Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After hours and hours of irritating noise, the camp party finally seems to end. Mindlessly cleaning a revolver, Micah sits by the campfire as people peel away, heading to bed. Marston invites Roberts and the brat to share his bedroom for the first time. Duffy wanders off, so drunk he can barely stand up. Marion and Pearson have an argument that ends with Pearson getting punched around the face. And, finally stopping their bawdy song, Grimshaw and Karen head inside to sleep.

Goddamn it, the silence is wonderful after so much noise. Micah didn’t retreat from camp when Dutch, Morgan, and Marston rode back with the boy, refusing to move just because everyone wanted to have a party, but that doesn’t mean the past few hours haven’t been torture. Shit, the singing, the drunken games… nobody would shut the fuck up. Yes, they probably had fun singing along to Javier’s (admittedly pretty) song, but the cacophony just hurt Micah’s head, and he fought the urge to snap.

When the singing stopped, Micah took the chance to rant at the men sat around the fire with him, pissed off with life and telling them all his opinions on heaven and hell, and it amused Micah when Matthews fucked off partway through Micah’s rant, obviously not interested. But Micah didn’t care, just wanting to take some control over the situation after being forced to listen to music and laughter for hours.

But, despite how much they annoyed him tonight, watching the gang sing and party like a real family… it makes something twist in Micah’s guts. He doesn’t recognise the feeling, but he goddamn hates it, an awful squeezing sensation feeling like someone just punched him in the stomach. Micah sighs, hunching forwards in his seat. He shoves a spotless revolver back into his holster, and removes his other gun to clean it, just needing to keep his twitchy hands busy.

Why can’t he stop thinking about this stupid gang and their obsession with ‘family’, even though nobody is related, and blood is thicker than water (at least, that’s what Pa always said, telling him when Micah was acting like a freak that nobody else would have him around, and he only kept Micah with him because they were related by blood)? Dutch tried to make Micah part of this bullshit family, but Micah has never bothered—even if he was nice to them, they wouldn’t like him. Even when Micah is on his best behaviour, they still hate him. And he’s heard what people say when they think he can’t hear them (he fidgets too much, he doesn’t look at people when he speaks to them, he’s antisocial… he’s heard it all). Yeah, fuck this family.

But thinking about family reminds him of his own. He doesn’t want to think about them, but the memories come back. Biting his lip, Micah thinks about his mother, the only person who loved him despite how weird he was. He thinks about his father, the man who shaped Micah III into the man he is, who taught Micah how to survive in this shithole world. And he thinks about Amos, the only family he has left… not that their bond means much when Amos fucked off over ten years ago.

They haven’t spoken in five years, when Micah finally tracked his brother down after Pa died, wanting to pay the ungrateful little shit a visit. But Micah never set a foot in Amos’ house, or saw his sister-in-law or his nieces (Amos’ woman was pregnant when he left ten years ago, and from what Amos yelled at him outside his house, Micah learned he had two daughters now), because his asshole of a brother shooed him away. And Micah thought he was happy with never seeing Amos again.

And yet… after watching the gang throw a massive party all because Jack had returned, singing and celebrating together… Micah finds himself almost missing Amos.

No! He doesn’t miss that bastard! It’s more like he… he’s curious how Amos is doing now. A lot can change in five years. Yeah, that’s all it is… a little curiosity about his younger brother’s life.

And… and maybe it would be a good idea to write to Amos. Not because he misses Amos, or he’s jealous of his brother’s happiness or anything like that… He should just be the bigger man, and break the years of silence between them. If Pa was still alive, he would want them to make up (Pa couldn’t stand it when his sons argued, smacking them around the head and forcing them to make up, because “I ain’t losin’ this score because you two assholes can’t quit bickerin’.”), and Micah was always good at doing what Pa wanted (he isn’t some kind of sheep, but… but Micah isn’t always the best at making decisions, finding it easier when someone is there to order him around).

Oh, what the hell, Micah thinks, and he gets to his feet.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he walks over to the horses, patting Baylock before locating his saddle. He rarely uses them, but Micah keeps a pencil and a notebook in his saddlebag, mainly to jot down notes about the times and locations of stagecoaches he wants to ambush. But, on a page at the back of the notebook, he once scribbled down his brother’s address. Retrieving the tattered notebook, Micah flicks it open, and twirls the shitty old pencil between his fingers.

This is such a stupid idea, but Micah doesn’t stop, walking back to the campfire and sitting down. In the flickering firelight, Micah stares down at the blank paper, his hand mindlessly bringing the pencil to his mouth. As he nibbles on the pencil (he can’t help but chew anything he puts in his mouth), Micah wants to kick himself for even thinking of this, but… That doesn’t stop him writing his brother’s name at the top of the paper.

And he begins to write a letter to his little brother.

Micah hasn’t written a letter in years, and he has never had much confidence in his writing, but that doesn’t stop him from writing in his neatest handwriting, pouring his thoughts onto the paper. It takes a while, and he struggles to see what he’s doing in the low lighting, but, finally, Micah pens a letter he finds acceptable.

To Amos,

It’s been a long time, little brother. Bet you forgot that I know your address. But I do—wrote it down when I tried to come visit you, and you rudely sent me on my way. Bet you hoped I’d died, but I’m still kicking. I know you hate your WEIRD big brother, and you’ll probably throw this straight on the fire, but I got something exciting to tell you, Amos.

Soon, I’m gonna get my hands on a lot of money. And I mean, A LOT of money. I know you don’t give a shit, but I’m running with some new folks now (yeah, looks like I AIN’T doomed to be lonely, or whatever it is you said when you pissed off left us), and we did a job a few months ago. And any time now, I’m gonna get my cut. And once I’ve got it, I’m gonna go far away from anywhere that knows my face. I ain’t gonna get soft settle down like you, brother, but maybe I’ve had enough of running for a while. And I’m gonna head somewhere new.

I hear CALIFORNIA is pretty nice. You know… perhaps I’ll pay my little brother a visit.

I bet you’re shitting yourself after reading that. You’re goddamn terrified that a violent FREAK like big, bad Micah might come walking back into your life. I know you think I’m weird. Worried I’ll scare your kids because I dared bring a GUN into your house? That they’ll see Uncle Micah playing with his knife and go crying to daddy? And, yes, I DO remember all that shit you yelled at me when I just tried to pay your family a visit. Nice to know all the stuff I did for you means nothing because I’m WEIRD and don’t look at you and talk too much about my guns. So SORRY for not being NORMAL enough for your NORMAL little family.

You don’t want your whore to meet me, do you? Sorry, I mean your WIFE. She too good to meet the man who hugged you when you was crying because Pa beat you your older brother? Do your kids even know their Uncle Micah exists? Nah, bet you’ve done nothing but hide all the shit we done from them.

Look, I ain’t gonna visit you (or am I? Decide for yourself, little brother), but I just felt like checking in on you, telling you I’m doing okay. Things are gonna be going my way soon, Amos, and if you don’t want anything to do with that, fine. But just so you know, I’m alive, and I’m doing better than when you fucked off and left me with our nasty daddy because you suddenly felt so bad bout all the shit we done, or when you turned me away for trying to visit me because I would SCARE your kids and RUIN your lovely new life.

See you around, Amos. Or not. Have fun with your little family.

Your brother (for all that word matters),
Micah Bell

Once he finishes writing the letter, Micah snaps his notebook shut, and gets to his feet. He wanders through camp, ignoring the people who are still awake (like Arthur and Javier, who sit at a table, playing Five Finger Fillet—a dangerous game when both men are drunk, but if they want to stab their fingers, Micah isn’t going to stop them), and approaches the medicine wagon. Being careful to not wake anyone, Micah rummages through the books and papers kept on Strauss’ desk, quickly locating an envelope.

Back by the fire, Micah tears the letter out of his notebook, folds the sheet of paper, and stuffs it into the envelope. He scribbles Amos’ address on the front and shoves the letter into his pocket. Micah knows that he could put his letter on the pile of the rest of the gang’s mail, and let someone else take it to the post office in a few days’ time, but he wrote the letter on an impulse, and Micah finds himself too impatient to wait (and he’s a little paranoid about someone reading his letter).

So, even though it’s after midnight, Micah climbs onto Baylock and rides into Saint Denis, ready to post the letter before he can change his mind about writing to his brother. He sends the letter the moment he arrives in town, not even blinking at how much it costs to post a letter to California. Just thinking about Amos reading the letter makes his chest tighten pathetically, and Micah sighs, desperate to get his stupid brother out of his mind.

But, unable to stop thinking about stupid Amos and the stupid letter that he already regrets sending, Micah rides towards the nearest saloon, planning to get drunk enough to finally let himself sleep.