When the bomb went off, you were in line for kettle corn, of all things. Kettle corn.
The explosion is deafening, the ground vibrating as objects shake loose. People scream in panic, many diving behind the nearest sturdy structure.
But not you. No, you’re frozen, because the dark, acrid smoke from the bomb is billowing in the direction you came from. In the direction of your boyfriend’s band.
“No,” you whisper, dropping the bucket you spent the last ten minutes waiting for as you sprint back towards the stage, your heart pounding in your chest.
No no no no no no no…
When you finally make it back, you fight through the crowd, shouting out for Woody. Oh, god, no…
“Woody!” you shout, your voice breaking as debris settles all around you. You force yourself not to look at the injured by you as you pound up to the stage. You spot Dan staggering about, blood flowing sluggishly from a head wound.
“Dan!” you shout, skidding to a stop and grabbing Dan’s sleeves. “Are you alright?”
Dan groans, gingerly touching his head and wincing before nodding. “Go,” he rasps, “find the others.”
Pursing your lips, you leave Dan to venture further back into the stage. Come on come on…
A familiar groan has you on your knees as you snap your head in the direction of the sound. Your stomach takes a plunge as you reach a shaking hand to your boyfriend’s chest. Your breath catches as you whisper fearfully, “Woody, wake up! Please, wake up…”
After a moment, Woody opens his eyes blearily, looking dazed and confused. A panicked, hysterical sob bursts out as you help Woody sit up before throwing your arms around him.
“Y-you scared m-m-me,” you say, your bottom lip quivering as your hand cradles Woody’s head. You feel Woody hug you gingerly back.
“I’m fine,” Woody murmurs consolingly. How ironic. He’s the one in the middle of a damn bomb explosion, and here you are losing your head.
You give a shaky sigh. “I am so scared to lose you,” you say.
“You won’t lose me,” Woody replies quietly, pulling back. You inspect him. He’s got a number of cuts and scrapes, his eyes are still slightly unfocused, and there’s a layer of grime on his face, but he’s still breathing, still living.