Car Crash Hearts.

[Brodie Dhonchaindh]

Tell Me.
How Does It Feel To Look At A Face Like This?
How Does It Feel To Be Replaced Like That?

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This wasn't happening. She looker at William again, making sure she was ok and then turned to Pete. She put hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Wake up..." She begged him quietly.

She couldn't do this. [/color][/blockquote][/ul]

I'm So Faithless Now.
Do You Still Feel?

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[William Beckett]

William was oblivious. He wasn't fighting to stay conscious at all; his injuries seemed more severe then he thought. He knew his chest hurt, he knew that before he passed out. Knew that his arm was probably bleeding or something too. His head was throbbing too, and he had tasted blood before passing out. He didn't know the full extent of his injuries, but one thought occured to him: When would he get to play a show again? There was one thing William Beckett adored, and that was getting on stage and singing and being the eccentric person he was known for. Would The Academy Is... need a replacement while he was recovering? Would they just cancel the shows? He didn't know, but he hoped they'd choose the latter. Not out of selfishness, but he hoped once his band figured out what had happened then they'd stay with him. Maybe someone would phone Christine. Yes, Christine would need to know, needed to know.

William kept someone touching him, and felt slightly unnerved by it; someone was searching him. He stirred, slightly, coming out of the delirium for a moment. He felt the pounding of his head, the pain in his chest, and his throbbing arm. Also the affects of wiplash too. "Fuck," he muttered, the sound barely audible. He kept his eyes close, too weak to do anything really. The blackness didn't come again for awhile, and he laid there in pain, wondering why it hurt so bad. He had been in a car accident, yes, the car ran into a tree. His head hit the dashboard, his collarbone breaking with the impact too. He wondered what was wrong with his head, how severe it was. When he passed out again, he dreamed, though it was odd. He was alone, in a bright room, something shining light into his eyes. He tried to look around, but all around him the light followed him, teasing him. He tried to touch it, but it was too far away. He didn't know what it represented, but it didn't give him a very fuzzy feeling inside. He never saw anyone. All he saw was a bright light, and the walls around him. Purple walls.

[Brodie Dhonchaindh]

It's Hard To Believe Right Now.
This Seems To Be Real.

[/i] a hit.

There were sirens beside them now but she didn't look to see who it was, someone was calling out and she couldn't process it. She just stayed where she was curled up and crying as someone spoke to her, she just yelled at them; "Help them, help them, they were in the car, help them." She told them as she returned back to her curled up position. She could here them talking, she wasn't sure about who it was, something about a broken bone, head injuries, hospitals the usual. She couldn't process it and make it make sense, she knew they were there, she knew they were talking it just made absolutely no sense.

she needed a hit. She would do fucking anything for one right now. To take all this away from her. This world was too noisy now, too bright with the fire and the flashing blue lights, the talking and the noise and the lights they just kept going round and round.

And she was still crying as someone wrapped a blanket round her trembling shoulders.
"Its OK, your in shock." They told her. Brodie would argue that though. She wasn't in shock she was in fucking withdrawal.
"I need to find it I need to find it." She started mumbling to herself, rocking herself as the paramedic began moving people, Brodie just wasn't paying attention to who.

This was such a fucking mess it was unbelievable.

And she was still there curled up as she rocked back and forth. They were trying to get her to move, to come to the hospital with them but she couldn't. She needed to go back to the site, she needed a hit, she needed something - anything. "Get off, get off!"
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Sill Phased By This Time.
Why Can't I Wake Up?

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[Pete Wentz]

there's a room in my house where I stumble over a memory
there's a light in the night and I wonder if you've come back for me

[/i][/b] Pete could hardly make out what was being said right now. He was glad, could he hear more he might have hurt his head even further. He just wanted to sleep. Why wouldn't they let him sleep? Pete's head swam with everything that had happened in the past couple of days. Patrick... oh no. Fall Out Boy... What were they going to do? They were well and truly screwed now that he was in this state and Patrick was hurt too. He could be replaced though, it was as simple as that, but letting the fans down... It was such a terrible thing to do, and Pete hated being faced with it. Now becase of his stupidity The Academy Is... and their fans had to suffer, not to mention he nearly killed William. He felt so guilty, so sick, so tired, so wretched and disgusted with himself for what he'd done. For pulling William along with him. Everyone could have been different if he had been in that car alone. William wouldn't be in this position, broken bones... maybe even burns... There could be lasting, permenant damage.
Pete was glad to feel that no teeth were missing, although they were bleeding and seemed loose. His orthadontist already hated the very sight of him due to how he was on stage, often slamming his bass into his own face during his antics. His nose hurt to breathe through, it was difficult to inhale and exhale, and he presumed that the blood coming from it would therefore verify that he had a broken nose. It wasn't that big of a deal, but it wasn't exactly nice. He didn't think any legs were broken, his arm had been hurting though, he wasn't even sure if he could feel it, but right now he couldn't feel a lot of his body. He wouldn't be surprised if that had been broken or fractured in the collusion. Pete was no doctor, he couldn't say what was wrong with him, but he knew he was in no shape to play soon, and William was in no shape to sing.
Would anyone inform his band? Would they be disturbed in the middle of the night to come to the hospital because their reckless, stupid bassist had done something to himself yet again? Pete felt more guilt, that he was putting all his on his band.
'Stupid. Foolish. Idiotic. Selfish.' So many things ran through Pete's mind. He was every single one of them. He deserved every pain and twinge that had been inflicted upon him right now. Why had William taken the brunt of it all, though? Why not Pete? Pete would have willingly died in that car accident if William could have escaped with a few cuts and bruises and nothing serious. Pete, at this precise moment in time, would have liked nothing better than to have been in that car when it exploded. But why should he get that? Why should he be allowed to escape the pain? William should be fine and Pete should have been the one suffering so much. Not William. Not his band. Not Fall Out Boy. Not their fans. Just him.


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well it's a little too late to say sorry, but don't be so hard on me
ghost, you know I can't go back

[William Beckett]

Well, William was hearing voices now. They weren't coming from anyone he recognized, though. He wanted to know who was saying it, what was being said, and all that other junk. Not just wanted, but needed, just to make sure he wasn't making them up. "Whiplash, and his arm's cut up pretty bad." There were the voices again, and he wished he knew who the hell was speaking, and if it was to him. "Head injuries also, it seems. Not surprised; they must have not been wearing seatbelts." Oh joy. Criticize them instead of help them, nice idea ya? William just laid there, listening to sirens and more voices, wondering where Pete was, and if he had found Brodie... well that second thought was illogical; Pete was in the accident too, and it was doubtful he just walked away from it unscratched. He wanted to open his eyes and be assured that Pete was okay, that the voices he was hearing were paramedics or something. Someone who could help. Still, his eyelids felt too heavy and his head still throbbed, and he wondered why his head wouldn't stop hurting. He wasn't fully aware of anything, hadn't really been when they wrecked. All he knew was Pete wanted to get to Brodie, and they hit a tree. That probably explained the throbbing head, but... still. William felt himself being lifted slightly, and laid down a slightly softer surface. He was probably going to be loaded into an ambulance or something. He wanted to know what was being done to Pete, and what was being done to himself. Although, all he wanted to do was sleep too. He pretty much let the sleep want win, and he drifted off into the darkness again.