Crow's Nest [✓]

Chapter 36

Thomas slowly stirred, consciousness returning in fits and starts. His head throbbed with a dull ache, a lingering remnant of the blow he'd taken. He struggled to open his eyes, his vision still swimming as he attempted to assess his surroundings.

He could vaguely make out the dark and cramped surroundings of the safe house, and the familiar voice of Flint.

"You finally back with us, kid? You had me worried there for a sec."

Thomas groaned softly, rubbing the back of his head. "What happened...?"

He tried to sit up, but even that simple action seemed to send a wave of nausea through him. He took a moment, steadying himself as the room slowly stopped spinning.

Thomas blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his fuzzy vision. His head was still throbbing, and the room seemed to have acquired a slight tilt. He looked around, but there was no sign of the Doc.

"Where is... he?" he managed to ask, the words coming out slurred.

Flint's expression darkened, and a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. "The Doc? He's tucked away somewhere else in the house, don't you worry about that. Right now, you just need to focus on getting your bearings."

Thomas struggled to understand what was going on. His thoughts were still muddled from the blow to his head, and everything seemed disjointed. He managed to focus on Flint, who looked uncharacteristically menacing as he spoke.

"The Doc ain't going nowhere," Flint said, gesturing toward a door nearby. "He's tied up in there, safe and sound."

Despite his confusion and mild concussion, Thomas managed to nod slightly, his instincts taking over. "Okay... Okay."

He tried to stand up but immediately swayed, grabbing onto the couch for support. The room continued to spin around him, and his legs seemed unwilling to cooperate.

Flint watched him struggle with mild amusement. "Whoa, whoa, take it easy. You're not in any shape to be moving around just yet."

Flint moved closer to him, offering a supporting arm. "Here, lean on me. We'll get you sorted out in a minute."

Thomas didn't have much choice but to accept Flint's help. He leaned on the older man for support, his legs feeling like jelly under him. He took a few slow, careful steps, trying not to trigger another wave of nausea.

"I feel like hell," he muttered, the effort making his head throb even more.

Flint chuckled. "I can imagine. Getting hit on the head ain't exactly a pleasant experience."

He helped Thomas over to a chair and gently guided him into a sitting position. "Sit tight. I'll get you some water and see if I can't dig up some painkillers."

"Wait..." Thomas said closing his eyes and leaned his head back.

Flint paused, looking at Thomas as he leaned back. "What is it?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Thanks..." Was all Thomas could say, but that singular word spoke volumes.

Flint seemed taken aback by the unexpected gratitude. He stood there for a moment, not quite sure how to respond.

Finally, he shook his head and huffed a small laugh. "You're thanking me after everything? Damn, kid, you really are out of it."

With that, he left the room, heading to another part of the safe house. Thomas was left alone, listening to the distant creaks of the old building and the faint sounds of Flint rummaging around.

Flint returned a few minutes later with a bottle of water and a couple of pills in his hand. He offered them to Thomas.

"Here, take these. They should help with the pain and hopefully make you feel a bit better."

He glanced towards the door. "I also made a call. Your freinds are on the way."

Thomas took the water and painkillers, grateful for anything that would help clear his fuzzy head. He swallowed them with a swig of water, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"Thanks," he said, his voice still a little rough, but clearer now. "Harry and the others...?"

Flint nodded. "Yeah, they're coming. Should be here soon. Just sit tight and try not to fall apart on me."

He went to a nearby window and looked out, watching for any signs of their arrival. Thomas leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes again, waiting for the painkillers to take effect.

The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the house's old floorboards. Flint remained near the window, his attention unwavering.

After what felt like an eternity, the faint sound of a car engine reached their ears. Flint looked out the window again and nodded.

"Looks like your friends are here."

Flint moved away from the window and went to the front door, opening it just as Harry and William arrived outside. They hurried inside, their faces showing a mixture of concern and relief upon seeing Thomas.

"Thomas, you alright?" Harry asked, quickly moving to his side.

William's gaze hardened as soon as he entered, fixing Flint with a cold glare. The tension filled the room instantly.

Flint, unfazed, leaned against the wall, hands in his pocket. "Hey, William."

Harry looked from William to Flint, clearly sensing the hostility. He turned back to Thomas with concern.

"Don't mind them. Just focus on staying upright, alright?"

William, meanwhile, kept his eyes trained on Flint, his hand instinctively hovering near his gun.

Flint smirked, not at all intimidated by William's anger. "Relax, cowboy. Everything's under control."

He gestured toward the room the Doc was being held in. "The old geezer's safe and sound in there. No need to get worked up."

William's expression darkened further, his hands clenching into fists. "You better hope Thomas' alright."

Harry stepped between them quickly. "Enough, both of you. This isn't the time for a pissing contest."

Flint held up his hands in a placating gesture, still smirking. "Hey, no need to get your panties in a twist. The kid's fine. Just got himself a nasty blow to the head.

Harry looked at Thomas, the concern visible in his eyes. He then told William to call an ambulance, which he did.

Flint leaned against the wall, watching the exchange with a lazy smile.