William's fascination with... well, everything was occasionally downright weird. Even if he did make it work for him. "You do know most people don't actually like needles, right?" Gabe muttered absently, busy concentrating on not messing this up.
When the syringe was full and the needle out of William's vein again, Gabe pressed a cotton swab (pre-dipped in a nice cocktail of magical coagulants and disinfectants and tissue-healing accelerants) over the puncture. "Hold that on there," he ordered, and turned to getting the vial of blood out of the syringe get-up.
"You took the Curse," he said, as he worked, "because it's quick, easy, and really fucking irritating." With a glance up, he added, "From a magical chemistry viewpoint. Which means that if everything's gone right--" Which it had - it had, fuck it - breathing glitches be damned; they didn't have time to go back to the start and figure this out again. Gabe didn't have time.
Anyway. He held up the vial of William's blood. "Then this is full of magical antibodies looking for some virus shit to fuck up."