𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

𝟎𝟒. 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖

The paramedics arrived in droves of long white ambulances that carved paths right through the middle of camp. They were followed immediately by the police, who didn't hesitate before handcuffing the (still) unconscious Nurse Lane to her gurney and separating you and Tommy for questioning.

The shock blanket draped over your shoulders didn't make you feel any better than it should have. There was an officer stationed in front of you and you blinked numbly at your reflection in his black aviators. His mouth was moving, but you struggled to understand a single word he said as he scribbled on a small yellow notepad.

"Where's Tommy?" you croaked. Your throat felt scratchy and dry.

The officer clicked his tongue. "Did you have a history with Mary Lane prior to the attack? Were you under the impression that she may have had any grudges against you?"

Did Nurse Lane have a grudge against you? It certainly felt like it in those last few moments. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to formulate a response. "I don't–I don't know."

Apparently this wasn't the right answer. The cop shifted his stance, tapping a finger against his holstered pistol. "Look, kid—"

"(Y/N)!"

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name being called. You never thought you would be excited to see Nick jogging toward you, ducking expertly under the bright yellow police tape that sectioned off the exterior of the mess hall and all of the commotion outside of it, including the ambulance where Nurse Lane was being treated and the one right beside it where Tommy disappeared into as soon as the authorities arrived.

One officer reached out to prevent Nick from approaching you any further, but the one right beside him shook his head and yanked his partner back by the shoulder.

"That's Goode's boy. He's alright."

The sight of someone familiar through the crowd of strangers produced another fresh batch of tears. "Nicky?" You hiccuped, allowing him to open his arms and engulf you in a gentle yet affirming hug. 

Before today, you wouldn't have let Nick Goode touch you with a ten foot pole. Maybe it was the whole almost getting murdered thing that did something to you. Or maybe you were just that desperate for someone, anyone, to tell you that it was going to be okay.

"We still have a few more minutes of questioning, kid," the officer cleared his throat behind Nick. You glanced up over his shoulder, not eager to continue where you'd left off in the process.

"Does she look like she can give you the answers you need right now?" Nick barked, shooting the cop a protective sneer while petting down the back of your hair. A paramedic came by a few minutes ago and wrote off your injury as a shallow abrasion, but it still hurt like a motherfucker.

Once the nameless officer shrugged and wandered off, Nick detached himself from your embrace and kneeled in front of where you were seated on the steps. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" He asked delicately, and you knew that he would have happily taken no for an answer.

Say what you will about Nick Goode, but he definitely had the whole 'future sheriff' thing down packed.

"I was—we were cleaning the mess hall for Color War," you explained, quickly correcting yourself with the shake of your head. Your mind was weaving through the details and you had to concentrate on putting them in order. "Nurse Lane showed up. She was uh... covered in dirt, I think? And she had this knife in her hands. She told me that I needed to die...that she needed to kill me...because my name was written on a wall."