Chapter 3

With Sadie riding on his back, Arthur led her back to camp. Unlike last time, they were at the camp far past the time Dutch and Micah returned. Everything was set up and organized per Ms. Grimshaw's authorization. The woman knew how to get things kicking. Without her, the gang would have been in some shit long ago, probably dismantled by now.

He'd briefly considered dropping Sadie off somewhere safe. After all, the life of an outlaw was no way to live. Arthur'd learned that the hard way when his "father figure" abandoned him.

However, he knew that she was broken, having just lost her husband, and her time with the gang helped her regain much of her previous vigor. She was uncontrolled-such as when Colm was swing, and she'd shot up a bunch of people, but could Arthur be in any position to judge her?

He'd done worse, beaten a good man within inches of his life, served Dutch brainlessly, requiring death itself to finally realize what being too loyal to a cause resulted in...

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Oh, it's Arthur!" Lenny shouted in enthusiasm, looking seconds away from bouncing in joy.

"Hey, Lenny," he smiled 'cause he missed the kid. Dutch'd once made the comparison that Sean was a younger form of Arthur. Maybe that was true, but he personally thought Lenny was the younger version of John. "Try not to wake up the whole camp, why don't ya?"

"Love you too, Arthur," Lenny quipped back.

Sadie leaned against him, finding him the most comfortable person to be around in this moment. It wasn't something he had the heart to refuse.

"This is the Van Der Linde gang," he introduced gently and disembarked, helping her off the horse softly. "You're going to be okay, you hear?"

He held her in an embrace, head on top of her own, allowing her to work the remaining tears out of her system. When she finished, the former sick gunslinger saw the form of Susan Grimshaw approaching, along with Dutch and Hosea.

"I was talking to Hosea about how those O'Driscolls is about apparently… scouting a train." Dutch declared, his eyes twinkled with thoughts as plans no doubt traveled through his mind. Would Arthur punching him shake him back into reality? They couldn't just do shit like rob and kill no more. Not only was it morally wrong! BUT, the law would be on them quicker than a cobra on a rabbit.

"That's the last thing we need right now, Dutch," Hosea said, correct as always.

Dutch chose not to address the matter further. The leader of the Van Der Linde gang began to speak. "Mrs. Adler. Miss Tilly, Miss Karen, would warm her up, give her a drink of something, and Mrs. Adler, it's gonna be okay… you're safe now." The girls escorted Sadie to one of the cabins. "They turned her into a widow… animals… I need some rest. I haven't sleep in barely three days."

At last, the exhaustion and black bags under his eyes revealed itself. Worst, it sent a pang up to Arthur's heart. Part of him couldn't be too certain if Dutch didn't care about the gang in his own secret way, or were they all just pawns for him? They all served his own interests, yes, but maybe something was there.

Susan nodded and motioned to Arthur. "Mr. Morgan, we put you in a room over here." She pointed at the cabin-the same one as last time.

"Thank you, Miss Grimshaw," Arthur nodded in gratitude.

"Oh, how come Arthur gets a room and I get a bunk bed next to Bill Williamson and a bunch of darkies?" Micah complained, making Arthur roll his eyes.

He decided there was no need to satisfy that with a response...

As he entered, he felt the weight of it all coming down on him.

Truthfully, it was less about the failure at Blackwater which forced him and the gang to evacuate with losing people along the way-but rather the fact that he died once and was brought back in time. And even now, Arthur considered the dilemma of this second chance that fate either decided to gift upon him or cursed him with.

He breathed in. His lungs obeyed, stomach becoming heavy for one moment as he relished the air of the cabin. It smelled like a lot of nothing, but it was relieving. He continued to breathe in and out, never thinking he would have been able to enjoy simple gestures. TB clogging up his lungs really fucked up everything. The air cleared, and his lungs breathed deeply again.

Still, he'd almost expected to be gasping and coughing. It grew to be a second nature to him. To know that he was freed of tuberculosis, that he hadn't gotten it yet and never would if he had anything to say about it, was odd. When he sat in that chair back in Saint Denis, Arthur cruelly realized all of his dreams, promises, and ambitions were for nothing. He realized he wouldn't have been able to settle down and take it easy with Mary Linton or Mary-Beth. He realized that no matter if the gang was able to get out or not, he wouldn't have been strong enough to stop the injustices from Micah and Dutch. It was only due to Sister Calderon that he conquered his fears of the world falling apart around him.

In the end, instead of giving up and allowing himself to die without leaving an impact, he created the opportunity that he'd wanted for himself and handed it off to John. That was his final loving desire. To not allow himself to die in vain and really replenish his own desires and passed it off to John.

In the end, he helped others escape, forgoing his own ambitions and wants and gave that to others. That gave him peace even now.

Honestly, Arthur had been too exhausted to think about who to save. The main reason, as it turned out, time traveling back in time when you die took a toll on the bones. Despite that, he wondered how he'd managed to keep himself up, let alone fought a bunch of armed gunslingers 'till now.

Without even undressing, Arthur moved over to the cot and collapsed into it. His eyes closed, and he was consumed by darkness...

That was until he felt a whoosh travel through his body, and he opened his eyes. He was surrounded with a whole lot of gray smoke.

He didn't know where the fuck he was.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times before he stood up and moved. The landscape seemed empty, void of life.

"Enjoying your sleep, I see, Mr. Morgan. I doubt this is usual."

He saw a young, beautiful woman standing in the middle of the gray smoke, her face turned halfway, allowing him to see the lighter part where the darkness of the sky illuminated her face. He opened his lips to ask if she was alright, but no words came for some reason. The woman just stood there... in normal clothes not fitting for this weather. For a moment, he'd thought it was Sadie or Abigail, both women having reasons to think about things to themselves.

"Hello, Mr. Morgan, I don't believe we have been acquainted," the woman said in a sweet voice, sounding more so like a girl than anything else. The voice was unfamiliar to him.

He tilted his neck ahead as he attempted to get a good look at her. He knew, or at least hoped, she was no threat, so he didn't even think about reaching for his gun. Those instincts mellowed out in his final days, only when it came to defending himself.

"Do I know you?" Arthur inquired. "Do you need help?"

"The women have done wonders to the place, don't you think?" She deflected conversationally.

He nodded. "Sure." He couldn't help a small smile.

"How's your first day reliving without tuberculosis, Mr. Morgan, in the past? All that pain gone? How does it feel?"

That alerted him.

...

"Good." He admitted after a few seconds of silence. How the hell did she know 'bout that?!

...

"Who're you?" He asked after another lengthy silence, not impatient-just curious.

If she couldn't answer that, then she would have to leave.

He moved closer to her, his hand traveling to her shoulder, but she wouldn't turn over, keeping her head directed forward.

"You had a son, Mr. Morgan, am I'm correct?" She chuckled. "We are similar, are we not? Like you never get to raise your child, I could never raise mine."

Arthur froze, his heart throbbing against his chest. He didn't recognize the woman, but something told him he should have.

He couldn't tell if that was what made him look away.

"It's rude not to look at someone when they are talking to you, sir."

Arthur managed, "So is not giving a name when asked."

"Touché."

"Why are you here?"

"I came back... not for revenge but for justice." She ticked. "You are the only one to stop him. The last hope."

"Who?"

"Dutch van der Linde," she responded with so much venom that it took so much to prevent himself from shivering.

"What...?"

"He stole me from my child, a loving family. Because of him, my family has to suffer." She sneered. "Do you know what that's like, Mr. Morgan? How it feels like to be a child having to come to accept their mother being lost? And do you know that bastard would do it again? That he would take another innocent woman from her loved ones, in a similar way, right in front of John Marston, I should add."

"Who?" Arthur asked coldly. "Tell me who, and I'll stop it!" He pleaded.

"Her name is, or should I say was, Muriel Scranton."

Gray cloud consumed his vision, and Arthur was taken to a room of some sort.

He looked up to see the form of John Marston - looking years older or so rushing - through a door of some sort with two other people he didn't recognize, holding his revolver at his direction-or rather that was what it seemed.

"Be quiet and just watch," she scolded before Arthur could have said something.

She'd turned out to be right seconds later. On closer look, Arthur could see John was different. His hair was right parted and dark brown, styled very similar to how it was currently, but shorter. He looked older than Arthur, and his scars have fully healed, leaving two noticeable lines on his cheek where his beard seemed to be unable to grow back. He was in his signature striped, grey trousers, a loose-fitting beige shirt, a dark denim vest and his classic hat. His facial hair stayed at a permanent short stubble, and his stubble was shaved down to an elegant mustache.

Inside was the form of Dutch with also other people he didn't recognize. He aged considerably and had large white streaks through the sides and top of his hair. His hair was also cut much shorter than it was, and his hairline appeared to have receded slightly, giving him a widow's peak. He had also gained some weight, having a bulkier look, and wore a faded orange shirt with no collar, brown pants tucked into brown leather moccasin boots with white fur, a dark brown gun belt and with a black cord necklace with a silver pendant. He had also shaved his beard off, sporting a thick mustache without the soul patch, with stubble covering the rest of his lower face.

There was only one conclusion that clicked in his mind.

So the little shit went back for revenge after Arthur TOLD HIM not to?!

Oh, Arthur was going to kill that idiot!

"It's nice to see you, John," Dutch spoke with malice, holding a gun to a woman's head.

"Hello, Dutch," John greeted back.

"How's Abigail?" The man who was once their father figure asked.

"Well, I hope. I ain't seen her for a while..." He left her again?!

"'Cause you've been chasing me?"

John didn't care about satisfying that with a response and demanded, "Let the woman go, Dutch."

"Of course, of course... how's your little boy?" he asked, stepping forward.

"He ain't so little now," John responded, a flicker of sadness flashing, quickly conquered.

"No, he must be what, 15? 16? Doesn't time fly?" What?! How long ahead was this supposed event?! 1911?! 1912?!

"Don't it just. It's over, man."

Dutch took another few steps to the door. "Of course, of course. I surrender, John. You're the master now."

"I've been my master since you left me to die." Coldness was now in his voice.

Dutch actually looked remorseful for a moment. "We all make mistakes, John. I never claimed to be a saint." The moment of remorse was gone. "But equally, I never took you for an errand boy."

Ah, so he found a new gang then...? Didn't he learn what this type of life led to?

"Just trying to help my family, Dutch, by making compromises we all have to." What did John meant by that? He wondered. How did leaving them again help them? "Now let her go, it's over."

"You want the girl, John? You always were the romantic sort." Dutch's voice darkened a degree. He almost laughed, proving that he didn't care. "You know, gentlemen, this man here, he married a whore. Used to ride with us. We all had her," the bastard was trying to get under John's skin, "but oh he married her, and you know that makes him a better man than us. He's a better man. Have the girl, John."

He did not like that tone from Dutch.

Neither did John, it seemed.

"Easy, Dutch."

"She's a parting gift from me."

He shoved her forward to John's direction and blew her brains out, exiting the room.

More gray smoke consumed him, and he was snapped out of the vision, and he didn't have to look to see the woman staring with coldness and contempt. "Some people never change, don't you agree, Mr. Morgan?" She spat before sighing. "Fortunately, you can stop that."

"Why do you want Dutch dead so badly?" He pressed, still staring at where the scene was just playing, feeling a twinge of disgust consuming him again. If that was the future of a life he'd left behind, then there was no point in trying to save him...

"That moment ain't obvious, sir? You saw what he just did. Dutch van der Linde is a tyrant. John saw through his bullshit long before Blackwater if anything else. He needs to be put down as soon as you get the chance before more families are torn apart."

"I would... do what I have to do," he said slowly, unable to fight the pain that suddenly fueled through him. How would he be able to sleep at night if he'd killed his father figure? But Dutch'd seemed to be able to work just fine years after his death...

"Now that you're at full strength, I imagine you can do so." She actually looked sympathetic. "Will you have to live with that afterwards? Yes, but how do you think countless others feel at the people they care about deaths on the hands of that monster? I was a test for him, Mr. Morgan, a test he'd brutally failed." She hummed and snapped her fingers. "To answer your earlier question, sir, I am..."

His heart beat even heavier as she finally gave a name. The name stole so much air from his lungs-it was like having TB all over again. It couldn't be real! It just couldn't be!

"Heidi McCourt."

Arthur's note: I feel like too many people neglect to mention Heidi or victimize Dutch. Yeah, Micah persuaded him and all, but he made that choice to kill her because she saw through his bullshit. And who knows? Just because Colm was an outlaw doesn't mean his brother was as well, but I digress.

I do follow the common theory that Heidi McCort was a fate-deciding test for Dutch, and Jimmy Brooks was a test for Arthur, both given by the Strange Man. During John's third encounter with the Strange Man he says, "This is a fine spot." That location later serves as John, Uncle and Abigail's gravesites. I also follow that when John shot three times at the Strange Man and his gun jammed on the forth-making it symbolic. Someone was always meant to survive Beacher's Hope. If Jack died, John would have survived. Though I would love John surviving and raising Jack who wants revenge for his mother's death concept.

Here's my hot take, Arthur is the Sitka from Brother Bear. If you never watched that movie (granted it is a Disney classic from the 2000s), he is the older brother who sacrifices himself so his younger brothers (Denahi and Kenai) could live. The latter goes back to the bear who "killed" him for revenge, and so the spirits turn him into a bear. Believing his younger brother is dead as well, Denahi was consumed by revenge. I don't think Arthur would go for revenge and would be disappointed in seeing John, Sadie, and Charles go back to kill Micah.