LAST CHANCE → sean macguire ✔

five, end

pt. 2

Willa shivered against the cold, clutching her rifle closer to her chest. The three of them had made their way through Micah's men and were now staring up the hill at his cabin.

"Ready?" John looked between Sean and Willa, eyebrows propped up high. Willa sucked a quick breath through her mouth and took Sean's hand, nodding.

"It's now or never." Sean whispered. John paused, then turned back to the cabin. A silent moment passed between them, then they ascended the small hill that stood between them and Micah.

"John! How wonderful of you to join us up here! Ah, I see you've brought the Irish one and his minx. How sweet."

It was as if they had never left. He was a little more grey than before but, hey, they all were. He spoke the same and carried himself the same way. Willa could almost imagine Arthur walking past, heading toward the cabin to get out of the cold and mumbling something about what a waste Micah was.

Damn, she missed him. She missed everyone they had lost, but Arthur stung deep.

"Nice to see you, too, Micah." She spat, words seething. The disgusting smile that crept across his face made her skin crawl. It was the same one she'd seen everyday around the camp, and the same one she had learned to hate with a fiery passion.

"So. I'm guessing you've come to kill me, John. Oh, but, uh... Couldn't do it alone? Couldn't face your past alone, huh?" Micah clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He lifted his hands so they were poised over his guns, and Willa readied herself, too.

"Maybe you're right. Or maybe I didn't want them to miss out on the fun." John said. Willa couldn't see his face, but she could tell he was smiling. That was just the sort of thing you smiled at.

Willa lifted her gaze back up to Micah, who was pressing his moustache between his chapped lips, almost in thought. Then, out of the blue, his hands slammed down and the guns flew from their holsters. Three of his bullets went off, then a volley of bullets whizzed from his attackers.

Willa shot off a few rounds, then dropped to one knee and pressed her hand against her shoulder. The snow chilled fast, and soon she was shaking. John and Sean joined her behind the cover soon after.

"Ah, he got me." She grumbled, grinding her teeth to keep the pain from her voice.

"How bad?" John tried to peer over, but the bullet that flew past his head made him think twice. Sean peeled up the blood soaked layers of Willa's shirt and coat to see the wound beneath, all while muttering.

"Am I dying?" Willa chuckled. Sean glanced up, eyes brimmed with fear and anger.

"Maybe. How coul'tya be so damn careless? Getting shot is not a joke... What if I lost'ya a'gain?" His voice cracked and Willa heard it, despite the gunfire in her ears.

Willa lifted her hand and touched his cheek, smiling, "You won't lose me, Sean. We're in it together now, whether you like it or not. Sorry, but you're stuck with me."

Sean brightened, even if just a little, and kissed her quickly.

"Let's kill that son of a bitch."

~~~

Willa sighed as she ran her hand over her shoulder, where that scar remained. It would forever be a reminder of that day in the mountains, when fate had finally caught up with the infamous Micah Bell, and Dutch Van der Linde had disappeared into the snow.

Willa still saw the pain on Dutch's face, looking between them and Micah. Surely, he hadn't expected the three of them to come parading up, brandishing guns and glares, and he was reminded all over again about how they had been his only family just years before. How they sat around the campfire and hollered songs into the air, how Sean and Willa often snuck off to see the stars. Hell, he had raised John-- taught him how to read and write, and how to act like a civilized human being.

And there he stood, pointing guns at his beloved family.

Maybe, Willa thought, that was why Dutch had shot Micah. Or maybe he knew what Micah planned to do, and that nothing would be achieved with that man still breathing.

Whatever the case, Dutch had vanished that day and left the trio to wonder.

Not that Willa had much time to wonder anymore. What with balancing the chores, cooking, three kids and preparing Libbie to leave home, she had her hands quite full. Though there were those odd moments, in between teaching the twins their ABC's, kissing her little sister goodbye, kissing Sean hello, and milking cows, where she found herself staring out to the blue sky. Leaning on the white rails of her inherited home, reminiscing her wild past.

And she would recall everyone she had lost, and everyone she had found.

"You okay, love?" Sean's arm snaked across her waist, and he pulled her close as they leant on the white rails. She smiled up at him, the sly curves of her lips earning a grin from him, too.

"I've never been better."

And, oh, what the truth that was. She still woke up in the morning, half expecting to hear Arthur chewing out Bill, or Swanson stumbling around as he drunkenly sang some once-sweet tune. Sure, she might never forget the smell of Tilly's hugs or the jolly ring to Dutch's laugh, but there was those moments of happiness with all the pain of her past.

And, hey, they had given her one last chance.