The man's injury was bad. As soon as I had the stranger sitting on a stool in the semi-dark back room, I could tell that the wound was bad, and I tried to ignore my overwhelming dread as I hurried and filled a bucket with steaming hot water from the kitchen tap with which I planned to clean the nasty trash grime off him so that I could assess his injuries.

With shaking hands, I lugged the bucket towards the backroom, grabbing some clean white rags and the container of dish soap as I moved. A bit of water sloshed out as I walked, causing me to slip and curse as I spilled half the water directly onto my nasty sneakers. Mumbling about how dumb I was and admonishing myself, I absently set out the wet floor sign, then questioned my sanity as I realized the store was closed and there were no customers to slip on my spill. As quickly as I could, I made it to the storage room that doubled as a break room and where the guy was still sitting in veritable darkness.

I placed the bucket down gently next to him as I spoke rapidly, having just realized I forgot to turn on the light. "Oh, shit... Take off your shirt, guy."

I heard movement as he began to abide by my orders as my hand moved to the light switch on the wall.

"Don't."

The weak command in the man's voice had me rolling my eyes before I flicked on the light anyway. "What are you? A leper or something? I don't care what you look like, dude. And you already smell like shit and—"

Once I turned back around to look back at him, my words died in my throat as I noticed several peculiar things all at once. First, the stranger was hot. Even covered in garbage and blood and wearing a haggard expression, he was objectively attractive enough to grace the cover of a shitty, bodice-ripping romance novel, and I would have loved having time to rake my eyes over his well-defined muscles if I wasn't so busy with the matter of saving his life.

Second, he was angrily glaring at me, most likely because I'd entirely ignored his order for me not to turn on the lights because it was a dumb order to begin with.

Third, besides the sword at his hip, his pants and the shirt he'd left on the pressed wood table where I ate my tuna-fish sandwiches at lunch time looked like he'd just walked out of a Renaissance festival.

Finally, he had pointed ears. Pointy fucking ears peeking out from beneath his soft-looking black locks.

The man shifting in pain and clutching his side brought me from my musings. "Oh... fuck. Don't move, okay? Let me get the first aid kit."

Before the man could say anything, I was hurrying to the kitchen and slipping once more on the puddle I'd forgotten about before grabbing the kit from under the counter and rushing back.

When I entered the break room, I found the guy standing and using a wet cloth to dab at his wound.

"Hey! Sit down!" I yelled, leading the man to quirk his brow but obliged nonetheless as I set about calling upon my first aid knowledge from my Girl Scout days. Frowning and with my hands still shaking, I grabbed a fresh rag and doused it in antiseptic solution before using it to wipe away the worst of the garbage juice and clotted blood from right around the wound. The guy hissed as stress-induced tremors rocked my hands, making my swipes at the nastiness a little bit all over the place.

While I cleaned him with the soap and water and antiseptic, I spoke in a shaking voice, "Man, I think you really, really need a hospital."

"No hospitals."

I huffed as I grabbed his knees and shifted him on the stool so that the light from the fluorescent bulb above would better illuminate the ghastly injury. The wound was deep and nasty and way worse than Troop Leader Sharon had taught us to deal with when I'd earned the 'First Aid' badge.

When I felt myself growing lightheaded from all the blood, the guy muttered. "I'll heal quickly."

I snorted in dark amusement at the conviction in his tone, trying to focus only on cleaning the grime away so that I could try to stop the bleeding. "What are you? A magically healing vigilante superhero LARPER?"

"What?"

I shook my head as the smell of blood and garbage overwhelmed me and I had to turn away. To occupy myself, I pulled some gauze and a large bandage out of the first aid box. Hands still shaking, I fumbled with the package, ripping it open and accidentally sending the bandage flying to the floor next to me.

"Fuck. That's not sterile anymore." I sighed before opening a fresh one. Steeling myself, I turned back to the nasty wound which had somehow already stopped oozing blood.

The guy's voice made me jerk in surprise. "Allow me to affix the bandage."

I shook my head and moved my hands away from his reaching grasp. "Nope. You didn't wash your hands yet, trash man. I washed mine when I got the bucket. So, I gotta do it, or you're going to get an infection."

Biting back my nausea, I covered the wound as best I could as he explained quietly. "The refuse and grime in the injury was preventing my healing capabilities from working."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Stop being weird. There, all done."

I sat back on my heels triumphantly as the man spoke. "Thank you, Charlotte."

I scowled. "How'd you know my name?"

With a curious expression, the man pointed his index finger at my name tag, and I blushed. Why was I so fucking dumb?

It wasn't long before the man was speaking again. "Charlotte, my name is Jon. Thank you for your kindness. Now, would you mind cleaning the exit wound as well? I fear the grime is preventing healing still."

"Call me Lottie. And exit wound? What fucking exit wound?"

Without another word, the man turned his back to me so that I could see a smaller yet still nasty-looking injury.

Well, fuck. There went my plans for a relaxing nightbefore my long weekend.