ANYTHING, ANYONE ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ ii

"What you've done is enough, Arthur." Dutch's voice is both boiling with anger and cold as ice, you can understand why it is met with obedience from most. He has a way with words and tonality that leaves no room for disagreements, Dutch van der Linde is as imposing as it gets. "Get rid of it."

You have to hold back a flinch at the harshness of his words, and you're not even inside the gang leader's tent, unlike poor Arthur. The whole camp is quiet, even Pearson has stopped chopping vegetables to listen in on the rather intense conversation between the gang leader and his enforcer.

"It don't work like that. You know it don't, Dutch." Arthur disagrees, much more calmly than the older man. You can hear out the repressed anger and frustration in his voice, you don't want to imagine what he's been through. "Isaac is my responsibility now."

"That stray child ain't nothin'! Not to me, to you, or anyone in this gang." Dutch exhales, but somehow it sounds eerily similar to a growl. "Get. It. Outta. Here."

"How come you're acceptin' Jack, but Isaac is where you draw the line?"

A pause follows.

"Jack has a mother, unlike that 'son' of yours. D'you see John sittin' round here and cradlin' a child all day? No, because that's Abigail's job, Arthur."

"An' John's job is to run for the hills when he feels like it?" It's a hybrid between a quip and an argument. Part of you is glad Arthur won't back down. "C'mon Dutch. You ain't like this."

"You want another responsibility? You've barely been showin' your damn face 'round here for the past six mo—" Dutch's voice stops suddenly, it sounds like he's experiencing a moment of epiphany. "How old is that child of yours?"

Arthur sighs audibly. You've never seen Dutch treat him with such harshness, and the look on the fellow gang members' faces does nothing but confirm it.

You're tempted to hear the answer, but Isaac starts crying before you can hope to do so. You rush to Arthur's tent almost out of instinct and pick up the baby. Judging by the way he's screaming, the little boy must be hungry. You crumble up some oatmeal cookies in your fist, then put them into one of Pearson's bowls. Water is added on top, and you stir it for a minute or two, trying to simultaneously shush Isaac.

It's not easy, but you remember bitterly that you've been in many similar instances before. Before your—

"Dutch, please, be rational 'bout this!" You hear stomping steps, two pairs, coming closer and closer to Arthur's tent.

"You've been hidin' this child for six damn months!" The gang leader shouts, as if to shame him in front of the whole camp. Scratch that, you're sure that's his purpose.

"I don't care what ya do, Arthur." Dutch sounds so calm that it's terrifying in the most unsettling of ways. "But I can't let you be both mother 'n father to some whore's brat! This camp needs you. Are you gonna throw us all away for—..." Dutch whirls around, finds Isaac with his gaze, and scoffs. "For this thing?"

"O' course I ain't and you know it. I can—"

It's both terrifying and sad to think about how little you hesitate. Your decision is not well thought through, but you feel like you must do whatever is in your power to remedy the situation. "I'll help." You speak up. Dutch looks at you like you've just spit in his eye. Arthur's gaze holds nothing but shock that melts into thankfulness. "I can take up everything that Arthur's too busy to do, I—"

Your voice falters, you draw in a breath.

Dutch smiles, though his eyes don't show it. His tones are honeyed when he speaks to you, it unsettles you. "Don't be ridiculous now, miss (l/n). It ain't even your child."

"Doesn't matter." You respond. "If I can help, I'll do it."

Dutch wants to have a say in the matter, you can tell by the way he opens his mouth in the slightest but the words get stuck in his throat. Dutch sighs to cover it up, then takes a hold of his chin as he looks back and forth between you and and a hungry Isaac that reaches out with grabby hands towards the plate of the oatmeal porridge you've improvised.

The gang leader doesn't like the situation one bit, it's clear as day, but he finally hums and nods.

"Very well, then." He turns around on his heels, dust whirls up around his feet. "John, Arthur, Davey, Mac, Bill. Get ready, we got a train to rob today. I want you on your horses before sunrise, we ain't got time to lose."

"Hold on, now, Dutch, Isaac's—"

"Do you see John complainin', Arthur? No." Dutch pats his enforcer's shoulder with an air of finality. "Now go on. Like I said, no time to lose, son."

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"I'm real sorry, (y/n)." Arthur looks back and forth between you and Isaac, who is now asleep on his cot once again. The outlaw's dressed all in black, bandana around his neck, rifles strapped to his back. Arthur has a duty to fulfill, as much as he seems to dislike it at that moment. "N thank you. A lot."

"Nothing to be sorry for." You smile softly, Arthur hangs onto it like he needs it. "It's only natural to help as much as I can. Isaac doesn't— I don't know why Dutch—" You sigh, pinch the bridge of your nose before lowering your voice. "I've only been here for a month, but this doesn't feel like the man that gave me a home."

Arthur shakes his head. "He's a good man, I reckon he's just goin' through somethin' right now. Give 'im a few weeks and he'll be better. Just have faith."

Arthur readjusts his gun-belt when Williamson whistles outside his tent. "C'mon now, momma Morgan, there's time for coddlin' later!"

You give Arthur a wry smile before he exits, you hope it gets the encouragement you want to (but don't dare) say to him across.