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It all begins at Shorty’s, as her best and worst stories have a tendency to. Back in the land of her nightmares, the last thing she expects is to find a tall dark and a handsome stranger in Purgatory. He sure is a better sight than the empty bottom of her shot glass. Not that she lets it transpire. That outdated moustache should not work so well, yet it fits perfectly with the rest of him, shrouded in an old fashioned adventurer aura. She’s gotta give it to him, of all the fanboys she’s seen, he is the one who almost manages to pull it off, avoiding looking like a cheap cosplay. No, there is something about him… something more like one of those black and white pictures that get colorized, showing the fascinating mundanity of history made real.
Their first conversation is not the most thrilling. He touches Peacemaker. She tries to get it back. He calls her a prostitute. She mocks his Old West outfit. They debate Wyatt Earp’s life. Still, it’s not even in her top 3 of strange encounters while sitting on a barstool. If only she knew…. The spark in those blue eyes of his should be a warning. It might as well be, she was never good with those. The most dangerous the better, that has been Wynonna’s motto throughout her life.
***
The peculiar character doesn’t go back to his pumpkin life in daylight and even acquires a name.
Henry.
Hank.
They are so quick to rationalise him as the Wyatt Earp fan number one he looks like. Her and Waverly that is, no one else around town seems to spare him a second glance. They probably have good instincts as to when it’s wise to pretend things aren’t real. When he shows up on their land with what looks like a stolen postbox and a screwdriver he uses with the familiarity of a toddler handling a stapler, her doe-eyed little sisters lets his break and enter into her apartment slide. Wynonna does too, the sight of him in Champ’s jeans warming parts of her that the bonfire and whiskey cannot reach.
"Everything in my body tells me he’s one of the bad boys. My entire body.”
***
“Seems like you’re just my type”
“What makes you think that you are mine?”
Wynonna plays the therapist in an attempt to flirt, but while she is busy getting the flames of her curiosity stoked by his cold shoulder, Waves is the one who figures things out first. Wynonna has never claimed to be the smartest sister, and for good reasons. After they lose Shorty, it is her sweet sister’s words that drive him to her, on the homestead, hat gallantly in his hands, for the sort of introduction that comes as a surprise even to a strong independent woman cursed with a severe case of revenantitis.
John Henry.
Doc Holliday.
His fingers are cold as he takes her hand, as if kissing it could be the punctuation to seal his declaration of being at her disposal. Her “well shit” leaves them both hanging; he smirks and she gasps.
The curse has peppered the upbringing of the three sisters with unsavoury supernatural facts that should not be taught to young girls. But her family name has always been heavy even for natural standards, and some parts of history take the fancy of little girls more easily than others. Like fast gunslingers and loyal friends. To see this for real would be a wonder, something going her way for once, that she would love to accept. But Wynonna has been burnt too many times, so she challenges him for proof before her own heart can jump out of her throat in excitement.
“But of course, I dare not expect you to accept my word when it is untested.”
As they walk outside, he entertains her with stories about her ancestor she has no way to refute. A half smoked cigarillo and a superb display of gunmanship later, she is convinced. His fingers are no longer cold as they hold her hand against his chest. Warmth in her body. Some of the blood must flow to her brain as well, as she starts questioning him, but getting a straight answer out of him is like handling a wily eel.
Doc Holliday is in front of her, with a beating heart, a mouth that invites kisses and punches in equal measure and two fast guns. Her life just keeps getting stranger.
***
The warnings continue, but that is half of the thrill. Wynonna can even accept his reasoning behind shooting at Waverley -he wouldn’t have missed if he didn’t want to- even though she does not approve of it. And he proves himself to be useful, if not trustworthy, while they deal with Sweeney Todd. Plus, it’s entertaining to watch how he ticks Dolls, who is fast at figuring things out too. Damn Waverly’s impeccable research. It was nice to have a secret ace up her sleeve against the whole deck the Deputy Marshal holds, but this will do too.
Out in the wilderness she drives him to after another revenant has vacated the premises, there is a softness in his voice as he checks on her. She ignores how he calls her little darlin, but her smile is warm as a joke turns into an admission of guilt, towards her and towards the main Earp. For a moment she pauses to consider the softness of his words as he wishes for her to have more. It could be out of a sense of loyalty because of her surname and his past. She turns back towards Waverley and the uneasy conversation that awaits them, suppressing the fleeting inkling of suspicion that it might have more to do with the similarities that make their eyes into something dangerously close to mirrors.
***
She doesn’t want to trust him. All popular wisdom teaches you trust is not a switch to turn on and off. But perhaps, when you mix it with passion, that common sense runs for the hills.
During the Levi incident, he is the devil on her shoulder and isn’t he just positively infuriating. One moment he is drinking and playing cards with a pal from another century, the other he is trying to convince her to lie about the fate of his friend’s beloved, a fate that had quite literally been in his hands. He is quick to wash his hands from any guilt she throws at him. Her cold rage doesn’t supply her with enough comebacks to his justifications; she doesn’t want to admit there might be a tiny bit of sense in his reasoning and she learns to not expect that he should have known better.
They find Levi and for a moment all her certainties crumble. Nothing is easier than shooting something that outdrew you, nothing is harder than killing someone who calls it a merciful act. The lovers are dispatched in peace. Make your peace. A good shield to hide her soul behind. Sure as hell sounds better than revenge. Doc disagrees.
This newfound revelation of hers comes out shrouded in rage as her words crash against the strength of his conviction like waves against a cliff. He is perched on a wall of rancour, hiding himself from the tendrils of self-pity and the horrifying doubt that he might be wrong in his blind pursuit for revenge. The witch is a new pawn on the chessboard, and this time Wynonna thinks she should learn not to expect any better. She holds her code closer to her heart, scared of the glimpse of her future she sees in those blue eyes.
“ Otherwise I’ll end up just like you ”
“ Oh stop kidding yourself, Wynonna. You are exactly like me ”
One million dollar question. Who is more surprised? Doc, by the words he has spoken out loud or Wynonna, by the words she thrown in her face? An ethical disquisition regarding the nature of monsters and the moral ramifications of revenge is not in the cards for the two of them. Too much of their souls are exposed naked for the other to see, so they strip their bodies instead.
The last of her rationality puts up a weak fight, while the warmth in her body reaches out for him, rolling amidst fallen leaves, a spark to start a wildfire.
***
“ There is more to life than crazy hot, toe-curling, out-of-body, back-into-body, angels-singing-Hallelujah sex .”
Wynonna recognises she is saying this mostly for her own benefit, she doubts her sister has been blessed with the same kind of experience, not with her dating the missing ring to connect monkeys to humans. It is quite endearing that Waverly’s first thought goes to Dolls as the suspect. Not that it would be an unpleasant idea, if her memory of his pecs serves her right, but she just can’t imagine that the Marshal can do anything outside of being a stoic pain in the ass. Better to have the subject changed, she knows Waves has her own thoughts about the Old West relic and she doesn’t want to get herself scrutinised. Sex is sex. It’s good sex, but that is all it is. Perhaps there is more than revenge to life too, but she is a woman on a mission.
A woman who gets a spectacular gift to get her from here to there in this mission.
A woman that apparently stutters like a teenage girl when she gets an unexpected visit from the responsible for the previously mentioned good sex.
They seem to find yet more philosophical common ground on the suppression of the “we”, but perhaps his quiet nodding is only a smokescreen to once again hide Doc’s true intentions. To get his way to Dolls and ultimately to the witch.
Wynonna dispatches another one of the seven and Docs pisses Dolls off. Again. And he comes back, in the night, like the thief he is. In hindsight, she will consider that the night might have made her flame shine brighter. It comes easily, to answer honestly to his soft enquiry about her wellbeing. She is the better of the two in this moment in the barn, chastened by the day enough for her spirits to be calm but hopeful enough to keep fighting for happiness.
She thinks it’s pragmatic, in their current whirlwind of revenants, to clarify what this happiness means. And really, there is more to life than sex, right? Like friendship, which seems to be the most stable rope to hang on to at the moment, no risk for mishandling of hearts and poker chips.
What she fails to remember is that, while for her it all started at Shorty’s, for him it all began at the bottom of a well, at the other end of her rope. He usually never recoils from staring at her straight, through accusations and secrets alike. If she really paid attention now, she would see the scorching marks her words have left in this rope and Doc Holliday, under the brim of his hat made of bravado, feeling an awful lot like he’s freefalling back into that well.
***
How does she put it to Dolls, in a weak attempt to dispel his “hm-mmhs” about their friend Henry?
“Doc’s the kind of bad that’s good to keep around”.
And they keep him around. Closer. It is extremely impolite to let friends out in the snow in the rigid Northern winter. He must be immune to it, the well can’t have been that well insulated, but he is not immune to the blades and the guns of the revenants. Besides, there is the added perk of firewood being chopped and perhaps a bit more noise to fill the homestead when either of the sisters are in town, before the ghosts can get to it.
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and quite a few of those stones have been laid there by John Henry Holliday. It hurts when trust is repaid with his blind rage towards the witch putting Waverly at risk. It hurts her sister, so quick to trust and not so fast to let go of her faith in her own abilities to judge character. He seems awfully confident in his abilities, perhaps a part of him really believed attracting the witch to the homestead where he was, guns out, was the best way to protect Waverly.
The prompt intervention of Jack the Ripper digging his hellish nails in Wynonna gives him enough time to redeem himself in both sisters' eyes. He holds one whispering comforting words and gears up to save the other. Doc and Dolls are made unwilling partners, united by their desire to see Wynonna safe and growing feelings that are quietly carried away in the currents of the Nile. She is never so glad to see them as they come to her rescue, but she has no time to consider bruised egos and other people’s desires after they escape the tunnels.
The only arms she accepts around her as the damned picture of the Devil’s posse burns are her sister’s. The memories they share of that night cannot be explained to outsiders in any way that would make them as meaningful as they have been for the two Earp girls, constant side effects of the damned curse, coming back at them in the dark of nights full of nightmares.
And there is more. More nightmares, the faces of a man and a demon that held her captive, bringing her closer to her own death than she’d ever been. And almost dying only happens on days ending in y around Purgatory.
And there is less. The seven are gone, but her older sister and her father are still dead.
“ The spring, coiled so tight in me? It’s just as tight, Doc ”
See, the peculiar thing is that she is talking to her own drunk reflection in the mirror of Shorty’s dirty restroom, but next to that reflection is Doc’s. He’s there, with his 1860’s fortune cookie pieces of advice, holding a knife against her bothersome high school ex-boyfriend. She can very well take care of herself, thank you. But sometimes it’s nice to not have to.
Still, this is all too much for Wynonna to deal with in any mature way, so she sorts it out in the only style she knows: sneaking out and drowning her sorrows in alcohol and bad choices. This time it’s someone else that sees her naked body, but no bonus naked soul for Jonas. He is warm and she is so drunk that she doesn’t care about much, just a quick jolt in her bones to remind her she’s still alive. The alcohol makes him faceless, which is an improvement to the flashes of revenants’ ugly mugs that have been plaguing her night. Again, in hindsight, ironic, but she doesn’t care.
It does help. The morning after, she once again feels ready to take on the world, just to have her thunder stolen by damned Black Badge, judging her sexual activities and calling her a murderer . Dolls is an accomplice in her eyes. Just for once, she would like him to admit he cares. She is not so blind to pretend he doesn’t. But she needs to hear it, out loud. There’s been a distinct lack of people in her life who have found it in their heart to believe in her and treat her like she is more than a failure, so she needs it spelled out and clear. Just this once, damn it.
Shorty’s and a bottle of whiskey should be a refuge, all she finds is anger at another piece of her life crumbling under the weight of aunt Gus’ pen on a contract of purchase. And that’s when she Earps it all. It’s always revenants, isn’t it? Why wouldn't it be them with their undead hands in Shorty’s too?
Nope. It’s just a human. Just life giving her lemons, more bitter than usual. And she can’t shoot them. But she wants to. Damn if she wants to. For Shorty’s, for BBD being assholes, to kill the seven again, for all the mistakes she’s made to become this.
The rage is all encompassing; she slams the door behind her as she leaves the bar and two baffled women behind. She drives like a maniac towards the homestead, where whiskey awaits for her to be drunk and cans are ready to be shot. They’re not alive, but with some imagination…
She finds Doc instead, who has gallantly waited for the house to be empty to take advantage of its modern comforts and is about to sneak back out to the barn. He stays behind, a whiskey bottle in his hand and a sympathetic ear for her rant. There is no small prize for him in having a chance to badmouth his rival, the lawman, in agreement to Wynonna’s words, but it helps her all the same.
And for the first time, it is Doc who really burns her. She will later chide herself for opening up. In the metaphorical sense, she rarely sees the point in regretting the kind of passionate encounters that usually get her in trouble. And that, the S- E- X she can deal with. No, the issue is the ease in which her words always escape her mouth when she’s in front of him. His understanding is a Church that requires no absolution, so out and out it comes, damned truths from Pandora’s vase. And he’s there, damn he is there. He gets it. The urge, the itch. He understands. He collects her self doubts with both hands, carefully placing the parts of her that spilled out back into the hole they left.
Gotta give it to him, he attempts to dissuade her, calmly pushing her away against the clear wishes of his body. But his kisses are too damn good and the flame is once again burning. If she can’t have anything else, she will have this. They spend hours in her bedroom, alternating passion to moments in which they just hold each other like castaways refusing to let go of the shipwreck, until the damned witch comes back. And Wynonna remembers that she should know better.
How can the man whose arm kept her afloat until moments ago be the same that snarls at her with his pistol aimed at her head, caught red handed dealing with the devil Bobo himself? She is vulnerable behind the pink car, but as the night moves along she ties the laces of her armour back tight.
They drag the witch to the barn, fighting all the way, about Bobo, about the witch, about him calling her his woman.
“ You’re nothing, you’re just nothing ”
“ What do I care for some broken woman’s evaluation of my character ?”
It is just another bullet, which angers her more than hurt. He doesn’t wince under the weight of her punch, such a different kind of touch from mere hours ago. Of course, he is consumed with the fire of his revenge, fuelled by the kindlings of all his bad decisions. Her rage protects her too; rage is better than hurting. She makes a deal with the witch too, in equal parts to spite him and because, like him, she has a mission that takes precedence.
Constance Clootie gives her vital information and in doing so, she crushes what’s left of Doc’s soul. 130 years of hate to find out that it wasn’t even about him. It was never personal, he was just collateral damage in another chapter of Wyatt Earp’s feats. The more the witch speaks, the more she finds it in her to protect him from himself. There is a coiled spring in him too, a big rusty one; it’s her turn to understand. Besides, she can admit to herself she really does not want to see him kill himself just to spite the damned bitch.
They bury her out in the salt fields, arguably one of her smartest ideas ever. Their rage calms to embers in the tense silence of the drive there. When they exit the pickup, they can both afford to enjoy the act. It is a victory to catch the witch on her own loopholes. A small one, but a victory nonetheless. Scratching the itch isn’t always achieved by shooting down the barrel of Peacemaker.
They seem pacified and she is ready to put this day behind herself, willing to once again scratch a more physical itch with Doc’s body. Instead, Dolls calls her and the day ends in an emotional whiplash. She gets the sort of backing from her boss she so sorely desires, just for the rug to be pulled from under her feet again by a manically laughing revenant who tells her about Shorty’s undignified fate.
She hates being right. It was the revenants after all.
***
“ Well here is a juicy tidbit even Deputy Marshal Dolls may not have heard. Doc Holliday has been boarding his 130-year-old Mustang in Wynonna Earp’s ample paddock .”
Damn, shit, fudge on a stick. The occasions she’s had to put a bullet between Bobo del Rey’s eyes flash in her mind and she curses herself for having missed them all.
Confound and distract. Focus on the new revenant. The look on Doll’s face doesn’t sit right with her. Until the last minute he is all professional and then, boom, the dig comes. Ah, the familiar taste of judgement. His distaste for Doc rubs off on her, her choices sprawled on the table to disapprove of. Can’t anything just stay hidden, for her and her alone to deal with? It’s much easier to put whatever this is back into its drawer once she’s done toying with it, if no one else knows it exists.
Waverly. She should probably tell her Baby Girl before some other random revenant can wash Wynonna’s dirty panties in the street for her. Her sister is surprised, Haughty-pants not as much. Waverly is such a sweetheart, always a romantic at heart. All these questions about love and their age difference, as if they’d announce a wedding rather than a tumble in the dirt and a fumble in the dark. It’s sex, nothing more. Nothing less.
Dolls is off doing his thing and Wynonna is bored and irritated. She sees a familiar pink car parked and thinks that she might as well take it. Victor’s spoils and all that, isn’t it a rule of war? The damned demons are taking enough, she is unwilling to cede even an inch more. Really, it should be his. A meagre payback for all the harpy has put him through. Welcome to the 21st century, Doc.
He’s smoking on the porch as she pulls up on the homestead lawn. A gift in one hand and an awkward conversation in the other. The third of the day for her, she’s exhausted. Joking comes easy, his confusion about modern days customs is endearing. He can’t help it, can he? Even the colour of a car is a stepping stone to lead into flirting depths she is quick to escape.
“ Everybody knows about us .” The word sex wraps around her tongue, a sneaky serpent tempting it to continue with a curse. “ Not that there is really an us .”
He looks away. She doesn’t notice, her attention is captured by the mission. She has a mysterious Dolls to catch. A pungent smell of smoke and ash permeates the crisp evening air as she dashes away.
***
Look what the cat dragged in. Or technically, the wolf. She went into the woods with a reluctant Dolls to find a weapon and it’s her sister she finds instead. Her big sister, the one part of her she has been missing for over fifteen years. Waverly has always been hers to protect, but Willa… Willa was her partner in crime, her childhood is filled with memories of the two of them.
What blade is sharper, the loss or the guilt of abandonment? Wynonna is no stranger to loss, but she finds that as Dolls hands her the DNA test to prove Eve’s identity, it does not compare to the deep stabbing pain of what ifs. What if they’d looked for her a while longer? A little bit further?
Eve sits on the bed wide eyed and trembling, like a young bird fallen from the nest. Her eyes are open books and no one likes the story they can read in them. It’s her big sister and Wynonna will clean out the broken branches and teach her to fly again, if needs be.
And then there’s the matter of the prized Earp legacy. It’s selfish and frankly stupid, but if she’s not the heir, what is left for Wynonna to be? She never desired the job, she was brought up in the clear understanding that it would be Willa’s fate. But for once in her life, albeit unwillingly, Wynonna has risen to the occasion. Being the heir has given her a purpose, a clear direction for her feet when she steps out of bed in the morning. Willa is back and there are so many emotions inside her stomach she might as well puke up a rainbow.
“ You’re the Earp that I need right now. ”
She snaps out of the vicious circle of her thoughts. Her usual confidant is nowhere to be found, but Dolls is there and very quick to say the words she needs to hear right now. For once. Double-teaming a pair of succubus revenants is a way as good as any to release some of her steam. Peacemaker hasn’t abandoned her yet, it must be a good sign. The flames of Hellfire have barely enough time to die out and a frantic call from Waverly sucks her back into the whirlwind that is the Earp family.
Willa is gone. Again. The script doesn’t change, does it?
She and Waves assess the situation, walking around Purgatory hoping to for some divine epiphany to help them out. It’s really a faulty-connection-between-brain-and-mouth kind of situation, and the thought escapes before she can envision the judgy look from her sister she’d rather avoid.
“ I wish that Doc was here. He bailed on me...on us. But he’s a damn good tracker. ”
The younger Earp focuses on the tracker part, cause it makes perfect logical sense. Or maybe Waves just has enough common sense in her not to prod the matter further; she has her own opinions about the disappearance of the cowboy on the pink horse and she can keep them. Wynonna pushes the thoughts of abandonment away. Really, by now she’s learned to know better.
Besides, Willa stays true to the Earp name and they don’t really need a tracker in the end. Everything is set on fire in that afternoon at Shorty’s, and this time the match is not in Wynonna’s hand.
***
The fury of two Earps hits harder and faster than one's. With her memories returning, Willa proves to be wild and hard and full of edges. More than a spring, she must have a whole damn machinery in her stomach, a short fuse waiting to be lit. It scares Wynonna at times, but before she can really think about it, the Willa she knows comes back. And Wynonna is gonna protect her this time, if it’s the last thing she does.
Then Peacemaker betrays her too and Wynonna is ready to curse Heaven and Hell alike. She tries -the whole opening up thing- with Dolls. He cuts her off before she can put her self-doubt between them. She’s never seen him so...warm?
“ Now I wouldn’t want to fight with anyone else by my side. ”
It is reassuring, to be chosen. Even if Peacemaker decides she is no longer the heir. It doesn’t calm the commotion in her head, but it’s a solid rock to hang on to. He can be trusted and she is grateful for that.
She is less grateful for what he shows her next. A charred pink car she knows well. There is no body. Wynonna knows better than most that a body is not always needed. Doc was coming back to them. To her?
It stings. The spring gets tighter; they were all blaming him for leaving and the idiot had just got himself in a car accident. With the car she had given him. The one he could barely drive. The itch comes back, and if Peacemaker won’t collaborate she will make it. Anger is better than hurting.
They got Doc, they almost got Dolls, and she will make them pay.
They find only a desperate judge commiserating all of his bad choices. She has no pity for him, only wise words.
“ Shit happens. ”
Cryderman taking his life is less of a satisfaction than expected (she is still human), but his information is a lead to the Lead and they got a plan to focus on. And action, action Wynonna can work with.
***
“ We make a plan and we stick to it .”
When has it ever worked that way?
For a while it feels like it’s going so well, like they have a clue. Sure, coming to terms with the fact her own father did indeed make a deal with the devil is not part of her usual party prep routine. Details. Finding the letter is enough of a breakthrough, she knows what Bobo wants and she believes they can stop him.
Thoughts of murder and revenge cloud her mind while she puts on make up and slides in the red dress she impulsively bought online with no real use for it. Vanity might be a sin, but tonight she’s dressed for victory. She can even stand the pain of high heels on ice, the promise of resolution and safety for her family attracting her like a magnet to the hotel.
Her sisters are waiting for her. Never thought she’d say this again. Willa is her main preoccupation. There is no space for her own insecurities, Willa is the heir they want and the one they will not get. Peacemaker is shoved in her hands, Wynonna makes her peace with not being able to put Bobo down for good if it means her sister can protect herself.
She enters the room and the townsfolk’s attention is on her. Undoubtedly she looks like a snack in her red dress, but… pull yourselves together people. Perhaps they are just surprised to see she can be normal. It doesn’t matter, for Dolls is the most impressed of them all. She finds again the uncharacteristic warmth in him as he eyes her up. Dangerously warm, so she changes the subject, focusing on the mission. They have it all figured out, what Bobo wants, that Willa is the lead and the true Earp heir. Really, the wise thing to do would be to leave, but they don’t. Because Willa wants to party for all the years she’s spent stashed away in the wilderness, because Dolls is like a bull who’s seen red and when he suggests a drink, who is Wynonna to say no? Drinking away her feelings is her MO after all, isn’t it?
Small clink in the plan, there is only nauseating peach champagne at this party. Damn this stuff is disgusting;she didn’t pin Bobo for the type, but he manages to let her down even with alcohol. Bothersome thoughts that can’t be drowned come to the surface like the bubbles in the peachy piss, so she tries again telling Dolls. She is not the heir, she can’t be as good at this as Willa is, for real Dolls, it’s Peacemaker’s choice not yours. It matters, it does matter… she’s just almost got used to being something, like she was destined to make something of herself in the end. She’s just plain old Wynonna, the lost soul of Purgatory. Looking up to him, there is no soldier in front of her, just a man. A man who is looking at her, listening and who refuses to let her go.
“ Screw them. I need you ”
She is about to cry, his words heavy and secure, keeping her anchored to a place where she matters, surrounded by the debris left by the explosion of all her certainties. So she gets closer and she kisses him, her hand hanging on his strong jaw for comfort. They break the kiss and her instinct screams to turn around, towards the flame.
A very dapper Doc risen from death is staring at them with eyes as sharp as knives. Wynonna is paralysed while he makes a point to act as if there wasn’t one thing in this world to bother him, the champagne masquerading as his only interest. There are so many questions. A whole lot of relief. A tinge of guilt?
And that’s when it all goes to hell. So much for a plan, eh. Wynonna might not be the true heir but she surely is in the middle of a whole chunk of a mess. Like a demonic fairy Godfather, Bobo makes her dream of living one of her recurring nightmares come true, turning the entire town to run after her with pitchforks, grasping for her head.
And so she runs and runs, feeling naked without Peacemaker, leaving the two rivals turned partners on her behalf to contain the mob. Where’s Willa? Where’s Waverly?
Damn. He’s played them. What hubris, to think they could outsmart a devil with centuries under his belt.
A drugged up Pete comes for her at the homestead. Willa saves her. But she’s lost Peacemaker. Damn. Still, first they need to go save Waverly. Weirdly, Willa needs convincing, but the prospect of kicking some ass turns the tide. She will kick them all to save Waverly.
They get her Baby Girl.
It’s fine.
It’s all under control.
Except that nothing is.
Waverly has suspected for a while, the smart and insightful creature that she is, hiding the magic gun just to be safe. Wynonna… well, she didn’t want to see.
Willa snaps and snarls, her mask coming undone to show her the true depths of her wild nature. Peacemaker for her little sister’s lover’s life is an easy choice to make once she accepts how far gone the older sister is. They really should have fought harder for her as she was lost out there, all the years in the wilderness with one revenant or the other transforming her into something so cold and sharp. They remade her into their image, damned in a freezing and personal version of hell. It’s their fault. Of some more than others.
It’s ok.
Focus, Earp.
Nicole, finally a smart one, lets them know that Doc and Dolls are still fighting, they will help. She will make Del Rey pay and she will get her sister back.
Nedley is an unlikely saviour, letting her continue her journey to Shorty’s where she finds an even more unlikely view: Doc and Dolls all pal-ed up, singing each other’s praises. There is no time to consider the hilarity of the situation. She gets one boy with her, the other stays behind to coordinate saving the town.
The familiarity of having Doc by her side creeps back while they raid Dolls’ weapon safe.If she talks to him she won’t be alone with her thoughts, so on and on she goes. What would Wyatt do she asks. She doesn’t like the answer. A stupid story about a dog he offers her. And the very valid point she herself can’t continue pretending not to see, the terrifying prospect of her sister being beyond saving.
“ Careful, Earp. Doing what’s right even in the face of ridiculous odds? You are beginning to sound like a hero. ”
It is not the rousing speech she requested, but the earnestness in his unflinching eyes gives her courage. She can see herself reflected in there like he sees her, she will try. And she won’t let go of Willa.
Except she does. There is no other way. Wynonna’s clever grenade trick leaves both their men on the ground in pain, while the Earp sisters face each other at the gate. Wynonna recognises the resolution in Willa’s eyes, so similar to her own. She owes her one final desperate attempt, but her Willa is gone, dooming them all.
The rest of the day’s events clash against each other and mesh into one gigantic nightmare populated by monsters, both human and biblical. In the eye of the storm, only clear moment etching itself into her memory for a renewed dose of neverending nightmares, there’s the barrel of Peacemaker aimed between her sister’s eyes, in the split second when she decides that the only mercy she can give this world right now is indeed, as Doc foresaw, to put her down.
And then there is only one heir left.
***
They come back to the clearing near the gate. Doc, Waverly and her. There is no one else left.
The cold slides from the frozen ground into her limbs, climbing up and up the closer she gets to it and pooling in her stomach. Doc is warm and comforting next to her, like the mild flames of a homey fireplace. It’s easier than it should be, telling him of Willa, the girl she was, the girl that she wants to remember. The shared memory hangs between them, crystallizing in the cold. Maybe he will keep it for her, for when she will no longer be able to talk about it.
A moment which comes so soon. The coiled spring tugs at her insides, holding her together. Revenants. Monster. Saving Dolls.
She is a woman on a mission.