Get up. Will’s breath was loud in his ears, his pulse rushing over the roar of the crowd. Dom was writhing in pain, gripping his thigh. His leg was at a sickening angle. Faintly, Will felt bad for it, because he didn’t want to have to do that, but he didn’t want to lose either. And he was really fucking hungry.
He had to get up, though. He had to walk out. Tuck was still going to be watching. Elijah and the others were going to be watching. Someone was coming to drag Dom out on a stretcher. With the force of sheer will, he dragged himself up onto his knees, and then one foot in front of the other, swaying ever so slightly on his feet. His vision was blurred with sweat, but he managed to raise a hand and throw a peace sign into the air, before he staggered out.
He didn’t stop for Elijah, waiting in the holding room. He went right for the toilet cubicle, and threw up his meagre lunch and a whole lot of bile, his exhausted body trying to reject whatever was making him feel so ill. The sound of that knee popping was going to stick with him for a good long time, couldn’t expel that.