paul come back here!

Direct Order

hey it’s that trashy scoutpauling hurt/comfort i was talkin’ about

directly inspired by this wonderful photoset by sicorey. COMPLETELY UNBETA’D. PROBABLY DOESNT MAKE SENSE. ISNT FULLY SET UP. this is stress relief writing i apologize for nothing

2.8k words! drama! action! boston accents! louisiana!!

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What startled him the most was that someone as little as Miss Pauling could have that much blood to even lose. It was a distant sort of startled, one that began deep in Scout’s gut and welled up slowly, at about the same rate the ragged back of Pauling’s dress was turning one wet shade of blackish red.

His arms were killing him, to say nothing of his spine. Running with someone in your arms, even someone as little as Pauling, had turned out to be murder. The fatigue had caught up with him worlds sooner. Had it just been him he would have been long gone and scot-free by now, but as it was he had been forced to duck sideways into one of the abandoned houses that lined the bombed-out city’s streets. He was panting fit to drop, but as their pursuers neared he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and waited with his back pressed to the blackest bit of wall he could find.

Leaning on him so heavily she felt like dead weight, Pauling made tiny, agonized gasps with every breath.

Footsteps outside. Fast, now slowing. Low talking in the dark. Scout grit his teeth.

Silence.

He could feel Pauling’s heartbeat, thumping like a frightened bird’s.

The footsteps picked up again. A few seconds later they were fading into the distance. Scout held his tongue a whole minute before he whispered, “I think we lost ’em.”

He got no answer. God damn it.

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