It's dim out there on the edge of the road. Fluorescent street lamps don't offer much in the way of visibility on clear nights, and with an overcast sky, they're lucky to be seeing anything more than a few feet off. But that deep, ruddy stain where paler skin ought to be is unmistakable. Has her stomach sinking down to the point of near nausea. He's sitting on the hood like it's nothing, and that? That's the farthest bloody thing from it.

"C'mon, darling," Charlie outweighs her by leaps, and her easing in to sling his arm round her shoulder is so useless it borders on comical. Doesn't matter. It's a few feet, not a marathon, and he's-- shit, that's a lot of blood.