Hi! First AD fic, and I have to say, this one proves I'm a really weird person. I take something used for comedy… for instance, the Yukari-Mobile! And then I turn out something like… this. Oh well! Just a little oneshot I came up with, and I hope you enjoy, or at least don't hate it. Besides, this website needs more AD fics… even bad ones. XD Any grammar/spelling errors haven't been caught because it's two in the morning, but I'll sweep the story again when I'm more awake and edit any mistakes I find.

-Accusation

--moments forever faded--

Broken glass crunching beneath her sandals. Glass and something wet, something that she didn't even want to think about. She could only hear her own footsteps, despite the crowd that had already gathered to stare and gossip, direct traffic, try to be the hero. The car was a mess. She surveyed it clinically, not letting herself think about what the words meant. Flipped over onto its roof, one tire still spinning in lazy circles, like it hadn't figured out yet that it had been ripped away from the asphalt. Smoke rising from the back, somewhere. Where was everybody? She turned and went to the left side of the car.

Yomi saw Tomo first, and thought she was already dead. She heard a sound leave her mouth that reminded her of a small child about to be eaten up by some kind of nighttime monster. She took a step back and wanted to run; to hell with bravery, this was just too much for one mind to take in. But then she realized that Tomo's eyes were open and took baby steps toward the shattered window, because it would be one thing, one understandable thing, to turn away from a dead body, to not want to look at the person who had once been her friend. But to run away from somebody who was still breathing and awake, who was still Tomo despite the blood? She could never forgive herself.

Reaching the window, where Tomo lay on her back, Yomi recoiled. Most of the glass plate had shattered, the pieces scattered across the road nearby. Only Tomo's upper body was visible, and her head hung back slightly, resting on the black asphalt. Blood from a gash on her forehead had smeared across her face, a sick mask. Fresh blood dripped onto the road and tainted the glass red. Tomo's brown eyes seemed to be staring straight at her, but as Yomi knelt down beside her friend, Tomo gave no reaction. For five seconds, she thought that she had been wrong; Tomo was dead after all, and now Yomi would have to sit next to her friend's body until somebody noticed and dragged her away, because there was no way she could get up and walk away on her own and she couldn't move— and the only thing she could think of was that earlier that same day she'd snapped at Tomo to go away, and now Tomo had gone away.

And then Tomo blinked and Yomi saw that she was shaking, seeming to fold in on herself, like one does when they stand outside in cold weather without a jacket. Or the way Tomo would whenever she got really excited about something, like a sports fest or a trip… Yomi took a shaky breath and, ignoring everything she'd ever learned about first aid, gently lifted Tomo's head and let it rest in her lap. She couldn't just let Tomo's head hang back like that. As she adjusted herself on the cold ground, trying to keep Tomo from being jostled, she could feel tiny shards of glass cutting through her khakis and settling into her kneecaps. It hurt, but the pain was far away. Fear overwhelmed pain.

"Yomi," Tomo said, and she sounded like she had on the night she'd come over and fallen asleep on Yomi's bed, before waking up an hour later and yawning her way home. Burnt out. A way Tomo wasn't supposed to sound, not ever. "I think I'm okay?"

"Yeah," Yomi heard herself lie. "You'll be fine, Tomo." Couldn't she hear it? That catch in her voice, that fear? Surely Tomo would understand the depth of this situation. Looking down into Tomo's eyes, though, she learned the truth. Tomo was absolutely terrified and if Yomi told her that everything was going to be okay, it must be true. It was the permission Tomo needed to stop being so afraid.

Sure enough, Tomo gave her a ghost of a grin. "Good thing." There was a pause, and then she added nonsensically, "Magical Land. Like a ride."

"Tomo." Yomi, despite herself, was using her sleeve to try and mop up some of the blood from Tomo's face, with little success. If she could just keep Tomo focused on something, anything. It was a hard enough thing to do when she was lucid. As soon as she thought it, Yomi regretted the words. Why was she always such a bitch, even in this kind of situation? Even though she was panicking, why was she still thinking these kinds of things? "Remember Tearful Little Diet Girl?"

Tomo's eyes rolled up briefly, before she sighed, "Huh?"

"Tearful Little Diet Girl. The radio show, remember? You made fun of me for a week. Remember?"

"Oh…" Tomo closed her eyes, opening them after five long seconds. Yomi forgot about the blood and started running her fingers through Tomo's bangs, being careful to avoid the head wound. It was something her own mother used to do whenever she was sick. It always made her feel a little better. "Yeah… Stupid."

"Yeah. That really cracked you up, didn't it?" Oddly, she felt like laughing herself. Just remembering the way Tomo had flopped onto her neatly made bed, wrinkling up the blankets and laughing in that way only Tomo could.

Tomo did laugh then, briefly. It turned into a shallow, shuddering gasp that left Yomi deeply frightened. "It's cold," she said after a moment. "Yomi, we'll be okay. Right?"

"Of course we will," Yomi said through her tears. "Of course we will. Just hang on for another minute, okay? I know it's hard, but just try, okay? For me. Just do this one thing for me and I'll never yell at you again or… or call you stupid… okay?" She was rambling now, not even thinking about what came out of her mouth, just talking. "I'm sorry I called you a moron, Tomo. We're always pretty mean to each other, but I think… it'll be okay now, if you just hold on. Okay? Tomo?"

…Tomo?

--

It's not your fault,
You feel okay.
It's too late in the day.
It's not your fault,
You feel betrayed.
You can't come out to play.

I never listened to a word you never said.
I never listened to a word you never said.

-- Funeral for a Friend, "Roses for the Dead"