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Troy and Abed, being Troy and Abed, started running the second they saw the churro stand. Troy had a head start, and Abed sprinted behind him to catch up. That was, until he fell.
He didn’t even hit the ground that hard, really. He just slipped sideways with a yelp, stuck out his arm, and landed on it funny. But immediately, he felt an intense pain in his right wrist. He curled up on the floor, clutching it to his chest.
Troy, ahead of him, turned around so quickly he almost fell over, running towards him at full speed. “Abed!!” He knelt down beside him. “Are you okay?”
Abed screwed his eyes shut. It hurt. But his words didn’t seem to be working, so he made a whining sound instead.
“Buddy?” Abed could tell Troy was on the edge of tears just from his voice. “Did you get hurt? Is it--is it your arm?”
Abed nodded to the best of his ability. He forced his eyes open, trying to movie his hand, an attempted quickly thwarted by a painful flare in his wrist. He whimpered.
“Do you think it’s broken?” Troy said, and the very thought made Abed want to run away. Broken meant cast meant doctors, and Abed did not want to see the doctors. He shook his head vigorously.
“It’s fyne,” he said, words like thumbtacks in his mouth, difficult to get out.
“F-Y-N-E, or--”
“F-Y-N-E! Can we go home?” he pleaded. Troy looked at him for a moment before nodding and standing up.
“Okay. Let’s go home, Abed.” Abed stood up and walked next to Troy, still holding his wrist tenderly to his chest.
-----
It didn’t take long for Abed’s wrist to swell. Purple bruises made a painful bracelet, and Troy kept looking at him with an expression Abed couldn’t read. They ate buttered noodles at home instead of churros, and Abed had to use his left hand.
“That looks really bad, Abed,” Troy finally said, putting down his fork. Abed didn’t do the same, continuing to eat his buttered noodles.
“It’s okay.”
“I can tell from your voice alone you’re in a lot of pain.”
“Please don’t make me go to the doctor,” Abed blurted.
“I--I think we might have to.”
“No.”
“Seriously, I think it might be broken--”
“I don’t want to! I don’t want to!!” Abed yelled, making loud whining sounds. He stood up, backing away from Troy. His heart was pounding. “I’m going to the dreamatorium.”
“Abed--”
He slammed the door before Troy could finish, curling up in the far corner of the dreamatorium, shaking. He hugged his right arm to his chest, keening loudly. He didn’t want to go to the doctors, anything but the doctors, but it hurt, fuck, it hurt--
There was a soft knock. Abed said nothing, but Annie--she must have just gotten home--came in anyway. “Hey,” she said in her Trying-Not-to-Upset-Abed voice.
Abed gave a small whimper. His words were gone again.
She handed him the Spider-Man ice pack and he wrapped it carefully around his wrist. “We don’t have to go to an ER,” Annie offered. “We can make an appointment with a hand doctor instead. It’ll be quieter. There’ll be fewer people. All they’ll do it take an x-ray and if it’s broken they’ll give you a cast. You’ll be conscious and aware the whole time, they won’t force you to take any drugs, and we’ll be with you.”
He whimpered again, because he really didn’t want to go to the doctor, but his wrist really, really hurt, even if the ice made it a little better. Looking up at Annie, he nodded slowly.
“Okay? Okay,” she said. “I’m going to make an appointment, and then I’m gonna go buy a brace from the drugstore that you can wear for a little.”
Abed stood up and left the dreamatorium with Annie. Troy was waiting right outside the door, eyes wet and shiny. He must have been crying when Annie got home. Probably Abed’s fault. “Are you okay, Abed?” Troy said.
Abed nodded again. Annie walked over to the kitchen to make the call, and Troy took Abed’s left hand, his good hand, and squeezed it lightly.
(Abed got a plain white cast, like they did in movies. Troy signed it first--his name in messy handwriting with a smiley face right next to it and a little doodle of a blorgon. Troy wasn’t the best artist, but Abed didn’t mind in the slightest.)