[There's one word and one word only to describe what he's looking at here: yikes. Bigby sees the blood, hears a sound that's a bit like grease sizzling against a hot surface, processes the little smile Teddy's giving him, and none of it sits well at all. He's already storming into the room proper, ripping more straps of fabric off of his clothing which, at this rate, looks wrecked and bloody, though he's got Tsume to thank for the latter.]

Good job. [He means it.] Now shut up. You're bleeding all over the place. [He means that too.]

[He reaches for the box with the intention of putting it on the floor, but there's the matter of the cracks to deal with.]

Hold this against that— ["This" being the cloth-strip, "that" being the gash. Bigby's already working on tearing another piece off. At this point, the shirt part of his scrubs is pissing a long section of it at the bottom, making it more of some sort of half-done croptop by now, and there's pieces missing around the cuffs of his pants. He's really gonna need replacements now.] And press down. Give it as much pressure as you can without it hurting.