"You mean morphine," Erik's lips hook up, amused. "We had it in my time, they will have it here. The technology advanced by... maybe one hundred years. Maybe more." He lowers her arm a little from where she'd been trying to raise it above her head (which would hurt considerably) and settling it down by her heart instead. "There. That will keep it stable until we get a cast." Erik leads her down the stairs, taking her at her word that she can walk, which she appears perfectly able to do, so he doesn't offer to carry her again. He understands the need to appear strong; and how that need often increases exponentially in one's weakest state. The lights of the sick room turn on automatically when they enter and Erik crosses over to the cabinet, unlocking it with a wave of his hand and retrieving a vial, which he probably wasn't supposed to do, but since when did Erik Lehnsherr give two shits about what he was supposed to do? "Do they use needles in your world?" One floats out of the drawer and Erik examines it for imperfections. The blade wavers and sharpens much, much more.