NNnnope, all that moving is not okay. Glacius gives out a stunted chirp as Carlisle forces himself to his feet, then warbles in distress as the man starts coughing up a storm. He already looks like he has a foot in death's doorstep, what with the blood and ink smeared down one side of his face and body, and more of the dark fluid dripping from his mouth and fingernails like his body is on the verge of falling apart...

Former or not, his friend needs his help, and the ice alien finally reaches a breaking point: despite the way that the uncertainty and self-doubt he's been dealt by the double clash against his concern and desire to protect his friend, he can no longer stand by. So far, the clergyman has seemed to not only tolerate his touch, but still desire it... he can only hope that trend will continue as he rises as well, hooking his arms around the human's back and legs as he hoists him up, cradling him securely.

"Breathe, Carlisle," he instructs gently. "I am here, and my body is unharmed." It's the nicest way he can think to put it, but given that he's not one to lie, the distinction is there. "We cannot say the same for you... so please... let us focus on your recovery."