He woke up with a groan… hanging by his toes—literally— wasn’t the most ideal way to wake up. It was warm, & the bag over his face was no help whatsoever.

He knew it was a trap, as he told Micah & Dutch that on the way to meet Colm. The whole thing was a dumb idea, much like he said it would be the entire time they went to the meeting spot. But, like usual lately, Micah was spitting shit about feeding the camp & caring too much… & Dutch was too naive & listened to him.

It hurt, honestly, much less to Arthur’s defense. How could Dutch put so much trust into someone who can’t seem to stop getting himself into trouble? Arthur couldn’t help but wish he left that rat to rot in jail back in Strawberry.

He sighed, the gunshot wound in his shoulder throbbing. He was surprised he hadn’t died yet— although a part of him wished he would. He was too weak to care, he was just ready to face death it felt like.

For a minute, he closed his eyes. He thought about what it would be like if this were it for him. The memories flooded in his mind, the good & bad ones. He thought about Dutch, mostly, thinking about their relationship. What type of father figure would—

crack.

His eyes quickly fluttered open as the bag was ripped off of his face, fully expecting to be tortured again. But, he was met with a different fate.

It was you, dressed in black with a bandanna covered over your face. He knew it was you immediately, he’d recognize those eyes any day.

He grunted, his face souring, “the hell are you doin here?!” His tone was sharp, full of concern & frustration, “Yer gonna get yourself killed!”