This is nothing like falling asleep. Eliot isn't sure whether he's opened his mouth to answer or not, nothing's working right. He tries to shift because his chest feels so heavy, god, so fucking heavy it's terrifying, like being crushed, but he hears his hand shift maybe an inch, less, and just stop. He's trapped and the thought of it is so awful, so stifling that he tries to let it all just go dark.

He begs for it. Maybe he's talking out loud now. It doesn't matter. He doesn't know who he's talking to, anyway. It's not the guy dying next to him and it's certainly not God.

Grating washes of noise and sensation keep pulling him back into his body, not mapping right. Everything jumbled, the sound of something grinding and giving that he feels in his molars, jangling down his back.

And then there's water. A lot of water moving fast. It's so cold he feels his stomach clench once, hard and-

And -

There's the pain that wasn't there before, a sudden throb echoing through his limbs, pounding in his hands, his head. His skin feels ill-fitting, tight to bursting with him, every movement feels like it pulls all the way up to his scalp and-

He's pinned between what's left of a wall and the remains of fallen rafters, caught by the current. His muscles tremble and tremble but he's pretty sure he's not moving, not until he's sliding under.

He watches his hands float up above him, clutch uselessly at the debris that's slipping out of view.