Chapter 1

His lungs felt like they were going to fall out of his chest. At last, after months past of the incident when he'd beaten Thomas Downes to death, Arthur Morgan was going to die. There was no point in pretending otherwise. His teeth gritted together as he drew up breaths, managing to move his body, even though it was full of agony.

"Oh, Black Lung…you ain't gonna reach that gun," the rat snarled. "You ain't."

His bruised eyes managed to stare ahead, directly at the revolver. This would make it all worth it, to put a bullet directly through the rat's eyes, and make sure he wouldn't be able to hurt someone else.

"You lost, my sick friend." Micah's agonized voice, lanced with anger and victory, said. "You lost."

Arthur groaned, wincing as he crawled.

He rationalized that he won. He'd managed to save John, Abigail, Jack, Tilly, Sadie, Charles. His only regret was the inability to save more. In the end, Arthur Morgan felt like he achieved the greatest victory of all.

"In the end, Micah," Arthur wheezed. "Despite my best efforts to the contrary…it turns out I've won."

Arthur managed a smile because it was true. At that point, it didn't matter if he managed to reached the gun. It didn't matter because Micah wouldn't be able to hurt them for now, and the next time he possibly could, they would be ready to counter.

A few more breaths and he made it. Arthur reached his digits out to the gun, finally having the will within him to end this rat once and for all. This would be the final shot. The final kill.

"Goddamn you," Arthur croaked as he gripped the gun, prepared to turn around when something happened.

His fingers suddenly were crushed under the weight of a boot. He hadn't noticed if anyone was coming. His first thought was of the Pinkertons. They would swarm both Micah and Arthur, kill them both, and throw away the key. Because they were just using him. A means to an end.

"It is over now…Arthur."

That voice, rich with pacifism and calmness, sent a shiver through his spine.

He looked up to see Dutch staring down at him coldly, angry, but especially disappointed.

"It is over."

And he realized that for one final moment, his father figure returned, but not to help him. To help the new boy. The obedient one. That was all they were. Tools for him. Killers. Milton was right about that at the very least, but Arthur had been too blind, too obedient, and even now he wanted to reach the man who once cared about him if that was anyway to put it.

Tears willed up. "Oh, Dutch…he's a rat."

At the end, he wanted to save him, appease to him to be the man who Hosea once was proud of. Be the man hat they could all look up to.

The negative emotions on Dutch's face faded, now replaced by... loss and regret.

"You know it and I know it."

Dutch looked at Arthur as he wattled. His boot lingered on the gun, his form imposing as always. His eyes softened, face expression full of sorrow, as he took in Arthur's wheezing form.

"He's sick," Micah spat behind them. "He's dying…He's talking crazy."

"There! Up there! On the ridge!" He distinctly heard. Pinkertons.

He stared up at Dutch, pleading. "I gave you all I had."

Dutch choked. More tears poured from Arthur's puffy eyes as he attempted to breathe.

"I did."

The former leader of the Van Der Linde gang opened his mouth. "I…" Dutch removed his boot from Arthur's hand, snapping back, his lips curled.

Arthur rolled onto his back, the fight and will within him suddenly gone.

"I-" he repeated, his voice solemn and confused.

"Come on, Dutch," Micah hissed, coming closer. "Let's go, buddy," he said, arms outstretched at his direction. "We made it!" He laughed. "We won! Come on!"

The convulsions slowly came to an end. The dull agony was terrible, but strangely it filled him with peace. Those wrongs were made right. He may be going to hell, but he left some good in the world. A bonus point would be in saving Dutch from Micah's manipulations temporarily...

Dutch's eyes traveled over him, mouth opened.

He smirked. "John made it…he's the only one."

Dutch towered over him. There was a brief moment of anger in his eyes when he'd mentioned John, but it passed.

"The rest of us…no," he pushed. "But…I tried…In the end, I did."

"C'mon, let's go," another attempt from Micah, less vigorous, almost solemn actually. "We can make it."

Dutch stared up before taking one step back and then another.

"Come on, Dutch!" he growled. "Come on!"

He gave a frustrated yell, and then the footsteps left...

Arthur was confused, lost. He blinked. Dutch may have abandoned him, but he'd abandoned Micah. Maybe, just maybe, he'd saved the man. He doubted it though.

Gaining some willpower, Arthur dragged himself across the mountain. His breaths were labored, raspy, but they were becoming quieter and quieter. He found a comfortable rock and collapsed back.

He stared over. The sun lingered above the mountain, orange and yellow. A new sunrise.

He felt relieved, at peace, because he managed to save some people. His only regrets were the lives he'd claimed in the past in the name of Dutch. But even he came to peace he couldn't have more time to atone. This life was over. Another was beginning. Time to move on.

The last he saw was a buck staring at him. He saw it before. When he was diagnosed with TB. And now, it seemed ultimate. It looked at his direction with eyes that reflected sadness and grief among countless other emotions. It turned away to the direction of the sunlight.

White consumed his vision, and Arthur Morgan knew no more until...

Coldness?

"Arthur! Any luck?!"

That voice pierced his skull. It was the same one, the one which...

Arthur opened his eyes to find the source of the coldness. This was an odd place to be considered hell. Surrounded by a blizzard. He looked down to see he was on top of a horse. What happened? His hands tightened into fists as he felt the snow continuing to push against him, only barely able to cling on due to instincts alone.

"Arthur!" The voice barked again. "Did you find any shelter?!"

Arthur kept his head down. Dutch, his father figure, the man who he'd loved... the man who aimed his guns at him back in Beaver Hollow, who viewed him like scum when he insisted that he let the women and the children along with John and his family go, who left him to die.

Who was just walking away back on top of that mountain just a few moments ago.

Was it possible Micah shot him?

Was that why he was in hell with him?

"Son! Are you alright?!" The familiar old voice barked above the storm. It wasn't Dutch this time. It was the man who embedded in him how to read, how to write, how to ride his horse. Dutch taught him how to rob, kill, and hurt people. Hosea taught him how to view things outside of the gang.

He'd sacrificed himself to save Abigail back in Saint Denis. He didn't deserve to be this low, with Dutch. Maybe Arthur for being a damn fool. Maybe he should have saw through Dutch's webs of bullshit long ago, like Hosea did. Even Lenny saw what Dutch was becoming.

No, it was something bigger than that. It had to be. Either he was dreaming, forced to relive past moments after helping John escape to Horseshoe Overlook, or he had been given a repeat. A second chance. A chance that others deserved. He'd been a bad man at the end of the day, even though he came to value others' thoughts and opinions.

It would be so, so simple to go back to the man he once was. To be an unmerciful killer. With his knowledge of the future, he would not run into the same trap that forced him to be humbled in another life. He would make sure that he wouldn't contract TB from Thomas Downes, that he wouldn't be a choking mess for months.

'Take a gamble that love exists and do a loving act.' Sister Calderon...

No. Never again.

Arthur realized he'd rather be a better man. He knew what type of life following Dutch blindly led to and wanted no part of it. Innocent folks being killed. Herr Strauss was no better, just a simple man who lived off the poor and didn't care about anyone who suffered. He would be the man who he could be this time around without being on death's door.

"Son!" Dutch snapped.

Arthur shot him a look between resentment and mourning, cursing himself when he found the man shying back. He couldn't stop himself. Dutch always had a goddamn plan. In some ways, Arthur was glad he got TB. He was doubting Dutch for a while, but TB helped him come to reality, and now he recognized what the Van Der Linde gang really represented.

Killers.

Under the pretenses of a caring family.

"Arthur...?" The man asked, looking hurt and saddened.

"Ye-yes," Arthur managed, forcing his voice to become rough, 'cause for now, he knew that freezing to death or being found by whatever law that was searching for them was out of possibility. After all, he had to go save John soon goddamn it! He still loved the idiot! And he was the only one who stood by him in the end along with Ms. Grimshaw. "I found an old mining town. It ain't far. Come on."

"Come on!" Dutch echoed behind him to the gang.

He didn't even want to think 'bout what was 'bout to happen to Davey, even though it was inevitable. Maybe if he time traveled back in time to before they painted themselves as killers in Blackwater, was able to stop that damn robbery, but there was no point in thinking about what could have been. All that mattered was saving who he could save now.

They followed behind him to the mining town. The formerly sick gunslinger gritted his teeth in frustration. The blizzard was still a goddamn bitch like last time, but they made it.

When they arrived, Hosea extracted himself from the wagon first and held his gun and lamplight. He opened the door of the cabin and casually stared around with the help of his lamplight. After finding that no one in this old mining town like last time, Hosea decided that this would be the place where they would take up residence.

"Bring him in here," Hosea ordered.

Abigail entered first alongside Jack. Followed by Arthur and Bill holding Davey with a stretcher, most of the other gang members entered the cabin as Dutch was the last one to enter and closed the door behind him.

"Miss Gaskill, get that fire lit, quick," Ms. Grimshaw instructed. "Miss Jones, bring it whatever blankets we have, Mr. Pearson, see what we got in terms of food."

Susan Grimshaw. Shot. The mother of the gang. Killed right in front of Dutch by that rat. All he could hear from her in that moment was the screams of agony. All of those years with her, the brief time she and Dutch engaged into a relationship, must have meant nothing to him as well. That was what Dutch was like, someone who used people and toss them away... not like Hosea.

After settling some things down, Abigail placed her hand on Davey's neck, hoping he was still breathing in air, but like last time, it was not to be.

"Davey's dead," Abigail informed solemnly.

Arthur walked up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder in support. "You did all you could, Abigail."

Everyone stared at him, stunned by his willingness to comfort someone.

Still, Abigail nodded in appreciation and placed two pieces of coins over Davey's eyes.

"What are we gonna do?" Hosea asked. "We need supplies."

"Well, first of all, you're gonna stay here and get yourselves warm," Dutch told him. "Now, I sent John and Micah scouting up ahead. Arthur and I, we're gonna ride out and see if we can find any of 'em."

Arthur nodded. Part of him wished he could have just shot Micah, but doing so, now, would not just solve all of the problems. He was torn between leaving John into the wind and leaving Sadie alone with Micah and Dutch. That bastard would rape her, and Sadie have been gang raped by the O'Driscolls. For now, Arthur would have to hope the wolves don't get a better shot on John.

Dutch turned to the door, hearing the storm still raging outside.

He turned his sights on the gang. Always the fine speaker, he could give Dutch that. "Listen… listen to me all of you, for a moment."

Then everyone turned their eyes on their leader, the believers of his words. Arthur had a hard time not rolling his eyes.

'This is different. We know this is full of cash. Army payroll. Money and supplies to repair the bridge that you blew. This is all going to plan.'

"Now," He spoke, "We've had… well, a bad couple of days. I loved Davey… Jenny… Sean, Mac… they may be okay, we don't know. But we've lost some folks. Now, If I could… throw myself in the ground in their stead… I'd do it… gladly." Bullshit. "But… we're gonna ride out… and we are gonna find some food. Everybody, we're safe now. There ain't nobody following us through a storm like this one… and by the time they get here… well we're gonna be… we're gonna be long gone. We've been through worse than this before." He looked at the two crafters of the camp. "Mr. Pearson, Mrs. Grimshaw, I need you two to turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days. Now all of you… all of you, get yourselves warm. Stay strong. Stay with me! We ain't done yet!" He turned and grabbed his lamplight. "Come on, Arthur."

While they exited the cabin, Susan commanded everyone, "Alright, we've got some work to do."

Time to reunite with a rat.

Arthur's note: I feel like Arthur time traveling is an interesting concept that I'm surprised is barely used. I feel like he would be able to adapt more easily to situations than John and Jack, because the former is the brightest and the latter gets angry easier. Sure, when ripple effects happen, Arthur would have live with them.

But now, this is Arthur Morgan at his full strength, high honored, knows Dutch and who he really is. With me currently trapped in this fandom and ideas, of course I have to make an Arthur's time travel story. Lol

This is NOT an instant fix it!