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Summary
The first thing he thinks is how much he hurts. The second is where the hell he's at.
It takes longer than he'd like to admit to come around enough to figure out that he's been out cold, flat on his back in between buildings. Bruce's voice is in his ear, almost frantic, and he has to force himself to so much as think about the possibility of responding. It hurts to breathe, to exist. He… he can't move his toes. Panic starts to swell and surges adrenaline through his body, his heart beats frantically and his breath comes in short aching gasps. He can't move. Nothing but his eyes and his mouth. His hands don't move, his toes and feet and legs and arms… he's. Oh, god.