And this time she does. Eases up enough to pull over on a side street not three blocks away from where the hospital sits, off-white lights in plain view over the flat tops of surrounding businesses. Tearing her focus from it long enough to glance over is a goddamn trial, and one she regrets immediately: he's soaked through with his own spit and blood and his fit doesn't look like it's planning on easing up any time soon.

"--oh Jesus." The flat of her palm is stuck in just over his side. The stain's too large by this point to piece together exactly where his wound is, but she's going with memory and praying she's not wrong. "Come on, keep it together. You've had worse than this before."

He'll even out. It's just three blocks off.