Feel free to join my Discord server: disco rd . gg / 8NPYvs9m (delete the spaces). You can talk about whatever you want in there. SW and RDR channels are in there as well.
Chapter 1
The days passed agonizingly slowly.
Throughout it, Javier hadn't paid much attention. In front of the court, he didn't hold his head up, feeling the judge's words bite into his skin about how disgusting he was and that he would never see the light of the sun again. Ross-that slippery cabrón continued trying to make him talk. He'd brought up the names Charles Smith and Sadie Adler, about where their location may be, but Javier didn't know where they were, and even if he did, he would not tell that puto.
Only now did he allow shame to fill him.
He was left by Dutch and forced to create his own gang with the Mexicans. He lost the love of his gang and tried and failed to recreate it, losing his mind in the process. It had all been for nothing.
He remembered the Van Der Linde gang. The kind and grandfatherly form of Hosea Matthews. The stern and motherly visage of Susan Grimshaw. And the big brother of the Van Der Linde gang, someone who Javier didn't want to think about the most; Arthur Morgan.
Seeing Hosea's shot replayed over and over again in his mind.
Grimshaw also getting shot in Beaver Hollow by Micah haunted him.
But seeing Arthur deteriorate before his very eyes was just depressing. One day, he was strong. Another, he was seconds away from death, it had actually scared him. He'd heard about it later from Tilly before he left her behind forever. Arthur had gotten tuberculosis from a do-gooder named Thomas Downes for Herr Strauss, the gang's "debt" collector.
He'd known it now. He had been too loyal to Dutch.
It had led him to this event. The time was up. It was time for him to face the consequences of his actions. Yet, Javier knew he would never truly be at peace. Whether he went to Heaven to face God's no doubt cruel punishments and words for what he had done or Hell to finally have the Devil judge him, Javier Escuella was going to die.
There was no one else.
Just Javier alone with his thoughts and shame.
He had allowed Micah to manipulate him and twist him against the men he'd referred to as brothers. If he hadn't, how different would events have been?
It didn't matter now.
"Oh," Ross laughed, "look at you. The last member of your gang."
Javier kept his head lower.
A hand smacked his face, and he glared, wondering if the cabrón would do the same if his hands weren't restrained.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy," the agent said coldly.
Javier felt his heart slowing.
"Unfortunately, just when he was proving to be a productive member of society, giving his heart to others, John Marston has fallen into an unfortunate accident."
No...
"You cabrón!" Javier growled, lunging up, only for his arms to bend at the firm wooden chains, making his arms convulse painfully.
Rose laughed cruelly. "Oh, oh, oh, and here I thought you didn't care about anyone but yourselves. After all, Marston had quite a disdain for you. I did you a favor. According to him multiple times, Dutch van der Linde left him for dead. You left him for dead. You have only yourself to blame."
Deep down, somewhere within Javier, he knew the bastardo was right. He knew it and hated it.
Something broke inside of him. Javier had grown numb to everything. It had taken years for him to accept the harsh truth about Dutch van der Linde, but he'd slowly come around to it over time. There was never a plan, or at least the plan was poorly put together because the result was always going to be the same.
"Let's end this," a man behind him spoke sharply, the other man who accompanied Ross. He almost seemed disgusted with Ross.
"Oh, Fordham, is that disgust in your tone?"
"No, I just don't believe we should lower ourselves to the barbarianism that outlaws are known for."
Ross held his glare before nodding and curling his lips up. "Of course, of course, it's time to move on."
How had it come to this? No, he knew how...
He looked up to Dutch as the only source of truth or wisdom in the world, and no matter how much he or other people he cared about got hurt by Dutch, he turned on people who didn't obey him. Dutch's cult of personality worked perfectly on Javier. Even Bill, despite his stupidity, attempted to reply to Dutch on occasion to stand up for himself.
He'd been filled with passion, but no love.
He was another outlaw, sniveling in the dirt like a rat.
Those nights of sleep deprivation where he'd wished things were different, the alcohol which had drowned out the screams of betrayal and sadness he'd felt because he made the wrong choice so many years ago. Through his time, Javier came to a horrifying realization but had been helpless to stop. Micah Bell was the rat. Arthur and John only wanted the best for the gang, and they were the ones betrayed. Now, he'd wished he never left John to die. He'd wished that he didn't immediately go with Dutch's accusations that his two brothers were traitors.
Should have asked more questions...
For now, he was held in a cell being transported to Blackwater. No signs of guards were in sight. He was alone, like the dirty vermin he was. Was this how Arthur felt all those years ago? He wondered. John too? When his brother saw him, he recognized anger and hesitation. The awkward silence that passed as they stood next to each other, John holding him in place-his head lowered in quiet resistance and... guilt...
'I know if the situation were reversed he'd looked for me.'
Those words were said long ago, but there was no camaraderie between them, and it was all his fault. Javier sided with a racist by association.
When he was put in the automobile, Javier looked at John one last time, knowing that he would never see him again. He'd spit on his shoulder, but it was mainly in the hopes of sustaining his anger, an anger that just didn't matter anymore.
The man who once represented Javier Escuella was gone.
John was gone. Jack and Abigail were likely too.
But he figured it fitting.
He recognized Blackwater. How could he ever forget it? It was where Dutch's first sign of madness had been shown.
When the horses carried his cage to the podium, Javier was let go, the wood removed from him, but his arms lifted. The townspeople didn't seem too enthusiastic, though his heart did stop at the sight of it.
Ross began to speak when Javier was in place.
"Today is a great day for America, a sign of the changing time. The last surviving member of the evasive Van der Linde gang, Javier Escuella is guilty of…"
Despite this, Javier tried to clue the words out, thinking about other things. He'd thought of Arthur, John; the brothers he missed, Jack; his little nephew, and at last... Tilly.
Javier remembered the last time he saw her. It had been when he rode off with Dutch and left her behind, thinking about nothing but his loyalty. That puto, Micah! He manipulated him, took him for a fool, and Javier knew there was no coming back! Would Tilly see what happened? Hear about it? How would she react?
"…Alas, despite the necessary passing of John Marston, it is time for America to close this chapter and move forward in civilization… For all your crimes, Mr. Escuella, may God forgive you because nothing living shall. Corporal." The man gave the signal.
The moment Javier felt his body collapse for a brief instant, the rope squeezed around his neck. This was a terrible, aching pain! His eyes popped. He kicked and squirmed, finding no relief. This agony was beyond what he deserved, but he needed it to end immediately! He briefly pondered if this was how his uncle felt while being consumed by the pigs. Then he stopped swinging...
As the pain in his neck cleared away as if it never existed, Javier felt his eyes darkening.
He spotted a bull.
Yes, it was a bull.
As his life faded away, the world around him turned into a grim and desolate landscape, clouded in an eternal twilight. The sky was a tumultuous sea of dark clouds, blocking out any hope of sunlight. The ground beneath him was fractured and barren, void of any sign of life, happiness, and family.
From the shadows, a massive, imposing figure stared up at him. A bull, its form silhouetted against the darkness. As it stared off at him, Javier could only stare back. Its eyes, pools of liquid night, appeared to hold a world of accusation and remorse. The bull did not speak a word; it simply stared at Javier with an unblinking, mournful gaze.
In that silence, Javier's mind was flooded with memories of his past. He recollected the betrayal of brothers, the shaming of his honor, and at last his loyalty shattering, the cries of the innocent echoing in his ears, the dark deeds he had committed, and the lives he had ruined.
The bull pawed at the ground, its hooves striking sparks against the desolate earth. Its eyes, filled with a deep, mournful sorrow, never left Javier's. It was as if the beast was waiting, giving him one last chance to acknowledge the truth of his actions, to face the darkness within him. But the bull did not attack, did not move to harm him. Its presence alone was a silent, haunting judgment.
Javier lay there, his breath growing shallower, his vision fading. The bull's mournful eyes were the last thing he saw. The storm raged on, the thunder and lightning a fitting passing for a life too far lost to the abyss.
And the bull closed its eyes.
As the darkness gripped him, Javier Escuella died a regretful man.
Suddenly, the Mexican felt the cold hitting his face and he opened his eyes, surprised, seeing the white mountain from the past. The first thought that came to mind after what just happened was wondering if this was what hell felt like. An eternal coldness where one went against their fellow men and God ended up.
Thoughts of his victims, all the people he'd killed while working under the Mexican government, culminated in the shame inside him.
Javier did nothing and said nothing, merely staring out.
"Heh, you okay?" Javier was startled by that familiar voice saying those four words and turned, looking over to see...
"Arthur?" Javier began, taking notice of Arthur's athletic form. "You're... down here too?"
How? Didn't Arthur redeem himself enough?
The gunslinger looked at him as if he was crazy, blinking. "Well, yes, Javier, to get up the mountain, we must go down it first."
'You're not the man I thought you were, Javier... I always thought you were smart, but you're as dumb as Bill is.'
Was this his punishment? When he could have done better, he'd become bitter, lost his faith, and no longer believed in loyalty. Javier went back to Mexico and became a despicable human being, becoming a hitman for the oppressive government to put down rebellion. He killed and tortured innocent people in the countryside until John came for him.
Damn it, he was no better than Micah.
"Mierda, this is hell..." Javier said to himself, ignoring the painful jab as he looked at Arthur.
Instead of grasping the severity of the situation, or finally casting judgment on Javier's soul as he so desperately deserved, the dead outlaw snorted slightly.
"It took you this long to realize that?" He asked with arched eyebrows.
Javier tightened his hands over the reins that he didn't even realize were in his hands, wondering what the hell had happened. He looked in front of him at his horse, and his insides paused at seeing the form of Boaz. He'd missed that bloody horse with everything he had, but had abandoned him in some stables and never saw him again...
"We'd better not take too long to find Marston. Dutch ain't going to be happy."
"Dutch..." The word came slowly, tinted with nothing but harshness and cold.
Taken aback by this, Arthur looked at him. "Are you sure nothing more happened in Blackwater that I should know 'bout, Javier?"
Oh, Javier had the whole world to vent to him. Where should he begin? Back at Beaver Hollow, where he left Arthur and John to die and sided with that rat piece of shit who tore everything apart? Or where he cut Javier and Bill off and allow them to go their own separate ways? And when Javier finally got apprehended, brought to Blackwater, and swung for his crimes?
"Later..." was all that Javier was able to say bitterly.
Arthur looked at him for a second longer before nodding, "Come on, let's go."
What happened? Was it possible that Javier was reliving past events? Was that his punishment? To recall everything before he'd gone to hell? Oh, what was that goddamn word? Deciding to dismiss the thought for now, feeling like a goddamn idiot, his thoughts went to another possibility. The area around them felt too detailed, the wind beating against them making Javier thankful for his old overcoat. He'd doubted that either the Devil or God would allow them to come back here, most of all with his and Arthur's beloved horse.
The other idea was ridiculous. It sounded just as bad as Javier thought. Was he given a second chance? A chance to redeem himself? A chance to save his brothers? A chance to be dragged away from the gruesome fate of hell and not make the same mistakes as before? But... that was impossible...
"Ground's getting too steep," Morgan pointed out. "We better leave the horses behind."
Javier nodded in agreement, his teeth gritted as he moved along the snow, staying behind Morgan.
Why should he stay? Now that he had this second chance. So what if Micah tore down the gang? Why should it be his fucking responsibility? His loyalty to Dutch accomplished no favors for them. Maybe he could just leave and not look back...
He only vaguely remembered where John was, but it wasn't difficult to figure out. The wolves weren't merciful with Marston. John would still be alive. Nastily mauled and torn, and entrenched in a hole, but alive. His survival tendencies were something Javier envied about him. The man had gotten through crazy scrapes and survived them all.
He couldn't believe he was 27.
It was 1899.
And they were back in Colter.
Goddamn it, maybe he should turn around.
The temptation came and went, as his feet carried him instinctively towards where he'd remembered John being.
'I hope you and your wife and children rot in hell!'
And yet, Javier couldn't stop the slight animosity he felt towards John and Arthur, much to his shame. Both were dead. It was dishonorable to their memories, and it had been his choice to side with Dutch, he couldn't blame them for how badly things had gotten, but he couldn't help but feel petty jealousy towards both men. They at least had people who would miss them. Despite how Javier spent a few nights with Tilly, the two weren't able to realistically last.
John left him to swing. He took him to the law and allowed those sick agents to take hold of him. Javier's days were anything but pleasant. Discarded like an animal, the Mexican couldn't control his fate. Maybe Arthur would be able to find John and get the hell out of here anyway. Whatever happened afterward wasn't his concern. But, the words echoed in his head. 'You left me to die to save your own skin. And now you expect me to care about you?'
No. Not again. Never again.
He'd heard Arthur shouting beside him, "Marston! Marston! Where are ya, ya idiot?!"
"Arthur?" John replied hoarsely. "Here! Over here!"
Javier moved in the direction of the voice, finding him as maimed as expected. He still couldn't stop his voice coming out, "John?"
"That's quite a scratch you got there," Arthur said as Javier reached the edge.
"Never thought I'd say this, but it's good to see you, Arthur Morgan."
"You don't look too good," Arthur snarked coldly as he reached down for Marston along with Javier.
"Don't feel too good neither," John replied with a grunt, "I'm freezing."
Half-consciously, Javier reached down for Marston's form, just needing to feel him. He couldn't believe this was the gunslinger from 1911. The man had become one of the quickest shots and a deadly force of might.
"Glad you're safe," Javier grumbled, reaching down and helping what way he could.
"Javier, you're okay, amigo?" John asked.
"I'll be.."
John couldn't help but offer a quip, "Hmph, nice to know you were worried enough to convince Morgan to come after me."
Arthur rolled his eyes, and there was no amusement across his face. "Pipe down, Marston. It was Abigail who decided that you're worth saving after all. I don't know why. It would be one less mouth to feed, ain't that right, Javier?"
No response...
"Javier?" At the lack of a joke, Arthur tried again.
"Let's get going back..." Javier managed to say curtly. He couldn't deal with this. Not now. The sooner they got back into Colter, the better...
Growls picked at his senses, and the hitman within Javier couldn't resist his temptation.
Shit, he'd forgotten last time he was the one loading up John.
How did Marston end up in Morgan's arms?"
It didn't matter, he supposed.
In one move promising to be more loyal to the brothers he'd let down, he pulled out his revolver, aimed, and fired, dropping five out of six wolves before they even knew what had hit them. Morgan flipped around, only to see all but one of the wolves lying dead in the snow.
That one wolf came charging forward, but Arthur reacted, holding Marston in one arm and his gun in the other, firing, catching the wolf in the shoulder and forehead.
After the final wolf fell, he took one last glimpse and smirked slightly as he looked at Javier.
"Good job, Javier, ain't known you can shoot like that."
"Thanks, amigo," John chimed in.
Javier scoffed. "I had plenty of time to focus on my shooting."
He meant it too...
Author's note: The Javier time travel idea was too tempting for me not to release the first chapter. XD
It's important to note that Javier in 1911 was a bounty hunter and hitman. He didn't lower to things like rape like Bill's gang did, but he was definitely behind the bottle and did multiple drugs, also losing sight of what made him who he was in the first place. Like with Arthur, I'm surprised there are not more stories about his time traveling.