Enough time had passed that Coulson was almost certain he'd been stranded here, and had stretched out on the floor staring at the ceiling. He tried briefly to work the cuff off his ankle, tugging until his skin felt raw, but he was distracted by the sudden reappearance of the god.
"Jesus," he muttered, pushing himself up, and then going to the bed to retrieve the sheet, tearing it as he walked. "You're alive, aren't you?" he argued, sitting on the edge of the tub, and working off more strips. He reached down to grab his leg, tying a strip round tight above the wound. "Let me see your arm."