Bad Beginnings (A RDR2 Fanfic)

Left Behind

Jail was pretty boring. Arthur had a lot of time to think while he was laying on his wooden slab. The deputies liked to insult and threaten him through the bars of the cell. It scared Arthur at first, but it got old after a couple of days.

Thankfully, he didn't have to share a cell with Colm O'Driscoll. He likes to hiss threats at him through the bars between them. He liked to tell Arthur that running with Dutch and Hosea would be his downfall, that he would kill Arthur, that Arthur was going to be hanged, all that good stuff.

Thankfully, Arthur did get one night of peace and quiet. The deputies allowed him to keep his journal, so he drew a lot. His jail cell, a map of Aurora Ridge, Colm O'Driscoll, and whatever else.

Arthur realized that Dutch and Hosea weren't coming for him when the deputies told him that they would hang him the next day. Colm was right. He had just been biding his time, waiting for his... what would he call them? Friends, colleagues, fathers? Who knows.

Arthur spent that afternoon just laying on his board and thinking. He never thought he was afraid of death, but right now, it made him feel petrified, in a numb sort of way.

Hopefully he was heavy enough that it would go quick, he thought. He had seen a kid hanged before. The child's body was so light that instead of his neck snapping cleanly, he dangled and slowly suffocated. Arthur shuddered at the memory. He couldn't think that that'd be a nice way to go.

Arthur thought also about how he would die unwanted. It felt like, in his lifetime, right after getting something got good for him, it went to shit. It felt like it always ended up this way. Not dead, but definitely shit.

Arthur fell asleep late, and had dreams of demons and the firey depths of hell. After killing Charlie, he realized that that's where he would go when his time came.

The next morning, he seemed to wake in a haze. It was his time. At 11 they gave him a lunch of some bread. At 11:30, they cuffed Arthur's hands and took him down to the gallows.

As Arthur was pushed up the stairs, he decided that he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't beg. If he would go out, he would go out like a goddamn man.

He observed the crowd as the noose was placed around his neck. His eyes burned, but no tears were shed. He started when he saw a familiar hat and familiar dark hair in the mass of people.

He tuned out the new sheriff as he searched for that familiarity, craning his neck to see as far as he can. When the sheriff fell quiet, Arthur knew that what he saw mustn't have been real. Maybe a hallucination. It was time to face fate, anyway.

Then a loud shot rang out. Time slowed a bit as he heard the lever puller fall to the ground and a lone woman scream. Arthur quickly pulled the noose off his neck and ran down the stairs.

He sprinted to the sheriff's office where Beatrice was. He quickly unhitched her and hopped on. He wasn't religious, but he was thanking God that at least Beatrice would've been okay, if he would've been hung.

"Arthur, let's go!" Hosea's voice yelled to him.

Arthur's heart jolted when he realized that he wasn't hallucinating. Dutch and Hosea did come and get him.

"What took you so long?" Arthur asked, as they raced out of town and down the mountainous path.

"We needed to make a plan, of course!" Dutch replied, snapping The Count's reigns.

The trio weaved down different paths, throwing the police off of their tails before they could even catch a whiff of where they went.

Eventually they broke off the path into the trees, where Dutch and Hosea had set up a small camp.

"I have to say," Hosea said as they dismounted. "it was very lonesome without you Arthur."

"Thanks for getting me when you did," Arthur replied, gathering his tent material from his horse. "I thought for sure I was a goner."

"You say that like you thought we left you," Dutch commented, sitting down by the fire, stretching.

"To be honest, sir, I wasn't sure, but I do appreciate it," Arthur replied, finishing putting his tent the rest of the way up.

They brushed the horses, Arthur got cleaned up, they conversed, ate dinner, and before they knew it, the sun was setting.

Hosea went to bed early, leaving Arthur and Dutch alone. Arthur drew, Dutch smoked and did his nightly bit of thinking.

"Do you trust me, Arthur?" Dutch asked out of nowhere.

"What?" Arthur replied, surprised. "I... I think so...," he sighed. "It's complicated."

"Com-pli-cated...," Dutch repeated, pausing between each syllable. "I have to say, I've never heard such a complicated word come out of your mouth."

"Shut up," Arthur replied, with a small smile, pretending to be annoyed.

Dutch laughed at this. After a moment, he asked, "Why is it complicated?"

Dutch's eyes didn't break contact with Arthur's, brown to green, as the fire casted wavering shadows over everything. Arthur was the one to look away.

"I don't know," he replied, his eyes dropping to his boots. "Ever since my daddy, I always feel like I'm afraid for no reason."

Dutch's arm went around Arthur's shoulder, but patted him roughly like a father would.

Before Arthur could get choked up, he stood, clearing his throat, seeming to startle Dutch. "I-It's late," Arthur explained. "I should be off to bed so we can leave on time."

"Of course," Dutch replied, his large hands falling to his lap. "Good night, son."

Arthur nodded in reply, before ducking into his tent. He rubbed his face as he sighed. He could not believe the shit he pulled. Why was this so difficult?