Snippet #1633057

A shadow of a grin -- judging by the amount of cussing, that was definitely John. The beeping was giving him a headache. He would have thrown something at it if there wasn't that risk of said object faceplanting someone. This thought slammed into him, almost physically -- someone could have died. Then he, too, cussed. A huge responsibility weighed down on his shoulders -- but isn't that why he was here? He reached John, who was calling, "I'm right over here!"

The man was trapped in his seat, on the floor, chunks of torn metal pushing him into place. Varek could've used a steady light, but trying as hard as he could to focus, he began moving debris away. His arm was irritating him, but the small pool of blood beneath John reminded him he was lucky. He'd need a splint and cast, but John needed more serious attention. "Hey, buddy," he said, peeking in through a cleared hole, a roughshod grin on his tousled face, "You'll be alright." He looked over his shoulder. Jericho. The man was in much better shape. Scanning over the second man, the first thing that struck Varek was his eye. Not yet being able to assess the extent of his injury, he said, "How are you feeling, man? If you feel up to it, I could use your help with moving some more of this debris away. John's trapped. I need to be able to get to him and take a look at his hip."