Author's note: A more wholesome story that I debated writing as a chapter for "I Promised Your Mother" but felt it necessary to give it it's own short one off. I wanted to take a break from violence and madness as a writer and this seemed like a whimsical compromise.

It was time to check the snares again as he stepped out of the cabin, keeping the thick black jacket with the fur trim closed up tight. It was the end of autumn now, the snow hadn't come yet but it had certainly been threatening for some time now. The ground was icy, the dried grasses crunching under his boots as he trod the familiar path around his hideout and into the woods.

The last letter from Sadie Adler still fresh in his mind too, the one he had picked up from his companions in Cochinay before he headed back to winter over in the cabin, alone. It was a heartfelt thank you letter really, a rather sweet gesture though the woman owed him absolutely nothing, but writing that now that John and Abigail had officially married for a while and living well, she would be heading to South America for good. He was surprised she had managed to survive the stab wound she received from one of Micah Bell's men, but then again if anyone could survive grievous injuries it was that crazy woman.

He preferred to spend winter alone, going back to the old cabin that he had claimed once for himself and Annabelle, though really it was simply for the nostalgia of that time. He shouldn't want to come back here, considering this was the place where she had been killed, oh she may have died somewhere on the road in some other cabin but this was her real gravesite. The place he had buried a lock of the Count's hair, his rings, and her pocketwatch, finally returning all the things she had given him to keep 'moving forward'.

The trail was quiet this afternoon, even the birds weren't busy hopping from branch to branch calling out in song and the forest seemed rather empty. Though the animals should be living off the fat of the land, as he was, finding wild mushrooms and the last bit of bounty before the snow set in. As he went to check the snare along the trail the rabbits tended to use, brushing back the thick bramble to have a look, a single shot echoed through the air. Ah, other hunters in the woods besides him today. He let the bramble go as the air thundered with the echo and sent the birds scattering from their hiding places. It was close too, coming from somewhere up the trail a bit from him.

"HELP!" The cry of a young man, maybe a boy, who now screamed and fired off another round. Closer now.

"Too close for my liking." He told himself, reaching for the rifle slung across his back and opening the action to ensure he had indeed loaded the lever action this morning. Sometimes he supposed he would imagine doing certain basic tasks like loading the rifle or dressing a kill, only to find that he hadn't done them at all later on. He was becoming forgetful now at times and it bothered him, he had always been intelligent and careful, but the years and his madness were slowly taking that caution from him now. He closed it, chambering a round and keeping it on hand now in case he needed it.

"HELP! SOMEBODY!" The voice grew closer still and he raised the repeater to his shoulder, aiming it at the crest of the trail and waiting for whatever was coming. Whoever it was crested the hill, a young boy of about twelve or maybe even thirteen. His pale cheeks flush as he sprinted down the hill, stumbling over a root and launching himself face first into the dirt. Terrified he rolled over and looked for the rifle he had been carrying but it had stumbled down the trail closer to Dutch who eyed it for a moment and then turned his attention back to the dark haired teenager. The boy scrambled backwards towards him, more terrified of whatever was charging up the hill on the other side towards them.

A bear, Dutch realized as he heard the telltale pants of the large animal rumbling through the bramble towards them now. As the animal crested the hill, he carefully lifted the rifle and followed its movement; it was more concerned with the boy than him anyway. As the bear stood on its hindlegs, roaring at the boy, he took the shot straight through one of the bear's eyes. The animal recoiled, dropping almost instantly to the ground dead, its mouth open as the last of the air in its lungs escaped and it made a moan.

The teenager panted, scurrying away from the huge brown bear that had been pursuing him in fear and turned to acknowledge his rescuer.

"I thought I was done for mister!" He went to roll over and stand up but Dutch reloaded the rifle, keeping it firmly centered on the young man now. The boy raised his hands almost instantly and stumbled back a bit, confused by what he had done to earn potentially being shot by the older man.

"Take your weapon and go," Dutch said, stepping back away from the long gun at his feet and gesturing to it with his chin, "I want to be left alone, son."

But the boy remained frozen, cocking his head slightly from side to side and twisting his face up as though he were inspecting Dutch very carefully. He didn't like it, he growled a bit and adjusted his grip on the repeater.

"You deaf or somethin' boy?" He snarled and the boy slowly lowered his hands, looking at him again in surprise and confusion.

"Uncle Dutch?" The boy whispered, "Is that you?"

He debated pulling the trigger, feeling a tinge of panic come into his chest now as he realized this boy knew who he was, which meant he could lead the law or Pinkerton's or God knows who else. He hesitated, cautiously lifting his finger away from the trigger and carefully lowering the rifle, though he didn't know why.

"Why?" He replied quietly, saying it more for himself and not for Jack's benefit. The boy would be about this age now, if he had managed to survive out on that ranch that John had stupidly bought under his real name. It couldn't be Little Jackie, but…no one else would call me by that name.

"It is you, isn't it? I uh…I got a little bigger now, I 'spose but–" Jack scratched the back of his head nervously as the rifle barrel rested closer to the ground now.

"You shouldn't be here, Jackie. Where's–is–is your daddy here too?" He looked around the forest nervously, he did not want to see John again. It had been hard enough when they had put down Micah a while back and he wasn't ready to see John Marston again.

"I ran away. Momma wants me to be somethin' I ain't and well, Pa is still…he doesn't think I can do nothing. Says I oughta keep studying, be a lawyer or somethin', but I don't wanna be a–" Jack tried to explain, nervous now that Dutch might reprimand him the way that Uncle or Sadie or Charles would.

"I…" He interrupted, sighing a minute and exhaling loudly as he tried to think of what to say now. "Go home, Jackie. And…don't tell your daddy you saw me, please. Just…just keep this between us, okay? Can you do that, son? Can you do that for Uncle Dutch?"

"I don't know how to get home," he kicked at some rocks now, keeping his eyes averted from a rather panicked Dutch now, "so…"

"Your daddy didn't teach you how to read the trail? The stars? You don't carry a compass or a map? Jackie, I taught your daddy everything he needed to know about finding his way. Ain't no way he didn't impart that to you." He chuckled, stringing the rifle back over his shoulder and bending down to retrieve Jack's from the dirt, holding it out to the boy.

"I hear 'em fightin' sometimes, bout whether or not he's really my Pa." Jack mumbled, still avoiding directly looking at Dutch as he went to retrieve the rifle from him.

"Oh and who exactly does your daddy suspect is the real culprit behind your being born?" He laughed again and put his arm around the boy, motioning to the trail back to the cabin. "Help me with the bear and we'll get a little food in you and send you back home."

"Well…maybe you and maybe Javier. Says I look like one of you more than I do him."

"Jesus Christ," He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, shaking his head, "ain't no way in hell you're mine, he knows that."

"Can you really be sure though?" Jack pulled away from his arm and clutched the rifle close to him, trying to fight back his hurt and resentment.

"Jackie," Dutch sighed, lowering his arm and pointing at the dead bear, "let's just get this sorted and we'll discuss it. Alright, son?"

"Yes, Uncle Dutch."

"Right," He stepped past and started to take off his coat, hanging it and the rifle from the branch of a tree and retrieving his hunting knife from his back, wiggling it a bit at the boy, "you know how to use one of these?"

"A little. Only ever butchered sheep before, sir. Maybe a chicken or two." The boy leaned his rifle against a tree and stepped towards Dutch as he leaned down and stuck his knife into the bear.

"You gotta be careful when you get to the belly, if you sink the knife too deep, you're gonna cut through the muscle and taint the meat by spilling it's guts all over the inside. You wanna make slow and steady movements, like this." He began to tear at the hide, working the knife tip along the skin of the neck, cutting it from the body and rolling the bear over to finish.

—-

John will come for the boy and I will have far too much explaining to do if he catches me out in the open. But…

Jack had fallen asleep on the bed, shivering slightly as he slept on top of the ratty blanket causing Dutch to open a trunk at the foot of it and search for something to throw over him. He had a couple heavy Indian blankets, ones that had been presented to him by the boys who were hiding out in Cochinay. They had begun tunneling into it, creating a sort of network to retreat into and fortify the location against the army. It would be their last stand someday, he knew. He took the idea from Beaver Hollow, it was because of those tunnels that he, Micah, Javier, Bill, Joe, and Cleet managed to survive.

Arthur and John too.

Hell, most of the Blackwater money he had actually taken long before the events at the top of the mountain had gone to exactly that. Dynamite, mining tools, ammunition, weapons, tents, medical supplies, and so on. Stealing from the rich to give to the poor, he thought as he pulled one out and unfolded it over the sleeping boy. He tucked him in a little, looking over the teenager mournfully for a moment.

I need to send him home. Abigail is probably beside herself at this point and John is grumbling about it I'm sure, citing the boy will 'come home when he's ready to'. Well, I better get to salting that bear meat so it doesn't spoil and let him sleep a while. Looks like he's been out on his own for a while now.

It was only an hour or two before Jack woke up, clutching the thick blanket to him as he watched Dutch carry on with the mundane task of preserving the meat and cutting it into smaller pieces.

"Skin might fetch a nice price at a trapper." The boy said, sitting up in bed and looking over at the tanning rack that the older man had set up by the back door with the hide drying on it.

"Probably. I'm soft tanning it so you can take it back with you, a little memento from your old crazy Uncle. It'll take a couple days to dry. Just…again," he looked up from his work with a stern expression, "keep the fact we ran into each other between us."

"Pa doesn't hate you or anything, well…I don't think so anyway. What happened? Why did we have to run away and scatter the way we did?" He asked, taking the blanket off and setting his socks on the ground.

"That, is a complicated story Jackie. What did your folks have to say about it? What'd they tell you?" He went back to the task with the meat, his hands bloodied a little as he tried his best to butcher it into smaller portions. He was partially curious to know exactly what the boys parents had told him, but part of him didn't want to actually know. It was probably something like 'Uncle Dutch went batshit crazy and kill your Pa', which wasn't too much of a stretch of the truth. He still didn't like the idea of knowing what fairytale they concocted for the boy, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him for now.

"Just that we couldn't run together no more. That Uncle Arthur died protecting us."

"That he did. Your daddy and I both owe our lives to Uncle Arthur. I put my trust in someone I shouldn't have–" He began but Jack interrupted as he went to retrieve his boots.

"Micah, right? Pa killed that sonofabitch."

"I know, I planned it that way. Though he really ought to thank Mrs. Adler for writing to me asking for assistance in the matter. In any case, I gave your daddy his cut of the Blackwater Ferry money and that was that." He replied solemnly, moving the pieces of cut meat away from him and grabbing the next chunk to start slicing smaller.

"Do you hate Pa, Uncle Dutch? He would've let you stay with us at the ranch I'm sure. Well, unless there's something you're not telling me."

"I have no ill will towards John. We just needed to go our separate ways after Arthur and after Micah. Your daddy is a good man, son. A little rough at times but he gets that from being around me so goddamn long. I know it's not easy getting along with your parents, hell," he set the knife down and chuckled, "I didn't get on well with my own either. But, your daddy does love you boy, you know that don't you? Do you know how hard we fought to get you back from the Braithwaites and that fuckin' weirdo in Saint Denis?"

"Yeah but I ain't his, and you were the one who got me back safe to my Momma. Not that bastard I'm named after." Jack folded his arms and came to sit at the table where Dutch was working. He leaned on his knuckles and shook his head, chewing his bottom lip for a moment.

"You are his. Your momma might have been the camp whore, but," he tucked his tongue between his teeth and looked up at the boy, "she chose your daddy. Understand?"

"Not…really? Now I know how it…how…I know how men and women, you know…" Jack blushed a moment, "but if Momma was doing that with all the men, then how could she choose my Pa?"

"Not all of 'em," he gestured to himself, "there was a time we nearly did, I certainly wanted to at the time. I won't lie to you. But…a whore knows how to avoid having a child, Jackie. It's her job to know how not to end up pregnant, because a pregnant whore doesn't make a goddamn dime, son. Now, your daddy can think whatever he likes about me and your momma, but it didn't happen. They all had her, I did not, though I had plenty of opportunity and your momma certainly tried. We may have engaged in a little fun, but we never lay together in the biblical sense of the word."

"Uncle Dutch, can I…can I stay with you a while? When you had me help you skin the bear…I…I had fun. I wanna learn this kinda stuff and Pa, well won't teach me for some reason." He fidgeted with his hands a little before running one through his hair and waiting for the older man to bring his ire down on him. He wanted to avoid talking about his mother's past life or the awkwardness of discussing sex with a man he had known in childhood. He still flushed bright pink, shifting nervously in his seat as he felt Dutch staring at him for a while before closing his eyes and sighing.

"It's risky for you to be with me. I am a wanted man, son. If your daddy comes looking for you–" He began but Jack straightened up, looking at him with pleading and desperation now. Ah, you pout like your daddy used to when Annabelle wouldn't let him have his way.

"Then I'll write to them! I won't tell 'em I'm with you but–"

"Jesus Christ," He ran the bloody fingers through his hair, smearing a bit of it on his forehead as he did so, "I said no. I'm…Jackie I am very sick these days. I am not someone you want to be spending your free time with. Hell, I don't wanna spend my own free time with me! I have been unwell for a long time now and while I would love to have you around again, our time together has passed. You can stay here a couple days while that bear hide is dying out but afterwards, you need to go home."

"You're not…you ain't dying, are you Uncle Dutch? Do you have tuberculosis like Uncle Arthur did?" The boy raised an eyebrow and he shook his head, laughing a little.

"Oh I wish sometimes that I did. No, I ain't got cholera or tuberculosis or the plague or whatever the hell else is still running rampant in this country. Nor am I dying, well, at least if I can help it anyway. No, son, I'm unwell in here," he tapped the side of his head with his bloody fingers, "and have been for a long time."

"Folks said you were crazy but I never really believed it myself. Miss Grimshaw used to say you were just restless, on account of grieving and stress, not sleeping well or eating right some days. I didn't know what she meant at the time but, I guess maybe I do now. I get agitated sometimes too, real moody and mean like you could be. But, I never understood how you could be 'crazy' when you were always…kind and gentle with me, Uncle Dutch, patient even. I think you raised your voice to me once that I can remember, on account of me breaking into the camp funds box so I could go into town and buy candy. Do you remember when I found that dog at the lake? I had wanted to ask if we could keep him, I thought you mighta said no, but–" Jack leaned on his elbows, avoiding eye contact again.

"His name was Cain, and yes I remember. I half expected him to head back to wherever he came from anyway when I said he was ours for now, but it wasn't until…well…he scattered before the rest of us did."

"Micah told me he ran away and wasn't coming back when I was looking for him one day by your tent where he liked to hang out." Jack whimpered a little which caught the older man off guard, the boy looked absolutely heartbroken.

"Probably for the best then, all considering how things turned out." He muttered under his breath but the boy sniffed loudly, his eyes misting with the threat of tears.

"I found Cain. Butchered like we butchered that bear today. And…a-and M-M-micah h-he!" The boy buried his face in his hands now, heaving sobs but still trying to calm himself down.

"What?" His voice was barely above a whisper, he was slack jawed by this information. He remembered Micah bullying the boy about the dog but he hadn't been, well…sober enough at the time to intervene. Nor had he wanted to, he pushed everyone away in those days on account of Micah, like a fool.

"He killed Cain," Jack sniffed, wiping his eyes fiercely and growling a little, "we ate him too."

"Excuse me?" Dutch covered his mouth with his hand, nauseated slightly but trying to remember the Beaver Hollow days though he really didn't want to at the moment. "What the fuck do you mean we 'ate him too'?"

"He was the one who gave Mr. Pearson meat that day." The boy replied quietly, tears streaming down his face again. Dutch reached for his butchering knife, tossing it a little in his hand as he fumed and realized that while he hadn't eaten the stew made that day, he could recall Micah making little quips about it at Pearson. Though he figured it was just Micah being antagonistic as usual.

'This stew has a hair in it, looks a lot like dog hair if I'm being honest. What happened to that good meat I brought you today, Pearson?'

'Your cooking tastes like wet dog smellsPearson.'

'Guess we know where Cain ended up running away after all, into the cook pot.'

"Mother fucker!" He slammed the blade of the knife down on the table, firmly cementing it into the wood with a loud bang and practically hyperventilating. If Micah weren't already dead, he would've liked to kill him again. He panted, the bloody handle of the knife causing his grip to slip a little and he looked at Jack who seemed positively terrified of him at that moment. Ah, I need to calm down. He let go of the knife and lowered his head, trying to take a couple deep breaths like Belle used to tell him to in order to regain his composure.

"Hey, Uncle Dutch?" Jack had shrank away from him when he slammed the knife down but the boy sort of shifted forward, trying to make eye contact as Dutch closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Yes, Jackie?" He managed through gritted teeth, still audibly inhaling and exhaling through his nose angrily.

"How come you trusted a piece of shit like Micah Bell? I don't wanna–I don't mean to–I–" The boy stammered a bit as the older man slowly lifted his head, looking through stray pieces of long graying black hair.

"I don't want to talk about that. The bastard got what he deserved, your daddy saw to that," He let one final loud exhale go as he spoke, gesturing to the bookshelf behind the boy with a nod, "why don't you go find something to read, aloud. If…you still remember how."

"Sure," Jack carefully stood up, tucking his shirt back into his waistband, "anything you want to hear specifically?"

"Surprise me." He replied with a grumble, waving at the bookshelf now and staring at the stuck knife for a moment. He'd have to just grab another, this one was essentially Excalibur now and he would have to take his time working it out of the table later.

Jack walked over to the shelves on the other side of the room, studying the library carefully until a small red book caught his eye. He slid it out from the corner, the title had been worn away by the years and the pages were yellowing and threatened to fall from the spine at any moment.

"How about this one, Uncle Dutch?" He asked, holding it up in the dim light of the cabin as the older man had gone back to preparing his winter stores. His eyes narrowed a bit as he tried to recall where he had gotten that particular book, it seemed familiar to him but he couldn't quite place it. He shrugged, turning his attention back to his busy work.

"Might fall apart, looks like I've had it for a long while though, I cannot recall it."

Jack opened it, treating it like some sacred relic as he brought it back to the table with him and noticed handwriting on the inside of the cover, though he couldn't quite make out what was written. He brushed a hand over it, as though the blurred ink might correct itself before noticing a small yellow birch leaf sticking out from the middle of it. Delicately he opened the object to that page, pulling the small leaf out, afraid that it might crumble to dust in his hands as he did. It remained intact but chipped a little at the edges as he set it down on the table and cleared his throat.

"Winter: A…" Jack began, unsure of how to pronounce the next word which prompted Dutch to glance over.

"Sound it out, Jackie." He encouraged quietly, looking up from another knife he retrieved from the kitchen and came back towards the table.

"Dirge, I think. Winter: A Dirge. Let's see…this is…it looks like poetry, Uncle Dutch. It's sure written in a weird way though, I-I don't even know if this is English." The boy turned the page so that the older man could see and his heart sank a little. Ah this wasn't one of his books, it was one of hers.

"Yes it is a poetry book," he nodded, averting his gaze back down to the raw meat in front of him, "but, try to read it for me anyway, son. It's written in Scots English, the dialect of your forefathers."

"Alright," Jack turned the page back to himself and cleared his throat again running his finger just under the lines and began, "the wintery west extends his blast, and hail and rain does blaw; or, the stormy north sends driving forth…the blinding sleet and snaw–"

"While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, and roars fair bank to brae; and bird and beast in covert rest, and pass the heartless day." He whispered, stopping his work again and causing Jack to pause as his finger followed the line in the book. He set the knife down again and turned away but the boy could see the stray tear as it disappeared out of sight into the man's thick beard as he tried to hide his emotion.

"I can…I'll read something else–" The boy began nervously as the older man ran a hand over his face and smoothed down his frazzled beard.

"I'm fine," he lied, clearing his throat and shaking off the memories of Annabelle as best he could, "I just choked on my own air for a moment. Go on, Jackie. It was a poem that Miss Annabelle liked me reading to her from time to time and I haven't thought about it in a long, long time, that's all."

"Okay, Uncle Dutch." Jack shifted uncomfortably in the chair, looking back at the poem in front of him and continued to read it aloud.