Wes slides her hands down from my face to my neck and chest. I breathe easier as she creates a healing field around the bruised area and fixes whatever got damaged. I don't even feel the aches anymore as the knitting spreads through my body, my shoulders slumping in relief. "Who did this?"

My voice is very quiet. "The Sentinel," I tell her, a little lost and out of body. I've had a lot to think about my future in the less than four minutes it's taken for her to get here, and the results are absolutely terrifying. By rush hour, news will have spread about me ruining my first major supervillain operation. As it is, I am going to die here on this rooftop because I am clearly never going to show my face to super society ever again. "Wes, is Josh--"

"What an asshole," Wes says, though if it's about the Sentinel or Josh, I have no idea. Her voice is hard, but she's very careful as she presses her fingers against my throat. Slowly, my breathing settles, but it doesn't make it easier. "Hey," her voice grows softer as she prods my sternum, "River, are you--"

I'm not crying a river (yeah, yeah), but I'm definitely choking up and my eyes are damp. I try to blink it away, but I think the wet's been trickling down into my mouth because I can taste it. Salt stings my tongue and everything feels like it's crashing down fast. "I screwed up, Wes." My voice is breaking. "Can I really call myself a supervillain--"

"You are a supervillain," Wes says, without hesitating a beat. "You are a supervillain, so there's no business in thinking about 'should be' or not."

"But--"

"You got into the Institute like the rest of us and you worked your ass off to graduate." Wes never second-guesses. Wes never thinks twice. "Not every student does."

"Wes, if I couldn't even tackle the Sentinel--"

"What an asshole," Wes repeats without a blink. "That Sentinel barely even knows you, and now you're crying. Doesn't make them any more of a superhero, honestly. Besides, they've been around for like, what? Decades? It's like telling a boxer beating up a baby.”

"There are strong babies," I say, stubbornly, sniffling. "One of them gave me a headlock suplex into their crib.”

Wes rolls her eyes. "Only you, River."

I'm not gonna lie: I'm still upset, as the grieving end of my career and the forthcoming distaste of my colleagues are two pretty, powerful things. This is all--on the first day, too. On top of worrying how I'd come across, to have my own qualifications dismissed...OUCH. That, and...

"I don't know how I'm going to talk to the family," I say, breathing heavily. Trying to steady up. "My parents are already--"

"Cross that bridge when you get to that. I just hope you hurt the Sentinel back," Wes says, as she runs her thumbs down my eyelids and closes them for me. The familiar sensation of her magic--soft, light, tingly--trickles over me. I can feel the swelling desist before she lets go and wraps me into her arms. This is a big thing, because even with me, Wes doesn't give hugs. "What even happened, River?"

I let myself rest my face into her soft shoulder, breathing in the smell of the slightly muggy safety vest, a neutral deodorant, and the oils Wes slips into her hair. It's easier than trying to do anything else.

"I'll talk to Josh," Wes says. "I'm not sure if I can even arrange a transfer--"

"I'll be."

"What?"

"Fired." I take a shaky breath with my eyes pressed into the scratchy material of her safety vest. She's still got it on along with her helmet. She ran all the way here for me. "If I'm not fired, he'll transfer me. That's what he said." She jerks. I reach out and grab her elbow. "Please don't get mad." I hate how childish I'm being right now, but I don't want her to go. I want her here.

"He's allowed to say that," Wes allows, sensing it. Her voice, though, is condensed fury. "But I don't like that this is it. You were looking forward to this. You were going to make a big debut."

"Wait," I say, panicking. Sometimes my memory isn't right. Maybe I'd mistaken-- "I don't think--I think maybe that's not what Josh said. He said something about a new team. I don't know if he told me I'd be transferred--"

"River, it genuinely doesn't matter what he said or not," Wes says, but she's calmer now, to calm me down. "I won't do anything, so you don't need to worry. But you've just been hurt this much and I think the shock is affecting how you're thinking and feeling." She strokes my back. "Magic can fix a lot of things about the body, but it can't fix the mind."

"So I should," I gulp in air. "I should sleep it off."

"Yeah," Wes says. "And tomorrow will be a better day, I promise."

I just nod into her shoulder. Inhale. Exhale. My eyelashes are wet when I blink them. Blearily, I pull my head off her shoulder. "Wes?"

"Yeah?"

"I told the Sentinel 'Thanks, I hate you', after all the stuff they said."

Wes smiles. "Sounds like you," she says. "So I guess you'll be alright. Want me to take you home?"

"I don't really want to move, Wes."

"No problem." Wes moves her hand around in a circle into the air, drawing a diagram with the flick of her wrist. Below us, the concrete mirrors it with the same exact drawing. "That's what real teleportation magic is for."