Red Dead Redemption one shots

Behind Bars 1

It was late. Way too late.
The time an actual human being would just go home and sleep the drunkenness off. But Arthur Morgan has teased John Marston way too much on how he couldn't hold his liquor so he just had to prove him wrong. Shot after shot, he drowned all of his drinks out of spite.

Arthur Morgan never quite admitted John had grown and was a man now. He was already nineteen and he felt he hadn't seen him grow up. It had gone by too quickly, but he didn't want to do it all over again. He was still an idiot, and thank god he had matured a little because a teenage idiot doubled with a moron was nothing but trouble.
He never admitted other things either. Thoughts that only came up when it was late at night after too many drinks, like tonight. He didn't know why he had followed his friend in his drunken escapade and acted just as immaturely. Well, he knew why, but he needed another drink first.

"Your turn to pay, mister NeverDrunk" Arthur scoffed, carefully analysing his friend's state.
He seemed okay, though his cheeks were flushed and his steps pretty random. He wondered if he would even reach the bar but he managed to just fine. Lucky bastard, Arthur thought. Maybe John had been right all along and Arthur was making a fool of himself, or he was really good at concealing.
He hoped it was the second option because Arthur was getting dangerously close to the one-too-many drink.

John came back and smashed one of the glasses of hooch in front of Arthur.
"You know, Arthur, I don't recall you buying me any drinks tonight" he looked straight into the blue eyes before laughing and sitting down.
Definitely the second option, then.

"Marston, you are a strange one." Arthur chuckled.
He couldn't help but observe the young man, how his hand covered most of the glass, the still parsed but black stubble darkening his pale skin, his muscles finally coming through and allowing him for a more imposing figure -fitting to the lifestyle- and how that scrawny kid had aged into a fine young man.

John seemed to finally notice his friend was examining him "What'chu staring at, Morgan?" he asked, giving a light kick with his boot to Arthur's leg.

The latter glared at him in return, too inebriated to care for an excuse. "Your ugly mug" He never knew how to speak to John, scared he might take it the wrong way. Despite having lived most of their lives in each other's presence, they hadn't always been friendly.
Not so long ago, both men hated the other, misunderstandings leading to insults and fights being part of their daily lives, they had grown apart and resulted to ignoring the other's existence for a few years, making exceptions for work. They still silently fought for Dutch Van der Linde's attention, but Arthur and later John found other interests in the end.
Before they knew it, they were speaking again. Or at least acknowledging each other's presence.
It started with a few compliments on the other's shooting or riding, then turned in advices, that evolved in questions, only to become conversations any other gang member could have had. They were finally at peace and they couldn't be happier.

But Arthur was scared they might lose their friendship again like they did in the past. John was a hothead and could take anything as an insult if he didn't fully understand it, and Arthur's weakness was John. Whenever the conversation took a wrong turn, he would lose all of his patience and become mean and quite frankly, immature. It had been so since John had first arrived at camp. Arthur, for whatever reason, was looked up to, which annoyed him in the worst way possible.
John might not be looking up to him anymore, but some things never really changed.
Before, it would have been about who had the fastest horse, tonight it was about who had the highest tolerance.

"Considering you been looking at me all night, I think my ugly mug is just fine, ain't that so Arthur?" John grinned, his elbows slowly sliding away from the wooden table. He seemed to not have noticed yet, though.