You quickly moved forward and slammed the door shut, locking it up tight before whipping around to look at Dave. He had pushed the girl off and was kneeling beside her, his hand hovering over her mouth.
“Dave what the he-?”
“She's still breathing, so she's alive. And she's definitely human.”
He interrupted the beginning of your rant, pulling his hand back to rest on his knee. You gritted your teeth, guilt washing over you when you thought about how ready you were to leave her out there to die, but you shook it off. In this hellish nightmare you guys were living in it was either you or them, and you shouldn't feel fucking ashamed for just trying to survive, even if it meant innocent people died instead.
Well, maybe innocent. For all you knew she could be a psycho bitch who would slit your throat the minute she got a chance.
You knelt on the other side of the stranger's limp form, studying her. You noted a long scar that started under her left eye and ended halfway down her neck. She also wasn't wearing shades and wondered if she had looked into the eyes of one of those things before Dave had opened the door. That might explain why she had passed out so quickly. Those things suck the life out of you quicker than Dave goes through apple juice. She was wearing jeans and a long sleeved jacket over a (f/c) shirt, which was crazy in this Texan heat, but when Dave pulled back the sleeves you began to understand why she would want to wear a jacket.
Her arms were littered with fine scars, and you'd bet there were more. You had a few yourself, but not that many.
Dave let out a low curse and his signature Strider poker face cracked as he eased the jacket off. Whoever this person was, she had been through hell, and it showed. Surprisingly though, she was still pretty damn good looking, despite the fact it was obvious she hadn't showered in a while. She had (h/l) (h/c) hair, and what you guessed was (s/c) skin underneath all that dirt.
“Dave, you go get a bottle of water. I'll get her on the couch.”
Dave stared at you for a moment before he nodded and stood up, making his way towards the kitchen. Carefully, you lifted the unconscious woman up and walked to the couch, setting her down as gently as possible. She whimpered when you tried to pull away, grasping at your shirt and scratching you with her nails in the process.
You froze and she stilled, relaxing in your arms. Once more you tried to remove yourself from her grip, but once again she began muttering and tightened her grip. You knelt there besides the couch, staring at her. Was she crazy? She didn't even know who or what was holding her. You could be a sicko for fuck's sake! Or...or a guy who hasn't been properly laid in fucking forever. Who thought she felt pretty fucking good in his arms right about now, and looked pretty damn fuckable.
“Jeez bro, are you going to have sloppy makeouts with her or what?”
Dave stood there holding a bottle of water in one hand and a hand towel in the other, a little smirk on his face. You fought down a snide remark and instead glowered at him through your glasses, thinking to yourself:
'Dave, you little shit.'