SILVER BULLET ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ xi

(Y/n) sits bonelessly in the car seat, clutching her injured arm, the smallest of proud smiles plays on her lips.

Fate has been kind to the both of them.

They're alive, more than just about, Arthur feels energy boil in the pit of his stomach, indicating the aftermaths of adrenaline.

They've cheated death.

He can't bring himself to believe it, he's still alive, in spite of the infection spreading through his body, in spite of a machine gun being fired at him, in spite of everything, he's still standing. A miracle looks ordinary compared to what he's been blessed with.

"I reckon we lost 'em." He speaks up, ever so slowly lifting his foot off the gas pedal. (Y/n) shakes her head in response.

"They're tenacious little fuckers. Keep going."

Arthur frowns, avoids one of the bigger bumps on the country road. "How do you know that?"

"I...um..." (Y/n) crosses her arms, shifts in her seat, then sighs. "Guess you could say I had some trouble with Uncle Sam. In the past."

A smirk tugs on the corner of Arthur's mouth as he adjusts the rearview mirror, which (y/n)'s been kind enough to wipe clean with her sleeve by now. Their guest is still asleep, he's missed the whole action.

"Yeah, figured as much." Arthur responds with one last glance at the passed out man's face.

What a surprise it'll all be for the poor guy once he wakes up. Kilometers away from home, hands bound together behind his back, on the backseat of a car that used to belong to his faction.

"What's the deal b'tween you 'n sleepin' backseat beauty, anyhow?"

"Sleeping backseat beauty..." (Y/n) repeats with a chuckle and a shake of her head. "His name's Max. And he's a piece of shit."

Arthur grins. "I could tell."

(Y/n) leans back in her seat enough to put her feet on top of the glove compartment. She musters Arthur with a sharp gaze, it's clear she's trying to figure out what to tell him. And how much.

"We were...friends. Really good friends. Almost like siblings, I guess? Me, him, and two other people."

She stops with the retelling of her story after that, but Arthur encourages her to continue with a gesture of his hand.

"Well, we had all ended up in the military when we were just kids and got raised together, guess that's where it all started. One of us, Rocco, my best friend, didn't exactly agree with everything going down in the military. He wanted to go join the rebels, and actually did once he'd turned...I dunno, twenty, maybe. To which me and Emma," She points behind herself, at their passenger "Emma being this idiot's girlfriend, decided we wanted to run away as well. She convinced Max to join. So there we were, all three, almost tasting freedom as we were cutting through the fence."

A smile, sad and bittersweet settles on her face. Arthur knows very well what she feels, he's well-acquainted with that sentiment of nostalgia for what could have been.

"Just as Emma was about to squeeze through the hole we'd cut into the fence, Max heard someone coming and did the first thing that came to mind — pointed a gun at me and his girlfriend, then started shouting insults. Once we got caught, Max claimed he'd been trying to stop us. He didn't...fucking hell...he didn't even bat an eye when the the patrol that caught us decided on the spot that we get executed. Emma got killed first, and that gave me just enough time to distract them, then squeeze through the hole we'd created in the fence."

(Y/n) falls silent, and, in Arthur's good opinion, cannot be blamed for it. She's bared something personal to him, and he's at a loss of words, damnit, cannot think of anything worthy to say.