There's nothing he can do. The weight of that sinks deep in Punchy's gut like a stone. All his hopes and ideals are wrapped around it, and they, too, drown.

He doesn't even notice the blood dribbling into his eyelashes. He just crouches down next to her (she's so small) and takes her hand. It already looks grey against his pink palm. He feels the heat leaving it, the little twitches in her fingers as her body struggles to live even as she accepts her fate.

"It's okay, kiddo. It's breezy." He squeezes her hand. "See you on the flip-side."

He's watched too many people die. He never gets desensitized. Maybe that's his curse. He watches this little kid he doesn't even know die and it rips him open right down the center, like it has every time.