[ Yeah, okay, in hindsight he realizes it would've been better for literally anyone else to do this. Will would have been a better choice, probably, it's just that he didn't really think. It was an impulse, from wounded to tending the wound in the span of a heartbeat. Now he's in too deep to back out and he hates it.

Hates the tremor in her voice, hates the alarm bells going off in his head about how serious this conversation is getting and how it's about to touch on somewhere he can't reel it back from. ]

Jesus Christ-

[ He snaps, peeling back a foot and angling his body away — but there's nowhere to go, so he's got to turn right back in again, which gives off an impression not terribly unlike one of those caged big cats in a cramped space. ]

Look-- this is too fucking much, okay? All of this, this is too much. The sky is raining down fucking monsters, there was a fucking earth quake, nothing scared me off— you're about to bleed out, can I please just stitch your fucking wounds together?

[ Structured like a question, but framed like a demand with assertive tension lacing his shoulders. ]