He's... laughing? He pulls off his mask, and his face is handsome and bright. Amidst the gore and the pain and the adrenaline rushing through Midnighter's system, that's almost heartwarming. He brushes the fabric in front of his face aside, revealing his own expression, strangely light (if blood-splattered and a little dirty).

Midnighter takes the spear, holding it over his wounded shoulder. He extends his good arm to help his companion up.

"Midnighter, by the way." He should probably clarify, but fuck it. "Or you can just call me 'M'."