Awaking to his own sputtering and coughing, Peter's chest burned in molten pain. Eyelids flew open and his eyes moved frantically. His chest lurched and the agony increased forcing him to lay back down when he didn't even realise he was up in the first place. His lungs spasmed as he coughed more, throat constricted. There was movement and people were talking to him but he didn't listen. Couldn't hear past the blood thumping through his ears. Gripping his chest caused the strain to increase making him sputter. His chest continued to contract and spasm as the pain shot through his body in waves. It wouldn't settle. He gripped, the sheets? Beneath him and coughed up more spit. His head ached and he felt exhausted. His back arched as he barked more, making the bed rattle. Some one had grabbed his arms and held him down while there was another one his chest making him howl and they quickly retreated.

The pain exploded and he held back another scream as there was more movement. His eyes were screwed shut as the arms holding him down shifted slightly but stayed there. His lungs went through some more spasms before calming and he managed to still his breathing. He slowly opened his eyes to see he was on a bed? In James' old room. The one holding him down looked like it was his dad but his eyes were blurry and he couldn't see nor think straight. He was breathing heavily despite the pain and tried to gasp for air. It wasn't working. He heard someone come into the room and through his glassy eyes could make out a white coat. Doctor? Doctor. The arms moved slightly and the white coat approached. No. No hands on his chest. He didn't want anyone near his chest. He shifted but that only made it much worse and he yelped as the pain rushed through him.

There was some more movement and he felt his shirt move and a hand on his chest. It moved and as it reached on area his pain tripled. He lurched back and the hand moved away.

'...Right side...Fracture...bloomed...Neck to...Arm as well' What?

Everything was blurred and he whined in confusion. There was more movement before he felt something over his mouth, breathing softened and his eyes fell closed softly.

The next time he woke up there was no one there. James' room was still painted a pastel blue and the blinds were half closed. The sun trickled in and coloured the wooden floors in a warm glow. The door was open slightly and the rug still as tattered beneath it. The room hadn't been used for a while and his desk was still as it was. Littered with pens and paper as well as books Peter never bothered looking at. He focused on his breathing and it scratched at his throat, a dull pain under his lungs. He suspected they were damaged from being crushed by the horse. He pulled himself up slowly and realised he was in his pyjamas and his sleeves were rolled up. Looking at his right arm there was an ugly spread of purple and deep green down the side, plumes of red and yellow mixed within. A deep bruise caused by the horse or the harbour? He couldn't tell. Moving it made him ache so he laid it back down on the bed and decided to unbutton his pyjama top.

It took him a minute to unbutton them with one hand and shifted the warm fabric out of the way. once opened a large bruise similar to the one on his arm but with blue instead of yellow bloomed across his chest on the right. It bloody hurt. The bruise flourished by his rib cage and upper shoulder. Wincing he began buttoning up his shirt again. His breathing was shallow and hitched, no doubt from the bruising. He peered at his left hand, noticing some scabs along his palm. they were mostly healed but blossomed a deep maroon as they went, tailing off at his wrist. They must be the result of a burn, the blisters peeling away to scab. After his top was buttoned up again he tried to swing his legs off the bed. It ached but not as much as breathing and he managed to stand. It was tiring but he pulled it off and made his way to the door. He tripped on the rug and fell into the door with an ear-splitting thump, chest burning. He pulled back as he heard rushed footsteps up the stairs. Peter stepped back as the door opened.

George came into his view with unkempt hair and tired eyes, the cloud in his left one even darker, along with messy pyjamas.

'Pete!' his was breathing wildly and looked at him with excitement. Smile as wide as that day on the tree. He tried his voice but it cracked and felt itchy. He tried to convey that he needed a drink before George perked up and left the room. Rushing back with a glass for him. He drank it steadily but it felt incredible so tried to drink more of it, making his lungs spasm as he halted and began having a coughing fit. George grabbed the glass and put it gently on the desk before ushering him to sit on the bed as his coughs stilled.

'S-sorry' 'It's fine!' George moved to sit next to him.

'You've got us all worried! You've been out for days! It's almost September and your dad was sure you weren't goin' to wake up!' he was bounding up and down, dark curls bouncing along, as he explained. 'What. What did I mess up this time?' His voice was still rough and dry.

'Nothing! Well, you've fra-fracta-fr-' 'Fractured' 'Yeah! One of your ribs and damaged some others slightly and bruised a lot of your body. They don't know how though. Mr Dawson and the Doctor both agreed you would need a lot of rest anyway.'

'I was crushed.' Might as well tell him.

'W-what?' his brows furrowed and he tried to explain.

'W-when the planes came. I was with the horses at the harbour with the other lads and-' George made him pause so he could regain his breath. 'And the harbour was hit first, the horse came down on me as she was killed. I was stuck for a couple minutes until I could pull myself out'.

George shook his head and grabbed his good arm 'Jesus Christ Pete, and the burns? The doctor said you must have grabbed something the way your hand burned'. He nodded as he continued.

'I saved a little boy, grabbed the red hot bannister, was a bad idea but I tripped running up' He pulled a short laugh out and George smiled fondly. 'Alright well, Mr Dawson is out now. You need rest- the doctor is coming back later to check on you, awake or not. come one'. He pulled him into bed carefully and tucked him and left with the glass from before, closing the door softly. It wasn't long until he fell asleep again.

The third time he woke up and there were three people in the room. Opening his eyes he felt a lot better, chest heaving properly and only a dull ache. He lifted himself and they all looked at him happily. George was sat in the desk's chair giving him a happy smile and his father and the white coat, who he assumed was the doctor, were standing at the door talking. He was in a different set of Pyjamas and it had short sleeves. He looked at his arm to see the bruise all but gone, a little brown and green around the side but other than that healthy. How long was he out? He started unbuttoning his shirt to check his chest and George squealed and the other two looked at him.

'Ah ah! Young man don't do that, you'll hurt yourself!' 'Pete, how are you feeling?' George was red to his ears and looking out of the window instead and the other giving him a fond smile as he dropped his hands.

'Better, my arm doesn't hurt anymore' The doctor came over and checked his arm, scribbling some notes down as he went. 'Alright, you can take your top off, slowly and with care' He did as he was told and he looked a lot better. The large bruise was all but gone apart from in a small area of yellow and deep brown halfway down his rib cage and was surrounded by a purple ring.' The doctor prodded him some and at one point it was painful, not like before but it still hurt. The doctor noted this and pulled away and he put his top back on slowly.

'Good, you have healed nicely in the seventeen days you've been all but dormant for. The rib has probably almost healed, though I suggest you ease off on it for a couple of months and then after. Your eighth ribbed was fractured by-' he trailed off as Peter re-told the incident, the man writing it down and his dad giving him a very concerned look. 'right, being crushed. Your arm should be completely fine in a couple of days and your burns have healed nicely but I suggest you heal up in bed for another week before you start doing every day things again. And certainly, no going out on those boats' he had turned to his dad as he spoke who quickly agreed. He forgot about his burned hand. He looked down and noticed there was a pale scar where the burns were, blooming upwards across his palm. 'I am highly impressed you managed to run and do more even physical labour with the rib like it was, but you shouldn't do that sort of thing again. You heal fast, I've only seen a few like you in my career' He nodded and the doctor finished up some things as he dad showed him out of the door. He had no idea what day it was but it e guessed it would be at least mid-September. George chatted to him as he fell into another vacant but pleasant slumber.

When he woke up again for the first time in a while he felt alive again, able to get out of bed with ease and his chest no longer burned and he took in a deep breath. And exhaled.

He could breathe again.

He trekked downstairs to see his father reading the Sunday newspaper and George cuddling with Jasper who jumped up to greet him. His father nodded at him and told him breakfast would have to be toast today. After eating some buttered toast and having something to drink he was ushered back upstairs to have a bath and get changed. The bruising was all but gone and he could put some pressure on his rib without any pain. His arm was at full capacity and he felt a lot better after cleaning off all the dirt and other fragments stuck in his hair from the bombing. That's what it had been. A bombing. Completely uncalled for but it had still happened. Still taken lives and ruined homes. He tried not to think about it as he moved downstairs and sat on the settee with Jasper on his lap, relaxing with an intake of the air he missed.

Life would have to carry on. Though that wasn't an entirely bad thing either.