Here is part two, the second half to what would be chapter one/ the continuation of the 'teaser' XD Enjoy!


Close to Death, Part two

"Papa, is he going to be okay?" Sam asked his father, as he looked from the young man in his own bed up to his loving father.

"Not sure." Balfour answered honestly. Although he had done all he could – all he knew how to anyway – to patch up the injuries that littered the young man's body, he had never personally seen someone who was this close to death survive.

For the last hours of the night, and onward into the dawn, he had been watching over the feverish stranger fight death in his sleep. Still amazed that the young man had even made it this far into the mountain forest as wounded as he was, which was part of the reason he was doing all he could to save him. Frost had nearly taken his feat and almost had, but Balfour had boiled water and soaked cloths then wrapped them around the blue-ing feet of the young man. It was sure to be painful bringing back those almost dead parts of his feet and hands, but the young man seemed to be in so much pain everywhere it didn't seem like it added any more agony. He had also cleaned the young man's body as best he could without inflicting further damage to all the possible breaks on his body. Nearly his whole body was covered in blackened bruises, it truly seemed impossible that he was still alive.

Though he knew, for his son's sake, he should be worried about what a person could do to deserve a beating such as this and if he should be caring for this possible criminal at all; however, once he saw the tears streaming out of his pain closed eyes and heard the whimper call to the strangers mother, he knew. He knew there was no way this young stranger was some low life who deserved death.

Balfour turned to his young son, who was the embodiment of pure intentions. "Done all I can, now it'd be up to him if he wants to live." Sam nodded to his fathers words and tucked into his side as they both turned to watch yet another tear drip down the stranger's swollen cheek.

Balfour had been surprised – least to say – when his son had yelled for him out in the yard that night. He had been stoking the fire on what was a very cold night, and Sam had begged him to let him step outside to see the stars as he loved the clear view of the twinkling lights. Not but a moment later Balfour was rushing out at the sound of fear in his boy's voice, and what more to his surprise as soon as he got to Sam's side he smelled blood on the air. Quite a lot of it, too. It took only a minute to find the source, a young man collapsed in the snow, a trail of blood behind him.

At first Balfour had thought the poor stranger dead, but in the silence as they stared on for the smallest moment as he focused his hearing harder he heard the flutter of a dying heart. Urgency had gripped him then, grabbing up the stranger and rushing him back inside his home to tend to him. And that is what he did, the best that he could. A hard task, as he only had so much stored away for emergencies, and he had to use nearly all his remedies to help the stranger. Though something told him that this young man would pull through and it would be worth it then.

However, even after so many hours of watching the young man fight in his sleep, waking a few times with horror swirling in his eyes only to fall back into sleep a moment later, he was starting to doubt slightly. The blue shade in the strangers fingers and toes was starting to look clearer as blood was coming back to the appendages, but fever raked his whole body and he was covered in a cold sweat. Balfour was becoming quite worried the young man would not survive the next few days, especially if he couldn't get him to eat anything – which so far he had, had no luck.

Taking a moment, for it seemed as though the stranger was peacefully sleeping for the moment, he patted his son's head and stood. Sam fallowed at his heels. Walking back to the small kitchen which was part of the cottage that was not connected to the mountain; the small cottage, although fully functional and proper, it was only the front half of the home Balfour had built. The rest of his home was in a cave the cottage hide from the world, as a safety precaution Balfour had taken to protect his son from others that would do them harm.

The kitchen was small, equipped only with an iron stove, small sink, a couple cabinets, and a tiny table. Balfour stored most of their food in a small trap beneath the cottage he dug out himself to keep the food cold and safe – he had even walled it in by hand with stones from the stream. Earlier in the night – before dawn – he had grabbed a few vegetables and made a quick stew hoping he could wake the young man long enough to try to get him to eat something, but had no luck so far. For now he just wanted Sam to eat a bit.

"Go on and sit, Sam." Balfour gently instructed his son as he grabbed a wood carved bowl from the bit of wooden counter built spooning some of the stew with a wooden ladle into the bowl. It would be a simple meal for now, but latter he could go out and catch a few fish from up stream and make something heartier.

Putting the bowl in front of his son with a spoon on the table he turned and dished himself out a bowl and sat in his chair next to his son. As he watched Sam's small hand grab the spoon and begin feeding himself he couldn't help but smile. Sam would be six years this spring, but sometimes it was hard for him to not remember the small baby he held in his arms many years ago. Smiling once more he ruffled the dark tufts of hair on Sam's hair before eating a few bites himself.

It was a quite, quick meal, as Balfour had not gotten any sleep and Sam barely any. After they finished the stew he made Sam go lay down in his own bed, as the stranger was laying in Sam's bed, so his son could catch a few more hours of sleep as he waited for the young man to wake.

With a refreshed mind he looked down at the sweat covered, fevered young man in his son's bed. The strangers face was swollen and purple, and though his hair was matted with dried blood – he hadn't tried to wash the stranger's hair yet – it still was a bright yellow-gold. Balfour wondered, once again, why someone would beat him so. What could a kid, who probably was just barely a man, deserve to be left for dead as he was.

Balfour sat once again in the stool by the bed side. He was not a fan of humans, most of them, and he knew what foul creatures they could be to those such as himself. But something just felt entirely wrong for another human to be so cruel to their own. Sighing he could do nothing more than wipe the pooling sweat off the young man's face and wait.

It seemed he would wait hours more before any consciousness would be seen from the stranger. In truth, it was only a couple.

Balfour was sitting with his head bent into his hands, lack of sleep exhausting him while determination kept him slightly awake, when a small groan echoed in the silence of the cottage. Quickly he glanced up to watch the young man's face closely. His eyebrows were still furrowed as they had been for a while, but he could see beneath the lids of his eyes that his eyes were moving as he was coming into awareness. An attempt at a blink flashed darkened blue eyes once again, but he hadn't the strength to keep them open. Balfour had to gently put a hand on the young man's chest – trying to be wary of a possible broken rib – when the stranger tried to adjust and sit up.

"Stay still, you in no shape to be movin'. Don't think Death's given up on your soul just yet." Balfour spoke slow and quietly, keeping his tone calm and gentle, as any wounded person would surely be a bit skittish when awakening somewhere unfamiliar.

Blue eyes, one swelled a bit, looked up at it and Balfour saw only fear at first. It almost hurt his feelings, but then he saw confusion as the strangers brows furrowed more. The young man's mouth opened as if he wanted to speak but only a low groan escaped from dry lips. Balfour quickly reached to the left side of him where he had – many hours ago – gotten a fresh bucket of water from the well. Dipping a small cup into the clean water he brought it back to the stranger.

"Try to drink." Keeping his voice as before he brought the cup slowly to the other's lips, who only glared untrustingly at him, Balfour sighed. "Or don't. Your choice." He raised an eyebrow at the stranger as if challenging him to strain his body even more. The young man seemed to understand the facial cue and attempted to lift his head slightly but only winced in pain. Balfour scooped his hand behind the young man's head and help him hold still just long enough to get a sip of water.

"Definitely broken rib." Balfour confirmed setting the cup down. "You'll need to lay a while longer then, keep still." Balfour was trying not to sound commanding, but he knew if the young man tried to move it would only hurt him more. The stranger was only looking at him, as if assessing him with those dark blue eyes.

"Why?" Came a slow, pained rasp from the newly wet lips of the young man, it seemed the one word was all he could manage, but Balfour understood well enough.

"My home. Sam, my son found you in the snow nearly dead. Done what I can for now, but you need to keep still and rest. The fever could still kill you." Balfour sighed and put his hands on his knees. "But I'd venture to say you'll be fine, seein as you haven't died yet." He had tried to make the situation seem less grim with lighter words, but the young man seemed to only fall deeper into his own darkness.

He blinked once then gave a long stare – Balfour got the feeling he was trying to say thank you – before he closed his eyes once again falling into another deep sleep.

For the rest of the day the young man faded in and out of fever sleep, not saying much else other than asking for water now and again. Sam woke late in the afternoon and Balfour left the stranger behind the closed door for a couple hours as he took care of feeding his son. Making sure his boy had what he needed, keeping him indoors in case whoever did that to the young man was still prowling around the woods, before he went back into the closed off room to see how the stranger was doing.

The wounded young man wasn't responsive enough to eat anything until late into the night. Balfour had barely gotten an hour of rest before he heard the whimpered rasp of the young man. His sleep deranged mind wasn't sure at first if he had said anything or if it had just been a pained gasp, but when he saw those dark blue eyes watching him he forced himself to listen closer. Standing from the small chair he had been resting in, he walked back over to the wooden stool and leaned in.

"Water?" Balfour asked in confirmation as he raised an eyebrow and leaned to grab the water bucket, but the young man's head shook ever so slightly – just once. "Hungry?" Balfour felt almost relieved that the young man had an appetite, it meant he was slowly getting stronger.

The next hour was spent reheating the simple stew he had made, filling a bowl with mainly broth and spoon feeding the young man, whom he had to gingerly prop up on a pillow. When he had done so he realized there was too much dampness from all the cold fever sweat, but he'd deal with that after. First he feed him as much as the stranger could handle, slow bites one by one. Balfour was briefly reminded of how hard it was feeding Sam as a baby for the first few times, but this seemed harder as he had to make sure the young man wasn't going to barf it all up. With each swallow the young man groaned or winced, and Balfour wished he could do more. He was out of herbal medicine and only had a small pouch of tea leaves left. He wasn't much for such sweet drinks, but Sam enjoyed them during the summer months.

Balfour had a friend that lived further around the base of the mountain, and who normally supplied him with such things he could not get on his own, but he hadn't seen them for a while now. As he forced the young man to swallow another spoonful of broth he thought to himself that he should see about getting more herbs from his old friend.

"Need to change you." Balfour said plainly. With the sheets and pillows damp the young stranger would never get better. He only blinked his blue eyes slowly in response, and Balfour felt a wave of sympathy flow through him. To find himself exhausted after simply eating, the young man must still be in a lot of pain.

Balfour left the bowl on the floor as he stood and went to the wardrobe in his son's room. There is where he stored most of their blankets, sheets, and scrap cloths. Grabbing out a few sheets, a new blanket, and a clean cloth, he shut the wardrobe once again as it clicked back into place. Silently he sat back on the stool and looked into the blue eyes of the stranger.

"Sorry 'bout this." Was all he could think to say as he reached to pull back the blanket that had been covering the young man, and keeping him as warm as it could but now would surely feel like he was freezing. Leaving the soaked blanket on the floor he quickly began reaching underneath the young man and taking the sheet from beneath him, all while making sure not too move his sore body too much. This tedious task was done in silence on both their half's, as Balfour moved quickly to get a clean sheet underneath him then take the cloth and wipe the sweat from his face, neck and arms. Recovering him with a thicker blanket and sitting down once again. "That should feel better."

The young man simply nodded a slow response before his eyes closed again as he faded into sleep. Balfour sighed and waited a minute, watching his expression while sleep claimed him. After being sure he was sleeping fine he stood and picked up all the sweat soaked cloths balling them up in his hands as he silently left the room, closing the door behind him. His plan was to let him sleep for a little while, as he wished to catch a couple hours of sleep himself. It was still well into the night and dawn was a while away, so it was his perfect chance to rest his body and mind.

Making sure he was silent as he crept into his own room, knowing Sam was sleeping in his bed, he smiled to himself at the sight of his young son curled up in the center of his large bed. The sight of him curled so tightly in such a large mattress with a next of blankets, it reminded him once more of how small his son once was. Grabbing the edge of the blanket he slid onto the mattress keeping his movements as gentle and eased into the bed.

It was mere moments after he found a comfortable position to lay in before he closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.


Chapter one, complete and done!

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Thank you all!