When Krouse hears the crack in Wade's voice, he thinks he'd prefer it if the puppets came back.
He lowers the gun with his back still turned on what he can guess is happening behind him. The rain keeps pouring down, mixing with the blood into shallow, diluted puddles around the crumpled bodies of people he doesn't know, and doesn't want to know.
"It's not," he starts, and cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut hard enough for a second that white stars burst behind his eyelids like echoes of muzzle flash.
Krouse turns around, gun in hand and finger off the trigger, and watches someone whose name he just heard for the first time go through the worst thing that's ever happened to him, and it doesn't matter if it's not real. This is the song that never ends, after all.
He can't not be here, but he can keep his mouth shut.
cw: blood, death, grief
He lowers the gun with his back still turned on what he can guess is happening behind him. The rain keeps pouring down, mixing with the blood into shallow, diluted puddles around the crumpled bodies of people he doesn't know, and doesn't want to know.
"It's not," he starts, and cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut hard enough for a second that white stars burst behind his eyelids like echoes of muzzle flash.
Krouse turns around, gun in hand and finger off the trigger, and watches someone whose name he just heard for the first time go through the worst thing that's ever happened to him, and it doesn't matter if it's not real. This is the song that never ends, after all.
He can't not be here, but he can keep his mouth shut.