Eyes for Eyes

by cxyotl

Summary:

Kieran Duffy escapes the O’Driscolls who kidnapped him from Shady Belle.

He didn’t escape completely unharmed. The O’Driscolls managed to take his vision almost entirely. Without most of his vision, he’s forced to navigate the collapse of a gang he’d only just found acceptance in.

Chapter 1: Future Forecasts, by Moonlight

Kieran could hear the party draw to a close from where he sat on the porch of the old plantation house, and though his head was lowered and his eyes closed, he knew that most of the people who had been in attendance had moved on to bed by now. Abigail and her son, followed closely by John, had excused themselves early on. There simply was no need to carry on the celebrations once young Jack, the object of such a party, had gone.

Yes, people still drank and sang and told stories by the fire, but the moment Jack had gone, it seemed like less of a party for fun’s sake and more of an excuse to get drunk and forget the problems that had been following the Van Der Linde gang since May. Kieran was no different. He had no defense. Like everyone else, he was drinking the night away out of guilt.

Guilt for getting that poor kid in such trouble that he had to be rescued in the first place. Sure, he was home safe now, but Kieran couldn’t quite shake the guilt. Not yet.

And unfortunately for him, he couldn’t quite hold his liquor either. Kieran buried his head in his arms and sighed deeply.

“Mind if I join you?”

Kieran lifted his head at the voice, groaning at how the simple action made his vision swim and his stomach turn dreadfully. He swayed until he got his bearings, then he leaned towards her with a wide grin. “Oh, M…Miss Gaskill, I don’t mind none.”

Mary-Beth chuckled as she sat herself down on the edge of the porch beside him. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Alright? I think I might be the happiest I ever been,” he said, lifting the empty bottle he’d been keeping in his lap. He only realized it was empty after he’d thrown it back, and with some disappointment, he huffed and placed the bottle back down beside him. Mary-Beth stifled a laugh, and he turned to her with a slight smile. “Why d’you ask?”

Mary-Beth’s smile wavered. It was only a split second, but Kieran caught on nonetheless. He straightened his back, wobbling momentarily before finding his balance again. Seeing that flash of worry in her eye sobered him just enough to no longer feel quite so sorry for his own state. “… Miss?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Kieran.” She waved him off. He didn’t budge. “Guess I’m just… Have you noticed the strange air about camp?”

Kieran scratched his jaw. “W-Well, I sure noticed the big storm coming in, if that’s what you mean.”

Mary-Beth looked caught off guard, and she lifted her chin to the sky. Save for a few quick-moving clouds, the stars shone with a brilliant twinkle and the half moon smiled widely down at them. “I don’t see any storm?”

“‘Course. Not yet.” Kieran leaned into her, and he pointed out across the yard towards the horses. “There. See how them horses have huddled together by the treeline? They do that when they know a storms on its way. Looks like a big ‘un, too. They’ve really got themselves pushed in close like that so they can protect each other.”

Mary-Beth followed Kieran’s finger, and he slowly lowered his arm. The horses seemed to stare right back, their eyes illuminated in the dark by the scarce lights of camp.

“They’ll be alright in the storm, even if it’s a real big one, won’t they?” She cleared her throat. “I mean… They’ve been in storms before, but… Not like the ones I’ve heard about happening down here.”

Kieran hesitated.

“Mmh… I can’t say for sure, but… Well, I’d put good money on them bein’ just fine. They’re smarter than most folks give them credit for, y’know. Long as he’s got his herd, a horse can weather just about anything. A-And if something ain’t right, they’ll head off and make themselves safe.” Kieran pulled his knees up to his chest, mirroring the pose Mary-Beth had sat herself in. She seemed to really take in his words, sitting with them as she stared out at the horses. Kieran rested his head on his knee, drawn to the sight of her.

She was wearing her white sleepwear, and with the mix of moonlight and Kieran’s intoxication, it seemed she was glowing. Her hair was pulled back behind her shoulders, but still loose. The rags she often set her curls into had not yet been put in, or perhaps she simply was not in the mood to wear them at all. The serious, contemplative look on her face gave her the appearance of someone who’d just been told something far more interesting than the simple habits of horses in less-than-ideal weather.

“I’ll give you my word, Miss Gaskill,” he hummed, closing his eyes. “Anythin’ happens, I’ll take care of them.”

She did not look away from the horses, at first. “In the state you look to be in?”

Kieran grunted, once again leaning just a slight too far into her to be able to hold himself up. She felt him gently fall against her arm, and with a sigh, she looked down at him.

He’d gone and passed out right on top of her. Though it was dark, and the only light available to her was that of the moon, she leaned forward to study Kieran’s face as he slept against her shoulder. He looked, at the very least, comfortable. Not quite relaxed, though Mary-Beth was starting to come to the conclusion that the man beside her never could be— and never once was— ‘relaxed’. He was a man constantly on edge. And could she blame him? He had nobody to trust, usually. 

At least now, in this very moment, he had enough trust in her that he could sleep against her shoulder. Drunk or not, he felt safe enough to rest beside her. She smirked and looked back out at the horses.

If she were to ignore the sound of the dying party, she could hear the swamp coming to life. The choirs of hidden little frogs and the light shows of the fireflies made the humid air feel just that much more tolerable. The party itself was quite difficult to ignore, unfortunately, but as long as she concentrated elsewhere, she could imagine it was only her and Kieran on this warm summer night.

She turned her attention to where Dutch had begun to talk rather loudly about… Something or other. She hated to admit that she’d drank too much herself to care for all the yelling happening over by the campfire, and the rising wind was drowning out quite a lot of his speech as well, making it hard to hear even if she did care.

It was right as Dutch’s passionate speech grew to its summit that a crash of thunder startled her and Kieran both.

It was like Kieran had predicted. A nasty storm had made its appearance, engulfing the camp in rumbling thunder and heavy rain in just moments. Kieran stumbled to his feet hurriedly, cursing the weather, and Mary-Beth stood as well.

“Aw, shit-“ He fixed his hat to his head and then pulled his blue over-shirt off to mindlessly cover Mary-Beth’s shoulders as he tripped his way up the stairs.

It was such a thoughtful gesture, done with so little thought, that it made Mary-Beth freeze up in the rain for a split second.

He waited at the door for her, blinking hazily, and when she found her feet again, she followed him up and took his hand. Once through the threshold, he led her over to the couch where she slept, and he sat her down in an uncharacteristically gentlemanly manner.

“Why don’t you sit, Kieran?” Mary-Beth quickly interrupted him as he turned to leave out the doors. Kieran stopped, and he blinked at her again wearily.

“Oh, no, Miss, I oughta get myself to bed. Chores still need done in the mornin’.”

“You’re gonna sleep out in that rain, then?”

Kieran didn’t seem to understand. He swayed, then pointed to the door. “I slept in rain before, Miss, it don’t bother me none.”

She pulled his shirt over her shoulders, pouting. “Well it bothers me a whole lot. You’ll… Catch a cold, or get snatched up by a gator, or… Something.”

Kieran looked between the door and Mary-Beth, then huffed. “I don’t think gators would go that far into camp, Miss. It’s easier to hear the horses from-“

“Oh, quit your arguing with me. Just sleep in the house, Kieran. Please? At least for tonight. The horses will all be fine. Like you said!”

He grumbled, but turned around to fall onto the couch beside her.

Once he was next to her, Mary-Beth gently removed his slightly dampened hat and set it aside, then she reached over and began to untie his neckerchief.

“What… Are you doin’?”

“Hm. Just gettin’ you comfortable. My ma used to tell me stories of folks falling asleep with something ‘round their neck. Chokes ‘em, if they’re not careful. Leaves angry sores at least.”

Kieran snorted, and as she set his neckerchief to the side, he laid back and closed his eyes again. “If you say so, Mary-Beth.” He seemed to fall asleep once again, until Mary-Beth was startled by him speaking once again. “… Is Mister Arthur asleep?”

“I think so. He went up to bed not too long before I came to sit by you.”

“He said… He told me, we’d’ve killed each other at Six Point, had I not joined up with you fellers,” Kieran hiccuped, then giggled. “I agreed, at first, but… Hell, I think I’d have spared his life whether I was still with O’Driscoll or not.”

“Why’s that?”

Kieran went quiet, still grinning drunkenly. “I just really hated the feller who nearly killed him,” was what he said in a low whisper. However, there was more to it that Kieran wasn’t sure he’d ever admit aloud, no matter how drunk he was. That was, he wasn’t all that scared of Arthur Morgan.

Had he been captured and starved by Arthur? Yes, and that was something Kieran struggled to forgive too easily, but at the same time, Arthur’d shown him a kind of mercy that Kieran had never truly been shown before. The magnitude of physical violence against him was the shoving, and the singular instance of little Jack Marston using Kieran’s back as target practice for throwing rocks. The furthest the Van Der Lindes have gotten to doing some real damage to him was those damned gelding tongs, and he blamed Bill for that show more than he blamed Arthur. From the very beginning of his life without his parents, he’d been subjected to some real painful shit. Standing on your feet with your arms tied behind you for weeks on end was almost nothing by comparison to what they’d do in the stables, or in the Army. Or with the O’Driscolls.

That split-second decision to save Arthur at Six Point Cabin had been a whole lot easier of a decision to make than Kieran even expected. Sure, Arthur and the Van Der Lindes weren’t all too friendly to him... But they sure as hell beat staying with the O’Driscolls, or staying on his lonesome. Arthur was a good person beneath it all, and Kieran could tell. That was more than could be said for the man who he’d killed when saving Arthur, who Kieran had known as a real nasty bastard named Seamus.

Mary-Beth touched his cheek, stirring Kieran from his wandering mind. “… You can sleep right here with me, if you’d like, Kieran. You look just about ready to pass on out.”

“No, no, I couldn’t-“ Kieran instantly sat up. “Y-You’ve been real kind, Miss, but… There ain’t enough room here.“

They looked between each other. Heavy rain continued to fall around them. People passed by in the hall, paying neither of them any mind as they hurried in from the storm. Mary-Beth sighed, then reached up and brushed his cheek once more. “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning, then… Sleep well, Kieran.”

“You as well, Miss Gaskill,” he said, standing and bowing his head to her. She giggled, and he grinned right back at her, then he stumbled out of the room.

Mary-Beth heard a light thud just in the other room. She leaned forward, seeing Kieran’s shadowed figure adjusting his arms while he lay face first on the ground of the piano room.

Sitting back on the couch, Mary-Beth smiled to herself and removed Kieran’s shirt from her shoulders, carefully tracing the worn seams with her thumb while she looked on at his worn hat and silk neckerchief, both left on the arm of the little couch she’d claimed as her bed. She wrapped the shirt over her shoulder once more, laid her head down, and closed her eyes.

 

Chapter 2: The Cat Did A Number On You

Summary:

Poor Vienna, It’ll be over soon.

When Kieran first been allowed in with the Van Der Lindes, he’d expected to be killed within days. If not from Mrs. Adler or Bill Williamson, then surely from some stray O’Driscoll getting his revenge on them for the little ‘social call’ on Six Point Cabin. He’d looked over his shoulder day and night, preparing for the worst… And then nothing happened.

They moved camp, and all seemed safe until Pearson had claimed to run into a couple of O’Driscolls in Rhodes, and poor Arthur had been caught and tortured by Colm’s boys.

He’d hoped that moving to Shady Belle would be the end of having to look over his shoulder. The O’Driscolls never really went further south than Dewberry Creek, at the border of the Heartlands and Scarlet Meadows. Kieran had figured that, as deep in the south as they were, Colm would just give up.

He was a damned fool to think Colm was the type to ‘give up’.

Kieran was tied to a post with his arms bound behind his back. Before him was a small camp, and two men in those familiar, sickly green scarves had taken it upon themselves to torment him for the better part of the day.

They’d been kicking him about until his ribs broke, and he was coughing up blood and bile. The hangover he’d sustained from the previous night didn’t quite grant him the will to withstand the constant beatings.

Still, Kieran was rather used to this now, and he knew better than to show much weakness to these captors until he really couldn’t hold it back. He tugged at the ropes around his wrists, pulling at the thick rope to test for faults. They were certainly tight, and rubbed his skin raw every time he moved, but if he could just find one weak point in the knots—

Approaching voices forced Kieran to stop what he was doing. He tensed as the two O’Driscolls came into view. As they got closer, Kieran finally made out what one of the men was holding. Gold spurs, distinctly familiar. They were his own, of course. 

He’d gotten them back from the Van Der Lindes just before the move into Clemens Point, after Hosea had made the executive decision that Kieran had earned enough of the gang’s trust that he could at least have one of his only belongings back in his possession. It was more representative than anything, a show of trust between one of the gang’s leaders and the new stable boy, but it had been real meaningful nonetheless.

It was very unlikely that these O’Driscolls were mirroring such a kindness.

“What do you want from me?” Kieran asked in a small voice, pressing up against the post as the two men got close. One O’Driscoll crouched beside him, still admiring the golden spurs. There was sickening silence. Kieran swallowed his nerves and dared to pull on his binds once more. “Look, just- Just let me go, will you? I ain’t worth all this trouble.”

“You’re not worth much at all, Kieran Duffy. At least, not alive,” said the man holding the spurs. “That’s why we can’t let you go.”

Kieran opened his mouth to try at another question, but all that left him were screams as the O’Driscoll suddenly brought the sharp rowels down on his torso.

“You’re one dirty rat, Duffy!” The man yelled over Kieran’s crying, bringing the spurs down hard against his already damaged body. Kieran attempted to squirm away, but the ropes around his hands held fast. “You really thought you’d get away from us? After riding with the enemy? Attacking Six Point Cabin, killing Seamus?”

The hitting stopped, after another minute or so. The O’Driscoll held the bloody spurs up to Kieran’s throat. “We’ll kill you, I promise you that, Kieran Duffy, you will die before tomorrow. We’ve got a whole lot more men with us than even old Dutch is prepared to face… We’ll kill you, then we’ll ride what’s left of you back up to Shady Belle, and we’ll kill all them fellers in your gang.“

Kieran flinched as the spur was brought closer to his throat. “Shady Belle-?” How the fuck had the O’Driscolls found out that they were holed up in Shady Belle?

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Duffy, it’s unbecoming.“

Kieran searched the man’s face wildly, then he spared a glance at the O’Driscoll standing behind his torturer. This other stranger smoked a cigar, unfazed.

“They-They’ll find me, you know! They’ll go looking for me, and when they find me, they’ll kill the lot of you!” Kieran spat, tugging again at his binds.

“Really?” The O’Driscoll with the cigar snorted. “Our source tells us they won’t realize you’ve gone missing at all.”

“Your source-?” A strong kick into his abdomen interrupted him, and Kieran doubled over, coughing. While trying to regain control over his breath, the pair of O’Driscolls disappeared back into their little camp.

Kieran’s heart, and mind, raced. Not only had the O’Driscolls found them down here, they knew the exact location of the gang’s hideout, and on top of that, there was some kind of ‘source’?

The Van Der Lindes would be able to hold off an attack from that old house. Shady Belle was practically designed to withstand ambushes, and every gunman in Dutch’s ranks was well equipped and skilled. Even if Kieran couldn’t get out in time to warn them of the attack, he hoped… He knew they would be alright.

The O’Driscolls weren’t particularly good fighters. Overwhelming numbers and brutality were what gave them the reputation they had, but he knew of plenty of Colm’s men who had learned how to shoot while on jobs.

It still didn’t quite comfort him, knowing that there would be an attack at all. Something could always go wrong. Any battle raised the stakes of someone he cared about dying. Especially if there was some kind of informant benefitting the enemy.

He once again attempted to pull free from the ropes, paying no mind to the burning on his wrists as the rope dug in and clung to his skin like claws. His determination to get out of here had doubled. If he could get out, find his way back to Shady Belle in time, maybe he could warm them of the threat, of the fact that the O’Driscolls had a ‘source’ on them. Whether their source was a person within the Van Der Linde gang, which seemed unlikely, or a complete stranger, he figured they had the right to be made aware.

His hands finally went numb, and the pulling further dislocated his already broken rib. Kieran stopped fighting it and hung his head to catch his breath. There was no way he’d get out of this on his own, no matter how much he tried. He’d just have to pray someone would come looking.

The O’Driscolls would have their fun with him until they got bored again, then they would move on to other things. Exhausted, but on alert, Kieran watched them throughout the day. Cleaning weapons, taking inventory of ammunition, and setting up saddle bags on the horses they had with them. It occurred to Kieran, then, that these weren’t just O’Driscolls. They were stablehands. And here they were, toying with him as if they were cats playing with their food.

He turned his attention back around to the horses, who were hitched up not far from where he was. Two drafts looked lazily on, while three smaller riding horses impatiently pawed at the floor. None among them were Branwen. Kieran felt his heart sink in his chest upon realizing his horse wasn’t there…

Maybe, that was for the best that he wasn’t trapped here with him. Unless something worse had happened to him. The last time Kieran had seen his roan walker was when the two of them were ambushed by these O’Driscolls. He just had to hope that Branwen got out of there alive.

One of the O’Driscolls appeared at Kieran’s side, grabbing his jaw and pulling his gaze away from the horses to face him. “Not thinking of riding out early, are you?”

Kieran stared up at his captor, letting out a strangled whimper. “I… What’ve you done with my horse?”

“Why do you care? You won’t be needing him much longer.”

“You’re a horseman, ain’t you?” Kieran pleaded, pulling his head away from the O’Driscoll’s grasp. “Look, I’ve been watching you… Surely you understand how important a horse is to a feller-“

The O’Driscoll scoffed. “I know how much a good riding horse is worth in cash. That thing is long gone by now, sold to buy us the bullets we’re gonna kill Van Der Linde with.”

Kieran sank down as the man left him. At least Branwen wasn’t dead… Now, he just hoped he would be fine wherever he’d been taken.

As the day marched into night, the torture only got worse. They’d done away with the spurs, finally, but they’d left deep, stinging marks on his skin. Cigarette after cigarette was put out on his bare collarbones, and he became something of a punching bag for the pair until he was sure every inch of his body was covered in bruises and sores.

It became hard to beg them to stop, hard to speak at all, really. Breathing in felt like being stabbed, and he wasn’t sure anymore if they really had stabbed him or not.

They departed for bed, leaving Kieran on the post. He shivered, not because it was exceptionally cold, but out of fear and agony. Blood stained his face, and he swore he felt a back tooth had been knocked out of its place somewhere. He really must be a pitiful sight.

No sign of rescue had come.

Did they really not notice?

Only a few days after moving into Shady Belle, Tilly had gotten kidnapped by some boys that had been tormenting her for years. It wasn’t long before folks realized she was gone. In fact, Grimshaw noticed it just an hour after the girl had left camp to run an errand. Kieran had watched Miss Grimshaw drag Arthur away from his conversation with Mary-Beth to track her down, and just like that, Tilly was home. Bruised and shaken, of course, but otherwise untouched. Miss Grimshaw and Arthur had arrived at just the right time, from the sounds of things.

Kieran was nowhere near as close to the others as Tilly was, so he could certainly excuse them not finding him sooner. He’d just hoped they’d come before… Well, all this had happened.

Like Arthur once said, though, Kieran wasn’t known for his luck. He didn’t know how much time he had left before the O’Driscolls finished him off for good, but knowing how things usually turned out for old Kieran Duffy, he’d be killed just before anyone even noticed he was really missing.

His night was fitful. Any time he tried to nod off to sleep, he was rudely awoken by whoever had been placed on guard duty. Closer to sunrise, one of the men approached again. This time, purposeful. Kieran didn’t lift his gaze.

He didn’t have to do it himself. The O’Driscoll grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, slamming it into the post with a sick cackle. Kieran shut his eyes tight. “I’m gonna enjoy this,” he hissed. The O’Driscoll then cupped his hands around Kieran’s face, tracing his thumbs up towards Kieran’s eyes.

At first, Kieran didn’t register what he was doing. He felt the man hold his head back tightly, then he felt the man’s thumbs begin to press into the corners of his eyes. It was then that he realized what was about to happen, and a sudden spike of adrenaline granted him the energy to attempt to fight back. Kieran thrashed around, screaming as the man’s fingers tightened around his face. The man lost his grip on the right side of his face, but the searing pain worsened around his left eye.

He slipped out of consciousness for a single relieving moment that could have lasted anywhere between seconds and minutes. By the time he came back to his senses enough to make out what was happening around him, he was loosened from the ropes around his wrists and lying on his back, gasping while one of the men tilted his head upwards to expose his neck, which felt as warm and wet as the rest of his bleeding face. He couldn’t see a thing. Everything sounded unclear, like he was underwater.

“That’s where you cut. Now go grab that axe,” a man’s cold voice above him spat, and Kieran heard the familiar sound of a knife being sheathed as he was dropped back down against the earth. Kieran coughed, feeling the new, shallow cut on his throat tense and bleed with the movement. He attempted to bring his hand to his neck, only to be stopped as he was held down once more. A new, cold object was being carefully settled over the cut in the middle of his neck.

He thought, for just a breath, a breath that may just be his last, that he heard the sound of hoofbeats.

The object fell. A gunshot rang out over his head.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t dead, yet. There was certainly a new bleeding wound on the side of his neck from where the object had fallen, but it had not cleaved his head from his shoulders like it had been set up to do.

What he felt next was a warm breath against his face, followed by a soft whinny, and Kieran weakly reached up to feel for the animal that had appeared at his side. 

“Good boy-“ A small voice whispered, then Kieran felt someone lift him up. He cried out as he was placed on the animal’s back, and his savior quickly placed the horse’s reins into Kieran’s fists to secure him, muttering all the while.

He thought he’d recognized that voice, as clouded as it was by his own senses. “Lenny..?” Kieran wheezed, leaning forward into the horse’s neck. Gunfire sounded, causing the horse Kieran was laying on top of to snort and rear. It was enough to kick Kieran into his senses, and he held on as tight as he could to the reins he’d been given.

Lenny quickly smacked the animal’s rear. “Go on, get him home! I’ll be right behind you!”

He felt the horse under him start at a gallop, and he could hear the sound of gunshots and another set of hooves behind him. Kieran held tightly to the horse’s reins with the strength he had left in him. It felt like days before the horse finally slowed down and came to a stop, and the last thing Kieran heard before he lost consciousness and slipped off the horse’s back was the only voice that could ever bring him comfort at a time like this—

“It’s Kieran!”

 

Notes:

Chapter title is from the song ‘Vienna (In Memoriam) by The Army, The Navy.

Chapter 3: The Ambush on Shady Belle

Summary:

Hours before they had originally planned to lead an attack on Shady Belle, the O’Driscolls arrive to finish what they’d started with Kieran.

Arthur scratched his chin tiredly as he stepped out of the manor that morning. The sun hadn’t come up quite yet, but there was already a fair amount of activity around camp.

He looked out at the camp, hoping to see Kieran weaving through the area completing chores. No matter where he turned, though, there was no sign of the boy. Arthur looked out at the horses, expecting him to be out there if he wasn’t in the main area.

His horse was still missing.

Kieran had disappeared without a trace yesterday morning, sometime between everyone heading to bed after Jack’s party and the time anyone else woke up. Miss Grimshaw had been the first to notice, having woken up to see every single one of Kieran’s usual chores incomplete, and she’d quietly alerted Arthur before sending Javier to go looking for the O’Driscoll. Mary-Beth was the next to notice, of course, searching every inch of camp and asking everyone she came across if they’d seen him. The whole time, she’d carried his scarf around like it’d somehow manifest him back by her side.

It was, admittedly, strange to have Kieran missing. Especially for so long. Arthur would have volunteered to search for him, if he hadn’t been forced to attend the mayor’s party, which required more preparation and nagging than any social event ever should require.

Arthur looked out once more at the horses, taking a quick headcount. Boaz, Brown Jack, Maggie, and Nell were all missing, too.

“Mr. Morgan.” Arthur turned, seeing Miss Grimshaw make her way over to him.

“Susan. How are things?” He almost didn’t want to hear the answer. Grimshaw waved her hand, annoyed.

“Still can’t find that Kieran… It’s like he never existed. Miss Gaskill’s been worrying herself sick, making it everyone else’s problem…” The annoyance in her voice was a clever veil, but there was no hiding the worry in Grimshaw’s eyes. She did care for everyone in the gang. Ultimately, that meant their little old stable boy, too. “Javier left to look for him again this morning. He’s going to look up by the Heartlands. I told him to take Bill with, just in case.”

“Good call,” Arthur grunted. “Did they take anyone else?”

“No… But Uncle took it upon himself to retrace Javier’s steps, he’s gone looking in the swamps to the east.”

“Uncle, doing something productive? I don’t believe you,” Arthur remarked, shooting her a grin. Miss Grimshaw waved dismissively at him.

“Oh, leave him alone, Arthur. He’s a hard worker… When he wants to be.”

Arthur just about rolled his eyes. “Uncle couldn’t find a dog if it bit him in the ass, all due respect.” But he was trying, which was what mattered, really. Uncle wasn’t the worst leech in the pond. Only a few days ago, he’d managed to drag Arthur back up to Rhodes to rustle about twenty head of cattle, and they’d done well for themselves. Still, it was a lot less fun to acknowledge that the old man had his virtues. “Hey! If we’re lucky, whatever took the O’Driscoll will take Uncle instead. At least I’ve seen Kieran actually do shit around here.”

Another worried look shadowed Grimshaw’s face, and she hurriedly bade him farewell before heading out across camp to continue her work for the morning. Clearly, she didn’t find the joke too funny. Arthur grunted and rolled his shoulder as he looked out across camp from where he stood on the porch. Maybe it wasn’t the best timing for that sort of humor, he could admit that. As he scanned the camp, he noticed Mary-Beth was sitting on the edge of the old, broken fountain and wrapping Kieran’s scarf through her fingers. Any other possible jokes running through his mind about Kieran being missing soured at the sight.

She really did look worried sick. Her lips were drawn in a tight line, and her knuckles had turned white with how tightly she was holding on to that little scarf. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that blue piece of fabric in her hands was a rosary. Hell, it might as well be one.

He’d noticed the way she’d been searching every inch of the camp the day before, looking high and low in every spot she knew Kieran usually stayed. She’d asked nearly every person in camp if they’d caught sight of Kieran somewhere. Now, she was still and quiet. Contemplative, like she was thinking up a prayer.

Arthur spared one more look around the camp to see if he could find Kieran, for Mary-Beth’s sake.

And somehow, he actually saw something. The noise caused others around the little camp to gather around, facing the disturbance to their otherwise quiet morning.

Pushing through the tree-line at full speed was a familiar roan walker with a limp human body lying on his back. It came to a stop in the middle of camp, neighing wildly and snorting. Arthur’s eyes widened. The realization of who this was came at the same moment that Mary-Beth leaped from where she was sitting and cried out his name.

“It’s Kieran!”

The man, bloody and limp, slid off of Branwen’s back and landed on his back in the dirt with a sickening thud. Branwen stamped, throwing his head back, but he didn’t dare move.

Mary-Beth, being the closest to where Kieran had fallen, was already leaning over him, pressing his scarf into the obvious wound on his neck to stop the bleeding. Before anyone else could get close enough to help, though, they heard gunfire from the trees.

“O’Driscolls!” Lenny, on his familiar palomino, had burst into camp with a group of people hot on his tail. He shot behind him, then got down off of Maggie’s saddle to duck behind one of the barriers at the edge of camp. Maggie reared, then ran out of sight, leading other horses in the gang away, too, as a swarm of people appeared from the woods.

Arthur unholstered his double action revolvers, steadily nailing a good number of the ambushing enemies. He ducked behind one of the pillars on the balcony to reload his guns, then he left his cover to push back more. Chaos erupted in the camp as people took cover left and right. John ran out from the house with his own gun, taking cover near Arthur.

Jack must have noticed his father’s appearance. Arthur watched, terrified, as the little boy ran from the cover his mother had taken him into, bolting under gunfire towards John. He started to move, only for John to suddenly burst from his own cover to grab the boy and race him back to where Abigail was hiding.

His pride in John’s action couldn't be lingered on any longer than that, as the O’Driscolls continued to push forward with terrifying force. Taking John’s place by Arthur’s side, Sadie gritted her teeth. “Jesus, Arthur, it’s an army of the bastards!”

Arthur swiftly ducked to reload his guns, scoffing. “You’re telling me! Where the hell did they all come from?!”

Sadie ducked, too, looking over at Arthur. “Doesn’t matter much to me where they came from. I know where the hell they’re going!” She jumped from out of her cover to continue her fire, then she turned her head to the side of the house and ran before Arthur could get much more conversation out of her.

Dutch ordered from somewhere on the field for women and children to get inside as the O’Driscolls pushed further into the camp. The Ban Der Lindes were quickly getting overwhelmed. With a grunt, Arthur pushed the door open and held it there so people could get through. He kept his gun trained on the O’Driscolls, keeping his escaping gang mates covered as well as he could. As he got his headcount in, he caught a glimpse of Mary-Beth, still crouched near the old broken fountain.

Heaven or Hell couldn’t get her to leave Kieran’s side, it seemed. She’d pulled him into a less open space, protected by the fountain’s base.

It was a smart idea, he had to admit, but it wasn’t the safest idea either. Arthur got to her side and sternly pulled her arm, pointing to the house wordlessly before continuing his fire to cover for her. Now standing over Kieran’s seemingly lifeless body, Arthur had to keep himself from getting distracted from the battle at hand. He really could understand where Mary-Beth was coming from. If Kieran wasn’t already dead, he looked damn close to dying soon. A stray bullet from the fight wouldn’t help his chances, either.

Then the order came to back down, to retreat back into the house and continue the defenses there. Christ, were they really getting beat up. Arthur held back, letting everyone on the field with him to get inside before he left his spot. What a hypocrite he was, not wanting to leave Kieran out there on his own like this, either. They’d just have to come back for him as soon as they could.

Once inside, they barricaded the doors shut and Dutch gave more orders to the gunmen to protect the area from the windows. Arthur had to admit, Dutch was a damn good leader in a situation like this. He pushed to his assigned section, smashing his window to fire at an O’Driscoll that had found his way behind the house.

“Is everyone accounted for?” Arthur yelled over the raining of bullets and the taunts from their attackers.

“I don’t know!” John cried back.

“Hey! I said, is everyone accounted for?!”

John repeated himself. Arthur knew damn well they weren’t all accounted for, but he’d at least have liked confirmation that there was no other casualty.

John called out again from across the room. “Damn Kieran, should have never taken that O’Driscoll in-“

“Shut up, Marston, you see what happened to him?!” Arthur shot three more of the O’Driscolls, his jaw tightening. There was a loud scream outside, and Arthur straightened out. He let go of his anger towards John immediately. “That’s Sadie! John, cover me!”

Leaping over the windowsill, Arthur ran across the yard and turned to corner around the shed, raising his revolvers—

The sight he arrived to made him pause. Sadie was standing over three dead or dying O’Driscolls, and she was bathed in their blood and gritting her teeth. If it was action she’d been looking for all this time, she was certainly being satisfied now. Sadie turned to have him, brushing hair from her face with the back of her blood-stained hand.

He reprimanded her for not getting inside, but Arthur didn’t believe a damn word he was saying to her. Sadie Adler could, clearly, hold her own in a fight against these sons of bitches. She pulled her knife from one of the O’Driscoll’s necks and motioned for Arthur to follow her.

“C’mon! They need us at the house, Morgan!” She called out, racing ahead. Arthur huffed, following her as they shot at the men that had surrounded the house. One O’Driscoll, who had gotten far too close to him for comfort, suddenly fell with a shot before Arthur could react. Turning, he saw Karen protecting them from the back balcony, and he nodded up at her. Karen saluted back down at them, then aimed and fired at another O’Driscoll.

“Hey,” Sadie crouched behind a crate to reload. “You alright?”

“Sure,” Arthur replied, breathless. He crouched beside her to check his own weapon. “But let’s not jinx anything, yeah?”

Sadie gave him a quick, silent nod. She was one tough woman, Arthur thought to himself as they left their cover once more. She had been so scared and hopeless just a few months ago, up in those mountains and down in Horseshoe Overlook. It was a little hard to believe that she was the same woman he was fighting alongside now. She was merciless, and far braver than he’d ever seen anyone be before.

It wasn’t like he’d never seen this dangerous look in her eye before. He saw it when they first met her, when she’d held her knife up to Micah. He saw it again when she’d fought off those Lemoyne Raiders the first time Arthur had taken her out of camp for supplies.

Sadie pistol-whipped one of the closer men to her, then she readjusted her hold on her revolver’s handle and shot the man point blank. She turned and shot another O’Driscoll who’d dared to get too close, screaming with red-hot rage.

They rounded the house, and from there, it seemed the rest of their gang had built up enough strength to push back alongside them. One O’Driscoll up ahead was caught completely off guard as Charles leaped from the house, tackling him to the ground. Charles made quick work of the man beneath his knee, the machete gliding against the masked man’s throat.

Arthur had to pause to stare at him. Charles lifted his head, frowning. “You okay?” He asked in a gentle voice, which completely contradicted the violence around them. Arthur couldn’t help but crack a smile at him, and he nodded. They pushed back to the front of the house, Charles and Sadie by Arthur’s side.

Arthur got three more good shots in, the last man not retreating quick enough to escape a good shot to the back of the neck. Still, unsatisfied with the retreat, Arthur hesitated to holster his sidearms. “Cowards!” Dutch called out as the gunfire came to a silence. The fight was over. Arthur coughed, then turned around to look at the mess.

O’Driscolls and bullets littered the yard. Dutch and John had, at some point, rejoined them at the front of the house. The horses were all long gone, now. Except, somehow, Branwen was still there. Head low and ears pinned back, the roan emerged from his spot behind Pearson’s wagon, attempting to return to his fallen rider. He didn’t get far before stopping, neighing nervously. 

It was a horrible sight. Arthur grimaced, glancing behind him at Charles and Sadie, who shared his look with concern. Charles squeezed Sadie’s shoulder in wordless thanks, and without a word, he walked to where Kieran had been left. The doors to the manor hesitantly opened, and Arthur watched to see if Mary-Beth would come out. Only Hosea exited the house, meeting Charles by Kieran’s body.

The two men spoke quietly to each other. Arthur strained to hear just what they were saying. Their faces were shadowed, but Arthur could tell they weren’t thrilled with the state of things.

Swanson slowly joined them outside, standing over the three men and wringing his hands. Hosea breathed out with relief and stepped back to let Charles and the Reverend carefully lift Kieran up. He called back toward the house, ushering the men on urgently. “He’s alive! Just about. Abigail, will you find somewhere to put him?”

Arthur watched as the men carried Kieran indoors, then turned to the rest of the people standing outside. Arthur made eye contact with Dutch, who was making his way over, and Dutch stared back at a complete loss for words. He hesitantly put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, then he patted it and walked past him.

“That was strange,” John muttered, stalking up to Arthur while keeping his eyes on the house. Sadie was close behind.

“He’s just… Trying to think through all this. Give him some time,” Arthur replied quietly. There was about to be a lot of uncertainty in the next few days, he was sure of that. “We should get this place cleaned up. I’ll get the horse out of here, you and Sadie clear this place up. Let’s just let Grimshaw and Hosea worry about more important things for now.”

“Sure,” John shrugged. He motioned for Sadie to follow him.

“Sadie?” Arthur called out, and she stopped to turn and face him. “Good work today.”

She smirked back, tilting her hat at Arthur, then she turned back and helped John lift a nearby corpse to bring to the water. Arthur did one more look around the camp, and as he started to walk over to where they’d left Branwen.

Branwen didn’t raise his head as Arthur approached. The poor thing didn’t look in good shape at all, he thought to himself, as he gently pat the roan’s neck. Branwen was caked in dirt and sweat, turning his nice pale coat a dull gray, while blood and sores peeked out from under his tack. Kieran’s own blood had spilled over Branwen’s coat, too, a fresher red that stood out against Branwen’s rusty face and legs.

Kieran would never let any horse get this bad. Especially not his own horse. Arthur gently pat Branwen’s withers, then took the reins and brought them down and over his head.

Branwen looked back up at him with heavy brown eyes, then he sighed and allowed Arthur to lead him ahead. “There, boy,” Arthur whispered. “Easy.”

The horse leaned into Arthur as they made their way out of the center of camp and towards the little waterway outside of the camp. He moved slowly, with a shaky gait, but did not seem all too uncomfortable with Arthur handling him. Branwen had always been well-mannered, allowing Charles to handle him just fine when he’d suddenly showed up at their camp in Colter not long after they’d taken Kieran. That said, he’d never seemed to forgive Arthur for taking Kieran away in the first place. He’d purposefully ignore Arthur anytime he was near, and on one occasion, he’d stamped at Arthur for getting too close to Kieran while Kieran had been adjusting a horseshoe.

Now, though, Branwen seemed to have no problem with Arthur at all. They reached the shady part of the river, where the scout fire was set up. Arthur dug around in his satchel and produced an oat cake, which he brought down to the gelding’s mouth to encourage him to eat.

“Poor thing looks dead on its feet,” called out a voice. Arthur turned around to see Hosea approaching the pair. Branwen took the oat cake readily, which was a good sign, but Hosea was right. Branwen kept his head lowered and legs splayed out like he was just barely managing to stay standing.

“He’s exhausted, but he’ll be alright.” Arthur sighed, undoing the blood-stained saddle and rug and resting it on one of the stools. He then returned to the horse’s side to remove his bridle. Branwen shook out his mane and stumbled slightly, then he craned his neck to nudge at Arthur’s knee gratefully.

With Branwen finally untacked, Arthur moved on to scrubbing the grime out of his coat and mane. He glanced over at Hosea while the older man took a seat on the free stool. Hosea watched silently while Arthur worked, a deep frown lining his face.

The silence was starting to eat at Arthur. Not that he didn’t like Hosea’s company, but because there was something weighing on the old man’s mind that Arthur could feel, like a dense fog permeating the air around them. “What were you and Charles talking about, when you were seeing if Kieran was…”

Hosea lowered his head. “You haven’t seen Kieran’s injuries, have you?”

“Not really. I was sort of in the middle of a gun-fight, y’know.” Arthur bit his tongue. “… He didn’t look too good from what I did see.”

“They’re… Severe. Mr. Smith and I… We’d never seen anything like what they’d done to that poor kid. We were just surprised he hadn’t died yet.”

Arthur stopped scrubbing the rag through Branwen’s mane. “Severe, how?”

“Lenny told us how he’d found Kieran, rescued him just in time from having his head chopped off by a couple of O’Driscoll’s boys. It’s obvious those men put him through hell. Beyond the standard burns and bruises, there’s a pretty sizable gash on his throat. And…” Hosea’s voice grew thin. “I believe the boy may be blinded. What’s left of his remaining eye is in bad condition.”

“Jesus…” Arthur’s hand tightened on the rag he’d been using. He’d only just recovered from the O’Driscoll’s torture himself, and he knew exactly what the bastards could do to a person. Even just thinking about it caused his shoulder to ache. But blinding and attempting to behead a man sounded a lot more violent than the O’Driscolls had ever been before. Just what the hell had Kieran done to deserve something like that, he wondered?

“We’ll see how that eye heals up, if he survives, but I’m not too hopeful.”

Arthur frowned at Hosea, but said nothing. What was there for him to say? He wasn’t too hopeful about Kieran’s chances either, not after hearing that. With a grunt, he returned his attention to Branwen, gently running a hand over the roan’s nose as he moved on to brushing the coat dry.

“… You just take care of that horse. And yourself. If you need anything, I’ll be inside.” Hosea sighed, and he stood and left, so that only Branwen and Arthur were left by the little scout fire. If only Branwen could speak, Arthur thought, maybe he could tell them what had happened to him and his rider.

With everyone either out on business or inside dealing with the aftermath of the attack, camp was quiet… He didn’t like it. Sure, silence could be fine when he was on the trail by himself, but he didn’t like when his home was silent. He opted to distract himself by running his fingers gently over a blister on Branwen’s muzzle from the halter he’d been wearing for at least the last two days. Arthur leaned over towards Branwen’s head. “You wouldn’t remember what your old boy puts in that poultice of his, would you?” He asked, patting the horse’s neck.

Branwen blinked back at him, then sighed loudly and turned away.

“Yeah… Figured you wouldn’t. Well, it was worth a shot, hey?” 

Whatever the hell Kieran had made that one afternoon really had done wonders for all the horses in camp, and certainly would help with Branwen’s care right then. He knew there was burdock in the mixture, as Kieran had asked Arthur to collect some for him in order to make the poultice, but that was about as much as Arthur had ever figured out.

If Kieran survived, he’d have to ask him for the recipe at some point.

For now, they’d do without it. Branwen was brushed and treated to the best of his abilities now, so Arthur carefully looped a rope halter over his head, and he led the horse back to the pasture. A few of the horses had slowly found their way back to camp, now, and they silently watched Arthur and Branwen make their way up. Arthur took his temporary halter back and released Branwen. Almost immediately, the roan kneeled down in a soft, shaded spot, and he began to snore quite loudly.

Arthur decided to take the opportunity to sit beside the horse and give himself a break. So, leaning against the tree, Arthur removed his journal from his satchel, and he began to write.

 

Notes:

Since this is mostly just a retelling of the actual ‘Horsemen, Apocalypses’ mission with little changes, it’s a bit of a longer chapter! Fun fact, the actual mission will always take place at 6pm in game. The idea here is that things and people are sort of out of place because Kieran was rescued early, and the O’Driscolls were like ‘aw shit guess we’re doing it now’. I cannot begin to counthow many times I replayed this mission while planning and writing this chapter LOL.

Chapter 4: To Suffer, To Love

Summary:

Mary-Beth can't get herself to sleep after the events of the day.

Mary-Beth wasn’t ever going to get over the sight of him. Every time she closed her eyes to try and get some much needed shut-eye, all she could see was Kieran’s bloodied, battered form against Branwen’s back. If it wasn’t that, it was the awful moment where he’d slipped from the saddle, landing on his back with the most awful thud that she’d thought he’d surely died.

She’d seen people in bad states before. Her friends mangled by gunfights and torture and wild animals. This was nothing new, or it shouldn’t be anything new, and yet she couldn’t stop replaying the events in her head. How she’d gotten to his side first, how his strangled cough had comforted her, because it’d meant he was still alive. Dragging him to a safer place before she was pulled away from his side… She shuddered to think about how awful it could have ended for him, if his final moments were spent alone surrounded by gunfire.

Thankfully, he was lying right in the other room, fast asleep but miraculously alive, on the couch she’d been using as her own bed since they’d moved here. She’d taken a spare traveling bedroll from the tack storage and set herself up between where Karen and Tilly slept, but God forgive her, she just couldn’t bring herself to sleep.

“Tilly?” She whispered, turning her head to where Tilly was sleeping. Mary-Beth sat up, frowning. “Tilly, are you awake?”

“Mmh. Now I am.”

“I’m sorry,” Mary-Beth pulled her knees up to her chest, watching as Tilly shifted around in the darkness until she was facing her. “I just can’t bring myself to sleep…”

“I can tell.” Tilly propped herself up on one elbow, rubbing her face tiredly. “… Is this about Kieran?”

“I’m not sure what else it could be about,” she mumbled. “I mean… I know they said there ain’t much else we can do for him, but- You don’t think there’s anything else we can do?”

Tilly blinked. If she were to be completely honest with Mary-Beth, she wasn’t so sure Kieran was ever supposed to make it this far. Truly, she’d expected that Kieran was going to die on the mountain they’d found him on. If Arthur didn’t kill him, the cold and hunger should have. The fact he’d made it as long as he had was incredible, but it had to catch up to him at some point.

They’d withheld food and water from him for about a month and a half, and he still hadn’t quite recovered from all that. Anyone who cared enough to take notice of him before could see that. Despite her better judgement, Tilly had cared enough. That poor boy was in bad enough shape as it was, the fresh wounds and broken ribs aside. Maybe it was a mercy to let him die.

She wouldn’t say that aloud. Not to anyone, but especially not to Mary-Beth, who was still staring at her with wide, sad eyes. So, Tilly shrugged. “Ain’t nobody here stopping you from keeping him company, y’know.”

“I know, but-“

“That’s all you can do. Look, if you’re so worried about him, go check on him. Maybe ask Swanson for an update if he’s still over there.”

Mary-Beth glanced at the adjacent room. In the darkness, she could barely make out where they’d laid Kieran down, but like Tilly said, a second figure was sitting nearby with their head low and a book in their hand. Biting her knuckle, she thought on it. Finally, she crawled out of the bedroll and smoothed out her nightclothes, grabbing a shawl to cover her shoulders with. “Thank you, Tilly. You sleep well, okay?”

“I’ll sure as hell try.” Because damnit, if Tilly weren’t also finding trouble staying asleep…

She stepped lightly over the old, creaking floorboards until she was finally in the old room. Molly, who usually slept in the corner of this room, had gone elsewhere for the night, it seemed. Sitting on the crate instead was the Reverend, muttering incoherently as he flipped through an old, worn bible. Mary-Beth quietly walked past him to take a seat closer to Kieran, and the Reverend paid her no mind.

Kieran was asleep, as far as she could tell, but his breaths were shallow and quick, and he whined with each inhale. Mary-Beth took his bony hand and slowly traced circles over the back of it with her thumb. For everything they did, bandaging his torn-up eyes in linens and sewing up the tear on his throat and treating the long cuts on his shoulders and chest, they couldn’t do much for his broken ribs. He was quite lucky that they hadn’t damaged his lungs, but it was no surprise to her that they were giving him the most trouble.

“I gave him another dose of the morphine,” the Reverend spoke, startling her slightly. “But it hasn’t done much to ease his suffering. I’m sorry.”

She blinked at him. “That’s alright… Thank you for trying, Reverend.”

Swanson nodded, and he looked over his shoulder at Kieran. “I’d reckon I’ve read him every passage I could gather on finding… Peace, and healing. I don’t know what else I can do. He liked… He liked the horses, didn’t he?”

“Er… Yes, he likes the horses.” How Swanson had lived in the camp beside Kieran for all this time and still wasn’t sure who he was, it was nothing short of astonishing. Not that she could blame him, really. Kieran always kept to himself if he wasn’t around her or the girls, and Swanson was rarely sober enough to know what was happening around him anyway.

“I’m afraid scripture doesn’t have very inspiring, uplifting depictions of horses. Otherwise I might have turned to those passages.” The Reverend frowned deeply. “It’s all… War. And despair. I don’t suppose reading him the Revelations of John would put him at ease, would they?”

“Hm… No, I wouldn’t think so.” Mary-Beth reached up, tucking a strand of Kieran’s hair behind his ear.

“No, I don’t find much comfort in Revelations either.” The Reverend carefully closed his bible. “Some men of the cloth, they find great inspiration in the end times. They seem to find peace, or… Joy, in the devastation brought on by the Four Horsemen. I couldn’t bring myself to feel such a way. How can so much suffering inspire anyone?”

It was probably meant only as a rhetorical question, but Mary-Beth hummed thoughtfully. “… I’m not sure. Maybe we’ll figure that out someday.”

“I should hope so. Otherwise I might just lose my mind trying to figure it all out myself.” He laughed a little sadly. “There is so much that I am trying to make sense of this evening. Why people suffer, why we find inspiration in the signs of the end… Why things never seem to go right anymore. Have you noticed it?“

Mary-Beth straightened her shoulders. “Y’know… I have felt like there has been something in the air. I mentioned it to Kieran, the night before he… Went missing… He said it was just a storm coming in, and, well… He was right at the time.”

“But that storm has passed us, and you still feel it, don’t you?” Swanson looked at her with wide, knowing eyes. She’d never really considered the Reverend as someone she could connect with easily. More often than not, he was making very little sense. But right now…

“Yes. I don’t know, maybe I’m just talkin’ crazy, but it’s almost like… Things have been bad. I mean, real bad, and they’ve only gotten worse.”

“Luck simply hasn’t been on our side,” the Reverend agreed solemnly. “I just hope she is now. I don’t want to bury another kid… Not so soon after poor Sean.”

Mary-Beth looked at him sadly, then down at Kieran. His head lulled towards her, and his lips parted slightly as if he was about to speak, but he seemed to fall right back asleep instead with a shuddering exhale.

The room went quiet, only the creaking of the old house and Kieran’s breaths filling the air. Eventually, the Reverend slowly stood up. “If you don’t mind watching him, I would like to stretch my legs some.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Mary-Beth said, not looking away from Kieran. “Go on. I’ll keep him company.”

“Thank you, Miss Gaskill,” he whispered, and he quietly made his leave.

Mary-Beth delicately moved her hand up and down Kieran’s arm. God, was he thin. Even after all this time since he’d cut from the tree in Horseshoe Overlook, he hadn’t regained much weight. Then again, she wasn’t sure how much weight he’d had when they’d captured him, either. If he really was back to the weight he’d started with, though, that didn’t make her feel any less guilty. When they’d been looking over his injuries this morning, they’d been able to see his spine through his skin, and they could clearly see where his ribs were and where they’d broken.

It wasn’t right to let anyone get that thin. Hostage or not. She’d have to talk to him about eating more when he woke.

He was going to wake back up. God willing, he would wake, and he’d survive. Then she could berate him all she wanted for not eating enough… Shit, she was sounding a whole lot like Abigail. She had to stop herself from laughing out loud at the thought. Mary-Beth had gotten front-row seats to Abigail and John’s dynamic in the mountains, when John had been brought home half-eaten by wolves.

She had never thought of what she and Kieran had as anything close to what Abigail and John had, but then again, Mary-Beth wasn’t so sure she knew what Abigail and John were to each other. It was confusing to everyone, those two included.

Love wasn’t going to show itself in the same way for every relationship, but it did have its patterns. Mary-Beth loved Kieran, in the same way Abigail loved John, even when John was pushing her patience to the brink. That was love in its rawest form, she thought. Loving even when it was hard, or scary, or dangerous.

And, damnit, she didn’t want Kieran to be taken away from her before they could really be something to each other in the same way John and Abigail were something. She loved Kieran, and she was terrified of losing him, and in some way that fear and that love were the same damned thing.

God, she prayed, let her have this chance to finally take action. And without putting much more thought into it, she moved closer and gently pressed her lips against the corner of Kieran’s mouth.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but she swore she saw his face relax and a small smile form on his face as she sat back.

Notes:

HII. I started school again so I might be a little slow at updating, but trust I am still working on this fic. I'm so happy that y'all have been liking it so far, your comments have been really brightening my days in between these updates. I do it for y'all fr.

Chapter 5: Like Going Home

Summary:

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Horseshoe Overlook wasn’t as bad as Colter had been. But it was still freezing cold at night, and there was little warmth for Kieran, aside from his tattered black coat they’d thrown back at him when he’d tried asking for a bedroll or something decent to keep himself warm with.

He’d tried the scout fires, but as expected, they were more often than not inhabited by someone who didn’t want him there.

It was the main campfire he had the least trouble with, in all honesty. When it was empty, he could steal that fire’s warmth for as long as he wanted, really. So, when Kieran noticed the empty seats by the central campfire, he willed his sore bones to stand, and he quietly walked over.

The moment he felt the warmth of the flames and the furs, Kieran settled and leaned in, pulling his coat just a little tighter over himself to further shield from the chill.

“Mind if I sit here, O’Driscoll?” A voice made Kieran just about jump out of his skin. His head snapped up, and his tired eyes adjusted until he could see who it was.

Sean, still wearing his day clothes with a repeater slung over his shoulder, sat himself down right on the same wolf pelt Kieran had taken the edge of. He spread out his knees and sighed, stretching his arms high above his head.

Warily, Kieran took note of every detail. He didn’t smell drunk, but he didn’t look particularly unfriendly at the moment either. Sean reached into his pocket and pulled out two cigarettes. The first he placed between his teeth, but the second, he handed over to Kieran. “It’s a cold one tonight, isn’t it?”

Taken aback (and still rather mad about that horrid nickname) but entirely grateful, Kieran took the cigarette and held it firm between his fingers while Sean lit them both up. He stared at Sean a moment longer, then looked down into the campfire and brought the cigarette to his lips. It distracted him from the freezing wind around them enough that he could let his shoulders fall and his coat open a little more. “… Thank you,” he exhaled, pulling the cigarette away from his lips.

“Of course.” Sean returned to his smoke without much else to say, green eyes completely locked on the flames before the two of them. Kieran again glanced over at him. It didn’t seem much like him to be so quiet.

“… You, uh… You alright… Sean?”

Sean’s mouth tightened into a thin line, which morphed into a weak smile. “‘Course I am. Never been better.”

Kieran completely lowered his cigarette, and he placed a hand on his knee to turn towards Sean fully. He really couldn’t say he knew the boy. They’d rescued him just after Kieran had been cut from the post, so Sean had never known him as anything other than the new stablehand. Somehow, that was more awkward than if he’d known him as their prisoner first. He’d knocked his head into Kieran’s face once before, as if cementing his rank above Kieran, but there’d been no real fire to it. Not to say it didn’t hurt like hell, or that Kieran felt his nose had completely recovered, but he didn’t feel all that much resentment for Sean either. Especially because Sean was the only person in camp to join Kieran at this fire before, and speak to him like a person.

The least he could do was treat Sean like a person here, too. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Sean faced him with a smirk. “About what? I said I was doing alright.”

“Never mind, then.” Kieran muttered, and he returned to his smoking. He could feel Sean’s eyes piercing him, but he attempted to ignore it.

It was quiet between them, and then finally, Sean spoke again. “Hey, you said you were a cavalryman, weren’t you?”

Kieran grimaced. “… Only for a while. It ain’t something I’m proud of.”

Sean leaned in slightly, and Kieran turned away. “C’mon,” Sean prodded. “You’ve told me about your horses and your old pal Colm-“ Kieran turned to tell him to not call that man his pal, but he didn’t get the words out in time before Sean continued. “-Tell me. What was a man like you doing in the Army?”

“… Nothing good. There’s a reason it didn’t work out.” Kieran scowled at Sean, and he flicked the ash from his cigarette in annoyance. He held on for another minute, then he sighed and turned his gaze downwards. “… It wasn’t anything nice. Boys dying for fellers who never saw them anything more than fodder, being killed for empty promises.” He shook his head. “Innocent folks, children, dying for no reason but for the fact some rich feller a thousand miles away wanted to buy the land they lived on… Any feller who tries to tell you the Army is honorable, they don’t know the truth.”

Sean leaned in just slightly, frowning as he listened to him speak. He said nothing. Kieran drew a breath and continued.

“It was everything my Pappy wouldn’t have stood for. He didn’t tell me much about what happened in the Homeland. Guess I was just too young, and he never got to be there when I grew up. But he did tell me what he could about… About right, and wrong, when he could. Once I realized what I was doing was wrong, I left. Took Branwen and disappeared in the night.”

“That so?”

Kieran nodded, and he went quiet. Then, he turned to Sean, his eyes still low. “My Pa loved Ireland. Hated everything that was happening back home. To know I was doing anything like that to the fellers who live in this country, maybe worse… I know God won’t forgive me for what I’d done…” In a softer voice, he added, “I hope my Pa will.”

Sean hummed thoughtfully. “… He sounds like a good man, your Pa. The type my old man would have admired.”

Sean’s old Da. Kieran’d learned more about him than anyone else’s history, and he’d grown sort of fond of the tales Sean would tell. Darragh MacGuire was the kind of man Kieran knew his father would have liked, too.

“… You really think?”

Sean nodded. “Not a doubt in my mind.”

“I wonder if they’ve met each other yet… In the afterlife, I mean.” Kieran hummed. He took another long inhale of his cigarette, then he tapped it mindlessly while blowing out the smoke.  Noticing that Sean was back in that odd state he’d been in before, he cleared his throat. “… Sean?”

“What is it?”

“What’s eatin’ ya?“

After a drag of his own cigarette, Sean sighed loudly. “You’ve got your fair share of death, like you said,” he started, and Kieran already didn’t like where this was headed. “What do you think it’s like?”

“To die?” Kieran raised his brow. “Well I don’t know, Sean, but I hope it’s quick and painless.”

“No, everyone hopes for that,” Sean waved his hand dismissively. “I mean heaven. What do you think heaven’s like?”

Kieran took a moment to think, and he scratched at his beard. “… I don’t know.”

Disappointed by the answer, Sean huffed. “… Yeah? Neither do I,” he said, and he pulled his knee up to his chest and looked at the fire.

He stared at him in silence, and then Kieran put out his cigarette. “What’s got you all worked up about the afterlife?”

“Couldn’t say,” Sean muttered, not breaking eye contact with the dancing flames before him. “Guess it’s one of those nights where I start to wonder what’s waiting for me at the end of all this.”

He knew the feeling well. Hesitantly, Kieran put a hand on Sean’s shoulder, and he followed his gaze into the fire. When Sean didn’t pull away, he sighed. “You ain’t so bad, Sean.”

Sean looked him up and down, like he was trying to figure out if Kieran was kidding, and Kieran steadily met his eyes right back.

“Ah… Shut the hell up,” he muttered, then a small smile curled the corner of his lips. “… You’re not so bad yourself, O’Driscoll.”

Kieran smiled back at him. 

——

“Branwen looks much better than he did yesterday,” Mary-Beth said as she admired the roan from where she stood by the hitching post. Lenny, who was brushing Maggie right on the other side from where Mary-Beth was standing, turned his head to follow where she was looking.

Branwen, finally up on his hooves and standing beside Old Belle, flicked his ear in their direction at the sound of his name. Nobody had seen him eat since he’d been brought back, aside from a single oatcake he’d happily taken from Arthur. He  otherwise refused any other attempts at people feeding him. All that aside, though, he at least looked more awake.

“Arthur sure took good care of him. Slept with him out here and everything until Bill and Javier showed back up.“ Lenny smacked his brush against his boot and went back to running it over Maggie’s back. “Just wish there was more we could do for that poor thing. I really do think things would have turned out differently if I’d not seen him in time. He did most of the heavy lifting.”

“Oh… Don’t undermine yourself like that,” Mary-Beth said gently. “Sure, he led you to him, but if you hadn’t been there to get Kieran on Branwen’s back…” She trailed off. It wasn’t easy to think about how wrong it all could have gone. Not that things were particularly alright now…

Miss Grimshaw had sent Mary-Beth out of the room that morning to give her and Hosea the space they needed to check on Kieran’s injuries, and from what she’d seen herself and what she’d heard from Hosea and Susan’s hushed conversation, it wasn’t good.

He’d grown feverish and fitful in the hours she’d sat with him, which was concerning on its own, but she’d been warned beforehand that infection was almost sure to set in, and she’d been prepared with buckets of water and towels to cool him down. What made it most concerning was where the infection was. His left eye had been completely removed, and it hadn’t been a clean or kind operation. An infection already so close to his brain was what worried them who’d been taking care of him.

Mary-Beth reached up and gently ran her fingers over Maggie’s soft muzzle, and Maggie nuzzled her right back.

“I don’t mind sharing the honor of getting Kieran home with Branwen,” Lenny said, glancing over at Mary-Beth. “He’s a fine horse. It’s just… Seems to me that any one of us would have helped Kieran, given the same opportunity.” Then he rolled his eyes. “Except maybe Micah.”

“Hm. Yeah, you got a point, there.” Still, she felt like she owed Lenny specifically for getting Kieran home. Not that Uncle or Bill or Javier didn’t try, but Lenny had gotten the results she was hoping for. Beside that, she liked Lenny more than she liked any other person who’d helped look.

“Have you heard what he’s been saying about Kieran?”

Mary-Beth shook her head. Micah saying anything was usually a problem on its own. She was dreading the response already.

“He’s been implying that Kieran had tried to run off back to the O’Driscolls, or that he ratted on us. Heard him talking to Dutch about it when I went to meet with Arthur and him. Heard it again last night when he was getting Uncle, Bill, and Javier caught up.”

She felt bile rise in her mouth, that or it was the taste of pure anger. It was hard to tell which it was. Standing straight, she furrowed her brows at Lenny. “No… Has he seen what they’d done to him?!”

“That’s what Arthur said, too,” Lenny replied. “Doesn’t seem like anyone really believes that Kieran’s a traitor, but Micah getting the rumor planted isn’t a great sign.”

“I hate that man,” Mary-Beth breathed. She turned her head towards camp to see if she could track Micah down. When she couldn’t find him among the people out and about in camp, she sent a silent prayer that he wasn’t anywhere inside with Kieran, and she looked back at Lenny. “… What were you meeting with Dutch and Arthur for?”

Lenny crossed to Maggie’s other side, and he took a moment to examine a scrape of the side of Maggie’s neck before continuing to brush. “Dutch doesn’t want us staying in camp too long, now that we know the O’Driscolls have our location. Arthur and Javier are headed out later this evening to see about that high stakes poker game Trelawny has been looking into, and then after that, I’ll join them to rob that trolley station.”

Mary-Beth frowned. She couldn’t say she was the most familiar with how to plan the gang’s scores, at least not to Dutch’s level, but she’d been a thief her whole life, and the number one rule she had was to space out her earnings enough that she didn’t look suspicious. “All that and the bank Hosea and Abigail are planning? That’s a lot to take in one small amount of time… Don’t you think?”

“It’s a big city,” Lenny shrugged. “I know what you mean, but the rules are a little different than if we were in, say, Valentine.”

Or Rhodes, she almost added, but Rhodes had a soured reputation in both of their minds. Mary-Beth opted to just nod simply.

“I guess… If you need money fast, you gotta earn money fast.” She reached up to ruffle Maggie’s forelock a bit, and the mustang leaned into her touch.

And suddenly, from the corner of her eye, Mary-Beth noticed Branwen was snorting and pawing at the ground in the direction of the house. Old Belle and Arthur’s horse, Wolfsbane, both grew alerted to Branwen’s frustrated pacing, and eventually, the other horses seemed to join in on watching either Branwen or the manor.

“What the hell’s gotten into them?” Lenny muttered, pushing Maggie’s hind leg away from him as she attempted to turn and face Branwen as well.

The door opened, and squinting in the sunlight, Mary-Beth could just make out Miss Grimshaw rushing out of the house to grab a bucket from behind Pearson’s tent. Her heart sank to her stomach.

“Oh, god, it’s Kieran,” she muttered, pushing herself off the hitching post and following the trench until she was at the bridge. Lenny had unhitched Maggie and was dutifully following right behind.

“You think he’s alright?” Lenny called after her as they got across the bridge.

Mary-Beth couldn’t bring herself to answer that out loud. More people from camp had lifted their heads at the commotion from the house, some watching as Mary-Beth and Lenny marched down the path side by side. It was as though they’d mirrored the horses themselves. Javier was the only other person to get up and head in the other direction, and sparing a glance behind her, she could see him carefully making his way up to Branwen to calm him down.

Before she could even reach the fountain, the door, it opened. Karen, wide eyed and breathless, met her there. “I just came to get you!” She said, her whisper more of a hiss than anything.

“Hey, he alright?” Lenny asked, rounding behind Karen so he could walk on the other side of her.

“He’s awake, I think. Or, he was. Started mutterin’ about- about Sean, and then suddenly he was trying to strangle Hosea,” Karen explained as they walked together.

“He what?”

“I’d hardly call it that. He grabbed me when I scared him, he didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Hosea interrupted as they reached the door. He was standing right inside, a hand over his neck. The threshold into the room where Kieran was resting was instantly blocked by Miss Grimshaw, who glared at the three new arrivals.

“I don’t want half the camp crowding that room, Mister Matthews,” she bristled, turning her attention up to Hosea. Hosea looked back at her calmly, removing his hand from his neck. Mary-Beth flinched at the faint red marks on his skin. Kieran had done that?

“… That’s fair,” he said finally. “But I think you’ve at least got to let Miss Gaskill see him.” He met Mary-Beth’s eyes, and she looked away from him to turn towards Miss Grimshaw instead. A little annoyed, Miss Grimshaw huffed and stepped aside. Satisfied, Hosea motioned to Karen and Lenny. “Miss Jones, Mister Summers, will you help me with getting some things from the wagons for him?”

Mary-Beth watched them follow Hosea back outside, Lenny lingering to nod at her, and she drew a breath and walked into the room.

Kieran, sitting up on his side, clung to Arthur desperately while he coughed into the bucket that Miss Grimshaw had brought in earlier. Arthur was holding onto him, too, to keep him from rolling right off the couch and into the bucket of what looked to be blood and vomit. Kieran spat once more for good measure, and seemed to curl into Arthur’s arm.

“I didn’t tell them nothin’,” he whispered, his voice dry and strained. “I didn’t say a word, I swear I didn’t-“

Arthur glanced up at Mary-Beth while gently rubbing a circle into Kieran’s shoulder blade, then he sighed.

“You’ve already told us,” Arthur mumbled down to him, keeping his eyes on Mary-Beth a moment longer before turning his attention to the boy he was holding. He started to lay Kieran back into the bed, and Kieran refused to let go of Arthur’s sleeve, gripping it tightly. “Jesus- Can you relax? You’ll pop a lung sitting like that.”

“Arthur…” Mary-Beth frowned at him. Did he need to be so harsh with Kieran? Now more than ever, she figured Kieran needed some kind of gentleness. She watched Arthur carefully move his hand back to Kieran’s shoulder, and he guided him back to the cushion. The moment Kieran was finally laid back down on his side, and he was sure Arthur had not let go of him, he slowly let go of Arthur’s sleeve with an exhausted whine.

The sharp inhales of breath returned, now punctuated by soft moans. Arthur looked up at Mary-Beth and motioned for her to come closer. Stepping around the bile, she settled beside them.

“Hey,” Arthur squeezed his shoulder, and Kieran moaned weakly back. “Mary-Beth’s here.”

Kieran didn’t make much of a noise at that, but he did feel around the couch a bit until Mary-Beth took the cue and reached for his hand. He squeezed her fingers the moment he felt them, and she squeezed back.

“How’re you feeling?” She asked gently, reaching over to feel his temperature. Even with her hand just hovering over his skin, he was worryingly warm. Burning was a better word, maybe, as it felt like she’d just rested her hand over a fire.

“Cold,” Kieran rasped, barely audible.

Arthur and Mary-Beth shared a concerned frown, and Arthur let go of Kieran’s shoulder to grab a washcloth from the couch and stand up. As soon as his hand disappeared, Kieran tensed.

“A-Arthur?”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere, just getting you something to bring that fever down.”

Of course, Mary-Beth realized as she used her free hand to brush Kieran’s sweat-soaked hair behind his ear. He couldn’t see anything, and after everything he’d been through, she could imagine that it was terrifying to not know who or what was around him. No wonder he’d tried to strangle Hosea for scaring him. In his mind, Hosea could have just as well been an O’Driscoll, coming to finish the job.

Arthur was wringing out the cloth over the bucket, whipping the last loose drops from it before loosely rolling it up as he made his way back. As he laid it out over his forehead, Kieran settled under its cool weight. Arthur went back and forth twice more with new cloths, opening Kieran’s shirt to press the wet towels by his sides and under his arms. Mary-Beth grimaced at the sight of Kieran’s skin, almost gray with how pallid he was. She hadn’t seen his torso since he’d been saved. The uncovered spur scars and bruises colored his body shades of red and purple, and though they seemed more fully healed than they’d been before, it was no less sickening to see what the O’Driscolls had done.

Kieran let Arthur work without fuss, completely motionless. Then, with a dry, pained cough, he lifted his head slightly. “Is Branwen… Is he alright?”

Mary-Beth laughed softly, adjusting the wet cloth that had slipped from his face when he’d moved. “Yes, he’s just fine. Arthur took good care of him.” Kieran didn’t answer. “… He misses you. I’m sure he’ll be real happy to see you again.”

For a minute, it seemed Kieran had passed out again. She rested her other hand on top of their interlocked fingers, pressing her index and middle into his wrist. Kieran spoke up, then, as if to answer for his weak pulse. “Can you take him?”

“… Take him where?”

“He likes you,” Kieran said in a low tone, and he inhaled sharply before relaxing again into the pillow.

Instantly, before Mary-Beth could decipher what he meant, Arthur snapped his head down to him. He’d been staring out the window mindlessly up to that point. “You ain’t dying, Kieran. Nobody’s taking that horse but you.”

“I just… Wish it’d been quick.”

Arthur and Mary-Beth, again, gave each other worried glances.

“Can y’tell Sean…? Tell him… I think heaven’s like goin’ home.”

What the fuck was he saying? “Kieran?” Mary-Beth didn’t attempt to hide the worry in her tone. Arthur cursed under his breath, and he disappeared from the room.

Before going completely limp, Kieran muttered something else, each word slurring into the next like dominoes falling into each other. “Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen.”

Notes:

this mf going through it and by it i mean catholic guilt. and an intense infection.

Chapter 6: Visions of Past Mistakes

Summary:

Jack stops by to check on Kieran and break Mary-Beth out of her own thoughts

The days following Kieran’s sudden collapse were long and dreary. It’d been such a sharp decrease in his wellbeing that they’d believed he really had muttered his last words in that short time where he’d been awake again. Even though he’d mostly stabilized, things weren’t exactly improving for him either.

Micah had been the first to suggest they let him die. He’d made an argument that they ought to put Kieran’s suffering to an end, take him out of his misery.

And to some extent, he had a point. Kieran was in a bad state, and they were going to do what they could… But he wasn’t much better than he had been, and by the looks of things, they wouldn’t get much better. Charles had explained to her one night that, if it turned out that there was nothing but pain in his future, it might be kinder to let him decide for himself if he didn’t want to go on. Charles was, of course, less willing to jump to such actions than Micah was. It was, therefore, easier to take his words and digest them.

Beyond that, there was another question that Charles had raised. If his injuries were severe enough, if he didn’t recover or he couldn’t see at all at the end, he wasn’t sure how they’d get him back on his feet. Dutch already seemed impatient with everyone, and it didn’t help that Kieran was taking so long to recover. If he had to retire, what were they going to do with him? Drag him along to the best of their abilities? Would it be easier on everyone, especially him, if they just… Left him behind?

She wasn’t sure she could leave Kieran behind like that.

Mary-Beth sat beside him, on the edge of a chair with a dampened rag in her hand which she used to keep Kieran’s fever at bay. Kieran’s throat and eyes were unwrapped, with only a patch of cloth protecting his eye socket, and she felt drawn to look at him every possible moment. She wasn’t sure she could look away, even if she wanted to. It was hard to comprehend how badly they’d hurt him if she weren’t looking at him right in front of her.

The lid of his uncovered eye was black and purple at the inner corner, the bruising spreading across his eyelid like a forewarning of how bad it was beneath that surface and highlighting the scarring they’d done. Bloody tears had stained the corner and along the edges, even where Mary-Beth had tried to gently wash it away. His eyes looked more sunken in and dark than they’d looked before, bruising aside. It was like his face was completely hollow, devoid of any life at all. A pained, short gasp of breath that lifted his chest was all that could confirm they wouldn’t be burying him right then.

Mary-Beth brought the rag in her hands down to Kieran’s neck to continue cooling him down. The scar on his throat was as bruised as his eye was, but all things considered, it was healing just fine. It was also, obviously, quite sensitive, as he pulled away when the cloth came too near to the black stitching that held the skin together. She shuddered to think of how close the axe had come to killing him right there, if it’d dropped even a few centimeters to the side. It was nothing short of a miracle that Lenny had gotten there at just the right moment like he had. As an outlaw, she’d seen a lot of death, and various injuries… But she wasn’t sure how she would have coped if Kieran had come home without his head. Coming home without an eye and with the other so badly damaged was already more than she’d been prepared for.

Bringing the cloth back up to his forehead, she worked the water into his skin once more by gently patting it down. Then, finally, she sat back and set the cloth aside. Producing a book she’d put away earlier, she moved a slight but closer to Kieran and flipped through the pages to find where she’d last left off.

The book in her hands had been a gift to her from Hosea, and it’d been a book she had read through once before, which was why it’d been the one in her collection that she had picked out for Kieran to read when she’d been instructing him. It was easier to teach someone to read if you knew the book itself, right? She figured that’s how she’d been taught to read, by people who’d known the books they’d given her well enough to provide insight. If it worked for her, then it might just work for Kieran, too.

He hadn’t gotten very far, with how slowly he read and how little time they had to actually sit together and read, but he’d seemed to find the story enjoyable enough that she was sure he wouldn’t mind it being read to him. Even if he couldn’t hear what she was saying in his sleep, it was more about the act of keeping him company the only way she knew how.

She flipped a page, clearing her throat to open this chapter, when she caught sight of a figure in the corner of her vision that made her pause.

Little Jack Marston, peeking through the doorway with wide eyes. Mary-Beth instantly straightened out and set the book down. She hadn’t seen much of Jack since he’d come home from Bronte’s mansion on the back of his father’s horse. Aside from seeing glimpses of him here and there, Jack had kept his word and stayed close to his parents.

Where his parents were now, she hadn’t the faintest idea.

“Is he okay?”

She followed his eyes to where Kieran was lying, then sighed and turned back to where Jack was. As much as she didn’t much like the idea of exposing Jack to such intense injuries, in all fairness, this wasn’t the worst that Jack had seen Kieran. It wasn’t the worst state Jack had seen his own father in. And besides, it might be better that she keeps an eye on him right now. “He’s just sleeping.”

Jack’s face twisted in worry, but he stepped out of his hiding place. He took small steps until he was standing right beside where Mary-Beth was sitting, still hiding from Kieran as he looked him over. She found herself reaching an arm around the chair to place a hand on the back of Jack’s shoulder.

“Were you gonna read to him?” Jack asked, his voice no more than a whisper, and he pointed to the book she’d set aside.

Mary-Beth glanced at the book. It was a bit more advanced than she would prefer to read around Jack, simply for fear he might not completely understand its intricate mysteries and ask too many questions to make the reading enjoyable. With a nod, she put it down. “I was… Thinking about it, yes. But I think Kieran needs his sleep right now.”

“It’s noon,” Jack mumbled. “He’s been sleepin’ a long time.”

“He has been, hasn’t he…” Mary-Beth watched Jack move a little closer to Kieran. If only Jack knew how succinctly he’d put it. “Where’s your momma, Jack?”

“She went with Uncle Hosea into the city,” Jack replied simply. He kept his wide eyes on Kieran.

“And… Where’s your Pa?”

“He’s working. I told him I’d be in here.”

As long as someone knew he was in here, she guessed it couldn’t hurt to let him stay. Mary-Beth scooted her seat a little further back from Kieran to give Jack some space to sit with him. It would be good for him to see Kieran in a less scary light than he’d last seen him, she thought to herself. Covered in blood, surrounded by gunfire and cries and unfamiliar men… The memory terrorized her, and she couldn’t begin to imagine how scary it’d been for a little boy like himself, who’d never dealt with such things before. So, quietly supervising the two boys, she let him look over Kieran.

When he seemed done with examining Kieran’s injuries, Jack then knelt down by the couch and pulled something out of his pocket. It was one of the small wooden horses she’d seen him play with plenty of times before. Jack wordlessly placed the tiny figurine against Kieran’s frail arm, then he pulled out a second horse figure from the same pocket, which he made prance about beside the first horse figure.

Watching him play beside Kieran, she began to wonder why Jack seemed to care so much for how Kieran was doing. She knew for certain that Kieran had avoided Jack for the most part, citing fears about the boy’s father and his (likely empty) promises to harm Kieran should he go anywhere near little Jack. She also knew that camp wasn’t quite big enough for two boys who never exited its perimeters on their own volition to have never interacted at all. Mary-Beth had heard about Jack throwing stones into Kieran’s back in Horseshoe Overlook, but she’d also heard the two greet each other politely in Clemen’s Point. And, of course, she knew of Jack’s interest in the horses, and how often Kieran spent his time among those same horses.

Perhaps it was naïve of her to think the two had no reason to be concerned for each other. Clearly, Jack felt comfortable enough with accepting Kieran as just another person he lived with that he wanted to know how he was faring. She preferred this to Jack avoiding him or, heaven forbid, throwing stones at him again.

The horse figure leaning against Kieran’s arm slipped, and Jack had gone to carefully stand it back up for him when Mary-Beth noticed a twitch in Kieran’s fingers.

Then, when she lifted her gaze upwards, she noticed movement on Kieran’s face which instantly drew all her attention. His face contorted in discomfort for a beat, then he whined and his eyelid fluttered slightly. Jack noticed the change too, and he stepped back with those same wide eyes.

“What’s happening?”

“I think he’s waking up,” Mary-Beth breathed, moving closer to put a hand on Kieran’s wrist. Certainly, his pulse seemed stronger than the last time she’d checked. Jack stood planted where he was, curious as ever, and finally, Kieran’s eye opened. It was just barely open halfway, but she could see it much better than she’d been able to before. His eye was deeply bloodshot and dry, which was obvious enough, but there was also a cloudiness to his gray-blue eye that she easily would have missed if not for how often those eyes crossed her memory.

His eye searched for a moment, and he blinked harshly against the light and blood, then his eye towards her. Then towards Jack. Instantly, his eye widened and he shifted about, as if attempting to sit up. Gently, Mary-Beth held him down.

“Shh… You’re alright.” She attempted a comforting smile, though whether he could see the gesture or not, she didn’t know.

“You come to take me?” He asked, his voice hoarse and airy.

Mary-Beth’s smile faltered. “No… No, Kieran, nobody’s here to take you.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. Swallowing dryly, Kieran locked his eye onto Jack. He froze up, then in a shaking whisper, he spoke again. “That boy… Oh, God, I know what I’d done wasn’t right.” He shut his eye tightly and turned away as much as his stitches would allow him to. “Wasn’t right… I shoulda done more f’him… Please don’t-“

“Is he okay?” Jack whispered, leaning in. Kieran flinched away.

“Don’t torment me like this, please, Lord-“

Mary-Beth reached over and took Jack’s shoulder gently. “Why don’t you run on out, tell Uncle Arthur that Kieran’s awake and needs somethin’ to drink? I think he should be out with the horses right now.”

Jack nodded, pocketing his own horse figure and starting to march away with his new mission. The second horse figure, the one he’d left behind by Kieran’s arm, stayed in its place. Mary-Beth picked it up to hand it back, but he’d disappeared before she could call out to him, so instead, she moved it aside and looked back down at Kieran.

“Kieran? You can hear me, can’t you? It’s Mary-Beth. I got you.” She moved her hand up his arm so that it rested on his shoulder, and his shivering frame slowly relaxed. His eye opened again, directed right at her.

Heavy boots followed the sound of a door creaking open. Arthur, holding a metallic cup, came into view. “He still awake?”

Mary-Beth nodded, and she shifted out of the way so Arthur could get close.

With a quick nod to her, Arthur moved in closer and hovered his hand over Kieran’s forehead. It was still dangerously warm, but there was something else that drew more of his attention now. Arthur could see the way Kieran’s eye shifted just slightly to follow the silhouette of his hand as he held it over him. Arthur felt his heart ease as he let go of the worries he didn’t realize he had. Even with how scarred and red his eye was, Kieran could see something. Kieran blinked again, and this time, his grayed-out eye followed from Arthur’s hand above him towards Arthur himself, and there was a long moment as he examined the man above him before, finally, he softened.

“It’s you,” he croaked, giving Arthur a weak, lopsided smile. “Thought you’d… Gone an’ left me.”

“Don’t know what you’re on about, Kieran,” Arthur muttered, handing the mug to Mary-Beth, and he moved his arm behind Kieran’s shoulders to support him as he lifted him. “C’mere, sit up.”

The mug met Kieran’s lips, and his eye drifted closed as he drank it up. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight for either Arthur or Mary-Beth. Arthur thought about saying something about it, poking fun at Mary-Beth for hiding her little stunt from him so badly, but to do so meant he’d have to admit aloud how much regret he carried in his chest for the way they’d left Kieran without water so long that’d he’d only survived on the secretive kindness that Mary-Beth, among others, had shown him.

Instead, Arthur focused on holding Kieran upright enough that he would not choke on the drink, and he carefully laid him right back down when the cup was finished. “… How’s he seem to you?” He whispered to Mary-Beth.

“I don’t think he’s quite caught up with the present yet. I think he didn’t realize Jack was really there, or… Something.”

Hell, Kieran had thought Sean was still alive when he’d first woken up. It wasn’t too surprising to him if the boy thought Jack was still missing, too. Arthur gently squeezed Kieran’s shoulder with a sigh. “Well… Jack’s fine, Kieran. He’s home with us, got his Pa watching him right now. I made sure of it.”

Kieran stared right up at Arthur with a glassy look in his eye, then he drew a shuddering breath and looked away. “No… It wasn’t Jack… It- That boy’s blood is on my hands. It’s Hell I’m headed to for what I done.”

Arthur scoffed and shook his head. “If you’re headed anywhere, Kieran, it’s to a home, the way you’re talking.”

“Don’t say that, Arthur,” Mary-Beth hissed, glaring up at him. Arthur shrugged back at her, and she rolled her eyes in defeat. “Everyone is just fine, Kieran. You’re okay, too. You ain’t dying yet.”

Kieran grunted, torn eye unfocused and wide as he stared at the ceiling.

He looked terrified, she realized. Like he was still putting together the pieces, coming back to life. There was no telling what just was going on in his head. There was, at the very least, some more of that life behind his eye than there had been.

There would be time to let him catch up, she thought to herself, and that was where she could take comfort for now. They had time.

 

Notes:

My goodness, I said I’d get this chapter out by this week, and its Saturday evening. We did it.

Chapter 7: Snakes in the Swamps

It just didn’t seem that anything was going to go right for them, and perhaps it was their own fault that they’d taken the bait in the first place, or it was their own fault for getting sloppy with the planning around the stick-up. Truth be told, Arthur wasn’t really expecting this trolley station robbery to go smoothly either way. So when the registers turned out empty, and they narrowly escaped the gunfire of policemen on every corner of the city, Arthur was far from surprised.

They’d managed to make it out of the city, but unsure of how far the police would track them into the swamp, they continued a little further down into the mud and trees until Saint Denis was nothing but a shadow in Lemoyne’s suffocating, signature haze, where they quietly debriefed and distributed the money amongst themselves.

As Dutch climbed back into the wagon, muttering about how he didn’t feel so good and patting his bloodied forehead, Lenny looked down at Arthur. “I’m taking Dutch home. You coming with?”

He hadn’t thought of riding with them in the wagon back to camp, truth be told. Their horses still needed collecting, and he had believed himself in charge of going to retrieve them from the city’s outskirts, but looking back up at the kid at the reins, it was clear that Lenny was expecting him to climb up into the wagon with them.

Arthur stepped up into the bed of the wagon, nodding to Lenny to continue forward while he settled in. “We’ll send someone to circle by and gather the horses from the city later, then.”

“I can do that,” Lenny offered without hesitation as he ushered the wagon forward. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, no. Better off having someone else get them. That’s if the horses haven’t found their way home themselves by now.” Arthur leaned back, watching the terrain pass them by as they drove forward. He lifted his chin to the sound of a flock of herons passing by overhead. “The horses are smart like that. You’ve seen it.”

“Have I?” Lenny glanced over his shoulder at the man behind him, then he glanced up to where Arthur was looking before returning his attention to the road.

“Yes. You have. How many times have one of our horses found their way to camp all by themselves?”

Lenny seemed to think a moment, then snapped the reins. “I guess you’re right.”

The silence persisted, and Arthur couldn’t help but notice how quiet Dutch had become. He was leaned back against the wagon bench, elbow slung dramatically over his eyes to block out the sun, which reflected off his rings. How the rings maintained their golden sheen through the explosions and crashes they’d gone through was nothing short of a miracle, entrancing as it was unnatural. His clothes were dirty, but otherwise in fine shape, too. The only thing on Dutch’s person that seemed truly touched by the gunfight they’d escaped was his head.

The wagon pulled into camp under Sadie’s watch, and while Arthur and Lenny stored it among the trees out of view of any curious passerbys or lawmen, Dutch clambered down to the ground. “Loose those horses, will you?” He said, waving his hand at the animals absently. “I just… Need to lay down a moment.”

“Sure, Boss,” Lenny called from the other side of the wagon, and Arthur turned to follow when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

He met Dutch’s dark gaze when he looked back, glancing at the hand to remove himself from the intensity of Dutch’s stare. “Bronte betrayed me. Betrayed us, Arthur, and I’m starting to think he isn’t the only snake in these waters… We’ll talk later, but for now, I need you. I need you to keep an eye out.” He raised his brow expectantly, and Arthur nodded. With a small pat, Dutch disappeared down the road with a slight sway in his usual step.

“You think he’s gonna be alright? Looked like a nasty mark,” Lenny said lowly when Dutch had gone.

“It’s sure to leave a bruise,” Arthur agreed after a beat, turning to unhitch the horses. “But I wouldn’t worry too much about ol’ Dutch. A good knock on the head might do him some good.”

Lenny hummed. “If you say so… I’m just not so sure.”

Arthur shifted to the side to look over the pair of wagon horse’s backs at Lenny. Lenny was concentrating on unclasping the animal’s harness, but his face was lined with worry. The seeds of doubt in Dutch’s abilities had been planted for some time now, that was clear. At the very least, since Sean’s death and Jack’s kidnapping revealed that all the planning they’d done for weeks on end had all been for naught. Even during their gunfight at Braithwaite Manor, Arthur could see it in the younger man’s eyes how his faith in their work had been weakened.

In some sense, it was easy to brush this off as Lenny being new to how things ran in the gang. He’d only been with them a few months, after all. Then again, in these few short months, he’d seen four people die, including a lover in Jenny and a close friend in Sean. It was Lenny’s impulsive decision to save Kieran on his own that had not raised the number of deaths to five, and Arthur would be an idiot to not recognize the kind of toll this might have on a person, new or not to the lifestyle they lived. Not only that, but Lenny was far smarter than Arthur could ever dream of being, and if he had reason to worry, Arthur figured he couldn’t brush that worry aside with the confidence Lenny might need from him.

Unclasping the horse from his side of the wagon, Arthur sent the Belgian draft out into the woods beyond camp, where she was joined by her companion a moment later. Arthur watched them go, then walked up to where Lenny was standing so he could place his hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good kid for caring, Lenny... But you leave all the fuss about Dutch and the gang to me, y’hear? That’s all things you shouldn’t be concerning yourself with.”

Although Lenny didn’t seem completely convinced, he leaned slightly into Arthur’s hand and nodded with a weak smile. “Sure, Arthur.”

“Now come on. You did some good work today, earned yourself a drink and some rest. That dynamite was a good call on your part.” Arthur lightly smacked his shoulder, leading him out of the woods and into the camp. Lenny followed close behind, scanning the camp for himself as they walked down the path together. Arthur personally concerned himself with watching the pasture, making mental notes of which horses were present and which were absent.

Much to his surprise, every horse was accounted for. Evidently, The Count, Maggie, and Wolfsbane had found their way home not long before their riders, and they’d promptly been taken care of and released back into camp to graze. “See, Lenny? What’d I tell you about those horses.”

Lenny looked to where he was pointing, then grinned. “I’ll be damned. Guess you were right.”

Arthur let Lenny go on without him, after which he made his own way to one of the bare hitching posts to lean against. Massaging his weak shoulder, which had been irritated by being thrown about in the trolley crash he’d just endured, he scanned the pasture once again.

Wolfsbane was circling something lying in the grass at a trot, ears pointed down at the figure. He stopped his pacing to nip at the white flank that was visible from where Arthur stood, then the mahogany bay lifted his hoof and began to paw at it. A rust-colored head lifted from the grass to nip back at him, startling Wolfsbane backwards. To tell the truth, it half startled Arthur, too. Branwen pinned his ears back at Wolfsbane a second longer, then slowly got up onto his hooves and seemed to drag himself up to where Maggie had stationed herself.

And, of course, Wolfsbane followed.

Kieran had explained the strange history between their horses once before over the scout fire in Clemens Point. If Arthur was remembering correctly, his new stallion had been rather close to Branwen in the O’Driscoll’s stables. Seeing him follow the old roan about like a colt after his mother was a testament to that bond, and as annoyed as Branwen seemed by the attention, there was no denying it was good he had someone to keep him company in Kieran’s absence. Arthur was sure they’d have to put the poor thing out of his misery the way he laid about, forgoing food to stare longingly at where he’d last seen his rider by the dilapidated manor.  At least the horses seemed to look out for each other and themselves when their riders could not.

It also gave him revelation, as he looked out at Branwen, about what Dutch meant by ‘keeping an eye out’. The rumor that Kieran had been trying to run back to the O’Driscolls had certainly made its rounds in camp, and even if nobody really was catching onto it but Micah, who had started the rumor in the first place, he could see how Dutch would want the assurance that all rumors were addressed and properly dealt with. Now that Kieran was awake, and had been awake for enough time to likely not be muttering constant nonsense anymore, it was probably time to get to the bottom of his disappearance.

Arthur pushed the heel of his palm up into his weakened shoulder, and with an audible pop, it was reset from where it’d been thrown. He kept his hand there to massage the injury as he turned and began to head down into camp. He passed Lenny lying down by the campfire under Charles and Javier’s watch. All things considered, Kieran could be sleeping at the moment, which would give Arthur enough time to hold this off and give himself a much-needed break after his tumultuous day. Even so, he dutifully opened the door and headed for the parlor room. At least, if nothing else, to check.

The sight inside the room made him pause, and whether it was out of bewilderment or confusion, he couldn’t say. Kieran was sitting up on the green couch, wiping down his bare arms and chest with a washrag. He stopped when he heard Arthur’s steps, sitting up straight as a board and hastily covering his chest with crossed arms, dropping the rag into the bucket in the process with an audible splash. The movement was so quick that Arthur instinctively lowered his hat and turned away respectfully.

“Who’s’at?”

“Arthur. Just… Passing by. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Mister Morgan…?” A moment of hesitance, then Kieran lowered his arms with a quiet sigh. “Ah… No, you- ‘m sorry. I’m the one sittin’ in plain view bathing.”

Arthur lifted his eyes once again. Only Kieran’s shirt, scarf, and henley had been removed, thrown haphazardly on the arm of the couch. He had enough decency at least to still be wearing pants, Arthur noted, thankful it could be just that much less awkward. Kieran looked generally in his direction, his uncovered eye squinting to make out where Arthur was. When Arthur spoke, Kieran finally seemed to lock on to his position. “A bath, huh? Finally.”

Kieran’s face twisted in offense. “I know, I smell. Don’t gotta rub it in.“

“Not any worse than you did before,” Arthur laughed, adding on. It did little to help the uncomfortable position he had walked himself into, he realized, and he cleared his throat. “… A little less horse-stink, maybe.”

Kieran hoarsely scoffed at the poor attempt at humor, feeling around for the bucket of water he had set between his feet and pulling the soaked rag from it to continue cleaning his wounds. He muttered as he wrung out excess water. “I bet I’ll always smell a bit like horses… But thanks.”

Leaning against the entryway to the room, Arthur found himself watching more intently than he meant. He hadn’t gotten around to checking on Kieran in a while, at least not since the man had woken, and it was rather nice to see him up and talking so normally. Make no mistake, Kieran was still pale and clammy, and he moved slowly as he worked through sweat and grime on his skin, but he seemed better than he’d been in some time now. The deeper lashings on his arms and torso had healed into light bruises and raised scars, no longer the bleeding, angry welts they’d been when Kieran had been brought home initially. Arthur found himself wondering if the wounds on his face and neck were so nicely healed yet, too, but they were still covered by bandages which barred Arthur from seeing the progress.

Kieran raised his head towards Arthur again, and his glassy eye found him much quicker this time around. “… Are you still standin’ there, Arthur?”

“Sure, I’m here.”

“Right…” Kieran’s eye narrowed. “Can I ask why?”

Arthur laughed a bit, hiding his own embarrassment for being called out. “Guess I was just making sure you didn’t need any help.”

A sour look crossed Kieran’s face, and he draped the rag over a bony shoulder. “Well then why don’t you just ask? Instead of standing there all creep-like, watching me? It ain’t polite.”

His smile fell immediately, and Arthur straightened himself out. It wasn’t new for Kieran to have that bite in his tone when talking to Arthur, but he certainly hadn’t gotten used to it by any means, either. Opening his mouth, he tried to conjure up an apology or explanation, but nothing came. Kieran stared straight through him, scowling. When he could hear that Arthur was not moving any which way or saying anything, he huffed in annoyance. “No, I don’t need your help.”

“… Company, then?”

The new offer surprised Kieran out of his bitterness, and his expression softened. He gave a small nod, cuing Arthur to walk over and sit on the other end of the couch.

To avoid staring too much at Kieran, Arthur looked about the room. Mary-Beth was missing entirely from the scene, though her books and unfinished knitting projects lay about in neat piles about the place. It only made sense, he recalled, as this had been Mary-Beth’s typical sleeping spot before. He figured that Kieran’s clothes were being washed, as he seemed in no rush to cover himself in Arthur’s presence and Arthur couldn’t see any shirts anywhere around them. Perhaps that was the reason for Mary-Beth’s absence, he concluded. He took one more glance at Kieran, who tossed the rag into the slightly murky water at his feet before slowly sitting back.

Feeling the air shift towards awkwardness, Arthur dug about in his satchel, producing a small blue box of unopened cigarettes. The expensive kind, the ones that carried little cards which Arthur had grown increasingly invested in collecting. Opening the pack and removing the steam locomotive card within, he produced a cigarette for himself and stuck it between his teeth before waving the box in what he assumed was now Kieran’s vision. The slight jump Kieran made when the box came into his sight confirmed he’d found where Kieran could see. “Cigarette?”

Kieran followed the box back to Arthur, and after a beat, nodded. Arthur pulled out a cigarette, carefully put it between Kieran’s fingers, then struck a match and lit both their cigarettes. Any tension Kieran was holding onto quickly burned away as he inhaled the tobacco, and finally, he completely softened. Even his perpetually worried look disappeared with the smoke.

The silence in sharing the smoke was welcome, and while Arthur took the opportunity to unwind as he’d planned to do, Kieran followed suit. How long had it been since the man had tasted tobacco? He didn’t know Kieran well, but Arthur had grown to know that he was rarely seen without a cigarette between his lips if he could help it, at least when he wasn’t working. The peace they were able to share here was exactly what they both needed.

That said, he had burning questions, and Kieran was as relaxed as he could be at the moment. There was no better moment than now.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

Kieran paused, at first unsure, then gave Arthur a small nod to shoot.

“Was Colm there, when you were… Captured?”

Kieran froze, then he lowered his cigarette and breathed out the smoke with a long sigh. “… No. He wasn’t there. At least, not where I was.” He paused to take a breath, then glanced at Arthur. “But that’s the thing about Colm. He doesn’t usually get involved where he can get someone else to do it for him.” 

Kieran continued. “I can only imagine he was there, if only a moment, to make his demands known. But I never saw him with my own… I never saw him myself.”

“What makes you think he was there at all?” Arthur pressed, careful to sound as non-accusatory as possible.

“Because that’s how it’s done.” Kieran replied coolly. “If he cares enough, he’ll go in and give the order directly. He’s rarely pulling the trigger himself, but he won’t miss the opportunity to remind folks who calls the shots. More distance he puts between himself and the problem, less likely he is to be caught in the crossfire.

“That’s why he wasn’t there when you escaped that cabin, y’know. Think about it, if he’d been there when you got out, you’d have killed him. If he’d been there near me in that moment, Lenny’d have killed him. He tries not to stay in one place too long, ‘less he’s got a reason.”

Arthur whistled lowly, leaning back as he rolled this information over in his head. It made sense, and frankly, he felt a fool for not thinking on it like that himself. Even when he’d been captured himself, he hadn’t ever given Colm’s whereabouts much thought.

“Why are you askin’ me about Colm anyway?” Kieran frowned, and his glassy eye narrowed. Arthur shrugged, and when he realized he didn’t know if Kieran had even seen the shrug, he followed the gesture with a hum. Dissatisfied, Kieran straightened out his back slightly. “Well surely you gotta have some reason to be pestering me about all this.”

“Guess I’m just curious. You’d know better than most around here how the O’Driscolls are, what with you being o-“

“I ain’t one of them.” Kieran was quick to snap the old mantra. “And I’d like to remind you that I haven’t been one of them for some time now.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Arthur laughed, but his laugh was not so easily brushed off. Kieran faced him head on and pointed the cigarette at Arthur accusingly.

“I know things about them, sure, but I’m gettin’ tired of repeating myself on this, Arthur. You don’t really think I’m still an O’Driscoll, do you?”

Arthur didn’t have an answer, and the longer he stared at Kieran without an answer, he could see the hope draining from what was uncovered of Kieran’s face. Kieran slumped, and Arthur couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. When he finally could find the words, he kept his gaze down. “There’s some folk who just don’t know what to make of you, Kieran Duffy.”

“Some folk? Which folk? You?” Kieran hissed, and his hands shook, causing him to drop his cigarette into the bucket below.

“I don’t know what I think, Kieran, but I’ll tell you now, you give any of these boys any reason to think you might be disloyal, they’ll finish whatever plan the goddamned O’Driscolls had, believe me.” Arthur hissed out, and he stood quickly, causing Kieran to flinch backwards.

Despite his threatening tone, he believed firmly in Kieran’s innocence, and maybe that was to his detriment, but Arthur just could not believe for a moment that Kieran was somehow a spy or a traitor. What Arthur thought rarely mattered, though, and what he needed was for Kieran to understand this and heed his warning.

 

Notes:

oh my god hi im back. author’s curse hit me hard but im alive and i hope to bring the story back to consistent updates. actually part of why this chapter took forever was because i wanted to make sure half of the next chapter was finished before posting, so the wait wouldnt be as long. words cannot express how much i have appreciated the comments and kudos on this fic during the hiatus <3