By the time the water in the bathroom of Rodeo's trailer shuts off, Adelaide has stripped off her bloody shirt leaving a tank top and her stinging wound, changed Charlie into dark blue cotton pajamas and set him amid his favorite blocks, and crash landed on Rodeo's bed, where he is laid out breathing evenly, a bandage to his head, his poor busted up hands already cleaned and bandaged as best as their not-actually-a-medic could do. She's curled up with her cheek pressed against her brother's ribs, eyes closed, up and down and up and down as he breathes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart like it's a miracle. It is, really.
But when the door to the bathroom opens and Sarge emerges, Adelaide is up again and she stands in the doorway between Jims' room and the rest of the trailer for a moment just taking him in all over again. Another miracle.
Her plan was such a shoddy one that Tesla is dead, and yet the three of them are still here, still together. Worse for the wear, but the fact that they are all alive is not a thing that Adelaide takes for granted.
The stab wound to Sarge's middle is just another proof of that, and Adelaide's brows draw as she takes it in. As they expected, the sutures to the middle of the wound have pulled through, and though the wound has healed enough inside that it's holding together so far, it undeniably needs attention. As Adelaide crosses the cramped trailer to him she picks up a paper-wrapped kit from the table, gestures toward the sofabed where she sleeps. "Go on and lay there, darlin. We got suture kits for days and I know how to sew." She lifts her eyes up to his, lifts her brow. "Trust me?"