"All right, a little homo," Jesse concedes instead, a bit of a laugh in his voice and a sneer pulling up the corner of his mouth. He is kinda on the verge of holding a dude's hand in a mildly darkened stairwell, it's unavoidable. "Don't get yourself any ideas."

But he takes a giggling Finch's hand regardless, pawing in his jacket for anything useful, there, a bandanna, and using it to mop up some of the blood. "How 'bout I hold onto the glass for a li'l while, huh? You're cuttin' up your hand to shit. Might need stitches." Not like that's really a viable option here, unless they've got a doctor hiding somewhere out in the town. "I'll keep ya awake. Kick ya in the shins if ya start driftin' off into St. Fuck, Nowhere. Pipe's better anyway."

Jesse's apparently had enough of this gay shit, and kind of thrusts the bandanna into Finch's hands, wiping his own together before rubbing his palms all over his jeans, antsily. "Who's Galen?"