Greetings, and welcome to a story from Falcons Rising Productions, possibly the most interesting FFN writing team in existence. This is the first story on this account, written by epicn00b. More can be found out about the team by accessing our profile. Thank you for taking the time to read this one-shot.
"Oh, no..." Ow...
"Hello?" His ears...
"Tails, buddy?" They were ringing...
"Come on, buddy..." He... was he paralysed?"
"Tails, talk to me, bro..." His eyes refused to open...
"I dunno how to help, man..." He slowly remember what had just happened... the plane... how badly was it damaged?
"Please..." He felt as if he was about to pass out again...
"No, Tails..." What was he forgetting?
"Tails... no..." That was it.
With a massive gasp, his chest started to move again. Thank God, he was alive. The fresh air rushed into his lungs, giving him a feeling of reality back. He could see again, blue eyes staring out at a barren desert. He could hear too, especially his blue friend's sigh of relief at seeing him become alive again. He was alive, and kicking. That was, mentally kicking himself for not seeing the rocket coming. It was so obvious! He could put it in a nosedive, or do a barrel roll, or even just make a sharp turn, if only he'd seen it. Calm down, he thought. You're not dead, and that's what matters. Breathe. Focus on living. In, out. In, out.
"TAILS! Oh man, I thought you'd left me... boy, am I glad to see you alive."
"Look..." His leg shot waves of pain through his body. His guess was it was completely broken, though he hoped not. Hopefully the medkit was still intact. "In my plane, over there, there's a little green box I need you to bring. It's under the seat, but it's locked, you'll need this key." He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and pulled out a small golden key. A drip of blood covered the end. Oh, now that was bad.
Sonic slowly gripped the key. He'd seen Tails try to cover up his shock before, but he wasn't even trying to here. Hell, he was positively exaggerating his fear. They both knew something far worse than what they saw had happened. Stabbed? He couldn't bear the sight of his own brother stabbed, by something that was meant to save him. He guessed the key had pierced the ace pilot in the crash, though surely he'd be more careful where he landed. He didn't usually take chances, and this was why. Tails usually kept everything in a separate compartment, so nothing could, metaphorically, run naked in the rain, which Sonic had admittedly tried and thought overrated.
The plane was still flaming when he got to it. The seat was entirely aflame, so there was no way he was getting under it. He couldn't just push it away; it was screwed on tightly. He tried to put his hand in quickly and pull the box out fast, but it was in vain, and he spent a few seconds rolling on the floor in pain before he stood up and looked for a better way. The heat of the desert coupled with the burning fire started to take its toll on the blue blur. He needed hydration, and fast. Thanks to the furry fox's fondness of facts, he knew he'd die soon without water. Wait...
Sonic's face lit up, and then lowered almost instantly, after realising that even if he had the water that Tails always kept in the medkit, it would be no way near enough to put out the fire. Damn it. If he survived, he would never step foot on desert again as long as he could get away with it. His vision was starting to blur slightly, partially due to lack of water and partially due to the blinding light all around. Oh, what he'd do for some shade. He noticed there was some shade just under the plane's tail, but it was clear there was not nearly enough to accompany his body. He was about to turn away, when something caught his eye. He looked closer, and it turned out to be a hand screwdriver. With a shaking hand, he grabbed it.
It was not long before he'd worked out he could unscrew the seat, which due to a pipe burst was now covered in oil, making it burn for even longer. There were four. What was it Tails always said when he was screwing stuff in? Umm... 'righty-tighty, lefty-loosy'. That was it. Armed with that knowledge, the first screw was off, and so were the second and third. The fourth, though, presented a challenge. Flames were lapping extremely close to it. He took it slowly. He put the driver in the slot, and twisted it. Not a budge. He tried harder. Still nothing. Come on, move, I have a little brother to save. He tried with his full might. It wasn't moving. He lay down and hit the soft sand.
No. No, this wasn't how he went out, his mind argued. Not like this. He wouldn't give Egghead the satisfaction. His mind was raring to go out and kick ass. His body disagreed. His body wasn't moving. It had had enough. It was the end. His body embraced it. No, it's not the end, his mind asserted. You're gonna get up now. The adrenalin kicked in. You're gonna get up and save your little bro, body. Get your ass up. GET UP!
He jolted upwards, mind and body finally working in tandem. With the energy rush that whatever god of second chances had given him, he grabbed the screwdriver again, put it in place, and twisted for his life. It was stuck. He twisted and twisted, refusing to give up, and after what seemed like an eternity, he heard a squeak. The screw had moved! This was it! With a pull even harder, he kept turning it. His mind was suddenly flooded with nostalgia. The warm days, the cool nights, the relaxed lifestyle. It was all about to be returned to him. With a final squeak, the screw came out. Sonic kicked the seat away, and the solid plastic of the light box gave him a conduit to hold on to reality.
It was an amazement to Miles Prower, age 12, better known as Tails, son of Amadeus and Rosemary Prower, famed for his engineering and technological excellence, that a fox of his age and stature could simply survive a plane crash for such a length of time in desert land, never mind stay fully conscious. He often studied psychology as a side project, and from this he'd learnt many things about the mind when facing death. The adrenalin was starting to fade, making his aching wounds even less bearable, but even through this pain barrier he kept a tight grip on the hope of getting help. Through a slitted sightline, he made out a blue blur with a green blur beside it, which meant one thing: he would live.
The euphoria surged through his body like lightning. He might have got up and celebrated, were it not for his legs being severely damaged. The box was open, and Sonic had brought out a litre water bottle. The nozzle came to his mouth, and he mustered the strength to suck the water out and swallow it. The refreshing cold almost froze him, but it was an ultimate relief. He hardly noticed the bandage going round his left leg, which meant there was definitely some severe damage. In fact, he was pondering his save from a horrific situation so hard that he didn't even feel the bandages on his right leg.
His saviour gulped down water, before picking him up. It hurt a bit, but once he was over his friend's shoulder, it only got better from there. He felt slightly lighter. His tails flopped downwards as he realised Sonic was carrying Miles' weight not only mentally, but now also physically. Memories of all the times the big blue guy had supported him flashed before his eyes. Maybe he needed to start to support himself. He knew that in architecture, objects that stood straight upwards and stayed their ground would not need support. Maybe that was what growing up was like.
"Sonic?"
"Yeah, Tails?"
"Thank you."
"Anything for you, little buddy."
From that moment, he resolved to always stand straight up against harm, and he fell asleep content, lost in a moment he would never forget.
Thank you for reading FRP's first story! This is just the beginning, so watch this space. Bye!