open | i heard a scream in the woods somewhere

[burying]

Who: Kieren Walker + You!
What: Kieren struggles with the consequences of his Free Runner Feat.
When: The Month of February
Where: Milton; Milton wilds.

Content Warnings: Will be listed in individual prompts.



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[maintiensledroit]

[ He's certainly not alone. Not with the wolf some twenty paces behind him, stock-still and staring. And growling.

It's a low, continuous snarl of sound, rasping in the wolf's throat and reverberating in its chest, but so far it isn't accompanied by a gnashing of teeth or short, sharp barks. The animal's hackles aren't raised; it isn't braced for a fight – but how would a boy unfamiliar to wolves aside from the strange, dangerous ones here know any of that? ]

It's all right.

[ This from a man who had taken longer to reach the area with the snare: he wears flannel and jeans with his winter coat, along with a Stetson on his head. He holds up one mittened hand, palm out – not toward the young man, but toward the wolf. ]

Diefenbaker, it's all right. We can afford to share.

[ He's squinting, blue eyes keen, as he slowly takes first one step, then another, toward the person crouched over his snare and the rabbit within. The – boy? – boy's body blocks Fraser's view of his meal; all he can tell from here is that it's a messy one. ]

Don't worry, son. You can have it. We don't mind, do we, Dief?

[ The wolf gives a huff, but the growl cuts off in its chest with an exasperated whine, not unlike a petulant human crossing their arms, petty. ]

[burying]

[ If his heart would beat, it would've given up by now. He's frozen stiff in horror at the sound of snapping and snarling — he remembers the wolves. He remembers them trying to get in his home, struggling against the door as vicious snapping teeth tried to force their way in.

He's dead. Deader than dead. He doesn't dare turn around, his eyes flicking downwards to the bloodied stone at his knees, in the snow.

But it's not just a wolf. There's a man, too. And his eyes close briefly in relief. Wasn't there a man with a wolf in Milton? Maybe it's.. it's him?

Jesus, what's he going to think when he sees? Because of course he'll see. ]

I'm sorry. [ He's too scared to turn around. Even with the wolf settling. He knows it's all over if he does. All he can do is stay where he is, his arms slowly lifting and spreading out. Surrender. Mercy. His hands are bloodied, fingers will wet with blood and gore. His head dips. He shakes. ]

I don't want trouble.

[maintiensledroit]

Neither do I. And neither does Dief. Right?

[ That last, as stern as a father speaking to a misbehaving child, isn't to the young man, but to the wolf, who grumbles and flattens his ears but backs off a few steps. Fraser watches him, then turns back to the young man, taking in the blood on his hands, the fingers spattered with what looks like brain matter. Was that what he was after? ]

It's all right.

[ He repeats himself, because he's not sure what else to say. Brain isn't an entirely strange thing to eat, especially here in this harsh environment where they have to work and fight for every nutrient and calorie, but it's not what he'd have expected anyone to go for first... and certainly not in such a horrifying way. The young man seems to have simply shattered the skull with a rock and picked through it for the tiny amount of brain available from a rabbit.

In his shock, the only clear thought that manages to break through is that he'll have to find some other way of tanning that hide, assuming it can be saved.

That thought, and this one: which is that the young man is submitting the way a criminal caught in the act might. On his knees, hands out and up, head down. He's shivering. His voice is full of shame. ]

What's your name?

[burying]

[ It's not alright. It doesn't feel alright. None of this feels remotely alright, and his stomach lurches so uncomfortably he's worried about losing what he's already eaten. He wills it to stay down. He can't afford to lose it. He's too hungry.

But the wolf backs off and his body sags a little in response, eyes closing briefly as he exhales in relief — more out of reflex than anything else. ]

Kieren Walker.

[ He shakes his head, trying to get his mouth to work. ]

I— I didn't mean to steal. I.. I mean, I did, but— [ Fuck, why is this so hard? ] I'm not a bad person, I just— I didn't know what else to do.

[ How the hell would he even go about asking for this? Too frightened, too ashamed. ]

[maintiensledroit]

Kieran. My name is Benton. Benton Fraser. I'm a constable with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

[ He takes a slow step forward, his hand still out and spread in the universal signal for stay calm. This isn't the concrete jungle of Chicago and this young man isn't Willy, stealing purses to put food in his mouth, but there are some similarities.

He comes a little closer, one slow step at a time. ]

I don't think you're a bad person. I think you're very hungry, and desperate, and I'd like to help, if I can.

[ How, he has no idea, but one thing is clear: this young man needs to eat. He can help with that. ]

You can have that rabbit. All of it, if you like. And I can help you find more. I was just starting to check the snares for the day.

[burying]

[ Ah, fuck. He's police—? It doesn't bring as much comfort as it should. It's not as if he has any particular bad experiences per se, he's dealt with the Army far more than anything else. But when you live in a world where the particular laws put in place to keep people like Kieren safe are on the same lines of 'it's against the law to drink on public transport but people do it anyway and it's not really enforced', it's not exactly an abundance of comfort in his eyes.

But he wants to help. And it makes Kieren's throat tight as his eyes drop down, then closing briefly for a few moments. God, he's going to say it — isn't he? It's not like he can just... lie his way out of all this.

And besides, Cornelius had told him that he'd have to come clean about his... whole thing. It doesn't have to be a fucking mess. ]

I don't— I don't need the rest. [ His voice is quiet, with a slight tremble. ] Of the rabbit, I mean. I can't eat it. I'm not able to. It's a— a medical thing. Sort of.

[maintiensledroit]

That's all right, son.

[ He has no idea if it's all right, but it's clear what this young man needs as much as he needs... brains, apparently... is some understanding. Fraser may not understand exactly what kind of medical condition Kieran means, but this place brings people from worlds and universes he couldn't have even imagined, and he's willing to accept the possibility of diseases or illnesses that require a *very* specific diet.

Even if its unsettling. He doesn't let any of that show in his steady eyes, as he slowly lowers his hand and takes another step forward. ]

I can help you.

[ There must be some way to make that true. He believes it to his very core, and the sincerity shines through his words. ]

Why don't you come with me to check my snares? I'm sure we'll come up with another rabbit, or a few.

[burying]

[ Son. He doesn't remember the last time someone called him that. Maybe his dad, when he was back home? It was always son or Kier — and he misses home more than ever. Misses the stability of it, when things in him weren't changing. Where he'd have his family.

There's the offer of help and it's hard not to go for the knee-jerk of shaking his head. No one can help this, he's sure. No one can help what he is, no one can stop any of this from happening. But the man is genuine in his offer and Kieren considers it for a long time — it means something, of course it does.

He's trying.

Kieren sniffs and finally relents, his hands lowering. He nods. ]

Alright.

[ There's a shaky exhale, and he looks down at his bloodied hands. There's a few minutes where he tries to clean himself up, using the snow to wash the gore from him. He's... much more careful with his face, and doesn't manage to get all of it. But he's certainly a little less of a frightening sight as he finally moves to stand — tall and willowy and sheepish.

The contents of his stomach lurch a little, but they stay put — a little satiated, his head feels a lighter. ]