John was still somewhat bemused by the kid next to him, not really sure why he was sticking so close and what had possessed him to hold on like John was some sort of lifeline. He definitely wasn't that. He hated kids. Kids hated him. There was an unspoken agreement there.
"What?" He asked the wolf-boy. "You oughta go with her or him." And by her or him he of course meant Tamsin and Gambit. "Probably a better bet than yours truly." Okay, why wasn't the kid moving? John was even a little tempted to tell the kid to "get" or "shoo", but refrained. For the moment.
He coughed momentarily and hissed in a breath, stalling for all of a minute, just trying to gather himself. John pressed a bloody hand to the denim that wrapped his thigh and counted to ten, the same way he did when he was a kid, and then moved.
"Not moving," he muttered weakly. "I like the sounds of that."