RUNNING WILD [JOHN MARSTON]

16: protectiveness

Muffled voices could be heard behind the cloths of John Marston's tent, frantic whispers being exchanged between men.
"We can't stay here, not after that train job!"
"I just need a bit more time, Arthur! Then we will go."
The words could barely be heard from inside of the tent, but they were picked up just enough to be understood.
"And where's John now? Micah will be back soon. We gotta keep them outta each other's way."
It was Arthur's voice for sure.
"Guard duty, but they're swapping soon. Keep John outta his tent."
The voices faded as the girl drifted back into her deep sleep, the pain of her wound disappearing as she slipped into better dreams.

Micah Bell's hands gripped the dirty cloth as they pushed back the tent's opening. He ducked slightly as he walked inside, his eyes settling on his injured sister as she lay on the cot.
"Here, drink that." Micah's gruff voice grumbled as he threw a bottle of Tennessee Whiskey at her.
"Thought you were meant to be gettin' me medicine." Rosalie groaned as she sat up on the cot, clutching at her wound as she did so. Her hands shook slightly as she opened the bottle and took a swig - she hadn't felt this weak in a long time. The swig of whiskey ran through her veins almost immediately and she knew a few more sips would help to take the lingering pain away.
Micah stared at her for a few seconds before shrugging his shoulders and grunting.
"That is medicine. To me, anyway."

Rosalie Bell chuckled as she rolled her eyes at her brother. In the few days since she got shot on the train robbery, the siblings had been getting on better than they ever had before. Micah was being caring and attentive, with streaks of kindness showing in him that had rarely been seen before.
"Never seen you this nice before." She said to him, taking another shot of the whiskey.
"When your little sister nearly dies, it makes you see the world differently." Micah's eyes widened as he spoke, trying to seem caring and interesting.
"Or, it's because Arthur's makin' you be nice." Rosalie raised her eyebrows at him.

Micah stood up, ignoring his sister and re-adjusting his gun belt. "I gotta speak to Dutch." He sighed, disappearing from the tent again. Rosalie muttered a quiet goodbye as she watched her brother leave. She sighed, laying back down awkwardly. She stared up at the bland roof of the tent for a while, using the time to think on everything that had happened to the gang since the Blackwater job went wrong. Just the thought of recent events made the girl feel tired, feeling her eyes slowly shutting.

There was a shuffle outside the tent as Rosalie shut her eyes, and she froze as she listened. The cloth of the tent bunched together as somebody touched it from the outside. Rosalie opened her eyes, cranning her neck slightly to see who was there.
John Marston appeared in the tent, his face slightly red as if he was embarrassed.
"John..." Rosalie breathed as she stared at him stood in front of her. This was the first time she had seen and spoken to him properly since the robbery. She'd spent the majority of the last few days sleeping, and John had seemed to be avoiding the girl anyway. "How you doin'?" She mumbled awkwardly.
"Think I should be askin' you that." John grumbled, not looking at the girl properly. Rosalie wasn't sure whether he was actually asking how she was but she gave him an answer anyway.
"Well, I'm okay. It's healing quite nic-"
"Look, I'm sorry." John interrupted her as soon as he noted her sour tone. He watched as she fiddled with the ends of her hair, something she always did when she felt uneasy. "I know I haven't been here."

Rosalie looked up at John, confused about what he was going to say. He almost looked angry at her, and she couldn't understand why. John picked up the bottle of whiskey that lay next to Rosalie's bed cot and took a long swig from it.
"It's just," he started, but Rosalie always knew how bad he'd been with words. He was terrible at engaging with anything unless it was a gunfight or a robbery. "I never thought how serious this would get with us, and now-"
"You never thought how serious this would get?" Rosalie interrupted him, ignoring the pain in her wound as she sat up, narrowing her eyes at John. She could feel the anger rising up through her chest. "I can't belie-"
"Just listen to me, Rosalie." John sighed, taking another sip from the whiskey. "Now this has happened to you, and I never realised how much I cared."
Rosalie was prepared to argue back, but his words stumped her. She never thought that John was capable of saying something so serious, so freely.
"I thought we was just messin' around, and now-"
There it was. John Marston fucking things up. It was natural, for him. He didn't know how to use words so good and leave it at that.
"Just messin' around?" Rosalie scoffed, her eyes widened. John didn't react to her shock, instead digging himself further into the hole he was creating.
"And now, I think Micah's gonna find out. And I don't kno-"
"Get out." Rosalie sneered, interrupting him. She knew what he was going to say - that he didn't want to deal with her brother's anger issues, his protectiveness. She couldn't even listen to him finish.
"Rosalie, I-"
"Get out now, John." She stayed calm, yet her voice was still shrouded with anger as she spoke.

John stood there, dumbfounded for a few seconds. Then, before he could decide to push the conversation further, or to fight for himself more, he stormed out of the tent, throwing the cloth shut behind him. Angrily, he threw the bottle of whiskey to the ground, earning himself a confused look from Dutch, and disappeared towards the waterfront.

————

Clemens Point was beautiful in the evening. The glowing reflection of a setting sun rested itself on the water's top, making John Marston squint his eyes slightly as he looked over Flat Iron Lake. The crackling of a newly started campfire could be heard behind and the laughter of the girls bounced through the air. John's arms rested on his knees as he sat staring out, much like he had done for the past few hours.
"You're a fool, John Marston." Arthur Morgan said as he wandered over and sat down on the dirt next to him. He'd watched John storm out of the tent, throwing his whiskey bottle on the floor like a child having a tantrum.
"Not now, Morgan." John didn't look up, sighing as he continued to stare at the water.
"How'd you make it this far, huh? I'm not surprised them wolves left you alive, there weren't nothin' in there for them to eat!"
"Seriously, Arthur, not now-"
"When she got shot, you told me you cared about her. But you always seem to mess things up for yourself, Marston, no matter what it is."
"I do care about her." John looked at Arthur now. "I was tryin' to tell her that."

Arthur laughed slightly. Not with a tone of malice, but with shock poking through.
"Sure funny way of tellin' her." He scoffed. John sighed, rolling his eyes at Arthur.
"It don't matter now anyway. If Micah finds out, we're screwed."
Arthur stood up, brushing himself down as he did so and readjusting his gun belt. He raised his eyebrows at John before he walked away.
"You scared of Micah? Really?"