"If you die on me then I'll- I'll-" His threat died off with a grunt of irritation as he wrapped the bandages tighter around your wounds. You were sat at an odd angle in the small apartment you'd managed to squat in for nearly two months now as you attempted to avoid the attention of the government. The Tanker incident has left you with wounds of varying intensity and causes all over your body. The shaky stitches from where he'd sewed back up the wounds from shrapnel sat surrounded by what he assumed was infection, you skin was pale and you shivered almost incessantly despite the seemingly dozens of blankets he'd wrapped you in. "I'm not giving you the right to die. How about that, huh?" It sounded like a weird scoff as he changed the gauze over a particular ugly scratch that a shred of metal had given you when you'd attempted to swim through the frigid waters with limited vision in the murky waters. "You didn't break anything that won't heal, so that's a plus." He suggested with an anxious smile that made it clear he was just trying to think positively.