You, as the reader, have just realized that Bender was the only one uninjured after the bee attack on the Sting, so the logical question is what happened in the time that the humans were out of commission?

This story is the result of (1.) an overdose of Futurama, (2.) watching the episode in question in the middle of the night, (3.) three subsequent snow days and (4.) being home sick. I don't know why it's in the second person. That's the way my brain threw it up. I know a lot of people don't like that style, but... I don't mind it, soooo...

I couldn't decide whether to upload this story in one giant chunk or a few little ones. I opted with little ones. Enjoy, especially all you other snowed-in souls. :)

You've always known that humans were pretty pathetically fragile, ever since that day Fry shouldn't have gargled with battery acid, but it's never exactly been your problem until now. You only watch the window long enough to ensure that the bee you've ejected is really gone before turning around and finding yourself waaay in over your head.

At first glance, Fry appears to be the one with the much bigger issue, what with that honking stinger sticking through his back. Doubled over with his arms around his middle, he's fallen away from Leela, who is still shrieking like a space banshee. His eyes are wide like he hasn't registered what's happened yet. Like some of the pain is still on its way in.

"Oh God," Fry whispers to you. "What's happening to me?"

You bend down in front of him and perform a cursory medical inspection. "See now, It's Doctor Bender's professional opinion that you've been impaled. Don't look at it, it's a little nauseating."

"Oh God," Fry moans again. He reaches for the stinger with shaking hands and then drops them again, breathing shallowly. "Pull it out, Bender. Just yank, fast, like a band-aid." He shuts his eyes and convulses violently.

"Gee, I'd love to, but it's the only thing keeping your blood and guts off the shiny clean floor."

Your casual tone doesn't seem to reassure him. Wimp. The thing is, you've been impaled three times this month already, and you sort of have to remind yourself that it's different for mammals, and he's probably only overreacting a bit.

"Just relax. It missed your heart and lungs and if you'd got the poison, by now you'd be-"

That's when you stop because Leela is still screaming soul-scraping background noise, but when you turn, she's moving blubbery lips that don't seem to be forming any actual words. And she hasn't made a move toward Fry. Resistant though she may be to his advances, she should at least be bossing you around, putting in her two cents on his impalement. She points and screams instead at the empty air in front of her. At nothing.

There's a bloody pinprick of a hole in her shirt and her skin is gray. You touch her face and come away with your metal fingers red-hot. Leela's next scream bubbles up into a trickle of drool that escapes down her chin, and that's it. She's barely breathing, her eye frozen open, unseeing.

"My stomach," Fry wails behind you. He hisses through his teeth. "Oh, I think I'm dying."

"No, you aren't. Shut up. Leela is."

This may have been the wrong thing to say, because Fry suddenly sobs, which obviously hurts the moron more than anything. "Where is she? Where is she?" The idiot fell the wrong way. His back is to her. Fry sobs again, with less force.

You drop Leela's wrist, which is barely thumping out a recognizable pulse, and seat yourself in her captain's chair. "Well, guess we're going to the hospital. Who wants to drive? Volunteers?" Okay, that'd be you. "Hang on, this could be a little bumpy."

Fry's moans are like fingernails on the chalkboard of your mind as you dodge between asteroids, and no matter how many times you scream at him to shut up so you can concentrate, he just keeps carrying on. What does he expect you to do, come back and hold his hand and play Florence Nightingale? You've got a ship to fly to save their damn lives.

He's crying again, or trying to. Humans are supposed to pass out when they are in so much pain, aren't they? For God's sake, Fry fainted that day you stapled his itinerary to his hand, and that can't be anything close to being impaled. But still, he's stubbornly conscious and whimpering Leela's name from time to time. You should have kicked him in the head before you took the controls, to shut him up. But no, that's supposed to be a bad idea. If you did that, he might not wake up at the hospital.

Leela is silent. Why doesn't he follow her example?

His last thought will be of her. And her last thought was thunk a long time ago. Neither of them will ever know how you tried to save them.

You really should go kick him in the head, so he stops feeling it. But you can't remove your hands from the steering wheel, they're practically welded on. And definitely not shaking.

You glance over your shoulder at Leela to make sure she's really out. If she knew that you knew how to fly the ship, you'd have to do actual work around here.

"You see nothing. No work is being done here whatsoever," you tell your compatriots.

Fry hyperventilates.

From your seat, you extend one arm back and find his hand, drop it into Leela's clammy one, and when he grasps it he finally shuts up.

There's more coming, probably. Reviews make the world go round!