THERE WAS NO MISTAKING blond curls that twisted around violently, contorting in some mock imitation of flames, relucent even in the midst of penumbra. Whilst it might have been reminiscent of warmth for some, it was unlikely that Dean Winchester should foresee such kindness in tendrils of raging yellows, oranges and reds. Too vivid a memory of something terrible, something scarring, was incited by the mere evocation of ashes. He knew her -- and better yet, she knew him.
IT WAS BY ALL means evident; they were both severely lacking some piquant in their lives -- that could be the only explanation for his foolhardiness. He had lured her into a hunt devoid of all rationality, where asymmetry of information prevailed, and he was the one to tug the reins.
DESPITE THE HARDSHIPS he’d endured & the amount of time elapsed since their last encounter, once he perceived her figure, fierce and unbent, his visage lit up in a momentary eruption of gaiety. If their years spent groomed for venery could be considered years of schooling, then Kate Argent would certainly be his high school sweetheart. There’s no denying the thrills they’ve shared, from heated embraces exchanged at culminating points in the course of a chase, to washing the blood righteously shed from their calloused fingertips. From whichever angle they were studied from, there was a trenchant distinction between they and them. They lusted for this rush, for the satisfying whimper of a beast fallen victim to their ambuscade, for the eradication of the creatures they spent a lifetime pursuing. Their brothers, however, had never truly enjoyed taking another life, regardless of which end of the spectrum they had been born, or that they currently served.
THEY HAD KEPT ONE another close in the past, both out of mutual interest, but just as equally out of respect for their old family custom. After all, the Argent family had come much in handy to his father when he had gone looking for answers. And yet, that had been another lifetime altogether -- before the hellhounds tore him limb from limb.
IT HAD BEEN MANY years since they’d last crossed paths. Decades even, for one reeling from hell's clutches.
SHE MIGHT HAVE RECOGNISED that there was something altered beyond repair within him, at first glance. Whether it was the creased corners ingrained in his once smooth visage--not out of age, but out of weariness---garnered from the losses he carried within his heart, or whether it was the light that had faded from once vibrant greens, there was no denying it. But would he speak freely of his woes?
ONE OF THOSE big fancy guns the Argents fabricated let loose a resonating shot. It wasn't as if he hadn't expected it, but his ears were no less sensible to the range. It was about time for his great reveal. The amount of risks he was taking was ridiculous ( she had a gun for fuck's sake ) but his temerity knew no bounds. Might have been that he had cheated death one time too many. Or maybe --
HE HAD KNOWN A new age, one without need for rest or sustenance. One where every second was a struggle for survival. The realm of the dead -- but not just any dead. Monster heaven. Or hell, depending on where you stood in the matter. Many of which Dean had personally delivered to its barren lands. Monsters may not be humans, but they sure knew the extended definition of a grudge. That might have boosted his reflexes up somewhat.
" Hey there, Argent. " A brazen baritone echoed from the twisted fumes of an umbrage. " You didn't forget me did you? " The source of the voice came from different directions, as he shifted rapidly around her, evading and sidestepping when he sensed another gunshot on the horizon. It was all a game, a dangerous and foolish game, but a game nonetheless. Perchance she might recognise his voice? Unlikely. But it was so electrifying to hunt & be hunted simultaneously. Then finally, he stepped into the light. " It's been a while, Kate." And he might just be grinning broadly at his little party tricks.
