He staggers a little when Ned steadies himself on his shoulder, but manages to stay upright and relatively supportive of Ned's weight. The grip on his hand is tight, yes, but he certainly can't blame him. He looks up to meet Ned's eyes, to gauge just how concussed Ned is, but it's hard to tell, exactly, and he's concerned that Ned is going to tip over at any moment.

"Lean on me," he instructs, hoping like hell he doesn't have to carry Ned. He will if it comes to it -- he doubts Ned's unbearably heavy, really; he can't be any worse than that damn bookcase -- but he doesn't want Ned to fall over, nor does he want to push him. "Can you walk?"