Oh boy, here we go... please excuse the very sudden perspective shifts in this chapter. With an event this big that is causing a shift in the story, it didn't feel right to just have Arthur hear about everything he doesn't witness. I hope it works for the readers.

Chapter 23: Lemoyne National Bank

The explosion rattled the windows, and Arthur jumped up fast to see where it had come from. Smoke billowed just down the street, women screamed and police blew their whistles.

Shooting immediately followed. He raced down the stairs and onto the street, where Merlin tugged against the hitching post. The horse was stuck alone the last few days, since Albert took both Dakota and Lucy north with him.

As much as Arthur missed Albert, he was glad that the other man had left on his trip. He was anxious enough without having to worry about Milton or Ross seeing and recognizing his friend. Knowing the Pinkertons, the coincidence would be enough to bring Albert in for questioning, and Arthur knew first hand how the questions were asked. Yes, it was better to have Albert out of the city. Arthur kept a lookout for Pinkertons the last few days, and while he hadn't seen any standing outright in their uniforms, he did see several suspicious men eying the people going about their day. Fortunately between Trelawny's taste in clothing and Algernon's hat, Arthur hadn't been looked at twice!

The shooting stopped. Shouting took its place, a man and a woman. Arthur leaned around the corner. A woman in a yellow dress and a giant hat aimed her gun at a mustached man in a gray jacket and red tie, but the man wasn't doing the same. The barrel of his gun was pressed into Hosea's short gray hair, his hand wrapped around the tuxedo lapel. Arthur knew the mustache, and the sneer that came with it. Agent Ross.

Ross started to drag Hosea away. Probably to tie him up and beat him, keep questioning him on Dutch and the bank robbery until either Hosea cracked, which he wouldn't, or he died. And Arthur would never let Ross hurt anyone else.

He didn't hesitate, just stepped out into the street and fired into Ross's skull. Chaos erupted as the police and agents accompanying Ross ducked for cover before the man even hit the ground. Hosea twisted out of Ross's arms and surged towards Sadie as she and Arthur fired at the remaining lawmen.

The lawmen fell or scattered within seconds. Breathing in deep with relief, Arthur turned towards Sadie and Hosea, both of whom were now just taking in the identity of their rescuer.

"Arthur," Hosea gasped, starting towards him, "I thought I told you to leave the city!"

"Since when did I do as I was told," Arthur chuckled.

But Hosea stumbled.

He stumbled, and Arthur leapt forward to catch him, sinking to his knees with Hosea wrapped in his arms.

"Hey, 'sea, you alright? Where are you hurt?"

Groaning, Hosea shifted his arm towards his right side, and Arthur peeled back the jacket to reveal a growing patch of blood.

"Shit!" He pressed his hand over the wound. "Sadie, we got to get him out of here!"

"They knew we were coming! This whole thing is a trap," Sadie shouted.

Arthur looked around the empty street. They were close to his apartment, and it didn't seem like anyone was watching. "Follow me," he said, and scooped Hosea into his arms. He led Sadie through a few alleys and up the stairs to the apartment. Tried to ignore the way Hosea's fingers loosely gripped his shirt, his forehead pressed into Arthur's collarbone, the strained panting replacing normal breaths.

"Hold on, Hosea." Arthur set Hosea on the bed and inspected the wound, then released the air he didn't realize he had been holding. The gash in Hosea's side was deep and would need to be carefully cleaned and monitored for infection, but the bullet likely missed the vital organs. Arthur pressed down on it to help slow the bleeding, saying, "Sorry, sorry," when Hosea let out a pained hiss.

"I told you to go," Hosea said.

"I know."

"And Albert? You two were going on a trip."

"Yeah, Albert left. I couldn't leave, not while you were in danger."

Hosea huffed, but didn't argue. Underneath the nearby police whistles and shouting was more shooting. "Dutch," Hosea whispered, and tried to sit up.

He couldn't stand the desperation in Hosea's voice, but there wasn't anything he could do. "They'll be alright," Arthur said, not really believing it. "Dutch has a lot of good guns with him." He focused on cleaning and bandaging Hosea's side with Sadie's help. The fighting moved, the sounds now faint, and Hosea's eyes remained fixed on the wall facing the bank.

Sadie was also itching to leave, but for a different reason. "If they knew about the bank, they might know where the camp is. I should warn them. Can I take your horse?"

"Sure, Merlin's hitched outside. You might want to change, though. That dress and hat stand out too much. You can borrow some of my clothes, but they might be big."

"I just need them to get back to camp. Thank you, Arthur." She dug through his closet and grabbed a few items.

"They'll block the roads and bridges," Hosea said to her.

"On the main road with all the fancy houses, there's an empty lot. Got a sign for these pre-cut houses." Arthur went to the window and pointed out the direction. "The gate is narrow, but Merlin can fit through it. Go behind the houses and into the swamp, and no one should see you."

He pulled back the curtain after Sadie left, watching to make sure she made it down the street without issue. Then, he turned back to Hosea.

Tear tracks stained his cheeks. Hosea wouldn't look at Arthur, still staring at the wall.

"Hosea?"

"This is my fault."

"Of course not."

"It was my plan and it failed."

Arthur sat down next to the bed, unsure what to do. Usually it was Hosea who had to sit at Arthur's bedside, taking care of the man while he bemoaned a lost score or cursed at bounty hunters. Arthur didn't know how Hosea managed it all these years, because at that moment, Arthur felt helpless.

"You couldn't have known Ross would be there," he tried.

"They grabbed us immediately, before the explosion went off. The agent holding Mrs. Adler panicked, that's how she was able to get his gun."

"I guess that distraction was good for something," Arthur said with a smirk. He got a tiny smile in return, just for a second, and then it was gone.

"You aren't safe here. Go."

"We are safe, Hosea. I don't think anyone saw us. The law were all running from your distraction or towards the bank." Hosea huffed, still unconvinced, so Arthur said, "You need to rest. Isn't that what you always say to me?"

Hosea remained tense but quiet, though each minute that passed without the law breaking down the door saw him relax a little more until he fell asleep. Arthur drifted between the windows, constantly checking for danger, but their hideout stayed undiscovered into the night.

Until he heard the scraping of a key in the lock.

Arthur ducked behind the bedroom door frame, revolver loaded and ready. Two figures, no more than silhouettes in the dark hallway began to enter. Arthur raised the revolver.

"Not one more step. Put your hands where I can see them!"

At first, they seemingly didn't take his threat seriously, but Arthur quickly realized that one man was supporting the other.

"Arthur? That you?" a deep voice asked, one he hadn't heard in weeks. Charles Smith stepped into the light as Arthur's arm dropped. He was wearing a maroon jacket that Arthur had never seen before, and his long dark hair was secured behind his head. But Charles Smith's unusual appearance distracted Arthur for only a second before he took in the other man.

Sweat dripped off his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, pale face only accentuating the three parallel scars on his right cheek.

"Shit, John!"

He kept shooting. There was nothing else for it. Down one lawman, another appeared in his place. He hoped that Hosea and Sadie weren't caught up in a similar conflict, but he couldn't linger on those thoughts for long. How did they know? Who told? Did anyone even need to tell, after what happened at the trolley station and Dutch killing Bronte?

"John, you still alive?"

"Yeah!"

"Get over here!" Dutch appeared briefly from behind the center counter to fire his pistols. John ducked and ran to his side.

"This is insane. I told you this was a bad idea."

"Now is not the time, son! There's no way we are getting out that door. Take this, and blow a hole through that wall."

John rushed to the wall and attached the dynamite to it. "Everyone get down!" he shouted before returning to Dutch and firing, causing the entire building to shake as the wall blasted out.

"Good, now climb up on the roof and cover us!"

John leaped through the hole and pulled himself up the ladder, trying to ignore the shouts from Javier and Lenny as even more lawmen began to appear in the street. They didn't notice his first few shots, but soon their attention was towards the roof. He kept firing, hoping the distraction would be enough to get the others out.

Javier came up behind him, and said, "We've lost control of the bank, the others are trying to hold them off."

"Goddammit! Keep shooting."

Pull the trigger, six times. Reload, do it again. Others joined him. How did the Pinkertons have a whole army at their disposal? Dutch shouted more from below, and finally it seemed they were clear as Micah, Lenny, and Dutch were the final gang members to make their way up the ladder.

"We need to get out of here, now," Dutch said.

"What if we try to go across the roof to the other buildings?" John suggested.

"Go, son, take Lenny. We'll cover you."

"Come on kid," John said, and took off running. The path was open in front of him, they could make it! But two men stepped in front of him, and he only managed to shoot one before he staggered.

Suddenly he blinked his eyes open, not remembering how he got on the ground. Couldn't understand what had caused the agony tearing through his shoulder, or why Lenny was trying to pull him back up. Took a few seconds for the ringing in his ears to clear.

"-him up, dammit, we need to move!" Why was Dutch shouting? Someone else hauled him up and half dragged him to the edge of the roof, hands under his arms. Oh god, they were going to toss him over, Dutch was finally done with him!

John definitely knew why he blacked out that time. The few seconds in the air ended with someone else grabbing him when his legs hit the other roof and collapsed.

He came to draped over someone's back, moving fast, too fast. The buildings blurred together, the jolts from each jump shocked his body. The light faded, and then he was sat up against a wall. Dutch was in front of him. His face was determination mixed with fear and confusion, and focused on his right shoulder. John got a glance in before Dutch grabbed his chin and pulled his head back up. It was soaked in blood.

"We need a plan. Somewhere to go," Dutch was saying.
"If we go back to camp, they are going to get every last one of us. They'll be watching the roads." He began to pace back and forth in the room. John's eyes lazily tracked his movement. "I got it. A boat," Dutch announced.

"What about John?" asked Lenny. "He needs help."

"I don't know. I'm working on it," Dutch said.

His eyes began to close. "Hey, no. Stay awake, John!" Forcing them open, he took in Lenny right in front of him, tapping his cheek. Poor kid, he was having a rough time lately. First the trolley robbery, now this.

Despite everyone's attempts to keep him conscious, John kept drifting in and out. He noticed the concerned glances, the whispered arguments, the elongated silences.

"He's not going to last much longer. I can get him to help."

"I won't split us up!"

"He'll die if he gets on that boat!"

Someone was pulling him upright again, one arm wrapped around his torso. "I'm getting you out of here, John, just hold on," Charles said.

"Where?" he asked, the word slurred. That was important, Dutch never said where they were going.

"Arthur's place. He told me about his apartment near the florist."

He reached for his pocket. "Hosea gave me a key," he said.

"A key for what?"

"Arthur."

Hosea, earlier that morning, pressed that key into his hand and made John promise that if the bank job went south, he would get himself out and get safe.

At least Charles was helping him keep that promise, because John wanted to just lay down and sleep.

Charles dragged him along the streets, pausing at each intersection before continuing on. They didn't run into anyone, fortunately. It seemed that the Pinkertons finally ran out of soldiers. They went up a flight of stairs, Charles shifted his hold so he could open the door, and…

"Shit, John!"

Another set of arms supported him.

"He alright, what happened?" Was that Arthur? No, it couldn't be, Hosea said Arthur left the city and went north. The apartment was supposed to be empty.

"He was shot, right shoulder. Seems pretty bad."

"What happened to the others? You get separated?"

"Dutch had an idea to escape on a boat, but I didn't think John would make it without help, so I left."

Charles and Arthur carried him into the apartment and placed him on a sofa, and Arthur began to inspect John's shoulder. "The bullet still in there?"

"Yes. We didn't have any supplies."

A faint voice, from another room, called out, "Help me up."

"Hosea?" Charles left his side while Arthur cut away the jacket and shirt. Shame, it was a rather nice jacket, nicer than most of what he owned. But those thoughts disappeared when Arthur carefully prodded the wound, and he couldn't stop the shout.

"Hey, easy John, you're alright. Try to keep quiet, okay?"

Right, he had to stay silent. Lawmen were still looking for them. Hosea was leaning over him now. It was getting hard to focus on what was happening around him. Faces blurred into the dark background, and his eyes failed to follow their movements.

Something was shoved between his teeth. Charles shifted to hold down his arms, but Hosea simply held his hand. Arthur locked eyes with John, almost apologetic, then dug into his shoulder.

John struggled against Charles, crying out even as Hosea tried to comfort him, until the black spots completely encompassed his vision.

John passed out before Arthur managed to remove the bullet, and for that he was grateful. As much as he hated listening to the weak, strained breathing, at least his son was getting a brief respite from the pain. Something Hosea was all too familiar with at the moment.

His side throbbed with each heartbeat, but he kept holding John's hand. He hoped he was just imagining the heat beginning to radiate off John's skin, though a fever would be a normal reaction and the least of a series of terrible outcomes that could still occur. He probably had a low fever himself, considering he was also dizzy and nauseous.

"You doing alright, Hosea?" Arthur asked, trying to bandage John's shoulder.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You should rest," Arthur insisted. "I've got this from here."

"No, not yet."

"Hosea…"

"You've got a cot, don't you? I'll sleep out here."

Hosea couldn't leave John, not yet, not until he knew for certain that he would recover. Arthur shook his head but didn't argue. Turning to Charles, Hosea said, "Tell me everything that happened."

As happy as he was that no one else had sustained serious injury, hearing about Charles' argument with Dutch put him in a fowl mood. Dutch had been willing to drag John onto a boat to an unknown destination, probably to his death. He used him to rob the bank, and now was discarding him. The warning signs had been there, especially the way Dutch dragged John away from his wife and son to remind him that the gang, and making money, were the priority above anything else.

His son deserved better. They never left a man behind. But maybe that wasn't entirely true. If Trelawny never found them in Valentine with news of Sean, would Dutch have ever looked for the young Irishman? Would they have ever looked for Mac, had Milton not found Hosea at the river and shared his fate?

He kept holding John's hand, thumb rubbing circles into the back of it. Arthur had done a good job taking care of John, but the painful reality remained that John could still die. His eyes grew heavier and heavier, but when a hand lightly shook him, he managed to sit up.

"We're going to move him to the bedroom. You, too. Bed's big enough."

Hosea grunted in acknowledgment as Charles helped Arthur carefully lift John. He took in the bloodstains on the sofa. "Sorry about the furniture," he said when Arthur returned to help him up.

"Oh, it's fine. You and John can pay for it from your share if the landlord gets mad." Hosea would have found the idea funny, his unruly, outlaw son dealing with landlords over damage complaints, if his and John's blood hadn't been the cause of it.

Arthur laid him down next to John, and now he could feel it, and see the growing flush on his cheeks. John had a fever for sure, and Charles had already taken it upon himself to drape a damp cloth over his forehead.

"Rest, Hosea," said Arthur, noticing the concern etched on his face. "We'll take care of John."

The day's exhaustion caught up with him the second his head hit the pillow, but one nagging thought followed him into oblivion.

He failed to protect his family.