It had all gone to shit, right after that bossy blond chick had gate-crashed the quiet room. Not that Joey had a real clear idea of what exactly had happened, but he knew that that chick had no right to be in the quiet room, and that before she'd started yelling no one had been bleeding. After that - shit. He was pretty sure he'd seen things that he couldn't have, like the hot brunette chick in the leather turning someone to dust, and he'd definitely seen things that he didn't want to have, like Lisa from wardrobe crumpling to the floor with her throat a glistening crimson mess.
Joey shook his head, tried to keep that image from settling in front of his eyes again, and made himself look around. They'd run a long way. He was still panting, the back of his mouth tasting of iron, the way it did during hell week sometimes. He didn't recognise where he was. He didn't recognise who he was with, either, and with the sweat cooling on his skin, Joey started to shiver.
The guy he was with was out of breath too, but he didn't seem panicked. "Man," he said, with a California accent. "You'd think, living on the Hell Mouth, we'd get used to this sort of dog and pony show, and yet, here we are, in hot water again." The guy held out a hand, and Joey shook it, weakly and automatically. "I'm Xander, by the way."