Oliver felt his own irritability uncharacteristically spike, recalling the morgue, and Edwin distress, and Owen's panic over Cecilia. He nearly spit out that it wasn't a fucking competition, that while they'd been stuck in a hole for a couple of days they'd at least been two of the few people who had escapdd being beaten to hell at the prison. Everyone had their own shit. Instead, he drew his hand out of his pocket and curled it into Edwin's, squeezing gently and remaining quiet for the rest of the walk to their destination.
Once they reached the diner, just being out of the cold seemed to help. Or maybe it was that he had a task to focus on now. The coffee he brewed was decaf, as he still wasn't entirely confident that even mild hypothermia was off the table. Tea and hot chocolate were also easy to find, and after they'd passed out drinks to the others, he made a rough approximation of a mocha for himself. "We should wait until we get to the house for any big meals, but you do you guys want somethin' warm and a little more substantial to snack on? Could scramble some eggs quick."