The needle was not helping him calm down. He looked up at nothing, his eyes terrified, grabbing Jonathan and wrapping both arms around him as he pulled him close, for comfort or as a shield. He felt a lot like Alberto, there was that. Too skinny. He kept his voice low, because they could be heard. They were right there. Assassins, killers, Victor Zsasz, all these people loyal to Falcone. "I'm yours. Don't waste me. Don't use me. I'm yours, I told you. Please."

His breathing was calming down, but still came out shaky. It wasn't easy to get out of this. He pressed his face against Jonathan's neck, trembling and trying to quiet his sobs.