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There was something incredibly pathetic about failing to do the one thing he was asked to do.
Rook had gotten away again. John had proved himself inadequate again, even sported an injury this time. Nothing to brag about, he fell and his forearm caught on some broken glass. Jacob called him clumsy, said why can’t you just do what your goddamn told?
He lay on the too-big bed facing the wall. The cool air periodically whistling through the open window should soothe him, it usually did, but tonight the thoughts swirling in his mind prevented it.
The bandage on his forearm scratched against his skin, its purpose fulfilled at stopping the bleeding, but to John, it almost wasn’t worth the itchiness. Almost.
It was nights like this, when it was relatively silent of gunshots and the chosen, that he could almost detach himself from it all. If he closed his eyes he could pretend he was in his college days or when he still lived with the Duncan’s. Except he didn’t want to remember any of that, but that’s where his mind would go.
The wind picks up so he tugs his down-filled duvet cover closer round himself. His thin t-shirt isn’t doing him any good but it was one of the few things he had kept from before all of this. The essence of who he once was was almost entirely replaced by the comfort it brought him. He picks at the bandage.
He was off today, nothing went to plan and he is going to have a lot of explaining to do about the wasted resources he used trying to capture the deputy. It was embarrassing to say the least, his other siblings didn’t seem to have a problem keeping their pets indoors. A coil of anxiety wraps around his insides. Joseph will be disappointed.
The dampness on the pillow startles him, he didn’t realise he’d been crying. He blinks away the wetness on his eyelashes, the crickets stopped chirping outside and he vaguely wonders if a deer or a bear were passing by. He wipes at his eyes as he hears the window push open further. His stomach drops and he lay impossibly still.
Not a bear then.
The window creaks softly and the breeze carries with it the man who now stood a few feet away from him, the one who had no doubt come to kill him.
The deputy stepped in quietly and closes the window to its previous state. If John was really asleep he wouldn’t have noticed, and the thought kind of terrified him.
The Rookie moves carefully but still manages to make a few floorboards squeak. He almost wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to sneak, that nobody else was in the ranch tonight. They wouldn’t hear him if he stuck the shotgun that he knew the deputy to be carrying between his eyes and pulled the trigger. But what would be too tragic, even for him.
So, not wanting to die without at least getting a word in he settles on “Have you come to kill me in my sleep deputy? That’s low.” He doesn’t turn from where he lay and he hopes his voice doesn’t give away his current emotional state.
No answer, but the deputy isn’t exactly the talkative type. The snap of the gun being reloaded makes him twitch, there was a real chance he was going to die, right here and right now. The walkie sits just a foot away from him on the bedside locker, but his arms feel like lead. The deputy probably noticed he was clumsy and useless today and is here to finish an easy job. One seed down, three to go.
He is really crying now, a pathetic noise escapes his lips when the sound of metal clicks behind him. When the shot doesn’t come he was confused, when he feels the bed dip behind him he is at a loss.
Why wasn’t the deputy hollering down the walkie that he’d just offed a seed? And why was there a hand gripping his shoulder, not soft enough to be gentle but just the right amount to hold him there to convey what the other man was thinking: Don’t try anything.
“Why aren’t you fighting back?” It was more an accusing observation than a question.
In truth he doesn’t know, only that the rookie's hand is warm and grounding where it was still pressed on his bicep. He didn’t really want him to let go.
Rook was kneeling behind him, he thinks he hears the gun being put down on the opposite locker.
“John?” He sounds extremely confused and for once it seems, out of his depth.
He can feel Rook start to pull away. John panics, he doesn’t want to be alone right now.
“I’m going to ask you something,” John blurts out, his voice sounded horrible in his ears.
“Agree and it’s a temporary ceasefire, disagree and I’m one move away from calling every peggie for miles.” He says, voice cracking. It was an empty threat and they both knew it. John wasn’t going to do shit.
“What’s the offer?” Says Rook hesitantly, hand becoming the slightest bit tighter. A reminder of who’s really in control here. Who has the gun.
John brings his opposite hand up to clumsily grasp the deputy’s wrist. He feels the other man recoil “Wait.” he grips harder, matching the deputy’s strength.
Rook uses his leverage to turn John slightly towards himself. “What?” The deputy hisses, frustrated and confused, clearly this wasn’t going as planned. He sees something shift in the deputy’s eyes, probably when he notices the fresh tear tracks running down John's face. John cranes his neck away and takes a deep breath.
“Just for tonight, stay here…with me,” and then softer “Please.”
He hears the other exhale through his nose.
“Oh, John.” comes from behind him and he feels the bed springs pop back up. Fuck. He’s such a fucking idiot. If the deputy doesn't kill him, Joseph definitely will. At this point, he almost thinks Rook won’t bother because it would feel like putting down a wounded animal.
He picks at the bandage as he hears boots scuffling and then something being kicked across the floor. Then the bedclothes were being shifted and Rook was clambering in beside him.
“Ceasefire, yeah?” Rook says, staring at the ceiling.
His chest clenches uncomfortably and he holds back another embarrassing sob.
He doesn’t move for a while, unsure what to do or say but the heat radiating off Rook was seeping into him where they were almost touching.
“Man, I haven’t been in a bed this big for years…” Rook says a little disbelieving.
The bed creaks as Rook shuffles so he’s facing John’s back.
If Rook can tell John is quivering and pretending not to cry, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, John feels the hand on his arm again, running up and down tentatively but keeping the same pressure from earlier. “What the hell's up with you? Huh? Hair gel out of stock online or something?” Rook says, a little nervous like he’s half expecting John to turn around suddenly with his own hidden gun.
“Fuck off.” John feels the start of a smile on his lips but he stops himself “And it’s pomade, asshole.”
The hand on his arm stops moving. He should just shut up.
“Whatever.” Rook sounds like he’s almost asleep, he probably wasn’t kidding about the bed thing. “If it gives me a night in a king-sized bed I don’t really care.”
Then John does something stupid, he calls him by his first name, his real name, not Rook or Deputy or Wrath. It’s soft and hesitant like a question.
Rook tenses behind him and John wishes he hadn’t opened his mouth. Rook is going to leave now, shoot him on the way out and probably somewhere shit too, like his stomach or leg. He’d bleed out and nobody would be here to help him. Fuck. Rook will tell everyone how fucking pathetic he was.
His breath is coming in short bursts now, and his hands were starting to feel a little numb.
Rook shifts, then the hand becomes an arm, and the deputy presses up against him, chest against his back. The angle was a little awkward but he’s fucking holding him and John doesn’t know what to do except let him. He really doesn’t want him to leave. “Is this ok?” Rook asks quietly, and John can feel his breath on the back of his neck.
John nods his head not trusting his words. His hair tickles Rook's nose.
“Not a fucking word.” he manages between a few full on sobs. His hands were trembling where they fussed with the bandage.
Rook chuckles and pries John's hand away from the unravelling mess and replaced it with his own.
“Wouldn’t dream of it John,” he squeezes a little tighter. An odd feeling of loss sweeps over John and he silently wishes that this was happening in different circumstances. That Rook would be there in the morning. That he might come back again.
“wouldn’t dream of it.”