12.2 Resolution

An uneasy shiver runs down your back as you stare down the end of the alley where the figure was last seen. You remain lost in thought until the sound of strained moan reaches your ear and you quickly divert your attention back to the injured figure. Adrenaline must still be coursing through your veins as you find it unnaturally easy to scale the wooden partition, even with your casts. In a matter of seconds, you're on the ground beside the bleeding man. An intoxicating aroma seems to be drifting from his bruised and crimson stained form. The sweet, musky odor makes it somewhat difficult for you to concentrate on his aid.

"Are you okay?" You manage to **** out, hesitantly reaching toward his wounds.

"I've seen better days." The man coughs, his voice sounding low and slightly ****.

Biting your lip, you glance around anxiously, taking in the full severity of his injuries. Five deep slash marks run diagonally across the man's broad chest. Your fingers trepidatiously run along the edge of one of the deep marks. The man's face contorts slightly but he doesn't pull away or protest.

"You need medical attention." You conclude, certain he will bleed out without some type of intervention. "I'll call an ambulance."

"No!"

One of the man's large hands quickly reaches out, wrapping around your now bloodstained fingers. Furrowing your brow in confusion, you finally look up towards the man's face. A set of fierce, green eyes stare back at you somewhat desperately. You feel yourself instantly lost in the intense gaze, momentarily forgetting where you are and what you were about to do.

"I- you..." The words barely escape your lips as your eyes remain transfixed on the ones before you. "You're hurt."

"Not that badly." He replies dismissively, obviously trying to mask any pain he's experiencing.

Your brow raises skeptically but his beseeching expression remains, as does the grip around your hand. His skin feels tepid and almost unnoticeable as it seems to match your own warmth. You notice your breath catch in your throat when his grip tightens as he begins to sit up.

"See?" He offers with a strained smile. "I'm beginning to feel better already."

"I somehow doubt that." You mumble under your breath and take a step back as the man shifts further.

To your surprise, a moment later he is on his feet, his large figure now towering over you. Swallowing nervously, you subtly attempt sliding your hand away to no avail. Seeming to have become distracted by something, the stranger takes a step forward, pulling you to his side in the process.

"It's not safe out here." He comments, his sharp gaze peering down the long, dark alley.

You had temporarily forgotten about the source of the man's injuries. Another shiver runs down your spine as you're reminded of the ominous figure that had been capable of bringing a sizable man to his knees. Nodding absentmindedly, your own eyes wander back towards the fence as you wonder how you can easily part with the man.

"You live here." The man states, not waiting for an answer. "That's good, we should get inside."

Before you can protest, he's leading you over to the fence. Your eyes widen in surprise when his strong hands wrap around your waist and easily lift you despite his injuries. Blushing at the inappropriate thoughts that quickly fill your mind, you remind yourself this person is a stranger and a potentially dangerous one at that. With the man's assistance, you easily make it back over the fence. With only his own strength, the man quickly climbs over the fence a moment later before brusquely ushering you towards the entrance. Somewhat reluctantly, you slide the glass door open and allow the man to follow you inside. Once in, the man appears to let some of his resilient exterior fade. Exhaling deeply, he slowly leans back against the threshold. You can't help feeling sympathetic towards the stranger as you watch droplets of blood trickle down his torn shirt.

"You really should get that looked at." You remark softly, nodding towards the open wounds. "You need a Doctor."

"And what would I tell them?" He inquires somewhat irately, raising a brow questioningly. "How would I explain these wounds?"

"The truth..." You begin before the scoffs under his breath. "Or that an animal attacked you. I don't know, I just know you need to do something."

"You're right." The man agrees, running the back of his hand across his damp brow. "Do you have a first aid kit?"

"What?" You blurt out before quickly shaking your head. "No, I don't and it wouldn't help anyway. You need to go to a hospital."

"I'm not going." He growls, his temper quickly flaring. "So you can either help me or let me bleed out."

Your eyes slowly return to the man's bloody chest. Obviously, you should help him. However, something inside gives you pause. The sweet scent of blood invades your senses once more, reminding you of that night at the hospital and another wounded man.

"What can I do?" You finally reply, resolving not to have this night end in the same blood bath.

"Do you have a sewing kit?" The man asks, seeming fairly relieved when you nod in affirmation. "Good. What about ****?"

"There's some in the kitchen." You gesture in its direction before moving towards your bedroom.

There you spend a moment looking around the quaint room. It doesn't make sense how you ended up in this situation. Not just helping out this stranger but the whole situation. The reason for leaving town and the subsequent accident it resulted in. Not to mention the oddities at the hospital and that night. The sound of glass clinking from down the hall tells you he has located the bottle of whiskey sitting atop the fridge. Shaking the intrusive thoughts from your mind, you hastily grab the sewing box and head back. Upon entering the kitchen, you find the man leaned back against the fridge. It appears that while you were gone he removed his shirt and wiped most of the blood from the wounds. You decide to ignore the now stained kitchen towels thrown carelessly onto the countertop. Raising a brow slightly, you watch the man bring the bottle to his lips before taking a more than generous swig.

"You know how to stitch?" He inquires, his green eyes lowering to the sewing kit in your hands.

"Clothing? Yes." You mumble in response, unable to tear your eyes from the man's large figure. "People? No."

"It's not that much different." The man chuckles lightly before taking another long drink.

"You're serious?" Your eyes widen, quickly looking back up to see the now humorless expression on his face. "I can't! I thought you were going to do it."

"You'll have a better angle." He explains, moving over to take a seat at the small kitchen table. "Trust me, anything you do will be better than bleeding out."

You cast him a doubtful look before hesitantly following him. Exhaling softly, you slowly set the sewing box onto the table. Your fingers tremble slightly as you open it and search for the largest needle and thickest thread. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the man use some of the whiskey to clean the wounds. Though it's a bit old fashioned, the proof is high enough to ensure some sterility. It takes multiple tries to thread the needle, however, eventually you're successful. Steeling your nerves, you take a few small steps towards the man. Blood has begun seeping through the deep wounds again, letting you know you need to act fast. On baited breath you hesitantly reach forward only to be met with more tremors. Your breath has grown shallow as the deep, pungent odor of blood fills your nostrils. After several unsuccessful pokes at the skin the man roughly pulls you aside.

"You need to calm down." He sighs impatiently before forcing the bottle of whiskey in your hand."Take a drink."

Your brow raises in confusion, though you dare not question the man. A sharp look has taken over his eyes, one of agitation and strain. Nervously, you fiddle with the cap before it tumbles off and rolls away under the table. Shakily, you bring the bottle to your lips and feel the warm burn of liquor run down your dry throat. When you move to lower the bottle a moment later, the man's hand reaches forward and keeps it in place. ****, you find yourself helpless as more of the harsh liquid spills down your throat. Finally, he lets go and you pull back sharply, gasping for air.

"That wasn't necessary." You frown, wiping the dripping liquor from your chin.

"I think it was." He retorts bluntly before gesturing to his wounds. "Now, please before I lose any more blood."

Scowling slightly, you reluctantly step forward again and bring the needle to his skin. The strong stench of whiskey has invaded your nose, as has its effects invaded your mind. Your hands have grown steady enough to begin working, regardless, you're still uncertain of the accuracy of the job. Though you're certain your actions are not as gentle as you intend, the man doesn't wince or groan. Instead, he remains silent and steady as you continue the haphazard patch job. Your fingers are numb and completely stained by the time you finish tying off the last stitch. The man lets out a long, deep sigh once you've taken a step back. Your eyes slowly move down the bruised, splattered torso before you. The man seems satisfied with the work and takes another drink from the bottle before holding it out towards you. You pause for a moment before accepting it, realizing the smell of blood is now clinging to you like static in a lightning storm. After a large mouthful, the issue seems less pressing. Smiling lightly, you turn your attention back to the stranger before you.