Malcolm peels himself off the floor, moving into the kitchen to grab what is doubtless and expensive linen tea towel with no regard for it, lurching around the island to tie it tightly around the whole ankle to stem the blood, but he can see it’s already soaking fast.

“Infirmary. Now,” he orders, already preparing to take most of Neal’s weight as he turns him towards the door with more firm sternness than Neal’s ever heard from him.