#ch. 12

Everyone else is too focused on their own survival here at the frostbitten end of civilization. Colter, as someone recalls its name to be, is just as beat to hell as the entire camp feels. Its remaining walls provide shelter, but only just. The few threadbare blankets that made the journey aren’t enough to keep everyone warm, and the handful of cans of salted offal Pearson snagged for the journey are hardly food enough to keep everyone fed. The wagons are stuck until the spring melt begins, and it’s looking less and less like you’ll all make it ‘til then - already you’ve buried Jenny and Davey. You swear you won’t bury John, too, much less mourn an empty, snowbound grave, so on the second day you give in to your restlessness.

“I’m goin’ out looking,” you tell Abigail with a grim shake of your head. “He’s run off before, but… not like this.” 

“Thank you, Ghost,” she clasps your hands, and you hesitate only a heartbeat before squeezing back. “I’m— I knew you would understand.”

“Sure,” you try to offer a reassuring smile before heading out to tack your new mount.

Moonshine was Davey’s stud. He’s a stunning blue roan color with a powerful, compact build. He’s always been tough to handle, as wild and savage as his rider, but since Davey passed he’s been especially mean. That’s how you landed him; out of everyone in the gang, you’ve got the keenest horse sense. Already he’s bitten Charles in the short time he’s spent tending the mounts while his hand heals. Ever since, you’re the only one allowed to handle him. And still he’s a menace.

True to form, he pins his ears when you approach with the saddle and lifts a hind leg in warning. 

“Enough of that,” you chastise. 

“Sure that’s enough horse for you?” Arthur’s voice sounds from behind. 

You turn to face him and raise a brow when you see he’s got his own tack at the ready. The big painted bay he took from the Adler’s barn snorts softly. 

He shakes his head. “I still say Marston’s run off again, but Abigail asked me ‘n Javier to come with.” 

“Hosea’s worried, too,” Javier chimes in. He flashes an encouraging smile over Boaz’s back that offsets the sour look on Arthur’s face. 

You mount up and tilt your head towards the wilderness. “Let’s ride, then.”

—

Javier picks up the trail first, a set of hoofprints just past the stream that heads up further into the mountains. There’s an abandoned camp there still smoking, only a few hours old by Arthur’s reckoning. The embers in the fire have gone cold with the freeze, but you allow them to light a spark of hope in your chest all the same. 

John is alive out here somewhere. He has to be. 

The going is slow through snowdrifts and steep inclines, but the horses take on the challenge gamely - except Moonshine, who squeals and kicks out when Arthur rides up too close behind you. A quick spur forward redirects the stallion’s outburst. He prances and arches his neck before settling once more, and you pat his neck with murmured praise. 

“Jesus, that thing’s mean,” Arthur says.

“So is Ghost,” Javier teases. His eyes glint with mischief when he looks back at you, and you scoff a tired laugh. 

“So was Davey,” you say. “Still hard to believe that bastard’s gone. Everything happened so fast.”

“What did happen?” Arthur presses. 

You glance up at Javier, who lets out a breath. “We had the money, everything seemed fine, then suddenly they were everywhere.”

“Bounty hunters?”

You shake your head and grimace. “Pinkertons.”

“It was crazy,” Javier says. “Raining bullets.” 

As you climb the winding mountain path he explains how Dutch killed a hostage - a young girl, he says, in a bad way. You think about the blood on Dutch’s face as he dragged John to shore. The cold look there. Determination, not regret. You think about the feeling of a body going limp in your arms so many years ago. The eardrum that still doesn’t hear as well bursting with her head at the gunshot. The guilt you waited to feel that never came. 

“Bad business,” Arthur says with a weary sigh. 

You stay silent, staring past the falling snow. Bad business, alright. 

There’s little time to dwell on it as the storm picks up. Javier leads everyone higher and higher into these cursed mountains. A wolf cries in the distance. The sound rakes a chill down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold. As snow starts coming down thicker you urge the horses to pick up the pace. In weather like this it won’t take much to lose the trail. You brace against the wind, tugging your coat closer around your shoulders. It does little to keep the biting cold at bay, but it’s better than nothing. This high up the wind is even worse, and the path only gets narrower.

Soon the horses begin to flag. You pat Moonshine’s neck and the palm of your glove comes away damp. He’s steaming with exertion. It won’t take much for him or the others to catch cold this way. 

“Tough going,” you say. Your voice is laced with the worry you’re trying so hard to keep in check. 

“Lots of fresh snow,” Javier agrees. “I don’t see the tracks anymore.”

“We can’t follow nothin’,” Arthur says, and your hackles raise. He and John haven’t gotten along for years, but his reluctance still rankles. 

You turn in your saddle and open your mouth to snap at him when Javier makes the decision for you all that it’s worth pushing just a bit more. The trail could pick up again. John could be close. 

Arthur sighs, but without another word you dig in for the climb. 

A dark shape in the snow not too far ahead has your heart in your throat. When you canter up to it, vultures take off. You’re about to send up a prayer that it isn’t John when you realize it’s not a person at all, but a horse.

Dead in the snow. 

“Missy,” you say, but they both know. 

John’s faithful red mare lies frozen, petrified with death and cold. Something other than vultures has started to eat her as well, belly ripped open and guts strewn. The snow around her is stained red. You turn away with a sigh. 

“Oh… that’s…” Arthur trails off. You pointedly ignore his glance towards you, laden with sympathy. 

“John could be close,” Javier reasons, and raises his pistol above his head to fire off a single shot. 

The sound cracks and echoes off snowy peaks. You swear you stop breathing when you hear a faint cry for help from a scratchy voice you know better than your own.

“Hey! Help! Here!”

You canter a little further up the path, but all too soon it narrows enough that taking the horses further isn’t an option. The three of you dismount and ground tie your mounts before continuing the journey on foot. 

Arthur clutches his shotgun a little tighter as you climb. Your rifle is thrown over your shoulder, just in case, and even Javier loosens his revolver in its holster. Anything could be waiting for you; these mountains are not made for kindness. 

Crouching beneath stone and scrambling up rock shelves you make your way towards the sound of John’s desperate pleas. He seems scared. A stab of fear pierces your own heart for him. 

A narrow walled pass allows brief respite from the wind, and you all pause for a moment to breathe. Javier passes his flask around, and you let the whiskey sting warmth into you as it goes down. When you emerge on the other side the storm seems even worse. 

“John!” you shout over the wind. “Hold on, we’re almost there!” 

“I’m here! Out on the ledge!” he calls back. His voice sounds closer than ever, hoarse and desperate but alive.

“There,” Javier points, then raises his voice for John’s benefit. “We’re coming!”

You sprint through snowdrifts to the edge of the dropoff. 

“I’m here!”

When you reach the ledge and look down to see him you curse under your breath. He looks… bad. Some predator got to him - wolves, if you know anything. Tore up his leg and made a mess of his face. The entire right side has been slashed through, nose, cheek, and mouth. He’s lost plenty of blood. The remaining skin is red and inflamed, like it’s infected already. He’s lucky it didn’t catch his eye. He’s lucky to be alive.

“Jesus, John,” you finally say, because you can’t think of anything else. “They chew you up and spit you out? Can’t taste that bad.”

“Nice to see you too, Ghost.” He tries to smile but only winces in pain. The relief in his voice could make you cry. 

 “That’s quite a scratch you got there,” Arthur observes when he catches up only a moment later.

Despite his heckling he’s quick to jump down and hoist John up to you. Javier helps pull him upright and he sags between the both of you. 

“Never thought I’d say this, but… it’s good to see you, Arthur Morgan.” 

You want to squeeze tight and never let him go, but he’s hurt, and even moving him from leaning on your shoulders to thrown over Arthur’s is enough to make him groan. 

“You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel too good neither.”

“Hang in there, compadre.”

It isn’t a long trek back to the horses, but it certainly feels that way. You have to keep reminding yourself not to hover. All that pent up worry and fear has nowhere to go now that John is safe with you. Maybe a good cry later will get it out of your system, but for you just have to worry about making it back to camp.

Javier notices your hypervigilance and offers a smile. “Tranquilo, my friend. Not much farther now.”

You try to smile back at him, but your expression drops when you spy movement over his shoulder. Wolves. On the ridge ahead. Three of them. Their coats are mangy and they look thin, which scares you a hell of a lot more than it would otherwise; they must be as desperate as you are. A bone-chilling howl looses from the throat of their leader when its yellow eyes meet yours.

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck. Goddamnit. Arthur, you and Javier get John to the horses.”

“No,” he puts John down and shoves him into your arms. “You take him. I’ll hold them off.”

You have no choice but to nod your thanks and hobble as quick as you can to where the horses stand spooking. Moonshine’s eyes roll back at the wolves as they stalk toward Arthur, growling. He dances in place, but stands still long enough for Javier to help you hoist John behind your saddle, even when Arthur starts shooting. Two gunshots ring crisp and clear, and you wait for the third but hear a cry of pain instead. You whip your head over to Arthur and see one of the wolves has him by the forearm. Without thinking, you grab your rifle from your back and take aim. On the exhale you squeeze the trigger, and with a yelp the wolf falls to the ground.

Arthur looks up at you, eyes wide with shock and thanks, before running to meet you and scramble onto his horse.

“Nice shot,” he pants.

“Any time,” you tip your hat. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

You spur the horses down the mountain and don’t look back.

—

Apart from the initial excitement, it’s a quiet ride into camp. John is in rough shape, but his grip at your waist never falters. It takes three people to get him off the horse once you make it back, and even with the extra hands they catch his bad leg at an awkward angle. You flinch when he cries out. 

“Careful, idiotas!” Javier scolds.

Hosea steps out to thank the three of you for a successful rescue, but you don’t stay to talk. Arthur can handle that. Instead you linger in the doorway, watching Abigail fret over John. Besides dressing his wounds he needs to get warm, so you pull yourself out of your stupor enough to close the door. Just before you turn away he catches your eye and mouths a thank you. You manage a sad smile and leave them be. 

For the rest of the day you make yourself scarce, cooling the horses out and chopping firewood and even lending Pearson a hand with the stew. Only once night has fallen and everyone else is long asleep do you allow yourself to sneak back into the cabin to see John.

It’s easier than you’d feared to tiptoe around everyone’s sleeping forms and into the empty chair at his bedside. The hard part is ignoring the pang of guilt that comes when you spy Abigail’s beautiful, moonlit face asleep without that pinch of worry between her brows you’re so accustomed to seeing. Jack is snuggled in just as peaceful at her side. A family. John’s family.

But when you reach him, everything else fades away.

They did a good job cleaning him up, given the circumstances. Thick strips of cloth bandage wrap half of his face, even the eye. The other half has been sponged clean so the blood and grime is no longer caked frozen on his skin. His hair is still unwashed and limp, but no longer matted to his face. They even wrangled him out of his shredded clothes and into some of the few spares lying around. 

He’s dead asleep. The exhaustion must have finally hit once the adrenaline and fear faded away. You settle into the chair at his bedside and just watch him sleep. Each steady rise and fall of his chest reassures you that he’s alive. That he’ll stay that way.

Before you realize what’s happening tears begin to wet your cheeks. You sniffle quietly to muffle the sound but can’t stop. He could have died up there. All alone on that mountaintop with only the snarl of wolves and the snap of their teeth to send him to the other side. This life you lead is dangerous, always, but you haven’t had to look mortality in the face in a long time. It stares at you with an open maw and hungry yellow eyes through John’s torn flesh, and you shudder in spite of the fire. 

It should make you want to confess. To lay your heart out and speak the love that’s laden your tongue for years uncounting - before it’s too late. But when you glance over at Abigail you can’t bring yourself to say a word. Instead you grasp John’s hands as gently as you can and raise them to your chapped lips.

You press a soft kiss there where your hands are joined and smile down on him past the heartbreak. When you go to leave he closes his fingers around your wrists. You stop dead in your tracks.

“Knew you’d come for me,” he rasps. His unbandaged eye opens blearily and shines up at you. You squeeze his hands back. 

“Of course,” you say. Whether he means the mountain or this room tonight, it doesn’t matter. The answer is the same. “Always.” 

            “I’m fine.” Fox manages with the same amount of defiance as he usually has. Cody decides to drop it. They can’t do anything about it right now anyway. Fox glances up at one of their destroyed AT-ET’s. A few clones have climbed inside to use it as a vantage point. Thire’s in there somewhere. Every now and then in the corner of his eye, he’ll see a clone drop. Fox and Cody look to each other. Both reach out, putting a hand on the other’s shoulder, squeezing it before taking their blasters in hand and preparing to get back to the battle.

            At least until they hear footsteps charging from behind. Before they can turn and react, Neyo calls out, “Coming through!”

            He places a foot on Fox’s right shoulder while pressing down on Cody’s helmet to boost him up onto the debris that they use as cover.

            “Neyo!” they both yell in unison. Neyo stands on the debris holding a rocket launcher.

            “Who gave him that?” Fox rubs his shoulder while Cody readjusts his helmet and stretches his neck side to side. Neyo gives a gleeful little laugh before firing the rocket at a horde of droids coming their way. Droid bits explode in all directions in a cloud of fumes and dust. Neyo gives a maniacal laugh before Cody and Fox each grab one of his arms and yanks him down to their level. He lands on his back staring at the sky just as another canon fires on their position. Dirt and rock rains over them, hitting their armor with little clinks.

            “Do you want to explode again?” Cody shouts over the battle. Neyo tilts his head considering it.

            “That wasn’t a literal question you moron!” Fox kicks his side in frustration. They would have continued shouting if weren’t for a loud explosion coming from behind the droid army. The three troopers stare at the black smoke rising in the city.

            Neyo sits up, crossing his legs as he stares, “They did it.”

            Rex. Cody grips his blaster. Please still be alive.

            “Troopers,” the sudden voice in his ears makes Cody jump. It takes a second to remind himself it’s his communicator. General Kenobi goes on, “Regroup at my location.”

            They start to head back to the main control hub set up just behind the front lines when Fox stops and stares up at the AT-TE where Thire still is.

            “Thire, we’re regrouping,” he repeats the orders when Thire doesn’t appear from the wreckage. They wait, ears straining over the coms for Thire’s voice. An image of the tower back on Kamino flashes behind Cody’s eyes. The blood stain where Thire had been standing.

            Finally, Thire’s voice comes over the coms, “Go ahead without me. I don’t think I can get away just this second.”

            Fox looks like he’s about to argue with him but stops when Cody pats his shoulder. He doesn’t have to say what they already know. Thire can handle himself. Fox reluctantly follows Cody and Neyo back to General Kenobi.

            They hop over the small wall to the control hub. General Kenobi stands behind some troopers with arms crossed and brown Jedi robe flowing in the wind. Cody’s foot snags on the wall as he steps over it making him stumble to the other side catching the General’s attention. He’s suddenly grateful for his helmet as a new type of heat spreads across his face.

            “Glad you made it. Where’s the fourth?” he arches a brow at them.

            “He’s taken a sniper position in a wrecked AT-ET and couldn’t get away. He’ll be here when he can.” Fox explains through heavy breaths. The sun beats down on Fox and Cody. Cody blinks away the spots in his vision and tries not to draw anymore attention to himself. Neyo sits on the wall staring between the two of them. He hops off and strolls over to them and with one fluid motion pulls both Cody and Fox’s helmets off, exposing their faces to the General. General Kenobi’s eyebrows rise as a little smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. Cody and Fox are both horrified by this.

            “Sorry sir, it seems their cooling systems are down. I’ll patch it for them.” Neyo explains with more professionalism than Cody thought him possible.  

            “Very good trooper.” General Kenobi nods still holding his smirk. Cody and Fox stand to the side feeling naked. The other troopers give a few chuckles and laughs their way but otherwise stay focused on the battle. Fox and Cody decide to slump against the walls surrounding the control hub while waiting for Neyo fix their helmets. An explosion comes from close by sending a cloud to wash over them. It hits the back of Cody’s throat making him fall into a coughing fit. Fox does the same though he tries to hide it.

            “How does he stand not having a helmet?” Fox stifles a cough while looking at the General. Cody shrugs. So far, nothing seems to bother the General. He stays cool and collected even in the most dire situation. Cody feels the heat from before growing hotter on his face.

            Fox’s head turns towards Cody before gently reaching up and pulling at one of Cody’s ears while saying, “Your ears are turning pink.”

            Cody instinctively covers his ears with his hands. Two troopers at the control desk struggle to hold in laughter only making Cody’s face burn brighter. He awkwardly clears his throat and turns his attention to Neyo, “Are you almost done?”

Neyo hums a little tune while continuing to tinker with their helmets and says nothing. Cody rolls his eyes and pulls his knees up so he can rest his arms on them. He carefully glances at Fox who has thankfully lost interest in teasing Cody and now fans his face with his hand. His hair is matted and dripping with sweat. He looks older than he had before leaving Kamino. Cody rubs the back of his neck discovering a layer of dirt that’s quickly turning to a thin coat of mud thanks to his sweat. He assumes he must look the same.  

            When Neyo is finished, he tosses them their helmets and says, “There, now maybe you two won’t be panting so hard into your coms every time you have to move. It was getting annoying.”

            “Oh, and here I thought you fixed them out of the goodness of your heart.” Cody smirks while gladly pulling the helmet on. A refreshing burst of coolness rushes over his body making him shiver. He lets his head rest against the wall enjoying the relief from the heat. Neyo gives a snort and mumbles something that Cody doesn’t catch.

They’re silent after that, waiting for the General’s next set of orders. That is until Thire’s voice comes over the coms, “General! We got a problem.”

They’re on their feet in an instant and moving with the General to look out towards Thire’s position.

“There’s a—” he’s cut off by blaster fire. Cody holds his breath. The familiar sound of blaster bolts hitting armor rings in his ears.

“Thire!” Fox shouts into the coms. Once again, they wait for their brother to come over the comes. When a gasp breaks the silence, they all give a collective sigh of relief.

“I’m—I’m alright. My armor actually held.” Thire laughs shakily.

“Get back here at once trooper. That’s an order.” The General says into his com. Thire doesn’t argue and starts for their position. They continue to look out towards the battle where a giant cloud obstructs their view. Cody struggles to get his visor to work and eventually gives up, not wanting to screw his vision up completely. The General stares through a pair of macrobinoculars as the rest wait in anticipation.

Within the dense cloud come sounds of metal scraping metal amongst the constant canon fire followed by screams. A chill runs up his spine and not because of his newly fixed cooling system. He squints when rows of black dots form in the smoke before a fleet of droids atop speeders break through. He frown’s when he realizes that they aren’t holding blasters but long javelins. He’s never seen anything like this before. They watch, expecting the troopers on the ground to easily take them out only for the droids to cut them down with relative ease. It’s not until they reach the canons—slicing through their sides like butter—does the gravity of the situation set in.

“They’re destroying our canons with sticks.” Fox snarls with hands ball into fists. Cody sets his jaw.

Thire emerges hopping over the wall to their side. His white armor has black blaster residue but no sign of any real damage. He says, “That’s what I was trying to tell you. They came out of nowhere and just decimated the front lines. The one leading the droids is different. I’ve never seen anything like it.”   

The senior troopers go over possible battle plans while General Kenobi strokes his beard, deep in thought. Fox frets over Thire like a mother tip-yip while Thire struggles to reassure his brother that he’s fine. Cody lets out a deep breath and tries to collect his thoughts. This fails entirely when he realizes that Neyo is missing. He tries not to make it obvious but a small part of him is screaming inside. Neyo missing is different than if Thire or Fox is missing. Neyo missing means trouble for both troopers and droids.

“What is he doing?” Fox stares down the bank as he and Thire freeze. Cody follows their gaze to find Neyo bounding towards them, arms full of the javelins from the few droids the army was able to take out. He hops over the wall forcing all attention to be on him.

“General, I have an idea!” he announces, arms still full of javelins. Cody knows they’re doomed when the General smiles.

“Mount up!” is the last thing said after Neyo explains his bright idea.

Now, Fox, Cody, and Thire stand next to their assigned speeders all emanating a cloud of dread.

“Yeah, no—don’t worry everyone! The cavalry has arrived but with sticks!” Fox growls down at the javelin in his hands. Cody grumbles some choice words under his breath while mounting his bike. Neyo sits on his speeder next to Cody practically exuding excitement.

“I suppose things could be worse,” Thire mumbles next to Fox, “I don’t know how but they could.”

Cody gives a remorseful ugh and prepares himself for the most asinine plan he’s ever heard.