The last thing you remembered was the sound of flesh meeting flesh, the sickening crunch of bone, and the sight of your dad’s body hitting the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, and for a moment, you thought— No. No, he’s not—

When you woke up, your head was pounding, but that didn’t matter. The sterile white of the hospital room blurred as you sat up too fast, the IV tugging at your arm. You ripped it out, barely noticing the sting. You had to see him.

Your legs felt like lead, but you pushed forward, ignoring the protests of nurses as you stumbled down the hall. Room 307. That’s what you overheard. That’s where they took him.

The door was cracked open, and inside, he lay still. Too still. Bruises painted his face, his arm was wrapped in thick bandages, and wires monitored his weak but steady heartbeat. Your chest clenched painfully.

“…You’re an idiot.” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. You stepped closer, pulling the chair beside his bed and sinking into it. The fight replayed in your mind over and over. The way he threw himself in front of everyone, how he refused to back down even as they broke him. He should’ve run. He should’ve saved himself.

A rough, tired sigh broke the silence. “And you’re just as reckless.”

Your breath hitched. His eyes, swollen but open, looked at you with something between exasperation and relief.

Tears pricked your eyes. “I thought—”

“Didn’t I tell you to look after yourself first?” His voice was weak, but the warmth in it was undeniable. “You scared me, kid.”