"Are you fucking kidding me." John hissed as he watched Abigail try to exit sneakily out of the back of Dutch's tent as he came out of the front, rolling down his sleeves to rebutton them at the cuff. You fucking liar, John thought angrily, stepping away from the fire and retreating to his own tent to go calm himself down.

"What's got him all fit to be tied?" Uncle asked Hosea, who had returned to the camp, although the man spent most of his days drunker than a skunk. Lounging around, sucking down bourbon the way the boss did, and coldly watching the others at camp.

"How the hell would I know?" Hosea grumbled, eying the remaining bourbon as he reached for the bottle to finish it.

"Hosea," Dutch seemed surprised to see him lying in front of the fire, "are you alright?"

"Hell no I ain't alright, Van der Linde. And neither are you! We're degenerate, low life, selfish–" Hosea hiccuped a second as Javier cocked his repeater at the darkness of the woods beyond them, grabbing everyone's attention.

"It's just me," it was Arthur's voice, though something sounded off about it to the point that Dutch turned as he finished curling down his sleeves and watched Boudica appear out of the darkness, "Arthur Morgan."

"Short visit, huh? How is the family, Mr. Morgan?" Dutch chuckled, fidgeting with the chains of his pocket watch now as the man got off the horse holding a clay jug of moonshine and swaying a bit on his feet. "Arthur, are you drunk?"

"They're dead." Arthur growled, taking the open container and sucking down a long drink that spilled over his chin and onto the floor.

"Who?" Dutch let go of his pocket watch and stared at Arthur in shock, his heart constricting in his chest. Oh no…

'Dutch, darling…' Annabelle was right beside him, whispering in his ear again and he could make out her faint teal blue dress out of the corner of his eye. He could feel her body against him, pressing into him and see the tears in her eyes as she stared past him and at Arthur, biting her lower lip anxiously.

Not now my love. He thought to himself as Arthur lifted the bottle again and stormed towards Dutch, thrusting the moonshine jug at him bitterly as tears filled his soft eyes.

"Who the hell do you think, Dutch? I guess us outlaw types never get a happy ending, do we? Huh? First, Annabelle. Then, Bessie. And now…heh, noooow it's my turn to suffer. Ten fucking dollars, Dutch. That was the price for their lives." Arthur snarled, shoving the jug at Dutch angrily prompting him to take it from the man who wobbled over to the fire.

'Say something, darling.' Annabelle muttered, he could feel her wrap her arms around him as he gritted his teeth, gnashing them together as he lifted the clay jug to his mouth and greedily began to drink from it. The liquid burned white hot down his throat, causing him to sputter a bit at the strength of it and he could feel his heartbeat rhythm change, back to that wild thrashing out of time beat. I need to stop smoking so much goddamn opium, he thought bitterly, lowering the jug and clutching at his breast to try to soothe himself.

"Goddamn it." Was all he could muster as he felt his heart continue to beat out of tune and his body began to feel heavy again. Get a goddamn grip, you fucking asshole, he snarled at himself in his mind, you need to get your shit together for this family. The one she gave you.

"Come here, Arthur." Hosea reached out as Arthur flopped down and began to try not to wail, but Dutch was already crying, snarling as tears began to stream down his face.

"Goddamn it." He repeated, inhaling sharply and heading over towards Hosea and Arthur when Bill Williamson scooted over on the log he was sitting on and raised his arms to Dutch to try to tempt him into being consoled. He brushed past the large man, glaring at Bill a moment before taking a seat on the ground next to Arthur and leaning against the other log they had dragged over so they had somewhere to sit and relax while they camped out here.

"Arthur?" Susan had found her way to the firelight now, rubbing her hands out on her apron as she noticed the three men huddling together, trying not to completely lose it in front of the rest of the gang and shuffled towards them. "Oh boys, I'm so sorry."

"Ain't nothing wrong with carrying on when you're heartbroken, gentlemen. Get it out now, while you've got the opportunity." Uncle mumbled, returning to his bottle of beer as he sat on a nearby stool.

"Uncle, shut the fuck up." Arthur gasped, trying to inhale and exhale in such a way to calm himself down as Susan crawled into Dutch's lap and tried to hold all of them together, she began to sob too.

"I love you boys, you know that, don't you?" Susan heaved as Dutch gripped her tightly in his arms and buried his face into her shoulder. Tell me what to say right now, beloved, I need you.

'I love you.'

"And I love you." He had meant it for the ghost of his dead woman, but realized that was exactly what needed to be said in this moment and quickly added, "All of you."

"That might just be one of the only times you've been honest, Dutch." Hosea snorted, squeezing his companions tightly in his arms and trying to stifle his sobs.

"Fuck you Hosea," Dutch half laughed and half gasped, "I never lied to you boys."

"Mr. Williams, Uncle, and Mr. Escuella, can I ask you for a bit of privacy? You see, my boys," Susan wrangled herself out of Dutch's arms for a moment to kiss each of them tenderly on their foreheads, "my boys are suffering. Us four, are the founding members of this merry band of misfits. Go join Mac, Davey, and Mr. Pearson at the cook tent, if you don't mind."

"But–" Bill replied mournfully, earning Miss Grimshaw's rage as she leaned down to kiss Dutch on the mouth, pulling away from him and snarling.

"Get up you fucking dandy and get moving."

The other men shifted nervously and glanced at one another, this was what they had joined the gang for, the close knit bond between the founding members in the hopes that one day, they too would be able to fall apart at the seams. Dutch's philosophy was appealing to them, to be better men than they had been, even if that meant they still killed, robbed, and plundered other people. But they were better than that, they had a code, and that was more than anyone else had ever offered them. A family.

'Oh my love,' Annabelle groaned mournfully as he felt her breasts against him and he whimpered despite the fact he was clinging to Susan. 'We can't fight nature, we can't fight change…and we can't fight death.'

"Stay with me." Dutch whimpered, though he had been speaking to Annabelle and not the living, breathing, heartbroken folk that surrounded him with their warmth.

"Are you alright?" It was Abigail who had returned from her own tent to clean herself up after spending the afternoon trying and failing to arouse Dutch enough to fuck her. Susan shuddered and pointed at the other side of camp in the distance.

"Get the fuck out of here you little bitch. This is a family matter." She snarled, opening one eye angrily as she tried to keep a tight hold on the men around her.

"I was just asking!" Abigail felt her cheeks flush, embarrassed that the older former prostitute was chastising her. She tried to catch Dutch's eye again but he was practically buried in Susan, sobbing and clinging to her. What a fucking psychopath, the young woman thought as she watched Hosea and Arthur try to at least stifle themselves. Susan seemed to sense her thoughts as she continued to glare, becoming more enraged the longer that Abigail lingered nearby.

"I said GIT!" Susan roared, letting go of Arthur and Hosea and trying to bury Dutch against her, she was no Annabelle, but she wouldn't want to see you like this. I won't let them whisper behind your back, Dutch, she snarled in her thoughts. Watching as the dark haired girl huffed and turned on her heels, storming towards the other side of camp bitterly. She can't protect you anymore, Susan thought as she smoothed back Dutch's hair as he tried to stifle his emotions, but I can and I will, because I loved her too. I loved her because you did.

—-

Don't overdo it, he told himself as he settled against a tree somewhere far from camp as The Count chewed at the tender grass nearby. Just a little, he thought as he stuffed the sticky white opium into the pipe and checked his surroundings one more time, just enough to keep you out of my fucking head for a while.

He pushed it down into the pipe with his fingers and then reached for his tobacco pouch to retrieve a little bit to put over the top of it. Just in case they worry about me.

"Can't let them know you've completely fucking lost it, hearing her crying for you in your ears day and fucking night. Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone, Belle? Why do you persist in lingering beside me where I can't fucking reach you." He snorted, retrieving his matches and striking one, puffing on the pipe as the familiar feeling of becoming totally relaxed and at ease washed over him. He groaned in pleasure, inhaling deeply and holding it in his lungs as the sensation crept up his spine and into the base of his skull. "Oh fuck, this is better than sex."

'Because I promised I'd never leave you…' She taunted him as she wrapped her arms around him and dragged him down into the first of the spring flowers with her, he didn't reach for her hands though, even if he could feel her cradling him in her arms.

"Susan asked me to try to give it up," he lifted the pipe from his chest as though Annabelle could see it, "but I need it. I need it to forget, Belle. I am trying, my darling, but I am fucked up. But you knew that already."

'Don't talk like that, beloved. That isn't like you. Come home to me, come and rest with me for a while.' She murmured as he felt his scalp crawl with the tips of her fingers and he shut his eyes and sighed.

"I need to make them pay first, Belle. All of them. Colm, O'Shea, Ming. Before I come back to you." He whispered, reaching for the matches again but pausing as he thought he could feel hoofbeats approaching him and he exhaled loudly, covering the opening of the pipe with his thumb and tapping the burning tobacco out and snarled a bit as the waxy hot opium burned the skin. "Who is it, Belle?"

'Susan, she loves you, you know. Almost as much as I do. Cherish that, my love, that our little family cares so much for you when you could give a fuck whether you live or die. They can't lose you, not yet, you still have to avenge me.' He felt her kiss his forehead and he bit his lip, wanting so badly to open his eyes and see her face again staring down into his, but he knew she wasn't there. Not where he could reach yet.

"Dutch." Susan pulled the blue roan she was riding to a stop and dismounted, pausing a moment to retrieve a canteen that was slung over the pommel of her sidesaddle. Annabelle's sidesaddle, she thought as she bit her lip, running her hand over the black leather for a moment. "You need to get sober, sweetheart. You know I can keep a secret but this is getting ridiculous. How long have you been getting high?"

"Sue…" He grumbled, trying to sit up but feeling far too relaxed and at ease in the grass as he heard a bee buzzing dangerously close to his ear, he could almost feel the hum in the base of his skull as he was overcome with euphoria.

"I miss her too, we all miss her. But you need to get your shit together, Dutch. Trelawny's waiting for you back at camp." Susan blinked, her eyes being threatened with tears as she looked down at the dark haired man she loved in frustration.

"What does he want?" Dutch asked, sighing as he felt Susan kneel in the grass beside him and smooth a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "Don't do that to me, ever again."

He opened his eyes and snarled at her, glaring and bearing his teeth but became surprised when she wailed on him with her open hand, smacking him as hard as she could in the face. Though he was numb, her touch burned his skin and he snapped both his eyes shut as his teeth cut his lip and his sinuses began to run a bit. But she didn't stop in her assault on his face, both striking him with her palm and her back hand as he tried to wriggle away from her or put his hands above his face but felt too heavy and lethargic to react quick enough.

"HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK ANNABELLE WOULD REACT TO YOU BEING A GODDAMN OPIUM ADDICT, YOU MOTHER FUCKER!" Susan snarled, finally relenting in her vicious attack on him and growling as she rolled away from him to stand up and spat at him. "You think you're the ONLY ONE HURTING? WE ALL ARE! Annabelle, Bessie, Eliza, and Issac! GONE! Get up you piece of shit!"

She kicked at him, landing a good shot in the ribs and causing him to curl up into a ball as the memory of Colm cracking his ribs years ago came back to him and his eyes opened again. His reaction time improved drastically as he gasped and clutched the place she had kicked him. Not again, for the love of God, I don't want to remember.

"Sue, don't!" He winced as she put her foot back to kick him again and he curled himself as small as he could, hardly able to look at her as he began to pant. "I don't want to remember it! That's why I'm fucked up! Because whether I am awake or asleep, sober or fucking high, I hear her calling out to me! I feel her! She won't leave me, and I can't deal with it. She haunts me. You understand? I see her out of the corner of my eye! I hear her whispering in my ears! I'm losing it, Susan!"

"I do too, you know, sometimes." Susan lowered her foot as Dutch whimpered again and completely lost whatever composure he had as bits and pieces of Annabelle, their life, their lovemaking, their fights, and the day she died flashed in his mind's eye.

"It hurts so fucking bad! Colm…FUCK! I don't know what he did to her, but she bled to death and died in my goddamn arms and I couldn't stop it! She knew she was fucking dying and was more concerned with me than herself! She lied to me! And I couldn't do a goddamn thing! It should've been me. Not her." He buried his face in his hands, gritting his teeth and shivering a bit as he remembered the trail of blood and birth water she dragged behind her just to free him so they could run.

"Oh sweetheart," Susan knelt back down again, pausing as she unconsciously went to push back his hair and put her hand down on his heart instead, "she loved you so much. She would never betray you, leaving you alone to die to protect her and that baby, and she was prepared to die for you the moment you asked her to be your woman. But you can't keep doing this."

She picked up the pipe and slid it down into her pocket as he grasped both her hands in his and pressed her knuckles to his mouth, kissing them between sobs. I really fucked up, he thought, I'm sorry beloved.

'Dutch, rest and come home to me soon. This isn't you, darling, this isn't what I wanted for you when I had to go. I wanted to stay, you know that…don't you? I gave our lives to preserve yours, you knew I would sacrifice my queen just to beat my opponent. I made a choice, not because I despise you, beloved, but because I love you.' Annabelle curled up next to him, placing her hand over Susan's and snuggling into the space between his head and neck.

"Do you see her right now too, Sue? Right here, beside me." He closed his eyes again and trembled a bit, unsure if it was from the modest amount of opium he had smoked, if Annabelle was actually haunting him, or if he was just mad.

"I do." Susan responded, putting her hand on his cheek and cupping his chin in her palm. He laughed, covering his eyes again before turning to look where he felt Annabelle beside him. She won't be there, he knew, not where he could see her anyway as she slipped away into nothingness again and he sighed.

"I will try to quit it, it's just…difficult. To be here without her. She fades away into obscurity whenever I try to see her or reach for her, even in my dreams, I can't hold her. It's frustrating. The only time I can sleep is when I have a little opium to relax." He groaned, trying to sit up from the ground but Susan kept her hand firmly on his chest.

"Valerian, skullcap, and a dozen other things, I know you know that–" She began but he patted her hand gently to convince her to let him up. She took her hand away as he righted himself, trying to smooth down his shirt with his hands and trying to find where the pipe might have run off to.

"It doesn't work. Not anymore anyway. You really think I didn't try that first, Sue? I just went straight to fucking opium?" He raised an eyebrow angrily and she folded her arms and shook her head.

"Fucking that girl might help you sleep. She certainly seems eager and willing to try anyway." Sue glowered at him and he snorted, rubbing his face with his hands as he tried to look casually around for the pipe but realized when he saw the lump in her pocket. He held out his hand to her, looking down at the object in her pocket and then back up at her.

"Susan."

"Go fuck yourself, you're an idiot if you think for a moment I'm going to willingly pander to your bullshit. She wouldn't have, and neither am I. Pull your goddamn head out of your ass." Susan rose from the ground quickly, turning on her heels as he snarled and watched her walk away from him to remount her horse.

'Darling, enough.' Annabelle's voice tenderly whispered to him as he shut his eyes again and went to stand up himself, brushing the grass and dirt off of him.

"I'll just get some from Swanson. You know, you aren't here to stop me." He started to unbutton his cuffs to roll up his sleeves, chewing his bottom lip anxiously. He didn't want to see her, or feel her presence right now. "Go back to hell, beloved. You've tormented me long enough."

—-

"Dutch," Trelawny removed his top hat as he came skulking back to his tent to lay down, "you look…like you've seen a ghost. Susan told me your dirty little secret via post about a month ago, it's…why I'm here. You see, Mr. Ming has been ousted as King of Saint Denis. O'Shea with him. But you're going to need to be sharp if you want to do right by my cousin."

"I beg your pardon?" Dutch froze as he had initially just brushed off his former in-law to snatch the bottle of bourbon he kept stashed behind the cot and had uncorked it, he turned to Josiah in disbelief. She fucking ratted on me?

'Don't.' Annabelle whimpered, he felt her clutching at his back, clawing at him desperately as his cheeks flushed for a moment. I can't promise you that, Belle.

"Annabelle died for you, you ungrateful bastard. Colm bragged about it, you know. At the high stakes table, was offered a seat to sit with us after he brutalized her. And those sick, twisted, lowlife scum she called friends laughed at her sacrifice for you." Josiah seemed to produce a revolver from thin air, snapping it directly up at Dutch and flushing red as he seriously debated pulling the trigger. "I should put you down right now, Dutch Van der Linde like the sick rabid animal you are. But…she loved you. And I loved her, enough to know how furious she would be with me if I ripped you apart like I want to right now."

He lowered the revolver and tucked it back into the holster he had hidden behind his back in the waistband of his pants.

"He bragged about it?" Dutch snarled, his face flushing bright red as the man's smiling face as he raped Annabelle in front of her flashed in his mind. His heart pounded for a moment or two, only for the beat to switch on him and cause him to pound at his sternum with his fist to demand it cooperate with him.

"Every. Single. Detail. To my face. They may not know she was my beloved cousin, but she never wanted people to know. Not because of who I am or what I do, but because she wanted to be independent of anyone. Except you. You're a goddamn disgrace, Sigurd Van der Linde. Getting strung out on opium poppy for what? To sleep? Like I've been able to sleep since you failed to protect her. And to think I once gave you my blessing. What would she think of you if she could only see you now?" He spat at Dutch, his usual calm and cheery demeanor turning cold and condescending.

"She told you my real name, did she?" Dutch laughed, of course she fucking did, she never hid anything from Trelawny. He took a drink from the bottle and smiled, the faint glint of the onyx ring on his middle finger caught his eye for a moment. "Where are they now? O'Shea and Ming?"

"Blackwater. They intend to take a train west, towards California, where Yue Ming has family. But I refuse to ride with you unless you give up chasing the dragon. I don't give a damn how that makes you feel either, I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it for Annabelle. Because she would want me to give you a chance to redeem yourself. Are you in, Mr. Van der Linde? Or am I riding to avenge her alone?" Trelawny put his hands into the pockets of his jacket, furiously staring Dutch down like he were nothing more than an insect.

"What the hell are we standing around for?" Dutch snorted, setting the open bottle back down and raising his right hand to his mouth to whistle using his fingers in his open mouth to call his boys to attention. They all looked up from their prospective posts around the camp, including Arthur and Hosea who had taken to drinking most of the day as they dealt with their own grief. "Arthur, Hosea, and John. Tack up. We have a score to settle in Blackwater."

"Take Mac or Davey, Dutch. I can't ride right now." Hosea called back, tossing his hand over his hand indignantly as Dutch stepped out of his tent, the chains on the watch glimmering in the warm late spring sunshine as he approached Hosea.

"It's not a request, Hosea. I demand it of you. For Annabelle." Dutch growled, his facial expression seemed calm, cool, and collected though. Even as his heart beat out of time again and he wanted to gasp as he felt it shifting in his chest.

"I'll go with you." Susan racked a shotgun, stepping away from her resting place and allowing the gun to rest over the back of one of her shoulders. "She was my sister."

"I can go too, boss, I–" Bill Williamson began but Dutch eyed him coldly.

"This is family business, Mr. Williamson. You will stay here. Am I understood?" He spun away from them, gesturing to the horses as Arthur, John, and Susan followed close behind him. Trelawny had already mounted up, his appaloosa Gwydion snorted loudly and chewed at his bit as The Count, Boudica, and John's horse D'artagnan looked up at their riders from their browsing.

"Take Byron, Sue." Dutch gestured to the roan she had ridden towards him earlier on, still tacked up in Annabelle's old side saddle. He had bought the animal for himself years ago for next to nothing, though Annabelle had been the one to break him, having been a horsewoman all her life. Some poor mustang that had been gentled and tamed by his dead lover's softness, that she had named after the author of the poems he read to her the night she was ill. The night she let me love her again, he thought as he watched Miss Grimshaw mount up and string the shotgun across her chest.

"O'Driscoll?" John asked quietly, stepping onto his bay gelding, the one Annabelle had bought for him for his fourteenth birthday. He's a man now, you know, and you'd be so proud of him.

"No, not yet. We're hunting a couple of real big rats." Dutch muttered under his breath as he stepped onto the stirrup and swung himself onto the cremello stallion that was hers and patted the animal's shoulder, leaning towards his ears and whispering to him. "I'm counting on you."

The Count squealed, kicking up his back legs as Gwydion tore away from them and started down the game trail. They would ride to Blackwater, single file, and avenge her as a family.