Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"No luck." Velma shakes her head and drops her phone with a heavy sigh. Heavy lines surround her eyes and mouth as she glares at the device as if it's somehow at fault for what's happening.

"Yeah, here either," Reenie reports, frustration tinting her words. She glances down at her phone. "Bobby's checking some more leads, but we might need to—"

A knock at the door interrupts her.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Velma redirects her glare toward the entrance. They don't have time for any distractions, not if they want to find Colter.

Sighing, Reenie heads toward it. "If it's another delivery guy with the wrong address, I swear— Russell!" She breaks off with an exclamation that's somewhere between a gasp and a question as she opens the door.

"Ladies," Russell greets from where he's casually leaning against the frame, a lopsided grin tilting across his face. "Thought I'd drop by, say hi, maybe talk Reenie into grabbing dinner…" He trails off and raises an eyebrow, offering Reenie a grin that has absolutely zero effect.

Reenie frowns. "Well, this is not a good time for dinner," she replies curtly.

Before she can continue, Russell steps past her into the office, undeterred. "Oh, come on. It's never a good time. What's the crisis now?" His tone lifts. "Surely it's not big enough to warrant you skipping a meal."

She fixes him with a hard look. "Colter's missing."

Russell freezes mid-step, his grin immediately fading. "Colter's what?"

"Missing," Reenie repeats. "We've been trying to reach him, but he's not picking up. I was about to call you, actually, but now here you are. Really good timing, actually," she adds under her breath.

"Missing since when?" Russell's voice is now hard and focused, far different than moments before.

"We don't know exactly." Reenie absently fidgets with a button on her blazer. "He's on a job but hasn't checked in and isn't answering his phone."

"When's the last time you heard from him?"

The women exchange glances again.

"This morning," Velma answers. "He sent me a text that he was following a lead in the foothills near where the girl he's looking for went missing, but that's the last any of us have heard from him. His phone's not giving off any signal, and the area's pretty rural, so no luck on any cameras or GPS. We've been trying to figure out where he could've gone, who to call—"

"You don't need to call anyone. I'll find him."

"What?" Reenie blinks. "But how are you going to—"

Russell shrugs, already moving toward the door. "I know a guy."

"Russell, wait!" A million questions race through Reenie's head, so she settles for the first one she can pin down. "Where are you going?"

He pauses at the door, turning back with a determined look. "To find my brother."

It's dark.

Not just dark. Blackout dark. The kind of darkness you only get when you're miles from power lines, headlights, and any sort of civilization.

That's Colter's first thought. His immediate second is that something feels off. The air is still and carries stale wood smoke, sweat, and blood. No scent of fresh foliage. No wind through the trees. No distant animal sounds. There's no earth beneath him; instead, splintered floorboards bite into his back and shoulder.

His third thought is pain.

It's dull at first, a low throbbing behind his eyes, but it builds and sharpens quickly into what feels like a spike driving through the base of his skull. Nausea creeps up, but he swallows it back. He groans involuntarily, tries to shift, but—

He can't.

His arms won't move. His fingers are numb, and his shoulders are twisted at an awkward angle. He tugs instinctively and feels the bite of rough ropes.

His hands are tied behind his back. His ankles are bound tightly too.

He stills. Breathes in through his nose as he tries to catalog his injuries: headache, pain, disorientation, nausea…

The odds flicker through his mind without bidding. 95% chance he has a concussion. 60% chance it's a bad one. 100% chance someone knocked him over the head and left him tied up somewhere.

He shifts just enough to test the ground beneath him. Floor, he corrects himself. He's lying on his right side, crumpled in whatever position he was dumped in. His arm underneath him is fully numb.

There's movement somewhere to his right, the rustling sound of someone shifting. He freezes, muscles tensing, trying to gauge the threat.

"Are… are you awake?" a young woman's voice whispers, barely audible. Uncertainty tints her words.

Colter starts to turn his head toward the voice, but the motion makes his stomach lurch. He blinks, trying to orient himself. It's too dark for that. All he can make out is the pressure behind his eyes and a creeping sense of vulnerability he hates. "Yeah," he rasps, then swallows. His throat is dry and cracked. "Where—"

"Oh, thank God," she gasps. "You've been out for hours. I… I wasn't sure you were gonna wake up." She sounds like she's trying not to cry. "I tried to stop the bleeding, but I don't know if I did it right. I didn't even know if I should touch anything, but… there was a lot of blood."

He tries to move again and winces. His arms ache, and his shoulders burn from the awkward angle. Gritting his teeth, he shifts more cautiously, testing the knots. They're tight, really tight. He's not getting free unless he can get his hands on his knife… but when he reaches around to where his knife is usually stashed in his belt, it's not there. Figures. Whoever jumped him knew enough to remove it. His gun's probably missing from its holster as well.

'Never let panic take the wheel,' Colter hears his dad coaching. 'Panicking only gets you in a worse spot than you already are. It robs you of logic, and you can't afford to lose that when the stakes are life and death.'

Colter takes a deep breath through his nose, fighting the urge to cough, and tries to focus. He exhales slowly, grounding himself with sensation. Rough ropes on his wrists, muscles burning in his neck, sweat— maybe blood… probably blood —trickling down his hairline. He still can't see anything, but there don't seem to be windows in whatever shack or cabin he's been tossed into. That's the least of his worries right now, though; he's been in the dark before. He can cross that bridge later.

A job… he was working a job, and now his gut's telling him this is the woman he's been looking for. A name pops into his head. "Sadie?" he asks.

There's a startled intake of breath. "How do you know that?" Fear surges in her tone.

Colter frowns. It's not just fear. Suspicion. She didn't tie him up, and she may have cleaned up his wound, but she also didn't untie him. She doesn't trust him… fair enough.

He keeps his tone calm. "My name's Colter Shaw." His memory's slowly catching up. "Your sister— Katherine? — she hired me to find you."

"That doesn't prove anything."

She's cautious, scared but not frozen. That's something.

"Hey, true," Colter says, trying to keep his tone light. He needs to get her focused and convince her of his intentions so she can help him get free. And quickly, before their captor comes back. That's the only chance either of them will have at surviving this. Hopefully they have a little time and whoever it is won't be back until daylight.

He keeps his voice even as he continues, steadying his tone like he's talking someone down off a ledge. "I find missing people for a living. Your sister called me after you went missing a few days ago. She thought someone might have been stalking you. I tracked you here but got jumped on the trail outside of town."

The silence stretches between them for much longer than Colter would like. He doesn't know if Sadie's buying it. He can't see her to read her face. All he has is her breathing, which sounds fast and shallow. What they don't need right now is for her to have a panic attack, so he continues quickly. "Hey, Sadie? You're right; I could be lying. But why would I be here like this if I'm lying? If I'm working with the guy who put you here, would I be tied up like this? Would he have left me here if we were partners? With a head injury that he gave me?"

She doesn't answer.

"I've been where you are," he adds. "Trapped, scared, unsure who I can trust. But I'm not here to hurt you. I promise. I came to bring you home. Katherine trusts me— can you?"

Wood creaks underfoot as she moves closer. Colter tenses slightly out of instinct but forces himself to stay relaxed.

"You really came to find me?" she asks hesitantly.

"I did." His voice is soft. "And now we both need to get out of here before he comes back."

Another beat.

"Okay."

Colter lets out a sigh of relief and relaxes slightly. "Okay," he repeats. "I think he took my knife, so you're going to have to get these ropes loose on your own. Think you can do that?"

"I… I can try."

"Perfect," he tells her. "Just do your best."

A second later, her cold fingers touch his wrists. He flinches in surprise, and she freezes.

Colter grits his teeth, regretting the reaction he hadn't been able to hold back. "It's all right," he assures her quickly.

After a moment, he feels her touching his arms again as she starts to work on getting him loose. The knots are even tighter than he thought they were when he was testing them. Colter winces as Sadie moves the ropes back and forth, causing the rough bindings to tear deeper into the raw skin of his wrists. Every movement stings, but at least it's progress. He exhales through his nose, grounding himself as she continues to fumble with the ropes.

Finally, the knots slip loose.

Colter gasps in relief as the pressure on his shoulders eases and his left arm falls forward. He rolls to his back and pulls his arms in front of him to start rubbing the circulation back into them. He can barely feel his fingers, though the pain from the bruising and where the ropes have rubbed away layers of skin is harsh and biting. Colter winces at the thought of the rope fibers that are going to have to be cleaned out of his wounds whenever he can finally get them to safety and deal with his injuries.

Numbness slowly gives way to white-hot pins and needles rushing into his fingertips, and he grunts at the sensation. He bites it back as he flexes his hands and shakes them out, trying to restore the blood flow. Ever so slowly, feeling returns.

She moves to the ropes around his ankles, which hurt just slightly less since his pants have blocked the bindings from cutting into the skin there. "How bad are you hurt?" she asks.

"I've had worse." It's not untrue.

The second set of bindings falls away. Colter draws his legs up slowly, wincing at the stinging feeling now rushing through his feet as well. And he's shaky; he can feel it. A combination of the head injury and lying too long on the ground in one position. The floor feels unsteady beneath him even though it's not moving. He moves to stand up, but the world pitches hard to the left again the moment he moves— and this time, his stomach flips.

He doubles over, gagging, but manages to keep from throwing up.

Breathe, Colter, a voice in his head tells him. Focus. She trusted you enough to cut you loose. Now get her out of here.

"Colter?" Sadie asks worriedly. "Are you sure you're okay? You were out for a while. He must've hit you pretty hard."

It's not the first time he's been jumped while working a case. Probably won't be the last.

Her words bring back flashes of a narrow trail through thick trees, and Colter realizes he can't remember the actual moment of impact. He's had enough experience with head injuries to know the gaps in his memory may or may not fill themselves in with time. And he also knows he can't waste time worrying about it right now. More important things are at hand, specifically, finding a way out of wherever they are before their captor returns.

He pushes everything else to the back of his mind, a skill honed through growing up with a father whose sole focus was making sure his kids could survive anything. Right now, the only thing that matters is making sure Sadie is safe.

Colter prepares to force himself to move. Every breath is a reminder of his head injury, but he's been through worse. He just has to keep going and not let himself stop. When he stops for too long, that's when he has to be worried.

"Can you run?" he asks, voice rough. "I don't have a flashlight, but we might have to take our chances getting out of here in the dark anyway. If we stay and wait for daylight, he might come back before then."

"Um…" She coughs. "I can run, but…" There's something in her voice that sounds like more than just uncertainty over Colter's plan.

But if it's not that, then… Colter's brow furrows, his addled brain still putting the pieces together.

He blinks, an instinctive reaction to try and sharpen his focus. Nothing changes. All he sees is the same darkness with a few faint colors and shifting shadows. Just a dull, soupy blur that's… not right, he suddenly realizes. His mind is lagging, but the pieces from the minutes leading up until now slowly start to click together.

Even if it were night, he'd at least see outlines. Shapes. Even if there's no moonlight, there should be something more than just pitch black.

A beat later, his brain connects the dots and what he should have noticed sooner hits him all at once like a freight train. His stomach dips as the reality of the situation hits him.

Head injury, minimal vision, no changes even when he strains his eyes… There's only one logical conclusion, and it isn't good.

And it really isn't what they need right now.

"It's… not night, is it?" he asks.

Sadie's quiet for a beat too long, cementing the answer in his mind even before she speaks. "No. It's… it's afternoon sometime, I think. There's a window, but it's boarded up."

Not good. If it's daylight and he can't see more than shadows, he's worse off than he thought. Colter swallows and tamps down on the rising panic, forcing himself to take a step back into an objective overview of his predicament.

99% chance he's lost his vision due to the head injury. It's a toss-up between pressure on the optic nerve or damage to the visual cortex, but both have the same effect. And 50% chance it's temporary.

Colter grimaces and files the stats away with clinical efficiency. They don't change the fact that he needs to get Sadie out of here. There's no time for emotion, not right now. He has to triage the situation if they're going to get out of this, prioritize what matters in the moment. He can't do anything about his blindness, and worrying especially won't help anything. So he takes slow, shallow breaths through his nose and tamps the fear down. He's had worse odds before and worse injuries, and he's made it through.

Still, being blind changes every plan he might've come up with. It also adds to the urgency that they escape before their captor returns. Colter's nowhere near any shape to fight, and there's no telling how desperate the man will be now that someone— Colter —got close enough to be a threat.

Colter clenches his jaw, forces the building panic into a small mental box, and locks the lid. It's not gone, but it can wait.

The pounding in his head spikes again, accompanied by faint nausea. Colter shuts his eyes for a second— pointless, but it helps him focus. He forces himself to breathe slower, fighting the pounding in his skull. He needs a weapon, a plan, and a path out. Preferably all three, but he'll settle for at least the last two.

"Okay," he says slowly, voice level despite everything. They're going to have to work together to get out of this. Not exactly the way Colter had anticipated this job going, but these are the cards he's been dealt. No use wasting time wishing for a different hand. He'll have to hope Sadie can step up to the plate right now. "I don't want to worry you, but I can't see. The hit to my head must've done something and blinded me."

She sucks in a breath, and Colter quickly continues. They can't afford her panicking right now. "Hey, hey, hey, Sadie. It's all right, okay? Just means we're going to have to get creative. We can still get out of this, okay? Tell me you can do this."

"I… I can do this." She sounds like she's trying to convince herself as much as him, but at least she's talking.

"Okay, great," Colter coaches. "Now, fill me in on where we are. I'm assuming you've already tried the door?"

"Yeah," she replies, her voice stronger now. "It's padlocked from the outside. And this place looks old, but it's too sturdy to get out anywhere else. I already tried finding any weak spots when he first locked me in here." She sounds terrified but still strong, which is good.

Colter shifts to his elbow and swallows hard as his stomach does backflips. Forcing himself to take a breath, he reaches up to feel his throbbing head and winces as his hand comes away tacky.

"Hey, don't do that," Sadie chides, her voice closer now as she kneels beside him. "You'll make it worse."

"Help me up," Colter brushes off the warning.

Sadie moves closer and slips her arm under his shoulder.

He braces to push up when she lifts, but she suddenly freezes as the distant rumble of a car engine cuts through the stillness. Sadie's pressed up against him, and Colter can feel when she tenses and starts to tremble slightly.

"That's him," she whispers, her voice small and tight.

Colter's heart rate ticks up. He needs to formulate a plan, but his options are limited. No weapon, even if he could see, and a head injury that hasn't let him stand yet.

Tires crunch outside. The engine cuts off. A car door opens and closes.

Colter closes his eyes for a second, focusing, an instinctive move as there's nothing visual to tune out.

The footsteps draw closer. They're heavy, most likely a man's. No doubt armed as well, especially if it's the same person who jumped Colter earlier; he'll be expecting possible trouble even though he'd left Colter tied up. If Colter could see, he'd jump the guy as soon as the door opened, but his injury narrows their options significantly.

A lock clicks, and the door creaks open.

The fear in Sadie's quickened breathing isn't hard to miss. She drops her arm, and Colter can't quite hold back his grunt of pain as he drops back to the floor when the support disappears. Pain flares up his back, but he hears Sadie backing away toward the far wall from where the newcomer's footsteps are now coming.

Boots thump on the wooden floor as the door closes again. The steps are deliberate, not rushed. They're the footsteps of someone confident, someone who thinks he's already won.

Colter's head turns slightly, following the sound. 

A low chuckle breaks the silence. "Well, look at that. You're still alive. Barely."

The voice is clearer now, and something clicks in Colter's brain. He knows that voice. He'd heard it when he was asking questions back in town. His brain brings up a spotty memory of a tall man standing outside the gas station, chatting about the weather and shrugging his broad shoulders when asked about Sadie.

Colter doesn't react to the man's taunting words, just waits. There's nothing to be gained from responding anyway, and he needs to catch the man off guard.

Roberts, his brain supplies a minute late.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised. You've got a reputation, Colter Shaw." Another chuckle. "Though I expected more from someone who tracks people for a living. Kinda ironic, me catching you instead, don't you think?"

Roberts is closer now. The footsteps stop.

Colter doesn't move, just listens. Waits. Counts.

Distance: maybe three feet.

Angle of approach: left side.

Odds of landing the hit if he moves now: 60%.

Odds of living if he doesn't try: 0.

He hears the shift of weight as Roberts leans in.

Now.

Colter tucks his head and rolls hard toward the sound, ignoring the pain now screaming through his head and down his back, and slams into Roberts' legs.

The man shouts in surprise as he topples backward, hitting the floor with a thud.

Colter doesn't wait. Instinct kicks in, muscle memory drilled into him since he was a kid growing up with a father who believed every child should know how to fight. He scrambles on top of the larger man before Roberts can recover.

With his vision practically useless, Colter tries to ignore the shifting shadows around him and fights blind. He grabs for the man's coat, shifts his weight, and slides a knee into Roberts' ribs in a standard control position, just like a thousand times on the mat.

Wrestling was the one thing he always excelled at, even against older kids. Technique over strength. Purpose over panic. And if the odds were otherwise even between him and Roberts, Colter might win here too, but they're not. He can't see, and his head's pounding, stacking the deck against him. He has to pin the larger man's arms before the guy regains his senses. Otherwise, Colter won't stand a chance.

Roberts thrashes beneath him, snarling, trying to buck him off.

Colter tightens his grip and shifts his weight upward to press his forearm across Roberts' throat. "Go!" he yells at Sadie, voice raw and cracking. "Run! Now!"

There's a pause, hesitation where he thinks she's too frozen in fear to react. Then her footsteps sprint toward the door. He hears it fly open and slam against the wall.

But he doesn't have time to be relieved.

"Get off me!" Roberts jerks beneath him again, undoubtedly angered by losing his prisoner.

Colter grits his teeth and hangs on, but his body's failing. The odds of his keeping Roberts down are dropping by the second, but the odds of Sadie getting clear are climbing— and that's all that matters.

Digging deep, Colter holds out for longer than he thinks he can. But even the best technique has limits when you're injured, and Colter's already well past his limits.

With a violent twist, Roberts finally rolls and slams Colter onto his back. The impact sends a fresh bolt of pain through his spine and head and drives the breath from his lungs.

There's pressure on Colter's shoulders now, pinning him down. He fights it, but he can't get up. His pulse is roaring in his ears as he reaches up, trying to get his hands around Roberts' throat or into his eyes.

A fist lands in his exposed stomach, and Colter chokes. What little air was left in his lungs leaves in a silent gasp.

Another blow, this one to his chin. Colter nearly loses his tenuous grip on reality.

It comes back slowly. Colter feels his chest heaving, his lungs fighting to suck in air, and his limbs sluggish as he tries to force them into action.

He can feel Roberts shifting again and braces instinctively. Then he suddenly realizes it's not the same movement as moments before. It's not a strike. The man's reaching downward, toward his waistband.

Colter's heart skips a beat.

Weapon. Probably a sidearm.

He lashes out, grabbing blindly for the man's arm, but he's half a second too slow. His fingers just miss the fabric of Roberts' sleeve.

His mind races, calculating. 50-50 toss-up between a gun or a knife, but it doesn't matter. Colter knows the man won't hesitate to use whatever it is.

"You should've just left town," Roberts snarls.

Colter takes a breath and clenches his jaw, waiting for the crack of the shot.

But it never comes.

In the next moment, there's a rush of feet and a yell and a flurry of confused movement Colter can't track quickly enough. He tries to turn toward the sound, but the world lurches sideways again.

Too much movement too fast. His brain can't keep up.

And then— a gunshot.

Chapter Text

A thunderclap detonates inside his skull.

Colter reels back instinctively, eyes squeezing shut. The pain is blistering. His stomach flips as everything slows. He can't see, and now he can barely hear. Everything sounds like he's underwater. Although he fights to lift his head, it's like someone's pushing him down with both hands.

He doesn't need to run the odds to know his concussion just got worse or that he's minutes from blacking out.

But then there's a high-pitched scream.

Sadie.

He'd told her to go, and she'd gone… So how— why is she back? At least before, he'd have succeeded at saving her even if he couldn't save himself. But now—

Before he can finish the thought, a large hand grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him upward with brute force. Colter's boots drag across the floor as he's hauled upright.

His head spins, and his stomach tilts. His ears are still ringing.

The punch lands clean against his cheekbone, snapping his head to the side. The pain explodes like a firework behind his eyes.

Colter's knees fold, and the grip on his shirt is the only thing keeping him upright. He tastes copper. Reality grows fainter, but he fights against it.

He throws a punch that's more reflex than aim, but he might as well be swinging through wet sand.

Roberts bats his hand aside like it's nothing, snorting as he slams Colter back against the wall.

The impact radiates up Colter's back and crashes into the headache that's already threatening to take him out. He knows he needs to get free, to rescue the person he was sent to find, but he can't think straight.

Bang!

The gunshot rips through the cabin.

And through him.

Colter gasps out a choked yell as white-hot pain tears through his right side, a sudden, involuntary intake of breath as his spine arches.

For one full second, he doesn't fully understand what just happened. Time seems to stop.

Then Roberts releases him, and Colter crumples to the ground, hitting the wooden floor with a bone-jarring thud and a grunt he can't hold back. He vaguely hears something heavy hitting the floor just ahead of him, but he can't follow enough to put the pieces together.

He still can't hear clearly after the first shot. He can't think straight. His head feels like it's about to split in two.

Everything is spinning, and his breath comes in short gasps.

He presses his hand to his side and feels something warm and wet. Slick.

And then the soft sound of crying reaches him past the ringing in his ears.

Colter tries to move, but his bodyweight feels like it's suddenly doubled. His side is burning, and he can feel blood soaking through his shirt and dripping to the floor beneath him.

He exhales slowly through his teeth, forcing himself to keep breathing through the pain. Shallow. Controlled. You can do this, Colter.

He can't see to assess how bad the wound is, but any gunshot is bad news. The danger he was already in has now tripled. At least before, he wasn't in danger of bleeding out in the middle of nowhere.

He swallows down the panic. Remember, panicking isn't going to help. You have to focus.

This isn't all that different from some other situations he's found himself in before. He's been shot while in the middle of other jobs and got out alive. This will be no different. He just has to stop the bleeding and get himself moving.

Sadie doesn't sound injured, as far as he can tell from the sound of her crying. She's scared and almost certainly in shock but not hurt. Which is good, because Colter's going to need her help.

He rolls onto his elbow, hissing as the shift aggravates the bullet wound. The pain flares through his side, stealing his breath. And his headache's still there; if anything, it's even worse. Not surprising, but still bad. His vision pulses with gray, edged in black. He needs to do something about the blood he's losing— and quickly.

"Sadie," he croaks. His throat is dry, and his voice barely reaches above a whisper. "Come here. Quick."

"I'm sorry, Colter. I'm so sorry." She drops to her knees beside him, her voice already shaky.

He can hear her moving around, then there's a sharp, sudden pressure against his side. Sadie's pressing a wadded-up ball of fabric on the wound, and the added pain steals what little air he has left. Colter grits his teeth, fighting to stay awake even as a groan forces its way out.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes again, starting to pull back.

"No," he rasps, grabbing her hand and dragging it— and what feels like a thin sweater of some kind —back against his side. He winces but doesn't let go even though the pain is nearly unbearable. "Gotta… keep pressure on it."

Her breath stutters. She breathes out slowly, but then he hears her gasp and her arm tenses up. "Colter, behind you— there's blood. A lot."

Colter swallows. He knows right away what she means, could've guessed it from the warmth soaking down his back. "Went through," he mumbles, trying to reason through the situation out loud since he can't quite get his thoughts to follow one particular vein. "There's an exit wound."

"There's— there's what?" Her voice trembles, and she sounds like she's barely holding back a flood of tears.

He shakes his head weakly. "Keep putting pressure. Both sides. Use whatever you can."

"I… I don't… don't have anything else," she says helplessly.

"Your shirt! Anything!" he snaps. His breath is getting thinner. He can feel his pulse in his ears. His voice sounds desperate, even to him, but he needs to spur her into action. He doesn't have a lot of time on this side of consciousness if he keeps losing blood at this rate. "You've got… gotta stop the bleeding. Come on, Sadie."

She hesitates for only a second longer, then shifts beside him again. "Okay," she says. "Okay." The sound of fabric rustling reaches his ears.

A moment later, her hand slides around his back and presses something else into place. The renewed pain explodes up his spine, crashing into what he's still feeling from his head injury and bringing another wave of nausea with it.

Colter sags back against the pressure, his weight pressing against her hand. "Good," he mumbles. "You're doin' good." But even as he says it, the darkness behind his eyes starts to thicken. He tries to fight it, tries to think ahead to what'll get him going again— at least long enough to get Sadie out of here.

"My belt," he says a moment later. "Use it to… to hold it in place." He hopes she understands what he means.

He drops a hand to undo the buckle, his wet fingers fumbling with the stiff material. What he took for granted when getting dressed in the morning is now suddenly a huge hurdle. His hand slips, and he grunts in frustration.

"Here. Let me do it."

The pressure on his back disappears, and he winces as the wound is jostled by the movement. He can feel when the blood starts down his back again.

Colter's slipping, he can feel it, and he focuses on breathing through the fresh wave of pain that hits him as Sadie quickly undoes the buckle and slides the belt free. He can tell she's trying to be as gentle as she can, but it's still excruciating as she moves around him.

"Tight… as you can," he pants. "And then tighter." He briefly wonders if the belt is long enough for what it needs to do, but it's not like he has a lot of options.

"Okay, right," Sadie says. She wraps the leather strap around his abdomen, pausing to adjust the fabric against his back and front as she moves it all into place, and Colter can't stop the involuntary cry of pain that tears out of his throat.

Sadie's intake of breath hisses through her teeth as she winces. "I'm sorry, this is gonna hurt."

Then she tightens the belt.

Bursts of light explode behind Colter's eyes, and he hears the distant sound of someone yelling. Belatedly, he realizes it's his voice. He gasps, his breath coming heavy and fast, and his left hand slaps against the floor hard enough that he registers the sting in his palm.

"Hey, hey, Colter! Colter, stay with me! Please!" There's a hand on his cheek.

Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to let the pain ground him. He's gasping for breath, but less so now, and he winces as he gingerly reaches up with his right hand to check the makeshift bandages. The belt seems like it's holding them tightly enough against the gunshot wound, and he swallows. It won't do forever, but it'll get him through the next little while. That's something, at least.

Finally, he feels confident enough to speak again. "What happened?" He has an idea, but he needs to know for sure if he's going to come up with a plan.

"I… I… the gun was right there and I thought he was about to kill you so I… I just… I picked it up and pointed and it went off. He went down but then so did you and…" She trails off.

Colter swallows. He'd been too close to Roberts. The bullet must've gone through the other man and hit him. That's… not great for multiple reasons, including infection risk. The odds against him just keep going up.

"Is he dead?" Sadie whispers, and Colter can envision her looking over at Roberts' fallen body.

"Check his pulse," Colter instructs. Probably not her first choice of action right then, but they need to know if their foe is out of the picture or if they still have to worry about him. The answer is going to determine Colter's next move. "Do you know how to do that?"

"I… I think so," she replies with a sniffle. Colter can hear her moving. A moment later, her voice comes from slightly farther away. "I don't think I feel anything. How do I know if I'm doing it right?"

"Use your first two fingers and put them on the side of his neck," Colter instructed. "You're looking for the artery just below his jaw, right next to his windpipe. Don't press too hard, just enough to feel. Got it?"

"Mhm," she replies. Then, a moment later, "I… I don't feel anything. Am I doing it right?"

"Is his chest moving?"

A pause, then, "No… I don't think it is."

"You don't think it is or it's not?" he asks firmly. He's not trying to be hard on her, but she's not fully focused and they need her to be.

"It's… it's not. Oh my gosh!" Her voice is frantic now, even higher-pitched, panicked. "Does this mean I killed him?"

If she did, it's self-defense, but Colter knows that's small comfort to a civilian who's never had to fight for survival. He needs her to be focused right now. Both of their lives depend on it.

"Hey, hey, Sadie, look at me," he urges. Usually this works better when he's not bleeding from a gunshot wound and when he can meet the other person's eyes. "You did good, okay? You did what you had to do, and you saved us both. Now we have to get out of here."

She sniffs again. "What? But you're bleeding—"

"We can't stay here," he interrupts, his tone forceful. "Understand? If we stay, I die. You die. We have to move."

"I understand," she replies quietly.

His own words echo through his mind, urging him to get up, to get moving. He knows he needs to get off the floor, but he also knows it's going to hurt.

Also that 'hurt' is an understatement.

Colter grits his teeth, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He forces the words out through gritted teeth, "I need you to help me up."

There's movement beside him. "Okay, but how are we doing this? I can't lift you." Her tone wavers.

"You're not going to. Just help steady me."

He feels her nod rather than sees it. She exhales faintly as her feet shuffle against the floor.

From where he's leaning against the wall, Colter shifts to his left side. The wooden floor is cold beneath his palms. He can feel the splinters in the wood. Taking a breath, Colter forces himself into action, trying his hardest to stuff all of the pain into a box in the back of his mind that he can revisit later.

Pain lances through his ribs like a blade. His stomach churns. Every movement sends shockwaves through his skull, like someone striking an anvil behind his eyes. His side is worse. It feels hot and pulses with each heartbeat, and he can literally feel his blood draining from the wound with every move he makes.

He presses an arm against the makeshift bandage, his elbow against his side and his palm on his stomach. Steeling himself to move, Colter forces himself forward onto his knees.

The world lurches sideways. A wave of nausea rises sharp and fast. He doubles over, choking on bile, left arm braced against the floor, right arm tightening against his side.

"Colter—"

Too late. He dry-heaves— violently. Once, then again.

Liquid dribbles from his mouth. His whole body trembles.

Everything spins faster now.

His ears ring. His forehead is damp with cold sweat.

He stays hunched over for a long second as his breaths come shallow and fast. The sour taste lingers, burning the back of his throat. What's worse, the motion has done something to his side. He can feel the bleeding coming faster now, dripping through the already-soaked sweater and pattering against the floor underneath him.

"Are you okay?" Sadie again, voice tight and afraid.

"Yeah," he rasps. It's a lie, but she doesn't have to know that. "This is normal with a head injury. It'll pass." Not entirely a lie. Nausea is to be expected with a concussion. As for the rest…  well, he isn't fine and there's a good chance it won't pass. He knows that, but she doesn't need to.

He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve, then blindly reaches for the wall. His fingers find rough wood. He presses his palm flat, using it to guide his weight upward. His legs wobble underneath him. Every muscle shakes. It takes everything just to not hit the floor.

"Get under my left arm," he says, voice quiet but firm. He needs her to move quickly.

Sadie does as she's told and moves in beside him. He feels her shoulder press under his, one arm wrapping carefully around his back just below the wad of fabric. She's much smaller than he is, but at least she's steady. Definitely not enough to support him fully, but enough to keep him up, which is what he needs.

Her breathing is fast and shallow. "You good?" she asks quietly.

"Define 'good,'" he mumbles, trying for levity but failing.

It takes a great effort on both of their parts to get Colter mostly upright. By the time Colter feels like he's gotten his footing, he's sweating. Droplets roll down his face and neck, dripping down inside his t-shirt.

To her credit, Sadie doesn't complain. He can feel her shifting slightly beneath his arm as she adjusts her stance and feels a pang of guilt. He knows he's leaning much too heavily on someone who's a foot shorter and barely half his weight, but it's either that or fall where he probably won't get up again.

Every bit of movement sends fire racing through his side. He keeps his free hand pressed firmly against the wound, his fingers slick with blood that's seeping through the sweater tied there. It's slowing, maybe, but that could just be his imagination. Either way, it doesn't mean much. He can feel how much blood he's lost already, and he knows that's a very bad thing.

He sways unsteadily, then steels himself. You can do this, Colter. Don't give up already.

Taking another breath, he's ever so slightly more confident in his ability to move again. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking. Whatever it is, he'll take it. "Okay," he finally says. "We need to get out of here." He's already trying to run through how they can get back to civilization with his condition what it is. If only they had transportation—

Something clicks in his brain.

"Check his pockets," he says quickly. "We're going to take his car."

"Right. Um…" Sadie shifts underneath his arm. "Are you sure you're good if I leave you?"

No. Colter swallows and nods. "Yeah," he says. "Just don't take too long."

Sadie tightens her grip around his waist. "Okay," she whispers, more to herself than him. "Okay, just… um, let's lean you here for a second."

She half-guides him the few steps it takes to get him up against the wall he's just moved away from and helps him ease back so he's leaning against it. He braces his left shoulder against the boards. She doesn't ask if he wants to sit; they both know that he might not get back up if he goes down.

Colter immediately feels the loss of her support. His legs shake and his balance disappears, but he swallows and forces himself to think past his physical condition to follow what's happening around him.

He hears Sadie moving, the floor creaking under each step. He tunes into every sound, trying to place her location as a way to keep his mind busy; he's trying to keep himself focused so he doesn't pass out from the pounding in his skull and the searing pain in his side.

It's clear the bullet missed anything immediately fatal, but he's only got about a 73% chance of making it out of the woods before that changes. And those odds are going down with each passing second.

"Are you sure he's not…?" She doesn't finish the question.

Colter forces his voice to stay firm and steady. "If he were still a threat, we'd know it by now." He hates to force her to do this, but they have no choice.

He hears her move again, then the sound of fabric rustling as she digs in Roberts' pockets.

Colter's jaw tightens. This should be him. He should be the one patting Roberts down, double-checking for weapons, dragging him into a corner, and making sure he's not a threat. Instead, Colter is propped uselessly against a wall, half-blind and bleeding from a wound he hasn't been able to fully assess or treat.

Every instinct in him wants to move, to help, to take control, but the second he shifts, nausea rises sharp and fast in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, pointless as it is, and clamps down on the feeling. He refuses to give in. He's not passing out. He can't afford to.

He grits his teeth, fingers curling against his side. Keep her safe. First priority. Everything else comes second.

Except she's the college kid he's forcing to dig through the pockets of a corpse.

A moment later, a low jingle interrupts his thoughts.

"Got 'em!" Sadie calls. Her voice is tight but proud.

Colter lets out a breath. "Good," he says. "Check for anything else that can help us. Phone, flashlight… anything."

There's a pause as she continues looking. "Looks like he just has his keys and a knife. No phone, though. Oh, and there's a lighter in his jacket. That's it."

"Good enough. Grab the gun too." He's not exactly keen on her waving around a firearm when she already shot him once, but maybe it'll be enough to scare any other threats off. "Keep it pointed at the floor."

"Um… okay. But what do I do with it?"

"Just— don't put your finger on the trigger. Point the barrel— the end where the bullet comes out —at the ground. And then give it to me." He can't see to use it, but he can at least stick it in his waistband for now. It's better than leaving it in the empty cabin or trusting Sadie to handle it without another misfire.

She moves back toward him and gingerly puts a pistol in his hand. Colter quickly feels the weapon, searching for the safety. He clicks it into place, then slowly shifts to tuck it away.

"Ready?" Sadie asks a moment later as she slips one arm under his. He can tell she's trying not to let him feel how much she's shaking.

Colter shifts his weight into her carefully, wincing as the motion tugs at his injuries. He bites down hard on a groan and focuses on the floor beneath his feet, which now feels like he's on a boat instead of in a cabin in the woods. "Yeah," he lies. "Let's get out of here."

Chapter Text

It's cooler outside, less stagnant. Crisp pine and damp earth rush in to replace the stale wood smoke and blood. There's a vague brightness, too. It's not light, not exactly, but Colter can feel the shift in pressure behind his eyes as they step through the door. Everything's still a blur, though… faint outlines, dark patches against slightly less-dark patches.

He barely manages to keep his feet under him. Every step creates another wave of dizziness, and he stumbles, sucking in a sharp breath as fire rips through his side.

Sadie tightens her grip. "Careful."

"'m trying," he mutters, more to himself than as a reply to anything she's said.

"Jeep's not far away. You're doing good," she coaches.

He's pretty sure he's not, but at least they're moving— somewhat. Each uneven step over gravel and dead pine needles threatens to drop him. It takes a long few moments and what feels like miles of walking before they stop.

"We're here," Sadie announces. Her words are followed by the metallic rattle of car keys, then the creak of a door. "It's open," she says, then pauses.

Jeep. The word plays back in his mind. He can see the vehicle in his mind, taller than a car…  A curse slips through his teeth.

"It's kinda high," Sadie sounds unsure. "Do you think you can get in?"

"No choice," Colter mutters, steeling himself yet again. Today is just nonstop.

He grits his teeth and reaches out, fumbling for the edge of the open door. Thankfully, the doorframe has a handle, and his fingers find it without too much trouble. Leaning in, he uses that to guide himself and swings a shaky leg upward.

Pain explodes up his side and into his head, and he slumps back, panting. He's tall and the Jeep maybe has a ten-inch ground clearance, but that's still over nine inches too high in his current condition. Even the running board is only minimal help.

"Colter…"

But he ignores her and tries again.

Sadie does her best to keep him steady, but she's not much support when she can't actually lift him into the vehicle. But he's grateful she's there to at least keep him from hitting the dirt.

Bracing his left arm against the dip in the seat, Colter manages to haul himself upward with a strained groan. The seat catches him awkwardly under the ribs and drags the belt down, which causes the pressure to disappear from either side of his still-bleeding wound.

The pain spikes white-hot, and Colter coughs, the sound coming out in a strangled breath. He clenches his teeth hard, trying to breathe through the nausea rising in his stomach. His head spins. His side screams, and he can't hold back the cry that tears itself from his throat with the exertion.

But it's either try again or die here, so he forces himself onward.

After what feels like a full hour, he finally collapses into the passenger seat with a sharp exhale, right leg still half hanging out. He slumps back and swallows hard, trying to will the world around him to stop spinning.

Sadie seems to have disappeared, but for the moment, Colter can't even wonder where she might've gone. He's too busy fighting to stay conscious. Everything around him sounds distant. His heartbeat pulses in his ears like boots thudding against hard ground.

A moment later, Sadie returns. "I found water!" she announces. "And a first-aid kit that I can try to use to patch you up. I took a first aid class a few years ago for work.… not sure if it'll do any good— you probably need surgery —but maybe I can stop the bleeding at least a little."

Colter swallows. "Good idea." At least it's the side closest to where she's currently standing.

He hears the creak of her stepping up onto the running board. She moves beside him, and he feels her carefully undo the belt and it drop away.

When she lifts the blood-soaked edge of his shirt, even that slight movement sends a jolt through him. The fabric peels away from the wound, and he hisses sharply.

"Sorry, sorry!" she apologizes, already digging in the kit with the rustling of paper-wrapped items.

Colter nods again, eyes closed, still unable to focus on her because he's fighting off unconsciousness.

The sting of the antiseptic hitting jolts him wide awake again. He gags on the involuntary sharp breath and slams a fist into the center console hard enough to hear the plastic crack. It burns. It's like someone's lit a fire in his side that's licking at his muscles and eating through him. His breath turns ragged, and his teeth clench together hard enough to ache. The sounds around him blur together into one high-pitched buzz.

Sadie says something, but he's not quite sure what.

He tries to reply but can't. Instead, he focuses on what he can make out: the feel of the console under his hand, the sound of paper tearing, the dull rustling of gauze as Sadie tapes it down.

"Hey, okay, I'm done," she finally says after what feels like forever. She puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Colter, are you still with me?"

He exhales slowly, every breath feeling like a glass shard catching in his throat and chest. His right hand drops to his injury and brushes over the gauze and tape. Hopefully it's enough to stave off infection until they get to town. "I… yeah," he says, taking a steadying breath.

This next part is going to suck.

"You gotta do my back now."

"What?" Sadie asks sharply.

"It went through," he reminds her through clenched teeth. "I'm bleeding from both sides. You have to pack the wound on my back too, then wrap it. Tight."

"Right… right." She takes a steadying breath. "Okay, can you lean forward?" She grabs his hand and guides it toward the dashboard.

Colter nods weakly as he shifts forward in the seat. It kicks the nausea up another notch, and he groans.

"I'll go as quick as I can, I promise," she says, pushing his t-shirt up again.

Braced against the dash, Colter's back arches as more disinfectant hits his skin. He expects it this time, but it's still just as excruciating as it was before. Sadie's moving as fast as she can, but her inexperience drags the process out longer than Colter would've been able to do it himself. But he can't see, so he's at her mercy.

The feel of her pressing bandaging into place just above his kidney makes him flinch, but he just bites down on the pain.

And then she's leaning up against him as she wraps a bandage around his torso a few times. He feels her hair brush his arm as she moves forward and backward, wrapping the layers around his stomach.

"There," she finally says as she tucks the edges of the bandage in. "We're done." She puts a hand on his shoulder to push him back against the seat.

Colter collapses into the cushion, his breathing heavy and ragged. Every inch of his body feels like it's shutting down. His side is throbbing, his head's pulsing in waves, and his vision is still a blur of shadow and light. He closes his eyes to block out the dancing shapes before they make him throw up again.

"Here." Sadie uncaps a plastic water bottle and presses it into his hand.

He tries to grip the bottle, but his fingers won't cooperate. The thin plastic crunches as he clenches it a little too hard. His hand trembles, and the bottle slips through his sticky fingers, sloshing water over his wrist.

"Whoa, hold on." Sadie grabs it from him. "Here, I've got it."

The first sip hits his throat, and he coughs, but it's cool and refreshing and immediately makes him realize just how dehydrated he is. He gulps at the water greedily, feeling like he'll never get enough. His stomach churns, but his parched tongue and throat push him to keep drinking.

"Slow down," Sadie says, pulling it back when he coughs again. "I don't think you should be drinking that fast."

Colter nods but then coughs again— hard —underscoring her point. He takes a steadying breath through his nose and leans back against the headrest. "Thanks," he mutters, voice rough but sincere.

"Of course." She caps the bottle again, then clears her throat. "I probably should do something for your head too," she says.

Ah right. He'd kind of forgotten about that in the blur of her patching up his side. He reaches up gingerly toward the back of his head, fingers brushing over the puckering of crusted blood and swollen skin. No new bleeding that he can tell.

"How's it look?" he asks, tilting his head toward Sadie. He's unsure if he wants the answer, but he needs to know.

"Um… I'm… not an expert," she finally says. "It looks really bad, but it doesn't look like it's bleeding anymore. Not like it was back when that guy first brought you in."

He resists the urge to nod, knowing it'll just make him feel worse. "Yeah, head wounds bleed a lot. But if it's stopped for right now, we'll just leave it," he tells her. "Not worth risking reopening the wound. I can get it taken care of later."

"Right, okay." Sadie drops back to the ground. "I'm gonna check the car and see if there's anything we can use," she informs him.

A second later, Colter hears the click of the glove box opening in front of him. He winces when she bumps his knee as she moves around.

"There's not much in here," she reports. "No phone… an old map, a flashlight… two power bars."

"You should probably eat one of those. Keep your strength up," Colter tells her. She's been out here for a while, and he's not actually sure the last time Roberts would've fed her.

She pauses. "Do you want the other one?"

He shakes his head faintly, the motion small and tight. "No," he replies. "Stomach's still too iffy. Head injury plus a gut wound isn't exactly a recipe for solid food."

There's a quiet rustle as she palms one of the foil-wrapped bars. "Makes sense," she says quietly, almost apologetically, as she tears the packaging open. When she speaks next, her mouth is full. "I guess we should get going before it gets dark."

Colter nods, then braces himself as she pulls his seatbelt into place. He's just grateful the restraint clicks in on his left side, leaving the injury on his right with less aggravation. Shifting in the seat, he tries to keep himself upright as another wave of fatigue rolls through him. He's not looking forward to the drive; there's little chance they'll find perfectly paved roads out here in the middle of the forest.

This is not going to be a fun ride.

A moment later, the door across from him creaks open, and he can hear Sadie slide in. The keys rattle as she inserts them into the ignition, and then the engine turns over and rumbles to life.

"You good?" she asks quietly.

"Nope."

"Fair enough."

The Jeep rolls forward over what feels like a dirt path, slow and unsteady. Colter slumps deeper into the seat, his right arm clamped tight around his side. He can just imagine how pale and green his face must be turning. Everything hurts, but at least they're moving. He just has to hold on a little longer.

"Where do I go?" Sadie asks. Then she groans in frustration. "I'm sorry; you don't know either."

The vehicle slows to a crawl and then bumps over something large and raised, one wheel and then the other, followed shortly after by both back wheels in the same succession. Colter clenches his jaw and breathes through the nausea.

"There's… there's a fork in the road," Sadie says a moment later as they come to a stop. "I… I don't… which way should I go? Is there something I need to be looking for?"

Clearing his throat, Colter tries to force himself to concentrate. Sadie's clearly out of her element, and they're not going to get out of here if he can't coach her through how to find a way out. It's up to him to get them back to civilization— even though he's in about the worst condition to do anything about it. "What does the road look like?" he asks.

"Um… it's just dirt," she responds. "There's no road. It looks like a dirt path that's pretty overgrown in places." She sounds like she's teetering on the verge of panic again. "It's just dirt and I don't see any real roads and what if I'm just getting us even more lost?"

"Hey, Sadie," Colter tries to get her attention. This isn't the time for her to give into nerves. Their survival is resting on her driving them out of here. "Hey, you've been doing great so far, okay? You've been really brave. Now, I need you to keep that up for just a little longer. Can you do that for me?"

He's not sure if she nods or not, but she goes quiet. Only a small sniffle escapes her.

"Sadie," he says sternly, "I need you to tell me you can do that." He coughs and winces as the pain flares.

"I can," she says quietly, then repeats it more boldly. "I can do it."

"Okay, good." Colter takes a breath. "Now you're going to have to pay close attention to the ground in front of the Jeep. Can you see it?"

Sadie's seat squeaks. "I… yeah, I can."

Colter nods once. "Great. You're looking for fresh tire tracks. Roberts would've been coming in and out the past few days, so there's going to be multiple relatively recent tracks." They're lucky it hasn't rained in the past week. "Follow those." He grits his teeth. "That'll get us back to town."

"Right. Yeah. Okay."

"And… go slow," Colter cautions. It's as much for his throbbing side and head as it is for Sadie to be able to watch the dirt in front of them.

The Jeep starts forward again, lurching over uneven ground as its tires thud against roots and rocks. Branches scrape the sides, loud against the metal frame. Every bump sends a spike of pain through Colter's side. He's gripping the doorframe with his right hand, the left clamped tightly over his wound, and his jaw clenched tightly. The water had been enough to help him feel slightly more human again, but only temporarily. The jostling of driving off-road through uneven terrain sends him teetering closer and closer to the edge of consciousness with every jolt.

There's a harder, more intense series of bumps then, and the vehicle lurches to the right. Colter can hear Sadie's quick intake of breath as she fights the steering wheel.

Something hisses, then there's a loud pop immediately followed by the grinding sound of metal on metal.

"Oh no no no!" Sadie exclaims.

The vehicle shudders violently, then jerks to a halt. Colter can smell smoke as the engine wheezes once more and then dies.

There's silence in the clearing for a moment after, then Sadie says quietly, "I… think it's dead."

Colter sighs, dragging himself back to as full alertness as he can manage. "Yeah. I got that." He exhales, breath catching on pain, then fumbles with his seatbelt. He finally manages to find the button to release it and bites back the cry of pain as the belt retracts quickly and bumps his injury.

When he starts searching for the door handle with shaking fingers, Sadie protests, "Wait, Colter, you can't even stand—"

"We don't have a choice," he manages. He opens the door and stumbles out, catching himself awkwardly on the Jeep's frame.

Sadie rushes to his side, grabbing his arm. "Wait, at least let me help you!"

The forest presses in heavily around them. Colter can smell the heavy scent of pine as it hangs over them, sharper even than the burning scent emanating from their busted Jeep. He turns his face slightly, listening for any sounds that seem out of place, but hears nothing suspicious. "Tell me what you see."

"Um…" Sadie shifts next to him. "Lots of trees… the dirt road we were just following." She sighs in frustration. "Everything looks the same."

Colter slowly feels the ground beneath his feet, trying to determine if there's any slope to it. "Are we on a hill?"

"A slight one, I think… that way's uphill— uh, behind us."

"Good. Uphill is good." He takes a shaky step, then another. Sadie stays beside him, practically holding him upright. His mind's spinning as he tries to pin down a thought to figure out their next move. "Cabin's downhill. They'd build it low…" Colter's muttering in fragments now, thinking out loud because he doesn't fully trust his inner monologue with logic. "Go up. Look for thinner trees. Light through the canopy. That's usually a clearing, maybe a ridge where you can see your surroundings."

His legs buckle.

"Colter!"

Somehow, he plants his feet and braces himself just in time to keep him from wiping out.

Sadie's hands are on his arm again, and they stumble forward. "Here. Here, sit down." She guides him downward to collapse at the base of a thick tree.

Colter's breathing is ragged, blood seeping fast between his fingers again. He winces.

"You're bleeding again." Sadie sounds worried, and Colter can almost hear her biting her lip as the end of her observation trails off.

Swallowing hard, Colter forces himself to focus on cataloguing his current condition. He instinctively calculates his odds of staying conscious for the next hour, which aren't good. And they're much less if he stops and lets the pain settle in.

This is far from ideal, to put it lightly. They don't have the time to deal with another setback. He definitely doesn't. Without his sight, he can't fully diagnose his condition, but it feels dire. He doesn't have a lot of time left before he passes out from the trauma and blood loss. Passing out in the middle of the forest is a death sentence— except he's about to and not sure how to stop it. His head is too light, his knees too unsteady. If he could actually see anything besides vague shadows, his vision would be going gray.

His side twinges with another burst of pain, and he instinctively drops his free hand to press against it. The warmth against his fingers is not a great sign.

The leaden thought hits his gut. I might not make it out of this.

Sheer stubbornness will only get him so far, and he's pretty sure he's already exhausted that. He's reaching his physical limits, and his head is swimming almost too much to think of what to do next. He only manages to hold onto one thought. "You're not gonna… make it… if you stay."

"Wait, what? No, I'm not leaving you."

But it's the only way at least one of them survives. Colter's not going to be the reason they're both found dead by unfortunate hikers or a search and rescue party whenever someone thinks to send it after them. He pauses briefly to wonder if Bobby or Reenie has missed him yet, then swallows and refocuses his attention on the moment at hand.

"Sadie," he says as encouragingly as he can while still trying to drive home the urgency behind the instructions. He doesn't want to panic her with how desperate things are, but he also needs her to realize they can't just stay put until someone finds them. Between the elements and less-than-friendly wildlife, they might not even survive the night— which will be setting in any minute now. "You… you can do this. Find the high ground, then…then  go in a straight line." He fights for the breath to keep talking her through it. "Pick a landmark and head for it. You want something unique enough that you won't lose track of it. Then do that again with something else once you reach it. Use… use the knife to mark the trees behind you as you go so the rescue party can find its way back to me." He swallows hard.

"But… but what if I get lost? What if I leave and you…" She trails off.

Colter closes his eyes briefly, trying to shut out the spinning world. Even though he can just barely see shadows, they're dancing faster and stirring up his stomach again. "Just… just remember what I told you, and you won't. I have faith in you."

She takes a shaky breath, as if trying to steel herself. At first, Colter wonders if she's going to protest again— but then the crunch of footsteps reaches his ears.

Colter's head snaps up. His unseeing eyes dart back and forth, compounding the headache already interfering with his concentration. It doesn't sound like an animal; it sounds human. And while it's not Roberts, Colter's still not so sure it's friendly. He can't afford to misjudge it.

He struggles to get to his feet, but his legs rebel and his head swims faster. "Get out of sight," he urges.

"What?" Sadie gasps quietly.

"Now!" Colter bites out.

Leaves rustle as she shifts away from him. At least she won't be an easy target. He only hopes he can hold off whoever this is long enough to give her a chance.

He fumbles to pull the pistol from his belt, feeling for the safety and switching it off. By the weight, he can tell it has at least a few rounds left in it. Colter's not sure of the exact gun he's holding, but based on the general size, he figures there are at least eight bullets still in the magazine now if it was fully loaded when Roberts arrived at the cabin.

While Colter isn't hopeful that he can hold anyone off for long, he can probably bluff his way through a standoff, at least temporarily. And if whoever's coming doesn't realize he's blind, he can work with that. If he's lucky, he'll get off at least one good shot— maybe two —in their direction before they catch on.

Another rustle, closer now. Heavy steps.

Colter racks the pistol's slide and aims toward the footsteps. "Stop right there." He puts as much determination into the words as he can.

"Do you know how hard you were to find?"

The sound of the familiar voice makes Colter pause, the gun shaking slightly in his hand. "Russell?" The incredulous question comes out in a hoarse whisper.

Russell chuckles. "Make it easier on a guy next time."

Relief courses through Colter, and he sags back against the tree. The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Took you long enough."

He's not sure what Russell is doing in these woods, but he's not about to argue with his brother's sudden appearance. If he had time to think about it, he'd probably pin it on Reenie, but Colter suddenly can't keep his eyes open, and he feels himself start to drift away as the adrenaline that's been powering him thus far slowly fades.

Chapter Text

"Hey! Hey, Colt, stay with me!" Russell's on his knees next to Colter in seconds, eyes already darting around to assess the situation. His stomach drops as he fully takes in the scene in front of him.

His little brother is propped against a tree, looking worse than Russell has ever seen him. Colter is pale, the bluish-white hue of his skin a stark contrast to the dried blood along the side of his face. And that's not the worst of it. The sheer amount of blood covering Colter— coating his hands, smeared along his arms, and soaking his clothing —makes Russell's stomach twist in worry. That's almost too much blood for any one human to lose.

Russell immediately traces the source of the blood on Colter's face to a head wound that looks to be a good twelve-plus hours old, judging from the clotting. The hair on the back of Colter's head is matted together, obscuring the worst of the injury. Russell prods it gently, eliciting a hiss of protest from his brother. Thankfully it doesn't seem like it's their main worry at the moment. It had bled a lot, but head wounds always do. It's not much worse than the time when they were kids exploring the woods around their home and Colter had tripped and hit that rock.

There are also bruises and abrasions around Colter's wrists, and Russell growls to himself as he catalogs all of Colter's injuries. Whatever his brother's been through, it wasn't good, and Russell feels the urge to immediately take out any and everyone responsible for Colter's current state— preferably in as drawn-out and painful a way as possible.

"Colter? Can you hear me?" Russell snaps his fingers in front of his brother's face, trying to get Colter's eyes to focus. His brother's staring at him but more like through him, eyes heavy-lidded and distant.

"Hm?" Colter's eyes widen ever so slightly, though they remain unfocused and move back and forth as if unable to settle on any one thing. "Russ…?"

Russell doesn't like how his brother seems to be a million miles away. "Hey, yeah, it's me," he says encouragingly. "Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"Dun— dunno," Colter mumbles, closing his eyes and taking a breath. "Don' make me guess." His voice is weak and fades out on the end of his plea.

"He can't see," the young woman who had ducked behind a tree when Russell first approached offers suddenly. She's come closer now that she's seen he's not a threat and drops down onto her knees next to the two men.

"He what?"

She swallows and nods. "He told me it was probably from the head injury. He couldn't see anything when he woke up in the cabin earlier."

Clenching his jaw, Russell takes in the way his brother is staring blankly in his general direction. He should've realized sooner. Guilt over the fingers question stabs at him, but he ignores it. "How long ago was that?" he asks as he swings off his backpack and pulls out the first aid kit.

"Um, hours?" she offers uncertainly, biting her lip. The worry lines on her forehead increase, and she shakes her head. "I'm sorry; I don't really know what time it is… It was probably early afternoon when we escaped, and he'd already been hurt for a while. That guy jumped him on the trail and dragged him in there with me last night sometime." Tears well up in her eyes. "It's all my fault. If he hadn't been looking for me—"

"Hey, hey." Russell shakes his head. "Don't do that to yourself. This is what he does, okay? He helps people who need him."

The deep breath she takes is ragged and tearful, but she still nods.

Good. The last thing Russell needs is to also have to help this woman. Not that he doesn't like playing the hero to cute coeds, but this isn't the time. Colter needs his full attention; the younger man is in bad shape and getting worse by the minute.

His eyes flick over her in a quick assessment. No visible injuries. Pale, but not as deathly pale as Colter, and shaken but upright. The blood on her clothes is too much for her size, especially considering she has no visible injuries— gotta be Colter's. Her tank top clings to her skin, damp with sweat and blood, and her arms are streaked with the same. He notes that she's wearing only the thin top and jeans. No outer layers, no jacket, which is underscored by the way she suddenly shivers as a gust of wind cuts through the trees.

"Here," he says quickly, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to her. "It's getting colder with the sun going down."

She catches it gratefully and pulls it on, zipping it up to her chin. It nearly swallows her small frame, but she curls into it gratefully.

"Hey, what's your name?" he asks as he pulls out antiseptic and gauze.

"Sadie."

"Sadie, I'm Russell. Nice to meet you." He finishes looking her over. "Are you hurt at all?"

She shakes her head quickly, pulling her sleeves down over her hands in a nervous gesture. "No… Colter needs help, though."

"Yeah, I see that," Russell replies. "You didn't get hit too?"

Shaking her head again, she replies, "No, I didn't. I'm okay." Her eyes dart back and forth. "I… he… I'm fine. This isn't my blood," she says, motioning over herself and then looking worriedly back at Colter.

Russell doesn't want to push the girl by questioning her more right now; at least there's nothing pressing that he needs to handle. He does make a mental note to get someone to check her out thoroughly once help arrives. It might be shock, but there might be deeper trauma there. But for now, that can wait. "Okay," he says out loud, turning back to his brother. There's too much blood soaking Colter's shirt, much of it too fresh, and he's got to get to the bottom of that quickly.

Colter whimpers under his breath as Russell starts to lift the hem of his shirt, batting limply at the offending hands. "Stop," Colter pleads weakly.

"Sorry, little brother, but I gotta," Russell explains apologetically. "Can't have you dying on me out here." He watches Colter's face for a reaction, and when there is none, adds, "You know how scary Reenie can be. I'm certainly not gonna tell her I let you die."

The only response is a small grunt. Colter looks miserable, his face contorted with pain, and Russell feels another pang of worry and sympathy twist his stomach. "Colt, hey, I'm sorry, but I have to do this, okay? I need to see what we're dealing with."

His brother mumbles something indignant back, but Russell ignores it. He moves Colter's shirt and takes in the bandages.

"I… I did the best I could," Sadie offers, and Russell glances over at her. She's intently watching what he's doing, face pale and worry dancing in her gaze. She wraps her arms tightly around herself as she takes in the bloodied mess around Colter's middle. The blood doesn't seem to bother her, but Russell suspects that's more due to shock than anything else.

He exhales slowly, keeping his voice calm and conversational for the benefit of both of the people in front of him. "You did good," he tells Sadie, eyes still on the makeshift bandages. "This was smart. You got the bleeding slowed down, and that probably bought him a few extra hours."

"It doesn't look like it helped much."

"No, it did," he tells her. "But this is more than general first aid is going to fix, unfortunately." He clenches his jaw. If he can't get Colter patched up enough until they get to professional medical help… well, Russell doesn't want to think about it. But he can't help it. Their father did a great job teaching them all about injuries and wound care— granted, a useful skill to have, and one Russell has definitely put to good use in his career, but it doesn't exactly help him think optimistically right now. All he can think of are the facts and statistics that say Colter may not make it.

And Russell might be a realist, but he also prefers to keep his family members, thank you very much. Especially when he and Colter have just gotten back on good terms.

The bandages Sadie had applied at some point are now completely soaked through. Blood is still oozing slowly through in spots, fresh and dark. Russell doesn't like the look of it.

He folds Colter's shirt so it stays up, frowning as blood drips from it to run down Colter's stomach, and then shifts his grasp to the edge of the bandage holding everything in place. "I need to unwrap this now," he warns. "Might hurt."

"Understatement," Colter grumbles.

"Right." Russell slowly peels back the layers while attempting to keep pressure on the cloth at the same time to avoid dislodging any clots too quickly.

The first layer comes away easy. The second sticks.

Russell swears softly under his breath. He sighs. "Sorry, buddy," he says, then tugs gently.

Wet cotton pulls away from skin with a faint sucking sound that makes Russell wince.

Colter cries out faintly in pain, back arching and breathing growing more rapid.

Clenching his jaw, Russell quickly finishes removing the bandages so he can see what he's dealing with.

It's a mess. The entry wound is ragged, angry red around the edges, and Russell suspects he'll see the same on the exit wound. The bullet hit much too close to the edge of Colter's ribcage for comfort. Even through the fresh blood welling now that the pressure has been removed, Russell can see it's too red and swollen. There's no pus— not yet —but the signs are there. The tissue has started to take on a mottled hue, irritation creeping outward like bruising but much worse. Low heat emanates from the injury, and Russell swears again and clenches his jaw. This isn't good.

Sadie moves in closer, trying to see. "How bad is it?"

"Hey, I know you're worried, but I need the light," Russell tells her, not looking away from Colter's side.

She sits back, quickly ducking out of his way. "Sorry."

Russell grabs clean gauze from the kit and presses it hard to Colter's side before glancing over at her. "I've seen worse," he says, answering her question. It's not actually a lie, but it's skirting the line. "But there's heat and inflammation starting. That means infection's already setting in."

Her eyes widen and she gasps. "But— I mean, I tried to keep it clean and…" She trails off, shaking her head.

"Not your fault," Russell reassures her quickly. "We just need to move fast."

He opens a bottle of saline and starts irrigating the wound with careful, steady motions. The liquid washes away the newest blood and some of the debris from the skin, though Russell knows there's more inside that still needs to be cleaned out. There's only so much he can do in the field.

Colter groans faintly at the sting but doesn't resist, just flinches and breathes harder.

Russell doesn't like that either. Colter should be cursing at how much the first aid must hurt. Instead he looks even further away now, barely responding to any of Russell's movements.

"You're doing great," Russell tells him, even though he's not sure Colter hears him at all. "Just hang in there a little longer."

He finishes flushing the wound, then packs gauze tightly into both sides. The moment the bandage makes contact, Colter winces harshly, his head dropping back against the tree.

"Russ—"

"You're fine, Colter. You've got this," Russell replies firmly, not looking up from the task in front of him. He wraps a clean pressure bandage tightly around Colter's torso and secures it. Finally, he leans back on his heels and exhales, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. "You still with me, Colter?" he asks, turning to drop a wad of bloodied gauze into his first aid kit.

Colter moans again.

Something's off. Russell looks up and feels his stomach drop.

If possible, Colter's face has suddenly grown even more pale since Russell started patching him up. Sweat is beading on his forehead, running down the dried blood on his temple in dark rivulets. His chest rises and falls way too fast. His eyes have dropped closed, and he looks for all the world like he's already fallen unconscious.

Russell leans forward fast, snapping his fingers in front of Colter's face. "Uh-uh. Colter! Hey, you gotta stay with me. You hear me? Hey!"

Colter stirs faintly, mumbling something incoherent.

"Don't you pass out on me, not yet." Russell grabs Colter's wrist, checking his pulse. His brow furrows. It's fast— too fast. He moves his hand up and presses his palm against Colter's forehead.

Burning up.

Things are going from bad to worse way too quickly.

Russell looks at Sadie. "We've got to get him out of here now."

"Do you have a car?" she asks. "Ours kinda blew up."

"Blew up?" Russell glances over at the Jeep parked at a cockeyed angle a few yards away.

She makes a face. "Yeah. Smoke started coming from the hood, there were some really weird noises, and then it wouldn't even start again."

Well that doesn't exactly make for a quick escape. Russell could possibly fix it if given the time, but Colter doesn't have time. Changing a tire? Maybe. But smoke? Not an option.

Russell settles back on his heels, wiping his bloodied hands on his jeans as he quickly assesses the situation, weighing their dwindling options.

His own vehicle's parked at the trailhead about two miles back. It hadn't taken long for Russell to cover the ground between it and where he found his brother and Sadie. Ordinarily, he'd just have them hoof it back out the same way— under most circumstances, it would be a lot faster than calling for help and waiting for it to arrive —but that's not an option for Colter. The pale sheen to the injured man's face and the way his breathing keeps hitching tells Russell they don't have hours. Maybe not even one. Definitely not the time it'll take Russell to carry Colter out.

"Hey, Russell— you still—?" Colter's teeth are chattering now, interrupting his question as he moves a hand weakly.

"Yeah, right here, bud," Russell replies quickly, reaching out to rest a hand on Colter's knee.

His brother relaxes somewhat at the touch, but he sluggishly moves to pull his arms and legs in as he continues to shiver.

"You still with me?" Russell asks.

"Cold."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Digging in his bag, Russell pulls out an emergency blanket and unfolds it to tuck around the other man. He tries to be as gentle as he can around the right side and winces sympathetically when Colter still lets out a cry of pain. "Sorry."

"'s okay," Colter mumbles. The shaking has subsided somewhat, but it's still noticeably there.

No, they can't wait.

Russell exhales slowly. Decision made, he reaches into his pack and pulls out a black sat phone, flipping it open with one thumb. The screen glows blue.

"You have a phone?" Sadie asks hopefully.

"Yeah," Russell tells her with a determined grin, not looking up as he punches in a number.

The phone connects, then, "Russell? Please tell me you found him."

"Yeah, I've got Colter," he responds with a nod. "And the girl."

"Is he okay? What happened? Where are you?" The questions come rapid-fire.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," Russell urges. "Look, it's not great. I need a chopper ASAP. Can you get one to us?"

There's a flurry of movement and static from Reenie's end. "Yes, yes… hang on. Okay, give me your location."

"I'm about a mile east of the ridge outside of town, just off the fire road. We're near a dead Jeep. Mine's two miles back at the trailhead, but he won't make it there."

"Got it. We're calling the ranger station now. What do they need to know?"

Russell takes a breath. "Tell 'em to bring everything they've got. He's got a head wound and concussion, plus a bullet wound in his side that's lost him a lot of blood."

The gasps that come through the line tell him Velma is also listening in.

"Just get that chopper here."

"Yeah, we've got it. Velma's already on with them. They're mobilizing as we speak."

Russell closes his eyes and breathes out. They're not out of the woods yet, but the news that help is coming is music to his ears. "Thanks, Reenie."

"Just… keep him alive, okay?"

"He's not dying on my watch."

The line clicks and disconnects.

Russell exhales and drops back next to Colter. His brother's chest is rising shallowly and uneven. "Hold on, Colter," he says, reaching over to pat his shoulder. He frowns as he feels the younger man shudder underneath his touch. "Help's coming. Just hold on."

The waiting drags on, the minutes stretching like hours. Russell keeps one hand against Colter's pulse, willing it to keep beating.

Night is coming on fast, and Russell knows it's going to get dark even quicker in the forest where the tree canopy blocks out almost all of the sunlight already.

He tries to keep Colter talking, but his brother's fading in and out.

Come on. Where are you? Russell casts another frustrated glance overhead. The chopper would have taken a little time to get in the air, but it should be here any second—

At long last, the distant thump of rotor blades break the stillness.

Russell looks up. Through the dense trees overhead, he catches flickers of shadows and a rhythmic pulsing of light between the leaves.

Sadie's breath catches. "Is that them?"

"Yeah."

Searchlights break through the trees.

Immediately, Russell is on his feet. He waves his flashlight to signal the rescue party. "Here! We're here!" he shouts, knowing they can't hear him over the sound of the helicopter but feeling like he has to do something more.

Through some stroke of luck, there's a clearing not too far from their location where the chopper sets down. Four men disembark and rush to join them, supplies in tow.

Russell lets out a breath and turns to Colter. "Just a little longer. Just stay with me a little longer, okay?"

Colter's nod is barely perceptible.

And then the rescue team is there, pulling a stretcher alongside and strapping a C-collar on Colter.

Russell tries to step back, but Colter's fingers grab weakly at his sleeve.

The injured man's eyes are barely open. He coughs, and his voice sounds cracked and rough when he manages to speak. "Russ…"

"Stay with me, little brother," Russell says, patting his hand. "You made it. We've got you."

They load Colter onto the stretcher, the wounded man wincing in pain but barely making a sound as they move him. Same old stoic Colter, Russel thinks as his stomach clenches.

"Someone needs to check her out too," Russell advises, tilting his head toward Sadie, who's shakily risen to her feet and is standing aside out of the way. "She's the missing girl from the news."

That gets them moving. One of the medics goes to check her over, then puts an arm around her shoulders and helps her toward the rest of the group and toward the chopper.

In near record time, they're back at the helicopter. The bird's engine still has the rotors spinning, waiting for the minute they can take off.

They're airborne shortly after, but much too long for Russell's liking. He wants to yell at the crew, get them going faster, make them realize how much trouble his brother is in, but he settles for sitting back and clenching his fists as he watches the flurry of activity around Colter as one of the rescue team starts an IV and hooks up various monitors and other equipment.

Russell's jaw works as he looks past Colter to where Sadie sits, knuckles white as she grips the seat straps. A woman is sitting next to her, steadying the girl with hand on her shoulder and calm words Russell can't quite hear. She'll be okay, thanks to Colter.

Now Russell just has to pray his brother makes it through too.

The rest of the night is a blur of lights and squeaky linoleum and the distinctive smells of hospital waiting rooms. The plastic chairs are hard and unforgiving, the thin seat cushions doing nothing to help, but Russell spends the time he's not pacing the floor slumped in one anyway. His hike through the woods, the physical exertion helping get Colter out, and day-plus of tracking down his brother while worrying over Colter are taking their toll. Russell's well past drained, but sleep is the last thing on his mind.

It's over five hours before anyone appears with news about Colter's condition. But then, the only update is just that the surgery is over, that Colter pulled through it, and that Russell will have to wait until they've seen his brother through all of the immediate post-op checklist before there'll be any more news.

Reenie appears at some point with an explanation involving having called in a favor from a client with a private jet, but Russell's just glad to have someone else waiting with him. He hates hospitals and all the things they entail, and having a familiar face to wait with him is comforting even if there's no news yet.

The waiting room is devoid of windows, but Russell's watch tells him the sun should be peeking over the horizon about now. He fiddles with the paper cup of tepid vending machine coffee balanced on his knee. The urge to get up and pace again is strong, but Reenie's fast asleep against his left shoulder and he doesn't want to disturb her. At least one of them is getting some rest. Russell can usually sleep anywhere— a skill he's picked up between his dad's lessons and a line of work where you take what shut-eye you can get whenever you can get it —but he's too focused on his brother for that right now.

Checking his phone again for the umpteenth time, Russell takes in the clock displayed at the top and flicks through his messages. Velma's checking in again, but he doesn't have much more to tell her. The passing of time is getting to him, though, even though he knows there could be a dozen good explanations for no one coming back to update them on Colter's condition.

Russell wants to see his brother, even if all he can do is sit in a chair in the ICU and stare at Colter sleeping in a bed. Almost losing Colter in the woods is enough to make Russell never want to let his brother out of his sight again. And yes, he knows Colter's a grown adult and fully capable of taking care of himself, but yet… Russell had nearly been too late this time. Granted, it's not the first time he's had to save Colter from a jam, but it's certainly the most serious.

The work Colter does is dangerous, and Russell knows his brother's been injured in the process of other cases, but this is the first time he remembers it ever being anything the man can't handle. The thought makes him wonder just how many times that hasn't been the case but he's just never been told, and his grip on the phone tightens ever so slightly.

Colter bleeding out in the middle of nowhere isn't exactly an experience Russell hopes to repeat, but he knows he'll see it every time he closes his eyes for a long time to come. With the amount of experience Russell has had with injuries in the field, his mind is not-so-helpfully supplying every terrible scenario of how badly Colter's situation in the woods could have gone and how it could still go even after he's in the hospital.

Distracted as he is by his thoughts, Russell still catches the sound of footsteps approaching and glances up. "Reenie," he says gently, shifting his left arm to nudge her awake.

"Hmm?" She blinks, sitting up and rubbing a hand across her face. She looks over to see the doctor coming their way, and she's immediately wide awake. "Are you here about Colter?" she asks before the man can even speak.

He gives her a professional smile. There's fatigue in his posture, but his tone is composed. "Yes. You're family?" he asks as he takes a seat across from them.

"I'm his brother," Russell answers quickly, nodding.

The doctor nods. "I'm Dr. Mitchell. I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. I wanted to let you know we've got your brother settled in the ICU after the surgery. There were some minor complications related to the anesthesia, but nothing to worry about," he added quickly.

Reenie's hand shoots out to grasp Russell's arm.

Letting out a breath, Russell relaxes his fist that had clenched at his side at the doctor's words. "What kind of complications?" he asks, feeling the urge to know despite the assurances.

"There was some minor delayed emergence, and he was extremely confused at first," Mitchell replies calmly. "But that was to be expected considering all he's been through. We were able to calm him down, get him through it, and he's sleeping now."

Russell's going to have to see that for himself.

"Your brother is stable for now, but we're not quite out of the woods yet," Mitchell continues. He gives them a second to absorb the additional information before continuing with more details. "As you know, he sustained a through-and-through gunshot wound to the right flank. Now the good news is that the bullet passed cleanly and spared any vital organs, but it did cause significant soft tissue trauma and blood loss.

"Complicating things, there were early signs of infection already setting in by the time he reached us, likely due to the delay in treatment and the conditions he was in out in the woods. Also… apparently the bullet traveled through another person first?" The way he asks the question tells Russell the man hasn't seen this much before, if at all.

Clenching his jaw grimly, Russell nods. Sadie had filled him in on the exact events that had taken place in the cabin, which had been relayed to the medical team since every detail mattered.

The question has prompted a gasp from Reenie, and Russell feels her tense beside him. Belatedly, he realizes she hasn't seen Colter since he'd gone missing. Russell had skipped the worst of it when filling her in when she'd arrived, and even though he'd given a brief overview on the phone, the doctor's report is the first time she's hearing most of this information.

Mitchell just nods professionally and continues. "The infection slowed down the operation somewhat, but I'm confident we were able to get ahead of it. We've got him on some strong antibiotics, and we're monitoring how his body responds to them. We'll need to watch closely for any signs the infection is worsening, but so far, he seems to be responding to our efforts. He's also received transfusions to counteract the blood loss, which also seem to be helping."

"And his head injury?" Russell wants to know.

Clearly having anticipated the question, Mitchell nods. "Imaging confirmed a moderate grade concussion. There's no skull fracture, thankfully, but the trauma caused some swelling of the brain. Based on what you told us and his current neurological responses, that's likely what's affecting his vision."

"So he's… blind?" Reenie asks, her voice tight and uneven.

Russell's stomach tightens. It's temporary. It has to be. Colter's strong and can adapt to most things, but losing his sight will mean losing everything that defines his life. He won't be able to do his job, drive the Airstream around the country, enjoy the outdoors… blindness will literally rob him of everything.

"Not necessarily permanently," the doctor replies quickly, and Russell swallows.

The other man continues. "He's showing some response to light and motion, which is encouraging. As the swelling goes down, we're hopeful more of his vision will return. But it's too early to make any promises. He'll need time, rest, and continued evaluation before I can make any long-term prognoses." He glances between them both and softens his voice just a touch. "He's lucky to be alive. Whoever handled the first aid out there bought him time. Without that, I'd probably be telling you a very different story right now."

Reenie exhales shakily.

"Can we see him?" The words are out of Russell's mouth the minute the doctor finishes his update. Not that he isn't grateful for the news, but he doesn't want to waste another moment without putting eyes on Colter for himself.

"Yes," Mitchell responds slowly, "but I have to caution you that he's in the ICU, and I want you to be fully prepared going in. As I've said, his condition is precarious. I'm cautiously hopeful he'll continue to improve, but there are a lot of factors at play here. He's on IV antibiotics and fluids, as well as being monitored for signs of infection, and we also made the decision to leave the wounds open to let them drain for now.

"Additionally, we want to watch for any increase in pressure or additional swelling in the brain. The ICU is the safest place for him right now. Once he's stable and responding well, he'll be able to move to a regular room."

"And how long do you think that'll be?" Russell asks.

At the question, Mitchell tilts his head. "It depends on how quickly his infection stabilizes and his neurological symptoms evolve. If he improves quickly, he could be transferred to a regular room within a day. The next twelve hours are critical, so we'll monitor him for now and keep an eye on how he progresses."

"Thank you, Doctor," Reenie acknowledges.

Mitchell gives them a final nod before stepping away. Russell's on his feet in a split second, Reenie right behind him. All they can focus on is seeing Colter for themselves, the need to confirm he's really alive and okay the only thing either of them can think about.

They almost lost Colter once. They're not letting him out of their sight now.