"Jesus fucking Christ," Paul mutters when he catches sight of Logan's injuries.

More loudly: "Okay. Okay, I'm getting down there as quick as I can. Try and keep, uh... talking, both of you-- no going to sleep in the fucking snow with concussions, yeah? I'm not a doctor but I can do first aid and it looks like I'm closest, so."

He's not even sure which one he should be thinking about triaging: concussion and possible hypothermia is nothing to sneeze at, but the other guy looks like he went through a chainsaw party. Except he's still conscious. Fucking Christ.

Paul hurries down to the infirmary level to grab supplies, using his tablet as he goes to send out some other messages.