“Thanks.” It might've been aimed at Breakdown's acquiescence, or his assurance, or both, but anyway, it was aimed at Breakdown. Sam's next remark---an 'eh,'---was aimed at Will, like the shallow shrug which went with it, and after that, an amused assertion: “You don't know how right you are.”
Sam didn't sit beside Will, but knelt on the pavement in front of him, mildly surprised to feel the lot's surface was still slightly warm. She wasn't surprised to see the jeans Will wore were a bit big for him---thin little thing that he was!---but she was glad for the fact, since it meant she could easily roll the leg up enough to uncover his scraped knee. She looked the injury over, then folded her hands, watching Will's face until she could make eye contact. “Okay. You've had some dealings with doctors, and I'd bet enough you don't believe anyone who tells you 'this isn't going to hurt,' anymore. Now, I'm going to fix your knee, and what I'm going to do is going to feel really, really weird, but I promise it isn't going to hurt. Okay? Cool.” Turning her eyes back to the scrape, she paused very briefly before reaching out and taking hold of the wound at its edge, as if she were trying to grip a splinter with her fingernails. It was a small pinch (not hard enough to hurt) and felt 'normal' enough, until she pulled. That didn't hurt, either, though there was some resistance; the scrape came away, came off, like skin peeling after a sunburn, the noise it made a little like tape coming off its roll. In four or five seconds, the wound was free, hanging wet and limp in Sam's hand and looking like a latex scar that came unstuck an hour into trick-or-treating. In contrast, the new skin on Will's knee was exactly that---pink and a little shiny, still, but intact and with no other sign of having been bleeding only a minute before.
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Date: 2017-12-26 06:48 am (UTC)Sam didn't sit beside Will, but knelt on the pavement in front of him, mildly surprised to feel the lot's surface was still slightly warm. She wasn't surprised to see the jeans Will wore were a bit big for him---thin little thing that he was!---but she was glad for the fact, since it meant she could easily roll the leg up enough to uncover his scraped knee. She looked the injury over, then folded her hands, watching Will's face until she could make eye contact. “Okay. You've had some dealings with doctors, and I'd bet enough you don't believe anyone who tells you 'this isn't going to hurt,' anymore. Now, I'm going to fix your knee, and what I'm going to do is going to feel really, really weird, but I promise it isn't going to hurt. Okay? Cool.” Turning her eyes back to the scrape, she paused very briefly before reaching out and taking hold of the wound at its edge, as if she were trying to grip a splinter with her fingernails. It was a small pinch (not hard enough to hurt) and felt 'normal' enough, until she pulled. That didn't hurt, either, though there was some resistance; the scrape came away, came off, like skin peeling after a sunburn, the noise it made a little like tape coming off its roll. In four or five seconds, the wound was free, hanging wet and limp in Sam's hand and looking like a latex scar that came unstuck an hour into trick-or-treating. In contrast, the new skin on Will's knee was exactly that---pink and a little shiny, still, but intact and with no other sign of having been bleeding only a minute before.