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He didn’t need the others to tell him; didn’t need to see the evidence or have Athena run the numbers. Jesse McCree knew a ghost when he saw one. Ain’t no way he can doubt his own eyes; his own keen senses and memory. The wraith fights just like him; nasty, downright dirty, and with a bloodlust more akin to some monster, than a man. But then again, ain’t that what he’s turned into? A monster. Jesse had gotten a good look at him out in the field; real up close, and personal. Nothing like the dread that took hold of em the moment black wisps began to make themselves known. Nothing the like the headache that lingered for days after once he heard the crack of those shotguns. And, it’s funny to Jesse, real funny. Staring down the barrel of a gun that belongs to the man who taught ya everything you know. Prepared to be put out of your God damned misery by a man ya once thought ya loved. Then again, Jesse McCree’s life sure had been funny.
There ain’t no explaining why Reaper didn’t take the shot; why the wraith stood there like some dumb founded dog waiting for an order. Jesse sat there, ass hitting the chilled floor cause of course he would trip. Would stumble back and let Peacekeeper clatter from his hands. He’d been scared; ain’t no better way of put’n it. Scared right out of his damn mind, in fact. But naw, Reaper just stood there, and now that Jesse thinks about it, the damn thing was probably grin’n behind that hollowed out mask.
“Well, whatya wait’n for?” words come out far more timid than the gunslinger intends; had to swallow once or twice to even find his voice. Amber hues stay locked on the barrel of that gun; even admired the sort of craftsmanship that made up the damn thing. Worn, but well kept. Huh, who woulda thought? Still it stared at him; head cocking left just so, and the sound that rumbles from the monster's chest damn near stops Jesse’s heart. It laughs; cackle might be the better word. Gentle chuckles meant to patronize him.
“Still just an ingrate.” that gets him. Boils his blood, and pisses him the fuck off. Jesse snarls; hand clamoring for his six-shooter. Fingers find the familiar butt of the weapon, and faster than you can say dead-eye, he’s got it raised head level. Forefinger hugs the trigger, twitch’n every now and then. Ain’t no way Jesse McCree would miss this close up.
“You sonofabitch---” his heart is slamming away inside his ribs, thinks one or two might crack if they hadn’t already. Hard to hold a gun to a ghost, harder still when it’s the ghost of a loved one.
“You can’t.” it speaks; that shrill, gravel voice make’n Jesse shudder. He wonders if there’s anything to save behind that mask; wonder’s if the man he knew might still be in there, trapped like a bird in a cage. Or if this is what Gabriel had wanted all along. In a way, Jesse McCree knew he’d be the one to do it. Knew he’d be the person to put a bullet in Gabriel’s skull. Shit, if you had asked him ten or so years ago if he had the balls to pull a gun on Gabriel Reyes, Jesse woulda laughed, and kindly declined. But in an odd way, the gunslinger figured he would end up being the one to put the man down like a horse with a bad limp. Jack couldn’t do it, hell the man could hardly see the greed in Gabriel; the blood lust that simmered behind those cool brown eyes. But Jesse did; saw it early on. Only a man meant for evil could do the things Gabriel Reyes did and still keep himself together. If you asked Jesse when he thought the man started to come undone, just when he began to unravel, he’d tip his hat, and answer honestly. “We’ll, from the beginning.”
But that didn’t keep him from loving his Commander. Couldn’t do much to stop that now could he? Might have been the way Gabriel took Jesse under his wing; the way he looked at him, so much kinder than the rest in the beginning. They understood one another; understood their shared struggles. By the time he was twenty Jesse was well aware of their mutual feelings. Only natural the two would act on it. Course life had a funny way of screwing with him, now didn’t it?
“I can, and I will.” the safety clicks; like he’s try’na add emphasis to his words. But even while Jesse sits there, gun leveled on Reaper’s face, and a tremble in his hand, he ain’t too sure he can. The wraith senses this, probably knew it all along. He entertains the gunslinger, lowers his own weapon while heavy feet carry him forward one, two steps. Jesse scrambles back, fear thrumming in his ears for the first time in a long while. Back presses against cool stone; a confirmation that he ain’t nothing more than pray. Trapped.
“Then pull the trigger, amor .” frame flinches when it kneels down to rest its skull against Peacekeeper. He ain’t too sure if it’s their close proximity or the casual way it tosses out such affection. And Jesse swallows hard when talons rise to steady his trembling hand. There ain’t no excuse now; no reason why he shouldn’t do it. All he has to do is pull the damn trigger, and be done with it. They’ll thank him, praise him; hell, maybe even give him a medal for taking out the son of a bitch. Everything in him wants to; wants to see his skull paint the far back wall. But there’s that wonder in the back of his own head; what if he’s in there, struggling for some way out?
Like a dam breaking free, his resolve shatters. Head sags, arm dropping to his side, and Peacekeeper falls to the floor with a distant clatter. Jesse McCree doesn’t take the shot. Damn well can’t. The wraith laughs above him; the same damn patronizing chuckle that does nothing but cut the gunslinger down further. Eyes stay locked on blackened boots; don’t even bother batting once while solid figure gives way to wisps of darkness. Can’t much muster the energy to chase after, and end what he’s started. Cause really, Jesse McCree always knew he’d be the one to take a shot at Gabriel Reyes. Always knew he’d be the one given the chance.
And in the end, he always knew he wouldn’t be able to.