This story is all thanks to Firefly of the Phoenixes, who reviewed Resurrected and asked for a separate oneshot about Johnny's crash. I thought it was a great idea and it'd be fun to do.
This can stand alone, but it is a companion piece. Takes place after ROTSS.
Disclaimer: Don't own it. Yes, I know, all you lawyers out there are so disappointed that you can't sue my ass now. Oh well.
Enjoy.
Sue called after him angrily, but her voice was lost in the satisfyingly loud roar of the engine as he sped away. Johnny grinned, feeling his face squish uncomfortably in the helmet he was wearing. She was just worried about her reckless little brother, he knew, but it was so fun to make her squirm.
Two days ago, they'd returned from Reed and Sue's wedding, with no time for a honeymoon as crimes had to be fought and disasters averted in good old Manhattan. And as a wedding present to himself, he'd bought a motorcycle. His sister had been exasperated at what she called his "childish logic," but it made sense to him. Since he'd bought it, he'd been using it as an escape mechanism for whenever his teammates got ideas of Family Monopoly Games, or whenever Reed seemed to want to engage him in some extremely boring scientific talks.
Sue gave him a disapproving look whenever she saw him going for his keys. Motorcycle accidents were common, and he didn't blame her for being concerned, but he knew it'd never happen to him. She would say he was using that childish logic again, but it was true. He was careful, and he was damn good with anything that had a motor and wheels. And at least he was wearing a helmet. What did she have to be worried about?
He weaved expertly through traffic, halting smoothly at a red light behind a taxi. The car next to him was pumping some rap song at full volume, but only the booming bass carried to his ears over the rumble of his motor. Inside were two teenagers, wearing carefully crafted looks of nonchalance as they slowly lost their hearing.
Johnny grinned, remembering the stupidity and arrogance of teenagerdom. He turned his head to the left casually, and his mind took several moments to register what it saw.
There was a truck careening toward him over the sidewalk. People were shouting and honking their horns in vain as they saw it happening, but the semi just kept barreling at him.
Johnny Storm on a motorcycle versus a speeding semitruck.
"Shit," he breathed, attempting to start moving again and swerve to the right. He had to get away from that monstrosity--
He heard brakes squealing and tires scraping against the asphalt. Something hit him hard from behind before he could move, and he was tossed, confused and afraid, headfirst over his motorcycle.
The next thing he knew was blinding, excruciating pain in his legs. It crawled up his spine and settled behind his closed eyes in order to permeate all of his body at once. He gasped, grunting in agony, arching off the pavement. His legs wouldn't move; when he tried, he was rewarded with a surge of fresh pain. It was torture.
He thought he heard someone say, "Take off his helmet, he needs air," but through the haze over his mind he wasn't sure. A restricting force that he hadn't even noticed before was being lifted from his head and fresh oxygen rushed down his throat. He heard panicked, awestruck voices rising, then falling as they were hushed.
"Don't worry, Mr. Storm, an ambulance is on its way."
Johnny vaguely registered that this was a good thing. Ambulance equals less suffering... Okay. Okay.
His mind was slowly returning to him. While the pain was in no way lessening, he was getting used to it with help from the deep breaths he was taking in. In and out in and out in and out inandout inandout inandoutinandoutinandoutinandout
A firm touch was placed on his forehead, ice against the heat. He leaned into it, slowing his breathing, trying to focus on the coolness of the hand on his skin. Instead, his thoughts wandered back to the pain in his legs. His face wrinkled up and he groaned. It felt like his bones were splitting, shattering. He ground his teeth, trying to block it out, but everything below his knees was searing, screaming for his immediate attention. He needed it to stop-- he just wanted it to stop. Everything would be better if he would just lose consciousness. Lost in a blank world of no memory, he wouldn't feel a thing until he woke up later, high on painkillers. He would be okay.
He tried to will himself into passing out. When it didn't work, he finally decided to just open his eyes; he needed to see what was causing him this grief. Strangely, everything was dim and grey: the pain was so intense it nearly blinded him- unless he had some sort of head injury that really had nearly blinded him for good. That's a promising thought, isn't it? Even when immobilized and near trauma-induced oblivion, he could still manage a facetious comment every once in a while. One thing that caught his eyes was the outline of something that might have been blue, but it was hard to tell. It was large, and fairly close. He reached out to touch it and his fingers met a cool, hard surface. His mind slowly registered it as metal.
"Mr. Storm... You're pinned. The car that was behind you at the light..."
Johnny wasn't sure who the voice belonged to, but it was a relatively comforting presence. If he were in a more normal condition, he was sure he would have paled considerably at that statement. However, with this person standing by him, telling him things in that smooth voice every so often, he could handle it. Hopefully.
"The ambulance is almost here. Just keep breathing- slow- until it arrives."
He wished he could nod- acknowledge the voice in some way- but his concentration was on waiting out the pain. He was beginning to notice the way his breaths ripped in and out of his throat loudly, and how badly his body shook. He just wanted it to be over...
Just as he began to hear the sirens among the frenzied whispers and normal city noises, his head began to spin, and blackness began to creep into his vision. So, he thought as the pressure on his legs was painstakingly lifted, it seems as if I'm getting my wish after all.
Johnny succumbed to unconsciousness.
end::
I CHANGED MY MIND. This will be a two-shot. Because I have had some difficulties with the saving process and I really just want to get this up- but there's more to come. Hang tight!
Also- I didn't proofread this, so don't point out typos or often-repeated words. It's past midnight. I'll figure it out at some point.
Seven Positions