The orphanage was hardly better than living out in the wilderness but it put a roof over their head and protected them from bandits and kidnappers with its flimsy walls. The people who worked there were missionaries, nuns for the most part, and most people had the decency not to rob those trying to bring sanctuary to the untamed west. For the less morally inclined, the head nun had a shotgun aptly hidden in a cupboard with a cross nailed on it and would not hesitate to kill those who dared to commit any sort of heinous sin in her territory. A tough and fearsome lady she was, John reminisces, but she was a good woman. Sometimes, he thinks that he got his moral code from her.

He doesn't remember much from the good book, but he figures he got the gist of it. He must've fallen asleep when they read the orphans a part of the Ten Commandments, he thinks bemusedly. The "thou shall not kill" part completely flew over his head. It wasn't much of a Sunday school, that orphanage, the nuns understood that. But they tried their best to give the kids a reason for what had been done to them. We are all subject to the will of God, they would tell them before bed, candles illuminating attentive faces. From our actions, He decides whether we are to be damned or whether we are to be given redemption.

But they could never understand what they had done to deserve what they got. They had their own way of coping with this new-found knowledge. Some were full of spite and turned to being troublemakers, more so as they grew older. Some believed God took away their family because of the things they did and they promised not to be bad anymore.

John just figured that life wasn't fair, that there was nothing worth trying to mend past mistakes for.

He still remembers that day. He was leaning against the doorway of one of the rooms with his arms crossed over his chest, occasionally dozing off with his too large hat-which he found by a rock near the orphanage and, seeing no live or dead bodies nearby, deemed it alright for the taking-covering his face and halfheartedly supervising some of the younger kids as they played around. A fellow orphan, Ben, stood across the hall, doing about the same. A door down the hall creaked open and seconds later, he hit John on the shoulder, jerking him awake.

"Wha-" He began, managing to catch his hat rather ungracefully before it fell off his head.

"Look, John, look."

He peered over his shoulder toward the front door, where two figures stood, silhouettes against the bright sunlight. He rubbed his eyes. "Are they takin' someone in?"

"No, it's a new one."

The door closed, blocking out the light. Then John could see one of the adults that worked at the orphanage and a girl. He took off his hat. Ben let out a low whistle.

The girl had wavy black hair that grew past her shoulders and pale skin burned slightly pink. Her dress was torn and ruined. She was injured, her elbows and knees bleeding and stained orange with the dry desert dirt, cuts all over her. John wondered how she ended up here. Indians or bandits, he thought. Or maybe cannibals, he added, eyeing the bloodstains that were in all the wrong places on her clothes. He couldn't see her face fully; her eyes were downcast with her hands were drawn into tight fists at her sides. But just by judging her by what he could see, he could say with confidence that she was quite pretty.

"I'd go for that." Ben muttered, nudging John.

"She's just a kid." He said with a twinge of annoyance, which surprised even him.

Ben shrugged with a slight grin on his face. "Not forever." He said, glancing briefly at the girl before turning back to his room.

John scuffed the wooden floorboards lightly with his shoe, rubbing the side of his nose with his thumb. "Whatever you say, Ben."

He leaned back against the frame of the door, watching the girl carefully. It was always a big show when orphans came in. Most kids came in crying, wailing for their family until they cried themselves unconscious. The stronger ones came in with red-rimmed eyes and sniffling noses. But she came in with no fanfare. The afternoon was quiet and sleepy when she walked in; hardly anyone noticed. She was given a quiet introduction to the orphanage before her escort, Miss Judith, a well-meaning woman from the east, quickly and abruptly rushed off to tend to her duties. He didn't really blame Miss Judith for leaving the girl alone; there was a cold spreading and the toddlers were quickly falling victim to it. He watched her. She did not fidget or make any sudden movements like some sort of cornered animal, like most kids did. She only looked around the main room tiredly, her body rigid, feet planted on the floor. When he caught her eye, he saw that she had no trace of tears on her face.

He cocked his head. Glancing back to the room, he figured that he wasn't doing much in supervising the kids anyway. He pushed himself off the door frame. Slowly walking up to her, he set his hat on his head, tilting it back to keep it from falling forward.

At 14, he fancied himself a loner. He wasn't awkward; it was quite the opposite. He could easily talk to other people when the situation called for socializing but he simply chose to be detached. He was polite with an air of youthful arrogance, but he never failed to help those who requested it, only to sit back so he could be forgotten. Truth be told, he never intended to seem approachable, nor did he intend to seem otherwise. He had a strange duality to him at the time, as though he wasn't quite sure which side he wanted to choose, what kind of person he wanted to be. Either way, it wasn't like him to be particularly amiable, especially to newcomers, no matter how polite he was; it was simply not his nature.

Stopping three steps in front of her, he carefully tipped his hat to her, hooking his left thumb on his pant pocket.

"Welcome to our orphanage." He gestured at their shabby surroundings. "It don't look like much but it's better than nothin'."

She looked around briefly once more and nodded, offering only silence. He cleared his throat. Up close, he noticed that she was indeed quite pretty.

"You mind tellin' me your name, miss?"

She looked back at him, eyeing him suspiciously. Her eyes were a shade of unremarkable brown but there was intensity to them, a will-o-wisp dancing behind them. He blinked and wondered briefly if he was turning into a poet. She gave him a look-over and apparently decided that he seemed to have no ill intentions. "Abigail." She replied curtly.

He cleared his throat. "Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Miss..."

"Just," she interrupted, "Abigail." Her eyes dared him to object.

He blinked and bowed his head, hiding a grin. "...Abigail. I'm John. John Marston."

Realizing that he never quite learned how to greet a lady, he shuffled awkwardly. Before he could act, she stretched open her hand and held it out to him. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Marston." She said, looking him straight in the eye. Her voice was delicate yet strong.

Pausing for a moment, he reached out and grasped her hand. She gave him a firm shake and a quiet smile.

He remembers it, the day he saw the sunset in a beautiful girl's eyes.

A/N: Essentially, this is my take on what happened before Red Dead Redemption, focusing mainly on John and Abigail, since there is very little information about how everything turned out the way it did and the information that I could find was pretty vague. And I like them.

Furthermore, I didn't really exaggerate the whole Western speech because, well, people wouldn't be able to read this and understand what the characters are saying, I don't know much of it anyway, and in the game, they have pretty decent grammar, actually.

Constructive criticism is welcome. If you don't like the pairing, that is not a valid reason why this sucks.

Hope you liked it.