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Chapter Text

Winter of 1899

It had been quite a while since Arthur saw a new face out here. A new face that meant no harm and that didn't need to get their brains blown out, to be specific.
Few outlaws were left in the Wild West of America. Besides the rather rare occasion, he barely spotted like-minded people: Outlaws or criminals that didn't exactly appeal to the perfect moral standard of their time, but who still had a good heart. Of course, he used to meet some of those people here and there, like Mary Beth, a wonderful young woman with a love for novels (and snitching the money out of the pockets of businessmen), or John Marston, originally an orphan kid who ended up on the streets and with his fist buried in the faces of others. Both of which were now part of the gang he was in, the Van Der Linde Gang, which made them grow into maybe rough-minded, but good-hearted individuals. 

Right now, the gang that was raised out of the ground by Dutch van der Linde, the ever so go oriented and slightly egotistical leader and namegiver of the gang, and his good friend Hosea Matthews, who perfectly balanced out Dutch by being rather thoughtfoul, calm-minded and sometimes even sceptical when another dubious plan was put forward, resided in a forest near some little town around blackwater. Living in a bigger city was certainly not impossible, but surely not the best decision, since several hefty bounties lay on the gang leaders, including Arthur, who managed to hold up with 5000 tasty dollars on his head. But apparently, even that much money cannot motivate the common folk to shoot up a gang a few miles from their city.

In the end, there really wasn't that much to complain about. Not meeting other people like him made life much easier, because hell, he'd probably have to shoot anyone who was such a poor bastard like him. He'd have to pity those poor people who had ended up on the same path that he had. 
Not being burdened with that, he had much time to do what he loves (or what he was taught to love). Hunting and fishing, skinning animals, and selling the stuff he'd gathered to unfortunate shopkeepers and travellers. Every now and then, he helped out some lonely widows or young kids that had gotten lost on the street to make a quick buck, but deep in his heart, he knew that doing all that wouldn't suffice forever. 

There was something he was missing. Deeply. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was. Was it that young girl that he had lost some years ago? Was it the son she had birthed him? After all, he barely even visited them back when they were still alive. 

He just knew he wasn't finding that something with the way he lived now, whatever good or bad thing he did made him feel the same nothingness within his heart. Or across that small lake that he was sitting at right now, his legs rested on the cool ice at the riverbank, his body wrapped up in his trademark blue wool coat. 
Perusing around wouldn't bring him anywhere. That was what Hosea had always told him, since he was a little boy. The older man always managed to speak some sense into everyone, which was a rather good ability to have around people who were brought up in chaos. People who now have a mind in chaos. 

And so, with a quiet grunt, Arthur got up from the snowy ground, adjusted the feather of his hat, and put it back on. Then, with slow steps that were demanded to successfully get through the inches and inches of snow that dusted the ground in front of him, he trotted back to camp. "Should've lended Charles snowboots", he muttered to himself as the snow began to fill his shoes, creating an uncomfortable wet feeling at his feet. 

When he finally arrived at the camp, his shoes were properly soaked through. And the trouble of getting them dried up was something he surely didn't want to go through. Having to prop them up awkwardly over the fire and waiting a day while enduring the dozen complaints of Madam Grimshaw that he was 'lazing around'. God no. He'd rather let one of the others do that for him. Maybe John, that stupid good-for-nothing son of a gun that had once left his pregnant wife behind for a couple of months because he just "wasn't ready for it." It would be a deserved punishment for the bastard. Or at least one of them. 

Quietly, Arthur slipped out of his shoes and placed them beside the fire, far enough so that they wouldn't burn, before he carefully walked over to his tent, nudging the flap open and letting it fall close behind him. 
Grabbing a small rag that was thrown hastily onto a wooden chest, he dried off his feet, gathering the remaining moisture on the towel until he was satisfied. 

Still covered in his coat (and some fresh wool socks), he lay down onto the small cot that functioned as his bed and closed his eyes. Enough thinking about his past for today. Enough thinking about what could've been. He'd lay beside that habit for now. At least for some hours. 
Still, the last thing he saw before slumber took hold of him were small, child-like fingers grabbing his, and a silent giggle. 

A cry of joy that he'd never hear again.

Chapter Text

Blackbirds were chirping their songs in choir, and the sun was filtering through a small slit of the heavy tent flaps when Arthur awoke from a night of restlessly shifting on his crappy cot. It was a rarity that he ever got to sleep through a whole night, with dreams of the past plaguing his mind. He was very thankful that he got some sleep at all, since it was not unusual for him to only have thoughts behind his closed eyelids for hours on end, without a second granting his spirit some peace. Letting out a heavy yawn, he sat up and threaded his calloused fingers through his hair. 

Outside, the camp was already bustling with life. Even from inside the tent, he could make out the familiar smell of Pearson's stew, a rich, salty scent that made his stomach grumble. Though the early morning bickering between Molly and Dutch didn't elude him either, some bickering about "him not giving her a good morning kiss", and it made him seriously reconsider if it was worth stepping into the beautiful mess that the camp was. 

But before he could settle on what to do, his tent flap opened, and the sight of Charles welcomed him, one of his arms comfortably resting on the tent pole. 

"Morning, Arthur", the man greeted him, his gaze flying onto the tartan quilt that lay crumpled on the ground, and then onto Arthur again. 
"Sleep well?"

"As well as you'd imagine", Arthur grumbled while propping himself up onto his feet. "Had to sleep in my goddamn coat to not freeze to death". 

Charles chuckled, nodding to himself while turning his head to look at the snowy plains outside. "Yeah, it sure is a bit frosty. But I'll bet we'll go back about wishing for some cool sooner than ya think."

He was absolutely right about that. Out here, the Winter was harsh and goose-bump erupting, but the summer heat was no less forgiving, having to make it through the day with your clothes not drenched in snow, but in the sweat of your own skin instead. The only hope that folk had around this land was the couple of months that lay in between seasons, like April or September, where Mother Earth seemed a bit more good-natured than she ordinarily did. 
But right now, those heady months could only stay as a warm dream in the minds of people. 

Together, the two men stepped towards the campfire, Arthur walking in now dry boots. To his luck, Charles had also had a rather peachy night and had noticed his shoes standing beside the campfire when he went out to catch some fresh (and very chilly) air. Charles was truly the kind of guy that Arthur liked. Not loud and obnoxious, maybe sometimes a tad bit too quiet, but hard working and with a strong, good heart under his skin. 

Of course, that didn't mean that he disliked loud people per se.  Like Pearson, who, as he saw the two men approaching, gladly took two wide wooden bowls and filled them to the brim with steaming stew. "Extra pork to keep the shoulders broad!" he added with a loud chuckle, handing them their bowls. It was not only peace, but also the occasional silly jest that kept Arthur from spiralling into the abyss. 

They sank onto the oak logs around the fire that functioned as seats, and began to dig in. They ate in comfortable silence, without the need to strike up a conversation. Both of them, especially Charles, were not the talkative kind of guy, not only while eating food. Particularly when the food that Pearson conjured up didn't taste like seasoned bile. Apparently, it doesn't take much grandeur in the kitchen to end up as a marine cook, like Pearson had in the past. 

Charles, who finished his stew first, set down the bowl on his lap and looked at the fire, caught up in thought. 

"You still coming for the train robbery tonight? Dutch said you'll go with me and Javier."

"Still the small train that came from the South?" Arthur asked, setting down his spoon to cast his eyes towards his friend. "I'm not up for robbing some state locomotive or shit."

"No, not something big, at least that's what Dutch said", Charles replied, leaning a bit back, exhaling a soft sigh. "S'pose you can trust him on that matter."

"Yeah, because he's famous for keeping his word, isn't he?" Arthur huffed, shaking his head dismissively as he picked up his spoon again, resuming to eat. 
"But I'll come, I'll guess. If he's only sending Javier, you, and me, it can't be too bad. "

A while later, the moon was already up at the sky, the three of them saddled up onto their horses, Arthur's one being a beautiful Hungarian half-bred with a soft chestnut colour called Boadicea. He had gotten her quite a while ago and loved her with all that he had in his heart. She had stayed with him through the most rigorous ordeals, stormy nights resting under a tree, or galloping him back to Colter when he had gotten shot. "A good horse is more loyal than a bad woman", he sometimes said. Though even a horse couldn't make up for the feeling of being sheltered in the warm, soft embrace of a young lady. 

"Are you as excited for this mission as I am, amigos?" Javier exclaimed, tenderly patting the back of his mare. 

"Why, are you plannin' to have a little chat with your folks on the train?" Arthur mocked, buttoning up the top button of his coat that had fallen open. 

"Those people ain't my folk, friend", he responded in a lazy tone, smirking to himself. "They get dragged down by their wallets and throw the money away, ignoring the ones who'd really need it. They ain't decent enough to be called my folk, amigo."

"Bet they're upset to not be to your likin'", Arthur chuckled as he heard Boa plodding her hooves against the ground. She was already restless and ready to ride. 

"Bet we should be going now", he added, addressing Javier and Charles, the latter quietly sitting on his own horse. "Don't want to keep your friends waiting. Or enemies, whatever."

Javier nodded, and so did Charles. "Arthur's right. Let's get going."

And so, on the back of their mares and with a little less sorrow on their own, they rode off into the plains, carefully keeping a few yards between them and the train tracks that slowly started to appear in front of them. 

It was just a small mission, Arthur reminded himself.
 
Nothing great to expect. Nothing great to worry about. 

Chapter Text

It didn't take the men long until a sequence of old, dark brown wagons came into view a couple of yards in front of them. Although it was dark, they noticed that the train was progressing rather slowly, while dark clouds of dust climbed up into the sky, smelling like burnt peat and wood. 

"God, this shit looks like a wreck", Javier exclaimed, his gaze glued to the tardily moving carts. "Must've been keeping at it for decades, that thing."

"Nothing else to expect from those low-life engineers down in the South", Arthur grumbled quietly. "No wonder it can't go faster than walkin' speed if it was built for plyin' through the desert. It just ain't made for snowy land."

"Hey, don't go off talking crap around my friends!" Javier replied, throwing a barely threatening glare at Arthur. "They're working harder on their worst days than the usual gringo does on a good day here!"

"Yeah, I see that", he scoffed. The thing was barely moving at all; if they hadn't been watching it from such a distance, they could've assumed they had only imagined it dragging on. "Makes me wonder why such a rich fellowship can't seem to afford anything better. 

"It's not a disadvantage, though", he added. "Makes it easier for us to sneak onto it."

Charles, who had kept quiet and rather silently observed the whole scene, decided to speak up. 

"You still got the plan in mind?"

"'Course I do. " Arthur grunted. "We hop onto the last cart, and I make my way to the first one, deal with the engineer and get the thing to stop, while you look for any valuables in the baggage car, and Javier looks if he can get some charitable donations from the passengers."

"Alright", Javier nodded. "Let's see if my Spanish skills are still good enough to hold up with those common folk!"

And with that, they dismounted their horses and carefully made their way onto the last wagon, making sure that the mares were following them beside the tracks. Charles proceeded onto the baggage car, and Javier climbed in a beeline to the passenger car, while Arthur hopped from car to car until he finally reached the first wagon. 
Checking the gun in his holster with a subtle glance, he jumped over the coupler and reached out to catch the railing with his hands. Then, he managed to pull himself up, roll over it, and onto the cart, catching his breath as he got back on his feet. In front of him was the thick iron door leading into the room of the cart, already adorned with the rust of having endured for many years. 
Without further ado, he threw the door open, drawing his gun and pointing it into the air, taking a step into the dark space. 

The engineer, a short, Mexican man who immediately threw his arms up in a placating gesture, let him step inside, feeling rather intimidated by the intrusion of that rather strong, unfriendly-looking man. Arthur, having gone through this motions what felt like thousands of times in the past, steered towards the heavy lever lodged into the ground, kneeled, and pulled it with the strength of only one of his hands. Swifly, the wheels screeched against the tracks, and the entire series of wagons came to a stop. 

But just as he was about to get back up, he could make out some not-so-subtle whispering in mumbled Spanish that left the mouth of the timid man, who appeared to be standing closer to him than comfortable now, and to Arthur, this didn't exactly reek of good intentions. 

He hesitated for a second. 
He didn't want to end the life of someone who was merely reasonably disappointed to get their train robbed. 

But for whatever reason, Arthur treasured his life a bit too much that day, and so, within the blinking of an eye, he shot up from the ground, turned towards the engineer, who, to no surprise had pointed a crappy little revolver at Arthur, and without further thought delivered a bullet right between the eyes of the traitor, who instantaneously tumbled onto the floor, the only residuum of live pouring out from his forehead in even streams, making a red puddle. 

"Asshole", he mumbled, looking down at the corpse with an angry glint in his eyes. Not necessarily angry about the man for wanting to shoot him, but more angry about being forced to kill the bastard. He already had to carry the burden of having killed dozens of other dead men on his shoulders, each one of them a little more or less deserving of death. 

But in situations like this, he simply couldn't waste his time pondering about what the right thing to do was. At least if he didn't want to be the one who ended up with a hole in his skull. There was no use feeling guilty about it. Not here, not now. 

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The rest of the robbery went by smoothly. Charles had managed to find a good amount of valuable baggage, and Javier had collected a generous sum of money and jewelry from the passengers, although he also had to shoot down one or two guys who hadn't behaved properly. 

"¡Que tengas una buena tarde, amigos! (Have a good day, friends)" Javier hummed with a wide smile on his face, throwing the jute sack filled with coins and ornaments on his back, skipping down the wagon back onto the ground, and fixing the sack securely on the saddlebag of his mare. 

Arthur was also back from his task, standing next to Boadicea, patting her mane in silence. 
"Lucky to be a horse, ain't ya, girl", he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Don't gotta go robbin' folks to earn a livin'."

A couple of minutes went by, and Javier had made himself comfortable on the ground, leaning his back against his horse while whistling a familiar tune, while Arthur still kept his hand on Boa's mane. 

"Sulky is taking a bit long," Javier mused, throwing a glance towards the latter wagons. "Should we go and pay him a lil' visit?"

"Nah. Charles knows what he's doin'", Arthur replied curtly. He'd known Charles for long enough that he was sure the man was the least likely to screw up, at least among the three of them. 

Nonetheless, just as the words left his mouth, Charles appeared staggering from one of the waggons, a noticeable limp in his right leg. 

"Dios mios!" Javier called out, rising onto his feet. "What happened to you? Did you fall over some of the luggage, friend?"

"Not quite", Charles uttered quietly, digging through his saddlebag to pull out an old, already stained bandage, and promptly wrapped it around his ankle that was bleeding steadily. "That would've been much better than to be mauled by some beast of a dog."

"A dog, huh?" Arthur asked, looking at the wound on his ankle, seeing the blood seep through the layers of the bandages. "Must've been hell if you didn't see it comin'". 

"Was too dark in there to see anything", Charles mumbled, securing the end of the bandage before he pulled himself back up. "Had to shoot the thing to make it stop gripping me with its teeth. But to be honest, that's not the only thing I found back there."

"What do you mean, not the only thing?" Javier inquired. "You saw a ghost there or something?"

Awkwardly, Charles scratched his neck, his eyes darting to the ground, before he threw his eyes onto the baggage wagon. 

"I uh...found some kind of blind passenger in the wagon."

"A what?" Arthur asked, his head shooting up at the revelation. 

"Some girl, or woman, I don't know. Thought she was dead until the dog attacked me, and she tried to pull the thing away from me. Guess she'd got the dog to protect her, a pity I had to shoot the thing."

"She one of them rich snobs?"

"I don't think so", Charles replied to Javier, shaking his head. "Had a dirty dress on her and messy hair. I doubt she was one of them."

"Where is she now?" Arthur asked. 

"Still there in the baggage wagon. I guess I scared her enough by having to kill her pet."

Arthur exchanged a glance with Javier, both of them thinking the same. 
"Can we go take a look at her?" 

"Go", Charles nodded, sitting down with a grunt. "I'll make sure I don't bleed out in the meantime."

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The baggage wagon was even darker than Charles had described it.  Without a petroleum lamp at hand, and only some moonbeams streaming into the room, it was almost impossible for Arthur and Javier to make out anything. 
But they quickly noticed that they were in the right place when Javier stepped over something wet and soft, eliciting a disgusted grimace on his face. 
"That's the dog, I guess. Or what is left of him."

Making sure not to stumble over anything else, Javier and Arthur stepped aside, checking to stay close to the wall, when they heard some rustling behind them. 

Their heads turned to the door, and there...
There she was. 

You. 

Frozen next to the door, your hand resting near the iron frame. Dressed in some dirty piece of rag that could hardly be called a dress, curly hair so messy it was more of a bird's nest than a coiffure, tan skin covered in dirt and grime, though that didn't stop the two from making out the fearful expression on your face. 

Javier, who wasn't known to be hesitant in using his revolver, briskly pointed it at you, taking a cautious step closer. 

"Hablas ingles, señora ?"

Clutching the hem of your sleeve, you nodded, your dark brown eyes darting from the Spanish-speaking man to the other one, and then back to him. 

"What are you doing with the Gringo?" you murmured, your voice barely a meek whisper. 

Javier chuckled, taking another step towards you. "No need to worry, querida. My friend here is a good Gringo. As long as you're nice to him", he smirked, glancing sideways at Arthur, who smartly ignored the little jab. 

"Ask her her name", Arthur muttered, eying the timid figure in front of him. 

"I just asked her if she can speak English, Morgan. You really don't understand that tiny bit of Spanish?"

"No," Arthur shrugged nonchalantly, still looking at you, making Javier shake his head dismissively. There was no need for him to speak or learn any other language than English since he was destined to spend the rest of his life in America. "What's your name, Miss?"

You looked at him, the light of the moon that the window reflected enveloping your face. 

"Camila. Espinoza." 

"Espinoza, huh?" Javier drawled, eying you closely. "Like the captain from the army, Captain Espinoza?"

You nodded. "Yes, he is my father. We are from Chuparosa."

"I know that, you don't gotta tell me, chica", Javier said. "Your father ain't too nice to the rebels there, as far as I know". His eyes scrunched up into a glare, and his fingers tightened on the revolver, loading it. 

"Javier", Arthur warned, his hand finding Javier's shoulder to hold him back. "She ain't worth the bullet."

"Please señor, don't, please, don't", you cried out, falling onto your knees, your head thrown on the ground. "I am not like my father, I swear! He married me off to another family; I don't have business with him anymore! Please, just please..."

A silent huff left Javier's mouth as he lowered his gun, putting it back in place on his holster. "Already got what you deserved then", he muttered, turning his back to you. 

A river of mumbled 'thank you's' flowed from your mouth, but Javier didn't pay any attention to that. 
"We should get back to camp. Sun's already rising, and we don't want to waste more time than we already have."

"And what about the girl?" Arthur asked, throwing a pitiful look at you. "Should we leave her to starve to her death or to be killed by some Pinkertons?"

"It's what she'd deserve, being an Espinoza", Javier muttered bitterly, making Arthur frown lightly. 

"Ain't her fault for being born into a shitty family", he spoke sternly. "Ain't like we chose that path either."

Javier sighed, turning his gaze from the ground onto Arthur. "What do you think we should do then, Morgan? I'm not too sure Dutch would be amused having to adopt another Mexican refugee as his offspring."

"Oh, Dutch won't mind", Arthur drawled, taking a glance at you, your long hair, your full cheeks, and those soft, brown eyes that even through all the grime on your face managed to touch something deep inside of him. "I don't think he's opposed to having another pretty lady around."

You averted your eyes, staring into the darkness outside, ever so thankful that all the dirt on your face was hiding the subtle flush that was arising on your cheeks. 

"What do you say, miss?" Arthur spoke loudly, addressing you from his point at the wall. "You come with us, we get you all cleaned up and fed, and then we'll see what we can do next." His voice was not exactly soft, but not harsh either. Decided. Just firm enough not to scare you. 

"Okay", you simply responded, straightening your posture to look a little less like a scared puppy and more like a respectable young lady. Like your parents had taught you many years ago. 

"Good, so that's dealt with", Arthur grumbled, signalling Javier to make his way to the horses and back to Charles. "Come follow me, Miss", he said when he had left, holding his hand out to you. 

Still with a little indecision left in your bones, you took his much bigger hand, the rough callouses of his digits enveloping around your softer, slender fingers. 

"No need to be scared, Miss", he mumbled quietly. "Ain't no harm coming your way now."

You hadn't been raised to trust strangers easily, but for some reason you couldn't help but believe the words that this rugged man was telling you. Words eluded you, so once again, you offered him a curt nod. 

With him lightly dragging you along, Arthur led the way to the horses, which had, as expected, dutifully trotted along the train and were now waiting at a small patch of grass beside the railway. Boa snorted in anticipation as she saw Arthur approaching her, your face and scent making her feel a bit alienated. 

"This is Boa", Arthur said, introducing you to the horse, blinking at you with her thick lashes in skepticism. "Ever been ridin' on a horse?"

"No", you shook your head, your eyes darting over the beautiful grey mane of the mare and the intricately crafted leather saddle on the back of her. "I only ever had enough money to ride on donkeys, Mister."

"Well", Arthur smiled, "then I assume I can offer you quite an opportunity today". Before you could protest, he grabbed you by your waist and gently placed you onto the saddle, your legs hanging down at each side, as he mounted the horse, plopping down in front of you, taking a hold of the holster. "Hold on tight, this thing can go a few miles faster than a donkey."

You did as he said, your hands hesitantly wrapping around his midriff, barely holding on, but intensifying in their grip as he began to trot, the sudden motion making you shake. 

"Hold on", Arthur repeated. "And you don't gotta call me Mister, Miss. Arthur is fine."

"Okay, Arthur", you stammered, your accent slipping out as you tried to say his name correctly. It merely elicited a chuckle from him. He didn't want to admit it yet, but the way you desperately tried to pronounce his name correctly seemed admirable to him. 

Javier and Charles gathered around him, saddled onto their horses, their saddlebags filled with loot. 

"Sp'ose this could've gone by way worse", Javier hummed, shooting a glance at the injured leg of Charles. "You still able to right back, Amigo?"

"Sure", said replied. "Let's hurry back. Sun's already rising."

And so, without further ado, they made their way back to camp, your arms tightly holding onto Arthur as you galloped over the snow-covered fields. 

You had known enough bad men to know that at least those three wouldn't mean harm to you. Or at least you hoped so. 
A quiet prayer formed in your thoughts. 

"Dear god, please don't make those men be bad to me. 
Don't make me feel pain again.
Please, lead me to safety. 

Amen."

Chapter Text

Riding on a horse was way less scary than you had thought. In fact, the rhythmic motion of Boa's hooves trotting along the ground worked like some form of hypnosis on your exhausted body, and with that, you caught yourself dozing off a couple of times. 

"She's dozing off again", Javier said for what felt like the hundredth time in the span of a few minutes, a hint of disdain audible in his tone. "Seems like the baggage wagon wasn't comfortable enough for her."

"Will you shut up for once?" Arthur sighed, too focused on the road to grant the man a glance. "If she had to climb up onto some shitty train to get some rest, I reckon she deserves to sleep for a bit."

Javier snorted at his response, and at that, Arthur shook his head dismissively. That son of a bitch was in no position to treat you like a lesser human just because of your background. His own looked much uglier than yours ever could, he imagined. In one way or another, harassing you made Javier look like the exact kind of uppish people that he apparently despised so much. 

"And what if she slips off the saddle, pendejo?" Javier snapped back, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "She won't be making it to camp with her face planted into the snow."

"Then I'll pick her up, get her back on the horse, and continue on the way, bastard!" Arthur snarled, a little too hostile for his own comfort. The sudden noise made you startle, and you straightened your back, trying to act like you hadn't just taken your first nice nap in months. 

"How much longer?" you mumbled, lifting your eyebrows in a hopeless attempt to keep your eyes open. "I'm starting..." A small yawn escaped your mouth, "...to feel a bit tired."

"Not much longer, Miss", he replied gently, careful not to accidentally raise his voice again. "Just a couple more minutes."

You nodded and slowly felt yourself slipping into some kind of state that was akin to being half-asleep, barely following the small conversation beside you. Something about you having to sleep on the ground next to the fire, about there 'being no place for you around them. ' 

You smiled to yourself. A little bit of familiarity after all.

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The camp was already bustling with activity when the horses carried the men and you into camp. Pearson was hunched over the cooking pot, simmering an ominous pile of vegetables and meat together that sadly didn't smell as delicious as last time; John sat in front of the fire, quietly polishing his revolver, and the sounds of the girls bickering and laughing behind one of the tents could be heard. And, for a nice change, Dutch wasn't arguing with Molly for once; instead, he stood idle on a barrel, smoking a cigar in peace, with Hosea sitting beside him, the two of them nearly copying the motion of taking a deep drag and then letting the cigar hang from their fingers. 

Hearing the clang of horses' hooves tinkling against the ground, Dutch raised from his spot, putting his cigar out on a tent pole, and marched towards the three of them. At least, he thought so, until he made out your small figure huddled against Arthur's back. 

"Welcome back, gentlemen", he sang smoothly, taking a glimpse at the full bags attached to the saddlebags and then at you. 
"You had a successful rampage, as I can see. 

"Sure did", Arthur muttered, dismounting Boa and then reaching his hand out to help you down. 

"And you found more than just valuables, hm? Took one of the passengers with you?"

"It wasn't my idea, Dutch", Javier shot up, jumping down from his horse, approaching the gang leader. "This ain't a passenger, she's got nothing in her pockets but dust! I didn't want to take her, Arthur only..."

"I wasn't accusing you of doing that, boy", Dutch interrupted, his nostrils flaring. "Although I don't usually leave the duty of picking up strays to anyone other than me".

Taking a closer look at you, he exhaled a defeated sigh and went to address Arthur. 
"But for now, I guess I can trust the decisions of my best man". He patted Arthur on the shoulder, gripping it lightly, before he stepped closer to you,  leveling himself down to meet your eyes. 

"Does the lady speak English?" he asked, his voice a conspirational whisper, his sharp gaze unwavering as he looked at you.

"Yes, I do, Mister", you stuttered back, your own voice shaking like a leaf. "My name is Camila", you added, wary of mentioning your last name after the last time. "Please, do not harm me..."

Still looking into your eyes, Dutch, all of a sudden, grinned widely and took a step back, a throaty laugh erupting from him. "Harm you? What?" he chuckled, his body rattling with laughter. "Gentlemen, next time you'll pick a lass up, maybe try not to scare her off with your antics," he mused with mirth, shooting a glance at Javier, Charles, and Arthur.  "It doesn't work well, believe me."

After his cackling had come to a stop, he took a deep breath and looked at you again, but this time, with a little less animosity. 

"What did you do for work back in your country, girl?"

You stared up at him, swallowing heavily. 
"Teacher, Mister", you replied, a tinge of renewed strength in your pitch. "I taught children English, in paper and language, and arithmetic. But...I can also cook, patch up clothes, wash laundry, and chop down small trees!"

"Already making sure she can make herself useful around here", Dutch smiled. "I already like you, girl. But for now, we first need to get you to look a little less like a trash can. Arthur, get Susan over here to take care of the little thing", he ordered. 

Arthur did as he was told, and in the matter of a minute, an older woman grabbed you by your shoulder and shoved you into the inside of a dimly lit tent. 

------------

 You were sitting on an uncomfortable, wooden footstool, your eyes glued to the tent floor, after Miss Grimshaw had promptly set you out to take a seat on it. Now she was dragging a bucket filled with hot water over the ground, a grey towel slung over her shoulder. 

"Dress off", she commanded, dipping the towel into the water, rendering it damp. You didn't hesitate to stand up and peel off the dirty dress that had grown rampant with holes and tears, and you let the fabric pool onto the floor, leaving you in a thin chemise and drawers. 

Without a word, she began to prod the rag against your skin, beginning at your face, taking your chin into her hand to make sure you wouldn't move away from her. She was handling you rather harshly, but you wisely decided to not speak up. You were thankful enough that you were going to feel a bit cleaner soon. 

"Tsk Tsk", Susan clicked with her tongue when she reached a bruise on your neck, making you flinch, wiping over it with a rough motion. "Don't make this hard for you, girl."

But when she moved lower, reaching your torso, a valley of bruises blooming over your skin and fresh scars met her, and her hand stopped mid-motion. 

"Oh, darlin'," she sighed, her eyes meeting yours, the stoic expression in them fading to something more caring. "Bad husband at home?"

You shook your head, your eyes watering at the thought of him. Him. Your husband. If that's what he had deserved to be called by you. 

"Not anymore, Miss", you murmured, wiping away a stray tear that had left your eye by accident. "I made sure to treat him with his own medicine."

"That's a good girl", Grimshaw hummed, patting your shoulder softly. 
"M' glad you got out of that safely".

"More or less so", you muttered, pulling the fabric of your chemise aside to reveal a nasty-looking bullet scar, the ends of it still flaring in a flaming red. 

"Oh dear", Grimshaw sighed, kneeling down to see it more clearly. "That one is rather fresh,darlin'. Need someone to stitch that up for ya?"

"No, it's fine, thank you", you mustered up a tiny smile. "I've had worse, Miss".

Susan grimaced at your response, but decided not to force you to do anything further. She figured it was already enough of an ordeal for you to be in such a foreign environment. Besides, she had seen her number of bullet wounds. Enough to know that it would heal on its own; at most, it needed some ointment and gauze. 

------------

A while later, you lay wrapped up in a woolen blanket, your head resting on an old scarf that Miss Grimshaw had used to build a makeshift pillow for you. When she had finished cleaning you up, she had quickly placed the water and the rag in the corner of the room and propped up a spare cot for you. "You gotta take this tent, until we get yourself a proper place 'round here", she had said. You were thankful. Maybe God had heard your prayers. 

And now, you could finally close your eyes and let yourself fall into a deep slumber. A peaceful sleep, for the first time in forever, even if nightmares would haunt you.

At least you'd wake up to a world better than them. 

Chapter Text

Fourteen hours of sleep. 
That was the amount of rest you were able to get on that tiny, little cot in the storage tent. Although the cot was thin and hard, you snuggled into it like a baby and barely tossed or turned in your slumber. You were confident that you had never slept that soundly since you were born. It was a dreamless sleep, but... a wonderfully peaceful one at that.

No one had dared to wake you; hell, most of the others hadn't even seen your face. The only thing that they knew was that 'there had been a new addition to the team', well, at least according to Dutch. Rumours were already spreading that the new addition was of the female sex, eliciting excited giggles from Mary-Beth and Tilly and not-so-subtle smirks from certain others, to be exact, Micah and Bill.

"A new little lady, that right?" Micah mused at the campfire later at night, sitting next to Arthur, John, and vis-à-vis from Mrs. Grimshaw. "Bet I could use another missus to bewitch with my charm."
"I don't know what kinda charm you're talking 'bout", John snarled, his legs spread wide and eyes turned downward onto the knife in his hand that he was honing with the sharp edge of a stone. 
"Maybe he was talkin' bout not being able to wait to disappoint another woman 'round here", Arthur added, taking a drag from the thick cigar he was holding with his fingers. "Guess that's what his charm does."
"Sure, Morgan, sure", Micah sighed, leaning a hunch back from the campfire, his eyes staring at the golden flames, "I guess my charm won't work its wonders when you've already captivated that little girl. Doesn't take much for her caliber, I reckon."
"Yeah, go on and believe the little fantasy in your head", Arthur grumbled, blowing the smoke from his cigar into the air around him (and into Micah's direction, surely by mere accident). "She ain't here for romancing around, I fear."
"Didn't you say she got married off to another family?" John was looking up at him, his gaze turned away from the blade he was holding. 
"That's what she told me, yeah", Arthur nodded, lowering his cigar. "Didn't say anything else, though. Little thing was too scared in the moment, and too tired after."
John nodded, silently humming in his throat, and then turned his eyes towards Madam Grimshaw, who was perched on the bench opposite the three of them. 
"She tell you anything interesting, Susan?"
"Ain't none of your damn business, boy", she exclaimed, her iron eyes locking onto his, tough as steel. "Keep your nose outta that matter, the three of you." She shook her head dismissively. "At least the two of you, if Arthur can keep his mouth shut."

It was already late in the morning when you awoke, a little sliver of light sneaking into the tent, nearly blinding you. Squeezing your eyes, you propped yourself up onto your elbows for a little support and scanned the room. 

Right. You weren't in that crock of a train anymore. You remembered meeting those three men, and the one who lifted you onto his horse, being careful not to scare you the same as the others had. 
That man...
Arthur. 

Suddenly, the tent entrance flapped open, and streams of light filled the inside, making you squint your eyes even more, and you lifted your arm to block out the sun. 

"Hello?" you asked, your voice a groggy mumble. 

"Good morning!" a friendly voice exclaimed, stepping into the tent, the flaps falling closed, granting you some recovery from the dazzling luminosity, making you able to behold the visitor. 

In front of you, a young woman was standing, dressed in a beautiful purple blouse with a white collar and a dark green shawl around her shoulders. A few curls were falling onto them, while the rest of her hair was securely wrapped up into a Gibson tuck. She was smiling in excitement, her hands folded over one another to keep her suspense in bounds.

"I'm Mary Beth", she introduced herself, her red cheeks glowing. "You're Camila, right?"

"Yes", you murmured, sitting up onto your knees, feeling a slight tinge of embarrassment. You're hair was still all messy and dirty, and even though Miss Grimshaw had cleaned your body up the day prior, you felt like an ugly vagabond compared to this unfairly gorgeous woman. Your hands reached up to pull your curly locks into place, frantically trying to make yourself look a bit better. 

"Did you eat anything yet?" Mary Beth asked, looking your figure up and down, seeing your collarbones jutting out from above your chemise. "I mean, Pearson isn't that good at makin' up something tasty, but I think you don't mind about that, do ya?"

"I don't mind, no", you nodded, "But I'd first like to get myself dressed and...maybe make sure my hair doesn't look like hell anymore."

"Right!" she smiled. "I'll get you some fresh clothes to keep you warm, and some water to wash your hair, if that's alright with you."

You nodded, mustering up a little smile at her, and waited patiently as she went to get everything.
She was friendly, you thought. And so goddamn gorgeous. You already knew it would be a futile attempt to get yourself onto her level in that department. 

Within the blink of an eye, she arrived back at your tent, placing the water bucket onto the ground, a towel neatly placed over its rim, and a neatly folded pile of clothes besides it. 
"Those are mine", she said, gesturing at the clothes. "I figured they'll be a little big on you, so I added one of my belts. You can wear them for as long as you like. And I got you a brush for your hair". 
"Thank you so much, Mary Beth", you expressed, your lips turning upwards into a tired, but genuinely thankful smile. "You really...didn't need to do all this."
"Don't go thankin' me", she chuckled. "Every new member should be treated with care. I was, too, after all. Anyways, meet me at the fireplace once you're done."
You nodded and exchanged another smile with her before she exited. 

With a tired yawn, you pulled yourself up onto your feet and grabbed the stack of clothes. A navy blue button-down shirt with elegant, flowery stitching on the collar, a flowy black cotton skirt that was ruffled at the bottom, purple stockings with a layer of warm wool inside, and a shiny, brown belt as the cherry on top of it all, with delicate carvings of flowers and reindeer cut into it.
The material, though soft from repeated use, was in perfect condition. Lengths better than the tatters you had worn before. Or ever, to be honest. 
Quickly, you slipped into the new garments, and oh, they felt as wonderful as they looked. The blouse, since it was two or three sizes too big, sat relatively low on your chest, but it didn't bother you too much yet. The skirt, running a bit too long, reached the ground, and you had to pull it up to your waist to keep it from constantly touching the ground. To your luck, the belt held it all together and kept you from looking like a child who had tiptoed into their parents' wardrobe.
Finally dressed up, you carefully knelt onto the ground and began to wash your hair, brushing through the knots and matted strands while clenching your jaw in pain. It hurt like hell. But it was worth going through that hell if you'd escape it with clean, decent-looking hair. 
You ended up with the ground slightly flooded and covered in wisps of hair, but your head dematted and neat, and your scalp somewhat sore.  With your head still down, you dried it by scrubbing the towel against it until your hair was nearly dry; still a little damp, but not soaking. 

Now that your hair was tidy and your clothes were fresh, you stood in front of the flaps of the tent.

"Mierda", (shit), you whispered. 
To get yourself looking proper had been one thing. To now present your proper looks was another. It had been long since you had looked this...good? Unbad? And it had been even longer since someone had appreciated it. 
Your husband had never even granted you a compliment. At least not one that wasn't of a sexual nature. When he had thought you looked nice, he only took you by the wrist and dragged you into the next room. And then he'd...

You felt bile coming up your throat, and your face scrunched up at the memory. 
You needed some fresh air. 
And with that, you stepped outside.