Chapter One; The Battle Is Over?
Heather nearly cried out in relief when she felt Vincent exhale. He hadn't responded when she called to him, hadn't opened his eyes when she collapsed beside him. But as she lowered her head above his own, she felt his breath on her face, and that was enough.
She couldn't wait, though. She went to work immediately, moving him onto his side to access the wound on his back. As she examined it, she felt a rush off panic. She'd had to patch herself up before, and she still had medical supplies to spare. However, she had never dealt with something as bad as this. The wound was clean enough; the blade Claudia had used was quite sharp, and narrow as well. Still, Heather had no clue how deep the knife had gone, or whether Vincent had internal bleeding.
No time to think. She pushed his vest and shirt up his back and pressed her remaining gauze against the wound until she felt the bleeding had slowed. Once she had patched it the best she could with her current supplies, she turned him back over.
"Vincent?" Despite his obvious lack of consciousness, she monitored her voice, as not to allow her worry leak into its tone. Heather may not have known it herself, but there truly was nothing she feared more than fear itself. She felt that if she were to show her fear, it would be giving in to it. And she was stronger than that. "Vincent, wake up… Vincent, wake up!" As she shouted, she sent her fist down on his chest. With this, he sputtered and coughed, gasping for air.
"Damn, Heather…" He gasped in pain. Before he could let out any further complaint, Heather grabbed his hand, pulling his arm out, and slid a needle into his skin. When she had first discovered one in Brookhaven, she hadn't been sure of its contents. However, in a prior situation, she had been forced to test its contents, and found it to be a rather intense painkiller of sorts. She hoped it would render him able to move, at least. True to its previous effects, it moved through his system quickly, leaving him in a numb euphoria.
Minutes later, once his breathing had slowed and deepened, Heather finally spoke. "How do you feel?"
Something between a scoff and a laugh emerged from his throat, and he ignored her question. "So I'm alive, huh?"
A pause. "Looks like it." And then silence once more fell upon them. In this silence, they had both come to acknowledge that she still gripped his hand, though more gently; however, neither of them commented on this. Still kneeling beside him, Heather's forehead fell onto his chest, exhaustion finally overcoming her.
"Are you okay?" Vincent's voice was soft and quiet.
Now it was Heather's turn to laugh. "I just defeated God. My father is dead and I didn't even get to kill Claudia. I've been running and fighting monsters for what feels like days. Oh, and you just almost died, and I barely fixed you up. What do you think?"