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Rook slept well for the first time in weeks. They didn't care if it was bad luck to sleep in a dead man's bed, the minute that their head hit John Seed's pillow they were out for the count.
John had been running them ragged throughout the Holland Valley. Rook had earned this good night's sleep, and that's all that mattered. Rook was going to reap the benefits now that The Bastard, excuse me, The Baptist was dead.
Jacob and Faith would be another story, but Rook had learned to take small victories where they could. They were becoming more rare as the days went on.
The shitty cologne John apparently wore to bed (because of course he did) still tinged their nose when they woke up, and stretched lazily. Their bones and muscles were achings still, but the expensive (and comfortable) mattress had done wonders for their back.
Then Rook heard a voice from the end of the bed.
"My bed? Really, Deputy? Have you no shame?"
John was stood at the end of the bed, wearing the same thing Rook had seen him die in less than 24 hours prior…
Rook wants to say that they have as quick a skill in critical thinking as they do their reflexes, but that would be a lie.Their hand shot out from underneath John's expensive pillowcase, a gun grasped firmly in their hands. Without even thinking, Rook fired 2 rounds into John's chest… or more, they would've- but the rounds disappeared out the other side of him, leaving him completely unharmed.
John seemed amused almost, unfazed by this attempt on his life as he simply shook his head, hands moving to rest firmly behind his back. "You can only kill me once, Wrath." The word, or rather the nickname he had oh so gratefully given Rook was spoken with such disdain that it almost surprised him. Almost.
The gunshots must’ve alerted someone- because of course they did, what with this being John Seed’s house the resistance was on the edge. One of the many guards rushed in, gun in hand as they took in the picture of Rook with a gun in his hand and two bullet holes in the wall.
The guard looked confused, but didn’t drop the gun. “You alright, Rook? Were you shooting something?” The man, (Rufus- Rook’s mind so helpfully supplies) seems to understand that maybe there really isn’t a threat here.
Rook was well aware of the issues with PTSD, and while they were certain they had it at this point, they were almost positive this wasn’t something related to that. Or, fuck, maybe it was. What did they know?
“It was just a bad dream.” Rook says, somewhat meekly, looking at Rufus. It’s all they have to say, though. They won’t have to clarify anything further for Rufus to supply his own assumptions.
Rufus thinks he understands the situation, and he gives a nod in Rook’s general direction. “Okay. Get some rest, Rook.” You need it. The words aren’t spoken, but Rook can feel them implied as clear as day as Rufus leaves the room and closes the door.
When Rook looks back to where John was standing- they expect him to be gone. There’s no way it was real, absolutely none.
...But, John is still there. He’s still standing there, at the end of the bed. It’s just then that they notice that John’s slightly see-through as well, because they sure can see where the bullethole now takes up the wall. John has turned around, and is looking at it- and Rook can see through him.
“You know, I just recently repainted these walls.” John says, somewhat bitterly before he turns back around to Rook with what Rook knows as John’s annoyed face. They may not know John very well, but they know him well enough to recognize that look from a mile a way.
There are many things Rook could say in this moment, perhaps some would be better suited for this situation, but Rook is tired and their brain isn’t working. So instead of going off on some sort of tirade of questions toward John, they decide on a very simple- "What the fuck?"
John seems a bit disappointed- but he does start grinning. He also is staring at them like he expected them to do respond in a more intelligent way. John shrugged, but his smile didn't dim. "Your guess is as good as mine." He admits, looking down at himself. “I would personally guess purgatory, but I feel like you’re going to say-”
“Are you a fucking ghost?” Rook says their brain finally catching up with the situation.
John’s chuckle is albeit a bit sad, but also it still holds that weird anger everything he says somehow is tinged with. His smile drops slightly now, and he looks at Rook with barely hidden hatred. “...And who’s fault is that, Wrath?”
Rook doesn’t feel bad. They really don’t. John had been going around torturing people, nearly drowning people, hell even murdering people. John was not a good man. Rook knew that. They don’t feel guilty.
...However, it’s not every day that someone you killed has come back to haunt you. That isn’t something Rook has ever had to deal with, with all of the peggies they’ve killed John is the only one who has ever had a complaint from the afterlife.
So, instead of apologizing profusely, or getting on their knees to beg for forgiveness from John, instead they just glare at him from across his bed. “Fuck you, John.” They say, the words holding so much heat behind them that they surprise even Rook. Never in their entire life have they sounded so bitter.
John rolls his eyes. “Predictable. Always so predictable, Deputy.” He says, and he clasps his hands behind his back.
“I mean, what the fuck else do you want me to say, John?” Rook asks, dumbstruck by the situation before them.
John shrugs. “We could finally talk” He says, like it’s such an out there idea. “We didn’t get to do a lot of that… before.” Before you killed me. Before I captured you and duct-taped your mouth shut. Before I kidnapped all your friends. Back when I was still just a baptist and you were still just a deputy.
Rook knows enough about John to know that he isn’t likely the type to let them sleep if he hasn’t had his ability to speak his mind, so instead of attempting to turn back over and fall back asleep, they let out a sigh a loud sigh. “Okay, John.” They say, defeated.
John’s smile returns now, full on and bright. “Thank you, Deputy. I would like to begin, if that’s alright.”
“Fine.”