Nate lets him move around the apartment, used to Sam treating it more or less like his own. When he comes back with an ice pack and paper towels, there's a small part of Nate that feels like he's fifteen again and Sam is cleaning him up after some dumb fight. He always did have a tendency to pick fights with guys twice his size, and apparently nothing's changed.

He winces a little as Sam dabs at his face but he lets him, arms hanging at his sides, beer bottle dangling from the fingers of his left hand. He knows it would feel a thousand times worse without Lila's intervention so he focuses on that. He's been stabbed and shot and left for dead time and time again, he can suck up a couple of broken bones and a black eye.

Nate considers it for a moment. "That's actually not far from the truth," he admits. He'd been thinner than a mountain, but certainly as hard and unrelenting. Practically as tall. Nate's a goddamn idiot.