Snake Skin | John Marston

Last Dance Of The Gun

A couple of weeks later, John strolled into the barn, the morning light spilling through the slats in the wood. He found his wife, Y/N, diligently milking one of the cows. It didn't catch him off guard—she always had a knack for tending to the animals, even if the larger beasts made her uneasy. What did surprise him was that she was already up and about before he'd even opened his eyes. Usually, he was up with the dawn, ready to face the day's toil on the farm.

John approached her quietly, leaning against the barn wall, watching as she worked. "Hey, Y/N."

She turned, a flicker of surprise in her gaze. "Hey, you."

"Need a hand with that?" he asked, crossing his arms casually.

"No, John. I've got it."

"Looks like you've got the hang of it now. Better than the first few times, that's for sure."

"Oh, don't remind me," Y/N chuckled, the memory still fresh in her mind.

"Just keep your hands clear of their mouths, and you'll be just fine, darling."

"Haha. Very funny, John," she shot back, her tone laced with sarcasm.

"Thank you," he replied with a grin.

A brief silence enveloped the two of them, but John took a deep breath and broke the quiet. "Soon, it'll be quail season; we should have some fun then."

Y/N finished milking the cow, rising to her feet and brushing the dust from her pants. "Is there anything you don't like shootin'?"

"Well, I ain't met the thing yet, but as soon as I do, I'll let you know. Why're you actin' all innocent? If I recall right, you were once this country's biggest threat."

"Whatever you say, John Marston," Y/N replied with a playful smirk. She mimicked John and leaned against the wall beside him, a relaxed grin on her face.

"So, uh, you ever hear about them machines that can make a man fly?" John asked, his brow raised with curiosity.

"Sure, I reckon. I read they're gonna bring those contraptions 'round the country next year for a demonstration. One of them machines can turn men into angels..."

"...one of them machines can turn men into angels," John echoed, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"John, come here! Quick now!" Uncle's voice boomed from outside, cutting through the stillness. The man hurried to see what the fuss was about, with Y/N hot on his heels. As they stepped outside, Uncle stood there, binoculars gripped tightly in his hands.

"Take a look at that," he commanded, handing the binoculars to John.

John lifted the binoculars to his eyes, then glanced back at Y/N. "Y/N, you need to head into the house. Lock all the doors tight."

"What? Why? No way! What's going on? Let me see!" Y/N protested, reaching for the binoculars.

"Get inside!" John barked.

"Who is it, John?!"

"Just some old friends. Uncle and I can handle this," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

"No! I'm not going anywhere! I'll grab my guns!" Y/N shot back. Before John could stop her, she dashed toward the house. The moment she crossed the threshold, gunfire erupted, sending a jolt of anxiety through her. She hadn't laid hands on her old revolvers in years. Heart racing, she pulled them from the closet and raced back outside.

Without a moment's hesitation, she joined Uncle and John in the fray, taking cover beside them. "Are those goddamn soldiers?" she shouted, scanning the horizon.