Ianto reaches for another chip or two, eating them slowly as he nods in response to the other man’s acceptance of his offer. If he’ll at least accept the help, Ianto doesn’t care how he’ll take it as long as he does.

He’s just about to reach for his sandwich again when John asks about his own injuries and he chances a glance up at the other man in turn, wondering if John will see things in the same way that he does. It is nothing, especially compared to some of the injuries some of the others have suffered. But he supposes that they’re bad enough to have him seeking medical attention yes.

Cautiously, he reaches to roll up his sleeves — he’s been wearing a long-sleeved tshirt, which makes it easy to hide the angrier red marks on his arms where the ash and battlefield debris had singed him. “It’s just a few scorches, and a little contact burn on my ankle where I misjudged a step,” he explains. “Everything was on fire, and I was out there too you know. It was bound to happen.”