I glance around the kitchen, my heart pounding in my chest as I grab what I can—a loaf of bread, some bandages, a bottle of water. My hands are shaking again. I can't help it. If Mrs. Shiro catches me this time... I don't even want to think about it. But Hawks needs this. He's still hurt, and I can't just leave him like that. Not when I've read enough to know what'll happen if he doesn't get proper care soon.

I clutch the supplies tight against my chest as I sneak out the back door, my small bat-like wings twitching nervously under my jacket. They don't do much, but they make it harder to stay quiet when I'm this tense. Still, I force myself to focus on the path to the basement, staying in the shadows like I've practiced a hundred times before.

When I reach the door, I let out a shaky breath and slip inside. It's darker than usual, but I know the way by heart now. The sound of Hawks' quiet breathing fills the small space, and for a moment, relief washes over me. He's still alive. That's what matters.

I set the supplies down carefully and crouch beside him. He looks better than when I first found him, but not by much. His face is pale, his golden eyes closed, and his wings... They're still a mess, feathers sticking out at odd angles, blood staining the edges.

"Hey," I whisper softly, not expecting a response. He's been in and out of consciousness since I started sneaking down here.

I grab a clean cloth and dip it in the water bottle, wiping the dried blood from his side. The gash there is deep, too deep for comfort, and I bite my lip as I check the stitches I'd managed to put in last time. They're holding, but barely. I read somewhere that infection can set in if wounds aren't treated properly. That's why I stole the antibiotics.

"I hope this helps," I mutter, more to myself than to him.

I crush the pill into powder with the back of a spoon and mix it with a bit of water, using a dropper to carefully get it into his mouth. His throat works as he swallows, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"I've read about worse cases," I whisper as I work. "People survive things like this all the time. You just need rest and the right care."

The bandages are next. I peel away the old ones, grimacing at the sight of the angry, red skin underneath. Hawks flinches slightly, letting out a soft groan, and I freeze.

"Sorry," I say quickly, my voice barely audible. "I'm almost done."

He stirs, his golden eyes fluttering open just a crack. He looks at me, his gaze unfocused but softer than I expected.

"You... came back," he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

"Of course," I reply, forcing a small smile. "I brought more food and some medicine. You'll feel better soon."

He watches me quietly as I press a fresh bandage against his wound, my hands shaking slightly. I'm not a doctor, and my telekinesis isn't precise enough for this kind of thing. But I've read enough, studied enough. I have to believe I'm doing the right thing.

"You didn't have to," he says, his voice softer now.

"I wanted to," I reply simply, avoiding his gaze.

The truth is, I don't know how to explain it. Why I keep coming back, risking everything to help him. Maybe it's because he's a hero—the hero I've always looked up to. Or maybe it's because, for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm actually helping someone. Like I'm doing something that matters.

When I finish patching him up, I sit back on my heels, wiping the sweat from my forehead. Hawks lets out a soft sigh, his head lolling to the side as he drifts off again.

I watch him for a moment, my chest tight.

"I wish I could do more," I admit quietly, my fingers brushing against the edge of my wings. "I wish I could make you better faster."

But I can't. I don't have a healing quirk. All I have is what I've learned from books and the internet, and whatever supplies I can sneak out without getting caught.

I lean back against the wall, pulling my knees to my chest.

"I always wanted to fly," I whisper, glancing at Hawks' wings. Even battered and broken, they're still incredible.

But my wings... they're too small. Too weak. No matter how much I try, I'll never soar through the sky like him. I'll always be stuck here, on the ground, looking up.

"Flying's not everything," Hawks murmurs suddenly, his voice rough but steady enough to catch me off guard.

I look at him, startled. His eyes are half-open now, watching me with a softness that makes my throat tighten.

"Still..." I shrug, trying to act like it doesn't bother me. "It must be nice."

He chuckles softly, though it sounds more like a sigh.

"You'll find your own way," he says, his gaze unwavering. "Trust me. You've got something special."

I blink at him, surprised. Does he know? Can he tell how much I've been trying? How much I've been fighting just to keep him alive?

"I hope so," I murmur, my voice barely audible.

Hawks doesn't say anything else. His breathing evens out, and I realize he's fallen asleep again. I watch him quietly, my chest tight with a mix of emotions I can't quite name.

Maybe I'll never fly like him. Maybe I'll never be the hero I always wanted to be. But for now, this is enough.

I'll keep him safe. I'll keep him alive.

Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that heroes always find a way to come back.