The air was warm, thick with smoke and particles of cement and plaster. It was hard to breathe, it was so hard to breathe; the tightness in his chest wasn't just from panic. One green eye cracked open, the other too swollen to do so. There were fires all around, and that was the only reason he could see.
His mind was as hazy as the air in the room, leaving him dazed and confused. Why was he here? What happened to destroy this building so completely? He got no answers, the only things he could hear was a crackling of flames, the creaking of metal, the crumbling of walls, and a soft rasping. Oh, the rasping was coming from him. That wasn't good, was it?
An attempt to speak brought on a weak coughing fit, sparking flares of pain throughout his body. He was injured, he just didn't know where and how bad. He did know that he should probably move. The structure didn't seem sound, and he wouldn't want to get crushed. But, he didn't think he could move, not with these mysterious injuries.
"He-" He croaked out, squeezing his eyes shut at the pain in his throat. "Help… someone, I- I need help."
His plea was so quiet; he didn't think anyone could hear. If there was anyone there that could help, that is. His felt his eyes burn and his throat tighten, signaling tears, but he couldn't afford to waste the water. He was going to die here, wasn't he?
Before he could think on that more, there was a scraping and a grunt from his right. He held his breath, hope and apprehension swirling in his chest. This could be help, or it could be someone trying to kill him. He didn't remember why he would think just a thing, but he got the feeling he was in danger a lot. He got the feeling that being near-death wasn't uncommon.
A dust-covered figure made its way towards him. They were large, both tall and broad with muscles. The shirt they wore was black were it wasn't dusty and ripped. Their jeans were ripped at the knees, and they were missing a boot. But he still felt so relieved to see them.
"H-help me." He croaked out again, and their head snapped to him.
"Wally?" The voice was masculine and filled with alarm.
They moved quickly to his side, and he- his name was Wally?- could make out a red 'S' on his chest. Like Superman. But this guy seemed to be a little young. His large hands ghosted over Wally's body, finally resting on his stomach. He pressed down, eliciting a sharp gasp from the injured boy. So he was hurt there?
"Wally, are you okay? Answer me." The boy was speaking again, brows knitted with concern.
"My name's Wally?" He asked quietly, confusion evident on his face.
The boy jerked, frantically searching his face and head before stopping. Wally lifted his uninjured arm and felt the spot his eyes were glued to. His fingers came away bloody. So that's why he couldn't remember. He hit his head.
"Yeah, you're Wally. I'm gonna get you out of here." He promised before gently gathering him up in his large arms.
Wally cried out in pain, face contorting into a grimace as he tensed up. Well, that hurt, but at least he could get out. He rested his head against the boy's shoulder, breathing in light pants.
"What's your name?" He asked after a moment of quiet. They were moving quickly through the building.
"Connor. We're friends."
"Oh. I'm sorry I don't remember you."
"'s not your fault."
Momentarily put at ease, Wally could feel himself relaxing, slipping back to the darkness. He didn't want to let go, but he didn't want to stay either. He hurt a lot and he was scared. Sleeping didn't seem so bad.