Disclaimer: No one from Final Destination and the sequel Final Destination 2 belongs to me. If I could have Ali Larter, it might spare Dharke's life some grief…or mine, even. So please, no one from those big scary lawyer companies come and sue my ass off for copyright infringement or anything like that cos I'm just a fan, writing a Fanfiction…and a fan with, ahem, no money.

Author's Notes: All right. Here we go with another, potentially unfinished Cici sapfest of a fanfic series. Et viola, I have delivered. This is a total reworking of FD2, okay, the majority of dialogue should remain similar, partly because I am so unoriginal and can't make up a THING on my own. Call it lack of confidence, if you will. Everything in this piece is suited to my liking. You might not necessarily like it (so I am open up to criticism, or even, the occasional making fun of) but hey, you might be surprised. So, Alex was in the wrong place at the wrong time where a nice brick mushed his brain? Nah, don't think so. Not in my reality. Will Clear still be in that padded room, even with Alex alive? Will Carter eventually thank Alex for saving him from becoming a plate of crushed pomme de terres in some shit fancy French café? Will Cici ever shut the hell up on the longest 'Author's Notes' section in a FD fanfic…well, that has to happen or there'll be no fic…and on with the show. For Dharke, seeing as she was a huge help in giving me a little bit of confidence in how to write a whole series.

-- Paris, France, 2000 --

"So who's next?"

The reply that Alex wanted to shout out in response to Carter's question did not seem to escape his lips. The oncoming, fast free falling neon Parisian Café sign plummeted closer to its target of Carter Horton and with its sheer swiftness, there seemed to be nothing the blond teenager could do. Like a child demanding attention, Carter's eyes pleaded with Alex for a reaction. From his silence, something was jarringly wrong. The only response Carter earned for his earlier overconfident assumption of tricking Death's Design was the loss of feeling in his legs. Or rather, a swift kick of Alex's left leg, swiped away the standing ability he had, and he fell to the ground, landing hard on his back, his head smacking on the hard cobbled street.

Through the now blurry vision he had, caused from the temporary dazed state his head was suffering from, Carter craned his neck to see the falling sign hurtle into the side of a rundown wine factory and the neon filter crackling into complete darkness. Carter then turned to look at Alex; eyes wide.

"Fuckin' hell Browning!" the jock exclaimed, shaking his head shamefully. "Can't you stay outta trouble for more than two fuckin' minutes?"

Carter winced slightly as he felt the warm blood trickling down the side of his face. He put a palm to his forehead and proceeded to check for any more injuries he might have sustained.

"You're a lucky son-of-a-bitch, you know that?"

Alex didn't say anything, just concentrated on getting his breathing back to a steady pace. If he knew Carter as well as he thought he did, then the adrenaline would be coursing through his body like it did his at that very moment. All Carter could feel – or rather, hear – was his head pounding and the increased heartbeat echo in his ears. They had just cheated Death again. Carter's heroics had saved Alex from the inevitable that Death had so frequently sought in the passing months. And now, the pendulum had took a swing in another direction. Not to Carter, but to…

"Hey! Take your hands off me!"

Alex turned to see Clear yanking herself free from the protective arms of the French guitar player, holding her back from the almost near tragedy that had befallen the quaint Parisian town. She quickly ran over to where the boys were sitting, several inches away from the café and the quickly gathering flock of apprehensive spectators.

"Are you two alright?"

Carter was first to surface to his feet, wincing loudly and now clutching at his lower back as well.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm not sure he is though." Alex said, motioning towards Carter with his head. Clear offered her boyfriend a hand, he took it, and rose to his feet as well. Carter watched the crowd from the corner of his eye. The waiter from the café neared him shyly, as if afraid touching him would mean some imminent death. Carter faced him fully and gave him a piercing look. He was not one for fuss. Or anyone's sympathy. He was just getting his life back on track until tonight.

'But no, that fuckin' square over there needs to question the Design. Ruin my vacation.' Carter mused.

"I'm alright." He said in a tone hinting that he wasn't completely sure. "Let's go back to the hotel."

Turning to the crowd, dusting off his pants, his growled:

"Alright you French frogs, show's over. Finis! Comprende? Scram."

Trying to walk in the direction of the Hôtel Royal Saint Germain, Clear noticed Carter limping. Either he was hurt more than he was letting on or he was just faking it in a selfish attempt to get away, now that they were sure that the Design had been revived.

"You should get that checked out Carter," Clear said suspiciously. "Like, maybe take a trip to the hospital?"

Carter shook his head. "No. No hospitals. I just want to get back to my room, rest my back and then get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. Anywhere I go with the two of you seems to get me into trouble. And quite frankly, I'm sick of this Death bullshit." 

"'Bullshit?'" Alex echoed. "How is it bullshit when you come so close to having a falling sign embedded in your back? No more than five minutes ago, you were laughing and joking the Death was coming after me. Not you, me! And then when it does come back for you, you want to hide and give up?"

Carter stepped forward and with enough strength he could muster, grabbed Alex by the scruff of the hooded top he was wearing. He stared piercingly into his eyes, his cold blue ones working an angry fix with Alex's warmer, less angry blues.

"Well I coulda let you get turned into a plate of mashed teeth! You fuckin' owe me, Browning! You have done ever since I managed to get us kicked off 180! Yeah, that's right, not you, me! If I hadn't got up to knock some goddamn sense into you then you wouldn't be on this fuckin' green Earth in the first place! Just you think about that!"

Alex shoved Carter off him, releasing some of the tension put upon his neck. He knew that in any other circumstance he wouldn't be able to get the powerful jock off him, but his confidence level was down a notch since a weakling like Alex had managed to save him from a falling sign with the speed of a cheetah. He wasn't in the mood for any fighting with Carter, even with him in his weakened state.

"I do think about it! All the time!" Alex spat. "Maybe if you engage your brain every once in a while, you'll realise that the world does not revolve around Carter Horton. We have to protect Clear now. She's next. And after her it'll be me again. And then you. Do you notice that pattern, huh? Does it register now?"

Carter put his hands to hips and stared off into the starry sky, scowling in his usual manner. The crowd around the teenagers had started to dissipate once they realised that all they would witness was the flying of fists and a few angry obscenities yelled in English. Several members of the café staff had begun to pick up knocked over chairs and tables.

"Either you come with us to the hospital to get your back and your self-obsessed brain checked out or you go back to the hotel and drown your sorrows in a few bottles of JD. Which will it be?"

The blood on the side of Carter's head felt sickly warm. He put his hand to the back of his head subconsciously and found where the gash was. Right in the back of his head from where his head had sturdily cracked on the ground. It wasn't big, but still needed to be checked out. Due to Alex's unconventional defence tactics, Carter knew he'd be nursing a fractured skull in the morning, and no amount of JD would make that one feel better.

"Alright. Hospital it is. But remember, you owe me."

He shoved his worn out body past the space between Alex and Clear and muttered something not at all coherent under his breath. 

"He's doing the right thing," Clear commented, turning to see Carter make his way over to a bench, putting his cell phone to his ear, presumably calling a taxi to take them to the hospital.

"If he's got a heart underneath those thick layers of ice, he'll be of some use to us. Won't be doing himself any favours if either one of us is out of the picture. Less chance of him saving himself."

"You know that won't happen." Alex reassured her.

Carter could be, as Billy Hitchcock had so oftenly put it, a dick. But he was a strong individual, and although he didn't seem it right now, a team player. Being Captain of the Mt Abraham football team demanded those attributes.

"We'll beat it Clear, alright. You'll see. Carter will too."

"I have to admit, I'm with Carter when he says he doubts the chances of us surviving, Alex. I was pretty gullible to think that in those six months since Flight 180, that it would be all over and done with. Right now, we'll take him to the hospital, make sure he's alright then we'll deal with me."

"Alright." Alex replied, putting a caring arm around Clear's shoulders. She was the only calming source of influence between the two boys. He looked over to see Carter eyeing them. He narrowed his eyes at the couple and from that expression, Alex was prepared to take a typical Carter taunt. Instead, the jock just flashed him a grin. Alex had seen that special type of grin before, but somehow, wasn't quite sure what to make of it…

-- Okie doke, I know it isn't that much, but as I stated in my A/N, I'm lacking a bit of confidence in writing any new FD fic, whether it be big or small, so just be content little children wid what ya got! I personally reckon this is a good start to my FD2 rewrite. Not sure when chapter two will be appearing, but look out for it. Oh and review ...pretty please? *bats eyelashes* xxx --