He wasn't injured, not really. The worst he had was some scraped skin and a cut on his forehead that was currently superglued shut because it was faster and more efficient than stitches. Besides, other victims of the earthquake needed them so much more and they just didn't have the people to help everyone.

So, hands wrapped in gauze and covered in non-latex gloves, Henry Cloud paced among those waiting for treatment in the waiting room. The numbers were sobering, so many people in their fanciest clothes with rubble-tinted hair and tear-tracks down their faces. He knew some first aid, and that keeping eyes on those that might be going into shock or had possible head injuries. They both needed fluids, and the second group specifically needed to be kept from falling asleep.

He carried a crate full of water bottles, trying to do anything to help, and just prayed that no injuries sustained tonight would be fatal.

"Hey," he greeted someone in the 'possible concussion' spectrum, judging from some blood and bruising marking their forehead. They were slouched against the wall who seemed to be dozing. "I'm sorry, you must be exhausted, but I can't let you go to sleep yet... D'you want some water?"