(Sorry this one is so long. Alot happens here. =))

It was dark. He didn't know where he was or how he had gotten there, but he knew that it hurt. It hurt everywhere. He tried to clench his fist, but he couldn't move. It shot pain straight through his arm and made him clench his teeth, which hurt even more. Finally he settled for nothing. He wouldn't open his eyes even. It wasn't worth the pain that coursed through him already.

For a time, he wasn't sure if his ears were working. It was all silent but for the ringing that was result from the pain he assumed. So maybe that meant his ears were working. Or if he remembered, that meant he needed water*. But since he couldn't even bring himself to open his eyes, he knew that was out of the question.

'I don't remember where I am…'

Then the memory hit him. Just like the car. He remembered it all.

"I have to get away from them!" Antonio cried as he slammed his foot down on the gas. He felt the car rev up and start to roll away with spinning tires, but the impact that came from the back of the car indicated that it was too late. He looked back as he heard Gilbert scream in fright and pain as the back of the car came crashing into them. Antonio and Francis's heads both jerked forward and then... they were suddenly in the air. The car had been thrown up onto it's nose and was hovering in place for a split second.

That second seemed to have lasted hours, as the trio all looked at each other with wide eyes and small tears building up in them. Blue, Red and Green eyes all met each other, and then the car crashed onto its roof. The three men's heads bashed against the top of the car and their cries were muffled by the lurching of the twisted and bent metal as the car started to turn itself over again. Antonio swore he could see tomatoes flying about in his vision, but ignored them as he held on for dear life as the car smashed onto its wheels again. He sat, frozen as the car rocked back and forth on its wheels for a moment, and then with a final smash stopped. He stared ahead, dilated pupils showing every inch of fear he felt.

"M-mon Dieu… Are you alright?" Francis asked from next to him. Antonio nodded, not looking at his friend, but at the window. "Gilbert? You?"

No answer.

"Gil? Gilbert! Answer me Mon Ami!" But just as he started to yell, headlights were right behind Antonio, shining right through the broken window. Both of the front seat occupants screamed as the giant car- or had it been a truck?- smashed right into the side of the car. Blood flew, Pain exploded in his head and chest, more screams… Suddenly everything went black.

"-re not going anywhere for a long time. And make sure Arthur stays in the car." A voice. Antonio tried to open his eyes again, but then it was all black.

Antonio couldn't remember anything after that. Not one thing. Maybe a small flash of the car being taken apart to pry his and his friend's broken bodies out of the car. Maybe the ride in the ambulance, but he wasn't sure. But if he was remembering correctly, he was in the hospital. And so were Francis and Gilbert.

Suddenly his eyes flew open. The pain exploded in his head and he saw nothing but white. White lights? Was he dying? No… it was the light above his head. He was… on an operating table?! Now he saw red. Blood. His blood! It must have been animalistic instinct, but his arm suddenly thrashed against the metal of the table. His legs and torso doing the same. But why? Why wouldn't his other arm move?!

"He's awake! Sedate him!" Someone above him shouted. Antonio screamed as the pain intensified, reaching from his toes to his head. Not one part of him didn't hurt, apart from his left arm. Why was that?

Suddenly he felt the pinch of a needle, and for the third time, everything darkened and he was numb to the world.

Francis saw this part of it quite differently. Everything was white. He couldn't see one thing past the white, hot pain that had settled itself in his chest and shoulders. His neck hurt too, not to mention the pain in his lower back and legs. Finally he admitted, no place on him hadn't been injured in some way. But after thinking it over, he knew that he was lucky to be alive.

Finally, he opened his blue pools for the world to see. Or at least one of them anyway. The right had been completely swollen shut. He looked about him to see that he was in an empty room. Devoid of color. All white, not a speck of dust to be seen. Then he looked down to his chest, which ached tremendously. Whatever wasn't bandaged with white, was black and yellow from bruising, and what was bandaged was slowly being dyed red from blood. IV's were stuck into his arms and a breathing mask covered his swollen face from the nose down. His arm was bandaged and in a cast at his side. He couldn't move his shoulder on down.

Pain kept him from moving, but when the door opened, he slowly turned his eye to see who was there. A short man with a white coat and black hair was at the door. His brown eyes sparkled with kindness and sympathy.

"Ah- I see you have wakened." He said kindly, a Japanese accent showing slightly in his words. Francis only nodded. He couldn't really bring himself to talk. "I am Dr. Kiku Honda. But you can just call me H…" He paused for a moment before continuing. "Kiku. And you are Mr. Bonnefoy, correct?" Francis nodded again.

Kiku nodded, not really smiling, but not quite frowning either. He walked forward and began to look at the instruments while he spoke to Francis about the injuries and impairments he had recieved, who wasn't really listening. He was still in shock.

He had heard of car accidents before. Homicide attempts even. He heard it from Gilbert all of the time, for he was in school for being a police officer. Antonio and Francis himself had leaned more towards culinary arts, but that hadn't stopped them from finding and apartment and rooming together. They were the best of friends. Never to be separated except for by death.

Death.

Gilbert and Antonio.

Kiku stopped whatever he had been saying as he felt a weak grasp at his arm. He looked down to see Francis looking up at him with a watery eye (two, had he been able to see past the swelling).

"What is it Mr. Bonnefoy?"

Francis struggled to get his short, few words out of his throat. "M-y… friends." He said simply, hoarsely and terrified. Kiku frowned softly for a moment, then put his hand over Francis' and pushed it back to the man's side. Sighing, he took a seat in the plastic chair by the bed of the much larger man.

"I will not lie to you, because I honestly think that is the worst thing I could do." He sighed, Japanese accent showing a bit more strongly now. Francis' eye was wide in terror now, tears streaming down his bruised face. Kiku held fast to his trembling hand, despite the wounds and beatings, the Frenchman's grip was strong.

"Antonio is in the operating room as we speak. I do not know the full extent of his injuries, but I know that an amputation may be in his future. But again, I do not know." Kiku took a deep breath before going on. "He has sustained a minimum of nineteen or twenty broken bones, and has a concussion."

Francis was bawling now. His breaths came short and uneven, and tears streamed down his face and around the oxygen mask.

"Mr. Bonnefoy. I need you to take deep breaths. Calm yourself." Kiku said firmly, putting his free hand on Francis' shoulder, lightly so he didn't hurt it further. Francis nodded, but struggled to do as told. Finally, he had slowed his breathing to a semi-normal rate, but his heart was still racing. Then he forced out two more words.

"And… Gil…?"

It was funny, Gilbert thought, how he saw nothing. Not black, like in the movies, or white like when people described it in the training videos he watched at school. It was just nothing. An emptiness that filled no void or answered any questions.

He felt no pain at all. Or at least, that was what he told himself. But in reality, the pain was so unbearable that he was forcing himself to a point of insanity to ignore it. His chest felt as if it had been hit with a sledgehammer, and his arms were made of needles that would forever poke him over and over and over for the rest of his life. Gilbert forced himself to think. Like he always did when he was in a predicament.

'Culinary arts… what does that even mean?' he thought to himself. 'It couldn't really be art could it? It's food. Now… battle art, that's another story.' He mused. 'it takes a whole lot of concentration and time to mature in that kind of art… right? Maybe that's what Francis meant by the art of practice. Wow. I just had a total epiphany. I am so awesome.' He decided. His train of thought made no sense in his mind, but by convincing himself that it did make sense, he forced himself to think it over and over until it did make sense. Thus distracting him from the pain.

That was… until he ran out of things to think about.

Gilbert groaned, trying to move every part of his body to make sure that it all worked. His hand twitched, but his pointer and ring fingers on his left hand wouldn't move. His left hand worked fine… then he tried to move his toes.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing again.

Gilbert felt frustration fill him and he tried to open his eyes, but he only managed to get his left one open. He looked around, pain racking his skull as he did, and then he settled his vision on his right hand. His ring and pointer finger were gone. Frantically, he tried to pry the bandages off, but they were taped too tightly. He looked to his other hand, where IV's were taped in place. Then he turned to his legs.

They were bandaged tightly with white bandages and they were covered with blood. The bandages when up his legs to past where the hospital gown ended. He tried again to move his toes, but they didn't move one bit. Gasping, he tried to sit up, but a searing pain exploded from his back and made him scream. Falling back, his voice retched from his throat and suddenly, he was surrounded by men and women in white coats. One, he saw in his direct line of bloodred vision, had long brown hair and green eyes. She put her hand on his cheek and spoke soothingly.

"Shhh, calm down sir… you're alright." She assured him until he stopped and was left a gasping, teary mess. She smiled softly, but sadly.

"Wh- where am I? What happened to me? Why- why can't I feel my legs?" He gasped.

"I am Elizaveta Héderváry. You are at the Hospital." She said slowly and calmly. Gilbert nodded once. "You were in an accident. Do you remember?" He nodded again. She bit her lip and hesitated to continue. "I- I'll call in the Doctor… he'll tell you- what happened." She said.

"N-no! Don't- don't leave. Please." Gilbert felt a small stab of shame at his words. He was never this way. But he was so scared, so confused, and broken that he felt pride didn't matter at the moment.

The woman nodded.

*When you are dehydrated, your ears ring.