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The pain was burning, searing at your side like nothing you had felt before. You had trouble focusing on it though, on anything at all, because the loss of blood had made you lightheaded. You didn't want to die, not like this. Not when you were so close to making it out alive.
To think, in a city infested with flesh-hungry zombies, you were going to die by gunshot. Oh, the irony. Carlos's superior, Nicholai you think, 'accidentally' shot you instead of the zombie a few feet to your right. That was BS, and you knew it. You were there with Jill when he took out one of his own, surely he’d have no problem taking out you too.
Somehow, despite the pain, you managed to kill the creature that was after you. Nicholai was no help. He left you, all alone, hiding from the undead with a bullet in your side. Thank God Carlos had found you when he did, you didn't think you'd make it much longer if he hadn't.
The hands tending to your wound pushed down harder to slow the blood pouring out of your side, causing you to curse in pain.
"Could you be any more gentle?" You groaned. Carlos let out a breath he was holding; it had been a while since you last spoke and he was getting a little worried.
"Sorry, but we’ve got to stop the bleeding," was all he said. He was too focused on the task at hand to think of anything witty.
You didn't respond, because if you did, it would be something unintentionally mean and you didn't want to be an ass to the man who was saving your life.
For now, you focused on your breathing. In, hold, and out. In, hold, and out. Just like your therapist had taught you. You were gonna be ok, right? He was gonna save you... right?
You shook those thoughts away. Of course he was. And then you were gonna shoot Nicholai in the dick. You smiled at the mental image.
"I'm gonna lift your shirt up, is that ok?" He asked.
"Now is not the time to be respectful, Carlos," And there you were, being mean to the man who was saving your life.
He didn’t seem phased, though. He laughed, peeling up the bloody fabric from your skin. His hand stopped just above the wound, and upon looking at it, he shuddered. It didn't look good. You were losing a lot of blood, and it wasn't going to stop anytime soon. He needed to find a way to stop the bleeding, and fast.
Racking his brain for any solutions, he remembered something he was taught during his guerrilla days, way before he was recruited by umbrella. But it was a pretty drastic procedure, only to be used in dire circumstances. He looked back at your wound, watching the blood pool around his fingers. These were dire circumstances.
Looking down the alleyway, a fire engulfed one of your only exits. That would work for a heat source. Now all he needed was something metal. He pulled out his knife, still shiny and unused.
"How good are you with pain?" He asked.
"Why? What are you gonna do?" He didn’t respond at first. He kept looking at his blade, at your wound, and then to the fire. “Carlos, answer me!”
"I'm gonna cauterize your wound."
You had a vague idea of what that was, and the mere thought of it made you queasy. But you couldn't protest, you knew you wouldn't make it if he didn't do something drastic. You were already starting to feel dizzy from the lack of blood.
Carlos made his way to the fire and placed his blade into the flame, waiting for the metal to glow with its own heat. The crackling embers radiated across his hand, an almost unbearable sensation. He hesitated before taking the blade out, though; for when he did, he would have to press it onto your wound right away. He really didn’t want to do it, but he also didn’t want you to die.
"You got something to bite on?" He asked.
"What's that supposed to mean?" You replied. He smiled, for even in dire circumstances, you had the same attitude he had grown to love. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he knew that he wanted to keep in touch after this was over. Whether it was just as friends or something more. But in order for that to be a possibility, he’d have to really hurt you to save your life. Maybe this would make for a great story in a couple years, if you ever talked to him again after this.
He had a handkerchief with him, he realized, and with his other hand, he tossed it to you.
"You're gonna need it to bite on.”
Taking the blade from out of the fire, he approached your crumpled form. Your eyes met with the hot metal, widening at its dull glow. This was gonna hurt like hell, and you knew it. Rolling up the handkerchief, you placed it between your teeth. Still, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of the hot metal. The breath work you had just done was for nothing, because the object in his hands made your heart race and breath heavy.
"Hey, don't look at it. Look at me. Look into my eyes," Carlos said, and you did as you were told. He smiled at you, "They're dreamy, aren't they?"
Before you had a chance to scoff or laugh, the scalding piece of metal made contact with your skin and you cried out in pain. It had only touched your skin for a second before he removed it, but then he pressed into your skin again.
He continued this process a few more times, and it felt like each time was more painful than the previous. You couldn't handle it, there wasn't even enough time in between each contact for you to take an adequate breath and brace yourself. Tears pricked your eyes and your jaw was sore from biting down so hard. And though Carlos tried to comfort you, distract you from the pain with his words, you couldn’t ever listen to what he was saying anymore. Your dizziness was getting much worse now, as brown clouds settled over your vision; you couldn’t make out Carlos’s face anymore.
"It's almost over, Y/N. I'm almost done," Carlos reassured, making sure you kept eye contact with him. He noticed your eyes glazing over, though.
He peaked down at your wound, and with one more pulse of the knife, the wound was scabbed over. He put the knife down and looked back up at your face.
Upon seeing your eyes closed and head rolled to the side, his heart skipped a beat. He put his two fingers up to your neck. There was a pulse, thank God.
"Just scare the hell out of me, y/n," he said to himself.
Your face, though scarily pale, looked peaceful, Carlos thought. A few stands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead, and he gently pushed them away.
"You're gonna be just fine." The words fell off of his tongue, though he knew you wouldn't hear it.
With the wound cauterized, he had to clean it up or else risk infection. With the first aid supplies he carried on him, he disinfected your wound and wiped your abdomen clean of dried blood. Then, he made quick work applying gauze to your stomach and then wrapping your side up in bandages.
You still hadn't stirred, and he just had to check your pulse one last time. Feeling the heartbeat under his fingertips, he gave a satisfied sigh, before slumping next to you against the brick wall.
He sat there a few minutes, listening to the crackling of the fire and the distant groans of the undead. Though it was nice to take a breather, he knew he wasn’t safe here. You weren’t safe either, and you were in no shape to fight off the creatures that filled the streets.
“Where’s Jill?” You asked. You had just regained consciousness, and your voice was rough and weak. He looked over his shoulder at you, taking your hand and squeezing it.
“Don’t worry, I’m gonna find her. I promise,” he said, “But let’s get you out of here first.”
He got to his knees, pressing and holding down the button on his radio.
“Tyrell, you still alive?” Carlos asked.
“Somehow,” a voice came through the static.
“Meet me up at the hospital. You’ve got some babysitting to do.”
“Babysitting?”
“Yeah. But I don’t think you’ll mind watching this lovely lady.”
“Is it Y/N? Is she ok?”
“She’s not doing to hot. Look, I’ll tell you more when we meet up.”
“Ok. Meet you there.”
Carlos let go of his radio, looking back at you. A pained expression graced your face as you fought back tears. The burn he gave you was still excruciatingly painful.
He moved to your side, sliding his arms under your knees and back, before picking you up with a groan.
“Tyrell’s gonna take good care of you, Y/N. Don’t worry,” he said, adjusting you in his arms so that he wouldn’t be aggravating your wound,
“How are you feeling right now?”
“Like hell.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
In your half-alert state, you found yourself curling into Carlos’s warm torso. You were so, so cold, probably because of the blood loss, and too out of it to be embarrassed. Carlos noticed it too, how frigid your skin felt against his own, and pulled you a little tighter into his chest.
“You owe me a drink after this,” your words slurred together a little. Carlos may have stopped the bleeding, but he was still scared to death of your current state.
“It’s a date then,” he said. Though he was worried for you, he didn’t let that show in his demeanor or in the tone of his voice. Because you didn’t need to see that. He didn’t want you to worry either.
With you in his arms, he looked around the corner and onto the Main Street. Bodies swayed under the city’s fluorescent lights, some groaning and dragging themselves along the concrete. At the very edge of the horizon he spotted the hospital. And to get there, he’d have to get past all the bodies. His hands were full, there was no way to use his weapons. That meant he could only rely on speed to make it there in one piece. This was going to be fun.