Hobbes stared down at the bed wordlessly, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest. He rubbed a hand down his face. "God," he muttered finally. He wanted to ask about the twins, if they were alright or if anything could be done, but with Pinocchio looking the way he did, he didn't even want to bring it up.

"She's alright though, right? She's just sleeping." He looked at Pinocchio, then Cutter. He just wanted to hear it said again.

He slid a hand onto Pinocchio's shoulder, by the juncture of his neck, meaning for it to be comforting. For whatever reason, it was hard to do with Cutter standing a few feet away.

"How're you holding up?" he asked quietly.