Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Looking back on her life, growing up an orphan and all the hardships she's endured as an underage prostitute, this was the last thing Abigail was thinking of when she joined this gang.

She was a mother now. Not to one child- no because that would mean having a semblance of feeling prepared- she had twins. A shock that damn near killed Abigail there and then, in that tent squatting down as she pushed. Relieved that nine months of waiting to hold her baby was over, only to learn soon after that she was carrying two.

Jack and Evelyn Marston.

Motherhood so far has been a whole new can of worms that she's been stumbling through. Abigail has never been so stressed and deprived of sleep in her life. Babies were by no means complicated - they only needed their basic necessities to be looked after - but the problem lied in that they couldn't verbally communicate those needs beyond babbling. Sort of like a puzzle, if they could breath and had to be changed and fed enough times or they could die-

Despite the nasty shock that was having twins, Abigail loved both her children regardless. Even if they were overly dramatic about the tiniest of things.

Separating the twins was a crime punishable by ear-splitting wails. You'd think that spending nine months sharing the same womb that you'd want some privacy, but apparently not. The connection between them was as strong as ever, clinging to each other if they were within holding distance and both cried in sync with one another. It was like the world's worst choir, which is probably what made it so effective in terms of wanting it to shut it up as soon as possible.

But when they weren't driving their mother up a wall, Abigail found herself fascinated by how her children grew. Evelyn was a menace to the gang the moment she started walking, because climbing swiftly followed. The girl had been repeatedly caught trying to clamour onto the wagons, or whatever surface she decided would be fun to stand on. Abigail though she was going to be sent into an early grave with the heart attacks she'd been given, trying to prevent her daughter from cracking her skull open. Jack seemed to be more cautious. It took him a bit longer to start walking because he felt safer clinging to any stable object, or Abigail's skirt. All that wariness of the world made him more observant, curious from a distance.

That also applied to how they interacted with the gang. Evelyn soaked up the endless attention from everyone, content to be passed around so long as she was being held and babbled her enjoyment. Jack was more shy, preferring to be held by Abigail. It took about a month before he started to recognise the gang on a similar level to his mother.

It was no different when they got older. Jack was more introverted, only ever approaching adults he fully trusted, but being with his twin made him more confident and outgoing. It was probably what made the gang doubtful that John was the father, because it seemed impossible to think that any child of John Marston could be shy and polite. Evelyn put their doubts to rest- dirtied clothes being a common feature to her appearance and chasing whatever caught her interest like a feral animal, introducing herself to every new member that entered the camp to chat to them. It wasn't shocking that she got on extremely well with Sean, much to everybody's dismay.

☆☆☆

If there was one thing the gang could be absolutely certain about, it was that John didn't come back for his family. Any reason that he could've returned for varied in possibilities. Maybe he realised that going out on his own was far more difficult than he predicted without the support of the others, Dutch's plans, Hosea's cons. It could've been that he got into more trouble while he was away and had to fall back on the gang as a last resort.

Nobody is quite certain. When John gets asked about his whereabouts during his year-long absence he says nothing more than vague sentences about how "things didn't quite work out".

But he definitely didn't return for his children. Or his not-children, as he likes to claim whenever Abigail tries to talk to him about them.

John had absolutely zero interest in the twins, even before they were born. He avoided Abigail like an infectious plague, taking on more jobs than he ever had just to avoid the woman. The man went as far as going to the town saloon for several while Abigail was in labour, and returned so highly intoxicated that she didn't want the man anywhere near her as she cradled her newborns. That was probably his plan the entire time, not to mention the killer hangover he was going to have only gave him more reason to avoid his family.

John hardly ever acknowledged Abigail if the twins were with her. She had hoped that he'd warm up to them as they grew, but he left before either of could find out. It broke Abigail's heart, but she wasn't about to chase after the man. He'd made his choice clear as day.

Abigail found it wasn't easy, balancing her motherly duties and her camp chores. She often spent her days pacing back and forth around camp trying to keep both things under control.

Arthur had helped a lot. To be fair, most of the gang did, but Arthur in particular was always happy to take the twins off her for a few hours or so. He was always talking to them, playing with them. It was like he had a special talent when it came to children, the man was basically their father in every way John should've been outside of blood relation. Abigail honestly thinks she would've went insane without that man's help.

A whole year passed, life was going as normal. Then John returned.

Abigail ignored him for about a week after his grand return. She was far too pissed off with him to even attempt a civil conversation, the closest being when she dragged Evelyn away from the man before she was able to chat up a storm.

Patience was something that Abigail has learned to hone since having children. As soon as the twins were old enough to wander off by themselves, a mild path of destruction tended to follow. Obviously since they were too young to properly understand that some objects are fragile, things could get broken as a result of their curious minds.

Actions like that were normally dealt with a swift backhand to the face or a spanking in the orphanage that Abigail used to live in. It was the easiest way to keep children in line, to remind them of the consequences that would follow if they disobeyed.

Not long after she turned two, Evelyn had broken something. Abigail doesn't remember what it was anymore, because the fearful of her daughter was burned into her mind. The raised hand to give her daughter a good whack had frozen in place. Abigail suddenly found herself with the realisation that her actions would only scare the girl more, and build up a fear of even making a tiny mistake. She remembered the other girls at the orphanage, how their delicate fingers shook in fear pouring water so they didn't spill a drop. How they walked slowly as to not trip and potentially ruin their clothes.

Instead, Abigail lowered her hand and gently asked her daughter what happened, who explained in a clumsy sentence that was usual of toddlers, how she didn't mean to break the object and that she was sorry. Abigail nodded, and helped the girl clean up the mess while telling her that she needed to be more careful.

Since then, Abigail had to learn that children are going to make mistakes and getting angry wouldn't help anything. It was difficult and frustrating at times, but Abigail believes that she's been doing alright so far. And she's eternally grateful for the rest of the camp for being so willing to help out when they could, all just to lighten her load.

Though her newfound patience may have become a slight detriment, because Abigail thinks she was far too patient with John when he rode his sorry ass back into camp after a year. She was rightfully pissed off but decided that remaining neutral until she spoke to him would be the best course of action

Speaking was a wholly inadequate term. It lasted for thirty seconds until John continued to doubt his parentage to the twins with an "if they're mine". No matter how much Abigail insisted that they were, John kept accusing her of having one of the other gang members children, like a petulant child blaming his brothers for breaking the glass window. What was supposed to be a somewhat civil talk devolved into angry yelling, Abigail had to resist the urge to slap the man in a futile hope it would knock sense into him. It hurt her heart to know that her children would be growing up without a father because he wasn't even willing to accept them as his own, let alone put in the effort.

Jack and Evelyn were only a couple of months old when their no-good father left, so naturally they were curious about the new stranger in the camp. The toddlers attempted to talk to John with their incoherent babbling but the man wasn't having it, swiftly heading in another direction to avoid them.

Though they clearly had their father's stubbornness, because no matter how many times John pushed the two away they kept pushing back, even going so far as to follow him around like ducklings. It was only when John got fed up of his toddler-sized shadows that he willingly approached Abigail first, insisting that she tell her children that he's not their father.

Abigail simply glared at the man, sipping her coffee before telling the twins to leave their father alone for time being.

Overtime, Jack started to understand that asking his father to read him a story or play games with him would always be rejected. But Evelyn never did stop her pestering, seeming to follow in her mothers footsteps of cornering him as soon as he looked like he wasn't busy.

☆☆☆

John can't find his hat.

He rode back into camp not too long ago after he spent the last few hours scouting town for any decent leads; few homes that could be robbed, a stagecoach with a good score and a bank with a few structural weaknesses that could definitely be taken advantage of. John was on his way to discuss his findings with either Dutch or Hosea, but he made the stupid mistake of passing by Miss Grimshaw.

"John Marston when was the last time you washed?" She demanded, eyeing his dirtied face with disgust. He had to refrain from audibly groaning, it'd only make his predicament worse.

He turned to the camp matriarch, who was glaring at him like he hadn't cleaned his face in a century. Really, it had only been a few weeks.

"Miss Grimshaw I assure you that once I finish up, I'll go wash. Just need to run some things by Dutch first." John attempted to assure her.

The woman scoffed, and John immediately knew that she wasn't going to buy it. She swiftly marched towards the man to grab his arm with an iron-grip and drag him to the nearest bucket of water- barely having time to chuck his hat behind him- and dunk his head in, ignoring his sputtered protests as his face and shirt got soaked. At least he managed to keep his hat dry, because he refused to go about the rest of his day with a soggy hat. God forbid if Sean or the Callander brothers saw him, he'd be tormented for life.

Eventually, Grimshaw relented as soon as she was satisfied with her thorough cleanse, John took a moment to grab a nearby cloth to dry his face then toss it aside once he was done. Turning around to grab his hat-

It was missing.

Hardly even left for a few minutes and it was gone. John blinked in bewilderment, trying to process if the wash had flushed out any remnants of sanity because surely not. He took a moment to survey the surrounding area, if his hat just to happened to land on the table set or laundry basket nearby, but to no avail.

Missing hats weren't all that common; not in camp anyway. Being out on a job opened up lots of possibilities to lose your hat, but in camp it was much less common. Everybody who wore one made them distinguishable enough that they could easily be recognised. The times that somebody's hat did go missing were the times they were stolen by someone else. John remembers when Sean stole Davey's hat and the older man chased him down until Hosea had to intervene.

"Sean!" John barked out annoyed, "Irish bastard, where are you?"

The footsteps he heard approach him did not belong to Sean, but instead to Tilly.

"He and Karen went to run a job together, supposedly." She said with a smirk, not at all convinced by her own words.

John rolled his eyes. Of course, Sean and Karen had decided to mess around again just as it was inconveniencing him. "Thanks Tilly." He said, turning away to search the rest of camp for his damn hat. Probably one of the Callander brothers or Bill taking it out of drunken impulse-

Then he heard a giggle from behind him, one that could just barely be heard amongst the noise of Pearson making his stew, the girls scrubbing dirty clothes and the ambient chatter.

John turned to face the culprit and found two-year-old Evelyn staring at him, half-hidden behind a wagon, grinning like a madman. Upon seeing his confused face, the girl giggled again, more loudly as if it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen. He was only slightly creeped out, but he'd never say that it aloud.

John frowned at her. "What're you laughin' for?" He questioned.

That ceased the toddlers giggling fit, the gave him a funny look again before stepping out of her hiding position, allowing John to see his hat clutched in her tiny little hands. He found himself dreading whatever was about to follow. Evelyn was a rambunctious little shit, and unfortunately John seemed to be her favourite victim, never going a day without pestering him with questions or repeatedly nagging him to play no matter how many times he blatantly showed his disinterest. There was no doubt she was Abigail's daughter, that's for sure.

"Give it here, kid." He ordered through gritted teeth, trying to remain calm.

Evelyn absentmindedly swayed on her feet with a pondering expression, like she was actually considering listening to somebody. She looked to the hat in her hand, then to her father, an idea formed in her tiny brain.

She smiled evily at him.

"No."

Then ran off, hat in hand.

John internally cursed himself for actually believing for a moment that the girl would listen to him. He groaned in annoyance, then chased after her before she could decide that his hat would look much better roasting over the fire.

Evelyn wormed her way past the crates of supplies behind the wagon, her short height allowing her to squeeze past the gaps with ease. A move that John was far from willing to attempt unless he fancied making a fool out of himself. Instead he opted to run around the crates and see if he could cut the girl off there.

Unfortunately for him, the toddler was faster than she looked. As soon as Evelyn crawled out of the miniature box maze, she turned a sharp right to sprint through the cluster of tents.

"Get back here!" He shouted at her, flushing slightly when he noticed people looking up from their current chores to witness the scene before them. John imagined it was a bizarre sight. He ignored them, leaping over an unoccupied tree log in an attempt to catch the girl faster.

Evelyn only gleefully giggled in response as she continued towards a small pond nearby, Jack standing next to it. John dreadfully wondered if the girl would toss his hat into the water. He really hoped Arthur didn't set the girl up to inadvertently drown him as revenge for leaving.

"Jack, catch!"

The boy swiveled his head in their direction at the sound of his sisters voice. Evelyn took that as a signal to throw John's hat towards him.

The boy didn't catch. But what he lacked in catching abilities, he made up for in swiftly picking the hat up as soon as it touched the grass.

John stopped for a moment, heaving to catch his breath. That'll be the last time he underestimates the speed of a two-year-old. He extended his hand towards the boy.

"Give me my hat, kid." He wheezed out.

Jack glanced at his twin, who was rapidly shaking her head, then back at his father.

Thankfully, the boy took pity on John. So he walked towards his father, hat in hand despite his sisters insistence on the opposite. John took the hat back and securely placed it on his head, before storming off to Dutch's tent. But the twins weren't quite out of earshot.

"Jaaack!" The girl whined. "You messed up the game."

"Momma would've been upset." Her brother replied meekly.

"But he was playin' Jackie!" Evelyn cried out sadly.

John didn't like how his heart twisted at the words. How upset the girl sounded, like a joyful moment had been ruined. That him chasing after Evelyn was what she wanted because at least it made it seem like he was playing with her.

The man shook his head, willing any thoughts of affection away. John didn't wish any harm on those kids, but he wasn't their father. He was the last person that should ever be a father, no matter what Abigail insisted. Somehow, he'd find a way to ruin them, and only cause more hurt in the end

☆☆☆

Living with a gang of over twenty people can be loud. Horses stomping their hooves on the ground, conversations overlapping one another, the scrubbing of pots and chopping firewood. All of it came to a close once the sky darkened and people retreated to their bedrolls for a decent rest, because the next day could be just as chaotic, maybe even more so.

Uncle sat near the small campfire, bottle in hand as he listenined to the white noise of the wildlife around him. A soft crunching of the ground broke him out of his very productive thinking. The man looked towards the source of the noise, expecting to see Mac getting off guard duty.

To his surprise, it was the three-year-old Evelyn Marston staring at him with wide eyes. Like a deer about to run from danger.

"What're you doin' up Miss Marston?" He asked with slight amusement.

The toddler relaxed slightly at his nonchalant demeanour, deeming it safe to shrug at his question and patter over beside him at the campfire.

"Couldn't sleep." Evelyn answered quietly.

Uncle had a feeling there was a reason for that. When Evelyn was capable of sleeping, she slept like the dead. Very rarely were there instances she remained awake well past midnight- only doing so if something was troubling her, if her wails as an infant were anything to go by.

It may have been the gang's latest move. Last camp had been one of the longer stays, plenty of jobs to make money from in the surrounding towns. The twins loved that camp with the trees, the small river nearby and plenty of wildlife to chase after and hardly ever said anything negative about it, unlike some of the last ones they stayed at.

But it was riskier the longer they stayed, jobs drawing more attention then they liked. The last straw was when a trio of bounty hunters invaded the camp and damn near brought the law on them too. So they packed up and moved, not one trace left behind to follow.

This new camp was far less glamorous. All sand and rocky terrain for miles, the only plants anybody could see was the cacti. No flowers to weave into crowns. Warm rays of the sun had transformed into dry, stale air that left people irritable and sweaty with no trees to shield them. Dutch had to invest in some more cloths to act as shade so people could actually think straight. Otherwise it was better to wait until nighttime.

No wonder Evelyn was miserable.

"Well," Uncle began, "do you think a story would help?"

Evelyn didn't say anything verbally, but the intrigue that glinted in her brown eyes prompted the man to continue.

"There's a town not too far from here, place called Brimstone. Folks there say that's where the legendary bounty hunter Red Harlow fought the most deadly gunslingers many years ago." He started, a slight twinkle in his eye.

The night went on with the older man regaling the epic stories of the legend that brought savage outlaws to justice, a man that watched his own parents get killed in front of him and used that pain to become a better man. Evelyn listened intently to every word with awe, as if the man was right in front of her.

Once Uncle finished wrapped up his tales of the legend, the two sat together in quiet.

After a moment, Evelyn piped up. "Uncle?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you Red Harlow?"

Uncle couldn't refrain from laughing, a loud hearty sound that shook his entire body.

"Why on earth would you say that?"

"'Cause you're super old." Evelyn stated in full confidence, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He took a moment to catch his breath before responding, "Nah, I ain't. But it's certainly an idea."

☆☆☆

Perks of the outlaw lifestyle could greatly outweigh the drawbacks. John considers himself lucky being saved by Dutch when he was. If he'd been found by a different group... well, he doubts he'd be fighting to be free. Being part of the Van der Linde gang is an active middle finger to the contrived existence that calls itself a society. They take from the rich and help whoever needs it. Not to mention the satisfaction that was dragging wealthy bastards down to the mud. At the end of the day, it can make all their troubles feel worth it.

But then you get shot in the leg, and suddenly the drawbacks are ten times more inconvenient.

It was stupid, really. A stagecoach robbery that was supposedly an easy enough picking ended up having a sizeable arsenal to defend themselves with, unfortunately reacted very appropriately to the antagonising circumstances.

Recovery is boring. John certainly doesn't mind sitting down for a bit after a job, but being confined to his cot for hours is more torturous than any beating could be. Abigail goes out of her way to scold him for his stupidity, others come and go for a few minutes to wish him a swift recovery before getting back to their chores. The whole camp is going about their lives without him.

Except for the twins, who have taken full advantage of his lack of mobility by invading his tent whenever possible. He used to get startled when they first crawled into his tent and chattered at him excitedly, but it's become so routine he's started to get better and predicting when they'll turn up. He's just thankful that their visits are cut short as soon as somebody else walks in.

One of these visits happened when John was asleep. He hadn't meant to, but his lack of rest the night before due to his leg killing him kept him awake all night. And time was slowly passing just to torture him, all with the combined boredom made a tempting deal that John didn't even realise he accepted.

Light tugs at his hair was what dragged him back to reality. His mind was too weighed down by drowsiness to think logically, so he snapped awake with an alarmed shout thinking that he was about to be jumped or tied up-

"Mornin' Pa." Two voices greeted.

Awareness had returned upon his newfound consciousness. John blinked a few times, slowly realising that he was in his tent. In the gangs camp.

He glanced to his side to see Evelyn and Jack staring at him with amused looks.

John eyed them suspiciously. "What're you two doin' here?"

Evelyn brought a hairbrush into his view.
"Your hair was real messy. So we fixed it." She told him with a toothy grin.

"And we got pictures!" Jack told him with a proud smile, showing off the wobbly lines and shapes on the paper he's holding.

"I can't right now." He grumbled.

Even at the ripe age of three, Evelyn seemed to sense his bullshit.

"Why not?" She asked innocently, pointing to his bandaged leg. "You ain't goin' nowhere."

"Yeah, well-"

Evelyn swiftly cut him off. "Show him the pictures Jack." She said, eagerly pushing her brother towards the cot.

Jack didn't wait for any response, eagerly grabbing a random paper to shove in the man's face while babbling all sorts about the story behind it.

It was... mildly interesting; anything would be in his current state. At the very least it wasn't one of the many versions of "feel better soon" that he's been hearing all week.  The stories weren't half bad neither, confusing and hard to follow but it wasn't like he was gonna be quizzed about this later. Evelyn was certainly fascinated, not even asking a multitude of questions like she usually would.

Once Jack had finished his ramblings he nudged his sister, which must've sparked some kind of realisation for the girl.

She exclaimed, "Oh yeah!" before shoving her hands into her pocket and pulled out several colourful candies.

"We went to town with Uncle Arthur and got candy." Evelyn informed him, reaching her hand out to offer him the said candies.

John took one. Definitely not because he had a sweet tooth, but he really didn't want to be subjected to even more of Abigail's nagging if he upset the twins. Besides, free candy.

"Thanks." He mumbled.

Suddenly the tent flap opened, Abigail locked her eyes onto the twins and frowned at them.

"I told you two that you weren't supposed to bother your Pa." She chided them, quickly walking to them to grab either one of their arms and gently guide them out the tent. "Go on, away with you."

"Bye Pa!" The twins called out before scampering outside.

Abigail watched them for a few moments to make sure they didn't pass the time by getting into more trouble, then turned around, this time taking a proper look at John. Her exasperated expression turned amused, snorting at the sight.

John blinked at the woman in confusion.

"What?"

That response only made the woman laugh, trying and failing to cover them up with a cough.

"What's so funny?" He asked, hoping that the nervousness wasn't visible.

"Oh nothin' at all."

A beat of silence

"So, how's it growing?" The woman asked in a teasing voice.

"Huh?"

The woman said nothing, only reaching a hand out to his hair and pulling something out of it.

A flower. Daisy specifically.

John frantically reached his own hands to his hair and found that several daisies and other types of flowers had been intertwined with the strands.

Those little shits.

Upon seeing his surprised face, Abigail laughed. With an amused shake of her head, she exited the tent and tucked the daisy behind her ear.

☆☆☆

Parties at camp were always something of a luxury. Dutch, of course, had to have the final say if it was allowed and that would only happen if it fit the criteria.

They had to have enough alcohol, or at least enough money to buy plenty. Nobody wants to chug down a beer only to find that would be their lot. Tended to kill the mood. A reason for celebration was always a must, because throwing a party for the heck of it wasted supplies the next time a genuine reason to celebrate came around. Not to mention, cost more money. Safety was always an important factor as well, because any guard patrols were cancelled the moment a party happened. Sure, living life as outlaws never granted any real safety, but it'd be stupid as fuck to have a party when a big heist was pulled off and they had Pinkertons on their tail. It'd draw too much attention to them.

The Marston twins always liked parties. Mainly for the reason that they would get to stay up far later than their mother would allow, most of the time never actually caring about the reason of celebration.

This particular occasion celebrated the arrival of Molly O'Shea, the latest object of Dutch's affection. The gang didn't quite know what to make of her just yet, but they certainly weren't going to refuse a chance to let loose.

Jack and Evelyn were sitting at a table entertaining themselves by stacking the  dominoes upright in an orderly line, then pushing them down so they all fell together one after another with soft clinking sounds. Mary-Beth was sat with them, quietly observing the scene with mild amusement. In the past, the children didn't need anybody to keep an eye on them, but after Bill caught Evelyn taking a sip from his beer they've needed at least one adult supervising.

The background chatter of the gang was interrupted when a soft tune from Dutch's gramophone poured out. The effect was almost instantaneous, rowdy laughter stopped in favour of more quiet conversation. Dutch then took Molly's hand and guided her towards the crowd, placing the other hand on her hip and began to gently sway the both of them like they were the only people in the world.

Mary-Beth couldn't help but audibly "aww" at the sight. Reading about couples dancing together never failed to bring a smile to her face, but seeing it in real life was what gave her hope that she'd one day find her own romance like that. A man who'd kiss her sweetly and unashamedly twirl her around without a care in the world.

The twins looked up at the woman in sync, then turned to the direction she was facing with curious looks on their faces.

It was clear that neither of them found the scene as romantic as she did.

"Why's Uncle Dutch movin' weird?" Evelyn asked.

Mary-Beth snorted at the girls question. "They're dancing." She answered.

They both turned back to her, confused.

"I saw Uncle dancing, and it looked nothing like that." Jack stated.

"Well, there's different ways to dance. Uncle's way just so happens to be spinning around like a lunatic that entices everybody else to avoid being kicked in the face." The woman laughed.

Jack hummed in response, both twins turning back to keep watching the couple dance together.

A few seconds passed before Evelyn nudged her brothers shoulder. "Hey Jack, wanna dance?"

The boy shrugged. "Okay."

The siblings got up from their chairs and wandered to a patch of grass that was a few feet across from the rest of the gang. Evelyn glanced over to make a note of how Dutch and Molly were holding each other, before moving her brothers arms in a similar position. She repeated the same for herself until both of them had mirrored the couples stance.

"Okay..." The girl started, "now we step together."

One step to her right, Jack followed with his. They stepped around for a few seconds but stopped when they heard Mary-Beth giggling.

"You're doing it wrong." She told them, standing up.

"Jack take one step back." She instructed, and the boy did so.

"Evie, step your right foot towards him." The girl complied.

Mary-Beth nodded approvingly. "Now do it again with the other foot." Again, Jack stepped back and Evelyn stepped forwards.

"Great! Now keep going, but move a bit faster."

The twins sent each other uncertain looks, but nonetheless started stepping together. The movements were a bit clumsy, and Evelyn tended to flit her attention between the ground to check her steps and Jack which caused her to occasionally step on the boys foot. It was fine, Jack sometimes forgot he had to move so really half of those accidents were his own fault.

"Good job, you two!" Mary-Beth praised.

The compliment seemed to bolster their confidence, because the movements began to flow smoother as they stepped. The twins beamed smiles at their success, not realising that some of the gang had stopped to watch them.

"Try spinning each other!" She called out to them.

Remembering what she saw earlier, Evelyn raised the arm that was holding Jack's, which prompted the boy to duck under her arm as a half-hearted spin. It wasn't perfect, but he was still proud.

Cheers from nearby interrupted them, small rounds of applause following after.

"Aw, is Jackie boy practicing for the day he dances with a lady?" Sean teased as he approached them.

Karen appeared next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "Oh, leave them be Sean. At least Jack can dance with someone."

"Because you never want to dance with me!" The Irish man accused her.

"I like my feet for running, dancing with you would ensure they'd get amputated afterwards." The blonde woman laughed.

☆☆☆

Arthur was no stranger to questioning Dutch when he brought a new lost soul into camp. There was no telling what kind of person was going to be dragged in, what they were like and how they'd benefit the gang overall. Cases like Uncle and Swanson left him not very hopeful when all they seem to do is continually succeed at being useless, he was even doubtful of John all those years back when the kid never ceased his hissing or scratching like a goddamm raccoon. But other times people like Charles and Lenny proved themselves to be damn near admirable for all the work they put in to contribute, only just arriving and still determined to show their loyalty.

Micah was... Arthur didn't know how to feel about Micah.

Supposedly after having saved Dutch's life, the other man welcomed him into the gang instantly. Arthur generally chooses to remain neutral towards new gang members, not wanting to waste friendly conversation on somebody who turns out to be shitty or be shitty to somebody who was trying to make friendly conversation.

It only took him a day to not like Micah. He quickly established himself as a less favourable member of the gang when he eyed Javier, Charles and Lenny with a look of disgust; like they were horse shit on his boot- a good shot, sure, that was undeniable. But the longer he stayed the bolder he got with the way he spoke to people in a condescending tone, or making predatory advances towards the women who had zero interest in him. Bringing up these concerns to Dutch were pointless, brushing them off like dust on a shelf.

Not to mention, Evelyn refused to introduce herself to him. The girl always took an opportunity to talk to people, even if those people didn't care about what she was saying. When Micah first arrived with Dutch, Evelyn did wander towards them and gave her uncle a hug, but hesitated when she saw the blonde man. Dutch eyed her curiously to see how her first conversation with the man would go, but all she did was eye him warily before scampering off to Jack. Dutch asked the girl about it when she was eating her dinner later that day.

"He looks scary." Evelyn simply said.

Didn't talk about what made the man scary, no strange comparisons her child brain conjured up or even suggestions to make him less scary. It was unlike her, but nobody pried. Abigail didn't even reprimand her for being rude, so she must've silently agreed.

Arthur suspected there was more to it than that. Plenty of the gang members could look scary given the right circumstances. Bill had a long scraggy beard that gave him a mean look and a bad temperament- it took Jack a fair bit to get used his presence when he joined. Evelyn however, ran right up to him to talk to him about the number 804 because that was her favourite number.

Whatever those reasons may be, it set of alarm bells in Arthur's head. Dutch brushed the girl off as being dramatic, but in Arthur's experience he's found that under all the nonsense children can spout, they're more observant than people think.

☆☆☆

One afternoon, Evelyn and Jack were pretending to be powerful warriors fighting an epic sword battle. In reality it was two four-year-olds whacking sticks together, but at least they were having fun.

"No fair! You got a better stick." Evelyn complained when her twin managed to jab her in the shoulder again.

Jack shook his head. "Nuh uh! You just aren't good."

Evelyn swung the branch at her brother. "Stupid." She insulted.

"You're smelly." Jack retorted, sticks clashing together.

"Dummy!"

"That's just stupid but different!"

Evelyn sputtered. "You're a know-it-all!"

"Only cause I can read!" Jack giggled.

"I can read!" She insisted, playfully shoving her brothers shoulder.

"Can not."

"Can too!"

"Can not."

"Can too!"

A voice interrupted the twins bickering. "So these must be the camp babies."

Both twins immediately froze at the voice, it didn't sound fond like any of their uncles, or sweet like their aunties, and it was a far cry from their mothers exasperated but loving tone.

In a weird twin synchronisation both children turned their heads to see Micah, leaning against the nearby tree smoking a cigarette.

"We aren't babies!" Evelyn stated indignantly. "We turned four ages ago."

Micah scoffed at the girl, moving from the tree towards the two.

"Don't seem that way to me. Here you are fighting over stupid shit while everybody else slaves away to make you happy. I'd say you're both a bunch of spoiled brats." The blond man hissed at them, leaning closer to their faces to blow out the smoke he inhaled from the cigarette, causing the twins to cough as the gross stench assaulted their nostrils.

"What you should be doing," Micah continued, pointing the cigarette at Jack, "is learn how to shoot a gun so you can stop standing around, being useless." He spat at the boy, who flinched away from him to get closer to his twin.

"And you," he sneered at Evelyn with venom in his eyes, "should be washing the clothes with the women, because dressing like a boy won't change what you were born for." He gave a loose gesture to the girls shirt and overalls she was wearing.

Evelyn frowned, annoyed scowl merging into confusion. "What do you mean?"

Unexpectedly, the man's sneer twisted into a grin that made the girl sick with fear. "Don't worry," he forcefully grabbed her chin with his hands to pull her close enough to him that she could smell his disgusting, smokey breath, "you'll find out soon enough."

The fear that Evelyn felt was burnt out by the anger that flared up, unconsciously gripping the stick in her hand tightly as she yelled, "Shut up you rat!" before she swung it at Micah's head.

The man yelped in a combination of pain and shock, hand releasing the girl in favour on going to the injury. As he rubbed the side of his head Evelyn threw the stick right at him and struck his hand, Jack followed his sisters lead and did the same.

Evelyn grabbed her brothers hand in the firmest grip possible and ran towards the tents, afraid of what could happen if either of them stuck around to face Micah's wrath alone. If they got to the grown-ups there was hope that they wouldn't get into too much trouble.

Sewing a tear in trousers, Abigail looked up once she noticed the little figures running towards the area. At first, she thought the twins were playing or coming over to chat to one of the adults but then she saw the panicked expressions on both of their faces. Abigail decided to forget her chore, standing up from her seat to check on her children.

"What's got you both in a panic?" She asked them, crouching down to their level.

Both twins pointedly averted their eyes, shoulders tensing in fear. A beat passed, then Jack shakily pointed towards something.

Abigail was unprepared for the sight of Micah storming towards them, red in the face with rage. He may as well have been blowing steam from his ears. She instinctively pulled her children close.

"Abigail, you need to teach your brats some fucking manners!" He shouted towards them, practically echoing across the camp.

"Micah, I'm sure whatever they did-"

The blond interrupted her. "What they did was attack me when I was talking to them." He spat, looming over the woman with a vicious glare.

"You started it!" Evelyn protested, clinging to her mother's skirt.

The rest of the gang started noticing the commotion going on, all of them pausing their chores or stopping conversations to watch curiously.

The man raised a brow at her. "Oh, I started hitting you with a stick now did I?"

"N-no but-"

"And now she's getting into the habit of lying!" Micah announced loudly to the entire gang, pointing at her accusingly.

Evelyn flushed with a combination of rage and embarrassment. "Shut up!" She snapped angrily, kicking the older man in the shins.

"Hey!" Abigail scolded. "No kicking, Evelyn."

Before the girl could retort, a voice interjected the argument.

"What's going on here?"

It was Dutch. He stood across from the group with his arms folded together, an expectant look on his face.

"Micah's was being mean to me 'n Jack! You need to get rid of him!" Evelyn cried.

Dutch paused for a moment to process what the toddler just said, looking back and forth between the blond man rubbing at his bruised leg, and the children.

"Okay, so maybe what I said sounded wrong to you," Micah raised his hands up defensively, "but you still hit me with a stick." He added.

Abigail rolled her eyes. "Really, Micah? Petty arguments with a child?"

Dutch sighed in exasperation, catching the attention of everybody. The gang leader looked to the girl. "Evelyn, sometimes when people upset you, violence isn't always the way to react." He told her sternly.

Jack began to speak up. "But it's-"

Dutch swiftly cut the other twin off. "Jack, don't start excusing her behaviour. She needs to learn that attacking people when she doesn't get her way is bad."

Evelyn's expression progressively became more and more despaired as her uncle spoke. There were countless times she remembered the man doting on her, always protecting her like she was his own. But now he didn't even care to hear what she had to say, like it didn't matter. She looked around at the other members of the gang, silently pleading them to defend her case, to believe her. All she got were uncertain glanced exchanged as they processed the argument.

Tears of frustration brimmed her eyes as betrayal speared her little heart.

Evelyn screeched in anger with a stomp of her foot, then proceeded to bolt towards the trees. Jack went to follow her, but Abigail swiftly grabbed his arm before he got a chance. "Jack, leave her be for the moment." She instructed him gently.

While neither of the twins were particularly temperamental, tantrums are inevitable when it came to children. Jack was what anybody would expect from temper tantrums, lots of crying and initial resistance but he could be calmed down with enough patience. Evelyn seemed to have inherited her fathers behaviour when it came to anger, tending to stop talking for hours, even going so far as scratching or biting people if they touched her and only communicated through vaguely displeased noises. The only way to properly resolve the issue was to leave the girl be until she was willing to talk again; an idea from Hosea, who recognised the behaviour from John when he was younger.

But Jack was still young and not quite understanding that sometimes, the best way to help people wouldn't always be through a comforting hug. He glanced over to the direction Evelyn bolted off to, a worried expression on his face.

"Why don't you draw something for her? She loves your pictures." Abigail suggested.

The boy looked reluctant, but he did want to cheer his twin up. So the boy nodded and wandered off to find some paper.

Half an hour later, Jack was clutching some paper with scribbles on them as he approached the treeline.

"Evie?" He called up to the branches.

As expected, he got no response.

"I drawed some pictures for you." He added hopefully.

A moment passed, but then Jack noticed a silhouette moving amongst the leaves as they carefully climb down the tree. Once within jumping distance, Evelyn hopped down to the ground and folded her arms as if she was trying to physically close herself off from the world. Jack noticed that the neat braids her hair was tied into that morning were scruffed up, twigs and leaved woven into the strands and hair sticking out in every direction.

"I can fix your braids and tell you about the drawings?" Jack offered, fiddling with the paper absentmindedly.

Evelyn pondered for a moment. She glanced back between her brother and the paper curiously, the offer was tempting. She really didn't want to go back to camp; not right now at least. The girl nodded, abruptly plonking herself on the grass.

Jack beamed at his sister, handing her the pictures to sit behind her. As the boy gently pulled out the twigs, he began to speak about the drawing Evelyn was looking at.

"That one is you and me as knights fighting a dragon," He informed her, plucking out a leaf, "and we had to find the special treasure that saves the world." He indicated to the lines that made up the imaginary object. Evelyn gave a small hum in response, putting that drawing to the one side to look at the others.

"This one-"

That was how the twins spent the next half hour, Jack gave context for the drawings that were otherwise out of it, all while he undid the tied hair and gently twisted them back into a neater braid. Evelyn didn't say much, but it was clear that as he spoke her mood was improving when her slumped posture straigtened, and began giggling at the unimportant details and backstory Jack added just for that purpose. By the time he finished the second braid, a smile had returned to the girls face.

For a while, both twins sat together in a content silence, neither child felt the need to break it with silly conversation like they usually did. With the incident that happened toy, quiet times like these were much better than usual chaos.

Jack looked to the sky above them and noticed that it shifted from a bright blue into a swirly mix of pinks and grey, he was about to suggest they go back to camp in time for some of Pearson's stew, but then arms suddenly wrapped around him tightly. He blinked in surprise but quickly reciprocated the gesture, hugging the his twin tightly as if he was trying to squeeze the sadness out of her. A moment passed before his sister released him.

"C'mon Jackie," Evelyn said, "we gotta go for stew."

"Hey, I was gonna say that!"

"Well... great minds think alike." The twin shrugged.

"You're only saying that so you can sound smart." Jack quipped.

"Uncle Sean said it!"

"Only 'cause both of you found the secret candy stash at the same time."

"You're just jealous you didn't get any." Evelyn insisted.

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

☆☆☆

"What's your favourite number?" Evelyn had asked John one afternoon.

The man kept his eyes focused on the map in front of him. "Don't have one." He told her quickly.

His response didn't make her go away, but at this point John was expecting that. Best to let her say her nonsense and pretend to listen, he's learned.

"Really? 'Cause mine is eight-hundred-and-four." She informed him, speaking each word of the number slowly to not screw up the sentence.

John sipped his coffee, disinterested. "Interesting."

"I know! Everybody always picks the lucky numbers, but I picked the biggest there is!" The four-year-old told him confidently.

The man paused, turning his head to face the girl, see the girl with a cheerful look on her face.

After a pause, John said, "There are bigger numbers than that."

The girls proud expression crumpled into disbelief. "What?!" She shrieked. "How many more numbers are there?"

"Way too many to start worrying 'bout."

Evelyn, still in disbelief that there were more numbers in the world, murmured a whole lot of words he couldn't hear as she shuffled across the camp.

John returned his concentration back to his map, trying to hide the upward quirk of his lips.

☆☆☆

The sky is blue. Grass is green. John and Abigail argue at least once every week. These are the facts of life.

For the longest time after John dragged his sorry ass back into camp after a year, Abigail tried to convince him to spend time with his children. The man adamantly refused, she got mad, he got mad and the cycle continued. Arguments between the two happened so often it was common sense to tune the both of them out as soon as they were within talking distance, or leave camp for a bit until they were done.

The gang have done their best to shield the twins from the harsh words their parents spat, but yelling has never been considered subtle- especially in close quarters. All anybody could do was occupy the twins until the fighting stopped or they fell asleep.

Drawing was usually what they did. The twins liked to believe that giving their mother a picture would help her feel better. Jenny had been watching them, but left a few minutes prior to grab a coffee. Or talk to Lenny. Both things can be true.

"Evie?" Jack spoke up timidly.

Evelyn paused her scribbles, looking up at her brother who had an almost guilty expression on his face. When he had the girls attention, he continued.

"Is it our fault that Momma and Pa fight?"

The girls eyes widened in surprise. It wasn't a question that she was expecting, and not one she really had an answer for. It was no secret that the twins were often the subject of their parents arguments, no matter how many times Abigail tried to keep the children oblivious.

Evelyn loved her father. She thinks there had to be something to love if they were born at all. While he never payed much attention to her or Jack, he's never been outwardly cruel either. So she likes to think they have a chance at being a family if she pushed enough. But it still hurt. In the stories Uncle Hosea has read to her, families had both their parents; that no family was complete without both. The rest of the gang filled that void to an extent, but it was a persistent reminder that her own father should be doing what they are. He was almost like a ghost.

And their existence did cause it. He left because they existed. Evelyn wanted to think he returned for them, but he never showed it.

But then the girl remembered her mothers words when Jack had gotten upset.

"Don't get upset about people who don't care about you."

So Evelyn looked at Jack and shook her head. "No." She told him firmly.

Jack wasn't convinced. "How can you be so sure?"

Evelyn shrugged. "Uncle Arthur says Pa has a thick skull."

He let out a slight giggle, before it quickly turned confused. "What does that mean?"

"Probably a different way of sayin' stupid."

Jenny came back not long after, coffee in hand. She told the twins that they could give Abigail their pictures now, that it might cheer her up a bit. Naturally, they obliged.

Jack and Evelyn approach their mother, who was sat in a chair as she stared aimlessly into the fire. She notices the toddlers in the corner of her eyes and inhaled deeply to compose herself, will away any frustrated tears, she'd hate to have the two panic at the sight of their mother crying. The twins hand over the drawings, made up of blocky squiggles that match the age of the children they were drawn by.

Abigail pretends to know what half of them are. Like how her children pretend they don't notice the small cracks in her voice when she asks about something in particular as they curl up to her sides.

☆☆☆

"This is stupid." Evelyn complained, scowling at the grass, hoping that if she ignored the pages long enough that they'd go away forever.

Not long after their third birthday, Abigail had asked Hosea if he'd be willing to teach them to read. Times were changing, and reading was becoming a pivotal skill. Nowadays, employers were looking for people who could write down a simple sentence. Abigail wasn't much good at reading neither, but if she could give her children a chance at a better life then this was certainly the best way to go about it.

Both of the Marston twins were hesitant about the prospect, getting certain sounds and pronunciations mixed up as a toddlers do, but Jack always took more of an interest in stories and it became a huge motivator for him to learn. Maybe it was a bit depressing that a four-year-old could read far better than his mother, but Abigail remained proud of him.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Evelyn. It didn't matter how many times they read the same sentence to her, she always got over half the words wrong. Whenever she was pushed to try harder she complained about the letters not "sitting still". Her lessons always left her in a foul mood and it got worse when Jack surpassed her reading level. Hosea started doing the lessons separately so the girl wouldn't feel jealous or inferior, but she kept on insisting that she couldn't read.

"Try harder, Evie." Abigail pressed, taking another drag of her cigarette to ease of the tension that came with dealing with stubborn toddlers.

"I'm trying Momma! But the words keep spinnin'!"

"Evelyn, just try and read this last sentence." Hosea spoke.

The girl groaned annoyedly, but returned her gaze to the worded page.

"T-ha-the d-big dru-bra-pra- Ugh this is hurting my head!" Evelyn cried out, pressing her hands against her temples to soothe her oncoming headache.

"Evie-"

"No I don't wanna keep readin' no more!" The girl yelled with tears in her eyes, jumping off the log and dashing away.

Arthur sat down at his cot a few moments later, body slightly drained of energy after carrying around hay bales and buckets of water around camp. He scribbled a few sentences in his journal. Small insights of how things were running so far and the plans Dutch had for the gang.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small sniffle.

Arthur put the journal aside and leaned over the edge of his cot. As he suspected, Evelyn Marston was curled underneath. Like a bear hiding in its cave.

"What're you doin' down there Evie?" He asked gently, noticing the tear tracks on her face.

"Hidin' from the stupid letters." Evelyn grumbled after a moment.

Arthur had to refrain from chuckling at how much the girl resembled her father, adopting the same scrunched eyebrows and scowl that John often expressed whenever he got annoyed.

"Ah, readin' not working out so good?"

"Ain't workin' at all." Evelyn stated defeatedly.

It was no secret that Evie couldn't read. She made it very clear whenever she angrily stormed off after another failed attempt at learning. Arthur felt for the girl, he too struggled to read and write for ages. When he was first taken in by Dutch and Hosea, the then fourteen-year-old was mortified at how stupid he looked in comparison to the men as they taught him how to write a simple sentence on paper. But it's been almost a year since those lessons started and Evelyn still struggled with the most basic of sentences. It was unusual because it wasn't like she was stupid, furthest thing from. Probably had more common sense than half the gang if he was being honest.

Looking at the small toddler curled up beneath his cot, Arthur figured she was in major need of a distraction.

"You wanna draw something in my journal?" He offered tentatively.

Evelyn noticeably perked up at that, swiftly crawling out from her hiding place and jumping onto the cot next to her uncle.

Arthur grabbed his aforementioned journal, flipping through the pages to find one that wasn't filled with scratchy illustrations or his writing. Once found, he handed the book and pencil to the eager toddler and let her scribble away.

Ten minutes passed. Evelyn dedicated the entirety of her attention onto the page, tongue sticking out in concentration as she scrawled another wobbly line.

"You wanna talk about what happened to."

Evelyn paused her scribbles, warily glancing between her uncle and the journal. The girl tapped the pencil against the paper as she pondered if she should confide in the man. Her uncle was very nice to her after all, never failing to cheer her up.

"I'm stupid." She eventually confessed.

Arthur observed the girl, how she was now hunched over the journal as if she was trying to protect herself from something. It was similar to when he interrogated people for information and they physically shielded themselves from fear, only Evelyn looked like she had an air of guilt to it.

"Well now, what makes you say that?"

She continued scribbling on the paper, only this time it became harsh lines that left behind crumbs of the pencil. "Can't read."

"That don't make you stupid."

"Yes it does!" Evelyn scoffed, throwing her arms out, evidently frustrated with herself. "Can't even read one sentence without the words swimming like fish in a river. It's hurtin' my head."

Moving her arms back to her sides, the girl gripped the edge of the cot tightly and stared at her knees. "I wanna keep tryin' so I'm not wastin' Uncle Hosea's time but I'm too stupid. Then Jack won't wanna play with me and Momma won't love me no more."

Who knew that a little girl talking bad about herself would send a pang through Arthur's heart. Poor Evelyn managed to frighten herself into thinking she was unlovable just because she thought she was an idiot. Arthur suspected that her struggle to read was more of a mental issue if anything, given how she had a fairly broad vocabulary for her age as a result of being surrounded by adults her entire life. Not to mention how genuinely distressed she sounded when she explained how the words moved. John's father was illiterate, perhaps there was a reason behind that. Maybe that reason got passed onto Evelyn.

"I can read and write," Arthur started, "but do you see me makin' breakthroughs in science?"

Evelyn slowly turned her head towards him, tears brimming her eyes. "I dunno."

"Course I ain't! Far too dumb to understand any of that nonsense."

The girl didn't look all that convinced.

"'Sides, there's plenty of skills that don't need readin' at all.

He pointed towards the girls drawings from earlier in the journal that rested on the girls lap. Mostly flowers. She'd gotten the overall shape right, and even managed to add in some small details that made it slightly more realistic. It wasn't a masterpiece, but it's not like Arthur was any good neither.

"You've got a real knack for drawin'." He praised as he ruffled Evelyn's hair, who giggled in response.

"Who knows, maybe in the future you'll make money off your art. Become a famous painter and forget about ol' Uncle Arthur." He said in a fake somber tone, moving his arm over his face as he leaned back onto the cot like he was hiding tears.

Evelyn gasped in despair at the mere thought, immediately throwing herself to his side to give her uncle a hug.

"I'd never forget you Uncle Arthur!"

Arthur chuckled, wrapping the arm that was on his face around the girl to return the hug.

☆☆☆

Packing up after Blackwater was a goddamm mess. The moment the others rode back in from the failure that was the ferry job, the calm atmosphere of the camp shifted into hurried chaos. Everybody was rushing to dismantle their tents and pack the essentials, forgoing whatever didn't have any immediate value above usefulness. Helping Davey into one of the wagons was a process that had to be quick and careful to avoid worsening his deteriorating state. Miss Grimshaw was ordering everyone around and for once, nobody had any objections. The situation was far too dire to kick up a fuss.

There were questions about their missing gang members, of course. Poor Jenny was killed at some point during the massacre, Sean and Mac were either arrested or followed a similar fate. But before anybody could even begin to come up with a plan to save them, they had to leave- the gang was no use to those two dead.

Dutch decided to head up north into the mountains, but after first day their luck managed to take an even worse when a godforsaken snowstorm (in May of all months) decided to hit them. The only silver lining being that Pinkertons wouldn't dare risk their own to chase a group of outlaws in that kind of weather, but it hardly mattered much when everybody was shivering out of their skin. John had gotten shot in the arm, while it had healed a bit since their departure it was still sore, but their leader still sent him out with Micah to scope out the area.

The Marston twins had gotten sick too. That was expected, they hadn't been in weather that cold in their lives so it was no surprise they caught a small cold. For the most part, they were slightly lethargic with a case of sniffles but nothing serious. Huddled together in the back of a wagon, the twins were clinging to each other for warmth, minimal as it was. Abigail sat next to her son as she mindlessly stared a hole in the floor- waiting for the chilly nightmare to be over.

"Evie, you're cold like ice!" Jack stated glumly, upset that his attempts to keep his sister warm were failing.

Dread bubbled in her stomach, an instinctual feeling that screamed something was wrong. Abigail stood up from the bench and hurriedly squeezed through the cramped space to reach her daughter.

Evelyn looked sickly in a way that she never looks. Head leaned against her brothers shoulder like she didn't have anymore energy to hold it up, breathing shallow breaths from her blue lips. From what Abigail could see in the dim light the lantern emitted her daughters skin had whitened significantly in contrast to her peachy complexion. She could only foolishly hope that the bumpy ride was the cause of the girl shaking.

Her dread quickly flared into panic. "Evie? Sweetheart? Talk to me." Abigail choked out, eyes wide with distress.

Evelyn shifted her eyes towards her mother, a tired look that is only ever appears when the girl has been completely drained of energy.

"Why we in the wagons Mama?" The toddler asked weakly, confused expression just about able to make itself present.

"Had to leave the last camp, remember?" The mother answered, silently praying to whatever God was out there for mercy on them just this once because for goodness sake she was only four.

Evelyn furrowed brow in concentration, digging through her mind to recall what her mother was talking about. "The one with the pond?" She finally suggested.

No. The camp at Blackwater never had a pond. She's thinking about a different camp they stayed at a couple of years ago.

Abigail could've cried in despair right then and there, but it wouldn't help anything. So instead, she took a deep breath to steel herself before looking to her son.

"Jack," she began, "keep your sister speakin', I need to have a word with Uncle Dutch."

The boy didn't look at all pleased that his mother was leaving him, but something about her tone stifled any protests he had.

So he simply nodded. "Okay Momma."

Abigail climbed out of the wagon- immediately regretting her decision the moment the snow froze through her shoes and cold bit at her skin- but she gritted her teeth and trekked through the mass of snow to reach the leading wagon.

"Dutch! Hosea!" She called out.

Hosea glanced at Abigail, letting the her know she had his attention before focusing back on the reins. Dutch leaned over the side of his seat to properly face the woman.

"What's wrong Abigail?"

"Evelyn's freezing Dutch," She told him, "gone all pale and confused. She's completely forgot what's happened."

A grim expression crossed the man's face, coming to the same awful conclusion that Abigail was fearing.

"If we don't find shelter soon..." She trailed off, unable to bring herself to finish her sentence.

Dutch nodded, turning back to the front.

"Arthur!" He called out to the man who was a few feet further from them.

Arthur's snowy silhouette shifted to face the wagon behind him.

"What's happened?" He called back.

"Miss Roberts thinks little Evie is catching hypothermia. Do us a favour and go up ahead to find some shelter!"

Arthur, bless the man, quickly spurred the horse into a sprint and vanished into the snowy mountains. Abigail could only hope that he finds something and quick as she trudged back to the wagon.

Her panic worsened the more time went on. Time felt like it had slowed just to prolong her daughters suffering, minutes becoming hours as she clumsily formed slurred sentences just to answer her brothers questions. Their was little anybody could do in their current state, supplies having depleted significantly in their hurry to escape the law. To her credit, Evelyn was trying. It seemed her sudden exhaustion triggered her instinct to stubbornly fight back against her drooping eyelids, something Abigail was all too familiar with when her daughter refused to sleep.

God, she'd take that frustration ten times over this.

By the time Arthur returned having found an abandoned mining town, Evelyn's condition deteriorated to the point she could only mumble incoherent noises in response. Abigail's attempts to keep the girl warm through skin-to-skin contact or wrapping her own scarf around the girl hardly helped.

Once they reached the town and Hosea gave the all clear for one of the cabins, Abigail didn't waste any time. She picked the her daughter up and carried her indoors, Jack hot on her heels.

"Abigail, bring the girl here." Hosea told her from the fire pit.

The woman eagerly complied, sitting cross-legged on the ground and sat the girl down next to Jack, who gently moved his sisters head to rest on his shoulder when he saw her struggling to keep herself upright. There was a mix of curious-concerned looks being passed at them as everybody else entered but Dutch began another one of his speeches before they could say anything. Abigail hardly paid attention to it, too focused on surveying her girls condition. Dutch and Arthur went back out to search for either John or Micah. Miss Grimshaw quickly got to work ordering everybody about to make the damn place half-decent to stay in.

"We need to start a fire, right now."  Abigail insisted, shaking from either the cold or terror, she wasn't sure.

"Evelyn's caught hypothermia, she needs to be warmed up and fast." Hosea clarified.

Miss Grimshaw nodded sharply. "Mister Williamson," She barked, "go out and look for anything that can light us a fire."

Bill grumbled in annoyance, but nonetheless followed the older woman's orders, knowing better to disobey her at a time like this.

"Evie?" Jack mumbled softly.

The girl barley pried her open at the call of her name, staring at her twin tiredly.

"What's your favourite colour?" He asked her, recalling their mothers instructions to keep her talking.

Evelyn didn't respond right away. Probably because she just barely able to form sentences, but at least that was in character for her, she always changed her mind each day and it took a moment for her to properly decide.

"Blue." She responded quietly. "Like your coat."

Suddenly, Javier appeared at their side. "Here," he handed them one of the blankets, "hopefully this warms her up."

Abigail gave the man a weak, but thankful smile. She immediately wrapped her daughter up in the cloth.

"Can you say thank you to your uncle?" Abigail asked the toddler, not really caring about the manners but needing to keep the girl conscious and aware.

Evelyn squinted at Javier through her blurry eyesight, just barely recognising his bowler hat and poncho

"Th- thank you Uncle Ja-Javier." She said shakily.

The man smiled sadly at her, tipping his hat politely. "No worries, kid."

Evelyn started to look around the cabin, confused about her surroundings and how she got there.

"Where a-are we?" She murmured to nobody in particular.

"A cabin." Abigail responded, combing her fingers through the girls hair disractedly. "It's snowing outside, we're stayin' here for a bit."

A spark of excitement lit in the girls eyes. "Snow? Can me and Jackie play in it later?"

Abigail chuckled softly at the girls eagerness. "Sure, don't see why not."

Eventually, Bill came back with some firewood. He gave a brief explanation of how only a few decent logs remained, so he had to find scraps all around the place. The flames provided a decent amount of heat, so hopefully Evelyn would warm up quickly.

"Where's Pa?" Evelyn suddenly asked worriedly.

Abigail's heart broke. The poor girl was frigid to the touch, but was worried about a father that couldn't even acknowledge her as his daughter.

"He's out lookin'." The mother told her daughter.

Evelyn didn't have the energy to press further like she usually did, so she merely shifted to lay her head into Jack's lap, attention captured by the flickering flames.

Abigail stared at her daughter helplessly  unsure of what she could do to help any more. She glanced towards Pearson, and decided to try if he'd be willing to spare anything to heat up. Without much other options left, she left her spot to approach the man.

"Do ya' think we can heat something up for Evie? Should warm her right up." Abigail asked him hopefully.

Pearson sighed regretfully, a solemn look in his eyes. "Miss Roberts, I only managed to grab cans of food. And with the state we're in I don't have the equipment to make anything warm."

"Nothin' at all?" Abigail hated how weak her voice sounded.

The man shook his head. "Nothing that could help."

She wiped away the small tear that managed to escape her eye, rubbing her hand against her chest absentmindedly to try and distract herself from the sheer hopelessness she felt.

"Momma, Evie stopped moving!"

Abigail's heart stopped.

She didn't remember carelessly shoving past people, didn't remember collapsing to the floor, reaching for her baby as her own despaired wails fell on deaf ears.

All she could remember was the morbid sight before her. Jack was shaking his sister like he was trying to wake her up. The poor boy probably thought she was sleeping, that she'd snap her eyes open and start running around like she always did. But Evelyn stayed more still than she ever had in her entire life. Her brown eyes were open, but they saw nothing. Pale blue lips that would never excitedly chatter again, won't ever giggle at her own silly jokes. She'd never run around energetically in the next game with her brother.

The couldn't even say that they gained another mouth to feed. Evelyn was long dead before Arthur and Dutch returned with Mrs Adler.