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Samson had been made for this. Born into it. He’d been living and breathing violence since he was a child. From the savage beatings of his alcoholic father to the way bigger kids would pick on him in the playground, for being small and in the way.
Samson wasn’t small anymore, though. He’d finally grown into his name; broad and strong and stoic. When his old man finally kicked the bucket - sixteen years too late - Samson had been picked up by Mr. Shadwell.
People said Mr. Shadwell was bad news, but Samson loved Mr. Shadwell like a father. When Mr. Shadwell started asking him to deliver packages, he didn’t ask what was inside them. When Mr. Shadwell started asking him to deliver beatings to people who owed him money, Samson didn’t question why. When Mr. Shadwell got Samson to come with him to weird meetings where they talked about money and cargo and bodies, Samson closed his eyes and did his time-tables in his head until the conversations were over.
When Mr. Shadwell told him to shoot a child, Samson said no.
Mr. Shadwell had punched him so hard, Samson was worried he lost teeth. In the end, it didn’t matter what Samson had done for him; all Mr. Shadwell had cared about was what Samson wouldn’t do.
It was the first time in years that someone tried to hurt him. Most people didn’t bother trying, knowing that he was a solid wall of muscle. Turned out, steel-toe boots could hurt anyone, and a gunshot would always seal the deal.
Mr. Shadwell just left him there.
Dying, on the street, like he was nothing.
Like… none of what he did meant anything. Like he meant nothing.
Samson always knew he was worthless. His old man had been right about him.
Closing his eyes, he waited to fall asleep for the last time. Instead, he was startled by a frantic voice. “Hey! No, don’t go to sleep! Stay awake, come on.”
A woman’s voice? She sounded nice. Maybe she was an angel…
Maybe, somehow, Samson was going to Heaven after all.
Valerie had seen a lot in her five years as a paramedic. She thought nothing could faze her anymore.
And here she was, trying to haul a man twice her size to his feet, even as he limply leant his weight against her. He was losing blood quickly, and she had to do something.
The hospital, while a fantastic place to take him, wasn’t feasible on her own. Putting him down to call an ambulance risked making things worse, and there was no guarantee that an ambulance would come in time.
Her apartment was close. Just a few feet away. She had enough supplies there to properly stabilize him, and she had the right knowledge too. She was probably his best bet.
“Alright, Big Guy, work with me here,” Valerie said, shoving against the man’s weight. “Come on. You can do it.”
“Are you an angel…?” The man blinked. “Am I dead?”
Don’t jinx it , a part of Valerie grumbled. “Not yet, but you’re gonna be, if you don’t do what I tell you to.”
The man nodded mutely. Valerie got the impression that he was used to following orders. “Alright, Boss.”
“One foot forward,” Valerie said. “Good, now the other foot.”
She managed to coach the man towards her front door, one laboured step at a time. Finally, they reached her front door, and as she reached into her pocket to grab her keys, unlocking the door, the man slumped against it, forcing it open with his own weight.
Letting out a string of curses, Valerie tried to stop him from hitting his head as he crashed to the floor. She was only slightly successful, managing to stop the worst of the impact.
Now she had a concussion to worry about, too.
Great.
“What's your name?” Valerie asked, trying her best to keep her patient alert and awake. “I’m Valerie.”
“That’s a pretty name…” the man mumbled. “Samson.”
“Samson, huh? You got shot, Samson. How’d that happen?”
“I made the Boss mad,” Samson said simply. Well , shit . Now Valerie was very glad she’d decided against taking this guy Samson to the hospital. “You know how he gets rid of people who make him mad.”
Valerie did a scan of the man. “He shoots ‘em and beats the shit out of them?”
“Yeah…” Samson’s words were slurred, which could very well have been due to the bloodloss, delirium or the pain of his injuries. “How’d you know?”
“You have a gunshot wound and serious bruises on your chest,” Valerie answered. “You look like a week-old peach…”
“I’ve never had peaches. Are they good?”
“What?” Valerie grabbed her least favorite tea towel, hoping to staunch the bleeding at least a little.
Samson barely reacted to the pressure, looking up at her with big, soulful eyes. “Never got to have fruit or nothing.”
Was he seriously still talking about the fruit? At a time like this?
“You get better, and I’ll buy you a whole bag,” Valerie said instantly.
That made Samson smile, even through his pain. “Thank you, Boss. You’re so much nicer than my last boss.”
The guy who kicked the shit out of you and shot you? Wow, thanks so much.
“Just stay awake for me, Peaches.”
They’d figure everything else out later. For now, she was going to finish patching him up.
She was a good paramedic, damnit.