Chapter 1

I was beyond stressed, but then again who wasn't?

We were in anarchy.

The streets were barren save for the goons that roamed them, hoping for someone of importance to snatch up and bring back to their dickhead of a leader.

That is exactly the reason why I was currently sitting in a pile of rotting garbage, pissed off and hungry.

But then again who wasn't hungry right now. Every scrap of food had to be fought for and anything more would cause a bloodbath of unimaginable effect.

Crash and Clank were waiting for me back at the hideout, hopefully being more successful than me in finding food, but I knew they wouldn't been upset with me, for I found something much more valuable.

Medical supplies.

We were in desperate need of antibiotics and I had hit the motherlode, not to mention the sterilized stitches kits and morphine I also had hidden away in my duffle bag along with various other miscellaneous medical supplies.

It was a fair assumption to say I was happy with myself.

Once I was sure the coast was clear I hopped out of the dumpster, a thoughtful look on my face.

If I walked at a brisk pace, I would be able to made it back to the hideout in the next fifteen minutes.

My excitement peaked when ten minutes of walking had passed and no goons were in sight, but I quickly plummeted as I heard the pained groan and labored breathing from the dark alleyway adjacent to me.

"Come on Stitch, you're too smart for this. Those kids need you."

The deep yelp was what got me. I couldn't leave the person in pain, so throwing all caution to the wind I began to creep my way into the dark alley way, quickly pulling out my flashlight.

I held it in between my lips as I also slipped out a knife for my own protection, knowing damn well a knife would do me no good in a gun fight.

The closer I got the more pronounced the outline of the man became. He was hunched over in pain, clearly putting pressure on what I assumed to be a bleeding wound.

I was doing a fine job approaching him quietly until I kicked a small tin can that I had not seen, alerting him of my presence.

Out of surprise his hands flew up to protect himself whilst also giving me a glimpse of his blood covered hand.

The flashlight fell from between my lips when they opened in surprise but I caught it on the way down, switching it on so that I could fully assess the situation.

What little self-preservation I had grasping onto before went straight out the window as I dropped to my knees and started searching through my duffel bag for my disinfectant kit.

"What are you-"

I cut him off with the raise of my hand as I pulled the alcohol wipes out of the kit before meeting his eyes.

It was impossible to make out his features with the flashlight pointing down at his wound, but it was impossible to miss the way his blue eyes seemed to glow, even in the dark.

They were breathtaking and I would have liked to admire them longer but I was kinda on a time crunch.

"Don't have a lot of time, so I'm gonna try to do this as quick and painlessly as possible, but I'm 'fraid I don't have anything for the pain."

He began to resist me again, smart in his distrust of a total stranger such as myself.

My eyes flew up to his and it was clear he was annoyed by how little control of the situation he had.

"Please sir, just let me help you out. I just need to see where you are bleeding from since you will probably need stitches."

He nodded keeping his cautious appearance.

I smiled. We were getting somewhere.

He pulled back the side of his suit jacket and hissed as he pulled up his blood stained white shirt that already held a gash through it.

The cut was deep, there was no denying it, but luckily it wasn't terribly long.

"You're in luck."

He scoffed, "How so?"

Amusement twinkled in my eyes at his sarcasm and I met his gaze once again, "You're only gonna need about six stitches. I've seen people live through a hellavah lot worse, so you'll be fine."

He nodded satisfied with my answer as I got to work cleaning up the gash.

It was clear that this man didn't trust me, not that I could blame him, so I was just grateful he didn't struggle since that would make this process a lot harder.

"You're handling this quite well. Most men like to whine and moan while I clean them up."

He let out a dry laugh, "Guess I just have I high pain tolerance."

"Must be."

I noticed that he didn't flinch once, not even when I pulled out the sterile needle kit, the thing most people flinch away from.

The only movement he made was when the needle first entered his flesh as he took in a hiss of air and tensed at the penetration of his skin.

"Sorry love."

He just shook his head, "You're clearly English, not from here, otherwise you wouldn't be helping me."

My brow furrowed at his words, but I remained focused on the task at hand.

"Oh yeah, and why is that?"

I could practically feel his smirk in my soul.

"You really don't know who I am?"

My shoulders shrugged nonchalantly as I tied off the sixth stitch and cut off the excess string with a pair of scissors before moving on to the gauze, "'fraid not love. Should I?"

It was his turn to shrug, "I guess in our current circumstances one man may seem slightly insignificant."

I could only offer him a kind smile in response as I tapped the gauze to his lower abdomen.

"I wish I had more time to chat, but I've got a couple people waiting up on me and you're no longer on your death bed so I can now consciously leave you with the reminder to disinfect that daily and cut the stitches out in a couple weeks. And try not to tear you're stitches because I can guarantee you have very low chances of ever finding me again."

He opened his mouth to say something else but I was already turning to run off.

"What can I call you?" He called after me.

I just pointed to the part of my side that would mirror where his stitches were before running off in the direction of the hideout where my very pissed mates would be hiding.