As much or more than I wanted to be with Amy. Which I shouldn’t have wanted.

“Shhh,” she shushed me.

The hard edges of emotions smoothed away. Thoughts of Dean slipped away like sand between my fingers, and I had no idea if it was her doing it or if losing him in the Endbringer attack had permanently tied him to feelings of desperation and panic.

I found the ability to speak again.

“—The rules say to reach out,” I managed, quietly and diplomatically.

She shifted position, raising herself up a bit, and put forearms around my shoulders, elbows on the shoulders themselves, like she was about to hug me. Instead, she just leaned over me, arms partially around me, and kissed me on the forehead.

Rather than break the kiss, she kept her face there, nose in my hair, and mumbled, “We could.”

“Should,” I said, pulling the sheet up to my collarbone, staring at anything and everything that wasn’t her. I gave a moment’s consideration to following the protocols. Fighting.

Was it logical, to throw her away from me? How hard should I throw? Enough to only get her away? To break something? To destroy her?

Logic felt far away.

“Shhh,” she said, breath hot against my forehead. “We could. Maybe we should. But there’s still work to be done.”

“I’ll deal. Heroes get hurt.”

Not something I believed, but something I felt like I would have said.

“No,” Amy said. “No, Vicky. Maybe before, but when I got my powers, it was to save you from being hurt. You don’t get hurt, not in a way that lasts. You will be a top heroine, a champion, beautiful and awe inspiring, and I will be behind you, keeping you in that fight, keeping you beautiful and perfect.”

I didn’t move. I thought of Dad, seeing him hug my mother, able-bodied and well. I’d been so pissed when she hadn’t healed him, I’d wanted that, for him to hug my mom and to be whole again, albeit without the emotion as he told her that Amy had run away.

I wanted this, what she described.

“If you want it,” Amy said.

I didn’t know what I wanted. Want was emotion and I didn’t trust emotions. Logically? What was logical? Spending the rest of my life weak?

It was logical, maybe, to reach out, get that second opinion. And if I couldn’t do it from an emotional standpoint because I didn’t want it for me, I could at least want it for Amy, because she wasn’t doing great. She was shaky, and she wasn’t acting like herself. I had the excuse of being compromised, but she seemed almost drunk.

But I really wanted to be a heroine. I really wanted to be okay. I really wanted Amy to hug me, even if I hated that want. Should have hated that want.

Amy’s fingernails combed through my hair, fixing it where it had fallen across my bare shoulder.