Work Text:
September 25th, 1911.
Wyatt sat at the very edge of a cliff, watching over the edge at an enemy camp of Del Lobo's across the valley. The air was silent other than the faint sounds of the creatures that inhabited the New Austin area. Birds chirped, Pronghorns would skitter past a good bit away, letting out sounds that were comforting for him, and the nearby pond would bring the smell of water wafting to him.
He would normally have descended on the gang by now, but he was waiting for his partner, his accomplice in everything they did– Vera. Vera was his other half, his lover, the woman who helped him ignore his fucked up past, the past he tried so desperately to forget about.
The temperature sat at a warm 80° F, which wasn't terribly hot but not cool either. The sun beating down on the dusty area caused even more heat, leading to a bead of sweat gliding down the cheek of the male, dripping down off of his chin and onto the heated dirt under him.
As Wyatt lifted his hand to wipe his face, he failed to hear the footsteps of his lover behind him. She walked almost silently, like she was sneaking up on him, and technically, she was. Pressing her hand to her gun belt, her hand would wrap around the handle of her knife, lifting it out of the sheath that it rested in. Her hand flexed anxiously, and within an instant, she was behind him and her free hand sat directly on his shoulder.
Wyatt didn't even get the time to process the movement or the touch of her hand on his shoulder.
The blade, freshly sharpened, plunged deep into the flesh and muscle of Wyatt's back. The pain, immediate and sharp, radiated through his spine and ribs, the pain precise and throbbing, like somebody had struck his ribs with a rubber mallet. The flesh ripped apart, blood beginning to slowly drip down his back.
As she ripped the knife from his flesh, his knees buckled, dropping him down onto the ground. His lungs, which had been punctured with the stab, began spasming, and loud, pained and weak coughs slipped past his lips, his hand reaching to press against his chest.
She stood silent, watching the male fall to his knees. Up to this point, she hadn't said a word, and neither had he. Just the silent, cold stare of somebody who didn't have a care in the world for the well-being of the male in front of her.
With a pained, weak voice, Wyatt finally spoke, blood gurgling in his throat.
“Vera.. Why..” Wyatt choked out, coughing up large bursts of blood as he slowly drowned in his own blood.
“Well.. When I heard you had a pretty penny on your head, I decided.. you'd be worth the money.” She declared, her voice laced with venom. Her hand, now free from the knife that was once again in her belt, reached forward, grabbing the male by the chin. She squeezed his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Plus, you weren't much of a lover. It's no wonder your ex wife cheated on you, you're fuckin’ pathetic.” She hissed, spit flying out onto his face.
Despite the clear venom in her voice, he still plead for his life, his hands weakly grasping around her wrists as she held him up.
“Please, Vera.. I.. I can't breathe, I don't.. I don't want to die yet, please.. it hurts so bad.. help me, please…” he cried out, his voice pathetic and gargled. He gripped onto her desperately, even as his vision became darker around the edges. He felt himself drowning.
“I.. I loved you, Vera.. I thought.. you loved me.” His voice was becoming weaker, quieter, and yet, there wasn't even an inch of care in Veras face. Her eyes, hardened and prepared, gripped him harder.
“Oh, Wyatt, you stupid fool. You're unlovable, I never loved you. Even from that night I met you, I knew you'd be an easy target. An easy paycheck.”
His breathing was getting worse and worse, and it was a miracle he hadn't died yet. He was barely breathing, tears warping his vision worse as he begged the woman he loved to help him, but it was no use. It was too late.
“I… I don't want to.. go out like this..” Every split of words ended with a desperate gasp, like he was trying, hoping, that he could survive this. He had escaped the gallows twice, had spent almost 13 years running from the law. But dying like this, this wasn't an outlaws death. But death didn't care what you were or who you were, it was coming for everyone, and for Wyatt, it was coming sooner.
“Well, Wyatt. Do you know why they call me the black widow? Because I'm a man killer. I get men to trust me, then spend my time killing them. Sometimes, I torture them. Other times, like you, I just outright kill. I kill the weak ones, and torture the strong ones, just so I can watch the life leave their eyes. And i'm about to watch it leave yours.” She spat, her voice laced with disgust. She gripped his face harder, shaking him a bit as she pulled his body up closer to her. “You shouldn't have trusted me.”
Vera, who by now had tugged one hand free, had unholstered her revolver. The metal glistened in the light of the day, the shiny exterior covering up all of the pain she had caused with it. Her other hand stayed pressed against Wyatts chin, keeping his eyes on her as he sobbed and pleaded silently, begging for mercy that he knew he wouldn't get.
Her eyes stayed cold, uncaring, as she lifted the metal and pressed the barrel against his forehead. Her lips, which sat neutral the whole interaction, would twist into a vicious smirk, and her eyes would dig into his.
“Bye, Wyatt. I'll see you in hell.” Was the last words he ever heard. Her finger pressed against the trigger, and the sound was immediate and loud. The crack of bone, the splatter of brain matter and flesh hitting the ground behind him filled Veras ears, and the acrid smell of burnt flesh and blood filled her nose. Within an instant, he was gone, reduced to a cooling lump of flesh and bone. She released his head, watching as his body tumbled to the ground, balled up pathetically.
She curled her nose and reholstered the weapon, staring down at the man she had ‘loved’. She never loved him, she spent years gaining his trust just to betray him, and it felt good. She reached into her pocket, tugging out a box of cigarettes. As she opened the box lid, the acidic smell of tobacco filling her nose, replacing the smell of burnt flesh. She pulled one out, studied it, then lit the end, watching as the embers glowed orange before cooling slightly. She studied Wyatts body, noting the way the flesh looked as his blood drained out, turning translucent. She pressed the cigarette to her lips, breathing in a deep drag before letting the smoke blow out of her nose. This wasn't the first time she had killed a man for his bounty, but this time was different. This time, it felt almost personal.
She left the cigarette dangling between her lips before she reached down, lifting the cooling body off of the ground. A grunt of effort left her throat as she tossed the mans body across her shoulder, walking him over to her horse. The stallion was lazily munching on a patch of grass, without even so much as a care in the world. She tossed his body over the back of her stallion, using her lasso to keep him tied down to the back of the saddle to keep him from sliding off.
As she saddled up, she noticed Wyatts mare standing a bit far back, hitched to the post of an old cabin not too far away. She looked nervous, but not nervous enough to begin to freak out. Vera had to decide whether to leave the Mare here to starve, or bring her with her, and either sell her or hitch her in town to allow somebody else to steal her. She decided on the first decision, making a mental note to just give the location to somebody so they could come get her.
She began the long ride back to Armadillo, where the law were waiting for her return. The large bounty on Wyatts head would pay for the rest of her life, and the years she had spent baiting him was worth it.
The ride took hours, and by the time she arrived, the sun had began to set. She rode up to the hitching post outside of the sheriff's office, lazily tugging herself down and wrapping the lead around the worn wooden post. Wyatt's body by now was cold to the touch, and it was almost disgusting to pick up, but the money was worth it.
The sheriff stepped out, hand on his belt and cigar in his mouth. He reached up, removing the cigar and stepping forward, looking over the body the woman was holding. He whistled, nodding softly
“Good. We would've preferred him alive, but. This works too.” The Sheriff spoke, his voice tough and grizzled by the years of smoking. “Just drop him out back, I have his bounty money waiting inside. Didn't you first grab his poster in what, 1898?” He asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
“Yeah, but sometimes, the long con is better.” Her voice was tight, like she was confirming to herself too that she did the right thing. It seemed like he accepted that answer. Vera stepped past the sheriff and walked through his building, stepping through a back door and tossing the stiffened body into a small wagon that sat out back, likely to be buried later.
She returned to the sheriff a few minutes later to see him counting out stacks of cash. He was sitting in his chair once again, legs propped up on the small desk table. He finished counting and passed 4 stacks of cash towards the lady, a small smile on his face. “Here's his bounty. 40,000. That man was a constant threat to the people of New Austin and West Elizabeth, so we're glad he's gone. He robbed the Blackwater bank at least 6 times.” He pressed the glowing tip of the cigar into the ashtray, snubbing it out for the time being. “You did us an honor today, young lady. Thank you for the service you did.” He spoke, his voice proud of the woman who stood in front of him.
She reached and grabbed the stacks, counting them quickly and nodding before pressing the cash into her pocket. “Thank you, Mister. I'll be back for more bounty posters soon, don't think I'm out of this yet.” She smirked before stepping out of the sheriffs office and onto the streets. There were very few people at this time of night, most of them already heading to bed or into the saloon, and she'd be following suit into the saloon, where she'd spend the night drinking and celebrating the long con she'd successfully pulled off.
The night ended with a death, but to her, she was alive, and that's all that mattered to her.