Disclaimer: I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2. This story contains blood, violence, abuse, and dark themes. Viewer discretion is advised.
Kane approached them early the following day while Diedre was teaching Kieran and Maeve simple words in a storybook on the porch, and Colm was busy cleaning up after the mess the gang members left behind.
"Get up, boy. You're gonna be shooting." That was all he said when he walked out of the home with Conan close behind.
"You think havin' Kieran handle a gun is wise?" Diedre asked hesitantly, stroking the young boy's head.
"It's what the boy needs to survive," Kane said, mounting his Blood Bay Thoroughbred.
"Don't stress your head, ma," Conan reassured her as he filled his saddle bag with glass bottles before mounting his Piebald Tobiano Hungarian half-bred. "We're just gonna shoot a couple of bottles in the pasture."
"I'll go with ya'll," Colm quickly interjected, setting down his trash bag to collect Tallula from the stables. Returning atop his mare, he gestured for the nervous boy to hop on. "Come on, Kier. Let's get this over with."
"Go on, sweetie. You'll be all right," Diedre encouraged, kissing him on the cheek and nudging him off the porch.
"I wanna go too!" little Maeve tried following Kieran down the stairs but was scooped up by Diedre.
"Oh no, missy. You'd certainly get blown away like a butterfly in the breeze."
Colm helped Kieran climb onto Tallula, and the four rode towards the large pasture. The sky was a lazy blue, with the sun peeking behind a herd of clouds rolling by, and the spring breeze ruffled the tall grass. Conan set up bottles on logs in the distance while Kane laid out various guns, from a Cattleman revolver to a Bolt-Action Rifle.
"Come closer, boy. It don't bite." Kane said, holding out a revolver for Kieran, who clung to Colm's side, looking to him for reassurance.
"Go on, Kieran. You'll do fine." Colm patted the boy's head, and Kieran hesitantly approached Kane and his guns. Kane went in depth over the revolver's parts and functions, showing the young boy how to load and reload bullets in the chamber and letting the boy try himself, his small hands carefully handling the weapon as if it'd fire at any moment.
"You wanna take a shot, Uncle?" Conan asked, wielding his own rifle.
"And waste my bullets? No, thank you." Colm shook his head.
"Waste bullets?! Sounds like a coward's excuse," Conan laughed. "I'm startin' to think you don't even know how to shoot, probably why you got cold feet on riding with us."
"I know how to handle a gun, boy!"
"That's just talk, Uncle. You don't shoot anythin'," Conan raised his rifle, took aim at one of the bottles off in the distance, and fired. The neck of the bottle shattered, and the rest wobbled unsteadily on the log. "Like that." He grinned smugly, and Colm took up the challenge. He unholstered his revolver in a fluid movement, his muscle memory sparking his nerves into action, and let off two shots, completely shattering Conan's bottle and the one next to it.
"You've just never seen me shoot, boy," Colm smirked, twirling his smoking gun.
"Lucky shot, old man."
"Old? I'm younger than your daddy."
"Are you two done shootin' the boy's bottles?" Kane snapped, arms crossed over his chest.
"We were just givin' Kieran a demonstration, Daddy," Conan said as Colm holstered his gun, watching closely as Kieran handled the pistol.
"So I-I just point at the bottles and pull the trigger?" Kieran asked, hands trembling as he loaded the gun, having to push down as hard as he could to get the bullet in the chamber.
"That's all there is to it," Conan tried reassuring him. "You've got brains. You'll be as great as me in no time."
"Now fix your grip and aim like I told ya," Kane instructed, and the three stepped back from Kieran for him to fire. He didn't.
"You gotta pull the trigger to shoot," Conan chuckled.
"I don't think I-I can do this," Kieran whined, shaking his head and lowering the gun.
"Are you cryin'?!" Kane sneered with repulsion.
"Easy, he's just a bit weary, is all." Colm calmly spoke up, hoping to quell the rising storm that was Kane's anger, his nerves tingling as his brother sent his scolding glare to him. Conan looked down at the ground, keeping his mouth shut.
"What's to be weary for? All he gotta do is point and shoot!" Kane shot his glare back to the frightened boy. "Hold up that revolver and shoot it, boy, before I tear your ass up! You wanna cry about that instead?"
"No, s-sir!" Kieran blubbered, wiping the tears from his eyes before facing the bottles and raising the trembling gun.
"You're just fraying his nerves more, Kane." Colm tried arguing and was rewarded with a warning slap across the face that stung like a vicious bite from a viper.
"Quit spewin' shit, Colm, or I'll—"
A single gunshot boomed through the air, the morning doves chirped as they fled from the nearby trees, and Kieran hit the ground with a dull thud and a bleeding head where the revolver struck him when recoiling. All happened before the pain from Kane's slap set in Colm's cheek. Kieran didn't cry in pain or move a finger.
"Kieran!" Colm screamed and rushed over to the fallen boy, blood soon coating his hands as he pressed down on the open wound on the top of Kieran's temple. The boy was still breathing and had a pulse, and Colm had never felt so grateful.
"Shit! Is he okay?" Conan asked, concerned.
"Just got a bump on the head 'cause he couldn't hold the gun proper." Kane griped and crossed his arms.
"He nearly cracked his skull open!" Colm scooped the wounded Kieran in his arms and raced onto Tallula, ignoring Kane's complaints and heading for the homestead, holding the boy close to his chest.
Diedre gasped in mortification, and Aideen cursed something foul when Colm barged into the cabin, stained with fresh blood and cradling a limp Kieran in his arms, screaming for help. The bedroom shared by the household's children turned into a doctor's room for Diedre to stitch Kieran's head, who was thankfully asleep for the process, and Colm helped bandage his head. Aideen ushered him to the bath to clean himself up, then marched downstairs herself when Conan and Kane returned to the homestead to give her nephew a piece of her mind. Colm was washing his bloodied hands in the sink, watching the blood flake off with every scrub of the sponge, when he heard a small voice ask:
"Is Kieran gonna feel better?" He looked in the mirror, seeing Maeve peeking her head in the doorway.
"'Course he will, sweetie," Colm reassured her despite his own deep doubt, drying his hands and patting her head. "Don't you worry yourself. He needs to take a nap, that is all. He'll wake up just fine."
Kieran woke up around noon, and Colm and Diedre were waiting by his bedside. Diedre was there to give relieved kisses on the cheek and Colm apologetic reassurances, though Kieran said nothing in turn.
"How you feelin', Kier? Head still hurtin'?" Colm asked, helping Kieran sit up. Kieran opened his mouth to speak, but only a raspy groan came out, and he panically grasped his throat.
"Here," Deidre grabbed the cup of water on the nightstand and helped Kieran down the whole thing. He tried speaking again, still holding his throat.
"… I-I uh I-I-I c-c-ca… ca—ugh!" Colm watched with dread as Kieran broke down in a panicked mess of incomprehensible stuttering and sobs.
~ O ~
Kieran made it to the Valentine doctor's office under the cover of night, safely making it inside with his head on a swivel for any unpleasant faces. The front lobby was empty, though Kieran heard the doctor busy in one of the backrooms.
"I'll be with you in just a moment, please!" the doctor's muffled voice called out, and Kieran patiently waited by the front desk for the doctor to finish his business and come out to greet him. "My apologies for the wa—" the doctor's greeting faltered when laying eyes on the O'Driscoll stable boy. "Mister Kieran?" he gasped, nearly taking a step back.
"Hello, M-Mr. Calloway," Kieran nervously greeted, wringing his hands together. "I-I've gotten myself into s-some nasty m-mess." He lifted up his stained shirt to show dirty bandages.
"So, I've heard…" Calloway paused, looking up at the ticking clock on the wall and then back to Kieran. He sighed. "C'mon. Let me take a look at you." He led Kieran to his check-up room, and the wounded man took off his shirt before sitting in the chair to be examined. "Conan came here some time ago with a bullet wound," the doctor started as he applied antibiotic cream to Kieran's stitches. "He said you were the one that shot him, riding alongside the Van der Lindes no less." He took a breath before asking. "Should I take his words for lies?" Kieran hated to shake his head 'no.'
"I shot him. B-But only 'cause I d-didn't want a son t-to go without h-his pa."
"What about you joining the Van der Lindes?"
"Uh, yes, a-and no?" Kieran groaned and ran a hand down his face. "I-I only 'joined' 'em 'cause they s-snatched me up i-in the Grizzlies and c-cut me up to know about C-Colm." He gestured to his injuries. "I had t-to go along w-with 'em until I g-got the chance to e-escape."
"You think the O'Driscolls will listen to any of this?" the doctor raised a skeptical brow. "I'd high tail it far away from here if I were you. Conan was talking about wringing your neck when he was here. They're looking to kill you."
"I-I thought as m-much," Kieran mumbled, putting his shirt back on. "As long as I c-can reach Colm's ear, I sh-should be fine… ish." Calloway didn't look so hopeful. He patted him on the back.
"I wish you all the luck on God's green earth, Mister Kieran."
…
… …
Kieran didn't know how he managed to sneak into the O'Driscoll camp unnoticed, leaving Branwen by the forest line. Though he supposed he was good at being unnoticed when he wanted to. He guessed Colm would be somewhere in the main house and slinked in through the back door into the unlit living room, thankfully meeting no one on the other side. He overheard a group of gang members blabbering in the kitchen, none of them being Colm, so he took the chance to silently creep upstairs. He passed the upstairs living area and went down the hall on the right, where he heard muffled voices battling behind the door of the last room. Pressing his ear against the door, he could clearly hear Conan and Colm in a heated argument about the gang's next move, with Mondy and Maeve interjecting their thoughts. There wouldn't be a right time to interrupt, so with his heart in his throat, he shakily knocked on the door.
"What the hell is it?!" Conan shouted from the other side. Kieran opened the door.
"I'm back." He mumbled, giving a small wave.
The study room fell silent. Maeve's jaw hit the floor in a silent gasp from where she was sprawled on her armchair, and Mondy's eyes widened like he witnessed a corpse wake from the grave. Colm's twisted scowl of agitation sunk into shock as he sat behind the candlelit desk, the beginnings of a smile brewing once his surprise started to melt. Conan, well, he—
"You son of a bitch!" he roared, eyes scorching as he leaped up from his chair, knocking it to the ground, charging. Kieran slammed the door shut, Conan ramming against it, and raced down the hall to escape his brother's wrath, though he wasn't far behind.
"Oh, you better run, horse boy!" Maeve taunted, guffawing.
"Stop, you damn fool!" Mondy called after him.
Kieran made it to the living area and put the coffee table between himself and the bloodthirsty Conan.
"Wait, p-please! I-I'm sorry! I-I can e-explain!" Kieran pleaded as he evaded Conan's swinging fists.
"Quit runnin', you little rat!" Conan growled, flipping the table over with a yell, nearly hitting Tommy and the other O'Driscolls as they came up the stairs. A single gunshot cut through the chaos, silencing everyone as it stilled them, a bullet hole smoking on the floor between a frightened Kieran and simmering Conan. Colm stood in the hall with his revolver raised, the ferocity in his eyes more fearsome than the barrel of his gun.
"Get a hold of yourself, boy," he warned dangerously. "I'll handle our supposed traitor." He gestured for Kieran to follow, and Kieran held his head low as he walked past glaring family and murderous gang members to join Colm in the study hall. Colm shut the door and locked it before reholstering his gun.
"I did sh-shoot Conan, I-I admit. I'm s-so sorry." Kieran started to explain, "I-I wasn't tryin' to k-kill him or s-side with th-the Van der Linde's. It's just th-that Marston, he… he h-had a boy w-waitin' for him b-back at camp. I-I didn't wanna s-see a boy so sad, is all. I'm n-not with the Van der Lindes, I-I swear! Th-They 'napped me i-in the mountains. I-I was only—I d-didn't want—" Kieran's ramblings were cut off by Colm yanking him by the shoulder to wrap his arms around him, holding him close. After weeks of every touch being from rough, cruel hands, the warmly comforting embrace was a shock to his system. The shock settled into content as he finally relaxed his aching body for the first time in a month, his safety assured.
"You gave me a hell of a scare, Kier," Colm sighed, relieved.
"Sorry." Kieran apologized, blinking away tears." I-I wasn't p-planning on gettin' k-kidnapped, promise."
"Those bastards didn't take your tongue, good." Colm patted him on the back but suddenly pulled away, eyeing his stained shirt. "What all did they do to ya?"
"Um—" Colm was already prying open his shirt before he could answer, a growling hiss of air passing through the gang leader's clenched teeth when he saw the bandages, pulling them back to see the damage. "They tried g-getting' me to s-spill where y-you were hidin'. But I-I didn't say nothin' 'til I th-thought you left the c-cabin. They d-didn't appreciate it m-much."
"Those sick bastards," Colm snarled, glaring daggers at the V-shaped brand marring Kieran's skin. "I'll see to it, Dutch bleeds. Markin' my boy like he's his goddamn animal." He closed Kieran's shirt back up, no longer wanting to see the perverse display. Honestly, though, Kieran was glad that was all he suffered compared to the crippling Davey received.
"They're sad," Kieran quietly spoke. "About… Davey." Colm didn't say anything to that, his brow creasing.
"How'd you get away? Thought they would've killed you with how long you were trapped with them."
"S-Strange thing about that," Kieran started. "'Cause I-I saved Marston, Dutch l-let me be a p-part of his gang. After s-some convincin', of c-course." Colm's jaw dropped.
"Mean ol' Dutch accepted him?!" Maeve gasped from the other side of the door, hushing quickly following. Colm rolled his eyes and opened the door, and Maeve and Mondy nearly fell inside, their ears previously pressed to the door. The pair of them, Tommy and a now surprisingly calmed-down Conan entered the room to join the conversation.
"They d-didn't really ac-ccept me or nothin'," Kieran continued. "They j-just let me c-care for their horses a-and clean up after 'em. Th-They're havin' a party tonight, and I-I snuck away when th-they were all b-boozed up."
"But you were still allowed in the gang, right?" Conan pressed with a strangely focused look on his face.
"Yeah."
"Who would've thought horse boy here would become an honorary Van der Linder," Meave nearly laughed.
"Don't go sayin' that, girly," Mondy chided.
"No, she's onto somethin'," Conan said, a smile slowly rising on his lips. "Dutch himself took Kieran in to be his gang's stable boy. That old fool has no idea who he let ride with his ilk. We've got an in."
"What are ya tryin' to say?" Colm skeptically eyed Conan.
"I'm sayin' that we've gotta a way to get ahead of Dutch and his dogs. Horse boy here can spy on them, Van der Linde's, and screw over their scores. We can finally get some proper payback."
"Oh, that's so slimy. It's perfect," Grinning, Maeve clapped her hands together, the gold bracelets on her wrists jingling.
"It's lunacy!" Mondy argued. "Kieran just barely escaped with his head, and you wanna throw him back in the lion's den. You're gonna get him killed."
"He's just gotta play his cards right," Conan argued back. "You're always sayin' how horse boy's got brains. Let him use 'em. This is our chance to ruin the Van der Linde gang. It's the least he can do for shootin' me."
"You had that coming with how much shit you pulled on the boy."
Kieran drowned out their argument as he played with the idea in his head. It was a terribly dangerous idea, one that would test his mental fortitude and put his life at risk more than if he walked through Murfree country unarmed. He would be signing up to be a rat of a stable boy that'd be raked across the coals as soon as it was found that the name O'Driscoll was tied to him with blood. However, it was also an idea that would end it all. All the fighting, death, and misery. An end to the feud that's taken so many souls. They could finally leave this life behind and head off to a new land with sandy blue beaches and a place to call home. That goal had been buried under years of killing and hatred, and Kieran had a chance to bring it back to light.
"Hey, Pa," Kieran got Colm's attention, the gang leader being silent during the argument with a contemplative look himself. "I-If Dutch is dead… c-can we go to California?" he asked. The room went quiet as Colm stewed with the question, putting his hand on his hips and gently swaying in thought. He finally looked Kieran in the eyes.
"When Dutch finally pays, we'll get to live peaceful lives. That there's a promise."
"Then," Kieran held his head up, "I-I'm going back… to the Van der Lindes."
…
… …
Even with Colm knowing the true nature of Kieran's stint with the Van der Lindes, he was kept out of sight of the other O'Driscolls along with the truth. "It would be more believable that he really turned his back on the O'Driscolls if most the gang still thought he was a traitor," Conan said as they left the homestead. Once outside, away from most of the gang members, Kieran whistled for Branwen to come, mounting her once she did.
"If you think they're onto you, get out of there like a bat out of hell, got it?" Mondy advised, and Kieran nodded.
"Good luck to ya, horse boy." Maeve gave a mocking thumbs up.
"We'll see how long you'll last," Conan's comment earned him a knock upside the head from Mondy.
"Wait before you do anythin' bold," Colm said, stroking Branwen on her neck, the horse leaning into the touch. "Ya can't live a peaceful life if you're dead, boy."
"I'll come back. That's my promise." He gave one last look at his family, a family he hoped to give a better future, before riding off back to the harsh camp of the Van der Linde gang.
~ O ~
The sun was on the cusp of the horizon, the starry night sky melting into an amber-toned pink, when Kieran returned to the dreaded Van der Linde camp. It was serenely quiet, and he could even hear the light breaths and snoring of the gang members sleeping off their booze from last night's party. As quietly as he had left, he returned, careful not to disturb any sleeping gang members who wouldn't be very forgiving of waking up at dawn to an aching hangover courtesy of the O'Driscoll boy. He led an uneasy Branwen back to the small herd of horses who thankfully recognized him as the one who had been caring for them for the past week and didn't startle. He sat down, leaning against a stump, reassuringly stroking Branwen's nose to keep them both calm. He had been up the entire night, and his tiredness was catching up to him. No doubt, when the day went into full swing, he'd be on his feet working until the sun went down, so he'd savor every minute of rest he could get.
"Fun party last night," a rest that was disturbed by a voice sly, grating like a rat nibbling at one's toes. He looked over his shoulder to see Micah leaning up one of the trees lining the camp, twirling a knife, his hat resting low, hiding his eyes, but Kieran could clearly see his wry grin.
"Oh, g-good mornin', sir," Kieran nervously greeted, standing up. "Ya need a-anythin'?"
"Hm, don't know yet. You got a good night's rest?" Again, with the strange questions. He hadn't already been found out, had he?
"Yes, s-sir. Rose j-just a m-minute ago. Ready to work!" he anxiously chuckled with a weak smile. Micah flicked his hat up, crystal blue eyes peering through the early morning shade. He stared, and Kieran anxiously shifted in place, not knowing whether to say anything or just leave.
"You've got some sweet-lookin' eyes for an O'Driscoll." The backhanded compliment was delivered with a husky chuckle and coy smirk that tainted its genuineness. It struck a tender chord within Kieran that wasn't played often, and an annoyed frown wrinkled his features, face heated.
"I-I ain't an O'Driscoll boy, s-sir." A slight edge of insult pointed to his words.
"Whatever you say, Mr. Duffy," Micah just laughed mockingly before finally walking off. Kieran wasn't even a minute back and had already been pressured by one of the Van der Lindes. He prepared for the day ahead of him, being no different.
~ O ~
Kieran wasn't entirely wrong in his assumption. Plenty of the gang members were suffering headaches and nausea gifted by hangovers and were more irritable than usual. Kieran was doing his best to get out of their way as he cleaned up the party's aftermath of empty beer bottles and discarded dishes. Midday, his tiredness was starting to set in, screwing with his coordination, and he accidentally bumped into Smith while carrying a hay bale. While his former guard waved off his stammering apologies, Callander made it a point to ridicule him for making any mistake, that "Dutch deserves nothin' less from a scrawny O'Driscoll he took in." Kieran slipped away with his head hung low when Callandar got distracted from his tirade by Kirk calling out to him; the camp's mood soured.
It was unfamiliar for Kieran to feel the ireful grief of a man mourning his fallen brother. He doubted Conan would be terribly disturbed if Kieran himself dropped dead. Colm even had a complicated relationship with Kane's death. If he could pull this off, hopefully, he could tame Conan's hostility for both of their sakes.
Kieran sipped on a canteen of water, leaning against the hitching post where two horses were tied to for a moment's rest.
"Listen to me," And then looked up at Van der Linde's deep and powerful voice calling out to the camp like a war trumpet. "Listen." Kieran did, tuning into whatever the gang leader planned to say. "I know we lost one of our own, and I miss him. And I will throw myself in the ground, in his place, a hundred times over if I could. But things, they don't work like that. Listen, we need… to keep pushing. It ain't time, yet, to let things wither and die. All those, all those dreams we had… it ain't time. Because that's all we got. That's all that anybody has got.
"Dreams. Ideas. It is that or be a monkey. And right now. I'm picking us for angels. Not monkeys. So, stay with me. You… stay with us. Because things are gonna get tough, but we are gonna get… where we wanna go. Listen, and listen good. It ain't the time for doubting. Otherwise, Davey… died for nothing. Don't make it like that. For yourselves, I mean, because me… I'm going forward… because going forward makes me an angel of God… and not a monkey. So… ask yourself, what is a man? And there's your answer. Walk like a man who knows that there is a heaven above or scurry and hide up a tree like some godforsaken monkey. You know that's the truth." Van der Linde went back into his tent, the bitter air of the camp left sweetened and enlightened by their leader's empowering words.
Kieran hadn't expected such a speech acknowledging the fallen and inspiring the living to march on from Van der Linde himself. It even inspired Kieran in some way. His dreams weren't something to shrug off or seen as only ignorant imaginations. His dream was something to fight for, to make all these years of battling and death worth something. One man's downfall was all he had to achieve.
Now, how was Kieran supposed to go about killing Dutch van der Linde?
~ O ~
Colm waited impatiently at the dining table for Kane's return. He stayed after last night's dinner when the nightly crickets chirped until the morning came with birds singing their rising tune. Kane didn't return.
"Good morning to ya, Colm," Diedre greeted softly as she came down the stairs, dressed in a morning gown and with her auburn hair undone.
"Mornin', Deidre," he greeted back, voice dry. He heard her prepare a pot of coffee in the kitchen.
"Kane hasn't come back?"
"No. Conan left, too. I ain't gotta clue where the hell they ran off to." Diedre came into the dining room with two mugs of steaming coffee. She frowned as she placed a mug in front of Colm. "You kept up all night?"
"… Couldn't sleep really." He grumbled, rubbing his eyes.
"Funny that," she sat beside him, dark rings underneath her emerald eyes. "I didn't find sleep either. My mind wouldn't settle… Thankfully, the children got some shut-eye." Colm blinked away the memory of spending hours calming down both a frightened Maeve and a panicking Kieran, who couldn't utter a proper word so they could finally sleep. "I'll head into town and schedule an appointment with the doctor to look at little Kier. He'll know how to help him, I'm sure." She took a sip from her mug, her lip creasing as the hot sludge burned her tongue and throat.
"Who knows? Maybe he'll wake up today and talk like usual." Colm suggested, tracing his finger around his mug's rim. "Or maybe he'll be like this 'till the day he dies."
"… And if so, we'll give him everything we can. This ain't a death sentence for the boy. We'll figure how to handle this."
"He shouldn't have to deal with this at all," Colm stared down into his mug as if it was the source of all his ire. "I told Kane Kier was too young, but he paid me no mind, like always. Now look at all the shit that's happened."
"It was an accident."
"That I could've stopped. I should've put my damn foot down for once. Now Kier's gonna talk like he's screwed in the head for the rest of his life."
"Please don't talk like that." Deidre grasped his clinched hand, palm warm from clutching her coffee mug. "It won't help Kier hearing any of that. He's scared." She rubbed his knuckles with her thumb.
"Right." He sighed. "I didn't do something then, so I gotta do somethin' now."
"We, Colm," she smiled. "We'll do this together." He squeezed her hand. Small feet patted down the stairs, and Colm and Deidre looked to the doorway to see Kieran peeking around the bend.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Deidre beckoned the boy closer, and Kieran shuffled over to them. "You sleep, okay?" she asked, sweeping aside his dark, messy bangs lying over his eyes. Kieran only nodded.
"How's your voice?" Colm asked. Sniffling, the young boy shook his head. "That's all right, lad. We'll get ya help." He reassured the boy, patting his head. "You can stay in today. Get some rest."
"N-N… N-No!" Kieran fiercely shook his head and pointed out to the barn.
"You still wanna go out?" the boy nodded enthusiastically. "Then we'll get back to work as usual." Colm smiled, and Kieran reciprocated with one of his own.
Someone knocked on the front door, disrupting the quiet home.
"That Kane?" Diedre asked skeptically, pulling Kieran closer to her.
"He don't knock." Colm scowled as he stood up, touching his holstered hip. "I'll take a look." The person knocked again as Colm approached the door. He waited for Deidre to take Kieran upstairs before he opened the door.
Stepping out into the chill morning air, Colm faced a man standing on his porch. A man dressed in a silky maroon vest and black slacks with a dark hat on his head, a formal outfit that spoke of higher status than he probably was. He looked younger than Colm but not young enough to have the nativity of a young buck just experiencing the trials of the world. The man's brown eyes held a richness of confidence, and his welcoming grin accentuated his beauty mark, combined to create a charming air that demanded devotion. A revolver was holstered to his hip.
"Pardon our intrusion so early in the morning, merciful Mr. Colm." The man spoke steadily and carefully, like a poet diligent in choosing his words, shooting a glance at the gun in his hand. "As soon as we made our partnership, we were too eager to collaborate."
"… We?" Colm looked behind the man and finally realized that a group of people were in his front yard, all armed. "Who the hell are you lot?"
"Where are my manners, sir?" the man heartily chuckled and held out his hand. "Dutch van der Linde and my group of merry men. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Colm stared at the offending hand as the man's name finally clicked in his head. Dutch van der Linde, gang leader. Colm hissed out a breath and then placed a smile on his face.
"What are you doing on my porch, Mr. Van der Linde?" he asked through gritted teeth, already having an idea himself.
"Your brother directed us here. Unfortunately, we," he gestured to the group behind him, "don't have a secure camp ourselves, and Kane so graciously gave this homestead to make our base… He said he informed you of that," Dutch looked over his shoulder, muttering, "and now I'm thinking that ain't so true."
"We don't mean to impose any, good sir," the man with neat, short-cut sandy-blonde hair and shifty brown eyes spoke in a silky tongue, hands raised. "We were simply told to come here; whether you were told or not is no fault of ours. Kane shouldn't be too far behind. He'll explain, surely."
"Off to a great start, aren't we?" the younger man beside him sarcastically grumbled.
"Hush, Arthur." The older woman beside him with dark hair tied up and a harpy's scowl scolded.
In the distance, Conan, a pair of O'Driscoll boys, and Kane were riding down the dirt path to the homestead. Even from far away, Colm could see Kane's arrogant glare in his eyes.
"How are ya'll getting' along?" he asked as he hopped off his steed.
"There appears to be some miscommunication," Dutch said, walking off the porch to approach Kane. "Your brother didn't know we'd be coming."
"Really?" Kane looked to Colm. "Didn't I tell you the Van der Lindes were commin'?"
"No, ya didn't, Kane." Colm's smile faltered as his anger flared. "If ya'll gotta stay here, use them picnic tables and make arrangements in the barn; got tons of space in the attic. My home's off-limits. Ya'll just keep your business out here, and we'll be just right."
"That's just fine with us," Dutch agreed. "We'll wait for you to start our plan-making. You're in no rush."
"Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Van der Linde, but I'm quite busy with housework to be schemein' robberies. All that fun's for you lot." There was a breath of silence as further confusion spread on the Van der Linde's faces.
"You don't happen to have another brother, Kane?" the younger man questioned, frustration evident in his blue eyes. "One that's the serious gunslinger you told us about?"
"No, that's him. Colm's just being silly. He's got that grating sense of humor." Kane's stare hardened, and his tone sharpened its edge as he stared Colm down. "He just needs to clean himself up, then get his ass down here and help out for once." The insinuated threat didn't go unnoticed. It wiped away all false pretenses of Colm's politeness, sending a disapproving glare right back at Kane.
"I'm not riding with any of ya'll." He firmly proclaimed and went inside his home, slamming the door shut. Aideen, dressed in her nightgown, waited for him in the entryway, rifle in hand.
"What was all that jabberin' about gangs for?" She questioned.
"Kane brought the damn Van der Linde gang to our front stoop! The fool's puttin' the whole family in danger. 'Course he don't give a shit about—" The front door barged open as soon as it slammed shut. Colm turned to face Kane and was met with a fist crashing into his face and dazedly sending him to the floor.
"Kane, don't you put—"
"Not now, Aunty!" Kane shoved Aideen into the kitchen and then closed the door, leaning the hat rack against the door knob to trap her in. When Kane turned his rage on him again, Colm was just trying to get to his feet. "Make a fool outta me, will ya?!" He snarled, yanking him by the collar and throwing him into the dining room where he crashed into the table, the edge jutting painfully into his back. "You've done lost your respect, Colm." Kane loomed over him, fist-balled, ready to deliver more punishment.
"I wonder why?" Colm snappily replied and quickly kicked out at Kane's shin before he could retaliate, taking the chance to spring to his feet and run out of the room.
"Damn you!" Kane cursed, snagging the back of Colm's shirt and yanking him back for another punch to the face. Colm couldn't remember a day when he outmatched Kane in raw strength, so he wasn't surprised when he found himself smashed against the wall with his brother's hands around his neck. Clawing at his hands and kicking only got him slammed against the wall. "You forget who you take orders from," Kane hissed in his face. "I'm the damn leader around here, so you listen to me and do as I say! 'Nough of this back talk outta you."
"Who says I gotta listen to you anymore," Colm croaked out through the pressure on his neck. "You're thinkin' like a damn maniac bringin' those gunslingers where the kids sleep."
"Maniac?! No, Pa's a maniac. I am doing what's best for this family, and you're gettin' in my way. Should I just shoot you already?"
"Kane!" Deidre shrieked, horrified, as she came rushing down the stairs. "Get off him, now!" She demanded the soft features of her face, scowling in fear and anger.
"Ain't gotta scream, dear." Kane turned his attention to Deidre. "I'm just knocking some sense into this coward here. Get back upstairs."
"Let go of him first!"
"You better—" With Kane distracted, Colm delivered a well-placed knee to his gut to get him away. It worked for a moment, Kane flinching in pain before he roared and threw Colm to the floor. "You want me to be a maniac so bad, Colm?!" Kane marched over to the downed Colm and crashed his heeled boot into his side, Colm gasping as the air was knocked out of him.
"Stop it, now!" Deidre shoved Kane as he raised his foot for another kick, making him lose balance and stumble backward. She placed herself in front of Colm, standing as tall as possible with her shorter stature compared to the great Kane's.
"Outta the way, woman." Kane glared down at her fiercely, but she didn't budge, even as her shoulders quivered with fright.
"Or what, Kane?" She retorted. "You gonna throw me up against a wall too?"
"Just might if you keep actin' a fool just like Colm is."
"He ain't no fool! He's just tryin' to help, same as you. Please, Kane," she softened her tone in hopes of soothing the anger simmering in the room, "we can talk and work things out. No need for swinging fists."
"Deidre," Kane said as calmly as he could through gritted teeth and a scowl. "I ain't gonna hit you, but I'll—"
"I'll ride with ya'll, Kane!" Colm spoke up as soon as he got his breath back, spitting out the blood from his cut lip. "I'll shoot, rob, and kill as much as you want, Kane," he hissed, sitting up. Diedre crouched beside him, reaching out a hand that Colm politely pushed away, shaking his head. He stood up by himself despite how his head spun with pain. He adjusted his shirt and dusted his pants.
"Good," Kane said, still tensing up but lessening his glare's heat. "Now get out there and tell those bastards you'll ride with 'em.
"How can I say no?" On Colm's way out, he moved the rack, locking Aideen in the kitchen. He heard her smack Kane across the face as he went out the door to face the Van der Lindes once again. The gang had congregated at the picnic tables, and Conan and his boys sat at a separate table. "Good mornin', gentleman, ladies," he greeted, much more cheerful sounding than before, with a smile that pulled the cut on his lip open. A moment of surprise flashed across Dutch's face, but he quickly steeled it away. "A thousand apologies for the confusion, but I'm happy to say I'll be joinin' ya'll fine men robbin' and killin' folks." He held out his hand. "Colm O'Driscoll, ready to be of service." Dutch stood up and heartily shook his hand with an alluring smile that was already working its way into Colm's memory.
"It's a pleasure to be workin' with you, Colm." He gestured to the blonde-haired man. "This here is my right hand. Sharp as a whistle with sly hands."
"Hosea," Colm shook the man's outstretched hand, never losing his smile.
"This charming boy here is Arthur." Dutch patted the younger man's shoulder. "He may appear to be on the dumber side, but I promise he's as sharp as ever." Arthur rolled his diamond-blue eyes.
"Susan. I'll shoot ya if you get too close." the grouchy woman that had previously scolded Arthur said, wiping the barrel of a revolver and paying Colm little mind.
The final Van der Linde gang member, yet to be introduced soundlessly, got up from the table to face Colm properly. The woman stood nearly to Colm's height in her black heeled boots, the golden buckles matching the gold of her necklace. She wore an ivory dress with a lace design over the collar and a sheen pale gold shawl over her shoulders. Her honey-blonde hair was braided neatly around her head with a white ribbon and two wavy locks left out to frame her face. Her hazel eyes studied Colm's face in a dutiful manner as if she were examining a professor's paper. From the belt around her waist, she pulled out a crisp white handkerchief.
"Your lips are spilling more than lies, Mr. Colm," her pink lips humbly smiled, the gleam in her eyes reflecting something Colm couldn't quite grasp. He grabbed the handkerchief and wiped his lips, staining the white cloth a deep red. He glanced down and saw that she still held out her hand as if expecting a gift.
"… I'm mighty thankful, miss…?" He handed back the bloodied cloth. She messaged the dirty material between her fingers, never minding that her fingertips were stained red. Her smile curved.
"I'm Annabelle."