#Lincoln Rosario | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sleekervae · 5 months ago

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The Bride [0.8]

Masterlist

Pairing: billy the kid x fem!reader

Summary: Jesse robs Eleanor

Warnings: cursing, slander, mentions of shooting, armed robbery, anxiety and paranoia

Word Count: 4,636

Tag List: @poppyflower-22 @ponyslayer

Time wasn't a constant while they caught up. Eleanor learned more about Billy's journey; his trouble in Mexico and the adrenaline he had in taking another life. Though at the same time he wasn't sorry for it; in this instance it was kill or be killed and despite Eleanor's disappointment, she couldn't blame Billy for his actions. She was just grateful that he was alive.

He went on about meeting Pat, rejoining with Jesse, and how he came to be under Murphy's employment. Having a steady job worked in his favour and kept him out of trouble from the law -- the law of course was in Murphy's pocket, too. Nevertheless, there was no joy or exuberance as Billy spoke, it was clear to Eleanor he didn't enjoy roughing up the locals. They were innocents just trying to make ends meet, they hadn't done anything to wrong him.

At the same time, Eleanor confided in Billy about her father's passing; how she tentatively ventured back to Rosario to take care of his affairs, to identify the body. That was the hardest part; the last time she'd seen her father alive, she was making off with a horse and leaving him in the dust. Now he was just another empty vessel in a musty doctor's office; he was so familiar and yet so foreign to her.

Billy felt for her, he at least got to spend time with his father in his final moments. Eleanor spoke kind in his memory, however there was a lingering resentment in her voice. In the end however she was grateful because he ended up leaving her his land, and quite a bit of money. A woman owning land was so unheard of, and Eleanor was touched that her father regarded her so highly. Though given her past, she didn't feel that Rosario was her home anymore. She heard about Tunstall setting up shop and decided she needed a fresh start, new name, new town, nobody who would know her.

Or so she thought.

Meanwhile, Jesse was pacing back and forth in their encampment; a bottle of whiskey clenched in his hand as he swayed from foot-to-foot. Pat watched him, the brim of his hat low as he tuned the strings on John's guitar.

"What's eating you?" he asked, his voice gruff and low.

"Billy," Jesse spat, "He hasn't come back, yet,"

"I see that," Pat nodded, "Where you reckon he went?"

Bob came hobbling out of his own tent, undoing his trousers as he stumped towards a bush. He laughed under his breath, "He prolly went to make acquaintances with Mr. Riley's wife. You seen the way she was lookin' at 'im?" he gave a whistle, dropping his drawers and relieving himself.

Pat smirked back, turning to the anxious Jesse, "Yeah, you told me how much of a dog he can be. Relax, Jesse," he coaxed, "He'll be back soon,"

Jesse wasn't perturbed. With a final swig of the whiskey bottle, he proceeded to toss it into the dirt, "We'll se about that," deep down in his gut, he had a pretty good idea of where Billy had gone off to...

Eleanor peered through the curtains, the night cloaking Lincoln in its deep, unyielding silence. The streets were still, not a whisper of wind to stir the calm. Her heart, however, was anything but serene, a restless fluttering in her chest that refused to be tamed.

The quiet creak of the powder room door broke the stillness, and Billy emerged, adjusting his shirt with a casual grace. He was a sight to behold, his every movement both familiar and foreign. Eleanor's eyes traced his form before she forced herself to look away, her cheeks warming under his gentle smile.

"You keep looking out the window," Billy remarked as he settled beside her on the bed, his voice a soft rumble in the quiet room.

Eleanor shrugged, a bittersweet smile touching her lips. "I’ve been doing it for over a year now. It’s hard to shake the feeling… like someone’s always watching."

Billy’s brow furrowed as a thought struck him, a shadow of concern crossing his features. “Did you know the US Army is here?”

Eleanor’s head bobbed in a slow nod. “Yep. I haven’t seen Harbinger, yet,” the army captain.

“And what if he shows up?” Billy’s question hung in the air, charged with unspoken fears.

Eleanor’s gaze drifted to her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her skirt. “I’ll think of something,” she said softly, “Maybe Johana Delile will just have to disappear for a bit,”

Billy’s eyes narrowed with concern. “Does Tunstall know?”

“No,” Eleanor said firmly, “And if I can manage it, he won’t.”

“He’s going to find out,” Billy warned, his voice tight. “Jesse’s got a bone to pick now.”

Eleanor’s fingers continued their restless dance, her gaze fixed on her lap. “He always finds something to pick,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to mask the edge in her voice.

Billy’s worry deepened, “Not like this. Jesse’s furious. He thinks you betrayed him,”

Eleanor’s shoulders tensed, a sigh escaping her lips. “Dunno' what else you'd call it...” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt, especially not by him,” Billy said, his tone earnest and soft.

Eleanor met his gaze, her own filled with a resolve she barely felt. “He won’t hurt me, Billy. Not if he wants the money I owe him,”

In the end, Eleanor understood why Jesse’s fury seemed so personal. Loyalty meant little now; the protection she’d paid for was overdue, and Jesse would have no patience for debts now that he'd found her.

Billy’s eyes softened as realization dawned on him, a shadow of sadness flickering across his face, “That’s why you pulled out the knife so quickly,” he said quietly, a note of sadness threading through his voice. “You thought I was coming to collect,”

Eleanor stood up, her movements steady but her expression strained. She walked to the dresser, her fingers moving with a practiced efficiency as she rummaged through her bag. Her hand closed around the cold surface of the switchblade, a brand new piece of metal with intricate carvings on the handle, the blade was so clean one could almost see their own reflection.

With a deep breath, she pulled out the knife, its surface catching the dim glow of the gas lamp, “Sam said he wouldn't feel right letting me lock up without a little protection -- and this came without a drunken, trigger-happy fool,” she said softly, her gaze lingering on the blade before she handed it to Billy.

Billy inspected the knife carefully, his heart heavy with the realization of how precariously she balanced on the edge of peril. It had been said so frequently: never bring a knife to a gun fight. Billy knew that little gadget would do little to perturb Jesse.

"I'm not gonna' let anything happen to you," he promised.

Eleanor scoffed, "Billy --"

"I mean it, Eleanor," he met her gaze, his piercing blue eyes holding her on the spot, "I don't care what side I'm on; as long as you're here... I can't lose anybody else. I need you to be alright,"

His voice, raw and earnest, cut through the air, each word pulling at the tangled mess of emotions in her chest. It reminded her of the day they found him in the desert—skin blistered, lips cracked, the sun mercilessly beating down on him. He was barely hanging on, so close to the edge that the wind itself might have taken him. And when he finally opened his eyes, it was her face he saw first.

The relief in his gaze had been overwhelming, a moment of pure connection in a world that was anything but kind. Now, as he looked at her with that same intensity, the vulnerability in his eyes was impossible to ignore. That look—like he was still clinging to her, still seeing her as the one thing keeping him tethered to this world—held her captive, just as it had all those years ago.

Eleanor sat down beside him, her hand closing over his, the cool metal of the switchblade still clenched between his fingers. She looked into his eyes, her voice soft but firm, "Hey—I'm not going anywhere. You can't make me," Her thumb brushed over his knuckles, grounding them both in the moment, "I just worry about you. I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me,"

Billy shook his head, a small, almost defiant smile playing on his lips. "I’m not gonna’ get in trouble," he replied, his voice laced with a quiet confidence that almost made her believe him, "They’ll have to catch me first,"

But as the words left his mouth, Eleanor couldn’t shake the heaviness in the air between them. They’d been here before—always pulled back into each other’s orbit, only to be torn apart again by circumstances beyond their control. Their meetings, once innocent (somewhat), had taken on an edge lately, as if each moment together was borrowed time.

Tonight felt different, though. The way he looked at her, the way he held on to her hand like it was the last solid thing in a world that kept shifting beneath their feet—she could sense the desperation beneath his bravado.

Their rendezvous had always carried a hint of danger, but tonight it felt more real, more imminent. The walls they’d built around themselves, the lies they told to survive, were closing in, and she knew that one wrong move could shatter everything.

Eleanor jumped at the sudden banging of a window shutter across the way. It was instinctual at this point to peak behind the curtain of her own window, just to make sure nobody was out there. She figured there had to be a day, somewhere down the line where she could hear noises go off in the night and not have to worry.

"You should get going," she told Billy, "It's late, and Jesse's gonna be on you like flies on a carcass,"

As much as he hated to admit it, Billy knew Eleanor was right. He had to get his story straight by the time he arrived at the encampment, what he would say at the moment however he wasn't sure.

"S'pose so," he stood from the bed, placing the switchblade on the bedside table, "I'll try to keep the guys away from Tunstall's store, if I can,"

"Don't. Don't involve yourself like that," Eleanor shook her head, "But eventually, you are gonna' have to make a choice, Billy. You can't play peace-keeper for so long,"

"What does that mean?" he cocked a brow.

"It means I'm not gonna' hold it against you if you stay on Murphy's side. We all gotta' do what we have to, right?" despite the calm she tried to project, Billy could see the sadness in her eyes. It was like a shadow that never quite left, no matter how much she smiled or reassured him. He knew she understood—better than anyone—that he had a job to do. But the weight of that job, the promises Frank had made about pride and purpose, didn’t sit right with him anymore. The high he was supposed to feel from threatening people, from doing what needed to be done, was nowhere to be found.

Instead, it left a bitter taste in his mouth, one that only grew stronger every time he remembered the people he was hurting—good, innocent people caught in the same web that had almost strangled him not so long ago.

"That we do..."

Billy wouldn’t say it out loud, not yet, but the cracks in his loyalty were getting harder to ignore. Tunstall’s side, with its promises of something better, something that didn’t leave him feeling hollow, was starting to look a whole lot more appealing. And it wasn’t just the cause that drew him in… it was the thought of a future that wasn’t stained with regret, a future where Eleanor wasn’t just a fleeting moment, but something real.

The cracks in Billy’s resolve deepened the very next day, splintering into something he couldn’t ignore. No matter how hard he tried to keep things from spiraling, he hadn’t seen it coming—Pat pulling out his gun and shooting the Mexican farmer right in front of his family. The man crumpled to the ground, dead before he even hit the dirt. The farmer was about to strike Jesse, but it didn’t matter. Not to the family wailing in despair, the cries of “murderer” in their native tongue echoing in Billy’s ears long after the dust settled.

Billy hadn’t pulled the trigger, but the guilt gripped him like he had. The weight of it pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. He could still see the lifeless eyes of the farmer, still hear the anguished sobs of his wife and children. And no matter how much he told himself he hadn’t done it, he felt every bit the murderer they accused him of being.

Pat was arrested shortly after, the sheriff doing what he could to keep the furious townspeople at bay. But even with the law on Murphy’s side, the sheriff had a line to toe. Whether Pat would hang for it was anyone’s guess, but one thing was clear—Murphy was down a man, and the rest of them were left to pick up the pieces, scrambling to cover lost time and wages. And with every step Billy took, the cracks widened, threatening to pull him under.

News of the farmer’s murder spread through town like wildfire, igniting whispers and fueling fear. In its wake, more farmers turned to Tunstall, signing deals faster than ever. Tunstall. For Eleanor, it meant more goods to sell, more profits for the store, which should’ve been good news. But no amount of business success could quiet the gnawing worry in her gut. Every day, the unease grew, twisting tighter inside her as she wondered how Billy was holding up, praying he wasn’t as deeply entangled in this mess as she feared. But the silence from him only made her worry more.

Eleanor's paranoia gnawed at her, growing stronger with each passing day. Every night, she checked the door twice, her heart pounding as she turned the key, and every time she stepped onto the street, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching. She kept glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to see Jesse lurking at the end of a dark alley or feeling the cold press of a gun at her back. She knew Jesse wasn’t the type to let things go. If he ever came back to the store, she feared he’d do more than just cause a scene.

Her anxiety spiked whenever she caught sight of the army soldiers milling around town. None of them seemed to notice her, but that didn’t stop the dread from building in her chest. What if Captain Harbinger was still looking for her? The thought of being dragged back to Rosario—or anywhere he deemed fit—terrified her more than anything Jesse could do. The idea of being chained to a life she had barely escaped, reduced to nothing more than a captive housewife, was a fate worse than death.

The guilt gnawed at Billy, a constant ache that wouldn't let him sleep. He couldn't shake the image of the farmer's lifeless body, the sound of the family's screams echoing in his mind. So he decided to do the one thing that might ease the weight on his chest—he went to the farmer’s funeral. He didn’t even know the man’s name, but the least he could do was show up, pay his respects, try to make sense of the mess he was part of.

Billy dressed in his best clothes, ones that hadn’t seen dirt or blood, and made his way to the service. The moment he arrived, he could feel the stares, the cold, hard eyes boring into him. His presence was like a dark cloud, unwelcome and heavy, but he stayed. He stayed because he owed it to the man in the ground, and maybe even to himself. Much to his surprise, he wasn't the only outsider attending the funeral.

Charlie Bowdre wasn’t one to get involved in senseless violence, and he had heard enough about Billy—both the legend and the man behind it. Charlie knew Billy wasn’t just some ruthless outlaw, not the cutthroat the stories made him out to be. There was something more to him, something decent.

Charlie saw in Billy a man torn between the life he’d been dragged into and the values he still held deep down. The more they talked, the more Charlie realized that Billy believed in fairness, in giving everyone a shot, not just those with deep pockets. It was a belief that aligned with Tunstall's own ideals, a belief in something better, something more just.

So, Charlie did what he could—he spoke to Billy, man to man. He didn’t push, didn’t preach, just laid it out plain and simple. He offered Billy a chance to switch sides, to stand up for the values they both knew were right. It wasn’t an easy decision, but Charlie’s words stuck with Billy, gnawing at him until he couldn’t ignore them anymore. In the end, it wasn’t just about choosing a side; it was about choosing who he wanted to be.

On a bright and warm morning, Eleanor rode out to the bank to make the weekly deposit for the store. The sun was just starting to climb higher in the sky, casting a golden light over Lincoln. The air was still, almost too still, and the usual bustle of the town seemed oddly subdued. Eleanor kept her eyes forward, focused on the road ahead, the satchel of money securely tied to her saddle.

As she rode, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. It was too quiet, too calm, like the town was holding its breath. But she pushed the thought aside, blaming it on the nerves that had been gnawing at her ever since Billy's last visit. She was almost at the bank, just a few more minutes and she’d be done, back in the safety of the store, where she could keep an eye on things.

But as she reached the horse tie-off that ran beside the bank, a shadow moved across her path. Before she could react, Jesse stepped out in front of her horse, his hand casually resting on the butt of his revolver. His face was a mask of cold indifference, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Morning, Eleanor,” he drawled, his voice low and calm, as if they were just old friends having a chat.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to stay calm, to not show the fear that was threatening to consume her, “Jesse,” she replied, her voice steady, though her mind was racing. She knew better than to whip the reins and try to run. Jesse was too quick for that.

He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey, "Sorry -- I forgot you go by Johana now," he said, his eyes flicking to the satchel.

"I don't reckon you care, much," she replied, her throat tightening as he moved even closer, close enough that she could see the tension in his jaw, the barely contained anger simmering beneath the surface, "I was sorry to hear about Pat,"

"I'm sure you were..." he shrugged, "If that fuck'n Mexican just knew his place --"

"Don't start with that," she huffed, "What do you want?"

Jesse’s hand moved to the satchel, his fingers brushing against the leather strap, "What do I want? I want my own distillery so I never have to pay for whiskey again," he met her gaze, his tone mocking, "And I wanna' drag you into the desert and teach you a couple lessons. But I'll settle for this money bag,"

A shiver ran down her spine, but she didn’t resist as he untied the satchel from her saddle. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, she saw the old Jesse, the one who had once cared for her, protected her. But that Jesse was long gone, replaced by this cold, calculating man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

"You can be mad at me all you want, Jesse," she said softly, trying to appeal to his sympathy -- if he had any left, "If you were in my shoes, you'd do the same thing,"

"Really?" he scoffed, "I took good care of you, I made sure you were fed, made sure you were protected. And how do you repay me?" his hand came over her skirt, squeezing over her thigh. Eleanor fought to urge to kick him away, "You just take off with no explanation. No loyalty. And since you still owe me for protection, consider this you fulfilling your debt," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, but the threat in his words was clear. He tucked the satchel under his arm, his gaze never leaving hers.

"This mean you're gonna leave me alone, now?" she asked.

"Perhaps?" he shrugged, "Or maybe I'll come by the store from time to time, scope out the goods... just say hi," he added, his voice softening slightly, as if he almost regretted what he was doing. But then, just as quickly, the softness was gone, replaced by that same hard, ruthless edge.

"You take care now, Johana,"

Without another word, Jesse turned and walked away, disappearing back into the alley as quietly as he had appeared. To anyone passing by, it would have looked like nothing more than a brief conversation, nothing out of the ordinary. But Eleanor knew better. She had just been robbed, and not just of money, but of whatever hope she had left that Jesse might leave her alone.

She waited until he was out of sight before she allowed herself to breathe again, her hands trembling as she gripped the reins. The warmth of the morning sun suddenly felt oppressive, the brightness of the day a stark contrast to the cold fear that now gripped her heart.

Billy strolled into Tunstall’s store, shoulders back but head low, eyes scanning the place like he was expecting trouble. The bell above the door jingled softly, but the only other sound in the shop was the steady swish of a broom across the floor. Sam, preoccupied with sweeping, didn’t even notice Billy until he turned around.

"Have a look at whatever you want—" Sam began, but then his gaze landed on Billy. His expression darkened immediately, "Oh, it’s you," he huffed, pausing mid-sweep, "Here to turn my shop over again? Make some menial threats, or is there something else you’re after?"

Billy shook his head, the weight of regret pulling at his chest.,"No," he said quietly, eyes downcast. "I’m really sorry about that…" He hesitated, swallowing hard before forcing out the question that had been burning on his mind since he set foot in town. "Is El—Johana here?"

Sam’s eyes narrowed, suspicion etched into every line of his face. He didn’t answer right away, just let the silence sit there, thick and uncomfortable, like he was waiting for Billy to crack under the pressure.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sam spoke, his tone clipped and cold. "No," he replied curtly, his jaw tightening, "She’s off today. Got robbed down at the bank,"

The words hit Billy like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling. He tried to hide his reaction, but the shock must have shown on his face because Sam’s glare only deepened.

"Robbed?" Billy echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. A knot of guilt twisted in his stomach. He should’ve been there. He should’ve protected her.

"Yeah," Sam snapped, clearly not in the mood for small talk. "Some jackass took off with the week’s earnings,"

Billy clenched his fists at his sides, anger and frustration bubbling up inside him, "Do you know who did it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, though he could feel it cracking around the edges.

Sam shot him a pointed look, as if to say he knew damn well who was behind it, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he just turned back to his sweeping, dismissing Billy with a shrug.

"Does it matter?" Sam repeated, his voice a little louder this time, the edge of resignation cutting through. "What’s done is done. What do you want with her, anyway?"

Billy opened his mouth to answer, but the words caught in his throat. What did he want with Eleanor? Was he here to check on her, to see if she was okay? Or to bear his soul to her, aching for some forgiveness he felt he should repent for?

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog that had settled in his mind. "Don't matter, I guess," he muttered, more to himself than to Sam. "... Is Tunstall here?"

"Mr. Tunstall's away," Sam said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of something Billy couldn’t quite place, "... But if you want, you can go and meet his lawyer, Mr. McSween,"

Billy’s brow furrowed as he considered the offer. There was a pause, a beat where he could almost hear the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out what Sam was getting at, "And he can give you a good account of what's actually happening here in Lincoln,"

"What is actually happening here in Lincoln, Sam?" Billy asked, his voice carrying the weight of the countless rumors and half-truths he’d been hearing since he first set foot in town, "‘Cause everybody around here seems to have their own angle on it. What's yours?"

Sam stopped sweeping, leaning on the broom as he looked Billy square in the eye. "Well, I think we're on the verge of a big war... a war between Murphy and Tunstall. And as far as I can see, one side is right, and the other side is plain wrong,"

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Billy could feel the tension in his chest tightening, the lines between right and wrong blurring in his mind. He’d been working for Murphy for long enough to know what kind of man he was, what kind of power he wielded. But hearing it from Sam, someone who clearly had no love for Murphy’s crew, made it all feel more real, more immediate.

"If I agree to meet with McSween," Billy started, his voice cautious, "it has to be in secret. No one can know about it."

Sam nodded, understanding in his eyes. "You can tell McSween... it's just a friendly visit,"

Billy swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "I'm not ready to commit to anything. I still work for Murphy,"

There it was, the confession that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for days, the admission that he was still tied to the man who had caused so much pain and suffering in this town. But there was something about Sam’s words, the way he spoke with such conviction, that made Billy wonder if maybe—just maybe—there was another way.

Sam didn’t push, didn’t try to sway him one way or the other. He just nodded again, a silent understanding passing between them.

"Just think about it," Sam said, his voice softer now, almost gentle, "Think about what side you really want to be on when the dust settles,"

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