Obsessi

Blurb:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Meeting Dutch van der Linde had been the best thing you had ever done. 

The work you did to make a living wasn't anything big, but it was enough for you to get by on your own. Delivering packages from one post office to the other was something that most people didn't want to do--it consisted of long days and uncontrollable weather conditions, but you always liked traveling. Seeing different sights, meeting new people, and giving your brown quarterhorse, Scout, some good exercise gave you more joy than spending your days in saloons like it did most people.

The first time you met Dutch van der Linde it was quite dramatic. Like a knight in shining armor, he saved you from some men who had surrounded you while you were riding your horse to a neighboring town. They wanted your packages and you told them to go to hell. Bandits weren't uncommon, so you made sure to always carry a pistol, but the three of them to your one presented odds even you weren't happy about. Dutch showed up out of nowhere, along with a man who introduced himself as Arthur. Dutch tried calmly speaking to the men, but when they drew their guns he didn't hesitate in pulling his own and shooting the one closest to you in the head. The other men spooked and took off, shouting idle threats as they left in a cloud of dust. 

When you had the chance to get a proper look at him, you were taken aback by just how handsome he was. Dark hair slicked back, a well-trimmed goatee on his face, warm brown eyes, and a muscular build visible even underneath his dress clothes. You hoped he didn't notice your ogling and looked him in the eye, thanking him profusely. He merely said he was doing what any decent man would do. He was suave, you had brazenly flirted, and then you were on your way. Though you didn't see the man for another week, he never left your mind. 

Then when you were delivering packages to a farther town, one that required you to ride through the night, you heard some scuffling in the woods. Thinking it nothing more than a random animal, you urged Scout on until you heard the following groan that was most definitely human. 

The last thing you were expecting was to find a drunk Dutch practically passed out in a bush. He didn't seem to be hurt, and it just looked like he had too many to drink after a good night out, so you weren't worried. After getting ahold of your laughter, you helped him onto your horse--his was nowhere in sight--and took him to the hotel in town where you paid for his room. He grabbed your hand just before you slipped from the room, and asked you to stay. Though a part of you was tempted, you politely declined. You just wanted to make sure he was safe in his inebriated state. It was the least you could do for him after what he had done for you. 

But if there was one thing you would learn about Dutch van der Linde in the coming months, it was that he was a man of determination. 

In simple terms, he didn't leave you alone. He always seemed to just so happen to be at the next town you were to go to. You'd bump into him at the post office, as that was where you normally went first. At first, you thought it was just a coincidence. He took you to dinner that night as a thank you for what you did when you found him. You told him it was unnecessary, but he insisted. 

But as time went on, the bumping into each other became more frequent, the dinners were expected, and the talks were longer. 

And after a month of this, it became clear that he was wooing you. 

Did he do so successfully? Yes. Were you going to take it easy on him for doing so? Absolutely not.

Though Dutch was a man of class, he was also just that: a man. If there was one thing your mama taught you that you remembered, it was that you should never change yourself for a man. So you didn't. 

You showed him who you were. What you liked doing. How you enjoyed your freedom and independence, more than most women you've encountered in your travels get the pleasure of enjoying. You expected him to be appalled, disgusted, wanting to move onto some other submissive woman. 

But instead of doing so, he was like a moth to a flame and came around even more. 

You met the group of people he traveled with, the people he called his family, and soon you came to understand why. The women were easy to get along with, and then men had their challenges, but don't they all?

After seeing each other for four months, you finally discovered the true nature of what it is that Dutch and his family did. You had been delivering a small box to one of the fancier towns in the country when you began to hear gunshots. When you walked down the street, you saw that the bank was being robbed. This wasn't uncommon--people didn't have money and some figured the only way to get it was by force. 

But what shocked you was the familiar voice that was calling out orders to the men who had bandanas on their faces as they ran from the building, large bags clutched in their hands. The man, whose hair was as dark as the night, turned in your direction and seemed to lock eyes in the crowd. He paused, and then another one of the men, this one also with familiar sandy blonde hair, grabbed his arm. He seemed to shake it off and ran around the back of the bank. 

Needless to say, when you saw Dutch that night you confronted him. You weren't going to keep secrets between the two of you, not when you were beginning to harbor some serious feelings for the man. 

He admitted to seeing you, and that he didn't want you to find out--at least not in the way you had. He told you what you did, how he had dreams of making a safe home for his family where they could live comfortably for the rest of their lives. 

And man if that dream didn't sound beautiful to you. 

And when he showed you how much money he managed to get from the bank, it didn't hurt either. 

Shortly after that, Dutch asked you to join the group, to travel with them. He told you they were going farther south than they had before, and that he couldn't bear to leave you. He wanted you to come with him, to be with him. 

And there was no way you could say no to that. 

So here you are, almost a year later, still sticking around.

Even after the hot pile of horse shit that was Blackwater. 

That was rough on Dutch, but you were there to help calm him down and think clearly. The two of you were a power pair: the gang looked up to you. Where Dutch was the leader, telling everyone what the plan was for the next step and making sure everyone was provided for, you were there at his side to look after everyone and make sure they had what they needed. You were the one they came to if they really wanted something because they knew that if you batted your lashes at Dutch there was no way he could say no. 

He both loved and hated it, you could tell. But he never told you to stop. 

And though you and Dutch love each other deeply, ready to lay your life down for the other should it come to it, you've also noticed that he's been...more withdrawn as of late. 

You shouldn't complain. A lot has happened in the past six months, and unfortunately, not much of it is good. 

Sean was killed after someone ratted the gang out to the families in Rhodes. Kieran was beheaded as a warning to your gang. Arthur was kidnapped by the Pinkertons, and try as you had to convince Dutch to go after him, Micah was there to whisper in his ear that it wasn't a good idea. You already butt heads with Micah as it is, and you had thought for sure that Dutch would listen to you, but Micah's voice was stronger you suppose. It had hurt, but when Arthur miraculously showed back up on his own, all attention was fixed on getting him better so you pushed it to the back of your mind. 

The time in Saint Denis was nice. Dutch took you to dinner like he did when you first started seeing him. He even took you to the theater and judging by how Dutch simply watched you instead of the show, you get the feeling that he took you there simply for your own pleasure instead of his own. You thanked him in more than one way later that night in your tent. 

Then when he made a plan to rob the bank in Saint Denis, you got a bad feeling in your gut. It didn't sound right to you, and Hosea agreed. In a rare moment, Dutch seemed to display a show of jealousy that you were siding with Hosea over him. You tried to reassure him that you were just looking out for everyone's best interests, but he didn't want to hear it. You didn't like the plan, so you excused yourself from the job and stayed back at camp.

And severely regretted it. 

Hosea and Lenny were killed. The others who went to the bank, Dutch included, disappeared. For a month. All of you thought them dead, unsure if they managed to escape or if the Pinkertons eventually got them in the end. You were all overcome with grief, and you were riddled with guilt for not being there. Maybe something would have gone differently, maybe if you had tried harder to convince him to stay...

But they came back. Dutch clutched you to him like you were what he needed to survive, and you didn't leave his side (or stop crying) for nearly three days. He put up no argument and didn't complain when you doted over him. He had lost weight, was injured in more than one place, and compared to the other men in the gang when they also eventually regrouped, he was lucky. Javier was shot.

And so you thought things were finally moving in a better direction. He grieved for those you had lost. For Lenny, for Hosea...and you were there for him. There to hold him when he needed it, there to comfort and care. You were his rock. 

And when you arrived at Beaver Hollow, he seemed to be a little more positive than before. Everyone did. Maybe it was the location, maybe it was the town that was nearby where nobody knew who any of you were, or maybe it was the fact that he was inspired once more to look for a place for all of you to settle down. This was finally it, you hoped, and then you could live the rest of your days out happily. 

Except Dutch started spending less time with you and more with Micah and Bill. More time was spent either at Micah's table or in your tent, and Dutch didn't allow you in the tent when he was talking over plans with the men. 

You had frowned and argued. "Since when am I not included in the plans?"

He shook his head and cupped your cheek, but you stepped out of his touch, unable to hide how hurt you were from being excluded. "We don't keep secrets, Dutch."

"It's not a secret," he had frowned, "it's a plan. The less who know, the better. I promise that once we get everything laid out here, it'll already be over. It just ain't...the safest of things, Sweetheart."

You didn't want to hear his words anymore and so you left. 

And that was the beginning of the rift. 

Dutch tried to patch things up at first, reassuring you that he was doing this for your safety, but you just wanted him to be done with his plans. You didn't want any more risky business like the bank in Saint Denis. Hosea's death had been the last you could take. You couldn't lose him too. 

But bringing up Hosea's death was a bad idea. He had closed off almost immediately. Micah had snickered and told you to go sew with the other women where you'd be useful, instead of distracting the boss. You had scoffed at his words, expecting Dutch to come to your defense, but...he didn't.

And so the hurt between the two of you grew. You stopped actively seeking him out, and he did the same with you. You started spending more time with Miss Grimshaw and Arthur on occasion, going out to hunt with him just so you'd feel useful. He knew that there was something wrong, but he never asked. And for his silence you were grateful. 

One morning something was different. Dutch was gone already when you wake up, and as of late that isn't odd. It hurts your heart to think about how you were when you first moved in with him, how he would hold you in his arms as if you were the most precious thing he'd ever had in the world. He told you about Annabelle, about how deeply he cared for her. You told him about your own experience with love. About the man you had been engaged to for a time, about how you broke it off because he wanted to keep you at home. 

He told you how though he cared deeply for Annabelle, he never thought it possible to love a person more...until he met you. And you told him you never knew what it meant to love someone until you met him. 

But these days you don't get that feeling from him anymore. It's like breaking up, even though you're still seeing the person. It's awful. 

And the worst part? You still love him with every breath you take. You still watch him as he walks through camp, as he talks with the others. When he glances your way you turn, almost embarrassed that he would think you were looking at him, even though just a little bit ago you would have done so without hesitation. 

You miss your best friend. 

"You listenin'?"

You tear your eyes away from where Dutch is deep in conversation with Micah, a frown tugging the edges of his lips down. Tilly has her hands on her hips as she waits for an answer from you. "Yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought, I guess."

She scoffs and shakes her head. "Lost in thought my ass."

You frown but take your turn and place a domino down, not saying another word on the subject. Mary-Beth looks between the two of you silently, her journal forgotten in her lap. 

"Y/N, when was the last time you was out of camp?"

You glance over at Mary-Beth, trying your best not to look over her shoulder at the man who's constantly on your mind. "I dunno...about two weeks ago, I reckon."

She frowns, tapping her lips with her pencil. "You're lookin' a little worn. Maybe some new scenery would be good for ya."

You can't help the weak smile you give her. "Are you sayin' I look bad?"

She laughs softly at that. "Not at all. I think we could all do with a nice ride around the area. We ain't really...checked it out since we got here. Only a few of the men have had the chance. There ain't no good reason we shouldn't go."

You look to the sky. Though it's only the middle of the day, the sky isn't that bright. There are gray clouds in the sky, a warning of rain to come. Hopefully, it won't happen for a few hours yet.

She's right. Maybe some fresh air, a place that's new and will offer a distraction would be nice. 

This time you allow your eyes to drift to Dutch. He's still deep in thought, and you can't help but sigh. Maybe it would be good for more than just you to get out of here for a little bit. 

Tilly can already see where your thoughts are heading. She throws the rest of her dominoes on the table in frustration and crosses her arms, startling you and Mary-Beth. She looks between the two of you. "What? Just go ask him already."

You snort, and that manages to get a lip twitch from her. You stand and take a deep breath. "I will. Just give me a minute."

You smooth your hand over your skirt, smoothing it as you muster up the courage to speak to Dutch. It shouldn't be this hard, you think to yourself, and just that reminder makes a twinge of sadness race through you. 

Maybe this can be the first step back in the right direction. Just a simple ride, right? Just to go see what's out there? He knows how much you like traveling. You know he does too, so maybe he'll be open to spending some time with you.

Micah spots you first as you walk over. He stops speaking and sneers, not even trying to hide his disgust at you. He's always been jealous of the sway you've had with Dutch, and now that he's somehow managed to gain that upper hand, you can understand how he was feeling. You want nothing more than to rip that mustache off his face. 

Dutch lifts his head and stares at you without saying a word. Of course, he wouldn't speak first. 

You clear your throat. "Me 'nd the ladies was thinkin' of takin' a ride around the area, getting out of camp for a while."

"Just another excuse to avoid the work that needs done 'round here." Micah's voice is dripping with disdain. Dutch shoots him a displeased look but doesn't say anything. 

You continue on. "...how does that sound?"

He takes a deep breath, folding his arms over his chest and looking away from you. "Take Arthur or John with you. We don't know who's living around the area, so just be safe."

You purse your lips. "I was hopin' you'd come with us, Dutch."

His eyes flit to yours quickly, and the surprise in them is gone just as fast as it was there. But you still saw it. Did he not think you wanted him to come?

He sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time. "I'm too busy today, Y/N."

You frown. "You can't spare any time? Any?"

"He said he's busy," Micah jumps in. You throw a glare at him. 

"I'm not talkin' to you."

"And it's obvious that he don't want to talk to you."

You can't ignore the hurt that Micah's words send through you. Because even though you know he's just trying to make you leave, there's truth behind his statement. Dutch doesn't want to talk to you, otherwise, he'd be looking you in the eye right now. 

"Is that how it's goin' to be between us, Dutch?" You ask quietly. You wave a hand out at Micah. "I barely see you anymore, we can't share more than a few words, and Micah is answerin' for you now? Is that what he is, your bitch?"

Dutch does look at you now, but he's glaring. He's never looked at you like that before. You take a step back, unsure of how to handle this situation. It was never meant to escalate like this.

"Better than bein' his whore," Micah chuckles evilly, and you reach across the table and smack him across the face before he's able to get another word out. The camp goes silent. Micah is on his feet in a second, hands balled into fists at his sides and lip curled. 

"I'll fuckin' gut you, ya slimy--"

"Micah," Dutch barks, standing as well and facing the man, giving you his back. You're not sure what look it is he gives the blonde man, but whatever it is is enough to make him sit back down in his chair. That doesn't mean he doesn't continue to throw dirty looks your way. 

"You're just going to let him say stuff like that? You're not going to say anything?" You ask, pointing at Micah. He looks like he wants to jump across the table and bite your finger off. You don't care that you're shouting at this point. Everything has gone too far--the old Dutch would never have allowed Micah to even look at you like that. "You're going to let him call me a whore and not say a god damn word?"

"You slapped him," Dutch says lowly, turning to look down at you. His brows are pulled together as he frowns down at you, annoyed that this is happening. That people in camp are listening in. 

"Because he called me a whore, Dutch. It was an insult to me, and it was an insult to you." You shake your head, unable to believe that you even have to explain yourself. "Be honest with me Dutch, because that's all I've ever wanted from you was, to be honest. Do you even care anymore?"

He blinks, some of his anger fading away. He clearly wasn't expecting that question to come from you, not right now. "What?"

You feel your eyes begin to burn as the hurt, the loneliness, the grief from the past months start to creep forward. "About me. Do you care about me anymore, Dutch? I feel like I'm alone. I feel like you don't even want to be around me. I feel like a god damn nuisance to you anymore."

His face softens, and he murmurs your name quietly. "I didn't mean--"

"She's just lookin' for attention, boss. We got more important things to do." Micah growls, the back of his hand pressed to his inflamed cheek. Your eyes cut to him briefly before going back to Dutch. 

Do it, you think to yourself, prove him and me wrong. Prove that you still care about me. Pick me over him.

But Dutch just snaps his mouth shut, tight enough that you can hear his teeth clack. A muscle ticks briefly in his jaw. "I am trying to plan something for all of us, Y/N. A better way of livin'. I can't do that if I can't focus, and all it seems that anybody around here can do anymore is distract me."

And just like that, your heart drops to your stomach. 

You let out a shaky breath as tears start to stream down your face. Dutch's eyebrows raise in surprise and he flinches, his hand automatically reaching out towards you even though he probably doesn't mean for it to. "Y/N--"

"Don't touch me," you hiss, taking a step backward out of his reach, "don't talk to me. I can't do this to myself. I love you, Dutch van der Linde, and you're breaking my heart."

You turn without another word, refusing to look him in the eye. You pass the table you just sat at with the women, ignoring their sympathetic looks and the way the men politely avert their eyes as you walk past. 

Only one man tries to stop you. "Y/N," Arthur calls, jogging to reach your side, but you throw a hand out behind you to tell him to stop. 

"I'm goin' out," you say, hating the way your voice shakes. You go over to Scout and don't even bother putting the saddle on him, knowing you'll be gone quicker if you go bareback. You hike up your skirts and throw yourself on his back, grabbing fistfuls of his mane and finally looking down at your other friend in this camp. Arthur looks lost, like he isn't sure if he should push and follow you anyway or give you the space you're asking for. "Don't follow me. I need time alone to fuckin' think."

You squeeze your legs and Scout takes off, going faster than you asked but letting it go since it's been a while since he's been allowed to move like this. You let the sounds of camp fade away in the dust that Scout picks up and focus on getting as far away from this nightmare as you can.

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You'll never admit it to anyone, but part of you knows that riding off like that, alone, when there's a storm gathering in the sky and the sun is beginning to set might not have been the smartest thing to do. 

But you're feeling sad, hurt, betrayed, so you don't really give a shit. 

When you first rode off you headed towards the nearby town, but you remembered you don't have any money or weapon on you, so you turn and head off down the trail through the woods instead. It's an obvious path and doesn't seem all that threatening, and Scout is calm as he trots along, so you push any possible fears to the back of your mind and instead focus on stewing about what has happened between you and the man that you would kill for. 

You give Scout control and allow him to wander wherever he pleases, satisfied when he decides to linger around a small stream just away from the main trail. You dismount and sit down at the bottom of a tree, pulling your knees up to your chest and watching Scout as he starts sniffing around the area. Once you're ready to go you'll whistle for him and he'll come, but for now you're fine with just being here for a while. 

The sound of the stream is calming in ways you didn't think possible, and every once in a while you see a rogue squirrel or bird come to the area before catching sight of you and quickly scurrying off. 

You just can't believe that Dutch is acting like this, treating you like this. You fell in love with the Dutch who knew what he wanted but cared enough for everyone else that he was careful about making such rash decisions. And most importantly of all, he included you in what he was doing. It made you feel wanted, made you feel like he needed you by his side. 

And now?

Now you feel like a bother. Like you're some garbage he's stuck with and he's looking for the closest trash can to throw you out in. 

You gave up your life for this man because you wanted to. You wanted to travel with him, join his family, be by his side. As you were around him, you got to know the real Dutch van der Linde. The one who had big dreams and wanted to share them with you. The Dutch who loved you. 

You don't know if that man exists anymore. 

It's not until a tear falls on your hand that you realize you're crying. You wipe your face clean and stand to your feet, deciding you can go for another ride and looking around for Scout. You don't want to shed any tears, especially for a man who no longer shares the same feelings for you as you do for him.

Not spotting Scout, you put your fingers in your mouth and whistle loudly. An answering whinny sounds just down the stream, so you start trudging down the rocks in that direction. 

"--the hell is a horse doin' down here?"

You hesitate on a rock, looking down the path and seeing a man sitting astride his own horse as he peers at Scout. He doesn't look threatening, and you don't spot a gun on him anywhere, so you continue moving and clear your throat, alerting him to your presence. 

"Oh, hello," he frowns as he greets you. Not the most welcoming thing, but you've certainly had worse. "Didn't see ya there."

"Hello," you keep one eye on him as you walk up to Scout and scratch his muzzle when he thrusts it in your direction, "sorry if he startled you."

He looks you over from head to toe, almost as if he's assessing if you're a threat like you did with him just a moment before. "Just surprised is all. Ain't many wild horses 'round here."

"He ain't wild, we were just takin' a ride is all."

"He's not wild?" He asks, sounding surprised even though he can clearly see how easily you're interacting with him. You take a better look at the man. He seems to be around his mid-forties, with long legs and a lanky frame. Though he looks like a twig you wouldn't doubt that he's got more strength in him than he's willing to show. You know better than to judge a book by its cover, especially considering some of the people you live with. 

"No, sir, he ain't. I was just headin' back home, but it was nice to meet you."

"You out here by yourself?"

You keep your back to him as you mount up on Scout once more, making sure to hide the way your eyes widen at his question. Why is he being so pushy?

"No, sir, my brother is just upstream. We're on our way to visit our father."

The man strokes a hand over his clean-shaven face in thought. It isn't until now that you start to feel a hint of unease bloom inside you. Get out, your mind says to you, get away from here.

"Well, these places ain't nice to a lady on her own, 'specially one who's as pretty as you are. Would you like me to ride with ya until you meet up with your brother?"

You shake your head as the fear you had pushed away earlier starts to come back. "I appreciate the offer, but it's unnecessary. Have a nice day."

With a gentle squeeze of your legs, Scout starts walking up the stream and away from the mysterious stranger. "Hope you get there soon!" He calls after you, his voice scaring all the critters that had been lingering in the bushes. "Rain's comin'. Stay dry!"

You say nothing and make Scout move a little faster, just wanting to get out of there. Thankfully you don't notice anyone following you, even five minutes after you left the area, so the man didn't follow you. A sigh of relief escapes you and you start pushing Scout back in the general direction of the camp. 

The man was right about the weather. Not twenty minutes into your ride back to camp and the rain starts. It's a small trickle at first, nothing too bad, but then five minutes later and it's as though the gates of heaven themselves have opened up and the earth is being flooded for the second time. You have to rely on Scout to really know where he's going, as the rain is so heavy that you can barely see more than five feet in front of you. Your clothes are soaked less than a few minutes later, and you're starting to seriously regret riding this far from camp. Or any shelter, really. 

Thirty minutes later and the rain has lessened, though it's still steady as it falls from the clouds. The cold no longer bothers you, but you're not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Scout is puffing and constantly shaking his mane, trying to clear off some of the rain running into his eyes, and you feel guilty that your horse is suffering because you needed to be alone. 

"I'll give you lots of treats when we get back," you pat his neck, "promise."

"Hey!"

You look up ahead and see that just off the main path there are a few men standing on the ground by their horses, looking directly at you. They're dressed in long black coats and hats that are shielding their faces from the rain. As you ride closer, you can see that they have pistols strapped around their waist. That uneasy feeling from before comes back again. 

"Can't talk," you call out as you get close, "weather is unkind, gentlemen."

Two of the four men step away from their horses and into the path, causing Scout to slow down automatically. You grip his mane tightly and sit up straighter as they force you to stop anyway. 

"Sorry 'bout holdin' you up, Miss," the one man says as he walks over to Scout's side to peer up at you. He's tall and well-built, and if you had to guess you would say he was either involved with the law in some way or a ranch hand. "But we just wanted to know if ya saw a man here recently. Tall, middle-aged. Has dark hair, nearly black, dresses real smart?"

You fall silent, the image in your head instantly forming into one of Dutch. You swallow and wipe some of the rain off your face before shaking your head. "No, sir. Haven't seen him."

The man nods, but judging by the way his lips thin you can tell he isn't happy with your answer. He waves the other man standing in the path over, and he goes to stand on Scout's other side. The man walks up and places a hand on Scout's muzzle, acting like he's petting your horse when in reality you know that that's not his intent. 

"Say, this ain't the kinda place for a woman to be out alone," the first man says, and you tighten your hold on Scout's mane. "What're the odds you're out here travelin' alone?"

"Small," you say through a thin-lipped smile. "My brother is waiting. The storm just caught up to us. Now if you'll excuse me--"

"Haven't seen any other man ride through here," he interrupts your excuse, "think it'd be best if you waited here with us for a while."

You narrow your eyes. "No. Step away from my horse, please."

The second man chuckles humorlessly. "Better listen to what he says, Sweetcheeks."

When you feel a hand start to creep up your leg that's pressed against Scout's side you inhale sharply, caught off guard by the brazen touch. You don't hesitate when you tighten your grip on your horse's mane and squeeze your thighs, urging him off and away from the men. You startle the two men with your sudden departure and you hear swearing before there are some whistles behind you.

Looking over your shoulder through the rain you're just able to make out the four men as they mount their horses and take off after you, shouts of glee echoing through the thunder. You force down the panic that threatens to rise inside you and face forward once more, lowering yourself and trying to help Scout ride as fast as possible. 

The rain makes it hard to see, but thankfully Scout has a good sense of where to go and where to avoid. He takes you through the woods and weaves around trees, making it harder for the pursuing men to follow your trail. You start to feel like you might actually make it out of here, that you might actually succeed in losing them. 

Until they start firing their guns. As good of a horse as Scout is, if there's one thing he hates it's guns. He spooks and startles so bad that he trips over his own hooves, nearly sending the two of you tumbling forwards. You can tell from their shots that the men aren't trying to hit you, but they are trying to scare you. 

Sadly, it's working. 

Just as Scout makes a breakthrough the woods into an open clearing, a bullet is fired too close for comfort and lodges itself into the bark of a tree just by Scout's head. Your poor horse rears and lets out a whinny of pure fear, and if you weren't bareback and if it hadn't rained then you would've been able to hold on. But Scout is too slippery and is shaking too much so you fall onto your back on the hard ground with a muffled thud, the impact knocking the breath out of your lungs and causing you to bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood. Scout takes off into the clearing and over a hill until he's out of sight, leaving you for the wolves. 

The men ride out of the woods and surround you just as you start to push yourself up, two of them immediately hopping down and circling you like vultures. The one from before who touched your leg kneels down beside you and shoves you back onto the ground by your shoulders, looking up and down your body with a disgusting glint in his eye. You reach up and slap his face, just like you did to Micah a few hours ago, and give him a good kick to his chest as well for good measure. He falls away from you with a grunt and his eyes turn angry, his lips pulling down in a sneer. 

You just can't seem to please any men. 

Not that you care to please them.

"Son of a bitch--"

"--just hold 'er down--"

"--make sure she ain't got any weapons--"

You let out a scream of frustration as multiple sets of hands grab hold of you then, one of them holding you down again by your shoulders, another skimming over your clothes to check for a gun or knife, another just touching and feeling and being all over intrusive. You try not to panic, you try to fight back, but when a fourth pair of hands grabs hold of your own and starts to wrap rope around them, effectively restricting you, you start to feel hopeless. 

"Let me go!" You cry out, your voice competing with the cracks of thunder that shake the sky above you. Rain is falling into your eyes and mixing with your tears as you grit your teeth. "I'll fuckin' kill all of you! Get away from me!"

"Let's take her to the cabin," one of the men says, and the other starts making noises of agreement. You're pulled up onto your feet and then thrown over the shoulder of one of them like a sack of potatoes, but you continue fighting. You bang your fists into his back, kick your legs, scream until your throat feels like it's going to start bleeding. 

And then one harsh strike to your head with the butt of a rifle takes the fight out of you. You try to stay awake as your vision swims, your ears ring, and your stomach churns, the man's shoulder suddenly pressing into the wrong spot of your stomach. Something warm runs down the side of your face, a stark contrast to the cool rain that's already running in rivulets there. 

And then suddenly the man holding you is dropping to the ground like a stone, his hold completely gone. You roll off his shoulder and onto the ground, your face pressed into the cold and muddy ground. The ringing slowly fades away and you can make out shouting, but not shouts of triumph. No, it's a mixture of panic and fury.

You open your eyes and see what looks like more men riding towards you on horses, though you're not sure if they're here to join the men you're currently with or not. 

More gunshots ring out and you watch as another one of the men standing near you falls to the ground, dead. The other two fumble for their weapons and start firing back, not expecting the attack and underprepared for it. It doesn't take long before they're also on the ground, blood spilling from their own wounds. 

Three horses come to a stop near you and the men quickly dismount. Two sets of hurried footsteps move in your direction, and then someone's knees are hitting the ground as they fall beside you. A new set of hands reaches out and lifts you out of the mud and props you up in their arms, far more gentler than the other men did. 

You blink away the rain and mud and whatever other substances might be in your eyes and focus on whoever it is that's holding you, feeling surprised when you see it's Dutch.

"Dutch?" You ask, almost unable to believe he's really here.

He's soaked to the bone and even though your vision is still a little murky from the knock to the head, the anguish is as clear as day. 

He says your name like a whisper of a prayer--like he's unable to believe that you're right there. Someone else kneels down on your other side and takes your hands, quickly flicking their knife through the rope and cutting you free. Arthur is watching you with concern in his eyes as he tucks his knife back into his pocket and stands to his feet once more. 

"Talk to me," Dutch says hoarsely, "are you hurt? How do you feel? Did they touch--" he closes his eyes tightly and grinds his teeth together.

"We're lucky that man back there told us 'bout which direction you was headin' in," Arthur says gruffly, locking eyes with Dutch. 

Man? What man? And then it hits you. The man from the stream. 

The man who also fit the description of who these men were looking for. Most likely their actual target, instead of Dutch. 

And he just saved you by telling Dutch and Arthur where you were headed. 

"C-cold," you finally croak, feeling the rain leech into your skin and take any and all warmth from you. Dutch's hands tighten on you and he looks up at Arthur, nodding firmly. Dutch stands to his feet and brings you with him, keeping his arms firmly around you as he whistles for his horse. The familiar beast ambles over and Dutch carefully lifts you onto the saddle there before mounting behind you. He takes his coat and bundles you in it until you're tucked in, though it won't do much since it's also soaked with the rain. He wraps one arm firmly around your waist and brings you into his chest before taking hold of the reins and flicking them, urging the two of you off and back towards camp. 

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You're shaking by the time you get back, unable to stop the chills that are racing up and down your body. Dutch keeps you clutched tightly in his hold, your head in his neck, and his chin resting on top of your head. When you finally see Bill standing on guard at camp you feel as though you could cry tears of relief. 

"Miss Grimshaw!" He calls, his voice cracking at the urgency of his tone, "I need hot water and dry blankets!"

Susan pokes her head out of her own tent, annoyed that she's being asked to do something when it's raining but then that quickly fades when she takes in your state. She nods once and gets to work without a word. 

Dutch rides his horse over to your tent instead of stopping where the others are. He dismounts first and then before you have a chance to get down yourself he's bundling you up in his arms and carrying you into your tent, one arm beneath your shoulders and the other under your knees. You lean against his chest, tired and cold, and happily accepting any form of heat that you can get. 

He places you on your bed and starts hastily pulling your clothes off, and if you weren't still reeling from what just happened and if you weren't still upset about what he did earlier today then maybe you would have laughed. Maybe you would have told him to calm himself and slow down. 

"Dutch," you murmur as he gets to your blouse and starts unbuttoning it. He ignores you and keeps moving, determined to get your clothes off. "Dutch."

"You'll freeze," he hisses, his eyes almost black as he looks at you for the first time since he found you on the ground. You swallow and let out a deep breath. "You can't...you can't be wearing these. You need warm clothes, honey."

The name makes you melt just a little bit, but you still reach up and take hold of his hands, forcing him to stop. He frowns as he looks to you for an explanation. 

You swallow and look down at your muddied skirt. "I can do it myself."

"What?" He asks quietly, hands tightening their hold on your own. "Why would you--"

"I haven't forgotten this morning," you clench your eyes shut and try not to get too angry as you think of the betrayal you felt just hours ago. "I appreciate you helping me, but I know now that you have more important things to do than be here with me."

There's a moment of silence as Dutch lets your confession hang in the air between the two of you. You're afraid to look him in the eye, afraid of what you'll find there. He hasn't had time to think through things as you have, he probably feels no different now than he did this morning. 

"Y/N," he shocks you by leaning forward and pressing his forehead against your own. You jolt and look at him in surprise, finally meeting his gaze. He looks troubled, weighed down, tired. All of you in the camp are feeling those things, but Dutch? He feels all of them but in a more profound way. In a way that others will never understand because they're not expected to lead this group. In a way that you understand because you've seen him go through it, experience it, live it. 

And sometimes he forgets that you know this part of him. 

"I saw what those men were doing, how they touched you," he spits the words, his face screwing up in anger. "And I'm sorry I didn't stop them sooner. I should've been there."

"Dutch," you frown, not stopping him as he continues to unbutton your shirt and tug it off your shoulders. It's been a while since the two of you have been intimate with each other, and so him doing this, him touching you and taking care of you brings up feelings that you thought were gone. 

"I can't lose you too," he finally admits, his voice breaking and his hands stilling as he clenches his eyes shut. "I can't. I can't. You ran from here, straight into the path of those sick bastards, all because of me. If they had...if they had taken you from me, I wouldn't have been able to handle it. Not after Annabelle. Not after Hosea. Not you."

You cup his face with your ice-cold hands, unable to stop yourself from tilting his chin up and pressing a kiss to his lips. He's warmer than you, and he flinches as your cold skin touches his own, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't shrug you off and push you to the side as he did earlier. 

"I have the water," Miss Grimshaw calls from outside of your tent. You can tell that Dutch is loathed to move but he stands up and slips out quickly before bringing the large basin inside, the steam still rising from the water as it sloshes around. You look him over from head to toe, noticing how the rain has made his clothing stick to his body like a second skin, accentuating his muscles and strength. 

"Come here, Sweetheart," Dutch says softly as he takes your hands and helps you to your feet. He helps you step out of the rest of your clothes, his eyes lingering only briefly on your body before gently lowering you into the water. You can't help but groan as the warm water instantly soothes your aching muscles and burns away the worst of the cold that was clinging to your skin. You expect him to sit on a chair and let you soak, but he surprises you by sitting on the ground and grabbing a cloth, wiping your face clean. 

He dabs around the wound on your temple, frowning as he soaks up the blood that had run down your face and makes you clean once more. You watch him closely, afraid that if you look away then this side of your old Dutch will fade away with the storm. 

"What?" He finally asks after a few minutes of silence. 

"Are we goin' to be okay?"

He hesitates when you ask that, his brown eyes locking with your own. "Of course we'll be okay. This plan--"

"No." Your voice is firm. "Are we going to be okay, Dutch? I can't...the thing that happened with Micah today. I can't take you choosing him over me."

Dutch frowns. "I didn't choose him over you."

You nod once. "You did, Dutch. And you're too blind to this plan of yours that you don't even see it."

His brows furrow, showing a hint of annoyance. "Now, Y/N--"

"No, Dutch. I'm trying to live my life, happily, and with people I love. I love the members of this family you've let me into, all of them are great. Except for Micah. He's shit and he's creating a rift between all of us that is soon goin' to be too big to fix." Tears begin to build in your eyes. "And you 'nd I aren't on the same side, Dutch. So when it finally splits, what's goin' to happen to us? Is there even goin' to be an us?"

"Hey," Dutch reaches out and gently holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him, "nothing is going to happen to us. I'm making a better life for us--"

"Do it another way."

He shakes his head, caught off guard. "What?"

You grit your teeth. "Do. It. Another. Way."

"What does that even mean, Y/N?"

"I want this better life, Dutch. This dream you've told me about from the beginning. I want that, I want that for us. But it ain't gonna happen with this plan, especially if you're makin' it with Micah and I ain't allowed to know what it is."

"Micah has good ideas--"

"I don't care!" Your frustration finally breaks through, and you decide now is as good a time as any to let it all out. "I don't care if he has the best plan in the world. Micah Bell is ruining our family, Dutch. He's killing all of us, turning you against us and makin' you think we're out to get you when we love you!" Your lower lip wobbles and you bury your face in your hands for a moment, getting your composure back. "So you need to make a choice, Dutch. You either do it another way, or I'm gone."

He falls back on his haunches, eyes wide as he stares at you with an open mouth. "Y/N--"

You tear your eyes away from him, unable to look at him while simultaneously feeling your heart break. You take the rag that now lies forgotten and continue to clean yourself, trying your best not to wince when you brush over a particularly tender spot that smarts with pain. 

A large hand slowly and gently encompasses your own, halting your movements. You look up with stinging eyes, afraid of what you'll find. Dutch's hair is unkempt, his face paler than usual and bags under his eyes. He's exhausted. You're exhausted. Both mentally and physically. He looks the same. 

"I mean what I said, Y/N," he murmurs quietly, "I can't lose you." He squeezes his hand over your own, an intensity crawling into his chocolate brown eyes as he refuses to leave your gaze. "I didn't know that you were feeling like this."

"It's not just me, Dutch," you try not to let your voice wobble, but it still sounds shaky anyway, "it's our family. We don't like what's happening here. We don't feel safe. We just want a home."

"Home," he murmurs, and you know it's more to himself than to you. 

"Micah is not a part of my home." You solidify your voice, making sure to stress to him how serious you are about that statement. "I want the others, Dutch. I want Abigail and Susan and Tilly and John and Arthur. I don't want Micah. I don't want him with us and our family." You take his hand and lift it so you can press a delicate kiss to his knuckles. "Our family, Dutch. Blood or otherwise. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Dutch watches you with a lost expression, so to help you take his hand and dip it in the water, guiding it until it's resting lightly on your belly. His fingers tickle your skin but his touch is soft and gentle. His eyes widen as he finally understands the message you're trying to tell him. 

"I want a home. I want our family." You take a deep breath, tears once more brimming in your eyes. "And I don't want Micah there for it."

Dutch's face falls blank, and then he's pushing off his knees and standing to his feet. You think it's a rejection, him getting ready to leave you, your demands too high, and you want to cry. Tears slip down the side of your face and fall in the water to mix with the dirt and blood that's swirling around. 

But Dutch surprises you when he gently grasps your hands and pulls you up to your feet, helping to gingerly guide you out of the tub, taking care so you don't slip and fall. He takes one of the towels that are sitting over by the entrance of the tent and wraps it around you, guiding you over to your cot and urging you to sit down. You do so, keeping it held tightly around your shoulders as he then pulls out a pair of his long johns and a soft union shirt. He helps to dry you off before leading your limbs through the holes in the clothing, putting dry and clean clothes on you. 

"Dutch--" you ask in confusion, but he merely blows out the candle that's burning on the table and strips out of his own wet clothes, dressing himself once again in quick fashion before guiding you to lay down on the bed. He crawls in beside you, using his large hands to grasp your waist and tug you into his chest, one of them skimming up your back and cradling the base of your skull, asking you to rest your head in the crook of his neck. You do so without hesitation. 

"I'll always pick you," he presses a kiss to your forehead, and in the darkness of the tent you start to cry once again, a wave of relief as big as a tsunami washing over you at the realization that he's not picking Micah over you this time. "I'll make a new plan, Sweetheart, for us. For our future."

You grab handfuls of his shirt and tilt your head up, peppering kisses along his jaw and over to his lips where you give him a longer and more meaningful kiss. "Do you promise?"