Chapter Text
Pressing your palms into your eyes you push away the tears as best you can. Such a horrible ending - poetic and fitting - for something you’d spent nearly two weeks completing. From the beginning to the end it was an emotional rollercoaster that left you shaking as you watched the credits scroll across the screen in front of you. Pulling your headphones down to your neck you realize suddenly how badly you need a drink, having gone the last hour or so without a drop of water in your usually full glass.
Trudging to your bathroom to refill it you can hear the howl of a storm outside, thunder rumbling around you as the storm demands attention. Pulling your sweater closer to your self you huffed, filled your glass, and used your washroom before returning to your room. The click of your glass on its coaster is barely audible as the thunder crashed again.
Sitting back down at your desk you check your phone. Three minutes to three. In the morning. Yeah. It’s going to be a long night, you decide, saving the game before clicking on ‘New Game’. You loved John - he’s fun to play as - but the ranch didn’t have the same vibe as camp did. It lacked everyone you’d come to know and love, even if they were just video game characters. You practically thrived off the praise directed towards Arthur for helping with chores, or the casual invitations to sit at the fire or rob a stagecoach or go fishing. All the things your lonely life lacked. An escape into a world that wasn’t crumbling around you.
As those first few moments played out, the feeling not quite the same as when you’d seen it the first time, you took your time to take in the world. To take in the little details you’d missed. To see familiar faces again.
Just as the first few voice lines were about to start, thunder crashed above you and the world went dark. Cursing you were suddenly thrust into cold darkness with winds howling around you, much louder than before. Everything felt colder and lacked the sound of thunder above you. Just the howl of winds and a deep chill settled into your bones.
Rubbing your eyes, you blink into existence in a place so familiar yet so foreign. Rotting wood floors, boarded-up windows, and rickety old chairs. Confusion knitted your brow as you glance down at yourself only to see unfamiliar clothes reminiscent of the same era as your new favourite game. A heavy winter jacket that came down to your knees, several layers of clothing including chaps, jeans and a union suit, and the cowboy hat that usually sat on the hook above your bed. You tug at the shirt sleeve under your jacket to see the old plaid shirt your dad had given you for Christmas.
You weren’t stupid, but you sure as hell didn’t trust any of this. It felt too real to be a dream, you knew that well, there’s too much detail around you for this to be something your mind spontaneously created. Sure, you read fanfiction, you knew the tropes, so maybe this really is a dream and your brain was just really bored. You just fell asleep at your desk. When the thunder crashed above you.
Yeah… not likely. Okay. So. Regardless of dream or not, you need to figure out where the fuck you are on the map because you had a sneaking suspicion that -
The door behind you slowly creaks open, light and cold flooding into the cabin, and suddenly you know exactly where you are. Greeted by an older man bundled tightly in many layers, holding a lantern in one hand, and aiming his pistol at you with the other. Immediately your hands are up by your head, the two of you staring at each other like deers caught in headlights.
“Uh… hi?” you squeak. Perfect. You finally get to meet Hosea and your voice cracks. Off to a fucking great start.
“Hello,” Hosea drags out, eyeing you with all the suspicion of an outlaw who suddenly encountered a stranger in a deserted mining town. “Is this your house? Thought this place was deserted.”
“No! No it’s not mine, I just got caught up in the storm and needed somewhere I wouldn’t get buried,” you quickly confess, because it’s partially the truth. It’s not your place, and you did get caught up in ‘the storm’.
“You… you mind sharin’?” Hosea asks, voice clearly strained from exhaustion.
“Not at all. I wouldn’t mind the company.” You’re probably a little too quick to agree, but he doesn’t look too awake to argue. You are just really glad you ran into Hosea first and not Dutch. Dream or not, you valued your life.
He slowly nods his head, glancing around the cabin before leaning back through the storm and shouting:
“Bring him in here!”
You can see the figures already moving quickly (or as quick as one can in a snowstorm) towards the door, so you copy Hosea currently shoving pews out of the way and clear enough space on the other side. Attempting to look busy and helpful. If you make yourself helpful perhaps you won’t get shot or mistaken for an O’Driscoll. You didn’t look like one (hopefully) so perhaps the odds are in your favour.
The world continues on around you as if you aren’t there at all, directions being given out and questions being asked. You stand awkwardly to the side, watching Hosea, Dutch and Arthur talk, holding your tongue in hopes of just approaching Miss.Grimshaw after they scatter (or Hosea) and asking if you can help.
Unfortunately for you, the universe has other plans and so did Hosea, as before Dutch is about to start his speech, he grabs his arm.
“Dutch, we got something else too.”
“More? Hosea, you know we -”
“Have to go scout, I know. But when I looked this place over, I found we weren’t the first ones smart enough to find it.” He nods his head to where you were attempting to hide off to the side.
You give the world's most awkward wave to the three of them, praying to whatever force thrust you into this world that you were going to live to see the sunrise.
“And you didn’t mention this earlier?” Dutch questions incredulously.
“I tried, but you were busy. They were here when I stepped inside, I didn’t see them as a threat as they don’t even have a gun and there’s no horse sitting outside waiting for them. Figured you’d know what’s best.”
Dutch narrows his eyes at you and you know that look means trouble. He’s already on edge from the ferry job and running from Blackwater, a strange person in the middle of a snowstorm with no guns and no horse is suspicious, even to you.
“I know how to cook!” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, nerves too overwhelming to control. “Please, I don’t have anywhere else to go and I really don’t want to die today.”
It’s a plea for your life and all three of them know it. You are absolutely terrified of what these men could do to you if they even catch the slightest bit of reason to not trust you.
“Dutch, look at ‘em. They ain’t a threat to nobody. ‘Specially not with how they’re shakin’ like a leaf,” Arthur points out, eyes flickering between the two of you.
“Who are you then? Go on.”
You stammer out your name, forcing yourself to make eye contact with him so he doesn’t take it as a lie.
“What’re you doin’ up here?”
“I got lost. One minute I was hiking up the mountain, and the next I was in the worst storm of my life. Stumbled in here to not freeze to death,” you stammer, utilizing your knowledge of the game’s wildlife in hopes of proving yourself.
Dutch nods, seemingly believing your story. He stares at you for a long moment, hard brow trying to discern the answer to an unspoken question as all you can do is shake from cold and try not to cry. It’s been a long day, you’re exhausted, and you’ve just been presented with possibly the greatest gift of all time, and you really, really don’t want to die now.
“Well, the way I see it, we feed fellers need feeding, shoot fellers need shootin’, and save ‘em need savin’. So… the question remains, which are you?”
“T-the last one. I belong to no one, ain’t no one going to look for me even when this storm lets up, and ain’t no one waiting for me to come home. I’m alone,” you admit, letting a few tears roll down your cheeks for added effect. It wasn’t entirely a lie, you had no idea what is going on but you knew that if this wasn’t a dream, no one was going to come to find you. You’re a stranger in a strange land; stranded.
“Woah now, there ain’t no need for that,” Dutch bristles, stepping forwards and placing his hand on your shoulder. You can feel your lip quivering as you slump forwards and wrap your arms loosely around him. He stiffens and pats your back, letting you collect yourself and waiting to continue talking until after you pulled back and wiped your face.
“Savin’ it is. Though that doesn’t mean you ain’t gotta pull your weight around. You can stay, but stayin’ means you’re stayin’ for good. For better or for worse.”
“Thank you,” is all you can manage to say, your voice meek and quivering as you wipe your face on your sleeve.
Dutch nods his head before looking over his shoulder:
“Hosea, Arthur and I gotta go scout so, can I trust you to look after our newest gun?”
“Just come back alive,” Hosea says, holding out his handkerchief to you. You take it gratefully as he guides you to the fire where the rest of the gang is gathered about, following Susan’s orders.
Dutch addresses the gang before stepping out, making a point of introducing you and all but demanding that you’re shown some kindness as well. There are way too many eyes on you as Dutch steps out with Arthur, and quietly you shove down your nerves in an attempt to make a good impression.
“So, did any of you have the foresight to scout other houses?” Hosea asks, addressing everyone only to be given a few shrugs and murmurs of ‘no’.
“I did, there are a few houses still intact,” you say, having finally grappled with your emotions.
“You up to pointing them out so we can get them set up?” Hosea continues, offering you a reassuring smile.
“I think so, the snow’s a little disorientating but I’m happy to go out and point ‘em out,” you agree, quick to make yourself useful.
By the time Dutch and Arthur are back the rooms have all been set up and you’ve been shuffled into the main church with Sadie Adler and the rest of the women. There hadn’t been enough room in men’s bunks (and frankly you really didn’t want to sleep near Micah) so you’d opted to sit in the church and keep the women safe.
“Take this,” Hosea mumbles, thrusting something into your hand as he soaks in the last bit of heat from the fire before having to go back outside.
Your hands grip a pistol, small and old. Something you have no idea how to aim. You can only hope that being thrust into this game came with the ability to aim, otherwise, you were about to make a rite fool of yourself if they decided to drag you into a gunfight.
“I’ll keep them safe,” you nod, stuffing it into the empty holster at your hip.
He nods and shuffles towards the door, picking up his lantern from the table. You follow after him, knotting your hands and waiting until the last moment before you find your voice.
“Hosea?”
“Yeah?” he asks, turning his head, his hand already around the doorknob.
“Thank you. For giving me a chance.”
You can see a small smile form on his tired face, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Just don’t make me regret it. Now, get some sleep.”
You nod your head, shutting the door behind him as he trudges through the snow. You return to the space by the fire that had been made for you. Sadie’s staring into the flames as you sit down next to her, most everyone already asleep. Shuffling through your satchel produces a bottle of whiskey that you uncork, offering it to her.
“Want some?” you whisper, watching her tentative hand take the bottle from you.
“Never liked this stuff,” she mutters, still staring into the fire as she takes a swig and hands it back.
“Yeah, well, it does its job,” you shrug, taking a swig yourself. “This feels like a weird dream - doesn’t even feel real. The whole joining a gang of outlaws in a snowstorm thing.”
“Tell me about it,” she mumbles, taking the bottle again. You let her have the rest of it. “I was married.”
“I heard. You doing okay? Need a hug? Wanna talk about it?”
“... I wouldn’t mind a hug, but I ain’t ready to talk about it yet. Just want to see those O’Driscolls burn,” she spits, glaring at the fire.
“Trust me, so do I,” you agree, turning your body to open your arms. She gladly accepts, squeezing you tightly and clinging onto you until a shaky sigh escapes her lips.
“What did they do to you?”
“Nothin’ yet. Just don’t like anyone who’d take joy outta makin’ someone a widow intentionally. Also kinda picked up the vibe from being around that they aren’t the greatest people,” you admit, hiding your personal vendetta against Colm for what you knew he’s going to do to Arthur later in the story.
She nods her head, pulling back from the hug but still leaning against your shoulder. You don’t mind, knowing how cold she must be even after they got her new clothes. So you pop open your jacket and tug part of it around her so you could conserve heat.
She’s asleep almost instantly, you, on the other hand, are left to sit there and dwell. Staring into the fire and coming to the smouldering resolve that whether this is a dream or you’re truly here, you’re going to change the ending. You know the little things you have to change just enough to save lives. Sean. Kieran. Hosea. Arthur. You could prevent them all - you had enough time to come up with full plans before they died, even if it was just little things such as making sure they weren’t in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’d do what you have to.
You will come away with Micah’s blood on your hands, but that’s something you can live with. Something you can accept. No matter how it happens, you’re going to watch the life drain from his body.