Charles Smith x Reader

Nine

Your hands trembled as you tried to scrub off the blood. The water inside the ceramic bowl had already taken a watery red colour yet the feeling of something stuck to your skin remained.

Maybe it was just your imagination but you believed that your fingers were still stained.

Why did it irritate you so much?

Just a few hours ago you had killed men. And now that the blood of another was quite literally stuck on your hands you felt the urge to throw up scratch the back of your throat.

No, this was different.

The stranger, Charles, was innocent. At least as far as you were concerned. To you he had no reason to be shot and stabbed.

The stench of iron was in the air, mumbled with the wetness of raw meat.

Slowly, you dared to throw a glance over your shoulder to check on him.

Charles was wrapped in layers of bloody blankets and everything else you had found to keep him warm. Beads of sweat shimmered in the dim light of the fire while his chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he took.

You could hear how his lungs rattled. Hopefully they weren't filled with blood or water. In that case he was as good as dead.

Clarence had curled up next to him. The old dog seemed to understand that this man was in desperate need of any kind of help to make it through the night. So the good boy had decided to help warm him.

"Stay with him, boy.", you whispered and patted his head. "He needs the company."

Your gaze jumped over to examine Charles' expression. It told stories of pain and suffering even though it must have been better than before.

You had struggled to stop the bleeding but most of his injuries were not clean and bandaged. Your limited skills had allowed you to patch some of the flesh back together but his shoulder was still a mess.

The bullets had turned the rosy inside black with gunpowder. Maybe he had suffered lead poisoning, but you weren't skilled enough to tell for sure. Most gun wounds killed due to infection anyways.

"Charles?", carefully, you pressed your palm to his forehead to check on his temperature.

With a low sound of irritation, he frowned. Eyes moved behind closed lids while his fingers clawed into the blankets.

"C-cold...", his voice shivered almost as much as he did.

But he was wrapped like a bundle, yet he was sweating all over. He couldn't have been freezing. Unless the blood loss was more severe than you had originally thought.

"Dammit...", you cursed under your breath and grabbed his hand to check for a pulse.

The beating was slow, but thankfully consistent. That meant his heart at least tried to recover.

Suddenly, his fingers wrapped around your hand to give it a squeeze. It was so soft and weak that you almost didn't understand what he was asking for.

He begged not to be alone. Perhaps he feared he'd die that night and didn't want to spent his final hours all by himself in the home of a stranger.

Though you had been a kind stranger to him you were still just that. A stranger.

You yourself wouldn't have wanted to end this way.

All the hairs in the back of your neck stood up straight as that thought crossed your mind.

The feeling of exhaustion pressed down on your eyelids while your head started to fall over. Your body and soul needed rest from this nights events.

But Charles begged in silence to not be left alone. His fingers tightened around your hand as you tried to get up to get some rest in your own bed.

His breath hitched.

Whimpering, Clarence raised his head to look at you. Even though he was just a dog there were still these emotions in his eyes. He understood just as much as you that the situation wasn't in favour of Charles' survival.

He just like him the old dog wouldn't have wanted to be left alone in a moment like this.

A sigh rolled off your lips as you kneeled down next to Charles to feel how his temperature was once more. His race relaxed for a brief second.

"Don't call me a weirdo tomorrow...", you muttered and fetched a pillow to rest your head on.

Even though he was wrapped in layers and layers of blankets you could still feel that he was cold. But yhe options were running out and you could feel how you got closer to your wits end.

This wasn't an issue about the surroundings but about the current stage he was in. His body fought for survival. And it struggled.

The beating of your heart was up in your throat as you settled next to him and placed a hand on his chest. Perhaps this was quite close to be with a stranger but you needed to make sure that he wouldn't die next to you that night.

His heart was weak but still managed to stroke the palm of your hand. It gave you a sense of comfort to know that it was still beating.

For now.

Weight pushed your head into the pillow. Your eyes flickered. All of a sudden everything felt so heavy and unpleasant.

Pressure grew inside your skull and made it feel like your brain wanted to melt into the soft feathers. You wanted to sleep for the next decade.

Your limbs grew weary and a soft sigh rolled off your lips.

The gentle crackling of the fireplace soothed your mind. It was warm, maybe even so warm that it made you sweat a little.

But you couldn't roll away. Charles held your hand clutched as if it was the only thing that kept him in the land of the living.

His breath was so heavy that you feared his lungs could be crushed by his own weight. But at least he seemed more relaxed now.

Perhaps he was just too tried to suffer at this point.