Blink

Help

There's a stranger beside him, a middle-aged black woman who's adjusting something near his head. There's also something uncomfortable as fuck around his neck and face. Scott thinks he whimpers—he'd really rather be able to use a more complimentary descriptor than 'whimpers' but he's pretty sure that's what fits—and that catches her attention.

"Hey there, you're awake." Her voice is light and friendly. Mezzo-soprano for sure. "What's your name, handsome?"

"Sc-Scott." The thing over his face is muffling his voice. He kind of hates it.

"Scott. I'm Linda. I'm a paramedic. We're getting you out of here, but it's going to be a little while yet."

Scott raises his right hand to try to figure out what's on his face, but then he's distracted by the needle and tube stuck in the back of his arm. "What? Wa'sat?"

"It's saline," she says, gently pulling his hand away and down. "You're bleeding quite a bit and we can't get to all of your injuries yet. I've given you something for the pain. You've got a mask on because I'm a little concerned you're not getting enough oxygen and I've also put a neck brace on you. Can you squeeze my hand, Scott?"

Scott does so, not really sure why. But it makes her smile so maybe that's worth it.

"The brace is just a precaution," she says. "As soon as they've freed you, we want to be able to get you out of here as quickly as possible."

A precaution. Great. She should try wearing a back brace for a few years as a kid and then see how much she likes precautionary ones in future, even if it's not the same type of brace.

Scott's not sure what's going on and he can't see much through the spiderweb windshield and he can't turn his fucking head in this fucking brace to see what's to his left and Jesus he hurts and Laura...Lydia...Li-what-the-fuck-ever is in Mitch's seat spouting numbers at someone on the radio thing attached to her shoulder.

Wait. She's in Mitch's seat. Where the hell is-"Mitch? Mitch?!"

He doesn't know how much of his panic is in his eyes but the woman is suddenly filling his field of vision, brown eyes sympathetic and calm and pretty. He's always had a thing for brown eyes.

"Hey. It's okay. Your friend—Mitch? Mitch is okay. He's just outside; he's in much better shape than you are, but we're taking care of him. We needed him out of the way so we could help you. Don't worry. I don't think he's going anywhere until we've got you out of this car and we're all on our way to the hospital. He was pretty vocal about staying."

Oh. Scott's not sure how to feel about that. He wants Mitch cared for and he thinks help for himself is a good idea because he seems to seriously fucking need some.

It's just that Scott always feels better when Mitch is right beside him.

Blink.