Blood dripped from his fingertips. The Flash was huffing and puffing, trying to get air into his lungs, but it wasn't enough. He could feel his heartbeat and it was much slower than it should be, feeling more like Wally West than the Flash at the moment. Wally shuddered, letting out a ragged sigh as he tried to hold in the blood escaping from the wound in his gut.

Slowly, he made his way to a sitting position against the sold surface behind him. Flash felt around for something to help him stand and he felt the rough texture of brick underneath his blood-covered fingers. He tried to get to a standing position using the brick wall, but pain shot through him. His leg was clearly busted and his hips were radiating pain. Really, his whole body hurt. For a moment his vision dimmed, almost sending him back to the ground, but he managed to stand on one leg, just barely.

How had he gotten here, bloodied and beaten to a pulp in an alley?

The only memory he had was of Bats—Bruce! Where was he? He got an SOS call from him saying he needed backup in Gotham and Bruce never called for back up so he rushed over. Although he hadn't actually heard Bruce, it had been an SOS from Gotham. In fact, he didn't remember seeing the Dark Knight at all, but he didn't really remember anything.

Just pain.

He remembered running into the warehouse and then he remembered someone laughing, a lot of pain, and then nothing.

Looking around Wally could see he wasn't in that warehouse anymore, but he was in some alley somewhere. Gotham?

"Oh man. This hurts." He spat out, grinding his teeth against the pain shooting through his body.

He didn't even know how he'd gotten hurt, he just woke up on the ground, in excruciating pain, blood covering most of his body, though he wasn't sure how much of it was his. Looking at the blossoming red stains covering his torn suit, he guessed it was mostly his own.

Shaking his head, Flash shuffled and hopped his way along the wall, using the structure for support as he took in his surroundings.

"Ok Walls, you're fine. You're gonna be fine. Bats will find you. He always finds you." He let out a wheeze; blood filling his mouth as wracking coughs shook his lithe frame. Spitting the blood out of his mouth, he wiped his red-clad forearm across his face to wipe away the spittle. He was clinging to the wall, barely able to stand.

"I have to get out of here."

Making his way along the bricks, he made it to the end of the alley; looking both ways he noticed he was alone on a damp city street. He wasn't wet, but the ground was so he figured he must've been dumped here after someone or something beat the absolute shit out of him.

"Pr'bly thought I was dead," he said with a small laugh. It wasn't really funny, but he wasn't about to think about it.

He still hadn't moved from the end of the alley, leaning against the building, he used his bloody hand to feel for his League communicator, when he felt that earpiece he wanted to cry in relief. Why hadn't he called for back up?

He couldn't answer that. Placing his finger on the small device he called the League.

"Flash to Watchtower. Hello? Anybody home?" He didn't hear anything. "Flash to anybody! Code Red! Leaguer down, I repeat I need immediate transport to the Watchtower!" Still nothing. Maybe his communicator was dead? Fumbling, he managed to take out the earpiece. The blinking blue light was not there. His relief crumbled.

"Crap!" Still holding the little piece in his hand he looked around for some kind of power source, or phone, or a fire so he could send up a fucking smoke signal. If he could just contact the authorities he could make his way back. Somehow. Maybe he could get out of this alive; he didn't think he could actually run anywhere and survive the pain so this was the only option.

Looking to the end of the block, he saw a pay phone. He didn't know they even had those anymore! Gradually, so slowly, he made his way to the phone, calling 9-1-1.

"Hello, 9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

Gripping the booth for support, he managed to speak, "Hello, this is The Flash, yes, yes the real one. I'm somewhere in Gotham and I need an ambulance ASAP."

There was silence on the other end, "Uh…you're—I'm sorry sir, where are you?"

Another coughing fit wracked his body, filling his mouth with blood, his vision starting to fade. "I'm in need of an ambulance, locate the pay phone by—" he squinted around looking for a sign when he saw the building he'd been leaning against earlier. "—Jack's Liquor Emporium and an abandoned factory in some shady part of Gotham! I need Batman…help me…"

Dropping the phone, he lost consciousness, fading into oblivion.

I should probably warn you that I'm not a stickler to any particular canon. I had this story idea and I wrote it. The end.