Recovery

It was all a bit surreal for Charles as he rode away from the Marston ranch for the last time. A heavy melancholy draped around him like a blanket, keeping him numb to the warmth of the morning.

He pushed up North towards Strawberry and all the while he revisited the memories he had with the Vanderlind Gang. Blackwater, and how everything went all wrong, rescuing Sean... Charles didn't realize he had stopped to look down over the river. Poor Sean, he didn't deserve that.

He kicked Buell up into the marching rhythm of a trot and prepared to leave this life behind, to start a new because Charles was no longer an outlaw, none of them were. John now owned a ranch and was finally living the fulfilling life Arthur had always wanted for him. The life agreed with John in a strange way. The pitchforks never fit his hands as naturally as a gun but the home he had built matched him somehow. Like this was where John was always meant to be. Charles felt it. A calm of belonging for John, Abigale and Jack, even Uncle belonged together. The thought made Charles shake his head. John was finally a father, too bad Arthur wasn't around to see it.

Charles turned west as he reached the town of Strawberry. Heading instead towards lake Owanjila, not far from town.

The dusty trail led to a secluded hilly terrain with large slabs of stone that made traction for Buell a bit difficult. It was a bit awkward maneuvering around trees and slippery rocks. Charles considered turning back, the stories must have been wrong, there is no way a... But then Charles saw it. A beautiful blood-red coat of a wild Arabian.

Charles cautiously dismounted several yards away and quietly approached the beast. The horse grazed lazily, unaware of Charle's intent. Taking a page from Arthur's book, he kept the lasso in reserve. Instead, he slunk closer, crouched till he was just about two meters away.

"Hay there." he called out to it. Charles kept his voice gentle as he continued to allow his voice to sooth the startled equine. "easy there, it's alright." He repeated his words, persuading the beautiful animal to remain where it was. "That's it, you're ok." He murmured, slowly stepping up alongside its shoulder.

When Charles was able to pat its neck, he quickly hopped on it's back and as it kicked and bucked, Charles tried his best to calm the animal. Eventually, it grew tired and as they both stood on the side of a mountain panting, Charles felt happiness, triumph seep into his being. He had tamed a wild Arabien, it's red glossy coat glistened under Charles's hands as he stroked the magnificent animal. Arthur would have loved to see that, he though.

He directed the newly acquired horse down the hill towards Buell and gave them each a chance to become acquainted as he set up camp.

It wasn't often Charles allowed himself to preen from his own skills, but he was overjoyed by seeing the flame-red mare munching on the grass beside his Warmblood stallion. He slept sound and satisfied that night and the next morning he set off early. This time he rode Buell and instead whistled for the Arabian to follow.

Charles rode for another half-day before he set up another camp. He took special care to brush down the impressive flashy red coat, checked it's teeth and conformation before whistling again for it to follow.

They traveled further Northwest and pasted Colter completely in on day, avoiding the need to rest in the familiar old cabins. The mare's coat was a marvel as it stuck out so starkly against the white backdrop of snow. The gorgeous animal she was, she'd be perfect for what Charles needed her for.

Eventually, they descended the other side of the mountain and Charles turned towards a familiar path. "Stay here girl." Charles said with a grin and began to whistle the Ballad of Odis Miller.

"Charles, That you?" A gruff voice called from a clearing at the end of the trail.

"It's me." Charle replied simply, he couldn't help the mischievously smile across his face as he dismounted and wrapped Arthur into a warm hug.

"Welcome back. How's John?" Arthur asked, tense and impatient, high strung with worry over his brother.

"He's doing well." Charles assured, patting his shoulder and pulling Arthur down the trail. "He has a ranch now and well, he finally married Abigail."

Arthur beamed like a proud papa, "He did?" but the expression swiftly changed to something more like bittersweet fondness.

Charles didn't want to make things worse for Arthur but if he was having second thoughts... "Are you sure about this Arthur? We can always-"

"No, no I'm sure," Arthur said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "This is for the best. John was never able to be a father so long as Dutch, Hosea and I were around. I think somehow he always deferred that responsibility to the leader of the gang. But now he is the leader of his own gang." Arthur nodded, as if to console himself. "It's better this way."

Charles gripped Arthur's shoulder in a show of support but Arthur ducked his head behind his hat. Avoiding eye contact. Charles didn't like lying to John and Arthur knew that, Arthur had been obnoxiously apologetic when he asked Charles to look into finding John, and to give his brother propper closure by digging a fake a grave for him. But Arthur was also convinced that letting John continue to believe that he was dead, was the only way for John Marston to really grow up. For his younger brother to finally step out of the gang's shadow and step up to being a full adult.

Charles, on the other hand, wasn't convinced it was the right thing to do but it wasn't his place to interfere. Tho seeing how well John had transitioned to his new life did give some validity to Arthur's scheme. Arthur knew John better than Charles and after seeing how John had adapted to his new life, well, maybe Arthur had a point. Tho it didn't make losing the last members of his family any easier for Arthur. And this time Arthur was doing the unthinkable, he was willingly stepping away. It took an act of courage born of grief for Arthur to do that. To turn away because others were simply better off without him.

But Charles knew Arthur had a depressing masochistic streak that fueled his actions. and the moment Arthurs resolve weekend and he inevitably began to doubt his "plan" Charles would be there for him. But for now, Charles would lift a different burden from Arthur's shoulders.

"I know how devastated you were after McCree's death." Charles consoled, changing the conversation, tho only just. "and that because faking your death meant you were unable to get your other horses," Charles said gently, as way of introduction. "I found someone to help ease some of that loss."

Confused, Arthur looked over to Charles who gestured down the path.

Arthur froze as he saw the vibrant red of a young Arabian mare. She flicked her head up at his approach in a show of spirit and Arthur murmured quietly as he reverently stroked her glossy coat. Freshly brushed... "Charles," Arthur whispered as his voice dried up in his throat.

An Arabian was not a good horse for an outlaw, naturally to skittish to be a great companion in a shoot out but Charles had always known Arthur secretly wanted one. And they weren't outlaws anymore.

"Thank you, Charles." Arthur rasped. "For everything."