The white noise buzz is still in his ears and his mouth is dry.

He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, at his neck where the shirt collar hits his throat.

Oh God, what is he doing?

(Saving Sam, of course. It's what he was born for. It's what he knows how to do. It's --

He has to.)

"What do I have to do?"

That is, after all, what it comes down to.

What it'll always come down to when family's involved. When Sam's involved.

It's written on his bones.