The skuttlebump of MTA passengers deposited at the threshold of the hospital drew Raphael to it immediately, he always enjoyed a crowd - even if the crowd itself seemed a ragged cloud of malcontent. The people coming down the stairs or off the chair lift were sick - or seeing someone who was and it painted most of their features like a ill fitting shade of rouge making them look hard and cruel.
Slipping through them the Angel tried to inject a sense of peace, of comfort as best he might. For most it settled like an unwanted blanket, for some it slid around like a spring breeze in the midst of winter's wrath.
Shoving his hands in his pocket he slipped through the crowd, scanning the faces of each. Oh, shit, caught his ears and the Angel's attention turned to the man, off kilter and clearly on the edge of some sort of attack. Raphael couldn't be sure exactly what it was, not from this distance.
Closing the gap he took the man's bicep, steadying him against whatever currents were running through him.
"Looks like you got here just in time," he remarked, "Let's get you inside," patiently the angel started to guide him toward the entrance.