He had awoken long before the boy had this morning, rolling out from under the security of the heavy blankets and shivering a bit in his clean and bright red long johns. The boy had done the chores that he had asked, though it had taken a lot more convincing than he anticipated.

I can understand how Sue must've felt when she'd bitch about not being able to "whip the girls" into shape for not doing the camp chores. But then again, she often complained that Belle never did enough for us either, despite that well-bred woman rolling up her fine lace and silk sleeves to scrub dishes in the creek or do the washing. She didn't have to, considering she was my lieutenant by default whenever Hosea and Bessie would grow weary of life on the run and take off. Whether it was domestic chores or ones meant for the men to do around camp, she didn't complain, she just got to it.

It's not that Dutch couldn't or wouldn't do chores himself when he wintered here alone, save for his occasional lapses in short term memory where he would believe he had done something and found later he hadn't. Then again, he realized as he yawned and stretched as quietly as he could without disturbing the boy that his forgetful tendencies weren't a recent development. He had always been the anxious sort, even before leaving home, being far more concerned with all the "what if's" or future plans in his mind rather than the here and now. Hosea had been a saving grace for him, as the older man rarely forgot his basic routines and oftentimes had to remind a young Dutch Van der Linde about cleaning his rifle or that cologne would only work so long to cover the stench of horses, sweat, tobacco, campfire, and alcohol.

Ah and then her too…

Annabelle had known him thoroughly, more than anyone else that graced the ranks of Dutch's Boys; whether they were man, woman, or beast. Arthur had maybe been in the "gang" for two or three years, back when it was just Hosea and Dutch, occasionally Bessie when they met. He hadn't even kept Susan Grimshaw around for more than a year or two, but Annabelle had been like the others who came and went in her own way. Coming and going from his life as she saw fit, until he asked her to stay and be his, eventually marrying her to cement her promise of "never leaving him".

There were times he had nearly lost her too. Because of his need to placate, pander, and take the words of smarter men and craft speeches. He needed to be right. He needed them all to stay with him, no matter what. But Annabelle had always known that the one thing he was afraid of the most was being left to his own devices, of being alone with himself. He had always had some sort of mental dysfunction, whether it came from something that happened in childhood he couldn't recall or otherwise. He doubted he'd ever really know. But it had gotten worse the more he isolated himself from others or overindulged in alcohol or opium.

He shook his head with a smirk, recalling the warm summer nights he would climb the bougainvillea covered trellis to sneak in through her window when they were young. Well, she was still a teenager at seventeen and he was already twenty or so. Her father had been the one to lead the cavalry charge that cut his own daddy down, ending Haas Van der Linde either by Old Man McLean's hand or someone else under orders. McLean had bred warhorses for the Confederate Army and being one of the "good ole boys", landed himself a fancy position within the calvary. He hadn't needed to lead a charge, but did so simply for the sake of honor and glory. It's why Dutch had wanted to rob the man in the first place, he wanted revenge and the chance to prove he was truly a fighter deep down. To stand for something, the way his father had chosen to stand with the Union Army, to safeguard the country that provided for him and his family.

"Like a modern day version of Romeo and Juliet I guess, her being a rotten slavers daughter and I being some poor child of a farmer and a former actress." He mused to himself as he yawned as quietly as he could again and looked around at the dark and quiet cabin.

"Five more minutes, Uncle Dutch." Jack mumbled, pulling the pillow over the back of his head as he lay face down on the bed and pulled the covers up to protect himself from the chilly late autumn air. He knew the boy was more than likely still asleep, as John himself often responded while incapacitated in his own youth.

"Of course." He found himself responding almost instinctively, his own mind a bit blurrier than usual this morning. Probably on account of mixing bourbon and moonshine before bed, he thought as he gently tucked the boy in and turned to look for clean clothes to wear.

Frost had begun to gather on the edges of the kitchen window now, signaling the near end of the autumn season and the bitter winter ahead. Of course, he had debated simply keeping Jack with him but somewhere deep down he knew he'd have to face the wrath of his dead wife and her still living adopted son if he dared to do so.

He settled into his morning routine of lighting the woodstove, prepping the percolator with coffee and setting it on its usual spot, getting the tin cup he had used the night before to liquor himself up before the bath and splashing a bit of cold water on his face. He would go tend to the horses soon too, the ones he had acquired from the two men he had killed the day before when they threatened him and the boy.

If, of course, he remembered the percolator on the stove by the time he finished feeding and caring for the newly acquired livestock. But, at least with the boy here, he thought, it doesn't matter if I forget because he'll take it off before it totally evaporates or gets so hot it burns the goddamn hovel to the ground.

He looked over at the sleeping boy one last time as he fetched his heavy black coat from a peg near the front door, sweeping it over him and buttoning it up tight. He retrieved his gloves from his pockets, newer ones that were crudely made, but he had never been much of a tailor to begin with from soft rabbit skin with the fur on the inside. He would've preferred nicer ones he could buy in town but, as a wanted man, he had pretty limited options as far as fashion choices these days.

He'd wait for the coffee to finish and then tend to his chores, the boy could sleep in a little longer before he inevitably went home.

—-

The dawn had illuminated the clear cold skies, though it was still dark in the forest and the air was sharp and biting at any piece of exposed flesh. He had decided to check the snares earlier than normal and found a rather fat rabbit that had strangled to death at some point yesterday. Ah, he had meant to check them before he took the boy out hunting deer but, must've forgotten. But at least the dead animal hadn't been eaten by something else, even if the meat was going to be tough now but the fur might fetch an alright price.

As he worked the rabbit out of the snare and began to reset it, he could smell coffee and stew being heated up nearby. The wind had shifted, so he knew it wasn't from his cabin that the scent being carried along originated from. But, he also didn't particularly like other people camping so closely to where he was. Now he'd have to deal with them the way he dealt with the other two men who had stumbled on him yesterday. The question was, how many men was he dispatching this time.

As he reached for his rifle, leaving the rabbit on the ground to go scout out the situation, it was the sound of a bolt action being loaded behind him that gave him pause and forced him to extend his arms out to his sides.

"Just retrieving meat from my snares, I have no quarrel with you." Dutch slowly looked over his left shoulder to where the sound had come from, quickly exhaling in a half relieved and half annoyed sigh. "Uncle, it's been a while. I didn't realize you could still be so sneaky in your old age."

"And you still make a 'whole lotta noise'. What the hell are you doing out here anyway, Dutch Van der Linde?" The old man in the red shirt and straw hat grumbled, keeping the rifle pointed at him as he slowly turned around to face him.

"Surviving, I 'spose." He shrugged as Uncle snorted and turned to spit on the frozen ground, "And you?"

"Boy's gone missin'. Charles tracked him for a while to somewhere around here, John's here too," He motioned with his chin up along the ridge line past the same hill the bear had charged down a while back, "you ain't run into Little Jackie, have you Dutch?"

"I did. Being pursued by a rather angry bear," He gestured with his eyes towards the ground they were standing on, "killed it right here as a matter of fact."

"Where's the boy now?" The old man replied, "You been fillin' his head full of your goddamn 'Noble Savages' nonsense? Turnin' that boy against his folks? Hmm? Charles told me what you've been up to, drawing natives from other tribes together to wage a war they can't win. You ain't dragging that boy into your bullshit, Dutch. Not this time."

"Regardless of what you think of me now, you pathetic old fool, I ain't 'saving an orphan soul from the dirt'. Our time has passed. He's down at the cabin sleeping rather soundly too, I might add. I intended on sending him back to his folks today, I just wanted a little peace and quiet before I did. But," he slowly lowered his arms, folding them against the thick black jacket, "go fetch him and I'll keep clear. Unless, you bastards expect to turn me in for bounty money?"

"That's for John to decide. Now get moving up the trail, we'll have a nice family reunion while we decide what to do with you." He gestured with the rifle to the ridge again and Dutch chuckled, shaking his head.

"You might as well pull that trigger. I gave John what was owed him, both in terms of money and revenge when he and Mrs. Adler met me at Mount Hagen to put down Micah. Go fetch the boy, you lazy idiot, and leave me alone."

"I said move, Dutch Van der Linde." Uncle shoved the barrel of the rifle against his chest and Dutch responded by pushing himself against it as the old man went to pull it away.

"And I said no." He growled, moving his hands to his side and standing tall as he could.

Go ahead, you old goat, gun me down. Put me out of my misery.

"Leave him be, old man." A familiar voice called down to both of them from the ridgeline. Uncle took a step back, keeping the rifle held squarely up as Dutch began to meander towards the treeline of the trail to escape.

"I didn't say you could go, Dutch." John huffed, audibly taking a sip off his tin cup as his father figure tried to sneak off into the bushes.

"I ain't got anything to say to you, son. You got your cut, you got your revenge for your brother, and your boy is down at my place. Safe and sound," his eyes snapped over to Uncle angrily for a moment, "regardless of what this lice ridden parasite has to say about it."

"I know." John mumbled quietly, looking down at his coffee cup for a moment and kicking at the dirt with his boot. "Thank you. For lookin' out for the kid, I mean. I'd prefer if you hadn't gunned down two men in front of my son, but word is you've become a real cold-blooded killer these days."

"Heh," Dutch slid his tongue between his teeth and glanced up at the ridge, "you sure like making that boy feel like he ain't your son, John. You ain't taught him half the shit I taught you when you were his age."

"He's too smart to be mine, but…I'm at least tryin' to provide that boy a better life than the one you gave me. Annabelle weren't my mother and you ain't my father, Dutch. You took Arthur in to mold him into the image you wanted and you only took me in to do the same. Jackie deserves better." John snorted, looking up from his mug and glaring down at the older man.

"That he does. Can I go now, John? Or are you gotta shoot at me again, son?" He raised an eyebrow and John shook his head, humming a bit under his breath as he took another sip off the steaming coffee cup.

"Abigail won't like knowing the boy spent time around you again. But she was always hinting at leaving, begging me to before that business at Blackwater too. Said 'outlaws weren't meant to raise families', kinda reminded me of Miss Annabelle to be honest. You made me promise I'd never leave you and I didn't think I ever would, until just like her," John looked over again, "you broke your promise to me."

"John," Dutch began quietly, "let it go. She's been dead a long time now."

"Didn't stop you from looking for her in other women." The man replied coldly, causing Dutch to aggressively rub his face and close his eyes in annoyance.

"I didn't fuck the whore you married, that boy ain't mine, he's yours. And," He turned to look at his former member, "I'd appreciate it if we kept this meeting between ourselves, son."

Don't breathe a word of this to your wife, for both our sakes. He hoped John would catch the subtext in his words, not to cause tension between the man and his wife but to at least hope that as men they could keep it between themselves.

He had known for a while now, as Sadie herself suspected it too and why she had been so tight-lipped about his involvement in being her informant in the trapping of Micah Bell to begin with. Abigail had made deals over the years with Agent Milton or other Pinkerton's to try to separate him from John and consequently Jack. First it had just been finding ways to annoy Dutch, to pit him and John against one another knowing that he considered the young man's opinions on matters. She had been the one 'talking shit' in Beaver Hollow behind his back, desperate to get the other members to abandon him, trying to buy their ticket to paradise without Dutch. She had been the one to abandon Hosea, and he had only been killed to protect her from being outed as a rat. It's why luck often went his way when he didn't include John in his plans, it had just taken him the better part of four years of agonizing over every detail for him to see it clearly. But, maybe John had known the entire time and that made him angrier to consider.

Working behind my back to fuck me over when you could've just told me you wanted to leave.

Part of him didn't fault her for her actions though, after all, despite her ability to occasionally share some of the same tough personality traits as his own wife, she was afraid for the boy and herself. Fear was a potent motivator to get people to do something stupid. It seemed childish to him to kick over spent coals now, their time together had passed. John could go his way and Dutch could go his, the way a father and son ought to at some point.

"Sure." John responded quietly, finishing off the coffee and dumping the grounds out into the dirt.

"I'm leaving, John. Go fetch your boy." He went to take another step off the path when the man cleared his throat and drew his attention back. He paused, turning back up to look at the ridge.

"Seein' him with you reminds me of the time we got to spend with her, and you. I just ain't got the patience like you two did."

Keep him a bit longer, Dutch. I'm not ready to take him home yet.

"You ain't worried the boy's gonna become a killer like me? Like his daddy? Spending time with a raving mad fool who knows nothing except how to fight to survive?" He raised an eyebrow curiously.

No, John.

"We never did have a moment like we used to when we all ran together back then. Might be a nice change for both of us, I think she'd like that, don't you?" Came the flat reply as he looked up from the ground and inhaled sharply through his nose and folded his arms.

Really John? You're going to continue to use the excuse of "do it for my momma" even though a moment ago you essentially told me she was nothing more than another whore in my bed?

"She's dead. She doesn't want a goddamn thing, son and neither do I." He grumbled back, averting his eyes. He hated talking about her, as it served no other purpose than to remind him that his own temper had cost him his wife and the chance at a family. One of their own anyway, though he hadn't ever truly wanted it, he just tried to. For her sake, he told himself, I wanted to move heaven and earth. But she's gone.

"Uncle, you and Charles clear out. Tell Abigail I found the boy and we're havin' a…father and son moment." John shifted his gaze to Uncle who lowered the rifle with both his eyebrows raised in concern.

"John, he tried to kill you. This old leopard," he gestured to Dutch angrily, "ain't gonna change his spots! Now I know you and Mrs. Adler–"

"I said 'Git', old man. This is family business."

"It really ain't, John. I don't know how clearer I can be on the subject with you." Dutch interjected bitterly, rolling his eyes and exchanging a look with Uncle now. For once it seemed they agreed on something.

"You ain't in a position to say shit to me, Dutch. Hiding out in fuckin' Tall Trees of all places, a stone's throw from my goddamn backyard!" John hollered back almost immediately, prompting him and Uncle both to rub the bridge of their nose at nearly the same time in annoyance.

Rather Dutch knew the subtext behind what his adoptive boy was getting at, in other words:

You could've come to me yourself about Micah Bell instead of sending Sadie to do your dirty work, asshole.

"You shot at me John and your whore wife stole the key to the stash box. You think I was gonna be foolish enough to let you two betray me again? Tall Trees was our….no, my home long before you stupidly bought that goddamn ranch in your real name, son." He snorted, lowering his gloved hand from his eyes and shaking his long graying hair in disbelief with a chuckle. There was no need for subtext between them now.

"Only if you shot at me first, Dutch. And Abby was just doin' right by folks you abandoned for Micah!"

"I didn't leave your cut of the money from Blackwater to lure Micah right to us for you to insist on forgiving me for what happened, John. Nor do I fuckin' desire your forgiveness. We're done. I don't want a damn thing to do with you or a damn thing to do with your rat wife." He hissed in response.

"A rat? Really Dutch? You still jumping to conclusions even after all this time? And I ain't forgiving you for shit. I'm asking you to…I'd like it if you'd teach the boy a thing or two. That's all. I ain't patient Dutch–" John sighed, tapping the edge of his coffee cup against his elbow for a moment.

"Like I fucking am? Jesus," he ran his hands through his hair with a snarl, "that pouting shit worked on her, son. It sure as hell doesn't work on me! He's your son, John. You teach him what I taught you. What we taught you!"

John was silent for a long while, still tapping the cup against himself as he stared off at the ground now, lost in thought.

"Like you said, she ain't here for me to ask. Dutch, the boy… I'm outta of practice on account of it upsetting my wife. She left me once cuz I wouldn't hang up my gun belt, a lot like Miss Annabelle did to you when she took me with her to Deadwood, and I put Abigail through enough already." John finally grumbled back, turning away from Dutch and pacing the ridge a bit in frustration.

"Again, John…I fail to see how any of this is my problem. This asshole," he gestured at Uncle with his thumb, "accused me of teaching that boy about a life he ought to forget just as much as you ought to. Or did your brother in arms sacrifice himself for jack shit, son? And now you're begging me to turn that boy into an outlaw on account of your whore not being 'happy with you' if you do? Write to Mrs. Adler then! I'm sure she'd be more than thrilled to accommodate you!"

"Uncle, will you please go back to Charles, already? Instead of standin' around gawking at us." He turned to the old man and snapped, prompting Uncle to roll his eyes and shake his head angrily.

"You really want your son hanging around with this bastard? We're outta that life. You're outta that life, boy. Now, I hate to be agreein' with this rabid dog," he pointed at Dutch, "but he has a point. Arthur died at Beaver Hollow so you, Abigail, and Jack could have a better life than the one we was leadin'! Don't be a dumb ass, Marston."

"Listen to the old fool, John. Get your boy and go home. The age of outlaws is over, son." Dutch shook his head and started through the bramble again.

"Don't forget that rabbit, Dutch!" But the old boss simply raised his left hand as he continued ahead, turning just a little to shout over his shoulder.

"Teach the last son of our gang how to take it down, surely you can manage a feat like that John! And go home!"

—-

It was late in the evening when he decided to retreat to the cabin after spending most of the day wandering the woods, collecting various plants that hadn't quite died back due to the impending winter. But as he started down the trail towards his back door, he growled as he caught the figures of the boy and his father in the window.

"Really son? You're just gonna wait me out in the cabin? Fine." He turned towards the small barn he had built years ago for The Count, now occupied by the two unnamed horses. He slid back the door, expecting there to be at least one empty stall he could sleep in for the night when he snarled again. "God damn it!"

He could take one of the horses and go back to Cochinay, it's not like his uninvited guests would stand much of a chance against the natives he was leading now. But if it's a war John wants then…

"I…" He hadn't heard the back door open at all but knew without turning around in the small breezeway who was slowly walking up behind him. He held his hand up, prompting John to stop in his tracks again.

"You have the one thing I never got the opportunity to have with Belle, the boy ain't mine but in a way I guess you could say he's the last of my line. You told me earlier today the only reason I plucked you off those gallows was to mold you in my image the way I molded Arthur Morgan–" He wanted to draw both revolvers and put John down right this second, but he knew despite the betrayals and lies over the years from both of them that he didn't have the heart to. Leaving John for dead made him feel less guilty over the years and he had hoped after Mount Hagen the man would've learned that there wasn't anything between them anymore. No amount of apologies between either of them could undo what had been done.

Some things I can forgive, others I can't forget…someday you will be the death of me, just like I told her you would be, especially if you continue to try to reach out to me like I'm some kind of actual father to you. I don't want you to mean a damn thing to me anymore, or the boy for that matter.

"You did it for Annabelle, Dutch. I know. I've always known. You treated us different too, he might have been the enforcer for you but I was your son. I…I had my suspicions about my wife going behind your back, before I married her. How else did the Pinkerton's know where to find Arthur when he took Jack fishing? To capture me instead of killin' me in Saint Denis after the robbery that cost us Hosea and Lenny. Micah may have been a rat too at one time but, you can't fault that woman for doing what she thought was best for that kid, especially when you lost it. It weren't until after we all split up that I realized it." John folded his arms again and shifted back and forth uncomfortably.

"My wife would rather die than betray me, son, and she did just that. Yours cost us my best friend, my ex-lover, and your brother. Susan always said Annabelle would be the reason the gang fell apart someday, but I guess in a way she was right. I shoulda let you swing, instead I gave into her foolish desire of being made a mother." He slowly lowered his hand and folded his own arms, staring down at the straw covered floor of the breezeway as the winter wind shifted, blowing the fur collar up against his neck.

"Is this where–" John began quietly.

"Yes." He replied, slowly turning around to face John now, chewing on his bottom lip angrily and narrowing his eyes.

"But you buried her out in Cochinay…at least that's what I've always thought anyway." He looked away, turning his blind side towards Dutch.

"I did. She died in a cabin off the beaten path, a lot like this one actually but I carried her back to where everything went wrong. I had meant to wake you that day, send you down the hill to fetch her peppermint on account of her nausea, 'cept I didn't because you acted stupider than you really are. Afraid you'd accidentally hurt her or the child of ours she was carrying."

"So that's my fault too then, huh?" He looked back up at Dutch who half closed his eyes in annoyance and shook his head.

"No." He answered finally, rubbing both gloves against his face for a moment before placing them behind his head and closed his eyes completely. "It was mine. I'm the son of a bitch who put a knife through O'Driscoll's brother forty four times, John. Protecting my family."

"He deserved it."

"I know. Colm didn't think it was justifiable though. If it hadn't been for that wild woman we rescued from the mountains, I wouldn't have gotten him or Micah for that matter." He stretched a bit, opening his eyes again as the sun began to slowly fade from the sky around them. It was getting darker sooner these days.

"She reminded me of Annabelle sometimes, I'm surprised you didn't try for her and kept up with Molly O'Shea until well, you decided young Miss Mary-Beth was more pliable I guess." He chuckled, sliding his tongue between his teeth.

"In ferocity, perhaps. Mrs. Adler was a fine woman, loving in her own way too I guess. But nobody cared more for the individuals in our little troop than Belle did. Go home, son. We could talk all night about the 'glory days' but that would just spur your boy to pursue a life he shouldn't want. I won't be responsible for turning the surviving son into a goddamn killer. Hosea would agree, Arthur would agree, and I'm sure even Belle would agree. Our time together has passed, son and it's time you learned to live without her or me. You're too old to come crawling to our tent over a nightmare now, John. Go home to your wife and do what Arthur told you to do." He folded his arms again, looking away again and shifting uncomfortably.

"Dutch," John paused a second as he began to reconsider what he was about to say, "if something happened to Abby and I–"

"You want me to take the boy. No, John. You just don't get it, do you son?" He shook his head with a surprised smirk.

"I don't have anyone else to ask, Dutch. I want the boy to be able to protect himself if it ever came to that." John sighed and curled his arms up tighter against himself, shrinking a bit under the cold gaze of a man he still considered his father.

"You put Micah down. You still have the skill and know how, son. You don't need me, so let me go, John." His expression softened slightly for a moment, as much as he wanted to say a great many other things to the man, there was no point anymore.

"You really hurt me," John admitted, "you were gonna let me die in prison, then you were gonna let me die robbing that train when all I ever tried to be was loyal to you because you were my father, Dutch. You mighta been the boss or the general to other folks, but I held you in higher regard than I guess you ever held me."

"Then spend the rest of your life hating me, John. The way you did when you were Jackie's age. Nothing is forgiven because nothing is forgotten. Arguing with me won't change that, guilt tripping me over shit that happened a long time ago won't neither. I made my choice then and I have to live with the consequences of that choice, you don't." He replied solemnly.

"Fucked up thing about it, Dutch," John dragged a boot through the frozen dirt before looking back up at him, "I can't bring myself to hate you. I want to, but I just can't. Boy and I will clear out in the morning. I got that venison you two caught the other day cooking up."

"Guess that's another thing you learned from Annabelle, forgiving me even though I don't want or deserve it. Enjoy your dinner, John." He went to turn away but was surprised when John put a hand on his shoulder and gave him pause.

"Knowing you, you haven't eaten all damn day. I won't pester you anymore about the boy, but it would mean a lot to him if we broke bread together one last time at least."

"I…"

I don't want to.

"John…"

I won't.

"Dutch, think of the example we as men ought to set for Lancelot."

Goddamn it.

"Alright, John...alright. We'll 'break bread' together one last time. For the boy." He grumbled, shaking the touch off his shoulder with a scowl and reluctantly heading back towards the cabin with the man following close beside him.

"Thanks. It-"

"Shut the hell up, son. Just 'cause I'm doing so, doesn't mean I want to."