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Lucas steps into the cottage with careful feet, each boot deliberately placed and soft. He looks nearly as if he is prowling, although his eyes are still curiously blank and impassive as they take in the surroundings. He is not even looking at Leif when he speaks, though he circles him.

"On your knees."

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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."

"No need to. Mine was not much better." He twitches a lot, back muscles tensing every time he's touched.

Lucas considers how he might seem, given their interactions. Leif has an excuse for the state of his home - he was only recently hurt. It has been a long time for Lucas and he still lives this way, he requires it. It likely does not seem very encouraging. He pulls Leif's shirt down when he is done and slides up to begin to bandage his hands again, eyes on his work.

"Do not feel obligated to be kind to me in times to come because I do these things. If I cease to provide what you need, or my presence is not a help, you must tell me."

"I will keep that in mind." He flinches less at the touches to his hands, apparently more relaxed when the attention isn't on his back. Then, offering a small smile-- "I doubt it will become an issue, though."

"Why is this?" He goes through the same careful routine, making sure that he doesn't inadvertently cause excess pain.

"You are helping. I have no reason to believe you will suddenly become unhelpful."

Lucas' lips briefly turn up before he continues to wrap Leif's fingers.

"Perhaps I am skilled only at causing pain. You will not always need this."

"That is what people always say, that this will pass, that I will heal and move on. But what if I don't?"

"... Then you will become like me."

It is a double pain that throbs; a recognition that he will not be saved and an instinctive understanding of how damning those words are, that he is the last thing anyone would want to become.