Normally Drew might have leapt up from the bed and kept fighting, but he was so lacking in heart lately that he couldn't find the impetus to do so. He frowned, feeling that sad little flip in his tummy that meant that he hadn't been able to help his friend, and he crawled up to the head of his bed and grabbed at his pillow, sitting with it held against his front like some kind of orphan monkey-baby seeking a surrogate. "Will you be alright?" he had to ask.