“Lump”—I lifted my right arm, which was attached to some kind of water bottle behind me—“I’m a little tied up right now.” 

Lumpy’s face went from tomato-red to tomato-green. He did not like medical stuff at all. One time, he came to one of my chemo treatments and the nurses spent half the time taking care of him when he passed out watching them put a needle in me.

Still, he was on a mission and he wasn’t going to leave without me, I could see that much. 

Lumpy blinked and looked away from all the tubes going into my arms, but he kept on talking. “We’ll bring the IV stand with us, Bones.” He pointed at the water bottle thing. “Look at that, it’s got wheels.” 

“So what are you gonna do, Lump—just roll me out of here? I can barely pick my head up, never mind get up and walk out.” 

He looked at me like I had two heads. “What are you talking about, Bones? We’ll use the Lightyear app. And this time, you’re not allowed to touch anything. I’m not going back to the seventies again!”

What?! The seventies? Lumpy looked at me with that look of worry he had perfected from years of worrying. Only this time, he kinda looked desperate, too. I wanted to help him, but I just didn’t think I was up for it.

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