SILVER BULLET ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ xxi

Arthur can't remember the last time speaking hurt so much, but he does it anyway. In spite of Colm's dead body that's slumped down on top of him, in spite of the fact that every single part of his body seems to ache. "(Y/n)?"

There's no answer.

Colm is being dragged off of him. When Arthur wants to get up, he's greeted with a gun pointed at him. One he would recognize anywhere, even by just its muzzle. His old gun. The one he'd left in (y/n)'s car back when he'd gotten the gas, along with all his other belongings.

His stomach flips when his eyes travel upwards, and find an unfamiliar face behind the trigger.

"What's your name?" The stranger asks. It's a girl, maybe in her late twenties. She looks dreadful — even for someone in a zombie apocalypse. Sleepless and tired. She wears a black, ripped tank top, and seems to twitch every few seconds.

"That's my gun—"

"Name."

"Arthur," he says. "Arthur Morgan."

Her shoulders seem to slacken a fraction, but her — Arthur's — gun, is still pointed at him. "Show me."

"...What?"

"The bite."

Arthur doesn't need to be told twice, he reaches for the pant of his leg and lifts it. Only then does the woman lower the weapon.

"She wasn't lying," she mutters under her breath, taking a step backwards. "Jesus Christ."

There is no time to lose. It doesn't matter if the woman is on his side or not, it doesn't even matter who she is. (Y/n) matters. "She? You mean (y/n)?" Arthur speaks up, though his vocal chords stop cooperating at the final word.

"Yeah." The woman says, offering him her hand. "There's not much time, come on."

Arthur takes a strong hold of her forearm, though doesn't find much support when he gets up. The woman is barely holding herself up.

She walks over to Colm, pats him down, and fishes out keys from his pocket. As she gets up, Arthur fears she's about to keel over any second, but somehow, she manages just the right amount of energy to spit on Colm's dead body.

He wants to jokingly tell her that she's not the first one to do that, but he refrains. His reasons remain unknown even to himself.

She cusses Colm out in a language Arthur doesn't understand, then turns away.

He follows the young woman towards the gate through which Colm had entered the city, watches her unlock it.

He has so many questions, but no energy to ask. He sees no use in it, he supposes. If someone is willing to help, why doubt them? There is no other better option to speak of.

"Nice weapons, by the way." In the very last second, Arthur manages to catch the backpack she tosses at him. His backpack, loaded with all his old supplies.

Touching familiar metal has never felt quite so comforting.

"Come on. I don't have much time," The woman tells him, stepping through the gate, waiting for him to follow.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She guides him along the fence. It's not too long of a way, but it sure as hell doesn't feel like it in Arthur's condition. It's not over, he knows it isn't, but now that his body had wasted precious energy on the rush of adrenaline from before, he feels even more drained. Not that he thought that would be even possible.

Still, his weakened force combined with the woman's makes for a mediocre one. One that is just about enough to neutralize any stray infected in their path along the fence that surrounds the small town.

When they reach a car, his and (y/n)'s car, parked behind a few trees, a mere few hundred meters away from the fence, Arthur has to blink twice to make sure he's not hallucinating from blood loss.

They both get in, the young woman behind the steering wheel. She starts the engine, and, scaring the living hell out of Arthur, honks. Once. Twice.

"What the goddamned hell do you think yer doin'?!"

"Making sure (y/n) knows I found you." Without any further explanation, she begins driving. Arthur looks around, though he can't distinguish much in the dark.

"Did that man do that to you?" She asks, nods at Arthur's arms without taking her eyes off the road ahead. Before he can answer, she twitches, more harshly this time, stomping down on the breaks. "Sorry."

"You...a'right?" Arthur asks. He doesn't receive an answer, she just resumes driving. "You want me to drive?"

"You wouldn't know where to," she states plainly.

Which is, again, true. Arthur doesn't understand much of the supposed plan she's talking about, and can't exactly say that placing his faith in one has recently been advantageous for him, but he doesn't care. As long as he has the soft, leathery car seats below him, he's happy for now. All that remains to be solved is finding (y/n).

He fights the sleep that comes to him in waves. Arthur's not even sure if it can be called sleep, it's more of a hybrid between nausea and fatigue.

The car stops just as he's about to succumb to it all.

"She should be somewhere nearby. Can you still fight?"

For (y/n)?

"Yes." Arthur states. Of course he can, there is no questioning it.

"Good."

She guides him towards a hole in the fence, through which they both squeeze back inside the town. The listen for gunshots, anything that could be telling of where (y/n) could potentially be, but there is none nearby. Only the distant ones of O'Driscolls shooting away at the infected, coming from the east.

"Where was she heading?" Arthur asks. "I'm guessing you searched in opposite directions?"

"Yeah. She was headed east."

Fuck, Arthur thinks. Right into the O'Driscoll's arms.

A gunshot rings through the air. Much closer than the rest.

Arthur doesn't wait any longer, he runs in that direction, readying his rifle. He's endured so much, so fucking much, and (y/n) has not only come for him, but brought help. If anyone even dares to lay o finger on her, he swears on all that is holy—

(Y/n) stands in front of a collapsed man, points her gun towards Arthur too, and is just a millisecond away from firing.

"Don't shoot!"

She doesn't move for a second, it could almost be called hesitation. But she approaches him, at first with slight disbelief, then with unmatched joy.

"Arthur!" She whispers as she grabs a hold of his hand in both of hers, flinching when she finds it covered in blood.

"Yeah." He says. "'S me."

His heart feels like it's bursting, but only in the best way possible. He wants to hug her, thank her over and over again for coming back, for—

"We need to leave." The woman says.

She's right. This is neither the time nor place for any more joyous relief. They're still on enemy territory, and nowhere near close to safety.

They don't need to be told twice.

I am SO sorry for taking so long. Writer's block has been a massive bitch, and I'm super duper sorry, but I'm also hella determined to finish this story (even though there's still quite a way to go). Thank you for your patience!!