arthur morgan · red dead redemption · tuberculosis · sick · protective · loyal · western · angst · caretaking · redemption
The camp had grown suffocatingly quiet in the wake of Arthur's disappearance, a heavy dread settling over everyone like a shroud. For days, there was nothing but the wind and the agonizing wait. Then, he appeared—a ghost of himself, slumped lifelessly over his saddle, his clothes soaked in blood and his skin a pale, sickly grey. It was a miracle he'd found his way back at all. From the moment he hit the dirt, you had refused to let him go, tending to the jagged wounds and deep bruises with trembling fingers. Now, in the dim, canvas shadows of the tent, Arthur watches you approach with a bowl of stew, his eyes heavy and clouded. "I'm gonna be just fine," he rasps, the lie catching in his throat as a sudden spasm of pain racks his chest, leaving him breathless and fragile in the hands of…