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Aren't You Supposed To Be Dead?

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Bobo opened his eyes and swallowed a groan – never show weakness, Robert – and looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling. He ached, but when he moved to sit up he could move, which was an improvement to some of his trips over the line.

"Any sudden moves and you will regret being born, demon," said a voice, and Bobo growled deep in his throat, squinting in the near-darkness. He took in the environment first – a dingy cell, holding a single cot bolted to the wall with a thin mattress, a metal toilet also bolted to the wall, and a single window set high on the wall, a lattice of bars deterring any possible escape attempt. Three stone walls and one only metal bars and a metal door for the last – if Bobo had any strength left, he would have laughed – and the lone other occupant of the cell standing in the corner opposite where the Revenant lay sprawled on the concrete floor, fists raised in a good old-fashioned boxing threat.

"Fuck off," said Bobo, the words slurring from his mouth, and it took more effort than he would have liked to get himself upright – he gripped the bars of the door and grinned when the hinges rattled. The other prisoner – male, middle-aged, smelling of sweat and dirt and fear – inched forward, stepping into the light.

"I may not have a weapon that can put you back in the hell where you belong," said Wyatt Earp, eyes blazing with a righteous fury, "but I can make what little time we have left for you hell upon this earth."

Well, wasn't that a kick in the pants. Bobo raised a hand and slowly wiped his mouth – his fingers came away sticky with blood, and he had to resume leaning against the door to battle the wave of dizziness that came with it – and let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Like I said," he drawled, "fuck off, Earp."

Of all the people he had never expected, never dreamed, of seeing again, it had to be this one, resurrected or what have you, to be locked in a cell with.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" the Revenant added, shifting his weight so his shoulders were pressed against the bars – it took some of the pressure off his spine and back, which hurt the worst besides his jaw – and tilted his head to look at the man opposite. "In order for all of us to rise from hell, as it were."

"This is as much a mystery to me as it is to you, demon," said Wyatt. The Ranger leaned forward and squinted, a frown tugging down his mustache. "Who are you? That is not the face of any outlaw I put down, yet you are one of them…"

"A lot has changed since you went into the earth, Earp," said Bobo, and pushed off from the wall, turning his back to the Ranger and looking up at the metal door. He rested a hand on the metal and tugged, lightly, with his powers – and immediately groaned, pressing a hand against his head as the aching there spiked. Not good.

"Perhaps my memory did not return unscathed," said Wyatt, "and it appears neither are you." He sounded calmer, and Bobo risked a glance at the other man – the Ranger had lowered his hands and had eased his posture, although his gaze was still sharp and watchful. "Shall we call a truce, demon, until we escape this place?"

Bobo snorted and turned back to the door. "Suit yourself," he grumbled. "Earps are more trouble than they're worth, in my experience." He reached with his powers again, then flinched when a hand rested on his shoulder – he spun with a snarl, eyes gleaming Revenant red. "Don't touch me."

Wyatt withdrew his hand and took a healthy step back. "My apologies," he said. "You seemed to be in pain."

"Then don't make it worse," growled Bobo. "Touch me again and I'll break your fingers." The Ranger acknowledged his threat with a nod, and Bobo closed his eyes, focusing on the hinges of the door. The pins wiggled under his will, shifting and squeaking until they jumped from their posts, clattering to the floor as Bobo gripped the door to keep it from falling. "Make yourself useful, Earp."

Wyatt appeared at his shoulder and grasped the heavy door, grunting with effort as he assisted the Revenant in moving it to rest against the wall without causing more than a gentle clang of metal on metal as they let go. Bobo stepped out into the hall and stumbled, baring his teeth at Wyatt when the Ranger moved to offer a hand, and regained his balance enough to start up the hall.

"Should you be moving with such injuries?" said Wyatt, jogging to catch up with the Revenant's long strides. Wyatt was a tall man, but he tended to walk slow and take in the details – Bobo had long since mastered a quickness of sight and strategy that could keep him moving rather than to linger. "You're leaving a trail of blood any man with eyes could follow."

Bobo stopped, resting a hand on the wall and grimacing when he saw that he was, indeed, leaving a trail of blood – red droplets had splattered on the floor at his passing, and it took him a moment to remember why, besides the cuts in his mouth from the beating he had received, he would be bleeding. "It'll heal," he said – and it would, faster than a human injury, but it explained why he felt so dizzy. He pressed a hand to the cut on his side – the handiwork of an enthusiastic torturer's knife – and grit his teeth through the pain.

"Here," said Wyatt, and held out a bandana – it looked clean enough, and leaving a trail to follow did not suit Bobo's ideals of a good escape, so he took it, pressing the fabric to the wound and frowning as it bloomed red, brighter than his blood usually was. "Your face is familiar to me, but I–"

"Shut it," said Bobo. "You want to live long enough to get out of here, Earp, then you shut your whining trap."