Chapter Text
It was a common problem so far, something that the others didn’t really seem to mind before. Sheriff Whitehorse and Hudson dealt with it, enjoying his meek obedience and the quietness of his actions. It was easy for him to slip out of their thoughts and disappear even when the room was full, no one really noticed him. He never really talked much, in fact, the only person to hear him speak at all was the Sheriff when he interviewed for the job. Even then, the elder man had forgotten the sound of his rookie’s voice, always seeming startled when he does speak up in small bursts of one or two word phrases. Always so soft and quiet, the presence of a deep thinker, the sheriff had mused once in confidence. A man of action but also of mind.
Hudson and Pratt both assumed he was a selective mute, but they didn’t mind either. He was young and still really green for the job so they would take the lead on all their calls and issues. He was meant to follow along and watch their backs. He complied easily. Until Eden’s Gate happened.
There was no one to really follow, to direct him. He was out there, alone, fighting through the wilderness with peggies at his back and an unfathomable expanse of possibilities before him. All seemed so vague and uncertain, all of them were unknown and he wasn’t too proud to admit he was terrified. Though there wasn’t any one present for him to admit that to, aside from the occasional hare or doe that shambled into his path or rested nearby in a field, grazing quietly. Even the animals tended to forget his presence. As time passed and he fought his way across Hope County, he made friends. Plenty of good folk that had his back but they all looked up to him, followed him. His choices decided their fates and they pledged themselves to him. To this cause. He wasn’t so sure that feeling was a welcome one. It made his gut twist all up and he’d feel the jitters start to set in when he’d excuse himself with an apologetic smile or a nod in a direction. The sickening feeling came when he realized the people devoting their guns and their lives to him somehow put him on par with Joseph Seed. That mad man was the last person he wanted to be the equal of.
With time, even that started to fade and it became second nature to lead these courageous men and women against the family of lunatics bringing their wrath upon this county. Ironically enough. John Seed shared the same feeling towards him. Labeling him with his mark of sin in the few short hours before his demise. Joseph didn’t take too kindly to the loss of his little brother, the broadcast showed as much but Rook wasn’t interested in that. Faith Seed was halfway through sinking her claws into him, setting upon him with the noxious fumes of her Bliss as she dangled Marshall Burke in front of his face. Every time, he was just out of reach before the hallucinations would end and he’d be thrown back into the rush and roar of chaos. The world lit in a new blaze once again and he was running at top speed to swoop in and put it out.
When Faith’s anger had started to reach the boiling point and her faithful Angels were swarming the Henbane in flocks to hunt him down, he sought asylum in the quiet Whitetail Mountains. They didn’t stay quiet for long though, after a couple explosive run ins with the Wolf Beacons scattered throughout the region and a liberated outpost later, he found himself gunned down in the woods with a laced arrow burrowed into the flesh of his leg. He tried to run, the distant howls of Judges over the hills, their massive white bodies darting through the brush, following the blood trails with their masters tracking behind. Bows clutched in hand and bodies covered in the thick garments of the Chosen . He managed to drag himself into a narrow crevice of wood, a pitiful attempt to hide before the drug took hold, snagging and snatching at his mind and pulling him under its spell.
His first run in with Jacob was more terrifying than his face to face exchange with Joseph in the back of the helicopter near the compound or when John attempted to flay the flesh from his chest with a fillet knife. The interaction was all predatory, an immediate Alpha dominance was presented before him, demanding he submit well before any actions to enforce the command were taken. Deputy Pratt knew his place, it was obvious enough by how the normally confident and sure handed man scurried away like a frightened deer the moment Jacob neared. The way he kept his head bowed in his presence and his gaze averted to avoid any mistaken attempts at challenge.
Rook could tell, not just by his weak and battered appearance, but by how much he had changed, that Jacob had really done a number on the man to put him in that position. He wasn’t even half this timid in the presence of Sheriff Whitehorse. All proud body language and drawn back shoulders, exerting his prowess as the veteran Deputy beneath the Sheriff. His only challenge then was Hudson, with their equal respect and jabbing banter, they were both a force to be reckoned with. Since Eden’s Gate, the Seeds had broken them both down in ways he doubted either of them would recover from.
He could have gone without the slide show of carnage and carcasses, wolves baring their teeth in a low snarl, looking on the verge of leaping off the white screen to rip his throat out. Jacob himself seem prepared to go for the jugular at a moment’s notice, clean and concise with his kills. He hunted and worked like a pack predator, herding Rook and the other captive whitetails around like the prey they were until he had them right where he wanted them. His fingers curled into tight fists as the eldest Seed brother continued his lecture, closing the distance between them until they were eye to eye.
Unlike Deputy Pratt, Rook didn’t avert his gaze or assume submission. He stared back at the striking blue orbs with challenge, noticing the primal glint in them as he straightened up, seemingly satisfied with the response. Or lack thereof. His fingers wrapped around the little wooden box, winding the key on the side with each careful crank. Rook could hear the gears turning, already dreading what was to come. He had hear rumors of this place, of Jacob’s methods of sussing out the weak from the strong. Culling the herd. He remembered.
As the box was opened, his heart seemed to stop, everything fell into slow motion as his eyes rolled back. The music coming from the gears was lost to the rushing of the blood in his ears and the tremors that shook through his body like violent seizures. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair until the nails broke and bled. His vision blurred and distorted into a haze of red and fire on the edges, tunnel vision consuming his view as he was thrown into a maddening maze of bodies and corridors. Guns at the ready and men running towards him around every jarring corner. His reflexes were fast and automatic, any fast movement was met with a bullet to the chest and on occasion, between the eyes if he was lucky enough. His legs felt on fire as he ran and ran, hearing Jacob’s voice in the back of his head, fingers itching to pull another bullet out of the chamber, more blood spilled, the coppery scent lingering in the air, splashing back on himself. He could taste it, coating his tongue and forming an itch in the back of his throat. It was so strong his nostrils burned with every flaring breath as he pushed on, faster, harder, more precise until he reached the end of the madness and was met with the deep earthy vice rumbling out its approval. “Perfect.”
He was lucky to be rescued by the Whitetail Militia after that. Left in the room with the others he had killed, he was delirious and dehydrated, left to die in the empty office room with the other decaying corpses. With the rest of those deemed weak. Rook wasn’t weak, at least he liked the think he wasn’t. It was the only way to keep his sanity at this point.
After his rescue, he ran from Jacob’s territory as fast as his legs and a commandeered ATV would take him. He cut through the woods to avoid the roads and any patrolling peggies, making his retreat back to the safety of John’s liberated region. He had never been so happy to see the endless crop fields and pastures. He hated them at first since they provided very little cover when moving but now he didn’t have to fear for that. Very few peggies dared enter the area, the rest dispersed to Faith’s or Jacob’s region to join their cause and regroup. Rook was fine with that.
He spent the next two weeks working through the Henbane area, cutting down Faith’s supply lines and decimating her Shrines on that godless path of a pilgrimage. It was at the look out tower at the end of the path where Faith made her reappearance. Her last shrine was dealt with, a few pounds of explosives later and her pilgrimage was over. Her answer was to pull her little puppet strings and seize back Marshall Burke and reclaim the county jail. Rook raced off to save Sheriff Whitehorse and end the girl’s life once and for all. She was broken and lost by the end of their journey, stepping towards Rook with pleading eyes, outreaching for some form of reassurance in her dying moments. Rook didn’t allow it. Her manipulative touch that crawled across his skin like insects. All of the Seeds had an obsession with touching and getting far too close for comfort. They knew how to use it against somebody, to screw with their senses and he wasn’t going to let her toxins seep in like the spider she was.
He wasn’t sad to see her go. He felt no remorse or sympathy. He held a slightly higher bit of guilt for John’s death, he knew the youngest brother was far too easy to please, too willing and eager as it was with many little siblings. He’d do anything for his brothers, had done anything. He was beaten down just like the rest of them and manipulated in ways that knotted Rook’s stomach up fierce. But Faith, Faith chose this path. She wasn’t manipulated. She had every opportunity, every chance to leave. To run away. She wasn’t born into this hell of a family like the others. She wasn’t a victim of environment and circumstance like the Seed brothers with their fucked up parents and their equally as fucked up middle brother.
Joseph was devastated with her death within a month of losing John. With it went more then half his flock, following their Heralds to the grave. Rook was numb by the time he finished liberating the Henbane from Faith’s loyalists and Priestesses. He helped Father Jerome and a handful of others with bringing back any defectors wanting a way out, those not too far gone in the Bliss or from John’s butchery. Their allies were growing, the resistance now rivaled Joseph’s forces and all that was left was Jacob in his way. The man had the higher ground. He was well armed, fortified and supplied in ways that John and Faith couldn’t compare.
Rook lasted about two and half weeks in Jacob’s territory, giving the eldest Seed brother the run around as he blew up wolf beacons and liberated his training grounds and recruiting stations. He had cut Jacob’s influence down to half, using the terrain to hide from his scouts and hunters. He had gotten even better with a bow thanks to Jess Black’s help and now he was a force to be reckoned with against his highly trained Chosen. Silent, deadly and determined. Jacob was quickly losing patience at that point and sent out his forces in full ambush until they pinned Rook down in a small ramshackle diner on the edge of the main highway. He was nestled in the back store room, bleeding bad from a unsavory run in with a wolverine so he didn’t have much fight left in him. He gave it his all, killing a dozen or so of the Chosen. He had blocked up the door with a shelving unit and plywood to give himself some cover. It would be a hell of a time to try and get out of the room afterwards but he didn’t care. He’d rather bleed out then end up in Jacob’s clutches once more.
Sadly, the hunters didn’t seem to have gotten the memo on that one as an arrow hit his shoulder, not deep enough to cause much damage but enough to deliver the dose of sedative they needed. He had no energy left to fight the drug and quickly succumbed to it. When he woke up, he half expected to be strapped down into another chair, his eyes glazed with the lingering effects of the drug. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, his tongue thick and heavy. His lips were cracked, glued together by the drying saliva between them. His leg was on fire and his chest ached with every breath as he tried to pull himself upright, fingers scratching against the cold hard floor. The sensation was secondary, the chill of the metal had already numbed the surface of his skin, his chest bare, legs left open to the nip of the cooler mountain air. His tattoo was partially obscured by the bandage on his collar bone, covering the wound from the arrow bolt.
His gaze roamed over his lower half, he was wearing his own boxers, the only modesty permitted. His leg was wrapped up tight, the white bandaging was a sharp contrast against the sickly visage of his body. The toned fit frame he worked so hard on in the academy was reduced to lean muscle and sharp frail edges from malnutrition and overexertion. His hips were more defined, his ribs and collarbones pressing out a little more noticeable than before. He hadn’t actually taken the time to look at himself in a long time. He’d easily forget to eat until hunger was gnawing at him like the distant howls of Judge wolves, a terrifying warning of danger. The same hunger came prowling back to the surface, cloaked in the shadows of thirst, a more dire necessity he’s discovered and beer doesn’t exactly cut it as a substitute. A realization he had after the Testicle Festival fiasco.
His body creaked and groaned in protest as he pulled himself back towards the far wall. The room was about average in size, the hard metal flooring he discovered after a few blinks into the thick darkness, belonged to the base of a cage. Much the same as the ones Jacob was keeping his experimental wolves in. He could barely make out the framing of more bars across the room in two other cages, both were empty. A desk rested opposite that next to the door. The room had the same kind of lighting on the ceiling that one would find in an office space, the long white bulbs were a subtle difference in the darkness through the bars. As far as he could tell, there was no window but then again, it could be boarded up like most buildings in Hope County.
Rook shifted around a little more, feeling the rustling of something at the end of his injured leg. His skin was too numb to register, most of his lower half had fallen asleep from his previous prolonged position and was struggling to get the blood flowing back through it. He reached down and ran his bare hands down his knee, feeling carefully over the bandages until he reached a cold lump of metal at his ankle. It was nestled at the crook of bone, snug enough to keep him from going anywhere unless he felt like gnawing his own leg off. The wolverine already started the job.
He ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh, feeling the blunt ends scrape into his tender scalp. He had a bump at the back of his head, triggering awince as they danced across it. He silently cursed and let his hands fall at his sides. It was strange, not having his gloves on, even when he decided the day was too hot to wear a shirt while working on fixing up the buildings in Fall’s End or helping do some work on a few of the outposts so they were functional again, he always wore his gloves. He hadn’t bothered until his first run in with Jacob. His broken and raw fingertips from gripping the chair so tightly left him feeling uneasy. The way the material dug under his nails and the blood that slotted the tips, a sensation he didn’t want to relive. He assumed he had no choice now.
He waited in the darkness for what felt like hours before there was noise on the other side of the walls. Soft voices muttering brief sentences back and forth. Their was a sharp sound that resembled an affirmation before silence resumed. A couple minutes later, the door creaked open, flooding the darkened room with the harsh rays of sunlight from the hallway. Rook was forced to squeeze his eyes shut to protect them from the stimulation. He dared to open them once more but was met with the click of the fluorescent ceiling lights bearing down on him. He raised his hands for some form of mercy, covering his eyes as he groaned. “He lives.” Jacob’s voice rumbled out with an amused growl, drawing the Deputy’s attention towards the pair of eyes gazing back at him. He was crouched before the cage bars as if Rook were some kind of skittish animal too afraid to near him. He placed a hand on the bar, an invitation closer or a warning on who was in charge, he couldn’t tell.
“You were weak.” Jacob stated, his gaze drifting to Rook’s damaged leg and shoulder. “That can be fixed. But this,” He gestured towards his temple, tapping it slowly with his index finger. “-is strong but directed to the wrong path. It too can be fixed. You will be trained to be strong. To cull the herd.”
Rook didn’t show any sign of response to the promise. He didn’t want to end up in that damned chair again and he was sure as hell certain he wouldn’t be able to run that rat race with his leg like this. He’d be lucky if he could even manage an escape at this rate.
“You’re not going anywhere, pup.” Pup? Rook was confused now. It took him a bit to figure out what he was talking about. A few of the Faithful had taken to referring to him as the Sheriff’s Dog. Even in the past, before Eden’s Gate, he was joking called K-9 by his classmates at the academy and even Hudson and Pratt had playfully jested the same idea. The reason being his quiet demeanor. The way he obediently follows orders and his superior officer. He was fiercely protective when his ‘Master’ was endangered or threatened but trained well enough not to react until given the command. He was by the sheriff’s side since he joined the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. A few of the regulars in the jails had taken to calling him the K-9 unit, the dog of the department since it wasn’t big enough for an actual K-9 unit.
Rook figured that little moniker from the past had reached Jacob, the dog trainer extraordinaire. He never corrected it before, never saw a reason to, figuring it would fade with time or be kept to his closest coworkers. Rook realized he must have been thinking hard, making a pulled expression of concentration when he noticed Jacob’s smile of amusement. It looked dangerous and made him want to recoil away if it weren’t for the bars against his back. He moved his good leg closer to himself but his damaged one remained outstretched, still struggling to get the feeling back in it. His concern flitted from Jacob’s expression towards his leg as his hands rubbed at the knee and tried to work the feeling back into it. “Its futile pup. We injected a localized paralytic into the limb to keep it from moving and breaking the sutures. You won’t be using it for a few more hours. Not like you’ll be needing it much.”
Jacob mused at the expression of the Deputy, the shock twisting up his features before he could cover them. He tapped his fingers against the bars as he spoke. “If you crawl over to me, I’ll give you some water.” He offered. “You’re thirsty right? It’s been a couple days since my Hunters brought you back.” A couple days? Christ. He gave a shaky breath, considering his options. Die of thirst or swallow his pride? Both would be hard to deal with. His throat felt stuck like it was glued, constricting with every shallow attempt to wet the parched flesh. It was tight and dry in ways he didn’t think were possible. “Tick tock.” Jacob hummed, giving the impression he was going to leave if Rook didn’t make up his mind soon. The deputy had no real choice, forcing himself to lean to the side so he could maneuver his injured leg around. He hissed in pain, feeling the muscles flexing in his shoulder, pulling at the damaged flesh from the arrow bolt. It took a solid minute for him to wiggle and shimmy his way across the hard floor towards the bars.
Jacob was amused by the action, barely concealing the chuckle in his throat as he reached a hand through the bars to rest atop the messy greasy head of hair. Rook froze in place, raising his head to meet the blue eyed gaze that was far too close for comfort. He bit back a noise of surprise and held completely still as the blunt nails raked across his scalp, the gesture, he assumed was meant to praise him. His suspicions were deemed correct when he purred out. “Good boy.”
Rook stared in confusion as the man scratched across his hair, ruffling through the tangle of locks catching on his fingers before he rocked back on his heels. His boots going flat against the floor as he approached the desk. A snap of something against the rough wood caused Rook to flinch at the sharp sound before a drawer was pulled open. It was hard to see past Jacob’s body as the man bent over and dug around, pulling out two different items before turning towards the cage again. In his hands was a grey canteen, the water sloshing around within had Rook pressing against the bars, eager for a drink. His eyes consumed with that canteen as Jacob made a show of giving it a small swirling motion and shake. He unscrewed the cap, paused before raising it to his lips. Rook was envious with every swallow, watching Jacob’s adam’s apple bob with the motion. He pressed further against the bars until it was painful, forcing his neck to crook at an angle.
“Want some?” He teased, giving the canteen another shake. Rook reached a hand through the bars, fingertips catching on the edges of Jacob’s clothing. He made no move to back up or swat the hand away. He was enjoying the desperation painted across the Deputy’s face. The man was weak, for now, but Jacob had plans for him. He couldn’t kill him anyway, Joseph wanted him alive. To fulfill his purpose. To unleash the seals for the coming collapse. “Do as i say and you will be rewarded with a drink. Understood?” Rook was delayed in his action but he nodded quickly.
Jacob gestured for him to back up, shooing him away from the cage door as he reached down and worked the lock loose. His eyes remained fixed on Rook to ensure he was doing as he was told. He had no worries that the deputy would disobey and attempt to attack him. Even if he succeeded, he wouldn’t get far with that leg the way it was. As the door opened, it creaked with a high pitch grinding on the hinges that made Rook flinch. It was noticed by Jacob, the corner of his mouth curling up with a sly smirk before he gestured for him to approach. “Come pup.” His index finger pointed out the place he desired Rook shuffle towards. It was awkward as he forced his bad leg underneath himself, sitting sideways to keep the pressure off his stitches. He reached out for the canteen as Jacob started to move it closer.
He swatted the hands away with a harsh click of his tongue. Rook frowned before the fingers of his free hand snatched him by his throat, the grip tight and threatening, nails digging into skin but not too harsh that he’d choke. He forced Rook’s head back so he was staring up at the ceiling. His fingers pressing under his jaw as he coaxed the water past parted cracked lips. Rook’s tongue flicked out to lap up the room temperature liquid, feeling like heaven trickled into his mouth. His adam’s apple bobbed in greedy gulps. Jacob allowed just enough to to revive his salivation glands and ward off the desert dry feeling. It took the deputy a minute to realize that Jacob had released his throat, instead a new presence occupied the space, heavy and thick against his skin. It settled around the base of his neck once the eldest Seed brother finished fiddling with it. A cool silver tag pressed against bare skin, drawing shivers through his shoulders and upper back. There was a click as he adjusted the lock keeping the buckles in place, a snug fit, tight enough to be a constant reminder but loose enough not to suffocate with.
His fingers rose to tug at the leather in confusion. This earned him a sharp whistle that was far too loud for his ears in the quiet of the room. He flinched away, his eyes opening as they rested on the elder man with apprehension. “You take that off, I won’t hesitate to shoot you. Got it?” Rook nodded in slow understanding. There was a quiet pause between them, a silence that hung heavily as Jacob seemed to consider and observe his newest addition. This man had been wreaking havoc across the county, destroyed half his territory, killed his little brother and his faux sister. Yet, here he was before him, almost docile in his presence. None of the vicious snarling or venomous words he had expected. He didn’t fight back, didn’t snap obscenities like all the rest. He held his own though, his posture told him that despite his current idleness, there was a predator beneath the surface, biding its time and waiting. The sheriff had himself one hell of a deputy at his disposal. The mad dog of Hope County was all his now, as far as he was concerned, Joseph can go play priest with some other poor schmuck. Jacob didn’t want to let this one go. Not until he’s had his fun.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” The words split the silence between them. The deputy’s gaze has drifted, still resting on Jacob but his eyes had gone distant, lost in thought. Jacob could see the change as they refocused, the tension in the deputy’s shoulders as he regarded Jacob’s remark. He was answered with a slow shake of the head. Jacob grunted in acknowledgement, a hum low in his throat before he rocked back onto the heels of his boots and stood up and made his way towards the chair at the desk. He turned it half way and plopped back with a sigh, the old rusted frame groaning beneath the weight, protesting the force as it skidded against the tile. The deputy remained where he was left, sitting in the threshold of the cage as if awaiting to be dismissed or to receive another order. Jacob watched with a peculiar glint in his eye, a look that sent twisted shreds of dread through the deputy, causing him to go stiff. His fears were abated with the wave of a hand dismissing him to go back inside his cage.