He sees the knife, he sees the struggle, the arterial pulse when metal tears through flesh and sinew, spraying Neil's hair and the back of his neck. This story was written before they'd even opened the door.

Flash, sparkle, one bolt of lightening and the cellar goes dark. He should be more worried. Mike might be hurt, Neil could be...Neil could have been abused, but silently he holstered his gun and strode forward, pulling Neil against him for the first time in what felt like days. Hours, really, but time was strange here.

"Easy," he mummbled, lips against Neil's hairline, arms around his waist. He glanced up, meeting Mike's eyes in the half light, nodding once. We did it.

"Easy," he repeated to himself, to all of them. "We've got you, we're here."