Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

55. Urgency

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Striker's chest tightened as he looked down at (Y/N), her face and body both unreactive to his actions. His blood ran cold, chilling him to the bone.

"(Y/N)," he said again, no longer able to hide his panic. He lightly slapped his open palm against her cheek in an attempt to stir her. "C'mon, baby. I need you to wake up for me."

He stared at her blank face for a long moment, searching for even the slightest movement. Anything — just something to let him know that she heard him.

But she didn't react. She didn't move. She didn't do anything except lie there taking slow, shallow breaths.

His body tensed, his eyes welling with tears, and his hands began to shake. He felt like he was going to be sick — he could practically see the life draining from her.

"Please," he muttered silently. "I can't do this again. . ."

Something suddenly snapped inside of him. Carefully, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the wagon. He walked briskly toward Bombproof and Moonshine, gently setting (Y/N) down against a boulder while he fastened both horses' bridles and saddles. Once he was finished, he picked up (Y/N)'s frail body and climbed onto Bombproof's back. He wrapped his tattered blanket around both of their frames and tied it into a tight knot, holding her close to him in the makeshift sling. Grabbing Moonshine's reins, he whipped Bombproof's rear with the head of his tail, and the four of them headed out of the cavern through one of the narrow tunnels.

(Y/N)'s body heat was enough to break Striker into a sweat before they even reached the outside. His cheek lay pressed against her forehead, and he scowled at the persistence of the feverish warmth of her skin. He cradled her in his arm as they rode out past the abandoned train tracks and across the open plains of the Bad Man Lands, each of his hands tightly gripping the two hellhorses' reins.

When the ground was flat and clear of broken tracks, Striker smacked Bombproof again with his tail, sending the two horses into a full gallop. He struggled to lead Moonshine alongside his own, much larger hellhorse. He wasn't used to ponying; he couldn't remember the last time he'd done it — it must have been years ago, he thought, when he'd first started working for Daisy and Darryl. And even then, he never went faster than a light trot.

The late afternoon sun beat down on them, despite a cool breeze blowing in from the south. At some point in their journey, Striker looked down at (Y/N)'s flushed face, a twinge of worry racking his stomach when he wondered if the Wrathian heat would cause her fever to worsen. When the thought crossed his mind, he brought the two horses to a halt and began unbuttoning her flannel. He gently shed the thick shirt off of her body, revealing her white camisole underneath, and he removed the brown sunhat from his own head and placed it on (Y/N)'s to shade her face.

Striker froze when he saw her stir. Her mouth moved slightly, and she let out a small, weak moan before growing silent again.

"Hey," he murmured, cupping her scalding cheek and turning her head to face him. "Talk to me. Say somethin'."

(Y/N) didn't respond, and it took him a few seconds to realize that she had fallen unconscious again. Striker watched her a moment longer before hugging her tight to his frame, clenching his jaw. He planted a firm kiss on her burning forehead as he adjusted the blanket holding them together and said softly, "I'm gonna do right by you this time, darlin'. I promise."

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The sun had just begun to set when Striker reached Darryl's stable with (Y/N) and the two hellhorses in tow. He brought the horses to a stop at the front doors just as Daisy and Darryl appeared in the doorway to close for the evening.