Chapter 5
"Yeah, just thinking about the events of late," Arthur fibbed and felt like shit for it. It never pleased him, lying to his father figure, his true father figure. Blackwater no longer troubled him. The emotional pain of losing Jenny, Mac, and Davey was still partially there, but it felt like a lifetime away, no longer troubling...
"Ah, yes, can see why," the elder man sighed in resignation. "I fear sometimes what Dutch is doing."
"I can see why."
Hosea looked at him as if he'd just burnt the whole cabin down with his horse alone. "You're questioning Dutch? I never thought I would see that before."
His new behavior was starting to cause confusion. Fortunately, he had a perfect excuse.
"Things changed after Blackwater, Hosea. I wanna be more... careful. We'll have to be prepared for every outcome. Good or bad." Especially the latter when it came to Dutch's "perfect" plans.
Hosea nodded and smiled. "We'll get out of this, Arthur, don't you worry, son."
If only he knew Dutch never cared about his opinions.
Maybe, he did, but he didn't want to admit it.
Arthur nodded and laid back, closing his eyes, but he didn't fell asleep. While he didn't mind talking to the older man, it was just surreal to find him alive again. The hole in his heart that was created after Hosea's death hadn't yet been refilled. It was a scene that he was always going to remember. Terrible as Angelo Bronte's death when he died in the most disgusting way possible, fed to an alligator by Dutch. At least Milton let Abigail go.
The door opened, and Arthur just kept his eyes closed. Most likely, it wasn't important.
"Arthur, you're up?" The familiar voice of Charles broke through his vision. "Arthur!" He didn't shout his name, but his voice rose with urgency.
Ugh... Never mind!
He sighed, already knowing where this was going, and looked up. "What's up, gentlemen?"
"When we ran away in Blackwater, I wasn't able to get supplies in," Pearson replied, seeming to be angry and impatient.
"Well, we'll have to eat you then," Arthur said in his typical dry humor.
"I sent Lenny and Bill hunting and they found nothing!" the man snapped in irritation.
"We'll have to go find something," Charles imputed, his voice calm and collected as always. "Come on, Arthur."
Arthur groaned and stood from the bed, allowing his joints to crack, knowing that Pearson and Charles were right. Last time, he'd been arrogant and believed that they all would survive as always. Now, Arthur no longer followed that belief. Anyone could die in all types of ways. In the lands of the Wild West, the youngest such as Lenny and the oldest such as Uncle, weren't freed from that burden.
Pearson threw a can at his direction, which he caught in his hands. Assorted, salted Offal. "...Alright. Alright. I'm coming. This ain't your military days no more." he remarked, full of sarcasm.
After he redressed himself, Arthur Morgan stepped out in his glory. The blizzard had since calmed down, decreasing in ferocity. Charles was waiting patiently. Aside from John, the man was practically his second brother.
They walked past Hosea and Dutch sitting in their chairs next to the window in the living room, neither of whom seemed to notice that him at that moment. Arthur could tell that the argument was getting more heated now. Dutch had a dark glint in his eye. Hosea had his forehead buried in his hand.
'John? InSiSTs?'
The simple fact; Dutch was never going to Tahiti. Paradise was just the carrot Dutch dangled in front of everyone to keep them motivated. Dutch was addicted to being the Savior of them all and in Tahiti he would lose that: once you have paradise you do not need a Savior. If there were no Cornwall, then Dutch would have just found someone else to rob. If Dutch really wanted that Blackwater money he could have gotten it, but by getting it he would have lost everyone to paradise. It was just that the adversity post Blackwater was greater than Dutch anticipated, and the stress eventually broke him completely.
Both men moved over to their horses, keeping silent, not wanting to get into the middle of that-even though Arthur knew it was inevitable. They'd adjusted their equipment on their horses, making sure their saddle was in place. The winter had entirely frozen parts of the stirrup, making it complicated to secure properly.
"You should be relaxing that burnt hand of yours," he spoke conversationally to Charles.
"By the time I recover, everyone would be as good as dead." Small amusement was in his tone.
As Arthur got on top of his horse, Charles tossed the bow to him when he finished getting on top of Taima, which he caught. At one point, he found hunting to be an outdated and useless form of living. Quickly, that opinion changed. Hunting was necessary to survive, even without living the life they did.
At that moment, a door to a cabin in front of them opened, revealing the whacked with concern form of Abigail.
"Arthur! Hey, Arthur!" she shouted.
"Let me guess, Abigail? Little Johnny got himself in another mishap?" he asked.
"Yes, Arthur! Please! Jack needs his father!" Fleshly spilled tears dripped from Abigail's eyes. "He's been gone for days. He probably got... just please."
"I'll find him," Arthur assured. He was actually 'bout to head out for him soon enough.
"Count me in," Javier walked up, a cigarette lit in his hand.
Arthur bitterly thought about how Javier left them to die. He couldn't trust him. Not right now. Possibly never again. He'd understood Javier was in a tight spot, but the man was smart. While harboring somewhat of good moral character, Javier submitted too much to Dutch's leadership when he had to take personal responsibility not only for Blackwater but also for everything that came after. Bill had the excuse of not being the brightest gang member. On that regard, Javier's betrayal hurt more than anything, even Dutch's in some ways, because he had time to prepare for Dutch and hoped that at least Javier would have backed him when the time came.
That hope died in Beaver Hollow.
Javier looked up at Arthur as he walked over to his own horse, Boaz, unhitching him, taking his disdainful look for something else, no doubt. "I know if the situation were reversed, he'd look for me."
Shaking the thought off, he nodded. Javier didn't yet leave John to die, or side with Dutch. Even though he would in the future when the cards were shown, it hadn't happened yet. Maybe he wouldn't ever have to make that choice. However, Arthur didn't have any fancy dreams 'bout attempting to convince Javier. Regardless of if Javier opened his goddamn eyes or not, others deserved the chance to survival, to be given the chance to see outside of Dutch's leadership.
"I think I have the idea of knowing where Marston may have turned up," he declared when Javier finished gathering up his own supplies and equipment on his horse. "We'll get him back, Abigail." he reassured.
The woman nodded. "Thanks, Arthur, all of you!"
Arthur always had a good sense of remembering things. He'd known that going back to the date of that event could result in something going different. The mere fact that Charles would be joining Arthur and Javier in finding Marston was a sign of something changing. How much would be changed soon enough?
The three men rode through the snow with Arthur at the lead this time around. Not even pretending to play dumb, they continued moving. He wanted John back at camp now. Not later.
"Woah, compadre! Might as well be a natural born hunter!" Javier quipped as they continued moving.
Arthur didn't satisfy him with a response.
"Are you sure we're going the right way?"
"Yeah," he forced out. "This is the right direction. I'm sure of it."
The snow was becoming thicker and thicker as the horses accelerated their way up the mountain path. It wasn't long before Arthur detected John's horse ahead, a bloodied mess-a sign of the wolves having their fun and looking for the next thing, or maybe the poor thing died due to exhaustion. Either way, it'd reminded him too much of when he'd lost all of his previous horses, including Ryan in the fight against the Pinkertons.
Kieran would have been heartbroken if he'd seen the horse. While Arthur at the time was annoyed with his presence, the man taught him how to keep better care of his horse, something that helped him train his Walker.
"John!" Javier shouted.
No response...
Arthur didn't pretend to not know where John was. Still, he had to be careful. He moved ahead, his hand on his gun, checking his surroundings for any possible threat.
"John!" Javier shouted again. "Brother, where are you?!"
"Hey! I'm here! Over here!" The voice...
A smirk spread across Charles' expression. "That's John!" he exclaimed.
"Always lucky, that one is." Arthur slid off his horse and swung his rifle around his shoulder.
Charles followed suit, sinking knee-deep into the snow next to him along with Javier. "What is it with you two anyways?" he questioned. "I thought he'd grew up with you."
Arthur shrugged. "He's still my brother and I love him. Just wished he'd never abandon us."
He stormed through the trek, jumping with the two men following behind him. When he looked over the ledge, he found the man, wounded and bloodied. John had an amazing knack of survival, being eaten alive by wolves, survived falling off a moving train, close calls with swinging. It was like something always protected him from doom and death. Silly, though. Probably was just some luck.
"Never thought I would say this but it's good to see you, Arthur Morgan," John said upon seeing them. His eyes were glazed over in agony. There were two nasty cuts on one side of his face.
Before Arthur even realized what he was doing, he stepped down, not in the mood to quip or snark. He wasn't particularly pleased with finding him like this the first time around either, but this time, he felt his heart sinking, wishing he could do more to help with John's injuries.
John was a complete and utter mess, what remained of his coat and pants torn to pieces like his face. The scars that had bred John's face were fresh and new, and he was overwhelmed by the urge to grip John's face. There were other read gashes across his body, namely his knee, but his face was what concerned him the most, even though he'd been alright the first time around.
He thought back to the mountain the moment before they'd separated when he was 'bout to draw the Pinkertons away. Little John, staring up at him with admiration and respect, like viewing his brother in a way different light from before.
'You're my brother…'
'I know.'
He narrowed his eyes at the man for a long moment, and he found his arms frozen, eyes narrowed as he stared deeply...
'Now listen,' the familiar form of John Marston said, walking up to his family. "Jack, darling, get on this horse. Get out of here. Go find a place to hide."
'You're coming with us, Pa,' Jack - was that seriously little Jackie?! - said.
'I'll catch up,' John lied. 'You keep riding and don't look back and don't be worrying about me, you hear? Now get going.'
'You stay out of trouble, John,' Abigail warned.
'Ain't no trouble, Abigail,' John responded, a small smile on his lips. 'Ain't no trouble.' He quickly gave her a kiss and added, 'I love you.'
'I love you,' she replied, tears welling up in her eyes. Something 'bout the scene was sentimental and... saddening.
'Now go. Git!' John tapped the horse, and it galloped off.
He walked over to the barn doors and looked out of the peep hole, at unnamed enemies. For a moment, his brother stood, staring down, and was stuck between a sigh and snort, before taking one last breath and pushing them open.
He looked at them all, and two seconds later, raised his revolver, pulling the hammer back and firing.
Taking ten or eleven down with him when twenty or so bullets tore through him. Arthur's heart clenched. Over a dozen bullets impaled his body within half a second. In a remarkable show of willpower, he was able to remain on his feet for a few seconds; but it seemed like his body just couldn't take it anymore, and he collapsed onto his knees.
One of the men - the commanding officer no doubt - lit a cigar as he stared at John, coughing and wheezing slightly, before falling back. He shook his head and indicated for the rest of his posse to follow him back, leaving behind John's body.
He jolted without even realizing it, noticing John staring up at him. His body riddled with bullets was buried in his mind. What was that? The life he'd left behind? He'd remembered the words told to him earlier by the Strange Man. Of what Jack would become. What did it all mean?
"Pretty nasty, huh?" John quipped while Arthur observed him, hands coming back on both of his shoulders. "Thought you would have been happy finding me like this."
"No, John, I..." What Arthur really wanted to say was: "No, John, you're my little brother. You always have been since you came into the gang."
His words were stuck in his throat 'cause this wasn't the same John yet. He was a deadbeat, the man who'd neglected his fatherhood duties, who didn't yet have the best relationship with his brother. Arthur planned to fix that soon, no matter how long that took. John was the only person who stood by him in the end. And seeing him in even slight pain no longer amused him.
"You're okay, John?" Charles asked the barely groaning man.
"Never better, Charles, never better," John commented with sarcasm.
Arthur reached into his satchel and produced out a bottle of Absinthe. "Drink this, John. It'll help with the pain."
He nodded, shakily accepting the liquor with gratitude. "Th-thanks…"
The three helped him up, bringing him away from the ledge.
"Come on, compadre." Javier urged, sounding like he was pleading.
"I ain't dying, amigo," John assured, clearly close to unconsciousness.
"Not on my watch," Arthur thought out loud-it wasn't a threat. It was a promise.
"Huh, what did I do to earn such loyalty, Morgan?" John inquired.
"You're my brother, scar face, no matter what happens between us, that'll never change."
"Wow, uhh, thanks, Arthur." John said awkwardly as Arthur loaded him on his back.
AROOOOOOOOOOO
The familiar sound grabbed each men's attention. Looking ahead and upwards, the three men found a snow white wolf on the ledge of the rim. Another wolf's head emerged in sight from around the bend, then another, and another. John's horse wasn't enough for them. They'd wanted actual feasting, and no matter the harsh wind, they were going to get it. They descended from the perch, landing about fifty feet in front of the four men, and began walking up.
"Is that what I think it is?" John inquired gloomily from Arthur's back, unable to see the threat ahead of them.
"A pack out for you, John," Arthur quipped good-naturedly. "You must have given off a good impression."
John scoffed. "One way of putting it."
"They're attempting to intimidate us," Charles noted. "They are trying to terrify us into running and leaving John behind. They want to target the weakest of us."
"Would have to get through me first," Arthur declared.
John declared, "We can't outrun them. Even if I could keep up, we'll be running on eggshells when it comes to the goddamn snow." The man shivered once more, and Arthur didn't think it was from the cold. "We cannot outrun them. Arthur, tell Abigail I-" he began, painful moans escaping his lips.
"You tell her, you goddamn idiot."
He argued weakly, "I doubt they would follow if you don't carry me to the horses."
"You are not dying here." Not for another fifty years at least. Sixty or seventh if he was lucky. "You two, bring up the horses."
Charles followed the command, but Javier stopped, looking back with concern. "And what about John, cabrón?"
"I'll protect John," he snapped. He didn't trust him with John, not even for a moment. Call it paranoia, but he didn't care! "Get outta here and go get the goddamn horse, Mr. Escuella."
The Mexican looked for one moment, stunned by his tone, before rushing off as fast as he could.
In a span of a moment, he had his revolver produced and aimed. In his sights were the pack leader, his eyes challenging him. The wolf's front leg began to kick at the snow, ferocious and anger in his dark eyes.
Arthur fired, dropping the animal with a shot between the eyes. The wolf fell and twitched slightly, and that gave the rest of the wolves the inclination to attack. The wolves dashed up, all in opposite direction, teeth bared, willing to take on their two victims.
One wolf was struck in the left shoulder and faltered. Another was struck in the stomach twice, a clean execution. Two others were hit in the head. Two remained. Arthur had been determined to give them a distraction while Charles and Javier bailed as fast as they could.
One wolf was moving faster than the other.
The second to final wolf collapsed in a heap of its own blood, caught between the neck. The final one, however, came up, growling. Arthur couldn't help the fear hammering inside of him.
"Shit..."
Maybe giving John to Javier would have been a smarter idea...
His gun recharged, and Arthur aimed to fire once again, only for the wolf survival instincts to kick in. He jumped up at him, knocking John off of his back. He tried to fire. The wolf kicked his gun away with his paw, but Arthur kept his hands in front of its hungry face. The animal sliced his chest and arms, hoping to weaken him. One of the strikes caught his cheek, causing a scar to open on the side of his cheek.
Arthur pushed the head away with his right hand with as much effort as he could, finding his strength decreasing with his wounds. Wolves weren't any pushovers whatsoever.
A gunshot went off, putting the creature down. His revolver was smoking, but it was in a different hand. John's hand.
"Damn, Morgan, next time let someone else take me, why don't ya? I don't enjoy falling off your back and having a trip in the snow like this." John managed weakly.
Arthur gently laid the creature onto the ground and stared down at it, not too surprised by the guilt that crept up. Would this continue happening every time he'd claimed a victim? It was necessary, but it didn't make it right.
But he had to leave them. Arthur rushed over to John's icy form, noticing that the man was passing out. His heartbeat wasn't faint, but rather very vibrant. But he was tired, and Arthur, proving to be the protective older brother, didn't helped them this time. After John was secured on his back again, he picked up his revolver in the snow with his free hand and holstered it, walking over and gently laying John on the horse being pulled by the reins and swinging on top of it.
At last, John was safe.
Time to go back.
Arthur's note: I love the visions of the past life. Imma include them when I have to because it gives the story more life in my opinion.