SILVER BULLET ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ vii

He can't remember for how long they've kept going, but it's got to be at least seven hours. It's starting to get dark, but there is a very small amount of infected in the woods. It's a thumb rule, after all: if it's no place humans have frequented, infected are highly unlikely to appear in overwhelming amounts.

(Y/n) is decent company if she's silent. Or maybe Arthur just can't handle more sounds than the constant buzzing in his head. If he weren't a few hours away from certain death, he'd probably be worrying about his incompetence as a conversation partner. Luckily, he'll be long gone by tomorrow or the day after that. Maybe even by tonight. No reason to bother anymore.

Uncertainty is as terrifying as it gets, but unsettlingly calming.

Arthur blinks in surprise when he bumps against (y/n). She's stopped walking, for seemingly no reason.

"You tired, Arthur?"

He can't remember the last time he's heard that question. Or the last time he's bothered to think about it himself. It's borderline terrifying to hear it out loud.

Still, he nods reluctantly.

"Good, thought I was the..." She giggles airily, in an attempt to ease the atmosphere. He can appreciate that. "Thought I was the only one that couldn't feel their legs anymore."

"You ain't." He reassures. She smiles at that. "Let's find a spot to set up a campfire."

And so they do. (Y/n) stumbles across a small clearing minutes later, and proves to be a great help when it comes to finding firewood.

She also has a lighter on her, much to Arthur's bewilderment and simultaneous joy. Before he knows it, (y/n) plops on the ground, stuffs her backpack under her head and yawns. Arthur busies himself by tending to the small, newborn fire and shielding it from the gentle breeze until its flames grow. Uncertain about what to do, Arthur then shuffles to sit on the ground and hugs his knees.

Sleep is not going to come easily tonight. Not after leaving his family behind, not after knowing death is coming to collect its debt from him, and that it's catching up fast. Not a chance, his mind will be hyperactive through and through until his collapse.

He hates that. Hates himself for it.

"You gonna keep staring like that or are you gonna get some sleep?"

Arthur shakes his head to silence the obnoxious buzzing of his thoughts. No luck.

"Sorry, I was...just thinkin'."

"About uh..." She nods at his left foot, coughs awkwardly. He confirms it with a nod. (Y/n) shifts to lean on her left elbow. Her cheek squishes against her knuckles, Arthur is surprised that he finds it endearing. When has he last seen a pretty sight? "Me too, actually. And I mean— Don't take this as an insult, but I...I'm a bit terrified of the idea of waking up to you trying to bite a chunk out of me."

Arthur sighs. Uncertainty is an immense inconvenience.

He sits up and reaches for his backpack, starting to dig through it. (Y/n) watches with a curious glint in her eye as he retrieves some rope. With a sigh and a tight knot, Arthur secures it around his ankles.

"'F I wake up infected, I won't be smart enough to know how to undo this. And you'll have time to put a bullet through my head. Sound good?"

She nods, grimly, seriously. It's a stark contrast to how childish her face looked mere seconds ago, and a grim reminder of the world they live in.

(Y/n) gives Arthur a smile like she means it, then shifts to lay on her side.

Arthur stays up for much longer than he can fathom, stares at the night sky. It looks better now, after the apocalypse, somehow clearer. It has got something to do with cars and factories, he thinks. Or so he's heard a while ago. Arthur remembers visiting a crowded city once and looking for the stars to no avail, it was unsettling. They always used to shine brightly in his home town, especially in its periphery, where his farm was.

Arthur misses his farm. His old life.

It's a strange kind of calming to look at the stars. The world will go on, even with him gone. And maybe it's for the best that he won't get to see the rest of it. He feels too tired to, anyways.

Some rest sounds nice.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It's silent when he wakes up. The campfire is dead, the stars are gone, he's still alive.

The spot on the other side of the campfire shows flattened grass, roughly the size of (y/n)'s frame. It's forgotten and left behind, her backpack is gone. So is Arthur's.

Goddamnit.

He should've known, he tells himself with a stifled growl in the back of his throat, should've seen it coming. Of course she was going to take his things and leave. He's a dying man and she's a desperate young woman. He can't even blame her.

Arthur was too caught up in the sentimentality of it all to even consider her doing it, how naive of him.

He gets up, but almost topples over with his ankles tied. Arthur groans, reaches to undo the rope.

The bushes behind him rustle.

He can't even process what exactly he's doing, Arthur unsheathes the knife from his boot and flips it in his hand, ready to throw it.

"Thought you'd like something to—" (Y/n) stops dead in her tracks when she sees Arthur holding the blade. She raises one hand to demonstrate surrender, she must be holding something in the other one. "Calm down, I just brought food."

His frame goes slack, Arthur drops the knife.

"Thought ya'd already ran off." He admits, (y/n) shakes her head.

"I only borrowed your bow." She explains with a tone that could soothe all the wrongs in the world. The young woman presents a rabbit and a squirrel proudly, Arthur blames himself for being one flick of the wrist away from killing her. Maybe not everyone is out to betray him, in spite of what he likes to think. What he's been conditioned to think.

And maybe he hadn't been so naive after all, he supposes when (y/n) shifts to sit beside him and brings the campfire back to life. Arthur rushes to her aid and skins the two animals.

Blood on his hands is, for once, a welcome sight.