#uuhhhhhhhh probably needs some more editing too tbh i no doubt missed some things

[raewrite]

The West is all that You Have

Arthur Morgan x Reader

Ohhhhhh Okay wow so this is A Lot.

This is something I’ve had in mind for a little while. Essentially, its an AU where Arthur gets a happy ending instead of TB. I’m planning for this to be a 2-part series, and then using it as a basis for some future requests, if you guys are down for that.

(Title inspired by the song ‘Western Expansion’ by Jared & the Mill *wink*)

Ahem.

~~~

Like hell you were gonna let Micah make off with that money.

Sadie, Abigail, and yourself had made it a few miles out from Beaver Hollow by now, having put some distance between yourselves and whatever hell was about to break loose back at camp. You had been deadly quiet for the better part of the ride south, letting Sadie take the lead. You knew there was no going back to the way things used to be, and every part of you burned with an undeniable rage that made you want turn back, go find Arthur, and kill that rat bastard Micah yourself. But a voice in your head told you to keep the other women safe; a voice that sounded an awful lot like Arthur’s. A sneer spread across your face as you warred silently with yourself.

Another few minutes of riding found the three of you coming down a hill to a crossroads where Sadie slowed up to check the signs. You halted your horse behind her, your grip tightening around the reins.

“Sadie,” you called just as she was pulling her horse into the turn. She glanced over her shoulder at you inquisitively, with Abigail turning to look as well. Her eyes were puffy and red, causing you to waver.

“Y/n, c’mon. We’ve still got a ways to go,” Sadie implored, and you knew from the tone of her voice that she knew what you were thinking.

“I gotta go.” You tried to be firm, deciding it was best not to look Abigail in the eye as you did so. You knew Sadie would take care of her.

“Hey, don’t go playin’ the hero now. You heard Arthur.”

“I gotta…” You looked down at your hands as you tried to steel your resolve. Letting out a sigh, you met Sadie’s eyes. “Keep on ’til you get to Copperhead, like Arthur said. I’m going back.”

“Y/n…” It was Abigail now, her voice hoarse. You did your best to look apologetic as you met her eyes, pulling your horse up alongside Sadie’s so that you could reach out to her.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” you tried to soothe, taking her hand in yours. “It’s gonna be okay, but right now that little boy needs you. He needs you and that’s your business to attend to. I’ve got some business of my own.” You squeezed her hand. “I have to go.”

Abigail nodded once, fresh tears welling up in her eyes as she looked down at your hands. You patted hers gently and looked to Sadie.

“Now, both of you get on out of here,” you finally said, though you couldn’t hide the little crack in your voice. Pulling back, you straightened up in your saddle. Sadie gave you a look akin to understanding, readjusting the reins in her hands.

“You stay safe, honey,” she said, catching you a bit by surprise with the gentleness of her tone. All you could do was nod.

Without another word, you steered your horse back in the direction of the camp, only daring to look back over your shoulder once you had topped the hill. Sadie was tugging at the reins with Abigail’s arm around her waist now, and you caught Abigail’s gaze one last time. You bowed your head to her before turning back in your saddle and urging your horse onward.

Galloping through the thick woodlands, you couldn’t help but notice the echoing voice in your head. Whispers of what sounded like old Reverend Swanson murmuring something about the shadow of death and fearing no evil. You were never sure what to make of Swanson or his afflictions, but now, as you barreled headlong towards whatever awaited you in that cave, you felt the same cold comfort you felt back in Colter whenever he would read to you and the others. It was enough, whatever it was, and you felt a burst of assurance bloom in your chest as you rode ever northwards.

~~~

It was dark by the time you reached Beaver Hollow, the moonlight catching eerily in the trees as you slowed your horse to a trot. From the edge of the clearing, you could see flames eating away at two of the wagons, casting a sinister red glow over the mouth of the cave. You pulled off into the trees and hitched your horse there, glancing around for any signs of life as you did so. You took your saddlebags and hefted them over your shoulder.

Carefully, with revolver in hand, you edged into the camp itself, skirting along your left-hand side by the smoldering wreck of Arthur’s wagon. Glancing under the half-fallen tarp, your heart sank when you saw the charred remains of most of his belongings. The photographs had been reduced to ash, with only the nails that pinned them to the wagon’s paneling remaining. His old horseshoe still hung in place, though it was likely too hot to pick up at the moment. The glint of firelight off glass caught your eye and you noticed the little jar Arthur kept on his bedside table. You snatched it up, rubbing away a bit of soot. Inside, the little flower he preserved still sat, unaffected by the turmoil around it. You gave a triumphant little hum as you tucked it away safely in your saddle bag.

Stepping cautiously back into the clearing, you looked around for a sign that anyone was there, squinting into the darkness of the surrounding woods.

Where the hell was everyone?

You made your way slowly towards Dutch’s tent, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you gazed down into the cave. It was like the mouth of hell itself opening before you, and you looked over your shoulder one last time before descending into the gloom.

Remembering what Abigail had said about Dutch’s stash, you wound your way towards the back of the cavern, your eyes flitting nervously between the shadowy corners and the half-rotted crates around you. You had seen no sign of any of the gang members thus far, and you began to truly fear the worst. The family was parted for good, you knew that much, and nothing could go back to the way it used to be, but you still hoped and prayed that at least some of them made it out without getting tangled with Micah and the Pinkertons. If nothing else, you prayed that Arthur was alright.

When you found the wagon Abigail must have been talking about, you glanced around the cavern walls one more time for any signs of danger, though it only made you more uneasy when you found nothing. Hesitantly, you began moving boxes away from the side of the wagon, trying not to make too much noise as you did so. The chest was something you had only seen on rare occasions, for Dutch always seemed to hide it quickly and well whenever the gang had to move. But now you dragged it unceremoniously into the dim torchlight, taking the hunting knife from your belt and jamming it under the lid, just as you had seen Arthur do on countless occasions. The sound of metal on metal made you wish Abigail had given you the key instead of Arthur, as the scraping echoed around you, making the hairs on your neck stand on end. You prayed no one could hear you.

Finally, the lid popped open, and you rested it back gently against the wagon. Inside was a sizable burlap sack, like the ones Pearson used to store grain. Your heart beat rapidly as you grabbed the open end and peered inside.

Money, and lots of it.

A spark of giddiness caught in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in weeks, you felt like things were truly going to be alright, despite everything.

Under better circumstances, you would have taken the time to count out what you were loading into your saddlebags, but right now you would be glad to have whatever you could carry. Part of you hoped that by only taking some of the money and leaving the rest where you found it, it would be less obvious that anyone had come for it at all, and you, Arthur, and the others could be long gone by the time anyone noticed. Your plan would have to suffice; there was no time for anything better.

Replacing the sack in the chest and pushing it back under the wagon, you tried to make the scene look as untouched as possible. With that done, you began to make your way back up out of the cavern.

The feeling of excitement that you had felt was quickly overtaken by weariness once more, as a shiver ran down your spine when you neared the mouth of the cave. The fires still roared angrily over the wagons, jumping from one source of fuel to another. Passing by Dutch’s tent, you heard your horse whinny from across the way, her hooves stamping into the dirt in agitation.

Shadows cast from the fires jumped around you ceaselessly, making you whip your head about at every sign of movement as you stepped cautiously into the clearing. The smoke was getting thick now, with the hill shielding it from any wind that would otherwise carry it off through the trees, and your eyes began to water. You pulled the collar of your shirt up over your nose.

Coming up beside your horse, you stroked her neck and hushed her before hefting the bags on your shoulder back up behind your saddle. Another distressed snort sounded from your horse, her ears flicking back and forth as she stamped at the ground. You stepped back a pace, splaying your hands down by your hips as if to show her some kind of surrender.

“Hey now, girl,” you spoke gently, making sure you were in her line of sight. “Easy now, easy. We gotta—”

Something big and heavy slammed into you then, throwing you off your feet and sending you sprawling into the dirt. You sputtered as you tried to regain the air that had been knocked from your lungs, scrambling to get up and grab your gun as you did so. But then that weight was back, pinning you down with hands on your forearms and a knee pressing down into your stomach.

Micah glared down at you with fire catching in his eyes and a wicked smile spreading across is face.

“I knew one of you would come back for it,” he snarled, his grip tightening around your arms as you tired to throw him off. “Robbin’ old Dutch after all he’s done for you.”

“Micah,” you ground out, bringing your knees up as far as you could. With one good kick to the abdomen, you sent him stumbling back, buying yourself enough time to grab your revolver from your belt.

Lunging right as you aimed, Micah caught you around the waist as you fired, your shot cracking over both your heads. Trying to pull you back down onto the ground, Micah knocked your gun from your hand and lurched to one side, tugging you with him and throwing you down hard. You rolled just in time to see the knife he pulled from is belt shining brightly in the firelight.  You tried to regain your footing, stumbling away and putting a few feet between you.

“You bastard, you damned us all,” you spat, grabbing your own knife and glancing around for your gun, which lay a few feet away. Micah came barreling towards you once more, causing you to jump to one side, catching him across the arm with your blade as you did so. He swung back at you quicker than you would have figured, garbling like some kind of feral animal as he did. In trying to dodge, you teetered backwards, which Micah took advantage of by tackling you down, his knife finding its mark in your side.

You grunted at the sudden, sharp pain, panting as your hands went to yank it out on instinct, but Micah’s hold stopped you. With one hand holding the knife in place, he moved his other to your throat. He leaned in as his grip tightened around your neck.

“Shoulda known it’d be you,” he sneered, grinning down at you. You tried to thrash, but the man above you held firm, the knife plunging a bit further into your side. Your hands went to his wrist, clawing uselessly. “No one’s comin’ to save you, sweetheart. Morgan ran. John too. Ain’t no one comin’ back for you.”

“Rot in hell, Micah,” you wheezed, your voice cracking as the hand closed ever tighter around your throat. Something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye then; a glint of metal just by Micah’s boot.

The edges of your vision were beginning to get hazy now, and you were aware that Micah was saying something, but he sounded distorted, like you were under water. You let your hands fall from around his wrist, your left falling limply between you.

Your eyes slid slowly back to Micah’s face, tipping your chin up as you did so. His lips moved and spittle sprayed from between his teeth, but you weren’t listening anymore. You felt a cold, familiar weight in your hand. Lifting it with whatever strength you had left, you saw something akin to absolute terror cross Micah’s face before he was suddenly thrown from you, his head snapping back with a crack as a gunshot echoed through the clearing.

All was quiet.

You laid there for what could have been minutes or hours, you weren’t really sure. The ringing in your ears slowly melted back into the crackling of the fires around you. A dull pain emanated from your side, and your hand moved sluggishly to grip the knife. Carefully, and ever so slowly, you sat yourself up. Just the thought of looking at the blade buried in your abdomen made you dizzy, but you knew better than to try and pull it out now and risk bleeding out. With one agonizing push, you got yourself to your feet, wheezing painfully. You didn’t even spare Micah a final glance as you dragged yourself past his body and towards your horse, sliding your gun back into its holster.

Pulling yourself up into the saddle was its own form of torture. Reaching around with one hand to check that the saddlebags were secure, you took up the reins and patted the base of your horse’s neck. You grit your teeth as you spurred her into a gallop, holding one hand by the knife as you rode on south through the moonlit night.

You didn’t look back as Beaver Hollow burned behind you.

~~~

It was well past midnight by the time Arthur and John made it to the dilapidated shack at Copperhead Landing. Before he could even come to a complete stop, John slid from his saddle and called for Abigail, running up to meet her as she peeked out from the cabin with Tilly and Jack behind her. She stood frozen on the spot, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing before her. She broke down in sobs when John swept her up in a hug and spun her around.

Sadie was last out of the cabin, smiling as she patted John on the shoulder before going to help Arthur with the horses. But something was off, she noticed, and a knot of worry began to form in the pit of her stomach.

“Arthur, where’s Y/n?” she asked, taking one set of reins from his hands.

Arthur stopped dead, his brows furrowing as he met Sadie’s eyes. “She’s not with you?”

Sadie felt her stomach drop at that. You hadn’t found Arthur. A thousand worst possible scenarios began playing out in her mind like a moving picture show.

“She went back to for you,” she said, frustration evident in her voice. “She said she had to go back.”

“‘Course she did,” Arthur ground out under his breath. He shook his head, like he was at a loss for words. He threw his reins back over his horse’s head and made to get back up in the saddle, with Sadie jogging over to her horse to do the same. Arthur had one foot in the stirrup when he heard John call out suddenly.

“Someone’s comin’ up this way!”

Looking over his shoulder, Arthur could make out the shape of a horse and rider coming in through the mist at a slow pace. His hand going to the gun at his side, Arthur stepped out onto the trail, with John coming up beside him.

“Who goes there?”

They received no reply, but the horse continued towards them, coming to a stop just a few yards ahead. Arthur stepped forward cautiously, putting a hand up for John to wait behind him. He had been fully expecting some kind of a trap to spring as he approached. He nearly choked when he realized who it was in the saddle.

“Y/n?”

You said nothing. Instead, you began to dismount, turning and throwing one leg sluggishly over the back of your horse to step down. Arthur watched in confusion, which swiftly morphed into panic as your knees buckled as soon as both your feet hit the ground.

Reaching out to catch you, Arthur carefully lowered you to the ground just as Sadie and John came running up, with Abigail close behind. They all seemed to notice the hunting knife buried in your side at the same time. Abigail knelt down by your head as Arthur looked from your face to your side and back again.

“Shit.”

“Good t’ see you, too,” you wheezed, your voice barely beyond a hoarse whisper.

“We gotta get that knife out,” Abigail said worriedly, brushing some sweat-dampened hair from your face.

Arthur gave a frustrated sigh. “John, help me get ‘er up, take ‘er inside,” he said as he moved to your head. “It ain’t much nicer, but we won’t be operatin’ in the mud.” You gave him a lazy smile, which quickly turned into a grimace as he hefted you up.

Once you were settled down on one of the bed rolls, Abigail went to work. Grabbing a rag from one of the bags, she held it to your mouth.

“You’re gonna want to bite down on this, honey” she said, the sympathetic look she was giving you telling you exactly what was about to come. You didn’t have the energy to protest.

Having grabbed an opened bottle of whiskey from his bag, Arthur settled on the ground beside you, opposite of Abigail.

“When I pull, you pour,” you heard Abigail say. Without much else in the way of warning, the knife was pulled from your flesh in one quick motion. A new wave of sharp pain cut through the fogginess in your mind and you let out a muffled sob into the rag. You watched through tears as Arthur poured out the whiskey and Abigail dabbed at your side with a cloth. You didn’t even realize your hands had balled into fists until you felt Arthur take hold of one. Spitting out the rag, you closed your eyes and let your head fall back as Abigail grabbed a needle from her pack and poured the last of the whiskey over it.

You heard someone shifting, opening your eyes when you felt Arthur lifting your head carefully into his lap.

“Need you t’ stay awake, sweetheart,” he said, his hand falling to your cheek to wipe away a stray tear. You watched with half-lidded eyes as Abigail threaded the needle.

“You wanna tell us what happened?” It was Sadie now, coming to sit next to Arthur as Abigail worked.

Your eyes widened a little as you looked up at Arthur, making him cock an eyebrow at you. You lifted a hand and pointed to the door. “Mm—My saddlebags,” your voice cracked. Arthur’s hand rested on your shoulder to stop you from moving too much. He looked to Sadie inquisitively.

“John? Would you…?” John nodded, throwing you his own confused look as he went outside. Ducking back into the old cabin a moment later, John stood in the middle of the small room with the bags clutched in his hands, gazing at you in wonderment.

“Y/n Y/l/n.”

“Give it here, John,” Arthur urged, holding out his hand impatiently. Sadie scooted closer to see what you had gotten, with Tilly and Jack coming over to look as well. Arthur lifted the leather flap of the first bag, nearly dropping the thing as he did so.

“What in the—”

“I couldn’t let him have it,” you croaked, gazing up fondly at Arthur’s astonished expression. “Mi-cah… I couldn’t let ‘im…” Arthur hushed you, dropping the saddlebags and taking your face between his hands, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. You heard Sadie laugh is disbelief as she took the bags into her lap and started to count out the money, with John and Tilly sitting down next to her.

You barely noticed as Abigail finished stitching you up. She grabbed the little roll of bandages she had packed, gently calling for Arthur’s attention long enough to assist her in wrapping them around your waist. He helped you sit up a bit then, letting you rest comfortably against his chest as you listened to Sadie count out the bills under her breath.

You began to nod off after a while, with Sadie’s murmuring and Arthur’s heartbeat mingling into a pleasant low hum that lulled your already exhausted body to sleep. The last thing you felt before dropping off entirely was Arthur’s hand enveloping your own and his stubbly cheek pressing against your temple as he held you close.  

~~~

uhhhhghghhghhhhgh there it is. It feels a little rushed at the end if I’m honest, so there’s a chance I’ll come back edit it at a later time, but I really wanted to go ahead and get it out.

Part 2 soon, we can hope.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #my stuff #uuhhhhhhhh probably needs some more editing too tbh i no doubt missed some things #but #ya girl is Tired