Never one to play his hand too early, when Wyngarde saw the frying pan leap out of Creed's hand and straight to Erik's, he considered before taking any sort of action what would most benefit him in that moment. Reminding himself that this was not his Erik, that he could not expect the sort of welcome one might want after years of loyal service and acting as the master of magnetism's right hand before Creed had even stepped onto the scene, he was a little surprised to find that his feelings were still raw from the apparent lack of care for his sudden arrival.
Before the big feral spoke, Jason stepped to his side, put one hand lightly on the tall mutant's shoulder, just for a moment, and let it drop. The idea of his hands, more suited to piano or violin than brawling, would be able to stop Creed if he was really intent on hurting their old leader was laughable, so he wouldn't even try. Moving to stand almost, but not quite, between Creed and Erik took more courage than he would have admitted, but he was unsurprised to discover he had no interest in seeing the two of them attempt to bludgeon each other to death, or at least unconsciousness, and had ever intention of stopping them if it came to that. His body language gave no commitment to either side, but made it clear he was only out to keep the peace, as much as he could, between his former leader and former teammate.
Pale gray eyes followed Creed as he stalked out of the room, and Wyngarde moved to ash his cigarette into the sink politely, rather than straight on the floor. "I'm not so utterly offended by your assumption that I'd help." He spoke the words precisely, even as his throat ached with the effort of it, and took a slow drag at the cancerstick between his thin fingers once more. "Mostly, I would like an opportunity to see what Creed has seen, make some sense of it all. You know me and puzzles, Lehnsherr." The name was foreign to his tongue, almost painful, but this man was not his Erik, and Wyngarde would not call him that.