The problem with sitting down was that it meant you stopped moving. When you stopped moving, you stopped focusing on moving. When you stopped focusing on moving, you started focusing on things that hurt.
"Ow," said Duo quietly, putting a great wealth of meaning into one small soundbite.
He pitched the stupid not-shoes across the path with a certain amount of venom, and focused on hoping that something ate them and choked.
Stupid Kisame.
Stupid island.
Stupid feet.
He wanted to go home.
Duo sighed, told himself to stop being a child, and looked up at Dick. "Sorry," he muttered, and held out his hand for the bandages. The old one around his foot was a soggy red piece of useless.