At that point it wouldn't have made a difference, Arthur is sure of it. When Dutch became ready to sacrifice not only people outside of their gang but also its members, the people he called family, the people he claimed to love, it was too late. Arthur doesn't know when Dutch passed that point of no return, how it could have been prevented. Perhaps it was inevitable, as the choke-hold of danger and fear grew tighter and tighter.

Perhaps it had been easier for Dutch to act like someone he perhaps truly wanted to be, when it was easier. When it didn't put his own life at risk. When it was no longer a matter of claiming that he'd give his own life for those in the gang, but that he might actually have to give it.

Then he didn't have the guts.

He keeps thinking about it. When things are quiet and he has little else to focus on.

He snorts softly in amusement, and nods.

"I bet I do. I feel like a new man."

In more ways than just physically. It feels somewhat like he has to reevaluate everything he thought he knew about himself and his place in the world, especially when he expected he wouldn't have to worry about it at all anymore. Maybe it's only fitting, then, that he finds himself god knows where and he may be free of some old ghosts.

Charles is at least one he's glad to see.