Sid chest tightened. His lip quivered, his breath came out shaky, and tears welled despite how hard he tried to hold them back. He covered his mouth, terrified of waking Morgana and Big D. The phone slid from his grasp, landing softly on the sheets. Sid turned his head away, blinking hard, but the screen’s glow still reflected against his face, every hateful comment burning into his mind.

Week four marked a new stage in Sid’s recovery. The brace stayed locked tight around his knee, but now he could stand— with help. The nurses gave him crutches first, then a walker. His steps were shaky, his balance uncertain, but he refused to admit it. Every morning, he pushed himself harder than the therapist allowed.

"Let’s do another round. I can handle it."

The therapist shook his head.

"Mr. Wilder, that’s enough for today. Your leg needs time to—"

"I said I can handle it!"

Sid snapped, gripping the walker until his knuckles turned white. He tried to lift his right leg again, but pain shot through it like lightning. His body buckled, and he caught himself on the rails, breathing hard.

"Damn it... why won’t it work?!"

Morgana, who had been watching from the side, rushed over.

"Sid, stop! You’ll hurt yourself again!"

"I don’t care!"

His voice cracked with frustration.

"I need to walk! I need to run! I can’t just sit here while everyone thinks I’m broken!"

"Sid..."

She whispered, her eyes softening.

"No one thinks that."

He looked away, chest rising and falling sharply.

"The fans do. The channel’s dead. I don’t want to be some crippled fool who can’t even stand straight."

He tried again to stand on both legs, ignoring the searing pain. His brace creaked, the muscles in his thigh shaking from the effort. The therapist reached out to steady him, but Sid shoved the hand away.

"I said don’t help me!"

The pain grew unbearable, forcing him to drop back into the wheelchair. His head fell forward, breath ragged.

"I can’t... I can’t even do this right..."

Morgana knelt in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders.

"Sid, listen to me. You don’t have to prove anything. Not to your fans, not to me, not to anyone. You just need to heal."

He met her eyes for a moment, his anger faltering. Then he exhaled slowly, defeated.

"Healing feels like giving up."

By week five, Sid’s body began to adapt. He could move short distances with the walker, though every step came with pain. The doctors started talking about outpatient rehab— sessions outside the hospital, home exercises, and more independence.

But the emotional weight stayed. Some nights, Sid barely spoke. Other nights, he had stare at the ceiling, whispering apologies—to his fans, his mother, himself. Big D stayed nearby, cracking jokes and playing loud videos just to drown out the silence. Morgana spent longer hours by his side, keeping his spirits anchored.

There were still bad days, moments when Sid broke down, punching his thigh out of frustration, or falling silent for hours.

By the sixth week, Sid’s discharge papers were ready. The nurses moved quietly around him, unhooking wires, removing the last IV line, and folding away the brace straps they had adjusted countless times. The room that once felt like a cage now felt strangely empty. His bag sat at the edge of the bed, packed neatly by Morgana, who hadn’t said much since the doctor’s visit earlier that morning.

The doctor’s words still echoed in Sid’s head.

"Your knee’s healing, Mr. Wilder... but not fully. You’ll walk, maybe even jog someday, but it will never hold the same again. If you push it like before— if you try those stunts again... you’ll lose the leg entirely."

Sid had stayed silent, jaw tight. The doctor went on.

"I’m sorry... but if you don’t stop, you won’t be walking in a few years. That knee’s finished. Parkour is finished."

Sid didn’t speak the entire time. He just sat there, eyes locked on the brace wrapped around his knee—like it was a shackle, a reminder of everything he hasd lost. The doctor’s words faded into background noise, another reminder that recovery would take months, maybe years.

When the door finally closed, Morgana opened her mouth to say something— anything but nothing came. The silence between them felt heavier than the room itself.

Now, as a nurse rolled in a wheelchair, Sid looked down at his leg. The once strong, steady limb that had carried him across rooftops and towers now looked small and fragile under the brace. He clenched his jaw.

"I’ll walk. I don’t need that."

"Sid—"

Morgana started, but he was already forcing himself up. The weight hit him like a hammer. Pain exploded up his thigh, and his leg nearly gave out before Big D caught him.

"Whoa, whoa, easy, bro! Save the hero stuff for later."

Sid didn’t answer. His lips were pressed tight as they helped him into the wheelchair. He looked out the window instead, anywhere but at them.

The hospital lobby was crowded when they left. Nurses whispered to one another as they passed. Someone near the reception desk pointed.

"Hey, isn’t that the guy from the tower stream?"

"Yeah, that’s him. The one who fell and lived."

"He looks so... pitiful."

The words weren’t loud, but they didn’t need to be. Sid heard every one of them. His hands tightened on the wheels, his head low. He felt exposed, like everyone could see what he had lost.

Morgana walked beside him, silent, her fingers gripping the edge of his chair. Her throat burned with things she wanted to say but couldn’t. Big D stayed close on the other side, forcing a laugh and talking louder than usual, trying to drown out the voices.

"Yo, man, I can’t wait till we’re home. Morgana’s probably gonna cook, right? You love that weird soup thing she makes. What is it called again? The one that smells like socks?"

Morgana shot him a look, but she knew what he was doing. Sid didn’t respond. He just kept staring straight ahead, his eyes empty.