Retribution, Arthur Morgan x Reader
Ask: hello! i just recently came upon your blog and am obsessed with your writing & rdr2. i’m not sure if you’re still active, but i had this idea (angst) where the reader has been betrayed by her best friend who killed her sibling, and said friend then joins colm o’driscoll. so her and the gang go after them and after taking out their hideout, the reader finds the traitor and stabs him repeatedly out of anger & emotion and arthur has to stop her and hold her because she’s hysterical. Thanks!
Warnings: Cursing, blood, violence, death.
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader
A/N: Here it is, my first Red Dead fanfic after my long break. It felt so good to write for him again. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing!
Time felt frozen when you heard the news, you couldn’t move. In ten seconds you had gone from optimistic about the day to completely stunned. After you heard what happened, the rest of Hosea’s words fell on deaf ears.
The corn you’d been shucking fell from your limp hand, rolling away from your feet.
You were an awful sight to see. Eyes glossed over, lips parted, face completely flushed. Hosea hated the way you looked, it broke his heart more than anything else he’d ever witnessed in his life. And he’d been through unimaginable.
Just as fast as you’d gone from happy to shocked, you got angry. Livid. You stood from the barrel you’d sat on and grabbed your double-barrel shotgun, whistling for your horse.
“(Y/N),” Hosea grabbed your wrist as a small crowd formed. “You can’t run into something like this in your state. It’s too dangerous, you need to calm down and think.”
“What’s going on?” Arthur’s voice was the only thing to cause you to pause. “Where the hell you off to?”
“You said he’d joined Colm?” You looked at Hosea, almost wanting to listen to his warning when you saw the look in his blue eyes.
“Who?” Arthur questioned further, walking closer to the two of you. Around you, Javier, Bill, and Micah had been listening and were all aching to get in on whatever you had planned. They were always up for a shootout, and you were grateful.
“Not now, son.” Hosea hissed, knowing you were on thin ice and it wouldn’t take much before you rushed into something you weren’t ready for.
“Hutch killed Oakley.” You gritted out through a clenched jaw, your grip tightening on the grip of your gun. “And he’d with Colm.”
As if things couldn’t get worse, Dutch decided to leave his tent and see what the fuss was about. Hosea explained it to him, hoping he would see the danger in your plan. For a minute he agreed with Hosea, saying it would be unwise to go in guns blazing.
Hosea sighed in relief and let go of your wrist.
You looked at Dutch and shook your head, tears burning your eyes. “I can’t sit here and do nothing.”
He observed you, eyes casting down as he realized you had a point. He scratched his chin, the silence and tension in the air making everyone uneasy. Then he finally nodded. “We’ll need a plan.”
You were talked into waiting a week. A few of the gang members went out to find where they were hiding, taking up most of the time spent waiting. Dutch gave you a long talk about remaining calm when the time came, which went in one ear and out the other.
“I’m sorry about Oakley.” Arthur sat down next to you beside the river, taking out a bag of candies from his satchel. He offered you some and you dug out a hard caramel, nodding in thanks. “I know how it is, losing someone you love.”
You were thankful for the company. You’d been sitting by the river for hours, watching the water race by, the occasional fish or two jumping and making a scene.
“I trusted them with him.” Your voice broke, but you didn’t let yourself cry. Not yet. You’d cry when Hutch was dead.
A gust of wind blew by, carrying the scent of pine. It ruffled through Arthur’s hair, picking up his own scent and taking off with it. He sighed and picked out a mint candy, cracking it between his teeth.
“It’s not your fault, you need to know that.” Arthur scooted in the dirt closer to you, so your shoulders were touching. A week ago, you would have gotten butterflies being so close to him. You and Arthur had been dancing around each other ever since you joined the gang, the idea of being with him always on your mind. But the death of your sibling was too raw for you to feel those sweet butterflies.
“How is it not? If I didn’t leave home, if I didn’t leave him with them-”
“Stop. There’s too many if’s. There’s nothing you can do now but honor Oakley’s memory. Revenge, it’s… it’s not something I think too much of.” His breath smelt like peppermint candy, the soft breeze carrying the smell under your nose. “But I’ll help you get it, (Y/N), if it’ll put this to rest.”
You couldn’t speak, you knew if you tried to talk you’d break down. So you nodded and leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Arthur.”
The ride to the location Sean gave you felt like the longest you’d ever been on a horse. Arthur was by your side, saying nothing but offering his support nonetheless.
Dutch, Bill, Micah, Javier, Hosea, and Sean were with you as well. Micah, as awful as he was, would never turn down a good gunfight. He was surprisingly understanding as well, promising if he saw Hutch he’d bring him to you. It was one of the rare times you could tolerate him.
It happened fast, it was a small hideout, containing maybe twenty men.
Your eyes raced around the open field they had set up camp in, trying to find the blonde man. Most of their camp was on fire, and their horses had broken their ropes and were running this way and that. It was hectic and confusing, but you’d never felt more alive.
You dug your spurs into the sides of your horse and took off after him, he was making a bee-line to the woods. You wouldn’t let him get that far.
“You thought I wouldn’t come for you?” You shouted, taunting him as you lassoed him from your horse, watching with glee as your rope swept his legs out from under him. You slipped from your horse and rushed over to him, planting your steel-heeled boots on his neck before he could scramble away. “Why? Why the fuck did you do it?”
The whooping from Javier and Micah felt like music, coupling nicely with the crackle of fire. Arthur was searching for you in the crowd, spinning his horse to avoid crashing into a burning tent. His eyes finally landed on you, your form barely illuminated in orange.
“It was my way in.” Hutch choked out as he grasped at your boot, struggling just to breathe. “The O’Driscolls, it was my way in.”
“You wanted in their pathetic gang so bad you killed my only kin?” You sputtered, feeling a mix of anger, frustration, confusion, and adrenaline. “My last living kin! I trusted you!” The tears in your eyes finally spilled from your cheeks and before you knew it, your boot on his neck was replaced by your skinning knife.
His blood streamed from the wound and saturated the ground under your knees but you kept stabbing, his neck, his chest, his face, anywhere your eyes landed your blade quickly followed.
He was long dead by the time Arthur pulled you off of him.
“Don’t touch me!” You screamed, writhing in his arms.
Arthur knocked the knife from your hands and pulled you back, folding your arms against your chest with his arm. “Stop it, (Y/N).” He was mostly scared of you stabbing yourself, if you weren’t so hysterical he would have let you keep going. “It’s done, (Y/N).”
At his words your breathing finally slowed, your struggles weakening. You allowed yourself to cry for the first time, turning in his arms to bury your face in his coat. The smell of Arthur was enough to calm you down, wiping away the smell of blood and replacing it with gun-oil, cologne, and sweat.
Arthur pet the back of your head, holding your shaking form close to him. It broke his fucking heart to see you like this, but he knew you got what you needed. He kissed the top of your head before resting his forehead against yours. “It’s done.”
You could finally be at peace.
