A/N: Okay, so I originally thought this would be the last chapter, but as it turns out, there will be at least one more after it that'll likely wrap everything up. c: Also, yay for my limited medical knowledge~ Don't eat me out over it too badly, please. D: I was intentionally, well, vague on those details so I wouldn't look like a *complete* idiot. It's sad how little I know about the really, really basic crap. :c
"Piers!"
The voice was a distant ring in his ears through the haze of black and throbbing he felt in his skull. Hands were on him, shaking him as his name was repeated, but all the sniper wanted was to be left alone. His body had already been set aflame, aching and throbbing with every subtle movement or brush of air against his flesh.
"Piers, come on! Wake up! What the hell did you do?"
A sudden stinging sensation flared along his cheek that sent tendrils of pain digging into already present wounds. Piers made the slightest wince, and the use of his facial muscles only added to the aching of his flesh. Hazel eyes fluttered, his vision blurred as he stared up at the ceiling, momentarily confused until the memory of the night before slowly rolled back into place in his mind.
A brush past a bystander nearly had Piers topple over, the light force like the winds of a hurricane in his fucked up state of mind. He stumbled momentarily, head swimming now that he'd been off the adrenaline high from the fight earlier. A deft hand caught itself against the nearest wall of whatever the building was that he'd been in front of, holding his weight upright and giving him some small semblence of balance.
He coughed, another small sputter of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth with even tinier droplets that splashed onto his hand, marking it with dots of red. Piers spat to the side then swallowed afterwards, the familiar taste of blood never leaving him as he trudged forward.
Several sets of eyes - dozens, by now - had stared at him as though he was a wild beast that tore itself free from a cage, on the loose but not without damage taken from his daring escape. He paid them no heed as they walked right on by, leaving him to stumble onward towards his destination. Hazel eyes were downcast, watching his own unsteady feet up until the point there was no wall left to hold onto as his gaze redirected upward, skittering along the too bright shine of signs and street lights, blinding against his irises and fuel to the raging fire that was his headache.
There was a car horn somewhere off to the side, blaring in his eardrums as though a storm had been screaming on inside his skull. A hand clutched his head, swearing that the dull throb had beat back against his palm. A voice resounded somewhere in the distance the horn had come from, screaming vulgar words that fell upon ears too deafened by the sound of his own blood pumping through his system.
He didn't stop.
Right - he'd spent hours staggering down the streets, catching the gazes of more than a dozen onlookers who never stopped to offer aid. He didn't blame them, of course, given his current condition, and even if they had he would have denied them the chance to help. He'd known what he looked like; drunk off his feet, beaten, bloody in the face and on his hands. Any person in their right mind would have avoided him like the plague.
That's what he felt like, now. Like his skin was crawling with disease, his open wounds screaming to be treated. Muscles weak from the after effects of the booze, and the extra strain he'd put on them to force himself to make it down the lengthy streets then through his own front door.
It'd taken an embarrassing amount of tries before the key finally slipped into its proper slot to give him entry into the household. Piers, who'd idiotically rested too much of his weight against the frame while struggling with the key, fell inside the moment the door swung open. Uncoordinated hands had shot out, just barely dulling the sensation of his collision with the floor as he caught himself on his knees, his face nearly smacking dead on into the tile as he struggled to hold himself up.
He leaned forward, then - just enough to rest his forehead against the hard floor as he breathed, wetting the surface beneath him with droplets of his own blood that had yet to dry. He didn't care about the fucking mess - couldn't even bring himself to hardly register it in that state.
Coupled with the fight and the walk, the booze wreaked havoc on him. Its effects should have dwindled - dissipated for most others, but his system seemed to cling to it like a lifeline, and he wasn't sure if it was just his body that betrayed him, or if somewhere in the back of his head he'd wanted the extra kick to the balls.
Knowing that he wasn't exactly in the best predicament, and his position was hardly in any way comfortable or easy on the wounds, Piers managed to lift his torso with shaking arms until he was resting fully back on his knees. With a ringing in his ears, he put his focus into getting up as a hand reached for the knob of the door to use as some small form of leverage.
Fuck, he felt sick.
He'd been through hell and back during his time with the B.S.A.A. already, but with all the recent events that dumped themselves over his shoulders... There were a lot of other people who would have stumbled long before he did.
The moment after his legs supported him again, Piers threw the door shut and headed toward the bedroom. He had medical supplies in the bathroom connected to it, and as it was, the bed was a very tempting thought...
He'd made it home, just as he intended. Yet the details beyond that were blurry. Piers could recall staggering into his bedroom, collapsing to the floor again, this time at the foot of the bed with bloodied hands clutching at the sheets. He'd worn himself thin, and everything was black after that. He must have passed out, the crusted blood over his skin and uncovered wounds told him he hadn't been able to treat them first.
It was certainly an explanation to why he felt even more shitty than the night - had it been that long? - prior.
A figure slid into view, hovering over him as though to ensure he was all right. In his current state of mind, he'd nearly forgotten there was someone else in the room as he blinked hard in an attempt to clear the image.
"Hey. You with me? Say something, Piers."
He recognized the voice first, now that his mind had some small clarity to it. The sniper reached out an arm to nudge at the heavy outline and put some distance between them so he could push himself backwards on his elbows toward the end of the bed. He must have fallen a small distance away from it when he blacked out, and Piers adjusted himself so his back was against it.
"What do you want, Chris?" The sound hadn't come out nearly as strong as he'd hoped as he eyed the older man through half lidded eyes - one normal and one horrifically swollen.
But his Captain would have none of that, "What happened?" He countered.
"I'll give you one free guess," The ace's single good eye narrowed further to match the battered other in a slit. A meaty hand outstretched to reach for his chin, and Piers smacked it away with a scoff. "Why are you here?" He tried again.
"Piers." Chris warned, tone stern.
Piers turned away then, as he pushed off from the mattress he was leaning against to force himself into a stand. He didn't look back at the sound of rustling clothes as his Captain rose with him, and instead made a motion to step forward toward the bathroom to properly wash up and tend to his wounds as he'd originally meant to. His body was more steady, his head clear all but for the remaining headache that had yet to offer any reprieve. He still felt like shit - face throbbing, body aching in all the places he'd been hit. He could practically feel the bruises already formed along his skin. His body seemed to have coped with it better now that he was up and moving again, perhaps it was merely the sense of reawakening that had him momentarily believe he'd been worse off now than before. He didn't dare to delve deeper into that train of thought, not with the pain in his head kicking up such a storm.
Piers caught movement in the corner of his eye, he felt his heart skip a beat momentarily while he observed as his Captain made an attempt to reach out and stop him from moving on his own, only to think twice about it given that his arm lowered back to his side. The sniper exhaled and kept moving, his balance renewed as he stepped through the door and pulled open the cabinet that housed the medical supplies. What good it would do now that the blood had more or less clotted wasn't so much of a concern as the always present threat of infection. As for the swelling; he'd have to put ice on it later, but even with it he reckoned it'd still take a few days to tone down. Until then, he doubted he looked much better than he felt.
Piers set the supplies on the counter and turned on the faucet to let the water run over his hands, washing away the blood and grime from the previous night. "You should leave," He spoke into the sink as he bent forward to splash a few handfuls of clear liquid over his features. He turned off the flow and grabbed a towel from the side to dab away at anything that was wet, and hazel eyes lifted to the mirror to catch the older man leaning against the door frame behind him, brow furrowed with a gaze that seemed far off.
"Chris?" The sniper spoke up again when he received no reply.
The reflection of brown eyes snapped toward him in an instant after his name was called, and older features fell into a scolding expression. "What the hell were you thinking?"
That provoked a soft snort, "I thought... I don't know what I thought." Piers averted his eyes to the counter where he popped open the kit that housed the proper supplies. "I guess it doesn't matter much now, does it?"
"You're a damn idiot, you know that?"
Piers could hear the resounding footsteps, he could practically feel Chris move close enough to breathe down his neck and it all made him pause for a fraction of a second before his fingers were back in motion grabbing at the antibiotics and bandages. "I'll take your word for it, Captain."
Chris sighed, "Piers, I didn't mean... Look, I didn't come here to fight. I came here because we need to talk, but right now you need help."
The ace's head snapped up at that with a sharp glare, his brow furrowed and muscles tense. "Talk? I think we've done enough of that already. I told you to leave."
"I heard you the first time." Chris reached for the sniper's hands to gently pull free the items within so they dropped back into the kit. Piers opened his cracked, bow-shaped lips to lash out an angry reply, but Chris grabbed the kit himself and motioned for the ace to follow, cutting off further comebacks with a firm, "But I'm not leaving before we sit down and talk. We're not going to do that until after those wounds are taken care of."
With reluctance and a mouth that was tugged into a hard frown, Piers found himself falling in line behind Chris, where the older man led them back to the bed and sat down. Piers hesitated, deciding not to be too agreeable when Chris gave a motion that told him to do the same. His lean figure stood firmly in place, arms folded over his chest defiantly. "I'm not an infant, Chris. I don't need to be treated like one."
Chris pointed a finger his way, "Don't give me that. Now sit down or we'll never get through this."
"Damn it, Chris! You can't just-"
"Piers," The Captain warned, voice risen and stern. "I'm not asking."
The sniper exhaled through his nostrils, plump lips pressed firmly together as he gave in after all, despite his stubborn nature insisting that he do otherwise. He lowered himself next to Chris with a generous amount of room between them, too much even that the older man had to edge closer with a soft sigh.
Piers scowled when a hand under his chin forced him to face the other man so Chris could dab at his skin with antibiotics. Hazel eyes stubbornly avoided looking at him, plump lips still pouted into a frown that mimicked an angry child's. The same look Piers would always get any time Chris peppered Finn with affection over him. The Captain smiled a little at the thought, and hazel colored eagle eyes did not miss the gesture.
"What did you want?" The sniper's voice cut through the short silence while Chris tended to his wounds for him.
The Captain slowed his movements, almost to a halt at the query. It only took a moment to regain his composure. "To say I'm sorry, for starters." The words were enough to cause hazel eyes to shift towards him before he added, "None of this was your fault, I know that now."
The sniper's frown deepened, "What's that supposed to mean?" Piers pushed at the hands seeking to help him so he could give the older man a good, more meaningful stare in the eye. "The last time we talked, you didn't exactly seem interested in having a whole lot more to do with me."
"I made a bad call. I thought the things that happened were... Something they weren't." It was always easier to blame another other than oneself. Chris had done well to avoid it numerous times in the past, but when he'd found out about the things he done... He'd hardly wanted to believe he could have been fully responsible. He'd felt just as violated.
Piers shifted, prepared to rise again and distance himself from Chris, but the older man tugged him back as he made the attempt. "I shouldn't have said what I did, and I'm sorry. I just... Wanted you to know that." He sighed, and Piers eyed him with a furrowed brow. "I don't know what went on last night or how you ended up like... This," Chris made a small motion towards the sniper's battered frame, though slightly more cleaned up after the Captain's aid. "But you have every right to blame me for it."
The ace's jaw tightened as hazel eyes averted themselves, considering what was said. After a brief silence, "You toss me out, and now you want to act like a few words are going to fix that?" Piers turned again toward the older man, this time meeting no resistance as he rose back to his feet. Chris hardly blinked at him, eyes only slightly wider than the norm as though he half expected the outburst, but was still hoping for a more civil outcome.
Piers reached for the kit and snatched it up, taking it with him back into the bathroom and onto the counter where he'd originally placed it. He hardly spared Chris another glance, even when he called over a shoulder, "It's time for you to go." The tone was stern and final, enough confirmation that the conversation was over as he stuck on a butterfly bandage along the skin of his temple.
Chris exhaled heavily and gave the slightest nod even while knowing Piers likely could not see even in the mirror from his position. He pushed off from the mattress in a stride for the door, only to pause a fraction of the way and chance a glance back. With a final thought, he instead diverted his course to stand just outside the open bathroom, "Piers... Just so you know," Chris waited until hazel eyes rose to meet his own, although they shimmered with a warning. "Alpha's waiting for you, whenever you're ready to come back." Thick fingers tapped at the doorway briefly before pushing him off.
Piers stiffened in place and watched him go.