Jaylin.

Let me set the record straight before some wild ideas kick around in your heads about medical procedures and death. 

Administering CPR, even the mouth-to-mouth parts, is about as romantic as cutting open a cat to give it meatball surgery. You sling the person on the ground, hum 'Stayin Alive' in the back of your head to time the compressions right (100-120 a minute), plop one hand over the other and press two inches deep in the middle of the chest, about deep enough that if you snap a rib or two, you're doing it right.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you bring someone back from the dead.

The girl kneels beside me. "Should I call 911?"

"No." I bring my fingers to the side of Heaven's neck. It's a little cold. Pulseless. I start up another cycle of compressions. "Stayin' alive, stayin' alive, ah ah ah..." I even start to sing it under my breath, my head a little fuzzy and my brow stinging with sweat.

"Are you going to give rescue breaths?"

"No!" Another round. My arms ache. Five cycles of compressions and I'm supposed to shock Heaven. Except I don't have an AED. Or electricity powers. I mean, sometimes I can conduct electricity, if I have the right chemicals, that is. A battery might do the trick. But sometimes still the whole process backfires and I destroy the thing, and besides, there isn't enough time for me to go back to the van and take the battery. And I don't trust the little superhero enough to get it for me, either. The thing might blow, and then I'll be responsible for her death, and that's not something I need added to my record. I don't even like her enough to try my hand at killing her.

"You should probably give her rescue breaths."

"I won't kiss her." My arms really cramp up now, throbbing like all the muscles there bunched up and folded in on themselves. I bite the inside of my cheek, focusing on her blank face, the dust and blood collected on her lashes.

"She's dead. She won't mind." The girl chews her cookie, loud crunches that sound in my ear and make me shudder. "You know, I have a theory that Prince What's-His-Face gave Snow White CPR, and, like, everyone just thought it was a kiss."

I shoot the girl a look. She grins, her mask all a glitter despite the darkness creeping into the sky. 

We're in the scraggly parts of the forest now, on our knees in a little clearing of roots and dust clumps, surrounded on all sides by trees so tall they stretch up and into eternity. Winds blow by, goosebumps rippling on my exposed skin, blood dribbling. My head spins, my thoughts scattered, spun this way and that like they've been blown about. Heaven isn't breathing. My knee hurts. I'm hungry. Is there a Howler's nearby? Oh, man, that car crash sucked.

I can give you the sports highlights of the crash, the cliff-notes, though I'm seeing double and my memories are all jumbled up like someone hit 'scramble' on my brain. Where the edges blur, I can hear myself yelling at the superhero, and then the rest plays out like a scene from a movie I saw years ago and has faded into shaky, distant images.

Something like a horse or a cow clopped into the road and Heaven swerved so hard the tires lost traction and the car fishtailed. When she pumped the brakes she drove us into a ditch. Which wasn't a terrible move on her part, steering the van into a ditch, I mean. The roads here are curvy and veer sharply, lined with thick groves of sycamore trees. I was going forty-five, which doesn't sound so bad until you think of that in the context of slamming into a solid tree trunk head-on.

But, yeah, the van did a stop, drop, and roll when it hit the ditch. The airbags exploded out and to put that in perspective, that's like a Hefty bag filled with bricks popping out of the steering wheel. 

At 200 miles per hour. 

Toward your face.

The girl wasn't hurt too bad, since she was in the back with her seatbelt on. A little shaken, maybe, but that's all. Me? I'm a little groggy. My head's banged up, a trail of blood running down my forehead and dripping down my lip. I can taste the salt and sweat. But I'm okay, for the most part. As for Heaven...

"Prince Ferdinand," I say crisply, "brought Snow White back to life by kissing her. The poison apple fell out of her mouth, ba-blam. She's alive."

"That's stupid." The superhero snorts and cookie crumbs spray my face. "If you're poisoned, then getting the poisoned thing out of your mouth won't help. The poison is already in your bloodstream. You're screwed."

"Yeah, but she was, like, choking on it or something." I check Heaven's pulse again. Nothing. I grunt and start my third cycle. Press. Press. Press. The girl tugs my ear.  I can imagine my arms screaming at me, their insides like jelly, give us a break, give us a break, give us a break...

"You have to give rescue breaths."

"No, I don't."

"She saved your life."

"Not really."

"You're a bitc—"

"And you're twelve. Shut up."

Look, I actually don't know if Heaven saved my life or not. I mean, I guess I'm kind of glad she didn't hit the animal on the road. It looked equine, and I like horses. And I guess I'm glad she didn't hit a tree because that would suck for all of us. But...

She didn't have to do that.

I gulp. Branches wave overhead, the darkness chilly, crickets chirping. Heaven's limp like a rag doll, her eyes open, staring ahead listlessly. I wet the inside of my mouth with my tongue, the roof beginning to dry. "Oh, Heaven," I mutter. When she took the wheel, she was in the wrong position, almost lengthwise, her upper body spread across mine. To protect me. The airbag on my side slammed into her face. Remember the 200-mile-per-hour-Hefty-bag-filled-with-bricks analogy? Yeah. The airbag on her side hit her in the ribs. It must've done something because she isn't breathing.

"Four minutes without oxygen and serious brain damage takes place," the girl offers, like a cookie-chewing textbook. I already knew that. I took Driver's Ed, the class of horrors, and I bite the inside of my lip, making mental calculations.

How long has it been? Two minutes? Three? I had to pull Hev out of the wreckage and start compressions. I sigh. A girl has to do what a girl has to do, I suppose.  I put a hand on Princess's forehead and tilt her chin back, like all the posters say to do, and start mouth-to-mouth. Two breaths per cycle. My stomach flip flops when I watch her chest rise with my breath. I start another round of compressions. Another two breaths. Silent pleas fill my head. Heaven, I hate you, but I need you. You're—

"GodgodGodgodthepainmakeitstopJAYLINmakeitstopplease." The words come out just like that, half-shrieked, all a string, not a single breath taken in between. Heaven squeezes my hand, her eyes shut. The gasps turn to moans and wails. Blood oozes out of the side of her face, her skin etched with little 'x's, a pattern on the airbag's plastic. I breathe out. Well, at least she's alive. And screaming. That's how we come into the world, kicking and screaming, so I know she has enough energy to live. She'll make it, she's a superhero. Those things are pretty much indestructible, for better or worse."IthurtsithurtssobadohGodplease." She clutches her cold hand around mine, beads of sweat collecting on her brow. Her shakes some so violently she jolts.

"You owe me so much." I'm slurring a little, speaking fast. The words are reflexive, loaded in the chamber and ready to shoot with one command. Speak. Spittle drips down my chin. "I didn't even want to give you mouth-to-mouth. But I did. I resuscitated you, Heaven. I freaking brought you back from the dead."

The hero doesn't seem to hear me. "Strike two." She says hoarsely between all the Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop with the sickest little laugh I've ever heard. Her chest collapses and inflates double-time. Her eyes tear up, trails racing down her cheeks. She's still making those pained sounds. The girl crosses over the roots and kneels by Heaven, Heaven convulsing, Heaven groaning and shaking and crying, Heaven bruised worse than anyone should ever be. I reach for my belt, for a drug or something else to put her out of her misery, but I'm weaponless. 

"Strike two," I mutter, and I think of her first death, back when she threw herself at Owl's knife. "And three strikes you're out, is that it?"

Heaven raises her head and spits up blood onto the dirt. I flinch. She clutches my hand harder and looks at me now, both eyes big and cloudy, terribly cloudy, like fog reflected on the surface of black coffee. This must be the first time she's felt real pain, unnumbed at all by her healing factor. It must be hell. "Jaylin," she tells me, and I know she's delirious because she says my name without shouting it. "If I can't, I want you to save my friends."

"What?" No. No way. She doesn't trust me with them and for good reason. I don't trust myself with them. Save them? When she, Angel, and Gats are my tickets back to a life I crave so badly? Cross the people who cared for me all those years a second time? I don't know. I don't think so. 

"I can't do this." Her voice trembles, her bottom lip swelling up, a little purple. "I-I can't. They've broken me and killed me and I need your help." When I look into her eyes, as glassy and reflective as a stuffed bear's, they glitter with the night's starlight. "Help me." Her voice cracks. "Help me, please."

I lower my eyes to her hand clenched around mine. The little superhero girl glances at me, silvery mask slicked to her face, strands of blonde hair stuck up like she ran a balloon over it. "I'm a bad guy, Gal."

Hev closes her eyes and makes a terrible groan, something so low and inhuman my throat feels lumpy inside. Her hands, they shake and shake and shake until I can't bear to watch. "I don't care," she says, her voice so raw my throat hurts. I tilt her chin up with two fingers, telling myself to be swift. I ball my fist, knuckles trembling, and slam it where her jaw and neck connects. Heaven silences, her body stills. I wish I had some of that drug on me, the one I used on Angel to make him relax before he fell asleep. Heaven deserves to relax.

The little superhero stares, wide-eyed, like I slapped whatever she was about to say right out of her mouth. After a whole seven seconds, she recovers. "Well, what are you going to do?" She narrows her eyes, fists pressed on her hips.

I ease one arm under Heaven's shoulder, the other under her knees, and scoop her up. I'm getting good at that. The air is sticky, only chilly when a gust of wind blows by. It smells sweet like freshly cut grass. Earthy. I'm a city villain, heart and soul. The trees, branches droopy with early spring blossoms, feel like they're from another story, another universe, with deer and farms and the likes. It's crazy to think this world is only a few hours away from the city.

The superhero is all dead-weight, heavy as her legacy. Her hair is matted with blood, half of her face laced with shallow, sore-like scars. Shirt sheared in the back, tangled curls spilled over my arm, she looks like such a mess. She is a mess.

And I'm alone, pretty much. Minus the silver-clad nuisance. I squint into the distance, where the hills rise and the horizon becomes a clot of trees, green as clover. The mall at the crossroads, where kidnapped supers are brought to have their powers torn out of them, they and their powers alike bought and traded like playing cards. Where Angel is. Where Gats will be. Some rescue required for the both of them, rescue I don't know how to perform. I chew a strand of hair. Bringing someone back to life is one thing. Saving them is another.

"I'm scared," I want to tell Heaven, but I can't. I toss my head back, blow my bangs out of my face, and force one foot in front of the other until walking becomes easier and faking becomes easier and talking becomes easy enough. I fix the girl with another look, haughty-like, one that says I'm in charge, as untrustworthy as I may be. "We walk." She dips her head, ponytail flopping stiffly over her shoulder, trotting after me as I spring into a jog. "We walk and try not to get our asses kicked."