Neal finishes the hug, practically throws himself into it, clinging to Raylan. He presses his face against the taller man's shoulder, and does what he's been on the edge of doing for days. He starts to sob.
He's shivering. He's not sure if it's from lying in the snow waiting for something to happen, or if it's from what already happened, or if it's from the air that chisels into his soaked coat and clothes like a handful of blunted knives.
He tries to speak, tries to explain himself, tries to tell Raylan what happened, the way he felt himself come apart. The screaming he lived long enough to hear. The pants-shitting terror of coming face to void with what chased them. It comes out as a wail, and he doesn't have the presence of mind just yet to feel ashamed.
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He's shivering. He's not sure if it's from lying in the snow waiting for something to happen, or if it's from what already happened, or if it's from the air that chisels into his soaked coat and clothes like a handful of blunted knives.
He tries to speak, tries to explain himself, tries to tell Raylan what happened, the way he felt himself come apart. The screaming he lived long enough to hear. The pants-shitting terror of coming face to void with what chased them. It comes out as a wail, and he doesn't have the presence of mind just yet to feel ashamed.