The sun had risen long past it's zenith as the small group hunkered down off the trail and waited for the scout to return. Trelawny had taken to inspecting a nearby frozen creek, cautiously testing the icy surface with his boot a few times and listening for the cracking of the material beneath his feet. Jack watched him with disdain, his arms folded tightly against his chest as Sadie and one of the others worked together to prepare a small meal for them over a fire they had gotten built. Taking turns to warm dried or salted chunks of meat over the fire before giving them over to whatever willing hand awaited them.

Sadie nudged him with her elbow, gesturing to her knife and the piece of rabbit jerky hanging off the end of it.

"You oughta eat kiddo." But the boy shook his head and turned his attention back to the fire, unable to look her in the eyes.

"I ain't hungry, Mrs. Adler. How can I be? They're in danger and we're just sittin' here." He shook his head angrily again and began to sort of rock back and forth a little, fidgeting nervously in place and catching the attention of the one called Kino.

"Mr. Van der Linde is a warrior, a real warrior. It's the men at the Fort who are the one's in danger, if he's really there." The boy's voice had a Mexican accent which surprised Jack a little, but then again they were closer to the border than they felt.

"He is, we can agree on that at least. You ain't a native though, you're a greaser ain't you?" The boy grumbled and Kino rolled his eyes, folding his own arms angrily in response.

"Am too and don't call me 'greaser', asshole. The Spanish came and forced my ancestors onto missions in California, or killed most of 'em looking for gold. They thought we made cities out of it. Not knowing the real value of such a precious thing. El Dorado they called it, but the city wasn't made out of it…the stones they used just looked like it during certain times of the year, when the sun would hit it just right." Kino responded quietly, sniffing a little as the chill crept up his neck and Sadie shrugged and decided to eat the piece of rabbit herself.

"Why do you boys ride with Dutch anyway? We did, once," she gestured to Trelawny with her head but didn't look over at him, "and look how that turned out for us. That man ain't right in the head. What kinda paradise did he promise he was gonna take you all to?"

"He's one of us. And we're not going anywhere! This is our land!" Kino boasted proudly and the others nodded approvingly, a couple made war cries as well.

"He ain't." Sadie chuckled, shaking her head and looking around for another piece of meat to put on the tip of her knife. "He's the same color as those conquistadors. He ain't got a drop of native blood in him, regardless of what sort of bullshit story he mighta told you. Well…I doubt he does anyway, even if he knows how to act like one of you."

"He spoke the tongue that my father used to speak. Even if he's not native blood like you claim, what white man do you know that would go to such a length to deceive people by learning a language none of you care about? About people you consider less than human." Another said, reaching for a piece of meat offered to him by his comrade sitting next to Sadie.

"He told me…" Jack began quietly, glancing over at Sadie a moment. She was just going to think he was delusional the way that Mr. Trelawny seemed to think, for talking about their old leader like he was some kind of wonderful hero. But the natives seemed to be keen on listening to whatever Jack had to say so he cleared his throat and continued. "He told me he had been in love with an Indian girl once. Couldn't remember her name though. Said her daddy taught him everything he knows and the stuff he taught to John and Uncle Arthur."

"Take those stories with a grain of salt, young Marston. They aren't always true, Dutch has to put his signature on them of course, most of them aren't entirely his work alone, just like his speeches. He borrows things from literature and makes it into his own story." Trelawny had stealthily snuck up on the group just behind Jack now as Sadie offered him a piece of meat from her knife and he accepted it.

"And Annabelle? Was she really your beloved and Uncle Dutch stole her away from you, instead of really bein' your cousin? That why she was so precious to you, Mr. Trelawny?" Jack scoffed, prompting Josiah to double over with laughter and remove his top hat.

"Oh my dear boy," Trelawny wiped his eyes as he tried to stop laughing so hard, "Annabelle wasn't my lover! Not at all! My lover! Ridiculous! Did he tell you she was my lover? Was that the little spin he put on things!"

"When I lost my Jakey, back when he brought me back to that shithole up in the mountains and checked in on how I was gettin' on with the other women, we talked about her a little. Said she was a real fighter, even when goddamn O'Driscoll was tearin' that poor woman to pieces in front of him. Did he really love her or was it that kinda love he gave to that pitiful Molly O'Shea? If you happen to know what's actually true, Mr. Trelawny, I'd like to know." Sadie lifted her head to look at Josiah as he continued to stifle fits of giggles.

"Who knows," he shrugged, "I do know truthfully that she loved him very dearly despite well…Dutch being Dutch. He claims he did, I mean after all, she was the only one of his many female companions he married. But I don't know if it's because she was the only woman who wasn't a whore or what. Annabelle Van der Linde, or Annabelle McLean depending on who you asked in those days, was indeed my cousin by marriage, young Marston. My lovely wife and her were like sisters, I think she was only about twelve or thirteen when I began courting my wife. Of course, I had the luxury of falsifying my lineage on account of my skills. Those women came from high society, you see, and in order to be worthy of a woman like that was to be as supposedly blue-blooded as their family was. I forget if I claimed to be a Duke or a spurned Prince of England, but in the end I won the love of my life, albeit through deceitful means. I taught Annabelle the trade, she was a very cunning, albeit a temperamental and stubborn woman. I suppose in that way, those two were a match made in Heaven or, well Hell depending on whether they were bickering or not. She loved him, and I guess he loved her, but they were poison to each other as Mr. Matthews once pointed out, bringing out the absolute best and absolute worst in one another."

Jack scoffed, all Trelawny had done was proven his own point about Dutch's stories not always being bullshit. Uncle Dutch wouldn't lie to him, he might to the rest of them but Jack firmly believed there was no way the old man could ever look him in the eye and lie through his teeth.

"And that's why you keep in contact with him these days, then? He never mentioned how he met you, but I guess it tracks that you two would meet on account of a well-bred woman." Sadie chuckled, wiggling her eyebrows a bit in amusement. "You're the reason he was always so luxuriously dressed and needed only the finest things money could buy too then, I take it?"

"I suppose it was his way of proving he was worthy of her. He used to dress like a beggar prior to his romance, and didn't care much for his appearance at all unless it came to his work or her. His love for her became a love of wealth and luxury in the end, a real shame too, watching that from a distance. I stuck around on her behalf, even though he's the reason she suffered and died at the hands of Colm O'Driscoll in the first place. She was…she was with child when it happened, though I doubt he included that in his retelling of the incident to you, Mrs. Adler. Those of us that were there knew, but he never spoke about it afterwards other than 'Colm O'Driscoll killed the love of my life' and all that. I shudder to think what sort of life that poor child might've lead had the incident with the O'Driscoll's never occurred. Or, God forbid, Dutch becoming a single father as I doubt Annabelle would've hung up her gun belt and had to raise that child himself. Though, knowing him, he would've gladly given me their little one to raise as my own, being free to pursue whatever he wanted without the responsibilities of parenthood. He never wanted children, he was adamant about that, but my dear cousin pushed him into trying anyway." Trelawny leaned against a nearby tree, still clutching his top hat to his chest and spinning it around in his hands a little bit.

"No," Sadie replied softly, "he actually left that part in, said he had been 'looking forward' to it. To retirin' even. Guess that was his little spin on things. I remember how sorry I felt for the poor bastard, angry even that he had to go through what my husband went through when they tore into me. I think it broke whatever heart I had left that night and made me wonder if Jakey had survived instead of me, if he woulda been as broken up as Dutch was about his woman. Bout the only time he was ever honest with me about anything. I knew he was in a bad way in Beaver Hollow, when he let fuckin' Micah convince him to push us away, but I think I knew I couldn't do a damn thing to save that man from himself. Nobody could, even though Lord knows we tried to."

"I found an old book of hers–" Jack interjected, having found a stick near the campfire to poke the embers back into place with. "Had a birch leaf as a bookmark. He…he didn't wail or nothin' but he cried, first time I'd ever seen a grown man do that, never thought I'd see him do that. He had to have loved her like he said. Maybe he was actually excited about being a father after all."

"Crocodile tears I'd wager." Trelawny rolled his eyes and the dark haired boy threw the stick down and hopped to his feet angrily.

"Say one more bad thing about Uncle Dutch and I'll–" Jack stormed over to Josiah who straightened up and tossed his top hat to the ground, giving the teenager pause.

"I'll say what I like about that bastard. You're a damn fool idolizing him the way you do. The man you're named after used to worship the ground he walked on too. And what did Uncle Dutch do with the loyalty that the Senior Marston, Arthur, Hosea, and the rest of us gave him?"

The natives straightened up, eying the brush as Fox came charging back down the hill and stopped his horse by the others. He was leading a brown and white painted mare that Jack recognized almost immediately and he went rushing to retrieve it.

"We need to wait for nightfall, there's too many to take during daylight." Fox said to Trelawny as Jack rushed to the mare and began to pet it and look it over carefully. The boy turned to Josiah triumphantly and patted the beast in front of him.

"She's Dutch's horse. I told you so, you owe me an apology for how you was–were talking about Uncle Dutch." But Trelawny seemed unimpressed as he looked over Marquise and then back to Mr. Fox, scratching his chin a bit in contemplation now and disregarding Jack entirely.

"How many men are there, brave Mr. Fox?" He raised an eyebrow as the warrior contemplated it briefly and began to count quietly on his fingers.

"Twenty, maybe more."

"Well Mrs. Adler," Josiah turned to Sadie now with a nod, "we'd better come up with a plan before nightfall."

—-

That's six, he thought as he wrestled the blood covered sharpened chair leg out of the last man he had dispatched. It slipped out of his grasp and he shrugged, he would leave it behind now as he had been collecting any sharp object, money, and jewelry he could find on the men he had laid waste to. So far he had attracted any unwanted attention, though he had been at this for hours now, creeping from place to place and hiding out until someone else passed by him unaware.

But he was out of the cold, had found new socks and boots, and he was grateful for it, though it was still chilly indoors as he rolled the corpse over and rifled through the man's pockets as quickly as he could. Outside it looked to be a little after midday now and he knew it was only a matter of time before someone was bound to notice there were men missing. When he finished grabbing whatever was of value, he quietly slipped back into an office he had been hiding out of for most of the afternoon. There was a large wardrobe that he could step into to hide in, it's not like these idiots would be expecting a full grown man cramped up in furniture.

He hadn't given the room too much of a look other than the large desk in the center, the enormous closet he had been hiding in, and the massive cherry wood bedframe tucked away in another part of the big space. Must've been the General's quarters or some other high ranking asshole at some time, he rolled his eyes as he brushed past the office space and into the bedroom.

It was clearly occupied once more judging by the look of it as he sauntered past a bar cart and a couple of cushioned chairs, there was a fire going and the fur lined coat was heavy now from being saturated with blood. He slipped it off, tucking it against his arm and glanced around for a new hiding spot.

Maybe a little drink first, he thought, tossing his jacket on one of the chairs and eying the bar cart with expensive booze. Crystal decanters too. If the boys did indeed show up, he could take some of these things back to Cochinay to make his new cave dwelling life more refined and civilized. He pulled the crystal stopper out of one of the bottles and took a sniff at the contents, brandy.

"Haven't had this in a long time now." He grinned, greedily drinking from it now and exhaling contentedly as the alcohol burned his tongue and lips. "Good shit too. Lucky me."

He took the decanter with him but left the jacket unattended as he browsed the large bedroom with interest. Perhaps he should convince his little army to move here, he could take over this space and they could continue living in tents or teepees or whatever the hell else they housed themselves in. He paused by the fireplace to warm his hand, taking another long drink from the brandy when noise caught his attention. It was the alarm bell and he huffed, he had hoped to explore this palace of treasures a little longer but it would seem that his luck had run out. No matter, he gulped down more of the brandy and felt his body warm and tingle as it settled in his stomach and he wiped the back of his sleeve against his mouth and beard with a loud inhale.

"Good places to lay low…" He mumbled to himself as he glanced around until the large bed caught his attention again and he smiled. It worked once before, remember? He set the bottle down on a table and sauntered over to it, lowering himself to the floor and scooting under the dust skirt and into position beneath the large bed. He folded his hands over his chest, if he had time he would've liked to have found a cigar to smoke while he bided his time but it would have to wait.

"Do you remember the time you hid me from your daddy underneath your bed, sweetheart? Granted," he grunted as he shifted his weight around to get comfortable, "I had to cling to the damn underside and even so, your daddy mighta caught me slipping off that cold brass frame so you joined me on the floor to shield me from view. Y'know…I think that's the only time a woman ever had to hide me. But, you were a lady and not a whore."

He could hear the door where the desk was open with a bang as it hit the wall and it startled him. The hunt for him had begun now and he needed to wait for the right moment to create a bigger distraction. He didn't like improvising plans but he had grown accustomed to it after the Blackwater Massacre. As much as he wanted to tell himself and the others that he had thought of every conceivable escape, problem, or situation. Improvisation is what got a majority of those folks killed.

"WHERE IS HE!" The bellowing voice of a very pissed off man echoed outside in the hallway as Dutch heard whoever had kicked the door open move about the room in search of him.

Good luck finding me, he thought with a smug smirk, still resting comfortably on the floor and closing his eyes.

"Well s-s-sir, it could be his boys. Walter said he spotted an injun sniffing about the western wall, must've dropped off a scout or somethin', damn bastard left with two painted horses before we could get 'im." A terrified man replied as heavy footsteps entered the room now and stopped almost immediately.

Good, he thought, the General will send out riders to hunt that one down and it'll leave me more wiggle room to find Marston and get the hell out of here.

"Oh no, he's here alright. I knew that son of a bitch was lying to me when he said Dutch Van der Linde and he didn't associate anymore." The man who yelled earlier seemed confident now and that worried Dutch a bit as he went to pull his jacket around him tightly.

Oh shit, he snapped his eyes open knowing that he hadn't retrieved it like he imagined he had, but he didn't have time to panic, he needed to continue lying low.

'Uh, hey Dutch…I know this ain't exactly the best time…'

Shut up, Arthur! He inhaled aggressively but as quietly as he could muster as his heart began to race a little. I know I don't have the goddamn jacket!

'Dutch, you stashed the knives in that coat of yours, remember?' Hosea this time in a sort of giggling manner and Dutch put his hands over his face.

Goddamn it.

"Tear the room apart." Ephraim Cornwall chuckled, sinking down in the chair opposite the one where Dutch had left his coat. "Unless…unless you wanna come out on your own accord, Mr. Van der Linde."

Don't. Don't move a goddamn muscle.

And yet, he could feel his own body betraying him as he shimmied out with his hands up and smiled at the young men holding the ends of their rifles in his face.

"Gentlemen, how wonderful to make your acquaintance."

—-

There was blood obscuring his vision in the good eye, but he could hear well enough to know they were dragging in someone else to keep him company. He tried to blink the crimson away but the world was still blurry anyway, so he decided to try to call out to whoever had come into the room with him.

"Which one of my old pals did you manage to track down way out here in the sticks?" John chuckled as they tied whoever it was to the other side of the post. He couldn't see but whoever it was felt taller than he. "You're squishin' my hands there partner, don't tell me…Bill Williamson! It's you, isn't it, you big queer bastard!"

"Hello son." The cold response came and John's smile faded.

"Dutch." He grunted back bitterly, as the men retreated and shut the door to the warehouse they were being held in. It was a tense and awkward silence, but John could still feel the older man's back pressing against his hands and he realized that Dutch was a lot scrawnier than he remembered. He could feel the bones of the man's spine against his knuckles, maybe even a little rib here and there and John closed his eyes with a sigh. "You still ain't eatin' much these days, are you old man?"

"Habit. I guess." Came the quiet reply before he started coughing a little. They had beaten the absolute shit out of him, practically stomping him to death in front of that smug fat bastard before dragging him half conscious through the snow. His red long johns were stained with his own blood, torn in some places too, and his face had taken quite a beating to the point he was certain that someone had broken his nose.

"They kick the shit out of you too?" John asked and Dutch nodded with a grunt, turning his head to spit blood before leaning his head back against the cold pine pole they were tied to.

"Sure did. But I did take out six of those bastards before then, so I 'spose they had every right to beat the shit outta me."

"I didn't hear shootin'." John chuckled, "Unless you were crawling around like some 'noble savage' stabbing 'em through the neck."

"I was," Dutch snorted, almost delightedly, "with a chair leg."

"Jesus Christ." John hung his head and shook it in disbelief, disgusted at the way Dutch had said it. "This is really who you are, ain't it?"

"See, you do only care about yourself, son, like I told you on Mount Hagen. And to think I ended up here because I had some stupid notion to rescue you."

"So the boy found you then," John sighed in relief, "please tell me you sent him home, Dutch. I already lost…I…we had a daughter too. I know I don't act enough to you and to Abby that I give a damn about my kids but I do. I just, I don't know any other way to live 'cept the one you gave me. I don't want anything to happen to Lancelot, Dutch, it would kill me. And we both know you're bullshittin' me on your being here to rescue me. You got caught, didn't you, Dutch?"

"Huh." Was all he could muster in response, shifting his own legs now into a more comfortable position. He remembered he had read in a letter that Sadie had sent him through Trelawny that Abigail had been pregnant again but never heard anything else about it.

"I named her after…her name was…she–goddamn it, man." John sighed and closed his eyes, trying to also move into a more comfortable position with his legs now too. "Is my son safe, Dutch? Can you tell me that much at least?"

"I don't know, John." Dutch shifted his own weight to try to be comfortable but gasped a little as he felt the old injury to his ribs from where Colm had broken them the night he sealed Annabelle's fate. "How old was little Belle? You named her after my wife, like a sentimental idiot, didn't you? That's why you can't say her goddamn name. You're afraid of how I might feel about you doing that."

"Two. And it was a snake bite. Jack was supposed to be watching her but he was too busy burying his head in one of those goddamn books. Didn't realize his sister was playin' next to a rattler's den. After that…well, I didn't want any more rugrats. Abigail wants differently, of course, you know how women are. And," John laughed for a moment, "I ain't afraid of hurtin' your feelings, man. I reckon you ain't got any left the way you been carryin' on since we parted after everything."

"That why you're so cold towards the boy, John? Not because you suspect he might be mine but because if he is, it's another Van der Linde that ruined your chance at happiness."

"This again? You made it clear back in that cabin, you supposedly never had Abigail, so why bring it up again now! I…I am proud of him, Dutch, even if he doesn't think so and even if he might be yours, I raised him. He's mine, a Marston, not a goddamn Van der Linde even if that's only in bein' reared by me. I don't…well, I guess I do blame him for it, even though I know it was just an accident. We're gonna die here, ain't we? You and me. You really wanna waste whatever time we got left bein' downright nasty to one another?" John shifted his weight again and Dutch tried to wriggle his fingers to get the blood circulating again.

"I ain't done yet," he continued to try to test the ropes against his wrists, "you might be, but I ain't."

"Unless they left you with a knife, old man, we're pretty much fucked." John rolled his eyes and scoffed even as he felt Dutch continue to try to slip out of the tight binding. "Give it up Dutch, it's over."

"It ain't!" He hissed, pulling as hard as he could now to try to at least free one hand. He swore he could feel the rope slipping a little as he did so but after a while, he worried more about whether or not he was going to break something in the process and stopped. He didn't want to be as exhausted as he was but other than the few moments of sleep he had this morning, he hadn't had anything to eat nor any real rest for over a day and it was starting to catch up to him.

Help me, he thought as he leaned back against the cold pillar again, closing his eyes as he did so and felt the stream of blood from his face trickle down into his beard, please, one of you.

'Stand up, dear.' Annabelle murmured softly, 'You let The Count stand up one last time before you said goodbye, remember?'

He opened his eyes to look up at the ceiling when something on the post caught his unswollen eye. A rusty nail.

"Maybe…" He muttered back quietly, prompting John to sort of half turn his head now.

"Oh boy, Dutch is thinking of a plan, probably something that's gonna 'make a whole lotta noise' right? Probably get us both killed before we ever see the gallows!"

"John, unless you're going to help me, kindly shut the hell up. This is your goddamn fault to begin with–" He leaned forward a bit, trying to slide one leg back underneath him.

"My fault!" John laughed in reply, "How is this my fault this time?"

"You didn't leave me alone like I asked, and nicely I might add," he grunted as he finally got one leg beneath him and went to swing his other leg back now, "people that don't leave me alone tend to have a bad habit of dying on me when the going gets rough."

"You at least got one part right, Dutch. People do have a bad habit of dyin' when they spend any length of time with you. It's too bad your new friends don't know that about you just yet." John could feel Dutch try to stand up and he turned his head back again, "What the hell are you up to?"

"There's a nail, son. If I can get it into one of the knots, I might be able to undo it." He chuckled in amusement a bit as he slid himself up the length of the post and stood up, taking a moment to glance down at John. "And I can finally wash my goddamn hands of you."

"With no weapon? Even you ain't that stupid, Dutch." John shook his head.

"I'll just make another. That broken chair leg worked out pretty well." He grinned as he tried to lift his arms over his head now to get at the nail, but the way they had tied him made it difficult for him to fully flex his arms straight overhead and he was tied on the wrong side. He needed to figure out how to flip himself around now.

"Jesus." John spat as Dutch started to shift over towards him now, barely paying attention to where he was placing his feet when he stepped on him. "Get off me asshole!"

"Son," Dutch removed his foot and looked down at him, peppering the top of his head a bit from the blood dripping off the end of his beard, "kindly shut the fuck up and have a little faith."

"Faith? Really? That the best rousin' pep talk you can come up with!" John snarled as Dutch cautiously stepped around him until the knot was where he wanted it on his side and he went to extend his arms again, trying to work it into the exposed nail.

"Yes, son. Faith." He grunted in reply as the knot and nail found each other and he grinned, pulling the nail into the center of it until it popped through. "Have a little goddamn faith."

"Did you get it?" John asked, still unable to really make out much of Dutch except the back of his trousers. "And will you please get your ass out of my face?"

"You'll be wanting to kiss it soon enough." He replied as he slid his wrists back and forth to loosen the knot, he could feel it starting to give way. "I am going to make love to you for hours when I see you again, Annabelle. However you want me to, sweetheart, all tender-like or savagely, however you deem fit my darling."

"What?" John wrinkled his brow and shook his head in disbelief, confused by the sudden sentiment.

"Annabelle told me–" He paused in his work and sighed, he had never told anyone except Susan about being haunted by the voices of the dead. Though, back then it had solely been Belle's voice or outline and not everyone else too. "I uh…well I'm not…I know that she's–"

"You good, Dutch?"

"I 'spose." He replied quietly, resuming the task of getting the knot undone and grunting every now and then. Eventually after what felt like eternity, it was loose enough that he could push his hands together behind him and start to discard the rope. Having freed himself, he stepped away from John and stretched a little, looking around at the place they had put them in. Now that he was free, he just needed a weapon.

"So that's it then, huh Dutch?" John interrupted his thoughts and the man looked up at him from the floor.

'You came all this way, Van der Linde, don't disappoint us all now by being more concerned with self preservation.' Hosea murmured and Dutch nodded in reply, his eyes shifting to the table that Ephraim had been sitting at earlier and slowly walking towards it. He went to touch the sharp objects, trying to decide which one he liked best out of them all when he realized the cloth they were on was bloodied and it looked like they had recently seen use.

"They take any of your fingers or toes, John?" He raised an eyebrow, his hand trembling a bit as he continued to ponder over his choices. Torture, he thought angrily as he tried to hide and discourage the rage coursing through him now, it's always torture first isn't it?

"No. Just shoved 'em under the nail, cut up my tongue pretty good threatening to take it out, gave me a couple cuts but they ain't real deep. I've gotten through worse. I didn't talk, by the way. I could've but I didn't." Came the mumbled reply. Dutch finally selected one, a rather large bowie knife and twirled it a bit in both hands to determine the weight before returning to the post and sinking it into just above John's head as he crouched down. He touched both of Marston's shoulders, his hands still shivering a little and John looked up at him. "Just leave me, man. That's what you wanted to do anyway. Don't give me faith and hope where there ain't none."

"I know you never would. Listen, Jackie, if I wanted you dead, you would be. Can you fight?" He started to look over John now, trying to spot every last wound that Ephraim and his men had given him. He was counting them too, he would kill them one by one in recompense for bloodying John. It reminded him too much of Colm with Annabelle and it had completely unhinged him. He had always been good at revenge, especially whether he planned it carefully or not.

"Maybe. Can you? You're in pretty rough shape too, old man."

"We've gotten out of worse scrapes, son." He muttered back, retrieving the knife from where he had stuck it and slicing at the rope that held John.

"Why'd you come for me, Dutch? You feelin' guilty about the times you left me for dead? I thought you said you weren't the sentimental–" John sighed in relief as he felt the rope slip away and Dutch had quickly risen away from him now, interrupting him as he scrambled to put distance between them.

"I…" He let his voice trail off. There is no goddamn point to this discussion, he thought and exhaled loudly to hint to John that he wasn't in the mood either to be having it.

"Well…thank you." Marston filled in the silence and limped over towards the table to choose his weapon now.

'I'm looking forward to seeing you again soon, beloved.' Annabelle said softly, almost purring in his ear.

I'm not. I'm not ready, sweetheart.

"John, can I ask a favor of you?" Dutch studied the knife in his hands a while, feeling the sharp edge against his fingers as Marston finally selected a weapon.

"Depends. I ain't getting involved in whatever bullshit–"

"I know. If…if I fall today, son…if my time–" He shook his head, "nevermind."

"You won't fall today, Dutch. I might, but not you, that's just how it seems to go. But, on the off chance you did…I'm gonna guess you want me to take your corpse back to Cochinay. I can do that. Do you want me to mark the place for the two of you?"

"No. You remember the ridge line when we camped there all those years ago? The one she liked to precariously climb to and read, dangling her feet off the edge and scaring the shit out of me, repeatedly doing so no matter how many times I begged her not to just to annoy me?" He finally turned around and raised an eyebrow, John nodded but said nothing as he folded his arms. "She's at the base of it. There's a boulder that marks–"

"I'll make sure I find it the first time. Don't wanna disturb her beauty sleep. Now," John inhaled sharply and wiggled the knives he had taken from the table, "let's get the hell outta here, Dutch."