A Red Dead Redemption story.
A seasoned bounty hunter, you've buried your past beneath the weight of your work. But a brush with the notorious Van der Linde gang unravels everything. Amid bullets and bloodshed, you discover love and a sense of belon...
"We need t' head back." Arthur hauled Jack on to Caliban's back. "Who was that, Uncle Arthur?"
"(y/n)? C'mon!" Arthur's voice snapped you out of the dissociative state you were trapped in. Shaking your head, you ran over to your mare, pulling yourself onto her saddle.
"Uncle Arthur?" Jack tugged at Arthur's jacket sleeve, "no one to worry about, Jack." Arthur kicked his steed into a haste gallop. You followed, staying quiet, holding up the rear.
"Why did you say you didn't know where Uncle Dutch was?" Jack's ignorance and lack of understanding to the severity of the situation could've easily stressed Arthur. "Because I didn't want them to hurt y' Uncle Dutch." Arthur started, gently explaining a watered-down series of events.
"How did they know Aunt (y/n)?" The young boys sweet voice triggered your maternal instinct.
"Jus' 'cause she used to catch fellers like them, the disagreeable type fellers." Arthur answered for you.
"But it ain't nothin' to worry about, y' hear?" You called out over the fast galloping of hoofs, tracking through the hillside back to camp.
"Yeah, okay." Jack called back; satisfied with his elder's explanations. "I can't wait to show Mama what I made her."
"She'll love it, Jack." You called back to him.
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The Pinkerton's had the outlaws in their reach. The "trouble" Valentine's sheriff was referring to was the train robbery at Granite Pass; the bank in Blackwater.
Self-reflection clouded your mind. The Van Der Linde gang wanted a better life for themselves—despite the questionable and sometimes idiotic things they done, their hearts were in the right place. This ensuring your new found responsibility to fiercely protect your new family, with everything you had.
The ferocity of emotion almost caused you to forget what Agent Milton said about you. Refusing to let it dictate your life anymore, you pushed it to the back of your mind; now wasn't the time to be worrying about whether Arthur's perception of you had changed because of the fact you were used as a young girl.
The barbaric life you and your adopted gang members fell into was born out of abhorrent individuals, that the law and the Pinkerton's had failed to protect you from.
Horseshoe Overlook was shrouded in those same coral hues it was every evening. Lost in thought, the rest of the ride back to camp was a blur.
Swiftly dismounting your mare, you lifted Jack down from Caliban. "Jack!" Abigail cried out to her son. "Did you have fun?" She grabbed the young boys shoulders pulling him in for a cuddle.
"I made you somethin' Mama." Jack held up the delicately weaved daisy chain to show is Mother. "Oh—Jack, that's beautiful." Abigail's face lit up at the sweet gesture from her child.
"Thank you, (y/n), Arthur." Abigail's eyes flicked between yours and Arthur's gratefully. "He did real fine, Abigail." Arthur watched Jack as he bobbed over to the lockbox at his parent's tent, stowing his fishing pole.
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The Outlaw stood firm at the entrance to Dutch's tent, covering his cigarette from the evening breeze as he lit it, sending a plume of white smoke into the air. The Leader was visibly unnerved by the events that unfolded at the North Dakota river, "Why didn't 'chu take it?" Referring to the offer of freedom propositioned by Milton and Ross. "Very funny," Arthur retorted sarcastically.
Dutch gathered his composure, "what d' you know about them, miss (y/n)?" Taking a quick glance around camp to see if Arthur and yourself had drawn any unwanted guests back with you, paranoia objectively evident in his actions.
"Uh—Nothin' that Arthur hasn't already said," you started, "they're private agents, they normally take work doin' investigations and such." Dutch stared at you intently, willing for you to continue.
"Sometimes they're hired by the government," you readjusted your jacket, folding your arms over your chest. "But goin' off what they were sayin', it sounds like Cornwall got awful pissed off y' robbed his train."
Dutch turned to Arthur, placing one hand on his hip, the other on his gun belt. "My thinkin' is they tracked y's through Big Valley? Not helped by the fuss that got kicked up in Strawberry.." Alluding to Micah's jail bust.
"Strawberry and Blackwater are in the same state, Dutch." Arthur growled at his leader, taking a draw of his cigarette. "Well—what do we do now?" You questioned the authoritarian figure.
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Dutch took a pause, scratching his ear to think. "I say—we do nothin'," he hissed, "they're tryin' to scare us into doin' somethin' stupid." Grimacing at the thought.
You caught Arthur's gaze, both of you peering back to the Leader. "We survived those mountains—" Dutch held his stare between you and Arthur, looking North in furious reminiscence. "We have turned a corner."
Dutch strode in the direction of Hosea, leaving you and Arthur stood before his tent. "They knew—everythin', Arthur." you started wearily.
The cowboy discretely cradled one of your fingers, "it doesn't change a thing." He reaffirmed his feelings for you, locking his blue irises with yours.
"Dutch will figure it out, like he says, we've turned a corner." Arthur's apparent optimism disguised his worry.
You wanted nothing more than to curl up in the Gunslinger's arms, but the most important task at hand was tying up lose end's; slipping out of the area and away from the ever closing circle the Pinkerton's had drawn around the gang.
