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"Thanks for helping me with my research project, Wilt. I knew I could count on you." Mac beamed up at the tall Friend as he reached for the encyclopedia on the bottom shelf of the Foster's library. Leaning backwards to compensate for its weight, he hefted it onto his chest to set it down it on the table... and it promptly slipped out of its dustjacket and landed squarely on his foot. The boy yelped, reaching down to lift the heavy book off his toes as he hissed through his teeth. Wilt opened his mouth to speak, but found that the words wouldn't come, sticking and melting into each other like thick oil blocking his throat. Sharp pain shot down his left arm, and he instinctively put his hand to it, grasping at air as he remembered it was no longer there.
Sweat dripped down his face. The summer heat made the surface of the road shimmer when he looked out from the alley he lay in. Wilt sat up, reflexively supporting himself with his left arm and wincing when he realized what he'd done and felt the bones bending in a way they definitely shouldn't. Over the past few days, the Friend had slowly lost more and more function in the limb, hopelessly mangled after being crushed that fateful evening. He couldn't move his fingers. Shards of crushed bone jutted into his skin and muscle at uneven angles, and his once-brilliant red skin had faded to a dark purple, almost black where the swelling was the most prominent. The parts where his skin had broken were the worst, a brown edge around the wounds and mosquitos attacking him in droves to make the most of an easy target. A dull ache radiated from just above his elbow up to his shoulder; he could barely feel anything below that anymore. The limb collapsed under him, causing him to faceplant into the concrete. He didn't have the energy to pull himself up again.
"Wilt? Wilt, are you okay? Please just say something! Oh my god..." Hearing the boy's voice, the Friend came back to reality. Taking in his surroundings, he came to realize that he was sitting down now with a death grip on the stub of his left arm. Mac was standing in front of him with his hands on his shoulders, looking about as worried as Wilt had ever seen him. Wilt composed himself to explain, just then realizing the frantic speed of his breathing and heartbeat.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, I'm alright, I'm alright! I really didn't mean to worry you there, I'm really sorry about that."
"Hey Wilt... I think I can handle this project on my own, yknow? I really think you should, uh... I really think you should go and rest."
"That's really nice of you, kiddo. Just come and get me if you need anything, okay? I really wouldn't want to leave if you still need my help."
"No, no, I really think you should go."
Wilt took a deep breath and hefted himself off the floor, his heart still racing. Leaving the library, he headed for the hospital wing to log down his flashback. It was the first he'd had in a month, so that was better. Not great yet, but better. He was getting better. Wilt let the tension in his chest relax.