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Tommy sits down gratefully, practically sinking into the couch and twisting to the side so his wings aren't jostled. It still kinda smells like garbage, but who cares at this point? When he feels the glasses being deposited in his palm, he pauses. Oh. These are Boone's glasses. They're not completely dark, aren't they? Not like Tommy's.

He considers it dully for a second, then just puts them on. He's too tired to do anything but pretend that they cover his eyes right now anyway.

"Yeah," he replies tiredly, as he tilts his head up and makes eye contact, pretending with all his heart that Boone can't see his inky black eyes. He blinks rapidly, like there are tears in his eyes. But there aren't. "I got burned. And I thought I was gonna die. And it friggin' hurts." His voice cracks on the last word.

[For what it's worth, Boone's expression can't change to reflect what he might think of Tommy's eyes. And when he speaks, he doesn't say anything about them. They're not really the main issue here, strange as they are; the main issue is that Tommy is hurt. If he asks about them, it'll be later. The guy doesn't exactly look ready to be answering questions, and if he was trying to hide them it's obviously personal.]

Who did it?

[He tries to keep the anger out of his voice, but he's never been good at seeing his friends suffer in any way. So his question comes out low and quiet, almost like a growl.]

"Dunno. Never met the kid before in my life."

Tommy... really appreciates it. Both the anger on his behalf and that Boone doesn't bring it up. Can't say that he doesn't feel a lot safer with a ten foot bear watching over him. He winces, and pulls himself up on the couch.

"Was just messin' around on the rooftops, you know, and this cat kid with wings started chasing me. Conjured up this... lightning from the sky like the wrath of friggin' God."

A wing shifts to show a jagged, singed streak, with a fluttering of feathers with burnt off edges.

Just a kid, huh.

[He sounds conflicted. He's still pissed, but going after kids isn't something he wants to make a habit of doing. Couldn't just be easy, could it?]

Thinks he can screw around with other people just because he's got powers.

[Maybe a bullet to the skull would teach him a lesson, but right now he should focus on Tommy.]

Anything I can get you? I can head out if we don't have it. Get you some new shades while I'm at it.

Tommy puts a hand over his face and exhales. "Yeah. Could you get the f'rst aid kid from the bathroom?" he asks, somewhat muffled. "I'm better stocked than the Red Cross. Burn cream, bandages, whatever. Just bring the whole thing over."

But before he sends him off to fetch all that, he speaks up again. "And uh..." Tommy trails off, uncertainly. "Thanks, Boone. The shades are nice." A claw fidgets with a stray thread in the sofa upholstery as he glances down, slightly embarrassed. "You didn't have to do that."

[He nods and starts to head into the bathroom, but then Tommy speaks again and he pauses.]

Hey, it's no problem. Besides, don't thank me yet. Could get you some of those cheap plastic ones with happy birthday stuck on top.

[It's just some gentle teasing, mostly to try and make Tommy feel a little better. Boone goes to get the first aid kit after that, and when he comes back in he sets it down on the couch beside him and opens it.]

You weren't kidding about having everything in here.

"Yeah, yeah! Like I haven't heard that before!" Tommy makes sure to call back out, even if it feels like his throat's being scraped with the same thing Batman uses on his vocal cords. But he's right. It does make him feel better. Tommy sees Boone coming back with the first aid with a distinct sense of relief.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. It kinda comes with the busi- busy life like mine." Tommy cranes his neck to see over his shoulder, but his view is predictably blocked. "Can you check if any damage went under my shirt? Somethin' kinda hurts, but I think I might've just pulled somethin' while I was runnin' away like a little girl."

Your busy life gets you into some trouble, huh?

[He nods, setting the kit aside for a moment so he can sit on the couch beside Tommy and have a look under his shirt. Yup, more scorched feathers.]

He got you good. Need me to do anything?

"You know it. Scraped knees and stubbed toes all the time, everywhere."

Well, this is at least a lot more comfy than a pool table, and still a helluva more comfortable than a gunshot wound. Even if it's significantly less hygienic. Ugh. Speaking of.

"Mrgnh. Help me up. Should probably head to the table for this. It's cleaner than somethin' you slept in for a while, and I'll get up with a hair bandage stuck to my back." Tommy doesn't really want to move, but he knows that it'll be better for him than something rubbed in with garbage juices, even if the last time the table was sterilized was when Tommy'd spilled his alcohol on it.

You need a first aid kit for a stubbed toe?

[He'd be smiling slightly if he could, because the idea of Tommy actually bandaging a stubbed toe is pretty funny. When Tommy asks him to help him up, he gets back to his feet again and holds out a hand.]

Hey, I'm pretty clean when I'm not covered in garbage. Which was your fault, incase you forgot.

"I got delicate toenails, you don't know?"

Cracking jokes helps take his mind off things, but he's only just outpacing the freakout regarding his near death experience. He takes Boone's hand as gracefully as he can, and lets himself be settled on his feet with only a slight stumble and a waver. He takes short breaths, talons still squeezing Boone's hand, winded by that relatively simple task.

"What, you're not gonna taxi me to the table?" This is entirely to mask the fact that the kitchen seems an awful long way away. "This service is awful. I want my money back."

[He pauses, tilts his head at Tommy, then shrugs and picks him up. He makes sure to avoid anywhere that's sore as best as he can, which makes the process a little more difficult, and when they reach the kitchen he sets him down on the table.]

There. Better?

[He goes back for the first aid kit, and opens it on the table beside Tommy.]

Should probably warn you, I'm no doctor. Can follow instructions, though.

"Bone, my hero!"

After a split second of surprise, Tommy pretend-swoons (which is a little too genuine for his liking) into his arms, and points his foot up dramatically. The result is mostly just a wriggling sack of feathers. But he's put down on the table with surprising gentleness, and Tommy rolls his head to the side.

"Well I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear that I'm no medical professional either. But there's disinfectant and burn cream, which I think won't kill me no matter how bad of a doctor you are."

[The display does get a chuckle from Boone, at least. This isn't really a laughing matter, but it's more helpful than getting angry.]

Yeah, I think I can handle that. Just tell me what to do, and remember it's your fault if I screw up.

[Not that you can really screw up with burn cream and disinfectant.]

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