Chapter Text
The cold wave of fear when he had felt the Bliss dart sink into his flesh was like the last gasp of a drowner before darkness consumed his consciousness.
John’s men had been hunting Rook for a while now, he had almost turned it into a game, moving between locations and dodging them. Hadn’t counted on the chopper daring to go so close to one of the reclaimed settlements. It was a lucky shot, passing trees and going through bushes to claim its target.
When Rook awoke, it was with his shirt open and his hands tied behind the chair he was sat on. His head throbbed and his wrists creaked in that way that suggested he had been cuffed for a few hours more than was strictly healthy.
His chest was bared for all to see. Surgical scars gleaming in the low light and his tattoos trailing lazily down his sides.
John stood across from him, a look of consternation on his face and a wicked looking knife in his hand. Fighting the awful throbbing that was likely post-Bliss hangover, the deputy pulled a feral grin,
“Wanna know how I got these scars?”
A little joke to himself. Though, the reference might be wasted on a cult whackadoodle like John. From the cold glare he got, Rook’s smile grew larger as he realized that yes, John did get the reference.
“Does that make me Batman, Deputy?”, the idle quip was thrown over his shoulder as John turned to the table he had been leaning against. Laying the knife down, he started to switch between various weapons and tattoo guns on the table.
“Well... if Faith is the Scarecrow, Jacob is Bane... and Joseph is Two-Face... I figure you’re the Joker here, Seed”
The backhand he gets makes his brain explode in more pain, but the smile doesn’t waver. Rook has made peace with the fact that Hope County is going to kill him, one way or another. Might as well go down burning the Seed family to the ground as much as he can.
“Salt the earth, and all that”, he mutter aloud for good measure. The second backhand suggests John gets the pun, though maybe he’s just tired of Rook talking.
“I never expected the person causing so much trouble to be such a blathering idiot”, John’s eyes are bright with rage even though his tone is cool.
Sitting upright, Rook takes in the tattoo gun John has decided on. Writing the seven deadly sins all over his skin is going to ruin his tattoos, but on the bright side,
“Pity you can’t gag me. Would stop me from saying Yes, right?”, Rook bares his teeth just as John does, “Pity there’s no official sin for talking too much”
Without a further word, John tosses the tattoo gun aside and grabs the knife. Before Rook’s screaming brain can register it, John is gripping his jaw and trying to force it open.
“Y’know Deputy, you don’t need your tongue to say Yes”, he growls as the knife presses into his lips. The flash of adrenaline only helps Rook to keep his jaw clamped tightly shut as the metal scrabbles past his now bleeding lips to glance against his teeth and gums. John’s head is too far away to headbutt, but the air Rook forces out between his teeth sprays blood all over John’s face and clothes. Not as satisfying as spitting would’ve been, but the angrier John gets the more it seems he does want to cut the deputy’s tongue out.
No thanks.
Rook is saved by Joseph Seed, and he kind of hates that.
More specifically, a crackling of a radio, followed by Joseph’s voice calling out John’s name. With a hiss of frustration, the knife is cast aside and John moves to a corner of the room where the radio is.
The conversation is barely worth listening to. Jospeh asking how the deputy is doing, how John is doing. How operations are proceeding. Nothing of value is revealed, and Rook figures that intentional. Joseph isn’t an idiot and he’s not going to underestimate Rook’s desire to fuck their operations up six ways to Sunday.
John isn’t looking at him, during the conversation, and that’s a mistake. The sweat running down his arms, combined with the twisting he’s been doing, has helped him wriggle out of the ziptie handcuffs. There’s a knife in his boot, and Rook has his own ideas on carving art into people. A small table with a line of prepped needles sits to his right, and Rook figures it’s more Bliss to knock him out once John tires of him. It sounds like the conversation is wrapping up and the deputy grabs one before John comes back.
Rook doesn’t escape with Hudson. It’s not for lack of looking for her, but this must not be where John is keeping her. The guilt gnaws at Rook’s stomach, but he’ll feel it later, when he’s not running for his life. He makes a quick stop in Fall’s End to let them know he’s alive before he books it across the river and into the Whitetail Mountains. He probably shouldn’t have left a calling card on John Seed but, let’s be honest, the wrathful part of Rook just snarled in satisfaction at it.
He had left the youngest Seed alive, passed out from Bliss in the chair he had been planning to torture Rook in. Shirt open, hands cuffed behind his back, and a big old Rook chess piece carved into his chest. Rook had used that awful tattoo gun, made it all messy so the skin wouldn’t close nicely, even with stitches.
The literal note he had left in John’s lap simply read:
“Matt 5:7″