Last thing he expects is Jo flying at him. He hasn't got a chance to react; she slams into him, and he goes sprawling, rolling into Ciri. He reaches for Jo without thinking—instincts telling him there's every chance she's a hair too close to that spiked trap, that it might catch her, whether true or not.

The earth shudders with the impact. He snaps his head up, shoving to his feet. Between Jo and Dean and Ciri, he doesn't know who's where, who's still breathing. It's Ciri he grabs first, then Jo he glances at, and finally Dean he catches sight of.

A pause, as though he's a little behind, not quite there yet with the fact that Jo didn't just save his life; she stepped in the path of danger for him. But there's no time to linger. All she gets is a look, a flicker across his face. Maybe it's an unspoken thank you, maybe it's something else. He doesn't really know himself.

Then he snatches his dagger off the ground. He limps forward to join Dean, away from the hole in the ground. What he wouldn't give for a nap.

"Let's go."