In My Time of Dying

Prologue

"Was that not the wildest day of auditions we've ever had?"

Ant and Dec were both sat in the back of a taxi - since their regular driver, Joe, was laid up with the influenza - and they were chatting excitedly about their day at the latest round of Britain's Got Talent auditions in London.

Dec chuckled at Ant's exclamation: it certainly had. They had seen everything today: dancing pensioners, dogs that could(n't) sing, a dancing cat (that genuinely could dance), comics, magicians, as well as more of the usual singing and dancing variety acts that usually turned up to audition for the show.

It had definitely been a long day as well, and the boys were headed back to their homes for a tasty meal and an early night. Day two of the London auditions was tomorrow, and - if today was anything to go by - it was going to be another crazy day.

"What about that puppeteer though? How good was he?!" Ant continued - a wide, almost childlike grin on his beaming face.

Dec laughed.

"You still going on about him?" he wasn't really that surprised - the guy had been pretty good.

"Aye! Still reckon we should'a given him the Golden Buzzer" Ant replied, shrugging.

Dec shook his head in amusement, looking out the window of the car.

It was a typical busy night on the roads of London, by the looks of things. Cars and lorries were everywhere, all trying to beat the next car home for tea. And people used to wonder why he was scared of driving in London.

Suddenly, Ant let out a yell.

"Hey! What's he doing?!"

Dec glanced out the windscreen, just in time to see a set of headlights swerving in the traffic ahead, coming very close to the other cars. It was about twenty metres away from them when the car suddenly swerved into their lane.

Their driver - bless him - tried his hardest to get out of the way, but there was no room in the next lane, and he was given very little warning. 

The next thing anyone knew, was a loud CRUNCH of metal on metal, the scraping of metal on bitumen, and the squealing of tires as the errant vehicle slammed into the taxi, which it then pushed into about three other cars.

When the dust finally settled on the scene, it was carnage. Bits of bodywork lay scattered on the road, the taxi and the offending car were totally smashed in, and the other cars that were unfortunate enough to get in the way were lying strewn about the scene - dents and broken glass littering their bodywork.

Inside the taxi, the driver was breathing heavily - totally shocked by the sudden turn of events. In the back, the boys were startlingly quiet - both had been knocked unconscious in the crash.

Not for long, as a few moments later Ant started to stir. He groaned as the pain from his injuries started to make themselves known, and his eyes fluttered open.

The taxi driver glanced up at him through the rear-view mirror, and was relieved to see the younger man was - relatively - okay.

"You alright?" he asked, Yorkshire accent very thick.

Ant winced, but nodded.

"Aye, think so" he groaned, before turning to face his friend.

"Decs? You alright?" he asked, not really realising the state Dec was in.

Ant was worried when he got no answer, and he frowned as he looked his friend up and down - he didn't like what he saw.

There was a deep wound on the side of Dec's head where it had been smashed into the broken window - and it was bleeding rather heavily, dripping down the side of his face. His right arm was disfigured and bleeding from his shoulder. His breathing was incredibly laboured, and he sat slumped against the taught pull of the seat belt.