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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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"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.

Leif's quiet for a moment, looking up at Lucas.

"...there are worse things."

Lucas chuckles under his breath in gentle, dry disbelief.

"It's true!" He scrunches his nose in mild defiance.

"You do not need to pretend to like me," he says to Leif, adapting his words from earlier.

"I know." He settles down, resting his cheek on his folded arms.

He is silent for a moment as he sits back and reaches for the bruise paste. His long fingers then slide under Leif's chin and tilt it up and toward him, eyes seeking out the beginnings of marks where he had hit him to the ground. Thankfully, since this comes from his world, he knows that it will remove all traces. He meets Leif's eyes briefly, then looks at his cheek as he touches the paste to his skin.

"It is not a life you should wish for. I do what I am able with it. But it is not what it could be."