John Marston wasn't born a bad kid, rather made one for the sake of surviving. He did what he needed to do and one day it meant the eleven year old needed to steal from some sweet looking bakery a few blocks away from the orphanage.

He snuck out of that prison multiple times before, to escape his peers and the staff alike, maybe if he was lucky he might also find some good tasting food.

John swallowed as he stared at the display of bread, the air filled with warmth of the oven and the love of the family that ran it. This was the closest he felt to feeling sorry in a long time as he snuck to the back, eyes raking the rows of baked goods.

He jumped when a raspberry tart was placed in his hands, then a plain loaf of bread and some butter, and some other treats to tie it together. "Here are out newest, I helped my daddy bake 'em," the girl, maybe a year younger, said with a bright grin on her face. John blinked, under the impression he hadn't been caught until this point.

He was going tell you that he didn't have even a penny on him, apologize and run off, but you you insisted he join you on your picnic. The bakery wasn't particularly wealthy, but those little picnics became a reoccurring thing in the back alley until he disappeared a year later.

A lot can happen in a couple decades, John Marston had a family and after Abigail and Arthur passed some years ago it was now just him and Jack. The two made it along, not with the gang, but on their own. It wasn't uncommon for Jack to wander on his own whenever they reached a new destination.

"Jack! Jack, where the hell..." John searches through the new town, the sound of voice drawing him to a bakery that is all too familiar and a scene he knows too well.

With anyone else, Jack would be in a world of trouble for trying to steal ─ but lucky for that boy, you have a unique way for handling such behavior. His father knows that better than anyone.