(The sight is too familiar, but he has to swallow most of his fears. He drops into the wheelchair with a relieved sigh.) Hopefully it's not too bad...

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(He lead them both out to the street, a few people whispering about the state of them. He just pushed on, limping to the nearest doctor's office. Worry clawed at his throat and pain turned his stomach, but he stuck through it, managing to get them through the doors and to a nurse.)

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I-I'm fine, I promise... let's go get checked out together... please, keep pressure on that big cut. (He takes them by the shoulder and urges them away.)

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No— no, I don't think h-he's dead... but y-you need a doctor... (He set a hand on their shoulder, hoping to support them.)

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(Every cut spikes his anxiety, but the sound of the final blow turns his stomach. After a moment of making sure he can get up, he stands slowly and limps to the other.) W-we need to get you h-help... a-a doctor...

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