ᴍᴜʟᴛɪғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ | ᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴡ ғɪᴄs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛᴇs

He's a Morgan after all. (Arthur Morgan x brother reader.

Summary: Whatever it takes

Warning: On my left, Arthurrrrr Morgannnnnn. Borthers, killing, angst, kidnapped, blood, dynamite, death.

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. ───

They said Arthur went out with Dutch and Micah to “parley” with Colm O’Driscolls. They said Arthur stayed behind to “keep the peace.” Only Dutch and Micah returned to camp after the meeting. Arthur is nowhere to be found.

And yet, he's been gone for roughly a few hours. It's getting late and your gut feeling doesn't feel right.

You know something is wrong when Micah and Dutch say they're going to 'parley' with Colm fucking O'Driscoll. You know it's a trap.. Hell, Arthur, Dutch and Micah know it's a trap but guess what. Micah always wins Dutch's heart.

Now seeing that he's not coming back makes you feel bad. Something is definitely wrong. You stood outside Dutch's tent, jaw tight, arms crossed.

"No offense," you said, "but sittin' on our asses while Arthur might be tied to a tree somewhere ain't exactly my idea of ​​loyalty."

Dutch gave you that usual lazy smile. "Now, son, I know you're worried. But Arthur can take care of himself."

You leaned in. "That's the problem. If he could, we'd have heard somethin' by now."

Charles offered to go with you, but you waved him off. You weren't thinking about backups or plans. You were thinking about your big brother. The one who used to sneak you extra stew when you were too sick to move. The one who taught you how to aim, how to ride, how to fight.

You weren't about to sit still while the O'Driscolls had him.

No way in hell.

Tracking them wasn't hard. The O'Driscolls weren't exactly subtle — broken branches, boot prints, even blood. You followed them through thick woods and muddy creekbeds, rain soaking your jacket and nerves fraying by the second.

By nightfall, you spotted it: a rundown shack in the hills north of Clemens Point. Lanterns glowing inside. One guard out front, bored and chewing tobacco.

You circled around, crawling on your stomach through brambles until you were behind the cabin. Every instinct in your body said, Wait. Think. Be smart.

Instead, you pulled a stick of dynamite from your satchel.

Reckless? Yes.
Loud? Absolutely.
But effective? Hell yes.

You lit it, chucked it at the outhouse near the front, and when it exploded, the whole damn place shook.

Men shouted. You quickly pulled out your rifle and shot expertly at them. One by one they fell to the ground with bullets in their heads. Soon, more O'Driscolls came. You reloaded your rifle and shot them non-stop. With your feet you slowly moved towards the basement where you were sure Arthur was there. The O'driscolls had no chance to shoot you as you moved as fast as a cheetah with rifle in hands. Your face was tight.

"DIE BASTARDS" you shouted furiously as you shot and finally you had a few seconds to bolt towards the basement. You shot the locked basement door and immediately entered the basement. The shouting and fire all became chaos as you entered the basement which was only lit by candlelight.

And there was Arthur — hung in the middle of the basement bruised and bloodied but still breathing, a piece of cloth around his head. You rushed towards him. Hands immediately worked to untie the ties on his legs and braced yourself to lift his weak body. The clothes around his head were pulled off you. His eyes weakly looked at you.

"Arthur" you called as you grunted to lift his body. Now you noticed his shoulder was covered in blood. He was shot. And the bullet still inside him. You cursed.

"Y/n?" Arthur weakly replied.

"Come on, we need to get out before they come" you shouldered him with his uninjured shoulder.

"You have lost your damn mind," he croaked.

"Nice to see you too," you huffed as you moved upstairs.

"You came alone?!"

"I look like I brought an army?"

He groaned. "You dumb bastard..."

You half-dragged, half-carried him out of the basement while more shouting erupted behind you. Bullets pinged off behind you but didn't hit you as you stumbled into the trees.

You got him to your horse, helped him mount, and slapped the reins, praying like hell no one had managed to saddle up and chase you.

Only when you were miles out — both of you exhausted and soaked to the bone — did Arthur finally speak.

"...That was a real dumb plan," he muttered.

"Wasn't even a plan, really," you admitted.

He coughed a laugh. "Reckless as hell."

"Worked, didn't it?"

Arthur looked at you then. Really looked.

You weren't the kid brother always trying to prove himself anymore. You were dirty, scraped up, bleeding from your temple — and dead set on getting him home.

He grunted. "You fight like a rabid dog."

"It takes one to know one." you paused. "Besides, the dynamite is quite useful after all" you shrugged.

“…Hell of a shot with that dynamite.”

You smirked. "You finally admitting I'm useful?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. I'm admitting you're a damn idiot with way too much guts."

Then after a pause, quieter:

"But I owe you. You hear me?"

You nodded. "I hear you."

You didn't need thanks. You didn't need praise.
You just needed your brother home.

And that was enough.