BloodMoney Oneshots (Billy X Weasel)

Hang In There

Weasel coughed, a dry, wheezing kind of cough. He coughed for nearly five minutes until he could finally calm down, but when he breathed, the sound of him wheezing gave him a sinking feeling that he might not get better any time soon.

Cough. Cough. Gag. His breath hitched, and he attempted to swallow, only to wince as his throat constricted and a sharp pain stopped him. He was sick. Sick as a dog, and in the middle of a hellish prison where the closest thing they had to a doctor was Sal.

Sal learned quite a bit of medical practice from his underground doctor, though not enough for major surgeries, he could still possibly save the mobsters lives if absolutely necessary. But why would he do that for Albert? He hated the little con-man.

Al winced again as he tried to swallow a second time. He started another coughing fit, struggling to catch his breath through the painful wheezes. A hand on his back startled him, but through his coughing he couldn't turn to see who it was. The hand rubbed gentle circles into his shoulder blades, somewhat easing his discomfort. He finally stopped coughing and just leaned back into the arms of the mobster behind him, instantly realizing it was Billy since he couldn't feel buttons on the uniform.

"Sal! I think that big asshole did more to Al than we thought!" He yelled.

He's right. Al thought. He had completely forgotten that Brutus had slammed his baton into Albert's ribs a few hours ago. He felt fine at the time, just a little sore and bruised, but now he seems to be getting worse and he realized that wasn't a good sign.

He panted, fever raging as he tried to get air through his short, wheezing gasps. Suddenly Sal appeared, and he was gently pushed away from the hitman's arms. Sal gently pressed his fingers to Al's side, making him wince in pain. He didn't have the energy to flinch, and he just watched as his ribcage sunk inward at an awkward angle.

That definitely wasn't good.

"He might have a collapsed lung." Sal mumbled. "C'mon, we better move him to the infirmary."

-

Sal dug around in the draws and bags that was left in the infirmary, frantically searching for the tools he needs to help the Weasel. Billy stood in the doorway, not sure if he should leave or stay, looking over at the smaller male with worry and desperation etched into his features. Al just lay on the cot and gasped for air, staring half lidded at absolutely nothing. Finally, Sal seemed to find what he needed and told Billy to leave.

He walked around, trying to find Finn. After a while he gave up and decided to just go wait on the roof. He spaced out, staring at the raging water below, unable to get the sight of the con-man desperately gasping for air out of his head. He sighed.

You better not die... he thought. He started pacing, walking in circles around the runway ramp. He was impatient, not like he was ever able to stand still for very long anyway, but he was mostly worried. He tried avoiding his feelings for the older man, but it never worked. He hid it well, but not from himself.

Sal came up to the roof, making Billy stop his nervous pacing. He tried his best to look emotionless, like he usually does, but Sal could see the worry in his glacier blue eyes.

"You worried?"

"No." Billy snapped unintentionally. He immediately looked guilty. "Maybe..." Billy frowned at the blood on Sal's hands and sleeves, the worry in his eyes shining through again. He looked somewhat like a child who was worried their dog wouldn't come back home after it ran away.

"He's okay," Sal said "if you were wondering."

Billy nodded. "Its not a good way to go.. it's a slow painful death, I mean I wouldn't wanna die like that." It was Sal's turn to nod.

"He's sleeping now, but someone needs to stay in the infirmary with him when the next round starts. He shouldn't be moving at all for a while, Brutus really fucked him up."

"I'll stay then. Keep the freaks out."

"Its easy enough, just close the doors. You can either stay outside or stay inside and keep an eye on him."

"I'll figure it out."

"It is late though, you should get to bed." Sal gave a slight smile.

-

Albert yawned, wincing at the sharp pain in his side. Gunshots and screams could be heard outside the closed off infirmary, both doors to the tiny room barricaded. He felt safe enough, knowing if zombies were to break through he would be defenseless. But Billy was there and it made him feel better.

He looked over at the larger man,  noticing his crystal colored eyes were filled with guilt and worry.

Billy wouldn't tell him, obviously, but he felt bad. It was his fault, he had told Albert to deal with Brutus on his own because he was busy with the smaller zombies. He was surrounded, sure, but it would have been easy enough to go help the smaller male with a powerful demon at least twice his size.

He sighed. He refused to swallow his pride, or at least most of it, but he did eventually ask if Al was feeling okay.

"I guess." Albert croaked. "Could be worse." He coughed, wheezing.

Billy chose his next words carefully. He wanted to tell Al he was sorry, or to say he's glad he didn't die. He wanted to hug the older male, too, but figured even if he had the courage to, it would hurt him. "Don't over exert yourself." Was all he said.

Al smiled. He pointed at a thin blanket that was neatly folded on a shelf. "Can you get that for me? I'm cold"

Billy grabbed the blanket and spread it out, gently tossing it over the smaller man's thin frame. Al reached up and pulled Billy down by his shirt collar, kissing his cheek before releasing him. The hitman just looked angrily flustered and sat back down in his chair, face red as a tomato and avoiding looking at the con-man. Albert just giggled and settled in, falling back to sleep.