A/N: Hello there! So, a few reasons this little piece came to be. Mostly, I felt awful for how long it has been since I updated Barely Breathing. I have every intention of posting the new chapter tomorrow, so this is my sorry I suck at life present to you guys. It was actually based off a thread in my roleplay that just sort of inspired this plot to start clawing at my mind. The usual things, I don't own Resident Evil, but if I did I wouldn't be so soul crushing about it. Dedicated to Erin, my lovely little Piers. Nivanfield if you squint. Please leave me a review? I've been lacking motivation lately and could use some encouragement.
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Chris awoke to the sounds of screaming.
It used to surprise him. He used to shoot up in bed and panic right alongside the person screaming, never knowing what to do to make them stop. Frantically grabbing with his hands as if he could brush the terror right off their skin, as if a fear like that even existed anywhere near the skin.
It was never that easy.
It used to be Jill, and she would scream and scream and even though she was awake he knew she was miles away from him still, and he could never find a way to bring her back, to make her stop. Chris remembered countless nights, jerking up in bed, brushing her hair with his fingers and trying to make her stop, breathe Jill breathe it's okay I'm right here its over but he was never loud enough or maybe she just wasn't listening.
With Piers, it was easier. He would scream from the pain and the memories, but then as soon as he found Chris he would start to calm down. Come back to reality. Focus on the fingers touching him to keep him grounded instead of drifting back into his mind. Chris found that more and more he had been sleeping over at the sniper's apartment, because one night Piers had been so shaken up from another dream about Chris dying that he had walked all the way across town to make sure he was okay.
Chris opened his eyes and rolled over in bed, propping himself up on his elbow. "Piers," he murmured, keeping his voice calm. That was the key, he had to stay calm and in control. Bring the sniper back down to his level of serenity, Maybe that was why he could never make Jill stop, because he would panic too, right along with her, absorb her terror and fear and hurt into himself.
Then again, he was never quite the same after Africa either.
"Piers, calm down," he said slowly, rubbing his hand over the younger man's bare back, feeling his spine protruding. "I'm okay, kid. I'm right here." Piers was letting out rushed and ragged breaths, causing his body to sway a little as his chest rose and fell.
Breathing used to make Jill flinch. It tugged at the scarred wound on her chest as it expanded. She hated that scar, she always told him so, a constant reminder of what Wesker had done to her. She never talked about the blonde, after the reports were all done and she was released from the hospital, she never once talked about him, but she told Chris once that he didn't want to know what had happened and he believed her and so he never asked either.
The younger man looked over wildly, his fingers knotted in the tangled sheets, his brown eyes falling on Chris. "Captain," he breathed. Even though they were off duty it had become more of a pet name than any acknowledgement of rank, and Chris found it sweet and endearing because even though he had let so many people down, let so many people die, Piers still looked up to him. The sniper tackled him back into the bed, wrapping his arms around Chris's shoulders and burying his face in his chest. Chris closed his eyes and managed to hug him back.
"Jill, calm down, I'm right here." Chris reached out for her slender frame, so much skinnier since she had gotten home, trying to calm her with his familiar touch. Sometimes she would let him, sometimes she would curl up on his chest and breathe him in and it would bring her back.
This was not going to be one of those times. He could tell as soon as he extended his arm, because she gave him this venomous look and shoved him roughly away from her. But she didn't even really seem to be looking at him, or at least not seeing him, and then she was screaming again, louder, like she desperately wanted someone to hear her and save her. And even though Chris was right there, right fucking there, she was the one who was gone and so she just kept screaming. "Make him stop! Please, please stop it!" Thrashing at air, shaking her head so that her newly platinum hair would dance around her face, clawing out wildly at absolutely nothing. Over and over, crying out that it hurts, it hurts, and nothing he did ever made her stop, breathe Jill breathe its over.
With Piers, it was easier. He was still clinging to Chris' body, and every so often a few stray tears would fall free and dampen the shirt he was wearing. "Captain," he repeated, clinging to the man underneath him. "Chris, make it stop." Make it stop, just like Jill, but Chris was powerless to do anything but fucking be there and endure the pain along with them. He couldn't change what had happened, though he would gladly give his life a thousand times over in the most painful of ways to have saved either of them from what they went through.
He hated that helpless feeling more than he had ever hated anything in his life. Knowing that the people he loved were suffering and he hadn't been able to keep them safe. He had dedicated his life to keeping people safe, but couldn't do anything to protect those closest to him, and that said more about him as a person than any medal or title or honor ever could.
"I'm right here, kid," Chris said again, moving a hand lightly over Piers' flesh. Sometimes he would stray too far and he would feel the scarred and knotted skin by his shoulder, the intricate tracery of scar tissue that covered his arm and part of his face. Piers hated his scars because they reminded him of what had happened. Jill hated her scars because they reminded her of what had happened. All of Chris' scars were small and not worth mention, but the ones on his heart were killing him from the inside out. The scars on the inside were always the worst kind, or some poetic bullshit like that. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Thanks, Chris," Piers said quietly, faltering a little, like he was embarrassed to have been reduced to a screaming sobbing mess in front of his role model. Chris was honestly just happy Piers was clinging to him instead of pushing him away, because those nights with Jill had always been the worst.
The pair stayed like that for a long while. This time, it was Chris who was drifting far away, into his own thoughts. His own fears. The things that kept him up at night. Piers has his head resting on Chris' chest, his fingers occasionally drawing little circles there. Chris recalled the countless times Jill had laid upon him in this exact position. After he would calm her down, or she would snap out of it, she would crawl into his arms, sometimes crying but more often than not just laying there silently. Chris had been so relieved to find her alive, but upon coming home he realized that just because she was breathing didn't mean she wasn't dead. She was a ghost, he was sleeping with a ghost at night. Living dead, just a different kind than they fought against. Not that the irony was lost on him.
And the void started to take its toll on him.
For a long time, he thought the nights where she would scream and thrash about were the worst thing he would ever have to endure. Worse than any warzone or outbreak for sure, seeing her in pain like that. He was wrong, though, so fucking wrong, because the longer it went on the worse it got.
She was perfectly still that night, and as Chris stole a glance at her he thought that she might actually sleep through the night. It had been a week since either of them had gotten any decent rest; their exhaustion was visible in his dark circles and the way she was always slumped over when she moved, like she was trying to disappear into herself. Chris settled back into his pillow and slung an arm over her waist, never her chest, never anywhere near her scars, and closed his eyes.
He may have actually fallen asleep, or maybe only thought he did. When he heard a low groaning sound, his eyes shot open and he looked over at her. He had always been a light sleeper, programmed to wake at the slightest sound because it might be a BOW or some other threat. Lately he was waking every time Jill rolled over in bed, terrified that she might start having another night terror or panic attack.
This night was different though. She wasn't screaming or flailing or jolting up in the bed or anything. She was just laying there, and her expression was shadowed and undecipherable, but he thought she was frowning, and then she let out another groan and it sounded sort of painful but clearly the dream wasn't bad enough to wake her up. Chris shifted closer, pulling her body in and breathing in her familiar smell. And he thought that maybe, maybe they were going to sleep through the night for the first time in ages, and that was the moment she let it slip out. There was an edge of hysteria in the way she said it, no, breathed it, like it just came out as easily as the breath she had just released. But it was calm at the same time, like it was the most normal thing in the world for her to murmur into the pillow, Albert, Albert, and she said it again and Chris had to close his eyes to stop from seeing red.
He would have taken the screaming any time over her moaning out his name like that. Chris had suspected what Jill meant when she said that he didn't want to know what Wesker had done to her, but he had been polite and he hadn't asked, and she had never told him, and now here she was in the bed they shared whispering his name in her sleep.
Chris had to get up and leave the room.
He thought the night terrors were the worst, but he was always being proven wrong.
Chris shook his head against the painful memories. Refocused on the soldier laying on his chest. As if he could hear Chris' heartbeat pick up, Piers looked up at him, concern etched into his features. Piers wasn't allowed to worry about Chris, no, Chris was the one that was supposed to be worried about everyone all the time. Still, it was nice to know that someone noticed that he wasn't fucking invincible and he had to feel this pain too.
"You're thinking about Jill again," Piers said blankly, frowning a little. No emotion. Not jealousy or anger or anything someone might expect. Just noting the reality of the situation.
Chris still felt the need to look away. "What makes you say that?"
"You've got you thinking about Jill face on again."
Chris sighed. Nothing got past the sniper ever. He could read Chris like an open book, or whatever the cliché was. "I just haven't checked in on her in a while."
Piers nodded in understanding. Another person might have felt envy that the person they were crazy about was still stuck on someone else. But Piers, he understood. The things Chris and Jill had gone through couldn't be overlooked, and they could never be forgotten. Chris liked to keep in touch with Jill and make sure she was doing okay, and Piers knew that if the story were reversed, if Chris was in her bed instead of his, Jill would understand too. The survivors had to stick together.
Piers rolled off of him and into the bed. "Go call her," he said seriously.
Chris made a low sound in the back of his throat, but his arms went out to pull Piers back onto his chest, holding him there. "I promised I wasn't going anywhere."
Piers nodded again. He knew better than to argue with his captain. If there was anyone that was set in his ways, it was Chris. He settled into the hold, and closed his eyes. "Night, Captain," he mumbled, his lips moving against Chris' shoulder as he spoke.
"Night, Piers," came the quiet reply. For Piers, it was enough, and he soon drifted off into a beautifully dreamless sleep.