SILVER BULLET ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ viii

(Y/n) mumbles to herself as she nibbles on the remaining grilled flesh on the rabbit bones. It sounds to Arthur like she's planning out her day, reminding herself of her goals.

As crazy as it seems, it's kept him sane more times than he can count.

Arthur wonders if he should dare asking where she's headed. If he's even supposed to? It's been far too long since he's interacted with anyone aside from his gang, save for putting bullets through people's heads. Words don't come easily with new acquaintances, sentences even less so. But then again, what does he have to lose?

"You lookin for somethin'?" He asks, then throws a nearby stick into the dying flames at his feet. Suddenly, it strikes Arthur that maybe his guess was wrong. "Or someone?"

She smiles at his observation, then throws the naked rabbit bone into the flames as well. It's a gruesome, but somehow comforting sight.

(Y/n) hesitates for a moment, but not more. He supposes she puts her trust mostly into the fact that he'll take her secrets to his grave. Quite literally. "The Resistance." She finally admits, then continues talking after receiving a moment of thoughtful silence from Arthur. "You know, the revolutionary militia group—"

"Don't gotta explain." Arthur raises his hand minutely, shakes his head. "I know them."

Her eyes seem to brighten up as she straightens her back, (y/n) looks at him like he's made of liquid gold .

"You know the Resistance?"

Oh. That came out wrong.

"Well— Not...in person. Don't got no rebel friends kr anythin'." Arthur smiles, shakes his head. "Doubt they still exist these days."

(Y/n) makes a sound like she has something to say, something imposing and clear and certain, but it ends up as a meek whisper.

"There still are Rebels." She insists quite decisive in spite of the unimpressive volume of her voice. "There have to be." The last part however sounds more pained than hopeful. Arthur knows the feeling a little too well.

He'd hate to ruin her hope for her. Leaving it at uncertainty seems the right thing to do, the merciful thing to do. "'S jus' that I ain't seen one in ages." Silence follows, she's anything but convinced. "But who knows, maybe that's just been me." Arthur clears his throat awkwardly. "You know any of em?"

"Yes— well, I...no. I don't know." (Y/n) shakes her head, sighs, then gets up, picks her backpack off the ground. Arthur follows.

"Sounds like a yes or no situation to me." He responds, (y/n) shoots him a glance that embodies concealed pain.

His talent at driving people away is immeasurable, isn't it? Arthur wishes he hadn't even opened his mouth from the start, goddamn him. Now (y/n) is very likely to look forward to his certain death almost as much as anyone else he's interacted with before.

"Used to. He's— I haven't seen him in years." (Y/n) says out of nowhere, providing him with a pleasant surprise. Arthur still doesn't take that as an approval to tread deeper into her past, the sentence that follows confirms he's interpreted her right. "But let's not talk about that. At least not right now."

Not right now, she says it like they have time.

"Alright." Arthur nods, respecting nonetheless, scratches his scruff as he thinks.

He wanted to die being useful, wasn't that it? Perhaps if he works alongside her until he turns, he'll not only take down more infected to protect his family, but also help (y/n) reach her goal. It sounds...supposedly symbiotic. Not like he can afford being picky, still. He'll be dead by tomorrow if he's lucky. Sooner if not. "I'll help ya."

She looks at him like a spooked deer, Arthur shrugs with one shoulder.

"You'll help me look for the Resistance?" (Y/n) asks in disbelief. To be fair, he wouldn't put too much faith into the offer of an acquaintance either, but neither of them have a choice.

Arthur gives a wry smile. "Might as well."

"But, I—, they—" (Y/n) shakes her head to recollect herself, gestures into the air not to accentuate direction, but distance. "They're all in Minnesota. Or, what's left of them. And we're—"

Arthur waves his hand dismissively. "Somewhere in Missouri, I reckon." He's traveled much further than this, it shouldn't be a difficult feat. "Ain't that big o' a distance."

"It is if you only have a few hours left." She argues. A voice of reason in this place of madness, she's a bit like Hosea. A young, reckless and blood-thirsty Hosea. Or maybe he's just clinging onto whatever little amounts of his family he can still find in those around him.

Which is a very foolish thing to do. They've got a lot of tasks that need to be taken care off, emotional comfort is something he cannot afford.

"Reckon you're right." Arthur admits. "But 's why I'm helpin' you find a car instead."

Her face lights up, (y/n) nods before her enthusiasm slowly fades. "But how could we— the cars are all old and broken."

Arthur cooks a smile that shows he knows something she doesn't.

"I reckon good ol' uncle Sam should have a few to spare."

The young woman looks at him like he's just insulted her entire ancestry, shakes her head frantically.

"The military is not to be messed with, Arthur." (Y/n) responds, she doesn't sound fearful, to his surprise. Just genuine and calm, like she means every syllable. "I'd rather walk than get killed while trying to steal a car from them."

"Good." Arthur nods, then reaches over her shoulder, to the nuzzle of the rifle that sticks out of her backpack. He removes it smoothly, then flips it horizontally in his hands before handing it to (y/n). The weapon is a gorgeous, powerful little thing, scope included. "'Cause you'll be watchin' my back while I do."

She's confused at first, utter disbelief etched into her expression. But (y/n) understands, always does, sooner or later. She sighs.

"Guess it's easier to stomach if you've got nothing left to lose." Her grip around the scoping rifle tightens, she glances at Arthur with a half-smirk. "Well, alright. Let's pay them a social call."

[Sorry this took so long! Had a bit of a writer's block (and quite little amounts of time to write lately) but luckily the first problem has been remedied by music. Thank you for your patience and sorry for the quite clumsy dialogue in this chapter. I just can't seem to find a way to improve it, nor to like it, but I figured that I had kept you all waiting quite enough.]