Disclaimer: I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2. This story contains blood, violence, abuse, and dark themes. Viewer discretion is advised.
Kieran awoke to the startling feeling of wet hands on his chest. He jerked away from the touch and was immediately greeted by blistering pain over his battered body.
"Hey, take it easy," the woman before him tried calming him. Miss Jackson? Her hands were dirtied with his blood, and beside her was a roll of bandages and used rags sitting in a bucket of dark water. "I'm just tryin' to button up your shirt, is all. Will you let me?" her delicate brown eyes and relaxed posture settled his nerves. Slowly, he nodded. She was careful not to touch or disturb his fresh bandages as she buttoned up his shirt. He waited for her to walk away to let his exhausted body slump, though the motion reignited the burning ache of his branding and knife slashes as they rubbed against his fresh bandages.
He kept his head low, not daring to look anyone in the eye, not that anyone was giving him any attention. The gang members either kept their distance from him or never shot a glance his way as if he carried the plague. All except two souls.
Not to his surprise, the nice woman who had gave him water spared him pitying glances fragile as glass throughout the day as she went about reading and chores. When she came over to give him an honest cup of water, her blue eyes favored the dry dirt over his nasty injuries, a gentle "sorry" squeaking past her lips. The second person that Kieran never thought he'd share gazes with was the young, spirited boy he'd seen exploring the camp with naïve zeal. He learned that the boy's name was Jack after Miss Roberts, who Kieran assumed was the boy's mother, fiercely scolded him for messing with a pistol on the table whose owner also got a stern talking to.
Jack had steered clear from the O'Driscoll, probably an order from his mother, but today, when Kieran's body still felt the echoes of yesterday's torture and his mind was kept together by a withered string, he met the young boy's innocent brown eyes. He tilted his head to the side as if to view the O'Driscoll captive from a different perspective.
"You got blood all over your shirt, mister," Jack pointed to his own shirt, poking his chest. "You should buy a new one."
"… What color?" Kieran humored the boy, his voice queit and raspy.
"Blue! It's my favorite, ya see. It's—" Jack's attention was swept away like a flower in a rushing river when a man with his hat turned low and a dour demeanor walked past. Kieran hadn't seen the man around camp but could tell from his stiff gait that he was nursing an injury; the fresh scar on his face was also a helpful giveaway. Besides the scars, the O'Driscoll didn't see anything outstanding about the man. Still, he must have been the most incredible man to have walked the earth with how joyfully captivated Jack was by him, rushing to his side with wide eyes full of boyish wonder.
"Papa, you're up!" Kieran should have guessed that he was the boy's father. He's sure that's how he used to look at Colm when he was a young boy. Jack tried grabbing his father's coat sleeve, but the man quickly pulled his arm away, not stopping.
"Gotta be careful, kid. Ah, still got some bruises." the man chided, avoiding looking down.
"Oh, sorry. Can we play today?"
"Not today. Like I said, I'm roughed up."
"What about tomorrow?"
Kieran didn't catch the rest of their conversation as they walked out of earshot. He didn't recognize the strain of his dry lips until he felt it reach his cheeks. Funny, being a prisoner of his rival gang, starved and wounded, he didn't think he'd find a reason to smile.
The next day came after a restless night of sleep, and Kieran was willing to give Colm's location, his last known location, anyway. If everything worked out in his favor, he could earn his freedom, and Colm would be far from Six Point Cabin. And if things went south… Well, the worst that could happen was that Colm was still at the cabin and be killed in the ensuing ambush, and then Kieran himself would be executed for outlasting his usefulness. Then Conan and Maeve would probably overpower Mondy and take over the O'Driscoll gang to wreak more havoc than the gang already does.
"Quit sulking, O'Driscoll," a gruff voice pulled him from his chaotic imagination, and he focused on the steady figure of Blue Eyes Morgan, ringed by the morning sunlight, whose shadowed face expressed a mix of frustration and pity. "Just speak and help yourself, coward. If you thought branding was torture, we got a pair of gelding tongs waiting for ya in the firepit. Colm won't reward you for takin' a bullet for him. Don't be stupid, boy." It was as if Morgan had heard his internal hesitation and stepped forward to guide him towards salvation. Now wasn't the time to falter. Kieran straightened his posture and held Morgan's steely gaze.
"I'll talk," he kept his voice low and controlled despite his heart beating like a war drum.
"It took you long enough to use your brain," Morgan huffed, almost relieved. He turned around to call over the gang's leader, giving Kieran some final few moments to himself before he was surrounded by Morgan, a gang member noted for his broad frame and brutish mouth and Dutch van der Linde himself who looked down on him with grim displeasure.
"Our hospitality finally wore you down, O'Driscoll." he snarkily remarked. "Now you best be telling us the truth when you speak unless you want more Van der Linde hospitality courtesy of Mr. Williamson here." he gestured to the burly man, who eyed him up and down with a predatory glare. Williamson? Kieran knew well of the wild story of the Van der Linde gunslinger that exploded a barn with dynamite that not only took out fifteen O'Driscolls but also the money along with them, then used a shotgun and a hand axe to take his anger out on the remaining three O'Driscolls. The dramatic stunt of rage and stupidity earned him the name of Wacko Will. Kieran couldn't hold the man's smoldering gaze for long, focusing on the gang leader.
"Colm's at… S-Six Point Cabin," he spoke steady despite his fear, with an effort to control his vocals. "Those O'Driscoll boys d-don't got my loyalty. I-I swear that to you… Mr. Van d-der Linde."
"Swear on what, boy?"
"... My life."
"And your life's worth somethin' to me?" he smirked like an eager cougar, his rich chuckle in jest. "Very well, O'Driscoll. Show my boys where that slimy bastard is, and if he ain't there," his warm gaze froze over, and his tone turned to gravel, "You'll be very acquainted with what the devil does for fun, my friend."
Hate infested Van der Linde's viper-like glare, what rippled off him in crashing waves, what Kieran felt choking him in a vice-like grip. The same vitriolic emotion oozed off Colm whenever he cursed Van der Linde's name. It was a different feeling to be on the receiving end of such potent hatred; it was a miracle Kieran was ignited into scorching flames underneath Van der Linde's glare.
Kieran was cut free, and he properly stood up for the first time in days, to his wounded side's chagrin. It was a nasty burn that would take its own time to heal, and even after, its scar would remind him of the agony he suffered under the Van der Linde gang's wrath. His head hung low, and he rubbed his sore wrists as Morgan shoved him toward the horses.
"Let's both hope you ain't trying to trick us, O'Driscoll," Morgan warned.
"I ain't stupid," Kieran grumbled, taunting, starvation, and torture making him somewhat irritable.
"Ya done shit to prove otherwise. John, Bill, come here… we got a social call that needs making." Kieran lifted his gaze to see the scarred father from yesterday get up from his table to join his fellow gang members. He must've been John Martson, or Dead Eye Martson as the O'Driscoll boys called him when retelling tales of how he shot down ten men in the blink of an eye. He brought death quicker than a flash of lightning, the executioner for many O'Driscolls. "Where we heading?" Morgan asked, and it took Kieran a moment to realize the question was for him.
"Up i-into the hills b-behind Valent-tine... I'll show you."
"John, you take this little rattlesnake with you… any nonsense, kill him."
"Sure." Disgust flashed across Marston's face.
"We're gonna pay your buddies our respects." Kieran followed Martson to a beautiful silver dark bay Hungarian half-breed and tried mounting up after him, but the searing shock of pain shooting up his hip sent him back down. "Shit." He hissed before holding a deep breath and hauling himself onto the horse, gritting his teeth.
"He taking us to Colm?" Marston asked, shifting up in the saddle to put more room between him and Kieran.
"That's what he says. Come on." Morgan said.
"I'm taking you t-to him," Kieran affirmed, half a lie. Look, I-I-I'll give you more d-directions when we're c-close… but if I know wh-where we are, it's up p-past Valentine."
"Alright, I'll lead." Marston rode his horse to the front. "Sharing saddle with an O'Driscoll. Who'd have thought."
"You w-wouldn't have to if ya d-didn't kidnap me." Kieran retorted, not feeling great about sitting so close to Dead Eye Marston either.
"Then don't break into our camp next time, dumbass."
"Th-that was an accident."
"Sure. Butchering Davey was just an accident, too, I bet?" A fierce bite entered Marston's tone. "I didn't see what you O'Driscoll bastards did to him, but the boys told me plenty. You're lucky you didn't get half of what he got." Kieran said nothing to that. Davey was another casualty in the Van der Linde and O'Driscoll blood feud. Nothing rare. The gangs had been killing each other for so long that Kieran hardly remembered a time when they were at peace.
He overheard Morgan and Will discussing knives in saddlebags, which somehow turned into an argument before they reached a recognizable clearing.
"Hey… hey… I-I-If I got my bearings, it's o-over here. Yeah… I know this country, t-take this track up th-through the rocks."
"How you holding up, John?" Morgan asked.
"Fine," Martson mumbled. "Still ain't right, but I'm fine."
"You damn well should be after all that bed rest."
"Hey, alright, Abigail wouldn't let me up. You know her. She won't be reasoned with."
"Well, when you was having a failure of reason and hiding behind your woman… we were getting shot at."
"And I'd do the same for you… if you was in a bad way."
"I hope so, but I fear you don't know how to help anyone… excepting yourself."
"You see, O'Driscoll? If this is how he treats his friends, imagine what he does to his enemies." Kieran nearly laughed.
"I got an i-inkling of what you all d-do to your enemies… when ya b-branded me like a sow."
"You can show it to all your O'Driscoll buddies very soon if you ain't lyin' through your teeth."
"I swear… I-I promise. I'm taking you to C-Colm as best as I can. Those a-are the hills. Head f-for 'em… Unless you th-think, I'm lyin'."
"Where was all this mouth when you was tied to a tree?" Morgan asked, mildly amused. "If you talked more than a peep, you coulda saved yourself from a botched tattoo job."
"Mac would'a done it anyway," Will interjected. "He wanted to gouge out the O'Driscoll's eyes too, but I talked him down. Knowing him, he would'a just ended up killing the poor bastard."
"You talked down Mac?" Kieran heard the astonishment in Morgan's voice. "Why aren't I surprised it's an O'Driscoll who makes you go soft around the edges, Williamson?"
"Soft?!" Will sputtered to Morgan and Marston's laughter. "What's soft, Morgan, is you talkin' Dutch outta usin' gelding tongs. The captive gets a little cough in his throat, looks at you with some big doe eyes…" he growled as his fellow gang members continued to chuckle, and Kieran anxiously shrunk, feeling the man's glare burning into the back of his head. "You gonna let Colm go free, Morgan?" The laughing stopped.
"Make no mistake, Williamson," Morgan started, voice losing all levity, "if I ever get the chance to put that sick snake in the dirt myself, Colm's a dead man." That ended the discussion. "Boys, we're almost on 'em. Now who knows if this son of a bitch we got with us is talking true, but if it's what he says it is… and Colm O'Driscoll's here we can end years of fighting. Here and now."
"Amen to that."
"Hear, hear." Both Deadeye Marston and Wacko Will eagerly agreed. Kieran silently prayed that Colm left the cabin. The O'Driscoll gang leader was a fearsome sharpshooter himself, even with his one bad eye, but he wouldn't appreciate being ganged up on by three of Dutch's attack dogs.
"Where to now, O'Driscoll?" Marston jabbed him with his elbow.
"Now, now, c-cut left up here." Kieran pointed, rubbing his sore side with the other hand. "W-We go down the hill, i-into the f-forest."
"We're goin' in quiet," Morgan said, "taking them out as we find 'em, trying not to set things off. But if we do… We move quick and hard. We settle this like we know how. Okay?"
"Okay, by me."
"With you, Morgan."
"Through the t-trees here," Kieran directed. "Hey, w-we're real close. I-I'd leave your h-horses the other s-side of this clearing… This is it. The c-cabin's just the other s-side of this h-hill." Freedom was just at his fingertips. He just had to keep his nerves and cross his fingers that he wouldn't be gutted once his use was up.
"Okay, off your horses," Morgan ordered. "Let's go." the horses settled, and he dismounted with the others. They crouched low and quietly crept up the hill, Kieran's nerves on fire and heart pounding. So close.
"Follow me. It ain't f-far." Kieran whispered.
"We might'a shared a horse, but we ain't friends," Marston said. "Remember, I'm watching you. Every moment."
"I-I ain't going to s-shop you now, c-come on. It'd be suicide."
"You'll die slow, boy. I'll have you chokin' on your guts." Wacko Will threatened.
"Jesus Christ," Kieran believed no word to be a lie. "Come on."
"Okay, get down." Marston ordered as they stopped at the top of the hill, the cabin down below. This was where Kieran should have been weeks ago, riding alongside Colm. Instead, here he was, leading his gang's sworn enemies in for a deadly ambush. Life had a twisted sense of humor.
"The c-cabin's down there. There'll b-be a bunch of f-fellers hiding o-out there too."
"Are these fellers armed?" Morgan asked.
"Armed. Drunk. Wary of s-strangers."
"And Colm O'Driscoll?"
"Either p-passed out, booze b-blind in his c-cabin or with Ruarc." Morgan raised a confused brow. "His horse." Kieran clarified with a nervous chuckle.
"Over there, someone's coming." Will pointed out the pair of O'Driscoll guards sauntering around the camp's perimeter. Kieran could've easily yelled out for help or warned them of their impending doom, and Marston must've thought the same, as he covered his mouth and put a knife to his throat. He held up his hands in submission and watched uselessly as Morgan and Will snuck down the hill to take out the guards. The two gunslingers took down another set of guards before Marston tightened his grip on him.
"Now stay here, don't you damn move." He threatened, pressing the knife to his neck, and Kieran nearly cut himself as he fervently nodded. Martson let him go to join his fellow gunslingers, and Kieran was in near disbelief that he was left by himself. Marston should have slit his throat to tie up loose ends but chose… mercy. For the time being, at least. Now was the time for him to make a move, but he didn't want to flee until he knew if Colm was in the cabin or not.
Gunshots disrupted the quiet ambiance as the Van der Lindes and O'Driscolls started their bloody shootout, and Kieran took his chance to arm himself. He kept low to the ground and went to the first O'Driscoll Morgan took out. He cringed, seeing Seamus' blank, lifeless gaze, staring straight up into the clouds, the patch of his hair that Ruarc had eaten starting to grow back in.
"Sorry," Kieran whispered to Seamus and himself as he stripped the dead O'Driscoll of his gun belt and revolver. Weary of the bullets flying, he edged closer to fight, ducking behind trees and crouching low in shrubbery, eyes peeled for that emerald, green tie. He yelped and pressed himself behind one tree close to the cabin as a stray bullet just grazed his head and he was reminded how much he hated up and close gun fights. Taking a deep breath, he peeked around the tree, and his eyes locked onto a familiar face, a face brimming with sadistic glee as the man crept around the cabin side, rifle in hand, to flank a distracted Marston. Kieran's erratic heart stuttered watching Conan sucker punch Marston with a nasty hook, sending the stunned man to the ground spitting blood.
"Finally got ya, Deadeye!" Conan cruelly taunted, kicking the downed man in the ribs when he tried getting up. He aimed his rifle at the father's head. "My daddy's gonna give ya a warm welcome in hell." He pulled the trigger, and Conan yelled out in pain and shock as a bullet struck him cleanly in the shoulder. He stumbled back and looked up to where the bullet could have come from. Kieran was there to meet his stunned stare. Kieran didn't know when he had raised his gun or how he pulled the trigger on his brother, and Conan seemed to ask himself the same thing as confusion and upset furrowed his brow before fury twisted across his face like a raging storm.
"You goddamn snake!" He angrily roared like a fuming bull at Kieran, dark eyes boiling like hot coals. "When I get my hands on you, I'm gonna fuckin'—" his threat was interrupted by a bullet scrapping the side of his head, and he ducked behind the cabin for cover as Morgan sent shots his way. Kieran watched as Conan ran to his horse and threw himself on. Despite the bullets flying, Conan took a moment to shoot his fiery glare at Kieran once last time, blood running down his face from the bullet burn on his temple. "You're dead, horse boy! You hear me! Dead!" He promised before riding off into the forest. Kieran stared after Conan had disappeared over the hill, his body numb and ears ringing from the blood draining from his face.
"God help m-me," Kieran whimpered, holding his chest. What the hell did he just do, and why did he do it?
The shooting stopped and having holstered his gun, Kieran forced himself down to the cabin, every step feeling like he was walking on pins and needles as he walked around corpses. He was still panicking when Morgan opened the cabin door and was ambushed by an eager O'Driscoll, who was promptly taken out by Marston's swift hand.
"You good?" Marston asked, rubbing his side where no doubt a bruise was forming from Conan's assault.
"Sure, thank you," Morgan reluctantly thanked and shot back to his feet to clear the cabin. "Colm O'Driscoll," Kieran's heart stopped. "He ain't here. You set us up!" Morgan gritted his teeth, and Kieran's relief didn't have time settle as an angry Morgan confronted him. "Come here!"
"N-No, I-I uh—" Kieran stammered, stepping back as Morgan jumped off the porch, gun raised.
"You did, Colm O'Driscoll ain't here!" Kieran stared down the barrel of Morgan's gun and held his hands up defensively, his mind racing on how to save himself.
"He w-was h-here, I-I swear, I-I sw— I saved Marston!" He frantically blurted out.
"He ain't lyin', Arthur," Marston surprised him again by speaking up for him. "Conan got the drop on me, but that little weasel got a shot on him."
"… Alright then," Morgan grumbled, lowering his gun. "Go on, get out of here."
"Eh?" Kieran muttered, shaking his head.
"I won't kill ya. Get lost."
"But I-I can't—" Morgan groaned at his rambling, pulled him by the arm, and shoved him towards the woods.
"I'm letting you run away. Now go on, get out of here."
"No! I c-can't go… N-Not after all…" he looked around the O'Driscoll corpses littering the camp, thinking how Conan would run straight to the O'Driscolls, flaunting his bullet wound and proclaiming how Kieran betrayed the gang, betrayed Colm, and making plans on how to rip the soul from the traitor's body. "He's g-gonna kill me."
"So?"
"So, I… I-I uh…" What was he gonna do? He couldn't be running around with his name being dragged through the mud. He knew Conan already had a posse of boys in mind he'd gather to hunt him down. Before his capture, he couldn't take on Conan; he certainly wasn't fit to take on a group of fevered O'Driscolls, starving and injured as he was. Maybe he could hide out in the woods? Or try to convince some of the boys he wasn't a traitor and take him in?
"Let's just bring the O'Driscoll back with us." That definitely wasn't an option he had in mind, but Wacko Will made it sound obvious.
"Give me a break," Morgan groaned, clearly frustrated with the whole ordeal.
"Look, he clearly ain't gonna scatter, so why don't we keep him."
"Like a stray mutt?" Marston joked. "We could use an extra pair of hands."
"Alright then." Morgan sighed, giving in, but still gave Kieran a stern glare. "But I'm warning you."
"Yes, sir," Kieran yelped, still settling with the reality that the Van der Lindes were willing to take him in. Well, three of them at least.
"Anything else in that cabin I should know about?"
"Uh, there's money i-in the ch-chimney."
"I'll check it. Rest of you boys get to camp, quick." Morgan headed back to the cabin. "Hey, Bill. You tell Dutch old Kieran ain't worth killing just yet."
"Yeah, right, you are." Wacko Will said and gestured for Kieran to follow. Having no idea of where else to go, Kieran followed the pair back to their horses. "You ride with me, boy. Get on." Will ordered from atop his stocky Ardennes, and Kieran tried mounting on the taller horse, but his injuries continued to torture him with aching stings that sent him back down, and he sighed in frustration.
He tried and failed again before Will huffed, "Here," and held out his hand. Kieran stared at it, baffled for a moment, before hesitantly taking the hand and yelped as he was roughly yanked up onto the horse, agitating his wounds. He settled atop the horse, grabbing the saddle's edge to anchor himself as they rode back to camp. The trip was silent, letting Kieran stew alone with his thoughts and actions, though the silence lasted about halfway through. Kieran was startled, nearly falling backward as Will abruptly jumped his horse over a tree root, and he lurched forward to grab Will's shoulders and catch himself.
"Ha! Nearly knocked you off, boy?" Will cackled, his shoulders bouncing, and Kieran flushed in annoyance, preferring Marston's smoother riding. "Oh, so you'll chat up Morgan and Marston but lose your tongue with me?" he complained, looking over his shoulder at Kieran.
"I-I don't like t-talkin' much," Kieran mumbled, looking away.
"Well," Marston started, "If you want to ride with us, you best be willing to sweet talk Dutch. He'll get the last say on whether you're in our gang."
They returned soon after, and Kieran was led through the camp to the gang leader's tent. Dutch van der Linde was perched on the edge of his chair, engrossed in a novel. Those rich brown eyes captivated by an artist's words darkened in bitter amusement when he saw Kieran approaching his tent.
"Why Mr. Duffy makes his grand return," he humorlessly chuckled, sliding in a slip of paper to mark where he paused his reading. "Thought you'd never set another foot in my camp once I sent you on your way," he moved his simmering gaze to Marston. "So why the hell is he?"
"I-I thought we could take the boy in, Dutch." Will spoke up, though not as boldly as before, as Van der Linde's gaze shot over to him. "We tried letting him go, but he was determined to stay put. So… We brought back an extra pair of hands."
"Uh huh," the gang leader didn't sound convinced. "Is Colm dead?"
"No. Colm was already gone before we could get the drop on him."
"So, you don't give me Colm O'Driscoll's head but shove this meek weasel in front of me instead?"
"He saved my life, Dutch," Marston said without hesitation, drawing the gang leader's attention. "Conan would've done me in if Duffy here didn't get a shot on him." Kieran shuddered underneath Van der Linde's glare, wariness breaming.
"You shot Kane's bastard, boy?" Kieran anxiously cleared the lump in his throat before answering.
"Yes sir, I-I did. T-Told you I ain't l-loyal to th-that O'Driscoll gang." Van der Linde set his book on his cot and stood up, walking out into the sun, the warm glow making his eyes gleam.
"Are you going to be loyal to mine, Mr. Duffy?" Kieran took a deep breath, saying his following words slowly.
"… I'll work f-for you the best I-I can, Mr. Van der Linde... I'm real good w-with horses and... I d-don't ask for much... I'll prove myself to you." Kieran chose his words carefully, hoping that the gang leader latched onto the grain of truth in his proclamation. He just needed time to figure out what to do with himself. Van der Linde looked him up and down with an unreadable expression, and Kieran quickly glanced to check that the gang leader's hands weren't reaching for his pistol.
"Now, how can I refuse your services, son?" Van der Linde chuckled almost mockingly but patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. "Just don't do anything stupid, and my boys won't skin you alive. Other than that," he flashed Kieran a bright grin that offered warmth and praise, stirring a surprising feeling within the young man: affection. "Welcome to the Van der Linde gang, Mr. Duffy."
~ O ~
It was dusk when Colm returned to his homestead to find it crawling with gunslingers from the Carmody gang and the O'Driscoll Boys, crowding around the campfire and picnic tables, fooling around in the barn, and polluting the porch. He checked that his revolver was in his holster.
"Keep close to me, Kieran," Colm said as he helped Kieran down from Tallula's back, holding onto their fishing gear.
"Yes, pappy—" Kieran gasped and put a hand over his mouth. "Uncle Colm, I mean."
"Good, lad," he patted the young boy on his slumped shoulders before heading into the throng of gang members. He kept his straw-hat brim low and walked with a purpose past drunk idiots and brutish thugs, making sure Kieran kept pace behind him, and they actually made it close to the porch without issue.
"Hey, farm boy!" until a clearly drunken fool sitting by the roaring campfire yelled out to him. "Hurry your ass and get us some more drink!" he demanded and waved his empty mug in the air. Colm groaned internally and continued for the cabin, attempting to ignore the brute.
"I know you heard him, jackass!" another man joined in, sounding even angrier than the first and looking like he'd leap off from his seat at any moment. Colm stopped just before the porch stairs, biting his tongue against the cold rage brimming inside him and putting his hands on his hips, fingers brushing against his gun.
"Uncle?" Kieran whispered worriedly and grabbed onto Colm's belt for comfort. Colm sighed and let his hands fall to his side, willing away any anger the best he could.
"You go on ahead inside, boy. I'm right behind you." He said calmly, nudging the boy towards the cabin before turning around to face the demanding idiots. He slipped on a smile that barred his teeth and narrowed his eyes.
"Two drinks coming right up!" he cheerfully exclaimed, heading for storage.
"Make that four!"
"Right on it, mister!" He went to the storage shed beside the homestead and one of the remaining jugs of beer. The berry bushes near the woods caught his attention. While it was tempting to spike the drink with a stomach-destroying poison, he pushed the thought down. The brutes would be gone tomorrow, it was best not to stir up trouble. He went over to the gang members and refilled their mugs with a trained smile, brushing off their snide taunts.
"See, that wasn't so hard, farm boy," Colm willed every ounce of patience he had within himself to not break the bastard's hand that slapped his lower back when he turned to walk away. No one had to die tonight. No one had to die. He hurried for the porch, seeing that Kieran had waited outside for him, and felt relieved reaching his front door.
"I apologize for those boys, Mr. Colm," the man in the porch rocking chair spoke up, honey-brown eyes sincere. "They'd piss themselves if they knew who they were bossing around."
"Those Carmody boys?" Colm asked.
"Nope. O'Driscolls, sir."
"Then spare me the sorrys, Brandy. Now," Colm smirked, "you can switch out one of their drinks with snake spit when you get the chance."
"Noted, sir." Brandy chuckled.
Colm finally walked inside his home. Chatter came from the dining room to the left side of the entryway, and Colm quietly took off his hat and coat to hang on the coat rack, with Kieran setting down the fishing rods and his own straw hat. He first entered the kitchen opposite the dining room, where Diedre was putting the final seasonings in the stew, her long auburn tied up with a mint green ribbon. She glanced over her shoulder, and the stress in her studded green eyes melted when she saw Colm and Kieran in the doorway.
"Welcome home, Mr. O'Dricoll. Just doing the final touches for supper." She smiled softly.
"Smells real good, Miss Duffy." Colm smiled back. "Will I be seeing you at the dinner table?"
"'Course you will, now you boys go on." she playfully rolled her eyes and shooed them out of the kitchen. No longer able to stall, Colm walked into the dining room for an O'Driscoll family dinner. The long wooden dining table was decorated with a white embroidered tablecloth with a vase of red roses and white tulips in the center, and the room was lit by the small candle chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
"Ah, so the fishermen finally crawl outta the pond," an older man laughed, standing up from his place at the table with a wide grin. His greasy brown hair and ducktail beard were streaked with greys, and his hazel eyes danced with excitement as he approached the pair with open arms.
"I thought you would'a dropped dead by now, Uncle Leary?" Colm joked, patting his uncle on the back as they hugged.
"My da should be, but I keep coverin' for his old ass," Mondy remarked from his chair with a smirk, earning him a sideways glare from his father, who then turned his attention to Kieran.
"You've about grown about the height of a dandelion since I last saw ya, laddy," Leary chuckled, ruffling Kieran's black hair.
"Hey, I still do my fair do my fair share." The young boy puffed out his chest.
"I got no doubts about that. Here," Leary crouched down to Kieran's level, reaching into his front pocket. "I got you a present for all your hard work." He pulled out a shining silver fishing lure with a small blue fish charm, and the boy's eyes lit up, scooping up the lure in his small hands.
"Thank you so much, Uncle Leary! I'm gonna catch so many Muskies with this."
"You can make a fine business sellin' 'em. Make some easy money that way."
"Quit tryin' to neuter my boy, old fool. I wanna see him." The gruff voice took hold of the room with its low warning tone. Kane reigned over the head of the dining table, glaring across at Leary with black eyes like dark bottomless pits that dared you to leap inside. His thin sneer was visible through his dark stubble, and he impatiently drummed his gloved fingers on the table, dark hair cut short and greasy.
"I would never do such a thing." Leary stood up, taking a step back. "Just tryin' teach him the art of trade is all." Kane's eyes followed the man until he found his seat. He looked at Kieran and gestured with a finger for the boy to come over. Kieran obeyed, scurrying across the room to Kane's side, not meeting the man's eyes.
"Welcome b-back home, da." He greeted, wringing his hands together. "Are you uh, d-doin' fine?"
"… More than fine, my boy." He patted Kieran's head, the motion stiff and unpracticed. "Go sit."
"Yes, sir." Kieran took his seat beside Conan. Finally, Kane looked at Colm, but it did nothing to cure his sour expression.
"Colm." Kane coldly addressed his brother.
"Kane." Colm put on a mockery of a greeting smile and sat himself at the other end of the table. "Did you and Conan enjoy your trip?"
"Did we?" Conan proudly interjected, a few young hairs on his upper lip marking his future mustache. "We've hit so many banks and trains we'll be fed for full four seasons. I even brought back some horse grooming kit from some rich bastard's barn for you, Kieran."
"Thanks," Kieran's smile returned. "I'll clean up Spike for you before you leave. I've sharpened up my horseshoeing."
"What about your shooting?" Kane questioned.
"Well, I uh—"
"That hasn't been our priority here," Colm interjected, taking the heat of Kane's glare. "See, we run a farm, and between sowing the fields, caring for the horses, and making sure we got food on the table, we don't get much time for gunslinging."
"You haven't been teaching my boy to shoot?" Kane's growl made Kieran slink down as if he wanted to hide underneath the table. Colm held firm.
"He's still too small to have any business shooting anything. The boy can hardly aim a pistol."
"'Course he can't. You've only taught him how to swing a stick and coddle beasts. How the hell is he supposed to fair in a heist when he's as fragile as a peony?"
"… Heists aren't the only way he can bring in money." Colm's mild retort made Kane's hand curl into a fist on the table.
"You sayin' he should sell himself on the street instead?"
"You know I'd never fuckin'say that!" Colm snapped back, slapping his hand on the table, appalled by the accusation.
"How am I to know when all I see is you raisin' a soft boy fit to be a whore?"
"Now, what's all this babble about whorin' at the dinner table?" an older woman's voice scolded. Colm turned to see the woman with her red silver-streaked hair tied into a long braid running down her back, walking down the stairs, carrying a young girl in her arms.
"Daddy's home!" Maeve cooed, reaching out her tiny hands as the woman brought her to Kane.
"Sorry, Auntie Aideen," Colm apologized, settling back down. "We won't bring that back up." He glared back at Kane. "Ever again."
"Sure," Kane grumbled as Meave hugged around his neck, focused on Kieran. "Tomorrow, you're gonna hold a gun, and I'm gonna teach you how to shoot it. Got that, boy?"
"Yes, sir." Kieran nodded solemnly.
"Watch that tone, cowboy," Aideen warned as she ruffled his hair before setting Maeve down beside Kieran, who adjusted her pillow, boosting her up to the table. "You behave too, rancher," she also scolded Colm, giving him a peck on his temple.
"What in blazes? You're kissin' on him before you show your beloved any love?" Leary playfully grouched, and Aideen rolled her eyes, going over to kiss Leary on the cheek.
"There you go ya, needy maggot."
"Supper's ready!" Deidre walked into the dining room, balancing bowls of steaming stew on a tray. Aideen helped her pass out the stew, and when Diedre set the last bowl for Kane, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap.
"It's lovely holdin' you again, Deidre dear," he husked as he cupped her blushing cheek.
"Oh, it hasn't been that long," she chuckled, smiling enough to appease most.
"It has been for me." They kissed. Colm looked down at his stew.
"Ew, ma, da!" Maeve whined, and Kieran shielded her eyes as the family shared a laugh that was one of many for the night.
Later in the evening, after dinner, Kieran and Maeve were sent upstairs to bed with Aideen and Deidre also retiring for the night. Colm went to join them.
"Hang back, Colm," Kane ordered. "We've gotta talk business." That was how Colm found himself sitting at the table surrounded by chattering gang members with cigars and beer bottles in hand. Colm nursed a bottle of his own, a little tipsy and impatient for whatever crap Kane wanted to talk about.
"Are we gettin' serious here or what?" Colm finally spoke up, and Kane bit into his cigarette while meeting his brother's gaze.
"Hush the lot of you." He raised his hand, and the room fell silent. "My brother here wants to get serious," he took out his cigarette and puffed out a stream of smoke. "We've been makin' plans for the future, Uncle Leary and me. We're so close to getting out of this wasted countryside to greener pastures," he paused to smile, "to that lovely land of California." His smile promptly fell back to a sneer. "But lately, the law's been a real rattlesnake in the grass, takin' out our boys one by one without warning. They're gettin' clever, and so will we."
"We're splittin' for the time being," Leary said. "Me and Mondy will take my Carmody boys and most of them O'Driscolls up north to get them stupid law dogs chasin' while Kane stays back here to ransack the towns here."
"You're gonna cause trouble around here?" Colm questioned. "You'll be putting targets on everyone's backs here. Not only that, but you won't have the manpower to pull off these heists without getting a noose slung around your neck. How—"
"Let us finish," Kane interrupted. "We won't be doin' this by ourselves, hear. I've snagged us a worthwhile substitute for the Carmodys, makin' a pact with another gang throwing around their weight."
"Who?" While Colm sounded incredulous, Kane looked elated.
"Have no doubt when I say I got us workin' alongside the Van der Linde gang."
"Van der Linde?" Colm sat up in his chair. "I've been reading about all the shit their stirring with those train heists down south. They're up here now?"
"They will be. I talked to Mr. Van der Linde himself a while back. He's willing to work with us for the time being if his own cut is promised, of course. We're gonna be makin' good money with them. We'll be on sunny beaches with miles of farmland before next spring."
"Yeah, well, good luck with all this." Colm leaned back down in his chair. "This Mr. Van der Linde is gonna screw you over right under your nose, and you'll damn us all."
"Got the solution for that, too," Kane smirked. "You'll need to dust off your pistols 'cause you're gonna be riding with us."
"The hell I am!" The younger brother scoffed, liquid courage fueling him. "I told you I ain't going back out there."
"I wasn't askin' ya." Kane bit back. "What's with this greedy attitude of yours? You think you've earned to live like this, Colm. You haven't put enough blood, sweat, and tears to be holed up lazing with my family, leaching off my money." Colm's grip tightened on the neck of his beer bottle. "I'm puttin' you back to work, to earn this life. There's no arguing about this."
"You're right," Colm stood up from the table. "We're not arguing about this." He turned and headed for the stairs. "Good night, you poor bastards." He took another swing from his bottle, ignoring Kane's searing glare burning into his back.
…
… …
… … …
"God damn it all!" Colm furiously cursed into the cold night air and hurled his empty beer bottle at a nearby tree, shattering it to pieces to join the pile of glass shards. Behind his seat on the log, Ruarc snorted, kicking up dust. The distant chatter from the O'Driscoll boys lounging outside a homestead near Fort Wallace hushed. A month. That's how long it had been since he last saw Kieran on that snowy mountaintop. The hope he'd returned dwindled by the day, and the dreaded thought that the boy had met his gruesome end invaded his mind. Frozen dead in the Grizzlies left for the wolves, snuck on by a bear in the middle of the night in the Cumberland Forest, or murdered by a robber ignorant to mercy. The mere thought had his guts tying themselves into painful knots.
Colm made the wrong call, didn't he? He should have let Kieran take the north path instead, let Colm face whatever danger the timid boy had. Better yet, they should have left when Robbie breathed Van der Linde's name… No. If Dutch and his mongrel dogs hadn't attacked the O'Driscoll camp, he and Kieran wouldn't have had to split up. Everything always came back to that cursed man, didn't it? He could imagine that damned smile that proclaimed righteous victory and fueled by ego mocking him for his failure. He couldn't let the Dutch win this, not this time. Somebody had to die for this, for Kieran. He stood up, his stomach churning nauseatingly in his rush, and he tried mounting Ruarc, angrily grumbling when he kept missing the stirrup.
"Colm, stop!" Mondy called out to him, rushing over from the homestead. "Don't you get on that horse!"
"Just try and stop me!" Colm yelled back, a slur to his words. "I'll shoot you dead!" He got his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up to be immediately yanked back down by Mondy tugging on his vest. "Bastard! Get the hell off me!" Colm struggled in Mondy's hold, but the taller man had little issue dragging the drunk man back to the modest stables of the hideout, the O'Driscoll boys there making themselves scarce, until Colm bit into his upper arm. Mondy cursed and tossed Colm to the ground. "What you gettin' in my way for, Mondy?" Colm questioned as he got back to his feet, clothes dirtied, leaning against a post for balance. "You're dead." He reached for his gun but found it missing. Mondy emptied the rounds in Colm's revolver, which he had snatched, with a disgruntled frown.
"'Cause you're a right fuckin' idiot, piss drunk, about to ride off and do somethin' you'll regret in the mornin'."
"I'm not gonna stand around like a useless piece of shit anymore. I've gotta avenge, Kier; make somebody pay." Colm tried walking back to Ruarc, but Mondy stood in his way.
"Kieran ain't dead, Colm. I've been tellin' you that."
"And how the hell do you know?"
"You're not givin' the boy enough credit. Even if he's as timid as a deer, he knows how to fend for himself. He ain't gonna just roll over and die. He probably fell behind and is finding his way to Six Point Cabin as we speak." Mondy smiled reassuringly. "We've put Conan there to wait for the boy, and I bet it won't be long until they both come riding in here."
"No," Colm shook his head, sounding less furious and more fearful. "I've got a bad feeling stirrin' in my guts, Mondy. Something real bad." He stumbled back into the post and leaned against it. "Nothin' feels right." He coughed, holding his side.
"Colm—"
"Guess who's back with a score!" Mondy was interrupted by a cheerful Maeve grinning ear to ear as she strutted over carrying a sack jingling with coins and jewels. Tommy was close behind her, a dark bloodstain on his white shirt and cheek, which he didn't seem to mind.
"Now's not a good time, Maevie girl," Mondy tried shooing them away.
"Why? What's—" she paused, seeing Colm's drunken state. Her smile flipped to a frown. "What's got you so down in the dumps, Uncle Colm?"
"Kieran still hasn't turned up yet," Mondy said.
"Really?" she groaned. "You're still thinking about horse boy? He'll come crawling back some day. We should be having the time of our lives robbing and partying not mopping around."
"That really ain't helpin'." Mondy kept his voice calm but firm.
"Sorry, I just don't get what all the fuss is about. Horse boy's just lost in the woods. I didn't mess with his guns or anything."
"Did you mess with somethin' else, girlie?" Colm questioned, steadying himself with the post's support.
"No, 'course not! I—"
"You're spittin' lies, girl!" he growled, "Start telling the truth before I lock you in a shed." Maeve jumped back, holding up her hands defensively.
"Fine, you caught me. I was just fooling around and doodled over horse boy's map."
"Really, Maeve?" Mondy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Well, how was I to know that the Van der Lindes were gonna attack and split up both of 'em. I didn't think it'd do much harm."
"Christ almighty, that boy could still be wanderin' the Grizzlies." Mondy pointed to Tommy. "Did you know about this, Tommy?"
"Maeve mentioned something about a trick, yeah," Tommy answered, shrugging.
"Ugh, the pair of you cause more trouble than foxes in a chicken coop." He turned back to Colm and found him heading back out to the waiting Ruarc, but he wouldn't need to get in his way as a charging steed came charging through the camp and stopped in front of Colm. Conan hopped off from his chestnut Suffolk Punch, a jittery excitement invigorating his scowl.
"The hell are you doing here, boy?" Colm questioned, slightly swaying.
"I've found out what ol' horse boy's been up to." Conan sneered.
"He's alive?" Mondy asked, and Conan waited for the other O'Driscoll members to gather before continuing.
"You were right, old man. Kieran finally made it to Six Point Cabin. You wanna know how he greeted me?" He looked Colm dead in the eyes as he let his leather coat slip down to reveal his bandaged shoulder. "With a goddamn bullet and Van der Linde's attack dogs tearing up our boys."
"He… what?" Colm slurred, absolutely confused.
"Kieran shot you?" Maeve asked, not believing it herself.
"I ain't lying. That damn rattlesnake shot me just before I could do Deadeye Marston in. He's saddled with the Van der Linde's, the traitor!"
"No, no, that ain't right," Colm shook his head as he stumbled back like he had just been struck by a speeding bullet. "Kier wouldn't leave us like that, not for Van der Linde."
"Maybe the rat got infected by Dutch's charisma," Tommy supplied to Mondy's irritation.
"That can't be why. We're missing somethin' here."
"The son of a bitch tried to kill me!" Conan dramatically pointed to his bullet wound. "What the hell is there to miss?!" They continued arguing, but Colm drowned out their voices with his panicked thoughts. How dearly he wanted Conan to be lying, but he had never heard his nephew rage with such honesty. Kieran may have shot Conan for whatever reason he pleased, but did his Kieran really do it for Van der Linde. Did he choose the Van der Lindes over his family? That wasn't right. Dutch had to have something to do with it all. He always did, the silver-tongued devil. Kieran wouldn't just betray him. His stomach twisted grossly at the thought of it, like his insides were eating itself. He was gonna… He was gonna…
Colm fell to his knees and vomited his sick stomach into the grass.
~ O ~
Kieran would keep his word to Dutch van der Linde. Only after a meal and properly treating his injuries. The nice woman, more like a worldly angel, came to his aid again, ensuring he got a bowl of the lunchtime stew and giving him a small pack of medical supplies, though she raised a brow when he asked for a needle and thread. After scarfing down his meal, mediocre meat and mushy vegetables had never tasted so heavenly, he found an abandoned corner of the camp to tend to his wounds like a sick dog. When he finished disinfecting his deep red brand where his skin was burned to hell, he redressed it, an uncomfortable and tedious process, but simple enough. Thankfully it didn't show any signs of infection. Caring for the lacerations that Kirk carved into his chest and shoulder would be a different challenge.
The tight wrapping on his shoulder kept the slashes closed for the most part, but it wasn't the safest method to prevent illness. He cringed, peeling off the bloodied bandages and cleaning the sticky slashes with a wet cloth, dreading the next step but ready to take it on. It took him a few tries to get the thread through the needle's eye and tie a knot. He saw two deep cuts that needed attention, one vertical down his shoulder and another longer diagonal one on his chest. He chose to get the one on his chest over with first, taking deep breaths through the rolled cloth in his mouth and steadying his hands to pierce the needle carefully through his skin.
It was a slow and painful process stitching himself up, his practiced hands weaving the needle through his flesh as if he didn't feel every poke and prod and teary eyes never losing focus. His jaw hurt from how harshly he bit into the gag, but he didn't want to risk making any noise and drawing more attention to himself in such a vulnerable state, he already had a couple of glaring eyes on him. He sighed, exhausted, as he tied the final knot to the stitching. Then he did it all over again with his shoulder, though the angle was awkward, and he ended up jabbing himself with the needle more than once, holding back curses each time. At this point, he was just torturing himself and was more than relieved to tie off the stitching. It wasn't his finest work, but it'd do for now.
After that day of rest, he tasked himself with cleaning up after the Van der Linde gang and tending to their horses. He felt weirdly numb walking around the enemy camp, mechanically working as if he were in a dream. He woke up every morning wishing it was a dream, a nightmare, but always rose to a harsh reality where he was glared at every waking moment with suspicious eyes and cussed out by ill-tempered gang members. He felt less like a member of the gang and more like a prisoner let off leash to serve them.
On the fourth day, Branwen, the brave mare, came out from the forest with a dirty coat and some scratches. He kept his relief and excitement contained seeing a familiar face and snuck her into camp, hoping that none of the gang members noticed a new addition to their herd. It was also on the fourth day that he decided he needed to escape. By now, most of the O'Driscolls in the area had scattered, giving Kieran a chance to make it to Colm without being picked off on the way there. He could explain to Colm that he didn't betray him, and he only shot Conan because… Well, he couldn't find it in him to hurt little Jack. Even if the boy tossed rocks at him and called him names, he preferred that over Jack crying day to day, mourning the death of his father.
Escaping was easier said than done. Kieran wasn't allowed to leave camp without a guard, and there wasn't a moment when someone didn't have an eye on him. He would be patient, though, biding his time for the right moment to slip from Van der Linde's grasp.
It was the morning of the sixth day that he was directly approached by one of the gang members as he was brushing a majestic grey snowcap spotted Appaloosa mare.
"How you likin' it here, O'Driscoll?" Kieran tensed up at the sudden presence behind him and turned to face a shady character for a man who stood too close for comfort with cold blue eyes and a wry smirk. Miach, he was sure the man's name was.
"Still settlin' in, b-but it's g-good here," Kieran answered. With the Van der Linde's, he was using his voice far more than he liked as his previous silence was rewarded with a slap from the remaining Callander brother when asked, "Why do you deserve to be here?".
"You talk quite strange." Kieran wondered when someone would, unfortunately, point out his stutters. "Soundin' like a scratched vinyl on a record player, you do." Miach laughed, and Kieran flushed, embarrassed.
"I had an a-accident as a b-boy. Hurt m-my head real g-good a-and woke up talkin' l-like this."
"Must've been one hell of an accident…" Micah stepped forward, and Kieran wished he had the room to take one back. "Now be honest," he spoke much more subdued than his previous taunting tone, "how does this lot of robbers and killers compare to the O'Driscolls?" Kieran must have talked strange, but Micah had some strange questions himself. A question he would answer, nonetheless.
"Ain't m-much difference b-between the robbers a-and killers h-here and there."
"Oh, really?" the man wheezily chuckled. "I'll entertain you. What makes us so similar to that pack of rabid dogs?"
"You're outlawed l-like them… you're o-out to survive l-like them… you live r-rough… you l-live hard… f-fighting the law… nature… you're out f-for yourselves."
"Quite the bold presumption for a man who hardly been with us for a month, a prisoner no less. Just some advice," Kieran cringed as Miach slung his arm over his shoulder and pulled him in close, breath stale and foul, "When crossed, ol' Dutchie ain't like your brutal butcher Colm. See he's more of a soul crusher. Once he's through with you, you'll be a hollow husk, useless to everyone, 'cept for the wolves who'll ravage you. You remember that, Mr. Duffy." He smacked a shaken Kieran harshly on the back before walking off. If the brand on his hip told him anything, it was that Micah's threat wasn't all fancy words to try and spook him. It was better to get out of here sooner than later.
On the seventh day, that moment for escape came when one Sean MacGuire, strutted into camp proclaiming his return and that a party should be held in his honor. Indeed, a party was held with dancing, singing, games, and drinking, quite a lot of drinking, in fact. Though Kieran never took a sip himself, he watched the gang drink themselves into a happy stupor, the watchful eyes on him narrowing down closer to zero. It finally happened when Blue Eyes Morgan was pulled into a dance with the nice woman, he finally learned her name was Mary-Beth, and then drinking with the same guard that had watched him previously in the mountains.
Kieran didn't waste a second, silently untying Branwen and quickly leading her out of camp. Once they were covered by night's shadows, he threw himself onto her back and kicked her into a sprint, running into the night and away from the clutches of the Van der Linde gang.