『 Note: This was just floating around in my Google documents, and I never posted it, so here is a random story with Van Hellsing McCree, that I will more than likely not expand upon. Or I may! I’m not sure. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this short drabble. This was supposed to be released in October, but it never happened. 』
“You know,” you began as you tightened the once loose gauze on your bloodied arm, “I wouldn’t have got shot if you weren’t in the way.”
Jesse moved slightly as he leaned against the railing. The two of you were temporarily separated from your fellow Hunters and taking a moment to gather yourselves. The air was still, as either of you were secluded in a damp and reclusive area.
“Pardon?” a quick chuckle followed the question, smoke dancing around his lips.
“You’ll regret shooting me, you ass.”
“You got this all mixed up, just--”
“Shut up, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” You tore a piece of fabric from your gear, wincing as you used it as a makeshift rag to remove the blood from your arm. This entire situation was not a fault of yours -- or, at least you didn’t feel it did -- and surveyed your surroundings. It was dark, and while normally the combination did not bother you, it was a playground for demons preying on the weak or injured.
You were the latter, so you couldn’t waste time, but also needed to recoup.
“After we cut off the cartel at West Avenue, two of the gang members escaped through alleyways we overlooked.” You gritted your teeth. “But when I caught up to one, you thought it was a great idea to shoot me.”
“I’on just shoot anyone fer nothin’,” he spat, “and I wasn’t the one who shot. First, at least.”
“That’s still incredibly dumb on your part, to shoot at a teammate!”
He stared at you with a rather indifferent expression. It seemed as though the more riled up you became, the more enjoyment he got out of it. “Remember how he pulled out a knife before ya had time t’ react?”
You pretended not to hear the question.
“And how his friend nearly cut yer throat while he had ya? I reckon me shooting the two of them was a good thing,” he drew in from his cigar, “Was just unfortunate one of ‘em had bad aim and gotcha there.” He motioned to your gauze.
“Doesn’t matter, you still coulda shot me, dummy,” you huffed, and then winced at a sudden pain that struck you in your arm. You wouldn’t admit, but your failure retrieving the criminals beforehand affected your mood.
“You’re such a brat,” He rolled his eyes and placed his hand on his hand before peaking around the corner.
“When we catch these thugs again, I’m going to be the one to do things correctly. Count on it.” You glared at him, your eyes narrowed and vision focused solely on him. You hadn’t misplaced your respect for or hatred for the demon hunter, but you had to admit he picked at your nerves when paired together on missions.
He stared at the cigar in-between his gloved fingers, watching as the fire withered the fermented tobacco leaf away. A small rise in the corner of his mouth made you avert your direction and look to the crows peering down on the both of you.
He grinned slyly. “I hear ya, pumpkin.”
