What the fuck is that, Boyscout?

Jude wasn't exactly giving Broen a lot of advanced notice. He was just kind of showing up the moment Broen texted him, a great big metal box held in his arms. He was obviously straining under the weight, leaning up against the doorframe as he waited for Broen to open the door. He had a messenger bag over one shoulder, but the weight of that was nothing compared to the weight of the box.

He owed Ralf a lot, but he really wished he'd managed to make the damn thing lighter. Realistically it should probably be even heavier than it was, considering the thing was three feet square and Jude was still holding it, even with effort.

Smoking. Of course he was smoking. In the dorm. And putting - oh goddamnit.

Jude wrinkled up his nose at the smell, and then simply forged on ahead, pushing past Broen with the big box. There had to be a table, yeah? And of course there was, loaded with at least six things that Broen was definitely not supposed to have in his dorm.

Jude just kind of slid it out of the way, dropping the box down.

"I brought you something," Jude said, patting the box with one hand. "I spent lunch with Ralf--the dragon guy that kept falling asleep--and spent like two hours reading up on dialysis machines for Giltenn. But I think this should filter the worst of the metal out of your blood."

Jude wasn't even remotely in the vicinity of dragging things out. Normally he'd have enjoyed stretching things, making Broen wonder, but not knowing what he did.

Jude was making a pointed effort to not look around. Because you know what? He didn't want to know. He didn't even know what Broen was holding (a bong? was that a bong?), and he didn't want to.

"This isn't owing me," Jude said, patting the box with his hand and trying not to be off put by the fact that Broen--actual Broen, and not some kind of weird alien doppleganger--had just growled at him. "In case you forgot, you got this way because you did something really good, and because you helped save our lives. When Adrastia thanked you, I thought that I owed you, only I couldn't figure out what I could do. And this is it."

In theory. He wasn't even sure if it was going to work, but he was fairly confident it'd at least help, even if it wouldn't fix everything.

Jude rolled his eyes. He did that a lot with Broen, and it was becoming something of a habit. It was always flirting with him, always you're not my type or older you is hotter anyway or maybe rat-girl could give me a call?

"It's thanks," Jude repeated. "Payback. Dad always said not to owe anyone if you could, and if you had to, make sure you paid them back before they could start thinking about interest. This is that. You saved us, and I'm doing what I can to solve this."

One more pat on the box, and then Jude pulled his messenger bag up, starting to unload its contents. Tubing. Needles. All neatly packed, and probably making Broen look like more of a drug addict then he actually was.

"Basically, you feed your blood into it. Whatever blood goes in comes out on the other side clean. It won't be instant--it has to filter out your blood as it goes--but it should get the majority of it."

Jude paused, looking at the medical supplies he'd collected, and then glanced at Broen.

"I mean, technically we could do this in an actual doctors office, but somehow I don't think you'd actually want to do that." He definitely seemed the self-surgery-to-get-a-bullet-out kind of guy.

The roommate. Jude didn't even notice until the door snapped shut, his head popping up to look at the now closed door before turning back to Broen.

"No," Jude said. "Really, you don't do anything different. The only difference is me, because I stop feeling lie I owe you any time you mention it."

Which was a big thing. Jude couldn't help but feel like, oops, that was partially his fault. At least he wouldn't have to feel so guilty.