Chapter Text
John Marston had a good run. It's actually impressive if he can say so himself, living of off crime for something like three years all on his own and never getting caught, up until this godforsaken day. It was time, really.
He had a good run, robbing and thieving and killing, the law was slow to catch him.
Last time he was in jail for something serious was probably five years ago. He barely even remembers what was it for. But back then he knew he would be out soon enough anyway. Because Dutch will get him out. He was so sure of it back then, even with the sheriff's threats of shipping him strait to the gallows.
And he was afraid of the noose, ever since he felt it around his neck the first time, just a kid all alone in the worst scum this earth has to offer, the rope scratching against the pulse of his neck. He had nightmares about it for years. But he never was afraid of feeling it again. No, Dutch will always save him, just like that first time.
But now he is on his own once again. He left Dutch, he left all of them, no one on this earth gives a damn about him anymore.
He deserves that he supposes.
It was John that left. Left them for three straight years. He didn't mean it. He never planned it. He just left and never returned.
And now he never will.
Sitting alone in the quiet jail cell, in the dark, it's probably well after midnight. He should sleep, but he can't. Doesn't matter anyway, he'll be dead in days. Maybe tomorrow if he's lucky.
Nothing good is left for him. Best would be just to give him the rope now, he'll gladly do it himself.
John's fidgeting with some frayed threads he ripped from his pants, rolling it into a ball between his fingertips as he sits cross-legged on the contraption they generously call a bed. The brick wall against his back is uneven, it pushes into his spine.
He's cold. It's early fall, but tonight the air is especially crisp. He wants some fire. There's a fireplace in here, but it seems captives don't actually deserve the courtesy of warmth. John wishes he could stare at flames. He'll probably never be able to do that again either. Maybe in hell, there's supposed to be fire he thinks. And he has no doubts that's where he's going.
He deserves it, there's no question about that.
But the waiting is killing him.
Somebody just shoot him now. He doesn't want the rope. Just thinking about it he feels so helpless.
He wishes Dutch would save him again. Him and Hosea, giving him one more chance. He was so useless back then, but now he is a man, he can earn his keep. He doesn't want pity this time around. Just one more chance.
Like it works like that. They all probably hate him, would shoot him themselves for leaving without a word.
But he can't help but think about them. He misses them all, did all this time. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur. They were family once.
But then Abigail came into his life, fell pregnant, and ruined everything.
Suddenly everyone had expectations for him, expectations that he could never live up to.
But even so, he misses Abigail, too. Before the child, in the beginning of all, he thinks he liked her. Fancied her proper. But it was never supposed to become this serious. Not this fast for sure.
Sometimes he thinks about that child, too. He doesn't now much about kids, but he's sure it's not a baby anymore. Probably walks and talks now. If it survived its first winter. It was a scrawny little thing.
But all that doesn't matter for him now.
He's gonna die in this mean little town for shooting three fellers dead on the main road in broad daylight.
It was a stupid thing to do, he knows that. But he's done it before, usually he just runs faster. Now his luck run out. It was the only thing that took him this far in life anyway.
He sighs. Flicks the thread-ball from between his fingers, watches it fall to the ground in a pitiful curve. He lays down instead.
They've kept him here for three whole days now. An awful lot of time when you can only think about your impending doom. He's been angry, he's been sad, and now he's just really really tired.
He tries to fall asleep. Closes his eyes. Turns to lay on his side. It's still too cold.
They could have just put a bullet in him right there instead of locking him up. This waiting is worse than death. That might be the point of it actually, he thinks. He is so damn hungry, too.
Somebody just kill me already.
And.
I don't want to die.
Those two thoughts seem to wrestle endlessly in his head. He just can't seem to make up his mind. Both options have merits to them. But he is going to die, so he tries to hope for a swift death more. Living he was never that good at, even if he had liked to stick to his sorry existence. It's better this way.
He sighs again, and sits up. Laying down feels too vulnerable. Then he stands up instead, and does a small lap around his cell. Starts pacing, as much as the tight confines let him. With nothing better to do he counts his steps.
He's at thirteen when he hears it. An explosion, and it had to have happened close, the walls vibrate with the force of it. It was dreadfully loud too. It's dead quiet for a heartbeat. Then dogs start barking all over town, they didn't like the noise either. Then comes the commotion, people shouting all kinds of things at each other. Most of them he can't make out. Something about the bank.
Then gunshots. A lot of them. Probably a robbery then. John used to do that a lot too. Not anymore, he might not be smart, but he is not stupid enough to go for a bank on his own.
There was that one time, some questionable feller recruited him for a few jobs. Seems that John looks like he's trouble clear enough for that to happen. They hit a bank once, got a decent enough take from it. But John didn't last long there, those men got under his skin too much. Though most people do. John Marston doesn't get along with his fellow people too handsomely.
And Dutch's ideals got planted into his brain too well, never was quite able to let himself be a ruthless bottom of the barrel criminal, that these others all were. He got on on his own well enough anyway.
The commotion fades, shots are heard from farther away. He hopes they don't catch any of the bastards alive, he likes the solitude he can currently enjoy in the jailhouse. The only small blessing he had this whole time being locked up in here is that he is alone.
But of course John is not a lucky man.
He sat back down with his back against the wall, and he involuntarily straightens up when he hears voices from outside. Then the door opens, and John has to squint from the light that suddenly illuminates the place. There are two lawmen leading the man they captured in front of them. Both of them have their guns pointed at him as they unlock the first, then the second cell door, and then they shove him to the ground of the cell parallel to John's. The man spits some insult at them that John doesn't catch the meaning of. As John looks at him better, he doesn't look like someone who's from around here.
The lawmen leave rather hurriedly, taking the light with them, and John's eyes slow to get used to the darkness again. But he knows that he is not alone, he was so used to the silence by now that someone else existing in the same place as him is enough to disturb it.
He wishes for morning to come sooner, but the feeling of self pity that accompanies that sentiment feels bitter now that he is unable to get lost in his own head.
At least his roommate also keeps for himself, which is a win in John's book, he's been locked up with all kinds of strange people before, and he for sure doesn't miss that.
When his eyes get used to the dark again he sees the other guy sitting facing away from him, still paying John no mind. That's good, it definitely helps with John to ignoring him back. But before he commits to the ignoring part he takes a good look at the fella, and can't help but notice the way that guy is dressed, his clothes are just the smallest bit too fancy for someone robbing small town banks in the middle of the night. Even if they got crumpled and dusty no doubt in all the commotion. His long hair is tied together at his nape, and John can't take a good enough look at his face, there's not enough light for that, but he's overall expression is that the guys too fancy for this jail. Maybe a few days here will help with that.
The novelty of the new roommate quickly becomes old news, even with this being the first thing to actually happen around him all day, so he goes back at staring at nothing. Surely morning will come soon now.
It doesn't, but John even manages to doze of for a bit after a while, which he notices around sunrise when he wakes up from an uneasy dream. The kind that leaves you more exhausted than rested. He has seen all people that were once important to him in his dream, like they came to bid farewell to him. Maybe it was a sign that he really is dying today. At least he saw them once again, even if only in his mind. Dutch, Hosea and Arthur, the rest of the gang, Abigail with a baby in her arms, he even saw his no good father, who's been dead for well over a decade now. John usually finds it hard to remember his face, but tonight he saw it clear again. Definitely a bad omen, this really is the end for him. Fuck.
He's been sleeping sitting up, slouched against the wall. Now his neck is not very thankful for that choice. As he tries to roll his muscles back to normal he catches sight of the other guy, still sitting cross legged on the bed, facing the door. Like he's waiting for something.
Now that John looks at him better, even still without really being able to look at his face this guy is awfully calm. So he's either stupid, or very sure about someone coming for him. Which if it's the latter, that could be good news for John too. He tries to not get his hopes up too much though, there is no guarantee that an opportunity would be presented for him too, but jailbreaks are chaotic, surely he'd might be able to slip away as well.
Meanwhile, the town is slowly waking up around them, more and more voices can be heard from the streets. Will this be his last day on earth?
When the sheriff and two of his man come through the door he's sure they are here to take him to the gallows. He's almost disappointed when they open the other cell instead. They lead the other guy out while keeping their guns aimed at him, even with his hands are also tied behind his back. He must have some reputation to deserve such caution from the lawmen.
John has to admit his pride is hurt when only one of the men comes back to take him outside, but at least he ties John's hands together too, that has to count for something. As the deputy starts to lead him John contemplates struggle, what his chances might be to get away from here. But as he's pushed outside he decides he made the right choice letting it happen, as in front off the sheriff's is a whole lot of armed man. There's also a wagon they use to transport prisoners, which he gets shoved into.
John lands on his face on the wooden floor of it as his arms stayed tied together. The fuckers dare to laugh at his landing. Not that he can do anything about it. He manages to sit up on one of the benches as they begin to move. In the cell with him is the guy from before.
John is confused about all this business, the only place he expected to go today was to be hanged, and wherever they are being taken is the opposite way from the gallows.
They exit the town, and after a few minutes John dares to speak up.
"And where the hell are you taking me?" he asks from the lawman riding after them. There's three of them in total, with two on the of them riding on the wagon.
"Shut up" comes the very helpful answer from the front. It doesn't seem like anyone wants to elaborate.
He looks questioningly at the prisoner guy instead, who just shrugs. "They didn't tell me anything either."
"I said shut up" the lawmen barks again.
John looks back at the guy, and shrugs as well, in a manner of saying it is what it is then.
They ride all day, and it is hell. Not only his hands behind his back make it impossible to be comfortable and by midday his shoulders are completely dead, the weather doesn't seem to decide whether to make him freeze or melt, and while he barely feels his hunger anymore, his thirst is becoming unbearable. Hanging seems an infinitely better option than whatever they are doing to him now.
The lawmen are talking about all kinds of mundane things, and it is something that just further irritates John. If he has to shut up they could really stay quiet as well.
They stop once, and while their guards eat a full meal they are tossed a few scraps. At least they are given water. It was stale, but he's not in a position to complain. And the ropes are finally cut off from their wrists, a true blessing after all these hours.
They go all day, and it's almost fully dark when they stop next. A fire is made, the lawmen make camp, with one of them staying up to patrol around them.
John is cold again. If it was cold in an actual building last night, he doesn't know how to describe this. He's freezing. He stares at the fire, wishing he could sit next to it. He wouldn't even run off. That might be a lie, he probably would. But still, the warmth would be nice.
They are staying in the middle of a bigger clearing, a few minutes away from the main road. The woods around them are filled with life, and that also doesn't help John to relax. They really should have just hanged him.
Half the night has passed when the guy locked up with him suddenly, but without making a sound goes to the gate of their cell, and opens it like it's nothing. John is so dumbfunded he can barely get himself together to go after him when he just exits from their confines like it's nothing. What the fuck. He is dreaming, he has to be. Or is this a trap? What is happening?
John finally gets up, and looks around. The fire is barely blinking now, but that and the pale moonlight together provide enough light to skim his surroundings comfortably. Two of the lawmen are sleeping on their bedrolls like they were all night, and his eyes quickly find the third one, slumped against a tree, snoring as well. It does seem like the golden opportunity to run. So John does, he'd be an idiot not to, and he jumps down from the wagon after the other guy.
But just as soon as he thinks that this is it, he's somehow really free, he hears the gunshot behind him. Fuck.