Four bodies stood around you, steady and waiting, a comforting barrier between you and the source of screaming and yelling. The large body crouched by your side did the most comfort.

By the time the puke started evaporating, the horde had already descended, gunshots being fired out into rows upon rows of infected.

Your clearing vision allowed you to firmly grasp the situation. The survivors were protecting you. Putting trust into both you and your hunter and showing their backs to you.

It was eery how practiced their actions looked, yet even more chilling was your hunter.

His face was deadset and locked on you.

Lips neutral, eyes barely showing a glisten of light as he stared at you through shadows.

A trail of goosebumps rose on your arms. His slow exhale reaching your partially damp skin with a strange edge.

It was in the atmosphere- in the way he intensely focused- in the way his muscles clenched with a noticeable writhing movement of his body.

He was uncomfortable- yet really, really, really not.

You felt like... in simple terms, prey. A predator, standing before you, yet stuttering.

Was it the smell? You didn't know their bile affected the special infected.

It couldn't-

It didn't the last time you got vomited on.

So why was this time different.

It was over before your hunter had time to react, the survivors turning to you and examining your damage, which, other then a scraped calf, was nothing.

A huge mass of bodies lay behind them, proof of their killings.

"Are you alright?" Zoey asked, Louis following up with a, "Didn't twist anything?"

Your response was quick, gaze flickering between all of the staring faces, hunter included, "Naw- I'm fine, just a bit surprised."

You expected Zoey to be the one to extend a hand. Offer help when sitting down on the ground so haphazardly.

Instead, Bill was the first one to reach, gruffly shoving his arm in your direction. He didn't say anything- not even as you took his offered palm and rose to your feet. He merely grunted, smoke spilling past his beard as he gestured for you to keep moving.

Obeying, you walked around him, feeling your hunter stick unnecessarily close to your legs, tripping you up as you walk. Bill eyed the both of you, careful watch not going unnoticed. Your hunter, looked back at him, huffing a strange sort of barky growl as he continued to keep stepping on the back of your heel.

Enough was enough, and you shoved him with your leg, forcing him to give you distance.

The look he gave you was the intense one he gave you during the boomer bile incident, quivering with a look of such intense want.

Walk it off.

That's what you're doing.

And that's what you did.

Kept walking, and ignored his strange facial expression.

There was a door, with stairs that lead up to an opening, and you had no hesitation as you continued, walking through the stone threshold and through a dark room with support pillars all lined in even patterns.

Subconsciously you reached your chained hand up, scratching at the back of your neck. The recoil that came afterwards was a surprise.

You had forgotten about the indents from his bite on the back of your head.

So much so- that your small scratch drew a bit of blood from the still healing scabs.

Before the survivors could see, you wiped it onto your pant leg, smearing your blood onto your already partially bloody clothing.

God- now your neck stung.

And thinking about your stinging neck made you think about your stinging arm. Which was getting more painful the longer you thought about it.

You felt your hunter close by, the warmth of his shoulder rubbing against the side of your leg. So much warmer then the air around you.

He puffed through his mouth, taking a deep breath in as he sniffed. You could tell he was still staring, just from the sheer intensity radiating off of him.

Still, you pressed forwards, reaching a set of steps and making your way up them rightfully.

Honest to goodness you had stopped paying attention to your surroundings, so slipping on the puddle of half dried blood was just a little bit predictable of you. It was a quick fall.

A scary predictable- as falling backwards down flight of steps was not an every day want or need.

One second your standing- the next your stomachs in your throat, dread is pooling in your gut- and your falling. Backwards. At an alarming rate.

A very loud growl ripped it's way through the stairway, echoing with a higher pitched and almost shocked tune to it. Two firm arms frantically wrapped around you, one swiftly curling around your gut, and the other around your waist. They pulled you, stabilized you against a broad chest, and kept you from falling.

You froze, heart pounding against your chest as your body remained stock still and tense. No movement. Only the huffing of your chest, and the loud beats of your heart.

You glanced at the arms holding you, finding duct taped hoodie sleeves and bloody claws.

His breathing, originally calm, began worsening, churning out ragged breaths as he pulled you closer to him, burying his nose into your shoulder with a stuttering chuff of hot air.

His grip grew stronger the longer he held you, tightening and tightening- a python coiling about its prey.

When his claw began to dig into your hip was when true worry seeped into you, flinching as he nuzzled his face into your neck with yet another shuttering gust. The warmth of his breath was frighteningly pleasant feeling- and the graze of his teeth were reminders of your arm.

Pushing against his wrists didn't do as much as you would have liked, grip iron clad with strength and steeled with resolution. If anything, pushing made you weaker, as your injured arm stung with the tried use of muscle.

He shook, with the same intensity he had stared at you with.

The survivors behind you clicking their guns as they were unsure on how to address the situation.

Your hunter rumbled, chest shaking your bones with vibrations as he curled in on you.

His arm clenched one last time, claws digging into your hip, before he released.

You took a few fast steps away, standing higher up on the steps and past the pool of blood that started this mess.

He looked...

Almost unsure.

Almost afraid.

Claw to his face, the tips dipped in the smallest amount of your blood.

He deeply frowned, distraught over something you clearly didn't get.

"Goddammit- keep moving- we don't have time to wait like this."

The angry tone of Bill's voice flipped a switch in your hunter, a snarl ripping out past his lips like the belt of a motorcycle as he swung around to look at Bill.

He slowly stepped back, holding out one arm as though to shield me from something.

How he can flip between intense cradling to aggressive growling so fast, you didn't know- you just knew you needed to calm his ass down.

Pressing a hand onto his shoulder, you lightly pushed, staring him down as he side eyed you. His lips were still bared- still defensive.

Pulling his hood down, you watched as his eyes continued to glance between you and the group.

Unsure.

Uncertain.

But damn well ready to rip a throat out should the need arise.

Tugging on his hoodie, you curbed him in you direction, trying your best to force him to stop facing the group. The most he did was lean towards you.

Never backing down, never turning his head completely.

Think.

What could somehow convey comfort to his mind.

His thinly layered, yet maze like mind, filled with animalistic instincts- tendencies- and full on actions.

When was he the most calm.

Never.

When nothing's happening.

But everything's happening right. now.

When is he least aggressive?

When does he switch between defensive and caring.

It's always after interacting with you- it's always...

Something!

Goddammit think- think- think

What's the key- what's the answer- what's the switch that flips him!

Bill is cocking his gun.

Bill is ready to kill.

The group is ready to kill.

Your hunter is ready to kill.

In every situation your hunter is ready to kill.

Snapping your jaws conveys annoyance-

In a ditch effort you snapped your jaw at him- and he grew tenser, shuffling closer to you to act as a veil.

It doesn't work if he's this tense-

Fuck-

There has to be something through body language that can tell him to stop.

In every situation- the key components are you- him- and....-

Shit!

What are you missing!

The gentleness that he had when he helped you down the steps.

The patience- it's always in moments that...

...

...

Like the way a clock's gears spin, the way water rushes through holes and leaks-

It all suddenly clicked.

The missing piece of the puzzle finally falling into place.

There was no third variable.

In every situation that he's switched rapidly between the both of his different personalities, you've been there. Every time he shows annoyance- and happiness- and all the in betweens- you've been there.

When sitting atop that rooftop, curled into his body in your own weakness, he didn't display any hostile behavior. Which had somehow transferred to his helpfulness.

Being close seemed to snap him out of fits- on several occasions-

And while you weren't sure why- you knew what the result was.

Without farther delay or hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his broad chest, face pressing into his back-

He tensed, arm lowering as he mentally studied your arms. The arms that were so much smaller then his own.

He refused to focus on your arms for too long, flickering between the group. He still had his metaphorical hackles raised.

You needed something that worked better. Something with a much bigger impact.

Yet another long shot rose to mind as you tried to force him to crouch just a bit more.

He did so incredibly more willing then before- shifting to look at you with that sultry look he always had.

You tugged him, pushing your face into the crook of his neck and rubbing a slow nuzzle.

You felt awkward- doing that. Feeling him all but melt into you as his forehead dropped down onto your shoulder. His claws rose, lightly draping themselves around the sides of your waist. He twisted his head, baring his neck to you.

Faintly you remember that one video about animal behavior. How showing necks or stomachs were signs of trust. Trusting that you won't attack where they were weak.

Stopping, you leaned away, looking the best you could at your companion.

He pulled you into him in one last bear of a hug, before releasing when you started to pull away.

He really was beginning to learning social ques. Instead of forcing you to stay in the hug, he released when you did. Normal social ques that anyone would have.

After he released you, he placed his hands upon each of your shoulders, looking at you with a still confused yet much calmer expression.

Glancing at the group, still standing on the steps with impatience and cation airing about them, your face burned red with embarrassment.

You straightened, gently pushing his claws off you before turning around and continuing to walk.

The tips of your ears had never felt warmer as you grumbled back to the group, aiming more specifically at Bill, "Sorry- He's still on edge with you guys."

You didn't add anything else to your explanation, simply leaving them to stew in silence.

They said nothing- and the only movement that told you they were still there was the wheezed cough coming from Bill as he puffed another breathe of smoke.

The rest of the way there you just tried to tune things out. Shooting when you needed to shoot, walking when you needed to walk.

With ease, the group had made their way to the next saferoom.

You were the first to idle on through, collapsing onto the worn blue couch that had ever so conveniently been placed in the safe room.

Your nerves were jelly with that intense of a situation, and having the full group just sitting and staring and waiting for you to finish up the strange interaction with your hunter, it was agony.

You guessed it was in the past though. Nothing you can do to change it.

With a small jingle of the chain, your hunter jumped up onto the couch beside you, spinning in a circle before heaving himself onto the cushions.

His head found a place in your lap, and just glancing at the mirrored position he had taken when turning, you almost couldn't bear it.

Shakily sighing, you placed a hand on his hood covered head, nerves twitching as you slouched into the couch.

"He got a name?"

The voice of Francis startled you.

Glancing up to look to the biker, your eyes were wide with how suddenly he spoke.

"Well?"

Coughing, you tried to cover how startled you'd been, instead looking to the floor as you found your words, "Well uh- I'm trying to separate what he was, from what he is now."

"What about a nickname?" Zoey chimed in.

You shook your head, "None. I've always just called him hunter in my head." Letting out a laugh you continued, "Which I guess is the equivalent of calling a dog, dog."

"What if we call him Blue Guy!" Loius started, glancing at everyone in the room to gauge their reactions.

"Loius-" Francis started, "That name sucks."

"What about Duck?" Zoey smiled, excited expression clear as day, "Like duct tape!"

Francis again immediately shot her down, "That sucks too-" He grinned, before raising his hands to make exaggerated gestures, "How's about.... Cruiser!"

Zoey blankly looked at him, "Francis- that's just a type of bike."

Loius laughed, raising a finger into the air, "Oh- Oh- how about Vaulter! Cause he can jump high stuff!"

"I like Duck." Zoey said, turning to look at the hunter sitting in your lap, "Hey Duck- what's up?"

You hunter didn't even turn to acknowledge her, he just simple, puffed a breath if air and kept resting his head.

Laughing at all the suggestions, you raised your hands up in a surrender position, "Haha- Woah- that's too many names-" placing your names back onto his head, "You all can call him whatever you want to- I don't mind."

Zoey put her arms in the air, "Woohoo! Duck is best name!"

Loius, forgetting his other names, raised his arms as well, "Duck the hunter!"

Francis frowned, crossing his arms sourly, "Cruiser is literally the best name- Its cool- catchy- and badass at the same time-"

Again, watching them all fight and argue was rather ridiculous, so you let out another short giggle.

Bill, who had also been watching, finally decided to speak up, temporarily shifting his gun into his armpit to pull out another cigarette.

"Alright gang. Rest up- we need to keep moving."

One end of the cigarette lit with his older one, he placed it in his mouth, inhaling, before letting out a large puff of grey smoke.

Bill always got the final statement.

___

Not edited