Fallen Angels ((UNEDITED))

Chapter Seven

"He burns my skin
Never mind about the shape I'm in
I'll keep you safe tonight yeah, yeah"
                              My Chemical Romance, Danger Days: The True Lives Of The Fabulous Killjoys
"S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W"

Peter started to regain consciousness, for some reason, he mentally came to his senses before he did physically. It felt like someone was sitting on his chest and restricting his ability to breathe. There was a bright light shone right in his eyes. Squinting, he tried to sit upright. He couldn't, his body just wouldn't move. What's happening? What's going on? Why can't I move? Oh my god... I'm dead, aren't I? Peter asked himself mentally and very nervously. He couldn't remember much of anything that had happened earlier that day. All he remembered was jumping out of the Jeep Wrangler he and Jack owned, from there on out he was drawing a blank. He didn't even remember Jack dying right in front of him.

There were some voices, none recognizable to Peter, of course. But some of what they said stuck out, but everything else was just mumbling and words that did not make any sense. It sounded like disembodied voices without any origin.

"Three broken ribs." Said one man.

"Healed very quickly." Said another.

They sounded American. But that could mean anything. More voices added in to the two others, it sounded like the mumbled voices in the background were arguing- but why?

"Because of his wings?" Asked a new one. Everything else sounding like white noise. The word 'wings' stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Probably." Said a previous male one.

"Should we be starting the experiments?" Asked a different one who seem to just now join the conversation.

"No!" A woman's voice said harshly. "We were told to wait until he was awake or at least responsive. Do you idiots have no idea what protocol is?" Wait what? I thought I was awake? I'm awake you idiots! Peter thought confused. There was a short silence while they thought.

"Well shou-"

"Shut up." Said the woman, cutting off the man. "Peter. Peter, can you hear me? Move your right hand if you can." She said in a voice that sounded like she genuinely cared, almost like she knew him. Peter tried to move his right hand. Still, he couldn't seem to move. "Irresponsive." She said, sounding almost sad. But suddenly, Peter's hand twitched. Just slightly, and almost unnoticeable but it was there. She moved closer; trying to see if his hand really did move. It did.

"How strong was that sedative? Christ." Said one man. Peter heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh. She had slapped him.

"He's slightly responsive." She snapped. "Now shut up. Or I will do a lot worse than just slap you. Understand?" Her temper seemed to be very short when it came to them saying anything remotely rude towards Peter.

"Yes'm."

"So just wake the stupid kid up!" Said another woman, who let out an agitated sigh.

"Just give him time! He'll wake up on his own!" The first woman practically shouted. "Do you people know how to listen! I've said it several times before." Wow, she's really protective of me. I wonder why... Peter thought curiously. His hand moved slightly again, he was really coming to instead of just his mind.

"Come, let's go. He'll wake soon, and then we can begin." Said the second woman. All of the people left. There had been at least six or seven people in the room, but they all exited together.

Peter groaned in pain when he was fully revived. He was in pain. There was a pain like fire in his rib cage and a throb in his head, but the pain was strong enough to make his whole body hurt. His head felt like someone had cracked a hammer over it. He rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up faster. What in the actual hell happened? Why do I feel so awful? And for the love of god why can't I remember anything? Peter thought almost angry with himself. He never forgot things, never, and yet, he found himself forgetting. It was strange and worry inducing.

He sat up. It took a great deal of pain and effort but he managed. For a short moment Peter was afraid that he was paralyzed. It took just about every ounce  of strength he had left to sit up. Probably not a good sign. He took a shaky breath but it was more like a gasp for air. He bit his lip to keep from yelling from the pain in his ribs. His lip was bleeding by the time the pain had subsided.

As he shifted his weight and tried to rise to his feet a groan rose in Peter's throat but he refrained from making a sound, nothing other than a silent sharp intake of breath. He was afraid, he already knew that it was known that he had been slowly regaining consciousness, but he wanted to slow their return as much as he possibly could. Though he wouldn't be able to slow them much.

He stood for about ten seconds before his legs gave way and he fell back onto the cot he had been sitting on.

Peter had not the slightest clue as to how long he'd been unconscious for. As for remembering what had happened, he didn't know that either. He hated not knowing, which was making the predicament even more concerning.

Two of the original six or seven returned. One was the woman who had been defending Peter, the other, was unknown.

"Hello, Peter. How are you feeling?" He glowered at her and refused to answer.

Don't give me that crap about caring. I know you don't. Peter thought to himself.

He was almost positive these people were bad news. He wasn't going to be very kind. But that woman was very persistent.

"How are you, Peter?" She asked again; this time her words were staccato. Still, he didn't answer, but rather flipped her off. Her expression darkened as she grabbed his shirt front.

"Answer me, or I will no longer even remotely defend you." She hissed. "Have fun when the guys are ripping you to shreds." She added as she forcefully shoved him back and turned on her heel to leave.

"Horrible." Peter snapped, finally breaking and giving in, answering her question. She turned quickly and had a look of surprise on her face. "I. Feel. Horrible."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." She said, obviously surprised that he answered, but her angered persona had dissipated.

That's a load of crap.

"No, you're not." He replied as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Peter, you do not know me in the least bit and have no right make that assumption. Anyway, would you like a painkiller? You have several broken ribs." Peter nodded very slightly; almost so slightly it couldn't be seen. But, she turned to the man and instructed him to get a painkiller for Peter. "You heal remarkably quickly." She continued as she leaned against the wall.

"What's your name?" Peter interjected. "You seem to know mine quite well." He added quickly as he saw her astonished look.

"I don't know if I want to tell you that." She she said; her voice sounding slightly strained. She pulled her black hair up into a slightly messy ponytail in an attempt to keep from fumbling with her hands.

"Tell me. Please." The woman sighed, but shook her head.

"I can't do that." She replied.

"Why not?"

"It's against protocol." He rolled his eyes.

"You're lying. Why can't you just tell me?" He asked as he looked up at her and looked her dead in the eyes.

"I really don't think it would be smart..."

"What is your name?" He asked again, but his voice now sounded like he was pleading with her.

"Jocelyn."