Pairing: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper x Dwight Fairfield (TrappedFairfield)
Rating: Gen / Mild Angsty Romance
Word Count: ~900 words
Summary: Post-trial, Dwight sits by the campfire trying to hide the fact that he didn't just escape the Fog—he made a deal.
Normally after a trial, all Dwight could taste was blood, even the rare few times he escaped unharmed. Tonight Dwight couldn't get the smell of rain and taste of smoke off his tongue. He sat on the dry ground on the edge of the campfire’s circle of light, his knees pulled tightly to his chest, his thumb sliding contemplatively back and forth over his lips.
From the far side of the light came the low, steady murmurs of the camp. Claudette was quietly tending to a tear in Ace’s shirt, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency while Leon stared into the embers, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. A few feet away, Ace leaned against a decaying log, idly flipping a dull coin between his knuckles with an easy smirk.
Dwight didn't hear a word they were saying.
All he could think about was Trapper, as his own thumb repeatedly traced the contour of his bottom lip, pressing hard enough to make it throb against his teeth. He felt an echoing throb through his whole body, an unsatisfied ache.
Every time Dwight closed his eyes, his mind relentlessly replayed the surreal transition from running for his life to the strange intimacy Trapper chose to bludgeon him with. And the killer's unmasked face filled his mind. It wasn't just handsome; it was predatory. Those heavy-lidded, shark-like eyes and the way his mouth curled into that unnervingly sharp smirk made him look less like a man and more like a hunter who had finally decided to play with his food.
He’s terrifying. And he’s... god, he’s beautiful.
A spike of odd insecurity flared in Dwight’s chest. Part of him desperately wanted to ask around the camp, to casually slide into conversation with Leon or Mikaela to see if the giant had ever cornered them with the same intense bargain.
But he stuffed the impulse down immediately. No. If I ask, I might find out I wasn't special. I might find out it’s just a game he plays with everyone. Dwight kept his mouth shut. This was his moment, his bizarre secret, and he was going to hoard it in his own mind where no one else could touch it.
"Hey, Dwight. You with us?"
The words cut through his heavy thoughts. Dwight blinked, his hand dropping guiltily from his face as his focus snapped back to the crackling fire. Ace was looking at him from across the flames, the dull coin resting still against his knuckles, his easy smirk widening just a fraction.
"Yeah," Dwight stammered, his voice coming out a little too thin before he quickly cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, I'm here. Just... unwinding."
Ace let out a soft chuckle and tossed the coin into the air, catching it with a crisp slap against his palm. "Unwinding? Kid, you look like you’re trying to solve the world’s problems. It usually doesn’t take that long for a trial to wrap up. Something happen?"
Leon shifted slightly on his log, flicking his head to toss his hair out of his eyes. "Trapper was on one today." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking oddly vulnerable having taken off his tactical gear for the night. "Usually, he waits for someone to make a mistake. But toward the end of the match, he abandoned a three-gen setup just to chase you down. It didn't make sense."
"Hey, a win is a win," Ace chimed in, flashing a lazy grin as he leaned back, with only a little resentment in his voice. "Good for you, Dwight. The fucker let me bleed out on the ground."
Dwight swallowed hard against a sudden spike of guilt, his cheeks heating up. Because by the time you guys were gone, he didn't care about the trial anymore, Dwight thought, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his jeans. He just wanted me. Maybe there was a little more pride there than there should have been. But it was so… unusual for anyone to pay him attention.
He could still feel the phantom pressure of those massive hands pinning him into the mud, the wet mud under his fingernails, and the exhilarating realization that the killer had completely abandoned the Entity's protocols the second he had Dwight at his mercy.
"I... I just got lucky," Dwight stammered, adjusting his glasses to hide how much his hands were trembling. "The hatch opened right by my foot after you guys... after I was the last one left. I barely slipped out in time."
Ace let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "The hatch spawning right at your feet? Kid, you should let me take you to Vegas if we ever get out of this place. That is statistically absurd. Lucky bastard."
Leon offered a small, reassuring nod across the crackling heat of the fire. "Hey, he did good, Ace. No hard feelings. Good job, Dwight." He rested his hands on his knees, his expression turning serious but determined. "We just need to tighten up next time. If we coordinate better, we'll all make it out."
"Yeah," Claudette added softly, finally setting her mending down. "We're just glad you made it back to us, Dwight."
Dwight offered them a weak, fleeting smile, his heart still hammering against his ribs. "Thanks, guys. I think... I think I'm just going to turn in early tonight. The match really took it out of me."
He didn't wait for a response. He pushed himself up from the dirt, his legs feeling slightly detached from his body, and walked away from the warmth of the campfire toward the shadows of the tree line. The cool night air hit his face, but it did nothing to quench the heavy, thrumming heat still pooling in his veins.
