#so just like where it all began - micah and arthur both died on a mountain

[arthursfuckinghat]

I know a lot of people wanted John to have shot and killed Micah first, but there's something so awfully poetic about Dutch being the one who had shot him.

How Micah, in those mere moments, felt the same betrayal that Arthur had felt when Dutch left him on that mountain, despite being the one who was supposed to betray Dutch.

Micah thought he was untouchable after manipulating and driving a wedge into the gang, but he was blindsided by the very man he tried to align himself with. Dutch’s betrayal of Micah feels like a really distorted reflection of what Arthur wanted - for Dutch to see what damage Micah had done. But it's just a reminder of the sick cycle of loyalty and betrayal that defined Dutch as a character.

John pulling the trigger first would have been satisfying, but Dutch's choice gives it a haunting depth that sticks with you.

"You shot me.. you shot me pretty good."

[2demondogs]

Heartbreaking Charthur angst. Like a "What if..." Charles never left to help Rains fall and was there for Arthurs' end (high honor, help John ending)?

Anon I see ur vision, I respect your smoke, you are real for this, etc ad nauseam.

Any incorrect details um... blame it on the alternate timeline. I'll be honest I didn't proofread cuz this shit made me sad.

Words: 1.7k Tags: sickfic... :), character death, stream of consciousness, a lot of nondenominational religious Thoughts, major spoilers

Arthur had realized, since his first and last doctor's office visit, just how much time there was in a day.

Job after job after job and all that precious time he had never realized was slipping by. He wished he had never slept, for one; he hoped in the afterlife, if there was one, he might never sleep, because all things must end eventually, as he is still learning, and he'd hate to make the same mistakes twice.

He thought the Devil would look like Dutch, God save his soul — does he, here, mean himself, Satan, or Dutch? Arthur still doesn't know, supposes that they all need saved just as badly — and that he'd be worker of the month down there, too.

Turning tricks, maybe, wouldn't that be funny, workhorse to company pony, he thought recently, and then the pains started in earnest because workhorse wasn't always his middle name and it hurt badly to think of the days before.

Arthur still wants to go back.

It's been nearly an hour since Micah kicked him in the ribs. He knows, because he has become good at telling time, as if the universe is letting him on all those preternatural secrets a little early. It hurts so badly that it has ceased hurting at all— wouldn't he be sad to know it, if Charles had not shot him once Dutch had discarded him, too.

So many emotions on the matter of Dutch, yet no time to feel them. It's a good thing he began grieving him when Hosea died.

Instead of the sharp, white-hotness that he had worried was a rib puncturing his already squeezed lungs, there is now a constant ache throughout his body, maybe his very soul; he had used all of his breath screaming when Charles tried to move him, has not gotten one good one in since, and he thinks they both know the truth.

It's all up to one cough.

One last kick in the ass and it's lights out for old Mister Morgan, because that rattling in his breath can only mean one thing.

Charles kneels before where he lays on his side, looks down at him the way he had looked at that gored horse they came across while hunting, months ago— the way he looked at it before he told Arthur to put it out of its misery. He couldn't pull the trigger, even if he knew it was the kind thing to do. There is something meaningful in that memory which Arthur cannot think of words for, but he understands it the way men understand things when they are dying: silently, and completely.

Why is Charles so quiet, now? Arthur's eyes fall shut, and he cannot find the strength to open them for a long time.

He wouldn't be greedy if God came to him and said sure, son, you all look like ants from here, I'll drop you back into seventy-eight. Blood is seeping into his lungs, has to be, and every drop makes Heaven and Hell sound a whole lot more real.

In a perfect world, he might have left and made house with Eliza or made himself suitable for Mary, swallowed that boring life the happy way most men do. Because he would know. He would work in a mine and he would be happy to breathe in the coal, because he would know.

His wedding ring, he would know that, too, and suddenly this split-second daydream becomes a nightmare all over again.

I need to move on, Arthur, she wrote. It was one less thing to leave behind.

Sometimes he wished that Charles went, too, that he had chosen the type of belonging he'd grieved so often or that he had chosen Dutch, never to be on this mountain in the first place. That he had spat on Arthur and left him without a trace of his mortal life as he lay here dying, none except the familiarity of the sun breaking the sky and the grass dancing in the valley below — dancing, what a funny word for it, or maybe he's just hallucinating as his consciousness begins to slip to—

Well, wherever it's going to go.

No matter what, Arthur wishes that Charles did not look at him that way when he decided to stick around. They both knew it was because of Arthur, and they both knew it was temporary. He's been giving him the same look. Something like love, and grief.

I'm not dead, he wants to tell him, but Arthur knows there's no difference now and Charles doesn't deserve any more lies, anyways.

He lied to everyone, and selfishly.

How many of them will die? Hosea was coughin' more. Was I contagious before...?

That day, Arthur had realized just what all those science folks mean when they say humans are brief, in the grand scheme of things even if he was not egotistical enough to believe life begins and ends with himself— but men are temporary, and there's only been so many of them, and there only will be so many of them. He had marveled at the huge, ancient bones he found for that odd little critter of a lady, months ago.

Just yesterday, he entertained the idea that God had been real even before he needed Him most, and that He was telling him something by crossing their paths: Life before you, life after you. Don't get comfortable.

Rest assured, Big Man, he thinks, I am not.

But somehow, he almost is.

Death is certain, now. There is no guessing here, no waiting without knowing.

Some divine intervention, he's sure all dead men receive it as a consolation prize of sorts for completing the great big task of living. Charles' large, warm hand is on his shoulder, light as a feather. He tries to speak, even though he can barely think in words, and all he manages is a groan that comes from deep in his gut.

Arthur wishes he would crush him, that he'd hold him even if it made him scream in agony. He wishes Charles was—

Was—

No, he doesn't. He doesn't want Charles to give him the mercy execution.

Arthur just wishes he were not giving Charles his own form of execution. He is laying still, grimacing hard each time the shallow raise and fall of his chest makes his body scream. Charles has no idea what he is feeling, but he must be able to see on Arthur's face that he's feeling things inside his body which should not be happening: the sac of his lung ripping further open, his bowels threatening to let go, his sternum pressed tight to the skin above from a week of near-starvation because there is no amount of food that could feed the disease that is eating him alive.

He knows how it feels to watch a man you love die, even if his had been his father and he's certain that it's harder at their present age, and when you've chosen to love someone. No hands of blood had pushed them together.

Arthur wishes he had known it sooner.

He doesn't know if he ever wants to hear it from Charles' mouth, but he blinks his eyes open as the vague, misty image of that day finally fades for good. The sky is breaking hard beyond the shadow of Charles' form. It is glorious as sunrises always are. He feels his bones grinding on one another. He is clenching his teeth so hard, his molars are about to be pushed through the gums and into his mandible.

Never one for making his own decisions, Arthur wonders again if God is real or if he is coping with this horribleness in the only way he knows how: relying on someone else.

Again, he wants Charles to crush him. Even if it stabs the broken rib through his lung and out his back, even if it kills him before he can use his last breath to find out how his throat smells— he wants Charles to be the one to hold him.

Hosea is gone. So is Dutch. Arthur would long for Charles even if they were both here, although alarmingly he feels as though Hosea is somewhere around him — he cannot see, smell, or hear him but he knows it silently, and completely.

I love him, Arthur is thinking, has no time to study how selfish he would have felt just one month ago for his desires in this moment. Dead men cannot regret any longer, or maybe regret becomes like the pain when you are dead, grows so big that it blocks out the sun of peace. He made me feel safe, he thinks, already in the past tense, as if he is rehearsing what he will tell all the fellow skeletons.

He squints through the morning light and finds Charles' face, drawn tight in an expression he has never, ever seen before.

His eyes are open sores. He's never looked more like an angel.

With the last of his breath, Arthur opens his mouth and finds it suddenly very hard to draw in air. His throat itches, and if he swallows this cough he will simply choke on his own vomit instead— so he begins to hack, feels his lungs decompressing and the violent convulsions through his abdominal wall as things that are not meant to touch it touch it.

He gets his wish, because Charles is curling around him. He wants to shove him away, but then he doesn't; if Charles is going to get sick, he already has, and this is all he could have ever wanted in this moment. Charles is warm, and his chest presses over Arthur's jolting side as if holding him still, and he realizes the man has been talking but he has no time to regret not listening.

He's forgotten English, anyways, doesn't think in words anymore but feels everything. His throat thickens with the metallic taste of blood and his body squeezes, squeezes— Arthur goes stiff in panic and shock, fingers of both hands clawing into Charles' arm, and if either of them were sober the blood his nails draw would be felt.

In the moments before he can no longer breathe, he sees — with that nonmaterial eye that shows men dreams, nightmares, the best novels — something like peace.

Yes, Hosea feels very close now, and Charles, very far away.

[darlingsdevil]

The Ballads of Rebirth (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter 2: “Daffodils”

A/N: Have I mentioned this entire fic came to me while listening to Big Fish the musical?

Masterlist

•••

It had been three months since you had last seen Arthur, and you had come to terms with your husband’s death. You ended up in Richfield, a large city just on the other side of the Grizzlies. Quite literally, there was a mountain between you and your old life.

You saw Arthur in the bookstore when you pulled a book from a shelf, he was there for a split second staring right back at you through the shelves with a shy smile and twinkling blue eyes that dazzled like Flat Iron Lake. It took your breath away and pure joy and panic swelled in your heart every time. He was there at the end of the street, packing up Boadicea, just around the corner of the saloon, but when you blinked and came to your senses, he was gone. You knew it was insane, and you knew damn well he wasn’t coming back from the grave, but still you relished those moments, only if he was there for less than a second. It was like the winds from the Grizzlies had come down and swept him away, and with those winds, your hope. But those winds brought in the spring air, the ones that began to regrow your garden that had froze over.

Time was a wise healer. Arthur’s death was devastating and painful and everyday you felt the aftermath of your past mistakes. You had only recently been married to Arthur, only two months prior to his death so barely anyone knew that you had taken up the last name Morgan. Still, you kept your answers short when people asked you of your life before Richfield “The City of Opportunity”. You feared someone would recognize you, so you stayed from the more crowded areas of the city.

Life had been rough since the gang’s demise but things were beginning to look up, you rode with John for a month until you decided Richfield was where you wanted to be. John had enough on his plate, trying to keep him and his family alive in a cruel world, and he wanted to put as much distance as he could between him and wherever the hell Dutch and Micah were. Abigail begged you to stay a little longer with them, but you declined the offer. Richfield was a good of a place as any other.

Luckily, you were able to find a job at a general store within a few days of getting dropped off in Richfield and you had enough money to rent a small apartment above the general store within two weeks of your arrival there. Richfield was a new industrial city, lots of steel mills, but the people weren’t your average city folk. It was up and coming, so many of the citizens had lived there when it was just a small farming town. The only farms left were the ones on the outskirts of the city, but most of them had been turned commercial.

Richfield was a new start, you only hoped you could leave that old life behind even if you did still hold onto some hope that Arthur was still alive. That small sliver of wishful thinking was waning everyday, the odds of him making it off that mountain were greatly against him and you had come to terms with it then, but after no word from any of your former friends you began to become worried of your friends fates.

•••

Arthur’s cough got better with each passing day. It had been three months since Charles pulled a dying Arthur into Wapiti. At the beginning of his treatment, it was horrible, Charles was sure he would wake up one day and Arthur would be dead, but months passed and he hadn’t died yet.

His coughing was less frequent and with less ferocity, Charles had brought Arthur into the Valentine doctor a week ago, and there had been less fluid in his lungs which was a wonderful sign. Arthur’s body was fighting a hard battle, the recovery was slow and painstaking. The first month was dreadful and he was bedridden, fevers accompanied him frequently creating horrible dreams and delirious moments. He had passed out from coughing the second month once when Charles was out hunting and the healer woman, Mahala had nursed him back to health.

During the second month, Charles decided to begin building a home four miles south of Wapiti. The people of a Wapiti had given them so much already, it would be rude to take more from a group of people who had already lost so much.

It was a small cabin near a lake, but it was strong and sturdy. Wildlife was abundant there. Arthur wasn’t quite strong enough for the move yet, but soon he would be. Arthur claimed he was ready to go, but Charles knew better. Arthur was becoming ansty and the people of Wapiti were weary of his long stay and the people Charles and Arthur used to be associated with.

Charles spoke little of the gang and Arthur hadn’t asked about you, but he sure did think about you. Arthur decided it was the best at the moment if he didn’t seek you out, he would just pull himself deeper into his sickness. It tore at him that he thought this way, that he was so selfish, but it was simply for the best. It was wiser to allow the dust to settle then to kick up even more. Arthur worried for you constantly and he secretly hoped you were searching for him too even if he knew that you presumed him dead. You had both said your goodbyes, and Arthur was fine with being dead to you at the moment.

•••

“Why do you wear that ring? You’ve never mentioned being married.” Lee asked you one day while you swept the floors of the general store. He had no filter, but he never intentionally said something that would hurt you.

“It was my husband’s ring.” You said bluntly, continuing with your sweeping. You stopped to fix a jar of peaches that had fallen over and you remembered Arthur’s secret sweet tooth he had, that only you and Jack had known about.

Lee was taken aback by your short answer, his hands stopped counting the money in the drawer.

“Oh.. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” His ears burned with shame, cursing his curious tongue.

“It’s alright.” You said shaking your head.

It was late at night, the general store had been closed for an hour. A caravan had stopped during the day, and the patrons were rowdy, they messed up the towers of canned foods and didn’t bother to pick them back up so it took even longer to close the store. The caravan was a mirror of the gang, near 25 men and women, a few children. It was bittersweet to see them, even if they had messed up your store, you knew your group was far from civilized. You longed for the days around the campfire, everyone laughing and smiling, but it had been so long since then, and much had changed.

Lee was a close friend of yours, he was the son of the old man who owned the shop, and the only other worker there. He was playful and teased you a lot, but he was kind and thoughtful. You could tell he was sweet on you, and perhaps you were a little bit as well. It was too soon, Arthur barely dead and you were already blushing around another man. It was shameful.

You finally finished your sweeping, Lee leaned against the counter, eyeing a butterscotch sweet next to the counter. You sighed.

“Just take it.”

Lee grinned like a child, plucking the butterscotch off the small dish.

He turned around towards the front door, locking it with ease. You turned towards the stairs that led up to your apartment. Lee and his father's apartment was directly below yours.

Lee quickly opened the door for you, the stairwell was dim. You hated walking up it, it was steep and rickety. The building itself was one of the oldest in the city, it held heavy memories. Lee’s mother had passed away in the house while giving birth to her second child, Lee’s little sister, Anastasia. Anastasia ran away when she was 17, to marry an outlaw. Apparently, that got her killed. Lee received word of her death a few years ago, he hadn’t seen her since the day she left, he didn’t even know where she was buried. The life of an outlaw never ended well.

Lee never spoke of her much, all you knew was that she was passionate and opinionated, a true wild card and you could tell the outlaw life would’ve done her well. Lee had a strong hate for outlaws and criminals because of it, he still didn’t know about your past and you intended to keep it that way.

Lee’s father was a kind man, he was quiet but you could tell he loved Lee very much. He wasn’t around much, he spent most of his time in his room but occasionally he would help run the shop.

You reached the platform outside of Lee’s apartment. He stopped right behind you, dangerously close. Your heart pounded in your ears. It didn’t help that the platform was incredibly small either. You turned to face him.

“Give me your hand.” He said, almost a whisper. You reached out your hand and he placed a small round object on it, under further inspection you realized it was a butterscotch candy.

You smiled, looking back up at him. He had a shy grin plastered on his face. You were thankful of the darkness of the stairwell, otherwise he would have seen your ferocious blushing.

“Goodnight, Lee.” You kissed him on the cheek, grasping your candy firmly in your palm, and you calmly made your way up to your apartment, leaving Lee flustered on the doorstep.

•••

On a particularly warm day, despite it being fall, Arthur arose from his bed to take a walk around the perimeter. Mahala eyed him cautiously but he simply smiled, something he was becoming better at. Mahala had become close with Arthur, she was like another Miss Grimshaw, a tough love mother to him. Charles was out for the day, and Rains Fall was nowhere to be found. It was quiet in the village.

The sun was bright and the crispness of the air felt wonderful to Arthur. His legs were still tense from lying down for so long, they felt heavy and strange.

Arthur missed the days of hunting, just getting on Boadicea and riding into the sunset. He missed not being watched every second, Mahala and Charles fretting over him every second. He missed the days where he could spread his wings and fly. He was caged at the moment, and an injured bird cannot fly. An injured bird still has the instinct to soar, even if the owners are particularly kind.

But Arthur knew this calm, peacefulness was just what he needed. After a life of running, he needed a place to become grounded for once.

He found himself walking further and further, farther than he’d ever walked before. He found himself at a slow stream, the water trickling over the rocks. The birds sang through the trees and Arthur found himself sitting down next to the water.

He studied the terrain, wishing he would have kept his journal with him. This was a perfect place for a landscape sketch. The next time Charles went into Valentine, he would have to ask for a new journal.

On the other side of the stream, there was a bright yellow flower. It was strange to see, it stuck out against the dark greens and grays of the forest.

“It’s a daffodil.” A voice spoke from behind him, making him jump. Mahala stood next to Arthur, her hands on her hips.

“What would have happened if something attacked you out here? Could you have fought them off?” She asked the former outlaw, glaring at him like she had caught her child with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Well I didn’t get attacked, did I? Besides, I was just lookin’ at that flower. What'd you say it was? A daffodil?” He asked, pointing towards the sun colored flower.

Mahala glared at him before returning her attention to the flower, her gaze softened.

“Yes. The rebirth flower.”

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Epilogue 1

Take Me Home

Warnings: None!

Word count: ~2000

Masterlist 

Read on AO3

This version of the epilogue has no kids between reader and Arthur - if you want kids, read version 2 here

You wake up to the sounds of birds singing. Stretching, you open your eyes to view the canvas above your head. It takes a moment for you to wake up enough to sit up, but when you do, you see the tent’s empty. Arthur must already be out. 

Stepping out of the tent, you find him kneeling next to the fire. He greets you as you gaze around Cattail Pond before sitting down next to him. He’s just finished cooking some bacon that he packed along for the trip. When you’re seated, he pulls you into a big hug, kissing your temple affectionately. 

It’s been five years since he found you near Aurora Basin in Tall Trees. Five long, mostly good years, although you both still often remember the time you spent with the gang, both the good and the bad. 

After you left the gang and Hamish died, you decided to head out west where you both belonged. He wanted to go down as far south as New Austin near Tumbleweed, but you never liked it much down there. Too hot, too dry. Not enough green. When he asked you where you’d prefer going to, you automatically said Big Valley near Strawberry. To your surprise, he happily agreed. 

He found a good patch in the forest near the huge meadow. Said it was the perfect spot for you both to spend the rest of your lives as there was plenty of space and lots of game to hunt, plus Strawberry wasn’t too far. There, Arthur built you a home. You said it would be easier to just buy one of those premade homes you’d been hearing about. It would take less time and energy, plus it could be built before winter, but Arthur hated the idea. He said he wanted to build you something with his bare hands. You were sure he did it because you’d both lost so much recently and he just wanted something good to come from it. 

However, money was very tight when he began. The only money you had was the little from your satchel, which certainly wasn’t enough to buy the right tools for the job or horses or oxen to help. Arthur recalled the money left in Blackwater and he was sure Dutch or any of the others hadn’t gone back looking for it. So one night, you both snuck in and found, in a large tree near a headstone marked “Greta Van der Linde”, a small chest hidden inside with over $50,000. Neither of you could believe your luck, but you wasted no time in taking it. 

With the new money, Arthur bought two oxen, tools and even hired a few hands to help him cut down the lumber and shape it before building it. While he and the hands worked, you worked on getting a garden going. 

Soon after, the two of you got married. It was easily the happiest day of your life. It was very simple and few guests were there to witness it. Charlotte was one of them. She’d travelled all the way from Annesburg to Strawberry, but she said she wouldn’t dream of missing it. Charles was there as well. Word of the gang’s misfortunes had gotten to him up north. He believed you were both dead, but when he found no signs of your bodies, he pieced the story together and knew you’d both head west. He was the only one from the gang you and Arthur saw after John left. You wished he, Abigail, Jack and Sadie could have been there as well, but you’d heard nothing from them. They probably believed you and Arthur to be dead. 

The structure of the house took months to build and then winter came, which forced Arthur to stop building onto it. It didn’t stop him from continuing to cut the smaller pieces, such as the roof tiles. He also worked on getting the fireplace built so that the two of you could huddle under your tent and be warm near the fire in what would be the living room. 

It took two years until the house was finished and Arthur couldn’t have been prouder. He said it was for you, but you reminded him it was for his benefit as well. A few months later, he built a barn so Buell could have a proper stall. The old morgan you’d stolen died a few months previously, taken down by a broken leg. It was sad, but not as painful as losing Rannoch or Rain, both of whom you still miss deeply. It was easy to see Arthur still missed Artemis. 

When the barn was built, you and Arthur bought two milking cows and chickens, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to make your home into a functioning ranch. Arthur had other ideas, however. He came home one day with four mares and an exceptionally handsome blood bay thoroughbred stallion named Jake, stating he wanted to breed horses. You couldn’t say no, he seemed so excited. 

You still felt bad that you couldn’t give Arthur children. You knew he’d be a wonderful father, but he said he was actually happy you couldn’t. He said that after Eliza and Isaac, he didn’t want kids because he was scared he’d mess up or that what happened to them could happen to you. His heart simply couldn’t bear that pain. 

Arthur hands you the bacon and then leans back a bit on his hands. 

“What you thinkin’ about?” he asks. 

“Nothing really. Just how pretty it is out here.” He chuckles softly and kisses your head again. You were the one who asked to go on this hunting trip, still not liking to be tied to one place for too long, as beautiful as your home is. Arthur’s much the same way. He simply spent too much time moving from one place to the next with the gang that he gets easily frustrated when he’s been cooped up too long. 

“Reckon we should head back soon though. Carson will probably need help fixin’ the fence.” 

You sigh. Carson is a boy from Strawberry. He was the first hand Arthur hired to help build the house and then, to your surprise, built him a small one-room cabin not far from the property. When you asked him why, he stated that when he helped Micah escape the Strawberry prison, Micah killed a man and his wife. Carson happened to be their only son and he was all alone, except for his yellow lab Lily. Arthur felt guilty for Carson’s fate, so he invited the boy to live on your land and work as a hand. 

It was one of the best things Arthur’s done. Carson’s a pleasant, kind and thoughtful boy. He works well with the horses, but his affection for them is nothing compared to how he treats Lily. 

You could tell Arthur really liked her as well, but she wasn’t his dog so they couldn’t have the same relationship. So, for his birthday, you bought Arthur a mountain dog puppy. He and that puppy were in love at first sight and he named him Timber. From that moment on, they were inseparable. 

Timber runs over to Arthur now, his paws dirty from digging and his tail wagging. Arthur rubs his ears happily.

“Hey boah,” he says. Timber groans happily and then turns to lick you in the face. “You ready to see Lily?” 

Timber barks. He and Lily are extremely close. Not only that, Timber makes for a wonderful herding dog. He’s very protective of the new foals and when the horses are let out in the big meadow to graze, he watches them like a hawk. 

You and Arthur pack up your tent and douse the fire before mounting up on your horses. You pat your dapple bay breton mare who you named Ruby after Rain’s mother. She’s as big and tough as Artemis was, but looks nothing like her otherwise.  Arthur hops onto Buell’s back and together, you ride home laiden with pelts.You’ll likely keep a couple and then sell the rest. Your saddlebags are bulging with fresh herbs, which you’ll hang in the barn to dry.

After nearly an hour’s travel, you see the trail leading off to Pinewood Crest, your home. Arthur had wanted to name it Hosea’s Rest but you stated you needed to keep a low profile and try your best not to have any affiliations with the gang for both your protection. Carson waves to you from the meadow, where the mares and their foals are grazing. Timber runs over to Lily, barking madly. 

“Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Collins,” he says, running over. 

You both say hello and head to the barn to dismount and unsaddle. It was Arthur’s idea to change your aliases. You suggested keeping the name Tacitus Kilgore as it was easy for you to remember, but he said it wasn’t smart. That name was likely associated with Dutch now. Instead, he said he’d go by the name William Arthur Collins, that way if you called him Arthur, people wouldn’t find it suspicious. You also changed your name to Y/F/N Alice Collins. 

After putting everything away and hanging the herbs up to dry, you go out and stand at the edge of the meadow, watching the horses and cows grazing, Timber and Lily rolling in the grass. Arthur comes up from behind and folds his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. 

You sigh and rest your head against him, still watching the foals. There’s a small colt who looks exactly like Rain at that age and you named him Thunder. He kicks his heels, trotting circles around his bay mother named Willow. She ignores him, continuing to graze with the three other mares. Thunder runs near Buell and kicks out near him in play, but Buell just lifts his head, rumbles and then goes back to grazing. Ruby starts rolling in the dirt, making you laugh.

“Thought you were helping Carson fix the fence?” you ask. 

“Ah, he’s got it for a minute. Besides, you looked so happy over here, had to come be with ya.” 

He kisses your temple again. You turn and meet his lips with yours. He smiles against your lips and then looks out to the meadow once more. After everything you’ve done over your life, after all the suffering and hardship, you’d do it all over again if you knew it’d lead you here. You are happy. 

The End

**Thank you all so much for going on this journey with me. It breaks my heart to end this fic, but it has been such an amazing ride. I would never have gotten far without all the encouragement I’ve received. I cannot express my gratitude in words, but I’m still amazed at how this led me to meet so many amazing people and the friendships I’ve made because of this fic that was inspired by the incredible game Red Dead Redemption 2. Thank you all so much!**

[zenexitwrites]

hello all! i was in the @rdrsecretcupid2020 this year and got a super cute partner @nattravn-stuff ! i was quite happy to do some poly arthur/john/abigail for you!  here is the ao3 link and the fic will also be under the cut!

title: sunset rated: T major warnings: none

Arthur sat up in the bed, a groggy sense of heat clinging to him. The kind that made his whole body feel clammy while he slept. Over his chest sat a large bandage, where he had been shot a few days prior by Micah. It had not been in the heart, or any organs, blessed by some unknown grade of god he had never known.

Looking out the window in the small room Arthur had been sleeping in, he could see the lights on the horizon getting low. Reds and pinks mixing together in gentle swirls as the sky began its heavenly descent. There was a tiredness to Arthur’s bones that he had been fighting for months, but wanted to give into so badly. During the time leading up to the final showdown with Micah and Dutch, Arthur was sure he wasn’t going to get out of all of this alive. There was just a sinking feeling deep in his chest, down into the very depths of his bones, that had filled him with dread. A disease like feeling, that Arthur didn’t deserve to get out of all of this alive. Like the best way he could save his soul, or any of those that mattered to him, was to let it all go from his hands. To sacrifice himself on that mountain, to do whatever it took to get John and Abigail, and their family, out of there. 

It was in those moments, watching a sunset not that different from the one Arthur could see right now, that Arthur had let his eyes lower and drop, feeling suns fading light for what he thought would be the last time while clutching bullet wounds he had expected to kill him.

In the end though, it had been more than that. Another had come to the mountain and pulled Arthur off, a desperate John who had learned from a young age never to give up a breath would be the last. A choking noose might feel final, but there could always be one last saving bullet. 

He might not feel worthy in any sort of way, but Arthur had little choice aside from laying there watching that sunset. He could hear faint sounds past the thick wood door that separated Arthur from the rest of the house. It was Abigail in the kitchen, and Arthur could make out the lightest notes of her humming to herself as she worked. He closed his eyes for a moment then, trying to let the moment sink in. This divine world that felt like sunlight on gently blown grass, the kind he never thought himself worthy of. 

John had taken his horse out to go hunting that day, and was now showing Jack outside how to brush him out properly. How to desaddle a horse and clean its hooves, moving over the belts and brushes with his son carefully. Arthur knew after dinner it would be time for Abigail and John to settle Jack into bed, and Arthur cursed himself every night he was just adding another burden on the two of them. Even times like now, where Abigail was singing to herself with a heart full of love, and John was finally learning to show how he really felt towards his son, Arthur couldn’t help the weight on his chest. The guilt that said it was his job as a man and a human to do something for these people, to help make their lives easier. 

A soft but confident knock on the door preceded Abigail opening it a crack and looking in on Arthur before smiling all the way up to her eyes. Arthur had never appreciated the freckles that went across her face until he had spent more time with Miss Roberts in the past few days, her loving hands helping him as best they could. 

“Arthur, are you ready to eat?” Abigail asked, a bowl of stew in her hand. 

Arthur forced a smile on his face. Or, attempted to. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Abigail. In fact, two of the biggest lights in this entire thing had been her and John. Of course, Jack too, but there was something different in the air between the three of them. Something that felt a little bit more charged than before. 

As far as the world knew, Arthur Morgan had died on the mountain. He had bled to death in his weakened state from the injuries he had sustained from Micah. Revenge was a fools game, and John had taken to running with his family instead, leaving this life behind. The world didn’t need to know about Abigail and Jack hudding next to Arthur in the back of a cart, a large cover draped over the two of them while John rode like hell itself was chasing them. Maybe it was, maybe those licks of guilt and shame and death that Arthur felt around the corners of his mind so clearly, had been the kind only a fool like Marston could run from and manage to get away. Hands in his pockets with hard stolen treasures, in this case a family he had never known he needed, with Arthur a man who had never known how to say how much he wanted.

“I could eat.” Arthur said plainly, and tried to sit up before groaning. Pain moved through his body and Abigail sighed loudly while shaking her head.

“You gotta stop doin’ that, Arthur, you know you’re gonna tear your stitches out.” Abigail pulled the wood chair in the room closer to the bed and neatly laid the bowl and spoon in her lap and began to feed Arthur.

Arthur reluctantly sipped on the stew after Abigail would blow gently on it. Miss Roberts made him miss Pearson’s cooking. She wasn’t bad at it exactly, and she put her whole heart into it, but… She wasn’t exactly good. Arthur knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth though, and didn’t complain. He was man enough to admit he never wanted to be on the bad side of Abigail’s anger, especially when she was trying and working so hard to nurse him back to health. 

Hell, even John had been trying. He had come in twice a day to help Arthur up and out of the house out back. For Arthur to take care of his business, and to give him a chance to sit in the wild he cared so much for. Jack had brought coloring equipment to Arthur’s side, and asked him to draw with him. Something that had helped the long hours of the day where Arthur could keep his eyes open go faster. 

There was something so nice about being part of this family, Arthur didn’t think he deserved it, but he couldn’t help but secretly long for the chance to stay. For him to get well on his feet and get to ride with John, bringing home large game they could bicker about who had caught better while Abigail would laugh and tell them to help strip it for dinner. Arthur wanted to teach Jack more, to help the hole in his heart feel a little bit lighter from all the times he had been aching for something just like a son to fill. Arthur wanted to laugh at John and his attempts to dance with Abigail, to try to show them both up when requested, and then be even worse. Arthur wanted to succumb to that Marston charm that everyone fell for so easily, and count stars with him at night once more. He wanted to stand behind Abigail and help her slice vegetables and just get to take in every part of her, and appreciate something in this world that didn’t smell like an outhouse. Arthur knew it was selfish, but he wanted to feel what it would be like to be tucked up between the two of them while he slept. How it would be to have both John and Abigail under his arms, while staring up at a night sky free of society’s touches. 

Getting to the last of the stew, Abigail scraped the bowl getting the last bits to offer Arthur who humbly ate it. She smiled at him again, in a way that made his heart feel light. The kind of smile that could make a man forget about his guilt, his shame and loss, and just get lost in the moment of. 

“Was it good this time?” Abigail asked, looking quite pleased with herself.

“Yes ma'am, it always is.” Arthur said with a small laugh that only made his body ache a little. “Thank you for doing all this for me.”

Abigail rolled her eyes as she stood. She put the bowl on the chair for a moment and began to straighten her dress, pressing down the folds and wrinkles that were on her skirt.

“Arthur, you know it’s not a problem. John and I are happy to do this for you.” Abigail leaned over then and pressed a soft kiss to Arthur’s forehead, and he let his eyes flutter closed for a minute while his cheeks burned hot. 

Before Arthur could reply, Abigail continued.

“John and Jack will be inside soon, they want to eat dinner in here with you. I think Jack is excited to tell you everything about today. Is that alright with you?” Abigail fussed with Arthur’s hair for a moment, finger combing it away from his forehead.

Arthur looked into her eyes and smiled.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Ello! May I request a kinda sad rdr2 fanfiction? So, moments before Arthur dies, John is running away to get to his family not looking back, just how Arthur told him to. But what if John saw the fight between Arthur and Micah from afar, meaning him also seeing his death. What would be his reaction? (Hopefully I don't bother ya)

*SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN’T GUESSED*

[[READ MORE]]

Okay so this is like the first time that I’m not writing a Reader Insert, so I hope it goes to plan lol. Hopefully it’s not shit, but I’m tired :’( It’ll only be a small drabble though, if that’s okay (there isn’t too much I can think of to say). I’m also doing the honourable ending (that is most likely the one insinuated lmao).

(Also fuck you for making me watch him die again oml my heart is hurting-- that fucking scene, dudes get ready to bawl with me.)

Arthur needed John.

John needed Arthur.

They were brothers, after all. And brothers were there for each other. 

He wasn’t going to let Arthur fight this on his own. Not after all he’s done for him.

He peered through the trees, barely able to get a clear image without his binoculars. Micah and Arthur were tussling, and they were tussling hard. “C’mon, Arthur,” he found himself muttering. “Kill that son of a bitch.”

He couldn’t do anything but watch; he’s too far away to do anything. As reassurance, he checked his six shooter (not that it could reach that far). 

No bullets. Great.

John checked his binoculars again.

Micah had Arthur against the wall, slowly choking him. When Arthur kicked him away, he couldn’t help but smile. “C’mon, brother.” There was a lot of pushing around, but Micah seemed to be very good at staying on his feet. “Push him off the cliff, you moron.”

Micah was pummelling Arthur on the ground by now, and he threw him off in a final act of defiance, but John could sense that it wouldn’t be long now; it was taking longer and longer for Arthur to stand up and ready himself. There’s talking… There’s a lot of talking, but John can’t make out a word. His head is bashed against the wall and then suddenly they’re both on the ground. 

What John really wants to say is, “Get off of him, you sick bastard!” and then he’d grab Micah by his collar and throw him right off the cliff he was standing on. 

If only he wasn’t such a fucking coward. 

Arthur was crawling, and Dutch suddenly appeared out of nowhere; John could feel himself scowling, “Selfish bastard.” 

They talked some more, and then the two standing left. John saw how Dutch just… left the equivalent of his son to die on a mountain… alone. Looking back, John knew that was the moment where he vowed vengeance on his brother. He couldn’t watch him struggle like this, and began to sprint up the mountain as fast as he could; maybe he could save Arthur. Just maybe.

“Arthur? Arthur?!” He found himself panicking. Just as he thought he might have escaped, he saw his boots. 

“Arthur!” The rising sun highlighted his features, all bloodied and bruised. “Hey, hey, Arthur! Can you hear me?!” He knelt beside his body, not sure whether to believe his eyes. “Don’t you leave me, Arthur!”

He knew it was too late, and for him, he could only blame himself.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. For everything. For not believing you about Micah, for abandoning you, for that one time when we were kids and I spooked your horse and you broke your arm.” He sat down beside him, tears staining his cheeks. 

“I’ll do better, Arthur. For Abigail, and for Jack.

“I’ll be better, Arthur. But I can’t do it on my own.”

A twig snapped, and John’s head shot up, pointing his empty pistol at what could be a threat.

Instead, there was a doe, peaking curiously at him. 

Behind her was a newborn fawn.

[saxonspud]

Chapter 5 - Don’t Pity Me

You watched as Dutch stared at Arthur. It was difficult to gage the expression on his face. When you looked at Arthur's face, you saw his expression as plain as day. It was a look of surprise.

Sure, it was ok for Outlaws to kill people, but a girl? You could tell what he was thinking. It wasn't just the fact that a girl had killed someone. It was the fact that you were barely more than a child, when you killed him, and you had killed your father, your own flesh and blood.

You looked down at the floor, not able to look either of them in the face.

“You hate me now. Just like everyone else. You’d hate me less if I were just an O’Driscoll!” You sighed.

Dutch, who still hadn't let go of your hands, squeezed them gently.

“Of course we don’t hate you sweetheart, its just...” He hesitated.

Arthur cupped your jaw in his hand, turning your head to look at him. He stroked your cheek, back and forth with his thumb.

“We couldn’t hate you, Kitten. We’re just a little bit surprised is all.” He smiled gently.

Arthur held your gaze, you couldn't seem to avert your eyes from his. It was like staring into the ocean.

“I...I ain't sorry,” you gasped. “He...he...” you stuttered.

Arthur shushed you, “you don't have to explain, we know he weren’t a good father.”

His hand moved from your face, and rested on your shoulder.

You trembled slightly, not used to anyone touching you so gently.

You looked up at Dutch, who was now standing.

“What about your mama?” Dutch asked

You shook your head, “I never knew her, she died when she had me.”

Dutch frowned, “so did your daddy take care of you...when you were a babe?”

You shook your head, “I don't know, I can’t really remember.”

Dutch smiled, “of course you don’t. C’mon, lets get you something to eat, then Arthur can take you into town!”

You frowned, “that man...Micah...he said...”

Arthur squeezed your shoulder, “don’t you worry about him, he ain't gonna touch you, I’ll see to that!”

You wished you could believe it, but you’d known people like Micah. In fact he reminded you a lot of your father, a bully. Someone who just took what he wanted.

He’d always told you how useless and worthless you were, until you began to believe it.  

He would push and push. Then when he finally thought he’d broken you, he pushed once more, and you snapped. You could still see the look on his face now. The shock that you’d actually stood up for yourself.

You were brought out of your thoughts as Arthur guided you out the tent, his hand still on your shoulder.

“Arthur?” You asked, as you walked over to where the stew was bubbling, over the fire. “Uh huh,” he replied, slightly distracted. “Why is everyone being so nice to me?” You quizzed him. Arthur, stopped dead in his tracks, and stared at you. “What you talkin' about?” He huffed. You frowned, “just seems like since you found out about my past...well I ain't looking for pity!”

Arthur grabbed your shoulders, “It ain't pity, kitten. Its just how normal people act towards one another!”

You sighed, “I’ve never gone out of my way to be nasty, but I ain't normal, neither!”

Arthur chuckled, “I guess you ain’t, but we’re workin’ on that!”

You both grabbed a bowl of stew and headed back to where Hosea and Dutch were sitting.

“Everything ok?” Dutch asked glancing between you and Arthur.

You guess he’d seen, Arthur grab your shoulders.

You nodded, and started to eat your food.

“She thinks she ain't normal, and we’re being too nice!” Arthur smirked.

You glared at him, and went back to eating your stew.

Hosea chuckled, “its how we treat people...well people that aren't O’Driscolls!”

You looked over at him curiously.  

“They still think I am!” you exclaimed, nodded with your head towards some of the gang who were sitting around the camp fire, “especially that blonde woman!”

Dutch looked over towards the group.

“Ahh that’ll be Mrs Adler!” He noted.

“When you had me tied up, she spat at me, and called me a murdering bastard! Maybe she was right,” you mumbled.

Dutch narrowed his eyes, “You weren’t at the Adler cabin, were you?”

You shook your head. You’d been thinking of your daddy.

“O’Driscolls killed her husband, and kept her prisoner for three days!” Dutch explained.

You looked across the camp, and watched the woman. You knew full well what the O’Driscolls would have done to her. They would have done the same to you, if they’d found out you were a girl!

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Dutch looked at you, and smiled, “you ain't got nothing to be sorry for, Kat!”

You shrugged, “I can understand why she hates me, if she thinks I was an O’Driscoll!”

Dutch stood up, and walked over to where you were sitting. He gently put his hand on your shoulder.

You looked up at him, a confused expression on your face.

“Once she knows what happened to you, she won’t hate you, I know that much,” he soothed.

You swallowed hard, your heart beating against your chest wall.

“You aren't...aren’t gonna tell everyone, what happened...with my daddy, are you?” you panicked.

Dutch gently shook his head. “No Kat, that’ll be up to you. You can tell them as much or as little as you want,” Dutch hesitated, “I have a funny feeling, there's more to tell, and when your ready, we’ll be here.”

You stared down into your empty bowl. You’d told them plenty enough for now. The rest, you just wanted to bury. As for the rest of Dutch’s gang, well you didn't know yet. The last thing you wanted was for people to feel sorry for you. On the flip side, you really didn't want to be hated either.

Arthur stood up, “c’mon, lets go, you need a change of clothes!”

You looked down at your self. He was right about that. You’d been wearing the same clothes for at least a week now. Even when you were running with the O’Driscolls, you’d tried to keep yourself clean, and wear clean clothes when you could.

You followed Arthur over to the horses. For the first time he didn't have a hand clamped on your shoulder or around your neck.  

“You reckon I could get a bath in town, Arthur?” You asked, hopefully.

Arthur looked over his shoulder and chuckled, sniffing the air slightly.

“I reckon that would be a good idea!”

You lifted your arm, and sniffed, grimacing slightly. Yeah, you were starting to smell a little bit too!

When you reached the horses, you looked around, wondering what horse you were going to ride. There were loads, but you figured some where owned by specific people.  

“Which one should I take?” you asked.

Arthur chuckled, “we might be going into town, but you ain't riding on your own, not yet at least.”

You rolled your eyes, “still don't trust me, huh!”

Arthur walked behind you. He wrapped on arm around you, his forearm placed gently across the front of your neck, his hand resting on your shoulder. His other hand rested gently on your arm.

“About as far as I can throw you, Kitten!” he whispered in your ear.

You weren't sure if it was his breath on your neck, that made your hairs stand on end, or perhaps the tone of his voice. It may have been the way he pulled you into his chest. Suddenly you felt vulnerable.  

You shuddered slightly, even though it wasn't cold. He must have felt it, as he released his arms. Instead he place a hand on your shoulder as he guided you towards his horse.

You thought perhaps that you would be riding behind him, the same way you had ridden behind John when you went to Colm’s cabin, but you were mistaken.

You gasped, as you felt Arthur's hands around your waist, as he lifted you up onto his horse, then quickly mounted up behind you.

Before you had a chance to complain, his arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. You stiffened slightly, but didn't complain. There was little or no point.

“Relax, Kitten,” he whispered, “ain’t no harm gonna come to ya!”

The town of Valentine was quite close. Although you’d heard of it, from some of Colm’s boys, you’d never actually been there. The six months you’d been with the O’Driscolls, you’d barely been anywhere. Mostly you’d stayed around the main camp. The mountains was the first time they’d let you out on your own, and look where that had got you.

Not that you weren't glad to be away from the O’Driscolls. It was just that your plan of getting away hadn’t involved joining another gang. Least of all Colm’s biggest enemy.

No one really knew why he hated Dutch so much, you hadn’t asked why. Asking too many questions, or saying too much, generally got you into trouble. You hadn't asked Dutch either. You didn't think it was a good idea. If Arthur didn't trust you, then it was unlikely that Dutch would either.

Arthur hitched his horse outside the general store, then lifted you down. You were getting a few funny looks from the residents of Valentine, or maybe it wasn't you, maybe it was Arthur.

Or the way he had his hand on you. As usual, resting on your shoulder, guiding you where he wanted you to go. This time guiding you into the general store.

The store owner frowned slightly as you walked into the store. Not at Arthur, but at you. You guessed, even though you breasts were no longer bound, you had a slightly unusual appearance. Your hair was still short, and messy. You were dressed in clothes, usually reserved for men. You probably smelt a bit too. Coupled with the fact that you were quite small, especially compared to Arthur.

“I need some clothes to for her!” Arthur piped up. “Trousers, shirts, a jacket...some underwear.”

You felt your face flush slightly.

The store keeper nodded, “look in the catalogue. I got most stuff in most sizes.” he shoved over a piece of paper and a pencil, so that you could write it down.

You looked at the pencil, as though it were something alien. You hadn't told any of them that you couldn't read or write. Your daddy figured you weren't worth teaching.

Arthur had guessed by the expression on your face, that this was the case, so he picked up the pencil.

“pick out what you want, and I’ll write it down,” he whispered in your ear.

You looked up at him.

“Thanks, Arthur.” you mumbled, so that only he could hear.

Arthur smiled, and placed his hand on your neck, his finger gently massaging the back of it.

Your breath hitched in your throat, as your whole body shuddered, like it had just been hit with a bolt of lightening. You stifled a moan, and quickly opened the catalogue.