Chapter Text
Conan remembers that fateful night all too well.
He remembers the cold brush of grass against his matted fur. He remembers the cold pelt of rain in his face. He remembers the cold steel grip of the bear trap that held his leg.
He was in agony.
It was one of the worst pains he had ever felt.
One of.
The only thing that had felt worse was when his kin abandoned him. How they didn’t even try to break him out of the trap. They watched him with cool gazes, spoke quietly with each other before turning away and never looking back.
Conan knew he was a runt, always had been. Too small. Too weak. He was seen as a detriment to the rest of the pack. They treated him as such. He had always been looked down upon. Been the last to eat. Treated like a bunny. But they kept him around. That meant they must have cared at least slightly.
Right?
Apparently not.
Conan waited for hours upon hours in the cold rain, waiting for them to come back. No one came. He gave up struggling and accepted his fate. Conan understood death, it was what happened to the lesser animals they ate. It felt strange, but fitting to be in their place.
Conan didn’t even realize he wasn’t alone until a pair of hands touched his flank.
Weakly looking up, that was when he met him for the first time. He wore a hood, white lights twinkling across it, changing patterns. From under it, Conan could see rusty brown hair and pale green eyes. The man smelt like the strangest mixture of mint and blueberries. Those gentle hands ran down his fur, seemingly searching.
Conan isn’t proud of his reaction to the touch.
Snapping around, he clamped down onto the man’s left hand. There was the audible snapping of bones beneath his teeth. Despite the agonizing pain the man surely must’ve been in, only his face screwed up.
Taking his free hand, the man ran it through his fur. The gesture was strangely soothing. Conan slowly relaxed his grip on the man’s hand until it fell limp from his mouth.
The man above him winced slightly before speaking. His voice was quiet and rough but gentle. “There, there buddy. I’ll get you out of there in no time.” Before moving his working hand to the trap.
Conan doesn’t remember how or when it happened, but the trap came off. Falling with a loud clang, Conan was too weak to even bother trying to lift his leg.
The man hissed quietly before raising his right hand, a dim green mist surrounding it. Conan watched it in weak awe as the mist moved to his leg before sealing up his wound.
The man checked him for any other injuries before smiling to himself when he found none.
Reaching into the satchel that Conan didn’t even realize he had, he pulled out what seemed to be dried out cow meat. The man placed it down beside Conan and waited until he ate it.
Once Conan had finished, the man fished out more meat and placed it down beside him. Patting his head, the man left, but not without one more glance back at Conan.