"Heading out means getting up," said Duo, when the laughter had worn away, "you might need to give me a second on that."
He didn't actually want to move. Despite everything, this was Deathscythe. This was home. Changed and wrecked and complete with the former owner who was him-not-him, it was still the closest thing to normal Duo had seen in a week. He didn't want to leave.
But needing and wanting were two different things.
Duo got his feet underneath him with a wince and a bitten lip -- needed to do something about his feet, like ax them off at the ankle. Stupid hurting bleeding things -- and pushed himself up. He weaved, lurched, caught his balance against Dick, and tried a second time.
Triumpth of the day; standing up. Well done, Maxwell.