It was like a dream. Sam watched the action before him with a vague sense of irreality. Plaster fell over him in gentle snowflakes, whitening his hair and getting into his lungs. He coughed, blinked through the haze and the blood trickling down his forehead, sticky and hot. Small, physical signs that he was still alive. Sam watched Sylar's head disappear into the adjacent wall, heard the sickening crack and wondered at it.

...This was real, wasn't it? He'd really come.

Something furry was shaking against his leg - Gizmo, seeking protection. It's all right, he wanted to tell her. Instead, all that came out was "Lucifer."

There were worlds of gratitude in that rasped-out name, a rush of warmth and affection for the angel taking vengeance upon his enemy. His savior.