rdr2stories

[rdr2stories]

"Betrayal" a rdr2 fanfiction.

Arthur hadn't been able to free himself, the wounds he had suffered under Colm's care had simply been too much, his faith was left in Dutch. It was with his whole heart that he had hoped that Dutch would come, after all his life had depended on it, yet Dutch never came.

Loosely based on (I remembeed the drawing not the caption):

The basement had always been a dark and sorrowful place no matter which house, which hideout or which hole they were kept up in, it would always be his least favorite of them all. The air would feel suffocating even if the sun was shining right after a cool rainfall, the walls would feel as though they were cramping in on him even if they were wider than the actual room he was sleeping in, his senses would be overwhelmed, noises, smells and feelings that weren’t actually there would crowd his mind and trap him in a night he would rather forget.

His shoulder was healed, the only remains of the wound that had once hollowed out his flesh being the tough scar tissue that had not managed to patch up the break of his heart. When he breathed it was slow and airy, the kick his former enemies had made to his chest and sides had done something to his ribs and lungs which could not be undone. He was no longer silent, he could be heard miles away by his struggling breathing, but he didn’t need to be silent any longer, his days as a desperate workhorse were over.

He had no doubt that the man in the basement who was suffering the similar wounds he had years ago could hear him, yet he would not know who it was standing there, his mind racing, considering if he was ready to get face to face with a man whom he had love and cared for for years but had not shown the same kindness to him in the end.

One step at a time he made his way down into the suffocating basement, the walls closing in around him and cutting the outside world off like the hatch over the steps had been slammed shut. It was just him, the man and the singular flame of the candle that gave just enough lighting for him to see the face he would remember to his death, that, even when aged, had not changed a bit.

The man was hanging upside down, just like he had, his face was red, his arms hanging loosely down towards the ground as the iron chains wrapped around his ankles and held him above the ground. A wound had been afflicted to his chest, a shallow knife wound cutting over the collarbones and ripping up the fine shirt and vest that he always wore. It was nothing, a mere scrape compared to other wounds suffered in the past, no matter how big the red puddle on the ground was.

His snail-like mustache looked exactly the same, except for the fact that it was no longer black but rather gray with age. The same could be said for the hair that once had curled around his nape but now was cut short as if he was scared it would run off or like he had simply grown tired of maintaining it.

He had not seen that face in years and though he had dreamt of seeing it many many times before, he could not have imagined the emotions that welled up in him. The anger that rose from parts of his core he had not felt since the death of his family, the sadness that made him feel like breaking down weeping on the cold gravel floor and the conflict that he had thought he had overcome. He hated that part of himself felt like hugging the man, embracing him and crying into his chest like a little kid, appologicing as if it wasn’t him who had been left for dead.

The upside down man looked drowsy, his eyelids halfway down his brown eyes that would make you trust him in a mere second even though he had more bodies on his back than he counld count. His lips were slightly apart as if he was simply asleep, but he wasn’t because he reacted when the boy he had left stepped into the light stream coming down from the top of the stairs. He could not yet see who it was, the boy’s features hidden, he recongized the satchel that he carried on his hip.

The man’s eyes seeked upwards to the cold face he had once known as his protegee, as his son. “Arthur?”

“Hi Dutch,” Arthur spoke as he grabbed the chair by the table that the candle stood on and pulled it over to him so that he could sit and face his old mention, his old father.

“You- You are alive!” Dutch’s deep and raspy voice sounded, confusion yet hope and glee to be found in it. “Oh how glad I am to see you! I thought you were dead! Help an old fella down from here and let’s get away! Oh how happy the others will be to know you are alive! We made a little memorial for you back in West Elizabeth since we didn’t have your body, we buried Sean next to it-”

“Sean?” Arthur asked with anger rising in his chest. His brother, his little brother was dead? “Did you leave him as well? Did you leave him for dead too?”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Whatever do you mean son?”

“You didn’t come for me Dutch!” Arthur exclaimed, standing up so suddenly that the chair behind him slammed to the ground as it tipped over. “I was waiting for you! I was waiting for you to come get me but you didn’t! You left me for dead!”

“Arthur- My son,” Dutch’s eyes were frantic and confused as he looked over the green clothing of the boy he had raised. “We thought you had gone out hunting- We didn’t think nothing of it until a few days later and by then we couldn’t find you- You were gone-” 

“Hunting?” Arthur asked in irritation as he felt anger well up in him, a hand running over his eyes. “Hunting Dutch?! I told you! I told you I would meet you by the forked road!” He looked directly at Dutch, an accusing finger pointed at him. “I told you no matter what, I would meet you at the forked road! I keep my promises Dutch! I always do! I made that agreement with you so that if something happened to either me or you, you would have known something was wrong! I wasn’t out hunting Dutch! I had been kidnapped!” He took a step closer to Dutch, who’s eyes widened, for the first time being on the receiving end of the anger that was in the monster he had created, of the anger of the man who’s warrant poster said ‘do not approach’. “I had been shot! I was beaten! I was tortured! Hanging upside down as you are, left with hopes that you would come but you didn’t!”

“Arthur-” Dutch tried to cut in.

“Don’t you ‘Arthur’ me,” Arthur groaned, running a hand over his face again. “You left me Dutch, left me. I sat here, clinging onto hope that you would come back for me, like you said you always would, but you didn’t, and do you know who took pity on me? Colm of all people.” Arthur snorted as he slightly shook his head. “That O’Driscoll boy wasn’t so wrong about Colm, he has a way of making you feel special. He took me in when you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you.” Dutch spoke in a soft tone. “We searched for you Arthur, all of us did.”

“Not well enough,” Arthur bit lightly at the inside of his cheek. “Colm was expecting you to come get me, he gave you a clear trail to follow, but you didn’t.” He let out a snort. “In a way I am glad, I ain’t been a workhorse since I have gotten here. Colm appreciates me, gave me my own room and everything, doesn’t send me out to do his dirty work like you did. And your ideals? You cared so much about ideals, about sticking together, yet you didn’t come for me. Your ideals are nothing but lies that you hide behind.”

“Lies?!” Dutch exclaimed, this time with anger sweepin through his voice.

“Lies, Dutch, lies. Ideals are nothing but empty words without action to back them up!”

“Arthur,” A voice came from the top of the staircase and Arthur turned to look at the man descending, the man whom he had once seen as foe but now as friend, the man who had taken him in when he had been beat, tortured and abandoned, even if he had been the one doing half of it.

“Colm,” Dutch’s low voice sounded as he watched his enemy, the killer of his lover, stride down into the basement, the sunlight coming down the stairs highlighting the fur running around the collar of his jacket as he came closer and stood next to Arthur.

“Dutch, how nice to see you are awake,” Colm gave a big grin, knowing that the pain of seeing Arthur against him instead of with him hurting far more than any bullet wound or stab could ever do. “Look who I found.” He placed his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. “The dog you threw away. You know, it is quite a pity because oh how he works, his bite is stronger than any I have seen before. You trained him well, I am not going to lie, I was surprised when you abandoned him, but then again, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

Arthur let out a low grunt but otherwise remained quiet, it wasn’t the first time Colm had explained the situation like that, but he hated it either way, he hated thinking that he meant nothing more than an empty tin can discarded after being used to Dutch, it hurt him even after all those years.

“Trash?!” Dutch’s voice sounded, genuinely sounding hurt at the way his relation to Arthur was described. “Arthur is my son. He is not trash!”

“Yet you discarded him as such, forgotten in a basement.” Colm patted Arthur’s shoulder. “Ay ay, so be, we got bigger issues, the gang is on their way Arthur, they are coming for Dutch.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, he knew it would happen, he had known it because it was the plan, but it still hurt, hurt far more than he was willing to admit. Deep inside he had hoped that Dutch would have been abandoned too, just like he had been abandoned, that it wasn’t him that was the reason he was left behind but that it was simply the gang. Of course it wasn’t like that. Dutch would always be saved, and he would always be left behind, expected to care for himself.

“Coming,” Arthur spoke in a lower voice than he had anticipated when he turned to follow Colm who had begun to walk up the stairs and out of the basement. As such, he turned his back on his father, feeling his heart plummet in his chest. He didn’t know what he had expected. Some kind of closure? That maybe Dutch hadn’t been as he had remembered him? That he was actually much more of an asshole?  Whatever he had wished for, he hadn’t gained it, he merely felt more conflicted than before.

“Arthur-” Dutch exclaimed, heavily in breath and wide in eyes as Arthur reluctantly halted and hesitantly turned to look at him one last time. “You are my son, we can still fix this.”

Arthur wanted to believe it, oh he wanted to believe it more than anything, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew that what had done could not be fixed, the damage could not be repaired no matter how many sweet words were spoken, no matter how many promises had been made.

The sun was warm and welcoming when Arthur exited the basement and he was let out into the open world again. Normally he would let out a deep breath of relief and take a moment to get back into his own body, but he didn’t do it at that time, he didn’t feel welcomed nor as happy as he normally would being warmed by the sun.

He swallowed a lump in his throat and made his way over to his horse which stood hitched in the outskirts of camp. It’s fur was soft as it always had been, but if it had suffered with the years and patches of the previously brown color had gone gray with age. Other than the few belongings he had had on him when he had been kidnapped, most of which had been replaced over time, the horse was the one thing that remained from his years with the Van Der Linde gang. It was a constant, the one thing he trusted to never betray him.

It didn’t pain him to say that he did not trust Colm with his life, he knew that Colm did not care for him much other than the fact it gave him a leverage over Dutch, bragging rights. He knew that Colm cared for himself first and foremost. He knew that, he accepted it, he was okay with it, he had even opened up about it to one of the girls whom had been around camp at some point. She had asked him why he hadn’t cared when he had cared so deeply about Dutch’s betrayal and he had told her the truth.

Dutch had always pretended to be there for him, had spoken grand words about fellowship and friendship and such, he had spilled lies and he had made Arthur believe them, Colm on the other hand, Colm was honest. He never outright said that he cared for himself most, but never said that he cared for Arthur most like Dutch had.

He liked the certainty of the fact he was on his own more than the white lie that he had someone to rely on. It was that lie that had disappointed him the most, that had given him the heart that had yet to heal.

The repeater in his hand was new, one that they had stolen off a man who had gotten on the wrong side of Colm, it was a new model, shiny and bright, not a single flaw to be found. Arthur had determined to keep it that way.

Colm didn’t do much fighting himself, when Arthur had run with Dutch he had thought it had just been pride, but the truth was a bad hand that he could barely bend his fingers on. Arthur didn’t mind it much, he didn’t need to do a lot of fighting either, but in big cases like this, he did, and in this one he wanted to, he wanted to face his former brothers.

Hiding behind a barrel, Arthur waited, his breathing revealing his location but he didn’t mind much. As soon as the fighting began it wouldn’t be audible over the gunshots either way.

The gang he had run with was loud as always, the hooves of their horses hammering against the ground in one big storm, tearing up grass, dirt and stone with them. They weren’t planning on quieting down, they were planning on raiding in the place, like they had a habit of doing.

He heard when the fighting started, but he didn’t move, it wasn’t his job to. His job was to stay, to protect. Maybe Colm had placed Arthur so far back because he didn’t trust Arthur to kill his brothers, and maybe Arthur was happy because he didn’t know if he could either.

Ever so slowly the shots came closer and closer and Arthur’s heart twisted in his chest, he didn’t know what to hope, what to expect. Did he hope his brothers’ blood would coat another's hand because he loved them too much to kill them himself or did he hope their blood would coat his because he could not bare another taking their lives? He did not know, but in the end he would have to make a choice, he knew that when he saw Marston come near, when he saw his brother’s eyes scan the area and run closer to the basement stairs in the back of the building, away fromthe fight happening in the front.

Arthur’s brother was scarred, much more than he had been before. The marks that the wolves had left over his face were practically gone under what seemed to be burn scars which coated his face. His hair looked far more crusty, far more stiff than it had before, though it had found the strength to grow longer. His brother hadn’t even noticed him as he rose from his spot behind the barrel and drew the repeated, a click sounding as it was pointed at Marston who halted suddenly.

“Go on, shoot.” Marston spoke in an annoyed voice, though Arthur could near the slight tremble. Even the boy who now carried all the scars of being worked to the bone in a field of death still worried about the afterlife. He stood with his hands clenched around his revolver as he held it slightly away from himself, the finger off the trigger, maybe hoping it would show peace.

“If you so wish,” Arthur merely replied, perfectly hiding the conflict that made him rest his finger on the metal above the trigger instead of on the trigger itself.

Marston suddenly stiffened up, immediate recognition of the voice he had not heard for years as he turned around without a second thought, his eyes wide and face conflicted, much similar to Dutch’s. “Arthur! We thought you were dead!”

Arthur raised the gun against Marston’s head as he dared step closer. “Yeah you all did.” He saw when Marston realised that Arthur wore the green bandana of the O’Driscolls around his neck, slightly covering a scar running over his throat which he had suffered after the betrayal. 

Marston took a step back, his eyes wide. “You-”

“You left me.” Arthur simply replied, though he knew somewhere that John had been restricted to Dutch’s decision not to find him.

“Dutch told me you died!” Marston defended, his free hand coming to cludge the fabric of his shirt resting over his heart.

“I always knew you were dumb, but not this dumb.” Arthur snorted, trying to hide the fact that he was terrified, the fact that he knew either he would have to shoot his brother or his brother would shoot him. There was not a chance where they both walked away unharmed, it was simply not possible, the betrayal was too big.

[rdr2stories]

"Earning ones keep" a rdr2 fanfiction.

AU where Isaac survived and Jack want to be able to go on jobs like his older cousin.

Jack sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers drumming against his bicep as he watched Isaac saddle his mare next to Arthur and his bay gelding. Both of the horses glaring at one another and occasionally laying their ears back or stomping, they weren’t great friends but knew they needed to tolerate one another.

A deep frown was on Jack’s face when Abigail came up behind him and gave him a slap over the back of his head, causing him to let out a yelp followed by a cry of pain.

“What was that for?!” Jack exclaimed as he turned around to look at his mother with a hand over the sore spot.

“Stop frowning over the fact you aren’t allowed to put yourself in danger,” his mother huffed as she gave him a stern look. “You should be dreaming about putting people like that in jail, not being them!”

“What? People like dad?” Jack asked in annoyance as he lightly shook his head and turned around to look at Isaac, taking his mother completely off guard and causing her frown to deepen.

“You better watch yourself young man!” Abigail hissed as Dutch came up to them.

“Abigail, dearest, what are you telling the boy?” Dutch asked chuckling. “To not become a good man fighting an oppressing government like his father, uncles and grandpas? It is in his blood!” He gave Jack a small grin as he reached down and ruffled his hair, something he only allowed Dutch and Hosea, not even his father, though he had tried plenty. 

“I am telling him not to end up in a noose!” Abigail threw her arms in the air. “Or worse! Shot or blown to death in a ditch god knows where.”

“Why are you assuming I would get caught or die?” Jack argued back as he got to his feet. “Dutch has been doing this since he was fifteen! And he is still alive now at like-!” Jack glanced at Dutch for a second. “Uh, a hundred.”

Dutch let out a snort followed by a deep laughter. “Although Hosea might say differently, I am not quite that old yet.”

“I would never say such a cruel thing,” Hosea spoke gently as he came up for them. “However you would definitely call me that.”

“Of couse I would old girl,” Dutch said as he placed a hand on Hosea’s shoulder.

“Jack,” Hosea looked at Jack who immediately peaked up at the slightly cautious voice as he glanced at Abigail. “Me and Dutch have talked with your father about starting shooting lessons.”

Immedaitely Abigail exploded. “What?! You haven’t told me about this!”

“We did Abigail, we told you about it,” Hosea reminded, though it didn’t seem to comfort her much. “This is his life, he might not be seventeen yet as we agreed, however, he will have to learn one time or another and the more we push it the longer the more he is going to rush into things he isn’t actually ready for. Better teach him so he gets ready.”

“I will not allow it!” Abigail huffed firmly. “I will not allow him to get into an early grave!”

“Abigail!” Dutch spoke. “It is about time the boy learns to earn his keep!”

“Then teach him to sew or hunt or something!” Abigail replied desperately as tears pressed on her eyes.

Hosea smiled at her gently. “We will go easy, we won’t sent him robbing a bank from scratch. We will do nothing without asking you.”

Jack rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“I-” Abigail tried but came up empty, she had a habit of trusting Hosea and knowing he would never be as reckless as Dutch was. “Okay, BUT! He has to be careful.”

Jack grinned as he ran directly over to Isaac, grabbing his arm and pulling him away, causing him to let out a slight yelp as he was suddenly pulled out of balance and with the younger boy.

“Hey, what is the hurry?” Isaac asked with a small chuckle as he looked down at Jack.

“They are allowing me shooting lessons!” Jack spoke with pure joy.

“Well then!” Isaac said as a grin spread on his face. “Time to show them what we have been practicing in secret ain’t it?! Go impress them!”

Not that far away stood John and Arthur next to one another, watching their sons grin and laugh to one another.

“They know we know they have been ‘secretly’ practicing yeah?” John asked his brother.

“Don’t think so,” Arthur replied honestly.

“Maybe they have had their brains eaten by wolves too.”

Arthur let out a snort.

[rdr2stories]

"Where do you write the most?" At work when I am bored🥲 I will get this written in and finished sometime this week or next. (Also yes it is meant to be blurry)

[rdr2stories]

"Robbery in a quiet night." a rdr2 fanfiction

Isaac Morgan moved into camp with his dad long ago and he always saw Jack Marston as a younger brother and thus could never say no when the younger teenager asked to come robbing with him. So what happens when the seemingly passive victim suddenly acts up?

Isaac’s horse let out a snort as he let it eat, though the fierce mare struggled to settle down after the race him and Jack had just had, which he had naturally won as Jack still hadn’t been allowed a horse of his own and still rode one of the camp horses that the ladies usually used. That was one of the advantages Isaac with pride flaunted teasingly in Jack’s face, the fact that he had his own horse and own gun and Jack did not.

Eliza hadn’t been too happy about Isaac starting to join his father and uncles in robberies, but growing up in a gang there really wasn’t much she could do and by the time he was seventeen he owned his own gun, that was ten years ago now. He had become a rutine thief and one of the hardest workers in camp, mostly just because he found it funny stealing from the rich who thought that being out on the country side would be a relaxing vacation.

Abigail, similarly to Eliza, disliked the idea of Jack going out robbing and stood firm that he at least had to wait another two years until he had reached seventeen as well, what she however didn’t know was that Isaac had taken Jack out on small robberies every now and then in the middle of the night when the only people awake were Javier and Reverend who were willing to turn a blind eye. It was also only when it was those two or Bill who were on guard duty that they slipped out of camp for their adventures.

Although Jack didn’t officially own a gun he did have one, one that Isaac had slipped from a fella who had challenged him to a duel and lost, if there was one thing he had gotten from his dad it was the speed and dirty blonde hair. Though his dad was starting to get a little slow with his almost fifty years of age but he still held up well enough.

“So who are these people?” Jack whispered as he dismounted his gelding and came up next to Isaac who stood on the small hilltop, looking down at the vacation house bigger than the majority of common folk’s houses. He had chubby cheeks and his rough hair fluffing out around his head underneath the old hat that his dad had brought him for his twelfth birthday, the same age he had gotten his own cowboy hat from Dutch and Hosea.

“Rich idiots, young couple, the husband has some money in oil though most of their money came from family,” Isaac replied as he pulled the repeater from his back and looked down at the big single story house surrounded by small hills and a gravel pathway leading to a pond not too far away where a bench was built under the shadow of a tree.

Jack gave him a look up and down. “Seriously? You get a repeater and I get a rusty pistol you pulled off a drunkard?”

“The more experience, the bigger the gun,” Isaac grinned and ruffled Jack’s hair, earning him a groan. “Mask up pretty boy.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Jack mumbled as he did as Isaac and pulled the bandana up over his mouth and nose.

“And I told you until you can beat me in five finger fillet I will keep calling you it,” Isaac chuckled lightly before gesturing at the house. “You go around the back and I go into the front? I can see them through the windows, they are sitting by the front door, so you go around, start searching for trinkets and valuables, I will keep them busy.”

“I want to join the action,” Jack mumbled lowly.

“The best job is one where action isn’t even needed,” Isaac said before creeping down towards the house. “Come on now.”

The two boys snuck down into the valley, Isaac sending Jack around the back of the house as he approached the front door, taking in a deep breath before kicking the locked door up and storming into the house. He immediately pointed his repeater at the two people who let out a scream as he came in.

“Goodafternoon lady and gentleman, this is a robbery! Do as told and no harm shall fall on neither of you or your possessions! More than the broken doorframe that is,” Isaac spoke with a sing song voice as he took in the shivering lady who wore more jewlery than he had ever seen on one person before and the man who looked utterly disgusted and startled at the same time, but there was something in his eyes Isaac didn’t like. “Imma need you to put your hands on the table.”

“You will speak properly to me your filth!” The man spoke in a harsh voice.

“Do what he says James!” The lady cried out.

“Oh I deeply appologize for my tongue sir, I would ask like to request that thou place thy fucking hands on the table,” Isaac mocked and pointed the gun at the table shortly. “Go on now, otherwise I am gonna place a hole in them.”

“You are disgusting,” the man groaned but either way complied.

“Disgustingly rich, yes,” Isaac turned to the lady. “Now I would like to ask you to remove any jewlery on your person.”

The lady nodded frantically before reaching up to undo her necklaces.

“I worked hard to be able to pay for those,” the man hissed.

“You mean your slaves did?” Isaac gave him a cold glare as his wife placed her jewlery on the table. “I am working harder stealing them than you did earning them.”

A slight thud in the back of the house where Jack was made Isaac frown and momentarily pull his attention off the man who immedaitely jumped him, going directly for the repeater. Isaac let out a low yelp as he yanked at the repeater that went off into the ceiling, causing the lady to scream.

The man kept pulling at the repeater, trying to pry it from Isaac’s hand until another shot went off, this time not from the repeater. His eyes went wide as the lady screamed out so loudly that Isaac couldn’t even hear the sound of the limp body hitting the ground, blood rushing out of the new opening in the skull from the bullet.

Isaac’s head snapped over to the wide eyed, panting Jack standing with his gun pulled and the bag of valuables on the floor. “Shit-” He hurried over to Jack as the lady fell to her knees by the body of her husband. “Are you okay? J! Are you okay?!”

“I killed that man…” Jack spoke in a mere whisper as his wide eyes were locked on the dead body and crying widow.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Isaac mumbled as he grabbed Jack’s arm with one hand and the bag with the other, pulling the younger boy past the dead body. “Keep the jewlery!” He lead Jack outside and whistled loudly, the horses coming to them shortly. “Up, come on!” He gestured for Jack to get up on his horse. “We need to get going!” He groaned as Jack slowly and mindlessly got up on the gelding while Isaac quickly mounted his own mare, kicking his heels in her side and setting her galloping off the gravel path, closely followed by Jack’s gelding.

They rode hard until they arrived at a small shed that Isaac had scoped out to lay low in, he lead Jack inside, careful to hide the horses in the nearby trees.

“Come on inside,” he spoke to Jack who’s eyes had begun to water.

“I killed an innocent man,” Jack spoke absently as he sat down on the one wooden chair in the shed.

“I wouldn’t call him innocent,” Isaac spoke as he kneeled down in front of Jack and took his hands. “He was a bad man, he was a slaver. He would have put Javier, Lenny, Charles and Tilly in shackles if he could. You know about.. Ya know all that right?”

Jack nodded.

“You know what happened to Tilly?”

Jack nodded again.

“Would you call men like the people who did that to her innocent?”

Jack sniffed slightly as he shook his head. “No…”

“See?” Isaac asked with a gentle smile. “You didn’t kill an innocent man, you killed a bastard and saved my life while at it! Now you can go mock me with that!”

A small smile tugged in the cornors of Jack’s lips as he dried his eyes with his sleeve. “Yeah, I guess I can.”

“Atta boy,” Isaac grinned as he stood up and ruffled Jack’s hair before gesturing at the bag which held a good amount of trinkets. “I will bring these to a fence tomorrow, we give half to the box and share the other half like the big boys do.”

Jack nodded with a small smile.

[rdr2stories]

Hello there everyone! I have finally made an ao3. I have been fearing the ao3 curse in all the 6 years I have been writing fanfiction but now I am here. I will still post my writings on here as well as there because tbh the posting system there is hard. But uh yeah! I havent posted every old fic there yet but they will come.

[rdr2stories]

"Regret" a rdr fanfiction

A rdr au fanfiction where it was not Agent Ross who killed John.

The gun was loaded and clocked, he had heard the click when the hammer had been pulled back. It was a noise he had heard so many times he could recongise it blind, though normally he was the one holding a finger on the trigger, not the one staring down the barrel, at least not with the knowledge that this time there was no way out, there was no escape and there was no life to continue living, “later today” would not be his to claim.

The last fifteen years of his life had been meaningless, they had meant nothing, been nothing. “Later today” had existed but then again they hadn’t because he had neverhimself been more than just a zombie risen from the grave, running around trying to find a way back to its previous life, something that would never happen because the most important part was missing and never to be found again, living, he had not lived but merely survived. Any hope of happiness or normality had disappeared the moment he had begun to survive.

His position at the end of the gun was one he had brought on himself, he knew that, he had been the one who had triggered it and not a day went where he did not regret it, not a second passed where he didn’t think back on that day three years ago when he had stood face to face with his best friend and shot him. 

Even on that day, on that fateful day, they had not seen each other in years, eight to be exact, eight full years since they had last seen each other and he had betrayed him. That betrayal, just like the gunshot, had been one of panic, a half formed plan that was based on situation he hadn’t fully understood… He had made a wrong choice, choosing to leave his best friend.

Many hours had gone wondering what he could have done, many hours had gone wondering how he could have fixed it or how his life would have been had he taken the right choice to begin with, but it didn’t matter now, not had it matter the day his bullet had carved itself into his friend’s chest.

He had been hiding in a storage room, hoping to avoid conflict, to avoid having to do any harm, but it hadn’t worked, he had ended up face to face with the same gun as the one before him now, though a different hand had held it. The two of them had watched each other and it had been painfully obvious for them both that they were stalling, pretending that they were fighting with words just to hear each other speak and avoid the enviable, one of them dead.

It had hurt, seeing his friend slowly and subcountiously lower the gun he had pointed at him, but he knew it was the only way, so he had taken the chance, not to kill but flee. It was a simple crate he shoved on him before jumping out the window. He ran from there, even though he had had the chance to kill his friend, but he hadn’t been able to, so he ran as fast as he could and forced his horse to do the same. He needed to get away, he knew that his friend’s loyalty was no longer with him but with his family. It hadn’t been his since that day fifteen years ago, it was now with his wife, his son, the family he had fought for.

To be honest the idea of running had been stupid, no matter how far or long he ran, his friend would have followed if it meant the law which had been chasing all of them since the break of time, would ensure his family immunity.

When he had fled he had fired the gun, not to harm but to fighten, he had hoped that it would gain him enough time to disappear, but it wasn’t that that had happened. His friend’s horse had slipped and he was thrown off, directly into the path of a bullet that killed him on the spot, dumping him on the ground like he had been a sack of potatoes and not a man.

His own heart had nearly stopped at the sight and he had nearly broken an arm and a leg jumping off the still running horse before stumbling over the ground to the lifeless body with the empty eyes he had ones seeked comfort in.

He had taken the one life he had told himself never to take.

It had taken a long time before he had let go of the body he had cradled in his arms, hoping, praying to any god that might have existed that they would switch theri fates and let the father with a home and a family to return to live, but it hadn’t happened.

It was first when the law showed up that he ran, why he didn’t know, he had little wish to live, only his body had a survival instinct he couldn’t turn off and had carried him.

Three years had it been since his hands had last been stained with blood, since he had forced himself into isolation and begun a long and miserable life in the mountains, hiding from reality, himself, the truth of what he had done, the kind of things that would catch up to you and make you pay.

His loanshark came in the form of a boy, the one standing before him that looked much like a ghost. He had the same determined eyes, the same rough hair worn down to the shoulders, the same hat with the little feather, the same sharp features he had studied on his friend. Yet while he saw all of that he also saw the same face of the little kid he had known, the kid that was now nineteen and pointing a gun at him for killing his father.

Revenge.

It was only fitting that the first life the boy took was his, making it so his last life taken was the father of the boy. He regretted much in his life, but meeting his fate by the hands of Jack Marston was not one of them.

---

Yes, I did also make this as a first person pov thing, I didn't know which was best so I wrote both.

[rdr2stories]

"Punishment" a rdr fanfiction.

A short rdr fanfiction in an au where it was not Agent Ross who killed John.

It was like looking at a ghost, seeing you that is, because while I recognized you as your own person, as the little kid I knew all those years ago, running around asking if anyone had found any comic books and making flower crowns for your mother, I also saw him in you.

I could see his determination in your eyes, the kind that only came from strong desire and a feeling of unjustness, unrightfulness, your life was not easy growing up, was it? We tried our best, we all did, to keep you safe and out of danger, to give you a better life than we had had. I am sorry it didn’t work out, I am sorry I made it even worse.

You wear your hair like he did when we were young, down to your shoulders. I bet it is a mess to brush out in the mornings, I remember his was, he always complained about, would often ask me to help, though only when we were out of the eyes of the others, when they couldn’t see my hands softly stroking over his rough hair, brushing it out ever so carefully.

The fact that he ever denied you as his seems ridiculous looking at you now, like a bad joke no one would even find funny because the truth is so obvious… Yet that being said, you are different from him, even when you hold his fun and wear his hat, the one with the small feather, you are different, you are naive, you are sloppy, aggressive, you don’t have his skill or his finesse.

This isn’t your life, is it? This is your first time pointing a gun at a man, is it not? It is quite funny actually as the last time I did it, it was at him. My life will be the first you take, seems fitting as the last I took was your fathers.

It brings me joy because it tells me you didn’t have to grow up as he, stealing, robbing, murdering, having a noose around your neck by the age of twelve. He did right by you, gave you all he never had.

I guess another difference between the two of you is that you don’t stall, he did, I did. He did it because he cared for me, I doubt you even remember me, to him I was a friend, maybe more, to you I am the man who ripped your father from you, that is why you have already pulled the trigger. Your father hadn’t been able to, while he had pointed the gun at me, he didn’t pull it, he had talked to me, slowly lowering it as my hands remained in the air. We had too many memories for him to just shot, yet he had too much on his shoulders for him not to point the gun.

Maybe if he had been like you he would still be alive and I wouldn’t have been walking around praying for someone to wash his blood off my hands, I doubted he would have wanted mine on his either, but rather mine than your mothers. His loyalty laid with her, it had for many years, no matter how much I wish I could gain it back and if the law told him that her safety and the immunity of your family was guaranteed with my death, then my death he would have… Even if I could see in his eyes that it would not weigh easily on his shoulders.

When I say I am sorry for what I did, I mean it, I wanted nothing more but for you to be safe, for him to be safe, for your mother to be safe, though knowing her she is most likely dead, otherwise you would not be here, she wouldn’t let you. “You do the hanging, not the swinging, you hear me?” I remember she told you that one day, all she ever wanted for you was to become a lawyer, or at least someone who didn’t run when the law came around.

I tried to run away from him you know? Your father. I shoved a crate on him and jumped out of the window, and then I ran, I ran and ran and shot anywhere but near him, hoping to scare him off so I could disappear, but his horse stumbled and he fell. A bullet hit him and he was dead on the spot, never suffered, never hurt, most likely never realised what happened, I barely did.

My horse had barely come to a stop before I was on the ground, stumbling over to his body, looking down at the empty eyes I had once went for comfort to. I had cradled his lifeless body in my arms, warm tears running down my cheeks as he went cold and I prayed to any god that might exist for our fates to switch, that it was a father and not a criminal who would walk away from there.

 For three years I had lived iolated in the mountains, hiding from reality, myself, the truth of what I have done, things that you can run but never hide from, and god had yet to appear, he had yet to make things right, yet to do anything, until now, he has brough you to me and I will gladly let you ring the bells of judgement and bring me my punishment.

----

Also yes, I did also post this in another version, written in third person pov, because I didn't know which worked best so I have made both.

[rdr2stories]

"Am I somehow so terrible that the woman who birthed me no longer deserved the affection of the man whos love created me?" A rdr fanfiction.

A short fanfiction about Jack Marston.

My uncle stood next to me, the brim of his hat shielded his eyes from the sun coming down from above. He held a fishing pole in his hand, his line ended somewhere out in the middle of the river where he had thrown it. My line is only half his length, my small arms could not handle more, he had caught three fish, I had yet to catch anything. I found fishing boring, the flowers in the grass further up the shore looked pretty, they made a nice necklace to mama.

Father, I can’t help but remember that day when you asked me to fish with you, when you grabbed the bucket and the two fishing rods. You looked awkward, but happy somehow, you didn’t quite know what to do with me, I didn’t quite know what to feel. I still found fishing boring but caught a fish before you did, you were impressed and I was unsuccessful in keeping spite from my voice when I told you it was uncle who taught me. You simply replied “oh did he now?”

Uncle was never a good fisherman, yet the day he taught me he told me I was the second little boy he had taught to fish, I used to wonder why I didn’t have a cousin if that was so, but with time it simply made me realise why he hated you.

He died eight years prior to that fishing trip with you father, meaning it had been eight years since my first fishing trip. I had been just four and when I stood with the rod in my hands again I had been just twelve, it had been just eight years since uncles death, you barely talk about him, your brother, I barely remember what he looks like, but I remember what I had seen him as; my father. He brought me a comic book, and I drew him a drawing of a family, it had been him who had taken the place of the father, not you, I carried not his blood but to me he was my father.

It has been eight years, eight years since your eyes last held disgust, eight years since you last yelled at me, eight years since you decided that you wanted to be my father.

While I forgave I never forgot and I never stopped wondering. Oh father, what did I do for you to reject me? What did I do to be unworthy of your love and why was it first when you decided I fit into your life that you allowed me to be your son? Whatever could a child still growing in the womb have done to make you hate it? I am a creation of love, I shared the blood of the woman you held dear, yet that affection not only did not extent to me it was also cut off from her when she came to carry me.

Am I somehow so terrible that the woman who birthed me no longer deserved the affection of the man whos love created me?

Father, did you forget? That day on the riverbed, had you forgetten the way you used to look at me? The way you never even tried to hide your disgust but would shout it so everyone would hear, you were so ashamed by me that you chose to humiliate your son of four years in front of everyone in the area. I cried to mama that day because my child brain did not understand that you hated her just as much as you did me, that she was just as hurt by the way you shouted at her as I was by the way you looked at me.

Father, did you know I used to hide in my aunt’s skirts yet I could still hear the sound when she slapped your cheek through the fabric? I remember it even now though she has not laid her hand on you for eight years, she wanted you to accept me. I was too young to know then, but I now know what she meant when she said “I don’t care how you feel about me, but at least make an effort with the boy.” Did you yell at her for telling you to love me?

Father, did you know I don’t react to my own name? The one we share? The one given to me by my mother before you decided to give me a nickname because the idea that the two of us would share four letters made you angry? I have never once been called by our name, though it has always been a dream of mine.

When you speak to me, you speak as if your voice has never carried anything but love, I wish it was the truth, and although I am happy it doesn’t give sour comments no more I can’t help but wonder when you decided I was worth your time? Was it first when you saw someone else take the role you had taken for granted?

I know the man you called father, the man I called grandfather, never carried your blood and you never his, yet it was also him you drew on drawings and it was him you taught you to fish. We are similar in that sense and because of that I can’t help but wonder when you took me to that riverbed, did you hope you could teach me to fish?

[rdr2stories]

Listen, I have an idea, part of an idea, the idea of an idea, it is going to be heartbreaking, I know it. It is here, but it also isn't here yet, like an itch i can't itch. The idea hasn’t fully formed yet, but when it does and I write it, it will be over for you bitches.

[rdr2stories]

"If it isn't spicy, it doesn't have any taste" a jovier fanfiction.

A short fanfiction about John trying Mexican food.

“How are you?” John asked again, for like fourteens time in the time that they had been riding and Javier was starting to grow real tired of it, of John's compassion, something he had never thought he would feel tired of, but oh well he had been wrong, turned out it could be very, very annoying.

“I told you, I am fine,” Javier replied and nudged Boaz forwards into a gallop to avoid John asking the same question again and again and again… Even though maybe if he did Javier would tell the truth.

It was strange being back in that area, he hadn’t been there for years, many years. To be honest he had avoided it because the home he had left behind was just on the other side of the creek and from time to time he could glance over at the country he loved and had fought his heart out for. He didn’t have fond memories of the borderland but right now it was the closest he could get to home and to his culture that had crossed over into the land he was now trapped in. It was one of the new places he could get a taste of home without risking his family’s life.

Some parts of the area around Tumbleweed looked so much like Mexico that he began to wonder if he had accidentally crossed the border. Even though he logically knew he hadn’t, those small momentary pangs of fear for his family were enough for him to jump out of his skin, that was why John was there, to ground him, though he didn’t know that… Or maybe he did.

Asking John to join him on his ride down to Tumbleweed had been hard and scary but John had said yes immediately, Javier feared that he had seen straight through him.

“So where exactly are we going?” John asked as he rode up next to Javier, suddenly breaking out in a cough at the dust kicked up into the air by the galloping hooves on the ground.

“Don’t die now,” Javier let out a short laugh and pulled back to a slow canter. “We are going up past Tumbleweed and out towards the tip of the land, there is a small house there, back when I lived in Mexico it was known as a meeting place.”

John raised a brow. “For what? Gangs?”

Javier shrugged. “Mostly, but not only gangs, for any Mexican who couldn’t cross the border but still wanted a piece of home. I didn’t go there when I first ran because I was scared to run into someone who might know me, but now? I miss home, all the time, and since we are camping up near Blackwater we are closer than I have been in years so I wanted to take the chance and at least get a good meal in. No offense to Pearson but his food is quite boring.”

John snorted slightly. “Yeah, it is, am I gonna be allowed to go into that place though?”

“Nah, but I got an idea.” Javier’s eyes narrowed and he pulled down into a walk as a rider came down towards them on the road with a wide grin on his face. “John.”

“I know,” John replied as he prepared himself for whatever mischief this fella was out for as he placed his horse across the road, making it impossible for the two of them to pass and forcing them to stop.

“¿Qué haces saliendo con un blanco?(What are you doing with a white man?)” The man yelled at Javier with amusement in his voice.

“Nada que deba saber. (Nothing you need to know about)” Javier replied in annoyance, glancing at John who already had his hand by the holster of his gun. “Muévete, no hace falta que esto acabe sangrientamente. (Move along now, this doesn’t need to end bloodily)”

“Muévete, no hace falta que esto acabe sangrientamente. (No, of course not)” The man replied mockingly as he nudged his horse forward, slowly making his way towards them. “Diviértete con tu Americano (Have fun with your American),” he whispered to Javier as he passed by, grinning widely from ear to ear before kicking his horse into a gallop and riding off.

“Culo (Asshole)” Javier muttered to himself as he watched the man disappear.

“What was that about?” John asked as he looked between the disappearing figure and the annoyed Javier.

“Nothing,” Javier replied and turned the two of them off the main road, up a small hill where a single tree stood in the dusty desert. “This should do.”

John looked around. “I don’t see a building.”

“It is a two minute walk from here,” Javier replied as he jumped off Boaz and tied him to the tree. “You stay and I will go get the food.”

John raised a brow. “From the restaurant?”

“Yes.”

“You are going to take the food from a restaurant… Out?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then…” John said as he jumped off his horse, taking a moment to take the worst dust off his custom-made saddle. “I will wait here then.”

It didn’t take too long before Javier returning, holding a plate of food in each hand with a wide smile on his face as he walked over to John. “Now this is real food!

“What even is that?” John let out a small snort of amusement as he saw the three hard bread-like things lying on the plate that Javier gave to him. It looked like a sandwich except the bread wrapped around the meat and greens on three sides instead of just smashing them together.

“Tacos!” Javier grinned as he sat down next to John. “Good food from my home country. You are about to experience heaven, brother.”

John chuckled as he grabbed one of the tacos, trying to keep the filling from spilling out as he brought it to his mouth and took a bite out of the crunchy shell, immediately pulling away as his mouth began to burn. “Oh my god- What is that?”

“The meat! It got flavor!” Javier replied with joy as he watched John reach for his water. “If it is not spicy, it doesn’t have any taste.”

“I don’t think I will ever taste anything again,” John coughed as he held a hand over his mouth. “Oh god-”

Javier grinned as he took a bite out of the taco. “This is real food.”

----

I have never eaten tacos in my life.

[rdr2stories]

"The Curious Couple And Their Unruly Son" a rdr2 fanfiction.

A short rdr2 fanfiction about how the phrase "the curi couple and their unruly couple" came from.

Sean MacGuire was an annoying little shit of a teenager, his orange hair stuck out to every side no matter how much Grimshaw fought to keep it kempt, heck it was even worse than when Marston joined, however that was possible. Those two were actually scarily similar, not only in their weird hair and their rough exterior, but also in their loud mouths. John was just a bit more foul than Sean was.

Arthur disliked them both, not specifically for their loud mouth but for their attitudes. John was fifteen and had just started going on jobs with them, simple ones, the ones where Dutch and Hosea knew they would be able to save the situation even with John messing something up. Sean was thirteen and wanted nothing more than to go out on jobs with them, jobs that he no doubt would mess up and get himself killed in, or worse one of the others trying to save him.

That was the problem with many of the children that they took in, they thought just because they used to steal they were professionals at it, they weren’t and the fact they didn’t realize it themselves from the amount of bruises they had gotten proved their low intelligence. Especially Sean had gotten many beatings and Hosea was fiercely trying to teach him how to properly steal, it was not going great, which was the reason why he was being left behind in camp when Arthur, Hosea and Dutch were preparing their trip into town for some petty theft and to get an overview over the people in the area.

“Why won’t you let me go?” Sean complained as Arthur tightened his horse’s girth and gave it a scratch. “Come on! I can steal plenty fine!”

“Not without getting caught!” Arthur replied in annoyance as he snatched back the watch that Sean had fished out of his pocket quite poorly while he had saddled. “And we do not  want to draw attention to ourselves.”

“I have gotten out alright so far,” Sean huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I ain’t dead.”

“Yet,” Arthur groaned. “You ain’t dead yet, you have been damn lucky. What if it hadn’t been Hosea or Dutch in that alley? What if it had been someone else you had followed out to rob? You would have been dead then! I sure would have put a bullet in your skull.”

“You are scared I will take your place as the son, aren’t you?” Sean asked, half teasingly, half mockingly, as he leaned against the hitching pole.

Arthur raised a confused brow. “What are you even talking about?”

“Oh nothin’, just you the whole thing you, Hosea and Dutch got goin’ on.”

“What thing?” Arthur asked as he leaned against his horse.

“The curious couple and their unruly son.”

Arthur gave an unimpressed look. “We ain’t acting like that, we are just working.”

Sean shrugged. “Oh well, you know my da used to-”

“Not the da!” Arthur exclaimed at the same time as John who passed by at that moment, placing the saddle he had been holding on the hitching post next to Arthur’s.

“You don’t even know what we are talking about!” Sean said to John who whistled at his horse to come over from where it stood grazing not far out of camp.

“I don’t need to, you and your da is getting annoying real quick,” Marston replied as he put the rope halter on his horse.

“Well Marston now you are here,” Sean glanced teasingly at Arthur. “If I was to say the curious couple and their unruly son, who would I be talking about?”

“Arthur and the old men,” John replied without even looking at them. “Pretty much acts like a married couple and their adopted kid.”

Arthur sighed. “We don’t, they are my mentors just as they are yours, I have just known them longer.”

John snorted.

“How are you getting along?” Dutch asked as he came over and placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Are you ready to go? Me and Hosea have saddled the old boys up over by the tent, oh yeah, Annabelle is mad at me again so she and Bessie are sharing Hosea and hers tent so he is with me.” He patted Arthur’s shoulder again and looked over to John. “John, go with Susan into town today, will you?”

“What? No! I don’t want to! It is boring!” John groaning slightly in annoyance as Dutch merely returned his attention to Arthur, knowing to ignore the tantrums.

“Come over when you are done son, we are waiting,” Dutch gave Arthur a small chuckled before leaving the boys alone again.

“Married couple and their adopted son,” John repeated again.

“You are seeing things,” Arthur spat.

“Or maybe you are just stupid,” John stuck out his tongue at Arthur.

---

Based on a little convo I had with @wobblesthecowgirl

[rdr2stories]

They were everywhere, down the street, on the roofs, in the houses, scrambling, yelling, screaming louder and louder. Not a moment of silence. Shit! Where are they?! Where are the others?!

“We need to leave! Now! Come on!”

Shut up.

“Please! Please don’t do this.”

Shut up!

“Come on! Leave the girl! We need to leave! Forget about the damn money!”

Shut up! I need to think! I need to-! I need to figure this out!

“Don’t do this!”

QUIET! Fuck… She was dead, shot through the head, the blood of an innocent spilled onto the wall behind them by his hand, the hand he had sworn never to hurt someone who didn’t deserve it with. He shot her… Move, come on, MOVE. His body had no reaction as the image of the woman engraved itself into the back of his head and he knew it would haunt him, why did he do that?

“What the fuck did you do?!”

I don’t know… Move. They needed to move, she wasn’t the only one who got shot, one of theirs did too, he needed to get them all out of there unless he wanted them all to get shot. He needed to get them out off there, they were all in danger, everything had gone to shit, nothing had worked out and they were all relying on him to get them out of there. FUCK!

“What is the plan?”

Did he answer? Did words spill out over his lips or did he just run? He didn’t know, but he was moving, he was running, running out onto the street where bullets fell around his ears, graced his cheek and buried themselves right next to him. Did they follow? They followed, the others followed him even though he was leading them into a death trap, even though he was leading them into certain death merely because he panicked.

“Shit- He got shot!”

“I am alive… So far. Fuck!”

“We need to get out of here or he won’t make it!”

“Leave me… I will catch up…”

“Stay strong… We are coming back.”

Was he frozen? No he was moving, but then why was all he could see his companion hiding himself behind a crate, slowly bleeding out, were they even in town anymore? No, no they were out of it, but at what cost? Three shot, one arrested and all the money gone. Fuck! He had messed up, he knew it, he needed help, he needed wisdom, he needed- Darling- Help me- Help me get out of this mess- Please- Why are you looking at me like that…? Those eyes that normally looked at him with such care, such love, why were they wide? Why were they filled with… Confusion? Betrayal?

“What happened in there?”

“It was crazy, it was raining bullets.”

No, please, turn to me, face me, talk to me, why are you ignoring me? Why are you glaring at me? I did… I did all I could! Please! I need your help! Like a lost puppy, like a scared little creature begging for attention and love.

“We need to move, I say we go up the mountains, the law won’t follow us up there.”

Yes, please, take the lead, share the burden with me, tell me what to do.

“We will talk later.”

Why are you whispering? Why did you pull me aside like that? Why are you snarling? Please, I did all I could, I don’t know… I don’t know what went wrong. Why was it not just him? The person he trusted the most, the person that he had started it all with, why was it not just him who was glaring at him? My son, why? Why? Why was he doubting, why was he doing that? Please, I need you.

“You did all you could… You… You are amazing.”

Huh? Who-? Oh. Yes… I did all I could, you are right…

The snow was biting cold, tearing through his clothing, through his skin, freezing over the heart he had tried so desperately to keep warm, ice covering the surface and cooling its core. He needed to do something, they were dying, they were all dying, not just the man with his guts spilling out in the back of his wagon. He needed to do something, it was dying, he could see it, he could see it flickering like a flame in the wind, loyalty. He needed to do something, he needed them to survive, he needed it to survive, he needed to regain it.

A train? A coop…Money… A win… Loyalty.

“Don’t do it, this is not someone you want to mess with. He is a big important man, he will not let you rob him without consequences.”

… I need… I need to do something! Tell me what to do then! Tell me!

“You can do it. Simple train robbery. It is nothing.”

Maybe, maybe it is okay. It isn’t like we haven’t done it before… Oh… The others are up for it, alright.

The snow was melting, it was getting warmer, they were getting more food, more money, they were getting back on their feet. A small town of livestock, they could have money and time, not too bad. They were getting back on their feet, this could work out.

“Hello there.”

Yes, darling, come inside the tent, talk to me, I got an idea, what do you think? Isn’t it good? I like it, it can be our way.

“Not too bad.”

He likes it, he comes with good ideas, yes this could work. What if we did this too?

“No. You will not do that! If you do it you will damn us all!”

Oh… Alright, that upset him, but I guess we won’t, he is smart, he knows best.

“Do it.”

What? No. I won’t, get out of my ear.

“It feels like things have changed, they don’t want folk like us no more.”

I know… I know. Deep inside he knew he couldn’t change it, but what was he meant to do? It was the only world he knew, the death, the running… Run… All he could do was run, run from the world that would no doubt absorb the one they lived in, cast them out or hang them. He needed a plan, a final plan… Until then… Run.

Run. Tell them to pack their bags, tell them to gather their things and run, we can’t stay.

“I told you not to mess with him! I told you he would come for us! The law is on us again!”

I know! I know! My son, go, find us someplace safe!

It was flickering, it was flickering again, the loyalty, the trust. Just as it had started to become stable again, just when things were returning to normal that man showed up, hunted them over the mountains, shot up half the town, nearly killed all four of them… Nearly killed… My sons.

“Well… You… You are amazing.”

I am? I guess I am… You are right, I am.

Two rich families, two people with money in their pockets. This was what they needed, they could play them from both sides, get both their money. Gold even, gold.

Gold. Where is it?

“I am not sure this is smart, we are going to get caught in the cross fire.”

My son… Are you doubting me? My son, there is no need to doubt me.

He had it under control, they were all alive-

“He got shot! They shot him through the head!”

“I told you this was a bad idea!”

What? Had he really become so careless? Had he really allowed one of his members, one of his companions, of his friends, one of the children he had raised, in something so simple…? It was such a simple scam, how had he not seen it? He should have seen it.

“I was there, it looked legit, you could have done nothing.”

Really? Yeah, of course really! I would never get so sloppy! I would never allow one of my own to be put in danger-

“Where is my son?! Where is my son?! Has anyone seen my son?!”

She was crying, screaming, yelling at him as if it was his fault, it wasn’t… He had posted guards 24/7 around the whole camp! He had protected them all! He was going all he could…

They took the boy… What god damn bastards takes a little boy?! What god damn bastard took my grandkid?!

“They took him, the family.”

I will get that boy back. Darling come with me, my sons, come with me, we will get that boy back!

Blood, more blood, more flames, more destruction. He felt nothing killing a whole family, he felt nothing killing a son in front of his mother, he felt nothing as he dragged her through her house, letting her watch as her son burned to death, he felt nothing as he pulled her outside, as he let her be the only survior of a generationally long family. He let her watch as her empire and the bodies of her sons burned in the house that had been built on blood money.

Still no boy, just more packed bags, more running, more setting up camp someplace new, at least they had a roof over their heads, an actual roof.

He could hear them from his room, his longest companion and their son, talking, he could hear them, their doubting.

“Will we be okay?”

“Of course!... I think so… I hope so.”

They are doubting me after everything I did for them, after everything I have done for them, after all those years.

“They don’t see it, they don’t see the necessity of it… They are wrong.”

Yes, they are wrong.

A big city, a heaven for scheming, for robbing, for crime. If he did it right then they could be out of there, then in a few weeks time they could have retired, he just needed one last plan…

The boy is safe.

Yet even with all he had done to get that boy back, his sons, he could feel it, the doubting, it was still there.

“One of them is planting doubt, he has been asking others what happened with that girl, the one you killed.”

Doubt, he keeps doubting me, they all keep doubting me.

“I would never doubt you, you know best.”

Yes, I know best.

The head was laying in the man’s hands as the decapitated body rode in on the horse down towards them. There were screams, shouts, cries.

Another one.

He needed to protect his family, they were all in danger, they were all in such terrible danger. The law, the detectives, the gangs. Everything was closing in on them, they had to move quickly, they had to get one last score, one last-

It was a set up, there were cops everywhere, detectives everywhere and all they got out of it each was fifteen dollars and a quarter. They got the law on their asses even more for fifteen dollars.

“And a quater, don’t forget the quarter.”

Are you making fun of me son? Are you doubting me again?

Was it revenge or did he truly believe what he said to his friend when he explained that they needed to kill the man? The man who had set them up. He wanted to believe it was necessarily, but was it? They didn’t have time for revenge, they didn’t have the money, they needed out.

“Is this a revenge plot? We don’t have time for a revenge plot.”

It is necessity! Don’t you doubt me again son!

“It needed to be done.”

Yes, it needed to be done.

The breeze was picking up, the flame was flickering harder, for moments it seemed almost gone. He could see it in their eyes. One last score and they were out of there, one last score and they could be gone.

The bank.

“I am telling you this is the way to do it, I have sent them all, they are all saying the same, one or two armed guards at the max.”

It doesn’t feel right.

“Are you doubting me?”

Never, never my darling.

“They got him! He is shot!”

Darling! Darling! They shot him! They shot him!

His heart ached, his chest was carving in on itself, his rock, his anchor, his everything, gone, so many years, gone. This was not what he had been told, there were too many lawmen, too quick. Someone… Someone had ratted, someone had told-!

“They arrested him, his wife got away when they shot and killed… You know.”

My son…?

Why was he arrested? Why was he arrested? Why was he arrested and his wife got away when the others were killed? Why did he not loose his lover when he did…

Why did I have to lose my…

They were stuck on a boat leading them god knew where, but at least they had the money-

The money-

It was lost, it was lost on the bottom of the sea as the storm tore the boat apart, when the storm threw them into the sea and hurled them around. All but a little which he had carried in his pockets was lost by the time they managed to get up onto the small island, if they needed to get off, they needed help.

“I will help you if you help me.”

He was in no position to say no, he could see the desperation in the others eyes when they looked to him for answers, he needed to do this right.

“The money, pay more, now!”

Okay…

Her body laid lifeless at his feet, new bruises around the skin on her neck. Was she going to betray them? Maybe, he didn’t know, he just knew… He knew…

I need to get them home- I need to keep them safe…

If there had been a single chance of her ratting them out.

Another innocent body.

“What is wrong with you?!”

I needed to keep us safe! Shut up!

They were safe, to some degree, they were back on land, they were back with the gang… But the law was closing in, he just needed…

“What has happened to you?”

My son, I just- I need some god damn faith! Believe in me! Trust me! I am doing the damn best I can!

“He doesn’t see it, he is doubting.”

Yes.

“We need to get him back! They are talking of hanging my brother!”

Your brother, he lied, he told on us, can’t you see? It is too obvious. It is all going exactly as it should for him. Maybe that sickness is getting to your eyes my son, or maybe just your mind. You are getting weak, more is demanded of me than you, we do not have time for rest.

They had betrayed him, his son had betrayed him, gone behind his back, gotten the traitor out of jail…

“They betrayed you, both of them, they worked together, they are working together against you. After everything you did for them.”

They are betraying me.

“You just need one last-”

Score.

The train, it was obvious, just one more train and they could leave, one more train and it was all done, they would be free.

“He got shot! He is still alive!”

He is a traitor, I will go back for him… How sad, he couldn’t be saved.

“They took his wife! They took her! The detectives.”

“She is just a woman, she isn’t worth it.”

“We can’t just abandon her!”

Yes we can, she is a snitch, her and her traitor husband.

His last son went to save his traitor son’s wife, what a tale.

“He is the rat, the detective told me.”

The only man who has supported me? The only man who has been loyal has betrayed me? The detective told my bastard son the only person who trusts me is the ont betraying me? How foolish he is to believe it.

“You left me! You left me to die!”

His traitor son had survived, both his sons had turned on him, both his sons were after him, after everything he had done for them, after everything they had gone through, that was the end, that was how they would end? Pointing guns at one another? Well, to go out like an outlaw.

“I gave you everything I had, in the end, I really did.”

His son was dying, speaking his last words as he stood over him, watching, trying to figure out what was he was feeling, trying to figure out what he was meant to feel. His son had sacrified his life so his brother could escape, traitors together till the end.

“He deserved that ending.”

Shut up.

The gang was broken up, everything was in ruins, but at least he was alive.

Eight years.

It had been eight years since he had seen any of them, his traitor son, the rest of his gang or the only man who had supported him through it, and yet there they were, standing on top of a mountain, him and the annoying little voice in his ear pointing their guns at his son.

Revenge, are you here for revenge? Why oh why? Because we killed your brother? The brother who you worked with to have us all hanged? Don’t worry, you will get your revenge.

It was so simple to pull the trigger, to murder the man who had been in his ear the entire time, the voice that had grown to become a nuisance instead of a guide.

Oh son you look so confused, it is pathetic.

Pathetic was not what he saw on his son’s face three years later when they stood at the edge of a cliff just the two of them. He was bleeding, shot in the side, he wouldn’t survive, his son was pointing the gun right at him with a hardened, determinded look on his face, the stone cold killer that he had been raised to be.

“You always have a plan.”

Yes, I do.

He had heard, he had heard it all, the story of how his son had tracked them down, their old gang members, tracked them across the border and back, up the mountains, through the revolution of Mexico and killed them. Mercilessly, one by one picking off the survivors.

I will not die by your hand, I will not give you the satisfaction.

---

I had an idea and I tried- Did it work? I don't know, we will see.

[rdr2stories]

"Please..." a rdr2 fanfiction.

A short fanfiction about the epiloge

Sadie… Sadie, god it had been a while since he had heard that name, years, eight to be exact. Eight entire years since he had heard from Sadie Adler, last time he had seen her, she had been protecting Abigail and Jack… She had made sure he had had a family to return to, he owed her everything, every moment, every second he had had with his family the last eight years.

He should feel only happiness at her name, so why was there an unease in the bottom of his stomach at her name, why was he worrying? He asked himself that but he knew, he knew the answer, because just as easily as she had given him his family she could take it from him again, he just refused to accept it even though he knew it was true.

She was asking to meet with him, probably just to catch up… Just to catch up… She would probably want to meet Abigail as well… Abigail…

After his meeting with Sadie in the Blackwater saloon he felt a little better, he had asked her to come visit the farm, she hadn’t shown much interest, so maybe that meant when Abigail returned they would be safe, his family would be safe. He had really only asked out of courtesy, but he felt safer knowing that him and Abigail were safe…

He hated thinking like that, he hated it, but he knew it, he knew it like he had known it those last few weeks where he had watched their fleeing touches in camp, where he had watched them speak lowly amongst themselves as they stood unnecessarily close, where he had watched the way their eyes softened when they met. He wanted to say it meant nothing but he knew better, after all he recongized it from what he and Javier had done back when Jack had been born.

Was this what it had been like for Abigail? No… It had been different… He hadn’t been a father back then, they hadn’t been a family, not the way that they were parents now, the way they were a family. They hadn’t been together, if it hadn’t been for Jack the two of them would never even have talked… Now he was building her a house…

When finally Abigail returned, John had never felt happier, had never felt more at peace, had never felt more excited, they were starting a new life and he was going to do his best to make sure that he didn’t fuck it up again, that she would have her dream life with a farm and family. If she was happy so was he.

His wife, his son, his house, his dog apparently, his family. He had a family, he had a life, they were safe, he didn’t have to worry about her dying or being arrested or being taken. He was hers, she was his, they were a proper family, the kind of family he had never had before, that he certainly had never dared to dream for when he had been with Dutch and the rest… Arthur would be proud of him, it was Arthur that kept him grounded, Arthur had sacrified everything for him and he was going to make sure to put a good use to it.

God Abigail was beautiful, she was stunning, he loved her, and she seemed happy even though half the house was empty, they barely had a bedroom, much less a kitchen, but she was happy, she told him that he did good. How long he had waited for that, for the recognition, for the happiness that would make it all worth it, that would make all the moving, the newly hanging debt over his head, the worry of using his actual name and not Jim Milton.

How god it felt to hold Abigail in his arms again.

“Mom! Pa!” Jack shouted and then Sadie was there, riding down the path to the house she had otherwise said she didn’t even want to see, Abigail was smiling, laughing, running dpwn to embrace Saide in a hug like she had him, grabbing her hand and leading her inside the house she had only agreed to see when Abigail was back.

“I am so happy, I am so happy,” Abigail said and his stomach curled, he wished nothing more, he wished just for her to be happy but he also wished it was him making her happy, he wished that her smile had been that big when she had seen the house, when she had seen him, when she had hugged him. He wished he hadn't seen the way their hands lingered, he wished he hadn't seen the way their eyes met, he wished he hadn't heard the love when she had called her darling, he wished that he didn’t worry if his familiy's neck was at risk again.

Please don't take her from me.

[rdr2stories]

"Those fucking hairs." A rdr2 fanfiction.

A fanfiction about young Arthur and John.

John’s hair was itchy, or more like his entire back and shoulders itched from the many small hairs Susan had cut off and although tried to keep away from his neck, had still managed to drive him crazy. He was about a second from jumping up and running into the lake by the small camp, at that point he didn’t care if he would drown, it would be way better than the annoying itching.

Hosea, Arthur and Dutch were out doing… Something, he didn’t really know, something criminal, something that he wasn’t allowed to help with because he was ‘just a kid,’ yeah just a kid who had already murdered someone! Sure it wasn’t his fault but he could handle himself! Instead he was stuck with Susan as she yapped about his bad hygiene which was the reason he had needed his hair chopped in the first place, lice she said. Well it wasn’t like he had had the time or resources for hygiene when he lived on the street, or that he had cared.

He groaned, the small hairs prickling on his back. He hated it, hated it, hated Arthur too, god he hated that man. He was nine years older than him and then he was just allowed to do everything? John was stuck in camp like a kid and that Arthur was out, and he was never even happy about it! He was rarely happy about anything, always annoyed, always frustrated, Hosea said that he never outgrew his delinquent stage and that was why he was always angry. John hated it, mostly because it always went out on him, never Hosea, never Susan, certainly never Dutch, Arthur was after all Dutch’s golden child and John was some random kid they picked up because why not.

God those hairs, John was seriously about to jump in that lake, fuck they were annoying. He twisted his arm, reaching underneath his shirt to try to brush off the hairs on his back, it wasn’t working, they were still there, those fucking hairs were still there. Seriously he needed them off, he needed them gone. For fuck sake! He concidered just taking off his shirt and rolling on the ground but then Susan would go at him with a knife, for a moment the knife seemed better.

Nope he needed to stay alive, to outlive that damn Arthur, to grow up and become better than him- Arthur, horses, Arthur always had another brush laying in his side of the tent that they unfortunately shared. He could use that!

John had never been on his feet so fast, storming by Susan who shouted at him to slow down. He ran into the tent, crossing over the clear line that they had made down the middle and searched Arthur’s bag laying in the corner, clothing, Revolver- Uuu revolver- Wait brush, he could look at the gun later. Did Arthur even have the brush in that bag or was it the other? Damn that man had a lot of bullets. No the brush was definitely in this bag. Is that knife even sharp? Why did he keep it? BRUSH!

He pulled the brush out of Arthur’s bag, immediately pulling off his shirt and starting to remove the annoyingly small hairs with the rough brush. He hadn’t even heard the sound of Arthur and the others returning home until the flap to the tent was drawn back and Arthur’s eyes widened in utter anger at the sight of his stuff spread all over the tent, John sitting on his bed, using his brush on his on bare back.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?!” Arthur exclaimed as he grabbed John by the back of his neck and hurled him out of the tent to the ground, for a second seeming annoyed that he didn’t have anything to grab onto as John had neither shirt nor hair.

“I just needed to use the brush!” John spat back at him, trying to sit up but being kicked back down by Arthur’s hard boot, and almost as if a button had been hit, John’s head got loud, really loud. Alarms were going off, screaming and shouting at him to get up and run, but his body wasn’t allowing it, he was frozen in place, stuck, stuck back on the street, curled in on himself as he tried to protect his head as the older boys kicked and punched him black and blue for whatever silly excuse they could find.

He could feel all the boots, five, ten, twenty, a punch to the head, a kick on his back, the brushing on his side, his lungs heaving, blood running out of his ear, he knew it wasn’t there, he hoped it wasn’t, he at least knew that it was just Arthur’s boot kicking him and not twenty more, yet, it was there, the blood was there.

“John! John!”

Someone was screaming his name, it wasn’t like they used to scream it, mockingly, angrily, oh poor little John who can’t steal an apple without getting caught, oh John who had cigarette burns on his arm because his dad thought he was stupid, oh little John who couldn’t even see a hanging without crying. This voice, it was confused, worried, panicked.

“John!”

A hand touched his head and he screamed, frantically hitting out at the gentle hand that now laid around his wrists, trying to calm him.

“John!”

No, no, his head screamed as arms wrapped around his, making it completely impossible for him to move. Let me go! He was stuck, he was caught, they were going to place the noose around his neck again, Dutch wouldn't be there this time, he would be hanged, hanged like his father had been hanged.

“I got you kid.”

… Was it mocking? The lawman had said the same thing… But this voice… It was calm, it was… Comforting. Hosea?

John blinked, arms were wrapped around him in a tight embrace as Hosea held him close, breathing heavily. Dutch was standing behind Hosea, his eyes narrow with pity as he looked at John. Arthur was standing way back, his eyes wide in confusion and… Was it regret? John had never been good at reading people.

“I got you son, you are okay.” Hosea said as John melted into the embrace, his body slowly starting to shake as sobs tore through his body. “You are safe.”

--

I accidently posted this on my spam🧍

[rdr2stories]

It isnt exactly a story so I didn’t post it on this account but it is close enough, so have this while i work on something.

Charles rode home, back to camp, back to the place and the people who had been his support the last half year, the people who had saved him and whom he had saved. He had known there had been troubles, he had seen it first hand, but he had not known that what he would arrive back to would be death.

Charles didn’t know what had gone down at Beaver Hollow, he had expected to come back to arguing, maybe some silence like there had been the last couple of weeks, quiet muttering and side glares. He had just buried Eagle Flies, yet another person who was manipulated by Dutch, one of his people, a young boy who just wanted to keep his people safe, to keep their people safe.

What does he return to? Grimsaw laying on the ground, gunshot to the stomach, eyes emptily staring out at the ransacked camp that had once been home.

I wonder if he thought it was the Pinkertons for a moment or if he knew that the inevitable had finally happened, that they had snapped, that his home was no more, that once again he was on his own, that his family had turned on one another.

I wonder if he feared walking in the area, afraid of whos dead body he would find next. Would it be Arthur with a bullet to the head? Would it be Javier with a new wound running along the scar on his throat? Would it be John with a knife still embedded in his stomach? Who of his brothers would he find next slaughtered by their own family?

He probably knew that the hole he was digging for Susan wouldn’t be the last, he probably knew he would make more, that he would find more bodies if he just walked the area. He was probably already grieving as he followed the hoof prints hammered into the ground, he knew whatever he was going to find would not be pretty.

He hadn't need to be a master tracker to find the next bodies, the distinctive horses he knew that John and Arthur rode, laying dead on the mountian, guns, saddles, personal items still left just like the animals he knew the people had cared deeply for had been left in a hurry.

He knew Arthur was sick, he knew that he was close, he would never have made it far, he had probably known since seeing Susan's body that he would find Arthur's too.

He was used to tracking animals to hunt, to eat, to survive, to find their hoof prints and broken branches showing their direction, now he was following an obvious trail of slips in mud, bullet shells and blood to find his friend's body, to give him the peace he deserved.

And finally, on the edge of a cliff, head tilted towards east where the sun rose, laid the body of his friend, his skin pale and his face beaten.

Charles had to lift his best friend, carry him down the mountian and up another to be able to forfill his wish, to be faced to the evening sun on a ledge, except Arthur had changed since then, he was no longer the same man so Charles faced him towards the sunrise, so he forever could feel the peace he had hopefully felt in his final moments.

I wonder if Charles went back, tracked John, found out he made it out alive, went back, tracked Dutch as far as he could before realizing it was not worth it before finally giving up and accepting that that was it.

Tilly? Abigail? Jack? Sadie? They had stayed but where did they go? He could track John, he could track Arthur, Dutch, Micah, Javier and Bill but what about the others? Did their bodies lay somewhere? Discharged as quickly as Grimsaw had?

Charles had loved being around others, but at what cost? How many bodies had he buried? How many times had his heart been broken because Dutch had made a mistake that had costed a life?

Maybe it was better being alone in the end.

[rdr2stories]

"Funny little fella" a rdr2 fanfiction.

A short fanfiction about a strange horse that Javier and John brought back to camp.

John pulled at the rope, watching with unease in his chest as he saw the horse at the other end speed up. He looked up at Javier following behind them, they both knew something was wrong, maybe they should have left the horse, but they couldn’t do it now when they had already taken it.

The two of them rode down the small trail to Clemens Point, passing by Arthur who stood guard for once in his life after John had complained to Hosea and Hosea had said Arthur could learn a bit by doing duties. He didn’t seem to enjoy it, but he did enjoy the sight of John and Javier coming back to camp with a pony dragged after them.

“What? Did Old Boy get too big for you Marston?” Arthur joked, letting out a short laughter.

“Very funny,” John replied as he passed by Arthur, walking Old Boy over to a hitching post before jumping off and securing him. He gave Old Boy a scratch as Javier hitched Boaz next to him before he grabbed onto the new pony he had brought back, glancing into camp and finding Hosea playing dominos with Tilly. “Hosea! I need your help!”

Hosea turned around with a startled expression, probably expecting some form of trouble, not John and Javier standing with a funny looking pony. He let out a soft chuckle, excusing himself to Tilly before making his way over to the two men. “What is the problem boys?”

“Me and Javier were out and found this pony, thought it would be good for Jack to start with something small when he learns to ride,” John explained as Hosea patted the sturdy and fluffy pony with even wilder hair than Marston. “So we took it, but I think it is lame and we can’t exactly just let it go now.”

Hosea nodded understandingly. “I see, on what leg?”

Javier snorted slightly as he leaned against the hitching post. “All of them it looks.”

Hosea raised a brow. “Let’s see it then, John do a run please.”

John made a small clicking sound with his tongue, giving a slight yank at the make shift halter and sat into a small run, pulling the pony with him as it sat into a trot, however it looked strange, moving its legs at the wrong time and having a sideways sway in its back.

“Well that does look strange, come back here with it John,” Hosea spoke and waited for John to get back to them before walking over, letting a hand run down the horse’s front left leg, feeling for any bumps or irrecularities. “Well she isn’t warm.” Hosea concluded as he had felt each leg. “Hm, curious.”

“She isn’t lame,” Kieran spoke lowly as he slowly approached the group, the brush he had used on Brawen still in his hand.

“You can’t seriously be thinking that is normal,” Javier replied as he looked at Kieran. “Aren’t you meant to be a horse expert or something O’Driscoll?”

Kieran puffed his chest slightly. “I ain’t no O’Driscoll mister Escuella, but it is because of them that I know she isn’t lame, she is gaited.”

“Gaited?” Hosea asked as he scratched his chin. “I have heard of gaited horses but I expected them to be well… Horses and not ponies.

“She isn’t a pony, she is a horse.” Kieran explained as he walked over and scratched the horse. “Icelandic to be exact, even though they are short they are qualified as horses.”

“Hold on, back to the gaited thing, what does that mean?” John asked, shaking his head slightly.

“You know how your horse has walk, trot and canter? Yeah she has those plus one or two gaits more! One of the O’Driscoll boys had an icelandic because he was part icelandic, I got to ride it ones before Colm killed it after the owner died and we needed food.”

“Two more?” Javier raised a brow.

“Yes,” Kieran answered with a nod. “Tölt and sometimes a flying pace. What you just saw was the tölt, bred to be fast, comfortable and ground covering. It is really nice to sit, and many of the horses were also taught to be able to catch drunk riders who may sway in the saddle.”

John let out a small laugh. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“Men? Isn’t it a bit too small for grown men?” Hosea asked.

“They are bred to be able to carry grown people, they are very strong,” Kieran answered.

“But you said she can trot?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Oh, um, some icelandics prefer tölt and others prefers trot, they can do both but if you just ask for something faster than walk they will have a preference.”

“How do you get them to do the other?”

“To get from tölt to trot you need them to lower their heads and get them to relax more… I think, it has been a while.”

“Would you be able to do it?” John asked.

Kieran’s eyes widened. “Uh- I can try, but I haven’t done it for a while and I only rode the other one time.”

“Well, try is all we can ask,” Hosea shrugged slightly. “We can use it to teach Jack anyways, we will just also need to put him on a trotting horse as well at some point.”

“Hop on then cowboy,” John said to Kieran as he handed him the reins.

“Alright…” Kieran replied nervously before jumping onto the horse, nudging it forwards into a tölt and riding in a small circle in front of the camp. He worked wit the horse for a little before it lowered its head and fell down into a trot, holding it for a bit before picking up the tölt.

“Well would you look at that!” Hosea chuckled as Kieran stopped the horse and walked over to give it a few pats on the neck. “Funny little fella.”

[rdr2stories]

"Husband" a jovier fanfic.

A short fanfiction about John thinking about his relationship with Abigail and his old with Javier.

The night was quiet and cold, not a single sound to be heard except the occasional sigh from the sleeping woman beside him as she turned. This was not what he had imagined laying next to his wife would feel like. Wasn't he meant to feel warm lying next to the person he would spend the rest of his life with? How was it possible for him not to feel warm when she was? Wasn’t it physics that he should be warm?

Abigail did look pretty laying there with her ruffled hair spayed over her sleepy face and her mouth slightly parted. That little feeling in the bottom of his stomach grew again and he wanted to vomit, that thought creeping in the back of his mind, pretty not attractive. Had he ever found her attractive? Had he never admired her in a way that wasn’t the same as when he admired Arthur? Someone he was close to who looked good but… not good.

What a fool he was, of course, he had, she was his wife, they had a child, they had laid together, of course he found her attractive.

It wasn’t just his own doubting voice that nagged at the back of his head, but another, one that had spoken to him many many years ago that still would not leave hin alone.

It had been a night just like that one, a quiet night that had been even colder, but he hadn’t felt cold, he had felt warm pressed up against Javier’s chest, looking at his lips, studying the ways that they slightly parted as he breathed in through his mouth, a little habit he had.

He had been happy then, properly happy, laying next to Javier, the two of them simply watching each other with soft, affectionate eyes. John had never felt as much affection towards anyone as his brother in arms, the man who had saved him a million times, the man he had saved a million times.

The man.

Even then, in the happiest of their moments, it had been there in the back of his mind. Man. He had been okay with it because he hadn’t seen it as something that would last. He knew he couldn’t allow it to no matter how much he loved Javier. Unconventional love was accepted in the camp, they had rejected the law so why not the social norms as well, but it still hung on a little bit. The gang would allow flings between men, heck it was common even, back then it hadn’t been uncommon for John to catch Sean and Lenny at it in his tent, but long-lasting love? The marriage kind? It still wasn’t accepted between the boys.

Javier had kissed John, John had kissed back, he loved Javier, he had known that, he had also known he had loved him more than Abigail, he just hadn’t accepted it. No matter what aspect of Abigail he thought of, whether it be beauty, intelligence or personality, he always liked Javier better… Javier knew, John knew that Javier knew and John knew that Javier wanted more. He wanted the kind of love that wasn’t theirs to have.

“We could do it, you know,” Javier said, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “We could do it.”

John let out a slight huff. “What makes you think we wouldn’t be skinned alive?”

“Dutch and Hosea has done it,” Javier replied as he brushed a few strains of hair behind John’s ear. “They are together, they ain’t married but they are together in every other way, no one has skinned them, people respect them.”

John shook his head. “They don’t respect them, they just fear Dutch and like his plans enough to overlook his love with Hosea, who no one respects. Was it Hosea with someone else? They would have tried to slaughter him, would they have come far? No, but they would have tried.”

“Then let’s make them fear us,” Javier cupped John’s face. “We got the looks for it, the record as well.”

John sighed. “I don’t think it would work Javi.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love Abigail?”

“Yes.”

Javier raised a brow. “I meant do you love her the way you love her?”

“No,” John frowned. “Of course not. I love you like… I don’t know, a lot. I love her like a wife, I guess.”

Javier sighed. “John, you won’t be happy with her, she won’t be happy with you either. She feels the way about Sadie as you do with me, you are just trapped by the idea that a man and a woman is the only way love will last.”

John wiggled his way out of Javier’s arms, sitting up and looking down at Javier. “It is the only way.”

“Hosea and Dutch.”

“Dutch got Molly.”

“But he doesn’t love her,” Javier sat up and looked at John’s conflicted face, he knew, but he wouldn’t accept. “Not like he loves Hosea. If they can, so can we.”

John shook his head, covering the panic in his stomach with a disgusted face. “No, no we can’t, Javier we can’t-”

Javier sighed as he got to his feet, looking down at John. “Don’t come running when you realize I am right.”

It had been eight years since then and ever so often Javier’s words would pop up in John’s mind, but it was first then that he truly accepted that being Abigail’s husband did not mean the same as being Javier’s husband meant.