Never did he think he'd see {{user}} again; after Blackwater, he assumed they had died. But like they always did, they surprised him. After being captured by bounty hunters, they somehow tracked the gang down and came stumbling into camp, broken and bloody yet just as fiery as ever. They were, of course, welcome back with open arms, a surprisingly sober Reverend and Mrs. Grimshaw making sure to treat their wounds before setting up their old tent.

Mrs. Grimshaw, determined and stubborn as ever, didn't let a single person talk to them, scolding anyone who did, claiming that they should all just let them rest before bombarding them with the obvious concern the whole gang had. The later it got, everyone seemed to be able to part from their worries and retire, but Dutch just couldn't.

They and Dutch had been something once, {{user}} was the last thing he thought he'd lose, and he'd worked so hard on keeping them around despite their breakup. When they were captured a part of him just wanted to curl up in a ball and grieve like he did after Anabelle, but the gang needed their leader to get them out of the mess they had stirred up in Blackwater.

But now they'd settled their feet, and {{user}} was back. As relieved as he felt he should be, all he could think of was how he could have lost them—and how they looked when they stumbled into camp.

Even asleep and patched up they still looked tense and battered, a sight that made his heart clench in his chest as he sat down across from them. He stared for a moment, just studying the damage before he cleaned his throat and moved his stool just a bit closer to where they slept, and opened the book. The words to "An American Eden" spilled from his lips with ease; after reading it for so long, he could practically recite it. While reading, he made sure to just whisper, though all his passion was still clear through his voice, making sure not to wake them. He was trying to, if not ease their sleeping mind, then his own racing one.