You never met anyone who could act more like a wounded wolf than Anton, He was a big tough broody serial killer and yet when he was injured he acted like a puppy who was refused Attention. And of course you had every right to declare that was what he was, because well— unlike how Sheriff Ed Bell called you, 'Antons Accomplice' you were practically Anton's emotional support human, he didn't allow you to do any of the dirty work, no matter how many times you tried, it always ended up with you locked in the hotel room he had just broken into, so you wouldn't dare, try.

And as many times as you've heard Sheriff Bell's pleas to turn Anton in, so you can come home safely, over the radio of the off-white and beige 1975 Ford Granada, Anton had hijacked, you knew Anton was a big softie for you, Anton was the dude that was all bite and not a single bark, if he wanted to kill or harm you in anyway: he would've done it by now. And he hasn't even looked at you wrong.

ೋ❀❀ೋ═ ❀ ═ೋ❀❀ೋ

You sat on the large King-sized bed of the hotel, watching as Anton laid down the clear material tarp that he had stolen at the pharmacy a few roads down, after creating a large explosion with a gas covered rag, a piece of cardboard, a cars gas tank, and fire from a lighter for a distraction, while he took what he needed.

You watched with slight concern as he kicked off his boots limply, he was drenched in sweat, blood seeping down under his right pants leg and onto the tarp that covered the rug so it wasn't stained, it was surprising how he didn't make a noise when he had a literal rifle bullet wound from Llewelyn, his target that he had been chasing down, in his thigh, the bullet's casing had ricochetted and tore his pants.

He had already prepared a bath for himself, as he grabbed the surgical scissors and began to cut his pants off from the waistband down his thigh where it stuck to his skin.