Kururu felt his stomach lurch profoundly, though not to the point of rejecting the curry that filled it. It had become a familiar sensation, one that arose every time he looked at the Pekoponian boy who he had managed to lift from a slumped position by a door with a recently broken lock to the bed. The process had required a great deal more effort than the technology available to him should have needed him to personally expend, but it had been nothing short of completely necessary.

He was certain of that. Saburo's breathing was weak and his skin lacked a healthy color, and though Kururu knew he couldn't have been there for “long,” it still must have been an excessive amount of time given the conditions. The scraps of bloody cloth that served as bandages when he found the boy were now piled in a dangerously wet glob on the bedside table; the jagged bite wound underneath had plainly bled for more time than could have been safe, and threads from his jacket had become mixed into stitches. The person who put them their seemed to have had knowledge, but not time, so Kururu had been left to pick the stitches out and subject the wound to a more thoroughly cleaning. He almost wished that Saburo had needed to be sedated to avoid experiencing the pain that this had to involve, simply because he would have been awake at some point if that was the case.

However, Saburo did indeed sleep through the whole thing, his head drifting down on the pillow and causing his hair to stick up in odd places. In some ways, he would rather still have a wound to work with, blood and skin and muscle to treat, than be sitting here and watching his wave buddy stagnant in such a way that was apparently behind any further attempts he could make. He made a soft, displeased noise to himself, his mouth twisting in a bothered frown, “Tch.”

Kururu still had one task he could carry out, and he had the information he needed to do so, though many people would find it strange that he knew so much. It was all to clear that Saburo had been drained of blood, in all likelihood a larger loss than he had any right to live through, and whoever had been in charge of handling the Pekoponian's injury before seemed to lack the resources to supply him with anymore. Kururu would set up a transfusion, and hopefully, that would aid the healing process significantly. It took him only a moment to prepare his supplies, as he'd had the forethought to prepare most of this in advance, before he began administering treatment. Focusing in on the unmarked arm, he searched out a vein and set the needle hovering above it, until he was absolutely sure of its steadiness.

“K-Kururu...?” His voice was thick and heavy, it sounded like his mouth was packed with cotton, but it was unmistakably Saburo. The Keronian jerked, swiftly pulling the needle back to avoid stabbing the boy, staring at Saburo through glasses that concealed open shock to most people, but even now, it appeared that Saburo could see past that. “Sorry about.... that... I didn't want to startle you...” His lungs still didn't want to work perfectly, so his words were punctuated by more soft gasps and pauses to breath than he would normally need, but that he was aware enough to attempt speech was a very positive indicator.

Nausea swam in his stomach, a dizzy ache was rolling around inside his head, impossible to pin down but always there, and his arm he didn't really have a way to describe, though perhaps the closest approximation was that it felt like it was currently being bitten. Shock had prevented much pain at the time following the initial bite, but now that his adrenaline wasn't acting with him, it was as if his arm was actively being gnawed into. It looked as though his body was determined to have him know everything he had gone through. Still, he couldn't really fight it, so he didn't try. He would have little choice but to stick by his physical limitations for the time being, but that didn't mean that he couldn't act within those bounds. Kururu was relying on his ability to answer questions being counted among those. He coughed in a perfectly businesslike manner and glared out, working on the needle again as he spoke, this time offering another irritated noise for Saburo to hear, as he knew the Pekoponian could interpret it for what it was.

“Tch...” He paused, then quickly jabbed the needle into place. “Saburo, what happened?”

Saburo sucked in a breath as his skin was punctured, but he waited until he could use a lazy, casual tone to speak, ignoring the tiredness that hung about in his voice, “Hmmm... I was helping someone out, that's all. It got a little tricky, but no big problems.”

“Is that so?” Kururu scoffed, taping the needle in place. He cast a withering gaze over, a silent admonishment, despite knowing that a look wouldn't change anything. Saburo didn't respond to scolding, only to persuasion, and then he remained one of the few people conscious of when he was being persuaded. “Well, if almost bleeding to death isn't a problem, I wonder what you would consider the loss of a hand? Hn.” The Keronian wasn't in a mood for argument or persuasion at the moment, really, he was more happily than he would openly show that Saburo was still around for him to have such a conversation with in the future. He wouldn't let his partner by wavelengths avoid that.

“Don't worry about it, Kururu,” Saburo said, forcing a tiny smile, tinged with unvoiced apology. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly against the pillow, his usual innocent expression, and Kururu sighed briefly.

“Ku ku... Fine. But don't think that you'll have such an easy time wandering off and getting yourself into such trouble ,” he smirked, “At the very least, I won't let you do that kind of interesting thing by yourself anymore.”