AO3 Link
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305741/chapters/87506110
CHAPTER WARNSING
Recount of past traumatic/near-death experiences.
Physical violence against a child
Mentions of Old School ‘Discipline (ie spanking a child)
---
In the days that passed, Arthur felt like he’d scarcely seen hide or hair of their resident teenage sharpshooter. He awoke one night wondering if their existence had been little more than some weird fever dream cooked up by Pearson’s lack of cooking skills. Yet when he looked around he saw clear evidence of their marks left around camp. A ragged button-up shirt too small to belong to Sean or Lenny. Kieran sneaking Fortuna a little treat as he brushed her flank. The extra tent and bedroll set up along the side of the camp. Arthur wasn’t the smartest fella. He left that to the better members of the gang, Dutch, Lenny, Hosea. Even Strauss, the slimly bastard that he was, had smarts of his own. But even Arthur could tell when someone was avoiding him.
For every hour after sundown that passed, the more Arthur remembered the hulking masses of impossible wolves, eyes full of hellfire and teeth like blades. He remembered the sound of Charles’ voice, yelling out to him as the beast sunk its fangs into his arm. There was no beating around the bush that the attack had happened. Charles still wore bandages around his arm and Arthur saw the healing puncture marks. Yet for all his memories of the night, Arthur had not seen the kid.
Arthur’s head might as well have been full of hot swamp water for the rest of the night because come morning he’d realised he’d never actually fallen asleep after laying down on his cot. He joined Charles by the main fire as the man crafted more arrows. He wanted to talk. Wanted to ask about what they’d seen. How Charles was holding up; was his arm alright? He wanted to wake the kid and demand answers- hell he’d get down on his knees and beg them to make sense of what had to be a surreal dream. But the words died in his throat and rising stomach acid burned threatening at the idea of talking. He and Charles sat in silence together until the camp awoke around them and got on with the day.
He finally saw the kid again while he was tending to Admiral. The ornery bastard had attempted to eat his hat, probably as penitence for riding him so hard in the dark and then not taking him out again for a few days. He’d just wrangled his hat from the gelding when Sean came trotting into camp proudly atop Ennis with Mary-Beth and the wayward teenager behind. The Irish man was already hollering about the job they’d just pulled, calling for a small celebration to which Miss Grimshaw rightly crowed that it was barely three in the afternoon. Answers could wait a little longer, he decided. That night was one of the most terrifying he’d lived through, right there alongside the night Lyle went from loving father to monster made flesh.
Arthur made himself scarce as Sean half dragged the teen towards the main fire.
---
Abigail was a little envious of Mary-Beth. Grimshaw had allowed her to break from her chores for an hour or two given the money she helped bring in. But she didn’t hold it against the young woman and the two chattered briefly over a cup of coffee. Mary-Beth was absolutely giddy about being able to flex her yarn spinning skills.
“And (Y/N)! I thought Arthur was embellishing when he said they were good! But my lord had Sean been the only one shooting it wouldn’t have been nearly as quick- or as clean!” she gushed. Abigail smiled along but she wondered secretly to herself why someone so young would need to be such a good shot. A glance around the camp and the company they all kept reminded her why but the knowledge did not sit well in her stomach as she watched Jack practice his reading with Hosea.
“Um, Miss Mary-Beth?” A hesitance voice called.
“(Y/N), what can I do for you, sweetie?” Mary-Beth beamed as the teen approached.
“Would you um, help me with the ledger?” They asked, the very picture of nervousness. “I can’t read good and I can barely write but I want to make sure I don’t mess up none of the spellin’ and stuff about the job and what we got.” They rambled. Mary-Beth just smiled and lead the teen off to the ledger, leaving Abigail alone again with her coffee. She let her eyes drift over the camp's occupants as her mind wandered, going over her chores for the day and what she could get done while also keeping an eye on Jack and what she’d probably need to ask someone else to watch him while she worked. Would it be cruel to ask (Y/N) to watch them? The teen was quiet and didn’t complain about chores and happily engaged Jack when he asked them to play. Still, it felt wrong asking someone so young to watch a little boy.
Miss Grimshaw’s harpy like screeching brought Abigail back to the land of the living and drew her eyes towards the woman in the middle of berating Sean for spilling bear on (Y/N) shirt.
As the teen slipped away from the two, Abigail intercepted them. “Let’s get you a clean shirt, hey?” She said, voice soft like when she’s trying to coax Jack to bed, as she lead them to the far side of the camp and plucked one of the smaller button-ups from the line. “Here,” She said, voice soft and motherly. “It was hung early this morning so it should be dry enough, even with all the humidity.” The kid looked at the shirt for a moment, like they didn’t entirely understand why she was giving it to them. “Trust me,” she said quietly “You don’t want to let the beer soak into the shirt. I’ll soak it overnight and hang it up later.” They nodded and mutter a quiet ‘ok’ as they finally took the offered shirt and ducked behind the wagon to change. Abigail turned her back to give them a little more privacy and gave a sad little sigh. Despite picking the smallest shirt she could from the line it was still grossly oversized for the fifteen year old when they emerged again.
“Maybe we should talk to Hosea and Miss Grimshaw about getting you some new shirts and maybe a pair of pants.” She muttered as she took the dirtied shirt and adjusted the collar of the temporary shirt.
“It’s alright Miss Roberts.” They answered, squirming a little as she finished fixing the collar. “My other clothes are still good. There’s more important things to buy than a nicer shirt.” They picked at a loose thread from the rolled sleeves of the shirt before muttering a reason to leave. Abigail just nodded with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as the fifteen year old took their leave.
---
Charles hadn’t been sleeping well. Over the past three days he’d gotten a collective of maybe five or six hours and Hosea had finally refused to let him take another night watch until he got at least another seven hours tonight. He’d managed to rest for a few hours after sundown but his sleep was tormented again by visons of fangs and eyes like red hot coals swathed in shadows.
So here he was again, sat by the scout fire with heavy lids but a body that was too fearful of the dark to rest. He sat there silently tending to the fire, simultaneously thinking about everything and nothing as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon. His ears pricked at the sound of dirt shifting and crunching below soft footfalls. To his left came the small, worn boots belonging to (Y/N). Charles looked up and silently acknowledged the teen, unable to will forth any words. They didn’t say anything either, just nodded and warmed themselves by the small fire.
They sat there in silence as the rest of camp took their time to wake. Only Arthur really rose in time with the sun and this morning he chose to join them. Despite the relatively relaxed atmosphere of the early morning, Arthur’s presence had a clear effect on the teenager, who was doing their best to pretend they weren’t there.
The silence between the three of them didn’t last too much longer as Arthur awkwardly cleared his throat before addressing the youngest among them.
“Hey uh, about a few nights ago. That thing that-”
“Ain’t nothing to talk about Mister Morgan.” The teen bit out, cutting the older outlaw off. “Like we told Mister Hosea and Mister Dutch. A bear that met the bad end of a barber’s razor came stumbling out of the scrub and refused to go down.”
“Kid please,” Arthur sighed, annoyance bleeding heavily into his words as he ran a hand down his tired face. “Thing with red hot coals for eye don’t exist and yet we all saw it!”
“The hell do you know?” (Y/N) growled, on their feet in an instant and getting right up into Arthur’s space. Charles quietly got up as the teenager continued to rage at the older man. They raised their arms pushed hard, attempting to shove Arthur. Might have worked if Arthur wasn’t a grown man used to brawls and (Y/N) being a small fifteen year old kid.
“You aren’t the first person who wanted to ‘understand’. I heard that before. And every time it’s the same. You don’t want to understand, you just want something that makes more sense. Make up your own stupid sense. I’m not telling you so you can-!” The words caught in their throat at the same time the tears that were gathering in the corners of their eyes finally fell. “No one ever believes me.” They whimpered. “Why would you be any different.”
Arthur didn’t say anything.
Charles couldn’t.
The embers crackled between them as the teenager angrily rubbed their face, sniffling as they tried to ignore the men watching. As they started to turn, ready to walk away from the orange glow of the scout fire, Arthur found his voice again.
“What I saw, was two massive wolves the size of a gad damn Grizzly. I saw red hot coals and hellfire in their eyes. My rifle might as well have been a bitting bug cause those creatures didn’t give two shits. I know that we nearly died that night.” Charles watched as Arthur swallowed hard around his words, saw his hands flex as he desperately grasped for the courage to continue talking.
Charles found his own voice.
“Your knife.” He said, nodding to the shining bronze blade sheathed at the teenager's hip. “You’ve fought these things before.” It was a redundant statement given their outburst not even a minute earlier but Charles found the word spilling forth regardless. They didn’t respond right away. He could see them gnawing their bottom lip as they contemplated their next action.
“Fine.” They said with a huff. “But don’t come crying to me if you can’t sleep at night no more.” Without another word, they walked around Arthur and towards the gritty beach of Flat Iron Lake. Charles shared a look with Arthur and the two men followed suit.
(Y/N) sat on the large fallen tree trunk that had drifted onto the muddy beach long ago. Arthur elected to stay standing while Charles sat by the teen. Charles accepted the cigarette Arthur offered, knowing that after what was about to be said and revealed he’d be thankful for the tobacco filled smoke in his lungs.
“I heard a saying once,” They began “More of a question really. It goes ‘If a tree falls in the forest but no one’s around to hear or see it, then did it really fall?’. My Aunt Conway calls it bullshit. She says lots of things happen without people noticing. That’s what my life has been like. All fifteen glorious years.” They said with a bitter laugh. “The nun at the orphanage berated me for making up stories when I told her a woman with bird wings for arms tried to eat me. Nearly got hit for that. I think I was six? Aunt Conway took me away shortly after that. She’s the only person I’ve ever met who believed me about the monsters. She’s the one who taught me how to shoot and gave me my knife.”
Charles watched as (Y/N) drew their knife. Even with the absence of a fire, the blade still held that otherworldly glow. He’d noticed before that it wasn’t your standard knife, not like the one he and Arthur had strapped to their belts. Its slim blade made calling it a dagger more accurate. A far cry from your typical hunting knife.
“I think she encountered those monsters her whole life too.” They said quietly slipping the knife back into its sheath.
“Wait, you call her your Aunt but ya just said she adopted you.” Arthur interjected.
“No, I said she took me away from there. The nuns were getting tired of me and my stories. Every time I encountered one of those monsters, something bad happened. Blowing up the outhouse and showering Father Duncan in everything was the last straw. The only reason I wasn’t run out of town was cause Aunt Conway was there. She just, told them she was taking me and they let her. Best day of my eleven years at that place.”
“So why you out here with us then, instead of with her?” Arthur asked as he dipped his head to the point the rim of his hat hid most of his features. (Y/N) lapsed into a temporary silence once before as they gathered their words.
“I killed a man.”
The admission caused Arthur’s head to snap up again where he met Charles’ equally stunned gaze.
“Weren’t actually a real man, I don’t think.” They continued “But what I saw didn’t matter versus what the town saw. He was a huge fella, easily head and shoulders above you Mister Charles, and heavier than a buffalo. Had one eye too, except it was smack dab in the middle of his face, right here.” They explained, pointing vehemently between their own eyes.
“I can’t, I don’t actually remember too much.” They mutter out, words nearly getting stuck in their throat. “The air around him. It just felt wrong. I wanted to scream but he, his hand.” The teen swallowed hard as they reached out a hand a grasped at the air in front of them, squeezing their fist so tight Charles could see the skin turn white even in the early morning light. “I couldn’t breathe.” The kids' eyes were glassy as they took a shuddering breath. “He was holding my- he just wouldn’t let go.”
Charles saw the fifteen year old’s hands shake as they recounted the memory. He could hear the strain of their voice as they help back old fear and panic. He was not good at comforting people. He couldn’t offer soothing words like Hosea and he didn’t have that same maternal softness Abigail had. Still, he found his hand drifting across the log. The way they flinched at the contact broke something in Charles, as big wet eyes shot up to look at him. It was awkward. He didn’t know whether to withdraw his hand or wrap his arm around their shoulders. He ended up just laying his hand palm up on the log, letting the young gunslinger make their own choice. Later he would admit to himself that he was surprised when they took his offered hand and squeezed it tight.
“I remember feeling like I was flying. Aunt Conway says he threw me when she hit him with a broom. The rest is kind of blurry but I remember Aunt Conway always took her shotgun with her when she used the wagon.” They stopped and shrugged. “Guess I managed to get my hand on it cause suddenly his head is gone and I’ve got a smoking gun in my hands.”
The revelation was. Heavy. Charles had been around their age when he’d first killed a man. He remembered the fear running through his veins like wildfire. The sting of a fresh cut along his face and the red mist spraying from the chest of his attacker. Throwing his previous hesitancy to the wind, Charles shuffled closer and gave the teenager what he wished he had then: a warm comforting arm wrapped around their shoulder. Nothing was said as they leaned into his solid mass.
“We didn’t stick around. Couldn’t. Folks was screaming for my head. Apparently, this monster had managed to make himself Sheriff.” They said incredulously. “And to everyone around, I had just blown his head clean off his shoulders for no reason.”
“How did they not see him attacking you?” Charles asked in absolute disbelief.
“That’s just how things are with monsters. Aunt Conway says they have this, mist surrounding them that makes most people’s eyes roll right over them.” (Y/N) answered with a shrug. “I don’t really remember how we got home either but the long and short of it is that if I stayed the law would come and hang me. So Aunt Conway put me on Fortuna’s back and ladened the saddlebags with as much as she could. Pointed me south and to keep riding and find my father.”
“Eventually I found all of you.” They finished, locking eyes with Arthur.
“Damn.” He said with a shake of his head as he dropped the butt of his cigarette on the sand. None of them said anything further as he and Arthur processed the tale. The kid eventually pulled Charles’ arm from their shoulder but smiled for the first time in days, silently thanking him.
“Are we safe?” Arthur asked.
“What?”
“Are we safe?” He repeated. “You’ve encountered at least three of these creatures. Do we have to worry about an attack on the camp?”
Charles tensed as he realised the potential danger they were in. Regular guns didn’t work against these things. Only (Y/N)’s knife did any real damage. What would they do if more of those hell hounds came across the camp?
“They don’t attack most folks. The gang’s safe.” (Y/N) assured them.
“Can you guarantee that? Charles and me? We ain’t ever faced monsters like those things before and you’re just a kid!”
“I’m fifteen!”
“You only have a knife! How the hell are we meant to keep folks alive with one knife?”
“Its because you’re a gang of outlaws that you’re safe!” Was their frustrated reply. “Aunt Conway said that they don’t go after regular folks but especially not folks with bad reputations.”
“Your Aunt knows a lot about these things huh.” Charles interrupted before the two could get into another yelling fit. They nodded in affirmation.
“Yup. She’s around Arthur’s age so she’s learned a lot. Mentioned hunting them a few times when they got too close for comfort.”
A rough sigh drew his attention back to Arthur as the man ran both hands down his face. Faint bruises sat beneath his eyes and despite the tiredness dancing in those gorgeous blues, Charles felt his chest stutter at the sight of Arthur. Old and grumpy he may be, but never let it be said Arthur Morgan didn’t care about those close to him. The blond cracked a weary smile and shook his head.
“Too bad we can’t get one of those things to eat Micah.” He joked with a forced laugh.
“I think it’d be worse off than we are with Pearson’s cooking.” Charles replied, a smile tugging at his own lips.
“Yeah, that man is vile enough to kill the Hell Hound that just ate him.” (Y/N) joined in, drawing a more genuine barking laugh from Arthur.
For the first time in several days, the tension between the three of them had dissipated and lightened the air around them.
---
FUCK THIS AND FUCK THAT
Ho-ly SHIT
This was not meant to take SIX FUCKING MONTHS but life decided to crap all over me during those months between family and work and the whole pandemic business FUCK
Like hell I am going to abandon this story. Life has gotten back on track and I can now focus my energy into actually finishing the story of RDR2 and writing this fic.
Truth be told I’ve been sitting on drafts of this chapter for months and I’m pissed off enough that I’m just getting this part done so I can get on to the more meaty and juicy parts of the story. I have plans for the next two to three chapters and a vague idea for the ones that come after. This chapter is far from my favourite but it is palatable and that’s as good as it's going to get here. Mistakes are expected but I do not have the energy to proofread and correct grammar.
So please, stay tuned as I (hopefully) bring you more regular updates to Of Blood and Greatness.
Till then, thank you for your continued support and patience
Outlier
My friend @credencecrossing has Marshal and when I visited him he wore one of my designs (Arthur Morgan's summer gunslinger outfit from RDR2). He's perfect in it!
The little shack with a pentagram underneath it up in Beaver Hollow - that’s a portal entrance. It’s how monsters from Geralt’s world keep finding their way into Arthur’s. There may or may not be a big ass Leshen guarding the woods of Roanoke Ridge around it. The locals are both terrified and horny. How’d it get there? Who knows.
A Grave Hag most likely inhabits the little shack up in Ambarino with the cauldron. Geralt won’t tell Arthur what was in that brew he decided to drink.
Geralt in cowboy clothes. That’s it.
Arthur won’t admit it, but he wants to try on Geralt’s armor SO badly. He wonders what he’d look like. Terrible, he thinks to himself forlornly. The rest of us know better.
Also, he thinks those two swords are terrible and dumb and doesn’t understand why this weird fella doesn’t have a gun and doesn’t even know what they are, other than some kind of “tiny ballista.” BUT the first time he sees Geralt fighting, lopping off heads and arms and looking smooth as hell while he’s doing it? He’s smitten. Wants to learn how to sword fight. Secretly wants to be able to threaten Bill or Sean with a bigass sword, just because he thinks it would be hilarious.
Arthur is endlessly fascinated with the bits of magic Geralt can use. Every time he snaps his fingers to light a candle or a campfire? Enthralling. Don’t even get me started on how useful Quen would be in a gunfight. Geralt has definitely pulled Arthur in close on more than one occasion to use the shield to protect him. Take that as you will.
Dutch, if he sees Geralt using Axii, and figures out what that is? Uh oh. He is going to be figuring out how to use the stranger for every single one of their future heists. Why shoot up a bank or a train when you can simply hypnotize everyone into gladly handing over their money and valuables? Geralt threatens to break him like a twig if he thinks he’s going to rope the Witcher into his petty bandit bullshit.
Geralt, like Arthur, is a pretty progressive dude - gets along with elves, sorceresses, dopplers, dwarves, people of all backgrounds - so when he sees Micah antagonizing someone like Javier, Charles, or any of the women? The ENTIRE GANG have to stop him from straight up murdering that mustachioed fuck. Most of them don’t really want to, but, ya know, Dutch says no murder in camp, so guess they kinda have to or whatever.
Arthur, radiating Big Curious Dumbass energy, definitely will try to drink one of Geralt’s potions, totally unaware that it will kill him or seriously mess him up if he does. He’s already lucky he didn’t die drinking that Grave Hag’s brew.
When they go get drinks Geralt always wants wine, because he is a Classy Bitch - it’s actually the one thing him and Dutch have in common - and he can never get it unless they’re in St. Denis. He grumbles about it, says all the beer and whiskey tastes like Drowner piss.
If Yennefer finds her way into Arthur’s world, she will absolutely extend an offer to our cowboy after getting to know him a bit and probably seeing him shirtless chopping wood to have a little ‘fun’ with her and Geralt some time. They’re both pretty laissez-faire about sex, and it makes Arthur’s ears turn BRIGHT red. He’ll accept after enough whiskey.
I can’t get over the idea of a friendly rock troll becoming smitten with Arthur. Do rock trolls have genders? Not sure. But they are cute af and I would actually kill a human being to see Arthur getting flustered and impatient with this big ugly-ass rock-looking thing trailing around behind him and babbling in broken, backwards English. It tries to make stew for him - rocks - he politely tries to turn it down. Arthur tries to go hunting but this thing is SOFT and once it sees a fluffy little bunny rabbit or a deer? No. No Art kill. No Art soft fluff-fluff kill.
tbh i love the idea of somehow connor and hank getting sent back in time and connor just being thrilled at the cowboy life and being surrounded by horses and dogs, and hank just running after him to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble...but also lowkey into all the saloons and booze lmao. i know the idea makes 110% no sense but i just had to draw it anyways haha. so i give you: sheriff grumpy pants and his eager deputy. :3c
AO3 Link
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305741/chapters/64050937#workskin
***
*repeatedly bonks head against wall*
I split the original chapter one into two parts to cut down the word count but it got even fucking longer
***
A lone jackrabbit darted across the ground as four horses broke through the trees surrounding Horseshoe Overlook. The constant rhythm of their hooves mostly drowned out the natural ambiance of the world around them as the horses thundered down the worn dirt path. Despite having only just gotten back to camp, Arthur couldn’t find himself complaining about being back out on the open road again. With a click, he nudged Admiral on and spurred the horse to pull ahead of Charles and Javier until he was alongside the teen.
“So, where exactly are you leading us?” He asked as the kid lead their strange little group down a less-traveled path along the base of Horseshoe Overlook. As they started down the shallow incline of the land, Arthur could easily make out the shimmering waters of the Dakota River ahead of them.
“’s a place called Cattail Pond.” The teen responded. “It’s a nice little area. Good for fishing and the water’s fresh from up the mountain. Fortuna likes it a lot up there. Don’tcha girl?” They continued, giving their horse, apparently named Fortuna, a loving pat long her neck. Fortuna nickered in appreciation, lightly tossing her mane as they rode on.
“Can’t say I’ve heard of it,” Arthur admitted. “Sounds like a decent place.” (Y/N) made a noise of agreement and nodded along to his words.
“Sometimes, a couple of deer will show up to graze and get a drink!” Arthur nodded and turned to look away from the kid as a small smile graced his features at the excitement dancing in the kids' words as they spoke.
“Ya hear that Charles? If we’re lucky we might be able to bag some deer for Pearson since he’s always going on about not having enough meat.” Arthur called back.
“It’d certainly save me from going hunting tomorrow.” Came the other man’s reply. The conversation petered off from there, and Arthur was content to let the silence hang between them as the teen continued to lead them along the Dakota River.
Arthur found himself occasionally looking to the teen as they continued along the horse worn roads. Once again he found himself taking note of their ratty hat, too-big shirt, and tangled, dirt covered hair. Unconsciously, Arthur found himself thinking of things better left in the past. About Mary and her choice of a clean society life over him and his life of killing and thieving. As much as it had hurt him to his core all them years ago, he had long come to terms with the fact it was the right choice for her in the end. A life on the run as a killer's wife was no life he wanted for her and by god did she deserve better. And what if they’d had a kid? Would that kid have grown up to be like (Y/N)? Dressed in clothes slightly better than rags, listening to folks in town talking, hoping for a sliver of promising information? How soon before Dutch started insisting they run jobs like him and the others? Would he have had to bury his own kid after a shootout gone to hell?
What about Issac?
His boy.
His beautiful little boy who would forever be barely older than Jack was now.
Arthur was forcefully brought out of his self-pitying thought spiral when Admiral cried out, rearing up and unceremoniously throwing him from the saddle. A cry of warning that probably came from Javier rang in Arthur’s ears as he landed heavily on his back, the crash stealing the air from his lungs. His world spun something fierce and he was vaguely aware of the feeling of the earth rumble beneath him as he lay there trying to breathe. Groaning to himself and muttering a quiet, pained curse, Arthur gingerly sat up as Charles appeared at his side offering a welcome hand up.
“You alright there Arthur? I almost ran you over.” Javier asks as Boaz came to a halt.
“Yeah, I’m alright.” Arthur replied, grunting as Charles pulled him back to his feet. He back protested as he carefully flexed his muscles, trying to lessen the pain racing up and down his back.
“You alright mister?” Arthur looked up and caught the worried look (Y/N) was sending him and nodded with a grunt as he looked around, quickly finding Admiral ten or so feet away, ears flicking back and forth. Arthur could hear the stallion’s huffing even with the distance between them. Sighing, Arthur called out calmly to his agitated horse, gently drawing Admiral’s attention to him as he shushed and soothed the animal. Seeing his human approaching, Admiral dutifully strode over to Arthur and less than gently shoved his entire head against the man’s chest as soon as he was within range, snorting as Arthur ran a hand along his neck.
“Yeah. You’re ok boy.” Arthur said softly as he fished out a peppermint as a reward for calming down so quickly and returning without much fuss. “Now why’d you go a buck me off like that boy?”
“Did you not hear me when I said to look out for the snake?”
Arthur looked up again at (Y/N) spoke and felt a tiny bit of heat upon his cheeks.
“Ah. No, sorry. Was lost in my thoughts.”
“That’s not like you Arthur. Everything alright?” Charles’ deep voice was like a welcome balm on his bruised pride. Still, Arthur waved off the other man’s worry with a small smile.
“Well, we’re nearly there so mount up and let’s get going.” (Y/N) commanded, turning Fortuna back around to the direction they were headed.
“Pushy kid, aren’t ya?” Arthur commented as he swung himself back on to Admiral’s back.
“We still gotta ride all the way back to camp. And besides, Cattail Pond may be out of the way but it isn’t completely untravelled.”
“Alright, alright. Let’s get going then.”
The remainder of the ride was again spent mostly in silence, as Arthur winced with every jolt of Admiral’s gait. The trip from then on out was almost entirely uneventful, save for the poor fella they passed who was yelling every profanity under the sun as a lone wolf chased his horse. Taking pity on the poor man, (Y/N) drew their repeater and without commanding Fortuna to slow, fired a few warning shots at the wolf, who decided his fleeing target was no longer worth the effort and fled the way he’d come. The rider didn’t even look back.
Arthur was mildly impressed at how at ease the teen was when needing to shoot from the saddle and when he commented as much, they simply shrugged and replied “Like I said, I can shoot any gun and I don’t miss. Those bullets hit right where I wanted them to.”
It wasn’t too much longer before (Y/N) was leading the three outlaws up the slope of the mountain.
“We’re coming up on where I hid everything.” They called back. “There’s a little abandoned house near Cattail Pond. The whole thing doesn’t look like it’s been touched in years.”
“And you’re sure it’s secure?”
“I sure am Mister Arthur!” They said, turning back to look at him. “Only way in is a window with loose boards but it’s too small for adults. Especially you and Mister Smith.” They finished with a laugh. “There it is!”
Arthur turned his gaze from the cheerful teen and true to their word, a smallish boarded-up house sat perched upon a ledge.
“Uhh, shouldn’t there be a pond? It was in the name…” Javier asked in confusion.
“It’s a bit further up and just over the rest of this part of the mountain.” (Y/N) clarified. Fortuna came to a halt with a tug on her reins as (Y/N) dismounted, the three men following their lead. Arthur briefly checked his ammo out of habit, noticing from the corner of his eye that Javier and Charles had done the same before following the teen up the mountain path. Naturally, the house had seen better days. The door and windows were all boarded up and almost looked more secure than several prisons Arthur had found himself inside for one reason or another.
(Y/N) walked with a purpose to one of the windows that looked just as inaccessible as the door, yet without pausing they grabbed one of the board and gave it a few tugs.
“Charles, could you give them a hand?” Arthur asked.
“No no no! I got it!”
“You sure kid?”
“Yup!” They replied, punctuated with another tug. “It comes off! I promise! I just made sure it wouldn’t fall off on its own while I was gone.” Arthur nodded as the teen grunted again as they struggled with the board.
“Almost got it-!”
With a final groan, the board finally came loose and sent the teen stumbling back into Arthur. He caught the falling teen with ease and barely more than a soft ‘oof’ at the collision.
“Told ya it comes off.” (Y/N) grinned. Arthur rolled his eyes fondly as they (h/c) haired youth dropped the board to the ground and went back to grab the next. As suspicious as he was of them when he first heard their claims, he found the teen had grown on him in the very short time he’d known them. A little voice in the back of his head whispered that they could still be planning some sort of trap but he tampered it down. He could not for the life of him explain why, but whenever he looked at them a strange feeling welled up inside of him. It was warm and kind of tingly but it also made his chest tighten and made his lungs feel like they weren’t working properly. Again he was brought back to the haunting blue pools of their eyes.
Arthur continued to watch silently as (Y/N) removed two more planks of wood until there was enough of a gap for them to fit through. Slinging their repeater off their back and placing it against the house, (Y/N) pulled themselves through the newly opened window. Javier and Charles silently fanned out to scan the surrounding area while Arthur watched (Y/N) through the window as they walked over to the fireplace and reached up the chimney, pulling a satchel from its hiding place. Next, they walked to a nightstand and pushed it away from the wall, revealing a hole with an old saddlebag sitting inside. Arthur let out an amused chuckle at the sight. The kid was pretty smart to have split up the money inside the hiding place.
“Grab this for me, will ya?” (Y/N) said from the window, holding a lockbox out to him. Stepping back and lifting the lid, Arthur felt himself grinning upon seeing the neat wads of cash lining the interior of the box. He looked up as the kids dropped two old saddlebags and the satchel out the window, all bulging at the seams with money, and onto the ground before once again crawling through the window.
“Good work kid.” Arthur smiled. The grin the kid gave him reminded Arthur of a cat that had gotten the cream or eaten an entire salmon on its own. “How much would you say is in those bags?” He asked Javier and Charles. “I think there’s around five thousand in this little thing.”
“Close to ten in the satchel, I think.” Came Charles’ reply. Javier let out a long whistle.
“At least thirty between the saddlebags. Certainly heavy enough to be that much.” Arthur nodded happily.
“’S good. Real good. Alright, let's load all this up then.” The packing away of the newly retrieved money was a quick affair and it wasn’t too long before Admiral, Boaz, and Tiama all had their saddle bags stuffed as full as possible. Still, there was some that still needed putting away. Arthur put most of it into his own satchel but decided on a whim to hand the kid the old satchel with a few thousand in it. “We’re trusting you not to betray us now kid.”
“Course not!” they replied with a scoff. “Like I’d damage the goodwill I’ve worked up with you now!”
“Right then. Well, where to next?” He asked as he prepared to mount Admiral. “We’ve gotten a good amount of our money back, is the rest nearby?”
“The rest?”
“Yeah, the rest. We got nearly fifty thousand right now but we’re still a long ways off from the total.”
The silence that followed was near deafening before the kids' quiet voice spoke up.
“B-but. This is everything!”
Arthur’s gaze shot over to the kid, their eyes wide as all hell as they repeatedly opened their mouth to speak only for the words to get stuck in their throat.
“You said you had all our money!” Javier interrupted angrily as he stepped closer to the scared teen.
“I did! I, well, I thought I did!”
“What do you mean you thought?” Arthur asked, his voice soft, despite the mild sting at the idea the kid had lied to them.
“I mean when I went to grab the money, this is all that was hidden there! I didn’t know there was more than this!” Arthur bit out a curse and ran a hand over his beard, thinking about what he should do next. The kid seemed genuinely upset at the revelation that they hadn’t actually gotten all of the gang’s money.
“You gotta believe me Mister!” They begged. Tears were starting to gather in their eyes and the sight made Arthur’s heart clench. “I-I swear! I thought I had gotten it all! I- I didn’t know! I-“
“’S Alright kid, I believe ya.” Arthur sighed, walking over and giving what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the kids shoulder. “Let’s just get back to camp so we can figure things out from there.” With a gentle push belying his anger, Arthur guided the distressed teen back to their horse, quietly telling them to mount up before swinging himself back onto Admiral’s saddle.
The ride back to camp felt slower. The horses all seemed to pick up on the less than cheerful moods of their riders and showed no desire to speed things along. Arthur was about to reassure (Y/N) that everything would be fine when the loud crack of a gun startled the horses and sent Arthur into fight or flight mode.
“Thems Dutch’s boys! Get em’!” A nasally Irish accented voice called out and Arthur heard Javier say, what was probably a curse, in Spanish. Arthur frantically looked around for somewhere to take cover but they were as good as sitting ducks. Yelling out a one-word order, he spurred Admiral into action, drawing his revolver as the stallion raced across the trail.
“Ride!”
The O’Driscolls whooped and hollered as they gave chase, firing wildly at the retreating men and teen as they made their mad dash over Cumberland Falls. One shot hit too close to Boaz and the horse reared, nearly bucking Javier from the saddle. As Admiral was practically running up Boaz’s behind, Arthur had no time to react and the two collided with such force, Arthur once again found himself flying from his saddle. With no time to catch his breath, Arthur sprang back up, running to the bank where several large rocks sat and slid down behind one. Taking a second to compose himself and draw his gun, Arthur peeked out from behind the rock and the world seemed to slow as Arthur picked his targets and lined up his revolver with the men trying to kill him. He breathed out slowly and squeezed the trigger and nailing one of the O’Driscolls right between the eyes. Sweeping his gun and gaze across the horizon, Arthur sent three more bullets flying towards his enemies with each hitting their mark in the other fella's chest.
A burning pain slashed across his upper arm of his off-hand and sent him ducking back behind cover, allowing him enough of a reprise to give his arm a once over. A tear in his shirt sleeve showed that he was little more than grazed by the bullet. Swallowing the pain dancing up his arm, he poked up from behind his measly cover again and prepared to return fire only for the O’Driscoll he was aiming for to go down with a spray of red mist as a bullet tore through his skull.
Chancing a look in the direction of the shot, Arthur was surprised to see (Y/N) behind another rock glaring down the barrel of their repeater, nailing O’Driscoll after O’Driscoll. The dumb Irish bastards, not expecting a majority of their forces to be taken out by a teenager, stagged and balked giving Charles and Javier, who had recovered from Arthur and Admiral crashing into him and Boaz, plenty of time to take down the rest of them.
When the last O’Driscoll fell, only the sound of the waterfall echoed around them as Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief.
“You alright there Arthur?” Charles’ deep soothing voice called out.
“I’ll live, just a graze. Stings more than anything.” He sighed, feeling the sudden tension and adrenaline fade from his body. Tiredly, he whistled for Admiral and quietly patted his neck. “You’re alright boy.” He muttered quietly before turning back to the others. “Any other injuries?”
“None here.” Javier replied, Charles nodding silently beside him. Arthur nodded and turned to ask (Y/N) the same only to see them staring at one of the dead O’Driscolls.
“Y’alright kid?”
“Hmm?” (Y/N)’s eyes stayed fixated on the dead body, a thin ribbon of pinkish-red water trailing from the hole in the man’s head.
“Come on.” Arthur said gently, guiding them towards Fortuna who perked up at her approaching rider and quickly attempted to eat some of the kids hair drawing a laugh from the quietly distressed youth. Arthur left (Y/N) to gather themselves as Javier silently signaled him over.
“We got a problem.”
“Besides the O’Driscolls?” Arthur said, gesturing to the dead bodies in the river.
“I can’t find the saddlebag you gave me.”
“What?”
“I think it might have fallen off when Admiral ran into Boaz.” The Mexican gunslinger continued. “If I had to guess, it went over the waterfall.”
“Shit.” Arthur spun around and walked up to Admiral, seeing that he too had lost the saddlebag filled with some of the money. “We can’t stay to look. Someone likely heard the shooting and I’d rather not be around if some lawmen show up.”
“What are we going to tell Dutch?” Charles asked, calm as ever, as Arthur swung himself back onto the saddle. “We already had less than believed and now we have lost even more of it.”
“Leave Dutch to me. Let’s just get goin’.”
Within a matter of minutes, the four of them were back on their way to camp, the air quiet like before but with a completely different feeling in the air. Gone was the jovial hope and promise of a fat stack of money awaiting them. Instead, a quiet disappointment and unease hung around them; especially from (Y/N). Silently, Arthur waved Charles and Javier ahead and slowed Admiral down till he was side by side with Fortuna. (Y/N) didn’t respond to Arthur’s presence, quietly fiddling with a few strands of Fortuna’s mane, their hands barely holding the reins. Arthur took a moment to note that Fortuna made no attempt to throw her head or wander elsewhere as her rider neglected to guide her.
“Hey.” He spoke up quietly. “Y’all right?”
(Y/N) shrugged one shoulder, not looking up from their fiddling, but stayed silent. Their ratty hat was pulled low over their face obscuring their eyes but Arthur got the feeling that the kid was doing their best to not cry in front of him.
“Hey.” He said to them, voice still far gentler than he’d heard himself sound in a long time. “Look at me.”
(Y/N) peaked out from under the brim of their hat and just like Arthur suspected, their eyes were wet with unshed tears.
“It’s goin’ to be alright. Dutch’ll understand.” The kid didn’t react and Arthur got the distinct impression they didn’t believe him. Were Arthur a different man he might have been bothered by the fact the kid had little to no hope of things being alright. The world was a dangerous place, especially for kids all on their own. He knew it, John knew it, and countless others too. Still, something he couldn’t put into words made him want to reassure the kid and make them believe in those words again.
God, he was acting like a damn a sentimental fool.
“Shit happens in life kid. But you know what? You still got us a good amount of money.” When the kid replied, Arthur had to strain his ears to hear their mumbled reply.
“I lied though.” They sniffled. “I said I got all your money but I didn’t! And then, most of it fell off the damn waterfall. All because of those damn Malakas!” The last word didn’t sound like English and had a weird foreign quality to it and Arthur made a mental note to ask the kid about it later because it definitely wasn’t a polite word. Realising he was starting to tune out (Y/N), Arthur snapped his thoughts back to them just in time to hear them complain more about the O’Driscolls.
“What happened with those O’Driscoll bastards weren’t your fault kid. Dutch won’t hold it against you. And besides, you helped us take care of em. You’ve definitely proven yourself as a capable person, despite your youth. I’m sure Dutch will be more than happy to have you with us.” The last sentence slipped out of his mouth before he could think better of it but the way the kids eyes shined with hope stopped Arthur from physically kicking himself for practically promising such a thing.
“You really think so Mister?”
“Course!” He continued with a hearty laugh. “You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t miss. Nailed all three of those O’Driscolls right between their eyes! Poor bastards didn’t know what hit em’.”
The kid made half chuckle noise of agreement but frowned.
“Wish I didn’t have to prove my sharpshooting like that. I was thinking more about hunting for food. Not, killin’.”
Before Arthur could stick his foot in his mouth again by saying something stupid again, Bill’s gruff voice called out from the forest making Arthur realise that they were back at camp.
***
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“Who’s there?” John’s rough voice called out as Arthur rode back into camp.
“It’s Arthur! You dumbass.” He yelled in reply, receiving a huff in return.
“You’re back. Dutch wants to speak to ya.”
“What’s he want this time?” Arthur asked, drawing his horse to a halt in front of the other man.
“Ask him yourself.” The scared man replied, walking right past Arthur to continue his patrol.
Grumbling under his breath, Arthur guided his horse, a proud Andalusian he’d taken to calling Admiral on account of the stallions headstrong and commanding nature, over to the hitching posts. As he rode over his eyes were drawn to an unfamiliar horse hitched by the camp entrance, waiting patiently and grazing on the tufts of grass at its hooves. It was a gorgeous Missouri Fox Trotter with a clean golden coat and a rich dark mane streaked with blonde. He didn’t spend long studying the horse and instead picked up the buck he’d stowed on Admiral’s back and began trudging over to Pearson’s wagon.
But for the second time in as many minutes, an unfamiliar sight drew his attention. Sitting at the circular table and looking very out of place was a kid. Arthur took a moment to study them as he passed wondering what a young one such as themselves was doing in the middle of a camp of outlaws. The kid couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen and was on the thin side. They weren’t that tall either, wearing a shirt too big for their thin frame with the sleeves rolled up in an effort to make the ill-fitting garment more wearable. In their hands they fidgeted with a ratty old hat and their hair was mattered and dirty giving the impression the kid hadn’t had so much as a bedroll to sleep on. An old memory of when Hosea and Dutch first took him in, and later John, drifted into Arthur’s thoughts as he passed. He’d barely handed the buck over to Pearson when Dutch approached him.
“Arthur, good to see you back, son.” The dark-haired man smiled as he clapped Arthur on the shoulder, directing the younger outlaw back towards the kid sat at the table.
“So what’s going on?” Arthur asked, “John said you wanted to talk to me ‘bout somethin’.” As the two men approached, the kid raised their head and locked eyes with Arthur. Arthur was nearly at a loss for words as the kid stared right into his soul. Their eyes were an almost unnaturally vivid shade of blue; much more intense than his own. What stuck him as odd was the weary look they held. It was the same look he’d sometimes see in Hosea’s eyes. Tired, haunted eyes like that had no place on some kid. Standing, the kid placed the ratty hat on their head and continued to stare at the two men as Dutch started to introduce them.
“This here is, uh.”
“(Y/N). My name’s (Y/N).” The kid filled in.
“Yes, this here is young (Y/N).” Dutch continued, leaving Arthur’s side to stand between him and the kid- (Y/N). “Bold little thing. Road right up into camp saying they wanted to talk to the leader of this gang and wasn’t taking ‘No’ for an answer.” He explained, chuckling lightly as he did. Arthur nodded as he hooked his thumbs into his belt, shifting his weight into a more casual stance.
“Why you coming out here to talk to a bunch of outlaws like us?” He asked watching with a critical eye as the kid hesitated for a moment, their eyes flicking to the ground as they brought their hands together and started picking at the skin around their nails. It took a few false starts before they finally got the words out.
“I want… I want ta join the gang.” Their hands dropped back to their sides and once again Arthur found those piercing blue eyes staring intently at him once more.
“I dunno Dutch.” He started, barely managing to break his gaze away from those haunting blue eyes. “They’re awfully young to be, runnin’ with folk like us.” He said, waving his hand and gesturing to the likes of Bill and Micah.
“I ain’t that young!” (Y/N) snapped.
“Kid, you can’t be more than fourteen at the oldest.”
“I’m fifteen! And I can take care of myself!”
“They why you want to join up with a gang? We ain’t some orphanage kid and we ain’t good people.”
“Now now Arthur.” Dutch cut in, raising his hand between the two. “You were the same age when Hosea and I took you in. And John was much younger.” He argued, drawing an aggravated sigh from Arthur.
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea Dutch. Look at em. They’re just a kid. And the world’s changing, cracking down on folks like us. It ain’t safe-”
“I ain’t safe on my own either!” The kid interrupted. “I ain’t been safe since the day I was born. And besides,” They continued, crossing their arms and leaning back on their heels, doing their best to stare down their nose at Arthur, “I don’t come untrained. I can shoot any gun and hit any target and I don’t miss unless the gun fails.”
Arthur stared incredulously at (Y/N) as Dutch let out a hearty laugh.
“And that ain’t the only thing I have to offer.” They continued. “Them fellas, uh. The special lawmen, the uh, the um-”
“The Pinkerton’s.” Dutch supplied.
“Yeah them! The Pinkerton’s are looking for you and are crawling all over Blackwater. But they ain’t looking for me.” Arthur narrowed his eyes and crossed his own arms.
“Whatchu getting at kid?”
“They’re saying, Arthur, that they can get into Blackwater and get our money. We can get out of here and be on our way!”
“I don’t know about this Dutch.”
“I’m with Arthur.” A fourth voice joined the conversation as Hosea strolled up to the three of them. “You’re an avid reader Dutch. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is’?”
“Come on old friend, think of what this could mean for us! All that money we lost at Blackwater, back in our hand. Valentine is only a temporary stop and we need to move soon. With the money from Blackwater back in our hands we can do a hell of a lot more than what we were originally hoping!”
Hosea sighed and continued to argue against it with Dutch when the kid cut in once more, drawing the attention of just about everyone in camp.
“I already got it!”
Dutch and Hosea froze mid-argument.
“What?” Dutch asked and Arthur swore he heard a note of confusion in the older outlaws voice.
“Your money from Blackwater. I already got it, so even if you sent someone back there and they managed to avoid running into the law, you won’t find it.”
Dutch’s earlier lax and cheerful demeanour disappeared as he stepped closer to the kid, his voice low and dangerous. “And how, exactly, did you find out where we hid it if we are to believe you.”
“Adults don’t pay a lot of attention to kids. Even less so if they’re street kids like me. Heard some of them, fancy-looking fellas, talking ‘nd saying they was investigatin’ you and thought they might know where you hid your valuables in case something happened.”
“And you just happened to get there and find it first?” Arthur growled, arms dropping to his side, right hand hovering by his gun. (Y/N)’s eyes followed Arthur’s movements as they too came to rest on the handle of Arthur’s gun.
“Yeah. I did.” They replied sharply, raising their own eyes back to meet his.
A tense silence filled the air as the camp went quiet.
“Stay. Here.” Dutch’s voice finally broke the silence. “Hosea, Arthur, with me.” The three men trekked away towards Dutch’s tent leaving the teenager alone at the table; a quick signal to Javier had the Mexican man nodding as he set himself up to watch the (h/c) teen while the others talked. Once the flaps to the tent had been drawn and fastened, Arthur exchanged a worried glance with Hosea while Dutch rubbed at his chin, his eyebrows creased with thought.
“What’s the plan Dutch?” Arthur softly questioned a hint of worry colouring his words.
“I’m not sure just yet Arthur. Hosea, what do you think?” Hosea huffed before replying.
“I think we continue with the plan to get away from Valentine. We’ve just about outstayed our welcome and it’s time to move on. I think it far more likely that this kid is part of a Pinkerton trap set to catch us.”
“And if they are telling the truth? If they really have gotten our money out from Blackwater and it’s now within our reach? It a lot of money Hosea, if we had that back then we could get the hell out here.”
“Is the slim chance that they are telling the truth worth the lives of everyone in camp Dutch?” The older outlaw returned. “We’ve already lost the Mac, Davey and Jenny. If this kid is luring us into a trap, who else will we lose?” Dutch brought his hand up to his mouth and nodded solemnly at Hosea’s words, though the crease in his brow suggested he was less than happy with the answer he was given.
“And what do you think Arthur?”
Arthur scratched at his stubble, drawing a hissed breathe as he thought about their options. He strongly sided with Hosea. This whole deal of a random kid wandering into their camp, claiming to have possession of their money was already a wild tale. Add on to that the fact they were apparently willing to just hand it back over to them in return for a place in the gang was just confusing. Anyone with half as much brains as Marston who found the money would have taken it for themselves, and yet this kid was here and offering to give it all back to them with not a lot in return. And yet something was stopping him from outright refusing to consider the kid might be telling the truth.
“I want to ask the kid something first.” He finally said. “They gotta have a reason for wanting to join up with folk like us. This kid could have set themselves up for life if they were smart with the money but instead, they’re trying to return it and get in our good graces. I want to find out what that reason is first.” He finished.
Dutch and Hosea were silent for a spell before the eldest outlaw smiled and clapped Arthur on the arm. “And you claim you ain’t a thinker boy.” Arthur tugged his hat a little further over his face as he averted his eyes, muttering a half-hearted argument under his breath before making his way back toward (Y/N). The teen looked up at Arthur as he stopped by the table, silently regarding the young teen before him. Silently, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it as he kicked a leg up on the short barrel that acted as a chair. The two stared silently at each other as Arthur puffed away before taking the lit cigarette from between his lips and addressed them as Hosea and Dutch watched a short distance behind him.
“Why do you want to join the gang?” He asked slowly, his drawl weighing his words down heavily as he spoke. “You could’ve taken all that money for yourself so why go to all the trouble of bringing it down to us? Worse people than us could have found you and they wouldn’t have had any qualms about robbing and killing some half-starved fifteen-year-old kid sleeping out alone in on the plains.” He paused, taking another drag and lazily blowing out the smoke. “Whatever you want from us must be worth a lot more to you than money.”
(Y/N) didn’t answer straight away. They squeezed their hands tightly and Arthur could barely see them biting their lip from under their ratty hat.
“M’ Dad.” Was the soft reply. Arthur stayed silent and watched as the kid drew a shaky breath. “My auntie. She said that my Daddy is an outlaw. Said that- that he knows the Van Der Linde gang. I just. I want to meet him.” They finished with a shrug.
“What’s your Daddy’s name kid?” Dutch asked, coming up to sit beside the teenager who was suddenly looking much smaller than they did when Arthur first spoke to them.
“I- I don’t-” Again the kid tightly wrung their hands as if it would relieve the emotional pressure they were feeling. “I know what he looks like. That’s all I need. I don’t care if he wants nothin’ ta do with me. I just want him to know that I exist, I suppose.”
Arthur stubbed the end of his cigarette and dropped the butt on the ground, turning to look at Hosea and Dutch who shared a mildly surprised look. Arthur mulled over the information in his head. Fifteen years ago when (Y/N) would have been born, it was mainly Dutch and Hosea finding jobs that he’d sometimes join, while Susan and Bessie looked after John. Uncle might have been around then too but Arthur failed to see any similarities between the drunken old man and the kid who currently looked like they wanted the ground to swallow them.
As Arthur was mulling over everything, Hosea stepped up and took a seat by the teen.
“You mentioned your Aunt earlier, but what about your mother?” he asked gently.
“Don’t have one.” Came a barely legible mumble. Silence once again fell over the group but no one seemed eager to break it this time. Just as he was about to say something, anything really, Dutch beat him to it.
“How far away did you hide the money?”
“W-West of Valentine.”
With a nod, Dutch turned his attention to Arthur. “Arthur, I want you to take Javier and Charles with you and the kid.” Turning back to the kid he continued. “I trust that you aren’t going to lead my boys into a trap.” He said. “If you stay true to your word then there’ll be a place for you among us.”
The kid's face lit up at Dutch’s words. “Yessir!” They cheered; face aglow in the afternoon sun as they turned to Arthur. “We should leave as soon as possible. To be back before the sun gets too low, ya know?” Arthur grunted in response and waved for the kid to mount up. They only took a few steps before spinning back around. “Can I get my gun back?” Dutch shrugged and nodded.
Arthur strolled back over to Admiral, running a hand along the steed’s neck as the horse noses at the satchel hanging by the man’s side. Feeding the stallion a fresh apple, Arthur doubled checked his saddlebags for ammo and supplies while he waited for Charles, Javier, and the kid. Not even five minutes later he was joined by the kid, repeater slung across their back, with Charles and Javier at their heels. They boldly strolled up to the Fox Trotter, smiling brightly as the horse nosed at their offered hand before the kid swung themselves up onto the saddle.
Sparing a place at Charles and Javier and seeing the two men also sat up in their respective horses, Arthur nodded at the kid. “Alright then, lead on.” He instructed with a wave.
“Follow me, gentlemen.”
And with that, they were off.
***
Thank you for your patience! The first chapter for “Of Blood and Greatness” is finally finished!
As a reminder, this is a Red Dead Redemption 2 crossover fanfic as it contains elements of Percy Jackson (you don’t need any prior knowledge of PJO,)
