Snake Skin | John Marston

Scars Are Like Tattoos

A few days passed, the sun rising and setting over the swampy expanse where Y/N had made her temporary hideout. Arthur, John, and Charles swung by intermittently, always with a mixture of concern and relief. Each time, they checked to see if she was still alive or if her luck had finally run out. To their fortune, Y/N remained, her spirit unbroken, but she held her plans close to her chest.

They brought her supplies: food, ammunition, and essentials like a lasso and a sturdy lantern. John, ever the thoughtful one, even managed to sneak some clothing away from Abigail and the other women, tossing them to Y/N with a grin. They did all that for her, but despite their generosity, the reality remained that she had a bullet lodged in her shoulder, a painful reminder of her brush with death.

As she sat on a log, studying her map, she muttered to herself, frustration seeping into her voice. "Saint Denis is the closest to a doctor, but I can't show my face anywhere near it now... Rhodes doesn't have a doctor, just like Annesburg. This is a disaster."

Her finger traced the worn lines of the map until it landed on Valentine. A memory flickered back—her visits to the town and the reliable doctor she had seen a few times over the years. "Valentine. Fucking Valentine," she spat, her irritation bubbling to the surface as she pointed at the marked location.

Y/N groaned, the weight of her situation pressing down on her. She stood up abruptly, shaking off the lethargy that had begun to settle in. She quickly began packing her bag, her movements precise and determined. The pain in her shoulder shot through her again, a sharp reminder that she needed to take action.

She made her way south, the sun warming her face as she rode through the terrain, her thoughts swirling like the dust kicked up by her Mustang. Just before she hit her first crossing, she spotted a dark figure approaching from the opposite direction. Instinctively, she reached for her revolver, uncertainty coursing through her veins. As the rider drew nearer, her heart settled. It was Charles.

He waved her over, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her as they crossed paths.

"Y/N. Where are you going? Are you leaving?" Charles asked, slowing his horse to get a better look at her.

She sighed, shaking her head, "No. Not yet. I'm off to Valentine to seek a doctor."

"That's quite a ride. What about Saint Denis?" he inquired, concern etched on his face.

"The law in Saint Denis won't let me come near the city unless it's in a cage," she explained, her voice tinged with bitterness.

Charles nodded, understanding her predicament. "Will you be back?"

"Back? I don't have anywhere to return to. Dutch won't have me back, either," she admitted, pushing forward on her mount, the words heavy in the air between them.

Charles fell into step beside her, his brow furrowed. "Dutch is having a difficult time. They robbed the Cornwall railway station yesterday, and today they're planning to hit Angelo Bronte—some wealthy Italian businessman..."

"...and crime lord," Y/N finished for him, her tone dry.

Charles widened his eyes in surprise, "You know him?"

She glanced back at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Who doesn't? It's his city."

"As I said," Charles spoke, his tone serious, "Dutch is having a bad time. He's been turning the town upside down for cash. He asked John to join him tonight, even though he's been all over Dutch about you. He's been trying to convince—"

"John's going too?" Y/N interrupted, pulling her mount to a stop, her heart racing at the news. She turned to face Charles, her brow furrowed.

Charles nodded, concern etched on his face. "Yes. He won't be happy to see you gone when he comes back."

"Tell him I'm off to Valentine and I'll be back this time. That's all I can say," she insisted, determination rising within her.

Charles met her gaze, his expression softening. "I will. Just take care of yourself out there."

With one last nod, they parted ways, their paths diverging like branches of a river. Y/N felt the weight of her choices pressing down on her, but she couldn't dwell on it now.

After making a few stops during her journey, Y/N finally arrived in Valentine, the sun dipping low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. She headed straight for the doctor's office, her heart racing with hope and desperation. A flickering light illuminated the building, and without pausing to knock, she barged inside.

The doctor, startled by her abrupt entrance, quickly regained his composure and waved her over to the examining table. "Get on, Miss. Let's see what kind of trouble you've gotten into this time."

Y/N complied, peeling off her ragged top layers to expose her wound. The doctor's expression shifted from surprise to focus as he prepared his instruments. He began working on her shoulder, carefully stitching the gash while stealing glances at her guns, which rested at her side.

"You know who I am," Y/N stated, locking eyes with the doctor, her voice steady despite the pain.

"I do, I remember you well," he replied, concentrating on his work. "By the way, a woman came to town not long ago and took down all of your bounty posters. I'm just glad you're not pointing a gun at me, Miss."

"A woman?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What did she look like?"

"Looked exactly like you. Also old and mouthy," he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood as he worked.

Those words pierced Y/N's heart like a bullet. Could it be that her own mother had come to take down all of her wanted posters? Did she still care after all this time? A flood of questions surged through her mind, but a sharp pain in her shoulder pulled her back to reality. She glanced down at her wound, now stitched up cleanly, enough to give her a fighting chance for the next few years.

"I'm done," the doctor said as he stepped back, eyeing her with a mixture of caution and respect.

"That's gonna leave a scar," Y/N remarked, pulling her shirt back on. "Thank you... but if you tell anyone about this, I will make sure no doctor will be able to fix you after I'm done with you."

The doctor sighed, unfazed. "Scars are like tattoos, Miss. Some people wear them with pride."

He clearly had heard his fair share of threats before, and her warning didn't seem to rattle him. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he had nothing to worry about.

Once dressed, she stepped outside, the cool evening air hitting her face as she mounted her horse. The thought of riding all the way back to her hideout filled her with dread. What was she going back to? Who would be waiting for her at that late hour?

Staying in Valentine for the night wouldn't hurt. She could figure out her next move in the morning. Besides, it was better than being alone in the woods with her thoughts swirling like the autumn leaves around her.

As she rode through the quiet streets of Valentine, she found a small inn. It had a welcoming glow spilling from the windows and the sound of laughter and conversation drifted into the night. Y/N tied her horse to a post and walked inside, the warmth enveloping her.