Chapter Thirteen:
For Better Or Worse

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"I struggled for a long time with survivin'. And you—no matter what…you keep finding something to fight for."
-Joel, "
The Last of Us"

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His world was on fire.

Not in a literal sense, but it might as well have been.

Splinters of glass shards seemed to have found a home in his leg, his throat and nose were burning from salt water, and oh right, he had apparently been "dead" for about a full minute. His lungs felt like tiny little nails were carving their way through, inside out and making attempts to worm around every nook and cranny of his chest. Every breath was a struggle, but every breath was also coming easier than the last.

Now he was being dragged through the rocks, mud, and sand. He barely comprehended Ash telling him that his leg was broken when she had told him (well, she yelled it in his ear above the howl of the wind, really). It wasn't until she had no choice but to drag him a few feet when he wasn't responding that it settled in and pretty damned fast, too. His entire leg was on fire those few measly feet she pulled on him so effortlessly, but it was enough to jumpstart his groggy senses and motivate him to get up on his good leg.

When he stumbled out of her grip and landed on his side, his head knocked into the ground and vaguely, he recalled bits and pieces of how this had all happened.

He and Ash had been ambushed by the Oni. They could be about as silent as the raptors when the wanted to be. Sometimes, even Ash admitted she had trouble tracking them. A rainfall of arrows had come down on them, and then the Big Guy (as Ash had coined him as) came into play after the rest of the foot soldiers had them backed against one of the cliffs overlooking the sea. Allen had dove right into the fray, wielding his Sword of Exorcism against the Big Guy's giant extended mace-like weapon.

Ash had shouted something at him, but what it was, he couldn't recall. She was busy holding back the Oni reinforcements, fighting them off, distracted between that and him, and then…

And that's where it began to grow fuzzy. He remembered falling and something roaring in his face, and then it was cold, so cold, and it was wet. Something had been trying to drag him down, down, down…down into the darkness and the crushing cold. He wasn't in control. He was being swept away, pulled down, thrown hither and thither and he couldn't breathe.

The next thing he knew, Ash was there. It was raining and she was hovering over him, the water rolling off her hair, her face, making her clothes stick to her body. She had been angry, shouting at him, yelling something important although what it was, he couldn't recollect. He had tried to stand, and found he couldn't. Something was wrong, he knew it the moment he tried shifting his weight and get his legs underneath him, and his left arm—

It was gone. He had had it in its sword form, but it was gone now.

"We've got to go!" Ash had shouted at him.

"My arm—"

"We've got to go, they're coming!"

It was a blur after that, of him trying to get his one good leg to cooperate and failing; Ash practically carrying him as they made their flight from the beaches and cliffs; glimpses of the Oni following them; rushing through the forest until Ash had jammed them into a tiny cubby hole that couldn't even call itself a cave. It was a relief to be out of the lashing rain, but he was still so cold.

There was a sudden bloom of heat behind him, right where Ash was and—wait. It was Ash. She was the source. That's right. She was always hot like this, wasn't she? He just grew so used to it, he failed to notice half the time.

Sitting still made him remember the pain in his leg and the longer they remained, the more it began to ache in anguish.

"M-my leg—what's wrong with it?" He asked in a hoarse whisper, fighting back the urge to cough.

"You fell off the cliff with the Big Guy. You broke it on a rock under the water." He could hear the scowl in her voice, and already imagined a frown on her face, even if he couldn't see because it was so dark. But there was hesitation there as well. "You drowned, Allen. The Big Guy had a hold of you and if I hadn't gone in after you, you'd be at the bottom of the sea right now. Your heart stopped for almost a minute."

Somehow…somehow that didn't quite faze him as badly as he thought it should. He's had that happen before, hadn't he? Tyki Mikk…he once had had a Teaze eat a hole in his heart. His Innocence had fixed it, though.

Outside, there were muffled shouts in Japanese, gruff orders to…

God, he was rusty. He didn't understand a word of Japanese anymore. Not that he had the barest idea back then, either. He just knew scarcely enough to get him by.

"My arm—" he tried again, only for Ash to shush him. He was leaning up against her and the heat that radiated from her was strangely soothing. She had her arms wrapped around his chest and her legs sprawled on either side of him, keeping him pinned. He fumbled in the dark to touch at his left shoulder, where his arm should be, but it wasn't there, it just wasn't. Footsteps pounded somewhere outside, coming closer until they stopped, paused, retreated.

Ash breathed a quiet sigh of relief before she began moving, carefully wriggling out from behind him. She helped prop him up against the wall she had been against.

"You turned your arm into a big fucking sword. The Big Guy charged, you charged back and…the next thing I saw, you two were going over the edge. I dove in after you, but I didn't see where it went." She spoke in a hushed voice, and he heard a zipper yank along its track, followed by ruffling about. Ash's pack. She was looking for supplies. He listened for a moment. She was on his left side, by his broken leg.

"Can we get some light?"

"No. The Oni are still in the area." She replied in a hushed voice. His heart gave a painful jolt the same instant Ash began handling his injured leg. He had to bite back a cry of pain. Her hand slapped against his mouth and he could feel the tips of her claws against his cheek. "I know it hurts, but please, try keep it down."

She slowly removed her hand without waiting for a response and returned to his leg. She was gentler this time, but it still hurt. She grabbed at his pant leg and tugged and he heard the fabric of his jeans rip. He started at the noise, his heart leaping to his throat.

"What're you doing?!"

"I need to see how bad the damage is; what kind of break you have. If it's an actual fracture, I need to set it."

"Do you have to rip my pants to do it?" He hissed back and even in his muddled state, he had enough clarity in him to blush.

"I can't roll it up, it'll hurt you too much and I'm doubtful you'll be willing to take off your pants. This is the best option. And besides, I'll fix them later."

He forgot that she could sew. Whether it was some innate skill she knew before Yamatai or had to learn out of necessity, either way, she was good after a few centuries' worth of practice. He groaned all the same.

"All right, just…be careful. Please."

"Aren't I always?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"I see your humour's still intact, that must mean you're feeling fine," she muttered more to herself than to him. A faint smile touched his lips nonetheless. He winced at the noise of his jeans tearing again and the jerking motions that rocked his leg. The cool air combatted with Ash's natural heat and it made him shiver.

"Crap."

"What is it?"

"I see bone, and…Christ, you're bleeding. A lot. Shit, shit, shit—"

Fingers jabbed at his throat and Allen flinched back away, shocked.

"What're you doing?!"

"Checking your pulse. Are you feeling light-headed, woozy, dizzy?"

"Uh…now…that you mention it…kind of."

The fingers were gentler the second time around, probing at a spot along his neck. She was quiet as she checked his pulse. After almost thirty seconds, she removed her fingers and cursed several times over.

"Shit. Shit, fuck, fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck…"

Hands began pulling at his hoodie and shirt and he fumbled right back to push them away. This would be easier to do with two hands instead of one…

"You might have internal bleeding—tears in veins where there shouldn't be, your main artery in your leg even—I'm not trying to cop a feel here, Allen, let me see!"

He froze at that and she took advantage of his lack of response. She jerked up his shirt and he shivered at the heat of her hands pressing against his skin. It was actually very soothing, despite the roughness on the pads of her fingers and hand, and it alleviated some tension and ache wherever her fingers glided. He didn't know if she was intentionally flushing heat into him or if she could do that or not, but it felt good all the same. He hissed in pain here and there, however, the feel-good sensation disappearing the instant she prodded at something painful in his ribs.

"You've got some mild bruising here and here, but it's not getting any darker to suggest internal bleeding—that means you've might have something nicked in your leg. Christ, I hope it ain't your femoral…"

He blinked slowly, her voice fading in and out of focus as she whispered—babbled, was really the word—away. He had a suspicion she was talking more to herself than she was to him at this point, and that was just fine. He was feeling just a little sick and he blamed that on being dragged out of the sea like a fish on a line. What had she said earlier?

He had drowned.

"You saved me," he said. Or he tried to say it, at least. A palm pressed against his forehead and he groaned. "That feels nice."

"I've got to set your leg now. I need you to not scream. Can you do that? I know it's gonna hurt, a lot, but if I don't, you're gonna have an even worse day than you're already having."

He nodded. Or he thought he did. He might have even hummed an affirmative to her. He was more concerned with letting himself relax. The pain was still there, just barely keeping him aware of what was happening around him, but it was starting to fade. That was good. That was good, right?

He was promptly ripped from his dozing at the earth-shattering agony that arose in his leg all anew. He began to scream, but Ash pounced on him, holding his mouth shut in that vice-like grip of hers. Despite her smaller stature, she was several times stronger than he was, and she was heavier than she looked. He kicked his good leg, breathing rapidly through his nose, while his heart was tap-dancing away in his chest at a rapid fire pace. Pain lanced up and down his left leg, and bled out into his hips and spine and up his back. It just kept going, and going, and going until it began to slowly fade away.

Ash gently pried her hand away only when his breathing slowed and he stopped struggling.

"I need to find out where you're bleeding from," she said quietly, her tone bordering apologetic. "So I need you to be very quiet and don't freak out right now, okay?"

"What're you doing?"

Something light fell against his abdomen and he reached up, gingerly tapping his fingers in the air until he brushed against something solid. He felt hair and he quickly retracted his hand. Ash's head was right up against him. He could already feel his face flushing red-hot.

"I'm listening to anything that might register as abnormal, like a bleed that shouldn't be there; now hush, please."

He fell silent more out of bemusement than understanding. Slowly, she moved down the length of his body. Outside their hole—he refused to call it a cave; it was barely that—the rain continued pouring down, and the wind howled. There was no sound left of the Oni's voices. He hoped that they had moved on and weren't just casing the area.

Ash moved down by his hip, paused, then down the length of his thigh, past his knee, and then stopped altogether by his leg.

"Leg. It's definitely in your leg. It's not your femoral, but you're still losing a good amount of blood. No internal bleeding, either, though, so that's another plus."

She sounded relieved. Or about as relieved as she could get.

"You can hear all that?" He couldn't contain the awe in his voice.

"Good ears, am I right?" Ash replied, and Allen could just imagine the smirk she was sporting.

"Incredible," he agreed. She was on par with Noise Marie. How amazing a feat it was to simply listen for a bleed in someone's body, instead of poking and prodding and guessing.

"I'm going to give you a blood transfusion now. I need your arm."

"Blood transfusion?" He took a moment to soak that in.

"I'm O-negative; it means I'm a universal donor," she replied. More rummaging sounds came from his left. "I'll splint your leg, try to staunch the bleeding, but there'll be no point if you bleed out on me. Where's that tubing—here it is. This is gonna pinch a little, I'm going to put a needle in your arm."

The thought of a needle in his arm made him nauseous. Or was he feeling like that even before any mentions of needles whatsoever? Either way, he wanted to puke. He barely noticed when he began listing to the side.

"Hey. Hey! Christ on a fucking crutch—Allen, you need to stay awake. Allen!"

There was a hint of panic and urgency in her voice. He barely felt her crawling over him to get to his other arm or the bite of the needle in his flesh. Sound was starting to wash away and it was already dark, he couldn't see all that well. He doubted he'd see much at this point, though.

He just wanted to sleep.

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Allen could hear a voice. It was about as annoying as the buzz of a fly and he wanted it to go away and leave him be. He wanted to sleep. The voice continued to sift through the fuzziness of his mind, however. It was persistent and unrelenting in its pursuit to keep him awake. How rude.

He gave up on trying to ignore it after a while, and instead focused on what it was trying to tell him. He was only just barely aware of a pain located somewhere on his body, but it came and went like a bothersome throbbing; noticeable but easy to disregard. He was more concerned on what was so damned important that he couldn't be left alone in peace.

At first, the words were garbled, unclear. He struggled to listen, and found that he less he understood, the more he wanted to know what was being said. Maybe it really was something important.

What if it was another mission? Another Exorcist who needed help or had been discovered, or perhaps another Innocence has been located…

"—wake up—now, I mean it—"

But he was already awake, wasn't he? He was trying to listen!

"—I swear to your piece-of-shit god, if you don't wake your ass up—"

That was fairly rude. What has God done that He was in need of being verbally accosted alongside Allen?

"—Allen Walker, if you made me save your ass from that stupid body of salt water just to die from a broken leg and stupid-as-fuck random leg bleed, I'll beat your corpse and throw you back in for the fish to eat! Wake the fuck up!"

The muffled filter, like cotton in the ears, suddenly lifted. The aches and pains he could barely notice were strangely muted still, but still reasonably noticeable. Something about a broken leg, like the voice had said. The voice was speaking again, and it was easier now to notice that it was a woman, talking to him. Her voice was cracking, on the verge of absolute anger and desperate urgency, with a hint of melancholy.

"That's it, buddy, stay with me. Stay awake a little longer, okay? Don't pass out just yet."

"What…?"

Things began to fade and he swore it was only for a few moments. Some form of clarity returned and…had he always been leaning up against something, or had he been lying down? And what was that sound, just beneath the noise of the heavy rainfall?

Allen focused on the sound and it was so familiar, he just couldn't put his tongue on it. It was a rhythmic beat he's heard before….

"Just make it through the night, okay? Christ, when you went…went over that cliff, I thought…" The 'something' he was leaning against shuddered. Something alive. Another person? The source of the voice, perhaps. "I told you…I told you, leave the Big Guy to me. You should always leave that big bastard to me, I know how to take him down, I told you…"

Something was wrapped around his chest and it gave him a squeeze. He would have reached up to grab or pat or do something in return, but he felt heavy in his own body. So he listened instead.

"When you first got here, you were a pain in the ass because I couldn't figure out your game. I still can't, and you're still a pain in the ass, but you're a pain in my ass. And you're the only person on this stupid fucked up island I actually give a shit about, so you're not allowed to die, you're not…you can't die of a stupid fucking broken leg! I fucking forbid it! Denied! Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars!"

Oh, that was nice. Someone cared about him. Absently, he began to grasp who it was that was talking. She was familiar. A bit rough around the edges, gruff at times, but she was nice enough. What was her name again?

"Stupid—I should have jumped in. This is my fault…"

He wanted to protest, if only to alleviate her concerns. He was the one who had gotten his leg broken, didn't he? Something about a fight and someone called a 'Big Guy'. It was his fault, not hers.

Faintly, he could feel something along his arm and down to his hand, squeezing it, and something else was pressing against the top of his head. Behind him, the warm body was shaking. He drifted off at that point, unable to cling to consciousness any longer.

He just wished whoever it was that was holding him would stop crying over his sake.

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Allen woke up.

He wished he hadn't.

Everything hurt.

He sat there for a long time, soaking up in the quiet peacefulness around him. Details began filtering in. He wasn't back at the homestead, sleeping in his own bed. He was somewhere chilly and damp, but at his backside, there was something warm and comforting.

More came sifting through to his senses and his bliss slowly began breaking apart into pieces.

The Oni, the cliff, falling into the sea, Ash dragging him out of the water and reviving him, Ash getting them to safety and setting his leg…

The world was grey around him. Grey light, grey shadows, grey everything. But there was just enough of it all that he could see through. He was leaning up against something, but he wasn't quite sitting up. The 'warm something' behind him took in a long, sleepy breath and he stiffened.

The details of the contours of what he was leaning against began to sink in. The heat exuding from the spot behind him was easy enough to identify as to 'whom' and not 'what' he was leaning up against. Although 'lean' was perhaps a mite strong. More like 'laying on'. He tried sitting up, but stopped when he nearly tumbled over on his face. His left arm.

Right.

He'd lost it.

How does one lose a big sword that doubled as their arm?

Apparently he, Allen Walker, an Exorcist of the Black Order, managed to accomplish such a feat.

Wonderful.

To make matters worse, it was most likely at the bottom of the sea right now. He groaned. Now they'd have to hike back to the beach or the cliffs, just so he could get within range to recall it. Doing it from here, deep in the forest, it probably wouldn't work and it was also probably not a good idea, either.

He began to lift his right arm to compensate, but froze when something tugged in his arm. He squinted in the semi-darkness, and saw something was in his arm. The panic settled almost as soon as it came. Medical equipment. It was the medical apparatus that Ash had used on him. What was it for again? He groped about in his tired skull, trying to remember, all the while staring blankly at it. That was when he noticed the second arm beside his, splayed out like his was, with the same tubing connected to it. It was an IV tube.

Blood transfusion.

It clicked the instant he put two and two together.

Allen stared at the tubing for a moment longer, his gaze drifting to the thinner, leaner arm that belonged to Ash. He's rarely seen her bare arms without the bracers with the hidden blades on. Now he had a better view of the scars that encircled her wrist. Burn scars.

He didn't know she could suffer from burning. He always thought she was fireproof…

He distracted himself with glancing at his leg. It was stiff and it ached something fierce, but it was heavily bandaged up and splinted. Long pieces of wood kept it pinned in a straight line. His jeans had suffered horribly after being ripped up, but they could be repaired. His leg was the more important factor here. Allen closed his eyes with a soft groan. This was absolutely terrific. He had lost his arm, broken his leg, he had nearly bled out, he certainly drowned and had to be revived, and he was practically immobile. Oh, and the bruises that would last for days. Can't forget about those.

The hand beside him twitched and he froze in time just as it slunk away from where it had previously lain.

"Oh, good. You're awake. Now we can move out. The Oni are gone." Ash's voice sounded just above his head. He craned his head to look up at her, although in the grey shadows, he could barely make out her features.

"Have…have you been awake this whole time?"

"One of us had to be. You weren't exactly volunteering for a night watch, so I took your shift."

"What happened? I can't really recall all the details…"

She sighed. "We got ambushed by the Oni. You took on the Big Guy, even though I specifically told you not to. You…did something, I'm not sure what, my back was turned, but it sent you both over the cliffs. When you hit the water, your leg smashed into a rock underneath and the Big Guy was trying to drag both of you down. I dove in after you, and…got you to shore, dragged you into the forest, fixed you up."

"That…sounds roughly about right."

"You nearly bled out, but…I transferred you some blood overnight. You should be good now, though. Here."

She shifted behind him, to dislodge the needle in her arm first, then moved to his. He winced and she softly apologized.

"I'll see if I can clean and disinfect this stuff. We can't afford to throw it out."

Allen barely heard her speak. Instead, he tried recalling all the details she was most likely skimming over. He wracked around in his head, but all he could recall was her talking to him, albeit it all sounded garbled and…

"You were crying," he said absently.

Ash, to her credit, didn't stop in her motions: rolling up the tubing, carefully tucking the needles away, storing it back into her pack with the rest of their supplies. She didn't miss a beat.

"I could barely keep you awake while I finished things up. You were mumbling something and moaning a lot. You weren't having a sex dream, were you?"

He choked on his next words, his face turning red. "Do you always have to be so crass and vulgar?"

"Hey, it's fine if you were, you're a—well, not so-healthy right now, broken leg and all—but you're still a young man. I personally didn't care, so long as you were kind of awake. I'm not gonna judge, just keep it between you and yourself from now on." She snickered softly. "I know I'm the only woman here, but I'd rather not be counted as an option for…whatever. Unless you were thinking of a guy. Then that's cool too."

"I was not having some—some sex dream!" His face was as red as a tomato, he just knew it. The last of what she said clicked moments later and he growled out belatedly, "And I prefer girls."

"Pfft. Whatever you say."

"And what about you? Do you ever, well…"

"Get with someone? Do the nasty, bump uglies, screw like bunnies? Nosy, nosy thing you are."

He made another disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. She snorted in return.

"No. No, I don't. Told you before…my tolerance is filled to capacity for one person at a time, and you seem to have taken that slot for the foreseeable future. I also have no interest in starting anything with anyone, either. Ever. Ain't nobody got time for that."

Despite what she said, Allen didn't quite believe all of it. The way she had said it, it just sounded…hollow, like she was just saying something to fulfill the need for an answer. He wouldn't normally have seen that, if he hadn't grown so used to her usually reserved quietness. This was just…noise. Plain and simple.

"I don't exactly buy that."

"You really are fucking nosy, trying to pry in my non-existent sex life."

Oh. Right. She had a point. He cleared his throat, trying to buy time to think of something else to say that would divert from this topic. Anything. Anything at all. He didn't get a chance to change the subject.

"The truth is…ain't nobody ever gonna want to get down and dirty or even vaguely romantic with some…thing like me. Granted, I kick everyone off the island, but still. It's not that I'd let them try anything, either. All they'll ever see regardless, is that I am just the filthy monster that luckily enough doesn't kill them, gives them some food and water, protects them from the psychopaths, puts them on a boat, and sends them on their way. That's it. That's the extent of contact and honestly…I'd rather keep it that way. Besides, long distance relationships are sketchy."

She laughed softly, as though it was completely hilarious in hindsight. Allen didn't laugh, even when she lightly smacked his shoulder. Just as he didn't get a chance to change subjects, he didn't get a chance to respond. He kept it down too long, and while Ash quickly disengaged herself from being his living heater to tidy up, he mulled over her stinging words.

Why did she believe herself to be any less of a person, just because she wasn't human?

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The beach was completely unchanged from where they stood. A storm had torn through it once more, taking away any evidence of a scuffle or escape. Planks of driftwood washed ashore, along with clumps of seaweed here and there. Crabs scuttled along the wet sand and pale gulls circled above hungrily, calling to one another.

Allen leaned on the makeshift crutch Ash had scavenged for him on their way down. He stood corrected from his earlier assessment of his injuries: now everything hurt and he wished he hadn't woken up. When he asked if he could have any medicine, Ash had refused.

"Not while we're still vulnerable to attack," she'd said. "I need your wits, even if you can't actively fight. You might see something I don't or maybe see something I missed. Rare, but it happens. If you're drugged up, well…we lose advantage of two working pairs of eyes instead of one."

She quickly added when he visibly wilted that she'd give him medicine when they were back at home.

Home.

He never thought he'd have to call a cave a home before. How times have changed in the last three years.

The thought made him anxious to get back and as soon as possible.

Ash stood close by, hovering really, as though expecting him to collapse at any moment. She was agitated and tense. Her tail kept twitching in short, quick arcs behind her, further belying her anxious state. Did she really think he was that fragile? In comparison to her, he probably seemed like it, but still!

He wasn't so delicate that he would break so easily.

He straightened himself up, if only to alleviate her concerns, focusing more on the sea beyond. He could feel the faint yet familiar connection between him and his Innocence. It was still out there, deep in the cold waters. He dug deeper, reaching out for it. It resisted at first, stuck as it was. Perhaps it was the currents that had buried it underneath silt and sand and rock, or it had drifted to deeper waters. Either way, he finally managed to triumph, calling for it to return.

The closer it came, the stronger the pull. He grinned when the waves beyond rippled seconds before the sword came bursting out of the waves. It came barreling toward them—to him—like a boomerang. Ash stood her ground, even as it came closer. Only at the last moment, did she scuffle back a few feet. He remained adamant, even when it looked like it was going to cut him down. He raised his right arm up just in time to catch the hilt. The familiar tingle of the blade in his hand was refreshing and he laughed in relief.

His laughter turned into a strangled yelp when he leaned a little too much to the left to compensate. Pain screamed its way up his broken leg and he toppled over with a shout.

"Ow, ow, ow…!"

Right onto his back he went tumbling over, right onto the wet sand with the tide rushing up to greet him. Ash was right there, pulling him away, but he didn't let go of his Innocence.

"You fucking idiot," Ash grumbled at him, yet there was no hint of actual malice in her voice. Amusement, maybe. He alternated between a laugh and another yelp of pain. When she stopped, he quickly assimilated his sword back and within seconds, he was curling the fingers of his left hand, flexing them. Ash appeared in his vision, leaning over him with a charmed expression painting her face.

"Gotta admit," she said, her mismatched gaze sliding toward his red-stained left hand, intrigue alighting in her eyes. "That was actually pretty damn cool."

He beamed back, in spite of the new aches and glass-shard-pains in his leg renewing themselves. He had his arm back and at the very least, he was breathing.

"Thank you," he breathed out at last, closing his eyes in relief. He was still sore all over and his leg hurt like no tomorrow-but he was alive and well. His arm was back. And Ash seemed rather impressed, genuinely so.

"Anytime," she said back. And it actually sounded genuine and warm and sincere. This, coming from a woman who barely had a care with what he did with himself almost three years prior. She offered him his crutch, and a helping hand. He grasped it with his left one and she squeezed it tight, unperturbed, as she helped haul him to his feet. Ash grinned at him. "Now let's get home."

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