Who: Steve & Rose When: Immediately after his journal What: Steve is ~injured and Rose is doctor-like Where: One Shot Rating: High
How did this happen? Steve tried to replay all the moments, but nothing made sense. He stood up to go to the jacket -- no, he was coming back from the jackets to the cash -- no, no, he was heading towards the crossbows. Dammit. He had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was that his shoulder was on fucking fire and there was blood everywhere. Whatever stock could have been salvaged were now covered in his blood. His bright red blood. Blood that was pouring out of his shoulder. Steve couldn't even bear to look at it. He'd seen this injury multiple times. Hell he'd caused this injury multiple times. If Rose didn't see his entry, he'd be dead. Pulling the arrow out would kill him. Trying to put pressure on the cut would kill him. He needed an expert.
Steve caught himself on the edge of the counter. His head was spinning and he made a decision to sit down. Steve crumpled to the ground and let his back fall against the counter. Whoever these terrorists were, they weren't playing around anymore. They were serious. They wanted him dead. They wanted his whole family dead.
Fucking hell. Steve closed his eyes, counted to five, and opened them again. Nothing. No different. Where was Rose? "Rose," he croaked, "Eva, Miiiichael," Steve's voice caught in his throat and his vision went elsewhere. He was going to die. Stephen Cornfoot was going to die because his cousin was a murderer.