Snake Skin | John Marston

American Freedom

After several days on the run, Y/N felt confident she had seen the last of those fools.

Under the searing midday sun, she rode her black stallion to Dewberry Creek, seeking a moment's respite. The relentless heat pounded on her head—she missed her hat, a casualty of too many skirmishes. She dismounted and unfurled a map, pinpointing her location and marking it with a pencil. She then plotted the area where she had met Charles and John, sketching crosses over the radius to remind herself where not to venture.

"This is where we ain't goin', boy," she muttered to her horse, who remained indifferent to her concerns.

A gunshot rang out, followed by another. Y/N sighed, drew her weapon, and cautiously approached the noise. The shots grew louder, guiding her to an old, dilapidated shack with a large oil wagon beside it. She spotted a ginger-haired man, dressed in tattered rags, engrossed in shooting bottles.

"Hey! What's going on here?!" a voice suddenly called from behind the wagon, revealing a man on horseback. Y/N recognized him immediately—the man from the bar. She aimed her revolver at him, prompting him to point his gun at her in return, leaving the ginger man bewildered.

"How's Lenny?" Y/N asked, her gun unwavering.

"Lenny? He's fine. Why don't you put that gun down?" the man responded calmly.

"Arthur, what's happening?" the ginger man asked, backing away.

"You put the gun down, pretty boy," Y/N retorted.

"Pretty boy? Are you serious, woman?" Arthur exclaimed, clearly irritated.

"Ha! Pretty boy Arthur!" the Irishman chimed in, his thick accent making Y/N smirk. She pointed her revolver at him, causing him to gulp and raise his hands. "No need for that! Shoot Arthur instead, lass!"

Y/N laughed, bending over in amusement. Both men watched in astonishment, seemingly forgetting they were at gunpoint.

"Sorry," she said, wiping a tear. "Why does he talk like that?"

"Watch out, he might shoot you," Arthur warned.

"You're a real funny one, Arthur Morgan," the Irishman muttered, feeling targeted.

"Calm down," Arthur said, snickering.

"You better sleep with your eyes open."

"You'll sleep with your brains blown out if you ain't careful, boy," Arthur countered, stepping closer.

The Irishman chuckled. "I love ya', Arthur Morgan."

"Aw, how cute," Y/N interrupted, her comment ignored.

"Let me come on the raid with yous," the Irishman insisted. Y/N cleared her throat loudly, drawing his attention. "Ignore him, lass. He's old and sour, like a lemon."

"Raid?" Arthur asked, wandering towards the wagon.

"Don't play coy, son. That bloody train job you and him set up. You'll need guns and you will need men."

"Oh, that. So Marston told you? It ain't a big show. I need calm. If I take you, I might as well bring Micah along."

"Compare me to that oily turd again, and you're a dead man."

"Fair enough, Sean."

"Anyway, who's this fox? Seems too young for you," Sean peeked at Y/N.

"This..." Arthur paused, "I have no goddamn clue, Sean. But she's one Hell of an outlaw. Sheriff told me about her - she's no fox, she's a cobra."

"Watch your mouth, old man," Y/N barked, grinning. She wasn't intimidated, confident she could handle them if things went south.

"Is she comin' too?" Sean asked.

"You're coming?" Arthur turned to Sean.

"I am, Arthur! Gonna show you youth in all its glory."

Arthur settled by the wagon. "Good luck. And shut up. I want some rest before nightfall. Keep an eye on her," he said, pointing at Y/N.

She watched, puzzled, before fetching her stallion and returning. As night fell, she climbed a tree, observing the camp below.

Hours later, the moon illuminated the land. Arthur woke and threw a pebble at Sean, "Wake up, you lazy sack!"

Sean jolted awake. Footsteps approached from the plains. John Marston and Charles Smith emerged.

"What are you doing here, kid?" John asked, his tone harsh.

"I'm coming to the job," Sean replied.

"I said you weren't comin'."

"Arthur says I am, and it's his party!"

Y/N recognized Charles and John.
The Native American man noticed the strange horse below the tree but before Charles could finish his thought, she jumped down onto her horse. "Hello again!"

Charles seemed happy to see her.
"You know her?" Arthur asked.

John stepped forward, his eyes on Y/N. "What are you doing here?"

"Calm down, cowboy. I was here first."

"Just enough," John answered Sean's inquiry about knowing her.

"Alexandra, you should come with us," Charles offered, despite John's glare.

"Wait. Alexandra?" Arthur paused. "You ain't Alexandra. Your name is Y/N."

She shrugged. "Didn't think I'd see ya'll again, so why give my real name?"

"We were honest with you..." Charles said in a confused tone. It was obvious by his facial expression that he was still processing the new discovery.

"She couldn't have known how honest we were," John added.

"Fair enough," Charles sighed.

Sean laughed. "Me and the big cheeses! Can't wait to slit some bastards' throats."

John turned to Arthur. "You sure about this?"

"No..." Arthur replied. "Are we ready?"

John sighed, looking at Y/N. "Are you coming with us?"

Everyone awaited her answer. She nodded.

"The train's due through tonight," John said.

"Alright then! It's on! Charles?" Arthur exclaimed.

"I'm ready," Charles answered.

"Gentlemen...and lady, let's go earn some money."

They all climbed the wagon, with Y/N riding alongside.