That person was Daimon, who scowled back at the nurse and turned back to Wanda, brows kneaded tightly together as he looked her over. Daimon insisted on staying at Wanda's side throughout her recovery--to keep an eye on her, and protect her from any further demonic possessions. She was still vulnerable, perhaps even more than before, and if any other Hell-Lord felt inclined to wreck her, now was the time to do it. He avowed not to let her endure anymore devastation, and between his high alertness, fatigue, and own diligence to keep her safe, Daimon came across harsher around the edges than usual, much to the dismay of any medic who had to deal with him.
"Wanda," he said as gently as a rugged half-demon could muster. Wasn't much. He wanted to touch her, comfort her in the best way that he could, but he refrained, kept his arms crossed over her his chest, and resolved to let her surly friend handle that.