Right now, Pike didn't care about his wound. He didn't care about Buffy, or Sunnydale, or the looming threat of apocalypse. He didn't care about angels and demons, he didn't care about any of it. Right now, all he cared about was the girl he held in his arms. This was a crucial moment, and if he looked back on it he would realize that, but right now all he could think was how much he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and take her away from all her pain. He knew he couldn't, but he could do the next best thing: Be there for her. Be her rock. He couldn't make her choices for her and he couldn't walk the roads for her, but he could be there beside her. And that's exactly what he would do.
He didn't let go of her hand. He squeezed it gently and tightened the arm around her shoulders as he felt her struggle to control her shaking. He continued stroking her hair and leaned his head down, kissing her temple softly. And then, quietly but firmly, he whispered into her ear, "You can let it out. I'm not going anywhere. I promise." He wasn't sure if he'd said the right thing, but he prayed - honestly, fervently prayed - that he had. He didn't care if she screamed, if she cried, hell he didn't care if she started flipping out and broke his ribs. Whatever storm of emotions was coming, he'd weather it. He would be her rock.