He can't breathe. His head is spinning, too much stimulation after so long of nothing. And it hurts. He tries to force himself to breathe slowly and calmly, but it doesn't work.

Someone is there. Wash flinches when he speaks, drawing himself into a tighter ball as far away as he can. He doesn't know what's happening, what's going to happen, but it's not going to be good. It never it.