I had more that would be a nightmare. I couldn’t really see with my current posture and my inability to turn my head without feeling like my collarbone was being broken all over again, but I was very aware that blood had run down my body to adhere costume bottoms to underwear and underwear to skin.

The nurse held the paper gown up against my front, and I had the Fragile One hold it there. I didn’t put my arms through the sleeve and the nurse didn’t ask me to. It was a pointless movement of my arms when every movement of my arms hurt and I’d need to take it off anyway.

“Antares?” the doctor asked.

“Yes. You can come in.”

“I was just thinking, would you rather use your real name? You don’t wear a mask.”

“Victoria, Ms. Dallon, Antares, whatever you want to call me,” I said.

He nodded. He had a pad, and was writing things down. He put it down, then bent down, investigating my ribs.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

“It hurts every damn time my heart beats, Doctor.”

He poked and prodded for a bit, then lifted his stethoscope. “This’ll be cold.”

“Everything’s cold, Doctor.”

“That’s a concern when our most immediate concern is blood loss and-or internal bleeding,” he said.

“I mean, it’s winter, I’m not wearing a top, this building facility has holes in it you could fly an Endbringer or Dragon-mech through…”

“I didn’t know about the holes,” he said. He pressed the stethoscope to my chest. It was cold. He touched my wrist, then my hand. “Your body temperature’s a bit low, even with all of that.”

If nothing else, I appreciated being in this hospital room because it was distracting me. I could focus on the little things, like keeping the rest of my blood in, not passing out, how to articulate the damage to my ribs, and how to gently remove articles of clothing using alien engines of chaos and conflict.

Fuck. I’d choose to feel like this for the rest of my life, broken collarbone, every breath sparking a thought-disturbing bit of pain, cold and sticky, if only it meant I didn’t have to feel the heartbreak.

I would have forgone any fixes at all, let these wounds stay open, if only someone from somewhere else in the facility would walk in and say there was a plan.

“Do you happen to know your blood type off the top of your head?” Doctor Close asked me, as he jotted some things down.

“B negative.”

“We’re going to get you some,” he said, without looking up.

“Disrupts powers, doesn’t it?” I asked him. “Temporarily.”

“I was about to mention that. No guarantees, but there’s a small chance you won’t be able to do that trick with the… what’s that? Telekinesis?”

“Basically,” I said. “I’d like to keep my powers available, just in case.”

Just in case.

“You won’t have anything if you go into hypovolemic shock. Can I get you to lie down? The nurse can assist.”