Disclaimer: I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2. This story contains blood, violence, abuse, and dark themes. Viewer discretion is advised.

The bright blue sky and the shining summer sun was a sight he could never get tired of. The cool breeze and fresh morning air aided the stunning visual as he took a deep breath and adjusted his cream sun hat. Then, he felt a grip on his pant leg and looked down at the small green-eyed boy beside him.

"You scared already, lad?" he asked, chuckling. The boy nodded his head with a hum. "Don't worry, I'll make sure nothin' happens to you. C'mon." he grabbed the boy's hand and began their walk down the dirt path, passing by yards of farmland and fenced parries holding sheep on their way to the stables. The boy yelped and huddled behind him at the sound of a horse's whinny. "Hey, it's alright." He reassured the boy, patting him on the head. "They look big and scary, but they ain't gonna hurt you." He picked the boy up in his arms. "I'll show you." The boy hid his face in his neck as he walked inside the stables.

"Good mornin', Ardal." He greeted the black Shire but passed by as he felt he would be too intimidating for the young boy. Instead, he stopped in front of Talulla's stall, a young gold palomino Tennessee Walker, who nickered and stuck her head out. "Mornin', Talulla." He patted her on the nose. "Look, boy, she don't bite." He gently nudged the boy's side, urging him to open up. The boy took a deep breath and faced the excited mare, trying to sniff him, which made him flinch away.

"Easy, girl." He reached into his grey coat pocket and pulled out a sugar cube. "Here, give her this." Putting the cube in the boy's hand, he slowly guided it to the horse's eager muzzle. The boy chuckled at the weird sensation of the horse's wet tongue on his palm as she engulfed the cube, satisfyingly munching it. Then, in a swift movement, he placed the boy's hand on her nose and didn't need to tell him to gently pet her. A steadily growing smile grew on the boy's face.

"Talulla, meet Kieran. Kieran, meet Talulla." He said, smiling himself.

"Hi, Talulla." Kieran greeted the mare in a soft voice.

"See, lad, you got nothin' to fear. As long as you take care of 'em, they'll take care of you 'til they can't any longer. Want me to teach you how to care for 'em?"

"Yes, please, pappy!"

~ O ~

Kieran awoke with a cry, finding his face on the cold ground and sharp pain in his side.

"Get up!" A course voice commanded, lacking any patience. Kieran did as he was told, shooting up from the barn floor covered in dirt and half-melted snow, his body numb from the fear gripping his chest. The sun hadn't risen yet, the sky being a dark navy blue with fading ivory stars. Most of the horses in the stable woke up with him, neighing and snorting as they were startled by his fall. The man who had awoken him held a lantern and an unamused scowl; snowflakes decorated his black leather hat and coat and got caught in his shaggy auburn bangs. His dark eyes were like coal, with the faintest trace of green, as they glared at him. Kieran wiped the dirt off his face and righted the hay bale he had been sleeping on before he had been kicked off. There was an uneasy silence between them as Kieran kept twiddling his thumbs and shifting his gaze anywhere but the man's eyes, who kept silent. Kieran knew he wanted him to speak first, and he hid his frustration behind a cough that cleared his throat.

"What d-d-do ya need, Conan?" He asked, stuttering as if he was freezing to death. Conan clicked his tongue as if annoyed by the question.

"Nothin', but the boss man wants you, apparently." Kieran's chest clenched.

"He w-wants me?"

"Oh, don't act so surprised," Conan snapped harshly, causing a horse in a nearby stable to whiney. Never trusting his voice, Kieran simply shook his head. "Then don't keep him waiting, horse boy." Kieran grabbed his old hat off the ground and followed behind Conan outside of the stables. He shivered as the chill night winds blew through him, his breath coming out as a misty fog. It was quiet in the big camp, most of its members being held up in the sheds and cabins to escape the cold. Only the guards on the outskirts of camp seemed to be up, but they were clearly tired.

"Tom's back," Conan spoke up. "Says that the rest of the boys out will be back in the morning, so get ready to do some work, got it?" Kieran nodded in response. "Got it?!" Conan asked again, more aggressively, looking over his shoulder to shoot Kieran a glare, causing him to flinch and take a step back.

"Y-yes, I got i-it. S-s-sorry," he apologized.

"Can't you ever speak, right? It irritates the hell out of me." Conan huffed before continuing his trek through the snow. Kieran waited until he was a few paces ahead before following again. Then, finally, Conan led him to the largest of the structures, a two-floored wooden cabin with an orange glow in the windows and smoke coming out of the chimney. Conan didn't knock before he opened the front door, and Kieran had to catch the door before it slammed in his face. It was much warmer in the cabin than in the chilly stables, so he took off his coat and hung it on the clothes rack, as did Conan.

"C'mon, he's upstairs," Conan said as he set down the lantern on a nearby hook and made his way through the living room, where a fire burned in the fireplace, and past the dining area were maps and documents littered the table. Four men were seated at the table. Most shot him glares as he followed Conan upstairs, while one paid him no mind as he studied a map of train tracks.

When Kieran made it to the top of the stairs, he finally noticed the stains on the wooden floor. He immediately wrenched his foot from the puddle of blood he had stepped in and saw that it trailed to the last door of the hall where voices could be heard. Conan did knock first, this time before opening the door. "I got him just like you asked, boss man." He said as Kieran followed in behind him, shutting the door. It felt much colder in this room than in the rest of the cabin, with the only viable heat source coming from a couple of mounted candles and a lantern. The lantern rested on a small table in the center of the room where two men sat on either end, and one man sat in the middle.

Conan went to the left side of the room, where an old, withered couch where one person was already. It was a young woman dressed in her dark emerald nightgown with her long black hair unkempt. Her dark doll-like eyes were centered on the two men at the table, with her pale lips holding the faintest smile.

"I'm so happy you could join us tonight," the man on the left side of the table spoke up, and Kieran's attention was immediately drawn to him. The man was peering over his shoulder, his dark eyes locking onto Kieran with a smile curving his lips. A cold shiver pricked Kieran's spine as he stared back into the shadowy orbs of Colm O'Driscoll, the intensity of his gaze unhindered by the scar crossing his pale left eye. Kieran noticed he was holding a set of cards. "It's quite the game we're playin' tonight, but it appears our guest here needs a hand." Colm gestured to the "guest" across the table. He saw the source of all the blood, slumped in his chair with his set of cards lying face down on the table. "The poor lad can't seem to hold his cards anymore. Pull up a chair and help him out, would you? I want to see this game to the end."

"… Y-Yes, sir." He responded after getting over the momentary shock of seeing a man with more poker cards than fingers. He got a chair from beside the nightstand, not focusing on the bloodied instruments on the stand, bringing the chair to the table. He sat beside the guest, who visibly cringed and leaned away as best as he could as Kieran sat down. Kieran took off his winter gloves to correctly pick up the chips and blood-stained cards. He saw that in place of poker chips, this game was using rusty coins and gum-covered teeth, with the guest appearing to be winning with the most "chips." Kieran wasn't sure if the sight or smell made him sickeningly uneasy, but his discomfort might as well have been a stubbed toe compared to the bruised and bloodied guest who wheezed disturbingly with every ragged breath.

"Shall we continue?" The man in the middle asked. He had neatly combed greying red hair with stubble and shifty emerald eyes. He was rolling a throwing knife between his fingers as he leaned back in his chair with an amused grin.

"Go on, Mondy," Colm answered with an even more delighted smile.

"It's your turn to bet, snake eye," Mondy said. The guest groaned and meekly raised a mutilated hand to the table. His pinky tapped the table once, twice, until he tapped a total of ten times. Kieran got the message, picking ten chips from the guest's stash, and placing it into the pot in the center of the table. Colm hummed and drummed his fingers on the table.

"I'll be honest with you, boy," he started, "I've never played with someone as good as you, despite you're… depressing condition. Dutch must've had the time of his life playing against you. How many times have you bested him?" The guest raked in a breath, his cut lips bleeding further as he spoke in a hoarse voice that desperately craved any drink.

"…Tw…elve."

"Damn, I've only beat him twice." Colm chuckled as he put twelve chips into the pot, leaving him with six chips. He was seemingly unconcerned with the fact that he was at a disadvantage. "You are much smarter than you let on. Impressive." His dark eyes narrowed as he skeptically glared at the guest. The guest's remaining blue eye glared back, and Kieran was surprised he could still see out of it. "Which is why I'm just so confused as to why you'd join Van der Linde's bastards in the first place. Did your brute-for-a-brother force you into it? Maybe Dutch's famous charisma pulled you into his crap?" The guest tried to sit up straighter despite his broken ribs.

"My… faith in… him is… why."

"Faith?!" Colm laughed at the word as if it were the funniest joke he'd ever heard. "Is he a god? You follow a god that lets you fall into the hands of the devil?... Oh, right, if you're here, you must be a sinner, of course. Or even worse, aren't faithful enough a follower." Colm rested his elbows on the table and quirked his head. "Tell me, Callander boy, how much of your faith do you give to your great and mighty Dutch van der Linde?" The guest made a gesture with his fingerless hand, and in response, Kieran put all his chips into the pot. Colm gave a mix of a scoff and a chuckle before putting the remainder of his chips in.

"We'll see if you're bluffin', boy."

"Alright then, gentlemen," Mondy spoke up, holding his knife steady, "Show your cards." Colm went first, though Kieran couldn't tell if it was a strong hand with his lack of poker knowledge. He then picked up the guest's cards and flipped them over for Mondy to see, who looked over both card sets before nodding. "Well, we certainly have a winner here," his lips split into a large grin as he held up both stacks of cards. "Congratulations, Mr. Callander! Looks like you get to keep your teeth after all." Mondy pushed the pile of coins and teeth to the guest's side, and Kieran felt his manners tell him to clap for the man's victory. Colm didn't look happy, but he didn't look angry either. Instead, he appeared more disappointed, like a parent hearing that their child got in trouble at school.

"Huh, I haven't felt pity in a while." He tsked. "You put so much faith into a man who doesn't give a damn about you, and you don't even know it." He reached to his hip and pulled out his stunning silver revolver, checking the barrel to ensure it was loaded. The guest squirmed in his seat. He might have tried to make a run for it if his ankles weren't sliced to the bone. "I'll tell you this about Dutch, Davey," he aimed his gun at the guest, hammer pulled pack and finger on the trigger. "He only loves one thing in this world," a glint shone in his dark forest eyes, and a smirk adorned his face. "And it sure as hell ain't you." Kieran looked away.

"Sir, we've got a problem!" The shout outside the room was accompanied by a pounding on the door, ruining the tense mood and making Kieran jump. One of the men that had been studying the map downstairs barged into the room, his dark gray eyes locking onto Colm, his brown hair was cut short, and his beard was nicely trimmed.

"What the hell is it, Tommy?" Colm asked, holding back his frustration; he didn't take his eyes off the guest.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, boss, but I've heard from one of the boys that Dutch van der Linde is in the Grizzlies." Hearing that name was like a drop of blood hitting shark-infested waters. Colm's expression twisted darkly, and his eyes narrowed to sharp points instantly as his head snapped to the side to glare Tom down.

"What?" was all he could get out before the guest interpreted him with a laugh, a deep, hearty sound that took all the air out of his dry lungs, and he smiled ecstatically through the pain.

A thunderous bang cracked through the room like a lightning strike. Kieran felt the burning heat of the bullet whizz past his face before the splatter of blood stung the side of his cheek. He curled into himself, shaking as he stared at the corpse in shock, entirely limp in the chair with a bleeding hole in its head and a frozen grin plastered on its pale face. Colm blew out the smoke of his pistol's muzzle before holstering it.

"Who says Van der Linde's here?" he questioned.

"Robbie, sir. One of the boys that raided the ranch." Tom answered promptly. Colm groaned angrily and stood up from the table, walking out of the room. Kieran followed, not looking back at the corpse. Making it to the living room, they found a man wearing the signature O'Driscoll black coat and green with his face beaten black and blue.

"We're all ears," Colm said as the man shifted anxiously in place.

"Van der Linde's here!" Robbie blurted out, slightly slurred due to his bruised lips. "One of his bastards killed my cousin and nearly beat me to death!" Conan shot past Colm to face the man like a predator, ready to pounce.

"Where is he?" Conan asked, his hand already slithering to the pistol on his hip. "I ain't gotta clue, I just know him, and his boys shot us all to hell. I was able to get away, but I'll tell you, Dutch's lap dog is somethin' cruel." He spat blood onto the floor.

"Blue Eyes Morgan?" The young woman, who had been sitting on the couch in the other room, spoke up from her place on the staircase, leaning over the railing and looking down on the group. Her grim smile returned. "This day just keeps getting better and better. When are we going to pay them a little visit?"

"You think goin' after the Van der Lindes is the best, Maeve?" Mondy interjected. "We don't know where their camp is and we've got a train job comin' up. So I think havin' one of Van der Linde's bastards rotting upstairs is good enough for now."

"Who cares about a train when we got Van der Linde's to skin?" Maeve brushed him off, making her way down the stairs. "I know Tommy's with me." she nudged the man, who nodded.

"Looks like we three agree," Conan said. "Van der Linde's boys are gonna be lookin' for their friend. We can ambush them before they even think about pulling their guns out."

"More like you'll be shot in the head before you can even gloat. You've got better fists than aim, boy." Mondy countered, quickly resulting in him and Conan getting into an argument, with Maeve chiming in every now and again. In Kieran's opinion, not that it mattered; he would prefer not to get into a shootout with the Van der Linde gang. They were scarily efficient gunslingers that always ended a battle with more O'Drsiscoll corpses on the ground than scratches on their bodies. Arthur Morgan was one of the deadliest of them all.

"Shut your goddamn mouths, all of ya!" Kieran was pulled from his thoughts by Colm's fierce shout and recoiled as the room went dead silent. "We're not gonna get anythin' done if ya'll keep barkin' like a bunch of mangy mutts." He looked everyone in the eye one by one with a cold stare, but his glare skipped over Kieran.

"Now," He sighed as he ran a hand through his greasy hair. "I know some of you are just itchin' to get a piece of Dutch's hide, and others want to get this train score, but we need to be smart about this. I'll have to rethink our next steps, seeing as Dutch's come back to ruin our lives more than he already has. So none of ya'll tell anybody that the Van der Linde's are runnin' about. Don't wanna stir up a panic, now do we?" Colm looked to the man that had alerted them all about the Van der Lindes. "Robbie, right?" Robbie nodded. "Good, good. From the bottom of my heart, I just wanted to thank you for warning us about the Van der Lindes. I really mean that."

"Why, it was nothin' boss." Robbie chuckled, sounding proud of himself.

"I'm sure it was, especially considerin' the dog beatin' on you just let you go, right?" Robbie's smile faltered, and his unswollen eye widened.

"No, he didn't— I mean, I wouldn't say that—" he began stumbling over his words and frantically avoiding eye contact.

"Oh, there's nothin' to be ashamed of, boy. But I was wonderin'" Colm put his hands on his hips. Kieran knew the poor man was already dead. "What exactly did you say to Morgan that made him let you go?"

Robbie didn't answer. Instead, feeling his best course of action was to make a break for the door. He may have escaped if the cabin wasn't filled with skilled gunslingers. Kieran couldn't count how many gunshots went off but heard a short cry and a heavy thud. Then, finally, the shooting stopped.

"Rat." Tom spat, twirling his gun back into its holster.

"I think we're about done here," Colm said. "I'll let ya'll know what the new plans are, but keep actin' like nothin's changed. You see how easily these bastards turn when you rough 'em up a bit. Cowards. Get whatever rest you can now, 'cause when that sun comes up, we got work to do." Colm looked around and was given firm nods and some smiles from everyone still alive in the cabin. Then, his eyes landed on the corpse, and he wrinkled his nose in annoyance.

"Will you do me a favor, Kier?" He asked, and Kieran was suddenly aware of his presence as Colm's eyes landed on him. It was like he was snapped back into the present, breaking the illusion that he was a passive observer, a position he was most content with. "Toss out the trash before it starts stinkin' up the place." Kieran tried not to let his disgust show on his face as he nodded and put on his coat and gloves to take care of the corpse. The body was crumpled in a heap on the front door, its outstretched hand gripping the doorknob with its blood splattered across the wooden door.

Even with gloves on, Kieran was hesitant to touch the body. He hadn't known Robbie very well and had only really talked to him when he needed his horse, Ranger. He timidly grabbed the corpse's pale hand clinched on the doorknob and tried pulling it off, but it wouldn't let go as if still determined to open the door and escape.

"Conan, help him," Colm ordered.

"Are you serious?" Conan's question earned him a smack upside the head courtesy of Colm's pistol. He stepped back with a hiss rubbing his head as he glared at Colm.

"Do what you're told, boy. I ain't gonna ask again." Colm's tone was low and warning.

"Fine." Conan conceded and stomped towards Kieran, who gave him ample room to take care of the corpse. He yanked the corpse's arm in one firm tug, wrenching its hand free and almost taking the doorknob with it. Still grumbling, he picked up the lifeless body and pushed the door open, letting in the cold outside air.

"Here," he tossed the body over Kieran's shoulder, nearly making him fall over. "Get to steppin'." Kieran made it down the slippery stairs of the porch and heard the door slam behind him. "Damn, old man," Conan mumbled, walking beside him, lantern in hand.

Kieran kept his head low and focused on his steps through the snow, feeling the cooling blood of the stiffening corpse run down his back. Most of the boys had woken up from the gunshots, and the camp was steadily coming to life. They walked to the outskirts of the camp, where the only light was from the fading moon and Conan's lantern. Finally, they reached a steep decline where the snow steeped down like a cliff. Kieran walked over to the edge and carefully lifted the body off his shoulder before letting it fall over the edge. He cringed as it tumbled down the hill like a ragdoll and landed with a crunch on a pile of frozen corpses. He was thankful that it was too dark to see the grotesque sight in detail, but he could smell it even with his stuffy nose.

"You finally happy now?" Kieran flinched a bit at Conan's question but turned to face him despite his fear. He took a deep breath before speaking, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady in his quaking body.

"Thank you… Conan." Conan stared at him for a moment, his dark eyes boring into him.

"Thank you? That's all you can say?" he asked, though Kieran didn't feel he should answer.

"I uh," he felt the heat rise in his face and his breath draw short. "I h-have to get t-the horses re-ready. Sor-rry." He stutteringly apologized and walked past Conan towards the stable until a hand tightly gripped his arm and yanked him back.

"Oh, I'm serious this time." the shout was accompanied by a sharp jab to the chest that made him stumble back. "I bring in money. I keep the rats in check. I brought in that Callander bastard to make Van der Linde pay for all he's done!" Conan punctuated each sentence with a jab to Kieran's chest that quickly became more of a shove. Kieran held his hands up in surrender, and his body hunched in submission. "And all you can do for me is say 'thank you?!'" Kieran's heart stuttered in his chest as he felt his heels graze the edge of the drop-off.

"I-I'm sorry, Conan, pl-ple-ease—"

"Too late to beg now, horse boy." Conan snatched him by the collar, sneering, his hot breath rolling over Kieran's face in a smokey mist as his heels scraped dangerously over the edge. "Only way to stop me is to fight like a goddamn man for once." Kieran's hands never once clenched into fists as he stared back into Conan's ireful glare and breathed a shaky breath.

"I won't... Fight you… Please," He spoke slowly and deliberately in hopes of sounding strong. Conan's grip tightened for a moment before letting him go, sighing.

"Oh," a smirk twisted Conan's face, "I know you won't." The punch to the face shouldn't have been as shocking as it was. But nevertheless, Kieran lost his balance and fell over the edge. He cried out and grunted, feeling the rocks underneath the snow cut into him as he tumbled down, coming to rest with a heavy thud on something firmer than snow. He groaned as his head spun, and every inch of his body pulsed with pain, his left side more so. It took a while for Kieran to sit up, his bruised body protesting any movement. He quickly scrambled to move against the side of the hill when he locked eyes with the corpse he had fallen on.

"You still alive, horse boy?" he heard a voice yell from above. He looked up, and past the snowfall and fading stars, he saw the light of a lantern and a dark silhouette. "Still breathin'? Well, that's a damn shame. You should stay down there six feet under. You'll be more useful to the dead." Then, with those last echoing words, the light disappeared, leaving him in the dark and cold.

Kieran's cheek started to burn where Conan had punched him, but that wasn't the only part of him that started to ache. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and dusted himself off. He had work to do and couldn't let this incident get in the way. There wasn't any way around the incline without going through a stream of water or going up rough terrain, so he settled on having to try and climb pack up.

"O-okay, ok-kay… Ya got this…" he weakly encouraged himself and began the climb back up. It wasn't as easy as he initially thought, as icy edges and loose rocks sent him falling back down where he had started. On the bright side, he recovered his hat, and on the not-so-bright side, he was pretty sure his side was bleeding with a warm sticky feeling developing under his clothes. When the sun was starting to rise, and the sky was a lazy blue with pinks and oranges bursting from the horizon, he made it the highest he had. He was only a few feet away from the top, but he had loose footing and feared one mistake would send him back down. He knew if he fell again, he would have much worse than a busted nose. He was too scared to make a move and doubted anyone would come if he called for help.

"Why today?" he exasperated. He perked up at the shrill whiney and the thump of trotting footsteps. He peered up to see the tan head of a horse with a white mane blowing in the wind and deep brown eyes. Kieran's chapped lips formed a smile for the first time that morning. The mare leaned her head down far enough for Kieran to wrap his arms around her neck and helped pull him up the last bit to the top. Kieran clambered to safety and collapsed onto his back, his body finally giving out. He knew he needed to look himself over and tend to any wounds the best he could. He wasn't given much rest before he felt a wet muzzle nudging his face. He stroked his mare lovingly on the nose, tracing the scar on her cheek.

"Good girl, Bran." He realized she must have gnawed on the lock to her stable until she could get out when he hadn't come to give her her morning meal. The checkered blanket she slept in still clung to her slim frame. She was smart, sometimes too smart for her own good. She continued to nuzzle, drawing a ghost from a laugh out of his that made his chest ache. "Hey, I'm fine, gi-irl." He gently nudged her muzzle away and sat up. It hurt to stand up but using Branwen as a crutch helped. "It's j-just…" he sighed heavily. "One of th-them mornings." Following beside Branwen, he returned to camp to fulfill his job as the O'Driscoll gang's stable boy.