You look at Lucy and she looks back at you. You're both confused because when did you ever call him stupid or fat? He must be more rattled in the brain from the fight than you anticipated. You don't think it's best to thrust him back out into the troll side of the wall, but you don't know if you can keep him here and risk Lucy or her mother getting hurt. It's an internal conflict for you, that you ponder with your forefinger to your chin as you stare at the injured troll. Your other hand absently shuffled inside your pocket, fingers wrapping around the box with the trinket you'd gotten for Lucy's birthday. Her birthday. Fuck, it's her birthday.

"What are you going to do?" the troll wheezes, his voice shaking pathetically. Your expression softens for a brief moment before you immediately harden it again. Your chest might be panged with something like pity, platonic pity for the love of all that is and isn't holy, but you're not going to let that show.

"I already told you," you say, your voice coming out a little softer than you'd intended. You don't bother to correct it, even though firmness is probably what you need to exhibiting right now. "I can help you get home if you want. You're just...pretty banged up."