Chapter Text
A groan rolled from his throat as his head pounded loudly. Each throb came from his hopeless heartbeat and filled his head with thoughts he couldn’t seem to keep running from anymore. He was so far gone that he laid his head on the bar, but he knew he needed to drink some more.
He waved an arm and yelled, “Another one!” while slapping some money down onto the bar. Arthur did his best to push himself to sit up straight, it was a lot harder than the last time he did it. Here he had found himself getting horribly drunk in the only saloon of a little town called Appleton. It was located in the armpit of a mountain in a warm valley that made the most of its money off logging and the vast orchards around it.
Arthur’s shaky hand clasped the tall whiskey glass and his stomach churned at the smell wafting into his face. He had to force himself to swallow the vomit that tried to escape. He hadn’t eaten anything yet today except for the alcohol he was drinking now. He hated this. He hated himself but he knew he had to drink more.
I ain’t sleeping in those damn stables again, he told himself. A cold early winter breeze swept in as the saloon doors were opened. Arthur shivered and had to fight from crying out in anger and sadness. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough to survive a night out there. He needed more booze in his blood to keep him warm enough to last the whole night.
As he took a large sloppy gulp of the whiskey, he thought to himself how awful his life was. He just couldn’t stop wallowing in his own self-pity. The poor kid was only 15 years old and he was already a stone cold killer. He felt regret for all the people he’s killed. Just a few days ago he murdered a rancher outside town to steal the money that he was using now. And the horse too. But the horse bucked him just outside of town and fled into the orchards. So now he was stuck here for a bit.
He tried to stay at the hotel but unfortunately, he got into a fight with the owner’s son on his first day in town. He was able to drink all he wanted in the saloon though, and he spent all his money there too. Just like him… Arthur shook his head and pounded his fist in the bar, “I hate that bastard,” He whispered too himself. Thoughts of his father made his emotions jump back and forth between boiling rage and regret and deep depression. He wondered where his father was now, or if he was even alive. It’d been so many years since that drunk outlaw dropped him off, no... got arrested for larceny, in some city and left his own son for dead. Well… Arthur didn’t die. And he certainly wasn’t ever saved.
Thinking about his father got him longing to remember the good times, sadly he didn’t have many of those. The few good times he had were so far behind him and mostly lost in the dreams he had about his mother. He remembered her fondly, that she was kind to him and she loved him more than anything in the world. He wasn’t sure what her voice sounded like anymore, or what it use to smell like when she was cooking breakfast for him. Arthur did remember, however, that she used to sing to him all the time. She made good food, maybe… he wasn’t sure anymore. He was confused about the things she used to do outside of taking care of him, but he knew she did do something. Was is farming? Was it working? Was it making clothes? He couldn’t tell anymore, for all he knew she did all of those.
Arthur felt his heart grow more and more heavy. He was ready to give up his drink and leave to go sleep out in the cold, but a man sat down a few feet from him. He looked like a rat. His nose was short and pointed up, which matched well with his beady little eyes. The stranger looked over at Arthur and smiled.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” He said to the bartender. This made Arthur angry, he didn’t know why… But it made his moody teenage emotions flare up.
“What’s your problem?” Arthur glared at the stranger, his words sounded sloppy and slurred.
The stranger just looked over while lifting his own glass of whiskey once he got it, “What’s your problem?” He drank his liquor then set the glass down like some gentleman with manners, “Aren’t you a little young to be in here?”
“Fuck. You,” Arthur pointed his finger at him. There was no age restriction here. He obviously wasn't a kid. He was tall enough to be a man, but that didn't mean he was one. Arthur was ready to throw himself at this man and beat the shit out of him though if he kept looking at him like that.
The man who just didn’t seem to want to shut up shook his head and clicked his tongue a few times, “You’re an angry little bastard, aren’t ya?”
Oh… he did it now. Arthur slammed his glass down on the bar and got to his feet. Blood rushed to his head and the second he stood up the world started to spin. As he fell he felt something tug at the back of his belt. Arthur hit the ground with a crisp smack and thud on the hardwood floors. He instantly tried to get himself back up, but instead, he rolled over to his back and looked up.
There stood another ugly rat looking man. This one looked a little younger than the first stranger. His face had dark hair all over it with a well-trimmed mustache.
“Watch your self there, son, I think you’ve had a little too much to drink,” His voice sounded like he smoked a pack a day.
Arthur’s blurry vision made it hard to focus on the new man. He was welled dressed and seemed to favor dark colors. Arthur squinted and tried his best to see, it was extremely hard but he did see one thing that didn’t seem right, “That’s my gun…” he whispered.
The man lifted a brow, “What?”
Arthur wobbled to his feet then screamed, “That’s my gun!!” He lunged himself at the man but was too slow. He quickly sidestepped and missed Arthur by a few inches. Arthur could hear him laughing, “This ain’t your gun, boy! Haha! What’s a kid like you need a gun for, hm?”
“It’s mine!” Everyone in the saloon was looking at them know. Arthur got back up to his feet a second time and stumbled in place, “What’s an old fuck like you need it for?”
The first man was behind him, grabbing him by his shoulder and holding him in place. Arthur tried to jerk away but this guy was stronger than he expected, “Calm down, son. You don’t want to cause no problems for this good man who’s been serving you all night,” Said the man. Arthur was confused and looked back at the bartender. He seemed more angry than scared, but he didn’t really care.
“Just give me my gun back. I know you took it, it’s in your hand, bastard…”
The second man shook his head, “I don’t really think you’re in the right state of mind for this. Why don’t we go for a walk?”
What? The man walked past Arthur and the first guy let him go and followed what could only be his friend. Confused, and still unwilling to let his gun go, Arthur followed. He was very drunk, more so than he planned, but he could still think… a little bit. Not really. He was more so on autopilot and his body was too exhausted to put up much of a fight anymore. Honestly… he just wanted to roll into a ditch and die but he couldn’t really do that without his gun.
They stood outside in the cold. He didn’t notice until now but they both had warm jackets on while Arthur barely had rags of clothes to wear. At least he was drunk enough to ignore the chilly winter winds. They stood outside the saloon while the dark haired man lit himself a cigarette.
“What’s your name, kid?” He asked.
“Why?” Arthur quickly questioned him. This was strange. He’d never met people like them before, “Are you a conman?” Arthur blurted out, “You want my money?” he started to get angry, “Well I don’t have any. You want my clothes? I ain’t got much!” He started yelling and letting his temper get the better of him, “You want my gun? You want to take the only thing I got?” He remembered in the back of his head that he had more than the gun, he had a little bag hidden by the stables. However, he was lying and trying his best to get his gun back right now.
“Calm down, son,” The man raised his hands, “I’m just trying to talk to you. My name is Dutch van der Linde,” Arthur suddenly froze in his spot, “This is my friend,” He gestured to the other man.
“Hosea Mathews,” He gave a single wave of his hand but stayed behind Dutch.
Arthur felt his angry bubbled down a bit, not by a whole lot, but it went down enough for him to stop yelling, “Why are you trying to talk to me. What do you want?”
Arthur knew who this man was. Not personally, but he’s heard the name from lawmen he’s stolen from, and other lawmen he’s be caught by. Dutch van der Linde was an outlaw. Not that much of one, he committed small crimes. Mostly robberies were no one saw him steal anything. He knew about Hosea Mathews too. Dutch’s partner in crime, and extremely good con artist. This man had a lot of friends in a lot of places.
Dutch had finished his cigarette and tossed it into the street, “You gonna tell me your name?”
He hesitated but then he finally said, “Arthur…”
“Got a last name, son?”
“Morgan.”
“Well then hello, Arthur Morgan,” Dutch gave him a slight nod of his head what looked like a genuine smile.
“You still haven’t answered my damn questions.”
Hosea stepped forward slightly, “You look like you need some help. We’ve been watching you since we got here. I’ve never seen a kid getting as drunk as you so late at night,”
“So?” Arthur snapped at him, “My life is none of your business!”
Hosea slightly raised his hands in defense, “I’m not saying it is. You don’t have to say nothing about anything.”
Arthur wasn’t quite sure what to say, “So you stole my gun… To get me to come outside and… talk to me?”
Dutch started to laugh and shook his head, “No. I was trying to steal your gun!” He then tossed it back to Arthur, who barely caught it, “But I didn’t think you’d be such a sad case,” He was still chuckling, “I thought it’d be nice to help an unfortunate little kid. I wish someone helped me when I was your age.”
The pity party caused Arthur to get angry. Again. He simply had no control over his emotional roller coaster ride, “I don’t need your help,”
“You really look like you could use it,” Dutch said, “We got a nice warm cabin just outside of town with food there,”
The sound of a warm room sounded like heaven to Arthur. And food? God that would be even better. He got his gun back, but he didn’t seem to be finding himself willing to go with these guys yet. Or even at all really. He remembered what he told himself every day. I don’t need anyone. And no one needs me.
He pushed past them both and walked into the night, “I don’t need your help,” he said again. He felt like he was ready to collapse and even though he knew who they were, he didn’t trust these outlaws. He was an outlaw himself, he knew what they were like. Outlaws didn’t have morals, they didn’t have lives. They were criminals and they were awful people. Just like him. He left them, not looking back, and stumble to the place he said he wouldn’t good.
The town horse stables smelled awful. It made him puke when he snuck inside and was greeted with a wall of horse manure. He found a place up in the loft of the barn. The hay was warm yet hard and brittle. He found his little bag of things right were he left it. Inside was a photo of his mother and then another one of his dad. And a book he didn’t know how to read. Those were all he had to his name.
The strange night made him feel weird in his own skin, and his heart sank. Maybe he should have taken the offer Dutch gave him? He shook his head and told himself to never depend on anyone. The liquor still in his blood brought the worst out in him. He had to admit he was lonely too. As he fell asleep, the world kept spinning and along with it his thoughts. They spiraled down a slope into a sadness that infected his dreams. That night he dreamed about his mother, and for a bit in his dreams, he happy.