Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

By 1899, the age of outlaws and gunslingers was at an end. America was becoming a land of laws... Even the west had mostly been tamed. A few gangs still roamed, but they were being hunted down and destroyed.

...

The wind was harsh and unforgiving as a violent, damning snow storm raged on through the mountains caked in icy snow, the flakes stinging like shards of glass as they cut through the wind that whistles through the dark, shrouded night. Pine trees stand tall against the winds, the tips of the trees fluttering to and fro, snow and ice clinging stubbornly to the bristly pines of the branches. The muffled, distinct sound of a horse's neighing cries out, the sound nearly swallowed by the intense blizzard.

Horses pulling large caravans and wagons trudge through the thick, icy snow, the snow nearly reaching the knees of their strong, tall legs as the horses struggle against the wind and resistance of the wheels of the wagons pushing through the snow. The faint glimmer of lanterns could just barely be seen shining through the thick layers of snow dusting the area around the group, those driving the wagons hunched over slightly while shivering severely. Some men rode on horseback behind the wagons, their figures hunched over as they grasped the reins of their horses. A lean and somewhat frail man slowly and carefully steps off the back of one of the wagons being pulled, the man shivering and his form stumbling slightly as he gains his footing in the snow. A fair-skinned woman tends to a severely injured man, the man's breathing ragged and her dark, sapphire blue eyes filled with worry.

Orville Swanson, nicknamed 'Reverend', wore an all-dark outfit, his ebony long coat almost instantly becoming dusted with snow as he stepped out of the sanctuary of the wagon. His orange plaid scarf wrapped fully around his head and ears fluttered wildly around his neck, the shins of his black slacks hardening from the icy snow. His gloved hand reaches up and clamps down onto his hat over his graying ginger hair, ensuring it doesn't blow off into the wind as he makes his way around the wagon. Two older men sit side by side, one tightly grasping the reins of the mighty, albino coated shire horses that pulled the caravan with his leather gloved hands.

"Abigail says he's dying, Dutch," Orville desperately tells the man, struggling to keep up a bit through the snow as he walks alongside the caravan being pulled along. He lifts his arms slightly in a small, defeated motion, his lips curved down into a frown beneath his moustache. "We'll have to stop at some place."

Dutch grimaces at the news as his jaw tightens, his dark eyes flicking downward as his grip tightens around the reins. The man wore a thick, dark colored wooly chesterfield coat, heavy bags under his dark brown eyes and jaw covered in a scruff. His upper lip was decorated with a thick moustache, a soul patch beneath his lower lip. His dark hair curls slightly near the thick collar of his coat, the hat worn on his head covered in snow, along with his tall boots and dark trousers. The dark red crimson scarf around his neck was tied neatly and tucked into his coat, his skin a warm shade of tan.

"Okay," Dutch rasps to the man, his voice a bit breathless from the ice burning his lungs and his breath visible. "Arthur and (Y/N) are out looking. I sent them up ahead."

He nods up ahead for emphasis and with determination, Orville seeming to be worried as he nods in response, slowly turning as he makes his way back around the caravan. Beside Dutch sat a somewhat lanky, but not frail, older man, the man wearing a pewter green overcoat that had a blond furred neckline. The white of his collar of his shirt just barely peeked through the thick collar of the coat, his dark maroon and gray patterned scarf tucked tightly to his slender neck. His hair was surprisingly neat beneath his hat and was a light shade of silver, his jaws clean-shaven. His brown eyes were soft with kindness hidden in them despite his current state, wrinkles along the corners of them and his expression worn and tired.

"If we don't stop soon, we'll all be dying," Hosea points out weakly to Dutch with a shiver, hunching over as he hugs himself tightly.

Dutch glances back at those in the caravan with furrowed brows as his forehead wrinkles with worry, Orville climbing back into the wagon as he tends to the injured man lying down.

"This weather..." Hosea trails off for a moment, wincing and exhaling sharply as he looks around at the storm. "It's May!" he growls with disbelief and exhaustion, shaking his head as he looks forward. "I'm just hoping the law got as lost as we did."

The muffled sound of a horse neighing gains Hosea's attention, his eyes lighting up slightly as he points ahead.

"There!" Dutch exclaims with relief, noticing the outline of two figures approaching on horseback as he pulls the albino shire horses to a stop. "Arthur! (Y/N)!" he calls, his voice husky and tinged with hopeful relief. "Any luck?"

Two figures rode atop a single Appaloosa mare, her coat a Grulla blanket mix of primarily black and smokey gray, her backside and rear splashed with white and black spots dotting along her backside. Sitting first to the front of the saddle sat a woman, her breathing a bit heavy from the sharp sting of each breath and her breath visible. She wore a thick, stormy gray Macbay coat with a beige fur line that was buttoned up to her throat, a dark taupe colored leather gun belt wrapped around her hips lined with ammo pockets and a couple of small pouches, the copper buckle dull in the dark. Her hands were bundled up in a pair of beige fur-lined Avery gloves, the brown leather thick and warm around her fingers as she held a lantern up slightly as their light.

Her feet were donned with a worn pair of Rutherford boots, small, silver spurs attached. The legs of her dark, umber colored Cabrera pants were tucked into her boots and hardened from the icy snow, her (H/C) hair a bit messy from the wind and storm. A worn, caramel brown leather satchel was draped across her chest and hung at her side, a pistol holstered in the gun belt around her middle. She tilts her head back a bit, her (E/C) eyes squinting slightly as the stinging cold hits them, her form shivering occasionally.

Huddled behind (Y/N) on the saddle sat a tall, burly man, his large frame helping to ease some of the harsh wind from the woman in front of him. He wore a double breasted duffle coat crafted from aegean blue wool, the coat buttoned shut and the inside lined with a tan fur to help fight off the cold, a satchel's strap draped over his chest as well. His hands were covered in dark leather gloves and tightly grasped the reins in front of the woman, his thick, strong arms wound partially around her in an attempt to help ease the cold off her. His caramel brown leather gun belt was wound around his waist and also lined with pockets of ammo, his ranch pants a shade of wenge brown and his feet resting in the stirrups of the horse's saddle, his leather boots a worn shade of black and the spurs glinting slightly.

The curved brim of Arthur's black, scruffy and beloved Gambler's hat dips into his sea greenish blue eyes, his jaw and chin, along with his upper lip covered in a short-lengthed dark, cool toned brown beard. His skin was a cool toned creamy beige, his golden brown hair beneath his hat shaggy and slightly disarrayed from the whipping wind around them. His nose was a bit crooked along the bridge from being broken in the past, a faint, barely visible scar on his chin, the hair of his beard refusing to grow along the scarred skin.

Arthur exhales a shaky, visible breath through his lips as he tilts his head upward, his eyes squinted slightly. "We found a place where we can get some shelter!" he calls gruffly, his voice raised so the two men could hear him over the storm. "Let Davey rest while he..." He clears his throat, shaking his head. "You know."

"It looked like an old, abandoned mining town," (Y/N) calls to the two as she lowers the lantern in her grip a fraction, Taima nickering softly as she shuffles forward through the snow towards the wagon at a slow pace. "It's just up ahead."

Arthur taps his heel gently into the horse's side, urging her to turn around once more as her ear flickers. "Come on!" he urges.

Dutch lifts a bit in his seat with a nod, leaning out to the side and looking back at the others in the caravans behind him. "Come on!" the man screams over the wind with encouragement.

He flicks the reins of the shire horses, urging them into a quick trot as he follows the form of (Y/N) and Arthur on horseback, prompting the others to do the same. Some of the horses whinny with distress and protest at the stinging winds and slippery snow beneath their hooves, but they obey with a flick of the reins, their movements a bit sluggish through the thick layer of snow along the ground. The wind and icy shards of snow continue to rage around the group, the wind whistling ominously through the mountains.

...

An old, shabby wooden door was shoved open aggressively, Hosea standing in the door frame positioned defensively with his pistol drawn. His free hand grasped a lantern low at his side, his eyes squinted as he looked into the abandoned building apprehensively for a few moments. His coat was dusted with snow that stubbornly clung to the fabric, some of the white powder piled on the brim of his hat.

Hosea slowly steps inside as he keeps his gun drawn, the man lifting his lantern up and outward to shine the light inside the dark space. The interior was cluttered in some areas, but for the most part, was empty, some long, decaying wooden benches pushed to the sides. There were a few wooden shelves that were empty and a table pushed all the way to the far back wall, the ceiling tall and the interior of the building long, indicating it had previously been a Church.

The windows were covered in frost and wind softly whistled through the frames, but the wooden walls held strong against the storm. There was a tall fireplace along the left wall, the inside filled with ash and charred logs of wood that held no embers. Satisfied and reassured that there was no one inside, Hosea nods slightly to himself, his hand slowly holstering his weapon.

He steps back, his head turned to the left as he leans out, waving his hand urgently. "Bring him in here!"

Hosea quickly shuffles out of the way as he steps inside, Abigail rubbing her gloved hands together quickly for warmth as she enters the building. She wore a thick, dark plaid-patterned coat with a belt around the middle and a spruce blue long skirt, her raven black hair wrapped up in a scarf. She looks back to the men carrying Davey inside, one of them a burly man with a thick, medium length beard along his face, his long coat leather and cinnamon brown. His hat partially obscures his view as he steps inside, his arms behind his back as he carries Davey in on top of a hand-made stretcher. Arthur walks behind the stretcher carrying the other half, Orville shivering as he rushes in after the two.

(Y/N) hangs back at the door frame as she gently ushers the women inside, Dutch approaching and gently touching her shoulder while nodding with his head to the door, indicating for her to head inside as well. She exhales shakily with a nod in return as she passes the lantern to him, Dutch taking the handle and lingering at the door as he watches everyone enter before him. His eyes held concern and stress as the others filtered into the building, (Y/N) rubbing her arms and hugging herself slightly as she approached the men setting Davey's stretcher down onto the table in the far back area of the space.

A little boy trembles lightly as he stands close to a woman with warm, sienna brown skin, her dark brown eyes focused on Davey as she hugs herself for both comfort and warmth. Abigail looks over Davey with urgency and worry, her dark eyebrows knitted together with sadness. Orville steps closer as Arthur steps back out of the way, Bill moving aside as well to give them room. (Y/N) steps next to Abigail as she looks down at Davey, her expression melting with dread when she notices his eyes were half-lidded and unblinking, his chest no longer rising and falling with his previous ragged breathing.

"Miss Gaskill, get that fire lit quick!" a sharp, iron-toned woman's voice orders, though her tone was filled with a subtle tinge of concern. "Miss Jones, bring us whatever blankets we have."

The stern, older woman's hair was pulled back into a Gibson girl hairstyle with a few strands of hair falling into her forehead, her skin ivory and cheeks and nose tinged red from the cold. Susan's dark brown eyes scan along the room much like a mother hen would check on her chicks, her thin, lipstick covered lips pressed into a thin line and her forehead wrinkled with stress. Her fur coat was thick and covered in snow, her gloved hand clutching the upper collar shut gently.

Abigail's eyes widen as she stares at Davey, her expression tightening as her lips part. Her eyes flick to (Y/N), (Y/N)'s eyes meeting hers as well, (Y/N) shaking her head solemnly. Abigail exhales a soft gasp as her face falls, her eyes snapping to Davey as she leans closer. Her hand gently rests on the man's upper stomach for leverage, her ear hovering over his lips as she closes her eyes to focus on listening.

"Mr. Pearson, see what we've got in terms of food," Susan continues to order, nodding her head to the older, round-bellied man.

Karen heads towards the door to fetch the blankets, her curvaceous figure wrapped up in a long, aegon blue coat, a red scarf wrapped around her neck and another, darker scarf wrapped around her face and head, a hat resting on her head. Mary-Beth, a lovely, slender and kind-faced young woman, quickly approaches the fireplace, her hands trembling slightly and covered in pewter gray cloth gloves. She wore a shawl around her shoulders and her sepia brown hair, her skin pale and cheeks rosy and covered in a light layer of freckles. Her long, dark colored coat clung to figure as she works, the maroon skirt of her dress shifting slightly.

Tilly, a beautiful young woman with warm eyes and a gentle face, gently holds the little boy, Jack, to her side in reassurance to comfort the boy, her currant red colored shawl covered in snow, much like the other women. She wore a second shawl wrapped around her head like the others, the shawl a shade of berry red and her dress beneath her shawl two shades of yellow. Abigail slowly straightens up, her eyes sad as they flick open. Swallowing thickly, she turns to the others, sighing softly and shaking her head.

"Davey's dead," she tells the group, her head angling downward as she stares at the floor with defeat.

Sensing her guilt, Orville speaks up, his voice soft and reassuring, "There was... nothing more you could have done."

"He's right," (Y/N) quietly agrees with the man, Abigail sighing softly. "You did all you could for him, Abigail."

Abigail mutely nods as her eyes shut, the woman not seeming convinced as she frowns with sadness. Orville steps closer to Davey as he gently shuts his eyes, his free hand digging into his pocket as he pulls out two coins. He rests them over the man's now-shut eyes, sighing deeply.

"What are we gonna do?" Hosea questions Dutch, clearly stressed as he shakes his head. "We need supplies."

Dutch takes a deep breath, his eyes shifting to the man. "Well, first of all, you're gonna stay here," he tells him in a firm but not unkind tone. "And you are gonna get yourself warm."

(Y/N) looks at the others with worry as she notices their disheartened, exhausted states, the woman turning as she approaches where Dutch, Hosea and Arthur stood. Dutch sets down the lantern he was holding on a low table behind him, Hosea still holding his own, the light illuminating off the three.

"Now, I sent John and Micah scouting out ahead," Dutch continues, his hands clasped in front of him and his posture straightening with an aura of power and confidence. His dark eyes shift to (Y/N) as she approaches, the man gesturing to her with a lift of his hand, then to Arthur. "(Y/N), Arthur and I—"

Arthur's head snaps to Dutch at this, his eyes narrowing with annoyance as (Y/N)'s eyebrows raise slightly.

"— We're gonna ride out and see if we can find one of 'em," he finishes with a nod.

"In this?" Arthur huskily demands with disbelief, gesturing towards the door with a lift of his arm for emphasis.

Dutch turns to look out the opened door, the storm continuing to rage on as he turns back to Arthur with a short nod. "Just for a short bit," he reassures. "I don't see what other choice we have."

He shifts his weight on his feet as he turns himself to face the group, his eyes scanning along their weary, unnerved states.

"Listen..." he urges softly, his voice growing a bit louder but retaining its gentle strongness. "Listen to me all of you, for a moment." He straightens up, his hands clasped lightly in front of him as he sighs softly.

"Now, we've had... well, a bad couple of days." Dutch's eyes flick to where Davey's corpse laid, his expression tightened as he motions towards him with a hand. "I loved Davey," he continued mournfully. "Jenny..." he adds. "Sean, Mac... they may be okay, we don't know."

There was a moment of silence, Dutch swallowing thickly and seeming to be holding back tears as he rapidly blinked them away.

"But we lost some folks," he acknowledged solemnly, nodding his head as his eyes flicked along the group. "Now, if I could—" His voice wavers slightly, the man lifting a finger. "— throw myself in the ground in their stead... I'd do it. Gladly."

Arthur's eyes linger on Dutch for a moment before shifting to (Y/N), the man noticing her downcasted expression, as she was no doubt feeling the loss of their fellow members and friends as he was. His jaw clenches slightly as he frowns, a soft exhale leaving his nose as his attention returns back to Dutch, his fist clenching at his side.

"But... we're gonna ride out," Dutch continues, lowering his hand and nodding along as he speaks. "And we are gonna find some food."

Arthur nods once in agreement with confidence, (Y/N)'s gaze lifting from the floor to the others in the group as she herself gives a slight nod of agreement as well.

"Everybody..." Dutch pauses for a moment of emphasis, the group watching Dutch with rapt attention. "We're safe now," he promises with absolute certainty. "There ain't nobody following us through a storm like this one. And by the time they get here—" He shifts his weight on his feet, his hands lifting at his sides in a small motion. "— Well, we're gonna be... we're gonna be long gone."

He nods a few times, the man exuding confidence and assurance as he takes the time to look at each individual before him.

"We've been through worse than this before," the man encourages, his eyes flicking to where Simon stood near the back of the group. "Mr. Pearson."

Simon, an average heighted, round-bellied man looks up, his hair balding along the top but the dark brown strands reaching his collarbone. A bushy moustache decorated his upper lip, his pale skin rosy from the cold as he blew hot air into his glove-covered hands to warm them.

"Miss Grimshaw," Dutch continues, looking at the older woman, Susan straightening up with a confident, determined gleam in her eye. "I need you to turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days."

Simon and Susan both nod in acknowledgement at this, Susan's grip on the lantern she was holding tightening every so slightly. Beside her, an old, beer-bellied man slouched over slightly, his grayed beard frizzy and his hat tipped down over his eyes. Orville sighs softly from where he stood behind them, his breath visible along with the other's, their focus still on Dutch.

"Now all of you... all of you!" Dutch emphasizes imploringly, his voice strong and authoritative. "Get yourselves warm."

Tilly hugs herself slightly as she shifts her weight on her feet, her and Mary-Beth exchanging a brief glance before returning their attention to Dutch. Bill stood a few paces behind them, Simon beside them as they listened to their leader.

"Stay strong!"

Abigail sits on one of the benches that had been pulled out, the woman's arm wrapped around her son, Jack. The boy was only four, his hair a dark shade of cedar brown and sweeping along his forehead. His cheeks were flushed a rosy shade, the boy's soft and doe brown eyes lingering on the decaying floor.

"Stay. With. Me," Dutch emphasizes each word with emboldenment, nodding to each word slightly. "We ain't done yet!"

With that, Dutch turns on his heel, his form bending slightly as he grabs the lantern he had previously set down onto the wooden table.

"Come on, you two," he urges with the barest hint of impatience due to the stress of it all, his steps quick and sure as he heads outside.

Arthur hesitates as he watches Dutch leave, his eyes flicking to (Y/N) for a moment as he clears his throat. "You should stay here," he tells her in a gruff, but not unkind tone, his eyes squinted slightly with concern. "Get warm with the others, try and get some rest."

"I'll be fine," (Y/N) reassures with a shake of her head, rubbing her gloved hands together lightly and shakily sighing. "I'd rather not sit still. Gives me too much time to think."

Arthur frowns and softly grunts at this, the man seeming apprehensive to have her going along with them due to the blizzard but realizing she needs the distraction and that he couldn't stop her. He turns and pats Hosea's shoulder lightly in farewell as he passes the man, Hosea turning to watch them leave with a deep, concerned frown.

"Here," Hosea calls as he steps closer, offering his lantern to (Y/N) with a nod. "You'll need it to see out there in that mess."

(Y/N) pauses as she turns her head to the man, her expression softening at his clearly worried look. "Thank you, Hosea." She takes the lantern from him, exhaling quietly. "We'll be back soon," she reassures.

The crease in Hosea's brow eases ever so slightly at this, the older man nodding slightly as his lips press together in a thin line. His eyes follow the two as they head out together, a weary sigh leaving him.

"Alright! We got some work to do!" Susan declares confidently as she takes charge, her hands clapping together once as she turns to the women.

...

Outside, the voices of those in the building nearly instantly become muffled and muted from the storm, (Y/N) exhaling sharply and wincing as she steps outside into the icy snow. Arthur stood beside Dutch, his shoulders hunched slightly due to the extreme cold, Dutch breathing heavily as he looked around with his lantern lifted to see better. (Y/N) adjusts the collar of her coat as she shuffles through the snow to stand beside Arthur, her gloved hand reaching up as she smoothes back some of her hair from her face.

"Well, we ain't run into them yet," Dutch points out, his voice trembling slightly from the cold. "So... they both must have headed down this hill."

"Must have," (Y/N) agrees with Dutch, her lungs burning slightly as her eyes flick around. "Arthur and I hardly saw this place through the storm. If they didn't catch glimpse of it, they'd have kept heading that way." She nods the direction Dutch was looking, her hand gripping the lantern tightly.

Arthur nods slightly. "Sure," he simply agrees, though he seems indifferent about the situation, his arms lightly hugging himself before his eyes narrow and flick over to Dutch. "Hey." He stops the man from moving, his hand lifted slightly. "We ain't had time to ask..."

Dutch frowns as he turns to face the two, (Y/N)'s eyes shifting from Arthur to Dutch, her brow furrowed slightly as her lips tug back into a frown.

"What really went down back there on that boat?" Arthur questions with confusion and a hint of anger, his expression hardened with uncertainty.

Dutch's jaw clenches slightly, though he shows no other reaction. "We missed you two," he answers after a moment, his eyes briefly flicking between Arthur and (Y/N). "That's what happened."

(Y/N)'s head twitches slightly at the vague, deflecting response, her gaze shifting to Arthur. The man doesn't seem pleased by Dutch's response either, but he says nothing, Dutch shaking his head as he turns away.

"Come on," Dutch urges, his form hobbling slightly as he trudges through the snow.

Arthur watches the man for a brief moment before exhaling sharply and shakily, slowly following through the snow. (Y/N) sniffles and shivers as she follows Arthur, her eyes flicking down and noticing that the man seemed to be purposefully dragging his feet more than necessary. She realizes it was for her benefit, his boots and legs shoveling aside snow to create a better walkway for her to follow. Her expression softens as she looks up to the man's back, the sound of a horse whinnying audible from their right.

"Hey." Dutch nods towards a figure approaching, causing Arthur to stop as (Y/N) glances over as well.

Charles Smith, a lofty, brawny man with tawny brown skin stomps through the snow leading two horses, a white Arabian horse to his right, and Taima, his own horse, to his left. He wore a black buttoned long coat, the collars straightened upward to cover the sides of his face partially from the cold, a hat donned on his head and a shawl wrapped around his long, cedar colored hair and ears to fend off the cold. His right hand was bound with bandaging, his large frame shivering slightly as he approached.

"You need horses?" Charles calls to the three loudly over the storm, his voice strong yet also somehow soft.

"Oh, yeah," Dutch agrees breathlessly as he nods, walking partially sideways through the snow for a moment before slowing to a stop as he lifts the lantern upward. "And Mr. Smith, get yourself indoors."

Charles winces as he pulls gently on the reins of The Count with his injured hand, though he continues forward, his features illuminated by the glow of the lantern as he slows to a stop. The scar along the right side of his jaw stands out against the faint stubble along his face, a dark mark beneath his right eye.

"You need to rest that hand," Dutch continues to fuss as he approaches his horse, mounting up with a faint grunt of effort.

Arthur shifts towards Taima as he rubs his hands together lightly, his eyes flicking to (Y/N) before he wordlessly motions with his head for her to climb on first. He takes the lantern from her, stepping aside out of her way.

"I'll live," Charles tries to brush off Dutch's concern, his tone unworried.

Dutch's eyes narrow. "Get indoors, son!" he barks sternly, his tone holding no room for argument. "I—" He pauses, shaking his head. "— We, need you strong."

(Y/N) climbs up onto Taima's saddle, the horse softly nickering and shifting with the new weight before settling with a small flick of her tail. (Y/N) adjusts her weight as her legs straddle the saddle, one of her hands gripping the horn of the saddle as she reaches out, Arthur lifting the lantern to her hand for her to hold. He steps closer before easily climbing up himself, his leg carefully swinging over the horse before he lowers down, settling himself behind the woman with a deep, steadying exhale. He shifts back ever so slightly, creating just a small sliver of space between them out of respect, his arms lifting to partially wrap around her as he grabs the reins.

Charles nods reluctantly at Dutch's orders, his arms hugging himself. "Okay."

"We'll take care of Taima for you," (Y/N) calls reassuringly to Charles as the man steps back, causing his eyes to shift up to her.

His gaze shifts away as he mutely nods his head, (Y/N) not taking offense due to knowing that he wasn't much of a talker, as he was still fairly new to the gang. Dutch kicks in his heels as he urges The Count into a trot, his free hand holding his own lantern while the other holds the reins. Arthur slides his feet into the stirrups before lightly kicking his heels into Taima's sides, the horse snorting softly before starting in a walk. Lightly clicking his tongue and tapping his heels once more, Taima was urged into a trot, her pace now matching The Count's as they rode out.

"Alright!" Dutch breathes out as he steers The Count, nodding. "Let's head out."

Arthur sighs shakily as he glances around at the storm raging around them, his chest expanding a bit. His eyes flick down to (Y/N) sitting in front of him, the man noticing her shoulders trembling slightly; though, she tries to hide it. The man faintly grunts under his breath with resignation and worry, and he allows himself to slowly fill that small space he had previously left, his chest pressing lightly against her back in an effort to help her keep warm with his own barely-there body heat.

"Ain't sure... what we're gonna find out here, Dutch," he calls to the man huskily, still unconvinced they should even be out searching for the two men they had yet to see.

"We have to try," Dutch encourages, not looking back as they continue riding out. "Stay close. We'll do our best to keep to the trail."

The Count and Taima trot alongside one another, their legs lifting high as they trudge through the thick, icy snow. The snow reaches their knees, the horse's breaths visible with each huff and snort as their ears flicker occasionally. The wind howls around the three as the blizzard continues, the tall pine trees swaying slightly with it along the trail.

"This goddamn weather," Arthur growls under his breath with irritation at the cold, exhaling sharply through his teeth.

"Been two days or more like this now," Dutch grumbles in agreement, his shoulders trembling occasionally. "Oh, it has to blow over, soon."

"I'd prefer it be tomorrow," (Y/N) chimes in, scoffing as her breath puffs into the air. "But I doubt it."

(Y/N)'s eyes shift along the barely visible trail they were taking as she holds the lantern up, the light illuminating off them and shining on the snow. She grimaces as the icy wind stings her face, her nose nearly numb and her teeth threatening to chatter. She forces down the urge, her form subconsciously leaning back further into Arthur. Their forms slowly begin to generate the barest amount of warmth between them, but it was better than nothing.

Arthur's form tenses slightly as he feels her lean back into him, but he says nothing in protest. His jaw ticks as his eyes avert away and his brows furrow, his arms slowly and subtly tightening around her form as his fingers adjust on the reins. Icy snow begins to gather and cling to the fabric of their coats, Arthur's frame shielding (Y/N)'s from most of it, his backside now covered in snow.

"Bridge coming up," Dutch warns as they follow the path. "Take it easy."

Heeding his warning, Arthur gently tugs slightly on the reins, Taima huffing softly as she slows a fraction. She turns with the motion of the reins, her head shaking out a bit as they cross over the small bridge caked in snow. The Count whinnies as Dutch guides him along the trail, the man shifting as he holds the lantern out a bit further to see it better.

A few moments of silence pass between the three as they continue on, the snow still pouring down around them.

"Can't believe we lost Davey, too," Arthur mutters somberly, shaking his head.

(Y/N)'s chest tightens at the words as she nods her head slightly in agreement, her expression softening with sadness as her hand tightens around the horn of the saddle.

"He's the last one, Arthur," Dutch promises, his voice holding pain as well and wavering slightly. "No. More." He swallows thickly. "We need to get those people warm and fed."

(Y/N) nods. "The fireplace will help 'em," she points out with a soft sigh. "Food, though... not sure Pearson grabbed much before we left," she adds with a hint of uncertainty.

Arthur scoffs quietly at this, his expression shifting to a mildly irritated one at the information.

"Least we don't need to worry about Pinkertons tailin' us in this," he comments in a bitter drawl.

"A couple more days, we'll be on the other side," Dutch reassures the two, nodding to himself as his eyes narrow with determination and resolve. "You two need to help me pick the others back up. You two're the only ones I can rely on to stay strong right now."

(Y/N)'s features soften slightly, a sense of both pride and sadness mixing in her chest. Her thoughts drift to those they lost, her mind still reeling from how much everything has changed in the span of just a few short days.

"Like (Y/N) said... we got a fire. And shelter," Arthur replies with a hint of encouragement. "That's a start."

The three continue down the path atop their horses, Taima's ears occasionally flickering as she listens to the whistling wind around them. A soft, anxious nicker leaves her, her head twitching lightly as her ears begin to slowly flatten. (Y/N) notices her growing unease, her hand releasing the horn of the saddle as she softly shushes the animal in reassurance. Her hand gently strokes along Taima's thick neck, the horse quietly neighing before snorting as her ears perk forward once more. Satisfied, (Y/N) slowly lifts her hand from the horse, her hand returning to grasp the horn of the saddle as she turns her attention to Dutch trotting along beside them on The Count.

"You think that ferry was a trap?" she questions Dutch with apprehension and unease. "In Blackwater."

Arthur perks up at the question as he looks to Dutch expectantly for a response, his gaze then shifting ahead as he focuses on keeping Taima on the path. 

Dutch's expression darkens slightly. "That many men?" He bitterly and humorlessly laughs, his grip tightening on the reins of his horse. "Oh, they knew we were coming," he answers, sighing. "But there was money on that boat, all right. Lots of it."

(Y/N)'s brows furrow at his response, her thoughts racing on how the law could possibly have known of Dutch's plan. She couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration at the lack of information that had been given to them so far, so many questions still left unanswered.

"Hey," Dutch's voice brings her from her thoughts. "I think I see something up the path."

(Y/N)'s eyes dart ahead as she lifts the lantern slightly, Arthur lightly tugging on the reins to bring Taima to a stop. The horse quietly grunts as she slows and shifts on her legs, The Count halting as well with a light tug from Dutch. The faint outline of a figure on a horse could be seen through the snow flurrying around, Arthur's eyes squinting.

"You up ahead! Who's there?" Dutch calls firmly without fear, his tone holding the faintest hint of apprehension.

The figure draws near and the glow of a lantern could now be seen, the lantern illuminating off their features. The man's hair was shoulder length and a dirty shade of blond, a hat sitting atop his head. His long coat was made of dark brown leather and he wore gloves on his hands, a panel pale green bandana bundled at his throat and his eyes a pale, cold shade of blue. A thick, bushy horseshoe moustache was along his upper lip that trailed down either side of his cheeks, his beard extending along his jaws, but not his cheeks. A large scar was noticeable that went from the left side of his lower lip down, then to the right, his eyebrows bushy and lifted slightly.

Micah rode on a Missouri Fox Trotter with a rare black coat, the horse's face covered in a white skull-face pattern and his eyes icy blue. Baylock had white socks on all four legs, his legs long and lanky as he trudged through the snow towards the three, his ebony tail flicking.

"Micah," Dutch greets with relief.

"Micah," (Y/N) grumbles with indifference, Arthur huffing quietly at this in agreement with her tone.

Micah nods with a neutral expression. "Gentlemen... and Lady," he greets, his voice a bit raspy.

"Found anything?" Dutch questions the man as he approaches on his horse.

He nods. "I think so," he replies as he urges Baylock closer, the horse leisurely walking through the thick snow. "Found a little homestead down thataway."

Dutch perks up at this, nodding. "Okay. Anyone home?"

"Sure," Micah replies with a slight hint of amusement. "Place is blazing with light and noise. Sounded like a party."

"Let's go see," Dutch urges.

"Follow me," Micah tells the three as he steers his horse with one hand, his other grasping his lantern.

Baylock quietly nickers as he turns around, his tail flicking as he is urged into a trot with a rough, light kick of Micah's heels. Dutch urges The Count to follow, Arthur lightly tapping his own heel into Taima's side as she begins to follow the two.

"How's Davey doing?" Micah questions as he leads the three.

"Ah, he didn't make it," Dutch solemnly replies, his voice strained with a hint of sadness. "Nor did little Jenny."

Micah nods at this without looking back. "That's too bad. Davey was a real fighter. Both of them Callander boys is..." He pauses. "Or... heh, was."

"Yeah..." Dutch agrees quietly.

"And Mac and Sean?"

Dutch shakes his head slightly. "We don't know."

Micah clicks his tongue softly. "Quite... a... business," he replies impassively.

(Y/N)'s ears could barely pick up what the two men were saying over the storm and wind, the woman instead shifting her focus to the trail as she looked down along it for any sign of tracks. She knew it was a longshot, as the snow was constantly raining down, but her eyes remained peeled.

The horses follow along in a line, Micah at the front with Baylock, Dutch following behind on The Count, and Arthur and (Y/N) on Taima. The horses trot along in a brisk pace, snow beginning to build up on their manes and rears.

"I'm glad you're alright, Micah!" Dutch calls loudly to the man ahead.

"Always!" his voice faintly calls back over the storm, muffled.

Arthur looks ahead with narrowed eyes. "Ask him if he's seen John!" he barks at Dutch loudly.

Dutch nods to indicate he heard. "Hey!" the man shouts to Micah. "Have you seen John, Micah?"

"Didn't see much of anything once this storm came in," Micah calls back, his voice quiet to Arthur and (Y/N).

"He hasn't seen him!" Dutch yells back to Arthur.

(Y/N) frowns at this, her brows furrowing in a displeased manner. "Weren't they supposed to stay together to scout the area?" she questions Dutch loudly.

"Storm must've separated the two!" the man calls back over his shoulder.

Arthur quietly snorts at this. "He'll be fine," he brushes off in a careless, almost bitter tone. "Things always turn out right for the boy."

(Y/N) gently elbows Arthur's side with disapproval, the woman knowing how anxious and worried Abigail would be despite her attempts to seem otherwise.

"I hope... Mac and Sean are still out there somewhere, too," Dutch  says with a hopeful uncertainty and sorrow.

The horses continue in a line through the snow up a slanted hill, the full moon's pale glow shining through the thick snow and fog in the air and the silhouette of the tall pine trees. (Y/N) sighs quietly as she looks ahead, her eyes watching Dutch for a few moments.

"How're you doing, Arthur?" she questions, her voice lowered, but not to the point he couldn't hear her.

Arthur glances down at her, his expression tightening slightly. His brow furrows as his jaw clenches slightly, the man stifling a soft sigh as his eyes shift to the side for a moment.

"'M fine," he mumbles unconvincingly with a slight shake of his head, not wanting to stress the woman out further with his own problems. "More worried 'bout you, to be honest."

He clears his throat lightly, one of his hands releasing the reins as he reaches up, adjusting his hat as some snow falls off the brim.

(Y/N)'s lips purse into a small frown as she glances down at Taima, her hand not holding the lantern reaching out to gently brush some snow clinging to the horse's dark mane.

"I'm exhausted. And upset," she truthfully answers, sighing quietly. "But... at least we're alive."

She nods at her own words, slowly leaning to the side of the horse as she glances back over her shoulder and up to the man. Her eyebrows were knitted together, her eyes softened with grief and a hint of vulnerability.

"Right?" she softly urges, managing a weak, faint-hearted smile as her head slightly tilts.

Arthur's gaze softens as his jaw slowly unclenches, his shoulders slowly losing their tightened posture and tension as he looks down at her. The man slowly nods his head a couple of times, the corners of his own lips lifting in an exhausted smile that mirrored her own.

"Right," he agrees reassuringly and lowly, his voice surprisingly soft and holding a faint rasp. "We'll be alright."

(Y/N)'s eyes shift between his own, her smile softening slightly with his reassurance as she nods. She turns her head to face forward once more, exhaling heavily and shivering from the cold.

"Hey, Arthur!" Dutch's voice hollers from ahead, gaining the two's attention. "Let me take the rear, you two move up!"

Arthur doesn't reply, but he kicks his heels gently into Taima's side with a click of his tongue, her ear flicking and a nicker leaving the horse as she obeys his wordless command. She picks up the pace of her trotting, her form bouncing slightly with her steps as she is guided slightly off the path. Dutch gently tugs back on his reins, urging The Count to slow down as Arthur and (Y/N) pass on Taima. Dutch takes the rear, Arthur and (Y/N) now in the center and Micah still leading them up the hill. Arthur looks around apprehensively as his form presses a bit closer to (Y/N), his shoulders shaking briefly before he looks ahead.

"You sure about this, Micah?" Arthur demands loudly over the wind.

Micah glances back over his shoulder for a brief moment, his eyes squinting slightly as he realizes that Dutch was now further away, replaced by (Y/N) and Arthur.

"Mr. Morgan," he greets wryly and casually. "I never thought I would be so pleased to see your face." He looks over his shoulder once more briefly, his cold eyes landing on (Y/N) riding in front of Arthur. "And, of course, Miss (Y/N) (L/N). Always a delight to see you," he comments, dragging the word 'delight' in a drawl as he says it.

(Y/N)'s eyes flick upward in a brief rolling motion with exasperation and indifference as she remains silent in response, the woman accustomed to the man's not-so-subtle flirting by this point, her teeth clicking together softly as her jaw tightens. Arthur's gaze hardens and becomes stormy as he regards Micah with irritation, his arms subconsciously tightening their hold around (Y/N) as his fingers tighten around the reins.

"Been kind of... lonely out here," Micah continues as he faces ahead once more, his tone laced with insinuation as he shifts his hips restlessly over Baylock's saddle. "Where's everyone else?"

"Old mining camp, back up the hill," Arthur answers through clenched teeth.

Micah snorts derisively. "Huddled around a fire waiting for daddy to put food on the table..." He shakes his head. "I've said it before. We've got too many mouths to feed."

(Y/N)'s expression hardens. "Yours among them. I reckon you should keep it to yourself, considerin' you're still the newest mouth there is," she says back dryly with a hint of warning. Scoffing, she looks downward with a pained grimace. "Besides. We've got less folks to feed now, so I'm sure you're happy about that."

"That ain't fair, (L/N). I earn my share," Micah responds defensively, guiding his horse along the slanted hill. "You think it's unreasonable to expect others to do the same?"

Arthur grunts with clear annoyance. "Everyone does their part. Might not be shootin' others, but it's somethin'."

(Y/N) nods in agreement with Arthur firmly despite the fact Micah couldn't see her, her brow furrowed and her eyes squinted from both the cold and from the burning feeling of rising anger in her chest. Shaking her head slightly, she opts to ignore the man, a sharp exhale leaving her lips. Micah doesn't respond to Arthur's words, the wind whipping around them as they continue on.

"So, this house..." Arthur starts with reluctance and apprehension, eyes focused on Micah. "You speak to the people there already?"

"No. Like Dutch told us... look, but don't talk to no one," Micah replies back, rolling his shoulders slightly in a gesture. "Just following orders. You know me. I'm a good boy."

(Y/N) chortles quietly to herself, Arthur's ears faintly picking up the sound. The corners of his lips quirk up ever so slightly, the man's eyes darting down to the top of her head.

"Right," Arthur drawls, his tone indicating he didn't fully agree, but he doesn't say otherwise.

The horses continue through the thick, icy and hard snow, Taima's head bobbing slightly as she prances, clearly growing agitated by the snow around her. She snorts and shakes her head out as she steadies herself, her legs lifting high as she trots after Baylock, Dutch on The Count following the three. The hill finally begins to even out and grants the horses some rest, their breaths heavy and visible as the hill begins to slant downward.

"Oh, goddamn this snow!" Dutch complains with frustration and exhaustion, shivering as he exhales shakily. "Gets right to the bone."

(Y/N) leans slightly as she looks behind her and Arthur with a frown, noticing Dutch's exhausted, shivering state. The man looked completely drained, his grip on his lantern tight and his shoulders trembling slightly as he pants softly, each puff of air dissipating.

"You alright back there, Dutch?" she calls with concern.

His eyes shift upward, the man nodding once as his features soften. "Yeah. Tired, but... we all are," he replies back. "We'll find some food, go back, warm up, get some rest. Be like new men and women again."

Arthur snickers quietly, his head shaking slightly as he sighs deeply. "This snow better stop soon or we'll never dig those wagons out."

(Y/N) grimaces at the dreadful thought of having to dig the wagons out of thick layers of snow, nodding her head in agreement. "I hope it does. Horses won't do good for long in this weather, either."

Taima lets out a soft whinny, almost as if she were agreeing with the statement, the horse huffing softly as she trots through the snow, her hooves kicking the hard powder aside with each step. Micah continues to lead the three on horseback for a few more minutes, no sign of life— animal or otherwise— around as the blizzard rages on.

"Okay!" Micah suddenly exclaims breathlessly, gaining their attention as he slows Baylock into a walk. "Let's keep it down now, people. It's just up ahead."

Micah guides Baylock towards the hillside, Dutch urging The Count into a faster trot to catch up with the three as Arthur guides Taima to the edge of the hill as well. Down in the clearing below was a homestead, empty corrals around the building and a few paths trudged through the snow, indicating people had recently been through. There was a tall, lone barn further from the main house with a lantern lit outside, the windows and porch of the home lit up, implying there were people home.

"Snuff and stash those lanterns, you two," Dutch orders Micah and (Y/N), (Y/N) turning the lantern's dial as the light dims out inside. "Arthur, Micah, best you two lie low on this."

(Y/N) lowers the lantern down and carefully attaches it to Taima's saddle near her thigh, Taima softly nickering and shifting restlessly due to being so close to the hillside. Arthur looks down at the homestead with a frown, (Y/N) looking down at the area as well with scrutiny.

"Okay... let's head down there," Dutch encourages the three, pulling on The Count's reins as he guides the horse to walk along the hillside, leaving his lantern lit.

Micah leads Dutch on Baylock as Arthur guides Taima to follow the two men, Taima trotting slightly as she walks through the same path taken by the other two horses. The horses descend down a steep, snow-covered slope, Arthur's grip tightening on the reins as he tugs loosely, urging Taima to slow a bit as she descends after the two others. (Y/N) grips the horn of the saddle with both hands as her form leans forward from the angle, Arthur grunting quietly as he notices. One of his hands releases the reins, his arm winding around her middle in a quick motion to steady her back against his chest.

(Y/N)'s form stiffens with surprise from the sudden action, her hand releasing the horn of the saddle in favor of gripping his sleeve-covered forearm draped across her middle, his large hand grasping her hip in a firm hold to keep her from slipping off the saddle.

"Thanks," she whispers quietly, one of her hands holding his arm and the other holding the horn of the saddle still.

Arthur barely hears the word of gratitude, his eyes shifting to the side awkwardly, though he inwardly preens. "Don't mention it," he gruffly responds, trying not to show how much the simple thanks caused his heart to stutter in his chest.

The horses curve to the left around the bend as they make it to the bottom of the hill's side, Arthur slowly sliding his arm from around (Y/N)'s middle. He clears his throat as his hand lingers for a moment on her side, the man briskly shaking his head to himself before releasing her, his hand returning to grasp the reins and his grip noticeably tighter. The pine trees cluster on either side of the non-existent path, The Count whinnying softly as Dutch takes the lead. The trees then clear up as they enter the homestead's land, a worn, wooden fence along the edges of the land.

"Let's hitch up here," Dutch tells the others, his voice quieted but still audible over the storm.

(Y/N) looks up with apprehension when she hears the sound of lively laughter coming from inside the home, the thought of encountering a large amount of people not sounding entirely pleasant at the moment. Music was muffled by the walls of the home but could be heard, the wind of the storm muting it slightly as well. Arthur guides Taima after Dutch and Micah, Taima shifting and side-stepping to the right of The Count as he tugs the reins to a stop.

Arthur dismounts first with a quiet grunt, the man sliding his foot free from the stirrup. He steps towards Taima's front while stroking her neck gently, (Y/N) unlooping the reins from her neck and lowering them into Arthur's hand. He ties the reins loosely to the wooden fence, exhaling shakily and rubbing his hands together as he looks up slightly to (Y/N). He steps back slightly before lifting his arm up and out wordlessly, an invitation to accept his help if she wanted or needed it. (Y/N)'s eyes shift down to his arm before softening, the woman hesitating before reaching out.

Her fingers delicately brush against his forearm before her hand grasps it, the woman shifting and lifting herself slightly. Arthur's arm flexes to keep her steady as she uses his arm for support, her leg unhooking from Taima's side and lowering down onto the ground. (Y/N) follows the motion smoothly and gracefully, her hand still gripping Arthur's arm as she steadies herself on the snowy terrain.

"Let me do the talking," Dutch tells the three as he walks around Taima, approaching the two with Micah following right after. "We don't wanna scare these folks."

Dutch holds his lantern up slightly as he trudges through the snow, Arthur following with (Y/N) alongside him, Micah looking around the area as he follows behind the three.

"Someone's having fun in there," Micah comments with a nod of his head, the jaunty sound of a muffled, violin playing an upbeat melody from inside.

Dutch breathes heavily as he kicks through the snow, the man glancing back as he waves his hand towards the left. "You two, get yourself out of sight," he tells Arthur and Micah, looking between the two before turning his focus to (Y/N). "(Y/N), you come along with me now," he orders, his tone gentle.

(Y/N) looks at Dutch with a hint of surprise and confusion, but she nods loyally, the woman adjusting the belt around her middle as she walks alongside the man towards the house. Arthur's gaze flicks from her to Dutch as his expression hardens slightly, his lips parting in what seemed to be the start of a protest before the words die as Dutch continues.

"One lonely man with a woman is a lot less intimidating than us three nasty degenerates," Dutch jokes with a gruff laugh, nodding towards Arthur and Micah. "They might show more kindness if you're with me." He looks back to Micah and Arthur. "Micah, hide behind that wagon. Arthur, you take that old shed on the left. And stay low, both of you."

Dutch motions to the shed and the wagon on the left side, a tarp draped over the wagon and the cattle shed empty. Arthur's eyes linger on (Y/N) walking alongside Dutch briefly as his eyebrow twitches, the man turning and following Micah off the path towards the shed. Arthur's knees lift with his tall steps through the snow, the snow reaching the lower halves of his shins. Snow dampens and hardens his pants, his boots shining with snow as he rounds around the shed, the man breathing out deeply as he steps onto the dirt only dusted with snow.

He lowers down into a crouch with his side leaning against the wooden fence of the shed, his head turned to the left as his eyes follow Dutch and (Y/N) like a hawk. Micah ducks down behind the wagon Dutch had pointed out, the wagon resting on its handles and slanted. The tarp flutters in the wind, Micah's eyebrows furrowing as his nose scrunches. Shaking his head to himself, his attention shifts to Dutch and (Y/N) approaching the homestead.

Dutch gingerly holds his arm out in front of (Y/N) to stop her from approaching further, the man coming to a stop as well. They stood a few feet from the door, Dutch's hand grasping the lantern as he looked up to the home.

"Hello?" Dutch calls in a friendly, desperate voice, his voice loud enough for those inside to certainly hear.

The music inside abruptly comes to a stop, followed by a man hissing, "Shut up, Billy! Shh, shh, shh!"

"Excuse me?" Dutch continues with that same tone, his hand trembling slightly from the cold as it clasps his coat shut. "Hello?"

Unease fills (Y/N)'s stomach as she listens to the sounds inside, her eyes subconsciously flicking to the shed where Arthur hid. She could barely see the top of his familiar hat peeking out over the wooden gate of the shed, a person unable to notice this unless they knew for a fact there was a man there. Her eyes snap forward when the door to the home is yanked open roughly, Dutch's form shifting a step towards (Y/N) instinctively as his gaze locks onto a man stepping out. The man's dark eyes stare at the two coldly, an unfriendly frown etched onto his face.

"Oh! Well!" Dutch lets out a short, exhausted and friendly chuckle. "Hello friend."

"What'chu want?" the man demands suspiciously and aggressively.

(Y/N)'s hand reaches up slightly to grasp the lower button of her coat, her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she frowns.

"We are... very sorry to disturb you," Dutch apologizes, seeming to be unbothered by the hostility of the man. "Uh— my daughter and I, well..." He nods to (Y/N) as his hand gently presses against her back, urging her to step forward so the man could see her and hopefully ease up. "We got into some... trouble up the way with some friends. Lost in the storm."

(Y/N)'s expression shifts from apprehensive to one of a damsel, her features softening with feigned exhaustion and woefulness— though, it wasn't very hard to pretend. The man's eyes linger on her in a way that makes her skin crawl, her eyes shifting to Dutch for reassurance as the man walks down the short set of steps closer to the two. The man lifts his lantern, his eyes squinting as he gets a better look of her.

-

From the shed, Arthur's fingers flex and curl repeatedly in restless habit as he watches the scene, his jaw clenching as another man steps out from the house, another man lingering at the doorway. His chest tightens with a fierce, protective urge to leap out, but he remains low, his eyes unblinking as he watches with Micah. Micah shakes his head as the wind flutters the tarp once more, his expression tightening with disgust at the stench wafting from the wagon as his eyes snap to it.

-

"Ah! Gentlemen," Dutch greets, the faintest hint of uncertainty in his voice at the sight of the other men.

"We could maybe take in you and... your daughter," the man says slowly, his tone laced with barely contained lust as his eyes roam over (Y/N)'s features.

(Y/N)'s stomach twists with growing nausea and anger, her teeth clenching so hard she thought she may crack a tooth. She forces a friendly smile as she nods, her form tensed up as her hand tightens around the button of her coat. Dutch's gaze hardens as he stares at the man, his eyes squinting before he puts on a smile himself.

"Oh! That would be... be very kind of you," he manages out in a grateful tone, though (Y/N) could hear the underlying strain to his words. "We— We got... other folk—"

-

The brim of Arthur's hat dipped into his forehead as he glared at the man standing before (Y/N) and Dutch from his hiding spot in the shed, his form trembling— but not from the cold, no. From fury. He barely contains the urge to move from cover to beat the man down for eyeing (Y/N) as if she were meat rather than a person, his blood boiling.

Micah's ragged breathing begins to fill Arthur's ears, the man, however, not looking away from Dutch and (Y/N) as Dutch continues to converse with the men, the man noticeably shifting partially in front of (Y/N).

"Arthur..." Micah raspily calls, panting sharply. "Arthur, we got a problem."

Arthur's eyes snap to Micah with irritation at having to look away from guarding (Y/N) and Dutch, however, his annoyed expression falters as he notices Micah's genuine distress and urgency. Micah lifts the tarp slightly as his face falls and pales, the man breathing heavily as he looks over the decaying corpse laid in the wagon.

"There's a corpse right here," he breathes out to the man.

Arthur's heart sinks as his gaze quickly returns to (Y/N) and Dutch with alarm, the man sighing deeply through his throat with confliction of how to proceed.

"Arthur!" Micah hisses as the man doesn't reply. "There's a body in the wagon!" he emphasizes, his voice hushed and sharp.

"Yeah, I hear you!" Arthur growls back to Micah with frustration, his eyes flicking down as his eyebrows furrow in thought. "Just... keep your eyes on Dutch and (Y/N)."

Arthur angles his body to face the wooden gate as he peers over it at the two, his eyes narrowing as one of the men makes a comment while nodding towards (Y/N) before lecherously laughing with heartiness.

-

"Yeah! We could definitely use another woman to liven up this party of ours. Was gettin' dull," the man standing before (Y/N) and Dutch with the lantern agrees with the one who had made the lewd comment.

(Y/N)'s eyes narrow at the mention of 'another woman', the sentence obviously implying there was a woman here. And by the man's tone, she had a heavy suspicion that things weren't as they seemed in this isolated homestead. Her eyes shift upward as she looks along the home, noticing there was a man standing in the window above looking over them while holding a rifle.

"Please, sir," Dutch firmly grits out, though he keeps his tone polite. "My daughter is dear to me, and I'd prefer you not speak of her in that manner."

Movement to the left gains Arthur's attention, his eyes narrowing as he spots another man lurking along the side of the home, a rifle wielded in his hand as he peers around at Dutch and (Y/N). Arthur's hand lowers as he slides his silver, cattleman revolver out from his holster, Micah unholstering his own gun as he notices the man as well.

"I think you should go now, buddy," the man replies in an uncaring, confident tone, his hands resting on his hips as he steps closer. "Leave the lady and head on back from where ya came."

Dutch shakes his head. "I will not do that, friend," he firmly states with absolute certainty. He turns his head to look down at (Y/N), his expression tightened. "It seems there... is no help to be found here, my dear. We should be on our way now."

The man watches the exchange with a growing scowl, his eyes zeroing in on Dutch's face before his eyes widen. He studies the man's features before his gaze flicks to (Y/N), his brow furrowing as his lips part.

"Hey... I don't believe it!" he exclaims with disbelief. "Come here, partner," he insisted to Dutch, causing the man to look over with a frown. "Come here!" he barks sharply.

(Y/N)'s fingers clasp the button of her coat tightly, her eyes flicking to Dutch with concern and apprehension as the man obliges, shuffling forward a small step and further into the light.

"It's goddamn Dutch van der Linde, you morons!" the man suddenly yells, his tone hardened with disdain as he draws his pistol and aiming it between (Y/N) and Dutch. "Colm is going to shit his pants—!"

A shot rings out as Arthur shoots the man through his temple, instantly killing the bastard. (Y/N)'s fingers flick off of the button of her coat and to her side as she draws her own cattleman revolver in a swift motion, the woman aiming as she fires at the belly of the man who had been making lewd comments of her the entire conversation. The pistol was customized with an ebony barrel, the frame the same and the grip a beautiful ivory. The full body of the gun was engraved with a golden baroque design, the gun itself an old gift from Arthur for her birthday many years ago.

Dutch draws his own double pistols as he begins to fire at the other men lurking inside the doorway, Micah taking quick aim as he shoots the man that had been lurking to the left of the home. (Y/N)'s eyes darted to Arthur before Dutch was grabbing her by the crook of her elbow, the man hastily yanking her along before throwing himself and her down behind a slanted, wooded cover for protection as bullets began to fly.

(Y/N) peers out from cover as Dutch fires at the doorway as another man filters out, (Y/N) gasping and ducking back while pushing Dutch to do the same as they were shot at from the man who had been in the window.

"Arthur, the window!" (Y/N) shouts over to the man as the structure's wood was splintered, another shot ringing out as their cover was shot at.

Arthur's head snaps up as he looks to the window, the man rising to his full height as he takes aim. He fires and strikes the man's shoulder, causing him to scream out as blood paints the window's frame. The man stumbles and looks to where Arthur stood, Arthur staring him down before firing another shot, the bullet piercing through the man's chest this time. The man sputters before falling back out of view, no doubt dead.

(Y/N)'s eyes catch movement as a man bursts from the outhouse while he hastily tugs up his pants, his hand fumbling with his gun. (Y/N) aims and fires at the man, the bullet hitting his collarbone as he screams and staggers. Dutch looks to the man and fires twice, the bullets striking both his leg and his throat, the man choking on his blood before toppling over into the snow. Blood paints the pure snow as corpses lay silently along it, (Y/N) panting softly and slowly rising from cover as she looks around with wariness for any sign of others.

"One of them's making a run for it! Arthur!" Micah shouts urgently, causing the man to look to his left as a lone man begins to run from out behind the house.

Arthur wastes no time as he grasps the wooden gate, easily leaping over it with a grunt of effort. He takes off running after the man, his long strides catching up slowly but surely. The snow makes it harder to run, Arthur growling lowly with frustration as he watches the man vault over the fence outlining the property. He raises his pistol and takes careful aim before firing the three remaining bullets in his pistol, one striking the fence and the other two meeting their mark on the man's back.

The man's body jerks as he stumbles forward, face-planting into the snow and spazzing. Arthur watches the man for a few moments as he loads his pistol, the barrel whirring softly as he snaps it shut. When the man doesn't get up, he nods to himself, turning and briskly making his way back to the others.

"That's my boy, Arthur!" Dutch shouts in praise as he sees the man rejoining them. "Good shooting!" He turns to (Y/N) with a proud smile, nodding. "You too, my girl! That was fast shooting."

(Y/N) smiles faintly at the praise before her attention shifts to Arthur, the man slowing to a stop near them as his eyes meet hers. She nods to him with a meaningful look, Arthur's expression softening as he nods in return. He resumes his approach, the man holstering his pistol as he adjusts his hat.

Dutch watches as Micah pulls a corpse out of the doorway, his eyes darkening with anger. "Goddamn O'Driscoll's boys here! Why?!" he demands with hatred and fury.

Micah shakes his head as he drags the body along the ground, grunting as he tosses it aside out of their way. "I don't know— maybe same reason as us?" he suggests.

Dutch doesn't seem pleased by the answer, but knows Micah had no way of knowing the true reason either. "Micah, go bring the horses closer to the house," he calls to the man breathlessly, stomping through the snow towards the porch. "Arthur and (Y/N)— let's go search the cabin."

(Y/N) and Arthur follow Dutch as the man heads up the steps of the home, Micah turning as he begins the trek back to the horses through the snow. Arthur walks behind (Y/N) closely as she heads up the steps after Dutch, Dutch pushing the wooden door open and stepping inside as they follow.

The warm, stuffy air was a shocking contrast against the bitter cold outside, the stench of alcohol instantly hitting the three as they entered the home.

"Smells like a party in here," Arthur comments, his eyes scanning around the main room.

(Y/N) exhales sharply with disgust at the stench, her nose scrunching slightly as she rubs her gloved hands together to generate heat. "No kiddin'."

The home was impressive in size, the walls made out of thick logs and the floorboards well-maintained and wooden. A fireplace stood tall against the right hand wall, the fireplace made of different sized stones and the mantle above shaved and sanded wood with a few objects decorating it. The fire was lit as it crackled and popped, the flames flickering with the rush of wind that sweeps through from outside. A carpet was laid out in front of the fireplace, a small dining table near this covered in empty drinks and a few cans of untouched food. A bed was to the back wall on the right side, a chest at the foot of it and an end table to its right.

To the left was a kitchen space with cabinets and counters, a ladder leading up to the loft above behind the dining room table. The interior of the home was filled with wooden furniture and decorations, signs of a warm, no doubt happy life before the O'Driscolls came and butchered them no doubt. (Y/N)'s eyes scan around slowly as she searches for any sign of anyone else, the mention of another woman still replaying through her head.

"Turn the place upside down," Dutch tells the two in a gravelly voice. "Grab as many supplies as you both can. We need the essentials. Food, medicine..." he trails off for a moment, spotting an untouched bottle of whiskey on the table and snatching it up with a sparkle in his eye. "Whiskey."

Arthur sniffs softly before turning to (Y/N), his head nodding to the loft above. "I'll check up there on the loft."

"I've got the kitchen, then," she adds knowingly, her eyes shifting to the disarrayed kitchen to their left.

Arthur nods in response, the man's large frame turning as he makes his way around the right side of the dining room table. He lingers near the intense heat of the fireplace, the warmth melting the ice from his clothing and leaving behind damp patches. He lifts his hands slightly near the fire to help the heat transfer through his gloves, his eyes flicking along the mantle that reached below his chest. There were a few standard items— a clock, a few porcelain plate decorations, but also empty bottles of whiskey left from the O'Driscoll's. His eyes flick to the left when he notices a photograph framed in a round frame, the photo black and white and worn.

"Huh..." he mutters softly, reaching out to pick up the photograph. "Looks like the poor bastard outside was married too, at some point."

(Y/N) glances over from where she was crouched down, her hands resting on the opened cabinet doors as her expression softens with sympathy. "They did mention there being another woman here..." Her eyes shift around the empty space, save for Dutch near the medicine cabinet gathering some of the medicine inside. "Probably killed her, too."

Arthur turns the photo over, his eyes flicking along the writing: JAKE AND SADIE WEDDING September 7th 1896.

"If we can't eat it or drink it, put it down," Dutch calls to the man, not looking up as he works on looting the place.

Arthur simply grunts in response before setting the photograph down with a deep frown, the man sighing as he makes his way to the ladder. (Y/N) watches as the man disappears up the ladder onto the loft, her focus shifting to the cabinets as she rummages through them. Her eyes were drawn to odd coloring against the wooden floors, her expression falling at the large pool of blood, some of the dry, crimson liquid splattered on the wall as well. Her heart aches with sympathy at the thought of the couple who had lived here, their lives no doubt content and joyful until hell greeted them at their own door.

"O'Driscoll's!" Dutch growls to himself, still reeling over the revelation. "I don't believe it."

(Y/N) glances over her shoulder to the man, her hand slowly tucking a can of sweetcorn into her satchel. "Me neither." She shakes her head. "Thought they were all still out West. Though..." Her eyes flick up in thought, a thoughtful frown pulling at her lips as she tucks another can of sweetcorn into her bag. "Thinkin' on it now, I suppose we haven't seen them in a while. Maybe they're up here hiding like we are?"

"There's a big price on Colm O'Driscoll's head," Arthur chimes in agreement from the loft, peering over the edge down at Dutch with a slight shrug as he snorts. "Nearly as big as the one on yours..."

Dutch chortles bitterly, the man approaching the bedroom to the right side of the home and scooping up a blanket from the bed, bundling it up. "Wanting Colm dead is about the only thing me and Uncle Sam agree on."

(Y/N) exhales a soft laugh under her breath at this, the woman shifting her weight to face another low cabinet as she pulls the cabinet door open. Her stomach faintly growls with hunger as she grabs any undamaged, unopened cans of food she can find, her eyes lighting up when she spots a chocolate bar hidden behind an old tin of coffee. She reaches out and takes the sweet treat, smiling to herself and tucking it away carefully in a pouch of her satchel, making a mental note to give it to a certain little boy.

As she continues to loot through the cabinets, Arthur saunters along the loft, his eyes scanning along the blankets laid out on the wood— no doubt having been used by the O'Driscoll's to sleep.

"Place is dry, and warm... we could maybe move the women and Jack down here," Arthur suggests as he picks up a box of assorted biscuits, the man tucking them away into his bag.

(Y/N) looks up from the cabinet at the suggestion as she rises, uncertainty crossing her features at the prospect of splitting up.

"Maybe," Dutch hesitantly responds, though he seems to be pondering it as he opens the chest at the foot of the bed, discovering another two blankets. "We'll see how they are when we get back. I don't really want us to split up."

"Especially if there's O'Driscoll's around," (Y/N) adds with uncertainty. "Space could be big enough for everyone. I saw a barn outside that'd be nice for our horses."

Dutch's eyes flick to her as he tucks the bundled blankets under his arms. "Barn?" he repeats quietly with interest, nodding slightly to himself. "I'm going to start packing the horses," he speaks up louder as he addresses the two, his boots softly thumping on the floorboards as he makes his way to the door. "You two keep looking. Grab anything you think we can use, then meet me out here."

Arthur descends down the ladder from the loft, his boots loudly thumping on the floor as he steps off and onto the ground floor.

"Sure thing, Dutch," (Y/N) calls back to the man, watching as Dutch exits the home.

Her (E/C) eyes flick to Arthur when he joins her side, the woman noticing his exhausted features. Her expression softens with worry, her eyes shifting down as she slips her satchel open, pulling out a can of peaches she had found.

"I pretty much covered everything in here. We should eat somethin'," she quietly mentions, causing his attention to shift to her. "I'm starting to get a little shaky. I imagine you are, too. Been a while since I've seen you eat, Arthur."

"I'm—"

"Don't you say you're 'fine'," she cuts him off before he could barely get the word out, the man's lips twitching as he huffs. "We'll share."

(Y/N) steps towards the dining room table as she sets down the can, her hand sliding her hunting knife free from her belt's sheathe. She carefully stabs into the can's lead and saws it open, her eyes shifting to a rag left on the table before she uses it to wipe the peach juice off the blade, making a mental note to properly clean it off later before using it again to open anymore cans.

"Damn pushy woman," Arthur grumbles under his breath, but there was no heat to his words, an undertone of fondness seeping through despite his gruffness as he steps closer to her side.

(Y/N) titters at this, rolling her eyes with amusement as she sets her knife down. She slips one of her gloves off, her now-bare fingers then grasping the lid as she pulls the metal lid off the rest of the way. She grabs the can and tilts it to the man in offering, Arthur lifting his hand as he lightly tugs the fingers of his glove, slowly pulling it off and flexing his somewhat numb fingers out. He grasps his leather glove in one hand as he reaches for the can with his freed one, his fingers carefully curling to grasp a handful of peaches. (Y/N) watches with a small smile as he pops a peach slice into his mouth, satisfied he was eating.

She herself then grabs a few peaches and pops them into her mouth as well, the sweet juice causing her mouth to salivate as she chews on the firm, yet squishy texture of the slices of peaches. The sticky juice covers their fingers as they eat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the two taking turns grabbing slices of peaches in the can. As the peaches in the can become a couple, Arthur lifts his hand and shakes his head as she offers them to him, the man grasping the rag she had previously used while wiping his fingers clean.

(Y/N) smiles softly in thanks at his selflessness, her hand lifting the can of peaches to her lips as she tilts it back. She sips on the juice inside the can, the metallic taste of the can mixing with the sweet juice as it helps soothe her throat that had been dry from thirst. As she finishes the can of peaches, Arthur makes his way to the bed tucked near the corner, his eyes flicking over the small space as he slips his glove back on. The man hunches as he lowers to open the chest at the foot of the bed, the man discovering a couple dollars inside as he tucks the bills away. His boots softly crunch on glass of a knocked down photograph from the wall, his eyes flicking along the floor and lingering on a woman's clothing that was torn and thrown on the floor near the end table.

His jaw clenches and his eyes darken at the sight, the man growling softly under his breath as his throat burns with contained rage. Forcing his eyes away from the clothes, he aggressively yanks open the end table, the man grabbing a pack of cigarettes inside— as well as a gold, pendant necklace that catches his eye, knowing it'd be worth a nice price.

"Think we found everythin' worth taking," (Y/N) calls to Arthur as she approaches the bedroom, her eyes flicking around.

Her eyes landed on a smaller quilt Dutch hadn't grabbed on the bed, realizing he must've not noticed it when he'd scooped up the comforter that had been draped over the mattress. She reaches out and grabs hold of the soft quilt, her arms wrapping it up as she looks to Arthur.

"Yeah," he agrees roughly as he steps back, nodding. "Let's go on out."

The two head towards the front door together, (Y/N) quietly groaning as she hears the wind howling outside through the walls. "Cold's gonna be harsher now that we've gone and gotten warm," she grumbles with displeasure.

Bracing herself with a deep breath, she pushes open the door, the stinging cold instantly hitting her face and making her face tighten with uncomfortableness as she steps out into the snow first, followed by Arthur. His shoulders quiver lightly before he straightens them out, his lips parting in a soft, shaky exhale as his breath puffs into the air.

Micah stood hunched near the porch with his hands tightly clasped in front of him, Dutch standing beside Taima as he worked on strapping a blanket to the back of her saddle.

"Micah, Arthur, (Y/N)— keep looking for stuff," he tells the three, his hand tugging on a strap to tighten it over the bundled blanket. "You two, go check and see if there's anything in that barn you mentioned before." Dutch points over to the barn down the path a bit further, his attention returning to Taima as he adjusts the blanket once more. "Micah, you search the cabin. See what we missed."

"Sure," Arthur acknowledges, nodding.

Micah sighs heavily as he nods, turning and walking past (Y/N) and Arthur as he enters the homestead to go through it once more as Dutch had instructed. (Y/N) rubs at her eye with her gloved fingers as a snowflake was whipped into it from the wind, the woman grimacing and huffing softly as she begins to make her way through the snow towards the barn with Arthur in tow. She follows the already partially trudged-through path, which helped her movement speed and kept some snow off her clothing, the snow reaching just below her knees on either side of her.

Arthur adjusts his hat over his head as he follows, snow dusting along their clothing once more and some clinging to (Y/N)'s hair that whips slightly in the wind, though the breeze had calmed down significantly than it had been initially. Her ears pick up the muffled sound of distressed whinnies from inside the barn as they draw near, her head twitching to the side as she glances back at Arthur briefly.

(Y/N) steps up to the large barn doors, her hands grasping the side of the door as she grunts quietly, sliding it open. The space inside was decent and surprisingly clean, the dirt below their feet clear of snow. A lone mahogany and white Tennessee Walker with a black mane snorts and moves restlessly in its pen, its ears pinned back as it stomps its hoof aggressively against the hay inside of the pen. (Y/N) glances around briefly as she makes her way inside first, her eyes lingering on the horse.

Arthur follows in after her as he draws his pistol as a precaution, the man sighing softly with exhaustion. A man suddenly drops from the loft above and lands directly on Arthur, causing the man to yell out in surprise as he was pulled onto the ground, his pistol sliding along the ground and his hat knocked off his head. (Y/N)'s head snaps back as her eyes widen, the O'Driscoll grunting and panting sharply as he climbs over Arthur, who had been momentarily stunned on the ground. Before she could move in, Arthur was quick to kick the man off of him in a firm motion, the man flinging back and landing roughly on his backside.

"You bastards shot my cousin!" the O'Driscoll shouted furiously.

"Well, he started it!" Arthur defends with disbelief and anger, scrambling to his feet as the other man does the same.

The O'Driscoll breathes heavily with anger, stumbling slightly from being disoriented. "I'm gonna break your neck!"

(Y/N) shakes her head slightly with a soft scoff, her head tilting as she observes the man's sloppy, defensive posture. The man was a foot shorter than Arthur's towering frame and leaner as well, his fists raised readily but with signs of inexperience.

"Oh, I doubt you will, friend," she comments offhandedly and dryly, lowering to pick up Arthur's fallen hat.

Her hand dusts it off as she leans against the horse's pen, her eyes focused on the hat as she leaves the man to Arthur, knowing the man would easily hold his own. Arthur rolls his shoulder as he lifts his fists, his eyes unblinking and focused as he regards the man in front of him. He knew she'd have his back if needed, but her words of sureness and her relaxed posture gave him a boost of confidence and strength in his ability to defend himself while protecting her as well.

Arthur dodges back when the man throws a punch, Arthur retaliating by switching punching the man's side. The O'Driscoll stifles a grunt of pain, his steps quick and light as he shifts side to side while glaring at Arthur. Arthur delivers two more punches, one striking the man's stomach and the other striking his cheek when he doubles over.

"What's goin' on?" the familiar voice of Dutch questions, (Y/N) looking past the two men fighting to where he stood at the entrance of the barn.

Arthur growls softly, side stepping to dodge a punch thrown at him by the man. "This guy just jumped me!"

"Oh-ho!" Dutch chuckles wryly with amusement. "Did he now?" he muses, unconcerned as well as his dark eyes flick to (Y/N) leaned against the pen. "Ain't you gonna help Arthur?" he questions in a playful, teasing tone as he takes out a cigar from his satchel, lighting it as he leans against the doorway lazily.

(Y/N) snorts as she straightens up slightly, waving her hand nonchalantly. "Sure, sure. Just lettin' him get a few hits in— you know how tough and strong he's gotta be," she plays along, causing the man to guffaw.

"Glad you two are findin' this so amusing!" Arthur barks gravelly to the two without taking his eyes off the O'Driscoll, though the corners of his lip twitch up in a faint smile.

This seems to anger the man further due to not being taken seriously, the man shouting as he throws another punch. Arthur's hand shoots out and grips his shoulder tightly as his head dodges back to avoid the punch, his other hand balled into a fist as he punches upward into the man's stomach. Arthur's large hand grasps the man's face as he shoves him backwards, the man stumbling and flailing as he regains his balance.

The horse in the pen whinnies with aggravation, rearing slightly as his ears flatten back. (Y/N) turns to the horse with a small frown, the horse stomping his hoof against the hay roughly and pacing restlessly.

"Hey, easy... easy, it's okay," she tries to soothe the mighty animal, the horse neighing and rearing once more.

She focuses on trying to calm the horse as Arthur continues his scrap with the O'Driscoll, the man lunging at Arthur. Arthur swings his fist out, his knuckles striking the man's jaw and earning a pop. Blood splatters as the man's tooth was knocked free, Arthur then punching the man's eye with the same first in a rapid motion. The horse neighs loudly with stress as he bucks, (Y/N) wincing with a frown as she holds Arthur's hat close to her chest while shushing him softly, the fight currently taking place and the previous gunfight no doubt having stressed the animal to the max.

The O'Driscoll staggers dizzily as he shakes his head out, barely managing to recover when Arthur begins to rain ruthless punches into him. Each blow from Arthur was devastating and strong, splatters of the man's blood painting the ground. In just a few, short seconds, the O'Driscoll was overwhelmed by the brutality of each strike, Arthur's hand darting out to grip his throat. He growls loudly with effort as he turns and throws the man down onto the ground in the center of the space, the man frantically scooting back on his backside with his arm raised in front of him defensively.

"Sneaky little bastard!" Arthur rasps with annoyance as he straightens up, his eyes shifting to Dutch as he pants softly. "Should I kill him?"

(Y/N) strolls over to the left and lowers down, scooping up Arthur's silver pistol before making her way over. Her eyes linger on the clearly terrified man, his face beaten and bruised and swelling, the woman then handing Arthur's pistol over as he takes it gingerly. He then accepts his hat with a grateful nod, his hand lifting to set it back in its proper place on his head.

"No..." Dutch answers with reluctance and resignation, heavily sighing as he flicks some ash from the tip of his cigar while exhaling a string of smoke. "Not yet. Find out what they're doing here, and where Colm is."

Arthur holsters his pistol before stepping forward, looming over the frightened man with a dark glare. "Oh, this son of a bitch'll talk..." he growls deeply in a dark promise.

The O'Driscoll's face pales, though most of it was beaten dark red and blue with bruising, his eyes widening as Arthur lowers slightly. Arthur's hand reaches out and aggressively grabs hold of the man's slender neck, his fingers easily curling around it in a tight hold. He chokes out a ragged gasp, one of his hands gripping Arthur's wrist weakly as his other hand hovers in the air while trembling.

Arthur's fist raises before he feigns a punch, the man whimpering and flinching back as the punch is pulled back. "Where's Colm O'Driscoll?" he demands roughly.

(Y/N)'s arms fold over her chest as she leans against the pen of the horse once more while watching the interrogation, the horse still agitated, but calmer now that the chaos had settled. The animal snorts and huffs softly as he paces in his pen, his tail flicking and his dark eyes searching around the room a bit restlessly.

The O'Driscoll grunts weakly before Arthur loosens his hold on his neck, the man panting sharply as he grimaces in pain.

"With the others..." he rasps out, grimacing once more. "At an old mining camp southwest of here, near the lake!"

Dutch listens to the information intently as he smokes his cigar, his forearm lifting up and resting against the doorway of the barn door as he leans his weight partially on one leg.

"What are y'all up to in these mountains?" (Y/N) questions from where she leaned against the pen, her eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded the man on the ground impassively. "Surprised your group's even this far east."

The man hesitates to answer her question as he side-eyes her from the corner of his eye, this causing a flare of anger to fill Arthur. His fist strikes down and collides with the O'Driscoll's jaw, causing him to cry out a wheeze of agony.

"The lady asked you a question, partner," he grits out sternly, his voice a low, rough rumble as he gives the man's throat an aggressive shake.

The O'Driscoll breathed raggedly, his teeth clenching together in pain. "We're— We're fixin' to rob some train! Gonna blow the tracks. I don't know more than that, I swear!" he insists desperately, his eyes squinted as he looks up at Arthur helplessly.

Dutch's brow lifts at this, the corner of his lip curving up into a smirk. (Y/N)'s expression hardens slightly, Arthur's eyes shifting to Dutch as the man begins to chuckle deeply in his throat.

"Well, I would say you two have this," Dutch declares confidently, still smirking with a newfound sparkle in his eye. "Do what you want with him. I don't care." He deeply inhales his cigar before exhaling the smoke, gesturing to the horse behind (Y/N) with it. "But bring that horse when you're done."

With that, Dutch turns as he stuffs his hand into the pocket of his coat, his other hand still holding his cigar as he makes his way through the snow back towards the house.

"I don't know anything else!" the man begs, his breathing rapid and uneven. "Please!" he whimpers pathetically, beginning to sob. "Please, spare me! I promise, you— you won't see me again, partner! Please, partner!"

Arthur's jaw clenches as he stares down at the blubbering man, his fist tightening and hovering in the air. The horse neighs loudly as (Y/N) turns her head to observe the animal, her lips pursing in a small frown at his agitated state. Arthur's eyes flick to the woman as she begins to murmur gentle sweet-nothings to the horse, a deep, stifled sigh leaving him. His gaze returns to the sobbing, snotty man, an annoyed, exasperated grunt leaving him as he shoves the man roughly down by the neck before releasing him.

"Get the hell outta here," he gruffly orders. "Go!"

(Y/N) looks over with a hint of mild surprise and interest at this, the man not wasting any time as he scrambles to his feet. The O'Driscoll sobs as he staggers and stumbles, the man taking off out of the barn without looking back as he runs through the snow. Arthur huffs with a nod before shaking his hands out, his knuckles aching slightly from the one-sided fist fight as he turns to (Y/N).

His eyes flick to the agitated horse behind her. "No luck calmin' it?" he questions roughly, his tone not unkind.

"He was too stressed out 'cause of the fight," (Y/N) replies as she tilts her head towards the horse. "You try it. You'd probably have a bit more luck than me. You always were better with wilder horses."

Arthur nods. "Okay."

He steps forward slowly and lightly, the horse's nostrils flaring as he snorts loudly before whinnying softly.

"Whoa!" Arthur gruffly chuckles, his hands partially lifting. "It's okay," he reassures in a soothing tone, continuing his approach. "Easy, easy."

(Y/N) slowly and carefully steps out of the way of the gate as Arthur approaches, the man continuing to murmur reassurances to the stressed animal. He reaches out and slowly grasps the gate, the horse snorting and shifting anxiously as his ears flick. However, he slowly calms with Arthur's gentle tone as the man steps closer, the horse's breathing loud and heavy as his nostrils flare once more. His ears slowly begin to lift once more as Arthur's hand brushes against his thick neck, Arthur slowly and lightly stroking the dark fur.

"It's alright, boy," Arthur soothes, patting the horse's neck as the horse nickers quietly.

(Y/N) smiles softly as she watches Arthur, the man grasping the reins of the horse and pulling them over his ears before leading the horse out of the pen. (Y/N) looks over the Tennessee Walker, her smile softening into a small frown as her heart clenches, the pain of losing her previous horse still raw and fresh. She clears her throat as she looks down, blinking rapidly while swallowing the lump in her throat before lifting her head once more.

"You should take him. Least for now," she tells Arthur, nodding to the horse. "You could probably get a decent price for him. Looks strong and healthy, and he seems to like you."

Arthur's eyes linger on her expression, the man knowing that she was no doubt still feeling the loss of her beloved horse, just as he was his own. Clearing his throat, he nods slowly, his eyes shifting to roam over the horse appreciatively.

"Yeah, I suppose so," he agrees as he leads the horse towards the opened barn door. "He's a little short for me, but he'll do good for now."

(Y/N) nods in agreement as she walks alongside Arthur, the horse on his other side and lifting his legs up high as he moves through the snow. Arthur grips the rein in a firm hold, though he grants it some slack to allow the horse's head movement, (Y/N) shivering and hunching her shoulders a bit as the wind sweeps through their forms.

"You let him go, huh?" Dutch yells loudly to the two from where he stood near The Count and Taima. "Saw the little bastard scurrying off."

"Yeah!" Arthur gruffly calls back. "Figured he won't get far in this anyway."

Dutch shrugs with a slight nod of his head. "Go ahead and hitch him! He's already skittish." He motions to the hitching post near the wooden structure.

(Y/N) glances at Arthur briefly as the man heads towards the hitching post, (Y/N) sighing deeply as she begins to trudge through the snow towards Taima. Taima softly neighs as her head turns to the woman, her head ducking and lifting in a head bob for a moment before she snorts and shakes her head out. (Y/N) quietly chuckles at this, but it was abruptly silenced by the sudden sound of rapid thumping and a woman's screaming from inside the home.

"Get away from me!" the voice of a woman screeches, followed by a string of terrified screaming.

(Y/N)'s eyes snap up instantly and she was darting up the porch steps before she herself even realized, Dutch's head snapping at the commotion as he rushes after her, the door swinging behind him. Arthur fumbles with the reins of the horse as he urgently loops it around the post, the man then running towards the porch.

"Hey! Hey, easy!" (Y/N) shouts with alarm and concern as Arthur bursts through the door, the man panting heavily as his eyes dart around the scene.

"Micah!" Dutch snarls, standing beside (Y/N) with wide eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

A woman trembles violently as she dodges away from Micah, the man howling with laughter. She looks around with wild, honey brown eyes, her dirty blond hair messy and reaching past her shoulders and curling slightly. Her skin was pale and she had a scar along her dark eyebrow, her face littered with freckles. She wore a nightgown, the gown covering her slender figure, her posture defensive and alert.

"Look what I found in the cellar!" Micah boasts with amusement, motioning to the woman as he steps closer to her.

The woman instantly darts back and circles around the table, shrieking as she begins to throw the empty bottles of whiskey at the man.

"Wild thing, ain't ya!" The man cackles heartily, attempting to circle around the table as she follows his movement, keeping the table between them.

"Leave her alone!" Dutch orders sternly.

The man doesn't listen, Dutch's posture uncertain from the unexpected appearance of the woman as he looks from her to Micah hastily. Arthur stands in disbelief at the scene with wide eyes, blinking rapidly with his mouth slightly agape. (Y/N)'s eyes were wide as well, her chest tightening with growing anger as her gaze snapped to Micah tormenting the woman.

"I wasn't doing nothing!" Micah defends as he glances briefly at Dutch before he dodges another glass bottle thrown his way. "She's one of them O'Driscolls!"

"No, she ain't, Micah!" Dutch barks firmly, gesturing to the clearly terrified, wide-eyed woman. "Look at her!"

He turns to look at the woman, who was still screaming and wielding a steak knife that had been left on the table.

"Miss, miss—!" Dutch starts.

(Y/N) jumps into action when Micah attempts to round the table near her, growling as she stomps forward. "Micah, get the hell away from her!" she shouts, snatching the man by the shoulder as he tries to round the table.

He's caught off guard by this, (Y/N) grunting as she roughly shoves him by the shoulder back towards Dutch. Micah staggers before catching himself as his hand clamps down onto his head, his eyes darkening as he turns his attention to the woman. (Y/N) stares him down with a glare of her own as she slowly rounds the table near the woman, her shoulder rolling and her eyes unblinking. The blonde woman's hand trembles violently as she grips the knife's handle tightly, her gaze wild and pupils shrunk with shell-shock as her eyes snap to (Y/N) warily. She seems less afraid of (Y/N) than the three other men, her grip like iron around the knife handle as her gaze flicks rapidly from (Y/N) to Micah.

"Don't ever lay a hand on me again, girlie," Micah lowly threatens, stepping towards the head of the table. "Or—"

"Or what?" (Y/N) demands as she tilts her head, scoffing softly through her teeth as her hand lowers and hovers near her pistol. "Go on. Finish that sentence. I beg you."

She nods her head slightly, her eyes shifting to where Arthur stood at the doorway. Arthur's hat casted a shadow along his forehead that went to his eyes, his gaze locked onto Micah's backside and his own hand hovering near his pistol, his fingers flexed. The woman beside (Y/N) pants sharply and rapidly as she wields the knife, her eyes snapping forward when Micah suddenly steps forward. (Y/N)'s hand instantly grips her pistol's grip, but before she could draw it, Micah was knocking the table onto its side, the woman beside her shrieking fearfully and recoiling back.

Arthur lunges forward and snatches Micah's shoulder roughly as (Y/N) had done before, yanking the man back as the lantern that had been on the table shatters. The flame inside sparks as it mixes from the alcohol that lingered in the now-shattered bottles, and the wood instantly catches on fire, Micah laughing and stepping back with his hands partially raised.

Dutch's eyes widened, the man snapped out of his frozen state. "Oh, you fool, Micah!" he scolds, stepping forward and shoving Micah aside as the man continues to smirk widely.

"Come on, you can't stay here, miss," (Y/N) softly and urgently tells the paralyzed woman, her hand hesitantly lifting out

The woman flinches away from her hand with wide eyes, looking much like a cornered animal that had been abused— which she no doubt was by the monsters that had stolen her husband and home from her.

"Miss! Now— it is gonna be okay," Dutch gently reassures as he approaches slowly, his hands lifted in a placating manner in front of him.

Arthur hesitantly follows after shooting a dangerous look at Micah, who simply shrugs with a snort in response as he lifts his hands defensively. (Y/N) turns to look at the woman with a softened frown, the woman's blond hair falling into her face and her legs shaking beneath her, a pair of dark boots on her feet.

"We ain't gonna hurt you," (Y/N) soothes, her eyes darting to the growing fire near them urgently before returning to the woman. "That man over there's an idiot," she hisses as she glares towards Micah, returning her eyes to the woman once more. "But we won't hurt you."

The woman breathes raggedly as her eyes flick to (Y/N), her eyes full of pain, fear, and uncertainty as she regards her. Her teeth bare slightly as her shoulders rise and fall with her panting, her slender arms covered in dark bruising.

Dutch nods in agreement while slowly shuffling forward, his expression earnest and full of concern. "Honest, we mean you no harm," he insists, slowly reaching towards her.

Her eyes snap to Dutch as she jerks the knife towards him, Dutch's hand gently but firmly gripping her own and lowering the knife down.

"Miss!" he urges, his tone still soft. "Miss," he repeats soothingly, his other hand delicately resting on her right shoulder.

She blinks rapidly as she stares at the man while panting, under her eyes dark with bags and her cheeks stained with tears and old makeup. She doesn't protest as Dutch lowers the knife away completely, her eyes snapping around wildly as he begins to gently guide her away from the growing fire.

"Come on," Dutch gently speaks. "It'll be okay."

Dutch looks at (Y/N) with a nod of his head for her to quickly follow, noticing the fire was rapidly growing out of control. His hand shifts from the woman's shoulder to instead rest between her shoulder blades, his eyes flicking to Arthur.

"We need to get out of here, and quick," he orders sternly, continuing to lead the woman out. "Come on, now."

Dutch snatches up a blanket that had been left behind, quickly wrapping it around the woman's shoulders as he helps her outside. (Y/N) steps around the fallen table as she follows, her gaze lingering on the flames as she scowls. Her blood boils with anger, but she reins it in, her head shaking as she exhales sharply. She makes her way out with Arthur, her hand carefully and gently extending towards the woman on her other side. The woman trembles and hesitates before slowly grasping her hand, allowing both her and Dutch to help her down the porch steps as her legs quiver.

Her eyes are icy as she regards Micah standing a bit away in the snow, Arthur scowling at the man as well as he follows closely behind. Micah simply snorts and rolls his eyes with derisiveness, shrugging a shoulder as he turns and mounts Baylock. (Y/N) shakes her head before slowly releasing the woman's hand once her boots touch the snow, though she remained close, just in case she stumbled.

"Are you alright?" (Y/N) questions the woman softly with worry, tilting her head slightly as she observes the side of her face.

"They... came three... days ago," the woman raspily responds, her voice hoarse from screaming and trembling from the cold. "And my husband..." Her voice breaks. "They..."

She couldn't continue, the woman beginning to sob softly. Tears roll down her flushed cheeks as she hugs the blanket around her, Dutch's arm tenderly wrapped around her shoulders offer the woman what little comfort he could. (Y/N) grimaces and her heart aches for the woman's suffering, Arthur frowning deeply as he rubs his arms while following the three through the snow. Dutch's expression darkens grimly with understanding, his jaw tightening.

"Okay, miss," he quietly replies, nodding his head as he guides her towards the horses. "You are... safe now." He looks back towards the house, his lips thinning at the sight of the flames beginning to swallow the home. "And you can't stay here."

(Y/N) and the woman look back as well, along with Arthur, the woman's face falling with horror at the sight as she weakly whimpers.

"You come with us," Dutch continues with decisiveness, nodding as the woman looks to him with a mixture of surprise and apprehension. "(Y/N)."

(Y/N) understands his unspoken words with a nod, stepping closer and delicately wrapping her arm partially around her shoulders as she was passed off from Dutch. Dutch walks ahead quickly, the man unlatching the bundled supplies off Taima to provide room for the woman on the back of the horse. He then carries it over to the Tennessee Walker, quickly strapping the supplies onto him instead.

"Come on, I got'cha," (Y/N) reassures in a whisper with a nod, guiding the woman towards where Taima stood waiting.

Arthur takes the lantern from Dutch, following alongside the women as he maintains a respectful distance from the frightened woman.

"Miss..." he gruffly starts, clearing his throat with a wince before softening his tone, "It's okay, alright?"

The woman's eyes shift to Arthur warily as she leans into (Y/N), her eyebrows furrowed and her expression distraught.

"We're bad men and women, but..." Arthur shakes his head. "We ain't them, so..." He grimaces, realizing his attempts at comforting were possibly falling flat. "It— It's okay," he finally says once more.

(Y/N) nods along in agreement as she approaches Taima, slowly and carefully releasing the woman for a brief moment. She faces Taima before pulling herself up onto the saddle, her leg swinging over it as she grabs the reins and nods down to Arthur. Arthur takes the cue as he passes (Y/N) the lantern, the man then facing the frightened woman as he steps closer.

The woman tenses— but she doesn't protest— as he carefully wraps his arms around her, lifting her up onto the back of Taima side-saddle with ease.

"Get on," Arthur grumbles, mostly to himself, the man setting her down carefully. "We'll keep you safe until you figure out what you wanna do."

"Exactly," (Y/N) agrees with the man, nodding while adjusting her grip on the lantern as the woman settles behind her. "You don't have to worry about nothin' with us, okay?" she reassures. "Name's (Y/N)."

The woman breathes heavily and shakily, and doesn't reply, though she does nod slightly. Her legs were draped along the side of the horse, her hands gently gripping the back of (Y/N)'s coat as (Y/N) gently nudged the horse's sides with her heels, urging her into a walk. Arthur makes his way over to the Tennessee Walker, the man grunting as he pulls himself up after unhitching him. He's mindful of the supplies bundled on the rear of the horse, the man guiding the new horse along through the snow.

"What's your name, miss?" Dutch questions the woman as he guides The Count to trot alongside Taima. He frowns when she remains silent, thinking she may not have heard him. "Miss?"

"Adler," the woman replies shakily and softly.

(Y/N)'s eyes flick back briefly, but she doesn't question the name. Her gaze shifts to Arthur, the man guiding the Tennessee Walker to trot on the other side of Taima, Micah trailing after them on Baylock.

"Adler?" Dutch repeats.

"Sadie Adler," Sadie introduces herself shakily, swallowing thickly. "Mrs," she adds, grimacing as her heart aches. "I... he..."

(Y/N)'s form tenses as she feels Sadie's forehead press lightly against her back, the woman trembling behind her as her grip tightens on her coat.

"He was my husband," she whimpers in a brokenhearted voice, her shoulders hitching as she begins to quietly cry.

The homestead behind the group continues to burn to the ground, the flames roaring and growing with each passing second until they were nearly as tall as the pine trees surrounding the land. The tarp covering the body of Jake Adler in the wagon flutters with the wind, the wooden cover of the porch crackling before collapsing, embers flurrying into the air.

...

    The four horses make their way through the snow, the storm continuing to rage around them as their lanterns light the small area around them. They arrive back at Colter, their horses trotting slowly through the thick, fresh snow as Dutch leads them, followed by (Y/N) on Taima with Sadie, Arthur on the Tennessee Walker, and Micah on Baylock. Dutch turns onto the path leading into the mining down, The Count neighing softly as his slender legs lift high in the snow.

    "Hey!" the familiar voice of Lenny shouts in warning to the others, the 19-year-old boy standing guard. "Somebody's coming!"

The boy was the youngest of those in the gang, his skin umber brown and his jaw stubbled with dark hair. His raven black hair was neat and short beneath his hat, a cream and copper patterned scarf wrapped around his neck. He wore a navy blue coat made of wool, a rifle held in his mittened hands. He cocks the rifle and lifts it as he takes aim, his dark brown eyes narrowed before he perks up with relief at the sight of Dutch leading the others into the mining town.

"Looks like it's Dutch!" he greets with a chuckling exhale. "Hey, everybody! Dutch is back!"

Dutch lifts the lantern he was carrying partially, the others beginning to filter out of the building they had been holed up in to greet the returning party. Hosea was the first one out, the man's expression tired but full of relief.

"How'd you get on?" Hosea questions them worriedly, approaching with the others as he hugs himself.

"Micah found a homestead, but..." Dutch trails off for a moment, shaking his head as they guide their horses along the path. "He weren't the first. Colm O'Driscoll and his scum... they beat us to it. We found some of them there, but... there is more about apparently."

"And Bell burned the home to the ground, so... we can't use it," (Y/N) adds bluntly and dryly, her eyes darkened as she glared towards said man.

Arthur snorts softly as he nods, the horse he was riding nickering quietly as he shifts his weight in the snow.

Micah scoffs derisively as he guides Baylock away. "Oh, give it a rest already!" he hollers over his shoulder.

Hosea's forehead wrinkles at this as he frowns, his eyes following Micah and narrowing before he shakes his head. His gaze then lands on the woman shivering on the back of Taima, her eyes wide as she looks at the group apprehensively, her hand gripping (Y/N)'s coat still. Hosea's features soften as he approaches, his hand lifting as he takes the lantern from (Y/N) carefully before offering his other arm to Sadie. Sadie hesitates before taking it, allowing him to help her slowly slide off the horse and onto her feet.

"They're scouting a train," Dutch continues, dismounting The Count and nodding to Charles in thanks as he grabs the reins for him. "Thank you."

Mary-Beth approaches quickly with a worried frown, the woman followed by the others as they flock to Sadie. Sadie tenses with wide, uncertain eyes as she regards the women, (Y/N) sighing softly as she dismounts Taima. Charles steps closer as she passes him the reins, the man quietly grunting in thanks as he guides the horses out of the way of the group surrounding those who returned warmly in welcome.

"That's the last thing we need right now, Dutch," Hosea worries with a frown.

Dutch shrugs slightly, panting softly from the cold. "Well, it is what it is..." He shakes his head. "But we found... some supplies, some blankets. A little bit of food."

His expression softens as he looks at Sadie, the woman huddled near where (Y/N) stood as she clutches the blanket around her tightly. "And this poor soul, Mrs. Adler."

"You guys got her?" (Y/N) softly whispers to Mary-Beth, tilting her head towards Sadie.

"Course, (Y/N)," Mary-Beth replies with confidence and assurance, nodding her head as she offers Sadie a kind smile.

(Y/N) gently nudges Sadie's back with her hand to follow Mary-Beth, Sadie breathing heavily and shivering as she tightly grips the blanket to her chest while shuffling forward. Karen steps forward with Tilly as they greet Sadie kindly with encouragement, Sadie's eyes wide and wary as she regards them.

"Mrs. Adler, it's gonna be okay!" Dutch calls to the woman reassuringly. "You're safe now."

Susan steps closer to watch over the women as a young, lovely and fair-skinned woman pushes through the others, her curly red hair wrapped in a deep maroon shawl. A dark green scarf was wrapped around her neck, a navy blue long coat covering her figure and arms, a belt wound around her middle and her skirt trailing in the snow. Her eyes were emerald green and her cheeks rosy, her face covered in a galaxy of freckles and her lips a deep shade of red. Molly looks up at Dutch with worry as her long lashes flutter, her hand holding a lantern.

"They turned her into a widow," Dutch quietly mumbles as he watches the other women guide Sadie inside. "Animals."

Molly frowns deeply at this as her eyes flick to Sadie, her gaze returning to Dutch when she notices him stumble slightly.

"I need some rest," Dutch gruffly states, shaking his head out as his eyes squeeze shut. "I haven't slept in three days."

Susan holds a lantern herself as she approaches, nodding her head while entering mother-hen mode. "You're over here," she softly tells the exhausted man. "Miss O'Shea will show you the way."

Molly nods in agreement with this, the woman stepping closer to Dutch. She lovingly takes his arm in her own, Dutch's features softening at this as his hand lowers to hold hers. He follows her away from the others, Micah sauntering over to rejoin the group.

"Mr. Morgan, Miss (L/N)," Susan continues, gaining their attention as (Y/N) straightens up. "There— There weren't enough rooms for the both of you, so I figured that Mr. Morgan could take it and Miss (L/N) might stay with the other women—"

"She can stay with me in the room," Arthur cuts the woman off, waving his hand up dismissively before rolling his shoulder with an exhausted sigh. "I don't mind." He tips his hat slightly, nodding. "Thank you, Miss Grimshaw."

(Y/N) looks at Arthur with a hint of surprise at his declaration of her staying with him, but she doesn't argue, the thought of having to bunk with the others in one space not exactly appealing.

She clears her throat, nodding to Susan as well. "Thank you, Miss Grimshaw."

Susan softly smiles at this, the older woman sighing quietly before turning her attention to Micah. "Mr. Bell, you're with the fellers over there."

She turns as she starts to lead Arthur and (Y/N) through the snow, Micah sputtering with wide eyes and huffing.

"Wha—?! How come Arthur and (Y/N) get their own room and I get a bunk bed next to Bill Williamson..." he starts to complain, Susan pausing in her tracks and turning to him with a sharp glare. "And a bunch of darkies?"

(Y/N)'s head whips at the insult, Arthur's eyes narrowing as he slowly turns to face the whining man with an irritated scowl.

"Bell, all you been doin' lately is complaining," (Y/N) grits out through her teeth, her eye twitching as she shakes her head. "Quit your belly-aching already!"

She throws up her hand in exasperated irritation, as if she were swatting away a fly, the woman turning to face forward once more as she stomps through the snow. Susan snorts quietly in agreement as she resumes leading them, Arthur nodding his head firmly while following alongside (Y/N).

"Belly-achin'?!" Micah repeats with anger and disbelief. "Why, I oughta—"

"Get yourself to bed!" the sharp, stern voice of Hosea snaps, cutting the man off. "Now!"

(Y/N) wasn't able to resist smirking to herself at the scolding Micah received from Hosea, her and Arthur following Susan into a building a small way's away from the others. (Y/N) follows Susan inside as she shivers and rubs her arms rapidly, Arthur rubbing his hands together and entering after her before kicking the door shut behind them.

...

    Arthur paces restlessly from the cold in the small, shared room as he continues to rub his hands together, his gloves on the end table beside the small, twin sized bed that (Y/N) sat on. There was a ruffled, thin and worn carpet on the wooden floor, a long dresser pushed against the right wall and another end table beside it. There were two windows in the room, one on the right hand wall and the other across the doorway, moth-eaten curtains draped over the frosted glass, the area outside nearly pitch black.

(Y/N) shivers as she hugs herself while shifting to slowly lay down in the bed, her ungloved hands gently pulling the blanket upward to cover herself.

"Hey, got any whiskey?" (Y/N) questions the man as she looks over, causing him to pause his pacing with a confused frown. "Cause we could start our own fire in here like Micah, if so," she jokes with a quiet snort, shakily smiling as she resists the strong urge to chatter her teeth.

Arthur gives her an unamused, unimpressed look, though the corner of his lips twitch upward. He shakes his head as he looks away, his boots quietly thumping as he resumes his pacing.

"Don't think the others would appreciate it," he drawls dryly, lifting his clasped hands together and softly blowing hot air into them.

His blue eyes flick up slightly when he notices (Y/N)'s form still trembling, her expression tightened and her brows furrowed. Her eyes were shut as she no doubt tried to sleep after days of not getting any, same as him, the man frowning as his gaze shifted to the side, his jaw tightening.

(Y/N)'s eyes open with confusion when she feels something being draped over her, her lips parting with the beginning of a protest when she realizes he had shrugged off his coat and had draped it over her form.

"Go to sleep," the man gruffly says before she could get a word out, his tone holding no room for argument and a hint of exhaustion.

(Y/N)'s lips press together as her eyebrow quirks, a soft laugh leaving her. "Damn pushy man," she comments quietly, imitating his words from earlier in the homestead.

Arthur shakes his head slightly as he allows himself to smile, the man approaching the dresser and sliding off the thin blanket that had been given to them by Susan.

"That's right," he agrees proudly and unapologetically with humor.

He makes his way back towards the bed, the man rolling his shoulder before rolling his neck out with a quiet groan. Arthur slowly lowers to sit on the floorboards beside the bed, his back leaning against the wall gap between the end table to his left and the bed now to his right. His long legs stretch out in front of him as his arms fold over his broad chest, his chest expanding as he breathes in and out deeply. Some tension leaves his shoulders, one of his hands reaching up to tilt the brim of his hat over his eyes before lowering back down to where it once was.

Arthur begins to drift off almost instantly from pure exhaustion as the adrenaline from the last few days begins to fade, his chest rising and falling slowly with his breaths and quiet snores. (Y/N) watches him for a few moments as she gets comfortable, her hand gently clutching the familiar fabric of his coat, the man having let her wear it often in the past when she needed it. Shaking her head fondly to herself, she rolls onto her side to face him, her eyes studying his features with a soft look reserved only for him. Soon, her eyes slip shut, her breathing quiet and lips parted slightly as she falls into a deep sleep.