Work Text:
With Deepest Regret…
He was sure he’d been up entirely too long trying to write this but honestly, it was more than time wasn’t it? It was more than time he let go or at the very least was honest with the man who was clearly trying. The problem was that He was too scared to think about what he was trying to do because when it came to intent; Robert had never had much in the way of luck in it being good for him in the end. He presses his palm against his hand to stifle the snarl or scream or, god forbid, sob trying to work itself out of his throat as he drags the pen across the parchment. Everything about this hurt and he wasn’t sure it was going to be worth it in the end.
But he does it before telling himself that this was the last time anyone made him feel like this. Ever. It was too dangerous and he lost too much of himself. Robert Svane had clearly never learned from the past had he?
A few more lines, a few more open, gaping wounds and he signs before sealing it. He shoves it across the desk before pressing his face into the crook of his arm wondering if he was crying for the past or the future he didn’t think he was ever going to have the way he wanted.
*~*~*~*
He knew something was up when it’s Levi who comes to the bar. Doc had been sure this was going to be difficult but there is something about the wary, cautious way the Revenant approaches him that has his heart sinking. “Boss wanted me to give this to you,” comes his quiet remark, “And to ask that if you would kindly make whatever it is you have to say quick because he does not, and I quote, want to be dicked around any longer for your sadistic pleasure, end quote.”
Doc’s eyes close a moment before he takes the envelope with a quiet, “I will handle this, Levi, thank you.”
“Please do. He’s been in a pretty awful mood this past week.”
Doc is pretty sure he knows why that is, too. “Will do. Just…be patient with him, okay?”
“Never anything but,” comes the murmur, “We do like him after all.”
He knew that, too.
Holding the letter, he crosses the bar deciding that it was going to be best to just go and get this over with. He needed to know exactly what the other had chosen as a reply to his inquiry. There was nothing he was going to deal with that was more important than this. He slips into his room and shuts the door before locking it and crosses to his bed before pulling the envelope open and removing the folded paper before straightening it.
My Dearest John Henry,
You know most men just put a gun to another man’s temple and pull the trigger don’t you? That would be cleaner than this. You say that you want to know but I do not believe that you quite understand the whole can of worms you will find here.
But you asked and since I simply have little by way of refusing you, here we are. With me in my trailer feeling way too much and none of it good. So I will tell you a story and you can infer from it what you would like. Maybe it’ll make things easier in the end for you to know this, maybe it won’t. Either way, have what you asked for.
Robert Svane was a quiet, timid mouse of a man who preferred numbers and words to people. People were violent and oft times just plain cruel for no reason. And forget being reasonable. Just forget that completely. So he made a life out of staying out of sight for the most part, keeping to his own business. It wasn’t safe to do anything else. Men like him tended to not…fair very well in that time as you probably know. Especially when they were a walking anxiety disorder like he was.
And then there was a robbery. And a freshly made Marshal. And all of the stupid that comes from ever being charmed by a handsome face. Robert Svane had the “pleasure” of meeting Wyatt Earp. And it went about as well as you imagine.
Of course Wyatt was nothing but a gentleman; doting, friendly, affectionate but only when it suited him and only in the manner that suited him. And we both know that he was a fickle-ever changing man with moods that were apt to go from warm to blustery in only a manner of seconds.
I won’t scandalize you with the sordid details but I know you can guess that we were intimate when it suited him to have a warm body. Robert never learned or accepted the truth at this point; that he was a person of convenience. He was only as good as the use Wyatt could get out of him and everything else was ignored at the best and insulted at the worst; his hobbies, dreams, wants for the future. Of course, Wyatt wasn’t the first to do this, mind you, but he was by far the only one who pretended that it was anything other than convenience.
He learned that hard truth in Purgatory after he had a hole through him and the coward fled without finishing the job with the goddamn demon. And even to the end, that stupid fool had actually thought that maybe, just maybe…But no, he needed to find you. Needed to set things right with you. And so Robert died alone in a goddamn church knowing he was destined for hell.
So maybe in the end, I deserved it for leaving you in that well, and make no mistake, that was me but you didn’t recognize my voice or probably remember our first meeting. I had a choice and I chose to be angry and petty. This is the kind of man you say you’re all in for.
Do remember that you asked for this.
I was still petty leaving you in that well when I came topside the first time. I remembered shortly that you were there. But I had no intention of dredging up a past I wished had died with me. So I intentionally kept from the well and let you stay there alone in the dark. I had a dark bit of satisfaction in the fact that you were stuck not knowing that Wyatt looked for you, that his final days were spent in desperation trying to make amends with the man he dearly loved.
Robert would have been appalled at this. Robert had the grace to be ashamed when he died of leaving you there but several days bleeding from a bull-wound puts things into perspective in a pretty awful way. I just can’t recall who I was most mad at in the end; myself, Wyatt, or the man who couldn’t even bother coming to help too into his cups.
You were a cruel drunk, John Henry. I found that out first hand when we met. You called me Spectacles the second time. Got belligerent and cruel. You were everything I hated about that time; overly masculine and easily riled. You thought so much of yourself or maybe so little with the amount you were drinking those days.
But I digress, I suppose. You wanted my scars and my wounds? You have them. I hope it was worth it. You should never have chosen someone like me. Ever. And in the end, I’m pretty sure you didn’t actually choose me.
No one ever chooses Robert Svane. Not really. Not without strings and too many hoops and not enough true emotion or desire. So do us both a favor and just stop. Whatever this is. Whatever game you are playing. I don’t deserve it again. I don’t want it again. Please, Henry. You owe me this much.
With Nothing but Past Regrets,
Robert Svane