Seth flinches a little at the hand on his shoulder. It's Daniel, he has to remind himself. Someone he trusts, who has no intention of hurting him. The last time he put his hand on his shoulder, Seth had welcomed it. But it's so hard to block out these reactions right now, it's completely automatic, visceral.

He wants to ask Daniel not to touch him right now, but he's having trouble with words at the moment. The entire situation, and Daniel carrying around explosives, and... whatever the hell kind of mess he's stumbled into. From what he can tell, Daniel really wasn't joking when he said warzone. How did he even get here? This very obviously is not Manhattan, or anywhere near it.

And he's in his pyjamas, barefeet in the grass, and he's probably having a subdued, slow-burning panic attack or something right now, judging by the tightness of his chest, how clammy he feels, how his hands won't stop shaking. But he knows if he breaks down properly, he might not be able to pull himself together again. So instead he allows himself to be led, swallowing down his nausea.