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“Wally? Wally!” His name cut through the haze and Wally shook his head, trying to clear it before attempting to pinpoint the location of the source. Scrambling to his feet, Wally swayed and leaned against something jagged for support.
“Uh,” he said, blinking rapidly and wondering why it was so dark.
“Flash!” Batman snapped and Wally wondered if he was going crazy.
“Uh, Bats. Uh, where?” Wally spun around in the dark, surprised his eyes had yet to adjust, surprised he still felt disoriented. The throbbing coming from the back of his head was enough to tell him that he’d been knocked out.
“My voice, Flash. Follow it.” Batman’s voice is about as sharp as his jaw, with an almost nervous edge to it. Wally felt around what seemed to be a a narrow hallway, still at a loss as to where he was and what had hit him.
Hell, what was even the mission? He didn’t have his communicator either.
“Flash, focus!” Batman snapped and Wally wanted to snap back.
“Man, gimme a break. Head hurts.” Wally doesn’t mention how much he’d really like to take a nap first, because he was…really sleepy.
“Follow my voice, kid.” Batman said, his tone a smidgen softer. Or Wally was imagining it. His head really hurt.
Still feeling along the wall, the redhead stumbled over some rubble and once again, tried to put a name to his environment.
“Where we at, Bats?” Wally asked, confused with why his voice sounded so harsh, while amused with his little rhyme. He laughed.
“Just head…” Batman trailed off into a groan and Wally suddenly noticed the sound of rocks shifting, the sound of restrained breathing. “Head to me, I need you, kid.” Wally is suddenly aware that the older man is being careful with his tone.
Moving a little faster, and still feeling damn groggy, Wally felt his eyes adjust enough to see shadows. Blinking, Wally reached out only to trip and crash to the floor, hissing as some jagged rocks sliced through his side.
“Flash?” Batman called, more concern in his tone than Wally has heard in a long time, and Wally groans in response, trying to move to his feet quickly.
“I’m fine, I slipped on somethin’ I think..” Wally mumbles, feeling around and getting to his feet only to feel something sticking to his fingers, feeling strangely like…
Blood. This is blood. There is blood on his hands. That is not his own, at least, he doesn’t think so. And now he’s stumbling, half running half tripping over rocks and still disoriented and his head’s still pounding and he’s keenly aware of how jagged Batman’s breaths are and-
“Flash, what-” And the voice is weak and it’s still dark but Wally can make out the older man’s figure on the floor, leaning up against the wall and his heart stutters in his ears.
“You’re bleeding. Where are you bleeding from?” And he almost feels coherent, completely alert, but his hands are shaking and before he knew it, completely dismissing the other’s need for personal space, he’s patting down the older man.
“It’s fine kid, it’s just my leg, I just need-” And Batman groans, hissing a bit and cutting himself off.
He stops when he feels the slabs of concrete, where he was expecting a knee.
He gets to work, letting his speed kick in through his veins as he uses what he can to pull up the concrete, mind kicking into overdrive.
“Flash, hey,” Batman says, slowly, almost carefully as though trying to draw Wally out of the panic that was kicking into gear.
“You’re bleeding, man, shit,” and it’s with some difficulty that Wally manages to toss the cement piece of wall to a side, and he’s gingerly feeling along Batman’s legs, trying to assess what little damage he could in the dark.
Batman winces and Wally bet it hurts like hell to have the blood start circulating again. His hands start shaking again and Wally’s hit with a sudden sense of vertigo, swaying sideways.
It felt as though someone had smashed something into the back of his head. Weird.
He doesn’t remember closing his eyes but he’s opening them to the dim light and Batman’s voice going,
“Wally, hey, snap out of it.”
It takes him a moment to realize he’d just fallen sideways onto the other man and the hand in his hair hurts and-
“You’re bleeding too, kid,” Batman says, softly, and Wally shifts, moving off the older man and trying to see straight. He replaces the hand that had been in his hair with his own and immediately winced. Yep, definitely hit his head good.
His fingers came away sticky and he tried not to think about the fact that his head was bleeding as he pushed himself up slowly.
“Careful, Flash,” Batman says, and Wally stands there, watching the older man gingerly raise himself up, resting his weight against the wall and balancing accordingly.
“M’always careful,” Wally responds, blinking and then looking down both ways of the hallway. “Where’s…everyone else?”
Batman doesn’t respond, and the silence gets heavier if possible.
Wally imagines all the other Justice League members dead. All of his friends. The image is stark, clear, and gruesome. He wonders if he’s recalling a memory.
Wally leans against the wall, tries to catch his breath.
“Flash?”
“Bats, what if they’re-“
“Bruce. It’s Bruce.”
Wally barely registers that, too busy focused on glassy dead eyes and blood.
“What…where…” And his head is spinning again.
“Wally…” Batman starts, slowly, carefully, voice still wracked with pain.
Wally blinks, redirecting his attention and hearing rushing in his ears.
“Bruce,” he responds, tone light and airy.
“Stay focused, Flash,” Batman grunts, starting to move with most of his weight bearing against the wall and something in Wally snaps into gear as he moves to slip an arm under the other’s, easing weight onto himself.
“I’m faster,” he says, before feeling electricity rush through his veins and pushing forward with the older man.
It’s barely a couple seconds, despite feeling like an hour, when Wally reaches what looks like the exit coupled with the rush of vertigo. He barely registers the sound of the other members alongside the ragged breaths of Batman next to him.
He doesn’t intend on letting go of Bruce, but he does, and there’s a thud as the older man hits his knees. Wally crashes to the ground next to him, vibrating a little bit as nausea rushes through his veins. He hears Diane and John and J’onn and allows himself a millisecond of relief before throwing up onto the cement.
There’s the chatter of concerned voices and alarmed tones and Wally barely understands any of it, heaving emptily and feeling his stomach lurch each time his head spun. He feels a hand, heavy on his shoulder and recognizes Bruce’s voice, tired and in pain, and decides that he’s definitely due for a nap.
Everything rushes together, and he wonders if there’s a storm coming or if another building is collapsing before shutting his eyes and collapsing onto the pavement.
He opens his eyes to bright lights and white walls and steady beeping alongside a faster beeping that he recognized as the sound of his own heart.
Squeezing his eyes shut and keenly aware of the pounding in his head, Wally worked to steady his breathing. When he opens his eyes again, the headache has dulled and he’s more aware that there’s someone else in the room next to him. He turns his head, recognizing the medical bay of the station and notices the clock saying it’s 2am and lets his eyes fall, finally, on the bandaged, pale figure of Bruce Wayne, Batman, lying in the hospital bed next to him.
Asleep.
The pain in his head subsides quickly and he’s grateful for the electricity running through his veins, for his quick regeneration. He sits up, slowly, almost sore, eyes still on the older man lying much too still for his liking, next to him.
“Bruce?” He voices, louder than he’d have liked and against his better judgement. There’s no response and then Wally notes the IV pumping into the older man’s veins. Right, he’s out for a while.
He shifts, sitting up properly and ignores vertigo as he pushes to his feet and steadies himself. He’s dragging his feet before moving to sit down on the edge of the other bed.
There had been so much blood. It’s weird how someone can forget that someone else bleeds. Wally had, for a moment there, forgotten that Batman could bleed.
Bruce could bleed.
Wally wants to cry, wants to cry a lot.
Instead, the redhead finds himself curling up on whatever space there was on the bed, tucking his knees to his chest and ignoring the strain on his limbs.
He lets out a weird, dry sob, remembering the panic, remembering the darkness, remembering the stickiness on his fingers that must’ve been stained red.
He closes his eyes, stifles the noise with his knuckles and closes his eyes, trying to calm down. He registers his feelings as a panic attack, as irrational.
There’s a shift and Wally wants to feel bad for waking the other. He almost apologizes when there’s soft fingers, threading through whatever tufts of his hair were sticking out from under the bandages.
The movement is gentle, caressing, and Wally leans into it a little, still attempting to will his heart to slow down, just this once.
“You’re alright, kid,” Batman says, voice still hoarse, pain still evident in his tone. Wally tenses a little, wants to interject, wants to cry, and wants to not cry. He’ll pull himself together later.
Bruce kept running his fingers, the bandages around them catching in red strands, through Wally’s hair.
There’s a moment where all that could be heard was steady beeping and Wally’s weird hiccup noises coming from around his knuckles, alongside Batman’s own ragged breathing.
“We’re alright,” the older man clarifies, tone as gentle as his fingers, and it’s only then that Wally visibly relaxes, breathing slowing down a bit.
They’re alright.