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

137. The Other Half of Me, Pt. 1

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Even the dawn seemed dark and gloomy the next morning. I awoke not long after the sun had come up, remaining curled up on my side in bed as the daylight gradually poured in through the window and warmed the room. My eyes were puffy from my crying, my vision still a bit blurry around the edges, and every inch of my body ached from exhaustion. The gashes on my chest sent a sharp, throbbing pain through my torso, and I winced with each deep breath I took.

It was almost three hours after dawn when I heard a knock at my door. But I ignored it. I simply didn't have the energy—or the will—to answer, much less get up to open it.

"(Y/N)," said Charlie from the other side. "Please open the door. It's important."

I didn't move from my place in bed. I didn't want to hear what she had to say. I didn't care what she had to say. I didn't care about anything anymore. I didn't care. . .

"(Y/N)."

My heart began to beat harder at the sound of that familiar voice, and I sat upright in bed and listened for them to speak again: 

"(Y/N), open the door."

I did as the voice said, shifting to the edge of the bed and pushing myself to my feet. Slowly, I shuffled across the room to unlock the door, opening it to see Husk standing on the other side of the threshold with Charlie directly behind him. His fur and trousers were disheveled, and dark half-moons hung under his eyes, but his gruff expression softened slightly when he looked down at me.

I stared at him, bracing myself, silently waiting for him to say it: Striker was dead. They couldn't save him. He was too late getting to the hospital. He died in pain, without me there.

He's dead.

He's dead.

He's dead.

"He's alive."

I froze, my eyes darting to the man in front of me.

"They said it's kind of touch-and-go, but he's stable for the most part," he continued slowly. "He's in intensive care right now. But he's alive, (Y/N). I got him there in time."

An almost sickening wave of relief washed over me, fresh tears pooling in my eyes, and a heavy sob racked my chest and roughly escaped my throat. I leaned forward onto Husk's frame, wrapping my arms tightly around him and clutching fistfuls of the fur on his back. I cried loudly into his chest, wetting his downy white fur with tears and snot and saliva. And he let me, gently holding the back of my head with one hand and rubbing my back with the other.

"Thank you!" I croaked out between my sobs. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you . . . !"

"You don't gotta thank me, (Y/N)," he murmured, his long fingers partly weaving themselves into my hair. His voice was slightly distant when he spoke. "S'the least I coulda done."

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At some point, when my tired legs threatened to give out on me, Husk guided me back into my room and sat me down on the side of my bed. Charlie left briefly to retrieve some supplies to redress the wounds on my chest, returning a few minutes later and pulling up a chair in front of me.

"I'll leave you to it," Husk said to Charlie before standing from his seat beside me and starting for the open door.

"Wait," I said, apparently catching him off-guard, and he stopped mid-stride and looked back at me expectantly.

I pursed my lips, my eyes falling to the floor at his feet. "Will you take me there?" I muttered. "To St. Ann's? Please. . ."

Husk shook his head slightly, his mouth curling downward into a sober grimace. "(Y/N)," he started earnestly, "I don't think you wanna see him like that—"

"Please," I repeated quietly. "Please—I need to see him. . ."

He looked away for a moment, seemingly mulling over the options in his head, then let out a small sigh through his nose, his dark eyes meeting mine again. "Okay."

Husk left the room while Charlie cleaned and redressed the long gashes across my chest, and, after insisting to her that no, I really wasn't hungry, she set out a fresh set of clothes for me. When I was changed, wearing a jacket two sizes too large for me and a pair of old sneakers with no socks, I pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail and headed downstairs to the lobby, my stomach rolling from my anxiousness.

I found Husk in his usual spot at the bar with his chin in his hand, his lids opening and closing as he struggled not to doze off. He woke up, however, when I approached him, and he circled the bar and asked me softly, "Ready to go?"

I nodded and followed him across the lobby out the front doors.

"C'mere," Husk said after we descended the front steps, extending a hand for me.

I slipped my hand in his, prompting him to gently pull me to his frame. He wrapped his arms firmly around me, one around my shoulders, the other just under my rear, and unfolded his scarlet wings. His fur was warm against the merciless winter air surrounding us, and I leaned into him, sleepily resting my head in the crook of his neck as he took to the air.