Welcome Home (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter Eleven: Canta y No Llores

The ride back to camp is thankfully uneventful: no follow-up law enforcement, no bounty hunters, just Charles, Javier, Sean, Arthur, and you. You're uncharacteristically quiet. If the gang notices, they don't say anything. Occasionally, Sean tries to start a conversation -- an interesting rock formation, how he was giving those bounty hunters hell -- but it never catches. Fine by you. You don't feel much like talking.

It's dusk by the time you all make it to Horseshoe Overlook, the setting sun painting the sky red. Arthur swings himself out of the saddle in one effortless movement, then reaches up to help you down. His arms are warm, strong, and steady. Ordinarily, you would've been blushing something furious by now, or saying whatever ridiculous thought you had in your mind. Instead, you smile at him, disengage yourself from his reassuring grip, and head for your bedroll. You're exhausted. Exhausted, shaky, and in need of a nice break from reality.

You hear Dutch declare that there's going to be a party to celebrate Sean's safe return, and the mood in camp skyrockets. Yours sinks a little bit further. You've never really liked parties, never been enough of a people person to mingle with crowds, drink cheap beer, and do whatever else was expected of you in those situations. You think back to your first real party, a college one, one that your roommate told you would be fun, a great introduction to how the world works. You also think about how you stood by yourself for the majority of the night after said roommate ditched you for the party host, the real reason she wanted to go. You can still taste the cheap vodka and cheaper soda.

You stare up at the canvas of your lean-to. All of that -- your old life, your old grievances -- seems so far away. And, to some degree, it is. Despite being out of your time, you don't feel out of your element. If anything, you feel... comfortable. At home. And that thought scares you. You don't want to lose what you have, what you've made here in the past: friends... a life for yourself. Finally, after years of everything being decided for you, you have something you can call your own.

"You tryin' to burn holes in that canvas?" Arthur drawls as he looks down at you with an amused smile.

You shrug. "If it catches fire, maybe it'll burn me and I'll look like Two-Face."

Arthur blinks, then sighs and holds his hand out to you. "Not tonight, Y/N. We're celebratin' for once."

"Do I have a choice?" You ask, reluctantly taking his hand.

He hauls you upright like you weigh nothing, and you feel butterflies in your stomach. Guiding you away from the lean-to, he starts walking toward the camp fire, where most of the gang has gathered around Javier. Javier has his guitar and is strumming a pleasant tune to a song you don't know. But it sounds warm and nice and, you have to admit, it makes you feel a bit better.

You sit next to Arthur and take a beer when Karen hands one to you. She smiles, tips her fingers in a mock-salute, and clinks your bottles together. 

"I just wanted to thank you, Y/N," she says. She already sounds a little tipsy, but not so much that she wouldn't know what she's saying.

"For what?" You ask.

"Well," she goes to take a sip, stops, and lowers the bottle again. She gives you a grateful look. "For rescuin' Sean. He and I, we --" 

She cuts herself off, but you understand. And it brings a smile to your face.

"You're welcome," you say. "But I didn't really do much."

"He told me how you took out that bounty hunter." Her eyes soften a little bit. "You risked your life for Sean, and you didn't even know 'im. That..." She takes a swig from the bottle. "That says a lot about you."

You don't really know what to say, so you don't say anything. Karen smiles again, reaches over, and pats your knee.

"You're alright, Y/N," she says. "You're alright."

It takes all you have not to bolt from the campfire. Instead, you blink away tears, give her your best I'm okay grin, and bring the beer bottle to your lips. It tastes better than you thought it would. 

The night gets colder as it goes on, even with the fire, and you find yourself leaning into Arthur for warmth. He glances down at you, confused at first, but soon wraps an arm around your shoulders. You rest your head against him and listen to the music:

"Ay, ay, ay, ay canta y no llores..."

Canta y no llores, you think to yourself. Sounds about right.