A/N-I don't own this. Michael Scott does.
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Paralystys...Palamedes was shaking. He couldn't drive, and the part of him that drove a taxi for a living knew it—told him to stop—get off the road—let someone else drive—
But he couldn't. He had to do something. He couldn't sit there, with Will dying in the backseat.
Dying...he could literally feel Will weakening, could actually feel the hummingbird rapidity of the Bard's heartbeat.
It made it hard to breathe.
Breathe...was Will breathing? He slammed on the brakes in the center of the intersection and spun around, Will's name choking him.
"He's alive. Drive." The boy's voice was hard and emotionless, but Palamedes could see understanding in his blue eyes. It seemed to him that in those eyes he saw the shimmer of a silver aura, inhaled the scent of fresh vanilla, and felt the tearing of a terror-stricken heart, the reverberation of a silent scream. The boy knew what it was like, to see a dear one limp and helpless. The boy knew what it was like, to have to do something, just to know that you were not sitting still and letting them die. The boy knew that Palamedes should not be driving, but he let him drive because he knew that Palamedes had to do something.
"Drive!" the girl shrieked suddenly as red and blue lights illuminated the interior of the car. The red glow gave Will's pale face the briefest semblance of life. Palamedes hit the accelerator and spun out of the intersection, not even really knowing exactly where he was going.
The hours passed, slowly, tiredly.
"Turn left here," Flamel muttered softly.
"What?" Palamedes snapped, spinning to face the Alchemyst. "Why?"
"Because there is someone I know who can help William. Turn left here."