First kill

The morning sun filtered through the dense foliage as Elliot and Dean trudged along the uneven path toward Rosario. Dew clung to the leaves, and the air carried the scent of damp earth and distant pine.

Dean suddenly stopped, stretching his arms behind his head. "Alright, kid. If you wanna survive out here, you gotta prove it."

Elliot groaned. "We're not about to fight again, are we? My ribs just started forgiving me."

Dean smirked. "Nah. You're gonna hunt your own food."

Elliot blinked. "Like… with my bare hands? Because I'm flattered you think I can punch a Zulfang to death."

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, dumbass. Use your dagger."

Elliot sighed. "Oh, good. Because for a second, I thought you expected me to wrestle a bear or something."

Dean shrugged. "I mean, if you're up for it..."

"Hard pass."

Dean gestured toward the forest. "Then quit talking and start tracking."

Elliot crouched low and scanned the underbrush, recalling Dean's lessons: Look for tracks. Listen for movement. Stay downwind. After a few tense minutes, he spotted a small, fast-moving creature scurrying through the leaves, a rodent-like animal with sleek fur and a long, twitching tail.

He narrowed his eyes. "Alright, it's a Zul. Let's do this."

He pulled out his dagger, adjusted his grip, and hurled it forward.

The blade sailed majestically through the air… and completely missed, embedding itself into the dirt with an anticlimactic thunk.

The creature darted away unharmed.

Elliot stared at the empty spot where his prey used to be. "Huh. That was a warning shot."

Dean burst out laughing. "Sure it was."

Elliot turned, arms crossed. "Alright, wise guy, if you're so good, why don't you show me?"

Dean smirked. "Fine. Watch and learn."

He crouched, picked up a small stone, and flicked it forward in one smooth motion. The stone shot through the air with precision, striking a nearby tree with a sharp crack.

Elliot exhaled. "Alright. So, less 'panic-throw' and more 'controlled movement.' Got it."

Dean grinned. "Good. Now try again, preferably without embarrassing yourself this time."

Elliot adjusted his stance, gripping the dagger firmly.

Another rustle in the underbrush. Another chance.

The rodent-like creature reappeared, sniffing the air cautiously.

Elliot steadied his breath and threw the dagger, this time putting his weight behind the movement. The blade found its mark. The creature let out a small, sharp squeal before collapsing onto the forest floor.

Elliot's stomach twisted as he approached the kill. The wound wasn't clean. The creature twitched slightly before going still.

He clenched his fists. This… felt different from what he expected.

Dean walked up behind him, arms crossed. "Not bad. Messy, but you got it done."

Elliot sighed, rubbing his neck. "Great. First thing I ever kill, and I do it horribly. That thing's gonna haunt my dreams."

Dean snorted. "Shut up. It's not that big of a deal."

Elliot bent down and picked up his dagger, wiping the blade clean. "Do I at least get a 'congratulations' or something?"

Dean tossed him a small pouch. "Nah. But you do get the honor of cooking it."

Elliot caught the pouch with a sigh. "Fantastic. First, I murder it, now I get to eat it. This is a weird day."

Dean smirked. "Better get used to it."

Elliot exhaled, steeling himself for the next step.

The scent of roasting meat filled the clearing, blending with the crackling fire and the soft rustle of leaves. Elliot sat back, his stomach growling in anticipation.

"You know," he mused, stretching his arms behind his head, "I think I'm finally getting the hang of this wilderness thing. Pretty sure I was born for the adventurer lifestyle."

Dean smirked. "Oh? You mean the part where you took five tries to start the fire, or when you nearly tripped over your own kill?"

"Hey, that was an advanced maneuver," Elliot shot back. "I was testing my prey's reaction speed."

Dean rolled his eyes, about to respond, when a sharp whistle cut through the air.

A moment later, three figures emerged from the tree line, weapons drawn.

"Well, well," the tallest one sneered, "what do we have here?"

Elliot's brain immediately supplied the word bandits.

Dean sighed as if personally offended by the interruption. "Great. Right when the food's done."

The bandits ignored him, focusing on Elliot.

"You," one of them said, pointing a rusted sword at him. "Drop the coins, kid. And maybe we won't gut you."

Elliot raised his hands. "Whoa, easy there. No need for violence. Besides…" His eyes darted toward Dean. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

The leader scoffed. "Yeah? And why's that?"

Dean moved before the bandit could blink. A flash of steel, a dull thud, and suddenly, one of them was on the ground, groaning in pain.

The other two hesitated. Then, the second bandit lunged, only to be met with Dean's dagger embedding itself into his shoulder.

Elliot blinked.

"Well, uh… that happened fast."

The last bandit, the one who had threatened Elliot, suddenly realized he was alone. He turned back to Elliot, now visibly nervous.

"Alright, kid," he snarled. "Let's see what you got."

The bandit charged.

Elliot barely dodged, his back foot slipping on the dirt as the rusted blade sliced the air where his ribs had been a second ago. He scrambled back, heart hammering against his chest.

This is real. This guy is trying to kill me.

The bandit didn't give him time to think. He pressed forward with another wild swing. Elliot instinctively brought his dagger up to block, but the moment steel met steel.

The force nearly knocked the weapon from his grip.

Pain shot up his wrist as his arms buckled under the impact. His fingers barely held onto the dagger.

A boot suddenly slammed into his stomach.

The world lurched as Elliot was sent sprawling onto his back, air knocked from his lungs. He gasped, barely rolling away in time as the bandit's blade came crashing down, kicking up dirt.

"Too slow, kid." The bandit grinned.

Elliot staggered to his feet, coughing, his body aching from the impact. His hands shook as he gripped his dagger tighter. Damn it…

Dean's voice echoed in his head: "Don't just dodge, counter!"

But countering meant stepping toward the blade. And right now, his body screamed for him to do the opposite.

The bandit didn't wait. He rushed forward, faster than before. Elliot barely moved his head in time to avoid a horizontal slash but not fast enough to dodge completely.

Pain flared across his cheek.

A shallow cut. Blood trickled down his face, warm against his skin.

He staggered back too slowly again. The bandit took advantage of it and slammed his elbow into Elliot's face.

Stars exploded in Elliot's vision. His head snapped back, and before he could recover, the bandit grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward, slamming a knee into his stomach.

Elliot choked on his own breath.

He crumpled to the ground, coughing violently, his vision swimming. He could hear Dean's voice in the distance, but he couldn't make out the words.

The bandit loomed over him. "Pathetic."

Elliot struggled to push himself up, his arms shaking under his weight. I can't keep up. He's stronger. Faster.

His vision spun. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else.

The bandit raised his blade, ready to finish it.

Move, damn it!

Elliot gritted his teeth, adrenaline flooding his system. He kicked off the ground, throwing himself to the side just before the blade slammed down, barely missing him.

His grip tightened around his dagger. Think. Do something. Anything.

Then, an idea. A reckless, stupid idea.

His eyes locked onto the bandit. His fingers curled around his weapon.

Then, he threw his dagger towards the bandit. The dagger spun through the air, not too fast, not too slow, curving slightly mid-flight.

Dean's voice finally broke through the haze.

"Elliot!"

His voice held something Elliot had never heard before from Dean. Worry.

The bandit flinched, eyes tracking the dagger's movement. A split second of hesitation.

That was all Elliot needed.

He lunged.

Before the bandit could react, Elliot slammed into him with everything he had, tackling him off balance and making him lose his dagger in the process.

They crashed onto the dirt. Elliot didn't stop.

His fists flew.

A punch connected with the bandit's jaw. Another strike to his ribs. The bandit groaned, trying to shove Elliot off, but Elliot refused to let go.

He grabbed a handful of the bandit's shirt and slammed his head forward, desperate headbutt.

Pain shot through Elliot's skull, but it did the job. The bandit reeled, momentarily dazed.

Elliot saw his opening.

He shoved himself free, rolling away right where his dagger had landed. His fingers wrapped around the handle. The bandit recovered, roaring in anger, and charged.

Elliot turned and drove the dagger forward. The blade sank into the bandit's gut. The man froze. His body twitched, a choked gasp escaping his lips.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, the bandit collapsed.

Silence filled the clearing.

Elliot stayed on the ground, panting, his arms trembling violently. His entire body ached, his knuckles burned, and his head still spun from the earlier hits.

But he was alive.

Dean's footsteps approached.

Elliot tilted his head up, expecting some snide remark, but instead, Dean was staring down at him, arms crossed. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something unreadable.

For a moment, Dean just stood there, his eyes flicking to the dagger still clutched in Elliot's shaking grip.

Then, he let out a sharp exhale and crouched down beside him.

"That," Dean muttered, "was the dumbest thing I've ever seen."

Elliot let out a weak chuckle, still gasping for breath. "Yeah? It worked, didn't it?"

Dean shook his head, muttering something under his breath before standing up. Without a word, he looted the bandit's corpse, grabbed a small pouch of coins, and tossed it at Elliot.

"First kill, first earnings."

Elliot caught it, still lying on the ground, staring up at the sky. His fingers curled around the pouch, but there was no sense of triumph.

Just exhaustion.

Just the realization of what he had done.

Dean watched him carefully, then finally said, "Not bad, kid."

Elliot didn't respond right away. He swallowed hard, forcing his body to move, forcing himself to sit on the ground, his breath still ragged, arms resting on his knees. His knuckles were scraped raw, his body ached, and the dagger in his grip felt heavier than ever.

A few feet away, the bandit lay motionless. A pool of blood slowly seeped into the dirt beneath him.

Elliot swallowed hard.

The moment replayed in his mind: the panic, the pain, the sheer desperation that had driven him to throw his weapon like an idiot and charge forward with his bare hands. He hadn't fought with skill or confidence but with raw survival instinct.

And somehow, it had worked.

But as the adrenaline faded, something else took its place.

A heavy, unsettling weight settled in his chest.

He had joked before, even laughed. But now, staring at the lifeless body, the humor felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.

His fingers curled around his dagger.

Is this what it feels like? To take a life?

His thoughts drifted to Dean, who had taken down the other two without hesitation, without wasted movement, like it was second nature.

Will I ever get used to this? Should I?

Dean stood nearby, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He watched Elliot in silence, his posture relaxed like he had witnessed this reaction a hundred times before.

He didn't say anything.

Elliot exhaled slowly, grounding himself. I chose this path.

Backing out wasn't an option.

His gaze dropped to the small pouch of coins Dean had tossed him earlier. First kill, first earnings.

He turned it over in his palm, frowning. The reward felt… hollow.

Still, he shoved it into his pocket. Survival wasn't about feelings; it was about doing what needed to be done. With a wince, he forced himself to his feet. His ribs throbbed, his body battered and bruised. It would be a long time before he forgot this fight.

Dean smirked. "Took you long enough."

"Sorry, I was busy rethinking my life choices," Elliot muttered, rolling his sore shoulder. "Figured I'd give it a few minutes before jumping back into reckless decisions."

Dean huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "If that last stunt was your idea of 'rethinking,' I'd hate to see what 'impulsive' looks like."

Elliot smirked faintly but didn't reply.

They started walking, leaving the bodies behind. The sun had begun to dip lower, casting long shadows through the trees.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, as if sensing the thoughts still lingering in Elliot's head, Dean said quietly, "You won't forget your first."

Elliot glanced at him.

Dean kept his gaze ahead, his voice neutral. "No matter how many come after, the first one always sticks with you."

Elliot wasn't sure if that was meant to be comforting or just a simple fact. Either way, it made something in his chest tighten.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "And here I was hoping I'd wake up tomorrow feeling like a fearless warrior."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, keep dreaming. And not to mention, he was just a small fry, a weak bandit."

Elliot scoffed, rubbing his sore jaw. "If that was weak, I don't even want to know what a strong one feels like."

The weight in Elliot's chest didn't disappear, but he tucked it away, forcing himself to move forward.

Dean smirked. "Oh, you will. You're a Shane, after all."

Elliot frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "Huh? A Shane? What do you mean?"

Dean didn't answer right away. He simply kept walking, hands in his pockets, eyes focused ahead.

Elliot stared at him for a moment, waiting for an explanation that never came.

Just as he was about to press further, Dean finally spoke, his tone lighter but carrying an edge of something unreadable.

"Don't worry," he said. "With time, you'll know."

Elliot narrowed his eyes, but before he could respond, Dean picked up the pace, leaving him to stew in his thoughts.

The weight in his chest lingered, but now, a new thought gnawed at the back of his mind.

What did he mean by that?

And why did it sound like Dean knew something he didn't?