Chapter One
"Ahh, fuck. Dean-"
Its been a long time since Dean heard his true name. A wild cry of his skin's human name cried above him and fingers twisted in his hair. He wasn't above sucking dick for handouts - the small feel of release and momentary gratitude keeping him alive another day. He took the other man's money out of habit rather than need, and climbed out of the car. Another night to live, breathe, night to stare up at that grubby motel room ceiling. Another night to wonder if it was his last one. He always imagined his last night alive would be with flowers at his feet, the feel of the wild around him, and sacrifices at his table, not living like vermin among humans. The rats from the gutter stood aside, letting a lord of the wild through to splash through the muck.
Animals always behaved pecularily around the wildling. When he slept out in street, he'd awake at dawn with pigeons flocking him. It's as though they sensed something they should naturally flock to was in their presence. Dean didn't mind, they made for better company than the humans he brushed elbows with. His dirty clothes and unkempt beard made most grab their children's hands tighter and rush them off in the opposite direction.
He was close to passing through the shadow gate, never to darken this earth again. He could feel himself fading. Fading in the truest meaning of the word - he could feel his core loosen with every breath - like atoms of smoke dissapating in the wind. Dean knew in his heart of hearts that he wouldn't be around much longer. He couldn't even remember his truest name, nor what he was god of anymore. He was so close to death, he could feel its cold breath blowing on his neck.
The god didn't get somber over this fact. He outlived and outsmarted as many of his kind that he knew. Most retreated into their wild places, folding into obsucrity - an unremembered god, was a dead god. Dean went into the arms of the humans that were killing him, doing what he had to get by. He had met Death once before he became immortal and did not care much for the too-thin pinched man who came to collect him.
The god wiped another man's drying cum from his lips. He'd have to find another corner soon. He tricked a few nights on it, and he didn't have enough strength to even manipulate a few weakwilled lawmen anymore.
The night was getting late, the end of the cars at the corner drove past. The store fronts began to chain their doors for the night, he darted in latenight restaurant to try and get an apple pie for his nights work. The woman's eyes softened in sympathy at the half-shaven, dirty faced, woe begone man in her section. She pressed a second piece of pie on him in a paper bag, ushering him a long with a loud "Shhhh", with no extra charge. He tossed his pie on the table in his motel room, stomach churning his coffee and pie making him feel ill. There once had been a point in his life where humans gave him libation and food out of fear, not because he looked incapable of feeding himself. Dean didn't even need to eat, it was an activity for his own pleasure anymore.
Disgusted, he felt himself loosen and tire. He kicked off his muddy boots and crawled into the bed. Dean had no other clothes to change into, he just climbed into the bed and let his wet clothes soaked into the sheets. He was just so grateful for a roof over his head from the pouring rain. There was a time in his life where he would have bathed himself in the rain, and drank from open sky. Instead he had to bathe under the chemical manwater from the shower. He had their stink in his noses as soon as he woke up. He breathed in the harsh fumes of their city. Every day he heard the earth and the weed's choking cries around him. Mindlessly begging for their torment to end. Stop man from yanking them from the ground and building over their children. Couldn't he just make them stop? He drank in the hate he felt radiating off of each human towards one another.
The man beast was poisoning the old god.
As soon as his eyes closed he saw a forest explode around him. It was always the seem notdream. Milky lakes with stars reflected in them, branches breaking softly in the brush, long grass tickling around his legs. Scenes of his life replaying out as his human body slept. The color seeped from his memory. The smells of rain on a warm breeze flooded his nose, prey taste flooded his mouth.
This would be a good place to die. Here he didn't have to think about the piss stained motel mattress he lay on, or the sounds of moaning from next door, or how bone-achingly cold he was. Here there was the perfume of a summer in blood, the drum beats of many hearts revering him, the golden sunrise warming him. Here he couldn't smell his sickly fear scent. If he had to die, this was a good a place as any.
He basked in the warmth of the sun, even here he could feel his fear. It was fear of not knowing what came after the darkest between that clawed in his chest. Perhaps he should have felt relief that came with demise. There was no place in this world for a god who was not remembered. After a time, there would be no flower perfumed summers - no springs fit enough to bathe in - no stars to be seen over him as he slept. He knew this as fact, and a god's knowledge never lied. There would be no place for him in this world without the wild things that he governed He was living on borrowed time, stretching his miserable existence for longer than it should have ever lasted.
He felt it like the tingling before a horrible burn tracing over his skin. Dean braced himself for the dreadful combustion - but instead he felt a small tugging in the middle of his heart. The god's eyes flew open, only to be greeted with the dirty motel room once more. The stink of rot and roach pressed heavily around him.
The same little tug flooded his chest. A warmth pulsed through his veins, returning the feeling to his fingers and toes. "Wildling" came a gravelly whisper in his ears. Dean's heart stopped, eyes wide. It had been so long since he had heard a prayer in his ears. "Provider of the Star Bear's Strength" continued the voice, nourishing him. Dean doubled over, the feeling so intoxicating he could barely stand. "Lord of Wild" The warmth turning into a violent bubbling under his skin. So many generations passed since he felt such a prayer. One with conviction, with burning need for assistance, for Dean himself. For - "An Yz" came the muffled cry in his ears.
The god crumpled with relief. He let himself kneel on the floor basking in the feel of some of his faded return. At one point in his longlife time he would have scoffed at just one reverent whisper in his ear - but this rejuvenated him like nothing he had ever felt before. It had been so long since he heard his true name spoken so plainly to him. It made his heart hammer and his blood pump at impossibly fast. The bear god was remembered when even he could not recall his own divine purpose.
These weren't the New Age prayers to attract a lover and to pass judgment on a scorned one. There were no quarters cast and commercial candles begging his attention. This was soul nourishing prayer, it tasted like the blood of the hunt on his lips. The fear, the wild need, the primal prayer of his protecting power. It was almost too much for the once forgotten god to handle. His limbs splayed out under him, weak with the frenzied energy returning to him. The only thing keeping the god from crying out was the sound of his savior's voice in his ear.
The old god heard snippets of prayer everyday. They were usually a "god dammit or unspecific prayers of "whoever's listening I need help" that he picked up like a bad radio frequency. They were easily dismissed and only served to turn his stomach. But this, this voice crying out to him was beautiful enough to have him marvel through the pain. With his new-found strength Dean let his spirit soar through the farthest between to the source of the beautiful song in his ear.