but Red is mine [vegaspete]

And in happy life choices

"There's nothing left."

***

Pete ran beside the stretcher that carried Vegas. There'd been a misunderstanding with the hospital crew when he'd called for help. They'd arrived with the stretcher to pick someone up. The fact that that person was Vegas had given them pause. But Pete didn't care. Fuck thier orders. Pete's gun was loaded and ready, if they weren't. If they hadn't taken him to the hospital, Pete was going to start killing medical practitioners till someone did something.

As he got to the bigger doors, they blocked him from going further. The gun he'd been pointing at the doctor moved to the nurse in his way. His eyes shifted, watching the stretcher that carried Vegas away.

"Move," Pete said to them.

"You can't go in there. You sure as hell can't take a gun into the operating room."

"Get out of my fucking way." He pressed the gun into the nurse' head.

Pamela, a middle-aged nurse that Pete had known for years. She stood her ground, staring back at him, daring him to pull the trigger. Breathing hard, Pete's hand shook. He could shoot her. She was standing between him and Vegas and Pete just... He yelled, pulling the gun back as he stepped away from her.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "He's from the minor family and everyone's-"

"No one will hurt him, Pete," Pamela said. "I'll make sure you get hourly updates. Do you hear me?"

Pete nodded, wanting to believe her. Because if no one said anything in an hour, Pete was taking this gun and heading in there.

"Look at me," Pamela said, drawing Pete's attention from where he'd been looking in the direction Vegas was taken. "Take a seat, Pete." She pulled Pete to the nearest bench seats in the waiting room. "Breathe with me."

"What?"

"In," she said, inhaling and waiting for Pete.

Unable to concentrate, Pete breathed in.

"Deep," she said.

Pete took another breath.

"And out."

Pete let it out.

"In again."

He obeyed.

"And out."

He let it out.

"That's good," she said, rubbing her hand up and down his arms. "That's good. You're no good to him if you collapse. You're bleeding."

"It's not my blood."

"Pete-"

"I'm fine."

"I'll check you out, anyway."

Pete had to sit there, tapping his foot against the floor as she bandaged his head and made him take off his shirt. Turns out, his shirt was bloodied up all over the back. But he wasn't hurt. His main injury was a cut to the shoulder. Considering the damage Pete had caused, this nick in the shoulder was nothing.

He sat through the first hour, when another nurse came out to tell him that they'd taken out the bullets and the doctor was closing up. Taking a deep breath like Pamela had shown him, Pete leaned against the back of his bench. That was good news. Good news was good. The bullets were gone. If there was a complication, they would have said so.

This was totally fine.

***

"Find someone else to take you to eat."