SILVER BULLET ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ vi

"What?"

"Sounded like something fell on the floor."

Arthur feels like he's just swallowed a kilogram of molten steel and received a punch to the guts as a garnish. His hold on (y/n) loosens.

She uses that to bolt out of his grip, picks up the dropped knife, then grabs his wrist as she dashes towards the window. He silently thanks whatever made her come back to her senses. Or at least smart enough to realize that genocide, as tempting as it may be, is not the way to go about their current situation.

Once they've both landed outside in the bushes, Arthur ignores the pain in his legs and presses his back against the wall, listening. The steps are getting louder, have probably reached the library already. He manages to tame his racing breath quickly and allows himself to focus on the sounds.

(Y/n)'s breath stutters as she tries to make herself as small as possible beside him. Arthur wishes he too could benefice of the privilege of hiding behind someone at least a head bigger than him.

One of the two men laughs, (y/n) jumps slightly. He has no idea why, but he decides to put his hand on her shoulder, grip loose, hoping to provide some comfort. He can't quite figure out why hiding doesn't come naturally to her — it borders on something as simple as breathing for every person that has lived outside a quarantine zone.

One of the men speaks up. "Man, you sure you and the sarge ain't related? I mean, it's not hard to imagine, since you're both so fucking paranoid."

(Y/n) doesn't tense this time. Arthur interprets it as positive.

"Shut up, there was something."

"Paaaaraaanoid."

"Explain why every single infected in that diner was dead." A pause follows.

"Could've been anyone, not just her." One answers, then sighs in defeat. "This is pointless. Let's go back to the others. This bitch could be anywhere, no point in looking around this dump."

With that, they make their leave.

The sentence rings in Arthur's head. Could be anyone, not just her.

Do they mean (y/n)?

And if so, what does the military want from someone that can't even control their breathing while hiding?

He glances at her, pressed both against the wall and his side, looking as if she'd seen a ghost. Arthur tilts his head inquisitively.

"'M good." She whispers in response. It's not the information Arthur was looking for, but he'll take it. At least she's not dead.

Unlike him in a day or two.

"What the hell were you thinkin'?" Arthur hisses. "You was on the verge of causing a damn ruckus and for what exactly?"

"That-" She responds on an equally sharp tone, stops in to take a quick breath. "-is not your problem."

"If they start shootin' me, it's my damn problem. Do I look like I want to die?"

"It's not like you have much left to live."

Arthur swears to god, the only person that has ever wanted to make him put his hands around their throat and squeeze the damn life out of them is Micah — and now (y/n). He supposes there's only one core difference between the two. Micah is an adept of lies, while she has used nothing but the truth to hurt him. Maybe that's why it stings a lot more.

"I'm so sorry." (Y/n) whispers after a moment of heavy silence, and her tone shows that she truly is. Arthur sighs and tips his head back against the wall of the house they're still pressed against. It produces a sound much louder than he expects and leaves his skull aching. He has to refrain from cussing.

"Okay, there definitely is something." The man that had been previously accused of being paranoid speaks up. "Or someone. Stay here for all I give a damn, I'm checking."

"Alright, Holter."

"Compare me to the sarge one more time, I fucking dare you."

Arthur glances at (y/n), mouths two words he knows far too well. "Now what?" She points at the other houses, then towards the both of them, then imitates a walking human with her middle and index finger.

Arthur shakes his head. If there's only one target, he can take it down quietly without any hassle at all. He slides his backpack off of one shoulder, opens it slowly while listening for steps. They've started searching the house, both of them.

Can't be long until they find them.

He retrieves his knife and holds it tightly as he awaits. (Y/n) has a blade of her own, which she slides out of her boot. She looks up at him, almost solemnly, then clutches her own weapon before giving a nod.

The steps return to the library, and Arthur flips around the knife in his hand, holding it by the blade.

(Y/n) watches curiously, but says nothing.

The window above them opens.

In an instant, Arthur pushes himself off the wall, turns around. When the man — a soldier — peeks outside, he flicks his wrist and sends the knife flying. It hits his enemy's forehead with a deadly precision. The man's body goes limp and he falls out the window. That must've been loud.

He goes to retrieve his weapon, but before he can, (y/n) jumps out of the bushes and drags him back to the side of the house.

Arthur tilts his head, wondering what exactly that was for, until she places her index on top of her lips, then points skywards.

"And, find anything, Holter?"

A mellow, careless whistle follows, accompanied by slurred steps.

"Liam?" The voice speaks up again. "Come on, buddy, I was joking. Didn't know you'd take so much offense from me comparing you to the sarge, Jesus Christ."

(Y/n)'s grip on Arthur's wrist is steely as she drags him around the house, then inside it through the broken down front door.

"Leave the other one to me." She whispers. "I've been dreaming about doing this."

Arthur frowns, but agrees nonetheless as he follows. 'Dreaming about this'? What, does she know the guy personally, or has she just been looking forward to killing a human being?

Both options seem plausible, given the thirst for blood in her eyes.

They both approach the room from which the whistling can be heard the loudest, stopping on either side of the entrance inside it, backs against the wall.

"Liam? That you? Come on, don't play games with me, you know I hate that." The man sighs. "Look, if you just wanna hear me say I'm sorry, then here you go. I'm really sorry that you get offended and that you're possibly the biggest damn pussy in—"

The man's voice catches in his throat. Arthur can only guess he has had a look at the dead body outside.

"What the-"

(Y/n) uses the man's shock to her advantage, sprints out of her hiding spot and jumps when she's half a meter away from the man. He has little time to react as she hooks her legs around his waist, one hand around his shoulders, and digs the knife into his neck with the other.

She rips it out of the flesh then drives it back in repeatedly, spraying the aged, grey walls with blood. Not an elegant kill, but Arthur digresses.

There's nothing but satisfaction on her bloodied face when she turns around to look at him.

"You've got to teach me that throwing trick for next time."

Finals are finally done for me, so here you go! Expect more frequent updates from now on, and thank you for reading ♥️