Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Heal, heal, little frog’s-”

Javier blinks awake. His throat is dry and his skin painful to the touch. The sun is hot on his face and it hurts to open his eyes. His hand gropes blindly for his sombrero, relieved to find the straw hat just next to him, and holds it over his head so he can actually recover.

How did that rhyme go again? He’s lost it.

He sits up with a wince. There’s dust under his clothes. He doesn’t bother trying to swat it out. It’ll just come back, rub against his skin, give him rashes and bruises.

There’s already bruises on his tan skin. From being thrown from his horse after being followed and attacked by wolves. He wants to laugh. It feels like John mocking him, though he knows his longtime friend had no say in the action; both his partners are waiting for him, back at home, nervous and more patient than they’d ever been. More than he deserves.

Fingers meet his lips and he whistles, high, for his horse to come back. He has to repeat the action a few times before he hears the hoofbeats approaching. Fast, then slow as they get closer. Boaz’s head dips in apology as he stops a few feet away.

“It’s alright,” Javier tells the Paint. “See? I am alive.”

The horse whuffs in acknowledgement. Accepts the petting to his greying nose. Guilt rolls in Javier’s gut. He shouldn’t be pushing the aging Paint like this, bringing him over the border and into a war-torn country, but he couldn’t bear to part with him, and he hadn’t been thinking about it too hard when he’d left.

“I should’ve left you with the others. Let you keep watch.”

Boaz just noses at his pockets. When he shows he has no treats, the horse makes an indignant noise but accepts it. Grunts a little when he swings up onto his back and adjusts himself in the saddle.

Javier runs his hand down the fading stitches and decorations that adorn the leather. Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve left the saddle behind, too. There’s plenty of outlaws who’d see it and want it. But he doesn’t give up his things without a fight. They’d have to kill him to get to both his saddle and his horse.

He clicks his tongue and turns the Paint towards the horizon, where the faint shapes of a town are hard to see against the rising sun. Boaz obeys immediately in a slow trot. He murmurs praise in mixed Spanish and English.

When he touches his face, it stings. He’s sunburned something nasty. He has dim hope that there’s a general store that has something for the sore skin in the town, but he’s not too sure. At the least, he wants his body to get used to these climates again. Searing himself to the bone wouldn’t be pretty even though it might speed things up.

There’s no other travelers on the roads as they go along. It’s been that way since he entered Mexico. There’s too much suspicion, too much worry. Too busy keeping themselves alive. Keeping their homes upright.

His chest aches. He doesn’t bother pressing a hand to it even as the feeling throbs behind his sternum. He lets it settle, heavy and poisonous, and almost savours the pain that accompanies it. It’s a feeling he hasn’t had in a long, long time. A feeling he’s done his best to escape. There’s no better time to embrace it. No better time to use it.

Nobody greets him when he enters the town. Its buildings are run down, crumbling, peppered with bullet and canonball holes. Scorched banners and blankets litter the ground alongside piles of trash that’s indiscernable. It’s almost dustier amongst the rubble than it was in open ground; he tugs his bandana up over his nose to keep it from clogging his breathing.

It’s likely the man the Colonel sent him after is residing here. Hidden in the dark, away from prying eyes, waiting for night to fall. Javier doesn’t feel like he’s got eyes on him, but he never knows these days.

“Santa María, quédate conmigo.”

The words fall from his lips easily. They’re branded into his brain. Into his tongue. He has no idea if they work, but he’s not one to ignore his routine. Shadows flit around the edges of his vision, but when he looks, it just dust. Or a rat, scampering between trash piles. Vultures flying overhead signal the future of this town.

Javier really hopes it’s not an omen of his own future.

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Javier remembers plenty of his childhood. A lot of it bad, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t light in the darkness. The calm before the storm, before the chaos had unfolded and his life fell apart. Memories of peace, of love, of gentle care that cupped his cheek and uttered soothing words. Of warmth and happiness. A moon shining through the inky darkness of night.

There’s no moon visible here.

Clouds are thick and billowing, promising a long few days of storm and heavy rain. It’s a rare sight down here. He can’t help but think it an omen. As soon as he has the thought, he remembers his mother’s scolding words, her frown.

“You mustn’t think of everything so dismal.”

His lips pull downward.

Boaz can feel his discomfort. The Paint shifts under him, worried and tired. He pats the horse’s neck and murmurs apologies. They’re both stretched thin as they travel. He thinks maybe they should have stopped at the last town but he’s too eager to get his latest assignment turned in so he has more time to rest. The bounty was a big thing, an amount that would let him focus his attention elsewhere instead of working.

There was no time to rest. He hated the constant stress. He hated bounty hunting. But not having to bow down to the fools in charge was worth every penny. He would be foolish to assume the Colonel wasn’t waiting for the perfect time to take his head, too.

He’s so goddamn tired. He can’t tell how much time has passed since he left America. With the passing of seasons, it has to at least be a few years, but not much longer.

He hopes.

Javier cuts his hair with his knife. Shaves with his knife. He hunts with his rifle, but barely. He isn’t hungry. Water is just plentiful enough to keep his stomach from aching. Gone is the blues and reds and gold. Tans and browns make up his wardrobe. He dons his sombrero and sneers at the white men who stare. They’re in his territory, after all. They’re the ones far from home.

He meets gazes head on. His revolver fits snugly in his palm, the silver maintained like a ritual. Never will it jam on him. Never will he run out of bullets. He can’t afford to. So, he doesn’t.

Part of him is guilty at the lack of self care he’s displaying. But he doesn’t have time. His skin feels gross and dusty, his facial hair unkempt. There’s extra lines on his face, extra scars, deeper bags under his eyes. He’s keeping himself alive at the very least. But it isn’t very fulfilling and he feels rather miserable about it.

More than once, he thinks about turning tail. Going back to America where he knows he will be welcomed back with loving, open arms. He’s lucky to have a life waiting for him. A place where he doesn’t have to pick up the pieces before settling in.

It’s all utterly exhausting to think about.

The Colonel doesn’t question his methods. Smirks as he drops off his prize and doesn’t argue when he takes trophies. A fat stack of cash is the reward, a little more space and time to breathe. He takes it with eager hands. Leaves when he’s given no more current assignments.

He and Boaz take it slow into the town. He’s paid no mind as the Colonel’s men mill around. Mutter to each other. Smoke and sleeze about, hitting on women, practicing their aim, shooting the shit. Half of them are drunk and will be drunker by sundown. He turns down offers of cards and booze. Javier is in no mood to partake tonight.

Room and board is paid for easily and he ensures Boaz is well taken care of (and void of anything poachable) before settling into the room he’s given. He’s out as soon as his head hits the pillow.

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His body hurts. His ears are ringing. Through the high pitched sound, he can hear cannons going off, one after another, so close, so close-

Death clings to the dirt. It clogs his nose and makes his eyes feel heavy. It drags at his feet and urges him to submit- he has to force each foot to lift high enough to mount Boaz and spur the horse out of the area.

Boaz is more than happy to leave. The darkness is ripped from his hooves and he moves faster than he has in the past- how long has it been? Years, he thinks. The Paint snorts and huffs until they’re far away from the town and even then he doesn’t slow until they’re out of hearing distance.

“Good, good,” Javier wheezes. It’s dusty, but the air feels fresh now. He gulps it down easily, eagerly, and ignores the way his lungs burn in protest.

The Colonel is sure to get mad at him for running. But he did his part of the job, so there’s not much the man can use against him. He’s planning on wandering a bit before reporting back, anyway, if only to clear the last dregs of Death from him and his horse. He doesn’t want to trek it into an unsuspecting town.

The Paint grunts as he lays down next to Javier’s sitting form. He’s getting up there in years and the bullets aren’t as easy to dodge anymore. But Javier isn’t robbing trains or banks like he used to, so the horse doesn’t complain when he’s pushed a little harder. A greying muzzle drops to lay against Javier’s shoulder and he reaches back to scratch behind ears absently. A warm huff blows over his chest.

“Maybe soon,” he murmurs more to himself than his steed. He’s been telling himself those same words since they crossed the border. War takes too long. A civil war even moreso. This one has been raging for years, since he was a boy, and it had no sign of stopping. It makes his bones ache.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes. The small fire he’d started is ashes now, barely glimmering with embers. Boaz is snoring behind him, cushioning his lean. He sits there for a long moment. Basks in the cool air before the sun inevitably rises and scorches everything under it. Before he has to go back to the Colonel, to the fighting, to the pain.

The Death is gone, for now. It will return. But for a moment, he’s given solace, reprieve, and lets the exhaustion settle heavy over his body.

Chapter Text

The Colonel speaks in snarky, rolling tones, his words full of sneer and attitude. Despite being sat most the times they meet, he still looks down his nose at Javier, eyes narrow and body loose. Boots up on his desk. His men follow his lead and stare openly. They’re less cruel, though just as distant.

That suits Javier just fine. He’s not here to make friends.

He supposes he’s here for the opposite; to make enemies, to kill those enemies. It’s a morbid thought but it’s not out of place of how his life has gone so far. It’s right on par, if anything. There’s no hesitation when he raises his revolver and pulls the trigger. No flinching when the bodies fall. Not even Boaz falters when they race through battlegrounds.

Smoking cannons make the skies darker than he’s ever remembered. Thunder rolls in heavy and loud. The rain pelts hot.

His voice comes out in hoarse shouts. He’s trying to be heard over the noise that’s breaking their eardrums. He leans low over Boaz’s neck to get closer to his ears. “Faster, faster. A break, soon. Please, just through here.”

The Paint’s ears flick back. He’s tired, Javier can feel it, but he listen’s to his human’s pleas with as much energy as he can give. Doesn’t stumble or pause.

Every day Javier is happy to have Boaz at his side. A constant in a sea of confusion, hatred, of unsteadyness. A rock to sit on, a raft to hold on to. He treats the Paint well, as one should, but also because he knows the way it will come back to help him. They are equals from the start. He knows Boaz would pull him out of any pit he falls in to and he would not hesitate to do the same in return.

They hit the open ground and he hesitates. There’s a million different ways to go and he can hear Death behind him.

Boaz chooses for him. Takes off across the dirt and only slows briefly to make sure Javier isn’t thrown from the saddle. He adjusts his sombrero and curses under his breath. If they weren’t in a hurry, he’d think Boaz’s chuff was a laugh.

“You are sure this is a good idea?” he mutters.

Boaz gives a light headshake.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t doubt just yet. It’s not caught us.” He glances over his shoulder. “They’re close.”

His eyes rake across the horizon. Towns, but he doesn’t want to upturn anyone’s life. So, both him and Boaz continue on, a little less fast, but still powering through. He lifts himself in the saddle, both to see better, and to try and give Boaz a little less weight directly on his back. Whether it works or not doesn’t seem to matter to the Paint; his gait doesn’t falter.

Finally, Javier can breath again. He tugs on the reins, lightly, and Boaz takes the hint to slow a bit. Tosses his head like he’s almost annoyed that his human wants him to relax.

“It’s alright,” Javier tries to soothe him. “We’re out of the deep end now. Boaz, Boaz, slow, please, you need to ease up.”

Reluctantly, his mount obeys. They slow to a trot, then a walk as the sun dips below the horizon. Javier watches the yellows turn to oranges, to reds, to deep blues and violets, bathing everything in cool tones and easing the heat from their skin. He rolls his shoulders and winces at the pull from his spine- still bruised, then, and unpleasant as his jacket moves around.

He pats Boaz’s neck and slumps to rest an arm over his mane, then his chin on his hand. Boaz grunts at the shift. Javier murmurs a few more soothing things in Spanish as his eyes close. He’s in a permanent state of exhaustion.

His stomach aches but he’s not hungry. There’s no wildlife around here that’s easy to catch, anyway, and he’s not keen to snack on the bits in his saddlebag. Not when Boaz needs to be kept in shape for easy escapes. If he loses Boaz, he loses himself.

“Should we camp?” He asks out loud.

Boaz answers by stopping rather abruptly. He snorts in amusement and slides from the saddle, kicking the dirt to see how stable it is. Solid and dry. He uncinches the girth enough to make it comfortable for the Paint and watches as the horse sways a little before swinging his head around to stare back at him.

“Waiting for me to sleep?”

No response. He’s starting to wonder if he’s gone a bit mad. He shakes the thought off with the reminder that he’s not the only man to talk to his horse.

“Alright. Rest, then.”

Chapter Text

It's been a few days since the Colonel has given Javier orders. He takes the silence as both a relief and an omen. The only thing that keeps him relaxed is the lack of heaviness settling on his shoulders. He takes Boaz sightseeing, if one could call it that, exploring the places that are less dangerous. The places they aren’t able to wander to when they were searching for bounties or dodging gunfire.

When he stops in a saloon for a pick-me-up drink, he hears talk about an American crossing the border. It’s not out of the ordinary nowadays, what with the need for extra help, but he perks his ears up in curiosity.

“They say he’s looking for one of us,” A man with a grungy, cigarette scarred voice says. His glass clinks as he sets it down.

The men with him make noises of confusion and interest.

“A specific Mexican, I mean. How’s the hell he’s gonna do that, I ain’t sure,” The man laughs. It’s harsh and judging. “Going from sheriff’s office to jails. Asking around. Does he know that’s raising suspicion?”

“Sounds like he don’t care,” mutters a different man.

“Sounds like he’s on a mission,” another one adds. “Wonder if it’s a bounty?”

Javier strains his ears. It sounds exactly like the type of work the gang used to do. Before they settled down and gave up that life. He signals for another drink. Wraps his fingers around the cold glass and brings it to his lips. He nearly drops the thing when he hears what they say next.

“A scarred face… Not something you see as much anymore. What did you say they call him?”

“Ah, what was it- here. ‘The Wolfman’.”

Fear curdles low in Javier’s gut. His heart is pounding as he spurs Boaz on further, further, keep going-

John is in Mexico. And he’s looking for him. Asking around.

Javier knows, he knows he shouldn’t be so scared. So worried. But John is stubborn and a hard to deal with man sometimes, and the idea that he’s taken a bounty on Javier makes his head spin and hands shake. It’s hard to tear people like them away from the outlaw life. The promise of money and fame is a tempting one and John has a family to feed.

“You’re leavin’?” John had asked, the night before he’d broken the news to Abigail.

“Yes. I have to go back to Mexico.”

John’s hands had paused in his hair. Twitched, then resumed. In a quiet tone, he muttered, “Abi ain’t gonna be happy with you.”

The nickname had always made Javier’s mouth curl upwards. But the sadness in his partner’s tone made him wilt. John was many things, but a liar was not one of them; he was hideous at it, really, always too open and too blunt. Abigail might be upset, but so was John. “I know.”

“She’s gonna tear you a new one.”

“...I know.”

They fell into silence. They could hear Sean’s laughter in the next room over, Arthur’s deeper chuckle making it through the thin walls. The clanging of pots and pans below. Idle chatter of some of the other men. It was a long moment before John spoke up again.

“I’m gonna miss you.”

Javier swallowed thickly. “I’m coming back,” he said, stupidly. It weighed heavy in his throat, like he was telling a lie, and he hated it. Because he wanted it to be true. Needed it to be.

“Still gonna miss you.”

Now, he remembers the wanted poster strewn haphazardly on the Colonel’s desk. His own face, rendered in scratchy lines, staring up at the ceiling as he’s given orders. A warning. Taunting him. There was no need for words. Javier understands the threat. If you disobey, you die.

He chokes back a sob that turns into a painful laugh. Boaz nickers beneath him.

“I’m such a fool,” he wheezes.

John is coming for him, and he can’t run forever. Can’t run away. Because if he sees that scarred face, he won’t be able to turn tail; he’ll take whatever punishment is given with open arms. Because he’s lived a horrible, horrible life of sin and has only made it worse.

There’s no place left for him anymore. He’s been in America so long that Mexico feels like a stranger. And now he’s been in Mexico so long that crossing the border again feels like a nightmare. Like he has chains around his ankles and wrists and there’s a ravine the size of a canyon between him and the people he’d gotten so comfortable with.

His head throbs from the tears. Boaz has slowed. The Paint is making soft noises, like he’s trying to copy the way Javier soothes him with gentle words. He can’t help but laugh.

“Thank you,” he manages. Uses the distraction to push back the thick sludge that threatens his guts. Ignores the feelings that bubble up with it.

Chapter Text

He takes more jobs. He has to. But he’s quieter and more sullen and the Colonel pokes fun at him for it. They have all heard of the American coming for his head. They’ve put the pieces together and the Colonel himself has no problem using it as another weapon against the ex-outlaw who is still an outlaw despite what he tells himself.

It makes him laugh out loud when the Colonel makes the mistake of mocking him around Boaz. The Paint kicks out and nearly takes the man’s head off. Clips his face, spraying blood. Topples him in one go. The men scramble to make sure their leader is okay as Javier watches with the type of pleased feeling that he only gets from good revenge. The type he wishes he could put behind him.

It doesn’t stop the sneering at him, but it calms it. And if Javier treats Boaz to extra care after that- well, that’s nobody’s business but their own.

“What do you think?”

Boaz whuffs curiously.

“John. He’s coming for me, isn’t he? Will he kill me?”

His horse snorts like that’s the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“I know. But I worry.”

He pulls at the sparing patches of grass as the Paint ambles nearby. When Boaz understandably doesn’t respond, him being a horse and all, Javier sighs and starts chewing on a stick.

“I’m unsure if I could stop him from killing me. I might deserve it.”

Boaz has made it around behind him and uses the opportunity to snag his sombrero off his head. He twists around, baffled, as the aging Paint dances away with the energy of a colt. They stare at each other for a long few moments.

“You’re done with relaxing, then?” He hauls himself to his feet. When he reaches out to take his hat back, Boaz steps away. He stands there with his hand out like an idiot. “Boaz? My hat, please-”

They continue the back-and-forth for a much longer time than Javier would like to admit to. His initial thought that Boaz was tiring and becoming too achy was out the window now, with the way his horse easily dodges his attempts and tosses his head like it’s some big game. He grows frustrated, then exasperated, then annoyed, then can’t help but laugh a little at how ridiculous the whole thing is.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. Pauses in his chase to plant his hands on his thighs and catch his breath. “I won’t assume anything about John looking for me. It doesn’t make me any less nervous,” he adds under his breath.

Boaz relinquishes his hat like he somehow understands what’s being said. Chews on Javier’s dirty hair instead. He grumbles but doesn’t brush the Paint away.

Chapter Text

Javier gets so drunk he can’t see straight. He hasn’t gotten so drunk since crossing the border, and for good reason. It’s hard to stay alert and whip-quick when you’re stumbling around and slurring your words. It makes the edges of his vision go funny. Makes him see weird things out of the corner of his eyes more than he usually does. Normally he hates it.

Today, it’s a reassurance.

He reaches a hand out to the side and spreads his fingers wide. Watches his knuckles flex. The tips of his fingers were fuzzy. He wonders if it’s him slipping through the Veil.

Someone steps past him and he blinks up at them as they go. Their figure is dark and muggy, and he squints to try and see past the Death that’s draped over their shoulders. It doesn’t look like the Colonel. More like one of his men.

He’s not so stupid to get piss drunk around the Colonel, anyway. The thought alone makes his blood run cold and sobers him a bit. It’s like signing your own death sentence.

His tongue darts out to run over his chapped lips. His throat feels like it’s full of sand. It’s likely he’d inhaled a fair amount of dirt and dust when he tripped. Probably more, given that he’s still laying here like some sort of idiot. It’s an apt description at this point. The alcohol had burned and choked him and he’d welcomed it eagerly.

Javier thinks, as hard as the action is at the moment. He thinks about John, about Abigail, about Jack, who’s wide, tearful eyes had watched him leave. Who’s arms had clutched him desperately in an attempt to keep him there. About Abigail’s own tearful farewell, her firm insistence that he return unscathed, if not for her and John, then for Jack, and his immediate, easy agreement. About the way she’d hugged him so tight and kissed him so gently.

John, who’d lingered at the edge of the property next to Boaz. Slumped against the wood of the fence with his arms crossed and his legs stock straight. Crossed at the ankles. The way he’d glanced up as Javier approached- his face, pained, then smooth in a practiced motion. The awkward silence that had fallen over them as Javier fiddled with Boaz’s reins.

Neither man were good with public affection. Even just in front of Abigail. But it had been clear that the woman wasn’t going to go back inside until Javier was gone over the horizon, so John had cleared his throat and stood up.

“You gotta be careful,” the scarred man had muttered. An obvious statement, but Javier had appreciated it nonetheless. “Just- just don’t go gettin’ shot, okay?”

“No promises,” had gotten him a pouty glare, so he had chuckled and corrected himself. “Lo siento. I know. I will do my best.”

“Boaz’ll take care o’ you,” John cleared his throat and held a hand up as if he was going to clap Javier on the shoulder, then dropped it. Then lifted it again. Finally, he reached out to touch Javier on the arm, and the Mexican stepped forward automatically, ignoring John’s disgruntled noises to wrap him up in a hug. “...’m gonna miss you.”

The warbled, watery tone to his voice had pulled Javier’s heart in such a painful way. “I know.” He’d pulled back in time to see John’s head dipping to cover his eyes with the brim of his hat. “...I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be.” The fierceness in the man’s eyes made him blink. “Hell, I’m mad, but- come on, Javier, it ain’t like you never talked about this. I knew you was gonna have to do somethin’ like this.”

“...Sure.”

“Just… Just come back in one piece, okay? Abi will tear me a new one if you don’t.”

Javier had laughed, soft, weak. “Alright.” Without thinking, he’d leaned forward again and planted a kiss at the corner of John’s mouth. The poor man was bright red as he mumbled and cleared his throat, but he’d helped Javier into the saddle and paused to squeeze his hand.

His chest hurt. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he has heartburn. But he knows better- always does. That heavy feeling is his loneliness that’s crept back in since Boaz’s hooves had crossed the property line back at Beecher’s Hope. An aptly named homestead. Javier isn’t sure if he has Hope anymore, but he has Faith, the lingering bits of it at least, and he clings onto those like a lifeline.

The drink is seeping from his pores now, baked out by the sun and through his sweat. He hauls himself upright, winces at the ache in his spine, and squints around for Boaz. The Paint isn’t too far, busy with the sprouts of weeds around the barn walls, unbothered by his human’s state.

A slight whistle catches his horse’s attention and he manages to pull himself into the saddle. He’s still too drunk to be able to steer. He leaves that up to Boaz as they head out of town.

“Maybe he is not here for a bounty,” he mumbles. Sways a bit. He hooks his boots in the stirrups more firmly to keep from falling. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for a fuck.”

Boaz makes a noise like he’s annoyed.

“Eh, is he here for that, either? I don’t know anymore, Boaz,” he whines. He feels like a child. Like a child avoiding punishment that’s inevitable regardless of his answer. “I can’t leave the Colonel, though. I can’t.”

He slumps forward, draping his arms over the pommel and closing his eyes. His horse whuffs but ambles onward.

“You’ll protect me, won’t you? Always have.”

Chapter Text

When the fighting draw closer to where Javier is staying, he leaves. He ignores the Colonel’s demands this time and follows his intuition; it’s pulling him away, urging him towards the quiet, the safety. His instincts have never steered him wrong. Only his decisions on how to follow them have.

How happy he is that he never stuck close to Dutch’s side after Micah joined. After he started getting close to Jack, to Abigail, to John. The laments of his male partner at the leader’s treatment of him as a golden boy are seared into Javier’s brain. Of the tone of his voice, the way it dipped as Arthur walked past. The pain.

He understands, but he doesn’t. The bond between John and Arthur is one he has no insight into beyond the talks he’s had with the two. Javier has never had another man be so close in a way that is more brotherly than lover. It’s almost embarrassing to think about.

“You’re a ladies man,” Karen had remarked one day. Snapped her fan out and snickered as Tilly rolled her eyes. The darker skinned woman’s knee bumped his and he moved automatically. The motion made the other two exchange an amused look. “All definitions.”

“Not sure what you mean, hermana.”

Both women had giggled but not explained. He had shrugged and gone back to strumming his guitar. A tune they all knew.

“My head is on the line now, Boaz,” he leans over his horse’s neck and breathes the words out. It’s a terrifying thought. The Colonel will no doubt put a bounty on him to add to the coin already there. If John were to meet that man-

He shakes the dread away. Not today.

They push further and further east, dangerously close to the border a few times, but he leads Boaz away and back into the dusty Mexican lands that stretch out before them. The land that the sun paints in reds and yellows and makes his heart ache with the memories.

The gunshots fade from his ears but ring in his head. They avoid the towns and end up in the disheveled, run down ruins of a town he’s sure used to be bustling and gorgeous. It makes him laugh out loud, the way he’s turned into one of the men he’s been hunting since coming back to Mexico. That he’s the one hiding away and waiting for someone to come take his head.

He can almost hope that if someone goes for the money, they’ll make his death quick. His hand touches his throat and traces his old scar. He can still feel the burning, stinging pain, the way his hands had coated hot and his body had turned cold. The shaking. The bubbling coughs.

Javier is still unsure how he survived. But he’s glad he did.

Chapter Text

The first thing Javier does when John finds him is stab him.

To be fair, it isn’t really his fault- well, it is, but it isn’t- and amazingly, it makes the other man laugh like he’s told some huge joke. Even as his hands are clammy and he’s scrambling to apologize, scrambling to switch from Spanish to English, John is laughing, and it’s glorious.

He’d known the day was different from the moment he’d woken up. There was a smidge of a pit in his stomach as he ate breakfast. Brushed Boaz out. Stared at the lightening sky, wondering when or if it would ever stay that way.

It was windy and cold. Dry and dusty, like usual, but there was something more on the edge of it. On the edge of Javier’s nerves.

He keeps his eyes out for those shadows that linger around his vision. There’s none, but his nerves are shot. He’s jumpy.

It makes Boaz irritable. Every reasonable bit of Javier is telling him that if Boaz is fine, then everything is fine; horses are smart and Boaz is smarter than the average steed. That’s his horse. His horse who knows him and the Things that lurk around him. Boaz has swept him away from the suffering that has threatened to bury Javier many a time. He owes the Paint his life.

“Why am I like this?” He asks into the horse’s mane. Threads his fingers through it and squeezes his eyes shut. “I worry. I worry too much.”

Boaz chews at his sleeve.

“I’m scared.”

It’s hard to admit and it makes him squirm despite Boaz being the only one here to witness his ridiculous behavior.

Scared means he’s fiddling with his knife. Checking and double-checking the edge for a sharpness that’s only accrued from his ritualistic maintenance. His fiddling means he has it out and ready when someone knocks on the door of the hut he’s been residing in. When that same person opens the door before he can ask ‘who’s there?’

His knife sinks into flesh with ease. To the hilt. There’s a hoarse yelp that meets his ears.

A hand plants on his shoulder and he shoves the body away. His knife stays secure in his hands as the person stumbles back. He bares his teeth and spits anger in Spanish, expecting a bounty hunter, someone with a gun already aimed despite the injury, but when his vision clears, he’s downright horrified. Because the face that meets his own is one John Marston, looking a lot calmer than one should be after getting near-gutted.

Just now, he’s realizing John’s hands are empty. He drops the knife and spews out as many apologies as he possibly can as John laughs, pained, but somehow happy in the same breath.

Chapter Text

“Ouch! OW- shit!”

John’s voice is scratchier than before, if that’s somehow possible, and cuts out curses as Javier’s shaky hands tend to the new wound on his side. That he created. He’s downright upset at himself but John refuses to let him wallow in that feeling.

“Hey, I’m the one who just opened the damn door, ain’t I? Shoulda known better, but I was- ow, ow, ow-” John barely keeps himself from wriggling away from the wet cloth. “I was too excited to see you.”

Javier’s face burns red as something in his chest blooms happily. Like a rose that’d withered from the fighting and the war, finally given water, albeit in the form of a metaphorical storm that rushes in with no warning. So easily given he could probably drown in it. He wants to drown in it. He chews on the inside of his cheek and lets himself smile a little. It’s wobbly.

His partner- one of them, at least- smiles back, teethy and tinged with pain. “Must’ve given you a scare.”

His brow furrows.

“Askin’ ‘round. Forgot how scary that can be. Just didn’t know how else to do it.”

“It likely ke-” Javier shakes his head and clears his throat. It takes a few seconds of fumbling to remind himself how to speak despite how often he’d practiced to retain it (he’d never want to lose such a thing, a gift that Hosea had given him so lovingly). John waits in a rare moment of patience. “I think it kept you alive,” is what he settles on.

“Y’think?”

“Yes. They thought you were- were- er, they thought you were going for my head.”

John makes a face. “Ain’t the type of head I like from you- ouch!”

Javier decides to pretend that jab was an accident. “You still might take my head.”

A hum is the response. “Prob’ly not. Your accent is thicker.”

“That happens,” he mutters. The blood is no longer coating their fingers but it’s still oozing from the cut. It’s too deep to leave to heal open like this. Javier winces at the thought of sewing it up with dirty supplies. Still, he asks, “You have thread?”

“Uh, fishing line, I think.”

“Why…?”

“Dunno. Never took it out, I guess. Why’s you need it?”

“For the cut,” he motions. John contorts himself a little to look down at his side. The motion alone makes the wound weep. Draws a small hiss from the wolfman. “Although I don’t think I have a needle.”

“What if we just wrap it real well?”

Javier doesn’t really want to risk it, but he thinks about it. As long as they don’t get in any trouble and they make sure it’s regularly changed, it could work. His lips twist at the idea of treading back into the gunfire. He doesn’t want it. Especially now that John has found him.

“I got a good amount of bandages- well, they’re on Old Boy, but I still brought ‘em. Wasn’t sure if you needed any.”

He has an urge to kiss John. It’s not unfamiliar but he hesitates more than usual. Darts his eyes to the door automatically. John shifts in front of him and he flinches.

There’s an awkward pause as the other man stares at him. Blatant surprise is on his face. Javier’s sure he’s bright red. He mumbles something like an apology as he stands and nearly shoots out the door to where Boaz has been wandering. Old Boy is right next to him, flank to flank, and lifts his head at the sound of footsteps.

The first thing he does is bury his face in Boaz’s mane and groans. The Paint huffs and ignores him, chewing grass.

It isn’t like he’s upset that John is here for him; the exact opposite, really. He’s beyond delighted. He could cry with relief (and fear, because John has crossed the border and put himself in direct danger to find him, like he doesn’t have a child and woman at home). But he’s also nervous. So nervous his hands shake and his body jumps at the slightest movement. He’s terrified if he closes his eyes for too long that John will disappear.

But there’s still drying blood on his fingers and Old Boy is here and chewing at the edge of his tan jacket and stays obediently still as Javier digs through the frayed saddlebags. John hadn’t been lying about bringing a lot of bandages. He takes enough to securely wrap around the other man’s midsection and leaves the rest for later. Takes a tonic from the same compartment with him. He recognizes Arthur’s scrawling handwriting on the label.

When he shuffles back inside, he finds John snooping through his things.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The wolfman doesn’t even bat an eye. “Got bored. You ain’t got much, do you?”

“Couldn’t afford it. This is from Arthur?”

The mention of his brother has John looking up immediately. He grins at the sight of the bottle in Javier’s hand. “Yeah! Him and Sean have been kinda wanderin’. Like weird monks. Somethin’ like that. He likes those plants. Not sure how he tells ‘em all apart, really.”

Javier manages to get his things put to the side and starts packing gauze against John’s side. John continues to ramble as he obediently holds the bandages in place while Javier winds the rest around his body to hold it tight. There’s a slight lull in conversation- one sided, but conversation nonetheless- as the tightness is checked, then Javier can pull away to put his things back into his bag.

“You know why I’m here, right?”

He falters. Peeks over his shoulder to see John squinting at him. When he shrugs, John frowns. “To find me, I assume,” he says before John can get too mad.

“Yeah- I mean, that’s obvious, ain’t it?”

“Yes.” He opens his mouth to say more, but John is giving him that intense stare, right into his eyes, into his core, his mouth drawn in a thin line and brows neutral. Javier has been on the receiving end of plenty of murderous, eager stares, but this is the only one that makes him feel like prey. That makes his body shiver and his heart race. But there’s something warm on the edge of the look that always keeps him from running.

John reaches out and takes his hand. Javier doesn’t stop him. Both their palms are callused but John is gentle as he fiddles with his fingers and runs his thumb over Javier’s knuckles. Their eye contact breaks as John’s gaze drifts down to the floor.

Eyes like tree bark, Javier thinks absently. Light brown and honest.

“I came to bring you back,” John says. So quiet it’s almost a whisper. So quiet he thinks he imagined it. “It’s been a while, you know? We got worried. Figured you’d gotten caught up in somethin’ you couldn’t get out of.”

Isn’t that the truth.

“Abi was just about to tear up the walls. Normally she wouldn’t want me to do somethin’ so damn stupid, but… hell, we missed you too much.”

Javier’s chest hurts. He stares at their interlocked hands. John’s skin is warm against his (always has been).

“Ain’t surprised you got a price on your head over here, too. Shit’s like a goddamn weed. Pretty hefty price, wasn’t it? Took a hell of a time convincing that sheriff to listen to me-” Huh? “-and even longer after that to actually take me seriously. Just about blew a hole through his forehead.”

“What…?” Javier asks awkwardly, carefully. Tries not to hope as John blinks at him like he’s stupid.

“You ain’t got a bounty anymore,” the wolfman explains a little more slowly. “I took care of it.” He pulls an official looking paper from his pocket and hands over a goddamn pardon from the sheriff to Javier. “They ain’t gonna hunt you down no more. I was bein’ serious when I said I’m bringin’ you home.”

Chapter Text

Javier stares at the paper while John snoozes behind him. It’s not comfortable, and John had complained as much, but he’s exhausted from traveling and getting stabbed, so he falls asleep just as easily as he usually does. He’s snoring almost too loud.

He stares at the paper. He doesn’t think he can pull his eyes away right now. Not until it clicks that this is real and John is really here. And this paper in his hands is authentic; the stamp is bumpy and fresh, the signature barely dry. He doubts John can read every word, since half of it is in Spanish, but he can and he’s blown away.

He’s free. Completely free from the Colonel’s grasp. He doesn’t have to see that smarmy grin anymore or hunt down those bounties. Doesn’t have to bloody his knives anymore.

John makes a snorting noise and turns over. Javier reluctantly folds the paper and tucks it into his bag, in the little hidden pocket he- and others, he’s sure- had sewn in back during their time in the gang. It’s useful for moments like this. He ensures that it’s snug and safe before he eases down to lay next to John.

Almost immediately, the other man wiggles backward until his back is flush to Javier’s chest. Javier’s sure he would have turned over if he didn’t have the stab wound on his side.

Keeping care of said stab wound, Javier rests his hand on John’s ribs, then lets his arm drape fully over when the man doesn’t jump or brush him off. If he presses his hand to John’s chest, he can feel the steady heartbeat; it contrasts his own pounding heart. He tries to still his breathing a bit to get himself tired enough for sleep.

“’re you sleepin’?”

Javier just about jumps. “Eh?”

“Was sittin’ there for a time. Finally got tired?” John’s voice is raspy and groggy. He’s barely able to get his words around his exhaustion.

“...Not really,” he admits.

“Where’d you put that pardon?”

“My bag.”

“’s good ‘nough.”

With that, John yawns and lets his head fall back down. A few deep breaths and he’s asleep again and Javier is left with his own thoughts again. It’s not quite silent but it might as well be, with how used to the sounds he is. His head is filling with doubts already and he’s having a hard time quashing them. But John is warm and solid and Javier desperately, desperately wants to go back, so he closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep.

Chapter Text

Despite being, well, old, Old Boy seems to have more energy than Javier has ever known him to have. Nearly glued flank to flank with Boaz and keeps nipping and nudging at the Paint like he’s trying to start a game. Both Javier and John have to make sure that the Hungarian doesn’t chew the bridle straight off the other horse’s face.

“What the hell is wrong witchu?” John asks his horse. He gets an irritable stomp in return, but Old Boy keeps trotting despite his attitude. “Yeesh, you’d think he was a stud or somethin’. That ain’t a mare, Old Boy!”

Javier laughs, soft. “Tranquilo, viejo amigo. I suppose he missed Boaz.”

“Yeah, well, we all did. You ain’t special,” he speaks the last bit down at Old Boy’s neck. The horse ignores him, as horses do. The wolfman shakes his head and sits upright again with a sigh.

They both spur their horses onward, trying to beat the next night to the next town; Javier follows his mental map easily while John follows along. He points out certain landmarks or areas he’d stayed in before and can see the way John is putting everything together in his head. Occassionally, the other man pipes up with a question, but he’s overall rather quiet.

It’s uncharacteristic, but Javier appreciates it. He’s not ready yet for constant talking, constant prodding. His brain is still rattling from the last time he’d drank (foolishly) with the Colonel’s men. That was a night he’d rather forget. The memory alone makes him a little sick.

A different thought strikes him and he steers Boaz to the right automatically. The Paint obeys, likely knowing exactly where they’re going, and Old Boy follows right on his hooves.

“Thought we was goin’ home,” John speaks up.

“Er, we need to make a quick stop,” he mumbles.

“Where? Is it gonna take long? We ain’t goin’ through any fightin’, are we?”

Javier makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Paciencia, okay?” He sighs when John huffs and puffs. “It’s important.”

John goes quiet again. Maybe it’s the firm, snippy way Javier says it or maybe he just understands that he’s not going to change the Mexican’s mind. Either way, he lets Old Boy dog after Boaz as they go along, eventually coming across a crude sort of path that Boaz sticks to with ease. The air here is lighter, somehow, and Javier breathes it in almost eagerly. With John at his side and Boaz under him, he feels damn near invincible.

----

That invincible feeling vanishes when his sister opens the door and stares at him for a long moment. He resists the urge to shuffle on his feet as she gives him a once over, then with a furrowed brow, she asks what the hell he’s doing there, she thought he was busy?

“I’m leaving Mexico,” he says bluntly. There’s no reason to beat around the bush. Her face falls, and he quickly adds, “I wanted to say goodbye and let you know where I’m going. So you can, uh, write.”

That cheers her up, so she nods and opens the door a little more. “Okay. I-” Her words cut off when her gaze drifts over his shoulder and lands on John, who’s waiting next to the horses behind him. In a quick movement, her hands fly to her mouth and her eyes widen. She looks almost too excited to see the wolfman and Javier feels the nerves climbing his spine.

“We can’t stay long-” he tries to say, but she’s no longer listening.

“Who is that?” She demands.

Her volume is loud enough that John looks up from where he’s brushing dirt from the top of his boots. He gives an awkward wave when they make eye contact.

“...He came to get me.”

“Your partner?”

The way she reads him like a book unnerves him as much as it reassures him. Somehow, she’s always known his preferences (or lack thereof) and has had no qualms about who he chooses to court; her attitude was like a cold drink of water in comparison to their mother, who would refuse to even consider the idea. Her son was not a degenerate. Cursed, but not so crude to bed a man of all things. He could have kissed a man in front of her and she’d still have blinders on.

“Eh, uh, one of them…?” he manages, still taken off-guard by her bluntness.

“One- greedy!”

His face burns hot. “I am not!”

“You have more than one partner!”

“They- they’re each others’, too,” he fumbles. He can hear John approaching behind him, seeming to think they’re arguing, and he’s too busy trying to explain himself to stop the other man. “The boy I’ve talked about- he’s their’s.”

She nods thoughtfully. Then, just as irritatingly, she starts talking to John like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Hello.”

“Uh, hi,” John glances at Javier. “Ain’t think we met before.”

Javier thought John being polite was the cutest thing ever. The way he gets all stiff postured and nervous and gets his words all caught up in each other. Sometimes he turns a funny color or gets an awkward look on his face while he thinks. Right now he was fidgeting, like he was desperate to be holding something.

“No,” Javier’s sister agrees.

“I’m, uh, John. John Marston,” the other man clears his throat. “You’re…?”

“Selestina. You are his partner?”

John turns a peachy-pink color. “Sure.”

“If you- Javi, if you’re going far, you should eat first.”

“We’re trying to beat the night,” he responds. He knows his voice has turned exasperated, but her insistence is strong and it’s already grating on his patience. At John’s confused look, he explains, reluctantly, “She wants us to eat.”

“What? We can’t do that?”

Javier barely resists the urge to smack John upside the head. How Abigail stands him sometimes, he’s not sure. He should have known that John would be eager to agree; the wolfman never turns down free food, especially if it’s considered leagues above Pearson’s cooking. Now he has Selestina’s expectant stare and John’s eager shuffling next to him and he just knows he’ll get reamed to hell and back if they leave without taking her up on the offer.

“...Fine.”

John hops off the porch immediately to grab both horses and tug them closer so he can hitch them to the porch posts. Both horses are too invested in each other to pay much mind at the manhandling.

“Where is your husband?” Javier asks absently, following his sister inside. He can never remember the man’s name- she’s told him about five times now, but it never sticks- but he does like him. He’s sweet on Selestina, at the very least.

“Working. Grab those dishes, please?”

He obeys, and John quickly falls in line, too. The food is already cooking, near finished, so they don’t have to wait long for her to start transferring the stews and meats and the like into dishes and Javier takes them without thinking to put on the table. He can practically see John’s mouth watering already. And he can’t blame the other man; it smells heavenly.

“Her name’s real fancy,” John breathes near his ear when they both pause to look over the table.

He feels himself jolt a little. “Blame my mother,” he mutters back.

“Aw, I ain’t complainin’ or anythin’. Matches yours real nice.”

He flushes a little and shrugs.

“Sit!” Selestina insists. It takes a little more effort for her to convince Javier than John, who’s already sitting and staring at the food like he’s about to pounce. “Eat what you like,” she tells him (Javier can see that she’s amused by John’s antics). “You, too, Javi, you’re too thin.”

“Wha- no, I am not!”

“Yeah, you are,” John interjects in a casual tone. It feels like Javier’s blinked and his partner’s plate is nearly full already. “’Sides, this smells real good.”

His sister beams at the compliment.

The actual eating is done mostly in silence. Selestina occassionally speaks up to lovingly berate Javier and make him put more on his plate, or to ask John random, unrelated questions that the wolfman answers to the best of his ability. When she asks how they met, Javier flinches, but John takes the question like it’s nothing and gives a vague enough answer that she’s satisfied but not aware of everything.

“You have a child?” She asks.

“Yeah, a boy.”

“Is he old?”

“Naw, not really. Not even a teen.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh,” and then John shovels more meaty soup into his mouth and subsequently ends the line of questioning. He seems uncomfortable still, when people try to talk about Jack. Arthur had never gotten him to kick the habit, Javier guesses.

“He’s shy,” Selestina remarks to Javier. It makes him snort. “What happened to his face?”

“Wolves,” Javier says back, and John perks up, because it’s one of the few words that’s always stuck in his brain. That, or he thinks Javier is referring to him specifically. “Quite a bit ago.” He doesn’t want to think about the time since then.

“What ‘bout wolves?”

“She’s asking about your face,” Javier mumbles around a spoonful of soft carrots. Soup threatens to dribble down his chin. It’s almost ridiculous how much he cares about looks all of a sudden. Having to translate is making his brain all itchy. Like he’s stuck his head in a bowl of sparkling water or something.

“Javier saved me from ‘em,” John cheerfully adds.

Javier chokes as Selestina gasps. (She’s always liked those kinds of heroic tales, so it’s no surprise that she looks utterly amazed at the extra detail. It makes Javier’s face burn red-hot, though). “No- Arthur was there, too,” he tries.

“Yeah, but you had to carry my sorry ass. Couldn’t’ve been easy.”

“It- you-” he struggles for the words. Reassurance or argument, maybe, but nothing comes to mind. Nothing escapes the thick feeling that’s clogging his throat. “He’s… he’s exaggerating.”

Selestina frowns. “You’re too sweet, Javi. He appreciates you. Why won’t you let him?”

And damn, if he doesn’t have anything good to say back to that. He just frowns back and shoves more food into his mouth even though he’s not very hungry anymore. He can see John watching him with a sideways look. Finally, he utters, “We cannot stay for the night.”

“I know.” She stands and starts messing with some things on the counter. Packing boxes and tying them together with pretty fabrics. Javier is getting an inkling of what she’s doing when she sets the boxes aside and starts gathering the food into them. “I wish you would.”

The words ‘I do, too’ are on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t say them. If he says them, he might actually never leave. And he can’t do that to John. Absently, he turns to the other man and asks, “How much did it cost?”

“Hm?”

“My pardon.”

“Gold bar.”

Javier blinks once, then twice. Then goes, “Perdón?”

“Yeah,” John seems entirely unbothered by the information he’s just dropped on Javier’s head. “’Bout a gold bar. Some coin, too, I think. I didn’t really count.”

“You- Why wouldn’t you count?!”

“’Cause I didn’t care.” The wolfman gives Javier a ‘duh’ kind of look. “Would’a paid way more if I had to. Wasn’t our savings, anyway- I got that shit from Arthur.” He pauses to lick his spoon clean, making Javier wrinkle his nose, then continues talking. “Ain’t steal it from him, either. He went and just… dug it up, I guess, after I told him what I was doin’.”

“Is he a gopher?” Javier tries to imagine Arthur as some sort of gold-sniffing dog and comes up blank.

“Naw, he’s got maps and puzzles and the like. And Sean’s like some sort of circus performer or something- apparently he’s got a real talent for makin’ people fork over the cash.”

“Really.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe we’ll catch ‘em on the way back.”

Javier can only hope.

Chapter Text

Sure enough, Selestina gifts them the remainder of the food, ignoring Javier’s protests as she tucks them into his saddlebag. She scolds him for trying to go so far without proper supplies. It doesn’t take much for him to relent and allow her to laden them with a few more things.

“Uh, thanks for feedin’ us,” John clears his throat.

She smiles at him. “No need to go hungry,” she says firmly. She startles him by giving him a quick, tight hug and pats his shoulders when she pulls back. Then, she turns to Javier and takes him by the hands.

“You’re going to write as soon as we leave, aren’t you?”

Selestina laughs. “Maybe.” Her smile turns somewhat melancholy, now, and her soft fingers squeeze Javier’s own callused ones. “I’m going to miss you.”

“...And I, you.”

He has no protest as she hugs him, too, but it’s longer and tighter, somehow. Warm. He wraps his own arms around her and tries not to think about how much smaller she is than him (how he’s already so small for a man, and she’s smaller and younger). How her hands are only rubbed raw from her hobbies and life as a housewife and not from fighting. Not like Sadie’s or even someone like Karen’s.

“Be careful,” she insists.

He nods.

“Don’t let him get hurt either,” she adds, and Javier barely keeps from admitting that he’s already stabbed John. He doesn’t think she really needs to know that, especially since John is walking and talking like he’s perfectly fine. “I love you.”

“...I love you, too,” he murmurs. There’s a crack on the edge of his voice that they both pointedly ignore.

With a final, gentle pat to his cheek, she steps back up onto the porch and loops her arms behind her back. He plops his sombrero back onto his head and joins John at their horses. Boaz grunts in annoyance as he mounts, which makes John snort as Javier pats the Paint on the neck. He utters soothing words in Spanish. Old Boy spins on his hooves and heads out, Boaz following, and Javier twists in the saddle to wave to Selestina.

She’s crying, he thinks, and it makes him tear up, too. They both wave, and then John waves, but Javier keeps a hand up until they’re too far to really see properly. He’s relieved to see his sister go inside the house without trouble.

“She’s nice,” John tells him. Purposefully light. Doesn’t make fun as Javier just nods and grips his reins in shaky hands.

Chapter Text

John tries- and fails- to get snuggly with him during the trip back. Even when the nights are cold and they’re trying to stay as close as possible, he can’t help but flinch away and curl in on himself. It’s humiliating to see John try to get close and then see the way his face falls when he’s turned down. The only relief is that the other man doesn’t push it.

“Something is wrong with me,” he mutters to Boaz. Strokes a hand down the horse’s forehead as he speaks. “I’m happy he’s here, but… my body won’t repond the right way.”

Boaz snuffles his hair.

“You hungry?” John asks as he walks up.

Javier would be lying if he said he wasn’t staring at the sway of the wolfman’s hips. He was pretty sure that habit was picked up from Dutch. “Not particularly.”

“I am. Think there’s anything around?”

“Rabbits. Birds?”

“Good ‘nough for me. I’ll get some for both of us, just in case.”

Javier makes a small, noncommittal noise. John leaves Old Boy with him as he goes, plucking his bolt-action rifle off of the horse’s saddle. Whistling a little. Javier only vaguely recognizes the tune. Suddenly, his fingers ache to pluck at a guitar- he hadn’t brought his to Mexico, and he’s been regretting it since he stepped foot in the country.

He’s trying to hum the rest of the song by the time John gets back. There’s a couple of rabbits slung over his shoulder, perfectly shot and not yet skinned.

“It gets goddamn cold at night here,” the wolfman remarks. “Thought I was gonna freeze ‘fore I got to you.”

“...Hot at day, cold at night,” Javier murmurs.

“Yeah, definitely.”

He stretches his legs out and leans back against the rocks, squinting. John’s tongue pokes out as he works at the carcasses, skinning them and then slicing them into smaller chunks; it’s a bit sloppy but well-practiced and it makes something in Javier’s chest flutter in amusement at the way John carefully lays everything out. As soon as the other man finishes, he wipes his knife off on his pants (Javier will tell on him to Abigail later) and starts picking out which bits he wants to eat now.

“You sure you ain’t want any?”

“I’m alright.”

John hums in doubt but doesn’t push it. He stokes the tiny fire into a bit of a better flame and starts cooking.

Unfortunately for Javier, it smells fantastic, but he knows his stomach cannot handle it right now. He’s still full from Selestina’s meal and he doesn’t exactly want to make himself sick. He directs his gaze towards the two horses instead. Old Boy’s chin is resting over Boaz’s neck as the Paint grazes the sparing grass.

He’s starting to doze already. The weight of everything is crashing down on him, he knows, but he wants to stay as coherent as possible. It’s not working very well.

John is inching closer to him. Watching him with that intense stare, waiting for him to push him away; the desperation is practically rolling off of him. After a few moments of Javier just watching the other man doing just that, he lifts a hand and gives a small wiggle of his fingers- the reaction is immediate, with John practically diving to sit snug against his side.

Cute.

There’s something lingering on the edge of his vision. But it’s not a threat. His hairs don’t stand on end and his body isn’t trembling. John is warm at his side and the horses are ambling around, unbothered. If Boaz is happy, then he is happy. He thinks that maybe it’s okay that he’s not completely ready yet. That it can take a little longer; they’re not home yet, after all.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say to Abigail, but he’s still eager to see her.

Chapter Text

“Uh,” John pipes up one day, when they’re getting closer and closer to the border, his head turned to the side and eyes squinted. “Is that a sheriff wagon?”

Javier looks, and sees the darkness before he sees the horses or the wagon. Boaz is picking up the pace, too, and Old Boy is not far behind. Just as the men come into sight, he sees one raise a rifle and his voice comes out in an awkward yelp instead of words.

“Oh, shit-”

Bullets whiz by their heads, by their hats, and the sounds of guns going off grow louder at their side. Javier leans low to Boaz’s neck as he hears John’s revolver be yanked out of its holster and the hammer clicking. The men are yelling, Spanish, and he’s unsure if John understands what they’re saying, but he himself hears clipped shouts of demands to slow down, turn around, surrender yourself, now- why they’d do that while getting shot at, he’s not sure. They must think the two men are stupid.

“Goddamn stupid sons of bitches,” he mutters. Boaz snorts in agreement.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” John is spitting. Old Boy wheezes underneath him, taken off guard.

The horses are spurred on through their huffing and puffing. Despite their straining and the foam starting at their lips, they obey the steering and continue on down the pathing as the wagon barrels after them. Javier is cursing a storm in his head as John curses out loud. The latter is returning fire but it’s not very successful when he’s twisted around in his saddle.

“John, get down,” he hisses.

“I’m gonna get these bastards!”

“John!”

He nearly runs straight into a dead tree in his desperation to get the other man to listen, damnit, and Boaz is the only reason he doesn’t get flung into high heaven. He mutters a thanks and an apology to the Paint.

We’re getting nowhere, he thinks. But the horizon spreads out like a sandy, tan ocean in front of them and the wagon behind them is catching up; he can hear the sounds of whips going off, the creaking of the wood and metal holding the horses together as they struggle to obey. He’d feel bad for them if they weren’t currently bringing them Death in a speedy fashion.

Something prickles the back of his brain. He finds his eyes moving before he can properly identify the feeling.

Is that a woman?

She’s staring at them- no, him. When they make eye contact, he feels his body lighten, a weird cool feeling that makes it hard to feel the saddle beneath him, to keep a hold of the reins. He has to force himself to swallow. He stares back as Her head slowly turns to the side and Her arm lifts. Points.

It’s that same instinctual movement that has him steering Boaz in the direction of Her finger. Maybe the Paint saw her too, maybe he got that same feeling, or maybe he just trusts Javier. Either way, Boaz moves and Old Boy follows, much to John’s confusion. He can’t speak as his partner tries to ask what the hell he’s doing. He can barely tear his eyes away from Her to be able to follow Her instructions.

The gunshots fade behind them as something- no, someone- slows them. The men start bellowing at the horses and are met with whinnies of defiance. The horses are always on the sides of the Spirits.

The sight of Her has stirred more energy in both Boaz and Old Boy. They run as if they’re colts, heads tossing and held high, eager to get out of there. Javier risks sitting up straight and finally looks to John.

“...What the hell was that?” The wolfman asks.

“Huh?”

“That- that thing.”

It strikes Javier, suddenly, that John must be able to see remnants of Things, too. He wonders if it’s from childhood or an affliction of the wolves, sunken into his skin and mind after being injured to near-Death. But the way he talks doesn’t make it very clear. Javier follows the jabbed finger to the space where the woman used to be; she’s gone, and there’s no indication she was ever there to begin with.

In his bones, he knows who She was.

“Santa Maria,” he utters softly.

“Who?”

“The Holy Virgin,” he manages, because saying any of Her names feel like chewing ice in his current state. It feels like he just shouldn’t, though he knows that She would forgive him; She saved their lives, after all. He frowns and pushes the feeling aside as John gawks at him.

“Are you- are you serious?”

“Very.”

There’s a sort of reverance on John’s face now. Something between awe and amazement. Warmth blooms in Javier’s chest.

“What?”

“Huh?” Javier blinks.

“You’re makin’ a real funny face.”

“Ah-” his face heats up. “Just- why do you have to be observant? I’m glad you’re not… upset about seeing Her.”

“Why would I be? She saved our hides.” John glances over his shoulder again before relaxing in the saddle. “Wonder why, though.”

Javier has no idea. He shrugs and stares forward.

“Hope we don’t run into any more trouble.”

Famous last words, because Javier can already see a tent. There’s a few men milling about, but they don’t look like the Colonel’s men and they don’t look like the men who’d been shooting at them. Guns are slung over their backs or in their hands.

“Um,” John says rather eloquently. “This is the safe way, right?”

“I… think so.”

They come closer, slowing the horses so they’re not shot on sight. As soon as they’re within sight, the men raise their guns, then lower them when Javier tips his sombrero back. He’s not sure who they are, but they recognize him, so that’s something (then again, it’s hard for anyone to not recognize him at this point).

There’s a bit of shouting. John pulls Old Boy close up against Boaz’s side and tilts his head down, eyes darting over the weapons and the men. His mouth twists and the scars twist with it. The look gets worse when a particularly decorated man steps out of the white tent and swaggers their way.

Oh, no.

Javier knows that man, and he’s not exactly happy to see him. The toothy grin makes his stomach drop and he barely keeps his face from showing his distaste.

“Ey! The great fighter, come to grace us with his presence. Still licking the Colonel’s boots?”

“…No,” he responds, and the man stops short like he’s taken completely off guard.

“No? Well, then enlighten us on your plans! Who is this white man with you? A bodyguard? A secret lover, perhaps?”

Javier wrinkles his nose. “John,” he sighs. “Abraham Reyes. A leader of the rebels.”

“Nice to meet you,” John snips, sounding like it’s anything but.

Chapter Text

“What a beautiful thing to hear!” Reyes crows. “You’ve really left the Colonel? I never thought there’d be the day!”

“Very funny.”

“I am not joking! This is good news for us,” Reyes spins on his heel and tilts his head. A shiver runs down Javier’s spine at the squinting, scrutinizing look. “But the fact that you’re with a white man…”

“There’s plenty of white men around lately.”

“You seem close.”

“...We used to run in the same gang.” Javier doesn’t want Reyes to know too much if he can help it. A man like him can only use the information for selfish reasons. He watches Reyes as the man ambles around the flimsy table and drops into a chair. “We can’t stay here for long.”

“No? What has you so busy?”

“Personal issues,” he retorts flatly.

Reyes squints at him.

He can hear John outside behind him, pacing a little like a caged animal. He doesn’t like not being able to understand. Not being able to keep an ear on every bit of the conversation. Not being able to make sure Javier is alright in a place he doesn’t know is safe or not. He’d nearly punched Reyes when the man had suggested the two Mexicans talk alone.

“You need something?” He asks after a moment.

“Conversation with a smarter mind?”

Javier scowls. “You have plenty of men around.”

“You know what I mean, Escuella. Where they come from- they can’t possibly compare! Someone like you, yes, you surely know where I’m coming from.”

He hates this. This pompous, ridiculous attitude. It’s the same as the Colonel, who’d used Javier’s background to pull his strings and set him up without an exit. The assumptions and casual dismissive talk that makes his skin crawl just thinking about what Reyes is thinking. The idea that he doesn’t know where Javier comes from and thinks they’re of the same breath and blood.

His face must show his irritation, because Reyes clears his throat and waves a hand. “Well, something of the sort. Are you fighting around here? We can provide plenty of backup, you know, to whatever endeavor you’re attempting.”

“I’m leaving,” Javier murmurs. He ignores Reyes’s startled look. “So, we cannot afford to stay long. If you need something, you should ask now.”

“...You’re leaving with a white man?”

“I know him. He’s not some stranger.”

“Maybe I was wrong about you,” Reyes sits up. The speed his expression and demeanor changes is chilling. “I thought we were kindred spirits.”

“I will not be a ‘kindred spirit’ to someone like you,” Javier says without thinking. His accent is slipping through and it makes Reyes’s face darken further. “Spitting words without backing them up. I’ve heard nothing about how your efforts have paid off.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“My name is known and yours isn’t.”

Reyes stands. Stalks around the table to come face to face with him. “I’m going to lead our people to freedom. You’re the one leaving our beloved country with some white man. Like a traitor.”

“I am no such thing,” Javier breathes back. His chest is prickling at the accusation. He wants to deny it, but there’s an unfortunate truth to it.

“You aren’t of my blood, are you? I remember hearing of your story before. The little peasant boy who couldn’t stand the heirarchy of the land. Can’t stand having others above you. I understand, truly! But that’s the unfortunate way of birth, isn’t it? That you can’t accept such a thing is quite remarkable. The people who’ve died have died for good reason.”

Javier’s jaw clenches. John has stopped pacing. He knows the wolfman has picked up on the change in tone. “...Blood is no different when it’s outside the body.”

“Is that a threat?” Reyes’s voice takes an almost delighted tone. “Are you threatening me, Escuella?”

“Are you worried?” He counters.

“I have to wonder how your little white friend has made it through our country untouched. Either he’s got power or money, which is it? Was he working for the Colonel, too?”

“None of your business,” Javier pushes the jabbed finger away. “Why are you so interested in him?”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Reyes tilts his head. “Didn’t you have a bounty on your head? You left the Colonel and upset him- a man with that power wouldn’t let someone like you out of his grasp so easily. Last I heard he put quite the prize for your capture.”

“It’s been cleared.”

“That easily?”

“Yes.”

“Did your white man lover clear it? So eager to submit to a man with money, are you? I can do just the same. Better, even. How much are you worth?”

Javier’s whole body bristles. He steps back before he can stop himself. It’s not the first time he’s heard an offer like that, but the tone makes his teeth hurt. He wants to put his fist between Reyes’s eyes and bury his knife in that untouched neck. “You-”

“Or are you only partial to the white men? Or the Americans? That’d be such a shame. I’m sure your body is a real delight.”

“You- you-” His voice is failing him. His back is at the tent flap now and Reyes steps further into his personal space. It irks him to realize the other man is taller just by a hint. “Get away from me,” he manages, in English, and Reyes’s face transforms into a sneer.

“I don’t think so-”

“I think so,” John snarls from behind him, an arm over his shoulder, revolver already cocked. The barrel is nearly pressed into Reyes’s forehead and forces the man to back up. Javier doesn’t have to look back to know the thunderous expression his partner has. “Back the fuck up.”

“Woah, now,” Reyes throws his hands up. He’s still too casual about the whole thing, smirking and raising his brows. “It’s rude to interrupt a conversation, amigo.”

“Well, it’s rude to not listen to someone, amigo,” John copies the word in a snarky tone. He moves until he’s a bit to the side to get a better look at the rebel leader. A hand briefly touches Javier’s lower back, reassuring, before it slides away. “Don’t think I ain’t know you two been arguing. You got a problem?”

The smile drops off Reyes’s face. “No problem with you, gringo. It’s none of your business.”

“It’s all of my business. Anyone who threatens Javier is a threat to me.”

“So sweet to you. He surely is your lover.”

“Shut up,” Javier mutters.

“What’s he sayin’?” John asks him quietly. He doesn’t answer, and it makes Reyes laugh, a high, cackling thing. “You know what? I actually don’t care. You’re a bastard no matter what.”

“I’m going to lead our people to a better future. You’re calling the future president a ‘bastard’?”

“Just ‘cause you got power don’t mean you’re free from opinions.”

“How poetic. He’s like a guard dog, eh, Escuella? What a scary face.”

John’s finger twitches on the trigger.

Javier pleads in his head that he doesn’t pull it. If he kills Reyes, they’re stuck in Mexico dealing with the fallout. The men outside will turn their guns on them and spray them with lead. They won’t make it fifty feet before becoming nothing but shrapnel and flesh. He clenches his teeth and hopes John won’t give in to the taunting.

“So, your freedom is bought and you escape like a coward,” Reyes continues. “I suppose there’s something to be said about that. Knowing when to quit. I wonder what kind of message that will send to the people?”

“You’re gonna spin it however you want, so it don’t matter,” John scowls.

Reyes laughs again. “Very true, amigo! You’re smarter than you look. Consider it my own curiosity. But you won’t answer, will you?”

“We’re leaving,” Javier tells John, stilted. He can’t pull his eyes from the rebel leader as John frowns in his peripheral. It feels like his feet are stuck in mud. Only when John’s fingers hook in his belt loop and tug him backward does he come unglued and twist around.

John keeps his eyes on both Reyes and his men as they go. His gun is holstered but he’s made it clear he’s not slow on the draw (Javier knows he’s not quite as fast as Arthur, as Dutch, even as Hosea sometimes, but he’s not average by any means. He can outdraw any of the others in the gang like it’s nothing). He mutters to himself as they approach the horses.

Boaz’s own head is turned towards Reyes, too, ears at alert. He wonders if the Paint has heard the quiet argument. If he was worried about his rider. He pats the neck in front of him and tries to calm his heartbeat.

“If you change your mind,” Reyes calls out, unbothered by the staring of his men, a swagger still in his step, “you let me know, muñeco! Just write! If you can, that is.”

Javier’s ears burn as Reyes bursts into laughter, his men snickering along. He hisses under his breath as John snarls back at them.

“What a bastard,” the wolfman growls. “Fuck’s sake. Was he comin’ on to you?”

“More or less,” he mumbles. The words still make his chest ache.

“I’ll cut his dick off,” his partner continues. “If he tries to follow us. I’ll stuff it down his goddamn throat.” He smacks his pommel, hard, reins clattering in his hands. Old Boy tosses his head in annoyance but snorts like he’s agreeing. “God, just the way he talks pisses me off.”

“If you kill him we cannot leave.”

John sighs and slumps backward. “I know. Fuck, I wish I could.”

You and me both.

Chapter Text

The San Luis stretches wide in front of them, glittering and blue against the striped rock around it. Javier surveys the shore and lets Boaz chew at a prickly bush as John curses behind them. Something about having scraped up against a cactus on the way here. His partner is still pulling needles out of his palms when Javier turns to address him.

“It’s getting late. Should we stop here for now?”

“I wanna get home soon,” John whines.

“Don’t pout, lobo, we’ll get there eventually.”

“Ugh, okay.”

Old Boy makes a funny grunt as John slides off his saddle. The other man casts the horse a baffled look. The Hungarian obviously doesn’t respond, so they get to setting up a small, temporary camp. A fire and a thrown together tent just for sleeping.

Javier’s picking open a flat tin of tuna when John finishes ensuring the saddles are loose enough to not hurt the horses. Dust whuffs up when the wolfman plops down next to him. He coughs and holds out the tin for the other man to look at, watching as John’s nose scrunches at the smell and the sight.

“You ain’t got anythin’ better?”

“No. You?”

“I’m too tired to hunt,” John whines. He slumps back and juts his chin out. His head tilts to stare at the darkening water thoughtfully. “You think we gotta cross? This ain’t exactly the most welcoming bit to trudge through.”

“We can follow the river north,” Javier explains. “And cross closer to the lake. It is the shorter route. And we might not find as many people that way.”

“Good.”

Quiet falls, and all Javier can hear for a while is the crackle of the fire and the distant hooting of an owl. The horses are cuddled up as the air gets cooler and John shuffles closer when a breeze cuts past the heat of the fire. He can’t complain, because John puts out heat like a bonfire and he’s also getting rather chilly.

John’s head drops to rest against his shoulder. He jolts a little but doesn’t pull away. “...You ain’t called me that in a while.”

“Hm?”

“That, uh- what’s it? That nickname.”

Javier blinks. “Lobo?”

“Yeah.”

There’s an embarrassed tone to John’s voice, like he’s flustered at just bringing it up. The same tone he’d had the first time Javier had ever called him that, when he’d explained what it means, when he’d laughed in the wolfman’s face at the pout that explanation had gotten. The same tone when he’d asked Javier what lobito meant, too, and hadn’t pouted but flushed a little in a pleased sort of way and then promptly went to bully Arthur to pretend he wasn’t happy about it.

Warmth blooms in Javier’s chest and he wordlessly hands the half empty tin over to the other man. “Well, we haven’t spoken since I left.”

“Tried to send letters. Couldn’t ever get my head ‘round them,” John mutters. “Didn’t really know where the hell to send ‘em, either. Doubted anyone would’a saved ‘em for you.”

“Likely not. Es un momento difícil. They would have used them against me or burnt them on sight. Letters make for good kindling.”

John snorts. His head moves a little. “...Abi’s gonna slap you silly.”

“I expect nothing less.”

The wolfman goes quiet again. Then, still carefully, he goes, “Um, are you mad at me?”

“What? Why would I be mad at you?”

“’Cause I showed up outta nowhere and made you come with me. And I almost shot that bastard.” He doesn’t sound particularly regretful about the second bit but the attempt at an apology is still decent. “You were doin’ somethin’ real important.”

“Eres un hombre ridículo. Estúpido.”

“Hey!”

Javier snickers. “I wouldn’t have come with you if I didn’t want to. It was wearing on my… my…?”

“Patience?”

“Nerves. The Colonel is not a pleasant man to be around. And I can only kill for so long.”

John hums. “That other guy wasn’t very nice, either.”

“Abraham Reyes,” he reminds him. “Leader of the rebels. The opposite side of the Colonel, in technicality, but not very good either. He preaches but he does not practice.” He presses his thumb to his mouth and sighs. Stares into the flames. “Talk to him long enough after gaining his trust and you will see his real feelings.”

“Right bastard, huh?”

“He wants to rule Mexico. Keep the ‘bad blood’ out of the running.”

“Yeesh.”

He makes a noise of agreement. He tucks the lid of the tin back into itself and sets it aside. Props his palms against the dirt and looks back into the fire again. The memory of Reyes is still swirling in his mind, but John’s own anger soothes the ache. His heart is pounding a little thinking about how quickly John had stepped in.

Said man wiggles around, kicking up dust until his legs are draped over Javier’s and his temple is planted against the shoulder instead. The position puts almost all of his weight into Javier’s body.

“You’re heavy.”

“I’m cold.”

“Perro gordo.”

“I ain’t sure what that means, but it don’t sound like a compliment.”

Javier rolls his eyes. “You are lying. Just tell me the truth. You can do that much, can’t you?”

“...I wanna go to sleep,” John huffs. “Faster we sleep, faster we’ll be awake to get back home.”

His reasoning is solid, Javier figures, so he shrugs and tries to tip the other man out of his lap. It’s unsuccessful, so he frowns and ponders the consequences of shoving him. Before he can come up with a solution John is off of his lap and stretching this way and that, face all scrunched up and joints popping.

“Hurry up,” the wolfman gripes, already in the tent by the time he’s blinked.

“Patience, patience.”

“I ain’t got any more of that!”

“I can tell,” Javier grumbles. He obediently lays down, though, and grunts when John wraps his arms around him tight. No patience at all.

Chapter Text

When they finally make it to the peninsula that’s across from the Great Plains, they manage to wrangle someone (using a good chunk of cash) to ferry them across the river so John doesn’t wind up having a panic attack, which he’s been on the verge of for the past few hours whenever Javier brought up crossing the river by themselves.

John is pink the entire ride over, clutching onto Old Boy’s bridle and staring at nothing. The man helping them asks Javier if everything is okay a few times. Javier spends a little extra time reassuring the other man before they can set off again.

“Just a little longer,” John sing-songs eagerly.

The wind feels fantastic against Javier’s face. It blows his sombrero off and tugs the strings around his neck. “Just a quick jog, yes?”

“Yup!”

His hackles still rise whenever they pass wagons and other riders but John just greets them casually. He nudges Boaz up closer to try and calm himself. Nerves start building as they get closer and closer to Beecher’s Hope.

“...What happened to the barn roof?”

John’s shoulders jump. The nape of his neck turns red as he stutters. “Uh- um, nothin’? Just a bit- y’know, sometimes you gotta update some things. Nothin’s wrong.”

Javier’s not stupid. He lets the silence stretch as he squints at John’s back. The wolfman’s reins snap between his fingers in quick movements and he refuses to look back. He rolls his eyes and drops it as they cross into the threshold of the farm’s fencing. He can already note a few posts falling to pieces; there’s clear upkeep that John hasn’t been able to maintain.

He’s already thinking about how much wood it would use by the time they dismount and start undoing Boaz and Old Boy’s tack.

“Lets just throw ‘em over this post,” John tells him.

Javier thinks his saddle is way too dusty. The stitching is faded with the constant sun exposure; he runs his fingers across the tight flowers and edges and wonders if it’s worth the money to redo some of the fraying. “Quizás demasiado en este momento.”

“Huh?” John pops up onto the porch. His steps must be loud enough because Javier can hear a bit of clattering inside. Then, Abigail’s voice greets them.

“I ain’t takin’ any sales!”

“She ain’t recognize my walk,” John whines. He props his hands on his hips and frowns. “But I’ve got a great deal for ya!” He calls out in return to her.

The clattering stops, then there’s a sudden jumble, and Javier can imagine Abigail running to the door. Sure enough, just a moment later, it’s swung open and her face appears, wide-eyed and hopeful. The sight makes his stomach do flips and he jumps a little when she starts speaking loud again.

“John?! Why on earth are you back already?”

“Woman, take a breath!”

“Don’t take that tone with me!”

The bickering is so nostalgic that it chokes Javier up. All he can do is stare as the two go back and forth for a few minutes before Abigail finally huffs and straightens up. She crosses her arms, gives John her classic glare, then glances over the wolfman’s shoulder.

Javier sweeps his sombrero off his head, nervous, as they make eye contact. Fiddles with the straw edge, turning it over and over in his hands. He’s sure he looks awkward as anything. Sticking out like a sore thumb. He wets his lips and presses them into a thin line. Tries for a smile.

Abigail shoves past John (who gives no protest) and makes her way down the steps, then stops. Stares at him for a long moment. Starts again and only stops when she’s right in front of him.

He’s forgotten how similar in height they are. He knows they’ve teased John about it, insinuating the wolfman has some sort of ‘type’, but beyond that he’s never really thought about it. It does mean he has to look her right in the eyes though.

“You’re really back,” she breathes. Her eyes are darting across his face like she’s trying to memorize it. Like she’s looking at a ghost. One of her hands come up to hover near his face, a bit shaky, as she murmurs, “I thought it would take more to convince you…”

“Not really,” he admits.

“Good.”

A sharp crack rings through his ears. He blinks, once, twice, and has to shake his head to get his eyes to stop spinning. His fingers touch his stinging cheek and he winces automatically. John cringes in sympathy. He works his jaw back and forth as he tries to come up with something to say. He’s on the verge of either laughing or crying.

It turns into actual tears when Abigail immediately wraps him into a tight hug. Her own hands burrow into his clothes and grip tight, her face pressed into his shoulder. She tugs his own head into the crook of her neck and shushes him when he tries- and fails- to speak. The sombrero hits the dust as he hugs back, trying not to squeeze too tight but he wants to hold her until they’re stuck together forever. It’s not the same as hugging John and while he knows that would make the other man jealous, he would understand, because of course he would.

“Lo siento, lo siento,” he croaks out. He tries to disentangle himself but she just hugs him tighter. “Ah, I don’t- No sé qué me pasa.”

Abigail doesn’t know what he’s saying, but she shushes him again all the same. “It’s okay. It’s fine.” She sounds like she’s crying, too, and it just makes him cry harder.

John, to his credit, doesn’t interrupt. He just drapes his arms over the porch railing and watches them be absolute messes. “Where’s Jack?” he asks when Abigail looks over to him.

“Fishing with Hosea.”

Javier rubs at his face. The tears have made his skin all sticky.

“I’m so glad you’re unharmed,” Abigail sighs. She pats Javier’s arm and frowns when he averts his eyes. “What? You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“Er, no.”

“He’s not,” John confirms. Then, in an all too cheerful voice, he adds, “I am, though! He stabbed me!”

“What?! John?!”

“Well, it was my fault. I kinda snuck up on him.”

“You are a fool, John Marston! He’s had worse, Javier, don’t listen to his whinin’.”

Javier just lets out a weak laugh. “I know.”

Chapter Text

The inside of the house is nearly exactly the same as what Javier remembers, though there’s a few more pieces of furniture and pelts along the wall. He worries at the edge of his sombrero again, trying not to feel like he’s out of place even though Abigail had insisted he didn’t need to be invited in because he helped build the damn thing, of course he can come and go, it’s his house, too.

It’s his house, too. What a funny thing to think about. He does remember helping John scope out the area, pick the wood, put it together. Surreal, to see it now after being away for so long, and to realize it feels a bit strange.

Speaking of John, he’s rattling around in the kitchen, scrounging for something to snack on. He quickly aborts that line of thought when Abigail yells at him to get them both something cleaner to wear instead.

Javier stands there, awkward.

Abigail takes his sombrero, gentle, hangs it next to John’s hat. Then she helps him start to remove his dusty jacket and his gun belt. He feels lighter already as he shucks off his boots.

“I got the bath started,” John announces proudly. Like a dog waiting for praise.

“Good job,” she tells him, distracted.

“Can I get in?”

“No, he goes first.”

The other man pouts but doesn’t argue. He disappears back into the bathroom and comes back out, looping his hands behind his back and watching Abigail peel Javier’s layers off. “You gonna strip him in the hall or what?”

Javier is sure he goes bright red.

“Jack’s not here,” she reminds the wolfman, who’s grinning like his namesake. “And it ain’t nothin’ we haven’t seen before. If you’re so insistent then we can move to the bathroom.” She shoos Javier into the room while John whines at his bluff being called. “Go make yourself useful by changin’ the sheets.”

“Fine, fine.”

“If you want me to step out, I will,” Abigail murmurs. She’s working at his shirt buttons now, one after another, focused. “I’m sure he’s been pesterin’ you all the way here.”

“No, I…”

He trails off as she briefly abandons her task to double check the bathwater. He tugs his shirt off his shoulders and winces at the way it pulls his shoulder. His hand brushes down his chest, then his stomach, and he does his best to not look to the side where a full length mirror is sitting. His skin prickles.

“Should be hot enough.”

“Alright,” he mumbles. Takes the opportunity of her bringing out some soaps to strip the rest of the way and rests his hands on the edge of the porcelain tub. After a moment of hesitation, he hauls himself into the hot water and gives an appreciative groan. His face heats up at the muffled giggle from across the room.

He thinks that maybe it’s a bit childish to like the bubbles that are covering his view into the water. Then again, he’s not the one who made the bath; John has always liked silly things like this no matter how hard he tries to deny it.

Abigail’s voice comes from behind him. “Not too hot?”

“No.”

“Good.”

She doesn’t touch him yet and he’s not sure whether he’s grateful or upset. When her fingers do brush his shoulder, he jumps.

“Sorry,” he blurts automatically.

“For what?” She’s rolling up her sleeves up and pinning them in place, then repeating the action with her hair, spinning it into a bun and running her hand down to smooth the loose strands. He hadn’t even noticed it was down. He presses his lips in a thin line and tries not to stare at her bare neck. He feels like an antsy teenager. Needs to control himself. “Your hair needs a wash.”

“Or two.”

“Or two,” she agrees. She disappears behind him as she speaks. “You both need a long bath. And you probably ain’t had a moment away from him since he found you.”

Well, that’s true.

“I’m gonna wash your hair, okay?”

He debates saying no. But he’s tired and heavy and having someone else take care of him- especially Abigail- sounds very nice right now despite how utterly nervous it makes him. There’s a thread in his gut that tells him it’s a terrible idea, that she could put a knife through his neck, that he shouldn’t loosen up just because he’s off the battlefield. But he knows that she would never. Why would she?

Women can be scary, though, if his mother was any indication, but he can’t really compare the two. Besides, he seems to have the Saint on his side. He’s still not sure why.

Abigail is waiting patiently while he spirals.

“Está bien. Er, yes. Sure.”

The touches start real gentle, but by the time she’s putting soap into his hair she’s being a little more firm and focused, making sure to get every bit covered. Shivers run up his spine every time her nails scratch across his scalp. Each passover of her hands gets more and more dirt and grime off of his hair and he feels massively better by the time she’s washed out and reapplied more soap.

“Going to use it all up,” he mutters.

She ignores him and gets back to work. “Did you cut it yourself?”

He blushes. “...Maybe?”

“We can trim the edges and make it even. And then you can grow it back out if you’d like.”

If you’d like.

“Alright.”

His hair is finished and then she’s on to scrubbing at the bits of skin she can reach. His shoulders, his upper back, and his arms. When she moves on to his face she’s extra gentle with a washcloth. Methodically gets every spot she can reach. In the same breath that it makes him feel like a child, it’s comforting. He can rest easy being taken care of.

The water is an ugly muddy color by the time she’s done. All the weight has been washed from his shoulders and into the fading bubbles, into the steam that’s starting to dissipate.

“You look much better,” Abigail remarks approvingly. She doesn’t give him the option to towel himself off; she does it in record time and then spends a little extra time rubbing warmth into his goosebump covered skin.

“Thank you,” he tells her honestly as he buttons up the fresh shirt.

“You’re welcome,” she responds, already setting the water up for John. But instead of sticking around, she puts a hand on the small of his back and urges him into the bedroom, where John is sitting on the floor for some reason. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Waitin’. Didn’t wanna mess up the sheets.”

“Well, the bath’s all ready for you.”

“With you?” John asks way too hopefully. Big brown eyes up at her. When she just props her hands on her hips, he huffs and springs to his feet, pouting. “He gets the special treatment, huh?”

“Stop complainin’ and go get clean.”

“Is- is that alright?” Javier stares after John’s back. He doesn’t protest as she tugs the covers back and motions for him to sit. There’s worn carpet under his feet. His toes dig into the wooly strands. “To leave him by himself,” he clarifies.

“Oh, he’s a grown man.”

“Still-”

“Javier, I’ve had to see his sorry excuse for a face since we met. I ain’t seen yours for five years. I think I’m due a bit of a change for a moment.”

His jaw drops open. “Five- five-”

“Five.”

His back meets the bed with a soft whump and he stares up into the ceiling. Shock makes his hands shake and his head spin- he clenches his teeth but the feeling doesn’t fade right away. It’s a sure explanation as any as to why they’d come for him. Why John had been so happy to see him that he hadn’t even minded being stabbed. It explains why he’s so unused to the proximity now. Five years had flown by in the blink of an eye and he hadn’t even realized.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he manages.

The bed dips with her weight. Her fingers brush the uneven hair out of his eyes, but she stays silent. A forlorn sort of thing. Real quiet even as he looks up at her. “I missed you,” she utters soft.

“I… I missed you, too, mi alma.”

Chapter Text

Sleep doesn’t come as easy as he hopes. He’s awake as John snores and Abigail breathes softly behind him. As he shifts this way and that and tries to get comfortable under the sheets for long enough to actually close his eyes and try and rest. It doesn’t work.

Eventually, he calls it quits and eases upright, then sets his feet on the floor. The wood doesn’t creak as he steps across it towards the door and then down the hall. His feet carry him out the front door and onto the steps of the porch. And then he stops, because he’s unsure on what exactly he’s trying to do.

He doesn’t want to leave. But he can’t sit still. The air here is different than Mexico’s and he can’t quite put his finger on why. He felt this way as a child, a teen, an adult, when he’d run here to escape his stupid decisions.

Out of place. Out of his comfort zone.

He sits on the steps and leans against the railing. Crosses his arms over his knees and tucks his chin into them. It’s quiet. If he closes his eyes and listens, he can hear coyotes and owls and the occassional grunt of bison, far in the distance. Everything else is asleep and tucked away, just like how Javier should be.

The air is chilly through his thicker sleeping clothes. Goosebumps cover his exposed skin but he doesn’t bother rubbing them away.

It feels like he’s about to cry. His chest aches. He wonders if he should go back. Tack Boaz back up and rush back over the border to assist his fellow countrymen and ensure their lives are saved. His stomach curls and his gut churns- guilt, building up in his body in a way that’s acidic and thick and gross. He knows he can’t go back, not really, but he’s still uncertain about the ease at which he’s come back to Beecher’s Hope.

Why did I leave so easily? He thinks, blearily, the tears burning the corners of his eyes. Reyes was right. I’m a traitor, leaving when I said I’d stay and help.

The memory of the man makes him grit his teeth. What an awful, hideous conversation. He’s always known how the wealthier of his country views those of his status, but to hear it so bluntly in such a crude way is like a slap to the face. It’s a reminder of why his own family was torn apart and why he left.

He digs his nails into his biceps and buries his face into his arms. Sobs silently as he tries not to freeze in the night air. He knows Jack is going to be back soon, and with him Hosea, and he hopes, so desperately, that the older man will have an idea on how he can still help his people without suffering for it. And he hopes that the boy won’t be upset at him for leaving in the first place. The memory of that small, crying face just makes him feel worse.

Chapter Text

“You didn’t sleep much last night, huh?”

“Hm?” Javier glances up from where he’s bundling some sticks together. John repeats himself and waits with his own armful of sticks. “No, not really.”

“Too cold or somethin’?”

“No, just thinking.”

John makes a small noise. He takes the rest of the sticks from Javier and turns on his heel before any protests can be made. They’re all dumped with the rest they’ve gathered from the land before John spins back around to keep talking. “Are you okay?”

It’s an awkward question and honestly sounds hilarious coming from the wolfman’s mouth. He’s trying, which is cute, but Javier laughing is not the answer he wanted. “I will be,” he manages between giggles as John pouts. “I just got back, lobo, you have to give me, uh, time. Just some time.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Is Jack coming back today?”

John takes the slight conversation change hook, line, and sinker. “Yeah, should be headin’ back. Hosea didn’t wanna take him for more than a couple of weeks.”

“...Long enough for you to find me.”

“Yup.”

None of the sticks are big enough to replace any of the fence posts, so they reluctantly agree that they should splurge the money on some good lumber in town. Wood, nails, and some tools to make sure that the fixes were quality and lasting.

“Maybe we should wait ‘til Arthur comes ‘round,” John muses. “Get this all done a hell of a lot quicker with an extra body.”

“Will Abigail be pleased if we wait that long?”

“Ugh, prob’ly not. Jack might be ‘nough, anyway.”

“Fish does sound good,” Javier murmurs.

“What?”

“Er, fish. I haven’t had it in a while. Suena delicioso. I hope they bring some back.”

“You do need more meat on you,” John remarks, kicking dirt in his direction. He sticks his tongue out and stands up, flushing a little. “Ain’t ate much on the way back. Abi’s been getting’ better at cookin’ somehow.”

“’Somehow’?”

“Beats the hell outta me how it works.”

John keeps yammering as they head back to the house. This and that and everything in between, still catching him up with what’s all happened since he’d left. Both his partners had been doing so since they’d all woken up and while he appreciates it, it’s a hell of a lot of information, from what the others have been writing to what the law has been doing.

Did he really seem that thin? He’s been avoiding the mirrors out of instinct, but he thinks he might have to look just to see how bad it is.

He feels a bit sick.

Boaz is standing in front of the porch, staring at them. Javier can almost imagine the indignant expression as the Paint tosses his head and cranes his neck as he reaches out to pet his forehead.

“Shh, Boaz, what are you doing?”

The horse whuffs in his face.

“Easy. I am okay. You’re worried, aren’t you?” He scratches Boaz’s ears and makes kissy noises. He grunts when the Paint shoves its head into his chest. “I’ll spend more time with you when I’m settled down, I promise.”

“You hear about Sean’s whole thing?”

“Hm? No. Is he alright?”

“Yeah, but he’s been talkin’ crazy,” John skips from the ground straight to the porch, nearly tripping, catching himself on the railing. “About some ‘different world’ or whatever. Thought he was makin’ a story up until he started rattling on about different versions of us. All this shit that would be way too hard to just think up, even for him.”

“Really…”

“Yeah! I wonder if his brains got scrambled when he got shot.”

“I would not be surprised.”

“I wonder how Arthur can put up with it,” John continues, sounding remarkably doubtful. The railing creaks as he leans back against it. Javier can see the hard line of his brows. “I mean, he ain’t even from… from ‘this world’? What’s that even mean? He ain’t the same Sean anymore? I couldn’t tell any difference, though.”

Javier hums.

“I don’t know how Arthur stands that. He ain’t the same guy Arthur started out with. Doesn’t that bug him?”

“He’s still Sean,” Javier says automatically, because it’s true, though he’s still a little surprised at himself. He’d never gotten any unnerving feelings about Sean. Nothing that would make him side eye the man or be worried about his intentions. “I’m sure he told Arthur everything. We know he’s not good at keeping secrets.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Would you stop loving me if I told you those things?”

The question takes John off guard the way it was supposed to. Pink and stuttering, he falters and pauses to think. Javier lets him. He takes the time to lead Boaz back to where Old Boy is ambling around and gives him a final pat.

“Well?” he asks gently.

“...No, prob’ly not,” John responds sulkingly.

“We both know how Arthur is. He’s too stubborn to let Sean go over something like that. Insignificante. It’s still Sean, so he still loves him, sí​?”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause as they go inside, then John adds, “He’s prob’ly got some real talk, then, huh?”

Javier laughs. “You want gossip?”

“Hell, why not?”

He just laughs again. Abigail is puttering around the kitchen, stirring something, setting other things aside. She takes Javier’s help with ease- a good alternative to the touchy affection they used to share, as it eases the guilt that rears its head- and scolds John when the man tries to dodge past the door.

The peace is only broken by John cheerfully announcing, “Hosea’s here!” And then tacks on, “Jack, too, and he’s got a good haul, looks like!”

Javier sets a plate onto the kitchen table and tries not to shake out of his own skin.

Chapter Text

Abigail doesn’t let Javier escape. He should have figured that would happen, really, but it doesn’t stop him from struggling against the doorframe. She’s putting up a really good fight

“Be a man,” she hisses.

“I think I’m okay!”

“Javier,” her hands plant firmly against his lower back. The pressure eases up just a bit, and he thinks that he’s safe, so he relaxes a little. “You can’t avoid Jack forever. Rip the stitches out now.” And then she shoves him straight through the front door.

He nearly faceplants into the wooden boards of the porch. His only relief is that John and Jack are so deep into conversation that they haven’t noticed his embarrassment. The boy’s hands are flailing as he describes some story. Hosea is the first to notice him while he’s catching his breath.

The old man slips past the other two and greets Javier with a small smile. “It’s good to see you alive.”

“You- uh, you, too.”

It only takes a bit of coaxing for Javier to allow him a hug. Not as bony as it used to be, but still just as warm and careful as he remembers. It’s easy to allow himself to slump a little into the hold. Hosea comments a little on his hair, teasing. He’s calmed down until he realizes the other two have gotten silent and Jack is staring at him with wide eyes.

His heart is in his throat as John pats Jack on the shoulder and nudges him up the steps. He’s just… so tall now. Tall and less wobbly and he looks so nervous. Javier feels nervous.

“Well,” Hosea speaks up before the silence can stretch too long. “John, son, how about you and I bring the catch in? I’m sure Abigail would love to see what we’ve got.”

“Sure.”

Traitor.

“He don’t hate you,” his partner murmurs in passing.

I know that.

He hopes Jack can’t hear the the way his heart is pounding. It makes it hard to hear. After another pause, he clears his throat, awkward, to both rid the sound and to get himself into gear. The boy fumbles a bit, unsure, and ducks his head when they make eye contact.

“It- it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he manages.

“Uh-huh.”

Santa Maria, he even sounds older. “Did you… have fun fishing?”

Jack nods.

Javier rubs at his arms, trying to think. The kid has more solid interests now and Javier doesn’t know a single one. It was easier when he was smaller, when they could just nod and smile, entertaining whatever odd thing was the focus of the day. Clearly he still likes fishing.

“Are you staying?” Jack asks, weak and small.

He blinks. “I plan to.”

Relief seems to break the tension just a bit. He clears his throat again and opens the door instead of trying to push it further. It’s easy to fall silent again as they settle down to eat. This is his role: stay quiet and listen, provide entertainment. He can do this. He’s done it since coming across the border. Stay quiet and listen-

“-Cause Javi has been talkin’ about wantin’ fish,” John’s voice cuts through.

“Well, hopefully it lives up to his expectations,” Abigail passes Hosea a plate of said fish, smiling at his thanks. “Does it?”

“...yes?” Javier has to chew quickly to get a solid answer out.

“All Jack’s work,” Hosea chimes in. The boy blushes at the compliment. “He’s going to give me a run for my money! I won’t have to fish a day in my life again.”

“Like you won’t do it anyway,” John snorts.

It’s hard not to choke whenever they keep putting him in the conversation. Partially because he’s really just trying to eat but also because he really isn’t expecting it (though he really should have. How else had he gotten into this relationship in the first place? Those two are scary in their persistence).

Hosea stays to help clean, much to Abigail’s exasperation. They chat as John heads outside to make sure their horses are okay. Javier is sure Boaz is enjoying the extra company.

Awkwardly, he sits on the couch and glances over to where Jack is reading. Some fantasy novel that no doubt Mary-Beth recommended. It’s lengthy and has a fancy cover. Javier picks at the couch arm and twists his mouth. Say something. Literally anything. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Jack speaks up.

“Um… is Mexico... Nice?”

“Ah. The environment is very beautiful.”

“Really…”

“Yes. I would have taken you all with me, but… the situation is not very good. Too dangerous.”

“Maybe later?” The hopeful tone in Jack’s voice makes him pause.

“Maybe later,” he agrees.

Another hug is given before Hosea leaves, with an extra pat on the shoulder and amused smile at his tired expression. More promises to take Jack out fishing (“and other things, too! I don’t wanna just fish!”) and to drag John along with them. Insistence to come visit them instead of making Hosea travel all this way instead.

“It’s hard on my bones!”

“Your bones are fine, you old liar.”

“’Us’?” Javier murmurs.

“Dutch and I,” Hosea clarifies. “And Colm, of course.”

“And- What?!”

“You still have that bastard?” John huffs and puffs. Stomps out onto the porch. “Why ain’t you killed him yet?”

“John,” Abigail scolds.

“What? It ain’t like Jack don’t know how bad he is. Come on, Abi, you gotta admit it’s stupid.”

“It’s Dutch’s decision. I’m not sure I ever know what’s going on in his head. It takes the workload off of our sore backs at the very least.”

“So, what? He’s some sort of servant now?”

Hosea just purses his lips and sighs. “I’m glad you’re back, Javier. Give us a holler if you lot need anything. John, control your temper, would you please?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said man mutters, shoving past back into the house. His footsteps recede quickly. Abigail frowns after him and Jack fidgets with his hands. Javier’s head turns slowly back to the older man; Hosea is staring after John with a quirked brow and his hands on his hips.

Javier can think of multiple reasons why Dutch would have kept Colm around. Without his dominant hand, O’Driscoll isn’t nearly as scary as he used to be. No longer as good of a shot and isolated from his gang. He wonders if Colm has lingering fears of dying and is reluctantly sticking it out (he can’t say whether he’d act the same. It sounds like a real wishy-washy situation). With a shake of his head, he crosses his arms and leans back against the wall of the house, trying to keep himself from getting lost in his head.

A little later, when John has started to cool down but still gets scolded by Abigail, Javier finds himself sitting next to Jack again. They listen to the bickering for a little.

“You’re stayin’, right?” Jack asks shyly. When he nods, the boy hesitates. “Can… can I still call you Javi?”

He smiles despite himself. “Of course, lobito.”

Jack smiles back.

Chapter Text

It’s hard to get ready to sleep when John is continously trying to touch him. Hands, body, mouth- he can’t keep to himself. Javier has both missed it and is startled by how insistent it is. He has to forcefully shove the other man away to finish getting changed and finally laid down.

He doesn’t get very much time by himself because John’s already in his sleeping clothes and cuddling up again. An arm slung over his chest and a chin tucked against his shoulder. Their sides pressed up close.

It’s warm. Even if he can feel every breath from John’s mouth fanning over his skin.

“You stink.”

“Nuh-uh.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Hey, can I kiss you?” John asks in a shy tone (the same tone he’s always gotten asking questions like that. Straight-faced for the lewd things, fidgety for the innocent). Javier has to at least give him praise for asking first. Makes him wait a moment just to see him falter.

“Sure.”

The word is barely out before John is sitting up and planting their lips together. He grunts and winces when his partner puts most of his weight on his chest and smushes the kiss into something halfway gross and sloppy. Eager, if anything else.

“What,” he wheezes, a hand against John’s forehead to keep him at least an inch away, “is wrong with you, lobo? I need to breath.”

“I missed you!”

“And I, you, but you’re suffocating me! ¡Por Dios! You’re going to get scolded again.”

“Worth it,” John mumbles against his mouth. He’s not too handsy at the moment, thankfully, so Javier lets him kiss again and again until they both have to take a breather. Then he’s kissing again, wiggling until he’s nearly fully laying on top of Javier. Warm and heavy.

“Are you tryin’ to suffocate him?”

“I forgot what he tastes like.”

Abigail swats him, hard, with the blanket she’s carrying. She ignores their smooching in favor of getting changed as well, and Javier finds his eyes following her. John must notice, because he pulls away in favor of peppering the rest of Javier’s face with smaller kisses, humming to himself. She pulls a nightgown over her head and tugs her hair out of the bun it’s been in all day. Brown hair is swept over her shoulder and she looks a bit startled when she turns and sees them both watching.

“Gettin’ comfortable?” She asks.

“Little bit,” John sighs and tucks his face into the crook of Javier’s neck. His arms are firmly locking Javier in place. “He’s kinda chilly.”

“Lo siento.”

“He’s just complainin’ for no reason,” she shakes her head as she clambers in next to them. The bed creaks in protest at their combined weight. Her fingers run over his forehead, brushing the uneven locks out of his eyes and studying his face thoughtfully. “You are a little cold. You feelin’ alright?”

“Yes?”

Her nod is slow as she looks him over. Strokes his forehead like he’s an animal getting used to civilization. He doesn’t argue as she also lays close (her skin is softer than Johns, but still worn all the same, but it doesn’t make her any less beautiful).

John’s already out cold, eyes shut and breath evened out. His grip has relaxed but Javier doubts he’ll be able to get out without some convincing.

Abigail nuzzles up close, pauses, then rests her hand on his stomach. Her care is both cute and sweet. When she leans in, her nose rests just right next to his. The crook in his bridge makes it a smidge awkward but not enough to be bothersome.

He thinks for a moment that his breath is going to bother her. Nobody moves, though.

He’s going to squish me. How do I sleep like this? He pats John’s back and the other man mumbles something in his sleep but just shifts to get more comfortable. Lost cause. Might as well consider myself part of the bed now. A very comfy bed. He might be all stiff in the morning.

Javier can’t hear Jack from here, but he knows he’s in the other room. Safe, with Rufus (a golden dog that had nearly bowled him over) at the foot of his own bed. There’s nothing to keep himself up about. Nothing to worry about. Except maybe the half-destroyed roof of the barn, which John still hasn’t told him the reason for.

Chapter Text

The sun beats down hot and makes the wood burn under their hands. Just another thing to add alongside the splinters and the nails pricking their palms as they move the boards and settle them in place, ensuring they’re as even as possible before going about hammering them down permanently.

Javier adjusts his hold on the hammer and ignores the way his skin stings. He’s cursing his shorter hair. It sticks to his forehead and gets in his eyes and won’t stay back no matter how much he tugs it out of the way. He wishes he hadn’t been so hasty to cut it off; it would be far more convenient to tie back instead.

He can hear Jack on the ground below, talking to the horses between mouthfuls of food. Ever since his confirmation about staying the boy has barely left his side. Follows him like the nickname Javier’s given him.

Distantly, he can also hear John having a conversation with Abigail. It sounds like he’s whining. Either he’s hungry or he’s too sweaty. Javier’s teetering on the edge of both.

The hole in the barn is damn near impressive. John still won’t tell him what the hell happened and Javier’s beginning to think he blew the building up with spare dynamite or something. But he’s not sure why any of them would still have such a thing.

I’m thinking too much.

When he ends up on the ground, Jack offers him half a sandwich. Turkey and cheese on plain bread. It’s good.

“I want a beer,” John whines. He slouches when Javier just laughs at him. Sinks into a crouch and buries his head in his hands. The look on Jack’s face is hilarious (he’s been utterly appalled about his father’s behavior since Javier has come back and utterly grossed out by the displays of affection). “An ice cold beer and a big slab of meat…”

“The wolves have given you cravings.”

“Just one sip of beer.”

“Abi won’t let you?” Javier hums. “She’s cooking. I can smell it.”

“She wants to wait til dinner.”

“Reasonable.”

“I’ll die!”

Jack rolls his eyes and finishes off his sandwich half. The pointed look he gives Javier makes the man finish off his own bit and grin when John glares at his treachery.

“Come on, lobo, we’ve got a good amount left to go.”

“That’s what I’m worried ‘bout.”

But John clambers up the ladder after him, sighing as he shifts the boards around to the gaping hole. He mutters his thanks as Jack hands them more nails and the hammer that was left on the ground. It’s too hot for the boy to join them at the moment; out of all of them, he was the one that they didn’t want to get heatstroke. Instead, he could take care of the horses and make sure they don’t run out of supplies.

In between the silences, they curse at the heat and at slamming their fingers and nearly slipping straight through the hole into the hay covered floor below.

“Maybe we shoulda waited for Arthur,” John wheezes.

“We’ve got a good start. No está mal. We’ll get it done in no time.”

“I’m gonna die. I ain’t done this much work since I was a kid.”

“Good thing you got practice, then, huh?”

“You’re a bastard.”

“I’m gonna tell Ma you said that,” Jack pipes up from the top of the ladder.

John yips in horror. “Don’t! This’s a special, uh, circumstance! Course I’m gonna be cursin’ when it’s hotter’n a hellpit in summer.”

Javier laughs, soft. Hammers in a final nail and stands, stretching, wincing as his legs protest. “I reckon we can call it, then, eh? I’m getting too tired, too.”

“Okay.”

“What, it’s fine when he says it but not me?!”

Jack ignores him in favor of scrambling down the ladder. Javier follows as John huffs and puffs behind him, close on his heels. His partner’s angry face is cute; it’s all pinched and scowly. As soon as they hit the ground, John snags Jack, looping an arm loosely around his neck and rubbing his knuckles into the boy’s head. Javier takes the opportunity to start jogging for the house to avoid getting caught into the scuffle.

“Are they- oh, those idiots,” Abigail sighs. She greets Javier with a kiss on the cheek. The sweat doesn’t seem to bother her, though she makes them all wash off before they can sit.

“Beer?” John asks in a stupidly hopeful tone.

“Are you asking?”

“Uh, asking. Can I have a beer, sweetheart?”

An eyeroll accompanies the delivered drink. Jack makes a fake gagging face and flushes with a grin as Javier chokes back laughter. It only results in Abigail scolding them both. But she’s also fighting back laughter so it doesn’t do much.

Chapter Text

Javier is in the middle of scrubbing a blood stain out of the floor when there’s a knock at the door behind him. It takes him a moment to snap out of his focus to scramble to his feet to answer it. He almost slips straight into the doorframe as he wrenches it open, sponge dripping in his wake.

“Ah!”

Arthur’s eyes immediately move from Javier’s face to the mess behind him. The corners crinkle in amusement.

“Hola,” Javier blurts. “Been a long time, eh?”

“Sure,” the bigger man responds easily. “Good t’ see you back.”

“Good to be back. Just you?”

“Naw. Sean’s unhookin’ the horses. He’ll be comin’ up in a moment.”

Javier lets Arthur in and flushes as the other man grins down at the bloody spot, rubbing his chin. A thick leather boot nudges at the bucket next to it. Soapy water sloshes inside and Javier hisses and tries to shoo him away before it spills.

“Abigail know you got her floor all messed up?”

“Ah, pendejo! She won’t have to if I get it clean!”

“Ain’t gonna get it clean like that. ‘S prob’ly already stained.” Arthur laughs at the curses that spill from his lips. “Might as well take the hit, Javier, I’m sure she’d forgive you.”

“That’s what you think!” He shuddered, trying not to think of what Abigail would say at the sight. But Arthur is right- his sponge is doing nothing to the deep red under it. He scrubs some more as Arthur goes about setting his gifts in all the right places. Food in the kitchen, books on the coffee table. “What did you bring?”

“Oh, this’n that. Mostly some stuff fer Jack.”

Sounds about right.

“Woulda brought you somethin’ if we knew you was here. When’d you get back?”

“Oh, no need. Er, almost a month ago, I think. I haven’t been counting.”

“Hell, that’s a good bit!”

He hums and leans back onto his heels. Dunks the sponge back into the bucket and hauls himself off the floor. The water gets thrown outside and he plops everything else to the side in the kitchen. Arthur is whistling to himself in the next room over as he washes his hands and then dries them off.

“You didn’t see John on the barn roof?” He asks.

“Oh, issat where he is? What’d he do to it?”

“Won’t tell me.”

“Typical. Must’ve been somethin’ goddamn embarrassin’ then.”

“Yes, I think so, too. Abi is in town with Jack. I think they’ll be home soon.”

Arthur makes an absent noise and tilts his head this way and that, like he’s rolling some thought around in his head. Javier doesn’t blame him; they haven’t seen each other in long enough that it must be hard to figure out what to say at all. The man has never been one to mince words, though he holds at least some care for those around him.

Javier debates putting a rug over the stain. It doesn’t recede under his glare. No doubt Abigail would ask what the hell he was doing redecorating, pull the rug bag, and see the mess anyway.

Agh, what a pain.

“Any ideas?” he asks Arthur. The bigger man shrugs. “Perhaps I will blame John for it.”

That makes Arthur laugh. “She might almost believe that.”

“I ain’t that cruel.”

“Uh-huh,” comes the doubtful reply. Memories of Javier blaming the others- mostly John or Sean- for his slight mistakes are easy to remember, and they share a small, knowing grin. Arthur props his foot on the bottom rung of a chair and watches as Javier putters around. It’s a similarily intense gaze to John’s, if not a bit more mellowed out, just watching instead of waiting.

“¿Tienes algo que decir?”

“Heh? Ah, uh-”

Javier lets him try and place the words. It’s fun, to poke at his English speaking brothers, to make them have to actually use their brains (the girls seem to be much better at it). That, and Arthur has always been smarter than he himself thinks.

“Uh, just glad yer back, I guess,” Arthur rubs at his neck. “John’s been in a real funk since you left back then.”

Back then.

“Lookin’ worse for wear.”

“I feel it,” he admits, soft. The comment makes the bigger man fall silent. Stays silent as he pours out some coffee and takes a whiff to make sure it isn’t soured. Cold, unfortunately, but he’ll deal. “I’m surprised Abi has not sat me down yet.”

“Treadin’ carefully.”

“Feels odd.”

“I ain’t so nice,” Arthur grins. “But I ain’t gonna do anythin’ now. You need anythin’, you let us know. Sean’n I’ve seen some crazy shit while out there. We could get you in on somethin’ if you wanted.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

The coffee doesn’t go down so easily but he drinks it all the same. Arthur waves off an offer of a cup for himself and doesn’t seem up to speak anymore. They’re both just waiting for the others to come back around. This heavy feeling of sorrow and exhaustion still weighs on Arthur’s shoulders; it’s dreary and has Javier thinking about all the wrong things. He should be trying to lighten the load. He thought Sean would be able to rid his partner of it completely (but Sean doesn’t have Sight the same way he does. Perhaps he expected too much too soon).

Just as he’s thinking about him, Sean bursts through the door and freezes. Javier wishes that he hadn’t created such a mess right in front of the damn door.

“It was an accident,” he clears his throat awkwardly.

The Irishman relaxes immediately. Waits for Rufus to come in before closing the door behind him. The eyepatch that’s slung over his face is a new one but no less carefully made. In a light tone, he remarks, “Ye just got back an’ yer makin’ a right mess o’ things, eh?”

“Sean,” Arthur sighs.

But Javier finds himself smiling. “Sí. Bad karma for leaving so long, maybe.”

“Least it’s just a stain,” Sean muses. His own shoes scuff over the mark thoughtfully. “Could’a been somethin’ worse.” His eye flicks around before landing back on Javier. “Where’s th’ rest o’ ye?”

“Out.”

“Yeesh. I’d’ve ‘xpected them to handcuff ‘em to ya!”

“Me, too.”

“Hey, ye got any food?”

“At least have the decency to wait, Sean!” Arthur grabs the redhead by the collar and hauls him onto the sofa. The younger man has enough shame to give a sheepish smile. Arthur huffs but he’s hiding a grin beneath his beard as Javier snorts.

Chapter Text

He finds Sean outside later that night. The redhead is sitting on the very last steps of the porch and staring out into the fading light. The horses are milling about out there, getting reacquainted and stretching their legs freely. The others are still inside, cleaning up the dishes, and talking absently about nothing and everything. Voices turn dull and muffled when he closes the door behind him.

Sean’s head tilts just slightly but he doesn’t speak. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet since his injury, so it was a relief when he’d busted in the door and blabbered on during dinner with his usual energy.

But now he says nothing as Javier sits next to him. Doesn’t even glance over. The air around him is hazy and a bit heavy with something Javier has never seen before. He plants his hands on the boards and leans back, trying to parse out what the hell he’s looking at.

“How are you feelin’?” is what he starts with.

It takes Sean a moment to come back to reality. “Eh?”

“You’ve been quiet lately. Algo te sigue preocupando. Something I can help with?”

The scar that makes up the Irishman’s left eye pulls when he makes a face. “Ye know I ain’t able to tell what ye sayin’.”

Javier sighs. “Think about it for a minute.”

“Thinkin’ hurts.”

“You know more Spanish than you think.” When Sean doesn’t respond, he clears his throat and continues. “It’s good to see you two. I was gone longer than I meant to be. I’m glad everyone seems to be doing alright.”

Sean makes a noise in the back of his throat.

He takes the hint and lets silence fall again. There’s not much he wants to talk about, anyway, but his ears ache from the loud bantering of John and Arthur, so the quiet of the night is a welcome one. Hoofbeats and whinnying echoes across the yard. Occasionally, Rufus barks, and John’s voice scolds him because there’s nothing to be barking at.

“...John’s prob’ly told ye about me whole thing.”

Javier pauses. “About what you’ve been saying?”

“Uh-huh.” Sean picks at his lips as he speaks in a mumble. “Figured I’d start talkin’ ‘bout it since we’re all okay now-” Javier’s not sure how accurate that is, really, “-but I should’a known that it wouldn’t be taken so well.”

“I think we’re more confused than anything.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t so good at explainin’,” the other man scowls.

“Try.”

The redhead hesitates. Opens his mouth, then closes it. Fumbles with himself for a good few minutes. Javier rolls his head back and stares at the sky, watching the stars, the way the clouds glide across to block his view. That aura above Sean shimmers, like it’s being reworked and plunged into- like a dark pool of water. It’s a good description for Sean in general. Unassuming like a puddle, but startingly deep if your foot plunged in by accident (an enigma that pulls Javier’s Veil senses in and he can understand why Arthur is so drawn to him).

“I- I ain’t from here-” Sean starts, his hands coming up to grasp at the air. Already his face is drawn tight with frustration. “It’s damn hard to explain. I ain’t know why I got this- this curse, or somethin’.”

“’From here’?” Javier prods, gentle.

“This version.”

He blinks. Sean looks to him, brow furrowed, and he motions to continue even if he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“I died. And then I… I didn’t. I woke up and I was here. Uh, when I got caught by those Skelding boys.” Sean’s temple hits the railing of the steps. “Then it all just… happened. Didn’ want anyone else t’ die, so I tried t’ do things that weren’t stupid. Seems like I ain’t ever gonna be smart.” He heaves a big sigh. “Feels like I’m betrayin’ Arthur, by takin’ the place of his Sean.”

“Does he…?”

“He knows. Dunnae if it bothers him. But I ain’t able t’ fix it.”

Javier isn’t sure what to say. It’s hard to understand, and his mind is reeling. Sean’s not from this ‘version’? What did that even mean, really? He talked about dying, then waking, and called it a ‘curse’. The curse part is the only part that rings clearly in Javier’s head; they’re kindred spirits in that way. Him with his Sight and Sean with his… whatever it is. He wants to ask more, to poke further, but the way Sean spoke makes his chest ache. Sorrowful and sullen, quiet and resigned to his situation.

“...I think,” he utters as carefully as he can. “That if Arthur was upset, he would have said so. But he hasn’t, has he?”

“No.”

“Entonces todo está bien. He cares for you. What you were don’t matter anymore, Sean, he cares for the you that’s now.”

“If ye say so.”

He smiles despite himself. “I’ve known Arthur a long time. He’s not as intimidating as he thinks.”

That makes Sean laugh. “Aye, he’s a right fool, huh? Both o’ us are fools. Maybe we’re all fools.” His head tilts back and the line of his shoulders relax. The air above him has lightened, but not fully (Javier wonders if he has to confess to all of them for it to finally leave; the task seems monumental and cruel). “I like not havin’ t’ run all th’ time,” he admits.

“Me, too.”

“Says the man that went t’ a war-torn country!”

He shrugs. “My duty called. And then my family called. I ain't able to say I won’t feel the urge to go back.” He stretches his legs out. Digs his heels into the dirt. “But I have a duty here. It’s best to not waste any more time.”

Sean nods along. His eye closes as a coyote yips in the distance. The horses lift their heads, then lower them when it’s clear there’s no danger. Both Sean and Arthur’s horses are closer than he remembers them being, cuddled up and nosing at each other. Javier lifts a brow.

“...What happened t’ the roof?”

Chapter Text

“So, what did happen to the barn roof?” Javier asks quietly. He reaches out and tucks some hair behind John’s ear as the other man pouts and pretends not to hear him. “Dime la verdad, lobo. I won’t be angry. I’m just curious.”

“...I fell through.”

It takes a remarkable amount of effort to not laugh. “The roof?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How?” It’s mostly rhetorical, but John slouches and reluctantly starts explaining.

“Um, there was a decent hole in the thing already, so I went up to check on it and cover it. Stepped too close, I guess. Went right through. Hurt like a bitch for a week.”

“You did this a while ago, then?” He settles in on the pillows against the headboard.

“Couple months ago.”

“Good thing horses can’t fly, then.”

John wrinkles his nose, but the expression doesn’t stay long. A grin replaces it and he drops down next to Javier to snuggle up close. “Lot easier to patch it up than I thought.”

“Say that when we have it done.”

The other man gives his shoulder a playful bite in reponse. Then, he starts kissing every inch of exposed skin he can reach, making his way across Javier’s collarbone and up his neck to finally plant a big, sloppy one on his mouth. Cups Javier’s face with both hands and kisses him again and again until he finally has to be pushed back so there’s a moment for air.

“¡Por Dios! You are being eager, aren’t you?” His hand clamps down over John’s mouth when he leans in again. “Haven’t you gotten enough?”

“No,” is the muffled answer. Typical.

“Well, I’ve had enough.”

“What, already?”

“Yes.” He watches John slump in dramatic disappointment, but his partner doesn’t push. Just wiggles back into the space close- almost too close- next to Javier and sighs heavily. His hand is turned over and John’s rougher palm presses against his; their fingers lay on top of each other comfortably, his own a bit shorter, John’s a bit blunter. Something funny swirls beneath his sternum. Instinctively, he turns his head to the window.

Nothing’s there.

When he turns back, John is giving him a curious look. His lighter eyes flick between Javier’s face and the window, trying to piece together what just happened, but the tilt to his brow shows he couldn’t quite grasp it.

“Nothing,” Javier murmurs. Because there isn’t anything. For now, at least.

“Sure,” John says back. He’s agreeable like that sometimes. The wolfman’s eyes close, and his lashes look long from this angle.

Javier strains his ears. He can hear the quiet sounds of Abigail cleaning up the dishes in the kitchen (she’d shooed them off when they’d tried to help) and the snoring of Rufus in Jack’s room. The boy himself is reading, so there’s no sound at all, but the warm hue of his lamplight reaches their own bedroom door, just barely.

He hopes she finishes up soon. He’s not used to this anymore. He needs to get used to it again. He needs to figure it out. Get it back in order. Get himself back in-

John makes a short snorting noise. Then immediately looks embarrassed. “Sorry. You were makin’ a real funny face.” When Javier doesn’t laugh with him, his amusement fades and he adds, “...Did I interrupt you thinkin’?”

“A little.”

“Sorry.” Even in the low light, the other man’s face is visibly a splotchy pink.

“Está bien,” Javier sighs. “I’ve already spent too much time in my own head. I’m not used to being around others.” He flexes his hand and smiles when John immediately loops their fingers together. He’s warm. “I hope I don’t get cold feet.”

“You won’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t,” John repeats firmly. “That ain’t like you.”

“I ran from Mexico.” It comes out quiet. “And before that I ran from you.”

“You didn’t run. You had to go.”

“I could have stayed.”

“You would’ve been damn near miserable, though, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know.”