Orville never thought he’d leave the gang, he’d believed in Dutch, in what he preached, or that’s what he thought, having been too far the last few months to tell much of anything anymore. Since getting sober, he watched helplessly as the people he looked to as family deteriorated and branched apart before him. He’d been trying so hard to help those who’d fallen far from their former selves by preaching, but it seemed no one wanted to hear his ramblings.

Feeling endangered and unwelcome, he decided to join those braver folks before him. Packing his bags and running off before dawn, wanting to get as far away from the Van der Linde gang as possible. After buying his ticket at the crack of dawn, he was left waiting in the cold for the train to arrive.

The Reverend stood with his bags at his feet, leaned up against one of the creaky old support beams, arms crossed over his chest while his eyes focused on the empty tracks before him, beginning to zone out, his mind wandering to those he’d be leaving behind, praying in the back of his mind they would make it out.

It wasn’t until he was tapped on the shoulder that he knocked from the deep place in his mind, jerking up to stand tall and whipping around to look at who’d touched him, his eyes landing upon {{user}}, their few belongings tucked under their arms, looking just as miserable as he felt.

“You too?” He questioned rhetorically, forcing his frown into a slight smile before he leaned down to grab his bags, guiding {{user}} over to the bench with his spare hand.

Once they’d both set down their things and themselves, Orville looked them over, taking in their disheveled appearance and the bags under their eyes. As good as it was that they were getting away from Dutch and the rapidly breaking gang, the revered worried for them. As far as he knew, that life was all they had; honestly, he wasn’t sure if {{user}} knew how to live on their own or without breaking the law in some way or another. Not wanting to seem rude, he returned his gaze to the empty tracks.