The past few hours have been a slog for Vicky. Despite feeling like she just had the most relaxing bath of her life after waking up from a coma, everything else that followed absolutely sucked.

  Don’t get her wrong. She missed her family, terribly. Amy, especially. But, they would NOT give her space the whole damn day!

  And she really needed space.

  Or, at least, as much as she could have with Fragile never far away.

  The PRT and Protectorate asking her a bunch of questions all the live long day only added to her stress. It took a direct demand from her mother, fueled by Vicky expressing her frustration, to finally make everything stop for the day.

  Her questioning would resume another time, but that was fine. Vicky just needed the room to be less crowded right that instant.

  The fact of the matter is that, while her body was unconscious, her mind was completely awake. Well, she says her mind, but she really wanted to say spirit or soul. Incredibly unscientific, but somehow, more fitting.

  There really was no better way of actually putting it.

  In the inexplicable place filled with what her mind identified as starlight, swirling nebulae, non-eucledian geometry, and shifting wormholes, Vicky had nothing but time to think. It was unbelievable how noisy everyday life can be, even when she’s alone in her room.

  Naturally, she absolutely lost her shit for what felt like the first few days. Time really wasn’t much of a concept on that side.

  Just as she felt like she was going insane, though, Fragile appeared. In the moment where despair had truly gripped her in its totality, desperately grasping for an escape from unshed tears and unvoiced screams, her power answered.

  At least, what Vicky thinks is her power. Some part of her still wasn’t completely sure.

  Despite how others might perceive her, the Brute knew that this facsimile of her body was more than she appeared. Heck, when Vicky first met her, Fragile was about as expressive as a doorknob. She had to teach the entity how to act more human, more as a means of coping against the uncaring abyss than anything else.

  It was a testament to her desperation and loneliness that she succeeded in an endeavor that, by all rights, should have taken years. But, that’s the thing, isn’t it? How would she know that they weren’t on the other side for that long?

  In the here and now, she’d only been in a coma for several days. Not that long, at all, in the grand scheme of things. Yet, it certainly didn’t feel that way.

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  Vicky could still remember who she was.

  The old her.

  How she acted, how she talked, and who and what she loved. But as much as her affection for her family still lingered. As much as she still wanted to be a hero. Everything else felt so much… less?

  All the little pet peeves that would set her off just seemed so, well, petty now. Just the thought of her overreactions over such minor upsets made her inwardly flinch.

  Then there was Dean, the very subject that saddened her the most.

  She had a lot of time to examine her undeniably unhealthy relationship with the boy she thought she loved. How she excused their tumultuous dynamic as somehow normal for teenage romance. The isolation forced her to confront the true reasons for why they were together, and it wasn’t pretty.

  In short, being with Dean was a means of validation for Vicky.

  All the attention, drama, and anxiety that came with being a popular, public hero, combined with the fear that caused her Trigger, it all crystallized into an awful pile of shit. She wanted to have everything, and so she did.

  The looks, the boyfriend, the power, and the money. She had it all. Without any regard for the price she was paying in the background.

  Now, lying on the hospital bed with Amy as her only company at Vicky’s own request, she reflected on details that either escaped her or she actively ignored before her forced slumber. With so many things vying for her attention, she couldn’t devote the headspace to address all of them.

  At least, that’s what she told herself for so long.

  This won’t work anymore, though. Not if she wanted to keep what she truly valued.

  “Amy?” Vicky prompted, looking at the ceiling.

  “Yeah?” her sister responded in a raspy voice from hours of crying.

  “Mom’s been a real bitch to you, hasn’t she?”

  A shocked silence blew through the room, as Vicky expected. She didn’t congratulate herself, though. That she waited so long to even confront this issue was a mark against her, without a shadow of a doubt.

  “What?” Amy breathed and Vicky sighed a regretful sigh.

  “I was a self-absorbed asshole,” she explained with weariness, “but I still noticed something was weird between you two. I had a lot of time to think on the other side and realized that mom hasn’t been treating you right.”

  And boy, did she. It took time, for sure. Made even longer because of her unusually long stint of drowning in denial. But when she finally confronted the truth, she couldn’t look away.

  “She’s cold towards you, Amy. I never noticed because, again, self-absorbed asshole. Are you gonna tell me, I’m wrong?”

  Her sister’s silence stretched for so long that Vicky finally had to tear her eyes away from the ceiling tiles to make sure she was okay. She wasn’t. Amy was hugging herself and sobbing in silence.

  Not caring for the many sensors stuck on her body, she ripped them all off to wrap her arms around the mousy healer and cradle her close on the hospital bed. The wailing and beeping of machines went ignored. People sticking their heads through the door quickly ducked back out or risk medical implements thrown at them.

  Even her family couldn’t get through without Fragile looming menacingly over the frame and making shooing motions. The only thing that mattered was giving as much love, comfort, and reassurance to the girl she has long promised to protect and cherish.

  Because that’s what big sisters are supposed to do.

  When the heaving sobs finally subsided to light whimpers, Vicky felt the tight knot in her chest loosen. Burying herself in self-recrimination right now won’t help. She’d done enough of that on the other side. So, she kept holding Amy tightly until she herself let go.

  “Vicky?” she eventually spoke up.

  “Yeah, Amy?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Anytime, sis.”

  They stayed like that for a few more minutes until Vicky was sure that Amy had regained her composure. What she said next could have waited, but after having thought about the matter for what felt like eternity while floating in empty space, she concluded that it would better to rip the band-aid off.

  “Amy?”

  “Yeah, Vicky?”

  “Are you gay?”

  Again, as Vicky expected, a new series of wailing and sobbing ensued. Several times, she had to wave down Fragile from interfering. The construct really wasn’t all that good at following human cues.

  Fortunately, she made up for it by being really good at controlling her powers. Amy didn’t need to be further exposed to her aura. Vicky would make sure she never got a dose ever again, if she could help it.