Firefly Glen please don't leave me

The sounds of fighting and the smell of blood seem far away. He knows they must be close. It'd all happened so fast, surely it's only been a few moments since he fell for the last time. He can still feel the warm trickle of blood from his own wounds, the deep aching itch in his foreleg. He glances down sharply, remembering, and finds a red ruin in place of his limb. It shouldn't look like that, he thinks, feeling all the strange lethargic calm of a dream. Maybe it is a dream. He can see the flesh, all pale pink and deep mottled red, torn and chewed savagely where his assailant had gripped him. It hardly hurts, but it hardly responds to his commands, too. He hadn't been able to get up, he hadn't been able to help —
Firestorm. He remembers his friend only an instant before he notices his approach, gaze lifting. The fighting stopped, he realizes, but he can't recall when. Then Firestorm's forehead is against his, eyes of golden fire looming close. Too close. His own close, and he lets out a breath. He saved me, he's here and he fought for me. But he'd left, too. He'd left in the cruelest way, and when that thought bubbles to the surface past all the rest, he can't seem to stop his next words, though they come out as the faintest whisper. Are you going to leave?