CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS // REAL PERSON Prompts Post // December 1-15

[tfw_ftw]

This post is for ANY AND ALL REAL PERSON PROMPTS. Persons from other fandoms are allowed as long as the main pairing includes one person from the Supernatural cast. Exceptions made for Jared, Jensen, and/or Misha's wives. Reminder: all prompts with people under the age of 18 should be posted to the underage post.

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Re: FILLED: At Least Ian Malcolm Had a Sat Phone 4/? [Jared/Gen, h/c, huddling for warmth]

[anonymous]

Thank you guys so much for the encouraging comments! OP, I am thrilled that you like it. Honestly, that prompt was like you designed it specifically to lure me in, like you pulled it straight out of my id.

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The guy sneezes again, and that decides her. She gets to her feet - he stiffens, but he doesn’t try to move - and she trots out of the clearing. From behind her, she hears, “Uh, goodbye!” And a few moments later, “Good job, Padalecki, now you scared the wolf away.”

Gen’s been to this creek fairly often the last couple of years, for water, and once or twice she’s holed up in a sort of cave that she thinks is just a little way upstream. It takes her a while to find it - the brush at the entrance has grown up higher, and nothing’s lived in it recently, it looks like, so she couldn’t get there by smell. It is, very fortunately for Padalecki the gimp, only fifty yards or so from him. Getting him even that far is going to be a real trick.

She goes back to where he’s still sitting on the ground, alternately prodding his ankle and hissing in pain. His teeth chatter as he looks up. “You came back,” he says, and sort of smiles around the chattering. Gen’s heart is not warmed. It’s not like he cares about anything other than being injured and alone in the woods without even a predator for company.

Slow and deliberate, she approaches him again. He flinches when she noses at his sleeve, but maybe it’s a measure of his fear that he doesn’t protest when she slants open her mouth. She takes the sleeve firmly in her teeth and tugs.

“I told you, I can’t go anywhere.”

Gen huffs and tugs again.

“I can’t, okay?”

Gen permits the very beginning of a growl to bubble up in the back of her throat.

He starts at the sound. His eyes are huge. “God, I’m hallucinating. I’m so cold I’m hallucinating a rescue wolf.”

Gen growls again.

“Okay, okay.” He moves to get up again, and Gen lets go of his shirt. His ascent is a lot shakier this time, though, and he’s not even fully upright before he tries to put weight on his injured foot. It buckles under him. He falls over and lands on his hands. “God damn it.”

Gen barks. It makes her feel dumb, like some tame dog. At least as a wolf she has a little dignity. Wolves only bark as a threat, or so she gathers; all she has to go by is nature documentaries and the occasional instinct, like her gut-deep certainty that a running rabbit meant chase.

He doesn’t seem to notice the indignity, though. “Look, wolf...”

As he is apparently beyond doubting that she’s trying to help him, she’s beyond pretending she’s just your ordinary wild animal. She barks at him, and she whines, and she takes his shirt in her teeth, and after a minute or so of that he pulls his backpack onto his shoulders again, and he begins to follow her along the creek bank at a crawl, a few agonizing inches at a time.

It is a long, weary forty-five minutes before they fetch up at the cave. Gen trots through the brush and back out again to show him the way, and apparently he doesn’t even have the energy to be surprised. He pushes into the cave, and he collapses backward onto his backpack and takes deep, heaving breaths. “It’s drier,” he says between gasps. “I’ll give you that.”

Which brings Gen to the next phase of her plan, if it’s worth calling a plan. She pads over to Padalecki and settles next to him. After he has a minute or so to recover, she takes a loose, wet corner of the flannel shirt, and she tugs on it.

“Now what?”

Gen tries another one of those little whines - she gathers that wolves mostly use them to talk to others in their pack, which explains why she’s never had any use for them - and tugs again. When the guy doesn’t move, she grips the material a little tighter and yanks sharply. The flannel gives a satisfying rip.