Howard feels the moment Wyatt's soul leaves. He doesn't even need to hear the cannon to know. He can feel when the brave heart under his hands stops its beating.

He lays there for a while, singing quietly. His hand clutches around the jacket Wyatt's wearing, grasping and folding like a kitten kneading a blanket. And he waits for the hovercraft, like Wyatt waited for him, until the song in his mouth turns into humming he uses to comfort himself.

The hovercraft doesn't come.

Finally he sits up and kisses Wyatt's temple. It's a strange gesture, but one that feels natural, with no one to watch. Wyatt's cool forehead is covered just barely by a sheen of sweat. He closes Wyatt's eyes and brushes the last of the pink spittle off his lips.

"I'm gonna win for you, okay?"

Howard takes Wyatt's eyepatch and, for the first time since he was a child, he prays.

"Look, I don't know if you're editing this out or anything, but God - Sponsors - whoever. I need matches. Please, God, send me matches."