#when charles had to help the wapiti and when arthur went back for john and the others

[arthursfuckinghat]

A stag with a bird on his back

[marygillisapologist]

Longing for closure | Charles x F!Reader

Pairing: Charles Smith x F!Reader

WC: 1142, aprox. 5 minute read

Teaser: “For the best, I know, but. I just-” He looked remain before stepping closer, looking into your eyes. His presence was overwhelming, and your need for his company was immense. “Charles, I-” You protested, avoiding his gaze. “Please.” He pleaded, stroking his hand against your cheek, keeping it there.

Warnings: Fluff, very little mention of sexual interactions | Secret Relationship | Pining

A/N: This is my first time writing anything so I'm open to critique and will appreciate any form of interaction. ALSO- If you find any grammar mistakes please feel free to tell me, since English isn't my first language. Anyways, hope you enjoy <3

Even though these last few months had been miserable and full of loss, a blooming love had grown in the dying fields. Two strong individuals in need of comfort, finding it in each other at an all time low. While the remaining members of the gang were scrambling to find safety in Lakay, a heated exchange had taken place between you and Charles Smith. After months of pining and longing for each other, you’d finally confronted your feelings. His burly arms had held you close, as his lips were pressed against yours in need of love, in need of you.

Ever since then, you both had realized that you were each other's pillar, the ones who held each other up when the other was falling apart. You agreed that whatever happened, you’d stick together no matter what. However, for the both of yours safety, you agreed to keep it under wraps, not wanting your love to be used against you as it had with John and Abigail. The only few people who actually knew, were the ones paying close attention. Someone like Ms. Grimshaw, most of the women and even Arthur caught on pretty quickly, while the rest never really did. You were happy in his presence, happy to have a safe haven to return when all hell broke loose.

As the days went by and more tragedy occurred. All this death and misery had been piling for months, and for what? For no reason, at least in the eyes of Charles. He was losing hope, and also a close friend of his. Arthur was dying, and with him so was the gang. He was the right hand man, the one with the most common sense out of all of these people- besides you of course. This made Dutch question his ability to advise him, instead seeking the advice of Micah. The Van Der Linde gang had turned a new leaf, one that had fallen and withered.

Charles was on thin ice. 

Charles hated every moment of suppressing his feelings for you regardless of it being for the best. Even though the both of you had agreed to it, he still couldn’t help but feel guilt for not giving you the love and solace you craved. As he and Arthur rode back to camp from a visit at the Wapiti Tribe, noise of quarreling and accusing got louder and louder. He couldn’t help the pit in his stomach form, as he saw you walk back from the river with fresh laundry, your face carrying a slight frown and furrowed brows. 

“You alright there Charles?” Arthur asked with a cough as the horses went from trotting to walking. 

“Yeah, I’m good. How about you?” Charles asked concerned, while his gaze stayed on you. 

“I reckon I don’t matter too much no more.” Arthur chuckled.

“But you sure you’re doin’ alright? You seem a bit distraught.” He questioned as they arrived at the hitching posts.

“Yeah, I’m sure… I’ll see you around” Before Arthur knew it, Charles had already hitched his horse and headed your direction before Arthur had even left the saddle.

You stood to the side hanging the laundry you’d just washed down by the river, trying to mute the sound of Dutch’ preaching. Tension had been at an all time high, causing you to overwork yourself with chores to distract yourself from your misery. This had ultimately also caused multiple people to leave, making you wonder what was making you stay. Was it loyalty, company or fear of a civil life, when this was the one you’d grown used to for the last couple of years? 

For the first time since joining the gang, you were exhausted, an overwhelming nausea at the thought of things coming to an end. Dutch wasn’t the same heroic individual who’d saved you from a group of greedy men. No he was much different. So different, that if it had happened on this day, then it more than likely would’ve been your last.

Lost in your train of thoughts, you heard your name. Quickly you laid down whatever article of clothing you had and turned around towards the noise.

“Charles. You're back.” You said as your eyes brightened and your smile widening, about to go in for a greeting kiss. He smiled back softly before looking down into the ground about to give in before the sound of arguing in the back reminded you of where you were. 

“Right, my bad.” You smiled softly, eyes filled with disappointment as you stepped back. “You um… Is everything alright, are you alright?” You asked, wanting to make sure he was doing as good as one could in the current state of things. 

He stood there looking into your eyes for a little before answering.

“Yeah I’m-” He stopped himself, fiddling with fingers as he thought of what he was gonna say next.

He took a deep breath before continuing, saying your name lowly.

“I’m not sure I can handle this much longer.”

You looked at him, your brows furrowing as you bit the inside of your cheek. You know exactly what he meant, as you felt the same.

“I know, but it’s-” You responded, trying to stay logical for the both of you.

“For the best, I know, but. I just-” He looked remain before stepping closer, looking into your eyes.

His presence was overwhelming, and your need for his company was immense.

“Charles, I-” You protested, avoiding his gaze.

“Please.” He pleaded, stroking his hand against your cheek, keeping it there.

A few moments went by, no words said out loud, yet his and your needs were heard and finally acted upon. You place your hand on his cheek, stroking it before leaning in to kiss him. You directed his hand to your other cheek before letting go, pulling him closer by his collar. Your face in his hand and your arms wrapping around his neck, you hadn’t gotten this close in a while, too busy working.

His lips stayed on yours for what seemed like forever, before he broke it, placing his forehead on yours as the both of you were quietly panting. He smiled at you, and you smiled at him. His eyes were filled with admiration, as was yours, it was a beautiful moment.

“I love you.” He smiled, pecking the corner of your lips. You looked up at him, your eyes watering at the sound of his confession. One that none of them had made before, but had always known to be true.

“I love you too, Charles.” You grinned in response before leaning into another deep kiss.

Maybe hiding from each other wasn't for the best, and maybe closure had been this whole time. Regardless, your hope for the future had been restored. You both knew it would be with each other.

BONUS - Arthurs Journal Entry

Charles and I went to talk to Rains Falls about Dutch and his unhinged decision making. It ain’t looking too good, but we promised to keep a good eye on him.

Anyway, Charles seemed distracted when we went out. I didn’t know exactly why, but I had an idea. He seemed in a hurry when we got back and finally kissed her. He’s been head over heels for that girl ever since he joined us back up in the Grizzlies last year, pretty sure it went both ways. 

They remind me of Mary and I, how we kept it secret too before she left me. I was too stubborn to change my ways, I guess. I wonder if things would’ve changed if I’d ran away with her back in Saint Denis or Valentine. It’s too late now, she mailed me the ring I gave her all those years ago. What a couple of fools in love we were. 

I’m just happy that they aren’t fools like us, and that Charles won’t cower away because of some code that turns out to be irrelevant by the likes of Dutch. I’m also happy that I finally stopped hiding. They seemed real happy when they stopped worrying so much about the rest. I saw Susan and a couple others smile too, they probably noticed the lingering before too. Not everyone had though, Dutch looked quite surprised, almost threatened. I wonder what he and Micah are up to now.

Hope you liked it! BTW pls feel free to give requests, I love writing from given prompts <33

[verdemoun]

how would undead nightmare fit into timewarp canon, if at all?

lmao this was fun to imagine

In timewarp, the timewarpers still leave a corpse behind when they timewarp. John still buried his daughter, Jack still buried John, Charles still found Arthur's body and buried him, ect.

A brief derail, most of the gang have gotten curious about where their remains are. MOST were exhumed over the course of the century to make room for land developments, meaning that Sean, Lenny, Hosea, Karen, Eliza, Isaac, and Grimshaw's bodies/bones are now actually at a museum as unidentified remains. Dutch, Micah, Javier and Bill were given unmarked graves in a cemetery owned by the Bureau.

Arthur's remains are still where Charles buried him. The Marstons + Uncle are still at Beecher's Hope, but their graves unmarked and locations forgotten. Poor Molly's remains are scattered over Roanoke Ridge, as her body was left exposed for scavengers.

Eagle Flies' remains were in possession of the museum, but the modern Wapiti tribe advocated for his remains to be returned and he's now buried in the heartlands on land returned to the Wapiti people.

Lenny made the mistake of googling about Kieran's remains, since they were meant to be at Shady Belle. They still are! But because Mary-Beth was so well known, Shady Belle and therefore the graves at Shady Belle have been extensively documented. This means he saw a 3d representation of Kieran's skeleton as created through the use of ground penetrating radar, and a forensic analysis of what happened to him.

When Lenny, mortified, asked if Kieran really was alive when they started cutting off his head, Kieran chuckled through a mouthful of pizza and signed 'yeah I could've told you that'.

There is also a fan theory that Mary-Beth, in her declining years, was the one to kill the unknown 'Kieran Duffy' buried at her property while trying to get into character to write of her best selling novels: a supernatural romance/thriller similar to Jane Eyre but including the presence of a mysterious headless horseman. Kieran, with the worse sense of humor known to man, thinks this is hilarious.

But back to undead nightmare.

Since the gang leave bodies behind when they timewarp it is: a) entirely possible that if the gang were zombies in undead nightmare, John would have had to take them out and then explain the really weird month of 1911 where he killed the gang's reanimated flesh eating corpses to them b) if undead nightmare happened post-timewarp, the gang would have to fight their own zombies.

I personally won't consider undead nightmare part of timewarp canon, but if it did was Jack wouldn't have gone after Edgar Ross because John's zombie canonically had his soul and therefore would have probably been able to raise Jack? Imagine zombified John being a comfort to Abigail in her last months and still helping Jack with the ranch. Jack would have lived a 'normal' life and not timewarped, either.

Abigail, having also seen zombie John, would be extremely confused to see John alive after she timewarped.

They'd discover that Zombie John, while undead, still decomposed and completely disintegrated somewhere around 1924. He did, however, successfully bite the us army agents trying to force Jack to enlist in WWI, which allowed Jack to avoid it, but also meant zombies played a significant role in WWI. By WWII, Jack was too old and wealthy to be drafted and the non-revenant zombies proved too dangerous to be major factors.

The mask is now on display in the museum.

Jack went on to write novels and live a good life, much like Mary-Beth, retelling the stories of the VDLs and also what it was like being raised (for lack of a better word) by a zombified John.

The fact zombies actually existed for a brief decade in the early 20th century was lost to time, mostly dismissed as rabies or PTSD in soldiers. Jack's novel about zombie John is revered, but considered to be a metaphor about what it was like being raised by a John who faked his death but had a range of neurological conditions including: alcoholism (the stumbling, slurred groans), a brain injury (loss of language, bites when defensive) and suffering 'shell-shock' from gang days (how the zombies were dismissed in WWI).

[arthur-kilgore]

Came here through a mutual, and I'm intrigued by the fic you're writing. Any particular reason you picked Charlotte Balfour as your deuteragonist? Wonderful writing, by the way. :-)

Thank you for your kind words, and for this ask!! (Also apologizing in advance for how long this is lol, the short answer is I am so autistic about these characters /lh)

The first reason I started writing echoed fragments was because after replaying the epilogue for the second time I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Charles’ grief has so strongly changed him and is still impacting him 8 years later; I’m a Charthur truther to my core, but even in a platonic interpretation Arthur’s death (and the destruction of the gang, it wasn’t just about Arthur) was something that he hadn’t healed from all that time later.

To be someone as principled, skilled, and talented as Charles and to end up in the depths of Saint Denis, throwing street fights for money and being somewhat entangled with the mob? The way he throws himself into protecting John and Uncle when he had no real obligation to do so? That’s a man still reeling from the loss of the first community he’s let himself form a connection with since losing his family at a young age, and who possibly still feels guilty about leaving and not being there when the bitter end came, even though leaving when he did was inarguably the right thing to do.

Despite the fact that Charles cut ties and had the cleanest getaway of any of them, he *chose* to come back and faced the aftermath alone, carried Arthur across state lines to bury him, alone, and then what?? He spent the next 8 years alone? Why did he not return to the Wapiti, or if he did, why did he leave if his other option was being on his own, throwing street fights in Saint Denis, where he would have still been a wanted man??

Whatever happened to Charles between 1899 and 1907, if the end result was Uncle - of all people - hearing rumors about Charles from states away, and Uncle *of all people* deciding that Charles was in enough trouble that they needed to intervene… it couldn’t have been anything good. I wanted so badly for him to have a chance to properly grieve and actually heal, and to not be alone through that process, so I decided that if R* wasn’t going to do it then I would lol

At the same time, Charlotte is one of the characters that I absolutely love to talk about and roll around in my brain. The more I thought about Charlotte and her mission line, the more I started to realize just how much these two had in common, personality-wise and particularly in regard to their freshly acquired grief and how it left them utterly alone after their loss, since both live on the outskirts of society (albeit for very different reasons, but the end result is the same).

The difference for Charlotte is that when she was at her absolute lowest, someone stepped in and was able to pull her back onto her feet - it quite literally saved her, and she went on to live a very meaningful and fulfilling life thanks to the care and compassion that Arthur showed her.

Charles was a close friend of the man who saved her life (whom she can no longer do anything to help), PLUS that man is fresh off the type of grief she knows all too well and is still working through herself; I think that given the opportunity Charlotte would want to pay that compassion forward. In addition to being able to grieve their losses together and having someone to lean on who knows exactly what you’re going through, I also just think they would have gotten along very well if they had ever crossed paths, so I made sure they did :3

The writing itself is slow going, but I have a whole general outline for this AU that already extends past the RDR1 canon timeline - one of the core ideas I want to explore is how the ripple effects of Arthur’s actions at the end of his life (mostly following canon with some slight modifications) end up having lifelong impacts for those who survived, and Charlotte happens to be one of the early indicators of that ripple effect. By showing her how to hunt he taught her to survive, and by giving her his horse he facilitated a personal connection that Arthur himself could never have anticipated - but because of that, the impacts of Arthur’s choices continue to resonate throughout the years.

[amorgansgal]

Thank you! I was thinking, what about those who died (Sean, Hosea, Lenny, etc.) surviving amd comforting Arthur's S/O?

So this is a request from @myybebe and after a little digging over chat, this is where Chapter 6 happens but Sean, Hosea and Lenny are still alive during it. Arthur will still have TB, he’ll still fight Micah, get John to safety, but die in the attempt. Are we all sitting comfortably and ready to cry?

***

Arthur receives a lot of support from Sean, Lenny and especially Hosea while the proverbial shit is hitting the fan. But not even Hosea can stop Dutch from sinking into madness and becoming obsessed with money and all manner of hairbrained schemes.

Hosea is especially distraught when he finds out about Arthur’s diagnosis of TB, but that makes him more determined than ever to ensure the women, children and elderly folk can leave.

Unbeknownst to you, Arthur talks to Hosea about a plan of their own. He asks Hosea to get you and John to safety, because he knows both of you will insist on staying.

As things progress, Sean agrees with getting the other gang members to safety, Arthur encourages him to think about whether he will make a commitment to staying with Karen or giving her the best life possible and leaving her be. Lenny agrees to help Charles with the Wapiti tribe.

Arthur is aware of what Micah is saying to Dutch about how you’ve made him soft and how you’re slowing them down. He knows that as he is unlikely to survive and can’t protect you, he needs to get you somewhere safe. That way they can’t use you against him.

He’s hard-pressed to persuade you, but eventually he begs you to stay with his friend Charlotte Balfour, because he can’t bear the thought of losing you too.

‘Let me have this, darlin’. Let me at least have you safe, I know you want to be with me but I can’ lose you too. I can’ do this knowing you’re hurt or worse.’

He promises that once everything is done, he’ll send Hosea to you and you can meet somewhere that’s safe. You can both go west, set up a ranch, be safe and happy there. You know he’s lying, you know Dutch and Micah won’t let him lead a happy, peaceful life and nor will the TB that’s destroying his lungs. And yet you cling to what little hope is left.

You stay with Charlotte Balfour during the last month and it’s honestly torturous for you. After the Sean gets everyone out, he’s the only one who visits you, in order to give you news. In some ways you’re glad, he always tries to cheer you up and tells terrible jokes to make you smile. But you also come to dread his visits because the news he brings is never good.

Finally, on a cold September morning, the ground drenched with the rainfall that fell in the night, you see Hosea ride up the hill with Sean and Lenny. You gasp with excitement and race over to them, only to come to a halt as you see the grim expression on Hosea’s face.

He looks up at you and without words you already know what’s happened. You fall to your knees, gasping for air, howling like a wounded animal, tears blinding you, so you don’t see Hosea race over to you and hold you in his arms, rocking you back and forth as though you were a child.

‘He was so brave, Y/N. So brave and a good man right to the last moment. The man I always knew he could be.’

They tell you what happened, or what they had heard from John during moments when they weren’t there. Sean and Hosea had both been getting the others to safety, when everything at camp went to shit. Arthur and John had accused Micah of betraying everyone, then the Pinkertons turned up.

Sean and Lenny managed to get John to safety and with his family, but even when Hosea reached Arthur it was too late. Dutch had abandoned Arthur, Micah was still taunting Arthur in his dying moments, but Hosea made swift work of that bastard.

Arthur was relieved that Hosea had arrived and that he would die knowing everyone was safe, and that he would not be alone during his final moments. Hosea held Arthur in his arms and did his best not to cry while his son asked him to look after you, to make sure you would never want for anything and for both of you to keep each other safe.

They both watched the sunrise, until Hosea felt Arthur fall silent and still in his arms, at which point he openly wept. He had wanted to take Arthur’s body back with him, so you could bury him, but he didn’t have the strength to put Arthur over his horse.

Instead, Charles and Hosea buried Arthur on the mountainside, so he could always see the sun rising in the West and look towards home. Lenny offers to take you to his grave, so you can mourn properly and say goodbye to the man you had loved so much, and who had adored you in return.

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Sad Yeehaw Hours

SPOILERS FOR RDR2 CHAPTER 6 (AND EPILOGUE?)

Thinking about how Charles buried Arthur makes me incredibly sad but also makes me realise just how much I love this man.

Charles is up north (possibly in Canada?) with the Wapiti tribe when he hears of Arthur's demise. Instead of just mourning for him and choosing to carry on, this man goes ALL THE WAY BACK to bury him.

Also, it probably would have taken at least a few days for news to get to him, as well as a few days for him to travel down, so we're looking at a couple of weeks at least before he reaches Arthur. Arthur is obviously not going to be in the best state.

So Charles finds Miss Grimshaw (who Charles is never shown as being particularly close to but he obviously still wants to give her a little bit of dignity) and buries her a little way from camp before going to find Arthur.

And when he finds him, he doesn't just do what he did with Susan and bury him nearby, oh no, he takes him miles to the overlook where Arthur's grave is. Bearing in mind Arthur is going to be decomposing by this point!

And he buries him on this cliff, facing West because that's what Arthur told Hosea earlier in the game. Let me repeat, he buried Arthur on a cliff, facing West so that he could watch the sunset because that's what Arthur said he wanted earlier in the game.

And of course he carved a grave with his own hands, not only inscribing Arthur's name, but also a beautiful quote. Like, he put effort into this burial.

When I first heard Charles say that he buried Arthur, my heart melted. But when I thought about the actual logistics of the thing my heart broke.

It must have been so difficult for Charles to do this. This man has been living on his own for years. He finally finds a group of people who actually appreciate him and don't judge him for his race or heritage (well, most of them at least). He actually finds a family. And a close friend in Arthur.

Arthur made sure to let Charles know that he was appreciated. Went out of his way to help Charles and was the closest friend that he had in that gang at the time. And then he dies. And Charles makes sure to give him the burial that he wanted.

That must have been so hard on him. I don't want to think about the emotional trauma that that man went through to carry one of his only close friends, who is literally decomposing, and bury him. Having to actually make him a grave and bury him.

Charles has been through so much and my heart shatters to think about how much this must've affected him. This man has suffered through pain and discrimination for years and one of the only people that actually appreciated Charles ended up being a man that he had to bury just months later.

I have so much respect for Charles. Honestly. I don't know how he did it and I wish that I could just hug him (and Arthur, of course). This man is so pure and just want him to be happy. This must've scarred him (even John says that Charles found the dissolution of the gang difficult) and that man doesn't deserve it.

Charles Smith is amazing.

[dalekofchaos]

It wasn’t all Micah’s fault, Dutch is as much to blame.

A lot of people seem to think that Micah being the rat is what led to the fall of the Van der Linde gang. While it’s true that Micah is partly to blame. But Micah would not have an opportunity if it were not for Dutch’s vanity and pride.

Dutch is the classic delusional leader seen in many stories, novels. His fantasies become more real with each day, battle and somehow they think fortune is right around the corner. Like a gambler chasing the eternal big pot. No amount of money would ever be enough. It wasn't about money. It's was about the chase, the illusion of victory that never comes.

In Chapter 6 is when this all becomes more apparent. A switch went off in Dutch's mind, in Ch6. This wasn't the way HIS story was supposed to happen. Not to HIM. He's freaking Don Quixote, madman fighting knights in his mind and being a hero. It's fucking beautiful character writing and story arc for him.

Dutch has a discarded speech draft in horseshoe overlook that shows he’s always been a self-obsessed politician in context of the gang. He crosses out every line of humility and replaces it with narcissistic martyrdom, and avoids ever giving his audience a moment to question him or the path they’re on. He wants control over people so he can use them to realize his ambitions, and every book he reads in camp has a similar motif that explains why he thinks that way.

There are conversations between Lenny and Dutch, too. Lenny is not a fan of Evelyn Miller and tells Dutch why. Dutch is blind to the criticism. This speaks volumes about the two characters. This conversation made me realize that Dutch is used to peddling his philosophy to people who are not as well read as him; the moment he has to defend his ideas to someone more intelligent he gets defensive and angry. Because he isn't searching for a debate; he's searching for affirmation.

Everyone loves to paint Dutch and Hosea as the perfect partners and even ship them in a gay way. But Dutch doesn’t respect Hosea? Also Hosea was a happily married man. They're supposed to be partners, but he certainly doesn't treat him like one. He doesn't listen to him, he yells at him when he's doubting, coughing or in pain, and he makes him sleep on the cold, hard, dirty ground. He even openly ignores him in Colter, in front of the other men, and rides off when he tries to stop him from robbing Cornwall's train. I'm not saying they don't have a rich history or good moments, but it's a toxic relationship at best. Not exactly something worth praising. If you don't believe me, you can find unique dialogues as the game progresses, verifying he’s lost all faith in Dutch. To the point that he even starts telling other members to leave. Abigail, John, Arthur, Lenny, Tilly, Sadie -- he tells all of them to leave. During a dominoes game we played together he even said, "Maybe it's just me, but Dutch seems to be getting more and more unhinged." And as early as chapter one he told Arthur, "Try to stop Dutch getting all of you killed, because I'm about beginning to think he's finally lost his mind." There are also other conversations where Hosea’s disappointment with Dutch is far more blatant. He basically tells Arthur he’s been disillusioned for a while and wishes the gang would change, but when Arthur asks what they’d do instead of thieving, Hosea says, “I don’t know. I never knew. Guess I could never figure that out, neither.” By this point he’s just so dejected and defeatist because he knows Dutch won’t listen to him. He also goes on a whole tirade about how they’ve become “nothing but a bunch of killers”, which breaks his heart, and during a random campfire encounter he bares his soul and flat out tells the gang he no longer believes in Dutch’s “we’re above the law” philosophy. I feel like Dutch is glad Hosea was killed because the biggest doubter and thorn in his side was taken care of.

I mean this is what Hosea feels about the majority of Dutch’s plans

The moment John put his family as a priority, Dutch saw this as a threat and has been paranoid about John ever since. 

He tried to play the Grays, Braithewaites and Bronte  the same way he’s used Arthur, Hosea, John, Bill, Javier, and even his women like Molly, Susan and Annabelle. To Dutch, people are just set pieces in his life. He cares for them and wants them to love him, but it’s only because he’s a narcissist that needs their support to make himself stronger.

He never snapped or went crazy or turned. The Dutch that drowned Bronte is the same Dutch that had always been there. He was frustrated that he did not have the upper hand on somebody, that someone had played him the same way he plays others, and it’s probably the same reason he shot a girl in cold blood on the ferry and the same reason he shot the girl in the bank in rdr1. In that scene in rdr1, he said something like “you’re the master now John” before Dutch did what he did.

When Dutch isn’t in control, he rages against the world around him. Because as far as he’s concerned, he’s the smartest and most virtuous man around and anyone who opposes him is wrong. And anytime he loses or isn’t completely in control, somebody’s out to get him and play him like a fool. That’s why he turns on Arthur and John, and why Micah manipulates him so easily

Blackwater, going up against Cornwall, playing the inbred families and Bronte is what sealed the gang's fate.

Blackwater. If Dutch had just ignored the ferry job and let Hosea and Arthur handle their Blackwater real estate/tax scam, then they would have made it big with no one dying

If Dutch had just ignored the O'Driscolls and their train heist plans, then Cornwall would have went after Colm O'Driscoll while Dutch and the gang could have either went to Horseshoe without incident or gotten lost out West. Don’t forget it was Hosea who was against robbing that train back in chapter 1 that belonged to Leviticus Cornwall. It was after that robbery when he started sponsoring Pinkertons to find Dutch. If they stayed away from that train, they could’ve shaken off the Pinkertons easily. Hosea was right from the very start. Even before that he was saying that Blackwater robbery was a bad idea.

If Dutch or Hosea put their foot down and requested Herr Straus to stop loansharking desperate people or risk being banished from the gang, then maybe Arthur would still be alive

If they requested the aid of Trelwany to see if the rumor of Confederate gold is legit or not, then they could've realized playing one or the other family was a complete waste of time and not worth the effort.

The moment they got Jack from Bronte, they should have just left Lemoyne and never looked back.

The moment Arthur began helping the Wapiti tribe, he should have never went back to Dutch. Arthur, Charles, Sadie and John should have helped them and never looked back. John would’ve gotten Abigail and Jack out alive, while from some convincing from Arthur, Uncle and Susan would have helped Mary-Beth, Tilly and Pearson leave the gang. 

Even if everything turned out the way it did but Hosea, Lenny and Sean were alive, the gang would be split. Hosea, Susan, Lenny and Sean would have sided with Arthur. There would have been a chance that Hosea and Arthur could have talked sense into Dutch, but Dutch would not want to see that he fucked up royally and costed EVERYTHING, he would stand by the choices he made, even if it meant fighting his own brother and sons.

But no, Dutch needs to feel like this big and important leader. He needs one last take. It wasn't about money, it was wanting to prove that he won and just wanting to be the big man, like Evelyn Miller or all the outlaws that are romanticized. Micah saw him for what he was and was playing him like a fiddle and milking him for all he's worth. It was so easy for Micah to play Dutch and so easy for Arthur Hosea, Sean, Lenny, Susan, Davey, Mac and Jenny to die for the sake of Dutch proving that he is a winner and that he is right. It was never about getting lost out west or even the money or even Tahiti, it was about Dutch wanting to prove he is right and all the doubters are wrong.

Dutch Van der Linde’s pride and ego is what destroyed the gang. Even if Milton did not kill Hosea, there was no stopping Dutch’s path of self-destruction.

[cowboywaffles]

If I lay here

Wow lol this is so sad. Angst asf. Charthur asf. There's so many spelling errors plz don't hate me it's 2 in the morning lol

"you know he-" John began as he walked next to Charles along the pavements of Saint Denis.

"yeah" Charles nodded, his eyes avoiding contact with the smaller man's as they walked.

"I went back and buried him and miss grimshaw after the pinkertons left, he where he'd want to be" Charles smiled shortly, his mind casting back to the moment he thought about so very often.

Many years had past since the passing of Arthur Morgan. A man Charles hadn't known for long but had instantly bonded with. The memories he had of Arthur were sweet.

The two would share hunting trips together, Charles teaching Arthur how to better his bow skills, arthur failing at using a bow and questioning why he could just use a shotgun.

Charles was extremely fond of Arthur. The way he cared for his horse, how he helped others. He never failed to bring a smile to Charles face.

Arthur would often find himself lost in thought whilst with Charles. Hed taken to sketching Charles whilst they were both alone. Charles pretended not to notice, but it wsd hard not to laugh when Arthur began avoiding eyecontact everytime Charles caught him looking.

The first time it happened, neither of the pair were expecting it. They found themselves sharing a tent, which wasn't unusual as such, but it was something about Arthur that night, the way his long blonde hair was swept back and running down the nape of his neck, or maybe the way he lay close to Charles, his eyes wondering over the bigger man's face.

Neither of them could resist.

Theyd been awkwardly flirting before hand, but both men were to shy to admit the feelings that had formed.

"I'm sick Charles. It's. It's real bad." Arthur wheezed. His chest tight and his face pale as he rode alongside his secret lover. Charles looked over to Arthur. He'd suspected it. Arthur was losing strength by the day. His face paling, his eyes sinking. He looked tired.

Charles had tried to care for him. Telling him to sleep in whilst he'd bring him stew and tend to him, but Arthur had prioritys he needed to see to, and Charles respected that.

After rescuing Eagle flies, Charles decided to stay behind, leaving the gang. Arthur wanted to stay with him. But deep down he knew what had to be done.

In their final moments together, prying eyes fell apon them as they stood in the middle of wapiti.

There was nothing more they could have done.

Charles drew Arthur into a hug, trying not to look suspicious. Arthur wrapped an arm around Charles shoulder as he inhaled slowly, taking in the familiar scent of the man he loved so very much.

"I love you, arthur" Charles whispered, his lips ghosting over Arthur's ear.

A rouge tear rolled down Arthur pale skin as he nodded. "love you too, Charles" he whispered back, followed by a cough.

He rode off. He didn't look back. He couldnt. There was so much more he wanted to say, wanted to do.

The two had often spoke of their future together, leaving the gang and running away together, living the rest of their days in a small cabin somewhere. Both of them knew it was a low chance. But. They hoped.

Even after Arthur became ill, Charles assured him he'd never stop caring for him.

Arthur lay on the mountain side. The sun rise stinging his eyes but, he didn't seem to mind. It was beautiful. The way the clouds contrasted with the orange sun.

His mind began to wonder. Wonder back to the time him and Charles first layed eyes apon one another. To the time he first joined the gang. To the time he used to take baths with his dog Cooper, the time issac died, the first bank robbery, the time him and Charles went hunting, Pearsons god awful stew, Sean's questionable sense of humour, rescuing John off the mountain, the time he 360 no scoped Mary Linton and sent her flying off a fucking cliff as she plummeted to her well deserved death, getting boadicea and riding her for the first time, the wise words of the nun he'd helped, the photographer who'd nearly gotten himself killed by every animal imaginable, a war veteran hamish, hosea teaching him to hunt, young Jack and the flower crowns he used to make him.

The sick man smiled softly.

He took his last breath, and closed his tired eyes.

"I still think about him, yanno" Charles laughed, the drink beginning to talk as he sat on the newly placed steps of bleachers hope, uncle and John listening to him, both of them judt as drunk.

"there's not a day that goes by where I don't miss the dumb bastard" Charles said, a tear forming in his eyes despite the smile on his face.

"I buried him. I did. Carried his body. He was so, lifeless yet, that was my Arthur"

"and I loved him"

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 66)

Where Next?

Thanks for your patience guys ❤ This one is pretty short, I'm sorry about that, but there is action coming, promise. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter with cute little Jack 😊

Tagging @emily-strange and @actuallyhansolo​​ ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

I didn't see much of Arthur for a couple of days. Things were strange at the camp, there was no sense of permanence at all, there was plenty of talk about what next, where next? Some people had their answers, but mostly the camp was quiet with everyone in their own bubble of quiet contemplation. Everything had fallen apart in a matter of days and suddenly everyone had to figure out what to do next. 

I just waited patiently, doing what I could for the group. I hunted and provided some meat for everyone to fill their bellies with, it helped us to keep warm. It wasn't the toastiest of locations, so far north, but it would do until we had our plan. 

Arthur had spent the past two days with Charles. They had broken Eagle Flies out of prison after nightfall and they were up first thing the following day to be with Rains Fall. He was meeting with the army; things were not good and he was hoping to salvage some sort of deal or relationship of trust. That's where they were as I was sitting by the fire, wrapped up in a blanket and keeping an eye on Jack for John and Abigail, who were nearby discussing their plan. All I knew of it was they were wanting to get as far away from this place as possible. I wondered if we would ever see them again, or if they would keep on going further and further until the only evidence we'd ever have of their existence was a letter in the post once or twice a year. It made me sad to think about it, but I couldn't for one second protest it. We couldn't have much of a happily ever after, not after the things we'd done. We just had to make the best of things. 

"What're you doing, Jack?" I called out when I saw him wandering a little too close for comfort to one of the geysers.

"Just looking," he shouted back to me, though he stopped and turned around to smile at me. He was still smiling. It astounded me, honestly, he'd taken everything so well. 

He did ask about Dutch once or twice, wondering when we were going back to him. Abigail was usually the one to tell him the truth, but softly, carefully, while John and the rest of us sat tongue tied, unable to think of the right words to satisfy a four year old in such a situation. Jack usually responded with silence, and I couldn't tell if his silence was a signal of sadness or indifference.

I watched the boy as he picked up a pebble from the ground and then eyed up the geyser. I knew what his question was going to be before he opened his mouth. 

"What would happen if I threw this inside?" He called. I exhaled a chuckle and went to answer, though the words got stuck. I didn't actually know.

"Uhh," I vocalised cluelessly, "I s'pose it'd shoot back out again." 

"Can I try it?" 

"Best not," I chuckled, "the speed that thing would come out– I don't know. I wouldn't if I were you, sweetie. What if it falls down and bops you on the noggin?"

"I'd be okay," he assured me, and I cocked my brow a little. 

"Your momma might not be, I'm supposed to be looking after you. I imagine she'd toss me in there if you got hurt on my watch. C'mere." 

He kept hold of the pebble but did as he was asked, and came trotting over to me with a pair of rosy cheeks.

"Sit by the fire, okay? It's freezing out here, ain't you cold?" 

"No," he told me, his tone was high and it was very obviously untrue.

"Your nose'll drop off if you ain't careful," I warned, a little smirk on my face. He touched his pink nose and considered it for a moment. 

"It didn't fall off when we were in the snow." 

"The snow?" 

"With Uncle Dutch and Hosea, and everyone else. Before you were here," he said, gazing down at the rock in his hand, scratching at a piece of mud caked onto it until it gathered under his fingernail. He wiped it on his trousers.

"Ohh," I nodded, I'd heard about it before, their short stop at Colter after the Blackwater fiasco. "Wow, seems like a long time ago, I bet. You've been to so many places since then, ain't you?"

He hummed his agreement and nodded, not looking up at me. 

"You like going to different places?" 

"I guess so," he shrugged, "but sometimes I get bored." 

I chuckled, "yeah, I think we all do," I smiled at him and stroked his hair for a moment. It was feathery soft and light, and I sighed at his innocence. Such a sweet boy. I had no doubt that Abigail and John loved him and were the best parents they could possibly be to him, but I wished he'd had more normal beginnings in life. And I hoped he'd forget some of the awful things he must've seen and heard. 

"How're you feeling, about going away with your ma and pa?" I asked him. 

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" I repeated, leaning my head on my fist as I leaned forward and down to his level. 

"We're going away. Uncle Arthur, and you, and Sadie won't be there? And all the others?"

"No, sweetheart, we won't. But I'm sure it won't be the last you'll see of all of us, hm? Right now, your mama and papa only wanna take you someplace safer, you understand that, don't you?" I asked softly and he sighed, his little shoulders jerking with it.

"I guess so," his voice was small and I gave his shoulder a little squeeze. 

"Keep your chin up, little prince. Your parents love you to the moon and back, a million times over. You're gonna be okay," I smiled at him, even though he was staring at the rock. I considered it for a moment. "Can I see that?" 

He looked up at me in question, and noticed that I was looking at the rock. He paused for a second before handing it over. I inspected it for a moment, it looked much smaller in my hand than it did in his but it still filled up most of my palm. I clutched it tight in my hand, then looked at Jack as I kissed my knuckles. I closed my eyes for a few moments, and I heard him giggle. 

"What're you doing?" He questioned and I scrunched my face up, shushing him softly. 

"I'm concentrating," I murmured, and continued the performance for a few more moments, his giggles continuing until I slowly cracked one eye open, and then the other. 

"What did you do?" He stood up and turned to me, his hand going to mine, trying to pry my fingers from the stone, his cheeks round and rosy with his grin. 

"I filled it with my love Jacky, and a little extra that I got from Karen, Mary Beth, Tilly, Hosea, Kieran, Molly, Sean, Mr Trelawny, Reverend Swanson, Mr Pearson, Uncle…" I made a show of gasping for a breath after listing off so many names, then swallowed before deciding to mention the names which followed, "and Javier and Bill too, and Mr Strauss… and Dutch." 

My voice had wavered and I needed a second to compose myself. I cleared my throat, and was grateful that Jack was preoccupied by looking at the grey lump of rock in my hand. It was warm from my body heat and he gasped a little when he took it from me, marvelling about it's temperature.

"But it's a big rock. Plenty of room for more love. How 'bout you ask everyone to hold on tight to that rock, and put all their love and care into it. So, as long as you've got that, you'll be safe, and you'll be able to remember all of us and know that we ain't ever leaving you, not in our hearts." 

"Okay!" He did a little jump and squeezed the rock in his hand again, holding it to his chest with the biggest smile I'd seen all year. It warmed my heart despite the freezing temperatures. I glanced up to where Lenny was sat wrapped up in his winter coat, a book in his gloved hands. 

"Why don't you go ask Lenny if he don't mind taking a break from reading?" I suggested, and Jack immediately spun around and ran over to him. 

I watched him from a distance, as he excitedly explained the concept. Lenny chuckled and looked up at me from across the camp. He put his book down, laced his fingers together and pushed them out to stretch out his hands before giving them a shake and rocking his head from side to side, limbering up before taking the rock from Jack and cupping it tightly between both hands and squeezing it as hard as he could, eyes intently focused on them. I grinned and laughed to myself, loving his commitment to making the boy smile. I knew everyone would be just as eager to please, not afraid of making a fool of themselves. 

For the rest of the afternoon Jack went around the camp asking people to contribute to the pebble. I was glad to have given him something to amuse him, and perhaps something to remember us all by, even if it was just a simple rock. It would be nice if he remembered us all each time he looked at it, if it didn't get lost along the way during whatever trips he and his parents were about to embark on. 

In the late afternoon Arthur came back. Charles was not by his side but he quickly reassured us that he had simply gone to visit the Wapiti Reservation after the negotiations hadn't exactly gone to plan. I tried not to listen to the details, despite this horrid feeling that built in the pit of my gut as days went by. I kept trying to reason with myself that Arthur had been putting his life in danger far longer than he had known me and had always come out alive. It didn't stop the voice in my head that would whisper about his luck running out…

Before I spiralled into those thoughts I got on with preparing dinner. As long as I had Arthur back in my arms at the end of the day, whatever chaos had found him while he was gone was not worth thinking about. Torturing myself was not going to help anyone, especially not Arthur, who would no doubt grow tired of my whittling about his well being. I just had to keep telling myself that soon this would all be over. 

–

"Canada, I'm thinking. Would be their best chance. They can't stay here much longer after all of that mess we left behind after the negotiations today," Charles was saying over his helping of rabbit stew. He'd returned from the reservation, where he'd apparently spent the best part of the evening convincing them to start packing up to leave. "Rains Fall seems hesitant, not that I don't understand him.  They've been moved around enough, all they want is to settle and have peace so they can live."

"Doesn't seem like they'll be able to do that here though," John said, and Arthur murmured a sound of agreement.

"He's coming to terms with that I think. He knows they'll have to move on sooner or later, it's just hard for him to accept right now, even harder for Eagle Flies. He's even more against the idea," Charles replied.

"He's got a lot of passion and fire in him, that man. He ain't quite learned though, that sometimes passion like that can get you killed," Arthur said. Charles silently nodded in agreement and looked down at his plate. "Canada, you say?"

"Canada," Charles nodded. "And I'd go with them."

"Really?" My brows raised. A quick, sharp pain went through my heart as in a second it became reality that the group was splitting up. These people I had lived with for so long and come to love, we were all going separate ways...

"Yeah. I don't have any other ideas," he chuckled a bit, then shook his head and became a little more serious, "I like it, with them. I feel closer to my mother." 

I smiled, comforted by the fact that even if Charles wouldn't be with us, he'd have a family.

"Arthur," I heard from behind. It was Sadie's gravelly whisper and my heart dropped. I knew what she was going to ask. Arthur, sitting beside me around the fire, glanced over his shoulder and nodded. Then he wordlessly leaned over to kiss my temple, and got up. He stepped over the log we sat on and headed away from the group with Sadie.

They were going to the O'Driscolls' hideout. More bloodshed. More danger. I took a breath and met Charles' eyes.

"I'm happy for you Charles. You deserve to be with people who care about you, who'll all keep each other safe. And the fact they also share your heritage, that's even nicer," I smiled at him and he nodded, "when do you think you'll go?"

"Soon as I've convinced them," he chuckled a little again, the corner of his lip lifting. 

"I'll miss you," I told him. It seemed to startle him but only a little, he was often cool and calm and not even surprising words of emotion could throw him off for long. 

"I'll miss you too," he said after a moment, and the words sounded almost like a revelation, like he also hadn't fully wrapped his head around the fact he'd be saying goodbye to us all until now. "We'll write to each other, all of us, yeah?" 

"Definitely," I nodded, my smile widening, "and if I ever find myself in Canada, I'll have a free place to stay, right?" I teased just a little and he laughed. 

"Of course.”

[ajnerdess]

Return (Javier x reader fluff)

It’s me, back with another soft Javier and reader fluffy oneshot. This is based on the idea of Javier returning from Guarma and seeing his love (reader) once again! Enjoy!

You wiped the sweat from your brow as you were busy crafting fire arrows for Charles while he was out helping the Wapiti Tribe. You hated the camp at Lakay. It was damp and dark and you felt exposed to every danger there. At night, strange sounds filled the air and even from inside the cabin with the rest of the camp, you felt unsafe. You had slept next to Charles the past few days, feeling slightly safer from the outside world in his arms. His warmth and presence offered some comfort from the loss of your lover Javier too. But Lakay was no more enjoyable, of course, the makeshift camp was made worse by the loss of so many members.

Hosea and Lenny were dead. John had been arrested. Arthur, Dutch, Bill, Micah and of course Javier were missing, presumed dead. The gang was lost, and you hadn’t been ready to lose any of them, except of course Micah, who was hardly missed company after your various run-ins with him over his offensive comments to both Javier and Charles.

As you crafted another arrow you jumped in shock as a man practically ran into the cabin. Arthur. He was alive.

You stood up, watching in shocked silence as the others flocked to Arthur, hugging him and telling him how glad they were to see him. When Arthur made eye contact with you, he offered a small smile as you approached slowly, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. When you pulled away, you held him at arms-length.

“Arthur, you’re alive? It’s, it’s so good to see you�� you managed.

“You too darlin’ you too” he replied.

You swallowed, daring to ask a question you feared the answer of.

“Javier, where’s Javier? Is he, is he, where is he Arthur?”

“I’m here mi amor.”

You looked past Arthur. There in the doorway, with Dutch, Bill and Micah behind him was Javier.

Your heart stopped and you let out a gasp as you stared at your lover in disbelief. Tears filled your eyes as you made your way towards him, practically running towards him.

“You’re alive! Oh my god Javi, you’re alive” you said as you collided into him, forcing him to lean on the door for support as you threw your arms around him. As his arms closed around you though, he let out a hiss of pain.

“Easy mi amor, easy” he whispered.

You pulled away enough to look him up and down, feeling his chest as you examined him for injuries.

“What’s the matter my love? Are you hurt?”

Javi nodded. “I got shot in the leg.”

Your tears fell as you couldn’t contain your emotions any longer. You shook your head as you looked at him. “Oh Javi” you whispered with a shaky voice, your hand on his neck gently.

Javier noticed your tears and his hand went to your face, stroking your cheek softly. “Oh hermosa don’t cry, I’m alright.”

Dutch cleared his throat. “Why don’t you two get some privacy? I’m sure Javier has a lot to tell you y/n.”

You nodded as Javier’s arm went around your waist and you led him to the sleeping quarters as the others remained in the main part of the cabin.

When you were alone, you burst into tears, throwing your arms around your lover once more, holding him close to you, careful not to put any pressure on his leg.

“Hey, hey it’s alright mi amor, I’m here, it’s ok” he told you softly, kissing your hair as he held you close.

“I thought you were dead, I thought you were gone forever Javi, i thought you were dead” you said, almost hysterical as you gripped him.

“I know, I know I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry you were alone hermosa. I’m here mi querida, I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere now, I’m sorry” he whispered, calming you by stroking your hair and kissing your cheek softly.

You led him to a bedroll, sitting down with him as you stared at him, making sure he was really there, that this wasn’t some elaborate dream.

Javier held you close as he wiped the tears from your eyes, holding you in his arms as he sat up leant against the wall with you in-between his legs.

“You’re really here, you are really alive. What happened Javi?”

He stroked your hair away from your face as he stared down at you, as if he was also in disbelief you were really there.

“We hid in Saint Denis and then when the patrols had died down a little, we tried to leave the city but we couldn’t. There were guards at every exit of the city, so we head to the docks, the plan was to just board a steamer that was heading up river, but instead we found a boat that took us to a place called Guarma. We were taken prisoner by some crooked businessmen and then when we made for an escape, I was shot in the leg and taken hostage. Dutch, he came back for me, him and Arthur they found me, freed me and we made it back here. I made it back to you.”

You bit your lip, imagining the trauma Javier must have been through. He noticed you staring at him with a worried expression and leaned down to kiss your forehead softly. You had almost forgotten how he felt, how warm he was, how every touch of his set you alight.

“That dream of moving to a nice home away from this life, from the violence, from the pinkertons, it gets further and further away every day doesn’t it?”

Javier shook his head slowly, placing another kiss on your forehead, his arms holding you close. “That isn’t true mi amor, we just need to stick by Dutch, he always has a plan to get us through all this mess. You’ll see, I’ll get us the nicest house, and the nicest ring and I’ll make you the happiest wife querida.”

You smiled faintly, Javier said those words with such enthusiasm, you had no choice but to believe him. He spoke to you about Guarma, about Hosea and Lenny dying. In turn you told him about burying them both and giving them a proper funeral. You cried when you told him, thinking of how young poor Lenny was, too young to die, of how Hosea was the only one who could make Dutch see sense. Javier prickled at that, after all, the man had saved Javier twice now, he would not allow a bad word said about the gang’s leader.

When Javier yawned, you showed him to your hammock, wanting to give him the space to sleep and rest his leg but when you went to leave his side, he tugged at your arm.

“Where are you going querida?”

You stroked his cheek. “You need to sleep my love, you need to rest.”

He shook his head. “I’ve just spent time on a tropical island, thinking I might never see you again, thinking I might die. I won’t sleep tonight unless you are by my side, get in.”

You giggled slightly. “Javi I don’t even know if I’ll fit in there with you.”

He looked at you with pleading eyes. “Try querida, for me.”

He held out the hammock for you to climb in next to him. You fit, just about but it was a tight fit and you fit snuggly against Javier. He placed an arm around you as you slot your legs between his, careful not to put pressure on his leg. With one arm at your side and another resting on his chest gently, you felt immediately at ease. Javier was warm and the feeling of his chest moving up and down was comfort enough for you, knowing he was alive and safe and with you once more. You felt him pick at your hair, running it softly through his fingers. You smiled up at him.

“Are you comfortable?”

Javier nodded down at you, staring at your lips before he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss went straight to your head, making you feel dizzy with need for him, your hand went to his neck as you pulled him close to deepen the kiss, your tongue tracing over his lips, silently begging for access. Your hand slipped down his chest but Javier’s hand reached out to stop you.

“Hey querida, I don’t want to do this here, like this, without any real privacy. Besides, not even sure we can make love in a hammock, not without one of us ending up on the floor. Let’s, let’s just rest tonight, that ok?”

You swallowed, slowing your breathing, you nodded, as much as you hated to agree, he was right, anyone could walk in and with the separation you had experienced, you wanted to make love to him properly.

You kissed him chastely on the lips before setting your head back against his chest. Javier’s arms closed around you once more and you both finally found sleep, listening the sounds of each other’s breathing.

[tahitianmangoes]

The Last Shall Be First and the First Shall Be Last

I’m trying something a little new/different. I’m writing a short (well, we’ll see!) series focusing on Charthur. Kinda like a small collection of ficlets that can be read all together or individually! 

Part1: The Climb (Also on AO3)

The Climb

The events of that night weighed Charles down with a sadness that he hadn’t felt since losing his mother.

The first time would be the last; the first time Charles felt Arthur in his arms, in an embrace he had longed to hold him in since they found themselves stuck in the snow at Colter, would be the last and it hurt him more than anything. Charles had watched Arthur ride away from him after that. Charles had wanted to confess his feelings to Arthur but could never find the right time or right words. And now it was too late. He wondered if Arthur already knew. Surely, that was giving Arthur too much credit for his emotions. Charles allowed himself to smile sadly as he watched the man he loved ride away from him one last time into the night.

He felt sick but he had work to do. He and Paytah were given the difficult task of burying Eagle Flies. The boy had died foolishly saving Arthur. "It shoulda been me!" Arthur had growled, his voice cracking with guilt and anger. Charles had wanted to comfort him but didn't know what to say anymore.

There was little time for ceremony or to find the perfect place to bury the Chief's son. Charles could see the pain on Paytah’s face though he tried not to show it. He didn’t make eye contact with Charles and didn’t say a word to him the entire time. Charles knew he thought he and Arthur were to blame and maybe, in a way they were.

The Wapiti were almost ready to go when Charles and Paytah returned, they had little in way of possessions any more. “We should head north, to Canada.” Charles told Rains Fall, walking over to him quickly. They didn't have much time. “If we set off now we should get a good head start.” “You have helped enough, Charles and my people are grateful but I think now is the time we part ways.” Charles’s eyes widened. “But… I need to help you get out of here before the army comes! They’ll be heading this way right now!" Rains Fall was shaking his head. He had wore a sorrowful smile but the look in his eyes was as resolute as ever. “We will be just fine.” “But…” Charles repeated uselessly, speechless. “You care deeply for Mr Morgan. You should go after him.” Rain Falls said laying a hand gently on Charles’s shoulder. “He needs you more than we do.” Charles would have argued if he had thought there would have been any point but he knew that Rains Fall must have made his mind up and that had to be respected.

So Charles mounted Taima, kicking her swiftly in sides and shouting “hyah!” He sped from the reservation. He knew Arthur had gone back to Beaver Hollow and was at least two hours ahead of him but maybe he wouldn't be too late...

He rode into the night, the sky had gone from deepest navy to blackest obsidian. No stars shone that night. Charles didn't remember the route he took, didn't remember the journey at all. With each thud of his heart he thought Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. He flattened his body to his horse, urging her faster and faster until she snorted and whinnied. "Please, just a little more," Charles whispered to her. "Please."

Beaver Hollow was ablaze when he got there. Smoke plumed into the sky and the camp burned amber. The tents and caravans were burnt to the ground and smouldered. Susan’s lifeless body lay at the mouth of the cave. Charles called Arthur’s name into the night desperately, hoping he'd call back but of course, he didn't. It looked like everyone else was long gone. Was he too late? Had Pinkertons torn through and taken him? There was no sign of anyone else either. Horses gone but belongings untouched. He went to Arthur’s tent which was half gone now, the only thing left the pressed flower and photograph of Arthur’s mother he kept by his bed. Charles scooped them up. He didn't know why. Maybe because these would be the only things left to remind him of Arthur if he truly were too late.

There were footprints in the mud, too many for Charles to make out whose were whose. If he stood by Susan, he could see there were more footprints on one side than the other then a pair in the middle. If he closed his eyes he could imagine the scene: Dutch stood in the middle, between Arthur, probably John and Susan too, the only ones with any sense left. On the other side was poor, dumb Bill, misguided Javier and that snake Micah. “Who is with me and who is betrayin’ me?” Dutch would have roared. He was gone and Charles had known it for a long time, only sticking around because he couldn't tear himself away from Arthur. He should have gone after the Blackwater job went wrong but now he was in too deep and he cared too much.

Two sets of prints went into the cave. Charles took the risk that they belonged to Arthur and John. The cave was dark, the lanterns had burned out and Charles could hardly see a hand in front of his face but something guided him, something that he couldn't explain but he trusted somehow. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

Arthur’s striped mustang lay lifeless in the trail once Charles found his way out of the cave again after what seemed like a lifetime of stumbling about in the dark. He touched the body of the wretched animal. Still slightly warm. He knew how much she had meant to Arthur. The poor thing was riddled with bullets. Charles wondered whether it had thrown him. He found the trail again, two footprints leading up the mountain. Charles’s whole body pulsed with adrenaline and fear. What if he was too late. He’d never forgive himself. He should have gone with the Wapiti.

The mountain would have been arduous but Charles didn’t feel it. His feet carried him with ease. Two sets of prints turned into one and Charles knew Arthur was close.

The dawn was beginning to break as Charles, exhausted, reached the summit and saw the body of Arthur Morgan crumpled on the ground. For a moment, he stopped. The world stopped too. “No,” Charles whispered. He flew to Arthur, “no, no no..!” Rolling Arthur over he could see that he had put up a fight, of course he had, his face bloodied and bruised as were his fists. His clothes stained crimson. His eyes were closed and Charles thought, as morn’s first light shone on him, he somehow looked angelic.

Arthur’s eyes opened ever so slightly, sparkling blue looking up at Charles, unfocused and hazy. He coughed before he breathed, “...Charles…?”

Part 2

[squidproquoclarice]

Do you think if Lenny had survived the Saint Denis bank robbery anything would have changed? I didn't think so at first, but then I thought about how smart Lenny is, how quick he is to call out Dutch, and his close relationship with Arthur. It's possible things might have turned out differently if Arthur had more people on his side. Asking partially because there's next to no Lenny meta.

I really wish there was more Lenny meta too.  He’s a fascinating character, and clearly someone Arthur also greatly likes, trusts, and believes in.  Preaching Forgiveness As He Went and then the companion stagecoach robbery are both lovely interactions between the two men showing their dynamic, and Lenny’s initiative and insight, and Arthur’s desire to help and encourage and teach him.  And of course A Quiet Time is just fantastic.

I’m still not sure whether the fact he’s killed mid-mission rather than getting a reaction cutscene like all the rest speaks more to the desperation of the moment and the sudden shock of his death compared to the others, or if it’s dismissing Lenny by giving him short shrift.  It’s jarring, either way.

But that moment where Arthur stays there with Lenny’s body, obviously wanting to not abandon him, while all the rest of them just race by is pretty meaningful.  The fact that Sadie talks about making sure they recovered Lenny’s body along with Hosea’s, and burying them together, is also meaningful.

When you look back, there’s a very clear trend starting with Sean’s death: the fighters who die or leave are people who likely would have supported Arthur over Micah and Dutch.  Sean, Hosea, and Lenny are killed, and Charles and Sadie are pulled away to protect others.  (Kieran is the only one I waver on.  He’s enough of a follower that I have some doubts on his loyalty, though honestly I think he’d have just left entirely like Swanson and others rather than fought.)  Nobody who’s gone is someone who’d have been a firm Micah and Dutch supporter and would have fought with them, and that side also gains Cleet and Joe to tip the balance somewhat. Lenny’s survival might have changed some things.  When you look at the Chapter 6 situation you’ve got Arthur fairly isolated when it comes to clear, decisively anti perspective on Dutch.  He’s missing Hosea’s guidance.  John, who will call Dutch out, is in prison for a good bit of it and then focused on Abigail and Jack.  Charles is distancing himself from the bullshit and is rightly focusing on the plight of the Wapiti.  Sadie is busy rescuing John and dealing with the O’Driscolls, and she’s also struggling with her trauma.  

There really isn’t someone who can see Dutch clearly from experience and insight, and is freely available to fulfill that role of saying it like it is.  Lenny could have possibly done that.  He’s young and new, but people know he’s extremely bright.  Arthur trusts his read of things. It’s very possible, though, that after that Arthur would try to insist that he leave and save himself.  He knows Lenny’s young and bright.  He doesn’t want to see anyone go down with the ship (except maybe himself, sigh) but especially someone like that he believes has so much more to give the world and so much more to see and experience, he’d desperately want Lenny to have the future that he can’t see for himself. Overall, I do think Lenny being there in Chapter 5 (and his perspective on Guarma, as Javier as the only POC of the gang there being unfortunately silenced by captivity), and then in Chapter 6 would be a really interesting alternate scenario, either way. 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Instead of Eagle Flies, reader is the one who gets shot and Arthur tells her this, “ Don’t die on me– Please. ” After killing Cornwall. Reader survives though but isn't allowed to fight with the boys for awhile.

Okay this one made me mad because of the ending. Why couldn’t we see this ending in the game?! Rockstar, you robbed us! 

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Warnings: blood, violence, swearing (but Tuberculosis? What’s that?) 

Hell. That’s where you’re at right now. You’re running along a boardwalk over the black, flaming ground, accompanied by Sadie Adler. She’s closely followed by Arthur Morgan and you three run along the path, closer to the main building of the oil factory. Up ahead are at least a dozen men, factory workers and army men, shooting at you. The three of you return fire. Mixed among them are a few members of your gang and some Wapiti warriors. 

The three of you finally leave the boardwalk and land on solid ground. Out of a door on the right, the Wapiti chief’s son Eagle Flies gets pinned by an army soldier. Arthur shoots him, giving Eagle Flies the chance to throw the dying man off. 

“Arthur! You came!” he says. It’s clear by his voice he’s relieved. 

“Course. Now come on, we ain’t outta the woods yet,” Arthur replies. 

You’re given about five seconds before a new wave of army men rounds the corner and begins shooting. As they’re taken down, Sadie screams. 

“Move up!” 

You and the others do now that you’re joined by Charles, Javier, Bill, John and Dutch. You make your way up towards the tracks where a train sits, always keeping an eye on Arthur. Of course, you’re worried about everyone’s survival. Despite how bad things have gotten in the gang, they’re still your family. Arthur’s as strong as ever, but he’s still just a man and you know from experience how easily a man can die when hit with a bullet. You can’t afford to lose him to one. He is your husband, after all. 

As the gang gets closer to the train, a door on one of the boxcars slides open. More army soldiers hop out firing, and then a gatling gun comes into view. A man grabs the handles and begins firing. You and the others take cover as quickly as you can, but you see two Wapiti warriors fall. 

“Arthur!” you scream over the roar of the gun. “Take him out!” 

Arthur hears you and nods, aiming around the corner of the building he’s hiding behind. Being the best shot, he’s the best chance of killing this bastard. You fire at the soldier handling the gun, successfully attracting his attention to you. It only takes a second before you see the telltale ribbon of blood fly into the air and the silence of the gun to know Arthur’s done the job. You let out your breath and continue on with the others, advancing upon the factory. 

This whole thing is a nightmare. You understand Eagle Flies’s fury behind this attack, but why the hell aren’t you and the others turning around and running away now that you know he’s alive and capable of doing so? Dutch keeps encouraging everyone to go on, to secure this place. You’ve no doubt he’s got some ulterior motive behind this whole thing. Why wouldn’t he? This whole time, he’s been stringing the Indians along, using their feud with the army for his own gain, and he’s made things twice as bad in the process. You’ve gotten extremely infuriated with his behavior in the past few weeks. The only reason you and Arthur have stayed so long is because you want to get as many out alive as you can. 

The gang’s in the main area just around the oil factory within the fences, taking down more of the army. Eagle Flies and Paytah run past you, taking down three soldiers with their bows and arrows. You see Arthur kneel down and shoot a man in the neck. Just as you’re aiming at another man, you get knocked onto the ground by something heavy. 

“Y/N!” you hear Arthur scream as you struggle against the thing holding you down. Turning around, you see it’s a soldier who tackled you. He’s got you pinned in such a way you can’t pull your pistol or knife out to get him off you. He grits his teeth and points a revolver at your face, clicking the hammer down. 

Suddenly the man’s thrown off you. Arthur’s picked him up by the collar and shoves his long knife into the man’s belly. He gurgles and collapses next to you. Arthur takes your hand and lifts you up. Despite being surrounded by gunfire, he checks to see you’re okay. You fend him off quickly and return to the fight. 

After a few more moments, the last few soldiers left standing flee into the hills and forests surrounding the factory. Dutch calls to everyone, making sure the gang’s alright. Surprisingly, no one was killed. The same cannot be said for the Wapiti, who have suffered heavy losses from this attack. You feel a surge of sorrow as Eagle Flies and Paytah wander, checking on the bodies of those who had been their friends, seeing if any of them lived. 

Dutch calls Arthur to his side and the two go into the building to retrieve railroad bonds. So that’s why Dutch pursued for so long. Of course he didn’t give a damn about the Indians. He merely used their attack as an excuse to steal the bonds. You feel a sharp flood of anger towards him and you go into the factory, wanting to give him a piece of your mind. 

You get into the building and find yourself alone. You’re not entirely sure where Arthur and Dutch went, but you see, out the large open door leading to the train tracks, more army soldiers approaching. Leading them is a familiar figure: Colonel Favours, the piece of shit spear-heading the movement and violence against the Wapiti. 

You start firing at the squad approaching you, but they fire back, forcing you to take cover behind some crates. They quickly advance and start going past you and into the factory. You’re worried, Arthur’s still in there. You just hope he and Dutch heard the gunshots and know to get out quickly. 

You hear them rushing past inside the factory and then something loud bursts and hisses, followed by Arthur’s yell. 

“Dutch!” you hear him scream. By his voice, you instantly know he’s in trouble. You shoot the last man you’ve been fighting with and run inside to find a soldier’s pinned Arthur to the ground. Dutch is nowhere to be seen. You quickly shoot the soldier and rush over to help Arthur up. 

Just as you reach him, you hear footsteps behind you. When you turn, you feel something slap you hard against the face and then a blinding pain in your abdomen. It knocks you off your feet and Arthur screams your name. 

You look up and see Colonel Favours standing above you, his gun pointed at your head. Just as he’s about to pull the trigger, his temple explodes in a cloud of blood, the air wrenched by the shot of a gun. He collapses near your feet and you clutch a hand over the spot on your abdomen that feels like it’s been set on fire. Pulling your hand away, you see it covered in blood. 

“Oh Goddamnit, Y/N!” Arthur growls as he runs over to your side and looks at your wound. Your breathing is sharp and fast. You’re scared. You’ve been shot before, but it was in your upper arm and far from lethal. This is different. You know how quickly people can die from a gunshot to the gut. 

“Arthur!” you whimper. 

“Shhh, shhhh, I got ya,” he says. He picks you up slowly, apologizing over and over again as you cry out in pain. He carries you towards the door bridal style. 

“That was damn stupid, sweetheart,” he grunts. “You shouldn’t have done that!” 

“I couldn’t let him kill you,” you say, tears leaking from your eyes. 

He rushes to the door and kicks it open, stepping out onto the platform. On the ground, Dutch and the others are mounting up. Arthur grits his teeth and glares at Dutch. 

“You. You walked away!” 

“I did no such thing,” Dutch says. 

Arthur is about to argue, but Charles rushes over. “Shot’s bad, Arthur. We need to get her somewhere and yank that bullet out.” 

Dutch hollers at the others to return to camp, but Charles, John and Sadie stay behind with Arthur, who’s still holding you. Eagle Flies runs over. 

“Bring her to my father, Arthur. We must move quickly.” 

By this point, the shock is beginning to set in. Your heart’s pumping hard and you’re starting to shiver. Arthur sets you down on your feet and strips off his coat, draping it over you. He calls his horse over and he and Charles lift you into the saddle. You cry out in pain and Arthur apologizes again. He gets in the saddle behind you. 

The group begins riding towards Wapiti. You try focusing on the conversation they’re having, anything in order to ignore the pain from your wound. You try to stay calm, knowing that the more you panic, the quicker you’ll bleed out. 

Arthur keeps a firm grip on you while directing his horse. He mutters in your ear to hold on. 

“I don’t want any of the money from those bonds,” Charles says. “Too much blood on them.” 

“I agree. Eagle Flies, I’m sorry about this. About all this. Dutch used you just like he used the rest of us. We’re nothin’ but angry pawns in his game.” 

Eagle Flies thanks Arthur for all his help, despite how things ended. “I’m just sorry it was Y/N to pay the ultimate price.” 

Arthur becomes furious at this. “Dutch had a chance to get me out. He saw I was in trouble and he walked away. If Y/N hadn’t been there, I’d be dead now!” 

“That seems to be what he does now,” John says. “No one matters anymore, everyone’s expendable.” 

“Let’s just get her there quickly, she ain’t got much time left,” Sadie says from the back. 

Arthur kicks his horse into a faster gallop, despite it causing more pain. Arthur whispers in your ear again, begging you to stay with him. You grip his hand as hard as you can, but he doesn’t like how weak it is. 

The horses slow to a trot as they enter the tribe. Many of the members stop and stare hard at you and the intruders, but then their eyes soften when they see Eagle Flies and Paytah. Eagle Flies dismounts his horse and rushes to his father’s tipi. Rains Fall comes out as Arthur dismounts and pulls you into his arms. At this point, you don’t have much energy left to even groan in pain. 

“Bring her inside. We will do what we can,” Rains Fall says to Arthur. 

 You’re carried into the tipi and set down near the fire. Another man enters the tent, one you’ve seen in the tribe during your previous visits, but never met. He’s introduced as Snow Owl. He inspects you quickly. 

“The bullet must be removed immediately.” He has in his hand a small sack of tools. He pulls out a pair of thin tongs and holds them above the fire, sterilizing them. He removes them and waits for them to cool. 

Charles says that he wants to help the Wapiti begin moving as it will likely only be hours before the army comes here to retaliate for the earlier attack. Sadie stays by your side and Arthur holds your hand still. 

“Arthur, will you come with me to camp?” John says. “I want to get Jack and Abigail. Think our time with the gang is done.” 

Arthur sighs. He doesn’t want to leave you now but he’s so enraged by what Dutch did he wants to tell him exactly what he thinks about him. “Sure. Best be quick though.” 

“Arthur?” you whimper, your voice weak. 

He leans down and kisses you softly. “I’ll be back before you know it, darlin’. Just… don’t die on me. Please. I need ya.” He kisses your head, cupping your cheek. You want to beg him to stay with you, that you’re scared, but you’re so weak you can’t get the words out. Arthur gets up and heads out with John. You want to cry. 

Snow Owl inspects the tongs and deems them cool enough to use on you. He instructs Sadie and Eagle Flies to hold you down. Sadie grabs your legs while Eagle Flies pins your shoulders down. Your heart begins to beat fast as Snow Owl gently pulls your shirt and the hem of your chemise out from under your pants and lifts them enough to see your wound. 

Despite your fear of the pain you’re about to be in, you hear a soft song being sung by Rains Fall. There are no words, just a tune, but you feel oddly comforted. Until Snow Owl dips the tongs down and goes into your wound. Your eyes widen, your vision sparking and your entire body’s on fire. A guttural scream forces its way out of your throat and you start to cringe your body, trying to get away from the pain. You’re writhing so much that Paytah has to jump in and help hold you down. 

The pain’s too much, your vision begins fogging. You feel something tugging at your abdomen and look down, the pain becoming less. Snow Owl is holding up the tongs, a bullet held in between them. You take in a deep breath and then you're pulled into a world of darkness. 

************************************

You’ve no idea what time it is, if it’s night or day, or how long it’s been since you were shot. Your senses slowly begin waking up. First is your hearing, you hear the crackling of a fire, the soft sound of someone breathing. It sounds familiar. Next is your smell detecting the hint of pine and leather. It smells comforting, like home. Last to return is touch. You’re lying in a slightly elevated position, your neck and head propped up on something soft and warm. Something gently strokes across your forehead in a repetitive motion. There’s a dull but constant ache in your belly. 

The memories of everything that’s happened come back. You recall watching Arthur, struggling beneath a soldier until you shot him, which resulted in you getting shot too. You remember the painful ride to Wapiti and Arthur leaving you at the moment when you wanted him there the most. 

You take in a deep breath, and the thing rubbing your forehead moves down to your cheek. Your eyes begin to open and the first thing you see is Arthur looking down at you, a soft smile on his lips. He sighs in relief. 

“Hey, sweetheart. You’re okay.” 

You find your head’s in his lap and the thing rubbing your forehead is his thumb. You smile back in return and try lifting your hand to grab his, but it feels like your arm’s made out of metal and is now too heavy for you to lift. 

Arthur asks if you’re thirsty and you nod. He gently lifts you up into a sitting position and pulls you into his lap. You settle into his chest, ignoring the burn in your abdomen. You’re shivering a little, feeling cold. Arthur rustles through his satchel and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. He uncorks it and helps you have a few sips. When you’re done, he notices how you’re shaking. He grabs his dark green shotgun coat and drapes it over you. Between the coat and his body, you quickly warm up. He kisses your head softly. 

“You in a lot of pain, sweetheart?” 

“It’s not horrible,” you mumble into his shirt. His arms fold tighter around you. “When… when are we going back to the gang?” 

You’re surprised you’re not back in Beaver Hollow now, and that you can’t hear the squawking of Grimshaw now. All you can hear is the fire and birds singing outside the tent. Sure, you and Arthur had discussed potentially leaving the gang when things started to get really bad, but it just hadn’t happened. 

“We’re, uh, we’re not, sweetheart. John and I got Abigail and Jack and I told Dutch that I’m done giving him everything and getting nothing in return. He almost made me lose you. I’ve lost a lot of things because of this life, but I won’t lose you. Not if I can help it.” 

He settles a hand over your head and you manage to drape an arm around his waist. “Good. I was starting to think we wouldn’t get out alive with how things were getting.” 

“That was my thought too, and I ain’t willin’ to risk my life no more for the spoutings of a mad man. Not anymore.”

You sigh, nuzzling into his chest. With his scent flooding into your nose, the whiskey in your belly and the warmth of his body, it doesn’t take long to fall asleep again. 

***********************************

Over the next few weeks, Arthur keeps an extremely protective watch over you. The first week was tough since you really couldn’t move much, but you needed to be moved to a more secure place. Arthur and John had their belongings from the gang, but you were all essentially living in tents. It wasn’t an ideal environment for Jack and Abigail wanted a proper home for her family. Sadie was willing to go anywhere with your group, and Charles had stayed to help the Wapiti. 

Eventually John stumbled upon a cabin large enough to house at least you, Arthur and his family. Sadie was happy to camp outside for the time being, so you were moved there. 

Arthur was extremely protective of you. Of course, he’s always been but it’s tripled in your condition. He confines you as much as he can to the bed you share on the ground level of the cabin (John, Abigail and Jack sleep in a bed in the loft). You quickly grow tired of it and Arthur relents to letting you go sit outside by the fire, but never leaving sight of the cabin. 

You can tell he’s struggling with the sudden change of your lifestyle. It’s been a long time since he didn’t have to worry about jobs to do. Of course, he and John take a few risks to go and rob in order to get the money they’ve lost. It makes Abigail furious as she knows the best way to properly leave the gang is to get a new lifestyle.

It weighs heavy on all your minds that Dutch and Micah could very well come looking for you all. It sounds like they put up quite a fight when John and Arthur announced they were leaving. Dutch always said the gang wasn’t like a prison camp, that anyone was free to leave when they wanted to, but he took John and Arthur’s leaving as personal. Arthur retorted that Dutch denying he left Arthur to die was personal, which only made him more angry and more determined to keep his boys in the gang. 

Fear that the remaining members of the gang will find you forces your group to abandon the cabin and continue heading west in search of a safer place to live. The Pinkertons are no longer a threat as their main target is Dutch and they know he’s in the east. Arthur didn’t want to move you, fearing you’re not strong enough, but Abigail was determined to keep moving, wanting to keep her boy safe. You convinced Arthur you could ride to a new location, that you were strong enough and he finally relented, though he was almost a pest with how much he tried to make sure you weren’t in any pain. 

It’s been weeks now since you left the gang and you’re mostly healed. You and Arthur live alone in a cabin just east of Strawberry and north of the Upper Montana River. The house sits on a slight ridge, which gives your backyard a stunning view of the river and Great Plains beyond. 

John, Abigail and Jack no longer accompany you. It was decided a few weeks back that you’d be harder to track by lawmen and Dutch if you separated. Sadie went her own separate way as well, stating she might try her hand at bounty hunting. Those goodbyes were the worst in your life and you miss them all dearly, but you’re not unhappy. 

You and Arthur are building a good life out here in this cabin. He happily gave up life as an outlaw, working as a rancher. He sells his drawings on the side and makes surprisingly good money with them. You take up writing as a hobby and get a job in Strawberry working in the post office. You and Arthur make enough money to live a comfortable life. 

Occasionally you receive word from John or Sadie, who both promised to keep in touch (under aliases of course). About a year after abandoning the gang, John sends word that Abigail left him and, in order to try and win her back, he bought a plot of land called Beecher’s Hope.

“Don’t know why John would want that piece of garbage,” Arthur said. “Nothin’ but dirt and dead grass.” 

John’s letter went on to say that he and Sadie were doing some bounty hunting work in order to pay for the land (in a legal fashion) and asked if you and Arthur would be interested in helping him to build a house. You were, so you headed on down to help John put his house up and it turned out he had Uncle and Charles with him. 

You stand now near the campfire on Beecher’s Hope. The house is partially built, at least the exterior structure is up. It’s night and no one is working now. Uncle is showing Charles some dancing moves, which he doesn’t seem to appreciate. John and Arthur watch, drinking beer. You walk up to Arthur and loop your arm through his, leaning your head on his arm. He winds his arm behind you and kisses your head. 

You’re hoping all this effort on John’s part will get him his family back. Otherwise all this work and time will be for nothing, but you still have had a great time. It’s been nice to reunite with so many old friends. You wish you could bump into the other girls, even old Grimshaw. 

Of Dutch and Micah, you have heard little. A few months after fleeing the gang, you heard rumors they headed north, got trapped by Pinkertons and then disappeared. There’s been some speculation they may have headed back down this way, but you’ve heard nothing substantial. Even so, they’re likely any worry to you. 

You look up into the star-speckled sky. You’re content in this moment. You’ve never loved Arthur more than you do now and you’ve never been this happy. Of all the things you suffered through with living in the gang, you’d happily do them all over again if you knew they’d wind up here. 

[scumbagg]

The Last Time

Ruby x Charles

Notes: Thanks to the absolute KWEEEEN @verai-marcel​ for her amazing skills and helping me with this! You da beeeest. 

Summary: This is set right after the events of My Last Boy. Charles is leaving with the Wapiti; Ruby’s moonshine business is taking off.

Warnings: angst. implied recent sex. 

Word count: 1193

Ruby kicks Bones to a run as she rides through the humid air of Bluewater Marsh towards Van Horn, grateful for the breeze on her face, the dark clouds overhead threatening rain. Bones snorts in protest as she breathes in the thick air, but obeys nevertheless. Ruby’s stomach is twisted into a giant knot as she hears the words from Charles’ letter in his deep voice in her mind. Our usual room. 4pm, 25th of this month. Wait for me.

It had been weeks since Ruby had heard from him, let alone seen him. She’d read in the newspaper the events from the Saint Denis bank robbery, read about the capture of John Marston and deaths of Hosea and Lenny. Her heart throbbed as she saw Lenny’s infectious smile in her mind, Hosea’s kind eyes that never seemed to miss a thing, even when he had them buried in a book. The paper also stated that a large reward was on offer for information on the whereabouts of Dutch Van Der Linde, Arthur Morgan, Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, Javier Escuella and another man unknown by name but only given a short description matching exactly that of Charles’.

When she had received his letter three days earlier, her heart had fluttered and she’d almost collapsed with relief as she’d opened the paper to see his familiar handwriting. So he was alive. Ruby had wanted to run to Van Horn then and there.

Drops of rain hit her face as she pulls Bones to a trot, passing the old lighthouse that greets her as she enters the tiny, dirty town. Her eyes lift ahead to the building at the end of the road where the post office sits under the room they’ve made love in many times before. From this distance, Ruby can just make out the figure leaning against the railing on the upstairs balcony, the grey snow-capped spotted Appaloosa hitched at the post against the building below. She trots slowly through the grubby town, knowing Charles is watching her without having to look at him.

Ruby hitches Bones next to Taima, greeting the Appaloosa with an apple and a pat on her neck. Taima nuzzles her gratefully before nipping Bones affectionately with a snort. Normally not so tolerant to other horses, Ruby chuckles as her Norfolk Roadster snorts back with annoyance but allows the other horse to greet her. She gives Bones a sugar cube before heading for the wooden staircase. Ruby takes the stairs slowly, her legs feeling like lead. Her breath hitches in her throat as she finally lays her eyes on him.

Charles’ hair is different; normally flowing freely down his back, feather entwined in the end, it now snakes its way down his back, shaved at the sides of his head. Coupled with the hard expression on his face, he looks mean. His features seem to have aged since the time Ruby hadlast seen him, yet somehow he looks more beautiful than ever. His eyes soften as he takes her in, but his mouth remains firm.

For a long moment, they stare at each other. So many questions flood Ruby’s mind – Where have you been? Why haven’t you written? Are you okay? What happened in Saint Denis? All at once, every burning question overwhelms her and she lets out a choked sob – unaware that tears had even filled her eyes – and closes the distance to Charles where she falls into him, his strong arms catching her and holding her to his broad chest.

“Hey..” he soothes, holding her tight. “I’m here now. I’m with you. Come on,” he holds her out a little so he can look down at her face. “Let’s head inside. I need you so bad right now.” He pushes the door open to the small room, lifting her up in his strong arms and carrying her through the doorway, kicking the door shut behind him and placing her down on the bed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Ruby watches Charles pull his boots on as she sits in bed smoking a cigarette. He sighs as he sits back down, the bed groaning under his weight as it had done only moments earlier, the metal bed head knocking against the wooden wall under the rhythm of their bodies moving in sync together. The light from the flames in the fireplace casts a warm glow across the room, allowing Ruby to get a look at Charles’ pained expression on his face.

“Charles.” Ruby places a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me. What is it?” She’d known something was different between them the minute she’d reached the top of the stairs outside.

He doesn’t look at her. Instead, he speaks to the wall across from him. “I’m leaving tomorrow. With the Wapiti tribe. Things went badly with their relations with the government and they need to escape, move away somewhere before there’s more retaliation and more people get hurt.” He looks at the floor, unable to look at her face.

Ruby’s mind is blank. She can’t seem to form a coherent thought. “So.. so what does this mean? What about us?” The room suddenly feels very cold, contradicting the warm fire blazing on the opposite side of the room.

“It means.. I’m leaving. I don’t have a choice, Ruby.” He says to the floor.

“Look at me, Charles.” Ruby’s words come out harsher than she meant, but it works. Charles finally turns to her, his eyes so full of pain she doesn’t know if she can bear to take it. His eyes search her face painstakingly, capturing her image to lock it away in his brain forever – she looked so beautiful, lips painted red with her winged eyeliner framing her huge green eyes – which were now looking at him accusingly as she sat in bed shirtless with a cigarette in her hand.

“So that’s it then? Weeks of no communication – I didn’t even know if you were alive! – to come right back just to fuck me and leave forever? That’s great, Charles. Thanks.” Her voice is laced with sarcasm as she spits out the last of her words.

Charles stands up, fully dressed. His words are desperate as he pleads with her. “Come with me. We can start over someplace new, we can actually be together! Get married, start a family!”

Ruby scoffs. “You know I can’t leave. Not now.”

Charles looks at her sadly. “And you know I can’t abandon those people.”

“What about me?” Ruby asks quietly. “You’re abandoning me.”

Charles leans forward and brushes Ruby’s hair behind her ears, stroking his fingers along her jawline as she leans into his hand. He takes her hand and places it over his heart.

“It’ll always be you, Ruby. Always.” Charles kisses her hand delicately before he walks to the door and opens it, the rain outside now hammering down.

“Your heart is too big for your own good, Charles.” Ruby says to his back. He turns his head to the side, unable to look at her, before he steps out onto the balcony and closes the door behind him, leaving her alone in the room with her broken heart.

[darlingsdevil]

The Ballads of Rebirth (Arthur Morgan x Reader) CHAPTER 1

• Major Spoilers for RDR2 •

(I can’t put anything underneath Read More on mobile, I’m sorry)

Summary: Arthur Morgan accepted his death on that mountain, but when death never comes he gets a second chance at life.

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first (hopefully) full fic on tumblr, I’m really going to try to finish this one! This fic will most likely be 5-10 chapters long. If you’ve read some of my other fics, you know how much I love to write about Arthur’s death haha. This fic is no different! But luckily there will be some fluff! (Only a little lol). Please mind the mistakes! (I’m also exclusively on mobile, so I apologize for strange formatting). Enjoy!

Also sorry for the shorter chapter! The rest of them will def be longer!

•••

The midsummer morning was routine for Mother Nature. The light woven through the early misty hours illuminated the life within the forest and created a warm glow throughout. Birds sang through the trees and the wild life bounced happily through the underbrush. The man on the mountain was the strange factor on this usual day.

He had been there for only a few hours. The ruckus of the night disturbed the animals for a few minutes, and the flowers cried for their trampled friends, but it was quiet now, and the man on the mountain was quiet too. His breath was nearly non existent, you would have to look closely to see that he was alive at all.

But another man had come too, and the wind sighed with relief. The other man was distraught at the sight of the man on the mountain, until he saw his chest slowly rise and fall. After that, the other man picked the sleeping man up, gently as if he was incredibly fragile. And then they were gone, and nature soon forgot about those men on their mountain.

•••

Although nature had forgotten those men, Wapiti had not. When Charles and an unconscious Arthur rode into the reservation, people began looking curiously to them.

“Please, please he needs help!” Charles shouts were heard throughout the camp as he sprung off Taima, pulling Arthur down. Arthur’s limp body was loose in Charles’s arm. The women of Wapiti stopped their chores and looked towards Charles, the men still recovering from the Van der Linde gang’s poor choices.

Charles walked frantically towards Rains Fall’s tent as the older man stepped out.

“Charles? What is wrong?” Rains Fall asked the worried man, noticing Arthur in his arms.

“It’s Arthur, please you have to help us, he’s sick and hurt.” Charles pulled Arthur closer to him, turning him slightly to show Rains Fall his abused face. Rains Fall nodded slowly and eyed the man in Charles’s arms. He motioned Charles to follow him towards a tent on the outskirts of the village. Charles eagerly followed him, paying close attention to Arthur’s breathing. Rains Fall pulled the flaps of the tent back to reveal a dim lighted room, a small bed lay in the center and various herbs hung from the walls.

“Please set him down here.” Rains Fall spoke with a certain calmness, pointing towards the bed. Charles gingerly set Arthur down, laying him on his back.

Rains Fall walked to the outside of the tent where an older woman waited outside, Rains Fall nodded to her and she entered. Charles followed Rains Fall as he walked back to his own tent. He entered, as did Charles and sat down on a wooden chair, it was rickety and old, but it brought him a certain grounding factor that pulled him down from his panic.

“How long has he been out?” Rains Fall asked after a moment of silence after Charles somewhat regained his composure.

“I don’t know, a day, maybe two? John Marston stopped by last night and told me what happened. I went to go find Arthur. God, he’s sick. He’s really sick.” Charles mumbled, the thought of Arthur not waking up was nearly unbearable. The idea pulled on Charles’s chest, like a weight had been dropped directly onto his heart.

Rains Fall pulled out a pipe and nodded.

“I see.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Charles’s thoughts flying a mile a minute. Rains Fall’s dark eyes studied him intently, but Charles didn’t notice.

Despite Rains Fall being a wise man, he knew that some moments were owned to silence, and this was one. It was better to allow Charles to get a hold of his thoughts before they assessed the situation, and Charles knew it too.

•••

It was dark when the old healing woman stepped outside of Arthur’s tent. Charles quickly got up from the fire he sat at, many of the other people of Wapiti noticed too, but it was none of their concern, Arthur was not one of their own and their debt to him had already been repaid.

The wise woman rolled her sleeves down, she smelled of a mixture of medicine and natural herbs. There was blood on her sleeves and the apron of her dress was damp.

“I treated his wounds. He’ll be out for at least another day.” The woman told Charles. He looked towards the opening of the tent, only barely able to make out Arthur inside. He sighed with relief, Arthur was fine for right now, but the woman thoughtfully avoided talking about Arthur’s illness. It was uncertain if he would survive, though his chances drastically improved since being here. Charles’s quick actions saved Arthur’s life, had he been a mere hour or two later he would have found Arthur’s corpse on that mountain, not the living breathing person he had seen moments ago.

“May I go inside?” Charles asked the woman. He felt the breeze sweep his hair in front of him, it would be cold tonight, and Arthur needed to keep warm, so Charles would take care of the fire all night.

The woman nodded, looking out towards Rains Fall. The chief walked over to the healer and they began talking quietly about what Charles could only assume was Arthur.

Charles stepped inside.

The sight of Arthur’s battered face was like a stab in the gut. His best friend, the only man he could ever truly trust was walking on the line between life and death. And it hurt. It hurt bad. Charles had accepted Arthur’s ending when he had left the gang right before all went to hell, but seeing him now was so much worse.

Arthur deserved so much better than this fate that had been so cruelly placed upon him. But this was his chance at a new life, to the rest of the world Arthur Morgan was dead. To Sadie, to John, to you and even to Dutch, he was dead. But in this small village of Wapiti, a man named Arthur Morgan was alive, but he was no longer the outlaw that everyone else had come to know. For the first time since the beginning of his life, he was truly, wholly Arthur Morgan. He was a new man, since the very first second he accepted his death on that mountain. Arthur Morgan was Arthur Morgan, not the marionette to Dutch Van der Linde, not the cold blooded killer who murdered a man for a few bucks and not the man who had died on that mountain. He was himself, and Charles could see that too.

[splat-dragon]

Prompt by @Cybermentalitysublime

Prompt: John's still sorting out his complicated feeling about Dutch after Micah's death when he drunkenly asks Charles how he thinks Arthur died (Charles having been the one who buried him, of course).

Fueled either by liquid courage or just no longer able to contain himself, he blurted out “How do you think Arthur died?”

John hadn’t stopped staring at him, and he knew there was no way he’d be walking away without giving an answer. The thing was, though, he didn’t know. It had taken him a day to get to Beaver Hollow, and Arthur had been long dead by then. He hadn’t been there to see him bleed, or collapse, or breathe his last, only to collect his body with Miss Grimshaw’s and bury it.

Something was eating at John, anyone could see it.

 Even Charles, light-headed with the pain medicine Abigail had forced down his throat, could tell. He wasn’t one to pry, though, so he sat at the campfire with the man, staring into the flames and waiting for him to speak.

 That was the thing about him. People seemed to feel as though they could bare their souls to him; perhaps it was because he didn’t talk much. Or that he just listened, let them talk without feeling the need to give advice in turn unless they asked for it. He’d dare say that half the people in the gang had used him as a sounding board at least once, and even more than that had told the air their problems without realizing that he was there.

 Sadie, Tilly, Mary-Beth, even Arthur, all of them had talked to him, sitting by the fire or leaning against a tree or rock, sprawling by the lake in Clemens Point or, when it came to Arthur, riding with him as they went to help Eagle Flies.

 And Arthur had hurt. He had known that he was sick, how the others had missed it he would never know. His gaunt face, the way his clothes hung off him where once they clung to him as though a second skin, the rattling coughs that sometimes kept him up at night. But having it confirmed (“I didn’t tell you before but, I saw a doctor. It’s pretty bad, and it’s gonna get worse.” ) had burned, knowing that there was nothing he could do, that even if he had been able to get Arthur out, he would have been made to watch him waste away. He had known he was sick, but to know he was dying in front of him had hit him harder than he’d expected.

 John never had, though, so he supposed it was his turn.

Of all the members of the gang, he’d never been able to figure John out.

 Not for lack of trying, though. It was no secret that he and Arthur had butted heads more often than not, but he’d been able to tell they’d grown closer towards the end. He could see John splitting away, and had expected him to be one of the ones who would cut and run when they’d started to, join Trelawney and Uncle and the women when they up and left, but he hadn’t. He’d left with the Wapiti before things had truly gone wrong, before Dutch had left him to die, but John had caught him up on the happenings while they worked on the Hope.

 He still didn’t understand John, not completely, but they’d become, he’d dare to say, friends over the last few months, so he sat, and passed a bottle of rum between himself and John, sipping at it where John gulped it down. His head already felt stuffed with cotton from whatever Abigail had given him, and with Sadie down recuperating, and John already well on his way to drunk, they needed someone sober enough to fire a gun with some sort of accuracy.

If he was to guess, though, he’d say it had to do with Dutch.

 Sadie had told him, before Abigail had shoved the needle in her arm (and Sadie had fought like a cornered wolf, she had not wanted anything to do with a painkiller or sedative but as bullheaded as Sadie was Abigail was even more so), that they’d met Dutch up there on the mountain, walking out of Micah’s cabin. He’d said that he’d been there to kill Micah, too (“Same as you, I suppose,” he’d said according to her, though why he’d been in Micah’s cabin if that was why Charles couldn’t say, and Sadie had also said that Micah’d said that Dutch and he were “teaming up once more,” which made a hell of a lot more sense to him), and though he didn’t know everything he knew that Dutch used to mean a lot to John. That before he’d joined the gang, a long, long time ago, Dutch had been like John’s father, that he’d raised him, had raised Arthur, too, and though in the end Dutch had betrayed him, betrayed all of them, left John to die, gotten Hosea (who’d also raised them, he’d been told, and he could see it a lot easier than he could see Dutch playing father) and Sean and Kieran and Arthur and all the others killed. His mother had been taken when he was young, and his father had fallen to the drink, but he couldn’t imagine how John felt, having your father fall so far and then running into him again years later.

He took another swig of the bottle, some Guarma Rum that John had found in Uncle’s stash and brought out to the campfire, before passing it over to John. The man tilted his head back, gulping down what remained, more of it pouring out the corners of his mouth to soak his shirt than going down his throat.

 And then, fueled either by liquid courage or just no longer able to contain himself, he blurted out “How do you think Arthur died?”

 Charles would have to admit it took him somewhat by surprise, and he turned to look at John, taking a moment to compose himself. Even now, years later, though the pain had dulled, Arthur’s loss was still a wound in his chest—he’d never been one to get close to others, but Arthur was one of the few good men he had known, although he’d have denied it to his dying day, and having his death brought up so abruptly tugged painfully at that wound, made scar-tissue that he’d thought long-healed throb and remind him of its existence.

 “You, you buried him.” John slurred, eyes somehow focused yet glassy all the same, and Charles felt like he was being stared through, as though John was staring at him so fierce he’d be able to see Arthur’s death through him. “You told me so. So… you saw him, after he, after he passed.” and he had, of course he had. A day or so later, when he’d seen the news of ‘the end of the Van Der Linde gang’ in the newspaper, all the way up in South Dakota, not yet having reached Canada, and he was glad for it as he’d never have known if they had. He’d ridden Taima hard to come back, he’d had to see with his own eyes if it were true—some part of him knew that it was, the photo in the article was of Arthur’s wagon burning, but he’d needed to see it with his own two eyes, know who was dead and who had survived.

 He hadn’t been surprised, per say, to see the news. Even Arthur, staunch supporter of Dutch he had been, had admitted that the Gang was just about done. Had even tried to come with him, to leave everything behind to help escort the Wapiti to safety. But he hadn’t expected that it would be the Pinkertons that would end them. He had been certain that it would be Dutch himself, in his ego-driven insanity, that would destroy them. Would put a bullet between their eyes, or get them caught and be the cause of the nooses that snapped taut around their necks.

John hadn’t stopped staring at him, and he knew there was no way he’d be walking away without giving an answer. The thing was, though, he didn’t know. It had taken him a day to get to Beaver Hollow, and Arthur had been long dead by then. He hadn’t been there to see him bleed, or collapse, or breathe his last, only to collect his body with Miss Grimshaw’s and bury it.

 “I’m not sure,”  he finally settled on, and he could see John puff up like an angry kitten, in a way that might have been scary if he wasn’t two sheets to the wind.

 “How do you think, then? I… I need to…” his voice faltered, and he shook his head, looking very confused when he tried to sup from the rum only to find it empty, “I just… want to know.”

 John had told him, once, and only once, looking sad and pitiful and half drunk then, too, about the last time he’d seen Arthur. His brother, gaunt and dying, face void of any color, eyes bloodshot and looking so, so tired. He’d told him to run, that he’d “hold them off”  and to “get the hell out of here and be a goddamn man”  and then, Charles had known, then, that he was only talking because he was drunk, and John wouldn’t look him in the eye for a week after, John had admitted that he’d told him “You’re my brother,” and Arthur had said “I know.”

 And looking at John, now, it didn’t escape him that John looked horribly guilty. Arthur had gone up on that mountain to draw Pinkerton's attention away from him, and never came back down. It wasn't John’s fault, and Arthur had insisted on it, would never have gotten off that mountain either way from the sound of it, (John had told him that Arthur had said so, that he’d apparently thought that “We ain’t both gonna make it,” )

He remembered riding into Beaver Hollow, the smell of smoke still cloying in the air. The corpses of the Pinkertons had been gathered, though he could see where they had lain, the dirt disturbed and dark with their blood, and their blood stained his footprints as he dismounted and walked into the center of the clearing, hand on the grip of his gun just in case.

 It was hard to reconcile this with his camp. The one where he’d sat to the side, relaxing as the others sang along to whatever Javier was playing on the guitar. Keeping an eye on Jack as he ran around, chasing Cain or trying to catch some bug or the other, watching them dance around, tripping over their feet as Dutch hurried to grab Molly after putting on that ridiculous gramophone of his.

 The one where they’d slowly separated, Micah’s group staying off to their side, while ‘Arthur’s’ (though at the time they hadn’t thought of themselves as that) kept to themselves. Sitting awkwardly together when Dutch explained his ‘plan’, Micah standing behind him and grinning. The camp where he’d watched Arthur wither away, where he’d watched them mourn, had mourned in turn, where he’d tried to keep them together before giving up, keeping them fed and little else as he turned his attentions elsewhere.

 The wagons and tents had been left to burn and fall apart, crumpling in on themselves. Tarps, little more than shreds of leather, clung desperately to their frames, shattered, burnt wood standing tall like so many ghastly grave-markers. Glass had crunched beneath his boots as he walked, and he’d looked to see a photograph beneath his boot, picking it up carefully. The glass was coated so thickly with dirt and ash and he hadn’t known what else, and he’d been grateful for his gloves as he wiped it clean, staring at the photograph.

 It was one of Dutch, Hosea and Arthur, when they were all young. Before everything went wrong, when it was just the three of them, before John, before Susan even, and it was strange to look back into their past when he was walking into the corpse of their fall.

 He’d broken the glass, the imprint of his boot clear in the shattering of it. They’d been sat Hosea, Dutch, then Arthur, with Dutch standing between them, and his boot had landed just so, the glass splitting to put a vaguely V-shaped crack that ran between Dutch and the other two, separating Dutch from them. Ice had settled low in his stomach, at the sight, and he’d shoved the picture into his satchel, not sure what he’d do with it later, but not wanting to leave it behind.

 (He’d lost it, some street rat stealing that satchel while he was brawling as the White Wolf in Saint Denis, and had never forgiven himself for it)

 Charles’ eyes had been drawn, somehow, to a particular tent, collapsed in an odd way, he thought it was Pearsons’ but the camp had been scattered, thrown about and it was hard to tell whose from whose, but it was about in the spot where the mess wagon had been. The tarp had been bulging up in an odd way, too long and unnatural to be just an odd way of settling, and for a moment he had hoped thought that, maybe, it had been a horse. One of the smaller ones, the spares kept around camp in case they had to hurry, or bring one of the girls along or one of the horses needed to rest. But the shape wasn’t right, and it was too small for even the smallest of their horses, for even the Count, and so he had hoped thought that, maybe, it had been a fallen Pinkerton, one that had been missed in the mess.

But some part of him had known, even as he approached, reaching out with his gun to carefully move the tarp aside. The body had begun to rot, smelled of it, but was still whole, hadn’t turned colors or fallen apart, yet. He’d known from the moment he’d seen the dress, too elegant for a gang such as theirs, black turned brown with long dried blood, a tired face relaxed in death, graying hair loosed from its pompadour, shotgun not far from her hands.

 He hadn’t expected the grief that had struck him as he’d looked upon the body of Susan Grimshaw; they’d never been close, but he’d never been particularly close with any of the Van der Linde gang, bar a few. But she’d been one of the good ones, as good as any of them had been, cared deeply about all of the gang members even if she’d been harsh in her way of showing it, and he was sorry for her death.

 So when he picked her up, he was careful, as gentle as he could be, cradling her as he carried her over to Taima, settling her gently on her rump. She deserved better than to be slung over his horse like some bounty, but he hadn’t brought a wagon or any other way to carry a corpse, so all he could do was tie her down and hope he’d find somewhere close by to bury her.

 And then, as a passing thought, he’d grabbed her shotgun and tied it to Taima’s saddle as well to bury her with.

Why he’d kept looking, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was because he could see that there had been so many Pinkertons, there was no way that, with how few the gang had been reduced to, they’d only lose one. And the tracks were obvious, leading deeper and deeper into the cave, splattered here in there with familiar amounts of blood that had set dread deep into his stomach, and he’d known where that ladder let out, grabbed Taima and ridden her up to it, found the tracks easily as they switched from boot- to hoof-prints, walking Taima slowly as he followed them.

 It hadn’t taken him to find Arthur’s horse and Old Boy.

 Arthur had loved that horse, and there it had been, splayed out on the grass, half eaten away by scavengers. If it weren’t for that saddle, he might not have recognized it, its fur dulled in death, white bones gleaming where skin and hide had been eaten away. Old Boy had been more recognizable, his brown hide only barely darker, lighter mane splayed out on the grass, side torn into, and he’d wanted to bury them but they were both larger and heavier than Taima, and the ground around there was barely suitable for burying a human, was far too rocky to build a grave for a horse, so he’d been made to leave them behind to be picked clean by scavengers, and he’d thought that, maybe, he could return some day and retrieve their skulls.

 He never had.

The ground had gotten rockier and rockier not long after, an incline that Taima, sure-footed as she was, had begun to struggle with, skidding and stumbling. So he’d left her behind, wrapped her reins around her saddle-horn, trusting her to come when he called, not wanting to tie her down—they were in cougar country, and with a corpse on her back she’d be nothing more than a delicious meal if he did.

 The tracks had been harder to follow as the ground grew rockier and rockier, but he’d been able to follow them in the dust, disturbed as it was by their boots, darkened with small sprays of blood. There came a point where it had split, and it had taken him a time to follow it—he wouldn’t have known if the tracks that kept going hadn’t clearly belonged to one man, and there was no sign of the other falling. Finally, though, he had been able to find the tracks of the other, climbing up a sharp incline, and had followed that—the other’s tracks would be easier to pick up, and the one climbing up was splattered with blood, and something had bid him to follow.

He’d lost the tracks at the edge of a cliff or, at least, what he’d thought was a cliff. It had ended abruptly, where it had looked like the man had knelt for a moment, before up and vanishing. Charles had walked around, quickly finding another pair of tracks, these ones running, and from the looks of it they should have intersected with the others’. And then he’d looked over the cliff, and realized it was more ledge then cliff, and that there was another beneath it.

 So, as carefully as he could, he’d dropped down onto the lower ledge, looking around. The ground had been a mess, dust and dirt thrown up in a clear struggle, covered in splatters of blood—bigger than the ones he’d seen before and, looking up, there was disturbed dirt on the underside of the ledge, too, and blood as well. Something had dragged on the ground, he realized, stepping back and looking down beneath his feet, the ground streaked through, and he followed the path with his eyes, an odd sort of trepidation settling deep in his chest.

He’d missed the body, at first.

 It had been growing late, growing dark, and the body was out on the very ledge of a precipice, so he hadn’t immediately noticed it. But the drag marks led right to it, and then he wondered how he’d missed it. His heart had been in his throat as he approached it, the body little more than a indecipherable blob at first, but as he grew near his heart had stuttered, then dropped into his stomach as he began to see it more in detail—

 that tan jacket, the blue shirt becoming more clear as he grew nearer. that strange blond-brown hair that changed colors with the sun and then, when he was standing beside him

 green-blue eyes, glazed and stony as a river-rock in death, but undeniable.

 “Oh, Arthur,” 

John was still staring at him, and though he had never been one for fidgeting, beneath John’s fierce stare, (drunk as he was, John’s gaze was stabbing through him harsher than any blade), he wished he had something in his hands to occupy them; his harmonica, lost years ago, to polish, or his gun to do the same, the rum bottle to roll between them or something to whittle.

He thought back, to turning Arthur over. He thought that, maybe, Arthur had been leaning over, looking at the rising sun (perhaps it was a romanticized notion, but from the way he’d been positioned it was what came to mind), but in the days that had passed he’d slumped, stiffening with rigor mortis before going limp again, hunched over in a way that could only ever be accidental, in a way that made his own neck and back ache in sympathy; when he’d turned him over, everything in his head had screamed wrongwrongwrong, in that way anyone’s did when dealing with a corpse. A human is wired to want to stay far away, for fear that whatever killed that person is still nearby, that it might kill them, too, whether it be sickness or predator, or merely infection from touching a corpse.

 But this was his friend, and so despite the skin that slipped beneath his fingers, shifting unnaturally, he’d knelt beside him, a deep frown twisting his face. His face had blanched, blood settling at the bottom of his legs, in his rear, from how he’d been sitting, but still his face was grayed, marbled in death, and horribly bruised, both his eyes blackened, lips split and cheekbones visibly broken, caved in, shattered bones protruding, pressing against translucent skin. Brown, dried blood surrounded his mouth, his chin, darkened the collar of his beloved shirt.

Looking at John, the man’s eyes pleading despite his fierce gaze, he hesitated. He didn’t know what had killed Arthur. The man didn’t look like he’d been in pain when he’d died—his face had been smooth, devoid of those lines of stress that had been etched so deep, but that could be contributed to the slippage, too. His face had been… well, it had been destroyed. It had looked like he’d been beaten, pinned down and had his face smashed in, and from the state of the place where he’d found him it wouldn’t surprise him (although it had looked like Arthur had put up a hell of a fight, too) if he had, but the way he’d been slumped against the rock… well, that didn’t make sense either. It hadn’t looked like he’d been thrown down, left to rot, but as though he’d dragged himself there.

 “I’m not sure,” he finally admitted, and though John didn’t move, didn’t say a word, in his eyes he looked as though he’d been struck, the distress there obvious. “He… he was in pretty bad shape. Looked like he’d been in a hell of a fight but,” he searched for his words, “he didn’t look like he was suffering at the end. I think…” and he did, nodding as he turned from John’s gaze to look into the flames, “I think it was the tuberculosis that took him, in the end.”

There was silence, for a long moment, tension that throbbed in the air like a thing alive. Finally, John gave a sigh that said more than a thousand words could, and stood, stumbling away towards the house, bottle of rum still clutched in his hand.

 He’d asked Charles in hopes of settling his mind, of easing something that ate at him every day, that kept him up at night, and found himself with more questions than before.