Work Text:
It had been a few months since Cottonmouth had robbed and shot Mr. Gretel in his general store, and as it turned out, being shot in the leg wasn't as small of a deal as he'd tried to make it out to be. Due to the angle and range at which he'd been shot, the impact had almost shattered his leg, requiring the bone to be reset two separate times. On top of that, the wound had gotten infected, so Arthur had spent over a week in bed with a fever.
Still, he'd managed to make it through the ordeal alright for the most part. A limp and lingering pain weren't the worst things to deal with, Arthur figured. Though of course, on nights when his leg ached and nothing seemed to make it better, he thought about that night, wondering if and how it could have gone differently.
At least Cottonmouth hadn't shown his face in town since then, giving Cowboy Kim far less work as of late.
Right now, the sun was setting and it was time to close up shop. If he hurried, Mr. Gretel could stop by the post office to check his mail before it got dark. He stood up from his spot at the counter, glancing with fondness at his cane at its spot against the wall. It was decorated with an intricately carved owl – a gift sent to him from a friend out east.
Arthur grabbed the cane and walked out the front door of the general store – only to feel his heart jump to his throat.
There, leaning against one of the support beams for the awning, was Cottonmouth himself. The outlaw had his arms folded and head down, chewing on a piece of grass. Strangely, his holster was empty.
“What're you staring at?” Cottonmouth asked, not moving but sliding his gaze to Mr. Gretel. He followed the general store owner's eyes to his waist. “Hmph,” he said with a dismissive puff of breath through his nose. “What, you really think someone like me needs a gun to be dangerous?”
But the empty holster was clearly an intentional gesture. “If you want to talk,” Mr. Gretel said, as careful as he could, “perhaps we ought to go out back.”
Cottonmouth shook his head. “Haven't you heard? Cowboy Kim's out of town. And his deputy would shit his pants as soon as even look at me,” he said with a bitter laugh. “But sure,” the outlaw said, leaping up from his place at the awning, “why not.”
They walked together to the rear of the store, where there was a porch swing. The two men sat next to each other there. Mr. Gretel watched as Cottonmouth kicked his legs back and forth idly, almost playfully.
Cottonmouth glanced over at Arthur. “You know, I honestly thought you might be too frightened to chat with me like this,” he said.
“I am frightened,” Mr. Gretel replied, not meeting the other man's gaze.
“Well, obviously not enough,” Cottonmouth drawled. “Or maybe,” he added with a nasty snicker, “maybe you're just a coward.”
The general store owner gripped the armrest of the porch swing tightly with his hand, but said nothing in response.
“It's been a while since we've sat like this,” Gretel said after a moment had passed, trying to even out his voice. “A very, very long time.”
Cottonmouth shook his head. “What the hell are you getting at?”
“Do you remember the baby bird you found?” Arthur asked, looking over at the outlaw.
It must have fallen from a nest high on the eaves of the general store, because Cottonmouth, all of ten years old, had ran inside yelling with it cupped in his hands. Arthur put the little bird in a bowl with some straw and sat on the porch swing with the white-haired child, letting him watch as he fed it with a dropper.
“Do ya think his parents are looking for him?” Cottonmouth had asked, his voice trembling with concern. “Will he be okay?”
“I don't know, but I'm going to try my hardest to make sure he's alright,” Arthur had said over the feeble cheeping of the chick.
A few days later, despite Mr. Gretel's best efforts, the chick had died, and he'd never forgotten the look on Cottonmouth's face as part of the child's innocence had died with it.
“Why on earth are you thinking about that?” Cottonmouth said incredulously, back in the present. “That stupid little bird didn't stand a damned chance in hell.”
“Well,” Arthur said with a sigh, “it didn't stop us from trying, now did it?”
The two men sat together in a silence that was slightly less tense than it had been before. After a few minutes, Cottonmouth waved at Arthur's leg. “I wish I hadn't done that,” he said in a low tone, so low that Mr. Gretel almost had to strain to hear it. “I don't mind killin' so long as it's quick and relatively painless, but...” Something like regret echoed in the outlaw's tone. “Seemed like you had a rough time of it. And, well...” Cottonmouth trailed off, his features suddenly softened, “you were one of the few people to ever show me anything like kindness. Even when you really shouldn't have. So I won't hurt you like that again. You have my word,” he added with a dark chuckle, “for whatever little that's worth.”
Arthur was stunned. Here was one of the most dangerous criminals around, giving him what amounted to an apology – or as close to one as he was going to get, and he could think of nothing to say in response.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “I truly appreciate that.”
“You oughta,” Cottonmouth spat, still sore for being so vulnerable.
“Anyhow,” Mr. Gretel continued, “I think everyone should be treated with kindness.”
The hard glint reappeared in Cottonmouth's eyes as if it had never left, and he got up from the porch swing. “That's where you're wrong,” he said. “And I especially don't need that kindness from someone like you, who never stood up for a goddamn thing in his entire life.”
The comment hit Arthur like a slap in the face, but the outlaw wasn't going to give him a chance to respond to it. “Be seeing you,” Cottonmouth said with a slight bow of his head, and with a few strides around the corner of the general store, he was gone.
Mr. Gretel, now alone on the porch swing, buried his head in his hands. That's not fair, he thought to himself. I did stand up for something, once.
But it didn't make a difference then, so why should I bother now?