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The campfire popped nearby, sending up a shower of sparks. Somewhere in the darkness, a coyote tipped and owl hooting. John stared at the ground like it held the answers to all his problems. "Everyone else just tells me to shut up and be a father," he muttered. "Like it's that simple."
"It ain't simple," Caleb agreed. "But it's necessary. That boy needs you, John. He needs his father. That's something only you can give him. Not Uncle Caleb, not Uncle Hosea, but you."
John stood in silence for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the flickering campfire. The usual gruffness in his demeanor seemed to soften, replaced by a vulnerability Caleb hadn't seen before.
Finally, he nodded slowly. "Maybe… maybe you're right." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It ain't easy, you know? That doubt… it sticks with you."
"I can imagine," Caleb said sympathetically. "But look at him, John. Look at the joy on his face when he talks about you, about someday riding alongside you. He wants his father, whether he fully understands it or not."
John's gaze drifted towards the sound of Jack's laughter coming from the tent. A faint smile touched his lips. "He is a good kid."
"The best," Caleb agreed. "Give him a chance, John. Give yourself a chance to be the father he needs."
John noded again and then let out a bitter laugh. "Hell of a thing, comin' from the newest member of the gang."
"Maybe that's why I can say it." Caleb shrugged. "Fresh eyes and all."
The older man gave him a firm clap on the back, a silent thanks, the kind of gesture that carried more weight than words ever could.
"Thanks for opening my eyes," John murmured, his voice low, but honest.
Caleb nodded, a soft smile curving his lips. "Go be with your family, John."
And with that, John turned toward the tent where Abigail and Jack waited. Caleb watched him go, watched the way his shoulders relaxed just a bit as he disappeared behind the canvas flap.
The murmur of Abigail's surprised greeting and Jack's excited chatter drifting through the night air. Caleb let the moment settle in his chest like a warm coal. It was something he'd always wanted to see much earlier back when he'd played Red Dead Redemption 2, John mending his relationship with his son, becoming the father figure Jack needed before it was too late.
For a man like John Marston, it would never be easy. But it was worth it. "Godspeed, Marston," Caleb muttered and took a final sip of his lukewarm coffee, then wandered over to the washbasin, setting the metal mug down with a soft clink.
He made his way toward the main campfire where the rest of the gang had gathered Sean, Uncle, Charles, Javier, Pearson, and the drunk Bill. Laughter and smoke curled into the night air.
"—so I says to the feller, 'That ain't no sheep, that's my wife!' haha!" Uncle's raspy cackle cut through the night, followed by groans and half hearted chuckles from the others. As Caleb drew near, Sean noticed him first and waved him over.
Sean spotted Caleb first. "There's our resident gunslinger! Come on over, we was just talkin' 'bout you!"
Caleb raised an eyebrow and chuckled, as he eased down onto a log near the fire, stretching his legs. "Evenin'. All good, I hope."
Javier's eyes flicked down to Caleb's left shoulder, where a bit of bandaging still peeked from beneath his shirt. "That wound healing alright?"
Caleb blinked, surprised. "How'd you know about that? Only Strauss and… Sean knew."
He turned to Sean, who sat cross legged with a bottle of whiskey in hand and the widest grin on his face.
"Oh, don't give me that look," Sean said, grinning like a devil. "What's wrong with a little story tellin'? That wound of yours is a goddamn badge of honor, Caleb! You took on Drew Dallas and his boys alone. Brought the bastard back alive, too!"
Caleb sighed and shook his head. "Sean the blabbermouth strikes again."
"Oh come now," Sean said, slapping his knee. "You should be proud!"
The others leaned in, curious now.
"Drew Dallas?" Uncle asked, scratching his beard. "Ain't that the up and coming bastard that's been terrorizin' the roads around New Hanover?"
"Thought he was already captured, haven't heard about him and his boys for a while," Javier added.
Pearson leaned forward with interest, a half carved chunk of salted pork forgotten on his lap. "Tell us what happened, Caleb. Don't leave out the good bits." Pearson leaned forward, "Is it true you sniped five of 'em from two hundred yards?"
Before Caleb could respond, Bill Williamson slurred from his perch on an overturned crate, "Prob'ly got lucky." The hulking man took another swig from his bourbon bottle, his face flushed with alcohol and something darker. "Ain't no way some greenhorn—"
"Shut your damn mouth, Bill," Sean cut in.
Charles held up a calming hand. "Let the man tell his own story." His deep voice carried quiet authority that even drunk Bill couldn't ignore.
Caleb sighed, gave a small nod, and glanced around the circle. "Alright. I tell you the short version, then."
The fire crackled as the men settled in to listen.
"I heard Dallas and his gang were planning to rob several stagecoach from Strawberry to Annesburh near Cattail Pond. Figured I'd cut 'em off. Found a nice little cliff overlooking the path, good vantage point. I waited till they arrive, then took my Springfield and started picking 'em off, one by one."
"How many were there?" Javier asked.
"Eight including Dallas himself," Caleb said. "Took out five from above before one of the bastards spotted me. Got a lucky shot off, that's how I took the hit in the shoulder."
Sean whistled low. "And you still kept fightin'?"
"Had to. Rolled down the hill, switched to my Lancaster, kept moving. Two more down. Then I pulled my Schofield and shot Drew in the leg and his shooting arm. Tied him up, patched myself enough to ride, then dragged his sorry ass to the Valentine sheriff."
"Now that's a damn story," Uncle said, raising a half empty bottle. "You remind me of me when I was young and handsome and dangerous."
A collective groan rose up around the fire.
"In your dreams, old man," Javier laughed.
Even Charles cracked a smile. "You did good, Caleb. Smart use of terrain."
"Damn impressive," Pearson added. "Ain't many can pull something like that off and live to tell it."
Caleb gave a modest shrug, but inside,the praise sat awkwardly in Caleb's chest. He'd only survived thanks to his past life knowledge of the game and a hefty dose of luck, but at the same time he felt the warmth of recognition. But not everyone shared the sentiment.
Across the fire, Bill Williamson shifted on his crate, his eyes narrow and bloodshot. He took large sip from the bottle of cheap bourbon like it was a grudge, and suddenly he throw the bottle, shattered against the firepit, spraying glass and bourbon across the dirt.
"Enough of this shit!" The big man lurched to his feet, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Caleb. "You ain't nothin' special! Just some orphan bastard Dutch took pity on!"
Silence fell over the group. Sean's hand drifted toward his revolver. Charles positioned himself subtly between Bill and Caleb.
Pearson tried to defuse the tension. "Now Bill, let's not—"
"Shut it, tubby!" Bill's spittle flew as he jabbed a finger at Caleb. "First you cozy up to Mary-Beth, then you helped us on a brawl, and suddenly he's Dutch's favorite, gets the trust, gets the praise. Like the rest of us never bled for this gang?" His chest heaved. "I been with this gang six. years! Where's my damn respect?"
Caleb's brow furrowed. "I've never claimed—"
"You didn't have to!" Bill snapped. "You walk around like you belong here. Like you earned it. You didn't fight with us down in New Austin. You didn't hold the line in Blackwater. You weren't there!".
Caleb remained seated, keeping his voice calm. "Ain't looking to take your place, Bill. Just doing my part."
"Your part?" Bill's laugh was ugly. "Your part is stayin' the hell outta my way!"
Sean stood up, hands up. "Alright, alright, calm down, Bill—"
"Shut up, Sean!" Bill shouted, pointing a shaking finger at him. "You ain't helping. Always runnin' your mouth."
Javier moved between them, arms out. "Let's not do this."
Caleb stood slowly, meeting Bill's gaze. His voice was calm, measured. "I didn't come here to replace anyone, Bill. I don't want the attention. I want to pull my weight, earn my place. That's it."
Bill stepped closer, eyes wild. "You think you're better than me?"
"No," Caleb said. "But I think right now, you're drunk, and angry at things that ain't my fault."
Silence.
Then Bill scoffed, spit to the side, and turned away. "To hell with this." With one last venomous look at Caleb, he staggered off into the dark, took a bottle of beer, and cursing under his breath while swinging the bottle with his hand.
The fire crackled in the uneasy quiet that followed. Javier broke it with a dark chuckle. "Well. That was... dramatic."
Sean let out a long breath. "Bloody hell…"
Uncle shook his head. "That one's gonna wake up with more than a hangover. Bill's always been a sore loser."
Caleb exhaled slowly, nod his head, and sat back down, though the tension still lingered in the air.
Charles leaned closer. "Don't take it personal. Bill's always had a chip on his shoulder. You did good keeping your calm."
"Appreciate that," Caleb murmured.
"Hell of a story, mate," Sean said, clapping Caleb on the back. "You'll have to tell Mary-Beth next time. She loves them bounty tales."
Caleb managed a small smile. "Maybe."
But inwardly, he sighed. Bill's jealousy wasn't new, he remembered it from the game. The insecurity. The rage. It was just… more real now. And more dangerous. Still, the others had his back. That mattered.
After the brief explosion of tension and violence, the gang found its rhythm again. Conversation trickled back like a slow moving stream, cautious at first, then picking up with jokes, quiet laughter, and little stories shared in soft voices.
Sean, never one to let things linger too long in silence, told a half true tale about wrestling a gator near Lemoyne. Uncle claimed it was a pig and that Sean had screamed like a girl, prompting a round of laughter from everyone while Sean protested.
Even Javier picked up his guitar and strummed a few calming chords, humming a tune that danced with the fading night. Bill, of course, was nowhere to be seen, and nobody asked after him. The unease he left behind clung to the shadows, but no one wanted to peel it back open.
Eventually, one by one, the gang began peeling off, some to their tents, some to their own late night musings. Caleb sat a little longer, warming his hands near the dying fire, still playing through the scenes of the day like a movie reel on repeat.
Jack's wide grin when he hit the tin can in the woods.
John's subtle pride afterward.
Bill's drunken punch and the weight behind it.
And the way everyone had stood beside him, with him.
It made everything feel real in a way that hit deeper than he expected. The Van der Linde gang wasn't just some cast of characters anymore. They were broken people bound together by grit, loyalty, and the aching hope for something better. Family, in its rawest form.
When he finally slipped into his bedroll beside Arthur's empty cot, the quiet of the night closed in around him. The stars shimmered high above, uncaring and cold. Sleep came slowly, but it came.
The campfire's embers had long since cooled when Caleb finally drifted to sleep, the echoes of Bill's drunken outburst still lingering in his mind. His dreams were fragmented, images of Jack's excited face during their hunting trip, John's hesitant gratitude, Mary-Beth's smile in the firelight, all underscored by the phantom sting of his healing wound.
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Name:Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 6/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 6/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 5/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 2)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 1)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 2)
- Poker (Lvl 1)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 1)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
Money: 675 dollars and 61 cents
Bank: 40 dollars, 2 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets