Title: Enough

Disclaimer: I do not own Chaos.

A/N: Nothing new here. But this sort of thing still makes me happy. With thanks to sockie1000 for her beta.

Summary: Because it's a gunshot to the chest, which means Billy's going to die.


It's a gunshot to the chest. Rick is bent over at the waist, losing his lunch. Michael is pale, barking orders into his phone about an extraction plan -now.

Casey, though, doesn't hesitate. There's no time.

Because it's a gunshot to the chest, which means Billy's going to die.

Unless Casey acts fast.

On his knees, he flings Billy's jacket open before hastily ripping his dress shirt open. He's not wearing a tie or vest, at least, but buttons still go flying. His v-neck undershirt is half-saturated with blood, but Casey doesn't bother stopping at that. Instead, he takes the v at the collar and rips it clean down the front for better access to the wound.

It's hard to see with the blood, so Casey pauses to run his hand across the red soaked plane of Billy's chest. He feels the wound first, bunched and raised. Making a face, he leans closer, watching at blood wells up from the wound again, trickling down the side of Billy's chest as it hitches up and down desperately.

It's bad. Casey can already hear the gurgling as Billy inhales sharply, and it's only a matter of time before he starts to drown in his own blood. Of course, that's assuming the blood loss doesn't kill him first.

"Bloody hell," Billy groans, lifting his head to look. "Oh, bloody hell."

Casey glares at him as he shrugs out of his own jacket. "That's one of your most accurate descriptions ever," he mutters, balling up his jacket and pressing it down.

Billy cries out at the contact, his body writhing in obvious pain. Casey bears down, though - unrelenting.

His strength fading, Billy's legs kick feebly and he sobs shortly. "That hurts," he says, the words thick.

Casey sets his lips in a firm line. "Of course it does," he says, matter of fact. "You've been shot in the chest and the bullet's still in there. From the sound of your breathing, it's shredded your lung. The color of the blood suggest it's arterial, which means you're also bleeding out."

Billy is watching him now, eyes wide against his colorless skin. "Casey," he says, the name barely audible. "I'm-"

Billy doesn't finish, but he doesn't have to. Casey knows. Casey knows Billy's hurting and scared. He knows he's in agony, and he knows he's terrified. He knows Billy doesn't want to die - Billy really, really doesn't want to die - and he doesn't want the last thing he sees to be some crappy warehouse in a city none of them can even pronounce right. Billy doesn't want to be a nameless victim on a mission they shouldn't even be on; he doesn't want to let the bad guys win. He doesn't want to drown painfully and slowly while his best friends watch. He doesn't want to be a star on a wall or ashes across a field in Scotland.

Casey knows that and more.

He holds fast, and he keeps Billy's gaze. "You're nothing," he says tersely. "You're going to be fine."

Billy's inhalations are ragged now, blood flecking his lips. "Casey, please-"

He's almost begging, but it's not release Casey will give him. No, Casey will never let Billy quit. And he'll never quit Billy.

He shakes his head, stubborn. "You've been shot in the chest," he says again. "But I'm not easing the pressure and Michael's got help coming and Rick's going to hold your hand when he stops hurling and we're all doing your part, so you just have to stay alive, okay?"

Billy looks like he wants to disagree. His head is shaking and his eyes are full.

Casey grits his teeth, pressing down harder. Billy chokes on a cry. "Say okay," Casey demands.

Tears leak from Billy's eyes, and he's starting to tremble. It takes all the energy he has just to hold Casey's gaze. It takes even more to nod, one word forming on his lips. "Okay."

It's not much, and there's still too much blood and Michael is yelling and Rick is crying and Billy is fading.

It's not much, but Casey holds firm and believes that it's enough.