The world is splitting pain. Down and down and down. Dean suddenly like a straight jacket around her body, hands clamped down so hard on her ears it was like he was going to crack her skull by the pressure of his fingertips himself, and it was still like he wasn't pressing hard enough, her hands over his weren't enough; it was still there. Shaking the air, the floor, the walls, everything and Jo doesn't know what the hell Ciri's Horizon power is, only that it's made of endless buffeting waves.

Until it just suddenly wasn't.

It's a relief. It feels like her bones are vibrating.

Ciri had gone from stabbing Geralt to clutching him like he was the last lifeline in this hell as the wall and floor crumbled apart. Jo pushed up, getting to her feet, looking at that ruined floor and cracks around their feet. Then, there were two jarringly familiar little clicks at once, and her head snaps up.

There's no time to think. Geralt is shoving Ciri, so recently stabbing him, clutching him, sobbing into him, and he's not moving for whatever reason. But Jo is. Bones still only half attached to her skin as she slipped from the last hand on her. Her only attention is two chunks of the standing ground; she prays will take her weight (one of which does and the other which careens, crumbling, propelling her even faster and lower) before she slams bodily into the center of Geralt, sending them both tumbling toward Ciri.