Guilt washes over him in waves. Bull tells himself that it isn't a productive feeling, that it will help nothing. But all he can think of is Dorian alone, terrified, and in pain.

He cradles Dorian close and kisses his brow before gently coaxing him into the tub. His fingers curl over Dorian's, squeezing gently. "I'm going to bring some food over, then I'll get in with you," he promises.

He wants to at least offer Dorian something, even if he can't quite bring himself to eat yet. He slices up some fruit that he had on the table in his room: an apple, a melon. He pours a cup of water and brings those over, resting the plate and the cup on the wide edge of the tub. Bull sits on the edge of it so he can take his brace off, then his boots. With a soft huff, he remembers the ropes winding around his arms and chest and he carefully starts untying knots.

"If you aren't sure you can eat, at least try drinking."