Stubborn Love // A Mumford & Sons Fanfic

Chapter 2

There were lights, noises, and shouting. Sirens started going off in the distance, just faint enough to make out a fire and rescue truck and an ambulance that were coming from different stations. It was complete chaos, to say the very least.

Marcus awoke with a start, his hands flying to his bleeding forehead as he looked over in Ben's direction. His friend was lying halfway upon the steering wheel, the horn going off. It was a horrible, reverberating sound that made Marcus so dizzy that it left him groaning.

The situation was rather grim. His expression fell, eyes glazed over. All he could manage to do was draw his friend away from the wheel, a hand cupping the man's face as he examined him.

"Ben... Ben, wake up, please," he started to say, panic evident in his tone. He was panicking, yet, somehow, carefully inspecting him for any visible injuries.

His scrutinizing gaze eventually migrated to the truck itself. The driver's side door was smashed in, he noted, the glass shattered and lying about. Pieces of metal and rubber from the window and the demolished door were strewn about as well.

Marcus wanted to get out. He needed air. His door wouldn't budge, though, as it was blocked by a tree, making it almost impossible until the paramedics arrived. Unable to help himself, he began to get a bit hysterical, shouting and trying with all his might to kick the door open. But it was all no use.

There was a lot of blood but Marcus wasn't quite sure who it belonged to. He ached everywhere but it didn't matter. He was vaguely aware of a pain in his ribs, in his side, and his head. Shock had already set in. But Ben was the one who he was more concerned about.

Ben was grumbling something — nonsense, no doubt. He had slumped over, his head a mess of crimson and brunette curls. Marcus caught him before he fell to the side and pulled him into his arms, burying his nose in his friend's tresses as he fought to keep the tears from falling. The smell of iron was almost too much to handle. He could have been ill.

"I hear Emergency Response coming. They're on the way," Marcus said, his voice shaky and quavering. "Just—Just don't try and move. Stay awake, please. Stay awake for me, Ben."

Everything felt like a haze, is if he'd found himself stuck in one of his nightmares — the kind where you know you're sleeping and yet you can't pull yourself together and open your eyes.

Much to Marcus' surprise, Ben began to rouse, coughing and sputtering. "Mar—Marcus," he started to say. "Fuck... My head feels like it's going to split right open." Marcus, not knowing what else to say, answered with a quiet, "It'll be fine".

"A drunk driver t-boned us," he finally explained to Ben, voice weak and whisper-soft. "Don't—Don't worry, you're gonna be alright. I'll make sure of it." He said that to his friend despite the way Ben studied his expression with a half-open, bruised eye. He didn't know anything right now. But if there was a man upstairs, so to speak, he knew that they would be okay.

On a whim, he reached for the coat Ben had been wearing. He used the sleeve, lightly pressing the material to Ben's sticky, blood-smeared forehead. It was an image that poor Marcus knew would haunt him for decades to come.

It wasn't all that long before the Paramedics arrived at the scene. Thankfully the drugs they pumped into Marcus' system on the way to the hospital left him woozy enough to doze off.

When he roused next, he was lying in a hospital bed. He'd gotten an ample amount of stitches across his forehead and temple and he was sporting an assortment of colorful, nasty bruises. A few broken ribs, a badly sprained wrist, and a few broken bones in his foot — which unfortunately couldn't be held together and mended with a cast. It would just have to heal on its own.