Chapter Text
A new layer having fallen overnight, the snow makes the forest floor a near-pristine canvas. Jungkook has left the deer and the rabbits alone today, not in the mood to hunt while wandering the forest; and the same conditions that make prominent the tracks of innocent fauna also lift the expectation that he might be able to find creatures intelligent enough to know they’re being pursued.
It is a day to be spent outdoors by routine. Scouring the glittering hillsides on a now-sunny afternoon, futility blending with leisure, nothing is supposed to be discovered.
And yet. As the sun begins to descend, the wind carries to him the common smell of blood, and alongside it the smell of magic, lush and tempting.
Jungkook doesn’t need to be tempted. He’s been trained, reaction reduced from thought to triggered activation. Compelled to obey, he perks his ears and points his nose into the wind.
He picks his way across the ground with care, footfalls well-smothered by the snow and his soft deerskin boots. Whatever piece of his gear he finds making a sound, he stops to fix, tucking away or cushioning the errant parts — his backpack closure clinking against the lid of his thermos, his rifle sling hitting his belt buckle, tap, tap.
Though less chatty at this time of day, the birds high above aren’t afraid of him, continuing to conduct their business of peeping back and forth. The only other living creatures he can hear are the trees themselves as they move, the rustle of their withered leaves and the groan of waving branches.
No visual indications either, no other traces of his prey besides the one that came to him first. The smell. He catches it, again and again, more and more strongly.
Unlike the first, embarrassing time he found something (harmless, it turned out) in the woods, he knows what this is with surprising certainty, the core of it unmistakably matching all the examples his nose was trained on: contaminated fabric, imbued crafted artifacts handled by gloved specialists, sedated specimens hidden inside of crates.
It matches what he’s encountered after his training years, too, especially with its unsettling tinge of blood. The smell of magic freshly deceased (his sunbaes, blessedly over-protective, never allow him to be present for the killing, those rare instances); power that has lashed out desperately in its last moments, eye-stingingly rancid and all-saturating, clinging to the bagged bodies they drag back to the camp… not washing out of his clothes and hair for weeks after…
This smell, though — it’s alive, wonderfully complex in an indescribable way Jungkook has never encountered before and would not have been able to imagine, and it makes his mouth water. It makes him feel-
He knows scientifically there is no animal component to him besides his augmentations, but he feels somewhat less human. The observation doesn’t alarm him, though. His only concern is this pursuit. His blood rushes frantically even as he moves with automated caution. The smell is so loud it’s like it wants him to find the source almost as much as he needs it himself.
So he does find it; he follows his nose until the path is not just in front of him but on all sides. This steep, rocky hill to which he’s finally been led is awash with magic. Drenched in it. This is the place.
There are no obvious tracks in the snow, so unless the creature is hiding in the treetops — a real possibility, he supposes — they’re tucked into the landscape in front of him: underneath the huge, half-dead tree, he would guess, where a dark space is half-concealed by decaying roots, soft rock having eroded to form some sort of cavern. His secondary ears imagine they can make out the quiet breath of the creature inside, though it’s probably a misinterpretation of his own.
This is where he should turn back to report what he found. He knows where the magic is. If he makes contact, the creature will flee. If Jungkook leaves undetected, then when he leads the officers back to this place, they… well.
The thoughts pass without influencing his single-minded course, which has been fixed ever since he first caught the scent. He continues to creep closer, coming around, approaching from the side until he can duck his head under the spiky curtain of broken roots and peer into the shallow cave.
There is something inside. Unmoving. Dark, mostly, but with white parts… Forming a solid expanse, like a blanket, but unrumpled; like a tarp, but made of… feathers. He stares, frowning, at the unexpected but familiar shape. A wing — it looks like a giant wing.
Jungkook has never seen a bird so large, but he already knows this is no ordinary bird. It’s probably not a bird at all. Right? His breath catches in his throat, and he accidentally shifts his weight on the gravel when he distinguishes, against the pale feathers at the top of the wing, the fingers of a fleshy hand.
Is the bird separate from the human, or are they components of the same? He knows about magical creatures that can shape-shift between human and animal- well, doesn’t know much about them, and he has never encountered them, but he was taught enough to confidently guess one’s in front of him.
He can’t tell where the smell of blood is coming from.
The wing shifts. There’s a head, an eye, an open eye, its hard, narrow gaze piercing Jungkook's skull.
Fuck. He opens his mouth but fails to make a sound, no words presenting themselves, no greeting, no explanation — not yet, not quickly enough. While he stands agape, the person is rising from the ground, revealing the shape of a second human from underneath their wing; and a second later, the scene transforms, incomprehensible and disorienting. There is no time to process that he has just witnessed an act of magic, because the huge bird now rushing at him demands a reaction; overhanging vegetation scratches painfully at his ears as he staggers backwards, leaning out of its path as it emerges from the cavern.
Its dark wings span seemingly over two meters and their motion powerfully disturbs the air — pebbles and sections of melting snow blown down the hill, the smell of blood stirred up from behind — as the bird lifts off from the ground. Jungkook ducks and crosses his arms over his head as he realizes the tremendous beak is lunging at his face. He manages to be struck only by feathers, but they graze him with impressive force. “Shit-”
Hazarding a glance upwards, he is greeted by alarming yellow talons, bright and sharp and strong-looking, so his next step back is more of a leap. His knee crashes against cold, wet rock as his foot struggles to find a stable hold. “Wait, wait,” he pleads, uselessly, set off-balance once again by another close-passing swoop.
It probably could have mauled him already, if it wanted to. He thinks it just wants him to leave, and that’s understandable. And maybe he ought to leave, and he does continue to back off, blindly dragging his feet down the steep hill in small increments as the bird hovers with threatening skepticism. He’s not leaving, though. A little skirmish with a shapeshifting eagle makes him more desperately curious, not less.
“I don’t- I don’t mean you any harm,” he finally voices. “I’m sorry for the disturbance.”
He watches, gratefully and in snippets through his self-protective obstructed view, the bird land in front of the cavern’s mouth and stand there, as if confident that its point has been made. Jungkook, having retreated the apparently requisite distance of three or four meters, doesn’t have to look down to meet its eye when he removes his arms from in front of his face and straightens up. He stares straight at the shifter’s hooked beak and, with conviction, lies.
“It smelled like someone was hurt. Maybe lost, too,” he invents. “And… I want to help!”
How much of a lie is it, though? No, he didn’t come here so he could help; he came here because he felt he needed to, without many thoughts in his head or any process of reasoning. Now that he’s arrived, though, it would feel bad, not to help as much as he’s able. Besides, it would give him a reason to stay.
Maybe it doesn’t matter. Though it’s already shown its power to be impressive, the bird extends its wings high and wide in another display of intimidation; and then it starts screeching. A barrage of short repetitive croaks pierce the air, and Jungkook flinches at the awful noise. He doesn’t have enough hands to cover his ears.
The shifter doesn’t trust him, and… that’s more than reasonable. Whether they do or don’t know they’re being hunted (and whether or not they’ve guessed that Jungkook himself is — is supposed to be — hunting them), Jungkook also wouldn’t want a well-armed stranger deep in the woods to approach his injured friend.
That being said, Jungkook is not leaving, not until he’s been allowed to exchange real words with this person or he’s incurred enough damage to be driven away by force. He can’t explain why, but he needs this, and he’ll keep trying.
He starts shucking off his gear; the bird goes quiet as it watches him. “I’m serious,” he insists, and maybe it’s stupid of him, but he tosses his rifle far down the hill. “I won’t hurt you.” His pistol follows. His backpack he drops at his feet, bending down to untie its closure, just as eager to prove his worthiness to stay as he is afraid to expose his head to a new surprise attack. “Do you need, ah… I have some food?” He ate his lunch hours ago, but stuffed somewhere in here are a stash of nonperishable emergency rations.
Apparently, the promises and gestures are unconvincing, or the offer is not enough. Again, the bird beats its magnificent wings and begins to shriek; now, though, it is interrupted by a human voice.
“Hyung, stand down.” Quiet but firm, they speak from inside the cave. “We need help.”
The transformation, this time from bird to man, occurs right in front of his eyes, but it’s as if his mind, unable to make sense of it, refuses to let him see. His nose, though, greedily inhales the shockwave of smell that rolls forwards. Surrounded by magic, its nuances are more apparent. A vision flutters across his imagination: a stream bubbling in the first thaw of spring, tiny white flowers unfurling on the bank. As lovely as the image is, the pang of longing Jungkook feels is surprising and strange.
“I don’t know who you are,” the man says, his voice deep and cold. “I have no reason to trust you.”
Jungkook swallows — well, ah, yes, that’s true. He has no counterargument and feels too disarmed, too timid under the man’s intimidating gaze and accusatory tone to attempt to make one up. A bit overwhelmed, feeling heat rise to his face, Jungkook's eyes retreat from the stranger’s (handsome) face, skim quickly over his nude form and outstretched wings that still shield the cavern opening, and land on his feet, red, scratched, bare. God, he must be not only scared but also freezing, and convincingly pretending to be neither.
“We don’t need to trust him.” A second person — the second person — pushes aside a section of the curtain of feathers and peers out, honing in on where Jungkook crouches, tilting his head as he assesses the scene. And oh, he’s the second most beautiful man Jungkook has ever seen; maybe he’d even surpass Seokjin if he wasn’t so… gaunt. He smiles — or, tries, through a grimace. He’s hurt, Jungkook concludes, interpreting the obvious with a twinge of renewed concern.
The older one’s eyebrows furrow as he looks down. “You aren’t supposed to move,” he mutters, all but confirming Jungkook's assumption. Now that the younger has refused his protection, his wings pull back to wrap around his body. For some reason, it makes Jungkook himself feel warmer to see they’re large enough to cover a large percentage of him from the breeze, which will become rapidly colder as the sun continues to set.
Jungkook sees that the second man has wings, too, a suggestion of snowy pale feathers behind his shoulder. Two shapeshifters, terribly unprepared and in their human forms, lost in the woods. Why, how? It doesn’t make sense...
“Do you have water?” the second shifter asks, ignoring the first’s worried admonition.
“Yes!” Jungkook's hand wraps around his thermos, heart leaping up at the acceptance of what he has to offer, but then faltering again. “I- Not very much, but- some.” He couldn’t have known, but now he wishes he could go back and drink less, or fill it up in the beautifully clear stream where he rested midday.
“It’s okay. Come here.” Another smile, and a gesture that beckons him. The older has decided not to protest, but he’s clearly agitated, standing by watchfully with his jaw set. Jungkook shuffles back up the hill in careful increments, both hands carrying his bag in front of him, and he stops maybe a bit farther from the pair than is practical. No sudden movements. He waits for signs of disapproval as he holds out his two-thirds-empty thermos, offering it to the older one so as to avoid the appearance of overstepping, an appeasement.
The thermos is accepted. Jungkook chews on his lower lip as the lid is unscrewed and the contents is examined by eye, nose, and finally mouth. Finding nothing amiss, the older shifter takes a few more sips — not enough, Jungkook thinks, but he understands why and likes to imagine he would do the same — before handing it off.
“Thank you.” The second shifter glances up at both of them.
“Slowly,” the older one advises.
As they finish the thermos, Jungkook glances around the cavern, now that he's close enough to see inside. It’s closer to a nook than a cave, all dirt and roots and rocks, totally inadequate for habitation, merely reducing exposure to the outside elements. He wonders how long they’ve been sheltering here. They were asleep when he arrived; did they travel through the snowstorm? He doesn’t have enough experience to know what it would take for the smell of magic to establish itself so wholly; it feels like a blanket covering them, separating them from clearer air.
And the blood…
The younger shifter kneels on the uneven floor, one long, white (except for the elegant half-stripe of black at the bottom center) wing — large, but not as gargantuan as the other man’s — wrapped around his torso, leaving his bony shoulders bare and cold. His other wing hangs, unsupported, to the ground, half of its length dragging in the dirt.
Jungkook doesn’t notice he’s stepped forward until the first shifter pointedly clears his throat; he freezes, but he doesn’t withdraw. He needs to see: the mess, the dirty plumage twisted up in odd disorderly angles, the (as far as he can discern) two specific sites of injury that are drenched in rusty brown. Thankfully, there does not seem to be any active bleeding; the wounds seem to have been cleverly patched by, for lack of better resources, a mix of black and red-stained white feathers.
Like that, the vague, curious worry his imagination formed and catastrophized — magical creature, bleeding out, somewhere nearby — is replaced with the concrete truth — these two strangers in their current state, not in imminent physical danger but so desperately in need of help that it pains him. With a renewed sense of purpose, he unbuttons and shrugs off his coat.
Somehow, with just his wool overshirt, he doesn’t feel much colder. Is it the excitement running through him, the friction of that excitement bumping against necessary caution and self-consciousness? Or… would the close proximity to magic affect him like that? It still feels like — wishful delusion, perhaps — it wants him here, intentional with its warmth. (If the air itself can trust him, they can be made to trust him too, right?)
This time he risks addressing the younger shifter directly, extending the coat towards him. “Here.”
“Really?” Raised eyebrows and parted lips as he looks up in surprise, the man’s face is so, so pretty. Jungkook nods. He has another jacket, a layer he usually (when it’s properly cold) wears underneath this one. That one will have to do for the rest of his assignment, or he might steal extra layers from someone… He’ll make it work. In his mind that seems much less important.
“Thank you,” the older shifter says, and the approval sends a shiver of thrilled satisfaction across Jungkook's skin; he suppresses a smile.
Smiling would be inappropriate — and the impulse quickly fades — as he stands out of the way watching them work together to haul the younger shifter to his feet. It looks painful, the way the injured wing sags and trembles in the air. Jungkook cringes and sways in place, tense with the compulsion to jump forward and offer support as the younger shifter staggers to the side, wincing. But the older catches him with ease, of course, and starts to navigate his arms into the sleeves of the gray coat — reversed, buttons in the back in order to leave his wings unconfined.
(It’s gratifying to no longer be so vigilantly watched. Jungkook has the fleeting thought to give up his shoes as well, if the coat gains him this much trust; but he actually needs those.)
“So, ah, what… What are you…” Is what are you doing here going to sound rude, threatening? He hesitates, but the younger shifter takes the question as complete.
“I’m a crane!” he answers with pride. Oh- yes, Jungkook sees it now, and it’s fitting. His sudden confidence makes the fabric draped awkwardly across his front appear almost elegant. “What are you?”
Jungkook frowns.
“Jimin-ah, be careful,” the older shifter says, still squatting behind — Jimin, he has a name now, a lovely one — Jimin's back, doing up each button with care.
But Jimin continues to press, head tilted, an expression of well-intended curiosity. “Are you a fox? I was thinking that your tail is too curly for a wolf’s; maybe I’m wrong. I don’t want to assume.”
Jungkook glances over his shoulder to see that the useless inelegant thing, a bit smushed, having been compressed under his coat, has indeed popped up into a curl; and he quickly looks away, embarrassed and still rattled by the question. It had not occurred to him that they could mistake him for a fellow shifter (especially given their — well, from one of them — lack of trust). He feels foolish.
Do they not know of his kind? Even if not, wouldn’t they smell that he isn’t magical like them?
No, he supposes they can’t. Jungkook is the one bred and trained to catch that scent. They’re not like him.
“I’m not like you.” That’s a good place to start. Fixing their possibly hazardous misconception, that’s the main thing. “I have a combination of human and canine genetics. I was created by scientists,” he explains.
Jimin frowns. Disappointed, disturbed, or simply confused. “Oh.”
The coat’s collar still hangs somewhat loosely around Jimin's upper torso once the older one — also frowning; should Jungkook have lied? — finishes all the buttoning work that can be done. “I- sorry. There’s nothing wrong with that,” the man says, both of them re-affixing more pleasant expressions. “We just haven’t ever heard of such a thing, I don’t think.” He strokes Jimin's now-clothed shoulder. “Should we sit?”
Jimin nods. All right; Jungkook squats and hauls his bag closer, and as he searches for and sets before them each bit of food he has, as promised, he frowns. He doesn’t mind parting with his supplies; he’s happy to. What’s bothering him is — they’re shapeshifters, and yet- they’ve never heard of… They don’t know?
Injuries and unpreparedness aside, do they understand the extent of the danger they’re in? It’s uncomfortable, but Jungkook has a duty to tell them, he thinks.
“Sorry, it’s not the freshest, probably tastes weird, but.” Jungkook nudges the final packet of dense wafers closer to the pair. “This is what I have. It’s all yours.”
Jimin snatches a package at random and succeeds at tearing into it after a few tries, fingers stiff and weakened by cold and hunger. “Thank you, again,” the older shifter says, turning from Jimin to make his own selection.
Jungkook has learned some new things about himself, ten minutes into this unexpected meeting. He didn’t know that he would so easily resort to navigating this situation by impulse and feeling rather than using the protocols he was taught. He’s surprised at the ease and eagerness with which he’s connecting to these creatures. Dangerous strangers whom ‘the greater good’ dictates should die (yeah, right), their magic reducing Jungkook to this: he really doesn’t want them to dislike him, and he really doesn’t want them to get hurt.
“I wasn’t lying,” he starts, “when I said I don’t mean you any harm. Um… but…”
The intense, focused stare he receives at that word… He knows they just want to understand what he’s saying, but the older shifter does frighten him a little. He chooses his words as carefully as he’s able.
“When you come across someone like me…” He swallows. “You should know that- we were created to hunt magical beings. That’s not what I’m- well- I was?” He shakes his head harshly; it’s confusing, trying to avoid lying while figuring out the truth at the same time. “That’s how I found you and that’s what I’m here for; that’s my job. We wander around searching for signs of- of magic. But I don’t actually…”
“Let me try to clarify.” The older shifter’s exquisitely deep voice cuts through his muddle, and he looks up to see that Jimin has also stopped eating, hands unmoving as he frowns in understandable concern at what’s being said. “We have been told that those endowed with supernatural abilities face persecution.” Well, obviously. An odd thing to note. “What you’re saying is, an active hunt for them is going on in this area — not for the two of us specifically, though, and… You’re a participant, having been enlisted due to your species, but you are trying to assure us that you won’t carry out those duties.”
“Yes, yes, exactly.”
He smiles with relief and is pleased to see some of the tension in the others’ postures relax. Jimin resumes eating. “Okay,” the older shifter exhales, still frowning — not all of the information Jungkook delivered was good news, after all.
“There are some more of us out there,” Jungkook continues, trying to cover every potentially important detail; talking is easier now that he’s confessed his role and they’re still tolerating his presence. “But I’m responsible for this section of the forest today. And tomorrow we’re moving east, following the main valley south of here, so avoid that path if you can, and our group should miss you.”
They nod. “That’s good to know.”
Honestly, he’s starting to get a bit cold, but they haven’t asked him to leave, so he isn’t planning on it. He fidgets with the buttons on his shirt cuffs as he watches them eat. With his head start, Jimin, already finished, brushes inedibly tiny crumbs off of his coat-draped lap; the older shifter pushes another packet of rations in his direction and nudges his shoulder, seemingly encouraging him to take more.
Energy is requisite for healing, yes, but Jungkook can’t help but worry — how long will this paltry offering of food last them? There is a low likelihood of it being enough, depending, of course, on how far and how strenuously they need to travel.
“What are you going to do?” Jungkook lets himself ask. “Where are you headed next?”
“Well…” Jimin exchanges a glance with his partner before answering. “We have not figured that out yet.”
“Oh.” Unfortunately, Jungkook has no suggestions. He’s not aware of any place that would be safe for them. Maybe, he hopes, they do have a plan, but they won’t divulge it to him out of caution. He supposes that would be smart. If this is one of the stages of their planned journey, though, their strategy might not be worth much.
At least they have their shapeshifting abilities, he reassures himself. Occupying a bird form could be highly advantageous for survival — near-perfect camouflage, especially with no hybrids like Jungkook around to sniff them out.
But there must be a reason they’re remaining human. Perhaps it’s the nature of the injury. He imagines a fish speared in that big eagle’s fierce talons — what else are those for if not hunting? They could resort to feeding themselves like that, if needed, until healed enough to escape properly. Not a nice existence, though, out here in the unpredictable cold, even if they were to find a more hospitable cave.
“Do you want matches?” The obvious answer would be yes; he rummages through the main pocket of his bag for the small waterproof patch containing his supply.
“Ah, I’m not sure…” Jimin says. “I don’t know how to start a fire; Hyung, do you-” The older shifter shakes his head. Really? Neither of them?
“I could show you- Ah!”
Startled, Jungkook's hand flies to touch the collar around his throat. Its pulse — a signal, when he accidentally stays out after dark, to wrap up and head back to camp — is always unpleasant, both when he is and isn’t expecting it. Another one comes over the radio trigger-module a moment later, a zap of bone-deep discomfort that has him closing his eyes and breathing through gritted teeth. He doesn’t know whether the officers don’t trust the equipment to work the first time, or if they just like to fuck with him for amusement — well, he does know. It’s a combination of both.
Okay, maybe only two signals this time. He blinks and counters their perturbed expressions with a small, apologetic smile. “I have to go.”
“Ah, okay,” Jimin says quietly. (Jungkook hopes they’re disappointed, even though they probably aren’t.)
He puts the matches on the ground before he stands; maybe they’ll figure out how it works without his help. What else is he leaving behind? The food, the coat… They can keep the water bottle too, refill it from some other source. “Will you still be here tomorrow? Ah, ah- wait- you don’t have to answer that.” He shakes his head, remembering they may not feel safe revealing specific plans to him. “I’ll come back here in the morning. I’ll bring medical stuff,” he promises. “Whatever you decide to do…”
“Thank you,” the older shifter says. “You’ve been very helpful… I suppose we will see you tomorrow.”
Maybe it’s a feint, but the words are so decisive Jungkook feels giddy as he stumbles down the hill to retrieve the guns he cast aside. Tomorrow! He doesn’t look back. There is no need for finality or closure. Tomorrow — he will keep that commitment no matter what.
The sun sets so quickly this time of year. He watches the now colorless forest floor pass in front of his feet as he picks his way back to the valley. While still dazed, some more of his sense returns to him as the distance grows.
What did he just do?
Jungkook doesn’t buy into the rhetoric around the universally malicious nature of magic, the imperative of its elimination. At least, he hasn’t since he transitioned from training into the field, where the work is never heroic and always mundane, where every encounter is simply confusing or one-sidedly cruel, where he has concluded that this concept they call ‘magic’ varies just as much as anything else. So he really doesn’t think he’s putting anyone in danger by helping the two shifters survive.
Well. No one besides himself. If they find out about this…
Neglecting to turn in what he discovered — pretending to have failed at his job out of incompetence — that’s one thing. He’d get retrained, maybe. Sent back out with his level of responsibility reduced. Aiding the enemy, though? Leaving them with things that are so identifiably his? He doesn’t know what would happen if that was discovered. Certainly his life as he knows it would end.
(Maybe — he’ll have to wait and see, but it feels like — it has already irreversibly changed. He can’t see how it’s for the better, but he doesn’t regret it yet either.)