He can't move. He can barely suck in enough air. He hears someone calling his name, but he can't focus on anything past the pain and the limp blonde body in his arms. All he can see is blood and splotches of black, but as the smell of hot rubber disappears, he knows that the driver has already left them for dead.

He can still hear the voice calling him, but in his muddled mind he can't decide on a face. Just a name. A . . . Al . . . Al-something . . . Alfr- "Al-fre-ed . . ." He murmurs, something wet and sticky and thick running down the side of his face.

There's a sigh- something like relief in the static and heat of the air- and a rush of cold air and ruffled clothing as someone falls onto the asphalt with them.

Suddenly Gilbert doesn't care who it is. He doesn't even care about the pain. He hears someone screaming and a man shouting, but he can only focus on the warm body in his numb arms and the mesmerizing way the block spots in his vision swirl and grow. Before he knows it, Gil is left without a care in the world as he loses consciousness.

Gilbert doesn't know where he is when he wakes up. He can't think at first. All he knows is that his chest is tight, and he can't breathe. He struggles, gasping like a fish out of water, but no air comes in. He can't tell where the frantic beeping and shrieking of machinery is coming from, but it seems to save him. Someone- maybe more than one someone- rushes in and begins to pull at the loose clothing over his chest.

There's some more gasping, someone trying to calm him down, and sudden sharp pain in his chest. Finally, he takes a sharp breath in. He begins breathing hard, and he can't even think about it as the someone from before starts to take his pulse.

"Everything looks like it should, Mr. Beilschmidt." The woman- she's definitely a woman, Gilbert thinks- tells him. "Your condition should start to improve shortly."

Her smile relaxes Gilbert. She seemed nice. Kind of like Matty-.

"Matty!" He launches straight up off of the cot-like hospital bed, but finds himself forced back by the surprisingly strong . . . nurse? Doctor? "Who are you?" He demands quietly. "Where am I? Where's Matty?"

The woman's smile had dropped as soon as he'd tried to sit up. "My name's Marsha Rick. I'm a nurse here. You, two other men, and a young woman were brought into the hospital early yesterday morning with some pretty serious damage." Her tone grows shaky as she mentions the other two. "The other two- they're twins, I assume? Alfred F. Jones and Matthew Williams- I suppose that's 'Matty'."

Gilbert nods slowly, still all-too aware of the throbbing pain in his neck. "Is . . . Are they okay?" He asks cautiously, fully aware of the minefield he's skipping towards.

Marsha sighs. "I'm not sure." She admits. He wants the truth- she can see that. "Mr. Jones only suffered a head wound, but he's still sleeping. He'll be fine. Matthew on the other hand . . . From what we can see, you shielded him from most of the damage, but . . ." She trails off.

Gilbert feels the absolute dread pool in his stomach. But he shakes his head. Matty is strong. He's smart enough to know that after all these years. Then it hits him. "And the woman. What about her, is she alright?"

"Yes." Marsha nods, finally smiling again. "Seems she got lucky. Only a few bumps and bruises. She was sent home to her family within an hour of arrival."

The white-haired patient lets out a sigh of relief. "That's . . . Great . . ." He lays back again and sighs loudly. "It wouldn't have been worth it if she'd been hurt."

The nurse hums quietly, folding her arms over her chest. "Do you mind telling me what happened?" She asks gently, needing to know, if only to know how she could help. "A few witnesses came in with you lot, saying that the twin- Matthew- had just . . . jumped. In front of a car."

Gil nods. "The, uh . . . The woman. She was crossing the street with her kid. Matty, Al, and I were coming out of a restaurant, and we saw the whole thing. There was a car- they must have driven away afterwards." He clenches a fist until it bleeds worryingly. "He didn't stop. He had a red, he should have stopped. But he just kept his speed up."

He sniffs a bit, trying to ignore the heaviness of his stomach and the pounding in his head as he continues. "Matty shouted something and just bolted. Jones and I ran after him. He shoved the woman and her daughter out of the way, and I only had enough time to grab Matty and hold him before . . ."

Marsha looks horrified. "I-I'm . . . Sorry."

"S'not your fault." He waves a hand, suddenly too tired to keep his head up. "Anyways, I don't know what happened to Al. I don't . . . remember anything past the car . . ." He places a hand against his face, shielding his eyes from the bright light above him. "But I'm sure he'll be fine. He always is."

Marsha shakes herself once more to clear her head. "Yes, you're right about that. Alfred should be able to go home whenever he wakes up, depending on how he wakes up."

Gil laughs as well as he can before he breaks into a cough again. "And what does that say about me?" He asks as he smirks at the nurse.

She dismisses it, moving back to that topic. "Right, your circumstances are quite a bit more severe." She explains, any remaining bit of a smile falling away as her expression becomes steely. "Since you took most of the impact yourself, shielding your friend-," Gil smiles faintly at that, "-You are the one we were most worried about when you came in."

"What all's wrong with me then?" He asks, pushing back against the mattress under him as he attempts in vain to get comfortable.

The nurse lets out a huffed breath. "Well, for the most part, you're fine. You and your friends. But you did end up with a concussion, whiplash, a couple broken bones," She gestures towards his still-bleeding hand "Quite a few cuts and bruises. The one most important thing is that you may have suffered some internal damage."

Gil raises an eyebrow, irritating the scabs on his face. "'May have'." He mimics. "What do you mean 'may have'? Shouldn't you know?"

"We can't be sure until we've had someone check you. A doctor, not me." She narrows her eyes and purses her lips seriously. "But if it is what I think it is, you could be bedridden for months."

The snowy-haired man nearly chokes. "Months?"

"Calm down, Mr. Beilschmidt." Marsha commands, and Gilbert feels strangely compelled to obey her. "Like I said, that's only one way this could go down. It could be that you're perfectly healthy." She smiles at him reassuringly, placing a gentle hand on his. "Now really, get some rest. I'll let you know when your friends wake up."

She turns to leave, but finds herself stopped by her patient's hand on her wrist. It's gentle. Shaky. Marsha finds herself filled with pity. He's scared.

"Please . . ." She hears him murmur as she turns towards him again. "Please don't go . . ."

The man who'd been so charming only a moment before was on the brink of tears, liquid dripping from his red eyes to his pointed chin. "Matty he- he and Al, they shouldn't be here."

Marsha can't help but smile sadly at him. Reaching behind herself, she pulls a chair forward. It's meant for visitors, but she seats herself anyway, reaching for Gil's hand again. "Aw, don't cry . . ." She implores him. "From what you told me, there was nothing you could do to stop it."

That only seems to make the tears fall quicker, and the nurse isn't sure what to say. "You know . . ." She whispers " . . . You saved that woman's life."

Gil peers up at her, wiping the side of his face with his clean hand. "No, Matty saved her." He half-sobs, half-smiles. "He's pretty quiet most of the time, but he's a hero. Always has been."

"Mr. Jones was awake a little earlier." She admits. "He said something along the same lines." She hesitates, unsure if the next part is something she's allowed to mention or not. But she says it anyway. "He also mentioned that the two of you- you and Mr. Williams- are in a relationship?"

Gil nods, smiling wide in spite of his split lips. "Yeah. Going on three years now." Marsha is thrown off by the way he lights up whenever Matthew is mentioned. "Matty's perfect. He's never rude or loud like me. He's quiet and kind and . . . this sort of thing." He gestures at his own battered body.

The nurse tilts her head. "He gets hurt a lot?"

"No, that's not what I mean." Gil waves his hand dismissively. "I mean he's . . . He's always getting into these kinds of situations. Where the logical thing would be to shout after the person, but his instincts tell him to run."

Marsha suddenly finds it poetic- romantic- the way the albino man talks about the sleeping one a few rooms down. "The way you say that, it's like you aren't angry with him."

Gilbert sighs, smiling at her. "You know, I don't think I can be."

As the nurse had predicted, months have passed by the time Gil is able to take walks with Matthew again. He'll always have the limp, the doctors tell him. But as he wobbles along slowly next to Matthew, watching his lips move as he speaks, Gilbert finds that he doesn't care. He'd still jump in front of another car for Matty if he ever needed to. In fact, he really thinks he'd do anything for Matthew.

So as the two make their way down the sidewalk, Alfred pouting behind them mockingly, neither of them have a care in the world.