[Wow, okay, he almost prefers Ford being unconscious, or fucking Bill to his best friend crying on us right now.

... Almost.]

I-i-it's... it's going to be okay... [He brings his hands up, one resting on the hand that's clinging to him here, the other somewhere on the man's shoulder where he's leaning against us, an attempt at trying to be comforting despite his own anxiety right now threatening to tear his hair out.] You're gonna be okay, just...

[... Fuck, what was it that Stanford had said to us once? For some reason he can't quite recall how that conversation went at this exact moment, but something about this situation has reminded him of it, so he tries anyway.]

Just... try to concentrate on breathing for now, alright? It'll... it'll help, I think.