He doesn't have the leverage in this position to grapple Sam back. Supernatural strength doesn't matter so much when you're yanked from behind before you even know what's happening. His heels kick up dust. Dirt mixes with blood to make an ugly, deep mud that clings to his shirt as he rolls through it until he stabilizes himself, shoving himself upright, fists clenched, teeth bared, ready to-

There is something that runs deeper than the mark.

A ping of recognition that no amount of corruption seems capable of tunneling deep enough to touch.

Sam.

He blinks.
Falters.
The confusion sets in.
He blinks again.
And then he sees. His mind replays the last handful of seconds, previously dim and distant and dreamlike. Once detached, now coming into full focus.

Jo on the ground. Quickly cooling blood on his knuckles. He glances down at his hands, stunned. The dots are clear, but they're nearly too incomprehensible to connect. His brain doesn't want to acknowledge it as reality. It's not real. It can't be real.

He didn't.

For a moment, he's suspended there in time, wordless, unmoving, looking equal parts wild and utterly lost.

Oh, god.