[Wes makes his own valiant attempt at trying to step into the house.

After he's tried catching David before he lands on the grass, that is.

But he ends up being thrown back. He's heavy enough he isn't flung back so much as just shoved, but the point still stands.

He sighs heavily, folding his fantastically muscled arms over his chiseled, glorified abs chest. Glancing at Jeremy.]

Hey, now.

This ain't your fault.

If it's anyone's fault, it's the Rift's, and we were plannin' on keepin' you company as it is. Angels don't get as cold as you do, alright?

Let's just...resign ourselves to a long night. [They can just pretend they're camping. Roast marshamllows. Exchange stories. Shirtless. >>"]