Oliver Queen

Everything hurt.

He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten back to Watchtower as he awoke from blissful unconsciousness feeling like he'd been hit by a steam roller.

He groaned, then winced when he discovered that even breathing hurt. A sign that he had at least one or more broken ribs.

Wonderful.

But he was alive, somehow.

And he'd been pretty sure that he wasn't going to survive. Between the beatings and the tasers and whatever else they'd tortured him with, he'd had no reason to think he was going to live through it.

But there he was, on the bottom floor of Watchtower, facedown on the cold floor. Swallowing hard, he tried to push himself up, without success. He blew out a breath and let his eyes drift shut once more.

He needed to get upstairs.

He needed to see Chloe. She was probably beyond freaked out. He didn't even know how long he'd been gone.

He gritted his teeth together and tried to push himself out once more, a sharp pain cutting through him at the effort.

The world spun violently.

And then grew dark once more.