Author's Note: My first attempt at a fic in the longest time. I'm not sure how this will turn out. So, I'll let the readers/reviewers decide.
For those who have not completed the game of RDR, I recommend you do, because this might contain spoilers. I say might since this is after all a work in progress, and I haven't written in a long time. So, I think I suck. But, as I said, I'll let you all decide.
This fic takes place after John is reunited with his family. He's trying to return to the rancher's life he had before government interference. One night, an old friend comes to ask for help.
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Dead Redemption.
Lets begin, shall we?
Trouble is a Coming
- Chapter 1 -
- (Gaptooth Breach) -
It was a dark night at Gaptooth Breach. Dark clouds littered the sky, brewing up a mighty storm. Before the storm decides to strike, it settled to watch a horse drawn stagecoach flee for life from a band of free shooting bandits. The driver grumbled under his breath, not once looking behind himself. He knew that if he stopped in the slightest, he and his passenger in the wagon were done for.
"Don't worry dear boy," the driver shouted. "We'll be safe soon enough!" But even he almost didn't believe himself. The bandits kept riding after him, shooting blindly in the dark cloudy night. They didn't seem to have any thoughts of stopping until they got what they wanted.
Inside the stagecoach wagon, was a young boy in his late teens. He was hiding inside in hopes of protection. He didn't want to think of anything but escape. And the old man he was riding with was his only chance. They had to shake the bandits somehow. The wagon bumped up from running over train tracks, and the boy jumped with it, hitting back down on something hard. Upon further inspection of what lay under him, he found and old rifle lying underneath him, and quickly made a grab for it.
Outside the wagon, the old driver was still whipping the reigns fiercely to keep the horses going. "We'll be in Armadillo very soon dear boy," the old man shouted. However, as soon as he the words left his mouth, the bandits managed to shoot one of the horses leg, and send it to the ground. This in turn caused the wagon to turn and make an abrupt stop. "Oh, bugger fuck!" The old man let the curse leave his lips in knowing it was over. Because now, the bandits were right next to the wagon.
"Alright old man," one of the bandits started. "You gave us a good chase, but now it's over." The old man looked down in defeat. "Now, just hand over the boy, and you can go on free."
"Oh, I guess there's no choice," said the old man as he got down from the drivers side of the wagon. He knocked on the wagon side, and headed to the back. "Come on out dear boy. They've got us." He said with a sad tone as the bandits just smiled at themselves, and waited for the boy to come out the back.
But, when the back of the wagon opened, the boy pointed the rifle he grabbed earlier at the bandits, who were clearly not expecting it. "What the-," but that man never got to finish, as he got a bullet straight to the head. The others were quick to react, but not quickly enough, as the boy shot each of them at least once or twice before using up the entire clip of bullets.
The old man looked very shocked to say the least. "My goodness dear boy," he started, "I hope you'll be okay in the head after that."
"I think so grandpa," the boy said, a little shakily. "Yes well," the old man started again, "lets get going before more show up. How about helping me put a new horse onto the wagon very quick? We need to be on our way as soon as possible."
The boy got down out of the wagon, and went for one of the bandits' horses that didn't run off. "Where are we going again," he asked. "We," the old man said a little proudly, "are headed to Armadillo, which is not far from here, to seek information to the whereabouts of a friend of mine, to where I can safely drop you to, dear boy."
After securing the new horse to the wagon, the boy climbed back inside, and the old man started of to Armadillo. The ride wasn't long, and as soon as the wagon stopped near the saloon, the old man hopped off. Knocking onto the wagon real quick to speak to the boy, "I'm going to the Marshal's office," he said. "I'll be real quick. Stay inside." And with that, the old man made way to his destination.
With a quick knock to the front door, the old man was greeted with the face of Marshall Leigh Johnson. "Ah, Marshall Johnson," the old man began, "how good to see you."
"Mr. West Dickens?" Marshall Johnson was a bit surprised to see the tonics salesman at his door. "I thought people ran you outta town days ago."
"Ah, yes," West Dickens began, "I had a bit of a dilemma, per say." "What kind of, dilemma," asked Marshall Johnson. "What, people run outta pitchforks to threaten you with?" He smiled at his own joke.
"HA!" West Dickens shouted. "If that were the case, I really wouldn't be coming to Armadillo." He was clearly not amused. "I actually came to you for some, er, needed information."
"Like what kind?" Marshall Johnson really did not want to see this man any longer than he had to. Who could blame him? A lot of people did not like Nigel West Dickens. For his tonic was more of a plague than a salvation.
"Well, I was hoping you had information as to the property whereabouts of our good friend, Mr. Marston." West Dickens said with little difficulty.
"Now," Marshall Johnson began a little irritably, "why do you want to know that? I'm sure Mr. Marston has more important things to do, than to help you sell your poison across New Austin."
"Actually, it has nothing to do with my help tonics Marshall," West Dickens stated plainly. "But, I do need help of sorts."
"With what?" Marshall Johnson's curiosity was peeked when the old man in front of him stated, that he didn't want to sell his bottles of bat piss.
"Well," West Dickens began with a nervous expression, "perhaps if I show you, it'll help me explain. This way please." West Dickens began trotting to his stagecoach, and Marshall Johnson, reluctantly followed, with curiosity starting to rise higher.
- (Beecher's Hope) -
The storm had finally started. Bringing the waters from the heavens above onto the dry lands below. Standing somewhat in the middle of West Elizabeth, was a small ranch farm. The small home looked homesome. Inside was a family that was happy to have each other. This was the home, of John, Abigail, and Jack Marston. They were currently enjoying each others company in the den. Jack was on the couch, reading as always. Abigail was in a rocking chair, doing her best to sew without pricking herself. And John was simply sitting in an arm chair, enjoying the feeling of being with the family he loved.
It was peace within the home, aside from the snores that could be heard from Uncle's room. But, that peace was soon disturbed, when a horse drawn stagecoach could be heard outside in the rain. And not soon after John stood up to have a look out the window, was there a knock at his front door.
"Now who could that be at this time of night?" Abigail pondered.
"Don't know darlin'," John answered. "I'll go find out." As John walked up to his door, he pondered whether or not he should've grabbed a gun first. He soon wished he had, as he opened the door, and saw someone he had wanted to shoot before.
"Ah, Mr. Marston. Good to see you again dear boy." There stood Nigel West Dickens. The tonics salesman.
"Mr. West Dickens?" John looked confused as to how the man found where he lived. "What are you doing here old man?"
"Oh I see your as fiery as I last saw you," West Dickens began. "But, no time to reminisce now dear boy. I'm glad I found you."
"And why is that?" John had switched from his slight shock to annoyed quickly. "What do you want? More of you 'Miracle Cures' to be convinced as actual help?"
"I'm in need of your protection, Mr. Marston." At West Dickens last statement, John went back to being in slight shock.
- Chapter End -
Author's Note: Well, that's it for now. Read and Review.
Like I said, I haven't written in a long time, so I'm not sure how this is going to work out. I'm not sure if I'll be able to continue, or if I should continue, or what. I'll let the lovely reviewers decide my actions from here. So, like, don't like, or whatever. I just ask that when you review, be nice with your flames please.