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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

Note

Hello! 😊 can you write Arthur reassuring reader after she woke up screaming from a nightmare?

Here you go, Anon! I sort of forgot the screaming part of the request, and this turned out differently than I planned. This honestly could’ve gone multiple ways. Anywho, hope this satisfies.

Warnings: scenes of graphic violence/torture

Keep running, you say to yourself. You have to keep running. If you stop for even a second, they’ll catch you.

“Come on!” you shout behind you at your little sister.

“I can’t, I’m tired!” she whines, stopping again for the third time in a row. You do too, your lungs burning from running. The ash and smoke you breathed in earlier doesn’t help.

“I know, I am too. But we have to keep going!” you scream, grabbing her hand and dragging her behind you. Behind you comes the laughter, like a pack of coyotes. They are coming. The sound makes you scream and you run faster.

“They went this way,” A man’s voice screams. “Keep running, children! We’ll get ya!”

What is wrong with these people? They almost act like they’re hunting animals, only you’re the animals. You shriek again and keep running, your face and arms getting scratched by the bushes you run through, leaping over fallen trees. Your sister struggles to keep up with you, her hand being crushed by your own.

“I want mama!” she cries out.

“They got her,” you say, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Papa too. We can’t stop though!”

From behind you hear the heavy footfalls of a much larger person than yourself bounding towards you. Your sister is suddenly wrenched from your grasp, making you stumble. You turn to see the man holding her up by the arm as she screams, several other men bounding up to his side and laughing.

You don’t think, you just get up and continue running. It’s too late for her, there’s nothing you can do. You’ve no weapons and you’re half their size. As you flee, you hear a weird splashing sound. You jump over the large trunk of a fallen tree and hear your sister screaming like you’ve never heard before. You hide behind the trunk and look back, but then you wish you’d kept running. You see your sister’s silhouette in the flames covering her body. The men must have doused her in some kind of flammable oil and then thrown a torch at her. Her arms flail about as she shrieks in agony, twirling and running in circles as the men laugh.

You can’t watch anymore as they let her burn alive. You get back up on your legs and keep running, tears streaming down your cheeks. You blindly hurl yourself into trees, and each one you touch begins glowing, their bark turning to coals. The men chasing you lurch out of the darkness, taunting you, screaming at you. The sky above the tall trees illuminates, lightning streaking across the clouds.

One of the man grabs your wrists, his hand growing hairy and his nails lengthening and turning black. You look up at him and his face morphs into a dog’s. He growls and yelps, his companions closing in. They’re turning too and they’re preparing to leap onto you, ready to tear you to shreds. They show their teeth, foamy spit dripping from their jowls.

This isn’t right, you think. Pull yourself out, this isn’t right. This isn’t real because this isn’t how it happened. Get out of this!

Somehow you wake yourself up, but the howls and cackling of the men still rings in your ears. You look outside your tent, convincing yourself that you see their glowing eyes in the darkest spots in the area you can see.

You sit up, feeling yourself shaking. The vision of your sister, bathed in flames, keeps swimming into your vision. An overwhelming sense of guilt slams into you. While you don’t know exactly how she died at the hands of her murderers, you were the only one of your family to survive. All because you ran rather than staying behind to try and fight them off like your father and older brother. True, your father had screamed at you and your sister to run, but she hadn’t. She’d stayed behind with them, too afraid of leaving your parents, and those monsters killed her. You only know they did because they didn’t leave victims. They weren’t named the Skinners for nothing.

You’ve had dreams like this before, many times since that awful night. You’ve watched each member of your family murdered in different ways, and each time you run instead of helping them. The dreams always end the same: with the Skinners catching up to you and killing you. Them transforming into dogs is a new addition, but nonetheless terrifying.

You’re parched, so you climb out of your tent and walk over to Pearson’s wagon. Everyone else is asleep, not that you’re surprised. You dare a glance over at Arthur’s tent, but it’s empty. No surprise, he went on a hunting trip this morning. He’s usually out for a day or two when he hunts. Somehow you think you’d feel better if he was around. It’s hard to feel threatened when you’re in his presence. It’s not just that he’s big and broad, he just has this energy and force to him, like nothing could move him if he didn’t want to be moved. The fact that he’s fiercely loyal to the gang and almost everyone in it only adds to that.

You grab a tin cup on the table Pearson uses to cut vegetables and dip it into the water barrel, drinking greedily. The flames from your dream had felt so real, singeing your throat and lungs. You empty the cup in seconds and then dip it into the water a second time. Just as you’re raising it to your lips, a voice comes from right behind you.

“Surprised you’re up this late.”

You drop the cup and turn quickly, ignoring the fact that the water’s splashed down your legs.

“Oh, Arthur,” you say, putting a hand over your heart as if it’ll stop the pounding.

“You a’right?” he asks softly, his face worried.

“Y-yeah. Just… I had a nightmare, is all. They always shake me up.”

“Hmm. Well, why don’t ya come sit down with me at the fire, try to settle down again. We can talk if ya want.”

This kind of invitation isn’t unusual for Arthur, or for him to offer it to you. He’s one of the few men that will run miles in order to get a small trinket for someone if they ask, and he’s one of the few who takes interest in everyone. It’s one of the things you love about him, not that you’d ever admit you’ve got a thing for him. Especially not to him. Emotionally, he’s very unavailable.

You smile and nod. “Thanks, Arthur.”

He walks with you over to the fire and sits down on the log next to you, making sure to keep a few inches between you. For the next few moments, you’re both quiet. You look over to him, he looks tired. You wonder why he didn’t just make sure you were okay and then head off to bed.

“You don’t have to stay up with me,” you say. “I’ll be okay. You should get some sleep.”

He glances over at you. “I’m a’right. I’d rather stay up and make sure you can settle down again.”

“I will, Arthur. Now go take care of yourself.” Arthur’s a complex man. You’ve seen how scary he can be, know how many men he’s killed. On the other side though, he can be funny, witty, sarcastic, but most of all, caring. He truly cares about those he considers family and would happily die for this gang. He’s sweet to the girls, especially Tilly and Mary-Beth, and he’s extremely caring and even paternal with Jack. You remember catching him holding a sleeping Jack while Abigail was swamped with chores. That was when you knew you were in trouble, that your crush was more than a minor infatuation that would snuff itself out in a matter of time.

Arthur stretches his arms out. “I’m fine, Y/N.”

“Arthur, you’re tired. Go on, get some sleep.”

He looks over at you with a small smile. “Tell ya what. I’ll go to bed after you tell me about this dream.”

You swallow nervously. Of course it’s no secret to anyone in the gang how your family died. It’d been many years ago, you were barely a teenager when it’d happened. You were travelling with your family, you set up camp in a forest for a few days to rest. Little did anyone in your family know that the Skinners had migrated this way. One night, they’d raided your wagon. You were the only one to escape.

“I just… dreamed about my family again,” you say sadly. “I’ve had these dreams before. It’s like my brain’s trying to find answers as to how they died, like it’s seeking closure. I’ve watched them all die in a number of ways. Tonight it was my sister. She… she and I were best friends.”

Your lip’s trembling as you remember her. The way she used to laugh, how she’d sing to herself, her jokes that could always make you laugh. You proceed telling Arthur about your dream, not hiding any detail, not even the part when you ran rather than trying to help her. When you get to the Skinners turning to dogs, you stop.

“That’s all that happened,” you finish, staring into the dirt. You can’t look into the fire, afraid you’ll see her again.

Arthur sighs, “Bad business, Y/N. I’m truly sorry. I can’t imagine how you must feel.” He’s silent for a moment, almost as though he’s debating.

“Well, I don’t wanna leave you alone now. Doubt you’ll be able to sleep after a dream like that, know I wouldn’t.”

“But you need to sleep,” you say as he yawns.

“Let me finish. I was thinkin’... maybe I could sleep in the other half of your tent. That way you ain’t alone.” His eyes widen a bit. “I ain’t plannin’ nothin’, please don’t think that. Just want ya to be okay.”

You smile, glad it’s dark so he doesn’t notice the blush on your cheeks. “I know you’d never do anything, Arthur. I… I’d like that.”

You stand up and lead him to your tent. You crawl in and settle down into your bed roll. You’re just about to grab the blanket when Arthur drapes it over you. He pats your shoulder and then sits down next to you, takes his hat off and then lies on his back.

“Let me know if ya need anythin’,” he says in the darkness. You yawn, feeling suddenly tired.

Just as you’re drifting off, you hear a bush somewhere behind your tent rustle. The sound jerks you awake, memories of the Skinners leaping out of the darkness of your dream coming back to you.

“Arthur!” you hiss. He sits up, blinking his own exhaustion from his face.

“Sure it’s nothin’,” he says. He gets up and goes out. You hear him walk away and then silence. Your blood pounds in your ears and you fear the worst. Funny how the night magnifies one’s senses and makes things seem a lot scarier than they are. You start wringing your hands, but then Arthur’s footsteps come back. He enters the tent again and settles down.

“Just a raccoon lookin’ for scraps. It’s gone now.”

You let out a relieved sigh, but your adrenaline is still going. Arthur looks at you in the darkness.

“You sure you’re okay? Ya seem nervous.”

“Y-yeah,” you say. “Just being silly.”

You look down at him and he extends his arm closest to you out and away from his body. “Come here,” he whispers.

“Oh I don’t wanna impose on you, Arthur.”

“It ain’t imposin’ if you’ve been invited. Ya need to sleep too. Now come on.”

You sigh and lay down next to him, settle your body right against his and then lay your head on his chest. It’s only now that you realize how cold you are. His body radiates heat and his heart drums at a steady pace in your ears. He smells good, like pine, sage and earth. You can’t help but take several deep breaths so his scent floods your nostrils. His hand lays against your shoulder, his thumb circling over it, comforting you. You drape your arm over him, bringing you even closer to him.

Within seconds, you’re beginning to fall asleep. That is until his hand leaves your shoulder. He fidgets a bit and then you feel the blanket covering you again. You shift a little against him, getting even more comfortable. You’ve only dared imagine this moment during your loneliest hours in the past, but they’re nowhere near as good as the real thing. You hardly need a blanket lying next to him, but it keeps your back warm. His arm around you forms a protective cocoon and his heartbeat covers the sounds of the world outside. What you wouldn’t give to feel his lips graze your forehead?

You want to stay awake simply to continue enjoying this moment, but you’re so warm and comfortable, you can’t help but begin drifting off. The nightmare doesn’t seem at all threatening anymore. You can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. You press your forehead to his neck, falling further into sleep. Just as you go under, you swear you hear him say something.

“You damn idiot. You ain’t foolin’ no one, Morgan.”

#red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #awkward asks #gender neutral

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headfulloffantasies · 5 years

Text

Angel With a Shotgun

Chapter 4

Bobby faces down a monster and meets a strange hunter

Bobby woke in the middle of the night to a scratching sound. For a moment he lay in his quiet bed, listening for the noise that had woke him. He’d convinced himself he’d dreamed it, when the scratching came again. Bobby tossed off his blankets and tiptoed down the hall.

Bobby twisted the doorknob of the Sam and Dean’s room. It opened without a creak. He peeked in. The twin beds shoved together held the slumbering lumps of his boys, unconcerned by the noise. Dean was turned towards the soft light of the hallway. His face was soft and innocent in slumber. The scratching sound came again. It was coming from downstairs. Bobby closed the door as silently as he could and hurried downstairs.

Everything was silent and dark at the bottom of the staircase. The kitchen was pitch black. The curtains in the living room were open, letting the sliver of pale moon puddle on the worn rug.

There was the noise again. One, two, three long screeches of nails on a chalkboard. Every scrape sent a shiver down Bobby’s spine. It sounded like claws against the screen door.

There was a shotgun in the living room hanging over the mantle. Bobby pulled it down with shaking hands. A coyote must have wandered into the yard. Rabid animals were known to look for trouble around here. Bobby stuffed his feet in his boots and carefully cracked open the back door.

The screen of the outer door was in ribbons. The wire mesh shredded by long slashes wider than any coyote was capable of. Bobby swallowed icy fear.

He reached over and flicked the porch light on. Nothing moved out in the yard. Bobby hefted the shotgun and opened the ruined door.

The stink of sulfur curled in Bobby’s nostrils with the first step outside. The line of the shotgun followed the dark patches of the yard. Bobby crept further from the safety of the light, boots crunching over the gravel driveway. Every indistinguishable shadow caused Bobby’s heart to leap. The night was unnaturally silent. There wasn’t even an insect buzzing around the porch light. There was nothing in the yard.

Bobby lowered the shotgun.

Something huge and black peeled out of the shadow of the house. It leaped faster than Bobby could track. It slammed into him before he could lift the gun. Bobby yelled as the thing collided with him. Black fur filled his mouth, clogging everything with the stench of sulfur. Bobby’s back bit the gravel as they toppled end over end. Bobby’s heart stuttered as the huge shape growled. Sour, foul breath blew hot in Bobby’s face. He choked on the suffocating fur still clinging everywhere. Bobby scrambled for the shotgun trapped between him and the creature. The trigger was impossibly far away. Bobby thrashed, scrambling for purchase on the ground. The thing crouched over him. A giant paw landed on Bobby’s chest and shoved all the air from his lungs. Glowing red eyes descended and fangs gleamed. A massive maw opened. Bobby squeezed his eyes shut.

“Hey!” A voice shouted somewhere to the left. The weight on Bobby lifted. He gulped greedily at the cool night air. The stars spun overhead, watching Bobby’s lungs struggle impassively.

Bobby rolled over in the gravel. A man in a long coat and a wide brimmed hat braced for impact as the monster rushed him, its claws tearing trenches into the gravel. The creature leaped. The man swung his fist. A blade gleamed. Then the beast was down, a howl dying on the night air.

Bobby shoved himself to his feet with a grunt.

“What is that?” He panted, staring down at the black fur lying still.

“Black Dog,” The newcomer said. He wiped the jagged blade on the sleeve of a black trench coat.

A startled laugh huffed out of Bobby’s aching chest. “That ain’t no dog.”

The man’s eyes flashed under the brim of his wide hat. “Not a dog. A Black Dog.”

The realisation that an armed stranger was standing on his property struck Bobby suddenly. He retrieved his shotgun as he stared the man down.

"Howdy, Mr. Singer." The man drawled, as if he hadn't just slaughtered the thing on the ground.

Bobby hefted his shotgun. "Who're you?"

The man tipped his hat. "You can call me H."

"H." Bobby glanced at the house. The boys were bound to be awake. There was no way Sam could have slept through the noise.

"That ain't much of a name." Bobby groused as he shifted his feet. He edged between H and the porch.

"What was that thing?" Bobby tipped the barrel of his gun at the mess on the gravel.

H chuckled. It was a dark and deprecating sound. "Now, Mr. Singer. Don't tell me you haven't seen a monster before."

Bobby's mind flashed to the drooling fangs and growls on the night he’d found his boys.

"Sure. But I can't say I've ever seen anybody do that to a monster."

H shrugged. His casual stance at the end of Bobby's shotgun annoyed Bobby. The gun was supposed to give Bobby an advantage.

"I'm a hunter, Mr. Singer. Killing evil like that is my job." H lifted his hat and scratched at his long stringy hair. "It's also my job, Mr. Singer, to know about strange occurrences and the people who cause them."

H's voice took on a conspiratorial tone. "You wouldn't happen to know of some strange things happening, Mr. Singer? Healings, miracles, unexplained coincidences?"

Bobby stiffened. Sam and Dean were just upstairs, and if H was implying what Bobby thought he was, Bobby wasn't sure he could stop H.

H stepped forward and Bobby eyed down the shotgun.

"Your boys are attracting a lot of chatter, Mr. Singer." H warned. "They're in danger. This," H gestured to the body at his feet. "This is only the beginning. If I were you, I'd learn how to defend them kids."

H reached into his long coat. Bobby shifted his finger to the trigger. H crooked a smirk as he withdrew a leather journal and tossed it in the gravel at Bobby’s feet. It landed with a loud thud in the quiet night.

“I’d suggest you start by reading that if you want to keep your boys, Mr. Singer.” H tipped his hat. "Have a good night, Mr. Singer."

H wandered off into the night. Bobby kept the shotgun at the ready until H’s back had vanished.

Bobby stooped and scooped up the journal. It was worn, supple tan leather tied with a black cord. Pages stuck out at random. The scrawl Bobby could see was thick and spidery. He flipped open the first page. A five point star inside a circle was etched deep into the paper, traced over and over in obsessive detail. “Journal of a Man of Letters” was scribbled along the top.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5

#supernatural #angel with a shotgun #fanfiction #chapter 4 #bobby singer #dean winchester #sam winchester

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