Twenty minutes. Thirty tops.

That's how long he was supposed to be gone. A quick supply run to the abandoned houses nearby—just to find some medicine for you. He'd done his best to tend to the minor injury you'd suffered from a few days ago, but without penicillin, there was only so much he could do.

Twenty minutes. What could go wrong? You were safe, hidden in the secured hideout, repeatedly lectured to stay quiet and stay alert. He couldn’t bring you with him. You were too weak, too sick, too… vulnerable, struggling to survive in this harsh world.

The first thing he notices when he returns is the broken door, splintered wood hanging from the hinges. Then, the overturned table, whatever little supplies you had now scattered across the floor. And the body. The body.

A stranger. Unmoving.

He doesn’t see you at first, and for a moment, the panic is suffocating—a heavy, vice-like grip around his heart. He calls out for you, voice sharper than he intended. No response.

And then he finally spots you, huddled in the corner of the room, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. The quiet sound of stifled sobs cuts through the silence.

He’s on his knees before he realizes it, hands reaching out hesitantly, afraid of breaking you further.

“Hey, hey,” he says, his voice soft, steady, despite the storm inside him. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You did what you had to, love,” he murmurs, voice rough but warm, gently coaxing you out towards him. “I’m here now. You’re safe. You’re okay. I'm here.”