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Lucas is quiet for a long moment, still touching Leif's shoulder.

"If there is more I am able to do than cause pain, speak."

"...sing that song again. Please. Only for a little, and then you can leave, if you'd like."

If it were feasible for Lucas to look bashful, he would now. He looks at the ground.

"... I do not sing in a skilled way. Do you still wish it?"

That gets the faintest sort of smile.

"I did not request for it to be in a skilled way."

His face still pointed toward the floor, Lucas clears his throat and closes his eyes. His voice is very deep and it wavers on any sustained note.

"Спи, младенец мой прекрасный,Баюшки-баю. Тихо смотрит месяц ясный, В колыбель твою... Стану сказывать я сказки,Песенку спою; Ты ж дремли, закрывши глазки, Баюшки-баю."

For the first time all day, Leif actually relaxes a little, though he's still trembling a bit, curled up, wiping at a few stray tears. As soon as Lucas finishes, he swallows hard, then sits up, slowly.

"Thank you. Again."

Lucas opens his eyes and looks at Leif curiously, his hand falling away when he sits up. In the absence of something to do with his hand, he lifts one of his knees up and wraps his arm around it. As he repeats the song, his eyes remain open but he does resume inspecting the ground beside his boot.

Leif mimics the position, apparently heedless of how this pulls at the wound on his back, causing it to bleed more. He looks calmer than he has in days.

When he finishes, he looks at Leif. Leif who seems calm, while Lucas is finding it more difficult with time not to rage, tear, cut. The situation is too similar to his own and it is painful to watch from outside. Perhaps it is not the same and he is wrong about Leif's future, perhaps he will not be broken at the center for all of his life.

He would like to stop this, either way. It is a shame that Lucas has never fixed anything. At best, he is a stopgap. Far more usually, he is a tool for taking people apart. These are not the things he might wish to be for one in pain, but it is what is left.

Leif exhales, slowly, then frowns a little, reaching out, automatically. He's off in his own little world, but he's returned to the real one long enough to realize that something's amiss.

"Are you all right?"

He does not move away or toward Leif, allowing whatever his movements mean, simply quiet as he chooses his words.

"... Not often."

"...do you need me to do anything?" He's trying, in a way, to "return the favor" as it were.

He looks around the room, wanting a cigarette but unwilling to seem cold if he reaches for one now. Irony again: he is addicted to the numbing routine of smoking as much as he is the nicotine.

"Speak when you wish for anything. That is all. Honesty in this is necessary, yes? Anything."

"...okay."

He's quiet for a long moment, only moving to shift a little in apparent discomfort. Then, softly-- "You...mentioned healing, at one point?"

"Yes." Lucas looks about the room. "There are things in my place. Are there here?"

Leif offers a wan sort of smile. "What you see is what there is. Absolutely nothing."

"Then we must return." Lucas reaches across the ground and picks up Leif's shirt, hands it to him. "Carefully."

Leif looks quite like he'd rather do anything else, but he'll pull the -- mercifully loose -- shirt over his head, letting out a soft whine when it brushes against the open and still-bleeding wound. Then he'll get to his feet, amid much stumbling, arms held out for balance.

He stands easily and, without allowing argument, loops Leif's arm over his shoulders. He begins to walk them slowly back into the Room, then to a door across the way. It opens into a room that is sparse and more than a bit dirty. There are black stains on the walls and stone floor, the one light is dim, and the mattress currently is without sheets, showing several large splashes of blood stained in. There is a bathroom with a shower and a kitchen through a door near the back corner, along with a single chair by a small circular table. The chair would not be comfortable so, sorry Leif, you are taken to the stained bed and deposited carefully.

Leif's biting his lip hard and keeping his head down, gaze on his feet. He doesn't protest at the bed, though he does let out a bit of a shaky gasp when he's set down.

"Again, thank you."

"There is no need. I demanded this." Lucas' eyes linger on the stains on the bed, then he moves into the bathroom to collect things he needs. Everything is half empty, half used. Without the Room to help him, he scavenges what people leave behind. There is bruise paste from his own world, disinfectant, bandages, pain killers, and a compress that can be heated or cooled. He manages to carry all of this back, though he seems to be frowning extra hard as he attempts not to drop anything.

Leif is still sitting very still, examining his broken and dirt-coated nails with some distaste. The bandages on his hands have come unwrapped in places, filthy with blood and grime. He's swaying a little, the adrenaline dying down and leaving him vulnerable to the pain. There's a distinct look of relief when Lucas returns.

He holds out the pain killers first, then sets the rest down once Leif takes the bottle.

"Take, then lie down."

He'll shake out a couple pills, almost dropping them, fingers stiff and unwieldy from lack of use. "Mmm. Eck." He makes a rather childish face, then lies down on his stomach, careful not to put his face too close to any of the bloodstains.

He dresses the wound on Leif's back first, as careful as he was before, making sure it is clean and the bandage he places on it is secure.

"I apologize for my home."