Snake Skin | John Marston

You're My Brother

Y/N convinced Arthur to take her back to camp; it was high time she faced the real trouble brewing beneath the surface, and he agreed. Now that they had a clear picture of who Micah really was, it was imperative to spread the word.

As they rode into camp, a sense of urgency hung in the air. They spotted Micah barking orders at a few others who were hastily packing their belongings. The blonde man was too consumed by his own demands to notice them. "Get them bags packed up quick, Miss Grimshaw! Come on! All of you!" he shouted, his voice sharp as a whip.

"We're doing our best!" Grimshaw shot back, her frustration palpable.

"Hurry! We ain't got long!" Micah insisted, his eyes darting around as if he were expecting trouble.

Arthur's voice cut through the tension as they approached the camp. "We just got plenty of time, Micah... we all need to have a little chat."

"Blacklung... and the rat... you're back, great," Micah replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Y/N's gaze flicked to Dutch as he stepped out of his tent, drawn by the commotion.

They dismounted and walked deeper into the camp, the air thick with anticipation. Y/N fixed Micah with a steely glare, then spat on the ground at his feet, a silent declaration of her defiance.

"We just ran into Agent Milton, Dutch! Y/N shot him down. She's alright, not that you lot ever bothered to care much after you tossed her out like yesterday's trash," Arthur declared, casting a sharp glance at Micah and his cronies.

Y/N walked alongside Arthur, taking stock of the scene, her keen eyes picking out a new yet familiar face in the crowd.

There stood Joe, a rifle gripped tightly in his hands. As their eyes met, he took a cautious step back, recognition dawning on him just as it had on her. A look of confusion twisted his features as he tried to piece together their shared history. He recalled all too well how poorly they had fared as a team years ago, when Joe had cut ties with Y/N and their crew after lifting their supplies, presumably for the likes of Micah Bell.

Y/N let out a low scoff, barely audible, "Really, Joe? You're with Micah now?"

"Hold up, you know these clowns?" Arthur asked, his finger hovering near his revolver as he gestured at Micah's crew.

"I know Joe. We used to ride with the Setters, Arthur. Until he decided to double-cross us and skedaddle!" Y/N's voice rose, her temper flaring as she pulled her revolver from its holster.

"Lower that gun, you snake," Micah spat, his own weapon drawn and aimed squarely at Y/N.

Arthur turned to Dutch, "Seems old Micah was pretty close with Milton."

"What in the blazes are you talkin' about, cowpoke?" Micah shot back, a scowl etched on his rugged face.

"You talked," Y/N added, a frown creeping across her features.

"It's a goddamn lie," Micah barked, his voice rising as he tried to keep an air of intimidation.

"Dutch," Arthur called out, steady as a rock.

"Dutch! Think of the future..." Micah interjected, urgency lacing his tone.

"Milton told us," Sadie Adler finally spoke up, her resolve firm.

"And you believed him, widow?" Micah spat, turning his gaze to Sadie with disdain.

"It all makes sense now," Arthur said calmly, cutting through the tension like a knife.

"No," Micah paused, his bravado faltering, "it damn well doesn't."

Without warning, guns were drawn all around, each person locking onto their target. Micah leveled his weapon at Arthur, while Arthur aimed his back at Micah and his gang. Y/N had her gun trained on Micah, and Micah's dimwitted buddies found themselves pointing their weapons at Sadie, Arthur, and Y/N, a standoff charged with tension and the scent of gunpowder hanging heavy in the air.