"I don't pray," he snaps, a petulant child, because it's easier than the rest. He's too used to blaming himself. He doesn't want to be told that there's nothing else but to take it and move on. He knows it already, knows she wouldn't want it, but what it means is that he can't change anything. That no matter how sad he is, how much he regrets, how many different ways he can imagine it going, the clock won't turn back and nothing will change.

It's not even the first time he's dealt with it Half his team is dead in Paradox Space, and more probably to come with the state things were in when he last died. But with those there were the dream bubbles, and there wasn't all this weight, this responsibility.

(He felt responsible then, anyway. Probably part of him always will.)

Part of him wants to leave her now just to keep from dealing with it all. But she's hurt, and she's weak, and where would it put him to leave a girl who needs help again? He wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand, then steps in to offer her support.

"Come on." He's not looking at her this time. "I'll take you to water so you can wash up, and I'll hunt something so you don't starve."