Henry was at war with himself. He knew, beneath the fear and the pain and everything else, that he needed to be seen to. He'd lost so much blood already, and his leg was only getting worse the longer it went....
No one had to know about this. He didn't have to tell anyone, admit his weakness. His failure. He'd worked so hard to warn everyone away from Walter, and now he was in the man's grips. And being helped by him. It was just...wrong.
"This doesn't change anything," he finally said, closing his eyes and looking away once more to let Walter tend to his wounds.