The Seabird Flies at Noon, Chatper 1: Ruckus
⪀Pairing: E. Smith X Reader (Miche x Reader, mentioned)
⪀Word Count: 3.7k
⪀Summary: A normally quiet morning suddenly goes south, as gunshots erupt from the saloon. Mateo eats pancakes.
⪀Rating: PG13 for mentions of Guns
⪀Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mentions of Gunshots. Tooth rotting fluff. Eren is a little shit.
⪀AN: I have been writing this fic for a little under two weeks and I have been MESMERIZED by it. I love westerns. This fic was born out of me finishing 1883, rewatching Hell on Wheels, and listening to the Godless soundtrack. Enjoy!
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When you sit up in bed, awoken by the sound of crowing roosters, it's still dark outside. The bed is empty. You sweep your palm over the empty side of the bed, finding nothing but cool, ruffled sheets where your husband used to sleep. Sometimes you dream about waking up to his nose pressed against the crook of your neck, or an arm thrown around your waist, keeping you pressed close to him. You sigh out of your nose, softly. There was no point in reminiscing right now. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, and stand, determined to get out of bed before the depression of being a widow sunk in. Instead, you head out of your bedroom towards your son’s room.
Your son was the spitting image of his father. At 5, he still had rosy, chubby cheeks and dusty blond hair that curled towards the sky when wet. He had passed out in bed after another chapter of Alice in Wonderland, and still had his face pressed against an old, heavily damaged rabbit plush Miche had gotten for him as a newborn. You brush your hand over his back, and lean down to move his hair away from his face with your other hand. It was getting long now, and seeing it brush his cheeks when he ran or fall into his eyes when he looked down, reminded you of the way Miche’s hair moved wildly in the wind when he was breaking in a new horse.
“Bub…It’s time to wake up.” You mutter, brushing your thumbs across the swells of his chubby cheeks. He stirs, and fists his eyes, nose scrunching in a way that your mother swears he got from you. Mateo yawns, before those big, hazel eyes flutter open. He stares up at you for a moment, still in a sleepy haze.
“Mama…I was dreaming about…the ocean.” He mumbles, rolling onto his back and giving you a smile that instantly warms your chest.
“Were you?” You murmur softly as you run your fingers through his hair, dividing up the tangles that had formed overnight. “We’ll have to take you some day, so you can collect seashells and play in the water. For now, there are horses that need to be fed, and eggs that need gathered.” You instruct, giving him a moment to fully awaken before you stand and brush your hands down your nightgown to smooth out the creases.
“Yes mama!” Doing as he’s told, he climbs out of bed, though you cast a look back towards his sheets, and he quickly turns to neatly gather them up, and props his pillow up at the head of the bed with a proud little grin.
“Good boy. When you’re done with the eggs and horses, please let the dogs out of the barn for me, and by then, I’ll have your breakfast ready.” You promise, ruffling his hair as he heads to the cedar chest at the foot of his bed, to throw on clothing and get his morning chores done. In the meantime, you return to your bedroom, throwing on your own work clothes. You find tan, scuffed, canvas work pants that belonged to Miche. After his death you’d had to tailor them significantly so they’d fit, but to you, they were perfect. He’d worn them down in just the right places, making the fabric between the legs where his thighs had hugged the saddle smooth, and keeping you from chaffing in the scorching, New Mexico sun. His shirts were the same, the fabric worn down and patched where he’d nicked it with stubborn horses, or by catching a stray nail on his way into the barn. It was familiar, and oddly comforting, in a way you couldn’t quite describe.
“Mama, I can’t find ma hat!” A little voice interrupts you as you fasten the line of clear buttons up the front of the shirt, and tuck the tails into your pants.
“Did you check the hook by the door, Mateo?” You call back, taking a moment to reach for your pistol. Despite you living in a small, relatively, quiet mining town, you knew better than to be caught without it. You were too far from the actual town if something were to happen, and the last thing you wanted to do was orphan your son. Quickly, you slide your feet into a pair of boots, and stomp into the kitchen, eyes darting over every surface for the- there.
Miche's hat was on the dining room table, and your son was bumbling around the room, appearing befuddled. You smile fondy and shake your head at his antics, which reminded you so much of your husband. It was ridiculous how many times you had found items right in front of his face. Regrettably, you had not been there to do so for him when he needed it most. And that was a regret you’d have for the rest of your days.
“If it were a coyote, it woulda bit you.” You tease. You plunk the dusty black hat on his head and tuck his bangs behind his ears, pulling them away from his face. "Out you go, rascal." As he skips out the front door, grinning widely, you give him a pat on the bum to encourage him, delighted at the whimsical sound of his giggles. You follow close behind, the sound of mooing filling the morning silence. Two brown behemoths stand in their stalls as you gather two tin buckets and a dusty old stool. You give the cows a warm smile as their ears flicker in your direction.
“Mornin’ ladies.” You greet, reaching for a scoop of feed and a handful of golden hay to put in their troughs so they don't fuss while you milk them. Steam wafts off of the fresh white liquid as you tug and pull their warm udders, squirting line after line of milk into the bucket, until they’re full. With a huff, you lug both buckets out of the barn, pausing only for a moment to give Miche’s horse a good pat on the rough hide of his neck. “And good morning to you, Buck.”
On your way back to the house, you spot your son dashing towards the pasture, his two hounds at his heels, howling and whooping into the still dark morning. As much as you want to yell after him and tell him to be careful, you decide to leave him be and head inside to prepare breakfast.
You set the pails by the black iron stove, and reach for a couple pieces of wood to start a fire in the oven for breakfast. Flames dance to life over the balled up tinder, and you blow to coax them into a little blaze.
From the pantry, you dig out a cast iron skillet, and settle it over the open hole in the stove, as flames lick the edge. Adding lard you think back to Miche standing over the stove, those stupid, long bangs in his eyes as he made hot cakes, and warmed up coffee, so proud of himself because he made breakfast for you. How he saw through them, you’d never know, you thought to yourself, as you started on the eggs first, before adding hot cake batter and getting some bread and jam for Mateo to take with him for lunch.
Suddenly he rushes into the kitchen, a flurry of excitement and chatter, with the dogs still on his heels. As he stands on his tiptoes to set a basket of fresh eggs on the counter, his head whips around to you, a bright smile playing on his face. “Mama, guess what? I saw a mustang I think! And then, I found worms by the paddock, and guess what Mama, Sawney and Bean and me chased the horses alllllll the way til I got to the pasture and then we came all the way back!” He rattles on, just about vibrating with energy. You spoon fried eggs onto a tin plate for him. The hound dogs, a gift from the Mayor, went wherever your son went, so you weren’t all that surprised to hear about their morning adventures.
"Wow, what a morning!” You hum, as you pour fresh milk into a cup and set it by his plate. "Get dressed and washed up, so we can get ready to leave for school."
Mateo frowns and offers you those huge, hazel puppy dog eyes that always seem to keep him out of trouble when he's been misbehaving. “But Mama…” He whines, eyes flickering over to the small stack of fresh pancakes dripping with syrup, as a pad of fresh butter melts on top.
“Nope. You’ve got mucky hands, and eye crusties. Dogs outside, now, and you mister, get that cute little face clean. Then we’ll have breakfast.” You promise. Mateo pouts, but does as he’s told, dragging his feet back to the front door, and pushing both dogs outside.
“Sorry, Mama said no doggies in the house…I’ll see ya after school.” He sighs and puts his hat on the hook by the door before trudging off to his bedroom to wash his hands and face, and get dressed.
Of course, you listen to your own advice and return to your bedroom to get ready to leave for town. You comb your hair, cringing slightly as you pull at tangles, and tie it up in a bun. You rinse your body with a soft fleece rag, and cool water left over from the night before washing up. When you opened the bedroom door to step out again, the sun had finally risen, and it was streaming through the tall windows that lined the metal sink in the kitchen, casting long rectangles of light across the wooden table and dirt floors.
Mateo had beaten you back to the table, and he was already stuffing still warm, fluffy pancakes into his mouth like the little barbarian he was. You eye his blue, collared shirt, and the brown breeches that you’d just repaired the button on last night. His feet, in those little boots of his, were swinging back and forth as he chowed down on one of his favorite foods.
“Don’t get syrup on your school clothes, Teo.” You scold softly, sitting across from him and reaching for your own pancakes.
“Yes ma’am.” He garbled, doing his best to follow through with your request, though you expected him to leave dribbles of the sticky substance on his shirt anyway. “Mama, can we take Buck to school?” He asked, dropping his fork onto his plate and reaching for his cup with both hands. He chugs down three big gulps of milk, before setting it down with a pleased sigh.
Buck was Miche's favorite horse, and thus Mateo's favorite horse as well. You pause for a moment to think about it. Town was only a short distance away, and it took about 20 minutes to walk there, but with the horse's help, you'd be there in half the time. The only real drawback was that he kicked up a lot of dust. Mateo would be covered from head to toe in a light dusting of the red dirt by the time you arrived.
“I don’t think so, Teo. Not today. How about you take your marbles to play with during recess instead?” You encourage, hoping that it keeps your son from whining. Of course, it works. A big grin blossoms along his messy face.
“Okay! Thank you!” Before you’re even done with your cup of room temperature coffee, he’s up, ricocheting off of his seat to his bedroom like a bullet spiking off of metal.
“Don’t lose them!” The marbles also belonged to Miche when he was a boy, and you were a bit afraid that your son would lose the small, brightly colored glass balls, causing you to lose another little part of him. There wasn’t much that you still had to hold onto. His hat. His horse. The dogs. Mateo, of course. And his boots, still sitting by the front door, just waiting for Mateo to grow big enough to wear them himself.
“I won’t!” Mateo calls back. Even from where you sit, you can hear the smile in his voice, and the metallic clang of the marbles bouncing around in their metal tin. When breakfast is finished, Mateo gathers his slate, his chalk, and his lunch of jammed bread and milk. He pauses by the door to pick up his hat. He ties the strings beneath his chin, before he gallops out into the warm morning sun, and basks in it, eyes closed and a smile on his lips.
“It’s gonna be hot today, isn’t it Mama?” He asks, shooting a look over his shoulder at you as you tuck your pistol into your hip holster. You gather up the eggs, and milk as well, intending to drop them off at the general store on your way back home to make a little extra money. Mateo seemed to never stop growing, which meant he needed clothes and shoes, and all types of food to keep him sustained, which required you to run an amateur little farm out of your ranch. It wasn’t like anyone else was going to eat the 3 dozen eggs your hens were producing, anyway.
“I bet it is.” You reply, shutting the door behind you and stepping out, letting the sun warm your skin. “C’mon. Why don’t we go over your addition tables again.” Mateo groans, shoulders slumping. He had unfortunately inherited your disdain for arithmetic. “You’re gonna need to be able to do math to run the ranch someday. How are you going to know how many pounds of meat you’re sending out? Or if someone is shorting you on money you’re owed? I won’t be able to help you forever.” The little boy frowns, hard. He did not want to imagine a world where he and his mother weren’t together.
“Okay…” he huffs, answering as best as he can when you ask him questions, though he stops more than once to count on his fingers to try and get a right answer to some of your harder questions.
Historia was waiting outside when Mateo and you came into view. Mateo waves, grinning when he sees the makeshift school house in the distance. Despite his hatred for anything to do with numbers, Mateo loved going to school. A handful of kids his age were playing outside, chasing each other or swinging on a rudimentary swing set.
“Good morning Ma’am!” Mateo greets, before you even get a chance to open your mouth. He tips his hat at the brim, a gentlemanly habit he’d learned from his father, that makes you feel oddly proud. The blond smiles down at him, before patting his hat affectionately.
“If it isn’t Mateo, good morning! Why don’t you go play with Falco? He’s been waiting to show you his new train for quite some time!” Your son starts to run off, but quickly skids to a halt and pivots on his heels, running back with open arms and a grin.
“Love you Mama, see ya later!” He chirps, and you lean down to wrap him up in a tight hug.
“I almost thought you’d forgotten. I love you too, Mateo. Mind your manners and don’t lose those marbles, you hear?” You request, pecking his cheek, before you let him go. He joins his friend, who were sitting in a semi circle in the dirt, taking turns passing the shiny red train toy from person to person.
“How have you been?” It seemed everyone had been jumping out of their skin to ask you how you’re doing without your husband, as if your survival was somehow contingent upon his existence.
“Good. Great. Things are good.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Sure, you missed Miche. Anyone with eyes could see the change in your posture, and behavior after losing him. You were quieter now, to everyone except your son. More private. Like you had retreated behind a facade that everything was okay in an attempt to not have to talk about what had happened.
“Are you certain?” She asks, setting those much too innocent blue eyes on you. You avert your gaze.
“Yeah. Have a good day, Historia. I need to get this milk into the mercantile before it curdles.” In reality, you were just looking for a quick way out, and you thanked god for the milk jugs you’d lugged into town.
“Right. I’ll see you this afternoon.” She gives you a nod, but doesn’t press any further. You gave her one more forced smile, and headed off down the main road, towards the general store. Even at this early hour, people had started moving around town. On your way into town, you pass the brothel ran by your good friend Ymir, the Mayor’s office, and Kenny’s saloon before you finally reach your destination: Ral’s Mercantile.
A bell announces your arrival as you enter, and Petra gives you a warm, welcoming smile. “Good morning Ms. Zacharias!” She greets, somehow chipper despite the early hour. “I hope you have some eggs for me. Ms. Braus just picked up a whole dozen and I’m running low.”
You set the basket on the counter and pull away a tan cloth, revealing 39 pristine eggs that make the brunette beam, clearly relieved. “I’ve got eggs and milk. Could I exchange for…” you pause, eyes darting over the shelf as you consider your options and what you really needed.
“Two peppermints and a half pound of coffee grounds. Add the leftovers to my tab please.” She nods, and plucks the eggs one by one out of the basket. She sets them in a small wooden crate, and empties the milk into a large jug behind the counter.
“Here are your sweets. Let me get that coffee for ya.” Petra wraps up the red and white candy in neat little squares of white butcher paper, and you slide them into your pocket with a utterance of a thank you. Mateo would be glad to see them after dinner. “Are you going to bring some meat into town, soon? Eld and Gunther said they were running low on beef.” She informs, scooping the dark substance onto a scale and watching the weight shift.
“Yes, I was planning on dropping off some venison and beef hides tomorrow.” That was if you could track down a deer today. It helped that Mateo was at school. He had a bleeding heart and killing anything upset him greatly. Knowing him, he’d spook the deer on purpose, before you could even get a shot in. Petra beams at you. “Good! In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow. Give Mateo my best.” Similarly to his father, your son had a certain charm that caused everyone who met him to adore him. Honestly you were a bit jealous, considering how long it had taken the town to warm up to having you in their midst. Petra, on the other hand, had always been kind to you for some reason. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that you always paid your tab on time? Or that you had faithfully supported their business rather than riding to La Belle to visit the larger store there, as some of the citizens of Paradise did. Regardless…you appreciated her unabashed kindness.
“Of course. Have a good day, Petra.” You barely hear her tell you to have a good one too as you exit. In the short time you’d been in the store, the town had come to life. Wagons lurched up and down Main Street, and the sound of someone playing a piano was already flowing out of the open windows of the saloon. Clouds of dust rose up as horses trotted by, and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a familiar face, chatting with someone by the front door of the sheriff’s office.
Levi Ackerman was short for a man of the law but everyone in town knew better than to get on his bad side…except for Eren Yeager, a local bounty hunter who just could not follow the rules and stay in his good graces. The two of them often, loudly, butted heads and their arguments had led to physical violence between the two more than once. Despite his steely nature, you and Levi had spoken on more than one occasion, and you found him to be oddly…pleasant. You wouldn’t quite consider the two of you friends, but he and Miche had once been partners of sorts, so he felt familiar. Craving that familiarity, you cross the road to greet him.
“Listen here, you burn down another church to send a message and you’ll swing for arson. You do things by the book or you don’t do them at all. Am I understood, Yeager?” He hisses, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed. For anyone else that look might put ice in their veins, but Eren seemed unaffected by the threat. Instead, he salutes him, promises him it won’t happen again, and scurries off. His steely blue eyes find yours as you cross the street and you raise a hand in a simple greeting.
“Surprised to see you dragging your ass around town during daylight hours.” Levi sasses, holding his horse's reins in one hand. You roll your eyes. Typical. You'd grown accustomed to his antics by this point, and being abrasive was his way of expressing affection.
“Not at all surprised to see you reaming someone in public.” You respond sarcastically. Despite the pounding of hoof beats on the soil and music filling the area, a beat of silence falls between you.
“How’s the boy?” He asks, arms crossed over his chest as he eyes you up and down. “The pants are new.”
You look down at your knees, and back up to Levi with a raised eyebrow. “They aren’t new.” He snorts before you speak again. “Mateo is good. The nightmares have finally stopped, and he’s sleeping in his own bed again. He’s happy, I think.” You hum, crossing your own arms over your chest and shooting him a little upwards quirk of your lips.
Levi knew better than to ask you how you were doing. You open your mouth to ask where he was returning from, only to be stopped by the familiar sound of a gun being fired, followed by the crack of a bullet shooting through wood somewhere nearby. People yelled. Horses reared and pounded their hooves against the ground, surpised by the sudden noise..
Something was going on in the saloon.
