More time warp
There was a bear tucked amongst the needles and the bandages and equipment Bobby didn't understand but hoped he would never have to see again. It was white, or at least it used to be, before it was well-loved into a smudgy grey by a few dozen little, anxious hands. It had a red velvet bow tie, the nap worn bald at the edges and right at the center of the knot, and its head lolled just a little bit at the neck, the stuffing worked flat.
"My son named him Hugs," the paramedic was saying, making Bobby's vision go fuzzy and his breathing shallow for just half a second while he was forced to reorient himself. Not just staring at the bear, but sitting in the ambulance with a woman beside him with a clip board in Central Park with the metal scattered everywhere and the puddle in the middle and Captain America. "Because he hugs all of the worried kids," she continued, even though Bobby hadn't asked. When his eyes seemed to have adjusted, she smiled at him. There was no reason not to smile back, but Bobby's was gone as quick as it had come. Where had he gone? Captain America.
"You're going to that school." She kept talking and Bobby kept looking at the grass where he had asked a strange, green-haired girl to tell him about the environment and where a policeman was shot in the foot and where a hot dog cart had flown and where Captain America had said he just wanted to help. "Sorry, I overheard you talking. You're going, right?" Maybe this was why people in New York kept their heads down. Look up, and you have to be a part of this crazy world and you have to tell them who you are.
Bobby slowly turned his head until he was finally facing her, her encouraging smile, his knit eyebrows and mouth open without an answer. She cocked her head, said, "The one for mutants."