Nobody's Hero

"Pick up, fucker. Please pick up!" Phoenix Warren whispered to herself as she cowered in the closet of the bedroom she shared with her current boyfriend. Tears streamed down her face as she waited, and she knew that if she didn't get through, she was likely to have a panic attack. The phone at her ear rang and rang and she was sure her best friend since they were ten years old, Andy Biersack, wasn't going to pick up, but finally he did.

"Nix, what the fuck? Do you know what time it is?" Andy's groggy voice came through the line and she could tell she'd definitely woken him. In fact she didn't know what time it was. She just knew it was the middle of the night.

"S-s-scar, I need you," Phoenix mumbled, her speech slurred by her rapidly swelling face and state of drunkenness and using the nickname she'd had for him since they were kids. They'd wanted to be Disney characters and had picked each other's alter egos. His was Scar from 'The Lion King' and hers was Belle from 'Beauty and the Beast'. He'd liked to joke when they were younger that he was her beast. It was always cheesy as hell but he knew it made her smile so he kept saying it well into their adulthoods.

"Belle?! What's wrong? Where are you?" he demanded, automatically awake and automatically defaulting into protector mode.

"I'm... I'm at my apartment. I n-n-need you to come," she sobbed through the phone at him, and she could already hear him moving around his own bedroom, getting ready to come to her.

"What happened?" he asked as she could hear him pulling on clothes through the phone.

"Just... just come, Scar. P-p-please," she stuttered at him, wishing he'd stop asking her questions. Her face ached and she mostly just wanted to hug him.

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Do you want me to stay on the phone?" he asked, and she didn't have the energy to do anything more than make a noise of confirmation in the back of her throat. He took it as a yes. This wasn't the first time they'd had that conversation. He knew she didn't want him to leave her, so he wouldn't.

They didn't say anything else while he drove to her, but as she lay there against the wall still sobbing she was greatly comforted by listening to the noise of his car as he drove down the road. He kept the radio low in case she said anything and she could hear him cursing to himself every once in a while when someone else did something stupid on the road.

Before she knew it, she could hear him rummaging around the doormat of her apartment for the spare key and she heard her front door open. He hung up his phone and rushed through the house calling her name. She threw the closet door open when he got to the bedroom, doing everything she could to reach for him and call his name.

"Holy shit, Phoenix!" he yelled when he saw her, throwing himself on the floor beside her. "What the fuck happened? You're covered in blood! Are you okay?" he asked urgently, his hand rising to her face and feeling it gently. She winced under the touch as he cradled her in his arms.

"Pat... Patrick h-h-hit me," she mumbled, her mouth feeling like it was full of rocks.

"He fucking hit you?! I'll kill him," Andy said, his normally clear blue eyes filling with rage.

"And... Andy," she mumbled, reaching for his face. He leaned it down to her and she shook her head.

"We're going to the hospital. I'm going to lift you, okay?" he asked her, and she shook her head again.

"N-n-no. No h-hospital," she told him, and he shook his head back at her.

"Yes hospital, Nix. I'm taking you to the hospital right now," he said, lifting her. She tried to fight him but didn't have the energy. "Where is he?" he asked her, stopping in the light of the hallway so that he could see to look her in the eye. "Phoenix, tell me where he is," Andy repeated, his face hovering right above hers.

"Y-your eyes, Scar," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I l-l-love your eyes," she said again, and he rolled said eyes at her. He had to chuckle; even in her current situation apparently his bright baby blues were still an object of her infatuation. Ever since the first time they'd gotten drunk together at sixteen she always, always, made some sort of remark about his eyes when inebriated and then vehemently denied doing so when sober. It had become one of their biggest jokes with one another. If she was drunk enough to be sexually attracted to his eyes, she was too drunk. That had become their scale.

"That just isn't helpful, is it?" he asked her, leaning down to give her a kiss on the forehead before taking her outside and loading her into his car.

He talked constantly on the way to the hospital, doing everything he could to keep her awake just because he still wasn't entirely sure exactly what had happened to her. He kept a hand on her at all times, and she kept playing with his fingers; swirling her own fingers around his long ones and running a finger at a time up and down each of his and around his palm. It tickled but he couldn't force himself to pull his hand away. At least if she was doing that, he knew she was still conscious.

Finally, they arrived. He carried her inside and by some miracle a nurse got them in a room right away. He figured it was probably because of the fact that she seemed to actually be completely covered in blood. She looked like she'd just stepped out of a horror movie.

"Thank you for bringing her in, but I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside," the nurse told him as soon as he got her situated on the hard bed. By that point she was fading in and out of consciousness and as much as he wanted to fight it, he knew he might not have time to. He nodded slightly and with a final look back at her, left his best friend in the hands of the nurses.