Til Death do we part [Arthur Morgan X Reader]

Injuries

Arthur was quick to break the hug, but never actually moved from your side. You followed suit, following his gaze to dutch.

"You're alive..." Dutch comments in a state of disbelief as the rest of the group makes their way over to him, "it is a god damn miracle!"

Dutch forces Arthur from your side as everyone leads him back to the campfire, Arthur too dazed to actually process much of what was going on as he's brought to the dying campfire.

You linger just behind the group, Arthur's presence easing the uncertainty that had sunken into the bottom of your stomach.

For a moment, you all get a break.

"So," Arthur speaks up from beside you, hidden in the shade of the short cliff, "where even are we?"

"We are on the island of Guarma," Dutch gestures to the surrounding scenery, though your gaze is trained on Arthur who's barely acknowledge your existence since he arrived. He pushes himself out of the shadows, getting a better look around. "Javier asked a local—Its A old sugar plantation island, second island east of cuba."

"Is it anywhere near Australia or Tahiti?"

"Its... on the way, I guess."

"So... what next?" You perk up slightly at the sound of soft footsteps—barely audible over the fire that you're not even sure you've heard it until guns are pointed down at everyone,

"Well, next I suppose we're gonna get shot." Had you not been so concerned with surviving the next encounter, you might've had to fight back a laugh.

More come around the corner, side arms drawn as Dutch continues to try and defuse the situation by being what he's best at—being pleasant with that silver tongue of his.

"Well, gentlemen, this is quite the welcome."

"Who are you?"  One settled on a horse inquires, the first bit of english you've heard outside of the gang in the last minute.

"Señor, por favor," Dutch starts up again, turning towards horse guy with both hands up, "We are no one,"

"What's your name?"

"Aiden O'Malley,"

"Is that so?" A gunman pushes Dutch forward as chains are locked around the gangs ankles,

"What are you doing, Mr. O'Malley."

"Surviving," his hands lower as he walks forward to take his place in the chain gang, "we were lost at sea—in the storm,"

"Is that so?" He repeats, voice shifting to a more friendly tone.

"No, im in the habit of looking like this," Dutch says more bluntly, enticing a snort out of you—quickly covering it up as a cough. "Is all of this really necessary?"

"We got enough troubles around here right now, Mr. O'Malley, without taking a chance on a bunch of vagabonds—behave yourself and no harm will befall you." He gestures to the entire link, the cuffs snug against your ankles but not loose enough for you to slip out of. "Vamos!"

They begun shouting in Spanish, gesturing for the link to begin moving. Which seemed to be the only thing the group could do. "That means move! You got a long walk ahead of you,"

"I don't get your drift, mister uh...." dutch trails off, head turned towards horse guy, you lean over Arthur's shoulder the best you can to look at Dutch, then past him to see what order everyone is in.

Javier is first, then Micah, Bill, Dutch, Arthur, and finally, you. A soft discontent sigh escapes your nose as you're kept trudging forward in a waddle.

"Levi Simon, senior overseer for Alberto Fussar," the plodding of his horse brings a familiar homesickness for your own, whatever did become your trusted steeds fate? Only time could tell.

You tune out the rest of their conversation, instead focusing on the scenery before you—which would no doubt be gorgeous under different circumstances, the sand beneath your bare feet do not help in keeping you steady with the pace the gang is forced to keep.

He was not kidding when he said the walk was long.

Focusing back on what's happening infront of you, you peer over Arthurs shoulder, watching as the chain three more and add them to the link, before forcing the growing chain forward once more.

Gunshots blaze out, but this time they're not aiming for you, blood from one of the Spanish soldiers splattering against the sand—as if instinctively Arthur looks back at you, nodding as you hop over and snatch the keys off the body. Unlocking your cuffs first before passing it to Arthur and patting down the body for some sort of weapon.

A revolver. Okay. This works.

Arthur pulls you into cover, hand resting on your arm as he looks into your eyes for a moment. You hand the gun to him as Dutch shouts for either of you to keep them covered.

Arthur springs into action, letting you slink down into the cover and watch as he easily takes down the last of the men.

Finally the boys get rid of their shackles, relieved groans coming from each of them,

"You all alright?" Dutch asks, met with a chorus of 'yeah's. The moment of piece doesn't last long as just over the cliff side reinforcements are visible—brought to attention by Dutch.

"We need to get out of here!" A unfamiliar voice calls, "damn it! Damn it! Come on follow me!" You just barely make out a man in the shrubbery, waving you all to follow him. Pushing yourself up much to your legs protests, you follow the gang in trailing after this man— well, most of the gang at least.

Gunshots ring out, most missing but one hitting Javier in the leg.

Another you.

You hiss in pain as the bullet burns into your side, Arthur's cry of your name echoing in your head as he's forced to push on without you.

"Javier—" you call out, knowing he's at least bound to have the same fate as you, he's whining— whimpering in pain as his eyes meet yours, "we'll be okay," she murmur once you've crawled to him. "We'll be okay. Dutch'll always get us,"

"Arthur will save us,"