As Raphael felt himself being lifted, he allowed his muscles to go slack. Not that they weren't mostly there already. Michael was carrying him with seemingly little or no effort; he would have been moderately impressed if he hadn't felt so complete smashed.

His mouth tasted like a disgusting combination of coffee and bile. Even as they neared his room he felt nauseated and retched again. By then there was nothing to come back up but his muscles still convulsed, trying to empty his stomach of fluid that wasn't there.

"Watch out for Frankie," he mumbled as they got nearer.