If he had the knowledge he did now, Joseph would have certainly kept better track of the exits and try to leave a few moments earlier. But no, he wouldn't have done it any different. He'd gone for a multitude of reasons and with the knowledge he was risking his life. It was who he was. It was who the Brujah were. Joseph may not have seemed much like the rest of his unruly clan, but he was a bit of a throwback to the warrior scholars the clan had began as instead of the rebels without a cause many of them were in modern nights.
It was part of the reason he hadn't thrown his lot in with the Anarchs just yet. The Brujah were one of the founding clans of the Camarilla. He wasn't quite ready to give up on what his Elders had bled and died for all these centuries. Especially given how many of the very Kindred who were causing all the stagnation he loathed were being called and gobbled up by Gehenna. Now was the best time for real change.
Joseph's fingers moved to tangle into Rhys' curls as he buried his face in his throat. "I know, love," he murmured. "You weren't ready yet. There was nothing for it. But it won't be like that forever. Someday, you'll be the one teleporting around and holding up magical barriers. Things I can't even imagine. Hell, if we're being honest, you were of much more use in the after than I was. Brute strength has rather limited uses."
There would definitely be tears from both of them. There had been too much lost not to weep from it. But Rhys deserved more credit than he gave himself. Especially for how young and inexperienced he was.