Samandriel watched his master suffer, a man who might one day truly be able to call him friend if not more. It felt wrong. Wrong in the same way that had gotten him into this in the first place. It wasn't the destruction of something beautiful that had made him lash out in the first place, Samandriel realized all at once. It was just his response to absolutely needless suffering.
"You can heal me," he said suddenly. "If you hurt me you can heal it, right?" He had no doubt that Mitchell would do just that even if he hadn't been the cause of his hurt. His senses came back slowly, remembering the walk up the stairs, the way the light reflected. The angles of it. "There's a lot of snow out there," he said, now fully awake and coherent. "And it's August. There's no way the city's prepared for this right now." He licked his lips, reaching forward to try to see if he could get mitchell to actually hear what he was saying. Mitchell had done so very much for him. Samandriel wanted to help him back. It hadn't been long at all, but the angel was always quick to care perhaps even where he shouldn't.