Your father wasn't exactly the best. Yeah, he was there, at least, but he didn't do much. Your mother has passed a fair amount of time ago and here you were, running with his gang. He let you go on robberies and such, but it wasn't too enjoyable. Yeah you had friends, but Dutch would blank you the whole time, acting like you weren't his, or weren't even there. It wasn't the best feeling.

So when you had dreams about harm coming ot him, you weren't surprised. When you were younger, he tended to rough you about a little, calling it 'dicipline', a little smack here, a punch there, he never meant it, but goddamn did it hurt sometimes. everyone in the gang knew it was happening, 'He was just a sad old man who's kid reminded him of their mother', And, for the most part, nobody ever said anything. Ever.

Til John Marston Came along.

He joined when you were 14, he was 12, and because he'd just joined, he pointed it out. It eventually caused Dutch to stop hitting you.. even when you tried to convince John it was just discipline, he insisted it wasn't.

So here you were, sat by the campfire near John's tent, which happened to be near Dutch's but he was on a mission with Arthur, talking about your good ol' days 14 years later.

"Y'know, I used to have this reoccurring dream when I was younger.. I was hitting Dutch with a bat after he'd smacked once or twice, and about halfway through it, I get this realization that it's got way more to do with me killing him then it ever did protecting myself." You stated, laughing a little as you sat on the floor leaned against the log that John sat on.

"Good ol' Dutch." He replied, tone mimicking that of sarcasm as he laughed. "I trust Dutch with my life, but damn is he a piece of work.."