[ find someone with a gun and... something seizes up tight in thomas, and he has the immediate kneejerk urge to protest. no, there's another way, there has to be, we just have to make it happen. somewhere in the back of his mind, the words 'please, tommy' echo, twined with a gunshot that still rings in his ears. ]

You... don't have to. We can put a cell together, until--

[ what if it doesn't work? what if they can't find what they need to make more of the treatment he needs? what'll you do, thomas, just make him sit in a cell, clawing at the door while his mind rots? he swallows, not picking up the sentence.

the boy turns and thomas's eyes go a little wider when he sees him. not a crank - definitely different. dead does seem apt, but not crazed, or even sick looking, other than being really freaking pale. plus, the eyes. he pushes away from his table, pacing over to the message board, and goes about pulling off all the notes from their conversation. it'd be too easy to come to the same conclusion thomas did, if they read it. ]

Just... keep the hood up. Try to stay out of sight for now. Stay close to someone you trust - someone with a weapon.