[ Kahlil has distant memories of being treated in an infirmary time and time again in his youth. He has distant, foreign memories of being treated like this man handles him now, a stranger in a tent performing field medicine on the worst of his wounds. The cuts on his hand are nothing in comparison, something he would normally tend to on his own so as to avoid bothering anyone.
He waits where Dean leaves him, observing how he seems to know this place well enough to likely live here. He has heard that the ones who are summoned are eventually free to live outside the barracks. His mind shifts to Alidas for a second, and he shoves his uninjured hand into his pocket reflexively, but the key is no longer there.
Dean returns not long after and Kahlil shifts in his seat to face him better. The warning gets a light, amused snort from him, but he offers his wounded hand with no resistance. This man may be blunt, but there's a kindness in his actions that endears Kahlil to him. ]
no subject
He waits where Dean leaves him, observing how he seems to know this place well enough to likely live here. He has heard that the ones who are summoned are eventually free to live outside the barracks. His mind shifts to Alidas for a second, and he shoves his uninjured hand into his pocket reflexively, but the key is no longer there.
Dean returns not long after and Kahlil shifts in his seat to face him better. The warning gets a light, amused snort from him, but he offers his wounded hand with no resistance. This man may be blunt, but there's a kindness in his actions that endears Kahlil to him. ]
Do your worst. [ He gives him a wry look. ]