"We're not going to let anyone die," he answers firmly. Harry is about to cross the room, to lay a hand on his shoulder, something to try and ground Cisco when he's interrupted by a mournful chirp.

A little dragon, no bigger than a chicken, with blue and red coloring flutters into the room. Haircut headbutts into Cisco's calf. His human is sick. Nobody is petting him. Fix something.