Chapter Text
You were in a bad mood. You were later getting back home than you really wanted to be. The sky had deepened the dusk into cloud-dusted starlight before you had left your salvage shop, locking up and buttoning your jacket against the chill. You’d taken a trip to the junkyard today, and dragging back your finds had taken longer than expected. Normally, it wasn’t a big deal for you to bribe those on duty to turn a blind eye as you rummaged through the piles of garbage. They thought you were a weirdo, or a hoarder. Who would want all that broken junk, anyway? But you were always good at fixing things. Too good. At a certain point, it got too difficult to explain away as anything other than supernatural, and you had to move shop locations.
Leaving your hometown for York New was supposed to be a positive change. Your living space was bigger, and your shop was nicer. The two buildings were owned by the same person, asshole though he was, so you were able to roll the two rental expenses together every month. Sometimes, he had you fix things around the building. He knew you were handy, just not to what extent.
The new shop was your pride and joy. Though you still knew you sold salvaged goods, you were able to pass them off as brand new. Bribe the right officials, and nobody bats an eye when your “new” goods have no paper trail, and anyone examining your books will find no pattern of orders, no vendors or real overhead beyond rent.
So with everything set up to give you a nice new start on life and your business, why did it seem like the universe was out to get you today? None of the normal guards were on duty at the junkyard. You bribed your way in, then were hassled by the same men on your way out, having to bribe them a second time to get out. Your cart had busted a wheel on your trek back, and you pretty much had to drag the whole thing back. You were fortunate that years of hauling heavy salvage have given you a decent amount of upper body strength. Less lucky that you had to use it to drag most of the parts of a motorcycle, three busted guitars, and some very bent skiing equipment all the way back to your shop. Once there, you debated on repairing everything right then. You were really tired. Desperately in need of a shower. Very sore. It could wait until tomorrow. It’s not like you would be taking another trip to the junkyard. Everything could be fixed in one go, so your conditions wouldn’t matter.
You trudged home, jacket pulled tight against the chill in the air as fat raindrops began to plop around you.
“Well, isn’t this the perfect shitty topper for a perfectly shitty day…” you grumbled, trying to remember where you’d left your umbrella. Not that it would do you any good, wherever it was, but it gave you something to think about. You were good and soggy by the time you made it to your front steps, still lost in thought trying to remember if your umbrella was propped up behind the door in the tiny office of your shop, or if it was in the small laundry room of the modest townhome you rented. Either way, it was unable to do its one job, at the moment.
So lost were you in your musings that you almost tripped over a dark, waterlogged mass sprawled over your front steps. You jolted as the toe of your shoe caught on fabric and something firmer, cold droplets shaking loose from your hair and eyelashes as you came to an abrupt halt to avoid landing face-first on top of what was beginning to look an awful lot like a body.
You leaned down to investigate, wishing even harder for an umbrella (and cursing your landlord for never bothering to install a porch light) to clear your view of the heavy rain so you could better see what you were dealing with. York New had a sizable indigent population, but they didn’t make a habit of sleeping in the open, in the rain. There were shelters, and beyond that, encampments that were easy enough to find. A flash of lightning briefly lit the person at your feet, and you couldn’t help but gasp. A man with tousled dark hair, pale skin, and a cross-shaped forehead tattoo lay unconscious (hopefully), a trickle of blood smeared from the rain, running down from the corner of his full lips.
You pressed your fingertips to his neck, feeling for a pulse, flinching at the coldness of his skin. It was there, but faint. You gently peeled back the heavy, wet fabric of the coat he wore, the soggy, matted white fur stained dark, streaked with blood. You could see the evidence of wounds, but in the dark, it was hard to tell the extent. There were rips in his dark clothes, more blood visible. Cuts and...burns? Was that a bullet hole? What had this guy gone through? He was an absolute wreck. It only took you a moment to make up your mind. Sure, inviting a strange man into your home was incredibly stupid, but he wasn’t exactly in any condition to cause you harm, was he? Besides, with those wounds, in the cold and rain, he definitely wasn’t going to last long. And if there was a dead body on your porch, people would talk. And the last thing you wanted was for people to talk. Plus, and this was a purely selfish reason, in that flash of lightning, the face you had seen was a handsome one. Unconscious, he looked so vulnerable. Innocent.
You unlocked your door and ran into your home, grabbing an old comforter before returning to the man’s side. You spread it out next to him, and, as gently as you could, you rolled him onto it. You winced at the low, pained moan the man let out, his eyes fluttering open for an instant.
“Hang in there. I just need to get you inside.” You were pretty sure he couldn’t hear you, but honestly, you were mostly just talking to feel less weird about the entire situation.
You lifted the head end of the comforter slightly, doing your best not to jostle the man too badly as you dragged him into your home. Once inside, you scooted him into your living room, turning on the overhead light before running over and locking the door behind you. No sense in inviting whoever attacked him to come back and finish the job, and you as a bonus.
Standing over him once again, this time in the warm light of your living room, you were again shocked by how lovely he was. But, you reasoned, you had little time to dwell on that. This man was fading, and you had decided to take it upon yourself to keep him alive. And really, you had known the second you saw his wounds exactly how you would try. It was only a matter of being honest with yourself.