He smiles. So they can both stand here, two idiots looking as burnt out and weary as they feel, as physically wrecked as they feel, staring at the mess they've made the the truths they've unearthed, unwilling, and sighs.

He's still favoring one side of his body, one arm curled around his middle.

"Wish I could," he mutters, and he almost sounds like he means it. "But I still got my shadow to deal with."