Here's the Jason-focused chapter, written for prompts #11 Stitches & #16 Pinned Down.

8. Bright and Gone

Jason just wants to sleep, but the rain keeps dripping on his face.

When he opens his eyes, all he sees is a blur of green. He blinks, squinting against the rain, and the blur resolves into a tangle of vines and leaves, their shapes distorted and refracted by the spiderweb of fractured glass he's looking at them through.

Lying on his side, shoulder propped against something hard, he stares for a while. His head aches. Even the soft sound of raindrops tapping on metal seems loud, reverberating in his ears. He doesn't hear anything else. No shooting or screaming. No one calling his name. Needing anything from him.

Honestly, it's kind of nice.

He closes his eyes.

It's the pain that brings him back; not the vague, fuzzy ache in his forehead and temple, but a sudden sharp stab in his thigh. He contorts, trying to reach down, to find the bullet or the shrapnel, but his hand meets a wall of twisted metal. Alarmed, Jason tries to pull his leg free. No dice. It's completely pinned.

What the hell happened?

He's… somewhere. Somewhere with metal and rain and shattered glass.

Jason forces his eyes back open and finally fully registers what he's seeing. The crumpled steering wheel, broken windshield.

He crashed his damn truck.

Was anyone with him when he did?

He has a sudden flashbulb memory, an image of Alana riding in the passenger seat, face turned toward him, laughing while rolling her eyes, the way she always does when he's said some dumb thing that she can't help but find a little funny. She's beautiful, her hair backlit by sunlight.

Terror burning sharper than the pain, Jason twists to look. The passenger seat sits silent and empty.

He can't remember. Where Alana is. Where he last saw her. But she's not here trapped and injured like him, and that's good, right? She's probably at home with the kids. Maybe already worrying about him.

Jason breathes, forces himself to focus, reminds himself that this could be a lot worse. Besides the probable concussion and whatever's going on with his leg, he doesn't think he's too badly injured. Just needs to figure a way out of here.

Doesn't take long to become clear that that's probably not gonna happen. He's completely pinned, unable to move either leg or even get his seat belt off. Based on the fact that he doesn't hear any traffic over the gentle patter of rain, and that no one has found him yet, he's guessing his truck is probably not visible from whatever road he was on.

Bottom line? Jason isn't getting out of this alone. He needs help.

Finally, a lot later than he should, he remembers his phone. With effort, he contorts enough to get his hand into his pocket and pull it out. The screen shows a weak signal, a single bar that occasionally goes up to two, then back down.

It'll have to be enough. He calls 911.

The connection glitches in and out, and Jason struggles to corral his scattered thoughts into anything coherent, but he manages to communicate what happened and get confirmation that an ambulance is on its way before the call drops.

Maybe he should call back, make absolutely sure that they were able to track his location, but he doesn't. He calls Ray instead.

"Hey, Jace," his best friend says. Upon not receiving a response, Ray adds, his tone sharpening a bit, "Jason? You there?"

"Yeah," Jason mumbles. "Yeah, I'm..." He trails off. "Kinda crashed my truck."

"Damn," Ray breathes. "You okay?"

"They sent... sending an ambulance." Jason's head hurts, and his leg has started throbbing again. He feels desperately tired.

"Where are you?" Ray asks tightly.

"Don't know," Jason admits, letting his head droop against the twisted door frame. It isn't until Ray barks his name that he realizes he's been drifting. "Huh?" he mumbles.

"Look, I'm calling this in, okay? I'm gonna give you to Naima. Stay awake," Ray orders in a tone that permits no argument.

Jason thinks, You're not the boss of me. He says, "Mm."

"Hey, Jason." Naima's voice is calm and steady and warm. "How are you doing? Does anything hurt?"

"Head's kind of..." He loses his train of thought. "Something with my leg. It's pinned."

"Okay. Is it hard to breathe?"

He thinks about that. "No."

"Good," she says, soft and reassuring. "That's good. Can you tell if you're bleeding anywhere?"

"No," he says, then clarifies, "I can't tell. Leg, maybe."

"Okay. Somebody will get to you soon, all right? You've just got to hang in there for a little longer."

For some reason he doesn't understand, her gentle voice makes tears burn the corners of his eyes. "Hey, Naima," he says. "Do... do you know where Alana is? Right now?"

On the other end of the line, Naima draws a measured breath, but doesn't respond right away. She says something to Ray, too muffled for Jason to hear, like she's covering the phone with her hand. Then she comes back on and responds evenly, "Yes. But we're worried about you right now, okay? You need to stay awake and keep talking to me."

There's something strange beneath the steadiness of Naima's voice. He can't place it. Something's... there's something wrong, and he's forgetting it.

Why did he call Ray instead of Alana? Why was that his first instinct?

He doesn't want to think about this. He's too tired. He doesn't want to know.

"Jason, stay awake," Naima orders.

Defiantly, Jason passes out.

He wakes up in the hospital with 27 stitches in his leg and a brutal headache. The first thing he remembers, clear as crystal, is collapsing in a hallway after a surgeon told him his wife was dead. He knows the memory is old, but it's so vivid that the resulting grief crushes his chest, bordering on panic.

He forgot. How could he have forgotten?

"Hey. Jace, hey. You're all right." Ray puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Do you remember what happened?"

He blows out a breath, trying to will his heart to slow down, his lungs to work. "Yeah." His voice comes out rusty and weak, so he clears his throat. "Yeah. I remember everything."

Ray meets his gaze, and Jason can tell he understands. He nods, eyes soft and sad, and says quietly, "Sorry."

Jason glances away. "It's okay," he lies. "Life goes on, right? Gotta move forward."

Ray's eyebrows furrow, but he lets it pass, maybe judging that now isn't the time. "You banged yourself up pretty good, brother, but you should be just fine in a few weeks. The guys would like to drop by, if you feel up for some company."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

Distraction is good. Distraction and brotherhood. Anything to help him find his way back to focusing on what he has, not what he's lost.

Alana in the passenger seat, backlit, laughing.

She's gone. There's no way back to her now. There never will be.

Jason closes his eyes. He breathes in, out.

And he goes forward.

That's all for Whumptober! Thanks for reading!

One small, non-spoilery note about tonight's episode: I'd just like to point out that I gave Brock the nickname "Broccoli" in All the Ashes before he had it in the actual show. I know, I know, it's a fairly obvious nickname, but I'm still a little proud of myself.