So I was completely planning on sitting down and completing my Jujutsu Kaisen fic but for some reason I was inspired to write a chapter for this one instead which I'm ecstatic about. Even if no one is still reading this, I'm happy to be one step closer to completing it. It's been years and I'm sure this isn't what I had planned for this chapter but I'm rolling with it. This is one of my favorite fics in terms of characterization but I feel I lost that with this chapter. Hopefully I can get back into it with the next one.
If I haven't mentioned it before, this is a John and Bonnie fic. I've skimmed over some major events and don't plan on going into anything that doesn't involve the two of them with any depth.
He'd ignored his duty to Jack and his mission for Edward Ross long enough. John had still not received word of any developments from Marshal Johnson and he was losing hope on that front. Still, the hunt for Bill Williamson needed to continue in some way or other. He'd met a few peculiar characters on his travels, men that he wouldn't be inclined to know if he wasn't aware of the potential benefits of an association with them. He wasn't a hard-hearted man by nature, wary to help but inclined if given the right incentive. And though they each had their own character flaws and questionable motives, Nigel West Dickens, Irish, and Seth each served a purpose in reaching John's goal of capturing or killing Bill, to all their mutual benefits.
He'd met each of them on his travels, though he'd neglected to cultivate his acquaintance with each of them due to his focus on Bonnie and her issues with MacFarlane Ranch. He'd also spent so much time helping Leigh Johnson that he hadn't had much time to help them with their various requests, shady or otherwise. His departure from Bonnie had been abrupt and he regretted it now, as he seemed to be spending most of his time drifting further and further away from the ranch with each of the men that promised to play their part in taking down Williamson and assaulting Fort Mercer when it was required of them. It was better this way, he assured himself, reminding himself that Bonnie deserved better than him. It seemed like a tired excuse after repeating it so often, even just in his mind, but then he only needed to remember Abigail's prone form, body long cold by the time Jack and he had returned from their hunting trip. Another failed attempt to bond with a son that had resented him, and then completely loathed him after Abigail's death at the hands of some random drifter. Jack had complained the entire trip, leading to a fruitless hunt when the boy was too loud. John had been eager to return home and pass his son off to the delicate machinations of his wife, who seemed much more capable of dealing with Jack's fluctuating moods. He and the boy had both been blindsided by Abigail's death, Uncle gone on some drunken spree that had taken him from the farm days before John and Jack's departure and he hadn't returned until a week after they'd buried Abigail's body.
John forced himself to remember the horror of seeing Abigail's face, rictus setting it in angry lines, eyes wide and unstaring. Her eyes had seemed to accuse him, glassy and empty as they were. He'd failed to ease any tension with his son, the whole purpose of their trip away, and the worst had happened in its stead. He'd failed Abigail in the most abominable way after years and years of one small failure after another. She might have left him long ago if it wasn't for the mentoring of his dead friend Arthur Morgan. Maybe she should have. She might be alive and well even now, and maybe Jack might have truly been happier growing up in whatever form the gang had taken after Arthur's and so many other's deaths. She hadn't gone quietly, clear from her broken nails and the bruises and blood that had encompassed her body.
Jack had yelled, cried, screamed for his mother, all while cursing John's name and blaming him for her death. He hadn't forgiven John in the four months since they'd laid her to rest. John doubted he ever would. John had never forgiven his father for abandoning him, or even his mother for birthing him in the first place and John had barely known one and had no memories of the other. Jack had years of memories to pick and choose from to hate him for. He'd been reckless before, barely around to see Jack grow up, even less so after their daughter had passed. He'd run from his responsibility as certainly as he'd feared it. Hunting, killing, robbing had always come more naturally to him than being a father or role model ever would. And yet the same behaviors that Jack so loathed him for, he seemed to revere in others. It caused no little frustration on John's part, and sometimes that frustration exploded in destructive ways, like yelling at his son when he was being obstinate or leaving the farm for a night to spend under the stars to clear his head. The same frustration that had caused him to hunt down Abigail's killer and slit the man's belly open and then tell Jack what he'd done. What he'd meant as some reassurance that her killer would never hurt anyone ever again was instead treated with horror and disgust from his son. He'd become even more of a stranger to his son than he'd ever been.
John shook his head in chagrin at his troubled thoughts. It seemed he hadn't changed significantly in the past months. Here he was under the stars, with Spirit grazing nearby, perhaps not running away from Bonnie, but certainly avoiding the ranch while he settled his affairs. He'd hunted bounties in his downtime and killed a few of them when their transgressions were too repugnant for John to consider letting them go. He could have made it back at any time, nothing so urgent that he needed to push himself as hard as he had been. There was still no word from Johnson after several days, and he'd done all he could for West Dickens, Irish and Seth for the time being. He wondered what Bonnie thought of his disappearance. If she'd questioned the Marshal, it would have been easy enough to find out that he'd kept in contact with him, if not Bonnie.
It was time to stop being a coward. He would tell Bonnie that whatever they were, whatever she'd hoped for, was impossible. He was a killer, not the God-fearing rancher she deserved. He had Jack to consider, and Ross and Fordham were never far from his mind. Ross was as slippery as a snake and John was certain that at the end of this, the man wouldn't just let John walk away. John was just one more loose end for the man, but if Jack could survive then it would all be worth it. He could bargain for that at the very least. He wouldn't tie Bonnie's fate to his.
He rode Spirit hard the next afternoon, running back towards MacFarlane Ranch. The horse seemed to sense his urgency, pushing himself as hard as John did. He was grateful for the horse and appreciated its tenacity. They understood each other as much as any man and beast could and he was the finest horse John had ever owned. He'd considered buying another one now that his bounties had afforded him a healthy amount of money, but Spirit suited him, and Bonnie had given him as proof of his hard work. They didn't reach MacFarlane's Ranch that day and he spent the night tossing on his bedroll as he rehearsed what he wanted to say to her. He cursed his own reticence with words and how difficult he found it to express himself without being as obtuse as Bonnie had accused him of being. He finally fell asleep when the night was at its darkest, his flickering fire barely able to pierce the black. John was resolved to simply speak his mind when he saw Bonnie again and let the words come to him as they may.
XX
Because of his poor sleep and early departure, he was exhausted when he finally arrived at MacFarlane's ranch the next afternoon. John tied his horse near the cabin he'd come to consider as his and decided to visit the store first to find something to appease Bonnie for leaving so long without sending word. He walked down towards the store, yawning heavily and barely paying attention to his surroundings. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Bonnie's voice approached from behind him.
"Excuse me, Mr. Marston. Have you seen my father?"
John turned towards her, noting the anxiety on her face, concern overriding the disappointment at hearing her call him Mr. Marston rather than John as she was wont to do. "No, I haven't." he offered seriously.
"He was out riding the land and was supposed to be back hours ago." Bonnie looked around helplessly, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "The ranch hands have been out looking but so far they haven't found anything."
"Well, come on. Let's go look for him," John urged, hating that she was so distressed and trying to hide it from him.
"Thank you, Mr. Marston." Bonnie said with a relieved sigh. "I'm sure it's nothing, but I worry about the old fool."
There were two horses tied near the store and Bonnie gestured for him to take the one beside her own. John mounted the horse, thankful that Spirit would get a rest even if he didn't. Bonnie led them away from the ranch, out into the fields of her land. John kept his pace just behind her, keeping a sharp eye out for her father.
"He's not as young as he used to be," Bonnie fretted. "What if he hurt himself, Mr. Marston?"
The Mr. Marston might have rankled under different circumstances, but he knew that Bonnie was focused solely on finding her father. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "Your father's built like an oak. I'm sure he's fine."
"You're probably right," Bonnie conceded, worry still prevalent in her tone. "But I can't help worrying. He's all I got."
John winced at that, reminded that he came here essentially to affirm that to Bonnie. But this wasn't the time for regrets. He needed to find her father so she wouldn't have to experience a similar loss to him.
"Don't you have any brothers or sisters?"
"Six brothers," Bonnie said tersely. "Five died from either sickness or foolishness. Last one's a lawyer in New York."
"He should be here, helping you and your Pa," John said heatedly.
"He's fine where he's at," Bonnie said vehemently. "Good for him, but I've never met a man in a tie I could trust." She gestured towards the side, turning sharply towards a figure standing in the field. "Who's that over there?"
Drew MacFarlane stood among the fresh corpses of horses and men, surveying the scene with a pinched frown.
"Daddy, what happened?"
"Nothing nice," Drew surmised. "Maybe them Bollard Twins. That bunch." He pointed back in the direction they'd come from. "Now you head back to the ranch and fetch the wagon."
"Yes, sir." Bonnie turned to leave with John following suit.
"Mr. Marston," Drew called out. When John turned back to face him, Drew stared him down intently. "You look after Bonnie."
"I'll do that sir," John promised solemnly. Nothing would happen to her under his care. He would ensure it.
With that, the pair of them rode back towards the ranch as fast as they were able.
"Who could've done something like that," Bonnie asked angrily. "To those men and their horses too!"
"Your pa seemed to have an idea," John offered. "We better get back as soon as we can," he instructed her anxiously. He could feel his focus sharpening, in preparation of any danger to come. He'd made a promise to Drew MacFarlane, but he would protect Bonnie for himself.
"And you're no different!" she continued her tirade, "how many men have you killed?"
"You've never met the men I've killed." John said tightly, a sharp pain lancing in his chest at her next words.
"It's disgusting." Bonnie dismissed. "I've heard the way you talked about your gang. As if there was some twisted morality in it."
"We all have a code," John defended himself. "Only some of us don't realize it."
"The outlaw with a code," scoffed Bonnie in disbelief. "How romantic. The reluctant murderer."
John was given no chance to respond to her accusations or wonder where her sudden callousness came from as they noticed the smoke in the distance at the same time.
"The barn's on fire!" Bonnie yelled in alarm.
They were close enough to the ranch that Bonnie would be safe here. John pushed away the emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface at Bonnie's tangible disdain for him. So be it, but he wasn't about to let her suffer any more than she had since his arrival and he pushed his horse to run faster, pulling ahead of Bonnie and reaching the barn ahead of her.
There were ranch hands running around with meager buckets of water, shouting at each other that it wasn't enough. They just didn't have enough people or water on hand to save the barn. But the horses were still inside, and the doors were barred shut from inside as well. John took one look at the despair on Bonnie's face and chose to act.
"We have to find a way in there," he heard her lament, but he was already running around the barn looking for another entrance.
He spied a shack that was climbable next to the barn and a convenient set of awnings and walkways that would allow him access to one of the high doors near the top of the barn roof. He pulled himself up without a thought, ignoring the small slivers that pierced his skin as he managed to climb, swing and pull himself up to the upper walkway with no small amount of difficulty. He entered the barn and immediately felt his eyes and lungs burning at the smoke that was doing its best to escape the barn. He managed to jump down twice, feeling his knees and ankles protest as he landed heavily on the ground floor. The air was thick with black smoke and John pressed his forearm against his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from inhaling it. He saw a pitchfork jammed in the double doors and yanked it out desperately, shoving the doors open to Bonnie's relieved face.
"Good job, but now we need to get the horses." She attempted to run forward into the barn with him but the smoke and heat hit her hard and she fell to her knees with watering eyes.
John turned back into the barn and ran to each horse one by one, all frozen in fear from the fire. He yelled at them all and smacked them sharply on the rear and they ran out the doors. The last one was at the far back of the barn and didn't respond to his strangled shouts to run, the smoke burning his lungs and turning his voice hoarse. There was a sharp crack and he looked back towards the doors in time to see heavy beams from the upper-level crash and block the path out. He could just make out Bonnie's frantic expression through the heavy smoke as she saw that he was trapped.
"You can jump, John. I know you can make it," she all but screamed at him.
John jumped on the last horse and urged him towards the door. The horse seemed as determined as he was to escape, and they cleared the burning debris with room to spare. John spared a glance at Bonnie's tearful expression as he guided the horse to the corral near the barn. He jumped off the horse, stumbling slightly and wiping the accumulated sweat and ash from his forehead in an attempt to keep it out of his eyes.
Amos and Bonnie rounded the corral and approached him swiftly, Amos with a wide grin and Bonnie with concern. "You sure know how to handle yourself," Amos praised him. "Thanks, Marston."
"Yes John, thanks," Bonnie said hesitantly. "You, well, you saved the ranch."
Amos clapped him on the shoulder. "If you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do." He strode away, leaving John and Bonnie to watch each other.
"Thank you, John. Sincerely." Bonnie said with gratitude.
"I did all I could, Miss MacFarlane," John said quietly. "I'm sorry about all the damage. That gang really seems to want you out of here."
Bonnie leaned back against the fence and shook her head. "My father's fought off worse. I don't think we're going to be scared away by white trash."
"White trash can be pretty frightening," John cautioned.
"Well, they don't frighten me," Bonnie stated defiantly.
"Good." John eased himself to the ground and leaned against the fence, exhausted from the rush of adrenaline, his hands beginning to sting in earnest. He'd be pulling slivers out of them for days.
"My family owes you a great debt." Bonnie said carefully.
"You've got enough debt," John dismissed easily. "And you saved my life." He looked away and stared at the ranch in contemplation. "All I ask is this. When I get back home to my farm, will you sell me some cattle? I'd prefer to deal with people I know." He didn't have to look to see the sadness in her eyes. He was making it clear he was leaving, without directly saying the words. She'd proven that they weren't compatible with her angry accusations. He was doing his best to let it go politely.
"Of course, Mr. Marston. It would be my pleasure."
John looked back to her and offered her a nod. She attempted a shaky smile in return and turned to go, hesitating and turning back. She looked ready to say something, maybe an apology for her earlier heated words. John did his best to silently convey it wasn't needed. Bonnie sighed in defeat. "You…well, you get some rest. I should go see how my father's doing."
Bonnie walked away, squaring her shoulders. John watched her go with a wistful smile. He hadn't planned for it to go down quite like that but perhaps they could remain friends after this. Whatever disgust she'd professed to feel about his past, John knew she was good on her word and was genuinely remorseful. He didn't need an apology to know she regretted her words. It was better this way after all. Now they could move on and stop treading so close to whatever they were before. Now they could be just Mr. Marston and Miss MacFarlane. He ignored the painful twist in his chest and resolved to go and get some sleep.
XX
Bonnie turned back and watched him trudge wearily to his cabin. She felt like crying, but she'd never been big on self-pity. She'd said words she regretted, accused him of things she didn't even believe, not truly. It's just, she'd been so distraught when he'd left without a word, just a simple wave of his hand. She'd waited for his return for days, even going so far as to venture into town and inquire idly about his whereabouts from Marshal Johnson. The man had seen past her ruse and offered her a teasing smile but could say no more than that John's business was his own and he was working diligently towards his goal of taking down Williamson.
Days passed and her worry turned to annoyance and finally anger as she kept hearing about exploits of the great John Marston, shooting his way through the bandits and rustlers of their closest three counties, as well as a plethora of rumours about misdeeds with corpses, snake oil men, Irishmen and the like. Things said offhand and in whispers, but not a word or hair of the man himself. He was clearly avoiding MacFarlane Ranch, but to what end? She'd made it clear with her various improprieties that she was interested in him. She guessed he was making it clear with his distance that he wouldn't return that interest. She'd never taken him for one to take the easy way out though and that hurt. It hurt that he didn't feel the same, but that was to be expected with his wife so recently passed. No, it hurt more that he thought so little of her that he'd moved on single-mindedly in his goal without so much as a goodbye. Maybe Amos had been right. Maybe John wasn't the man she'd imagined he was. Silly, romantic, pathetic Bonnie MacFarlane. She'd resolved then and there to treat John with the same lack of consideration, or to treat him as she would any casual acquaintance at best. Her anger at seeing those dead men and horses and riled her up to the point that she wanted to hurt him as he'd hurt her, even inadvertently. She wasn't proud of what she said, but she hoped he knew that she truly regretted it.
He'd said his piece, making it clear he would be returning home as soon as he was able. Even now, as she'd nearly poisoned their friendship with her callous words, he was doing his best to be kind. To reject her quietly in his own way without humiliating her. He saved her home and asked for nothing in return but their continued acquaintance. Whatever his past, Bonnie knew she didn't deserve him. He didn't deserve her mistreatment. He'd never pretended to be anyone but who he was, and she'd tried to fit him in the mold of whoever she imagined. It was no wonder she was so sorely disappointed.
"You're not a child, Bonnie," she chided herself as she moved resolutely to get the wagon for her father. She'd never considered herself a romantic, never hoped or imagined she'd be swept off her feet like those penny dreadfuls her brother used to read. But she guessed she'd read them too, to know what was in them. And maybe some part of her had liked the idea of a gunslinger come to save the day. But John was just a man, not some fictional hero. It was time to give up whatever notion she'd had about him, to let go of whatever her dreams had whispered in her ears. John would be gone sooner rather than later. It was best not to let herself get more attached than she had already. The ache in her throat belied her resolve, but she'd suffered loss before. What was one more in the long run? Especially when it was the loss of something that had only been in her head.
Thanks for reading!