#jack marston deserved better

[fragolanervegas]

I drew for the first time in months, so if you see something wrong with it, no you don't. Anyways, poor lonesome cowboy (I care for him so bad)

[ghost-qwq]

silly little characters in my screen, surely nothing will go wrong with them ^^

[daisydood]

why cant the red dead developers leave ONE main character happy. they made three protagonists and they either died in a horrible way or are now extremely sad and lonely. jack has absolutely no one unless he can track down Sadie or Charles i am gonna be SICK

[feuer-bluete]

The hard thing about a second play through of rdr2 is that I know what will happen and have to make such hard decisions as:

do I save Jack as fast as possible, even tho I know he is generally okay where he is right now

or

do I let Kieran live a few more happy days

[johnmarstonisawolf]

I love both John and Arthur

“RDR1 Represents John’s Character Growth” Argument… 

I’ve seen people get blocked for disagreeing with the types of posts that complain about “Rdr fans disliking John’s characterization in rdr2”.  I’d rather just agree to disagree but if anyone doesn’t like where this post is going, please feel free to use the block button.

Also, in this post, I am repeating some things I’ve written in past responses/posts. Plus I have read other fans’ posts and opinions about this topic, which will be sprinkled throughout this post. 

Here it goes… Mainly for me, it’s the ret-con. It’s not that John can’t be this man with flaws, but in the first game (rdr1) they hint a lot at John (when he’d been in the gang in the past tense, before the events in rdr2) being this quixotic, well-spoken, “right-hand man of Dutch”, which were traits that were all given to Arthur in rdr2. Even Bill and Abigail hint at this. If you want to hear another rdr fan go more in-depth about this, read here. Plus Rockstar in so many words had explained why they made John a humiliation conga because they didn’t want John to “overshadow” Arthur. 

Yes, Arthur is older and yes, John could’ve been influenced by Arthur (but only by so much, I mean, c’mon John and Arthur are their own person). Yet the fact that Arthur is not even mentioned in rdr1 (yes, rdr2 hadn’t even been created yet. I know.) and they decided to “downgrade” John in rdr2 and give all of these admirable traits (they allude to in rdr1 about John) to Arthur is what baffles me. 

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Arthur’s character. However, it’s the high pedestal that this fandom puts him on, emphasizing his positive traits while continually bashing John in the process, that does me in.

We get it, John wasn’t a good father or a good husband, he treats his wife and kid like crap (he gets better tho), he deserves whatever criticism he gets for those horrible actions of his, but we got to remember this is the Wild West; Abigail nor John had the resources or skills to deal with their own trauma much less even raise a boy in a gang, especially Abigail. But that’s not downplaying the fact that John is a very emotionally-mentally damaged person (as a result of many forms of abuse and being raised by Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur, who aren’t the best examples) while at the same time, Abigail is a very emotionally-mentally damaged person (as a result of many forms of abuse and being raised and working in a brothel) who’s had to carry a kid for 9 months and march on through with barely having much help, aside from some individuals in the gang who helped her—I’m not gonna go with the narrative that not a single person in the gang helped. 

Listen, it’s not that we can’t handle seeing John being this pathetic version of himself that the devs chose to portray him as in rdr2 (so he wouldn’t overshadow Arthur and lazy writing) or that we can’t watch him grow from this immature and flawed human being to a man who loves his wife and child and would do anything for them… but it’s how it was done and how rockstar did it. 

They also did Johnny boy’s physical character design very poorly in the epilogue; in the epilogue (1907) he barely showcases any of the traits we see in (1911) rdr1 (a four-year difference, timeline-wise, which really isn’t that long). Although NPC John and Epilogue John might look different from each other, their personalities aren’t much different. So there’s not much of a change in my opinion.

Also, I just want to clarify that this post isn’t about the fandom preferring Arthur over John but more so about how John’s characterization was done in rdr2 compared to rdr1, which can’t merely be attributed to “character growth” rather than lazy writing.  Understandably, many people prefer Arthur over John. Hence compared to the first game, rdr2 has better accessibility, players get to go more into the protagonist’s mind, and many game mechanics have improved/developed since rdr1 was released. But rdr1 was an acclaimed game when it came out with many fans that still remain in this fandom, in spite of rdr2’s wider exposure. 

And if I was going to mention anything that the games were kind of consistent with when it came to John’s characterization, is that he has a dry and cynical personality that reflects the protagonists of old spaghetti westerns, and the unforgiving world that makes up the Wild West.

Personally, while I do like his character in both games (he’s my fave) I still feel like there’s a bit more they could’ve done with his character in rdr2, in regards to missions and stuff, I would even say the devs had put more effort into some supporting characters compared to John, but that’s just my opinion. And I was really hoping for a rdr1 remaster but more so in a Yakuza Kiwami way (amped-up gameplay, fixed plot holes, better character detail, quality improvements, etc…)

[yourlocalhistorynerd315]

God, why does Jack Marston have to have such a sad life. He loses so many people he sees as family, especially Arthur, in RDR2. Micah wanted to leave him orphaned in RDR2 when the Pinkertons took Abigail to hang her and when John was presumed dead. He loses so many people that were close to him so quickly, he didn't even have time to process it. Then in RDR1 He loses Uncle and his father in a matter of minutes and then loses his mother not even four years later. There's dialogue from Jack in RDR1 (dependent on your honor level from what I heard) that just shows Jack is incredibly depressed. He deserves so much better

[brothermoth]

songs that give me rdr2 feels

Dust in the Wind — Kansas (it's Arthur's song, full stop. Themes of futility and the realization that life is fleeting? It's him, baby.)

All the Pretty Horses — Laura Gibson (Kieran's song without a doubt. That grubby little man deserved so much better)

For a Few Good Men— Amigo the Devil (another Arthur song. It feels so bittersweet and full of longing, really just makes me think of him and Mary and the life they could have had).

Welcome Home, Son — Radical Face (God this song just has Jack vibes. Its very Marston family coded).

Borealis— The Huntress and Holder of Hands (John and Abigail song. Thank you)

Wolf— First Aid Kit (Marston family depression. I love them so much guys)

[verdemoun]

is there like a comprehensive guide somewhere about the timewarp au thing because i keep seeing you post about it but i've only been following you for a little while so i'm not at all as caught up on the lore as i'd like to be 💔 could you maybe summarise the most basic important info and aspects of it like you were explaining it to a complete outsider ?

I will hopefully be making one is the not too distant future because timewarp definitely got way bigger than I ever anticipated and is still providing me loads of fun to write. pinned post coming in the next month hopefully and a better tagging system so people can find stuff easier

origins: timewarp part 1, timewarp part 2, how does death work in timewarp, timewarp timeline

td;lr: the van der linde gang and other important characters from rdr canon are transported exactly 100 years into the future from their moment of death - which may or may not be due to the whims of magical time travelling quasi-deity josiah trelawney

as part of timewarping the gang still experience and remember their deaths and the events of canon. they also often need to wait years to be reunited following the dates of canon wherever possible, and pass the time learning how to live in modern era and otherwise getting up to antics they didn't have time to while outlaws.

the canon timewarp cast, in rough order of death: bessie matthews, annabelle, eliza, isaac morgan, mac callander, davey callander, jenny kirk, jake adler, sean macguire, kieran duffy, hosea matthews, lenny summers, molly o'shea, susan grimshaw, arthur morgan, eagle flies, karen jones, alden carruthers, leopold strauss, micah bell iii, sadie adler, charles smith, abigail (addie) marston jr, javier escuella, bill williamson, dutch van der linde, uncle, john marston, abigail marston, jack marston.

some funky ocs who turn up: kai bell (descendant of amos bell), maeve macsummers (daughter of sean macguire and karen jones), lucy shelley (molly o'shea's wife)

characters who did not timewarp due to me thinking they deserve a fix-it happy ending in canon era: mary-beth gaskill, tilly jackson, simon pearson, reverend swanson, rains fall, mary linton.

i will however answer asks about how i think absolutely any character would react to being timewarped (special shoutout to darragh macguire)

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Moments of lucidity come rarely to Dutch in his last few years. What happened on Mount Hagen, slaying the rat, that was supposed to be the end of it. That was supposed to be what silenced the voices in his head, what repelled the ghosts clawing at his neck, every night for the best part of a decade. It should have been simple. It would have been, if not for John. Why John? Why did he have to show up, on that same day? That boy had always been his pride and his curse. Seeing him brought back all the doubts, all the paranoia, still never sure how deep that boy's treacherous nature had run and for how many years. Micah was a rat, the undoing of his community, but that didn't mean John was fully innocent. His wife had taken the key for the money, that much he knew...and John had chosen her over him, the man who raised him, who gave him everything! He could never forgive that...Never.

He'd nearly shot the wrong one. If John had shot Micah first, if he had taken Dutch's own rightful vengeance, he might have pulled the trigger (before turning it on himself, he knows). Then he said Arthur's name. The snake dared to dismiss it, what happened, what he...They...Dutch kept his eyes on John, searching for the truth, while the boy begged him to speak. And for only the second time in his life, words had failed Dutch Van Der Linde. He'd seen too many of his sons lay dead at his feet. No more, not that day. He shot Micah. He let John and his damn family have the money. That was supposed to be the end. He just wanted to rest.

The years only brought more voices. More shadows in his sleep, his own anguished cries waking him in a cold sweat. A bloody cough followed by a gunshot. A hand crunching beneath his boot. He gave him all he had. He did. For god sake, he knows he did, he believes him, now please go away!

John is easy to track. Dutch finds him after less than a year. No doubt Uncle Sam will too. The fact he's still alive doesn't bode well for Dutch's convictions. But little John is a good and law-abiding man now, an upstanding husband and father, so much better than the filthy streetrat he once was, let alone the lowlives that took him in and fed, clothed and raised the ungrateful brat.

All Dutch does is watch. He sees his boy carry the hay to the horses. He sees Jack play fetch with Cain...No...Not Cain, that's him now. The wanderer. He sees Uncle drinking hooch before snoozing against a tree, and for a moment merry songs around a campfire while Sean makes a heartfelt yet slurred speech threatens to drown him in sweet nostalgia. He touches his own hand and imagines it's Hosea. They did it. They...No. Only John. The only one. Grief rears its head again, and his brain is an endless cycle of giddy cheer as he remembers the old days, to reliving each heartbreaking loss, to aiming his gun at John from that hill and fuming at what HE chose...and then wanting to claw out his own heart with regret. With shame. And on and on it goes.

He never gets too close. The Marstons never know he's there, that their own sponsor is watching over them...contemplating if they were deserving of his generosity after trying to stab him in the back. God damn snakes!

Then one day, he's passing by after hearing news about a new group of native boys stirring up trouble, and he decides to look in on them. On his snake of a son. Even that whore wife was looking big the last time he saw them. It's so much easier to let the poisonous thoughts speak the loudest these days.

They suggest burning the ranch, like he once did to that inbred crone. Its his, truly, paid for by his money! It all meant nothing. And all because that small-minded child of a man could not understand the truth. Because he could not keep his faith. That was all he asked. Faith. Loyalty.

He wouldn't have let him swing, never...But it would have been easier to let him rot. He should have.

The boy, Jackie, he's not playing with the dog today. He's standing oh so still. He's in black. Even the who...Abigail. Her name is Abigail. She's not big anymore. How long ago was that now? Two years? She's...also in black, face veiled. The wind carries her cries. For a moment Dutch assumes this is for Uncle, his time having finally run short, until he spots him too. No drink. Stood upright, his arm around Abigail.

And then comes John from his front door. He's carrying something large...No. Not large, not when Dutch realises what it is. They shouldn't make things like that so...small. Tiny. And they should never be carried alone. But John does. His feet look weighed down with a grief so crushing that Dutch feels it suffocating him from all this way. He can't see his face all that clear...but he knows him. He knows how that boy never cries, just lets his eyes shine with a lifetime of sadness.

"John...My dear boy...I'm sorry." He mutters, useless as always.

All the hatred, all the accusations, all the deceipt and lies shrivel to nothing. They're blown on the wind like ash. Dutch can only watch as John lays the coffin in the freshly dug earth. He takes off his hat...that familar black hat with the rope...and holds it to his chest. His wife goes to put something in, but her hands are shaking too hard and she nearly collapses. So Jackie lays it down in the pit. A pink blanket? Maybe even a tiny dress? A daughter. He had a little girl. Oh John.

It's a pain he knows, that he can share in, wishing that he could take it all from his son onto himself. The loss of a child. The sense of failure that you couldn't save them. No matter what took that sweet young thing from this world, he has no doubt John blames himself.

It's not your fault, he wishes he could tell him. He wants to hold his son. He wants to have the words again, words John can believe in like when he was young, words that tell him "I'm here and it's okay." He wants to...be...

It fizzles out as fast as it came. The voices return and dig their talons in deep before shredding his rotten carcass of a mind away.

He doesn't belong there. He isn't wanted. He...He let them down. Let them all down, left them for dead, let that snake seep his venom into his thoughts. Money can't make this right. Money meant nothing next to death.

A shell hardens over what little remains of Dutch's heart. John chose this life, he needs to take it for what it is, good and bad. Joy and pain. The best thing Dutch can do for his son is leave him be and pray that they never have to set eyes on each other again.

Because if they do...it will mean the end. For both of them.

[softrozene]

Deserve Better

Anonymous requested: I adore your Molly x fem and I died at the fact they didn’t recognize Dutch in the bar. Can I get something similar but with Abigail? Like a f!reader shows Abby how she should be treated post ganvg and whisks her away from John? please don’t hurt my boy too much 😂 much love ❤️ 

rdr2 masterlist

AKFDA Thank you! I am so glad you like my Molly stuff- And this? This is genius. I love the Marston family with all my heart but sometimes I agree that Abigail should be treated better (Thankfully we get that in the epilogue of the game- For however long that lasts :’))

Also, I know you said post gang but I just had to do it during.

Originally published on January 6, 2021

Abigail Roberts (Marston) x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, technical cheating? Abigail leaves John - John is like “wtf is going on”, per request John is not hurt that much - Just in shock, best friends to lovers.

Words: ~1,100

-

In her own way, Abigail has always been really proud of you. You have never backed down from anyone despite being a woman yourself- And tend to take on the “manlier” missions to prove the men wrong. She looked up to you- Especially since you were there the year John left the gang.

It was tough on her, but you were her rock and best friend.

It was one of the reasons why she did not think much about Sadie also taking on a more masculine role. It was more fitting, and she loved how you and Sadie stood up for the women of the group- It was refreshing.

She could tell you everything- All her worries, even those she was too afraid to tell Hosea or Arthur. She confidently told you because you just listened. You did not offer advice unless she asked and you while everyone was rather careful with their words to avoid her wrath when it comes to the truth- You are blunt.

That is why she never really thought of you as a partner- Not until now when she asked for advice after seeing John, completely drunk, asking Karen to hook up. Thankfully, the latter had enough respect for Abigail and told John to basically fuck off.

Abigail had unfortunately overheard this encounter- But instead of her usual anger she felt towards John, she felt rather… Defeated.

Thus, making her come to you and this time instead of venting, asking for advice on what she should do. How to stop making a man who is too hesitant to her and somehow still denying Jack- Love them? How can she stop loving him despite all the pain he keeps causing her?

She thought she was going to lose him up in that mountain- She truly was grateful he was brought back alive but now… It feels like something did die back up there.

So now- She stares into your serious gaze and feels a bit nervous at your thoughts. You were not going to sugar-coat anything, and it truly was one of those traits she adores from you.

However, the first words that fly out of your mouth leave her in shock.

“You deserve better,” You state.

You go silent again and she processes what you say- Trying to fight off the anger and need to defend John because you are her best friend and she asked her for advice. She will listen to it with an open heart. You let out a sigh and look to be contemplating something.

Then finally you continue, “Listen- Abby. You deserve so much better. I know the love you have for John is strong and I can see as clear as day that he loves you too, in his own slightly fucked up way, but in the end, what you need is someone who will be there for you always. You not only have yourself to think of but you have Jack. I respect John I do but he is a shit father- He has been avoiding that boy since he was born- He even went out of his way to leave for a whole year. He is still pushing him away. I do not know what to tell you about that but for Jack’s sake, you need to figure out if you want that indecisive man to be in your life… Or-“

You stop talking making her serious expression urge you on. You do after you sigh.

“Or I can help you. Jack can’t have this life forever and he should get a shot at a normal life. We can leave the gang for good, I am already a pretty decent shot- I can get a job as a hunter or whatever, maybe even a bounty hunter, it doesn’t matter to me but I will help you get a beautiful home. I will help you whether that means just as best friends, Jack’s second mom, or even as a lover to you- You name it and I will do it,” You state.

Abigail pauses. Her expression falls as she processes your words and then she realizes that you technically confessed to her. That you have a thing for her. This brutally honest confession is opening up her eyes.

“Listen, forget I said anything about the lover part. I did not mean to make it weird. I will give you time to think about it and just know I did mean the last part. I will do whatever you name,” You say.

No- Abigail does not need time. She has not felt her heart race like this since she first fell for John. She can feel the honesty in your voice and to be honest- She did not think a fellow woman could be her lover but hearing you say it?

It is clicking into place. You have been there since Jack was born. You comforted her when John left- You have always been her rock- Her best friend. Maybe you were destined to be her lover? Open up her eyes and be there for her and Jack since John painfully does not want to.

“Let’s go then. Right now as lovers. I will go back up Jack’s things,” Abigail states seriously.

You raise an eyebrow and before you ask if she is sure- She nods her head. “Right now. I am going to explain to at least Arthur and Hosea since they care about Jack and I.”

“Alrighty- I will pack up the horses,” You say a smile on your face.

Your heart races and you feel… Happy- Not just because Abigail just said you can be lovers, but she is willing to leave everyone with you for her and Jack’s sake. She trusts you and you promise to not let them down.

Immediately- You can hear John’s shouts and wondering what the hell is going on. He shouts, “Where you going, Abigail? Where you taking the kid?”

He does not say his kid. When John follows her to your horse- He looks even more confused. Jack looks excited.

You help Abigail and Jack onto one of the horses (with the promise you will return or compensate it) for Hosea before getting onto yours. The whole time Abigail and John argue, and he finally gets fed up.

“Good riddance then.  Though I know you and you will come back eventually but hopefully you do not. Keep that kid for all I care,” He grumbles as he contradicts himself both in voice and looks.

You give Abigail one last look- To turn down your offer and yourself and instead she takes your horse’s reins and begins to lead the way to your new life together.

[reddorkredemption]

My Blessed Son—Chapter 19

|| AO3 || Chapter List / Story Info ||  

Summary:

For years, Jack Marston dreamed of killing Edgar Ross, the man who had taken everything from him, who had ruined his life. His obsession with revenge had given him a reason to keep going. But now, after it was done, he was left lost, depressed and without purpose. He was left to navigate life alone with the unforgiving eyes of the law slowly narrowing in on him. Though he soon comes to realize that perhaps he isn’t quite as alone as he thought he would be. A continuation from the end of Red Dead Redemption 1.

Word count: ~10.3k

Quick warning: this chapter touches pretty heavily on Jack’s trauma & grief, so if you’re sensitive to those things, please tread lightly and take care of yourself. <3

Chapter under the cut <3

Jack bounced his leg up and down, rhythmically shaking the dining room chair he was sitting in, no doubt scuffing up the wooden floor underneath him. His mother always hated when he’d do that, and he could hear the ghost of her voice in his head scolding him for it. The thought made his knee still, and he took to tapping his foot instead. 

He was leaning forward against the table, his elbows propped up as his fingers fiddled with the little bracelet of flowers Lilly had given him a few days prior. Gently, as if it were the most valuable yet fragile thing in the world, he turned it in his hands, running his thumb along one of the tiny, wilted petals.

It had definitely seen better days, and as he examined it, he wished he had kept it somewhere safer— somewhere more conducive to its preservation than the cold, hard wood of his bedside table. The color of the flowers had dulled, and the edges of the leaves along the stem were turning brown and crunchy. 

But despite the thing’s rapid deterioration, Jack couldn’t bring himself to throw it out. Lilly had given it to him, and he loved her.

He loved her. 

Ever since that night by the chicken coop, that thought had been replaying in his head nonstop. It was hard to focus on anything else. And he had no idea what to do about it. He didn’t know how to talk to Lilly normally anymore, how to look her in the eye when his heart stampeded in his chest every time he saw her. 

He hoped she hadn’t noticed his change in demeanor, and if she did, he hoped that she wouldn’t ask about it. Because what would he say? How could he possibly begin to tell her how he felt when he hardly understood it himself? 

He had no experience with this kind of thing— he couldn’t even form a friendship with anyone growing up, let alone anything more than that. And beyond the cheesy romances he’d read in his books, he had nothing to draw on for guidance and no one to ask for help. 

Well, maybe not nothing. Uncle— completely unprompted— had told him plenty of things. Things that would’ve gotten the old man skinned alive if Jack’s mother had overheard them. Things that should never be repeated, much less applied to his relationship with Lilly. She didn’t deserve to be thought of in that way. No one did. So none of that was of any use. In fact, Jack was sure he’d be better off never having heard it at all. 

His parents were gone, and even when they were still around, they had never broached the subject with him. Maybe because he’d never brought it up, they assumed he didn’t have any interest in it.

And in a way, they’d be right. Before now— before he met Lilly— falling in love was never something he thought much about, and in the rare instances it did cross his mind, he’d always concluded that it would never happen to him. Love was for other people; it was for the characters in his books. Not for him. He wasn’t the type.

At least, he thought he wasn’t…. 

The sound of the back door swinging open startled him back to the present, and he closed his fist around the flowers in his hand, grimacing as he felt a leaf crunch against his palm. He tried to collect himself and act natural as Lilly entered the room, but the way his heart jumped when he saw her didn’t make it easy. 

She came to the table, a spring in her step and a bright grin plastered across her face, threatening to melt his heart entirely. “You’ll never guess what I found,” she said, slapping her palms down on the table. Before he could even attempt a guess, she continued, “I found Chickpea.”

Chickpea— the name of one of the hens that went missing after the coyote attack. “Really?” He slid the fist clutching the flowers off the table, slowly so as not to draw attention, and rested it in his lap.

Lilly nodded. “She was hidin’ out in the barn— God knows how she got in there. She’s really shaken up and has a big chunk of feathers missing, but she’s still alive.”

“Oh,” he said, the mere mention of the barn making his stomach turn. Of course the chicken was in there. The one place he’d never dare to check. Swallowing his unease, he forced a smile. “That’s good.”

“Yeah. That means we only lost two of ‘em— less than half.” She put her hands on her hips, and her grin widened. “Things are back to looking up again. I can feel it.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so,” she countered, pulling out a chair on the opposite side of the table and sitting down. “The place is looking great; there’s barely anything left we have to fix up…”

Jack’s smile became a bit more genuine as she carried on, speaking about all they’d accomplished around the ranch. Her unwavering optimism was infectious, whether he considered it to be realistic or not. 

As she moved on to talk about the work they still had left to do, Jack felt himself getting lost in his head again, his subconscious only picking up small bits and pieces of what she was saying. His eyes drifted down to her lips, to the dimples that graced her cheeks as she smiled, to the missing button near the top of her shirt and the small sliver of skin that showed through the gap it left.

What if he told her how he felt right now?— just blurted it out right here in the middle of her rambling. How would she react? What would she say? Would she think he’s some kind of creep or would she feel the same way? She had to be here with him for a reason, right? And that reason had always been a mystery to him. For a moment, he dared to think that it might be because she did feel the same.

But as always, the cynical part of his brain had to chime in to crush that idea. It told him that she may only be putting up with him to keep a roof over her head. Back when he invited her to the ranch, she was practically destitute; she was days away from being forced to be one of the saloon or hotel’s working girls. Maybe she’d just decided that staying with Jack was the lesser evil. 

Although, if that were the case, it wouldn’t make much sense for her to stick around through all the trouble with the bureau. Surely, she would’ve left by now….

Jack was pulled out of his thoughts when he noticed that Lilly had suddenly stopped talking. He refocused on her face, his heart sinking to his stomach when she looked back at him expectantly, as if she’d asked him a question.

He swallowed hard and glanced off to the side, his mind racing to come up with some generic answer. He couldn’t admit that he hadn’t been listening to her; she’d think he was an asshole, or worse, she’d ask what exactly it was that had him so distracted.

As the seconds ticked by without a word from him, she asked, “Does that sound good?”

Some of his panic faded. She’d thrown him a lifeline: a simple yes or no question. But did what sound good? What had she been talking about before he zoned out? Something about the ranch, something about cleaning….

“Jack?” she prodded gently.

“Uh, yeah,” he blurted out. “Sure. That sounds fine.”

She eyed him for a moment, an inquisitive look on her face. “Okay. Great,” she said, though she didn’t sound all too convinced. Jack avoided eye contact with her, glancing up only long enough to see her smile return. “Well, I’ll meet you outside then.”

Jack gave a nod of agreement, and Lilly stood up, abandoning the table to go back out the back door. He watched her as she left, holding his breath and only releasing it once he heard the door shut behind her.

He slouched in his chair and loosened his grip on the flowers in his fist. As he lifted his palm to assess the damage done to the petals, a strange sense of dread crept over him. What did he just agree to? 

He tried to shove the feeling away, reasoning that it couldn’t have been anything bad. It was likely just some tedious chore she needed his help with— something heavy she couldn’t lift or a rooster she couldn’t get to behave. But despite his attempts to reassure himself, he couldn’t shake his unease, not until he found out for sure what he’d signed up for. And there was only one way to do that.

Jack scooted away from the table, internally apologizing to his mother as the chair scratched against the floor again, and stood up. He stopped by his bedroom first, where he set the bracelet of flowers on his desk and placed a book on top of it to keep it safe. Then, he made his way outside. 

As he exited the house, he scanned the area in search of Lilly, and when he spotted her standing by the barn, his blood ran cold. The dread he’d been feeling intensified, hitting him with enough force to stop him in his tracks.

She wanted to start cleaning out the barn, didn’t she? He should’ve known. God, how stupid was he? Of course that’s what she was talking about— it was the last big thing they needed to do to fix up the ranch.

She locked eyes with him and waved him over, the most blissfully ignorant smile plastered across her face. After a brief hesitation, he continued towards her, dragging his feet. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they were just going to meet there and then go off and do something else. Please, God, tell him he was wrong.

Keeping his eyes trained on Lilly, he held his breath as he stepped into the big shadow cast by the barn. Any hope he had that she was planning to do something else was dashed when she faced the barn, surveying it with her hands on her hips. He stopped beside her, locking his knees to keep them from shaking.

She glanced over at him, still smiling. “Once we get this done, maybe we can get a cow,” she said, clapping her hands together in delight. “I don’t know how much they cost, but I’m sure we could scrape it together.”

“Maybe,” he replied morosely. 

His tone caused her smile to falter, and she turned to him, her brows furrowing in concern. “Everything okay?”

He shifted on his feet. No. No, it’s not. Tell her it’s not. She knew that his father had been shot in front of the barn; he had told her. She should understand. 

But she didn’t know that meant he was so afraid of the place. Because who would be? Who would be afraid of something so ridiculous— something so obviously harmless? His mother had never had a problem going in there. Why should he?

Shaking his head to quiet his quarreling thoughts, he answered, “Yeah. Just… not lookin’ forward to the smell.”

She chuckled. “Well, the sooner we get things cleaned up, the sooner we won’t have to deal with that anymore.”

“Right….”

With a shrug, she approached the barn and pushed open one of the swinging doors, poking her head inside then immediately drawing back. “Man, you weren’t kidding,” she said, her hand flying to her nose to cover the stench. She opened the door further, letting out a heavy sigh as she stepped into the doorway and looked around. “We really saved the biggest task for last, huh?”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Jack murmured.

He glanced up at the ridge overlooking the ranch, part of him hoping to see those couple of bureau agents standing there again— that could’ve given him a last-ditch excuse to get out of working on the barn. But of course, he wasn’t that lucky; there was nobody up there that day. 

Lilly slipped the rest of the way inside, keeping a hand on the door to hold it open for him. He stared past her into the barn, his heart racing so hard he feared it would burst. It’s fine, he told himself. It’ll be fine. He needed to suck it up. It was just a barn; there wasn’t anything in there that could hurt him. There wasn’t anything in there scarier than having to admit how afraid he was of something so innocuous.

So despite every muscle in his body screaming at him to stop, he dragged his feet forward and followed her inside. 

The door swung shut behind him, and he froze in place as he was enveloped in the dark abyss of the barn. For a moment, nothing happened, and he took a couple of steps forward, peering around and taking in his surroundings.

Then, slowly, they crept in. All of the memories of the hell that had unleashed around that barn. All of the feelings, the sensations, the things he pushed away into the darkest corners of his mind, hoping they would get lost there. The images of his father lying dead on the ground outside, his mother’s heart-shattering wails, the blood left on his hands after they’d dragged his body into the barn. He could still feel it on his skin, slowly rolling down his fingertips and dripping into the dirt. He wiped his hands on his shirt, trying to make the feeling go away, but it was persistent.

The distant sound of Lilly’s voice calling his name pulled him out of his stupor. She stepped into his line of sight and waved a hand in front of his face. He blinked at her, unable to speak as his heart pounded in his throat.

His eyes darted around frantically, and it felt like the walls were starting to close in on him. His limbs shook, and he couldn’t remember how to breathe; it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the building. A single thought ran through his head on repeat: Get. Out. 

Regaining control of his feet, he stumbled backwards into the doors, slamming them open and launching himself onto the ground outside. The impact pushed all of the air from his lungs, and he gasped as he scrambled to his knees. He looked up to see a blurry image of Lilly rushing out of the barn after him. 

“What happened!?” she asked, standing to the side as he crawled over to a hitching post and pulled himself back up to his feet. 

“I can’t,” he stammered in between labored breaths, slumping over the post. “I can’t go in there.” 

His stomach turned, and Lilly watched with a horrified look on her face as he let out a series of dry-heaves. Once the heaving stopped, he tightened his grip on the hitching post and groaned.

“O-Okay, that’s fine,” she said, waving her hands. “You don’t have to. I can do it myself. Don’t worry—”

“No!” Jack snapped, growing angry with himself. This was ridiculous; he was being ridiculous. He shouldn’t be acting this way; there was no reason for this. “You can’t just do everything by yourself. You shouldn’t have to!”

“Okay, um… do you wanna sit outside the door then?” she suggested, her voice starting to waver. “Or… or maybe we don’t need to do it at all. We can—”

“No, just— just stop!” he shouted over her, making the mistake of looking her in the eyes as he did so. The startled, almost fearful, look on her face gave him pause, causing a deep shame to settle in the pit of his stomach. He tore his eyes away; he couldn’t bear to keep looking at her. All he wanted was to run away and find somewhere to hide.

So that’s what he chose to do. He released his grasp on the post and began rushing towards the house.

“Jack!” Lilly called, chasing after him. “Hey!”

He turned around and put his palms up, shaking violently. “Just leave me alone, okay? I don’t—” I don’t wanna scare you away for good. I don’t wanna make you hate me. Tears brimmed his eyes, and he blinked them away. “I need a minute.”

Before she could say anything else, he took off running to the house, craving the safety and solitude of his bedroom. When he got there, he slammed the door behind him and sat down hard on his bed, still unable to stop his shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his nails into the mattress, trying to focus on taking deep breaths as he rode out the panic wracking his body.

———

He didn’t know how long it lasted, but when the anxiety finally began to fade, an overwhelming sense of grief crept in to take its place. It was just as strong as the night after his father was buried— when Jack lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while it sank in that he was really gone. He wasn’t going to wake up in the morning and find out that it was all a terrible nightmare. He wasn’t ever going to see him again. He would never have the chance to say all the things he’d left unspoken.

Jack stared blankly ahead as the feeling festered, not moving until there was a light knock at the door. As he turned to face it, the door opened a crack, and Lilly poked her head inside. He made eye contact with her for half a second before putting his head down, another rush of shame and embarrassment washing over him. 

The door creaked open further, and Lilly, her voice soft as ever, asked, “Can I come in?”

Without looking up, he responded with a silent nod.

She slipped inside, her footsteps barely audible as she crossed the room to sit down on the bed beside him. They sat there quietly for a moment, Jack keeping his eyes glued to the floor and Lilly twiddling her thumbs.

The silence was broken when she gently asked, “Do you… wanna tell me what happened?”

His brow knitted together, and his cheeks burned as he recalled how ridiculously he had behaved. Unable— or unwilling— to explain himself, he buried his head in his hands and blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, placing a hand between his shoulder blades, slowly trailing it up his back in a soothing motion. “I just… wanna understand.”

Resting his fists on his cheeks, he stared at the floor for a few seconds longer before gathering the courage to look at her. On her face, he didn’t find any of the judgment he feared he would. Instead, her eyes were filled with sadness and a hint of remorse that broke his heart.

He lowered his head again. “My pa got shot in front of the barn.” He left it at that, knowing if he offered any more details about the event, he’d only set himself off again. “And now, every time I go in there…” He trailed off; it felt like there were no words to truly describe what happened in that barn— what he felt in there. It was like he still had one foot in the past. Like some part of his soul had broken off the day his father died and gotten stuck there, and the second he stepped into that barn, it reattached itself. 

He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s… all I can think about, and it almost feels like I’m right back there. And I know I’m not, but…” He clenched his fists when he felt himself beginning to shake again. “I can’t handle it.”

“So… that’s happened before?” Lilly asked.

“Yeah. A few times.”

She nodded and went quiet again, continuing to softly rub his back.

Quickly growing uncomfortable with the silence, he muttered, “I’m sorry. I know I overreacted. I know I was being—”

“Stop.” Her hand left his back, and she wrapped her arm around him, hugging him tightly. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you can’t control the way things make you feel. None of that was your fault. You know that, right?”

He didn’t answer; he knew she wouldn’t like the answer.

“Jack….” She squeezed him tighter.

He clenched his jaw. “I was bein’ weak.”

“You weren’t,” she said, her voice remaining soft but gaining a hint of defiance. “If that was true… you wouldn’t have gone in there at all.” She tapped the side of his chin to get him to look at her. “You said that’s happened before. So you knew you wouldn’t like it in there, but you went in anyway. What part of that is weak?”

Jack scoffed and looked away. She said that as if he’d forced himself to go in there for some great, noble purpose. As if the whole thing hadn’t just been a miserably failed attempt at saving himself a little embarrassment.

She grabbed one of his hands, and he widened his eyes at her. “I think you’re a lot stronger than you realize, Jack,” she said. “And this doesn’t change that.”

He pulled his hand from her grasp and lowered his head. “It sure don’t feel that way.”

“Well,” she sighed, resting her palms on her knees, “I think things rarely feel the way they really are.”

Jack couldn’t come up with a response to that, so they fell back into silence. He truly did appreciate her for being there— for sitting and talking with him and trying to help. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t see it the way she did, and he didn’t feel like arguing any further.

Without the conversation to distract him, he became painfully aware of how exhausted his episode had left him. Not to mention that lingering grief still festering deep in the pit of his stomach. Groaning, he stretched his legs out and rubbed his eyes.

Lilly eyed him. “Are you feelin’ alright now? Is there anything I can do or get for you?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, massaging his forehead. “I’m exhausted. I kinda just wanna go back to bed.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Here.” She stood up and walked over to the window, pulling the sheer curtains shut. They didn’t do much to block out the light, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless. 

She gave him a reassuring smile, and he tried to muster one up in return, hoping she could see the unspoken gratitude behind it. When she started heading for the door, he felt a pang of disappointment. Although he was tired and not in the mood to talk, he didn’t want her to leave. He missed the warmth of her sitting beside him.

“Wait,” he croaked.

She stopped in front of the door and looked over her shoulder at him, and when her eyes met his, the little bit of nerve he had left crumbled. He wasn’t sure what he was planning on saying anyway. He couldn’t very well ask her to stay and watch him sleep. He’d embarrassed himself enough for one day, and the awkwardness of that would make him vaporize.

“Uh, n-nevermind,” he said.

She turned to fully face him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, his heart rate kicking up again. “It wasn’t important. You can go.”

Lilly tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and for a moment, she seemed disappointed. “Okay, well… if you change your mind— if you decide you need somethin’— lemme know,” she said, giving him another smile. “I’m always around.”

The reminder that she wasn’t going anywhere tugged at his heart, making it beat even faster. He sucked in his lips and gave a nod in response. With that, she left the room, gently shutting the door behind her.

He sighed and flopped back in his bed, shoving the heels of his palms against his eyes and hoping that sleep would take him soon.

———

Jack tossed and turned for ages, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t shut his mind off. Every time he closed his eyes, he was assaulted with gruesome images of his father, and he couldn’t shake the grief that kept gnawing at his aching chest. Eventually, he gave up and crawled out of bed.

Half-dazed from his exhaustion, he wandered back outside, keeping his head down to avoid catching sight of the barn. He didn’t know where Lilly had run off to, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to bother her any more.

For a few minutes, he meandered around the porch, hoping the fresh autumn air would help clear his mind. But when it didn’t, he strayed farther from the house, letting his feet take control and decide where to lead him.

He ended up at the bottom of the hill that led up to his family’s gravesite, and he stopped and stared up at the three wooden crosses looming over him. He hadn’t been up there since the day he buried his mother. And before then, he only visited his father’s grave a couple of times, never staying longer than a few minutes. Sticking around any longer had been too painful. 

Still, he should’ve gone up there more often to tend to the graves, and that thought caused a pang of guilt to shoot through his chest. He pushed himself forward, slowly making his way up to the cliffside.

He approached the three graves at the top and stood a few feet away from them, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. Seeing the state of them— especially of his father’s— intensified his guilt. He took a step closer to his father’s grave, examining the makeshift wooden cross that bore his name. The wood was weathered and had split in multiple places from the water damage it had endured, making it difficult to read what was inscribed on it. Additionally, the mound of dirt was covered in unsightly weeds, most of which were concentrated around the base of the cross.

He glanced over at his mother’s marker, which was in better shape but still already showing some of the same signs of decay. And Uncle’s was no better than his father’s.

It tore Jack apart. He wished he had the money to give them something better. They deserved better. They deserved to have one of those nice, carved stones like the ones in the cemetery in Blackwater, and they deserved to have a son who actually took the time to pull up the weeds around their graves.

His breath caught, and he knelt down in front of his father’s grave. 

After a moment, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The words were so simple, yet he meant them more than anything he had ever said before. They were behind almost everything he did. They were the reason he refused to leave the ranch behind, the reason he threw his revolver in the lake, the reason he now shunned the whiskey he so desperately craved. Yet none of that felt like enough, and the guilt that burned inside him threatened to swallow him whole.

He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms until it hurt. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, a bit louder.

Jack hoped that somewhere, somehow, his father could hear him. He hoped he knew how sorry he was for never coming up there and for always pushing him away when he was still around. And more importantly, how sorry he was for how far he’d fallen after his father’s death. For how he’d broken what was left of his mother’s heart in his quest for revenge and how he’d let the ranch his father built for them go to shit. 

 Jack hoped he knew he’d take it all back if he could. 

A couple of silent tears rolled down his cheek, and he wiped them on the shoulder of his sleeve. But when they continued to come, he didn’t make any effort to stop them. He allowed the full force of his grief and his guilt to spill down his face unrestrained.

Gritting his teeth, he hunched forward onto his hands and knees and dug his fists into the ground, tightening them around the clumps of weeds at the base of the grave marker. With a gruff sob, he tore them out of the earth and threw them to the side. Then, again and again, he went back for more fistfuls, determined to uproot every last one.

When he finished with his father’s grave, he moved on to his mother’s, and then to Uncle’s, ripping up every weed in sight until his hands were red and raw. All the while, the tears never stopped rolling down his cheeks.

When the graves were free of weeds, he dragged himself underneath a nearby tree, panting and sweating from his efforts. His throat ached, and his chest was burning, yet strangely, the whole ordeal left him feeling lighter than he had in years. 

He wiped the streaks of tears off his cheeks and closed his eyes, taking in the fresh air and the feeling of the breeze against his skin. As his heart rate returned to normal, exhaustion settled in again. He stretched his legs out, leaned his head back against the tree, and tugged his hat down over his eyes. 

Within minutes, he finally drifted off to sleep.

The air was warmer when Jack awoke, and his skin tingled from the streaks of sunlight shining through the tree’s branches. He stretched and lifted the brim of his hat, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light. Glancing up at the sky, he noted the position of the sun and concluded that it was now around the middle of the afternoon. He sat there for a moment longer, waiting for his lingering sleepiness to wear off before standing up. 

As he got back to his feet, he brushed the dirt off his jeans and smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. Then, resolving to clean up the remains of the weeds he’d uprooted later, he passed by his family’s graves and approached the edge of the cliff to take a look around.

From that angle, he could see the entirety of the ranch, and he was struck by how much it had changed over the past few months. Most of the tall patches of grass and weeds that once littered the place had been trimmed down. The fence surrounding the property was free of holes. And the chicken coop, even despite the coyote attack, was bustling with life again. 

It looked a lot more like it had a few years ago. 

His eyes landed on the once-overgrown gazebo, where he found Lilly sitting and reading a book. As he watched her, her words echoed in his head: You’re a lot stronger than you realize. Maybe she was right. And maybe the proof of that was right in front of him. 

Coming back to the ranch was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he did it anyway. And in that moment, as he stared down at the fruits of all his hard work, he felt that it had paid off. He felt that his parents would have been proud of him. Despite all the setbacks he had faced— and was still facing— he had managed to do something right.

But his pride faltered a bit when he looked at the barn, remembering the mess that was still inside. He’d made a lot of progress on the ranch, but he wasn’t quite finished yet. And he didn’t want to give up now. 

Taking in a shaky breath, Jack lifted his chin and stepped away from the ledge. Then, with a final sorrowful yet determined glance at his family’s graves, he made his way over to the gazebo. As he approached, Lilly looked up from her book and then closed it, setting it in her lap and folding her hands on top of it. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared at her as he tried to come up with what to say. 

She gave him a gentle smile. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he greeted her back, scratching at the dirt with his boot. “I— I’ll sit outside the door.” He nodded towards the barn. “If that’s… still an option.”

Her eyes lit up, and the warmth in her gaze made his chest stir. “Of course it is.”

She set her book down on the table and stood up, brushing off her skirt as she stepped out of the gazebo to join him. She put her hand on his shoulder, and without a second thought, he grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug.

After a sharp inhale of surprise, she wrapped her arms around him. 

“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m glad you’re here. I…” He trailed off, only able to finish the sentence in his head: I love you.

Lilly squeezed him then pulled away to give him another sweet smile. “Don’t mention it.”

———

They spent the next couple of days cleaning out the barn, taking it little by little so it was easier for Jack to cope with. Well, Lilly was the one doing the majority of the cleaning. He mostly stood in the doorway, watching and chatting with her to keep his mind from wandering. Occasionally, in an effort to make himself feel somewhat useful, he’d pick up a pitchfork and try to help clean the area within its reach, but he still couldn’t bring himself to go inside. 

And despite Lilly’s insistence that he shouldn’t, he felt guilty for it. Cleaning out the barn wasn’t a pleasant task nor an easy one, and it wasn’t fair that she had to do it on her own. He was the one who let the place fall into such a state of disarray; it was his responsibility to fix it. 

So on the third day, he woke up determined to do a bit more. 

It was especially chilly outside that morning, and as he made his way to the barn, his feet crunched against the frosty morning dew that coated the grass. Lilly was already over there waiting for him, leaning against the doorframe with her arms wrapped around herself and her face pointed up to the sky. As he got closer, he saw that her eyes were closed, and she didn’t appear to notice his arrival, even when he stopped just a couple of feet away from her. 

He stood there awkwardly, waiting for her to realize he was there, but when she didn’t move, he quietly said, “Hey.”

Lilly opened her eyes and turned to him, a bit startled. She blinked a few times before giving him a small smile. “Hey, there you are.”

“Here I am,” he said. “You alright?”

Shaking her head, she replied, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She chuckled and pushed herself away from the wall, standing up straight. “Coffee just hasn’t quite kicked in yet.”

Jack responded with a short, polite laugh, but as he looked into her eyes, he felt a small pang in his chest. She looked exhausted, sporting the dark under-eye circles that he often saw on her when she was staying in Blackwater. Up until that point, she seemed to be doing better at Beecher’s Hope, but now, he feared that all the stress of the past week may be getting to her.

“We can start later if you wanna go get some rest,” he said. 

“No, that’s not necessary,” she said, waving him off. “I’ll survive.” Before he had any chance to object, she nodded at the barn’s swinging doors and motioned for him to help her prop them open. “No use putting it off.”

He stood in place for a moment longer, watching her with a faint look of concern as she turned her back on him and pulled one of the doors open. Then, choosing to let the issue rest for now, he joined her and propped open the other door with an old sack of corn. 

With the doors open, Lilly gave him another smile before strolling inside. Jack lingered in the doorway, feet rooted to the dirt as he mustered up the courage to follow her in.

Taking a deep breath and holding it in, he dragged one foot past the threshold into the barn. Then, with a brief hesitation, the other followed, and he found himself standing inside. His knees shook as he peered around, spotting Lilly in the corner of one of the stalls, her back turned to him as she surveyed the mess on the floor. He moved stiffly towards her, drawn to her like a moth to a lone light in the darkness. 

When she turned around and saw him standing right behind her, she widened her eyes and let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “What are you doing?”

He released his breath, trying to ignore how hard his heart was thumping in his chest. “Uh, helping?” 

An affectionate gleam appeared in her eyes, making his heart pound harder. “It’s fine, Jack. I can do it.” Her voice was soft. “You don’t have to—”

“I know. I want to.”

That was a lie. He didn’t want to be in there; he didn’t hate it any less than he did before. Being within those four walls still caused an unshakable sense of dread to churn in his stomach; it still made it hard to breathe. But he needed to. 

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, he added, “Just for a bit.”

Lilly studied him for a moment, her reluctance clear on her face. But despite her concern, she nodded and patted him on the arm, quietly repeating, “Just for a bit.”

With that, she grabbed a pitchfork that was leaning against the wall and handed it to him. Jack took it with shaky hands and held it tightly, staring at her expectantly as he waited for her to explain what they were doing. 

“I wanted to finish cleaning out this stall today,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and smiling at him. “With the two of us, it shouldn’t take too long.”

Jack agreed, and they got to work immediately. He stayed quiet the entire time, focusing intently on the task at hand and being careful not to let his eyes wander too much. Lilly filled the silence, talking to him about anything she could think of, and while he didn’t respond, he hung onto every word she said like it was the only thing keeping him on Earth. 

She told him a couple short stories about her travels before she came to Blackwater— about how Chicago was the worst city she’d ever been to and how lovely the train ride through Ambarino had been. Then, when she got bored of that, she let him in on some of the scandalous secrets she’d overheard while playing piano at the dinner parties of Blackwater’s elite. And given what she told him, Jack wondered why those people thought they had any right to gossip about her and him.

Despite the distractions, his discomfort continued to grow the longer he stayed in the barn, and it became increasingly difficult to keep himself grounded. But luckily, just as Lilly had said, it didn’t take long until the stall was clean and all of the debris they’d cleared was loaded up into a wheelbarrow. 

He wasted no time in getting out of the barn, taking a slow deep breath of fresh air the moment he stepped outside. Lilly followed behind him with the wheelbarrow. As she pushed it off to the side and removed the doorstops keeping the barn doors open, Jack leaned against the hitching post and lit up a cigarette.

He shakily brought it to his lips, closed his eyes, and took a long drag of it, relishing in the comfort it brought him. When he heard Lilly return to his side, he let out a puff of smoke and opened his eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, leaning against the post beside him.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “But… I think I’ve had enough for a while.” He raised the cigarette again. “A long while.”

“Okay.” She crossed her arms and nodded. “I think the coop’s about due for a good cleanin’ anyway; we can work on that instead.” She eyed him for a moment, a soft smile on her face. “You did well today.”

Jack let out a chuckle along with another cloud of smoke. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure I’d… um…” He trailed off as his ears caught a distant whirring and sputtering sound coming from the east. 

Looking in the direction of the sound, he spotted a shiny black motor car coming up the road from Blackwater, half hidden by a hill. He furrowed his brows at it.

“Huh,” Lilly said. “There’s somethin’ you don’t see around here every day.”

Not taking his eyes off the car, he murmured, “No, you don’t….”

An ominous feeling settled into his gut. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw a car this far out from Blackwater. The dirt roads around the plains weren’t made for them. And even within the city, they were a rare sight and were usually only seen being driven by those who worked for the government. 

The car disappeared behind the hill, reappearing moments later near the entrance to Beecher’s Hope. Jack held his breath, praying it would pass and continue up the road to Tall Trees. His heart lurched when instead, it began slowing down and turned in to the ranch.

Lilly took a few steps forward. “The hell?”

Jack extended his arm out to keep her back. 

“What are they comin’ here for?” she asked. 

“I don’t know,” he said, his breathing becoming more ragged. He threw his cigarette on the ground and grabbed Lilly by the wrist. “And I don’t wanna.” 

He pulled her around the side of the barn and out of sight of the vehicle. 

Peeking around the corner, he watched the car as it parked in front of the house. After a moment, the sputtering of the engine came to a stop, and out of the car stepped a man wearing a crisp gray suit. He dusted himself off and turned in a circle, taking a long, slow look around the property. Then, he slammed the car door shut and began making his way to the house.

Shuddering, Jack disappeared back behind the corner. 

“Who is it?” Lilly whispered. “Cops?”

He swallowed and nodded. “Just one.”

“They don’t normally come alone— or get this close. What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look again!”

He did just that, gripping onto the corner of the wall and poking his head out further this time. The man was on the porch now, repeatedly knocking on the front door and pacing around in between knocks. When it became clear that no one was going to answer, he gave up on knocking and kicked the door in a fit of frustration. This sent a jolt of anger through Jack, and his grip on the corner tightened.

Abandoning the front door, the man crossed to the other side of the porch and started looking inside the windows. Jack’s anger increased. He couldn’t believe how bold these bureau assholes had become. From standing on the ridge, spying on him from afar to peeping in his windows. What would be next?

He decided he wasn’t going to stand for it. They could watch him all they wanted, but this blatant disrespect was going too far. This guy had been stupid enough to come alone, which gave Jack the courage he needed to step out from his hiding place, meaning to give him a piece of his mind. 

Lilly scurried after him.

“Stay here,” he said, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her back behind the barn.

“Jack—”

“Please.”

She hesitated for a moment longer before sighing in defeat. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He squeezed her. “I won’t.”

With that, he took off jogging to the house, fighting off the urge to give the shiny motor car he passed along the way the same disrespectful kick his front door had received. He got to the porch unnoticed and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, glaring at the back of the man’s head as he continued to peer through the window. 

With a huff of anger, he stomped up the steps. “Hey!”

The man pulled back from the window and turned to him, looking startled for only a brief second before assuming a more nonchalant expression. He wasn’t wearing a badge or one of those stupid hats, but Jack wasn’t about to be fooled by that. He knew a bureau agent when he saw one.

Jack marched closer to him, fury behind every one of his steps. “Didn’t I tell you bastards to leave me alone?”

The man’s brows furrowed, and he blinked a few times. “Pardon?” he said, a laugh hiding behind his voice.

“Don’t act stupid.” Jack pushed himself further into the man’s face until he was inches away. “You heard me.”

“Christ.” The man leaned backwards, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “What do you want, a kiss? Back off.”

Jack took a small step back, the response catching him off guard and making his face flush. He stammered a bit before regaining his composure and growling, “Just get the hell out of here!”

The man stared back at him, unshaken. “Look, buddy,” he started, “I don’t know who the fuck you are or what in God’s name your problem is, but I think you might be a little bit confused.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to be confused about,” Jack spat. “I saw you peepin’ in that window. And I know you people have been watchin’ me all week; I’ve seen you!”

“Watching you?” The stranger let out a derisive chuckle of disbelief. “Why would I be watching you? You’re not that much to look at, sweetheart.”

Jack’s nostrils flared, and he could only imagine that his face was redder than ever. He grit his teeth, too livid to form words.

The man seemed to pick up on his increasing fury, and moreover, seemed to be amused by it. Jack clenched his fists, fighting back an overwhelming urge to smack that subtle, self-righteous smile off the bastard’s face. But he was paralyzed with anger, so he simply stared at him, breathing heavily through his nose.

The man sighed and put his hands behind his back, the corner of his lip turning upwards in a more obvious smirk. “Are we finished?”

Jack’s arm twitched. That was it. He was a millisecond away from raising his fists and tearing the guy apart, but before he could, Lilly’s voice from behind him pulled him back down to Earth.

“Tom,” she said quietly, the sound catching in her throat.

Jack looked over his shoulder at her, puzzled and still breathing erratically as he struggled to come down from his anger. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her brows furrowed as her eyes scanned the stranger.

Looking back at the man, Jack saw that he had softened a bit upon seeing Lilly, and his confusion intensified, overtaking his anger. He stammered, “Wha—” Suddenly, he was shoved to the side, sent stumbling into the side of the house while the man approached Lilly. 

She hesitantly stepped towards him. 

“Hey, kid.” He pulled her into a hug but immediately flinched away and held her at arm’s length. “God, you smell like shit,” he said, his face contorting in disgust. “When’s the last time you bathed?”

She wriggled out of his grasp and scoffed. “I bathe every—” She bit her lip, pausing for half a second before correcting herself, “almost every day!”

“In what?” the man asked flatly. “Shit?”

“Shut up!” Lilly snapped, giving him a weak punch in the shoulder. Her cheeks pinkened, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “What are you doing here? You don’t belong here.”

“We’ll get to that in a minute.” His eyes darted back to Jack, and he scowled. “Who the hell’s this clown? He smells even worse than you do.”

Jack glowered at him.

Lilly answered, “This is Jack.”

Recognition flashed across the man’s face. “This is Jack,” he echoed, pursing his lips and looking Jack up and down. He wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms. “Hm.” He turned to Lilly and reduced his voice to a murmur. “Y’know, I think you might need to read up on the definition of a few words….”

Lilly responded with a glare, and Jack furrowed his brows, confused by the exchange. He stepped closer to the pair and, seeking some clarity, finally spoke up again. “Who are you?” he asked, a trace of bitterness still present in his voice.

The man smirked and faced Jack again. “I—”

“This is Tommy,” Lilly cut in. “My brother.”

At first, Jack didn’t believe her. He couldn’t. A part of him wanted to burst out laughing. There was no way this smug piece of shit could be related to Lilly— to his sweet, unassuming Lilly. But as he turned his gaze back to the man and took a closer look, he was struck by the resemblance. 

The only major difference of note was the hair; his slicked-back blond hair was a stark contrast to her long, dark curls. But everything else was so similar— the dimples in the cheeks, the slope of the nose, the accent too. 

His eyes were even that same shade of green, though they lacked any of the warmth and light that Jack found in Lilly’s gaze. Hers were the green of the grass in spring, his of a camouflaged snake weaving through that grass.

Related to Lilly or not, Jack had already made up his mind: he didn’t like the guy.

Tommy extended a hand out to him. “Thomas Schuyler.”

Jack stared at his hand, making no move to shake it. He offered only a mumbled utterance of his name. “Jack Marston.”

Tommy's expression soured, and he dropped his arm back down to his side. “Charmed,” he sneered.

“Great, we’ve all met,” Lilly interjected, tapping her foot against the porch— whether from impatience or nervousness, Jack couldn’t tell. “Now, what are you doing here?”

The man looked down in thought for a moment. “I wanted to come check on you.”  He patted her on the shoulder and smiled at her. “Make sure you’re doin’ okay.”

Lilly narrowed her eyes at him, not seeming to buy his explanation. “Why? Why couldn’t you just wait for me to call you like you always have before? I’ve been tryin’ all week.” She looked down at the floor and dropped her voice to a mumble. “Guess I see why you weren’t answerin’ now….”

“Well, sometimes I struggle to trust the things you tell me over the telephone, and lookin’ around, I think I might’ve been right to be skeptical.” As he spoke, he looked around, taking in the sight of the ranch with a displeased look on his face. “You told me you were stayin’ someplace nice. Yet here we are….”

Jack pursed his lips, the thinly-veiled insult towards his home deepening his dislike of the man. The ranch was everything to him. He and Lilly had put so much work into it, as had his family before them— his father built the place with his own two hands. This lanky asshole, who didn’t look like he’d ever done a real day’s work in his life, had no right to disparage it. He clenched his right fist, fighting off the rage that he could feel building up inside of him again.

Lilly shot Jack an apologetic glance. “This is someplace nice.”

Tommy scoffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Right….”

They all went quiet, and Tommy leaned against the house, pulling a cigarette out of his breast pocket. As he lit it up, Lilly watched him warily, shifting her weight between her feet. Jack did the same. He didn’t like the timing of all this— the guy just happened to drop by right after Lilly’s slip-up with those agents? He wasn’t buying that.

Finally, Lilly spoke up, asking the question that was on both of their minds: “Is… is that it?”

“Why?” Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting something else?”

“N-No.” She gave a nervous laugh and crossed her arms. “It’s just that I don’t understand why you would come all this way for something so trivial. That seems a bit ridiculous— even for you.”

He hummed and tapped on his cigarette, causing a sprinkle of ash to flutter down onto the porch. “Okay. Fair point,” he mumbled, shrugging a single shoulder as he brought the cigarette back to his lips.

Lilly wrung her hands. “So what’s going on then?”

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “A little while ago, a couple of morons from the Bureau of Investigation showed up on Ma’s doorstep.”

Jack felt all of the blood drain from his face as the man’s words confirmed what he’d feared. He briefly locked eyes with Lilly, who wore the same subtle look of dismay that he was sure had spread across his own face. 

Then, almost immediately, she dropped the expression and raised her eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Why?” she asked, refocusing on her brother. “What’d they want?” There was a small hitch in her voice as she spoke, so subtle that Jack thought he must have been the only one to notice. 

Tommy took another slow drag of his cigarette before answering, “They just asked her if she happened to know anyone in or from West Elizabeth. They wouldn’t tell her much else, but of course, she thought it must have somethin’ to do with you.” He paused and looked her up and down. “And when she came and told me about it, I had the same thought too.”

Lilly’s face paled, and this time, she didn’t try to hide her dismay. “Wait, y-you didn’t tell her I’m here, did you?”

“No. I didn’t,” Tommy scoffed, waving the question off as if it were absurd. 

She breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

“But,” he continued, “since I knew you were here, the whole encounter didn’t really sit well with me.” He shrugged. “So naturally, I went and harassed ‘em into givin’ me a little more context.”

The man paused to take another long puff of his cigarette, and as the silence droned on, Jack felt like he would crumble from anticipation. 

“And?” Lilly prompted.

Tommy sighed, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “They told me that they were lookin’ for a suspect in a separate missing person’s case in West Elizabeth, and someone told them that person was up in Boston.” He furrowed his brows. “That someone also gave them Ma’s name for some reason.”

“Okay…” Lilly replied, dumbfounding Jack with her ability to keep her tone so nonchalant. “What does that have to do with me?”

“I just thought it was strange.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you not?”

Lilly fidgeted a bit under his gaze. “I mean, sure, it kinda is,” she said, her eyes nervously flitting over to Jack again. “But that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with it, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

“Well, it was quite a coincidence then.”

“Stranger things have happened,” she replied, taking another reflexive look at Jack.

This time, Tommy followed her gaze, narrowing his eyes at Jack. “What do you keep lookin’ at him for?” he asked. “Have you got somethin’ to say?”

Breathing shakily, Jack scowled at him. “No. I don’t.” 

“No?” He scoffed and pushed himself off the wall, turning his back on Lilly to march closer to Jack. “You sure had a lot to say to me before she showed up.” He nodded over his shoulder at her. “Where’d all that nerve go?”

Jack shifted on his feet, his stomach lurching as he recalled all that he’d unwittingly said when he first confronted the man. Fighting to keep his anxiety from showing on his face, he searched his head for a response. But with Tommy’s unwavering, suspicious gaze boring into him, he struggled to come up with anything. 

He wondered how Lilly had managed to keep as cool as she did when he was staring down at her— maybe it was just because she knew him better. He peered over Tommy’s shoulder and looked at her, widening his eyes in a silent plea for help. 

Catching on to his signal, she put her palms up and motioned for him to stay calm. Then, with repeated glances at her brother to make sure he didn’t notice, she waved her hands and mouthed the words, “Change. The. Subject.”

Without thinking, Jack nodded at her, kicking himself for doing so when the gesture caused Tommy to look back at her. In a quick motion, she dropped her arms back down to her sides, acting as if their exchange hadn’t happened. When his gaze returned to Jack, the suspicion in his eyes had deepened. 

Heeding Lilly’s advice, Jack steeled his face and said in as flat a tone as he was able, “Are you gonna be leavin’ soon? We need to get back to work.”

For a second, Tommy seemed caught off guard by the response. Then, he gave a derisive chuckle. “Work, huh?” Taking a step back from Jack, he took another brief look around the ranch. “It sure doesn’t look like you’ve been doing much work.” He threw his half-spent cigarette down onto the porch, crushing it underneath a shiny, pristine shoe. “This place is a dump.”

Jack's face grew hot with anger, and he balled up his fists. This piece of shit was asking for it at this point…. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to knock his ass to the ground right then.

He opened his mouth to argue, but Lilly cut in to break them up. “All the more reason we should get back to it,” she said, grabbing Tommy’s shoulder from behind and pulling him until he faced her. “Everything’s fine, Tommy, honestly. You can go home now.”

He shrugged her hand off and pursed his lips, glaring at her with such intensity that it looked like he thought he could read her mind if he tried hard enough. She crossed her arms and frowned at him, holding his gaze for several seconds before faltering.

Then, to Jack’s surprise, Tommy’s demeanor suddenly softened, and a genuine look of concern appeared on his face, lasting only for a brief second before he wiped it away. “No,” he said quietly, folding his hands behind his back. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

Lilly sighed impatiently. “Why not? What—”

“Because,” he cut her off, “like I said, I wanted to make sure you’re okay. And so far”— his voice became strained, and he shot Jack another suspicious glare— “I’m not so convinced that you are.”

Jack glared back at him, resenting the implication that he was some kind of threat to Lilly. He hadn’t done anything to harm her nor had he even considered doing so.

“I am,” she said. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Tommy studied her for another moment before muttering, “Prove it.”

His words seemed to startle her a bit, but with only a brief hesitation, she stuck her chin up and said, “Y’know what? Fine.” She threw her hands up in defeat. “If you wanna hover around like a paranoid freak, be our guest. Just stay out of the way.” 

Wait, what? Jack thought. She’s not really telling him he can stay, is she?

“Fine by me,” Tommy replied. “Wouldn’t wanna get too close anyway.”

Ignoring him, Lilly walked over to Jack and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it a little too hard. “Just pretend he isn’t here, okay?” she murmured in his ear. Her hand trailed down to his bicep, and she gently tugged on it, beckoning him towards the porch steps. “Come on. Let’s get back to work.”

Jack looked at her like she was out of her mind. How was he supposed to pretend he wasn’t there? How were they supposed to get back to work if this guy was intent on breathing down their necks the entire time? He was already stressed enough from cleaning out the barn; he didn’t need this too. 

He shook his head in disagreement, and Lilly gave him a look of pleading in response, her grip on his arm becoming tighter until it started to hurt. When he didn’t budge, she whispered, her lips barely moving, “Trust me.”

Tommy cleared his throat. “Is there a problem?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, keeping his eyes locked on Lilly, who continued to silently plead with him to just go along with it. Finally, he swallowed and gave her a short nod before addressing the man. “You heard her,” he mumbled gruffly. “Just stay out of the way.”

Tommy gave him a strained, sardonic smile and looked him over, scrutinizing him for what felt like the hundredth time. “As you wish, sweetheart.”

Jack scowled in response, and Lilly grabbed hold of his wrist, tugging him off the porch and over to the chicken coop. Tommy followed after them, lagging several feet behind as Lilly picked up the pace, never releasing her grip on Jack.

As they neared the coop, she gave his wrist a hard squeeze. “Just stay calm and act normal,” she whispered, her breathing heavy. “He’s just overprotective. Show him there’s no reason to be suspicious and then he’ll go.” Stay calm and act normal, Jack repeated in his head. Because that’s always been so easy for him to do….

[blcsscdson]

The revolver on his hand feels heavy. The hat and jacket he's wearing feel even moreso. He'd begun having second thoughts the second after he shot Ross, had he really done the right thing? He told himself that he'd deserved that kind of ending, that he had it coming for what he did to his family. And yet, Jack can't help but feel empty. It'd been said many times, mostly by people close to Jack and the Marston family, that revenge often felt like that. He remembers Dutch saying that 'Revenge was a fool's game'... Is he a fool now? Dooming himself?

@ofsoul ❝ much has been promised to you, has it not? but what has been taken from you? ❞

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Her words strike true and strike close to home. So much had been promised to him. A better life, away from all the gunslinging and running away but it all got taken away with such ease. He'd lost all his family as well... Uncle Arthur, Uncle Hosea, Dutch, his parents. All gone. Only he remained. The last remnant of the Van Der Linde Gang and the Marstons.

"Miss, y'ain't got a clue how much's been taken from me. I could write a book about it and still not be done." There was an idea though... Write a book, like his Pa suggested once, put the whole story on paper. Maybe get a last, more permanent laugh at Ross and the Bureau.

[reconstructs]

some 2 am john marston braindump

john and arthur are the epitome of the golden child/scapegoat (respectively), until john became dutch’s scapegoat. john’s never been academically inclined but has always been cunning and skeptical. have lots of thoughts but i do definitely think that the stark age difference between dutch and john (dutch is 30-ish when he takes john in vs being only mid-20s when arthur is taken in) + the fact that dutch is quite literally the only father john has ever known makes this even more apparent. dutch is arthur’s father-figure but he’s always had hosea; while hosea's always been a paternal presence to john there’s always been an intrinsic bond between john and dutch. dutch taught everything john he knows about gunslinging and hunting and fishing, areas where john excels compared to arthur. arthur’s ‘i just always thought everything came easy to you’ makes me :(((

their sibling dynamic means sm to me n they both deserved better when it came to their pasts fr, but john genuinely cannot conceptualize any sort of family outside of the gang which is why he leaves, understanding dutch’s true nature before anyone really does (+also being a deadbeat dad), then comes back a year later.

john's unable to cope with his grief over arthur's death, and when the opportunity arises to get revenge on micah, he gets tunnel vision and eagerly takes it. of course, this is at the cost of his own life as his actions would have dire consequences; but there's no way it wasn't, at least in a small way, what he wanted. after spending years purposely creating chaos to emulate his life in the gang, he's proved he's unable to fully move on from the past.

as for high/low honor, my john is probably medium, teetering very close to low honor and is outright dishonorable while working for ross.. while i think arthur’s story and arc is about redemption, john’s has always been about survival. he’s never quite believed he’s had a choice. some trees flourish, others die. and he’s done whatever it takes for his family, whether said family is the van der linde gang, arthur, or abigail and jack, to live and thrive even if it’s all been in vain, and even if it’s involved doing the worst things a person can do. also a habit he’s learned from dutch, lmao.

speaking of which - so many of the toxic, manipulative habits and tendencies he’s taken on as a father are learned from dutch and somewhat unlearned in beecher’s hope with jack. a large part of their tragedy is that the day john died is the day that he and jack were finally on the same wavelength. they'd spent so long misunderstanding one another.

also – my john is blind in his left eye, with some light perception, and by 1911 regularly wears an eyepatch to aid in gunslinging and hunting. the visual impairment occurred as a result of being attacked by wolves in 1899; it also means he has no depth perception and is susceptible to being ambushed by those who know about it (looking at javier for throwing that box on top of him in rdr1, lmao). it has helped him as a gunslinger, though.

moreover. my john's hat is arthur's hat with feathers added that charles gave to him, and his classic revolver is dutch's :')

[mediumhonors]

some braindump:

was born to an ashkenazi jewish mother & father in new york - his mother died during childbirth which left himself and his father to their own devices. he was born in new york but his father emigrated to chicago due to transient railroad work.

john’s name at birth was jonathan markowski, but his father started going by marston once they moved to chicago for the sake of finding work. after his father died in a bar fight on their tenement floor when he was 8, john simply started going by john and the records at the orphanage he lived in for several years (from when he was 8 until he was 12, aka when he ran away) have him down as john marston.

john wouldn’t be in touch with his jewish identity until being taken in by dutch, who helped/encouraged him to celebrate high holidays as much as they could. that fell off as the years went on until beecher’s hope.

john and arthur are the epitome of the golden child/scapegoat (respectively), until john became dutch’s scapegoat. john’s never been academically inclined but has always been cunning and skeptical. have lots of thoughts but i do definitely think that the stark age difference between dutch and john (dutch is 30-ish when he takes john in vs being only mid-20s when arthur is taken in) + the fact that dutch is quite literally the only father john has ever known makes this even more apparent. dutch is arthur’s father-figure but he’s always had hosea; while john has always had hosea as a father-figure, there’s always been an intrinsic bond between john and dutch. dutch taught everything john he knows about gunslinging and hunting and fishing, areas where john excels compared to arthur. arthur’s ‘i just always thought everything came easy to you’ makes me :((( - their sibling dynamic means sm to me n they both deserved better when it came to their pasts fr, but john genuinely cannot conceptualize any sort of family outside of the gang which is why he leaves, understanding dutch’s true nature before anyone really does (+also being a deadbeat dad), then comes back a year later.

as for high/low honor, my john is probably medium, teetering very close to low honor. while i think arthur’s story and arc is about redemption, john’s has always been about survival. he’s never quite believed he’s had a choice. some trees flourish, others die. and he’s done whatever it takes for his family, whether it’s the van der linde gang, arthur, or abigail and jack, to live and thrive even if it’s all been in vain, and even if it’s involved doing the worst things a person can do. also a habit he’s learned from dutch, lmao.

speaking of which - so many of the toxic, manipulative habits and tendencies he’s taken on as a father are learned from dutch and somewhat unlearned in beecher’s hope with jack. will elaborate more l8r.

also – my john is blind in his left eye, with some light perception, and by 1911 regularly wears an eyepatch to aid in gunslinging and hunting. the visual impairment occurred as a result of being attacked by wolves in 1899; it also means he has no depth perception and is susceptible to being ambushed by those who know about it (looking at javier for throwing that box on top of him in rdr1, lmao).

[weirdonamedlee]

Whatever you do, don’t think of My Little Love by Adele perfectly encapsulating Abigail’s early motherhood and the year John deserted them

Don’t think about the voice mail at the end would be her talking to Ms Grimshaw about her struggles and overwhelming feelings of loneliness.

Just don’t. It broke my heart.

[trashy-cowpoke]

IS IT REALLY TOO MUCH FOR ME TO ASK IF I CAN MAKE FLOWER CROWNS WITH JACK ASKFLJGXHDKDKF