The hot water has helped ease the shock a bit, Hunter's efforts helping Jim keep himself anchored to the here and now, grasping for any purchase on solid ground as the storm of his own memories try to sweep him away. The sting of his wounds as they're touched and treated is as much a reminder as the gentle hands tending to him, not sealed up like they would be with modern medical technology, without even a scar to mark that they were there in the first place. He flinches only slightly as his arm is wrapped up to protect the deep cut there, as a large, soft square of gauze is settled and taped onto his shoulder over the bite mark.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror over Hunter's shoulder, and for a moment, it doesn't make any sense. Doesn't match what's in his head. But he doesn't know what he expected. A scrawny, stick-thin thirteen year old boy... or the hulking, hungry monster that clawed its way out of human flesh to roam unfamiliar streets in search of prey.

But no. It's just Jim. White bandages and dark bruises boasting of his war wounds, but still an adult, still human. Still himself.

Whoever that is.

Those gentle arms wrap around him again, and he leans into them, utterly lost. His whole world has been turned upside-down and inside-out and he no longer knows which way is up anymore, and all he has to hold onto is the warm body held against his. "I don't know what to do now," he confesses quietly.