ft. jacob brooks
cw :: serious injury, blood mention
The stage went completely silent, and with it, the crowd — reduced to nothing more than a low hum from a collective gasp when everything came to a halt. The last thing he heard was the sickening crack of bone against metal; he’d seen a bright flash of light, then blackness that lasted what felt like hours, and when it finally let up, his head was still too scrambled to fit the pieces together.
His head lulled off to the side, then was abruptly brought back to place and not by his own doing. He could hear his name somewhere behind the ringing in his ears; he could make out shadows crowding around him, but not faces. Just enough to recognize it had not, in fact, been hours and he was sprawled out on his back on stage.
“Is he okay?”
“How did that happen?”
“Do we call someone?”
“Here, help him up.”
“No, don’t move him!”
All he could think of was how his face felt huge compared to the rest of his body, intense pressure the only thing he could really make much sense of, then ultimately a spark of pain when he reached up to feel the bridge of his nose. The spark set the rest of the world in motion again. He was able to recognize Jacob and Isaiah trying to haul him off the ground, at least to a sitting position. “Case, c’mon, dude,” Jacob urged, patting him on the shoulder. “You good, can you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah, man, I hear you…” He finally got a look around at the frenzy he’d caused — the anxious crowd, techs scurrying around the stage, Isaiah and Byron having some argument in the background before they noticed he was coherent and came running over. Byron knelt down in front of him. “Are you okay?”
“What was that?” Was all he could think to ask, the words spilling out sloppier than intended, but they were all he had the strength for.
“Well, you see that drum kit over there?” Jacob pointed behind him. “You sorta fell and smashed your face on it.”
“Nice,” was all he could say. He didn’t even want to imagine what he must have looked like. If Byron wasn’t holding him, he was sure he’d fall over again, and he wanted to.
“We need to get you to a hospital, kid,” Byron insisted, causing another unexpected spark, a different kind than before.
Disoriented and bloody-faced or not, he couldn’t ditch a show halfway through. “No, we don’t have to go, I can still play.”
“Casey, you can’t —.”
“No, man, I’m serious.” Casey started trying to get himself up, a failed effort. “I’m serious, just — help me get to the bench, I can finish the show.”