Abner is experienced and adept at being on the absolute brink of death and calmly insisting that he is fine. It’s just a rash. I just slipped. I was only dead for a little while.. A hospital is no place for someone like him. Even top infectious disease specialists wouldn’t know what to do with him. And the thought of anyone in a lab coat with an examination table trying is enough to make him break out in a cold sweat.

The people who hit him aren’t entirely to blame for moving along. He hadn’t laid down until their car was out of sight.

“Oh. A little, I guess,” he answers, as if temperature hadn’t previously occurred to him and he isn’t really bothered. He’s actually quite cold. He’s still in a sort of teenage experimental stage of dressing himself, having never gotten the chance before. But he does also hang out with Harley Quinn who is an…interesting sartorial influence.

He props himself up on his elbows as he suddenly finds himself cloaked. The chill had been a nice distraction. The cloak is also a nice distraction. It feels expensive.

“I can feel everything,” he reports, “and move everything, I just can’t put weight on it.”

He gestures to the leg with the torn knee.