He awakened to a world of pain, the type that took your breath away and left you gasping and heaving in panic. If iguanas could sweat, he would have been drenched. His entire left side, much of his flank and his entire thigh felt like each individual nerve in them had been set on fire and, despite having no actual idea what it was, he was pretty sure he was running a bitch of a fever. Everything felt too cool against his skin: the soft breeze, the surface of whatever he was lying on, his own breath against the scaly skin of his nostrils, and he was unable to suppress the shivers that rocked his body.

Zilla was no stranger to pain, having lived through his fair share of it but this was different. This was worse. He felt his body begin to shake and convulse, entirely out of his control, as foam oozed out of the corner of his maw, some of it dripping back down his throat and causing him to gag and hack painfully. Even his lungs hurt, every breath feeling like a billion miniature spikes stabbing into his ribcage.

"He's going into shock," he heard someone say, somewhere above him. Or maybe around him.

His head was spinning, the contents of his stomach, however negligible, threatening to come spilling out any second. He had no idea where he was, and even though the solid surface pressing against his back seemed to indicate he was lying down, he felt like he was floating.

Another series of impulses came running up from the undoubtedly fried nerve endings in his leg and side, and he cried out in pain, unable to keep it muffled this time. This was agony. Surely this is what dying must feel like, he managed to think to himself, dimly aware of multiple sets of footsteps circling him.

"Hold him down, he's going to hurt himself," someone called out and Zilla mentally scoffed. There was no way for him to hurt himself even worse.

He felt hands grabbing him, holding him down, and hissed. They were warm, too warm, and they burned against his already scalding hot scales, like someone had placed white hot coals all over his body. One pair of hands clumsily grabbed his hurt leg and he nearly dislocated it with how hard he kicked the offending appendages away, another agonized scream tearing its way from beyond his tightly gritted teeth. He felt something sticky and warm flowing down his shin and thigh and pooling under the back of his knee; blood, definitely blood. And lots of it.

"Careful! Can't you see he's hurt," someone scolded from right above Zilla's head, a male, words punctuated with a low growl. The voice sounded familiar, like he had heard it before, though he couldn't really think on who it might be in his current state.

"Sorry, sorry," the offender muttered and the same hands returned, this time gripping Zilla's flailing tail and forcing it down against the cool surface.

"He needs to calm down," another voice spoke, to his left; it also sounded male and angry. "He's thrashing too much. Talk to him."

Another growl came from above him, and then the voice spoke again, this time addressing him directly.

"Zilla."

The sound of his own name made him jerk and twitch violently. No one had ever used his name before, how did they even know it?

"Zilla, open your eyes," the voice demanded with another deep, rumbling growl that vibrated through Zilla's body.

Despite not at all wanting to, the iguana felt compelled to comply. For a moment he struggled, as if he had forgotten how opening eyes worked, and then slowly pried his eyelids apart. Blinding light assaulted his eyes with all the ferocity of a supernova and he quickly shut them again, hissing unhappily. He was beginning to feel light headed, undoubtedly the effect of losing too much blood, as its flow hadn't stopped or slowed down in the time he had been coherent enough to notice, and instead only seemed to quicken.

"Open your eyes," the growling voice ordered and Zilla felt a pang of fear run through his tortured and barely conscious mind. He didn't want to get hurt any more than he already was, and the voice very clearly held an unspoken threat of just that.

Obeying, he opened his eyes again.

The light was less intrusive this time and he could actually see his surroundings: a grey surface suspended above him that didn't at all look like sky, and splotches of colors of various shapes and sizes surrounding him; all of it felt unfamiliar, and unfamiliar meant dangerous. His heart beat harder and blood gushed from his wounds faster. And then his bleary eyes focused on the silhouette directly above him with its hands on his shoulders, leaned forward enough to fit its entire face in his field of vision. His racing heart stopped and his eyes widened as soon as the face, or snout rather, came into focus.

Godzilla.

His fight or flight instinct kicked in instantly and he would've bolted had it not been for the strong hands holding him down.

Godzilla, the King of Monsters. The most powerful and terrifying kaiju in existence. The very same one who, as Zilla had always believed, hated him with an undying and unending passion. And, coincidentally, the very same one Zilla had saved earlier.

Wait... saved?

The events that had led up to this moment began to slowly play back in his mind, originally forced back into its darkest and deepest corners by the ever present and overpowering pain and now freed by the shock of seeing Godzilla's muzzle up close and personal.

The battle, the rain, the golden dragon Ghidorah and its triumphant trills as it stood over Godzilla, his own panic, the rush and whiz of air around him as he ran, the flash of yellow light, the searing pain and then... nothing.

Zilla had jumped in front of Ghidorah's beam to save Godzilla from the blast.

He blinked his amber eyes slowly, staring into Godzilla's own orange-yellow ones. The expression on the King's muzzle could only be described as indecipherable, as neither anger nor worry tinged his stoic features. Slowly Zilla's gasping, uneven breath returned to him and his heart resumed its quickened pace. He began hyperventilating. Why, he was not entirely sure, maybe because he had never once imagined that he'd get to see Godzilla up close like this, or maybe because he was convinced the towering kaiju would blow his head away with his famed atomic breath.

And then something pricked the scales of his unburned thigh, piercing them with ease and injecting something cool into his bloodstream, completely derailing that entire train of thought. He jerked his leg, though the reflex was delayed by his sluggish brain, and blinked again, this time much slower.

Whatever the substance was, it was working fast. His heart calmed down of its own accord, his limbs grew heavy as if made of lead and his eyelids dropped, his body going slack and still. The last thing he saw before he fell into a deep slumber was Godzilla's face, still sporting that unreadable expression, staring at him intently.