ᴍᴜʟᴛɪғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ | ᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴡ ғɪᴄs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛᴇs

Ghosts in the Pines (Arthur Morgan x brother!reader)

Summary: Too young to remember him but young enough to be told.

Warning: EHH IT'S ARTHUR MORGAN UHUHUHUHUHUHUHHUHU, male reader! brothers, hunting, bickering, jokes, reminisce the past, Lyle Morgan mentioned, siblings, platonic.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The forest stretched out like a sea of ​​green and gold, wind cutting through the pines and sending the scent of sap and damp leaves into the water. You tugged your coat tighter around your shoulders, trudging a step behind Arthur, who was already a few paces ahead, crouched over a set of deer tracks.

"You gonna stand there and admire the mud or help me track this thing?" he called without looking back.

"I was lettin' you feel smart for once," you shot back.

Arthur snorted. "That's rich comin' from someone who damn near tripped over their own rifle five minutes ago."

"That stump came outta nowhere."

He stood up with a grunt, adjusting his hat and rifle strap. "Sure. Just like the ground 'comes outta nowhere' every time you fall on your ass."

You flipped him off. He just grinned.

Despite the cold, the banter warmed the air between you both as you hiked deeper into the woods. It had been Arthur's idea to take you hunting — not for survival this time, but for "peace of mind," whatever that meant. But peace was hard to come by when your brother's footsteps were so loud it could scare the horns off a buck.

"You walk like a bear," you muttered.

"And you breathe like one," he said over his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes and dropped into a crouch beside a patch of disturbed leaves. "Looks fresh," you said. "Buck, maybe. Heading east."

Arthur joined you, nodding. "You're not completely hopeless."

"High praise," you said flatly.

As you both moved forward, the trees grew denser. The sound of birds thinned out until only the creak of branches and the occasional rustle of a squirrel remained. That's when you asked it.

"Arthur," you said, voice quieter now, "what was he like? Our Pa?"

Arthur didn't answer at first. He just kept walking. For a while, you figured maybe he didn't hear you—or didn't want to.

"He wasn't... much," he finally said, voice low. "Always chasin' the next quick dollar. Never stuck around long enough to raise us properly."

You nodded. You didn't remember much—just shadows of images. Boots by the door. The smell of whiskey. A deep voice yelling through walls you were too small to see over.

"Why'd he leave so much?" you asked.

Arthur sighed and leaned against a tree. "'Cause he was a selfish bastard, mostly. Thought stealin' and runnin' schemes made him a man. Got arrested for tryin' to rob a place with no plan. Larceny, they called it."

You turned towards him. "You were there?"

He nodded. "Saw him in chains. They beat the hell outta him on the way to the wagon. He looked at me once. Just once. Like I was the ghost he forgot he made."

The forest went quiet around you both.

"Died not long after," Arthur added. "I kept his hat. And a photo. Not 'cause I loved him... but I guess I didn't wanna forget where we came from. Even if it's a place I don't wanna go back to."

You swallowed, rubbing your hands together. "Guess that's why you always looked out for me, huh?"

Arthur glanced over at you. "Someone had to. Sure as hell wasn't gonna be him."

You nodded, heart heavier but a little clearer.

"...Still think you walk like a bear, though," you muttered after a beat.

Arthur exhaled sharply through his nose — the closest thing to a laugh. "You're lucky I don't shoot you and tell Dutch it was a tragic accident involving antlers."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just find this deer before I starve to death."

"You're the one slowin' us down, talkin' about ghosts."

The two of you moved forward again, the forest swallowing up your voices, but not the weight of the truth that lingered between you.

Not love, maybe. Not legacy.

Survival boots.

And that, in the end, was something the two of you could share.