A/N: Okay, yeah. This chapter is supremely late, so here's what happened: I've rewritten the outline for this chapter like three times before I finally had a draft I agreed on. That's mostly why it took so long. Like, if I were to show you how my previous outlines for this chapter were like, the plot for this one would be very different. My sister also went to the hospital and had to get her gallbladder removed. Don't worry. She's doing much better now.

It was not far from the Grizzlies, as far as John remembered. It was west of it though. He approached a small town on horseback. If his source was correct, he'd probably find the man who would understand his plight the most there.

The night had been long. It was raining. John swore he had been riding all day. So, the quiet town he entered was very much to his liking. He trotted along the road until he approached a bar. This had to be the place.

John stepped inside and immediately could see the man he was looking for sitting at a nearby table. Another was sitting across from him and was the first to look up and see him. John got in close and was about to open his mouth, but instead the one he was looking for spoke before he did.

"Hello, John."

John hung his head low. He didn't think he'd make it this far, but here he was, only able to say his name.

"Hosea."

"John."

John sighed. All he wanted to do was brush his horse in the camp in peace, but the damn woman wouldn't even let him have that. He lowered his hands and turned to the source of his annoyances.

"Hey, John."

Abigail.

"What do you want?"

Abigail glared. "Is that how you speak to me?"

John just looked at her. She had that same fury in her eyes, but at this point, he couldn't care less.

"I guess it is."

The woman was just more infuriated. She growled.

"You miserable Scotch sack of shit!"

She smacked him. At this point he was used to it. All he had to do was piss her off and she'd leave. If he had to take a hand to the face before she went away, so be it.

"Nice tongue you got there, woman," John said, before going about his business. And she left him alone, which was fine by him. He had things to do.

The Grays needed more hands with security around their place. Sam was happy to let some of the boys in on it to stay in the family's good graces. Although, they still needed eyes on the Braithwaites, as well. It was good timing, though. He managed to get some kind of lead on getting some money. It wasn't the so-called "rebel gold", but it could be something. And it was from Tavish Gray, the head of the household. So, he grabbed Javier and they went out to the Gray's place and out by the stables.

"That hag and her inbred sons…" said Tavish, "they've ruined this county. They killed my uncle, you know."

"And that ain't right," said John.

"Problem is we can't be seen to get too close."

"And?"

Mr. Gray stood up from where he was sitting. "We've got gold, Yankee… we've got gold."

"I ain't no Yankee, friend… I ain't nothing… my daddy came over on the boat from Scotland."

"I'm Scottish."

"And the Braithwaites?"

"Goddamn peasants," Tavish hissed. "I don't know… mongrels… slave fuckers… all you got to do is look at them."

"So, how much gold?" said John.

"Enough," the Gray said, calming down enough with a sigh. "These are prized horses I'm talking about… they'll get you… five thousand."

John scoffed. "Five thousand? For horses?"

"You can sell 'em over in Clemens Cove. Feller over there will run them out of state… and give you fifty cents on the dollar."

John stepped forward and reached out his hand. "Mister, you got yourself a deal." Tavish reached back and shook the outlaw's hand.

"Now, there should be some kind of sign," said Arthur. "It'll show us the way it went."

Arthur looked around with Sam in the forest. Sam looked at the trees, saw the skies and then Arthur grabbed Sam's ponytail and tilted his head downward.

"At the ground, boy," he then said. "Deer ain't got no business in the trees. Look for something they may have left. It could be footprints, chewed up grass..."

Sam raised a brow. "What about droppings?"

Arthur looked where Sam was looking and saw what he was looking at.

"See?" he said. "It ain't that hard. Even someone who's as dumb as rock like me can learn."

"Hm." Sam watched his step and saw some footprints left by a deer. He could hear water. "There's a river. And… There are more footprints that lead towards it."

Arthur nodded. He knew the best way for Sam to learn was on the job. Soon, the two approached the river, seeing a deer drinking water.

"Ther-"

Arthur covered Sam's mouth. The young man huffed through his nose and picked up the bow Arthur let him borrow. He remembered how he was supposed to stand and how to grip the bow. It was pulling the string back that was hard. That's when Arthur stepped in, helping Sam with the bowstring. Sam tried to maintain his composure, but Arthur was pressing up right behind him adjusting his grip on the bow and his grip on the arrow and bowstring. It was somehow different from when Charles was teaching him.

"When you're ready," Arthur muttered, keeping his volume low. Sam could feel his voice rumbling in his chest. "Take aim, hold your breath and fire. Real quick."

How the hell was Sam this flustered at the moment?! He was literally about to shoot an animal in the woods for survival.

Sam let his arrow fly. He let a "sorry" slip past his lips as he heard the deer yell before a hard thud on the dirt.

"Good," Arthur said. He let go of Sam and walked towards their hunt.

Sam needed a second to calm down. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was surely burning red. He just killed a poor deer and here he was, blushing like a young maiden.

Despite this, Sam took a deep breath and smiled, before joining Arthur's side.

John felt like a fucking idiot.

He didn't believe all that much that people would pay five thousand dollars for stolen horses. He and Javier had broken into the Braithwaite property and managed to snag those horses like Mr. Gray wanted, but he only got about six hundred dollars, which was about a tenth of what he was told.

John split the money with Javier, of course, and they gave their share to the gang. He was puzzled on what to do now. Dutch had that look of disappointment in his eyes, but the gang leader just hoped that it wouldn't arouse too much suspicion towards them.

A whole afternoon of being shot at for six hundred dollars. It wasn't much money, but it was something. Maybe if Arthur had been there, he could have gotten them more or something. Or he'd probably tell him that it's a stupid lead and Tavish Gray didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

Too bad he was busy with… other things. Not to mention that he wouldn't even say more than two civil sentences to him.

"We're back!" Sam exclaimed. He walked through camp with two rabbits and Arthur followed him with a deer over his shoulder. They headed towards Pearson's wagon, where Arthur showed Sam how to skin a rabbit without even getting a knife out.

Sam flinched, seeing the pelt just come off like nothing, but to John it was a bit odd to see Sam not even become the least bit squeamish at the sight of all that blood. Then again, he did grow up with a doctor.

"Oh, it just came right off, didn't it?" said Sam. He was about as fascinated as Lily was the first time she skinned something.

Arthur just chuckled. The two looked like they were having a good time. It was far better than the other night when Sam was hauled to his tent over Arthur's shoulder.

John scoffed and hid back in his tent.

The rest of the day was relatively peaceful. Sure, there was Sean who wouldn't stop talking, Kieran getting picked on by Bill and Sadie, along with Grimshaw yelling and Karen getting increasingly drunk. Still, it was just familiar noises.

John had shut himself away in his tent. He knew if he stepped out and Abigail spotted him, she would probably start nagging him again. If there was anything he could tell the other men in the camp it was to never, ever get a woman.

He left the tent momentarily just to stretch his legs a little. It was after he was sure that darn "wife" he had had gone to sleep. There, he looked towards the campfire and saw Sam, Arthur, and Karen singing along to whatever Javier was playing on his guitar.

John was tempted to go sit there, but somehow knew if he did, Arthur would just leave a minute or so after he did. Sure, he remembered Arthur at his bedside while he was laid up back in Colter, but even then, he felt this wall there. And Arthur didn't even hide it. His jokes were more harsh remarks than a mere jab.

"You still here? Maybe I should scratch myself and feign a limp."

And then there was Abigail.

"Eaten by wolves… Never heard of such a ridiculous idea. Who gets themselves eaten by wolves? I mean, really, who?"

John just snuck over to Pearson's wagon and grabbed himself a beer. He snuck back to his tent and sat down. Sometimes he wondered why he even came back to the gang. It was lonely out on his own, but back here now, while he was welcomed back it was kind of the same with Arthur; There was some kind of wall. It was the kind that only seemed to come down sometimes when someone like Javier or Bill were drunk. And if it wasn't that, the girls would look at him. Abigail probably poisoned their minds, telling them how awful he was for not being there for the boy, or some kind of needless nonsense. If he tried to explain himself they would always say something like, "It ain't fair to her and the boy," even though everyone and their mother knew that Abigail had been with everyone in the camp. Hell, if Abigail was still about that life, Sam probably would've had a turn with her eventually. Maybe even Sean or Lenny.

Or, was John just kidding himself?

And then, there was Dutch. He barely said a word to him when he first came back. He never thought the man who practically raised him would hold such deep seeded opposition. Maybe he felt like John had abandoned him, which, in a sense, he did.

Hosea was probably the only one who was genuinely happy he came home. But now, John wasn't sure it was for the reasons he was hoping for. Was it because he had one of the boys he raised as his son back, or was it because he wanted him to be there for Abigail and Jack?

Either way, John didn't understand. He was back now. He had been back for some time. Why couldn't people just let it go?

Why couldn't Arthur just let it go?

One drink became two. Then three. And then he lost count.

It was getting late, but John was at the point where he didn't even care. He saw Karen walk by his table and smiled.

"Have a drink with me, Karen!" said John.

Karen walked past him, but stopped at the tree near the lake. She chuckled. "I'm okay, for now."

John rolled his eyes. There's no way Karen would turn down a drink. "Oh…ls my company's not good enough for you?"

"N-No…" Karen said, stifling a laugh. The blonde could tell John was drunk. It took one to know one.

"You're too fine and… mighty," John almost slurred wobbling on the crate he was sitting on, just outside his tent.

Karen walked up to John soon enough. She leaned in and decided to remind him to his face.

"But Abigail," she said. And then John had his arm around her and pulled her onto his lap.

"We ain't married, you know…"

Karen was quick and shuffled away from John quickly. "Get off of me!" Karen hissed. "You're being an idiot." And she stormed off before he could say anything else.

John just laughed to himself, leaning against the table behind him. If it weren't for that, he probably would've fallen on the ground by now. He heard footsteps not long after. If he wasn't so drunk, he probably would've been embarrassed, but he wasn't. Of all people to see him this low, it just had to be Arthur, huh?

John just looked at him, eyes half-lidded and glazed over, head almost completely lolling against the table and giggled a bit like a child.

"Am I being an idiot?" he asked.

"Yes," Arthur answered.

John wheezed, almost falling forward. "I thought so…" All he remembered after that, was laughing some more. He might have said something else, or Arthur did. He wasn't sure. John barely remembered wobbling onto his feet, or being dragged back into his tent.

John didn't wake up until the next afternoon. He groaned and rubbed his sore head that was throbbing. Luckily, there was a glass of water placed at his bedside, so he drank it, trying to regain his senses.

"Uncle Sammy?" John then heard from far away.

John looked outside and saw Jack run up to Sam. It looked like he was putting things away after a reading lesson.

"I got hurted," the kid mumbled.

"Hurt?"

Jack nodded.

Sam knelt down and saw the boy was clutching his hand. He tapped it to let him see and it looked like there was a cut on his palm.

"What happened?"

"I was playing and I dropped my toy, but when I picked it up there was a glass that cut me," said Jack.

"Does it hurt?" said Sam.

"A little."

"Jack, there you are?" Abigail said, walking over to them. Then she gasped. "Jack, what happened to your hand?!"

"He said he cut it while he was playing," said Sam.

"Jack, I told you to be careful playing in the grass!" Abigail scolded, her hands on her hips. "There's all kinds of dangerous items that could be in there."

"Uh… Miss Roberts?"

"Don't give me that!" said Abigail. "He's bleeding! Why the hell was no one watching him?!"

"Abigail!"

"What?!"

Sam silently pointed to the small child. He had seen his mother yelling, making him think that he was probably in dire straits and started to sob.

Abigail bit her lip momentarily and knelt down. "Come here, Jack Marston." She pulled the small kid into her arms. "It's alright. It ain't nothing too bad. Ain't you brave for handling a cut like that?"

Jack sniffled in his mother's arms, but nodded. It seemed like he was calming down.

Sam rolled his shoulders. "Come on, kid. How about we get that taken care of?"

"Okay…" Jack mumbled. He was suddenly surprised when Sam knelt down and picked him off the ground. Abigail followed him into his tent.

John threw his glass to the ground.

"The sheriff goes into these spots during the day," said Sam. He sat on a table later in the day with Karen. Bill, Lenny, and Arthur were also around the table. The blonde had Sam draw a quick layout of Valentine. "In the morning, he likes to stand just outside of the police station. At around noon he goes to the saloon, and once he's done with his meal he takes his drink outside, which is across from the bank. The rest are patrolling near the outskirts or the town, and the ones in town are probably on break until the switch."

"So, would early evening be our best bet?" said Karen.

Sam nodded. "Probably."

Bill stood behind Sam. "Should be easy enough, if we're quick. Just in and out."

"Is the take gonna be good?" said Arthur.

"It's the end of the stock sales," said Karen. "I heard from a feller I met in town. Lots of people, lots of money just sitting around. One of Brandon's boys."

"They didn't ask for anything in return for that information, did they?" said Sam.

"Just a couple of bucks. But, if this goes well, we'll make that money back and more."

"If Brandon's lackey ain't pulling a scam," Arthur said, doubtfully.

Sam thought to himself, and then shook his head. "I don't think he would do that. He's probably got enough money to not have to do that."

Arthur nodded. "Sure." He looked down at Sam, who was distracted by the map he had drawn out. "Are you sure you're okay with us causing a ruckus in your hometown?"

Sam's eyes continued to stare at the map. Specifically, where he mapped where the bank was marked.

"The law was more concerned with protecting cash over people's lives," said Sam. He looked up at Arthur, the light gone from his eyes momentarily. It was the kind that Arthur had only seen from Dutch on a very rare occasion. "Burn the whole damn building to the ground, for all I care."

Arthur sighed. He patted Sam on the shoulder. "Okay, then."

Then Sam perked up a little. "Are you sure you don't want me to go with?"

Karen giggled. Then flicked Sam on the forehead. "No, you dummy! They'll recognize you before you can even get near the bank."

Sam groaned and let his head rest in his arms. Arthur laughed and patted his shoulder again. "You'll get your chance again, don't worry."

"Just don't get arrested," said Sam. "They like to make a show of it."

The group laughed and made more small talk while Lenny walked over to review the drawn out map once more from Sam's journal. Sam tore out the page and let them take it for the job in Valentine. Arthur was just glad he managed to talk Sam out of going back to Valentine. Maybe almost pushing him into a lake did the trick.

If only it would work about him and the O'Driscolls.

They wrapped up their planning session, but Sam thought he could at least help them prepare, so Karen, Lenny, Bill and Arthur allowed at least that.

John had heard everything from his tent. Alone.

Javier and Bill were probably the only ones who still didn't judge John on his choices. So, it was no wonder that he was drinking with them. They were probably the only ones who understood. Meanwhile, though, they were still included on stuff. Sure, he put together the train robbery when they were back in Horseshoe Overlook, but Arthur only came along, because he was worried about Sam. He didn't get it. He wasn't concerned with Lenny or Sean, and Sam was way older than those two. He didn't really know them that well, either. They were new editions. They were already in the gang when he returned.

Regretting last night, John was drinking again tonight, but was going much lighter this time. He saw Abigail here and there, but she wouldn't even look at him.

Meanwhile, he saw Sam still hanging out with Arthur like a leech clinging to their victim. They were playing dominoes with Tilly.

Eventually, Bill had to go to bed early since he was setting out for Valentine in the morning. Javier wanted to go fishing in the morning, so he went to bed as well. So, he was alone.

He had listened to all the nagging, and advice from Arthur, Hosea, and Dutch. Even Abigail. All he wanted was for them to leave him alone. John pulled out another cigarette. In a sense, he got what he wanted.

John heard coughing. Quite a bit of it, actually. He turned and saw Hosea walking by his table.

"You alright?"

Hosea took a deep breath and nodded. "Sure." The elder went ahead and took a seat near him. "And you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I ain't stupid John," he said. "And it's not just me who's seen you sulking around camp all day."

"I ain't…" John tried to object to his observations, but… he was kinda right.

"So, Arthur still giving you the cold shoulder?" said Hosea.

"He ain't gonna forgive me, Hosea," John said, shaking his head.

"Give it time."

"No. It ain't gonna happen. He ain't gonna forgive me, let alone forget. And Abigail's gone and turned the girls against me, as well."

Hosea shrugged. "I wouldn't exactly see it that way, either."

John huffed. "And how do you see it?"

"Don't be an idiot, John," said Hosea. "It don't suit you. Far be it from me for interfering with your business, but that boy is your business."

The younger man sighed. He held his head in his hands, fingers tracing over the scarred tissue on his face. Yep, that scratch was definitely going to be a permanent scar.

"I know, but-"

"No," Hosea interjected. "No, buts. Dutch's bluster aside, he's right on this. But if I were you, I'd take it step further."

"What?" John said, still unamused.

"I say you should get the hell away from here."

John let his hands slam on the table.

"Are you serious?" he said. His eyes narrowed at the elder looking at him. "After all I've done to come back here?"

"This ain't about you no more, John," said Hosea. "This a place to raise a boy?"

John stood up from the table. "It's always about the goddamn boy, ain't it? I didn't have to come back here, but I did. I grew up in the camp. Arthur did, too. Why the hell is this different?"

"It is different now, John," said Hosea. "We're being hunted. You want that kid in the crossfire?"

"Is that the only reason you wanted me to come back?" said John.

"I just want you to stop being an idiot, John."

"I've been shot at, eaten by wolves, starved, almost frozen to death, and held at knife point," said John. "I did all I could for this gang. So, don't start saying that I don't do enough!"

"John-"

"No," said John. "If I ain't appreciated here, I'll go someplace where I am!"

John stormed away from the table. He didn't care if people had begun to stare, or the voices that were entering his ears. He was so mad that their words were just noise.

"John?" Abigail soon took notice. She had just gotten Jack to sleep, but when she ran out towards the commotion, John rode away on his horse.

Abigail had the entire goddamn camp at her side. Why him? After everything he's done for the gang?! He's been helping out where he could! He brought in money! He came back when he easily could have just disappeared from their lives forever.

Why did he care? Arthur wouldn't care. He was too busy hanging out with Sam.

John rode for what felt like hours. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. Eventually, he entered the Bayou, taking in the scent of the swamps. It was oddly quiet and he could only guess that it was because of the night and all the water around, along with the humidity. If he remembered correctly another town wasn't too far from Rhodes, so he wondered why nobody was out at this time of night.

It was hard to see with all the damn fog. John pulled out his lantern, but it only helped a little.

Suddenly, there was a sound. A strange kind of hiss that made Old Boy neigh and stand on his hind legs.

"Whoa! Easy boy!" said John. He patted his steed on the neck, trying to calm him down. He continued along the trail, his head looking around for anything suspicious, but his field of view was very low.

Another hiss. Another whine from John's horse. John couldn't shake this feeling that something was wrong.

It happened all too suddenly! A weird shadowy shape zipped past them, and the horse had enough. The horse neighed, suddenly bucking John off the saddle. He landed in the dirt, right on his back. Old Boy ran off before John could get back on his feet.

Hissssss!

Just as John stood up, he twisted around to see many figures heading towards him. He didn't know who or what they were. Their clothes were torn and tattered, like they had never been clean, their skin pale as the moon, their hair messy and all over the place. John couldn't tell if the red on their faces was paint or blood.

"Oh shit!" John had no choice but to run. His horse could wait. He had to get the hell out of here!

John didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from those creeps. He ran through the trees, brushing through leaves and branches, but it didn't seem he was getting any further from them. He pulled out his gun and started shooting, thankful that whatever these creeps were, weren't invincible.

Suddenly, John hit something solid. His entire body collided with it. A wall. A literal goddamn wall. John turned around. Shooting as many of those strange bastards as he could, but they were getting really close.

Then, there were more gunshots, taking out the rest of them. John sighed in relief, taking a moment to try and reload his revolver, but it wasn't necessary, as they were all laying around dead, on the muddy ground.

"What the hell?"

John was still catching his breath, back against the wooden wall, when someone rounded the corner. As soon as he saw that long, blonde hair, he knew who exactly it was.

The man made eye contact with John, and smiled. "John Marston."

"Brandon Marrows."

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Brandon said. The two raced up to each, shaking hands, and patting each other on the shoulders.

"So, Sam was right," said John. "You're still alive."

"And kicking!" the blonde boasted proudly. "But you know, this is Night Folk country."

"Night… Folk?"

Brandon shrugged. "No one knows much about them," he gestured to the field of corpses near them. "But, they like to come out at night, and if they get you, well, best they don't take you alive. C'mon. Let's get you inside. I'll have someone clear out this mess in a bit."

John nodded. "Sure."

Turns out that wall John ran into was actually one of Brandon's bases of operations for his moonshine business. Brandon showed John inside, where a warm inviting light was waiting for them. The floors and walls were wooden with a sink in the back, and a fireplace burning, and by the cabinet in the corner was a desk where none other than Maggie Fike was busying herself writing something there.

"Hey, Maggie," Brandon said, a smile on his face. "Guess who's here?"

Maggie stood from her desk, cane in hand, and walked towards John, who was okay with hugging her.

"Well, look who it is." As soon as the gray-haired woman pulled away, she looked at John's face. "And got some new scars, I see."

"And you've still got your old ones."

Maggie shook her head and walked towards the sink. "Some things don't change. Brandon, help me out, would ya?"

The blonde nodded, helping the older woman get some glasses and pour some whiskey. Maggie needed a word with another associate of Brandon's downstairs, so she left them to drink at the table and catch up.

"So that Marcel feller is still running things in the basement?" said John.

"Yes, and we've found some new recipes, since you've been gone," said Brandon. "You've gotta try 'em sometime."

"And where's the other one?" said John. "Uh-"

"Oh, you mean Rose," said Brandon. "She's tracing where the O'Driscolls have gone. She's been out for a while, but I know her. She always comes back with something. And Dutch?"

John shrugged. "He's just… Well, he's kind of the same, as usual: Cooking up some scheme that will either go well or blow up in our faces."

"Like… Blackwater?"

The dark hair paused for a moment. "He won't admit what happened."

Brandon shrugged. He finished his glass of whiskey and poured himself another. "It's everywhere. Obviously, I can't go there, myself, but I've had other people look into it. I know I can't directly interfere and neither can you, but I know your boss is planning something with those Grays and Braithwaites."

"What about it?" John said, with a shrug.

"I mean, after the shit he caused in New Hanover, I don't need a ruckus down in Lemoyne, either. You know Cornwall's been pouring money to hunt you guys down. That includes greasing the palms of those wretched Pinkertons. Goddamn thugs in suits. They're no better than those Revenue Agents."

"Government would gladly take a coin off a dead man," said John. "The Pinkertons ain't nothing new and neither are those mercenaries."

Brandon sighed. "Maybe… but ain't you worried?"

"'Course. But there's no way Dutch is just gonna hide away somewhere."

"At least lie low," Brandon scoffed. "Jesus. Your lot ain't the only ones trying to survive out here."

"I know."

"So, why the hell were you out in the swamps in the middle of the night?"

"Honestly?" said John.

"Sure."

"It's the kid."

"Jack, right?" said Brandon.

John took another drink of whiskey and practically slammed the empty glass down. "I've been back at that darn camp, doing everything I can to make up for leaving, but it's like... They can't just let it go. And after everything, Hosea told me to take Abigail and Jack and leave! Like, we're better off on our own. Back then, I would've been dead on my own, if you hadn't showed up."

"Well, I did encourage you to go back to them," said Brandon. "Maybe it's my fault."

"No. There was no way you could have expected things to be like that."

"Did Hosea order you to do that?"

"No. It was more of a… suggestion."

"Then you don't have to listen."

"I ain't gonna."

Brandon leaned back in his chair. "Well, either way, if you want to stick around I'd be happy to have you back." He chuckled. "It'd be like old times."

John smiled a little, but then it faded. He poured himself another drink. "That sounds nice, but if I were to do that, it'd be proving Arthur's point about how I would only run off again. We grew up together, he and I… but now, he treats me like a complete stranger. And Hosea just wants me to leave everything I've ever known."

Brandon sighed, he looked at his own reflection in the drink he had. "Do you… hate Abigail?"

For once, without all the judgemental stares, the nagging, and Arthur's ignoring, John could actually think. Maybe it was the drink, or maybe he really did feel this way. Sure, Abigail yells at him, she smacked him, but he does piss her off. And she pisses him off. That's just… how they were, huh?

"No," John finally answered. He couldn't explain it, but despite everything, he still loved her.

"Not everyone gets to go back to what they loved," Brandon said, rubbing his gloved hands together. He stared at them intently. Then balled his hands into fists. "But, it looks like you still can. I know it's a lot. I've had a lot on my plate before. Just…" The blonde frowned, his solemn expression was a rarity to strangers, but not to John. "When things change, it's very unlikely that it'll ever go back to how it was. You just have to… adapt. Just try handling things one at a time. Start small, and don't be an idiot, I guess. I know a lot is being asked of you. If there's anything I can do to make it easier, I can try."

"Well, this quiet space is already helping," said John. "For once, I can hear myself think. Thanks for saving me back there. I guess we're even now."

Brandon chuckled to himself. "Guess so. Maybe I'll go after the price on you boys now."

And the two busted out laughing.

One of Brandon's associates managed to hunt down John's horse and bring him back to safety. However, Brandon thought it would be wise to wait out the night and return until morning. John was restless, though, somehow eager to get back to Clemen's Point. So, Brandon ended up staying up late with him.

As a parting gift, Brandon gave John a bottle of his finest shine, before sending him on his way.

Abigail was at a loss of what to do. She was sitting in Sam and Lily's tent. Jack had gone to sleep in the one she shared with him hours ago, so the young mother didn't want to disturb him. Heaven forbid he found out that his father just took off again. She wasn't alone as her worries kept her up almost all night. The sun was about to rise.

"It's my fault, Abigail." Hosea sat with her on Lily's cot, while Abigail, despite looking pissed, had unshed tears in her eyes.

"I should've… broken his legs while I had the chance," Abigail muttered.

Hosea patted her leg, but shook his head. She didn't really mean that.

Lily came back with some tea. She set it on the nearby table. "The boys are out looking for him. They'll get him back. That, or drag him back for you. Well, Sadie might, at least."

Abigail sighed. "Thank-you. You're very kind." She looked into Lily's hazel eyes. "I say you dodged a bullet with that Archie feller."

"What?"

"You're very kind, Lily," said Abigail. "Despite the things you've done. So, let me give you some advice: Don't become a mother. You feed the boy, raise the boy, do anything you can to protect the boy, but does the little apple of his mother's eye even consider the words thank-you? Or express anything other than utter horror at her who birthed him? So, just don't do it!" Hosea put his arm around Abigail as she hid her head in her hands. "Rudeness, I think I can take. It's the pity and disgust I struggle with."

Lily didn't know how to respond. She helped her uncle deliver kids before when she still worked at the clinic. Usually, the new mothers were overjoyed. Abigail probably was, too, but… she probably didn't have the support that regular folk would.

"They'll find him," Lily could only reassure her. "We…" She stole a quick glance at Hosea. "I won't let him slunk off again."

Sam came running into the tent out of breath. "I just saw John!" he said through gasps of air. "He's on his horse… And he looks okay." Lily rushed over to him with a glass of water. "Thank-you."

Abigail stood up, but wasn't so keen on rushing out to see him. Most of the camp was asleep, so there wasn't much commotion once John hitched up his horse and just wandered into the camp.

"Well, I'll be…" said Hosea. He and the others watched John wobble towards his tent and disappear inside.

Abigail just shrugged. "Yeah, well… Don't none of you say a thing to him." She huffed and hurried towards her tent. "I'm going to sleep." The remaining three were confused but decided to heed her wishes.

John just collapsed into bed, exhausted out of his mind. He had a fight, was almost killed, had a few drinks and went home. Saying he needed to sleep was an understatement. He thought that any minute Abigail would come after him, yelling, saying how he was a terrible person for making her worry, but probably cover that part up by saying that Jack was the one who was worried, but he had a deep, undisturbed slumber.

Abigail woke up around noon, but thankfully, Sam and Lily had tended to Jack's needs after the night she had. Jack was already fed, and Sam, along with Hosea, took him aside to help him read a book he wanted to get through.

She took her sweet time, getting dressed, and finding something to eat. And then, with another plate of food in her hands she brought herself to walk into John's tent. He was still asleep, and like Sam said, he looked fine. Abigail didn't see any injuries on his body. She sat down and just waited.

Eventually, John did wake up, his eyes open slowly and catching sight of the woman sitting near him. It brought him back to when she did that while he was bedridden from that wolf attack in the mountains. Slowly, he sat up, like a sudden movement would make him end up with a bullet in his head, but instead, she just handed him a bowl of stew from Pearson's tent.

John was appalled. He thought Abigail would be furious with him, but she was just sitting there, offering him food, of all things? Maybe it was poisoned. If so, maybe he deserved it.

It tasted… decent. That was saying a lot when it came to Pearson's cooking, so the same as it's always been. And, he wasn't dead, so Abigail didn't finally decide to kill him. She kept looking outside or around the tent.

John was about halfway done with his meal, when she finally spoke.

"How did we get here John?"

"Same way we always do," said John. "By annoying the wrong folk."

"No, I mean us. This… situation."

John wasn't a good talker, especially when it came to emotions like this. Hell, it was probably how it ended up this way. But, now there was no other choice. If he wanted to take back what he had, he had to start somewhere.

And right now, it was with Abigail. John sighed and set his plate aside.

"Look… I know I ain't acted right to you… and the boy."

Abigail shrugged. "Guess I can't make you want something you don't."

John was appalled. She really thought that? Well, it made sense. Jack wasn't planned. It kind of just happened, and instead of just accepting it, he didn't everything he could to avoid it, even trying to say there was a chance that Jack wasn't even his son. He wanted Arthur to just man up and get over what happened between them, but maybe he wouldn't because, well… he was one to talk.

"It ain't like that," he said. "Life ain't that simple. Not this life." John quickly gestured to the camp outside.

"I know," said Abigail.

John sighed. "I'll… I'm sorry, Abigail."

He felt a hand on his knee. It was Abigail's. He took it with both of his hands, and they sat there for a while in silence. Eventually, Abigail moved to sit with him on the cot and just leaned on him.

Maybe he could fix this. He just… had to start small. He saw Arthur walk by the tent, and sighed.