The thing is, he didn't even mean it like that. Where Ches hears an indictment of his darkest insecurities, Wilhelm feels his own weakness. He crumbles under pressure. He makes a mess of everything. He wishes he could seize just a piece of the steely calm that Chester commands, wearing it like armor amid the chaos.

But once words leave your mouth, you can't control how they land on others' ears. Or clatter in others' hearts.

In a way, Ches's hand on his shoulder does imbue Wilhelm with some of that calm. At least, his panic recedes from an all-consuming clamor to a dull, distant roar. He can breathe normally again. His field of vision widens and holds still, no more dark edges and dizziness. He reaches across himself to place his hand over Ches's and give it a squeeze.

"You have to help your family. I'll be okay out here," he insists, though his resolve is more cardboard than steel. He doesn't want Ches to worry about him when he has bigger problems looming.

As if to demonstrate just how okay he can be, Wilhelm climbs back to his feet. His glance darts around the field like a skittish rabbit. The rest of the Wraiths have swarmed the house. Out here, there's just him. And...the shadowy thing borrowing his brother's face.

He would be fine.