“Dustin?” A technician appeared in the doorway. “We're ready for your X-rays.”
Dustin stood. Greg stood too, automatically, like he'd been pulled up by the same string.
“Just the patient for imaging,” the technician said.
“I'll be here,” Greg said, and sat back down with his hands on his knees.
Dustin followed the tech down the hallway, glancing back once. Greg was sitting in the waiting room withperfect posture and an expression of quiet devastation, surrounded by broken humans, looking for all the world like one of them.
The X-ray was its own special kind of miserable. Holding his arm in positions that made his shoulder scream while a machine hummed around him and the technician told him to hold still, hold still, one more, hold still. He held still. He breathed. He thought about Greg in the waiting room with his empty hands.
When they brought him back out, Greg was exactly where he'd left him. He looked as if he hadn't moved at all.
“Miss me?” Dustin asked.
“A child threw a juice box at me,” Greg said.
“Did you catch it?”
Greg's face fell. “No.”
They waited again. Dustin leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. His shoulder throbbed. The road rash on his side burned.
He thought about calling his mother.
He didn't.
“Dustin?” A nurse this time, a different one. “Doctor's ready for you. Your X-rays are back.”
Greg stood again. This time Dustin didn't wait for the nurse to object.
“He's with me,” he said.
The nurse looked at Greg and waved them both through.
The exam bay was small and curtained and smelled like rubbing alcohol. Dustin sat on the table, paper crinkling beneath him. The doctor arrived a few minutes later. A short man with tired eyes.
“Good news,” he said. “There's nofractures, only a clean anterior dislocation. We can reduce it here.” He looked at Dustin's road rash. “We'll clean that up after.”
“Great. Let's do it.”
“I'm going to give you a local anesthetic and a mild sedative?—”
“No drugs.”
“I'd strongly recommend at least the anesthetic.”
“Just do it.”
The doctor glanced at Greg, as if expecting support. Greg looked like he might be the one who needed a sedative.
“Fine,” the doctor said. “It's going to hurt.”
“Yeah. I know.”
The doctor had him lie back on the table. Dustin stared at the ceiling and tried to prepare himself. He knew the drill. He'd been through it twice.
That didn't make it better.
