Johnny can't look at Lucifer's face, so his gaze settles on the hand gripping Gabriel's wrist, feeling sick to his stomach at the sight of it - Gabe is still acting like he has the situation in hand, but Lucifer is taller and more intense in every possible fucking way, and the line of questioning is taking progressively weird and alarming turns, and Johnny is suddenly overcome with dread and conviction that he's about to see Gabe get his hand snapped off, or something equally terrible. Lucifer is - angry, or something, difficult to put a name to it, whatever it is, he's obviously not stable. Anything could happen here, and Johnny would be wholly fucking powerless to stop it.

Distantly he knows he's panicking, body and rational thought pretty well divorced from one another, rapidly losing the capacity to make informed decisions. Or any decisions at all. But rising above all that is an urge and an instinct, far harder to ignore, which is he just wants Lucifer to get his hands off Gabriel. Right now.

He sees the grip tighten and his body moves on autopilot, stepping forward, grabbing Gabe's shoulder.

"Please-" he starts to say, but it comes out on a breath and dies in his throat. There's nothing he can say, he shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have moved. He digs his fingers desperately into Gabe's shirt, his eyes staring widely at the floor, sort of subconsciously keeping his head bowed to Satan. Oh fuck, oh fuck.