He hadn't broken anything of Anton's. That was a relief. Ghastly had no warning from Anton's movements, per se, but he could guess what was coming, and he knew how to take a punch. He turned with the blow, appreciating Anton's restraint, and when he straightened again Ghastly put a hand to the spot, prodding it carefully.

It wasn't bad. He'd survive.

And then Saracen was there, arms wrapped around him, and Ghastly was dipping his head to press against his friend's shoulder. Five years. After everything else that day, the impact was minimal, but still enough to shake him. It had been five years for Saracen, since the two of them had died. There was nothing that could make that better, not really, but at least there was this.

But-- there was also Erskine. Ghastly might still be angry with him -- might hang on to that anger for a while -- but this, Erskine's quiet removal of himself, might somehow be worse. After everything was said and done, after Erskine had made what choices he'd made, he couldn't even stand and face Ghastly?

(He had probably not expected to encounter the people he'd killed. There was that, as a mitigating factor, though Ghastly wasn't taking it very much into account.)

"Ravel," Ghastly said over Saracen's shoulder. It wasn't as calm or enunciated as he'd like, came out more grindingly, but it worked. "Don't you dare walk out that door."