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The pistol clicks. Empty. Useless.
"No!" A pitiful gasp leaves his lips as if he were begging his gun not to fail him now. Not here.
Micah rumbles a laugh, his arm tightening around his hostage's neck.
"What's wrong, Black Lung? All outta bullets?" He grins those crooked teeth, "Not so lucky anymore, are ya."
Arthur glares across at his rival, the thorn in his side since Blackwater, thinking that he could take the chance to rush at him, to tackle him to the ground before the rat has a chance to shoot him. Adrenaline could get him through taking a bullet enough to pin Micah down and snap his neck, after which he'd be content to let his body shut down. A quicker and more fitting death than the alternative.
He would do it, he would, were it not for Tilly being held in Micah's merciless clutches, gun pressed to her temple, the other man's finger caressing the trigger.
Ain't no way he'd be quick enough. And he won't risk trying. Not with her.
Tilly struggles, of course she does, teeth bared as she tries to squirm out of Micah's grip. Arthur is doing all he can not to look into those eyes of hers.
"She ain't nothing to you, Micah. Just let her be." He tries, despite knowing this isn't a man to be reasoned with.
"Oh but that's where you're wrong, cowpoke! I've learned the benefits of keeping a good girl in camp to do help take care of us...Only I don't need too many women wailing. This one'll do fine. We'll all take good care of her."
"I'd sooner you shoot me than let myself be a slave for you and your creeps, Micah Bell!" Tilly objects.
But Micah ignores her; "My buddy Cleet's had his eye on this one. He was so happy she stayed even when the others ran off. Now, he's known to be a little rough handling the ladies...but I'm sure she'll soon get used to him. And even if she don't...hehe...He'll probably prefer the struggle."
Sick bastard!
Once upon a time, Arthur would have said that Dutch would never allow such a thing, especially not to a girl that he'd taken care of like his own daughter. But that was the old Dutch...or the Dutch that never really existed. Whoever their leader was now had no qualms when it came to leaving his "sons" to die, so God only knows if Tilly meant anything to him anymore.
But Arthur knew what she was to his own heart. No matter how grown and beautiful she'd become in recent years, whenever he looked at her he still saw the same skinny, sad little thing that had threatened him with the tiniest bread knife for any food in his satchel, and then that same night after they brought her home to camp, had sobbed and screamed in terror when she'd woken from a bad dream. He'd already lost Isaac by then, Eliza too...He'd failed to save them. But this little one? He would protect her till his final breath.
And that weren't too long from now, he reckoned.
"Just let her go, Micah...Now..." A cough burns its way up and out of his rotten chest, blood spitting to the ground.
Micah grins; "You can ask me nicer than that, Morgan."
"Arthur, just go! I can handle him! Get to John and Abigail!" Tilly tries to implore. She must know, even though he hasn't told her, not properly. "Go!"
Not a chance.
"Micah. Please. Let her go."
"Hmm. That is a little better but...It don't quite hit the spot." Micah muses; "I got it! I know what you can do for me, Black Lung. Just one little thing and I'll let you both go."
"What?" Money? He has it all, him and Dutch, what else could-
"Kneel."
Arthur blinks, wondering if he heard right.
"What do-"
"You heard me. Kneel." He gestures with a jut of his chin to the mud between them; "Kneel and beg me to let her go...That's all I ask!"
"You're a sick little man!" Tilly curses.
He slams the fist holding his gun into her stomach. Arthur flinches, having to hold himself back as she cries out. Micah growls and cocks the pistol.
"NO, Miss. Jackson! I am a survivor! That's all I've ever been! And all of you have done nothing but look down your noses at me as if you were any different, any better, but you ain't!" He snarls, then looks back at Arthur; "Especially him. All those months, looking at me like I was horse crap under your shoe. But before this is done, I'm gonna have her see you for what you really are, Arthur Morgan. An old, pathetic, used up, diseased ridden failure."
The words sting. He knows they shouldn't, words used to have little to no effect on him, especially not from someone he hated so fiercely. But he knows they're true.
Eliza, Isaac, Mary....Davey, Jenny, Sean, Lenny, Hosea...even Kieran and Miss. O'Shea...
He failed them all.
Even Dutch. He knows he shouldn't blame himself for how he changed but he can't help thinking there must have been something he could've done to make him see sense.
All he has left, before the end, is to save those he can. Sadie, Abigail, Jack, John...and...
"Don't you do it, Arthur. Don't give him the satisfaction!" Tilly shouts.
His eyes finally meet hers. Large and brown, ready to swallow him as they had all those years ago. Those eyes that had looked up at him when he'd entered her tent expecting to fight off an intruder only to find a shaking, whimpering little girl, scared that the bad men from her past were going to come take her back. The face that been buried into his chest as he'd held her close and whispered the same promise he gave her so many times.
The same promise he gives her here.
"...I will keep you safe, Miss. Tilly..."
She shakes her head, tears shining in her eyes now, reminding him of that little girl all the more.
Arthur's jeans soon become caked in mud as he falls to his knees, head bowing slightly, hoping to fulfill whatever power trip Micah wants out of this. It doesn't matter, not anymore, even as the shame of it soaks him. He won't let Tilly die for his pride, whatever is left of it.
It's only the three of them in the woods, though anyone could ride along and see him in this sorry state. Not that they matter.
Micah's jovial laughter rings out.
"That's it! That's better! What' you think of your great hero now, girl?" He spits against Tilly's ear; "What did that annoying Irish brat used to call him? King Arthur? Not so high and mighty now."
"Enough! Please..." He tries, feeling a second scalding against his ribs; "Micah, let..."
Coughs rattle out, deep and thick, causing his shoulders to shake as his vision blurs and darkens.
Adding to the humiliation, he falls forward, catching himself on his palm as he heaves out a few more guttural breaths, blood dripping from his lips.
"Oh it just gets better and better. Take a good, long look, Miss. Jackson. See Arthur Morgan for who he really is!"
"I know who Arthur Morgan is, you snake." Tilly responds, defiant as ever; "No matter what you ask him to do, I know he's ten times the man you- DUTCH! DUTCH, OVER HERE, HELP!"
"Huh?"
The same grunt of a question is on Arthur's mind, waking him up from the tug of the abyss his rapidly declining health is pulling him into. He tries looking up, a glimmer of hope that his friend, his...His teacher, his leader, his everything for the past twenty years, has finally seen the truth and come for them. For him. That all those years weren't for nothing, that he didn't give Dutch everything he had for a lie.
He looks around, in the direction of where Tilly called to, squinting through the trees for a sign, a face. Nothing. And he knows then, it was just another lie. A necessary one, but that doesn't stop it from cutting him deep when he's already bleeding inside. It was cruel of her to give him hope, but it wasn't meant for him.
Micah was the one distracted. Micah, his twisted reflection, searching for a man who promised dreams, only to let his guard down enough for Tilly to twist and get a perfectly timed knee up between his legs.
"YOU LITTLE BITCH! I'LL MAKE YOU REGRET THAT-"
She's on him before he can recover, grabbing the hand holding his gun and biting down hard. Micah screams again. He slaps her off with a fierce swipe to her eye, but the gun falls with a splat into the mud.
Pushing himself with everything he has left, Arthur reaches for the gun. He can feel his chest begin to convulse again. There's no time to aim, not when Micah is about to lunge for Tilly, his fingers bared like talons for her throat.
Arthur pulls the trigger. It goes off with bang that rings in his ears, all of his senses far too tender, the world spinning.
He falls onto his side.
Micah is the one on his knees now, hand pressed to a growing patch of dark red at his side. He's groaning, trying to push through it, to stand up, but Tilly stands over him. Metal glints in the setting sun. Did she swipe Micah's knife or has she always carried that? Is it the same one she used to try to get a crust of bread off him in that ally?
Those scared, sad eyes are gone now. She looks down at Micah with nothing but contempt.
"This is for Miss. Grimshaw, you piece of shit!"
A blink, then she's on top of Micah, pressing him into the dirt, stabbing the knife deep into his neck before pulling it out, then back in. Again. And again. Blood sprays up onto her face, as it had with Sadie. How lucky was Arthur to not be on the wrong side of two of the bravest women he knew. Not to mention Abigail doing away with Mr. Milton.
Part of him could watch her forever, it seems to take as long for Micah to stop gurgling and twitching beneath her, until the bastard finally goes still. Another part of him wants to pull her off, to tell her that it's over, to hold her close like he had when she was small. Her feral growls have descended into whimpers, from exhaustion or the ongoing grief of the past year, who knows.
All Arthur can do, unfortunately, is watch while letting out heavy, rattling breaths. It's coming. He can feel it now. He's pushed all he can.
Tilly looks up, as if remembering that he's there.
"Oh, Arthur..."
Micah is forgotten, abandoned as Tilly sheaths the knife beneath her dress and crawls over to him.
There's a shift of surfaces beneath him, cold and wet mud replaced by something soft, and he realises she's tugged his head onto her lap. One of her hands is on his hair, the other reaching to hold one of his.
"He....Is he....Ma-make sure...he..." Arthur tries to tell her.
"Forget about him, Arthur. He's not getting back up. I made sure of it." She assures him; "I got him, Arthur. I ended it."
He manages a weak smile.
"That you did....You're a good girl, Miss. Tilly...A good woman...Y-you take care now of yourself now, sweetheart..."
"Don't you say that. You just gotta hold on. They'll be coming for us soon and then we'll get you somewhere safe, somewhere warm." Her fingers stroke across his brow; "John wouldn't go without you."
"John...has a family..." They need him more.
"So do you, Arthur. You always have and you've always taken care of us. Let us take care of you...Please. Just stay with me, big brother." He hears her start to cry again, breaking his heart.
If she asks, he'll do it...He'll try.
He has a family? That's what Dutch always said but...he'd never thought it would be real without him, or Hosea.
His eyes are becoming too heavy to keep open. He's so damn tired.
There's a rustle in the tree branches close by.
A clap of hooves...
"Arthur...Arthur, look, see! I was right! It's Sadie, Arthur, she's coming! We're gonna get you to John and Abigail...it's gonna be okay....Arthur..."
He tries to open his eyes, the rays of the sun fighting against the dark red spots. Is it really Mrs. Adler? He doesn't see her. It might be another lie, this one meant to keep him hanging on, just a little longer.
There's no Sadie, no horse, even though he thinks he can hear the muffle of her voice calling to them as she trots closer. Raindrops on his cheek though he knows there's no clouds.
All he can see, wearing a crown of antlers, is the buck meeting his gaze. Another deep breath, and Arthur Morgan rests in his little sister's arms.
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