Blink Outtakes

Context

This is the crash that starts the whole thing. Except from Mitch's point of view.

Mitch is bopping his head to the music, trying desperately not to laugh, because while he loves this track, downright adores it, he knows that any second now, Scott's going to say—

"What the fuck is this?"

Yep. That's the exact wording and intonation Mitch expected. Perfect.

"Phonic Æther's new track. I think it's cool. What? You don't like it?"

Might have something to do with the hypnotically repetitive screeching, the overdone syncopation, and the unresolved chord progressions, all recorded on a series of looping theremins.

Scott turns to look at him like he's insane as he pulls up behind another car at a red light. Mitch checks his phone. Huh. They're actually going to be on time for once.

"'Cool' would not have been the term I'd have chosen.  Maybe... 'different'. Or 'unique'. Possibly 'creative' if I was in an especially generous mood."

Judging by the look on his face as the song hits the drop—something halfway between a pained wince and sucking on a lemon—Scott's not, in fact, in an especially generous mood.

This is the exact reaction Mitch was going for and it's everything.

The light turns green and Scott refocuses his attention on the road after one last incredulous glance at Mitch. He takes his foot off the brake as Mitch's smirk finally breaks free.

"You think I should bring it to the band? Maybe we could cover it?" Mitch makes a show of opening up his note taking app, peering at it and pretending to mark it down. "Really stretch our genre, you know?"

The car eases into the intersection. "I think I'd rather—what the— shit!"

The car swerves violently as Scott jerks the wheel to the side. Mitch stabilizes himself with hand on the dashboard and frantically tries to see what's going on.

He doesn't find it before it hits. Doesn't understand what's happening when there's a huge smashing of metal on metal and glass breaking and the dashboard in front of him explodes in a pop of white, snapping his wrist back and to the side in a way that hurts worse than anything he remembers. There's a horn blaring and tires screeching and someone screaming and he's jerked to the side so suddenly it makes Scott's swerve seem subtle and God, he's never heard so much noise before, and, and, and...

And then there's a moment of silence, brief and still. It lasts a second, maybe two, because that's as much time as Mitch can go without inhaling, and when he does he can hear the sob in his own voice. And there's still metal creaking, and there's bits of glass clinking down around him. He opens his eyes—he clenched them shut somewhere along the way and judging by the shattered glass all around that was a really fantastic reflex to have—and sees blood. And destruction. And an odd bend in his wrist that suggests something is very, very wrong with it.

He's ashamed to say it takes him another long moment to remember where he is—Scott's car; and who else is with him—Scott. Who strangely isn't already swearing up a storm about his car and fussing over Mitch's wrist.

He turns towards the driver's seat.

It takes him an absurdly long time to parse what's in front of him into something that makes sense. And when it finally does he wishes it didn't.

Fuck.

Fuck no.

"Scott?"

The driver's side door is caved in; Scott's still in his seat but he's shoved over to the side, held up mostly by his seat belt. The majority of his left arm and part of his side aren't even visible through the collapsed metal and plastic and the airbags hanging all around. But there's blood. Mitch has never seen so much blood in real life and it's coming out of...