' ~𝑅𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐶𝑎𝑖𝑛'✓ [RDR2 OC]

Deadly Craic All Round.

A/N: Apart from the usual dark themes of the wildwest, this will deal with some mental health topics some might find disturbing, if not triggering. If you are prone to anxiety spikes due to mentions of panic attacks, I'd advise skipping the first two paragraphs. :).
Also, I haven't forgotten about Sadie :)

Pain blossomed and wrenched his body.
He fell to his knees, the growling closing into his ear, paws digging into his shoulder blades and the small of his back. His hands reached behind, and he tried to find a leg or a tuft of fur or something to grab.
When he'd given up on that, he forced himself to fight natural instinct and reached for a sickle. He fumbled at first, cursed, cursed even louder, and finally got hold of it. More barking, there were four he reckoned. The growling was combated with gunfire.

The tip of the blade acquainted itself with the wolfs ribcage, and it whined, drawing back from him, barking loudly, before a gunshot cut it off.
Panic rose. He was on his hands and knees, his blood stained his neck and shoulder, undoubtedly his clothes too, pity. He liked his suit.
His chest rose and dropped at an unsteady and heavy pace, making his throat burn.
The white carpet of snow below him was splattered with a deep scarlet that continued to spread and branch out like roots. He noticed a rhythmic beat as drops of blood fell. He realised it was the only thing he noticed.
There was a hand on his shoulder. Arthur helped him up.

"Come on, boy." He sighed, whistling to Cain's horse. Who was he talking to? Him or the goddamn horse? "Looks like we have two patients now."
Javier sighed. "Let's go before they smell his blood. Damn posie"
Arthur helped lift Cain onto his horse - which he hadn't come across the name of yet - and saddled up himself. Cain regretted noting the annoyance of Marston's wailing; all he wanted to do now was curl up and die.

The blood drenched his black shirt and stained his tie, which had already been ripped and singed from the previous ventures anyway.
He felt lightheaded, his head dipped onto Arthur's shoulder, and thankfully the he hadn't objected. Cain let out a shakey breath and slipped in and out of consciousness, gunshots waking him here and there.
"How are things back there?"
"Deadly craic." Cain murmered, acutely aware of the blood he was slobbering on Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur must've taken that as a still alive sign, and he continued silently, every so often piping up to chat to Javier and for Marston to sob about his leg. That guy better have been worth it.
They slowed, and Cain changed from leaning on the left of his face to the right. Arthur was like a heat radiator.
No, that was probably just the blood loss wavering his body temperature.

He hugged Arthur, trying to stay warm as his energy was leaving him, and Arthur said something along the lines of "You're like a calf at feeding time" or something American-o like that. Before the words could properly register meaning in his head, he was already passing out again.

"Whaddaf.." He slurred, shaking his head and immediately regretting it, a pain peircing his temples. A dog was dying as it sounded.
No, it was Marston. They were back at the empty town.
Christ.

Abigail had been patching him up in a stable stall, away from prying eyes when he caught wind of the others, solemly speaking of a late friend.
Cain was eating a recovered oat buiscit.
"Who's David?" He said unmannerly, his mouth full, and he cried out a bit when she pulled the needle too fast from the skin. That was probably on perpous, and he corrected his posture.

"Davey, he was a good friend, a good man, better than some here anyway."
"He's dead then, I take it?"
"Pinkertons, O'Driscolls. They all have it out for us; mostly just because of Dutch. I appreciate you bringing John back to me in such haste." She must presume he knows who the O'Driscolls are.
Cain hummed a response. So that was his name, John.
"You have a son, don't you?"
She didn't respond, seeming as if it was sort of a rhetorical question, as you could almost hear him asking around for food or a blanket.

"We're going to look for Cormac and Seán. Or a house that could possibly hold heat. This place is okay, but we're packed up like baby bats here, relying on our eachothers body heat. It'd be nice if there were some kind strangers hospitable enough to at least lend us a lamp. Arthur and Dutch are gonna scout around, just in case."
Cain nodded and sat up, groaned, and sagged back onto the crate. What was this thing full of anyway. Abigail kept a hand on his shoulder to stop him from moving.
"You're not going anywhere."
"I have to. I need to help."
"You have, and now you're hurt. You need rest."
"The bleeding has stopped. The cold will be good for it."
"That's not how it works, Cain."
He frowned. She sighed and leant closer, tying up the close on the wound.

"If you pull a stitch, I'll pull em all out. Understood?"
Cain couldn't stop a smile from lining his lips.
"Sure thing, Bosswoman.'
She patted him on the shoulder.
"Get your shirt back on and look for a coat to be leant."
Javier passed the door of the stable and leant a forearm on a wooden beam. It was obvious he had been eavesdropping.
"John's been moaning and groaning for you to go and sit with him, Abigail."
She nodded, looked down at her sewing material, and sighed.
"That damn manchild." She said in a sotto voce tone.

Javier let her pass and walked in.
Cain crossed his arms over his lap, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious.
"Quite a bite you got there, Cowboy."
"Get out, Javier."
"I'm doing good too. Thanks for asking. Popped a bunch of wolves to save your sorry ass too, no need to thank me, pleasures all mine."
Cain put on his shirt and winced as the fabric brushed over the stitches. He buttoned it and stood up.
Javier seemed to be placidly blocking the way out. Cain covered up his confusion with a nonchalant expression. They sort of stayed there for a couple of seconds, staring.
"I'm going with Dutch and Arthur to scout around." Cain said finally.
Javier clapped his hands.
"That's what I was waiting for! The feminine petite tryna act all tough and brutal." Javier imitated a deeper tone on the last clause.
"Arthur was telling me about the way back." He continued, ignoring Cain's increasingly obvious stare."You mumble in your sleep or whatever that was. He says you were clinging to him like no tomorrow."
Cain nodded and picked up his hat, placing it on, covering his eyes.
"Tell you what, when you get bitten in the back by a feral animal, losing blood at a terminal rate in freezing temperatures with lowering body heat, see who you cling to for survival Javier, and come back to me."
Javier smile hadn't dropped
He pushed past him back to others, out of the stable.
"There's your answer."