Sirius reels back for a moment, fingers hovering inches away. He wants desperately to gather his friend up, or do something about the wound or something but the fear of making it worse stops him from getting too close. James is, decided, very much not okay.

"What, you've been stabbed?" He asks, taking a shaky breath - voice high and stressed as he tries to suppress the urge to scream and get as far away as possible. James, friend, your arm looks twisted and it's making his stomach turn. But his instinct is to grab up the closest piece of clothing up from the ground and press it to his friend's arm, desperate to control his own panic and somehow stop the bleeding.

Concise questions, right? Isn't that what you're supposed to do?

"Shite, okay, what do I do? What can I do?"