Work Text:
As a boy Arthur’s father used to tell him that death was a quick thing. You mess up, you die. Your one chance of life will be wasted.
Arthur never knew if that was supposed to scare him or make him more reckless than he already was, but he knows this is the moment where he really messed up.
But it‘s not like he hasn‘t been shot before.
Even before joining Dutch and Hosea, Arthur was a stupid boy. Eventually ending up alone, without a family and a penny to his name, but too stubborn to die just yet.
The town he was loitering in was filled with rumors, but this one claimed that their lawmen were exceptionally idiotic, even more so than Arthur himself. And he had been down on his luck, barely scraping by, surviving out of pure spite. He wanted to point at the sky and show his father that he could get by without him.
So to prove his point, he did the one thing that would refute the saying. He got himself shot. And then he was the one being laughed at.
Arthur had broken into the sheriff‘s office and taken anything that could be sold, but wasn‘t quick enough to hide when the door sprung open. Upon seeing the perpetrator, the sheriff just fired the gun. 12 year old Arthur had a hole in his shoulder.
He survived it somehow. It didn‘t get infected and when the sheriff realized he wouldn‘t be able to cause any more harm with a wound like that, he let him go. Maybe to get the satisfaction of seeing the kid dead on the street within the next couple of days.
Without a home or money, Arthur was ready to say goodbye and admit to himself that his dad was right. One mistake in this world and you will be paying for it with your life.
But then a nice older woman saw him on the street and took pity on him. Stitched him back together, got the bullet out. She had told him that she was missing her son who she hadn‘t seen in weeks. Very obviously she was worried sick for him. The woman let him stay the night.
Arthur left the next day.
After that, he survived somehow. Figured that getting away with it, cheating death was a one time thing.
Just three years later, Arthur‘s life had drastically changed. Finally, he wasn‘t alone anymore. Some stability. Even if that stability was rooted in running from town to town and doing dishonorable things, like stealing from the poor, beaten and bruised, but survival meant fighting and there was nothing Arthur wouldn‘t do to ensure to live one more day.
Hosea and Dutch always planned ahead. When they had their next victim to be robbed in mind, they knew what to do. In theory every step was perfect, but it was the act that was lacking something.
It took them five months to get around Arthur. He had waited for them to ask him, his every attempt to join them on their activities denied. But when they finally allowed him to come along, everything went downhill.
Arthur got shot. Again. This time it was the stomach and he was sure this was it. They would leave him and take the money they were able to save from their sad attempt at robbing and there wouldn‘t be a nice woman to take pity on him now.
But they stayed. And they carried him back to their camp. And they nursed him back to health, Hosea giving him his medicine and putting on new bandages, while Dutch read him his books out loud and soothed Arthur back to sleep, when his father haunted him in his nightmares.
Arthur stayed after that.
Now, he‘s still with his family. It‘s even bigger than it was back then, but the stability is gone. They were never good people, Arthur knew at least that, but back then they were at least trying. The occasional help offered to widows and food offered to orphans.
Now it‘s all just about robbing and extortion and money, money, money. Their survival and no one else's.
Which is exactly how they ended up in this predicament.
Arthur and Hosea had tried to stop Dutch, but they‘re no longer the voice of reason. Micah is filling that role for Dutch now.
And Arthur didn‘t see the policeman. This wasn‘t supposed to happen. He wasn‘t supposed to go like this.
Realization only hit him when he was already on the floor. The recoil of the bullet snipped his strings like a puppet‘s.
His gun wasn‘t in his hand, it must have slipped out of his hold, but he always grips real tightly, just like his daddy taught him. Not this time.
The gunshots don‘t stop. Arthur isn‘t sure if they hit him or not. Arthur isn‘t really sure of anything.
The scent of iron spreads through the thin air. He remembers his injury from their last robbing attempt, the used bandages under his shirt that are now soaked. Blood is on his hand. Arthur doesn‘t know how to breathe.
When he gets his eyes to open, everything is a blur. Frantic hands roam his body and Arthur thinks it‘s Hosea. He can make out his light hair and his wide bright eyes and the worry lines on his face. Arthur hopes it isn‘t him. He wouldn‘t want Hosea to see him like this. Not again.
„Arthur?!“
Oh.
Arthur grips the hand that‘s hovering over his stomach.
The blood is pooling on the floor. They‘re not moving. They‘re caught in a small bank in Saint Denis and Arthur is bleeding out like a stuffed pig on the ground, the dirt and splintered glass surrounding him.
He knows Dutch is around somewhere. Maybe he saw Arthur in the corner of his eyes and decided he‘s not worth saving, not worth worrying about.
Dutch knows what Death looks like. Maybe he saw it in Arthur.
Or he didn‘t notice. Dutch stopped noticing things a long time ago. His guns might be drawn and bullets blazing and maybe, Micah is at his side where Arthur would have once stood.
Arthur wouldn‘t know.
Everything‘s a blur.
His face is wet. He wipes it but his hand comes back red. Hosea is still holding onto him, seemingly having forgotten about the fight. Maybe he stopped caring too.
Arthur‘s eyes are getting heavy. He‘s really tired. He messed up.
He‘s just sorry he couldn‘t do more with his life.