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Wayne kept looking at the sky this time. There was nothing interesting there, but at least not looking at the others meant that he didn't have to fully engage with them mentally, either.

He didn't understand why Dorothy had brought people dying up again. If she really wanted to insist that they weren't going to die, if death was something she refused to accept until it came, why face it head on again?

He didn't know the answer to her question, either. But he hated that he almost wished - or did wish - that the answer was yes. That someone was dead. Murdered.

It provided him with an easy reassurance. The reassurance: at least. At least he'd only robbed someone. At least there was no blood on his hands. At least he was only lying through his teeth so that they wouldn't look at him like he deserved to be looked at.

At least he wasn't as bad as that hypothetical murderer. As if any amount could be justified at all, as if someone worthless could be made into someone of worth by putting them into a cesspool of more worthless people.

Even if he hadn't murdered anyone, he had willingly shortened their lifespan. Perhaps they would die at the point where it didn't matter, somewhere early on, so that they never needed those supplies in the first place. But even if there was no difference in the end, that didn't mean that it was okay.

He was running loops in his mind again. All this thinking about what he'd done. Again, and again, and again, and he never got anywhere and never figured out anything of value. Just slightly different iterations of the same guilt, patch notes on a bug that just wouldn't be fixed. He shoved the thoughts away. They'd come back soon enough.

"Is there anywhere we don't want to go?" Wayne finally offered in return. "I'd probably try to avoid the asylum. Too closed in. I don't really care otherwise."
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Time steals us all away one day, does it not? · Northwest Cliffs