The train shakes violently beneath you while white light flashes endlessly through the windows.

Everything hurts.

Your ribs burn every time you breathe, pain radiating through your entire body while you sit slumped against the seat, too exhausted to even hold yourself upright properly anymore.

Beside you, Peter looks worse.

His head rests heavily against the train window, curls messy and damp with sweat, bruises dark across his face while uneven breaths keep leaving him shakily.

Then the train jerks hard.

A broken sound tears from Peter immediately.

“Ahh—”

He folds forward slightly, one arm wrapping tightly around his ribs while another low moan slips through clenched teeth.

The sound alone makes your stomach twist.

Because he sounds like he’s in real pain.

Not hiding it.

Not joking through it.

Just hurting.

Peter tries breathing through it, chest rising unevenly before another sharp cough suddenly rips out of him.

The cough makes his whole body tense violently.

“Mmh—”

Another rough cough follows immediately, weaker this time, and a quiet whimper escapes him afterward before he can stop it.

You can barely move yourself, but instinctively your hand shifts toward him across the seat.

Your fingers brush his wrist weakly.

Peter grabs onto your hand instantly.

Tight.

His grip shakes badly against yours while another pained breath leaves him.

The flashing white lights streak across his face every few seconds, showing the way his expression twists whenever the train rattles again.

Your own breathing stutters from another wave of pain.

A weak sound leaves you too before your head falls back heavily against the seat.

Peter hears it immediately.

Even now.

His fingers tighten harder around yours before another strained cough leaves him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing uneven and shaky afterward.

The train roars loudly around both of you while neither of you can really do anything except sit there half-conscious and hurting.

Another violent jolt runs through the train car.

Peter suddenly grabs the edge of the seat with his free hand, a wrecked moan slipping from him as pain shoots through his ribs again.

You can tell he’s trying to stay quiet.

Trying not to react.

But he physically can’t anymore.

His head drops forward briefly while rough breaths keep leaving him one after another.

Then another cough tears painfully out of his chest.

You weakly squeeze his hand.

Peter immediately squeezes back.

Hard enough to almost hurt.

The flashing lights outside keep washing over both of you—

two broken figures slumped beside each other in the dark train car,

hands locked tightly together,

too injured,

too exhausted,

too weak to even speak while Peter’s quiet pained sounds and rough coughing keep filling the silence between the rattling tracks.