"Stand up, come on," Damon said, looping his arm around Luke's back and heaving him to his feet.
Luke stumbled sideways into him, his limbs still feeling numb but his head clearing a tiny amount. "Sorry," he said, but his lips would barely move.
"Just try to wake up a little bit," Damon said, his voice brusque, walking slowly and supporting all of Luke's weight. "We're going across the street."
Luke wanted to say, "Okay," but he had to focus his energy on picking his feet up enough that he wouldn't roll his ankles, the soles of his shoes scraping against the pavement. Crossing the street, he felt just lucid enough to look for The Faith's van, but he didn't see it parked on the curb anymore.
Through his haze, he felt glad that they didn't see Damon. It was only a matter of time until they found him, but for now, he was safe.
Luke vaguely registered walking into the drugstore with his father's portrait.