The walk back to their apartment felt like a blur. Cal's mind was a fog of exhaustion and pain, his body on autopilot as he navigated the quiet streets. He slipped into his building through the back entrance, his movements careful and deliberate as he carried Ryan up the stairs, avoiding the occasional neighbor passing through the hallways.
Inside the apartment, the dim light cast long shadows across the floor. Cal gently laid Ryan down on the couch, propping him up with pillows. His friend's breathing was slow and steady, but his skin was still far too pale. Cal grabbed a towel and some water, carefully wiping the dried blood from Ryan's skin, his own hands shaking with fatigue.
With a grimace, Cal bit into his wrist, the sharp pain a reminder of what he could do. He let his blood flow into the wound on Ryan's side again, watching as the flesh began to move like before, the torn skin closing over. The sight of it was both a relief and a source of dread. He could heal Ryan, but the thought of what it could do made his chest ache with anxiety. What if his blood were radioactive or something?
He leaned back in the armchair across from the couch, his body aching. The fight with Brutus played on a loop in his mind—the sickening sound of bones breaking, the flash of fear in his own eyes as he realized he could lose. He thought about Henry Mire, about Brutus's words, and the sheer power they would need to bring someone like that down.
"Why am I even doing this?" he muttered to himself, his voice hollow. He thought of his family, of their faces lost to time, and the hole their absence left in his heart. He'd tried to fill it with this—this crusade to protect the city, to be the hero they would have wanted him to be. But now, staring at Ryan's battered form, he wondered if it was worth it.
He felt his eyes grow heavy, the weight of the night and his own doubts pulling him down. He glanced at Ryan, at the raw pink scar that marred his friend's side, a constant reminder of Cal's failure. His vision blurred, and he let his eyes close, drifting into a restless sleep.
---
When Cal awoke, the apartment was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds. He blinked, disoriented, his body stiff from sleeping in the chair. He glanced at the clock on the wall—it was almost 7 p.m. They'd slept through the entire day.
Cal groaned as he stood, stretching out his aching muscles. He glanced over at Ryan, who was still asleep but looked better, the color returning to his cheeks. The scar on his side was visible, a jagged line that wouldn't fully heal. Cal swallowed hard. It was a reminder of what happened—a permanent mark left by his failure.
With a sigh, Cal made his way to the small kitchen area. He filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, his movements slow and deliberate. The simple act of making coffee was almost comforting, grounding him in the present moment. He reached for the mugs, setting them on the counter as the water began to boil.
He poured the hot water into the cups, the steam rising in gentle curls. He glanced over at Ryan, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he had to do. He wanted to let his friend rest, to give him more time to heal, but he knew Ryan had his own life to get back to, his own battles to fight. They couldn't hide away forever.
Cal walked over to the couch, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to gently shake Ryan's shoulder. His friend stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked disoriented for a moment, then his gaze focused on Cal. A lazy grin spread across Ryan's face, despite the obvious exhaustion etched in his features.
"Hey, man," Ryan croaked, his voice still rough. "You look like shit."
Cal couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, well, you should see the other guy."
Ryan laughed weakly, wincing as he moved. His hand went to his side, his fingers brushing the scar there. He frowned, then shrugged, his grin returning. "I guess I've got my very own battle scar now. Chicks dig scars, right?"
Cal shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. "It'll take more than some scars for you."
Ryan stared at the fresh scar for a moment.
"How long have I been out? This is nearly fully healed?" Panic flashed onto his face.
"I took a leap of faith, I poured my blood onto it. It paid off by the looks of it". Cal had a serious tone.
"So you saved my life, huh? Guess I owe you one. And hey maybe I can be invincible just like you, I'll just take a couple shots of your blood whenever I get shot point blank". He took the mug Cal was handing him and sipped it. "What the hell is this? You forget how to make coffee while I was out?"
"It's the coffee you got me a couple Christmas' ago" Cal shook his head.
"Oh so the cheap shit." He took another deep sip.
The weight of the conversation ahead hung heavy in the air as Ryan sipped his coffee, his eyes still clouded with exhaustion and pain. Cal watched him, his own heart heavy with guilt and determination. They had a lot to talk about, a lot to decide.