Unsurprisingly, being stabbed produces stabbing pain. The little breath left in Howard's chest rushes forth out of his mouth in a weak hiss of anguish.

But then, as Cedric removes the pen, there's air. Sweet, blessed air. Howard doesn't get a good breath in, since he's now swapped difficulty breathing with pain breathing, but it's an adequate amount of oxygen. It burns like he's trying to inhale a mouthful of needles. He tugs the plastic bag out of Cedric's grip and flattens it with his hand over the oozing wound.

Let air out the hole, don't let it back in. Each breath gets a little easier, doing this. Not easy, but easier. Who'd have ever thought he'd miss the ins and outs of oxygen so much. For about a minute Howard just lays there, working the plastic bag with his fingers and taking in breaths.

He's going to have to explain this to Cedric, possibly with a 'good job' tacked on. Cedric looks white as a sheet and like he's only avoiding passing out or crying by the sheer force of will. As for Howard, he's not out of the woods yet. The immediate problem is fixed, but for all he knows he's got greater internal damage, and either way he was just stabbed in the chest by a really unsanitary pen in less than stellar conditions.

"Thanks." His voice is a whispery croak, and then it gives way to feeble coughing that brings up a teaspoon of blood. "Find tape."