Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dutch read the same paragraph for the fourth time before giving up for the evening.  Normally he could lose himself in Evelyn Miller for hours, but worries raced through his mind too fast to fully comprehend.  He closed the book with a long sigh.

Annabelle chuckled and said, “Finally tired of Miller, are you?”

“You know I will never be finished with Mr. Miller.  The way he writes… he’s wonderful!” he said to Annabelle.  Dutch ignored the laugh and shake of her head.  He could never get Annabelle to appreciate Miller like he did.  “I just can’t seem to concentrate tonight.  We are robbing that stagecoach tomorrow, and I’m just hoping Arthur’s head will be in the right place.”

“I thought he helped with the planning?”

“Yes, and then he ran off soon after.”

“Do you blame him?” Annabelle asked.  “You don’t expect Arthur to prioritize a stagecoach over his son, do you?  I sure don’t.”

“I understand that, but I need him to focus.  If something goes wrong tomorrow because he missed some detail, the whole thing could be ruined.”

Annabelle closed her own book.  “Arthur knows Bessie and Hosea will be watching Isaac.  He’ll be focused in the moment.  Trust him, Dutch.”

“I do trust him!  I just… worry.  Arthur has so much potential.  And we need him if we are going to keep living free!”  Annabelle let out a huff, so Dutch turned and said, “What?”

“Nothing.  You need to rest, we can discuss this later.”

“Now you’ve got me curious.”

“We shouldn’t fight tonight.”

“We’re not fighting!”

“We’re about to be,” Annabelle grumbled.  But Dutch kept staring at her, eyebrows raised.  “Fine.  You say that our freedom hinges on Arthur working jobs-”

“I wouldn’t say it hinges on it.”

“But what is freedom?”

“Are you testing me?” Dutch asked, his voice rising.  They had many a debate about the topic in the past.  “To be free is to live without being crushed under the oppressors of society, without being controlled by the ideas of others, free from ideas of ownership and wealth.  You know, Miller says that Americans end up choosing to be controlled when they deny their own kingship, and all I’ve ever wanted is for Arthur to-”

“But it seems to me like you’re saying that Arthur can either choose to be controlled by Isaac or you, is that it?” she said in a serious tone.

“He- I- this-” Dutch stuttered.  “That’s not what I’m saying!  You just hate Miller.”

“I don’t hate Miller.  He has good ideas.  But he’s also an academic teaching at a fancy East Coast university.  And he’s always struck me as a man without obligations.”

“So?”

“Arthur has new obligations now, and that’s going to change things for him,” Annabelle said.

“And what?  He should just forget his potential?” Dutch asked.  He couldn’t imagine Arthur being anything other than the perfect outlaw he was, the perfect outlaw he raised him to be.

“Arthur has many potentials.  So does everyone.  I don’t believe we have one, singular purpose in life.  He gets to decide which one to pursue.”

“What are you saying?  That Arthur can’t be an outlaw if he raises a child?” Dutch asked.

“Not necessarily.”

“Hosea and I took in Arthur, we took in John, and did that change our plans?  No!”

“No, but I’m sure you made adjustments.  But Arthur and John were much older.  What worked for them might not be best for Isaac.”

“It could be.”  It should be.

She sighed and turned her head away.  “Let’s finish this later.  It’s late, you need sleep.”

“Fine,” he said.

She was right, they shouldn’t have argued.  He lay awake for several hours, thinking about obligations, and kings.

“You alright, Dutch?” Arthur asked as they waited on the coach the next morning.  “You look tired.”

“Me?  I’m fine,” Dutch said, though the yawn that followed probably did little to convince Arthur otherwise.  “How are you?”

“Just dandy.  Hoping John does alright with his acting.”  

Just on the road was John, dressed in one of Arthur’s old, torn coats and covered in dust.  His job was to flag down the coach, complain about having been thrown from his horse, and ask for the directions to the nearest town.  Once Dutch and Arthur appeared, he was to scurry away as if frightened to where his Morgan, Daisy, was hitched and waiting.  If luck was with them, the woman and her driver would never suspect that John had been part of the robbery.

“John will do fine.  I must say, it is nice to be out just the two of us, well three of us, I suppose.  We haven’t had much chance to talk, you and I.”

“Yeah.  I’m glad to be out of camp for a bit.  I’ve been missing it.”

“You were meant for this, Arthur.  Riding on the open range, working jobs with me and John.”

“You know, I can’t wait until I can teach Isaac how to ride.  He’s a little small for now.”

“Yes, he does need to be able to reach the stirrups,” Dutch laughed.  “But kids do grow fast.  You won’t have to wait long.”  Annabelle was wrong, clearly.  Arthur could handle being an outlaw and a father at the same time.  He wanted to be out here.

“I hope Isaac’s doing alright, though.  This is the first time I haven’t been around since, you know,” Arthur said, eyes staring distantly into the woods.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s fine!” Dutch quickly replied.  “He has Hosea and Bessie looking out for him.”

“He does like Bessie.  I think she reminds him of his old neighbor,” Arthur said.

They drifted back into silence.  Satisfied with Arthur for the moment, Dutch turned his attention to John.  The bored kid was kicking rocks in the road.  Dutch had warned both John and Arthur that the stagecoach could be late, considering it wouldn’t take all day to get to Denver and the target sounded like the kind of woman who would take her time making sure her appearance was perfect before departing.  Hosea had scoped out the coach and the woman the night before, reporting back the sheer size of her fancy hat and the expensive bracelet on her wrist.  Dutch was hoping for cash, pure and simple.  Finding a reliable fence for jewelry was hard enough, especially one that paid the stolen items’ true value.

Straining his ears, Dutch picked up the faint hoof beats and rolling carriage wheels.  “Here we go,” he said, pulling his checkered bandanna over his face and waving at John.  John waved back, then began wandering in the direction of the coach with an awkward, exaggerated limp.

“Excuse me?  Can you help me?” John called.  “My horse tossed me and I got lost!”

The coach slowed, and a high-pitched voiced from inside shouted, “What’s going on out there?”

“Just a boy asking for directions, ma’am,” the driver said.  “Where are you trying to get to, kid?”

John did not manage to keep a look of disgust off his face at being referred to as a kid.  That was John’s latest thing he complained about.  Dutch supposed that now he was coming on jobs, he couldn’t call him a kid much longer.

“I live in Fort Collins, sir.”

“You hurt your leg?” the driver asked.

“We really must keep moving, sir,” the woman insisted.  Funny, he had assumed that the woman would want to help John, not the driver.  Oh well, it was working.  Dutch signaled to Arthur and moved forward.

“Why look what we have here, Mr. M!” Dutch said as they rode out.  Dutch moved towards the passenger door, gun pointed at the guard, and Arthur placed himself in front of the driver.  “Fort Collins is back that way, kid, and I suggest you move quickly.”  John scampered off down the road and out of sight, just they planned.  “Since we are all stopped here, I think it would be best of you dropped your guns and handed over your valuables.”

“Are you just going to let them rob us?” the woman said.  “Do something!”

“I wouldn’t do that, sir,” Dutch said to the guard, whose hand was shifting towards his holster.  Hosea wanted him to keep it clean, so Dutch breathed slow and steady.  As the gun left the guard’s holster, Dutch shifted his aim, shooting the gun right out of his hand.

“Shit!” the guard said, clutching at his fingers.

“Now then, let’s stop this drama!  Come on out and hand over your valuables, ma’am.  Cash, jewels, everything you’ve got!  And my associate will need that box on the back unlocked.”

The stagecoach door opened slowly, and the woman exited hat first.  Dutch was glad his smirk was hidden behind the bandanna, and he figured Arthur had one on his face too based on his widening, jovial eyes.  “Fine,” she said.  “That’s what you barbarians do, isn’t it?  Take everything from others!”

“Oh, I doubt we are setting you too far back, considering the millinery,” Dutch laughed as he took the cash and bracelet from outstretched hand.  Arthur quickly ruffled through the items in the back, pocketing the money and leaving the food and other supplies.  They never took the necessary items for travel.  They weren’t cruel.  Dutch had instilled that in both his boys from the start.  “Now then, I must thank you for being cooperative.  You may be on your way.”

The woman scoffed as she reentered the coach.  Dutch smiled again, waiting for Arthur to mount back up so they could find John and get out of there, but suddenly he heard the sound of approaching horses.  He turned to warn Arthur, noting that he was already aware of it, but it was too late!  Three horses rounded the bend, and Dutch narrowed his eyes at them.  Those green neckerchiefs looked familiar.

“Look what we got here, boys!  A stopped stagecoach and Dutch van der Linde!”  And Dutch realized who it was.  Connor O’Driscoll.

A long time ago, when Hosea abandoned them for a year to try a domestic life with Bessie, Dutch met Connor O’Driscoll and his older brother, Colm.  They ran several jobs together, occasionally with Arthur, too.  It was mutually beneficial, but Dutch and the O’Driscolls, Colm especially, didn’t quite see eye-to-eye.

As Colm grew his gang, gathering many Irish immigrants that had become disillusioned with the American dream that they and often their parents had been seeking, his ruthless nature extended beyond his treatment of his victims.  Colm viewed his men as expendable numbers, dressing them all in a uniform of green and black.  They weren’t a family, like Dutch had created.  His organization reminded Dutch too much of the large factories run by rich men.  Everyone was the same and replaceable, and Dutch was sure that Colm knew few of his followers’ names.  They parted ways with an uneasy truce, and really they hadn’t run into either O’Driscoll brother in a long time.

“Looks like you could use some help,” Connor continued.

“No need, gentlemen,” Dutch said carefully.

“But your witnesses are still alive,” Connor laughed, drawing his pistol and firing into the driver’s chest before Dutch could say a word.  The woman in the coach screamed.

“Why did you do that?” Dutch shouted.  “That was unnecessary!”

“They knew your name.  I think I just did you a favor, Dutch,” Connor said.

Dutch stopped the retort that Connor was the reason for his identity reveal from leaving his mouth, instead asserting, “I had this under control.”

“Seeing as I’m helping you out, I’d say I should get a cut of this take.  Seems fair to me,” Connor sneered.  He dismounted and moved towards the guard and Arthur.

“Again, you’re not needed here.  In fact, you are doing the opposite of helping,” said Dutch.  He met Arthur’s eyes in a quick glance.  Arthur’s revolver sat in his hand, not pointed at anyone yet.  He was waiting for Dutch to make the first move.

But Connor noticed Arthur’s ready posture.  “Put that gun away, boy,” Connor said.  “The adults are talking.”

“Ah, the adults, is it?” Dutch said, sneaking a nod to Arthur to do as Connor said.  “And here I thought you didn’t do anything without Colm’s permission.”

He planned to redirect Connor attention to himself and give Arthur a chance to slip back to his horse.  He could tell back when they worked together that Colm exercised immense control over all his gang members, including his younger brother.  But Connor kept his eyes on Arthur while he spoke, pistol threateningly close to being pointed at his chest.  “You know, I never understood why Colm kept you around.  That was a mistake on his part.  Perhaps I wasn’t clear about my generous offer.  Give me half the take, or I leave here with all of it.”

The threat was clear, their choices limited.  Dutch’s mind turned with his options, the words he could craft into a persuasive speech, the speed in which he could draw his guns.  He didn’t want to give up any of their money.  Arthur glanced between Dutch and Connor, waiting for direction, when Connor’s attention shifted.  “Looks like someone’s spying on us!” he laughed with glee.  Dutch’s eyes widened as he realized who Connor was talking about.  John was watching them from behind a boulder, unaware of the danger he was in.

Several things happened at once.  Before Dutch could fully draw his revolver, Connor aimed towards John.  Arthur threw himself at Connor, trying to push the gun up and away from John.  The gun fired, and Arthur went down with a shout.  But in the seconds as Connor gathered himself to go after John again, Dutch pulled the trigger.  Connor O’Driscoll died the instant the bullet went through his head.

“Fuck!” one of the O’Driscolls yelled.  Dutch pulled his second Schofield from his holster, setting his sights on both O’Driscoll lackeys, but they had already turned and spurred their horses back down the road.  

“That’s right!  Ride off like the cowards you are!” he called out after them.  Only when they were around the corner did Dutch holster his guns and run to Arthur.

“Talk to me, Arthur.  How bad is it?” Dutch asked, leaning over his son.  Arthur  clutched at his left arm, and there was blood all over his front!  But close examination revealed that the bullet had just grazed him.  The rest of the blood had to be from Connor, whose body had collapsed next to him.

“I’ll be fine, Dutch.  Just give me a second,” Arthur groaned, breathing harshly through the pain.

“Of course you are,” Dutch said.  He heard the coach turn and head back towards town, and knew they didn’t have long before the law was alerted or the O’Driscolls decided to return.  “You alright, John?” he called out.

“I’m okay.  Is Arthur okay?” John asked.

“He will be.  Head back to camp, son, but keep off the road and avoid the law!  We’ll be right behind you.”

As John took off into the woods, Arthur said, “Why’d that fool come back here anyway?”

“He must have heard the shot, he was probably worried about us.  Now, let’s just wrap this quick and get out of here.  Hosea can patch this up properly later.”

Arthur let out a dry chuckle.  “Hosea is gonna kill us.”

“He’ll lecture us to death for sure,” Dutch said, tightening Arthur’s bandanna around the wound.  “If you’re lucky, he’ll wait until after he’s bandaged this up.”  Dutch grabbed Arthur’s other arm and hauled him to his feet.

He started to steer Arthur towards his own horse, but Arthur protested, “I can ride by myself, Dutch!”

“I’m sure you can,” Dutch said.  He reluctantly let Arthur go to Boadicea, cringing a little at Arthur’s wince as he pulled himself into the saddle.

Hosea was going to kill him.  He would blame Dutch for putting John in a dangerous situation, but how was Dutch to know that the O’Driscolls were in the area?  Or that Connor O’Driscoll would choose today of all days to grow a backbone?  It wasn’t his fault!

They moved quickly but carefully back to camp, though Arthur pulled off to the side near the creek and got down off Boadicea.  “I’m going to get some of this blood off.”

“Arthur, that water is freezing!”

“It’s fine.”

“You shouldn’t get that wound wet.”

“I’ll watch it, okay?”

“Arthur-”

“I don’t want Isaac to see me like this!”

Dutch wanted to protest more, wanted to get back to camp as fast as possible, but he had to concede that the blood covering Arthur’s clothing was a ghastly sight.  No need to scare anyone more than necessary.

Arthur washed much of the blood off as fast as possible, but he was shivering when he got out of the creek.  “Come on, they’re probably worried,” he said through chattering teeth, almost as if he was encouraging himself.  At least it was still early in the day, and the sun was warm despite the cool breeze off the mountains.

That didn’t stop Hosea’s wrath when they rode back to camp.

“It’s about time!  Do you have any idea how worried I was when John got back and said Arthur got shot!  And why is he soaked?”

“It’s just a scratch,” Dutch started to say, but Hosea was already dragging Arthur to his tent.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes and warmed up,” Hosea was saying as a helped peel the wet jacket off Arthur’s shoulders.

“Ow!” Arthur hissed as his shirt fabric moved past the wound.

“You’re fine, son,” Dutch said.

“Let’s just clean this and wrap it.  You got off lucky.”  Hosea placed a blanket over Arthur’s shoulders.  “Miss Grimshaw?  Do we have any  of that soup hot and ready?  Arthur could use something to warm up.”

“It should be ready in a minute,” Miss Grimshaw said from outside the tent.

“Hey, take all your wet clothes off,” Hosea said, pointing at his jeans.

“Seriously?” Arthur said.

“Seriously.  I won’t have you getting sick.  Here’s another blanket, if you are worried about your modesty.”

Arthur grumbled but did as he was told.

Hosea upended a bottle of alcohol onto a rag and dabbed at the wound, ignoring how Arthur’s fingers dug into the cot.  “I thought I told you to take care of yourself,” Hosea said.

“You also told me to take care of John,” Arthur groaned.  “I was looking out for him.”

“That’s true.  Fine, you’re off the hook for this one.”

“Where’s Isaac?” Arthur asked suddenly.

“Bessie and Anna are keeping him occupied, but he’s going to need to see you.  He knows something happened.  John made it seem worse than it actually is.”

“I had a lot of blood on me, someone else’s.  Figured I should wash up before Isaac saw.”

“Probably for the best.”  Hosea finished cleaning and quickly bandaged the wound.  “There, done!”  He tossed a fresh union suit at Arthur and gave him some privacy.

But as soon as the tent flapped was lowered back down, Hosea turned on Dutch with the ferocity of a grizzly bear.  “I could strangle you, Dutch van der Linde!  What happened out there?” he demanded.

Dutch could feel the beginnings of a major headache forming.  “We stopped the coach just fine.  Then Connor O’Driscoll showed up.”

“What?”

Dutch told the whole story, Hosea pacing back and forth, the rant building with each of Dutch’s words.  “It happened fast, Hosea.  Too fast.”

“I thought you and Colm agreed to stay out of each other’s way?”

“Apparently Connor disagreed,” Dutch huffed.

“We need to get out of here.  Move to another town.”

“Why?  We’re not ready to cross the Grizzlies yet.”

“Because Colm is going to want revenge, you fool!”

“Hosea, we’ll be fine!” Dutch insisted.  “They may know we’re in the area, but who knows how far away they are.  It was just Connor and two other men on the trail, I don’t even think they were looking to rob that stagecoach.  We aren’t ready to move right now.  We made some good money, so let’s focus on getting supplies.”

“I’m just nervous, that’s all,” Hosea said.  “I never liked those O’Driscoll brothers, but Colm’s not an idiot!  We need to be careful.”

“I didn’t have a choice, Hosea.  He drew on John.”

“I know,” Hosea said with a sigh.  “I know.  Remind me to teach that boy how to hide better if he’s not going to do as he’s told.”

“I don’t blame him for coming back,” Dutch insisted.  While foolish, it had demonstrated the bravery and loyalty he always knew John was capable of.  “For all he knew, one of us had been killed.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dutch saw the tent flap move as Arthur tried to sneak out.  Hosea saw it, too.  “Nope, back in bed and under that blanket!  You are not leaving until you warm up.”

“Sun’s warm enough.  Can’t I sit by the fire?”

“Fine, but with the blanket.”

“Fine,” Arthur relented.  “Is Isaac around?”

Before Dutch could even look around, he heard the boy shout out, “Pa!” and run straight up to Arthur, throwing his arms around his legs.  “John said you got hurt and I was so scared,” he sobbed.

“Hey now, it’s okay, I’m okay,” Arthur tried to say.

“You said no one would get hurt and you got hurt!”

“It’s just a scratch.  Accidents happen.”

The crying didn’t stop, if anything it got louder.  Arthur’s worried eyes glanced between Hosea, Bessie and Annabelle when Isaac said, “You can’t die, too.”

“Hey, Isaac, look at me.  Please?  Just look at me,” Arthur tried, pulling off his hat so Isaac could see his full face and cupping his hands around his cheeks.  “I’m just fine, see?”

“Please don’t go!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Arthur said firmly, as a promise.

Bessie cleared her throat and said, “How about you two go sit by the fire?  You can tell your father all about your reading lesson, Isaac.  That was fun wasn’t it?”

“You’re reading now?” Arthur asked.  “Already?”

“Uncle Hosea told me all the letters,” Isaac said, still sniffling.  But Bessie’s distraction was starting to work.

“Oh, he’s Uncle Hosea now?”

Dutch stayed back as the three of them went towards the fire, watching them fuss over Isaac.  So much for things going back to normal.  He noticed John sticking to the edge of camp again and asked, “You alright, John?”

“I guess,” John said.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to mess things up!  I just thought you might have been in trouble and-”

“Oh, I’m not mad, son.  You did good with the distraction, and I’ll never blame you for caring about your family.”

John’s face brightened a fraction, then dropped back to a frown.  “Is Arthur mad at me?”

“Oh, I doubt it.  He knows why you came back, and it was just a scratch.  Everything will be fine!”

Really, it was fine.  They got nearly five hundred dollars in cash from the stagecoach, plus a few items to fence.  They would be ready to cross the Grizzlies soon, he could feel it.  The plan was still on track.