"I could say the same thing about most of my mates," John pointed out, somewhat ruefully. He just seemed to gravitate toward the sometimes-a-bastard type. Birds of a feather, he supposed. "Crowley hauled my sorry arse out of a really bad situation when he had every good reason to leave me to rot, and he's taken some pretty serious risks trying to look out for me. I'm not even sure why he does it. 'cept maybe because he hasn't got many friends." Which was something he understood all too well.

At the question, he shook his head firmly. "Kit, if I was looking for a bolt-hole, I might go to Lousiana, or New York, or Africa or Australia or someplace as far from the trouble as I could get. The last place I would go would be anywhere near you." He paused a beat. "You don't honestly think I'd intentionally put you in danger?"

The implication that he might have done stung. He'd failed to keep her safe once, but he hadn't been consciously gambling with her safety--or, well, maybe he had been, just by being with her, but he'd warned her about that from the start--and it hadn't been carelessness or inattention. He'd tried, and he'd just plain fucked it up. He could live with that (now,) but he wouldn't have her thinking he'd go running to her looking for shelter from something he himself couldn't handle.