Fuck. That's all Ricky thought for a moment. Just...fuck. Everything ached. And he meant everything. It felt like his already fragile body had been hit by a freight train. His limbs felt heavy, a dull ache settling in his bones. He was used to his legs feeling kind of...weak, and numb, they'd been like that since he was six years old. But heavy?

Cracking open his aching eyes, Ricky looks down to see his limbs in plaster casts. All four of them. He opens his mouth to speak, to express his shock, but only a small, strangled noise leaves his throat. Oh. He's lost his voice again. Well, he supposed being revived without his disabilities would be too much to ask for, right? At least he's alive. Right. Yeah. He's not freaking out. Not at all.

Trying to ignore the combination of his aching limbs, his throbbing head and internal panic, Ricky shuffles up the hospital bed the best he can, peering at the other people laid in their own beds, in various states of disarray. His friends. God, he hopes everyone is okay. He wants to yell across the room, shout that he's alive, ask if they're okay. But he can't. Not even a whisper manages to claw it's way out of his throat.