Jack stares at him, frustrated and increasingly bewildered. "What?" he demands again, and then sighs, moving back to the wall himself, at least, even if he can't convince Spike to follow him. He swats at a wasp and giggles again, for no apparent reason, which is equally bewildering and worrying. What the fuck is going on?
"Spike, get out of there," he says urgently, watching the giant wasps hovering and darting around Spike's head. They're coming for him again, too, and he instinctively throws up an arm to ward them off, forgetting that it's not covered with thick wool as it usually is but unhelpfully bare. He feels another sting and gasps as he feels the venom go through him. "I'm trying to stop you getting killed!" he gasps, his own skin prickling much like Spike's is, and even as he says it he abruptly he finds himself wondering why he's trying to help this man. Let Spike get himself killed. Who knows, it might stick? And then his problem would be solved.