Ash's eyes snapped open.
For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the white ceiling. His body was drenched in sweat, the hospital gown sticking to his skin.
Where...?
He slowly turned his head. The room was too bright, too clean. Not like any hospital he'd been in before. The walls were smooth white, the machines around his bed humming softly. There were flowers everywhere - on the table, the windowsill, even stacked in the corner. Roses, lilies, all kinds he didn't know the names of.
Ash frowned.
This was "Two Worlds." He'd heard about this place. The best hospital in the system. Only for the richest of the rich or the most important heroes.
What the hell was he doing here?
He tried to sit up, but his arms shook too much. A sharp pain shot through his ribs when he moved. With a grunt, he fell back against the pillows.
Okay. Don't move yet.
Ash looked around again. The flowers bothered him. He remembered hearing that "Two Worlds" didn't allow outside items. Too much risk of contamination or something. So why were there so many here? Who'd sent them?
He tried to think back. How had he gotten here?
The statue. He remembered the statue. The fight. Then...
Nothing.
It was like someone had taken a knife and cut out everything after that moment. His head hurt when he tried to push further. A blank space where memories should be.
Ash lifted his hands, turning them over. They looked normal. Just his hands, with a few new scars.
But something felt... off.
He couldn't explain it. Just a feeling under his skin, like he'd been put back together wrong.
The door opened.
Ash tensed.
A nurse walked in, carrying a tray. She froze when she saw him awake.
"Oh!" Her eyes went wide. "You're... you're awake!"
Ash didn't say anything. Just watched her.
The nurse set the tray down quickly. "I'll get the doctor. And... and the others. They'll want to know you're up." She was already backing toward the door.
"Wait," Ash croaked. His voice sounded rough, unused.
The nurse stopped.
"How long?" he asked.
"Three weeks," she said. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
Three weeks.
Ash stared at the ceiling again. Three weeks gone. And he couldn't remember any of it.
The nurse had barely left when the door opened again. Ash knew that sound, the way it clicked too loud when his father pushed it, like he was always a little too angry at doors.
The man standing in the doorway looked older than he remembered. More gray in his black hair. More lines around his eyes. He wore a simple gray jacket, the kind he always wore when he had to "look presentable." His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, like he didn't know what to do with them.
They looked at each other.
"You're awake," his father said. Not a question. Just words to fill the silence.
Ash nodded. His throat felt raw.
His father stepped inside, boots leaving faint oil stains on the clean hospital floor. He didn't hug Ash. Didn't touch him. Just stood by the bed, looking down with that same tight expression he always wore when Ash got hurt as a kid.
"Flowers are ugly," his father grunted, eyeing the bouquets.
Ash almost smiled. "Yeah."
His father reached into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar—the cheap kind from the vending machines downstairs. He tossed it onto Ash's lap. "I ate all the good ones waiting for you to wake up."
The wrapper was crumpled, like it had been in his pocket for days.
Ash's chest hurt.
"How bad?" he asked, fingers tracing the edge of the chocolate.
His father's jaw worked. "Don't know. They wouldn't tell me." He spit the words like they tasted bad. "Not even when I threatened to break the doctor's nose."
That explained the fresh scrape on his father's knuckles.
Ash tried to remember. The statue. Then... nothing. Just black. "What happened to me?"
"Lord Gabriel found you," he said finally.
Ash blinked. "What?"
"Near that damn statue you always sneak off to. Said you were out cold. Brought you here himself."
Ash's stomach dropped. That... that wasn't possible. Lord Gabriel didn't just "find" people. He didn't personally deliver unconscious teenagers to hospitals.
His father kept talking, voice flat. "Paid for everything. Told them to let people send flowers. Even came by a few times to check on you, they say."
Ash's mouth was dry. "Why?"
The machines beeped. Somewhere down the hall, someone was crying.
His father cleared his throat. "Brought your things." He jerked his chin toward a duffel bag in the corner. "Extra clothes. That stupid jacket you like. And—" He dug in his pocket again, pulled out a dented metal flask. "Real medicine."
Ash recognized it—his mother's flask. The one his father kept in her old sewing box and only took out on the worst days.
His fingers shook when he took it.
His father turned toward the window, giving Ash privacy to unscrew the cap and take a sip. The medicine burned all the way down.
"Doctor says you can leave tomorrow," his father said to the glass. "I'll come get you."
Ash nodded, then realized his father couldn't see him. "Okay."
Silence.
His father's reflection in the window was blurred, but Ash could see the way his shoulders slumped. Just a little. Just for a second.
"I'll be outside," his father said suddenly, walking toward the door. "Gonna yell at some nurses about your discharge papers."
Ash knew he wouldn't. Knew he'd just stand in the hallway smoking, like he had all those nights when Ash was little and sick with fever.
"Dad."
His father stopped, hand on the doorknob. Didn't turn around.
"Thanks," Ash said. "For... being here."
A pause. Then his father's shoulders stiffened. "Shut up and eat your chocolate."
The door closed too hard behind him.
Ash looked down at the flask in his hands, at his mother's initials scratched into the metal. He took another sip, then carefully screwed the cap back on.
Outside, through the glass, he could see his father's shadow pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like he had all the time in the world to wait.