Chapter Text
He had lost track of time.
How, exactly, he wasn’t quite sure. One moment the sun had been blazing overhead, leaving him to seek out shelter beneath the trees as he meandered, only to suddenly realize the light was quickly disappearing. Before he knew it, a faint gray had taken over the sky before slowly delving into a dark cerulean blue. He was miles from camp. The realization hitting sharp and fast, a curse falling from his lips as he turned his horse around.
“We got work in the morning, I need you sharp.”
He remembered rolling his eyes, scoffing at Dutch’s insistence to be back before nightfall. The man worried far too much. They had spent the morning traveling, and were far from any sort of civilization, certainly the furthest Arthur had ever been at least. He had grown up on the outskirts of some pitiful livestock town, never once venturing beyond its borders, the landscape a mystery he could only dream about. And now that he was actually here, actually somewhere new, the allurement of exploration had been too great to ignore.
So he had promised to be back before the day’s end, in exchange for a few hours of free reign. A promise that he was no longer able to keep. A small twinge of fear beading inside of him, hoping that Dutch wouldn’t be too angry with him. It was his own fault, he knew, so absorbed in his surroundings that he hadn’t been paying attention as time quickly slipped by. Instead he had been bent on devouring the landscape, a mess of a journal in his hands as he scratched and scrawled every sight he saw. Noting every animal, every oddity whether it be a strangely formed tree or misshapen rock for him to reflect on later.
He had stopped once, at a small creek in a ravine to water his horse, before moving up the hillside, continuing his journey east. The woods towering above him, the ground blanketed in layers of thick moss and dense undergrowth, his mare stumbling along a poorly picked path. He should have turned back then, he knew, the warning faint and unheard. But he had wanted to keep going. Had told himself that he’d turn back as soon as he got to the top of the next hill. As soon as he took a closer look at that funny tree. As soon as he figured out what animal made those tracks.
And now?
Now he didn’t know where he was.
That fear was starting to harden inside of him as he hurried his horse along. He had done his best to retrace his steps, squinting at his journal in the fading light, trying to discern which way to go. He had followed the faint whispers of light back towards the west, knowing that camp was in that vague direction. But as night took over, his sense of direction was completely lost, and everything looked different.
And if he was being honest, the woods were terrifying at night.
Gone was the tranquility of the day; no longer were the skies filled with jubilant tunes of sparrows and jays. Instead, haunting omens split the night that sent shivers down his spine. Sounds he had never even heard before spooked him, mournful howls and screeches echoing freely in the open air, surrounding him. Drowning him in fear, his anxiety mounting. That same anxiety dripping down onto the mare beneath him, the horse feeding off his terror and prancing uneasily at every scattered leaf or breath of wind.
Until suddenly she bolted.
It was the snapping of a twig that made them both flinch. Her muscles quivered as she raced, the sudden jolt sending him spiraling backwards, tumbling off her rump and onto the ground below. The impact leaving him to grunt, scrambling sloppily to his feet, watching as her form disappeared into the trees. The faint glimmer of her speckled white flank consumed by the night.
He was alone.
The fear gripping at his throat. Threatening to choke him. His voice, far too thin to even be heard thundering in his ears.
“Wait...no, come back!”
His heart hammering, a shiver racing through his core. Shakily he brought his fingers to his mouth, letting out a whistle in just the way he had been taught. Hoping she would hear, hoping she would come back. He stood, frozen to that one spot, hearing each and every minute sound. The scampering of feet, branches creaking above his head, the rustling of bushes nearby. Another, inhuman screech split the night, stealing his breath. Dread slowly pooling inside of him. Quivering he reached up, hands pressed against his ears, trying to block out the nightmarish sounds. Fingers playing against his hair, startling just then.
His hat.
Where was his hat?!
He spun around in a circle, panting, breaths far too fast, despair clutching at the fringes of his sanity. It couldn’t be gone, it just couldn’t be-
There!
It was right there!
He had nearly stepped on it, his foot clumsily kicking it, watching as it tumbled in the dark. Quick as a rattler he jumped after it, snatching it and thrusting it back on his head, the tiniest bit of relief coursing through him. Suddenly he felt weak, his arms, his legs, his entire body far heavier than he remembered. His limbs uncoordinated and shaking as he stumbled, grabbing at a tree before he fell completely.
Get it together.
Arthur cursed himself inwardly. He drew in another breath, forced himself to calm down. Ears straining still, flinching at every sound. Another whistle split the night, his breath held, hoping, praying his horse would come. Bella was a young thing though. He had still been learning how to handle her. Dutch and Hosea both adamant he learn how, saying it was important.
He had been trying.
Now he wished he had put more effort into it. Suddenly, ahead in the distance came a crashing, the crunching of brush, branches snapping beneath weight. His eyes wide, scanning through the darkness, breath stuck in his throat once more as the dread raced through him. The sound drawing closer.
Whatever that was, it was not his horse.
He bolted.
A flurry of speed he didn’t even know he possessed. An awkward display, stumbling and tripping, hands bracing each and every impact of the uneven ground. A sharp sting of pain racing through his knee on one particularly bad fall. Limping now, but still moving. Every breath thundering in his ears, his chest burning. He risked a glance behind him, eyes seeing every shadow, every movement a new monster emerging from its depths. Startling him all the more.
Then he was falling.
The ground beneath him gone. For a terrifying moment it felt like the entire world had frozen. There was just him. Suspended in the air. His stomach dropping just then as realized that he was plummeting, upside down. Head over heels.
His back hitting first, stealing his breath. The impact jolting him forwards, brief glimpses of the rocks as he continued to fall. Arms flung out, desperate to grab, desperate to hold. A gut wrenching snap sounding in his ears, a sharp pain racing through his arm.
Tumbling sideways now.
He felt the rocks tear into his side. His breaths coming out in muted gasps. Dizziness taking over as he found himself rolling, rather than falling. Suddenly he hit something hard, found himself falling through the air once more.
He didn’t remember hitting ground.
Didn’t remember blacking out.
But it must have happened.
He blinked dully, eyes opening groggily. Tracing the night sky that was above, a brilliant display of stars. A constant drone of crickets filling his ears. A strange ringing, like a bell...his ears were ringing. And he was wet...the realization dim. His senses slowly coming back to him. Realizing just then he must be in the ravine he had found earlier. On his back, halfway in the small creek, the water lapping over him. The chill seeping into his bones.
With a groan he moved. Forcing himself up. A cry escaping him at the pain that raced through his arm. The limb heavy and awkward, unwilling to move how he wanted it to. Carefully he cradled it against his chest, holding it with his other, his breaths short and stunted.
He was shivering.
And his head hurt something awful.
Everything hurt, if he was being honest. And he still had no idea where he was.
Dutch was going to be pissed.
“Tomorrow is a big day, Arthur. I have plans, and I will not see them fail because you spent the entirety of the night messing around. It’s best if you stay here.”
“I ain’t gonna be gone long, Dutch.”
He remembered that conversation. Remembered it distinctively. How Dutch and Hosea had been making plans for a while, how they had wanted to get an early start. How he had promised to not be gone long. And now...now he was out well past the time he said he would be, and his arm...he couldn’t move his arm. The mere thought paralyzing him.
He sat, frozen, huddled there beside the creek. The tears brimming in his eyes but refusing to fall. His thoughts, racing, knowing he was in serious trouble. What was Dutch going to say, when he saw him like this?
What would he do?
Dutch was counting on him. Dutch and Hosea both. Their talks about this upcoming job had spanned for weeks, the details intricate, laid out perfectly. Arthur had fallen asleep in front of the fire listening to them drone on more than enough times to know it was a big one. He couldn’t afford to be hurt. They couldn’t afford for him to be hurt...
“It’s your own damn fault, figure it out.”
Not Dutch that time.
Those words didn’t belong to him, but they were still very real. His father never had patience for him. Especially the day he had come crawling back after a failed endeavor, his face battered and bruised, coated in blood. He remembered the pain, white hot and burning, eyes so swollen he could barely see, crying, clinging to his pa, begging for help.
Only for the man to thrust him off. Gave him a kick for good measure, as though he were a mangy dog. Cursing him out for being a fool, saying it was well deserved. Then he had disappeared back into the dilapidated shack, guzzling down the rest of beer in his hand. Arthur had been left alone to clean himself back up, his broken nose leaving him in misery for days to come.
His father had been none to pleased. The beatings worse those next several days when he had been too miserable to try and go collect money or food. Deranged words falling from the mans lips as he left him a battered and broken mess, cursing him as fool.
“Now I’m going to have to go take care of things, so that we don’t starve, you miserable wretch.”
That was the last thing his pa had said to him. The man storming off into town. He hadn’t come back that night, Arthur sheltered under a threadbare blanket in front of an empty fire pit, waiting. He hadn’t come back that morning. Or the following night. On the third morning, starving and still wrapped in pain, he had finally stumbled out of that dark pit and into town.
Only in time to watch his pa hang.
That dark day an even darker memory hanging in his mind. He held no love for his pa, the man vile and disgusting and hated more than words could ever say, but that event had changed his life, perhaps for the worst. The following years spent scraping by. Spent just surviving. People knowing full well who he was and having no sympathy for his plight. Ignoring him. He spent each and every day cursing himself, wondering faintly why he hadn’t just listened to the man, and gone out himself.
His pa would still be alive if he had. The man had only been caught due to Arthur’s indolence. His reluctance to push past his misery and be useful. He should have listened. To his pa. To Dutch.
Why hadn’t he listened to Dutch?
Even if he could find his way back to camp now, he doubted he’d be welcomed. To come limping in like this, much like he had all those years ago with his pa? He’d be lucky if a beating was the only thing he got.
No...he’d most likely get a bullet to the head.
He swallowed. The thought dark, dismal, hanging over his head like a storm cloud. He didn’t think it possible. But he knew it was. Knew it because he’d seen Dutch do it more than once. Had glimpsed the ire the man could hold. A man who tolerated no nonsense. Those foolish enough to anger or cross him, met their fate at the end of a barrel.
“We shoot those who need shooting, Arthur.”
Dutch’s explanation one time he had gathered the courage to ask.
“Way I see it, it’s either them or us.”
Now it would be him.
To have gone this far only to mess it up now. All their hard work for nothing. The man would never forgive him. He would look at him, much like his pa had, and turn away, disgusted. He’d be left standing at the fringes of camp, doused in dread and coated in pain and Dutch, if the man didn’t outright shoot him, would no doubt send him away.
That thought hurt worse.
A new fear creeping in.
If he didn’t have a reason to be there, if he wasn’t of any use to them, then they wouldn’t have a reason to keep him around. They’d leave him here, with nothing, the disappointed scowl on their face as they turned away. He had earned his place by their side with skill alone, a timely pit pocket they had spied; extending him an offer that had changed his world.
And now? Now all of that was gone. He was no use to them injured as he was. He would be on his own again.
He couldn’t stop himself. The tears falling now, streaking down his face. He didn’t even bother wiping them away, his sobs lost in the symphony of crickets, the fear playing on his nerves. The reality slowly sinking in, the panic making things all that much worse. And in the back of his mind, a quiet voice whispered, repetitively, the same phrase over and over again.
At least this time, he was alone in his misery.