Unshaken Outlaws | Arthur Morgan x John Marston [ENG]
[ Fan-Fiction based on the OTP between Arthur Morgan and John Marston from Red Dead Redemption ]
In a world where the last cowboys are ruthlessly hunted, survival is the only rule. Loyalty, fragile yet vital, is the thread that binds the outlaws together, their sole hope in a landscape marked by betrayal and constant danger.
Amidst war and a passion that defies the rules, Arthur and John will find an unexpected path to redemption as their world crumbles around them. For Dutch's gang, the fight for survival has never been easy, but it becomes even more complicated when a forbidden love blossoms amid fallen bullets, lies, and deep wounds.
Can this love become the sanctuary they need to withstand the coming chaos, or will it be the end of everything they know?
This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.
This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.
You can find this story on Wattpad and Archive of Our Own.
Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.
Chapter 4: A Bloody Start
—I joined you because I thought you liked action.
Micah's voice echoed with its usual mocking tone, filtering through the ill-fitting wooden door. Arthur, his face hardened by the cold and fatigue, pushed the door with his shoulder. The wood creaked painfully before closing behind him with a muffled thud, as if the wind were trying to open it again.
The wind... howled fiercely between the snow-covered peaks, shaking the old wood of the cabins as if it wanted to tear them apart. The storm had intensified once more, and snow fell in thick flakes that swirled around. Inside one of the cabins, the flickering light of an oil lamp cast long shadows on the poorly assembled log walls. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, cheap liquor, and the rancid smell of men who had gone far too long without a proper bath.
—A couple of days as fugitives and you've gone pale. —Micah raised a bottle of liquor with a mocking gesture as Arthur crossed the room, offering it without breaking his sly grin. Arthur took it without looking at him, grateful for the harsh warmth of the alcohol going down his throat. —Except you, of course.
His gaze slid toward young Lenny Summers, who stood leaning against the wall, hat low, and a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. Micah's half-smile widened, provoking, but Lenny didn't even flinch. He simply shot him a cold look, full of contempt, and exhaled a puff of smoke.
—I've never seen so many long faces!
Micah burst into laughter as the door suddenly swung open, slamming against the wall with a crash that silenced everyone. Javier Escuella entered, covered in snow, shaking off his poncho with a sharp gesture. His hat almost flew off, but he caught it just in time before kicking the door shut.
—I guess you miss those who are gone. —Billy gave Javier a glance, like someone seeing an old friend appear at a party where they feel out of place.
—Well, when I die, I don't want any nonsense. —Micah said, with that careless tone that often bordered on the macabre.
His statement hung in the air, lost amid the creaking wood and the whistling wind through the cracks.
—When you die, we'll throw a party.
Lenny's response came sharp as a knife, without hesitation. This time, the laughter was unanimous, filling the cabin with a strange warmth, like a small act of revenge against the man everyone despised. Even Billy let out a brief chuckle as the smoke from his cigarette mingled with the steam from his breath.
Micah stopped smiling. His eyes glinted with a dangerous flash, and his jaw clenched.
He slowly rose, with that feline cadence that preceded his outbursts of violence. Billy barely had time to look up before Micah's fist slammed into his cheek with a sharp thud. The pain was instant, but the cold made the burn feel even deeper, as if the blow had torn through the skin.
Billy sprang to his feet like a spring, furious, fists ready to return the punch. But before he could move, Arthur and Lenny grabbed him by the arms, holding him back before the fight could escalate into something worse.
—Maybe I don't feel like being laughed at, especially not by two like you! —Micah spat, his face flushed with rage. He spat those words like venom, directing them both at Lenny and Billy.
The argument would have continued to escalate if not for the door suddenly bursting open, slamming against the wall with a bang that silenced everyone. Dutch entered with firm steps, snow clinging to the shoulders of his black sheepskin coat, his brow furrowed.
—Enough! —His voice rose above the storm and the tension in the cabin. —You're fighting like fools while it's Colm O'Driscoll who deserves a beating. Do you want to stay here waiting for him to find us?
Arthur sighed in resignation. Without saying a word, he placed the bottle on the table and headed for the exit, placing the cigarette between his chapped lips. His coat fluttered with the wind as soon as he stepped outside, trying to hide in the warmth of his jacket.
—Come on, we've got work to do.
Dutch gestured for the others to follow. One by one, the men left the cabin, buttoning up their coats and adjusting their hats as they headed for the horses, ready to face the cold spring and whatever came with it.
The snow crunched under Arthur's boots as he approached the horses, his breath escaping in clouds of vapor that quickly dissipated in the freezing air. The entire camp was wrapped in an unsettling silence, broken only by the howling wind and the occasional creak of frost-covered branches. It wasn't just the cold that pierced the bones, but the tension that hung in the air like a premonition of something inevitable.
—Are you sure about this, Dutch?
—Yes. —He said, noticeably sharp.
Arthur pressed his lips together, giving a quick glance at the men already mounted on their horses. Their faces reflected the same mixture of weariness and skepticism that he felt.
—The boys have had a rough time these days. We've barely recovered.
Dutch leaned slightly toward him, his face inches from Arthur's, and grunted low, with the intensity of someone not willing to give in.
—And the last thing we need is for Colm O'Driscoll to attack us by surprise. Let's go.
He gave a light shove on the shoulder, firm enough to insist but not too rough.
—I know you hate him, Dutch.
The leader of the gang barely blinked at the comment. His jaw tightened, but his voice was controlled.
Arthur nodded, as if trying to find the right way to say what he thought without provoking Dutch's anger.
The wind blew stronger at that moment, making the branches of the nearby trees creak and shaking the horses with an involuntary shiver. Dutch sighed heavily, adjusting the reins of his horse with meticulous movements, as if trying to keep his hands busy rather than let the conversation unsettle him.
Arthur, without taking his eyes off him, began to do the same with his own horse, which was tied right next to Dutch's. The beast snorted impatiently, sensing its rider's tension.
—I would never doubt you, Dutch, because... —Arthur paused, clicking his tongue as he looked at the men waiting expectantly from their mounts. —You always say revenge is a luxury we can't afford.
Dutch stared at him in silence for a few seconds that felt like an eternity.
Arthur could no longer read his soul like he used to. There was a veil between them, a shadow that had settled in Dutch's gaze, preventing him from seeing clearly what he really thought.
—We're doing what's right, Arthur —he finally said, his voice quieter, almost whispering—. And this is more than revenge for something from years ago. They were talking about trains and detonators.
He grabbed a rifle and a lasso from his saddle and handed them to Arthur. He took them without looking away, searching in Dutch's eyes for any sign of what truly motivated him.
—Colm always had good intel —Dutch added confidently, raising his chin—. Let's go.
Arthur gritted his teeth but finally mounted his horse with the others. He wasn't convinced, but he didn't have a choice.
The wind howled through the trees, as if trying to warn them.
—And you think it's the time to rob a train?
Dutch let out a dry laugh, tilting his head to one side.
—Maybe you like living on deer piss and rabbit shit, but I'm too old for that life. —Arthur nodded once more before tossing his spent cigarette into the snow, all under Dutch's confident smile—. Mr. Matthew, Mr. Smith, and Mr. Pearson. Can you keep an eye on the place? The O'Driscolls are lurking around here.
Charles nodded, sheltered inside the cabin where Pearson was preparing supplies, his hand more swollen than it should be from his injuries.
Soon, the men following Dutch spurred their horses into a gallop through the snow, leaving behind only the trail of their horses and the uncertainty of whether this decision would lead to the beginning of glory or the start of ruin.
CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:
Chapter also available in WATTPAD: https://www.wattpad.com/1515291564-unshaken-outlaws-arthur-morgan-x-john-marston-red
Chapter also available in ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61174720/chapters/160593553
