Ganymede gave Raylan a look for the immediate answer, quiet and easy to miss if you didn't know it was there, but Raylan had seen it enough. They'd be talking about that later, most certainly. He sighed when the EMT looked back up at him, and though he was well aware he wouldn't die from the raw wound along his ribs...he didn't relish the idea of leaving it untreated for as long as it would take to heal.

"Can I get a ride home if I do?" he asked. It wouldn't take long; he'd gotten stitches before, many, many times. If he thought his needlework was decent he'd have done it himself. "I feel fairly confident that if I've got the stitches to show for this, I won't be barbacking. Coffee service it is for me, it seems."

An hour later, with his side properly sewn closed and covered with a pristine bandage, Ganymede leaned into Raylan with a soft hum, tucking the prescription into his pocket. "Talk to me, honey." It went unspoken that whatever Raylan said wouldn't leave the car; Ganymede understood that he was intensely personal and bottled up his responses to most emotions.