He walked.

He didn't know how far he got, or what time it was, what he was wearing, or what he was doing. At some point in time, Lieutenant Cerussite had melted away, and it was Tolliver St. James that slogged, now, through the cold snow that he barely felt against the soles of his feet.

His head felt heavy, his eyes even more so. The chill was settling into his bones, making his teeth chatter and his hair stick wetly to his face; he'd never been good at handling the severe weather, and it was at these times that he would burrow up in a blanket on the couch, or on the bed, most of the time with Hitch's arms lazily around him.

It hurt to think of Hitch.

It hurt to breathe, to think, to exist.

He kept walking, until he walked into something, literally. Tolliver's head felt dizzy, spinning violently, nausea rising in his throat; and it was only when he felt his shoulder bump against something that he realized, with his head bowed as it was, that he had not seen where he was going.

He was on a street, somewhere in the middle of Destiny City. It was dark and silent, the snow falling softly around him with a muffled rustling noise, the only light that of the rows of street lamps that lined the sidewalks. Yellowish light fell across the white of the snow, and Tolliver lifted his head, his eyes dull and flat as he glanced around.

He felt numb.

No, that wasn't true. He wanted to feel numb, to not feel this horrible, devastating, aching pain inside of his chest that made every breath like a dagger in his lungs, extinguishing everything else.

He was in front of a hotel. But he couldn't go in; Tolliver's wallet - and the rest of his belongings - were still at home - no, not at home, he didn't - he didn't have one of those anymore, did he? He didn't have a place to return to, a place to come back to anymore.

Get out.

A choking sob escaped. Tolliver took several steps to the side, in an empty alleyway now. His back hit the brick wall and he tilted his head up, staring at the twisting black and blue sky peppered with thick, smeared clouds and sprinkled with stars that winked at him.

Get out.

Tolliver's legs slowly gave away. He sank down, his hands rising to cover his face, onto the ground below, his legs bent, his knees pressing against his chest. A terrible, hiccuping sob escaped, dragged painfully from his throat, and every single awful recollection of the last hour was flooding his mind and hi senses in overwhelming, sweeping waves.

Get out.

"No," Tolliver whispered desperately, "No."

His shoulders were shaking. He was gasping, coughing, choking on his sobs, the thick tears blurring and twisting his vision. Tolliver's arms wrapped around himself, as though, by some extension, he could replicate the feel of Hitch's instead, warm and secure - but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

His head dropped, his forehead against his knees, eyes squeezing shut.

"D-don't - " he choked, "D-don't. Don't p-push me away, p-please, d-don't throw me a-away, please, don't - don't make me go - "

But it was too late.

He was already gone. And there was no going back.