The dreams felt like they never ended. No, they weren't dreams, even the 'nice' ones. The ones where he was at home feeling warm and safe and happy, and it felt wrong and it hurt. He preferred the ones where his bones would snap and his skin would tear open and he'd heal before he died so it could start all over again. At least those weren't lies.

When he finally pulled himself from the dreams, his head hurt (the rest of him too but his head hurt the most) and he screamed and wailed and cried and cried and cried until his blood felt sluggish and that time he didn't dream.

The next time he woke up was better. The room was dim, artificial lights off and sunlight muted with curtains. He was thankful for that, even if he didn't explicitly think it. He looked around slowly so his head wouldn't spin and saw there were people in the room. Two, no three; two men, one woman, they felt familiar. They weren't crowding him; they just clustered down by his legs. The woman and man in red looked like they wanted too, though.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the rush of air down his throat made him cough, the cough made his head pound. Then a cool glass pressed to his lip and he drank desperately. The water soothed his throat and cleared his head a little. He smacked his lips a few times before sliding his tongue over them, feeling how his mouth worked. It wasn't as awkward as he thought it might.

"H-hi?" He rasped, and a warm feeling spread through his chest when the lady gave him a watery smile.

He liked her; she looked nice and warm. Not that fake warm from the dreams, it was a genuine feeling that eased the tension from his body. Even though the smile she gave him was sort of sad, it was a nice smile.

"Oh, Wally," She murmured, moving closer to him. He tilted his head up to keep looking into her face. A lock of dark orange hair slipped over her shoulder, but she didn't seem to notice. Instead, her green eyes stayed on his face. "Hello."

"That's… that's me, right?" He asked slowly, and she nodded.

"Yes, that's you, baby." Her slender hands slid over his cheeks.

"Can you tell us what you remember, kiddo?" The man in red asked.

He took a deep breath. "It was dark, I hurt, and there was a boy. He carried me out, he saved me. He said we were friends."

"Matches with what Conner said-"

"Conner!" He gasped, sitting up. "That's him, that's his name, I remember."

The man in red pushed back on his shoulders until he laid back again.

"Yeah, that's him, Wally. Just relax."

"Can I see him? He saved me?" His eyes were wide, excited.

"Later." The third person spoke again. "We need to ask you a few questions, first."

Wally hesitated, and then nodded. "Okay."

The third person, a broad-shouldered man in black, nudged the man in red away and took his place. The man in red moved around to sit with the woman. Wally kept his attention on the one in black.

"Wally, how old are you?"

He hesitated; suddenly terrified he'd answer wrong. "I-I-I'm sixteen?"

A short nod, and that's how it went on for a long time. The man in black asking questions, Wally trying to answer. He got a small nod when correct, and a small sigh when wrong. Wally was shaking by the time it was over, the woman trying to soothe him with comforting words and contact. It helped a little, not much.

The man in black walked to the opposite wall, then came back and injected something into the clear tube that connected a bag of IV fluids with his arm. He was pulled into a dreamless state again shortly after.