Their fingers automatically gravitate toward each other, the motion weak and sluggish as they lay side by side without knowing which way is up or down. The shock of impact blanks them out for a moment, then the smell of burnt rubber and soot jolts them back to reality as they each take a shuddering breath.
Junta does his best to move, all tangled and awkwardly splayed limbs caught in distorted metal and fragments of glass, taking stock of his surroundings and immediately regretting that decision. He can't really move at all, and some dull throbbing pain on his chest makes itself known. The fear digging its claws into his heart distracts him from that pain, though, struggling to reach into the driver's side for Hamada.
"Hey," Junta rasps, barely able to form words.
Hamada can only shake his head, unable to speak. He just stretches out his hand for Junta, and when their fingers touch, Hamada entwines them together as tightly as he could manage. There isn't much strength left in him and his hand isn't cooperating at all, and despite the panic he's in, he laughs. Even his laughter is weak now, the sound of it wet and gurgled. He swallows down the coppery tang that builds up in his mouth but a thin trickle of it escapes past his lips anyway, and he stops trying. He scrunches his eyes shut as he turns toward the passenger side, and when he opens them again, gaze landing on the piece of metal embedded on Junta's chest, he realizes just how screwed they are.
Junta follows the other man's gaze, mouth forming an o at what he sees as he realizes the source of that dull throbbing pain in his chest and the metal tube restricting his movement are one and the same.
The dull pain turns excruciating, a grinding sound reaching his ears as he feels the metal start to vibrate, followed by more noises. Voices that ask if he's okay, asking if they are heard, but Junta can only nod his head and squeeze his eyes shut as the pain becomes unbearable. He feels Hamada's hand on his and he opens his eyes slowly, squinting at the other man.
Hamada's gaze is calm now, pouring into them what he can no longer say, and Junta endures as the men work to extricate them from the wreckage. He squeezes Junta's hand once more before his grip goes slack, hoping that Junta would somehow survive.