“Yeah, just spiffy.” Chas managed with a nod, barely anywhere near convincing but better than nothing at all and accompanied by a worn-out smile. “How bad did they get you?” His voice still barely above a whisper, and he uselessly cleared his throat. Not helping much. Without as much as another word – because really, he had no idea just what else to say in this situation – he reached for the first aid kit again, ready to repeat the procedure.
He didn’t ask any further questions either, instead cautiously applied the antiseptic to the first wound he could see – that being John’s hand sporting a big gash - hoping to keep his hands from shaking this time. Nevertheless, after bandaging that, he didn’t get much farther than the renewed wounds on John’s face, luckily managing not to spill anything into his eyes or anything alike.
“…I think you need to take your shirt off.” Before John could say anything or as much as quirk an eyebrow, though, he added: “Else you’ll end up with fabric tissue in the wounds, and you don’t want that having to be picked out.” He felt the need to add that; Chas had caused enough awkwardness that day already.