"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, voice rough and sharp as he worked on their wounds. Wolffe couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated at his own inability to express his concern more openly. His stoic demeanor served him well during the line of duty, but in moments like these, he wished he could convey his worry more clearly without sounding irritated because they clearly didn't need that.

He had come back from his shift at his security post to find his roommate and best friend, injured. The usual greetings dying on his lips at the sight of them. It had taken him off guard, but he only pause for a millisecond. Before he could even think, he was already maneuvering them into living room and sitting them down on the couch. The years might have separated him from the active military, but the ingrained lessons of battlefield medicine remained.

Wolffe couldn't help the surge of protectiveness that coiled in his gut, an urge to shield them from any further harm. He had grabbed the first aid kit from the closet before kneeling in front of them and started to clean their injuries. He was concerned- worried as he huffed. "Where'd this all come from, huh? What happened?"