If Oliver had been in a remotely decent state of mind, he might have grunted disapprovingly, or more resigned, at Owen's declaration. Even in the muddle of everything else, he knew what Owen's intent was, and a tiny bit of him focused enough to appreciate it. Everyone in the cell block had to know what was inevitable now with the presence of that hose. Oliver couldn't focus on that for now. It was a wonder he could focus on anything, but knowing Edwin was there, and listening to the tiny ping of the key as it hit the floor, he knew he had to sort his shit out enough to deal with what he was capable of helping with. Owen, unfortunately, was on his own.
After a few seconds of hunting for the key, he crouched the best he could beside Edwin, gingerly unfastening the cuffs. He hesitated to move Edwin up onto the bed, not knowing if Simms would change his mind on a dime and aim his onslaught on them again. He sat on the floor between Edwin and the hallway, both not wanting Edwin to see what was happening, if he was even aware enough to realize, and wanting to make sure that if the hose aimed at them he'd be the one taking the brunt of it. With his bad arm wrapped around Edwin to keep him close, he used the cuffs still linked to his right to start stabbing the sheets to cut them into strips, playing in his mind which wounds needed to be handled first. "I got you, baby. I got you."
The instant Chase saw Marco reaching for him a jolt of hope surged through him, only to be followed by fear. He grunted softly, hoping to not draw Simms' attention as he faintly shook his head. There was no way to get him out of this fucking chair quickly enough for it to matter, and he didn't want Simms' attention turning on Marco for trying to help. He wasn't surprised when the cop sent him sailing down to the other end of the hall, but by lowering his toes he managed to slow his roll before he hit the other end. There wasn't much he could do, but he'd already sat through watching Edwin and Oliver get fucked up over this one visit, he couldn't just hang out while the same thing happened to Owen, and probably Marco. Nudging his way toward his old cell on the tips of his big toes was a slow process, but he knew once he got to the bars he could more actively propel himself back into the fray. Maybe he could ram into Simms with enough force to knock him over, or at least away. Enough for the guys in the cell to build up some kind of defense with the mattresses like Kiley had.