Wash glances towards his helmet, the camo unit still inside it, and then looks back at York. Hasn't dropped his aim any. Can't. York is breaking out. York is- York is breaking everything and he- he can't-

He thinks that this is what short-circuiting must feel like. It has echoes in it, Alpha fracturing himself to stay sane.

"I can't," he says quietly. A strangled noise. He wants to, he wants to go, but he needs to stop York, a compulsion, even as his hands clench at his sides. It's buzzing in his head and he fights for control, fights to stop. Can't shoot. He won't do it, he won't. Slowly, painfully slowly, lowers the gun and turns away.

"It'll be safer if I'm not with you. You can get out."