#Gordos Feetman? more like [crack sfx]

[bbeeohazardd]

Gordon shivered violently as he was moved into a sitting position, a pair of arms hooked under his own, a jolt of pain from his leg making him babble incomprehensibly.

“Whh- where…”

“Now Gordon, I am very strong, but I do need you to remain conscious.”

The easy to recognize voice shook him further into the waking world. Dr. Harold Coomer, his friend and mentor, the only person he could even trust.

He shook his head to clear the fog before he looked around to get a bearing on where he was. An abandoned building, no sign of Tommy or Benrey. He had been trying to do something? Nothing was clear in his scrambled mind anymore. He braved a look down at his leg, only to sharply inhale and wrench his eyes closed.

Oh God, he was gonna be sick.

“Gordon.”

“I-I can’t…can’t get up. I don’t. Help?”

His shivering became more violent, causing more twinges of pain from his mangled limb.

Why was he so cold?

“Gordon, I can get you to your car, but I need you to get up.”

“No, no, no, I can't, I can’t.”

“Gordon.”

He opened his eyes and turned to look at his friend. The man had his mask off, it was easy to see how exhausted he was.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, of- of course I do, man.”

The answer was a no-brainer, Dr. Coomer was the only person he could trust. The man had done so much for him, he’d definitely be dead if it wasn’t for him.

“I’m going to help you stand, and then I’ll pick you up.”

He nodded and prepared himself to stand. He was helped to his feet, breathing in sharply as he held on to the other man’s jacket. Coomer, thankfully, paused to let Gordon adjust.

“Now, this may be…painful, but it will be easier in the long-run! Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Gordon mentally prepared himself for a few seconds. “Alright, I think ‘m good.”

The shorter man nodded and picked him up in a fireman carry, supporting him by his good leg before carefully making his way out of the building.