WOLFISH ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

Ch. XX

[Here's another chapter because the lot of you seemed thrilled by the one earlier, (I didn't have school today either...and, well, here we are) so I whipped out this one extra fast just for all of you! Enjoy♥️]

By the time you had gotten to Emerald ranch, Arthur had almost fallen off the horse three times. To be completely honest, you weren't even sure when exactly you had arrived there, other than the fact that you were practically bathed in sweat from stress and fear. But you had made it. You had lost the O'Driscolls somewhere along the way, or at least hoped so.

The chirping of crickets all around you lulled you into a sense of security, of peace and calm. There was no way these O'Driscolls kept track of you. Not after you had galloped through a forest, and almost lost Lobo himself in there. There was no way they could have located you after that.

You set one hand over the back of the Arabian's neck before giving it a pat. The poor thing was heaving worse than both you and Lobo combined. "Good girl." You praised, letting out a sigh of relief.

The peace didn't last much longer. The door to your home flew open, and your aunt stomped outside, lantern tightly clutched in one hand. She even went as far as ignoring Lobo's cheerful face-licking greeting, which certainly had something to say about just how pissed she was.

"You know, when most people say they'll be back by dawn, they don't mean the dead of the goddamn night—" She scolded, but the words caught in her throat when she noticed your...passenger.

Her eyes drifted lower, to Arthur's arms, which you had hooked around your waist to avoid him from falling. You suddenly became very much aware that the two of you probably looked like two buddies after a night of heavy drinking: Arthur had passed out against you, forehead leaned against your upper back.

"And you brought a stranger home too, I see."

"He's not..." You began, stifling a tired huff. "...a stranger. He's a friend. And he needs help."

"Well, there ain't much of a cure for hangovers other than a good night's rest—"

"He's been shot."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Mind telling me what his name is?" Aunt Cathy asked while she undid Arthur's shirt, peeling the blood-soaked fabric off of his skin. "And where you met this friend of yours?"

"Does this seem like a good time to ask questions about how I met him? He's bleeding out on our kitchen floor!"

She huffed, tucking a strand of grey hair behind her ear as she opened a cabinet to retrieve a bottle of whiskey. "Does midnight seem like a good time to bring home an injured stranger, (y/n)? Don't you get cocky with me." She was talking quickly — a habit of hers whenever she got angry. She poured some whiskey out on a rag, then began cleaning the injury with it.

"Wait, that much alcohol would hurt—"

"He ain't exactly awake to feel it, now, is he?" Your aunt retorted, not looking up from Arthur's wound. In spite of her anger, her movements were as soft as you remembered them to be when you had gotten into trouble as a child and she had patched you up. "Be a dear and fetch me uncle Frank's hunting knife. We've got to get that bullet outta there."

You nodded your head and rose to your feet, glancing at Arthur's pale, almost lifeless face once more. His lips were of a light pink and dry, his breathing was shallow, practically nonexistent. Maybe you shouldn't have intervened. But maybe then he'd already be dead by now.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Cathy cleaned her hands on the already bloodied rag before she threw it in a washbasin, then wiped off the sweat from her forehead. She gave one last glance to the stitched up wound before she rose to her feet with a tired huff. Slowly, she padded around Arthur's frame, towards his legs, grabbing a hold of both his ankles in one hand each before nodding at you and his torso. You complied.

You hooked your arms around him, trying to avoid damaging his injury any further, and slowly lifted him. Good lord, this man was built like a brick house.

"Where are we taking him?" You asked.

"Your friend, your room." She answered, sounding as fed up as the moment you had gotten home. And to be completely honest, she had all the rights to — you'd waken her up in the middle of the night, had brought home an injured outlaw instead of cash, and had practically made her perform an impromptu surgery on him as well.

So an okay as a meek answer was about the only answer you were entitled to. The both of you struggled to drag Arthur into your room. Lifting him enough to place him on your bed proved to be an even bigger challenge, but somehow you had managed.

By the time you had finished with the laborious task, both you and your aunt were breathing with exhaustion. Yet, Cathy's gaze was anything but. Her usual relentless curiosity had returned, and it darted between you and Arthur as if she was piecing things together.

"Mind telling me his name now?"

"Arthur." You clarified. "His name is Arthur."

"Hmm. And how'd you meet this" — She eyed his gun belt — "fine gentleman?"

"While I was out hunting, once. He saved my life." You gave yourself a mental pat on the back for the fact that while telling her that did feel like a lie, it actually wasn't one. "He also helped me catch the white Arabian. He was...well, he gave me those seventy five dollars for it."

"Oh, I see." She smirked at you knowingly, some of her hair falling out of her bun. She hurried to tuck it behind her ear. "So it wasn't the stablehand you were being sweet on."

"I wasn't being sweet on anybody!" You retorted, apparently loudly enough for her smile to widen a fraction. "He saved my life, so I'm doing the same for him. I owe him this."

"And you owe me a good night's rest, but that isn't happening." Your aunt sighed, then pinched the bridge of her nose. "You keep an eye on him. I'm getting some more sleep before dusk."

"Okay." You nodded your head, pulling up a chair beside your bed. As your aunt walked out of the room, you flashed her soft a smile before calling out to her. "Hey, Cath?"

She turned around just before closing the door behind her. "Yes?"

"Thank you. For everything."

She smiled back. "He better be worth it."