Natasha curses under her breath, soft and fervent and succinctly Russian, then glances up the hall to where she knows Darcy's room is. She can't leave her out here in the hall, not when she doesn't know what did this.

She turns her focus back to the girl slumped in front of her, gripping her face and dragging Darcy's attention to her again. "I'll get you to your room and get you patched up, but I need you to keep pressure on this for me until I get you there, alright?" She instructs, her voice sharp as she gives the order, bringing Darcy's hand up to where she clutches her tshirt against her neck.

"I only have so many hands and you're still bleeding. Can you do that for me, Darcy? Can you hold this here?"

Hopefully it would give the girl something to focus on, if she could keep from drifting off again. How much blood had she lost?