He paused for just a moment at her question, hands stilling in their search through the trunk as he deliberated what to say, what to keep hidden. He grabbed the bandages and turned, shrugging as he moved back over to where she was seated. "Made sense to be prepared. What with the time travel kidnappings and zombie attacks and... other things."
He looked back at her steadily. "Don't know how careful an eye you've kept on some of the things the others around here have said or written, but... there's a fair few of them I wouldn't want to run into after hours alone." He said it lightly, almost as though he was joking, but there was a bit of a dark undercurrent to it. His air of moody nonchalance was his only defense right now. Talking to Amy or Charley or Jane about this was different; they'd seen and fought the same monsters he had. He didn't have to worry about them calling him mad or scoffing at him the way most everyone else in his life had. With others who hadn't shared that horrific experience, he was not so certain of his chances... even with the whispers and the inexplicable things happening. Trust did not come easily to him, not without good solid reason.
He sat on the end of the bed, taking her by the arm and probing around the wound with gentle fingers. "Not too deep, then," he muttered, some of his own tension easing some. He took the whiskey and one of the clean rags. and upturning the bottle briefly, pouring the precious out over the cloth. Then he set the bottle aside and reached for Henley's arm, moving to gingerly press the liquor-soaked rag against the wound.