grudge.

It wasn't as if you didn't feel bad about it. You didn't lie to him, but you didn't tell him the truth when you should have.

"You gave into him!" He shouted at you, looking at Jake and then back to you. "We told you! We warned you, Elizabeth! And you didn't listen to us."

Nat was the one to respond for you, recalling, "She made no such promise, Bradshaw. She told you to lay off and let her handle it."

But he didn't listen to her, too caught up with watching how you reacted to his words to even entertain any idea that didn't fit into what he believed to be fact.

"How quickly did he get between your legs?" he remarked heatedly.

"Rooster!"

Out of all the people you expected to shout, Bob certainly wasn't one of them. His southern drawl, normally soothing to the ear, was harsher than normal. He moved from his perch up against the wall next to your back door, coming to stand in line with Nat and Jake, "That was outta line!"

A part of you acknowledged he probably found out about your relationship with Jake from Nat. But he had been silent this whole time. He had never said a word about what he knew or thought.

"The number of times she's taken care of your ass, and this is how you treat her? You've got no business telling her what she can do."

"It's fucking Hangman, Bob! Are you all even thinking about what this will do to Sadie? When he leaves her out high and dry?" Bradley exclaimed. "She's going to wake up one day, and he's not going to be there, and she's going to be devastated. And for what?!"

Jake narrowed his eyes at him, "Not that it's any of your goddamn business, but she made me swear to put Sadie first."

Suddenly, everything clicked for Bradley, the pieces fitting together neatly.

"Jake wasn't randomly at the Hard Deck on Friday," he said. "He was seeing you."

You refused to look him in the eye, and Bradley's face twisted in hurt.

"So, this is it, huh? You've been seeing each other behind our backs this whole time? And decided to keep it from us."

You gripped your forearm tightly. Should you own up and let him know almost everyone knew but him? Could you explain or even convince him that everyone found out by themselves?

But the choice had been made for you when Rooster saw something in Nat's eyes that indicated not only had she known about it, she was and had been okay with it.

"You knew?!" Rooster yelled at her. Nat stood her ground, fierceness in her eyes as she remarked, "It wasn't my story to tell."

"Oh, this is just fucking rich. How many of you knew?"

Bob and Coyote turned away from Bradley, refusing to say anything that might give away what they knew. And while Fanboy and Payback might have only found out now, even knowing something had been going on between the two of you or assuming something would, given that Jake followed you into the kitchen that first Saturday night, they still hung their heads low like everyone else.

"How could you all?!" Bradley cried out, eyes tracking around the room. "You traitors!"

"Okay, you know what? I'm done!" you seethed, stepping around Nat and copying Bradley's stance. Jake reached for you, but you dodged his hand. Poking Bradley in the chest with your finger, you shouted, "What the fuck is your problem, Bradley?"

"He's my problem!"

"Jake is not the goddamn issue, and you fucking know it!" You yelled back at him. It was like a light switch had been flipped somewhere inside you, and all this anger suddenly rushed to the surface.

"Time and time again, you claim it's Sadie you are concerned about. But you change the conversation every time I press just a little bit further. Or you blame Jake, but something tells me that's your scapegoat for everything!"

You pushed at his chest, making him take two steps back. "And for what? Because he said something about your dad?"

Bradley's jaw twitched, and you knew you had struck a nerve.

"Oh, so it is that."

"Stay out of it, Liz," he murmured. But you didn't listen. You had enough, and you would find out the real reason here and now.

"You dragged Sadie and me right into it," you shot back. "So I'm going to drag it out for you. What is it?!"

Stalking forward, you glared Bradley down, continuing to step backwards as you dealt each verbal blow.

"Is it some longstanding grudge because Jake hurt your feelings?" you challenged. "Or Is it Jake replacing you in Sadie's life? Do you think that lowly of her to think she plays favourites? She's adored you since she met you!"

And then suddenly, you remembered what Sadie had said to Bradley the second she saw him on your sister's front porch. "Or does it have something to do with your mom?"

Bradley's temper broke loose.

"I watched her mourn my father every day, picking her off the floor because he wasn't there! I watched her cry out for him daily, barely functioning beyond her routine. Get up, make breakfast and shuffle me into the bus and off to school. She couldn't cope with his loss and his absence in her life. She loved him so much, and it wasn't enough to keep him here with her! No matter what I did, it was never enough! And when Jake does the same to you, I won't have Sadie live her childhood doing the same for you!

With everything Bradley admitted, you should have come up with a more compassionate response. But you were too hurt by the comparison to manage anything other than, "Grow the fuck up."

You had said it so scathingly and firmly that everyone pivoted and faced you. No one had ever heard you be that ruthless.

"I'm not your mom. And Sadie isn't your child where you can make choices for her. I've long wrestled with the idea that I'll never be able to protect her from everything in life but Jake?! He's not one of those things."

Tears welled in your eyes as you continued. "As for my grief, I have never placed anything on her. I've hidden that part of myself away day in and day out because who would I be if I wasn't strong around her? I've sacrificed my mental sanity day in and day out so she can have some semblance of peace. To know that there are people who care about her."

But rather than continuing to be angry at Bradley for his reaction, you felt pity for what he went through.

"I'm so sorry if you had the entire weight of the entire world on your shoulders growing up, Bradley, but Sadie isn't going to crumble because I can't be strong around her."

Bradley opened his mouth as if to respond, but no words came out. It was clear to you he was grappling with his own emotions, whether something had caused him to be this way or you had brought everything rushing to the surface.

You held his gaze, unwavering in your conviction. "I'm not asking you to agree with my choices," you finally said, your voice softening. "But I am asking you to respect them."

But you knew he wouldn't. In defending Jake, and by poking and prodding at him, you had backed Bradley into a corner.

And like a wounded animal, he went for the insult.

"I didn't know you wanted to add your name to the tally in Hangman's whorehouse."

You felt cold, ice shooting up your veins and freezing over your skin.

Your hand was ready, fingers steadying and stretching out as you prepared to whip it forward. But rather than a slap, Nat beat you to it, fist flying out of nowhere and landing hard into Rooster's solar plexus. He lurched over in a groan, and she stepped back, nostrils flaring.

"You say that again about them, I dare you. You've done enough damage."

"I'm not the one who ruined the team," he said hoarsely, looking at you pointedly.

You were done.

You turned on your heel, making a run for it back down your hall, a slam of a door letting everyone know you had no plans to return any time soon.

___

Jake watched you leave, head down and hands coming up to wipe at your face as you ran down your dark hallway. Everyone stared a Bradley in a mix of shock and anger. Maybe even in disbelief. For Bradley to say such a thing, to you of all people, was inexcusable.

"That was your last straw, Bradshaw. I couldn't care less what you say about me, but her? You need to leave," Jake said, getting up in his face.

Coyote stepped up from behind Bradley, knocking his shoulder hard as he passed him. Bradley stumbled forward, eyes watching as Javy nodded once to Jake before following you down the hall.

"You have no idea the double standard you place on, Liz," Jake laughed to himself. "Taking about grief and telling her she needs to grieve when shaming her for wanting to do that. Sadie can grieve, but Liz can't? "

"I'm not the asshole who's going to fuck it up for them," Bradley remarked. "Liz wouldn't have to if you just chose to stay away from them like you should have."

But Jake smirked at him. "At least I have the decency to own up to when I've been one."

"You know," Bradley started. "I'm just waiting for the day when you mess up so badly, and she looks for someone to support her. Cause I know her better than you could ever think. The second you do, you'll never get her back. Or Sadie."

Bob spun away from the group at Bradley's words, becoming slightly more worried Sadie would wake up and venture into this mess. He had half a mind to leave and sit with her, until out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of blonde hair peaking out from the end of the hall.

Sadie peered at her Uncle Bob from her hiding spot, concerned. Bob shot her a worried look, motioning with his eyes for her to go back to her room. But Sadie shook her head.

She had every right to be here if her name was being thrown around.

"Nothing about what you just said or did had anything to do with Sadie," Jake challenged Bradley, who assertively replied, "She's part of it."

"And at any point during your little outburst, did you even once think about her, currently hiding out in her bedroom, hearing every shout or word you've said?"

Sadie knew the answer to this one. Even if she wasn't in the hallway, and you didn't put her headphones on, Uncle Roo clearly didn't think about what he was saying before he said it.

Having already been standing with Jake, Nat crossed her arms and glared pointedly at Bradley. "You've hurt Liz. The one person who would have taken a bat for you. She didn't deserve everything you just threw at her."

Sadie's eyes shot to Bradley, horrified and disappointed at her Aunt Nat's words. He had hurt you.

That was unforgivable.

Sadie finally decided to pull herself away from the wall, step forward and reach for her Uncle Bob, who was at the back of the pack. She gripped the fabric of his plant leg, half hiding from everyone's view.

Bob looked down, shocked, as she pressed her forehead into the back of his knee. He tried to slowly step backwards, hoping to lead Sadie back to her room. But she wasn't having it, wrapping her arm tightly around his leg, preventing him from moving any further.

She was staying.

"You have a right to your opinion, but if you cannot accept that I'm with her for the right reasons, that Sadie isn't on our minds every damn second, then I will kindly ask you to leave."

Bradley scoffed at Jake, laughing, "Don't think it's up to you to uninvite me."

"But I can."

Everyone turned, shocked to hear, and finally discover Sadie hiding behind Bob's leg. Bradley seemed to sober at her words, eyes relaxing, then widening as he saw her cowering from him.

"Bug..." he said lowly, his hand stretching out. She took a step back, eyeing his hand cautiously.

"You hurt my Aunt," she said firmly, her disappointment in him evident. "You're not welcome here anymore."

Sadie could see the sudden guilt on his face, but she didn't care. Right now, she didn't like him. And he wasn't going to get away with what he just did.

"You heard her," Jake stated, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest.

But Bradley paid him no mind and tried to reason with Sadie as he said, "Bug, it's not what you think."

"I have eyes," she snarked, then decided to add for good measure, "And ears."

Bradley's eyes travelled from Sadie's to Nat's, who now stood behind her. Then Fanboy and Payback stepped forward, crossing their arms over their chest as they glared at Bradley, the man looking more confused with each passing second.

Sadie was mad. Despite not knowing what was exactly said, the fact he would even do something that would purposely hurt you cut her deep. And she was inconsolable, her protectiveness for you coming through fiercely.

Bradley shook his head, his voice slightly bitter. "You're just a kid, Sadie. You don't know how relationships work. It's complicated."

Her eyes blazed with determination. While she might be the youngest, never once had anyone treated her as if she was stupid or deserving of the truth.

"Just because I'm young doesn't mean my feelings don't matter!" She was becoming frustrated now, tears starting to leak from her eyes. And her head was beginning to hurt again. Yet, she persisted.

"Everyone but my Aunt reminds me I'm a kid! That I don't know enough! But I know when someone is being a bully! And you are one!"

She cast her eyes down to the floor, slowly side-stepping until she was behind her Uncle Jake. He immediately cradled the back of her head.

"My aunt has never been happier than she is with Uncle Jake!" She tried to say through the pain. "I will not let you hurt them."

Who was this person, she thought, glaring up at him with utter disappointment, that had taken the place of her Uncle Roo? The one that promised to look out for her, for you, when her mom had died. Who held her hand and told her it was going to be okay? Who went with her after school and soccer practice for ice cream and let her talk about her feelings?

This wasn't the Uncle Roo she loved.

So for the first time in her life, Sadie knew what it was like to see someone she loved so dearly fall from the pedestal she had put him on. And in trying to understand what it meant, she didn't know whether to be upset at him or upset with herself.

"Leave!" She cried out, turning her face into Jake's leg, trying to soothe the pounding in her head. "Just leave! I don't want you here anymore!"

Nat frowned at Sadie before stepping in front of her, blocking Rooster's view of her. She crossed her arms and glared at him heatedly. Then Bob joined Nat, copying her stance and echoing, "Do you need help seeing yourself out?"

Then Fanboy stood beside Nat, Payback to Bob, all four standing as a barrier between Sadie, Jake, and Bradley. He couldn't believe what was happening in front of him. His team had yet to take his side but remained on Hangman's.

And if that wasn't the final nail in the coffin, Sadie pointed towards the front door, without ever lifting her face from Jake's leg, and said through tears, "Bye, Bradley."

Bradley turned on his heel and stormed out of the room without another word, his heavy footsteps echoing in the tense silence that followed. The rest of the squad watched in silence, their expressions a mix of concern as the front door slammed.

Despite the tension in the room, everyone sighed, turning around to check on Sadie. But before anyone could comment on what happened, Coyote shot around the corner of the hall, eyes wide as he exclaimed panickily, "I can't find Liz."

There were mixed replies, Nat asking if he checked the backyard while Bob asked about your bedroom. Fanboy and Payback decided to look out in the yard while Jake stared after the front door, his hand still resting gently on the back of Sadie's head.

But she sighed, wiping her eyes, knowing exactly where you were. "It's okay. I know."

Stepping sideways, Sadie reached up to grasp Jake's hand. Everyone watched the pair disappear while Bob walked to the front door, ensuring Bradley had heeded Sadie's request and had left.

Leading him down the hall to the bathroom next to your room, Sadie reached the door apprehensively, slowly reaching up to twist the knob and carefully pushing forward.

It wasn't the first time she had found you like this. That was before her mom passed away, and you still lived with them. Her mom had explained at the time something had 'triggered' you. She hadn't understood what it meant, but she knew something had happened that caused you to be sad. She remembered how her mom had climbed into the tub with you, pulled your head into the crook of her neck and cooed as you sobbed.

Letting go of her Uncle's hand, she left him standing in the doorway as she walked over to the tub, peering over the edge. You had curled yourself up into a ball, arms covering your face as your fingers had threaded themselves into the hair at the back of your skull.

From what Sadie could remember, you looked exactly as you did then. Trying to look small under the white light, encased by tile and silver.

Without hesitation, Sadie climbed over the ledge, her small hands peeling your arm away from your face as she curled herself next to you, hugging you tight.

"I'm sorry, Sadie," you gasped, arms wrapping around her.

"What for?"

"I shouldn't be crying like this around you. I need to be strong, the adult..."

Sadie pulled back, her small hands grabbing your cheeks, first wiping at your tears before trailing her thumbs down to your dimples, hooking them in the corners and stretching your mouth outwards.

"I'm allowed to cry, but you're not? That's not fair, Aunt Liz."

She watched as your face registered her words, grateful for the little crook of a smile at the corner of your lips.

She wouldn't even try fixing what Bradley had done to you. There were no magical fairy godmothers or instant health potions for this, no star she could wish on with enough power that would solve everything. Sadie only knew you were hurt.

So, as you did for her when you found her in the guest bedroom of her friend's house when her mom died, she let you cry.

And what could she say or do after that but tell you what she did to Rooster?

"I kicked him out."

"What?"

"He hurt you," she shrugged, totally not owning up to the fact she had challenged an authority figure and had him thrown out of the house. You looked at her, panicked, the question half spilling from your lips, "Did you.."

"Relax," she said in typical Sadie fashion. "I didn't hear what he said. But it was enough."

"Sadie..."

"Sometimes people do bad things. And you didn't make him say those things to you."

You sniffed, rubbing at your nose. "I kind of did. I may have told him something he didn't want to hear."

Sadie bit her lip before asking, "Did he need to hear it?"

Her mom would always ask that when things went wrong. If someone did need to hear it, you shouldn't spare anyone's feelings. It was better, to be honest, than not.

Her eyes quickly flashed over your shoulder, Uncle Jake having moved at some point from leaning against the door frame to sitting on the floor, just on the other side of the tub. He had been so quiet she hadn't even heard him sit down.

"Probably. But not in the way I did it." You closed your eyes, lightly knocking the side of your head on the bottom of the tub.

Sadie looked back at you. "Then do what Mum always did. Don't regret it."

"But.."

She reached up and pressed her tiny finger to your lips, instantly quieting you, before remarking, "This is a 'No questions asked,' Aunt Liz."

Sadie didn't let you say another word, pulling herself into you so she could hug you, resting her cheek atop yours, closing her eyes and sighing when she realized you had stopped crying.

When Sadie eventually opened her eyes, looking up over the rim of the tub, her Uncle Jake was still there, his presence unknown to you. He wasn't looking at her; he was looking down at you with a tender look and a sad smile. It was like he wanted to reach out and comfort you. But he also didn't want to disturb the two of you.

At that moment, everything her mom had ever wanted for you made sense.

Yes, Sadie thought. He was the one her mom always talked about.

The one she had hoped you would find after those phone conversations at the kitchen table. The one that took care of you. That looked out and stood up for you. That made you laugh. Made you happy.

It may be time for you to open the shoebox on the top shelf of your closet, she thought.

Those letters were undoubtedly meant for him.

We have fluff next chapter! I promise!

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Part 14: Sex on Fire coming soon

^ and yes, there is some smut coming up ^

Wickett ;)

194 notes · View notes

not-neverland06 · 11 days ago

Text

𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

A/N: I've been working on this for a few weeks, debating if I should post it or not. I've been getting an influx of attention on my other Arthur work so I figure now's the best time to try my hand at another series. (Following the timeline of the game but is rarely canon-compliant with how certain events take place.)

Summary: Cold, alone, and abandoned by your poor excuse of a husband. You see lights coming down the path and know you can't stay in your desolate estate any longer. It doesn't matter how far you go, though, the O'Driscolls will always find you.

Fighting for your life after they're through with you, it's another outlaw that decides whether you see tomorrow morning or not.

You hunker further into your blankets and huddle as close as you can get to the fire. Your husband had said he would be back soon with more food and firewood, but that had been three days ago. The wolves had either gotten him or he’d finally decided to try his luck on his own. Neither end would surprise you, but you’d just wished he’d chosen to abandon you in spring instead.

The wind howls as it rages against the walls of your homestead. It hasn't always been such a bad life up here. This was once a beautiful, sprawling estate. Horses, cattle, and fauna roamed the grounds and your husband had an army of employees dedicated to his family home. Then, he started laying heavy into the liquor and all of a sudden your gorgeous home had wood rot slowly seeping into the skin of your marriage and poisoning you both.

Honestly, if the sorry bastard got his throat ripped out by a wolf, you’d call it divine justice- payback for all the scars you carry from him.

You hiss as the tips of your fingers tingle painfully. Any closer to the hearth and you’ll set yourself on fire. Still, you push your luck, as you always do. Your stomach is burning from the pangs of hunger, but you’ll take whatever warmth you can get at this point.

You haven’t seen a blizzard this bad in the years since you moved up to these cursed mountains. If this is truly the one that’s going to finally take you out, it better have gotten the man who dragged you here, as well.

You struggle to think of ways to fill your belly, to prolong your life for just a few more days. There’s no point in hunting. Any tracks you find will be buried by soft, white snow in seconds. And only a few employees remain on the grounds, Sadie and her husband. But they’ve got their own store of food. As hungry as you are, you won’t steal from them.

“-You see this?”

Your brows furrow in confusion as noises manage to seep through the thick walls of your home. It sounds like voices, men’s voices. There’s a gnawing feeling in your gut, beyond the familiarity of hunger. This is something else.

Forcing your aching bones up, you duck down and rush towards the window. Five men, all on horseback and each of them armed, ride up the grounds of your home. Their silhouettes are illuminated against the snowfall by the lanterns they hold.

They could very well be innocent travelers simply looking for an escape from the storm. But you know better than that. You didn’t make it this far in your life by naively trusting every man you meet. You’ve only made that mistake once, now he’s buried in the snow and you’re about to be killed by raiders.

You don’t see much of a way out of this. You’ve never been a good shot, certainly not good enough to take on five men on your own. For a moment you think of just making a run for it. Or even shooting yourself before they can get to you. Doing that would probably save you a lot of unnecessary pain. You doubt they’ve got much respect for the women they encounter.

Then, you remember the family sleeping peacefully on your property. Sadie and Jake deserve fair warning, you can’t just abandon them to the mercies of whoever these men might be. You push away from the window and grab your rifle from above the fireplace.

Your home isn’t as big as some of those fancier estates you’ve seen visiting the city. But it’s large enough for you to have a back way to crawl out of. You slip through the door quietly, immediately being shoved back into the wood from the force of the snow. You tug your shawl around your face, ignoring the bite of ice crystals nipping at your cheeks.

The snow is up to your knees as you trudge through it. You can see, on the other side of the house, the glow of lamplight steadily growing closer. As much as you try to rush, you can barely lift your feet. Your heart beats against your chest with panic as you squint across the way at Sadie’s home.

You see light coming from their windows and you know it’s only making the place a bigger target. Your toes are already going numb as sleet leaks into the tops. You tumble forward slightly, hands sinking past two feet of snow to a frozen ground beneath. “God dammit,” you mutter, tugging yourself up and practically throwing yourself forward.

This feels like you’re fighting a losing battle. Mother Nature herself seems to be telling you to just give up and turn your ass right back around. But you refuse, you’ve always been stubborn. You’re not abandoning people who entrusted themselves to you and your husband. If warning them is the last thing you do, then so be it.

After a few minutes and hearing your home get ransacked behind you, you finally manage to stumble onto their front stoop. Your teeth are rattling together so hard you can’t even hear yourself knock. You certainly don’t feel it, half your arm having lost feeling after your stumble in the snow.

Jake opens the door, hair mussed and face pinched like he’d just been dragged out of a deep sleep. Sadie ambles up behind him, tugging a scarf around her shoulders. Jake gasps out your name, tugging you inside quickly. “What are you doing running around out there? Mr. Rowe will kill me if I let his wife freeze on my watch.”

Sadie glares at him and directs you in front of the fire. “Ignore him,” she hisses. “But, what were you doing?” She sounds more suspicious than concerned. You rub your hands together, letting out heavy puffs of air as you try to get your jaw to unlock.

“M-men,” the word is a hassle to get out and you can tell from the look on their face they don’t have half a clue what you said. You curse under your breath and pinch at the fat of your cheeks, trying to bring some feeling back to them. “Raiders,” you finally manage to get out.

Jake’s teasing nature immediately drops. He takes the rifle off your shoulder and Sadie gives him an astonished look. “What the hell do you think you’re gonna do with that?”

“Get in the cellar,” he commands and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him tell her what to do. Not once since they’d joined your staff. Sadie opens her mouth to argue, scoffing at him. “Get in the goddamn cellar, Sadie, and don’t come out!” He shouts at her, running to the window and cussing when he sees whatever’s waiting outside.

You stand from the chair, taking Sadie’s hand in your shaking ones and leading her to the cellar. She fights you on it, digging her heels in and pleading with Jake. “Just hide out with us, you ain’t know how to use that damn rifle, Jake.”

He turns away from the window with a resigned smile. “Would you, for once in your damn life, just listen to me?” You release her, just long enough for him to embrace her in what you know will be their last touch. You don’t interrupt, just struggle with the latch on their cellar. Sadie comes up behind you, hands covering your own and helping you with it. She urges you inside first and you drop onto the damp ground, her following quickly after.

Jake stares down at you both, the light of the fire making him look bigger than life as he gives you a reassuring smile. “Won’t be long,” he promises. He leans down, closing the cellar door and plunging you both in such intense darkness you can no longer tell if your eyes are open or closed.

It’s cold under the house, the harsh weather seeping in through the ground. Sadie crawls away from you as you hear Jake push the rug over the cellar door, hiding you both away. There’s a slight click, like the sound of a match against a boot, and light blooms before you. Sadie holds an oil lamp, crawling back towards you and placing it between the both of you. You open your shawl silently and you both huddle under it, trying to keep each other warm.

It’s not long before you hear voices join Jake’s. The door slams open, boots rattle the floor above you and dust rains down on you both. You keep your face tucked to your chest, but Sadie’s eyes are glued to one spot. The same spot that you know, instinctually, is where Jake stands.

It isn’t long before the guns go off. Too many rounds for just one man. You hear the laughter and feel as Sadie sucks in a breath so deep you’re surprised her chest doesn’t cave. You tighten your arm around her and ignore the warmth that seeps through the cracks of the wood. Something red drips against your arm and you just drag Sadie closer.

You’re in there for most of the night, legs going numb as you and Sadie remain glued to each other. You probably could have survived the men were it not for them finding the whiskey. It only takes one drunken stumble and the rug is lifted off the cellar door. It takes one bullet to break the lock and suddenly the door’s being thrown up. Light burns at your eyes as a man leers down at you. “Well, ain’t this a nice surprise?”

“Even robbing a train doesn’t seem like a good reason for being out here. Not for O’Driscolls,” Dutch stares down at his boots, that look on his face that always spells trouble. Arthur glances back at the barn where the dead O’Driscoll boy lay.

Of course, up here in the middle of a blizzard surrounded by nothing but snow, they manage to stumble upon an O'Driscoll camp. “We should bring the women up here, it might be a good place for ‘em.” Arthur loads up what little supplies he managed to find on the horses and glances up towards the big house at the top of the hill.

No fires or noises come from it. He can’t imagine why the O’Driscolls would choose a run-down house to camp out in rather than that fancy estate.

Dutch shakes his head, “I’m not comfortable separating everyone.” Arthur opens his mouth to argue when a shrill scream rips through the quiet of the night.

“You stay away from us!” It’s a woman, screaming bloody murder as Micah cackles.

Dutch lets out a rough sigh, glaring up at the door and rushing towards it. “Micah!” He shouts his name, barreling through the door, “What have you done now?”

Arthur follows after him, nearly getting his face bashed in by a flying kitchen chair. He ducks out of the way as a blond woman circles the table, trying to keep away from Micah. “Look what I found in the cellar,” he taunts, lunging at her. She jumps back, kitchen knife pointed out as she hovers near a cellar door.

“Leave ‘er alone!” Arthur barks, peering around her legs and trying to get a look in the cellar. She notices him and jumps in front of it, glaring at him. She’d yelled ‘us,’ he wonders if she’s got a kid in there.

As always, Micah doesn’t listen. He lunges at her again and flips the table over, sending an oil lamp flying onto the rug. The glass shatters, fire spreading quickly over the old wood. Arthur curses, shoving at Micah’s shoulder and forcing him away from the terrified woman. Micah’s still laughing at the look on her face, even as Arthur forces him out of the house.

“It’s alright, Ma’am. I promise we’re not going to hurt you,” Dutch approaches her slowly, gently pushing the knife away and leading her towards the door. His eyes dart towards the quickly spreading fire, trying to get her out before the house comes down on them all.

“No, I can’t leave her,” she looks back at the cellar but Dutch keeps pushing forward. She’s growing smaller by the second, muttering to herself and struggling along weakly.

“Arthur,” Dutch snaps quickly, barely glancing over his shoulder at the cellar. He finally manages to push her out the door and Arthur moves quickly. He follows Dutch’s unspoken order, rushing over to the cellar and peering down. A woman lay curled up inside, a sickly sheen over her damp skin. The tips of her fingers are odd colors, from death or cold, he can’t tell. He drops down, dragging her closer and trying to listen for a breath.

With the wood creaking dangerously above him, he can’t waste time on her. He throws her over his shoulder with a grunt, crawling back out of the cellar and hoping there’s some life in her yet. “They came three days ago.” The woman tells them as Arthur walks out of the house. Her face slacks with relief when she sees her friend over Arthur’s shoulder. “They killed my husband.”

“It’s alright now, ma’am,” Dutch tells her. And Arthur doubts she believes a second of it. After her encounter with the O’Driscolls and then Micah, he doubts she thinks anyone will ever be safe again. Not as she watches her home burn down. Still, she doesn’t have much choice as Dutch helps her onto his horse.

“We’re bad men,” Arthur tells her bluntly, “but we ain’t them,” he mutters glaring at the O’Driscoll corpses littering the ground. The blood has already been covered by snow, bodies frosting over to become feasts for whatever starving predator lurks by the trees.

She watches as he loads her friend’s body on the back of his horse and shakes her head, “Don’t have much of a choice do I?”

Dutch shares a look with Arthur, diverting her attention from everything that’s happened. “What’s your name ma’am?”

“Adler, Mrs. Sadie Adler.” She glances at the other woman and whispers her name with a pained look. Arthur keeps one hand on the chilled body, trying to make sure they don’t lose it in the snow. He’s sure she’s just going to be another corpse to bury.

Every morning, Sadie sneaks into his room. She somehow manages to do it without him waking up, which is worrying enough. And every morning, he sees her standing over the woman lying by his fire.

To almost everyone’s surprise, you didn’t die when he brought you back to the camp. You were barely holding onto life, nearly in worse shape than Davey had been in. But still, you kept on breathing. Even if every inhale sounded like the rattle of death, you didn’t let go.

Sadie refuses to leave your side. Spending most of the day tending to you. It drives Miss Grimshaw insane because Arthur won’t let her bother Sadie into helping out around camp. Arthur’s a fool, but he’s not blind. He knows how uncomfortable all the men make Sadie. She was alone with her husband and you up in these mountains. Suddenly being surrounded by a camp full of the same type of men who killed her husband probably isn’t doing her any good.

Still, maybe he should try and force her around Abigail and Jack. She can’t keep hiding out in his room. Dutch doesn’t like carrying around dead weight. She’s going to need to start contributing around here, eventually.

He sits up in bed, running a hand over his ragged face and overgrown beard. Sadie’s already kneeling by the fire, taking a shawl from around her shoulders and putting it over you. You suck in another struggling breath and Arthur frowns.

“How’d she get like this?” Her shoulders tense at the sound of his voice. He’s been curious about it for a little while. It didn’t make sense how she could be in perfect health and you were barely holding onto life.

Sadie’s quiet for a moment, staring down at you before looking into the fire. “I mouthed off to one of them bastards. I don’t know what they were gonna do to me, shoot me or somethin’ worse, but she stopped ‘em.” Sadie chuckles slightly, getting to her feet and grabbing another shawl for herself.

“She grabbed a knife and nearly took one of their eyes out.” The proud look on her face drops as she stares down at her feet. There’s something like shame in her voice, “They took her outside and tossed me back in the cellar. I don’t know what happened but when they finally brought her back in she was barely breathing.”

“You know,” Arthur starts, unsure of where he's going with this as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not your-”

Sadie’s head snaps up and she glares at him, “It’s my fault. I don’t need you lyin’ to me to make me feel better. It’s not gonna do anyone any good.”

Arthur lets out a low breath and shakes his head. “Didn’t mean any harm. But you can’t blame yourself for stuff like that. She wanted to help ya, there’s nothing else to it.”

Sadie shoots him a glare but she doesn’t argue further with him. He knows she wants to, but he can also see the exhaustion weighing heavily upon her shoulder. The guilt’s eating away at her. Maybe letting her stay cooped up in this small room with you all day had been a mistake.

“Alright,” he gets to his feet, grabbing his hat from the table by the door and nodding her forward. “I need you out of here today,” she opens her mouth to protest but he holds up a hand and stops her. “Got business to discuss with Dutch, you can’t be here.”

He opens the door and waves her forward, “Come on, out with ya.” She huffs, loudly stomping past him and muttering something wicked under her breath. Arthur follows slowly behind her, chuckling slightly to himself. He throws you one last look before letting the door close.

The world is slow to shift into place as your limbs slowly tingle back to life. Your eyes are crusted with a week’s worth of sleep as you try and pry them open. A low whine of pain brews in your throat, but your tongue is heavy with weakness.

You remember nothing past those men opening the cellar door and you’re sure you’re better for it. Bit by bit, you test which parts of yourself are still alive. You flex your stiff fingers and toes, roll your ankles, and let your neck flop around.

You seem to have all your faculties in order, but the second you try and sit up, sharp pains shoot through your spine and legs. It's as though someone is dragging razor blades through every layer of skin and muscle.

An animalistic sound of pain rips out of your chest as you flip back down onto the hard ground. Whatever waning energy you’d tried to conjure has been beaten out of you.

There’s a creak of old wood behind you and the familiar sound of men’s boots. Your slow stutter of a heartbeat kicks into the pattering melody of hummingbird wings. Your blood rushes painfully through your skin as you pathetically crane your neck.

Try as you might, you can’t get a glimpse behind you. You’re so close to a fireplace that the cinders and heat burn out your eyes.

In the amount of time you’ve spent trying to collect yourself, you haven’t even considered that those men could still be around. It doesn’t make sense, though, this place doesn’t look like Sadie’s home. You suppose that they could have moved you both, but you don’t understand why they would want you so badly.

While you theorize, the man has only gotten closer. You can make out his pants from the corner of your eye as he rounds the corner. Every part of you wants to jump up and run. But even breathing is an aching chore. What chance do you have fighting a man twice your size off?

“Damn, you’re awake.” The man sounds awed. He doesn’t carry the cadence of someone who's only been waiting to hurt you. He kneels beside you and tries, as much as he can, to gently help you up.

Your teeth grit together and the thought of danger is long gone from your mind as screaming pain shoots through you. Everywhere he touches is like fire licking at your skin. There’s a worrying coldness buried deep in your veins waking up at the pain.

You can’t help the pathetic noises that slip from your mouth as he eases you up. “Alright, come on, you’re okay now. ‘M not gonna hurt you.” It’s easy enough to believe him when you’re completely at his mercy. It’s not like you have any other choice but to trust him and hope for the best.

Through watering eyes, you’ve got a good look at him now. He’s got sweet blue eyes with little bits of emerald swimming through them. The rest of him is scraggly. His beard is unkept, his face is dirtied, and his clothes smell too heavily of gunpowder. But if you just keep looking at those pretty eyes of his, you have no trouble believing him.

You nod your head as much as you can and open your mouth to ask him something. What- you can’t remember. Your tongue is so parched and throat so cracked that nothing more than a wheeze comes out.

“Hold on,” he mutters under his breath and leans over to the right a little. He takes you with him, contorting your body painfully as he grabs a small cup of water off an overturned bucket. There’s also a rag beside it and a few other things that look like they were used to care for you.

He straightens you again and nudges your head back with the tip of his finger. You don’t have much warning before he places the cup to your lips and simply pours. It rushes down your throat in an overwhelming wave of half relief and half fear of drowning in this man’s lap. You swallow it down as quickly as you can, the aches and pains slowly ebbing away. Your tongue just about twitches back to life as he removes the cup and you flex your jaw.

“You nearly killed me,” you accuse, voice still weak and cracking.

He gives you a disbelieving look before laughing, jostling you slightly with the movements. “Really? That’s the first thing you say when you wake up. You’ve been in a coma on my floor for a week, and all the times I wondered what you would sound like when you woke up, I’ve been expecting ‘thank you.’”

You have just enough energy to narrow your eyes at him, throat still recovering from the onslaught of water. “Thank you,” you say slowly, still working out the kinks in your voice, “for nearly drowning me.” The slightly smug look drops for one of bewildered amusement. You’ve barely been awake for ten minutes and you’re already pushing your luck with someone who looks like a feral mountain man.

“Oh, you’re just full of surprises, ain’t ya?” You can’t do much more than nod, already feeling the pull of sleep calling you back. He shakes you gently, hand slipping down your back slightly. It’s enough to make you jolt forward, skin stinging like he’s just whipped you. “What was that?” He demands, voice rough with something akin to worry.

You can’t imagine why this stranger would be concerned for you. Why does he even care enough about you to help keep you alive?

“Back,” you croak out, shivers racking through from the pain.

He skates his fingers over the thin cloth of your night shift, careful not to put too much pressure on your skin. There’s the quiet click of a blade unsheathing that has you tensing up before cool metal is placed against the back of your neck.

“Hold still for a minute,” he warns and you can’t tell if you hear a threat lying in wait. Like butter, your tattered shift parts readily around his blade. The cold brisk air from outside combined with the warmth of the fire makes the skin of your back pinch painfully. You bite your tongue, suppressing a wince and trying not to whine.

His silence speaks louder than his gruff words. Whatever he sees must be disturbing. He runs a finger over your shoulder blade and whistles lowly. “I see why we couldn’t get you better now.” His tone is clipped, disgust laying thickly on the edge of his words.

“What is it?” You try and feel worried for yourself but it’s taking all of your efforts just to stay awake. Your words slur together slightly as your tongue laves lazily over your teeth. Your head teeters forward slightly and he just barely manages to catch you before you tip over.

“Just hold on here for a minute, alright?” He crouches before you, tipping your head up and waiting for confirmation before he leaves. Your eyes remain closed while you nod your head. He hesitates for a moment before standing and walking towards the door. “Don’t,” he snaps, “fall asleep again.”

You don’t have enough energy for a response as he slips back out the door. The second he’s gone you let yourself crumple to the floor. Huddled under the blankets and stuck next to a small fire, you can almost lie and say the dusty hardwood is comfortable. Your eyes remain shut, but try as you might, you can’t fall asleep. Every time you think you might be lulled a little closer to the abyss, a sharp jolt of pain forces you back awake.

You’re nearly convulsing by the time he comes back. The door blows open, and the wind gusts through, carrying with it snow and the smell of camp food. You hear the noises of people outside and wonder just where you’ve found yourself.

“Oh, Mrs. Rowe!” Sadie’s voice nearly cripples you with relief. You feel warmth build in your throat, something burns at the back of your eyes as she rushes towards you. You don’t remember how you got here. You certainly didn’t remember whether or not Sadie even made it out with you. Seeing her kneeling before you is beyond comforting.

Not only is she alive and safe, she’s obviously been fed well. Her cheeks have the rosy glow of staying next to a fire for too long, and the clothes she’s wearing are clearly donated but well taken care of. If nothing else, at least you might have managed to prolong her survival a little longer. You’re not sure you can say the same for yourself.

Still, despite all the pain and the grief and fear you’ve both gone through, you correct her on your name. You chide her playfully, telling her to call you by your first name. “I’m not Mrs. Rowe any longer,” you laugh bitterly, wincing when it pulls the skin of your back taut. She clicks her tongue at you, taking both of your hands in hers and pulling you up straight.

You can feel the man hovering awkwardly behind you both, not quite sure how to help, or if he should. “Bastard went and left us all,” you gripe. You keep talking, cursing out your hopefully dead husband. You blabber to try and distract you from the way you can feel something festering under your skin.

Venomous pain crawls through your veins and rips at your strength. You lean heavily on Sadie to keep yourself upright. The cut-open back of your night shift slips open and Sadie catches your sleeve before it can fall. Her head shoots up, a hateful glare shooting straight toward the man.

He throws his hands up, “Now, Mrs. Adler-”

“You thought you could just have some fun with her, huh? Oh, you son of a bitch!” You can feel how desperately she wants to leap up and have a go at him. She’s practically trembling with anger. You squeeze her hands with as much strength as you can muster, trying to keep her grounded with you.

He scrambles to explain, taking a step towards you both and immediately retreating when Sadie curses at him again. “Now, that ain’t what happened-”

She cuts him off again and he huffs with exasperation. “You think I’ll believe anything you outlaws say? I should have known you were no better than the bastards that stole my husband from me.”

“Sadie,” you croak, “let the man speak, dammit.” She shoots you an affronted look, like she might try and yell at you next. The sickly sheen over your skin and your overall pathetic countenance are the only things that stop her.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he mutters, walking over to you both slowly. He approaches Sadie like one would a wild cat, trying to keep her temper from flaring up again. The only reason she and her husband ever managed to stay so long in your employ was because you always vouched for her. One day soon, though, that temper is going to get her into some serious trouble.

“I think they did something to ‘er.” He starts speaking in hushed whispers, talking about you as if Sadie isn’t holding you between them. Your eyes start to flutter as you listen to their quiet conversation, words fading in and out as you grapple with keeping a hold of your consciousness.

“Jesus Christ,” Sadie hisses, peering over your shoulder at something you’re probably going to be grateful not to see. “They whip her?”

“I think so. And it don’t look right, all green around the edges.” He pokes a rough finger against the center of your back and you cry out, jerking away from the touch. Sadie swats sharply at his hand and he glares at her.

“Don’t touch it you fool! We need medicine for her. It’s infected.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed Mrs. Adler but we’re currently stuck in the middle of a blizzard,” he deadpans. He motions towards the window of the small shack and the wind that whistles loudly behind it. The snow does its best to try and seep in. It pools in one corner of the room, melting into the floorboards below. You can’t feel the chill of it being so close to the fire, though. Or perhaps that’s a fever keeping you warm. You can’t feel much of anything, actually.

Sadie eases you off of her and he helps lay you on your side. They get to their feet, sneaking away from you as if you didn’t just hear them talking about you like you’re lying on death’s door. “We need something,” Sadie hisses, but you can barely hear it above the rushing in your ears.

Arthur mutters something back to her but you’re already falling back into the peaceful embrace of sleep. Body going limp as you try and escape the pain.

“Goddammit!”

“Quit whining, I’m almost done.” Charles has a gentle enough hand as he puts a salve over your back, but it still hurts worse than a lick of fire. It’s been a few days since you woke up in Arthur’s room. You were more cognisant the next day, more aware of the fact that if you went another moment without treating the wounds on your back, you’d most likely die.

You’re lucky you’ve made it this long without anything. You suppose you’re just stubborn enough to not let those bastards kill you from an infection. God, that would be an embarrassing way to go. It’s how your husband’s father died and clearly, that had been the worst thing to happen to the family in generations. It left your husband in charge to destroy their reputation and their livelihood.

You grit your teeth together as Charles’ calloused hand roves over the open wounds. They’re starting to feel a little better. They burn less now, more just ache when you extend your arms too far or cough too hard. You figure Charles has probably saved your life with this herbal concoction of his. Him and Hosea. It had been Hosea’s suggestion of using herbs for treatment that prompted Charles to go hunting for them.

You never imagined owing your life to a bunch of outlaws but you suppose that no one knows what direction fate is planning on taking them. “You’re not a real sweet nurse, you know that?” You grouse, talking to distract yourself from the discomfort.

Charles sighs behind you but you swear that it’s almost a laugh. “You complain a lot for someone who owes me their life.” You know he’s only teasing you. As shocking as that is. You didn’t think the man had a funny bone in his body when you first met him. Lo and behold he’s got just as much bite as you do. Still, you do feel a little guilty for giving him so much grief.

He starts wrapping the bandages around your chest. You help him around the front, being mindful of the still-present burn on his hand. “Thank you,” you whisper as he ties it off. You can’t bring yourself to say it much louder, still not used to being in someone’s debt like this.

Hell, you’re getting used to a whole lot of new things. You’d never dressed a deer before either but you didn’t have much choice but pull your weight here. You’re pretty sure Mrs. Grimshaw would skin you if you just lazed about like a prissy lady.

Charles pauses, he’s quiet for a moment before backing off and turning around so you can put your shirt back on. You expect him not to respond, to just slip out quietly. He doesn’t seem the type to indulge too much in a woman’s emotions. “I’m glad you’re better,” he tells you. You don’t get a chance to respond before the door closes again.

Sighing, you grab your jacket from the bed and tug it on. Your movements are still stilted, your body still stiff from spending so long in the cold. You now struggle to get your fingers to curl the right way. But you’re alive, and that’s got to count for something.

You slip outside, prepared for the biting cold, and still surprised as your boots sink into the muddy snow. You owe the women for collecting some clothes for you, even altering them so they might fit better. They don’t have the time as they tend to the camp, but they still help. For a group full of murderers and gunslingers, they’re possibly some of the nicest people you’ve ever met.

“Howdy, Mrs. Rowe, lookin’ might fine this morning.”

Besides, of course, Micah. He leers at you, licking his maw and tugging at his belt. You roll your eyes, ignoring him and trudging past. You hear him laugh behind you and wish you could kick his teeth in. Always gotta be one bad apple, doesn’t there?

Arthur isn’t too far ahead of you, loading something up on his horse. You speed up a little, hoping to catch him before he leaves. “Arthur!” You call out, his head shoots towards you and you wave a little. He gives you a small smile, leaning against the hitching post as you approach.

He tips his hat towards you, “How are you this morning, Mrs. Rowe?”

You let out an annoyed huff but there’s a slight smile playing on your lips. “How many times do I need to tell you to stop calling me that?”

He chuckles, turning back towards his horse and adjusting the saddle. “Apologies,” he acquiesces, but the tone of his voice tells you he knows exactly how much it irritates you. His gaze drifts to someone behind you and the amusement dips from his tone. “Charles help you out this mornin'?’”

He always approaches the subject with more grace than you would have thought him capable of. He must know how odd it is for you to have a man see you nearly half-naked every morning. You were raised as a proper lady, groomed to be a perfect, virtuous wife. It’s a shock to see how brazen some of the women here are. Not necessarily a bad thing, you can appreciate the freedom it provides.

You no longer feel the suffocating need to think over every word that leaves your lips. You’re not constantly walking around eggshells and fighting to be heard. But being bare before someone other than your husband has been difficult to stomach, even if it is Charles. Arthur seems to realize how hard it must be for you. Which is odd, you didn’t think someone like him would know much about proper women. You wonder if he’s ever had a woman of his own.

“Yes, he says it’s looking better. I shouldn’t be at risk of dropping dead now, at least,” you laugh, but there was true fear you might not wake up. You know some of the members in camp argued to just toss you to the cold, let the wolves feed on you. They didn’t think you were worth sparing the supplies for.

“That’s good ain’t it?”

“I suppose so. But, well,” you wonder if you should even be having this conversation. Maybe bringing up this worry will just put an idea in his head he hadn’t had before.

“Well,” he prompts, not impatiently.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask, hands dropping to your sides with a heavy sigh.

“Whaddya mean?” His brows furrow in confusion and you curse yourself mentally. You’ve probably just royally screwed yourself.

“Well, when I’m healed. When I’m not relying on you or Charles everyday. Where am I meant to go? My husband's dead and my house has been ransacked completely. I’ve got nothing to my name.” Voicing aloud the fears you’ve been carrying for the past few days is like a weight off your shoulders. You’ve been fretting about this forever, losing sleep over it. As much as you fear his answer, at least you finally said it.

Arthur’s lips quirk up and you huff. There is nothing funny about what you just said. In fact, it’s incredibly worrying. Still, that doesn’t stop him from cracking up, laughing at your expense like you’re some foolish girl. “Arthur Morgan,” you chide, swatting weakly at his arm, “I’m being serious.”

“I know,” he sighs with a smile and you can’t help but return it. “We ain’t gonna throw you to the curb, Mrs-” he cuts himself off when you glare at him. Instead, he says your name with a comforting tone and reaches out, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “If you’re okay with it, you can travel with us or we can drop you off in whatever town we stay at.”

Your heart skips a few beats, hope filling your stomach with warmth. “Really?”

“‘Course, what'd ya think we were just gonna leave you up here in the snow?”

“Well, I know Micah wanted to,” his face falls at the mention of the man.

His brows furrow and his jaw sets with something akin to anger. He does that every time you mention the man. He just seems to put Arthur in a foul mood. “I ain’t Micah and I ain’t in the business of just abandoning pretty ladies up in the mountains.”

Perhaps you’re a fool, but about the only thing you caught from that was him calling you a pretty lady. Before you can continue your conversation, someone rides up behind you both. “Mrs. Rowe, Mr. Morgan,” Dutch greets you with a gravelly call of your name and a suave smile. You roll your eyes at the mention of your husband's name but bow your head in greeting nonetheless. “Excuse me ma’am, but I need Arthur this morning.”

“Oh,” you flush, not realizing just how much of his time you’ve stolen with your silly worries. “Of course, sorry.” You give Arthur one last smile, watching as he mounts his horse and backing up so his leg doesn’t swing out at you. “Where are you going, anyway?” You ask, peering behind them both to see other men in camp riding up behind them.

“Why,” Dutch grins, “we’re off to rob a train.” He kicks off and you’re left standing in the snow with a gaping jaw. Arthur gives you one last look before he rides behind him, the others quickly following.

So, this is the life of an outlaw.

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