The first conscious thought that came to his numb mind was a simple name. Phoenix.
The next thought was unfortunately far less pleasant. Pain. Pain that burned and seared all through the left side of his chest and shoulder. His hand instinctively moved to clutch at the wound there. He was surprised to feel gauze under his fingers instead of the sickeningly warm blood he expected. He forced his eye open and turned his head a bit to get a better look. His vision was blurry and out of focus so he rapidly blinked his eye in an attempt to see clearer. After a moment or two it seemed to work and he found that not only was his stab wound carefully bandaged, but he wasn't in The Paradise. For a moment his pain was replaced with with confusion and panic. He looked around him seeing he was in a rather fancy bedroom wearing silky pajamas. Upon the realization that he was no longer covered with his usual leather costume he reached up to touch his face. His helmet was gone too. This sent his already pounding heartbeat skyrocketing.

Where was he? Who brought him here? Why wasn't he dead? Where was Phoenix?

These and many more questions flooded his mind to the point of preventing him from even noticing a knock at the door.

“Winslow.”

The sound of his own name snapped him back to reality, however recognizing the owner of the voice did nothing to ease his panic. Winslow turned his head quickly to look at the short blonde man standing in the doorway. He opened his mouth to for the astonished exclamation of the man's name, but all that came out was a terrible cross between a squawk and a gurgle. He put a hand over his mouth surprised by the sound he made.

Swan watched Winslow with a neutral expression. “Your voicebox is safe and sound, Winslow.”

Winslow stared at Swan as he attempted to sort through the questions swirling in his head that all demanded to be asked at once. If he could even voice them that is. His breathing was quick and shallow. He made to pull himself out of bed and cover the right side of his face at the same time. The sharp bolt of pain that shot through his shoulder and arm abruptly stopped him though.

“Careful now, Winslow. We wouldn't want you to rip any of those stitches now would we.” Swan kept his even tone.

Winslow grimaced closing his eye against the throbbing wound. He gripped the sheets with his free hand waiting for the intensity of the pain to ease. Once it did he opened his eye again to see Swan was standing at the end of his bed watching him still.

“I'm sure you have some questions.” Swan took out a notepad and a pencil from his pocket. He set them in Winslow's lap. “Write them down.”

Winslow forced himself to take a few deep breaths before carefully righting himself. He picked up the paper and pencil not taking his eye off the man. He considered what question to ask first and chose the most pressing one first.
Why am I still alive?
He handed Swan the notepad.

Swan read the question and chuckled softly as if something about the sheer confusion on Winslow's face was funny. “It's really quite a complicated explanation I'm afraid. But you see, you're alive because I'm alive. I'm sure that was your next question, Winslow.”

Winslow pressed his lips together. Swan was right. He made no attempt to say anthing knowing it wouldn't do any good anyway and just listened to Swan for the explanation to this situation.

“Now you know I cannot die. Though you did make a valiant attempt. However thanks to my personal doctor I was mended without too much trouble.”

Winslow creased his eyebrows and frowned. How could a doctor save Swan after he'd set fire to that tape that kept him alive?

As if Swan could read Winslow's thoughts he pointed a finger in the air. “My contracts were damaged, yes. But also saved. The important ones anyway.” He looked Winslow directly in the eye, “You almost succeeded, Winslow. You came so close to destroying everything I had worked for.”

There was a certain edge to Swan's voice that caused Winslow to tense like he was expecting Swan to launch himself onto the bed and strangle him. Instead he saw Swan relax his shoulders and continue.

“In a way I have to admire your dedication and effort. But I want you to keep something in mind, Winslow. I could've let you bleed to death on that stage. I could've left you there to die a miserable and lonely death. But instead I had you brought here to the Swanage and had you treated by my own doctor. You're alive because I wanted you to be.” Swan didn't look away from Winslow as he said this, making sure his point was made as clear as possible.

Winslow didn't look away from Swan either. Without his costume, his helmet or his physical health he felt unbelievably vulnerable. Which was the worst thing he could feel in the presence of the man who brought it all about. He swallowed the lump that had developed in his throat hoping he wasn't making his discomfort too noticeable.

“Now, you are to stay in this bed until you've healed. Don't try to run off, you'll only end up hurting yourself. I'll have Dr. Peters come in to give you some medicine and check your stitches.” Swan turned to leave.

Winslow's eye widened at the thought of having some stranger see him with out his mask at least. He shook his head making an urgent sound in his throat.

Swan paused and looked at him. “Come now, Winslow. You're a smart man. You and I both know that you need medical help to heal and I highly doubt you'd want to be sent to a hospital.”

Winslow froze knowing Swan was right again. He couldn't go to a public hospital. Not when he was considered to be a dead criminal. He closed his mouth reluctantly and snatched the notepad up again. He quickly wrote down another important question and pushed toward Swan.

Swan picked it up reading it before tossing it back down on the bed. “Phoenix isn't here, Winslow. She left The Paradise the same night you tried to kill me.”

Winslow wasn't sure how to take this. In one way he was glad she had gotten away from The Paradise and, more importantly, Swan. On the other hand his heart sank knowing she was gone and likely did not want to be found by anyone. He couldn't blame her.

“Rest, Dr. Peters will be in shortly.” Swan said and left without another word.

Winslow stared at the closed door left alone with his muddled thoughts. If he wasn't injured he would've likely ignored what Swan told him and run straight out the door. But he knew better than to try right now. He blinked as a new question popped into his head. How long had he been unconscious? Swan was completely healed by all appearances. Was rapid healing part of being immortal?
He shook his head to dismiss these thoughts for now. He didn't have enough energy to be as worried as he should be. He would just have to give his battered body time to heal, then he would figure things out.