ANYTHING, ANYONE ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

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It doesn't take the gang more than two weeks to get back on its feet. You're certain it has something to do with the stash of money Dutch keeps somewhere, in spite of the fact that it's supposed to belong to all gang members, but you're not about to complain. Especially if it's being spent in everyone's favor.

Where there's money, there's people, attracted like pigeons to crumbs of bread. Charlatans, rascals, and even some decent men show up, then make a leave as quickly as they appear — more often by death than desertion.

Faces and names seep into your memory like water in the dry, cracked earth of the desert, and you fail to tell them apart in a few months time. There are many, many more unfortunate souls like Edward's to come, and you finally understand that goodbyes never get easier. Becoming more ignorant is the only cure to heartache.

Arthur grows to be more and more important to you, sometimes it feels like he's the only thing still holding you down — especially when the dread and pain of the life that's picked you (more than the other way around) seems unending. Arthur's always there to pick up the pieces — and in return, so are you.

It's almost a secret, and Arthur's caravan, or more precisely, the cot you begin to share, is where you keep it. It's not impure or sexual by any means, but still a private affair made up of whispers and utterances, of consolation and and kindness. Behind leather flaps, you find comfort in each-other's gentle words. Your friendship morphs into a symbiosis between two people which have been broken. Arthur cares, maybe not about you, but about making himself useful — so you often find yourself either telling or listening to an anecdote or a life lesson. It heals your souls in ways you can't hope to explain.

Outside his caravan everything returns to what everyone thinks you are. Not close friends, not each-other's crutches in an unforgiving world, your relationship with Arthur returns to the one of an arrangement's born out of kindness. And it's better that way.

You'd rather not have Dutch or anyone else breathing down your neck every minute of the day because they know you and Arthur spend hours on end discussing everything ranging from Sean MacGuire's drunken escapades to your deepest, darkest fears.

It's a situation you find yourself quite comfortable in, after all.

One of the conclusions you and Arthur come to on a quiet summer night sticks with you, perhaps because it speaks the truth so concisely yet lacks intricacy.

There's two kinds of people that join the gang.

The ones which you hope death will have the gentlest of grips on, and the ones it can't take soon enough.

Micah Bell is the latter.

Isaac is roughly four years old when that excuse for a man joins the gang, and from the first day, the feeling in your gut decides you do not like him one bit. Arthur shares that sentiment.

You see through Micah Bell like through autumn morning fog. Not with clarity by any means, but one thing you know for sure: Dutch's manipulation looks like nothing but good intentions compared to what Bell is capable of. From the moment he makes his appearance, Micah scopes out who and what is important (which would be Dutch van der Linde, and, of course, money), then wins it over.

He has many methods, but sweet talk and diving headfirst into danger to prove himself appear to be his favorite methods.

You wouldn't really mind if they turned out to be fruitless, but unfortunately, humans in general and Dutch especially thrive on approval and praise.

The conversations around camp all start to gravitate around a new point of interest, which is a huge heist Dutch has come up with. It's dangerous, Arthur, Hosea and a few others say that it is even too much so, and suggest sticking to smaller, safer schemes.

Unfortunately, the gang leader is easily bewitched by grandeur. Micah insists on going through with the heist, even manages to convince a few others to join him with his opinion. It's not settled democratically (but even if it were, you fear the outcome would have been the exact same).

They're going through with it.

In all honesty, you'd seen it all coming. Going to jail, getting hung, or maybe having to sell your body to stay afloat and provide for yourself and Isaac if his father were to die, and many other things you'd dreaded to discuss with Arthur the night before the heist.

But honest to God, you wouldn't have guessed you'd end up on a mountain in the middle of nowhere. Not even in a hundred years.

Even inside the wagon, you feel the wind and snow whip your skin. Your face, hands and feet are numb. You can hear Isaac's teeth clattering, and hugging him even closer doesn't help his state. Clothes are rendered redundant by the Ambarino cold, you and the other women cling to each-other's bodily warmth like it's made of gold. Davey lays at your feet, bundled up in all the blankets you could find. He's been shot, but not left behind. Unlike Sean, Mac and Jenny. You catch yourself wanting to use Davey's blankets for yourself and Isaac — the poor man is as good as dead anyways. But you're not that heartless.

Just maybe, there's a slim chance he'll make it. You're not about to ruin that for greed.

"I'm cold." Isaac whispers through gritted teeth, giving your sleeve a tug. His voice is meek, even more so than usually. He's a quiet boy, has stayed that way ever since he was in the crib. But whispering is a bad sign, even for him.

"I know." You say, then unroll the shawl around your shoulders to place it over his head. The cold bites at your skin immediately, but you ignore it. Isaac needs warmth more than you do. "Better?"

He gives a reluctant nod, leans his head against your side.

Abigail whispers something to the reverend, Swanson nods. "I'll go tell Dutch." He concludes, then jumps out of the wagon. It's surprising how much he can pick up his act if needed, it leaves you wondering why he avoids doing it for the most part.

But that doesn't natter now. The gang needs all the help and human resources it can get, and if the reverend does his share, that's more than just a welcome change.

You hear Dutch say something in response, but none of his words catch your attention. Not until he calls out Arthur's name.

"Arthur! Any luck?"

"I found a place where we can get some shelter." You can't even see him from inside the wagon, but his voice offers a feeling of safety, even if it's momentary. You've missed his voice, it's enough to warm you up like a bonfire in the middle of the snowstorm. "Let Davey rest while he..." Arthur stops, seems to shy away from using any words that could deprive the others from their already scarce hope. "You know. An old mining town, abandoned. It ain't far. Come on."

Finally, some good news.

Maybe, just maybe, this'll all turn out alright.