Some part of him wants to rebel, to fight against the way Nick is holding him down. He’s fucking fine, he’s killed dozens of these things. This is nothing. In the same breath, it feels so good to be held down, to be held together, after murdering something that has somehow come from him. His hands flex uselessly and he turns his head away, jaw tight as he stares at the thing on the floor. He just wants to get rid of it and all it stands for. Taking it apart makes him think of being flayed open and vulnerable.

“What things?”