Feel free to join my Discord server: . disc ord. gg /3b3B xdHQKG (delete the spaces). You can talk about whatever you want in there. SW and RDR channels are in there as well.

Chapter 33

Part of Arthur doubted that Dutch would have upheld his word. After all, as pointed out before, Dutch decided to get involved with chaos. Hosea sometimes did so as well. Obviously, he was a far more cautious and wiser leader than Dutch, but he had his fair share of screw-ups. It was Hosea who persuaded Dutch to do the bank job despite the insanity of the plan, following the massacre at Saint Denis; also, he entirely foiled the job by negotiating with the Braithwaites in their attempt for the gold—that was even more embarrassing. Lying to folks was what Hosea was known for, but they'd seen through him immediately.

Throughout the coming weeks, Arthur had been more or less busy with his endeavors. He kept true to his word and no longer questioned Dutch. It was a reminder to the older days when Dutch had been a different person back in the day. Aside from helping Trelawny inviting him to see a discouraged worker at Rhodes post office 'bout any available stagecoaches to rob, Arthur had been allowed to just relax.

The truth was he would prefer it to stay like this.

But then the day came...

The day Sean died...

And before they knew it, they were taking the short walk on the long road again. It was them: Arthur, Bill, Sean, and Micah.

"-That Catherine Braithwait-" Bill started.

Arthur interrupted him, saying, "Hey, hold up," as if he had no control over his own body. This made everyone stop. It was a tense quiet as they all turned to look at him, though Sean kept walking in front. "This don't feel right," he continued, vocalizing what you've been thinking for the past few minutes.

"Now it doesn't feel right?" Sean asked snidely, turning around to look at Arthur. "I coulda told you that-" but he didn't get to ever finish his sentence, as a loud gunshot pierced through. The Irishman fell onto the ground, blood leaking from his head, never to wake again.

He grimaced. "SEAN!" he exclaimed, his hands reaching up desperately to grasp his forehead.

At the same time, gunshots echoed within his hearing.

"Arthur!" Mrs. Grimshaw's voice cut through his line of sight, and the scene distorted, blanking out. He felt a familiar sensation, followed by his face being smacked by a firm hand.

Arthur winced as he stared up, spotting the forms of Hosea, Susan, and Dutch surrounding him. Hosea and Dutch were on either side of him, both gripping his arms. Susan was looming slightly over him. Behind them stood John, Abigail, Sadie, Charles, and... Sean himself, their eyes flickered with concern.

"Are you alright, son?" Dutch squeezed tightly around his arms, bringing his face close to him.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep after that, Arthur barely managed to prevent himself from weeping into Dutch's shoulder. He ain't supposed to be this weak. But, he wanted to. Damn, he wanted to fall in the arms of his mentor and one of his fathers. He resisted as much as possible, and simply nodded, trying to remind himself that nothing had happened.

His brain came back to the present. With Dutch's cooperation in an attempt to reign them all in, they'd never met the Grays. But it was a reminder. It could have happened.

"I'll be fine," Arthur gritted out. "Leave, all of yas." He tried to be as strong as possible.

"But-" Hosea started.

"I said I'll be fine, Hosea. Go back to sleep." Arthur demanded in a tone that brook no argument.

They all left with great reluctance, save for the Irishman, who was arrogantly smirking.

"Heard ya screaming my name in your sleep. What? You're having bad dreams 'bout yer favorite Irish, Englishman? I always knew you would become terrify of me replacing yas someday."

Perhaps expecting a crude response, or something of the sort, Sean was taken aback when something flashed across Arthur's face. His jaw fell into order and he glared...

Arthur didn't say anything, though he felt guilty.

Sean placed a hand on his shoulder, and actual concern flashed in his eyes. "Are ya okay, Arthur? You have been stressing out for days on end. Folks even say since you've arrived at that snowy mountain. Ain't it that stinky toad bothering you?"

Arthur swallowed slightly, hoping the Irish didn't see it. Although most of his problems revolved around Dutch or Micah, it didn't mean that he kept control over the situation most of the time. For what reason did Arthur have to worry so much? Perhaps, 'cause Sean's death would be a permanent imprint inside his mind.

After all, it would have already happened.

But, actually, no, Micah have been easier to deal with in the past couple of weeks...

It was a fragile peace. Likely, Micah was thinking 'bout his next grand scheme that he could use to sway Dutch into believing that he was loyal. It was possible that the feud didn't interest him as much.

"No, Sean..."

"Englishman..." Yet again, Sean's voice became serious. "What is it, Arthur? Did you see me..."

"It's fine, Sean," Arthur growled. He was supposed to be the one worried 'bout Sean, not the other way around.

"Ya always looking out for others lately, Arthur," Sean said. "First with that O'Driscoll slave, then that widow woman, bookworm, even Scarface, are you okay?"

Oh, now Sean was doing that too. How long before John did it as well? What was wrong with them all? But it was strange, Arthur realized, to see a more serious side of Sean. He must have been paying attention somewhat to Lenny's lessons 'cause he sounded more attuned to an American than otherwise. At the end of the day, Arthur recognized that Sean did care 'bout him.

"I am," Arthur replied.

"Ya lying."

"Go back to sleep, boy," Arthur finally gave up on the nice guy act, losing a bit of his temper.

"Arth-"

"I said now or I'll make Grimshaw force you to do stable duty."

Sean deflated slightly. "Alright, Arthur, well, ya know where my cot is if ya want to talk 'bout it."

Arthur didn't even try to sleep throughout the remaining night, as exhausted as he was. He'd seen the eager Irishman get his head blown off over and over again. It had played in his mind like them black-and-white "films" recently released.

Arthur Morgan wasn't himself.

Sean MacGuire saw it last night and the moment he woke up.

He'd known it.

Truth be told, the Irishman was scared. He'd constantly liked to tease Arthur. It was one of his favorite things to do when trying to make the camp brighter.

But it had unnerved him terribly. It was almost as if the man witnessed something horribly damaged. Plenty of stories came to mind, many that Sean knew, but the haunted look in his eyes had taken him aback.

The man wasn't just watching him when he was eating with Karen, Scarface, and the former prostitute. Arthur had been known to keep hidden. But it was almost as if he wasn't trying to stay hidden.

Then, when Sean did guard duty, not wanting to piss off the terrifying old man again, Arthur's eyes still followed him. He'd always liked Arthur, viewing him as an older brother since he'd ended up with this gang of unliving slackers. He was a cold killer, someone who protected the Van Der Linde gang, and the Irish strived to be like him.

But in the past weeks, things changed.

Arthur became more... lighter, they were saying. More considerate. More paranoid. More questioning of Dutch. He didn't understand why they'd questioned Dutch. In Sean's opinion, folks needed to stop giving Dutch a hard time 'bout that Blackwater situation. The man wasn't a fortune teller.

The last time he had been this nervous, it was when Grimshaw discovered he'd puked in the camp funds. Not only did he try to hide from her, but she knew it was him and searched for him for hours. He'd thought he got away when Lenny, the little snitch, told her his location. His worst fears came true, and he was forced to sleep on his stomach for the next three days. This wasn't like that though...

Micah's followers, Cleet and Joe, aggravated the Irish. They were just like that slippery fucker. Sean'd thought they would be useful. They were nothing compared to the Callander brothers. If there was anything he'd agreed with big man 'bout, it was the loss of those two.

He'd considered approaching Arthur, but when he saw the lost look in his eyes, he changed his mind.

Eventually, Sean found Marston. The man was actually sitting with Jack. The Irish couldn't stop smiling at the scene for a brief moment. Jack's innocence would always be refreshing.

The older Marston caught him staring and beckoned Jack away. "Alright, Jackie, you should go back to your mother."

The boy responded with optimism that Sean hadn't heard for a while. "Okay, pa."

He ran off, searching for the women to find his ma.

Now alone with Marston, aside from Pearson lingering nearby, looking for cabbages and other food sources he could use, Sean didn't know how to start this discussion. He and Scarface hadn't gotten along as much since they'd met.

"What do you want?" John asked, his tone laced with irritation when Sean didn't move away.

Sean felt his heart beating a little. Sometimes, he didn't know why folks didn't like him... He quashed that thought and focused. "It's Arthur."

Curiosity followed. "Arthur? What's wrong with Arthur?"

"The Englishman-" Sean responded, "-ain't stopped looking at me, I tell ya."

"Maybe you should go to Hosea," John shrugged. "He would be able to talk to Arthur."

"I thought 'bout it," Sean admitted. "But Arthur ain't been himself lately. Saw him push the old greaser away last night. What happened to him when I was gone?"

John looked like he was thinking 'bout it for a moment before he shrugged. "Don't know. He's been like that since he found me on the mountain back in Colter."

"Blackwater must have gotten to his head..."

"I can't tell you that. If not Hosea, go to Charles. He has a keen eye for these sorts of things. Maybe he'd got a sniff."

Sean resisted a sigh of frustration. With everything going as it is now, the Irishman was sure he would lose his mind. All of the jokes and attempts to lighten the camp's spirits just ain't working right now. Arthur's attitude aside, Sean wondered what would happen if things worsened and a fight occurred between him and Dutch.

He'd tried to convince himself if Arthur held a bit more faith, everything would be alright.

Sean settled with a nod, doubting that Marston could help him in any way. It wasn't long before he found Charles, cleaning his hunting rifle.

The Irish didn't know if the man was going to care or listen. Charles was always either brooding in silence or grumbling under his breath. No matter how many times Sean tried, the man only turned his nose up, scoffed, or looked down, and there was no telling what he was thinking.

"Hey, broods," Sean said in his characteristic fashion."

Charles said nothing.

"I need yer help. Scarface told me I should come to ya."

Still silence...

Sean tried to push him with a joke, "Oh, come on, you can't ignore me forever. I'm right here."

Charles still ain't relent.

Now, Sean felt the urge to squirm. He should just give up, but he couldn't...

"Charles..." He decided to use his name, hoping he would understand the severity of the situation if he did so. "Please, I really need it this time. Really..." He ain't known who else he could go to.

Charles seemed to ignore him for a second, and Sean was stuck, wondering if it was just pointless to try. At last, the dark-skinned man sighed, placed the hunting rifle at the corner of the nearby tent, and came out, still holding the rag. "I'm not in the mood for another one of your tricks." He folded his arms across his chest with an unimpressed stare.

"It's not that," Sean denied. "I need to make sure if you know Arthur is alright."

Surprise crossed the other man's face for a brief moment, but it filtered away. "He should be. Why?"

The Irish bristled slightly. "Arthur's been acting differently..." He concluded. "He's been losing faith in Dutch."

Charles betrayed no emotion, keeping his eyes on him.

Sean couldn't help but continue. "I don't understand why. It ain't Dutch's fault 'bout that whole Blackwater business. Ya ca think. Ya can use yer head. But ya never know what you're getting into."

Charles' eyes sharpened for a moment, and he stared at him. Unsure if he had said something offensive, the Irishman knew he would have to be careful.

"I understand why Arthur would have lost faith in him. Hosea told him not to go through with that massacre and he did. Micah did, and he did it when they were doing a con elsewhere. We lost the Callander brothers and Jenny." The man replied. He paused for a moment, his eyes darting slightly as if recollecting an event. He shook his head and stared at the Irish, before scoffing, "We don't even have the Blackwater money."

That was a good point. The Irish hated to admit it. Dutch was still trying his best. Sean knew that. But if Arthur and John questioned him, how long before folks around here began to question Dutch? Couldn't they see what Dutch were trying to do?

"You're thinking that listening to Micah too much Dutch does?" The younger Irish inquired, though he knew the answer.

"In my experience, all Micah does is cause trouble," Charles replied. "He's a risk. With those new goons, both might become more unpredictable."

"Those new unfunny clowns?" Sean asked.

"Exactly," Charles nodded.

"Dutch needs more gunners. Without 'em, them savages would hunt us down."

"Micah isn't known for having the most reliable intel or interest, Sean," Charles said.

"If something goes wrong, Dutch'll notice. He always do."

Charles scoffed slightly. "Dutch isn't a god. He's capable of flaws like you and me."

The words irritated Sean.

The Irish felt the urge to defend the man who took him in. Dutch and Hosea had him dead to rights, yet the former regarded his killing attempt as a sign of him being a worthy individual in the gang. Dutch probably ain't perfect, but he was the closest. How long have they been doing this? Years? Decades? Dutch got them through so far...

"He have been leading the gang just fine for years," Sean pointed at him with his index finger. "When will ya and Arthur understand that? The new guys might be mighty good killers, I tell ya."

"I understand that, and I believe Dutch does as well. But you have to think for yourself. Don't forget that Arthur usually does most of the heavy lifting for Dutch. It is understandable if he questions him and doesn't follow every order mindlessly. You should strive to do the same."

"Do the same?" Sean inquired. "I'm loyal to my family."

"There's more to life than following orders, Sean," Charles answered. "Being loyal to someone and asking the right type of questions instead of deferring to them by some misguided code doesn't decrease your value."

"Aye! Dutch brought us here!" Sean protested.

"And we should be grateful and able to hold him accountable at once." Charles sighed. "One day, you're gonna have to look at yourself, reflect, and think as a person. Not as a follower of someone, but as Sean MacGuire, strip away all the joking and take things literally for once; and wonder what type of man you want to be."

"But we wouldn't be together if it weren't for Dutch."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean Dutch is automatically correct every time. Arthur is calling him out, not because he doesn't love Dutch; or he could have just left, but because he genuinely cares about him as much as he does for everyone else."

"It could be for the money," Sean recommended.

"If money were the reason, Arthur would be long gone. You have to consider this: Arthur has known Dutch for twenty years. They've fought together. With the exception of Hosea and John, he knows Dutch better than anyone. You're going to have to start asking questions if you want to live a long life. If Lenny could ask questions, you can."

Sean paled slightly, gut twisting at those words, but he offered no response.

The Irish only turned and walked away, his thoughts on Charles' words, namely;

'One day, you're gonna have to look at yourself, reflect, and think as a person. Not as a follower of someone, but as Sean MacGuire, strip away all the joking and take things literally for once; and wonder what type of man you want to be.'

The day moved painfully slowly.

Any time, and Arthur'd expected Sean was going to drop dead again, shot from afar. It didn't happen. He watched the Irish particularly closely, unable to relive that event yet again. He kept his eyes on his surroundings, fully prepared to draw in case someone shot at him.

Fortunately, Sean's guard duties seemed to tire him out as usual, and the Irishman collapsed on his cot. Karen was at his side. The two were yet to be in an official relationship, though it was only a matter of time, Arthur'd suspected.

It became clear that Sean ain't going to die. At least, not right now. The fate that had fallen upon him the other time had been avoided. It was up to Arthur to break his tinted views of Dutch and make him see how this life wasn't for them.

Now, he'd needed to go into Rhodes tomorrow and ask Pearson if he needed some supplies. Part of him was still concerned 'bout doing that, but they couldn't stay here forever without some necessities.

A hand was placed on his back when Arthur finally stopped staring at him and looked at the evening sky. He turned around to see Charles, a slightly concerned look crossing over his face.

"He's worried about you, you know that, right, Arthur?" Charles asked rhetorically. He then added, "I am too."

Arthur's eyebrows arched before he sighed and stared away. "You wouldn't understand even if I told you."

"What if I do?" Charles pushed back. "I'm not blind, Arthur, something have been happening between you and Dutch. Blackwater was scarring, but I feel like it's something more... intense."

Arthur grimaced. "He won't listen to me 'bout Micah," the words slipped out before he could stop himself.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Charles asked firmly. "I doubt it'll do much good, but I can try, at least."

Arthur scoffed out a mirthless laugh. "Dutch would never listen to to you 'bout something like this. He won't listen to any of us. He probably-he probably respect us, and all of you, but we're meant to listen to him no matter what." He sighed. It only required everything he had being at stake for Dutch to listen. But even so, that might be a temporary solution 'till next time.

All the more reasons, Arthur might have to cut himself loose sooner.

"I know you have been stressful lately."

The gunslinger shook his head. "It's not just that, Charles."

"Then what is it?" Charles' face flickered. Despite his loyalty, the want to help seemed to still be ingrained inside of him. "You keep avoiding folks, and it's making everyone very concerned. That's why we keep asking you. So I want you to tell me. This will stay between us."

His tone almost got through to Arthur.

Almost...

"I can't tell you..." Arthur responded, guilt-ridden as he turned away from him, "not yet."

Behind him, the dark-skinned man's eyes bore into him.