He wakes up - eyes still shut, it's dark around him - only the blood rushing in his ears creates a fuzzy image in his mind. His head's too heavy to be moved, and his arms and legs feel like glued to the surface he's lying on.
Oh god, he needs— Out—
It's sheer panic rushing through him for that second, that forces his eyelids open, and has him jolt up with a gasp - all those movements taking more energy than he had.
"Nngh …" He collapses back onto the bed … a bed. No restraints. Only sheets that have absorbed his own, low body heat.
Still no strength to be felt in his limbs, and he feels sick. Like vomiting-sick. At this point, he's not sure where he even is. Whether anyone's with him. Trying to call out for whoever might be, though, all that comes out of his mouth is a faint croak - looking around the room helps little, his sight hardly following where he wants.
"Bruce," On the brink of going through the ceiling again, it's Rick's hand on his shoulder that holds him down gently now - while he can only stare back up at his friend with a beaten expression.
… This all feels so bad.