Chapter Two: F.E.A.R. (False Evidence Appearing Real)

Thank you all for your wonderful reviews and story alerts. And, on a random side note, I'm crazy excited because I'm going to be a sophomore in High school next year. Which is pretty good; considering that all my friends failed at least one of their classes, and I haven't failed any yet. Yay for trying hard! Haha; but I'll stop spamming my own story and let you read, eh?

Just one more thing: I've got another idea for a story. And I'm just wondering if I should go ahead and write it, or focus only on this one?

.~.~.~.

"G! G, man, wake up!" A voice resonated above him, worried and much too loud.

I don't wanna wake up. Five more minutes… Callen thought blearily, letting out a quiet groan as he shifted.

"Hold on there, G. Don't move." The voice insisted, and Callen flickered his eyes open. He shut them almost immediately when the pain sensors in his body flared to life. He bit back another groan, trying to remember exactly what happened. He wasn't too worried about the pain; it felt nothing like bullet wounds, and most of the prickling pains had died down.

His leg, though, was another story. Forcing his eyes open again, he blinked furiously and tried to make sense of the blurry things in front of him. Okay… I'm lying on a road, G squinted, turning his head slightly to look around more, and it's raining… wasn't I at the bar with Sam? - Oh shit! Sam!

His memories of the collision came to life in his head, and he shifted his arms to get in a better position to stand. He managed to make it into a kneeling position before the pain in his leg flared up again. Something trickled into his eye, and he wiped his hand across it, blinking at the red substance as he fought to remember what it was.

"Shit. G, can you hear me? I called the paramedics. They'll be here soon."

That voice again. Callen mumbled something that he couldn't really decipher, blinking at the fuzziness in his thoughts. Focus, G. Focus. I flew out the windshield… God, Hetty's gonna kill me when she finds out I didn't wear a seatbelt. His thoughts wandered further from figuring out what was going on, to the point where they almost disappeared completely.

"G!"

The shout woke him from his brief lapse into unconsciousness, and with a moan he forced his eyes to open fully, staring into the familiar face of his friend. Sam looks fine… bloody face, but otherwise pretty healthy… Callen licked his lips (they tasted like copper, and had a liquid substance on them that he couldn't identify but knew it wasn't rain) and opened his mouth, intent on telling Sam to move backwards six inches. It was amazing creepy with that face so close. All that came out of his mouth was so hoarse that it was more of a groan than any actual words, and he winced. He swallowed, the movement causing a headache to show itself.

"G?"

Callen tried again. "S'okay…" He immediately winced as his headache caused a painful throbbing on his temple.

"Like hell it's okay! You just flew out of a car windshield, and because it's you and your crappy luck, you landed in a bunch of glass!" Sam ranted, throwing up his arms in worried exasperation.

G let out a small, hoarse laugh that actually sounded more like a choking animal to Sam than a laugh. "Don't… mock me." G managed to get out, noting how odd it was for his throat to be this sore, or for his voice to be this rough, "You okay?"

"Yeah; I'm fine. Think I broke my nose, but that's about it." Sam answered, clearly relieved that G was up to speaking. Callen opened his mouth to ask, but Sam being Sam answered his unspoken question, "I already called Hetty. You won't have to explain what happened."

G nodded, twisting into a sitting position and hissing in a painful breath when his leg screamed in protest. Sam placed a hand on his back, helping him stay steady. "That leg doesn't look too good, buddy. I doubt you'll be chasing bad guys for a while."

"Just… what I need." Callen joked, trying to lighten the mood. Whenever Sam got worried, angry, or nervous, it set Callen on edge as well. Sam not smiling, not being happy, just didn't seem like Sam to him. "I finally… get back after the shooting… and I'm down and out again."

"At least you aren't riddled with bullet holes like Swiss cheese this time," Sam smiled, and G breathed in deep, trying to remember exactly what that had felt like. He remembered the impacts of the bullets, the burn in his chest as he fought for air, and a faint pain. But then he had gone unconscious; and when he woke up again he was on a morphine drip and couldn't really feel much of anything. His breath hitched as a new pain flared up from his chest, and that feeling was most definitely not a new sensation. Broken ribs never felt good, especially if you had to chase down a murderer right after the blow was inflicted. He remembered that time quite well.

A thought came to him, and he frowned when he realized that he hadn't thought of it before now.

"Sam? What about the other car?" He swallowed again, his mouth feeling like sandpaper. He vaguely realized that he had been breathing through his mouth, as something was blocking his nose. Raising a hand as he watched Sam fidget, he wiped it across his face and peered at the red liquid. Blood, and quite a bit of it, too.

"It's from a pretty nasty gash on your forehead. Don't worry too much; head wounds always bleed a lot." Sam answered the question in G's ice blue eyes, his own sliding away to stare down the road.

"Sam." G said forcefully, and Sam's eyes returned to stare into his, "What about the other car?"

Sam let out a sigh, hanging his head momentarily before bringing it back up to look into G's face with a mournful expression. "I checked on them right after I found your pulse. They…" he trailed off, seeming to try and think of his next words, but eventually decided to just say it straight out.

"They're dead. All six. I'm pretty sure they died on impact."

.~.~.~.

I'm mean.