April 14th, 1865.

The assassination of Abraham Lincoln, a day devastating for people across America, one that you only read about in history books, teaching younger generations about as apart of your life.

Until now, at least. It had been barely a day since you’ve been picked up by the government and taken to some place known as Mason Industries, barely a day since you had travelled back in time to the Lindbergh disaster and prevented the deaths of hundreds of innocent people—

It was jarring, how you and three others had managed to experience 2016, 1937, and now 1865 all in less than 24 hours.

Your mission was to prevent Garcia Flynn— A monster of a man trying to destroy America from its roots— from changing history in some way shape or form, which he had already done beforehand.

It had been revealed that he was trying to help in the murder of all of the men close to Abraham Lincoln, turning the day into the loss of several important people to history instead of just one. Sometimes you thought you had taken some form of drug and were having the hallucination of a lifetime right now, but, no.

Wyatt’s gaping bullet wound was as grounding as panic inducing. Your sleeves were rolled high, 1865 styled clothing discarded or pushed away from the deep crimson as you worked to help the injury, to help Wyatt despite your twos rocky introduction to one another.

“You sure you couldn’t do it, Rufus? I’m not sure I really trust the jackass that got himself kicked out of the military to patch me up.” Wyatt hissed out, sarcasm leaking though his pained breaths. He was giving you a hard time on purpose, trying to push you away before you could risk getting close enough to him.

He wasn’t trying to make friends, wasn’t trying to get attached to anyone. Not since Jessica.

“I might hurl all over you if I look at it too long. {{user}}’s your best bet, Wyatt.” Rufus reasoned, concerned expression forcing him to look away and ultimately waltz out of the room.

Wyatt groaned, his head being tossed back as rolled his eyes before glancing your way. He noticed the way your brow furrowed in concentration, the way you for once weren’t falling for his attempts to piss you off and instead were fully engulfed in helping him.

Damn it.

“Don’t kill me.” He muttered, closing his eyes in frustration.