#the gang misses the boat i will mourn you to my grave

[hoss-bonaventure]

none of you get it like me

[flimflamfranky]

Day 19 - Broken Hearts

Franky takes the time to mourn.

~

Franky had missed the funeral. Which-- of course he had. He had been lost at sea, on an abandoned ship, turning himself into a cyborg so he wouldn’t die. And he only ended up there because he had been trying to stop them from taking Mr. Tom, and he definitely didn’t regret that. He regretted a lot from that day, but not that. Still. He felt bad for missing it.

Kokoro had told him what they had done, she and Iceburg. It had been a small thing, of course, the traditional funeral by boat, but still. Iceburg hadn’t mentioned it, but then, Franky hadn’t even seen him since their only talk o his first night back. Which, was for the best, he knew - they both had to be careful, with the blueprints at stake. Kokoro, at least, told him where the memorial was. It was on Scrap Island, of course. The company building had been their home, but they all had spent most of their time on that island. Collecting material, building ships - Franky’s fondest memories were on that island. He meandered his way through, taking a look around. It was different, of course -- that was the nature of Scrap Island -- but it feels familiar regardless. It was almost nostalgic, and he had to swallow down a thick well of emotions. He pushed on, making his way to the coast, where Kokoro had said the memorial was. It didn’t take him long to find it -- a model of the sea train, a-fixed with a plaque. It stuck out like a sore thumb, refined and polished amongst the trash. The wood was high quality, and Franky worried, for a moment, that someone would want to take it. But then he laughed - that was exactly what Mr. Tom would want. He made his way over, and that was when he noticed the other memorial, right next to it and-- it was for him. He came to a grinding halt when he read his name, surprise socking a gasp right out of him. He supposed, numbly, that it shouldn’t be surprising -- everyone thought he had died, after all -- but he didn’t think that anyone would-- no, he didn’t want to finish that thought. Kokoro hadn’t mentioned it, in any case. It was a model of his first Battle Franky, expertly carved and detailed, with a plaque that said ‘Cutty Flam’. Beneath his name was ‘Tom’s Workers’ and beneath that, in precise and neat letters, ‘Beloved Brother and Son.’ Franky had to clench his fists to stop himself from destroying it. He ignored it, instead, trying to get a grip on his twisting emotions, and turned to Tom’s memorial. The sea train was just as expertly carved. He reached out a hand, and ran his finger along its wheels, taking in the decorations on the windows, the detailed cogs and gears. Each detail brought back the memory of building it, the blood, sweats, and laughs -- the way Tom looked so happy, even after failure after failure, because he was building his dream. His dream ship... Franky snapped his hand back, and looked down to the plaque, feeling shaken. The plaque has Tom written on it, of course, and the company name, but it also had a lengthy description -- who Tom was, and how he and his workers built the train that saved Water 7. It made no mention of the last trial, or that he built Roger’s ship. Franky frowned when he noticed that -- Tom had been damn proud of that! His memorial should absolutely mention that! But he, reluctantly, understood -- better to be safe than sorry. Man, he hated being cautious. And there was nothing he could do about it, unless he wanted to vandalize the thing, which felt-- wrong. He couldn’t do that. Instead, he sat down in front of it, legs crossed. He sighed. “Hey...Mr. Tom.” Franky scratched his chin awkwardly. It felt weird, but this was why people visit graves, right? To talk, get some closure, or whatever. It was why he came down here. So, he powered through. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. Becoming a cyborg, ain’t easy, I’ll tell ya that. Wish I could show ya what I’ve done, I bet you’d be real impressed.” He picked at the metal beneath, easily making small grooves with his enhanced strength. “I’m...sorry for a lot of things, actually. I’m sure you don’t need me to list everything, but...yeah.” Franky shook his head, scowling. “Man, that’s depressing. Focus on the happy. Uh, I’m thinkin’ about starting a gang, or something. There’re still a lotta down-trodden folks around here. Figured I could help ‘em out, maybe give ‘em a job, get ‘em on their feet. Haven’t thought out what, yet, exactly, but I figured that’s what you’d want me to do. Make this a better place, and whatnot.” Franky looked up at the sky. “I’m thinkin’...dismantlers, maybe. I’m good at that and it’s not build-“ Franky cut himself, and frowned. Tom wouldn’t want to hear him say that. “It’s easy to teach,” he said instead, swallowing. “Or maybe even bounty hunting. There’re still loads of pirates around here, causing trouble. And I’m super strong now, too. Not as strong as you were, of course, but...” Franky trailed off, gazing up at the sky. He closed his eyes, and sighed, drawing up his legs to rest his chin on his knees. “I’m just...tryin’ to be like you, I guess. It’d be better if it was you. You did so much for this town, and for m-me,” his voices stuttered and he had to take a deep breath. He buried his head in his arms. “I’m such a fraud. I’m no good at this fixin’ stuff. I’ll just destroy everything, like always.” He was silent for a moment. Then, “I jus’...wanna carry on your dream a-and,” his voice wavered again, and this time, he let it break. “I- I can’t jus’ let it die with you...” He was crying, now, tears and snot running down his face as his breathing shuddered in his chest. He couldn’t stop it either - he tried but it’ was just too much, and he had to let it run its course. He felt pathetic, curled up and sobbing like this in broad day-light, but...Tom never judged him for it, not like his no-good parents had. He never shouted or told him to be a man - Tom had only ever been gentle and understanding. And Franky did feel better, by the time his tears finally dried. Huh. Maybe there was something to this whole crying thing. He wiped at his eyes and cleaned off his sunglasses, and then stood up. He faced the memorial one last time. It shined in the sun, almost gleaming, like a treasure. Behind it, the ocean lapped against the metal shore, and in the distance, the sea train chugged on, doing what it had been built to do. “I’m...I’m gonna do my best for this place. Make sure your dream comes true,” Franky said to the model train. “And hopefully...that’ll be enough. I’ll talk to you later, I guess.” And then, he turned, and left.

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 27

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

From Arthur’s POV

SHADY BELLE, DUTCH’S OFFICE

“What do you mean he’s dead...?” Dutch asked, his face drained of all color as I gave him he tragic news. “...What the hell happened?”

“It was Rodrick,” I replied. “That maniac workin’ for Atticus. He just...shot Lenny. Killed the poor boy without a second thought...and he weren’t alone. There were other members from Atticus’ gang on the boat, too. They knew we was coming, Dutch. They were ready for us.”

Contrary to what I was expecting, the other man didn’t seem surprised by that in the slightest and simply stared into the distance, thinkin’ to himself as he rubbed his chin.

“...So Micah was right.”

I paused, shrugging outta confusion. “What? Right about what?”

Dutch gave me a suspicious glance and lowered his voice, steppin’ closer to me as he made sure no one was listening in.

“Micah reckons there’s a rat.”

I sighed in annoyance, thinking back to when I saw the two of them talkin’ on the front porch. So that’s what they were discussing.

“Does he, now.”

“I know your feelings for him, Arthur,” Dutch said, crossin’ his arms, “but think about it. Every time we have tried to pull off a job or go after a tip, Atticus’ gang has always been there waitin’ for us. That ain’t no coincidence. Someone out there is telling them our plans. Lettin’ them know what our next step is. They are killin’ our family, and they are just as responsible for Lenny’s death as Rodrick is. We need to find them.”

I still wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure, Dutch? It don’t take a genius to see that we’ve been anythin’ but discreet. We’ve stayed in Shady Belle for far too long, we’ve robbed damn-near every establishment in Saint Denis, and Atticus knows where we’re hiding. To be honest, I’m just surprised he hasn’t wiped us out already.”

Dutch rested his hands on his hips. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to keep an eye out. I’ve already got a few ideas on who the rat could be, but I want you to help me find them. For all we know, there could be more than one. In the meantime...” he began making his way outta the office, “start packin’ your things. We’re leaving this swamp at first light, and then heading up north to a place called Beaver Hollow. Charles reckons we can stay there for a week or two.”

I followed Dutch out of the room, watchin’ as he descended the staircase. “...And after that?”

The older man looked up at me from under his hat, his eyes twinklin’ with that dark glint again.

“All in due time, my son. All in due time.”

THE NEXT MORNING

EAST OF LAGRAS

Navigating my way through the tall, droopy trees in this area, I left my horse at a small gatherin’ of shrubs and started traveling on foot to Hosea’s grave, eager to say one last goodbye before leaving for Beaver Hollow.

With all the pandemonium goin’ on recently, and Dutch’s erratic behavior, I hadn’t had a chance to stop by and visit the old man until today. It felt...strange seeing Hosea like this. I mean, he wasn’t the first friend I lost -- and I doubted he’d be the last -- but I had gotten so used to the man bein’ a part of my daily life that things just seemed...broken...now that he was gone. Incomplete. And frankly, I didn’t know how to fill the emptiness.

Hell, these days, I caught myself thinking about ghosts more than actual people. Instead of seein’ the folks who were still around back at camp, I always seemed to notice the ones who weren’t there...and it frightened me.

How many more people were we gonna lose before Dutch started thinkin’ straight? I understood that we needed money -- and shit ton of it -- but to me, it just didn’t seem like it was worth it to sacrifice half our gang in our pursuit of freedom.

After all, the whole point of our gang was to create a better society. A community of men and women livin’ by their own rules, free from civilization. But that weren’t gonna be possible if we didn’t have any people left to free.

Ah, well...I supposed we would just have to hold out for as long as possible. It was clear to me by now that Dutch had no plans on shiftin’ his mind away from Micah’s incessant ramblings, and the further he delved into that man’s mind, the more he seemed to lose his own.

The Dutch I had grown to know and love as a father, a friend, and a teacher...was no longer around. Nowadays, all I saw was a money-hungry fool willin’ to sell his own soul if it meant finding his freedom. I mean, the man barely seemed fazed when I told him about Lenny’s death.

But...maybe Dutch had always been like that. Maybe there was nothin’ different about him at all. Maybe...I just stopped being blind.

I just wished I had opened my eyes sooner.

Finally makin’ it out of the thick trees, I reached a small clearing in the forest and found Hosea resting in the center of it, a wooden grave marker standing somberly above him as tall strands of grass swayed peacefully around him.

It wasn’t anywhere near the kind of memorial Hosea deserved, and I felt even worse that we couldn’t give him a proper funeral, but it was better than being left to rot in this...wasteland of a civilized world.

At least, here, Hosea was surrounded by what he loved most. Nature. Ever since I was a boy, that old man had always loved nature. He grew up in the mountains. Spent more time outside than he did in his own house. Never seemed to get bored of travelin’ the country or exploring its secrets...especially when Bessie was still by his side.

It was one of the main reasons Hosea despised civilization so much; because it was killing the one thing he loved. And now, much to my dismay...it had also killed him.

Walkin’ closer to his grave, I suddenly noticed there was someone else visiting Hosea and stopped in my tracks, taken by surprise. The person’s arms were crossed at the moment, and their head hung low in a mournful manner as they looked down at Hosea’s grave, silently paying their respects.

It didn’t look like John or Abigail, and Dutch was still busy helpin’ the folk back at camp...so it couldn’t have been any of them. Who was this person?

Glancing down at the Schofield hanging from their waist, I instantly recognized the buck carving on its grip and the overall demeanor of its owner, causing a realization to light up in my head as a wave of sorrow washed over me.

I gently approached the other person, tilting my head in curiosity.

“...Eddie?”

The boy quickly glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his name and snapped back to reality, turnin’ around to greet me.

“Oh, Arthur...! Sorry. I didn’t hear you arrive.”

I stepped next to Eddie, gazing at Hosea’s grave marker.

“Sayin’ goodbye?”

He nodded, clearly preoccupied. “I wanted to visit Hosea one more time before leaving for Roanoke Ridge. I didn’t know him for that long, but the man provided a lot of guidance I didn’t know I needed.”

A reminiscent chuckle escaped me. “Yeah...Hosea always had that impression on people. Includin’ myself. Dutch may have educated me, but Hosea’s the one who taught me.”

Eddie let out a sigh, his brow furrowed in discontent. “I just wish I knew what Hosea would do in this situation. I wonder what he’d say to Dutch...or to me.”

I picked up on his discouraged tone, leadin’ me to believe that there was something else on the boy’s mind.

“...You alright, Eddie?” I asked. He paused for a moment, trying to get his thoughts straight.

“...I...I don’t know. Maybe. It’s just...” Eddie fell silent and turned away from me, stepping back from the grave, “I was talking with John and Abigail the other day. They were thinking of...deserting the gang. They wanted to take Jack away and try to start a new life somewhere else. On their own.”

I scoffed in disappointment. “That don’t surprise me. It wouldn’t be the first time John’s ditched us.”

Eddie raised a brow at me. “Really?”

“Yeah. He disappeared for an entire goddamned year, once. Only, Abigail and Jack didn’t go with him. Why, you worried he’ll go through with it?”

The pianist shook his head and stared at the ground, his face stiff with hesitance as he thought about what to say next.

“Actually...I’m starting to think that maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”

That threw me off guard. “Wait, what? E-Eddie, we can’t just leave--”

“--I know you love Dutch, Arthur,” he interrupted, his voice heavy with dread. “And I know this gang means everything to you, but...you’ve seen what’s been happening recently. Hosea’s dead, Lenny’s dead, Strauss is missing...who’s next? You? Me? John? Whose grave are we digging after this...?”

I was silent in response, causing Eddie to take a breath and regain his composure before continuing with his train of thought.

“...I’m sorry, Arthur,” he apologized sincerely. “I don’t mean to put you in this position, but with everything that’s been going on lately, I can’t help but fear for your safety. Every time you and I do a mission together, I’m always terrified I’ll be returning to camp without you. And that incident with Rodrick on the riverboat...we can’t let something like that happen again.”

“I hear you, Eddie,” I assured, puttin’ a comforting hand on his shoulder, “but I can’t abandon Dutch. Not now. I owe him my life. He saved me when I was just a kid. Raised me like a son. He’s the only reason I’m here today. Besides, you said it yourself: you ain’t never runnin’ from anything ever again.”

Eddie looked me in the eye. “And I meant it. But unlike before, I don’t care about saving myself this time. If I have to die, then so be it. I just care about keeping you safe. I know how hard you work to protect me, Arthur, but this goes both ways. I have a job to protect you, too. And I can’t just...stand here and watch as you throw your life away for someone who doesn’t even care about it anymore!”

That caught my attention. “You don’t think Dutch cares about me?”

The pianist gave his honest opinion. “If Dutch still cared about you, he wouldn’t be choosing Micah’s advice over yours. He would’ve listened when you told him the riverboat robbery was a bad idea, and yet, here we are.”

Eddie leaned against a nearby tree and dragged a hand through his hair, letting out a fatigued breath. “I’m not saying Dutch doesn’t care about you at all, Arthur, but he certainly cares a whole lot more about money.”

I rubbed my chin in thought, admittedly seeing Eddie’s point as much as it pained me to say it.

“So...what d’you suggest?”

The boy flicked his eyes around the forest in a cautious manner and softened his voice, takin’ my hand into his.

“...We do the same thing as John and Abigail, we pack our things, and we leave the gang. It’s something much easier said than done, but we’d finally be free of all this chaos. Don’t you think that’s worth it?”

I sighed in defeat and contemplated his plan for a while, absolutely torn by this dilemma. Of course I wanted what was best for Eddie, and I knew he weren’t wrong when he said Dutch was gonna be this gang’s downfall, but at the same time...I had history with that old man. He was a father to me. I couldn’t just...walk away and pretend he never existed.

Then again though, I supposed it was finally time to ask myself which I thought was more important. My loyalty to Dutch, or my promise to keep Eddie safe.

I was just afraid to know the answer.

Noticing my hesitance, it became quite clear to the pianist that I wasn’t ready to make a decision just yet and he backed down for a moment, still holdin’ on to my hand as his shoulders slouched in discouragement.

“Even if you won’t go along with the plan right now,” Eddie said his eyes downcast, “...will you at least consider it? If not for yourself, then...for me?”

Chewin’ on my lip in concentration, I briefly glanced at Hosea’s grave and put my heart to the test, thinkin’ about what that man would’ve wanted for us.

Before he died, I remembered Hosea was always goin’ on about how Eddie and I had a future ahead of us. That we had the potential to make something outta our lives, and break away from this world of crime we had grown so accustomed to.

I didn’t know if that was still the case, and if I was being perfectly honest, the realistic side of me suspected it was too late to make any kind o’ difference... but as much as I cared about this gang...I loved Eddie even more.

So even if it might’ve been futile to think about runnin’ away, or starting some sorta normal life for the two of us, every fiber in my being wanted to go for it anyways.

There was absolutely no guarantee we’d make it out of this alive, but just knowing that there was a chance we could live together as a normal couple...was enough to keep me going.

Finally givin’ in to Eddie’s pleas, I agreed to think about the subject and nodded in acceptance, reassuring him with a sincere gaze as I planted a short kiss on his forehead.

“Okay.” I promised quietly, placing a soft hand on the back of his head. “If you truly think it’s what’s best for us...then I’ll consider it.”

Eddie smiled warmly at that brought me into an embrace, resting his body against my chest as he sighed in relief.

“Thank you, Arthur. I know it’s not an easy choice to make, but regardless of what you decide, I’ll be there. ...Even if it means I have to fall with the gang.”