She's short, no taller than 5'0, but she looks around fifteen years old despite her height.
She's not wearing the same uniform everyone else is, she's wearing a white tank top and a pair of orange booty shorts with surprisingly clean white sneakers.

She looks up and her brown eyes widen when she sees us.

"S-stay back!" She stammers, grabbing a small knife from her back pocket, "I know who you are. You're those traitors who killed that poor little boy! I don't want any trouble."

I roll my eyes. Of course Mitch would have lied about who killed Kyle's brother to make the group look bad.

"They are those disgusting traitors, but they're not going to cause any trouble if we're here," I tell her, which makes her lower the knife slightly, "why would they try and attack you if they know we're right behind them?"

The girl gives me a sceptical look, but then laughs with relief and puts the knife back.

"That's a relief! I thought y'all were doing some kind of escape plan and pretending to be workers or something." She beckons us into the room and grabs a bowl from on top of a cabinet to start filling it with water.

She places the bowl onto a small round table and pulls a chair out from underneath said table.

"You with the funny hair," she points to Tweek, "take a seat. You look awful."

"Th-thanks." Tweek rolls his eyes.

He slowly lowers himself onto the chair, hissing in pain when his left foot touches the floor.

"So your name's Porsche?" I ask.

"Yup," the girl nods whilst rummaging through a cupboard, "it's my dad's favourite car."

She stands up, her arms full of packets of cotton balls and cotton pads. She puts them with the bowl and returns to the cupboards. She climbs on top of one of the cabinets and looks through one of the higher cabinets.

"Can someone grab this?" She asks, holding out a box.

I grab it for her and read the label. 1500 antiseptic wipes. Damn.
I put them with the rest of her things whilst she jumps down off the cabinet.

She sits on top of the table and grabs a cotton ball.

"I'm going to clean all the blood off your face first. It may sting." She tells Tweek whilst dipping the ball into the water.

She gently starts wiping the blood off his face, starting around his mouth.

"Can someone find a pair of scissors and a roll of bandages? I'll need them soon."

I kneel down on the floor and begin looking through all of her cupboards. Each one is full to the brim of medical supplies and some boxes fall out when I open the doors. I check the labels.

They're bandaid boxes and none of them have been opened.
Butters' backpack is right beside me, so I unzip it and drop the boxes inside, hoping she won't notice a few missing boxes if she goes looking whilst we're still here.

I locate the bandages and she has at least eighteen of them. They're not even small rolls, they're fat and look like they could last a while, so I drop some of those into the backpack too and keep one at the side of me to give to Porsche.

The next cupboard I check has lube, condoms and contraceptive pills. Like, a surprising amount for an apocalypse.
Although I doubt we'll need them, I grab some of those too.

Since I've gone through all of the cabinets on the floor, I stand up and start looking through the ones on the wall. Porsche is still cleaning up Tweek's face so I've got some time.
I put the backpack on top of the cabinet just in case I need to steal anything else.

The top cabinets are mostly filled with bottles. Bottles of water, bottles of hydrogen peroxide and other things like that. We've got water and I'm pretty sure hydrogen peroxide is less safe than water, so I leave all that stuff alone.

I find a pair of sharp scissors when it falls out of the cupboard the second I open it. I dodge out of the way just in time and miss being stabbed in the eye.

I pick them up and place them on the lower cabinet so I can keep searching.

I find smaller pair of scissors, so I slip them into the backpack in a front pocket so they don't stab through anything.

"Have you found the scissors yet? We have an issue." Porsche calls.

"Yeah, here you go," I pass her the scissors and the bandages, "what's the issue?"

"He's been shot in the shoulder but the bullet is still in there. I'll have to get it out," she explains as she throws the last bloody cotton ball into the trash. Tweek's face is looking better already and all she's done is gotten rid of the blood, "I'm going to have to cut his shirt off because I don't want to move his arm around in case it does something to the wound."

"C-cut my shirt off? In f-front of these guys?" Tweek gestures to the rest of the group with his other arm.

"We'll take the other guys outside. C'mon, Wendyl." I start leaving the room, but Tweek grabs my wrist.

I turn around and give him a confused look. He takes a breath.

"Can you stay with me?" He asks, "only b-because I don't want to be left alone with a chick w-with a knife."

I smile.

"Sure."

Wendyl leads the rest of the group outside into the hall to wait whilst Tweek gets patched up.

"Keep your arm still." Porsche tells Tweek as she picks up the scissors.

She starts cutting his shirt from behind him, making sure not to move the fabric too much so it doesn't pull on his wound.
She moves around the front and quickly undoes all the buttons, then slides the shirt off by the sleeves. Tweek winces when she does it on his injured arm, but he's taking it pretty well so far.

I try not to look at Tweek's bare chest. Why do I want to look? Jesus Christ, I may be gay as fuck but I'm not a pervert.

Porsche grabs a pair of tweezers from the table and takes a breath.

"I'm not exactly trained to do this, but it's better than nothing," she is visibly uncomfortable and she takes another breath, "I'm sorry if this hurts."

She carefully inserts the tweezers into the bullet wound, trying her best not to touch him.
Tweek grabs onto my hand and squeezes tightly, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw as he tries not to yell in pain.

"Do you have any medication that might help?" I ask.

Porsche shakes her head sadly.

"The best I've got is children's paracetamol. I doubt that would help at all." She sighs.

Tweek grunts in pain as she continues poking around in his shoulder. He's doing surprisingly well at keeping still, I probably would've jerked every time she touched me if I was in his shoes.

She suddenly gasps and she furrows her eyebrows in concentration. Within seconds, she's got the bullet out and into the water bowl.

"There! I got it out!" She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and leans back in her chair, breathing heavily, "now to bandage his leg."

She doesn't cut or remove his pants, although she says it'll be easier to bandage it up that way. Tweek protests the removal no matter the benefits.

So instead, she rolls up his left pant leg as high as it can go and straightens out his leg.

"Ouch! Be careful!" Tweek snaps.

"Sorry," she sighs, "it's your knee that's broken, not your leg. You should walk on it as little as you can and keep it as straight as you can. I've got some crutches that you can use until your leg heals."

She points to a pair of crutches at the door. They're Jimmy's crutches.

Porsche bandages up his knee as well as she can without hurting him and then bandages up his shoulder to stop the bleeding.

I take my shirt out of Tweek's backpack.

"You can wear this since your shirt is ruined," I tell him, "I'll help you into it."

Tweek raises his good arm so I can slip my shirt over his head and onto his arm. It's a struggle getting his other arm in, but we somehow manage.

"Thanks, C-Craig." Tweek smiles.

"No problem." I smile back.