[He should've phased. But he's a man of rules, oddly enough, and there are some things - some people you don't cheat around. It ruins the fun, spoils it, even when it ends up like this; his hand clutching his gut with a shift. She falls off of him and he looks at her, the taste of metal in his mouth as he pushes himself forward. He lets the tendrils of dark matter bind together around his gut, keeping the wound cut and contained so he can move.
He's surprised by how hard it is to get up. He hasn't let himself be stabbed in a long time, if you can call it that. He barely makes it to his feet, looking down at her before the library. He could push on, but he wouldn't get far. Not like this.]
Don't die, love. That would be too easy. [He shifts away, to drag himself to the hospital if only to ensure she gets punished. Icing on the cake or salt in the wound, in this case. Sorry Spike. He tried.]