#charlessmith

Charles Smith

Where Shadows Fall

AN: Hi!! so sorry for the late answer (it's been months ik I'm sorry) but its finally done!! :3 I know its pretty sucky, and kinda cringe, so ill rewrite it if anyone wants.

Pairing: Charles Smith x GN!Reader

WC: 1.1K

Tags: Major Character Death, RDR2 Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Might Be A Bit Cringe, No Pronouns Used, Will Add More If Requested

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The swamp was suffocatingly quiet, save for the distant croak of frogs and the soft crackle of the campfire. You sat close to the flames, staring into them as if they could offer answers to the questions that churned in your mind.

Charles sat nearby, silent but watchful. He hadn’t left your side since you fled Saint Denis. His quiet presence grounded you, but the whirlwind of emotions inside you refused to settle.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently, leaning forward on his elbows.

You shook your head, your throat tightening. “I… I can’t stop thinking about it. About him.”

Charles nodded, his expression solemn. “It’s going to haunt us for a long time. But sometimes, talking helps.”

The tears stung your eyes before you could stop them. Your hands clenched into fists as you tried to fight the memory threatening to drag you under. “He trusted Dutch,” you choked out. “He trusted him, and it got him killed.”

Charles’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. He didn’t interrupt, letting you unravel the words on your own terms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The streets of Saint Denis were alive with the deafening roar of chaos. Gunshots echoed off the buildings, and smoke filled the air as the gang’s supposedly “perfect” plan crumbled into disaster.

You clutched your revolver tightly, your father’s voice ringing in your ears as you crouched low behind a stack of crates outside the bank.

“Stick close to me,” Hosea had said before this all began. “No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together.”

You’d believed him. Hosea always had a plan, always found a way to keep you safe. But this time, the odds felt insurmountable.

“Keep your head down!” Arthur barked, firing a shot at a Pinkerton who dared step too close.

Your gaze darted toward the bank entrance, where Dutch stood, shouting orders with a wild look in his eyes. “Hold your ground! We’ll get out of this!”

But the desperation in his voice betrayed him.

“Pa!” you called, your voice cracking as you spotted Hosea further down the street. He was unarmed, standing calmly in front of a pair of Pinkertons with his hands raised.

“Wait! No!” You surged forward, but Charles grabbed your arm, holding you back.

“Don’t!” he hissed. “You’ll get yourself killed!”

You struggled against him, your heart hammering in your chest as you saw the exchange unfold. Hosea was speaking, his voice too low for you to hear over the din, but his posture was steady, composed. He was trying to reason with them, to buy you all time.

“Dutch,” you shouted, turning to the man who had led you into this nightmare. “Do something! They have him!”

Dutch’s face twisted into something unrecognizable—panic, fury, and something else you couldn’t name. He hesitated for a moment too long, and in that moment, the shot rang out.

You froze as Hosea’s body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

“NO!” The scream tore from your throat as you broke free of Charles’s grip, rushing toward your father.

The world blurred around you, the chaos dimming to a dull roar. You dropped to your knees beside Hosea, your trembling hands pressing against his chest as if you could hold the life in him.

“Pa, no, no, please…” Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your face as you cradled him.

Hosea’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting yours. He tried to speak, but his breath hitched, blood bubbling at his lips.

“You’ll be okay,” you whispered, the words a desperate plea. “We’ll get you out of here.”

His hand reached up, brushing against your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

“No,” you sobbed, shaking your head. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

His hand fell limp, his eyes staring past you into nothingness.

“No… no, no!” You shook him, screaming for him to come back, but he was gone.

“(Y/N), we have to go!” Charles’s voice cut through your despair as he pulled you to your feet.

You turned, your tear-streaked face contorted with rage as you looked at Dutch. “You did this!” you shouted. “You let him die!”

Dutch’s expression was unreadable, his gaze flickering between you and Hosea’s lifeless body. “There was nothing I could do,” he said, his voice hollow. “We’ll mourn him later, but we have to move now.”

His words hit you like a slap, your grief and fury boiling over. “You left him to die!”

“Enough!” Dutch snapped, his eyes flashing. “This isn’t the time for blame!”

Before you could respond, Charles dragged you back, his grip firm but gentle. “We have to go,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “He wouldn’t want you to die here.”

You didn’t have the strength to fight him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your breath hitched as the memory faded, leaving you trembling. Charles was still there, his hand resting on your shoulder, grounding you.

“He didn’t deserve that,” you whispered, your voice raw. “He deserved better.”

“He did,” Charles agreed quietly. “And you deserved to say goodbye properly.”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and unrelenting. “Dutch… he didn’t even care. He just left him there like he was nothing.”

Charles’s jaw tightened. “Dutch is losing himself. We all see it.”

You looked at him, your chest aching. “So why do we keep following him?”

Charles sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Because, for a long time, he gave us hope. But now… I don’t know.”

You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I don’t know how to keep going without him, Charles.”

Charles moved closer, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he said softly. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

You leaned into him, the warmth of his embrace cutting through the cold numbness that had settled in your chest.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you whispered after a moment. “Every time I close my eyes, I see him.”

Charles shifted, turning to face you fully. His hand moved to yours, his fingers brushing over your knuckles with a gentleness that sent warmth coursing through you. “Then let me be your compass,” he said softly. “Whatever happens, wherever this takes us—I’ll be there. You don’t have to face this alone.”

A fresh tear rolled down your cheek, but this time it wasn’t born of despair.

“You already are,” you murmured.

Charles’s lips curved into the faintest smile, the corners of his mouth softening. “Good,” he said quietly.

The fire burned low, and for the first time since Saint Denis, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—you could find a way forward.

Not for Dutch. Not even for the gang.