He reached out to tie it, fingers moving quick. He'd patched himself up plenty when he'd been a superhero, he still remembered how much of a pain in the ass it was. He looked at the injury on his eye, wincing. "Yeah, it looks pretty nasty," he paused, and eyed the first aid kit. "Think you can handle stitches? I'm not as good as Kremlin was," really was, shit, he'd spent years not thinking about him, "but I think I could seal that up for you."

It was something of a gesture. Quentin had grown up, he'd gotten older. They were both wanted, well, Quentin more so than him. He was "dead".

"Here, hand me the needle and thread out of there. We need to get you sealed up. This is going to hurt like a bitch."