LAST CHANCE → sean macguire ✔

two , nine

"You're sick." Willa spat, struggling against the ropes around her wrists. Blood oozed down the side of her face from the fresh cut above her eye, which she had gotten from the butt of a gun.

"I'm a tool of the future, Miss Grant. And this is just an example." Agent Milton hissed. A black eye was forming where she had punched him and she could almost smile at that, if the situation was different. If Hosea wasn't laying, dead, in a pool of his own blood just across the street from her.

The gang had started an onslaught after Milton shot Hosea, but stopped upon Milton's threats to hurt her, then she had fought back when he tried to grab her and thrown a punch into his face, which connected. She was immediately on the ground and clutching the cut on the side of her face after that.

"Yeah, some tool alright." She growled. Milton adjusted his hat, then he clasped his fingers around her arm and tore her from the security of the shadows. The sun was bright and hot against her face, but she had little time to block her eyes before she was thrown back to the concrete. A weight, that she could only guess was a boot, pressed between her shoulder blades.

"What about this one, hm? Dutch! Are you going to let another one die?" Willa tried to push herself up, but Milton shoved his heel down and she gasped from the pain, slamming a white-knuckled fist on the ground in a vain attempt to rid herself of the sharp pain.

"Dutch, we gotta g'it her out. He's hurtin' 'er!" She picked out Sean's voice in the bank, sounding distraught and panicked.

"Don't, Sean! Don't do it-- ah, fuck!" Milton pressed his heel into her back again, "Forget about me! You boys just get out alive, and keep Libbie safe." She called, hoping they would listen. She would die happy knowing she got them out, and that they would be able to protect her little sister.

"Ah, yes. Liberty Grant-- or is it Liberty Willis? Her father died of a heart attack, if I'm not mistaken? Or something along those lines. How tragic, two young girls who lost their fathers, and then their mother," He knelt down, pressing all his weight into Willa's back, "I remember your mother's begging. Not for her life, but for her daughter's lives. She wanted me to spare you and your sister. Now, you see, I could've forgiven your sister, but you were a bad apple from the moment you were born to Thomas Grant. I had to get rid of you as soon as I heard of you, and now here we are." He laughed and Willa dug her nails into her palms to stop herself from striking out.

"Let her go!" Sean yelled.

"Sean, stop!"

Glass broke and the weight from Willa's back was gone. Gunfire filled the street and Willa rolled to the side, then shoved herself to her feet.

"Fuck, Sean!" She heard Arthur's voice. More glass broke inside, then there was yelling. Sean broke away from his tussle with Milton, stumbling back to his feet to get the advantage, when a gunshot rang out and a spray of blood erupted behind him, then he collapsed. Willa screamed.

"Get the girl, then chase that fucking gang down!" Milton ordered. Willa tried to crawl to Sean, but there were people grabbing her arms before she could make it. She knew she was crying, but her face felt too numb to even notice. People were yelling, then Sean's body was gone.

"You bastards! Let me go, fucking-- let me go!" She threw her elbows back, but the Pinkertons were faster and dodged quickly. The acrid smell of smoke filled her nose and panic settled in her gut. If there was fire, then the gang couldn't stay long. They'd be burned out, or burned alive.

All at once, Willa stopped fighting. She broke down into a fit of sobbing and let them take her away. It didn't matter anymore-- she had watched them kill Sean. It happened right before her eyes, quicker than she would've ever imagined. No slow motion, just immediate. No taking it back now. They could torture her to death for all she cared.

She was thrown into a wagon and, to their surprise, she didn't fight to get away. She just pressed herself into a corner and hugged her knees to her chest. The sounds of the gunfight had died away to just voices, people yelling for backup and to 'chase those sons of bitches'. Willa couldn't help but not care. If Sean was gone, then she already was, too. She closed her eyes and let her head fall into her hands. Maybe she started crying again, or maybe she started screaming-- she really didn't know. Her mind wasn't on her body, or the soreness between her shoulders or her bloody knuckles, it was on the memory of Sean's smile. The perfect crookedness to it and the way it could make her problems dissipate.

Something else was thrown into the back of the wagon, but this one was fighting. The wagon rocked back and forth like a boat as the something started fighting against their captors.

"Stop it!" Willa snapped, glaring over her hands. They stopped and turned to her. John Marston was staring back at her, "It's over, alright? Just sit back and enjoy the ride." Her voice was sharp and John flinched like he had been punched.

"Willa-? Shit. We gotta get out of here." He began looking around the wagon. It had a cage on top to keep prisoners from jumping out, and a cage door positioned at the back. All-in-all, it looked hard to break out of and Willa's determination was dwindling. Above the chaos beyond, slow footsteps approached the wagon.

"Ah, my prisoners. We got two of you, but the rest will be in shortly." That voice made Willa sick, but she forced herself to keep her gaze on him, "Feeling alright? It'll be a long ride."

"You're going to regret this, Milton-"

"No! I'm not going to regret anything. I'm going to love watching you swing. I'm going to relish in the idea that I brought us one step closer to the new world with every one of you that swings." His smile was maniacal and Willa snorted.

"New world? You're tearing yourselves apart already. You want us to be, what, civilized? Not one's civilized. Your new world is just made up of horrible people hiding behind good person masks, and you want to get rid of anyone who takes that mask off and tries to speak out. That ain't civilized. Killing someone in cold blood? That ain't civilized." She growled, barely lifting her head from her hands. She was broken, yes, but she was a born fighter and she still had some fight in her.

Milton chuckled, hitting the side of the wagon twice. It lurched forward and Willa tightened her grip around her legs.

"Enjoy this time you have left, your days are numbered."