Dean's acutely trained himself to kill. He has to be an expert in the art of hunting in order to survive. He sights a slight movement at the base of a tree, a clawing sound at the root and a shuffle of leaves. It seems to be similar to his last kill and he crouches, desperation radiating throughout his bones; he hasn't eaten in days, simply relying on the liquid of melted snow to keep him alive. Berries are scarce, as is available prey.
He poises his spear, ready for the attack and lurches forward, eyes lit up with determination and feral hunger. As his sharpened weapon sinks into flesh a guttural scream of agony sounds rather than the pathetic squeak he expected. His eyes widen and nostrils flare as he cowers away from the sound; familiar yet distant, a faint memory.
'Fuck!' the voice shouts as the blood coated spear-end finally completely draws out of the flesh.
Dean closes further in on himself, scared and waiting for the figure to reveal itself. He looks for the source of the noise and spots a man half-hiding behind the tree trunk, cradling his wounded hand. He had been in plain sight the whole time, Dean's vision clouded by hunger, refusing the rest of the body to register the man at the time of the attack.
Curse words fall from the mouth like a mantra, the pain of the injury making Dean edge closer, the instinct to protect bubbling under his mud covered skin.
Dean comes into view and the man flinches back, mouth open wide and terror in his eyes.
'Stay back!' he barks, shuffling backwards.
Dean looks down, embarrassed and scared. He hasn't used his voice in years and he searches his brain for words to say, for the ability to speak, to say something.
'I… sorry… I…' Dean purses his lips, the sound of his voice strange to his ears and the function of thinking about another person rather than just himself and his kill seeming difficult.
'What the hell!' the man screeches, forever edging away from Dean, blood pouring from the injury.
'Thought you were… rabbit,' Dean shrugs. He lifts his eyes to meet the other man's. The other man stops moving away, becoming caught in Dean's gaze.
'Do I look like a mother fucking rabbit to you? You're insane!' the man yells, his dark hair quivering with each word.
'I am… deeply… sorry,' Dean forces out, a feeling of guilt present in his gut and a hint of regret. The emotions are taking over his hunger, a welcome, bittersweet distraction from the burn of it.
'Why the hell are you hunting rabbits with… that anyway?!' The hiker gestures wildly at Dean's homemade weapon.
He looks at his own spear and then back up at the hurt man, 'Made it m'self. Need to eat. Catch rabbits.'
The other man's head tilts to the side and he studies the wild man intensely with his blue eyes, 'You… live out here?'
Dean nods enthusiastically, grinning, 'Home.'
'And you hurt me because you wanted to eat me,' the man's Adams apple bobs as he gulps nervously, his deep voice becoming higher towards the end of his speech.
'N-no! No! Rabbit! I thought you were a-' Dean coughs, his voice hoarse and scratchy from disuse, before continuing, '-thought you were a rabbit.'
The man nods in understanding, visibly calming at Dean's words. Suddenly he looks down at his hand and assesses the damage, 'Jesus Christ.'
'You hurt?'
The man looks up at Dean with a nonplussed expression, 'You exerted enough force in the attack to kill a small animal with that spear there. Of course I am hurt.'
Dean recoils again and hugs his knees, 'Deeply, deeply sorry.'
'I suppose I forgive you, maybe it was my fault and I shouldn't have been so careless searching for my dropped compass in the leaves when there was a wild man present. I was just asking to be brutally stabbed.'
Dean peeks up at the man from under his lashes, 'Sarcasm?' he asks tentatively.
'It appears the tables have turned.'
Dean gives the man a confused look, urging him to explain himself, 'My people skills are somewhat "rusty". It is refreshing to come across someone who is more socially inept than myself.'
'Living in the forest can… do that to a guy,' Dean mumbles.
'Indeed. Now we can sit here and have after-stab pleasantries while I bleed to death, or we can establish just what you expect to do about this.' The man stands up, cradling his bleeding hand to his chest. The blood begins to stain the hiker's waterproof coat.
'You s-speak funny.'
'You speak funny yourself, now what exactly are we going to do to- damn- to fix my rapidly draining hand?' the man winces in pain as he flexes his digits, boring his eyes into Dean.
'Have things at my base,' Dean replies smoothly.
'Fantastic. How far away is it?'
'F-follow me,' Dean responds, inwardly cursing at the quality of his speech. Slowly, without speaking to the damaged man behind him, he navigates his way through the trees he's come to know so well.
They reach the clearing, the blood stained tree stump a painful reminder of the buck he could be eating to satisfy the ferocious burn of hunger in the pit of his stomach had it not been stolen.
'We're here.'
I know how ridiculous my update timings are, I'm incredibly sorry, but I shall hopefully continue writing this soon, although there are exams coming up that I have to procrastinate from revising for…
