*Three hours later…*
Francis opened his eyes and looked out the window of the torn-up car. The passenger side was totalled, but the driver's side in the back was still pretty intact. Francis had wrapped a torn part of his clean sleeve around the wound on his arm about two hours ago, and luckily it had stopped the bleeding. His head, though it had stopped bleeding as well, was still causing problems…
It was night out by now, but there were no stars out. The clouds and rain kept even the brightest star from lighting up the darkness. There was only a faint glow from the moon that allowed Francis to see anything. That damn rain wouldn't let up…
He closed his eyes again. He was supposed to be back home by now. Of course, no one would notice if he didn't pick up the phone… Would they? Who knows…
Francis sighed and felt the throbbing in his head return. He knew he had to stay awake, but with no one else here, how could he expect to get rescued?
He chuckled. Even the great Francis Bonnefoy needed help…
The car door opened. Francis opened his eyes and turned his head to see Alfred standing there, soaking wet in his bomber jacket, eyes wide with fear. The American leaned into the car and spoke to him, examining him with his eyes. "Francis, can you hear me? What the heck happened…!"
Francis let a slight smile form on his lips before he closed his eyes again, and passed out…