The hospital's name was St. Daisies Medial Center. It was the largest and most renowned facility in his hometown. Their amenities allowed for emergency treatment and rehabilitation of the critically injured.

After all the exams, Vin was freed from the nurse's supervision and allowed to roam in a wheelchair until he could walk.

Vin was alerted that Gavin consented to high-risk surgeries while he was comatose. He hoped his son would wake up if he regained his ability to skate. Even after the successful operation, Vin didn't revive, and his father gradually began visiting less.

Every day, for an hour, he was scheduled for rehabilitation with group A. It started at 9 am and was hosted for all the patients with more severe progress to make. More so, those who were unable to stand or hold themselves up.

Vin and Miyo rolled up to the class on four wheels, wishing it was the wheels of his skateboard, not a chair. The square space for the rehabilitation looked like a giant, bleach-white gymnasium. Windows lined the boxy room, so he could peek inside as he cruised to the automatic sliding glass door.

As he was told, no one in the group could stand. The age range varied from children to the elderly. Despite their circumstances, the people looked hopeful.

Vin skimmed at Miyo, and his brows arched in woe as he sighed. "Well. Here we go," he mumbled.

Specialist guaranteed that he'd be able to stand again. But Vin didn't just want to walk; he needed to run and skate.

When he entered the room, he was greeted by a tall, burly man in a tight, grey spandex shirt that showed the silhouette of his nipples. His face was null of any hair, and he illuminated with an angelic smile. "Hello, Vin, I've been waiting for you," articulated the man.

From his seat, Vin rubbernecked to examine the stranger. "He's almost as big as dad," he thought.

While Vin analyzed the helper, he peered with an unintentionally sore expression.

"I've read your file," continued the man cheerily. "You were injured while skating, right? I also competed in sports before I was injured." He said, rolling up the left sleeve of his shirt.

A slight tilt of Vin's head portrayed his confusion at the man's presentation. The stranger got the cue, then looked at his arm swathed in dark tattoos. His mouth popped open, and he chuckled aloud. "Right, right, I forgot these bad boys are covering it up."

"Some people like to keep their battle scars on display, but I find them distracting."

"They'd just remind you of the pain of that day, right?" He said with a giggle.

Vin's eyes shied away toward his own imperfect limbs. He wanted to inquire about the stranger's origin, the sport he played, and how he was injured, be he just covered his arm and nodded.

"Anyways, my name is Dan, but people here still call me by my athlete alias, Soap."

"Soap," reiterated Vin.

"So you CAN talk," laughed the man. He took a knee, then resumed. "We'll be together for a bit, so let's get along, Vin."

"Of course, I can talk. It's just hard getting the words out... Maybe my head is screwed because of the fall."

Following their introduction, Soap relocated behind the wheelchair, but Vin glared daggers at him as he tried to push him. Instead, the man walked ahead and led them to a mat table.

The first day was comprised of stretches and recovering Vin's range of motion. Pulling and bending different joints and muscles. Soap was very hands-on and happily maneuvered Vin's body into various postures. His demeanor was soothing, and Vin didn't feel embarrassed when he groaned or grunted while his unused body loosened.

Occasionally, he'd hear frustrated outbursts from patients in the room—some who'd revisited the same class but didn't see improvement in their condition. The harsh reality was that not everyone recovered from their injuries, but Vin convinced himself he would.

Although he preferred his independence, Vin played nice. Once the hour session was over, he sat up on his own, then called Miyo over to his lap. "Soon. Once I can stand, we'll train on our own too. I'll never recover only exercising an hour a day."

"We gotta get out of here. Then-"

"Let's think about that later."

After being released, Vin wheeled himself from the room and explored the facility. The rehabilitation ward housed many types of equipment and gyms for patients. None of which he could use, but an outdoor courtyard was on the same level.

Double doors on the 31st floor led outside, and a beautiful fresh draft of air sucker punched him. It was the first time he'd been out since waking up; the greenery was utterly different from his simulated dreams.

He enjoyed the genuine warmth on his skin and the liveliness he felt from breathing in unfiltered oxygen.

A legit, human experience. It wasn't as fun as his past existence, and he was still coping with all the losses, but it was real.

The expansive yard was grassy and shielded by tall trees. It was undoubtedly notable because every bench was occupied, and children played while adults socialized.

Vin rolled to the guard rail at the end of the yard, Miyo flew up onto the bar, and they adoringly peered over the city. They were soaking up the mislaid sun and adapting to a new reality.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The sight of the pure clouds and all the different sturdy buildings was striking, and he could have sobbed in joy if not for looking at it from a metal cage seat.

"Miyo," Vin whispered. "What now?"

The flaming bird glimpsed at the ground as if in thought. Then some seconds later, it picked up its sights, glanced at Vin, and flew onto his shoulder. Miyo's warm and gentle touch communicated plenty. It said, "I'm with you no matter what comes next."

While patting the summons head, Vin thought strenuously about his next step. "We need. Something. To do," he stated. "I can't use. My legs. So, let's work. My arms."

Miyo flapped its wings in agreement, then Vin held out both of his hands. He grasped the air like an invisible sword, lifted it, and swung down vertically.

"Macy also. Learned Kendo. Let's copy her."

Vin took more empty swings. After a dozen, Miyo flew off and returned with a broken branch. The stick wasn't cumbersome, only 12 inches long so that it could be wielded without strain. Since there were plenty of trees, he could upgrade to a larger branch as his strength increased.

He continued for minutes until his workout was cut short by Miyo, who snatched the tool away. Following the disarm, they quietly tugged Vin back toward the hospital ward. Hauling him until he remembered another engagement he had. Class.

Because he was comatose at the age of 12, he missed years of teachings. A simple test revealed his education was capped at that of a middle schooler.

Naturally, Vin didn't recall much about school in his dream. It would be impossible to learn more than what was presented on the TV in his room, which wasn't much. So, in addition to rehabilitation, he was subjected to general education.

<>

Discomfiting enough, classes were sorted by reading level. So, Vin was seated in a room with students between ages 10 and 13.

The moment he entered, late, might I add. Young eyes swayed toward him. He looked rough, with his neglected hair and the lousy mug he wore while finding a seat.

Vin found himself between two youths who weren't reservative at all. Feeling their nosiness, he turned and glared at the one to his right. "Com'on, just say hey."

He went to speak. But the youth adverted in apprehension. Vin flinched in wonder but endeavored to continue. "H-"

"What's your deal," interrupted a boy behind him. He'd seen the pathetic attempt at a greet and intervened to rescue the subject of Vin's introduction.

Vin rotated his chair to get a glimpse of the fellow, but the stranger's hand grabbed onto the rear wheel and held him in place.

"Face forward. I don't want your ugly face," snarled the student.

From an outside perspective, Vin appeared to be the tyrant, staring madly at everyone in the class. Though, he himself believed he was being unjustly targeted by the class's alpha.

"I'll fix this," Vin thought, putting more effort into turning. Even in his withered state, he wouldn't be bested by a child using one arm to retrain his wheelchair. Vin's face tensed and mushed before he broke from the grip and circled.

His worked, fierce countenance shot waves of intimidation like a murderous beast locked onto prey.

The recipient jostled back within humans' natural flight response. Their chair scooched back but caught them mid-flee.

Panic washed over them momentarily, but it quickly transformed into fury. The boy jolted up from their chair, slammed their hands against the desk then shouted. "Screw that!" "You wanna fight, fine!"

Still catching his breath after the brief exertion, Vin frowned curiously at the youth. No clue why the situation developed as it did.

Likely, around 13 years old, his hair was styled like a bowl, and pimples raided his face.

Because of the ruckus, the teacher bounced and rushed over to investigate the scene. It didn't require much analytics on their part. An angry, flustered teenager, and Vin, an older male with a sharp, predatory gaze. Also, he was fresh out of a coma which would explain his (nonexistent) wrath.

In truth, it was just the Dance family's signature look. Barely arched brows, eyes like the edge of a knife, and a hanging mouth. They were either praised for their firm, attractive countenance or condemned. Hardly ever an in-between.

Things evolved quickly, and Vin struggled to combat the student's one-sided story. Everyone around them saw it; Vin picked the fight first after the standing boy defended the child to Vin's right.

"I didn't do anything," he thought, glancing back and forth between the teacher and his accusers. He found the circumstances too staggering to speak up. He felt vocally locked and struggled to communicate.

After their teacher, Sherlock Holmes themself, collected all the facts and evidence, they sentenced Vin to the corner. They relocated his desk, then returned to move him. Only Miyo pecked the shit out of their hand when they touched the wheelchair's handle.

Vin's breathing had accelerated. And the crowd closed in on him like the cave walls in an Indiana Jones movie. Only, there was no treasure on the other side, just anxiety.

Miyo became defensive and took flight. Its wide, white eyes narrowed, and its harmless black flames flashed around Vin, who hunched fretfully in his chair.

"Why am I in trouble."

Eventually, a brave soul weathered Miyo's lukewarm flames and pecks long enough to haul Vin from the class.

"Breath," uttered a familiar voice. They repeated themself several more times before the message got across, and Vin finally settled.

The transporter was revealed to be Soap. He worked in rehabilitation, but given his background as an athlete, he also dealt with disruptive guests and patients.

Their setting had changed to the courtyard. Vin was taking deep breaths while parked underneath the shade of a tree. After being bound to a room for what felt like an entirety, it wasn't the best location. Still, he was away from the gathering.

Concerned, Miyo perched on his leg and eyed his pacifying face.

"Looks like you're calming down," observed Soap, squatting too close for Vin's comfort. The man released a relieved exhale and brushed back his short brown hair. "What a relief. I thought you were having a panic attack."

"I'm good," uttered Vin, planting his palm over his own sweaty forehead. "Fuck…"

A hulking finger jabbed Vin in the gut, and he cast a discomfiting groan. Soap, who peered at him, smiled. "I'll go easy on you now because you're unsettled. But no cursing!"

Both of Vin's eyes returned a glance at the man. Usually, the receiver of his sight would shy away, but the stranger held eye contact, beaming.

Vin adverted first, then mumbled, "My bad…." Miyo was unquestionably distrustful of the man and eagle-eyed them relentlessly.

Soap advised Vin to overlook his first day of class and try again later. The interaction ended there. He didn't apply pressure or lecture about the importance of education; he simply returned to his duties.

"It's your life to live," he said. They were few words, but they meant a lot to Vin. Before the accident, Vin existed according to his father's wishes, so having control of his own fate was momentous.

"I'll do just that," he thought in response.