Arthur Morgan did not intend to survive when he gave his hat to John Marston and stayed behind to gain his redemption. As he crawled towards his final resting place, he never intended to wake up again.
But he does wake up. Thanks to time travelers F...
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2021
Trigger warnings for this chapter: Mentions of rape and scenes of panic attacks, as well as PTSD flashbacks. It's too ingrained in the chapter to be set apart with hashtags, so reader discretion is advised. Use your best judgement.
Arthur and Tori left her house, and Arthur finally had a spring in his step again. He was very much looking forward to riding trails with her, and she seemed to be cheerful as well. After the tasty breakfast she'd just cooked him, Arthur would have followed her to the ends of the Earth just for some more of her cooking.
"So where exactly does your property end?" Arthur asked her as she saddled Snickers in the stable.
"It basically encompasses all of the Big Valley area," Tori replied. "It starts on the other side of Mount Shann and continues a bit into the slopes of the Grizzlies. Most of the Grizzlies property is inaccessible for a good part of the year due to snow in the mountains, but it's still nice to have. We don't use it for anything except hunting, really. We have plenty of pasture for the cows in the valley and around the base of Mount Shann."
The barn door opened, and angry footsteps could be heard echoing down the alley. "That'll be my brother," Tori murmured quietly. "Hey, Jackson!" she called.
"Where the hell is my gun?!" Her brother asked, his voice dripping with annoyance. He rounded the corner of Snickers' stall and stopped with his hands on his hips. "What the actual fuck do you think you're doing taking my gun off the mantle?" He asked Arthur.
"Your gun?" Arthur growled, rounding on Jackson. His eyes narrowed in anger. "This here gun is mine. "I been through all kinds of shit with it. You been using it to, what? Kill moose and stuff them to hang above your fireplace?"
"Fuck you," Jackson growled. His blue eyes flashed with anger.
For a moment, he looked exactly like Micah. "What's your problem, cowpoke?" Arthur could almost hear him saying, the smell of stale beer and blood wafting off of him. All of a sudden, Arthur forgot where he was. It was like a switch flipped in his brain. To him, this was no longer 2021. It was 1899, and the two people near him weren't Tori and Jackson. They were Micah and Mary.
"You bastard," Arthur hissed. "Why the hell did you do that to her?"
"Because, Black Lung," Micah gloated, his steely eyes alight with delight in the chaos he was causing, "She's damn pretty, and a man can't control himself around a woman like that. Not to mention, well, she was important to you. If you think about it, I kind of had to do it. Piss on your legacy and all that. And look at her! It weren't like I didn't enjoy it."
His liquidy, bragging purr sent the Arthur over the edge. He howled in anger and seized Micah by the collar of his shirt, hand flying to his belt for a pistol that wasn't there. It was the absence of the handgun that caused a strange fog in his brain, allowing him to reason that something wasn't quite right. In fact, he was missing his whole gun belt. 1899 Arthur wouldn't be caught dead without his gun belt because not having it could very well have been the death of him.
