I. Rest For The Restless

If Annie squinted hard, real hard, with one eye closed and her whole face screwed up, she could see the North Star.

And oh, was it beautiful. It saddened her to have to keep it behind her, but if she followed the North Star, she'd run right into those lawmen that took Jeremiah. No, she had to push onwards. South, southwest, to any town that would take her.

Her daddy never taught her how to find the North Star. No, it had been that terrible Reverend Yates. She remembered it well— he'd taken her on a walk around his property, away from Jeremiah, and talked to her about God and family and a lady's place.

"Young ladies ain't supposed to be so obstinate, Miss Annie," he'd said. "It's not right. Your behavior at supper tonight was inexcusable."

"Maybe I don't want to be right," Annie shot back. "Maybe I like bein' me, right or wrong."

Reverend Yates chuckled softly. "Now, I understand that this is the time in a girl's life where she's one to question everything, but—"

"I ain't questioning anything."

"It's rude to interrupt, Miss Annie."

"It's just as rude to make snide comments like that, Reverend."

He'd stiffened then, balled his fists up real tight, but that was it. Almost immediately, he put his mask on— that easygoing smile that won over so many churchgoers on Sunday mornings and made her skin crawl.

"You see that, Annie?" He'd asked, pointing into the night sky. "That there's the North Star. Follow it for a few dozen miles and take a right, and you'll be home."

Annie had clung to each word like it was a lifeline. It became her inner monologue during trying times in the Yates household: home is just a few dozen miles away. When the Reverend got too preachy or Jane started yelling, she'd remind herself that it wouldn't take too long to make it back to her little bedroom in that little house on the outskirts of the next town over.

But now she couldn't go back. The North Star had to stay behind her, or she'd hang.

She'd begun travelling by night for that very reason. Lawmen were much more reluctant to catch a teenage criminal when they had to leave their wives and children to go on a nighttime manhunt. She'd tried caking her hair in mud during the days, just to hide the insufferable redness, but mud was a hard thing to come by in the early summer months. So the dark had become her best friend, even though it used to frighten her something awful as a child.

The sun began to rise as Annie walked. She glanced over her shoulder, where the North Star faded into the pinkish-orange hues of the morning, and sighed. It was getting on bedtime, anyway.

There was a little town up ahead. A cattle town, by the looks of the great big pens built all about the place. She wandered through them, smiling at the steers as they awoke with the dawn.

A sheep bleated at her from its pen. She stepped closer, skimming her hands over the top of its woolly back. Still, she didn't want to linger. She'd grown up in a cattle town herself, and she knew just how early some folks woke.

This was how it had to be. Soon enough, the lawmen would come by, and she didn't want to be seen when they did. Even walking past the sheriff's office made her gut churn.

The man behind the counter at the general store looked sweet. He had dark hair and wore little round glasses, and when he smiled to greet her, Annie saw that he had a chipped tooth.

"Good mornin', miss," he said. The chipped tooth even gave him a little lisp. "Have a look around, see what you..."

He trailed off at the sight of her. Annie tried to smile, though it looked more like a grimace. She knew she didn't look too good, what with her tangled hair and tattered clothes. Every inch of her must have been soiled with dust and grime, and she'd recently noticed dark purple circles under her eyes and new shadows on her face. The poor man must've thought a ghost had walked into his store.

She nodded in reply and began to meander through the store. Everything she saw made her empty stomach growl. Fresh fruits, bread and cheese, even a bar of chocolate...

"Hav— um, having any trouble?" The shopkeep asked. "There's a catalogue up here if you'd like to look through..."

Annie's fingers stilled over a loaf of bread. She glanced at the shopkeep, then said, "No, thank you."

Even when she turned her back, she could feel his eyes on her. She took the loaf of bread, then picked up a hunk of cheese. She even managed to break off a chunk of a chocolate bar as she dawdled by the display table.

If she'd been a bit older, she might have been able to swipe one of the bottles of bourbon on the walls, too. But no— her shapeless clothes and emaciated frame made her look closer to twelve than twenty. Maybe, once she got some good food into her, her body would fill out again.

"Miss?" The shopkeep cleared his throat. "Are you, um... Are you finished?"

"Why, yes," Annie said, and broke into a smile. "This'll do just fine. Thank you, sir."

And then she bolted out the door. She clutched the loaf of bread to her chest, taking large, bounding steps the second her feet touched the dirt road. Only a handful of folks were out so early, and she skirted around them as she sprinted towards the vast, wide nothing that laid beyond the town.

She did feel a twinge of regret when she heard the shopkeep blubbering in the street. But, she told herself, it served him right for being so naive.

She could never return to that town. Not for a good long while, at least. She needed to make for the West, the famed place where the lawmen stopped roaming. Now it wasn't the North Star to her back, but the sun, beating down on her as it rose higher in the sky.

Only when her shins ached and her breathing got wheezy did Annie stop running. She skidded down the side of a mesa, grateful to rest in the shade it provided. When she'd caught her breath, she sat a little straighter and began to take inventory.

The bread had survived, as had the cheese. But the hunk of chocolate she'd stolen had melted all over her hand in her hasty escape. She licked it off her fingers anyway.

Chocolate. She hadn't had chocolate in... Well, it had to have been years. Jeremiah's fifteenth birthday, wasn't it? Making her not yet eleven. Her mother had made them chocolate custard as a special treat that day, and she'd dreamed of it all through her lessons.

Thoughts of Jeremiah and her family only put a deep ache in her chest. West, she told herself. She had to keep moving West.

Annie forced herself to her feet and sighed. She couldn't walk for too much longer, or she'd surely be spotted. That, and her bones were beginning to ache from walking all night. But as she pushed on, she ripped a chunk off of the end of the loaf and nibbled on it to pass the time.

The horizon seemed to go on forever and ever. Except it didn't. Annie had just broken off a piece of cheese to go with her bread when the ground dropped out from beneath her.

Falling. She was falling, for a moment, except it wasn't a dignified type of fall. No, it was the sort where she went head-over-heels, banged up every side of her, and didn't get up when she finally stopped moving. Because that was exactly what happened.

Laying on the ground, with every bone in her body smarting, Annie began to cry. She rolled onto her side, staring at the bottom of the rock formation she'd just fallen off of, and let hot tears fall freely down her cheeks until they created a little puddle beneath her.

More than anything, she wanted to be home. But not now. Not after what had happened. No, she wanted to be in the home of her childhood, with her Ma and Pa and Jeremiah all together again. Back when she used to catch critters and beg her Pa to let her keep them as pets, or when she and Jeremiah would skip their prayers at night and wish on stars instead.

Annie didn't remember falling asleep. She closed her eyes for only a moment, and opened them again at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder.

She sat bolt upright, scrabbling away from the touch until her back hit the hard, craggy wall behind her. Before she'd even focused on the figure in front of her, she'd lobbed a rock at it. The rock glanced off of its shoulder, and the figure grunted.

"We are not trying to hurt you, little lady," he said.

He. It was a man that stood in front of her, with sleek black hair and a clean-shaven face. Annie reached for another rock anyway, eyes flickering to the wagon behind the man.

"Get back!" She shouted. "Don't come near me!"

He could be a lawman. That wagon could be used to cart her off to the gallows. She ran her thumb along the ridge of the rock in her hand, prepared to launch it and run.

Another man stepped closer to her. This one had hair so blond it was nearly white, but he didn't look much older than the first man.

"You had us worried there," he said. His tone was softer, kinder. "We thought you were dead."

That gave Annie pause. She didn't lower her rock, but she blinked hard, focusing on the men in front of her again. No, these weren't lawmen. And their wagon wasn't the type to carry prisoners. The folks sitting in the back were only some ladies, who were now peering at her with curious eyes.

Shame welled up in her. These folks were merely some travelers, passing by on the road that wound through these parts. She'd been unconscious at the bottom of a ditch. Any good person would have stopped to check if she was alright, wouldn't they? And what had these nice men gotten for their kindness, other than a rock thrown at their heads?

Finally, she dropped the rock in her hand and mumbled, "I just fell."

"That was some fall, then," the blond man said, glancing at the top of the mesa behind her. "Are you hurt?"

Annie shook her head. Other than a gnawing pit of hunger in her stomach, she didn't feel very much pain.

"Do you have family around these parts?"

Another shake of the head. Lawmen or not, these people wouldn't hear a word from her. She didn't need them matching her face to the ones on the wanted posters hung up in every town she'd visited in the last three weeks.

The blond man nodded. "Do you have a name?"

"I do," she replied. "But I won't tell you."

The dark-haired man scoffed. The blond man straightened and turned to him, and they began to talk in soft voices. Annie contemplated making a run for it, but she knew better than to double-cross someone before she got anything out of them. Instead, she watched the two men intently.

The dark-haired man was getting visibly frustrated, and she could sense his goodwill slipping through her fingers. The blond man must have given him a look, because he raised his hands and said, "Now, Hosea—"

"My name's Catherine," she blurted out. "My Pa lives back East."

That drew their attention. The dark-haired man raised a brow and said, "And what are you doing so far away from home?"

"I ran away," she said. "He wouldn't let me marry the man I loved. Beat me somethin' awful for even suggesting it."

The two men exchanged a glance. Annie could see the beginnings of a smile pulling at the blond man's lips— Hosea, she figured his name was— and relief surged through her. She'd swindled plenty of folks before. Maybe she could con him out of a few dollars, too. Or, better yet, a meal.

"You look awfully young to be gettin' married," he said.

"I'm eighteen," she replied hastily. "I just don't look it. Haven't been eating right."

The dark-haired man laughed softly and bent down again. "Is there a real name we can call you by, little lady?"

Annie could feel her face burning. She looked between the two men, her brow furrowed. If they knew she wasn't who she said she was, why weren't they suspicious of her? Any sensible person would have already been on their way to the nearest sheriff's office.

Finally, it clicked. "You folks got the law after you, too?"

Both men grinned at her. She felt a smile creeping up on her, as much as she tried to hide it. She'd run into real criminals, like herself. And they were awfully nice criminals, too. She found it hard to feel uneasy around them when they showed her kindness.

"You got room on that wagon?" She asked, glancing over their shoulder. "I'm small. Won't take up much space."

That prompted another conversation between the men. But it was shorter, and she caught bits and pieces of it. Something about camp and space and whatnot.

Finally, Hosea turned and called out, "Hey, Arthur. Make some room on the wagon, would you?"

Annie craned her neck and caught a glimpse of a boy in the back of the wagon. He got up, rubbing the back of his neck, and began to heft a burlap sack over his shoulder. And if he felt her eyes on him, he sure didn't show it.

The dark-haired man helped her to her feet. But before he let go of her hand, he said, "You never told us your name."

She broke into a grin. "It's Annie."

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The dark-haired man's name, Annie learned, was Dutch Van der Linde— a name far too classy for the sort of life he lived, in her opinion. But he gave her a smile and a boost onto the wagon, and that made him alright in her books.

The ladies in the back nearly died at the sight of her. There were two— Bessie and Miss Grimshaw. She spent nearly half an hour letting them remark on the state of her, smiling to herself. They reminded her a bit of her Ma, what with the way they fussed over her ratty clothes and thin frame.

Arthur didn't talk much. He spent most of the ride sleeping, his hat tipped low over his face. Rather, he was pretending to be asleep— Annie saw how he kept stroking the fur on the dog in his lap. But soon enough, she drifted off for real.

She awoke in the mid-afternoon to Bessie shaking her shoulder. The wagon had stopped, and she sleepily took Hosea's hand as he helped her off the wagon. He helped Bessie down next, and Annie broke into a grin when she rewarded him with a kiss.

They'd stopped beneath a ledge. This flat, empty land didn't do much for those trying to remain unseen, but the cliffside provided some shelter. And, as Dutch reminded them all, it was only for the night.

They were all a bit wary of her, she knew. She'd heard the adults talking as she wolfed down the jackrabbit meat they'd cooked over their small campfire, courtesy of Hosea's sharp eye and quick trigger finger. They kept looking at her, too. It seemed that nobody quite knew what to make of her yet.

The boy, Arthur, kept his distance from everyone. He sat with the dog, took a journal out of his satchel, and spent the evening either writing in it or playing with his food.

Annie slept on the ground, as she had so many times before. But she went to sleep with a full belly, covered by a blanket Miss Grimshaw had draped over her, and she thought that it had been the best night of sleep she'd gotten in weeks.

When morning came, they loaded onto the wagon again. Except Hosea sat in the back, and Dutch allowed her to slide into the seat beside him.

"Where are we headed?" She asked, looking out at the flat land before them.

"East," Dutch answered. "We are going to head east, and we are going to really make something of ourselves—"

"East?" She shook her head, eyes wide. "I can't go east!"

The land around them seemed emptier than before. Annie realized then that it was because all chatter in the back of the wagon had stopped. She felt four new pairs of eyes on her, though she didn't dare turn to look at anyone.

The East was a terrible place now. It was the land where there was a price on her head, and no home to welcome her, and dozens of lawmen with their eyes peeled for a little redheaded girl. She couldn't go back east, not for anything.

"Dutch, please, I—" She broke off, her voice cracking. "I'll hang there."

"Guess we never did ask you why you were on the run," Hosea piped up.

Annie turned back to look at him, and he offered her an easy smile. She couldn't find it in her to smile back. And frankly, if she tried to smile, she guessed that she'd only break down in tears.

But they were still looking at her, and she realized then that they wanted an answer.

"My brother wanted us to be an outlaw pair," she mumbled. "I got real sick of always bein' the lookout, so I... I fudged a robbery. He got out alright, but they caught him, and now I'm wanted, too. He must've sold me out."

She figured the best thing she could do was to own up to her crimes. There wasn't a soul that thought she was innocent, anyway. And if she was already traveling with a gang of criminals, why wouldn't she tell them what she'd done?

But she'd said it herself— she wasn't trustworthy. Maybe she hadn't said it so openly, but she'd told them all how she betrayed her own brother. Would they even want her around after that?

"It sounds real bad, I know," she added. "And I... Well, I suppose I understand if you ditch me in the next town over."

Silence. Finally, Dutch reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. He leaned in real close, gave her a long look, and said, "Nobody in this gang hangs on my watch."

The sincerity in his tone was almost palpable. Annie nodded, feeling like a weight had been lifted off of her heart. Nobody in this gang hangs on my watch. She was part of the gang now!

With the widest smile on her lips, she twisted around in her seat to speak to everyone in the back of the wagon, and listen to the stories Hosea regaled them with.

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They carried on that way for days. Every sunrise, they traveled across the flat, barren land that stretched on for miles and miles. Annie noticed that they had begun to inch north, rather than east, and it put her worries to rest.

At long last, they settled on the outskirts of some town. Dutch sent Hosea and Arthur to scout out the place, but the moment Annie's feet touched solid ground again, Miss Grimshaw had herded her to the river that wound past their camp.

"It's about time we scrubbed you down!" She exclaimed. "You're filthy!"

Annie groaned. "Aw, Miss Grimshaw, I ain't that bad—"

Miss Grimshaw only pointed to the water. "Get!"

With a long sigh, she began to trudge down to the water. Despite her efforts, Miss Grimshaw seemed impervious to the glares she threw her way. She ducked herself under the water at light speed and came up gasping for breath, goosebumps erupting all over her body.

"Well, all that wasn't necessary," Miss Grimshaw remarked.

"You sure made it seem necessary," Annie grumbled.

Still, she knew how to wash up properly. Her Ma never would've let her be anything less than pristine back home... Though she never seemed to stay pristine.

While she bathed, Miss Grimshaw sat nearby and talked. And Annie found that she didn't mind so much. Miss Grimshaw was beautiful, witty, and she had a temper not too different from Annie's own. It was no wonder Dutch kept her around.

When she'd gotten out of the river, trembling from the cold, she made for the wagon. Her clothes were sticking to her wet skin, and she wanted to do nothing more than bury herself in a cocoon of blankets until morning.

"And where are you going?" Miss Grimshaw called.

Annie caught sight of the comb in her hands and let out a groan. She'd always hated brushing her hair— it grew all tangled and knotted far too easily. And it became an ordeal with her Ma, who used to snap at her and say that she was lucky her hair wasn't as curly as her own.

But Miss Grimshaw didn't budge, so Annie sat herself down and let her have at it. With each snag of the comb in her hair, she whined and declared that she was being tortured until Miss Grimshaw told her to hush.

At long last, the combing stopped. Annie ran a tentative hand through her hair, then glanced over her shoulder. Her hair was smoother than it had ever been before.

"Thank you," she mumbled, and looked out at the river again.

Miss Grimshaw touched her shoulder and said, "Is something the matter?"

She stayed quiet. Mostly because she hadn't realized that anyone would notice if she wasn't quite herself. But someone had noticed, and something was the matter. If only she knew how to put her jumbled-up feelings into words.

"Will you cut my hair, Miss Grimshaw?" She finally asked. "I... I wanna forget it all."

Miss Grimshaw didn't say anything. Annie didn't turn around, but she felt her shift, heard the rustling of skirts. A moment later, Miss Grimshaw returned, and she heard the snipping of shears.

"How short do you want it, dear?" She asked.

Annie thought for a moment. She could go real short, almost boyish, and be unrecognizable. Not just to the law, but to anyone who'd ever known her before she was a wanted woman. But, for some reason, that didn't appeal to her much.

"Short," she finally said. "But not too short. Maybe... Just to my chin."

When Miss Grimshaw had finally cut away all that hair, Annie felt lighter than a feather. She stood up, laughed at the pile of hair on the ground, and dashed over to the wagon, hoping to find something that could act as a mirror.

She didn't find a mirror, but she did find Hosea and Arthur, just returning from town. Hosea laughed at the sight of her and patted her on the shoulder, while Miss Grimshaw directed Arthur straight to the river for a real bath.

Her new look seemed to go over well with the adults. At any rate, she thought she looked mighty nice. And the rest of her had already begun to look better, too, now that she had begun eating proper meals again.

With a semi-permanent camp set up, the adults got to talking about their stay in this town. Annie, bored out of her mind by it all, decided to bother the one person who hadn't spoken to her much.

Arthur had taken up writing again. He'd propped himself up against a nice rock, his dog— Copper, she'd heard him say once— curled up beside him.

Annie stood over him, two bowls in hand. "You hungry?"

"Naw," he said, without even looking up from his journal.

"That's your loss," she replied, and sat beside him. "Bessie made soup. It's real good."

Arthur put his journal down, saying, "I ate in town."

"Well, I wasn't gonna make you eat it."

"Sure."

She brought one bowl to her lips, draining the rest of the broth. Copper perked up, and she lifted the second bowl out of his way before he could try to steal a bite.

"How old are you, anyway?" She finally piped up.

"Nineteen," Arthur replied.

Annie nodded. "I'll be sixteen soon enough. September nineteenth, eighteen-eighty-two."

"Sixteen?" He cocked a brow, saying, "Well, you sure don't look it."

"I've been starving for weeks," she retorted. "I'll grow into it."

Copper nosed at the bowl in her hands, and she stuck her tongue out at him. Turning to Arthur, she said, "Mind if I feed him?"

He gave a shrug of his shoulders, and she handed Copper a little piece of meat from the soup. He sniffed her palm and, deeming her to be harmless, immediately ate the meat from her hand.

"Good boy..." She smiled, stroking his fur. Glancing at Arthur, she added, "Where'd you get him?"

"Found him," he said.

Annie frowned, still running her hand along Copper's back. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"Some folks might say you talk too much," Arthur replied.

She gave him the stink eye for that remark. Turning to Copper, she began to scratch behind his ears, and he practically melted. With his head in her lap, she kept scratching, grinning from ear to ear.

"So," she finally piped up. "How'd Dutch and Hosea find you?"

Arthur glanced up from his journal. He gave a long sigh and said, "They took me off the streets. I was... Runnin' around, causing trouble up north."

"Trouble?" Annie grinned at him. "What kind of trouble?"

"Thievin', mostly."

"Yeah, right."

Arthur cracked a smile then, and he set his journal aside. "Alright, alright. I started a few fights, too."

"Oh, yeah?" Annie leaned forwards, saying, "Did you win 'em?"

She listened intently as Arthur told her a bit about his days up north. Copper, ever restless, began to dash between them and the river bank. As they traded stories, Arthur tossed a stick around for him, and it kept him busy for nearly an hour.

By the hour's end, Copper had curled up with his head in Arthur's lap, the sun had long since set, and they'd run out of good stories to tell. Annie sighed, stacking the empty bowls of soup she'd brought over.

"Good night, Arthur," she said. "It was real nice talking to you."

He nodded, smiling faintly. "You get some rest, Annie."

When she returned to the wagon, she began to wash the empty bowls. It was muscle memory after years at home, but she didn't mind doing some chores. Not when she actually liked the folks she was doing the chores for.

Annie had only just finished washing up when Dutch clapped a hand on her shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her skin, and he chuckled as he steered her away from the wash basin.

"Miss Annie," he said, "tomorrow, we will teach you to ride!"

birdie's comments!

annie somehow has like three dads and two moms and none of them are even biologically related to her. as god intended, of course.

also, arthur and annie will be pros when it comes to going from besties to mortal enemies at the speed of light. even better because it's 1) done over the most trivial shit and 2) resolved when john shows up and they put their differences aside to hate him (but, you know, in a loving way!)

this is where i give y'all the belated warning that this WILL be a slow burn 😁😁😁 sorry! these two are just very bad at communication and also romance in general. the pining will be top-tier though!

shit is looking pretty bad for us arthur/annie truthers because this note is close to 20 chapters into the outline of this fic and we haven't even gotten to the actual rdr2 GAME. anyways i hope you enjoyed this little introductory chapter! expect more soon :)