Yes #1

She is indeed pretty, this complete stranger. The unfortunate dirt kiss has not much hidden her features; you can still make out freckles and a pointy chin. In fact, all things put together, the orange path, the red of her tied-up locks, the presence of large bits of tree (which may well kill her, bear in mind) you can just imagine her as a sort of earth fairy, what's the other word?- oh yes, a pixie. And though there is an uncanny valley aspect to the sight of her forcefully deconstructed shoulder, crushed wrist and wonky leg, enough of her body is intact to indicate very pleasing assets. Her chest is not one to have heads whirl around to see, but it'll never sag; and though she is fairly light and slim all the way down, her waist yet draws a lovely curve into her hips.

You pick up her phone again, remembering a crucial part of the bonding process: you need her name to call her to you. You half expect to meet a dead end, but it is one of those devices where the lock stays open when it detects motion. Since time is halted and you haven't tinkered with the thing except to look at the screen, it thinks it is still in motion, and so as you swipe the home symbol up, no verification is asked, no pin, no pattern, no thumbprint. The safe is open. You sift through her stuff. Going through her messages you find a conversation titled "Hey, Roxy!". There's only one message in it, and the person who sent it is named "that guy". You cringe; it must be some prick from highschool desperately going through his old contacts to find a loser stupid enough to reply. It's a lead at any rate. Now to find out if Roxy is the diminutive or the full name. You find three conversations with someone calling the phone owner "Rox", and one saying "Roxy". It's impossible to tell from the names who these people are. Each one has a made-up name involving cats, rodents and other 'cute' animals with occasional numbers or symbols spliced into the word. For all you know they might all be relatives in a very tech-savvy family. There's no sign of any fuddy-duddy using slightly old diction or anything like that. She must be called Roxy then. You might try calling her other stuff, like maybe Roxanne or something. Maybe it's a weird diminutive of a name that doesn't actually have an 'x' in it like Rosalinda, or Rosalie... You'll work it out, you think to yourself.

To business then, - oh. You look down. You're still wearing underwear, albeit not particularly robust underwear anymore, full of holes and one side almost ripped open, but that isn't the problem. Your god damn bloody dick is limp. You shove your boxers down and it just flops down, little skin sack of conspicuoulsy not-erect ligaments. You try visualising this Roxy girl nude, try to imagine fucking her little cunt, try to hear yourself grunting to her, telling her she's your tiny slut, anything to rouse yourself, awaken your sexual side. Sure, once you've come once in the day you're not going to be quite as hard for another dozen hours or so, nor spurt as much spunk, but you should be able to get it up.

Nothing happens.

So now what? Do you just leave this girl to die? If not die then be a cripple? Maybe permanently? Who knows what other damage the branch did, maybe her back is fucked, maybe there's nerve damage in the shoulder and leg, what are you supposed to do now, just leave it up to a toss? Never! You've already gone snooping in her phone, you've gotten invested in her, you've already committed to saving her somehow. She's in your agenda, she's in your grand scheme, she's to be your next link, for no better reason than she's pretty and you nearly killed her, and you know there must be a way. She's yours, damnit! A limp pecker is not an obstacle that's going to stump you.

Now, what are you going to do, exactly? You have overpowered muscles, time freezing, and the knowledge and skills one can expect to find in the head of a student in humanities, which is to say not much knowledge and skills. Being somewhat good at reading semi-philosophical texts or essays on sociology and seeing some of the insight is not an especially practical affinity. So what can you actually do? You have no tools to perform reconstructive surgery, you wouldn't know the first thing to do if you had them, hell, even if you had a surgeon with his kit magically appear out of nowhere on the scene where you currently need him, you wouldn't even know what on earth he would decide to do, nor could you just observe him and learn.

...but you can get a surgeon. You can't literally get one out of thin air, of course, that would be magic. Rather, you can get to a surgeon. Now where is that hospital?, um - ah yes, that's right. Got to get to the square, and then go up the north hill to the suburbs...

You lock Roxy's phone and slip it back in the harness on her arm. You then pick Roxy up. Then put her back down. You can't turn up at the hospital naked with an **** girl in your arms, now can you? Where are your clothes?

It takes forever to find your pants in the dark, but fortunately you do have forever at your disposal if need be. They landed in the middle of the park on a patch of decorative grass in the little garden type place. They're more or less intact. That was the most straightforward to find item, along with one of your shoes, the first one to have quit your foot. It barely still holds. The jacket and beanie are quite something else. You have to climb the tree to find them. You use Roxy's phone for its torch, and pray you don't drop it. You leap from branch to branch until you reach the height you feel you were stripped of the last bits. Your beanie is intact but for a long stick poking right through. Your jacket is almost in two pieces, held together by only a few weak fibers. You fall back down to the ground in small drops at a time, pierced beanie back on your head, ruined jacket under one arm, clutching the phone in one hand, the other remaining limb doing basically all the work, holding on to a branch, letting go, catching hold of another, and so on.

You're ready at last, no longer quite naked, but looking like you survived multiple violent attempts to strip you. You can make up some story about a brawl or something, and Roxy getting hit by a car or a scooter. You'll work it out. Speaking of which you finally pick up your little pixie and set out to leave the park. She weighs less than a feather to you. Still, better not run, don't want to create any new injuries.

About fifteen minutes later you arrive within a few streets of the hospital. You stop to think. You need to get the emergency services to treat Roxy's injuries on the double, without question, without being absolutely dumbfounded, for instance, at her suddenly appearing out of nowhere in the vicinity of an operating theatre, in the arms of someone who may or may not be alien to her and may or may not be responsible for her condition. So you can't just waltz in and put her down in front of the surgeon before you unfreeze time. You could arrange to appear out of nowhere brazenly in the sight of several witnesses, and claim that some scientific experiment involving teleportation went horribly wrong, and that everyone who saw you is sworn to secrecy on pain of ****, but you're hardly old enough to be a mad scientist, and hardly dressed for the part. So, you need to compromise between getting Roxy into intensive care as soon as possible, and avoiding delaying her treatment by getting too much attention on the two of you. You look around. There's no one in this particular street. The windows in the houses are all shut. It's a suburban area. You unfreeze time.

You'd forgotten to close Roxy's eyes or relax her face muscles. Her already open eyes widen, she gasps, chokes, then passes out. She's properly **** now. You take a step to carry on toward your journey, and almost tip over as the girl's weight suddenly increases in your arms. It's not so much that she's particularly heavy, but you no longer have the ridiculous power from the frozen time realm, and are caught by surprise. You get going, fast now, a tad less concerned with not causing further injury and more about not running out of strength before your destination is reached.

You arrive in sight of the hospital. It's in a relatively busy street, with several bus stops, a big bus station nearby, parking, and other stuff. The few people around stop and stare at you. It occurs to you some might have just come from the street you were in, and may be wondering how they missed you. Hopefully they are just amazed at the sorry state you and Roxy are in: a barely clothed man wearing the shredded remains of possibly sporty stuff carrying a knocked out girl with one shoulder more low and more angular than it should be. As you aproach the main doors into the hospital, you wonder why no one made a move to help you. It's clear you have a literal emergency on your hands, isn't it? Why, won't anyone even rush in ahead of you to announce the arrival of someone who looks in terribly bad shape? Late at night? In the cold? There, that idiot with a motorbike parked a few metres in front of the entrance, he could have gone in and screamed a bit, surely?

Fortunately, once inside the hospital it isn't long before someone notices you, and within minutes Roxy is out of your hands. The receptionist immediately pegs you and speaks into a little microphone on his desk. He then swiftly exits his post and leads you into the corridors until a team of doctors and nurses meet you both rolling a stretcher along. Soon the patient is rolled away to an operating theatre, out of your sight and control. After politely insisting that you are yourself in no need of particular care or treatment, and that you have no injuries to speak of (which is true, mind you) you are sent to wait in a special room to yourself, with a free hot drinks machine. You have just enough time to procure some hot chocolate, and then the door opens and a nurse steps in.

She doesn't immediatley close the door. She pauses, looks you up and down. Any other day you would pray that she were checking you out, because she's bloody gorgeous, but most likely she's taken aback by your ruined clothes. Or maybe she is checking you out due to your state of undress revealing your physique...

"I was told only one of you was badly injured." So much for that fantasy.

"That's correct. I'm alright, it's Roxy that needs special care." She raises an eyebrow as you say the name and you silently panic. You don't actually know if that is the correct name and just blurted it out. Shit.

"There must be something damaged in there somewhere," she insists, "you look like you've been in the wars." She lets the door close behind her and takes a step forward.

Maybe she's trying to get you undressed after all. You wouldn't mind as long as she does the same. Her chest is majestic compared to that redhead's.

You take a step back and say "I tell you, I'm fine. No broken bones on me. I got a bit roughed up that's all. I don't need any medical treatment."

Disappointingly she stops dead, seeminlgy placated. "As you wish. If you're not simply being stupidly cocky that's good. I'm Nurse Watkins, I'm the Head Nurse, and I need you to vouch for our patient. She won't be able to give us anything any time soon. Doctor's put her in an artificial coma, you see. We need you to give us her home number or some way to contact her parents - I assume you can do so? - to help us register her as a patient, get her covered, I'm sure you understand the formalities..."

As she speaks bureaucratic twadlle you become aware of two things: first, you're still limp, in spite of your enthusiasm toward the nurse, and second, you need to make something up and fast, because you gave yourself away with that name drop.