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Chapter 31

They've arrived to Clements Point no sooner than afternoon and began working.

What Arthur didn't expect was two other men joining the gang. What the hell were they doing here?! Cleet and Joe. Micah's boys. The last time they've arrived, it was in Beaver Hollow, when the gang was starting to collapse. Although Arthur wanted to convince himself that he didn't hold any animosity to them, he did.

Damn it, he did.

Somehow, with the knowledge of the future, this whole adventure was a whole lot harder.

Arthur's leg faltered for a moment as he stared at the two. Warm smiles was on both of their faces. The sight caused him to hesitate, for just a second.

Were these not the men he had believe would get the gang out of a bad situation not too long ago? The men who had been his fathers and mentors? And now what were they? Hosea definitely wasn't an enemy. No, Arthur still thought of him as a father. He had no doubt Hosea would chose him and John over Dutch despite their relationship.

For how Dutch would sometimes bully both Arthur and John to feel like shit, just 'cause they chose to do something that he didn't want to do, or they'd fucked up or failed. How most of the fights were 'bout the two men they'd raised. Although the two men would often fight verbally, one time when Dutch had the confidence to slap Arthur himself for no good reason, Hosea made sure Dutch never did it again.

That memory added on the oil to say something. The scene between the two men didn't matter compared to the other concerns.

"What are they doing here?" Arthur demanded to the forms off Dutch and Hosea, indicating to the laughing forms of the two from the future he've came from with Micah.

The main question on his mind; why would the latter accept this without an argument? Was Hosea more loyal than he thought?

"They've arrived sooner after you left," Hosea said unhelpfully, oblivious to what the cause of their presences could lead to.

"Sorry, son, I didn't want to disturb you," Dutch responded, and he almost seemed sincere too. "After what happened in Blackwater to the Callander boys, we decided we need to get more boys."

Hosea looked reluctant but nodded. "Dutch is right, Arthur."

"And Micah provided an alternative," Dutch added. "I hope you aren't upset. After all, you keep reminding me of Blackwater." Instead of guilt, Arthur was face to face with a smug visage; the cool, controlled mask of Dutch van der Linde.

Arthur stood there, fists clenched at his sides, grappling with the frustration and despair churning within him. The sight of Cleet and Joe, those two unwelcome reminders of a future he loathed, twisted something deep inside. Ain't nothing more than just faces from a past he desperately wanted to escape; they were harbingers of the gang's inevitable downfall.

"Why them?" he pressed, his voice low. The quietness by both men, and possible annoyance at being interrupted, angered him. "You could've picked anyone. Hell, we might as well do this ourselves."

"I didn't it upset you so much," Hosea glanced away. "We need more hands, Arthur. You know that. The gang—"

"The gang's already got enough issues without adding Micah's cronies, Hosea," Arthur interrupted, his tone sharp. The weight of history bore down on him, pressing like a stone in his gut. He'd witnessed the gang fracture under the influence of those two before, and the thought of them being back in the fold made his heart race with anxiety. "This isn't just about manpower. This is about loyalty, trust. You can't seriously believe this is a good idea."

Dutch's eyes flickered with irritation. "Nothing seems to please you these days. We need all the help we can get, especially after the mess at Blackwater as you are prone to remind me, son. Micah's boys know how to fight and can prove themselves—"

"Prove themselves?" Arthur spat, the bitterness rising in his throat. "They'll be backstabbers and cowards! They'll turn on us at the first sign of trouble." His mind flashed back to Beaver Hollow, to the chaos and betrayal that followed the arrival of Micah's men. Just 'cause they came earlier wouldn't mean that Arthur could reach 'em. "This isn't just business, Dutch. This is family—our family. And they don't belong here."

Hosea tried to intervene, hands up. "Arthur, calm down. We've dealt with worse. We can manage this."

"But at what cost?" Arthur growled, frustration boiling over. "Don't you see what this leads to? I can't let this happen again." He stepped closer to Dutch, his intensity palpable. "You know what happened every time Micah is involved with something. It's a disaster, and I won't stand by and watch it happen helplessly."

Dutch's smile was infuriating. "You're too caught up on threats that aren't there, Arthur. We're building something here. You have to learn to adapt."

Adapt. The word stung, leaving ashes in his mouth. Arthur felt the helplessness swell in his chest, knowing he had no control over this second chance. "I'm trying to save us, Dutch! I don't want a repeat of what we lost. I thought that's what we all wanted." His voice quaked with emotion, and he could feel his resolve slipping away.

"There's no way to avoid that, son," Dutch replied coolly. "You can't change the past. We have to look ahead, and right now, this is what we need." His tone suggested finality, a decision made without regard for Arthur's protests.

The betrayal was palpable, and Arthur's heart sank. The gang had already lost its way, and now, with Cleet and Joe back in the mix, it felt like the final nails were being driven into their collective coffin. The laughter of the two men burned as deeply as tuberculosis. Arthur turned away, clenching his jaw to stifle the surge of anger.

"Are you really that blind?" he demanded. "You think bringing in Micah's boys is going to strengthen us? They'll bring chaos, distrust—"

"Arthur, you're overreacting," Hosea interjected, his brow furrowed. Betrayal shot through him, misplaced as it was. "They may not be ideal, but we're in a precarious situation. We can't afford to lose anyone else."

Arthur felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him, drowning out the words of his friends. "You're not hearing me! This isn't just about numbers. It's 'bout our values. We've fought for something better than what they represent."

Dutch looked at him deeply, his gaze piercing. "You're letting your past cloud your judgment. We need these men. This is survival. You'll thank me later."

"Thank you for what? Betraying everything we stood for?" Arthur felt a surge of anger he couldn't contain, his voice rising. "This is not how we do things, Dutch! You're throwing away everything for what? A few extra guns? A little more muscle?"

"You didn't mind, Kieran, Arthur," Hosea pointed out.

"Kieran is actually helpful to the gang. In just a few weeks, he commenced with guard duty and helped the women in areas Mrs Grimshaw assign him to. What have Micah been doing since he got here?" Arthur looked at Dutch. "Oh, that's right. Disrespect all of us besides Dutch. Every job ending up in failure with him. And-"

"Enough!" Dutch snapped. "This is my decision, and you will respect it. We're a gang, Arthur, and I'm the leader and we're going to do things my way. You need to remember that." He stormed away.

"What's the matter with you this time, Arthur?" Hosea asked with a slight sigh.

"I can't just stand by and watch everything go to shit, Hosea," he whispered, a sense of despair gripping him.

"You're not alone, Arthur," Hosea said softly, reaching out a hand to grip his back. "We're all in this together. Just trust us. We'll figure it out."

"I thought we were better than this," Arthur confessed quietly, his heart heavy. "But maybe that's just wishful thinking."

There was no way to run from the past, and no matter how hard he tried, it seemed like everything was escalating even faster. The gang may crack sooner if things continued at this goddamn rate! Deep down, he feared it would be the same—if not worse.

Dutch sat in his tent, the flap open but only slightly, allowing in the dim light of the evening. His eyes darted between the men in front of him - Micah, Bill, Javier, and Sean — his trusted men, or so he thought. He'd once thought that way of Arthur, but after what happened between them earlier, he was seriously questioning what would be ramifications to cutting him loose. It was as if all his faith in him had been drained away from him.

"Listen, Dutch," Micah started. He leaned forward in his chair, locking eyes with Dutch. "We gotta start thinking smart, looking inward."

Bill chimed in, "Micah's right. Blackwater was a mess—no denying that. But you gotta ask yourself, why was it such a mess? Someone was tipping them off."

Dutch's brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed in faint suspicion. "And what exactly are you two implying?"

Micah bristled at his tone. "We're just saying, Dutch, something was off at Blackwater and I think someone was giving the Pinkertons information. Maybe not intentionally, but… you gotta consider all the angles." He stopped for effect, glancing around at the others before continuing, "Maybe there was a rat in Blackwater."

"Do you have any guesses as to who?" Dutch asked with genuine curiosity. He had considered the possibility since the law came down on their heads far too quickly.

Bill looked at him for a long moment. "We think it might be Morgan."

Sean immediately stiffened. His face, normally filled with that familiar mischievous smirk, hardened. "Arthur? Are you two outta your minds? Arthur? A rat! Get your heads out of the gutters! He's been serving the gang for twenty years." He sat up straight, his eyes narrowing. "He's saved my life more than once."

Micah shrugged, feigning indifference. "I'm just pointing out the obvious. The man's been acting strange lately. Always off on his own, taking these 'rides' without telling anyone where he's going. You don't think that's suspicious?"

Javier toyed with his knife, thumbing it between his hands. "Arthur's been distant lately. He's not the same as he used to be, Dutch. Maybe Micah's got a point. We gotta consider everything."

Dutch shifted in his chair, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. "Arthur has always been loyal to this gang, Sean," he mumbled, though there was the slightest of absence of confidence.

"But has he, though?" Bill contributed, making it worse. "He's been getting on your case, Dutch. Questioning our decisions, like he don't trust you no more. You've noticed it, we all have." His thick arms rested on his knees. "If anyone's been acting like they don't believe in this gang anymore, it's Arthur."

Sean shifted uncomfortably, his loyalty to Dutch pulling him in one direction, while his loyalty to Arthur yanked him in another. "Arthur's got his reasons for questioning things. But that don't make him a damn rat. You're jumping to conclusions. Both of yas. And you're dragging Dutch into it, making him think—"

"Think what?" Dutch interjected, his voice sharp and cutting through the tension. "That my right-hand man has lost faith in me? That maybe, just maybe, the man I've trusted for years might be the one who's selling us out?" His eyes darted to Sean, then to the others, each of them frozen in place as Dutch's voice grew louder, more erratic. "I founded this gang! I made each and every one of you into what you are today! And now you're all looking at me like I'm the one losing my mind?"

"Easy, Dutch," Micah held up his hands innocently. "Ain't nobody saying that, Dutch. At least not all of us. And Arthur? He's been slipping. You gotta admit it."

Dutch shot Micah a look, his jaw clenched, the muscle twitching as he struggled to maintain control. "Arthur's been with me from the start. He's always been my most trusted." His voice wavered slightly, the confidence that usually accompanied his words seeming less certain.

Micah sighed. "And maybe that's why he's the perfect one to sell us out, Dutch. No one would suspect him. And let's be real—Arthur's been different since Blackwater. He ain't got the same fire. He questions you in front of the others, undermines your authority even more than the old coot. Hell, who's to say he hasn't been lining his own pockets with the Pinkertons?"

Sean stood up suddenly, his chair marking the ground. "I ain't listening to this any longer." His voice cracked slightly, anger and disbelief written all over his face. "Arthur's not the problem here, and deep down, you know it, Dutch. We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for him saving our asses time and time again." He glanced at the others, shaking his head. "You all forgetting that? Huh? You forgetting all the times he pulled us outta the fire?"

Javier avoided Sean's gaze, his loyalty to Dutch outweighing all else. Bill, on the other hand, gave a slow shrug. "No one's saying Arthur hasn't done his part. But things have changed, Sean. We all see it."

Dutch sat back, running his hands through his hair, the disheveled strands adding to the look of a man slowly losing his grip. "Arthur… has changed," he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes glazed over for a moment, staring through the tent wall as if trying to peer into the past for answers. "But the world's changing, too. Maybe… maybe Arthur's just feeling the weight of it all." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Micah leaned back, arms crossed. "That's what I'm saying, Dutch. The man's breaking. You put too much trust in him, and now it's backfiring. We need to watch him closer."

Dutch's eyes flickered with indecision. The once proud, charismatic leader who always had a plan seemed to falter, his mind racing with paranoia. "Arthur… Arthur's family," he repeated, but the conviction in his voice had evaporated, replaced with uncertainty.

Sean's fists clenched at his sides. "Dutch, for Christ's sake, you can't seriously be considering this. Arthur would never — never — betray you! He's as loyal as they come."

Dutch's gaze snapped to Sean, the flicker of doubt intensifying. "Loyal? Loyalty ain't what it used to be, Sean. The world's full of rats, backstabbers. The ones closest to you—those are the ones who hurt you the most."

Micah nodded, his voice smooth as silk. "Exactly, Dutch. The ones you trust the most? They're the ones who'll bring you down."

Sean stepped forward, his eyes blazing with conviction. "Look, we all acting crazy, and th-that's not what we would be doing I thought!"

Dutch stood up abruptly, his chair knocking backward. He was pacing now, his movements erratic, hands gesturing wildly as if trying to grasp the unraveling threads of his own mind. "I can't afford any more mistakes! I won't! Not after Blackwater. Not after everything we've lost. I have to protect this gang. I have protect all of us." His voice grew more frantic, the weight of his words crushing him under their impossible burden. "Uncle Sam will not be merciful to us."

Micah, ever the opportunist, leaned in one last time. "And sometimes that means making hard choices, Dutch. Even if it's 'bout Arthur."

For a moment, the tent was quiet. Dutch stopped pacing, his back to the group. His shoulders slumped slightly. He stood there, frozen, lost in thought, before finally speaking, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I'll… keep an eye on him. For now."

"Wha-Dutch, ya couldn't be considering this!" Sean wasn't sure when was the last time he felt the urge to scream and cry at once.

Dutch looked down at him, expression unreadable. "Sean." His voice carried a cold tone now. Sean never saw Dutch like this before. What have been happening since he'd gotten caught by those lawmen? "I have a responsibility to this gang. We have to move out West, and nothing can stand in my way."

"So you're just going to abandon your son of twenty years?!" Sean couldn't stop the slip. Even when the conversation was going to end, the Irish couldn't let it go.

"It ain't like that!" Dutch snapped.

"Then, what is it like?" Damn...

Micah looked at him coldly, "I want to live, my Irish friend, I'm sure you do as well."

Sean looked at them frantically, at a loss for words.

"Dutch, you're supposed to be the leader of the Van Der Linde gang. As such, we are all supposed to respect you. Asking questions is perfectly normal." Micah continued before Sean could find words. "But you shouldn't feel like you have to answer to someone."

"You're right," Dutch decided after a moment.

Sean's face twisted in anger and sadness as he ran up next to the man. "Dutch..."

"It pains me to say it, Sean, but he's right," Dutch held up his hand.

His heart collapsed. "Dutch!"

"You have a choice to make, Sean, would you remain loyal or..." Dutch's eyes narrowed, "perhaps you share Arthur's pessimistic views?"

What were the last twenty years then for Arthur?

A quiet part of him wondered if he'd meant nothing to Dutch as well. He quashed this, knowing that such thoughts were treasonous.

"Dutch…" It came out a mutter. A beg for him not to do this. Not make him choose.

"Answer."

Sean opened his mouth, his voice caught in his throat.

Desperation clawed at him. He didn't know what to do! His hands trembled. He was alone!

"Bu-"

However, Dutch didn't relent. He stayed emotionless, eyeing Sean as if everything the gang needed depended on it. "That's my final word on this matter, Sean," he said, barely above a whisper. "We have to be smart. Loyal or not? Yes, or no? The decision is yours, son."

Sean looked at Micah, then at the others, and they all stared back, as if he was the only problem right now.

Ashamed, he managed. "I'm loyal to you, Dutch."

He had no choice.

After all, was it not Dutch who showed mercy to him? That meant Sean couldn't go against him no matter what.

Micah simply smiled, leaning back in his chair.

And, Dutch? He smiled as well.

While Sean, the youngest, was stuck with loyalty or friendship. He'd never thought he would have to make a choice, but it felt like everything was going downhill. It was the hardest choice he would have ever made; but if things got worse from here on out, who knew what would come?

"Good," Dutch said, placing a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that would have once offered warmth and comfort to the Irish now replaced with apathy, "go to your guard duties, Sean."

The Irish straightened, nodded, and immediately followed his orders, but he couldn't push what just happened out of his mind throughout the night. His heart ripped into pieces, the comedian facade slowly dissipating as he comprehended the gravity of the situation.

He moved past the women, noticing his eyes following him. Occasionally, he would offer a quip in their direction. He loved to make people laugh, but now wasn't the time.

As he stood in guard duties, his eyes felt damp and torrents of assaults ripped against his chest.

"Sean," Karen said behind him eventually. A moment of silence passed, for Sean wasn't in the mood to offer a joke. "Sean, talk to me, what's happening?"

"I-I..." Sean whimpered, "I can't tell you."

"You can," she said, pushing against him gently. "If you need someone to talk to, you gotta talk 'bout it, Sean. Or do you want to talk with Hosea or Arthur?"

"No!" Sean exclaimed. He couldn't face Arthur. He recognized that in his shame, he just couldn't face the man who trusted him. Why couldn't he just be loyal to Dutch like he used to be? Maybe he saw something Sean ain't, but did it matter? "We can't tell them."

Karen looked at him suspiciously, "Is it something with Hosea?"

Sean shook his head.

"Arthur?"

Sean stiffened but he shook his head again.

Karen noticed this. "So, Arthur, what's wrong with him?" She looked at him. "C'mon, Sean, you gotta tell me. What's wrong with Arthur?"

"It's not 'bout Arthur," he confessed.

"What's going on?" Karen asked, wrapping her arms around him. Sometimes, he felt like she would be different than the other flings he'd engaged in. She'd understood him on a level others didn't.

But she never saw him this weak.

And here Sean was, crumbling in her arms, for once barely able to utter a sentence. "Just..."

The eyes of his fling were upon him, and for once, unlike the others, it wasn't a gaze filled with coldness. It was welcoming... inviting. Like she actually wanted to hear what he had to say and help him.

Suddenly he was assaulted by that feeling that came around sometimes. A deep dark secret was something he would rather avoid. He didn't always felt good. He felt like nobody wanted him around and wouldn't miss him. But as he remained in the embrace of the woman he felt guilty, and lost... dirty. This was different than all the others.

For the first time in years, Sean — the camp's joker, the prankster of the Van Der Linde gang — wept in the arms of another, the choices of his life laid out before him in two names...

Arthur or Dutch?

Tomorrow, he would try to be the Sean MacGuire they all knew, but for now, he just cried, knowing that whatever happened just don't seem to have any ending in sight...

Author's note: The reason for the Sean's conflict being emphasized is because of this line in the game: "It's time folks stopped giving Dutch a hard time about all that Blackwater business if you ask me. The man's not a fortune teller. You can plan, you can use your head. But you never know what you're getting into." I have considered all excuses about Sean siding with either Arthur or Dutch in Chapter 6 and am 50/50 on it when I think about it. The most common one from many is "Sean hates Micah". Yeah, but so did Javier and Bill.

Let's considered the three youngest ones in this fic. Neither hasn't seen what Arthur has, but there's a contrast. Lenny's father taught him to be inclined to read, and he is pretty much the nerd of the group. He also debates with Dutch a lot in the vanilla game. Kieran is like Javier in a sense but to Arthur. Javier was starving in the gutter, desperate for help, he spoke not one word of English so no one could understand him, and many people likely didn't care. Dutch was the only one who showed Javier any compassion, even though Javier spoke no English, Dutch still helped him. That one act of kindness to a stranger is what made Javier so loyal to him. Like Dutch with Javier, Arthur found Kieran at his lowest and gave him much more than the O'Driscolls could ever give him. As a result of this, he's just as loyal to Arthur.

I hope you all have a good day/night.