Jon’s gaze lands on the angel and he takes an instinctive step back. The cane is between them, his only defense. And then the stranger is offering his hand and, having little other option if he wants information other than to actually _talk_ to someone, he takes it with his own. It’s covered with burn scar tissue.

“I don’t…” His voice sounds strange in his own ears. Echoey. “Am I dead?” He isn’t so much shaking the angel’s hand as he is just- holding it. His only life line.

Please god let this be a dream.