Joseph might as well be a brick wall in comparison to the younger man, but even with the support he knew he wasn't going to stop it from hurting. He hooked his arm around Tim's good shoulder and lifted him up as best he can.

Speaking of broken, his left hand gave an faint, mechanical creak as he moved them. That's his artificial hand. Part of his forearm was prosthetic, the result of a battle from a long time ago, but he normally kept it hidden under gloves and armbands or sleeves. Point being, you're not alone in the hurt department, buddy.

"Probably," the old man answered as he let go of Tim. "Bastard wrecked my business, I barely got out."