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Chapter 2
Javier remained silent as they rode through the blizzard, the wind blowing into his face-reminding him of it all. The men offered jabs at each other without any response from Javier. He wasn't part of this family. He didn't have the honor to call them brothers anymore. He was a coward who couldn't stand behind them when they'd needed him the most.
This time, almost symbolically, John was on the back of Arthur's horse, reminding the Mexican of the distant past that the poor cabrón didn't know about yet and may never. That none of them knew about and wouldn't understand...
Bitter words tear at him.
'We were like family, you and me.'
'Like Cain and Abel, I guess. Leaving each other for dead.'
Goddamn it, John was right.
For scum like him, redemption was impossible.
It just was...
He'd realized any victory would be pointless without Arthur and John alive. And if standing with them meant he had to stand against Dutch to make sure none of them would be at risk, Javier was certain he would be able to do it this time around.
Arriving at the main building where the gang were camped, Arthur looked back down at Marston one last time.
"Marston, if you're still breathing and able to hear me," Arthur said in his typical dark humor, "we're back at camp."
"Ain't getting rid of me that easily, Morgan," John responded, making Javier wonder if he managed to offer one last quip before those goddamn barbarians murdered him.
"Hey! Hey!" Arthur barked, slinging himself from the horse. "Can we get some help here?! It's Arthur and Javier! Hey!"
Ghosts emerged. Bill, the last time he saw him, the man had been building his own gang. And Lenny, the poor kid who died at the bank robbery of Saint Denis. He'd wondered which side he would have taken at Beaver Hollow before pushing it to the side, not wanting to have another reason to feel like absolute shit.
And at that group's head was a woman Javier held bitterness in his heart for...
"You're alive! Oh, you're alive!" Abigail exclaimed with pure relief, and that instantly killed any animosity the Mexican might have had toward her.
How could he have ever seen this woman as a son of a bitch who was only using John?
"Thank you! Thank you both!" She shouted to them.
Javier tuned out the rest of the conversation, the clenching feeling in his side not going away. He realized how exhausted he was. His eyes grew heavy, and sleep seemed all the more tempting. Somehow, on the mountain, he was able to push through his exhaustion. Now, here, back in this camp full of Ghosts, the Mexican just wanted to find the closest cot he could and allow sleep to embrace him.
Maybe forever.
But the thought was instantly quelled by the new dilemma in front of him.
He spotted two familiar forms moving up, clearly in a heated discussion. He gulped slightly.
"They're at it again," Arthur said to him. "Arguing like wives."
Javier's answer was silence, for he had a hard time not reaching out to Hosea. Hosea Matthews. His kind, fatherly presence had always been warm and comforting for the Mexican. It took a matter of years, but Javier realized Hosea was the real backbone of this gang; the fatherly figure everyone needed. Dutch was the leader, the figurehead, and the one everyone listened to. But Hosea was the one who grounded them, and made them a family. At least, that was the only way to explain it when it all fell apart after Saint Denis.
The conversation became clearer as they got closer.
"Dutch, I'm happy that we survived, but-"
"Not now," Dutch dismissed, rolling his eyes beneath the hat.
Hosea looked after him solemnly before falling into a fit of coughs.
"Oh, Hosea, your condition seems to be going to your head," Dutch added. "Let's celebrate that we have our youngest cowl back among us."
Javier remembered Dutch's biting words to him and Bill before they'd cut contact...
"You and Bill were cowards. Running away the moment things got hot! Arthur and John were lost causes, but both of you? Traitors."
And finally, he realized. He realized what he should have done long ago. He realized what he should have known after that encounter. Dutch never cared about Arthur and John, the men he raised; he only cared about his ability to help them get where they wanted to go. He was never concerned about when Arthur got tuberculosis. He never cared about Hosea or John either; he only cared about himself and his plan. Micah was just his puto to do whatever he wanted. He only saw all of them as yet another killer, and Javier was a blind bastardo.
Javier's jaw clenched. The hot-white anger was too consuming, and the Mexican stared at the leader of the Van Der Linde gang harshly. He gave everything to that man, and that puto threw him under the horse and left him and Bill when they needed him. A guy that Dutch barely knew manipulated him, destroyed his family, and drove him even more crazy, which in turn caused both men to run off.
And Dutch wouldn't hear a word of it...
"Arthur, Javier, thank you," Dutch said.
"Dutch," Arthur nodded like a loyal puppy. Oh, this reminded him all too much of Beaver Hollow when Javier would have killed folks for Arthur to be loyal and pretend that everything was fine.
"Dutch..." was all Javier could follow up with, his voice coming out colder and more venomous than intended.
Arthur looked at him and blinked.
Hosea's eyes widened.
Dutch's jaw dropped.
Javier's fists tightened, nails digging into his palms.
The tension between the two was unexpected.
"Son?" Dutch asked in that ever placating tone, as if hurt by his tone. "What happened? Did I do something?"
Heart crumbling slightly, a small part of the Mexican still felt the urge to rush to his side and confide in him, but the memories of his swinging and what happened beforehand were what Javier needed to keep him balanced.
"Don't worry about me, compadre," he responded, distant and guarded.
The silence lasted for five long seconds before the oldest of them decided to break the unexpected tense silence.
"Javier," Hosea said uncertainly, gripping his shoulder. "Why don't you take some rest?"
Before, even when he was angry, the Mexican usually shifted the blame from Dutch to someone else. That was why he couldn't take the gang falling apart easy.
"Pido disculpas. I apologize." Javier said, though he didn't feel like it as he went to the entrance of his cabinet, thankful to be away from them.
The Mexican opened the door and looked around briefly. On his bed, he saw the form of his guitar. He picked it up as if it were a mysterious object he didn't know, and his fingers traveled down to the strings, producing sound. That sound was now foreign to him—a passion Javier had lost due to his romanticism for Dutch.
But the lyrics still came naturally in his head.
Cuando salí de Hermosillo lágrimas vine llorando
Y con la flor del Trompillo, me venía consolando
Yo soy como el coyotito que los revuelco y los dejo
Y me voy al trotecito mirando por rebajejo
Once, he had been happy with his family, how he felt perfectly at home despite the changing times...
Placing the guitar down on the bedside, the Mexican laid on the cot and allowed his eyes to close. His sleep was without disturbance, much as it was relieving. Voices of the past echoed around him. Fears came to mind. Shattered idealism and such were driven straight into the Mexican's heart.
Javier Escuella was many things, including a survivor.
"You okay there, friend? You seem upset for some reason."
Startled, Javier tilted his head up, expecting to see one of the other members; maybe Charles or Arthur. Hell, even Lenny. He was about to respond, but stopped himself when he saw...
Trelawny?
The man wore a black two-piece suit, with a grey vest, a black tie, and a top hat. He had a well-maintained mustache and deathly pale skin, with illusive, pensive eyes. His thick mustache twitched with a concerned frown.
Javier nodded, all the while reaching for an empty holster. "Who the hell are you, cabrón?"
"Well, that's not very nice to introduce yourself to someone."
He still couldn't shake the fact that something was familiar about this man. It was not Trelawny.
"Do I… know you?"
The man in the black suit chuckled in amusement. "Many people do. Yes, Javier, you know me. I am quite a popular figure."
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "How do you know my name? Who are you?"
"If we know each other, wouldn't it make sense to know your name, Mr. Escuella? You may not remember me, as I was the one who witnessed your awakening so long ago by your parents side."
And for some reason, Javier felt safe in his presence. Not that he would admit it. Familiar faces didn't make him feel safe in years, even if they were someone whom Javier knew.
"What are you talking about, friend?" the Mexican growled. "Explain."
The Strange Man chuckled, his eyes flickering with levity. "Ah, agitation must run into the Van Der Linde gang. John didn't act all too calm with my presence either."
"John?" He repeated the name. So John knew more people than he ever told them, after all?
"No. He's different from what he is now, isn't he? More caring about his fatherly duties, more burdened by the form of the law."
Javier scoffed, "Well, good for him."
The Strange Man shrugged. "I presume one changed action prevents a future set in motion."
He glared at him, bothered. "You're talking nonsense, friend. It's best if you get the hell out of here before you get spotted by someone else and mistaken as an O'Driscoll."
He felt his lungs tighten at that moment.
"In the end, you have lived in guilt for years, wishing for things to be different."
"What the hell?" The Mexican hissed, his voice getting higher. "Who are you?"
"You'll find I know many things, Javier. I know all that Arthur Morgan underwent. He redeemed himself at the end by helping John on that mountain. And of course, he had to go after Micah Bell, and eventually, you, Bill, and Dutch to live up to his obligations. You shamed your brothers when you could have sided with them from the start. You chose a rat over family, cobarde."
Javier felt the collision of shame embedded inside him as he thought about how he was tempted to leave two men — his brothers — behind. But he didn't betray his family-not all the way at least. Dutch was also his family, or at least it was before all that went down!
"You're insane. Get away from me."
"Listen to me… your loyalty was a fragile thing and it has passed. If you want a chance at happiness, you must take advantage of this. You're the only one who knows where this is all heading. Who knows? You might be able to save a few extra folks along the way." The Strange Man snorted.
Javier froze. A chill embraced his skin, and his entire body went rigid.
He leaned in, "You have to break free..."
Javier's lips pursed into a scowl. What the hell was this? A burden? A punishment for all his sins?!
The Strange Man's lips stretched into a smile for some reason. "It is a burden. As Arthur had to commence with his deadly burdens, you have to turn your back on Dutch indefinitely. In the reality you've come from, Arthur's time has long passed. I watched John send his family off to safety before he was gunned down. I've seen you go mad as your blind loyalty led you to a path of violating your oaths. Continue being loyal to him, and you will have two destinies with the same result. There's no winning in this life, Mr. Escuella; you've learned that before."
Javier didn't know what he was saying, but he saw visions in his head as he spoke those words. Distant, almost inconceivable, but the message was clear.
"What do you want from me?" the Mexican asked, his voice cracking.
"We want to give you a chance, Javier. Take that chance as you will. A chance to save a fractured family. We've decided-despite all what you've done, you are redeemable."
Javier shook his head, confused, a knot in his stomach. "...I don't know what you mean."
The Strange Man closed his eyes for what felt like hours before reopening them. "Mhm, we don't offer these things often… it's rather unorthodox, but we are feeling rather generous currently."
In that moment, he knew he was going mad.
"The King has already lost his way. The Rat sank deep and claimed hold of its victim. You will have to encounter both, and you will have to be prepared for what must be done."
When Javier looked up, the Strange Man had vanished. The Mexican looked around, jaw slack, but he was nowhere to be found. What the fuck was wrong with him? He needed a drink quickly!
"We'll talk again when necessary, my friend," he heard the stranger say, but there was no physical entity that could have produced the voice.
The Strange Man was obviously not a mere mortal, but Javier couldn't pinpoint what he was. He remembered old stories of gods and devils that Hosea used to tell the camp before bedtime. Goddamn it, could've been the Grim Reaper.
...Or maybe Javier was already spiraling again with everything and that he was just seeing things.
Yet, the voice had given him motivation.
First plan: save Arthur and John. Somewhere in him, Javier just couldn't accept that Arthur would suffer from his TB. And the reason why he'd wanted to save John as well because he knew that he couldn't live in another reality where John Marston was dead. He did it for the last time, somehow, before Ross put him out of his misery and led him to a painful death. Tilly definitely wasn't staying back here for what they'd once had. Hosea, too. Abigail and Jack needed an out as well.
The others Javier wanted to save. If they stayed along, perhaps, but Javier didn't plan on spending all of his time in a pointless endeavor. Last time, his loyalty had been one of the things that got him murdered by the law after years of his alliances with Dutch splintering, and it wasn't a fate he would rather revisit.
Another, what was to be done with Dutch? Micah needed to be put down like the rat he was but how would he do it? How could he get an opportunity to stab the knife in and not lead it back to him? Such things might lead to talks of a traitor.
No, Micah needed to be killed privately and away from camp. The problem was, call it paranoia or not, the cabrón barely left the camp alone 'till he had gotten too comfortable...
But what about Dutch? What could be done? Could Javier really kill him? He'd left him as well as John, and the two were no longer friends.
Javier knew the path ahead was going to be anything but easy.
