Jack P.O.V.

Poor soul, you think to yourself as you open the big doors of the ambulance car. You want to step in the left side but you remember that in America you drive differently than in England and Ireland.

You fix your eyes on Mark who is now slightly out of breath. You two are holding hands, no you are not gay, and you call that: close friends.

His reflecting red coloured hair is shining in the light of the sun. You sit close to each other because you have to share a seat for one.

You hear the heartbreaking scream of Y/N in the back. You cringe yourself; you wish she will be better soon. You do not know why Mark and you got in the car, but something within you has to make sure this girl is going to be safe.

You have seen the hospital in New York many times; one of the main reasons is Mark himself. Not long ago he had to have a surgery, you remember that he first didn't tell you because he did not wanted you to flip out and after you knew you immediately came visit him. (this is not exactly what happened, take it easy cereal boxesXD)

You where by his side, all that time he needed to recover physically, you needed to recover mentally.

Yes, you live in Ireland and he in America, but that does not mean you cannot be there for each other. Therefore you have the modern planes the Wright brothers once invented.

You hear the girl in the back sob and pray to God; you wish you could be praying with her. You just can't, you have no strength to wish for a miracle, because you know miracles are not real.

'Y/N' you say randomly. Mark heard you and looks your way. You feel that you are tearing up, so is Mark. Yet Mark seems less scared.

Your best friend quickly glances to the back of the car, he squeezes your hand and you know what he saw. The sight will haunt you every day, you assume.

It will climb on his horse only to see you run for your life; it will hunt you down and kill you so you can be served as a main course.

'What?' Mark asks, his voice brook and you guess he is scared too. He is just not the person to let it show. Sometimes he does, sometimes he does not.

You hug your crony very quickly and he hugs you back. You want to burry your face into his chest but you are unable to. You stare outside, through the window. You see some tree's and people.

'Her name is Y/N,' you say softly and you feel Mark tense up. His arms surrounding you are getting pulled closer to his chest; his arms are shorter than yours but much stronger.

You see the angry look of the driver and you get back up, your cheeks are still wet and you sigh. Then you feel something when you are halfway getting up; you feel blood. The blood on Mark's shirt has not fully dried and when you rubbed your head over it, you took the red liquid with you.

Slowly you look at the blood on his shirt. You are scared something happened to Mark. Did he fall when you were not looking? Is it a scratch wound? No, you had them yourself. Is this even a wound?

'You are bleeding, mate,' your Irish accent takes over, you hate it when it does on very serious moments like this.

'It's Y/N' s,' so he said and you first have to figure out who he means (because you are not really used to hear that name). He means Y/N, he said Y/N yet you could not figure that out. Then you remember what you said before he answered and you gasp.

Looking even more worried than before one question runs through your mind: is there a chance of infection?

'Are you infected?' you ask concerned. You saw too many series about people getting infected by some kind of illness that your directly think he is sick.

'Probably not,' Mark responds in an "I do not care" tone. How can he not care about this?! This could be a serious thing! You think to yourself but you keep your mouth shut.

'Sure,' you say sarcastically. You are someone who his sarcastic. When people do not like that, they better say it straight in your face or walk away from you.

Most of the time Mark appreciates your sarcasm, just not today. He rolls his eyes at you and you feel guilty already. You hate it when he rolls his eyes at you.

The car stops next to the hospital, you assume the driver has ran the lights many times otherwise you would never be at the hospital that soon.

You look around yourself, finding the green by the hospital pathetic; once you compare it with the green in Ireland it looks like a houseplant. But you are used to the Irish nature, not the American green. You do appreciate that the American people try something new.

You are stunned by how big the hospital is, how many people are cured here and how many people are not. You never had that experience before, the moment the doctor walks in and you know that what he is going to say is not enjoyable

Mark has rolled his eyes at you not long ago, yet now his eyes are closed. His skin is pale and he feels warm, you can almost hear his heart going crazy.

You are worried and afraid that something has happened to him, maybe he IS infected. Maybe you will lose your best friend, your pall, the person keeping you sane.

Or it could be that your friend is sleeping and you made up all the symptoms just so you did not have to think about her.

Mark closes his eyes almost like he is out of energy. You cannot keep your mouth closed and your voice is shot like a bullet, straight to the ill pray it was hunting for far too long.

'Mark!' you scream loudly. Your friend moves slightly and you breathe again, you do not have to worry anymore. You do not have to worry about Mark; you have to worry about Y/N and the other girl.

Your voice slapped him into reality it seems, it kicked him right off the cloud he was flouting on, somewhere in between ill and healthy.

You have never loved your loud voice more then on this moment. You where given this voice (which was made to scream) long ago, after you made your first happy weels video.

Almost nobody knows about your past, only your closest friends: Mark, Felix and Bob, or Wade and of course Robin (editor) The reason you did not want anybody to know is that you do not want to be treated differently than others, you want to be normal, yet you know you are unable to ever be called normal.

'Yea Jack,' Mark whispers, you hold his hand like you have done many times before. You can draw his hand, every inch of it if you have to, exactly like the original. You have held his hand at the funeral, at his first convention and at all the moments he did not wanted you to feel sorry for him.

'I am worried about you, mate.'

GO TO HELL IRISH ACCENT!

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Same excuse as last time :P