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Chapter 7

Today was the day they were going to be going after Sean MacGuire.

He'd remembered his voice. Chipper-mouth, never stopped talking, annoyed the hell out of Arthur, John, Charles, Javier himself, and the entire gang; but had a few good qualities that made him a remembrance within the gang. Yet another victim who fell in Rhodes. He'd remembered being sad about the boy's death. After all, he'd been just a young man with a life ahead of him, but now, it'd been so long ago.

Within the morning, Javier woke up. He was tempted to run his fingers through the guitar though the temptation passed as quickly as it came. He'd found that his personal passion that he used to have no longer existed, replaced by a lack of enjoyment and determination to see they'd made it out this time around.

He stretched his limbs and stood up, moving over to the pot. He noticed that it was still warming up and likely wouldn't be prepared by noon. He shook his head and moved over to the table, wondering what was he going to do today.

"Oh, you're up?" Tilly quipped, her familiar form washing over him in her yellow dress. "I'd almost thought you were going to be asleep forever."

The Mexican grinned, "I wish."

He didn't meant it with all the bitterness that came with his later life neither. It have been a long time since Javier Escuella was able to sleep as peacefully as he did the past few weeks. Yes, there had been nightmares and times where he popped up like a light, scaring the shit out of Charles a few times-the man being the one who slept in the cot next to him, but him and the others thought it was the nightmares that associated to Blackwater thankfully instead of something deeper and darker.

The dark-skinned woman snickered. "You'll probably be able to do so one day when we get out of this. Just think you sleeping all of the time."

Javier's smile skewed up, turning a little painful. "Yeah, maybe."

"Ain't ya going to grab your guitar?" She inquired. "I know you love using it but lately..."

Javier shook his head and sighed. "I don't feel like using it right now. There's so many other things to worry about."

He'd known that was true as well. Arthur not getting tuberculosis was going to result in different changes... right? Well, at least he won't roll over and die this time around. Would be able to stand better in conditions like Guarma and Saint Denis if they'd still ended up there. But for now, unless Morgan went and done something stupid, he was relatively safe.

"Gee, you're sounding more and more like Dutch. What's your plan, all mighty sir?" she quipped.

"For you to stop talking before you talk off the whole gang," he snarked back.

"You're going to be rescuing Sean today," she chuckled. "Now you'll have to deal with the two of us."

"I'll have to see if I should go into town more," he offered with a slight shrug.

"Agreed. That boy causes nothing but trouble. Ain't too much of a problem if we just cut him loose." A gruff voice cut in behind them.

"Arthur."

"Miss Tilly."

Javier turned to see the fully awakened form of Arthur Morgan. The memories of that man from long ago still plagued his vision. He'd wondered what would Arthur be like now that tuberculosis would never enter his life. He had to make sure Strauss didn't bother Thomas Downes ever again. He doubted he would since Strauss attempted to deal with "honorable" endeavors.

"You look ready to go. You'd gotten any other plans with the mistress before we got rescue our lost maiden?" Arthur remarked with his dry humor that Javier missed so much.

Javier huffed. "Oh, shut up, amigo."

He stood up and followed behind Arthur to their collective horses. The Walker Arthur had since Colter he'd named Ryan, and Boaz. Both of them swung on top of their horses and pulled on their reins, guiding their horses down to the correct path of Sean.

Throughout it, they'd exchanged in little conversation. The main reason why there was nothing to exchange. Since that conversation about Heidi McCourt, Arthur'd grown uncomfortable with the new Javier who was suddenly doubting everything.

And, Javier.

Well, Javier still carried the shame of his future never to be...

He perhaps always would.

Stopping next to a flat plateau of rocks, the two Outlaws disembarked from their horses and approached the forms of Charles and Bill, observing the large expanse beneath them with binoculars. The latter startled slightly when he'd spotted the two men moving up, but Arthur dismissed him with, "It's us, you fool, would you move to the side so I could have more space?"

"Don't start now, Arthur," Bill grumbled. but complied, standing up, and allowing Arthur the space to lie next to Charles.

"What do you see, Charles?" Arthur asked.

"A lot of them. Uniforms everywhere." Charles answered, keeping his attention ahead.

"You see Sean?"

"No I don't think so."

"Where is that little Irish bastard?" he inquired with a form of mild agitation as Javier squeezed between them.

He saw about five tents, just at the edge of Blackwater: the town was more youthful. It was shorter and smaller, lacking buildings that he was familiar with and having a lot less shops. It'd changed throughout the years. Javier remembered coming here a few times before he'd left for Mexican and plotted to abandon America.

"I'm not quite short. Trelawny's off trying to find out."

"Has anyone been into Blackwater to see how things lie?"

"I had to do all the work. There's Pinkertons about... bounty hunters... pictures of Dutch and Hosea." Charles answered.

"We got a lot of money sitting in that town."

"I wonder how long it's going to stay there this time," Javier grumbled. Oh, he knew all about the shootout that occurred. Dutch had already have thousands of dollars in a few months, and instead of spending that money moving out West or that bullshit paradise he'd made in his head, he kept it all to himself until John got it and built his farm. Marston never realized that Javier had his own spies keeping an eye on him.

It was all bullshit, wasn't it? The Mexican never saw a coin of that money. All him and Bill had received was baseless accusations of betraying the family despite being as loyal as long as they were.

Arthur gave him a bemused look but took Charles' binoculars and got a closer look over Blackwater. "Why haven't they hanged Sean, I wonder?"

"I think he's bait... or they want to trial him publicly." He'd spotted the form of someone in his memories from long ago. It was an average build man man in a cultured red outfit and small bowler hat with a twirled mustache.

Trelawny.

One of the first members who left if Javier was remembering correctly.

"Gentlemen. Sean is being moved up the upper Montana. Then... to a federal prison out west."

"Damn," Arthur grunted. "We can't be rescuing people from a federal prison. We either rescue him now or..." He shrugged vaguely, a hint of taunting in his eyes, "cut him loose."

This Javier was curious about. Not only because Arthur was able to rescue John from a federal prison but because how sadder Arthur'd gotten. When he'd died, that was the first major ripple in the gang. He'd annoyed them all but he was one of the brighter members who knew how to piss people off into a more humorous effect.

Charles' eyes narrowed on Arthur. "We're not cutting anyone loose."

"Ike Skelding's boys are moving him to a camp nearby before handing him over to the government."

"So I guess," Arthur nodded, "we need to stop them before they get to camp." He pointed behind him to the cliffside. "Charles, why don't you head up to the north side and then we'll head up on the other side and meet you? That way, we'll have them in any direction. Take Bill and make sure he stays out of trouble."

Bill stuttered.

Before he could snap back a response, Charles beat him to the punch. "Come on."

The fool glowered at Arthur for a moment before following behind the dark-skinned.

Letting out a slight scoff of amusement at the interaction, the Mexican turned to join his allies.

"We'll get Sean and get ourselves lost good and proper. It's a big country." Javier tuned in to hear him say something to Trelawny's concerns.

"Could move another country and it'll never be big enough," the Mexican sighed, hands clenching.

"I don't recall you ever having time to cross the country, Javier."

Javier cursed himself for the slip, seeing the skeptical glint passing through the older gunslinger's eyes.

"I'm just saying this life isn't easily outran, Arthur."

"Hmph, calm down, Javier, it ain't like we're going to follow Marston's example and leave the gang. We'll all be fine if we stick together."

"Heard that before," he reflected bitterly.

"What we have been through in the past couple of weeks doesn't mean all is lost."

"No, compadre, but it doesn't mean we should put all our cards into Dutch and hope it works out."

They began ascending up the cliffs edge to get a view of the river.

"Looks like those are our boys," Trelawny declared, his voice apathetic.

Javier didn't listen, his attention on the boat.

They descended the cliff case, lingering low to the ground to conceal themselves among loose rocks and reeds.

Same plan as last time if Javier's memory serves him correctly. Javier and Arthur could kill them silently. Then it was going to be a shootout up the mountain. He hid himself behind a rock at the ledge of the water and began to murmur to his comrade.

"We have to stay low to the ground. Out of their line of sight-we'll take them out quietly." He brandished his knife. It had been one thing Javier always loved for years.

They lurked across the shallow water, staying low behind the water, keeping their knives low and making sure to move carefully. Any wrong movement, and they could end up shot.

The two bounty hunters didn't see them coming as they monitored Trelawny's progress about his missing wife, their backs targeted. Javier's knife met its adversary first-stabbing the poor fool in the back, dropping him onto the ground effortlessly. Arthur followed suit, though Javier hesitated slightly. Just how many people did he stab in the back as it was?

The first enemy drew his revolver and fired at the rock where Arthur was crouching behind.

"Damn!" Arthur grunted as he ducked away fast.

"Right! This is where I bid you leave gentlemen!" Trelawny darted away, gripping his hat to his head as he moved back along the shallow river.

Without hesitation, Javier gripped his revolver and caught him in the forehead, dropping him onto the ground.

Javier and Arthur hid behind separate rocks.

Volley of bullets began coming at their direction. Arthur took aim behind a rock, connecting to three men in the head. Javier took down two others, catching them in the spine and neck. Both of them dropped down behind rocks.

The two men moved in, constantly staying behind cover as they picked off each of the poor bastards down to the last. Both were good gunslingers; ironically, they both were ones of the past. Arthur died to a terminal illness and Javier later followed by betraying his former morals, country, and becoming what he'd revolted against. Yet, they had both been good shots. Many people died under them and many may yet to follow if they were to continue to survive. Javier wasn't a good shot before.

That have changed throughout the years.

Javier was nearly clipped in the arm when a ill-placed shot landed next to him. The sparks still reverberated next to the Mexican.

"Shit!" Javier exclaimed, crashing next to his brother, gripping the area. Fortunately, it seemed like the shot had missed any vital area.

"Damn, a bloody sniper!" Arthur muttered under his breath as a shot came forward. "Javier, you're okay?!"

"Will be. Missed me." Javier chuckled. "Should have aimed higher. Would have blown my head off."

"We ain't suicidal like that, you bloody fool," Arthur scolded.

On top of the rocks, there was a dark shadow. The form of another bounty hunter, sniper grasped in hand, unleashing shots after shots near them.

For a moment, the shots stopped. The sniper adjusted himself.

Fury drove into Arthur Morgan's heart, his eyes becoming more intense as he fired, missing three shots. Arthur stayed behind cover, trying to peak out and staring at the form of the pained Javier Escuella. He was just holding them off long enough for reinforcements to come. With him gone, they would likely be closer to Sean.

Goddamn it. They were going to get surrounded. Shots continued shooting at the rock behind him. His cover was trembling under the force, pebbles and dust scrubbing down on him. He gritted his teeth and continued shooting.

When nothing happened, he'd decided to risk himself.

Arthur charged up, gun at the ready. He spotted a corpse on the cliff side.

The sniper.

His rifle fractured upon the fall. In the same moment, he glimpsed next to him, looking to see if someone had came to the rescue or misfire perhaps.

But no, Javier Escuella was standing again, all but undisturbed.

"Damn," he grunted out.

"How the hell-" Arthur started.

"Going to take more than a lousy bullet to take me down, compadre!" Javier offered with a throaty laugh.

"Very funny, amigo, you need to sit down," Arthur said. "You'd just gotten shot."

Javier's absent stare fell on him. "I'm not a child, Arthur, come on let's go."

It was true too. He was a decade older than Arthur, just as old as John Marston from the future. He was of the responsibility to be protective of Arthur, John, and Tilly, not the other way around. None of them knew what Arthur saw.

Javier fired. Three horses came around the corner, moving directly at them. Goddamn it. They clocked long-scoped rifle clocked and aimed.

Five shots came to life.

Two was his. One caught one off of the horse, leaving the horse leaderless and allowing it to dart off. The other missed the trajectory. Yet, Javier had better luck.

His revolver caught blew the second one's head clean off and caught the third in the chest, allowing them to eventually fall off as well.

"Still alive," Arthur said, moving over to the man and shooting the finishing shot.

They continued moving up.

Seven more men came forward. Four men was caught by Javier, two others by Arthur, and both connected against the final one.

"The camp is this way!" Bill exclaimed, though Charles assumed leadership over the men over some terrain, blowing the head off a bounty hunter who been concealing behind the trees.

The camp appeared for them. His eyes fittered towards a figure, swinging upside down from a tree, struggling fruitlessly against a rope that only hang side to side.

Sean MacGuire.

The camp flooded with men all over. They fired upon seeing them, but quickly, Arthur and Javier made a example of them. They reached Sean when the final body collapsed into the mud. Arthur huffed as he shot the rope hanging the man and let him hit the ground unceremoniously.

Javier moved behind him. "You know, yer a lot less ugly from that other angle Arthur." Sean smirked as he undo the last of the ropes from his legs.

"Come on," Arthur rolled his eyes and he helped the younger man up.

Sean tripped over his own two feet when Arthur pushed him away. "Don't I get a hug Arthur?" He put his arms out, sarcasm in his voice. "A warm embrace for a lost brother now found?"

Arthur laughed and placed his hand on Sean's shoulder. "Hah! You know… nothing means more to me than this gang, the bond we share. It's the most real thing to me. I would kill for it, I would happily die for it."

A wave of sadness washed over Javier all over again. He was reminded of Beaver Hollow where Javier actually thought such a man would do a thing like betraying the gang and leaving his father figure for money.

'All because I couldn't open my goddamn eyes and think for one moment.'

"But in spite of all of that…I would have easily left you here to rot is Charles didn't stopped me."

Arthur released his shoulder while Sean smirked at him. "I don't believe a word of that, Arthur."

"Charles, please get him out of here!"

In the final days of the gang, alone. Isolated. Javier was lost in the familiar feeling of sadness. It was bigger than the pain in his arm when he'd decided to follow Marston's example and get himself shot. The agony amplified and the knife drove into his heart just like those men who was stabbed in the back.

The form of Arthur's grave.

The last moment of Javier's clinging loyalty and faith shortly after he'd left Dutch, remembering the old days before leaving them behind and drowning himself into the familiar sensations of drugs.

The world around him, and suddenly it felt like that rope was wrapped around his neck all over again-judged, tortured, and taunted by Agent Ross.

So far, nothing was happening. But he could sense it. The sick and lost man he was back in Mexico.

Arthur Morgan was going to die. Javier Escuella was going to die. Sean MacGuire was going to die. John Marston was going to die. Dutch van der Linde was going to die. All of them were destined to die.

Arthur's devotion to Dutch had been what got him murdered.

It could have been the same for Javier. It sort of was.

Arthur's loyalty to Dutch was as strong as Javier was in a time long passed. The man didn't ask questions like John did until the time came. He was devoted. He believed in the plan. And in hindsight, the Mexican understood. Arthur Morgan could never betray Dutch, not without the older man stabbing him in the back. As the gang became even more frantic, Dutch began assuming more control. What was once a gang that valued the beliefs, thoughts, faith and confidence of all its members became more about who stood aside to Dutch and who didn't. He began conjuring plans without the gang's approval and didn't even tell them what they were proceeding or why until they were actually doing it and getting more people killed.

"Javier... I'm talking to you, boy, don't tell me your wound is making you lose your hearing," Arthur grunted out in frustration.

"What do you want, Arthur?" Javier sighed in frustration.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, don't act so worry about me, compadre."

He moved over to his horse and gripped the reins, leading him down. Boaz neighed before taking off in the same direction as last time.