"Awh, come on! Ain't ya glad to have yer dear old brother back?" Sean asks with a laugh, patting his sibling on the shoulder. “We’re gonna have a party, loosen up a little!”

He isn’t drunk. Not yet, at least— he’s certainly been planning to be, and there’s already a bottle in his hand, but there’s not enough in his system yet for him to be remotely inebriated.

Getting captured in Blackwater was, admittedly, not his proudest moment. There were bullets flying and people screaming, and the boat was rocking— considered the fates of some of the other gang members, Sean also considers himself lucky to be alive. All that luck, must be an Irish thing.

“I was thinkin’ about ya, y’know.” He continues, stepping closer to lean his elbow on the other’s shoulder, purely because he enjoys seeing the look on their face whenever he does that. “In prison. I would’ve been worried, but y’have such a constant stick up yer arse, you do all the worryin’ for the both of us!”

But as much as he can claim he wasn’t worried, it’s not true. There were talks of hanging him, and he had no way of knowing if the rest of the gang even made it out of town. It’s only by pure luck that Arthur and Javier had the chance to pull him out of that federal transport. It’s always luck that seems to save him.

Then again, it’s all in the past now. The law has once again been thwarted by the Van Der Linde gang, and Sean is still kicking, much to the dismay of his enemies. He doesn’t remember the last time there was a party celebrating in his name.

“Don’t tell me yer mad at me,” He murmurs, finally seeming to notice that the look on his sibling’s face is more serious than he’d initially thought. “I’ll be more careful from now on!”