Bad Beginnings (A RDR2 Fanfic)

That's the Way it is

Arthur awoke, the sun stinging his eyes, still managing to cling to Beatrice's neck. Arthur could hear the peaceful sound of running water nearby. The back of his neck felt hot and burnt, and he was amazed that he was still alive.

He slowly sat further up in the saddle, and, looking around, realized that he was back in the desert. Home was closer than he originally thought. At least he hoped so. His eyes burned, as he tried to adjust to the bright sunlight reflecting off the ground, and shimmering water.

Arthur let Beatrice finish drinking as he reloaded his revolver and searched through his satchel. He sighed in relief when nothing was missing. Then, him and Beatrice set out down the path nearby. That's when he saw it. A fork in the road that he recognized.

He set off harder, going in the direction he knew as home. The sun was going down, making their shadows stretch farther, and causing the temperature to drop. The jostling of Beatrice made his wound bleed more, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to care. However, Arthur couldn't help but rush more when his vision started going dark. He had to make it. He was turning off the road and cresting the hill, when everything faded out.

He faded back in when he saw the camp fire and the two men sitting there. "Dutch... Hosea...," Arthur managed to groan, holding onto Beatrice for dear life.

"What was that?" Hosea asked, turning around from the flames. He looked exactly the same as Arthur remembered. Arthur supposed that it had only been a couple of days.

Before Arthur could say anything else, he passed out, falling from Beatrice. Arthur felt that he was sinking sinking sinking... deep into the sand...

Arthur felt that he was burning alive. He sat up slowly, and he found himself in his old house. He didn't feel on fire anymore, instead his veins felt like ice.

Before he could ask himself what the hell was going on, a man entered. Dutch. But as the older came closer, Arthur realized that something was horribly wrong. Lyle's green eyes had replaced Dutch's.

"Worthless boy," Dutch growled, but his voice was replaced by Arthur's father's. Dread filled Arthur, then he was hit, throwing him onto the floor.

Arthur crumbled to the wood in what felt like slow motion. He heard himself cry out, but it was far away.

Lyle-Dutch kicked Arthur in the ribs. "This is your fault! You killed them!"

Arthur couldn't help but ask, "Who?" Arthur got kicked again, the boot leather hurting like hell.

"Everyone. It's your fault."

Arthur cried out as it went on and on. He knew it was his fault. He knew his mother and Charlie were his fault. He was the reason they died. He deserved what he had coming and everything that happened. All his fault.

"Hold on, Arthur!" he heard Hosea yell from what seemed like far way. What was Hosea doing here?

The visions of Lyle-Dutch disappeared as Arthur awoke. Hosea was carrying his feet, while Dutch had his shoulders.

"Hosea...," Arthur groaned, his leg painful. He didn't look at Dutch. He couldn't help but be afraid that Dutch would be mad at him again.

"We've got you, my boy," Hosea comforted him, as they briskly move to Arthur's tent.

Arthur and Dutch made eye contact when Arthur winced, his leg throbbing painfully when Hosea switched his grip. Dutch's eyes were green and Arthur felt sick to his stomach. He blinked. They were back to brown. Arthur didn't notice the fear in Dutch's eyes, he could only remember how Dutch's rings had cut into his cheek.