A/n: Thank you to anyone sticking with this story! Please remember to like the chapter; it really helps keep me motivated.
As always, happy reading.
- H.
Peter hauled me across the sand towards colorful lights of the evacuated Coney Island.
My feet dragged here and there as Peter held the majority of my weight with my arm thrown behind his neck and over his shoulder.
"That was exciting," Peter mumbled as we stepped up onto the boardwalk. The park was completely deserted.
I laughed shortly. "Better than dancing in the school gym?"
"Maybe," Peter answered. "Homecoming is so overrated anyway."
"So overrated," I agreed.
I did, however, like the chance to have my hair and makeup done. I was sure it was all messed up by now, though.
"Well, there's always next year," I said. The pain across my torn stitches was growing more intense with each step as my adrenaline wore off. I breathed in harshly.
Peter looked down at me with concern. "You okay?"
"I will be," I answered. My Midtown High gym shirt was covered in a dark stain. "You know where the hospital is?"
"Couple blocks," Peter replied. "You want me to carry you?"
I sighed. "Maybe . . ."
"C'mere," Peter began, shifting my weight.
"My legs and arms feel heavy," I mumbled.
"That's the blood loss," said Peter as he scooped up underneath my knees. He positioned my arms around his neck. "Hang on, we'll be there soon."
"Hope the streets have cleared out too," I said, gently swaying in Peter's arms. "You might wanna put your mask back on."
"Oh, right," he said, briefly setting me down and pulling his mask from his sweatshirt pocket. Peter's face disappeared beneath the fabric.
The sound of sirens and emergency vehicles was growing closer as we moved to the sidewalk in the city. The streets were basically deserted after the plane crash.
I closed my eyes, feeling myself gently swaying in Peter's arms, the tips of my singed feathers brushing the pavement.
"You ever been to Coney Island?" Peter asked. "Hey, hey," he tapped my face lightly. "Eve, you gotta stay awake."
I cracked an eye open, seeing the bright city lights pulsing above me.
A sleek black car pulled up next to us. A familiar face emerged.
"What the hell happened?"
"Happy!" Peter realized.
"Hey, are you okay?" he asked quickly. "C'mon, get her in the car."
Happy got back behind the steering wheel and I was placed into the back seat.
"I gotta call Mr. Xavier," Happy began.
"No!" I said quickly. "Happy, please, I don't want him to worry any more than he already does."
Happy put down his phone and let out a long sigh. "Fine, okay, alright. But we're gonna have to take you to a public hospital, the new facility is just too far and all the planes around New York have been grounded."
I slumped back against the leather seat.
"Mr. Happy, that's where I was taking her," Peter spoke up.
"Are you hurt too?" Happy asked.
Peter shrugged. "I'll be sore."
"Yeah, and I want to go back to school Monday," I added.
"Eve," Happy began, "that's probably not in the cards—"
"I can't miss any more," I said. "I can heal. I'll stay on the ground this time. Promise."
"Why do I not believe that?" Happy mumbled.
I laughed shortly. "As long as there's no imminent threats . . . Hey, wait. I might know a healer."
"Like, another mutant?" Peter asked.
"Well, I think so," I said. "Cas, his name was. He's a friend of these two guys who helped me out after the Battle of New York. Wonder if they're in town."
"After that mess," Happy began, pointing off towards the flaming mess of the plane on the beach, "I doubt it. Everyone got the hell out of dodge."
I looked to Peter who only shrugged. "Worth a shot," he said.
I sighed. I didn't have any way to really contact them.
"Happy, do you have access to like, every phone number ever?" I started.
"Kind of, why?"
"I'm trying to call Cas, but I don't think I ever got his phone number," I said.
A large gust of wind followed by the sound of flapping wings filled the car.
"You called?" said a gruff voice.
Happy swerved while driving. "How the—who the hell are you?" he demanded, looking in the rearview mirror.
Cas had appeared next to me in the backseat. My face lit up. I wouldn't have to go to the hospital after all.
"I am Castiel," said the man in the brown trench coat. "I am here because Eve called for me."
"You can heal her?" Peter piped up.
"Of course," Castiel answered, hovering a hand over my forehead. He moved his hand downward, seemingly taking a scan of my entire body. "Concussion, bruised ribcage, several stress fractures in the wings," he listed as he assessed me. "Blood loss from this wound here," he pointed to my torn stitches. "Could be worse," Cas finished, his lips briefly forming into a sympathetic smile.
"I know," I mumbled.
"Okay, so can you fix it?" Happy called from the driver's seat.
"Of course," Cas answered, placing two fingers on my forehead.
My body began to warm comfortingly. My sore spots began to dissipate. My vision became less blurry.
"There," Cas mumbled. He turned and saw Peter's cut lip and bloody nose. "Would you like help as well?"
Peter shrugged. "I mean, if you're offering."
"What did you two get into, if I may ask?" Castiel began as he raised his hand to Peter's head.
"Bad guy," I said with a shrug.
Cas hummed in satisfaction and finished healing Peter.
"Where are Sam and Dean up to?" I asked.
"Hunting," Cas answered.
"Well, tell them I say hi," I said, pulling Cas into a hug. "And, thank you."
Cas smiled softly then was gone.
"What, so that's it?" Happy butt in.