Funny thing about car accidents: they never work out favorably.

The drunk always walks away. The speeder never really gets to learn their lesson. The unlucky are always sitting ducks no matter what precautions they take. And the more likeable, well-known, or ready-to-gain from life you are, the bigger a target you become.

Or atleast, that was Paul's reaction when his Aston Martin met with a speeding grey Chevrolet. It was bad, it was violent, and it was far to quick for Paul to even realise what was happening until it was to late.

He'd been driving to the store, driving because it was a hot summer day, far to hot to comfortably walk anywhere in his opinion. It wasn't even for something all that important, he'd merely finished off the milk at home and thought it'd be nice to replace it before Mrs. Asher needed it for something.

Pulling out of the driveway, turning the A/C on full blast, he smiled contentedly as he drove, the cool air washing over him and for a moment, he could forget it was summer, pretend it was late spring and if he rolled the window down there would be the fresh spring oder wafting through his car.

He didn't even hear the Chevrolet's speeding tires, didn't register it was coming right at him until he made to make a right turn and the car was literally right at his passenger side window.

The car plowed into his with little remorse, driving as hard as it could into the red metal, bending and crumpelling it like red paper. The glass shattered from the windows and flying right for Paul as he lifted his arms in a desperate attempt to protect himself. Sharp, painful stings tore across his arms, shedding his jacket, and into his side, burying deep. Paul thought he screamed, his mouth open and the vibrations flying along his throat, but he only heard the overwhelming sound of crushing metal and a faint ringing underlying that.

The cars spun out of control, smoking and wrecked. Paul's head rested against the shredded headrest, laying awkwardly agianst the door. The whole dashboard had crumpled towards him and now his legs fit snugly in the small hole where the pedals trapped his feet.

Light was all Paul could really see, dark shadows moving around in it but nothing solid.

Oh... It was all he could think as he watched the world literally crash around him. Then his head connected with his window and he couldn't think of much else.

He felt pain everywhere, so much he didn't want to move. How was he even still alive? How was it possible to bear this much pain? This was utter hell! Please... please someone make it stop... someone help...

"Are they allright?"

"Who got hit?"

The crowd pressed farther into the police line to get a better look as the EMT's rescued two broken and mangled bodies from their smoking husks of cars, the grey chevrolet doused by a nearby firehydrant to extinguish the flames.

"Is that Paul Mccartney?"

"Oh my goodness that's Paul Mccartney!"

"Ma'am please step back!"

The crowd had identified one of the bloody messes that the EMT's scrambled to save. The man from the gray smoking husk was barely alive, the front of his car having crumpled to meet him full force. They had hope for the second body, the one the crowd was sure was Paul Mccartney. He laid out on the asphalt, bleeding and broken as the EMT tried to get him to open his eyes.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

"His vitals are dropping fast."

"Get the paddles!"

"... CLEAR!"

"Again."

And it continued until finally a pulse was detected and he was bandaged enough to make it to the hospital. Weeping females watched as the Cute Beatle was loaded into an ambulance and taken away, leaving the broken and bloody sight.