Snake Skin | John Marston

The Short Game

An alternative ending to this story (bc things could've been different, am I right?)

After managing to snag a couple of horses at Emerald Ranch, John and Y/N took off like bats outta hell, racing across the states to avoid the noose that threatened them. It took three long years to slip off everyone's radar.

In an effort to shed his old self, John finally decided to cut his hair and let his beard grow wild. He looked like a different man altogether, though the scars on his face still told stories that wouldn't be forgotten.

Y/N, too, had to part with her dark locks, her hair now clipped short and tucked away in a low bun, hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat that concealed her identity. Gone was the striking red lipstick that once accentuated her features; she had become a shadow of her former self. But as long as they maintained their new personas, they could keep their past at bay.

John started introducing himself as Jim Milton, while Y/N took on the name of good ol' Alexandra Woods.

The year of 1902.

Y/N was set on heading to Armadillo, and John Marston didn't put up a fight. For her, he'd do anything.

Y/N was all he had left—no more Van der Linde gang, no Arthur to share the burden. That woman had become his everything, his family in a world gone cold.

After a long journey across the rugged states, they finally rolled into Armadillo. Almost immediately, a man waved a bell, his voice ringing out like a warning. "Cholera! Armadillo is sick, people! Get out of here! The big cholera outbreak will kill us all!"

They rode past the frantic man, and Y/N glanced back at John, a frown tugging at her lips. John shrugged, his gaze drifting over the scene. Y/N returned her focus to the road ahead, and as they delved deeper into the wretched, sweltering town, the sights turned grim. People knelt in despair, some wracked with coughs, others lifeless in the dirt.

As they approached the sheriff's office, their eyes were drawn to a small ditch where townsfolk were burning bodies, the acrid smoke mingling with the stifling heat. Y/N blinked, questioning whether she was seeing things or if the reality of this place was even worse than it seemed.

John and Y/N rode closer to the group of men, the dusty wind stirring as John tipped Arthur's hat lightly. "Gentlemen," he greeted, his voice steady.

One of the men glanced up at the newcomers, his brow furrowed with concern. "Careful now, Armadillo's got a sickness. Best skedaddle before you two end up like these poor souls!"

Y/N took in the grim sight of bodies being tossed into the flames, a shudder running through her as she turned to John.

"Is this the town you were so eager to reach?" John asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and caution.

"Better than the other places we've been..." Y/N replied softly, casting one last look at the scene before pivoting to leave in the opposite direction. John nodded at the men and followed her lead. They halted in front of the saloon, tying off their horses. She was right; it was better here. The law wasn't breathing down their necks, and nobody in New Austin knew the name Van Der Linde or the whispers of the Golden Cobra.

"What now?" John asked, swinging off his horse.

Y/N reached out to stroke the mane of her Norfolk Roadster, Butcher, tilting her head at John. "Why don't you let Buell catch his breath, huh? We could use a drink ourselves..."