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Hal almost never plans things ahead of time, but on the rare occasion that he does, he's planning his future with Barry.
He thinks of everything that's supposed to come after this moment and everything that's supposed to come after the next moment; he's on the next day, the next week, month, year even. He concentrates on whatever surprises he had in store for Barry, because he'd rather not think about the blinding pain that shoots through his leg when he moves to lie on his back.
He's spitting out dirt as he thinks about the permanent apartment that he and Barry would've had in Coast City, because as much as he loves Central City, Hal adamantly believes that a little more California sun would do wonders for Barry. These plans are a few years down the line, and maybe they would've adopted a dog by then, and as he tries to assess the obvious damage—something in his leg is shattered, and even though he can barely summon the strength to see it, he knows he's got to be hemorrhaging from the enormous gash on his side—Hal wonders what they would've named the dog.
He didn't get that far in the plans, but Barry probably would've thought of the perfect name.
Most of the fingers on his left hand are bent in odd angles, but Hal focuses on his breathing instead. Focuses on a few of his more complete plans, like the one where they would've gotten married. He'd never admit it aloud—not even to Barry—but in his head, he had planned the perfect ceremony with absurd attention to detail. He had the guest list, the cake flavor, and he even had the florists picked out already. It's so uncharacteristic of him to have planned things so meticulously—especially considering the fact that his current situation has him placed on some far-flung planet, all by himself, and with a dead power ring—but maybe for once, things could've went perfectly if he had just taken the time to think ahead.
Hal regrets not having told Barry anything about those plans, because Barry would've laughed, and he wouldn't even be upset at that.
Right eye, swollen shut, and he's definitely missing a couple of teeth. There are a million other things wrong, he knows it, but there's little to no point in trying to figure out what. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to move anything, but if this is the last thing he'll ever do, then he can manage the pain. Hal presses his power ring against his lips, and he doesn't remember it ever feeling this cold.
“Ring. We've only got a couple of moments left together, so... so do me a solid, will you?”
The ring doesn't respond, doesn't even glow, but there's gonna have to be something there. If anyone is intimately familiar with running on empty, it's Hal.
The thud of his heart beating in his chest is slow and heavy, and his mind is swimming in every other plan he had, but he latches on to the one thing he was going to do when he got back—the plan that preceded everything. He remembers the ring, the other ring, the one he was going to give to Barry the second he got back. He can picture it clearly, stashed away safely in an inconspicuous box at the bottom of his sock drawer, and he forces every last ounce of willpower onto his power ring.
“Ring,” Hal repeats, the bitter tang of blood tasting like nothing at this point. “Take... take a message for me. Tell Barry... Barry... tell him everything. I don't know how you're gonna do it, but you're—you're gonna to do it.”
He's vaguely aware that he could just be delirious and everything he's saying is complete nonsense, but as of right now, it's still his ring and still his rules.
“Make sure he knows... that it's always, always gonna be him.”
Hal lets his hand fall limply to his side as he stares into the deep black void of space. The stars flicker just like those candlelights from church, and for once, he prays. He prays that the ring had successfully transmitted his coordinates to the Corps before shutting down on him. He prays that someone—hopefully one of the good guys—finds his body and gets him back home, gets him back to Barry.
He closes his eyes, in wait, for his blackest night to pass.