#sorry to call you wretched micah. you are the only good one here but you still count | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vanderlindemangofarm · 5 years

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I’ve Got You

This is for the wonderful ray of sunshine that is @scribblepigeon as she won 1st Prize in the competition I ran a while back! I’m so sorry this has taken so long, but I really hope you enjoy it!

Summary: after the mess of the Blackwater ferry job, you and the gang have taken refuge in Colter, and you’re feeling useless. Determined to prove your worth to the gang, you decide to scout a nearby O’Driscoll camp. When your mission doesn’t go to plan, it’s down to Charles to bring you home.

Warnings: one use of a racial slur, angst, mentions of gore.

Pairing: Charles Smith x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3,191 (yeahhhh I went way over the word count, sorry)

If you had hated stitching before, it was nothing compared to now. The cold had rendered your unskilled fingers practically useless. You couldn’t feel a thing as your fingertips gripped the needle, poking it idly through bits of old fabric in a crude attempt to make a blanket. Your breath misted in front of you as you sighed loudly. Tilly looked up.

“Having fun?” she smiled sympathetically. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you rubbed the bridge of your nose. She nodded grimly. “You and me both.”

It was only until the storm cleared, you thought to yourself over and over. Just a few days. Maybe even less than that. Perhaps even tomorrow, you’d all be on your way to pastures new – to warm air, to blue sky, to grass! If there was one thing you missed as much as going to sleep without shivering, it was greenery. Charles had promised to take you out walking as soon as you got out of the mountains. You knew he was probably just being polite but you still smiled whenever you thought about it. You always smiled when you thought of Charles. He’d been so gentle with you right from the start, always greeting you with a kind word. On the long wagon journeys you’d sit beside him and watch the rolling landscape change, in comfortable silence. Sometimes you’d let your head slump against his shoulder, but he never seemed to mind. He’d always tuck a blanket around you.

“That blanket won’t make itself, Miss L/N.” Susan called from across the room, dragging you out of your daydream. There was frustration in her voice but it was strained, like she couldn’t quite find the energy to be truly angry with you. The past few days had taken its toll on you all.

All that money, lost, sitting somewhere in a town where you’d be shot on sight. You’d experienced disappointing jobs before but this felt cruel. Just as you’d let yourself start to dream, the world had closed in on you once again. Dutch had placed his hand on your shoulder before you rode to Blackwater, saying something about being rewarded for your trials, like that ferry held the rightful prize for all the gang had endured. It must have been even worse for the others, the ones who had been with Dutch for years, even decades. You had only been around for a month or so. Jenny had found you cowering behind a saloon, drunk and alone and afraid. She had been so kind to you, a true friend, and now she was gone. So was Davey, so were Mac and Sean for all you knew. Even John was missing. It was cruelty, plain and simple. Your chest tightened as you felt the threat of tears in your eyes.

You felt useless. It didn’t help that barely anyone was speaking to you properly. You knew it was because there was so much to do, but the sting of people walking past you without even looking you in the eye was hard to ignore. You hadn’t even seen Dutch and Hosea today; they were always holed up pouring over maps or out scouting the surroundings. Arthur and Javier had ventured into the mountains to look for John. And here you were, sewing, if you could even call it that. You held up the blanket, which looked more like a long scarf. Jack looked up from the fire and frowned puzzledly at your creation. You smiled, wrapping it around your neck.

“Very modern, don’t you think?” you asked, striking a pose. Jack giggled.

“Miss L/N, the sooner you fashion something useable, the sooner we can all get warmer.”

“Yes, Ms. Grimshaw.” you mumbled. This wretched needle was starting to aggravate you. It seemed to transcend its form to become a vicious little insect intent on ramming itself into your exposed flesh. You winced, sucking on your index finger.

“Now, that��s a sight I could get used to.” Micah purred from his corner. You pulled your finger out of your mouth, glaring. He smirked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Mr Bell, if you’ve nothing meaningful to say may I suggest taking yourself somewhere else?” said Susan, her brow furrowing. Micah placed his hand on his heart in mock-offence.

“Is that any way to speak to one of your own? Besides, I’ve been breaking my back lately. As I see it, I’m owed a pretty view or two.”

Susan opened her mouth to retaliate but you stood up, throwing down your sewing.

“The prettiest thing in this room will be your blood on my fist if you don’t shut up, Micah.” you hissed, your blood boiling. Micah leant back in his chair, taking another drag.

“Vicious little thing, aintcha? Don’t let me distract you from your housework now, Miss. Gotta earn your keep somehow.”

“I’ve earnt my keep, Bell. You know that.”

“Oh, sure. We’re all so grateful for having to save your ass back in Blackwater. Hell, if it wasn’t for you losing your nerve maybe we’d still have that money.”

You were breathing heavily now, your fists bunched by your sides. You knew it wasn’t true, not really. He was just choosing the exact words to get under your skin. But God, it was working.

“Leave her alone, Micah.” Karen snapped from her corner. Micah turned to look at her, sneering.

“I wish we had! I know that redskin bastard’s gettin’ sweet on her, but even he can see she’s a waste of air.”

That was enough for you. You turned on your heel and stormed out of the cabin before anyone could see your tears. You crunched through the snow, your head fuzzy, barely hearing Lenny when he asked if you were alright. Leaning against the cold wood of the stables you shut your eyes, willing the sobs away.

It was true about Blackwater. Only minutes after the job went sour you’d misfired and almost gotten yourself killed, only to take a nasty fall and hurt your ankle so badly you could barely limp out of the room. Charles had gone back for you. You could remember how easily he lifted you up and carried you to safety, running as you shot your pistol over his shoulder at the advancing lawmen. I’ve got you, he kept whispering, long after the gunfire had ceased and your heart had settled. Even when he looked down and saw his wounded hand, bloodied and charred. Still he held onto you, kneeling on the yellowed grass with you in his lap. If you focused on how warm his chest felt, you could get the image out of your head of Heidi McCourt’s brains spilling over the ferry deck.

“Y/N?”

Charles voice, soft and concerned, pulled you out of your memories and back into the snow. Your eyes snapped open and you saw him in front of you, his hat pulled low over his face, his arm cradling his wounded hand. Your stomach twisted with guilt.

“Are you alright?” he asked suspiciously. You nodded too quickly, your cheeks flushing. He kept looking at you, regarding you, and for once you wished he wouldn’t.

“Get yourself back inside, you’ll catch your death out here,” he continued, gesturing to the darkening sky. You shrugged, your eyes falling to the ground.

“I’m fine, Charles. I just wanted to be alone for a minute.”

Charles paused for a few moments, as if contemplating saying something more, but he turned away.

“Charles?”

You spoke before you could stop yourself. He looked back at you, his eyes soft.

“I…I’m sorry.” you stammered.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Your hand. If I hadn’t…if you hadn’t…I’m sorry.”

Charles stared at you, letting out a long sigh.

“I would never have left you there,” he said softly. “never.”

You took a deep breath.

“You wouldn’t have had to go back for me if I wasn’t a…a waste of air.”

“A waste of air? Who’s been saying that to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you snapped, shaking your head. “it’s the truth. All I want to do is show you people that I’m worth having around. But no, the good Lord has decided I’m to be cursed with a life on the run with none of the skills to make it work. And…and I can’t sew!”

“Can’t sew? What are you talking about?”

“Can’t sew, can’t shoot straight, can’t even die when I’m supposed to.”

“Stop.” Charles growled, his eyes narrowing. Your tears slipped from your cheeks and dropped to the ground, melting the snow in tiny circles by your feet.

“Y/N, for better or worse, we’re all still here.” Charles continued, his voice strained.

“I…”

“You’re feeling the weight of all this hell, same as the rest of. But I want to keep everyone around for as long as possible, you included. So just…just look after yourself. Please, Y/N.”

You gripped your elbows, chewing your lower lip. Charles nodded slowly as he turned to walk back to his cabin.

“And don’t venture out, at least not far,” he said grimly, over his shoulder. “I’ve heard there might be O’Driscolls out around these parts. Out near some lake, I heard.”

O’Driscolls. You hadn’t experienced a run-in with them yet, but from the way Dutch talked about them it wouldn’t be long before you did. After all the everyone had been through recently, a night raid by a rival gang might have tipped things over the edge. Your palms felt sweaty despite the icy air as you contemplated the idea that had settled in your mind. Scouting from afar wouldn’t be difficult, you knew that. You were quiet, and the increasing gloom of the evening would aid your mission.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about the way Charles had looked at you, like you were a frightened little animal on the side of the road. You were sick to your core of pity. Of being told to be safe, to take it easy, to look after yourself. Of watching the boys ride out together every day whilst you huddled by the fire and stitched blankets of no use to man nor beast. You had so much energy to use up and no way to utilise it that didn’t result in strange looks or Dutch barking at you to get back into the warm. You didn’t sleep well, waking up multiple times a night only to shiver and stare at the ceiling. As darkness fell gradually around you now, leaning against the stables as you listened to Pearson grumbling at his workstation and watched the shadows in the windows, you figured you were better off going in search of a fabled O’Driscoll camp than laying still until morning.

And then you were silently un-hitching your horse, stroking his nose and cooing gently as he whinnied against the cold evening air, mounting up and trotting out of Colter before anyone could see you.

The silence of the mountains was deafening. You strained against the biting wind and tried to ignore the primal fear that simmered inside you when you thought of the wolves out there, waiting for an easy supper. Instead you focused on the camp you were searching for. You had seen maps of this area before and knew there was a lake nearby, one with some abandoned structures that could serve as easy shelter for a band of outlaws. A short wave of pride washed over you as you realised that you could do this. You could do this. You could be an asset. A quick scout of the camp, and returning home with vital information that could even save the day. With some soothing words to your horse, you pressed quietly on into the gloom. You were riding for over an hour before you saw lights in the distance. Finding yourself atop a ridge looking down at the camp below, you squatted in the snow and narrowed your eyes, picking out the dark shapes of who you assumed were O’Driscolls, clutching rifles as they stood guard, laughing, squabbling, drinking. Their voices cut through the night like daggers.

You slowly crept along the ridge, making mental notes of the various buildings you saw, the numbers of men. There were a lot of them, more than you anticipated, and your mouth felt dry. When you felt the presence of someone behind you it took every fibre of effort not to scream.

“Stop…stop right there!”

His voice was as shaky as the wind as you turned slowly to face him, your hands raising above your head.

“D-don’t…don’t try anything! I know how to shoot!”

The man who pointed a pistol at you didn’t look much older than you, his eyes wide with concern under his hat.

“I…” your words failed you as panic rose in your gut. This nervous creature didn’t seem much of a threat, but his camp was right beneath you. You cursed yourself for your carelessness.

“You…you shouldn’t be here! Who are you?” he demanded, his voice slightly stronger now. You shook your head, breathing rapidly. In a moment of blind adrenaline, you reached down to your pistol. And that’s when he shot you.

The bullet hit you in the shin, nestling itself in your flesh with a sickening bang. You screamed, dropping to the ground and howling in pain as you grabbed at your leg. The man hurried to your side, gabbling with panic.

“Oh god, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, miss!”

You couldn’t do anything except continue to wail and sob, oblivious to the noise you were making. The man shook his head, his hand on your shoulder. You pulled away, suddenly furious.

“You’re…you’re…sorry?!”

“Miss, I truly am. I didn’t mean to hurt you! I just…I just panicked!”

“Damn you…”

“Miss? Miss!”

You stopped cursing and looked at him, seeing the real fear in his eyes.

“Miss, they’ll kill you if they find you. Maybe worse. You have to get out of here, and fast. They’re not stupid enough to ignore a gunshot this close to camp.”

“And why…why wouldn’t you hand me over? You’re one of them, right?”

The man stopped and looked you dead in the eye.

“I ain’t no O’Driscoll, Miss.”

There were a few seconds of silence before you let yourself believe him. He helped you to your feet.

“You got a horse, Miss?”

“Sure. He’s close.”

You whistled a few times, and before long your horse cantered into view. The man guided you to his side and steadied your feet into the stirrups.

“Ride hard,” he said sternly. “don’t look back once, you understand? Get out of here.”

You barely had time to gasp your thanks before he struck the rear of your horse and watched you gallop off into the night.

Blood flowed steadily from your wound and into your boot, its sticky warmth combining with the pain and making you feel increasingly nauseous. You felt waves of dizziness as you thought of how foolish you had been, how selfish. You thought of Charles, only this time you didn’t smile. All you could picture was his face when he saw you wounded, again. Beads of sweat trickled down from your forehead and mixed with the tears on your cheeks.

In all the confusion, all the pain, you didn’t have time to register which way you were going. The night swirled around you as you rode aimlessly, the pain in your leg throbbing with every bend in the landscape. Eventually you slowed your hose to a halt, breaking down completely and sobbing into his mane. You didn’t know how long you lay there, half passed out, half asleep, half dead. When you heard Charles’ voice you were certain you were dreaming.

“Y/N?”

His voice echoed through the trees. You were dead, you thought, you must be dead. But then you heard him again.

“Y/N!”

His arms, his strong shoulders, the warmth of his chest as he lifted you down from your horse and cradled you against him.

“Oh, Y/N, what have you done?”

His hand rested on your bloodied shin and you sobbed into him, exhaustion mixing with relief and shame. He pressed his lips to your forehead as he lifted you up and carried you to Taima, who was waiting patiently as she always did. When he had you settled on her saddle he went back for your horse, attaching the reins firmly to Taima so they could ride back together. He sat behind you, letting you loll back against him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Lights, voices, hurried words and scrabbling hands lifting you down and wrapping you in what felt like a thousand blankets. Water, hot whiskey, bandages and searing pain and more tears, and Charles holding your hand long after the bullet fragments had been removed from your leg. Falling in and out of sleep, waking briefly to be scolded by Dutch and Susan. It all felt like a painting, like a song, something to be observed, not lived. And yet here you were, saved both by a stranger and the man who held your heart.

You walked again when the snow finally began to ease. Pale sunlight trickled through the window of your cabin, teasing you with it’s meagre warmth. You shakily stumbled to the door, peering out at the tiny town as the gang went about their business.

“Ah, ah! Absolutely not. Sit down before you fall down.” Charles smiled, wandering over to where you stood in the doorway. You rolled your eyes, giving him a little push.

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist watching everyone else break their backs.” you grinned, watching Bill topple over some stacked crates with an almighty clatter. Charles looked at you, his eyes warm, his face softer than you’d seen for a long time.

“I still owe you that walk when we get to pastures new.” he said. “Can’t let all that greenery go unexplored, especially now you’re a regular little adventurer.”

“Very funny!”

“I mean it.” he said solemnly. You peered at him.

“What you did…it was stupid. Reckless. Foolish. And if you ever try anything like that again I don’t know what I’ll do. But…you did good.”

“…really?”

“Really. Even Dutch was impressed. We’d never have known how many of those bastards were camped out there if it wasn’t for you. Now we can ride out knowing what’s coming.”

“Charles?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you come looking for me?”

Charles sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“I saw how upset you were back at the stables, but I didn’t help. And I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said – that you couldn’t even die when you were supposed to. The way I see it, there isn’t any way we’re supposed to die. We have a right to decide when and where, in a way. It’s all in the choices we make, in the choices others make. And my choice was to find you.”

He placed two fingers under your chin and tilted your face up to look at him. When he kissed you it felt like coming home.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

#mango writes #mine #scribblepigeon #competition winner #rdr2 #charles smith #charles smith x reader

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garyofrivia · 4 years

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For They Shall Be Satisfied

Arthur Morgan x OC

Chapter 6

(masterlist in bio)

A/N: we back with another chapter babey - right before my spring semester starts! yoikes!! anyways, things will pick up soon here with this fic. a particular ~event~ is coming that i’m very excited for hehehe. thank uwu so much for reading :D

Warnings/Categories: Violence, Angst

(WC: 5,187)

In the following three weeks after the attempted robbery, the Van der Linde camp felt like normal again. There were chores to be done and money to be made. Annie was restless and eager to help, but her recovery was not as speedy as she had hoped. More than anything, she wanted to get up and go out for a hunt, or to fish, or anything even slightly productive.

At first, Tilly would come over to keep her company when Arthur needed to tend to his duties. He wasn’t around much, apart from when he took up his bedroll beside the cot to sleep. Annie was almost surprised at his absence, not that she expected him to nurse her back to health. He seemed…angry. Distant. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

Dutch hadn’t said all that much to her, either. Nor Hosea at that matter. It was strange that the three of them had been avoiding her like that. Maybe they felt guilty for how the job went, or perhaps they were just focused on what was next. They still needed a big score to get themselves away from the long arm of the law and all the fallout with Benson had been left hanging like old laundry.

Benson… He played them like a fiddle. Arthur brushed it off when she asked what would come of it. He just said, “Dutch is handling it.” Whatever that meant. She decided not to take it personally, mostly because she didn’t have the energy for it.

It took a few days to manage to eat a full meal due to the nausea from all the medication. Strauss gave her wound a look and he told her that it seemed that it was just the muscle tissue that had been damaged, which was good, but that only meant that the pain was amplified tenfold every time she moved her body more than an inch at a time. But she was sick of laying around like a log, so she powered through it as best she could.

She eventually moved back to her own lean-to when Jenny relocated to her new spot near Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen. She had come over to talk to Annie a few times, thanking her for helping when she could have left her behind and to help he get back on her feet. She was a sweet girl, only 19. She didn’t say much about where she came from, only that she wasn’t lying about the death of her mother and her father got remarried to a “wretch of a woman”. She left home at 16 and had been a swindler ever since. The O’Driscolls picked her up on their way East and what started as a simple business deal between them ended with them threatening her life if she didn’t do what they asked.

Annie took a liking to her fairly quickly, but still held herself at a distance. Her suspicion of outsiders has been somewhat heightened since the botched robbery. She’d done a lot of thinking during her recovery, and a lot of questions remained unanswered. How did they know about the hit? Was Benson and his employer in on it? Who was his employer? No one seemed to want to talk to her about it. Though, with her stubborn nature and after days of being essentially helpless, she couldn’t help but pry into it further.

“Hosea, c’mon,” she said, hobbling after the man as he strode towards Dutch’s tent. “Don’t tell me you ain’t thinkin’ the same thing.”

“I assure you, I am not thinking the same thing, Annie,” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “You sure don’t know when to quit, do you? Even with a hole in your abdomen you’re full speed ahead.”

Admittedly, her theory was a bit off the wall, even for her. She was convinced that Benson was hired by the Marshals to go undercover to catch them. It would explain why he insisted to meet them in front of the Sheriff's office and why he was so secretive about who he was working for. That’s what Annie thought, at least. She spoke with conviction, but the lack of evidence to prove it was not working in her favor.

“At least admit it’s suspicious,” she insisted, wrestling with her dress as she tried to keep up with Hosea. She had resigned to wearing one of Karen’s old skirts and blouses to accommodate for the bandages and she’d never hated anything more.

“I believe we’re past suspicion at this point. Give it a rest.”

“Please, Hosea, just let me in on this.”

He paused and faced her just before he was about to push open the flap of Dutch’s tent. “You need to heal.”

“I’m healed.”

“You can barely walk.”

“I can still think straight.”

He scoffed. “You’re doing everything but thinking straight.”

“Just... give me a chance to get back on my feet. I’m dyin’ here.” She gave him a longing look, pleading with her eyes to let her contribute at least something.

He sighed and put his hands on his hips, exasperated. Glancing at the ground and then back up at her, he shook his head and groaned. Without a word, he gestured for her to follow him inside Dutch’s tent. She grinned.

“All I’m sayin’ is that we need more money. That is the plan,” Dutch was saying as they entered. Hosea took a seat next to him, grabbing a beer from the crate on the table.

Arthur was with them, looking as annoyed and impatient as ever. He glanced up to see Annie find a spot next to him and opposite Dutch. John was in the corner, seemingly sleeping and Micah was pacing in the middle of everyone.

“Well,” Dutch continued, looking from Annie to Hosea and then back again. “It’s mighty cozy in here, ain’t it fellas?”

“I don’t remember you gettin’ invited, Princess,” Micah jeered.

Annie rolled her eyes and ignored him.

“So, the plan is... just to get more money?” John said, massaging his brow with his palm.

“Sounds simple enough,” Arthur said, sighing.

“We have any leads?” Annie asked.

“Arthur and I reckon we have a few cards up our sleeves,” Hosea said, sipping his beer.

“Mister Bell here thinks he’s got somethin’ as well,” Dutch said, failing to give more information.

She raised an eyebrow. “Well…? Either of you care to elaborate?”

“Hosea here seems to think he’s caught on to some kind of a real estate scam,” Arthur said.

Hosea grinned. “It’s ‘the perfect crime’ if I say so myself.”

They looked over at Dutch, waiting for his explanation. He had a sly twinkle in his eye as he spoke. “We don’t have many details as of yet, but we assure you all that this is somethin’ huge.”

“Just keep in mind that we don’t need to put ourselves at any additional risk after what happened with the O’Driscolls.” Hosea said.

Dutch opened his arms and smiled. “Have some faith, dear Mister Matthews. This is our ticket outta here.”

“Where are we plannin’ on goin’, then?” Arthur asked plainly.

“Wherever the hell we want, son. Just away from here, that’s for sure.”

“I’m sold on that,” John said. “That’s all then?”

“Patience, my boys,” Dutch said. “I need you all to be on your best behavior now, you hear? That means keeping your ears to the ground and bringing in everything we can. We’ll need all we can get.”

Micah, John, and Arthur nodded and all stood to leave.

“What’s my job here?” Annie piped up. They turned to her, all seemingly to have forgotten she was there.

“Your job is to heal that bullet wound, Annie darlin’,” Dutch said. She hated when he called her that.

“I didn’t get shot in the head, I still got a brain. I’m fine.”

“I’m sure you are, but we’ll need your gun too when the time comes. That means you’ll need to be one-hundred percent. Sit this one out.”

She looked between all of them, waiting for one of them to vouch for her. No one spoke up. “Well, have you all figured out what Benson’s plan was? Did he play us?”

“Of course he played us, that much is a given.”

“So… that’s it then?”

“Revenge is a fool’s game, Annie, you know I’ve always said that.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about revenge. What if there’s more to it? Whoever he’s workin’ for- what if they come back to finish the job?”

“That’s the least of our concerns,” Micah said, scornfully. “Leave it to you to get caught up on somethin’ like that when we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

She ignored him and turned to Hosea. “Help me out here.”

He sighed and glanced away. “Annie, we all talked about the Benson business. We’ve decided that it’s best we move on and just… put it behind us.”

Annie leaned back and crossed her arms. In the corner of her eye, she saw Arthur shift uncomfortably. “Right. Sure. Okay, then. Glad that was settled.”

“If you have something on your mind, it might be best to say it,” Dutch said.

Annie hesitated. The men in the tent watched her with anticipation. She didn’t make a habit of back talking Dutch, but she was one of the only ones that ever really dared to. She looked down at the skirt she was wearing and folded her hands in her lap. She decided that the chance to go on the offense would come later and the diplomatic approach would be better suited to the situation.

She looked up calmly and her voice was steady. “With the bankroll delivery, you were quick to accept that it was a setup after the fact. I’m pointing out that if we can get out in front of this, we can head it off before it happens again.”

“We had this conversation already,” Dutch flared. “We’re done with Benson. And that is final.”

“Dutch, think about this-.”

“We have done a lot of thinkin’, and I am sorry you weren’t there for it, but we have got to keep moving forward.”

She glared at him, her composure melting with the frustration mounting within her. “What happens if they don’t miss next time? If one of our own gets killed? It’ll be ‘cause you didn’t wanna do anything about it when you had the chance.”

“Annie,” Dutch warned. Hosea and John watched nervously while Arthur and Micah were visibly on edge. “Doubt ain’t gonna get us anywhere.”

“Annie, let it go,” Arthur mumbled as he placed a hand on her shoulder, but she instantly knocked it away.

She turned to him and shot to her feet. “You agree?”

“It’s best we move on,” he said, raising his voice slightly.

She looked at everyone in the tent with cold eyes, challenging them to say something more.

“Annie, let’s go have a talk,” Hosea said.

“Nah, I think we’ve all done enough talkin’,” she said, grimacing with disappointment.

“Well, that we can agree on, Miss Bolton,” Dutch said, lowly.

Arthur was the first to break the tension. He snatched his hat off his chair and shoved it onto his head. “If you’re all finished, I have things to do.”

With that, he burst out of the tent with Micah and John following suit, seeing their chance to escape whatever gang politics were about to ensue. Annie rushed after Arthur as he headed toward the horses, holding her side as it panged with each hurried step she took.

“Arthur! Arthur, hold on,” she called. He ignored her and stormed further and further from camp. “Arthur, goddamnit!”

He whirled around throwing his hands up from his side. “What the hell is it, Annie?”

Her eyebrows synched together and her nostrils flared with anger. “What just happened in there?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I’m tryin’ to make the right decision to protect everyone in this damn camp.”

“Were you protecting the gang? Or just sayin’ all that for yourself?”

She threw her arms up in exasperation. “What has gotten into you?”

“Nothin’ that’s any of your business, that’s for sure.”

“I’m thinkin’ it is, since you’ve seemed to have such a sour attitude with me lately. Even before the Benson job you’ve been actin’ like a damn child.”

“I’m a child?” he laughed, mockingly. “That’s bold comin’ from you.”

“The hell are you on about?”

“You arguin’ with Dutch in there for no reason. Tryin’ to make it seem like you’re the only one who could possibly be right.”

“And Dutch is the one that’s always right, is he? He has good intentions, I know that. But his last plan didn’t work out too well, if you remember that part.”

“That was our plan.” He shoved a finger in her face and lowered his voice to a harsh growl. “You got no place to be doin’ that. Everything he does is for this gang, every decision he makes is for us. And I might be actin’ like a child, but at least I ain’t the one that’s runnin’.”

She stepped closer to him, so that only he could hear what she said through clenched teeth. “I thought we talked about this.”

“Yeah. We did. And then you got shot.”

“What?”

“At first you wanna leave and make all these plans to ‘help one last time’ and now you’re tryin’ to get in on all these major decisions, as if you weren’t already packin’ your bags.” he said, the bitterness in his voice cutting her to the core. “What’s the idea, Annie? Stick your hand into Dutch’s plans like you run the show and then make it so that we need you more than you need us right before you make a break for it?”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open in shock. “It ain’t like that, Arthur, none of it is.”

“Then what? What are you gonna do?”

She couldn’t piece together her own thoughts. “I told you already.”

“You sure did. And now you’re plannin’ to get in on one of these jobs and collect what you can to be rid of us all.”

She couldn’t fathom what he was saying. He was acting like she was betraying them when before he said that he understood. That he was wrong for thinking this was in her own interest. But like a lightbulb flipping on in her head, she realized something.

“Dutch talked to you, didn’t he?”

He hesitated, just for a moment and Annie knew the truth before he uttered another word. “That don’t matter.”

“Jesus Christ. I can’t believe this. You fuckin’ told him, didn’t you?”

“No. But I’m regrettin’ that right about now.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh really? Go on then. Run to Dutch. Tell him my little secret.”

Arthur glared at her. For a second, the anger in his eyes made her think he might call her bluff. She knew how much this gang meant to him and how she was wrong to expect him to think otherwise about her plans to leave. He was a loyal man, if nothing else. The redeeming qualities he possessed were rare, but she admired him for them all. This was his family. And she felt terrible for imposing her own agenda on it. But after everything they’ve been through together, she owed him the truth.

“I won’t say nothin’. You deserve that much. But I’ll tell you this, Annie Bolton. Once you leave, there ain’t no comin’ back.”

She looked down in shame, the sharpness of his words not missing their mark. “John came back.” It’s all she could say in her defense.

He scoffed. “Yeah, John, the family man of the century. He came back ‘cause he’s a goddamn idiot who knew he shouldn’t’ve even left in the first place. This? What you’re doin’? This is different. We both know that.”

“I’m not betraying you, Arthur. Whatever Dutch said-.”

“You might not be betrayin’ me, sure. But you’re leavin’ everyone else. Everyone who put their trust in you. Everyone who cares for you, who’s helped you. That’s just the same.”

She stared at him, trying to maintain the last bit of composure she had left. “Maybe so.”

“I said I wouldn’t argue with you no more, and I meant it. I just ain’t gonna take this lyin’ down. You’re free to do what you please. Don’t mean I gotta stand by it.”

“I understand,” she said firmly, trying to hide the pain his words had inflicted.

He hesitated as he reached to grab his horse’s reins. His conflict raged inside him, unbeknownst to Annie. He understood where her intentions were. But he couldn’t stop hearing Dutch’s words play over and over in his own head. “She’ll leave us one day, Arthur. She’ll leave us behind and never look back.” He looked up at her from under the brim of his hat, staring at him with a look that he’s seen too many times in a woman’s eyes. He saw spot of red was starting to form on her shirt just above the waist of her skirt.

“You’re, uh....”

She looked down and covered the spot of blood on her waist with her hand, suddenly embarrassed. She felt weak in all sense of the word. Dutch was right. There was nothing she could do for herself in this state, let alone anyone else.

“I’m gonna go get this patched up, then,” she said in a small voice.

“You do that.”

She turned back towards camp and as she heard Boadicea’s hooves pound away into the distance, she did her best to suppress the tears that were pricking her eyes, but the floodgates were fragile.

***

A few days later Mary-Beth had lent Annie a book to read to occupy her mind after she nearly ripped open her stitches trying to chop wood to “let off some steam”. It was a penny dreadful about barber that murdered his customers and baked them into pies, which she found rather intriguing, if not a little outlandish. Though even with something to hold her interest, she was growing more and more frustrated by the minute.

Her conversation with Arthur had put distance between them. He hadn’t spoken to her since, not that she was looking for any conversation with him. It was still… strange. She had other friends at camp, sure, but actively avoiding one of them was an alienating feeling.

She heard through the grapevine about the job that Micah supposedly was onto. He’d picked up from a “contact” that a $150,000 shipment of bank money was on a riverboat and scheduled to dock in Blackwater in two days time. The potential payoff was probably worth the risk, but she wondered how exactly Dutch planned to rob a fucking ferry.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Tilly’s voice brought her back to the present.

“What thing?” She said, sitting up against the wagon wheel under the girls’ tent.

“That thing where you stare at a page for ten minutes and don’t read a word. You keep doin’ it.”

“Sorry.” She closed the book and ran a hand through her hair, toying with the stray strands that had come out of her braid.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothin’. Well, a lot, but nothin’ too important, I guess.”

Tilly raised an eyebrow. She was stitching a tear in a shirt Annie didn’t recognize, but had rested her hands in her lap to eye her carefully. “Is it Arthur?”

Annie blushed but quickly shook her head. “Nah, not him. Well, sorta. In part. It’s just…”

“Dutch, then?”

“You know about that?”

“It’s not a very big camp, Annie.”

Annie scoffed. “I guess not.”

“You can’t keep mouthin’ off to him like that.”

“I know. I was just angry.”

“Well, your temper has always been a force to be reckoned with, Miss Bolton.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “I’m well aware, Miss Jackson.”

“Well, I guess that counts for somethin’,” she said, smirking and returning to her sewing. “What happened with you and Arthur, anyhow?”

Annie shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, nothin’ really. Just a stupid fight about Dutch.”

“Just about Dutch?”

“Yeah. Like I said, I was just mad.”

“He looked pretty mad, too.”

“I said some things I shouldn’t have,” Annie sighed. “That’s all.”

“You know, for a con-artist, you’re pretty bad at lyin’,” Tilly said with a hint of mischief in her voice.

Annie looked up at her, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I seen the way you look at him.”

“I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.”

Tilly cocked an eyebrow. “I also seen the way he looks at you.”

Annie’s jaw tightened and she looked away. She couldn’t think straight enough to say anything.

“Whatever’s goin’ on with you two, it’s clear y’all care about each other more than either of you let on.”

“We’re all family, of course we do.”

Tilly rolled her eyes. “That ain’t what I meant and you know it.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this, Tilly.”

“Sure, you don’t want to talk about it, but you should.”

“Why’s that?”

“‘Cause it’s just gonna eat away at you otherwise. You’ve been losin’ sleep, you barely eat, it’s already takin’ its toll. And don’t tell me it’s because you got a bullet put through you, you’ve been fine since you tried to cut firewood the other day, for goodness sake.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“Deniaaal,” she sang.

“Tilly, drop it, will you?”

“Fine, fine. But the Annie Bolton I know is braver than all this.”

Annie lifted herself up and sat on the stool in front of the washboard tub, grabbing a filthy shirt that resembled one of Sean’s and began scrubbing. Tilly’s words lingered in the air. “I also seen the way he looks at you.” Did Arthur look at her? Did she want him to? The last few weeks had been so confusing. If she really was going to leave, she knew she couldn’t think of him like that, let alone tell him or acknowledge it.

She wished she could tell Tilly. Her and the rest of the girls had always been so kind to her. In the back of her mind, she knew they’d understand if she told them the truth about why she had to leave. Grimshaw would be the one to give her shit for it, but understandably so. She’d been with Dutch almost as long as Annie’s been alive. She held this gang together as much as Dutch and Hosea did and was like a mother to most everyone, despite her crass nature. For as much as Annie didn’t like her, she still respected the hell out of her.

She managed to scrub through a whole batch of laundry before she realized that Tilly had left to help Mary-Beth with feeding the chickens. The camp seemed somewhat serene with most everyone out working or sitting quietly. For the first time in a while, things felt peaceful. Abigail was watching Jack play down near the river. Hosea was lounging under his lean-to reading quietly. Pearson, Strauss, Uncle, and Javier were playing a friendly game of poker near the fire, all laughing and talking like the old friends they were.

Arthur was sitting on his bed with that damn journal in his lap, scribbling furiously. Annie watched him from afar, her hands absentmindedly scrubbing the last of the clothes. His face was scrunched up with concentration. Even from her distance, she could see the lines on his forehead defined by his focused expression. She thought it commendable that he kept a journal. It was something she could never keep up with, even when she tried. She longed to know what he wrote about and drew so often. She longed to know why he kept it so private and what his thoughts were that even the journal didn’t get to know. She longed to know him.

The thought was jarring. Her attention snapped back to her task as she tried to shake it, but it lingered. She did know him, didn’t she? His favorite color was blue. He sang when he was bored, he did more chores around camp when he thought no one would notice, he likes coffee in the mornings, and he’s smarter than he’d ever let on. Underneath it all, he was fair and kind and loving. But the more she thought about it, there was so much she didn’t know.

She knew he had a son once, but not his name. She knew he loved a girl while back, Mary, but not how it ended. Why did he know so much about ancient Rome and literature? Why did he seem so pained every time he talked about his father, as rare as it was?

Why did he insist on confusing the hell out of her?

She caught the eye of Abigail walking over to her with a soft smile on her face. Putting on a grin of her own, she greeted her. “Hi there, Abigail. Looked like Jack was havin’ fun down there.”

“Well, let’s just see if he takes after his father when it comes to water.”

Annie laughed. “We can only hope not.”

“Do you need help with hanging all that?” she asked as she motioned to the pile of wet clothes in the basket next to her.

“Sure, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

The pair of them took a handle of the basket and made their way to the clothesline on the other side of the wagon. They hung the garments one by one and secured them with pins, working in silence for a while.

“I realize we haven’t talked much recently,” Annie said. “How are you?”

“As good as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Abigail said with a sigh. “You? How’s that battle scar of yours?”

“Good. A lot better, if I’m honest.”

Abigail scoffed. “Better for you, maybe. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Keep taking it slow.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You, uh… You talk to John lately? He’s been kinda absent. More so than usual. It’s a shock, I know.”

Annie shook her head. “No, sorry.”

“Arthur has been too, come to think of it.” She paused for Annie’s respond, but she didn’t say anything. “Do you think it has to do with whatever Dutch has been plannin’?”

“If I knew what Dutch was plannin’, I’d be able to tell you.”

“Wait, you’re not in on this ferry job they’re gettin’ up to?”

“Nope.”

“What about that real estate business that Hosea was talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Not that either.”

Abigail frowned in surprise. “Huh. Well, I guess it’s good for you to rest.”

“It don’t feel good.”

Abigail smiled. “Yeah, I know how ‘women’s work’ ain’t really your thing.”

“No, no, it ain’t that-.”

“It’s fine, Annie,” she laughed and held up a shirt with a brown stain still on the collar. “You ain’t very good at washin’, anyways.”

Annie smirked. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

For a moment, they worked in silence again. Abigail was a kind soul and Annie always felt close to her. Probably because she didn’t feel like she fit in here either. She was only 22, four years younger than Annie, but she already had a 5-year-old son and had to deal with his father not being in the picture most of the time. That had to be alienating, especially in a place where it was sacrilegious to talk about leaving the outlaw life.

“Hey, Abigail?” Annie suddenly said. “You wanna come to town with Jenny and I? I told her I’d take her to the stables and help get her a horse.”

“Yeah, yeah I’d love to!” Abigail’s face lit up at the invitation, but almost immediately sank. “But… Jack.”

“Tilly can watch him,” Annie suggested, shrugging and gesturing over to where Jack was now throwing chicken feed around with Tilly and Mary-Beth.

“Oh, well, I suppose it’s only for a few hours. I’ll go make sure it’s alright with her.”

Annie hung the last shirt on the line and went back to her lean-to to change out of the borrowed skirt and into something more comfortable for her. A loose black shirt and and an old pair of blue jeans that rose higher on her waist than she’d have liked would have to do for the time being. She went without suspenders and buckled her gunbelt carefully around her hips, avoiding the fresh bandages she’d just put on.

She thumbed the brim of her hat, touching it for the first time since Charles was kind enough to ride back for the day after she and Jenny turned up to camp. It was under the guise of a hunting trip at first, but he told her that he knew how much she loved that old thing. He was always one of the good ones. She tilted it onto her head and whistled to Jenny across the way.

“Hey, let’s head into town, it’s already noon.”

Jenny, startled out of her conversation with Lenny, quickly told him goodbye and jogged over to Annie, giddy as ever. “Are we takin’ your horse?”

Annie looked over at Nero grazing next to Taima, content as ever. She didn’t want to bother him - the thought made her silently laugh to herself. “Nah, we’ll take the wagon. Abigail is comin’ with us.”

“Oh, okay,” Jenny said, shyly but with a small smile.

“I’m ready to go when you two are,” Abigail said as she walked up. Annie noticed she’d applied a bit of color to her lips and her hair was neater than before. Seeing Abigail excited to go to town was enough to bring a smile to her face.

“You look lovely, Miss Roberts. Let’s head out then,” she said. “Pearson has the wagon hooked up for a supply run, so we can do that while we’re there, too.”

The three of them walked across camp and over to the wagon. Pearson was jotting something down on a slip of paper as he stood next to the driver’s seat, looking agitated as ever.

“Mister Pearson,” Annie said, pulling his attention away from his frantic work. “We’ll grab what you need in town, we’re headed there now.”

“Oh, thank you Annie,” he said as he glanced at Abigail and Jenny mounting up on the wagon and then back at his list. “Make sure you get the coffee, we’re almost clean out.”

“The world would surely end if we ran out of coffee,” Abigail said, making Jenny giggle.

Annie took Pearson’s list and grocery money and took her place in the driver’s seat. When she turned back to wave goodbye, she caught Arthur’s eye. He was staring up at them, his journal still open in his lap. He looked sad. She held his gaze for a moment longer and he nodded politely, a gesture he hadn’t given her in a long time. It’s like she was a stranger to him, and it hurt more than it should have. She steeled herself and looked away to drive the horses forward.

Oh, Arthur. She thought. Why is this so hard?

#rdr 2 fic #rdr 2 fanfic #red dead redemption fanfic #for they shall be satisfied #ftsbs #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #annie bolton #my oc #rdr oc

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