Tom had been rather unaccustomed to traveling with others by the time he had met up with Dugger's group on the roads, and so he had blended rather naturally into the backdrop, which had turned out to be a good place to be. When he wasn't needed on sweeps for supplies, Tom had done his best not to draw any notice, always unsure whether staying with that group was in his best interests or not. When others seemed to have taken the same hints and when things finally got violent, Tom had made an easy choice, to his mind.
"I'm tryin'," Tom hissed back to Marcus, managing not to flinch when the other poured water over the gash, but that was only because his brow was already screwed up in painful concentration as it was. It was lucky he had the wall and the asphalt beneath him to brace against, otherwise Tom wouldn't be able to stop himself from thrashing.
Marcus's name sounded familiar to him as well, of course, and Tom didn't notice that he breathed a half-sigh of relief for this uncharacteristic stroke of luck, that someone helpful that he knew (and he knew so few people in this world now) had come across him at the right time. Even if the necessary trade was a great deal of pain. "Don't think I could ride if I tried," he agreed, and gave a last glace to the empty alley around him with a shake of his head before he nodded rather too vigorously. "Go ahead then, get to it. I can only talk myself into it for so long."
But it would be just long enough. Before Marcus got to work, Tom twisted the arm of his heavy canvas jacket and put it between his own teeth, giving him something to bite down on in case Marcus needed Tom's hands for something. The first time the suture needle met skin he was glad for it, but he didn't make a sound. The second stitch went in, and he hit his head against the concrete. The tendons in his neck starting to stand out on the third, but curiously enough, after the fourth and fifth Tom was able to cope with it a little better, and managed to sneak in careful breaths when he could.
He couldn't be fully aware if the distant noises he heard were neutral or unfriendly, but Tom wasn't holding the gun he'd put away anymore, and was no longer watching the alley for company. "How's it looking?"