Chapter Text
The mountains were harsh, and the cold harsher. Put them together and you don't gotta wait for hell to freeze over, it already came right to you. Only difference was people ain't forced to live through the whole thing. Arthur hoped whatever afterlife existed would give Davey some slack, dying in a place like this.
Arthur stared after Grimshaw and the women as they bustled about Davey's corpse. They'd done the best they could with the time they had. Davey's death hung bitter in his throat, tightening his chest and tangling with frustration, making him clench his fists.
After everything they'd done to get away, all that work to ensure they didn't lose anyone else, Davey was still dead.
Damn it.
A soft sniffle pulled Arthur out of his own grief. His attention was drawn to the set of shoulders wrapped in his faded blue scout coat. His son trembled beneath the dense material, gaze locked on Davey's unmoving body as Arthur watched him.
Scratching his chin, Arthur let out a sigh. Isaac got like this every time they lost someone, no matter who it was or how much death he'd seen. Never got easier for him. Arthur weren't quite sure it ever would.
Moving past those bustling around inside, Arthur stepped over to Isaac. Careful not to spook him, he rested a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. Isaac immediately turned, quick as a whip, and buried his head against Arthur's chest.
Arthur stood frozen, heart pulled taut as a bow. Isaac had clung to Arthur like this when they'd lost Bo, too. Everything in Blackwater had been a mess when he and Hosea got back. In their rush to escape, Bo took a nasty shot to the shoulder. She'd already been getting too old to ride, and the bullet must've hit something important, 'cause she couldn't get back up. Arthur didn't have the heart to leave her to a slow death.
Isaac wouldn't let go of him the whole ride north, and hardly spoke the whole day after it happened. Stuck to Arthur's side once they'd set up camp, shaking and crying, and he hadn't known what to do other than hold Isaac through it.
Arthur still weren't sure how to comfort him. His hands hovered for a moment before willing himself to move, dropping his arms to wrap them tight around Isaac, rubbing one hand softly against the kid's back. His shirt was growing damp with snot and tears, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It'd wash just fine.
"It'll be alright, kid," he muttered.
Arthur held his son close, dropping an awkward kiss to the crown of his head. Eliza used to do that, chasing pain and grief away with a simple touch. She always seemed to know just how to keep Arthur from falling apart, welding the cracks together time and time again, never growing tired of Arthur or his problems. He hoped the gesture helped in some way, small though it was.
Arthur couldn't remember a time they'd lost so many at once. Sure, they hadn't seen Mac or Sean dead like Jenny or Davey, but it was still hard on them, losing so many in such quick succession. Too often, people would leave camp and not come back, and sometimes you'd just have to accept they weren't gonna come back. Having spent eight of his thirteen years with the gang, Isaac had seen people come back from scouting with bad news countless times, eyes solemn and reports a hushed whisper. Then, you add losing Bo to all that…
Too many people they didn't get to send off proper. That would weigh on anyone, especially a kid like Isaac, who'd always been too smart and felt too much for his own good.
"C'mon," Arthur said, nudging Isaac and earning a damp look. He couldn't help an amused huff, bringing his gloved hand to wipe the wetness from his son's face. "Your face is gonna freeze."
"It's already freezin'," Isaac answered weakly, leaning into the touch, but allowed Arthur to lead him.
Careful as they went, Arthur moved Isaac away from Davey's cooling body toward the fire someone'd gotten started. The warmth would hopefully help with his shakes. Lord knows Arthur's scout jacket was too big on him, didn't keep him proper warm as it should.
Isaac had his own jacket, sure, but he'd somehow managed to grow like a weed in the months following winter. Nobody was prepared to run for the freezing mountains of Grizzlies East. With no time to get him a new one, Arthur had wrapped Isaac in his scout jacket and kept everyone moving.
"What're we gonna do with him?"
Drawn out of his thoughts, Arthur looked down at his son, his brown eyes glossy with the remnants of tears. Isaac wiped over his face with his sleeve, sandy blond hair sticking to his face as it dried.
He was so young. Hardly thirteen and forced into running from problems he weren't even involved with. Arthur didn't even know what went bad during the Blackwater job. From what he'd heard, everything had been going according to plan, only for the ferry to be completely surrounded by Pinkertons and law. He hadn't gotten the chance to ask Dutch about it yet; nobody else seemed eager to give him the details.
"Well," Arthur sighed, looking out the door where Dutch and Hosea were discussing their next steps. "If the ground ain't frozen, reckon we'll bury 'im, just like anyone else."
"I wanna help," Isaac said immediately, settling down beside Arthur in front of the fire. "I — I wanna help 'em bury Davey."
"I…" Arthur hesitated, meeting his son's eye. This wasn't the first time he'd asked to help with something; Isaac was always looking for ways to help around camp, and did the work without a peep of complaint… But he'd never buried a man before. Seen people die, sure, but burying the corpse of someone you knew and loved wasn't the same.
Looking at Isaac, seeing how tired and hurt he was, how desperate he was to do something, Arthur couldn't stomach telling him no.
"…I'll tell Hosea," he responded finally, "jus' listen t'what he tells you, alright? You ain't had to do this before."
"I know, Pa," Isaac huffed, and Arthur didn't have to look to know he rolled his eyes.
Before Arthur could reprimand Isaac for his sass, Dutch was calling his name from the doorway. "Arthur! C'mon, we're goin' after John n'Micah. We're gonna see if they found anything."
Arthur stared after Dutch a moment, looking over the man's shoulder into the ongoing snowstorm. "In this?"
Dutch paused, looking between where Arthur held Isaac at his side. His expression softened, but he held firm, responding with a nod. "We won't be long, son. Just for a bit."
Arthur sighed. Patting Isaac one last time on the back, he stood. Double-checking he had his pistol at his hip and hadn't lost his hat, he took up his usual position at Dutch's side.
The speech, as many of Dutch's before it, sparked hope. It always seemed to come easy to Dutch, giving people a sense of direction when all seemed lost. No matter how grim things got, he always knew what to say and how to say it.
There was a book Isaac had all about the night sky, something he got from Eliza a long time ago. Dutch reminded Arthur a bit of Polaris — the ever-present north star, guiding them on their way, no matter how uncertain the future got.
"We'll make it through," Dutch said, and Arthur believed him. So long as the gang had Dutch, they'd find their way.
As Dutch turned to leave, Arthur paused when he passed Hosea, patting the man's shoulder to gain his attention.
"Isaac's lookin' to help with Davey," he said, tilting his head toward where Isaac had settled near the fire. Hosea's brows pinched, and Arthur continued. "I — he's hurtin', Hosea. Jus'… let him do somethin', alright?"
After a brief pause, Hosea nodded. "Of course, Arthur. I'll keep an eye on him."
Arthur returned the nod, grateful, before going after Dutch. He wasn't happy about having to tail John or Micah, but there wasn't many other options. They didn't need to be losing any more of their number out in this.
It did give him the opportunity to ask Dutch about Blackwater; it'd been far too chaotic to ask until now, and nobody seemed eager to discuss it. Something had clearly gone wrong. Best to ask Dutch while they were away from prying eyes and ears, then, instead of question him in front of everyone, which was hard to do when they'd been traveling nonstop for days.
Taking reins from Charles and nodding in thanks to the man, he and Dutch were off. Arthur waited until they'd ridden a small distance from Colter, ensuring he wasn't overheard. "What happened in Blackwater, Dutch? Sounds like it went to hell outta nowhere."
"We missed you is what happened," Dutch answered quickly, voice rough, dragged by the wind and snow. "No point in thinking about it now. What's done is done; now, we have to focus on getting everyone out safe."
The answer made Arthur set his jaw, going quiet as they pushed through the storm. The knowledge stung worse than the cold threatening his fingers with onset frostbite. He should have been there, but the heist was too high-risk, and the job Hosea found had been promising in comparison. He hadn't expected Dutch to go through with it without either of them there.
Arthur ran a hand over his face. He'd think about it later, see what he could learn from the others. For now, they had a pair of idiots to find.
Arthur could still feel the heat of the Adler home pulsing at his back like a heartbeat, even as he rode away from the scene behind Dutch and Micah. There was something foreboding about the blaze going strong in spite of the storm, eating easily through damp wood, ash mixing with the swirling snow. This wasn't part of the plan.
The addition of one Sadie Adler also hadn't been on the docket, riding with him at his insistence. Micah had been damn careless, making advances on a woman made widow just days before. As much as he knew placing blame wouldn't change things, the damn house only burned up because of him. He'd cost them a better camp, and not to mention all of Mrs. Adler's belongings were in that house, leaving the woman with nothing but the ratty bedclothes she'd been forced to wear for three straight days.
He knew what it was like, losing a loved one like that, forced to grapple with it while having to keep moving. It was a bitter thing. There were days Arthur still woke with rage and pain burning in his chest, seeing Isaac here rather than with his ma. He weren't rightly sure if he'd ever heal from the pain of losing Eliza.
He knew there were no words that would make Mrs. Adler's pain any lighter. Trying would just make it worse, all empty sentiment from those who didn't truly know what she'd lost. All Arthur could offer her, in this short moment, was someone who wouldn't push, and a warm back to lean against as they trudged through the falling snow.
He pushed the Walker he'd gotten from Mrs. Adler's barn to speed up. It was a decent horse, but a bit too small for his taste. He'd never been as fond of small, fast horses like Dutch was, always so skittish around a tussle. While it worked for now, he knew he'd want something with a bolder temperment down the line.
It made him miss Boadicea all over again. Bo had been Eliza's horse, and when she'd passed, he'd taken her from the empty home. He'd been worried she'd spook at the first sign of a real fight… but she hadn't. Eliza didn't raise fearful horses, and Bo was a damn bold horse. Whether it be bullets or bears, she hadn't ever turned and ran unless Arthur shooed her off himself.
Patting the Walker's neck gently, hushing him as they approached Colter, Arthur pulled himself out of his reminiscence. They were met outside by some of the others, Dutch barking out orders and catching Hosea up to speed, but Arthur's attention was drawn to Isaac shoving his way through the crowd towards him like a fool.
"The hell you doin' outside, boy?" Arthur called.
"You got a new horse, Pa?" Isaac called back, eyes only for the Walker at Arthur's side. Arthur willed himself not to laugh at Isaac's barely-concealed interest, trudging through the snow towards him.
"Get inside! I ain't tellin' you nothin' out in this blizzard," Arthur yelled in response, earning him a stubborn frown. "Go on, then! Unless you're wantin' t'catch cold in this."
Isaac's expression pulled into a childish scowl, and Arthur couldn't contain his snort as Susan Grimshaw called out.
"Over here, Mr. Morgan," Grimshaw said, directing him where she had Dutch and Hosea, "Got a room for you n'your boy set up inside."
"Thank you, Miss Grimshaw," Arthur responded, and glanced at Isaac.
"Thank you, ma'am." Isaac smiled at Grimshaw as they passed, and the woman gave him a rare, warm smile.
"Of course. Now, Mr. Bell," she continued, face stone cold once again. "You're with the fellers over there."
As Arthur led Isaac toward the building they'd be resting in, he rolled his eyes at the inevitable complaints from Micah. Glancing at Isaac, he found his son had wrinkled his nose in response to Micah's bitching.
"Why's he gotta complain 'bout it? He knows Miss Grimshaw ain't gonna change her mind?" Isaac sighed, and while the question was rhetorical, Arthur couldn't help but respond.
"'Cause Micah's big mouth makes up for his lack of brains," he answered, earning a laugh from Isaac as he looked around the small room. "Why don't'cha look n'see if there's anything lyin' around, I'll set up our bedrolls, and then I'll tell'ya about the horse?"
Isaac whirled around to look at Arthur, and the look of eager curiosity warmed him more than any fire. "Yes sir!"
The following quiet as the pair went to work was comfortable and familiar. It was an easy decision as to which of them was sleeping on the floor; Arthur wasn't about to make his son do that, and while the bed might've broke from the weight of a man, Isaac was still a growing boy. It was only fair.
After setting things aside and hanging up his hat, Arthur took a seat on the bed, watching as Isaac rummaged through the bedside table. "You get t'go help bury Davey?"
Isaac paused, drawer half-out. Arthur's heart ached, seeing his son's face go from eager glee to pained. Still, that was important to Isaac. He wanted to be sure it went alright.
"Yeah," Isaac said finally, returning to his scavenging, though less enthused. "Helped Lenny, Hosea, n'Bill. Couldn't go far, so he's buried out behind the cabin." He hesitated for a moment, brows knitted together, before finishing his thought. "Wrote his name on the headstone. Hosea had me do it."
Arthur nodded, though Isaac wasn't looking at him. He'd have to thank Hosea for that later. "Feel any better after doin' it?"
Isaac frowned, fiddling with his hands, apparently done looking through the drawers. "Kinda? Not really. I dunno, just…" He scratched at his neck awkwardly, hand settling there. "Just… kinda aches now, I guess."
"Yeah," Arthur sighed. Not really sure what else to say, he gestured Isaac to sit beside him, mattress hardly shifting under his weight compared to Arthur. "Well, I promised I'd tell you 'bout that Walker, so how 'bout I do that?"
Isaac looked up at him with a small nod, and Arthur gave him a grin. He didn't know how to help Isaac through this proper, not really, but he could distract him. "Well, alright then."
So, Arthur told him what happened at the Adler home. He didn't explain everything — Isaac didn't need to know they'd seen Mrs. Adler's husband dead in a wagon outside, and didn't need to hear the details of a bloody gunfight — but summarized the whole thing for him. Isaac seemed to perk up, hearing the story, which he was glad for. At least, until Isaac frowned about the house going up in flames.
"Wait, I don't understand. Did the O'Driscolls set the house on fire? Thought you'd already shot 'em," he asked, and Arthur sighed.
"No," he drawled, running a hand over his face in frustration. "No, that would be Micah, bein' an idiot, chasin' a scared woman about."
Only after he said it did Arthur realize his son had gone tense, hands curled into fists in his lap, expression tight. Arthur nudged him with an elbow, trying to snap him out of it. "What's wrong?"
"I don't like Micah," he growled, tone darker than Arthur'd ever heard him be. "He —"
Isaac cut himself off, glancing up at Arthur before staring back down at his hands.
Trying to put whatever worries out of Isaac's mind, Arthur shrugged. "Well, sure. I don't think most've the others like Micah either, 'cept Dutch. Maybe Bill."
Isaac's nose scrunched up. "Don't like Bill much, neither."
Arthur chuckled, ruffling Isaac's hair, earning a half-hearted yell of protest from his son. "Well, you'n just about everyone else. That what's eatin' you? Not likin' Micah?"
"No," Isaac huffed, trying to right his hair, tugging his coat tighter around himself. "He just… reminds me of what happened." Another uncertain pause. "To Ma."
"Ah," Arthur said.
That was something they hadn't really talked about. Arthur knew Eliza died in a robbery gone sour, barely knew more than it was over a meager few bucks. Honestly, until now, he'd doubted Isaac remembered much of what happened. It'd been hard on him, losing his ma, and he'd been pretty young at the time. Didn't feel right, asking a kid of five about what really happened that night, and he just… never found the right moment to ask.
He'd put together Eliza fought back from the state of her home when he got there. It was a right mess; table tossed aside, a broken chair he guessed she'd thrown at the aggressor, glasses and plates strewn about.
Arthur thought, maybe, knowing more about what happened would put his mind to rest about it. Instead, hearing Isaac compare it to what happened to Mrs. Adler, Arthur just felt cold, like the chill of the Grizzlies had sucked all the warmth right out of him.
The silence lingered for a while, and Arthur pulled Isaac into his side. The kid leaned into him, and Arthur took a few steadying breaths, digesting the information. He couldn't do anything about it now. Didn't even know the man who robbed and killed Eliza, much less where he might be now. It didn't matter.
It wasn't until Isaac spoke up again that Arthur realized he'd started dozing off.
"I'm gonna kill the man who killed Ma, one day. Jus' like you killed those O'Driscolls."
Arthur sat up straight, suddenly wide awake, and looked down at Isaac, tone harsh. "No you ain't. We ain't goin' out lookin' for trouble were we don't need any."
"But you killed those O'Driscolls who killed Mr. Adler!" Isaac argued. "How's that any different? Why's it okay when you do it?"
Arthur shook his head. He had to get this through Isaac's thick skull.
"That weren't revenge, Isaac. They'd have killed us, so we killed them first." Setting a hand on Isaac's shoulder, Arthur kneeled in front of his son. "Revenge is a fool's errand, son, and does more harm than good. You might think it's justice, but ain't nothin' just in this world."
"So you wouldn't kill 'em, if you knew?" Isaac yelled, shoving forward out of Arthur's grip, glaring at him. "You'd let the — the bastard who killed Ma just go free?"
Arthur's voice caught in his throat, not sure how to answer. He stepped back, getting out of Isaac's space as he tried to think clearly.
He wasn't angry at Isaac — he didn't know better. He couldn't. He didn't understand what revenge did to get them here, how Colm had killed Annabeth, throwing Dutch into the worst state he'd ever seen him in.
More than that, Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to restrain himself if he knew. If they truly found the man who killed her, Arthur couldn't say he wouldn't kill him for it.
"I don't know, son," he said finally, running a hand through his hair. "I don't."
Isaac stared up at him, emotions stormy behind his eyes for a long few moments, before he huffed and crawled into the bed Arthur had set up for him, turning to face the wall, back to Arthur. When he said nothing else, Arthur sighed, settling down into his own bedroll and pulling his journal out of his satchel.
As much as he didn't want Isaac to toil over the right choice, Arthur would never forgive himself if Isaac lost himself to revenge. He couldn't watch his son become a husk of a man, driven by hatred and anger, running from a past he'd never be able to escape. He'd take Isaac angry at him now over learning his son died in a gunfight with the man who'd wronged him any day.