Chapter Text
It started with one very dumb conversation.
Arthur: "My shot was cleaner. That buck didn’t even flinch."
John: "Yours was limpin'! Mine went down like a sack of flour!"
Arthur: "You breathed on it wrong, that’s why it gave up."
So naturally, they bet on it. Whoever brought back the best buck and skinned it perfect got bragging rights for the week. Loser had to do the other’s chores for two days.
But they forgot two things:
Number 1 - Wolves also love deer.
Number 2 - They are magnetized to chaos like moths to an open flame.
Not even an hour in their hunting expedition, they get ambushed by a pack of hungry wolves. Arthur gets tackled, he yells "GET OFF ME YA DAMN MUTT!". And then there's John climbing a tree like “I ain't havin' my brains eaten again!” before falling off said tree because… of course he did.
They won. Barely. But the price?
Torn coats. Bloody scratches. And not a single buck in hand.
John (limping): “Okay… that was incredibly dumb. Even for us.”
Arthur (clutching his bleeding shoulder): “Yup. But the important thing is… we never let our wives find out.”
John: “Not a word.”
Arthur: “We take this to the grave, Marston.”
John: “You got it, Morgan.”
Cut to them walking into the house, where said wives were already there. Arms crossed. Foot tapping. Eyes deadlier than the wolves.
Abigail: “How many times do I have to bury you, John Marston?”
Sadie: “I have half a mind to divorce you right now, Arthur Morgan.”
Arthur & John: (sweating and dying inside)
(Bonus Scene: When Their Excuse Game is Weak AF)
Arthur: “We, uh, tripped… over a cliff.”
John: “Yeah! A… a steep one. Real dangerous.”
Abigail: “Did this cliff have claws?”
Sadie: “And fangs?”
Arthur: “Well—”
John: “We meant… uhh… we fell over a cliff... then slid down into the WOODS!”
Arthur (nods vigorously): “Yeah… and landed on a sharp bush!”
John (waving his hands like in demonstration): “Real sharp. And big. Huge bush.”
Sadie (eyes narrowed): “So you’re tellin’ me you both faceplanted into a killer shrub and it clawed your backs up like a feral animal?”
Arthur (sweating like a guilty schoolboy): “Y-yeah, darlin'.”
Sadie throws her hat on the table and lets out the sigh of a woman who’s married a grade-A dumbass.
Sadie: “You’re both grounded.”
Arthur: “...G-grounded?”
Sadie: “Yeah. No huntin'. No drinkin'. No poker night. No runnin’ errands’ neither. You don’t leave the property unless it’s to shovel horse shit. And if either of you catches a cold from those cuts, I swear to God—”
Abigail: “We'll stitch you both up with barbed wire.”
Arthur & John (gulped): “Yes ma’am.”
Later that night…
Arthur and John, sitting on the porch, covered in bandages, sipping tea like grumpy children in timeout.
Arthur: “Still think I coulda taken more of ‘em if my rifle hadn’t jammed.”
John: “Sure, if you didn’t fall on your ass tryin’ to reload.”
Arthur: “Least I didn’t scream like a girl.”
John: “I didn’t scream! That was a warning cry!”
Arthur: “You shrieked, Marston. Like a damn banshee.”
John: “Alright, next time I’ll let you get eaten then.”
Arthur (smirking): “Aw, don’t be like that, Lil' Johnny. We got a good story outta it.”
John (groans into his hands): “Yeah. One our wives will never let us live down.”