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"I'm sorry." Arthur whispers, voice going rough around the edges, as he kneels down by Grimshaw's grave, gently setting down a handful of plucked meadow flowers. The small flowers look like splashes of color on the heaped earth. Susan Grimshaw's name is clear on the wood of her grave and for a moment, Arthur can't quite swallow past the lump in his throat.
"I failed you." As he says it he can't help but imagine her, looking at him with her no-nonsense look. Reprimanding him and telling him to go up and dust off his knees. Not unkindly, but with the firmness and underlying hardness that's needed to make it through everything in their kind of lives. She had always been the kind to grit her teeth and power through everything no matter how ugly and tough. In the same sense, she would pull everyone back onto their feet with firm hands and even firmer, but guiding words and push at their packs so they would stand straight.
It still feels like he failed her. She died before and she died again this time around and he wonders why. It wasn't as though he had been a moment too slow to draw his own gun or that a job had gone south and she had died. No, he had been miles away when her life ended. Arthur wonders if he really could have done something or if it would have happened either way. If maybe, Grimshaw's end would have always been the same, one way or another. He wishes he could have found out, could have been there to at least try to save her.
Audible steps make him look over his shoulder and he sees Charles walking up to him, face serious and eyes understanding. He stops beside Arthur, looking down at Grimshaw's grave that he helped dig.
"We can't stay long." Charles murmurs, voice kind and Arthur knows he's right. They'll have to leave quickly if they want to save Javier before he ends up dead as well. "Don't blame yourself for her death, Arthur. It wasn't your decision that killed her."
"Still feels like it was." He answers quietly and rises with a sigh, taking a moment to brush small crumbs of dirt from his knees. "I'll miss her."
Charles gives him a low hum. "I didn't know her well, truth be told. But she kept the camp together from what I saw and she looked after everyone in her own way." He settles a warm hand on Arthur's shoulder. "You couldn't have known this would happen to her."
Maybe that's why the feeling of blame doesn't leave, Arthur thinks. Because he had seen her die before and in a way, he had known death most likely would wait for her again. The same way he fears it for Karen and Hosea and now for Charles and John too. The same way he can't help but wonder if returning to the east means something more than just helping Tilly and Javier. He doesn't like thinking about it. The east won't take anyone else from him though, not again. He'll fight tooth and nail to keep that from happening.
Charles gives his shoulder a warm squeeze and Arthur leans into the touch for a moment, before the hand slowly drops away.
"Come, we'll have to go." Charles tells him and his hand briefly brushes his arm as he takes a step away. Arthur throws a glance back at Grimshaw's grave and for a brief, terrible moment, wonders who else will remember her. If she had family somewhere else. Friends. Anyone who might wait for letters from her or look out the window hoping she's well. Anyone other than their ragtag group of degenerates. He wonders if anyone would visit her grave and leave better flowers than his small offering.
He turns around and as he walks, it feels as though the weight of Grimshaw's grave comes to rest on his shoulders, with its slightly rough, wooden cross and cold earth. Hosea gives him a knowing look and has the kindness not to say anything, when Charles and Arthur join them, their horses already waiting.
"It's a long way to Fort Wallace." Hosea says, everyone looking towards him. "We'll ride as fast and as much as we can. Let's go, everyone. We might not have much time."
~*~
"This scares you, doesn't it?" Sadie asks, voice quiet and a little less rough than usual as they wait for Hosea and Charles to return. Fort Wallace looms a good distance away and Arthur tries but he honestly can't quite remember the spot where Charles and he approached the Fort the last time. The memory is hazy with both time and the burn from his illness back then so he isn't much help. Arthur glances at Sadie from under the brim of his hat and sees her doing much the same, her head tipped a bit towards him.
Tilly and Molly aren't with them at the moment. They left them at a station a little while ago with some money and instructions on what to do if they take too long - or if they don't come back at all. He tries not to think too much about the latter option. Tilly and Molly weren't happy to be left and wait, but they both trusted Hosea when he came up with the plan. Arthur does too and no matter what happens to them, the two women should make it out alive.
"Yeah." He admits quietly and Sadie's hand clasps his shoulder. It's so easy to tell even without looking at her now, to feel her slimmer palm and longer fingers and the unmistakable strength in her grip. It's grounding, the way she squeezes his shoulder and it helps him take a deeper breath and straighten slightly.
"We'll be fine." She tells him, voice as sure as always. As steady and easy to believe as all the other times he rode with her to do something impossibly dangerous. "They won't take us down and we'll do our damnest to get Javier out."
Sadie's hand drops away again and Arthur looks up at the sky. It's blue currently but he can feel the wind shift and in the distance there is the slow gathering of clouds, growing thicker with every hour. A storm, most likely or at least the promise of heavy summer rain.
The wait for Charles and Hosea to return is probably the worst thing right now. Arthur can't help but feel antsy and grim mixed with nerves and restlessness. Maybe he should have gone with the two, but at the same time, he knows that he's nowhere near as smart as Hosea and Charles has always been better at finding alternate ways. Arthur would just trod behind them and try not to be in the way.
Exhaling, he forces his shoulders to relax a little bit. Being back in the east makes him far too paranoid.
Still, when he hears the sound of hooves and twigs breaking and he sees Hosea and Charles returning to their small, makeshift camp, he's relieved to have them back.
"So?" Karen asks as soon as the two men dismount and she steps forward, openly eager where Arthur holds himself back from asking the same right away.
"We might have found a way in," Charles says, one hand resting on Taima's neck. "There is a spot to sneak up on the fort if we take some canoes down the river. We plan to wait until the storm rolls in fully during the night and then Arthur, you and I will get into the fort. We'll see if we can break Javier out unnoticed."
"It's heavily guarded," Hosea continues. "Our job will be to provide a distraction when those two give us the signal and to guard their retreat." He levels a serious look at them and Arthur feels himself straighten involuntarily, sees the same reaction from the others around him. "I hope you all know we won't be able to pull this off without a fight. Charles and Arthur can get in and probably get to Javier unnoticed as well, but from there on, the chances are high it will turn into a fight."
Arthur honestly expects as much as well. With the presence of the Pinkertons at Fort Wallace, along with the army, a fight is as good as inevitable in his opinion. Still, they're going to try it. Too caring lot that they are, even if none of them would ever admit it out loud.
"Should we try looking for Dutch?" John asks and Arthur can hear just the smallest hint of hope in his raspy voice. He gets it. John can't understand how Dutch wouldn't be willing to break Javier out as well and why they don't try looking for him. A part of Arthur twinges at the thought and all the memories of when things were still good and alright, but he knows looking for Dutch is a fool's errand. If the man had a plan to get Javier out, they would have encountered him already. Or Bill or even Micah, who he would sent to be on the lookout.
Distantly, as Hosea explains that they don't have the time, Arthur wonders just how big Dutch's gang is at the moment. Molly said that Micah brought some friends and it looks like from their old gang only Bill and Strauss are still with Dutch. Micah doesn't count, the man has never really been part of the gang in Arthur's mind. Their old gang in any case.
He snaps out of his thoughts as Charles steps to his side, Taima contentedly following him and then lowering her head to start grazing on a patch of grass.
"Alright?" Charles asks quietly and Arthur exhales softly. He isn't quite alright, but once they manage to succeed with this suicidal, impossible plan of theirs, he thinks he will be. When they're all back in the west, when they're all back home, then he'll be alright.
Charles's gaze turns understanding and he gently shifts so their arms brush. It's calming and reassuring. If there is one person Arthur can pull this off with, it's definitely Charles. And with Hosea coming up with the plan, they might all manage to get away with it too.
The rest of the day, as they wait for the storm to roll in and night to fall, they discuss the plan in more detail and prepare everything they need. They even pile together whatever dynamite they have with them just in case. Hosea and Charles tell them about the guards they have seen and what distractions they can pull off to give them the chance to hightail it out of the place with Javier. It's not perfect, but then again, with the odds stacked against them it would never be. And there is no such thing as a perfect plan. If there is anything Arthur has learned, especially from before he died and after he came back, it's that a plan either works or goes belly-up.
He hopes this one works. He really does.
Once it's dark enough and the first drops start to fall, Charles and he ride out. Distantly, the first rumble of thunder can be heard and all that noise that's going to unleash soon will be a good distraction as well.
Getting to the fort feels similar to last time, only this time, Arthur can breathe without pinpricks of pain or the taste of coughed up blood on his tongue. His mind feels clearer too as they get out of the canoes and pick their way up to the fort. By the time they sneak along the outside wall, Arthur is drenched and the rain has turned into a heavy thrum.
"This is good for us." Charles whispers as they pause and wait for one of the guards to walk along atop the wall. "Their vision is limited in this weather."
Charles waves him along and Arthur follows him until they reach the same spot they used the last time when they broke out Eagle Flies. At least, Arthur thinks it's the same spot. He holds his breath as Charles throws the hook and secures it with a quick, practiced pull on the rope. They wait for a second and as no one seems to notice anything, Charles climbs up first.
Arthur follows him, his feet slipping on the wet wood and at some point, he's mostly hauling himself up with his arms as his boots keep just scrabbling along the wooden wall and barely finding any kind of purchase.
Then they're up and the fort looks just like Arthur remembers it. Only this time, he spots the familiar Pinkerton suits and hats among the army get-up. The rain seems to have driven most of them to take some kind of shelter and try to stay dry. Even the guards on the wall have their heads ducked and shoulders hitched as they peer out into the thick, fast falling rain.
Charles leads them the same way as the last time and they take down the guards just as quietly and swiftly. Arthur thinks that it should be strangely comforting, doing something he has done before in another life. Instead, as thunder flashes, something cold seems to ghost along his spine. He can't put his finger on it, but there is just something that makes his stomach clench slightly.
It raises his mental hackles and he keeps a hand close to his gun the whole time. Charles picks up on his unease and they stick a bit closer together. Their steps grow even quieter and they are wary and attentive. No one escapes their notice and they take down the guards as easily as the last time, back when they were here for Eagle Flies instead of Javier.
Their clothes cling to them, heavy and wet, by the time they sneak closer to the cells. People don't seem to have noticed the guards along the wall going quiet and still, though Arthur doesn't doubt that it won't take long before someone rings the alarm. As Charles slides closer to the iron door, Arthur squints a bit to try and see more in the heavy downpour and their dark surroundings. Even the light from the lanterns seem dim and contained.
The strange unease tugs at the back of his mind again and his mouth dries. Something still feels off. He can't say why or what, but strangely, getting here has been too...easy. Not that he doesn't want things to be easy for once, but he's far too old and far too worn and far too experienced to know that anything, ever, is just easy.
Charles waves him with him and they quickly slip into the cells. Arthur steps inside and by the time he nudges the door almost closed, leaving it a tad ajar, Charles has already knocked out the guard and takes the keys from his belt. The smell in here in the same as last time, rotting straw and blood, sweat and piss.
"He's here." Charles's voice has a darker, slightly tense tone to it and Arthur hurries to where he unlocks the door to the cell.
Arthur still remembers Eagle Flies clearly from before, beaten and bloody. Javier looks worse when the door swings open. What parts of his face aren't covered with drying blood are swelled shut. His posture is slumped and sagged in his chains, even though Arthur knows it must be painful not to remain upright. He doesn't think about how long Javier has already been here to be this hurt and this exhausted.
"Javier?" Arthur quietly steps closer, as Charles hangs back and keeps an eye on the outside.
Javier stirs, but he seems sluggish and barely there. Either exhaustion makes him so unresponsive or he has a concussion. Arthur is willing to bet on both, considering how beat up the man is. He tries to hold up some of Javier's weight as he unlocks the cuffs, but the man still makes a noise like a wounded animal, slumping heavily against him once he's released. His arms drop to dangle at his side and there is a hissing noise muffled against Arthur's shoulder followed by Javier heaving for air.
"Something is off." Charles suddenly speaks up, voice low and rumbling. He glances back at Arthur, his brows furrowed and something grim in his eyes. "We should go."
Arthur can't help but agree, the unease in his belly now flitting to fill his lungs like mist. For a brief, split second, Arthur can't help but think that maybe, coming here was a mistake. That he might have led Charles - and the others - to his doom and to a bloody and too early death. He swallows against the thought, grabbing one of Javier's arms and hoisting the man over his shoulders, ignoring the pained wheeze the move garners. Arthur is willing to bet that Javier has broken ribs as well among other injuries.
"Arthur?" Javier unexpectedly slurs, sounding disorientated and barely conscious. Arthur feels the way one hand feebly tugs at the back of his vest, as though it tries to find some purchase, before going limp again.
"Yeah," Arthur murmurs back even though he doubts the man really hears him. "Don't worry, we'll get ya outta here." He walks closer to Charles and lowers his voice further. "What do you mean, something is off?"
"It seems too...quiet." Charles slightly shakes his head. "I don't know how to explain it."
"I think I know what you mean." Arthur takes a deeper breath, pulls out his revolver with his free hand and ensures he has a good grip on Javier. Getting to Javier has always been the simpler parts of the plan. Getting out with the man, that's when things get really dangerous. "Let's go."
As soon as they step outside, all hell breaks loose. Arthur barely manages to throw himself and Javier behind a couple of stacked crates, Charles slamming into the hiding place beside them a second later, as bullets rain down on them, sharp and loud and splintering into wood.
Javier becomes a little more alert at the noise, one hand grabbing the back of Arthur's vest and Arthur can feel him shift a little where he's thrown over his shoulder.
"Dutch?" Javier slurs and sounds so hopeful, so strangely young, Arthur's chest clenches involuntarily for a moment. He's getting old and soft. But maybe, if they all make it out of here alive, maybe that doesn't have to be a bad thing.
"Afraid not." He answers, as Charles shoots back and Arthur tries to find an angle to do the same without exposing Javier to the fighting unnecessarily.
"Arthur?" Javier sounds a tad more lucid now and genuinely confused. "What are you doing here?"
"Gettin' you out." He answers, straightening and shooting back as quickly and precisely as he can before ducking back down. "Hopefully, at least."
"Go!" Charles shouts over the sound of the mayhem, gesturing for him to go as he rises to give them cover. Arthur doesn't hesitate for a second, getting up with a grunt and hurrying towards the next cover.
It's hard to run, the ground is slick and muddy and Javier's weight is slowing him down further. Arthur feels a sharp burn at his thigh and then he's semi-safe for a few more moments again behind another stack of crates, quickly glancing down to see that one of the bullets grazed him and left a rip in his pants. Any kind of blood that wells forth can't be seen with the heavy rain and his dark clothes. It's nothing too bad though.
Arthur can't help but breathe a sigh of relief when Charles reaches them a moment later, looking unharmed and steady, though his shoulders are tenser than before.
The next second, the wooden wall a bit further to their right splinters apart in a vicious explosion. Pieces of wood hurtle through the air and Arthur hears someone yell and curse. He's on his feet before the last pieces of that part of the wall settle in the mud and he's never been gladder in his life to see Sadie and John, both stepping through the created hole and shooting, yelling at them to get a damn move on. The others must have heard the commotion and gotten on with the escape plan.
Arthur doesn't shoot back as he runs, more focused on hauling his ass and Javier's out while Sadie, John and Charles cover the escape. He still hears how one or two bullets get way too close and barely zip past him, only avoiding to hit him or Javier by pure chance or some hefty dose of luck. Then he's outside the wall and Storm is there, wet and snorting, stomping her hooves and throwing her head. He's maybe a bit too rough with getting Javier on her back, but he honestly doesn't have the time to try and make it easier on the man's wounds.
Charles is on Taima, still shooting, by the time Arthur swings up on Storm behind Javier, John and Sadie flanking him on their own horses. Ahead of them, Karen and Hosea are on their horses, rifles cocked and shooting at anyone appearing atop the wall of the fort. It barely takes a nudge of his heels before Storm tears away from the fort, running as though the muddy, wet ground is the smoothest road.
"You have him?" Hosea yells over the sound of enraged army men following them into the stormy night. Ahead of them, thunder cracks across the sky. "He's alive?"
"Yeah!" Arthur yells back and then holds on, biting back curses as their horses pick their way through the rough landscape, nearly slipping a few times and barely avoiding trees and rocks that suddenly loom out of the dark. By the time he notices they are no longer followed and can't hear shooting and yelling or the sound of pursuing horses behind them, he's entirely out of breath.
Glancing back, he feels a touch irritated and unsettled that the strange, bad feeling still clings to him as much as his wet clothes do. They made it, they got away, so why does he still feel like they have to keep running?
At Hosea's call, they slow down the horses, whose flanks are heaving and Arthur suddenly feels drained, as he gives Storm's neck a grateful pat. She merely snorts, head hanging a tad lower than before and her ears drooped a bit to the side. She's exhausted as well, he can tell.
"Let's find shelter," Hosea says. "There is an abandoned cabin nearby. I'm sure it's going to fall apart soon, but it should give us some cover and a place to rest."
"We can't stay long," Arthur reminds him, head ducked a bit so the rain doesn't hit his face as much. He gives a brief glance at Javier in front of him, who seems to have passed out. "They'll be looking for us."
Hosea gently steers Silver Dollar closer to peer at Javier. Arthur catches the moment Hosea's face hardens and there is a small twitch along his cheek, before the expression smooths over into a frown.
Heavy silence hangs between them, before Hosea straightens. "Let's get out of the rain first and a look at Javier. We'll talk about what to do next."
Arthur ensures his grip on Javier remains steady. From the way the man seems slumped, Arthur is pretty sure that the only thing currently keeping Javier semi-upright is his arm around his midsection. He's definitely out cold. Arthur hopes the race away from the fort didn't rattle him too much or make his concussion or any broken bones worse. Being this hurt and having to flee is never fun. Just alone thinking back on what he had to endure to escape from Colm and the agonizing, long ride back to camp is enough testament of that. On the bright side, they actually got Javier out of there alive.
Arthur throws a quick glance back at the others, but they're hard to make out in the dark and the heavy rain, even with some lanterns lit now to make riding easier, but they don't seem hurt from what he can see.
The trek to the cabin feels like it takes longer than it should. By the time they arrive, Arthur feels cold despite it being a summer night. The rain has found its way into his boots and even his socks are drenched, hell his underwear is drenched. Storm is visibly relieved when they stop and Arthur gets out of the saddle, dragging Javier along with him as carefully as he can.
"Sorry, girl." He whispers to her and she gives his arm a brief nudge. Arthur gets Javier inside with John's help, setting the man down on a hastily spread out bedroll, before he heads back out again. Together with Charles he hitches up the horses under a couple of dense trees. It's not perfect, but it gives them some kind of cover.
As they work, Arthur gives Charles a once over as much as he can in the dark, relief curling through his chest when he sees that he made it through entirely unharmed. A few scratches, but no bullet wounds or anything otherwise serious.
The thunder has tapered off by now thankfully and it seems as though the worst of the storm is slowly blowing over. By morning there is either only going to be a drizzle or the bad weather is going to be over. The sun might even shine if they're particularly lucky.
After feeding the horses and ensuring they can rest at least somewhat well, Charles and Arthur turn back towards the cabin. Arthur feels a hand brush his arm, fingertips finding their way to his wrist. He turns his hand without thinking, letting a calloused palm slide against his and lacing their fingers together. Charles's hand feels bigger and settles against his with a gentle hold. His skin is warmer than Arthur's and for a moment, he thankfully leeches some of it away. He finds himself swaying closer, lightly bumping their shoulders together.
"You alright?" Charles asks quietly, voice a rumble beside him. Arthur leans a tad towards the voice without quite realizing and gives a nod.
"You?" He asks back, tipping his head so he can look at Charles from under his hat. Rain splashes more strongly against his neck with the movement, it's far from nice but also ignorable. Charles gives him a nod and a small, brief half smile.
"Let's join the others," Arthur murmurs and they pick their way to the cabin, their hands only separating once they reach the door.
Inside, Karen and John got a fire going, while Hosea is checking over Javier. Sadie is standing guard by one of the windows and gives them a brief nod in acknowledgement when they step inside. She's absolutely drenched, clothes dark and bunching in places. Small drips can be heard when drops fall from her to patter quietly on the slowly rotting floor boards.
It's far from the best place, but to Arthur's pleasant surprise, the roof doesn't leak and the draft from faulty walls and empty windows isn't too horrible.
"How is he?" Arthur asks as he steps up to Hosea and Charles wanders over to the fireplace. Hosea glances up and his face is tenser than usual.
"He'll make it." Hosea glances back down at the unconscious man.
The rain has washed away most of the dried and partly fresh blood on Javier and now it shows the cuts and swelling on his face and his torn shirt has been opened. His chest is a mess of wounds and near black bruises. Definitely some broken ribs and from the look of it, the army really messed up Javier's left hand. It looks horrible and Arthur briefly grits his teeth and feels a muscle in his jaw jump.
"How bad is it?" He drops his voice to a quieter note, tilting himself closer to Hosea in an attempt to keep the conversation between them.
"Concussion and broken ribs. The wounds aren't as deep as I feared and as long as we keep them clean he should heal well enough from them. What worries me is his hand. I'll try to splint it, but I'm no doctor. He has an older stab wound on his leg but it seems to have started healing over already. I'll treat that too in a moment." Hosea looks back up, his eyes a tad darker than before and far more serious. "They really did a number on him."
Unwittingly, Arthur thinks back to Guarma. They got Javier out thankfully quickly back then, but the torture and pain had still shaken him, Arthur remembers that clearly. This, what was done to him in Fort Wallace, is going to be worse.
Arthur wordlessly clasps Hosea's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze and watches the older man exhale, before he steps back. He can't help with Javier as much as he wishes he could and he leaves Hosea to it. Arthur wanders over to the fireplace and ends up helping the others pull together a decent enough and at least hot meal. Arthur is thankful for the chance to focus on something other than old memories and the circling question as to why Dutch has seemingly forsaken Javier. Something about that just doesn't sit right with him.
A bit later, after they've all eaten and sit close together by the fire to dry up, with Javier sleeping a few steps away under a thin blanket, Charles shifts and draws their attention.
"When we were at the fort, something didn't feel right." There is a frown pulling at Charles's brow and Arthur can't help but agree. He can't put his finger on it, but the uneasy feeling that crept up on him before rescuing Javier hasn't left. It's quieter now, hovering in the back of his mind, but he still feels it brush coolly against his neck and feels the way it tugs lightly at his stomach.
"What do you mean?" Hosea asks, leaning forward a bit from where he sits closest to the fire.
"It felt too easy." Charles makes a small gesture with his hands. "The army is working with the Pinkertons in this right? From what I saw when we observed the fort, a lot more people should have attacked us." His frown deepens slightly. "And the chase felt too short."
"For all them Pinkertons that was supposed to be there," Arthur quietly adds. "It really felt a little too...easy." He takes a slow, slightly deeper breath. "Let's be honest, we shouldn't have made it out of there like that with all those folks present."
Silence rings between them, heavy and thoughtful. Everyone frowns and then Karen leans forward.
"But we made it. You all made it." She says, voice fierce and just a touch ferocious, as though she would stop anyone who comes after them. As though she's ready to shoot anything that would dare to hound their steps. "And tomorrow, we'll pick up Tilly and Molly get the hell out of here."
Hosea gives her a small nod before turning to everyone else. "We'll keep watch tonight just to be sure. Arthur, Charles, would you mind starting? Sadie, John, you would be up next."
"Sure," Arthur answers while Charles gives an understanding and clear nod.
They settle down quickly enough afterwards. Their clothes are semi-dry but it's enough for a summer night. Neither Charles nor Arthur step outside, instead taking posts up by the broken, empty windows, rifles in their hands.
On the groaning floor, the others curl up in their sleeping bags and settle down for a few hours of sleep. Hosea rests closest to Javier, most likely in case the man wakes and needs anything. Arthur finds his gaze briefly landing on Javier's bandaged hand. Even wrapped and splinted as it is he can still tell it's bad. The chance that Javier walks away from this with a crippled hand is rather high. Maybe not even a proper doctor could fix it back up.
Arthur's thoughts wander to Javier playing the guitar by the fire. Looking genuinely happy as he shares pieces of his home with them, music and songs and some quiet stories. The soft, half hidden expression whenever he managed to make one of them smile after a rough day or when they were lost in dark thoughts. Javier has lifted the mood in camp countless times with his music and with giving the others a chance to just grab some liquor and start singing and forgetting their troubles for at least a little bit.
Arthur forces his mind back on focusing on the watch and tries to ignore the curling of regret in his chest. The rain thrums on the roof and the world outside is a mass of lightless, stormy black. Neither he nor Charles speak during their watch, but a glance shows Arthur that Charles's shoulders are still slightly tense and he stands alert and wary. It's obvious to him that the same unease that refuses to let go of him also still grips the other.
When Sadie and John take over the watch, Arthur spreads his bedroll beside Charles's. He gets a small, warm smile in return as they both settle down. It feels comforting to have Charles close and Arthur drops off into an uneasy sleep with the sight of Sadie and John guarding them and after shifting his hand so the back of it brushes against Charles's.
The next day brings a grey morning. The sky is still filled with clouds, heavier than Arthur expected and everything outside is wet and dripping. At least the rain has stopped for now. Javier regains consciousness long enough for Karen to get some food and water into him, before he's under again.
Arthur catches the way Hosea looks at Javier, at his wounds and the hand in a makeshift splint. He knows the older man would love to take Javier to a doctor, to try and give him the best chance that he'll regain full use of his hand, or at least most of it. Arthur wonders if they should risk it. If they should drop by a town and look for someone to help. Maybe they can, if there is a bit of time and no one is on their heels.
Breakfast is a quiet affair. Karen is visibly grumpy to be up at dawn, John frowns to himself and the rest are lost in thought. When they get ready to leave, Javier seems to fully wake up for the first time.
"What..." His voice trails off, rough and quiet, as though speaking any louder would tear at his throat. Arthur understands all too well. Healing is never a nice or pretty thing and they only got Javier out of that hellhole a handful of hours ago. At least he keeps the food down.
"Javier." Hosea's voice is gentle and lowered as he leans forward and captures Javier's confused gaze. "How is your head?"
"Hurts," He answers and frowns before stopping the motion as it pulls at one of the stitched up cuts on his temple. The swelling on his face has gone down a little bit, but not by much. He honestly looks horrible and, quite frankly, beat to shit. "Why are you here?"
Arthur doesn't quite know what to make of the undertone in Javier's voice. Something like quiet, fragile hurt and disbelief. He definitely thought they wouldn't come for him. That they wouldn't return from the west to try and save him. Arthur doesn't fault him for thinking that, from Javier's point of view they were betrayers. The ones to up and run when Dutch needed them most.
A part of Arthur wants to try and explain that if they had stayed, it would have been so much worse. He wants to talk about Sean dying in Rhodes, about Hosea falling in front of the bank, of Lenny dead on a roof. Of watching Karen disappearing into her bottles and then finally disappearing altogether never to be seen again. He wants to talk about Guarma and himself getting deathly ill, of Molly and Susan shot. All the deaths, betrayal and regret he carries with him and his singular determination to fight every step of the way to see as many of them come out alive this time around.
He has this one chance, only one and he'll be damned if he costs any of these people their lives again.
He wants to try and make Javier understand. The decision to leave was never against him, was never meant to imply that they couldn't be asked for help. That they wouldn't drag their asses back east in order to try and save his. Arthur also knows that Javier most likely wouldn't want to hear it from him. Not now, later maybe, when he's healed up and he decides if he wants to stay with them or go back to join Dutch again.
"Why wouldn't we be here?" Hosea asks, voice still gentle, though there is a note to it. Something pained and fond and exasperated all at once. He reaches out to give Javier's uninjured arm a soft pat. "Dear boy, of course we'd come for you."
"Someone's coming." Sadie's sharp voice suddenly cuts through the air, causing all of them to tense and snap to alert.
Their feet are quiet on the groaning floorboards as they quickly take up position. Hosea stays close to Javier, who tries to sit upright before giving up after a moment, injured hand cradled close and face taking on an ashen paleness.
"Hosea, Arthur." A far too familiar voice calls out, making Arthur still with a frown on his face. The bad feeling in the back of his mind crawls down his spine and steals a bit of air from his lungs. "I know you're here. You and some of the others that ran."
Dutch's voice carries an underlying tension. It's nothing nice, Arthur can tell that much, has spent far too much time around that man - twenty years, sacrificed so much for him right up until it cost him all he had left - not to recognize that tone of voice. It's a promise of underlying danger, of leashed anger disguised by an amenable offer to just talk things out. He sounds similar to when he confronted Cornwall. Arthur doesn't think for a second that Dutch would come here just to talk.
He exchanges a glance with Hosea, whose face has gone steely with a sort of sharp determination. Hosea straightens, shoulders squared and Arthur watches as in this moment, the oldness seems to fall away from the man, the exhaustion that had crept up into the wrinkles and silver of his hair. Instead, he sees the second leader of their gang, the one who raised Arthur alongside Dutch and always tried his hardest to ensure they would survive what the world threw at them.
A quick nod to Sadie and John makes them move closer to the door while Karen quietly slides over to take up a spot beside Javier, in case the man needs guarding. Charles remains by one of the windows, tilting his head just enough to peek outside. Arthur steps up beside Hosea, entirely unwilling to let the man walk out alone.
He doesn't trust Dutch, though he wonders if Dutch would really try to harm Hosea. They've been together for so long, surely that means something. Then again, he thought he meant something too, that his dedication, his loyalty and his unquestioning support meant something to Dutch. He's been proven wrong once before and he'll be damned before he lets Hosea walk into possible danger alone.
They step out of the cabin, Hosea first and as Arthur follows, he casts a quick, checking glance around. Their horses are definitely alert over by their trees. Storm stares over, obviously recognizing the signs of a possible fight and her ears are pricked, as though waiting for a command. He sees that she's even pulled her reins free, ready to run. Smart girl.
Seeing Dutch again feels strange for some reason. Arthur can't quite say why, but the thought drops away to angry and dark resentment the moment he sees Micah right beside Dutch and Bill a tad behind them. Micah sits on his black horse with a smug, condescending sort of look that just asks for someone to clock him in the face. Behind him are a few other riders, two of which Arthur vaguely recognizes. Joe and Cleet, if he remembers their names correctly. Aside from them, there are three other strangers and they all look as mean as Arthur expected.
"Well, isn't this a surprise." Dutch says and leans slightly on the saddle horn. The Count stands still under him, but Arthur knows that horse almost as well as its rider and the white mount is ready to go at the first given command. "The two of you, back in the east."
Dutch's eyes are hard, his brief smile is sharp and Arthur knows those eyes, knows that gaze. The man looking back at him, right now, is the same man who shot his enemies in the face without a second of hesitation. There is a sort of leashed anger, similar to the one Arthur remembers directed at Cornwall.
"Why are you here?" Hosea asks, voice calm and steady, but Arthur doesn't miss the way his hand, while looking relaxed, rests close to his revolver. Dutch doesn't miss it either, they've known each other for too long and Arthur watches as the man's eyes narrow slightly. "And why did no one come for Javier? For Miss Grimshaw or Miss Tilly?"
Dutch straightens slightly in his saddle, a small, throw-away gesture accompanying the subtle shift. "I wasn't about to foolishly walk into a trap. Miss Grimshaw's end is, unfortunate." His voice drops to something calmer, almost amenable, but it's deceptive. Dutch stays hard under it all and Arthur finds himself casting brief, quick glances at Micah as well. Who looks entirely too unconcerned and at ease with the tense situation.
It's a bit reassuring to know that John and Sadie are both right behind them, hidden from view and on either side of the door.
"And I had some worries about Javier, which don't seem to be as wrong as I previously hoped." Dutch continues and his words make something niggle in the back of Arthur's head. The bad feeling grows slightly, grasping at his faster heartbeat and almost teasing a restless twitch from his fingers.
"Javier has been nothing if not loyal." Arthur finds himself saying and he's slightly surprised that he's actually feeling offended on the other man's behalf. Javier has always done what Dutch asked, has always supported him and risked life and limb for everything.
And at the same time, Javier had tried to be there for others too. Arthur vaguely remembers Javier trying to talk with Karen back in his other life, to help her ease up on the drinking. Javier could always be counted on to save someone - Beaver Hollow notwithstanding, that whole thing was a huge mess. Arthur is honest enough to know a small part of him is still angry and hurt about Javier turning his back on him in his blind loyalty back then, but he's also man enough to set that aside. It happened in another life and this time things are different. In some ways at least.
Dutch's gaze snaps to him and Arthur wonders why he still experiences a brief, sharp stab of bitter and betrayed hurt at seeing how discarding and callous the man now regards him. He should be over it, but somehow he isn't. Not entirely. Still, Arthur stands his ground and stares back resolutely.
"Why did you leave Javier behind?" He asks and it's the one question that kept nagging at him the whole time they rode for Fort Wallace. "If we managed to get him out, surely you could have done the same."
There is a subtle shift in Dutch's gaze and Arthur can't decipher it before it's gone again. Instead of Dutch though, this time it's Micah who speaks up.
"Let's not play coy, cowpoke. We both know a trap when we see one." Micah gestures with one hand and the movement almost looks lazy if not for his sharp gaze and the way his free hand casually rests over his revolver. "And dear old Javier hasn't been the most faithful in the past weeks. We had to be sure he hadn't turned into a mole and if he wasn't well, we had to cut our losses."
The idea that Javier would rat them out is so ludicrous Arthur feels both taken aback and as though a sharp bark of disbelieving laughter gets caught in the back of his throat. On the other hand, he remembers Dutch thinking the same about John, who had always been loyal too, who had always believed in Dutch right until Dutch turned his back on him.
"He's the only one who it could have been." Dutch chimes in, his voice pitched to such a reasonable tone, as if he's merely laying out truths. "Remember how things went wrong so often?" There is a brief, split second of a dark twist on Dutch's face. "After you lot tucked tail and ran, we rather quickly figured out who the mole might be as misfortune and the Pinkertons kept finding us."
Arthur doesn't miss how Dutch doesn't even consider the possibility that Micah would be the rat. It's strange to him, just how sure Dutch is that Micah would never betray him or stab him in the back. Arthur still doesn't understand how Micah achieved that. How his loyalty somehow is so much better than Arthur's and John's had been. How Micah weaseled his way into Dutch's high regard and effectively became his right hand man in a handful of months.
"Javier would never do that." Hosea's voice has turned hard and reprimanding. "You know that, I know you do. That boy is loyal, more than anyone else."
"And how do you explain the Pinkertons finding us all the time?" Dutch asks back sharply. "It would have been a marvelous cover, getting captured by them when in truth he's just giving them information and playing the bait to draw us into our early deaths."
Arthur spares a brief thought to Javier in the cabin, bloody and beaten. The hope in his voice when he thought that Dutch had come for him. An icy sensation spreads through his chest and while Arthur doesn't wish more pain on Javier, he still hopes the man hears every word and sees the truth. There are a lot of people deserving of Javier's loyalty, but Dutch is no longer one of them.
"And look and behold who turned up in the eleventh hour." Dutch continues, voice strong and captivating as always. "What a coincidence that you would show up in his time of need."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hosea asks, a subtle undertone of caution in his voice and Arthur finds his hand inching closer to his revolver. His fingertips brush the handle of his gun and he hears a faint groan of floorboards behind him as either Sadie or John shift their weight.
Dutch's eyes narrow. "It means I find it very curious how you all disappear, things start to really go to hell and once Javier has been captured, you're right back here in the east."
Arthur's gaze flicks to Micah, who looks silently smug. He already knows how Dutch arrived at the conclusion he did, no matter that it is an entirely wrong one. And nonsensical on top of that, none of them would have ever endangered the rest of the gang like that. They left yes, but they are no traitors, even if Dutch evidently doesn't agree. Anger starts to burn in his chest, chasing the cold away and he feels a dark frown settling over his face.
"You can't mean that." Hosea takes a step forward, half deviant and half horrified and there is something in his voice Arthur can't quite place. Heartbreak, maybe. A startled sort of quiet pain and a hint of feeling betrayed. Surprise that Dutch would ever think they'd work with their enemies.
"And what else, old friend, was I supposed to think?" Dutch asks, voice deceptively soft before it grows dark and angry. "Tell me, how long have you and Javier been in cohorts with the Pinkertons? Before or after you left?"
With a great crack of branches, and a rider breaks out between two trees. They all startle and tense, hands immediately gripping revolvers and drawing them as they face the newcomer. It takes Arthur one look to realize that it's an outlaw and by the way Micah and Dutch ease up again right away the guy runs with them.
"Pinkertons!" The man yells, his horse throwing its head up as he pulls it sharply to a stop. "They're here!"
Dutch's gaze snaps back to Arthur and Hosea, a furious sort of validation burning bright in his eyes. He seems to almost scream 'I knew it!' without saying anything. Arthur sees Dutch turning his gun towards them, as two more riders appear between the trees. This time though, they wear suits and bowl hats and Arthur moves without thinking.
He grabs Hosea and tackles him backwards, away from the growing danger and into the cover of the cabin. There is a startled noise beside his ear, but thankfully Hosea goes right with him. Bullets hit the wood a split second after they duck to the side, for now safe inside.
Outside, mayhem breaks out. Shouting and shooting and the thrum of arriving horses fill the air. Arthur takes a quick glance out the window and curses at the amount of Pinkerton agents currently pouring out between the trees. Dutch and his gang are on the retreat, there is no other way to describe the way they're turning and shooting while urging their horses to run. At the same time though, there are a few shots aimed at the cabin as well.
"We have to go." Hosea says, voice lowered over the din of battle. He gives a quick glance around. "Javier can't move that fast and they can't find him."
"We'll be a diversion." Sadie answers resolutely, ducking back down after firing a quick shot and taking out one of the Pinkertons. "Let them think we all fled."
"I'll stay with Javier." Karen offers, still crouched beside him and revolver in hand. Her eyes are dark and hard. "Go, I'll leave with Javier once they give chase. We should have a few moments to get away and even if some of them stay behind, I can handle them."
It's honestly the only choice they have. Arthur doesn't know how many Pinkertons there still are or if they'll bring the army into this too. Going now with Dutch and the others in view is their only chance if they don't want to remain sitting ducks and hoping to survive the shootout.
Gripping his revolver tightly, he exchanges a quick look with the others, sees the same grim resolution in their eyes. Hosea gives the signal and Arthur jumps to his feet. He's out of the door right away, shooting as he yells for the others to go, giving them as much cover as possible.
With a loud neigh, their horses race towards them and Arthur has never been gladder for it, has never been more relieved or thankful that their mounts are smart and unafraid. Bullets whiz past as he gets into the saddle and Arthur knows, with a bone deep certainty and in his painfully racing heart, that only luck keeps them all from being hit.
Giving Storm free reign, she tears away from the cabin and he shoots as they escape, ducking to avoid being hit in return. He remembers the woods in these parts somewhat well enough from two lives and for now, his only goal is to get them away from the cabin. To try and draw them away from the others. Away from Hosea who fell to them before, away from Charles and John and Sadie, who he doesn't want to lose. Away from Karen and Javier who need that chance to escape.
Arthur leaves it to Storm to avoid trees and rocks as he turns in the saddle and shoots back again. He lets her run and hopes to god that it will be enough. That they're all going to survive this.
He's quickly reloading his gun, fingers fast and practiced, mind racing, as all of a sudden, John breaks out between the trees. They barely avoid colliding, racing along side by side within a handful of seconds. It feels far too similar to the last time this happened. The sky is dark and grey overhead, the light between the rain heavy trees murky and Arthur's heart lurches with a heavy sense of foreboding.
"The others?" He yells before shooting, while John quickly takes the time to reload himself.
"Lost sight of them!" John yells back. "To the right, we have to shake them off!"
Reaching out with one hand, he pulls Storm to the right, following John's lead onto a small path. To both their startled surprise, they see Dutch and Micah, along with two other of their guys racing out onto the path, shooting at the agents that hound their heels.
"Left, left!" John yells, turning back into the forest. Arthur follows with a curse, ducking as more bullets whiz by. He feels a burn across his shoulder and hip, but not the agony of a bullet burrowing into flesh. Just a graze.
He urges Storm to go as fast as she can without risking to crash, John racing ahead of him. A glance over his shoulder shows a diminished number of pursuers. They either managed to shake off a few or some of them decided to go after Dutch instead of them. Raising his gun, Arthur shoots again, trusting Storm to follow Old Boy. Pinkerton agents fall, their horses bucking or taking off into the forest once their riders no longer keep them on track.
They manage to shake the last one just as they break out of the forest again. John's shout is the only warning Arthur has and they barely avoid tumbling down a cliff in the nick of time, their horses skidding to a stop right at the edge. Staring down for a second, Arthur feels sweat sliding down his neck and his breathing goes fast and harsh.
"You alright?" John asks, sounding equally winded as they back up their horses a few steps. Their horses are huffing and puffing and remain tense and unsettled.
"Yeah. You?" He asks and gestures for John to keep going.
"I'm alright. Do you think everyone else made it away too?" John casts an attentive glance around, gun still in hand and they quickly keep on cantering. Not as fast as before, but they definitely can't afford to stay where they are. They need to get away further until they're safe again - for a while at least and until they can regroup once more.
"I hope so." Arthur wrangles his worry down as much as possible. It won't help anyone if he's anxious if they're okay. He just has to trust they'll survive this.
John and he hurry on, intent of leaving the cliffy area and Arthur already thinks about where to go to meet back up with everyone, when to his surprise, Dutch and Micah ride out behind a steep hill that juts from the forest line. They appear unharmed, though they do seem a bit winded and their horses are out of breath.
"Dutch..." John's voice is cautious and Arthur catches a small undertone to it. As though John still has hope that Dutch will listen to them, will see they aren't against him and only left the gang to ensure their loved ones would be safe. In a way, a part of John is as much the same loyal and lost boy Dutch picked up years ago as Arthur had been. Only Arthur has already died for that and had watched so many others fall to their death before him. He won't let that part of him hold him back.
"Watch out." He whispers at John who has slowed Old Boy down. Arthur doesn't take his eyes off of Dutch or Micah for a second and his revolver is still gripped tight in one hand. He's aware of Storm tensing under him, her body shifting as though ready to race off at the first sign that he wants her to run, her eyes fixed on the two riders as well.
"What a surprise to see you unharmed." Dutch says with heavy sarcasm and straightens in his saddle, his eyes are dark and angry. Somehow, despite being out of breath, he manages to look composed and close to unruffled. "Pinkertons let you go, didn't they? Tell me, Arthur, what price did they offer you? What was it that you sold me and everyone else for?"
John beside him makes an angry and confused sound, offended and even somewhat hurt in Arthur's stead. Arthur himself just feels a climbing anger that spreads through his chest. A quiet whisper of alarm and danger tugs at the back of his mind and he tries to think of a way to get out of here, to get away without it turning bloody. He or John, one of them wouldn't get out alive if a fight between them broke out and Arthur knows with just one gun, he couldn't take out both Dutch and Micah fast enough to avoid one of them shooting back as well. Despite Micah's faults and as much as he wants to see the guy dead, Arthur knows he's good with a gun too. Whip fast and just as merciless.
"Do you have anything to say in your defense?" Dutch asks and Arthur thinks it would be a waste of air to argue. There is nothing he can say that Dutch wants to hear or would listen to. Still, he has to try and buy them some time.
"You've gone mad when you think I would sell any of you to the Pinkertons." He growls back, subtly nudging Storm a little to the side. Her tense body shifting slowly, until he's managed to get close to John and their legs bump. "I have nothing to do with them and neither does Javier. Maybe you should look for your rat elsewhere."
He nods at Micah as he speaks, who lightly tilts his head, a small gleam appearing his eyes but otherwise he looks triumphant and unbothered. A mean grin rests in the corners of his mouth as though he's about to win something. Arthur hates it and it makes him tense further.
"Micah has been more loyal, more true to me than any of you." Dutch sounds angry now and for a split second, Arthur sees the cold consideration, catches the way the hand with the gun twitches up a tad towards him. Dutch will shoot them sooner or later, he's certain of it. "You lot who betrayed and left me and brought the Pinkertons right into our midst!"
"We did no such thing!" John speaks up, anger clear in his voice, though he gets Arthur's hint and lets Old Boy take a few careful steps to the side as well. They have some smaller cliffs to their side - easy enough for a horse to jump down in stages - and massive boulders ahead, if they make it there they have better cover and a good chance to make it back into the woods. "We left because you wouldn't listen to us no more. Because it was too dangerous to stay. I have family Dutch! I couldn't stay and watch them die!"
"They're lying." Micah sounds so self-assured, so darkly certain that Arthur has to fight the urge to shoot him in the face then and there. Not yet, not when the chance of either John or he getting shot is still too high. "Don't listen to them, Dutch. They'll say anything you want to hear to save their hides. Just think about it." Micah tilts his head, voice drawling. "How easily they rescued Javier and how quickly the Pinkertons showed up just now."
In that second, Arthur understands. Understands the bad feeling and the constant, never ceasing nagging of something wrong and dangerous that lived in the pit of his stomach and tugged at the back of his mind ever since they broke into Fort Wallace. Javier's rescue was indeed easy because letting him go had been part of the trap. The Pinkertons put up a bit of a fight to make it believable enough while ensuring someone kept tracking them down to the cabin. And Micah, the rat, all he had to do was to lead Dutch to where they hid. Once that happened the Pinkertons had to wait just long enough for them all to meet before going in for the kill.
The Pinkertons would have gotten their hands on most of the Van der Linde gang this way. They certainly would have captured the most known members. Dutch and Hosea, Javier and Karen and John and Arthur. Sadie and Charles too would have died along with them. All their deaths would have been gloated over, a victory to justice and order and the Pinkertons would have celebrated the fall of Dutch and his gang. All the while Micah would go free.
Arthur is pretty sure half their escape from the cabin just now had been nothing but dumb luck and he's never been more relieved about the fact that so many plans tend to go different than expected. Still, they have to get away from here before either Dutch and Micah shoot them or the Pinkertons find them again. That danger hasn't passed yet.
Arthur knows he has to be quick about this. He forces his gaze away from Micah and Dutch and tilts his head enough that the brim briefly hides his eyes, as he casts a quick look at John. John who thankfully catches it and his eyes harden in unspoken confirmation.
When Arthur looks back up, Micah and Dutch have their guns trained on them.
"I think I heard everything I need to know." Dutch's voice is almost quiet and in direct contrast to his darkening eyes. Briefly, Arthur wonders if Dutch would have hesitated if he hadn't run away with the others before coming back.
The next second he digs his heels into Storm's side, his own gun is raised and he feels a brief moment of hesitation, unsure if he should aim at Dutch or Micah first.
A shot rips through the air just as Storm takes off and Arthur fires just a breath too slowly. A pained yell can be heard beside him and from the corner of his eye he watches as John falls from Old Boy, tumbling out of view and his horse skidding and stumbling before it runs for cover. A shout tears from Arthur's throat and Storm skids to a stop again, ears pinned back angrily. It takes Arthur a moment to realize, over the racing of his heart, that it was Micah who fired the shot and his own bullet had barely missed the madman.
"I knew it!" Dutch yells and Arthur realizes, as he refuses to leave without John, that somewhere along the way, he made a grave mistake.
More riders breaks out of the forest and Arthur has but a split second to see Ross of all people, followed by two more Pinkertons and realizes that the Pinkertons' appearance is what saved his hide from being shot as well, before he urges Storm out of the way.
"Get him!" Ross yells, gun already firing and Dutch and Micah curse, urging their horses to start running again.
Arthur in a quick moment, turns Storm around and she jumps down the side of the cliff without a moment of hesitation. The ledge there catches them and it's rough but they're alright. Above them, Arthur hears gunshots and hooves, horses thundering away and yells going with them.
Heart racing and gun lifted in case someone peers after him, he waits just long enough for them to go a bit further down the road, before he gets Storm to climb back up. She manages it with two jumps over smaller outcroppings and Arthur sees John the moment they're back up. Old Boy is nowhere to be seen and Arthur slides out of the saddle, not even waiting for Storm to stop.
John is wheezing for air, hands clutching at a spot of spreading red on the left side of his chest, close to his shoulder. It looks eerily like the wound he got back in Arthur's other life when he was shot off the train.
"No, no." Arthur falls to his knees, reaching out to press a hand over the wound as well, his lungs growing tight and his mind spinning. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. John was always supposed to live.
"Not that bad." John wheezes out but he doesn't convince either of them. "Barely grazed me. Go, get outta here."
"Not without you." Arthur doesn't know what to do. He has just a few basic medicine and gauze with him. Nothing as what John probably needs. "We'll take you to a doctor, you'll be just fine."
He shoves one hand under John's shoulders, ready to haul him up, when the sound of hooves make him jerk upright, gun raised once more. It's Micah, who has his own gun trained unerringly on him and looking entirely too unperturbed. Somehow, Arthur isn't even surprised to see he got away, considering he's working with the Pinkertons. The rat probably waited just long enough to make it look like he was forced to separate from Dutch before turning back around.
"This is the end for you, cowpoke." He says, a small grin pulling at his lips. "Though I have to admit, I'm surprised you figured it out."
"What, that you're a rat?" Arthur bites back, though in the back of his mind he feels himself growing tenser with worry. One hand is still pressed to John's injury and the blood is already welling over his fingers. He's no doctor and he doesn't know just how deep the bullet got but he knows if he doesn't get John to a professional in time, he won't make it. At least Storm has trotted away far enough to be out of the line of fire and she's staring over at him, ears pricked.
Arthur lets go of John's wound, ignoring his hisses for Arthur to get away. He has one chance to try something if either of them want to get out of this alive.
"Wasn't hard to figure out." Arthur continues, slowly rising to his feet. Micah lets him and Arthur knows the man is curious enough for this moment and just arrogant enough as well in his abilities to let him talk. "Once I realized the lies you was telling."
"Oh, cowpoke, didn't take much lying at all -" Micah breaks off as the sounds of an approaching rider reach their ears. They both glance to the side and Arthur feels something in him unwind at the sight of Charles racing towards them, gun raised. Snapping his gaze back to Micah, he gives off a sharp whistle and fires.
With a jerk, Micah ducks low and the bullet hitting an edge of his hat, as he looks back at him and Arthur ducks out of the way of the first return shot. Then Storm is already slamming into Baylock, shoulder-checking the stallion to the side. The black horse stumbles and for a moment, it almost looks as though he might even fall. Micah's aim is entirely thrown and by now Charles is close enough to shoot as well.
With a rough curse, Micah turns Baylock around and they race off, zigzagging to avoid getting hit. Arthur fires a few more times before quickly turning back to John. Charles brings Taima to a stop as soon as he reaches them, quickly sliding out of the saddle.
"John." Arthur says, still tense and Charles quickly falls to a knee, pressing a hand to John's wound and getting a rough, pained noise from the man. Charles looks after Micah.
"Can we afford to let him get away?" He asks and at seeing something in Arthur's face, gives a resolute nod. "Go, I'll take care of John."
Arthur hesitates the barest second, before he reaches out and gives Charles's shoulder a quick squeeze - alive, he made it away alive and Arthur hopes to god the rest did too. Storm stands right beside them so Arthur barely has to take two steps before he's up in the saddle again.
Arthur can still see Micah, can see the man turning around a massive boulder down the road and urges Storm after him. She tears after Baylock with single-minded focus, fast and determined and Arthur is barely aware of smearing John's blood across the reins as he grips them, his revolver in his other hand and braced to shoot. Micah can't get away, not after everything. Not again.
Storm is faster than Baylock or maybe more determined in this moment. They're catching up at a rapid pace and just as they're about to turn around the same boulder, Arthur finds his focus drawn away for just a breath. Calmly, a large stag steps out of the woods, looking over at him with brown eyes and a steady gaze.
His breath catches in his lungs and Arthur wrenches his gaze back forward, back to where they round the boulder. Micah waits around the curve, grinning and gun raised.
A strange sensation takes over for a second or two, as though something around him slows and Storm digs in her hooves as she skids to a stop to avoid collision with Baylock. Then he feels her tense before she rears up, ears pinned back in fury and kicking out. The bullet Micah fires catches her and Arthur feels as though he's losing his breath all over again, his heart skipping a beat.
He's thrown out of the saddle as she falls, smacking down on hard rocky ground and rolling with the momentum. His vision blurs and the revolver is knocked out of his grip as his head slams into the muddy dirt, a stone digging in too hard and unrelenting. Pain zips along his ribs and Arthur tries to get his bearings back together, tries to orientate himself and get his limbs to work again.
A foot lands solidly on his chest, spurs jingling and the pain flares up again. Broken rib, most likely. Arthur rasps for air, looking up at a grinning Micah, who lazily aims his gun at him. A drop hits his cheek and slowly gentle rain starts to patter down on them.
"Fell right for it." Micah sneers down at him, looking so self satisfied Arthur wants to reach up and knock him out. "Always knew you was dumb as bricks, cowpoke. A small tree casting a big shadow."
"That still," Arthur wheezes and he has his bearing now, fury and pain and grief scorching the inside of his chest, hand snapping out to grip Micah's foot. "doesn't make a lick of sense!"
With a strong jerk and a rough grunt, he pulls Micah off balance. For a second he has the gratifying view of Micah's eyes going wide and his arms instinctively rising to try and do something, before he falls into the mud beside him. Arthur doesn't waste a moment to go and grapple Micah, one hand wrapping around his wrist and keeping the gun away from them.
It takes a moment to realize as they wrestle in the mud, but he's stronger. Before, Micah got him because he was ill and even then, he had barely won that fight. Now, at full health and his heart racing, hearing the sound of gunshots echoing in his ears, Arthur is stronger than Micah. He sees it when the realization hits Micah, the way his eyes go wide and then something wild appears in them. It might be fear, by god Arthur hopes it's fear. Hopes it with an ugly sort of blood thirsting vengeance.
"You never was going to win in a fair fight." He spits at Micah, slowly but steadily pressing his hand and the gun in it into the mud. Baring his teeth, Arthur shifts to raise his free hand. The first punch is satisfying as nothing else, fury burning bright in his veins and a part of Arthur rattles with grief and fear at both Storm and John falling. He has to finish this and get to her. Has to -
The second punch makes something give under his knuckles, Micah's nose breaks and the rough startled shout of pain from the man makes him inhale with a dark and sharp sort of victory. The third punch barely finds its mark as Arthur finds one leg knocked from under him and Micah half tackles, half pushes him to the side. Startled, his grip weakens just the bit Micah needs to wrench his arm forward, pistol hovering and shaking, straining for at least a decent sort of aim. Micah fires and Arthur feels the pain surge in his side, snapping and biting along his ribs and his ears ring, all sound briefly buried under the pain and noise.
Micah gives him something like a triumphant grin, but it's still wild and a little too unsteady to be confident. Arthur bares his teeth, pulling his head back and slamming it against Micah's, hearing the man's pained howl and his body jerks.
Wrestling for the gun again, Arthur tries to rise out of the mud he's in, but lying on his side he can't utilize his strength well enough. Micah, in a quick twist, manages to loom over him, pressing down and blood and rain slicking down his face, falling in pinking drops. The look in Micah's eyes is still wild and fighting, but the fear recedes as he gives a rough bark of a laugh.
"Look at you." Micah grins down at him. "This is the end, cowpoke."
"No." Arthur wedges a knee up, keeping part of the man from bearing down on him too much. He glares up, through the rain and pain that burns through his side. "Not this time."
Arthur lets his grip slacken, just enough for Micah to unexpectedly lurch forward a bit. It allows him to slip his grip up and the cold metal of the gun meets his fingers. He jerks it back around, hears a loud, pained noise as he manages to twist it in Micah's fingers. His free hand holds Micah's other arm at bay, to keep him from strangling him or grabbing him in any other way.
Slowly, the barrel of the revolver shifts, both of them gritting their teeth, sweat and rain and mud soaking them. Arthur finally gets the revolver to face Micah's direction. He fumbles, for just a second, then finds the trigger. The sound of the shot feels caught between their bodies and Arthur sees and feels the way Micah lurches, watches as his eyes go wide and his face pales.
Arthur uses the moment to quickly twist Micah to the side in a similar move Micah had used on him. His legs feel unexpectedly sluggish as he gets them under him, still holding the revolver and half of Micah's hand in a death grip. Arthur manages another shot, though he can't tell if this one hit at all, his vision blurred by rain.
"Takin' you with me." Micah growls up at him, pained and gasping for air. "This much I can promise."
With that, his knee lands in Arthur's wounded side and Micah manages to rip his other hand free, bringing it up to the gun. It twists back around too fast and Arthur feels the rip of pain in his shoulder, smells the scent of gunpowder and his vision dances with dark spots. Faintly, he's aware of Micah giving a rough laugh and the man's grip slackening.
Arthur rips the revolver from him and pulls the trigger, watches as this shot definitely hits, though when he fires again, all he hears is the click of an empty gun. Micah is wheezing weakly, staring at him as Arthur finds his mind spinning. Slowly he's sinking back on his heels and lets the hand with the gun sink. Reaching up he presses this other hand against his right shoulder. It's a mirror shot to the one Colm gave him. Hand coming away wet with blood, he feels at the shot for his side, pain crawling farther and farther through his body.
"Told ya. 's the end, cowpoke." Micah rasps out and Arthur lifts the gun, slamming it across his temple and watches as Micah falls still. Watches as a moment later, his final breath leaves his body. Three shots, all three hit, he can see it now. Between one moment and the next, he finds himself lying in the mud again.
A muffled noise gets his attention and he tilts his head just enough to see where it came from. Storm, his brave, brave girl limps towards him. Her fur is matted with blood and he can see the spot on her left shoulder, close to the front of her chest where the bullet hit. Not fatal, not right away. Not if she gets treatment. Hopefully.
"Hey, girl." He rasps out as she reaches him, her nose carefully sniffing at his wounds. She looks so roughed up, it makes his chest squeeze.
Her nose nudges his shoulder and a second time, more strongly when he doesn't react. Arthur curls his hands and shifts his feet but finds he can't do much more. His body is turning numb and cold and even the bright burn of pain seems to dull. His gaze shifts further and he sees the stag again, standing a few paces away and looking over.
Storm gives his shoulder another bump and then she lifts her head and quickly limps off. Arthur feels a noise escaping him and tries to move again, but his body listens even less this time around. The stag still looks at him when Arthur glances back.
"This it?" He asks and notices that his voice slurs. The stag doesn't so much as move, until one of its ears flick and it glances at the side.
Arthur looks over and it takes him a moment to recognize the spotted horse coming towards him, to see the two riders, one barely keeping himself upright and Storm leading them despite her limp.
"Arthur!" It's Charles, jumping down as soon as he's close enough and Arthur never heard his voice like that. Something edged in fear and just raw enough to register on his sluggish mind. Warm hands hover over him for a moment, assessing his injuries and then their gazes meet.
From the corner of his eye, Arthur sees the stag stepping closer now. Slowly and almost carefully.
His tongue feels heavy. "Sorry."
"It's going to be fine." Charles briefly touches his cheek and Arthur can see the way he thinks about lifting him up without causing more pain. "It's going to be alright, Arthur. Just hold on."
His eyes fall shut just as the stag stops beside him and a warm hand slides under his shoulder while another grabs his arm. The pain and noise, the warmth and numbing cold all fade with a long, deep exhale and a gentle darkness pulls him under.