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The first thing Wesley noticed was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind—no, this silence was wrong. Heavy. Pressing. The kind that made his ears ring and his thoughts scatter.
Rain drummed against the roof of the car in uneven bursts. Somewhere nearby, metal ticked as it cooled.
Wesley tried to inhale and immediately sucked in a sharp, shallow breath instead. Pain bloomed across his chest, deep and suffocating, like something heavy had settled there and refused to move.
“James,” he whispered.
No answer.
Panic flared hot and sudden. Wesley forced his eyes open, blinking against the blur. The world tilted strangely. The car was off the road, nose angled toward a shallow ditch, hazards dark. The windshield was spiderwebbed but intact.
“James,” he tried again, louder this time. His throat felt thick.
A groan answered him. “Here.”
Relief crashed through Wesley so hard it made him dizzy. “Are you—”
“Hurts,” James muttered. “But I’m here.”
Wesley swallowed and tried to move his arm. It shook violently, nerves firing without permission. His fingers tingled, then went numb.
“That’s… not good,” he murmured.
James shifted in the driver’s seat and immediately hissed. “Okay. Yeah. Definitely not good.”
Rain intensified, pounding harder now, water streaming down the windows. The road behind them was empty—no headlights, no passing cars. Wesley’s phone lay on the floor near his feet, screen dark.
“Can you reach your phone?” Wesley asked.
James tried. Failed. “It’s… jammed. Door won’t open either.”
That word—*jammed*—sent another spike of fear through Wesley’s chest. He focused on breathing, shallow and controlled, just like he’d been taught.
“We’ll be okay,” he said, more to himself than James. “Someone will come by.”
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Wesley’s vision swam. The ache in his chest sharpened with every breath, radiating outward until his ribs felt like they were wrapped too tight. His head throbbed, pulse echoing behind his eyes.
“James,” he said quietly. “I don’t feel great.”
James turned his head as much as he could. “Talk to me.”
“I’m dizzy. And my chest—” Wesley paused to breathe through a wave of nausea. “It’s getting worse.”
James cursed under his breath. He strained again against his door, then slammed his shoulder into it once, twice. Nothing.
“I’m trying,” he said, voice tight. “Signal’s dead. Car’s not responding.”
Wesley closed his eyes. The cold was creeping in now, seeping through the car, settling into his bones. He shivered despite himself.
“We were almost there,” he whispered.
James didn’t reply right away. When he did, his voice was steady but strained. “You’re not dying on me five minutes from dinner.”
Wesley huffed out a weak, breathless laugh that turned into a wince. “Angela would kill me.”
“She’d kill *me*,” James corrected. “So stay with me, okay?”
Wesley nodded faintly.
Time stretched. Rain turned to a cold, misty drizzle, fog rolling in thick enough to swallow the road entirely. Wesley’s breaths grew shorter. He pressed his hand against his chest instinctively, fingers trembling.
Something was wrong. Deep wrong.
“James,” he said again, panic bleeding into his voice now. “I can’t… get a full breath.”
James’s head snapped toward him. “Hey. Look at me.”
Wesley tried. His vision tunneled instead.
“Wesley,” James said sharply. “Stay awake. Stay with me.”
“I am,” Wesley whispered—but even to his own ears, it sounded uncertain.
The edges of the world dimmed.
---
Angela was halfway through setting the table when her phone rang.
She answered without looking. “You’re late.”
“Angela.” James’s voice was strained, controlled in a way that set off every alarm in her body. “There’s been an accident.”
The room seemed to tilt. “What kind of accident?”
“Car. We’re okay—” A pause. “Wesley’s hurt.”
That was all it took.
Angela was already grabbing her keys, heart slamming against her ribs. Nyla answered on the first ring, and Angela didn’t bother softening it.
“James and Wesley were in an accident,” she said. “We’re going to the hospital.”
“I’m already on my way,” Nyla replied. No hesitation. No questions.
---
The ER lights were too bright. Wesley hated them immediately.
Every breath hurt now, a dull, spreading pain that made him grit his teeth. A paramedic hovered, calm and efficient, asking questions Wesley answered automatically. His thoughts felt slow, like wading through syrup.
“Any dizziness?”
“Yes,” Wesley admitted.
“Nausea?”
“A little.”
James was on the other gurney nearby, insisting he was fine even as someone wrapped his wrist. Wesley turned his head just enough to see him.
“Stop lying,” Wesley murmured.
James gave him a tight smile. “You first.”
Then Angela was there.
Wesley didn’t hear her footsteps, didn’t register anything until her hand wrapped around his, warm and solid and real.
“Oh my God,” she breathed.
Relief hit him so hard it almost hurt more than the accident. His throat tightened. “Hey,” he said, voice rough. “We were almost on time.”
Angela laughed, but it broke halfway through and turned into something watery. “You’re unbelievable.”
Her other hand brushed his hair back gently, careful not to move him. Wesley closed his eyes, grounding himself in her presence. The pain was still there, but it felt… manageable now.
Nyla appeared beside James’s gurney, her expression sharp with worry she didn’t bother hiding. She squeezed James’s shoulder once, firm and reassuring.
“Both of you,” she muttered. “I leave you alone for one drive.”
---
The diagnosis came in pieces.
Wesley had bruised ribs, a mild concussion, and orders to rest whether he liked it or not. No internal bleeding. No surgery. The words felt like oxygen.
Angela stayed glued to his side as they transferred him to a room. She helped him sit up slowly, murmuring reassurances when he winced.
“I’m sorry,” Wesley said quietly.
“For what?” she asked.
“For scaring you.”
Angela leaned in, forehead resting briefly against his. “You don’t get to apologize for getting hit by another car.”
A weak smile tugged at his mouth. “Worth a try.”
James was released first, sporting a splint and a lecture. He stopped by Wesley’s room before leaving.
“Next time,” James said, “we’re taking separate cars.”
“Next time,” Wesley replied, “you’re driving even slower.”
James snorted. “Deal.”
---
Later, when the room was quiet and the adrenaline had finally faded, the pain crept back in fully. Wesley lay still, staring at the ceiling, breaths shallow.
Angela noticed immediately.
“Hey,” she said softly. “What hurts?”
“Everything,” he admitted.
She adjusted his pillows with careful hands, then sat on the edge of the bed, letting him lean into her side. Wesley did so without hesitation, exhaustion weighing heavy in his limbs.
“I thought…” His voice wavered, surprising them both. “For a second, I thought I wasn’t going to make it to you.”
Angela’s arm tightened around him. “But you did.”
He closed his eyes. “Yeah.”
Outside, rain tapped gently against the window now, calmer than before. Wesley focused on that sound, on Angela’s steady breathing, on the simple fact of being here.
Almost there had been enough.
---
As night fell, the hospital room grew quieter, the sounds of footsteps and distant voices fading into a dull hum. Wesley felt the weight of fatigue settling over him, but sleep eluded him. The pain in his chest throbbed, a constant reminder of the accident.
He shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position, but the ache only intensified. Panic began to creep in, a familiar sensation that twisted his stomach. He glanced at Angela, who had dozed off in the chair beside him, her head resting against the wall.
Wesley’s heart raced as he struggled to take a deep breath. Each inhale felt like a battle, and the tightness in his chest grew more pronounced. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the panic to subside, but it only escalated.
*What if something’s wrong? What if I can’t breathe?*
“Angela,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper.
She stirred awake, instantly alert. “Wesley? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t… I can’t breathe,” he managed, his voice trembling.
Angela was at his side in an instant, her hand gripping his tightly. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me. In and out, nice and slow.”
But Wesley’s breaths came in quick, shallow gasps, the room spinning around him. He felt trapped, the walls closing in, and the panic surged higher.
“Wesley, look at me,” Angela urged, her voice steady and soothing. “Focus on me. You’re safe. We’re in the hospital. You’re going to be okay.”
He tried to meet her gaze, but the world felt too overwhelming. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” she insisted, her grip tightening. “Just follow my lead. Inhale… one, two, three… hold… one, two… exhale… one, two, three.”
Wesley forced himself to follow her instructions, though it felt like an uphill battle. He focused on her voice, on the warmth of her hand in his, and slowly, the panic began to recede.
“That’s it,” Angela encouraged, her eyes never leaving his. “You’re doing great. Just keep breathing.”
With each breath, the tightness in his chest eased a little more. The spinning slowed, and the shadows of panic began to fade. Wesley felt the tension in his body start to release, and he leaned into Angela’s side, grateful for her presence.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
“Don’t apologize,” Angela said softly, brushing her fingers through his hair. “You’re allowed to feel scared. I’m here.”
Wesley closed his eyes, letting her words wash over him. The storm inside him quieted, and he focused on the sound of her heartbeat, steady and reassuring.
---