The day would finally be done when the trash was taken out. It seemed like a simple easy chore to end the day with. Was simple really, until the streetlight flickered back on revealing a person propped against the dumpster. 

“You alright, lad?”

When I got no response, I made my way closer.

“Do you need help? Should I call someone?”

The clang of my trash bag as it landed in the empty dumpster startled the lad into frantically looking around. The streetlight shut off plunging the two of us into darkness. Had to take out my keychain flashlight to get a better look at him.

“Is alright lad,” I tried to soothe. “Not gonna hurt you.”

The streetlight suddenly flashed on again. As I angled the flashlight over his body its dim rays caught the edge of a knife in his hand that hadn’t been there a few moments before. His breaths came fast and ragged. A feral sorta look shone in his wide eyes as he struggled to get himself up with one arm tucked against his stomach. That one was bleeding. The sleeve was ripped. He looked to be debating swinging at me. Or making a run for it.

“Easy there lad! I’m not gonna hurt you, but someone else did it looks like. Would you like some help?” I asked, clicking off the flashlight so I could raise both hands placatingly.

The dumpster banged as he tripped backward into it. His ragged breaths filled the space of the alley as the streetlight shut off. My ears caught a couple steps being taken before there was a scraping sound and then a thud followed by a hiss of pain.

Heavy seconds ticked by before I clicked my flashlight back on. The lad looked up at me miserably from his half-curled position against the concrete. His darting eyes led my sight to his knife just out of reach.

“Is alright lad,” I repeated.

Slowly I walked closer. Tried to get a better look at the arm he kept tucked close. His labored breaths grew faster when I knelt beside him. I tucked my flashlight away so it wouldn’t blind him when the streetlight came back on. He barely struggled as I tugged his, presumedly, uninjured arm up over my shoulders. We both grunted with the effort it took to get him up to his feet.

I cast a glance toward his knife. Decided I would get it later for him. No way to bend down and get it now.

“I’m just gonna take you inside alright? Get whatever wounds you have looked over and get a meal in you.”

He didn’t answer, but that was probably because of the pain stealing his breath. 

It was quite the effort to get him across the few feet of alley and into the kitchen door. He was much heavier than expected. His feet seemed to drag, barely lifting to take any steps with me. 

The struggle to get him inside was damned frustrating.

When I tried to ease him onto the couch he collapsed. I tried to rouse him. Tried to again after I’d gone out, collected his knife, stowed it in the kitchen, and grabbed the first aid kit. The lad was too exhausted to be woken though. I decided if he couldn’t be woken, it was worth the extra effort to pry away the layers of cotton and Kevlar clothing myself rather than potentially deal with a fight.

He must’ve been bleeding something awful. Look at this mess of a sleeve. That’s likely why the poor lad collapsed. I hope he doesn’t have anything worse like a gut wound under this strappy black jacket.

I can’t seem to…

How many layers are there to this?

This isn’t… like any military jacket I’m familiar with. Too many straps. Like something from a mental ward on TV almost. I think? It’s such a constricting design. They’re so hard to unbuckle. Would of have to have been sewn into it rather than put it on with how confusing this thing is.

…I just unbuckled straps that do nothing to open this jacket.

“Damn these straps. Why are they so… hard to undo?” I asked myself, pulling and pulling at a new buckle that seemed determined to stay put.

The smearing red on my fingers got worse as I fought with straps. Tugged fabric off of shoulders. The gloves caught my attention so I removed those before fighting to get the sleeves down both arms. One was a dead weight compared to the other. The difference made more sense when the blood-stained shirt underneath accidentally tore under my grip.

“Woah…”

Is that?

The fabric tore the more I tried to carefully bunch it up to slip over his head. With the first aid scissors I cut away at it until it could be easily removed. I set the mangled thing on the side table to get it out of the way. Set to wiping away some of the blood.

“Where did you get such a class arm…”

And it was an arm. A whole arm. The silver gleam extended from shoulder to fingertips as I switched from wiping down skin to metal.

I couldn’t help myself. Had to lift the edge of my night gown and compare his to mine. Not much to compare other than the silver of both though. His actually looked like an arm. Had moved like one out there when he was fumbling in the dark. His fingers had gripped my shoulder.

“That is some limb that is.”

Real class job so it is. Maybe a custom job. Definitely better than what I’ve got.

I’m getting sidetracked though. I shouldn’t be standing here staring like an eejit. His other arm is hurt. Should get back to tending that now that it’s cleaned off. And that wound on his ribs will need some dressing.

Antiseptic spray. Cotton swab dabs. Even a few stitches to the arm went in without waking him.

Poor lad. Can’t imagine how exhausted he must be. How long had he been in the alley bleeding out like that? Why not call for help?

A search turned up no phone, wallet, or keys from the jacket or vest. No pants pockets to check that I can see. Other than the strappy monstrosity of a jacket the gear seems like standard military attire.

Fresh off a bus and attacked on his way through?

He doesn’t have a short hair style like military lads have. This is mostly military attire he’s wearing though. The knife had been recognizable enough as such.

I need to call someone. Get some clothes sorted out for when he wakes. Or for while he’s sleeping. No telling how long he’ll sleep. And it wouldn’t hurt to have another over in case he wakes up panicked. Maybe seeing a new face, someone who didn’t drag him inside when he was reluctant to leave the alley would be a comfort to him. Gotta find my phone.