John Marston Rp / Ask

John Marston was an infuriating man.

One minute he was perfectly friendly. The next, he acted as if he hardly knew you. He was a whiny and pathetic son of a bitch, but he was unfortunately handsome.

Infuriating and complicated. That’s what he was. How could a man be so competent at robbing and killing, but so clueless about everything else. You hated it. You hated how he had been your best friend. How he had not only left the gang, but left you. How he’d come back with his tail between his legs. How he still wasn’t a good father to Jack. How he always fought with Abigail. How he still caught your glances and how he still treated you as if nothing had changed.

What a stupid man.

You’d always been a little jealous of Abigail. He’d chosen her… sort of. Even now, he chose to argue with her. What you wouldn’t give for a good argument with John Marston. That seemed pretty terrible of you, to wish for attention from a man who clearly had no intentions of being a good partner to anyone…

Not that you wanted him as one. Heavens no. What a silly idea.

But one real conversation… like old times. It was a futile hope. Deep down, you knew you cared for him too much. You knew it would never work. Some things weren’t meant to. Maybe not even the gang. Things had been rough lately, and you were contemplating the idea of leaving. Of going north maybe. Of getting out before it was too late. You’d seen gangs fall apart before and had a feeling the Van der Linde Gang would end messily.

“You alright?” The calm voice of Hosea Matthews cut through your thoughts.

You looked up from where you were washing the dishes. You were hardly paying attention, the task becoming mindless as you lost yourself in your own mind. Looking at the older man, you shrugged, knowing it was difficult to lie to him.

“Don’t know,” you stated.

Hosea gave a sympathetic laugh. “That’s usually a good indicator that you aren’t.” He didn’t pry, but gave a knowing blink. Hosea Matthews had a keen talent for knowing what was going on in the camp before most of the other gang members did.

“Would you mind going to town for me?” He asked casually. “There are some supplies Susan needs. It might be good for you to get out for a little.” He gave a small smile, nodding toward a wagon that was already suspiciously hitched. You raised an eyebrow as Hosea’s eyes scanned the camp. “Maybe take some muscle with you too. I think we need flour and those bags can be heavy… Ah!”

You followed his gaze to where he waved at where the lean, and rather grumpy, looking man was walking by. You frowned immediately.

John looked up, seeing the motion of Hosea’s hand out the corner of his eye.

“Why, take this strapping young man,” Hosea teased as he waved John Marston over. The younger outlaw frowned, glancing at you before looking back at Hosea. “John, you’ve been volunteered to help y/n in town.”

John stared in confusion. He didn’t really like being told what to do. He also didn’t like doing chores. And he hated the idea of being forced into a situation alone with the person he was trying to avoid. “I’m kinda busy,” he grumbled. Though he clearly was not busy.

“It’ll just be a quick trip,” Hosea insisted as he shooed you toward the wagon. You gave an annoyed huff as you shot a glare at John. He wasn’t looking at you, but he could feel the angry look.

It was not, in fact, a short trip.

The ride there felt too long. Silence stretched between the two outlaws the entire ride into Rhodes. The heavy warmth of the day hung like a wet blanket over the green countryside. Red dust swirled in the air as the hot wind swept through the trees.

You had retrieved the supplies fairly quickly, but John was being stubborn. He hardly helped, only leaning against the wagon and picking at his nails with his knife.

"A little help?" You asked with an annoyed huff after you placed a heavy sack of flour in the back of the wagon.

John looked up, his dark eyes rolling as he huffed. "You seem to be doing just fine." The man reluctantly lifted a much lighter looking crate and walked slowly to the back of the wagon before pushing it in. You rolled your eyes back, grumbling that he should have just stayed at camp.

Your time in town lasted longer than it should have. After you finished loading the wagon, you looked around, unsurprised to see that John was missing. "That bastard," you huffed. You spent near twenty minutes wandering around before you found him nursing a beer behind the parlor house. You had been worried that something might have happened to him, but of course he had run off for a drink. It made you feel silly for getting anxious about losing him. "The hell are you doing?" You interrogated, snatching the bottle away from him. A frown quickly set itself on his face. "You don't just go off without saying so."

"You ain't in charge of me," John wheezed in annoyance.

Even his voice was irritating. You glared, grabbing his arm to drag him back to the wagon. "Let's just go," you muttered. It was much too hot for this. Whatever peace Hosea though could be made between the two of you was a futile hope, seeing as you didn't really want to be on good terms with him at the moment.

As the wagon rocked out of town, you could only fume at how difficult John was. He was being intentionally irritating, you could tell. You'd known him well enough to understand what his dramatic huffs and snarky tone meant.

"You're being a real pain in the ass," you stated, hating the silence more than you hated the man.

John glanced at you, his eyes narrowing. He didn't understand why you were so angry. It was clear that whatever had been between you two was long dead. He was just trying to move past it... Sort of. Watching you pull away had felt like betrayal to him. So he pulled back. He was angry at how self-righteous you acted... as if he hadn't been hurt too.

"Yeah, well, the feeling is mutual."

How dare he? You turned to glare harshly. You thought it was pretty childish of him to act like this was all somehow your fault. He was the one who left. Before sound could make its way past your lips, a loud snap sent the wagon jolting to the side. You rocked forward onto John before the wagon finally sank into place.

Pulling back quickly, you blinked in embarrassment. You felt your face heat up and you quickly jumped down to assess the damage. A broken wheel. Great.

Just was this day needed.

"Lift!" John growled.

"I am lifting!" You shot back.

You'd been stuck on the side of the road for close to an hour now, trying to fix the wheel. It was nearing dark. You had thought about riding into town, or back to camp for help, but with night approaching, it didn't seem very safe to be wandering. But it also didn't seem safe to stay on the side of the road.

"How hard can it be to fix one damn wheel?" You snapped at him as he stared at the now splintered wheel from the failed attempt at returning it to its place.

John huffed. "Well, it'd be easier without all your incessant yapping."

"Oh, don't blame your incompetence on me." You crossed your arms. "I don't think I've ever met a more stupid man in my whole life."

The outlaw's ears and cheeks turned a bright pink. He looked pissed... and a little pathetic. It had become common place for him to be the butt of jokes and taunts. He knew he probably deserved it after all the shit he had pulled, but he guessed he'd long since attoned for that sin.

"Ain't my fault it's broken," he stated, his teeth grinding together like stones.

"Sure. Always shifting the blame. Have you ever taken responsibility once in your life? Have you ever sucked it up and just did what needed doin' instead of acting like some useless bastard?" Deep down, you knew it was unfair to blame him entirely. But all that anger from before had finally found an outlet.

John moved close to you, unable to contain his anger any longer. "Call me useless again and I'll put a bullet through your skull."

Your lip curled in disgust before you swung your fist. John stumbled back. His eyes flashed as he spun around, tackling you to the ground. It was probably a pathetic sight, two grown outlaws fighting like children. You pushed at his chets, and he tried to wrangle your hands.

"Get off me, jackass!" You yelled.

Grabbing hold of your wrists, John pinned them forcefully to the ground above your head. A terrifying smirk crossed his lips. He was mad. He was insecure. He was confused and tired and... well, John didn't know what to feel about anything anymore. "Thought you liked me on you," he taunted.

Your mind stuttered in an embarrassed shock. Blood pounded in your ears as you tried to fight him. "Shut the hell up."

It was stupid. Utterly stupid, how you could be so angry at him and still find your heart fluttering at the sight of him. Your eyes flashed, betraying you. The orange light of the sunset was dimming as darkness continued to approach. For a long moment, the two of you just stared at one another.

A realization hit you both.

That this would never work. That it was all too little too late. You both had been hurt. And now you both had to deal with the consequences of your actions. John's year away, and the weight of responsibility over a family landed heavily on his shoulders. And you knew there was no room for you in it. Maybe that's why you had been angry.

That he, even if unintentionally, had chosen something else over you.

"Marston–"

"Don't," John said. He wasn't a man for sappy words. And as stupid as he was... he'd been fooling himself the whole time. Pretending to be dumb was easier than facing the truth. But he was running out of time. Hiding wasn't a luxury he could afford anymore. Pulling back, John stood before turning toward the broken wheel. "I'll ride to camp," he said, unhitching one of the horses. "Should be back soon."

You watched as he rode off.

Letting yourself lay back in the grass for a moment, you let out a long breath. It was pointless to deny now. Things were changing. And holding onto the past was only hurting the both of you.

It was late before you had finally made it back to camp. Hosea had brought a new wagon with John in tow. Between the three of you, you transferred the supplies and managed to secure the broken wagon to the back of the good one to drag it back to camp.

The ride was quiet, but not with the angst from before. There was a new sadness in the air. Hosea glanced between John, who rode ahead and you.

"Sorry this took longer than expected," he offered. "I guess that's what I get for tryin' to fix somethin' that won't be."

A sting of guilt pierced your chest. "Don't be sorry," you stated, almost flatly. "It's not your fault. It's not anyones..." The words sank into your heart. Perhaps you'd been looking at it all wrong. There was little fault to be placed on anyone. Blame was just an excuse for you to be mad at a situation. Yes, John had done wrong. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized he was probably just as terrified as you were.

"I'm leaving," you said quietly to the older man. "The past... well, the past should stay in the past." You gave a sigh. "There's different futures for the both of us. Ain't no one to blame but life... Sometimes people stay together for forever. And sometimes they don't."

Hosea glanced at you. "That sounds pretty wise... and pretty lonely." He gave a sympathetic look. "Just take care of yourself, alright?" You nodded a promise.

The camp was asleep. The wagons were left for the morning, no one wanted to deal with them anymore. You didn't look at John as you moved to your tent, quickly packing up what little you had. It was a sobering thought that you'd probably never see any of the gang again. They'd been your family... sort of. You grabbed a couple cans of beans before slinging your satchel around your shoulders and hoisting up your saddle bags. As you started toward your horse, you spotted John by one of the fires.

You were surprised he hadn't gone to bed.

The orange glow around him reminded you of a summer that seemed a century ago. A hot and reckless one when you were both stupid enough to start this whole secret fiasco between the two of you. Looking at him, for what may be the last time, you realize how much you did still care about him.

Guess we're still both pretty stupid.

His eyes glanced up at you as you secured the saddle of your horse.

"You leavin?" He asked simply. He didn't really need an answer.

You paused, turning but not looking at him. "Yeah. I am."

The silence was heavy. John felt his heart do a strange flip, like he was losing something he only just realized he had. You stared at your boots. "I'm sorry," you said, your voice more gentle now that all the anger had fizzled from your bones. "For what I said earlier–"

"Don't be," he cut in. "You were right."

His admission was shocking. You looked up at him, with a hope you knew was fleeting. Even now, you still cared. Because of course you did.

"Be well, y/n," he offered. It wasn't an apology. It wasn't a promise. But it was all he really knew how to give.

Your heart sank to your toes again.

"You too, John."

Turning, dust kicked up behind your boots. You didn't know where you'd go. Or what you would do. But you knew you'd always care. You knew you'd think about him on lonely nights, if he was okay, if he had ever changed. You knew by the time you'd be over him, you would have to change too. Maybe this was for the best.

And maybe, just maybe, if both of you changed enough, fate might see it that you'd meet again. You gave a sigh, knowing that probably wouldn't happen.