A Soldier and His Angel - A Pets United Oneshot

Oneshot

Roger had felt the shock of it before the pain settled in. The possibility of being shot had crossed his mind, but the idea of it happening to him had never truly sunk in. He had seen many fall in battle. Many of his friends had already gone, hit in places that could never be healed.

He looked to his right, down at his shoulder already red with blood. The smell of iron rushed in before he could truly understand what had happened. The fur where the wound was, once a stunning silver blue, had stained a terrible crimson so fast it was nauseous. Then came the light-headedness, so strong he almost toppled over where he stood. Yet, he knew he could not. He was too far from the tents, to far in the front lines that he knew he would not survive should he faint here. Pure survival instinct was what pushed him to run. His gun clattered to the blood-stained ground as he cradled his wounded arm and fled, tail tucked between his legs. Roger could barely see what was in front of him, through tears and thick smoke, coughing as he went, he struggled to stand upright. The only thing that kept him going was pain. Pain and the true fear of what would happen if he died. He had no family, his only friends being strays and the vagabonds from the backstreet of Robocity. He had almost nothing to his name. Only the clothes on his back, and the few notebooks he had, remnants of high school, of his life before conscription.

It felt like ages before he could see the camp. Relief flooded over him, as did a sudden wave of tiredness. Roger fell to his knees. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes were the worried faces of his comrades, their shocked yells barely reaching his long, pointy ears.

Beeping. Beeping and the smell of antiseptic. That was what Roger woke up to. Or perhaps he had died, and everything in front of him was merely a figment of his imagination, the afterlife showing him exactly what he wanted. That would explain the beautiful face staring down at him. A gorgeous Siamese cat, with ocean blue orbs and the most golden fur he had ever seen stood at his side. She had to be an angel. Maybe even a goddess, and her voice, which rang through the room once their orbs met, was as melodious as a birdsong. Before he could think, his mouth moved, searching for answers.

"Are you an angel?"

She turned back to him, surprised, then laughed. Her laugh was as beautiful and cat-like as she was.

"Am I dead?" He asked, just as she was about to walk away.

And she shook her head, placing a warm paw on his leg, reassuring him of his existence. He fell back asleep, calmer than he had been in years.

The second time he awoke, he was alone. Had he hallucinated the cat lady? But her paw had felt so real, even through the thin sheets covering his body. He had barely a second to think before the door to his room opened, and a doctor stepped in. Behind the dark furred poodle, was the angel. Now that he could see her properly, barely registering the words of the doctor in front of him, her beauty was even more unreal.

"You were hit in your right arm," the thickly Italian accented poodle said. "It is a miracle that you survived; it nearly missed a vital artery. Taking rehabilitation into play, we will have to keep you here for at least a month."

The words hit him hard.

"My hand," Roger said in a rush, finally noticing the cast around his entire arm and upper body. "Will I be able to use it again?"

"Only time will tell, though I have faith in your recovery," with those words, he checked his watch then nodded at the nurse, combing a paw through his coiffe. "I have to go, nurse Belle will be at your side now."

He left, leaving the newly named Belle and Roger to stare at each other for a second. He could see himself in her orbs, a hypnotising, deep as the sea, blue.