' ~𝑅𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐶𝑎𝑖𝑛'✓ [RDR2 OC]

Got a booboo.

A/N; Writing this corny book has never been more whimsical and fun guys don't let the voices call you cringe trust me😈🙏🏻

The camp was tired, and it was late. Keiran cried, Tilly and Karen gossiped, Molly giggled at whatever Dutch was saying, and Cain sat at the table in the dark, an empty beer bottle just beyond his reach, which his fingers occasionally grazed to keep in touch with his surroundings.
He was gazing at Javier, and he strummed gently, the music barely audible from this distance. He recognised the tune and hummed along with it quietly.
The bandages wrapped tightly around his waist, and the stitches ached when he moved. He'd be on his feet in a week or so, but until then, he was stuck feeling sorry for himself. Javier surprisingly saved him and hadn't said much of anything to him since.
He saw someone coming over to the table and straightened his posture slightly.

Bill sat down beside him, and he blinked, clearing the fog from his head.
He turned in his chair and yawned.
"What are you doing up? Trying to start another fight?"
Bill frowned. "No," He said defensively. "Just-tryna sort some stuff out. Everyone's real' mad."
"Yeah, at you."
"Well, are you?"
Cain mused, then shrugged.
"Suppose I'm not. Got a little shaken up, I think I needed that. I wanta' help. I wanta' rob, I want to support the gang. It feels like I'm just sewing clothes and bathing, eating, and drinking with money that's not mine. Suppose I'm more angry at myself."
Bill sighed. "Yeah, I know. Feel like you don't belong. I get that."
"I don't see how you could possibly relate to my situation."
Bill laughed. "Believe me, kid, I can."
Cain gestured to Keiran, who's fallen forward or died of pure exasperation. It happened more and more often, and each time, he was sure he'd be put on burying duty.

"When we cutting him loose?"
Bill frowned. "You wanna cut him loose?"
"If he was a real O'Driscoll, he'd stop the whining and start the cursing and taunting. Their loyally sick bastards. They'd rather be dead than captive. That's not an O'Driscoll. That's a man who's lost his way on a path he could only see ending in a cliff. We can't let him die or continue Marybeth sneaking food to him. Why not let him contribute? He can shoot, can't he?"
Bill shrugged and took a swig of his beer.
"I suppose. Hey, Javier said, "You rebroke his broke nose to fix his face," You care for the kid, huh?"
Cain suppressed a smile, and the edges of his mouth curled upwards somewhat. "He hates me. Bit scared of me, too. But he saved me. Can't say I'm not warming up to the fuzzy insults."

He heard a gunshot, the same exact identical tone to the one he'd kept hearing through the last couple of weeks. He supposed one of the gang members just did target practice or something, and they'd all gotten used to it because no one ever flinched when it sounded. It was eery. It'd happened 4 times now, the same amount of echoes, and the same cold sound of an empty shell dropping to the ground.
He ignored it as well.
Bill seemed to be unchanged, but Javier's music had stopped. He'd had a couple of drinks since he last saw him, so he probably fell asleep.
Bill pushed his hat up using the neck of the beer bottle.
"You can fight pretty well. Where'd you learn that?"
"My school. My neighbourhood. It was nothing nice, I'll tell you that. Lotta young lads fightin' and scraping at eachother. The bushes of our school were threatened to be breached by constant bickering. We were stupid kids, unbeknowing of the threat that lay waiting if we exposed ourselves to the high class town goers." He sighed, like he was retelling a story of woe.
Bill looked at him quizzically.
"I was never one for education, but.. Bushes?"
Cain blinked. "Bushes. We weren't allowed to be taught in a Catholic regime, so we snuck our way around that rule by having "hedge schools" but, if an Englishman, or a rat found them out, the teacher would be arrested for years, or just killed."
Bill raised his eyebrows and took another swig of his beer.
"You're well used to this outdoor survival thing then, are you?"
Cain nodded. "A bit. I'd best be hitting the hay now, anyway," He said finally, feeling this conversation with Bill had gone on far too long.
Bill nodded, and as Cain got up, he cleared his throat.
"You know you can talk to me. Everyone here talks shit about me being creepy and intrusive, but if you ever need an ear, I'm all."
Cain was oddly touched by this, and he nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

He walked past Javier and noticed his head drooping. He clicked his fingers, and Javier's eyes opened unevenly
and he furrowed his eyebrows in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "Fire meets Javier's face." Cain pushed Javier's shoulder back and sat opposite from him, looking over the flames.
Javier rubbed his eyes. "I need sleep." He said groggily. He got up, and Cain scrambled up quickly as well. Javier dropped his guitar, and he circled around the fire to catch it before it fell.

Javier leant on Cain's shoulder and used it to push off. With a lack of balance or grace, he made his way over to the tent.
"Maybe you could show me them scars." He laughed and fell over limply. Cain straightened and stared at him. Javier rolled over.
"My eyes hurt. The fire hurts my eyes."
Javier said without any reason. Cain glanced at the bottles by the fire and sighed.
"Keep it down. Come on, get some sleep before you wake the whole camp up with your hollering."
"Whatever you say, Taig." Javier laughed. Cain walked up to him and pushed him back over as he was barely on his knees.
"Ow-What the hell was that for?"
"Will you stop calling me that?" Anger boiled in Cain's chest. "I don't go around calling you names. I don't say them because I have no right. Now just stop-" He pushed him over again as he neared balance, and Javier groaned.
"-Insulting me. I'm sick of your bullshit. You want to hurt me. You do it like a man and take a swing. But you call me Fenian or Taig one more time, and I'll have your lip burst, and I'll break that crookt' nose all over again." He spat.
Javier got up cautiously. His pupils were dilated, and he didn't seem to focus on one thing. Hat, eyes, belt, button, mouth, ear. Then he smiled awkwardly.
"Okay, calm down, biddy."

Cain hit him square in the face, and Javier twirled, cursed and fell, his lip bleeding.
"Where did you even pick up all these words anyway?" Cain asked. Maybe he really hated Seán enough to find the vocabulary to put it into words, and now it was premade for Cains displeasure.
Javier laughed and spat blood, gaining his footing. "Didn't think you'd have the balls to throw a punch at me, you little p...pikey." The words were spat like venom, but melted like mud, and even though Javier was drunk and senselessly, he chuckled and referred to Cain's face.
"Oh, did that hurt your feelings? Do you want to go cry to your Mommy? Oh, wait." His laugh was slurred, then he gave himself a confused look, like he'd forgotten his surroundings and what he'd said. Cain glared at him and pointed to the tarp.
"Get to bed before I smother you with a pillow."
"Moody," Javier drawled, and walked over to Cain and leant suddenly on his shoulder. "You too. Get the hell to bed before I slap you."
"I doubt you can even move your hand."
Javier waited a second, then shrugged.
"Ah. Correct."
Cain pushed him off his shoulder and linked his arm through Javier's, and led him to his tent.
He opened it, let Javier fall through, and closed it, facing the fire, sitting just outside the tarp. He sighed.
"I don't like this." He said softly.
"Like what, the camp?" He heard Javier struggle to remove his clothes, probably straitjacketing himself within his own shirt. Javier had pleasantly implemented a covering tarp over the tent. Their voices were quiet as Lenny snored not too far away.
"I don't like... fighting for no reason. I used to know how to defuse things, to be a normal person. I can't do that anymore. I can't feel normal, and I can't act it either. It feels like the longer I'm around people like you, the more I'm reverting back to the man I was. I don't want that, but at the same time, I'd go insane if I stopped. I need to keep my mind off of everything." He waited for a response. "Javier?" Nothing.
He opened the tarp, and Javier had fallen asleep barely on his bedroll, his waistcoat tossed aside. His tie hung around his neck like a towel, and his shirt was only halfway unbuttoned.

He tilted his head and frowned at him thoughtfully.
He'd slept outside that night, gazing at the same stars he and his husband used to so long ago, on the porch of a dead home.