//Continued indirectly from Colorado//
By the time they'd reached the Sanctuary Quire's mind bend had long since worn off and fuck if he didn't hurt. His whole body ached from when he'd been thrown by the blast of that flatscan General's bomb. His abdomen burned and pulled against the hardened mucus that covered it with every breath he took. And his thigh, words couldn't describe the pain that coursed through his thigh. Every step he took towards the medbay was agony, but fuck if he was going to complain. What pride he had left wouldn't stand for that.
Once he reached the medbay, Toad made his way over to an empty exam table. There he carefully removed his shirt and gingerly lifted himself onto the cold sterile surface. Wincing at the pull in his side and thigh, he swung his legs onto the table and leaned forward to start undoing his boots. His pants came next, leaving him clad in not but the hardened mucus covering his wounds, his boxer briefs, and socks. Mort then lay back on the table and waited. Mystique would be along shortly to clean him up. Until then, he'd wait.