Shawn Mendes Imagines (Editing + Open Requests)

♬2.5 - Turbulence - Part Two

Imagine waking up after the crash, not knowing what happened, or how you got where you are.

"Where is Shawn."

My voice breaks somewhere between breath and sound — not loud enough, not strong enough — but I say his name like it's the only thing I know.

Lewis hesitates.

He heard it.
He heard the name.

"My—my best friend. He was next to me. He—he was—"

My chest tightens, not from injury now, but something sharper, something deeper.

Fear.

"Marky," Lewis says carefully, voice steady the way someone speaks when they know the wrong tone could shatter a person.
"You're in shock. Let's get you up. We'll find him."

"I can't move."
I try.
My body doesn't respond.

My hands tremble instead.
My breath stutters.
The static in my ears grows louder, like the world is underwater.

Scared, I was scared.
Scared.

Lewis crouches beside me, close enough that I see the dirt smeared across his cheek, the tear in his sleeve, the bruise forming across his temple.

"You are moving," he says softly. "Just slower than your brain wants. That's okay. Your body's protecting itself. Let it."

I swallow hard.
My tongue tastes like metal and smoke.

In the distance—crying.
Sharp. High. Young.

The child.

The one I heard before.

"Can you sit?" Lewis asks.

I don't know until I try.

My muscles drag like concrete. But I do.
A few inches.
Then a few more.

Every inch is agony.

My lungs shake.
My vision flickers white at the edges.
But I am upright.

Lewis steadies me with one hand at my back, the other bracing my arm.
He doesn't rush. He doesn't force.

"Good," he murmurs. "You're here. Stay with me."

I blink, hard.
The world sharpens, only a little.
The sky is real.
The ground is real.
The wreckage is real.

And then —

A sound.

Not the child.

Not the wind.

A voice.
Raw. Shredded.
Calling my name like it's oxygen.

"Marky!"

I turn my head too fast.
Pain bursts through my ribs.
But I know that voice.
I know it the way you know your own heartbeat.

Shawn.

He is on his knees in the debris, fingers digging into broken earth, pushing wreckage aside with hands already bleeding.

His voice cracks when he sees me.

"Marky—no—no, no, no—"
He stumbles toward me, nearly falling, catching himself, breathing like he ran through fire to get here.

Lewis steps back without a word. He knows.

Shawn drops to the ground beside me, both hands framing my face — gentle, careful, trembling.

"Hey," he whispers.
And for the first time since the sky broke apart, I breathe.

"You're okay," he says, forehead pressing to mine.
His voice breaks.
"But I thought— I thought I lost you."

My fingers finally move — slow, heavy — but they lift, and I hold onto his shirt.

"I was scared," I whisper.

"I know," Shawn breathes.
"I know. I was too."

His thumbs wipe tears I didn't know I was crying.

"We survive this," he says.

This time — I believe him.

__________
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