Work Text:
Foul tendrils of smoke irritate John’s straining lungs, the heat exhausting muscle and insisting he presses even lower to the ground. It is like a dream when he feels arms around him, dizzy and weightless as he tries to orient himself. In the air, tired, held.
He is face to face with a helmet and gas mask, and for a moment, having dodged a death, he sees a faint outline of a skull in the glass.
“You're alright,” a voice assures, and he feels fresh air hit the skin of his face, and it is a bit warmer than before.