Had it not been for the commotion in the next cell over, Sebastian would have followed the girl towards the center. But Serena had held his attention. He hadn't witnessed the rape itself. It was possible he'd been sleeping at the time, nested beneath the strange, rather comforting blanket. He hadn't seen what had happened at all, but he'd seen the after effects enough to know that something had. Serena was clearly distraught, and it didn't take a brilliant mind to realize from her reactions that something had happened between her and the man in her chamber. The one Sebastian didn't recognize, didn't know.
So he'd been looking in that direction when the wall had dissolved, attention pulled towards Serena, not to mention the tattooed, giant nurse who seemed hell-bent on attacking the other man in Serena's cell. Good, Sebastian thought to himself. If he hurt her, hurt him back. Someone should. She deserves that, for once... And of course he couldn't. He was equipped to heal, to diagnose and prescribe... not to protect. His role was to piece together the broken pieces after someone was shattered, not stop the shattering, or confront the shatterers. It might not have been heroic, but it was his place.
Needless to say, Handsel managed to miss his own partner's exit into the central room. Away from the chaos adjacent, and probably looking for her little girlfriend. The redheaded stutterer who needed her. It was one of the few conversations they'd had over the last several days, though Sebastian had tried to be gregarious. Draw her out. She'd spoken of her girlfriend, and escape, and that was largely it. She hadn't wanted to eat. Hadn't wanted to chat. She'd just stared, probably horrified, at the center chamber. Justifiably upset, to be sure. Especially after Sebastian had pointed out that it looked like at least some of the females in stasis were pregnant... and that all of the ones he could see were, indeed, female. She'd been afraid that her girlfriend was being installed in that room... but he hadn't thought she'd want to go looking there first.
A scream made him turn away from the impending fight, too close to ignore in favor of watching the brute tear the stranger from the tree. He turned his head, and was startled by the appearance of a little redhead in his cell, yelling his cellmate's name. Oh. "Oh, no... Ms. Emma?"
Then he saw the drops of blood on the ground, the direction she was staring... Oh. Oh... shit. He moved over to the girl as she dropped to her knees, hesitating to glance at his patient in the neighboring room... someone else was asking after Serena, who looked like she might be hysterical... and there were others... was that Kessie, yelling? He heard the word "aliens," and couldn't help feeling a brief twitch of relief. Oh, good. Good, she was still alive, too. His two remaining patients were both... remaining, still. Thank God for small favors.
He knelt next to the girl, nervously tucking his penis between his legs as he did so (comfort took a backseat to propriety when dealing with terrified, grieving women). He didn't have anything at the ready to say for this particular situation. PTSD was one thing, but what did you do when the trauma in question was fresh? He could help people manage the scar tissue of their emotional wounds. When those wounds were freshly sliced and bleeding freely, he was at something of a loss.