[Sharky puts his hands on Pratt without thinking twice, grabbing his arm and bracing another at the base of his neck.] Don't do that, stop moving. You're gonna fuck it up worse.

[He really doesn't want to hear about whatever good-guy shit was getting spewed at Pratt right before he murdered somebody. Doesn't want to hear about Jacob or think about this stupid fucking jacket or how fucked up all of this actually is. Fuck. Son of a bitch. Pratt fucking murdered some chick and now they're going to have to run serious damage control before people start hearing about the psycho deputy from Montana.]

Fuck.

[Okay.] Okay. I'm. Gonna grab a towel. We're gonna go down to the infirmary. I, uh. I think I could probably stitch this up but if your shoulder's fucked, we're... Gonna need a doctor. Fuuuuuuck. [Despite how fucking wildly upsetting the situation is, he finds himself patting the back of Pratt's head.] Whatever happened, happened. We'll figure out who she was and... deal with that later. You're gonna have to make it to the elevator, first.