Steve didn't argue, he just pulled his shirt back on and gave a sharp nod, heading for the door. He didn't care about the fact that the fabric was getting soaked with blood from the various words all over him, or that it chafed against the wounds. He just wanted out. He followed Peter through the door and paused, sucking in a lungful of fresh, untainted air. He could still smell their blood, but they were no longer in a room saturated with the stink of it. Thank god.

He glanced at the man and tipped his head to the left, "This way. I have alcohol and medical supplies in my suite. And it's safe." Because Steve worked very hard to make it so.