"No, no..." Howard keeps whispering protests as if it's something that matters. "Don't- don't..."
Don't leave me, he wants to say, but he can't make the words appear. How is he supposed to do this without Wyatt? Who'll be there to stitch him up, to protect, and most importantly, to tell him things will be alright?
He lays his skinny body down on top of Wyatt, curling against his side to anchor his sheriff to the ground, to keep him from hitting his head on anything as he goes. He reaches a hand over and wipes Wyatt's chin, then holds him there, protecting Wyatt from the battery of his own body.
"I'm right here." Howard's seen people die before more times than anyone ever should. He's never grieved for them while they were still alive, even knowing that they might meet again on the other side. He can feel Wyatt's pulse in his neck, and he wonders if Wyatt can feel the way his heart is pounding against Wyatt's side.
He can't find words. He should have prepared for this and still he can't find words. He was stupid enough to let himself believe this would never happen, and now he's not ready, because he never wanted to believe Wyatt was fallible. He never wanted to believe Wyatt would go first. A tear lets go of his eyelashes and rolls over the bridge of his nose.
"So let's do some living after we die...wild, wild horses...couldn't drag me away..."
Because he can't find words, he sings, a soft lullaby for the dying broken by hiccups and sobs.
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Don't leave me, he wants to say, but he can't make the words appear. How is he supposed to do this without Wyatt? Who'll be there to stitch him up, to protect, and most importantly, to tell him things will be alright?
He lays his skinny body down on top of Wyatt, curling against his side to anchor his sheriff to the ground, to keep him from hitting his head on anything as he goes. He reaches a hand over and wipes Wyatt's chin, then holds him there, protecting Wyatt from the battery of his own body.
"I'm right here." Howard's seen people die before more times than anyone ever should. He's never grieved for them while they were still alive, even knowing that they might meet again on the other side. He can feel Wyatt's pulse in his neck, and he wonders if Wyatt can feel the way his heart is pounding against Wyatt's side.
He can't find words. He should have prepared for this and still he can't find words. He was stupid enough to let himself believe this would never happen, and now he's not ready, because he never wanted to believe Wyatt was fallible. He never wanted to believe Wyatt would go first. A tear lets go of his eyelashes and rolls over the bridge of his nose.
"So let's do some living after we die...wild, wild horses...couldn't drag me away..."
Because he can't find words, he sings, a soft lullaby for the dying broken by hiccups and sobs.
"Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them someday..."