*flings up a hand, suddenly tense (he won't be out forever)* No, wait, stay there. Hang on.
*draws on what little reserve he has left and forces himself up again, unable to help a soft grin (his little aunt apparently ducked out at some point and ran upstairs for the gun—and there's no question that it's loaded and ready, not when you were married to a Taberer man)*
*glances around the counters and snags the toaster from its corner, pulling the plug free of its outlet* *does the same with the mini-fan and, within minutes, is binding Joe's wrists and ankles with the cords* *mutters thickly, blinking and squinting against a new wash of dizziness* Sorry, Aunt Carol, I'll buy you new ones, promise...
*ties off the last knot with a hard yank and falls back heavily to sit on the floor* *scoots clumsily toward you, unable to muster the will to stand* *his voice suddenly rather fragile* God, Carol. God, I'm so sorry. It shouldn't've. (This was safe / here was safe.) I'm so sorry.