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Dutch van Der Linde had managed to fuck up massively.
Listening to Micah was his downfall. The others had been right. He'd heard whispers throughout camp before everything had gone down. Offhand comments about Micah and how he'd had Dutch wrapped around his finger. He'd brushed it off as jealousy at the time. After all, Arthur had always been, other than Hosea, Dutch's closest confidant - it'd make sense for the gang to be uneasy as Dutch began to listen to Micah more and more.
But it hadn't been jealousy. The now-former gang leader was just such an idiot that he'd been blind to what was in front of him the whole time. If he'd only listened, then maybe everything would be fine right now. The gang would be together, joking and laughing as they planned out a heist. Those who had died would be perfectly fine. Hosea would be fine. And so would his boys.
The way he'd betrayed his boys made his heart hurt. They deserved so much better.
He'd essentially killed Arthur, leaving him up on that cliff to die a lonely death. Dutch wanted nothing more than to turn back time to at least hold his boy, send him off peacefully. But, of course, he'd still trusted Micah. The little weasel. And so, Dutch had intended to give Arthur a single, disappointed look before leaving. After all, it would make sense for a man who had lost his loyalty to die alone, knowing he'd disappointed someone who he viewed as a father.
But he hadn't lost his loyalty. Dutch could see that now.
And it was killing him inside.
Then there was John.
John, who'd run off for a year over his son. John, who he'd left to die not just once, but twice. John, who'd still begged him to see sense on that mountain, even after Dutch had betrayed him like that.
John who was now here to kill him.
It was funny, really, that out of everyone left it had to be him who'd end up coming to do that.
He deserved to be the one though after all Dutch had put him through.
But Dutch had always been a prideful man. He wasn't going to allow John the satisfaction of killing him or giving him to those that the gang had always fought against.
Dutch would go out on his own terms, not anyone else's.
"Our time has passed, John."
With those words, in one final act of defiance, he stepped backwards, off of the cliff, feeling a moment of grim satisfaction that he'd had the last laugh. Clearly, John hadn't expected him to just walk off of the cliff and to his death.
I'll be with you soon, Arthur. And Hosea... and everyone else we lost along the way.
He closed his eyes in preparation, hitting the ground just moments later, the sickening sound of bones confirming it.
Dutch van der Linde was dead.
And with him, went the age of the outlaws.