John's efforts had given Jace the opportunity he needed, and he didn't waste a second of it. Louise bundled in his arms, Stephanie only a few paces behind, he burst out of the back door at a sprint, long strides eating up the paving slabs of the patio and propelling him out onto the gravel drive. His gaze settled on his target - thank god this house had a big enough front lawn to mean the car was a relatively safe distance from where John and their visitor were engaged in aggressive internal redecoration - and he thought of nothing else but the rhythm of his footfalls and the placement of his next stride.

Jace's boots skidded against the gravel of the driveway as he struggled to a halt, anxious not to collide into the side of the car. The lights flashed and the locks clunked, triggered by Stephanie who had just successfully fumbled the keys from her handbag, a few paces behind. He ripped the door open and, shielding Louise's head he settled her into the car seat, fastening the seatbelts with practised speed. She looked at him, a mix of confusion and terror in the baby blues that were still too large for her face; he mustered a smile, a finger stroking down her cheek to sneak away a few stray tears.

"Don't worry, Lulu," he said, mustering his most reassuring paternal grin. "Everything is going to be fine."

Stepping back, he closed the door; heard Stephanie opening her own. He however remained still, eyes transfixed on the dining room window. He could see the surprisingly hulking frame of the impossibly menacing old man that he'd spied through the crack in the kitchen door, but things looked worrying calm.

"Jason," Stephanie's insistent voice cut in. "Get in the bloody car!"

"No."

The word tumbled from his lips before he even knew he was going to say it, but he didn't take it back; didn't reel it in. Disbelief was thick in Stephanie's voice.

"You can't go back in there."

The muscles in Jace's jaw bunched. "Get out of here, Stephanie." He could feel the protest radiating off her; Jace didn't give her the chance to transform it on to works, rounding on her and raising his voice to his wife for quite possibly the first time in their whole marriage. "Go!"

Something passed between them, transmitted by Jace's gaze, and from Stephanie's reaction he knew that she understood the thoughts running through his head. Whoever or whatever this juggernaut attacking them was, an escape at legal speeds down winding roads that only really went to one or two places worth going to, in a car that their attacker had probably already seen the plates on probably wasn't going to be all that effective. And even if it was, they'd be abandoning John: whether he was just doing his job or not, Jason wasn't about to let an almost stranger sacrifice his life to save his family, while he ran away like a frightened child.

Jace turned - Stephanie wouldn't go if he just stayed standing there - advancing up the drive as slowly as he could muster in the hopes that a plan would form in the meantime. Nothing did, but blessed relief settled as he heard the car engine rumble into life, and the gravel crunch beneath it's tires.

He stepped over the threshold, past a door that hung half off it's hinges, just in time to see Marshall looming over the worse-for-wear bloodied and torn form of John Lester. Jason drew in a breath, mustered all the motivational thoughts he could. It'll be easy, he tried to reassure himself. Just like play fights with Tom.

"Hey!" he shouted, and the old man turned; Jace lashed out with his arms like claws, straining as his forces wrapped a bulky antique bookcase and, with a wrench that strained his muscles and his mind, tore it from it's mountings and deposited it on top of Marshall.

Jace didn't wait to inspect his success; a moment later he was crouched beside John, a hand on his shoulder.

"You still alive?"