Chapter Text
Arthur was only travelling through Valentine to get a couple things to go hunting. His satchel had been full of the bare essentials for days now, and Pearson had been on his back all morning about not having enough meat for this evening's stew, somehow the responsibility fell onto Arthur once again. Prized son turned errand boy. As much as he grovelled, Arthur didn't mind all that much. It meant being away from Dutch and Hosea, who spent the better part of last night arguing about "plans" and money. However, the arguing was admittedly preferable to some of the other noises that came out of that tent some nights with those two, noises that had Javier chuckling away in his tent like a teenage girl and Miss Grimshaw muttering to herself with a raised eyebrow as she cleaned.
But today? Dutch was having one of his "episodes" as Hosea calls them.
All of this to say, Arthur was glad he was out of the camp for a bit.
Rain slashed like bullets as Arthur walked through the town centre, leading Boadicea to a hitching post. Raindrops dripping steadily off the brim of his hat as he gave Boadicea a final scratch behind the ear.
The air in Valentine was thick with an overwhelming sense of unease. Arthur walked down the road and heard constant chatter about the big shootout in town about two weeks ago now. Arthur was on high alert, not that anyone should recognise him, he had worn his bandana after all...But his luck had been running pretty short recently. Blackwater, the ferry job, O'driscolls, Pinkertons, Bounty Hunters, Micah...It was starting to feel like all of the cards were stacked against him. Maybe he was cursed. Maybe he was just an outlaw with bad luck.
Arthur's boots squelched on the mud as he walked towards the general store. The town was quiet, abnormally so. It was as if the entire town was in hiding. Maybe the rain, Arthur thought to himself.
However, towards the outskirts of town, it was a lot less quiet.
Arthur turned his head, looking to the rotten gallows were crowded by people. A constant roar of sound erupted from them all, yelling, chattering and the distinct voice of the local sheriff yammering on about civility.
How ironic.
At the time, Arthur didn't think twice about it. Valentine wasn't exactly known for its law upholding, kind citizens. So, hangings were common. Arthur was too busy to sit and ponder about the morality of Valentine.
Arthur headed into the general store with a push of the door, shaking his dripping hat off at the door and giving a slight nod the shopkeeper.
"Been a while since I've seen you in town, sir." The man chirped, arranging something behind the counter. "You hear about that shootout with Cornwall's men?"
Arthur adjusted his hat back on his head as he wandered around absentmindedly, tossing a glance at the shopkeeper before finally speaking. "yeah," he drawled. " Sounded like bad business."
It sure was bad business.
The shopkeeper sighed, nodding slightly. "Cornwall shoulda taken his business to a different town. He and his men brought nothin' but trouble and death."
Arthur sauntered over to another shelf and grabbed some cigarettes and herbivore bait, Glancing out the window when the cries at the gallows grew louder. "You know what that's all about?" Arthur asked, gesturing out the window. "People seem real up in arms.."
"Yeah, some kid killed a deputy. Real tragedy. Deputy Jones...Good man. He had a wife and two kid's waitin' for him at home." The shopkeeper explained, a sorrow look growing on his face. "That Lloyd boy's been terrorising this town for a couple years now. stealing horses and sellin' them, robbin' the locals, even robbed me of a couple cans of food and some medicine. Real punk. Heard his father was the same before he kicked it."
Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like quite the troublemaker." he paused, turning around the lay his items onto the counter. " Well, don’t know if they should hang the kid for it.”
the shopkeeper considered it as he rung up the items. "I don't exactly like that they're hangin' the kid." The shopkeeper defended. " little feller can't be more than thirteen...but he had it comin' in my eyes."
"Christ," Arthur sighed. An unwelcome thought sprung into Arthur's mind, a memory dug up from many years ago.
Sounds like John back in the 80s.
John was twelve, robbing and scamming his way through life in Illinois because he had no one left to help him. An orphaned, desperate boy about to be lynched. But he was saved. Dutch weaselled John out of it, scooped the boy up, put him on The Count and raced off to that old camp way back west. Arthur? Hell, way back when he was in a damn similar situation too. Just a little older with less hanging.
Arthur thought about it for a second. Then another.
ah, shit.
Arthur rifled through his satchel, putting in his items in and pulling out a few coins, quickly tossing them on the counter before picking up his pace, pushing the door open and rushing towrds the gallows, giving a mumbled "Thank you" to the shopkeeper who looked rather confused at the customer's sudden change in behaviour.
It was never meant to be a clean, merciful drop hanging. The law didn't pity the boy, James Lloyd, enough for that. Especially since he killed one of their men. So, it was a low hanging, keeping him just high enough that his toes touch the wooden platform, but are never able to plant themselves fully. His hands were tied tight behind his back, forced to look at the sea people before him. at least thirty people who were here for the sole purpose of watching him die. Some men brought their sons, holding their heads still to make sure they saw every second. A warning, they called it.
James was petrified.
His eyes welled heavily with tears, his thin, lanky body thrashed wildly, his face bruised and beaten, the sclera of his left eye was filled with blood. His ribs were visibly crushed on one side. The thick rope around his neck bit into him, suffocating but not yet fully tightened. Every breath felt like a full body exercise. Despite all this pain and all consuming fear, his mind was pinpointed on a singular thought.
That fucker deserved every second of it.
James let out another strangled keen as breathing became more difficult, which sounded more like the mewl of a dying kitten than the gut wrenching scream he really needed. His lungs were just too damaged to handle all this stress. The law had already beaten the life out of him, black boots kicked his ribs for days, irritating his lungs and making every breath agony.
"Any last words, Colt?" A voice sneered from above him, hand jerking the rope downwards, in turn tightening it around young James' neck. He kicked his exhausted legs, trying to gain leverage but ultimately failing, gargling weakly as the rope snaked further around his throat.
Colt.
A name that the lawmen threw around since they caught the boy 3 days ago, shaking and screaming. It fit unfortunately well, If you peeled back the boy's façade. Skinny. Shaky. Young. Clumsy.
"Fuck you." James rasped, repeating that same scornful word over and over until he ran out of breath, shivering as the rain soaked him. It sounded as if the words were forced out of him. His dark brown eyes rimmed with desperate tears looked out to the crowd. He looked disgusted. his father always said that those who claimed to be civilized were always the real animals. James never understood him until now.
"Shut up." the lawman above him demanded, kicking James' core. James let out another weak little cry that was barely heard over the rage of the people around the gallows.
At last, the rope was pulled. James was hauled upwards, legs kicking, eyes fluttering back. The onlookers were quiet for the first time.
His world began to blur at the edges, slowly turning black as he gasped and choked. The pressure in his head was unbearable, his eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his head, his whole body felt like someone else's, his once kicking legs were loosing their fervour. The worst part? His throat. For a second he was convinced that his head would fall off, the edge of the rope felt like a razor blade against his sensitive skin.
The last thing that James saw before the world blacked out was a man in the crowd of witnesses, he was taller than everyone else, a black hat shaded most of his face. The man stayed back from the rest of the crowd. Watching. Thinking.
Waiting.
Arthur had watched from the very back of the crowd as it all happened, eyes fixed not only the boy, Lloyd (well, that’s what the shopkeeper had called him), but also on the sick, ugly man in control of the rope who would occasionally kick the boy's torso as though he was nothing more than a disobedient dog.
Arthur pushed down the bile rising in his throat when he heard the sharp crack of the kid's ribs through the commotion and tried to focus on the logistics of it all. very slowly, Arthur creeped forward in the crowd, his hand hovered over his holster.
One more mouth to feed. Hell, it’s not like I can leave him here...But Dutch'll-
While Arthur was busy thinking, the rope had already been pulled. He only snapped out of it when people stopped cheering and the only noise left was pained chocking and gasping. Then nothing. And in that moment of silence, all sense and logic that Arthur Morgan had once maintained went out the window.
"goddamnit." Arthur hissed. Worried he was too late, Arthur quickly drew his pistol and fired three clean shots in quick succession.
The first shot landed between the eyes of the man who held the rope, he dropped like a ragdoll with a clean hole in his head, rain soaked wood creaking beneath him as his corpse settled. Most importantly, the rope went slack, sending Lloyd crumpling onto the platform too. He didn't move, but the faint rise and fall of his chest was enough to make Arthur feel okay with looking away for a moment.
The second and third shots went in the heads of the guards standing on either side of the platform, they both fell back in an almost synchronised motion, and with the thud of their bodies came a cascade of noise from the people watching. screaming and running, a few brave men raised thier own pistols but quickly succumbed to the same fate as the men on the platform.
A few more bullets whipped past Arthur's head "So much for keeping a low profile, Morgan.." Arthur whispered to himself, quickly reloading his pistol as he retaliated with half measured shots and wasted no time to whistle for Boadicea and run up the stairs of the platform to haul the broken boy into his arms with a clunky tenderness he hadn't used in a very long time. He tried to ignore the pang of dread he felt in his gut when he really felt how small and light the boy was, jagged bones poking into Arthur's torso as he carried the kid to his trusty horse.
Arthur gently lifted the boy onto Boadicea first, holding him up so he doesn't slip off as Arthur himself mounted. the Hungarian Halfbreed was clearly stressed but luckily she made no attempt to flee. Arthur settled Lloyd in front of him, caging him in with muscular forearms, the kid's beaten, fragile head resting stiffly on Arthur's broad chest, with a quick kick Boadicea lurched forward into a frenzied gallop.
"C'mon, girl!" Arthur encouraged, steering Boadicea in the direction of Cumberland Forest as she let out a loud whinny. last thing Arthur wanted was to lead any stragglers from Valentine into camp and potentially get someone hurt, or deal with the currently manic Dutch Van Der Linde who may just have an aneurysm if Arthur brought in a new member right now.
Gradually, the noise of Valentine faded into the distance until all that was left was the sound of hoofbeats, birds and the wheezy breaths and occasional angry groans of a boy who wasn't meant to see the sunset tonight.
The cabin in Cumberland Forest that Arthur managed to find smelled of mildew and blood, but it was enough. anything would've been enough, so really this was a miracle. It had a small, rickety cot in the corner, barren cabinets and cupboards, but most noticeably a fireplace with a few cut logs next to it. Not bad.
Arthur carried the boy into the cabin, one arm hooked under his legs and the other behind his shoulders, the boy let out a pathetic little whine, blood dripping down neck from a nasty cut on his chin and lower lip, his brows furrowing as he weakly attempted to wriggle out of Arthur's hold.
"Stay still, boy." Arthur murmured softly, trying to sound...less intimidating for once in his life. He didn’t really know how to do that. He had never had to.
Not since Isaac, anyway.
"Well, I ain't no doctor but that can't be good." Arthur mumbled, adjusting the boy so he could hopefully breathe easier.
The kid let out another pathetic noise, which were now sounding increasingly fed up. He finally began settling when Arthur stopped touching him entirely.
"that's it, kid." Arthur murmured, sighing. Realising he needed to get someone who knows what they're doing. “Just lay there and keep breathin’. I'll do the rest."
After tending to the fireplace and lingering anxiously for longer than necessary. Arthur begrudgingly turner and headed outside, creating a makeshift lock on the cabin door. He gave Boadicea a quick pat before mounting up and sending her forward into a canter.
"Let's go, girl...I clearly ain't fixing him alone."
Charles Smith knew Arthur had a tendency to wander, ended up helping lost souls instead of doing what he was meant to. However, a simple hunt shouldn't have taken this long. he had left well over . But Charles was not worried, Arthur's a grown, smart man. He could handle himself. Still, Charles took note.
Currently, Charles was crafting some new arrows by the fire, sharpening the tips as he listened to Sean's incessant ramblings about Ireland, sexual encounters, and of course his Da.
Always the Da. Charles thought to himself. There was no stopping Sean when he started a story.
"-So that's when he just shot that evil fuckin' hag, straight in the nose! Honestly, I'm surprised the bullet went through with that monstrous beak of hers!"
"Uh huh." Charles mumbled, looking up at him with clear disinterest.
"I got fuckin' showered in her blood, didn't get all of it out for weeks! Hell, weeks later I found some on the underside of my-"
"Quiet." Charles snapped, head whipping to the wooded camp entrance. listening for the sound he thought he had heard as Sean rambled. Hoofbeats. fast and heavy. It was Arthur, surely, but Arthur doesn't ride so recklessly coming into camp. Not unless there's something wrong.
Sure enough, Arthur Morgan came rushing into camp with an expression that could only be described as desperate. Charles stood up, immediately walking towards Arthur with a small look of concern on his face. Unfortunately, not everyone had the basic emotional intelligence to understand that this was concerning.
Mr Pearson was storming over, and he certainly was not happy, hands resting on his hips. He ended up having to sending Lenny out for a last minute hunt for a deer because Arthur had clearly just abandoned his responsibilities for the day. Everyone in camp was just about starving, especially poor Jack.
"Mister Morgan!" Pearson called out, "So glad you've decided to grace us with…" Pearson dramatically gestured to the back of Boadicea. no animal carcass stowed. "Nothing!"
Arthur quickly dismounted his horse, shooting Pearson an impatient look. "Kinda busy here, Pearson." he huffed, dismounting Boadicea with a grunt, turning to face Charles. Pearson muttered angrily to himself, walking away back to his station.
Charles took one look at Arthur and just knew something was wrong. "Hey, what is it?" Charles asked quickly, eyes locked on Arthur's. Searching for answers in his two toned eyes.
"I need you to ride with me, Charles. I'll explain on the way, Bring your medical kit." Arthur explained, turning back around to mount Boadicea, giving the girl a quick pat as he waited for Charles to get his kit.
Charles nodded, while he had zero idea what this was all about, he didn’t hesitate for a second.
A very loud, half drunken voice came from the area by the fire. "Christ, English!"
Arthur sighed before he even turned his head to see Sean nursing a beer with that trademark shit eating grin on his face. "who shat in your bed?" Sean laughed.
"Not the time, Sean." Arthur replied tiredly, eyes trained on Charles' who was now coming back with his makeshift medical kit slung over his shoulder.
"My God...” Sean shook his head in mock disappointment. “What is up with all of you sour faced cu-!"
"Let's go," Charles interrupted, Whistling for Taima who then quickly came trotting over. Charles mounted up and Arthur took no time leading the way out of the camp and racing across the fields.
There was maybe a minute of silent riding between the two men before Charles finally asked in that slightly awkward cadence of his. "Arthur, what's going on? are you injured?"
"No, no...Nothin' like that." Arthur shook his head, Charles looked at him, trying to study his face for clues.
"Then what is it?" Charles pressed.
"I was in Valentine...Just getting hunting supplies." Arthur paused, finally looking at Charles. "There was this kid, bout' to be hanged, Charles. Little thing. Thirteen, fourteen, I dont know." Arthur sighed, shaking his head, gripping the reigns tighter "I don't know what came over me."
"Arthur..." Charles looked at him, but there was no malice in his tone.
"I know." Arthur replied. "What's done is done. But...Charles, The kid's dyin'."
"What's wrong with him?" Charles asked, mind already flipping through the usual injuries that come with hangings.
"His throat's all swollen. Thing's been beaten to hell too. his breathing sounds like crackling. wet. Only one side of his chest goes up and down."
"Hm. Sound's like he's got a punctured lung."
"Wouldn't he be dead by now?" Arthur questioned with a puzzled expression, "How the hell do you even puncture a lung without bein' shot...or stabbed."
"Well, the ribs take enough hits, they break, they poke into the lung, leaving a hole." Charles explained like it was common known fact, guiding Taima at the crossroads, following Arthur as they entered the forest. "He isn't dead because one's still working."
"And when did you get so smart?" Arthur smirked, catching Charles' gaze as they rode.
”some have it…others don’t.” Charles responded, the two both huff out a laugh, far too distracted by each other’s eye colour for an emergency situation.
after a very long pause, Charles clears his throat and looked forward. Arthur pointed ahead of them to a mud covered offroad path. "Just up here, little cabin on the right."
"Okay..." Charles sighed.
"Let's see what we're dealing with."