Virgil was more or less in shock. He'd done everything he could think to do for Oliver before Claire got there, just sat with him, kept pressure on the wound. Cleaned it the best he could but didn't take out the arrow. He didn't think that was smart. The arrow being broken could have caused more blood loss. He hadn't moved Oliver, but he had a blanket around him though trying to make him as comfortable as possible until help got there.
There was blood on his hands from holding the wound as he stood infront of Richie feeling small and lost, Virgil didn't really notice it. He tensed for half a second as he felt the arm around his shoulders though, and just looked back at Oliver. "I'm not the one who got shot Rich." Humor had left his eyes. He knew Claire could fix it..at least, he hoped she could. But it was scary. For a minute he stood there with Richie trying to get his barrings back, but it didn't work. Oliver was hurt. By one of their own. By someone who he tried to help. Virgil felt sick. He numbly walked back to his side and sank down to it. Oliver had taken him in, treated him like family. Virgil just frowned.