Rebuilding

Javier Escuella member of the notorious Van Der Linde Gang, has finally been captured! the headline read. Arthur read and reread the article, each read through he turned a half shade paler.

Arthur felt it in his gut, John was in danger.

He paced around the kitchen of his ranch homestead, trying to calm himself. Maybe he was overreacting? Maybe he was simply feeling guilty for abandoning John.

The back door creaked open and snapped shut as Charles lumbered in from working outside. He brushed a hand across his sweaty forehead but paused at seeing Arthur.

"Everything alright Arthur?" He asked smooth and calm, tho eyebrows pinching together in worry.

Arthur allowed himself a breath. He must be overreacting, John was safe living as Jim Milton...

"Ah, it's nothing." Arthur assured without making eye-contact.

Charles boots shifted and without looking up, Arthur knew Charles was now leaning on one foot with his arms crossed, delivering a doubtfull glare at him. A disapproving hum only solidified the image in his head but Arthur still refused to look.

"I'm not going to force you Arthur." Charles said lowly, the voice and footfalls carrying him over to the sink followed by the faucet being turned on.

Arthur scowled. "It's nothing, I'm just..." Arthur looked at the newspaper again. "It's just a hunch. Andrew Milton, our good buddy from the Pinkertons, back in the day, is now with the FBI. He's hunting down Vander Linde Gang members."

"And you think he may come after us?" Charles asked and Arthur finally snapped his head up.

"What? Well no, um, maybe." He said weekly. Honestly, them being in danger hadn't really crossed his mind. "It's, well it's John I worry about. He's living right in the thick of it. I just know he'll get caught up in all this somehow."

Charles nodded drying his hands on a cloth. "You want me to head out and see if everything is alright?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, they may recognize you... but they have absolutely no reason to suspect I'm still alive." Arthur pursed his lips together in concentration. "So they won't be looking for me at all." Arthur stood abruptly and approached Charles to lay a heavy hand on his shoulder, smiling sadly. "This time it has to be me."

He left the next morning on Buell. Charles insisted that a flashy Arabian was not going to help keep Arthur from drawing attention to himself and Arthur didn't argue.

He rode past Colter as quickly as he could and when he reached the familiar town of Strawberry, he got another local paper. "Bill Williamson, Van Der Linde outlaw, captured!" Arthur didn't wait to read the entire article. He jumped on Buell's back and ran, full gallup towards the Marston ranch.

By the time he arrived, John was already in a shootout. They came from everywhere, flowing in deadly waves towards John's ranch. Surrounding the farmhouse so densely that Arthur couldn't get close enough to help protect his brother and family much more than pick off slow agents from behind.

"They killed him!" Someone shouted, young, frantic and angry. Jack maybe? And it turned Arthur's blood cold. Was he already too late? Was John dead? But as the shooting continued, Arthur saw John providing cover for Abigail and Jack as they headed for the barn.

The shooting stopped as John disappeared inside. As Arthur approached the posse, he realized no one was paying him any mind. They were all to focused on John and simply assumed he was one of them. Casually, Arthur dismounted and taking his Lancaster repeater, he counted their number... More people then he had bullets for. And once he was out of rounds, he wouldn't be able to reload fast enough to avoid getting shot. He'd be killed, hell, even John wasn't likely to get out of this alive.

The sound of horse hooves drew Arthur's attention back to the present. John had sent his family off to safety. Arthur's eyes pricked with tears and heart clenched with anger. John was finally doing right by his family.

Why couldn't they just leave John alone?

As the barn door swung open, John bravely stepped forward. His steps sure yet stiff, as tho he would never fall. In that moment, Arthur had never been prouder of his little brother. A father and husband prepared to fight to the last breath. So familiar yet so different to what he had been under Dutch's rule.

When John raised his pistol, Arthur emptied 14 bullets into the backs of the FBI, catching them by surprise. Quickly Arthur began to reload as John gunned down a half dozen more but it was too late. Arthur could only stare down the barrel of a gun as the agent on horseback raised his gun and... was shot from behind? Looking past the slumped form of the agent's body, Arthur saw Charles galloping towards them, gunning down the last of the army around them.

Giddy relief flooded Arthur's system and his knees grew weak as Charles dashed over to him. "Arthur, you alright?" he asked. Eyes searching Arthur for bullet wounds or blood, "John? Are You?"

"I'm fine." John growled.

"So am I." Arthur said, finding his voice again. "Glad you came."

"Like I was really going to stay behind as you ran off into danger." Charles scoffed. "You know me better than that." Arthur just nodded in agreement.

Abigail and Jack rode back towards them soon after and, wasting no time, Abigail jumped down into John's waiting arms and about hugged the life out of him. Arthur gave Abigail a sheepish grin as she turned towards him.

"Thank you, Arthur." Was all she could get out around her tears. But the worlds were enough, warm and sincere.

They found a body that closely resembled John's. With the approximate height, weight and skin tone. John swapped close with the poor bastard before Charles and Arthur shot up the man's face beyond recognition. Perhaps it would be enough to make everyone think John Marston was finally dead. Unfortunately, the ruse of John's death, also meant they couldn't burry Uncle.

The thought didn't sit well with any of them but it was unavoidable. Charles stood close to Arthur, warm and supportive, as they paid their respect to the man for the last time.

They all rode North and then, turned east to go around Strawberry. (Just in case they were being tracked.) John rode with Arthur on Buell because talking John's horse would arouse too much suspicion, but after the first few hours of travel, the arrangement was making them both irritable. Although it was nice to see John again, the ride was beginning to feel a bit like a constant hug. And Arthur appreciated being hugged about as much as John appreciated giving hugs.

Despite the forced contact and irritability, John quickly forgave Arthur for faking his death. Maybe it was because his "death" was a key reason they all survived in the end or maybe it was the sheer relief that Arthur was actually still around to save his stupid ass. Arthur didn't know but he wasn't going to push his luck by asking.

They set up camp in the eastern grizzlies. Eating a cold meal together of salted meat and corn but it was a family meal they all cherished.

The next morning Arthur woke to the low whispers of Charles and John talking.

"Last I heard it was around here." John was saying. They were talking about a horse or something. Arthur wasn't completely alert for the first bit of the conversation.

Arthur crawled out from his tent, buttoning his shirt and nodded to them both as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Arthur." John welcomed, his voice held the same familiar gravely timber he always had and Arthur hid a sly smile behind a sip of coffee. It was good to hear John's voice again but hell if he was going to say anything about it.

"Charles tells me you two have a ranch."

Arthur sat down on a log with a grunt, showing his age. "Sure, Charles and I have quite the ranch out west. Been experimenting with mixing breeds like Arabians and Appaloosa. We've been getting quite a reputation for well-trained horses. There's a place for you, Jack and Abigail if you'd like." Arthur offered, looking up to Charles who nodded in agreement.

But to Arthur's surprise, John hesitated.

He ducked his head slightly before sighing. "Actually, I think I may try my hand at cattle ranching."

Arthur smiled, tho this time his grin was too wide to hide behind the cup. And as John glared at him, Arthur settled for a rare bout of vulnerable sincerity. "I'm proud of you John. What you've built. The man you've become." He trailed off, cursing his sudden sentimentality.

But John just nodded gratefully. "Thank you. You know, I never really saw my self living this life but it ain't so bad. It kind of, well, it agrees with me actually." he gave a raspy chuckle and looked away before changing the subject entirely. "Charles and I were thinking, since we are short on funds and horses, how's about we go out and catch a wild horse. There's one not too far from where I've been hearing about. Suppose to be a real brute."

Arthur hummed interestedly but mulled things over in his head quietly.

"John is in need of a horse." Charles pointed out, "It won't be wise to purchase a horse anyplace east of Colter at the moment. It's too risky, we need to lay low. But at the same time, we could do with a fresh broodmare or stallion at our ranch. The trade-off." Charles continued. "would be we give John one of our horses from the ranch in exchange for the one we catch."

Arthur nodded, considering their situation. At the ranch, they had some great cow horses, born cutters ready for life on a cattle farm. The speed and handling of an Arabian with the working horse temperament of an Appaloosa. They'd be perfect for John and his new life. "That alright with you John?" he asked and John nodded.

"Then it's a deal."

They took a day to track down the mysterious horse John had heard rumors of. Some ghostly beauty that Arthur assumed was more tall tale than anything. That is until Arthur about lost the ability to breathe as he saw the Perlino, gracefully high stepping in agitation next to the foggy mist of the waterfall. It reared half-heartedly and out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Charles stop John from pulling out his lasso.

Arthur cautiously approached, whispering reverently, soothing the startled beast. It snorted, heaving out a gust of breath and for a moment Arthur felt a pang of loss as he was reminded of McCree. "You're alright, boah." Arthur said, half to himself. "Everything is going to be ok."

Finally, the horse reared up. The Andalusian's proud strong neck, arching up as it's front legs thrashed out violently before the powerful animal dashing off towards the waterfall. Arthur trailed after it, undeterred by the outburst.

"Easy." Arthur cooed as the frightened animal maneuvered itself into a dead end where the waterfall met rock.

Steam seemed to glow off the horse's back as it stood panting in picturesque beauty. Arthur slowly trudged forward, hands dropping to his side. "I'm not going to hurt you." Arthur vowed, making eye contact with the dark eye of the pale horse.

Arthur stroked along its neck as it calmed slowly. It starred intensely back at him, as though the animal could see through him. Could make out his very character. "It's going to be ok," Arthur said. Now referring to everyone. To John and Abigail, Jack and Charles the horse and even to himself.

Arthur knew he had the perfect moment to hop on the horse and ride it till it excepted him but he hesitated. Instead, he allowed his senses to fully absorb the moment. The sound of the thundering falls and the smell of moss and mist. The gentle flecks of droplets and moisture in the air that gave the pale glossy coat an ethereal shimmer.

"Come on boah." Arthur coaxed, backing away. The horse's ears flicked up curiously and after a heartbeat or two, began to ghost after him. It's head sinking low and calm. "That's it." Eventually, he was near enough again that the velvety lips of the Andalusian experimentally gummed at his shirt collar. Arthur encouraged its curiosity by slipping the inquisitive horse a bit of hay. Over his shoulder, Arthur heard a mumbled 'what the hell?' of surprise from John, but he ignored it. Not since Boudicca, had Arthur experience such a connection with a horse.

"Let's go home." Arthur said, brushing along its forelock before turning away to give a whistle, he didn't need to look back to know the horse was following after him.

When they finally arrived home. John rode Buell and Arthur rode the Perlino Andalusian that Arthur had named Tacitus. They both rode tall in the saddle, proud, like kings of old... and they had never looked more like brothers.