#pushing aside his fear and swallowing the sorrow until the smoke cleared

[pianokantzart]

Yes. I love angst... you all know this... but I'm also a big ol' sucker for happy endings where everyone gets to talk it through and hug it out.

I think if something happened to Mario– if he was presumed dead, even for only a few moments– Luigi would take up the mantel.

He'd do it with quivering hands and tears in his eyes, but he'd do it determined to honor his brother's memory in every way possible, even it means pushing himself beyond his limitations.

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Voices Carry

Ch. 10: “Comfortably Numb”

[ Eins | Zwei | Drei | Vier | Fünf | Sechs | Sieben | Acht | Neun | Zehn | Elf ]

Description: Merkel accepts a job to smuggle a young woman out of East Berlin, and it turns out to be more than he bargained for.

Warnings: angst, blood, references to suicide, references to depression, poor grasp of the German language, possible historical liberties, probable sexual content in the (near) future

Notes: If the added warnings for this chapter are a major problem for you, I want you to know that you can message me if you have questions about the content before you read, and also that you can safely skip this one. You will not be lost when I post the next chapter. I promise. I have a playlist of my chapter title songs. This one is #10, “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd. Thank you @scxrsgxrd​ for test reading for me. If you haven’t read her Merkel fic, you’re missing out.

In the darkness, Merkel lay awake and wondered what kind of man he was. He held Irina in his arms, his fingertips brushing the ends of her hair idly as his mind fixed on the things he should have done differently. If he had been honest with her from the start, maybe he could have made her understand without ever having to hurt her. Without becoming one more force set in motion against her. He wanted to tell her he had never meant to cause her pain, but the words sounded too much like an excuse, and they remained stuck in his throat.

He watched her face as she slept, serene now, free from the darkness that hid behind her eyes when he brought her back to the apartment. She had shut down completely. Whether it was her fear of him, or her sorrow for her father, or her body simply slipping into shock from the freezing weather, he didn’t know. Whatever it was, it felt familiar to Merkel. The wall he had built up within himself was starting to fall, piece by piece. Each time he faced her grief, it threatened to wake his own lying dormant within him. And even though it hurt, he couldn’t tear himself away.

He remembered it in fragments, each of them so clear, but he could never piece together the whole picture in his mind, as though something within him had been shattered that day and could never be reassembled. He was sitting in the stairwell of the old apartment in Mitte, his back against the wall and his lanky legs pulled in against his chest, feeling nothing. He was wearing his drab walking-out uniform and had misplaced his hat. Footsteps echoed on the tile floor, slowing to a stop beside him. He saw a woman’s shoes, and the piercing blue eyes of a little boy staring at him from behind the woman’s legs. It was his neighbor, Frau Vogel. She scolded the boy for staring and continued up the stairs without another word. Merkel barely registered their presence. He was staring straight ahead at the crack in the concrete wall, seeing nothing. He had wrapped his arms around his knees and felt as though he stood on the edge of a black void that threatened to swallow him whole.

Merkel had known his father was dead before he arrived home. His commanding officer had pulled him aside before the rest of the battalion left on a reconnaissance mission and told him that there would be no funeral—that he was being given two days’ leave to bury him without ceremony. It would be simple enough. The state had already cremated the man before Merkel could think of the question: How had his father managed to hang himself in prison?

He knew better than to ask. He had been an antagonistic little punk, full of rebellion and the invincibility of youth, when he reported for his compulsory service. But he had since learned to fall in line, if only for survival. Outspoken rebellion was only so effective. If you made a target of yourself, they would make it their mission to silence you. It was better to be silent to begin with, to engage in a quiet subversion, unnoticed, but still damaging to whatever agenda was being pushed by the people in power. If it were not for the black mark of his family name on his record, Merkel would almost be a model soldier.

There had been no inflection in his voice when he called the police from the telephone booth across the street hours after he found her. Merkel said the word as if it had no meaning.

Selbstmord.

He sat at the kitchen table when they took her away. He had dropped his service cap somewhere on the floor near the body when he walked in the door. An officer with greying hair and hard eyes picked up the hat off the floor and handed it back to him. Merkel clutched it in his hands and answered their questions as if by rote.

Yes, that was his grandfather’s service revolver.

Yes, he had kept it after the war.

Yes, his mother was already dead when he arrived.

Yes, that was her blood on his hands.

No, she did not leave a note.

No, she had not said anything to him.

No, she had not engaged in any criminal activities after her release from prison.

Yes, as far as he was aware.

Yes, it was possible she plotted criminal conspiracies without his knowledge. Maybe with the ladies of her knitting circle.

No, he did not think that this was funny.

Yes, he was aware that his mother was dead.

Yes, he was taking this seriously.

No, his parents never told him the names of any of their criminal contacts.

No, he had not been aware of their criminal activities until they were arrested.

Yes, that is why he never reported them to the authorities.

Yes, he understood that made him look like a conspirator.

No, he did not approve of their criminal behavior.

Yes, he believed they deserved to be held accountable for their crimes.

Yes, he had returned on leave to bury his father.

Yes, his father had died in prison.

Yes, he meant to say his father had hanged himself in prison.

No, he did not think his father was killed by the state.

Yes, he understood how dangerous that belief would be.

Yes, he understood that the officers currently questioning him were looking out for his best interests.

No, he was not angry.

Yes, his commanding officer was aware of what had happened.

Yes, he understood that his leave would not be extended for the second death.

Yes, two days should be sufficient time to arrange both burials.

No, he could not think of a reason why she might have done this.

No, Kommissar, not even one reason.

One of the officers had offered Merkel a cigarette before they left. It took him several attempts to recall how to light a match. After he finished smoking, he had scrubbed his mother’s blood from the grooves in the floor and ripped down the long strips of yellowed wallpaper that were now permanently stained. Later, he would be reprimanded for getting blood on his uniform. He put on a Pink Floyd record and stretched out on the floor, staring at the ceiling as the waning daylight cast rippling shadows through the curtain draped over the open window. He didn’t react when the downstairs neighbors thumped a broom against their ceiling and shouted for him to turn off the music. When the record ended, he listened to the sound of the needle riding the label for hours. He felt as though the connection between his mind and his body had been severed and he might never move again.

It had been years since his mother’s death, but there were still times when Merkel found himself staring down the same black void and feeling that familiar emptiness in the hollow of his chest. He imagined his mother felt it too, after his father’s death. That perhaps it got her in the end. If Irina had not felt that darkness tonight, Merkel knew she would soon enough. As he wound his arms around her, he willed her to be stronger than them both.

German Glossary:

Selbstmord - suicide

Kommissar - officer or inspector

@skrsgardspam @b-afterhours @flowers-in-your-hayr @bebetriste @bethskarsgard @xluvparis @bskarsgardlove92 @scuba-seamus @goblincxnt @dragsraksllib @upirs @stevesharrlngtons @jj-lynn21 @scxrsgxrd @lihikainanea​ @lostartcambar @dreamtherapy @grandpa-sweaters​ @hausofobsession​ @loomiz​ @walkxthexmoon​ @ladadada-da​ @emmyrosee​ @romangodfreyownsmyass​

[ohdeputy]

100 Letters PART VI

Arthur Morgan x John Marston

Words: 4,774

Read on Archive

Part V

-

Sleep didn’t come easy to John that night. And when it finally did he was haunted by the depth of his thoughts. There he saw Nico, though she was no longer the horrific image with half her skull missing. She was Nico again, to a certain extent. Her dark hair contrasted against skin that was so much paler than he remembered, with deep sunken eyes. She looked…hollow. Her face only a vague reflection of who she was when she was alive.

In this dream she did not speak to him, reminding John she wasn’t real. And while he saw countless others around them, they never looked the same as her. She was always the center of his focus, while everyone else was background noise. She seemed to float like she was still submerged under the water she was left in. And when she looked at him, John became riddled with sorrow at the sight. She had an air of sadness surrounding her that pulled at his heart.

He sat next to her on a wide stretch of beach, where she turned to face the water that lulled in and out with the tide. He tried to speak to her, but no words came out and he was met with a coldness as she turned away from him. He settled for sitting beside her in silence, looking out across the slow waves in quiet observation. It was almost nice, if it weren’t for the uneasy feeling that he couldn’t seem to shake.

He watched until the sun began to set before them, sinking into the water that turned a deep red as it swallowed it whole. Out of nowhere, he felt a hand grab onto his arm, turning face to face with Nico. John saw fear registered in her eyes, questioning him. He looked down to see blood pooling between them, Nico gripping him with sticky hands.

John backed away in horror, streaking the sand beneath him. His eyes followed the trail to the source, finding it to be coming from Nico’s abdomen. It spilled from her, pouring onto the beach. John lurched toward her, reaching out a hand to see it wrapped around the handle of his revolver. Nico’s blood soaked into the metal and stained the wood of the handle, making him let go in shock and watched it drop from his hands in an agonizing slow motion.

John jolted awake, frantically wiping his hands across his shirt. Cold sweat wrapped his body in unease, his heart beating to match. He couldn’t get the image of Nico’s blood out of his head. He sat upright, planting his feet on the ground and held his head in his hands.

He almost got away with believing he was rid of the nightmares. Instead, they only seemed to persist, further puzzling John in the meaning behind it all. He thought of the beach with its blood-soaked sand, the gun he wielded, and how it was him who shot Nico. It’s all my fault.

John rubbed his eyes, then stood. He took a step into the early morning air and approached a barrel full of water situated next to his tent, plunging his hands in and bringing it to his face. It was ice cold, making him shiver, but it helped wake him up.

When he wiped his face and looked up he saw Abigail standing there. He almost jumped out of his skin. The woman had a gift for appearing out of thin air.

“Where were you?” She demanded, holding her hands on her hips.

“Out.” John turned away but she followed.

“Out? Nobody knew where you went! The boy was worried, and you didn’t return last night-”

“I did,” John snapped at her. “I’m fine.”

He sidestepped out of her path and slipped back into his tent, but she would not give up. He was only alone for a second before she pushed aside the opening.

“Don’t do that.”

Her persistence continued to frustrate him as she followed him inside. “Do what?”

“Run away! You always run away when I’m just tryna talk with you!”

He shot her a glare, eyes furrowed, “it ever occur to you that I ain’t in the mood for talkin’, then?”

John sat down at the edge of his bed, looking away from her.

“Oh yes, very funny.” She gave a sigh, “look, I just wanted to ask you if you were gunna get out of camp at all-”

“Just LEAVE it alone, will you? Quit nagging me about shit. Why does everyone seem so interested in me getting off my ass?”

“I was only asking so you could get some books for Jack! I just thought it might be important for our son to be taught how to read! If it’s that big of an issue for you I can ask Arthur-”

“Well, why don’t you go ahead and ask Arthur! Though, you’re better off getting it yourself!”

Abigail scowled at him, “what is with you today? Why are you being like this?”

John sighed, hanging his head. “I just- I’m trying my best to do something and-and with everything that happened in Black-after Colter I’m-” John stuttered through his words, “I almost died, okay?!”

This seemed to catch her off guard, suddenly growing quiet. John rubbed a hand over his eyes, not meaning for things to escalate so quickly. His own confession startled even him, not realizing until he said it out loud just how much almost dying actually scared him.

John thought Abigail might leave, but instead she moved to sit in the chair across from him.

“Yeah…you’re right. I’m sorry.”

A beat of silence followed.

“It’s Nico, too, isn’t it,” she spoke the words gently, but John still flinched at them. “John. John, look at me.”

When he did, he was met with a stern expression. Her lips were pressed together but he could also see worry lining her brow. He turned away again, looking anywhere but her eyes.

“Yeah…” he reluctantly admitted. She patiently sat across from him without moving. He could feel her gaze following his movements.

“It’s okay, you can tell me.”

John shifted uncomfortably, “I was there.” He paused, “when she…” he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, his voice shaking. “You know, I saw what happened. No one else knows but… it were Dutch, Abigail,” he looked up, eyes pleading her to believe him. To say the truth out loud felt like a weight being lifted, yet John was scared. He hadn’t said a word to anyone else about what he saw. He couldn’t.

“I saw what he did to her. Shot her, right in the head, too. She didn’t… she wasn’t-”

“I know,” Abigail said softly, giving a comforting smile.

John suddenly wanted to tell her everything, not caring how incoherent he sounded. He had kept it bottled up for what felt like decades, frustrated that he had no one to talk to about his pain.

“It’s not like what they said, she would never…”

“Hey, I know,” she hesitantly reached out for his hand, and she let him take it. She gave a small squeeze. John swallowed dryly, feeling his throat tighten from the subject.

“Are you the only one who knows?”

He nodded.

She gave him a mournful look that made John so aware of just how alone he was. “I might not have known Nico as well as you, but I know you, John. We might have some things to sort out between us but that don’t mean I don’t trust you. There are others, too. Hosea, Arthur, they trust you.”

John shook his head, “not over Dutch, they don’t.”

Abigail looked down and John let his features soften. Here was someone understanding and actually comforting him for once. “But thank you, Abigail.”

She nodded in understanding, retracting her hand as she slowly got up to sit beside him. “Arthur would.”

“Trust you,” she continued after John gave a questioning look. He sighed, he knew Abigail thought Arthur was a good man, and he was. John knew it, too. But there was too much bad blood for trust to exist between them any longer.

It looked like Abigail was going to say something more, but instead, she just gave John another smile and stood up.

“Now, don’t let that man get to you.” She straightened her skirt out, standing tall, “you’re gunna take your time to heal, rest up. And when you see Dutch you will be unbothered. You know the truth, John. It’s time to make him sweat.”

With that, she started to leave. Lingering at the tent’s entrance, she turned to say one last thing, “and John, I’m glad you talked to me about this.”

He nodded and she exited the tent, leaving John alone. He appreciated her sentiment but also understood it was easier said than done. Especially since she knew nothing of the extent of Dutch’s wrath.

A part of him always wished he had confined in Abigail some more, to tell him just how bad things were. But he was scared. What happened between himself and Dutch had always stayed between the two, and as much as John wished it could be brought to light, he was terrified of that exposure.

In the days that followed his conversation with Abigail, the breeze carried a warmer wind. He felt slightly better after talking with her, which was the last thing he expected. He was still sour over his last interaction with Arthur, who he noticed was still absent from camp. John thought that perhaps it was for the better, as he wasn’t in the mood to see him either.

During the nights, his dreams of Nico would come and go. Not much changed in them, but each time he was consumed by one, he woke up more restless than the last.

John bolted upright in his bed, woken up by yet another nightmare. He sighed when his heartrate finally settled and he was sure he wasn’t on the beach that his unconsciousness tricked him into visiting.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he brought a hand up to rub his eyes, then stood. Pulling on a pair of jeans and his coat, he left his tent. Thinking the night air might help ease his mind, he walked to the small clearing of trees that surrounded their little hideaway.

He passed by Javier, who made his rounds as he patrolled for the night. Giving a small nod, which the other man returned, he continued past until he walked between the sparse trees. He dug his hands in his pocket to get a cigarette, finding a match which he flicked across the bottom of his boot. Bringing it up to light the end of the cigarette, he took a long drag. Watching the cloud of smoke dissipate as he breathed out, he closed his eyes.

He let the sounds of the night fill his thoughts. The slight wind that shook the leaves of the trees, the creaking of the branches. He could hear the horses not far from where he stood. Their quiet grazing and the-

“Shoot, you damn animal, just move!”

John’s eyes snapped open when he heard the sound of a woman’s voice softly cursing. He put out his cigarette and slowly approached where the horses were kept, hearing the disturbance come from that direction.

When he came closer, he could see the woman they’d taken in at Colter struggling to get onto Dutch’s horse, the Count. She had one foot planted firmly in the stirrup of the saddle that she gripped onto tightly as the horse sidestepped away from her. She continued to try her best but ultimately fail at properly mounting onto the horse, swearing with every breath she took as she did.

“Going somewhere?” John interrupted her feeble endeavour of being inconspicuous. She jumped, not noticing his spectating from her fixated focus at poorly attempted horse theft.  

“If you were gunna try to run away, you probably shouldn’t have picked the leader of the gang’s horse to steal. You know, he’d put a bounty on your head if you did.”

The woman awkwardly dropped her foot down from the saddle and straightened herself out. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

John scrunched his features in disbelief, to which she rolled her eyes, “okay fine. I was leavin’.”

She crossed her arms, frowning at him, “so, you gunna stop me?”

John gave a shrug, leaning against one of the hitching poles. She looked a little skeptical at first, then moved onto another horse to try her luck with.

“You’re Miss. Adler, right?”

“Mrs.” She corrected without turning around. When Taima, Charles’ horse, moved away from her, too, she finally did turn around and give a deep sigh.

“Sadie,” she said quietly. “You can just call me Sadie, though.”

She peered at some of the other horses eagerly, spotting Silver Dollar. She gave John a questioning look, to which he frowned. “Bad choice, that one’s known Hosea for longer than you would know.”

Sadie’s shoulders dropped.

“But…” John continued, and she raised her brow at him. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, Lenny’s horse hasn’t been with him for too long.”

He nodded in the direction of the light brown mustang to the side. Sadie followed his gaze to where the mare was, walking over to put a hand down the horse’s neck.

“Maggie sure does mean a lot to Lenny, though. He loves that horse.” John could see her hesitate at that.

“I thought you said you weren’t gunna try to stop me?”

John shook his head, “no, by all means.”

She gave Maggie a few pats before hoisting herself on. There was no trouble from the mustang as Sadie settled into the saddle, making John hope Old Boy wouldn’t be as compliant.

“So, where’re you off to?”

“To kill Colm O’Driscoll.”

John couldn’t help laughing slightly, surprised by her boldness. She looked offended as he did, “something funny about that?”

“No, no. You just… remind me of someone, that’s all.”

Her features softened somewhat, then she looked down at the reins in her hands.

“You have a plan?” he asked her, making her send another glare his way.

“No.”

“You know where he is?”

“No.”

John gave her a once over, noting the way she only carried a small bag slung across her shoulder.

“You gotta gun?”

“…no.”

Most men would have given her a smug expression, or even scolded her for being so brash and unprepared. But John saw the way her expression cracked, and how her body seemed to slump in defeat. He could see she was just upset, and felt like she was out of options. He knew this because he felt it, too. All too familiar with what she was going through.

He vaguely remembered Abigail telling him of what happened to her when they’d first picked her up back in the mountains. How she had lost everything in one night just by being the unlucky victim of Colm’s unruly gang, and happened to be in their path of destruction.

John specifically remembered how she had lost her husband in the process, too, and how hard it affected her. During his early days at Horseshoe Overlook, he recalled seeing her apart from the others. She always seemed distressed, hiding her face as she would quietly weep. He felt remorse at the sight, wishing he could do something to help her. But he also figured he was probably the last person she wanted to confront her. Besides, he wouldn’t know what to say.

When she still hadn’t moved from where she sat, John took the few steps toward her and offered his hand. After a moment she reluctantly took it, and he helped her down.

“He’ll see the hangman’s noose, Mrs. Adler. He is a high priority for Dutch to find. And if that somehow doesn’t come to play out, I will personally help you put a bullet between his eyes.”

Sadie seemed to ease up a bit at that, but only slightly. “That bastard deserves a slow, painful death for what he’s done.”

“I can’t agree with you more on that.” John conceded. She nodded, but her eyes were glazed over like she wasn’t really listening to him.

“Perhaps you should stay for the time being, you can take it easy for a while. Take your time to plan out how you’re going to get him.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You said you weren’t gunna stop me,” she said it again, though she took the couple of steps back into camp beside him.

He gave another shrug, “just a suggestion, you are more than welcome to try this again tomorrow.”

He paused for a second before turning to her, “though, if I could just ask a favour?”

She gave him a questionable look, to which he continued, “just please don’t take my horse.”

Sadie smiled at that, much to John’s surprise. She then departed their conversation to join where the other women stayed at the far side of camp. He thought about her determination at leaving and finding Colm, and found himself hoping she would stay. There was potential at her becoming a skilled member of their gang, if that was something she would be interested in.

He had heard that she knew how to use a gun, and compared to some other, much older, members, that already made her just as skilled.

As the days passed and grew warmer, he continued seeing Sadie around camp. She would give him a slight wave and greeting in passing, which he would return in kind. It was nice, since she was always around. Most of the time the people John actually got along with were far from camp.

Sometimes Sadie would come with a book in hand and sit not far off from John as he sat underneath his oak tree. The two didn’t talk, but he took comfort in knowing she was around while he passed the time.

With things staying slow around camp, John’s mind often wandered back to the auction yard in Valentine and the potential job there.

On one particularly quiet morning, he thought about heading out to stay in town a bit. That way he could keep an eye on things, and have the excuse of being away from camp for a while. There hadn’t been any sign of Arthur, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want the chance of bumping into him when he came back. John thought it was probably best if he wasn’t around.

So when John woke up with the intention of leaving that day, the last thing he was expecting was anyone stopping him, least of all the person that did.

“John.”

He felt himself tense, his skin crawling from the voice that called his name.

“Just the man I was looking for.” He turned around to face Dutch approaching him.

“How are you, son?” He emphasized the last word, his eyes piercing into John’s as if goading him with how polite he was being.

John had to keep himself from gritting his teeth when responding, “fine.”

“Hmm,” Dutch stroked his chin as he stared at him intently. “Listen, the camp is in need of more supplies. I need you to go pick some things up at Wallace Station.”

“Wallace Station?!” John couldn’t catch himself in time as he responded, “Dutch, that’s… all the way on the other side of the river.”

“That it is.”

When John didn’t say anything, a sly smile crept across Dutch’s face. “Is that a problem.”

“It’s just, well, we’re real close to Valentine, why can’t I pick things up from there-”

“Because I’m asking you to go to Wallace Station.”

John had to avert his gaze, holding his tongue as he did. Taking his silence as agreement, Dutch placed a hand on his shoulder. John stiffened from the contact, while Dutch led him over to where they kept one of their wagons.

“Good! That’s settled, then.”

After a minute, Dutch was gone again, leaving John next to the beaten down wagon feeling just the same. He was so irritated, reduced to becoming an errand boy to do only the lowliest of jobs because Dutch told him to.

He walked over to the horses, securing their reins to the wagon. All the while he cursed under his breath, feeling like a damn fool.

“Hey, brother. Everything alright?”

Charles approached where he stood, wearing a look of concern.

Not realizing how hard he’d been scowling while feeling sorry for himself, John tried to wave off Charles’ worry. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Charles gave a glance over the wagon, “need help with something?”

“I have to pick up some stuff from Wallace Station.”

“Wallace Station?” Charles gave a frown.

John raised his eyebrows, letting out a breath of air, “don’t look at me. Dutch’s orders.”

He went to go close the hatch at the back of the wagon, noticing Charles climb up to sit as passenger at the front. “What’re you doing?”

“I’ll come with you. Make sure you get there and back okay.”

John was about to tell him that he really didn’t have to, and that it was nice of him to offer, but didn’t have the chance when someone spoke from behind them.

“Are you guys going out?”

John turned to see Sadie stood there, she wrung her hands together like she didn’t know what to do with them as she held a hopeful expression. “Please, can I come with you?”

“I- uhh,” John didn’t know what to say. “It’s gunna be quite the trip, I’ll likely take all day.”

“Oh, good,” Sadie moved past him, climbing up to sit in the back of the wagon. “I’m going crazy here, I need to get out.”

“Then, by all means,” he put up the hatch once Sadie settled in and walked back up to the front of the wagon, climbing on and grabbing the reins in his hands.

Urging the horses forward, he steered toward the main road. He kept the wagon going at a steady pace. He couldn’t help the slight smile that appeared on his face, happy to have the company on what would have turned into an inconvenience of a job.

For a while, they rode in silence, and it was nice. Just knowing that he wasn’t alone made the trip almost peaceful as they took their time on the country roads. They made their way along the Dakota River, the sound of the stream accompanying them for the majority of the trip.

Trees jutted skyward from the edges of stone as they passed by the high rocks of Caliban’s Seat. The uneven and rocky terrain around them providing beautiful scenery as they rode by.

After a while, Sadie stuck up conversation with the two of them, asking them how long they’d been running with Dutch. She talked a lot, which John didn’t mind. Her and Charles then spoke about hunting tricks each of them used while John listened.

It reminded him of Arthur, Nico, and himself when they were kids. Arthur notorious for talking their ears off. But it was easy that way, because John had always liked to listen. He couldn’t say the same for Nico, sometimes noticing the way she would tune out of whatever tale Arthur spun for them. But John knew it just wouldn’t be the same without her. The memories John had of the three of them becoming some of his favorite with everything they used to get up to.

His heart tightened a little from the nostalgia he held for their past friendship, trying to clear his head as he focused back to the road ahead.

They drove the wagon over the top of the Cumberland Falls and into the dense forests, knowing they must be close to the station now.

They arrived decently later in the day. After clearing the general store out of supplies, the three of them loaded everything into the back of the wagon. When they were finished, John waved his thanks to the shopkeeper and lifted himself back onto the wagon.

Taking the same road as they travelled back, heavy clouds could be seen hovering over the mountains in the distance. John tried to enjoy the moment with the other two, feeling as though he always mourned it’s loss before it was even over.

It was almost disappointing when they arrived back to camp in the late afternoon. What took a day only felt like an hour to him.

“God, that went by fast.” John felt like Sadie read his mind as she said it. He solemnly nodded in agreement, empathetic to her disappointed expression.

“I thought going out would help, but I’m only dreading to see Pearson’s stupid face again.” She slumped on the side of the wagon, “and having to listen to him talk? The man is about as interesting as the food he makes.”

John laughed at that, noticing Charles try to hide a smile, too.

“If I have to hear one more story about how he was in the navy, I swear, I might not make it through this.” As serious as she sounded, she smiled too.

“Things went smoothly, I presume?”

The air instantly turned bitter when Dutch approached the three of them. John quickly turned to unlatch the back of the wagon, trying his best to seem preoccupied with unloading the supplies.

“We had no trouble on the roads,” he heard Charles respond.

“Good, good.” Dutch came up beside John, bringing a foot up to lean on the side of the wagon. He could feel his eyes on him as he passed a crate of ammunition to Sadie.

“Them scars still pretty raw,” John only glanced at Dutch when he spoke.

“The new ones or the old ones.” He instantly regretted his response, feeling depleted from the sudden burst of bravery he had.

Dutch burnt holes into John, who was just able to catch the way his jaw clenched. “Exactly.”

“Those are some pretty tough lookin’ scars you got, John,” Sadie interjected when she picked up another crate, making him remember it wasn’t just him and Dutch in that moment.

John scoffed, “I wouldn’t call it tough. I’m either stupid or slow… and I cannot decide which. Either way, seems I keep getting caught, these just happen to be from some wolves I was lucky enough to run into.”

“We all get caught eventually, John, I guess the trick is to decide by who.” Dutch didn’t skip a beat, not moving his gaze from John for the entirety of their conversation. John did face Dutch at that, not able to hide the questionable look he gave.

“Seems like you’ve been getting caught by a few things. Not just wolves or knives.”

Both Sadie and Charles now fixed their attention on Dutch, too.

Dutch cleared his throat, “anyways, I won’t keep you. Good job on getting the supplies.”

John dropped his gaze on one of the crates of supplies, not daring to follow his attention after Dutch when he departed their conversation.

“What the hell was that about?” Sadie said once it was just the three of them again.

“I don’t know.” John replied shorty, still avoiding anyone’s eyes. For a split second, he could see Charles and Sadie share a look before he picked up the crate and quickly left for the safety of the med wagon. When he was alone, he placed the crate down and let out a shaky breath. He noticed his hands trembling, moving them to clench his arms as he crossed them so they might stop.

He didn’t know what Dutch meant by what he had said to John, but it deeply unsettled him anyway. What scared him even more was the fact that Dutch didn’t feel the need to limit these conversations to be between only the two of them anymore. Not knowing how to react when targeted so publicly in front of Sadie and Charles.

As he idly stood there, John came to the conclusion that he needed to have some space between himself and the camp for a while. Rushing back to his tent, he gathered a few things to make the long awaited trip to town. Knowing a few days in Valentine would do him some good to clear his head and keep him preoccupied with the lead he’d found there earlier.

With his satchel full and his mind set, he planned to head out first thing in the morning, this time with no distractions.