Hey-o, people! Now that this is drawing to a close, I'm at a loss of what to work on next. SO I created a poll on my profile with some ideas for stories that I plan on writing, so you guys can help me pick which one to write first! Feel free to go vote. Don't worry—I'm writing all of them, but if more people want one story, I'll happily write that one first. xP

Enjoy!

"You got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Okay, ready? Go."

James looked up at the voices that drifted back to him. He was shivering and chattering and it was getting infinitely harder to keep treading the water. But the voices he heard sounded official and confident, like they knew what they were doing. Like they were here to rescue him.

"James?"

He jerked at the sound of his name. "Yeah?"

The crack opened a little bit, flooding light into the tiny space James was trapped in. A man's face appeared, silhouetted in the sudden brightness. James stared, too numb from the cold to even process that he didn't know this man.

He smiled at James. "Hi, James, I'm Aaron. C'mon, kid, we're getting you out of here."

That did it. James came alive, releasing his shaking fingers from his crossed arms and reaching up towards the man.

Much to his dismay, the man shook his head. "Sorry, kid—won't work that way. We're going to shove up on this balcony and then you need to swim through the crack at the bottom. Think you can do that?"

James barely understood what they wanted him to do. He felt fuzzy, semi-conscious, freezing and stiff and numb and exhausted. But as the man shoved up against the balcony, the crack on James' right opened up. Instinctively James took a breath and dipped beneath the surface. He kicked and thrashed, not quite knowing where he was going but propelling himself in one direction. When his lungs threatened to burst, something grabbed onto his upper forearm and tugged him up and out of the pool.

James didn't realize how wet he was until he was handed a towel. It was draped across his shoulders and he was suddenly annoyed at how unbalanced he felt with his neck dry and the rest of him soaked to the bone. He was cold, he was wet, and he felt a cold coming on as if that weren't the least of his problems.

He couldn't concentrate on the people surrounding him. He was pretty sure he recognized Camille's voice, and Katie's. But where was everyone else? Everything was a blur and his eyes stung from the chlorine. Even as he fingered his new towel he could feel the wrinkles in his fingertips and he hated it.

He didn't even realize that they were leading him to an ambulance until the doors shut with him inside. It was only then when he finally remembered to worry. What happened to the others?

…

"Kendall!" Logan pounded on the door, feeling borderline delusional. The door refused to open and it was going to drive him crazy. "Kendall!" he shouted again. "Katie! Answer me, please!"

"Logan?"

Someone appeared at the end of the hall. Logan had to blink a couple of times to recognize Carlos' bronze skin and wide eyes as he hurried towards him. The Latino walked with a limp and he was clutching his right shoulder, but there was still the determined fire in his eyes that told Logan he was in for trouble.

"Why didn't you stay in the elevator?" he demanded. "You have a concussion, Logan."

"And you have a dislocated shoulder," Logan retorted. Or he tried to—that was a long sentence to string together and the concussion explained a lot of the reason why he could barely think actual thoughts. Or memories. It was getting hazy to remember things that were important—not medical terms and logic, but the things that matter. Knowing that Kendall and Katie were somehow trapped in their room. Maybe? Why weren't they answering him?

"Logan," Carlos said again.

Logan snapped his head towards him and frowned when he saw how much closer Carlos had gotten. When had that happened? Did he teleport, or somehow possessed speeds that even Logan himself wasn't aware of…?

The room swayed for a second and Logan didn't even realize he was falling until Carlos caught him. He blinked as he saw the Latino boy's face pinch tightly in pain. A pang of guilt hit him as he straightened up. Carlos must've dislocated his shoulder again. Logan knew he hadn't done a very good job setting it before. Then again, he had been concussed.

"Focus, Logan," he told himself harshly.

Carlos didn't even seem to hear him. Maybe he hadn't said it out loud. But Carlos turned his attention to the door and tried to force his way inside it. Logan slumped against the wall to watch him.

"I already tried," Logan slurred when Carlos growled in frustration. He blinked to try to get the room to focus again. "It's blocked. Or something. Carlos, why… why did you leave?"

"I had to try to get help," Carlos said without looking at him.

"But you left me there." Logan frowned as he tried to remember. "All by myself. In the dark, you left me there. Why…? Why would you do that?"

Carlos didn't answer him. Logan wasn't sure he wanted one. He didn't even know why he asked that question. Logically it made sense: Logan was concussed, and probably unconscious at the time. Carlos only had one good shoulder. It made sense that he would leave to get help. But Logan couldn't help but feel abandoned, again. Maybe it had something to do with his father picking up and leaving when he was six, before he moved to Minnesota. But waking up to no Carlos had scared him witless. And Logan didn't know what to make of that fear.

He blinked. Carlos was no longer in his sight. Looking down, he saw the shorter boy squatting and fiddling with the hinges. When had he moved? Logan's lapse in concentration was freaking him out. He'd been concussed before, but never this bad. Right? He couldn't remember a time when it was this bad.

That's not good.

"Got it."

Logan watched as Carlos straightened up. He had two bronze screws in his hand—the screws to the hinges. How did he get those out? And why were his fingers bleeding?

The questions darted to the back of his mind as he watched Carlos struggle to open the door with only his left arm. Logan frowned. He felt like he should be doing something important to help Carlos out, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Helping him open the door? Maybe. He stepped forward and helped the Latino boy tug on the wood. With a couple of yanks, it came free.

"Kendall!" Carlos hollered as he stepped inside. Logan followed, blinking blearily at everything, kind of confused. Really confused, actually. Disoriented. Exhausted.

"Logan."

Logan's head swiveled at his name. He tried to find Carlos and had to look down again, because the younger boy was kneeling on the ground beside a small lump of—wait, that wasn't a lump. That was a head. Kendall's head—he could tell by the blondeness, even though the blonde was matted with thick, sticky-looking, dark red blood.

He stumbled over to Carlos and as he looked at the smaller boy he could see the tears glistening in his eyes. He didn't understand until he turned his attention to Kendall. The blonde's eyes were closed. His face glistened with sweat, blood, and drying tears. But was he breathing? Logan's numb hands struggled to lift, push two fingers into Kendall's neck, and check his pulse. He kept it there longer than he needed to, because he forgot to recognize Kendall's heartbeat pulsing onto his fingertips. It was there. It was faint, but it was there.

Carlos stared at him, frantic eyes alternating between Logan's face and Kendall's. "Well?" he demanded. "Is he…?"

"He's alive," Logan confirmed. He had to concentrate to even get that out. "Um… I think he's in shock." Which was bad for Kendall. "We need to get him nutrients, fluids… his body's shutting down."

"We need to get him out of there," Carlos muttered. He started to lift the heavy piece of ceiling that Logan just now noticed was sitting there.

It took Logan a second to realize what he was doing. "No!" he gasped, reaching out with a hand.

Carlos froze, terrified of doing something wrong.

Lucidity snapped into place for a split second. "Don't move that," he warned. "He'll die if you do."

His friend's bronze skin paled and he carefully eased the ceiling back onto Kendall's chest.

"Then what do we do?" he whispered brokenly.

Logan frowned, trying to think. "We need… we need help."

"I tried calling the police," Carlos muttered. "The operator said something like, the lines are all too busy. I think the whole city's calling the police right now."

Logan didn't answer. He sat numbly on his heels and then when that couldn't balance him anymore, he crashed onto his rear end. Carlos sat down next to him, staring at Kendall's slack face.

"I knew he was up here," he whispered. "Something just told me. And when I final decided to just come up and check… I was gonna just stay down in the lobby and wait until I could reach someone… but then you were up here and I just…"

He was rambling, Logan noted. But Logan didn't mind. He missed the sound of his friend's voice—so rustic and genuine and happy most days.

But not today. Logan didn't think anyone could be happy today.

Carlos suddenly stumbled to his feet. Logan looked up at him and noted the fierce look on his face, like he'd suddenly come to a revelation.

"I'm going to try again," Carlos said, mostly to himself.

"Try what again?"

He looked down at Logan. "Try to reach the cops. Try to get them to help Kendall. He's going to die if we don't." His voice cracked horribly on die, but Logan understood why. He stared thoughtfully at Kendall before nodding.

"Okay," Carlos said. He started for the door and then turned back to Logan. "Stay here?"

"I'll stay," Logan said, but he wasn't so sure he would. It was too hard to concentrate now. He didn't even remember what he promised.

But Carlos nodded anyways. "I'll be right back." He paused as he started to go out the doorway, like he'd said the words before. Logan didn't know why, but the look Carlos was giving him and Kendall almost implied that they might not see each other for a long time.

Carlos nodded again, once firmly this time. "Stay here." And he slipped out of the door.