"Keith! Keith, stop the bike!" Lance kept repeating the words over and over again, as desperately as he could. He tried yelling, shouting, shaking the teen as hard as he could, yet there wasn't much response. The wall was getting closer, faster. Once he finally saw the Red Paladin struggle to find brakes, Lance knew with absolute certainty that they were going to crash.
They were going to crash.
But he refused to believe it. There had to be some way to stop this thing, right? How? Frantically, the teen searched for something to slow the bike, or at least soften its impact. He was not going to let them die. Not here, not now. No, there was still so much he had to say and do. The seconds of time seemed to be tripping over each other in a race to see who could go faster. Time. He needed time. But there wasn't much left, and all Lance could do was drag his shoes on the ground.
As if some kind of upper being had heard his pleas for more time, it seemed to slow down for an instant. It looked like everything was in slow-motion, or maybe that was his imagination. The Cuban blinked as he was thrown off and the space-bike crashed.
What? What happened?
Shaking his head, Lance tried to stand, but to no avail. Black dots blurred the edges of his vision.
Oh. It seemed they had crashed. "Keith..?" Where was Keith? Slowly, panic began to surge through him as he noticed a limp form near the site of the accident. Somehow managing to drag himself over, the Blue Paladin cradled his friend in his arms, as the other had done back then. His eyes were wide with fear and shock. "Keith, do you wanna wake up for a moment?" he asked, trying his best to sound calm. He knew his words were futile, but it seemed he had injured his legs and couldn't support both of them to walk to the pod. He couldn't call anyone; he wasn't wearing his suit. "Dammit, what am I supposed to do?" he hissed through gritted teeth. Still holding Keith, Lance scooted towards the wall and leaned against it while studying the blood that trickled down his comrade's temple. He could at least stop the bleeding.
After at least five attempts at ripping the bottom of his shirt, the teen finally succeeded in getting a small portion. "I guess it's not as easy as it looks," he murmured and wrapped the cloth around Keith's forehead.
"Ya'know, you're getting my white shirt ruined," he mumbled, trying to lighten the situation.
Could the situation be lightened at all?
Last edited by Solara
on Wed Feb 15, 2017 12:39 am, edited 2 times in total.
I hope you'll catch me when I'm about to fall