ANYTHING, ANYONE ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ x

Staying busy is also the best way of staying warm. Perhaps that's the main reason you won't dream about complaining when Pearson asks you to fetch a few supplies from one of the wagons on the other side of camp.

You'd woken up to an empty bed, even though it had been quite early. Isaac was (hopefully) still resting, and Arthur...well, you had no idea where he was, but that was nothing new as of late.

Not that it was his fault. Hell, you suspect that if he could sell his soul to spend even a week just with you and Isaac, unbothered by anything or anyone, he would. But an outlaw's life doesn't work that way.

Still in thought, you pass by one of the cabins and see a light flickering inside. Abigail's talking to someone — Arthur, you realize — and asking him to go look for John.

He hesitates at first, replies with something coarse. Subconsciously, you begin looking for a place to leave the canned corn so that you can go in there yourself and knock some sense into him. A few seconds pass before you realize there's no need for it. Arthur's snarky when he is tired, very much so, but his soul is far from rotten. If he can help, he will. Javier volunteers as well, they come to an agreement, Abigail thanks them sincerely.

Arthur exits alongside Javier seconds later, and he lets him walk ahead, as if he can feel your presence without even catching sight of you. While the Mexican is already making for the horses, Arthur's glance finds you, a few meters away, almost like it's second nature to him. You smile, which serves as a silent approval to his decision, and encouragement. He nods once, returns a sincere smile of his own.

There's no need for any other words, it's all been conveyed through a mere connection of glances.

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Colter's much prettier doing the day, that's for sure. Still cold, of course, but even a godforsaken place like this has its charms. The pearly white reflects the noon sun, everything looks like it's been made out of the smallest diamonds known to man.

The snow reminds you of your childhood, of snow angels and Christmas trees and sweets your father went into town to buy for you.

That is when you realize Isaac has never had that. It hits you quite suddenly that he'll never have a normal childhood to look back on. No Christmas trees, no sitting by a furnace, no place to call a home. All he has is campfires,  distant gunshots and criminals. Criminals with hearts of gold (most of them) and morals, but criminals nonetheless.

Unless something magically changes within the next few years, Isaac is doomed to an abnormal childhood. Which is, as much as you like to dream, still the likeliest possibility.

How hard you'd tried, first with your daughter, to give her everything you never had. Isaac has the advantage of having a father, at the very least, which was something your little girl never had the chance to experience.

Maybe Isaac would never have what could be regarded as a normal childhood, but he has Arthur. He has you.

You hear laughter behind you before something cold hits the back of your neck. Snow, you realize as it starts to seep into the back of your shawl, it's snow.

The laughter dies out, shifts into horrified silence as you turn on your heels and look behind yourself.

Jack looks at you with big, scared eyes, and Isaac isn't doing much better either. He has placed both his red, presumably freezing hands over his mouth as he looks back and forth between you and his friend. You raise a brow, try to figure out wether you should scold them or laugh at their mortified expressions.

"We're real sorry!" Isaac blurts before you can say something, quick to jump to his friend's defense. "Jack didn't mean— he was trying to hit me with the snowball, but his aim's real bad so—"

"Hey!" Jack gives Isaac's shoulder an accusing shove.

These two, you swear to god. Trouble seems to somehow seek them out a bit too often, but you'll be damned if they can't scrape any grey sky clean.

"Alright, boys." You call out for them again when they seem to ignore you and continue bickering under their breaths. "Boys! C'mere. Both of you."

They comply quickly once your tone changes, come up to you with guilt clearly written on their expression. Isaac kneads his hands, as restless as his father, while Jack just averts his gaze.

Their coats are covered in snow, especially on the back, and their boots must be soaked through by now.

"Look at you, soaked to the skin." You pause as they both cast their eyes downwards in shame. "Me and Abigail wanted you to stay inside for a reason."

"We were bored." Jack tells you timidly, grinding the sole of his small boot against the snow as he talks.

"And we never had snow at the old camp!" Isaac adds. "We couldn't just sit inside and watch!"

You can't suppress an amused huff, so you just look to the side to conceal the smile on your lips. "So you decided to have a snowball fight?"

"Not only! We also made snow angels."

Which explains the snow on their backs, you think.

When Isaac catches sight of your amused expression, he cracks a smile that lacks one of his front teeth. You're reminded of how he'd come running to you and Arthur one evening a few months ago, clutching his mouth and scared that he was dying, when it reality his tooth had just fallen out. It's impossible to bite back your grin now. "Oh, and Jack ate some snow! But it ain't sweet like we thought."

"You promised you wouldn't tell!" Jack seems genuinely upset as he looks at Isaac first, then at you. He crosses his small arms, drops his chin into his chest as he starts to talk. "Now momma won't let me go outside ever again."

You step towards him, crouch down to his level. "I'll make you boys an offer. How 'bout you two go inside, change your clothes real quick so that you don't catch a cold. And in exchange—" You bring your index to your lips. "I won't tell Abi a thing."

Jack looks at you in disbelief. "You'd do that?"

"Just this once." You gesture for the both of them to go towards the cabins, Isaac is quick to go first.

"(Y/n)'s real nice!" You hear Jack say as he catches up with his friend. Isaac beams.

"Of course she is! That's why pa likes her so much."

You're left behind standing in the snow, grin still wide on your face. Your chest feels much warmer than the cold weather would normally allow it.

[Have a very short chapter because I've been brimming with inspiration for my other Arthur fic called 'Silver Bullet' and...accidentally forgot to update this one. Whoops?]