The deep gash on Malcolm's hand is finally covered and while it will scar, for now it is out of sight and hopefully a little more out of mind. He tries to split his attention between Malcolm and Neal, praying to a God he doesn't believe in anymore, who probably doesn't believe in him either, that nothing internal had been ruptured. He would be fairly confident that Neal could pull through if he makes it through the night. For now it is anyone's guess.

"Come on," he tries to lead Malcolm away once Raylan returns with the pills. "Let's take a seat, on the couch. Have some water. Take a few breaths. It's a nice day outside." There's nothing sharp or breakable there unless there's going to be any unplanned defenestrations or spontaneous judo happens over the coffee table. Malcolm's camping cup should be safe to drink from. The hot tea can come later when everyone's calmed down some. Tea and relocating Neal and cleaning up the mess and Doc's much-needed cigarette, and he would be surprised if Raylan didn't try to initiate some kind of debrief session.