Dr. Blake wasn't sure how he'd gotten the reputation for working on capes, but apparently, if he was being snatched from the street to operate some apparent distance away, he had one. He'd certainly seen his fair share walk or be carted into his ER, and he knew enough not to reach for the mask unless it was a head wound he needed uncovered. Or he just was at the top of the list of surgeons in Who's Who.
It wasn't his usual briefing, and at times he really wondered if they were gone onto tangents or if it was relevant and he just couldn't hear right. He also didn't even know which city or hospital he was in, but that was irrelevant.
What mattered was he had a kid with a mangled leg, and every second he wasted asking stupid questions was another second he was in agony because pain medication didn't work with him. "I was a Navy doc," he said. "I've seen wounds like that before. We'll see what it looks like when I'm in there, but yeah, I can help him." Even if that meant falling back on the Navy's history of amputating very quickly.
"Okay." He stretched, straightened, and strode towards the prep room, digging his bandanna - covered with lightning bolts and therefore lucky - out of his pocket to cover his hair. "I'm scrubbing. You get down and get X-Rays." He fell back into the patterns, the mindset, but then, he'd just spent a shift doing this. It was natural, except for the part where this was a speedster who would be awake for it.
And a kid. He hadn't really been prepared for that part, for the growl of thunder in his mind that someone had taken a shotgun to the kid's knee and it was all wrong. "Hey kid," he said, because it seemed right to talk as long as he was awake. "I'm going to be as fast as possible."