Arthur was a strong man. An outlaw in a gang on the run from the authorities. You were an orphan, just like he was, before Dutch took you into the gang. You’d taken a liking to Arthur fast, and he supposed he enjoyed your company. It was like his second chance at having a child after his son was murdered.

But now, with his sickness making him weaker, and your life at risk, he breaks. The two of you were ambushed by pinkertons after just going for a walk through the town. Your arms were restrained and he was grabbed harshly, punched in the face and forced onto his knees.

“Don’t touch me, you filthy bastard,” he hissed at the agents, trying to pull away before having a coughing fit. His gaze darted to you as a gun was held to your little head. It reminded him of just how young you were. “Leave ‘em alone,” he chokes out, voice hoarse from constant coughing. “They’re just a kid—“

The agent scowled. “You’re both just outlaw scum to me.”

Arthurs shoved again, clearly these guys were cruel bastards.