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Maybe it was some sort of sick joke played on Wrath.
John was dead. Jacob and Faith, too. Their blood was on his hands. He had watched them die. He had watched Faith sink into the water and seemed to just… dissipate. He had watched Jacob, who had beckoned him closer, until he was kneeling before him as if Jacob was some sort of saint to keep Wrath safe. John. Wrath watched the plane’s nose dip and the whole metal beast started spinning out of control. There was an explosion, and then silence. John was dead.
Everyone Wrath ever knew was dead. Nick, Kim, Peaches, Staci, Hudson. Burke. Wrath had watched Burke die, and he was powerless to stop it. He had also seen Virgil die, too. He could have done so much more but the Bliss had made his limbs feel so heavy. Guilt constantly chewed at him, in the few times he could remember. When he would often prowl the grounds of the Hope County jail, turned into an actual jail again by the Highwaymen, he’d find himself hesitating in the same spot where Virgil had been shot.
Wrath’ limbs felt the same heavy weight as they did in the Bliss, when he nearly lost everybody. Whitehorse, specifically. His sheriff. Wrath lost him in the end, anyway. He had killed him, didn’t he? Wrath’ hands felt numb, and when he looked down at them, he realized he had tripped in the small stream he was walking through. There was a bunch of broken planks, and he had slipped on them.
When Wrath pulled his hands out of the water, his palms swelled red. He had scratched them up pretty good, but didn’t bother to do much about it. He wiped his bloody palms off on his sides and exited the little stream. He stood on the edge, looking around, when the sight of blue caught his attention. Wrath didn’t even give it a second thought, instantly charging through the water. The blue streak, which Wrath then realized was a man, immediately began to run away from the intruding beast.
The man began to beg, jumping over some fallen trees and branches, tripping on one that had snagged his pant leg. He collapsed into the water, scrabbling back to his feet and continuing to run. Behind him, Wrath was advancing. He leaped over the fallen branches like it was an everyday thing, launching off a branch. His hands outstretched, fingers just inches from the soft blue crewneck that the other man wore. Wrath couldn’t grab him, hitting the ground with a rough thump, but he was back up almost immediately.
The man, a few feet away now, threw his hands up, facing Wrath. “Please don’t hurt me! I was just grabbing a drink!” He waved his hands, and Wrath watched them with tunnel focus. “I haven’t done anything to you!”
Wrath bared his teeth, lowering to the ground, like a large cat about to strike. Fear bubbled in the man’s chest and he stumbled back, waving his arms again. It was unsure if he had tripped, or if the beast slammed into him, but the blue-wearing man was on the ground, the air knocked from his lungs. He gasped for breath, hands sprawled into the water he was currently laying in.
Wrath got down on top of the man, shoving his knee into the man’s throat, shoving his head into the water. The man’s hands flew up, grabbing anything they could. An arm, a pec, a leg, hair. Eventually the beast let the man come up for air. He was gasping for breath, blue eyes wide as he stared at the beast before him, who was drooling, rotten teeth bared just inches from the stranger’s face.
“I know I’ve done some questionable stuff in the past!” The man choked out, one hand holding the knee on his chest, the other sprawled out on the ground to keep him upright. “I know what I’ve done, but I’ve changed!” He sobbed.
Wrath did not move. He watched him, tilting his head this way and that, like a wild animal, unsure of its surroundings. He certainly seemed wild enough, and did not seem sure as to why somebody was just around. He did not look like the other folk Wrath had seen in his ventures around Hope County. He was clean, his hair and beard, though greyed, was trimmed nicely. He looked like he had been completely unbothered by the Highwaymen.
Wrath growled low in his throat.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I saw you fall, I thought…”
The man hesitated when his eyes drifted to the bright paint surrounding a nasty scar on the beast’s chest. Wrath. His name. The man’s hand on the beast’s knee faltered, fingers twitching, eyebrows pinching together. Wrath slowly glanced down, too, to see what the man was looking at, but he found nothing but his own body. Was there an even bigger injury?
It might have been an injury with the way the man let out a choked sob. “Rook?” He exhaled.
Wrath looked back up and tilted his head.
The man sat up fully, hand coming up to the helmet that covered the beast’s head and face. At first Wrath didn’t move, until he could no longer see the palm of his hand as it passed his peripheral vision. Wrath shot his head back, rearing up like a bear or a horse about to strike. The other man flinched and scooted back back, putting his hands up; his clothes were no doubt soaked by now. Wrath noticed the tattoos that covered the man’s forearms. Like pictures in a child’s book, they brought back so much. Memories, feelings, nostalgia. Wrath felt giddy.
The beast’s hands lifted, grabbing the helmet. Slowly, it was pulled off, letting the massive mane of salt and pepper hair pool down over his shoulders. Wrath looked at the other man. The other man looked back, taking him in. Every scar, every grey and white hair. Every wrinkle, every spot. The dark circles beneath his eyes, the almost lifeless stare. Wrath, Mavis, looked completely different.
The stranger slowly got to his feet. He reached a hand towards the beast. “Mavis… what have they done to you?” He asked. “I thought you were dead.”
Mavis lowered his head into the hand that gently touched his cheek. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of tears swell in his eyes and fall down his cheeks. John. It had been years. The beast choked out a sob, hand coming up to grab John’s arm in the crook of his elbow. He sniffled, feeling the other man’s warm thumb run under his eye, collecting and wiping away the tears that poured.
“John…” Mavis choked out. “You look like shit.”
The Seed barked out a laugh, his eyes trailing over Mavis’ face. “You don’t look any better, old man.” He smiled softly. “You’re so… grey.” John’s voice was hardly a whisper.
Mavis smiled, moving his head closer, until his forehead touched John’s shoulder. He let out a low rumble, as if he were a cat, and it made John chuckle softly. It had been so long. He wrapped his arms slowly around Mavis’ waist, tugging him closer. Mavis’ arms tightened around John, nearly suffocating the Seed into his large body.