"Yeah, bud. You are," he tells him, not unkindly. "Look, I'll let everyone else know. The pack can carry me if they need to. Just - make sure I don't get killed and we're good. Otherwise, let's just hang out, drink beer, watch movies, and decompress."
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"Christ, am I really that bad?"
He'd liked to have thought he was more self-aware than that, that he'd know where his limits were, but apparently he'd quite grossly misjudged.
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