Steve shrank back against the wall as Clarke yelled. The saying was right; never meet your heroes. “Ye-yes, sir,” Steve said, hoping to recover some of his lost shame.

“Good,” Clarke said, releasing the frightened man. “Now keep up. I’m not stopping to help you if you fall behind.”

“Yeah, alright…” Steve said quietly, so as not to risk Clarke’s wrath. He made sure to stay behind his icon’s shadow, perhaps calming the superpowered man with fewer distractions.

It was going to be a long walk to the hospital.

XXXXXXXX

After half an hour of awkward silence, Clarke and Steve finally made it to the hospital. Like the rest of the area, it looked decrepit and worn down, and was in desperate need of a makeover that no one was about to give it. Chunks of paint had peeled from the walls, exposing the plain bricks underneath, now riddled with graffiti. It hardly looked like a hospital at all. If it weren’t for the sign out front and the dirty ambulance parked in the front lot, Clarke would have missed it entirely.

“This place is good enough,” Clarke decided. “We’ll go inside and get the doctors ready for you, then I’ll walk away and you’ll get your treatment.”

“But, that sounds…” Steve started, but stopped so he could choose his words carefully. “I mean, it might hurt, a lot. Couldn’t you just wean me off your magic slowly?”

“It’s not magic,” Clarke grunted. “And no. Your leg is going to break all at once. If I manipulate it any more, it’ll create a second fracture. The drugs you’ve taken recently should help you with the pain.”

“But… what if I go back to being a junkie?”

“Then you’d better remember how much better being sober is.”

Inside, they were both greeted with dim, flickering lights, a cramped waiting room, and a smell that mixed rubbing alcohol with vomit. The chairs were either stained or broken, and the clock on the wall was off by three and a half hours. Only two other patients were waiting to be seen, a man in his forties with a cough, and an old woman who kept her entire self covered with a blanket. Curly grey hair peeked out from underneath it. The receptionist was busy reading a magazine and offered no more than a short glance as she chewed on a large piece of gum.

“Visiting hours are over in thirty minutes,” she said uncharismatically. “Say ‘hi’ to whoever you’re here to see, then clear out.”

“This is a drop off,” Clarke said, ignoring the rude woman. “This man has broken his leg and needs attention.”

The receptionist took one look at Steve, then dropped her magazine on the desk in a huff. “Look buddy, I know how this place seems, but if you come in here pulling dumbass pranks like this, then I’m gonna have to call the cops.”