Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

136. Coldest End

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Author's Note: This chapter contains mild gore and content that may be disturbing or troubling to some readers. Please proceed with caution.

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"When the day shall come that we do part, if my last words aren't, 'I love you,' you'll [know] it's because I didn't have time."

—Jamie Fraser, Outlander

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I struggled to keep up with Striker as he briskly led me by the hand down a seemingly endless stairwell to the first floor. My chest throbbed with a sharp, burning pain with every staggered breath I took, and I couldn't stop myself from wincing at the sensation.

We finally reached the ground floor, and a harsh shiver racked my body when we stepped outside into a darkened alleyway, the winter air piercing my thin pajamas and chilling me to the bone. Striker shrugged off his beige jacket and draped it over my shoulders, buttoning the front to cover my exposed chest, and his eyes fell to the fresh wounds stretching across my skin.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

I pursed my lips and sputtered, "Y-Yeah. But I—I'm okay. We can worry about it when we get to the hotel."

Striker pulled his bandana out of the jacket pocket, placing the already bloodstained cloth once again on my bleeding chest. I flinched at his touch, recoiling slightly from him, but he took my hand and held it to the bandana over my wounds.

"Keep pressure on it," he said, briefly cupping my cheek. "I know it hurts, darlin', but we gotta stop that bleedin'—you're already lookin' a little pale."

I froze at the sound of a high-pitched scream echoing through the streets. The demon belted out one loud, terrified shriek, then stopped abruptly, followed by the fwoop of a pair of wings flapping away. My stomach lurched.

"They're here," I said aloud, clinging to Striker's shirtsleeve. "Striker. . ."

"Stay behind me," he ordered in a low voice. He led me out of the alleyway around the corner, wrapping a protective arm around my shoulders. "We might be in the Pentagram, but they still can't hurt a hellborn. Just stay close to me, okay?"

I nodded and did as told, hurrying down the abandoned sidewalk with Striker's arm and tail firmly encircled around my frame. He kept me between him and the building façades as we made our way through the city, nudging me against the wall and hiding my body with his whenever an Exorcist would soar by. The angel would spot him, recognize him as a hellborn, then continue flying over the city streets, apparently never even noticing me.

After our third encounter or so, we turned a corner to find a crowd of terrified sinners fleeing in our direction, and behind them I could see about seven or eight Exorcists following with their spears at the ready. Striker held me tighter to him and pushed me into the wall next to us, something abrasively pressing against my wounds and driving a pained whimper out of me.

"Shh." He gave my shoulder a firm squeeze. "I know, darlin', but you gotta keep quiet."

"Move, fire toad!"

A massive sinner abruptly rammed his frame into the both of us, knocking me out of Striker's arms. I lost my balance and stumbled forward a few steps, falling face-first onto the pavement and letting out a small cry at the jolt of burning pain that shot through my chest.