They looked ready to argue, but something held them back. Maybe it was Jamie's calm, his steady authority, which made him sound older than he was. Or, at least older than he looked.

Sometimes it hit Eddie that Jamie really was older. Old, old. He'd spent all those years on the island, and maybe his body hadn't aged, but his mind had to have, at least a little. So, while they were on even ground for most things, there were moments, especially in crisis, where Jamie spoke like a leader. Even more so than Bill Denbrough, who'd seemed more like a grownup than most of their parents, even when they were elementary school.

Eddie nodded, taking Jamie's hand and hauling himself unsteadily to his feet, and before the staff could rethink their permissiveness, Eddie herded Jamie out the door and into the hall, the two of them shuffling clumsily in the direction of the stairs.

"You probably need stitches," Eddie whispered, "I'll kill stuff, but I'm not doing that."

He'd killed something. Really killed it. He wondered if he should've felt guilty or at least conflicted. Mostly, he felt a little woozy, and really, really glad Jamie was okay.